#there is just the moment where she says ‘this is my life. this is what I have. and I will take it. all of it’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theonottsbxtch · 3 days ago

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MY PEACE | MV1

an: this was a request from a lovely first time requester ( @pinkinternetstarlight )i had so much fun with this except i probably went about this differently than was expected maybe? i don’t know but i hope everyone enjoys it

wc: 1.9k

THE MONACO SKYLINE GLITTERED outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s apartment, but the man inside couldn’t see it. Not really. He was slumped on the sofa, his head buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, still dressed in the sweat-soaked polo and race trousers he hadn’t bothered to peel off since getting home. The hollow thrum of the media circus still echoed in his ears—reporters’ voices, headlines dissecting every moment of his race, every mistake, every edge of aggression they couldn’t wait to sharpen into a weapon.

The living room was dim, the only light a faint glow from the kitchen where she stood, stacking plates from his barely-touched dinner into the dishwasher. He hadn’t asked her to come over; he never had to. She just… knew. She always knew.

She moved with quiet purpose, tying her hair back with a loose band, sleeves rolled up as she made her way around his space—tidying up the chaos he left in his wake. To anyone else, it might have seemed like she was cleaning for the sake of it, but he recognised it for what it was: her way of looking after him, of making sure that when the noise of the world threatened to cave him in, the corners of his life she touched felt a little less sharp.

He glanced up when she wandered back into the room, her bare feet soft against the wooden floor, carrying a folded blanket. She sat beside him without a word, the way she always did, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. Without asking, she unfolded the blanket and draped it over his lap, tucking it in just so.

His breath hitched—he didn’t mean it to, but there it was, like a crack in a dam he spent his whole life patching up. He turned his head slightly, enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume, and for the first time all day, the ache behind his ribs quietened.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

She turned to him, one corner of her mouth lifting in a small, knowing smile. “I know I don’t.”

He let his head fall back, tipping to the side until it came to rest against her lap. His body felt too heavy to hold up anymore, but here—here was lightness. Her fingers slid through his hair, slow and deliberate, untangling the knots the day had left behind.

The monster inside him, the one he kept chained under the weight of the world’s expectations, fell silent.

“Dinner’s in the fridge for tomorrow,” she said softly. “And I’ll stay the night if you want.”

He shut his eyes. He wanted to say he didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve her—but the words wouldn’t come. All he managed was a nod, and when she leaned back against the cushions, her hands still in his hair, he let himself breathe.

The silence between them stretched on, but it wasn’t heavy. It was soft, the kind that let him loosen the grip on his thoughts, if only a little. He stared at the darkened skyline, the city lights casting faint patterns on the walls, and tried not to get lost in his head. But it was a losing battle. It always was.

The thought crept in before he could stop it. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve her.

The words sounded like his own, but the voice behind them wasn’t. It was his father’s, sharp and clipped, laced with that same cold disdain that had haunted his childhood. His dad had always seen her as a weakness, a threat to his focus and discipline. How many times had he warned Max about letting anyone get too close? About “wasting energy” on things that didn’t matter?

And yet, here she was, the only person who’d stayed. The only one who’d made it through the wreckage of his life without turning away.

Her hand was still in his hair, her fingers slow and soothing, but he could feel the faint shift of her breathing as she glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Max,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the noise in his head. “You’ve got a flight tomorrow morning. You should shower and get some sleep.”

He opened his eyes, the weight of the day still pressing down on him, and turned to look at her. “I’ll sleep on the plane,” he mumbled, though he didn’t move.

“Shower first,” she said, firm but kind. “You’ll feel better.”

He didn’t argue. He never could, not with her. With a quiet sigh, he sat up, the blanket slipping to the floor, and dragged himself to his feet. The thought of standing under hot water—letting it wash away the grease and grime and whatever else the day had left on him—wasn’t as bad as he let on.

By the time he stepped into the shower, he could hear her moving about in the kitchen again. He let the water beat against his skin, his hands braced against the tiled wall as the heat loosened the tension in his shoulders. Still, his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the same loop: his dad’s voice, the doubt, the sense of never being enough.

When he finally emerged, towel slung around his waist, the smell of something warm and sweet drifted through the apartment. He found her in the bedroom, already curled up against the pillows, a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. On the bedside table sat another mug—tea, the way she always made it for him, a perfect balance of strong and soothing.

She didn’t look up as he walked in, her nose buried in a book, the soft glow of the bedside lamp making the room feel impossibly safe.

He took the mug and sat on the other side of the bed, cradling it in his hands as the steam curled up around his face. For a while, they didn’t speak. She kept reading, and he let himself lean back against the headboard, the warmth of the tea spreading through him.

It wasn’t until he was ready—until the words that had been choking him all day finally loosened—that he spoke.

“They hate me,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a rasp.

She looked up from her book, closing it without a hint of impatience, and turned her full attention to him. “Who?”

“Everyone,” he said. “The media. The fans. Hell, even Checo, sometimes.” He laughed bitterly. “They don’t even know me, but they’ve already decided I’m the villain. And the worst part is… I think they’re right.”

Her brows knitted together, and she set her mug down on the table. “Max,” she said, her voice steady, her gaze unflinching, “you’re not a villain.”

He shook his head, staring into his tea. “I don’t know how you can say that. You’ve seen it—how I am on the track, how I am off it. I push people away, I—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat.

“You’re human,” she said simply. “You’re not perfect, but no one is. And everything they say about you? That’s noise. It’s not who you are.”

His hands tightened around the mug, and he looked at her, his expression raw, like he was seeing her for the first time.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said, his voice breaking. “You could’ve left a long time ago. Sometimes I think you should’ve.”

She held his gaze, her eyes calm but fierce. “And sometimes I think you forget that I get to make my own choices,” she said softly. “I’m here because I want to be, Max. Not because I feel sorry for you. Not because you owe me anything. Just because you’re you.”

The weight in his chest shifted, just a fraction, but enough. He didn’t know how to respond to that—not yet—but when she picked up her book again, leaning against his shoulder as if nothing had changed, he let himself close his eyes and breathe.

For tonight, it was enough.

The tea was long forgotten on the bedside table, the room quiet save for the faint rustle of her turning a page and the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. Max shifted under the duvet, his body still heavy with exhaustion, but the ache behind his ribs had eased, just enough to let him breathe.

She lay beside him, her book propped against her knees, the light from the lamp catching the soft curve of her face. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to ignore the pang of something sharp and unfamiliar blooming in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but tonight it seemed impossible to ignore.

He adjusted his pillow and turned on his side, facing her. “You’re going to read all night, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low, teasing.

She glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not if you need to sleep.”

“I always need sleep is what you say, no?.”

She laughed softly, her head tipping to the side as she closed her book, slipping it onto the nightstand. “Alright, I’m done.” She reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into comfortable darkness.

He shifted closer instinctively, the warmth of her presence drawing him in. They’d done this a hundred times before—falling asleep in the same bed, his arm slung over her waist or her head tucked against his chest—but tonight felt different. The space between them was charged with something unspoken, a tension he didn’t have the courage to name.

She settled into the pillows, her back facing him, and he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him without a second thought.

“Goodnight, Max,” she murmured, her voice soft and drowsy.

He rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. “Goodnight,” he said, though his mind was far from quiet.

The weight of the day, the weight of everything, seemed to dissipate as he held her. She didn’t demand anything of him, didn’t ask him to explain himself or prove that he was more than what the world saw. She just… was. And somehow, that was enough to quiet the storm inside him.

His eyes fluttered shut, the warmth of her body lulling him into something close to peace. And before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, barely more than a whisper, lost to the dark.

“I love you.”

She didn’t stir. Didn’t react.

For a moment, panic flared in his chest—what if she’d heard him? What if she didn’t feel the same? But as her breathing deepened, slow and steady in the quiet of the room, he realised she was already asleep.

Relief swept over him, and he tightened his hold on her just a fraction, burying his face in her hair. It was better this way, he told himself. She didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to ruin what they had, didn’t need to drag her into the mess of his life any more than she already was.

For tonight, it was enough to hold her. To let the monster in him fall silent, just for a little while.

And as sleep finally pulled him under, he couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that maybe someday, he’d find the courage to say it again.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby

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p0orbaby · 3 days ago

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Spend the Night with You, Spend My Life with You

summary: sex, snow and three little words

warnings: SMUT 18+, strap use

a/n: these two are so hopeless it hurts

word count: 3.5k

part 1

The edge of the kitchen island bites into your stomach as Alexia pushes you forward, her hands gripping your hips with a steady, deliberate pressure. You splay your fingers across the cool marble, desperate for purchase, but the smooth surface offers nothing to hold on to. When her hips snap forward, the shock of it ripples through your entire body, a gasp catching in your throat.

Your hand shoots out instinctively, grasping for anything to ground you. It lands on the hammered copper bowl at the edge of the counter. The movement sends it spinning off balance, and a dozen oranges tumble onto the floor, rolling in lazy, chaotic arcs. The bowl clatters noisily, a sound that echoes off the tiled walls. Neither of you reacts. You’re too far gone.

Alexia leans into you from behind, her chest pressing against your back as her hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, her touch both reverent and possessive. The weight of her against you is grounding, her skin hot where it meets yours. Her lips find the nape of your neck, and she bites—hard enough to sting, hard enough to make you gasp again.

You feel her breath against your ear, hot and ragged. “You’re perfect,” she murmurs, the words almost swallowed by the sounds of your own shallow breathing.

Your head falls forward, your forehead brushing the cold marble. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the weight of her hands on your hips, the way her fingers dig into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“Alexia,” you breathe, her name tumbling out of you unbidden, as if it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

Her answer comes in the way her hips press harder against yours, the rhythm she’s set becoming a language all its own. There’s nothing else, nothing outside the space you’ve carved out together. The world could be ending, and it wouldn’t matter.

Her movements are sure, deliberate, her hands sliding from your hips to your stomach, then lower, fingers brushing over the heat of your skin. You shudder beneath her, your legs threatening to give out, but she holds you steady, her strength a reminder of the control she wields effortlessly.

“Look at me,” she commands, her voice low but firm, cutting through the haze that clouds your thoughts.

You lift your head, craning your neck to meet her gaze over your shoulder. Her eyes are dark, endless, and they pin you in place more effectively than any touch ever could. There’s something in her expression—a tenderness that feels at odds with the raw, almost brutal edge of what’s happening—and it makes your chest tighten.

“I love you,” she says, and the simplicity of it leaves you breathless.

It’s the first time she’s said it, the first time either of you has dared to name this thing between you. And even though you’d already come to terms with your feelings in the quiet of your own mind, hearing it out loud is like a punch to the gut.

You turn your head back, pressing your cheek against the cool surface of the counter, unable to face her for more than a moment. But her hands are insistent, guiding you upright, pulling you back against her chest. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close, while her free hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet her eyes again.

“Say it,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear.

You hesitate, the words lodged in your throat, but the way her eyes soften—hopeful and unrelenting—undoes you completely.

“I love you,” you admit, the words breaking on a gasp as her hand slides lower, her touch erasing any lingering doubts.

The air between you shifts, heavy with something unspoken but deeply understood. Her mouth finds yours, the kiss urgent and messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling as if she’s trying to devour the words you’ve just given her.

Your legs shake, and she senses it, so she pulls out and scoops you up with an ease that borders on arrogance. Your thighs lock around her waist instinctively, the movement both desperate and defiant, and your arms loop around her neck like you might otherwise drift away. She doesn’t falter, doesn’t pause. She carries you as if you weigh nothing, as if your feverish kisses and clumsy, grasping hands don’t threaten to frustrate her with every step.

You’re not sure where she’s taking you; there’s no plan, only the friction of her fingertips digging into the backs of your thighs and the insistent pressure of her mouth on yours. You lose yourself in the motion, in the heat of her skin beneath her shirt—a cotton button-down you vaguely recall unbuttoning in a fit of impatience. It’s pale blue, maybe linen, and creases easily, but somehow, on her, even its rumpled state looks deliberate. The kind of effortless chic that you hate to admit you envy.

The bedroom is the goal, you think, until it isn’t. Until the two of you crash onto the rug in front of the fireplace. A soft furnishing you remember buying on a whim—hand-woven by a fourth-generation family in the Atlas Mountains, the kind of purchase that implies you’re a person with taste, with distinction. It’s soft in some places, coarse in others, but all you can focus on is the way Alexia’s body moves against yours, her breath hot against your neck, her hands mapping out territory she already owns.

“God, you’re perfect,” she murmurs, her voice rough, a little breathless, and it’s absurd how much the words undo you. You feel her lips against your collarbone, then lower, her tongue tracing a line along the curve of your breast before she takes your nipple into her mouth. Your back arches, your breath catching, and you’re distantly aware of the way your legs tighten around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

The fire is building, frantic and all-consuming, and you’re helpless to stop it. Not that you want to. Not when her hands are on you, coaxing, demanding, grounding you in a way nothing else ever has. You lose yourself in her touch, her voice, her everything.

Time becomes a blur after that. The weight of her body, the press of her hands, the sound of her voice—low and rough and threading its way through the space between you—it’s all-consuming. You don’t remember when you stopped thinking, when you let go of the need to control the situation, or her, or yourself. But it’s somewhere between her mouth finding yours again and the sheer mess of your limbs tangling together, her strength pinning you exactly where she wants you.

When it’s over, when the storm of her finally settles into something quieter, her head resting against your shoulder and her breath warm against your neck, you remember.

“We’re late,” you announce, your voice cutting through the silence with all the grace of a car alarm.

Alexia doesn’t move at first, her body still draped lazily over you, hot breath tickling the damp skin of your neck. “What?” she hums, not lifting her head.

“Skiing” you say, as though it’s obvious. “The booking. The gear hire. The… everything.” You gesture vaguely toward the coffee table, where your itinerary sits, printed and highlighted and unnecessarily laminated.

She looks up then, and for a moment she just stares at you, blinking, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Then, to your utter dismay, she starts laughing. It’s not a small laugh, either. It’s full-bodied, rich, and entirely at your expense.

“You’re joking,” she says between breaths, though it’s clear she knows you’re not.

“I’m not,” you insist, pushing her off you, though the movement feels like betrayal—like cutting the power to a film just as the climax hits. “The lift tickets were pre-booked. There’s a window. A strict window that were going to miss”

“And whose fault is it that?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yours,” you reply, deadpan. “You’re the one who decided to… well, distract me”

Alexia laughs again, a soft sound that’s warm and infectious and entirely too easy to forgive. “Distract you? That’s rich, coming from the person who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves”

“Don’t deflect,” you say, sitting up to make a point this is in fact very serious. “Do you know how much coordination it took to set this up? The calls? The emails? The back-and-forth with their useless website that doesn’t recognise international postcodes? And the ski instructor alone was a nightmare to book. He’s apparently some kind of legend—teaches everyone from A-listers to politicians to royalty. His name’s Pierre, which is almost too on the nose, but I digress. The point is, he’s probably been standing there for twenty minutes now, wondering if we’ve been mauled by wolves”

She grins, shaking her head, and there’s something infuriatingly fond about the way she looks at you. “You’re very dramatic”

“No, I’m being organised,” you counter, scrambling to your feet and reaching for your discarded shirt. “This was your idea, remember? ‘Let’s try skiing,’ you said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ you said”

“It will be fun,” she says, still seated on the floor, her hair dishevelled, her shirt hanging off one shoulder. She looks maddeningly good like this, like she belongs in some high-end editorial spread titled Après Passion.

“Not if we miss the slot,” you mutter, pulling your shirt over your head and avoiding her gaze. “Do you know what happens if you’re late? They give your spot away. To people on a wait list”

She doesn’t move immediately, instead she sits there on your hand-woven rug watching you with an expression that’s equal parts fond and exasperated. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re like this,” she says, her voice teasing.

“Like what?”

“Frantic. Bossy. Pretending you don’t care when you obviously do”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “Just get dressed. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can go back to not caring”

The beginner slope—charmingly nicknamed “Bunny Hill”—is far steeper than Alexia had anticipated. She stands rigidly at the edge, her boots clipped into rental skis that are alarmingly bright, the sort of neon green you associate with aggressive cycling brands or obnoxious trainers. You wonder if they’re intentionally loud, designed to help instructors spot the inevitable bodies sprawled across the snow.

Beside her, you’re dressed in a Moncler ski suit so pristine it practically sparkles in the sunlight. The stitching is quilted in perfect geometric diamonds, and the fur-lined hood is deliberately oversized, framing your face like the edges of a Vogue cover shoot. Your skis are top-tier: Fischer RC4 World Cups, chosen partly for their reputation and partly because the matte black matches your poles. You’ve already waxed them twice this season, though they probably didn’t need it. Your goggles, Oakleys with custom polarised lenses, sit snugly over your face, and you’re already warm, thanks to the base layer that cost more than the deposit on your first flat.

Alexia is, as always, frustratingly nonchalant. Her goggles, brand-new Oakleys you’d insisted on buying for her, sit slightly crooked on her face, the strap twisted in a way that makes your fingers itch to adjust them. The matching jacket, a sleek, insulated Patagonia shell in a shade of deep red that complements her complexion, fits perfectly—though she wears it like it’s just another hoodie tossed on before training. The trousers, Arcteryx, are so crisp they almost crackle, the tags having been snipped off mere hours ago. She looks every bit the part of a seasoned skier, though her posture suggests she’s waiting for the whole ordeal to be over so she can sit by the fire with a hot drink.

She shifts awkwardly, her poles dragging in the snow. “This is steeper than I thought”

You glance at the slope. It’s a nursery hill. Literal children are whizzing past with confidence, some barely old enough to tie their own shoelaces. A mother is halfway down, calling encouragement to a toddler in a lime-green snowsuit who is spinning in place, his skis forming an accidental snow angel.

“You’ll be fine,” you say, perhaps too casually, because she turns to look at you, her eyes narrowed.

“I’m not used to this,” she says, gesturing vaguely at the expanse of white in front of her. “You didn’t mention it would feel so… exposed”

You shrug. “You’ll pick it up quickly. You’re an athlete”

“Exactly, I don’t want to break my leg before the season starts”

Her caution surprises you. This is Alexia Putellas, who spends most of her life hurling herself into situations where bones break as casually as fingernails. But now, faced with the prospect of skiing, she’s hesitant, almost timid. It’s endearing, if not mildly irritating.

Pierre, your instructor for the day, is waiting at the bottom of the hill. His presence alone feels like an Arian tourism advertisement: flaxen hair, sharp cheekbones, and a jawline you could slice cheese on. His ski suit is a garish shade of blue, the logo of a the resort emblazoned across his chest. He waves at you both, teeth so white they practically refract the sun.

“Everyone is going to laugh at me,” Alexia mutters, her grip tightening on her poles.

“Maybe, but Pierre doesn’t count,” you say, ignoring the way she winces at the name. “He’s Swiss. They’re born on skis.”

She takes a deep breath and adjusts her goggles, the anti-fog coating catching the light. “Alright. I can do this”

She can’t do this, you quickly learn.

The moment she pushes off, it’s clear she’s underestimated the logistics. Her knees are too stiff, her weight too far back, and the skis seem to have a mind of their own. She picks up speed alarmingly quickly, her arms flailing in an almost cartoonish attempt at balance. You watch in horror as she veers toward the edge of the slope, narrowly missing a child who stares after her with wide-eyed bewilderment.

“Bend your knees!” you shout, though it’s futile.

Somehow, she manages to slow herself down enough to come to an abrupt, awkward halt halfway down the hill. She’s breathing heavily, her face flushed—not from exertion but from what you suspect is a mix of terror and mortification.

“What was that?” she calls up to you, her voice high-pitched.

“You were leaning back,” you reply, sliding toward her with an ease you know she finds infuriating. “Your centre of gravity was off”

“No shit,” she mutters, bending over to adjust her boots.

When you reach her, you make a show of stopping gracefully, your skis forming a perfect parallel line. You stand over her like an insufferable authority figure, which, let’s be honest, you are.

“Look,” you say, your tone breezy. “It’s all about weight distribution. Shift forward. Use your knees to absorb the movement. It’s physics”

She looks up at you, incredulous. “Are you seriously quoting physics to me right now?”

“Would you prefer I quote Pythagoras?”

“I’d prefer you stop being smug”

You grin. “I’m not being smug. I’m being helpful”

She scowls, but there’s no real venom in it.

Eventually, she makes it to the bottom, though not without incident. She topples twice, once taking out a marker pole and once nearly colliding with Sven, who watches the whole debacle with the stoicism of someone who’s seen far worse.

“I’m retiring,” Alexia declares when she finally comes to a stop, her skis splayed at an awkward angle.

“You’re fine,” you say, brushing snow off her jacket.

“I’m not fine. My pride is in pieces”

“Pride heals faster than a broken leg,” Pierre says, his tone unhelpfully chipper.

The lodge, when you finally retreat to it, is a welcome reprieve, a perfect cliché of alpine charm. The interior is all dark wood and exposed beams, the kind that might be reclaimed or might just be faux-rustic, it’s hard to tell. Roaring fireplaces anchor every corner, their stone mantels adorned with garlands of holly and pine cones sprayed with artificial snow. The air is thick with the scent of mulled wine, damp wool, and wood smoke, mingling in a way that makes the space feel both comforting and mildly suffocating.

Alexia slumps into a seat near the fireplace, tugging off her goggles with the dramatic sigh of someone who’s just endured a life-altering trauma. She drops them onto the table, where they skid across the varnished surface before coming to rest against a cast iron candleholder.

“I hate this,” she announces, slouching low in her chair like a moody teenager who’s just been told to tidy their room.

“You don’t hate this,” you say, sliding into the seat opposite her and unzipping your jacket with far less fanfare. “You hate not being good at it”

She glares at you, her jaw tightening in that way it always does when you’ve hit the mark. It’s the same glare she gives referees when a call doesn’t go her way, and it’s just as ineffective now as it is then.

“Admit it,” you press, unable to resist poking the bear. “You’re annoyed because skiing isn’t something you can dominate after five minutes of practice”

“I’m annoyed because skiing is stupid,” she retorts, though the defensive edge in her voice gives her away. “Who even decided sliding down a mountain with sticks strapped to your feet was a good idea?”

“Norwegians, probably,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Blame them”

She grumbles something in Spanish, too low for you to catch, but the sharpness of her tone tells you it’s probably an insult aimed at both the Norwegians and you.

Before you can tease her further, a server appears with hot chocolates. They’re obscene—decadent monstrosities served in oversized ceramic mugs. Each one is piled high with whipped cream, dusted with cocoa powder, and garnished with sugar-dusted gingerbread stars precariously balanced on the rim. A stray marshmallow floats in the froth, its edges beginning to dissolve.

Alexia stares at hers like it’s personally offended her.

“What?” she demands when you burst into laughter.

“Nothing,” you say, though your smirk gives you away entirely. “It’s just… not very you, is it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Nothing,” you repeat, though you can’t stop yourself from glancing pointedly at the gingerbread star perched on her mug like it’s auditioning for next year's John Lewis Christmas advert.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” she mutters, picking up a marshmallow and lobbing it at you without warning.

It hits your sleeve, leaving a faint, sticky smudge of melted sugar on your Moncler jacket. You look down at it, then back at her, your expression perfectly deadpan.

“Childish,” you say, flicking the marshmallow back at her.

She dodges it with the expected reflexes of someone who captains her national team, though the movement is so exaggerated it draws the attention of the couple at the next table. You give them an apologetic smile, but Alexia just grabs her spoon and scoops an alarming amount of whipped cream off her hot chocolate.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn, raising a hand in mock surrender.

Her smirk is pure mischief as she leans forward, balancing the spoon precariously. “You started it”

“And best believe me, I’ll finish it too,” you say, though your tone lacks conviction.

She takes this as permission and flings the whipped cream in your direction. It lands squarely on your shoulder, and the entire room seems to pause as you stare at the mess now streaking your ski suit.

“You're five,” you say flatly, reaching for a napkin.

“You deserved it,” she replies, utterly unrepentant, leaning back in her chair with a victorious grin that makes your stomach flip in a way you’re starting to find annoyingly familiar.

You shake your head, suppressing a smile as you wipe the sticky smudge off your sleeve. The lodge hums around you—soft chatter, the occasional clink of glasses, the crackle of the fire—and yet it feels like the world has narrowed to just this table, just her.

She’s still grinning when you glance back up, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. It’s infuriating. And addictive.

“You’re a pain,” you mutter, more to yourself than to her, but she hears it anyway.

“Yet, you still love me,” she quips, her tone light, teasing, but there’s something in her eyes—something unguarded and fleeting, like a glimpse of light through a crack in the curtains.

It makes your chest ache, but not in a way that hurts. It’s the kind of ache you feel when you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, when everything finally clicks into place.

You shrug, trying to play it cool even as your pulse stumbles over itself. “Maybe I do”

Her grin softens, just slightly, and for a second, it feels like the world pauses. The fire crackles, the snow falls softly outside, and all the noise of the lodge blurs into background static.

Then she picks up her mug, takes an exaggerated sip of her hot chocolate, and smirks. “Lucky me”

Lucky her indeed.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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bkgexe · 2 days ago

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if all else fails, i was myself

bakugou x reader ✾ 4.6k

info! no smut sorry gang ✾ tw! trust issues that manifest as issues w physical intimacy/contact, dubcon in its vaguest definition (NOT bkg & reader) ✾ notes! ive been in perpetual writers block for months. is this trite idk. i miss my baby but anytime i write for him im like oops this is gonna be 60k words!!! so here is. a drabble lmao. also big lmao moment this is titled after count me out by kendrick lamar ldskfjdlkjf which was on repeat while writing so uh sorry mr. lamar abt the mha fanfic

katsuki has always known that part of him is wrong.

he’s never liked being touched. every kiss he’s experienced has made him tense as an elevator cable poised to snap. any attempt to go further than that has made him a little ill, made his gut feel like a stack of loose papers being torn to shreds, slow and loud.

it doesn’t help that he’s only ever had three kisses in his life: eijirou at a new year’s party (too many teeth), eijirou again at another new year’s party nearly a decade later (too much tongue), and then his fourth date with kyoka (when he tried to convince himself he just had to push through the discomfort to become normal).

things went further than that. it was a mistake. they both knew it right after it happened—kyoka first, and then katsuki after his head stopped pounding with what if i'm doing this wrong what if she's pitying me for fucking this up what if i don't know how to touch another person correctly what if i was supposed to learn at some point and i missed it how could i fucking miss it will it always be like this because i can't do this again i can't i don't—

“kat," she said after. she looked at him with something only a few degrees removed from pity, and poorly removed at that.

he attempted a halting non-apology. he attempted a real apology. failed at both.

"it's okay, you know," she said. "to not like it."

he scoffed even though he wasn’t entirely clear on what she meant by it, because there was so much he didn’t like. “i like it just fine.”

“if that was liking it, I’m honestly worried about your capacity for enjoying life in general.” it wasn’t a joke. her bluntness was something that'd made katsuki think he could push his boundaries with her. all of her thoughts were laid out plain for him to read, an open-source journal. “i'm just saying you don't have to like it. and you don’t have to force yourself to do things you don’t want to do. don't fuck yourself over for someone else's happiness.”

kyoka still texts him often, checks in, invites him to drinks with their friends. she’s kind. she’s normal. she doesn’t have this weird, shredded thing inside her that makes her balk at the idea of someone’s hand on her skin. that makes her think she's doing something wrong, even if she's not the one that initiated the touch.

when you started your job at the front desk of katsuki’s agency, he never thought that he'd be here, wishing above everything that he could just be normal. just for one fucking day, so he could laugh at your shitty jokes and maybe brush his knuckles across the back of your hand in passing and take you on a date where he could kiss you in his car after driving you home and the thought wouldn’t make his skin crawl, wouldn't tear up his insides to pulp.

because he fucked everything up. he's standing in his empty office where you'd been spending time with him and he fucked it up and hurt you and he's not sure how to unfuck it.

the thing is, he could grin and bear it. he could deal with the odd thing inside him that hates the contact and white-knuckle it through every kiss, every caress. but he’s never been a great actor. he wouldn’t be able to hide that from you.

(kyoka told him, years later, that it’s not that the sex itself wasn’t fine—what made it nearly unbearable for her was the fact that she could tell, only after it was too late, that being physically vulnerable with her pained him far more than he was willing to reveal.)

no one wants to feel like the person they’re with is grinning and bearing it. that they’re white-knuckling it through. katsuki knows this. he knows he’s basically a fucking virgin all but in title at thirty and that he’s got the personality of a dried-out fig you find in your fridge weeks after its last edible moments. he doesn't have much to offer.

but he walked into work one day and nodded at you, curt, a grimace on his face—and you smiled at him so kindly that his stomach twisted.

with you, it wasn't the feeling of something being torn apart. it was different, lighter. leaves wrenched into the sky by a strong breeze. still a kind of tearing, but different—less destructive.

he was wearing a deep carmine sweater his mom sent him in one of her bi-monthly care packages (as if he’s not an adult, and a pro-hero on top of that), and you said, “that’s such a nice color on you. is it new?”

there was that breeze inside his chest, strong, pulling at his bones. “yeah,” he grunted. then slowly, as if remembering how: “thanks.”

it was the attention, he thought at first, that piqued his interest. he wasn't used to it. people always watched him from afar, and he had fans online that were borderline obsessive, but people didn’t approach him. they didn’t say that’s such a nice color on you. they didn’t smile the way you smile.

he’s always had a shallow streak. it’s not like he doesn’t know this. it’s become a little muted over time, a little discouraged by the visible scarring on his face and body from his time in the field, but it’s never fully been eradicated. so it was simple, he thought. you paid him attention and stroked his ego, and he preened like a self-obsessed bird of paradise.

and then you started making these little origami whale sharks.

fucking stupid. it bothered him an annoying amount. you had a bunch at your desk, all different colors and sizes, some taped to your desktop monitor, some hung up with little pieces of string under the desk's storage overhang. you drew dots on the back of each one, a distinct spotted pattern that was unique for each shark. and you made them for everyone but him. eijirou bought you a pack of high quality origami paper and you made him his own fucking school, all with little faces, winking or surprised or angry, their wide paper mouths gaping and empty, the lines of their bodies pressed careful and sure.

he hated it. it was annoying and a waste of company time and he usually didn’t ever use dumb corporate slogans like “a waste of company time” but you were really pushing his fucking limits.

it was definitely just the attention he liked, he told himself, because surely someone doing something as dumb as this would annoy him to no fucking end if he spoke to them.

and then he spoke to you and he was wrong.

he asked why you made the damn things in the first place and you told him, “i like whale sharks. but to be totally honest, i just run out of things to do."

and he saw that as a challenge. you were running out of things to do? rest assured he could find more shit for you to take care of. so he did. tasks that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, they were so dull and time-consuming. and you were so achingly competent that it drove him up a fucking wall. you completed everything he asked of you in half the time it would take someone else, and you always reported back with a smile, and you always did good work, and he could see himself having a conversation with you about something other than work but he didn't want to try because he was worried he'd begin to like you as a person.

you're pretty. really fucking pretty. he can see that now, and he sure as fuck saw it then. you're hardworking. you're just likeable, and that's something katsuki had never been. it (reluctantly) impressed him. worse than that, it turned his feelings for you into a sort of interest.

but he knows he's not normal when it comes to things like this.

he tried to distance himself from you because of it, but it turns out that asking someone to do work for you means you do have to speak to them sometimes. and sometimes turned into a lot of times.

sometimes turned into bringing him coffee in the morning, not because he asked you to, but because you're sweet like that. sometimes turned into being the person he bounced ideas off of when he had a board meeting coming up or something otherwise boring and meticulous. sometimes turned into you laughing at his prickly comments rather than going quiet because of them. turned into you saying suck it up, dynamight, this is what it means to be the boss when he complained about doing paperwork.

sometimes turned into staying late with him at the office, getting take out for the two of you to share while you finished filing claims and damage reports and other stuff he hated taking care of by himself. sometimes turned into him asking you to stay late just because he wanted you there. because even when he was quiet, you'd tell him about your day, about things that happened in the office, about how much you like the book you'd both been reading. he loved listening to you talk. felt comfortable enough to tell you things about himself when he'd never felt comfortable doing that before.

sometimes turned into you holding out a piece of fried tofu from your take-out container for him to eat while he was approving time-off forms that he should have looked at much earlier that week, and you being so close that he could notice how good you smelled, and the warmth of your body basically radiated towards him, like all your energy was focused on him, and your smile was small but somehow even more lovely than usual, a secret for him to tuck away and keep, and when you finished feeding him and he had a little sauce on the corner of his mouth and you reached forward to wipe it off for him and your hand lingered there for a moment and your eyes fell to his lips and what if you try to kiss me and i'm wrong and you hate me for it and what if i can't give you what you want and what if i'm not actually what you want what if i've disappointed you already what if—

it was too much.

so he fucked it up. your thumb was so soft against his skin. he reeled backwards in his chair, rolling it whole feet clear of you, and he felt the tearing again, the bad kind, like paper unevenly shredded by clumsy hands, and he had to leave. he had to leave. he needed to leave so badly that it felt like pulling his skin off would be preferable to being in that office with you.

hiding in the bathroom was fucking pitiful. he remembered his breathing exercises. he remembered to ground himself. and when he came back to his office, you were gone.

if he was normal—and he wants to be normal, god fucking damn—he could have stomached your proximity. he could have eaten out of your fucking hand. he could have touched you back like a normal person probably would have and he wouldn't be here, alone, looking at a little purple sticky note you left him that says i finished organizing the pto forms. i hope you feel better!

he doesn't know whose pride you're trying to save with that. as if you didn't leave because he made things so fucking awkward by running away from you when you touched him. when you—maybe, if he was reading the room correctly—were about to kiss him.

and you don't speak to him for days. he doesn't want to push so he doesn't—just watches you out of the corner of his eye whenever you're both in the same room, which is arguably worse. he's not sure. he's just itching to fucking talk to you because he misses it.

he misses you. in a more-than-friends way.

it takes a while for him to realize this. when he does, it hits him like a metal rod up the side of the head. it's fucked up of him to miss you the way he does when he doesn't feel like he can provide you with the things a normal person could. and though he's worked on his patience over the years—worked on understanding that he can't have everything he wants—it doesn't stop him from being selfish and finally pulling you aside to talk.

and baffling as fucking ever, the first thing you say is sorry. "i know i should've talked to you about it earlier. i just—i shouldn't have done that. and i know it. i shouldn't have assumed that—i don't know. that you..."

you look helpless. it's one of the very few times that katsuki has ever felt the compulsion to touch someone. not because he wants the touch, per se, but because he wants to be able to provide comfort. he never figured out how to do that with words. he's so focused on his inability to comfort you that he barely has any idea of what you're actually talking about. instead of doing anything at all, he just stands there like a fuckwad.

"i just want you to know that i would never—like never—have touched you, or tried to... if i didn't think there was like, a vibe?" you shake your head, exasperated with yourself. "god, even that sounds so bad. i'm sorry, i just—"

"wait, what are—?" and then it clicks, because he's been slow on the uptake figuring out his shit when he should have been focusing way more on yours. "there was..." katsuki says, and he fucking hates that he can't find better words for what you were both feeling in his office, "a vibe."

the way your face changes when you're flustered is one of katsuki's favorite things, but it's not as enjoyable when he feels just as flustered as you look. "i—oh? so... so you—?"

his ears feel like they're being attacked by two heated straightening irons and he knows they're red as hell right now. he's gonna have to say this plainly even though he'd rather get his teeth pulled out one by one with a pair of pliers. "it's not you."

your expression loses any sort of hope it once held. you press your lips together and sigh, maybe a little exasperated. he's doing his best here but he knows his best is shit. "i can handle a non-cliché rejection," you tell him. "honestly, i'd prefer a non-cliché rejection—"

"i'm not trying to reject you," he says, and it's selfish of him. because he's really not. he isn't comfortable with the things you'd want from him, but he still wants you in some capacity. "i just don't—do shit like that."

"kissing?"

somehow knowing for sure that you did want to kiss him in his office makes him want you more. he likes that you're bold. he likes that you're not ashamed of that. he wants to be different than he is. "any... of it," he struggles to admit.

"at all?"

he nods.

"just—like touching, and stuff?"

it sounds so juvenile that he can't help but laugh through his nose, roll his eyes. "yeah. touching and stuff."

"oh."

you're disappointed. of course you are. it's not like he expected anything different, but—sometimes he fucking hates his life. hates that he can't be the thing people need him to be. hates that trying is so difficult, that it flings his stomach into space, like a throwing stone skipping across a still lake.

"so you don't go on dates, or anything."

"haven't tried."

"do you not want to?" you ask, and he can tell it's more of a genuine question than anything. you're curious about him, like you always are. it's more than he deserves, for all he can offer.

"doesn't make sense to."

"that's not what i asked."

it's not. and so katsuki listens as you ask your question again, and he really takes a moment to think.

considering the answer to your question leads him to his first date with you. and his second, and his third—his fourth, and he's keenly aware that his last fourth date ended with what he expects all dates are supposed to end with.

he takes you to the aquarium. because of all the fucking origami whale sharks. you still haven't given him one and it sticks in his craw like a bone. in front of the backlit tank that holds sharks of all types, shapes and sizes and teeth he's never pictured possible of a living creature before, he asks, "why sharks?"

you look at him, brow raised. "i don't know. they probably needed the biggest tank in the aquarium. and this looks like the biggest tank."

"no, dumbass—your sharks. the ones all over the fuckin' office."

"what, you don't like them?" you ask, but you're smiling, sly.

he shrugs. he thinks they're dumb as hell. he wants one to hang up at work, like the ones you've got hung up at your desk. "they're whatever. they clutter the fuck out of ei's office. and he's already got issues organizing." you've just made eijirou so many at his point, and it's getting ridiculous. "but what—are they easy to make, or something?"

you laugh a little. "no. not at all, actually." a whale shark swims by, its spotted hide shimmering in the tank's eerie blue lighting, and you watch it intently. "but it'd be boring if it was too easy."

this date ends with him walking you home from the aquarium a few blocks from your apartment and you smiling at him and telling him that you had a really great time, and he feels like a fucking freak because you don't even expect more. you don't wait for a kiss. don't look disappointed that he doesn't try to give you one. the way you look at him holds so much affection that he doesn't deserve and he has no idea how to reciprocate it to you, and somehow he lands on, "make me one."

"one what?" you ask, but he thinks you already know what he's asking. you like to play coy. he likes it when you play coy. when you're enjoying yourself.

"one of your little fuckin' paper things," he mutters, because admitting that he wants one of those dumbass sharks feels somehow demeaning. he doesn't want you to know how much he's wanted one. "ei's got a million of 'em."

your hand was on your door handle, but it falls to your side. he's keenly aware of its proximity to him. he doesn't feel that terrible ripping in his gut and its absence is almost frightening to him. your fingers tighten into a fist. it's cold out. "ah, and you're jealous?"

"no," he says, knee-jerk. "i just don't get why everyone gets one but me."

you smile when he says this and he could live in this image of you, delicate and small and made for him. he goes home and thinks about it until he falls asleep. thinks about it even beyond then, feels that strong breeze inside him tearing every leaf from its grounded perch.

here's the thing—nothing against jirou, but unlike his other fourth date, this one was enjoyable. more than. he loved watching you be amazed by the size of the whale sharks, and he loved watching you put a bunch of coins into the penny press and cranking the machine until one was squeezed out into the pattern you wanted, and he loved watching you lay your hand against the glass where the rubbery wings of a flood of stingrays battled for your attention, and—

he loved watching you. that's weird, right? he sounds like a fucking lunatic thinking that.

but he does. he hadn't realized until now how difficult it had been not only to touch people, but to look at them. maintaining eye contact, watching someone do a simple task out of interest instead of staring them down in an attempt to intimidate them. he's so much more fucked up than he thought but what makes it bearable is that he can do it with you. he can watch the way you enjoy things and feel like he's not intruding on something he shouldn't. without even trying, you make him feel welcome—wanted.

that's it. you make him feel wanted.

the realization affects him in a way he doesn't understand. at work the next day, when you smile at him over the top of the front desk, he feels something incredibly strong—something like instinct—that tells him to touch you. small. a thumb brushed across your cheek. his fingers grazing yours. he wants it in a way that can't be right because he's never wanted to touch someone like this.

he doesn't do it, but he thinks about it all day. your little smiles when you notice him watching you on your dates, the way your fingers graze your lips when you cover your laugh, the softness in the way you regard him. you're quiet, reserved, but when you laugh you laugh hard. he wants your soft, your quiet and your loud, he wants the feeling of your fingers on his lips, he wants your smallest smiles, all things he wishes he could fold up and keep and later display somewhere he can always see them. a school of paper fish, gaping mouths and drawn-on spots and such carefully pressed lines.

so on the eleventh date—(he knows it's ridiculous to count, but he's never spent this much time with one person before, not like this)—he reaches for your hand when you're walking alongside the bay, the air turning cold in the wake of the sunset that the two of you had just witnessed. that's romantic, you'd teased when he asked you to watch it with him. he'd rolled his eyes, shrugged you off.

but maybe he wanted it to be romantic. maybe he wanted to make this as normal as possible for you because nothing has been normal between the two of you so far.

you pull back when he reaches for you, as if on instinct. look up at him, confused, when he reaches out again. "katsuki..." you say, and it sounds as if he's done something wrong.

he tries not to let his brain spiral but thoughts drip inwards. water meeting a dented hull. what has he done this time? what else has he fucked up by being fundamentally wrong?

"you know..." you start, and you lose your words.

he thinks of kyoka, years ago. it's okay, you know. to not like it. he wonders if you'll still text him like she does.

your lips pull into a frown before you speak and katsuki can't breathe. "i was never gonna ask on my own because i know you don't like talking about things like this if you don't bring it up. but—um. katsuki—do you think i expect something from you?"

"huh?" he asks, dumb. breathing is still something he fails to do.

"i know that this is—different. i know you have some things going on that make the physical part hard for you." you look up at him so earnestly, and he loves looking at you. he loves looking at you and doesn't want to have to stop and he's worried that this is it. the moment he'll have to stop. you try to smile and it's small and he wants it all for himself. careful. delicate. secret, for him. "i'm not gonna lie to you. i don't know what a relationship without that kind of stuff looks like. but that doesn't mean i'm not willing to find out. it's—i don't need you to try to do something you think i want you to do."

"i'm not."

"it makes me feel a little sick, kat. honestly. it makes me feel like, i don't know—like i'm taking advantage of you, or something—"

"you're not."

"you don't have to do things like that to keep me around." you look flustered, eyes darting from his face to the skyline. "if you want me, i'm—you know."

it's okay, you know. "i don't know."

"i'm yours," you say, and cringe immediately at your words. "or like—i could be, you know, kind of whatever you wanted, if you—if that's what you want. would want."

katsuki can only remember a few times when his head was this quiet in the presence of someone else. when he trusted someone enough to let his mind go blank, to let himself act on instinct. "can i kiss you?"

you sigh. "this is what i was saying. i don't want you to—"

"no," he says, quiet, and he's closer to you than he's ever been. he likes the way you smell. he's not gonna apologize if that's weird. "i just want—god, i feel pathetic asking again. can i just—?"

just, just, just. just a touch, just a kiss, just a moment of your fucking time—it's all he wants. and he's never wanted like this. he's never trusted like this. his head has never quieted entirely because he's so sure that he's not going to disappoint you, or be something you don't actually want, or be wrong.

you've shown him that he can't be wrong with you, regardless of whether or not something within him is broken.

your lips are warm, a little chapped from the dry air, and he tries to remember what kissing chastely is but it's like something breaks in him further the second the two of you touch. his hands are cradling your face, his tongue is gliding against your tongue, his teeth are clacking against your teeth, and he knows the kiss is bad and wrong and messy but he suddenly needs it. he needs to feel you.

you make a noise against him and worry slices into his stomach before he realizes it's a quiet, breathy moan, and maybe you've been okay without the touch but that doesn't mean you don't enjoy it when you receive it. he can tell he hasn't made his boundaries clear enough—your hands circle his wrists, too cautious to go further, too hesitant to grip him like he thinks you want to. like he wants you to want to.

his teeth hit yours again and you laugh, and he pulls back, stomach tight. there's a hope in him that's ready to be torn.

you see it in his face—the fear. "i love kissing you," you blurt out, as if it's the only reassurance you can think of in the moment. "i mean—you're just." you laugh again, and he realizes it's nerves. you're just as nervous as he is. "can i—can we go somewhere warm? and maybe do this more? or—if this was enough—"

he's pulling you towards his apartment before you can get another word out.

kissing you is easy because you make him feel like it's relatively new for you as well. maybe that's how it feels for everyone every time, but he wouldn't know. he just feels comfortable with you. like you're not so much better than him, like you're not waiting to laugh at him when he fucks up, like you're touching him because you really want to.

so he takes you to his apartment and puts you on his couch and kisses you until your back is against the armrest and he's looming over you and you feel comfortable enough that your hands stray from his wrists to his shoulders to his hair and he didn't even know touching someone could feel like this.

put aside the fact that he's nearly finished in his fucking jeans three times just from your fingers running across his back, from the way you cup his cheek when he pulls back for air because he keeps forgetting to breathe—just having you close is intoxicating. he wants to bury his face in the curve of your shoulder, he wants to bite marks into your skin that'll stay vibrant for weeks, he wants to etch himself into you so deeply that he doesn't have to leave. these wants aren't even sexual—it's something about having you be his. i'm yours, you'd told him, and he hadn't even known that it would be exactly what he needed to hear.

he's in love with you, which isn't shocking to him, but he knows he shouldn't be in love with you yet because people that aren't fucked up in the head don't feel shit like this so quickly. he's not gonna tell you this for a very long time, but he knows—so completely and confidently—that he will reach a point when he can tell you.

"you sure you want this?" he asks, breathy, between kisses.

you stop kissing him, brows raised in surprise. "katsuki, we don't... this is a lot for one night. we can take it slow, still."

"that's—i'm not talking about that." he gives in, then—lets himself bury his face in the crook of your neck, lets himself breathe in deep, lets himself find your hands and intertwine your fingers, and you can probably feel that he's hard as fucking metal for you but that's not what's important right now. it sure as hell makes it awkward to try to have a serious conversation, though. "you sure you wanna deal with all... you know. my stuff."

"are you sure you wanna deal with all of my stuff?" you counter, and he pulls back to look at you. kissed rotten and smiling. "of course i want to deal with it. i like you."

and he likes you too. god, he likes you so fucking much.

the next morning, long after you've left for home, he finds a little orange whale shark hidden behind the alarm clock on his bedside table, stars in the place of eyes, and the trace of you is enough to make him feel warm. to hope that over time his apartment becomes full of the little paper creatures until his home is its own aquarium, until everywhere he looks is a memory of all you've brought him—pieces of you, perfectly arranged and delicately folded by your careful hands, much too gentle to tear.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bkg #fics #heehee idk even.... what this is. back on my angst bullshit. but it was fun to write!!!!#would love to be on here more often and write more little things like this would love if life wasn't like incredibly busy all the time

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yelenasdiary · 2 days ago

Note

soft fluffy nat where the two of you are in love with each other but haven’t confessed. nat is superrrr into the holidays like it surprises everyone but she’s proud of it. she knows you haven’t had the best christmas previous years and she’s determined to make this the best one for you. she loves everything like baking (nat cannot cook that is canon but i honestly think she could bake lowkey😭) putting up the christmas tree in the compound and decorating it. she’s just super soft around christmas and you just fall even more in love with her. you share sweet moments together throughout the days leading up to christmas and eventually the two of you confess and ugh i love soft nat i miss her

Waiting Under The Mistletoe

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Summary: You and Natasha have been struggling to admit your feelings for one another.

Fluff, Tiny Angst

Warnings: None, if there is any, please let me know! | 1.2K

AC: Happy Christmas Eve!!! Thank you for sending this! I hope you enjoy! x

Holiday Special Masterlist

It was that time of year again, Christmas. The time of year where you felt more of a burden than a blessing, but this year felt different already. The compound had turned from its usual dark grey vibe to bursts of festive spirit and colors. As you walked the hall towards the large meeting room, your eyes took in how perfectly the decorations were hung, compliments to Wanda, so you thought.

“Hey!” Natasha called out, making you stop in your tracks as you turned to face her. She smiled softly at you, “on your way to the meeting?” She asked.

“Hopefully the last one for the year!” You chuckled as the two of you slowly began to continue the walk to the others. “What do you say we put the Christmas tree up afterwards?” Black Widow asked, making you cock a brow at her.

“You want to put the tree up?” You asked, intrigued.

“Of course, I mean, I already decorated half the compound over night” she replied proudly.

“Wait, you did all this?” You stopped in your tracks once more, surprised by Natasha’s hidden love for the Christmas season. Natasha chuckled, “who do you think did all this?”

“Wanda” you replied without a second thought.

“Wanda is Jewish” the red head reminded you.

“Yeah but she’s always making sure we’re together for Christmas dinner so I just assumed. You love Christmas? That’s kinda cute” you smiled softly. Natasha’s eyes dropped nervously as her iconic smirk tugged at her lips, “so I’ll take that as a yes?” She said, looking back up at you.

“Alright, but I’m warning you, my tree decorating skills are horrible” you replied.

“I’ll take my chances” Nat playfully winked as the two of you entered the conference room.

It was hard to focus on anything Fury was saying during the meeting with your mind so focused on Natasha and the way her eyes were glued to the piece of paper in front of her, she was always good at putting life aside for work. Outside this room, she was a softy with a love for Christmas but inside the room she was Black Widow, listening to every single word that was said in the meeting with clear understanding.

Once Fury added his last words, the room was dismissed. Nat looked over at you and smiled softly, “ready to put those horrible tree decorating skills to the test?” She teased making you chuckle lightly.

“Are you ready for them?” You asked.

“Like I said, I’ll take my chances, lets go!”

----

Your heart swelled at Natasha’s enthusiasm; it was infectious as you watched her wrap the LED fairy lights around the fake tree while she hummed her favorite Christmas classic softly to herself. With the others hovering around, picking at the baked goodies Nat had baked last night while watching the tough Black Widow decorate a Christmas tree, you couldn’t help but fall deeper for her.

The room echoed with chatter from those around you, but all you could focus on was Natasha. She caught your eye and for a moment, the noise faded. “Now that the lights are on, help yourself to that box of ornaments and get decorating!” She smiled softly. Her soft tone snapping you back to reality as you gave her a playful grin.

“I hope you’re ready for this Romanoff!” You teased, reaching for some of the ornaments in the box beside you. She shot back a smile, “are you sure you know where they go?” She asked in a teasing tone.

“Ha, ha!” You replied sarcastically as you closed the small gap between you and the tree. Natasha stood back for a brief moment to watch you place the first ornament on the tree, she admired the way you took a second to think about where you wanted each ornament to be placed, hanging them on different branches before giving yourself a nod of approval.

The two of you spent the afternoon hanging ornaments on the large tree and wrapping it in shimmering tinsel that sparkled softly against the fairy lights. Nat still softly hummed her favorite Christmas tunes, and you weren’t sure how long it was until they caught you in their trap. The two of you humming softly while twirling around each other.

The days leading up to Christmas slipped by in a blur of laughter and sweet moments, each day your feelings growing stronger for the avenger, as if they could get any stronger. From Natasha sweet talking you into baking with her to helping her wrap presents for the others. Every moment felt more magical than the last.

On Christmas Eve, you found yourself wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, watching holiday movies with the room dimly lit and the tree twinkling softly in the corner. Natasha looked at you for a moment and for that moment, time stood still.

“Everything okay?” You asked, your cheeks feeling warm.

“Yeah” she smiled softly, “everything is perfect” she added.

----

Christmas morning, you woke up to the sound of laughter echoing through the compound. You couldn’t believe you had slightly slept in, you rushed down the stairs where you found Natasha already locking eyes with you. She smiled softly, “good morning sleepy head” she greeted.

“You didn’t wake me?” You questioned, almost forgetting there were others in the room.

“Come here” she replied softly, her eyes sparkling from the tree beside her.

You stepped closer, your heart racing as you realized what was hanging above the redhead. Your cheeks flushed under her glaze as you closed the gap between you two. “I’ve been waiting for this” she said, her voice soft like marshmallows. “I want to tell you something” she paused, her expression shifting ever so slightly.

“These last few weeks have made me the happiest I’ve ever been in a long time and it’s because I got to spend every moment with you” she started, smiling softly. “You make me so happy, I love everything we have shared since we met. I’ve been too afraid to say anything to you because I’d hate myself if I ruined what we already have but, I’m so deeply in love with you that not telling you was driving me crazy. Last night, I wanted to kiss you and tell you but I didn’t want to ruin the moment” she added.

The room fell silent, time standing still as you processed her words. You pinched yourself wondering if you were still asleep, dreaming of a different life but the pain was very much real and the woman you adored was standing in front of you, under a mistletoe, telling you how she felt.

“I love you too” you finally said, your voice slightly breaking with emotions, “I’ve wanted to say that for so long” you added.

A smile broke on Nat’s face, her hands gently placed on your hips as she pulled you closer. “Merry Christmas” she whispered before her lips pressed against yours, making sure you knew that she meant every single word. Kissing you deeply, the two of you not caring that half the compound just watched everything unfold.

“Best Christmas ever” you whispered against her lips, her arms wrapped around you. She smiled softly, “agreed”.

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#yelenasdiary asks #daddynattt #snoop #fanfiction #marvel #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x You #Natasha Romanoff #Christmas #Black Widow

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vamptizm · 2 days ago

Text

WHITE CHRISTMAS — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x gf!reader

synopsis: paige invites reader and former teammate—who doesn’t usually celebrate—to celebrate christmas with her family as her girlfriend.

warnings: reader doesn’t celebrate christmas. nonexistent family dynamics mentioned briefly. fluffy ass shit.

word counts: 3677

note: honestly i wrote this for everyone, but mostly for those who may not celebrate and still want to feel included in some way, since ik it can be hard to relate to the whole thing. (divider credits: dollywons)

The glow of the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows of your cozy apartment in Storrs, casting long, golden beams across the living room floor. A faint chill lingered in the air despite the heater's best efforts, and you found yourself wrapped in a thick throw blanket, idly scrolling on your phone while waiting for Paige to come home from practice.

The sound of her keys jangling at the door pulled you from your reverie. A smile tugged at your lips as she stepped inside, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. Her blond hair, still damp from the post-practice shower, clung to the edges of her knit beanie, and her usual oversized UConn hoodie dwarfed her frame. She looked like the embodiment of comfort and home, and as always, the sight of her brought an instant warmth to your chest.

"Hey, mama," she greeted you with a cocky smirk, dropping her duffel bag by the door and kicking off her sneakers. "Miss me?"

"A little," you replied, already opening your arms as she padded over to the couch. She fell into your embrace, settling against you with an exaggerated sigh, and you pressed a kiss to her temple.

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, wrapped up in the quiet kind of love that didn’t need words. It was moments like these that reminded you how much your life had changed since you met Paige. She had made you feel things you never thought you could—security, belonging, and, most of all, an unwavering sense of being loved.

But then she shifted slightly, pulling away just enough to look at you, and you caught that glimmer of hesitation in her eyes. It was subtle, but you had been with Paige long enough to know when she was mulling something over.

"What's on your mind?" you asked softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

She hesitated, biting her bottom lip before exhaling a short laugh. "Okay, so, I've been thinking about something..."

Your brow arched, curiosity piqued. "That doesn’t sound ominous at all."

Paige rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. "No, it’s nothing bad. Just—well, Christmas is coming up, and I was wondering..." She paused again, glancing down at where her hands were now fiddling with the hem of her hoodie. "Would you want to come home with me this year? To Minnesota? To celebrate with my family?"

You blinked, her words settling heavily in the air between you. Of all the things you thought she might say, this wasn’t even on the list.

"Your family?" you repeated, as if you hadn’t heard her right.

She nodded, her gaze lifting to meet yours. "Yeah. I mean, you’ve met some of them before, but not like this. Not as my girlfriend." She gave you a gummy smile, scratching the back of her neck, and it was rare to see her this nervous around you. "I just thought... you know, since you don’t usually celebrate Christmas and you don’t have any family around... maybe you could join us. I want you to be there. With me."

Her words were earnest, but they left you momentarily speechless. Your mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and doubts tangling together in a way that made it hard to focus.

What if they didn’t like you? What if you said the wrong thing or did something awkward? You’d never had the kind of big, supportive family Paige talked about so fondly. What if you just didn’t... fit?

You realized you’d been silent too long when Paige gently nudged your arm. "Hey," she said softly, her tone laced with concern. "You don’t have to say yes. I don’t want to pressure you or anything. I just thought... I’d ask."

"Are you sure?" you managed to say, your voice quieter than you intended. "I mean, are you sure you want me there? It’s your family’s Christmas. It’s... important."

Paige’s brows knit together, and she reached out to take your hand, lacing her fingers with yours. "I’m absolutely sure, baby. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t. You’re important to me, and I want you to be a part of this. I want you to see what Christmas is like with my family—our traditions, the chaos, all of it. I want to share it with you."

Her words were a balm to your fraying nerves, and for a moment, you just stared at her, taking in the sincerity etched across her face.

"Okay," you finally said, the word slipping out before you could overthink it. "I’ll go."

Paige’s face lit up instantly, her smile wide and genuine. "Really?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the lingering nerves. "Really. I mean, I’m probably going to embarrass myself at least five times, but I’ll go."

She laughed, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. "You’ll be perfect," she murmured against your mouth. "And even if you’re not, I’ll love you anyway."

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her close. "I guess I’ll have to trust you on that."

And as Paige melted into your embrace, her excitement already bubbling over as she started rambling about how much her family would love you, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something new in your chest.

The flight to Minnesota had been smooth, though the hum of anticipation in the air made the hours feel like they dragged on forever. Paige had insisted on sitting by the window, claiming it was her spot for every flight she’d ever taken, and you’d let her, settling in beside her while she pressed her forehead against the glass and pointed out things she thought looked cool from the sky.

“See that?” she’d said, her voice light and teasing as she gestured toward a cluster of houses dusted with snow. “That’s the exact size of the town you’ll move to when you retire from the league.”

“Wow, so you’re planning my entire life now?” you’d quipped, earning yourself a playful elbow to the side and that cocky grin of hers that you couldn’t help but adore.

“Our life.” The blonde casually corrected.

By the time you landed and grabbed your bags, the cold Minnesota air greeted you like a slap to the face. Paige, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed, even as you shivered despite the heavy coat you’d packed.

“Not a fan of the cold, huh?” she asked, her tone dripping with amusement as she effortlessly swung her duffel bag over one shoulder.

“It’s fucking freezing,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

“You’ll survive, princess.” she said with a smirk, leaning over to press a quick kiss to your temple. “Besides, I’ll keep you warm.”

You rolled your eyes, but the words made your heart flutter all the same.

The drive to her family home was short, but every minute seemed longer as you sat beside Paige, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. She was chatting about something—probably basketball or some ridiculous story about her brother—but you could barely focus. All you could think about was what awaited you: her family.

You’d met some of Paige’s family before—her dad, her stepmom, and her little brother Drew. Drew, in particular, had taken to you almost instantly, which Paige always liked to tease you about, claiming he liked you more than he liked her. But this time, it wasn’t just about meeting her family as her friend or teammate. This was the first Christmas where you’d be introduced as her girlfriend.

The weight of that reality settled in your chest as Paige drove the rented car, humming along to a playlist she’d thrown together, her hand resting casually on the gear shift.

“You’re quiet,” she said after a while, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

You shook your head, offering a small smile. “Just… thinking.”

“Thinking about how I’m the best girlfriend ever?” she teased, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Because if not, that’s a missed opportunity.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the grin that tugged at your mouth. “More like wondering if your family’s gonna like me as much when they know we’re dating.”

Paige scoffed, her confidence radiating as she gave a dismissive wave. “You’re kidding, right? They already love you. Drew’s basically ready to ditch me and make you his new sister.”

“That’s different,” you countered, your voice softer now. “It’s one thing to like me as your friend or teammate. It’s another to know I’m… with you.”

Paige slowed the car slightly as she reached for your hand, her fingers threading through yours. Her thumb brushed against your skin, grounding you.

“Listen,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “They’re gonna love you no matter what. And if they don’t? Screw ’em. But I’m telling you—they will. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” She lifted your hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss on the cold skin.

Her words worked their magic, easing some of the tension in your chest. You nodded, squeezing her hand in thanks.

“Plus,” she added with a sly grin, “if anyone tries to give you a hard time, just remind them you’re a pro baller while I’m still a college kid. Instant power move.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. Paige always had a way of making even the most stressful situations feel manageable.

When you pulled into the familiar driveway, the house was exactly how you remembered it: warm, inviting, and buzzing with life. Snow blanketed the yard, and the glow of Christmas lights framed the windows like a postcard.

Paige barely parked the car before Drew came bounding out of the front door, his grin wide as ever.

“Finally!” he shouted, jogging over to your side of the car. “You guys took forever. I was about to send a search party.”

Paige rolled her eyes as she stepped out, slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder. “Relax, we’re here now.”

You barely had time to grab your bag before Drew was pulling you into a tight hug, his excitement palpable.

“I missed you!” he said, his voice muffled slightly against your jacket.

“Missed you too, buddy,” you replied with a laugh, ruffling his hair.

Paige stood off to the side, hands on her hips as she watched the interaction with a mock scowl. “Unbelievable. I leave for, like, five months, and he acts like you’re the sister he hasn’t seen.”

Drew shot her a cheeky grin. “She’s way cooler and nicer than you.”

“Okay. Just forget everything I’ve done for you, i guess,” Paige deadpanned, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

Inside, Paige’s dad and stepmom greeted you both warmly, the familiarity of it all calming your nerves. Her dad gave you a firm side-hug and a pat on the shoulder, while her stepmom hugged you tightly, telling you how good it was to see you again.

“It’s been too long,” she said, stepping back to look at you. “Paige hasn’t been hogging all your time, has she?”

“Just a little.” you replied, your voice light as you glanced at Paige, who was smirking.

“Good,” her stepmom said with a wink. “Well, make yourselves at home. There’s plenty of food, and Drew’s been asking about you nonstop.”

“Obviously,” Paige muttered, earning a playful shove from her brother as he led you both into the living room.

By mid-afternoon, the house was buzzing even more than before. Paige’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, and a handful of cousins started arriving, bringing with them an abundance of chatter, hugs, and bags full of gifts. You’d barely caught your breath from Drew’s relentless teasing and jokes when you were swept into a whirlwind of introductions.

Paige, ever the calm and collected one, had one arm draped over your shoulder as she led you through the crowd. Her confidence was a lifeline, her voice steady as she introduced you to each family member.

“This is my girlfriend,” she said, her tone casual but filled with quiet pride.

The word girlfriend made your stomach flip every time, but you kept your smile steady, offering polite handshakes and warm greetings.

Her grandparents, a kind and slightly mischievous older couple, were the most memorable. Her grandmother immediately pulled you into a hug, whispering, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” you replied with a soft chuckle.

“Mostly,” her grandfather teased, shooting Paige a wink.

“Grandpa,” Paige warned, though her tone was light.

“Relax, kid,” he said, patting her on the back. “You’ve got good taste. We approve.”

Paige smirked, her hand squeezing your shoulder as if to say, See? Told you.

When dinner rolled around, you were starting to feel more at ease. The dining room was packed, the long table barely able to accommodate everyone. You found yourself seated between Paige and Drew, with her cousins spread out on the other side.

Throughout the meal, Paige stayed close, her hand occasionally brushing against yours under the table. At one point, when you thought no one was looking, she leaned in to whisper in your ear. “You look so beautiful right now. Makes me wanna eat you, instead of the food.”

“You’re really leaning into this whole domestic girlfriend role, huh?” you teased, glancing at her.

“Gotta keep you impressed somehow,” she shot back, her eyes glinting with flirtatious amusement.

Her cousins caught the exchange, one of them groaning dramatically. “Can you two not be so cute? Some of us are single and bitter.”

Paige snorted, tossing a bread roll at them with pinpoint accuracy. “Not my fault you can’t pull.”

The laughter and chaotic banter that followed was enough to make your chest feel a little lighter.

After dinner, the family transitioned into games, with Drew and Paige’s cousins dominating the living room for an intense round of charades. Paige dragged you into it despite your protests, her competitive streak flaring up once again.

When it was her turn to act out a movie, she took your hand and pulled you to the center of the room with her.

“You’re my partner,” she declared confidently, ignoring the groans from everyone else.

The two of you worked seamlessly, your dynamic so natural that you guessed “Home Alone” within seconds of her miming setting traps. The room erupted in groans and applause, Drew shouting, “Unfair advantage!”

“What can I say?” Paige said, pulling you close by the hips. “We’re a dream team.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in her gaze made your heart skip a beat.

Later, after the games had ended and most of the family had settled into conversations or dozed off in various corners of the house, you and Paige snuck away to the kitchen for some peace.

The house was still warm and lively, but here in the quiet glow of the fairy lights wrapped around the window, it felt like your own little world.

Paige leaned against the counter, a cup of hot cocoa in her hands. You stood beside her, the hum of distant laughter and chatter wrapping around you like a blanket.

“You holding up okay?” she asked, her voice softer now. Void of any teasing and her usual smirk, that you swore could be heard.

You nodded, turning to face her fully. “Your family’s amazing. Overwhelming, but amazing.”

She smiled, setting her cup down to close the distance between you. Her hands found your waist, her thumbs brushing over the fabric of the sweater her dad had given you. It only made you feel part of her family even more.

“They love you,” she said simply. “I told you they would.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always right,” you teased, your hands resting on her shoulders.

She smirked, her confidence returning in full force. “Don’t forget it.”

You laughed, but it faded into something softer as she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours.

“Merry Christmas, Ma.” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Merry Christmas, P.” you replied, your heart swelling as she kissed you, slow and sweet, under the soft glow of the lights.

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged. And as Paige’s arms wrapped around you tighter, holding you impossibly close, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

You stirred awake at the feeling of soft, warm lips pressing against your forehead, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose. A groggy groan left your lips as Paige's voice cut through the haze of sleep.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” she murmured, her voice warm with amusement as she continued peppering kisses across your face.

“Too early,” you mumbled, turning your head to bury it in the pillow.

Paige chuckled, tugging the blanket off you just enough to crawl closer, her weight sinking into the bed beside you. “Come on, it’s Christmas morning. Presents are waiting, and Drew’s already downstairs losing his mind. You’re not gonna make me carry you, are you?”

You groaned again, cracking one eye open to meet her amused gaze. “You’d carry me if I asked.”

Paige smirked, leaning down so her lips hovered over yours. “You’re right. I would.”

The way her words sent a rush of warmth through your chest was enough to finally convince you to sit up, though not without a dramatic sigh.

“Fine, fine,” you muttered. “Let me brush my teeth first, though. You may love me, but morning breath is still a thing.”

Paige rolled her eyes but pulled you into a quick kiss anyway before hopping off the bed, smirking when you stared at her in mock betrayal. “Hurry up, or Drew’s opening all the presents without us.”

The living room was warm and bustling, the faint smell of cinnamon rolls wafting in from the kitchen. Paige’s dad and stepmom were sipping coffee on the couch, while Drew sat cross-legged near the tree, eyeing the stack of presents like a predator watching its prey.

“Finally!” Drew exclaimed when you and Paige walked in, his energy contagious. “Can we start now?”

Paige smirked, leading you to a spot on the floor near the tree. “Go ahead, dude. You’re first.”

Drew wasted no time, tearing through the presents from his parents and sister like it was a sport. The last box in his pile was from you, and he paused, glancing at you with a curious grin.

“This one’s from you, right?” he asked, already pulling at the paper.

“Yup,” you said with a nod, leaning back against Paige. “Hope you like it.”

The moment he got the box open, his jaw dropped. Inside was a pair of custom Nike basketball shoes in his favorite color, his jersey number stitched onto the side, along with a few small, personalized details—his initials, a subtle design of his favorite team’s logo, and a motivational quote you’d heard Paige repeat to him once during practice.

“Yo!” Drew exclaimed, holding the shoes up like they were a trophy. “These are so sick!” He jumped to his feet, throwing himself at you for a bear hug that nearly knocked you backward. “This is the coolest present ever! Thank you!”

You laughed, hugging him back. “I’m glad you like them, Drew.”

“Like them? I love them!” he said, grinning ear to ear as he slipped them on to admire how they looked.

Next, everyone unwrapped their gifts in turns, each one from you met with smiles, laughter, and gratitude. Paige’s dad unwrapped a sleek leather wallet with his initials engraved on it, while her stepmom gasped at the elegant bracelet you’d picked out for her.

Then it was Paige’s turn.

You handed her a neatly wrapped box, and she raised an eyebrow at the size and weight of it. Carefully peeling away the paper, she opened the box to reveal a stunning, customized Rolex. The watch gleamed with purple accents, subtle bedazzling, and an engraving on the inside of the band: ‘Time stops when I’m with you.’

Paige blinked, her usually confident demeanor faltering for just a second as she stared at the watch. Then her lips curled into a grin as she held it up to the light.

“You seriously got me a Rolex?” she asked, her tone hovering between amused and impressed.

You shrugged, biting back a smile. “I didn’t know what to get you. I spoil you with personalized and sentimental stuff all the time, so I figured I’d go all out for christmas.”

Paige leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You didn’t have to, but I’m not complaining. It’s perfect. Thank you, baby.”

Finally, it was your turn. There was a neat stack of gifts with your name on them, but Paige’s was the smallest—a tiny box that she handed to you with a smirk.

“Is this an engagement ring?” you teased, holding the box up dramatically.

Paige only smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Not yet,” she said, her voice steady and confident.

That response made your heart skip a beat, and you gave her a mock glare to cover up how flustered you felt. “Don’t say things like that so casually.”

You opened the box to find a gold necklace with a charm in the shape of a basketball, engraved with the date of your first game together at UConn.

“Paige,” you whispered, your fingers brushing over the charm as a lump formed in your throat.

“Do you like it?” she asked, watching your expression closely.

You nodded, unable to stop the smile that broke across your face. “I love it. Thank you.”

Paige grinned, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Merry Christmas, mama.”

The rest of the morning was spent surrounded by warmth, laughter, and the sound of wrapping paper being crumpled and tossed aside. And for the first time in years, you felt like Christmas truly had a place in your heart—thanks to Paige and the family that welcomed you with open arms.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies

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arilevenatz · 3 days ago

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Chasing Shadows

Pairing: popular guy!yeosang x chubby!fem!reader

Genre: Angst (?), fluff

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: kinda frat boy yeosang, him and his friends are handsome (yes that's a warning), reader has anxiety, she is also insecure, anxiety attacks, yeo is cheeky, like really cheeky, you might wanna flick him a bit, bestfriend! San and wooyoung, suicide mentioned, lmk if I missed any!!

AN: y'all bear with me this is my first time posting on Tumblr, I'm still figuring out stuff. I had a dream about this and I decided that I'm gonna write a yeo fic. And also please reblog and like, so I can get more motivated!!

Yeosang was a quiet and smart guy in the class. He used to talk only when spoken to. Except his little friend group, well maybe not so little. All the students seem to respect him of some sort. He and his group almost seemed, untouchable. Not like they were the popular group or something. Neither were they hostile. They were just really handsome. The whole group looked like they walked out of a movie set of a kdrama.

You were not new to this. But not particularly known as well. Honestly you didn't care. You stopped caring since high school. The only thing you knew about him was that he was a guy from a group.....and he was good at maths. You were a normal student, yes, maybe you scored the top score in Psychology in your college anyone has ever had, but that's just irrelevant right? In the end, nobody cares.

But you were wrong, he cares. So much so that he came and sat beside you in English class. Not particularly unlikely for someone to sit beside you. You usually didn't even care. But he isn't just somebody. He is the Yeosang. The same guy that all the girls swooned over just cuz he showed his birthmark. What's so impressive about birthmarks anyway? It's just a mark.

At first, you didn't care. But then it started to repeat. Everyday he would come and sit beside you (cause language classes were mandatory everyday) and heck you were not liking the attention you were getting.

"Hey, you should not get close to yeosang or anyone in their group. I heard they are gangsters" "I heard they are no good" "They are in a satanic cult where they sell their souls to the devil to live for eternity!!"

Yeah needless to say people had some crazy rumours about them. You? you didn't care. And also who the fuck would sell their soul to live forever. You'd rather do that to die painlessly, cause life. But for some reason, they seem to keep their distance from the group but admire them from afar. Almost as if they are scared of them.

Anyway people are quick to come to conclusions. But you were not like that. You were annoyed. Like why the fuck you sitting next to me dude go away. But of course you're an unproud introvert. You can't just tell him to leave that's rude. So you did the next best thing. Just sit somewhere else. If he really liked that seat, he could have his nook. You're gonna go and distance yourself. Not cause you are scared of him, but you know just to be careful. (Keep gaslighting yourself queen)

Yeosang walks into the classroom and scans the big room, his eyes narrowing as he doesn't see you in your usual seat. His headphones in he hesitantly approaches the desk where you're now sitting and pulls out the chair beside you, sitting down heavily. You mentally slap your forehead. This really is helping your reputation.

Yeosang looks at you with a raised eyebrow, clearly confused. He glances around the room, noticing the other students staring at you both. After a moment of silence, he turns back to you and notices your ears are red. He asks in a low tone, "What's going on? Why are you sitting somewhere else today?" Wow he's talking to me now

Yeosang gaze stills, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're avoiding me because of what people are saying about me, isn't it?" His voice is deep, but oddly quiet. It was something you've never heard before. And you couldn't pinpoint his emotions.

"Well kinda. But that doesn't mean I actually believe them. I just don't like people." You say thinking you weirded him out and hoping he'll leave you alone assuming you're an antisocial animal.

A flicker of something passes through Yeosang's eyes at your blunt response. He uncrosses his arms and leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "I get it. You don't trust easily. Neither do I." He pauses, considering his words carefully. Bro stop talking to me ?!

You don't react to his words and just look at the front. Your whole face feels warm. It's that feeling you get when you're embarrassed. Feeling everyone's eyes on you. You felt anxious, thinking everyone was judging you. You hate this feeling. You felt exposed to everyone. Even though they don't give two shits about you. It's that bubbling feeling inside the pit of your stomach. The heaviness in your chest. That shakiness in your hands and legs. You really felt like it would be nice if the floor split in half and eat you alive.

The class finish and you quickly pack up and leave, avoiding him again. Yeosang watches you rush out the door without a backward glance. His looks at your leaving figure with a thoughtful expression. The next day, he arrives early to claim the seat next to you again, determined to break through your walls.

As the class enters, Yeosang is already seated in your usual spot, his arms crossed and pen spinning in his hand. His presence seems to command the attention of the room, but he pays no mind to the whispers or curious glances directed at him. Instead, his focus is fixed on the doorway, waiting for your arrival. When you finally enter, he notices how you hesitate at the sight of him already occupying your seat. It was then when he looked down and started to scribble something in his notebook. You try to skip the vacant seat beside him and go further behind but he reaches out and grabs your backpack, pulling it onto the empty seat beside him. He continues to write, his pen scratching against the paper in a steady rhythm. After a moment, he glances up and meets your gaze, his expression unreadable. "You're late".

You sit down quietly, take off your glasses and rub your face, ignoring him. Here we go again, I'm tired of this shit.. What does a girl do to have some peace? Witnessing your frustration, a slight smile appears on his lips as he reaches for your glasses. "Hey," he says in a low voice, just audible enough for you to hear. His fingers brush against yours as he takes the glasses from your hand, then deliberately places them back on your face, adjusting them slightly. "Wear them"

The teacher comes in and starts to teach. You sit there, staring blankly at the teacher writing on the board, but your mind is elsewhere. You replay the moment he adjusted your glasses, trying to read into his expression. You begin to imagine that he looked disgusted, that he must think you're hideous without your glasses on. You can't help but feel self-conscious. You catch yourself unconsciously touching your glasses, as if to double-check they're still there. You imagine him whispering to his friends about how ugly you look without them, how he's only sitting next to you as a joke. You felt yourself picking at your finger nails, your legs bouncing up and down continuously with the approaching thoughts.

During a brief moment when the teacher turns away to write on the board, Yeosang leans in closer to you. His voice is low and barely audible, "Stop picking at your nails, it's distracting" He says it bluntly, without any real malice, before returning his attention to the lecture.

"Im sorry" you apologise quietly. Wait why the fuck did I apologise, I did nothing wrong.

Over the next few days, a pattern emerges. Yeosang continues to sit next to you in class, trying to engage in conversation, but you always find a way to shut him down or quickly change the subject. He notices that you avoid him between classes, always taking a different route. You think it's working, driving him away slowly. Maybe he'll realise you really are weird and will leave you alone. But something quite opposite happens.

Yeosang starts to get frustrated with the constant rebuffs. He can't understand why you're so hostile towards him, especially since he's trying to be friendly. One day, as you're walking down the hallway, he blocks your path, forcing you to stop and look at him. "What's your problem?"

"What is your problem?" You say, as he blocks your path with his body. "My problem? You're the one who's been acting like I've got a disease every time I try to talk to you." You open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it. "You're always shutting me down, avoiding me, and picking at those damn nails of yours. It's like you can't stand my presence."

You look down, sighing loudly and look up to him. "Then take the damn sign man, I don't wanna talk to you or engage in any activity that involves you" yeah that'll do, that gotta be the most rude thing you say to anyone, that'll definitely shoo him off. But again, the universe says fuck you and the opposite happens. Yeosang's eyes widen in surprise at your blunt words. For a moment, he stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, he bursts into laughter - a deep, genuine sound that echoes through the hallway. This fucker-

"What's so funny?" you ask, clearly embarrassed. Yeosang continues to laugh, his shoulders shaking as he looks you up and down. When he finally composes himself, he wipes tears from his eyes and says, "Damn, I like you even more now. You're fucking hilarious. Alright, fine, I'll take the sign."

He did not take the sign. Yes he did stop directly talking to me, but he won't actually leave me alone. He is still in the shadows. He stopped sitting beside me but went behind me. He stopped walking with me but started following me around.

Yeosang finds your stubborn refusal to engage endearing rather than frustrating. Instead of backing off as you hoped, he shifts tactics. He maintains a subtle presence in your peripheral vision. You catch glimpses of him behind you in class, always watching. At lunch one day, yeosang casually sits at the table next to yours with a group of his friends. He doesn't look at you directly, but you can feel his eyes flicking in your direction

Yeosang's friends chat with him, but he only half-listens, his attention constantly drifting to you. He murmurs something to them, and they glance over at you, exchanging curious looks. His friend, wooyoung asks him "yo man, how's your pursuing that girl going?" Another guy, San, says "I don't know if you can call it pursuing dawg, all he does is follow the girl around the college like a creep." Wooyoung pops a cookie in his mouth and says "Damn man, I didn't know you were like this"

"Shut up about her." His tone is casual, but there's an edge to it - protectiveness almost. He keeps his voice low enough that only they can hear, "She's... different. Fuck, I don't know why, but she's got me twisted up." Wooyoung grins mischievously, "Ah ha! You're falling for her aren't you? You're actually trying to chase a girl who isn't subtly throwing herself at you." He laughs, nudging yeosang's arm. "But that's not really gonna work is it? you need to fucking commit to it"

Yeosang's expression darkens slightly, his eyes narrowing. He takes a swig of his soda before responding, "What do you suggest then, genius? You think I should just walk up to her and...?" He leaves the sentence hanging, waiting for Wooyoung's input. "Yes, you should" San says without missing a beat. San's straightforward approach makes him smirk, but a flash of uncertainty crosses his face. "And what if she..." He pauses, running a hand through his styled hair "... what if she thinks I'm weird?" His eyes shift in your direction for a brief moment before focusing back on his friends. "Bruh, the way you've been acting all these days, she probably already thinks of you like that by now"

Yeosang scoffs, shaking his head disbelievingly. "Fuck, when you put it like that..." He leans back in his chair, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, his silver chain catching the light. "Maybe it's time to switch things up then."

The library is large and quiet, with tall bookshelves filling the room. The shelves are packed with books of all colors. Sunlight shines through colorful windows, making pretty patterns on the floor. A few students sit quietly, reading or studying. It's a peaceful place to think and learn. As you enter the library, the usual silence is interrupted only by the rustling of pages and the occasional whisper. You find a quiet corner to sit down and start reading. After a few minutes, you hear footsteps approaching. You don't pay much attention, assuming it's just another student.

You felt them sit down across from you. Your body tenses slightly as you notice the movement, causing you to glance up from your book. Through your peripheral vision, you catch sight of the person who just sat down across from you - it's him again. It's been weeks since he has been silently following you around, but now he approached you again.

His presence looms oddly, a juxtaposition in this sanctum of silence. He gazes at you, an unreadable expression on his chiseled face, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the cover of a thick tome he's brought with him. "Hey." You answered him silently "hey...." He leans forward slightly, the movement causing the leather of his jacket to creak softly. "Look... I know you probably think I'm being kinda creepy and shit..." He runs a hand through his messy dark hair, looking uncomfortable for once, unlike his usual composed demeanor.

He takes a deep breath, as if gathering his thoughts. "I just... I wanted to talk to you, ya know? You're different from the other girls at school. You're always so... quiet, so focused on your books."

"You're so different, you're the most unique girl I've ever met. You're my type, are you gonna say this? All those lame shit people say in movies? Please stop mocking me" His expression freezes for a moment, caught off guard by your blunt response. Then, to your surprise, he lets out a low, genuine laugh. "Shit, you're right. That was cheesy as hell." He shakes his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. You were listening to him. But something inside you stirred and you felt angry. You remembered all those times those people in middle and high school bullied you. All those times you felt that every time you entered the room, everyone looked at your body and you felt insecure. All those times your family members indirectly forced you to believe that you can only be loved when you lose weight. And you snapped. "stop mocking me. I know people like you. you guys go up to girls like me and say you like them only to say 'April fools' or say 'its a dare' later. I hate guys like you"

His grin fades, his expression turning serious, but his eyes still hold a glint of mischief. "You really think that's what I'm doing?" He tilts his head to the side, studying your face intently. He maintains eye contact, his expression unreadable. He sees the suspicion in your eyes, and it only seems to fuel his mischievous glint. He leans forward, his voice lowering. "Let me ask you something..." He studies your face intently, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "First off... do I look like I have a problem finding girls to talk to?" He gestures to himself, a hint of pride in his tone. "And second..." His voice drops lower as he deliberately maintains eye contact. "Second what?" You shout.

"No shouting in the library student!" The librarian warned you. You sit back down embarrassed and all red.

He laughs a little and says "Second, would I really waste my time pretending to like someone just to play an April Fool's prank?" His words send a shiver down your spine as he pulls back, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or maybe..." He looks at you with a half-smirk, half-serious expression "You're actually quite... interesting. Not many people stand up to me like you do." His eyes crinkle again as he studies your reaction "And hey..." He reaches over and lightly taps your finger. You retreat your hand from his touch. His expression shifts to a playful pout, though his eyes still hold a glint of amusement "Wow, so I'm not even worthy of a tiny hand tap?" You shake your head as a 'No'. He leans back in his chair, studying your defensive posture with interest "You're not scared of me, are you?" He chuckles low in his throat, his gaze never leaving yours even though you fail to keep eye contact, "listen, can I not just like you? I like you. I want to be with you"

"No! people don't simply like girls like me" you felt like crying, but you can't. His expression turns mockingly serious, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, so you're saying you're not likeable? You think I can't like you because you're... what?" He crosses his arms, leaning forward again, his curiosity piqued. You were getting annoyed.

"You know what I am"

"No I don't"

"Fuck. Fine! Im fat and ugly"

His face freezes and for a moment, he looks genuinely shocked. But then, he lets out a harsh laugh. "Fat and ugly? He shakes his head, his gaze raking over your form appraisingly. "You really think that's what I see when I look at you?"

"You don't need to look at me like that, I am like that so fuck off I don't need you laughing at my face."

You stand up harshly, take your bag and walk outside the library. He follows you and grabs your upper arm, not harshly but firmly enough to hold your attention. "Listen carefully..." His voice softens, losing its usual mocking tone. "I'm not some creep who goes around lying to get in girls' pants." You open your mouth to say something but he quickly shuts you off. "You know what I see when I look at you? I see someone who's honest, even if it hurts. I see someone who's strong, even when they feel weak. And I see someone who's fucking beautiful, inside and out."

"Everyone says that but that's actually never true!"

"Then tell me, what do you see when you look in the mirror? Because whoever made you believe these lies about yourself? That person's fucking blind."

"Im not about to start talking to you as if you're my therapist. You let me go"

He loosens the grip but still holds onto your hand. "Alright, But just so we're clear? You're not fat, and you're definitely not ugly. You can tell me why you feel that way"

You wriggle your hand out of his hold and finally look at him. You've had enough.

"Fine, you wanna know? I am chubby, and I'm ok with that, I have no problem being chubby. it's just tiring for me because ppl always make it seem like I'm some disgusting things that doesn't deserve humanity" you take a breath and star again, "And you cannot say anything to me because you wanted this, you wanted me to say all these"

You look down, feeling defeated. It's so weird to word these things to someone, considering you had no one growing up. No siblings, no bestfriends, no close cousins. Even your parents never listened or talked to you about how you felt. You were truly tired. You felt two hands hold your shoulder. You look up, and it's Yeosang.

"People are fucking idiots. And the fact that you're okay with being yourself makes you hotter than anyone who tries to fit into some bullshit beauty standard." His jaw clenches at your words, a hint of something flashing in his eyes. He looked angry.

"Those assholes can keep their narrow-minded opinions. Because someone who stands up for themselves like you just did? Someone who owns their worth instead of begging for validation"

His gaze intensifies, filled with a newfound respect and... something deeper. "That's the kind of person who deserves to be cherished. And anyone who can't see that? They're the ones who are fucking ugly, inside and out."

He sees the unspoken acknowledgment in your eyes, the silent absorption of his words. It's the first time he's seen you listen so intently, without pushing him away or rolling your eyes. He swallows hard, realizing the power of his words on you.

His monologue ended. And it was everything you wanted to hear all these days. The words you wanted your parents to say to you, the words you needed. He said everything. It was the first time in a while you felt like you can actually believe someone. But you were not like this. Circumstances made you so that you push away everyone. And that has become your nature. If I can push them away before they can, I won't be hurt.

"I appreciate your words towards me, but I don't know anything about your confession. I-I don't think so I can accept it"

He nods slowly, a small smile playing on his lips. "I get it. It's a lot to take in, especially coming from a person like me." He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell you what - how about I show you my worth?"

You look up at him, bewildered. What does he want. Is he crazy? Has he lost his marbles? Is he that bored? All these questions flood your mind but only one thing slips out of your mouth, "huh?" His smile grows wider, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "You know, prove to you that I'm not just some dumb guy who talks big." He pauses, studying your face. "I'll do something for you. Something that shows you I'm more than just words. I'll court you"

You were speechless. "I-I don't need-"

He puts a finger on your lips to shut you up. "Let me finish," He says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm not doing this to pressure you or anything stupid like that. I just want a chance to show you who I really am, beyond the tough act."

Looking at your eyes, he realised how hurt you were. He exhales slowly, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes that he rarely lets anyone see. "I know I'm not the prince charming type. But maybe that's a good thing. Maybe you deserve someone who fights for you, who understands the real world and all its fucked up beauty."

The next day, as you walk into college, you catch him standing beside the gate. Wearing his signature black attire with silver accessories. As you walked towards the gate, he saw you and he got off the wall and walked towards you. He stops in front of you, his hands in his pockets as he looks down at you with a small smile. "Morning," He says, his voice casual but with an underlying warmth. "I was waiting for you."

"Good morning" you look around and see people look at you for a moment and then look away. It made your face feel hot from embarrassment.

He holds your cheeks and moves your face towards him "don't look at them. ignore them" You both start walking towards the class. As they walk side by side, Yeosang couldn't help but let out a light chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "You know, I never thought I'd be one for this whole 'gentleman' thing. But here I am, walking you to class like some corny love story."

You were quick with your answer, "You wanted this. I'm positive by the end of this week, you won't want to be with me"

His smile fades a bit at your words, a hint of seriousness entering his eyes. "And why's that?" He asks, his voice low and even. "You think you're that hard to handle?" He smirks, but there's an underlying challenge in his gaze. You wait for him, to say further, but he waits for your answer. You look to the side, taking in a breath and say "Yes."

He stops walking abruptly, turning to face you directly. His expression is intense, a blend of amusement and determination. "Well, guess what? I've dealt with thorns, I've tangled with barbs, I've faced off against the sharpest minds and the coldest hearts."

You stare at him for a while and then "damn you really did become philosophical"

He barks out a short, surprised laugh, shaking his head as he starts walking again, this time more aggressively. "Philosophical? Nah, just stating facts." He glances at you sideways, a mischievous glint in his eye. You shake your head and follow him to the class.

Over the next few days, Yeosang continues to act like your doting boyfriend, much to the confusion and entertainment of your classmates. He walks you to class, sits with you at lunch, and even "accidentally" brushes your hands during lessons.

After school one day, he suddenly grabs your hand and starts dragging you towards the nearby ice cream shop. When you resist, he stops and turns to face you with a stubborn expression. "Come on, I'm buying you ice cream. Don't make a scene."

"I don't want ice cream"

He ignores your protests, opening the door to the ice cream shop and practically pushing you inside. "you're getting it anyway, pick a flavour"

Eventually you were forced to have a large ice cream cone with chocolate and Butter scotch, your two favourite flavours.

You both start walking towards your house "I don't like when people spend money on me" He shrugs it off, "Too bad, I spent the money anyway." He says nonchalantly, walking beside you with his hands shoved in his pockets. As you get closer to your house, he pauses and looks at you sideways, "You going to invite me in now?"

He wants to come inside my house now?

"in my house? My mom's in the house"

He looks at the door for a bit, then "how about I talk to my future mom in law beforehand and ask for her daughter's hand in marriage now." and walk right in as you had unlocked the door. You run to stop him but the damage was already done.

Yeosang finds himself standing in a neat, tidy living room. A woman with short, dark hair and piercing eyes is sitting on the couch, reading a book. She looks up as he enters and her gaze locks onto him. For a moment, Yeosang is taken aback by the intensity of her stare.

You trail behind, shocked by the ongoing staring contest between them.

He clears his throat professionally, straightening his posture "Good evening ma'am. I'm Kang Yeosang, your daughter's classmate. I was hoping we could have a word." He maintains a polite, respectful tone despite his usual confident demeanor, feeling the weight of this mother's presence.

The woman closes her book and places it on the coffee table. She stands up slowly, her eyes never leaving Yeosang's face. "You're yeosang" she states, her voice cold and calculated. "Sit down," she instructs, gesturing to the chair across from her. He moves to sit down carefully, maintaining eye contact with her while keeping his body language respectful. His usual charm falters slightly in the face of her stern presence. "I promise, I have the best intentions with your daughter."

Your mom raises an eyebrow skeptically as she leans forward, elbows resting on her knees. "that's for me to decide"

Shit yeosang thinks.

He takes a deep breath, leaning back slightly and offering what he hopes is a disarming smile. "Of course, ma'am. I wouldn't dream of imposing or presuming anything." He glances around the room, noting that there are no family pictures nor unnecessary decor. Noticing the notably stern air and lack of familial photographs surrounding him, yeosang's confidence dips even further. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly wishing he had practiced this conversation in more depth. "I, uh... I truly care about her, ma'am."

"I understand that but what is it that you want?" Your mother asks him softly but with an underlying aggression.

He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "I mean, ma'am, that I have developed strong feelings for your daughter. I respect and admire her greatly, and I would like the opportunity to pursue a relationship with her, with your blessing and guidance."

Honestly, if you had popcorn, you'd be very entertained. Kinda well if you exclude the part that you might get your ass whooped after he leaves creating a big mess. But you hold your breath.

Your mother's expression remains unreadable, her eyes scrutinizing Yeosang intently. "You're asking for my permission to date my daughter?" She asks flatly, her tone leaving no room for misinterpretation.

he nods "yes ma'am"

She steeples her fingers, tapping her index fingers thoughtfully against her lips. "I see." She sits back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Tell me, yeosang, how can I let my daughter be with you, if I don't know anything about your future, family. I don't want her to have a miserable life and for that you need to have a job"

"yes ma'am. That's why I have everything sorted out. Im good ataths and have dreams of persuing higher Education in it. if not I have intrest in becoming a professor. and if that fails as well, I have my father's company. but ofcourse, that is the last option"

Damn that was kinda hot. Wait, brain, wtf?

Your mother nods slowly, seeming to consider his words carefully. "A good education and a solid career path. Those are important things for a man to have." She pauses, her gaze drifting to the door for a moment before snapping back at him. "But tell me, yeosang"

"Are you prepared to handle the pressure and responsibilities that come with being in a relationship with my daughter? she has been severely depressed and suicidal for the past 8 years after her dad lost everything and committed suicide" Her voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

You felt betrayed, by your own mother. You were shocked, hurt and mostly, sad that she exposed this. You were always reserved about your feelings, shutting them off from everybody. But hearing this made you felt exposed, naked almost

Yeosang's expression softens as he realizes the gravity of your situation. He leans forward earnestly, his eyes filled with sincerity and determination. "Ma'am, I understand completely. I know I'm asking for a big responsibility. But please believe me when I say that I'm ready to stand by your daughter through thick and thin. I have experience dealing with mental health issues, as my own aunt struggled with depression for years. I know it's not an easy path, but I'm committed to supporting and loving her unconditionally."

Your mother studies him intently, her hard exterior cracking slightly to reveal a glimmer of hope and relief in her eyes. "You're a good man, Yeosang. Most boys your age would run away screaming at the thought of dealing with something like this"

He shrugs and says something that made your eyes tear,

"I love her ma'am"

Your mother's expression softens further, a rare smile tugging at her lips. "I can see that you truly care for my daughter. That's the most important thing to me." She pauses, her mind made up. "You have my blessing to date my daughter, Yeosang."

AN: whooo I got this done guys clap in the comments. I hope y'all enjoyed this and if you did, please reblog so I can reach even more people. I love yalllll

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helioooss · 19 hours ago

Text

isolation caved in, i adore you; the sound of your skin

synopsis: you and minjeong get caught up in a dating scandal — all along, she realises she has been in love with you.

warnings: flufffff

w/c: 3k+

a/n: another short story…it’s 2:30am and i couldn’t really sleep.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the faint buzzing of your phone on the nightstand jolted you awake, the sound cutting through the quiet of your small apartment; the dim light from the screen cast shadows across the room as you reached for it, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

minjeong’s name lit up on display, accompanied by a string of missed calls that made your stomach twist with unease.

she never called like this, not unless something was wrong.

“hello?” your voice came out rough, still thick with sleep, as you pressed the phone to your ear.

there was silence for a moment, save for the faint sound of her breathing on the other end. you sat up straighter, the worry bubbling up in your chest.

“mindungie?” you tried again, softer this time. “what’s going on? are you okay?”

her reply was a shaky inhale, followed by a soft sniffle that made your heart drop. “i’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “i didn’t want to bother you.”

“you’re crying,” you said, your voice laced with concern. “don’t apologise, i’m here.”

another pause, heavy and suffocating. then, in a voice so small it was almost inaudible, she said: “i’m in another dating scandal.”

your chest tightened at her words. she had faced scandals before — being in the public eye in one of the most popular girl groups in the world meant she was no stranger to baseless rumours and invasive speculation but hearing her cry over it was completely new.

“what’s sm doing about it this time?” you asked, already trying to piece together a plan in your head. “aren’t they handling it?”

“they want me to take a hiatus,” she said bitterly, her voice trembling. “alongside my recent surgery; they think it’s the best way to let things settle, but it’s not just about me this time. it’s affecting other people…people who don’t deserve this.”

your heart ached at the frustration in her voice and the way she sounded so defeated. you hated this; hated how the world wouldn’t leave her alone, wouldn’t let her live without dissecting every moment of her life.

“it’ll settle down,” you reassured gently, even though you weren’t sure if you believed it yourself. “it always does. people will move on to the next thing soon enough.”

“not this time,” she mumbled, her voice quieter now, tinged with something close to despair. “this one’s different.”

you frowned, the weight of her words sinking in. “what do you mean? who are they saying you’re with?”

there was a long pause, the kind that made your chest tighten with dread. you could hear her breathing, uneven and shallow, as if she was trying to muster the courage to answer.

finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “you.”

the word hung in the air and for a moment, you weren’t sure you’d heard her correctly.

“me?” you repeated, making sure you heard correctly.

“yeah,” she said, letting out a bitter, shaky laugh. “they’ve got all these photos…ones from when we were kids and some from the last time i visited busan. they’re saying we’ve been secretly dating for years.”

your mind raced as her words sank in. you thought of all the moments the two of you had shared, ones that were so innocent but now felt heavy under the weight of her confession.

the time she’d visited you at the restaurant, laughing as she stole bites of your food; the long walks along haeundae beach, where she’d tease you about how much slower you’d gotten since you were kids.

moments that had always felt like yours alone — twisted into something you hadn’t prepared for.

“that’s ridiculous,” you replied firmly, though your voice wavered just slightly. “they’re just making things up like they always do. anyone who knows us would know it’s not true.”

“it’s not about what’s true,” she added, her voice breaking again. “it’s about what they can make people believe. and they’ve done a good job. it looks…convincing.”

your stomach twisted at her words, the dread settling deep in your chest. “have you looked at it?”

“yeah,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “and it’s bad. really bad.”

you clenched your jaw, anger and protectiveness bubbling up inside you. “minjeong, you know none of this matters, right? the people who care about you, the people who know us, you — they won’t believe it.”

“but it’s not just about me,” her voice trembled. “it’s about you, too. they’re saying things — terrible things about you, digging into your life. our lives in busan. i didn’t want this for you.”

you’d always known the risks of being close to her, of staying a constant in her life even after she became a star but you never imagined being dragged into her world like this; exposed in a way that felt so violating.

“i don’t care what they say about me,” you insisted, though the knot in your stomach told a different story. “what matters is you. we’ll get through this. we always do.”

she let out a shaky breath, her voice softer now. “please don’t look it up,” she begged. “it’ll only hurt you, and i don’t want that. promise me, please.”

the curiosity was already gnawing at you, but the desperation in her voice was enough to make you falter.

“i’ll try,” you answered eventually, though you weren’t sure if you could keep that promise. “but you’re not alone in this, okay? you don’t have to carry it all by yourself. and you’ve done nothing wrong.”

she didn’t respond right away, but you could hear her breathing slow slightly, as if your words had brought her even the smallest bit of comfort.

“can i come over?” she asked after a moment, her voice small and tentative. “i’m back in busan for a week or two.”

“of course,” you said without hesitation. “you can stay as long as you need.”

“thank you,” she whispered and for the first time since the call started, her voice carried a faint trace of relief. “i’ll be there in a minute, see you, y/n.”

“okay,” you hummed with a smile. “be safe.”

when the call ended, you set your phone down and leaned back against the headboard, staring at the faint glow of the streetlights outside your window. your mind was a storm of thoughts — worry for her, anger at the situation…and a quiet, nagging fear about what this would mean for the fragile boundary you’d built between friendship and the feelings you harboured for years.

as much as you hated to admit it; a small selfish part of you felt the weight of her words differently. they thought she was in love with you. and no matter how false the rumour was, it struck a chord in you that you tried to bury a long time ago.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the small kitchen was quiet except for the soft clink of the spoon against the teacup as you stirred the honey into the warm chamomile tea. the warm light above the stove cast a faint glow on the countertop, highlighting the steam rising from the mug.

on the side, you’d set out a small plate of chocolates — the mint chocolate ones she always liked. it wasn’t much, but it was all you could think of in the middle of the night, your hands moving on autopilot.

your mind drifted, as it often did when it came to her. minjeong. winter. her name alone carried a weight in your chest that you’d grown used to over the years but never quite knew how to handle.

you have loved her for as long as you could remember, though you’d never dared to say it out loud — not to her, not even to yourself most days.

it was easier to keep it buried, to cherish the friendship you had without risking everything by wanting more. but now, it felt like the fragile balance you’d built was falling apart.

this scandal, these rumours — they were forcing everything to the surface and it terrified you.

what if she believed it? what if she looked at you and saw the truth you’d been hiding all this time? worse, what if it ruined everything?

the thought of losing her was unbearable.

resting your hands on the counter to steady yourself, you heaved out a sigh. the fear clawed at you; relentless and unyielding. you didn’t want her to think there was any truth to the rumours or make her feel uncomfortable around you. all you wanted was to protect her.

your gaze drifted to your phone on the counter, the curiosity too strong to ignore. she’d begged you not to look, but your fingers moved before you could stop them, typing your name and hers into the search bar.

almost instantly, the top result caught your eye — a youtube link with over a million views. the title read: aespa winter and y/n: secret love through the years.

your stomach dropped as you hesitated, then tapped on the link. the video began playing, a soft piano melody accompanying a slideshow of photos.

the first few were ones you recognised: pictures from your childhood, back when you and minjeong were just kids running around the streets of busan; they were harmless, ones you’ve shared to the public.

then came the more recent ones and your breath hitched. you didn’t even know where the fans had found these photos, but they all told the same story.

the two of you, close and comfortable, looking at each other like no one else existed. in every frame, your gaze lingered on her like she held the universe in her hands.

and then came the details — the matching necklaces, the ones you’d ordered from japan for her 21st birthday, customised with her initials and a small star charm. the video even included clips of minjeong talking about you in interviews, her voice warm and full of affection as she called you her rock, her safe place.

it was overwhelming and your chest tightened with a mix of emotions — fear, longing, guilt. you hadn’t realised how obvious your feelings were, how much they’d been captured in fleeting moments you thought were private.

you closed the video quickly, the knot in your throat threatening to choke you. you couldn’t let her see the truth, not like this.

a sudden, soft knock at the door startled you, pulling you out of your thoughts. your heart jumped as you turned towards the sound. wiping your hands on your toy story pyjamas, you walked to the door and opened it slowly.

there she was.

minjeong stood in the hallway, her small frame wrapped in an oversized hoodie, the sleeves hanging past her hands. a black hat and mask covered most of her face, but her red and swollen eyes were unmistakable.

she looked utterly exhausted and before you could say a word, she stepped inside and crashed into you, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she buried her face in your shoulder.

her body trembled as she started crying again, her muffled sobs breaking whatever composure you’d managed to hold onto.

“i’m so sorry,” she choked out between breaths, her voice cracking. “i’m so, so sorry.”

you froze for a moment, overwhelmed by her sudden closeness, but then your arms moved on instinct, holding her tightly.

“hey,” you whispered, your voice soft and steady, though your heart was racing. “it’s okay. you don’t have to apologise.”

“it’s not okay,” she sobbed, her words coming out in gasps. “you don’t deserve this and i don’t know how to fix it.”

you closed your eyes, resting your chin gently on the top of her head. “we’ll figure it out,” you reassured, your voice firm despite the storm inside you. “you’re not alone in this. i’m here.”

she clung to you like a lifeline, her sobs slowly quieting as you held her and closed the door behind you. the scent of her floral shampoo filled your senses, grounding you in the moment. you didn’t know how long you stood there but you didn’t care. all that mattered was her and the promise you’d made to be there, no matter what.

when she finally pulled back, her face was flushed, her eyes red and puffy. she wiped at them with her sleeve, looking small and vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.

“thank you,” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “for everything.”

you shook your head, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “you don’t have to thank me, mindungie. just…come sit on the couch. i made us some tea.”

her lips twitched into the faintest of smiles; trailing behind you. her presence filled the space with a warmth that was both comforting and heart-wrenching.

as you handed her the cup of tea and watched her take a small sip, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep the truth hidden — how much further you could pretend you weren’t in love with her when every moment like this made it harder to breathe.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the cup, her favourite one; chipped and its colours fading, now sat on the coffee table as she curled up at the far end of your small couch; knees drawn to her chest, her oversized hoodie drowning her small frame. the moonlight streamed through the half-drawn curtains, bathing the room in a soft silver glow.

you just sat beside her, unsure how to navigate the weight of her silence.

finally, she broke it. “i don’t care what happens to me,” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to make your chest ache. “but you…i’m worried about you.”

you blinked, taken aback. “me?” you said, your voice quiet. “you don’t have to worry about me.”

“how can i not?” she replied, her eyes locking with yours, wide and filled with worry. “they’re going to dig into your life, say horrible things about you. i can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt because of me.”

you sighed, leaning back against the couch. her concern was touching, but unnecessary. “minjeong, i’ve lived my whole life being just another face in the crowd. no one’s ever cared enough about me to say anything, let alone horrible things. i can handle it.”

“you don’t know what it’s like,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “you don’t know how cruel people can be when they think they know your story.”

“maybe i don’t, but i know this much: i can handle petty comments from strangers. what i can’t handle is seeing you like this. so don’t waste your energy worrying about me, okay?”

her lips trembled and for a moment, you thought she was going to cry again. instead, she looked away, her blonde hair falling messily into her face.

“you’re too kind, you know that?” she began softly. “sometimes i think you’re too good for me.”

you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of her words, but the vulnerability in her voice stopped you. before you could respond, she turned back to you, her gaze hesitant. “can you…can you hold me?” she asked shyly, her voice almost timid. “just for a while?”

your breath got caught in your throat, but you nodded, shifting closer to her on the couch. she leaned into you, her head resting against your shoulder as her body relaxed against yours. you wrapped your arms around her gently, feeling the warmth of her against you and the steady rise and fall of her chest.

the moonlight caught her features, highlighting the soft curve of her jaw, the delicate slope of her nose, the way her messy blonde hair framed her face.

even like this — tired, vulnerable, with tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes, she was breathtaking.

your fingers found their way to her hair, running through the strands gently and you felt her sigh against you, a soft, contented sound that made your heart ache.

“sometimes,” she murmured, her voice muffled against your hoodie, “i wish i wasn’t famous. i wish i’d chosen a normal life, stayed here in busan. with you.”

your heart squeezed at her words, but you forced yourself to keep your tone steady. “you were meant to be a star, minjeong,” you said softly. “you’ve always been destined for it. even when we were kids, you had this…this light about you. people were always going to notice.”

“but i didn’t want them to notice this,” she said, her voice laced with bitterness. “i didn’t want them to hurt you.”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet, your fingers continuing their soothing rhythm through her hair. her words, though, lingered in your mind, intertwining with thoughts you’d been trying to suppress all night.

what would it be like, you wondered, if she truly felt the same way about you? if the rumours weren’t just rumours but a glimpse into something real?

you’d spent so long convincing yourself that she was out of reach — that her world was too far removed from yours for anything more than friendship.

what could you even possibly offer her? your simple life, a tiny apartment and a small restaurant?

there was nothing about you that could ever impress her, nothing that could compare to the glitz and glamour of her world.

and yet, here she was, leaning against you, seeking comfort in your arms. it felt too good to be true and you hated the way your heart clung to the moment, desperate to believe it meant something more.

“what are you thinking about?” her voice broke through your thoughts, soft but curious.

you froze for a moment, your hand stilling in her hair. “nothing.”

she pulled back just enough to look up at you, her face still close enough that you could see the faint shimmer of tears in her eyes. “don’t lie to me,” she muttered, her tone gentle but insistent. “you’ve got that look on your face, like you’re a million miles away.”

you hesitated, unsure how much to tell her. your mind raced for an excuse, something lighthearted to distract her, but the weight of her gaze made it impossible to lie.

“i was just…thinking about us,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “about how different our lives are. and how…how lucky i am to still have you in mine even though you’re a big star now.”

her expression softened, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in her eyes; something you couldn’t quite place. before you could dwell on it, she leaned back into you, resting her head against your chest this time.

“you’re not lucky,” she smiled. “i am.”

her words settled over you like a blanket, warm and comforting, yet heavy with meaning. you didn’t know what to say, so you stayed silent, holding her with your eyes closed as the moonlight bathed the room in its quiet glow.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the soft chirping of birds filtered through the open window, mingling alongside the morning sun spilling into the room. the first thing you noticed as you stirred awake was warmth — minjeong’s warmth, her body pressed close to yours, her head nestled against your shoulder, an arm draped across your waist and her soft breaths tickled your neck.

you froze, your heart immediately racing as the situation fully sank in. it had been years since you’d been this close to her — the space you’d carefully maintained between you was gone and the intimacy of the moment made your chest tighten with equal parts longing and fear.

as your eyes fluttered open, her blonde hair was the first thing to greet you, falling into her face in strands that glowed golden in the morning light. her cheeks were slightly flushed, lips parted ever so slightly as she remained lost in sleep. she looked peaceful, so beautiful.

for a second, you let yourself admire her.

then reality hit and panic crept in. this was too close, too much. you couldn’t risk her realising your true feelings as you carefully shifted, trying not to wake her, but your movements caused her to stir.

her eyes opened slowly, blinking as they adjusted to the light. when they focused on you, a soft smile tugged at her lips.

“good morning,” she mumbled, her voice still laced with sleep.

“morning,” you replied, your voice awkward and stiff as you immediately shifted away, creating a small but noticeable gap between you. “sorry. i didn’t mean to, uh, get so close.”

her smile faltered slightly, her brows knitting together in a small frown. “why are you apologising?” she asked, her tone soft but tinged with confusion.

“i just…i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you sat up, rubbing the back of your neck; heart still racing. “i’ll make us some breakfast.”

before she could respond, you were already on your feet, making your way to the kitchen. she sat up slowly, watching you with a look you couldn’t decipher.

“let me help,” she offered, already starting to move.

“no, no,” you said, turning back to wave her off. “just sit on the couch, okay? i’ve got this.”

she hesitated but eventually relented, settling back onto the couch with a small sigh. pulling out her phone, she began to tap at the screen, though her gaze kept drifting back to you as you moved around the kitchen.

she wasn’t texting anyone, though — not really. instead, she found herself scrolling through the same photos and videos she’d seen the night before, the so-called “evidence” of your supposed relationship. each image showed the two of you at different points in your lives, some familiar, some she didn’t even know existed. but it wasn’t the photos themselves that caught her attention — it was you.

the way you looked at her in every single one of them. it was so obvious now, in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to notice before.

your gaze was always soft, filled with something she couldn’t quite name but felt deeply in her chest. she stared at one photo in particular, a candid shot of you smiling at her during one of her almost weekly visits to busan. the look in your eyes made her heart flutter.

it can’t be, she thought, her heart beating faster as she lowered her phone — but the thought lingered, refusing to leave. she glanced at you, watching as you moved around the kitchen with practised ease, cracking eggs into a bowl and chopping green onions with quick motions.

the smell of something sizzling in a pan soon filled the room and she couldn’t help but think about how natural this felt; waking up to you, watching you prepare breakfast as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

you were so focused, so determined to make everything perfect for her and the thought made her chest tighten.

her phone buzzed in her hand, a message from jimin lighting up the screen.

‘are you sure you and y/n aren’t dating?’

she ignored it, setting the device aside as her attention drifted back to you. her thoughts were a mess, swirling with confusion and a strange kind of hope she wasn’t sure how to name.

you turned then, catching her gaze, and the world seemed to still. her heart skipped a beat as you smiled, holding up a plate.

“breakfast’s nearly ready,” you smiled, the warmth of your voice spreading all the way to her chest. “hope you’re hungry.”

she nodded, her throat feeling tight as she tried to push down the growing emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

“i am,” she managed to say, her voice softer than she intended. “also sleepy.”

and as she watched you turn back to the stove, the realisation hit her all at once, unrelenting and undeniable.

i’m in love with her.

the two of you sat at the small dining table, plates of warm, steaming food in front of you. you made made simple dishes — scrambled eggs, leftover rice and grilled mackerel with a side of kimchi.

it wasn’t extravagant, but she ate it like it was a gourmet meal, a soft hum of satisfaction escaping her as she took her first bite.

“i missed this,” she said, her voice muffled slightly as she chewed. “your cooking, i mean. it’s so much better than anything i get in seoul.”

“don’t let your manager hear you say that,” you teased, grinning as you poured her a glass of water. “they’ll think you’re living off convenience store meals.”

“i practically am,” she admitted with a laugh, her nose scrunching in that way it always did when she found something genuinely funny. “you have no idea how much i’ve missed this.”

the conversation drifted into easy territory, the kind of nostalgic reminiscing that always seemed to happen when you were together. you found yourself laughing as she recounted a time in middle school when she’d gotten detention for climbing onto the school roof to retrieve a kite you’d accidentally let go of.

you shook your head. “you were always such a shy troublemaker, how you ended up as an idol, i’ll never know.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” she shot back, mock-offended. “i’m responsible now. mostly.”

“sure you are,” you said, smirking. “remember your first boyfriend? what was his name again? jonghoon? jinhoon?”

“it was junghoon,” she corrected, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “and we were, like, twelve. it doesn’t even count.”

“oh, it counts,” you said, leaning back in your chair with a grin. “you were so serious about him. always writing him those sappy little notes.”

“don’t remind me,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “i can’t believe i ever thought that was romantic.”

“hey, at least you had a boyfriend,” you said, unable to resist teasing her. “i’ve got nothing to compare to.”

she dropped her hands, her expression shifting into something more curious. “why is that, anyway? is there no one special in your life? i’ve been meaning to ask.”

the question caught you off guard, your smile faltering for just a moment before you quickly recovered.

“if there was, you’d be the first to know,” you said, nudging her foot under the table. “don’t be stupid.”

her expression softened at your words, a small smile playing on her lips, but you weren’t sure why.

trying to lighten the mood, you added with a grin, “though, if you give me jimin’s number, maybe i’ll reconsider.”

her reaction was immediate. her brows furrowed, and her smile disappeared as she stabbed at her rice with her chopsticks.

“you’re kidding, right?” she said, her tone sharper than you expected.

you blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. “obviously,” you chuckled, but she frowned deeper. “come on, winter. it was a joke.”

“well, it’s not funny,” she muttered, her gaze fixed on her plate.

“why are you getting so worked up?” you asked, tilting your head to study her. “what’s it to you if i joke about jimin?”

she didn’t answer right away, her jaw tightening as she shoved a piece of mackerel into her mouth.

when she finally spoke, her tone was clipped. “it’s just…weird, okay? she’s not even your type.”

“oh, and you know my type now?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. “you haven’t even see me with any girl.”

she looked up at you then, her eyes narrowing slightly. “yeah, i do.”

the tension between you was palpable, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. you weren’t sure what to make of her reaction — it was so unlike her to get upset over something so small. but then, as you watched her, the realisation began to dawn on you.

she’s jealous, you thought, the idea almost too absurd to entertain.

you decided to test the waters, leaning forward with a small, teasing smile. “minjeong,” you said, your voice light. “are you jealous?”

her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly masked it, looking away with a scoff. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“you’re jealous,” you said, your grin widening. “oh my god, you’re actually jealous.”

“i’m not!” she insisted, her cheeks flushing as she crossed her arms defensively. “it’s just—ugh, forget it.”

her reaction only made you laugh, the tension between you dissolving as quickly as it had appeared. she glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it, and eventually, she let out a small, begrudging laugh of her own.

“you’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head as she picked up her chopsticks again.

“and you’re adorable when you’re mad,” you said without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

she froze for a moment, her cheeks reddening further and you felt your own face heat up as you realised what you’d said.

but instead of snapping at you, she simply looked at you, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged again, heavy with something unspoken.

“just eat your breakfast,” she said finally, her voice softer now and you nodded, your heart still racing as you focused on your plate, wondering what, exactly, had just happened.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the next few days passed in a quiet rhythm that felt almost too perfect to last. mornings were slow and easy, filled with soft conversations over coffee and the occasional sound of minjeong humming to herself as she wandered around your small apartment.

afternoons were spent watching movies, cooking together, or simply lying on the couch; tangled up in blankets and each other.

it felt normal in a way that was disarming, like the two of you had slipped into a version of life where nothing else existed — no dating scandals and pressure, just the comfort of being together.

it scared you how easily you’d fallen into this routine, how much it felt like home. every small touch, laugh, every shared glance seemed to chip away at the walls you’d spent years building around your heart.

and with each passing day, it became harder to ignore the truth you’d buried for so long — you were still in love with her and being this close to her now was both a blessing and a curse.

for her part, she seemed quieter than usual, her gaze lingering on you a little too often, her smiles softer, more hesitant. she hadn’t brought up the scandal again, but you could feel the weight of it hanging over her, a tension that never quite left her shoulders.

one night, you decided to close things out with one of her favourite movies, tenet. she was practically giddy as she set it up, her excitement a stark contrast to the more subdued moments of the past few days.

“you’re going to love this,” she geeked out, her eyes lighting up as she settled onto the couch beside you. “it’s so clever. you have to pay attention, though.”

“you realise you say that about every confusing movie,” you teased, earning a playful shove from her.

two and a half hours later, the credits rolled, and you found yourself lying on your side, facing her. your arm was wrapped loosely around her waist, her head resting against your shoulder. the movie had been a blur of time loops and action sequences, none of which had made any sense to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

your attention had been more on her than anything else — the way her lips twitched into a small smile during her favourite scenes, the way she unconsciously leaned closer to you as the story unfolded.

“so,” she began, her voice soft and teasing, “what did you think?”

you groaned dramatically, tightening your arm around her waist. “i think i have no idea what just happened.”

her jaw dropped in mock offense and she pushed at your chest. “you’re kidding! how could you not get it? it’s brilliant!”

“oh, i got it,” you grinned. “something about going backwards in time, saving the world and…i don’t know, doing a little dance?”

“you’re impossible,” she muttered, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

“you’re adorable when you’re frustrated,” you replied without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them as you laughed.

her smile faltered, her cheeks flushing slightly as she stared at you, her expression suddenly turning serious.

the laughter that came so easily from you, the warmth of your skin pressed against hers — it all felt too much and not enough at the same time.

she didn’t know when it started. maybe it had been years ago, back when the two of you were just kids, chasing the tide and dreaming of futures that felt so far away. or maybe it was more recent, in the stolen moments when she would visit you between schedules, sitting in your tiny apartment and making her favourite dishes and feeling more at home than she ever did in her dorm.

but tonight, as the credits rolled and your soft laughter filled the quiet, it clicked.

it was you. it had always been you.

the realisation settled over her like a wave, overwhelming and undeniable. you were the missing piece, the thing she had been searching for without even realising it.

the void she’d felt for so long, the ache that no amount of fame or success could fill — it was simply you.

“y/n,” she said softly, her voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “what are we doing?”

your heart skipped a beat, her question pulling you sharply out of the playful banter. “what do you mean?”

“this,” she said, gesturing between the two of you. “us. spending all this time together, acting like…” she trailed off, her gaze dropping to where your arm was still wrapped around her. “acting like we’re more than just friends.”

you swallowed hard, your chest tightening as her words settled over you. “i don’t know,” you admitted. “but i know that i don’t want it to end.”

her eyes flicked back up to yours, wide and searching. “but what about everything else? what happens when i go back to seoul? what happens if people find out about this and they…they ruin your life?”

“minjeong,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “my life isn’t perfect, but it’s mine. and if being with you means dealing with a little chaos, then so be it. i’ve handled worse.”

“you don’t understand,” she said, her voice faltering. “it’s not just a little chaos. it’s people prying into your life, twisting your every word, making you out to be something you’re not. you have a normal life, y/n. i don’t want to be the reason you lose that.”

you reached up, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “you’re not going to ruin anything and my life stopped being normal the second you walked into it. and there’s nothing in this world i’d trade you for.”

her breath hitched at your words, her gaze searching yours as if trying to find some hint of doubt. “but what if it’s not enough? what if i’m not enough?”

“you’re everything,” you said without hesitation, your words filled with a sincerity that left no room for doubt. “you always have been.”

her lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. instead, she watched you with so much adoration in her eyes and closed the small distance between you, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as hesitant as it was certain.

it was soft and gentle, like the answer to a question neither of you had dared to ask.

you responded instinctively, your hand moving to the back of her neck as you deepened the kiss, pouring years of unspoken feelings into the moment. her fingers tangled in your hair and her body melted against yours as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, you could feel her breath against your lips, warm and shaky.

“i think…” she started, her voice trembling, “i think i’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

your heart swelled at her words, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “you’re not the only one,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “i’ve hid how i felt for too long.”

“but we’re here now, aren’t we?”

a soft, watery laugh escaped her as she leaned in again, her lips finding yours in another kiss — this one deeper, more certain, like the beginning of something neither of you had dared to hope for.

and in that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt like the rest of the world could wait.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#kpop x reader #kpop gg #aespa x reader #kpop imagines #winter x reader #minjeong x reader #winter #heliooosss #aespa imagines

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vi-steponmeplease · 19 hours ago

Text

BODY DYSMORPHIA

REQUEST: billie being rrly worried about r eating problems?

a/n: before we get into the fic, i just want to remind everyone that your struggles are valid. i understand where you're coming from and i promise you, you're perfect just as you are, inside and out. you don't need to be slim to be beautiful. that's just society's and men's messed up standards. this is just one of many serious & important topics and i want you to know that my messages are always open if you need to vent, talk, or simply have someone listen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pairings - concernedgf!billie x insecure!reader

genre - angst, fluff, suggestive

synopsis: struggling with body image and online criticism, you find comfort as billie lovingly supports you and helps you confront your insecurities with understanding and care.

tw: heavy mentions of body dysmorphia & an eating disorder.

word count: 1.1K

you don't have to change you're perfect the way you are

⟡

she's a pretty girl without the filter she looks beautiful with no makeup on

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

"How about In-N-Out?"

Wide grins spread across everyone's faces as they nod in agreement, then turn to you, waiting for your response. Your gaze shifts to Finneas in the driver’s seat, then to Claudia in the passenger seat, before skimming over Alex and Zoe on your right, and finally landing on Billie—your girlfriend—seated to your left.

"Oh, uh, I'll actually just skip. I already ate, so I'm full," you say with a casual shrug.

"You sure you don't want something for later?" Billie asks, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she lightly squeezes your knee. "I know you. You always say you're not hungry, then an hour later, you're begging me to get you something to eat."

You force a smile, shaking your head. "I'm sure."

During the drive to the fast-food joint, you pull out your phone, your lips pressing into a tight frown as you scroll through the comments left by Billie’s fans on her most recent post—some cruel and cutting, others trying to defend you.

quenxbillie4life: what an ugly fatass bitch prob js a gold digger ↳ ronniel0vesbils: do u even KNOW billie? she's struggled sm with body image. have u heard not my responsibility? u have no right to say that abt her gf.

billieeilishnoticeme69: BIG BACK BIG BACK BIG BACK

billybiggestfan: elephants don't deserve to date global stars like billy ↳ ronniel0vesbils: lmao didn't even spell her name right u fake fan😭

billiespitonme: @ronniel0vesbils is legit fighting for her life out here LMFAO

The harsh words sting, and though the supportive replies are there, they feel drowned out by the negativity. You glance out the car window, trying to shake the ache in your chest, but the comments linger like a shadow.

You try to conceal your exhaustion, but it’s hard to ignore the countless nights spent sobbing, curled up with your knees to your chest, rocking back and forth as you desperately pray to wake up with a model’s body the next day.

But it never happens. And each passing day only deepens the growing hatred you feel toward yourself.

Why would Billie ever choose someone like you?

She’s one of the most ethereal-looking women on the planet, effortlessly breathtaking in a way that leaves you in awe. She never seems to have a bad moment, always stunning. Yet somehow, out of everyone, she chose you.

You sit silently, watching everyone enjoy their burgers and sip on their drinks, all the while wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Deep down, you’ve convinced yourself that you’re not even worthy of a good meal—that starving yourself is just the price you have to pay to lose weight.

Your eyes drop to your hands resting in your lap, fingers fidgeting with your nails as a quiet sigh escapes. Slumping further into the seat, you tune out the lively conversations and laughter of your friends, letting the background noise blur into nothingness.

"You okay, baby?"

The gentle voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You hear the jingle of keys being tossed onto the coffee table, followed by soft footsteps padding across the wooden floor. Billie appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame with concern etched across her face. "You were acting a little weird today."

You glance away, offering only a small nod in response, but Billie isn’t convinced. She crosses the room and sits beside you, the mattress dipping under her weight as she exhales softly. Her ring-clad hand comes to rest lightly on your knee.

"You sure?" she presses, her voice tender. "You usually never say no to burgers."

A bitter chuckle slips out before you can stop it, the comment twisting into an unintentional jab at yourself. Are you really such a glutton that even Billie notices the sudden change? The thought stings.

"Yeah," you mutter, your tone tinged with self-deprecation. "That just might be the issue." You roll your eyes at your typical eating habits, the words dripping with sarcasm and frustration.

Billie’s brows knit together, a faint crease forming on her forehead as she shifts closer, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Ah,” she murmurs, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I get it, love. I know how you feel—I’ve been through it.”

Her hand moves up to your arm, fingers tracing gentle, soothing patterns across your skin. “I want you to know I’m here for you. Always. You’re not alone in this, and you never will be.” Her voice is soft but firm, her words wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

“Anything you ever want to tell me, I’m listening. And,” she adds, a small, playful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “you can’t be stressing your pretty little head about all this without me being involved, got it?”

Your lips curl into a soft smile, but the harsh, critical thoughts about your appearance still linger, refusing to be silenced.

Billie notices the unease in your expression. Her hand gives your arm a gentle squeeze before she guides you down onto the bed, your back pressing against the sheets and your head cradled by a pillow.

For a moment, your mind races. Really? Sex? Does she think a distraction like this will actually help right now?

Still, you push the thought aside, watching as Billie moves with quiet determination. Her fingers deftly unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your legs and tossing them onto the floor. She shifts her focus to your torso, carefully slipping your shirt over your head, leaving you in just your bra and underwear.

Instinctively, your hands fly to your stomach, trying to cover yourself. Even though Billie has seen you naked countless times, the habit of hiding feels ingrained—an automatic response to the insecurities clawing at you.

Billie is quick to pin your hands gently to your sides, her soft yet firm grip keeping them in place. Her lips brush against your jaw, leaving a trail of warmth as she moves down to your neck, collarbone, and then licks a slow, deliberate stripe down the valley of your breasts.

"Pretty fucking girl," she murmurs, her voice low and filled with adoration. A quiet groan escapes her lips as she shifts lower, her hands gliding across your skin, mapping every inch and curve with reverent care.

"I love you," she says, her words muffled as she presses her lips tenderly against your belly button. "So fucking much, angel. You’re perfect."

Her hands drift to your thighs, squeezing them gently before she peppers a trail of featherlight kisses along their length. “I love every curve, every inch of this gorgeous body,” she whispers, her tone steady and unwavering, as if daring your insecurities to challenge her conviction.

"And that's never, ever going to change."

#Spotify #billie eilish #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish angst #billie eilish x fem reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish fic #billie x reader #lesbian #billie eilish fanfiction #hit me hard and soft #billie eilish x reader

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hsnlv · 3 days ago

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cookie confession | l.hs

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: when you come home to heeseung baking cookies, it seems like a sweet surprise—until his overly affectionate behavior sets off alarm bells. as you dig deeper, his guilty confession leads to a whirlwind of burnt cookies, broken blushers, and hilariously clumsy apologies.

warnings/others: fluff!, mention of hamster’s death (gasp! tragic!), heeseung is clumsy but he’s cute so he’s forgiven!

wc: 1.6k

a/n: hello! it warms my heart knowing that adorably mine! receives a lot of love from people. so heres another hee fic for you <3 and feel free to check out my page and read my other creations (the old ones are cringe ew so pls dont read those😵‍💫)

you unlock the door to your apartment, the faint scent of something sweet wafting through the air. it greets you the moment you step inside, and you furrow your brows, slipping off your shoes. the aroma is enticing—warm, sugary, and a little… burnt?

you head toward the kitchen, your bag sliding off your shoulder, and there he is. lee heeseung, standing in the middle of the chaos he’s somehow created.

the counter is dusted in flour, bowls and utensils scattered around, chocolate chips spilled everywhere. heeseung himself looks like a disaster: hair slightly messy, an apron tied around his waist, and a smudge of flour on his cheek.

his head snaps up when he hears you, and a wide grin spreads across his face. “baby, you’re home!”

his voice is so soft, so warm, and the way his eyes light up makes your heart flutter.

“what’s going on in here?” you ask, setting your bag down on a chair. you glance at the oven, where a faint trail of smoke seeps out from the edges.

“i’m baking cookies for you,” he announces proudly, walking over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “because my girlfriend is the most amazing, beautiful, smart person in the whole world, and she deserves cookies.”

you blink up at him, confused but also charmed. his voice is sweet, dripping with sincerity, but something about the way he’s acting doesn’t sit right.

“cookies, huh?” you murmur, tilting your head as you eye him suspiciously.

he leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “only the best for you.”

his words are perfect—almost too perfect. and that’s when it clicks.

“heeseung,” you say slowly, watching him tense slightly, “what did you do this time?”

he pulls back, blinking at you, a picture of innocence. “huh? i’m just baking cookies for my beautiful girlfriend. what do you mean, ‘what did i do’?”

you narrow your eyes. you know this heeseung. the overly sweet, doting heeseung who only acts this way when he’s done something he’s trying to cover up. you’ve seen it before.

like the time he accidentally bathed your hamster.

“hee, where’s mochi?” you asked, setting down the hamster cage that you had been cleaning in the other room.

heeseung’s eyes darted toward the bathroom door, and you immediately felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“heeseung,” you said slowly, your voice laced with suspicion, “what are you doing?”

“nothing!” he yelped, his tone way too defensive for it to actually mean nothing.

you stormed toward the bathroom, pushing the door open to find… mochi. soaking wet. sitting in the sink.

“heeseung!” you shrieked. “why is mochi in the sink?!”

“he smelled weird!” heeseung cried, his voice high-pitched and panicked. “i thought i could, you know, help him out—”

“you’re not supposed to BATHE hamsters!” you cut him off, your hands flying to your head in disbelief.

“how was i supposed to know that?!”

you glared at him, watching as mochi blinked at you both, looking utterly done with life.

you sighed heavily, scooping the little hamster out of the sink and carefully drying him off.

later that week, mochi passed away—not because of the bath (though you’ll never let heeseung live it down), but simply because he was old and fragile.

and of course, heeseung cried at least twice as much as you did, apologizing to mochi’s empty cage every time he passed by it for the next month.

you shake your head at the memory, eyeing heeseung as he fidgets under your gaze.

“lee heeseung,” you say again, your voice firm this time, “what did you do?”

his lips part as if to respond, but he hesitates, his hand lifting to scratch the back of his neck. “nothing, baby, i swear. just… just focus on the cookies, okay? you’ll love them, promise.”

“hee,” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest. “what. did. you. do.”

he sighs, defeated, and gives you a sheepish smile. “okay, okay, i might’ve broken something.”

your stomach drops. “you what?”

“it was an accident!” he rushes to explain, holding up his hands defensively. “i didn’t mean to—i was trying to clean our room and my elbow—” he stops, cringing.

“what did you break, heeseung?” you ask, dread creeping into your voice.

“your… blusher,” he admits quietly, wincing as he says it.

“you broke my what?!”

he winces again, his voice small. “your blusher. the one in the little pink compact.”

“heeseung!” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.

heeseung flinches, his hands coming together in front of him like he’s praying for mercy. “i know, i know, and i’m really, really sorry. but it wasn’t on purpose, baby! it just… fell! and then it kind of… exploded.”

“exploded?” you echo, staring at him incredulously.

he gestures helplessly toward the trash can. “it’s everywhere, and trust me, i tried to salvage it, but it’s just… gone. like, really gone.”

“which one was it?”

“it says ‘charlotte’ something,”

“lee heeseung, what the fuck?! my charlotte tilbury blusher?” you’re screaming at this point. heeseung just stands there, blinking innocently, his lips in a pout.

you sigh deeply, shaking your head. “heeseung, that was a limited-edition shade! i can’t even replace it!”

he winces at the word limited-edition, looking like a scolded puppy. “i’ll buy you a new one,” he offers quickly, stepping closer to you. “any shade you want. even if it costs a fortune.”

you cross your arms, glaring up at him. “you bet you will.”

“please don’t be mad,” he pleads, wrapping his arms around you. “i’ll make it up to you, i promise. i’ll even get you two blushers—one for everyday use and one as a backup!”

you huff, turning your head away from him. “you’re lucky you’re cute, lee heeseung.”

he grins, sensing the tiniest crack in your armor. “cute enough to make you forgive me?”

“no.”

“adorable enough to make you consider forgiving me?” he tries, his voice light and teasing as he nuzzles his nose into your neck.

“don’t push it,” you mumble, though you’re already fighting a smile.

“what if i let you eat the cookies first?” he offers, pulling back to look at you with big, hopeful eyes. “the ones i baked with all my love.”

you glance toward the oven, where the faint smell of something burnt still lingers. “hee, those cookies are probably inedible.”

he gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “how dare you doubt my skills?!”

“heeseung, you burned instant noodles last week.”

“that was one time!”

“and the spaghetti before that.”

“okay, fine,” he concedes with a sheepish grin. “but at least let me try to make it up to you. we can go shopping tomorrow, and you can pick whatever makeup you want. blushers, lipsticks, foundation, the whole works.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “you’re just saying that because you feel guilty.”

“absolutely,” he says without hesitation, pulling you into another hug. “but I also mean it. because i love you, and you deserve everything.”

you roll your eyes, though your heart softens at his words.

“fine,” you mutter, resting your forehead against his chest. “but i’m still mad about the blusher.”

“understood,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “i’m officially on probation.”

“and you’re cleaning the kitchen,” you add, glancing at the flour-coated counter.

he groans dramatically. “you drive a hard bargain, babe.”

“consider it payback for mochi,” you say with a smirk.

heeseung freezes, his expression comically guilty. “you’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

“never,” you reply, stepping out of his embrace and grabbing a cookie from the tray he set on the counter. it’s slightly misshapen and more than a little burnt, but you take a bite anyway.

it’s terrible.

but as heeseung watches you with a hopeful, lopsided grin, you can’t help but think it’s a little perfect, just like him.

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careyakane · 3 days ago

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God, when I get home, it gets bad again.

I find myself speeding into town, pulled by the invisible threads of habit. I must remind myself again and again: “She does not wait for you as she did before.” I languish in familiar places, hoping for accidental meetings that might lead to long-overdue conversations, ones that might finally bring me the answers I’ve sought restlessly for years now. At nighttime, I squint as the last glimpse of a blonde head in a long black coat turns the corner. I stop myself from following, of course—but only at the last second.

I have come so far when I am back In the west. I think of you rarely and with thoughts far from possessive. I lay no claim on you when I am surrounded by all that I have found in that place and its people. But here, amongst the reminders and remnants, I succumb and fall back into that silent well of grief. I have found solace in these waters before, and I will again. It is false—I know, I know—but many comforts are false, so why can’t I give in for just a moment?

I am always holding my head so high, always protecting those who look to me for answers to questions beyond knowing. Time and time again, I give thin responses and watch as they drain every drop of that temporary relief. May I not, too, fall apart for a day? Give me my falsehoods, and sew cloth over my eyes and mind, which look to protest this comfort made in jest.

Now I sit parked where I should not be, trying to fill the carcasses of all the many simple nights that spilled over on this damn road under these damn streetlamps. I think of the boy who sat here three years ago and try to signal to him as best as I can. I have not a clue if time and its pulse work in this way, but yet in rare moments, I have felt as if something was pleading for me to shift, or to run, or to take account and rejoice. Maybe—and it would bring me great joy—every moment in some way exists eternally, and if I can only picture it clearly now, I may send a message back to myself in that given instance.

So here tonight, I simply ask he who I once was to hold her gaze just a second longer, to embrace her and hold her well as she tells him of the simple passings of the day. To tell her plainly and without hesitation that she is kind like no other, and that never in this lifetime will he forget these days of innocence.

Regardless of whether this door through life and time holds any truth, I attempt. And I must say, I have calmed down since beginning this writing. I truly am— for any who stumble upon this writing and may know me—happy to have continued on with my life. My momentary pauses in that past are not accurate pictures of where I stand now. Please forgive me if this makes you question what I am. I have set much down and would not betray you for any of it back. I simply enjoy writing and remembering. I’m sure you too will fall into my words with time.

#remembering #ramblings #comfort In what I have lost #rushed thoughts and messy ideas

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vmrsdias · 3 days ago

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Insecure

Pairing: Ruben Dias x reader

Plot: You’re different from those girls Ruben used to go out with

Author's note: English is not my first language

It was a foggy evening in London, and the city lights shimmered through the large windows of the restaurant where a charity event had just concluded. y/n walked beside Ruben, clutching his arm, the sound of her heels on the pavement echoing her muddled thoughts.

“Everything okay?” Ruben asked, noticing her distant expression.

y/n forced a smile. “Yes, everything’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine at all. During the event, Ruben had bumped into one of his exes, Isabelle, a French model who looked like she had just stepped off the cover of Vogue. Their conversation had been cordial, even warm, and y/n had felt like a piece of furniture, invisible and insignificant next to that perfect woman. Every smile and word exchanged between them had been a reminder of how different she was from Ruben’s world.

Once outside the restaurant, Ruben ran into Bernardo Silva and a couple of other teammates, who greeted him enthusiastically.

“Ruben, as great as ever!” Bernardo said, clapping him on the shoulder. Then he noticed y/n and smiled. “And who’s this beautiful lady? You’ve outdone yourself, as always.”

Ruben laughed, pulling y/n closer. “This is y/n. And please, don’t put any strange ideas in her head.”

“Don’t worry, Ruben, I don’t need him to feel inadequate,” y/n replied with an ironic smile, trying to lighten the tension she felt inside. But Ruben turned to her, raising an eyebrow, sensing the undertone of her words.

After saying goodbye to the others, Ruben helped her into the car. “You were amazing tonight,” he said as he started the engine. “Everyone loved your speech.”

“Thank you,” y/n replied, trying to ignore the knot forming in her stomach. Once inside the car, she stared at her reflection in the window. The dress she had chosen so carefully now seemed too simple, too… insignificant.

When they got home, Ruben took off his jacket and collapsed onto the couch. “What an intense evening, huh?” he said, flashing her a tired but affectionate smile.

y/n nodded but didn’t join him. Instead, she headed to the bedroom, where she began removing her earrings in front of the mirror. She couldn’t shake the image of Isabelle from her mind: tall, elegant, with a presence that filled the room. And then there was her, a simple psychology student who felt out of place in that world of luxury and glamour.

Ruben joined her shortly after, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you okay?” he repeated, this time with a note of concern.

y/n turned to him, unsure whether to speak or not. But eventually, the words spilled out. “How can you be with me, Ruben? After everything you’ve had? After women like Isabelle?”

He stared at her, surprised. “What? Where is this coming from?”

She shook her head, feeling tears sting her eyes. “I stood next to you all evening, but I couldn’t help feeling… less. Less beautiful, less interesting, less suited for you.”

Ruben stepped closer, taking her hands and forcing her to look into his eyes. “Amor, stop it. Don’t say things like that.”

“But it’s true,” y/n insisted, pulling her hands away. “Look at Isabelle! She belongs in your world. I… I spend my days studying and doing internships. I don’t even know how to act in places like tonight.”

“You belong in my world more than anyone else,” Ruben said firmly. “Do you know why? Because you’re real. Because you’re you. Isabelle is part of the past. You are my present and my future.”

y/n looked at him, trying to believe his words. “But don’t you miss that kind of life? Those kinds of people?”

Ruben smiled and shook his head. “No. Do you know what I miss when you’re not around? The way you laugh at silly jokes. The way you get lost in your thoughts while studying. The way you make me feel at home, even when we’re on the other side of the world.”

At that moment, Ruben’s phone vibrated. It was a message in the team group chat. Bernardo had written: “Your y/n is a gem, brother. You’re a lucky man.” Ruben showed the message to y/n, who read it with a small smile. “See?” Ruben said. “It’s not just me who thinks so.”

“But I…” y/n began, but Ruben interrupted her.

“There are no ‘buts,’” he said. “You’re everything I want, y/n. I wouldn’t change a thing about you. Not a single thing.”

She lowered her gaze, torn between wanting to believe him and the voice in her head that kept whispering she wasn’t enough. “And what if one day everything changes? If I stop being enough for you?”

Ruben leaned down slightly, bringing himself to her level. “You’re already enough. You’re everything. And every time you doubt that, I’ll remind you how special you are to me.”

The tears y/n had been holding back finally fell, and Ruben pulled her into a tight embrace, as if trying to banish all her insecurities. But that night, as he slept peacefully beside her, y/n lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She loved that man with all her heart, but every day she fought against the idea of not being good enough. Perhaps, she thought, love isn’t just about accepting the other person but also learning to accept yourself.

#football fanfic #football imagine #ruben dias #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #manchester city #ruben dias x you #angst

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kikyoupdates · 3 days ago

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Made to Destroy ⭑˚💎⭑ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑

bnha x op!reader

op!reader, my hero academia x fem!reader, reverse harem, over powered reader, f!reader

You are the product of a series of twisted experiments, an anomaly that shouldn’t have ever existed in the first place. Thankfully, you are taken into the arms of a hero and given a new purpose in life. But as you soon discover, it isn’t easy to deny your true nature, especially when you were made to destroy.

prologue | story masterlist | next

I don’t know where I’m going.

You’ve been walking for a while now, with no real destination in mind. Truthfully, you’re not searching for anyplace in particular. You just figure that anywhere will be better than being stuck with that crazy old man.

So, you walk. The building you’ve just come out of is rather secluded, tucked away behind a canopy of trees. There’s no one else as far as the eye can see, so you make the journey in total silence, instead focusing on the sweet-tasting air, and the little birds that flit from branch to branch.

The minutes trickle on, turning to hours, and you find yourself weighed down by a heavy feeling that must be fatigue.

But it’s okay. Because it seems like you’ve just reached the city.

Here, you are no longer alone. It’s crowded and busy, and there are tons of people roaming about. You can’t help but blink in awe. Up until now, the only person you’ve met was Dr. Garaki. You never imagined that there would be so many others besides him.

Curious, you take a step forward.

Only to be immediately pulled back.

“Be careful!” a woman cries out, and something speeds past you at that very moment, just narrowly missing your body. You frown and look back at the woman in confusion. For some reason, she’s gasping for breath and her shoulders are trembling. “You almost walked right in front of that car,” she says shakily. “Seriously, you need to look both ways before crossing. The pedestrian light wasn’t even on.”

You’re not really sure what she’s talking about, but you nod nonetheless.

“Okay,” you reply. “Thank you.”

She lets go of your arm, then looks you over for quite a long time. Something about your appearance must not sit right with her, because her brow is now furrowed.

“Is everything okay—”

“Hey, what’s the hold up?” someone else interjects. It’s a man, and he loops his arm around the woman’s. “Come on, I’m in a hurry here. I need to get back to work soon.”

“Oh. This girl was about to wander out into the street, so I got worried about her,” she explains.

“Yeah? Well, she’s fine now, so let’s go. Like I said, I don’t have time for this.”

The woman is jerked along without another word, but you can see her glancing back over her shoulder every few moments, a look of concern plastered across her face.

Eventually, she disappears through the crowd, so you shrug and carry on walking.

A lot of people seem to be giving you funny looks. You don’t notice them at first, but eventually, you realize that you’re drawing a lot of attention to yourself. You’re not really sure why, though.

More importantly, so much of this is new to you. Not only are there tons of people, but there are countless buildings, in all colors and sizes, as well as other strange things you’ve never seen before. The world outside appears to be vibrant and bright, already a massive improvement to the dingy lab you awoke in.

You keep walking. Some people look like they want to call out to you, or at the very least, they’re thinking about it, but ultimately, they reconsider and let you carry on your way.

Everyone disregards the fact that you’re a child all on your own and assumes that someone else will come to your rescue eventually. That’s the reasoning they use to spare themselves the hassle and wipe their hands of any responsibility.

And then, someone does come to your rescue.

“Hello there, little girl. Are you by yourself?”

It’s a tall man with a warm, inviting smile. He fixes you in a tender gaze, and unlike everyone else, he takes the time to find out how you’re doing.

You nod in agreement. “Yes. I’m alone.”

For some reason, the man’s smile grows even wider. Unfortunately, you’re too naïve to realize why.

“Well, that just won’t do,” he hums. “It’s not safe for a kid like you to be all alone on the streets. How about I help you out? I can get you something to eat too. You sound like you’re hungry.”

Hungry? You’re not too familiar with the term, but perhaps he’s referring to how your stomach is grumbling without pause. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, one that you’d been trying to disregard up until now. But if this man says he can help with that, you’ll gladly take him up on his offer.

“I think I am hungry,” you concede. “I want to try eating something.”

“Of course,” he grins. “Just follow me.”

So, you do. It doesn’t occur to you that perhaps you shouldn’t trust people so blindly, especially given the experience you’ve already had with Dr. Garaki. But as you will soon discover, the outside world is plenty dangerous too, and your total ignorance makes you all the more vulnerable to it.

The man reaches over to grab your hand in his, and he seems tickled pink by the fact that you don’t try to refuse.

For a while, the two of you walk like that, hand-in-hand. You keep looking around the whole time, trying to make sense of your surroundings, and eventually, you see something that makes your eyes widen.

“There,” you say, pointing towards a building. You can see through its glass windows, and the people inside are all sitting at tables and shoveling various things into their mouth. They’re... eating, right? They must be. Your brain instinctively makes the connection, and right on cue, your stomach starts grumbling even more.

“What is it?” the man frowns.

“They’re eating food,” you say. “In there. Can we go in to eat too? I’m hungry.”

“Ah. I actually don’t have a lot of money on hand,” he sighs. “But I’ve got a nice meal waiting for us back home. I can get you more comfortable clothes to change into as well. Don’t worry. It’ll be way better than sitting in a cramped diner.”

You tilt your head to the side, confused. “But they’re all eating, and I want to eat too. I don’t feel like waiting any longer. I want to go there.”

“Like I said, I don’t have money,” he explains.

“Money?”

Yet another term you’ve never heard before. There’s a lot that you don’t understand, that you still need to learn. Of course, the man can’t possibly know that, so he must assume you’re just playing dumb.

“Everyone else is eating, so why can’t we do it too?” you ask.

He clicks his tongue, and his smile drops for the very first time. “Don’t be difficult,” he grimaces. You notice that his grip on your hand has become tighter. “I promise I’ll give you some food at home, so please just listen to me, okay?”

Despite his insistence, you stubbornly root your feet into the ground. There’s food right on the other side of that window, and you’re not going anywhere until you’ve tried some for yourself.

“I want to go in there,” you say again. “I’m not leaving.”

It seems like that’s really not what the man wanted to hear, because all of a sudden, anger flashes through his eyes, and he pulls you forcefully, making you stumble forward in bewilderment.

Then, he throws you over his shoulder.

“I played nice and gave you a chance,” he glares. “All you had to do was not act out like a little brat.”

He’s running now, still gripping you tight and refusing to let go. All you can do is gape, watching as the diner fades further and further into the distance. You lament the loss of your food, which now appears to be hopelessly out of reach. The hunger is getting worse by the second, too. It feels like your stomach is about to implode.

You know what you have to do. You need to fight this guy off and break free of him. But much to your dismay, you can’t muster up the strength, no matter how hard you try. That feeling from before, when you channeled all that energy... it’s gone. And you’re not quite sure how to bring it back.

“I want food,” you groan, feeling weaker by the second. The man pays you no mind, of course. He keeps running as fast as his feet will carry him. You wonder where he’s taking you. Wherever it is, you doubt it’s anywhere good. It seems like Dr. Garaki isn’t the only crazy bastard in this world.

So, you escaped. Only to be captured by yet another maniac.

And to think that this is only your first day of living.

“It’s going to be okay,” the man reassures, laughing in a shaky, deranged manner. “You’ll see. The two of us... we’ll be happy together. I’ll take care of you and give you everything you want.”

“...is that so? And here I was, thinking that you’d kidnapped the poor girl.”

Another man’s voice. It’s deep, but soft, and it catches you completely by surprise, since you were convinced that no one else was anywhere near you.

The man who kidnapped you cries out, but it’s too late. Something tough and sturdy wraps around his body and immobilizes him, and in the next moment, your feet are resting comfortably on the ground, right where they ought to be.

You look up at your savior, who has pale skin, long disheveled black hair, and a lethargic yet stern expression.

His name is Aizawa Shouta, and he will change the course of your life forever.

“I’ll never understand what goes through the minds of sickos like you,” Aizawa mutters.

“I-I wasn’t doing anything wrong!” the other man frantically protests. He’s bound by some weird kind of cloth, and it’s safe to say that he isn’t going anywhere. “We were just enjoying a nice day out, and she was getting a bit rowdy, that’s all. I was bringing her home so that she could calm down! Isn’t that right?”

He looks over at you expectantly, perhaps hoping that you’ll help him get out of this sticky situation.

But just because you’re more ignorant than the average person doesn’t mean you’re stupid.

It's obvious that he’s a bad guy, just like Dr. Garaki.

“I only met you a few minutes ago,” you say. “And you promised me food but got angry when I wanted to go inside one of the buildings. You grabbed me and forced me to go with you, even though I didn’t want to.”

Aizawa narrows his eyes, and the man chuckles nervously in response. “Sh-She’s always such a joker. Come on, don’t be that way. You’re going to get your old man in trouble.”

“Nice try,” Aizawa comments insincerely. “But I’m afraid there’s only one place for creeps like you.”

The man wails out in protest yet again, but all his pleas fall on deaf ears. It looks like he’s in a lot of trouble. You’re not sure where he’s being sent to, but it probably isn’t someplace nice.

Aizawa grips onto the cloths tightly, but finally spares you a proper glance. “More importantly, are you okay, kid? That must’ve given you a fright. Everything’s fine now. You’re safe.”

You frown. Can you really trust him? It’s only been a few hours since you’ve awoken, but so far, your experience with people has been disappointing to say the least. You’re starting to realize that you have to be more on guard. There’s no telling what someone will do next.

“Who are you?” you ask. “What if you try to hurt me, too?”

Aizawa smiles sympathetically. “Yes, I understand why you might feel that way. But I promise I’m different from this dirtbag. I’m a hero. Protecting people is what I do. That much, I can promise you.”

A hero. For some reason, the word evokes a strong feeling.

Kill heroes. Kill heroes. Kill heroes.

You wince. That voice in the back of your head is acting up again, making you feel all jumbled up and icky inside. It’s the same voice that was commanding you to obey Dr. Garaki. The voice that you instinctively know you can’t trust.

But much like before, you manage to fight against it. You shove it to the back of your mind and disregard what it has to say.

The man in front of you says he’s a hero, and apparently, heroes are supposed to help people. It’s possible that he’s lying. It’s possible that you’re being set up for disappointment again.

But you decide to give him a chance.

“I’m Aizawa,” he introduces.

“I’m [Name],” you say. Even if Dr. Garaki was the one to give you this name, it’s yours now, and you are determined to cherish it.

Aizawa nods, offers you a small smile, then reaches out to you.

You take his hand.

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misahyochaeng · 3 days ago

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“Back to Black.”

Jihyo x Fem!Reader

Chapter 9-12

Other chapters here:

tw: fluff, angst, physical violence, abuse, blackmail(?), cursing, rumors, ceo!jihyo x model!reader, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers.

—

Jihyo carefully ran the bath, testing the water with her fingers to make sure it was just the right temperature. The steam curled softly in the air, fogging the mirror as she adjusted the knobs. The night had left her strangely unsettled, a mix of emotions swirling within her as she stole a glance back at the bedroom where you lay.

You were stretched out on her bed, half-asleep, the tension of the evening melting into exhaustion. Your breathing was slow, and the sight of you like that—so peaceful, so vulnerable—made Jihyo’s chest tighten. She turned back to the bath, shaking her head at herself.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, pulling her from her thoughts. She sighed, her shoulders drooping as she picked it up.

Sana.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she opened the messages.

“Where are you?”

“I miss you.”

“I need your lips on me.”

Jihyo stared at the words for a moment, her stomach twisting—not with longing, but with annoyance. She hesitated, then typed a short response:

“I’m busy.”

The response only seemed to fuel Sana’s persistence.

“Don’t ignore me, Jihyo.”

“Is this about Y/N?”

“You know I’m better for you. Just come over. Let me remind you.”

Jihyo closed her eyes, her jaw tightening as she gripped the phone. Her finger hovered over the screen before she locked it, setting it down face-down on the counter. She didn’t need this right now—not tonight.

She turned back to the bath, carefully shutting off the water and wiping her damp hands on a towel. With a deep breath, she pushed aside the weight Sana’s messages brought and focused on you.

Walking into the bedroom, she knelt down beside you, her fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice coaxing. “The bath’s ready.” You let out a tired groan, burying your face further into her pillow. “I don’t wanna move…”

Jihyo chuckled, the sound warm and low. “You’ll thank me once you’re in there. Trust me.” She gently tugged at your arm, her touch steady but patient. Reluctantly, you let her help you up, leaning against her as you shuffled toward the bathroom. “You’re so annoying,” you muttered, your words muffled by sleep.

“And yet, you keep letting me take care of you,” she teased, her hand resting at the small of your back as she guided you. The moment you stepped into the warm water, a soft sigh escaped your lips. The heat seemed to wrap around you, melting away the tension in your muscles. Jihyo knelt by the side of the tub, resting her chin on her folded arms as she watched you settle in.

“What?” you asked, catching her gaze. She smiled faintly, her eyes soft. “You just… You look so calm. I like seeing you like this.” You let out a small laugh, closing your eyes. “You’re staring again.”

“Can you blame me?” she murmured, her voice so quiet it almost blended with the sound of the water. You opened one eye, studying her. “You’re being weird tonight. What’s going on in that head of yours?” her eyebrows furrowed “What do you mean by that?”. You leaned your head back, “I mean, you’re not insulting me or making my life a living hell, what’s up with that?” For a moment, she hesitated, her lips parting like she was about to say something significant. Instead, she reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “I was just thinking… about you. About us.”

The weight of her words made your heart flutter. “Us?” you echoed, your voice soft. She nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving yours. “You’re different, Y/N. In a good way. A really good way.”

Her words caught you off guard, leaving you unsure of how to respond. Before you could find the right words, her phone buzzed again from the counter. Jihyo’s face hardened as she stood, her shoulders tense. “I’ll be right back.” You watched her leave, a small ache blooming in your chest. Alone, you sank further into the water, the warmth now doing little to soothe the unease that crept into your thoughts.

Out in the other room, Jihyo grabbed her phone, glaring at the screen. She answered with a clipped tone, “What do you want, Sana?”

“Finally,” Sana’s voice came through the line, smooth and self-assured. “You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

“I told you I’m busy,” Jihyo replied, her voice tight. “With Y/N?” Sana pressed, her tone shifting to something sharper. “You think they’re better than me? Different?”

“Sana, stop,” Jihyo said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You know how this ends,” Sana continued, her voice softening to a manipulative lilt. “They’ll leave, Jihyo. They always do. But I’m still here. I’ll always be here.” Jihyo’s grip on the phone tightened. “Goodnight, Sana,” she said firmly, ending the call before Sana could respond.

She stood there for a moment, her heart pounding—not with doubt, but with frustration. She refused to let Sana’s words linger, refused to let them plant seeds of insecurity.

When she returned to the bathroom, you were resting against the edge of the tub, your eyes half-closed. You looked up at her, your expression soft but tinged with concern. “Everything okay?”

Jihyo’s expression softened instantly, and she knelt beside you again. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” She helped you out of the tub, wrapping a towel around your shoulders. “I thought you were going to fall asleep in there,” she teased lightly. You laughed quietly, leaning into her touch. “Maybe I was.” As she led you back to the bedroom, you glanced at her, your voice hesitant. “What you said earlier… about me being different. What did you mean?”

Jihyo paused, her gaze locking with yours. Her lips parted, and for a moment, you thought she might finally say it. But instead, she smiled faintly. “It’s… complicated.” Your heart sank slightly at her deflection, but you didn’t push. Instead, you let her guide you back to bed, her touch gentle as she tucked you in.

And as she slipped in beside you, holding you close, you couldn’t shake the feeling that her silence carried more weight than her words ever could.

—

A sharp knock pierced the quiet of the night, drawing an irritated groan from your lips as you stirred in bed. You glanced at Jihyo, who remained unmoving, her breathing slow and steady as she slept, hoping she’d get up and answer it.

The knock came again, louder this time, dragging you out of your sleep with a groggy groan. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. You glanced over at Jihyo, who was completely still, her soft breathing even and undisturbed.

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, tossing the covers aside. The cold air pricked at your skin as you shuffled toward the door, your annoyance barely masked by your exhaustion.

The moment you opened it, the night air hit you—and so did the sight of Sana. Her smile stretched wide, but it wasn’t kind. It was sharp, calculated, with an edge that set your nerves on edge immediately.“Good,” she said, her voice smooth. “I was hoping you’d be the one to answer.”

Before you could even question her presence, her hand shot out, gripping your wrist. “Come on,” she said, pulling you outside with surprising force. “Let’s have a little chat.”

“Sana, what the hell—” Her nails dug into your skin, silencing your protest as she dragged you onto the porch. The night was quiet save for the occasional rustle of leaves, but there was nothing calm about the way she was staring at you. “What do you want?” you asked, your voice barely hiding your irritation. “What do I want?” she echoed, her smile turning colder. “I want to know what exactly is going on between you and Jihyo. What are you to her? ”

You froze, her question catching you off guard. “That’s none of your business,” you said cautiously, trying to pull your wrist free, but her grip only tightened.“Oh, it’s absolutely my business,” she said, leaning in closer. “Have you two...been intimate?”. Your cheeks burned at the bluntness of her question, but you refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “Why does that matter?” you managed, your voice firmer now.

Her laugh was bitter, almost mocking. “It matters because Jihyo is mine. She has always been mine. And I don’t care what little fairytale you’ve convinced yourself of, but this...this thing between you two? It ends now.”

“Sana, you need to leave,” you said, trying to sound firm, but the tension in your voice betrayed your unease.Her nails dug deeper into your wrist, making you wince. “Oh, you think I’m just going to walk away? Not a chance. I don’t think you understand who you’re fucking dealing with, Y/N.”

You glared at her, frustration bubbling to the surface. “And I don’t think you understand that Jihyo isn’t some possession for you to claim.” Her smile faltered for a moment, but then it returned, sharper than before. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “Jihyo might not say she’s mine, but I know her better than you ever will. She comes back to me every time. And when she does, where will that leave you?”

You tried to keep your composure, but her words stung.“I’m not afraid of you,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. She chuckled darkly. “You should be. Because I don’t just make threats—I follow through. I will destroy everything you have, everything you care about. Your reputation? Gone. Your little facade of confidence? Shattered. And no one will even remember your name when I’m done.”

Her words felt like a slap, but you refused to let her see how much they affected you. “You’re pathetic,” you said quietly. “Trying to control someone who clearly doesn’t want to be with you. It’s all forced, it’s all business.” Her eyes flashed with anger, and her grip on your wrist tightened to the point of pain. “Don’t test me,” she hissed. “I’ve let you play your little game for long enough. This is your one and only warning: stay away from Jihyo. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Her voice was low and dangerous, each word hitting like a dagger. You could see the obsession in her eyes, the possessiveness that twisted her features into something cruel and unrecognizable. “Sana, you need help,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the fear creeping into your chest. Her laugh was hollow. “Help? Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need help. You do. Because you have no idea what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into.”

She finally released your wrist, and you stumbled back, cradling your arm where her nails had left deep, red indentations.

“Remember this,” she said, her tone icy. “Jihyo is mine. And if you think for a second that you can change that, you’re even more foolish than I thought.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving you standing there in the cold, her threats echoing in your mind. You closed the door slowly, leaning against it as your body trembled—not just from the cold, but from the weight of everything she’d said. You glanced down at your wrist, the faint marks serving as a cruel reminder of her venomous words.

As you made your way back to the bedroom, your steps were heavy with doubt. You looked at Jihyo, still sleeping soundly, her features soft and peaceful in the moonlight. For a brief moment, you let yourself wonder—was Sana right? But then you shook your head, pushing the thought away. Whatever was between you and Jihyo, it was real. You had to believe that.

Strategy 1: The Morning After

Sunlight streamed softly into the room, illuminating the scattered clothes on the floor and the faint rise and fall of Jihyo’s chest as she slept beside you. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to savor the quiet. Her arm was draped over your waist, her face buried in the crook of your neck.

You should’ve felt calm. Safe. But the unease that had been growing inside you for weeks gnawed at your chest like a dull ache.

Your phone buzzed harshly on the nightstand, breaking the fragile serenity of the morning. You reached for it quickly, careful not to wake Jihyo.

**Notification: "Rising Star Caught in Scandal—Leaked Photos Surface"**

Your heart sank as you opened your phone to a barrage of missed calls, texts, and notifications. The headlines were plastered across every major outlet. Fake photos. Accusations. Lies. Your name dragged through the mud.

“Y/N?” Jihyo’s groggy voice startled you. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated, clutching the phone in your hands. “It’s nothing,” you murmured, but your voice betrayed you.

Her brow furrowed as she reached for her own phone. Her face hardened as she read the notifications, her once-soft expression replaced with something colder. “What the hell is this?”

“I don’t know!” you exclaimed, sitting up. “It’s not true, Jihyo. I didn’t do any of this.”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stared at her screen, scrolling through the headlines. “Do you have any idea how bad this looks?”

“Of course, I do!” you snapped, the panic in your voice growing. “But it’s not real! Someone—someone’s doing this to me.”

Her jaw clenched, and she stood up from the bed, running a hand through her hair. “You need to fix this. Immediately.”

The coldness in her tone stung more than you cared to admit. “Do you even believe me?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jihyo paused, her lips parting as if to say something, but she shook her head instead. “I don’t know what to think, Y/N. I really don’t.”

---

Strategy 2: The Press Conference

Hours later, you were seated at a long table in front of dozens of reporters. The flashing lights from their cameras made your head pound, and their relentless questions felt like daggers.

“Y/N, over here!” a man called out. “Do you deny the allegations?”

“Is it true you tried to sabotage your peers to climb the ranks?” a woman asked, her voice laced with contempt.

You leaned into the microphone, gripping its base tightly to keep your hands from shaking. “These accusations are false,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “The photos and messages were fabricated. I don’t know who’s behind this, but I would never—”

“Then how do you explain the evidence?” another reporter cut you off. “Are you saying the media is lying?”

“I’m saying someone is targeting me,” you said, your voice firm this time. “This isn’t the truth.”

“But why would someone go to these lengths unless there was some truth to it?” a younger reporter pressed.

You felt the walls closing in, the weight of their stares suffocating. “I—I can’t answer that,” you admitted, your voice faltering.

Momo sat beside you, her gaze sharp as she leaned forward. “This press conference is over,” she announced, standing. “We’ll issue an official statement later. No further questions.”

The reporters shouted over one another as you were escorted out.

Final Blow: The ballroom.

The grand ballroom was dazzling, filled with industry elites dressed to the nines. You wore a designer gown that hugged your frame perfectly, but you felt exposed, like every pair of eyes was dissecting you.

Jihyo walked beside you, her arm brushing yours, but the warmth you usually felt was gone. The space between you was more than physical—it was a chasm of doubt and unspoken words.

As you entered the room, the whispers started.

“Is that her?”

“Did you see the headlines?”

“She doesn’t even look ashamed.”

You kept your chin high, ignoring the sting of their words. Jihyo’s hand briefly grazed the small of your back as she guided you to your seats.

The event unfolded smoothly at first. But as the lights dimmed and the massive screen lit up, your heart stopped.

The screen displayed the necklace—the one that had caused so much trouble in your rookie days. Then came the photos: the broken pieces, the argument, and finally, the fake messages framing you as the saboteur.

The gasps from the crowd were deafening.

You turned to Jihyo, desperate to explain, but the look on her face shattered you. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her lips pressed into a trembling line.

“I thought I could trust you,” she said, her voice barely audible over the murmurs. “It really was you.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “It wasn’t me. You have to believe me.”

Her shoulders slumped as she took a step back. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

The weight of her words crushed you. Your breath hitched, and you looked around the room, the stares cutting into you like knives. That’s when you saw her—Sana, standing near the back, a satisfied smile on her lips.

Everything clicked.

You clenched your jaw, your fists trembling at your sides, but the humiliation was too much. You turned and bolted out of the ballroom, the voices of reporters and attendees chasing after you.

“Y/N, care to comment?”

“Is this the end of your career?”

“Do you regret what you’ve done?”

The words blurred together as tears clouded your vision. You barely noticed Momo pulling up outside the venue. She leapt out of the car, shoving past the paparazzi to reach you. “Get in the car,” she snapped, her voice firm but protective.

Once inside, you collapsed against her, sobbing into her shoulder.

“I can’t—I can’t do this anymore,” you choked out, your tears soaking her shirt.

Momo wrapped her arms around you tightly, her hand stroking your hair. “They don’t deserve you,” she muttered, her voice low and filled with rage. “Jihyo doesn’t deserve you. None of them do.”

Her words made you cry harder, your body trembling with the weight of everything.

Momo’s voice softened as she whispered, “I’m going to fix this. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll fix it.”

But deep down, you weren’t sure if anything could ever be fixed.

Nothing will.

The ride to Momo’s apartment had been quiet, save for the occasional sharp inhale you couldn’t stifle as you choked back tears. Momo had driven in near silence, glancing at you every so often, her jaw tight, her grip on the steering wheel firm.

When you finally arrived, Momo walked you to the guest bedroom without saying a word. As soon as the door shut behind you, it all came crashing down.

You collapsed onto the bed, burying your face into the pillows as the sobs tore from your chest. Your heart ached like it had been ripped apart, and your head pounded with every shuddering breath. You clutched at the fabric beneath you, trying to muffle your cries, but the pain was too much to contain.

Flashes of the past began to flood your mind. The yelling, the bruises, the punishment for every little mistake during your rookie days. The sharp sting of slaps across your face, the gut-wrenching humiliation when you didn’t meet expectations. You could still hear the cruel voices in your head:

"Fix your posture. Do it again. No, that’s wrong! Are you really this useless?"

You pulled at your hair in frustration, as if you could physically tear the memories out of your mind. The room felt like it was spinning, and your cries only grew louder.

Outside the door, Momo hesitated. You had locked it as soon as she left, and though she knocked gently a few times, you didn’t respond. “Y/N,” she called softly, her voice filled with concern. “I’m here if you want to talk, okay? Don’t keep it all in.”

But you didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

The next morning crept in sluggishly, though you hadn’t slept at all. Your eyes were red and swollen, your body felt like lead, and your throat ached from crying. You stared blankly at the ceiling, the sunlight streaming in through the curtains doing nothing to warm the icy knot in your chest.

Momo had left early for her part-time job, leaving you alone in the apartment. You were grateful for the solitude, though it did little to ease the storm inside you.

When a knock sounded at the front door, you assumed it was Momo returning because she’d forgotten something. Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled to the door and opened it cautiously.

Your heart sank.

There stood Sana, her lips twisted into a smug, almost predatory smile. Her presence was suffocating.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, your voice hoarse and shaky.

Her smile widened. “I figured you’d be here. Jihyo always said this was your little safe haven. Funny, isn’t it? Running to Momo every time things get hard. Do you ever fight your own battles, or is hiding all you’re good at?”

You moved to close the door, but Sana was quicker. She slammed her hand against it, forcing it open with such strength that you stumbled backward.

“Don’t walk away from me,” she hissed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

“What do you want?” you demanded, trying to mask the fear bubbling inside you.

“What I want,” she began, her voice dripping with venom, “is for you to get out of Jihyo’s life. You don’t deserve her. You never did.”

“You don’t know anything about me or Jihyo,” you snapped, but your voice faltered, betraying your unease.

Sana’s smile twisted into something cruel. “Oh, but I do. She tells me everything. About how needy you are, how much of a burden you’ve become. Did you really think she cared about you? God, you’re delusional.”

Your chest tightened, but you stood your ground. “Get out,” you said, your voice firmer this time.

Sana’s eyes narrowed, and before you could react, she grabbed your wrist, her nails digging into your skin. “You’re nothing but a pest, Y/N. A leech. Do you know how much better her life would be without you? You’re just dragging her down.”

You tried to pull away, but her grip tightened. “Let go of me,” you said, panic creeping into your tone.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she snarled, shoving you against the wall. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through your back. “She’ll never love you. You’re nothing to her. Nothing!”

The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill, but you refused to let her see you break. “You’re insane,” you whispered.

“And you’re pathetic,” she shot back, knocking over a chair as she paced angrily around the room. “Do you even know why Jihyo hated you in the first place? Why everyone thought you were a conniving little bitch?”

Your breath hitched as she continued.

“That necklace,” she said, her voice dripping with malice. “You didn’t sabotage it. I did. I made sure it would all fall apart, and you were stupid enough to take the blame. And look at you now—still stupid, still a mess.”

The room fell silent. Her confession hung in the air like a bomb waiting to detonate.

“What did you just say?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Sana smirked, opening her mouth to respond, but a third voice cut through the tension.

“Sana.”

Both of you turned toward the door.

Jihyo stood there, her face pale, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and fury. In one hand, she held a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, now crushed in her grip.

“Sana,” she repeated, her voice shaking. “You… you did this?”

Sana faltered, her confident facade cracking. “Jihyo, it’s not—”

“You lied to me,” Jihyo said, stepping forward. Her voice rose with each word, her anger palpable. “You manipulated me. You hurt her. And now you’re here? Doing this?”

“I did it for us!” Sana cried, desperation seeping into her tone. “Don’t you see? She’s ruining everything! You and I—”

“There is no ‘you and I,’” Jihyo snapped, shoving Sana back. “You’re fired. Don’t come near me. Don’t come near her. Ever again.”

Sana’s face twisted with rage, but she didn’t fight back. She cast one last hateful glare at you before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

As the door closed, Jihyo’s anger melted into something softer. She rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she cupped your face. “Are you okay?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

You couldn’t answer. The weight of everything was too much, and the tears you’d fought so hard to hold back finally spilled over.

Jihyo pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as you sobbed into her shoulder.

“Y/N..” She spoke up.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

#wlw #gxg #twice smut #twice x reader #kpop gg #kpop smut #kpop #smut #jihyo x fem reader #jihyo x you #jihyo angst #twice angst #angst #mini series

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cailinsblog · 3 days ago

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A Christmas to Remember | lando norris

Lando Norris x reader

Guyssss it’s almost Christmas

The cold winter air bit at Lando Norris’s face as he stood outside his apartment, looking out over the twinkling lights of the city. It was Christmas Eve, and the usual hustle and bustle of Formula 1 had quieted down for the season. For the first time in what felt like forever, Lando had time to truly relax, and he was about to spend it with the one person who always made him feel at home — his girlfriend, Y/N.

Lando had been counting down the days, excited not only for the Christmas festivities but also for the surprise he had planned for her. After months of searching for the perfect gift, he had finally found something that he knew would make her heart melt — a puppy. But this wasn’t just any puppy; it was a fluffy, playful Golden Retriever, with soft fur and eyes full of curiosity. Lando could already imagine the look of joy on Y/N’s face when she saw it, and that was all the motivation he needed.

As he unlocked the door to his apartment, he stepped inside, where he was greeted by the warm glow of Christmas decorations. The room was filled with the sweet smell of cinnamon and pine from the candles he had lit, and there was a large, beautifully decorated tree in the corner. Underneath it, a pile of carefully wrapped presents sat, some of which Lando had already picked out for Y/N. But there was one more — the one he was most excited about — sitting on the table, waiting for the perfect moment.

Y/N was in the kitchen, humming as she prepared their dinner. She looked up when she heard the door open, a smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of Lando.

“There you are!” she said, wiping her hands on a towel and walking toward him. “I was starting to think you’d be late for our Christmas dinner.”

Lando chuckled, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, love. You’ve got everything set up so beautifully.”

Y/N blushed slightly, her eyes lighting up with happiness. “Well, you know, I wanted to make it extra special for us. It’s our first Christmas together.”

Lando’s heart swelled at her words. He’d spent so much of his life on the road, traveling from race to race, that he often forgot the simple joys of life. But with Y/N by his side, he was reminded every day of how much he had to be grateful for.

They sat down for dinner, chatting about everything and nothing as they shared their favorite holiday foods. The sound of Christmas music played softly in the background, and for a while, it felt like time had slowed down, just for them.

After dinner, Lando couldn’t contain his excitement any longer. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, standing up and walking toward the table where the puppy’s gift was hidden.

Y/N tilted her head, intrigued. “What is it?”

Lando pulled out a small, plush puppy and handed it to her. “I know it’s not much, but I thought you might like it.”

Y/N looked at the little stuffed animal, a soft smile crossing her face. “Oh, Lando, it’s so cute! Thank you!”

But before she could say anything else, Lando went to the door and opened it slightly, peeking inside. “Actually, that’s not the only surprise I have for you.”

A moment later, the real surprise entered the room: a playful, golden retriever puppy, bounding through the door with its tail wagging and ears perked up.

Y/N gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. “Lando… is this…?”

“It’s ours,” Lando said, his voice full of excitement. “I thought it was time for us to have a little bundle of joy. What do you think?”

Tears sprang to Y/N’s eyes as she bent down to scoop the puppy into her arms. The little dog licked her face, its tail wagging furiously as Y/N giggled with pure joy. “Oh my God, Lando, you are the sweetest person in the world,” she whispered, cradling the puppy close.

“I’m glad you like him,” Lando said, his heart bursting with happiness. “What should we name him?”

Y/N looked down at the puppy, her mind racing with ideas. “I think… we should name him ‘Charlie,’” she said, her eyes lighting up. “It feels right.”

Lando nodded. “Charlie it is. Welcome to the family, little guy.” He leaned down to give Y/N and the puppy a kiss on the cheek, feeling like the luckiest man alive.

The rest of the evening was filled with laughter and love, the couple spending time with their new furry friend as they exchanged stories, gifts, and holiday wishes. As the clock struck midnight, signaling the arrival of Christmas Day, Y/N stood up and handed Lando a carefully wrapped box.

“Your turn,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Lando smiled as he took the box from her, carefully unwrapping it to reveal a custom helmet. It was a work of art — a helmet painted with intricate details, featuring his McLaren team colors, and the faces of his closest friends and family, including Y/N and himself. On one side of the helmet, there was a small but detailed image of the two of them together, holding hands, with the puppy sitting beside them.

Lando was speechless, staring at the helmet in awe. “Y/N… this is amazing. How did you—?”

“I had it commissioned,” she said, her smile widening. “I wanted you to have something that would remind you of home every time you get in the car. And no matter how far you go, you’ll always have us with you.”

Lando’s eyes softened as he gently placed the helmet on the table. “I… I don’t know what to say. This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

Y/N blushed, a shy smile curling on her lips. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” he said, pulling her close. “You’ve made this Christmas unforgettable.”

With Charlie nestled between them, Lando and Y/N spent the rest of the night by the fire, exchanging stories and dreams for the future. They had both given each other the perfect gifts — one that symbolized the promise of a new beginning, and the other that was a reminder of the love and family they had already built.

As the fire crackled and the lights on the tree twinkled softly in the background, Lando couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of peace. Christmas was no longer about the races, the fame, or the fast cars. It was about moments like this — quiet, intimate, full of love.

And in that moment, Lando knew that no matter where the road took him, he would always have Y/N and Charlie by his side. Christmas had never felt more complete.

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bibittybopittybadbxtch · 9 hours ago

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Snoop

Pairing: Choi Sungcheol x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend knows you’re a snoop. He’d never actually keep it in the house. You find a “ring box” with earrings inside. Christmas morning you go to unwrap the “earrings” and find your own personal easter egg.

Warnings: None…I think.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Hi hoes and hoochies (said with only affection)! I’m baaaccckkkkkk!!! Did ya miss me?? I have recently discovered that my ult bias had changed. This is his introduction into my oeuvre. Everyone say hello to Choi Sungcheol. *cheers and applause👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏* Please enjoy, I had sooo much fun writing this. Likes and Reblogs are welcome if you feel so compelled. BEWARE‼️‼️ spelling errors and grammar mistakes may lie ahead. PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION ⚠️⚠️

XOXO, Bibi

P.S.

I do NOT consent to have my work posted, translated or published to any third party site or app.

P.P.S

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate 🎄

Thanks For Reading ❤️

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It’s here. You know it is. You look in every secret hiding place you can think of, but you can’t it anywhere. It’s Christmas Eve and you’re convinced he’s going to propose. Sungcheol had been hinting at an engagement for months. The two of you have been together for almost 4 years. It’s time. You were sure that you both were on the same page. But where’s the ring? You just want a peek.

Between the 10+ years he had spent with Jeonghan and being your boyfriend for years, Sungcheol had learned how to deal with a snoop. He knew you’d check. So he thought he would leave something for you to find.

“Where the HELL is this ring!?” After flipping the 12th pair of underwear, you were frustrated. Determined to find a ring you flip over pair 13, and apparently today it’s your lucky number. Bingo. Ring box. Excitement floods your veins. Just a tiny peak. You take a deep breath and open the box…revealing a sparkling pair of diamond earrings. They’re gorgeous and probably cost a small fortune, but you can’t help the disappointment that you feel. You’re incredibly hurt and confused but Sungcheol will be home any minute, you’ve gotta get it together.

“Hey baby” Sungcheol greets as he enters the house. The moment he sees you he knows you had found the earrings in his drawer. Part of him feels bad. He never wants to be the reason his girl is upset, but this was a lesson you needed to learn. He makes his way over to where you’re lounging on the couch and places a kiss on your forehead. “Hey” you half hardly reply. You’re trying your best to remain indifferent but your feelings are hurt. S.Coups doesn’t question your mood, he knows the cause. He plops down next to you and grabs a few goldfish from your bowl. Despite your mood, you try to relax and enjoy the rest of your evening with your boyfriend. In the back of your mind you’re still thinking about, what not finding a ring means for your relationship. If he doesn’t want to marry you now, after all these years and the long talk the two of you had about a life together on your last trip to Jeju. Will he ever?

*Christmas Morning*

You wake up on Christmas morning both thrilled and anxious. Your best friend had flown in from out of town to spend Christmas with you. You make your way down the hall, to the guest bedroom where she’s staying. You knock before waiting for her response. When she welcomes you in, you plop yourself on her bed heaving a big sigh. “What’s the matter with you” she asks as she turns to rummage through her suitcase. You stare up at the ceiling for a second before speaking, “It’s Christmas and my boyfriend hates me”. She turns and looks at you puzzled. “What are you talking about, that boy is obsessed with you” she gets up and shoves you over so she can lay beside you. You give her a sad smile, “Apparently he’s only obsessed for now. Forever with me isn’t appealing to him.” She looks over at you and resists the urge to hit you. Instead she simply says, “You don’t even believe yourself.” You don’t have the energy to fight her so you stand and ask if she’s ready for breakfast.

After breakfast, the three of you move to the living room to open gifts. This is the part you’ve been dreading. You watch with a small smile as your best friend opens her presents. The three of you has played rock paper scissors. She won, Then Sungcheol, you were last. Once she finishes S.coups pipes up. “Okay, my turn.” Sungcheol unwraps his new watch and looks at you with a big dimpled smiled. “Thank you my heart, I love it. Okay Baby, your turn.”

This is it. You can do this. You begin unwrapping the box you had stolen a glance at last night. You will your hands not to shake as you begin to pry it open. Your mouth flies open in shock at the diamond ring inside. Your eyes raise from the box in your hand to Sungcheol who has shifted from his place beside you to on his knee in front of you. “Angel, will you say yes to forever? Will you say yes to late nights with crying babies and early mornings with teething toddlers? trips around the world and nights on the couch at home? Will you say yes to the rest of our lives together? Baby I wanna build our life together from the ground up. Will you marry me?” Sungcheol doesn’t get a chance to blink before you launch yourself into his arms. “YES!” you squeal, before burying your face in his neck and crying. Right now you’re to happy to try and figure out where the this ring came from. You were sure you’d checked everywhere.

Later that night you’re staring at your newest accessory, when something occurs to you. “Coupsie, where did you have the ring at?” Sungcheol turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “Wow. You gave yourself up that quick huh?” Your eyes go wide as you realize your mistake. “I- wait…what?” He shifts his body closer to you and clears his throat. “After we had that talk in Jeju about getting married, I immediately started looking at rings. I knew that meant that you would also start snooping for a ring in the house.” He pinches your side playfully before speaking again. “So, I went and looked at rings for a month after work before I found the perfect ring. I went online and had it ordered to the store near your best friend’s house. She’s been keeping it with her this whole time.” Your eyes tear up at his confession. You feel guilty for the way you had felt prior to his proposal. “When I couldn’t find the ring. I was convinced we weren’t on the same page, and you didn’t want to marry me.” you confess. Sungcheol sighs before pulling you into his arms. “I also figured that would happen. But I needed you to be surprised. You deserve to feel special. I want to make plans for you. Just relax, let me take the lead sometimes. I’ve got you.” You look at him with a soft smile, eyes brimming with tears. Never in your life had you felt so seen. You snuggle closer to him and shut your eyes. Sending out an internal “thank you” to whoever fucked up that sidewalk.

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt imagines #svt fanfic #svt #svt carat #choi #sungcheol #scoups #scoups x reader #scoups x you #scoups x y/n #scoups imagines #chirstmas #kpop #kpop bg

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