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creamflix · 15 hours ago

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UNSCRIPTED — toji fushiguro x female reader [chapter 5/5]

summary: you’re a faceless author of scandalous smut — great at writing steamy scenes but totally clueless about real-life romance (and with no one to match your freak). enter toji fushiguro, a hot stranger you (accidentally) throw up on during a drunken night out. surprise! he’s also the future voice actor for your smutty novel’s main character. can you survive the awkwardness of your disastrous meet-cute while keeping your identity (and dignity) a secret? welcome to the chaos of your own erotic fantasy romcom!

content warning & tags: (erotic) voice artist! toji, (smut) writer! reader, smutty content!! [in this chapter: slight dubcon/cnc (?), virginity loss, riding, switch! toji, sort of dom!reader, pussy drunk toji, kind of wholesome, whole lot of yapping], sort of workplace romance, secret/anon identity, slight social media au, meet-cute, virgin!reader, single dad dilf! toji, kid! megumi, strangers to lovers (?), she fell first but he fell harder, mentions of other characters (satoru gojo, suguru geto, megumi fushiguro, shoko eiri, brief mentions of ryomen sukuna)

notes: two chapters a day, who is this diva !!? nah i had this around and i could not help but post it today. it will either mean you all binge read it, or you all completely forget that either chapter has been posted. curse this damn algo! or maybe i am just overenthusiastically posting. but gaaahhhh!! can't believe we are at the end </3 !! thank you thank you THANK YOU !! for the love, i'm so beyond grateful. thank you for letting va toji and smut writer reader in your dashboards and following them along on their stupid meet-cute journey <3 and, please don't be mad about the epilogue, i SWEAR megumi is not like other guys [he is just like his dad...]. also, if you're confused about the ending, PLEASE!! read persephone. it's not as emotional and funny as this one, but...read it so that you could make sense of the plot? IDKKK. or don't i think it's pretty self-explanatory. but in all honesty, the freaky scene was really difficult to write in this chapter, and i really apologise if it seems..."anti-climatic" or a "letdown" or "not smutty enough" :") it's a lot more yapping and emotion based, not something i do often but i sorta liked writing it? i don't know, sometimes you should take a break from the dirty talk and just talk to yourself...eugh what am i saying, anyways! please, enjoy. and let me know how you liked this - comments, reblogs - i'm spying on them all

read on ao3! ● series masterlist

➤ related au: persephone [business tycoon! sukuna x reader]

your phone buzzes quietly on the nightstand, and you reach over, still half-buried in blankets, to check the message. toji grumbles beside you, wrapping an arm lazily around your waist, pulling you right back to him. “don’t even think about leaving this bed,” he mumbles against your shoulder, voice rough with sleep.

you squint at your screen, smiling as shoko’s name lights up with a string of texts.

shoko: mission successful. megumi has been delivered to the institution of learning. shoko: also, fyi, we're stealing the limo for the dayshoko: and no, we won’t be back until we’re legally obligated. don’t worry, we’ll keep gojo under control… mostly shoko: enjoy your alone time, lovebirds 😘

you chuckle, typing back a quick reply.

you: thank you, dearest shoko. keep gojo from being arrested plz 😭 you: we really do appreciate it, but just know i have zero faith in ur ability to contain gojo, lol shoko: fair enough, neither do i

toji tightens his hold around you, grumbling, “what’s so funny? thought you were all mine this morning.”

you turn, placing your phone on the nightstand as you nestle back against him. “just shoko. apparently, she, gojo, and geto did drop megumi off at school. in the limo.”

toji lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “bet those teachers are loving that.”

“oh, absolutely. i’m sure gojo made it a whole production, too.” you laugh, imagining the scene — a horrified teacher watching the three self-proclaimed “cool” adults proudly unloading an amused, completely willing megumi from the limo like he’s some kind of celebrity.

toji’s hand slides up your back, sending a warm shiver down your spine. “good,” he murmurs, a lazy smirk on his face. “means we’ve got all day.”

you bite back a grin. “is that so, mr. fushiguro?”

“damn right, mrs. fushiguro,” he whispers, and there’s that flutter in your chest again.

mrs. fushiguro — it’s still so new, so surreal. you lean into his touch, feeling that warmth radiate from him, that steady presence that’s been with you for so long, but now, somehow, feels even closer.

“god, that sounds… i don’t know. just amazing,” you murmur, voice almost shy. “it’s crazy how much changes when we’re just… us.”

he leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead, and it’s so soft, so tender, it’s enough to make your heart do another flip.

“yeah? feelin’ all mushy on me now, are ya?” he teases, smirking down at you, but his voice is so soft, so genuine.

“maybe i am,” you admit, tracing small circles on his chest with your finger. “just… thinking about how lucky i am. how lucky we are. you… me… and megumi.” the last part brings a smile to your lips, the idea of the three of you, a real family, settled and safe and happy.

toji’s eyes soften, and he leans in to kiss you, slow and warm. “trust me, i’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to cradle your face as he gazes at you. “i’ve got you, i’ve got ‘gumi… i got everything i need right here.”

you look away for a second, laughing softly to hide how much his words make your heart ache in the best way. “if anyone heard you right now, they’d never believe the tough guy act you put on.”

“hey, don’t go spreading rumors,” he warns, but his smile gives him away. “only you get to see me like this.” his fingers stroke along your cheek as he adds, “my best side.”

you look up at him, a rush of affection filling your chest so full you feel it might burst. “i just… i feel like the luckiest person alive. like… what did i do to end up here with you?”

“you didn’t have to do anything, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “just had to be you.”

you both settle into a comfortable silence, his hand finding yours under the covers, fingers interlacing. there’s something so perfect, so still about this moment — just lying together, his thumb brushing idly over your knuckles. the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart — it’s like every worry, every noise from the world fades away, leaving just the two of you cocooned here in the quiet, the morning sun filtering softly through the curtains.

you close your eyes, sighing contentedly. “i could stay like this forever, you know.”

he chuckles, pulling you closer. “good. ‘cause i’m not lettin’ you go anywhere.”

you’re just basking in the warm silence, feeling utterly at peace, when toji leans in, his voice low and smooth in your ear. "so, mrs. fushiguro,” he drawls, a smirk creeping onto his lips, “wasn’t there talk of a… private reading of that dragon king sequel?”

oh, no.

you blink at him, trying to keep a straight face.

this man is absolutely trying to get in your pants with literature.

who does that? well, toji does, apparently. and damn him for knowing you’d promised him a private reading of that particular book launch. a foolish vow you made months ago, when you didn’t think he’d actually remember.

but, of course, he remembers everything.

“i… um,” you stammer, your cheeks heating. “that was — okay, that was months ago, toji. i didn’t think you’d actually —”

“you didn’t think i’d remember?” he grins, and it’s the kind of grin that tells you you’re not getting out of this. “i remember everything, sweetheart. especially when it involves… let’s say, romantic storytelling?”

romantic storytelling, huh? right.

sure. that’s one way to put it.

“toji, it’s not just, you know, romantic storytelling,” you mutter, cheeks warming even more. “i mean, it’s got… dragons. and quests. and —”

“oh, i remember chapter twenty just fine,” he cuts in, that cheeky smirk now completely in control of the situation. he leans closer, his face inches from yours, all smug and mischievous.

“you know, the one where the dragon king finds his queen and… gives her a real good ‘welcome’?”

your mouth goes dry.

this absolute menace. he’s got the audacity to remember chapter twenty?

“oh, you mean the ‘epic battle scene,’ right?” you try, feigning innocence. “where they’re fighting for the fate of the kingdom, and it’s super dramatic, lots of… explosions, you know?”

he laughs, low and deep, and god, it’s unfair how sexy he makes laughing sound. “sure, if you’re talking about the fireworks when the dragon king finally, you know…” he raises an eyebrow.

“claims his queen.”

you are done for.

“toji —” you start, but he’s already pushing himself up, reaching over to grab a copy of your book from the nightstand. you mentally curse past you for being sentimental enough to keep a copy so close by.

“here we go,” he says, flipping through the pages, and damn it, he’s really going for it. “right to chapter twenty. ah… here. listen to this, babe.” he clears his throat dramatically, as if he’s about to perform the damn shakespearean sonnet of the year.

“the dragon king leaned in, his voice a whisper like embers in the dark, promising the queen his undying loyalty, his soul, his fire —”

“toji,” you hiss, trying not to laugh because this is utterly ridiculous. but also kind of the most endearing thing he’s ever done.

“— and his lips claimed hers with the kind of passion only a dragon king possessed,” he continues, absolutely deadpan.

his eyes flicker up to yours, and the next thing you know, he’s leaning in, his mouth soft against yours, playful, slow. “see?” he murmurs against your lips, teasing. “it’s right there in the text.”

you barely hold back a giggle. “toji fushiguro, you are not… using my own book to seduce me.”

he grins, kissing the corner of your mouth. “oh, sweetheart. i absolutely am. and i’m pretty sure you’re enjoying it, too.” his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer, and damn it, you are enjoying this.

“this is absurd,” you mutter, though your words lose their conviction as he trails kisses down your neck, each one soft and teasing. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous,” he murmurs between kisses, “for my beautiful wife who writes… excellent dragon king romances? definitely.” he pauses, looking up at you with that glint in his eyes that you know spells trouble.

“and don’t act like you don’t find it hot, mrs. fushiguro. we both know that’s a lie.”

you groan, flopping back against the pillows. “why did i write chapter twenty like that? i’ve doomed myself.”

he raises an eyebrow, that smirk even more devilish. “hey, i’m just a fan, enjoying a private reading,” he says, leaning back in to brush his lips against yours, soft and gentle at first, but deepening, his hand cupping your cheek in that way that drives you crazy.

“go on,” he whispers, voice low, “read for me.”

your heart’s pounding now, every nerve in your body alive with the feel of him so close, his eyes warm and mischievous and so damn loving.

you swallow, taking a steadying breath, and somehow, miraculously, you manage to open the book and start reading in a low, slightly shaky voice.

“the dragon king wrapped his arms around her,” you read, feeling your voice hitch as toji’s fingers trace little patterns along your arm, sending shivers through you, “his breath warm against her ear, promising her… his devotion. his soul. his fire.”

“mmm,” toji murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jawline. “keep going. this is getting good.”

you continue, barely able to concentrate because he’s absolutely enjoying every second of this.

“and as his lips met hers, it was like… like an explosion of heat, consuming them both in a moment so intense it could… melt worlds.” you swallow, feeling his hand slide around your waist, his face close to yours, his gaze dark with desire.

“you know, i think your writing really captures the, uh, tension here,” he teases, his voice a rough whisper against your ear.

“you’re impossible,” you say, laughing despite yourself as he pulls you back down onto the bed, his kisses now less playful, more earnest, his hand finding yours, fingers interlacing like they belong there.

“impossibly in love with my talented, beautiful wife,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips soft and warm. “the one who just happens to write the best damn dragon romances out there.”

you let out a breathless laugh, burying your face in his shoulder. “if my readers could see this right now, they’d probably riot.”

he chuckles, pulling you close, his hand running through your hair. “well, they don’t get this version of you. that’s all mine.”

you look up at him, heart swelling with so much love you feel you might burst. “yeah?” you murmur, feeling your voice go soft, your hand reaching up to trace his jawline.

“yeah,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that makes you forget the whole world, until there’s just him, just you, just the two of you tangled together in this little piece of forever.

you’re deep in the moment, hands tangled around toji’s neck, your heart racing, and then thump! — your hardcover book smacks him right on the back of his head.

you freeze, horrified, but toji just blinks, a slow grin spreading across his face. where you see a mood-killer, he sees a grand opportunity.

“well, well,” he says, rubbing the spot with exaggerated drama, “guess the dragon king’s under attack.”

then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he reaches down, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “only one way to counter this… surprise assault.”

before you can say a word, he pulls the shirt over his head, revealing that ridiculous six — or is it eight? — pack of his. you lose count every time. the man’s a walking anatomy lesson.

he leans back against the pillows, arms casually behind his head like he’s just some unassuming king lounging in his castle.

“so,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow, “don’t you think it’s only fair for ‘equality’ reasons that you join me in my… wardrobe adjustments?”

you stare at him, knowing exactly what he’s doing, but still, the smirk on his face is impossible to resist.

“oh, ‘equality,’ huh?” you laugh, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “you’re seriously using that excuse?”

“hey,” he says with an innocent shrug, though that devilish grin gives him away. “you hit me on the head. you owe me. this is… reparations.”

“reparations?” you raise an eyebrow, feigning disbelief as you fiddle with the book, stalling, though your heart’s racing. “i think you just want me out of my shirt.”

“yeah, obviously.” his eyes sparkle, not an ounce of shame. “you’ve got the dragon king here, and he’s got a… well, let’s just call it a mighty thirst for, uh, ‘visual balance.’”

you laugh, shaking your head. “visual balance? you’re just making things up now!”

“come on,” he says, reaching out and gently tugging at the hem of your shirt with that smirk that melts you every time. “for equality. and… maybe chapter twenty accuracy?”

you try to hold in a laugh, failing miserably. “oh, now you’re committed to accuracy, are you?”

“absolutely.” he leans in, his eyes meeting yours, that smirk growing softer, somehow more sincere. “besides,” he murmurs, voice low, “i’m not about to let some book have all the fun of a private reading with you.”

his words send warmth straight to your chest, and you find yourself surrendering to his playfulness. slowly, you lift the hem of your shirt, and his gaze never leaves yours, following each movement with that quiet intensity that makes you feel like you’re the only thing in his world.

“happy now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow once the shirt is off and tossed to the side.

toji’s gaze trails over you, his smile widening. “mmm, much better,” he says, voice a low rumble. he reaches out, pulling you close until you’re practically lying on top of him, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“now,” he whispers, his breath warm against your cheek, “about that private reading…”

“you mean, before the book tries to knock you out again?” you say, laughing softly as he grins.

“nah,” he replies, pulling you closer, voice softer now. “i think i’d rather hear it from you… no books, no pages. just us.” his hand slides up your back, his touch so familiar, so gentle, and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore, just looking into his eyes, feeling like you’re in your own story, one that’s still being written.

“fine,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder as he holds you close, his fingers brushing through your hair. “i’ll read to you, toji. but only if you promise…” you pause, smirking, “not to bring out any more ‘dragon king’ moves.”

he chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “no promises,” he murmurs, voice warm and full of laughter.

you’re lost in the warmth of his embrace, melting into him as your lips meet, his hands firm on your waist, grounding you as you straddle him. skin to skin, chest to chest, heartbeats syncing — it's everything a newlywed morning should be. but then…

oh.

you feel it.

that very… unignorable reminder pressing insistently against you, and the realization hits like a lightning bolt, your face heating up as if someone turned the thermostat up to a hundred.

you swallow, suddenly very aware of the “problem” in question, and try your hardest to keep a straight face.

it’s not like this is new or anything. toji’s your husband. this is normal. completely normal. all husbands feel like this for their wives, right?

right.

but he’s… so unbothered. he doesn’t even hesitate, just keeps his hands on you, tracing slow circles along your back, his thumb brushing over your skin, his lips curling into a smirk like he knows exactly how much he’s affecting you. and maybe he does.

of course he does.

“toji,” you manage to whisper, barely holding it together, but he’s already looking at you with that lazy, smug grin, like you’re his personal sunrise, and he’s basking in every single second.

“you, uh… you sure you’re okay there?”

“me?” he raises an eyebrow, all innocence as he chuckles, his voice a warm, sleepy rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “i’m more than okay, sweetheart. just enjoying my beautiful wife on our first morning as mr. and mrs. fushiguro.” he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone that’s entirely too distracting.

“besides,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin, “i think you’re the one who’s a little… flustered.”

flustered? you?

“toji, you’ve got a —” you start, but he interrupts, grinning wickedly.

“a ‘normal human reaction’?” he teases, voice dropping to that smooth, low register that drives you crazy. “can’t help it when you’re this close. on top of me. looking like that.”

you cover your face with your hands, half-laughing, half-dying of embarrassment. “stop — oh my god, you’re insufferable.”

“and you love it,” he says, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. his eyes are soft, sincere, with a glint of mischief as he tilts his head. “what’s a husband supposed to do? just look at you? you make it real hard, y’know?”

he lets out a low laugh at your expression and then holds you tighter, his hands warm and steady on your waist.

“guess we’re not getting out of bed for a while, huh?”

you’re not sure what’s come over you — maybe it’s the morning sunlight streaming in, soft and hazy; maybe it’s the devilish little voice in your head nudging you forward.

but somehow, here you are, straddling your very, very surprised husband, taking matters (and his pants) into your own hands.

and, well, let’s just say you got a little… ambitious.

before you even have time to think, you’re, um… fully committed.

as in, no turning back.

as in, you’re in.

toji’s eyes go wide, his hands gripping your hips as if he’s trying to catch up to what’s happening. his breath hitches, his head falling back against the pillow, and he lets out something between a sob and what might be a moan.

his cheeks are flushed, his jaw tight, and for a second, he just stares up at you with a look that’s a mix of reverence and utter disbelief.

“you… y-you just… did you just — ?” he manages to stammer, the words catching in his throat, and suddenly, you’re the one who’s freaking out.

the reality of what you just did hits like a freight train, and you’re not prepared.

“uh… yes?” you squeak, as if you’re also trying to convince yourself. a nervous laugh escapes you. “i mean… yeah. i just… i thought… y’know, we’re married now, so… spontaneity?”

toji’s lips press into a shaky smile, his fingers tightening on your waist.

“spontaneity, huh?” he repeats, a breathless laugh bubbling up as he tries to process the situation. “damn, sweetheart, you really know how to keep a guy on his toes.”

your cheeks heat up, and you suddenly realize just how locked into this you are.

no backing out now, not when you’re quite literally in the thick of it.

“oh god,” you mutter, half to yourself. “did i just… did i seriously just yolo this?”

toji laughs, his thumb tracing comforting circles on your hip, his voice a little strained but warm as ever. “honestly? kind of the best ones of my life. but if you’re freaking out… we can take a breather.”

but there’s something in his gaze — something soft and genuine, with that signature spark of mischief — that steadies you a little. you take a breath, letting his presence calm your nerves.

and then, with a shaky smile, you lean down, pressing your forehead to his.

“just… don’t move too fast, okay?” you whisper, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“you’re the boss, mrs. fushiguro,” he murmurs, voice low and tender, and he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you, holding you steady. “locked and loaded… best way to start the day.”

you try to summon every ounce of confidence your heroines have ever possessed — the boldness, the sass, the sheer conviction that they know exactly what they're doing.

but here you are, completely frozen, caught somewhere between exhilaration and abject terror.

your mind is racing, but your body? not so much. you can’t seem to move.

and to make matters worse, there’s a tiny part of you that’s panicking, the same part that has you wiggling slightly as you try to find any semblance of control.

naturally, he notices, and, of course, he feels it, too.

toji’s eyes soften, his mouth curving into that warm, almost-too-perfect smile that always settles your nerves, and his hands move gently to your hips, steadying you with the barest of pressure. you’re not sure if he’s trying to keep you from falling apart or if he’s anchoring himself, too.

“hey,” he murmurs, voice warm and so steady it cuts through your internal chaos. “you don’t have to do anything, sweetheart. lemme take care of you.”

he tilts his head back to meet your eyes, and the softness in his gaze is almost enough to melt you.

“besides,” he teases, a wicked little glint appearing in his eyes, “the last thing i want is you remembering this as the morning you freaked out on top of me. that wouldn’t be fair to you, or, honestly… to me.”

you manage a shaky laugh, trying to focus on him rather than the tangle of nerves twisting in your stomach.

and maybe, just maybe, you can let go of your inner heroine pep talk just this once.

“okay…” you whisper, breath still catching, but there’s something in his touch that’s grounding you. “just… go slow?”

“yes ma’am.” his voice drops an octave, the promise of patience woven through every word, and his hands tighten just a little, guiding you with gentle confidence. he starts moving slowly, carefully, each motion more reassuring than the last. his thumb brushes your hip soothingly, grounding you.

“and remember,” he whispers, mouth brushing the corner of your mouth as he leans up, “i’m right here. always.”

you’re trying, really.

but, for all the research you’ve put into this exact scenario, it’s like your mind’s blanking out on everything.

front and back? sideways? or was it… circular? maybe up and down?

why is it that the one time you desperately need a mental slideshow, all your research notes abandon you?

to make matters worse, toji’s expression isn’t exactly helping. he’s looking at you with this mix of sheer desperation and restraint, like he’s teetering on the edge of losing it or… combusting.

maybe both.

“uh, toji,” you murmur, fingers trailing uncertainly on his chest as you try to read his reaction. “am i… doing this right?” you ask, half-joking, half-panicked, but mostly hoping for some kind of confirmation. or maybe a sign that you’re not about to ruin him.

toji’s eyes snap open a bit wider, and the sounds he makes are… well, hardly words.

more like a strangled, garbled mess of syllables that could pass for something between a moan and a mutter. he opens his mouth to say something and then just clenches his jaw, exhaling a shaky breath.

“babe…” he finally chokes out, voice rough. “whatever you’re doing… just… give me a sec, okay?”

you stifle a laugh, watching as his hands are balled so tight at his sides that they’re nearly shaking. it’s like he’s holding himself together by sheer willpower alone. you swear his knuckles might actually be going white.

he lets out a huff, like he’s trying to recite a grocery list or remember anything that isn’t the feel of you on top of him.

“satoru’s voice… that dumb soap commercial… yeah, yeah, there it is… ‘leaves you feeling fresh all day’... god help me,” he mutters under his breath.

“toji?” you can’t help it; you lean in, brushing your lips against his jaw as he swallows hard.

“i think i’ve broken you.”

his head tips back, a strained laugh breaking through as he fights to keep his cool.

“you… might just have,” he manages, voice rough around the edges, and there’s this flash of helplessness in his gaze that makes your heart skip.

“i’m doing that well, huh?” you smirk, feeling just the tiniest spark of confidence.

he groans, half in frustration, half in what sounds like pride. “yeah… yeah, you are,” he grits out.

“and if you move… in literally any direction right now, i’m not sure how much longer i can hold back.”

you take a moment to consider, still a little nervous, but now definitely encouraged by the effect you seem to be having on him.

“well,” you whisper, “you’re my husband now. i think that means we can both… figure this out together.”

he looks up at you, that steady, determined look in his eyes, as he exhales another shaky breath.

“then let’s figure it out,” he murmurs, voice softer now, but still brimming with that intensity.

his hands finally settle on your hips, steadying you as he starts guiding you slowly, deliberately, and the careful rhythm he sets feels like it’s easing all that tension out of both of you.

“god… toji,” you murmur, feeling every little shift and movement as he keeps you close, never rushing, always guiding.

“that’s right, sweetheart,” he says, his tone softening as he takes his time with you. “we’ve got all the time in the world.”

while toji is supposedly the one who should have all the experience here, somehow you’re the one taking charge — leading the pace, finding a rhythm, and honestly, feeling a little like some overconfident cowgirl until you remember, oh right, this is toji fushiguro, not some wild bronco.

okay, maybe ease up on the cowgirl image, you mentally scold yourself, trying to stay focused.

but that confidence you’re feeling? it’s dangerous. because just as you settle into this boldness, feeling like you’ve got things under control, toji lets out a whimper.

your eyes fly open, heart practically stopping in your chest.

oh no.

was that a sound of pain?

did you somehow… break him?

wait, is it even possible to damage internal organs like this?

“toji…?” you ask, almost scared to hear the answer.

he lifts his head a little, looking dazed and half-lost, his breathing heavy, eyes hazy with disbelief as he mutters,

“y-you’re…” he doesn’t even finish, just closes his eyes, head falling back as another broken whimper slips out.

and then it hits you.

oh.

“you… you like this?” you ask, almost stunned. the idea that you’re the one making him sound like that?

the thought is so potent it makes you feel a rush of something warm and… yeah, okay, powerful.

he’s barely able to respond, his hands gripping your hips now, knuckles white as he nods, lips parted in another helpless gasp as he tries and fails to keep his cool.

“don’t… stop,” he finally chokes out, like he’s barely hanging on.

“oh, trust me, i’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, heart racing. and now there’s this little thrill lighting you up from the inside out, because every tiny movement is pulling more helpless little sounds from him, his restraint finally slipping.

toji’s voice is so rough, barely holding it together as he grits out, “you’re killing me, sweetheart… god…”

“well,” you manage, barely keeping your own composure, “it’s only fair, right? after all the times you’ve done this to me?”

he lets out another shaky exhale, clearly struggling, and for a second you’re genuinely worried he might just combust completely.

“y-you really think… you’re doing me in, huh?”

you raise a brow, smirking despite yourself. “you sound like you’re the one struggling here.”

he laughs breathlessly, like he can hardly believe it, before he pulls you close, one hand cupping the back of your neck.

“struggling?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of promise. “i’m just letting you have your fun before i flip us over and show you exactly who’s in charge here.”

your heart does a somersault. because the thrill of this playful push and pull, of seeing him finally lose control?

that’s the best way to start any morning.

toji’s brain is on a full-blown rollercoaster right now, and not in the way he’d imagined.

he’d thought he’d be calm, collected, the man in control, ready to take his time with you and make this morning something sweet and a little filthy, just like you’d always hinted at.

he’d be the one setting the scene, the one doing all the work, the one guiding you gently, like he’d dreamed about doing ever since you let him in on that side of your writing.

he even had a whole monologue rehearsed in his head last night: “to my parents, my friends, and any god who’s listening, thank you for giving me this beautiful woman to love, a girl with fire in her veins and creativity for days.”

he’d planned on simple, soft kisses, with lots of praise to make you feel adored, even throw in a little dirty talk, just like in your books.

he’d thought about quoting a line or two back at you for fun — maybe one from that chapter you wrote where the dragon king says, “you’re all mine tonight, and you’ll feel every inch of me, i promise.”

but now?

all that’s gone out the window, because here you are, on top of him, taking the lead with confidence, and he’s losing his mind.

every time he tries to open his mouth, all he can get out is a strangled groan, and it’s doing something to him he wasn’t expecting.

he can barely recognize himself; the words he’d so carefully picked out are just… gone. every time you shift, it’s like his thoughts scatter to the wind, replaced by pure, helpless need.

he wants to tell you, wants to let you know how much he loves this, loves you, how insane you’re driving him, but all that comes out is a barely-coherent mess of sounds, and it hits him that you’re not just in control of his body — you’ve completely stolen his mind, too.

“i… god, i thought i was supposed to be the one teaching you…” he finally manages to whisper, half in awe, half in defeat.

you smirk, that little gleam in your eye sending a shiver down his spine. “thought you liked a surprise every now and then?”

and all he can do is nod, a dazed look in his eyes.

because in this moment, he realizes he’d gladly give up every carefully planned word, every practiced move, just to feel like this forever: utterly and completely wrapped around your finger, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

the second toji feels your movements stutter, that telltale shiver coursing through you, he knows exactly what’s happening.

and oh, he’s not about to let you handle all that on your own.

in one smooth, effortless motion, he flips you onto your back, settling himself on top of you with a grin that’s downright devilish. his muscles flex as he moves, every bit of that gym routine paying off in real time.

“thought i’d take over, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and husky, his words wrapping around you like velvet. “just… seemed like you could use a little help.”

you meet his gaze, already breathless, but the excitement bubbling inside you is impossible to ignore.

“oh, you’re taking over now?” you tease, your hands resting on his strong shoulders, gripping tight, letting him feel the way your fingers tremble slightly. "go on then, show me what you got."

his eyes darken, and the heat between you intensifies as he lowers himself, pressing a line of kisses along your neck that makes your whole body tingle.

"you don’t have to tell me twice,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with that rough, familiar affection, every word sending a thrill straight to your core.

with every frantic movement, every desperate thrust, he’s thoroughly reminding you that this is his world, and you’re just lucky to be living in it.

the tension that had been building inside you starts winding tighter again, and you feel like you’re seconds away from cumming. every nerve is on fire, and his name escapes your lips like a prayer, like you’re as completely lost in him as he is in you.

“that’s it, just like that,” he whispers, his tone full of encouragement, his breath warm against your ear. “i want you to feel everything, sweetheart.”

and with the way he’s moving, with the heat and the energy building between you, you don’t doubt for a second that he’s going to make good on that promise.

you're clinging to him, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, arms tangled around his neck like you’re in some intense love-drunk wrestling hold, and you’re this close, teetering on the edge.

you have no idea what to do with all that emotion bubbling up inside — are you supposed to say something? shout something? last time, when he went down on you, you practically screeched, and that memory alone is enough to make you blush in embarrassment.

but, you’re different now, classier, you tell yourself.

totally changed.

so instead, you lean up, press your lips to his ear, and let out a quiet, garbled, “i love you.”

toji goes still for a fraction of a second — barely a heartbeat — but it’s long enough for you to feel it: he wasn’t ready for that. it’s a sneak attack, and you see his face shift, his eyes going wide for just a moment before the heat in them intensifies, pure, raw emotion flooding in. you feel his whole body respond to those three words, and just as you think yes, i’ve got him, you realize he’s already cumming.

finished, before he even had a chance to let out a coherent response. he’s so stunned that he just mutters, “fuck,” breathless and hoarse, the word barely forming on his lips.

you can’t help but laugh, voice filled with a mix of triumph and disbelief. “wow, that got you, huh?” you tease, brushing a hand through his hair, feeling all the tension melt from his body as he tries to catch his breath. “and here you thought you had it all planned out.”

he huffs, pulling you even closer, his forehead resting against yours, that familiar smirk creeping back into place despite the flush on his cheeks.

“never underestimate the power of a writer,” he murmurs, voice deep and warm. “especially when her words pack one hell of a punch.”

and you grin, sinking into the feeling of having completely swept him off his feet, knowing full well he wouldn’t want it any other way.

toji’s lying there in post-bliss, still catching his breath, when it hits him harder than any of gojo’s early-morning, glass-shattering shrieks: he just took his wife’s v-card.

he’s your first.

and then it all unravels, one chaotic revelation after another — he just came inside you.

came inside you.

and wait, oh hell, were you even on any contraception?

his eyes widen in a near-panic, and he can feel his pulse skyrocketing again, but this time it’s not from excitement.

he remembers how much you love kids — yeah, kids. specifically, one kid. megumi. did you two even talk about adding more to that tally?

“uh, babe…” he starts, pulling away as gently as possible. he ignores the mess and all sense of grace as he practically scrambles to his feet, hurriedly grabbing the first thing he can to clean you up, which turns out to be some spare tissues by the bed.

you blink up at him, a bit dazed but smiling, that look of total contentment on your face. but it just makes him panic more.

“are… are you okay?” he asks, voice a bit too frantic. he’s cleaning you up with a gentleness that feels oddly out of character, his hands trembling just slightly as he checks you over, his fingers brushing your cheek, your arm, like he’s making sure you’re really, truly okay. “do you feel… i dunno, uh… like, rested? like, you’re good, right? not too sore?”

you let out a soft laugh, reaching up to cup his cheek. “i’m fine, toji. actually, i’m more than fine,” you say, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone, and his heart does that stupid skip thing again. he can’t let himself get sidetracked, though.

“oh, that’s good — really good.” he nods, grabbing the water bottle that’s somehow on his nightstand, a red iron man one. “here, drink this.” he uncaps it, nudging it toward your lips. “hydrate and all.”

you stare at the bottle for a second, blinking.

“is that… ‘gumi’s iron man bottle?”

“i don’t know, and i don’t care right now. just drink,” he says, pushing it toward you with a kind of determination, and you obediently take a few sips, though you’re clearly trying not to laugh.

after a few swallows, you pull back, wiping your lips. “toji, relax. you’re the one who told me to trust you, right?”

he’s rubbing the back of his neck now, a bit embarrassed but mostly still caught up in his thoughts. “yeah, well, i didn’t think that…” he trails off, looking at the mess on the sheets with an almost horrified expression.

“i just… we didn’t talk about… kids.”

you tilt your head, giving him a soft look. “toji, do you want kids?”

he runs a hand through his hair, that panic settling into something softer. “i mean, i’m good with megs, y’know? he’s… he’s all i need, but… it’s not like i’d be against it.” he shifts, the vulnerability clear in his eyes. “just… wanted to make sure that’s what you wanted, too.”

you reach for his hand, pulling him back down beside you, a reassuring smile on your face. “we can figure that out together. maybe we don’t know everything yet, but that’s okay. we’ve got time, don’t we?”

he lets out a sigh, relief flooding through him as he squeezes your hand. “yeah, yeah we do. i guess i just… never thought i’d get to do this. to be… a real family, with you.”

“toji,” you murmur, leaning in close, pressing your forehead to his. “you already gave me everything i could ever want. whether it’s just you and me, or us and megumi… or more.”

he lets out a chuckle, feeling lighter as he finally lets himself relax. “alright, alright. just don’t scare me like that, okay?” he mumbles, reaching for the blanket to cover you both up again.

and as he lies back down beside you, he can’t help the soft smile that spreads across his face.

two years had flown by since that whirlwind of a wedding, and life with toji and megumi had settled into a heartwarming, beautifully chaotic rhythm.

megumi, now ten , was in a phase where he’d scoff and roll his eyes at anything even remotely ‘ kiddish ,’ claiming he was far too mature for that stuff now.

but you’d caught glimpses of that little boy spark in him — a reminder that he hadn’t fully shed his innocence yet.

like the time you’d spent an entire evening painstakingly building a lego dragon together, a complicated model that had you and toji squinting at the manual with a kind of warrior resolve.

where toji groaned, half-buried in tiny plastic pieces. “this better be the last one, kiddo, or your mama and i are gonna turn into dragons ourselves,” he muttered, piecing together the dragon’s intricate scales.

megumi tried to act indifferent, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “well, i don’t need it. dragons are kinda… whatever .”

but the moment the final piece snapped into place, his face lit up with such unguarded delight, and he stared at the completed dragon, almost in awe.

“actually… it’s kinda cool,” he mumbled, tracing the wings with his finger.

and then there was the iron man phase.

just last week, you had surprised him with a new iron man action figure — the latest model that even he, the ‘ oh-so-mature ’ ten-year-old, had been subtly eyeing. he’d accepted it with a feigned shrug, muttering something about it being ‘ okay ,’ but later you found him arranging his collection on his shelf with utmost care, placing iron man front and center.

today was a new milestone, though. suguru, ever the romantic, had finally invited his elusive business partner and the woman he was head over heels for: the famed mrs. ryomen , founder of persephone wines, accompanied by none other than her husband, ryomen sukuna . their wine brands were renowned globally, their rivalry and partnership like something out of a novel, and, unsurprisingly, satoru never shut up about how good the wines were.

the moment you laid eyes on her, you understood why suguru was so smitten. she was a vision of grace — calm, poised, with an elegance that felt both timeless and grounded. her wisdom was palpable, like she’d seen the world and learned from it, carrying that understanding effortlessly.

and beside her was sukuna, a towering figure, his presence demanding attention without a single word. he wore his reputation as the industry’s most formidable businessman like a second skin, but there was a softness in his eyes whenever he glanced at his wife.

and trailing beside them, in her adorable little dress and with a wide, mischievous smile, was their five-year-old daughter, aiko. she looked exactly like her mother but had that unmistakable devious glint in her eyes — the unmistakable ryomen charm that came with a penchant for trouble.

aiko spotted megumi almost immediately, her eyes lighting up as she sized him up with that daring grin. without a second’s hesitation, she skipped over, standing tall in front of him as if ready for a duel.

“you’re megumi, right?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

megumi nodded, looking slightly intimidated but also oddly impressed. “uh… yeah? ”

“my daddy says you’re gonna be tall like him someday,” she announced with a challenging gleam. “but i think i’ll still be cooler.”

toji, watching the exchange, chuckled, leaning down to you. “she’s got the ryomen spirit, alright. poor suguru, he’s in for a lifetime of keeping up.”

suguru, who had been watching from the sidelines, gave an almost weary smile. “don’t remind me. she’s just like her dad, which is… terrifying.”

over the course of the evening, satoru found every possible opportunity to rave about the wine, which led to a slightly tipsy serenade of praise to both persephone and ryomen wines.

suguru shook his head, but you caught the faintest hint of pride in his eyes as satoru loudly professed, “the best wine on earth, right here! what did i do in my past life to deserve this ?”

“satoru, we get it,” shoko laughed, patting his shoulder. “but maybe save some of your poetic speeches for the actual wine reps?”

sukuna, stoic as ever, cracked the smallest smirk. “better listen to her, gojo, or next time you’re paying double for every bottle.”

at this, megumi tugged at your hand, pulling you down so he could whisper in your ear, “do you think they’re like… superheroes? like, fancy business ones? ”

you grinned, whispering back, “maybe, but the kind that save people’s sanity after long days with a good glass of wine.”

as the night wore on, aiko became bolder, challenging megumi to little games and teasing him whenever he pretended to be unimpressed.

by the end, they were both racing around, megumi begrudgingly admitting that maybe having a ‘ little kid ’ around wasn’t the worst thing ever.

and you, watching your little found family and newfound friends all mingling, felt a sense of peace settle over you. life had changed so much, yet, with every piece that had fallen into place, it felt more complete than ever.

toji slid his hand into yours, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. “so,” he murmured, nodding towards the crowd of laughing, chatting, slightly inebriated friends, “how’s forever treating you?”

you squeezed his hand back, leaning into his warmth. “with you? it’s perfect .”

— [epilogue]

megumi adjusted the microphone, clearing his throat as he began his podcast. the familiar red recording light blinked on, and for a moment, he hesitated.

but then, that cool, low voice of his rolled out — completely unaware of just how many listeners were tuned in because of that very voice.

“hey, everyone,” he started, with a slight, almost embarrassed laugh. “it’s megumi. welcome back to another episode. thanks for sticking around, i guess.”

he took a deep breath, leaning into his usual deadpan humor. “today’s a little… special.”

eight years had passed, and megumi was now eighteen, on the verge of starting college. you never could have imagined that the quiet, reserved little boy who once scowled at anything that wasn’t cool enough would be sitting here, in gojo-sonic’s recording studio, with a podcast following that had skyrocketed in the last few months - his own little corner of the internet was a hit.

it was always a little surreal, hearing him speak like that — like an old pro — though megumi had no idea just how attractive his voice was.

you’d caught snippets of his episodes in passing, and honestly, you were floored. it had that raw, emo, mysterious vibe that made his fans swoon.

but megumi didn’t care much for that. he just liked talking.

talking about whatever came to mind, whether it was the state of the world or random deep thoughts about dragons (which his viewers loved).

he paused for a second, then smirked. “so, apparently, it’s the anniversary of the sequel to my mama’s infamous ‘mating with the dragon king’ series, which is, uh…” he chuckled under his breath. “a title i try not to think too hard about, for my own sanity.”

he glanced at his notes, mentally preparing himself for the rest. “but it’s also my parents’ anniversary. they’ve been together a long time now, and honestly, i think they’ve aged pretty well… if not gotten weirder, too.”

"okay, so first things first," megumi continued, tapping his fingers against the mic like he was thinking.

"i’ve been asked a lot recently — yeah, like a lot — about my parents. so, i thought today, i’d… well, talk about them. for those who don’t know, my mom and dad are basically the best couple on the planet."

he paused for a moment, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. "and no, i’m not just saying that because they pay my college tuition," he added, voice dry, before laughing lightly. the subtle humor, that ever-present dry wit of his, had not been lost over the years.

“i’m serious, though,” megumi continued, his tone shifting slightly. “they’ve been married almost ten years now. ten years. that’s a long time, right? you know, the stuff i’ve seen them go through — good and bad — has honestly been like watching a rom-com… without the cheesy music. it’s real.”

he leaned back, grinning at the memory of his dad attempting to act cool when his mom gave him the anniversary gift she’d obviously poured her heart into, and how his dad pretended to brush it off while trying not to tear up.

“i swear, my dad still thinks he’s the heartthrob he was in his youth… not that he’ll admit he ever thought that.”

a comment from the live chat caught his eye, and he read it aloud with a half-smile, “how are the lovebirds doing these days?”

“they’re… good,” he answered, a little softer, before laughing. “honestly, they’re like teenagers sometimes. last week, i caught them dancing to “dancing queen” in the kitchen at, like, two in the morning. my mama insisted they were ‘practicing their moves.’”

another comment rolled in: “is it true they started dating because of ‘mating with the dragon king’?”

megumi groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“okay, so — yes, my mama’s… work may or may not have been involved in them getting together. which, by the way, is mortifying, but what can you do?”

he continued, “so yeah, every year, around this time, they go through the book again. they claim it’s just to, i don’t know, ‘relive the magic,’ or whatever. but personally, i think it’s just their excuse to laugh over the old cheesy lines and then get all sappy.” his voice softened, and you could hear the fondness there. “it’s… it’s cute, actually.”

as he sifted through more questions, a few regulars in the chat started asking about his dad’s influence on the podcast.

“so… ‘like father, like son,’ huh?” he repeated aloud. “you all know my dad, toji fushiguro. he’s been a big reason i’m doing this at all. every week he tunes in and listens, usually making some snide comment about my ‘emo’ voice.” he chuckled.

“but, like, he’s my biggest fan. it’s… weird. and kinda awesome.”

megumi leaned closer to the mic, as if sharing a secret. “sometimes he even gives me topic ideas, and he likes to pretend he’s all smooth about it. last week he was like, ‘hey, you ever think about doing an episode on… i don’t know, how to handle annoying old guys? just… putting it out there.’”

megumi rolled his eyes. “yeah, thanks, dad.”

one listener asked, “so, are your parents tuning in today?”

megumi laughed. “oh, you better believe it. mama’s probably listening right now, making little notes about everything she’s going to tease me for later. and dad? he’s probably lounging around, acting all nonchalant, but hanging onto every word. he never says it, but… he’s proud. he just shows it in weird, dad ways.”

you, sitting in the living room across the house, smiled to yourself. you and toji hadn’t missed an episode of his podcast, even if megumi was often too cool to tell you exactly what he was talking about on-air.

this was your son, the one who swore he'd never be like you two, now waxing poetic about your love life. you had to admit, it felt like a win.

you couldn't help but chuckle as you leaned over to toji, who was sprawled on the couch, casually scrolling through his phone. “he doesn’t even realize how much he sounds like you.”

toji grinned, looking up from his phone. “i know. ’m proud, honestly. the kid’s got my voice, and he’s got a knack for talking like a damn pro.”

then, someone commented, “do they still do their anniversary dinner tradition?”

“yeah, every year without fail,” he said with a warm smile. “they go to this little bar where they first met. same table, same drinks….it’s a whole thing. and they always make sure to bring something dragon-themed as, like, an inside joke.”

“is it true you used to help pick out those dragon anniversary gifts?”

“uh, yeah, when i was a kid, i’d help out. it started with this silly little dragon keychain i got from a claw machine. my mama loved it, and dad pretended it was the best thing ever. and now… it’s just something they do. last year, we found this ridiculously tacky dragon-shaped candle holder. they loved it, of course.”

he paused, watching the flood of hearts and happy emojis on the screen. “honestly, seeing them still be so… them, even after all these years — it’s kinda awesome.”

as the comments continued to pour in, he couldn’t help but smile. “you know, when i was younger, i thought all of it was a little much. but now, i think… it’s cool. like, really cool, to have two people who just… get each other, and who make life fun. like, i might roll my eyes, but i wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

“anyway, that’s enough of the mushy stuff,” megumi added with a huff, trying to shake off the softness that had crept into his voice. “the point is, they’ve been together for a decade, and they still act like they’re in their honeymoon phase. but they’re both ridiculous, so whatever works, right?”

one final comment caught his eye: “do you ever think about finding a love like theirs?”

megumi laughed, leaning back in his chair. “i don't really know if I’ll ever be that kind of couple — that couple who looks at each other like it's just… meant to be. but honestly? i kinda hope i do. 'cause if that’s what they’ve got, i want it too. who knows?”

there was a beat of silence before megumi sighed, clearly awkward with what he’d just said.

"alright, that’s enough of the sappy stuff. let’s move on to today's topic of… superhero movies."

the episode cut into a new segment, but not before you could hear megumi’s voice soften again.

“but if i do… you guys will be the first to hear about it. after all, i learned from the best.”

you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling an overwhelming swell of love for your son. despite all his protests, the way he spoke about you and toji just now? it was more than a little heartwarming.

“ten years, huh?” toji said softly, his voice carrying that familiar warmth. “you think we’ve gotten better with age, or are we just getting more ridiculous?”

you leaned your head on his shoulder, chuckling softly. “i’d say both. we’re definitely more ridiculous. but i’m pretty sure we’re still just as in love as we were on day one.”

toji smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

back in the recording room, megumi wrapped up the episode with his usual quiet flair, and just as he was about to sign off, he added,

"to all the people listening out there — especially the ones who think i'm some kind of “emo, angsty mess” — you’re not wrong. but hey, thanks for sticking around. and shoutout to mama and dad… for being the real heroes of this fushiguro life.”

you heard the final click of the microphone turning off, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell once again, knowing that your little family, in all its weird, loving chaos, was exactly where it needed to be.

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joannasprose · 3 days ago

Text

CHAPTER ONE

—⊱✿⊰—

free Palestine, free Sudan—no one is free until we all are free.

hi ! I am so glad to share the first chapter of my little series Bite Your Tongue! :) I really do hope everyone enjoys this read,, and it eases your mind even slightly. enjoy :) 💜

content warnings: this chapter contains mentions of self harm, alcohol usage, drug use, and other mature themes. please do not read it any of topics might trigger you. ICYMI — if you’d like to read it on wattpad, for better formatting, and pretty images, my username is joannasprose 💜🗡️ :)))

—⊱✿⊰—

THE NIGHT THOSE feelings had arrived unwarranted, had been one full of an array of emotions. Questions danced across your mind in complete silence as you sat by yourself in the dark. Wondering, contemplating—anything that might solve the complexity in which your mind holds.

———

ITS A COOLER night than most.

You hadn't been one for it, the unrelenting cold. You run your hands over the exposed skin of your arms, and as you step into the crowded space—almost immediately met with smell of alcohol and artificial air wafting through it; you find yourself regretting the agreement of a night out.

The venue is filled with strangers; some stumbling over their own feet, others stand near the front door—strangers, in which you nearly have push past to get by, and finally, the weird sweaty smell that lingers in the air.

Perhaps it was the alluring feeling of relief, leaving the stress of life tucked beneath bed-covers, and consuming the potions that you knew Dina would concoct. Or maybe it had been her alluring words themselves; that somehow, in some way, had always seemed to persuade you. But the adrenaline, the tiniest bits of excitement that pooled in your mind slowly began to dissipates along with other things—and you find yourself cringing as you nearly bump into everyone around you.

Taking a vacant seat at the bar, in the far corner, you find that your heart is beating as fast as your thoughts. Another senseless night of watching strangers become too drunk to hold themselves up—and another wondering when it would end. And as your foot taps against the floor incessantly, Dina's hand to your shoulder is the only thing that pulls you out of that dissociative state.

"Hey! You made it!" she says, her words spoken loudly over the blaring music, leaning close to your ear, hoping to evade the mix of voices and music that seems to bounce off walls and blend together.

Now, as she takes a seat next to you—turning to her—you meet her eyes, looking over her thick eyelashes.

Dina Woodward always held some kind of edge to her. Whether that was in the way she dressed, the way she held her bluntness between her teeth, or her dark brown hair that fell past her shoulders tonight; all of it was piercing as a snake bite.

Yet she loved the simple things; the movies and books she would often find herself crying to, the vulnerabilities that steadily seemed to resurface. All of it had been put on display amongst the walls of your shared apartment.

"You asked me to come," you say. Dina rolls her eyes before taking a sip from the drink clutched in her hands, and then, "where's Jesse?" You could almost feel the annoyance hanging off her alcohol coated breath. Her frustration was not aimed towards you, but rather, the difficulty of her relationship.

"Wherever he is." She simply says, and this time, she brings the cup to her lips and swallows a mouthful.

You hum in response, settling your hands into your lap and watching as she sets her cup down on the wooden counter. "You want a drink?" She leans in close, nearly shouting in your ear when she does. You shake your head in response, and as she settles back into her seat, she rolls her eyes. "Seriously? I didn't beg you to come so you could stand off in the corner and do nothing."

Shrugging your shoulders, you speak: "Yeah? And if I get shitfaced, who'll drive us home?" You cock a brow, just in time to catch yet another roll of her eyes.

"What? Poor baby can't handle her alcohol?" This time, you're the one to roll eyes when she speaks. You had known Dina since the end of your 8th grade year in middle school—and since then, the two of you had always seemed to stick together like messily placed glitter.

"Shut up," you say, nudging her side playfully.

Suddenly, she perks up. Dina stands from her seat next to now readily getting up to move. "I'll be right back! Gonna do find someone," she says, looking off at whatever's behind you, before directing her attention back to you. "And I'm gonna go get you that drink." Before you could protest, Dina's already left your side, blurring into the sea of people.

You've found that you never enjoyed large gatherings. You never strayed away from them, but you had never indulged in them either. Your eyes skim across the room, watching people packed together as if they were in minimal space converse in undying conversations.

The moment Dina had left out of your sights, and the moment you turned back around towards the wooden counter—that unyielding anxiety had begun to latch on again like a vine infested bush.

You think about spring in your sophomore year of high school; one spent sat on Dina's floor, making shitty posters for her band on canvas using a free trial. That spring, one where it had been so humid, that you could almost find comfort even in its humidity. And you know it's because you'd hadn't met him yet—when he hadn't stuck his dog-teeth into you.

Your foot begins to pick up where it left off, tirelessly bouncing up and down against the floor. That same, grueling anxiety seems as though it begs to take root in your mind.

Terminal was the name of Dina's band. Herself, and two other girls around your age. You'd never met them, far too busy with cognitives of work and your home life to venture and leave. You had yet to see her preform either—not including when she'd play demos and such of what she had been working on.

You've heard them on CDs she would give you, recordings she made, "Why not just use Spotify? Isn't that easier?" You asked her as she shoved her hand in the deep pits of her bag, searching for a few moments before pulling out the thing and giving it to you.

"Because we're broke as shit." She had replied, and as she lingers bitterly in your mind, you begin to shift in your seat, placing your elbow on the table and resting your head on your hand.

Dina didn't quite fit the 'normal' standard for the music she played. And that alone is what you always admired about her. Surely, her witty and snappy demeanor had made up for it.

Five minutes have gone by now. Five long minutes of no sign of Dina, no text message, and indication on when she would be returning. Pulling your phone from your pocket, holding it close to your face to unlock it—you open the messages between the two of you, now typing away on your phone.

YOU: hey, you okay? where are you?

A few minutes pass—one, two, three, four of them before you get a text back.

DINA: shit, yeah sorry. I'm with Jesse, I didn't mean to leave you I swear. We're talking now I guess

YOU: it's fine. I'm gonna head step out for a little bit. If you need me

DINA: are you okay? I can come back and talk with him later

YOU: Dina, It's fine, seriously it's just kinda hot in here

DINA: okay, text me if you need anything okay?

YOU: okay

———

( play Main Theme - soundtrack by Alex G )

Pushing past the mounds of bodies, letting countless of apologies fall from your throat is what annoys you the most. Not the fact that Dina had brought you here, and then promptly left you for Jesse. Irritation, as it had, slips past your barricade, and renders it all useless as you slither through the crowd, stalking towards the sign that read exit, in a bright, red neon.

You don't smoke and yet as you leave the venue, pushing your back harshly against the wall behind you, you found yourself wishing you did. The moon is a sharp blade of silver, keeping the alleyway alight, along with the street light that stands tall at the end of it.

For the first time tonight, you are truly alone. Alone with what haunts you, with your grueling thoughts and what the night has to offer you. Though, that unrecognized ache still curls inside of you.

Maybe you would have still been alone, if the sound of footsteps weren't thudding against the ground, invading your silence.

You quickly lift your head up, eyes pouring over the stranger who approaches you, hands that had once hung at their sides for a brief moment, now pulled promptly to either side of their head.

"Sorry," they pause their stride almost immediately, now only standing a few paces away from you. "Didn't mean to scare you or anything." Now, as you get a good look at the stranger—something about them had seemed so familiar as the moon puts their features on displays.

From a short distance, you almost couldn't tell if her hair was black or merely just a dark brown. Her frame is tall, not much taller than your own, but tall enough to vaguely stand over you. Freckles decorate her face like scattered paint, and her eyes are unreadable, they sit between a light green, and yet a much darker one. A Loose pair of blue jeans hug her waist almost perfectly, and on her shoulders, lays a grey flannel, along with a white tank top that displays only a hint of her collar bone.

It's a new angle for you. To see her fully. It clicks when she lowers her hand, when the shadow across her face now promptly falls and you finally get to see her fully.

Now, it's when you notice the scar that adorns her right eyebrow.

After a long moment, she speaks again, "You're Dina's friend, right?" She asks, moving to lean against the wall along with you, though she leaves a lengthy space between the two of you.

You nod hesitantly before speaking, "Yeah," you say, eyes watching closely as she shoves her hands into pants pockets, and then: "Aren't you the guitarist in her band?"

She scoffs, looking over to you with narrowed brows, "'Her band'," she questions, smiling with her teeth now, "it's Dina's band now?" She measures, amusement strung across her features.

"I mean, well, Terminal." You stumble on your words, though you find that the smile she held a moment prior still resides there, unwavering.

"Yeah. I'm in Dina's band. She asked me to come out here to make sure you were alright." Before you know it, shes pulled a hand from the depths of her pocket, holding it out to you, "Ellie Williams, and you, Dina’s friend?"

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless, you place your hand in hers, feeling as her grip tightens slightly around yours. Shockingly, it isn't harsh. You could practically feel the callouses on her fingertips, yet you find that her touch is still soft. Weirdly comforting.

"Y/N." You breath.

She smiles when you look at her, though this time it feels different from the others. More genuine.

Your eyes travel down to her hand, and slowly, they travel up her arm, only momentarily catching the black ink sunken deep into her skin—as well valley of red hidden underneath the sleeves of her flannel before she briskly pulls away.

"I haven't seen you around before," she mutters, her voice suddenly quieter, digging into her pockets before pulling an out a pack of cigarettes from them, taking one out of the pack while she holding it in her hand as she speaks. "You just moved here?" Ellie pulls a light out of her other pocket, flicking it a few times, and when it finally ignites a flame—she holds it to the bud.

"Yeah. Just moved here a few weeks ago." She hums, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, while then letting tendrils of smoke escape her lips, and with you watching guilty, she speaks, "You smoke?"

For a moment, you think back to the reason you left the venue in the first place. The undying conversations, the smell of alcohol seeping into your nostrils—and that brief annoyance you had willfully felt for Dina when she left. You think about it for a short moment, eyes still on Ellie, you heave a sigh, "A little," you say, which hadn't completely been a lie, yet not the truth either.

Her eyes watch over you for a moment, eyes wavering, she gestures the box towards you, and watches as you take one from the pack.

Slyly keeping the thing tucked between her lips, she lets you settle it between your own lips. Nearing you, again, it takes three tries until the fire ignites. She nears it to the tip of it, waiting, and then pulling away when she's sure it's been lit.

You inhale its smoke, tasting its bitterness, and take it all in, while briefly exhaling. A faint cough escapes your throat.

"What do you do?" She says, which startles you considering you had only just now gotten used to the brief silence. Pulling it from your lips, and looking over to Ellie as she stares at the puddle in front of her speak: "I'm a journalist. I also write books sometimes, working on my first one."

You watch her eyes rise, and you watch as a smile pulls at her lips, willingly, "Well shit," she says, a smile that you strangely find comforting—which is weird, considering you don't know her—curls on her lips. "Dina really does have some interesting friends."

"She doesn't talk about me?" You ask, feeling a sting of pain at the revelation, though Ellie is quick to crumble any of those feelings, "She does, I'm sure. I'm just not around much."

You hum in response tiredly in response before speaking, "What do you do?" You ask, realizing the cigarette had been hanging between your fingertips, the smoke vaguely emitting off of it. You pull it to your lips. "Well, as you know, I'm in Dina's band," you roll your eyes as you let smoke fall from your lips, "I've said that once. And this is my first time speaking to you, are you ever gonna let that go?"

"Nope." She says, quickly, too quickly for comfort.

"Anyway," she follows, "I'm also a tattoo artist."

Your brows perk in interest, eyes skimming over her skin, and in that moment, you watch as she turns away from you.

"Are you gonna show me any of your tattoos? Wanna try to impress me?"

Ellie hums, perhaps contemplating, perhaps alluding you to believe she is before she says, "Maybe another time."

A rebuttal lies on your lips, another strange urge to see the strangers hidden tattoos inked in skin, but you have restraint tucked between your gums. So you don't question her.

"Well..." you say, switching the topic, "I'm writing a piece on the Enchanting Beauty of Art," you say, pulling the almost finished bud to your lips, inhaling the smoke, and then promptly blowing it out.

You put it out on the brick wall, listening to its subtle hiss as you speak, "it's about art. Um, obviously."

Ellie hums, and then, "Is that your title," she questions. Now, you notice that she's already finished hers. The space between her lips are empty, along with her fingers, "You want me to give you some insight, or some shit? I'm not that good." She says, rather plainly.

"You're probably good enough. Better than me."

Ellie pushes herself off the wall. And for a moment, you begin to she's planning to get ready to leave before she pulls her phone from her pocket, opening it and handing it to you. "Text me. Call me, or whatever you want. I'll answer your questions."

Your brows raise when she spoke, looking down to her hand, and back up to her space, you find yourself yet again, stumbling over your words, "I mean. You don't have to, I was joking."

Ellie doesn't drop her hand, only a sly smile sneaks onto her lips again, though, you never even considered if it had left, "Well, if you were joking, then that's seriously fucking embarrassing on my part," she began, still gesturing towards you, "and to soothe said embarrassment, give me yours and I'll give you mine. Text me when you need it."

A smile creeps on your lips, it's undeniable, and you watch as her eyes waft over to the cupids bow of them, watching for a considerably long moment before saying: "Playing the guitar has helped me learn I can keep my hand up for a very long time," she shrugs, "might wanna take it before we spend the entire night out here."

You practically scramble to take her phone from your hands as you pull out yours. "Shit. Sorry."

You hold hers in your hand for moment as you pull out your own, unlocking it and then pressing the phone app and quickly handing it to her.

The both of you type away. She calls her own number, and you feel as the phone buzzes in your hands when she does.

Ellie slips her phone into her pocket when you hand it to her.

"You goin' back inside?" She asks, her eyes narrowing at you. You catch a hint of a sweet southern accent.

"Are you trying to get rid of me that fast?" You quip, and Ellie smiles.

She sighs, "Just wanted to make sure you got back inside safe so Dina's not on my ass again." You laugh, stuffing your phone into your pockets. You hum in response, and she bids you goodbye.

When you near the door, she watches and then turns on her heel. And for a moment, you watch her departure.

You feel the simmer of something bubbling up inside your stomach, something unrelenting as you walk through the double doors. You realize, as you shuffled through your pants pockets, that you've been clutching the abandoned cigarette the entire time.

You hadn't felt the burn. If there were one.

You think of Ellie's subtle, kind words, her restrained yet welcoming demeanor. And as you spot Dina in the crowd, ushering you over—you'd wished you met her earlier on.

———

THE FOLLOWING MORNING

10:37AM

STUFFING YOUR FACE with the hash browns Dina had gotten from the diner just down the street from your apartment, she spoke: "You saw Ellie, right?"

You hum in response, chewing your few, and swallowing it down, "Yeah. She gave me her number too." Dina's eyes narrow in interest. Sitting new to you on her brown two-seater, she slides herself closer to you. "Oh? And what happened after that?"

You squint your eyes at her, already knowing what she's suggesting.

"Jesus. Not like that. We talked, exchanged numbers, and said goodbye. That's it."

Dina rolls her eyes, taking the plate from your hands, and practically clutching it near her chest. "Yeah sure. I give it a few months and you guys'll be together."

Your eyes widen. You nudge her shoulder harshly, and when you do, the hash brown nearly falls to the floor—luckily, though, Dina held it more tightly just in time. "I'm just saying! She usually never..." you watch as Dina tries to finds the words, the laugh track from the show that plays on the tv is the only thing that seems to fill the silence before she speaks.

"She doesn't talk much. I thought she would tell you who she was, and that would be the end of it."

You think back on it now.

Ellie didn't seem to fit Dina's description. At least in your head. Part of finds yourself wondering what that Ellie is like. Though part of you wants to know more the Ellie you'd met last night.

You switch the topic. "What was that last night? Why'd you leave so suddenly?"

You watch as Dina looks over to you, the fork that you had once previously stabbed into the food, now flipping it over. "Jesse had flowers for me, he apologized." You could nearly roll your eyes at her statement, yet you only let out a half-hearted smile.

"Again?" You joke, though not really.

You expect Dina to at least get somewhat irritated with you. You'd assumed anyone would at a comment like that. Though, she only places the paper plate down on the wooden table in front of you both, and throws her arms over your shoulder.

"Yeah, whatever. Keep talking."

You shrug her off her of you, a smile curling on your lips slightly—you focus back onto the screen ahead, thinking back to Ellie's alluring smile, and the moment you do, you find yourself questioning why you're even thinking about her at all.

#the last of us 2 #ellie williams #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #bite your tongue #ellie williams the last of us #ellie x you #ellie x reader #fanfic

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luv-beam · 2 days ago

Text

i am so fucking upset I AM SO FUCKING UPSET . i cannot convey how absolutely devastated i am like im sitting here in the dark unable to fully convey KANFKDNFKFJFJFNFN AHHHSHFJRJGKKGKGKFKFKFKFKGKFK

okok im sorry i do have some things to say as general statements abt my experience and ur skills before we get into some of the nitty gritty 😭 but first off, moni, i am ashamed to say i somehow missed that u dedicated this to me. i am so so sorry for not seeing it for some awful reason, but pls know that i am so honored—like beyond honored and appreciative. u r crazy good at ur craft and i am so happy ur posting ur fiction for us to read :'))

also, i def mentioned it in my notes below, but i loooove the film quality of your writing. like the i could see the color shifts. OH MY GOD I ALSO DIDNT TALK ABT THE RELATION OF WINTER TO THE SENEFNKRNFJT TO THE END IM UPSET AGAIN i literally cannot. u have a talent for coaxing me to hand over my heart and then watching u squeeze it :')))) im upset :')))) ur really too good and i... im biting my knuckles and struggling to type bc i wanna cry

thank u for this. i know u say this fic is something ur most proud of, and that is incredibly well merited. like oh my god. i can't right now i kind of just want to cry

also, before i put my notes below, i wanted to include the songs i listened to during this and i think i def picked an appropriate playlist skfnekfn: they see me dream (tbz), future me (hailey knox), dream launch (wayv), wings (tbz), smiling thru. (slchld), square one (tbz), someday faraway (labit), empty box (atz), same dream, same mind, same night (svt), 111 (thuy), the race (chris james), heaven - acoustic (onerepublic), raise y_our glass (huh yunjin)

omg i do have to comment on the presence of two of my like,, "older brother" figure idols uji and namjoon ekfnkrnf i always imagine them in that kind of way so the vibe just feels all the more warm haha (despite the hazy sleep-deprived solidarity going on dkgnjrnf)

WAIT.... THE CONVENIENCE STORE FROM THE TEASER... OH NO.

IT RESEMBLES UR BED AFTER A LONG DAY OF WORK BUT IT DOESNT LIVE UP TO HIM?? im devastated in two sentences

the picking your fingers until blood spills is such a great humanizing detail

still, the lilacs have yet to bloom.

omg im such a sucker for flower symbolism,, this feels like a low-key reference to feelings between u and changmin? OH I SEE THEY DINT EVEN KNOW EACH OTHER YET SKFNDKFN THIS CHANGES THINGS

PLS THE "im sure they wouldn't mind working w u" ASSIGNED PAIRINGS IS SOOOOOO im getting ptsd from middle school 😭😭 that feeling of everyone knowing someone and ur just kind of alone, knowing no one will likely come to u themselves,,, but changmin... tsk tsk i have a feeling abt you....... IM ONTO U SIR

you look back at changmin; he’s still looking at you. ; (you’re still thinking about the dips in his cheeks.)

IM ONTO U JI CHANGMIN (also so real tho... his dimples are like... meant to be the centerpiece of an art gallery)

KUMON. (i mercifully never had to face that, but maybe that's why i fkn suck at math today 💀)

oh no....

i swear this is related, but im listening to wayv's dream launch and reading this part in particular w the song is so... i feel so emo rn like its okay yn-bear... you'll be okay i swear, i know it sucks now but one day ur dreams will come true even if its hard to detach ourselves from our parents' expectations and influences

also the imagery here is so visceral and vivid... like i can see it in my mind, the way you're so used to the feeling, but u still shake them off anyway bc u dont want them to linger; u can't breathe w them there, so /present/

don’t you think that some of the stories that we read hold fragments of someone?

i love this line and totally agree w this

also wanted to add that changmin trying to coax this info out of them is so :(( i love him

AWH WAIT PAPERCUT ART AND FORMING IMAGES OUT OF THEM SUCH A COOL IDEA its like the deletion(?) poetry where u take a piece of text and blot out all words except for certain ones to form poetry?

the idol comment,,, the fourth wall is shaking

OMG THE PIC???? SO GOOD WHAT I LOVE THIS AND AS A VISUAL AID/SUPPLEMENT TOO?? omg and ending this section w the single lilac having bloomed TT ugh i love callbacks to symbols

your tastebuds long for cheongju.

baaaaaanger line

jongseobs characterization >>> I LOOOVE IMPISH YOUNGER SIBLING CODED CHARACTERS

still, you stand in the middle of the mart and your heart longs for home.

and this one too ^ i feel this. the exhaustion and yearning that settles in your bones until ur convinced emotion really does carry tangible weight i love longing-for-homeisms

you and changmin were once painted with the hues of the sun. this reunion is tainted with blue.

I CHOKED. also i would like to comment on the delicious pacing of this past scene from when u realize who's standing right next to u and how the world seems to rush back toward the present from the past and ur frantic and slapping money into jongseobs palms and then—"yn?"—world stop. IIIIINHALES .. SCREAMS SO GOOD

love the blue stain over my view btw

idk how to feel abt the grape flavor being yns favorite 🧍🏻‍♀️ u do u tho

THIS???????? THIS!!!!!!! what did u deserve to know just feels so right in this situation,, when you've fallen out of touch who used to be ur world—when u r no longer their world or in their world, how much should you reveal? do they still care? where is the line drawn now?

if you miss home, why is your first instinct to run away from it?

im tearing at the walls. i am unfortunately devastated by this question. home is such a... its a complicated thing for so many people.

the black limbs slowly ate away at your heart; the void was born.

THEYRE BACK but now, instead of simply curling arounf ur heart, they're digging their nails into it and ripping chunks of it away

the lingering feelings of envy and resentment of changmins home life versus yns is so... like i think it adds such an important layer of nuance to their relationship

because you still wanted more for him than you did for yourself.

OH MY GOD

oh my god

AND THE DISTANCE FEELS GREATER NOW.. oh my god... the silence and the negative space r so loud... oh my god.....

the contrast to the next segment in summer is so staggering dkgndjnfnf also congrats to them for levelling up in friendship to calling each other fuckers!! LMFAO i adore their little back n forth here haha their arguing over the phone, to arguing over popsicle flavors

LOVEBIRDS SKCNDKFNKFNXKDKKDKD

astrophysics is cool when someone on yt is explaining it in layman's terms or ur in the space.com website, but not when ur looking at all those nightmarish equations... *shudders violently*

from that day on, you’ve learned to keep his name out of conversations. you’ll enjoy what you have with changmin, even if it has to be kept under the wraps.

in a way, this is like a form of protection, not only protecting ur own freedom and agency but akso protecting the person who has wormed his way into ur life and is determined to stay,, someone who seems to be the one good thing happening to u at that moment

im so... i wish i could sit yn down and give them a hug and a pep talk. they do know how to persevere. they're literally pushing thru right now

FINGER TRAP FINGER TRAP TITLE MENTIONED THIS IS NOT A DRILL

omg THE PROFILES SJCBDJFN THEYRE GONNA BE INTERVIEWING OUR BOYZ DJFBKDNCKDNF i am Howling at the moon

THIS??? IS FUCKING EVERYTHING???????? the different colors of cheongju seep thru gaaaaaaawd the careful wall you've built to rpetend ur past is behind u has now returned to remind u that it does, in fact, still exist. it will not hesitate to break ur bubble of present reality

i have a violent urge to throttle a couple who are poor excuses for parents

also just bringing in the murky waters rising and drowning u and filling ur lungs is just as compelling and visceral through this section. like u described it perfectly well, how when ur starting to lose oxygen, your chest burns and its slow but throbbing

are you nothing but an array of achievements and failures?

aren't we all though? :(

NOW UR HOME IS CHANGMIN.

i love just imagining ur writing like a movie, like this part in particular u can just kind of envision these things flicking across the screen chuchuchuchu—back to the present. finger traps.... clinging onto those fragments of the past... when u try to rip your fingers out of a finger trap, it grips onto u tighter; a slow withdrawal is the only way to escape... oh god

WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE ONE OF DESTINY x2 I SEE U MONI I SEE YOU.

HE WAS THE ONE OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM IM GONNA GNAW MY FINGERS OFF

im very slow today but the incorporation of all four szns into the sections of this fic is like mwah MWAHMWAHMWAH and hE CANT WAIT TO SHARE THIS SZN W U?? IM YELLING??? ugh i think im too single.

dude my heart dropped into my ass . what r these fuckass parents doing

WHAT NINONOENFOFNFJFJ NO WHAT MONI STOP NO U CANT JUST LET THE CAR GO NO HE'S RIGHT THERE NO NONONOSNFJDNFJFJ im having a crisis no WHAT

. oh my god

Oh my god that hurts. Oh my god i cant im so

oh im so upset they never got closure they never got to say goodbye ur right the only way to get out of a finger trap is thru a slow withdrawal—unless the connections is severed so forcefully, it just breaks .

oh my god

i dont wanna read this interview im so upset

im so fucking upset.

finger trapped (ripped to its seams) ➵ ji changmin

ji changmin x reader

with an unexpected reunion, you and changmin relive the memories of cheongju—and confront what could’ve been between you two.

general genre/warnings ➵ friends to almost lovers, angst, fluff, gender neutral reader, some depressive and insecure thoughts, hurt/comfort, the last five years story-telling method (aka present will be told going backwards while past will be told moving forward... i hope that makes sense), brief mention of blood from picking on your skin, tiger parents so... parental issues, unexpected reunion, keeping secrets & lying, jealousy remains but love triumphs, journalist reader (u kno i had to do it), reader is a nerd and changmin is a student-athlete, kms jokes from jongseob (all /lh), finger traps aren’t efficient after all

word count ➵ 15.7k words

playlist ➵ end of beginning by djo // high school in jakarta by niki // i know it won't work by gracie abrams // no big deal (i love you) by dodie // keeping tabs by niki // no one knows by stephen sanchez & laufey // so what now by reneé rapp // i wish i hated you by ariana grande // the 1 by taylor swift // seasons by wave to earth

a/n ➵ it's finally out! this is my submission for @deoboyznet's the love letter collective event! this work is so so personal to me on so many levels so i hope you all love and treat this fic with care :')) for the bitches who struggle with parents and dreams.... this one's for you (i am in the same boat) i appreciate everyone who's been so patient and looking forward to this fic's release. i'd like to thank @hcuyk for being a betareader for this fic! i also want to dedicate this one to @sungbeam and @wavesmp3 <3 your works inspire me so much and i think this fic is a product of how much they've influence me. hanbin's version is now available! please don't forget to reblog and leave feedback!!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

present -> three weeks after the interview, 2024

the newsroom never sleeps. the rings of landlines and clacks of keyboards bounce off the four walls. through light bulbs or sunshine, light continues to remain. and at every corner, a journalist stands—ready to enter the depths of slumber but remain on their toes as they await for an update on their unraveling story.

but the newsroom is rarely busy unless there’s a major nationwide event, election season or the super bowl to name a few, for most journalists are out to discover what the world has to offer.

knowledge doesn’t only come from the chitchat of your coworkers. it’s only on the field that you’ll hear of hearsay and testimonies. after all, the choice to probe rests on your shoulders.

“there’s a typo over there.”

“huh? where?”

“over here,” you mumble as your finger darts to point at a section on the screen. “it’s supposed to say “in their climactic performance on road to kingdom,” not climatic.”

“ah, i see it now. sorry about that,” lee jihoon of digital development says as he corrects the error. his hair is disheveled from the hood that once perched on his head during the night he spent in the newsroom. you would’ve scolded the guy—go home and take a shower before you stink up the place—but you are no better, grouped with the other journalists who stayed up in the office.

“there we go. should be all good. now, are you ready to go through the profiles?”

an exhausted chuckle departs from your lips. “yeah, let’s go—”

“what’s the update?” life and arts editor kim namjoon—your editor—comes to you with a smile.

the grey hoodie he wears paired with comfortable jeans shows that he’s a little relaxed. for once, you don’t see him on his phone, battling the deadlines or getting pitched stories by the other editors. it’s a nice sight but one that won’t last for long.

“we just finished going through the article about the group, so we still have yet to go through the profiles.” jihoon then looks at you. “i can’t believe you basically wrote 12 articles. like, 11 profiles and one main article is a lot. you didn’t want to work on it with anyone else?”

once namjoon stands beside you, you bump your shoulder against his figure. “i didn’t have a choice, did i?” it’s a rhetorical question but one your editor still chooses to answer.

“unfortunately, we’re understaffed, but it seemed like you got the hang of it. i wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to do it.” namjoon shoots you a smile before redirecting his attention back to jihoon. “and as much as i’d love to tell y/n more, we have to pick up the pace.” without any further questions, the three of you resume with work.

there’s no time to waste in the journalism industry. still, his praise doesn’t go unnoticed.

one article turned into eight done in a matter of 30 minutes, all with the help of three pairs of eyes to go through them. (namjoon seemed to carry the heavy lifting. after all, the guy was trained to be quick in reading and spotting errors.)

it should’ve been easy to keep up with your editor for all the other articles; you know each profile like the back of your hand.

then, the face of a boy who you once knew sits on the screen.

his gaze seems to pierce through your soul, almost in the same way you last talked to him. the loose ends of composure slip through your fingers; your breath’s stuck in your throat as the hammering of your heart fills your ears. yet, he stands still on the monitor.

as your eyes drift through the passages you’ve written, every sound is drowned out. the voice of your editor fades like the everchanging seasons and the clicks of the keyboard resemble the sobs you let out in the comfort of your childhood room.

and suddenly, the hands of the clock have turned all the way back to 2014. the cubicles transformed into aisles of chips and instant ramen, and you hear mr. kim’s voice in the distance—i have some hotteok! fresh from the pan! but amidst it all, you hear the giggles of the boy, your best friend, as he rushes towards you—i’ll go audition and make you proud. as your arm is wrapped with the heat of his fingers, you almost believe that your life as a journalist is nothing but a dream—

“i knew him.” the illusion disappears within a blink of an eye. namjoon’s eyes snap towards you and jihoon stops scrolling through the website. “we went to the same high school.”

you aren’t sure why you revealed that to your coworkers, let alone your boss. it’s an old memory—your weight to carry. before you can apologize for disrupting their work, namjoon’s hand rests on your shoulder, his thumb drawing shapes into it. when you look over at him, you’re greeted by his smile. it resembles your bed after a long day of work or a slow day at the newsroom.

but it never lives up to him, whose giggles resemble nature’s symphonies. the two shots of espresso you need at the start of the day once came in the form of his warm embrace. most of all, his smile is enough to illuminate the world even through the strongest storms and times when power went out.

for the remaining articles, not a single word leaves you. before you know it, all 12 articles were ready to go up on the web.

“that’s all of it. should i still schedule them to go up around 12 p.m.?” jihoon notes as he saves the drafts.

“yeah, 12 p.m. still sounds good. thanks a lot.” namjoon nudges his shoulder before looking over to you. “let’s talk in my office.”

you don’t question his orders. once namjoon takes off, you follow him all the way to his office. as he swings the door open, you are met with the familiar sight of his workspace. hues of green and brown mix, where nature and art meet within the space of corporate.

once namjoon takes a seat on his chair, you find your spot across from him. his eyes stare off to the window. for a moment, you’re not sure what to expect from this impromptu meeting.

seconds pass and not a single word has been said—

“this place’s always alive,” your editor breaks the silence. “don’t you think so?”

you follow his line of sight. busy seoul never changes; the skyscrapers pollute the sky and the people never sleep, off to work or off to party.

“where’d you grow up again?”

you look back at namjoon whose eyes still remain locked on the city. “cheongju.”

he hums. “i haven’t been there. nice place?”

“yeah, but i haven’t gone back in a while.”

“when was the last time?” his eyes finally meet yours.

your teeth grasp the inside of your cheek. “2014, since i first left,” you admit.

“do you miss it?”

you’re not sure how to answer. the pavements you’ve scraped your knees against and the walls your laughs bounced off of—do you miss them all? or is the reason behind your laughter and scabs the one you long for?

“is that why you were hesitant about interviewing them?” namjoon’s thumbs fiddle with each other. “because of your history with him?”

now, you stare at your linked hands. maybe the silence from you is enough to answer his question but you know namjoon would never settle for a soundless answer.

“i—i’m not a good person. and even if i didn’t make the choice to leave, i—” you hold yourself back. your fingers start to pick on the skin around your thumbs, peeling it so blood can spill.

“it’s okay, i understand. you don’t have to share it with me.” your eyes drift back to namjoon, spotting a small smile that rests on his face. “it must’ve been hard to relive it all.”

the bond you have with namjoon is one that you hold close to your heart. through his mentorship, you got to learn about what it means to be a writer. the fears of being a journalist would loom over you, where questions of salary and demanding work hours would occupy your mind, but namjoon became someone who would absolve them all. he became a pillar in your life, one that provides you hope and comfort within the industry.

“so, don’t feel pressured to talk about it. but if you ever want to open up about it, then i’ll be here.”

namjoon’s giving you an exit. are you willing to take it?

you cross your arms as you lean back into the chair. “you know how i was a science major then?”

“yeah, i remember looking over your resume. and then i saw that you were part of your university’s publication.”

your tongue pushes against the inside of your cheek. “i would’ve gotten some job in that field, like, i had it lined up for me.”

“really? like lab coat and all?”

as namjoon attempts to hold back his laugh over the image, you chuckle along. “yeah, lab coat and all! it’s crazy how my life was all set for that field, but i’m here now.” you look down at your arms. “i think just facing him in a completely different field that i once used to imagine with him was just strange. but i think hearing his answers really did it for me.”

namjoon nods at your words. “care to have lunch with me?” your eyes snap back to your editor. “i’m guessing you want to talk about it, after all.”

all you do is smile before getting off your seat.

spring of 2014

the season of spring has graced cheongju; the sun gleams in the expanse of blue and birds perched on tree branches sing their songs. it’s the perfect season to embrace the wonders of the town.

while it would be a delight to bask under the returning warmth, you’re stuck within the walls of the classroom, head resting on crossed arms.

still, the lilacs have yet to bloom.

“y/n.” you quickly sit up before your eyes settle on your adviser, ms. jeon, who stands in front of the classroom. “let’s take attendance.”

with that, you’re beside her as you call out each name on the class list. it’s a quick process of saying your classmates’ names for them to respond in variations of “present,” until you reach the section of last names that start with a ‘j’.

“ji changmin.” no response.

you rip your eyes off the piece of paper, only met with your classmates who either look at each other in confusion or spaced out in their own worlds.

“ji changmin?” when you’re met with the same reaction, you’re ready to mark the student absent—

“sorry!” the doors slam open. a boy clad in a white polo and jogging pants is panting by the entrance, covered in sweat as he rests on the edge of it. “sorry, i’m late.”

“oh, it’s okay! you arrived just in time.” ms. jeon smiles at the tardy student. as you watch him take a seat, his eyes lock with yours, but your adviser nudges you before saying, “y/n, proceed.”

ji changmin made his name a few years back at a competition. the applause and roars from the crowd marked his spot in the school. others describe his movement as of cranes, standing in the middle of a pond as they do their best to minimize forming any ripples, or of elephants, swaying their trunks with control like no other.

but he’s a versatile dancer; nothing can truly capture him.

once you’ve finished marking the attendance, you go back to your seat. you’re ready to start the day with no bother but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

“now, you can see in these,” your art teacher, ms. park, points to the screen showcasing works from her favorite contemporary artists like kwon yongju and félix gonzález-torres, “that there are no borders to what constitutes art. and that’s not wrong because we have to recognize that art comes in different forms as we progress, from traditional painting and sculptures to digital ones.”

this field isn't your strong suit. with a greater understanding of the sciences, you struggle to create anything that could be on par with the works of any artist. yet, you enjoyed learning about every piece that your teacher shared, like unfolding and admiring something you know you can never replicate or create. still, the universe decides that they have other plans for you.

“as i mentioned before, i’ll be giving you time to work on your final assessment, which is to create an artwork for the class exhibit. for this deliverable, i’m asking that your work will be a collaborative one, meaning you aren’t working alone.” in a sea of chatter, some groans exit your classmates. “remember, inspiration doesn’t come from your own bubble! take this as your opportunity to create something that you’ve never imagined.”

within a split second, students are off their seats as they attempt to find a partner to work with. you, however, were struggling to think of who you could team up with. admittedly, you have a very different work style compared to others—even cheng xiao, aspiring valedictorian, didn’t enjoy working with you. she turned every activity into a competition against you. (you didn’t enjoy her, either.) while you’re considering shamefully going up to your classmates like a stray dog looking for anyone willing to care for them—

“hi!” in front of you stands the tardy student of today, all smiles as his hands find comfort in the pockets of his jogging pants. “do you have a partner already?”

with furrowed eyebrows, you can’t help but look him up and down. “no, why?”

“well,” changmin looks around the classroom, “everyone seems to have paired up except for us.” as his eyes drift back to you, he flashes you a smile, one that shows the dips engraved into his cheeks. “which leaves me to ask if you would like to work with me for this.”

you don’t have a choice. ms. park would never bend the rules for you. if anything, she would find a way to pair you with another student who would dread the idea of working with you. (“i’m sure they won’t mind being partners with you, right?” is what she would ask the poor student, only to be met with their retreat.)

“unless we accept a failing mark, which i’m sure we both don’t want.” it’s not like changmin had a choice as well.

“okay.” with one word, light fills his eyes, enough to resemble the starlight that grazes your skin every night. “we can meet and discuss our schedules, especially because i’ve got ap stat, and you have, uhm,” a cough leaves you, “training, i’m assuming, or rehearsals. i don’t really know what you call them.”

his eyebrows shoot up as his mouth parts open. “o—oh, yeah. i usually have training after class until 8 p.m. on tuesdays, thursdays, and saturdays.”

“same. my classes are until 7 p.m. on tuesdays and thursdays, so maybe we can use the other days to work together?”

with one nod from him, his dimples reappear. “great! i’ll see you tomorrow.”

before you know it, everyone finds their way back to their seats for ms. park’s final reminders. you do your best to pay attention to every announcement, jotting down every word on your planner and planning out your agenda for the upcoming weeks. yet, your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they drift back to the boy who discreetly passes notes to kim donghan, another dancer on the team, all while listening to the teacher.

you don’t notice how long you spend staring at changmin until he turns to meet your gaze. in that split second, you look at each other—then, embarrassment washes over you. you shift your attention back to ms. park. as you drum your fingers against the desk, mentally kicking yourself over the interaction, you still can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

you look back at changmin; he’s still looking at you.

his dimples make their reappearance before he looks back at ms. park. you do the same as you attempt to listen to her ramble about banksy’s works.

(you’re still thinking about the dips in his cheeks.)

the first time you get to meet with changmin for the project happens the following week. you two had different commitments to attend to, whether it be other projects or training. and while you would usually settle to meet in the school library or a cafe nearby, you find yourself inside the empty gymnasium, sitting on bleachers while your partner stands in front of mirrors.

“don’t you think it would be nice to combine our hobbies together?”

your pencil taps against the notebook. “like, your dancing? with what?”

“whatever you like to do!” once he makes his way to you, he leans on the row in front of you with crossed arms. “i mean, do you have anything you like to do during your free time?”

a scoff leaves you. “funny of you to assume that i have free time.”

“what’s your schedule like?”

“well, i have our classes and ap ones, then kumon at night.”

changmin reels at the thought of your schedule. “that’s brutal. the last time i had kumon was back in grade 4.”

“yeah, but i’m sure yours is busy as well. the amount of time that you put into training is…” his eyes are wide, hanging on your words. it’s the hope they hold that has you say, “admirable.”

a shy smile takes over his features. “yeah, but it’s only because my family is supportive of what i do.”

then, limbs whose color resembles the void slither their way to your heart, wrapping around it while the organ struggles to beat; it’s a slow process but an unending hole that will birth from it. yet, you do your best to fight off these limbs, unraveling them one by one in hopes it will give up—until you settle for shaking them off.

you only muster out a hum.

“do you have anything you like to do during those short breaks?”

your lips trill. “i don’t know. watch something on youtube?”

his cheeks puff up, stuck in his thoughts as he tries to navigate this project—and you—until his eyes glint. “what do you do when you want to vent?”

“you sure have a lot of questions,” you comment, trying to hold back a chuckle at his curiosity. “i can just adjust to you. maybe attempt to draw, picture, or even film you.”

his eyebrows furrow. “but that wouldn’t make it collaborative. i want us to work on something that aligns with what we do.”

a beat passes.

he holds your gaze. “i want us to create something that shows us.”

inside you, a gong is struck; its sound reverberates throughout your body, from the crown of your forehead to the tips of your toes. then, silence seeps in—a moment only for you and him.

“i, uh, write,” you whisper as your eyes shift to the notebook resting on your lap.

“really? like, stories and poetry?”

you nod. “i like writing people’s stories more, but i do like making ones.” when you look back at changmin, his eyes are still filled with curiosity. “i would, like, find interviews online and try to make my own, sort of, uhm—god this is embarrassing. forget about it.”

“huh? no, it isn’t!” he attempts to reassure your shrunken figure. “i mean, you don’t have to share more if you really don’t want to, but i’d like to hear more about it.” and when his dimples appear, you almost can’t help but feel your face warm up.

“i’d make articles, i guess?” he nods along with your words. “i don’t know, it’s just interesting to hear about people’s lives and kind of create something out of it, and i like thinking about all the possibilities of who would love to hear them. like, don’t you think that some of the stories that we read hold fragments of someone?”

“that’s an interesting way to look at it.”

as you doodle on your notebook, you say, “yeah, it’s just fun to hear these stories and maybe create something out of it. or even think of stories that i could never live out, you know?” you expect yourself to be met with the bored face of changmin but his eyes remain on you.

“what if you interview me?”

your eyebrows shoot up. “you?”

“yeah,” he stands up before walking up to your row, finding a spot beside you. “think of me as your first interviewee if you want.”

the sudden suggestion has you stumbling over your words. “huh? b—but, i don’t have questions prepared. and how does this help our project?”

when his arms brush against yours, you start to become aware of the distance between your shoulders—and his face from yours. warmth spreads throughout your body, almost like you’re about to have a fever. once his open hand rests near yours, you don’t know what he’s asking.

“let me draw it out for you.” you hand him your pencil and notebook, allowing him to see your doodles. (you don’t miss his grin.) “you know, with that article you make, we can cut it up and create something out of it.” a roughly drawn sketch of a boy posed in the middle of a dance move now rests on the page. “i don’t know if a collage would be okay.”

as you think about what can be done, you perch your chin on your palm. “we can do papercut art? basically, it’s cutting up the article in a way to form an image.”

“oh, that sounds cool!”

“yeah, but the only challenge is that we can only use one piece of paper.” a sigh leaves you. “it would be impossible for me to even do that.”

“that’s why you have me.” his small smile causes wind chimes to ring. (you’re positive you heard them, even if there were no such things in the gymnasium.)

he continues to sketch out the layout of your joint artwork. “how do we feel about this?” on the paper, there are two boxes beside the figure, where one is labeled as “photo of me” while the other is labeled “an article by y/n.” your head tilts. “it’ll be a three-set piece. so, it’ll be a photo of me and your article, and in between is the papercut art that we’ll make.”

you hum. “you know, you’re very creative.” you look at him only to see that he’s been staring at you. “like, you’re inclined to the arts. i wouldn’t have been able to think of something like this.”

“you’re just as creative,” he argues back as he writes down something.

you shake your head before retorting, “changmin, you’re very talented. i’ve seen the way you dance,” his movements halt, “and you’re like no other dancer i’ve seen. if you ever try out to be an idol, i’m sure you’d do great, maybe end up on the list of the best dancers in the industry.”

but he shakes his head, going back to writing on your notebook and shutting down your compliments. you decide to not push.

“i can get the photo sometime during my training,” he says as he hands you your notebook.

“then i can have the questions sometime this week. for the article, i can have it done maybe four days after the interview. how does wednesday, after school, sound for the interview?”

he shoots you a smile before standing up from his seat. “that’s perfect! i’m looking forward to meeting journalist y/n.” you can’t help but scoff at what he calls you. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you shake your head. “it’s just a silly name.” because the reality is that you had your future planned out—and it definitely didn’t involve that field.

he shrugs. “i don’t know, i think it would fit you.”

“but you haven’t read any of my works.”

“but i want to root for you in the same way you do for me. i don’t want you to feel ashamed of your works.” a fire ignites in your heart; it’s a fireplace.

you’re baffled that changmin, out of all people, now holds your secret, but you’re even astounded over the idea of him supporting you. you almost can’t remember the last time you heard such words of support. is it genuine or nothing but a facade?

“anyway, i’ve got to go. i need to catch up on some homework.” while you shoot him a nod, his dimples make their appearance once more. “i’ll see you tomorrow!” as he takes off, you’re left in the gymnasium with your opened notebook and unlocked heart. you look back down at his sketch surrounded by your doodles, but you don’t miss his little note—cute doodles btw <3

the season of spring has unfolded in cheongju; a single lilac has bloomed.

present -> a day before the interview, 2024

it’s a late night on a tuesday, about to be a midnight wednesday, and you’re in a convenience store as you scout for your dinner. all hauled up in the newsroom, the idea of ordering food during a time where restaurants would still be open slipped your mind. now, you’re left to scan through the same options you’ve eaten for the past years since you started living in seoul.

the convenience clerks are familiar with you, both kim jongseob and kim jiwoo. with your constant late-night meals at the store, you’d talk to whichever one had a shift. jongseob is saving up to upgrade his setup at home to record more music. with all the stories he shares about his time in underground rap battles along with the short verses he’s performed for you, you’re positive that he’ll get signed to a label soon. as for jiwoo, this is one of the many jobs she has in order to save enough money for fashion school. you’ve seen her sketches and outfits she’s put together and you’re hoping that she’ll get accepted.

a sigh leaves you. you didn’t have a problem with eating the food here but you were craving for something new in your life in seoul. the perpetual cycle of eating takeout food and unconsciously skipping meals for work needed to be disrupted just for a moment. but you weren’t seeking michelin-star food—all you wanted was something home cooked. something from home.

the spice of tteokbokki, the burn of freshly fried hotteok, and the sweetness of homemade peach iced tea—mr. kim’s convenience store had it all.

your tastebuds long for cheongju.

“planning to beat your record of spending 23 minutes on deciding what to get?”

you roll your eyes before looking to your right, seeing jongseob stock up the drinks in the fridge. “i hate you.”

“what? i’m just saying, you’re taking a lot longer to decide today.” he chuckles before placing the last bottle of sweetened probiotic milk in the fridge. “none of the options look good to you?”

“sort of,” you hum before you scan through the aisle of packaged meals. “i think i’m craving for something different.”

“i get it. the food here can get boring, which is why i’m planning to order pizza if you want to split the costs.”

your eyebrows shoot up at jongseob’s suggestion. “really? you’d share pizza with me?”

“yeah, as long as you pay for your share.” he shoots you a smile before grabbing on a trolley carrying empty boxes. “unless… you want to pay for the whole thing.”

you bite back a smile as you shake your head. you should’ve known the guy would ask you to buy him food, but you knew that he needed the money and you at least had a stable income to keep you comfortable. “fine,” jongseob’s smile grows as you fish out your wallet from your pocket and pull out a couple of bills. “just order enough for us two.”

“of course,” he says as soon as you hand him some money. “i’ll make sure to order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

you scoff at his joke. “just make sure to treat me to something.”

the bell by the door chimes. “sorry, can’t hear you over that! need to attend to a customer!” jongseob dashes away from you while dragging the trolley. that little shit just knew how to press your buttons, but you love the kid, anyway.

still, you stand in the middle of the mart and your heart longs for home.

then, you shut your eyes, and you’re transported back in front of the familiar aisle filled with bags of potato chips and sweet corn. the noisy fan along with the soft sounds of mr. kim’s korean drama fills your ears. a mix of yellow and orange hues paint every corner of the mart, including you—and you’re not alone.

your best friend stands on your right, wearing the unbuttoned school uniform polo over a tank top along with jogging pants. he’s lost in thought as he scans through the options of snacks you two can have for today’s afternoon. he starts to giggle to himself, probably from a silly thought he’ll share with you in the next second or a memory involving you, and the dips in his cheeks appear—your heart thumps in your ears.

and just like how quickly you were transported back to cheongju, your surroundings transformed into the cool-lit convenience store found in seoul. all you have left is the image of him bathed in the sunlight.

but he fades away like the ink on old receipts, never gone, because the glowing image of him warps into a different version who stands next to you in the cold mart. he’s grown a few inches taller and his hair doesn’t get in the way of his line of sight. while he wears a green sweater, you notice that he’s gained some muscles. his eyes scan through the aisle behind you filled with different brands of instant ramen.

but he bites the inside of his cheek and his dimples appear.

it’s a tornado that brews within you, enough to uproot trees and displace buildings, all because of an unexpected reunion with changmin. why did the universe decide to bring two ex-best friends on a random tuesday night? what brings him to the convenience store at the same time you’re there? and why did it have to happen a day before the interview?

you weren’t going to commit the same mistake; keep your eyes off of him and make your way out of the store. it didn’t matter if you had an empty, growling stomach, or gave free money to jongseob. you need to leave without the distant, familiar face noticing.

your feet act fast, and you're almost certain that might’ve caught his attention, but it didn’t matter as you see jongseob standing behind the cashier with his phone out. “i just ordered the pizza. it should arrive in about… 20 to 30 minutes.”

“yeah, about that…”

“don’t tell me you’re taking your money back.”

at the sight of jongseob’s pout, you roll your eyes. “no, keep it. i just—i need to go.”

“what? why?”

you peek behind you. it seems like he didn’t recognize you, after all. “i’ve got… work!”

“but don’t you only have your interview with the bo—”

“hey!” your fingers snap at him. “you cannot—i mean, you just… just take the goddamn money.”

“but we’re supposed to share the pizza. you haven’t eaten.”

an exasperated sigh leaves you. “jongseob, just treat me next time. i can eat at home.”

and you’re ready to leave the convenience store, bid farewell to jongseob and a delicious pizza made for two, and never greet or say goodbye to the living fragment of what you last know of cheongju—

“y/n?”

and the plan failed.

when you meet his gaze, you’re able to take in the different version of him. he’s grown so much—it’s such a pain that you weren’t there to witness it. his eyes are a pool of emotions; you can’t identify them.

all it takes is one breath from you. “changmin.”

a beat passes.

“i’m just gonna… go through the storage,” jongseob points his thumb at the back of the mart, “and maybe kill myself afterwards. i don’t know.” before you can protest, he’s already gone. (and he still has your money. that fucker.)

you and changmin were once painted with the hues of the sun. this reunion is tainted with blue.

changmin’s fingers tense up, almost as if he was hesitating—debating—on how to approach you. his body would waver, but he never took a step towards you. “i… i wasn’t expecting to meet you here.”

“same here.” you lean your back against the checkout counter. “d—do you stay around this part of the city?”

he shakes his head. “i live around 15, maybe 20, minutes away from here. i’m only here because…” your breath gets caught in your throat. “i don’t know.”

fate. that’s what brought us here.

“do you live here?”

you nod. “yeah, ever since—” the sentence never gets completed; you and him already know.

for a moment, sorrow flashes in his eyes, but a smile shows up. the dimples don’t appear. “i, uh, i was going to get something from here but it seems like your friend is busy.”

“sorry about jongseob.” you whip out your phone and scold him through text. “he should be with us in a bit.”

changmin hums before walking to the freezer filled with different ice cream. as he looks through the selection, he asks, “do you still like twin bar?”

“y—yeah.”

“still the grape flavor?” you don’t know what to say, but when his gaze meets yours, you settle for a nod. with your favorite ice cream in one hand and a sandwich in the other, he finally walks towards you. you don’t miss the slight stagger in his steps.

changmin finds his spot beside you. there’s still distance between you two—two tiles worth, enough space for one person—but it’s enough for your muscles to freeze. thankfully, jongseob comes just in time to manage the cashier (with an awkward smile plastered on).

he scans changmin’s item first before grabbing onto your ice cream.

“oh, i’m paying—”

“no, let me,” changmin insists. “you can always treat me another time.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, thinking over the second half of his sentence. jongseob holds back from scanning the item, until you shoot him a nod. changmin pays for the food before jongseob hands them to you.

“i’ll just let you know when the pizza gets here.” his small smile is enough for your shoulders to ease and a quiet exhale to leave. a small nod is all you give him.

you follow changmin outside to the tables in front of the mart. once he’s settled on a spot, you sit across from him. he tears away the plastic wrapping of his food while you play with the ends of yours.

while he swallows what you assume to be his dinner of the day, you’re left to swallow your own pride.

“i’ve seen your performances.” his chews halt. “you’re—” captivating. “you’ve improved a lot.”

with one gulp, a shy smile takes over his face. “i still have a long way to go.”

“you always say that, even back then.” a half bitten sandwich now rests on the wrapper. “but i admire your drive.” always have.

while a different version of changmin sits across you, the one you knew back in cheongju still lives. in the busy, unfamiliar expanse of seoul, meeting 10 years later, he’ll never be stranger. you could never treat him as such, even if you wanted to.

“there’s always room for improvement,” he says.

you hum along with his sentiment. “did you stick with early childhood education?” you’re met with his orbs that hold a thousand of emotions, some you can name as shock, confusion. a question hangs in the air—what did you deserve to know?

“sorry, i’m assuming you still went to college, which is totally fine if you did or didn’t, by the way. and it’s also okay if you didn’t stick to your major. i mean, you always talked about pursuing a performing arts degree before—”

“y/n,” he giggles, “you’re okay. i still went to college but i took media & communication.” your eyebrows shoot up at the revelation. “i thought it made sense to study something related to what i do, just the more technical and theoretical side of it, i guess. and the online classes were easy to squeeze into my schedule.” he lifts up the sandwich. “what about you?”

“uh, i ended up in the same course as well.” a hum of shock leaves changmin. “yeah,” you chuckle, “i managed to shift courses.”

“that’s amazing! i’m happy for you.”

you smile at him. “thanks. now, i’m just—” you should tell him what you do. what would be a better time to reveal that you ended up in the path he dreamed for you to be than now? “—figuring things out.”

with your vagueness, changmin only nods before munching away. if there’s anything about you that still remains, it’s that you shouldn’t be pushed to share something you didn’t want to talk about. he still knew that.

as he finishes his sandwich, you tear off the plastic wrapping of your ice cream. with the twin bar in your hands, you snap it into two before you hand him a piece. confusion paints his features, wide eyes glossing over the popsicle in your hand, but he takes it before you can say anything.

“thanks.”

you shake your head. “don’t even worry about it. it’s only tradition.”

silence settles between you two. as you eat away on your share of the twin bar, you look up to the sky. from where you sit, you can’t see a single star; the lights of seoul seemed to outshine them. and during those moments, you almost can’t help but miss the view of the starry night from your childhood room.

you glance at changmin who looks up to the sky as well. yet, one hand remains in his pocket, almost as if he’s fiddling with something.

as if he feels your eyes on him, he asks, “did you ever think about coming back?”

you halt your movements. if there’s one thing you were expecting your old friend to ask, it would be related to your sudden departure. but you’re hit with an entirely different question, one you didn’t get to rehearse the answer to in case you ever cross paths with him.

because after all this talk about your yearning for cheongju, why didn’t you choose to visit? despite how much you long mr. kim’s home cooked meals, skies filled with stars, or the presence of your best friend, why didn’t you ever come back?

if you miss home, why is your first instinct to run away from it?

and the reality is that you do think about it all the time. since you left cheongju, you drafted out how many plans to go back. you were homesick, missing the familiar landscape you spent your entire childhood growing up in. but most of all, you missed changmin. as long as you had him, you would survive anywhere, whether in seoul or cheongju.

despite how much you yearned for him during your years away, you learned that your relationship wasn’t always filled with the warmth that would grace you two every afternoon. for so long, you’ve sat with jealousy. while his family was his pillar of strength, you were met with a home that offered nothing but criticism.

the black limbs slowly ate away at your heart; the void was born.

it became easier to remain resentful. with the distance, you weren’t faced with changmin’s genuineness. yet, with time, you discovered that you still cared for him—regardless of your jealousy—because you still wanted more for him than you did for yourself.

for a long time, you resented. now, it’s only guilt that held you back from going back to him.

so when you remain silent, changmin takes it as your answer.

and for the first time, the distance feels greater since you first left cheongju.

summer of 2014

it’s the peak of summer. amidst the expanse of verdant fields, bees seek solace in the fully-bloomed sunflowers and kaleidoscope wings illuminate as they soar.

but summer is where mouths go dry and clothes cling to skin. as days blend with each other, the comfort of your bed is all you have until the season passes.

the fan rumbles against the wooden floor, doing its best to cool you, but the heat prickles against the back of your neck. the wind has turned into nothing but hot waves. with your elbows perched on the desk, a sigh leaves you as you attempt to make sense of the worksheet filled with math equations.

your room is your favorite place in cheongju. within these four walls are scattered fragments of you, from your favorite books and mangas that rest on the bookshelf to the stuffed toys that rest on your bed. book tabs stick out of your workbooks lined up on your desk and your cork board is filled with crossed out to-do lists.

and every once in a while, you would look out through your window, admiring the neighboring houses and all their greenery. as people walk on pavements, you cannot help but think about where they’re off to—are they on their way to work? did they leave an important document back home? or are they coming back to a meal and home filled with warmth?

despite the halo soundtrack filling your ears, the cogs in your brain seem to drown them out. the numbers on your paper have jumbled up. it should’ve been easy. after all, you’ve become friends with the letters who’ve squeezed their way into math. once you’ve wrapped up on this assignment, you know you’ll wake up to another set of work to do. it didn’t help that you’re stuck watching kids your age enjoy their break.

with a tired mind, you consider making yourself another cup of iced coffee. maybe another dose of caffeine will make sense of the numbers—

your phone buzzes against your table. as your eyes rip from the unfinished worksheet, you spot the familiar name flashing on the screen. with one glance at your door, you bring your headphones to rest around your neck. it takes three rings for you to answer.

“what do you want?”

“the fuck? what’s wrong with you?”

you roll your eyes as you fiddle with your pen. “i’m studying, you fucker.”

“on a sunday?” changmin’s question has you only groan. “what happened to resting?”

“i wish,” you murmur as you scratch the back of your head. “i’ve been stuck on this stupid worksheet for the past hours. it’s annoying too. i mean, i already know this topic, so i don’t know why it’s so hard.”

“awe, is my best friend suffering over kumon?”

your forehead rests on crossed arms. “yes. i think i’m going to die.”

“okay, then. i’ll take that as my sign.”

“sign to what?”

he chuckles as if it were obvious. “to save you! let’s go to mr. kim’s.”

a groan leaves you as your back meets the chair. “no, i can’t. do you know what would happen if i don’t finish my kumon?”

“uh… no?”

“me, neither. i’m not taking my chances.”

“but, you’re not even doing anything!” changmin pointing out the obvious has you rolling your eyes. “wouldn’t it be better to take a break with your best friend? i can even help out.”

as you bite the inside of your cheek, you glance once more at your closed door. you weigh it out; would you rather take a break with your best friend or would you save yourself from the consequences brought by home?

but the answer was already clear. “give me 10 minutes.”

changmin laughs before you drop the call.

it’s the smell of fresh hotteok that greets you. the quiet buzzing of the fan accompanied by mr. kim’s favorite trot music fills your ears. while the owner seems to be away from the cashier, a white, stray cat takes over, body flopped on the counter as it snores away the heat. as the sun pours through windows, coating every corner of the mart with a glow of fireflies, you know this will be a place of its own.

“y/n, over here!” a familiar voice calls out. as you whip your head to the source, you see your best friend by the chest freezer, eyes crinkled and all dimples.

now, you’re certain that nothing could ever replicate this.

you walk towards changmin, finding your spot beside him as you two look through the collection of frozen treats. “so, what do you want from here?” you ask.

“uh… i’ll be honest, i just realized i’m short on money.”

you glance through the price tags, only for a groan to leave you. “i’m short too. when did mr. kim raise the prices?”

“no clue. i thought i’d have enough to get a summer crush,” changmin complains as his eyes are glued to the coffee sorbet. “i hate inflation.”

“come on.” you fish out for the coins in your pocket. “let’s see how much we have together.” changmin does the same. with palms out, you two count through your shared funds.

“we can get a summer crush!”

“you can get one. i’ll be left with barely anything.” you look through the selection once more. “man, i really want samanco. the red bean sounds so good right now.”

defeat casts over changmin’s features. for a moment, you almost consider giving up on having a frozen treat and settling for a glass bottle of orange soda, until you spot a familiar popsicle brand.

“holy shit, it’s right there.”

“what?”

“there!” your finger points at the stack of twin bars. “we can probably get that and split it.”

changmin’s expression morphs into realization. “okay, let’s get—”

“dibs on grape.”

“dibs?” he furrows his eyebrows at you. “you can’t just call dibs. you’re doing it wrong. clearly, we should discuss—”

“nope,” you retort. a chuckle laced with disbelief leaves your best friend. to him, it seemed like you were joking around. “i made the suggestion and contributed a lot more to our shared funds.”

“okay, but—”

“don’t tell me you want the peach flavor more than the grape.” as you continue to shut him down, he knows there’s no way around you.

(plus, he wasn’t a fan of peach-flavored things, anyway. how unfortunate that mr. kim only has those two flavors right now.)

“next time, we’re choosing a flavor that i want,” he gives in. you let out a cheer before grabbing the frozen treat.

you two make your way back to the cashier and spot mr. kim slouched in front of the television, hand stroking the sleepy feline. he’s still wearing an old, red plaid apron on top of a pair of basketball shorts and a loose graphic tee which had the name of a band you’re unfamiliar with. with how he sits, you’re afraid that his back problems will get even worse. (still, you don’t say anything. he’ll only play it off and say he’s still one of the “youngins”... whatever that means.)

once his eyes land on you two, a grin takes over. “ah, my favorite kids! it’s nice to see you both.”

“yeah, it’s been a while,” changmin starts off. “y/n’s always busy with kumon.”

you narrow your eyes at the boy. “hey! you’re busy, too! you’ve been practicing at the studio almost every day!” the wrapped popsicle now rests on the counter. “every time i’m free, you’re not.”

“hey! whenever you’re free, i’m tired from training!”

“okay, let’s settle down,” mr. kim breaks up the banter. he then takes note of the ice cream on the cashier, the price showing up on the cashier. “isn’t the heat hard enough for you two to be studying or practicing?”

“yes, very much.” you count the coins once more before dropping the exact amount on the counter. “but,” you glance at changmin and his disheartened expression is enough for mountains to move, “i don’t think we have a choice.”

in reality, these were the circumstances you two had to work and live with. during the days changmin ended practice early, you were drowning in summer school assessments. whenever you managed to finish your homework, it would be during the hours your best friend was off at the studio or passed out at home from exhaustion.

“choice, no choice, people always say that.” mr. kim counts your payment before putting it into the cashier. as he takes note of what you’ve bought, he says, “everyone has a choice. i’m sure you two can figure it out.”

the only difference is that one chose this path; the other had to suffer from the decision forced onto them.

“don’t worry, mr. kim,” changmin nudges your shoulder. “i’m sure we’ll figure it out.” and when the dips in his cheeks appear, you find yourself smiling back.

maybe you were okay with the life you had to live, just maybe.

“anyway, we’ll go ahead,” changmin bids farewell to mr. kim.

you giggle. “he means we’re just going to eat our ice cream at the front.”

as you two slowly make your way out of the mart, mr. kim shakes his head. “you lovebirds go ahead. i’ll see you next time!”

“mr. kim!” you and changmin shout in unison before glancing at each other.

“what?!”

your best friend groans. “you know we aren’t together.”

“yeah! like, i can’t imagine it,” you join in.

still, the owner laughs at your reactions. “you two are so funny. just go and enjoy your ice cream.”

you roll your eyes at his words. “bye, mr. kim!”

with that, you and changmin were out of the mart and took a seat on the benches. you hand your best friend the wrapped frozen treat before letting out a sigh. “i still can’t believe this is one of the few times we got to meet up during the break.”

“i know.” he tears the plastic wrapping off. “you would think that summer break would mean we get to hang out nonstop, but i’m starting to think we saw each other more whenever we had school.”

you hum. “i know. and i had ap stat while you had training.” your eyes dart at changmin who grips onto the popsicle sticks, struggling to split it into two. “oh my god, don’t tell me you can’t split it.”

“hey! it’s hard.”

as you giggle, you reach your hand out. “let me do it.” once changmin hands you the twin bar, you attempt to split the two. for a moment, you almost think about agreeing with him. yet, the frozen treat splits into two perfectly, and a satisfied smile rests on your lips.

you hand him one popsicle, only to be met with his glare. “i know, i’m just better.”

“just shut up.” to that, another laugh leaves you.

under the sun, you enjoy the coolness of the twin bar. while you would’ve stared off to nowhere, you and changmin were here at the right time to catch civilians bustling away. some were on dates, where one would go on about their interest while the other would smile at their rambling. there were kids whose chatter could be heard all the way from the end of the block, and blue-collar men who were off to enjoy their break.

you can’t help but imagine what people saw—thought—of you and changmin. did they think of you as unexpected friends? has it ever crossed their minds that you two were only classmates who seemed to always be paired together? or did they ever think the same as mr. kim?

“you know,” changmin starts off, causing you to look at him, “i was going through college courses the other day.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “oh?”

with your reaction, changmin giggles. “i was just curious, you know? not that i’m giving up on dance or anything, but,” he licks the popsicle, “early childhood education sounds cool.”

you hum. “i wasn’t expecting that.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“no, it’s not a bad thing!” you reassure the boy. “it’s just,” you rip your gaze off of changmin and look at the playground, “i always thought of you as a dancer, you know? kind of like you were meant for the stage.” the laughter of the kids who passed by you two bounces all over the block and you can’t help but smile. “but i don’t doubt it.”

the breeze graces your sweat-covered skin. “what about you?” you look back at him. “would you ever consider journalism? maybe communication as your major?”

you’re quick to laugh at his suggestion, but when confusion paints his features, you realize it’s a serious question from him.

“no.” it’s a straightforward answer from you, but changmin could never settle with that

“why not?”

a sigh leaves you. “i just don’t consider it. i mean, i think about it,” all the time, “but not enough to consider it. plus, astrophysics is cool.”

“but is it your dream?”

changmin’s question is an easy one to answer—not at all. you’ve had enough learning about theories and making sense of the numbers. if your future is going to only complicate that further, then maybe astrophysics isn’t made for you.

but who’s to say that you’ll even enjoy journalism?

“we’ll see.” you leave it at that and changmin didn’t push for more.

because the reality is that if you ever did consider it, transform those dreams into action plans, you were terrified to be met with your parents’ disappointment—it wouldn’t only be from your lousy desires but from changmin’s role in your life.

the first time you mentioned changmin to your parents happened over dinner, letting them know you would be staying later at school to work on the final project for art class with him. they didn’t bat an eye at his name as they continued to talk about what happened during work and pester you about your progress in other classes. (art class didn’t matter to them, only the sciences and math were ones they seemed to track. still, they would criticize you if you didn’t place first honors.)

with your parents’ oversight, something blossomed between you and changmin. from there, there were more days you would get home later than usual. while you were still on top of your work, they took your late arrivals as a form of negligence.

all it took was one night for them to demand an explanation. the reappearance of him in the conversation had only caused them to reprimand you—changmin’s not like you. he’ll only hold you back.

from that day on, you’ve learned to keep his name out of conversations. you’ll enjoy what you have with changmin, even if it has to be kept under the wraps.

“how’s training?” you change the subject, trying to keep the attention off of your failed dreams to changmin’s flourishing ones.

“well, it’s a lot,” he chuckles as he munches a piece. “you already know that it takes how many hours to get to the company, and the hours i spend in the practice room are unlike the trainings i have at school.”

as his eyes meet yours, you only shoot him an apologetic smile. it was never going to be easy; you two knew that before changmin entered the doors of the company. yet, he still held on.

“you know, i never considered it before, but i like where i’m going,” he admits. “even if i’ve always had dreams to pursue dance, i want to make my family proud if i ever get to debut.”

changmin knows how to persevere. regardless of all the bruises he gets from performing complex dance routines or the hours of sleep he longs for, he knows how to hold on. you wish you could say the same for yourself.

“and you will,” you reassure the boy, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “who wouldn’t be proud of you?”

he holds your stare and your smile falters. for a moment, you don’t know if you touched on a sensitive topic. would he shrug your arm off? do you think he’ll shut you off, maybe cut your time together short? will changmin get mad at you for something you didn’t know was wrong? would he be just like them?

“i want to make you proud.”

that’s enough to answer it all.

you shake your head. “don’t even doubt that for a second.” your arm finds it spot back to your side, and changmin’s loops his with yours.

although he knows how to persevere, he never knows when to shut his ears from the shadows.

“i am proud of you,” you tell him. “always have, always will.” he can’t help but smile. all you can hope is that he’ll listen closely to your voice.

“i almost forgot,” he says out of nowhere.

“forgot what?”

as he tugs his arm away, his hand fishes for something in his pocket. “close your eyes.” you furrow your eyebrows. “just do it!” you follow his orders. “and keep them closed, okay?” you let out a hum.

before you know it, something wraps around your index finger. you would’ve opened your eyes, confused over the foreign yet familiar material, but they remain shut.

“okay, open.”

your gaze rests on your finger wrapped in yellow and blue. it’s a finger trap—and the other end is connected to changmin. despite your tug, it still holds you two together.

it’s the warmth that fills your cheeks, the heartbeat in your ears, and your starstruck eyes that has him smile. “no matter what happens, we’ll stick together, okay? regardless of what paths we end up pursuing. all that matters is that we have each other.”

he’s filled with hope. hope for his dreams. hope for your relationship. hope for what the future holds for you two. you can’t help but hope as well.

all it takes is a nod from you to solidify the promise to the universe.

you two sit in silence, finishing up the popsicles as people continue to pass by. at one point, you heard mr. kim let out a curse over the drama he’s watching. the sun is about to set, wrapping you two in a golden blanket, and all that matters is the finger trap.

present -> two weeks before the interview, 2024

it’s no surprise to you that the newsroom is quiet. while your peers are off to gather more information, you’re with lee chaeyeon of news as she tries to meet the deadline for her article’s first close.

“do you think dokyeom will be late?” you ask as you watch her rephrase sentences.

she laughs. “when is he never? minho’s always assigning him coverages.”

“that’s true.” your eyes drift to the hallway. “i’m just hungry. he still owes me food, you know?”

“over another bet? or you saving his ass?”

“over helping him with an article,” you reveal, earning a shocked look from her. “for some odd reason, he needed another writer to help out with a live coverage, and all the sports writers and sports editor were busy handling the other events.”

“holy shit.” chaeyeon continues with her work. “i didn’t expect you to work on anything sports-related.”

“yeah, but it helped that it was a dance competition. at least i know something about dance.” you only know who to thank. “i’m going to make sure i get compensated for that. i’m planning to raise it to minho and namjoon, anyway. that’s if dokyeom would fucking come and help in explaining the situation.”

with the mention of the tardy writer’s name, he’s scrambling through the halls with his backpack in one hand and a paper bag in the other. the moment he sees you, he shoots you an apologetic smile.

“speak of the devil,” you say as you stand up straight. “why do you always show up late? i helped you with the article.”

dokyeom finds his spot beside you as he sets down the bag on your desk. “i’ll have you know that wasn’t the only article i had yesterday. i was catching up on other ones that minho assigned me.” before he can plop down on his seat, he spots chaeyeon working. “damn, tough life at news.”

“no need to point out the obvious, doofus.”

“wow, harsh,” he replies to her insult. “just so you know, i bought food for us.”

“thank god,” you exclaim as you open the paper bag filled with takeout containers and sealed cups. as you pull them out one by one, you spot your usual order from the vietnamese restaurant around the corner. “oh my god, thank you for getting me this.” you take a seat before you pass dokyeom his food and utensils.

“yeah, i know. i’m just the best.” his shower of compliments for himself only has you rolling your eyes. “but thank you, by the way, for helping me out with the article. i needed an extra pair of hands and my own editor couldn’t stand in to help out.”

“it’s fine. just make sure you help me get compensated for that article,” you say before you open the container. as the smell of bun bo nam bo fills your nose, you can’t help but let out a quiet moan. “holy fuck, i’ve been craving this.”

“i made sure to get you some vietnamese coffee also.”

“yeah, i saw. thank you.” you split the chopsticks with one hand. you’re about to mix the bowl of your favorite food—

“is y/n here?” your editor calls out, causing you to let out a sigh before you stand up from your seat.

“yes?”

namjoon’s gaze lands on you. “can i talk to you for a bit?”

despite your grumbling stomach, you give him a nod and set your food down. as he retreats to his office, you glare at dokyeom who munches away on goi cuon. “i hate you.”

“hey, what did i do?!” you ignore his attempts to defend himself as you make your way to your editor’s office.

once you swing the door open, you spot namjoon whose eyes are stuck to the screen. “you can take a seat,” he says with no attempt to look at you. you sit across from him, hands folded on your lap, while he types away on his keyboard.

the moment he hits the ‘enter’ key is when he finally looks at you. “sorry about that. i was just replying to minho regarding your compensation for the article you worked with dokyeom. we both appreciate what you did. next time though, make sure to loop in minho or me before you two start working on beats not within your staffs.”

“sorry about that,” you start off. “dokyeom only asked for my help and i thought it would be fine since i’m familiar with dance, anyway.”

namjoon shakes his head with a small smile plastered on his face. “it is fine, just make sure to inform us.” you only nod.

“anyway, i’m sorry to have this meeting with you right now but i have to leave work early today, and i thought that you’d appreciate that i tell this to you now instead of tomorrow,” he says. you hum, curious about what he has to say. “i have a coverage for you, a very, very, long one.”

over the sight of your wide eyes, he can’t help but chuckle. “it’s 12 articles,” he says and your mouth gapes over the number. “well, one main article and 11 profiles with very brief introductory paragraphs.” his attempt to ease your shocked state does nothing.

“namjoon, that’s… a lot.”

“yes, i know. i would love to split the workload but everyone else is handling other articles, and i trust you. i know i’m asking for a lot but i’ll make sure to help you out with them. it’s just that we’re working on a time crunch and i don’t know anyone else i can ask but you.”

the faith that your editor seems to have in you is like no other.

“profiles, like, those q&a transcripts?” you ask.

he nods before saying, “yes, and just a brief introductory paragraph for each profile. i’m just expecting you to put more work into the article about the group. i’ll make sure to help out with the profiles.”

namjoon’s trust should be anxiety inducing, enough to send you complaining, but you find yourself relieved. your mentor became your second-in-command; the mountain of workload transformed into a hill.

“okay.”

a relaxed smile appears on his face at your acceptance. “thank god! i was going to stress about this the whole day if you refused. i’ll make sure to send you the details about this once i’m done with my appointments, and then we can see how we’ll divide the work later on.” he types something. “we’re covering a k-pop group which is why there’s one main article about the whole group and then 11 profiles.”

“yeah, i figured that out.” this isn’t anything out of your usual articles. “can i ask who we’re interviewing? maybe i can do some research on them while you attend your meetings.” you pull out your phone, ready to search up whoever your editor says.

“don’t know if you’re familiar with them but they’re called the boyz?” you still in your seat. “wait, let me check. yes, that’s their name.”

“the boyz?”

namjoon looks at you, now met with your features that have transformed from wide eyes to scrunched eyebrows. “yeah. do you know them?”

you shake your head without a second thought. “no, i don’t think i do,” you whisper the last sentence to yourself. his narrow eyes look over you, almost dissecting you.

the walls surrounding you are painted in solid colors of pearl, almost untouched. yet, under the paint are cracks that spread like cobwebs. every burst is a testament to the earthquakes they’ve faced; no one should be able to see a single line of black amid the white sea. now, they’re filled with paste, and it should be enough to cover them all.

but for the first time, the paint has chipped and the paste has deteriorated; the different colors of cheongju seep through the cracks.

you clear your throat as you straighten your back. “i’ll be sure to research them.” you wave your phone at him, hoping to divert his attention, but his gaze remains on you.

a sigh leaves him. “okay. expect to receive the documents later in the afternoon.”

he doesn’t push any further. for now, the walls remain intact. (or appear as so.)

it was never going to be easy.

“honestly, i gave up expecting to win as we practiced,” the youngest says through tears. as they huddle, they let out silent wishes for the upcoming years. before they blow the candle, they don’t forget to express their gratitude to the fandom who stuck with them through thick and thin.

a time of celebration turned into a moment to remember their struggles. these were pockets of their time that marked their spot in history.

“oh, everyone behind us is crying!” another member points out as the camera captures the team’s bittersweet cries.

and when you catch sight of the orange-haired boy who hides his tears behind his friend, the ache in your chest starts to spread through your veins. the video cuts to his low-hanging head as his members comfort him. they knew all of his hardships—you only know a fraction.

such a tender moment happened five years ago; it’s the same amount of time between this achievement and your departure. within those years, what did changmin undergo? did his trainings waver his passion or did the fire burn just as bright as it did since he first auditioned? was he confident in his skills or was he still critical about every performance he had?

but most of all, what did he face? what did he learn? to hate? to love?

what did he go through without you?

you don’t forget to take note of their first win on your document filled with bullet points of information. while you were going to continue watching, a recommended video caught your attention. it’s a changmin focus. you don’t hesitate to click it.

the video starts off with him checking up on the fans before the performance starts. as he mimes out eating, they answer his question with reassurance.

and there they come—his dimples appear.

it transitions to their group in their opening formation. as they await for the song to play out, changmin’s familiar smile shifts into a dominant gaze.

in the same way the first notes draw people to listen, your eyes never leave the boy. his movements are fluid, like water droplets sliding off leaves. he commands the stage regardless of where he’s positioned.

changmin is meant to be on the stage—no, every stage is made for him. every crowd is meant to cheer his name and remain captive to his talents, and every spotlight is meant to shine on him.

you rest your chin on crossed arms. long gone was the bowl cut and loose school uniform. he’s grown. matured, even. yet, the moments where his smile appears makes you realize one thing: the 16-year-old boy you knew still lives within him.

as their performance comes to an end, you don’t bother to move your cursor, letting the next recommended video play. and when his vlog plays out, you realize that a fragment of his identity is a whole of what you know.

what an honor it is to have known him for even a fraction of your lifetime.

his voice is a lullaby, the same one you used to fall asleep to, so you allow yourself to close your eyes. you let go of the responsibilities for just this moment, and allow yourself to be transported back into the warmth of his arms.

fall of 2014

out of all the seasons, autumn took its spot in being your favorite. clusters of green slowly morph into shades of oranges and browns. it’s a symphony of chirps that fills the silence. while the breeze brings you comfort after the heat of summer, it also reminds you of the looming winter.

it’s a shame that autumn does live up to its other name: a season of fall.

“you’re always like this,” your mother comments. you stand in front of your parents, slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, as they hold a sheet of paper they believe dictates your future. “always so sensitive. we’re just asking you what went different. why did your grades drop?” to them, a shift from a to b+ is a threat to your future.

while your feet stand on wooden floors, a flood starts to form. murky waves crash against your legs, but you do your best to keep your balance.

“answer us when you’re being talked to.” your father snaps you out of your thoughts. “what have you been doing for your grades to drop?” you want to answer but a single sound that leaves you may only lead to blubbers that your parents will scold you for.

with your silence, your mother sneers. “i knew we shouldn’t have let you do your own things. i told you so.” she shifts her gaze to him. “what did i tell you about y/n? you know they’ll only slack off!”

“i thought we could trust them. clearly, i was wrong.” your father’s glare raises the water levels, reaching your chest. you don’t know how to swim in the foggy ocean.

“i know why.” she crosses her arms. “it’s because of that changmin boy, isn’t it?” she says his name laced with disgust.

you don’t think twice to defend him. “no, it isn’t!”

“don’t you dare talk back at me!”

“but i’m not! he’s done nothing.”

your father begins to raise his voice. “and that’s what’s wrong! that lazy boy does nothing for his studies. he clearly doesn’t care about his future.”

you always knew it would be a losing battle, but you’ll put up the fight to protect your best friend’s name. “that’s not true! he does care. he’s planning to do early childhood education for college, maybe become a teacher.”

“that job has no money. see, i can already see that you’re being influenced by him,” he argues back.

and as the murky waters rise, filling your lungs, your first instinct is to close your eyes and scream. “stop saying that about him!”

a beat passes.

“i don’t want you hanging out with him.”

“but—”

“shut up.” your mother’s words cause you to look up, meeting your parents’ faces filled with anger. “go to your room. now.” you’re nothing but a puppet for them.

was it even a battle if you always knew you were going to lose?

despite the safety of your room, you don’t let the tears flow down. you do anything to distract yourself; maybe a book will convince you that your life is only a figment of your imagination.

waves continue to crash against your body. if you let them take your body, would they send you far away from cheongju? from your parents? from the weight you were entrusted to carry since birth?

but would you allow the waves to send you away from changmin?

your phone buzzes against the mattress. with tear-filled eyes, you see your best friend trying to reach you. you don’t think twice about declining his call and shutting off your phone.

as you curl in your bed, you hope the sea will swallow you whole—the slow, burning pain that comes with drowning won’t compare to the burns that haven’t healed. but you know that the blame rests on your shoulders. if only you had studied harder, cut off hours of rest for your work, then maybe you would be the perfect child your parents wanted.

were you wrong for allowing yourself to enjoy the small breaks between classes? was the time spent in the mart supposed to be for schoolwork? should you have found yourself a tutor? were you in the wrong for not working yourself to the bone? did you not work enough?

are you not enough?

then, a knock. your eyes snap open. like a stroke of light in the middle of the dark, changmin is by your window.

you get off your bed to open the window. as the glass barrier disappears, he enters your room. “are you okay?” he spots your glassy eyes and his hands find their spot on your shoulders. “what happened?”

you break eye contact. “what do you want, changmin?”

“you didn’t pick up your phone. and when i tried calling again, i couldn’t reach you,” he starts to explain.

you shrug off his grip on you before you take a seat on your bed. “i’m fine. my phone died.” as you feel the spot beside you dip, you look at your best friend. at the sight of his furrowed eyebrows, you know he doesn’t believe you. “i said i’m fine.”

“i didn’t say anything.” for you are an open book to him.

he opens his arms towards you—it’s your move to make. then, a tight-lipped smile shows on his face, his dimples appear, and you allow yourself to fall. with his arms wrapped around you, you shut your eyes as you nestle your face into his neck.

breathe in. breathe out.

his hand finds its spot on your back, rubbing it in circles.

breathe in. breathe out.

“it’s okay, i’m here,” he says, and you allow yourself to crumble in front of him for the first time.

the tears hit changmin’s neck like a light drizzle. your wails bring earthquakes into his world.

yet, his warmth is enough to dry up droplets, and his embrace protects you as you fall into the cracks of the earth and into the depths of the world. the flood starts to subside.

in your time knowing changmin, how much did he know about you after all? had he always known of your strained relationship with your parents? did he hear about it from others or was he able to connect the dots?

because you didn’t know yourself outside of your parents anymore. did you like science because of your kumon classes? was your interest in writing birthed from a desire for validation from your parents?

are you nothing but an array of achievements and failures?

but your parents will never be satisfied; a standard too high is practically nonexistent.

changmin moves so that you two can lie down. his arms remain wrapped around you as you hide in his neck. “i’m sorry if i wasn’t there for you when you needed it then.” his whispered apology causes you to shake your head.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” you blubber out to his neck.

“and you didn’t, as well.” his hand finds its spot behind your head. with every stroke, a tear streams down. “and i want you to know that i’ll be here for you.”

in your house, your room was the only space you called home. solace built by you.

now, your home is changmin.

present -> two weeks before the interview, 2024

something about the newsroom feels odd to you. there’s nothing out of the ordinary aside from it bustling with journalists. the familiar sounds of printers and chatter from your workmates fill your ears. it’s a typical occurrence for your peers to meet their deadlines on the day itself. the tug in your gut doesn’t resemble ones formed out of your anxiety. why does it feel like one of destiny?

“where is dokyeom? i swear, this guy never shows up to the office.”

you snap out of your thoughts, looking over at chaeyeon who browses through her phone. as you shove a bill into the vending machine, a chuckle leaves you. “when is he never?”

“maybe if he finishes his coverages on time then he’d be getting enough sleep. then, he won’t be late.”

you side-eye your friend before you click on a button. “you know that’s not true.”

she sighs at the same time your bottle of iced tea drops. “yeah. apparently, if you have free time, you’re not a good journalist or some shit which i find stupid.” you grab your drink before facing her. “am i not allowed to do something else that’s not related to my job? i swear, this is why i’m single.”

“then date another journalist.” your joke earns a scowl from her.

“i’m never dating anyone in my field. a journalist dating another journalist is like,” she looks up to the ceiling as she thinks, “a long distance relationship with how much they’ll never see or have time for each other.”

a laugh erupts from you, one that may be too loud for your liking. “true.”

as you walk out of the breakroom with chaeyeon, you notice something in the corner of your eye: a brunette by the restroom. while you can’t see his face, you spot what’s in his hand and you halt in your tracks—a finger trap.

“hey, is there someone there?” your eyes snap back to your friend who looks at you in confusion. when your eyes drift back to where the brunette once was, he’s already gone. you shake your head before walking back to your desk.

the same gut feeling lingers. with a frown, you open up your article only to be met with a few comments that namjoon left last night. maybe your gut knew that you weren’t done with your work. thankfully, it’s nothing too major, and you can have them done within the next few minutes.

“there you are!” chaeyeon exclaims, causing you to look up from your screen to a panting dokyeom. “were you working on your articles again?”

“actually, i went out last night.” while you shake your head at dokyeom’s reveal, chaeyeon gasps. “yeah, i did! i actually had fun for once!”

as he nods proudly at last night’s events, she complains, “are you serious?! how come you have time to go out? i was just talking to y/n that we never have time to ourselves.”

“i’m in sports,” he points out as he shrugs his shoulders. “you’re in news.” at this point, you’re expecting the two to spiral into an argument, so you redirect your focus back to your article.

“hey, did you hear though? there’s a k-pop group in the building.” you glance at chaeyeon.

your other friend leans on the cubicle. “really? who?”

“no clue.”

dokyeom lets out a groan. “what type of journalist are you if you can’t find out?”

“yah!” chaeyeon smacks his arm, causing him to wince in pain. “says you who can never submit on time.”

“hey, i’ll have you know that minho has been understanding!”

“whatever.” she rolls her eyes before looking at you. “that means you’ll probably be handling them. i hope they’re cute so that you can finally have something going on with your life outside of work.”

a chuckle leaves you as you get back to work. “i’m never dating an idol. i’d get hunted down by their fans.”

“yeah, but can’t you dream a little? do you ever imagine what it would be like?”

the past plays in your mind. after school performances and interviews. broken-up popsicles. finger traps. a life you shared with changmin then—one you still cling onto.

yet, you shake your head as you edit your article. “not even.”

it’s a life you’ll keep to yourself.

“what’s the update?”

the three of you look away from each other, spotting namjoon who comes to you with a smile. long gone were the sweaters that failed to drown out his figure and the boxy glasses that would rest on the bridge of his nose. now, he wears a dress shirt and trousers with hair slicked to the side. there were no frames for him to hide behind.

“ah, namjoon! you’re dressed so nice today.”

with dokyeom’s compliment, he can’t hold back on his smile. “thank you. are you guys done with your articles?”

as your friends nod, you add the finishing touches to the document. “and done! i just finished addressing your comments.”

“great. thanks, y/n.”

“do you have something?” chaeyeon asks your editor, causing you to roll your eyes. one thing about journalists is that they love to know everything.

namjoon nods before saying, “i just had a meeting with some possible interviewees.”

“is this the one with the k-pop group?” as dokyeom asks the question, you can’t help but laugh as chaeyeon looks at him in disbelief for spilling confidential information.

your editor chuckles. “yes.”

“can we know—”

“no, you can’t know.”

chaeyeon pouts at namjoon. “not even a hint?”

namjoon ignores her question and begins to walk off. “good work, y/n!” he calls out before leaving you three alone.

“man, namjoon never tells us shit,” chaeyeon complains as she leans on the table.

“to you guys, at least,” you argue with a small shrug.

still, the gut feeling remains.

something about the newsroom feels odd to changmin. while he’s had his fair share of paranormal experiences, his gut tells him that there’s something in the office. yet, the tug isn’t one that speaks of danger. why does it feel like one of destiny?

“should we have a short break before we discuss the schedules for the photoshoots and interviews?” changmin is snapped out of his thoughts by namjoon’s suggestion.

his manager looks at the group. “do you guys need a break?”

sangyeon shoots namjoon a smile before looking at his members. “you guys can use the washroom if you need to.”

although everyone seemed fine with proceeding, changmin couldn’t shake off the feeling. maybe the leftover curry he had this morning went bad. “i’ll go,” he says as he gets off his seat.

namjoon slowly stands up. “okay, i can bring you there—”

“it’s okay! i saw the washroom on the way here,” changmin says before walking to the door. “you can discuss the details without me. i’m sure you guys will manage.”

with sangyeon’s and his manager’s nods, namjoon settles back into his seat. “okay then, here are some of the dates i have in mind...”

changmin exits the room. he bites on the inside of the cheek as he thinks of what his gut could be telling him. is it the nerves for the upcoming tour? is he worried about the next comeback they’ve been preparing? or is he scared about what the future has in store for his group?

with his mind on these questions, he doesn’t realize that he arrives in front of the bathroom door. a sigh of frustration leaves him. the worst thing about gut feelings is never knowing what they’re trying to say.

he grips the handle, ready to swing the door open, until a familiar laugh hits his ears. one of the past. one he hasn’t heard in years. his muscles freeze.

when was the last time he heard that chortle? when was the last time he became the cause of it?

his eyes dart around the area for the source but no one else is here. he can’t help but shake his head in disbelief.

it should be stupid for him to think you two would ever reunite. in what world would you be in the same place as he is? it’s been 10 years. you could be anywhere around the world. yet, he fishes for something out of his pocket; the same finger trap he linked you to him rests on the palm of his hand.

he sighs before entering the washroom and shoving it back into his pocket.

maybe he’ll hold out a little longer.

winter of 2014

out of all the seasons, changmin’s favorite is winter. snowflakes fall, filling the sky with stars that people can touch, and snow piles on sidewalks, letting him throw snowballs at his friends. despite the freezing temperatures, changmin prefers this over nearly-boiling ones.

he can’t wait to share this season with you.

yet, the familiar, chilly breeze of the season transforms into whispers, and word gets around like thrown snowballs.

“is y/n really not going to school anymore?” changmin looks up from his desk to see cheng xiao standing in front of him. he tilts his head in confusion, causing her to roll her eyes. “are they not going here anymore?”

he frowns. “huh? what kind of rumor is that?”

“i don’t know. it’s what people have been saying,” she says as she crosses her arms. “i asked because i wanted to know if my competition’s gone, you know? and you’re the only one here who has an idea about their whereabouts.”

changmin laughs in disbelief. “no, i was with them last week.”

when changmin last saw you, you asked for space. with what’s been happening with your family, you needed time to process and cope with your issues, and he respected that. after all, he only knew a fraction of your relationship with your parents, and he didn’t want to intrude in anything you didn’t want him to be a part of. still, changmin reminded you that he’ll be there if you need him.

“damn, that sucks,” cheng xiao groans as her shoulders slump. “these stupid rumors.” as soon as she leaves changmin alone, he shakes his head.

the bell rings. students start rushing into classrooms and teachers scold those who aren’t on their seats. ms. jeon enters the room, walking to the desk in front and setting her things down. “cheng xiao, you’ll be in charge of attendance today.”

as changmin’s classmate gets off her seat, he can’t help but look at your desk that still remains empty.

“you have to message us when you land,” your mother says as she fixes the collar of your coat. despite your nod, she clicks her tongue. “answer me properly.”

“yes, i will.”

once your father finishes placing the last luggage in the trunk of the taxi, he stands beside your mother. “don’t forget why we’re sending you there. we expect you to do better with no distractions.”

your phone buzzes in your hand. as you look down, you see a message from changmin. as he asks about your whereabouts, the weight gets heavier—will you stand or crumble under it?

“who’s that?”

you stash your phone away as you look back at your parents. “nothing. it’s just an email from the school. they sent over the date for the orientation.” at the sight of their satisfied smile, you let out a small sigh of relief.

“well, go on.” your nod at your mother before getting in the car. with the windows still down, she adds, “don’t forget to get endorsement letters from the professors i sent over to you or else you won’t get to study abroad like we planned.” her choice of pronouns is funny; a plan that they crafted which never considered your input.

“okay.”

as your father commands the driver to go, your gaze remains on the two. it should be okay with you to leave cheongju; you’d be far away from your parents and experience an entirely different landscape to explore. it’s time you break away from the chains of this town. learn a life outside of what your parents forced you into.

yet, as the car takes its leave, the figure of your parents slowly shrinks. the distance from them should’ve given you the space to breathe, a relief you’ve longed for, but it only reminds you of your strained relationship. to them, it would be better that you’re out of their sight—and with your farewell, you never heard the three-word phrase.

the window rolls up. you try to hold back the tears, but the scenery of cheongju that you pass by births a storm within you. you didn’t want to say goodbye to home, regardless of how much you say you didn’t have a home in this town. every corner holds a piece of you in the same way you hold a piece of them.

the car approaches a safe haven you share. despite the snow that piles at the front, mr. kim’s convenience store is still open. you’ll never get to have his hotteok again or hear his favorite dramas play in the background. worst of all, you never got to say goodbye.

then, the familiar figure of your best friend exits the mart, and the storm transforms into a typhoon. the plastic bag he holds is filled with your favorite snacks, from the grape-flavored twin bar to a bottle of mr. kim’s homemade peach iced tea.

and in that moment that your car passes him, he pulls out his phone from his pocket, and you spot the familiar trap wrapped around his finger—the other end holds no one.

as quickly as you came into changmin’s life, he disappears from your view.

finger traps were fascinating. if you tug hard, the contraption won’t let your fingers go. yet, if you allow the two fingers to meet, allowing the toy to loosen, it’ll let you go with no harm.

but your finger trap with changmin was different. maybe it was already ripped to its seams.

interview

q: what made you decide on becoming an idol?

a: i’ve always loved dancing. growing up in cheongju, i always made time [for dance] whether it be [for] school competitions, talent shows, or even [choreographies] i wanted to try out. but i never considered becoming [an idol] until high school. a lot of my friends and family thought i was capable, and i’m glad they trusted me. it feels good to give back to them with every performance.

q: as the first trainee meant to debut in the boyz, you’ve spent more time training compared to your other members. what kept you going throughout your years of training?

a: my family’s support was one big thing that helped me [during my training.] every trip from my house to the company would last hours, and it drained me physically. so as the years went by, i started to question if all the time, money, [and] effort i was putting into an unpromised debut would be worth it, but my parents and sisters were always there to support and [take] care of me. but i’d also like to think my best friend was a major support in training years. i think they were the first one to [tell me that they saw me as an idol,] and at the time i brushed off the idea. but, look where i am now? so i think i owe a lot to them.

q: is there anything you’d like to say to those who’ve supported you as the boyz’s q?

a: mom and dad, thank you for believing in me. i know it wasn’t easy to wait until midnight for me to come home or take care of me whenever i got sick from training. thank you for always supporting me in every performance. to my sisters, thank you for helping mom and dad out at home. every day, i remind myself that you gave up so much just so i can pursue my dreams, and i want you know that i’m forever grateful for your sacrifices. to the rest of [the boyz], thank you for always allowing me to rely on you. i’m glad i can say i have brothers who i get to achieve my dreams with. deobi, thank you for your love and support over the years. i wouldn’t be the boyz’s q or ji changmin if it weren’t for you. and lastly, thank you to my best friend. i hope you’ll always be proud of me the same way i’ll forever be proud of you.

tag list: @deoboyznet @kflixnet @blankjournal @winterchimez @miusgirl @jenoscafe @sweet-unicorn-world @mosviqu @vernyangel @stealanity @deobi0412 @blue-rainydays @maessseongs @dearly-somber

#ji changmin x reader #the boyz fic recs #im jumping off a cliff in t-minus two hours whoever wants to join may do so #pls read if u want something so heart wrenchingly beautiful

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shygirl4991 · 21 hours ago

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Faker

Im going through a hard time this month with my cats health so thought i do a random vent fic enjoy.

Summary: They fake to make it, they both are lonely losers that manage to make the best of it. Sometimes a vent fight helps them find some peace from their trauma. Tag: Trauma bonding, crush hinted, SMG34, the gays are fighting

SMG4 yawns as he gets out of bed, the morning light shines hitting the man in the eyes. He squints as he closes the curtains, for once SMG4 got to bed at a decent time. With a proud smile the guardian leaves his room to get breakfast together, that's when he notices a purple blur pass by his window. He turns and sees a depressed looking SMG3, concerned for his partner he runs to his bedroom to put on his iconic overalls before heading to Three’s coffee n bombs. As he approaches the cafe, he catches SMG3 sitting at a table outside. With a bright smile Four greets the man “Hey three! How is everything going?” Three sighs as he glares at SMG4 “What do you want SMG4?” he spat out making SMG4 take a step back. It was clear as day that Three was not having a good day, he looked around and noticed not a single customer showed up. Frowning, Four nervously points it out “Still not having luck?” Three growls getting up from his seat “WHY DO YOU CARE?” The anger and hatred that came out made Four’s eyes go wide.

He then lets out a sigh as he keeps talking to Three with a cheerful tone “We are friends Three, of course i would worry. Is there any way I can help you?” Three rolls his eyes walking to his cafe door “Why? To show you're better than me?” Four shakes his head “No! Come on Three, we make a great team don't we…there is no need to push me away.” Three’s grip on the door handle tightens, every night since the usb garbage incident he has been haunted by an image of SMG4. He grins down at Three calling him pathetic, that he is nothing but a faker acting tough when he is nothing but a softy at heart. His grip lightens as he wonders if that version of Four had a point, shaking his head he pulls the door open. Seeing this Four runs after him, he grabs Three’s hand in concern “Three what is going on with you?”

Three turns smacking Four’s hand away “What's wrong? Everything I do fails! No matter how hard I try to entertain people, everyone sees my content as cringe. I make the cafe of my dreams and no one comes due to…the owner being unlikable.” Four reaches out to comfort Three only for the other man to walk away from it, Four looks down thinking before giving the man a small smile “You have done successful things, you're super smart and figured out how to out smart so many of the villains we fight! Remember zero, how you pointed out how to save Mario!” Three lets out a bitter laugh “You mean the same monster that killed Terrence, yeah i really got a victory for us there.”

Four starts to get upset at how the guardian kept brushing aside his attempts to comfort him, Three walks behind the counter looking at Four with annoyance. SMG4 walks up to the counter giving SMG3 a desperate “Let me help you out Three,” that got SMG3 to laugh “Help me? How fake can you be, ah yes help with my trauma as you ignore yours!” Four stare’s confused at his partner, Three places a cup in front of Four “You were an asshole to your best friend on his day, you got a keyboard that almost killed us all. Oh yeah, how about using my past against me to get everyone to come to your fucking Christmas party!” SMG4 stares, mouth agape at SMG3 words, slowly he smacks the table causing the cup to jump slightly “oh yeah? YOU ALMOST SHOT ME BECAUSE YOUR OLD VILLAIN FRIEND TOLD YOU TO!” SMG3 growls climbing the counter to be taller than the other man “YOU ALMOST DROP ME FOR THE PERFECT VIDEO!” Four grabs Three’s leg throwing him to the floor causing the cup to fall, shattering, Four was done playing nice with the man that clearly just wanted to fight “YOU THINK NO ONE CAN TELL BUT WE ALL KNOW YOUR THE FAKE!” Hearing those words angered the man, Three kicked Four’s leg causing him to lose balance and join him on the floor. SMG3 pins the man down growling “FAKE! AT LEAST I DON'T PRETEND IM A NICE PERSON THAT CAN DO NOT WRONG!”

They both stay silent staring at each other, breathing heavily after all their yelling. Three lets go of Four as his eyes water “And yet…i still think you're my best friend..” Four sits up surprised to hear Three’s words, thinking over the pair’s past he lets out a small chuckle “Guess in the end, we both suck huh?” Three wipes his eyes giving a small smile “At least you can admit you suck, been telling you for years.” Four playfully smacks Three as they both giggle feeling better after their small fight. Three grabs Four’s hand shyly looking off to the side, hiding his blush “I’m frustrated that things don't go my way, I hate being second place…so I took my anger out on you.” Four smiles and scoots closer to his partner resting his head on the man's shoulder as their fingers intertwine “I forgive you, plus your right…I fake being okay cause it's hard to face all I have done.” Three hums as he turns looking Four in his eyes “Yeah well…we have our ways to cope just remember im always here for you.” They both smile softly at each other forgetting that the cafe was open, Meggy giggles seeing the sight. Meggy and Tari walk away from the cafe with a big smile “I think it's best if we let those to talk out their feelings Tari.”

#smg4 #smg3 #smg34 #shygirl4991 #smg34 fanfiction #vent fic

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storyscribeforthesentiment · 2 days ago

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the detective & the dark knight | chapter 11

Summary: Detective Marie Manning, investigating a series of brutal murders in Gotham, crosses paths with the mysterious Batman. As they work together, their mutual respect turns into a deep, passionate bond. Amidst danger and corruption, their unlikely partnership evolves into a profound love, forever changing their lives in Gotham’s dark corners.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!main character

Author’s note: Brace yourselves for a long one! This chapter is a pure emotion (sorry if you're not into that!) Bruce and Marie fight, make up, and finally get together. I hope you all enjoy a big sigh of relief at the end of the chapter. It’s a bit of a whirlwind, but the best kind of whirlwind.

Apologies for the wait! Life got in the way, but we’re back at it.

Word count: 9k

Warnings/tags: mentions of gun violence, police bribes, fighting, murder

Chapter List

The warm glow of the setting sun filtered through the tall windows of Wayne Manor, casting long shadows across the room as Bruce stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored suit. The faint sound of classical music played in the background, a soft and calming contrast to the storm of thoughts running through his mind.

Alfred, ever-present and always meticulous, stood a few feet away, inspecting the final touches of Bruce's attire. He took a moment to adjust Bruce's bowtie, before he stepped back and gave a nod of approval.

"You look dashing, as always, Master Wayne," Alfred remarked with a hint of pride in his voice. "A yacht party, is it? Quite the venue for a police fundraiser."

Bruce exhaled softly, his gaze distant as he continued adjusting his cufflinks, though he didn’t seem particularly focused on them. "You know it’s not really about the fundraiser."

Alfred tilted his head, studying Bruce for a moment. "Ah. I see. Miss Manning, I presume?"

Bruce didn’t answer right away, but the faintest smile played on his lips as he glanced at his reflection. "She'll be there. At least, I hope she will. I invited the entire department."

Alfred let out a thoughtful hum, crossing his arms as he moved to stand next to Bruce. "You’ve been in better spirits lately, if I may say so. Wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you've been working with her again, would it?"

Bruce paused, catching Alfred's gaze in the mirror. He shrugged, trying to play it off, though he knew it was no use—Alfred could see straight through him. "Maybe," he murmured, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "We work well together."

Alfred’s expression softened, but his voice carried its usual weight of wisdom. "Teamwork is one thing, but you've been rather preoccupied with her in other ways, haven't you? I daresay, Master Wayne, you're a bit happier these days."

Bruce chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. "We’re not together anymore, Alfred. She’s a coworker." The words felt wrong coming out of Bruce’s mouth.

Alfred studied him for a moment longer before speaking. "You know, there are worse fates than working with someone you care about, even if things aren’t as they once were. Perhaps it's not the end of the story yet."

Bruce looked down, his fingers tracing the edges of his cufflink absentmindedly. "Maybe not. But I don’t want to pressure her into anything. She’s been through a lot, and so have I. If working together is all we can manage right now... I’ll take it."

Alfred stepped back, straightening the lapel of Bruce's jacket before placing his hands behind his back. "Well, if nothing else, Master Wayne, it’s shaping up to be a lovely evening. I trust you’ll make the most of it."

Bruce gave a nod, but his thoughts were already elsewhere. His mind drifted to the image of Marie—her fierce determination, her humor, and the way she always challenged him.

It was more than just admiration; he cared about her deeply, and despite the distance between them now, he couldn’t help but hold on to the hope that maybe tonight could be different.

With a deep breath, Bruce adjusted his jacket one final time, turning toward the door. "I guess we’ll see what happens."

Alfred gave him a reassuring smile as he followed behind. "Indeed, sir. Shall I ready the car?"

Bruce nodded. "Yeah. Let’s get this party started."

—-------------------------------

The soft evening breeze off Gotham Harbor brushed against Marie’s skin as she stepped onto the grand yacht, her heels clicking lightly on the polished deck.

The scent of saltwater and expensive cologne mingled with the faint notes of the orchestra playing in the background, reminding her how far removed this was from the rough streets of Gotham.

The twilight sky was a mix of soft pinks and purples, reflecting off the calm waters, but it was the lights of the yacht that stole the attention. Music played faintly from the upper deck, where Gotham’s elite mingled and sipped champagne.

Marie tugged at the fabric of her deep navy blue gown, smoothing out a wrinkle as she walked alongside Commissioner Gordon. The dress hugged her figure perfectly, flowing elegantly around her legs as she moved. The halter neckline left her shoulders bare, with her long dark curls cascading down her back in soft waves.

“You clean up nice, Manning,” Gordon teased lightly, giving her a sidelong glance.

Marie chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t get used to it. The next time you see me, I’ll be in a Kevlar vest and jeans.”

Gordon grinned, adjusting his tie as they approached the entrance. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As they entered the party, greeting a few familiar faces from the department and city officials, Marie’s eyes shifted toward the front of the yacht, where Bruce stood, speaking with a small group of guests.

Even from a distance, Bruce exuded his usual charm—tall, impeccably dressed in a black tuxedo, his hair neatly styled, and a faint smile playing on his lips as he politely engaged in conversation with several people at once, all mesmerized by his charm.

“Notice you haven’t mentioned Bruce much lately,” Gordon remarked casually, keeping his voice low as they approached the party. “How are you guys doing?”

Marie glanced at Gordon, her lips curling into a slight smile. “We’re… taking things extra slow,” she replied, her tone light but with a hint of something more beneath it. “If you can even call it that.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow but didn’t pry. “Ah. I see.”

She gave a small shrug, her eyes lingering on Bruce for a moment before looking back at Gordon. “Honestly, we’re not really together anymore.”

Gordon nodded thoughtfully, his hands slipping into his pockets as they continued walking. “I won’t push. But I’ve always liked him. He’s always been supportive of the department—this is what, the second fundraiser he’s thrown for the GCPD in the last few months?”

Gordon’s gaze softened, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “He’s got a good heart, despite what people say about him just being a playboy. And it doesn’t hurt that he has… well, resources.” He paused, sweeping his hand toward the grandeur of the yacht—its gleaming decks, the dazzling lights casting reflections on the water.

He went on, "I don’t think I’ve ever said more than a few words to the guy before, you know."

Marie smirked to herself. You’ve definitely said more than a few words to him.

Her thoughts trailed back to how deeply Bruce was connected to the GCPD, not just as himself but as Batman. She wondered if Gordon ever suspected, but that was a conversation for another day.

The atmosphere was vibrant, laughter and the clinking of glasses echoing in the night air. Servers weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The yacht, with its glittering lights, felt like a world apart from the gritty reality she was used to.

Marie scanned the party, taking in the sights of Gotham’s elite, but her mind wandered back to Bruce. It felt strange, being here like this—so close, yet still keeping a distance.

Gordon, sensing her momentary distraction, gave her a soft nudge. “Come on, let’s make the rounds before you slip off to wherever you plan to disappear to.”

Marie smiled, following Gordon into the crowd, but her eyes couldn’t help but drift back to Bruce, who had already noticed her arrival.

Bruce excused himself from the group he was speaking to as soon as he saw Marie and Gordon approaching.

His eyes found Marie, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background. She looked stunning—breathtaking, even. The deep navy gown hugged her figure perfectly, the soft waves of her hair catching the light just right.

For someone who was always so focused and no-nonsense, there was something about seeing her like this, outside of the chaos of their usual world, that stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, a subtle, warm smile tugging at his lips as he walked toward her, every other distraction fading into insignificance.

“Commissioner Gordon, Marie,” Bruce greeted with a nod, his voice smooth but a touch warmer than the usual Wayne charm he used at events like these.

“Mr. Wayne,” Gordon responded with a polite nod. His formalities were a front, as always, but Bruce could see the familiar warmth in his eyes.

Bruce's eyes locked onto Marie, and for a moment, he forgot to speak. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, his gaze tracing the way the lights caught in her hair and the warmth in her eyes. She noticed, her lips curving into a soft smile, breaking the silence for him.

"Hey, Bruce," she said, her voice warm but a bit guarded, though she didn’t pull her gaze from his. "Quite the event you’ve put together."

Bruce gave a slight shrug, his smile deepening as his eyes remained on her. “Had to keep things interesting. I was really hoping to see you here.”

Before Marie could respond, a woman from the crowd—a socialite Bruce barely recognized—swept in with bubbly enthusiasm. “Detective Manning! Oh, it’s been forever. You look lovely. Come, you must meet the newest member from the city’s cultural council.”

Marie glanced at Bruce, her smile tightening slightly. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

With that, she was whisked away, leaving Bruce watching her disappear into the crowd.

—-------------------------------

The lights of the yacht cast shimmering reflections across the dark sea, laughter and clinking glasses mingling with the soft lap of waves. Bruce leaned against the railing to take a brief respite between mingling, his gaze shifting between the guests around him, though his attention briefly wandered elsewhere.

With a practiced motion, he slipped his hand into his jacket, fingers brushing over the slim device hidden within. It was a compact, high-frequency scanner he always kept on him, subtly tuned to the city's emergency channels.

Tonight might be a rare moment away from Gotham’s shadows, but he knew better than to drop his guard completely. The scanner offered a quiet reassurance—a link to the undercurrents of the city, alerting him to any crime that might demand his presence. This was part of who he was now, a constant awareness of the other life he led.

Satisfied by the silence on the scanner, he allowed himself a slow exhale, just as Gordon approached with a whiskey in each hand. Bruce slipped his hand out of his pocket, straightening, trying to ease into the rare luxury of a normal evening—at least for a moment.

"Some event you put on, Bruce," Gordon started, handing Bruce a whiskey, "And I’ve got to say, I’m pretty damn impressed that you threw this entire yacht party just to impress Manning."

Bruce shot him a sidelong glance, half a smirk pulling at his lips. "That obvious?"

Gordon chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, Bruce. This is the second GCPD event you’ve hosted this year. Either you’re gunning for Gotham’s Philanthropist of the Decade, or you’ve got your eye on one of my detectives. And between you and me, I don’t think it’s the philanthropy.”

Bruce shrugged, trying to downplay it. "It’s not just for her."

"Sure," Gordon replied, raising an eyebrow. "It’s for the other 200 guests you barely know."

Bruce sighed, his smirk fading. He wasn’t about to deny it. Marie was the reason he was here, the reason he’d gone through all the trouble. "She’s important."

Gordon gave a little shrug, his mouth quirking up as if he couldn't argue even if he tried. “Can’t say you're wrong there,” he replied, glancing around the deck with a hint of amusement.

Moments passed in comfortable silence, the sound of the waves lapping against the yacht blending with the music and mingling guests.

Gordon’s eyes narrowed as he watched Marie across the party. “Listen, Bruce, I see her like a daughter. She’s tough as nails, but she’s been through hell. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

Bruce met Gordon’s intense gaze. “We aren’t dating anymore, Commissioner. Marie made it clear.”

Gordon leaned in slightly, his voice low and firm. “I get that, but let’s not kid ourselves. I can see it in both your eyes. There’s still something there, and you know it.”

Bruce swallowed hard, the weight of Gordon’s words pressing on him. After a moment, he admitted, “I love her.” The air was thick with honesty.

Gordon studied Bruce for a moment, then sighed, crossing his arms. “Look, when you find someone like Marie, you don’t let that go. Not for anything.”

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Gordon cut him off, his voice low but firm. “We always make it harder than it needs to be. You think this stuff just falls into place? Hell no. You’ve got to put in the work. You care about her, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Bruce said, frustration edging into his voice.

Gordon’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Then show her. You don’t get many shots at something like this, kid. Don’t screw it up.”

Bruce nodded, the weight of Gordon’s words hitting him. He knew he was right.

Gordon leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Fight for her. She’s worth it.”

Without another word, Bruce pushed off from the railing and moved through the crowd, weaving between guests and waitstaff. As he neared, he caught sight of Marie, her face lighting up the moment their eyes met. She excused herself from the group she’d been chatting with and walked toward him.

“Bruce,” she greeted with that warm, playful tone he loved. “Looks like you survived Gordon’s pep talk.”

He smirked, leaning closer. “Just barely.”

Marie chuckled, the sound sending a rush of warmth through him. “I have to say, this party is a lot more fun than I expected.”

“Yeah, well…” Bruce began, his heart thudding in his chest. He knew he needed to say more—everything he’d just talked about with Gordon—but as she looked at him, the words got stuck in his throat. Her smile was warm and genuine, the creases by her eyes deepening with the sincerity of it. It was the kind of smile that made him forget everything else for a moment.

He chickened out. “Uh, did you try the fried shrimp cocktail yet?” he asked as a poor attempt to pivot. “I had them use Panko breadcrumbs because I know they’re your favorite.”

Marie burst out laughing, eyes twinkling. “Oh, I’ve already stashed a handful in my purse for later.”

Bruce’s face lit up, but before he could respond, a blonde socialite in a slinky red dress sidled up beside him, her gaze laser-focused on him, “Well, if it isn’t Bruce Wayne!” she purred, sidling up to him with a flirtatious smile. “You still haven’t gotten back to me about that dinner invitation I sent.”

Bruce turned, forcing a polite smile. “Hey, Tiffany. Sorry about that. Work has been... busy lately.”

“Busy?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow playfully. “You must be the busiest billionaire in Gotham. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward. “No, not at all. Just juggling a lot right now. You know how it is.”

Tiffany stepped closer, a teasing glint in her eye. “Well, I’d hate to think I’m not a priority. How about we make up for lost time and grab dinner this week?”

Bruce shifted his weight slightly, caught between courtesy and discomfort. “That sounds nice, but I really can’t commit to anything right now. I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

“In that case, would you do me the honor of a dance?” She responded.

Bruce tensed, stealing a glance at Marie, who raised an eyebrow, amused at watching Bruce squirm.

Tiffany turned to Marie, her smile sugary sweet but laced with sharpness. “I hope you don’t mind, darling. It’s just one dance, after all. You two aren’t… together, right?”

Marie casually placed her hand on her hip, her expression calm and nonchalant as the socialite practically draped herself over Bruce, eager for a dance. “We’re not,” Marie said coolly, her tone dismissive. “You two go ahead. Have fun.”

Bruce shot her a quick glance, his eyes pleading for rescue—an unmistakable look that only she could interpret as help me.

But Marie, enjoying the moment far too much, simply smiled, raising her eyebrows as if to say you’re on your own.

With Marie’s calm demeanor offering no way out, Bruce forced a polite smile, suppressing a groan. “Alright,” he sighed, offering his hand to the socialite. “Just one.”

Marie bit her lip, barely stifling a laugh as the woman eagerly pulled Bruce toward the dance floor, leaving him to navigate the awkward situation on his own.

As he led her to the dance floor, Bruce felt a mix of obligation and disappointment swirling in his chest.

As they began to dance, he tried to engage in small talk with Tiffany, but his mind kept drifting back to Marie. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, and a pang of regret hit him as he noticed the slight furrow of her brow.

The music swelled, and he moved through the dance with practiced ease, but it felt hollow. With every spin and turn, he wanted to be with Marie, to share this moment with her. But the socialite kept chatting, her laughter ringing in his ears as he forced himself to nod along, all the while stealing glances back at Marie.

Marie stood there, watching them dance. At first, a small smirk tugged at her lips, amused by the sight of Bruce being his usual charming, polished self. It was almost funny watching him try to navigate Tiffany’s relentless flirtation. Any girl would be lucky to dance with Bruce Wayne—Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, tall, handsome, and effortlessly charismatic.

But as the dance went on, her amusement faded, replaced by a dull ache she hadn’t expected. The way Tiffany’s hand rested on his shoulder, the easy smile Bruce wore, even though Marie knew he was just being polite—it all stirred something deeper within her. A part of her hated seeing him like that, so close to another woman, even if it was just a casual dance.

They were work partners again, and she really did enjoy that. Working with Batman was exhilarating, and their dynamic had always been strong, even when things were... complicated. But if she was being honest, it wasn’t the case-solving or the late-night stakeouts that made her heart race. It was being around Bruce. Just Bruce.

Watching him hold Tiffany, even in something as simple as a formal waltz, brought back memories of how he used to hold her. There was an intimacy to it, one that she missed more than she’d let herself admit.

Without another thought, she turned sharply, slipping away into the crowd, needing space from the sight that unsettled her more than she cared to acknowledge.

When the song finally ended, he turned to look for her, only to find that she had vanished. The tightness in his chest deepened, and he felt a surge of frustration. Where did she go?

As soon as the dance ended, Bruce weaved through the party, a faint sense of unease growing in his chest. He spotted Gordon near the bar again and quickly made his way over.

“Have you seen Marie?” Bruce asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the edge in his voice.

Gordon looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “She’s probably slipped away to somewhere quieter. You know how she is with these events.”

Bruce nodded, already turning to leave. He scanned the deck and the various corners of the yacht, but she was nowhere to be found in the bustling crowd. The tension in his chest tightened as he slipped through the more secluded areas of the ship, away from the noise and chatter.

Finally, he found her. She was standing alone on a private deck, leaning against the railing, the moonlight casting a soft glow over her figure as the waves rolled gently below. The sound of the party was distant here, replaced by the quiet hum of the sea.

He approached slowly, his voice low and smooth. “There you are.”

Marie didn’t turn to face him, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Needed some air,” she replied, her tone casual but carrying an unmistakable edge.

Bruce stepped closer, concern etched on his brow. “You didn’t have to disappear.”

Finally turning to him, she crossed her arms, a playful smirk forming. “What, so I could watch you twirl with the bitch in the red dress?”

“The bitch in the red dress,” he began, trying to sound more at ease than he felt, “is a woman I’d keep up with casually—at least as far as the social scene goes. You know, the kind of thing I have to do to keep up appearances... keep the playboy image alive.” He gave a casual shrug, trying to dismiss any notion of it being anything more than that.

Marie tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Right,” she teased, her tone dripping with humor. “Keeping up appearances... Must’ve been so hard to sleep around with all that ‘work’ you had to do. I’m sure it was such a sacrifice.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and Bruce felt the heat rise in his cheeks, clearly caught off guard.

He gave her a mock glare. “You’re making it sound worse than it was. I was seeing Tiffany before I met you, I might add.”

Marie raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Well, thank you for clarifying, Bruce. I still didn’t want to watch you dance with her, though.”

“You told me to,” he shot back, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it,” she quipped, a playful challenge in her voice.

Bruce joined her at the railing, leaning casually, the cool night air wrapping around them as they stared out at the water. The sounds of the party faded into a distant hum.

“You know,” Marie said, breaking the silence, her tone thoughtful, “I was just thinking about that first night we met. At the GCPD gala you hosted at Wayne Manor. That was the first time I actually met you as Bruce Wayne—didn't have a clue I’d already crossed paths with Batman.”

Bruce turned to her, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. “I think about that night more often than I’d like to admit.”

She paused, a teasing glimmer in her eyes. “I’m starting to think you planned that whole event just to meet me.”

Bruce laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

She scrunched her nose playfully. “What can I say? I’m a little slow on the uptake sometimes.”

“Look, I couldn’t exactly ask you out as Batman. So I needed a way to meet you as... me. The fundraiser was my shot. I figured it was the best chance to sweep you off your feet—without the mask, without all the shadows. Just me, Bruce.” He smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.

Her eyes locked onto his, curiosity flaring. “It’s kind of flattering, you know, that you threw that party just to ask me out.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “Just like how I threw this whole party just to see you tonight.”

Her breath caught slightly at his words. “You could’ve just called, you know,” she said, a hint of vulnerability creeping in.

“I have been,” he replied, his voice sincere.

When silence lingered, he took a deep breath, laying it all out. “I miss you.”

The words hung in the air before Marie responded.

“You see me at work,” she said, glancing away toward the water, her voice tinged with sadness.

“I miss you—everything about you,” he confessed, his heart laid bare before her. The weight of his words were heavy and electric. “I love having you back as my partner, but I miss having the rest of you too.”

The world around them faded into a blur, both lost in the gravity of their shared history. Bruce took a small step back, cautious not to overwhelm her with the depth of his feelings.

Sensing that Marie wanted to move on from the subject, Bruce said, “By the way, your necklace is beautiful,” his eyes drawn to the delicate piece resting against her collarbone. The blue gemstone caught the soft glow of the lights, shimmering like the depths of the ocean.

“Thanks. I picked it out myself,” she replied, a shy smile flickering to life on her lips.

“You always have an eye for the best ones,” he said, genuine admiration lacing his tone.

“Not when it comes to men,” she shot back, smirking, and Bruce feigned a dramatic gasp.

“Hey now, that was low,” he teased, laughter spilling from his lips, but it was a fleeting moment of levity.

She laughed before softening for a moment, "It’s actually been nice working with you again.”

Bruce smirked, catching the shift. "I’ll take that as a compliment. I agree."

Marie rolled her eyes, teasing. "If I’ve got to have a partner, I suppose I’m glad it’s you. Though sometimes, I wonder if I’d be better off going solo. You know, like a Lone Wolf."

She smirked before continuing, "Who knows, maybe I’ll throw on some black leather and start my own vigilante gig."

"Oh yeah?" Bruce crossed his arms, leaning in a little closer. "You’re sounding pretty damn confident. You really think you’d be better off working cases by yourself?"

Marie crossed her arms, a smirk tugging at her lips. "The Red Lotus case would’ve been wrapped up by now if you hadn’t swooped in at the Billiard’s Club and almost gotten my nose broken."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Sorry again about that." He paused, then added with a teasing grin, "But in my defense, you could’ve ducked faster when Zucco threw the punch."

Marie scoffed, leaning further against the railing. "If you hadn’t broken in there, Zucco would’ve given me the information we needed to catch Maroni. Rookie mistake, Wayne."

Bruce leaned in slightly, his gaze steady on hers. "So, you think you could do my job better?"

"Better? Hell yeah," she said, tapping her chin as if seriously considering it. "Step one: stop with all the brooding. Step two: maybe ditch the cape. Little dramatic, don’t you think?"

Bruce chuckled. "The cape’s staying. It's fucking iconic."

Marie gave him a look, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Iconic? Please. I'd pull it off better than you, no contest."

They laughed together, a sound that felt natural and easy. It had been so long since they'd just talked like this—no cases, no weight of the world pressing down on them. Just them. Bruce found himself smiling, more at the feeling of the moment than anything else.

Bruce glanced at her, his grin lingering. "You know what? You’d look sexy in the suit."

Marie raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. "Sexy? Now you’re just trying to charm me, Wayne."

He smirked, shrugging. "Just saying. Gotham wouldn’t stand a chance."

Marie shook her head, her grin wide. "You wouldn’t stand a chance."

For a moment, they both paused, realizing how good it felt to be laughing, teasing each other again. It was like slipping back into something comfortable, something real—something they’d both missed.

Bruce leaned back slightly, still watching her. "It’s nice, you know? Talking like this again."

Marie’s smile softened. "Yeah. It really is."

She shifted her weight against the rail before asking, “So, do you have any other guests to mingle with, or am I hogging your time?” Her gaze shifted away from him, a defensive wall rising as if she could distance herself from the truth swirling between them. The air thickened once more as she grew serious again.

Bruce leaned in closer, the sincerity in his voice dropping to a whisper. “Honestly? You’re the only one I want to be with tonight. Everyone else can wait.”

Her eyes narrowed, skepticism creeping into her expression. “Bruce…”

Seeing the opportunity, Bruce went for it, “Marie, I don’t want to just be partners again. I want more.”

Her expression hardened, the walls around her heart building higher. “Bruce, I don’t want to get caught up in this again. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” he echoed, stepping closer, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “What about it is complicated? I’m in love with you, Marie.”

His confession hung heavy in the air, bold and raw. His resolve remained unwavering as he stood there, determined.

A lump formed in her throat as she searched his eyes for a hint of uncertainty, but all she found was honesty. “You can’t just throw that around. Do you have any idea how hard this has been for me?” Her voice trembled.

“Then say it back,” he urged gently, desperation flashing in his eyes. “If you don’t love me, I’ll back off. We can just be work partners, nothing more.”

The silence pressed down on them, thick and unyielding, as Bruce stood there, grappling with everything he wanted to say. His voice was quieter when he finally spoke, but there was an urgency to it, something raw.

Bruce’s voice was steady but raw, each word heavy. “You know, every damn time I’m out there—every time I’m in the line of fire—I think of you. You’re in my head, Marie. I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

Marie’s breath caught, her heartbeat quickening as the weight of his words settled over her. She swallowed, her eyes dropping for a second, her mind swirling with the memories they shared—the nights at the docks, the chaos at the Iceberg Lounge, that first kiss in the shadows of Wayne Manor. “Bruce, it’s not that simple. There’s so much at risk.”

His eyes flashed, and he took a step closer, voice rough with frustration. “You think I don’t get it? Every fucking night I leave that cave, I know what’s at stake. But you—” he broke off, jaw clenched, as he forced himself to take a breath, softening just a bit. “I need you.”

He didn’t break eye contact, and in that moment, there was nothing between them but truth.

The air between them was charged, heavy with everything unsaid. Her lips parted as if to answer, but the words tangled in her throat, caught in the push and pull of fear and longing. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just stared at him, her mind racing.

Bruce, almost instinctively, lifted his hand to her face, his fingers brushing her cheek with a tenderness that made her eyes flutter shut. His touch was warm, grounding her, silently urging her to speak. She leaned into his palm, a deep breath filling her lungs as she tried to gather the strength to say what needed to be said.

"I did," she whispered, the confession hanging between them like a fragile thread about to snap. "But I don’t anymore."

The words fell from her lips, each one cutting through him like a blade. Her hand reached up, gently but deliberately removing his from her face, breaking their connection. The absence of her warmth left him cold.

Bruce’s heart shattered at her words, the weight of her rejection hitting him harder than he’d anticipated. He fought the urge to flinch, his breath catching in his chest. For a moment, he just stared at her, hoping there was some misstep, some misunderstanding. But the cold finality in her eyes told him otherwise.

His hands flexed into fists at his sides, the raw edge of hurt palpable in his voice as he spoke, quieter than before, almost restrained. “Understood.”

The word barely made it out of his throat, but he couldn't trust himself to say anything more. His mind was spinning, thoughts racing between anger, sadness, and disbelief.

Without waiting for a response, he took a step back, distancing himself, the overwhelming sting of rejection like a punch to the gut.

"I'll see you in a few days," he said, his voice flatter now, deliberately formal, his gaze already shifting away. The vulnerability he'd shown moments ago was locked behind his defenses again, but it was shaky, and he knew it.

“To connect on the Red Lotus case,” he added, almost mechanically. Business as usual—at least, that’s what he was trying to convince himself. But inside, his heart was a mess of pain and confusion.

His body moved like it was on autopilot, turning away from her as the lump in his throat tightened. His hand shot up, running through his hair in frustration, as if the physical act could somehow scrub the hurt away.

He wanted to be angry, to shut down and walk away clean, but the sadness clung to him, weighing him down. He couldn’t be mad at her, not really—she had her reasons. But that didn’t make the heartbreak any easier to swallow.

As he took another step away, his voice cracked just slightly, betraying the control he was desperately holding onto. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

Those words were hollow, and he knew it. He wanted to say more, to ask why, to beg her to change her mind, to say she didn't mean it—but he couldn’t. He was Bruce Wayne, the one who always kept his cool, who never let the mask slip for too long. He couldn’t risk unraveling in front of her.

He kept walking, each step feeling heavier than the last. His heart pounded in his chest, a storm of emotions crashing against the walls he was so desperately trying to rebuild. He could feel the tears threatening to spill over but swallowed them down, his jaw tightening.

The night around him felt suffocating, and every fiber of him wanted to scream, to let out the frustration, the heartbreak. But all he could do was put one foot in front of the other and force himself away from her.

He heard Marie call after him, faintly, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not now. Not when everything felt so raw and exposed. If he turned around, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep it together.

But then, like a lifeline, she yelled after him again, her voice more urgent. “Bruce—wait!”

His footsteps faltered, his whole body tense. He stopped in his tracks, fighting the urge to turn back, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

And then, the words that nearly broke him all over again: “I love you.”

For a moment, he didn’t process it. It was everything he’d been longing to hear, but it felt so surreal, so sudden after everything that had just passed between them.

He spun slowly to face her, the shock rippling across his features. For a moment, all the emotions he had fought to bury surged back up, overwhelming him. And then he saw her—standing there against the railing, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, her figure tense but still.

The night air tousled her hair, and her eyes, wide and vulnerable, locked onto his. She was gripping the railing as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded, her knuckles white against the dark metal. Her lips trembled slightly, the weight of her confession sitting in the space between them.

“I... I love you,” she repeated, her voice unsteady but resolute. The rawness in her gaze mirrored the same emotion he'd shown earlier—exposed, fragile, but undeniably real.

Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and her vulnerability struck him with the force of a tidal wave. For the first time, he truly saw her—open, terrified, and yet standing tall in that moment of truth.

The moonlight caught the sheen in her eyes, the slight quiver in her lower lip, but her words, though trembling, didn’t falter. They were full of conviction, and it hit him just how close he'd come to walking away from something that still held hope.

Bruce could barely process it. His mind was still swimming in the pain of rejection, but now there was hope—a light in the darkness. Slowly, he took a step toward her, like he was testing the ground beneath him, afraid that if he moved too quickly, the moment would shatter.

“I’ve loved you this whole time,” she continued, her voice catching.

Bruce blinked, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to catch up with everything that was happening.

Her admission was like a balm on the wound, slowly healing the raw edges of his heartbreak. As he stepped closer, the sadness that had weighed him down moments before began to lift, replaced by something fragile but real—hope.

His voice was barely audible as he said, “Then why did you say that you don’t?”

Marie took a shaky breath, her eyes glistening. “Because it’s easier to be mad at you than to face how much I care. How much I’ve always cared.” She felt her composure faltering, her vulnerability laying bare before him. “You’re Batman. You live in danger every single day. I can’t bear the thought of losing you to the darkness that surrounds you.”

Her breath caught as fear and longing wrestled for control. “And then I start thinking, what if we try again, and what if it doesn’t work out? What if we’re just two people caught in a cycle of pain and heartbreak?”

He swallowed hard, the words pressing at the back of his throat as he looked at her, standing there with her heart exposed. He took a deep breath, stepping toward her, his voice thick with emotion. “I know what’s at stake,” Bruce said, his voice low, the weight of his words lingering in the air. “I feel it every night I step out there.”

The silence returned, heavy and thick. Marie felt her walls crumbling, and she wrestled with the chaos of her feelings.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, tears threatening to spill. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t go through that again.”

“Then don’t lose me,” Bruce said, stepping closer again, his voice firm yet gentle. “I’m standing right here. I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach for her, but he held back, the weight of the moment pressing him to hold onto whatever restraint he had left. “Say you love me again, and I’m not letting you go this time.”

Marie’s eyes softened, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she finally let herself speak the words that had been swirling in her chest for so long. “I love you.”

As soon as the words left her lips, he closed the distance between them in an instant, his expression shifting from longing to determination. He captured her lips in a fierce kiss, pinning her against the railing, the world around them dissolving into nothingness. All that remained was the two of them.

Their lips met in a rush of urgency and desire, a wild mingling of pent-up emotions that had been simmering for far too long. Marie melted into him, every worry and doubt dissipating as she surrendered to the moment, losing herself in the heat of their connection.

When Bruce finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against hers, their breath mingling, heavy and uneven. His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a promise. "Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to be scared anymore."

Marie’s heart pounded against her chest as she stared into his eyes. For the first time in a long time, the fear in her heart was eclipsed by something else—hope, love, and the undeniable pull between them.

Bruce kissed her again—this time with even more intensity, a fierce declaration of everything they’d been holding back. He pressed her harder against the rail, his lips moving against hers like a vow. It wasn’t gentle; it was urgent, desperate, as though he was claiming her, body and soul.

As the kiss deepened, their hands explored—his fingers tangled in her hair, while she traced the strong line of his jaw. They lost themselves in the moment, time slipping away until a soft creak shattered the intensity.

The door to the balcony swung open, and Alfred stood there, eyes wide with surprise. Realizing the scene before him, he quickly averted his gaze, the faintest smile creeping onto his face as he cleared his throat. “Master Wayne,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with amusement, “the Mayor of Gotham has arrived. He’s asking for you.”

Bruce sighed, reluctantly pulling back just enough to meet Marie’s gaze. The heat of their connection still lingered in the air, but he softened as he brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Tell him I’ll be right there, Alfred,” he replied, his voice gravelly, laced with unspent desire.

Alfred nodded, keeping his eyes respectfully averted as he discreetly retreated, closing the door behind him. The charged silence returned, thick with the promise of what was to come.

Bruce leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of Marie’s ear as he growled low, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ll be back,” he promised, his voice laced with a mix of desire and vulnerability that made her toes curl. “Stay right here,” he murmured, the words carrying a darker undertone that sent a shiver down her spine.

He pressed one last, lingering kiss to her neck, savoring the warmth of her skin before reluctantly stepping away. Bruce ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down, his fingers lingering for a moment as he tried to regain his composure and pull himself together.

He glanced back at Marie, his gaze softening for a heartbeat, before taking a deep breath and turning to head out to meet the Mayor, his steps heavy with the tension of leaving her behind.

The door clicked shut, leaving Marie alone, her mind spinning in the aftermath of the heated moment. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, still swollen from the force of his kiss, her pulse racing.

Her thoughts spiraled. She hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, not tonight. But being with Bruce felt so natural, so right, like coming home after being gone for far too long. The way he kissed her—fierce, unapologetic, and so full of emotion—it was everything she had feared but everything she needed.

She loved him.

She loved Bruce Wayne, and it wasn’t just the man he was underneath the mask. It wasn’t the mystery or the danger that clung to him. It was his strength, his vulnerability, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in a world filled with chaos.

The thought of losing him terrified her, but the idea of not being with him was worse.

Marie shook her head, pacing the small, private balcony in small circles. Every time she told herself she needed to be rational, that she had to protect herself from heartbreak, the memory of his touch, the feel of his lips against hers, shattered that resolve.

She couldn’t deny it anymore. She was in love with Bruce, wholly and irrevocably, and no matter what danger lay ahead, she was ready to face it—with him.

Minutes passed, though they felt like hours, as Marie’s heart beat louder in her ears. The door suddenly opened, and Bruce stepped back in. The intense look from earlier returned, but now, a playful smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Before Marie could even react, Bruce was standing in front of her, pulling her into his arms with a quiet intensity. He kissed her, hard and deep, as if he couldn’t wait another second. His hands gripped her waist, lifting her off the ground in one smooth motion, and the world around them seemed to disappear.

When they finally broke for air, Bruce’s forehead rested against hers, his breath coming fast. He looked at her, his eyes dark with something fierce. “I love you,” he said, his voice rough and raw. “I love you, and I swear to God, I’m not going anywhere now. Not for anything.”

She grinned, feeling the warmth of his words seep into her very core. "I love you too," she whispered, her voice tinged with both affection and disbelief that they had finally arrived at this moment.

Bruce kissed her again, softer this time, but just as intense. His lips moved against hers with a tenderness that made her heart swell, and he tightened his grip on her, cradling her like she was something precious.

Slowly, he carried her out of the room and down the hallway toward a stateroom.

They barely made it through the doorway before Bruce kicked the door shut behind them, pressing Marie against it as they continued kissing. His hands roamed her back, feeling the softness of her, while her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, all of him.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and rough with desire. "I’ve wanted to be with you like this, to feel you like this…"

Marie’s heart raced as she kissed him back with equal passion, her breath catching at the intensity of it all. She had never felt so alive, so consumed by love and desire all at once.

The heat between them was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. Every kiss, every touch, was filled with unspoken promises, with the depth of emotion they had both been too scared to admit until now.

Bruce pulled her closer, his hands firm but gentle as he carried her further into the room, laying her down on the bed with careful precision. He gently lowered himself onto her, their bodies entwined. A sense of peace washed over them, a moment suspended in time.

She could feel the hard contours of his body pressing into her, the heat radiating off him igniting every nerve ending.

Their mouths met again, a fierce collision that spoke volumes. As they kissed, the longing that had built over months poured out of them, their desperation palpable in the way they clung to each other.

Bruce’s hands roamed along the curve of her back, his touch warm and possessive as he pulled her closer, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a long-lost puzzle. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring herself against him as if he were her only lifeline.

She could feel the strength in his muscles beneath her fingertips, the way he radiated warmth, and it made her heart race.

They lost themselves in each other, reveling in the heat, the urgency, and the overwhelming love that pulsed between them like a heartbeat—a reminder that they were meant to be, despite the chaos that surrounded them.

Unsure of how much time had passed, Bruce and Marie pulled away, their breaths mingling in the charged air. Reality began to seep back in, and the weight of the world slowly returned. Bruce’s eyes softened, still filled with emotion as he gently kissed her forehead.

“Hey,” he murmured, a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. “We have ice cream waiting for us in the butler's kitchen.”

Marie chuckled softly, the remnants of their passion still lingering in the air, and nodded. “Ice cream sounds perfect right now.”

They walked hand in hand through the dimly lit corridors of Wayne Manor, the sounds of the gala fading behind them. As they entered the butler's kitchen, a comforting scent of vanilla wafted through the air, mixing with the coolness of the space. Bruce opened the freezer and pulled out a container, his expression shifting to playful mischief.

“I have both of your favorites, chocolate fudge or classic vanilla. What are you feeling tonight?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Chocolate fudge, obviously,” she replied, grinning as she hopped up onto the counter, swinging her legs slightly.

As he scooped the ice cream into two bowls, the earlier intensity of their conversation lingered like a warm blanket around them. Marie watched him, her heart swelling at the sight of him in this light—vulnerable yet strong, a man she had long admired.

Bruce stepped in front of Marie, standing between her legs as she sat on the counter. He set the bowls of ice cream down beside her, his hands resting casually on the counter’s edge, close to her hips. His tall frame filled the small space, creating a sense of closeness between them. Marie, her legs gently swinging off the side of the counter, scooped a spoonful of ice cream, her lips curling into a soft smile.

The kitchen was quiet, the faint hum of the night outside surrounding them. Bruce’s gaze stayed on her face, noticing the way the dim light softened her features—the relaxed curve of her lips, the subtle warmth in her eyes. He hadn’t touched his ice cream yet, too caught up in the rare moment of peace between them, the closeness they rarely shared like this.

Marie absentmindedly brushed her fingers against his wrist as she took another bite, the gesture light but intimate, and the silence between them felt comfortable, as if they didn’t need words to fill the space.

“I was thinking,” Marie began playfully, “If you gave me some more time, I would’ve figured out you were Batmanon my own.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh really? And how exactly would you have figured that out?”

She leaned closer to him, a teasing grin on her lips. “I don’t know, maybe all the late nights and the brooding? Or the way you magically disappear whenever Gotham is in trouble. I mean, come on, it’s not rocket science.”

Bruce chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Okay, fair point.”

Bruce stepped closer, positioning himself between Marie’s legs as she sat on the kitchen counter. He placed the bowls of ice cream beside her and leaned in, his hands resting lightly on the counter by her hips. The small space between them felt intimate, the night’s quiet hum settling around them like a comforting blanket.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice low. "You know, I almost told you so many times. About Batman. About everything."

Marie paused mid-bite, her spoon hanging in the air as she looked at him. "You did?"

Bruce nodded, his expression serious. "That night at the docks... I thought I was going to die. I kept thinking, if something happened to me, I couldn't leave you in the dark. I didn't want you to never know."

Her eyes softened, understanding replacing the initial surprise. "You really thought you were going to die?"

Bruce exhaled slowly, his gaze intense. "Yeah. I had to consider it. And more than anything, I didn't want to go without you knowing the truth. Keeping it from you always felt... wrong."

Marie let his words settle, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She reached out, her fingers brushing his forearm. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she rubbed his arm slowly.

She took a long breath, her voice gentle yet filled with weight. “You know,” she said, breaking the quiet between them, “when you were bleeding out on the docks, and when I saw Alfred patching you up at your house… I haven’t felt that helpless since I was a kid, watching my dad die.”

Bruce’s gaze shifted, brow furrowing, wanting her to continue.

She looked away, caught in the memory. “When he got shot while working a case. I remember visiting him in the hospital after it happened. He was hooked up to all these machines, tubes everywhere, and I just stood there... frozen.”

She took a breath before going on, “I was a kid, but I knew what it meant. Seeing him so weak, lying there... I felt powerless. I didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to go home without him, but I had to. The fear of losing him, of walking out of that hospital without my dad, it was paralyzing.”

Marie paused, the silence heavy between them, before she looked up at Bruce, her eyes clouded with the memory. “And when I saw you... lying there at the docks, barely holding on... it was like being back in that hospital room. That same helpless feeling all over again. Except this time, I wasn’t a kid. When you pulled your mask up, and I saw that you were Bruce, my Bruce… I was watching the most important person in my life slip away. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

She set her ice cream bowl aside, her entire focus on him now. The vulnerability in her voice made Bruce’s chest tighten.

He reached up, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch soft. “I never wanted to put you through something like that.” He whispered to her.

Her hand came up to meet his, resting his palm against her cheek. She closed her eyes at the warmth of his touch. “I’ve seen you take on so much. You were always this invincible figure to me, even when I didn’t know who was behind the mask.”

His thumb rubbed her cheek as she continued, “But that night... I realized you weren’t invincible. And it terrified me.” Her voice faltered, her eyes searching his for understanding. “I realized I could lose my work partner, and the man I love. It felt like the world was closing in. That’s why I ended things with you. I didn’t want to feel that pain again.”

Bruce’s thumb paused, his forehead almost touching hers. His voice was low, laced with emotion. “You don’t know how much I needed you, Marie. Every time I put on that suit, I thought I was protecting you by keeping you out of it. But the truth is, I don’t want to do this without you. I need you by my side—whether I’m wearing the mask or not.”

Her heart pounded at his words, the intensity of his honesty cutting through her. He cupped her face fully now, his thumbs brushing gently against her skin. “I’m not going anywhere, Marie. I swear. Whatever happens, I’ll be right here. We’ll face it all together. No more secrets. No more running.”

Marie’s breath hitched, her forehead leaning against his, their closeness grounding her. “Promise me,” she whispered, her voice almost breaking. “Promise me you won’t keep anything from me again.”

“I promise,” Bruce whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. “You and me—no matter what.”

Marie opened her eyes, her gaze unwavering but soft. “I love you, Bruce.”

A slow, tender smile spread across Bruce’s lips, his usual guarded demeanor melting away in her presence. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers with a gentleness that spoke of everything unsaid. “I love you too, Marie.”

Marie smiled, the weight on her chest lifting. “Here’s to no more secrets,” she said, her voice light yet filled with meaning.

Bruce chuckled softly, his thumb brushing across her lips before resting his hand on the counter beside her. “To no more secrets,” he echoed, his voice steady, a vow to her.

They clinked their ice cream bowls together, the simple gesture carrying the weight of everything they’d shared. It wasn’t just a toast—it was a new beginning. A promise that from now on, they’d face whatever came together, with no more lies, no more running.

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