#this is all i know about the film and it's already too much for me

[amethystarachnid]

Hi!! I hope you’re doing well 🥰

I had an idea for the Marvel Multiverse Reality Show AU with Tony x F!Personal Assistant Reader (if you’re willing to write it?).

Maybe after just announcing he’s Iron Man, he’s agreed to have a reality show about himself called “The Stark Reality” (because we know this man LOVES attention and it’s a good play on words 🤭). He welcomes the crew in and it shows the world about his daily life, his iron man life, maybe his playboy life etc etc. Throughout filming his reality show, he has many interactions with his personal assistant on screen. Fans watching begin speculating on their relationship together, which after a while leads to an awkward yet sweet realization between the two. His PA definitely has feeling for her boss, but much to her surprise he’s had those same feelings too. It’s sweet when they come to the realization together, but it’s incredibly awkward when they realize the cameras had been secretly filming their sweet moment entire time 😵‍💫

I hope it makes sense lol. Thanks for taking the time to even read this! 🫶🏻

THE STARK REALITY (SHOW)

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): lack of privacy because they are in a reality show

ᯓ★ Maybe a part 2?

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The camera crew files into the mansion, wide-eyed and slightly overwhelmed, their equipment catching the gleam of expensive decor and cutting-edge technology. The grand entrance of the Stark estate is exactly as the world imagines—opulent, excessive, and bathed in the golden glow of wealth. The moment the director calls for the first shot, Tony Stark is already in the center of it all, perfectly at ease in the limelight.

“Welcome to The Stark Reality!” he announces, arms thrown wide, that signature smirk plastered across his face. “A reality show about a billionaire, genius, ex-weapons manufacturer, and recently announced superhero. Also known as me.” He winks directly at the camera. “You’re welcome, world.”

The camera crew shifts to follow him as he walks deeper into the house, narrating as he goes. He gestures to the extravagant living space, to the sleek glass walls revealing a sprawling Malibu view, to the open bar already stocked with expensive bottles. It’s all part of the spectacle, but then again, so is he.

And then there’s you.

You linger just outside the frame, tablet in hand, lips pressed together in a straight line. You’ve been Tony’s assistant for years now, navigating his unpredictable whims, his extravagant lifestyle, and now, apparently, his newfound interest in reality television. You should’ve seen this coming. The man loves an audience.

He turns suddenly, catching you off guard. “And this,” he says, beckoning you over, “is my lovely, brilliant, long-suffering personal assistant.”

The camera swings toward you, and you resist the urge to sigh. Instead, you school your features into something passably professional, giving the crew a tight smile.

“Hi,” you say simply.

Tony raises a brow, clearly unimpressed with your lack of enthusiasm. “Come on, give ‘em something. These people are here for entertainment.”

You don’t miss the way he leans in slightly, mischief dancing in his eyes. He loves doing this—pulling you into his orbit, pushing at your composure just to see if you’ll break.

You tilt your head, tapping your tablet. “Would you like me to list your meetings for the day or just summarize the number of ways this reality show is going to be a logistical nightmare?”

He grins. “See? She’s got personality. And she keeps me on schedule, which is an almost impossible task, so she’s basically a superhero in her own right.”

“I don’t have time to save the world,” you say dryly. “I’m too busy saving you from yourself.”

The crew chuckles, and Tony places a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Ouch. And yet, true.”

The filming continues as Tony moves through his morning routine—or rather, what he claims is his routine but is obviously exaggerated for the cameras. He lounges dramatically on his couch, sipping a green smoothie he wouldn’t drink on a normal day. He shows off the in-house gym he rarely uses because, as he puts it, “Why sweat when you have a suit of armor that does all the heavy lifting?”

Still, he’s in his element. The camera loves him, and he loves it right back.

Throughout the day, the crew captures glimpses of what it’s like to work for Tony Stark—organized chaos at best. You’re constantly in motion, fielding calls, managing his schedule, and dodging his playful antics.

At one point, you’re briefing him about an upcoming meeting when he suddenly cuts you off.

“Hold that thought,” he says, turning toward the camera with an exaggerated look of excitement. “This is the part where I ignore my assistant’s very important words and do something reckless.”

You let out a slow breath, eyes closing for a brief second. “Please don’t.”

Too late. He’s already bolting toward his workshop, the crew scrambling to keep up.

The rest of the day follows suit, a whirlwind of Tony being Tony—charming, infuriating, and completely impossible. The world wanted a peek into his life, and now they’re getting it. But beneath all the theatrics, the cameras capture something else too—those little moments where he looks at you just a beat too long, the way he teases you not just for the show, but because he enjoys it.

And maybe you enjoy it too.

The days of filming blur together in a chaotic, camera-filled whirlwind. Tony adapts quickly, thriving under the constant attention, but for you, it’s an adjustment. You’re used to managing him behind the scenes, not under the watchful eyes of millions who will dissect every interaction, every glance, every word exchanged between you.

And dissect they do.

At first, the comments from fans are lighthearted.

"Wow, Tony’s assistant is a saint. How does she put up with him?"

"The way he looks at her though?? I’d die for a man to look at me like that."

"There’s no way they haven’t at least kissed before. The chemistry is insane."

You ignore it. It’s just the internet being the internet. But as the show airs more episodes, the speculation doesn’t just continue—it grows. Entire compilations pop up online, showing moments between you and Tony that seem insignificant alone but, when stitched together, tell a different story.

One of those moments happens late one night when the cameras are supposed to be off.

It’s past midnight, and most of the crew has packed up for the day, but you’re still in the workshop, scrolling through Tony’s calendar on your tablet. He’s at his workbench, eyes locked on whatever latest modification he’s making to the suit. It’s quiet, comfortable. Just the two of you.

“You should go to bed,” he murmurs without looking up.

“You should take your own advice,” you counter.

A smirk tugs at his lips, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours. “I will if you will.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “I have too much to do.”

“So do I.” He gestures vaguely at the half-finished repulsor in front of him. “But unlike you, I am my own boss and can ignore my responsibilities.”

You huff out a laugh, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “You ignore them whether you’re your own boss or not.”

His smirk widens. “Exactly. Now sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sit?”

“Yeah.” He pats the empty stool beside him. “You’re making me nervous, standing there all tense. Come on, take a load off.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give in, sliding onto the stool next to him. He’s still looking at you, and now that you’re closer, you notice the exhaustion tugging at the edges of his expression. It’s rare to see him without the armor of his usual bravado.

“Long day?” you ask softly.

He hums, rolling his shoulders. “Something like that.”

Without thinking, you reach out and press your fingers against a knot in his shoulder, kneading gently. He freezes for a fraction of a second, then exhales, melting slightly under your touch.

“Oh,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “That’s dangerous.”

Your fingers still. “What is?”

He turns his head slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “Letting you know that feels good. You might start using it as leverage.”

You roll your eyes but keep massaging the tension from his shoulder. “Please. Like I don’t already have enough leverage on you.”

His lips quirk up in amusement, and for a while, neither of you say anything. The quiet hum of the workshop fills the space, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips grounding you. It’s easy to forget the world outside of moments like this.

What neither of you realize is that one of the smaller cameras in the corner of the workshop—the one meant to capture footage of his tech for the show—was never turned off.

When the footage airs, the internet explodes.

"GUYS, I AM LITERALLY GONNA SCREAM. Did you see the way he just let her touch him like that? He was SOFT for her. I can’t do this."

"No but the way she just casually massages him like it’s normal… THEY’RE IN LOVE."

"I don’t even care if they say they’re not together, the EYE CONTACT says otherwise."

Tony, of course, loves the reactions.

“People are calling me soft,” he says one morning, shoving his phone in your face. “For you.”

You glance up from your tablet, unimpressed. “I mean, they’re not wrong.”

His grin widens. “Oh? You admit I have a soft spot for you?”

“I admit you think you do,” you reply smoothly, swiping to the next appointment on his schedule.

“Ouch. Brutal,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile, but then he does something unexpected. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s a small thing, a fleeting touch, but it sends your heart skipping a beat.

And of course, the cameras catch it.

The moment goes viral within hours.

"Tony tucking her hair behind her ear?? Sir, I am UNWELL."

"I’m convinced they forget they’re being filmed sometimes because this is NOT platonic behavior."

"The way she paused for a second after he touched her… yeah, she felt that."

The more moments like this pile up, the harder it gets to brush off the speculation. The crew catches everything—the way Tony always seems to find excuses to be near you, the way his gaze lingers just a second too long when you’re not looking, the way you press a coffee into his hand before he even asks for it.

One day, after a particularly chaotic filming session involving a very unnecessary stunt with the Iron Man suit (which you had explicitly told him not to do), the two of you find yourselves alone in the kitchen.

You’re filling a glass of water when Tony steps beside you, leaning casually against the counter.

“You’re mad,” he observes.

You take a sip of your own water. “I’m not mad.”

He tilts his head, studying you. “Annoyed, then.”

You set your glass down with a sigh. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

His expression softens slightly. “But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

For once, he doesn’t immediately deflect with a joke. Instead, he reaches out, gently tugging at your wrist until you look at him.

“I’m fine,” he says, quieter now.

You exhale, shaking your head. “I know. I just—” You stop yourself, not sure how to put it into words.

Tony doesn’t push. He just holds your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his expression. The air between you shifts, heavier than before.

Neither of you realize the camera in the corner of the kitchen is still rolling.

"Nah, because that moment in the kitchen was INTIMATE. The way he reached for her wrist so gently??? PLEASE."

"Okay but the way she was genuinely worried about him? And the way he actually let himself be serious for once?? They’re in LOVE."

"I don’t even need confirmation at this point. This is a slow-burn romance happening in real-time."

You tell yourself it’s just the cameras.

That’s why everything feels heightened, why your heart stumbles in your chest every time Tony leans just a little too close, why your stomach flips when his gaze lingers a second too long.

It’s the show. The attention. The fact that millions of people are dissecting every interaction between you, making you hyperaware of the way Tony touches you so casually, the way he teases you so effortlessly, the way he just exists in your space like he belongs there.

Because that’s all it is.

Right?

You try to ignore it. Try to act normal. Try to pretend your pulse doesn’t quicken when he throws an arm around your shoulders in front of the cameras, pulling you into his orbit like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t let yourself think too much about the way his touch lingers, the way his hand sometimes settles at the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, the way he always seems to know exactly what to say to get under your skin—just enough to fluster you, just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

You’ve worked for Tony long enough to know that he’s always been like this. He’s charming, magnetic, impossible to ignore. He flirts with everyone, makes people feel like they’re the only person in the room when he talks to them.

It’s just who he is.

But then there are moments that don’t feel like a performance.

Like the time you’re both in the workshop late at night again, and he offers you a screwdriver without looking, like he somehow knows exactly what you need before you ask. Or the time he catches you yawning after a long day and, without a word, pushes his cup of coffee toward you.

Or the time you stumble half-asleep into the kitchen one morning, still in your pajamas, and find him already there, making two cups of coffee—one exactly how you like it.

“You’re up early,” you mumble, rubbing at your eyes.

He smirks, handing you the coffee. “You’re just up late.”

You take the cup from him, wrapping your fingers around the warmth. “Thanks.”

He watches you as you take your first sip, his expression softer than usual. “You should sleep more.”

You arch a brow at him. “You’re one to talk.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, but he doesn’t argue. And then he does something that makes your brain short-circuit—he reaches out and brushes his thumb over the corner of your mouth.

You freeze.

“There was coffee there,” he says, voice low, almost teasing, but there’s something else in his eyes. Something that makes your heart stutter.

The moment stretches, thick with something unspoken. And then—

“Morning, boss! Morning, Y/N!”

You both jolt back as one of the camera crew members strolls in, oblivious. You step away quickly, lifting your coffee to your lips to hide the fact that your face is burning.

Tony just exhales through his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like cockblocked by my own reality show.

The cameras weren’t even rolling that morning, but somehow, the clip of him wiping coffee off your lip still ends up online.

"HELLO?? HIS THUMB ON HER LIP?? WHAT KIND OF ROMANCE NOVEL BULLSHIT IS THIS??"

"He looked so focused on her mouth I am losing my mind."

"I swear they forget the cameras exist sometimes. That was INTIMATE."

The internet is eating this up. Fans are analyzing every look, every touch, every moment between you and Tony with the kind of dedication usually reserved for crime scene investigations.

You try to ignore it.

You fail.

Because suddenly, you start noticing things you’ve ignored before.

Like the way Tony always saves the last slice of pizza for you. The way he keeps an extra pair of your favorite sunglasses in his car because he knows you always forget yours. The way he always seems to position himself between you and any potential threat—even if the "threat" is just a pushy journalist or an overenthusiastic fan.

And then there are the looks.

The ones that last just a little too long. The ones where he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. The ones that feel different.

The realization creeps up on you slowly, like a shadow stretching in the late afternoon sun.

You like him.

No—you’ve liked him. Probably for a while now. You were just too stubborn, too careful, too scared to admit it.

And Tony—oh, Tony has known for a long time.

It’s in the way he looks at you, like he’s just waiting for you to catch up. Like he’s been patient, so damn patient, but he’s not going to wait forever.

But you don’t know how to cross that line. Not when the whole world is watching. Not when your job, your life, everything is so tangled up with him.

So you try to act normal.

The cameras catch every single slip-up.

Like the time you’re standing beside him at a press event, and someone asks a question about his playboy lifestyle.

He laughs, playing it up for the cameras. “You know me, I’m a man of many talents.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Most of which involve ignoring my carefully planned schedule.”

He turns to you, smirking. “See? This is why I keep her around. She keeps me humble.”

The reporter grins. “Y/N, what’s the secret to handling Tony Stark?”

You glance at him, and for a split second, you forget about the cameras. Forget about the audience.

“He’s not as much of a handful as people think,” you say, voice quieter, more honest than you mean it to be.

Tony blinks, and for the first time in a long time, he actually looks surprised.

The internet notices.

"DID YOU SEE HIS FACE WHEN SHE SAID THAT?? Bro was not expecting her to be SWEET."

"‘He’s not as much of a handful as people think’ MA’AM. MA’AM. ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH HIM??"

"I swear to god Tony is just waiting for her to admit it at this point."

The dress is too much. That’s your first thought as you stare at yourself in the full-length mirror, smoothing your hands down the fabric. It’s expensive—of course, it is. Tony sent it over himself, and you’d bet good money that it cost more than your rent.

It’s stunning, undeniably so, hugging in all the right places, the deep color making your skin glow under the soft lighting of your bedroom. Your makeup is flawless, your hair styled perfectly, and for once, you don’t look like Tony Stark’s overworked assistant.

You look like a woman on the arm of a billionaire.

Which, technically, you are.

Just for tonight.

It’s not that unusual for Tony to bring you to events, but tonight is different. There’s no work agenda, no schedule to maintain. For this one night, you’re not his assistant—you’re his date.

The word lingers in your mind, foreign but not unwelcome.

There’s a knock at your door.

“You decent?” Tony’s voice is light, teasing, but when you open the door, he just stops.

His mouth parts slightly as his gaze sweeps over you, lingering at your exposed collarbone, the way the dress clings to your curves. For once, he’s silent, and you think that might be the most shocking part.

You raise an eyebrow. “Well?”

Tony blinks, then clears his throat, smoothing a hand down the front of his sleek, tailored suit. “Yep. Nope. I was prepared for this. I am handling this just fine.”

You fight back a smile. “You sure?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he says, stepping back so you can follow him. “Just casually rethinking all my life choices and trying to figure out how I got lucky enough to have you on my arm tonight.”

Your heart does something stupid in your chest, but you roll your eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Stark.”

He smirks. “Worth a shot.”

The drive to the event is smooth, the car sleek and comfortable, but your nerves kick in the second you see the flashing lights ahead, the crowd of reporters, the sea of cameras waiting.

Tony notices.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice warm and steady beside you. “You look incredible. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

You exhale, forcing yourself to nod. “Right. Just another night.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Except this time, when they ask me who I’m with, I get to say you.”

Before you can overthink it, the door opens, and suddenly, you’re stepping onto the red carpet with Tony Stark’s hand resting at the small of your back. The flashes are blinding, the noise overwhelming, but Tony guides you through it with practiced ease, nodding and smirking at the cameras like he was born for this.

Reporters immediately start shouting questions.

“Tony! Who’s your date tonight?”

“Y/N, how does it feel to be on Stark’s arm instead of his payroll?”

“Why her, Tony? Out of all the women in the world, why did you choose your assistant?”

Tony grins, pulling you just a little closer. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says, his tone dripping with amusement. “Some secrets are just for me.”

Your face burns, and you’re grateful when you’re ushered forward, past the press and into the venue. The inside is just as extravagant as expected—glittering chandeliers, champagne flowing, a sea of celebrities dressed to impress.

And, of course, that’s when it happens.

The actor is objectively handsome—tall, broad-shouldered, a charming smile that probably makes half the world swoon. You recognize him immediately, a famous action star, one of the many guests mingling at the event.

And for some reason, he’s interested in you.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he says, his gaze sweeping over you in obvious appreciation. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I would have remembered.”

You offer a polite smile, feeling Tony shift beside you. “Y/N,” you say, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Y/N,” he repeats, his own smile widening as he takes your hand. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Tony’s grip on his champagne flute tightens.

You catch the slight tick in his jaw, the way his entire posture stiffens. Oh. Oh, this is interesting.

The actor keeps talking, asking about your work, throwing in more compliments than necessary, and you can feel Tony practically vibrating beside you.

And then—just to push it a little—you laugh at something the actor says, placing a hand on his arm.

It’s nothing. Completely innocent.

But Tony clears his throat sharply. “Hey, buddy,” he says, voice light but just a little too loud. “You mind if I borrow my date for a second?”

The emphasis is unmistakable.

The actor, blissfully unaware of the silent tantrum Tony is throwing, just grins and nods. “Of course. It was a pleasure, Y/N.”

Tony is already pulling you away before you can respond.

He doesn’t stop until you’re outside, away from the crowd, in a quiet balcony area overlooking the city lights.

You turn to him, crossing your arms. “Are you jealous, Stark?”

He scoffs. “Me? Jealous? Please.”

You step closer, tilting your head. “You sure?”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. Maybe I didn’t love watching that guy drool all over you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Because?”

He meets your gaze, and suddenly, all the teasing, all the bravado—everything—falls away.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Or at least, I want you to be.”

Your breath catches.

Tony exhales, running a hand down his face. “I know I joke around a lot, and I know I’m a lot to deal with, but I need you to know that this—us—it’s not a game to me. It never has been.”

Your heart is pounding.

He takes a step closer, his voice softer now. “I’ve been in love with you for a while, Y/N. And I know it took you a little longer to get there, but…” His lips twitch up. “You’re here now. Right?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

And then his hands are on your waist, pulling you against him, and your arms are wrapping around his neck, and then—

He kisses you.

It’s slow at first, careful, like he’s savoring it, but then you make a small noise against his lips, and suddenly, the restraint snaps. His hands tighten, his lips moving against yours with something deeper, more desperate, more real than anything you’ve ever known.

When you finally break apart, your forehead rests against his, your breath mingling.

“Wow,” you murmur.

Tony chuckles, his fingers brushing against your jaw. “Yeah. Wow.”

And then—

“Oh. Oh.”

You freeze.

Tony groans, turning to find one of the cameramen standing there, eyes wide.

“Are you serious?” Tony grits out.

The guy winces. “I—I swear, I wasn’t trying to film that—I just—okay, yeah, the cameras got everything.”

Tony sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. “Of course they did.”

You stare at him for a moment, then—

You start laughing.

Tony blinks at you. “Are you—are you seriously laughing right now?”

You nod, still giggling. “It’s just—of course this happens to us.”

Tony shakes his head, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “Guess the secret’s out, huh?”

You grin, reaching for his hand. “Guess so.”

And honestly?

You don’t mind one bit.

The internet explodes.

The second the episode drops, social media ignites like someone threw gasoline on an open flame. The clip of you and Tony kissing—your whispered words, his confession, the way he pulls you in like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered—spreads like wildfire.

"I’M SCREAMING. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL."

"The way Tony looked at her BEFORE the kiss? He’s been GONE for her. Absolutely down bad."

"We all knew it. We KNEW it. But seeing it happen is just chef’s kiss perfection."

"'You’re mine. Or at least, I want you to be.' That’s it. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I need a Tony Stark in my life."

"I can’t believe the cameras caught this. The way they got lost in each other? They weren’t even thinking about the cameras. That’s REAL."

"How do I file a lawsuit for emotional damage? I was NOT prepared."

Memes flood the timeline. Screenshots of Tony’s jealous expression when the actor flirted with you. Edits of your kiss set to dramatic music. Slow-motion compilations of every single time Tony had looked at you that way throughout the show.

The fans had always speculated, always hoped, but this? This is confirmation. And they are obsessed.

Of course, there are reactions from the media too. News outlets pick up the story immediately.

“Billionaire Tony Stark Off the Market—Confirms Romance with Longtime Assistant”

“The Stark Reality’s Latest Episode Features a Moment No One Expected—But Everyone Wanted”

“From Work Partners to Life Partners—The Love Story of Tony Stark and Y/N”

And through it all, Tony is thriving.

Because of course, he is.

At first, you don’t know what to expect from him. If he’s going to act differently now that the world knows. If he’s going to keep things professional in front of the cameras or tone down the way he touches you, the way he teases.

Nope.

If anything, he gets worse.

The next time the cameras are on, Tony makes absolutely no attempt to be subtle about the fact that you’re his now.

Like the moment in the kitchen when you’re making coffee, and he walks in, shirtless, hair still messy from sleep.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You tense for half a second, eyes flicking to the camera set up on the counter. “Tony—”

“What?” he hums, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I can’t say good morning to my girlfriend?”

Your face heats. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

The internet LOSES IT.

"TONY CASUALLY SHOWING UP SHIRTLESS TO CUDDLE HER?? I’M IN SHAMBLES."

"They’re acting like a real couple now. This is NOT a drill."

"Petition to make sure Tony is shirtless in every episode from now on."

Or the time you’re sitting on the couch, working on your tablet, and Tony just flops down, draping himself across your lap.

“Tony,” you sigh, adjusting your grip on the tablet. “I’m working.”

He looks up at you with that damn smirk. “I’m cuddling. Way more important.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you still love me.”

Your lips twitch, but you refuse to indulge him. “Debatable.”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, you wound me.”

The cameras catch it all—the way you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair despite your protests, the way he practically purrs under your touch, the way you smile just a little when you think no one is looking.

They eat it up.

"HIM LAYING IN HER LAP. THIS IS PEAK ROMANCE."

"You’re telling me Tony Stark went from billionaire playboy to a man who begs for cuddles? I LOVE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT."

"The way she plays it cool but is clearly obsessed with him? Relatable."

It’s not just the cuddling. It’s the stolen kisses, the lingering touches, the casual intimacy of a couple that has been circling each other for years and is finally allowed to have each other.

And Tony? Tony is having the time of his life.

He lives to fluster you on camera.

Like when you’re organizing his schedule in the office, completely focused, and he suddenly leans in, whispering in your ear, “You looked really good in my bed this morning.”

You choke on absolutely nothing. “Tony—”

“What?” He’s grinning, utterly unrepentant. “Just making an observation.”

You shove a folder at him. “Sign this before I kill you.”

His laughter follows you down the hall.

"THE WAY SHE CHOKED. HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING."

"Did he just CONFIRM they sleep together? Sir, have mercy."

"Tony Stark is officially the clingiest boyfriend in existence, and I respect that."

Despite the teasing, despite the relentless public scrutiny, it’s good.

Better than you expected.

The realization hits you on a slow morning, when the sun is barely up and your body is still heavy with sleep.

You don’t even think as you roll out of bed, stretching lazily before heading toward the kitchen for coffee. The floor is cool against your bare feet, the oversized shirt you’re wearing—Tony’s, of course—falling mid-thigh. Your hair is a mess, your eyes half-closed, and you let out a soft yawn as you step into the kitchen.

And then—

“Oh. Oh.”

It’s the cameraman again. The same poor guy who accidentally caught your first kiss with Tony.

You blink at him. He blinks at you.

There’s a beat of silence before it clicks in your sleepy brain.

“Shit.”

You spin on your heel, all but sprinting back to the bedroom.

Tony is still sprawled across the bed, barely awake, his hair sticking up in every direction. He cracks one eye open as you dive under the covers, groaning.

“Uh… good morning?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

You grab a pillow and shove your face into it. “I forgot about the cameras.”

There’s a pause. Then, a rustling of sheets as Tony shifts closer, draping an arm over your back. “Okay… and?”

You groan. “I walked out there wearing just your shirt.”

Silence. Then—

Tony cackles.

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. “This is not funny.”

“This is hilarious,” he corrects, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Damn. I wish I’d seen it.”

You smack his chest. “Focus, Tony! That footage is out there.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t air.”

But the incident sticks with you.

Because the truth is, you and Tony don’t have much privacy anymore.

The show has been fun—chaotic, ridiculous, but fun. And yet, it’s always there. The cameras catch everything—the teasing, the bickering, the moments when Tony pulls you into his lap just because he can now, the late nights spent tangled up in each other, and even the mornings when you wake up to find him watching you with something terrifyingly soft in his eyes.

Some moments are meant to be just for you.

And that’s when you know.

It’s time to end The Stark Reality.

Tony doesn’t even hesitate when you bring it up.

“Done,” he says easily, lacing his fingers with yours. “Let’s wrap it up.”

There’s a finality to it that makes your chest ache. The show has been his, in a way—one of his crazy ideas, something he threw himself into because he loves the attention, the spotlight. But he’s willing to let it go.

For you.

The last episode airs a week later.

And of course, Tony makes sure it goes out with a bang.

The final scene is classic Tony. He’s sitting on the couch, arms draped over the back, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“So,” he begins, looking straight into the camera. “This is it. The end of The Stark Reality.”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for dramatic effect.

“Or is it?”

You, sitting beside him, roll your eyes. “Tony.”

“What?” He gestures vaguely. “I’m just saying. Maybe the next time you see us, it’ll be in the documentary about our wedding.”

Your soul leaves your body.

The internet erupts.

"WEDDING?? HELLO?? THEY’VE BEEN DATING FOR TWO MONTHS??"

"TONY STARK, YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THAT AND LEAVE."

"Blink twice if you need help, Y/N."

And it doesn’t stop there.

“Or,” Tony continues, completely unfazed by your scandalized expression, “maybe another season of The Stark Reality… with our kids.”

You choke on air. “Tony.”

“Hey,” he says, throwing his hands up. “People love a good family reality show. Gotta give the fans what they want.”

The show ends with you smacking him with a pillow as he cackles.

"TONY, STOP PLAYING WITH MY EMOTIONS."

"IS SHE PREGNANT?? IS THIS A HINT?? I NEED ANSWERS."

"Manifesting a Stark wedding and mini Starks immediately."

The reaction is insane.

Theories explode overnight. People analyze everything—the way Tony said our wedding, the way he casually mentioned kids, the way you covered your face in embarrassment but didn’t deny anything.

Some are convinced you’re already engaged. Others think you’re secretly pregnant. A few believe Tony is just being Tony—chaotic, dramatic, and completely unserious.

But you know better.

Because when the cameras stop rolling, when it’s just you and him curled up in bed that night, he leans in, brushing his lips against your temple.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, “I was kinda serious.”

You shift, tilting your head to look at him. “About what?”

He smirks. “Marrying you. The kids. The whole thing.”

Your breath catches. “Tony—”

“I know, I know,” he says, waving a hand. “It’s only been two months. But let’s be real, sweetheart. This thing between us?” His fingers trace absent circles on your back. “It’s been happening for years.”

You bite your lip, your heart pounding.

“Just… something to think about,” he says, voice softer now. “No pressure.”

And you realize—he means it.

Tony Stark, the man who once ran from commitment like it was a ticking bomb, is ready for this.

For you.

You press a kiss to his jaw, your chest warm with something terrifyingly close to forever.

And for the first time, the cameras aren’t there to capture it.

Just the way it should be.

part 2 anyone ?

[iscdisc]

You and your gorgeous TMNT art make me ship everything you ship. You could tell me to ship the most outrageous thing, draw it, and I would ship it. Like the most grotesque thing. I would love it. You are brilliant. May I ask for the fics you are reading and/or you have read?

Well I hope I wouldn't ship anything grotesque or that you feel would be grotesque- 💀😭 Lmao

But I get what you mean and that's incredibly flattering ! I hope everybody that engages with my content knows that I'm not trying to necessarily convince anybody to enjoy the pairings that I enjoy, but if you happen to click with my perspective whether it's from my art or from me talking about them, that's really cool to me !! ☺️✨

And sure ! I'll list some that I'm currently reading or have read recently that I really enjoyed ! I'll even include some that I plan to or started but haven't gotten very far yet- :

• "And It All Starts Again" (by Non_Parsimonious | Currently reading-)

I'm starting with this one because it is absolutely peak- Are you serious?? I'm telling you right now, this should have been Season 5 instead OR if the 2012 series had ever gotten the opportunity to have a film adaptation and it actually be well done narratively, this should have been that movie- I'm TELLING YOU, this story is absolutely phenomenal and I'm already in the process of making art for it to promote it ! 🫶 || I'm not going to spoil too much because I really want people to read it for themselves, but there's so much stress and angst that kind of pushes the narrative for that I'm just eating up because I enjoy those kinds of stories ! But if that's not your cup of tea, then feel free to skip this one-! 👍✨

• "Thoughts About A Boy" (by @jaywritezshitz | Currently reading-)

Maybe I talked about this one enough already, but I'd love to talk about it some more because it's a really great 2012 Jonatello story and I think it's incredibly well written !! I love the premise, I love the character interactions (Especially with April and Donnie, which says a lot in regards to myself because that's usually something I don't particularly enjoy because of canon / not fanon- /,, 😭), I love the build up and the constant anticipation that I feel waiting for confessions or for Donnie's letters to be weaved back into the narrative in the least expected way possible (Not to give too much away, because I really encourage you guys to read it for yourselves-), like !! There's just so much to enjoy with this one, and I really encourage people to read it cause I personally think it's really phenomenal !

• "Oh, Where'd All The Time Go?" (by @tae-rhymeswithslay | I plan on reading this one-)

My memory is kind of foggy with this one, because I swear I started reading the first couple of chapters but when I went back to confirm that I have read the story before it didn't feel familiar-?? So maybe I meant to read it and I thought I'd started it but I hadn't yet? 😭

But you're going to see a couple of Tae_rhymeswithslay entries on here, because I do enjoy their stories ! 👍✨

• "Purple Hokey" (by Ani_Wagner_7w7 | Have already read-)

The setup for this particular 2012 Jonatello fanfiction feels very authentic to the show, in the sense that this is a situation I can absolutely see the writers putting them in (Not that they were the biggest Jonatello enthusiast, but you get my point-), you know? LMAO / It sort of felt like a cliche trope but done well ! It does ramp up a little maturity wise towards the end, just to give a heads up for that-! But otherwise it's just a cute story in my opinion ! ✨

• "Of the Same Cloth, the Same Coin" by Kazegami | Currently reading-)

Another incredibly peak story- Are you kidding?? I genuinely get so happy every time the story gets updated because it's one of my favorites ! The premise is that Casey asked Donnie for help with his school tutoring since April's going on a trip with her father for a few weeks, so of course they build a better relationship through constantly being around each other due to this tutoring situation ! Another kind of trope-like premise, but how the author tackles it is my favorite thing ever- I also really enjoy how April is written in the story as well and the sort of subplot that's going on with her ! I swear these writers do such an incredible job with her character and it makes me both happy and upset at the same time because why couldn't she have been like this in the show? I don't know- 💀 Lmao / But another story that I highly recommend !!

• "Technicolor" (by SecurityTape | Have read already-)

This is one that I genuinely was not expecting to read, since I'm not the biggest fan of crossover pairings (Not that they're necessarily bad, they just don't always interest me in the way I feel the interest of the people-!), but this one was really charming !! I really enjoyed the writing of both Rise! Donnie and 2012 Casey in the work of fiction ! It really reminded me of how much I missed the energy of Rise! and that I need to rewatch that version more because it genuinely is very funny- 😭✨

• "A Kiss As A Prize" (by Mili_8a | Have read already-)

This is one of the few 2012 Raphril fanfictions I've read / found on AO3 that I really enjoyed ! It's pretty short, but the premise was really cute and there's such a shortage of Raphril content in my eyes, so anything that I find I'm pretty much going to eat it up immediately- LMAO ❤️💛

• "Northampton Echoes" (by Gladrial | Currently reading-)

I barely started a chapter of this last night, and I already love the writing so far ! It takes place at The O'Neil Farmhouse (So far at least-), which I find particularly enjoyable because a lot of my Raphril centric thoughts in regards to building their dynamic / better establishing a connection between them starts in The Farmhouse in my head (I actually have this whole comic that I was trying to make talking about how I felt certain things during The Farmhouse Arc should have played out differently in my opinion and it mostly focuses around April and Raph- Maybe I'll bring that up at some point on here !), so I'm already pretty enthralled in this story set up so far ! I don't have much to say about it besides that though, because like I said I haven't gotten too far into the store yet-! But there's 19 chapters so far, and I already know that that's probably not going to be enough for me- LMAO

• "The Day The World Broke" (by @saladmix | Started reading this one-)

I feel like an asshole, because I started reading this one like months ago and I just never picked it up again and I don't know why- I think I might have gotten distracted with other things going on? I genuinely don't remember- But seeing people talk about it on here (Tumblr) reminded me that I need to go back and read that because the story is incredible ! I genuinely loved the first couple of chapters that I read ! I love the dynamic that they were setting up between the Mutant Mayhem Brothers in the beginning of the story, especially since I feel like (at the time anyway-) the MM / TOTTMNT brothers weren't getting a lot of love or attention from people?? I didn't get into the more plot focused chapters yet, but I believe I was close ! So hopefully I'll go back and read that soon I'll have more to talk about ! 👍✨ (Sorry for the abrupt tag by the way, Saladmix ! I hope that was okay-!)

• "My Best Enemy Is You" (by Aethernight | Have already read-)

I didn't think I was going to like this story as much as I did, because I'm not super into vampire stories, but this story was really good !! I never knew how much I needed Vampiric 2012 Jonatello (But in the context of the story, Donnie's the vampire, where Casey's a vampire hunter-) set in like the 1800s (??) before now, it's wild- 🦇💜🖤

• "Something Dumb To Do" (by Aleaf737 | Have read already-)

This is another really short and sweet one for 2012 Jonatello ! It's about a marriage proposal and it honestly was really wholesome ! ✨

• "One Nice Moment" (by @tae-rhymeswithslay | Have read already-)

Another kind of short one but it was really cute ! 💜🖤

• "Make Me A Promise Here Tonight (Love Like A Tidal Wave" (by Imthebest_ever | Have read already-)

This one spoke to me immediately because it involves a sort of aftermath to the episode, "The Power Inside Her" ! I really liked the narrative here ! ✨

• "Ink On Paper" (by @tae-rhymeswithslay | Have read already-)

This is another short story, but it felt so in character for Donnie towards the end it's so upsetting- LMAO

• "Arnold Bernid "Casey" Jones" (by @tae-rhymeswithslay | Have read already-)

I feel bad for saying the same things about a lot of Tae's works, but they really are just short and sweet most of the time and I enjoy reading them a lot !! This one in particular had a lot of humorous moments as well- 😭👍✨

Hopefully those are enough ! There are probably some that I'm forgetting at this point, but oh well,, 😭 Lmao

[movingmusically]

Hi can you do a fluffy where austin and reader fell in love while shooting caught stealing and they are on their press tour together and the people are starting to speculate about their relationship through their chemistry and when austin is in a talk show to promote he gets emotional while talking about her which basically confirms their relationship and please make it in an austin pov

Word Count: 5,893

Masterlist

Rumour Has It

Press tours are a machine. Same schedule, different city. Hotels that all look the same, blacked-out car windows, cameras waiting at every stop. I know the rhythm. I know when to turn it on, when to let the words fall out in a way that sounds effortless.

It’s a strange thing, sitting in the same chair all day while a rotation of journalists shuffle in and out, asking variations of the same ten questions. Most of the time, I can answer on autopilot, let the words settle into well-worn grooves.

But this time, it’s different.

Because Y/N is here.

And suddenly, the hours don’t drag the way they usually do.

Maybe it’s the way she nudges my knee under the table when she senses I’m zoning out, like she knows exactly when I need to be pulled back. Maybe it’s the way she always seems to have a second coffee waiting for me, despite insisting she doesn’t enable my caffeine addiction. Maybe it’s the way she laughs—really laughs—not just when the cameras are rolling, but when I catch her off guard, something quiet and unrestrained that makes my chest feel too full.

Or maybe it’s the fact that I spent the night with her.

I’m careful—don’t look at her too much, don’t lean in too close—but still, it’s there. The weight of it. The way my body feels aware of hers, even when I’m not touching her.

She nudges my knee with hers, just a small tap. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

I huff a quiet laugh, tilting my head toward her. “And you look suspiciously awake for someone who barely slept.”

There’s a beat where her lips press together like she’s trying not to smile. Then, smoothly, she lifts the coffee cup to her lips. “Sheer willpower.”

The next journalist is already settling into their chair, a producer giving them the go-ahead to start.

“Alright,” the interviewer says, beaming. “So, Caught Stealing is such a unique, character-driven story. It’s dark, but not in a flashy way—it’s lived-in, messy, raw. What was it about this film that drew you both in?”

A safe, easy question.

Y/N takes it first, shifting slightly in her seat. “The characters, honestly. The way their relationships are constantly shifting, how nothing is simple. There’s no easy hero, no clean resolution. It felt real.”

I nod. “Yeah. It’s not just about a guy who gets in over his head—it’s about what that does to the people around him. How every choice he makes has a ripple effect. Nothing exists in isolation.”

The journalist nods, jotting something down, but their gaze lingers on us a beat too long. I recognise that look.

The I’m not here to ask about your chemistry, but I see it anyway look.

Because it keeps happening. Every time Y/N glances at me mid-answer, like she’s checking if I agree. Every time I catch myself mirroring the way she shifts in her chair. Every time we break at the same time over something small—a joke that wasn’t really a joke, a word that came out weird, a memory that doesn’t need explaining.

“So, I’ve seen an early cut of the film,” the journalist continues, flipping through their notes, “and I think what really makes it so compelling is how lived-in these performances feel. Nothing feels rehearsed, everything just... moves naturally. Did you two spend a lot of time together before filming?”

Y/N and I glance at each other at the same time.

And then—it happens.

That thing where we have a conversation without having a conversation. A flicker of amusement in her eyes, a twitch of my lips in response. A silent should we mess with them?

She bites back a smile. “Well, we met before filming,” she says lightly.

I hum, pretending to think. “Yeah. Darren got us together for dinner so we could talk about the script.”

Y/N groans, leaning forward. “Oh my God, I forgot about that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Forgot?”

She places a hand on her chest, feigning sincerity. “I blocked it out.”

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “You’re so full of it.”

The journalist chuckles, glancing between us. Their posture shifts—more relaxed now, like they’ve stopped trying to decipher something and have simply settled into the reality of it.

It happens in almost every interview.

No one asks about chemistry, but they see it. It’s in the way our movements fall into sync without trying. It’s in the way Y/N mutters something under her breath when the next question is a little too serious, and the way I exhale a laugh before I can stop myself. It’s in the way we don’t overthink it, even when everyone else does.

The next question comes, but I only half-hear it, because suddenly, I'm remembering.

That first dinner.

The first time I saw her.

Darren had chosen some quiet little restaurant in the West Village, the kind of place with handwritten menus and candle wax pooling in the centre of the tables.

I got there first, early enough to check my phone three times, drink half a glass of water, and wonder if showing up early made me look too eager.

Then the door opened.

And Y/N had walked in.

She was slightly breathless from the cold, scarf slipping from her shoulders as she unwrapped it, tucking her gloves into her bag.

“Hey,” she’d said, flashing a quick smile.

I stood up automatically—I don’t know why, it just felt right—offering my hand.

She took it, fingers warm. “Y/N.”

“Austin.”

Her lips twitched. “Yeah, I figured.”

Darren arrived moments later, launching straight into the script—breaking down the themes, the character dynamics, what made this different from other films in the same space.

But I wasn’t fully listening.

Because Y/N had pulled out a notebook, flipping past scribbled-out words and margin notes, and suddenly, I was captivated.

“What’s that?” I asked.

She’d glanced up. “Just—thoughts on Yvonne. Stuff I don’t wanna forget.”

I leaned forward slightly. “Like what?”

She hesitated, then turned the notebook toward me. A half-filled page, little arrows linking thoughts together.

Wants to leave, but stays. Doesn’t trust him, but can’t let go. Is it love, or just familiar?

She spoke, voice softer now. “You don’t think she’s stupid for going back, do you?”

I looked at her then, really looked at her.

“No,” I said. “I think she’s just human.”

And that was it.

That was the moment it clicked.

“—Austin?”

I blink, snapping back to the present. The journalist is looking at me expectantly. Y/N is hiding a knowing smile behind her coffee cup.

“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “What was the question?”

And just like that, I’m here.

With her.

And suddenly, press tours don’t feel so exhausting after all.

Another city, another wave of interviews.

I barely register which one anymore. The cycle repeats itself—airport, hotel, press junket, premiere. Somewhere in between, I sleep just enough to keep functioning, drink enough coffee to keep from crashing. It should feel exhausting. Maybe it is. But this time, there’s Y/N. She makes it easier.

It’s in the way she always has some inside joke ready to throw at me when the energy in the room starts to dip, the way she leans in a little too close when she laughs, eyes bright with something mischievous, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. And maybe she does.

We’ve slipped into a rhythm now, something easy and unspoken, something that doesn’t need rehearsing. The interviews blur together, but I can still pinpoint the exact moment in each one when she catches my eye, when my response shifts just slightly because I’m talking to her now instead of the room.

And people are noticing.

I can feel it—not just in the way interviewers hesitate a second too long before moving on, but in the way the internet is running wild with it.

I don’t look at the posts. Not directly, anyway.

But Callum does.

My phone buzzes during a break between interviews, and when I check it, there’s a message waiting for me.

You guys are the internet’s new favourite obsession.

I frown, scrolling up. He’s sent a link.

I shouldn’t click it.

I click it.

It’s a tweet. One of those slowed-down edits, the kind people put together when they’ve decided to make something out of nothing. Except—it’s not nothing.

Clips from the press tour, spliced together like evidence in some case file. Y/N laughing at something I said. Me turning toward her at the same time she turns toward me. The way my hand lingers a second too long on her back before we pose for pictures. A moment where we both start speaking at the same time, cut together with a voiceover about “soulmates always mirroring each other.”

The caption reads:

They think they’re being subtle. They are not.

I lock my phone and shove it into my pocket before I can spiral.

It’s not that deep.

Except—it kind of is.

Because it looks exactly how it feels.

It’s always felt like this, hasn’t it?

The thought sticks, lingers like something just out of reach, and suddenly, I’m not here anymore.

I’m back in New York.

Back in a darkened theatre.

Darren had suggested it. Said we should see Y/N’s play before filming started.

“She’s good,” he’d said. “Better than good. You’ll see.”

I’d nodded, agreed, gone in expecting to be impressed.

I hadn’t expected to be ruined.

She stepped onto the stage like she belonged there, and for the next two hours, I forgot about everything else. Forgot why I was there, forgot who I was supposed to be.

There was a moment—halfway through the second act—where her character stood in the centre of the stage, framed by dim, moody lighting, and she wasn’t even speaking. She was just there.

And somehow, that was enough.

The audience was silent, caught in the gravity of it, but I could feel my own breath sticking in my throat, my hands tightening around the armrests.

Because I wasn’t watching her as a director would. Or a co-star. Or even as an actor admiring another actor’s performance.

I was watching her as something else.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Then the moment broke. The scene shifted, the lights changed, the spell lifted.

But something stayed.

Something stuck.

After the final bow, Darren and I waited backstage. When she walked out, eyes still bright with adrenaline, she spotted us instantly.

“Austin?”

I grinned. “Hey, superstar.”

Her smile widened. “You came.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.”

Something shifted then.

Something that’s only gotten stronger since.

I blink, the theatre fading, the present snapping back into focus. Y/N, sitting across from me, scrolling through her phone like she doesn’t know I was just somewhere else entirely. Like she has no idea I was just remembering the first time she wrecked me without even trying. I run a hand over my jaw, exhale slowly. Maybe I should let this go. Maybe I should stop overthinking it.

Or maybe—maybe it’s too late for that.

We’re in a different city now, a different room, but everything blends together—same setup, same questions. Except this time, we’re sitting on the floor. And this time, there are puppies.

A producer counts down, “We’re rolling in three, two—”

Before they even hit one, there’s barking, followed by the unmistakable sound of tiny paws skidding across the floor. A handful of golden retriever puppies burst into the room, tails wagging, tripping over each other in their rush toward us.

Y/N lets out a dramatic gasp, eyes going wide as one immediately scrambles into her lap, burying its face against her sweater. “This is the best day of my life!”

I laugh, already struggling to keep hold of one that’s climbing up my chest like it has somewhere important to be. “I don’t think we’re getting through a single question.”

The interviewer chuckles. “We’ll do our best. First one—what’s something you learned about each other while filming?”

Y/N hums, absentmindedly scratching behind the puppy’s ear. “Austin has an insane memory. Like, borderline freaky. He’d hear a line once and know it perfectly. And all of my lines, too.”

I shrug. “Or maybe you just forgot yours a lot.”

She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. “The slander.”

I smirk, nudging her shoulder with mine.

The interviewer shakes his head, amused. “I feel like you two just communicate in banter at this point.”

Y/N sighs dramatically, cradling the puppy against her. “It’s our love language.”

It happens before I can stop it—a flicker of something in my chest, a second where my breath catches before I smooth it over.

I don’t react.

I definitely don’t react.

But later, the internet catches it—the way my fingers freeze for just a second before I move again.

By the time we get to London, the speculation is already spiralling.

At Radio 1, Greg James grins as he leans into the mic. “Alright, we’re gonna play Unpopular Opinion. You two ready?”

Y/N adjusts her mic. “Born ready.”

A listener’s voice crackles through the speakers.

“I think tea is overrated.”

Y/N’s reaction is instant. She sits up so fast she nearly knocks over her drink, outrage etched across her face. “Get. Out.”

Greg bursts into laughter. “This might be the most visceral reaction we’ve ever had.”

I shake my head, grinning. “I knew that was gonna set you off.”

“I’m actually upset,” Y/N says, turning to me. “Tea is a lifestyle.”

I shrug, smirking. “I mean, I’m a coffee guy, so…”

Her head whips toward me, genuine betrayal in her eyes. “And I thought I knew you.”

Greg loses it.

The internet follows.

- I THOUGHT I KNEW YOU?? THEY’RE MARRIED. - She reacts like he personally betrayed her, and he just smirks through it. - Austin being a little shit and Y/N getting dramatic about tea… classic.

Snack Wars is worse.

It starts harmlessly enough. A debate over crisps versus chips, a minor disagreement about the correct way to eat a scone. But then—

Then it happens.

I bite into a Jaffa Cake and immediately make a face.

“What is this texture?”

Y/N gasps, horrified. “How dare you?”

“It’s like it can’t decide if it wants to be a cookie or a cake,” I insist, chewing slowly.

She shakes her head like I’ve personally offended her. “You don’t deserve British snacks.”

I smirk. “Say that again after you try this peanut butter cup.”

She takes a bite.

And then—she moans.

The room freezes.

I stare. My brain completely short-circuits. It’s one second, maybe two, but it’s enough. Enough for heat to prickle at the back of my neck, for my thoughts to spin somewhere I really, really shouldn’t be going right now. I force myself to blink. To swallow. To not react.

The crew laughs.

Y/N turns red. “Oh my God.”

I recover before she does, settling back in my chair with a smug grin. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

The TikTok edits hit the internet before we even leave the studio.

- The way Austin looked at her when she moaned over a peanut butter cup?? Sir. - Y/N making an accidental NSFW noise and Austin malfunctioning? Top-tier content.

I don’t check the posts.

Not really.

But later that night, as I scroll through my phone in my hotel room, I can feel it sinking in.

This is getting harder to hide.

And maybe… maybe I don’t want to anymore.

The London premiere is tomorrow. We should be getting some sleep. Instead, I’m lying on my hotel bed, staring at my phone, watching the internet completely lose its mind.

I knew the speculation was getting out of hand, but now it’s everywhere. The TikTok edits, the slowed-down clips, the tweet threads analysing our every move.

- They literally breathe in sync. This is not normal co-star behaviour. - Austin leans into her every time she speaks and it’s driving me insane. - The way he LOOKED at her after the peanut butter cup?? Sir, do you have something you’d like to tell the class?

I sigh, running a hand down my face.

Callum’s latest text sits at the top of my notifications.

Not to alarm you, mate, but the internet is in full FBI mode.

I shouldn’t click the link.

I do anyway.

It’s another edit—this time, someone’s taken clips from the press tour and layered them with a soft, romantic score.

Me laughing at something Y/N said. Her looking at me before finishing a sentence, like she’s checking my reaction. The way my hand lingers too long on her back before we pose for pictures. The moment in the Buzzfeed interview, when I freeze for just a second after she says love language.

It looks…

It looks exactly how it feels.

I lock my phone and toss it onto the nightstand like it’s burning a hole in my palm. I know what’s happening. I’ve spent enough time in this industry to recognise when something is slipping out of my hands. It’s not just edits and slowed-down clips anymore.

People know.

And maybe it wouldn’t bother me if it wasn’t true.

Maybe it wouldn’t make my chest feel tight if every single clip didn’t look like a confession.

There’s a soft knock on my hotel room door. I don’t even have to ask who it is. I open it, and Y/N is standing there, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower. She’s wearing a hoodie that isn’t hers. It’s mine.

She exhales a small laugh when she sees my expression. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I shake my head, stepping aside to let her in. “The internet’s insane.”

She moves past me, curling up on the couch without waiting for an invitation. Her legs tuck beneath her, and she reaches for the TV remote like she belongs here. Like this is normal. And maybe that’s the problem.

It is.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to let her stay, to sit beside her, to lose a few more hours in this quiet, private version of us that no one else gets to see. But how much longer can we pretend it’s still a secret?

I lean against the back of the couch, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “You seen the posts?”

She raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Which ones? The ones calling me the girl who made a peanut butter cup sound R-rated, or the ones diagnosing you with unhinged heart-eyes syndrome?”

I huff out a quiet laugh, tipping my head back. “Both, apparently.”

She grins, but it softens at the edges. Like she knows what I’m actually asking. Like she knows this is getting harder.

There’s a long silence before she shifts slightly, one foot nudging against my knee. “Does it bother you?”

I don’t answer right away.

Because the truth is—I don’t know.

I should say yes. I should say we should be more careful.

But sitting here, watching her pull my hoodie over her hands, watching the way she fits so easily into my space—

I think I stopped caring the second she walked through that door.

I glance at her, my voice quieter now. “Does it bother you?”

She watches me for a beat. Then she just shakes her head.

“No,” she says simply.

And that’s the end of it.

The next night, the speculation is at a breaking point. I feel it the second we step onto the red carpet. The questions aren’t direct, but the way the reporters phrase them—it’s careful, curious.

"How was it working together?"

"Did you two always have that natural chemistry?"

Y/N laughs at something a reporter says, tilting her head up to look at me.

I smile back at her without thinking, and the camera flashes go off like fireworks.

I don’t have to check Twitter to know what’s being said.

At this point, they should just hold hands and put us out of our misery.

And the thing is—I want to.

Not yet. But soon. I can feel it creeping up on me, the inevitability of it.

Just like I felt it that day on set.

It was one of the final days of filming.

We were outside, crammed into the narrow space between two graffiti-covered buildings. The scene was a turning point—our characters finally giving in to everything they’d been denying.

The kiss was scripted.

We’d rehearsed it, blocked every movement. I knew where to put my hands, how to tilt my head to stay in frame, how to match her rhythm without stepping on it.

But when the cameras rolled, it felt like none of that mattered.

She stepped closer, her breath just brushing my neck, and suddenly the world shrank. It wasn’t the set anymore. It wasn’t the crew, or the lights, or the dozen people standing just out of frame.

It was just her.

When her lips met mine, it was deliberate but soft, the kind of kiss that says everything without words. My hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer without even thinking.

And then—just for a second—she used her tongue.

It wasn’t in the script.

I don’t think she even meant to do it—just a fleeting touch, tentative, like she’d caught herself halfway through. But it was enough.

It was enough to make my grip tighten on her waist, enough for me to tilt my head deeper into the kiss, lifting her slightly onto her toes without realising I’d done it.

Her fingers curled into the front of my jacket, her breath hitching against my mouth before she eased back, just barely breaking the kiss.

The director didn’t call cut right away. We stayed in it longer than we were supposed to, neither of us pulling back until the moment dissolved around us.

When it was over, Y/N stepped back, her breathing a little uneven, her eyes just barely meeting mine before she turned away.

I stayed where I was, frozen, trying to pull myself out of it.

I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling.

Later, I was sitting in the corner of my trailer, still trying to piece myself back together, when she knocked.

She didn’t wait for me to answer.

The door creaked open, and there she was, still in costume, her hair loose around her face.

“You okay?”

Her voice was soft—quieter than usual, like she didn’t want to spook me.

I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust myself to.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “You sure? Because you’ve been in here for, like, an hour.”

I looked at her then, and the words just spilled out. “That scene…”

She leaned against the edge of the couch, her arms crossed. “What about it?”

“It felt…” I trailed off, trying to find the right word.

Her gaze softened, her lips curving just slightly. “Yeah. It did.”

She didn’t have to explain.

I didn’t have to ask.

In that moment, we both knew.

And when she crossed the room and sat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, I didn’t stop her.

I just let her stay.

Now, standing on the red carpet, cameras flashing, her voice somewhere behind me, laughing at something a reporter said—I realise it’s been inevitable for a while.

She steps closer, our arms brushing, and lowers her voice just for me.

“You okay?”

Her voice is light, teasing, but her eyes are warm.

And I know, right then, that I don’t care who sees it.

Not anymore.

The energy in the studio is infectious.

The stage lights are bright, the applause thunderous as Jimmy Fallon greets me with his signature enthusiasm. I settle into the chair, offering the audience a grin as I adjust my jacket. I’ve done this before.

I know how to play along, how to keep things light, how to sidestep the questions that toe the line between work and personal life.

But tonight feels different.

Maybe it’s the fact that Y/N isn’t here. She’s back at the hotel, catching up on some sleep after a whirlwind day of press. Or maybe it’s the knowledge that her absence doesn’t mean people aren’t still talking about her.

About us.

Jimmy starts with the usual—talking about the film, throwing in a few jokes about the intensity of the role, teasing me about the internet’s obsession with my hair.

It’s easy. Familiar.

But then he leans forward, his grin widening in that way that lets me know what’s coming.

“So,” he says, dragging the word out for effect, “we have to talk about the internet’s other obsession—your chemistry with Y/N.”

The audience reacts immediately—applause, laughter, a few cheers from the back.

I laugh, shaking my head as I rub the back of my neck. “I knew this was coming.”

Jimmy laughs too, holding up his hands like he’s innocent. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking! You guys are electric on-screen. And off-screen, it’s like… I don’t know, there’s just something there.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he keeps going, gesturing dramatically.

“I mean, have you seen the edits people are making? It’s like a rom-com trailer, but better. They’re calling you guys ‘the internet’s favourite couple who won’t admit they’re a couple.’”

The audience erupts again, and I can feel the tips of my ears burning.

I shake my head, trying to laugh it off. “That’s—yeah, that’s the internet for you.”

Jimmy leans back, his grin turning sly. “So… what’s it like working with her?”

It’s a harmless question.

I’ve answered it a hundred times.

But tonight, for some reason, the words don’t come as easily.

I glance down for a second, my hand instinctively moving to rub the crease of my pants at my thigh. “She’s… amazing.”

Jimmy raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Just amazing?”

The audience laughs, and I can feel their anticipation like a weight in the room.

I clear my throat, my fingers brushing along my jawline before I let them drop to the armrest. “No, seriously. She’s one of the most talented people I’ve ever worked with. She’s so committed, so intuitive—she just gets it, you know? And she makes everyone around her better.”

I should stop there.

I know I should.

But the words keep coming.

“She has this way of… I don’t know, making everything feel real. Like, you forget there are cameras and crew and a million distractions. It’s just her. And it’s…”

I trail off, my thumb grazing my bottom lip like it might steady me.

Jimmy tilts his head, his expression softening. “You okay, man?”

I nod quickly, forcing a laugh. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… I guess I didn’t realise how much I appreciate her until I started talking about it.”

The audience lets out a collective “aww,” and I feel a pang in my chest—not embarrassment, but something softer.

Jimmy gives me a knowing smile, his tone gentler now. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of respect for her.”

I nod again, my voice quieter this time. “I do. A lot.”

It’s not a confirmation. Not really.

But as I glance out at the audience, I catch a few people exchanging smiles, whispering. The energy in the room has shifted—warmer, quieter, like everyone is in on something now.

And I know that whatever they’re thinking, whatever they’ve decided to believe…

They’re not wrong.

The studio is buzzing when the cameras stop rolling. Crew members scatter to reset the stage for the next segment, and I make my way backstage, still trying to shake off the weight of what just happened.

Jimmy claps me on the shoulder as I pass him. “You killed it, man.”

I nod, offering him a quick smile, but my head’s somewhere else entirely.

The moment keeps replaying in my mind—the way my voice caught when I talked about her, the look on Jimmy’s face when he realised I wasn’t just talking about a co-star.

The audience’s reaction.

I can still hear their collective aww, feel the way the room shifted.

I shouldn’t check my phone, but I do anyway.

The notifications are already piling up. Mentions, tags, texts. My fingers hover over Callum’s name when a text from him flashes on the screen.

Mate… you’re trending.

I exhale, running a hand down my face. Of course I am.

But trending or not, it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, she’s the one waiting for me. She’s the constant—the one thing in all of this noise that makes sense. And that’s what I’ll always come back to. Always.

By the time I get back to the hotel, it’s late. The lights in the hallway are dim, the soft hum of the elevator the only sound as I make my way to my room.

I unlock the door, step inside, and freeze.

Y/N is curled up on the couch, one of the hotel’s oversized robes wrapped around her, hair messy from sleep. She stirs at the sound of the door, her eyes blinking open slowly.

“You’re back,” she murmurs, her voice soft and a little raspy.

I nod, setting my bag down by the door. “Yeah. Thought you’d be asleep.”

She stretches, the robe slipping slightly off her shoulder. “I tried. Didn’t stick.”

I cross the room, sitting on the edge of the armchair across from her. For a moment, we just look at each other, the silence between us stretching but never uncomfortable.

Then she tilts her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “So, how’d it go?”

I let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “It was fine. The usual… until it wasn’t.”

Her smile falters, her brows pulling together. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate, my fingers tapping against the armrest. “Jimmy brought you up.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts—something soft, something careful. She straightens a little, pulling her legs underneath her as she waits for me to go on.

I lean back in the chair, exhaling. “He asked about working together. About the internet stuff, the edits, the… chemistry.” The word feels heavier than it should.

Her lips part slightly, her brows lifting just enough to show surprise. “What did you say?”

I glance at her, then down at my hands, which are resting against my thighs, fingers fidgeting. “I said you’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever worked with.”

She doesn’t say anything, just watching me, waiting for the rest.

“And…” My voice drops, my thumb brushing over the seam of my pants. “I said you make everything feel real. That you make everyone around you better. That…” I trail off, my throat tightening like it did back on the show.

“That what?” she asks softly.

I rub the back of my neck, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “That I didn’t realise how much I appreciate you until I started talking about it.”

Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting, but she doesn’t say anything.

“And the thing is…” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped together as I let out a breath. “I meant every word. But now—now everyone’s talking about it. They’ll read into it, twist it, turn it into something bigger. And I don’t—I don’t know how to feel about that.”

She shifts on the couch, the robe slipping again, revealing her bare collarbone. Her fingers fidget with the hem of the oversized robe, and for a moment, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, something I’ve noticed she only does when she’s trying to find the right words. Her lips press together briefly, like she’s weighing what to say, and it makes her look so completely like herself—unguarded, soft—that my chest tightens just watching her.

Her voice is quiet when she speaks, steady. “Does it bother you? That they’ll think there’s something between us?”

I blink, caught off guard by the question. My first instinct is to say no, to brush it off like it doesn’t matter. But that’s not the truth.

“It doesn’t bother me,” I admit, my voice low. “Not because it’s not true, but because… I think maybe I don’t want it to be a secret anymore.”

Her breath catches—just barely—but I see it. Her hands rest against her knees, fingers curling into the plush fabric of the robe.

“Then why are you so worried?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost tentative.

I shake my head, my hands moving restlessly against my thighs. “I don’t know. Maybe because once it’s out there, it’s not just ours anymore. It’s theirs. And I don’t want this—what we have—to feel like… like something we have to defend, or explain.”

Her expression softens, and she shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Austin…”

I look at her, and for a moment, the air between us feels heavier, quieter. She reaches out, her hand covering mine where it rests on the armrest. Her touch is warm, grounding.

“You’re right,” she says gently. “Once it’s out there, we can’t control it. But we can control how we handle it. And honestly?” She tilts her head, a small, wry smile curving her lips. “I’m kind of tired of pretending I don’t love you.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest—not because I didn’t know, but because hearing her say it out loud feels different. Bigger.

I exhale a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I cover her hand with mine. “You just say stuff like that, huh?”

She shrugs, her smile widening just slightly. “Guess so.”

For a moment, I just look at her, my thumb brushing over the back of her hand. And then, without thinking, I slide off the chair and onto the couch beside her. She shifts to make room, her legs brushing against mine as I settle in, and when I don’t answer right away, her hand moves—just barely—to rest on my jaw, her fingers light, hesitant, like she’s giving me space to pull back if I need to. I don’t. Instead, I lean into her touch, the faint pressure grounding me in a way nothing else can.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Okay?” she echoes, her brows lifting.

“Okay,” I repeat, leaning in just enough for our foreheads to touch. “Let them talk. Let them say whatever they want. Because none of it changes this.”

Her smile softens, her hand moves back further, her fingers threading gently through the hair at the nape of my neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And for the first time in weeks, the weight in my chest feels lighter.

Because she’s right.

None of it changes this.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Mrs. R Part Two

Part One

Notes: Hi welcome to part two okay love you bye

Not beta-read.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; all that good stuff

Summary: You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close. 

“You got any more lightbulbs in here that need changing?” 

You lean in the doorway of the living room, watching Robby unscrew the old bulb and toss it onto the couch before lifting his hand to screw in the new one. 

“I don’t think so. Unless you wanna go around and change a few preemptively.” 

“Think we’ll just stick with this one for now.” 

You bite your lip, glancing down at your bandaged hand and picking at a stray strand. 

“How was the rest of your shift?” 

“Oh, fine. You know.” 

But you still don’t. You bite your lip, fighting back the argument as you pick at another stray strand. 

“How’s the hand feeling?” 

“Oh, fine. You know.” 

You shoot him a coy smile at his sidelong glance. He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the light, fitting the fixture back over the bulb. He climbs down from the step ladder, folding it, and leaning it against the bookshelf. 

“Where was that, anyway?” You ask, nodding toward it. 

“In the basement.” 

“Ah. I don’t go down there much.” 

“Yeah, the film of dust gave that away.” 

Your smile widens at the tease, then falters as he turns away, dusting off his hands. 

“Alright. I should head out.”

Your stomach twists as he straightens, heading for the door, and where he left his bag. 

“Oh?” You fight to keep your tone even as you straighten up. “I ordered pizza. Should be here soon if you’re hungry.”

“You’ll have leftovers.”

“Sure! Sure.” You tuck your hands into your back pockets, wandering after him as he reaches for his bag. “I could just um…Wrap it in foil…Stick it in the back of the fridge…Forget it’s there for a few days until I inevitably remember that it’s in there on Friday. Nuke it, gobble down a couple of slices, give myself food poisoning, and then I’ll, uh…” You smile as he turns to face you again. “I’ll see you back in the ER.”

--

“Does it bother you that they still call me that?”

“Call you what?” 

“Mrs. R.”

You catch the slight delay in his movement, the pause in raising his beer to his lips. His eyes stay set on the tv, and you watch the flash and flare of the screen's glow lighten and shade his face. For as long a day as he’s had, it should be easier to read his expression—or maybe you’re more out of practice than you realized.

But you know that he heard it. It’s not as if he can pretend that he didn’t hear Evans or Langdon say it. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when they’d had though not for lack of trying. 

“Why would it bother me?” He finally asks.


“Because we’re not married anymore.”

“You change your name yet?” 

You turn back to the tv as Robby’s head turns. It’s your turn to fall silent, to take a sip from your beer. 

“It’s a lot of paperwork.” It’s the lamest of excuses. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the entire truth, either. You hear Robby huff a soft laugh through his nose, and you can’t help the embarrassment that pulses through you. You push the feeling down, leaning forward and setting down your beer.

"You want that last slice?” You glance toward him and find his lips pursed. He wants to say no, but you’re positive he barely had anything to eat that day.

“You wanna split it?” You correct, already taking up a knife to cut it down the middle. 

“If you really want it, you can—”

“Oh, shut up and eat the slice, Robinavitch,” You lean back, holding it out and raising your own slice to your mouth. 

“Half slice.” 

“You’re way too particular for this late in the day. Did you get all hangry on the ducklings?” 

“...Not on the ducklings.” 

Your brows rose at the admission as you tore off a piece of the crust, popping it into your mouth. 

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked after a moment. 

“Nope.” 

Figures. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be wholly disappointed. But he’d come over, he’d changed your lightbulb. He’d stayed. Months of not seeing one another and now this. It felt like two steps forward and one step back…Though, for what it was worth, that was still one step forward. 

--  

You chalk it up to muscle memory. A late-night hazy wake up, an infomercial droning on the tv, and Robby's head in your lap. You manage to nudge him up, shut the television off, and find his hand to lead him to your bedroom. He doesn't gripe or grumble. His movements seem as automatic as he strips down to his underwear and climbs into bed with you, each on your own sides. 

You think, as you sink into the pillows, that you’re almost glad Robby is too tired to gripe or argue that he should be going back to his place. 

And you think, as sleep takes full hold of you, that you feel his hand curl around yours under the sheets. 

-- 

You wake up to the steady thump of Robby’s heart beneath your ear, and the rise and fall of his belly beneath your arm. You don’t open your eyes for a few moments—you don’t dare. You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close. 

For the last few months of your marriage, the two of you hadn’t slept in the same bed, and with the separation and divorce that had followed, your physical connection had ceased to exist.

The closest the two of you had gotten was when he’d bandaged your hand at the ER the day before. 

Of course, that same hand is now throbbing. 

You wince, wiggling the fingers a little and holding back a hiss of discomfort. Damn, you should’ve taken some Tylenol before you went to bed last night. You just hadn’t been thinking about it. You reluctantly push yourself up, sliding out of bed as gently as you can, wary of waking him.

You freeze as he shifts, watching him roll closer to the warmth you left behind and pressing his face into your pillow. You relax as he settles, and turn to your closet, sleepily fishing out your favorite hoodie and tugging it on over the PJs that you hardly remember changing into. 

--  

By the time you hear Robby coming down the hall, you have 500mg of Tylenol in your system, and coffee has nearly finished brewing. You glance back in his direction as he comes into the kitchen. You’re chagrined (but not surprised) to find him fully clothed. 

“Morning,” You greet. His answer is to take two mugs down from the cabinet, setting them by your wrist on the counter. 

“Sleep okay?” You prod. Robby leans against the counter beside you, and you glance up, watching him scrub his hand across his eyes. 

“Yeah,” He finally admits. “Thanks for letting me crash.” 

“Sure,” You shrug. “My fault, anyway. I talked you into staying for pizza.” You pick up the coffee pot, filling both mugs. Robby mutters his thanks as he takes one up, drawing in a sip. You let the silence settle back in, but you can only handle it for so long: “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“About what?” 

“About whatever it is that’s been fucking with your sleep lately.” 

“Do you wanna talk about why you haven’t changed your name yet?”

It catches you off-guard, and you whirl around to face him. 

“I told you, it’s a shitton of paper work—”

“If you’d started when we filed for divorce, it would be done by now.” 

“Well if it bothers you that much, why didn’t you fucking say so last night?” 

“I didn’t say it bothered me, I just find it weird—”

“It isn’t that weird—And how the fuck did we get on to me? We’re supposed to be talking about you.” 

“We don’t have to talk about me.” 

“Yeah, we fucking do. Something is off with you, Michael. You’re not sleeping, you’re snapping at people—I get that you’re under pressure—”

“You don’t get it.” 

“Alright, maybe I don’t know how it feels, but I can see how much it’s fucking messing with you—”

“Forget it—”

“Mikey, c’mon, just talk to me—”

“Let it go!” 

The snap and bark of his voice startles you, and you unthinkingly take a couple of steps back. You become more aware of the way your face is crowding with heat, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn away from him, shoving your hands in your pockets and curling your good hand into a fist. You’re not gonna cry, not when he’s right fucking there. He’s going to leave, anyway. 

You hear him push out a weary sigh, chased by the sound of him putting the coffee mug down. He’s going to put his hoodie on and just fucking go—

“Hey.” His hands curl around your shoulders, and he sighs again as you shrug him off. You step away, turning back to your mug and taking it up. Maybe you can take a big gulp and pretend that your eyes are tearing because the coffee’s so hot. 

You feel the heat of him as he crowds up behind you, his hands landing on the counter and caging you in. You open your mouth to tell him to back off, but fall silent as he gently nuzzles his temple. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

“And I know you’re a closed book, so why do I fucking bother.”

Robby inches closer, curling his arms around your middle. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to take this stuff on.”

“I don’t feel like I have to, Michael.” You turn in his arms, meeting his eyes despite the tears lingering in yours. “I’ve only ever asked because I want to, because I’m not okay if you’re not okay.” Your throat grows tight as you admit it, and you blink rapidly as more tears well up. You drop your chin, closing your eyes as you shake your head, fighting to steady yourself. 

Robby lifts a hand to cup your chin, thumb sweeping tenderly over the apple of your cheek as he tips your head up. You sniffle as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours.

“You shouldn’t still worry like this.” 

“I know.” 

Robby tips his head, nose gently nuzzling against yours. You can’t help but chase the touch, a few tears escaping and slipping down your cheeks. You each go still as your lips brush, then stop just a hair’s breadth from one another’s. Robby’s breath puffs warmly across your mouth, and you feel his chin tip up just a touch more. 

“Don’t,” You breathe, then hurry to explain—”Don’t do this if you’re just trying to fix it.”  

For a few harrowing moments, neither of you move; you hardly breathe. And then Robby’s hand lifts to cup your other cheek, thumbs gently disrupting the few tear tracks. He brushes tender kisses to your closed eyelids before his mouth descends tenderly on yours. You shiver, curling your hand in the fabric of his shirt and drawing him closer, until he’s pressing you fully against the counter. Your lips part and your tongue teases gently against his, his beard brushing pleasantly against your skin. 

The kiss breaks slowly, with Robby stealing another two languid pecks before resting his forehead back against yours, his hands smoothing over your shoulders again, fingers rubbing across the familiar fabric. 

"...Couldn't find that last hoodie, huh?" He asks knowingly. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking into a guilty grin.

"Misplaced it."

Robby hums knowingly before he dips his head, giving you another tender kiss.

"How's that hand feeling?"

You grunt, raising it and wiggling your fingers.

"Better now. Hurt like a bitch when I woke up, so I took some Tylenol."

"Good." Another peck before he draws away, and you reluctantly let him go. You expect him to head into the front hall, to grab his backpack. But he goes into the living room, taking up the stepladder. You frown, straightening up.

"Where are you going with that?"

"To check the other bulbs."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry

[alteadelight]

are you kidding me.

i know jacob already said this in his stream w dallas but hearing griffin and dallas ACTUALLY confirm that kenny and anthony were supposed to be a couple in their original storyline….

this raises sooo many questions for me. when was this storyline changed?? was it before season 4 filming, or before season 5? was it a last minute change before season 6?? could that be one of the reasons 6x01 was rewritten and refilmed?

most importantly, WHY was it changed?

anthony and kenny were 100% supposed to be the queer representation one of the creators teased about and what the show desperately needed. i love all (most) of the couples in the show, don’t get me wrong. however the show just sometimes feels TOO straight if that makes sense. it honestly needed just one queer couple to balance it out and it would’ve been fine. just a slightly different perspective on things. they didn’t even have to go into any homophobic themes if they didn’t want to; just a sweet, angsty enemies to lovers trope. and anthony and kenny would’ve fit the bill perfectly.

so why get rid of the only queer couple in a show full of straight couples? dallas mentioned his character not having any lines in the last part due to time, and i get that. there were so many storylines and character arcs to wrap up in just five episodes. the writers were probably working their asses off to give each character a satisfying ending. and while i DO have problems with some things this last part, overall i really enjoyed the ending.

but i feel like it was so easy to develop them in the first 10 eps, even if it was just little things here and there. i’m not gonna lie, their last scene at kenny’s house peeved me a little bit lol, because it 100% would’ve been possible to write them romantically. they could’ve even left their relationship open at the end of part 2, then have them hold hands and smile at each other and tease them in part 3, and i still would’ve loved that.

haven’t watched the entire stream w/ dallas and griffin, so i don’t know if they talked about it more; i’m assuming they didn’t. but i just had to rant a little because kenny and anthony are one of the relationships i felt disappointed by this season. the writers had so much potential with them and planned for them to be a couple, and decided to randomly write it out. yeah. another loss for the books.

[stonathandreamer]

Movie Night

🔸 Stonathan Masterlist

Synopsys: Steve takes Jonathan on a movie date, planning on watching a horror movie so his boyfriend would cling to him the entire time, but his plans will backfire horribly.

A/N: Yes, this was supposed to be posted yesterday for Valentine's Day, but hey, I got lazy, so... Happy (24 hours late) Valentine's Day, everybody!

Steve Harrington has dated many women before. He knows the best tricks and scams there are to make his dates cling to him like a lifeline - taking them for a ride on the Ferris Wheel, on rollercoasters, and other thrilling carnival attractions, or having a nice walk in the park at night, when it's cold and chilly. But the best trick Steve has in his arsenal is scary movies. They work like real magic, making his dates cling to him for dear life whenever a monster appears on the screen or in a suspense scene. It worked with Laurie, Amy, Becky, and all the others.

Of course, Steve can't go overboard with the horror since he, too, is not a fan of that genre, but a mildly scary film is more than enough. And Steve has the perfect movie in mind for his date with Jonathan.

Steve parks his car a block from the movie theater, immediately hopping off his seat and going to the other side to open the door for Jonathan.

"Lord Byers," he says exaggeratedly, bowing his head and offering a hand for Jonathan. Jonathan scoffs good-naturedly but accepts Steve's assistance, holding his hand while climbing out of the car.

They walk to the movie theater, hand in hand, the cool night air enveloping them, making the hairs on the back of their necks stand up slightly. Not fond of the cold, Steve leans closer to Jonathan, resting his head against his boyfriend's shoulder. Jonathan smiles softly at him and gives Steve's hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

"Your hand's so warm," Steve comments, squeezing Jonathan's hand back, "It's nice."

Jonathan chuckles softly at Steve's comment and pecks his cheek as they reach the theater. A row of posters decorates the wall - rom-coms, dramas, and (of course) horror movies.

"So, what are we watching?" Jonathan asks while scanning the posters. He makes slightly disgusted faces at the dramas, not bothering to hide his distaste for the genre, much to Steve's amusement.

"Oh, I was hoping you'd want to watch a... Horror movie," He wiggles his eyebrows at Jonathan, earning a chuckle from his boyfriend. Steve turns to face the posters again, having already chosen a movie, "How about that one?"

He points at the poster of a movie named 'Demons.' From what he heard, it's about a group trapped inside a movie theater with a horde of demons. Oh, it's going to be perfect! Jonathan will think there are demons in the room with them and will cling to Steve like a baby koala! It will be-

"'Demons'? Pfft, that's such a lame movie, Steve," Wait? Wha— "If you want to watch a horror film, we should watch that one." Jonathan points to the poster of a movie called 'H. P. Lovecraft's Re-Animator.'

"W-well, I... Uh. I was looking forward to watching the other one," Steve attempts a counter, wanting to keep following the original plan. But Jonathan seems to have taken a liking for this Re-Animator movie.

"Aw, what's the matter, babe?" Jonathan smirks, sending Steve a faux pouty look, knowing his words will get a rise out of Steve, "Don't tell me you're scared?"

"Scared?!" It works as expected. Jonathan's words wound Steve's ego, and now he is hellbent on proving his boyfriend wrong, "I'm not scared of some dumb movie, babe. We're watching this shit."

He takes Jonathan's hand and drags him to the ticket booth, ordering two tickets for 'Re-Animator' and buying popcorn and soda for the movie. Scared, pfft, as if Steve "The Hair" Harrington, captain of the basketball team, baseball player, certified lifeguard since 1982, and resident Demogorgon Beater is scared of some dumb movie named 'Re-Animator.' HA! He's dying to prove Jonathan wrong and have his boyfriend clinging to him the whole time.

"AAAHHHH!" Steve screams and clings to Jonathan as Dr. West reanimates a dead person into a violent zombie who attacks him. Jonathan sighs and shakes his head, patting his boyfriend's arm reassuringly, to no avail.

"Calm down, Steve. It's just a movie. It's not real."

"Pfft, I know it isn't. You think I— AAHHH! Jesus Christ!" He clings to Jonathan again, resting his head against Jonathan's neck while his boyfriend remains unfazed by the gory and scary scenes.

Steve's plans backfired horribly.

Damn it, he should have known Jonathan is immune to horror movies. The dude has an 'Evil Dead' poster casually hung in his bedroom. Of course Jonathan is a fan of horror movies.

Damn it.

Maybe he should have tried a different trick, like the Ferris Wheel or rollercoaster. Yeah, Jonathan doesn't seem to be the type of guy to be fond of rollercoasters. Maybe he should try it the next the carnival is in town—

"AAHHH! FUCK!"

Damn scary movie that makes Steve look like a baby koala clinging to his mother.

Jonathan, meanwhile, is having the time of his life - a nice horror movie, popcorn, soda, and a scared and clingy boyfriend burying his face on his neck.

The perfect Saturday night for him.

[emphasisonthehomo]

WIP Word Game

Rules: You will be given a word, then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word.

RAIN tagged by @al-the-remix! Thank you so much!

These are all taken from the Popstar!au.

R: “Really?” Buck asks, “Coulda fooled me.” “He did,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “I was talking to him yesterday, he’s never played MSG.” “Tommy’s worried about MSG?” Buck frowns. “You’re worried about MSG,” Eddie says, looking taken aback at Buck’s surprise.    “Well yeah, but I’m worried about everything right now,” Buck admits. A: “And I got recognized, and she–I could see her filming me from across the gym!” Tommy says, gesturing at nothing. “Ah, the burden of fame, too heavy for the shoulders it sits on,” Eddie intones from where he’s still laid out on the floor. “Do you not get recognized?” Buck asks. Surely Tommy's band is big enough for that. “Not at the gym,” Tommy says, clearly still frazzled, “I get recognized at festivals! And once at a grocery store, but that was in Finland.” I: “It’s gonna be gotcha questions,” Buck warns.  “I know,” Tommy leans against the seat and closes his eyes, “I’ve never really done a mainstream music interview, but I know some people who have. Sometimes there’s a lack of…respect, I guess. What I do is just noise and garbage.” “We’ll be fine,” Buck finds himself saying, “Let me handle most of it, I’ve done interviews with them before. You can just sit there and look pretty.” N: “Nah, I know a place,” Tommy says, snagging Buck by the wrist and tugging him in the exact opposite direction the bus. Tommy’s got big hands. His fingers and palm feel like a brand against Buck’s skin. “How do you know a place?” Buck asks, bewildered as Tommy leads him through the maze of the venue’s back hallways. “There’s always nooks and crannies,” Tommy says confidently, before looking back over his shoulder and smirking widely, “I usually suck dick in them, but something tells me that’s not you need to talk about.”

I've seen this going around and have no idea who has already been tagged, so please consider this an open invitation! For the word: HEAVY.

[maimura]

My sweetsweet girl dedicating another fic to me guys…. my heart is swelling because of how full it is.

Guys… I suggest listening to Mitski…. First Love/Late Spring… Like it actually hits. Okay guys once again, this reblog will be LONG! SO SPOILERS AHEAD!!! READ THIS GIRLS WORK FIRST 😚!!

also no pictures this time because i know im going to pick out too many favorite parts and tweak out if i dont put them all… so yes… you’re getting explanations from me…

THIS FIC IS ABSOLUTELY SOUL CRUSHING BECAUSE ITS REMINDING ME SO MUCH OF THE NETFLIX FILM “IRREPLACEABLE YOU” I WATCHED NOT TOO LONG AGO. and if you heard from me… i cried (bawled) my eyes out 8. EIGHT. E I G H T TIMES. so can you imagine what happened to me while reading this????

the fic starts off with reader and leehan just casually sharing another morning together 😖 and then she has to go to a check up after discussing about it with leehan ☹️ why does that already show they tell everything to each other ☹️.

I KNOW THIS WAS EXPECTED BUT SEEING READER GET HER DIAGNOSIS WAS STILL SO SAD. because you know she’s going to start giving up years she spent with leehan, because she loves him and doesn’t want to hurt him with her illness/death….

LIKE THE TEXTS HE SENT JUST LIKE SOLIDIFIED THE IDEA THAT SHE WANTS TO MAKE HIM FALL OUT OF LOVE . nothing would change her mind and you know that because she instantly starts thinking about leehan and what he has already accomplished ☹️ and she doesnt want to ruin that ☹️ so now shes going to be hiding that… about her Pain For Him . Like . Oh okay So im already going to face heartbreak Thanks .

WHEN THE DAYS STARTED OOOHHHH MY HEART ALREADY CRUMBLED AT THE SIGHT OF “DAY 1” LIKE OKAY. like its so frustrating/sad because reader is bottling all this up while leehan is just simply clueless and wants to know why she’s acting like this… like okay i feel sad for both of them.

by day 13 we really get to see leehans perspective and GOSHHH he just misses her so bad. the way everything he missed was written down… it was like a dagger stabbed through my chest . Again . and the flashback to reader mentioning sanghyeok… yeah i can’t blame her sanghyeok FINEFINEEEEEE 😛 But this is not about him right now (i still love him 🤫)

And the dying being italicized when we are talking about his wedding suit…. Okay Lili. OKAYOKAYOKAYOKAYA.

AND LEEHAN REMINISCING ABOUT THE PASTTTT . HES ENJOYING IT THINKING ABOUT THEM WHILE READER CAN ONLY FEEL GUILT/SADNESS ☹️☹️☹️ why did it have to be them. Why.

got a scare when i saw reader say “i don’t think i love you anymore” Girlllllll GIRLLLLLLLLL I ALMOST JUMPED???? Please stop my heart already couldnt take it previously AND NOW??? U WANNA ADD THAT??? but leehan clutched up and told her about the ring… BUT GOSH THE INTENSITY??

YOU CAN JUST FEEL HER HESITATING WHILE LEEHAN IS JUST TRYING TO MAKE SENSE OF THE SITUATION… and his mini outburst?? but reader is just… saying theres nothing and hes back to being even quieter than before… Yeah that killed me.

And leehan just being there no matter what reader says or does, he IS and WILL be staying with her… like okay I think I think I think I just fell again .

AND WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE DAY 27 HE FINALLY FIGURED OUT 😂😂😂😢😢😢😖😢😢😂😢😢😖 you can honestly feel all his emotions once he found out… like pain, grief, sadness, anger… but ultimately like simply why did this have to happen? why did it have to be you and why did it have to be him…. AND FAWKKYPUUUU FOR GIVING HIM THAT FLASHBACK TO THE PROPOSAL LIKE OHHH THAT HURTTTT.

and still even finding out… he wants to still be with her no matter what… like Brah this is what love does to a person and its so sweet just seeing that …. but now its just so sad ☹️

AND WHEN DAY 28 ARRIVED NOOOOO Gosh the vulnerability was spilling through. like lili is actually so descriptive with her writing it really engulfs you to FEEL how its like to BE THERE . LIKE GOSH???? IM CLUTCHING ONTO MY CHEST???? i felt her pain when she was trying to hold everything back like usual but couldn’t :(

AND SHE FINALLY TOLD HIM… though she didn’t realize but leehan already knows :( and they finally got into an embrace like i know both of them were just missing being with each other like that.

AND LIKE WHAT READER SAID IN THE BEGINNING, LEEHAN TRULY WAS WILLING AND READY TO DROP EVERYTHING FOR HER ☹️☹️☹️ and finally she accepts it because she knows he wouldnt take no for an answer… #determinedfianceleehan #cravethat

IM SO GLAD WE GOT SOME FLUFF like their moment together painting was sososo cute. I NEEDED THAT SOOOO BAD. and the star talk yuuuupyyuuuupyyuuuuuup Sophia Deceased.

AND THE WAY READER JUST PROGRSSIVELY GETS WEAKER AND WEAKER ☹️☹️☹️☹️ like leehan is just still besides her after all of that and its just ahaidudkdjisjdjs “im the luckiest person in the world” ARE YOU REALLY THOUGH ☹️ (yes, with being with leehan, but no again because, she’s really sick and is getting worse) like its the right person just along with a twisted fate </3

and like they still try to have moments together where they can hopefully temporarily take her mind off the pain she’s experiencing but its so obvious that she’s getting worse…. it’s actually heartbreaking because you know they are just two lovers but they are about to face something they don’t want to.

AND LEEHAN KNOWS ☹️ hes been so attentive throughout this whole fic so just reading this breaks my heart. he doesn’t want to believe it, but with reader’s condition, it’s hard NOT to fear that she will be leaving, you know? AND HE JUST DOESNT WANT TO LET HER GOOOOO

Day 62. My nemesis. THE DAY FINALLY EVERYTHING CHANGES ☹️ leehan wants her to stay but they both know deep down, she’s starting to slip away (even if they don’t want to believe that). LIKE HER LAST WORDS BEING I LOVE YOU OH GOSH IM GOING TO CRASH OUTTTTT. saying that in your dying moments is just ten times more impactful because you know those words are going to stick with the other person forever…

AND THE LETTER???????????? THEEEE LETTERRRR??? Goodbyeogheyeofhdyee this is reminding me of the freaking film now im goigny to cry Lili did yoy do this on purpsoeo. see now i dant even tyep proeprly . “I’ll be the star that shines the most for you.” IM GOING TO CRYYYYY KNOWING THEYW ERE TALKINF ABOUT STARS EARLIER AND ALL FHAT STUFF. THIS HURTSSSSSSSS trust i was crying along with leehan.

AND TEN YEARS?????? He literally still loves her so much what if i died. HIM TALKING TO HER AND THE SUNSET BEING THERE ARGHHHHHH. i hateithereihateithereihateithere

and we are back at the countryhouse ☹️ the house he wanted to get for her ☹️ for THEM ☹️ AND HES STILL TENDING HER FAVORITE FLOWERS BYE IS THIS WHY YOU ASKED . WHAT MY FAVES WERE. TO HURT ME EVEN MORE .

“I’ll see you again, Y/N.” STOPSTOPSTOPPPPPP like its been so sad and that added onto it, but it almost felt comforting???? like its just a sad but nice closing because its like no matter what, he loves her ☹️

LILI, to dedicate such a beautiful fic to me is EVIL (because 1) its angst .. i love it but guys This is the outcome of me reading it 2) ANGST WITH LEEHAN???? KIM. DONGHYUN. HELLOO??? i got spoilers and me finding it here… Yeah gut wrenching.) BUT ALSO SUCH AN HONOR BECAUSE WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOURE DEDICATING THIS TO MEEEE. guys when i say i LOVE her works, i mean it with every bone and fiber in my body. this was absolutely amazing and i can just reread this over and over again :’) thank you for posting this within my timezone, like who would sacrifice their sleep to TELL YOU they will be posting and making sure that they did???? Gosh i love her so much 😢😢😢😢❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 i yapped so much im so sorry my sweet girl 😖😖

　ᅠ 🀦　ᅠ THIRTY DAYS OF LOVE　　────　ᅠ ( kim leehan )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀donghyun’s world shatters when he learns that the love of his life, you, is running out of time. but when the unexpected happens𑁋and you begin pushing him away, he makes a choice he’ll never fail to make over and over again. to love you through all the sunsets, quietly, fiercely and eternally.

　　　ᅠ 김동현 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 12k ⠀ genre angst fluff established relationship non idol au fiancé au ⠀ contains mentions of food blood death terminal sickness drugs (as medicine) crying skinship pet names ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net , @onedoornet

　　　ᅠ note ᅠ from ᅠ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈 ! ᅠ this is it guys my debut leehan fic is angst! and since this is my first time doing such a long angst fic i dedicate this to my lovely @miumura <3 i hope this is good enough for you babes! and my biggest thanks to rhin and sru for proofreading this for me ~ mwah ^3^

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

“SEE you tonight, angel,” Donghyun kisses your hair, pulling you into a hug. He doesn’t let go for a while, comfortable at how you’re perfectly snuggling against his chest. 

Still in his hug, you look up at him. “Why are you still hugging me? You’re going to be late for the meeting,” you say, knowing that his office takes a longer time to reach than yours. 

Donghyun smiles, placing his chin on your head. He pulls you into his embrace tighter, savouring every bit of the moment. “I don’t know, I just want to hug you a little longer.”

“Okay, you can hug me when you come home tonight,” you say, gently pushing him away. It’d be such an outrageous lie if you said you didn’t love your fiancé’s hugs, but you also know that if you didn’t push him out the door, he wouldn’t get to work on time. 

You push Donghyun to the door, then go on the tip of your toes, kissing his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, dear.”

Donghyun pouts, yet he opens the door. “I’m sorry I can’t come with you for your doctor’s appointment,” he says, pressing his lips together. 

You’re going to work a bit later today, as you have your monthly check-up in the morning. It’s nothing serious, just a habit that you’ve gotten used to since a child—as your parents would always bring you in for a monthly check-up at the clinic. Better safe than sorry, they said. 

Plus, you have been feeling quite distorted lately—swamped with fatigue and sleep disturbances. You thought it’s related to stress, but after talking to Donghyun about it, you’re a bit relieved that you’re getting it checked out, in case of anything serious. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” you say, giving him a smile. You feel a pang in your heart—it’s no lie that you’re a bit nervous, as this is the first time in years that you’d be going to the doctor’s without Donghyun by your side. 

“You’ll be fine?”

You nod, chuckling. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay then,” Donghyun says, sighing. He adjusts the man bun you’ve helped him tie, before stepping out of the apartment. “I’ll see you tonight—text me!”

You laugh, adoring how cute your handsome fiancé is. “I will, sweetheart. Get to work safely.”

“I will!” you hear him exclaim, waving before he takes a turn down the hallway. You take a deep breath before going back into your apartment to get ready for the day. 

After getting ready, you take a cab over to the clinic, prepping yourself by saying that it’s nothing to be worried about—the fact that you’ve been feeling extra tired and coughing more often are caused by stress and that it’s nothing serious.

The worried look on your doctor’s face and the way that she orders additional scans and tests makes you think otherwise. Though, still, you brave yourself. 

That is until the nurse comes back with your tests, a grim look on her face, and you can’t help but feel extremely scared. 

“I’m sorry, Miss, but it looks like you have advanced lung cancer, and… the prognosis isn’t good.”

The world stops spinning, and everything goes silent. The weight of the world crashes down on you. Everything feels distant, like you’re underwater.

“From my observations, and the tests that we ran for you just now, the cancer looks like it’s beyond treatable. All we can do is give you some medications to help with the pain–”

“How much longer do I have?” you suddenly ask, your voice throaty. Tears begin to collect at the corners of your eyes, and all you can think of is Donghyun. 

Your doctor widens her eyes in surprise, not expecting such a calm reaction. “I… estimate it to be around two months, at best.”

You nod absentmindedly, barely hearing the doctor explaining further help with medication, lifestyle and life expectancy. Your head is spinning, and all you’re able to think about is Donghyun. The happy life the two of you are planning. 

“Would… you like to call someone?” the doctor asks, pulling you back to reality. 

You blink back tears, immediately shaking your head. You force a smile. “No. I’ll be fine.”

You clutch the test results in your hand tightly as you leave the clinic in a daze. You glance at the people around you—some are happily calling or texting someone through their phones, some are enjoying their food with their partners, some are even rushing to work. You watch everyone go with their life, tears in your eyes. Suddenly, all the little things mean so much more to you. 

You glance at the time on your phone—if you catch the train now, you’d be able to reach work and catch up on some pending tasks. You plod through the path, slowly making your way down the subway. When you reach down the stairs, your phone vibrates with messages from none other than your beloved, Kim Donghyun. 

Swallowing thickly, you read the texts from your notifications. 

hi angel! i hope everything’s going well

this meeting is boring

i’d rather bring u to the aquarium for a date ^_^

anyways text me back when u can, ok? 

i love u sm!

Once again, your eyes overfill with tears, causing them to fall down your cheeks. You place a hand on your chest. Your hand forms a fist, crumpling the test results. A part of you is aching to call him and cry your heart out about this new calamity that hit you—yet, another bigger part of you knows that you shouldn’t. 

Donghyun had recently got promoted at his workplace, getting a higher pay raise. He’s also collecting money to open his own fish shop. He’s been talking to you about it for ages, and he even has a pinterest board saved. His dreams are slowly coming true, and you’re not ruining that for him—you know that he’ll instantly drop everything once you break the truth to him. 

You force yourself to look up, swatting your tears away with the edge of your sleeve. You blink back the remaining tears, reaching a resolute decision in your mind. 

Instead of telling Donghyun, you’re going to make him fall out of love with you. 

You smile sadly. 

It’s for the best. You love him too much to want him to give up on his dreams just to take care of you. You love him too dearly to see him heartbroken over your state. You love him so much that you’re willing to die alone. 

You love him, more than you ever could describe, that you’re willing to pull away to prevent him from sacrificing his future for you. 

You switch your phone off, taking a deep breath. As you step into the train, heading for work, you decide that you’re going to give yourself thirty days to accomplish your mission. 

Thirty final days with him, then that’s it.

THAT night, you can’t sleep. The reality that you’re living in seems so real yet so distant, and it keeps you awake. You’re in Donghyun’s arms, staring at the ceiling blankly. The gentle rhythm of his chest heaving up and down, the warmth of his breath against your forehead comforts you—yet it washes you through a wave of realisation—that this will be one of your final nights with him. 

Enjoy it while it lasts.

You snuggle closer to him, blinking to force tears back in. You brave yourself, shifting your gaze upon your fiancé’s face—his peaceful sleeping face that looks so cute and adorable. You’ve cried too much today, yet you can’t stop the tears from dripping down your face again. 

It’s so unfair. You were finally happy–why did it have to be robbed right from you when you were just getting comfortable?

The urge to wake him up and tell him everything is overwhelming, but you clench your fists and swallow the words. You take a deep breath, repeating to yourself the mission that you’re putting yourself to. 

Thirty days to make Donghyun leave me. 

You shift your gaze back towards the ceiling, mentally making a list of what you have to do for the next four weeks. 

DAY 1.

In the morning, you’re up earlier than Donghyun is—that’s usually how it is, but this time, you had to make sure you’re awake before he is, to avoid any slip-ups from you.

You’ve already showered—you’re now in your bathrobes, and done your whole morning routine. You walk over to your shared bed, smiling softly at finding Donghyun still soundly sleeping. You kneel on the bed, forcing yourself to maintain a stoic face as you shake him awake. 

“Good morning, love,” he mumbles, stretching his arms wide before pulling you in for a hug. You bite the bottom of your lip, holding back a smile. Usually, you’d giggle and kiss him good morning, but this time, you don’t. You stay silent, not reciprocating both his greeting and his hug. It pains you, but the pain that’s in your lungs every time you take a deep breath reminds you of the harsh future you’re facing.

After a few minutes, Donghyun notices the change in your behaviour. He opens his eyes, pulling away slightly so he can look you straight in the eye. “Are you okay?”

You press your lips into a thin line. “I’m fine,” you reply, giving him a half-hearted smile. 

Donghyun holds the gaze longer than you wish he did, pursing his lips as he analyses any emotion that you might be displaying on your face. 

Before he could say anything that will definitely make you break character, you push yourself out of his embrace, walking to the vanity. The weight of your lie begins to sink in your chest, marking the beginning of your plan. 

You know that Donghyun, as dense as he can be sometimes (read as most of the time), is quick to pick up on things—especially if it’s about things and people he loves. You notice him lingering around you, standing behind you, longer than he usually does, with a puzzled look on his face as you go through your usual morning routine. 

Except that you don’t pack a lunch for him, pretending that you’re occupied with some other house chore. Except that you don’t smile sweetly, saying that you love him while you give him a kiss on the cheek as the two of you part ways for the day. 

Donghyun notices, and you know that as soon as you receive a text message from him right after you’ve arrived at your office. 

angel

you okay?

did i do smth wrong? i don’t have lunch today :< 

You open the message and give him a simple and dry response: “no”. You grit your teeth, already hating the weight that’s pushing you down every single time you lie to him. 

The rest of the week goes by the same way—you try your absolute best to create distance between you and Donghyun: talking to him in an uninterested tone, not hugging back whenever he does, pretending to not remember to kiss him goodnight and goodmorning, not updating him about your day to let him smile as he listen to you like how it usually is. 

You’ve, too, lost count the amount of times Donghyun has come up to you and asked if you were okay. 

“I’m fine,” you grunt, scooting away. You adjust your posture before forcing yourself to focus on the show you’re watching. It’s not even that interesting, but you need to do everything humanly possible to ignore the handsome ball of fluff sitting next to you, begging you to tell him what’s wrong with those super cute boba eyes of his.

You hear Donghyun quietly sighing before walking away to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge to find some snacks to offer you. 

“Here,” he says after a while. You glance at him, gulping at the sight of the honey butter chips Donghyun is stretching out to you. 

“I’m not… hungry,” you force yourself to say, in a plain tone.

Donghyun tilts his head. “But you like honey butter chips,” he says, already slightly pouting. 

“Kim Donghyun, I’m not hungry,” you hiss, eyes glued to the television.  

“Okay…” you hear him murmur, shoving the chip that he originally wanted to feed you into his own mouth. From the corner of your eyes, you see Donghyun folding the bottom of the bag so that it can stand by itself, carefully so that the chips won’t spill, before placing it next to you. He then gets up and walks away to the kitchen to cook some food, intending to give you space. 

Actually, Donghyun can’t exactly cook, but he’s just standing there, at the sink, washing some fruits that he wants to cut up for you. The past few days, he’s noticed a very drastic change in your behaviour. You’re no longer smiling at him, you’re no longer talking to him about anything that comes to your mind, you’re no longer reciprocating the hugs and cuddles he’s giving. You’ve brushed off every single attempt he’s made to ask you if anything was wrong, or if he did anything that upset you. 

Donghyun sighs, tying his hair up before beginning to peel some oranges. 

DAY 6.

The next step of your plan begins: picking fights at the most irrelevant things, hoping that Donghyun would lose his patience.

“Can you not hug me like that?” you snark, swatting his hands away from your waist. 

Donghyun widens his eyes, shocked at your sudden outburst. Normally, you wouldn’t ever decline his hugs—preferring to let him snake his arms around you as you get ready for the day, or cooking something up. 

You glare at your fiancé, fiercely dabbing your makeup onto your face. It pains you to see the confused and shocked look on his face, but you have to continue. “It’s so annoying, your breaths are so sticky and it makes my neck feel hot.”

Donghyun puts his arms to his side, taking a deep breath. “Okay, angel, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice gentle. He extends his hand, patting your hair. “I’ll be showering,” he informs you before disappearing to the bathroom. 

You watch him with widened eyes, taken aback by his reply. 

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Donghyun was supposed to be offended by your actions, not be completely calm and okay about it. 

You turn around, eager to find another opportunity to piss him off. 

A few moments after that, you find yourself in the kitchen with Donghyun, who’s watching you prepare breakfast. You glance at him, who’s peacefully trying to sip his morning coffee. 

This is perfect timing.

Ignoring the heavy guilt weighing down on you, you slam the kitchen drawer a little harder than necessary, the sharp sound cutting through the tranquil morning. 

Donghyun’s head shoots up, and his eyes immediately find you. He sets his coffee down, fingers lingering around the mug. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you mutter, shoving the dirty spoon in your hands into the sink with a loud clatter. 

He frowns, taking one step closer. “You seem upset.”

“I said I’m fine,” you snap, sharply turning around to face Donghyun. Pushing down the remorse you feel upon seeing his expression—a mixture of shock and worry—you continue. “Can’t I be in a bad mood without you questioning me?”

Silence.

You expect him to bite back, finally telling you that you’re being unreasonable. You know Donghyun isn’t the type to be confrontational, but considering the amount of discourtesy you’ve done to him this past week, you even expect him to get angry. 

That would make it easier.

Instead, much to your surprise, Donghyun simply sighs. “Of course you can, my love,” he says softly, eyes not budging away from you. 

You inhale sharply, turning your back to him before he can see the tremble in your hands. 

As the week goes by with a blur of similar attempts, you begin to grow a little frustrated. A part of you just wants to tell Donghyun everything—where it hurts, how sad you feel, how you feel so worthless and in pain all the time. 

Every time you glance at him, you just feel like jumping into his embrace. Every time you see a notification from him, your fingers itch to press call, to release the tension in your shoulders and the heavy guilt in your chest, to whisper the truth to him. I’m sick. I’m dying.

You’re taking the bus back home, Donghyun’s message opened but left unreplied. You stare at the message: “get home safely, my love” with a vision that blurs more and more with tears every time you blink. 

The message bubble pops up again. 

Donghyun’s typing. 

are you okay?

you’re leaving me on read

You shut your eyes, clicking the off button on your phone. You can’t do this right now. If you let yourself answer his texts, your whole plan will crumble along with his future. 

Donghyun doesn’t deserve this. 

You clench your fists, fingernails digging into your palms. You force yourself to stay quiet, to freeze and not do anything. 

A tear escapes down your cheek, and you let it fall. 

It hurts. 

But you don’t know what else to do. 

DAY 13.

“I’m home,” Donghyun calls out as he closes the door behind him. The apartment is quiet, and he can only hear the air purifier working in the background. 

It feels weird. 

He glances at the shoe rack, spotting the pair of shoes that you chose to wear to work today already there. He bites the bottom of his lips, bending down to fix the position of your shoes. Then, quietly, he opens his own and sets them neatly next to yours. 

As he makes his way to the bedroom, a million thoughts race through his head. What did he do wrong? Where did he mess up—for you to be acting so differently? He knows he isn’t the best at confrontational communication, but you’ve shrugged off all of his attempts to try. 

Donghyun walks silently to your shared bedroom, and he sees you bundled up on the bed, soundly sleeping. There’s something about you, so ethereal and beautiful, even when you’re deep in slumber. Donghyun takes quiet steps towards you, coming into a halt when he’s standing right in front of you. 

He exhales heavily, absorbing the view of you. 

Donghyun misses you. 

He misses spending hours giggling with you, talking about all the things that the two of you found interesting in this world. He misses holding you in his arms. He misses kissing you, smothering you in his affection. He misses letting you braid and play with his hair whenever you want to. He misses having you drag him around doing errands—shopping for groceries and household items, occasionally distracted by the cute blind boxes at the cash register. He misses enjoying aquarium dates with you—seeing you look at him with lovesick eyes, even though you have been to the same aquarium so many times. 

He misses you, and he wonders what he’s done wrong for you to obviously avoid him like this. 

Donghyun pauses, wondering if he should do it. He sighs, then leans down to give you a peck on the forehead. It’s gentle, barely there—but it’s enough for him to sustain himself through another week. 

As he straightened his posture, he recalls the events that happened recently. Just this morning, when Donghyun was watching you get ready for the day, you suddenly mentioned Sanghyeok—a man who you used to be interested in, back in high school.

“I wonder what Sanghyeok is doing now,” you said. Your voice is loud—waiting for Donghyun to respond. 

Donghyun buttoned his shirt, staring right at you. He remained silent, not knowing exactly what to expect out of this.

“I bet he looks even more handsome now,” you tried again, emphasizing the ‘handsome’ in your tone. You sneaked a glance at your fiancé through the vanity mirror, disappointed to see him remaining unfazed. 

“Obviously,” he replied after a while. He approached you and grabbed the hair comb next to you. He continued, in a matter-of-factly tone. “Everyone gets more handsome or beautiful as they mature.”

Donghyun smiled quietly as he watched your face morph into an annoyed expression, huffily turning away. 

This must be some kind of way for her to get back at me, he thought. Maybe I should try harder to get her heart back, for whatever reason she pulled away. 

You stir, fingers instinctively reaching for the pillow next to you—bringing Donghyun back into the present. 

Donghyun sighs, massaging his temples. He looks at you, taking in your beauty for a while, before walking away to get unready for the day—already thinking of what to order for dinner. 

DAY 17. 

Tomorrow is the day where you’ll accompany Donghyun to find his wedding suit, and you know he’s been aching to ask you why you’re not excitedly talking to him about it yet. He’s been hovering around you—not quite standing or sitting next to you, but rather, he’s around you—the corner of his mouth twitching as he bites back his words. 

You’ve been quite excited, actually. You’ve been saving a lot of photos, trying to get an idea of what would make your fiancé look flattering on your wedding day. You were dying to talk to him about, endlessly rambling to him about the countless designs out there—but you’re reminded of your condition, the fact that you’re sick and dying, every time you glance at him and imagine him in a wedding suit. 

That’s the only reason that’s keeping you together, holding you back from unleashing your true feelings.

Donghyun found his courage to ask you when the two of you are sitting at the dining table, eating some take-out ramen that he ordered for dinner. 

“About tomorrow…” Donghyun begins, slowly chewing the contents of his mouth. “We’ll be going… right? Together?”

You take a deep breath, putting on your act. You look up from your food, eyes bored. “Do you not want to?”

“No– no, it’s not like that, angel,” Donghyun stammers, almost choking on his food. “I’m just wondering… because you haven’t talked about it all week. You…”

He pauses, and he holds his gaze for a few moments. 

“You usually get excited about these things,” he continues softly.

“About what?” you ask sharply, heart sinking at the way you’re treating him. 

Donghyun shrugs. The look in his eyes is cracking your heart into pieces, but you brave yourself to keep the glare on. “You know, about doing things together. With me.”

“Whatever,” you grumble, breaking the gaze Donghyun is holding. You turn to your food, holding back your tears by aggressively poking holes in your fishcakes. 

“Angel,” he calls, and you hate how you instantly perk up at the nickname. Your eyes slightly widen at how he’s smiling so adorably, his boba eyes sparkling against the reflection of the lamps. “Do you remember? Our first date.”

The memory of one of the happiest days of your life, dated seven years ago, tugs hard against your chest, some kind of heavy feeling going up to your throat. “Yes,” you croak, avoiding his gaze. 

“I still remember how nervous I was, waiting for you in front of your parents’ house with flowers in my hands. It was really awesome—the feeling of waiting for you outside, knowing that I’ll be spending the entire day with you,” Donghyun pauses as he laughs, the corner of his eyes crinkling with happiness. 

You swallow thickly, forcing yourself to stay stoic. 

“I was eighteen—we were eighteen—still young and dumb, but I knew, the moment you stepped out the door looking so beautiful in your light pink dress, that you’re the person I want to be with for the rest of my life.”

You shut your eyes, lowering down your head. As tears begin to collect at the edges of your eyes and Donghyun’s voice begins to blur in the background, you curse yourself and your fate.

Why did it have to be like this?

What did you ever do wrong to be given such a cruel future?

Why did it have to be you?

DAY 21.

You’re sure that you heard the doctor right the last time—that you had around three months to live. But now, with every single day that passes, you feel like your body is physically getting ripped away from you, little by little. Your appetite decreases with every passing day, your energy and mood swings vary by a significant manner. 

Every time you notice this, the more adamant you are in your plan. You have to make Donghyun leave, even if it breaks you in the process. 

You have 9 days left of your plan. 

You’ve been more consistent and put more effort into your scheme, despite Donghyun being calm and still loving through it all. 

You sigh deeply, standing at the sink as you wash out your mug after drinking honey lemon water. You’re coughing very often now, and you often find yourself out of breath yet in pain multiple times. You feel Donghyun’s presence behind you, and it’s feeling heavier than usual. You’re done washing your mug, but you rinse it a couple more times to pretend that everything’s fine. 

As soon as you close the water tap, Donghyun opens his mouth.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” 

His voice is calm—way too calm.

You glance at him, setting your mug down, your body still turned away from him. It’s a bit weird that Donghyun is confronting you now, but given the duration that your plan has been going on, you figure that he’s reached the peak of his patience. 

“I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

A quick moment of silence goes by. Then, “You’re lying.” 

You inhale sharply, momentarily shutting your eyes close. But you don’t turn to face him. 

The sharp sound of a chair scraping against the tiled floor startles you. You quickly turn around and it’s Donghyun, pulling a chair out—but he doesn’t sit. Instead, he rests against it, his hand gripping tightly on its backrest. 

“What is it?” he asks, his voice quieter. “What are you not telling me?”

You avert your gaze, swallowing densely. Say it. Make him hate you once and for all.

“I…” you clear your throat, trying your best to sound indifferent. “I’m done, Donghyun. I don’t think I love you anymore.”

Silence. 

For a moment, you’re hoping—silently praying, even—that he would just walk away. That he would accept your words and take his leave. 

Then, in a voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper, Donghyun says, “say it again.”

You widen your eyes, turning to him. Startled, you blurt out, “what?”

The guilt that’s pushing down your chest doubles even more as Donghyun is staring at you. His jaw clenched, and his eyes dark with something that you’ve never seen in him before—hurt, anger, and utter disbelief. 

“Say it again.”

Your lips part, but you can’t force anything out. 

“You’re lying,” Donghyun says, with no softness in his voice this time. “But let’s pretend you’re not.”

He takes a step forward, and suddenly you’re trapped between him and the kitchen counters. “Say it again, Y/N,” he whispers, almost begging, “look at me this time.”

Shakily, you force yourself with all your might to meet his gaze, tears beginning to form. 

Say it, Y/N. Make him hate you. 

Make him leave.

“I–” your voice cracks.

Donghyun stands in front of you, still like a stone. He doesn’t blink, nor does he say anything. He stands there, waiting, patient like he always is. 

Your hands begin to tremble at your side, and with one deep breath, you let it out before you can’t anymore. 

“I don’t love you anymore,” you whisper, forcing your shaky gaze to connect to Donghyun. The fact that it’s a lie pains you ten times more than it should have—you exhale, biting your lips to cover how terribly you’re trembling. 

Donghyun exhales deeply. For a moment, you think he’s about to laugh. But instead, he looks away, shaking his head. 

“Okay, fine,” he nods, his voice too steady. “Then tell me, why are you still wearing the ring?”

Your blood turns to ice. 

“If you don’t love me anymore,” Donghyun repeats, and one by one, his words sting your heart. “Tell me why you’re still wearing the ring.”

Your hand flies to the hand with the engagement ring, trying to hide it, but you’re too slow. He’s already seen it. 

Donghyun laughs, short and humourless. “You can’t even take it off, can you?”

Feeling harshly attacked, you look away. 

Donghyun runs a hand over his face, slowly sighing. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he says, his voice lower now, and it’s clear that he’s exhausted. “But if what you’re doing is to protect me from whatever, it’s not working.”

His words cause a pang to your heart. 

“It’s not like that—” You grit your teeth, starting to internally panic. “You don’t understand–”

“Then make me understand!” 

Your breath hitches. 

Donghyun didn’t yell—not really—but for a man who never raises his voice, and would try his best to solve things calmly without conflict— his outburst might as well be a scream. 

The rawness in his voice makes your heart ache even more. 

But the sharp pain in your lungs reminds you of everything—you can’t let him in. 

You turn quickly, to hide the sudden stream of tears flowing down your cheeks. “There’s nothing to understand,” you quietly say, biting your quivering lips. 

A long silence, accompanied by palpable tension, stretches between the two of you. 

When Donghyun finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before. “Okay.”

You force your eyes shut, biting back sobs as you hear him walk away, the sound of the door closing echoing in the apartment. 

And when the sound of his footsteps disappeared, you let yourself sink to the floor in heavy sobs, your body trembling like crazy. 

THE next few days go by like usual—Donghyun acts like nothing happened—but the only difference is you can clearly see the hurt in his eyes. He’s still loving: he brings back home your favourite food, opens the door for you, and makes sure you’re always comfortable. 

You’re still trying your best to carry out your plan.

“Stop, Donghyun,” you say, albeit your voice is shaky. Donghyun, who’s silently peeling out shrimp skin from its flesh for you, pauses. He looks up—though he doesn’t say anything.

“We’re too different. You shouldn’t be with me.”

Donghyun takes a deep breath, and a few seconds later, he replies. “What’s so different about us, angel?”

Angel. 

The nickname stings like lemon juice on a fresh paper cut. 

“I…” you force a laugh, but it cracks at the edges. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re too different, Donghyun. We have always been—you like quiet nights in, I like going out,” 

Lie. You never really minded the difference: you and Donghyun completed each other like you’re each other’s missing piece.

“You like stability, but I’m too restless for you. We… we’re just too different,” you gesture vaguely, trying not to let Donghyun hear the tremble in your voice. “Maybe we just… got carried away with the idea of us.”

Donghyun puts aside the shrimp he’s deskinning, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. His voice maddeningly tranquil, he says, “you don’t mean that.”

Your throat burns with the trace of your words. 

He’s making this hard. Too hard than what it’s supposed to be. 

“I do,” you lie. 

Donghyun closes his mouth, studying you with an unreadable expression on his face. Then he exhales slowly. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

Your breath catches.

“No–” 

“You can push me all you want, as hard as you want,” Donghyun continues, his voice softer than before, “but I’m staying, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

The walls you carefully constructed around your heart begin to crack and crumble. Desperation claws frantically against your chest. 

Why can’t he just let go?

You repeatedly shake your head, turning away, blinking rapidly as your vision begins to blur with tears. “You should,” you whisper, though it’s more to yourself. “You really should.”

Donghyun stays silent for quite some time, before leaning forward to gently caress your hair. You pull away, knowing that he isn’t leaving. Not now. Not ever. 

DAY 27. 

Donghyun stirs, blinking rapidly as the surroundings become clearer to him. He stretches his arms, tensing as he comes into contact with your sleeping figure. He sits up, and shifts his gaze towards you, your form accentuated by the dim glow of the bedside lamp. 

There’s something wrong. 

Donghyun knows—he just doesn’t exactly get what it is. 

You’ve been so off—too distant—this past month, and knowing you for almost a decade, Donghyun realises that whatever is causing your behaviour change is serious. 

He knows that it’s either him or something else.

But what did he do?

Donghyun quietly jumps off the bed, tiptoeing out of the room to get some water to drink. His mind is clouded with worry for you these days, he can barely sleep at night—with no one to share his warmth with, no one to talk to until one of you snoozes off, no one to braid his hair until one of you falls asleep. 

He walks to the kitchen, his attempt at being quiet largely failing due to him yelping after stubbing his toes into the dining table. He switches a few of the lights on, still quiet, then he walks over to the kitchen to grab himself some water. 

Everything was ordinary, except a few things laid out messily on the kitchen island.

Packets of medicine he’s never seen before, and a thin stack of papers scattered around the top of the island. 

Curious, Donghyun peeks at the words printed on the label of the plastic packets, bringing the glass of water he’s holding to his lips. 

Y/N L/N. 

Aspirin. 

Antidepressants. 

Anti-seizure. 

Steroids. 

Morphine tablets.

His heart begins to beat loudly against his chest, blood rushing to his head. He quickly turns to the stack of papers, after checking through the packets of medicine. 

Y/N L/N. Lung Cancer. Stage 4 (Severe).

Donghyun freezes, and the glass cup he’s holding slips through his fingers without notice. 

His mind swirls with a million different emotions—he’s confused, in shock and fear, as well as a touch of deep betrayal. 

His eyes read through the words on the papers again. A storm of emotions rain on him—he can’t believe it. It can’t be. 

All of the memories he shared with you—both happy and sad—replays in his mind. From the moment he first laid his eyes on you, donkey years ago; your numerous dates together, hours spent with love and giggles; him proposing to you, and moving in together—planning and envisioning your life together. Then, a sudden flood of memories flush through, replaying the moments and  conversations from the past month where you tried to push him away.

Now, everything clicks together in the right place. 

Now, Donghyun understands why. 

You were trying to make him leave for the future he deserved, for a better future without the burden of loving someone who was dying.

Donghyun feels his shoulders trembling ever so slightly, his vision beginning to blur with tears. He notices the broken glass cup on the floor, but his head is spinning too fast for him to comprehend it all. 

Donghyun feels his heart pounding in his chest, creating a heavy rhythm that drowned out everything else around him. You’d tried to push him away—tried to make him fall out of love with you, to untangle him from a future with you, all in an anguished attempt to protect him from the unavoidable pain that is now coming for them. Donghyun feels like him not seeing this coming should have relieved him in some twisted way.

However, the reality coming from the document in front of him hits like a tidal wave. Anger begins to flare within him—he’s mad at you for trying to shield him from this, irritated for the way you drown him in doubt, distance, and wondering whether he was truly losing you even before he knew the reason behind it all, for the past month. 

Yet, the anger and hurt begins to wash away as his eyes, still blurred from his tears that couldn’t yet fall, lands on a framed picture of the two of you on the wall. 

You were glowing—the sparkle of the starry night sky glittering in your eyes, a loving smile on your face. Next to you was Donghyun, kissing the top of your hair, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. 

It was the night of his proposal. The night you said yes. 

Yes to a future together. Yes to loving each other through all the highs and lows.

A tear drops down Donghyun’s face, tracing the curve of his features in a silent surrender. 

He understands. 

How could he not? 

Somehow, he knows that fear must have gotten the best of you, driving you to make such a selfish decision. He knows that you’re terrified—terrified to watch him suffer, to drag him into a future filled with nothing but grief and pain that no one should ever have to endure. 

Donghyun knows that you’re trying to protect him—making the hardest decision to leave him with the hollow ache of your absence, hoping that he’d move on long before you had to physically leave this world. 

His chest tightens with the realisation and the weight of his beloved’s sacrifice. 

Donghyun glances, again, at the document stating your diagnosis on the kitchen counter. 

It’s hard to come to terms with this new reality, shoved to his face like a rejection he doesn’t even have time to process. 

It’s hard, but Donghyun’s love is undeniable. He feels it burning through the tangles of hurt, confusion and anger in his heart, leaving him with one overwhelming truth: he won’t leave. Not now. Not ever. 

The vision of you smiling brightly appears in front of his eyes, the melody of your laughter ringing in his ears. 

His heart begins to beat in a steady manner, and he’s never felt as sure before—the only other time being the moment, after taking you out for the first time, that he’s sure of a future with you. 

I’m not going anywhere. I choose you, Y/N.

I’ll always choose you. 

I choose us, even in this.

A wave of urgency suddenly washes through him—and it’s almost a frantic need to reassure you. Donghyun clutches his chest. He can’t let you believe, even for a second longer, that you’ll watch him walk away, leaving you to face this battle alone. He’s not going to abandon you—not when you need him the most. 

The slightest, faintest shiver moves through him, betraying the calm he’s trying to maintain for so long. No sound escapes his lips, just a quiet sob. 

And so, as the reality of his fiancée’s diagnosis begins to settle into the deepest marrows of his bones, he realises that the future that the two of you had once planned is no longer a guarantee. It’s fragile now, but a future with you is still one. The future still belongs to you and Donghyun, hand in hand. And he would fight to hold on to it, even if it meant facing the darkness together.

DAY 28. 

“Y/N, I’m home,” Donghyun calls out, mentally preparing himself for another ‘mood swing’ of yours. However, when he swings the door to your shared apartment open, he finds himself in shock at the way it’s dark. 

Panic begins to kick in. Donghyun looks around—your shoes are here, your coat is hanging, still damp from the year’s first snow. 

“Angel?” Donghyun calls again, the tremble in his voice beginning to rise. 

He kicks his shoes off and scrambles to every corner of the house, trying to find you. He looks for you in every nook and cranny—sharply turning when he spots light coming from the bottom of the bathroom door. He rushes there, but comes into a halt when he hears a sob. 

You press your forehead against the bathroom mirror, your hot breath creating a cloud of fog on its surface. Gripping the edge of the sink as tight as you possibly could, you try to push in the panic that’s resurfacing, after keeping on a facade for the entire day. 

At first, it was just a tiny tremor, a quiver barely noticeable in your chest as you try to keep your breathing calm amidst all the physical pain. Your eyes are glassy and distant, staring at nothing in particular. The tears are heavy, clinging to your eyelashes, refusing to fall. But with every blink, with every pained heave, a new wave erupts through you, and the tears threaten to fall. You press your lips tightly together, your fingers tightening their grip on the edge of the sink, trying to fiercely silence the sobs that will likely escape, but the quiet, desperate hitch in your breath betrays you.

The tears flow down your cheeks like a river carving its way through thick solid rock, free, warm and unwelcome. You press your forehead harder against the stinging cold mirror, as though you’re trying to push the tears back in. Your throat tightens, a soft sob jerking at the bottom of your chest. You bite the bottom of your lip so hard it might rip apart, your entire body stiffening in an attempt to halt a flood that’s quickly becoming too impossible to stop.

But it slips out of you anyway—a quiet, pained sob that escaped before you could even stop it, followed by another, and another, and then a louder, desperate gasp for air. Your shoulders begin to rise up and down in an effort to stifle the sound, but each aching breath makes it harder. Your chest begins to heave, your hands trembling against the freezing surface of the sink, unable to stop the heavy storm of tears raining from your eyes. 

Your attempts to remain composed are long gone now, swallowed up by the weight of it all. And though you still tried to suppress it, your anguish cries fills the apartment with a rawness that she can’t deny, can’t conceal, no matter how hard you fight it.

“Angel?”

No.

You shake your head, tears mercilessly streaming down your cheeks. 

I need to stop crying. 

You harshly wipe the tears on your cheeks with the back of your hand, exhaling shakily. 

A soft knock comes from the door. 

“Y/N?”

You close your eyes shut. Not now. Please. 

You hear the doorknob turn, and tears begin to well up again. 

“I’m coming in.”

Before you could turn and stop in, Donghyun is already inside the bathroom, standing in front of you. His eyes immediately find you, locking to the sight of your tear-streaked face and trembling hands. 

His expression softens. “Hey,” he says, “talk to me.”

You shake your head. “Donghyun, please,” you say, your voice croaky. “Just go.”

Donghyun steps closer, determination masking the hurt in his eyes. His warmth begins to blanket around you. 

“No.”

You suck in a sharp breath, wincing at the pain. “You have to.”

“Why?” 

Donghyun frowns, his hand already halfway there, his first instinct is to hold you as soon as he sees you in pain. 

You turn to face him, the walls of your plan that you’ve constructed crumbling down the moment your eyes meet his. For the first time, you let him see it all—the overwhelming pain. The fear. The exhaustion. The unbearable weight of what’s to come. 

“Y/N–” he says, his own voice cracking. 

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head slowly. You want to give up. You want to run into his arms. You want to tell him everything. You want to cry your heart out to someone you love so dearly with your heart, someone who you know will never judge you for anything at all.

But a part of you still refuses to force upon him a painful future. 

“You deserve someone who has a future.”

“Love, what are you talking about–?”

“I’m dying, Donghyun,” you exclaim, choking on your tears. You can’t hold it in any longer, the truth slipping out without realisation. “I’m dying.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy and sharp like shattered glass. 

Donghyun stands there, not saying anything.

For a long time, neither of you moves. Neither of you says anything. Just holding each other’s gaze, a storm of emotions swirling behind each of your eyes. 

Then, quietly, Donghyun reaches out, pulling you into his embrace. You could feel his body trembling as he hugs you tight, his touch gentle, but at the same time, it feels desperate. It’s like you’d disappear if he let go. 

He pulls away slightly after, cupping your face tenderly. “You’re not in this alone,” he says, his voice steady, contrasting the evident quiver of his hands. 

Again, tears slip down your cheeks. “You should hate me.”

Your mind flips through the book of everything that you’ve done to him this month. It broke your heart, over and over again, doing each and every detail of your plan, but you know that it broke your fiancé even more. 

“I love you,” Donghyun murmurs. “And I’m staying. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your shoulders tremble as your hands find their grip on Donghyun’s arms, burying your face in his chest. His arms immediately find their way around you, pulling you closer. His heartbeat steady against yours, you let yourself cry in his arms for the first since the diagnosis. 

DAY 30.

You spent the entire day, after confessing the partial truth to Donghyun, sleeping and resting. You feel so fatigued, not even having the mood to text your boss that you’d be taking an off day. You opened your eyes only to shut your alarm off, and woke up around midday, finding out that your lovely fiancé emailed your boss for you, applying for two days off. He took two days off, too, claiming that he wants to spend all his hours with you. 

It’s the next day, and you wake up to Donghyun scrolling through something in his laptop, a serious frown on his face. It’s still partially dark in the apartment, the only source of light being your bedside lamp and Donghyun’s laptop. 

“Donghyun,” you say, immediately clearing your throat after that, feeling dry. 

Donghyun perks up, turning to you. He smiles, softly pressing his lips against your forehead. He adjusts the position of his bluelight glasses on his nose. “Good morning, angel. Why are you up so early? It’s only 6 in the morning.”

You glare at him. “Why are you up so early?”

Donghyun giggles, and it makes your stomach erupt in butterflies despite you trying to maintain the glare on your face. He puts an arm around your shoulder, letting you scoot closer to him, resting your head on his chest. 

“Look, I’ve been researching… and I think we should move to the countryside. I saw a really good house in Boseong-gun,” he says, and his words drop like a bomb. 

Your eyes bulge almost immediately. “What? Kim Donghyun,” you gasp. “What are you thinking? Where do we get the money?”

Donghyun continues, his eyes to the screen. “I’m thinking of selling this apartment,” he says with a serious expression, telling you that he’s not joking at all. 

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest. You gasp, hitting his arm. “Kim Donghyun! What the hell—what were you thinking? Why?”

Donghyun purses his lips. “I… think it’s for the best. You need fresh air—you need something way better than,” he gestures with his hands, “all this city garbage. It’s quiet there, and I think we’ll both like it.”

You’re too shocked to reply. You adjust your position to be sitting properly, locking eyes with your fiancé. He looks at you, his gaze strong and unwavering, and that is enough for you to know that he’s already made up his mind. He’s not playing around. 

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “Is it okay, though? You work here, and Boseong-gun is almost four hours away.”

“I have my resignation letter ready to be sent in,” Donghyun replies like it’s the easiest thing in the world for him. 

You look away, not knowing what to say. His suggestion hangs in the air, and you’re swamped in confusion and disbelief. It seems too sudden and out of place—like a happy ending Donghyun is trying to harshly paint over your doomed future. 

The silence between you and Donghyun stretches long and thick as you process the weight of the words he just uttered. 

Four hours. 

Four hours away from everything you’ve known—the life you’ve built together with Donghyun, for so many years, in the city.

You throw your gaze out the window, the colourful glistening of the city lights suddenly seeming so wistful. The sweeping view of the city skyline reminds you of the dreams you’ve conceived together, the shared moments of heartfelt laughter and quiet mornings—it was once a symbol of your guaranteed future, happy and secure with Donghyun, of success, ambition and togetherness. 

The thought of suddenly leaving all this behind makes your stomach turn. 

You turn back to him, and the look on his face is hopeful, almost eager. You feel like moving to the countryside is like an escape—a way to try and shield yourself from your illness and the misfortune that comes with it. You hope you could run away from it, you wish you could outrun it—but the entire idea feels like a paradox that’s laughing at your face: a desperate, unwise attempt to outrun your cruel fate. 

Life in the countryside sounds ideally peaceful, but would you even find peace there?

You widen your eyes, realising. 

You wait for him to say something following that, but he stays silent, waiting for your reply. 

Does he know?

The words hang in the air, slowly settling down between the two of you. 

You bite the bottom of your lips to hide the slight tremble in them. 

You want to fight back. Want to push him away again, knowing that he’s undeserving of such short-lived happiness just to be with you. 

But you’re exhausted, and you know Donghyun won’t take no for an answer, no matter how gentle he’d be with it.

“Okay,” you nod, and the look of silent gratitude on Donghyun’s face tells you the truth. 

He probably knows. 

EVERYTHING felt like a blur, and it’s comfortingly quick. Donghyun made sure to arrange everything well, and fortunately, nothing went wrong. The two of you had around two weeks to pack all of your things, say goodbye to family and friends, and send in your resignation letters to your respective workplaces. On the last day the two of you were in Seoul, Donghyun had brought you around to all your favourite places in the city—the cat cafe you frequented whenever you had the chance, the Seoul Forest, the river, and parks that you and Donghyun often went on picnics at. 

You laughed a lot—reminiscing on the memories made at each place. You’re with Donghyun now, just like you were in the memories you cherish, but the two of you have grown along with your feelings. Your love for each other has grown bigger and bigger each day, and you’d do anything for Donghyun. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see the cherry blossoms,” Donghyun says, his voice soft. You buckle your seatbelt, perking an eyebrow at him. 

“What are you talking about?”

Donghyun starts the car, sighing. “You love seeing the cherry blossoms at Seokchon Lake,” he says. “But you won’t be able to see them this year…”

The reality that you’re moving away from the city you’ve known as your home for the longest time hits you. The reality that you’re never coming back in the future hits you, too. 

Nevertheless, you smile. 

“It’s okay,” you reply, surprised by your own positivity. “Maybe we’ll get to see the ones at our new place? They must be beautiful.”

Donghyun kisses your temples, smiling softly. 

“Let’s go?”

You look at him for a while before nodding, feeling a rush of goosebumps as you’re turning to a new leaf in your life. 

The days at your new house, overlooking a beautiful meadow of green tea fields and an orchard, are more delightful than you thought it’d be. You spent your first few days decorating your newly bought house. Despite feeling a little out of place, the change of scenery and air makes you feel weirdly healthier and happier. 

You decide that you’re going to be painting the house to your liking. You brought up the idea to Donghyun two days ago, and he had happily agreed—bringing you to the town’s paintshop to hunt for some paint that you’d like. 

Today, you decide that you’re going to be painting your shared bedroom walls with a personal touch—a baby blue base shade filled with little paintings of stars, flowers, and significant objects from memories you shared with Donghyun, capturing details in cute colours. 

Donghyun helps you with everything and anything that he can help with. After bringing up the set of paintbrushes you ask for, he quietly reaches for a paint brush for himself and starts painting, even though it’s quite evident that he’s not too good at it. 

Being the ever silent observer, Donghyun didn’t tell you that he was going to help painting, and you too don’t notice him until you turn around and see him painting what you think might be a gummy bear. Though, you’re not too sure if it’s a gummy bear or a group of red blobs that kind of look like mushy tomatoes. 

“Donghyun,” you say, already snorting. “What’s that supposed to be, sweetheart?”

He turns, seriously explaining his work of art to you. “It’s a gummy bear! Remember the first time we sat together at lunch, during our sophomore year of high school? You looked like you were about to cry from that Biology test, so I gave you one–” he pauses, narrowing his eyes as laughter begins to crack your demeanor. “Why are you laughing?”

“It looks like tomatoes,” you giggle, and Donghyun’s eyes widen. 

“It’s not!” he huffs. “It’s clearly a gummy bear, Y/N–look, here’s the ears.”

You just can’t stop giggling—he’s too cute and his ‘paintings’ are too hilarious for you to hold yourself back, despite the stinging pain in your lungs. 

Swiftly, Donghyun dabs a streak of baby blue paint across your nose. 

“What the–hey!”

“Oops.”

You look around, immediately retaliating by smearing a yellow streak of paint across his cheek, and soon, the two of you are deep in laughter, tickling and smearing paint on each other, covered in messy colours. 

For a moment, you’re not thinking of the looming future.

For a moment, you’re laughing to your heart’s content, happy in Donghyun’s presence. 

ONE night, Donghyun suddenly suggests that the two of you should have supper on the rooftop while watching the stars. Winter is about to reach its peak, and you know how cold it’d be—but you know you can’t resist spending time with your beloved fiancé. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says to you after handing you a basket filled with midnight snacks, running back into the house. 

Donghyun then reappears, carrying a few thick blankets and pillows. After setting everything up, he pulls you into his arms, and you’re immediately bundled up in the warmth of your coat, the blankets, and your fiancé’s embrace. 

He wraps you in his arms as the two of you lie together underneath the breathtaking night sky.

“It’s really pretty here!” you say, smiling excitedly. “You can see the stars even more clearly compared to the city.”

“Yeah,” Donghyun nods, his breath tickling warmly against your skin. 

You smile fondly, your heart blossoming with the most pleasant feelings as you gaze at the vast sky, a canvas filled with shimmering stars, each with their own story. And the two of you are sharing a moment, quiet with no rush—just the two of you, enjoying snacks and each other’s presence. 

The quiet hum of the world fades around the two of you, and it’s just you and Donghyun and the occasional crunch of a snack.

Your eyes lay upon the sparkling constellations, quietly recalling some of their names that you still remembered from high school.

“Remember when we used to talk about space?” you murmur, shifting to make yourself more comfortable in Donghyun’s arms. 

“Is this when we were both obsessed with stars, back when we learnt about them in high school?” Donghyun chuckles. 

You nod. 

“You really wanted to become an astronaut, to see the stars more clearly,” he recalls. 

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly feeling a little sad. “Guess that didn’t work out.”

“Hey, you can still go,” Donghyun kisses the top of your head. He points to the sky. “Just not in the way you imagined.”

You nudge him. “That’s depressing.”

“What? We’ll all die one day—”

You smack his chest. “Shut up, Donghyun.”

He chuckles, and then, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, going back to watching the stars twinkle. 

“You know… I think I’m okay with all this,” you whisper, grabbing his hand. Donghyun interlaces your fingers together, his thumb caressing the back of your hand gently. “If the rest of my life is spent like this… with you.”

Donghyun squeezes your hand. “Me too, angel.”

YOU’RE sitting in the living room, sipping on hot chocolate by the window. You gulp, feeling odd. You’re sick, you know that, but it feels weird to feel your body getting progressively weaker and weaker with every passing day. After swallowing all the needed medication, you felt too tired to be doing anything around the house. You asked Donghyun for a hot chocolate, feeling a little weird as a simple task like making yourself a hot chocolate feels so draining now. And then, here you are, watching the snow fall onto earth outside your window. 

Suddenly, you feel like playing in the snow. The cold snow stinging against your skin, making your ears and nose red feels strangely comforting. You take a final sip of your drink before walking towards the coat rack, sliding your arms into a thick winter coat. Albeit slow, you still push yourself to make your way to the coat rack, even though you’re moving more slowly than you used to.

Donghyun, who is in the kitchen trying to figure out how to cook chicken soup, sees you wearing your winter boots. His eyes widen, and he leaves his station, immediately rushing to you. 

“Where are you going, love?” he asks, hands gently holding your arms. 

You bring your hair out of your coat. “Outside?” 

“You’ll get sick,” he says, pouting. 

You give him a mischievous smile, already reaching for the door. “Too late for that.”

Donghyun lets go of you, though he’s walking behind you, following your steps. He watches as you amble out to the front lawn of your house, looking so in awe of the snow. You unknowingly smile, loving the feeling of snowflakes decorating your hair. You slowly crouch down, and as your hands touch the fresh snow, you feel like you’re not doomed to death in the near future. It’s like a refreshing break, and you don’t have to think about your future. 

It’s just you, Donghyun, and the things you love. 

Busy rolling mini snowballs to make miniature snowmen, you feel a scarf wrapped around your neck. You look up, and see Donghyun softly smiling at you, snowflakes adoring his dark brown hair. He hands you a pair of knitted gloves. 

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks.

You glance at your fingers, numbly red. “Kind of. But this feels good.”

Donghyun shakes his head, the smile on his face betraying his disapproval. He grabs your hand and gently puts the gloves on. “There, much better.”

You laugh at the way he’s so stubborn sometimes, and it’s the happiest sound Donghyun has ever heard. His eyes widen slightly, and his throat suddenly feels dry.

He crouches next to you, pulling you close to him. He turns to the army of mini snowmen you made, chuckling. “They are so cute.”

You simply giggle, already making another one. Donghyun turns his head to look at you, the snowflakes falling gently around you, each one landing on your hair, your lashes dusted with white. As he’s watching you hum happily to yourself, shaping the snow in your hands, he’s completely captivated by the way snow settles around you. The wind has a gentle bite to it, making your nose red against the cold. But you seem unfazed, eyes sparkling as you place another ball of snow on the snowman’s body. 

Donghyun smiles. 

You’re so beautiful, even when the world is blanketed in white, even when it’s so freezing cold outside.��

I’m the luckiest person in the world. 

YOU grunt, hating how getting out of bed feels so hard to do now. You’ve slept for almost twelve hours, but you can’t seem to get enough rest. Your breaths are evidently more shallow and laboured now, but you try your best everyday—pulling yourself out of bed to see Donghyun. 

God knows when it’ll be the last time you see him. 

It’s already noon, and you’re walking downstairs, in Donghyun’s hoodie, groggy and ridiculously out of energy. You find Donghyun in the kitchen, looking somehow stressed that half his pancakes are burnt. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” you say, throwing your arms around Donghyun’s waist, burying your face into his back. 

You feel his tense posture relax slightly. “Good morning, love. Are you hungry?”

“A bit..” you answer. “But I don’t feel like eating.”

“You should eat,” Donghyun says, turning around as he swiftly presses a kiss to your forehead. “Do you want pancakes?”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating. Your appetite has decreased significantly, and heartbreakingly, you don’t find yourself enjoying the foods you used to love as much anymore. 

You shake your head. You don’t think you can swallow pancakes down anymore. 

Donghyun tilts his head. He hums. “Do you wanna cook something together? Maybe mac-and-cheese?”

You nod. 

“That sounds good,” you say, albeit feeling like your appetite might decline like all the other meals that you’ve tried before. 

The two of you then begin to cook—Donghyun insists on being the one mostly doing all the technical stuff, letting you instruct him around. He’s not too great with the kitchen, and with the better cook in your relationship supervising, disaster still strikes. 

“Did you just put the sugar instead of salt?” you ask, horrified. 

Donghyun gasps, stammering. “Oh my god. I did.”

He stares, not blinking, at the mac-and-cheese simmering on the stove, its taste completely ruined. You stare at him. Then the two of you burst into laughter. 

“I think we should stick to you being the chef,” Donghyun says, wiping his eyes.

“Agreed,” you laugh. 

The two of you end up redoing the entire recipe again, this time with more care which causes you to eat lunch in the late afternoon, but neither of you mind. 

YOU find yourself slowly stepping down the stairs, loving the smell of coffee going around, accompanied by the chirp of birds outside. You make your way into the kitchen, trying you best to steady your breath. You watch as Donghyun hums softly as he puts together a bowl of greek yogurt and berries, completely at ease. 

You take a mental picture—this moment, this warmth, this love.  

“Good morning, my love,” Donghyun smiles at you when he finally notices you staring at him from the dining table. “What’s up?”

You shake your head with a smile. “Nothing. Just… I love you, Donghyun. I… thank you for everything.”

Donghyun walks over to you and sets down the mugs of coffee he’s holding, pressing a kiss to your nose. “I love you too, angel, so much.”

And for a little while, everything feels normal.

BUT it’s not. Nothing is normal. 

Donghyun noticed everything. The way your laughter lingers around for much longer each time it escapes you. The way you’re speaking less, like it costs you so much pain to be voicing your thoughts out. The way your every movement is much slower, more deliberate, and he can clearly see the toll that each action is taking on you. The way that your face gets paler every passing day, the way that your eyes are sometimes empty and distant, reflecting the battle you’re going through inside. The way that there’s an almost palpable sadness in your gaze—no matter how hard you try to mask it—as if you’re mourning everything that’s being taken away from you, but you’re trying to still hold to whatever’s left of your energy to make the best of things and people you love, for a final conversation, a last connection.

At first, Donghyun tries his best to convince himself that it’s nothing. That you’re going to heal. That you’re going to make it, that you’re going to grow old with him.

But deep down, he knows.

He notices the way your voice, once steady and confident, now weakens. He knows that, in every moment you’re awake and aware, you might be sharing a few words and smiles, but it’s evident that you’re slipping away, little by little. 

The space around you becomes quieter without your giggles, you’re less active and you get more tired easily, resting longer than usual. 

Donghyun is in agony, but he knows whatever pain he’s feeling is so small compared to yours. It’s a painful, gradual process that he knows will leave him feeling helpless, watching someone he so deeply cares about wither in ways he can’t control.

After a day of gardening and giggling together in your orchard, Donghyun notices you faltering more rapidly than normal. The two of you are eating dinner together, when suddenly, your breath hitches sharply. You cough—once, twice. Then, it doesn’t stop. 

Donghyun immediately gets off his chair and rushes to your side, rubbing comforting circles on your back. But then, he sees it. Blood. On your lips. On your sleeve.

Your smile disappears. 

“Y/N–” Donghyun tries to say, but his voice comes out in a whisper, cracked and vulnerable. 

“I’m fine,” you say too quickly, wiping at your mouth like it’s nothing. Like you’re not falling apart right in front of him, right in his arms. 

But Donghyun catches the immediate fear in your eyes. 

The next day, it happens again. After an evening of cosy stargazing and laying in each other’s embrace, you get up too quickly, and the next thing Donghyun knows—you’re on the ground. 

For a second, Donghyun freezes. 

“Y/N?”

You blink up at him, dazed. Then, you offer him a weak laugh. “I’m okay, I’m fine. Just… got dizzy.”

But when he helps you up, he can’t help but notice how your weight is heavier than before. And he feels it—just how fragile you’ve become. 

He grips you tighter as he leads you to the bedroom. 

Later that night, Donghyun can’t fall asleep. Instead, he quietly sits down, his hand still intertwined with yours. He watches you sleep, the reality of your future sinking harshly into him. 

The warmth of the happy memories he’s made with you, from the first time he knew you, still lingers, but there’s something else now—a quiet, suffocating dread. 

You’re slipping away. 

And no matter how many memories he’s going to make with you, it won’t change the inevitable. It won’t change anything. 

For the first time since this started—Donghyun feels something rise up his throat. Anger. 

At fate, at the universe. At you, for thinking that you could hide this from him. 

He clenches his jaw, tears threatening to fall. 

How could he ever let you go?

DAY 62.

The next morning, when the sun is just about to peek from the horizon, Donghyun is woken up by the sound of you gasping in pain. He immediately is awake, shocked to find you coughing out blood and panting for breath. 

He jumps off the bed, frantically trying to switch on the bedside lamp to see you better. You’re gasping for breath, each inhale weaker than the last. Donghyun kneels beside the bed, his trembling hands gripping yours tightly. 

“S-stay with me,” he pleads, his voice shaking. “Just a little longer.”

Your lips tremble into a small smile. You shake your head slowly. “I’m… sorry… sweetheart.”

“No, you can. You always could,” his hands tighten around yours, as if he’s trying to physically hold your soul down. As if he can physically keep you here by sheer will alone. “Just hold on, Y/N. Please. I’ll-I’ll go get your medicine, I’ll get the doctor—just stay. Hold on for me.”

You reach up, brushing your trembling fingers against his cheek. “Donghyun…” 

He leans into your touch, his eyes burning with unshed tears. 

“I—” you swallow painfully. It’s time to admit it all. “I thought… I could make you hate me. I tried.”

His lips part, a dry, humourless laugh escaping. “I know.”

“I didn’t want you to suffer.”

“I don’t care,” he whispers fiercely as tears begin to force their way down his cheeks. “I love you. And I will always choose you, over and over again.”

Your eyes begin to glisten, and your hand falls back to your side. “You’re always stubborn.”

“And you were always reckless,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. 

You exhale softly, letting your body relax into the pillow. “Donghyun?”

“Yeah?” his voice cracks, his face wet with tears. 

“Don’t… forget me.”

A choked sob escapes Donghyun and he presses his forehead against yours. Salty tears fall from his eyes, dripping onto your face.  “Never, angel, never.”

“I love you, Donghyun,” you whisper with all your might.

“I love you too, my love,” Donghyun whispers back, pressing a very soft kiss onto your nose. 

You smile, letting out one last, slow breath.

And then, silence. 

Donghyun stays there, holding onto you as if letting go would mean accepting the truth.

A few days after your funeral, Donghyun forces himself to get out of bed. You wouldn’t want him to live on with such sadness, he knew. He began distracting himself by doing everything he could, cleaning up the house while trying to preserve anything and everything that you left behind. 

He leaves the couch you loved to lounge on as it is; the mugs and extra pair of utensils you used kept neatly in the pantry; your clothes aptly folded away in your part of the closet. He made sure to keep all of your pictures framed and hung on any empty space the walls held. He made sure your favourite flowers are always in abundance, both in the house’s vases and the garden. 

In the drawer of your vanity, Donghyun finds a letter—one that you wrote with him during your ‘letter to future self’ session, a few weeks back. 

He slowly sits down on the edge of the bed, hands trembling as he unfolds the letter open. 

“Dear Donghyun, my love, my one and only, my fiancé.

If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. And if you’re crying, I swear I’ll haunt you (lovingly, of course).

I don’t want you to be sad forever. I don’t want you to stop smiling. You have such a beautiful smile, and it would be a waste if the world never saw it again.

Live, Donghyun. Live enough for the both of us. 

You’re strong, sweetheart. Keep on living, keep on smiling. Be happy, dear. 

And if you ever miss me too much… just look up. I’ll be there. I’ll be the star that shines the most for you.”

A wretched sob escapes his chest, and Donghyun begins to cry. 

He misses you. Too much. 

Tears begin to flood his vision as he holds the letter to his chest. 

DAY 3715. 

It’s been 10 years. 

And you’re still here—fresh in Donghyun’s mind. 

The evening air is crisp as Donghyun makes his way up the familiar hill. The grass beneath his feet sways gently, kissed by the soft autumn breeze. In his hands, he carries a small bouquet of white lilies and baby breaths—your favourite flowers. 

He kneels by the gravestone, running his fingers over the engraved letters of your name. 

“Hey, Y/N,” his voice is soft, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid to disturb the peaceful silence around you. “I’m here, angel.”

He places the flowers down carefully and settles himself next to you, stretching his legs out. Before him, the sun begins to dip below the horizon, leaving behind a painting that covers the sky in hues of gold, pink and violet. 

“The sunset is beautiful, my love, just like you,” he murmurs.

The wind answers in a gentle hush. 

Donghyun puts his head down to let out a quiet chuckle. “It’s been ten years, and I still find myself talking to you like this. You’d probably laugh at me, huh?”

Donghyun crosses his arms, leaning to your gravestone, gazing at the sky. It was the kind of sunset that you loved the most—one where the colours blended seamlessly into each other, radiating a soft and comforting energy, gently like a touch of a lover’s embrace. 

“I hope the sunset is just as beautiful where you are.”

The breeze picks up, rustling through the golden trees, carrying with it the scent of browning autumn leaves. A single petal from the bouquet of lilies lifts into the air, swirling before settling gently on the ground in front of Donghyun. 

Donghyun exhales shakily. He lowers his head, his fingers caressing the cool stone. 

“I hope I meet you again soon, angel,” he whispers. 

The world around him feels still. And for a moment—delicate and fleeting—it almost feels as if someone was there, standing beside him, fingers against his own. 

Then, the wind sighs, and the feeling disappears with the sun. 

THE countryside house, cosy and just enough, was just as it had been when you first moved in with Donghyun. The wooden walls hold stories in their creaks, and the windows frame the endless beautiful sky, one that you loved so much no matter what the occasion was. Donghyun stands in the garden, tending to the garden filled with your favourite flowers. They had grown very well over the years, thriving in the soil that you had once tended with Donghyun. 

He straightens his posture, brushing the dirt from his hands. Lifting his head, he watches the sky shift from afternoon blue to the warm, comforting glow of evening.

“The sunset is beautiful again today,” he says, as if you’re still there, standing next to him. 

The wind begins to stir, carrying the scent of flowers through the air. Donghyun closes his eyes, feeling it wrap around him.

And for the first time in a very long time, he smiles. 

“I’ll see you again, Y/N.”

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

[fragmentedblade]

Boothill's presentation being entirely on the twitter post makes me think he will be irrelevant in the story in the long(ish) run, and that the game itself won't dwell on him almost at all

[smthliminal]

So, she wasn't a lawyer yet had lots of experience with contracts. That only intrigued him further. Isaiah knew well enough that it wasn't likely he'd guess her profession so he didn't want to waste time attempts. "Fair enough," he smiled, eyes inquisitive, "what is it you do then? My brain is working on the not law yet seen plenty of contracts. You don't strike me as someone in sales —" And he couldn't even say why that was. Sales people just had a little something different about them.

While Zey wouldn't disagree that someone didn't already have their phone out to document the scene he didn't want to end up as background to someone's video. He too began to look around for a camera and his green eyes shot in the direction she pointed out and sure enough there they were. "Ah man, I'm actually a little disappointed if this was all just an act to get some views. You know?" It wasn't that he genuinely wanted people in strife, Zey was just tired of everything being for likes and followers. Still, he had humor of the situation and smirked at the woman he found himself in audience with. "Should we ask for their handle so we can check if it's posted? Maybe they can tag us." He didn't have TikTok. "I'm curious as to what everyone thinks happened," Isaiah mused.

Even if he felt a little too invested in what her answer might be Zey leaned in a little closer to gather her idea and nodded, he'd been thinking the same thing. The woman surprised him with her share, though. It was always a bit of a nice thing when you were on the receiving end of something personal from someone else. Everyone was looking for connection, right? "Damn, how'd he react then? What'd he do?" It was shameful that women had to go to such lengths for safety. That they worried too much about reaction to do such a thing privately. "And you filmed it on top of being in public? Sounds like you found out he was a narcissist or something to that effect." When she turned the question on him, Zey looked back to the arguing couple and then slight shrugged when his eyes met hers again. "I was thinking the same. Maybe it popped off because he got a text and she asked about it. You know?"

Zuri smirked, her arms crossed, her just hovering casually at all the action. "Lawyer? Nah, not in the least." She paused a beat on the word, poking her temple with a pointer finger. "But I have read enough contracts to know when one is about to get screwed." Guarantees, disclaimers, and the fine print and what not.

She turned her face back to the argument, as unobtrusively as she could. "Someone is definitely recording this," I bet there is already a TikTok live stream underway," she joked. Her eyes wandered around the crowd, and found the familiar spark of a phone held against the light. "See? The internet is about to have a field day with this one."

And her voice lowered a bit into something more conspiratorial and just enough of a lean to be interesting.

"As for what started it? It could be anything...If I were to guess I'd say public breakup gone wrong. I can speak on this because I once broke up with a guy in public thinking he was more likely to walk away quietly than make a public spectacle. I was wrong," she said, sharing way too much. "So what's your guess?" She asked, looking back at the male as she raised an eyebrow.

[mel-loly]

-Plush of Mario✨

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

The hsmtmts cast already filmed some press are outlets allowed to release interviews that took place before the strike?

I'm not totally sure. I assume they would? But I also wasn't sure if they had filmed much. I assumed they'd filmed some but we don't know how many, or if they will be released :/.

Like I'm assuming the outlets would want to and the producers and such would want to promote it still? But maybe they won't want to for some reason.

So yeah, frankly I have no clue. I just hope we do get some stuff because a) I love them (the cast and the interviews/promo), but also b) I think since it's the finale season there would be cool questions about growth, like their characters' stories and such, which would be really interesting to see. The cast deserves to show that off, too :)

Like I said though, I have no idea

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also more odds & ends orville info & more not Not orville/phil info as well:

"In Steinkellner’s version of Summer Stock, Jane Falbury (Danielle Wade) and “Pop,” her father (Stephen Lee Anderson), are struggling to hang on to the family farm. Their farm is one of the few in the Connecticut River Valley that hasn’t been absorbed by the Wingates, whose holdings completely surround theirs.

The widow Margaret Wingate (Veanne Cox), whom son Orville (Will Roland) aptly describes as having eyes “as cold as death itself,” plans to absorb the Falbury farm by the simple expedient of having Orville marry Jane. After all the two kids had decided they were engaged in first grade!

Enter the prodigal younger sister Gloria (Arianna Rosario) who has been seduced by the lure of the Great White Way. She returns to the farm bringing along Joe Ross (Corbin Bleu in the Gene Kelly role), the director of the show that will make her a star, its composer Phil Filmore (Gilbert L. Bailey II), and the entire company. She has generously offered the company, which can’t afford rehearsal space in New York, the use of the family farm’s barn. Sister Jane reluctantly agrees to the intrusion with the proviso that the thespians will double as farm hands.

As rehearsals progress, Phil discovers that Orville, a bit of a doormat who has been raised with the understanding that he will never have to work, is a musical wunderkind. He is enlisted to work his magic on the show’s score and begins to blossom.

Widow Wingate takes umbrage with all this and vows to shut the enterprise down. Fortunately, the cold embers in her soul are stirred to renewed life by her encounter with Montgomery Leach (J. Anthony Crane), the has-been ham enlisted to give Ross’s show some cachet, so all might not be lost.

[...]

They make this Summer Stock a veritable feast of nostalgia. I was especially taken by the amusing way Steinkellner used Jackie Gleason’s theme song “Always” to further widow Wingate’s plot to get Jane and Orville hitched.

[...]

Orville, who has found personal liberation in show biz, is accorded a moment that reminded me of a similar scene in the musical version of The Producers. In a triumphant declaration of his emergence from under his mother’s thumb he exults, “I’m in the theatre! And I love it!” The audience loved it, too.

[...]

As director, Feore has elicited some wonderful performances, especially from subsidiary characters. Veanne Cox is splendid as Margaret Wingate as is J. Anthony Crane as Montgomery Leach, the faded matinee idol. Will Roland (Orville) and Gilbert L. Bailey II (Phil) both have wonderful moments and their intense professional friendship is one of the show’s highlights."

INTENSE PROFESSIONAL FRIENDSHIP you say....and also ofc everything about orville and wanting to be a musician and being in the theatre and he loves it sounds so good. i love it

[masqueradewaltz]

i feel like atsv was pandering to the marvel fans a little. itsv remains superior.

[robotpussy]

my uni has finally given those who want to pitch to be production designers a script to work with and its so boring 😭😭 so i have to be over the top in my presentation to get this role

[mihai-florescu]

How many weeks into a job would it be appropriate to start wearing my wataei itabag to the office?