#there is so much i’d miss but it’s just not my place

[dear-aubade]

Kisses After Midnight

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Smut

Summary: Joel gets back from a long patrol in the middle of the night. It’s clear that his baby missed him very much.

Notes: smut, sub!reader, soft!dom!joel, praise, dirty talk, unprotected piv, Joel calls reader every pet name in the book, teasing, slight orgasm denial, dd/lg vibes sorta (but no use of ‘daddy’), let’s play a game called how many times can the author use the word ‘sweet’ in one fic

For it being the end of the world, you and Joel had a pretty good life. He’d been in Jackson for about eight months—eight months in which he gave his heart to the sweetest little thing to ever walk the earth.

Your very existence seemed to be a mockery of the times you lived in. You were soft and sweet, edges not yet roughed. He didn’t know how you’d gone so long staying as doe-eyed as you did—hell, he didn’t know how you ended up with him. He felt far too…jaded. Far too rough to be with someone so beautiful and untainted.

And yet, you were drawn to him. He still remembered the first day you knocked on his door, asking in your honey-sweet voice, I told Maria I’d give you a tour of the town. Is that alright, Mr. Miller? Oh, he’d just about died then.

Things only took off from there. Something would break in your house, and he’d be called over to fix it. Then you would bring him some bread you baked as a thank you, and then he’d say, Well this is too nice, darlin.’ Why don’t you let me return the favor by putting some shelves up in your living room? He’d seen the piles of books at your bedside—your love of reading deserved to be displayed.

Somewhere along the way, you and Joel just…fit. Something clicked, and soon he was moving into your pretty little house, placing kisses to your pretty little lips, waking up pressed against pretty little you.

Yes, for the end of the world, you and Joel were doing quite nicely.

Except on long patrol days, that is. Oh, Joel knew how much you hated it. Now that you’d gotten used to sleeping in Joel’s arms you didn’t want to give it up, not even for a single night.

But Joel had a part to play in the community—he couldn’t stop working, no matter how much he wished he could spend all his time with you. He’d press kisses to your quivering bottom lip, murmuring reassurances that he would be back the very next night.

Which brought him to now. He’d spent a day and a half out in the cold with Tommy scanning for Clickers, thinking about his princess the entire time ice and wind battered his face. Finally, after a day and a half without seeing you, he was shaking the snow off his jacket and stepping inside your shared home.

Joel was quiet as he took off his shoes and shed his outer layers before heading upstairs. Once inside your room he stripped down to his cotton t-shirt and boxers, then slid under the covers beside you. He wrapped his large arm around your body, pulling you into him and was delighted to find you were wearing nothing but one of his shirts. He nuzzled the top of your head with his nose, then placed a kiss in your hair. “Hey there, sleepyhead.”

You let out a soft yawn, still groggy and half-asleep. “Hm?”

He chuckled lightly and kissed your cheek. “Wake up, pretty baby.” Normally Joel would never wake you up in the middle of the night, but you had explicitly asked him to do so every time he got back from a long patrol. He still remembered your teary eyes the morning after the one time he’d tried to let you sleep and just greet you in the morning. He’d never tried again after that.

Now you began to really stir, blinking your eyes as you looked up at him with a soft, sleepy pout that he wanted to kiss. However, it melted away when your eyes grew a little more alert. “Joel?”

He brushed the hair from your face. “Mhmm. I’m home,” he whispered before kissing you soundly on the mouth. He pulled away just slightly, eyes dancing over your face. “I missed my gorgeous girl’s eyes…and those lips, especially.”

You leaned up to plant another firm kiss to his mouth before holding to him, nuzzling your face into his neck, letting out a soft breath of something almost like relief.

He kept you pressed to the warmth of his body, “Was my little girl lonely ‘round here?” he murmured, rubbing your back gently.

You nodded into his neck. “Missed you.”

He chuckled, kissing your neck, holding you close. “I’m right here now.” His sweet thing. His nose brushed along your jaw and neck, taking in your scent. “Let me ease that pretty little mind a bit, hm?”

Your breath hitched and you nodded, eyes getting a little more glossy…

“C’mere, babygirl…” he whispered, cradling the back of your head to pull your lips to his. Joel’s hands roamed over the curves of your body, mapping out each and every familiar piece of you, his palms warm and strong against your skin. He nibbled at your bottom lip until you parted your mouth in a gasp to allow his tongue to slip inside.

Joel soon broke the kiss, panting softly before he started trailing his lips down your throat and collarbone, nibbling and sucking as he went. “Missed that pretty little voice,” he murmured in that low voice of his. “Can you use it again for me sweetheart?” Joel knew how you got when he spoke to you like this. He knew you would be putty beneath him in no time.

You nodded, letting out a strained, “Mhmm.”

Joel pressed your back to the mattress so you were looking up at him. “Use your words, babygirl,” he reminded, dipping to kiss up your throat again. “Or do I need to make you?” His teeth caught on the sensitive skin below your jaw.

You gasped. “I-I can use ‘em.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, pulling away to look at your face, studying your expression. His fingertips brushed the edge of your neckline. “Can I take all this off, baby?”

You nodded, eyes big and wide. “Yes Joel, please.”

He let out a short, breathy chuckle. “So polite.” With that he got to work, pulling the shirt over your head with one swift tug, leaving you bare beneath him. He looked you over greedily, tracing his hands over your sides, squeezing your thighs, making you squirm. “Oh, sweetheart,” he groaned, eyes falling over your body. “Look at my sweet baby.”

You let out a soft whine of impatience, but Joel cut you off. “Ah—you gonna be a good girl?” He knew you would be. You always were. He just liked hearing it from your strawberry lips.

You nodded, eyes doe-like. “Yes, promise!”

He smiled. “Always listen so well for me.” He sat up a little to remove his own shirt and throw it to the floor, but swiftly leaned back down to kiss you deeply. You tasted like honey on his tongue and his hands slipped along your sides to rest on your hips, locking you in place.

You uselessly tried to buck against his strong hold, trying to press the apex of your thighs closer to his, but he was having none of it. He chuckled. “Needy girl…always gotta have me ‘s close as possible, hm? So greedy, baby.” His sentence was punctuated by a nip to your neck.

“Jus’ missed you.”

“I know darlin’, I know.” Such a soft, sweet voice you had. He met your big, glassy eyes as his fingertips dragged along your neck….your collarbone…until he grasped one of your breasts with his large hand.

He silenced your gasp with his kisses. His sweet girl—so sensitive, you were. You whimpered into his mouth as he brushed his thumb over the peak of your breast.

How had he been apart from you so long?

You were aching. Joel always likes taking his time with you, you knew that, but sometimes all you wanted him to do was pin you down and ravish you instead of playing you like his favorite instrument, stringing his fingers along each little spot that would make you sing….

Joel’s warm mouth closed around your breast and you let out another soft whimper as he flicked his tongue over the peak. Your hands were in his hair, threading through the salt-and-pepper curls while his tongue and teeth were at work.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Joel,” you whined, voice quivering.

“Don’t worry pretty girl, I’m gonna give you what you need.” His fingertips dragged down the center of your tummy, drifting farther and farther below…

“Oh,” Joel cooed, and you moaned softly as his fingers dipped into your wetness. “You’re so ready for me, sweetheart.”

You felt like you could cry from the need, the white hot flames that needed to be fanned and then extinguished. “Joel—”

“I’ll take care of you, darlin’. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

His thumb found purchase on your bundle of nerves and you keened, arching your back, trying to get closer closer closer while he stoked the fire between your legs. He held you the whole time, murmuring how beautiful you were, how pretty your little voice was, how good you were being for him.

You could feel yourself slowly unraveling; the thread of your very being was fraying, coming apart as you climbed higher, higher—

He removed his hand.

Oh, you whined at that, your climax being ripped away so cruelly and carelessly. “No, no, Joel I—”

“Shh, shh baby.” He quieted your protests with a kiss. “I just had to get you ready for me—want you to finish around my cock.”

His bluntness made you squirm, and you’d been so lost in your pleasure that you hadn’t realized you could feel his hardness against your hip, thick and heavy.

Joel shucked down his boxers and tossed them to the side while you lay there waiting, aching for that fullness you knew so well—

You squealed as he tapped the wet tip of his length against the bud atop your slit.

He chuckled and silenced your high-pitched noises with gentle shushing. “I gotcha, honey,” he murmured.

Then he slid inside.

Joel let out a soft groan next to your ear as he fully sheathed himself within your wetness. “So tight for me baby—“ He cut off with another grunt, sliding out before pushing right back in.

He was so big, his strong arms holding you as he rocked his hips, filling you up, up, up until you swear you could feel him in your tummy. Your walls clenched against him, breath hitching with every thrust.

“My baby,” he crooned, ducking his head to kiss along your neck and shower you with praises as he held you to him. “My sweet babygirl. Missed you so much out on the trail, thought about your pretty little pussy the whole time—”

Your head fell back with a gasp as the tip of Joel’s hardness tickled that spot deep inside that had your toes curling.

He chuckled. “Is that the spot, baby?” He pointedly thrust again, making you moan, and grinned knowingly. “Oh, I think it is, hm?” He picked up his pace again, hitting that spot over and over and over.

You felt something start to coil in your lower belly, something familiar and white-hot. Joel reached down to rub circles into your clit, which made you let out a high-pitched whimper and clench around his length.

You were babbling mindlessly, thoughts empty save for him and how good he was making you feel. “Joel, Joel, I—oh please—I need—”

“I know what you need babygirl.” His teeth caught on your earlobe as he kept his pace. “Can feel—fuck—can feel you clamping down on me. You gonna finish for me already?”

You nodded, your lips parted in a silent gasp of need, eyes big and wide as you whined out a desperate, “Mhmm!”

You bucked your hips into his, and this time when you felt your legs tighten, your breath fail, your tummy coil, Joel murmured hushed affirmatives you your jaw and neck and ear—

You cried out as you fell over the edge. Your back arched, your muscles seized, and your vision blurred with overwhelmed tears as you felt the warmth of Joel finishing inside you soon after.

“That’s it sweetie—fuck, so good for me, such a good girl falling apart on my cock, taking me so well—”

You were letting out desperate needy noises, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as the crackling heat lingered.

“I know, I know,” he murmured, claiming your lips, swallowing your whines with his mouth. “You did so good baby, so good….look at you, my pretty girl, my baby….”

Your body went lax, melting against him, each coo and murmur bringing you deeper under.

“That’s it…I’ve gotcha…” Joel maneuvered you as if you were light as a feather so that you were laying side by side, still connected, him still thick and warm inside of you.

Completely blissed out, you nuzzled into his chest, relishing in the feeling of his strong arms around you. Your eyes drooped.

“Tired already, babygirl?”

“Mmm.”

Joel hummed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “That’s okay, darlin’. Just fall back to sleep. I’ll be holdin’ you the whole night through.”

Soon the fog overtook your mind completely and you drifted off, comforted by the knowledge that your Joel was home again.

[mattybsgroupie]

fitting | chris sturniolo

— CONTENTS: handjob (m receiving); mommy kink; milf!reader; virgin!chris; sub!chris

— NOTES: hi my loves! sorry i’ve been a little m.i.a, some stuff happening at home and not really in my best mood BUT i’m here! you give me strenght to keep going and doing what i love. did you guys miss him as much as i did :( chris my beloved!!! inspired by this blurb, thought i’d show how shy chris was before their first time! — btw this fic is part of the milf!au but you can it on its own! — not proofread, i apologize for any mistakes. enjoy ♡

walking around the mall after a busy morning at work, you spotted a familiar figure across the alley. it was quite impossible not to recognize chris — his long hair falling over his big eyes, wearing his shabby jeans and his old converse as he typed frantically on his phone, oblivious to his surroundings.

you approached him slowly, standing in front of chris and expecting that he’d notice you soon. when he raised his head, a smile spread from ear to ear, his blue orbs sparkling. it had been over two weeks since you last saw each other due to stacy staying at her father's place, therefore, chris had no excuses to visit you.

“chris? what are you doing here?” you asked in your usual sweet tone. he scratched the back of his head, as if he was a bit embarrassed about the situation he found himself in. “huh... actually, i was supposed to meet stacy” chris admitted, tucking his cell phone back into his pocket and standing up beside you.

“but she won’t make it” he said. a puzzled frown appeared on your face. it’s true that you couldn’t always keep track of your daughter’s schedule when she wasn't at home, but she wasn’t the type to miss dates or hangouts. 

“cheer practice” he explained. you nodded, realizing that the game season was about to start. it felt so wonderful to see chris again. “well, would you like a ride home? i just have to look for something real quick and then i’m all done”

“sure, c-can i keep you company?” he asked, eager for a positive answer. “absolutely, sweetheart”

you led the way to the store you were going to visit. a lingerie shop. chris gulped when he saw the bright sign, the pink lights contrasting with the black interior and then sighed. he knew you missed him just as much.

“that’s not fair, mama” he mumbled after a while. chris had been following you like a puppy, interlocking his index with two of your fingers, as if he could lose his way at any second. 

“making me so needy” he complained again. you stopped by a red, lace lingerie set and happily brought it to your chest, turning to chris. “what do you think of this one, chris? pretty, right?”

“mhm— really pretty” chris shook his head as he sunk his teeth on his bottom lip. he looked away from you and the way the bra rested perfectly against your chest. “what’s up, baby? are you having a little trouble down there?”

“mama… don’t do this to me” chris whispered. his hands started to get sweaty and he could feel the blood rushing to his cock. he was about to get hard in public just because he thought of you in lingerie, which was ridiculous, since he had seem you naked previosusly.

“i’m not doing anything, sweetie. i’m shopping and you’re keeping me company, isn’t that right? is it my fault that you can’t hold yourself back and got all worked up just because i got some lingerie?” your warm tone sent a shiver down his spine, his chest immediatly inflating with air. “‘m s-sorry i just keep thinking… of you wearing it” chris tried to explain himself as you chuckled, enjoying his embarassement.

“yeah? you wanna see me wearing a nice set for you? which one do you like better?” you asked, handing him three pairs of bras and panties in different colors.

“the red one” chris spoke, still not daring to look at you in the ways. you walked in slow, seductive steps towards him, the sound of your heels taking over the empty store.

“c’mere,  i’ll try it on for you” you continued, undoing the first button of your silk shirt. chris got a peek of your bra, it was the leopard print that drove him insane and made him kiss you for the first time, months ago. “but first we gotta fix this, hm?” you cooed, placing your palm against his boner and applying some pressure to it.

once again, you led the way towards the fitting rooms. chris followed you obediently, holding a bunch of hangers. you gaze scanned the store and with a naughty grin, you opened one of the curtains and quickly went inside, pulling chris by his wrist.

he didn’t even had time to hang your underwear. you pushed him against the mirror, smashing your lips together in a desperate, hungry kiss. a loud groan left his throat as you moved to his neck, gently sucking on his skin. “mommy i missed you so much” chris rolled his eyes, his hands going to your hair.

“i missed you too, my good little boy” you whispered, palming his cock over his jeans. chris squirmed against you, a moan slipping from his lips. you opened a satisfied smile as you pulled away, sitting on the stool next to the mirror.

chris whined in protest, already missing how you hand and your lips felt on him. “got all hard for mama? you poor little thing” he pouted, nodding “c’mon, touch yourself for me” you instructed him.

his eyes widened in surprise — you had never asked him that. he didn’t know how to do jerk himself properly. chris was a virgin and the first time he was actually able to reach an orgasm was with your help. how was he supposed to do it on his own, and in public?

“mhm, unless you wanna go out with that pathetic boner” you teased, crossing your legs. the red heel started to slip from your foot as you finished unbuttoning your shirt, fully displaying your bra. chris whined again, silently pleading.

“mama… i n-need your help” chris spoke under his breath. “can’t cum without you”

“you’ll have to learn how to take care of yourself, chris” you said, pulling chris by his belt. you helped him to undress, freeing his shaft, almost slapping against his own tummy. you wrapped your knuckles around his length, stroking it in slow motions. “do you expect mama to be there every time you get hard? what are you gonna do when i’m not around, hm?”

“nhng— can’t— can’t be without mama” chris whimpered, more to himself than to you. he twitched inside your fist, placing both hands on the mirror to hold his weight, knowing his knees would ultimately give up.

you moved your thumb to his tip, pre-cum leaking from his slit as you circled it. his hips bucked forward as he leaned his head down, trying to hold himself. chris didn’t want to cum too soon, it was humiliating. he wanted to last long for you, he wanted to get used to the feeling your fingers around him, to the sound of your voice whispering praises and calling him a good boy, but no matter how hard chris tried, he pathetically failed.

“cum! mama, cum!” chris whimpered. you tightened your grip around his cock, pumping it faster. “please!”

“cum for me baby” you allowed him. you knew chris would need a long time to get used to your touch. in fact, it was adorable that he couldn’t even last five minutes.

chris threw his head back, moaning as he came on your hand, thick spurt messing your fingers and his jacket. you didn’t move your hand, continuing to gently stroke his wet, sticky cock.

that’s until your phone rang. you reached for your bag, quickly picking it up and seeing the name on the screen. “i think stacy is back home” you told chris, whose dick immediately became soft at the mention of your daughter’s name. “would you like to join us for dinner?”

— TAGLIST ♡⊹𑄽୧ @thepubeburgler @submattenthusiast @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh @bugeyedgrl @sturncakez @riowritesitall @mattsturnswife @sturnsmia @sturnthepot @mattscoquette @conspiracy-ash @ilovemattsturn @lizzymacdonald06 @blahbel668 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnobsessedwh0re @cayleeuhithinknott @sturniolo04 @1c3b4th @mattsfavbigtitties @bellassturniolo @sturnsxplr-25 @ivammbb @shadowthesim @slutformatthewsturniolo @stefansring @teeheeomg @dystfopia @riasturns @faiyaz555 @sturnslutz @cvnntagious @alesturniolos @emely9274

chris masterlist | milf au masterlist

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (08)

chapter eight: ships in the night

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; i’ve been told this is the angstiest chapter yet saur yk you’ve been warned, mentions of past seggsy times, oc is self-deprecating self-sabotaging, oc has an anxiety attack in this one, erhm just Big Sad overall methinks, also could've been more edited but i am a godless monster word count: 7.2k note: wt is backkkkkk!! and it's the penultimate chapter omg :( lowkey nervous about how this is gonna be perceived bc i feel like my brand is Sad™️ and i haven't properly written anything Sad™️ in a WHILE. but yeah, wt8 is yours now have funnn. also ty chessica @matchannie for proofreading!!

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Sorry, I know that comment wasn’t funny Just wanted you to love me, but I didn’t go about it right Sometimes the best advice that I can give Is to bite my lip and listen with my big fat mouth shut tight

big fat mouth - Arlie

You don’t think you can ever forget the look on his face, the hurt in his eyes when the words had tumbled out of your mouth in a panicked frenzy. The regret was immediate, but so was the damage.

Saying things you didn’t mean, watching Minho so utterly defeated that it kills you, and the deafening silence after he had walked away from you on heavy footsteps – you can’t describe how it all felt that night. It’s just… sinking, and sinking, and sinking; endlessly spiraling in an ocean of your own guilt and despair. It’s true what they say – misery loves company.

Distractions don’t work, because whenever that overwhelming dread eases by even a fraction, you’re once again reminded by the bracelet that’s wrapped around your wrist with the tiny dove charm hanging on the side. Neither of you paid it any mind the other night, that much is clear.

You know you should return it to him eventually; it’s never belonged to you and it never will. But every time you go to take it off, you can’t bring yourself to simply undo the clasp and hide the bracelet somewhere you can’t see. It lets you delude yourself into thinking that you haven’t lost him even after what you said, even after you stomped on his heart and left it bleeding where you stood. 

You’d been upset, thinking that you were the only one falling, terrified that you’d crash headfirst into the cold, hard ground because there’d be nobody to catch you. And yet, when Minho told you he loved you, it provided you no relief at all. The fear magnified tenfold, taking over you until you couldn’t see straight, until it consumed you whole.

Home is something you find, and you’ve found it in him. Your sun and your spring and your home, and everything good that you can ever name.

All your life, something is always missing, an empty space that you never learned how to fill. Like when you exit a room and there’s a nagging feeling in your gut telling you that you’ve forgotten something even though all of your belongings are accounted for. Like when you lose your favorite ring, one that’s a little too loose but beloved anyway, slipping over your knuckle without your permission and disappearing forever, and you keep running your fingers over where the golden band used to be until you come to terms with the fact that it’s never coming back and you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning the loss of that familiarity.

You’ve always looked for things you lost in places you’ve never been.

You just want to go home, but you know you’ll only ruin it in the end.

The problem has never been Minho or anybody else. It’s you, and how there’s something intrinsically wrong with you. You paint the ending before there’s even a beginning. You’d rather run and hide than let yourself feel anything, because if there’s happiness then there’s going to be hurt inevitably.

You don’t want him to wake up one day and look at you like you’re a stranger, to realize that he’s wasted his time and effort, that you just weren’t worth it after all. 

It’s funny how, when you’re a child, time seems to move so quickly. One minute, you’re four, maybe five years old, and your mother is refusing to speak to you because she thinks you ruined one of her bags, a large scratch running along the otherwise smooth leather surface like it’s been met with a pair of scissors or simply accumulated on her way to work and she hadn’t noticed until she got home and you happened to be in the vicinity of her anger; the next, she’s letting you relish in all your favorite desserts, cavities be damned.

One minute, you’re being rushed to the hospital with a bad case of food poisoning, your parents staring down at you as if you’re actually about to die; the next, you’re already at home, watching cartoons that you couldn’t understand but you like anyway because they’re full of pretty colors and princesses and fairies.

You don’t remember how your mother came to forgive you for the bag even though it wasn’t your fault, or what the hospital felt like or if what the doctors and nurses did to make you feel better even hurt. You only know that you wish to return to a smaller version of yourself whose memories you can’t even recall, return to a time in which you once so desperately wanted to escape from.

Now, when you’re hurt, time doesn’t pass in a blink of an eye like it used to. It stands still, sucks you down a vortex and makes you feel everything. 

No one ever really warns you about growing pains, that they’re unavoidable no matter how hard you try to avoid them, that they can last a lifetime because you never really stop growing, and it never really seems to ache any less.

Hyunjin: Attachment: 1 Image. Hyunjin: i sent this one in  Hyunjin: u??

You’d almost forgotten about the exhibition until Hyunjin had sent you those texts. Even though you’re not one to neglect deadlines, you suppose it’s fairly reasonable that this one in particular had slipped your mind. You haven’t really been able to wrap your head around that many things after all.

Every semester, yours and Hyunjin’s department rents out a gallery near campus for a whole week to showcase students’ works. It’s nothing exclusive, nothing like a competition where they pit a couple hundred kids against each other just for a spot at a fancy art gallery. Almost anyone in the Faculty of Arts can register before the submission deadline, and you suppose that’s another reason why you’d overlooked it so easily – because you didn’t earn it. It didn’t feel special. It was just another meaningless event to attend.

Regardless, you spent a chunk of an afternoon pondering your selection though it didn’t matter that much, almost two hours dedicated to picking out paintings you realized you didn’t love. Some you even turned out to hate, even though you could remember the pride radiating from you the moments the canvas had felt the last brush stroke. Maybe the glamor eventually wore off, the momentary high that coursed through you when you’d shown your finished works to your professors and peers, and received showers of praise in return.

The piece you chose in the end wasn’t your favorite by any means, but it was one of the only pieces you could still bear to look at without nitpicking too much. It was a painting of the waters, and you’ve always loved the waters.

You could recall the day you went to the promenade by yourself with a need to be away from everyone and everything, and an overshirt that was too light to combat the September evening chill as summer transitioned into fall. You watched the sky slowly darken after the sun had disappeared from view, watched as the buildings on the other side of the river lit up one by one until they made up for the light that retired for the day.

The thin layers made you shiver – the consequence of your poor choice in clothing that night – but there was something about sitting by the waterfront after dark, kicking pebbles around underneath your feet, and the gentle caress of the wind on your face and your hair that made the cold feel welcoming. You always thought the city was more beautiful at night, more calming amidst all of its perpetual chaos. It made you feel like you were inside a dream long forgotten, took you back to a north star that you left to gather dust on an abandoned shelf.

You could recall wanting to dive into that dream again, a dream in which you could chase a perfect version of you that would never exist and find light at the end of the tunnel, instead of returning to the reality where you always wound up suffocating in darkness. You wanted to be free, free from the noise and free from your own life despite one simple truth that you knew all too well – that you could run but never from yourself.

When you were young, it’s the moon that used to follow you everywhere. As you get older, it’s all of the things that keep you up at night.

You could recall your phone buzzing to life in your bag with Minho’s name on the screen, like a sign from the universe saying “Hey, this one’s for you. Don’t drown. You have a lighthouse.” and it was as though he could sense that you were falling, like someone had tied your heart to a rock and threw it into the very river in front of you to sink to the bottom. Your friends often said he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to you. Maybe there was some truth in that.

His voice pulled you out of it, even though he only called to ask if you wanted to come over and eat the boatload of food his mom had sent. He made you want to disappear a little less and in that moment, it was enough.

You left your hiding place to go to him, to lose yourself in stupid jokes and not-too-sweet desserts even if it was only for a couple hours. And when you returned home that night, everything spilled onto the canvas just from memory alone, from the feeling that you were desperately clinging onto with your shaking hands.

You always thought you could only run away to places. You didn’t know people could be escapes too, and somewhere along the way, that was what Minho became to you — your treasured escape, your new hiding place.

You manage to avoid everyone – with the exception of Hyunjin; you do have to see him in class after all – over the two and a half weeks leading up to the exhibition, drumming up excuse after excuse to bail whenever any of them asks to grab a bite together or just to simply hang out. If they saw you, they’d notice your puffy eyes and ask if you’ve been crying. They would ask why, and you can’t find in yourself to make up a lie believable enough for that kind of question.

You think Hyunjin has noticed. He’s a bit of an idiot sometimes, but he’s not stupid and he’s still blessed with the gift of sight. He doesn’t mention anything though, despite you showing up to almost every class with puffy eyelids. You suppose you’re grateful for that.

Minho hasn’t talked to you at all since that night. Doesn’t ask you how your project’s going, doesn’t ask you about the exhibition, barely even speaks in the group chat, not even a boring comment about the weather. What were you expecting anyway? You get it, you do.

But despite the silence, you never doubted that he would show up to the exhibition. If not for you, then he would be there to support Hyunjin.

The only person who really has an inkling that something is wrong is Jess, when you were getting ready together earlier tonight and she helped you conceal your puffy eyes. She’d tiptoed around the question before settling on  asking “Everything okay?” — simple, easy, quickly dismissible if you didn’t feel like sharing.

You didn’t, and she dropped the subject because there was no point in badgering you for answers anyway. 

Chan picked the both of you up afterward, and Jess didn’t have to explain anything to him when she slipped into the backseat with you instead of riding next to her boyfriend.

Now here you are, standing in a room full of your friends and peers, wearing a black dress that Jess helped you choose, and Minho is nowhere to be found. You’d spent all day pacing around, anxious at the mere thought of seeing him and even talking to him. What you hadn’t anticipated was the disappointment, the unbearable feeling in the pit of your stomach in response to his absence. You can’t tell which is worse; maybe every moment without him all sucks the same.

When Hyunjin starts whining and takes out his phone to spam Minho’s messages demanding his location (you’re thankful that it didn’t have to come to you), all he receives in return is a measly “Running late.”

And that’s it. A mere text is enough to satiate everyone’s curiosity. Well, everyone but Hyunjin, because he’s still a nagging drama queen.

Minho is running late, and to anyone else, it’s the most normal thing in the world.

But to you… it means something beyond that. Because this was him. This was your Minho. Your Minho who’s never been known for his tardiness, who’s never once broken a promise, who’s always there for you no matter what.

All you know right now is his absence, and it makes you sink.

You sink, and then you wait. Not a lot to be done about it.

You slip away to a quiet spot, a vacant hallway, to be by yourself while everyone is out there wandering around and gorging themselves on the free food and drinks. You shouldn’t be with them anyway. All you need is to wallow in peace and not be the black cloud hanging over everybody’s heads.

There’s something so incredibly lonely in the act of waiting. Waiting to board a plane, waiting in line at the grocery store. Waiting for a phone call or text message that you know won’t come, waiting for a person whom you can only hope would show up. At the end of the day, that’s what waiting is, isn’t it? It’s wanting. It’s hoping, and if there’s one thing you know about hope, it’s that it’s dangerous.

You wonder if this is how Minho felt all this time, waiting on a girl who’s always prepared to leave. You wonder if, that night, he had expected you to reciprocate his feelings. You did. You do, and a part of you wanted to tell him that you loved him too. The words were there, and yet…

It’s true that you love him, and it’s true that you don’t want to. If hope is dangerous then love is fucking terrifying. 

He’d been so patient with you, so awfully gentle and quiet in the chasm of his waiting that you mistook the tenderness for everything except for what it actually was – love. Or perhaps you did know. Maybe deep down, you knew that you would’ve loved him back with everything you had, with every fiber of your being. That you would’ve let him be the only one to ever really know you, and it felt like a fear greater than you could bear. 

In the end, did you lose him? Can you lose something you never had? It wasn’t a love that you let slip away; it was a what if.

You’re in a room with people who love you and yet, all you can think about is Minho. You miss him so much that it feels like someone has spliced you in two, that it physically makes you ache every second that he isn’t with you. As selfish as it sounds, you want him to walk through the door and you want everything to be okay again. You want to be back in a bubble with just the two of you and a locked box filled with words unsaid. You thought you could stay in that bubble forever, where it was safe and you could pretend that you were happy, and maybe you really were happy with him. But all things — good or bad — must come to an end. The bubble burst, and this was the real world.

You want to undo your cruelty, want him to take back his sincerity. You want an ocean of distance between you and him, you want to pull him as close as humanly possible. All your wants are contradictions. You’re a paradox of puzzle pieces that never seem to fit together.

You want to tell him that it hurts. Want him to make it better because he’s the only one who can make it better.

But miracles rarely happen and there are no shooting stars in sight. Minho was the closest thing you got to a shooting star, burning across your night sky for just a brief moment. Blink and you could miss it. Blink and you did miss him.

Your fingers find his contact in your phone before you could stop yourself, and soon enough, you’re pressing the call button. It’s like drunk dialling, only you aren’t intoxicated. Or maybe you are; maybe you’re under the influence of his absence and how much it stings.

You don’t know why you’re calling him, don’t know what to even say when he picks up.

Thankfully, you don’t have to wonder for long.

“Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. Please leave your message after the tone,” comes the automated voice on the other end.

For some reason, you don’t hang up. You wait for the beep, then you wait some more. It’s not until ten seconds later that you find your voice, the only thing to come out of your mouth is a quiet Hey.

You clear your throat, rub the sweaty palm of your free hand on your dress. “Hey,” you try again. “It’s… me. I’m at the gallery with everyone. Uhm, they’re all waiting for you. Are you on your way? Are you stuck in traffic? Or did you forget it was today? Hyunjin is trying really hard not to blow up your phone–” You pause to chuckle dryly. “But you know it would mean a lot to him to have you here. It… it’d mean a lot to me too if you were here. I don’t know, I assumed you’d come. I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. I just…” Another pause. This time, it’s so that you could take a breath. “Listen, Minho, I didn’t mean what I said to you. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m sorry that I hurt you, I don’t have any excuse for that. You deserve better than me. It’s going to pass, you know? I’m sorry if you’ve wasted your time on me, but… you’re going to find someone else, and you’re going to get over it. I’m sorry I fucked everything up. It’s fine if you never want to talk to me again, just please don’t let it get between you and our fr–”

The line beeps again. “To replay the message, press 1. To save the message, press 2. To delete the message, press 3.”

You purse your lips together. There’s still a lump in your throat and no peace to be made. It’s like drunk dialling, only you pull yourself together at the very last second. Your thumb hovers over the dial pad on your phone until you eventually end up on 3, because your cowardice will always triumph in the end. Back to square one. Everything’s still the same as it was five minutes ago.

You force your legs to move, like how you'd force yourself to get up and eat and drink water and shower and be a person these days. When you round the corner, you bump against something solid. A person. The collision isn’t hard enough to knock you backward; they weren’t moving, they’d only been standing still.

You look up at Seungmin, who merely blinks at you. You don’t know how long he’s been here, if he heard anything at all. You swallow once, considering whether you should just play dumb and gauge his reaction or ask point blank if you’ve been caught. He beats you to the decision though.

“You and Minho,” Seungmin says, a bit hesitant, like the topic is weird to bring up. “You’re the girl.”

A deer in headlights, you are. A pathetic one at that, too.

But even then, you’re not panicked, not really. You’re just sad, and the truth was bound to come out eventually. 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you say.

The discarded voicemail that he overheard, the dejection written all over your face, the silence from both you and Minho recently — it’s obvious to pretty much everyone, and Seungmin is smarter than most.

He opens his mouth and shuts it again like he’s choosing his words. The Seungmin-esque blank stare melting away to make space for some pity, then a question, “Is there anything left to tell?”

You escape to the empty garden in the back where there were a few lonely chairs set up, so you could have some privacy to talk. Despite everything, it feels like you’ve got a little breathing space, just being able to share this with someone. To not have to carry it all on your own. You’re glad that it was Seungmin who found out first. You have a feeling that he would understand, at least to some degree. You’re relieved, even when the first question that he asks is, “So, how did you fuck it up?”

“Why do you just automatically assume it was me?” You’re mildly offended, even though he’s right.

“Between you and Minho, I’d bet on you.” Seungmin shrugs. “You spook easily.”

“I deeply resent that notion.”

He turns to look at you, no trace of any teasing. “Can you prove me wrong?”

But you can’t, and it tells him as much when you avert his eyes in favor of the ground, where you kick at a lonesome pebble sitting among the grass. It lands somewhere between the green blades, lost in the shadows that cast over parts of the garden that are poorly lit.

“So what happened?” he asks, turning away again to stare out at the empty space. You like to think of it as him giving you some elbow room, to ease the pressure of being scrutinized. And as much as you appreciate it, it still takes you another brief moment before you can formulate a coherent sentence, another minute of twiddling your fingers in your lap.

You tell Seungmin about your first night with Minho – not the details, of course; that would be weird and it’s none of his business. Just that it happened, how you both let it keep happening over the past few months while nobody suspected a thing.

Seungmin nods solemnly, like he’s putting together the missing pieces.

“Did you ever notice anything?” you ask.

“I mean… not about you hooking up, but we thought you’d end up together eventually.” He shrugs. “We always kinda assumed that you two would become those people who make a pact to get married if you’re still single by 40 or 50, if you didn’t get together before then. It makes sense. You and Minho just sort of make sense.”

“Oh,” you say. Your heart swoops. Hearing it from Seungmin makes you sad. Not the same brand of sadness that you’ve been wearing lately though. A different kind, the kind of sadness that’s a little numbing and makes it difficult to breathe. “Well, sorry to disappoint everyone but I don’t think any of it is gonna happen anymore.”

“So… how did it happen?” Seungmin asks again, mimicking explosions with his hands.

You let him off easy without a punch in the shoulder, because you just really don’t have the energy for it right now. “Minho wanted something more,” you tell your friend, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, then with the necklace charm resting on your collarbone. “And I just… I don’t know. I guess I freaked. I… said some awful stuff to him.”

Seungmin hums a sound of acknowledgement. He looks like he’s thinking about it, about you and Minho and what it means. “Classic,” he chuckles after a brief moment, mostly to himself. Maybe he’s thinking about what it means beyond just the pair of you too.

You side-eye him. “You’d know all about it, wouldn’t you?”

He shoots the glance back at you. “What are you trying to say here?”

You remember her, the only girl that Seungmin has ever hinted at liking. He never admitted it out loud to any of you, but you could all see it.

You only used to see her in passing at house parties, and even then, it wasn’t Seungmin nor her who brought the other one around. They would show up separately with their own group, mingle for a while, find each other after a couple of drinks before they disappeared to god-knows-where for the rest of the night. Sometimes, Changbin or Hyunjin would catch them before they could sneak off and insist that Seungmin let everyone get to know his friend.

These brief interactions are all you have with her, meaningless small talk for a few minutes before Seungmin’s patience ran thin and he whisked her away like they’d both intended. You liked her; she was nice, and she was really pretty. You liked her even though you didn’t know her, because she was the one person who Seungmin cared about enough to keep away from prying eyes. A secret shared only between the two of them, a bubble in which only they existed.

The last time you saw her with him must’ve been at least three months ago, maybe even longer. No one really knows what happened, just that she stopped showing up to parties, and Seungmin never brought it up again. You all assumed whatever he had going on with her had run its course, though it doesn’t really stop Hyunjin and Jisung from mentioning her every now and again just to tease him.

“I seem to recall a Halloween party last year and a certain someone was in a bee costume and–”

“Fine,” Seungmin interjects, rolling his eyes. “Fine, we can form our own dumbass club. Happy?”

You laugh a little, even though the whole thing isn’t very funny. Your shared experience is nothing to take pride in.

“So how did you blow it up?” you ask.

He gives you a sour glare before his eyes soften. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and in his silence you find that you and him are more similar in ways that you’ve never cared enough to admit before. This sadness that you carry, you have a feeling that he knows it all too well.

“Like I said, classic,” Seungmin tells you. “She wanted something more. I freaked. I ghosted her.”

A mirror. Two sides of the same stupid coin.

You lean back against your seat. “Did you like her?”

It takes a beat, but his answer comes out as an honest, “Yeah, I liked her. Liked her too much.”

“Why did you do that to her then?”

“Why did you do that to Minho?” Seungmin deadpans, but he doesn’t seem to want a response from you. He just sighs, wistfully adding, “I’ve thought about it a lot. It’s scary to be wanted because it means someone’s putting you on a pedestal, and when you’re on a pedestal, the more it’ll hurt if you fall off. The more they’re counting on you to not let them down, the easier it is to fuck it all up. People like us, we’re flight risks. We can’t help it. We think it’s better to just leave before we can do any real damage. When you said whatever terrible shit you said to Minho, that was the first thing you thought about, right? To be cruel? That’s what I did too. Such a fucking stupid knee-jerk reaction.”

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, completely still. 

Then Seungmin turns to you, and for the first time in all the years that you’ve known him, he’s looking at you, really looking at you. No snarky side-eye, no playful faux glare. Just a strange and unfamiliar sincerity, like he’s asking you to fix what he couldn’t, undo the cruelty that he never bothered apologizing for.

“Minho would understand, you know? If you’d just talk to him,” Seungmin says. “You made a mistake in the heat of the moment. But you want to have something real with him, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me about this and beating yourself up over it.”

“I told you. That ship sailed.” And you’re standing up for no apparent reason other than the fact that you’re suddenly restless, your stomach twisting in knots out of nowhere. “He’s not even here. He didn’t even show up tonight. I think that’s saying enough.”

Your friend rises to his feet too, probably because he thinks it’s weird to be the only one sitting now while you’re upset and pacing about. It’s not until Seungmin takes a step closer that you realize you’re shaking a little.

“Hey, you good?” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I talked to Minho yesterday. He said he’d come. Maybe something came up or he just–”

Hyunjin’s voice interrupts Seungmin in the middle of his sentence, the excited squeal carrying itself from all the way inside the gallery to the back garden through the door left ajar. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, maybe there’s a reason why people say it. It’s laughable, really.

You and Seungmin both turn your attention to the brief commotion indoors, where you see Hyunjin smiling so big that his eyes have crinkled into crescent moons, where he’s standing with his arm thrown around Minho and shaking him by the shoulders.

These days, it’s easy to pretend that time is standing still. You don’t even know if time is even passing at all; you’re just looking at him, dressed in a black blazer and some dress pants. Casual but he looks good. He always does.

You watch as he says something to Hyunjin that seems to calm the latter down a bit, at least enough for Minho to quickly scan the room, searching. You watch as his eyes sweep through all the people gathered inside, not stopping until they land on you, finding you on the other side of the glass door. Even in this terrible lighting, not entirely visible you assume, he sees you.

There was a conversation you had with Minho some time ago, when you two were sprawled out on your couch munching on strawberry Peperos and not paying attention to the movie that was playing on your TV, when he asked how you wanted your life to be at 40.

You knew what the boring answer was – you wanted your life to be stable, and you told him as much. Isn’t stability always the goal? Maybe a lame corporate job if the whole starving-artist-who-makes-it-big-overnight dream didn’t pan out. A cat and a dog named Mochi and Mocha, if you could afford two pets at once. An apartment that you owned, with framed pictures of everything you loved scattered all over the place, and stupidly cute fairy lights that you often see on Pinterest, and an unfathomable amount of plushies that your inner child was never indulged in. A peaceful and quiet life, at least to some extent. 

The honest answer, the one that you didn’t tell him, was you wanted to not live with regret.

But as you lock eyes with him, for a split second there, you know that you will.

About twenty years down the line, when you look back on your life and think of this chapter, you’ll think about a boy who loved you and whom you loved. How you broke both of your hearts trying to protect your own. You’ll wonder if he’s married, if he has kids, if he still reminisces about the girl he used to love when he was young. If he’s happy and if his dreams came true. If the sadness you caused yourself was worth it, if the pain meant anything at all. If you could go back in time and undo everything, would you?

You’ll get over it eventually – surely you will; heartbreak isn’t the end of the world – but you’ll live with the grief of what could’ve been if you weren’t afraid. You’ll be left to mourn the road not taken, your almost but never was. 

You’re the one who moves first, when it starts to become a struggle just to breathe. You stumble away from Minho’s line of sight, until you find a wall that you can rest against.

Seungmin is quick to follow. “Hey, woah, are you okay?”

Your hands alternate between balling themselves into tight fists and attempting in vain to grab at the flat surface of the concrete. There are no words that you can form to answer him. Only your ragged breathing and your pathetic effort to take in some air through your mouth.

“Okay, shit, uhm,” Seungmin sputters. “Hang on.”

Then he’s taking off. You don’t know how long he’s gone for, where he’s gone off to, and frankly, you can’t really bring yourself to care. Your hands abandon the wall in favor of your dress, something that you can actually hold onto. Your trembling fingers clutch the hem of your dress like they’re pretending it’s a lifeline, bunching and twisting the fabric in your sweaty palms. Hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t at all.

Even over the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you could hear new footsteps coming out into the empty garden. Rushed at first, then they stop for a brief moment. You know who it is before he even approaches you.

Damn that Kim Seungmin.

The familiar scent of his cologne greets you before his voice. You spent hours and hours enveloped in this scent until it was dulled by sweat from the activities you were engaged in, if it wasn’t already softened by the kisses you would leave all over his skin.

When he calls your name, it comes out so soft, like you never broke his heart in the first place and that night was only a figment of your twisted imagination. He sounds so gentle, yet it sends you further down the crippling spiral. You don’t deserve him; maybe you never did, despite what Seungmin tried to put through your head earlier.

“I’m fine.” But you know your appearance has already betrayed your words. The first thing you say to him in weeks, and it’s a lie. You’re still leaning against the wall with your arms wrapped tightly around your trembling frame and your eyes squeezed shut. It’s a pitiful sight. Even more so when it registers in your brain that it’s Minho of all people who’s witnessing it. 

He doesn’t say anything else, only lets out a sigh, and then his hand is on your body, a warm palm touching the small of your back out of habit before he moves it upward to rub between your shoulder blades. “Can you breathe?”

His question makes you all too aware that there’s something gnawing inside of your chest, makes you think for a second there that you’re going to die though you know that you won’t. You shake your head with your eyes still closed, your breathing coming out more ragged by the second. You can’t even bear to look at him and absorb the worry in his eyes; you’re sure you’ll only cry if you do, and it’s the last thing you need right now.

But it turns out that seeing Minho’s face isn’t the only thing that can bring you to tears. When you feel him tug at your arms, his warmth on your bare skin, you start crying anyway and that makes it even harder to breathe. There’s not a single ounce of resistance in your body, your limbs obeying him easily when they untangle themselves around your waist to fall by your sides as he pulls you into his chest, with one hand over your sternum and his thumb rubbing back and forth. He’s careful about it too, like he’s handling broken pieces of something that used to be beautiful.

“You’re okay,” he says, but you’ve got your face pressed into the crook of his neck and your tears are staining the collar of his shirt. “You’re gonna be fine. Just… listen to me.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to speak next.

“Name three things you can see,” he says. “You don’t have to say it out loud. Just think about it.”

You open your eyes finally, angling your head until most of your vision isn’t obstructed by the proximity of his body. Minho tightens his arm around you, and you blink away some of the tears.

Your black heels that your mom got you for your birthday a while ago.

The grass, darkened green and damp.

Him. 

“Three things you can hear.”

Light chatter coming from inside the gallery.

Cars passing by on the adjacent street.

Him, the sound of his breathing.

“Three things you can touch.”

The soft material of your dress against your skin.

The bracelet, hugging your wrist, weighing you down like an anchor.

And… him.

Him, him, him.

You don’t know what reason Minho makes up to excuse you for the rest of night, but you don’t bother asking. There’s really no space left in your head to think about it twice, to care about leaving your friends or feel guilty about Hyunjin because he was so excited about today. It’s too much; all you want is to go home, get away from here.

Minho calls you both an Uber back to your place. During the entire ride, he doesn’t say a word and neither do you. And even though you mostly opt for looking out the window at the other cars and houses and people passing by, every now and then you could feel his eyes on you from the other side of the backseat.

When you arrive, he keeps a hand on the small of your back as you make your way up the stairs. When you unlock the door, you leave it open so he could follow you inside. You suppose that one is a force of habit. You’re not used to shutting the door in his face. At least, not in the literal sense anyway.

Then it returns, that gnawing feeling. A feeling far too colossal for your body to house. It sits somewhere inside your ribcage, sharp and desperate, with claws trying to dig its way out. And for the first time in maybe ever, you understand what it truly means to want something this badly. You love him, and it hurts. You love him even though it hurts.

Minho moves around the place while you remain frozen in the middle of your own apartment, as if he’s the one who lives here and you’re just visiting for the night. You let him take off your makeup (with a wipe; you’re going to hate yourself in the morning), let him help you change into clothes that you can sleep in, even let him tuck you into bed like you’re a helpless child. If he notices the bracelet on you, he doesn’t say anything. Everything is done in silence.

You don’t look him in the eye. You don’t think you can handle what you’ll find there.

But you do reach for his hand when he tries to leave now that there’s nothing left for him to do here. There’s not a single thought behind your action, just a need to have him near.

“Can you…?” 

You aren’t brave enough to finish the question, your voice trailing off and the words dissipating like smoke after a lonely cigarette drag. You’re being selfish right now, you’re awfully aware of this.

Minho doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even let out a single sigh. For a second there, you think he’s about to leave you here, cold and alone, just like you had done to him. It would be nothing less than what you deserve.

But then he’s shrugging off his blazer and your heart is in your throat. When he slips into bed beside you, something hurts, the kind of ache that spreads all across your chest and makes your lungs burn.

Earlier tonight, he could’ve walked away and let you be somebody else’s burden. Your friends were all there, it’s not like they would’ve left you stranded.

You’re not really sure what to think. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hate you, but maybe it’s just enough confirmation that he doesn’t hate you more than he loves you.

You break the deafening stretch of silence with a whisper, “I’m sorry.” You don’t know what the apology is for. Are you sorry for that night, for the things you said to him? Are you sorry that you’re only yourself, that he just had to go ahead and fall for you of all people? Sorry that you’re too much of a coward and a lost cause to love him right? You don’t know, but it feels appropriate to apologize. You owe him that much.

“Don’t…” Minho says after a while. “You don’t have to do that.”

The familiar sensation returns – the one that stings the back of your eyes, burns your nostrils and makes you all choked up. You try to hold your breath and will it away, but the first tear spills without your permission, and you can’t help the shaky inhale – close to a gasp and followed by a sniffle – that punctuates your lungs when they start protesting against the sudden lack of oxygen. 

You grip the sheets so hard you think you could rip through the fabric and dig into your own palm. It’s a pathetic feeling, like a strange kind of embarrassment that you can’t quite describe. The room is deadly quiet; you know there’s no way he didn’t catch the noise.

You hear Minho shift from where he lays behind you, some rustling when he moves against the duvet and the mattress. “Don’t cry,” he sighs. And it’s still so gentle. You’ve never known him to be anything but gentle.

You bite the inside of your cheek, blinking some of the tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… don’t cry.” It sounds like he’s holding something back but you aren’t sure. “Don’t cry. Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning, if you want.”

You sniffle some more, and maybe that makes Minho think he still needs to appease you even further. He reaches out finally, to brush a comforting hand against your arm. “Go to sleep. Promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You don’t know if you want to talk in the morning, because there’s nothing for you to say. All you really have is what he’s already heard – I’m sorry, like an utterly broken record. But you want him to stay even if it’s only for the morning. Even if all he’ll get is silence at best and choked up breaths at worst. Your last-ditch attempt at grasping straws, a futile effort to chase running water.

“Okay,” you tell him, and neither of you says anything afterward. The tears keep falling for a while, and at some point it tires you out enough to slip into a dreamless sleep.

When you open your eyes hours later, the sun is already up. The clock on your phone reads 7:06AM and the first thing you register is an uncomfortable dryness in your throat. Behind you, the bed is still warm. You can actually feel it underneath your fingertips when you reach out, the warmth dwindling from the side of the bed that’s been left vacant. Minho has never broken a promise to you before.

He’s gone, and you sink again.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.01.2025]

[xxmooxmooxx]

irritable. ~ s.r. x fem reader.

MDNI 18+ ONLY

- told from spencer’s pov

prompt: Spencer accidentally sees y/n secret nsfw twt account and is struggling dealing with working along side her now.

warnings: angry Spence, nsfwtwt, mentions of sex, sex toys, perv! Spencer if you squint your eyes, age gap, lmk if im missing anything :)

a/n: BLURB! not a v long story. my first Spencer fic AND my first time writing smut. NOW reader and Spencer don’t hookup in this but it’s talked about quite a bit so proceed with caution loves. gimme feed back pls!!!! Lmk if you’d want a pt 2!!!

“i can't fucking do this, y/n. We have a lot of work left to do on this case.” I say getting out of my seat and walking towards the office door. It’s just too much right now. We’ve gotten nowhere close to finding this god awful unsub. Then here is y/n smelling like cocoanut and vanilla. Looking at me… no searching my eyes for answers I don’t have. And her hair? God. It’s down. Unlike most days where she wears it pulled back.

“Spencer! What the fuck? You told me if i needed to confied or talk to someone to go to you? If thats no longer okay then just tell me. You don’t have to talk to me like this.” She says getting out of their chair and stepping in my path to the door.

Shes right. I am being a complete an total ass right now. It’s not her fault. When she started last year I did tell her to come to me and she has taken me up on that offer lots of times and I've never minded it. I don't mind it. At Least I didn’t before… I look down defeated and sigh before looking at her. “You’re right. I apologize. Please, excuse me.” I take a step to the door.

“Reid…” She grabbed my arm looking up at me. “Please. What’s going on?”

I jerked off and came multiple times to your secret twitter account, y/n. I have your body engraved into my brain. I know exactly what i’d have to do, where to touch, how to touch, where to lick and suck now from watching the videos of you playing with yourself. I cant look at you let alone work with you, without wanting to take you into an empty office and showing you all the many things about your perfect fucking body I have learned and memorize. God even now during this stressful case all I can think of is fucking you so hard over this table that you cant remember what you came in here to ask for in the first place. But I can’t say that.

“I’m… fine. Okay? Many daily things in our lives especially in this field can cause irritability, for example: we’ve been on this case for 48 hours, we’ve gotten nowhere close to a profile, no idea how to stop this unsub, exactly how many victims he has so far, which means there's gonna be more innocent people dying. So, if I'm irritable that may be the reason. Now if you excuse me i need to go look the files we found on Amy Cassandra and Olivia Hidmen.” And with that, she let me go and I made my way out.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After a long week we are finally back home. I avoided y/n as much as I could which is the only way to deal with this until I can figure out how to move on. Then of course… once we get home going out to “split” the teams favorite local bar was suggested. We all agreed to meet up in an hour, giving ourselves time to go home and get ready.

I was sitting at our usual table with Derek and Emily when y/n walked in talking with Hotch. Fuck. me. She was wearing a short, silk, black dress that was hugging her body perfectly. Her hair was down framing her face perfectly and she was wearing her glasses. Last time i saw her glasses, they were on her bed side table in the background of the video she posted, showing off her new toys a sex toy company sent her. My thoughts are interrupted by her looking at me. I can't. I turn to Emily and Derek asking to be excused before walking past y/n and out the bars glass doors.

She’s your coworker, spencer. Not only is she a coworker, shes damn near 10 years younger than you, sees you as a mentor, and trusts you. What the fuck have I done.

“Reid!” i hear yelled from behind me.

No no no no… I turn to see her jogging towards me.

“y/n please go back inside.”

“No.”

“y/n…”

“Spencer, please stop.”

“No. y/n. You. please stop. Leave me alone and go back inside with the others…” I turn to walk away. After a few paces I hear:

“I saw.”

I pause in my tracks. Looking down at my feet. I’m fucked. I take a deep breath before turning and walking back to her. “You saw what?” I say looking down at her. My voice coming out deeper than intended.

“You liking and unliking one of my post on twitter.” She says softly and almost unsure.

I dont break eye contact. I’m frozen. What am i suppose to say to that?

“Spencer, please don’t tell anyone. I’m-”

I shake my head. “I wasn’t planning on talking to anyone about this.”

“Oh… okay…” A few more moments of silence. “I’m really really fucking sorry you saw that, no one i know in person was ever meant to see it. I just do it for fun and…”

‘I cant be having this conversation right now.’ i think to myself as she continues to ramble. “y/n. Stop.”

“... i know youre probably mortified…” she continues.

“Stop.”

“... I just dont wanna lose you-”

“y/n!’ I say louder than intended as i grab her shoulders trying to get her to listen to me. Shes staring wide eyed at me, silent. I losen my grip and lead her to a near by empty stairwell. I let her go and brush her hair off her shoulders and try to straighten the straps of her dress that was underneath my hands.

“Now…” i start calmly. I see her relax more and start looking at me with curiosity. “y/n, you have no reason to be apologoizing to me. You-” i stop myself to think before i let more rambling come out of my mouth. “I should be the one apologizing to you.” I say taking a step back attempting to give her some space.

“For what?” She asked genuinely.

“For invading your privacy. I saw your account and I was intrigued then after a few moments of analizing i realized it was you. I shouldve clicked away immediately but I didn’t, I kept scrolling and looking and I’m so sorry, y/n. You’re an amazing person, agent, and friend and I’m someone you trusted and i-”

“Did you like them?” she asked bluntly looking up at me.

Spencer. Stop. you cannot entertain this.

“Yes.” I answered searching her eyes for any signs of regret or disgust.

None to be found.

She takes a step closer to me making our hight difference extremely noticeable. “Spencer,” she started softly. The sound of my name on her lips going straight to my cock. “Did you touch yourself to me?”

“I did.”

She searches my face almost the same way i did hers moments ago before she yanks me into her by my tie our lips meeting and her pulling away before I could even register what happened. I look at her as if asking if she's sure she wants this before we quickly grab each other crashing our lips together again. Our bodies moving together and our mouths hungry.

“Fuck, I need you closer.” I moan into our kiss before softly pushing her against the wall of the stairwell. My hands roaming her body until they find their way to her beautiful thighs. I yank one of her legs up by her knee taking the opportunity to get my body closer to her. I can feel her hot core against my aching cock. My hands now resting on her ass and I leave kisses along her neck.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you to touch me like this for so long, Spencer.” She moans softly into my hair.

“Is that so?” I ask, looking up at her as I slowly drop down to my knees.

“Oh my god.” She whispers as she realizes my intentions for getting down here.

‘She’s definitely gonna believe in a god when i'm done with her.’ I think to myself as I start leaving kisses along her thighs.

“Y/n??”

We jump at Penelope’s voice we hear from around the corner. FUCK.

I immediately get back up and look at her attempting to straighten her dress and hair up. “We’re just having a conversation. Okay?” I whisper to her searching her eyes trying to keep her calm

“Okay.” She whispers back.

I nod as I take a seat on the steps crossing my arms over my knees in an attempt to hide my boner from Penelope.

“Oh my god! There you two are!” Penelope said relieved once she saw us. “Is everything okay with my two favorite nerds?”

“Yeah, just kinda debriefing the past week. It was a lot for me.” Y/n spoke up.

“Awwww okay pumpkin. If you need to take time to yourself it’s okay, everyone would understand.” She said as she pulled y/n into a hug.

“Yeah that’s probably what i'm gonna do. I need to decompress.” Y/n says in response, hugging our friend back.

“Okay baby cakes.” Garcia responded by pulling away. “What about you, my handsome wonder boy? You okay?”

“Yeah i'm good. Just got a bit overwhelmed. I’ll probably head home as well.” I say in response looking up at her from my seat on the stairs.

“Okay then my loves. I’ll go let them know.” She says as she starts to back up. “Reid, be a gentleman and make sure our sweet y/n gets home safe.” She turns and sends a winks to y/n before turning and making her way back to the bar.

“You um… maybe wanna come over and talk about everything?” I ask looking back to the beautiful woman I had in my arms moments ago.

“I would like that.”

[cherryxbooo]

Most important part of my life

Summary: Pedri's secret relationship is tested by rumors with a new media colleague, leading him to publicly declare his love.

Reader x Pedri

Genre: fluff/angst

Being in love with Pedri González felt like cradling a secret so luminous, so extraordinary, that unveiling it to the world might scatter its magic like dandelion seeds caught in the wind.

It wasn’t just the fact that he was one of the most recognizable footballers in the world, gracing the pitch at Camp Nou with effortless grace.

It was the way he looked at me when we were alone, the quiet strength of his love, and the unspoken promise in his touch.

Our relationship grew like wildflowers in the shadows, away from the glaring lights of stadiums, the endless buzz of fans, and the relentless click of cameras desperate for a glimpse of his personal life.

When we first started dating, the decision to keep things private was mutual, though it came with layers of complexity.

Pedri had been upfront from the beginning.

"I want you to feel safe with me," he said one evening, his brown eyes searching mine for reassurance.

He wasn’t just asking for patience, he was offering me trust, a sanctuary in a world that rarely afforded him the same.

The privacy was liberating in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

We could wander hand-in-hand through unfamiliar streets in cities where Pedri’s face wasn’t plastered on billboards.

We could spend entire evenings tangled up on the couch watching old movies, his laughter filling the room as I teased him about his terrible popcorn-making skills.

In those quiet, unguarded moments, I discovered who he truly was, not just Pedri the footballer, but Pedri the person I fell in love with.

Still, keeping our love a secret wasn’t without its sacrifices.

There were nights when I longed to post a picture of us on social media, to scream to the world how much he meant to me.

But I knew the cost of such exposure.

Pedri’s life was a constant whirlwind of matches, media obligations, and the ceaseless adoration of fans who believed they knew him intimately.

I’d seen the toll it took on him, how even the smallest misstep could spark a wildfire of speculation.

Sometimes, being in love with him felt like standing at the edge of an untamed sea. His life was the tide, vast and unstoppable, threatening to pull me under if I wasn’t careful.

I remember one particularly tough evening when he was away on a grueling road trip, the distance between us amplified by the silence of my apartment.

I stared at my phone, scrolling through a sea of articles about him, wondering if I’d ever fit into his world.

But Pedri always had a way of grounding me.

He called late that night, his voice warm despite the exhaustion that laced his words.

"I miss you," he said simply. "You’re my calm, mi amor. Don’t forget that."

It wasn’t a grand declaration, it didn’t need to be.

It was enough to pull me back, to remind me that what we had wasn’t just a fleeting romance but something deeper, something worth navigating the storms for.

We had our own rituals, ways of carving out space for us amid the chaos.

Pedri loved to write little notes for me, tucking them in places he knew I’d find later: a pocket in my coat, the inside of a book I was reading.

Once, I found one on my bathroom mirror that simply said, "You’re my favorite part of every day."

It was these small acts of love, these intimate gestures, that made me feel like the luckiest person alive.

Who would've thought that footballers could be so romantic.

And yet, there were challenges I couldn’t ignore.

Being with Pedri meant learning to share him, not just with the fans who adored him, but with the game that consumed so much of his time and energy.

There were moments when I felt like a spectator, watching him shine while I stood in the shadows.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting sometimes, but then he’d find ways to remind me that I wasn’t an afterthought.

One evening, after a particularly intense match, we sat on his balcony overlooking the city.

The air was cool, the distant hum of Barcelona serving as our soundtrack.

Pedri reached for my hand and pulled me close.

"You know," he said softly, "everything I do out there, it’s for us. For this."

His words settled over me like a warm blanket, and in that moment, I knew that no amount of distance, scrutiny, or secrecy could diminish what we shared.

But that feeling didn't last for long...

It all began when FC Barcelona announced their newest hire, Valentina.

She was young, vibrant, and clearly eager to make her mark as the team’s new media coordinator.

Her job was to handle interviews, create social media content, and give fans a closer look at the players they adored.

At first, I didn’t think much of it.

Pedri had mentioned her in passing, a new addition to the team, someone he was helping adjust to the job.

I’d nodded, smiled, and asked a few polite questions, not giving it another thought.

But then the content started appearing.

At first, I convinced myself it didn’t matter.

Pedri was just being himself, kind, warm, and approachable.

It was part of what made him so magnetic, not just to me but to everyone around him.

This was the man I fell in love with, after all.

How could I fault him for being the very person who stole my heart?

But as the days turned into weeks and the “shipping” online intensified, I felt my confidence begin to waver.

It started subtly, like a shadow creeping into the edges of an otherwise sunny day.

A fan edit of Pedri and Valentina laughing during an interview would pop up on my feed, the caption declaring,

“The chemistry is undeniable!”

I’d roll my eyes and scroll past, telling myself it was harmless.

But the comments below were relentless.

"They’d be such a cute couple!""Honestly, Valentina and Pedri give me life!""Look at the way he’s smiling at her, come on, that’s love."

I’d catch myself staring at my screen, rereading the same comments as if the sting would lessen with repetition.

It didn’t.

Instead, it gnawed at me, a quiet whisper in the back of my mind that grew louder with every passing day.

The first time Pedri showed me one of the videos, I forced a smile, feigning indifference.

“Look at this,” he chuckled, holding up his phone.

“They’re making compilations of every time I’ve talked to the new media girl. Fans are wild.” (brother can't be this clueless omd)

I leaned over, barely glancing at the screen, and shrugged.

“Yeah, wild,” I muttered, keeping my tone neutral.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head to look at me.

“Of course,” I lied, standing up abruptly.

“I just remembered I need to finish something. Be right back.”

I didn’t meet his eyes as I left the room.

How could he not see the true intentions behind those edits? (ugh men smh)

The little things began piling up.

Each new fan theory, each edited clip, felt like a pebble being dropped into an already overflowing jar.

I told myself it was silly, irrational even, to feel this way.

After all, I knew the truth. Pedri loved me, not her.

But logic and emotions rarely danced in harmony.

It wasn’t just online, either.

At a recent game, a group of fans behind me had spent the entire first half discussing Valentina and Pedri.

“They’d be perfect together, don’t you think?” “She’s got that bubbly personality, and he’s so down-to-earth. Total power couple vibes.”

I gripped the edge of my seat tightly, my nails digging into the fabric. I wanted to turn around and scream,

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Instead, I stayed quiet, plastering on a strained smile for the rest of the match.

Back home, my silence began to speak louder than my words.

“Hey, how was your day?” Pedri asked one evening as we sat at the dinner table.

“Fine,” I replied, not looking up from my plate.

“Anything interesting happen?” he pressed, his tone light but curious.

“Not really,” I mumbled, shoving a forkful of pasta into my mouth to avoid elaborating.

Pedri frowned, setting down his fork.

“You’ve been quiet lately. Is something bothering you?”

I shook my head, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Just tired. Long day.”

He nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push further.

Instead, he reached across the table to take my hand.

For a split second, I felt the warmth of his touch, the comfort it usually brought me.

But then I pulled away under the pretense of needing my water glass.

The hurt that flickered across his face was brief, but I saw it.

My chest tightened with guilt, but I couldn’t bring myself to explain.

One evening, the tension between us became unbearable.

We were sitting on the couch, a movie playing on the TV, but neither of us was paying attention.

Pedri’s hand rested on his thigh, close enough to mine that the absence of contact felt glaring.

Without warning, he paused the movie and turned to me.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

I stiffened, my heart pounding. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been distant,” he said, his brows knitting together.

“You barely talk to me, you pull away when I touch you… something’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing,”

I replied too quickly, the tightness in my throat betraying me.

“It’s not nothing,” he countered, leaning closer.

“I know you, amor. Something’s bothering you, and I want to help. But I can’t if you won’t talk to me.”

I looked away, my gaze fixed on the coffee table.

“It’s stupid,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“Then let me decide that,” he urged gently.

“Please.”

I hesitated, the words caught in my throat.

How could I explain something that felt so petty?

How could I tell him that seeing him with Valentina, innocent as it was, was eating away at me?

“I’m just tired,” I said finally, standing up before he could press further.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Wait—”

But I was already walking away, leaving him sitting there, confused and worried.

In the quiet of my room, I replayed the moment in my mind, hating myself for the walls I was building.

But as I scrolled through my phone later that night, another video of Pedri and Valentina popped up.

The comments filled with speculation and admiration for their supposed connection.

I turned off my phone, buried my face in my hands, and let the tears fall.

Not knowing it was about to become worse.

The next evening,

It started like any other evening.

I was curled up on the couch, scrolling through my phone, half-distracted and trying not to think too much about the growing distance between Pedri and me.

But then the headline caught my eye, bold and damning:

“Are Pedri and Valentina More Than Colleagues? Here’s What We Know.”

My thumb hesitated above the screen, my heart already sinking, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I clicked.

The page loaded, and my stomach twisted with every word I read. The article was a masterclass in speculation.

Blurry photos of Pedri and Valentina laughing together accompanied captions like,

“Too much chemistry to be just friends?”

A still from a video of her hand casually resting on his arm had the writer waxing poetic about

“intimate body language” and “the undeniable proof of a budding romance.”

Every word felt like a small dagger, but it was the comments that truly gutted me.

"I knew it! They’re perfect together!""Pedri deserves someone like her. She’s stunning and sweet!""Finally, the couple we’ve all been waiting for. #Pedritina"

My hands trembled as I set my phone down, but the damage was done.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

It didn’t matter that I knew the truth.

It didn’t matter that Pedri had never given me a reason to doubt him.

The narrative was there, glaring and insistent, and it felt like it was pulling him away from me, like I was losing him to a story that wasn’t even real.

That night, I couldn’t bear to look at him.

The weight of my emotions was too heavy, threatening to spill over if I let him get too close.

“Hey,” he greeted me warmly as he walked into the kitchen, where I was furiously scrubbing an already-clean countertop.

“What are you up to?”

“Just cleaning,” I said curtly, not turning to face him.

Pedri leaned against the counter, his eyes following my frantic movements.

“It’s nine at night,” he said with a soft laugh.

“The kitchen’s spotless mi amor. Come sit with me.”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” I replied, my voice clipped.

He frowned slightly, stepping closer.

“You’ve been… acting different lately. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, still not meeting his gaze.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

He reached out to touch my arm, but I stepped away, pretending to grab a dish towel.

“I’m sure,” I said firmly, my tone leaving no room for further questions.

Pedri watched me for a long moment, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Alright,” he said quietly, though his voice carried a hint of defeat.

“I’m here if you want to talk.”

I nodded but didn’t respond, and he left the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the unbearable ache in my chest.

I threw myself into meaningless tasks for the rest of the evening.

Folding laundry, reorganizing the spice cabinet, rearranging the books on the shelf, anything to keep my mind and hands busy.

But no matter what I did, the article and its comments haunted me, looping endlessly in my mind.

What made it worse was how vividly I could picture it all.

Pedri’s laughter as Valentina joked with him, the way he always leaned in when someone spoke, giving them his undivided attention.

I knew it was innocent.

I knew it was just who he was.

But knowing didn’t stop the jealousy and insecurity from creeping in, filling the cracks in my resolve.

By the time Pedri came to bed, I pretended to be asleep, my back turned to him.

He sighed softly as he slipped under the covers, and for a moment, I thought he might say something.

But he didn’t.

Instead, the room fell into silence, broken only by the sound of his breathing as he drifted off.

I stayed awake long after, staring at the wall, tears slipping silently down my face.

For the first time in our relationship, I felt like I was losing him.

And the worst part? I didn’t know how to stop it.

The next day,

Meanwhile, Pedri was wrestling with his own frustrations.

The training session had wrapped up, but instead of heading to the showers with the others, he lingered in the locker room, sitting on the bench with his phone in hand.

His thumb hovered over the screen, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying the strange tension between you two over the past few weeks.

Every clipped response, every missed kiss, every moment you pulled away lingered in his thoughts, gnawing at him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Yo, Pedri,” Ferran’s voice broke through the quiet, light and teasing as always.

He strolled in, a towel slung casually over his shoulder.

“Why do you look like someone stole your boots? You alright?”

Pedri looked up, his frown deepening.

“Not really,” he admitted, tossing his phone onto the bench beside him.

“It’s… Y/n. She’s been acting different. Distant.” He shook his head, as though trying to shake off the confusion.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her. I’ve tried asking, but she keeps saying she’s fine.”

Ferran raised a brow, a knowing look spreading across his face.

“Different how?”

“She barely talks to me anymore,” Pedri said, frustration clear in his voice.

“When we’re together, it’s like she’s somewhere else. I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

Ferran leaned against the locker, crossing his arms.

“You sure it’s something you did?”

“I don’t know,” Pedri muttered.

“Maybe? She’s never been like this before.”

Ferran hummed thoughtfully before his eyes lit up as if a lightbulb had gone off.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and began typing something.

“What are you doing?” Pedri asked, sitting up straighter.

Ferran didn’t answer immediately, his focus on his screen.

Then he turned the phone around, holding it out for Pedri to see.

“You seen this yet?” Ferran asked, his tone cautious but pointed.

Pedri frowned and leaned closer, his gaze locking onto the screen.

It was an article, the bold headline instantly grabbing his attention:

“Are Pedri and Valentina More Than Colleagues? Here’s What We Know.”

“What is this?” Pedri asked, his tone sharp.

“Just read it,” Ferran said, handing him the phone.

Pedri swiped through the article, his jaw tightening with every word.

The photos, blurry snapshots of him and Valentina during team interviews and moments caught on video, accompanied captions that painted an entirely false narrative.

Phrases like “unspoken chemistry” and “undeniable connection” jumped out at him, making his blood boil.

“This is…” Pedri trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You think that’s bad?” Ferran said, leaning over to scroll down.

“Check the comments.”

Pedri’s frown deepened as he skimmed the comment section, where fans had enthusiastically declared their support for the supposed couple.

"They’re so cute together!""I ship them so hard!""Finally, Pedri’s found someone who matches his energy!"

Pedri tossed the phone back to Ferran, his frustration palpable.

“None of this is true,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair again.

“Yeah, well,” Ferran said, pocketing his phone,

“if Y/n saw this, it might explain why she’s acting weird. Can’t blame her, man. This article’s painting a pretty convincing picture.”

Pedri exhaled deeply, leaning back against the bench.

“She didn’t say anything about it.”

Ferran shrugged.

“Would you, if the shoe was on the other foot? Imagine reading something like that about her. You wouldn’t even need to believe it to feel like crap.”

Pedri rubbed his face with his hands, guilt beginning to creep in.

“I didn’t think this could be bothering her. I didn’t even know about this until now.”

“Well,” Ferran said, giving him a pointed look,

“now you do. So what are you going to do about it?”

Pedri didn’t hesitate.

“I need to fix this,” he said firmly, determination sparking in his eyes.

Ferran gave him a pat on the back.

“Good. Go home, talk to her. Don’t let this article ruin things.”

As Ferran walked away, Pedri stayed seated for a moment longer, his thoughts racing.

Now it all made sense, your distance, the way you avoided his touch, the sadness in your eyes.

He couldn’t stand the thought of you hurting, especially because of something so far from the truth.

He stood abruptly, his mind made up.

He had to make things right.

When Pedri came home that evening,

I was sitting on the couch, my laptop open in front of me, but my mind was far away, drifting aimlessly through thoughts I couldn’t quite organize.

The quiet hum of the apartment felt heavy, like it was pressing down on me, and I couldn’t escape it.

I had been trying to keep myself busy, just so I wouldn’t think too much about the distance that had been growing between Pedri and me.

But it didn’t help.

The more I tried to ignore it, the more the emptiness crept in.

The quiet space between us had only grown, and every little thing felt like a reminder of how lost I had become in my own insecurities.

I couldn’t keep pretending.

Every time I saw him laughing with Valentina, or when I came across fan edits of them together, the nagging feeling in my chest had gotten harder to ignore.

The worst part wasn’t even what people online were saying. It was how much I had started to doubt myself.

Doubt us.

When Pedri stepped into the living room, I felt the change in the air.

His presence filled the space, but something about his posture, his eyes, told me he had noticed something was off.

His gaze locked onto mine instantly, and I felt my stomach tighten in anticipation.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there for a moment, as if weighing whether he should bring it up.

His expression softened, but I could see the concern brewing beneath the calm.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of determination.

My heart skipped a beat.

“About what?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

He sighed, the frustration and worry clear on his face as he walked toward me.

He sat down beside me, his body close but not quite touching.

It was like he was giving me the space to open up, but I wasn’t sure I could.

He reached for my hand, and for a brief second, I considered pulling away.

The distance between us was still too fresh, the hurt too real.

But I didn’t.

I let him take my hand, his fingers threading through mine in the most familiar, comforting way.

But I could feel the weight in his touch, the uncertainty that had settled in his chest too.

"Why have you been pulling away from me?" he asked gently, his voice carrying a soft sadness that made my heart ache.

I glanced at him, feeling a lump form in my throat.

I had been trying to bury everything inside, trying to make it through without having to confront it.

But now, here we were, facing the truth of what had been building for weeks.

I swallowed hard.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

I had to look away from him, unable to bear the rawness in his gaze.

“It’s just... everything that’s been happening with you and Valentina... I can’t help but feel like I’m losing you. I don’t know if I even matter anymore.”

The words left me in a rush, tumbling out before I could stop them.

The weight of them felt like a confession, a cry for help.

Pedri’s eyes softened as he took a deep breath, and I could feel the tension in his shoulders as he gently cupped my cheek with his hand.

“Cariño,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away a stray tear I hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“You matter more to me than anything in this world. I hate that this has made you feel like you don’t.”

His words wrapped around me like a lifeline, but they didn’t take away the pain.

I had watched, day after day, as the rumors built up.

The comments. The speculation.

The way people thought they knew something about us that we hadn’t even shared.

“It just hurts,” I whispered, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall again.

“Seeing those pictures. Reading the comments. Watching them ship you with someone who isn’t me... It’s like you’re slipping away, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Pedri’s thumb brushed against my cheek again, wiping away the tear that had fallen this time.

“I never wanted you to feel like this. I never wanted you to feel invisible,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

He moved a little closer, pressing his forehead against mine.

“I’m so sorry you’ve felt like you had to hide, or that you weren’t enough. You’re everything to me, Y/n. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, just taking in his words.

They were exactly what I needed to hear, and yet... something was still missing.

There was so much more I wanted to say, but the fear of making it worse held me back.

I took a shaky breath and looked up at him.

“It’s not about not being enough. It’s just... this whole situation. The rumors. The fans. They have this image of us, Pedri. And it’s like I’m not even in the picture.”

Pedri’s eyes darkened with frustration, and I could see the anger brewing beneath the surface.

But it wasn’t directed at me.

It was directed at everything else, the media, the fans, the narrative that had been spun around us without our consent.

“You’re not invisible,” he said fiercely, his voice unwavering.

“You’re not on the sidelines, Y/n. You’re the most important part of my life."

"I can’t stand seeing you hurt because of something that’s not even true.”

I let out a shaky breath, my heart starting to settle just a little, even though the ache hadn’t completely gone.

“But what are we supposed to do? How do we fix this?”

Pedri looked at me with such intensity that I felt like I was being pulled into his world, where nothing else mattered except us.

“I’m done hiding, cariño,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction.

“I want the world to know about us. I want everyone to see who you really are to me. You’re not a secret, and I’m not going to let the media or anyone else make you feel like you are.”

My breath caught in my throat.

I could hardly process what he was saying. It was so big, so bold, yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world coming from him.

He wasn’t just speaking out of anger or frustration; he was speaking out of love, and it made everything in me feel like it was finally falling into place.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“This is... this is a huge step, Pedri. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

His eyes softened again, and he reached out to touch my cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles against my skin.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said.

“I don’t care about what the fans think. I care about you. About us. And I’m done hiding us.”

I felt tears well up again, but this time, they weren’t from hurt.

They were from relief, from the overwhelming love that suddenly felt so certain, so real.

“I love you,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too,” Pedri replied, his voice full of warmth and sincerity.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips softly against mine.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like we were finally back on the same page, ready to face everything together.

pedri posted on Instagram!

Liked by yourusername, gavi, ferrantorres and 112,452 others

pedri El amor de mi vida.

View all comments

yourusername Love you the most 🩷

pedri Yo también te amo mi amor ❤️

ferrantorres 👏👏👏

pedri 💪

pedri_and_me6 I’m honestly shocked! Didn’t see this coming Pedri and his girl look cute together 🥹

barça_love_89 Pedri be scoring on and off the pitch dayuum

pedriclosetclothes8 Forrealll he bagged a baddie 💅

pepilvr8frv Wow I thought Pedri and Valentina were really together this is so unexpected but I’ll always ship Valentina and him. 🤷‍♀️

frbtogethergavi30 Girl stfu you don't even know them 🙄

brcculer8 Not you rooting for something that doesn't exist 🤦‍♀️

blueredlyy7 I just know it stinks girl get out of here 🥱

lvlybarca8630 Pedri that's our girlfriend now 🤭

delulu4pedri8 Ew he deserves better 🤢

chichiclassypepi8 Really living up to the name

fnzygvi6 He isn't going to acknowledge you stand up sis 😒

The end

[godhandler]

Rent A BF!

#3 | young toji fushiguro x reader | fluff, mentions of prostitution, aged and sometimes offensive terminology | 800 words

previous next series masterlist

22nd  May, 1996

You’re probably one of the worst customers Toji’s ever had. 

Perfect Princes Escort Services placed their escorts hierarchically. At the top of the food chain were the Gojo-Geto pair, so high in demand they could pick their own customers and set their own prices. Perhaps Nanami could’ve asked for the same benefits if he hadn’t demanded that 401 (k) instead. 

Newcomer runts like Toji sat snug on the bottom rung. You were actually his first high-paying customer, but he’s starting to wonder if it’s really worth it. 

“So, tell me about your family back home, Toji-kun.” The candlelight from the romantic dinner table reflects the burning curiosity in your eyes. “Got any siblings?”

Like hell I’d tell ya. 

“Don’t have either, miss.” Toji forks a mussel open and dumps it all over his spaghetti. He doesn’t bother plastering a polite smile on. He has no incentive to: you’ve already made the mistake of pre-paying for 10 days, and he highly doubts that you’ll extend the contract with him any longer. Nanami once told him– when moderate efforts do the job, moderate efforts are all you should put in– and Toji decided to brand it into his heart. 

He’s very invested in spiral-mixing his shellfish into his spaghetti when the sound of you scoffing cuts into him. 

You scoffed at him. You scoffed. At him. 

Red-hot rage flashes to his skull before reason has a chance to. Triggered instinct– white knuckle grip bending the fork– shoulder tightened in anticipation of an arm drawn to sma–

“Like I’d believe that.” Unaware of the danger you’re in, you’re smiling so sweetly at him. No condescension, no ill meaning. “You know your forks, you weren’t raised in a barn.” 

“Huh?” 

“Your tastes are dogshit, who mixes oysters and pasta? But even when you’re not trying, your dinner table etiquette is so proper. You leave your dinner fork on your plate and pick your oyster with the oyster fork, you keep your wine glass diagonally to your left, you know the difference between a bib and a lap-napkin. I bet you’ll eat the dessert with the tiny spoon too, O Prince Toji.” 

No longer a weapon, the fork returns to its duty of gingerly shovelling food to Toji’s mouth while you add, “And we don’t even use forks that much. You were raised into money then. Let me guess, a runaway second son of a renowned clan who fell into debt or drugs?”

For a long time, the only sounds are of the cutlery scraping the china. A habitually thoughtless speaker, you slowly sink into a mortified guilt of touching a nerve not meant to be exposed to the air. I was only joking around (that’s quite a horrible apology) or maybe Geez, I didn’t think you'd be so sensitive (even worse). After all these years, apologies are still so hard for you to manage. So you just slip this one word out: “Sorry.”

Toji doesn’t look at you. “Think you’re so smart, knowing so much about me, huh? I know about you too.” 

“Like what?”

“No,” he shakes his head glumly. He’s not angry exactly, more like the topic provokes like a popped blister. “You’ll complain to my boss.”

“I won’t, I promise.” 

“Fine, then.” And he sets his stoneheavy eyes on yours. They're deep green, you notice, the colour of an old lake. “These aren’t oysters.” 

“Huh?”

“It’s a fucking mussel. I don’t know how you can confuse the two.” He picks an unopened one up and pries it open with a nail. “See? It’s so much smaller and thinner than an oyster. Oysters taste like strong salty boogers, but mussels–” He scoops the flesh out, drops a bit of marinara on it and hands you the fork. It’s good, you realise, the gentle flavour of the mussel carrying the pasta sauce well. “–Mussels taste like the ocean.” 

A minute passes as you chew, apology taking shape on the tip of your tongue: “I’m sorry I got too much.” 

“Apologise for shitting on my taste in food too.” 

“Fine, Toji-kun, I’m sorry I called your tastes dogshit. Maybe shellfish and pasta do go together.” 

“That’s right, miss.” He cocks his head to the side, grinning like a troublemaker. “I wouldn’t expect you new money to know about delicate tastes that much.” 

And you can’t help smiling as well. “That easy to read?”

“I’m just observant.” He taps his temple. “Your family wasn’t poor but you struggled sometimes, you’re actually left handed but you trained your right hard to work too, so now you’re ambidextrous, you had two younger siblings possibly sisters, you don’t actually like either spaghetti or mussels, you over-steep your tea, your watch is 19 seconds late, you have a rash on your left thigh, you need to moisturise your hands more and learn to blend your foundation into your neck, and your family died recently.” He leans back against the chair and burps. “There, we’re even now.” 

You’re left gaping at him. 

“... Anything else, Toji-kun?”

“You have pasta in your teeth.” 

Toji left the second session with a distinct sense of victory.

previous next series masterlist

a/n: pancakes are the bane of my existence. they taste just fine without putting things on top (not too sweet is the best compliment) but noooo you just have to ruin it with syrup or butter. and then u have to cut it with a fork and knife. its useless, its wasting fucking time. my hands could just hold it like a burger and finish the whole ordeal quick, even chopsticks maybe if they're not too heavy. fork and knife is decidedly the worst way to eat pancakes.

[aventurineswife]

Ok, confession time.....wriothesley and gallagher....there thats it

-Smooch Anon💋

The Weight of Unspoken Words

Tags: Gallagher x Reader, Wriosthesley x Reader, Confession, Slow Burn, Confession, Vulnerability, Romance, Introspection, Emotional Depth, Quiet Moments, Inner Turmoil.

Warnings: Mild Emotional Angst, Introspection on Loss and Loneliness, Mild Suggestion of Relationship Dynamics.

A/N: first time writing about dilfs lookin ahh them 🧍‍♀️

The bar was nearly empty, save for a few patrons scattered about. The faint clink of ice against glass echoed through the dimly lit room as Gallagher expertly prepared another drink. His rough hands moved with precision, yet there was a certain gentleness in the way he handled the glass. His eyes, distant and weary, flickered up briefly to meet yours before he returned to his work.

"You've been quiet tonight," you said, your voice soft, trying not to disturb the silence that had settled between the two of you.

Gallagher paused, his movements faltering for just a moment. He took a breath, as though collecting his thoughts, before setting the shaker down on the counter. His gaze shifted to the window, his expression unreadable.

"I've been thinking," he said, the words almost a whisper, as if he were speaking to himself more than to you.

You leaned forward slightly, intrigued by the rare vulnerability in his voice. Gallagher rarely shared his thoughts, and you couldn't help but feel honored to be the one he chose to speak to tonight.

He turned back to you, his eyes glimmering with something deeper than the usual melancholy. There was a quiet longing behind them, something that had been buried for a long time.

"There's a lot I’ve lost," he continued, his voice steady but tinged with sadness. "A lot I’ve seen. And it’s... left me empty. But when I look at you, it’s like... for just a moment, I don’t feel so alone anymore."

His hand hovered near the bottle, but his attention was focused solely on you now. The sincerity in his words was unlike anything you'd heard from him before.

"I don't know if I deserve it," he muttered, his gaze faltering for a second. "But I’d like to try. For you."

He didn't need to say more. The weight of his words hung in the air, and in that moment, you knew what he meant. It was a quiet confession, one not of grand gestures, but of a man willing to open himself up, just a little, to the possibility of something more.

The Fortress of Meropide was always quiet, a place where silence reigned. But tonight, the stillness felt different—thicker, as if something was hanging in the air. You had come to deliver some reports to Wriothesley in his office, but now, you found yourself standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to say next.

Wriothesley was seated at his desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood as he read over some documents. His eyes flickered to you for a brief moment, then returned to his work.

"You seem lost in thought," you said softly, stepping closer to his desk. "Something on your mind?"

He paused, setting down the papers, his gaze now fully focused on you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His calm demeanor was as composed as ever, but you could sense an unspoken tension between you.

"I suppose... I've been thinking about how much I value peace," he began, his voice as calm as ever, yet there was a hint of something more, something tender beneath the surface. "How much I cherish the quiet moments. The simple ones, like this."

He stood up, slowly walking toward you, his steps deliberate and measured. As he neared, his eyes softened, and you could see the exhaustion that lingered beneath his composed exterior.

"I’ve been surrounded by chaos for most of my life," he continued, his voice low, almost intimate. "But in you, I find a peace I didn’t know I was missing."

You could feel your heart race as he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. The touch was warm, reassuring, and in that moment, you knew what he was about to say.

"You've become more than just someone I rely on," he confessed, his words steady but full of sincerity. "I don't want to imagine a life without you in it. Will you stay by my side, through whatever comes?"

The question was simple, yet it carried the weight of everything he'd said before—a promise, a desire for something more. You didn't need to say a word; the connection between you two was enough. Wriothesley's confession was a quiet one, but in its stillness, it spoke volumes.

[bitchesgetriches]

Your recent post about the article “How to Ask for a Raise” is relevant to me considering I just had my first review at my job. I did all the things: presented all the accomplishments I’d done for the workplace, had counteroffers ready, and wasn’t afraid to ask for one in the first place. My employer then asked me how much I want for a raise and I asked for a (deserved) 2 dollar per hour raise. Well, my manager and boss did not like that answer and laughed me out of the meeting saying that’s not going to happen. If I hadn’t spoken to them separately afterwards to request a smaller raise, I wouldn’t have gotten one at all. Why do they ask me and then not like my answer? It felt like a really cruel game where if I had lowballed myself they’d be happy to give me a tiny raise but I ask too high and they told me straight up that it’s not going to happen. Any advice for the future? I plan to stay at this job for at least another year. This is my first real job too so I don’t know if there’s some etiquette I missed.

Honey bunches of oats... you did not miss any etiquette at all. THEY did. It is WILDLY rude to laugh you out of the room like that and they should be utterly ashamed. They failed you as managers and some day, when you move on from the company, you need to bring up this issue as a reason why you're not sticking around. It's a sign of poor leadership.

They only thing different to do would be to stay in the room and say "Ok, I've clearly asked for more than is possible. What's a more reasonable number?"

It is indeed a cruel joke the way employers use their power to keep employees underpaid. I'm sorry you had to go through that, honey. And I'm SO proud of you for following up individually to get the smaller raise.

The First Time I Asked for a Raise 

You Really Need to Ask for a Raise. Here's How. 

If Your Employer Refuses To Negotiate Salary, Try These 11 Creative Counteroffers

Did we just help you out? Say thanks on Patreon!

[neocitylights]

SCREENTIME — a call d short story

“It’s just weird not having you here. I didn’t think it’d feel so… empty.”

GENRE: Romance, fluff, non-idol au WORD COUNT: 2.3k

NOTES: An update on our duo graduated in downbadism for each other! It can be read as a standalone but it references a few things from the main story. Please let me know what you think! It’s gonna make my day!

Barbie 7:14PM I miss you ☹️

Haechan’s phone buzzes with your incoming text as soon as he steps into the hotel room, immediately making him grin at the screen despite his exhaustion.

After a long day of tedious networking—with people he isn’t particularly interested in beyond business—he’d managed to escape Johnny’s invitation for dinner in a fancy restaurant in the city to return to the hotel instead, planning to crash your morning with a video call to see you.

You’ve always joked that he had both impeccable and terrible timing, though today his ability seems to be serving you.

7:15PM Oh my 😀😀😀😀😀 Is my baby missing me???? You aren’t supposed to be up yet What time is it over there now?

Barbie 7:15PM It’s 5am here Are you at the hotel already?

7:16PM Just got to my room Are you okay? Why are you up so early?? Don’t you have today off?

Barbie 7:16PM I do I just woke up and couldn’t sleep anymore Can I see you please? I’ll facetime 

7:16PM My baby wants to see me??? 😀😀

The text’s marking read when a picture of you takes over the screen, a smile tugging at his mouth as Haechan accepts your call, sinking into an armchair by the window of his room. 

As your face appears, he can’t help chuckling fondly at the sight—bundled up in a blanket, your sleepy eyes immediately beam upon seeing him. The room’s still dark save from the dim light from a lampshade, his heart skipping with a few familiar details around you. 

“Hi, Barbie,” he greets animatedly, curious eyes squinting at the screen. “Are you at my apartment?”

A hint of bashfulness takes over your face as you smile back, nodding at him. “Yeah.”

“You look so cozy,” Haechan teases, smiling mischievously upon noticing the extra pillows around his bed. “Are you missing me so badly that you need to sleep at my place?”

With a huff that sounds more playful than anything, you shoot him an eye-roll. “You’re so annoying,” you answer, the quiet voice lacking the bite from your words. “Did you have a long day? You look a little tired.”

“You know I hate this kind of thing.” Haechan exhales a half-hearted laugh, running a hand through his hair. “If it wasn’t for Johnny, I’d be just around talking to the artists instead.”

You hum softly, smiling at his complaint. “Sounds like you.”

As he brings the phone closer to his face, Haechan raises a curious eyebrow at you, back to his playful self. “So… how’s everything over there? Are you taking good care of my plants?”

“They should be my plants since they’re only still alive because of me,” you argue, a smile soon following your half-hearted huff. “Alia’s still going crazy over the wedding plans, your mom asked me out for lunch earlier this week, work’s still work… same as always.”

“Oh, yeah, I saw the pictures of your date with Mrs. Lee,” he jokes, chuckling as you confusedly stare at him for a second. “She told me you were going out together, so I asked her for pictures. I’ll tell you that she did not disappoint me.”

“Oh my God, is that why she took so many pictures of me?” You frown, visibly surprised at the twist. “It felt like I was shooting for a magazine or something.”

Haechan grins, offering you a coy wink. “I made a new album in my gallery just for them.”

“You haven’t told me how’s the hotel yet,” you start, purposefully disregarding him with a hint of a smile on your face. “Is the city still the same as you remember?”

“The hotel is fine, just boring,” he complains, taking a glance around the place as if to suddenly find anything interesting. “I haven’t seen much of the city, though. My mom probably has an entire schedule planned to go as soon as she lands.”

“That’s so cute,” you reply, adjusting under the blankets with a soft laugh. “She does seem really excited about it. She couldn’t stop talking about the last time you guys visited your family at our lunch date.”

The conversation pauses for a second as Haechan lets himself watch you, holding back a smile at the little peek at your pajamas—a t-shirt that’s been missing from his closet for a good few months. Though as something suddenly moves underneath the blanket, seemingly walking right beside you, his face immediately shifts to a puzzled frown. 

Haechan shifts on his seat, eyes squinting for a second time. “Do you have something to tell me, Barbie?”

That’s all it takes for a pair of fluffy ears to slip out, followed by a rather loud protest at the screen before a white and brown-ish cat climbs over you, settling comfortably on your chest as Haechan watches in a mix of bewilderment and adoration. 

You glance at the camera for a second, biting your lip. “Surprise?”

“We have a cat?!” he asks dumbfounded, laughing in disbelief as his eyes shift between both of you. “Do we suddenly have a cat now?”

Giggling at his reaction, the cat suddenly meows on your chest, bothered by the movement. “It’s not ours, Hyuckie,” you explain, fingers carefully running through the fluff. “It’s Yangyang’s cat. His name is Coco.”

Haechan huffs playfully, shaking his head. “Well, it’s not Yangyang’s anymore.”

Moving the camera to a better angle, you snort when noticing him taking a screenshot. “He had a family emergency but his roommates aren’t in town, so he texted me asking if I could take Coco for the weekend.”

With a hum, Haechan furrows his eyebrows at the cat through the screen. “So Coco will spend the entire weekend with you at my place?” he asks, suddenly letting out a dramatic sigh at your nod. “It’s really tough seeing someone else living your dream.”

“Stop,” you counter, holding back a laugh at his antics. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No.” He shakes his head, looking around for the hotel’s menu. “I’ll order some if you stay with me.”

As both of you exchange idle chit-chat about the trip, Haechan orders his dinner with yours and Coco’s company, soon moving to the table with the phone propped in front of him. With the food’s aroma spreading through the room, a happy groan escapes from his mouth, almost making him forget the attentive audience of two on the other side of the screen. 

Amused at the delight on his face, you can’t help chuckling. “Did I make a good choice?”

“You make the greatest choices always, baby,” he says, already between a mouthful when Coco meows again. “Yeah, yeah, you too.”

The silence stretches for a second too long as Haechan finishes the meal, the lively mood of your little comments fading into a quiet, sudden pause. Though neither of you are usually bothered by these moments, something in the way you’re watching him makes Haechan pause. 

“Uh-oh, it looks like you’re thinking too much,” he starts, smiling softly despite the tip of worry lacing his voice. “What’s wrong, Barbie?”

You hesitate for a moment, sighing quietly before speaking. “It’s just weird not having you here. I didn’t think it’d feel so… empty.”

As he clutches his chest theatrically, Haechan slumps into the chair with a groan. “Is my baby really missing me?” he taunts, the attempt to draw a laugh out of you succeeding upon your giggle. “You could’ve come with me, I told you I’d sneak you into our meetings.”

More playful than anything, you give him an incredulous glance. “I told you I have a job.”

“That’s just details, Barbie.” He shrugs, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “You know Mrs. Lee wouldn’t mind giving you a few days, right?”

“Well, she did ask me why I didn’t go with you…” you confess, the tone of your voice subtly changing to a teasing one. “You probably wouldn’t get any work done with me around, so it’s probably for the best.”

As he stops a protest short at your glare, Haechan nods solemnly instead, feigning defeat. “Ok, fine, maybe you’re right,” he admits, suddenly grinning as realization clicks in his eyes. “Oh, I got some stuff for you, by the way!”

You let out a half-hearted groan, watching fondly as he disappears into the hotel room. “What did I say, Hyuckie?”

“To not get you anything,” Haechan calls aloud, an edge of playful offense laced to his voice. “That’s the lamest thing you’ve ever asked me, baby. I’m not going home to you empty-handed.”

It only takes a moment for him to return to the screen again, leaving you visibly stunned while he juggles a ridiculous number of shopping bags into the frame. The rustling sound makes you laugh, bothering Coco enough that he meows grudgingly, moving to nestle himself against a pillow instead.

“Hyuck, what the hell?” you exclaim, bringing the phone closer as if to get a better look. “How is all of that fitting in your luggage, baby?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,” he answers casually, a grin instantly growing on his face upon spotting a specific bag, one of the biggest ones around him. “Oh, you’re gonna love this one—close your eyes for me, hm?”

Raising a suspicious eyebrow, you resist a smile by biting your lips. “Why should I?”

Giving the camera a knowing look, Haechan huffs mischievously, shaking his head at you through the screen. “You’re usually really good at obeying my orders.”

You scoff indignantly, visibly flustered at his words despite the annoyance. “You are with mine too!”

“I’m a good boy,” he agrees nonchalantly, your astonishment earning a smirk out of him. “Come on, Barbie, close them.”

With a small sigh, you oblige, squeezing your eyes shut. “Donghyuck, if you’re playing a prank on me—” 

“Shhh, no talking,” Haechan interrupts, eagerly pulling the gifts from the bag before holding them closer to the phone. “Okay, open now!”

A hand immediately flies to your mouth as you gasp, taking in the sight of the two cute bears taking over the screen of your phone—behind Rilakkuma and Korilakkuma, Haechan can’t help laughing at your reaction. 

“Oh my God, Hyuckie!” you start, eyes alight as a wide smile grows on your face. “They’re so cute! How’d you know I wanted them?”

He shrugs, though his grin gives away a hint of satisfaction. “I actually listen to my girlfriend like a good boyfriend should do.”

“You are the best,” you mumble, voice softening as a pout forms on your lips. “I love you.”

“You do, don’t you?” Haechan teases instead, ignoring the warmth spreading over his neck by shuffling through the shopping bags again. “You’re gonna love me even more with this one.”

As he holds it out, your jaw immediately drops at the designer name on the bright, startlingly pink bag in his hands. “You got me a Barbie bag?!”

“Obviously,” he says, mockingly serious as he nods solemnly. “I’ll receive my gratifications in the form of kisses and cuddles.”

You giggle, fondly shaking your head at his words. “I’ll kiss you for as long as you want,” you promise, holding the phone closer to your face as Haechan sets the plushies next to him. “They look a little bit like us.”

“They do, don’t they?” Haechan agrees, snorting a laugh with a look at the pair. “Mark said the same thing. He said I should’ve picked out matching outfits for them too.”

“Oh my God, we are absolutely doing that,” you beam, giving him a mock look of determination. “Rilakkuma and Korilakkuma need proper clothes as representatives of our relationship.”

He nods through the screen, visibly amused by your excitement. “Anything for you, baby.”

You chuckle sheepishly at the words, the sound warm and easy despite a subtle mood change as the moment draws for a second too long. There’s a pause as both of you just look at each other through the screen, charged with unspoken feelings. 

“So… what’s your plans for tomorrow?” you ask, breaking the quiet with a lighter tone. “More boring meetings?”

“You should’ve come with me,” Haechan grumbles again, wrinkling his nose before leaning closer to the screen, as if to tell you a secret. “There’s still time, baby. Just say the word and I’ll book a flight right now.”

“You’re insane.” You shake your head, laughing for the nth time at how serious he sounds. “As much I’d love to, one of us needs to be the normal person in this relationship.”

Noting the hints of sunlight already slipping through the curtains at his place, Haechan watches you stretch under the blankets, a yawn escaping from your mouth just as he glimpses at the clock on the wall of his hotel room. 

“You should take a nap,” he murmurs, smiling as the cat beside you mimics your motion on his pillow. “Coco seems to be filling my spot well, huh?”

“I have a feeling that he’d hate you,” you joke, playfully narrowing your eyes at Coco. “It took a few hours for him to warm up to me after Yangyang left.”

Haechan chuckles, his eyes softening the longer he watches the screen. “Hey, I miss you too, alright?” he says, gently taunting you. “How many more days until I’m back?”

“Ten,” you reply instantly, timidly avoiding his gaze for a second. “Not that I’m counting or anything.”

He grins, tilting his head with a click of his tongue. “Sure you’re not, Barbie.”

“I should let you go,” you sigh, coming off a little reluctant despite your firm nod. “It’s getting late for you and I have to set up Coco’s breakfast soon.”

With a hum, Haechan leans towards the camera with a hand over his ear. “How many more days?”

Despite a half-hearted eye-roll, you sound nothing but sweet as your voice drops to a whisper. “Ten, Hyuckie.”

“That’s right,” he says, his smile softening into something warmer, almost with a reverent touch. “I love you, hm?”

A smile spreads across your face, nodding through the screen one last time. “I love you too.” 

9:54PM [attachment] Here’s your tickets baby 😘 You fly out Monday morning Barbie 9:54PM DONGHYUCK WHAT???

[fluffyydumplings]

IT’S THE END OF THE WORLD

If the world was ending right now

I’d hug you until I crush your bones

Because if my life flashes before my eyes

I would have liked to know that I still managed to engrave flowers of my love onto the dying flesh of your soul

It’s selfish

But once I’m gone

I’m nothing better than the fish swimming endlessly in a swirl of muddy puddles with nowhere to go

Aimlessly looking for a way to live even when life is no more

I’m nothing but the desires of my flesh and the sins that my soul has left my body with

And what better way to live even when I’m dead

But with the traces of my heart on your bones

To mark the reminder of our love

Or mine?

You could crush my bones too…

The world is ending darling..

Nothing matters anymore…

That’s kind of morbid

I’m hearing it now

But isn’t the world ending.. just the same damn thing

If the world was ending

I’d want to talk to you once last time

I wouldn’t talk about how much love I have for you

Or how all the stars in the skies are placed directly in the crevices of your heart

I would talk to you about how to make cupcakes

And how you still haven’t returned that food container I lent you last December

I would talk to you about the most mundane things that a being can talk about

Because if you think about it flowers are just particles that we happen to see

Yet they manage to hold stories of a million words

Stepped on by a man who was in a hurry on his way to work

Ignored

Plucked by a lady who hasn’t been visited by her children for years

Adored

Torn apart by the hands of a child who has just failed his test

Wasted

Think of it my darling

If the world were to end right now

What good is me telling you I love you

When my love lies in knowing how you’ve missed the bus today

When my love lies in knowing how the food at work was too salty for you today

My love for you is like a bookmark that sits between the pages of a book

Sometimes trapped between two boring pages

Sometimes trapped between the ending of a chapter

Sometimes trapped in the climax of a story

Sometimes wedged between simple words ‘like’ the or ‘nice’

Sometimes wedged between words like ‘love’ and ‘joy.’

You can’t say the moments that we have spent wasting our lives together in simply talking about the shape of the clouds

Is any less than the moments that we have celebrated

Whether it be our love or our triumphs

Because the little moments of joy that we look over are paper cranes in a glass jar

A single moment of joy is just a single crane that stands small in the horizon

But when pilled up

A colourful mess is everything

Our colourful mess is everything

A beautiful sky is made up of thousands of colours

Even a murky brown or simple beige plays a part in curating magnificence

So.. if the world was ending right now

Let’s not focus on the glass jar

Let us fold a single crane

And make it a pretty one

Because

If the world was ending right now

I would wish for nothing but a few more minutes for me to complain about doing laundry with you

I would wish for nothing but to be able to count all the freckles on your face

I would wish for nothing but to be able to steal the blanket from you as you push me off the bed

Because darling.. what if tomorrow we’re just a memory that no one remembers anymore

Because darling love is nothing special

Isn’t that love?

Familiar

Precious

Worth thinking about the end of the world for?

[writingxfootballl]

i wanna be the one (that makes your day) (jessie fleming x ucla!reader)

the part two to i'll be your biggest fan (and you'll be mine)

word count: 1407 ish

rating: F for fluffy

title- best friend by rex orange county

a/n: again, unedited. part of my fic dump. not guaranteed spelling errors and plot hole free

----

it’s been exactly one month since you left california for oxford.

and in that month, you’ve felt the full weight of the transition.

the chill of the english weather, the constant rush of new information, and the distinct absence of a certain messy-haired canadian soccer player.

you’d been so determined to focus on your studies, on the prestigious rhodes scholarship that had brought you here, that the thought of jessie—of her—had taken a backseat.

but that didn’t mean she was far from your mind. because she wasn’t.

she never really was.

it’s just that, here, in oxford, it felt… different.

the landscape was so vast, so old, the buildings so steeped in history. everything felt so distant, so foreign.

it wasn’t the kind of place where a casual coffee date or library study sessions felt possible.

but that didn’t stop you from wondering if you might see her again.

and then, one crisp morning, while you were walking across radcliffe square, there she was.

jessie fleming, on a freaking london bus, looking effortlessly beautiful in a puffer jacket and jeans.

you freeze in place, breath hitching, your heart skipping.

you hadn’t expected to see her in england, let alone in oxford, and definitely not in this exact moment.

the last time you saw her, she was standing on the bleachers in sunny california, asking you out on a date.

you had kissed her. it was perfect.

and then she had flown back to london for her training with chelsea.

you still have the little text you sent her: "thinking of you. hope practice is going well. "

it was cute. she replied with something equally sweet.

and then you both agreed that you’d keep in touch.

you hadn’t realized how much you'd missed her until this very moment.

you panic for a second, unsure what to do.

should you wave?

run over?

act cool and pretend you weren’t feeling a little lightheaded?

before you can decide, jessie’s eyes meet yours.

they soften immediately, her lips curling into that familiar smile, and just like that, you’re moving without thinking.

she’s already walking toward you, her boots tapping along the stone path, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.

“hey, y/n,” she says, her voice warm.

“fancy seeing you here.”

your heart swells.

“jessie! what—what are you doing here?”

“i think that’s my question for you,” she teases, stopping in front of you.

“i was just in london for training and thought i’d visit oxford for a bit. nice to see you’ve finally joined the world of us english folk.”

you laugh, trying to mask the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“i didn’t know you’d be here. i’m just, you know, studying. trying to become a fancy oxford student or whatever.”

“fancy, huh?”

jessie quirks an eyebrow.

“you look more like you belong in california than in england.”

“yeah, well, i don’t know if i’ll ever get used to the rain. or the weather, for that matter,” you say with a small, self-deprecating chuckle.

“i like it,” she shrugs, grinning.

“it’s cozy. but maybe that’s because i grew up with it.”

“right,” you mutter, glancing down at your boots and feeling suddenly nervous again.

“so what’s the plan? are you here for long?”

“nah, just a couple of days,” she says, looking around with interest.

“but i could always stay longer. what about you? got any plans for the day?”

you hesitate, thoughts running wild. “um, not really. just… studying. you know, the usual.”

jessie smiles knowingly, and before you can blink, she’s offering her arm to you.

“well, if you’re not doing anything, you want to come grab a coffee with me?”

you try to keep your cool.

“a coffee?” you repeat, almost disbelieving.

“as in, just us? hanging out?”

jessie tilts her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. “yeah, just us. no big deal.”

you’re pretty sure your heart is about to burst out of your chest, but you manage to nod, trying to hide the giddiness creeping up.

“sure, i’d love to.”

and so, the two of you stroll through the cobbled streets of oxford, coffee cups in hand, casually talking about everything and nothing.

the conversation flows effortlessly, like you’ve known each other for years, like time and space hadn’t really interrupted your connection.

“so how’s chelsea?” you ask, as you both take a seat on one of the benches overlooking the river.

“it’s been great,” she replies, looking genuinely happy.

“lots of training, a few matches here and there. and you? how’s oxford? is it everything you thought it’d be?”

you think for a moment.

“yeah. and no. i mean, it’s exactly what i expected academically, but i didn’t know how lonely it would feel sometimes. like, everyone’s so driven, and it’s kind of… overwhelming.”

jessie nods, her gaze softening.

“i get that. being away from home is hard, but you’re doing it, right? you’ve got this.”

you smile, warmed by her words.

“thanks, jessie. i appreciate that.”

“of course,” she replies, her voice gentle.

“besides, we’ve both got big things going on, right? you with the rhodes, me with the team... we’re kind of a power couple, if you think about it.”

you laugh, the sound coming out more nervous than you intend.

“power couple? is that what we are?”

jessie’s grin widens.

“why not?”

and for the rest of the afternoon, you both walk around oxford, talking about life, about what you miss, about your plans for the future.

the conversation flows with ease, like you’ve always been in each other’s orbit, like nothing has really changed.

by the time the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and purple, jessie turns to you, her smile softening.

“i’m really glad we’re doing this,” she says quietly. “i’ve missed you.”

you swallow hard, your chest tightening.

“i’ve missed you too.”

“i mean it,” she continues.

“i know we’re both busy, and i know this whole long-distance thing isn’t easy, but... i want to see you more. when you’re free, come to london. i’ll show you around.”

the warmth in her words melts you completely.

“i’d love that,” you whisper. “i’d really love that.”

“good,” she says with a wink.

“because i’ve already got a few ideas for our next date.”

you laugh, your heart fluttering.

“a date, huh?”

jessie shrugs, looking casually cool.

“we did kind of kiss last time i checked, so i think it counts.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

“you’re impossible, you know that?”

“yeah, i know,” she says with a laugh. “but you like me anyway.”

you shake your head, a playful smile on your lips.

“don’t get too cocky.”

“i’ll try,” she says, her eyes twinkling.

the sun dips below the horizon, and the night air grows cooler, but there’s something incredibly comforting about sitting here with jessie, knowing that the two of you have this connection that just keeps growing stronger.

~~

over the next few weeks, you and jessie stay in touch.

the long-distance thing isn’t easy, but it’s working.

you FaceTime when you can, send each other little messages of encouragement.

she’s training for her upcoming season with chelsea, and you’re buried in your studies, but the moments you do find to talk are the highlights of your day.

it’s strange, though, to think about how your life has shifted since that first meeting in the library back at ucla.

you’ve come so far, both of you, and yet somehow, despite the distance, you still feel that pull to her.

that connection you can’t quite explain, but you know is real.

jessie visits oxford a few more times, and each time feels like a new chapter in your relationship.

you go out for coffee, explore the city, and sneak in quiet moments in between your busy schedules.

with each visit, your feelings for her grow stronger, and you begin to wonder if this could really work—this thing between you two, despite everything.

one night, after a long week of work, you find yourself at your desk, scrolling through your messages when you see a new one from jessie.

"thinking about you. when’s the next time i get to see you? "

your heart skips.

you reply quickly: "soon. i’ll make it happen. i miss you."

she responds almost instantly: "me too. see you soon, love."

you grin, your heart swelling.

this? this was just the beginning.

[quiltedcottage]

alright, just had a super inspiring convo with my cousin. we started reminiscing about our travels together and i started to get super nostalgic about europe and just travel and movement in general.

he wants to get back to Thailand and I want to get back to France or Italy. (i speak Italian fluently and this has also been coming up in conversation more and more, i swear it’s like i suddenly remembered i could speak a second language in the last week or so lmao). the crazy part is that today at the post office i was in line to drop off a package and a girl came up to get a passport application. i remembered that mine expires in 6 months so i asked for one too.

and then tonight i’m in the kitchen just talking about random stuff with my cousin and we start talking about Seattle and then Paris and then Verona and all these places we’ve gone together and it all just fell into place.

so anyways, i will be telling my therapist this and i will make her hold me accountable lol

[randomravager]

mother taught me how to spend money freely, father taught me how to spend money tightly, and I taught myself how to be an anxious wreck about those two sides yippee!

[angelstrawbabie420]

grief will have you saying shit like goddamn and fuck maybe the abuse was worth it

[daisychain-unchained]

Just a few pics I took at the mountains in NC the other weekend and forgot to post

[whoblewboobear]

It’s strange, I’m used to hyperfixating hard on things like HARD (beats my 2yr long beetlejuice musical obsession back with a stick) but Starbreaker- not even fantasy high itself took me over to the point of feeling like a teen about. Like I haven’t had this much fun in fandom in years. I haven’t like- interacted with people this much in fandom in years (which is still not enough but if I beat myself up about social interaction again I’ll jump off a cliff)

But there’s never been a concern of like “this obsession won’t fade for a while but it’ll lose popularity” and that’s fine and surprisingly it hasn’t. But it is different. It’s like adapting to it constantly as the thing itself changes even when there are aspects that you’d like to stay the same. Like that ‘I don’t go to this school of thought, but I’ll still take the class bc it’s interesting’ sorta thing.

And then there’s that feeling of WANTING to contribute but the thing has become such a beast that it’s like oooh I’m so out of my depths here.

Also like constantly having to look myself in the eye and be like ‘bitch you don’t have to talk or contribute to EVERYTHING’ and the sooner I accept that and accept that it is what it is, ill miss things, I won’t get enjoyment out of every aspect and every aspect isn’t for me and that that isn’t a bad thing, I’ll stop having moments of feeling weird and out of place. I have my lil corner and that’s okay