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notjustjavierpena · 2 days ago

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Parents

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Merry belated Christmas from me! I know this is my second Christmas fic this time around but I finally got the courage to write about Wife’s awful parents.

Summary: Javier puts his foot down during Christmas with your toxic family.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Toxic family dynamics, psychological abuse, childhood trauma, Christmas, conflict and confrontation, sobbing, declarations of love, hurt/comfort, body/fat shaming

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61942318

Parents

You get a call from your parents’ home number a few weeks before Christmas. Your mother and father haven't actually bothered seeing you since your wedding day last year but Lucas is four months old now and there’s suddenly a strange interest from them in being grandparents to your firstborn. Somehow, they talk you into spending Christmas with them and reassure you that they’ll take care of everything as long as you bring their grandson. The whole idea causes a ball of anxiety to settle in your stomach, almost imitating getting hit right in the solar plexus with how much your breath struggles to even out as you tell Javier about it. Your husband agrees reluctantly but not without raising a concerned brow, asking you several times - and with days between each time - if you are absolutely sure.

He even asks you now as he parks the car in your parents’ driveway, looking at you with a serious expression, brows furrowed while you sit stiffly in the passenger seat. You glance towards the front door, trying to act casual as if you’re staring at a wild animal who might pounce if it notices your anxiety. It is an odd feeling you get, staring at your childhood home but feeling more as if it is the scene of a crime. This house is not a memory of warm and fuzzy feelings but rather a place of constant criticism and unjust pain.

Javier says your name softly beside you. On the backseat, Lucas hiccups.

“Do I look okay?” You quickly ask instead of acknowledging the tone of his voice, fixing your hair without changing anything.

“Yeah,” he answers and tries not to comment on your nerves, “You look beautiful, mi amor (my love).”

The call from two weeks ago had your shoulders tensing up before you even answered the phone but the way they had reasoned you into revisiting the place of your hardest years has made your shoulders not come down again.

You sigh gently and unbuckle your seatbelt, “Okay. I can do this for just an afternoon. Let’s get this over with.”

You climb out of the car, Javier following you after carefully unbuckling Lucas and cradling him in one arm while balancing the diaper bag on the other shoulder. You leave his car seat, knowing how much easier it would have been to transport your son inside in it but Lucas has been fussy all night. You really wish he hadn’t because you don’t want to go inside with only half the energy that a good night’s sleep could have provided.

As you ring the doorbell, you take a look at Javier one last time, “Please don’t interfere. I don’t want to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Baby, are you sure that—“

“Oh, there you are!” Your mother exclaims when she opens the door with a syrupy smile, “We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“Sorry. Life with a baby and all,” you shake your head with an embarrassed chuckle and try to ignore the tension in your muscles, shrugging your coat off your shoulders to reveal your wine-red button-up and dark skirt.

“Honey, I thought you knew we always dress up a little during the Holidays,” your mother says while glancing at your outfit with veiled disdain, “Where’s that nice blue dress? With the ribbons?”

“This is all that fits me right now, that isn’t maternity clothes,” you answer apologetically at the first jab of many. Beside you, Javier takes a step closer to you without saying anything.

“Anyway! Where’s the little man?” Your mother chirps, already having moved on and looking to Lucas who has started stirring in Javier’s arms. When she gets closer, about to reach out to run a hand over his little head, Lucas immediately starts whimpering as if he is aware of the unpleasantries that his mother has had to endure at the mercy of this woman. He knows the culprits before they’ve even revealed themselves.

“Oh, he’s a little fussy, isn’t he?” She laughs it off and retreats much to your relief, letting Javier bounce your son to make him settle down again. When he quietens down again, you share a glance with your husband who signals that everything is okay. You take a deep breath and let him handle the situation.

“Where’s Dad?” You ask to turn your attention away from your crying child, smoothing out a nonexistent crease in your skirt.

“I think he’s just about to get the turkey out of the oven,” your mother says, wagging a finger in Lucas’ face with a little smile, “Why don’t you go say hi and I talk to my grandson for a moment? Oh, look at you, Lucas! You’re just perfect, aren’t you?”

You reluctantly leave the three of them to head for the kitchen. You can feel each family photograph staring back at you as you walk through the hallway to your destination; a picture of your five-year-old self on a bike but somehow no picture of your graduation ceremony as if it has been decided where things went wrong before you could acknowledge it yourself.

“Hey Dad, smells so good in here,” the kitchen does indeed smell wonderfully as you walk through the door. Your father looks at you over his shoulder, giving you a little smile and you try not to think about how he didn’t bother to come out to greet you.

“Mom and I were wondering if you were ever coming,” he notes while plating pieces of turkey meat. In the hallway, you can hear Javier striking up polite conversation. He’s handling your mother with his usual calmness, and you feel grateful for his presence yet embarrassed that you aren’t strong enough to handle it yourself.

You shrug a little, Javier’s presence giving you the courage to try and mirror said calmness, “Newborns, you know.”

“He’s four months,” he corrects.

“Right, time flies,” you reply with your confidence fading fast, the words coming out in a way that doesn’t quite carry the quick wit that Javier usually loves about you. You touch your arm, standing awkwardly by the counter, “Still figuring it out as we go.”

Your father doesn’t turn around, “Parenting’s not rocket science, you know. Your mother and I managed just fine without all the made-up nonsense you young people talk about these days.”

You jump a little as your mother puts a hand on your shoulder and says your name to get your attention. You look back at her, “Can you set the table? I put the tablecloth ready on the silverware cabinet.”

“Sure, Mom,” you smile, already heading for the dining room to escape from your father’s subtle judgments. You find Javier has already gone, an irrational thought popping into your head of how he has bolted and left you to deal with your mom and dad by yourself.

You glance into the kitchen as you start placing the plates in each of their respective places, “Where’s Javier?”

“He went to get the presents from the car,” your mother replies from the kitchen. You hear her take out a serving bowl from a cabinet.

“Oh, I should go help him wi—“

“He’s your husband, sweetie. Let him handle it. There’s no need to emasculate him like that,” she is suddenly in the doorway, staring you down in a way that makes your hands shake. Her gaze drops to the table and her brows furrow, “You’re using the wrong plates!”

You look up with a racing heartbeat, “What?”

She sighs your name audibly, “These aren’t the Christmas plates. We don’t use regular plates for special occasions. Honestly, I thought you’d know better.”

The words sting and you set down the plates you have been holding in case the littlest twitch will make you drop it onto the floor, “Sorry, Mom.”

“Ah well, now you’ll never forget it,” she jokes without humor in her voice as she opens the door to the china cabinet, pulling out the plates adorned with what you recognize to be hand-painted holly. You shamefully realize you know them from childhood Christmases and that they are exactly where they’ve always been.

Automatically, you gather the wrong plates to make room for the right ones. It’s Christmas, you remind yourself as you do it. It is one day. You can survive one day.

“See? Isn’t this much better?” She says cheerfully when your mistake has been corrected and while you nod, Javier reenters the house.

He joins the two of you, carrying a large gift bag in one hand and holding Lucas on the other arm. You immediately go to take him, doing a careful transfer until you can lay his tiny body against your shoulder while supporting his bottom.

“¿Todo bien? (Everything okay?)” Javier asks quietly when you follow him into the living room where the tree stands. He sets down the bag and tries to act casual, laying out the gifts and waiting for your honest response in the meantime. Apparently, you haven’t been as successful in hiding the distress on your face as you thought you had.

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and Lucas starts whining again. You bounce him gently, “It’s nothing. Just… Christmas stuff.”

Javier glances toward the hallway to the kitchen where your parents’ voices can be heard faintly over the sounds of cooking. His jaw tightens slightly and his mouth becomes a thin line.

“Don’t,” you say as firmly as you can muster because you wish he would, “It’ll only make it worse.”

“Dame un beso (give me a kiss),” he says instead, and you shyly lean in to peck him on the lips. Afterward, he pulls back but only after stroking Lucas’ back, “You’re both doing great, okay? Don’t let them get in your head.”

You are interrupted by your mother’s voice ringing out from the dining room, telling you that dinner is ready. Javier kisses you one last time before reassuring you that everything will be okay and that he is in your corner. You try to smile, tense as you take a seat with Lucas still in your arms.

The Christmas meal begins with polite conversation, your father asking Javier about work and your mother telling you about neighbors that you haven’t spoken to in years. You mostly just speak when spoken to, having decided to focus on your baby as he keeps wriggling in your arms in discomfort. You try to rub his belly, try to make him settle by giving him your attention but still, his tiny face crumbles and he lets out a string of small complaints.

“Maybe we could open presents while he naps?” You suggest hesitantly when your mother has given you enough judgemental advice, “He’s been so fussy all night, and I don’t want him to get more overwhelmed than he—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” your mother says your name with a sigh. You hear Javier’s chair scrape against the floor, almost as if he is about to get up and get ready for a physical altercation.

“Let’s do whatever is easiest for the baby,” your father interrupts, placing a hand on your mother’s wrist. Her annoyance shines through her eyes but she nods with a smile nonetheless.

“Of course,” you hear her grit out, “It’s just… We’d love to spend time with him. We’ve already missed so much, and Luke needs his grandparents.”

“We’ll see,” Javier answers for you.

The dinner continues in mostly silence with turkey being substituted by pie, cutlery clinking against plates, and glasses being lifted and set down again. There’s tension so thick that it can be cut with a knife, your mother glancing at Lucas with a smile before it disappears from her face when she shifts her gaze to your direction.

Mercilessly, she finally speaks, “So, honey, have you thought about when you’ll start losing the baby weight?”

“Mom!” You exclaim in shock, surprised that sound comes out when your throat feels like it is about to close up completely.

In the same manner as one would spit out a drink in shock, Javier’s fork scrapes unpleasantly against his plate, and suddenly, your mother’s name falls from his lips like the sound itself leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. She looks startled by the interruption, almost like a deer in the headlights of a car, but it doesn’t faze your husband, “My wife looks beautiful and she has just given me - us - the greatest gift which is our son. Let’s not diminish that, shall we?”

You try to feel the weight of Lucas against your chest instead of how you don’t feel safe within this house, with its bruises on the walls and its ghosts of a youth spent walking on eggshells. Lucas’ body is warm, a reminder that this doesn’t matter. He matters.

“I’m focused on taking care of my son right now, Mom,” you reply coolly with your lips resting on the soft hairs on Lucas’ head.

“Right, of course. I didn’t mean anything by it,” your mother argues, clearly flustered, “You know how important it is to stay healthy for the baby.”

“Your mother just wants what’s best for you, honey,” your father intervenes, trying to steer the conversation onto friendlier and safer topics but she has already gotten up from her seat.

“Why don’t I clear the table so we can move into the living room and open presents?” She mumbles, putting on a show by letting her voice waver. She has begun stacking plates before anyone can even say anything, practically fleeing the room and leaving you all looking slightly sheepish. Javier hides the roll of his eyes exceptionally well and he smiles when you catch him.

“I’ll put Lucas down for a nap,” you announce to what is left of the party.

Javier gets up alongside you to help you. He walks upstairs right behind you, a calming presence with the diaper bag in hand as you head for the guest room.

When you close the door behind the three of you, the tension seeps out of your body at having a quiet moment with your boys. The lighting in the room is soft and calming, almost making you want to lie down to nap with your son.

“There we go,” you say as you gently place Lucas on the bed while Javier rummages through the bag for his pacifier. Lucas blinks up at you, his tiny fists balled and his chubby legs kicking excitedly. He lets out a happy gurgle.

“Oh, now you’re happy,” you tease softly and kneel by the bed to rub his tummy, “Picky with who we’re smiling at, are we?”

Javier joins you by the bed and offers Lucas his pacifier. Your son stretches his arms and reaches for his father, letting out a high-pitched giggle around the pacifier. However, as he suckles gently, accompanied by your soft touch that has now moved to his chubby cheeks too, his eyelids start to grow heavy.

When his breaths have slowed, you do whatever you can with the pillows to create a safe space for him to sleep. You create a barrier around him, ensuring as well as possible that he won’t roll over.

“You know, you’d think that they would have set up a crib for him if they’re so desperate to see him,” you murmur bitterly as you adjust the last pillow.

“You sure you want to go back down there?” Javier asks carefully.

“Can you grab the baby monitor?” You ignore his question at first but Javier is already handing you the monitor, ruining your attempt at not addressing the situation further. You sigh and get up from the floor, “I can get through it. If it’ll make them stop pestering me for a visit for a while.”

“I swear, one more word out of her mouth and I’ll open my own,” Javier says with anger simmering just beneath the surface. He drags you into his arms when you stand up again, hears your sigh of relief at being squeezed. It calms your nervous system so effectively that you slump.

“Believe me, I feel like I am going insane,” you whisper into his neck and shoulder, grabbing aimlessly at his strong frame and inhaling his scent. He returns the desperate touch by simply rubbing your back in slow circles.

“Yeah, I don’t know how you stay so calm,” he kisses your temple a few times.

“Trust me, humans can endure a lot when they know there’s a time limit,” you chuckle humorlessly and pull away, “Let’s just do the gift exchange and leave.”

Downstairs, your parents are waiting for you by the tree. The collection of presents is sparse this year due to the short notice but you find it relieving to know that the gift exchange will be over quickly.

Placing the baby monitor on the coffee table, you sit down on the sofa but don’t allow yourself to relax into it. Javier drops down beside you but leans back into his seat, his hand resting casually on your thigh to ground you.

“Let’s get to the gifts. It’ll be nice to end this day on a happy note,” your mother says overly cheerfully, pretending to have forgiven and forgotten all about the situation earlier. She reaches for the first gift under the tree while your father stands ready with a bag for the wrapping paper.

“That’s mine,” Javier tells her with a little smirk in your direction. He holds out his hand until she gives it to him, “To my beautiful wife. Merry Christmas, baby.”

“How thoughtful,” your mother mumbles and sits on the edge of her armchair.

“Javi, I thought we weren’t on gifts this year,” you scold playfully but there’s no seriousness to your voice. You finally smile and this time it is genuine, feeling his gaze on you while you impatiently rip the wrapping.

“I know what I said but I know you’ll love it. It’s more for Lucas anyway,” he informs you shyly.

Inside, you find two pairs of identical fuzzy and comfortable socks with a dinosaur print on them. However, one pair fits Lucas’ tiny feet and the other fits yours. Your whole demeanor changes with the sight of your gift, your face lighting up with a bright smile, “These are so cute!”

“For your cold feet. Thought you could use something cozy while you take care of Luke at home,” he moves his hand to rest just above the small of your back, his palm smoothing over you on top of the fabric of your blouse.

Your parents sit idly by. They stare at the gift with confusion and arrogance, clearly holding their tongue over how ridiculous they find it. Your mother picks at her fingers, “Interesting.”

“Interesting? Aren’t they adorable?” You hold the matching socks up happily, not sure what to expect but not even your mother’s judgmental expression can bring you down right now. To really rub it in, you kiss Javier’s mouth gently in front of them, “Gracias, esposo (Thank you, husband).”

But the happiness is short-lived as your father goes to get the next present from the small pile. He searches for a moment amongst the few there are, deliberately seeking out the present that you have brought them, most likely to be able to leave the room soon due to the obvious tension. He has never been one to intervene.

“You shouldn’t have,” your mother tuts with a small smile as she carefully unwraps it in her lap, her fingers doing everything they can to not tear the paper so she can reuse it.

When the framed picture of Lucas is revealed - a photo taken during an afternoon when he was particularly happy and smiling - her smile develops into a slightly wider one even if it looks against her will. She studies the picture with your father looking over her shoulder.

“We thought you’d like something to remember him by,” you encourage her to say something.

Your mother places the photo on the coffee table, her hands smoothing out the wrapping paper while she talks, “It’s lovely, sweetie. Though I’m sure we’d have more memories if we got to see him more often.”

You tense up beside Javier. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him do the same but he squeezes your hip to tell you that he is right there. Anxiously, you curl your fingers into your skirt but your mother isn’t finished.

“I just don’t understand why you’ve been so distant,” she continues, cold in her tone. “You hardly call, which would be fine but you visit even less than that, and now you’re letting Lucas sleep through his first Christmas. It’s not like you’ve gone back to work, so what is it?”

“Mom, please,” you say quietly but it doesn’t veil the wavering of your words, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” She challenges, “Lucas has been fussing all night, hasn’t he? Maybe he’s picking up on your stress.”

You hear Javier say your mother’s name as he had during dinner, low and with warning. At the same moment, the baby monitor crackles with the sound of Lucas’ tiny complaints. The sound pulls you from your seat, your instincts to go to him overriding your desire to defend yourself from further abuse. However, your mother’s voice rings out behind you just as you take your first step.

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, just let him cry a little. You’ll make him clingy if you keep running to him every time he whimpers.”

You stop in your tracks, finally turning around to look her in the eye with your own eyes narrowed. You can see Javier watching you closely while you talk, “Mom, if he cries, he needs me.”

According to you, she has already gone too far but it seems that she cannot stop once she has started, “You know, you really should stop babying him so much. He needs to learn to self-soothe.”

Tears of frustration start to build in your chest and you can feel the muscles of your throat start to tighten as they rise to your eyes, “Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m not going to stop babying my baby.”

Her final blow comes out with a deliberate intention to hurt you, “There you go overthinking again and snapping at your mother. He is whimpering. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how Javier puts up with it. You can be such a bitch when you’re stressed.”

The room falls dead silent and the first tear escapes your eye at the cruel nickname… then a second and then a third until you start to cry silently and hopelessly. You suddenly feel like a teenager again, suffering from forced proximity. Your father opens his mouth but nothing comes out, seemingly not able to figure out how to defend his wife for once. It is the final straw for Javier.

“What did you just say?” He firmly cuts through the silence. He has gotten up from his seat and has stepped in front of you to shield you protectively from your mother’s line of sight. His nostrils flare with anger that might explode into rage at any moment but he keeps his voice steady, “You better not have said what I think you did or I am wondering why you haven’t apologized already.”

Your mother’s eyes widen at the idea of consequences. She splutters, caught off guard, “Apologize? Javier, don’t be ridiculous! I’m her mother—“

Javier laughs dangerously and condescendingly and looks away with a roll of his eyes. He shakes his head, not afraid to let the room know that he thinks she sounds pathetic without even calling her out on it. He crosses his arms over his chest, “You got a hell of a way of showing motherly love then; all you have done is tear her down today.”

“Javier,” your father tries to interject, “Let’s not make this into a scene.”

“No,” Javier turns to him, his jaw muscles flexing slightly underneath his skin with how much anger is flowing through him. The simple word makes your father sit up straighter than before - a testament to Javier’s days in Colombia - but Javier is not done, “You don’t get to lecture me about making a scene. Not after sitting there and letting this happen. She is your daughter.”

When your father has shut his mouth, looking uncomfortable by his defeat while he leans back into his seat with no intention to follow up on his words, Javier’s fury settles on your mother once more, “What’s your goal here, exactly?”

You’re aware that it isn’t just a simple few tears falling from your eyes anymore but rather a silent stream that has your face puffy and sensitive. It is accompanied by grief over your younger self not having had someone like Javier in her corner. You sniffle audibly, feeling as if you have been punched in the gut with how much it hurts and humiliates you to sit idly by. Your mother catches a glimpse of you behind your husband but it doesn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever.

“There’s no secret agenda here, for God’s sake. I didn’t mean anything by it,” she sneers, trying to keep her demeanor straight despite the humiliation of getting called out being evident on her face.

“Yes, you did,” Javier argues immediately and fiercely, pointing his index finger at her in an accusing manner, “You knew exactly what you were saying. You wanted her to hurt. Well congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Unfortunately, your daughter is a lot nicer than me and handled your words with a lot more grace than you deserve. I will not be doing the same thing.”

Your mother’s composure falters. She says your father’s name helplessly but he looks at her with tired eyes, full of quiet disappointment. Even if he is absent and passive like always, his refusal to intervene further is a sign that he would never go as far as his wife has just done. He shakes his head in disapproval, “Why’d you do it? We were having such a nice time too.”

She gapes at your father while his gaze drops to his lap, shrinking herself slightly at the realization that she is outnumbered and has to face your husband alone. Javier takes a step closer, radiating authority when she tries to avoid further confrontation, distaste so clear on his face for how he has lost her attention for a moment. When you let out a quiet sob, too paralyzed in your spot on the couch to go to your whimpering child, his face hardens further and he continues, “Listen to me.”

Your mother looks up reluctantly. She appears to be on the brink of an attempt to turn his words against him and argue right back once more, but Javier cuts her off before she can even start.

“You don’t talk to her like that again. Ever. And you most certainly do not question her ability to be a mother. She is a perfect mother and God knows, she hasn’t gotten it from you. Lucas is a happy, healthy, and thriving baby because of her,” he takes a breath, and for a second, it seems like he might be done but then, “You hurt my girl, you understand that? And if you ever speak to her like that again - actually if you even speak about her like that again - I will personally make sure you don’t get to have Lucas in your life.”

“Are you threatening us?” Her composure slips even more.

“No, ma’am, I am instructing you,” he replies coldly, “If you can’t respect his mother, we’re done here.”

Javier turns to you now, his face softening immediately at the sight of you sitting teary-eyed on the couch with your hands clutching the baby monitor. He says your name so softly, a sound that has always felt like an unfamiliar and unwelcome sound within this house, and gently pulls the piece of technology out of your hands.

“Listen to me, baby. Go wait in the car. I’ll get Lucas and his things,” he instructs you, placing the baby monitor on the coffee table behind him without looking away from you. He helps you to stand when you find yourself nodding.

When you’re up from your seat, he puts a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let you linger in the room.

“You don’t have to leave,” your mother protests with obvious surprise that you and Javier are carrying out the promise of consequences. She begins pushing herself to stand.

“Sit down, I will not let you disturb any of the peace she has left,” he commands harshly when she tries to take a step toward you.

Your mother falters, stunned by his audacity, and sinks back into her seat.

The moment you’re out of the front door, your legs start shaking so badly beneath you that you aren’t sure if you’ll even make it to the car. The walk feels endless, like climbing a mountain, the neighborhood surrounding your childhood home quiet because everyone is inside with the happy family that you never got to have growing up.

Until now. You have it now. However, you have left them to fend for themselves on the battlefield to slide into the front seat of the car. You rub your chest as it feels tight but it soothes nothing and suddenly, the tears come harder than they had in the living room. You rest your head against the glass window, screwing your eyes shut and feeling drips of hot tears on your cheeks.

Memories come flooding and you have no power to stop them, pictures of many nights spent in solitude in your room because it was the only illusion of sanctuary in the house before you. The sound of your mother’s scoffs, her unbearable ability to make you feel small, inadequate, and unwanted. Her year-long cruelty feels like a knife in your chest but your father’s silent complicity twists its blade too, makes you think that you were never worthy of defending.

Yet Javier had done it so effortlessly, had done what you’d wished someone would have done for you in your entire life, and he had done it without any hesitation. You are shattered by another night believing the worst about yourself, yes, but you realize that a part of your sobs comes from relief too. Suddenly, it all feels silly and you don’t know why you have always stopped Javier from speaking up for you since you met because his words - she is a perfect mother - have taken the power out of your mother’s incredibly fast.

You hear the front door open and a shaky sob leaves you at seeing the two of your boys approach the car. Javier has the diaper bag over his shoulder whilst cradling Lucas against his chest, his face serious. He moves in long strides to get to you fast, not saying anything as he buckles Lucas’ sleeping form into his car seat before climbing into his own seat in the front.

You sit up again, eyes still brimming with tears that streak your face. You feel overwhelmed like you have run a marathon or fought a bear or a monster.

Javier puts on his seatbelt but doesn’t put the key in the ignition yet. He looks out of the windshield for a moment, breathes a sigh of relief. The car is quiet except for Lucas’ soft breaths as he sleeps.

Right until Javier says your name when you don’t automatically turn your head to look at him, ashamed of how the day has progressed. It is Christmas, after all, and Lucas’ first one ever too.

“Mírame (Look at me),” he says in a gentle murmur.

You shake your head, unable to answer with how tightly wound you are. You feel his hand under your chin, carefully pulling you by your chin until your eyes meet his. His outline is blurry from all the tears but his voice cuts through the fog in gentle firmness.

“I love you so much, and I love our son, okay?” He says it like it is a promise, “They aren't ever gonna to talk to you like that again because I won't allow them to. Do you understand me?”

You silently look at him through your tears, nodding weakly. He reaches to brush your tears away with a knuckle.

“Everything’s gonna be okay because you don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. You just have to let me take care of you,” he continues and cups your cheek instead, “And right now, I say you’re done with them for tonight. Actually, for as long as you fucking want.”

“I want… I don’t…” You say at first but then, “I’m sorry.”

Javier furrows his brows, “Why are you sorry?”

“Because that’s my mom,” you try to speak around a fresh sob, “And you married me and I trapped you with my fucked up family.”

“Hey, heyheyhey,” he shakes his head, moving his other hand to cup your whole face now. He leans over the console of the car and rests his forehead against yours. When you simply cry harder, he pulls you into a hug, “You didn’t trap me, okay? You didn’t. I’m here because you make me happy. You make me so happy, baby, and Hell knows, I needed a bit of taking care of when you met me. Let me return the favor.”

His body is warm, soothing, and grounding. His embrace squeezes you hard enough to make you calm down, giving you a moment of quiet peace in your mind as you begin to take in his words. You feel the same. You want to say it but you’re afraid that you’ll never stop crying tonight, so instead you find the courage to say those words that you should have told yourself years ago, “I don’t think I want to go back.”

“What do you want to do then?” Javier pulls back to look at you. He moves back into his own seat again and starts the car to give you time to think clearly about his question.

“Can we go to your dad’s?” You ask hesitantly.

Javier’s brows rise slightly but he doesn’t argue, just nods as he puts the car in reverse. Before reversing out of the driveway, he pulls you in to kiss your forehead softly.

“Claro, mi amor (Sure, my love),” he says simply, “He’d love to see us.”

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g4rvez-r3id · 22 hours ago

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I’m Here, Now

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Girlfriend!Fem Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Spencer gets released from prison and you’re his first stop after dealing with Cat Adams and her schemes. And all he wants to do is see you and love you.

Category: Smut, Fluff

Warnings: 18+ MDNI established relationship, prison arc, spoilers of season 12 of Criminal Minds, it’s a lil sad tbh but it only lasts for a second, reader’s in disbelief, spencer and reader being cutesy, crying, kissing, mentions of bruises, threats, sappy speeches, fluffy ending, lowkey not true to 12x22/13x01 so this could be an au! smut warnings: soft!dom spencer (firm believer here🙋‍♀️), a lil body worship from reader to spencer, oral sex (m receiving & reader receiving), facefucking, cum swallowing, “good girl”, riding, unprotected sex, mentions of masturbation, creampie, overstimulation, spencer lowkey being a munch- that should cover it 😃

Author’s Note: hey lovelies, i can’t stop writing smutty oneshots ahhhh i can’t help it, i just love my man 🤭 i hope y’all enjoy this because i’ve had my mind on prison arc reid bc i’m watching s12 rn and oooo he so fine in 12a and in 12b 😩 anyways hope y’all like this <3

You worried that maybe he’d never come back. Upon hearing he was in jail in Mexico, you worried you’d never see Spencer again.

If your past self could tell you that your boyfriend, Dr. Spencer Reid, who was a nerd at heart, who spent his free time playing chess and reading and watching Doctor Who with you under your fluffy blankets and wore mismatched socks because he believed it was good luck, that he would one day end up being framed and sent to prison, you would’ve laughed in your face.

You never would’ve expected this to happen. But then you heard why. He was framed for murdering a woman named Nadie Ramos, who was helping him get his mother medicine that seemed to calm her from her episodes. If there was anyone he would’ve risked everything for besides you, it was his mother.

And to be honest, you were a little mad at him for lying to you. He told you that he was going to Houston to talk to some of his mom’s doctors. You’d been together four years now and not once did he ever lie to you until now. When he got transferred to the Milburn Correctional Facility, due to overcrowding, he’d requested to see you and only you.

It wasn’t until Spencer wrote you a letter, practically begging you to come and see you. The first time you’d gone to see him, you actually didn’t even recognize him, skipping over him and almost staring at him in confusion when he walked over to the other side of your plexiglass.

And you tried to play it off like you expected him, even while looking like he did, but he knew deep down you didn’t recognize him. He chose not to acknowledge it but you both knew.

And you visited him frequently, until he decided to cut you from the visitor log with no warning. You were hurt, to say the least. And you ended up avoiding everyone after that. You even ignored the many fruit baskets Garcia kept sending over but you kept sending them back.

But then a miracle happened.

They proved his innocence. And he was out.

You would’ve found that out if you’d checked your phone but you spent the entire day in bed, away from society and sobbing at the fact that he was gone and he wasn’t here, comforting you like he did so well.

You hated him, you hated him for putting you in this position, for making you deal with the aftermath, for pushing you away. But you loved him. You would never stop loving him, no matter how much you hated him right now.

You’d been laying in bed, tossing and turning all day as the TV played some random sitcom you watched every now and again. And you’d heard something. A soft knock coming from your front door.

You almost missed it but it was faint. And you heard it. Choosing to finally get out of bed, you opened your room door and walked to the front door. You opened it without checking the peephole, because at this point you’d had enough and just wanted death to get you over with already.

But death may have stopped your heart only for a moment when you open the door.

Because standing there, in the suit he’d gotten arrested in when his bail was denied, his hair outgrown and his stubble framed nicely on his face — was your boyfriend, Spencer Reid, in the flesh.

You gasped softly as you backed away from the door and stared at him, almost as if you were disbelief. You’d had a dream like this before. Where he came back and promised he was here to stay. (But it was another one of God’s cruel jokes and you cried when you woke up the following day).

He walked in and closed the door right behind him, standing tall in front of you. You noticed the bruises on his face, how his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and stared at you.

“Hi.” He said softly and all you can do is stare at him. “Am I dreaming?” You find yourself asking out loud and his heart breaks. He can see that you’re scared. Scared that if you go up to him, he’ll disappear like smoke. And he hates that.

“No.” Spencer shakes his head and he waits for you to approach him and you do, walking slowly towards him as the floorboard creaks beneath your socked feet.

He waits as you first grab his hands, and interlock your fingers together. When that seems not to be enough for you, your hands move to his face. You caress the sharp new grown stubble on his face and drag your index finger to his plump lips and stare into his hazel eyes and they’re full of wonder and love.

You don’t even register the tears until you hold him in your arms and you hold onto him for dear life. He holds you tightly in his arms as you find yourself wrapping around him like a koala and all he can do is hold you back. And it grounds him, you ground him.

Your head moves towards his and you kiss his lips, like you’ve longed to do for three months. And part of you still couldn’t believe this, that he was here, holding you like you were going to break.

You kiss him a few more times before you pull back and ask with tears in your eyes, “Are you okay?” Spencer nods toward your forehead, “I’m okay, now that I’m here.”

“You’re here, now.” You look him in the eyes as you say this and he nods at your words, repeating them to himself. “I’m here, now.” It’s as if he’s reminding himself that he’s here with you because he’s worried he’s gonna wake up any minute and he’ll be back in that cell. You weren’t the only one who had a hard time believing this was real.

Spencer’s lips catch yours and he pushes into the kiss and you get back on the ground, your hands (or mouth) not leaving him for a second and making their way up to his hair and pulling. You whine into his lips as he you pull him by his belt and walk backwards to your bedroom with him following you.

With your strength, you twirl the two of you around and straddle him as you continue to kiss him. You rock your hips into his growing bulge and he moans into your mouth and you smirk in the middle of the kiss.

You begin to unbutton his suit and successfully get his blazer off and now next is his dress shirt but he’s quick to grab your hands and you look at him with wide eyes.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You ask, willing to put a stop to this if he wasn’t ready. “Nothing, I just…” Spencer looks down as he lets go of your hands and seemingly now growing insecure all of a sudden.

He stands up from the bed and you look up at him as he holds his arms over his stomach. “I just… I got hurt pretty bad in there. You’re gonna see some bruises. I just don’t want you to freak out. He admits and your heart breaks, “You don’t have to take your shirt off. Or we can just stop entirely and—”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’re gonna see them eventually.” With that, he begins to unbutton his dress shirt and you give him all the time in the world to do so, not wanting to rush this at all.

When he takes off his dress shirt successfully, you finally see it. He has bruises everywhere on his ribs and some near his belly button and on his stomach. Some are still in the process of healing with yellow and gray hues and some are purple and mucus green.

“Oh, my love…” You whisper to yourself as you stand up and you turns him around and find more on his back and there’s just too many of them. You find yourself tearing up but you know you need to keep it together for him. Who could hurt your sweet boy? Was this why he didn’t want you to see him anymore while he was still in there? How long did this go on for?

It’s then that you register the bruise near his eye. You thought that it was due to the lack of sleep he’d been getting and assumed it was the bags under his eyes he so often got but it was a bruise. How did you miss that when he walked in?

He almost wants to hide himself, like a turtle under its’ shell and you look down at his body. “Baby…” You start but he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

He looks at you as you guide him towards the bed and he lays back and you go back to straddling him, but this time, you’re careful as you hover over him.

You kiss his lips before making your way down to his neck and then to his body and it takes a second for him to register that you’re not just kissing his body, you’re kissing the bruises.

He feels himself getting choked up as you kiss every visible one and his heart swells for you. What did he did to deserve you?

You begin to unbuckle his belt but he rests his elbows on the bed and looks down at you. “You—You don’t have to…” He trails off but you quickly shake your head. “I know. But I want to. It’s your first night back. This is about you tonight, baby.”

Spencer doesn’t interfere, just stares as you unbuckle his belt and pull out his cock through the hole in his underwear and it springs into action, dripping pre-cum from the head. “Oh, my sweet boy. You must be so pent up.”

You kiss the tip of his dick and he shuts his eyes tightly as if he’s trying to hold back from already cumming. You lick up his shaft and fit his cock inside your mouth and he curses to himself as he grips your bedsheets as tight as he can.

You notice this, grabbing his hand and interlocking your fingers together, as if you’re telling him and giving him permission to touch you as you bob your head up and down.

He takes this opportunity to caress your face as you take him into your mouth. He ties your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he pushes deeper onto his cock and even lifts his hips to ensure that you’re taking all of him until you’re gagging.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” Spencer tells you and you nod to the best of your ability until you begins to fuck your throat, using your mouth for his pent up pleasure. “Fuck… God, you’re so good at that. Letting me fuck your throat like the good girl you are.”

His words could make you cum on the spot without him even laying a finger on you. He rarely cursed in your domestic setting but he did it often when you two were in bed.

All you can do is take it as deep as it can go in your mouth. He whines into the ceiling as he says your name until you feel his hot cum dribble down your throat and your nose is buried into his crotch as he holds you there and makes you take all his cum into your mouth.

He pants as he releases your head from his cock and you swallow the rest of his cum. He looks at you with worried eyes, concerned that maybe he’d gone too far. “I’m sorry, baby. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He asks, like he didn’t just cum into your mouth and call you a “good girl”.

You shake your head at him with a small smile. “That was just about the hottest thing you’ve ever done.” (And everything he did was always hot). He blushes and crooks a smile.

“Are you willing to keep going?” You ask him and he nods with an immediate answer, “Absolutely.” He’d never let you go to bed without making you cum at least twice.

You climb on top of him with a smirk and look deeply into his eyes. They’re filled with lust, love and adoration for you and for you only. “You’re so beautiful.” You say to him in a whisper but Spencer chuckles a bit, “I should be saying that to you.”

You look down as your pussy catches the tip of his cock and you sink down into him carefully. He moans at the feeling and you gasp. He fits perfectly.

“God, I missed you. Missed this…” Spencer catches his breath. “Perfect pussy.” You chuckle and looks into his eyes as you rock back and forth. “It was so lonely without you, Spencer.” You whine. “I missed you so much.”

You lean down as you kiss him on the lips. “Did you…” He pauses, not wanting to be crude even while he was inside of you. “While I was away?” It took a second to figure out what he was talking about. And then you realized that he was asking if you’d masturbated while he was away.

“A few times,” You admitted shyly, despite suffocating him with your pussy. “I thought about you every time. It just wasn’t the same. Missed your body.”

Spencer smiles darkly, “Maybe I should punish you for that.” He says, half-joking. You lean forward as you smirk, “I’d like to see you try.”

And without a second thought, it was as if a switch flipped as Spencer was quick to flip your bodies over and he hovers over you, both hands on either side of your head, gripping the pillows. “You really wanna test that theory?”

You bite your lip and smirk once more as you pull him in for another kiss and he glides himself into you and you gasp at the feeling of his dick inside of your pussy. It’d been such a long time since you felt him like this, here, in your arms. God, you love him.

He rocks his hips, thrusting deeply into your body as leans his head in your shoulder, mumbling sweet obscenities and how good your pussy feels and how responsive you were. He dreamt of the day he’d have you like this. And since being in prison, he longed for it more.

He reached down in between your legs as he found your clit without even looking down and staring deeply into your eyes and your moans reverberate through the walls as keeps his eyes on you and you only.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I need to cum— where? Where?” He asks and you shut your eyes tightly as you shout, “Inside! Oh, god, inside!”

He pushes himself hard into you as you finally cum, your legs shaking as you moan his name into the ceiling and he collapses on your body, still sheathed inside of you.

You both lay there, panting and reveling in the feeling of each other. Eventually, Spencer does pull out of you and you feel as he lowers himself, eyeing your pussy up close and you look down at him sleepily. “Baby, you don’t have to. This was about you.” You assure.

“Nonsense,” Spencer tells. “I need to clean up my mess and even the score, might as well kill two birds with one stone.” He jokes, diving face first into your pussy and you whimper at the contact he makes, especially with the way his stubble is rubbing against your thighs, cleaning his own cum out of your pussy and relishing in the way you both taste.

His mouth captures your clit and he twists his tongue around the bud in that delicious way you love and he moans into your pussy. “We taste so good together, baby. Cum again on my tongue, this time.”

You tug at his messy hair as you hold his head to you pussy and you use him, rocking your hips into his mouth. You feel as your legs shake once more and you let go of his head for him to take a breather.

That breather lasts only a second before he dives back in and you whine at the contact. “Spence… baby, I’m sen—sensitive.”

“You can take one more, baby. I know you can. You can cum again.” Spencer says, his pupils are blown as he looks at you and he’s commanding you to cum again. “Just one more, baby.”

You nod at him and Spencer grabs your hands. “Here,” He interlocks your fingers with his and somehow, the pleasure is so much and yet not at all as makes you cum for a third time tonight. If he could spend forever eating your pussy, he would.

You close your eyes for a moment and when you finally open them, he’s right next to you and holding you. (He’d cleaned you up properly with a warm rag and left your favorite snack and water bottle on the desk next to your bed whenever you were ready to wake up). You remembered the loving words he whispered to you as you drifted off into a heavy slumber.

And you’ve finally woken up. You look up at him, still in awe of him being here. You take the chance to check the time. It’s already 5am and the sun is still shy away from rising but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters because you have your boyfriend right next to you, holding you for dear life and loving you the way you deserve to be loved.

You worry that he’s still up, but you figure that after all those months in prison, maybe he has trouble sleeping every now and again. You find yourself holding him tighter as you look down at the bruise near your head. You can’t believe he was hurt. How did he manage to survive in there? You’re still wondering why he’d taken you off the visitor’s log.

“Spencer?” You ask and he looks down at you, your voice surprising him. “Yeah?” You sit up and look at him, face to face, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Why did you take me off the visitor’s list?” You decide to ask.

He’s about to respond and you don’t want to hear another lie. You’d been through plenty of those already. “I mean, I didn’t even want to see you at first and then you begged me to and then all of a sudden, I wasn’t allowed to. I feel like I have the right to know.”

“No, no, you do,” Spencer knows that much. He hates the fact that he’s lied to you and has forced you to deal with this when all you deserved was the best from him. He sits up next to you he knows he’s gonna need to tell you, even though he doesn’t want to.

“The last time after you came to visit me,” Spencer started. “I got cornered in my cell. A lot of the guys there were asking about you. And they said that it’d be a shame if something happened to you when you came to visit again.” You look down as he talks about it. “And I didn’t want to risk that. And I wanted to tell you, really, I did.” He grabs your hand assuringly. “But I didn’t have any way to. And I didn’t want you to get hurt. I would’ve died if something happened to you and I didn’t do everything in my power to stop it. I’m sorry it went down like it did.”

You shake your head. And you finally understand. Because if the roles were reversed, you would’ve taken him off the visitor’s list, too. If it meant protecting him. “You were just trying to protect me, I understand.”

“I just…” Spencer looks at you, holding your face in his hands. “I love you, so much.” He looks deeply into your eyes. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He reveals and your eyes widen. “What?”

Spencer closes his eyes and holds his index finger up. “One second.” He stands up and grabs his blazer from off the floor and digs into one of the inside pockets and pulls out a red velvet box.

Your eyes widen as you cover your body with the sheet and he kneels down on one knee in his boxers and opens the velvet box to reveal a ring. “I didn’t want to do it like this but I’d rather do it now than wait for the right time to.” Your eyes glance down at the box for a mere second and then to the love of your life.

“I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You make my days better, hell, you’ve made my life better. And no matter what we’ve gone through, you’ve stayed by my side and you never ran. I love that you sing off-key, I love that your nose twitches when you get mad, I love that you like… pineapple on pizza, oddly enough.” You chuckle at this. “I love everything about you. And I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve you. But… but true love, it fosters a connection that goes beyond the superficial. It's a bond that often involves understanding each other's core values, beliefs, and life goals. And you’ve made me believe in true love.“

You stare at him in disbelief as he continues, “Will you marry me?” You feel tears spring into your eyes as you nod vehemently, “Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!” You smile widely and he smiles at you, slipping the ring onto your ring finger as you continue to mutter a million yeses.

When you finally get the ring on, you pull him in for another kiss and he holds you to his heart’s content. It wasn’t the way he envisioned it going, but with you, you knew you didn’t want big and bold ways of him saying he loved you and wanted to marry you, you were content with something small and sweet because it was coming from him and that was the biggest gift of all. You were one for grand gestures, you liked it just the way it was. It was perfect. He was perfect. And you’d spend the rest of your life reminding him he was.

So, you laid back in your bed with your fiancé and talked and talked about sweet nothings until the sun came up. And all of the ache you felt the night before, the pain you endured was long gone and now replaced with something beautiful and sweet.

#criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x fem!reader #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #post prison spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #g4rvez-r3id

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felassanis · 3 days ago

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I genuinely think Lavellan is the first relationship Solas has had. Especially an explicitly romantic one.

Veilguard Spoilers ahead. But regardless of what the primary nature of his relationship with Mythal was. There clearly was an infatuation. A dedication so raw back then that I genuinely don't think Solas was looking at anyone else but Mythal. Either because he longed for her in some (arguably unrequited) capacity or the loyalty he had for her trumped any other distractions.

But then. She dies. And he grieves, and he ultimately destroys the world in that grief. And he's spent thousands of years away from Mythal. And while he's still obviously dedicated to her, the rawness of that bond has simmered.

And then he meets Lavellan.

"It's been a long time," he says when you tease him about him using fade tongue. And while yes, you could see this as Solas confirming he has had prior romantic relationships. I actually think it refers to Mythal, to the fact it's been a long time since he's felt so close to somebody.

We know ancient elves felt operated differently than modern-day elves when it came to expression in a relationship. What we think is romantic might not have been as such back then. So I'm NOT saying Solas is inexperienced, but rather, I do think the only bond he's had that consumed him completely, that was loving, was Mythal. Until he meets Lavellan.

There is a genuine...newness to the relationship. There are so many instances where Solas seems so mildly surprised by Lavellan's actions. For the care she puts into their relationship. My favourite being when Lavellan promises to protect him in Haven from anyone looking to hurt him because he's an apostate elf. The way his eyes widen and he says "...thank you," like he's never experienced someone looking out for him so...outwardly. So willing to put his safety as a priority. (And that makes me sob cause oh my god I wonder if anyone cared about Solas's safety ever)

And I genuinely think his bond to Mythal coloured Solas's expectations when it comes to any relationship, especially a romantic one. It's like Solas isn't used to someone reciprocating HIS feelings lmao. And that's doubly apparent in the Solavellan ending, I think. Lavellan and Solas's interactions are so interesting because Solas GENUINELY has not let himself believe for nearly 10 years that Lavellan forgave him. Cannot believes she is even there, willing and wanting to save him from himself.

This does not strike me as someone who's used to relationships. To the give and take. The safety. The sustainability....

I think Solas spent so long yearning for the reciprocation he never received from Mythal only to get it finally with Lavellan. He longed for Mythal to reciprocate, and she didn't. Not until she finally shared the burden of their actions at the end. And there is no comfort in that burden now being acknowledged by her. She releases him from her service and vanishes as he's left to double over by himself.

At least he would be, but lavellan is there to lower herself to his level and comfort him. They're equals where Solas and Mythal were not. Solas is not Lavellan's lapdog. And she is not warped and changed by him as she offered to do so back in Trespasser. He didn't let her come with him to avoid the fate that befell him when he followed Mythal. They're Partners. Lovers.

And even THEN. EVEN THEN. Solas is shocked Lavellan wants to go with him to the Fade. To the point his eyes tear up, he CRIES. Warning her away but you can see in his face he is fucking DESPERATE for her to follow. Because he wants to love and have that love returned at long last.

And it is. It finally is.

#solavellan meta #solavellan #solas #solas dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age 4 #dragon age veilguard #dragon age

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leighsartworks216 · 2 days ago

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What's the Whole World

Sylus x gn!Reader

Wrote this when I was overstimulated and extra emotional from my period iykyk

Title from "What's the Whole World" by Warmer

Warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, cuddling, crying, swearing

Word Count: 1,395

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First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

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Your apartment building's hot water isn't working, so you take a freezing cold shower. Your bike doesn't start, so you have to take the bus. You forgot to eat breakfast, so you go to the vending machine, except the snack gets stuck against the glass. You don't get to eat lunch because you get sent on back to back missions. You have to stay late to finish the paperwork for said missions. The food you buy at a late night stall is too expensive and almost too overcooked to eat.

But through all of that, through every little thing the world does to spite you today, one thought kept you sane: Sylus. You don't have work for the next couple days and Sylus moved things around on his schedule to spend all of that time with you. Being able to spend time with him is the one thing holding you together right now.

Imagine your disappointment when you get to his base in the N109 zone, excited to see him after the ungodly public transport you had to take, only to be told by Luke and Kieran that he isn't there. Not only that, they're not sure when he'll be back, after he zipped off to meet up with someone for whatever business venture he's planning on branching off to next. They offer you a ride back to your place, but the thought of going back home, to your freezing water and cramped walls, only makes you feel worse.

So you do the next best thing: you curl up in Sylus's bed, hugging a Grumpy Crow plushie, and try really hard not to cry.

You feel hollow. A void in your chest, opening its maw wide to swallow your hope, optimism and joy, regurgitating loneliness and disappointment in its place. It shouldn't be that big of a deal. Things happen, stuff comes up. Especially when you're the leader of a giant illegal faction, and owner of god knows how many businesses. Just... why didn't he tell you about it?

Tears sting your eyes. You don't want to cry. Not here, not in Sylus's bed. Could anything be more pathetic? You should have just gone home. At least there you could drown yourself in a mountain of ice cream without having to worry about being seen making the trip to and from the kitchen.

The longer you suppress your emotions, the more your brain reminds you of the shit day you've just had.

The cold water meant taking an extremely quick 10 second shower. The bus ride was so cramped you were pressed up against so many other commuters. The only thing you've eaten today wasn't worth the price, leaving a hole in your stomach yet to be satisfied. Your whole body aches, from your arms and shoulders to your back and legs. You're tired, you're upset, and all you were asking for to compensate for all of that bullshit is a hug. Just one hug! A hug this plushie certainly wasn't providing.

You curl around the crow plushie, squeezing it with the remaining strength you have in your arms. You press your face into its soft head, the ruffle around its neck tickling you. You take a deep breath. And you cry. The worst kind of crying: deep heaving gasps for air, ragged sobs that grate at your throat, fat tears that have no end and soak deep into the fabric of the plushie and Sylus's pillow; body shaking, soul crushing, pathetic. You want the bed to open up and swallow you whole. You want Dr. Zayne to go in and remove your heart to spare you the pain. You just want this horrible feeling to go away, by any means possible.

God knows how long you cry for. It feels like hours. Your eyes burn, raw from all the moisture. Your cheeks are sore from the horrible grimace your face pulls with your sobs. The crow is completely soaked where your face is.

The bed shifts, slowly. Hesitantly. You choke up again, because you already know who it is.

A hand touches your arm. You automatically flinch out of its grasp. A bitter part of you wants to make him feel just as bad as you do. Wants to lie here crying while he's forced to watch. But, god, that one touch alone is like the sun after weeks of rain. It's like a splash of bright yellow against the dark, saturated hues that compose your sorry state. And when he doesn't touch you again, it's consumed once more by the darkness.

"What happened?" he asks. His voice is so soft, tinged with protectiveness. If someone hurt you, he'd take care of it. He'd do anything to take this heartache from you. All you would need to do is say the word. What, then, are you supposed to say if he's the one that hurt you?

Another sob wracks your body. You curl in impossibly tighter, as though you could shrink yourself down to the size of a pea to hide from his intense gaze on your back. Your throat hurts from crying so hard.

"Can I touch you?" he asks next, when you don't respond.

Your body and mind want two different things. Your mind wants to hold strong to your newfound loneliness, but your body yearns to crawl to him, to collapse in his arms, to finally, finally get that hug you were waiting for.

It's your body that wins out, in the end, but you refuse to give in completely to its desires. So instead of seeking him out, you just nod and wait for him to come to you.

He does, almost right away. He touches your arm again. When you don't pull away, he closes the space left between you. His chest presses against your back, legs tucked right up to yours. His arms wrap around your body, securely keeping you against him. He presses his face to the back of your neck. Like this, he feels every tremor and shiver of every gasp and sob. Like this, you feel encapsulated in his warmth and comfort. It's almost overwhelming. It almost suffocates you with how amazing it feels to finally be held by him.

He kisses the fine hairs on your neck in a delicate peck, silently telling you how badly he wants to help. "Will you tell me what happened, sweetie?"

You dig your fingers into the Grumpy Crow's plush body. They tremble with emotion. "You weren't h-here," you whimper out. Your voice is awful. "'N y-you didn't say a-anything about it."

"I didn't...?" One of his arms slips away. He digs his phone out of his pocket and taps quickly at the screen, before dropping it to the bed behind him with a sigh. His arm returns to its rightful place around you, squeezing you slightly tighter. "It didn't go through, kitten. I'm sorry."

That text was meant to get to you hours ago. Unfortunately, he must have lost service before it could go through. So for hours, you were left in the dark, literally and metaphorically, with no idea where he was or what he was doing.

He kisses your neck again. "How can I make it up to you? Name anything - it's yours."

Anything? There's only one thing you want. And now that you know his radio silence wasn't intentional, your mind loses the reins holding your body back.

You push the crow plushie away. It rolls sadly across the bed, dark fabric stained darker with tears and fluff rearranged so he's squished into an odd shape. Sylus lets go when you squirm in his hold. You turn around and immediately cling onto him. You hide your face in his neck and he cradles the back of your head to keep you there. His cologne floods your senses, accompanied by his body wash, warming you in a way the lingering scent on his pillow and bedsheets never could.

"Just want you." You grip the back of his shirt in your fists, squeezing him as tightly as you can, just like you'd done to the plushie. Except he's solid, and he squeezes you back just the same. "Please don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises. "We'll stay here for as long as you want."

"Forever."

"Okay, sweetie." He kisses your head. "We'll stay here forever."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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kyri45 · 2 days ago

Note

So, how does it feel like to have your page blown up by people who love your Monkie Kid Bio Parents AU? Did you start it with the idea of making more drawings of the AU or was it more of a "Oh, shit, this blew up, guess the people wanna see more!"? Do you have the story planned out, or when you upload it you're like "Aight, now how the hell am I gonna continue with this?"?

Sorry for the questions, I'm just very curious about the process! Also, Happy New Year! ❤

I never continued the comic for the boom it received.

This was the second ever project I did where I swore myself I would only do what I wanted, without ever thinking of how much or little engagement it would create.

I had made art on my IG with always the thought of growing my page, because I needed the traction for commissions during college.

I never had a moment where I was like "how will I continue this?" Because the story just kept flowing naturally to me. Like, from the beginning: the two of them discovered he is their son? Well then they would discuss about it and check if he had Macaque powers as well. But doesn't he have also Macaque appareance somewhere? Well then we got to show a way for why his extra ears was hidden. But wait, he will notice and discover this eventually, no? Well yeah, then let's use the discovery to make some good old hurt and comfort. Does it mean they will co-mentor MK? Then there shpuld be a training arc of sort. Wait but if Macaque and Wukong so much time together, then they are bound to discuss what happened between them.

And so on.

After maybe 1 week of posting the first page, in my mind I already planned the whole story until the end. But in the middle it ended up being longer then I initially planned because I came up with new ideas on the way.

#ask box #shadowpeach bio parents au

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cherryxbooo · 2 days ago

Text

You deserve only the best

Summary: Y/n falls for her best friend Carlos, but after he introduces his new lover, she discovers his true intentions. Heartbroken, she tries to move on.

Reader x Carlos Sainz

Genre: fluff/angst

Carlos Sainz had been my best friend for as long as I could remember.

We shared everything, inside jokes, moments of laughter, and a bond that felt unbreakable.

For years, we had been inseparable. Yet, for just as long, I had harbored feelings for him that I had kept hidden.

The truth was, I was in love with him, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. I was terrified of ruining our friendship, which meant the world to me.

So, I stayed silent, even as my heart would race whenever he would act affectionate toward me, kissing my cheek, calling me pet names like "mi amor" or "querida," or giving me those long, lingering glances that made me believe he might feel the same.

It was complicated, especially when he’d kissed me a few times, nothing too serious, but enough to leave me wondering if something more could come from it.

I wanted to believe that he felt the same, but I was too afraid to make the first move, too afraid of pushing him away.

Then, one fateful day, everything changed.

We were at the paddock during one of his races.

The excitement in the air was palpable, the sound of engines roaring, the buzz of fans, the rush of adrenaline.

It was a typical race day, but something caught my eye that I hadn’t expected to see, Carlos talking to a girl.

A random girl. She was standing next to him, laughing, clearly comfortable in his presence.

I felt a twinge of jealousy course through me as I watched them. I didn’t know who she was, but something about the way they were standing so close made my stomach twist.

I immediately tried to push the feeling aside, but it was impossible. I needed answers.

I couldn’t just ignore it, so I approached Lando, who had become one of my closest friends over time.

I figured he might know who she was.

“Hey, Lando,” I began, trying to sound casual. “Do you know who that girl is? The one with Carlos?”

Lando glanced over, then shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t think I’ve seen her before. Why? You don’t like her or something?”

I gave a small laugh, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “No, I’m just curious.”

Lando gave me a knowing look but didn’t push further. “You should ask Carlos, though. He’ll tell you.”

I nodded, though my mind was already racing.

I made my way back to the Ferrari garage, trying to shake the knot in my stomach.

I wasn’t ready to confront him, but I had to. I needed answers.

When I got there, Carlos spotted me right away. “Y/N!” he called out, a wide smile lighting up his face.

He waved me over, and I walked toward him, hoping to mask the turmoil inside me.

As soon as I got closer, he introduced the girl who had been standing next to him earlier.

“This is Sofia,” Carlos said, his voice filled with warmth. “My girlfriend.”

The ground seemed to fall out from under me. My heart sank into my stomach, and for a moment, I couldn’t find my breath.

My hands suddenly felt clammy, and I forced myself to smile, though it felt more like a grimace.

“Nice to meet you, Sofia,” I said, my voice steady, even though I felt anything but.

I turned quickly, excusing myself from their presence, and walked away before they could see the hurt that flashed across my face.

I barely made it to the restroom before the tears started falling.

I locked myself in a stall, letting my emotions spill out.

Why had I been so foolish to believe that Carlos could feel the same? I had spent so much time hiding my feelings, convincing myself that he might care for me, but here he was, with a new girlfriend.

But why would he lead me on? Kiss me, hug me, cuddle me, give me pet names?

Was it because I was too naive which made him take advantage of me?

Clearly.

He had never given me any reason to think otherwise, he had always been affectionate, always flirted, but it was all in my head, wasn’t it?

He never saw me as more than a friend. Just as someone to pass time with.

After a few minutes of crying, I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and told myself to stop.

Carlos didn’t deserve my tears. I wasn’t his girlfriend. I had no right to feel like this.

I walked out of the restroom, determined to leave the paddock. I couldn’t bear to stay and watch him with her.

I needed to put myself first.

As I walked toward the exit, I bumped into Lando.

He took one look at my tear-streaked face and immediately pulled me into a hug.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

I shook my head, unable to speak for a moment. “I can’t do it, Lando. I can’t stay here and watch him with her. It hurts too much.”

Lando pulled back slightly, his eyes soft. “You don’t have to stay. You know you can always come to my garage.”

I smiled weakly at him, grateful for his kindness. “I need some time alone, Lando. But thank you.”

He nodded understandingly. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

I hugged him tightly before walking away.

I knew Lando understood, he was the only one who knew how I felt about Carlos.

Back in my hotel room later that evening, I let myself cry. The tears came without warning, a flood of emotions that I had kept buried for so long.

They were painful, but I needed them. They had been building up for weeks, months, even years because I had been lying to myself.

I had let Carlos get too close to my heart, pretending he was everything I needed, hoping he would eventually realize that we were meant to be together.

I had allowed myself to become wrapped up in his promises, those little gestures that I now realized had only ever been casual flirtations.

The kisses on my cheek that made my heart race.

The way he would hold me close for just a second longer than necessary, as if our closeness was more than just friendship.

I had convinced myself those moments meant something.

But now, all I had was the overwhelming truth that I had been foolish.

Carlos didn’t want me. He had never truly wanted me.

But more than anything, I was angry at myself. How had I let him take up so much space in my life without ever truly giving me what I deserved?

I had spent so much time convincing myself that he would come around, that he would eventually see how perfect we were for each other.

But he had never promised me anything. He never made me a priority.

And when it came down to it, when he found someone else, I was just... nothing.

I was left standing there, heartbroken, all the while wondering if it was somehow my fault.

But as the night dragged on, something shifted within me. The tears slowed, and I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me, the one who had let Carlos walk all over her, the one who had been too afraid to face the truth.

It was time to change.

I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t keep holding onto something that wasn’t real.

It wasn’t Carlos who needed to change; it was me. I needed to find my own happiness.

I had been so wrapped up in waiting for Carlos to realize how great we could be together that I had forgotten to love myself first.

The truth was, I had allowed him to use me. I had been there for him when he needed me, while he toyed with my emotions, knowing that he had me hooked.

I had been loyal, caring, and patient, but none of that mattered to him.

It was time for me to stop chasing after a love that had never been meant for me. Carlos didn’t deserve me.

I swallowed hard, the weight of the realization sinking in. I wasn’t perfect, but I had so much to offer.

I deserved someone who would see me, appreciate me, and treat me with the respect I had given him.

I wasn’t going to wait around any longer.

It was time to focus on myself, to heal, and to become the best version of me that I could be.

I was worthy of real love, and I wouldn’t settle for anything less.

Weeks passed, and I slowly started to feel the fog lift.

I spent more time on self-care; going to the gym, reading books I had long ignored, and enjoying the things I loved without the cloud of uncertainty hanging over me.

It wasn’t easy.

Some days were better than others. But I was finally starting to feel like myself again.

I spent a lot of time with my friends, especially Lando.

He had been such a rock for me through everything, and I could never thank him enough for always having my back.

One afternoon, we were having lunch together when he looked at me, his eyes full of concern.

“How are you really holding up?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair.

I had been trying to push everything down, but Lando could see through me.

“Honestly? I’m not doing great. But I’m getting there, Lando. Slowly, but surely.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Have you heard from Carlos?”

The question hit me like a punch in the gut.

I tried to act unaffected, but the truth was, I hadn’t heard from him since that day at the paddock.

He hadn’t called, texted, or even checked in on me.

“No. Not since that day. I haven’t heard a word from him,” I said, my voice tight.

Lando frowned, shaking his head. “That’s messed up. He’s been distancing himself, huh?”

I nodded, my chest tightening as I remembered the way Carlos had moved on so easily.

It stung, but I didn’t want to dwell on it anymore.

“He’s got Sofia now. I don’t think he cares about me at all. And honestly? I’m done caring. He made his choice.”

Lando’s face softened, and he reached across the table to give my hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re doing so much better, Y/N. I’m proud of you.”

I smiled at him, a small, genuine smile. “Thanks, Lando. It means a lot to me.”

We spent the rest of the lunch talking, laughing, and just enjoying each other’s company.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I was starting to come back to life.

I had been so consumed by Carlos and his inability to see my worth, but now I realized that I didn’t need him. I was enough on my own.

A month passed, and I was feeling stronger than ever.

I had rediscovered my love for life, for the things that made me happy.

I was no longer sitting around waiting for Carlos to give me the validation I craved.

I was content on my own.

One day, I was supporting Lando at a race, as I always did.

I was walking down the hallway of the paddock when I spotted Carlos talking to Sofia.

They were standing close together, whispering to each other, but as I got closer, I couldn’t help but overhear snippets of their conversation.

They were fighting. Loudly.

I turned the corner and kept walking, but my mind was racing. I didn’t want to get involved in their drama, but it felt strange.

For a second, I wondered if Carlos was starting to see the same thing I had.

Maybe Sofia wasn’t as perfect as he thought she was.

I didn’t care. I didn’t need him to come back to me, I had moved on, or so I thought.

When I got back to McLaren’s garage, I asked Lando,

“Have you heard anything about Carlos and Sofia?”

He shrugged. “I’ve heard they’ve been fighting a lot lately. He’s been acting... different.”

“I think he’s starting to see her true colors.” I said, feeling a strange sense of vindication.

Lando nodded, agreeing with me.

“Could be. But don’t waste your energy on it, Y/N. You’re better off without him.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Lando was right.

I had spent too much of my time focusing on someone who didn’t deserve me. I was finally free.

A week later, I was running late to meet Lando for lunch.

As I rushed through the hallway, I accidentally bumped into someone.

Papers flew everywhere, and I quickly apologized, bending down to help gather them up.

But when I looked up, my breath caught in my throat.

Standing in front of me was a man who was everything I wasn’t expecting.

Tall, dark-haired, wearing a sharp suit that clung to his broad shoulders.

His smile was warm, magnetic.

There was something about him that made me feel instantly at ease, yet also strangely excited.

“It’s alright,” he said, his voice smooth and confident.

“But you’re in a rush, huh?”

I laughed, trying to hide my flustered reaction. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

We finished gathering the papers, and when our eyes met again, there was a spark. It was undeniable.

“You sure you’re not in too much of a rush?” he asked, a teasing smile curling on his lips.

I smiled back, shaking my head. “No, I’m good. Just feeling bad about bumping into you.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, the best way to make it up to me is by giving me your number.”

My heart skipped a beat, and for a second, I couldn’t quite process what was happening.

But then I realized... he was serious.

I had been so wrapped up in Carlos’s drama for so long that I had forgotten how to enjoy moments like this.

I had forgotten that there were good people out there who actually valued me for who I was.

I blinked in surprise but couldn’t hide my grin. “Okay. You’ve got my number.”

He chuckled, clearly pleased. “I’m Pablo, by the way. I’ll be in touch.”

I watched him walk away, a rush of excitement swirling in my chest.

Maybe this was what I needed, a fresh start, someone who actually saw me.

As I rushed to meet Lando, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Who was that?” Lando asked, eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"His name's Pablo. We bumped into each other, and one thing led to another. He asked for my number."

I said, unable to hide the grin on my face.

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “Look at you, getting a man.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin. “We'll see where this leads."

The next weekend, the excitement was palpable.

I had agreed to go on a date with Pablo after weeks of messages, calls, and a growing connection.

I was ready to experience this new chapter with someone who treated me like I deserved.

The day arrived, and I spent the afternoon getting ready, wanting to look my best.

I carefully picked out a beautiful dress, a deep emerald green that accentuated my curves, with a delicate lace overlay.

It was elegant, but not too flashy.

I wore my hair down, letting it cascade in soft waves, and my makeup was done elegantly, with just a hint of smokey eyeshadow and a natural, rosy lip.

I was almost finished when I heard the sound of the doorbell ring.

My heart skipped a beat.

As I walked to the door, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness.

When I opened it, I was met with Pablo, standing there with a charming smile, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

"For you, beautiful." His voice was warm, and his eyes gleamed with admiration.

The flowers were soft pastel colors, delicate and fragrant.

I took them from his hands with a smile, feeling my cheeks flush under his gaze.

“Thank you, Pablo. They’re gorgeous.” I felt a wave of appreciation for how thoughtful he was.

He gave a small laugh, eyes twinkling.

“Not as gorgeous as you.” His words made my heart flutter, and I couldn’t help but smile.

Pablo was always so attentive, and there was something incredibly genuine about him.

As we walked toward his car, I couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he carried himself.

He opened the door of a Mercedes AMG for me, a sleek, expensive car that screamed wealth.

It was clear that this man was not just well-off; he was successful.

I knew a thing or two about cars.

Lando, my best friend, was obsessed with them, and wouldn't shut up about them.

He had so many that his garage looked like a car dealership.

The moment I saw the car, I immediately recognized the luxury, and I couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“Wow, this is gorgeous.” I couldn’t help but comment as I got in, still absorbing the interior.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s a little over the top, but sometimes, you just have to enjoy the finer things.”

He chuckled, settling into the driver’s seat. “But tonight’s about you, not the car.”

The ride to the restaurant was filled with pleasant conversation.

We talked about everything, his work, my passions, the places we wanted to visit.

He was thoughtful, but also funny and charming in a way that made me feel completely at ease.

The smooth hum of the engine only added to the calming atmosphere, and before I knew it, we had arrived at a stunning restaurant.

As we entered, the ambiance was just as sophisticated as the car.

Dim lighting, soft music playing in the background, it was the kind of place you came for an unforgettable night.

We were escorted to a private table, and as we sat down, I felt the weight of the evening's beauty surrounding us.

Everything about the night felt magical.

Over dinner, we continued to share stories and laughs.

I learned more about Pablo, his roots in Spain, his work as a CEO, and how he’d built his empire from the ground up.

It was a little ironic, hearing his story.

A Spanish man, an international success, yet here he was, sitting across from me, making me feel like the most important person in the world.

“You know, I can’t believe you’re a CEO,” I laughed, a little taken aback by how humble and down-to-earth he was.

“It’s almost too perfect, don’t you think? Spanish, successful, charming…”

He smiled, a hint of pride in his expression.

“It’s been a journey, but I love what I do.”

Then, his smile softened. “But I’m happier that I get to spend this time with you.”

I blushed, looking down at my plate for a moment, feeling a sense of warmth wash over me.

Pablo wasn’t just charming, he was genuine, and that made him stand out even more.

It felt like I was finally being seen for who I truly was, not just the exterior.

Months passed, and my relationship with Pablo deepened. We spent time together, growing closer with each passing day.

It was clear that he was everything Carlos had never been: supportive, caring, and loving in a way that made me feel truly special.

One evening, after a romantic dinner, as we strolled through the park, he stopped and turned to face me, his eyes filled with sincerity.

“Y/N, I like you a lot,” he said, his voice soft and serious.

“I want to be with you. Will you be my girlfriend?”

My heart swelled with happiness, and without hesitation, I responded,

“Yes, Pablo. I’d love that.”

It was a moment that felt like the beginning of something incredible, and over the months that followed, Pablo continued to prove that he was a man who meant every word he said.

He made me feel loved, respected, and cherished every single day.

Now, it was Friday again. This time, Lando had invited both Pablo and me to his race.

I was excited, Lando had always been a great friend, and it was nice that he and Pablo got along so well.

It made me happy to see the two important men in my life getting along.

Pablo and I were getting ready at the hotel, and I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy.

I wore a simple but elegant outfit, jeans and a fitted blouse, comfortable yet stylish.

As we walked hand-in-hand to the paddock, my heart was full.

The sound of the crowd, the engines revving, the electric energy in the air, it all felt so alive.

We met up with Lando, and he gave us both a big hug, making us feel welcome in his world.

“Hey, you two! Glad you could make it.” Lando’s smile was infectious.

He and Pablo exchanged pleasantries, and I could see the camaraderie between them.

It made my heart swell, seeing how well they got along.

After chatting with Lando for a while, he had to leave to prepare for the race.

Pablo and I stayed behind, walking around the paddock, taking in the excitement.

But then, Pablo excused himself to use the restroom.

As I stood alone for a moment, I caught a glimpse of Carlos out of the corner of my eye.

My stomach twisted, but it was too late to run.

He spotted me immediately and started walking in my direction.

When he finally reached me, he greeted me with an awkward smile, his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

“Y/N, it’s been a while.”

I raised an eyebrow, my voice cool as I responded, “Has it?”

Carlos could sense the tension.

Carlos’ voice faltered slightly as he spoke, the words tumbling out quickly.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I should’ve reached out to you sooner.” His eyes met mine, genuine regret flickering in them.

“I miss you. I’ve missed you so much.”

I crossed my arms, trying to keep my composure.

“Carlos, it’s not that simple.” I kept my tone cool, almost distant.

“You didn’t reach out because you didn’t care. You chose not to.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze softening.

“I know… I messed up. I get it now, Y/N. I broke up with Sofia. I’ve realized that you’re the one I love. I was just too stubborn to see it before.”

I couldn’t help but let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“Carlos, if you really loved me, you wouldn’t have been with her in the first place. You wouldn't have used me for your own pleasure.”

My voice was steady, but the pain was evident. “You don’t get to come back just because you made a mistake.”

His expression hardened, but I could see the vulnerability in his eyes.

“I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. I was confused, and I didn’t know what I wanted. But now, I know. I want you.”

He stepped closer, his voice soft and pleading.

“Please, just give me one more chance.”

The words stung, a mixture of old feelings and fresh wounds reopening.

I shook my head, pushing my emotions down.

“Carlos, I’m not that person anymore. You don’t get to rewrite history.”

My voice remained firm, the hurt too deep to ignore.

“You had your chance, and you chose someone else. I can’t just forget that.”

Carlos didn't expect that he was probably used to me always giving in.

“I didn’t want you anyways,” Carlos sneered, his words biting.

“I would’ve just used you like I did in the past, all the times you were too naive to even acknowledge that. Did you really think I wanted you in the first place?”

My heart stung at his words, but I refused to let him see that.

I could feel the old ache in my chest, the hurt from everything he had put me through, but I wasn’t going to let him win with his manipulation.

I stood tall, my gaze unwavering as I faced him.

“You’re pathetic, Carlos,” I said coldly, my voice steady.

“You never wanted me. You wanted control. And I’m done being your puppet.”

His eyes widened at my comeback, as if he hadn't expected me to stand up for myself.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore, the one who let him play with my emotions, the one who waited for him to change.

“So no, Carlos, I didn’t think you wanted me. Not then, and certainly not now.”

Before he could respond, I felt a familiar hand on my waist, and Pablo appeared, towering above me, his presence protective.

“There was a long line at the bathroom,” Pablo said smoothly, his voice calm but firm.

“Sorry it took so long, mi amor.” He leaned in, kissing my cheek before turning back to Carlos.

Carlos was frozen, staring at Pablo in disbelief.

“Mi amor?” He repeated, clearly stunned by the affection between us.

Pablo didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I’m Pablo Lopez. Nice to meet you, Carlos Sainz right? Best of luck with the race.”

His tone was polite, but there was an edge to it, one that made it clear he knew exactly who Carlos was and what had happened between us.

Carlos was speechless, clearly thrown off.

As I turned to walk away with Pablo, I heard Carlos’ voice call out to me, and I couldn’t ignore the familiar tug in my chest.

I stopped and turned slightly, reluctantly facing him again.

He walked toward us with a hesitant expression, clearly unsure of how to approach the situation.

"Y/N..." he began, his voice softer than before.

"Would you... would you want to watch the race from my garage? Like old times? I could really use your support today."

For a moment, I felt the weight of those words.

Old times. The days when I thought we’d always be in each other’s lives. But that wasn’t who I was anymore.

I didn’t owe him anything.

Before I could say anything, I felt Pablo’s arm tighten around me, his presence a strong shield by my side.

He didn’t hesitate for a second as he stepped forward, his tone calm but unwavering.

“No,” Pablo said firmly, his voice carrying the kind of authority that made it clear there was no room for negotiation.

"We’re with Lando today. We’re supporting him from his garage."

His words were a stark contrast to Carlos’ hopeful tone, and I could see Carlos' face falter at the certainty in Pablo’s voice.

Carlos blinked, taken aback by the decisiveness in Pablo’s response. He seemed to pause, trying to process what had just happened.

The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. His eyes flickered between Pablo and me, and I could see the understanding settle in.

He’d messed up, and he had no one to blame but himself.

“We’re going to Lando’s garage,” Pablo added smoothly, a subtle but deliberate edge to his words.

“We’ve already made plans. Best of luck with the race.”

Carlos opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He was speechless.

The look on his face was a mixture of surprise and regret, as if he was finally starting to understand just how much he’d fumbled this entire situation.

I couldn’t help but feel a little satisfaction at seeing him so flustered, but I reminded myself to stay composed.

This was his fault, and the reality of what he had lost was only just beginning to hit him.

“Let’s go, mi amor,”

Pablo said gently, placing his hand on my lower back as he led me away, giving Carlos one last glance that left no room for misunderstanding.

As we began to walk away from Carlos, I felt a surge of relief, but Pablo wasn’t quite finished yet.

He shot a glance back over his shoulder at Carlos, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The tension in the air was thick, and Pablo, always confident, was going to make sure Carlos knew just how badly he’d messed up.

With a sly tone, Pablo called over his shoulder,

“If you wouldn’t have fumbled this bad, you might’ve had the privilege of having this beauty with you... but guess not.”

Carlos froze, his expression going from shock to something like embarrassment in an instant.

He didn’t even have time to respond before we turned our backs, walking away with our hands firmly clasped together.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly at Pablo’s words. He was never one to hold back, but the way he handled that moment made me feel even more secure in the choice I had made.

As we walked down the hallway, Pablo leaned closer to me, his arm brushing mine, his voice softening.

“I’m just stating facts, mi amor,” he whispered, his eyes glinting with amusement.

I smiled up at him, shaking my head slightly. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Only for you,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

And just like that, the past felt even more distant, as if it never even mattered anymore.

The farther we got from Carlos, the more I could feel the weight lifting off my shoulders.

I was with someone who truly valued me, someone who had proven time and time again that I was more than just an afterthought.

And as we made our way to Lando’s garage, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing I had made the right choice.

As we walked toward the garage, Pablo turned to me with a concerned look. “Are you okay, mi amor?”

I smiled, my heart full from the kindness he showed. “I’m more than okay, because of you.”

He smiled back, pulling me in for a gentle kiss.

“I’ll always be here for you, no matter what."

"You deserve only the best."

"Te quiero, amor.”

Before I could respond, Lando’s voice echoed from behind us, shouting,

“Ewww, get a room!”

We laughed, but I could see the joy in Lando’s face.

He was happy for me, happy that I had finally found someone who made me feel truly loved and valued.

And as Pablo and I walked toward the rest of our evening, hand in hand, I knew without a doubt that I had found my happiness.

The past was behind me. My future was with Pablo.

The end

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando norris fanfic #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz au #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz jr x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x oc #carlos sainz jr imagine #carlos sainz jr fanfic #f1 angst

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moonstruckme · 10 hours ago

Note

Hello there! I was wondering if you would be willing to write a request that I thought up? No pressure of course. I'd love to read your rendition of it but if you don't want to that is absolutely and of course fine.

So I am a pretty emotional person, and especially when I am pmsing or on my period its a very common sight for me to be silently crying over a sad reel or a photo of a puppy or sobbing loudly if I re-read my comfort angsty fic. I really crave physical affection and coddling during my period which sucks cause I live with 2 dormmates who sleep 2 steps away from me and aren't very touchy but are very loving. Like today my friend showed me a photo of her holding a puppy who was nuzzling into her sweatshirt, claws out and hooked in her sleeve and all and ofc I started crying. My other roommate was like don't show it to her she's on her period, she will cry. But then she was like, on second thought do, I enjoy her tears 💀.

On to my actual request now, sorry for rambling 😅

So I was wondering if the reader had a similar tendency with her emotions and hormones around her cycle, how the marauders would deal with it you know? Would they be used to it, asking if its just a leaky faucet to let some emotional pressure out (that happens a lot with me lol) or actual crying. If they would be freaking out no matter how often it happens. Or how they would coddle her.. very curious to see if you pick this up! Thanks for reading nonetheless <3<3

Haha thank you for your request angel <3

cw: reader who menstruates, mention of animals in televion industry, Sirius is not good with tears

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 644 words

You try not to make a spectacle of yourself. You really do. You hide in the corner of the couch, feeling the burn of your sinuses and eventually letting a couple of tears roll down your face without lifting a hand to wipe them. Your throat squeezes. Your temples ache.

Despite your best efforts, all it takes is one tiny sniffle to get the attention of your boyfriends.

James’ arm tightens around your shoulders. His cheek squishes into your head, voice heavy with sympathy as you both look at the TV. “I know, angel. It ends alright, though, yeah?”

“All he does,” you choke out, watching the dog on the screen through blurry vision, “is wait for his owner to come home every day. That’s his whole life.”

“It’s an advert for dog kibble!” Sirius protests.

You shrug, weeping, and Sirius gives a short laugh tinged with anxiety. Remus sets a hand on his knee.

“Sweetheart,” Remus says gently, “I’m sure that in real life, that dog is very well taken care of. He probably gets plenty of attention and time with his owners. He’s famous, right?”

You nod, though you can’t help a tiny sob as the on-screen dog sits straight up at the sound of a key in the door. “Right.”

“Right.” Remus gives you a kind look. “You okay? Not upset about anything else?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle weakly. “M’okay, just. My head hurts.”

James makes the sort of syrupy pitying sound that has your throat contracting all over again. “Do you think it might be the crying, lovie? It’s not the first time that commercial’s been on today. You could be dehydrated.”

“I don’t know,” you say, quietly. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ll fetch you a paracetamol and some water to be sure.” Remus stands, patting Sirius’ thigh consolingly when the other boy shifts off his lap with the movement. He touches the top of your head as he walks behind the couch, and James kisses the spot as though to second it.

“Baby.” Sirius turns to you with a stern look. “First the Lorax last night, and now this? The ad’s not even on anymore; it’s finished.”

“It’s just…” You swallow, fighting to keep your voice solid. “Do you think all pets feel like that? When their people leave to go to work?”

“No, honey,” James consoles you. “I think they’re happy to amuse themselves while we’re gone.”

“They’re perfectly fine,” says Sirius, not unkindly. “Stop crying.”

“Don’t be mean.” James gathers you closer. “She’s on her period, she’s entitled to some crying.”

“It’s like the hiccups, James. You’ve got to scare it off.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“What’s barbaric is the television industry that keeps making our girlfriend burst into tears at random points in the day!”

“You guys.” You’re nearly laughing now. With tears still wet on your cheeks, Sirius hardly looks comforted. “Don’t fight.”

“We’re not fighting.” James is quick to mollify you.

“Oh, dovey.” Remus returns with your painkillers, bending to wipe your face with a put upon frown. “Are they upsetting you?”

“God, no.” Sirius reclines back against the cushions, blowing a breath up towards the ceiling. “What chance have we of doing that, when there’s wealthy dog actors to do it for us?”

You take the water Remus has brought you, downing the painkiller. “Do you really think the dog gets decent money from the advert?” you ask as he pets your hair dotingly.

James ponders this. “Even if it’s not very much, I’d bet his owners put as much of it back into him as they can. He probably sleeps on a memory foam dog bed.”

Sirius is watching your face distressedly. “Baby,” he nearly pleads. “It’s okay.”

“No, that’s good,” you manage, voice a quiet squeak as your eyes fill again. “I just think that’s a really nice life for him. He deserves it.”

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staryuee · 1 day ago

Note

are you able to make some head canons of scaramouche, kazuha, xiao, (BASICALLY ANEMO BOYS), neuvi, kinich on how they react to reader being nonchalant like lwk i think itd be funny

NONCHALANT S/O

꒰warnings꒱ N/A

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . xiao, kazuha, scaramouche, neuvillette, kinich

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . happy new year ♡ still on hiatus but i didn’t want to leave you guys completely high and dry d(^_^o) + also kinich is most definitely out of character just bc i refuse to play the new update so i know nothing about him

XIAO

ʚ it doesn’t bother him, if anything he likes the fact you’re able to brush things off easily (makes it easier for him to stop crouching on nearby trees to assure you’re safe, but lord do you sometimes hurt his ego)

ʚ xiao isn’t confident in romantic gestures, even something as small as a compliment or pinky holding has him wanting to disappear and recover…so when you so easily act indifferent to it while he’s practically drunk on flush straight up makes him die a little

ʚ aside from the slight jabs to his pride, you aren’t uncaring and dumb enough to let his love go unnoticed (thankfully) so he can fully appreciate that you protect your peace

ʚ haunted by memories of war, death and the stench of metal, it’s nice to find some solace in the cool air you exude

ʚ from the outer perspective, two people who have nonchalant energy wouldn’t seem to work too well (but lord do people drool when you two are duoed for a fight), but you and xiao just click!

ʚ he’s quiet, protective but sweet and ready to take the first step to love you, while you’re chilled, confident and allow him to take comfort in someone who’s stable (and sometimes snarky lol)

KAZUHA

ʚ he takes your nonchalant energy as you being ditzy or levelheaded if anything - in other words - it’s really endearing!

ʚ you sort of match his personality to the T, except he’s just the slightest bit more reciprocal with other people’s energy meanwhile you just stand back with your hands either tucked in your pockets or fiddling with the edge of his scarf

ʚ he actually kinda just enjoys teasing you if anything to see if anything can make you crack, most attempts end in failure but it is a rather cute bonding exercise to whoosh you with anemo energy out of the blue to then help you reorganise your hair and straighten your clothes

ʚ he does worry for you on the occasion when you seem to show a lack of interest in him, he’s a pure romantic at heart! he thrives off the attention from his beloved partner! but once in a while you do show him just how much you love him

ʚ did he immediately brighten when you once placed your head on his lap really quietly when he was humming a melody to you? yes, and he has no shame about that

SCARAMOUCHE

ʚ oh you PISS him off

ʚ if ignorance and arrogance were ever personified it would be you and him respectfully

ʚ obviously you both love each other on deeper levels than just: “even though i’m above you i’ll still let you hold my hand, — “okay.” - but your relationship is just…humorous at best from an outsider’s view

ʚ the akademiya’s student body is currently conflicted between the idea that your relationship is either ideal or highly toxic

ʚ on one hand, it’s really adorable to see the mysterious, snarky student of vahumana that rarely ever comes to class be so oddly…chatty in your presence, as you so lovingly listened to every word (if the people close enough to actually hear can be bothered to ignore the fact he’s badmouthing the entire school while you shrugged at every word)

ʚ aside from the yapper x listener duo, he’d also…a little more physically affectionate? he rests his head on your lap quite frequently because you say nothing and therefore don’t bother teasing him

ʚ that’s also the main thing he hates: how nonchalant you are about everything makes his indifference seem futile and oddly more vulnerable. you don’t care about anything, and it’s incredibly infuriating! the first time he said “i love you” you replied with “huh?” and that was the first time he’s ever felt so scornful

ʚ he loves you most days, so he will deal with your frustrating silence - it’s nice to see him become the person he wanted to be with someone who rarely intervenes

NEUVILLETTE

ʚ he’s worried, intrigued and a little jealous all at once.

ʚ worried because he fears that your indifference is a direct consequence of his own inadequacy. are you perhaps not satisfied?? do you not like it when he cups the side of your face when he kisses you? or do you hate the purring noises he makes when you curl your hands in his hair? …it’s raining in fontaine again

ʚ he’s intrigued mostly because you don’t seem to care or even be fazed by the fact you’re not only dating a dragon - but a primordial, godly being that precedes the creation of the modern teyvat. he didn’t think the information would be useful to you in the first place, but when you asked so nicely about the two blue steaks in his hair, he felt obliged to tell you - and yet you replied with “oh, cool.”

ʚ a little jealous just because this attitude is rather perfect in court. you can’t show bias and any emotion whether for defence or prosecution can skew your perspective on a trial - it’s difficult. he’s grown to love the little beings that run around fontaine carelessly, passing judgement has become something so much more colourful than black and white. but with you? it’s like you either have no opinion, or just to not engage - slightly admirable, if a little scary

ʚ at the end of the day, it doesn’t worry him too badly. nonchalance doesn’t necessarily mean emotionally unavailable - and believe me he spends enough time next to you to love the little quirks and habits you do when no one is looking at that façade of yours

KINICH

ʚ you 🤝 kinich - two peas in a pod

ʚ you don’t give a shit about anything? neither does he! do you wanna kiss?

ʚ ajaw lowkey hates you both (said with affection) and does NOT hesitate to let his opinion be known, though kinich is of course quick to shut him down

ʚ he kind of enjoys peering his head at you during conversations to see what you’re like - if your face scrunches when people say something weird, if your brows pitifully furrow at the mention of loss, or even if you smile at laughter — and he sees quite literally nothing, which was honestly like looking in a mirror

ʚ no one actually knows how two people with nearly the exact same level of charisma (none) got together, but you two are happy with each other, so really - who else needs to comprehend your relationship?

ʚ you have a really similar approach to life: do what you must to get what you want. but to him that means dangerous commissions that no one would probably want, and to you that means lounge around graffitiing a wall with some symbols you thought of on the spot

ʚ it’s genuinely infuriating to have a conversation with either of you though when the person speaking isn’t looking for particular help (or is speaking too slowly for either of your likings), you either brush the person off and walk away, or kinich talks back rather abruptly

ʚ mualani made it a non negotiable rule to have someone, hopefully the traveler, around either one of you like some sort of support dog to ensure you guys actually socialise and don’t sit there like owls waiting to bite

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

#insert nonchalant dread head meme or something **#love u guys sm hope you’ve had an amazing xmas !!#genshin x reader #gn! x reader #genshin x gnreader #gi x reader #genshin x you #xiao x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #scara x reader #neuvillette x reader #kinich x reader

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apeachty · 1 day ago

Text

₊ ˚ ⊹ ♡ . ⠀broken rules, mended hearts

⠀⠀⠀fwb!yeonjun x fem!reader

genre : angst, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff at the end

warnings : dom fwb!yeonjun x sub!reader, both are intended more or less grown up as yeonjun has his own apartment and reader has a job; LOTS of kinks mentioned, but nothing too much; reader was “close to inexperienced” before yeonjun; unwanted pregnancy discussions; some misogyny (not from yeonjun, ofc); reader is awkward when it comes to dates and also puts yeonjun through a really bad emotional rollercoaster (but not on purpose); lots of misunderstandings and overthinking. reader wears a sundress (is it important?..). melancholic and angsty, but with a happy end

wordcount : 14k

note : sigh... thank you @biteyoubiteme for hyping me up, beta reading it and listening to all of my tantrums every 3k words. it wouldn't have happened without you ♡ i also don't know how it happened, i guess i just wanted a happy ending for fwb!yeonjun bad enough.

yeonjun had become soft recently. too soft. what was once regular doggy style slowly transformed into regular missionary, with your limbs wrapped tight around his body; occasional cowgirl rides, where he’d watch you struggle, hands behind his head, shifted to him holding you tight and helping you move on top of him. chests pressed close, as your breaths were mingling in the small, intimate space, heartbeats syncing as one.

sharp quick bites turned into deliberate love marks he took his time to make, pressing his lips gently to each mark before moving to unmarked skin; quick frustrated slaps to your thighs and ass became more intended and calculated. he developed a habit of gripping handful after each slap, fingertips sinking into your flesh, before caressing bruised skin tenderly. he was marking you even more than before, but started doing it slowly, as if savouring every drag of his nails along your thighs, every touch, every bite, and wanting you to savour it too.

rare, tiny pecks that used to happen infrequently began appearing more often, slowly inching dangerously close to your lips. so slowly that you barely noticed it until you could smell mint toothpaste and faint honey chapstick he bought for himself because he loved the way yours smelled. his mean name-calling and degradation melted into sweet names and an almost unnecessary amount of praise.

unnecessary, you chuckled to yourself bitterly. you never knew how much you needed yeonjun to be like that until he became the person who held you tight after each orgasm, his hand over your heart, waiting for it to calm down, his lips pressed to your neck, whispering how much of a good girl you were for him. sometimes he stayed the night, or made you stay. gosh, you even cockwarmed him through the night once, and you never wanted him to leave your body after that.

what had started as a way to release frustration, stress, or anger, became something messy and confusing. he began refusing to have sex with you when he was angry, calling it “unfair to you”. he said he didn't want to pour all of his frustration onto you. you begged him sometimes, though. at first, because he was so unbelievably hot when he was like that and you craved him to be rough—the roughest—with you. later, because you wanted him to let it all out—bottling up emotions never did anything good for anyone, and you knew fucking you until you could barely think would help him.

sometimes he agreed, and sometimes he didn't. if he did, he still started softly, keeping his emotions down just for a moment to make sure you knew he wasn't angry at you, never at you, before throwing you on the bed and making you a dumb, trembling, whimpering mess beneath him. marks and love bruises bloomed all over your body as he fucked you senseless. when he refused, though, you talked about his day, ate ice cream or some of his favourite food, as frustration was slowly leaving his body and he was laughing more and more at your antics. understanding which one was needed started coming naturally for you somewhere along the way. and he confessed once that both were helping him the same, in their own ways.

yeonjun started taking more charge when you were the one stressed too, almost pulling you away from his dick when he knew that getting fucked senselessly would only add to your burden. he acted like he knew better than you did, and the worst part was—he was right. he was doing exactly what you needed, almost every time, and if he ever misunderstood, he was quick to change his approach. it felt like he could get into your mind. or like you two were so perfectly suited, your flaws aligning like puzzle pieces, that no words were needed. you didn't know which one was worse.

it wasn't that sex had become boring or rare. against all odds, you both started reaching out to each other more often—not just on bad days, but when you were horny, or bored, or had free time. sometimes you’d text him because you missed him, and even though he agreed to meet every time, you refused to admit—even to yourself—that you just wanted to spend time with him, sex or not.

you started experimenting more too. impulsive rough sex had its limits and lines yeonjun couldn't cross because he could hurt you while he couldn't control himself, but as it started happening on a cold head more and more often, you both found yourselves enjoying testing how far he could go, how much your body could take. he learned your limits—how many slaps your butt could endure, the right way to squeeze your throat to make you dizzy yet enjoying it, how many times he could deny your orgasm or grant it, how hard he could pull your hair to make you beg for more. you even got a pretty box of all the nice toys and added ‘yellow’ as a safe word just for him to explore your limits more comfortably.

one day he mentioned a list of more things he would like to try—you weren’t sure if it was with you or in general, given his experience. you were close to inexperienced when the ‘friends with benefits’ thing started, and he introduced you to many of his kinks. surprisingly enough you loved each one, while being not too interested in the ones he was indifferent to. but there were more he wanted you to try, and he named only a few—free use with somnophilia, the thought of him using you any moment and any way he wanted already thrilled you; role play, the few ideas he shared sounded good already. but the one he mentioned and quickly brushed off was a spit kink, which stuck in your mind since then, conflicting with the ‘no kissing’ rule of his.

yeonjun was a decent man too, always had been, so it was typically at least one for one when it came to oral activities between you two. of course, sometimes he could eat you out simply because he wanted to, not as a “return the favour” gesture, but usually you just skipped it for the sake of the main event unless he wanted to fuck your face. recently, however, it had changed too—eating you out had become a necessary part of the ‘main event’ for him, as if something had been unleashed within him. he would spend hours between your legs before or after fucking you—or both—and it felt like he had learned from the gods themselves. his free hand would often be resting over your heart or holding yours, fingers interlaced. and at the same time you had to beg him to let you suck him off, despite knowing you weren't that bad at it and that he clearly enjoyed the feeling of your mouth on him. you assumed he just enjoyed hearing your pathetic begging for his cock a little bit more.

you’d probably fucked on every surface in his apartment, which wasn't exactly weird, because you did it before too—often none of you had enough patience to get to the bedroom. but now it was different—he asked you if you liked the place, if it was comfortable for you, if the position was comfortable or if you would like something else. if you didn’t like it he never pulled you there even in the heat of a moment. his questions weren’t obvious, but you quickly caught on, jokingly suggesting you should fill a survey. he laughed, joking back and saying you two could move in together for the research to go faster.

it was confusing. he was confusing. and you hated it more than anything. except one thing—the way your “friends with benefits” arrangement was evolving lately made you feel soft and dizzy, made you dream of something more like you were a middle schooler writing her crush’s name in a diary and drawing a bunch of tiny hearts around it. it went against the ‘no catching feelings’ he’d set up in the beginning. you broke it at some point—maybe ‘friends with benefits’ thing wasn’t for you in general? you were hiding it, of course, but when he started changing, you started overthinking it. was he breaking the rule too? was it just normal behaviour for friends with benefits? was it just normal behaviour for him?

you didn’t ask, afraid he would laugh at you and your stupid childish feelings. but you didn’t break what you had either, not knowing what to do to make it hurt the least in the end for you and choosing to go with the flow. you tried to not question anything he did, slowly giving him control over your relationship, not only in bed but out of it too. you had no idea how it was supposed to work in general, and he never explained except making a few rules and asking if you had any rules you'd like to have too. you couldn't think of anything, so you just mumbled something about you both checking for STDs, and he chuckled telling you it always went without saying.

a few weeks later it became the “we're strictly exclusive” rule, as you both realized that looking for anyone else was useless—you met each other’s needs well. you ditched condoms too—you’d been on birth control pills for years already, you were exclusive, and you both were clean. and he swore you would be into cum play just as much as he was. he turned out to be right, because condoms were prohibited in his and your place since the first night without one. it never crossed your mind, because it made sense, until one day, months later, you realized your period was late.

you had been staying at yeonjun’s house for nearly two weeks—his apartment was closer to your work, and with the quarter ending, he suggested you move in until you finished your extra work. it made sense, as you already had enough of your belongings there, and he often checked if anything needed to be bought. his gaze fell on your period supplies one day, and he realized that you should have been on your period for a few days already, but all the packages were still unopened.

it wasn't too big of a deal, it had happened a few times before. these past two weeks had been stressful for you, so he just grabbed the last pregnancy test—making a mental note to buy more later—and handed it to you without any second thought. you didn't pay much attention to it either, taking it from him and going to the bathroom. after all, you were taking pills, and even though they weren't 100% effective, getting pregnant was still rare. the test showed positive though.

seeing the pale little line next to the bright one made your whole world come crashing down. you stared at it, unable to comprehend what was worse. unwanted pregnancy? you didn't want to have children, not at that point of your life at least. yeonjun didn't want either. he was your friend with benefits for god's sake, that was completely uncalled for. it'd be uncalled for even if you were dating, and you weren't. you started spiraling. pregnancy could be dealt with, but he could think you did it on purpose, skipping your pills just to get pregnant, to baby trap him. he would hate you, you thought. he would yell at you to get out, saying he wanted nothing to do with you, that everything was a mistake, even meeting you.

yeonjun found you a few minutes later, sitting on the bathroom floor and staring at the test, tears streaming down your face. you didn't react to him calling you, and he didn't need to look at the test to know the result. you looked up at him, eyes puffy and red, holding out the test. he glanced at it quickly, but it felt like an eternity for you. it was the moment you realized the feelings you had caught for him were too strong, as your heart was breaking into the smallest pieces at the thought of him telling you to leave his life. and the worst thing was, you weren't so sure anymore what to do with the child, with the tiny piece of him.

you waited for him to yell at you, but he never did. yeonjun wasn't excited or even happy to become a father, but he sat down next to you and held you while you fell apart in his arms, trying to keep at least the biggest pieces of you together. he promised to hold your hand through every step of pregnancy, birth, and parenthood if the test was right and you wanted to keep the baby. he said you could move in with him here, and he would turn his little dance room into a nursery and baby’s room later, or even sell that apartment to buy a bigger one. he swore to never leave you two alone, and if you needed a guarantee, he was ready to marry you as soon as possible.

yeonjun ran to get more when he was sure you had calmed down. it turned out the test was expired and showed a false positive—you weren't pregnant, and you were relieved. he visibly relaxed too—he never told you he was happy you weren't pregnant but you knew him well enough already to know it yourself, and weren’t mad at him even for a second—you felt absolutely the same. the whole situation drained you completely though, and you fell asleep early that day, wrapped tightly in yeonjun's arms as he kept you together after all the shocks of the day.

that was the last time it happened, the unwanted and unhappened pregnancy drawing a line between you that was little by little becoming a growing gap. you distanced yourself from him, and he started reaching out much less frequently too. you didn't know what was going through his head, but you assumed he realized that having a child was too much—maybe with you, maybe in general—and the risk wasn't worth it. you were thinking something similar: if you were going to take that risk, you'd prefer doing it in not only an exclusive but also committed relationship, and you couldn't have it with yeonjun no matter how much you wished the rule didn’t exist.

it brought you here, sitting half ready for a date on the couch in your apartment, phone in hand. you hadn't heard from yeonjun in three weeks, and for three weeks, you tried to keep your mind as empty as your hollow heart was, afraid that even the smallest thought about what you two had would ruin the little composure you managed to get. but it didn't happen—you’d just basically analyzed everything that happened in these months, and it didn't break you. it only left you more empty.

you looked down at the messaging app. the chat with yeonjun was still pinned to the top, little ‘3w’ at the top right corner mocking you. i'll unpin it later, you thought, moving your gaze lower. there was one unread message from ‘jaeyong’. “will be there in an hour, baby ;)”, sent twenty minutes ago. you almost made a face at the word ‘baby’—only yeonjun didn’t make it sound cringe. you hadn't even met the guy yet, you matched with him on tinder a few days ago. surprisingly so, because you were ready to give up, as you kept comparing everyone to yeonjun, and of course, no one was ever close. you weren't even sure how you swiped that one right, probably by accident, but you did. maybe it was destiny?

the ice cream cafe you agreed to meet at was nice, as you had seen it daily on your way to work and were a regular during certain periods, visiting almost daily. they offered a variety of tasty treats, so you didn't have to limit yourself to just ice cream alone. the workers were always friendly too despite the constant stream of customers, but you knew quieter hours as a person who sometimes stayed extra hours at work. or as someone who spent countless days in the area, you realized as your gaze fell upon the window table you and yeonjun used to sit in the late evenings, laughing at each other's poor ice cream flavour choices.

when jaeyong asked you if you had any preferences for the meeting place, you named that cafe without any second thought—he was a stranger and you didn't want to meet him somewhere near your house, but you didn't want to go to an unfamiliar area either. he didn't know where you were working too except brief occupation description, so a cafe not so far from work seemed safe. it felt safe too, but for a completely different reason than you initially thought. it wasn't about the familiar area or the familiar workers; it was about the safety and peace you felt when you were there with yeonjun.

you had to gather some strength to tear your eyes away from the table you two used to occupy regularly and choose another table. you sat down and put your purse on your knees, checking your watch. you were a few minutes early, and it made you uneasy—were you supposed to be a bit late? was it expected from you as some… unspoken rule? should you have waited outside? but it was drizzling lightly, it might ruin your hair or make up. were these good even? yeonjun barely cared if you were barefaced and wore a ponytail, a braid or a bun, so over the months you had gotten out of the habit of dolling yourself up when it wasn't necessary.

but it was necessary now. and you had to stop thinking about yeonjun. you inhaled and exhaled slowly—he was a finished chapter in your life, and you had to move on. you had a date with another man. even if that one didn’t work out, it was a start already. the first step was always the hardest one, and you hoped that this first step would at least help you realize what you were looking for—something that wasn’t just ‘yeonjun’.

but jaeyong turned out to be… not exactly what you expected. he was a bit late, but you greeted him with a wide smile nevertheless, getting up to hold out your hand to shake his. his cute apologetic smile fell, and he shook your hand awkwardly. you mentally slapped yourself—you had no idea what he expected you to do, but it probably wasn't a handshake that was usually exchanged only between men. you sat back down, nervousness coming back, as you pulled your chair closer to the table, which made him raise his eyebrow. of course. minus another point—you were supposed to let him pull your chair out instead of doing it yourself.

by the time you finished your dessert, you lost count of how many points you lost. you came up to the counter to order your food yourself instead of telling him so he could order for you both. you paid for your coffee and dessert. you sat on your own again, because you forgot he tried so hard to be a gentleman. you probably ate and drank in some wrong way, but you couldn’t understand what exactly you did wrong—you didn’t talk with your mouth full and didn’t laugh like a hyena at his latte moustaches, showing it subtly on yourself to give him a hint. was that wrong?..

but it wasn’t the worst part of the date. you thought nothing could be worse than being silently judged for every little thing, but then he started talking about his ex. how she wanted to focus on her career instead of giving birth to a few precious babies and become a housewife, while he would work hard to support them all. she had told him that from the beginning, but he was sure she would change her mind—all women did, it was their role after all. he said he was on the verge of achieving it, but she broke up with him for something trivial. you were too close to losing another few points for the sake of checking your tinder profile in the middle of the conversation—you were sure you had ‘don’t want to have kids yet’ there.

you throw a quick glance outside the window. the rain was pouring now and you didn’t have an umbrella—you hadn’t checked the forecast and had to use your jacket to cover your head when the drizzle started on your way here. and you obviously didn’t have a ride home or at least to the nearby subway station, leaving you with only option—losing a few more points by getting a taxi on your own instead of letting jaeyong get it for you. he was too much of a creep to know even the street you were living on.

your gaze moved to the window table once again. you never realized how easy it was with yeonjun despite that ‘friends with benefits’ thing complicating everything. at least it was safe with him, and even when he was unpredictable, he was unpredictable in the best way possible. not to mention all the other things that made him so much better than the man sitting across from you now. you pressed your lips together—you missed him, missed the way you felt when you were with him, even though you were sure you’d get your heart broken at some point. but maybe you were just biased toward jaeyong, because your brain still was occupied with thoughts of yeonjun?..

suddenly, your date fell silent. right, not paying attention, minus another point. you suppressed the urge to sigh and looked back at him, hands fidgeting with an empty cup, the textured print feeling nice under your fingers. he threw a quick glance at your hands—minus one more point?—before continuing where he left off, probably launching into another story about why another woman was a gold digger for paying for herself on a date with him. you had abandoned hope of finding any sense in his life views long ago, so you just let his words wash over you without truly listening.

the bell over the door rang softly, announcing another customer coming in. you looked up, curious about the other lost soul who ended up being in this cafe instead of the warmth of their home, and froze. the person's back was turned to you as they put their umbrella into the stand, but you could swear it was him. his hair was shorter, much shorter, not covering his neck anymore, a neat undercut looking foreign on him—he had one long before you met, you saw photos, but you never saw it in real life. but it was undoubtedly him. yeonjun.

your certainty didn't help you, though, when he turned and looked at you immediately—there was no one else in the cafe after all, of course he looked at you. his face looked different somehow with the shorter hair, but he still was your yeonjun. your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met. he was shocked, his eyes huge and mouth agape, but his expression changed when he noticed a man sitting across from you. his gaze hardened, and he pressed his lips together. yeonjun understood it was a date, he wasn't dumb, but he didn't have time to mourn his heart, because his subconscious threw a huge ‘attention!’ sign at him, making him pause to understand what his gut was trying to tell him.

yeonjun wanted to leave—his house was nearby, and he could make coffee himself and maybe grab an ice cream tub from the convenience store on the way there. but you looked… wrong. something was wrong about you. he felt like it took him a few eternities to realize you were uncomfortable—he rarely saw you like this, you were always at ease with him, barely ever tense, nervous or anxious, but you were all of those now, and he knew he couldn't leave you like that. he had to make sure you were safe, if your date turned out to be a creep, not to mention his umbrella was the only one in the stand, meaning you didn't bring yours, and the rain wouldn't stop until tomorrow morning.

he took his jacket off, purposefully hanging it on the floor hanger next to yours—even closer than the jacket of your date. you noticed it with the corner of your eyes, despite looking at jaeyong and trying not to make him suspicious. you knew yeonjun was making a statement with it—”i'm here, i'm next to you, i'm not going anywhere”—even though he was clearly upset with you. you could see it perfectly. he wasn't upset with you very often, but you had seen it enough when it came to other people getting on his nerves.

but you still felt at ease just from seeing yeonjun deciding not to leave you alone. he noticed it too—maybe he rarely ever saw you uncomfortable, but the relief written all over your face and body was a stark contrast to the way you looked when he first walked in. he barely glanced at the cashier while ordering his usual—iced americano and mint choco ice cream—his gaze never leaving you even when you weren’t looking at him directly. he knew you could still see him over your date’s shoulder.

yeonjun chose a place to sit with the same intent—he took a table in the corner just near the counter, positioning himself so you could see him fully without it being obvious, and so he could keep you in his sight. he was thankful the three of you were the only people in the cafe, allowing him to hear every little thing your date said to you—and he sounded like a misogynistic piece of shit. yeonjun wanted nothing more than to just drag you away from the man. no woman should ever listen to something like that. he shook the thought ‘especially mine’ away—you weren’t his anymore. never had been.

it was taking you too long to end the date, when you obviously weren't interested, yeonjun noticed after fifteen more minutes of listening to more of that asshole’s bullshit. then it hit him—this might be the first time you were dealing with a douchebag like that one, and you had no idea how to handle it. yeonjun’s palms pressed against the table, ready to stand, when he heard something that made his blood boil.

“are you a virgin, by the way? should have asked you from the start.”

your hands froze on your cup. what did he just ask? was it that important? you didn’t know how to respond. no, of course, you knew that you weren’t one, but the question felt absurd—something no one should ask on the first date unless it really mattered to them. and if it did… he probably wasn’t concerned about taking your virginity, you doubted he thought it was too much of a bother, or that he was looking for an experienced woman only. he wanted a virgin.

why it’s taking you so long to tell him to fuck off, gosh! yeonjun groaned internally, stomping toward your table. he grabbed your wrist, fingers digging into your skin—gesture comforting for both you and yeonjun in some weird way. with a sharp tug, he pulled you out of your seat, not even sparing a glance at the piece of shit you were on a date with—yeonjun knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from punching that asshole if he so much as looked at him. he didn’t say anything to you either—not because he didn’t want to, but because he was afraid of what might spill out in his frustration and anger.

but you didn’t need him to say anything—you followed him obediently to the coat rack, where he grabbed both of your jackets in one hand. he pulled you toward the exit, throwing a short ‘umbrella’ over his shoulder, and you grabbed it from the stand, turning back only to offer the cashier an apologetic smile and a small nod goodbye. he knew you two, often being the one on the shift when you visited the cafe, and while that behaviour wasn’t regular for you two, he’d overheard the conversation and understood what was happening. he was ready to step in if needed, but he was relieved he didn’t have to, because it could have costed him his job.

yeonjun held the door for you, even though he was still holding your wrist and pulling you outside himself, and you realized he never had to try hard to be a gentleman—he always was one. he stopped under the canopy next to the window, making sure you were protected from the rain until he could open the umbrella and take you home—he turned his back to the wind, shielding you from the cold raindrops, blocking them from hitting you, his jacket hung over his shoulder carelessly freeing his hands so he could put your jacket on you.

his actions weren't gentleman-like—he didn’t hold your jacket, gracefully standing behind your back and carefully pulling it up your arms until it was fully on. yeonjun was sharp with his movements, almost yanking the umbrella from your hand and hooking it over his forearm, as he put the jacket behind you waiting for you to put your arms into the sleeves, trapping you between it and himself. you weren’t against it though, feeling safe for the first time in hours, and feeling like home for the first time in almost a month, as you felt him pull it up sharply to cover your back and shoulders before grabbing his own jacket.

you took the umbrella from yeonjun and opened it, holding it behind his back to shield him from the rain as he slipped into his jacket. he glanced at you, surprised, but you met his gaze with a soft smile, happy to be near him again and trying not to think about the conversation awaiting for you at his apartment—it wouldn’t be nice, it would be the one that would end everything between you two. so for now you wanted to enjoy the little warmth and care you had for each other while it lasted, you were going to burn each one of his words into your brain and each of his touch into your skin, so you could hear and feel it for months.

yeonjun took the umbrella back—much softer already—when he was done with the jacket, holding it between your bodies to cover you both from the rain before stepping out of the canopy and walking you to his apartment. despite him trying his best to navigate the umbrella so you were protected from the cold rain, he noticed the shoulder that was further from him getting wet—the wind was too strong, and even though the umbrella was huge, you had to be closer to him to get a bit more covered. he would have easily held the umbrella over you only, going under the rain himself, but he knew you would never let him, he always had to agree with your stubbornness when it came to his well-being.

“wrap your arm around my waist,” yeonjun said, realizing he sounded sharper than he intended. he was still upset about the way you just sat there listening to bullshit about women’s worth being measured in amount of children and how much she served her husband. he knew it didn’t make sense to be mad at you, because it wasn't your fault in the slightest, but there was something much bigger.

you were on a date. with someone else.

you had distanced yourself from him after the expired pregnancy test incident, not letting him in no matter how much he tried to make you talk to him, and he started shutting down too. you both had suffered for weeks like that until everything ended with some stupid text message about the hoodie you lost, asking him if it was at his place. and then, three weeks later, he found you having a date with some asshole at the cafe he started considering as a place for the two of you only. yeonjun knew it was his rule to not catch feelings, he knew he was being unfair to you by feeling that way, but he couldn’t stop the frustration spiraling inside of him.

even the way you wrapped your arm around his waist like he told you to, your hand holding the side of his jacket, didn’t help. he still put his hand over yours, interlacing fingers with yours and putting your hands together into his pocket, though—the place your hand was at was constantly under rain, and he didn’t want you to get cold, no matter how upset he was. or how much it went against any rules you seemed so determined to follow, yet failed to uphold. he was breaking them, and you were letting him—just like now, not pulling your hand away from his grasp. did you even remember there was a rule against intimate touches like this one?

were you breaking the rules on purpose too, just like he was? were you capable of breaking the most important one—the one that was about being exclusive? yeonjun’s jaw tightened as he threw a quick glance at you, when he felt your steps falter slightly for a moment. he thought that you might stumble, but instead you made a small, quick step instead of a regular one to match his stride. you did it often—not falling into step with him, but adjusting yourself to match him like it was natural for you, effortless. now, though, it seemed like you were ready to just throw it all away as something you didn’t need anymore. his throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, his grip on your hand tightening briefly before he caught himself and loosened it.

yeonjun had noticed how much you’d changed these few months before the pregnancy test, when he started changing too—you’d become softer with him, a bit more reserved, but still softer. you had also grown more obedient—not that you hadn’t been before, but now you seemed to do what he wanted or needed without him having to say anything most of the time. it was probably another way you adjusted yourself for him. but he had to be too cautious around you, holding back his own softness and tenderness sometimes, because you had developed a habit of pulling away when he was too gentle. he couldn’t get his head around you, and holding back and overthinking were tiring.

and then he had said he wouldn’t leave if you were pregnant, words about marriage slipping out on its own. his only intention was to calm you down—he wasn't lying, of course. he was ready to take responsibility, to support and love you and the baby if it came to that. but it felt like he had ruined everything. this time, though, he was sure he knew why. he knew you didn’t want children—not yet, at least—and though you two never had never discussed anything like marriage, he assumed you weren’t interested in a long-term relationship either, and he only pushed you away with his words, making you seek someone who would be able to keep ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement as it was supposed to be.

and now? now, you were here, arm wrapped around his waist, your hand warm, nice and gentle in his, fingers interlaced. you weren’t just letting him hold you close—you were holding onto him too. you weren’t simply allowing him to hold your hand; you held it just as tight, your thumb brushing against his skin, and yeonjun wasn’t sure if you were doing it on purpose or not. you two looked like a couple, yet to him, it felt more like a cruel echo of something that could have been but was never destined to happen—he clenched his teeth, irritation bubbling in his chest at the way you played push and pull with him now.

yeonjun could still picture your eyes when you realized he chose to stay in the cafe instead of leaving you alone with that asshole. you had looked at him like he was your saviour—as if he’d been the knight who swooped in to save the princess, despite the ‘knight’ looking like he had just woken up after thirteen hours of sleep on the couch, throwing on a jacket and shoes over the hoodie and sweatpants he was sleeping in, to grab coffee at the cafe nearby. but knights never got princesses, did they? no, that was reserved for princes. knights were just tools that came in handy when princesses needed to use someone. knights were disposable.

was he just the lesser evil for you back there? would you have pretended he wasn’t there if your date hadn’t turned out to be such a creep? part of him was convinced you would have, despite the rational part of his brain trying to make him realize it wasn’t like you at all. why would you follow him to his place instead of asking him to get you to the nearest subway station? why would you hold his hand like this? why would you seem so relaxed beside him now? because she wants to toy with me some more, yeonjun thought bitterly, yanking your hands out of his pocket and letting go of yours.

you looked up at him, surprised, already missing the warmth of his touch—the short walk hadn’t been enough for that warmth to burn itself into your skin the way you needed it to, but if he thought it was enough… you held yourself back from reaching for his hand again—he was clearly upset with you, and you didn't want to play with fire. you weren't sure why he would bring you here then, though. no, it was obvious he just didn't want to cause a scene outside, but was there any point in in trying to talk things through if the end result was the same—breaking up… whatever you had?

yeonjun yanked the front door of the building open, following you right behind to hold the umbrella over you until you were safely inside, shielded from the rain. he shook the raindrops off harshly, closing the umbrella and standing a few feet away from you, facing the elevators after checking that you had pressed the button. he turned his head slightly, avoiding even a glance at you from the corner of his eyes—it was too painful and too irritating at the same time. the silence hung heavily, and he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when the elevator doors opened with a quiet ‘ding’. he stepped aside to let you enter first, following after and pressing the button for his floor, turning his back to you immediately.

you thought nothing could make an elevator ride with yeonjun longer and more unbearable than wanting to have your hands all over each other already, but having to limit yourselves to subtle touches because of the elevator cameras. but now, awkwardness and yeonjun's simmering anger stretched the seconds into eternity. you pressed yourself into the corner, silently wishing it'd just swallow you, your eyes trailing yeonjun standing before the doors, refusing to look at you. your gaze fell to the nape of his neck—his hair was so short there now… he had kept the bangs, and had shortened hair on top of his head just a bit—it still covered his temples, but you could see hair there was just as short when he ran his fingers through it, which he did often. tips of your fingers itched to touch it, but you held back—you couldn't do things like that anymore.

the little screen finally displayed yeonjun's floor number, and you moved forward at the same time as he stepped aside to give you room to leave the elevator. the ‘ladies first’ gesture would have been flattering if it wasn't for his step being a little too big, as if he was trying to keep as much distance as the small space allowed. it hurt, even though his intentions to stay away from you were obvious by the way he was keeping his distance in the hall. you still couldn’t understand why he brought you here—you could as well finish everything in ugly way through messages, there was no need to see each other’s faces.

you exited the elevator, stepping aside to let yeonjun go first—you no longer had the keys, they were left dangling on the key rack in his apartment some time before the last conversation. you weren’t sure why you had done it, though—he had never made you feel unwelcome there, but once again, you had done lots of stupid things lately, once that felt right at the time, but grew increasingly stupid with every second you thought about it, so you decided to simply stop thinking about everything you did. childish? pretty much, but compared to watching yourself destroy everything with your own hands, it felt like the lesser evil.

yeonjun opened the door, letting you step inside first, and locked it behind you. he placed the umbrella in its stand and crouched down to undo his shoes, still not saying a word to you. his mind was restless, every glance at you sinking another dagger into his chest and fueling his anger. you stood before him, your legs right in front of his eyes, your short sundress—one of his favourites, the one you started wearing more often after he told you he loved the way it looked on you—barely covering any skin, especially from his current angle. he jerked his head downward, jaw tightening. his favourite dress… on a date… in his favourite cafe… with some misogynistic asshole.

yeonjun stood up and made a few steps further into the apartment, his socks slipping slightly against the floor. he shrugged off his damp jacket carelessly, hanging it on the hook, before finally turning to look at you. his gaze caught the mirror on the inside of the door over your shoulder though, and he double-checked his reflection instinctively. he had cut his hair just a few days ago and still couldn’t get used to the way he looked. his own reflection felt like a stranger, whenever he saw it with the corner of his eyes. there was no long hair he had been growing out for a year anymore. he decided to go back to the undercut he had as his go-to hairstyle for a few years before meeting you. his hair already started growing out when you met, and somehow, when you stayed in his life as his friend with benefits he let it keep growing, trimming it from time to time a bit.

and when you left… yeonjun wasn’t sure why he had cut it. maybe it was an attempt to return the person he had been before meeting you—someone less broken, less hollow, no matter how stupid it sounded if he thought about it for more than a minute. not even because his hairstyle and your presence hadn’t been the only things different from the past—too many things had changed this year—but because it’d never be enough to erase every reminder of you from his life, which had been the real reason of him cutting his hair off, even though he refused to admit it to himself even. he hadn’t even done anything else, cutting his hair was the only thing that he had done, because he couldn’t get rid of other little things that reminded him of you. and ridiculously enough, the undercut became another reminder—he thought of you whenever he saw his reflection or touched his hair.

yeonjun tore his gaze away from the mirror, finally looking at you. you were standing near the door, your jacket and shoes still on, leaving faint, wet marks on the doormat, your hands fidgeting with the clasp of your purse. you looked so small, so vulnerable, like someone who needed to be protected every moment of their life. he couldn’t believe you had gone on a date with a stranger—with some jerk, who just saw you—or any woman—as an incubator, but the incubator had to be a virgin, of course, of course. it sounded ridiculous and disgusting even in his own head, and yet you had been sitting there, listening to all that bullshit, like it was completely fine.

“why didn’t you say anything?” the words came out bitter and sharp, yeonjun wasn’t even going to ask that—he knew why and he knew it wasn’t your fault, but the words left his mouth before he could think about it. his fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he tried to keep his voice steady, though he knew it was a losing battle. “back there. to that asshole.”

you frowned, looking up at him in confusion. he knew why you hadn’t said anything, why you hadn’t done anything. he had stayed and stepped in exactly because he knew. did he want you to say it out loud? to admit that you had been absolutely helpless and would have had to ask the cashier for help if things escalated? to confess that you would have kept listening to all that misogynistic trash if he hadn’t dragged you out?

“because i didn’t know what to say,” you responded quietly, your nails biting into your palms. “if it wasn’t for you—”

something snapped in yeonjun at the sound of your voice after three weeks of only hearing it in old voice messages. he appeared before you in just a few swift steps, pressing your back into the mirror on the inside of the front door with one smooth motion—you couldn't even comprehend what happened until you felt a sharp bite on the side of your neck and his cold hand, the one that had been holding the umbrella, running up your thigh, leaving faint red lines with nails and lifting the skirt of your sundress before delivering a hard, sharp slap to your skin. you yelped and jerked, never expecting it, arms wrapping around his shoulders, but he only pressed you harder into the front door with his body, thigh pushing between your legs, and his second hand finding its place on your breast, kneading it roughly.

it was far from the first time something similar happened—yeonjun had gone through a stressful period when you both decided to try the ‘friends with benefits’ agreement, and you found yourself with your face pressed against a random surface as he pounded you into it until your legs were sore, quite often. the front door too, of course—it had been a favourite of his in the beginning, chosen for its speed and convenience. but that was the thing—in the beginning. later, you admitted it was far from your favourite place—the mirror was uncomfortably cold at first and then weirdly warm under your cheek, chest or shoulder blades, and it made a weird screeching sound whenever your skin rubbed against it, and you couldn't stop thinking about people passing by. it had been the last time you had sex or even made out there. until now.

yeonjun didn't leave a small gentle kiss over the bite on your neck too, his hand didn't linger to soothe the slapped skin of your thigh, even for a moment. he jerked your skirt up too sharply, cursing at the way it got in the way between his thigh and your crotch, and when he finally managed to pull it high enough to his liking, he slapped your thigh once again to silently command you to lift your leg over his waist—instead of wrapping his fingers around your thigh and lifting it himself like he had started doing not so long ago. you loved when he was like that back then, loved all of it, but now, compared to the way you knew he could be with you, it was almost devastating.

deep inside you hoped to have sex with him just one last time before your paths parted for good, but this… this wasn’t what you expected, not what you wanted. you didn’t want to feel like you were back to square one, no matter how hot he looked now or had been in the beginning, because back then you were nothing to each other—except ‘friends with benefits’. yeonjun meant much more for you now, and deep down, you hoped you had grown to mean more to him too, but perhaps you didn’t know him well enough to know what his mixed signals meant.

yeonjun cursed breathlessly into the skin of your shoulder, and it was the first time since he pushed you into the mirror that he allowed himself to touch your skin with his lips alone, without using his teeth. just that simple gesture made him dizzy—being tender with you again. he had another problem, though—no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't seem to get fully hard. yeonjun had no idea why—you finally were next to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, as he marked you like it was the last time— it was, he realized. it was the last time, and he couldn’t even fuck you properly so you wouldn’t think of anyone else no matter how much other men tried to please you. it irritated him even more, but he hoped his thigh would suffice—he had always been able to make you cum on it easily.

you heard another curse from him, barely heard over your racing thoughts. you were far from understanding the reason behind it—probably something about you again. was it better than nothing? better than just having an awkward conversation about ending the arrangement and never seeing each other ever again? never— you couldn’t hold back the sniffle, your nose starting to burn as tears welled up in your eyes. you put your palms on yeonjun’s shoulders. no. you didn’t want to remember your last encounter like this, because you remembered the way your sexual encounters ended in the very beginning. one of you—the one who was a ‘guest’—would dress up in silence, get a taxi for themselves and leave the apartment, shutting the door for the other one to lock later. that didn’t last long, but if he was back to the very beginning… you knew you wouldn’t be able to leave his bed.

another quiet sniffle left you, as you tried to push yeonjun away by his shoulders. “yeonjun, please,” your voice was too quiet, too small—you weren’t even sure if he had heard you, and even if he did, he might misinterpret it as you asking for more, because he pressed you harder into the mirror, rubbing his thigh against your crotch. “jjun, s-stop,” you sobbed out, fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie, silently begging him to put an end to this confusing, heart-wrenching encounter.

yeonjun froze at the nickname said like that—with a sob—his body tense. had he hurt you?.. had he ruined everything? of course, he did, what a failure he was. he failed himself, but it didn’t matter because he failed you so much more. “i’m sorry, baby,” yeonjun whispered into your skin one last time before moving away and turning his back to you. he couldn’t look at you—not now, not like this. he didn’t deserve to. he was glad you stopped him before he went too far, because he knew he’d break if he continued, but he was too stubborn to stop on his own. to end everything himself too.

you stood frozen behind him, his absence hitting you like a blow despite you being the one who pushed him away, a gaping hole replaced his presence. it wasn’t just your body that felt cold; it seeped into your skin, into your bones. you’d never felt so empty in your life. it wasn’t fair. none of this was fair. was that it? the end? were you supposed to turn around, open the door, and leave, acting like nothing had ever happened? was that what yeonjun expected you to do? not even a ‘goodbye’?.. you stared at his back, not being able to believe he wouldn’t turn around to at least look at you one last time.

but even with all the confusion and insecurity, you didn’t want to leave. the thought of walking out that door, of leaving him behind, felt like tearing a piece of yourself away. you weren’t ready to let go, weren’t ready to forget everything. the only thing that was holding you back from telling him it was certainty that yeonjun wanted you to leave, but maybe—just maybe—there was a tiny possibility that he wanted you to stay? maybe finding someone else for this kind of relationship was too bothersome for his busy life? maybe you could push your feelings away?

yeonjun’s mind raced just as much, each second of silence stretching unbearably long. the absence of any sound from you was deafening. were you going to leave? why hadn’t you left already if you wanted to, so he could mourn his heart in peace? maybe you didn’t want to— he clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. stop being an idiot, yeonjun. of course, she does. he wanted to turn around and tell you that he didn’t want you to leave, that he didn’t want it to end, wanted to promise you to keep everything in the ‘friends with benefits’ limits, never breaking any rules ever again. but words stuck in his throat, weighed down by the fear of rejection, of hearing you say out loud that you didn’t want him anymore.

his heart shattered when he heard the sound of the door being unlocked. this was finally it—the moment he’d feared. you pulled the door handle down, and… and he didn’t hear the door open. you didn’t open the door, but you didn’t let go of the handle either, frozen right before the final step. you knew he wouldn’t go after you—if you left now, it would be the end. you looked down at your fingers wrapped around the shiny metal. no. it was unfair, it was wrong—too many things you left unsaid, and he could be the same. you tried to think for him, assume what he wanted, and it was wrong. and even if he just laughed in your face, it wouldn’t make your heartbreak much worse anyway.

you let go of the door handle, letting it click back into place, and turned to yeonjun. he didn’t look back, didn’t turn around, but you noticed he was even more tense than before—probably not knowing what to expect. you cleared your throat, but it didn’t help, because your small “is this the end?” was barely audible, all the confidence you’d mastered just a few seconds ago disappearing the moment you opened your mouth to ask something that felt like it’d seal your fate.

but yeonjun heard it, of course, he did. he’d been waiting to hear your voice from the moment he turned away. he had to almost force himself to shut his damn mouth before he said ‘yes’, thinking it'd be best for you to stay away from someone as broken as him. you deserved to hear an honest response, even if your reaction to it broke his heart. yeonjun knew he had to stop deciding what was best for you—you were an adult, capable of making your own mistakes. if you let him stay in your life, he would simply help you deal with the consequences if you needed it. and maybe staying with him wasn’t even a mistake in the first place.

yeonjun turned around and it felt like he hadn’t seen you for the whole eternity. he knew you hadn't left, but seeing you there… he wanted nothing more than to hold you and never let go. but he couldn’t. and he couldn’t say the truth openly either—he was afraid to influence your decision if he said he didn’t want it to end, so he tried to phrase it differently. “if you want to,” yeonjun knew it wasn’t his best, far from one actually, but it was better than anything he could come up with—much better than ‘yes, it is’. you didn’t reply, though, staring at him like your head was completely empty, panic rising in your expression. yeonjun swallowed thickly. “do you want to leave?” he asked, trying to help you.

the answer was so simple, just two letters—’no’. but somehow, every little thing about that short word was so complicated, and it was stuck on your tongue, because just ‘no’ wouldn’t be enough to explain everything. but yeonjun was waiting, and even though he tried his best not to show how anxious he was to hear your answer, you could tell he was. “i don’t know,” the words left your mouth before you could think them through. it was a lie, a goddamn lie. you knew! you knew you didn’t want to leave, why in the world would you say you didn’t?

yeonjun watched the whole kaleidoscope of emotions on your face, and none of them were positive. you looked on the verge of tears even. this was the moment he realized he had changed, because the storm in his heart had finally calmed, and he knew everything he needed to know. it wasn’t even because your face had told him that your words weren’t what you actually meant, but because in the past, he’d have gotten frustrated, angry even because it wasn’t a clear ‘no’. but now? now, even if you really didn’t know, he could only feel a wave of calmness wash over him, because he couldn’t see it as anything except ‘not a yes’.

you saw the tension leave yeonjun’s body—his posture relaxed and his face softened—and that’s when you realized you’d fucked up bad. he didn’t like unclear answers, always trying to guide you to give him a certain one. unsure about trying something new? he’d say he’d start slowly until you got your head around it and told him explicit yes or no. confused about your feelings? he’d listen to your unstructured stream of thoughts, gently guiding it when you got lost, until you could give him an answer. but now? now he was probably too tired of your shit to do any of that.

yeonjun approached you in a few huge steps, towering over you—you felt smaller than you actually were, looking at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to expect. was he going to open the door and tell you to get out? you pressed yourself against it, palms flat on the cool surface of the mirror you hated touching, the uncomfortable feeling only worsening the anxiety in your chest. he raised his hand and you turned your head slowly to follow the movement with your eyes, your insides twisting in anxiety—you should have left instead of asking that stupid question, because maybe there could’ve been a chance to start over a few months from now, but you had ruined it with that stupid ‘i don’t know’.

you looked adorable when you were scared, yeonjun realized. a flicker of a smirk crossed his mind—maybe he should introduce you to some fear play. he slapped himself mentally—he was so relieved that you hadn’t left, that his mind started wandering, and it clearly wasn’t time for that. his hand reached for the lock, fingers curling around it, and he turned it slowly, the click loud in the tense air. his gaze stayed fixed on your face—he wanted to see your reaction. maybe he was petty, but only a little, and you weren’t entirely innocent either.

and he was right to do it. your eyes shot up to meet his the second you heard the lock engage, surprise and disbelief flickering across your face, your gaze darted between his eyes as if trying to find cruel mockery in them, but there was none. instead, yeonjun took a small step back from you, his fingers brushing the back of your hand so feathery, that it could’ve been easily mistaken for an accident, but it wasn’t one. he needed at least a little touch, even that one grounding him, giving him strength to hold up until he could hold you in his arms properly—somehow, he was certain that’s how the day would end.

“let’s go,” he said softly, choosing his tone carefully to avoid sounding harsh or scolding—adding to your anxiety was the last thing he wanted to do. “i’ll make us tea, and we will talk.”

you nodded hesitantly, watching his back as yeonjun left to the kitchen. it was a good sign, wasn’t it?.. you felt glued to the door, needing all your strength to peel yourself away. slowly, you removed your jacket, still unsure if he truly hadn’t told you to leave. your hands shook as you hung it on an empty hook beside his jackets, your gaze drifted to the key rack—the spare keys you had for months still dangling where you put them. you sat on the bench to undo your shoes, throwing a quick glance toward the kitchen through the archway—you couldn't see yeonjun, but you could hear the sound of cabinets opening and closing, the kettle filling with water and other little things. the noises brought comfort, feeling like home.

your legs felt like jelly as you made your way to the bar stool behind him, your nails tapping nervously on the polished surface of the bar table . yeonjun sent you a little smile over his shoulder before turning back and continuing whatever he was doing. you assumed he was choosing which tea to make for you, and you decided not to interfere—he knew your favourites. and you were too awkward to tell him anything too, even just asking for a specific kind of tea felt… out of place.

yeonjun opened a cabinet to grab a cup for you, and your eyes landed on all the familiar dishes—your cups, plates, and bowls still sat neatly alongside his. he hadn’t put them away when you stopped coming over all those weeks ago. you looked around the kitchen and the living room—everything still looked like you were living there. you hadn’t noticed it in the hallway, too shaken to pay any attention to it, but now you realized he kept a few hooks empty for your outerwear and bags, the spot you always took on the shoe rack wasn’t taken either, and even the spare keys to his apartment still had your keychain on them.

your gaze stopped on the fridge, colourful letters bright on the glassy black surface. you couldn’t believe it still was there—’yeonjun dummy <3’, the playful phrase you made two or three months ago with letter magnets he bought for his little nephew—sometimes yeonjun’s cousin needed him to look after the boy and dropped the baby off at his place, and yeonjun wanted to be the best uncle ever, teaching the child all the little things like colours, animals and letters. you had been helping too sometimes, and you realized now how strange it probably looked—helping him play house with a toddler as though the two of you were a family. you shook your head trying to get rid of the thoughts. your gaze drifted lower—yeonjun’s response was still there too—’you too :p’.

so many little things stayed the same despite your absence, all of them so tiny you could barely notice unless you were looking for them, yet it felt like you could move in right now, live here for a month and wouldn’t lack a thing, because yeonjun had kept everything just as it was when you were still there. he either didn’t care to change it, or… your apartment stayed the same too—he never stayed at yours for too long, but his tableware was still next to yours, his toothbrush and toothpaste still were in the cup with yours, his shampoo and shower gel sat on the shower rack with other things that belonged to him. looking at those reminders of him hurt, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put them away. deep inside, you had hoped he would still come and stay at your place some day, and maybe he kept everything as it was because…

“i don’t want to, but if you want me to, i will,” you blurted out before you could overthink it. if you didn’t say it now, while your feelings were on the surface and at their peak, you would probably never say it.

yeonjun looked at you over his shoulder, confused. you didn't want to… drink tea?.. it wasn’t a problem, he assumed, still not really understanding why you would drink tea just because he wanted you to. he could make you a coffee. or a milkshake, or a smoothie, or just give you water. or he still had almost every one of your favourite drinks in his fridge—and out of it too, in case you didn’t want to drink anything cold. he glanced at the almost-finished tea on the counter in front of him. were you worried that he’d already made it, but now you wanted something else? he could drink it himself… he opened his mouth to ask what you wanted to drink instead, or maybe eat, but you clarified yourself.

“to leave,” you said, looking down at your fingers as you fidgeted nervously. “i don’t want to leave, but if you want me to, i will,” you repeated, your voice grew quieter with every word, much less confident than it had been at the start—not that it was confident to begin with. you didn’t want to leave, didn’t want him to tell you to go, but if he thought it was better for him, you’d disappear from his life as if you had never been part of it.

yeonjun, on the other hand, felt warmth spreading through his whole body. he was one step away from grinning like a fool, smile bloomed on his face despite himself. yes, he had figured out you didn’t want to leave when you looked like you made the biggest mistake of your life by saying that you didn’t know if you wanted to leave or not. but hearing you say it out loud was completely different. “i don’t,” he said, turning to you with a smile, two cups of tea in his hands. “don’t want you to leave.”

you nodded slowly, watching him take a seat across from you and place your cup in front you. you still had a hard time believing he wanted you to stay. when you said you didn’t want to leave, you meant his life, not his apartment. did he understand what you meant? did he mean the same?.. you reached out to wrap your hands around the cup but jerked them back before touching it. you looked up at yeonjun, ashamed. “i haven’t washed my hands. can i… use the bathroom?”

he tilted his head. you’d particularly lived here for some periods, why would you ask him something like that?.. “of course, you can,” yeonjun said like it was the most obvious thing—because it was. “there’s a hand soap too,” he gestured toward the kitchen sink, “along with a hand towel. as you know,” he chuckled, emphasising the last words. “feel at home, okay? nothing has changed.” he watched you get up with a quiet ‘okay’ and come up to the sink. yeonjun turned in his seat, watching you with a soft smile on his face. “but you can use bathroom if you need it for—”

“yeonjun!” you exclaimed, cutting him off and making him laugh—you thought you had missed that sound, but now you realized ‘miss’ didn’t cover it—your life just wasn't full without it. “i only need to wash my hands!”

he replied with a teasing ‘mhm’, a smile wide on his face, and you couldn't help but smile back. the little light-hearted exchange made you relax a little—it reminded you both that despite the mess, you were still the same. you just weren't sure if ‘the mess’ had started three weeks ago or ten months ago, and the conversation that would clarify it was still waiting ahead. you bit your lip at the thought, sitting back down and wrapping fingers around the cup.

yeonjun became serious too. he knew he'd have to be the one carrying the conversation, because his thoughts and feelings were clear and organized—he’d had three weeks to analyze everything, and your words today cleared the last fog, putting the final misplaced pieces in their places. you, on the other hand… you still looked confused, even after admitting you didn't want to leave and him saying he didn't want you to leave either. and with your habit of sweeping the worst of your feelings and thoughts under the rug and pretending they never existed, unless he lifted the rug himself, telling you to clean up and helping you with it… he assumed how exactly these three weeks had passed for you.

“do you mind if we focus on you at first?” yeonjun asked, his voice as soft as possible, as though speaking to a child or a frightened animal—he didn't want you to feel like he was scolding you for anything, no matter how much it hurt him. it was his fault too—he was the one who had drawn the line between you two with his stupid rules, resulting in you not being able to come to him when the thing burdening you was about him. the rules made sense at first, but he should’ve blurred them when he began suspecting you were slowly catching feelings, and discarded them completely when he realized he was catching feelings himself. he hadn’t, and it was a miracle you were sitting there in front of him now.

you shook your head, giving him all the control. not only did you feel guilty enough to think you had no right to set the rules, but you were also lost—unsure of what to say, where to start, or what he wanted to know the most. you decided to let him lead you through it, answering his questions to the best of your capability and honesty. you only hoped he wouldn't start with something like ‘what do you feel for me’ or anything similar, because you knew you wouldn't be able to give him an answer—you barely admitted it to yourself, saying it out loud… to him…

yeonjun smiled. “okay. but be honest, please.” he waited for your nod before continuing. he prayed he wouldn't sound like he was interrogating you. “it was a date, right? not just a friendly meeting?” he cursed internally—he sounded exactly like he was interrogating you. now he prayed you wouldn't see it that way, because it wasn’t meant to be an interrogation—he just needed to know what you were looking for when you went on the date.

you nodded, eyes glued to the cup in your hands. you felt ashamed—like a cheater, for god's sake. you opened your mouth to explain, but found your throat dry. you took a tiny sip—perfect strength, perfect sweetness, perfect temperature. how could you do something like this to someone who cared about you so much? you were a failure… you swallowed thickly. “yes. i met him on tinder a few days ago,” you mumbled quietly, too ashamed to look him in the eyes. “i think i swiped right on him accidentally…”

yeonjun nodded, his eyes trailing to your fingers, which were tapping nervously on the cup. he knew the tea would be cold long before you finished it, he’d made it for you to give you something to busy your hands with, somewhere to look when you couldn’t look at him. his gaze returned to your face. good thing? the guy was an accident. bad thing? you were on tinder. he bit his lip, trying to phrase the next question. he assumed you were looking for another ‘friend with benefits’, but he couldn't just ask you outright. the question would be far more prying than the previous one. “why did you decide to go on tinder? decided to meet someone, i mean.”

you looked up at him quickly before staring into the cup again. the full answer would be long—you would have to start with the pregnancy test and touch on too many sensitive topics you weren't ready to confront yet. maybe a shorter version would suffice?.. “i realized i should… settle down,” you said quietly. “i don't exactly mean marriage or—all the more so—children, but…,” you exhaled sharply—how to phrase it without insulting him and what you had? ‘serious’? ‘real’? ‘something that has a future’? you bit your lip. “committed relationship.”

it felt like a punch to the gut for yeonjun—it wasn't what he expected. he thought he’d scared you away by promising to be with you, promising something real, and you didn't need it, he assumed that you were looking for sex without strings attached. it made sense—the perfect sense—until it turned out to be exactly opposite. you wanted something real, something serious—not just sex here and there—but you wanted it with someone else, not him. what are you doing here now, then? he thought bitterly, a lump forming in his throat, his fingers digging into his own cup. he didn't know how to ask you why it couldn't be him, nor was he sure he was ready to hear the answer.

you bit your lip harder at his silence, realizing that in the end you had insulted him. everything felt so difficult, every small thing adding layers of complication to an already overwhelming situation. you took a deep breath—there was nothing left to lose. it was impossible to make things worse—they were already at their lowest. you might as well finish what you started. “when the—” you coughed, your throat dry again, and took a sip, though you knew it wouldn't make your voice any better. “when the test turned out to be false positive, i realized that… what we had was… dangerous. risky. it turned out to be false, but what if one day…,” you shook your head. “i realized it'd be safer in… a proper relationship. and i can't have it with you,” you finished quietly.

yeonjun wondered where that cruelty came from, because you’d driven a knife into his heart earlier, and now, with these words, you twisted it . he tried to wet his lips, but his tongue was just as dry. why were you like that? why hadn't you just left? why had you stayed—to hurt him more? but most importantly, why couldn't you have that with him. “why?” he asked, his voice hoarse, the word leaving his lips before he could think about it. he wasn't even sure what he wanted to know. everything, maybe? he wanted to look at you, but he couldn't, his eyes glued to his trembling hands—why in the world would he get his hopes up?

you felt stupid—not for what you had said already, but for what you were about to say. suddenly, the reason behind everything seemed so small, insignificant and utterly foolish. you would think it was impossible to make everything worse, but you clearly did exactly that right after thinking the very same thing just a minute ago. you wished you weren't such a disaster, ruining everything you touched. but you had to answer; he had asked you to be honest. “the rule,” you whispered, shutting your eyes in shame.

“the rule—” yeonjun repeated involuntarily, even quieter, as if unsure whether he’d heard you right. but he had, and he almost growled at the realization. the fucking rule—he clenched his hand around the cup holding himself back from hurling it into the wall. he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging it at the roots in frustration. one fucking rule—he almost slapped himself. calm the fuck down, yeonjun, he growled at himself mentally. he’d assumed again, he’d thought of the rule that would be the best, that would mean happy ending, but you hadn’t specified which rule—there were a few. ‘strictly exclusive’ could be the reason too. what if you wanted an open relationship? he could never share you with anyone. “which?” he choked out, his hand gripping the cup harder.

you looked up at him and flinched—yeonjun looked furious. his hair was messy, his jaw clenched tightly, his fingers digging into the cup to the point of becoming white at the tips. and the way he looked at you… like you were the reason for all his anger. if eyes could kill… but you were the reason. and you could only do one thing now—answer. “the ‘no feelings’ one,” you whispered, your own hands tightening around the cup. but unlike yeonjun, you weren't angry—you were terrified, because you knew where this conversation was heading, and it would inevitably end with a confession.

yeonjun decided to stop thinking altogether. he couldn't keep hurting himself by getting his hopes up anymore—he didn't even believe your answer meant ‘i have feelings for you, but i'm scared to go against the rule’. he was sure there was something he’d overlooked because he was too fucking full of hope and it made him dumb. he cleared his throat. “if it wasn't for the rule, would you consider a serious relationship with me?” it felt like he’d poured the last of his strength into the question. just answer it and let me go to bed. or get drunk. just don't complicate it, i beg you.

the word ‘yes’ refused to leave your lips. not because you weren't sure or the answer was ‘no’—you were sure and the answer was undoubtedly ‘yes’. but as you looked at yeonjun, his gaze barely focused and his whole demeanor so, so tired, you hesitated. was that what he wanted to hear? you didn’t know anything anymore. “would you?”

you’re deciding to complicate it after all, yeonjun thought bitterly, feeling the weight of exhaustion slowly creeping over him. he couldn't do it anymore. this emotional rollercoaster had drained him completely, leaving him beyond exhausted in every way. fuck it, he thought. i'll be a man. he was just too tired for another round of mental gymnastics. “yes.”

you froze. ‘yes’? he said ‘yes’? was he too tired to understand the question? should you ask another time but clarify it? should you— fuck it. no, just fuck it. you’d play dumb later if needed. “me too.”

yeonjun exhaled unevenly, resting his forehead on his palm. he couldn’t believe your answer, couldn’t believe this torture was finally over, and couldn’t believe he was so fucking drained, that he couldn’t even react properly to the fact that the woman he wanted to build a serious relationship with, wanted the same. he was a failure, a disappointment, and so many other things, none of them good. but if you stayed with him after what he was about to say, he would ask you to marry him on the spot. “we’re official, okay? i’ll…” he ran his fingers through his hair again. “i’ll make it up for you later. i promise,” he mumbled.

you nodded, tired too. you knew what he felt, because you felt the same when three more pregnancy tests had come back negative—emptiness, disbelief and bone-deep fatigue. it had felt like your world was so close to crashing down, that it started slowly breaking before anything real had even begun, and all the strength you had in yourself had been spent on trying not to let it break so early, so when it had turned out that nothing was going to be ruined, the damage—even the small one—was already done, and in addition to that you couldn’t even be happy about it, because it felt like all of your life force left your body long ago.

except, unlike him, you had someone to hold you through it all. yeonjun held you when you thought your world was burning to ashes and when you barely had any strength to sit up after knowing your world would be fine. but for him, you’d only added to his exhaustion and to the weight he carried—your awkwardness, your anxiety, your inability to think before speaking. and even when you did think, it never seemed to help. but he still wanted you, and you wouldn’t let your overthinking brain convince you otherwise.

yeonjun stood and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, pulling you towards the bedroom. the barely touched tea forgotten on the bar table, as he guided you through the apartment. he wasn’t sure if you nodded—he’d seen it with the corner of his eye, though, maybe he was mistaken because he was too tired, but he didn’t care because you followed him to the bed without hesitation, only pausing at the edge of it when he dropped onto the mattress, groaning at the pleasant feeling of stretching his limbs and letting his body finally relax. still, he had to open his eyes to look at you, when he realized you hadn’t joined him.

you hesitated. the bed was unmade and yeonjun was still wearing the sweatpants and hoodie he’d had on outside earlier, but you weren't sure about lying there right in your sundress. it wasn’t a big deal in the past—mostly because usually you both were quick to undress each other, kicking the bed cover away on the floor—but a three week long break had left you a bit uncertain about even the simplest rules of the apartment. “i wore the dress outside…” you trailed off, glancing at him nervously.

yeonjun chuckled breathlessly—you were so cute, even if you were being slightly annoying when all he wanted was to hold you already. he wouldn’t even care if you wore a coat and boots right now. still, he already felt so much better, lighter, anticipating finally holding you and refusing to let you go, exhaustion melting away bit by bit. he propped himself up on his elbow and held out his hand for you. “i’ll undress both of us and make the bed later, after a little nap,” he murmured and moved closer to you, taking your hand in his and tugging it gently. “come here, baby. i missed you so much.”

you giggled softly—sound that felt foreign after weeks of not having any positive emotions or feelings—crawling toward him, knees sinking into the soft cloud-like mattress, as he held your hand, his hand firm, but tender, holding you up so you didn’t fall. you hovered over him, trying to suppress more silly giggles at the sight of his tired face having the same happy, silly smile. by all logic, you were supposed to be the one holding him, yet it felt like he wanted to hold you. you giggled again at the thought—he was so ridiculous.

and you were right—yeonjun turned onto his back and gently tugged your hand, silently telling you to lie down beside him. his other hand unzipped the hoodie, and he slapped his chest over the tank top a few times, wordlessly showing you where to rest your head. you obliged happily, the whole world fading away the moment your cheek pressed against his firm chest and his arms wrapped securely around you. nothing else mattered anymore—not when you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feel the soft rise and fall of his breathing against the top of your head, and be held in a way that made one thing clear—he wasn’t going to let you go.

#[ yeonjun x reader ]#[ by me ]#[ writing ]#txt smut #yeonjun smut #txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #yeonjun hard hours #yeonjun hard thoughts #txt angst #yeonjun angst

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pencil-n-pen · 1 day ago

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SPILL YOUR GUTS

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

practice boyfriend! eddie x fem! reader

summary: eddie’s your practice boyfriend. you’re positive he’s upset at you and you’re waiting for him to get mad. however, he has a different response in mind.

cw: references/allusions to past child abuse but extremely vague, references/allusions to bad relationships (also pretty vague), reader acts on a learned response and assumes the worst about Eddie, anxiety

tags/tropes: angst, hurt/comfort (my brand!) sappy sappy romantic idiots, they kiss and figure their mess out at the end

a/n: this came to me in a vision

summary makes this sound smutty but i promise it’s not. this accidentally became disgustingly romantic. read at your own risk :)

࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You’re positive Eddie’s mad at you.

Okay. Maybe positive is a strong word. But still.

You’ve only been fake/pretend/practice dating Eddie for about two weeks now. He’s the one who approached you with the offer— when you were in the Upside Down together, you’d made an off-hand comment about how you might die without ever having a real boyfriend- not one that mattered, anyway. It’s always kind of been a sore spot for you for a good portion of your life. Growing up, you didn’t really have the best relationship with your dad (Robin likes to call that “The understatement of the year, and we almost died.”) and out of the incredibly small handful of guys you’ve gone out with, none stuck around longer than a month and all ended in such equally, specifically, and uniquely horrific ways, you finally came to the conclusion you had to be fucking something up. What are the chances of all them ended so completely horribly?

After you all had decidedly not died in the Upside Down, Eddie approached you with an offer: pretend date him. You’re popular and well known enough that it’ll help get people off his back about the whole Chrissy/murders thing —even though he’s been absolved of all charges, the people of Hawkins hold grudges— and in exchange, you get a trial run of a relationship that won’t end unless you both agree too— you get to figure out what you’re doing wrong.

You feel bad about it, because even though you spend so much time together, you feel like a nervous wreck. All. The. Time.

You’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop— waiting for him to tell you that you’re too weird, that you’re not considerate enough, that you’re selfish, or that you talk too much.

But he never says any of it. All he ever tells you is the good things. He tells you how sympathetic you are, how kind you are, how good you are at remembering little details that matter. He tells you that you’re a good kisser.

(Yeah. Your first kiss, even after those failed relationships, ended up being with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. You’re not quite sure you’ll ever forget how you felt when his lips —just a little cracked, but not rough— met yours; when his hair tickled your face and you could faintly smell the cigarette smoke that stubbornly clings to all of his clothes, no matter how many times he washes them. You didn’t tell him he was your first. That’s something you decided you couldn’t bear to share.

You kind of have a feeling he knows anyway, though.)

It all sets you on edge. You’re under no reassurance that you’re perfect. You’re currently questioning if you’re tolerable, from a romantic standpoint.

You know how you are. You’re clinging and you drink up reassurance like a dying man in the desert. You linger in his casual touches like it’s the first and last time you’ll ever feel them. You know you’re a lot. You know. You know that guys in a relationship don’t want ‘a lot’, they want a pretty thing to hang off their arm and laugh at what they say.

But you just… can’t.

You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But you always ended up being too much, or it didn’t work out for some other reason. You want more. You want to feel safe, and happy, and cherished and loved and all those things that only happen in the movies.

The ironic part of all of this is that when you first started setting out terms for your arrangement, Eddie had told you flat out: “This will only work if you are completely and one-hundred percent yourself. You gotta lay it all on me, angel.”

And so you had, and now you regret it because he’s upset about something.

You’d come over to his trailer at his request to ‘hang out’ while he went over DND stuff for his next campaign. Eddie does this a lot— he calls them ‘Neutral Dates’ where you’re not really doing anything in particular- most of the time, you’re both doing seperate things, but still just being in each other’s presence.

It’s nice. The majority of your friend circle consists of everyone involved with the Upside Down and that entire mess. You two are no Steve and Robin (you’re convinced those two have the kind of bond no one can replicate or break. Like the kind of bond stray cats get and then they have to be adopted together) but it’s still nice. To just be with someone.

Even if you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

It’s not always eggshells. Sometimes, for a a few moments, you forget. You forget it’s all pretend. You forget he’s just a friend helping a friend fulfill a goal. That’s all.

You’ve almost forgotten just now, too— you’re too concerned about what you might’ve done.

He’s not acting angry, per-se, but he’s definitely upset. You tend to pick up on this kind of thing: small changes in someone’s personality or body language. Most of the time it’s not a conscious habit.

Most of the time.

Right now, he’s run his hands through his hair about a million times. It’s become a frizzy mess behind him, and when you’d made an offhand joke about it —an attempt to lighten the mood— all he’d done was scowl. Not at you, really, but the message was there. You’d snapped your jaw shut so fast you’re pretty sure he heard your teeth click.

After that he’d frustratedly made tea for the both of you, which consisted of opening the cupboards faster than he usually did, closing them slightly louder than he usually does, and drumming his fingers impatiently on the stove-top while he waited for the kettle to boil.

All of this you observed from the corner of your eye while ‘reading’ on the couch.

And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when you’d finally mustered up the courage to speak again, a little joke about a part in the book you were reading, all he’d said was a flat:

“That’s great, babe.”

You’re starting to get antsy. Nervous. Maybe you should go? Unless he gets upset at you leaving. That would be bad. But he’s clearly upset with you being here, so maybe you should go.

While you’re debating the pros and cons of leaving, you try to remain as still and silent as possible. No need to upset him anymore by moving too much or being too loud.

You flip a page in the book you’re no longer reading (he might notice you’re not paying attention to it anymore) and decide to test the waters again.

“The author just spelled restaurant wrong. That’s the third spelling mistake I’ve caught in this book.”

“Hmm.”

Okay. So that was worse. Talking to him is out of the question, then. It must be something you did, to warrant this kind of reaction.

You wrack your brain, trying to think of anything you could’ve done in recent hours to make him upset, but you can’t think of anything.

You glance slightly to the right— not far enough that he’ll see you looking at him, but far enough to get a better look at him in your peripheral. He’s glaring down at his campaign notebook. Shit, he looks so angry.

Unbidden, tears begin to well in your eyes and you try to shift, trying to angle yourself away from him enough that he can’t see the tears in your eyes.

But your hand shifts, knocking into his leg.

Fuck. “Sorry!”

You yank you arm back as if burned, jolting back on the couch so you’re in no danger of touching him. “I’m sorry!”

He sits up, immediately snapping to attention at the desperation coloring your voice. “Woah woah, hey. Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

You take a steadying breath. “Did I do something wrong?”

He blinks blankly at you. Oh shit, you’re supposed to know that you’ve done something wrong.

“I mean,” You hurry to correct, “I know I— Can you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it?”

Understanding floods his features and you brace yourself, ready for the reprimand.

“Can I touch you?”

Now it’s your turn to stare with confusion. You nod once, briefly thinking about how weird it is to ask for permission first.

He sits up on the couch, facing you with his legs crossed, the couch springs squeaking loudly at his movement. You resist the urge to wince. He reaches out with a slow hand, taking the hand that’s still clenched, held away from him and up near your chest.

He stares down at your hand, holding it with his left hand and tracing delicate shapes on it with his right. His ringed fingers drag lines around your knuckles and veins, lingering occasionally over the odd, old scar.

“How long did you think I was upset with you?”

Your heart is racing, muscles tensed and ready to bolt. “Um. A few hours? Maybe?”

You’re hyper-aware of the grip he has on your hand, and how quickly and easy it could become crushing.

It doesn’t.

“Bug,” He says slowly after a moment. At first he used to use pet names as a joke— it was something you’d laugh at, between the two of you, since the relationship wasn’t real.

But recently, he’s been saying them with a different inflection in his tone. A little less teasing, a lot more fond.

“Have you spent the past few hours afraid that I was mad at you?”

He sounds… sad. Which is confusing. It doesn’t— he was. He was.

“But you were,” You say, suddenly unsure about anything and everything. “You were upset.”

“I was upset because I couldn’t work this part of the campaign out, and i’m dramatic. I was never mad at you, honey. I was never mad at you.”

You frown, gears turning in your head. “When I made that joke about your hair, you glared at me. And then when I tried to talk to you, you were upset. You didn’t want to talk.”

“I was jokingly glaring at you, I’m so sorry you thought I was serious. I wasn’t, I promise. I didn’t mean to be dismissive, I was really focusing on writing.”

You’re both silent for a moment. A beat too long. You want to squirm in the unwelcome space the silence has created.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

That is a loaded question.

“I don’t know,” You pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I don’t— I don’t know. That’s the problem. You don’t yell at me, or get angry, or tell me when i’ve made you upset. I don’t know what you’ll do.”

He makes a wounded noise in his throat.

“I know you get angry,” You bulldoze on, “I’ve seen it. You’re so… loud, in everything you do. I know you get angry. But you never get that same kind of loud angry at me and I don’t know what to do because that means that I upset you and you don’t tell me about it and then I don’t know how to fix it. I have to fix it, Eddie.”

His eyes, deep and brown, search your face. He reaches up a hand, painfully slow, to cup your face. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you tip your head to the side, leaning into the job.

“I’m gonna tell you something, Bug. Are you listening?” He waits for you to hum in confirmation before continuing. “You’re not responsible for my moods. Or anyone else’s for that matter. That’s not your job. You don’t have to fix it.”

He reaches his second hand up to cup the other side of your face. “You know why I don’t get angry at you? Not all loud and dramatic like that? Because I’ve seen how you react when people do. And I never, ever want to be the reason you get that look in your eye. I never want to make you afraid. I never want you to believe, with proof and confidence, that I’ve grown sick of you.”

You open your eyes, eyes darting across the planes of his face. Searching for even the smallest hint, the smallest giveaway that he might be lying.

You can’t find any. In its place, you find eyes, shining with pure determination. You find lips parted ever so slightly, a sad-sort of smile being etched into being. You find two hands on your face, thumbs delicately sweeping across the skin of your under-eye, of your cheekbone. Smoothing away the steady tears that had begun falling, wiping away the hot trails they leave on your face.

And you realize all at once that love isn’t like the movies. It isn’t picture-perfect kisses. It isn’t ball gowns and dresses and kisses in the rain. It isn’t like the love you thought you were supposed to have: empty and hollow; a life of hanging off of arms and praying your next slip-up didn’t cost you your relationship.

It was this.

It was just being. Just being and knowing the other person is there for just that— for you. It was not raising your voice. It was carrying extra hair-ties. It was making two cups of coffee. It was steeping tea for an extra couple of minutes, just the way he liked it. It was playing your favorite music in the car, and looking over at each other during the bridge, belting the lyrics with the same, toothy-smile. So full and so happy you just keep screaming the lyrics, because you’re filled with so much you don’t know where to put it all.

Your tears begin to fall in earnest now. Your heart is thudding in your chest, but for a different reason now. You’re struck with the need to convey all of this to him— to tell him you understand, you know, you feel the same.

“These hair ties,” You shove your wrist up to his eye-line. “They’re for you. Because you always forget your own. And— and I steep the tea for a few extra minutes, because you like your tea strong, and you didn’t just find that tape in your van, I bought it ‘cause I know you lost the old one in the Upside Down, ‘cause it felt out of your pocket.”

You’re babbling, nearly choking on your tears and your words, rushing them all out of your mouth in an aching wish to be understood, in this very moment.

“I know,” He says, voice a little hysteric and eyes a little too bright. His lip wobbles. He presses your face tighter in his hands. “I know. I know. I see you. I see you.”

You stay like that for a little while. At some point, your hands find his wrists, and then you’re just two fools, smiling like idiots with tears streaming down your faces, staring into each others eyes.

Eventually, Eddie clears his throat. “The next time you think I’m upset at you, you tell me, okay? You can ask. You can ask me and I pinky promise I won’t get mad.”

You giggle wetly. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” He says, taking his left hand away from your face to hold up his pinky. You intertwine yours and his together, the both of you laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He gets quiet for a moment; removes his hands from your face and instead clasps, your hands together, resting in your lap.

“You know why I never tell you when you’re being a bad practice girlfriend?” He says, his voice low and soft.

“How come?”

He smiles, full and good. “Because you’re not. You’re so sweet and kind and loving. And if you’d let me, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

You furrow your brows. “The real kind? The I-love-you kind?”

Your face flushes over the words ‘I love you.’

“I’ve always kissed you for real,” He says, words laden with fondness. “Ever since the day we met and you slapped the shit out of me for being stupid. I’ve been hopelessly obsessed ever since. I’ve just been waiting for you to notice.”

You suck in a breath. “So all of this— the, the dates and the hanging out and the kissing— that’s all been real?”

“Every last bit.”

“Then in that case,” You say, squeezing his hands. “I would very much like you to kiss me.”

He leans in, slotting your lips together and everything just clicks. Like this is where you’re meant to be. Maybe it’s puppy love. Maybe it’s not.

All you know is that Eddie Munson is kissing you for real, and he always has been. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

#girlblogging #eddie munson #soft eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #angst #angst with a happy ending #x reader #hurt/comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie x reader #that’s such an ambiguous tag #which eddie??? eddie DIAZ???#maybe i should start writing for him actually

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chukys-mouthguard · 2 days ago

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dumb & poetic

just cause you leave like one, doesn’t make you a man

853 words

featuring -> quinn hughes x female reader

genre -> angst

-> short n’ short masterlist

The space between the two of you felt miles wide as you and Quinn slept back to back. The bed cold as you stared out the window at the moon illuminating the night sky. Your eyes still puffy from crying, your pillow still damp from the tears.

No matter how many reassuring comments he’d tried to spew, you only felt more and more confident that your relationship with Quinn was slipping away.

Things had been rocky, sure, all relationships had that. But the man you’d grown to love was changing day by day, and you never knew who you were waking up to.

He’d used to be keen on communication, always offering insightful advice or deep conversation when you came to him with worries or issues. But that facade had begun to crack and disappear, now he’d become less and less empathetic.

You wondered if this side of him was always there and you’d painted him as this perfect person, or if it truly was an act he’d put on until he’d grown tired.

All you ever wanted was for him to be your rock, to be the person you could go to at the end of a long day at work. The man whose shoulder you could cry on just because. The man you could take your insecurities to and never be judged or ridiculed for them.

Now his shoulder was cold, his advice disingenuous; almost seeming copy and pasted from a self-help book. His once comforting spirit now seemed easily annoyed or impatient dealing with your issues on top of his.

Checking the time, you sighed seeing how late it was. Tossing back the covers you headed to the bathroom, quietly shutting the door leaving it barely ajar. Running some water you splashed it over your face to help the redness. Looking at yourself in the mirror and all you could notice was the sadness in your eyes.

You tried telling yourself one of Quinn’s go-to lines that he’d use to convince you things were fine, but deep down you knew it was bullshit. He was trying to put on an act because he didn’t have the words anymore, he’d run out of dumb cliches to hide the fact he was pulling away.

“Babe?”

Quinn appeared in the doorway, squinted eyes at the bright light of the bathroom as he slowly walked towards you. Sitting on the counter as he waited for your reply, but you had nothing to say. What were you to say when things felt far beyond fixing? Anything he said seemed insincere or something to buy him time to figure out what the fuck was happening with you two. Though deep down, he had to know where things were headed.

“Are you going to talk to me?”

“Now you want to talk? Or are you just going to feed me more dumb poetic bullshit that is meant to sound thoughtful like you’re wanting us to make this work?”

Quinn sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, clearly not wanting to have this conversation, especially not at three in the morning.

“That’s what I thought, save your breath.”

Pushing past him you left the bathroom, opting to sleep on the couch versus laying awake next to him all night.

“Y/n, what do you want me to say?”

“The truth! You don’t get that? I want you to be honest with me, have real fucking conversation with me about what is going on between us. Don’t feed me bullshit because you don’t want to hurt my feelings. If you don’t love me, if you don’t want to be with me, then fine! But don’t keep feeding me your insincere lines to buy time while you figure out how to either make this work or end it. If you’re thinking of walking away, I’d rather you be a man and just do it already.”

The room was silent as Quinn stared at you, simply nodding his head as he walked back to the bed and sitting on the edge.

Resuming your initial pathway, you headed downstairs, first to the kitchen for a much needed glass of water and some pain reliever for your ever growing headache. Thankfully you’d held back any tears that might’ve been threatening to fall during your outburst moments ago. Though you weren’t sure you’d had any tears left to cry after the night's earlier argument.

Quinn’s steps weren’t soft or sneaky as you heard him coming down the stairs. Taking a deep breath you prepared yourself for another fight, or perhaps an unexpected apology. But to your surprise he was dressed with a bag over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at you and sighed, his eyes flashing from you to the floor as he could barely keep eye contact. His hand gripping at the strap of his duffle as he was fidgeting, clearly nervous.

“You told me to be a man, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m sorry y/n, but you’re right. I can’t keep up the facade and the dumb insecure bullshit. I’m done. This…this is done.”

#quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #quinn hughes angst #Quinn hughes x female reader #nhl imagine #nhl fics #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb

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nhaomhi · 3 days ago

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˙✧˖° Trouble Meets Perfection 𝄞 ⋆｡˚

pairing: troublemaker!riki x classprez!yn

synopsis: at decelis academy, Nishimura Riki is the name every single teacher sighs at—a relentless troublemaker with a smirk always plastered on his face. Y/N, the no-nonsense class president, is the complete opposite: disciplined, sharp-tongued, and utterly intolerant of Riki’s constant chaos. The two share one thing—an undeniable hatred for each other that electrifies every classroom they’re in together.

genre: enemies-to-lovers, angst if you squint hard, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff

warnings: mild language, mentions of stress/pressure, mentions of insecurity, use of petnames

word count: 2.7k

naomi’s note: kind of inspired by that song “not another song about love” by hollywood ending 😭 I DONT KNOW IF ANYONE ELSE IS FAMILAR W THAT SONG BUT it was pretty popular as a gacha song in like 2020 SHSKDH it gives off enemies to lovers and i feel that riki is perfect for that trope soo 😚😚 this is my first “long” fic so if it gets boring whoops

.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The first bell rang with the usual obnoxious clang that echoed through the halls, signalling the start of another miserable day. You yawned tiredly, you had just stayed up quite late because you had a lot to do. You adjusted the sleeves of your blazer and for the millionth time, reminded yourself that today would be no different. Another day of leading your class, dealing with ridiculous drama, and most importantly, the chaos led by Nishimura Riki.

The thought alone was enough to make your head throb. It was always like you had to babysit him, that damn headache. You had enough on your plate—endless student council meetings, keeping your grades at the top of the class, making sure every single corner of Decelis was running smoothly, and you were currently planning for the end of the year gala. But Riki was a force that you simply couldn’t ignore.

A sigh escaped your lips as you entered your first class of the day. And there he was.

Nishimura Riki, lounging in the back of the classroom, feet resting on the table in front of him as if he owned the place. His messy hair fell over his eyes, but his smirk was clear as ever, and it was aimed right at you.

“Morning, Prez,” he called, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Good morning, Nishimura.” you replied, your tone stiff. You ignored the thing your stomach did at the sound of his voice (probably organ failure) You were not going to let him under your skin, not today. You were too tired.

You made your way to the front of the room and soon started taking attendance. When you called Riki’s name, he stood up and bowed sarcastically. You heard snickers across the room before you rolled your eyes faintly “Sit down, Riki.” you said firmly. He sighed in an exasperated manner before obeying and sitting down, putting his head down.

The teacher arrived soon after and class began, but it wasn’t long before his attention shifted back to you. He scribbled something in his notebook, ripped the page out, and, without warning, threw it at her desk toward her. It landed softly on your desk, a direct hit.

You didn’t flinch, already used to his antics. You picked the note up, unbothered, unfolded it, and read it out loud. “Nice hair. Hope it doesn’t get caught in your books”? A laugh spread across the room, though your expression remained the same. “Very funny, Riki. You’ve seriously outdone yourself this time.” you said unamused in a flat tone.

His eyes gleamed with mischief, clearly pleased by your reaction. “Maybe next time I’ll write you a poem. What do you think, Prez?”

“Maybe you should focus on your own grades before trying to write poetry for me.” You shot back, your voice sharp.

The class erupted into small giggles and chuckles. Riki’s smirked faltered just slightly, but only for a second before he responded. “Touché.”

You turned back to the front of the class, satisfied with even just that small falter. You ignored him the rest of the period, but as always, he wasn’t one to let things slide easily. Throughout the lesson, you could feel his eyes on you, glaring at you. The almost palpable tension between you buzzed in the air, thick and suffocating, like static before the storm.

Lunchtime soon came with its usual bustle of students flooding the cafeteria. You were in the lunch line, waiting to get your tray of food, but the chatter around you did nothing to calm your nerves.

And then, of course, he walked in.

Riki strode past you, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, his friends trailing behind him like little puppies. He leaned casually on the railing next to you, leaning closer, close enough for you to feel his breath faintly on your neck.

“You know, Prez,” he said, his voice low but loud enough for you to hear, “you need to loosen up a bit. Did you know that stress is bad for you?”

You refused to turn to look at him. “And you should spend less time bothering me and more time actually trying to pass your classes.”

“Aw, come on,” he said, clearly amused. “I pass enough.”

That tension was there again, that impossible-to-ignore electricity. You clenched your jaw slightly, muttering quietly under your breath “How are you even still in this school?”

He let out a low chuckle. “Guess I have my charm.” His fingers brushed against the edge of your shoulder, and for a split second, you didn’t know why, but your breath hitched. But you composed yourself and refused to let him get the satisfaction of seeing how much that affected you.

But Riki wasn’t done, of course.

“By the way,” he continued, his voice suddenly softer, more casual. “You’ve been looking exhausted and stressed lately. Maybe you need a break.” He leaned in even closer, his face hovering right next to yours, and whispered, “Let me know if you need a real distraction. A stress reliever, if you may call it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his implication. You fought the urge to turn around and ki—no, slap the smirk right off of his face. Instead, you step away from him, glaring at him. “Do yourself a favor, Riki, and stay away from me. I have enough to deal with.” With that, you walked out the line, deciding to skip lunch and go straight to your next class.

He just watched you walk away, his smirk never fading. “Sure thing, Prez. But you’ll come around eventually!” he calls out.

The days that followed were filled with the same old back-and-forth insults, teasing, and that ever present tension. You stopped trying to understand why he kept pushing your buttons long ago. He wasn’t just a troublemaker, he was a literal maniac—and the fact that he seemed to enjoy the conflict between you only made it worse.

But, somewhere in the middle of all of the arguments, something started to shift. You couldn’t quite place your finger on it, but you began to notice the small things. How he would defend you when someone made a rude comment about you. How he would show up to general meetings on time if it actually mattered, even if it was just to prove he could. You found yourself thinking, just for a second—that maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

After a particularly stressful day when you had decided to stay back late to finish up some work, you were walking to the classroom when you heard noises from around the corner.

Riki was there, leaning against the wall, his face shadowed by the dim lights of the hallway.

“Hey, Prez,” he said quietly, his usual bravado gone. “You look like you need a break. You’ve been working your ass off, huh?”

You blinked, confused by the tone in his voice. “Huh? What’s your deal?”

He scratched the back of his head, looking a bit uncomfortable. “I know you hate my guts, but I also know you’re under a lot of pressure. The expectations, everything. It sucks.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. It was hard enough to wrap your mind around the fact he was actually being serious. He was talking about pressure? The same boy who always acted like he didn’t have a care in the world?

But there it was—an honest, real moment. No games. No snark.

“Thanks, I guess,” you said, your voice softer than intended. “but I don’t need your need your sympathy, okay?” it sounded a bit harsh, but you pushed that thought back.

Riki’s lips curled into a small, faint smile. Though a genuine one. “Not sympathy, just a reminder. You aren’t alone. If you want to talk.. I’m here. I may not be the best at comforting, but I can listen. For you.”

Your demeanor softened slightly at his words, your guard lowering just a teensy bit. “You mean that?” you respond quietly. “Promise.” he replied.

From that day forward, things between you shifted, not completely, but they did. The teasing never stopped, but there was something different now. A level of understanding beneath your bickering, a softness buried in the snide remarks. Your dynamic wasn’t about fighting anymore—it was more about finding comfort in eachothers company.

As second semester slowlyyy drew to a close, you realized you no longer hated the sight of him. In fact, it was quite hard to imagine a day without his infuriating presence. Though, you still despise when he touches you. You like it so much, that you hate it. You would never outright admit that to him.

Every student at Decelis was running on empty, cramming for exams and surviving on a diet of caffeine and stress. You, however, had one extra responsibility that was both a blessing and a curse: the school’s end-of-the-year gala. The gala we’d been fundraising for since freshman year, and now we’re seniors.

As class president, you were in charge of organizing almost everything. From the venue, to the decorations, to making sure everyone was on their best behavior. It was a huge task, and you made it your personal mission to make this the most flawless gala yet. But as always, that meant hours upon hours of work.

You spent this entire afternoon in the student council room, trying to confirm with the venue, decorations, and all of that. It was getting pretty late, the clock hit 6pm, school had ended 4 hours ago.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You looked up, expecting your advisor, but instead, Riki was there, leaning on the doorframe with a smirk.

“Well, well, Prez,” his tone light but teasing. “You’re still here? Thought you’d have passed out from all that work by now.”

You barely suppressed a sigh. “I know, I know. But I can’t just let this go, the gala’s coming up already next month and there’s still so much I’ve got to do.”

He pushed off the doorframe and walked towards the desk you were at with his usual confident demeanor. “You’re stressing out again. You know, for someone who’s supposed to be in charge, you sure let the little things bother you.”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” You shot back, only half-joking. “Why are you even here anyway?”

He paused for a moment, then shrugged casually. “I don’t know, I thought you could use some help.”

You blinked, a mix of surprise anf suspicion crossing your face. “You? Help?” Are you sure you know how to do anything other than causing chaos?”

His grin widened. “Well, I may not be the most.. academically inclined student, but I’ve got my strengths. Besides, you could use a little chaos in your life, Y/N. You’re always so uptight.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart did a small flutter when he said your name. He always called you “Prez” so him saying your name was new. You couldn’t help the small smile that spread on your lips. “Fine,” you mutter, shoving a stack of papers in his hands. “You can help by making sure the decorations for the gala are on schedule.”

He grinned, snatching the papers and flipping through them. “Decorations, huh? Easy peasy.”

For a moment, it was quiet—just the two of them in the room, working side by side. He wasn’t the best at following instructions, but he had a way of making things more bearable. His constant teasing wasn’t as annoying as usual, and you actually found yourself laughing and giggling slightly at his antics, even when they made no sense at all.

For the next few weeks, he helped you.

One day, you guys were in the library together, and, you don’t know how, but you’re having a “heart-to-heart” right now.

“I’m not as bad as everyone thinks.” he mutters defensively. “You’re not dumb, Riki. You just.. don’t try.” He stared at you for a moment before letting out a small, dry laugh. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels pointless to try. Doesn’t matter how hard I work, teachers still see me the same.”

You felt a small pang in your chest. “You know,” you began softly, “it’s not just about the grades. You just.. have to show people you’re much than that.”

He just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he looked back to the front while walking. “I guess you’re right. But that’s easy for you to say.” you raise a brow slightly “What do you mean?” you ask.

“What I mean is, teachers already love you. You’re class president, no? Everyone loves you.” your expression hardens just slightly, he seemed to notice and quickly spat out “Not in that way, but—“ you cut him off. “Not everyone loves me. There’s still people who talk behind my back, and I know it.” he sighs and mutters quietly “I didn’t mean it like that, I mean— I don’t know why I said that.”

he gently takes your hand, your heart skipping a beat. “I’m sorry. For.. assuming that.” you gulp slightly at his words. “H-Huh? What are you-“ he doesn’t know what came over him, but his lips somehow end up on yours. Your eyes widen, but you find yourself kissing him back. After a while, he pulls away.

You step back, unsure of what to do. “I- I need to go.” his heart drops, just a bit, was it a mistake to you? You quickly walk off. He mutters a curse under his breath. “..Fuck.”

For the next few days, you’d been avoiding him completely. You changed the classroom that you studied in, barely sparing him glances in classes you had together. It’s not like you hated the kiss. It’s the fact you enjoyed it so much, and you wanted more, that’s what you hated. You were scared, scared that you’d fall in too deep. That was a bad thing to you. Growing up, you watched people fall out of love. You were terrified of that happening to you.

The day of the gala came, the venue absolutely packed with people. Everything went accordingly.

That was until you saw him. You tried to avoid him, going opposite to where he was headed. But he eventually saw you and began to walk up to you. Just as you were going to walk away, he gently grabbed your wrist.

“Y/N, please. Let’s talk.” he says, his expression unreadable. You sigh softly and nod reluctantly. He then dragged you to a private corner, maintaining his distance. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I don’t know what came over—“ he was soon interrupted.

“Riki, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have avoided you like that, I should have talked to you about how I felt. The truth is, I like you. I really, really like you. Too much, even. I was just scared. I loved your touch so much, and I hated that. But I’ve thought it over and.. I think I want to be with you. I want us to be together.” you sputtered out quickly, avoiding eye contact.

His eyes widened momentarily once you said that, but it was soon replaced with a softer look. “You like me? You mean that?” you nodded quickly, still avoiding eye contact as you play with your dress slightly out of nervousness.

He noticed your nervousness, inwardly chuckling. He grasped your chin slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. “Can you repeat that? Say you like me.” you gulped slightly, your eyes looking up into his. You got distracted for a second before you responded. “I-I like you.”

He smiled and began to lean in, not too fast but not to slow, he gave you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in as well, kissing him. He quickly encircled your waist with his arms, pulling you closer than you already were. Your hands wrapped around his neck.

After a while, he pulled away, smiling. “Does this make us official?” he asks. “Yes, Riki. I’m yours, you’re mine.” he grins at your response, bringing you into another kiss as he whispers against your lips, “I’m so glad I can call you mine now, baby.”

It was then that you realized, maybe love wasn’t so bad when it was with the right person.

#enhypen #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfiction #nishimura riki #nishimura riki fic #enhypen ni ki #ni ki x you #ni ki x reader #kpop x reader #kpop x you #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enha x reader #enhypen scenarios #enemies to lovers #troublemaker

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lilmisssona · 2 days ago

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*ੈ✩Sorry Bestie, I love you *ੈ✩

*ੈ✩Pairing - Han Jisung × Fem Reader

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

*ੈ✩Genre - Angst, comedy, fluff

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

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

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

*ੈ✩ SKZ Masterlist *ੈ✩ STAYMAS Masterlist

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

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

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

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

And for a moment, your brain stalls.

There he is: Han Jisung.

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

“I know. That’s why you love me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You arch a brow. “Bigger? Like what?”

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

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

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

“Ridiculous,” you say, still laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that thought terrifies you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here?” He swipes at the wrong side.

“No, the other side.”

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

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

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

Then, just as suddenly, it’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

He blinked, momentarily surprised. “Failing what?”

“Exams,” you mumbled.

“Right, you're failing. I know."

"You know?" you asked, shocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But reality always has other plans....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best friends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach tightened with unease. "Okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it wasn’t fine. Not at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course. What’s up?”

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

A knot tightened in your stomach as you agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jisung didn’t feel the same way about you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except, it wasn’t working.

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

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

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

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

“Did I do something wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

He replied almost instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nari?” he interrupted, his confusion stark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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