#but also how i changed? and to read into it and see what i did or didn't write | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eyekoninurarea · 1 day ago

Text

Your Idol

→ daniela avanzini x fem!idol!masc!reader x sophia laforteza

masterlist | prev | next

word count: 10.1k

series summary: in which a struggling girl group was suddenly brought into light when their debut came out of nowhere. everyone thought SIREN5 was just hype; a chaotic rookie group with a pretty concept and no substance. even KATSEYE wasn’t expecting much when they were assigned to mentor them before debut. but the moment the music hit, everything changed.

chapter summary: in which after a traitor called your mother who promptly demanded you come home for a month to recuperate, the katseye girls suddenly found themselves caught in a whirlwind of luxury.

authors note: this is part two of chapter 6! because if I put all of it in one chapter it would've been 20k+ words and honestly that's a lot. also, this is the fluff apology for the first part <33 i love you guys so much, thank you for reading this fic <33

The characterization in this fic does not, in any way, reflect that of the real people portrayed in this fic.

tag(s): fluff, suggestive content, nsfw, mdni (pls i beg), no use of y/n, idol!reader being a loser trapped in a hot body, masc reader, reader having she/her pronouns, rough transitions, shitty characterization, messy, sex jokes, the author doesn't know how the music industry works, miscommunication, sapphic denial, shitty writing, mentions of blood, workaholic!reader, unhealthy coping mechanism, daniela confesses...kinda.

“I called your mother, by the way.”

You jerk upright, eyes wide.

“What?!”

“No, because why would you do that?” you whine, scrambling for your phone like it’s a ticking bomb. “She’s gonna-”

As if on cue it starts ringing. Of course.

You stare at the screen glowing with “Mother 👑👑👑” for a beat too long before answering with a resigned sigh.

“Hi, Mom. I’m okay, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just overfatigue-”

“Good morning to you too, anak,” her voice is crisp, elegant, and already laced with disapproval.

“First of all, you know I don’t trust any doctor who wasn’t trained under Dr. Garcia or someone who doesn’t share our blood. Secondly, only Dr. Garcia is permitted to diagnose you. That is final. You’ll be seeing her within 48 hours.”

You flop back onto the pillows, defeated. “So… she’s flying over?”

“Who says?” another voice cuts in: deep, calm, unmistakably your father’s.

You sit up straighter, panic blooming in your chest. “Dad. Hi. No…wait. Don’t tell me-”

“Rina’s birthday is in three weeks. We always celebrate it here. You’re coming home.”

“Okay, yes, but I’m in a hiatus. We still need to train and prepare and stuff. We can’t just vanish off the face of the planet-”

“Again. Who says? Who asked for your hiatus in the first place?”

“…You didn’t.”

“We did. If you’re going to act like a teenager who collapses in public and keeps secrets from us, then you’re going to be treated like one. You’re staying home until further notice.”

“But the girls-”

“Bring them,” your mother says smoothly. “Their wing is being redecorated as we speak. Soundproofing, private bathrooms, room service, the works. We know how you idols need your privacy.”

“…You’re not serious.”

“Oh, and bring that Laforteza girl too,” your dad adds. “You’re dating her, right?”

“NO?! I am not dating anyone.”

There’s a beat of silence. A shared sigh.

“So who are you in love with?” they ask in unison.

“Why is that any of your business?”

“You are our daughter,” your mom says, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “Tell us before we find out ourselves.”

“You two are insane.”

“We’re efficient,” your father replies dryly. “We’ll send the Gulfstream. The one with 11 seats. Should be enough.”

“No, business class tickets would suffice please, I am begging, don’t make a spectacle-”

“Anak,” your mom says, tone flattening into disbelief

“You have three companies under your name, own two private jets, a real estate portfolio that makes your cousin cry, and a dedicated charity manager because your donations are too many for your actual assistants. You’re in a girl group watched by millions. Bragging isn’t even optional at this point, it’s logic.”

“…What’s your point.”

“We’re sending the jet.”

“But the smallest one, right?”

“Sure,” your dad says too quickly.

“…Okay. But Katseye has schedules and stuff, and I doubt-”

“Their schedule has been cleared. For a month.”

You freeze. “What.”

“What?” your mom echoes, tone perfectly innocent.

“You can’t just buy them!”

“Didn’t have to,” your dad replies. “Their label was very cooperative. See you at home, iha.”

The call ends.

You stare at the ceiling like it personally offended you, then slowly let your head fall back onto the pillow.

You’re going home. With your entire girl group. And Daniela too. And her girl group. And the only thing more terrifying than facing your members after what happened... is facing your parents with them.

God help you.

Daniela ran through the possibilities.

Who the hell had the kind of money to clear their schedule in a blink?

A month’s worth of appearances, shoots, and recordings gone. Wiped clean. Just like that.

She thought of billionaires. Politicians. Maybe some secret CEO of a conglomerate. A crime syndicate, even? A mafia princess?

Or, as Manon so helpfully offered over breakfast, “What if she’s secretly a vampire? Like, an immortal heiress who’s lived through centuries and just… collects empires.”

And then came the final blow.

“Katseye, right?”

A man in a perfectly tailored coat and tie greeted them at the airport entrance, clipboard in hand, earpiece gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

“We sincerely apologize for the delay. If you’d kindly step to the side, your chauffeur is ready.”

“…What chauffeur?” Megan blinked.

Their jaws dropped in unison.

Parked at the curb was not just a van, it was a luxury masterpiece, sleek and black, the kind of thing that looked bulletproof and kissed by royalty. Tinted windows, polished to a mirror shine, and doors that glided open like a cinematic dream.

“I’m afraid it’s still quite a drive to the private hangar,” the man continued. “Please have a little patience.”

Private hangar.

Daniela was expecting a budget red-eye flight, maybe a cramped business class upgrade if they were lucky. She wasn’t expecting this. She wasn’t expecting velvet seats and soft jazz humming from inside the vehicle. She definitely wasn’t expecting-

“Okay, is she just…royalty?” Lara said, mouth agape, spotting the champagne fridge tucked under a glowing shelf lined with six crystal flutes.

“I feel poor,” Manon whispered like she’d just seen God and He was made of diamonds.

“I’m scared to breathe in here,” Megan hissed, sitting on the edge of her seat like any wrong movement might trigger an alarm or a debt.

Yoonchae said nothing, but Daniela clocked the way her shoulders were squared, spine stiff like she was bracing for impact.

Sophia looked oddly composed; like maybe this wasn’t her first brush with wealth but even she couldn’t hide the slight twitch in her brow, like this wasn’t the kind of rich she was used to.

And Daniela? She sat motionless, wide-eyed, sinking slowly into buttery leather that probably cost more than anything she’s ever had in her life combined.

She hadn’t even touched the complimentary bottled water. The label was gold-foiled.

She glanced out the tinted window, brain short-circuiting.

Who the hell were you? And why the hell did you have a private hangar… with its own designated lounge?

More importantly, why were your members just lounging around like this was normal?

The moment KATSEYE stiffly stepped out of the black luxury van, they were ushered into a sleek, unfamiliar building. The cold air-conditioning hit their faces, and so did the overwhelming sight of very, very comfortable sirens.

Amara and Rina were sitting cross-legged on the floor, yelling at each other over Mario Kart displayed on a way-too-large flatscreen.

Cami was reclined on a massage chair, face mask on, cucumbers covering her eyes like she was in the middle of a skincare commercial.

Hana, in full glam, was sipping wine while scrolling Netflix on yet another huge TV.

They blinked.

“Are we hallucinating?” Megan whispered.

Hana turned toward them, smiling as if she were welcoming guests into her vacation home.

“Oh, you’re here! If you haven’t had breakfast yet, there’s a buffet just over there,” she said, gesturing casually to a corner of the lounge where actual chefs were plating smoked salmon.

“The princess’s parents sent gift bags for each of you. Yours should be on the table by the mirror. And uh, basically, you can do whatever you want. The jet’s still being refueled and double-checked.”

Jet?

Before anyone could respond, Cami shrieked and ripped the cucumbers off her eyes.

“HI! You guys have to open your gift bags right now. I need to see your faces.”

Still stunned, staff members handed KATSEYE their respective bags; plush, black leather, and impossibly heavy. Inside, they found embroidered silk robes, fluffy slippers stitched with their names, full-sized luxury skincare, matching toothbrush kits, power banks, and what made all of them freeze, an envelope. Thick. Heavy. Cash.

“What…?” Lara breathed.

“For spending money, so that you don't have to convert to pesos” came a tired voice beside them.

Daniela turned and nearly jumped. You stood next to them, looking like you'd aged a century in a day. Stress clung to you like smoke.

“I swear, I didn’t know they were going to do this,” you muttered, rubbing your temple.

“I tried to rein my family in. I begged them not to be... obnoxious. But apparently my voice means nothing when they get in their moods.”

As if on cue, a woman in a pristine suit entered from a side door, her heels clicking across the marble.

“It’s insulting to assume our family would settle for anything less than perfection for you,” she said crisply.

You sighed. “Everyone, this is my cousin-in-law. Josephine. Just call her Phine.”

The woman gave them a polite, practiced nod. “Pleasure. I’m also one of the many secretaries this princess has right now.”

“Don’t call me that,” you muttered.

Phine didn’t blink. “I’ll call you whatever I like.”

They hadn’t even fully recovered from the gift bags when the lounge staff politely approached and announced, “The jet is ready for boarding.”

Jet.

They were led through a glass corridor where sunlight spilled onto the tarmac, and that’s when they saw it.

A sleek, matte black jet glinted under the morning light, accented with sharp white paneling and soft gold detailing that shimmered like jewelry. It looked like something out of a dystopian sci-fi film: dangerous, beautiful, absurdly luxurious. The kind of vehicle that doesn’t just fly; it dominates the sky.

Manon was the first to speak. “That’s not a jet. That’s a Bond villain lair.”

“No, like…are we being recruited into a private army? A cult?” Megan whispered, her hand gripping her passport a little too tightly.

Daniela couldn’t even bring herself to respond. Her legs moved on their own, eyes wide, trying to memorize every line, every shadow, as if it might vanish if she blinked.

They ascended the private steps into a climate-controlled cabin that didn’t just feel expensive, it felt surreal. The door opened to a long, open space that stretched far beyond what any commercial airline had trained them to expect. A marble-accented dining table sat in the center, lined with twelve plush seats upholstered in soft cream leather. Further down, six more reclining chairs circled a sunken lounge space with a built-in entertainment system that made IMAX look modest.

To the right, a hallway led past an elegant kitchenette, no, kitchen, stocked with actual appliances and a wine fridge. Beyond that were rooms: a full-functioning bathroom with a rainfall shower, a suite with bunkbeds wrapped in silk curtains, and at the very end... a master bedroom.

An actual, honest-to-god master bedroom.

“This isn’t a jet,” Lara finally muttered. “It’s a flying hotel suite. No, a flying palace.”

Yoonchae silently wandered toward the window, lips slightly parted, like she wasn’t sure if this was a dream.

Sophia raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She was visibly rattled, though as always, she wore it well.

Just then, your assistant Phine reappeared with an iPad in hand and a clipped, cheerful voice. “You may sit wherever you’d like, please. Oh and if you can, kindly choose your dinner now so the chefs can get a head start on preparation.”

Chefs? Plural?

Daniela’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. She glanced at Sophia, who finally looked back at her, and in that rare moment, their eyes met in mutual, wordless horror.

They weren’t on a flight anymore. They were on your turf. And it was so wildly, recklessly lavish… it made them wonder just who you’d been this whole time. And what else you’d been hiding.

Before either of them could speak, Amara clapped a hand on their shoulder. “Don’t worry. You get used to it eventually.”

“Oh yeah,” Rina added from her reclined spot near the window, “remember when Cami got harassed at that bar downtown? Miss Princess over here bought the bar. Fired everyone. Turned it into a lesbian lounge with themed trivia nights and an open mic.”

“She renovated it within the week,” Amara confirmed with a grin. “It’s one of our go-to hangouts now.”

Daniela blinked. “Wait, she bought a bar…just like that?”

“Oh yeah. She has a spreadsheet for spontaneous moral vengeance. It’s color-coded,” Cami said, flopping into a seat with a dramatic sigh.

A voice groaned from the top of the stairs.

“Please. For the love of everything holy, stop calling me ‘princess.’” You appeared at the entrance, face buried in your hands. “It was one spreadsheet, and I was very mad that night.”

“Yeah, but you still kept the bar, and you asked me if the spreadsheet passed my standards.” Hana said, deadpan. You winced.

It wasn’t that you flaunted your wealth. In fact, you spent most of your teenage years trying to outrun it. Every summer, your parents would send you to different provinces in the Philippines: Tagaytay, Palawan, Bacolod, Bohol, just to make sure you didn’t grow up detached from the real world. You helped at markets. Learned to commute. Ate on banana leaves with your hands and walked home barefoot more than once.

And it worked, sort of. You never liked spending money on yourself. But you’d empty your wallet in seconds if it meant your friends were safe. Or smiling. Or not crying over something you had the power to fix.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that you were, in many ways, deeply unfamiliar with normal life. You once asked if minimum wage workers had health insurance because you genuinely thought all jobs came with one. You’d cried when Amara lost her voice and she was rationing food just to get checked up. (You paid for everything in her life that month, especially the medical bills) You had no idea that a whole family could live on what your mom used to spend on throw pillows.

So, yeah. Sometimes you were out of touch. You were working on it.

Cami then turned to the others with a grin. “Did I ever tell you guys about the time we ran out of kimchi at the dorm and she had five kinds delivered from Korea overnight because she thought I looked sad?”

“Or! or when she ‘accidentally’ bid on a painting for a charity auction we went to and then found out it was worth more than our entire dorm lease?” Amara added, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“That wasn’t an accident, she hated the guy bidding against her,” Hana said knowingly.

“He had a pretty girl on his arm and still had the guts to flirt with another??? The greed is incomparable.” You huffed, settling down on another reclining chair as the pilot announced take off.

“Cousin dearest. Reminder that you’re obligated to wear a suit before you step off the plane.” Phine suddenly popped into view, swiveling her reclining seat to face yours. She pulled out a hidden table from the floor like this was a perfectly normal mid-air routine.

You groaned, dropping your head back. “Oh my god. Still? I didn’t bring one.”

“I know. That’s why I brought one. You can change when we’re an hour out. Just precaution, paparazzi might sneak in, though your cars will be waiting on the tarmac.”

“What about the Lafortezas?” you asked casually, throwing a sly smile at Sophia, who visibly gawked at the name.

“They’ve already been contacted. They’ll be on the tarmac too.”

You nodded, sighing. “Okay. What else?”

Phine pulled up her notes like a war general. “Your board of directors is requesting a meeting sometime this month.”

You groaned again. “What part of rest and vacation do they not understand?”

“Apparently, Zoom calls are insufficient,” she deadpanned. “Oh, and Stephanie wants to schedule a photoshoot with you.”

You blinked. “Stephanie? Our cousin Stephanie?”

“Yep.”

“She sells boxers. And sex toys.”

“Yep.”

“What? does she want me to wear a strap-on for the shoot?”

“She’s launching a line designed for women.”

Your eye twitched. “Okay, and what is she offering in return?”

Phine hesitated.

You narrowed your eyes. “She expects me to do it for free?”

“Well… she did say she’ll volunteer to babysit the kids tonight so you don’t have to deal with them.”

You didn’t even flinch. “Absolutely not.”

“Thought so.”

“Anything else?”

Phine nodded, already tapping on her tablet. “Yes. I need your itinerary so I can finalize the scheduling. Also, dietary restrictions and preferences for tonight’s party.”

You glanced across the cabin; your members were chatting, playing games, or lounging with mocktails in hand. Sophia looked like she hadn’t blinked since she stepped foot on the plane.

You sighed. “Okay. Schedule the charity visits for next week. And send me a list of safe tourist spots, make sure they’re scenic, but low-traffic.”

Phine nodded as she typed.

“Now for dinner… Sophia’s Filipino too, so make sure there’s a lot of Filipino food: sinigang, balut, isaw, kwek-kwek, and mangoes. She loves mangoes. Get guyabano juice too.”

You spotted Sophia glancing over, eyes wide in wonder and soft disbelief. She was definitely not used to being spoken about like a guest of honor.

“Manon is allergic to strawberries,” you continued, “so remove anything with strawberries from the menu entirely. Daniela likes spicy food, so make sure there’s some good Latin cuisine. Same for Lara, she’d kill for proper Indian food. Yoonchae’s Korean, so you better have kimchi, and fish cakes, and ramyeon. Megan’s allergic to cinnamon. Don’t let it near her. She likes longan and Hainanese chicken rice, so add that too. And keep all of this in mind for the rest of our stay, not just tonight.” You exhaled, finally sinking into your seat.

“You’re already tired? This isn’t even half of the work you leave me to do. Honestly, what would you do without me?” Phine gave you a smug look.

“Die.”

“Undoubtedly.”

The rest of the plane ride slipped into a comfortable hush. Josephine had long since claimed the master bedroom and locked it behind her for privacy. Typical. She never acted like your other secretaries; more efficient, more capable but also never hesitated to shut you down when you said or did something idiotic. Which, really, was exactly why she was your head secretary. That, and the fact that she’s married to your cousin.

“Hey.”

Daniela’s voice tugged you gently out of your thoughts. You looked up and saw her, bathed in the dim amber glow of the cabin lights, dressed in the silky sleepwear your mother had included in their gift bags. You blinked, honestly stunned for a moment, because she looked unreal, like something out of a dream you weren’t supposed to touch.

“Hey,” you murmured back, soft and almost unsure, like your voice might break if you spoke any louder. You gestured clumsily to the seat beside you, trying not to let your heartbeat leap into your throat.

She sat with quiet ease, tucking her legs beneath her like she belonged there, which made your stomach flip, because maybe she did.

You glanced around. Everyone else was asleep.

Amara and Lara were curled together beneath the same blanket, despite the obscene number of high-end blankets on this jet, and your brow lifted at the sight. Manon had claimed the couch, hood up, one of Rina’s plushies tucked under her chin. Rina was somehow curled around her giant teddy bear on a recliner, fetal and cozy. Yoonchae was by the window, headphones on, eyes fixed outward like she was watching the stars drift past. Cami and Megan were tangled on the other couch, and Sophia had fallen asleep with her headphones still in, her mouth slightly open in a way that made you smile.

It was soft. All of it. So much softer than you ever thought you’d have. You looked back at Daniela, who hadn’t taken her eyes off you.

“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice quieter now, lower, like she didn’t want to disturb whatever fragile peace had formed between you.

You nodded faintly. “Yeah. Just… grateful.”

Her brow arched slightly. “Grateful?”

“For this. For all of you,” you said. Then, quieter, “For you.”

A flicker crossed her face, like she wanted to look away, but couldn’t. And then she leaned her head onto your shoulder, and you forgot how to breathe for a second. The weight of her there, the trust in it, nearly undid you.

For a while, neither of you said anything. You just sat in the hum of the jet, her hair brushing your cheek, her breathing syncing slowly with yours. You didn’t dare move.

Then, barely audible: “I’m grateful for you too,” she whispered.

Your heart squeezed.

“I’m…” Her voice cracked slightly. She twisted the hem of her sleeve around her finger.

“I’m still figuring it out. What this is. What I’m feeling. What we are.”

You turned your head a little, careful not to startle her, but she kept her gaze down, lashes casting shadows over her cheeks.

“I’ve been scared,” she said, quieter still.

“Not just of... this. But of me. Of how different it feels. Falling for someone who isn’t a guy. Falling for you. It’s like…I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know if I’m allowed.”

You didn’t speak. Not yet. You let her say it, let her get it all out.

“I see how everyone’s around you. Clinging to you. I barely get time with you anymore. It’s like they know you’ll slip away before I even figure out how to hold on.”

She gave a breathless laugh, hollow and soft. “Maybe they do.”

You reached for her hand. Not boldly, not confidently, just... hoping. Wanting. Pathetically, honestly. Your fingers found hers and froze for a second, until she softened, slowly, carefully letting her hand relax into yours.

“We don’t have to rush,” you said, your voice cracking on the first word. “I mean, unless you want to- wait no, not like that- I mean, like, emotionally? Not…ugh. Sorry. What I meant is… we can take it slow. Like, really slow. Like moss slow. Like... glacial... slow. Like…rising yeast bread slow.”

You shut your eyes in mortification. “God. I can’t believe I just compared our relationship to moss.”

Daniela blinked. And then she gave you a tiny, tiny smile. “Moss?”

“I panicked,” you muttered, staring at your lap. “I was trying to be soft and supportive and... romantic? And then the ecosystem happened.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, warm fingers squeezed yours.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, but her voice wasn’t mocking. It was fond. A little broken. Like she didn’t know how to hold the tenderness you were offering her, but she was trying anyway.

“I know,” you said with a nervous laugh. “But I mean it. We don’t have to have answers yet. We can just... exist. Moss-style. Or…or seaweed if you prefer. I’m very flexible.”

Finally, finally, she looked at you. Really looked. And it was like something had cracked open in her gaze, raw, glassy, aching.

“You promise?”

“I swear,” you said instantly. “On…on everything. On the moss. On my dumb metaphors. On the fact that I’m currently melting into my chair because you’re leaning on me and I don’t know how to function.”

She exhaled a laugh, watery and choked. “God, you’re so-”

“I know. I regret opening my mouth.”

She leaned into you more fully then, her head slipping to rest properly against your neck this time. Like she was letting herself be held. Like she was finally giving herself permission to rest.

“I always thought you were out of reach,” she murmured. “Too good. Too bright. Too... everything. And then I hated myself for wanting you anyway.”

Your heart splintered in a hundred different directions.

“Daniela. You’re…you’re you. You’re like, global superstar, core strength goddess, dance legend. People cry when you breathe on camera. I literally wrote fake letters to God as a joke asking if I could stand near you once. You’re the one who’s out of reach.”

She snorted. And then buried her face in your shoulder, muffling the next part

“Don’t make me fall harder.”

“Too late? Maybe? I don’t know. I’ve been making a fool of myself over you for months. Like, full-blown idiot. Cinematic idiot. Daydreaming, pining, ‘accidentally stared at your abs and ass during rehearsal’ idiot.” You laughed, awkward and a little panicked.

She tilted her head up. “You mean that?”

“Daniela, I like like you. Not in a ‘you’re cool bro’ way. In a ‘I’m genuinely concerned I’ll die if you look at me too long’ kind of way.”

Her lips curled into something sweet and sad and deeply amused.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Slow. Scared. Moss-growing kind of love.”

“Exactly,” you said, voice cracking with a grin you couldn’t hide. “We’ll be the most anxious, slow-burning moss of all time.”

And in the hush of the plane, with her head on your shoulder and her hand in yours, she let herself believe it, just enough for tonight.

The jet wheels touched the runway with a gentle thud, and before the cabin lights even flickered back to full brightness, your eyes squinted through the oval window.

Four black limousines. Driving straight onto the tarmac.

You groaned. Loudly.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, dragging a hand over your face. “They sent four.”

Daniela, still leaning against your side in a half-asleep daze, blinked and followed your gaze out the window. “Are those… limos?”

You slumped deeper into your seat. “Yes. And I guarantee you one of them is just for your bags.”

Sure enough, as the plane rolled to a stop and the door unlocked with a hiss, you saw uniformed staff lining up with umbrellas and trays of bottled water, on the tarmac. One of them had a bouquet. A full bouquet. And a fucking welcome back banner.

The moment you stepped off the jet, a wave of sticky Manila air hit you square in the face…along with your mother’s voice.

“There’s my baby!”

You barely had time to brace before she barreled into you, arms thrown wide like you hadn’t just landed in a private jet with your name stitched into the headrests. You felt your muscles flex as you barely caught her in your arms

“Mama,” you warned, but she was already wrapping you in a dramatic hug, patting your hair like you’d just returned from war.

“You’ve lost weight! You’re thinner than your last livestream. Have you been eating enough? You didn’t faint again, right? Josephine was supposed to-”

“I’m fine, Mama,” you groaned, wriggling free just as your father swooped in from the side, armed with a handheld fan and indoor sunglasses.

“You’re sweating,” he said with a frown, angling the fan over your face like you were some fainting Victorian heiress.

“We should’ve sent the air-conditioned SUV straight onto the tarmac.”

He shot Josephine with a disappointed look, like she’d failed a classified mission.

“They landed at sunset, Uncle,” Josephine replied, unfazed, adjusting her glasses. “No heatstroke. Yet.”

“And that,” your mother cut in with flair, gesturing toward one of the four limos like she was revealing a prize on a game show, “is why you and Josephine are riding with us straight to Dr. Garcia. Your check-up is at 7:30.”

You let out a groan loud enough that half the girls behind you laughed.

“Ma, seriously? I just landed!”

“She’s the only doctor I trust with your immune system,” your mom said with finality. “And you haven’t had blood work done since February!”

“I’m twenty-two!”

“And still my baby,” she said, cupping your face as if that settled everything.

“She’ll be fine, Tita,” Amara called from behind you, slinging her arms around Lara’s shoulders.

“She looks fine now,” your dad muttered darkly. “But none of you saw her in fifth grade when she passed out in choir because she skipped breakfast.”

“That was one time!”

“That was traumatic.”

Josephine was already in the limo, scrolling through her iPad like none of this concerned her. “I’ve sent your updated charts. You’re due for an iron infusion and a thyroid scan. Get in.”

You looked back at the girls, SIREN5 and KATSEYE both, who were valiantly trying not to burst out laughing. Lara had even raised her phone.

“Don’t you dare film this,” you hissed.

Daniela blew you a kiss. “See you at your house, mama’s girl.”

You rolled your eyes and climbed into the limo like a prisoner of war. The door shut with a soft click. Your father immediately presented you with a ginger shot on a silver tray.

You stared at it. Then at him. “Papa. Please.”

“It’s good for circulation and also very good for your throat.”

“Mama, Papa, I love you both but you’re actually unwell. Insane actually.”

Your mother gave you a beatific smile. “It’s called parenting.”

“I thought the LaFortezas would be here?”

“Oh, they’re already at the house.”

You paused. “...Mama, Papa. Did you take down the family photos?”

They exchanged a look.

“No,” your mom said, a little too proudly.

“Mama. There’s a framed picture of me hanging from the second-floor railings in nothing but a diaper. I’m three.”

“Exactly! So cute.”

“Mama-”

“It captures your essence!”

You slumped back in the leather seat and covered your face with your hands. “I’m going to change my name and vanish into the earth.”

“You can afford to,” your dad said brightly.

You were barely seated in the pristine white consultation room before Dr. Garcia pushed up her glasses and let out a sigh that could’ve powered an entire hospital.

“I watched the footage,” she said, scrolling through her tablet like it personally offended her. “You kept performing. With a nosebleed.”

Your mother made a distressed sound beside you while your father muttered something in Tagalog that roughly translated to, “Stubborn just like her mother.”

“I dabbed it with my sleeve!” you argued, weakly.

“You’re not supposed to dab your own blood during a live performance,” Dr. Garcia snapped. “You’re supposed to stop and sit down, maybe tell someone you’re hemorrhaging out your face.”

“It wasn’t hemorrhaging,” you mumbled. “Just a little-”

“It streaked down your chin,” Josephine chimed in helpfully from the corner. “Was very metal. Fans were screaming. If I was there, I would offer you 2 tampons.”

You shot her a glare.

Dr. Garcia turned her screen toward you. “You’re lucky this wasn’t something more serious. It’s likely due to a combination of exhaustion, dehydration, and the fact that your iron levels are flirting with rock bottom. You’re overworked.”

“She always overdoes it,” your mom said, wringing her hands. “We told her not to push so hard-”

“Oh, and the rest of your body agrees,” the doctor continued, gently taking your wrist. “Bruising along the knees and thighs? Definitely impact bruises from choreography. Mild swelling in your ankles, strain in your left wrist. And these?” [a/n: oh yes definitely choreography…]

She held up your hand. Your fingertips were red and raw, tiny cuts breaking the skin like angry reminders.

“From guitar practice,” Dr. Garcia said, unimpressed. “Four to five hours a day, you said?”

“…Yes,” you muttered.

“Without callus rest days? You’re lucky they didn’t blister and split open. You’re playing like you’re auditioning for a Fingerstyle Death Match.”

Your father grimaced. “That’s a thing?”

“It is now,” Josephine shrugged.

Dr. Garcia straightened. “You are not to exert yourself like this again, do you understand? Your body is giving you warning signs, and you keep slapping a sticker over the check engine light and pretending it’s fine.”

“I can rest,” you said, then immediately added, “after someone lifts my hiatus.” you shot a look to your mother

Your mom let out a horrified gasp.

“Absolutely not!” Dr. Garcia said. “You are taking at least one week off now. Minimum. No physical rehearsals. No performances. No late-night guitar battles with your inner demons.”

You sulked. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Here’s what we’re doing,” she continued, ticking items off her fingers. “Sleep: eight hours, non-negotiable. Water: at least three liters a day. Diet: high iron, low caffeine, no alcohol, and none of those vitamin gummies you keep calling dinner. You’ll ice your joints, take anti-inflammatories, disinfect those cuts daily, and sit down. Preferably somewhere soft.”

“She can stay in her room,” your mom added quickly. “We already prepared it. Blackout curtains, air purifier, no noise, no screens past ten PM.”

Dr. Garcia beamed. “Excellent. That’ll help her recover faster.”

Your father crossed his arms. “What about phone use?”

“Supervised,” Dr. Garcia smirked. “If she gets too fidgety, you can give her a fidget toy. Or let her knit.”

“I don’t knit,” you groaned. “I’m not eighty.”

“Well, you’re acting like you’re invincible,” she said, softening just slightly. “But you’re still human, sweetheart. And you need to take care of this body like it’s the only one you have. Because it is.”

You shifted under the weight of all their eyes. “...I get it.”

Dr. Garcia smiled gently. “Good. Now go rest. Or I swear, I’ll drag you back here and hook you up to an IV drip in public. I guarantee your fans will see it.”

You shivered. “You are so scary for a family doctor.”

“And you’re lucky I care enough to be,” she said, patting your shoulder with a firm squeeze. “Now go. Your room’s waiting. And no guitar. Not even to tune it.”

As you stepped out of her office, your mom immediately looped her arm through yours, like she’d been waiting to rescue you from the world itself.

“I already cooked your favorites,” she announced with pride.

“And we’ll pardon your no-alcohol rule just for tonight,” your father added with a mischievous wink, earning a swift, scandalized slap on the arm from your mom.

“Antonio!”

“Elenore!” your father sang back with theatrical flair.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, these two are the richest people in the Philippines. Ranked nine in the world. Lord, help me.”

They continued their playful bickering as the staff opened the grand hospital doors for you. Your private driver held the car door open and you slid into the familiar buttery leather seats of the family limo. Josephine was already inside, nose buried in her tablet, fingers flying across the screen as she quietly updated your schedule.

The drive home was peaceful, at least, by your standards. Your father took a few business calls in Spanish, your mother dictated a PR statement in French, and Josephine, ever the multitasker, quietly handled your team and label’s concerns while occasionally sliding documents across your lap for approval. You idly flipped through a printed itinerary and blinked. She’d organized everything for the next two weeks, doctor’s appointments, rest days, spa sessions, gentle rehearsals, even wardrobe fittings for casual housewear.

“How the hell did you get this printed and bound?” you muttered, flipping through the pages in awe.

Josephine didn’t look up. “Priorities.”

Before you could ask her what printer she used and how you could weaponize it, the limo passed through the final checkpoint of your family estate and you heard the telltale hum of the metal gates parting.

Home.

Your shoulders finally eased, the tension slipping off as you took in the view that never failed to ground you.

The circular driveway curved around a marble fountain at its heart; an intricately sculpted siren perched on a jagged rock, her eyes cast upward, water spilling gracefully from the conch shell she held to her lips. You remembered the day it was installed, your eighth birthday, the year you'd whispered wishes into its waters, tossing coins and praying you’d become a star.

The main house stood ahead like a palace remembering its roots. Three stories of warm sandstone imported from Spain, offset with gold-trimmed windows and balconies wrapped in bougainvillea vines. The hedges were freshly clipped, the lamps glowing soft amber under the dusk light. You could already hear the low hum of violins from the garden sound system, blending with the faint buzz of cicadas. The automatic wrought iron gates had barely shut behind your car before the massive mahogany doors creaked open, revealing a line of house staff bowing in practiced unison.

From the foyer, your childhood nanny waved at you with both hands, beaming. The floors gleamed: marble, veined with rose gold. The chandelier, a new addition, had been flown in from Prague. The whole house smelled like jasmine, eucalyptus, and something distinctly garlicky.

"Is that garlic rice?" you asked aloud, nose twitching.

"Your mom’s adobo," Josephine confirmed, not looking up from her tablet. “She made the kitchen do five kinds. Including the one you pretend not to like but always finish.”

You stepped out, rolling your shoulders. “So, which wing did KATSEYE get?”

“South wing,” Josephine replied crisply, tapping something on her screen. “Best view of the orchard and private pool. Plus, they’ll be far enough not to hear your 7 a.m. vocal drills. You’re welcome.”

“And east wing is still SIREN5 territory?” you asked. “The beanbags? The pink lighting? The 100-inch projector screen? The gaming wall?”

“Intact,” she said. Then glanced up. “Though I did remove the vintage vodka you and Cami hid inside the PS5 box.”

You gasped. “That was for emergencies!”

“It was cheap and expired,” she said flatly. “You’re lucky it didn’t melt the casing.”

You squinted. “Fine. South wing for KATSEYE. A or B?”

“B,” she said. “A is reserved for your titas and titos. They flew in early for tonight’s dinner.” [aunts and uncles]

You groaned audibly as you stepped into the foyer, the scent of eucalyptus and polished wood invading your senses.

“Don’t tell me the dinner’s still happening.”

Josephine didn’t miss a beat. She handed you another stapled packet with the crisp efficiency of someone who’d been running your life for years.

“Page twelve. Seating chart. You’re between two CEOs and your senator uncle. No backing out.”

You peeled the page open with the same energy as someone opening an envelope from the IRS.

“Great. Can’t wait to get grilled about crypto, GDP projections, and marriage.”

“You are your family’s golden girl,” she replied with a too-sweet smile. “You bleed on stage once, and suddenly you're everyone’s cautionary tale and investment.”

You gave her a deadpan stare. “You are my biggest blessing and my worst curse.”

She tucked the itinerary back into her tablet sleeve. “That’s why you pay me millies.”

You exhaled through your nose, already mentally bracing for what the evening would bring. You could picture it now; your extended family draped in designer formalwear, each one dripping in old money and old expectations. The long mahogany dining table would be flanked by velvet chairs and lined with imported candelabras, the flickering light bouncing off crystal wine glasses and bone china no one ever used unless there were guests or godparents around. But tonight? No outsiders. No managers. No label reps.

Just family. And KATSEYE Which, of course, made it so much worse.

The house staff had been prepping for days, you heard the whispers on the flight back. Three imported flower arrangements were flown in just for the centerpieces. The chef had been rehearsing the same seven-course menu all week under your mom’s eagle eye. And your father had apparently re-written his toast four times already. Something about “artistry being a family trait.”

You adjusted your tie like armor. “Remind me to sneak vodka into my water glass.”

“I already arranged for a wine decanter to be placed next to your setting,” Josephine deadpanned. “Chateau Margaux. 1998. Just… at least pretend to behave until the bishop leaves.”

You almost smiled at that. “You are too good to me.”

“No, I’m just good at my job.”

You glanced up again at your childhood home. The warm stone walls looked like honey in the golden hour light, framed by bougainvillea that climbed the balcony railings like they had a mind of their own. Every arch, every antique sconce, every ridiculous gilded detail was etched into your memory. It was a palace you’d grown up in, and sometimes felt trapped in.

And now you were back. Bandaged fingers, bruised knees, blood-stained performance memories and all. Facing the people who made you. And expecting you to still be the prodigy they raised you to be.

“Let’s get this over with,” you muttered.

“Dinner or healing?” Josephine asked without looking up from her tablet.

You didn’t answer.

Both, probably.

“Also,” she added smoothly, “you still have a fitting for the dinner.”

Your jaw tightened. “When?”

“Right now.”

You turned your head slowly. “Josephine. Do not put me in a dress.”

She arched a brow. “We all know your preferences. Custom tux. Velvet lapels. Midnight blue. Matching shoes. It’s already in the east wing closet.”

You blinked. “…Did you get the boots?”

“The ones with the silver buckle. Yes. I also had the soles reinforced. You walk like a demon, dragging your feet and shit.”

You bit back your smile. “I love you.”

She didn’t flinch. “You owe me a raise.”

You had warned them the house was big. But no one was prepared for this.

“Are we… inside a museum?” Manon whispered, brushing a gloved hand against a gold-framed oil painting in the hallway. Her fingers hovered like she was afraid to touch it. “Do we need boot covers?”

“I’m scared to sneeze,” Megan murmured, clutching her clutch like it might protect her from the consequences of breathing wrong.

Daniela said nothing.

She was too busy taking it all in.

Polished hardwood floors so glossy they reflected the chandeliers above, yes, plural. Vaulted ceilings with hand-painted frescoes. Gilded mirrors. Velvet drapes so heavy they probably required their own structural support. Every corner was a flex. Every detail intentional.

The hallway, no, gallery they were led through was long and hushed, lined with antique vases on marble pedestals. Two house staff in formalwear escorted them without a word, only nodding politely when they opened the double doors at the end.

Inside, the dressing suite was larger than most apartments Daniela had lived in. Racks of tailored gowns and tuxedos filled one wall. A raised platform and full-length mirrors dominated the center. Stylists moved like a small army, armed with garment bags and tape measures that snapped open like blades.

A woman with a sleek chignon and a tablet barely looked up. “Welcome to the south wing,” she said. “The orchard view is better from this side. Please avoid tracking pollen into the dining hall.”

“Dining hall?” Yoonchae echoed faintly, her eyes wide.

Sophia stepped to the window and immediately jerked back. “Is that a maze? Who has a literal hedge maze in their backyard?”

“Rich people,” Megan replied dryly, already halfway into a backless gown like this wasn’t her first black-tie rodeo.

Daniela didn’t speak. But she did glance once toward the door, wondering where you were.

A deep plum suit was placed gently into her hands: rich, matte fabric, lapels detailed with a subtle line of jet beadwork that shimmered beneath the chandelier’s glow. She didn’t need to ask. It was exactly her style.

Which meant you chose it.

You always pretended not to meddle, but you did. In quiet ways. In ways that said you knew her better than she let on.

She slipped it on. Adjusted the collar. Smoothed the sleeves. In the mirror, she looked... regal. Like someone who belonged in rooms like this. But she didn’t. Not really. None of them did.

Still, as she caught sight of the oil paintings again, the silver trays stacked with monogrammed water bottles, the gold-detailed tailoring scissors glinting beside a crystal dish of pins, she didn’t judge it.

Because she understood you better now. All of this? It wasn’t luxury to you. It was normal. Familiar. Inescapable.

And tonight, she’d sit through your family’s long-winded speeches, nod through veiled critiques dressed up as compliments. Watch you fake smile across the candlelit table while dodging questions about legacy and expectations. If she was lucky, maybe you’d catch her eye. Maybe you’d even slip away for a moment together, somewhere behind the south wing’s double doors.

Maybe. But first, she adjusted her cufflinks and squared her shoulders. There was a senator, two CEOs, and your mother to survive. And she would.

Because you were worth it.

She was reminded of that the second she saw you enter the ballroom, yes, your house had a ballroom because of course you did. You appeared at the top of the grand spiral staircase, flanked by your parents like royalty. Your expression was poised, polished. The soft shimmer of your deep navy tuxedo caught the chandelier’s glow, haloing you in starlight.

Daniela didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Cami leaned in beside her, lips brushing the rim of her wine glass.

“You all look like you’re about to faint.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Daniela murmured back, eyes still fixed on you.

“We were too, the first time it happened,” Amara said, slipping in on her other side with a knowing smirk. “Crash course time.”

She pointed discreetly. “That’s her senator uncle, don’t bother, he only talks politics. Her distant cousin? The bishop. Only one in this whole building who still thinks we’re going to hell.”

“Charming,” Daniela muttered.

“That’s her designer aunt,” Amara went on, undeterred. “Stephanie, her cousin, owns a chain of… well, adult shops. Cielo? Concert pianist. Kathrinah, competitive figure skater. Oh, and see the blonde in the red gown? That’s her dad’s only sister. No partner, no kids, and completely obsessed with your girl.”

“She’s not my-” Daniela began, cheeks flushing.

“Yet,” Cami cut in, grinning. “We heard you on the plane, by the way.”

Before she could respond, a cool voice drifted behind her.

“Hurt her again, and I’ll make sure you never see her outside a screen ever again.”

Daniela turned. Hana stood behind them, expression unreadable.

“Hana, why are you threatening my members?” Sophia asked casually, sauntering over and slipping an arm around Daniela’s waist.

“Just making sure she doesn’t break our baby’s heart again.”

Sophia didn’t even blink. “Oh, then by all means, continue.”

“Sophia!” Daniela hissed, scandalized.

But none of them were really listening. Their eyes were back on you, on the way you smiled tightly at your family, the way your hands stayed folded, still bandaged from rehearsal. You were a perfect picture of grace and legacy.

And yet, Daniela knew what it took to hold yourself that still.

She hoped you’d look her way soon. Because she was here.

And this time, she wasn’t going anywhere.

Sophia let go of her arm as she drifted back toward her parents, gliding like she belonged in a ballroom. Daniela watched her wave you over with a bright, familiar grin. She caught the way you leaned toward your family to murmur a polite excuse, the subtle bow of your head, the way your eyes flicked over to their table. You smiled, this time more gently, before your gaze shifted to Sophia’s parents.

“Good evening po, Mr. and Mrs. Laforteza. Pwede po bang magmano?” you greeted, tone warm and bright, bending slightly to bring their hands to your forehead in the traditional gesture of respect.

“Ay naku, napaka-galang naman,” Mrs. Laforteza beamed. “Don’t be too formal, anak. It makes me feel old!”

[Oh gosh, you’re so polite]

“Sa totoo lang, kami nga dapat mag thank you sayo. Your home is gorgeous. I didn’t know you were their daughter. Sophia talks a lot about you” Mr. Laforteza says, clapping a hand over your shoulder

[In truth, I believe it’s us who should thank you.]

“Yes sir, thank you for the compliment. I hope she only mentioned good things. She’s been taking care of me in LA, she’s being a good ate to me and I must ask you if you’d be willing to adopt me?”

“Kasal nalang, ayaw mo?” Mr. Laforteza laughs heartily

[How about marriage? Do you not want to?]

“Dad!” Sophia swats her father, embarrassed, ears turning red

Although Daniela wasn’t fluent in the language you and Sophia share, she knew enough to understand. Kasal. Marriage. She found herself clutching her wine glass a little bit tighter, the sangria suddenly tasting bitter, like something decaying beneath the fruit

She hears you laugh, skillfully avoiding the conversation with practiced ease, as if you’ve done this countless times before. Had there been marriage talks before? Ones offered to you, yet rejected gracefully? Had you done this before? Politely danced around proposals, family friends, names offered and dismissed? How many people had tried to claim you already?

In her deep thoughts, she didn’t notice the string quartet shifted seamlessly into something softer, rich violins swelling as the band eased into a slow, elegant waltz. The chatter around the ballroom dulled into something golden and distant, like the fading hum of a spotlight crowd. Crystal glasses clinked. Laughter drifted like perfume. Footsteps began to circle the polished marble floor.

And then there was you.

Daniela barely had time to register your approach before you were already there, a half-glass of champagne in one hand and your other hand extended toward her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Dance with me?” you asked softly, with that smile, not the press one, not the trained polite curl you’d worn all night, but the real one. The one you gave her when you were tired, when you were vulnerable. The one that meant you trusted her.

Her eyes flicked to your family across the room. To your senator uncle deep in political conversation, to your aunt critiquing canapés, to your cousin trying to impress Megan with fluent French.

And then back to you. Hair slicked perfectly, suit sculpted to your frame, looking like a walking legacy, until she caught the slight red on your knuckle, the faint fading trace of a nosebleed no one else noticed.

Daniela set her wine down.

“Of course.”

Your fingers laced together easily. You led her into the open space between the long tables and chandeliers, where only a few couples had started to sway. No spotlight. No cameras. Just you and her and the music.

She settled one hand on your shoulder, the other in yours. You were warm. Grounded. Real in a way this house often wasn’t.

“You look like you’re holding up,” she murmured.

You smiled wryly, glancing over her shoulder. “Barely. I thought I’d pass out during grace.”

She laughed, low and soft. “I saw you dab your nose. Was it bleeding again?”

“Just a little. I was hoping no one noticed.”

“I notice everything about you,” she said before she could stop herself.

Your grip tightened just slightly, and your eyes flicked up to meet hers. No teasing. No jokes. Just heat. And history. And something that crackled quietly beneath the surface. You swayed together, steps slow, practiced, your breath mixing with hers in the delicate space between cheek and jaw.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said after a moment.

“I never left,” she answered, even if both of you knew that wasn’t entirely true.

“I hope you know waltz.”

Your voice came low, warm with amusement as you adjusted your position. She blinked at you, lips parting just slightly in surprise.

“I know enough to survive,” she replied, slipping her hand into yours.

You didn’t give her time to overthink. With a gentle tug, you pulled her forward, the two of you stepping into the edge of the polished dance floor just as the live string ensemble shifted into a slow Viennese waltz; lilting, sweeping, the kind of song that asked for grace and secrets and tension that simmered just beneath satin.

The moment your palm pressed flat against her back and your other hand interlaced with hers, Daniela realized you weren’t joking. Your frame was poised, leading her with the practiced confidence of someone who’d done this since childhood, someone who’d been trained in the language of appearances, of dinners with ambassadors and recitals for senators. And now here she was, letting you guide her across a ballroom in your family’s ancestral home, with a damn chandelier hanging overhead like something out of a period drama.

“Left foot first,” you murmured, your breath brushing her temple.

She nodded. You took the lead gently but firmly; your steps smooth, curved, rhythm matched perfectly to the ¾ time. You swept her into the flow like you’d done this in every lifetime, your bodies moving counterclockwise around the floor, hips close but not touching, the space between you taut with restraint.

Your left hand held hers aloft in a delicate frame, and your right stayed steady against the back of her ribs, fingers warm, anchoring her when the room spun in crescendos.

“You’re better at this than I expected,” Daniela whispered.

You smiled without looking down. “Twelve years of forced cotillion. I better be.”

Her laugh was breathy, and her fingers curled tighter in yours. All around you, the other dancers blurred into a kaleidoscope of movement and silk, but Daniela didn’t see them, only you. Your tailored suit. Your flushed cheeks from the wine and heat and dancing. The way your eyes held hers, steady and quiet and glowing, like you were afraid to blink and miss this.

“I’m glad you asked me,” she said.

You glanced down, just once, your expression unreadable for half a beat.

“I almost didn’t.”

“Why?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your steps slowed with the music, turning her gently through a pivot before easing back into hold. Your voice was quieter when it came again:

“Because I didn’t want it to be part of the show. Because I wasn’t sure if I wanted them to see you, to know you. But I couldn’t let tonight pass without at least one real moment, with you.”

Daniela swallowed. Her hand ached from how tightly she was holding yours, but she didn’t let go.

“This is real,” she said. “Right now, this. Us. it’s real. We’re real.”

You nodded once. And in the lull between chords, in the slow sway of the last turn, your eyes met hers again with that look, the one that said everything neither of you was ready to say out loud. Not yet.

But maybe soon.

You leaned in just slightly, breath warm near her ear. “Want to complete this princess fantasy and join me for a break on the balcony?”

The question was a whisper. An invitation wrapped in velvet.

Daniela’s lips curved. “Yes.”

You didn’t wait. You took her hand, your callused fingertips brushing against her own polished ones, and guided her off the marble dance floor with more grace than you ever felt. You snagged two champagne flutes from a passing silver tray like it was second nature (even though you nearly tripped on the hem of your damn coat), and led her through the arched glass doors that opened to the moonlit balcony.

The garden sprawled below: fountains, hedges, and lantern-lit paths coiling through roses and bougainvillea, the air thick with the scent of jasmine, lavender and citrus. Somewhere in the distance, the soft echo of music and laughter bled into the night. Out here, though, it was quieter. Cooler. Just you and her.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, already half-turning to her.

Daniela raised a brow. “For what?”

“For this whole… affair.” You motioned to the grandeur around you with your flute. “I wasn’t expecting it to be this lavish. I mean, I knew it would be. I just didn’t want to believe it. I hoped it’d be a small, casual thing. Like… pizza and pajamas or something.”

Daniela smiled. “Your family doesn’t seem like the pizza and pajamas type.”

“They really aren’t,” you sighed. “They like to go big. Always have.”

She took a small sip of her drink and waited.

“I love them, though,” you continued. “Even when they’re extra. Especially my parents. They adopted me when they didn’t have to. Raised me like I was theirs from the beginning. I don’t know the full story of where I came from…no one talks about it. And I never asked. But they gave me everything. They are everything.”

Daniela said nothing, letting you speak. Letting you breathe.

“And it’s hard, living like this,” you admitted, eyes flicking down to your boots, shifting awkwardly. “They taught me to blend in. To move with quiet grace, to make my money invisible. I had etiquette classes one day and ‘how to be normal’ lessons the next. They made me travel across the country with my nanny, Manang Aida, to understand people. Cultures. Dialects. Lives that weren’t mine.”

Your voice softened. “And then I started getting obsessed with things. Ice skating, volleyball, guitar, piano, bass, dancing, music. I graduated valedictorian. Bachelor of Fine Arts in Music.”

Daniela blinked. “You’re smart smart.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “Please. Then my parents casually handed me three companies and said, ‘Do what you want. Burn them to the ground if you must.’ I didn’t have business experience, but somehow… they grew. So I hired Josephine. Then three assistants. And then…”

You hesitated. Your voice dropped. “I started spending my own money on SIREN5.”

Daniela straightened slightly.

“They don’t know,” you said quickly. “Please don’t tell them. The label was basically dead thirteen months into training. Amara was rationing medicine. So I had Phine move some things around. I didn’t buy the label, promise. But... I might’ve told her to do something about it.”

Daniela looked at you, processing. “…You didn’t know she sold it to Geffen, did you?”

“No!” you wailed, rubbing your face with your free hand. “I didn’t use my money to get closer to you, I swear. I mean-not like that. I didn’t even know it’d end up under you- with you…whatever. Ugh. I sound insane.”

She laughed quietly. “A little.”

“Also,” you mumbled, “I donate. A lot. To hospitals. Orphanages. Schools. And I still don’t see the end of my damn bank accounts. Accounts plural, by the way. My parents made me open one in every major market. Currency conversion is apparently ‘beneath me.’” You did air quotes, looking properly offended.

Daniela tilted her head at you. “You’re impossible.”

“Hopeless,” you corrected with a soft grin. “But um…”

You hesitated. Your voice got quieter.

“You look really beautiful tonight. In that plum suit. I sketched something rough, but Aunt Rosalinda cleaned it up. She always makes things better. I just… I wanted you to look like you belonged here. Because you do.”

Daniela felt her breath catch, just a little. “Thank you.”

There was a long pause.

“Can I kiss you?” you blurted.

She blinked. “I thought we were taking this slow?”

“We are! We are. I just…sorry- I’m just-" You laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. “I should go back.”

“Kiss me.”

You froze. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You stepped into her space slowly, boots clicking softly against the stone balcony. The moonlight caught on your midnight blue suit, subtle embroidery glinting like starlight. Your high boots made you just slightly taller than her, and Daniela realized it was the first time she had to look up at you.

But you still looked like the same nervous loser she met in the training room. Just dressed like royalty.

You slid one arm around her waist, the other gently cupping her cheek, eyes scanning hers for hesitation. She gave none.

You leaned in.

And pressed a soft kiss: warm, careful, to the corner of her lips. Not quite there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I drank too much tonight, vodka, champagne, rosé, like… wine and a bunch of other things I probably shouldn’t have mixed. I didn’t want our first kiss to taste like alcohol. You don’t deserve that.”

Daniela’s chest ached. She reached up, fingers brushing your collar. And pulled you in, her nails playing with the stray baby hairs tickling the nape of your neck

“Then kiss me when you’re sober,” she whispered.

“I plan to,” you whispered back. “You deserve everything.”

And for once, under moonlight, above a glowing ballroom, in a story too ridiculous to be real

She believed you.

taglist: @awkwardtoafault, @cheerlanader, @kianthegirlkisser, @teenybean, @skittledemon66, @hydrardz, @hotluvlet, @skriri, @ssamachiii, @iamconfusedrightnow, @pizzachicken, @aelien1, @yjiminswallet, @kathleenmikaelson, @gay-panic-at-all-times, @wandaromamoff69, @amishreyac

#katseye x reader #daniela avanzini x reader #katseye imagines #eros updates #eros posts #your idol

278 notes · View notes

overangel · 2 days ago

Text

αηgєℓ σн ѕнє'ѕ ƒαℓℓєη кєєριη' нєя нєαят gυαя∂є∂

❥ This is a yandere batfam x neglected!reader who regressed back in time story.

act 1, act 2, act 3, act 4, act 5

MDNI 18+ Only

[PLEASE READ: This chapter details Starling's suicidal thoughts and descriptive attempts during her past life as well as the abuse she suffered by members of the Batfamily. If that could be triggering for you in any way, please do not read. Please prioritize your mental health and well-being.] ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ. ᴡᴇ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ.. Welcome back to where you took your last breath and to the people who pushed you to that point over and over again. Take a moment to recount the injustices you suffered and the fleeting moments of sweetness that made you believe that there was still good in this world. Summon your courage. Don't look back. ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇɢᴏɴᴇ. ❥ TW: past suicide, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, bullying, emotional and mental abuse, bodyshaming, disordered eating and habits, future incest

You strutted down the halls with a sure footed swagger you didn't have in the past. It should’ve been unfamiliar, this confidence, the sway in your hips, but your mannerisms had changed since the day you awoke in the hospital and you finally felt right.

Once upon a tragic time, you walked without making a sound, breathed as quietly as you could even if it made you dizzy, and never spoke unless spoken to. After a while your voice stopped coming; It was like you woke up one day to find it had disappeared.

But now? Your footsteps were music to your ears and you eyed the slimy tendrils sliding down the walls with irritation as they writhed and receded as you passed.

You could barely hide a sour expression behind your impassive mask as you could taste rotten eggs and death in the air as you put more distance between you and Bruce’s study.

It was true what they said about demons and hauntings having a smell and you held your breath as you powerwalked to get away from it. The odor had been concentrated in his study, one of his many broody corners, and you were getting lightheaded during your “talk.”

You’d almost smashed a paperweight through one of his windows because it was so overpowering.

No one could ignore that smell of death, but you realized that you were the only one who could smell the rot, see the tendrils, and hear the cries.

You were all alone in this but for some reason you were unafraid. Being alone and getting by with your own strength was thrilling and you couldn’t wait to see how far you’d go.

You finally spotted a bathroom and went in and locked the door behind you. Composure cracked as you hacked the last tastes of the spoiled smell away and rinsed your mouth and face with cool water.

You looked at your reflection and there you were.

In the mirror was your 16 year old self: Fresh from devastation and reeling from a series of events that you’d never truly heal from, but you were still here.

Your heart was still beating.

So many times you had prayed it’d stop and you’d go cold, but now hot tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you thought of your mother and loved ones and how it felt like you were given a second chance. Maybe they had given you this second chance.

Your eyes were tinged with a melancholy that you might be able to hide in time, but there was also excitement and mirth in them. You smiled as you admired yourself and sniffled. ‘Thank god I didn’t take after him.’

No one had ever been able to tell you were Bruce’s biological daughter and you were grateful for it in this life. You had truly been the physical black sheep back then, but while caressing your right cheek you thanked everything out there that you got your good looks from your mother’s side.

That’s right. Good looks. It’s funny how it took dying to clear your eyes of the undeserved self-hatred 10 years caused you. You were gazing at yourself as the way you were, not the way they wanted you to see yourself. You were good looking and your mom’s side did the heavy lifting.

You didn’t see Bruce through the rose tinted lenses that everyone else did. If they were ugly on the inside, it bled through to the outside and you couldn’t ignore it. Maybe you were just too honest like that. You knew which side of the family you got that from too.

In your critical eye, as someone who saw Bruce in the way he never showed the cameras, his apparent beauty was warped by his bad attitude and repugnant personality.

If you were being completely honest, he had a shovel chin and non-existent lips on a toothy mouth that lied more than he breathed.

His blue eyes were flat like the dead’s and as cold as a shark’s and his perpetually furrowed brows only pronounced a neanderthal-esque brow ridge and accelerated wrinkle development.

‘Hottest man alive, my ass.’

You saw everyone you had ever loved in your looks and if you ever felt alone, maybe you could just look in a mirror.

You noticed the bandage near your left eye and tugged to slowly peel it and the super strong adhesive from your tender skin. What lay beneath was a silvery crescent with a shimmery cast with both of its tips pointed away from your eye.

The scar was a few shades lighter than your natural tone and you tilted your head to watch it catch the bathroom’s light.

Your eyes widened and pupils trembled with emotion as you realized that it was pretty. You had hated everything about you, everything that showed what you’d been through—what made you broken—but you realized too late that there was never anything wrong with you.

You eyed the bandage around your neck and knew what was hidden behind it. A gnarly scar that wrapped around the front of your neck and was at least two inches in height and looked exactly like what it was—evidence of barbed wire having wrapped around your throat, wrenched your flesh, and nearly sawed your head from your body.

It was a reminder of what you survived and what was taken away. A permanent choker, but this time you wouldn’t constrict yourself.

It was healing incredibly fast and you’d keep the bandage on a few weeks longer until the wound was fully healed, and you wouldn’t hide it when it did. You weren’t hiding away for other’s comfort anymore.

Looking back, the scar had been a massive insecurity, especially when you were surrounded by unrealistically physically beautiful people.

Your skin had been one of your biggest insecurities and comparison had been the death of your happiness. You remember it like it was yesterday, the you of the past losing her mind over her skin not being as flawless as Barbara’s or Starfire’s.

Even Cass and Stephanie who fought hard every night were unfairly pretty with their scuffs and scrapes. You’d felt like there was something you lacked compared to them, and it was something you could never get no matter how hard you tried.

You lost yourself, and no one was there to help you find your way back.

You covered your neck and hands until the day you died with sweaters, hoodies, and turtlenecks no matter the season. You concealed your skin and the figure you’d been blessed with and for what? You didn’t have an answer because there wasn’t one. There was never a good reason to make yourself small to make others feel big.

You rolled up the thin sleeves of your top to expose your bandages, wiped your face, and gave the 16 year old you one final grin.

Her eyes sparkled back and you could see the woman you were just beneath the surface. She wanted to sink her teeth into something and let the juice run down her chin but you lightly persuaded her to cool it. All things in due time.

You left the bathroom with a slight smile on your lips and plans on your mind when you nearly bumped into Cassandra.

You blinked until you recognized her. She stared back at you unnervingly and you would’ve wondered what she was thinking of like you often did in the past if you actually cared.

You had been so curious about her in the past. She was a mystery to you, but so sweet and loving to the ones who earned her respect and you weren’t one of them.

It had hurt, but did it now? ‘Not at all.’

You were so over the doom and gloom and edginess of it all. You wanted open books, not the brooding mystery and darkness. These people needed to stop being allergic to healthy coping mechanisms and therapy.

You didn’t bother to smile, but you still didn’t exactly hate her. It was actually a good thing she was around since she could be Bruce’s little princess (it was always obvious she was the favorite) and they could distract each other while you went about your business.

You liked that idea as a corner of your mouth nearly curled before quickly being concealed. You turned your back and nearly turned the corner when she called out to your retreating form.

“Y/n.”

You paused and turned to her with no expectations. She didn’t know why she called out to you, but she really wanted—no, did she need?—to reach out.

There was something about you she couldn’t understand and her curiosity was piqued the moment you waltzed into the manor and clearly knew who was worth your time.

Your expressions were ever changing, and your eyes conveyed a keenness that spoke of much more beneath the surface. She needed to know more.

“Welcome.” She said awkwardly with eyes that searched your face for a lifeline, to grab hold of the olive branch she was extending and start a conversation because she didn't know where she was going with this. This wasn't lost on you. She didn’t “try” to reach out to you like she did the others.

She never had or wanted to, and she was the one to stare you down until you lost your nerve and scurried away in the past. Now, it was your turn to raise a brow.

‘I prayed for this for 10 years?’ Your eyes went cold as you turned your back.

It was a little too late, wasn't it?

Your heart fluttered with excitement—something you hadn’t felt in over 10 years—and it wasn’t with the delusion of being part of a big happy family or even being acknowledged.

No, there were bigger and better things that thrilled your heart and made you feel like you were walking on air. An uncertain future lay ahead but you were going to grab it with both hands.

Amidst the darkness that encased the manor, something sweet was calling out to you and telling you that you needed to go to the park. It was strange because you don’t recall ever going in the past—actually you don’t recall getting out much at all in the past—but you felt like that place was where you could kick off some of your plans.

You knew there would be key players you’d need to meet and places you’d need to venture to make your dreams come true, and you weren’t going to benefit by being a shrinking violet in this life.

Searching online, you found that you could get to Gotham Park by bus and the nearest bus stop was around a 3 mile walk from the manor. The weather was pleasant this time of year so walking the distance wouldn’t be a problem, and you could even get a bus pass online.

One little hitch is that you’d need bus fare and didn’t want to ask Alfred for money so soon.

You didn’t feel like answering any questions about leaving the manor when you hadn’t been out of the hospital for one day and huffed in annoyance.

Maybe if you buttered him up delicately over the next few days you could slip in the bit about needing a few dollars. The sweet hum tickled your ear, and gently called you to the next step. Gotham Park was the next stage of this game.

You walked familiar halls to the kitchen and looked back on the time you had avoided it—along with every other part of the mansion—completely.

It got to the point that even the thought of coming across a member of that damned family would make your heart seize up. You began to isolate yourself more and more until you stayed put in your room, the little bathroom in the same hall, and to the kitchen late at night when all was quiet or they were on patrol.

You snuck around like a thief in your own ‘home.’ The anxiety made you reclusive and being reclusive exacerbated the issues you already had and birthed even more. You were a complete agoraphobe by the time you were 20.

You frowned sadly. You couldn’t waste away in this house a second time.

The purple tendrils slithered down the sides of the walls like blood in old horror movies and wriggled with minds of their own. It was truly disgusting and you held your breath to keep from gagging.

You finally turned a corner and found salvation in Alfred who was in the kitchen and embraced by the light from the large bay window overlooking the garden. He was wiping a glass when you walked in.

“My, Young Mistress, I wanted to meet you and bring you back.” He checked his watch, “I’m so sorry. How did you find your way?”

“No need to apologize, Mr. Pennyworth. I retraced my steps no problem.” You typed.

Alfred was still disappointed in his miscalculation, but kept on, “How was your talk with Master Bruce?”

“It went well.” You swiped on your phone before pulling yourself into a seat and adjusting the bandages on your wrists. Alfred gazed at your face and found that the bandage beside your eye was now gone. “Ah, there’s my Young Mistress. I knew she were very pretty.”

You gasped and turned away so he couldn't see the smile that hurt your cheeks. The thing about compliments from Alfred was that they were always sincere as was everything he said.

If he called you pretty, it was because he genuinely thought so and that warmed your heart. Your family would’ve loved him.

“So, is this where you work your magic?” You texted, and Alfred let you change the subject with a knowing smile.

“I wouldn’t say it’s magic, but I haven’t had a complaint yet.”

You tried to rest your arms on top of the island and lean on them as comfortably as you could so that you could watch him.

The way he moved across the kitchen was nothing short of graceful. How could he make chores look elegant? It’s funny how you avoided the kitchen and the sunlight it let in because of fear when you felt so safe in this warmth now. It took you back to a time where you belonged somewhere and you knew that the people loved you.

You watched him in a daze and any remaining stress melted away as the image of him busy in the kitchen began to mesh with memories of your grandmother doing exactly the same. Being around him, around someone that made you feel so safe, made life’s challenges seem conquerable.

“I’m looking forward to what you’ve got planned. Something about you tells me that you know how to season your food.” You grinned and he chuckled. “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

You were so comfortable as the soft clinking of dishes, the running of water as he rinsed vegetables and the low bubbling of saucepans became sleep sounds to you.

“Where’s my head today?” Alfred sounded truly disappointed in himself. “Let me show you to your room, Young Mistress.” You looked up at him half awake with a trickle of drool nearly slipping from the corner of your parted mouth.

“Come on. Someone needs to rest before dinner.” You allowed him to guide you off the chair and towards your “new” room. You'd be lying if your said you hadn't been dreading this moment.

Your room had been your prison cell and sadly it was half self-imposed. Your room had simultaneously been your safe space where no one treaded after a few years and the place where the darkness concentrated the most.

‘Not again. Not again.’ You stood up straight and stepped to the side where you took Alfred’s arm in yours. You’d be brave. This wasn’t your prison. A lump formed in your throat that you could barely breathe around but you wouldn't let the shadows know it.

“My apologies, Young Mistress, but this’ll be a temporary fix. I’ve recently gotten permission to start renovations and plan to have a room made just for you.”

You think you remembered this. Alfred promised to work on your room, and he even got the go-ahead from Bruce but it was never completed. There was always something going on.

Some members of the family needed saving or all hell was breaking loose on actual hell on earth and Alfred was spread too thin.

You placed a gentle hand on his own reassuringly and expertly swiped with the other. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Pennyworth. I know you’re always busy. I’m happy just to have a roof over my head.”

This wasn’t just lip service to look good even though it certainly didn’t hurt to score more brownie points. You’d only be here for 2 years and planned on banishing demons and being outside for the most part. No need to stress Alfred over something so trivial.

Alfred froze like you had insulted his cooking. “What do you mean, Young Mistress? You deserve more than just a roof over your head and I’d thank you not to settle for the literal bare minimum.” He sucked in a breath between his teeth, “I already have catalogues and swatches for you to choose from.”

‘These plans will fall through, Alfred. It’s never going to happen.’ You smiled placatingly and patted his hand as you continued down a hall to a set of rooms reserved for uninvited guests.

You could feel a petty and sarcastic energy saying “Welcome Home” mockingly and it made your skin crawl, but you did one thing that your mother told you when you were having a panic attack at school, “Turn that fear into anger.”

Alfred opened your bedroom door and gestured for you to enter first.

He tried his best just like always. The duvet and pillows were freshly laundered and matched your favorite colors. He had washed and replaced the curtains and thoroughly dusted everything and aired out the room.

It was pleasantly plain save for the bundles of flowers, cards, small plushes and little goodie bags displayed on the chestnut desk. They were all gifts from the people who took care of you in the hospital.

You made a show of admiring the room and the care Alfred put into arranging it for you and looked at the names on the cards.

Not a single one from your new “family.”

It’s a good thing things hadn’t changed; this would make it easier to be as much of an ass as you wanted to be.

You looked over to Alfred and a wide, heart-melting smile spread across your face. Your eyes glistened and you looked away towards the window to wipe them as you sniffled.

“I knew it…” You whispered more to yourself and Alfred urged you.

“Knew what, my lady?”

“That I could count on you.” Your voice was a weak rasp that could be carried away by the wind but he hung on every word. He couldn't wait for the day he could hear your voice as it really was. He could imagine your full laughs and playful jokes clear as day.

You sat on the bed and looked genuinely happy with how soft the duvet was and his heart ached as he watched you be so pleased with a plain guest room. You were entitled to so much more, but you were just glad to be given a room and Alfred could hardly bear it.

“I’m going to get better soon so we can garden together. My mom had a green thumb and I think I do too.” You looked like you were trying not to brag as you texted and Alfred smiled, “It’ll be nice to have a little helper. I’ll prepare your gloves.”

A comfortable silence passed between you before he remembered the saucepan and pots he had simmering on the stove. “I’ll continue preparing dinner, Young Mistress. Please rest and I’ll come get you when it’s ready.” You nodded as he left with a soft click of the door as he took the warmth with him.

It wasn’t even a second before you heard waves crashing in your ears and suddenly the bed felt like it was tilting sideways and you had to grip the sheets to keep from tipping over.

Swoosh, swoosh

You could hear the gale winds from that night and nearly feel the flood's spray misting your face.

It doesn’t waste time, huh?

Dark clouds were looming in the far corner of the room. Yard-long tendrils hung low and limp for now as the house was waiting to feed on you.

Had it been like this in the last life? Everyone in the house, save for the one man who actually met you outside of it, had already disliked you before you even arrived. Was it always the house?

You could hear whispers of the dead with the loudest being the most recent—The drowned and lost.

‘Your problem is with him. Not me.’ You thought, feeling that the energy could reach them.

Tension was building in the back of your head and your temples were beginning to pound. You inhaled deeply and exhaled all of the negative energy you could. You wouldn’t let it in.

You laid back and your muscles immediately relaxed against the mattress that Alfred must’ve replaced before you came. Your thoughts cleared and you tried to organize the facts. Was the miasma and the haunting the cause of everything?

Yes and No. You knew in your bones that a hint of loathing must’ve been in their hearts from the start or it wouldn’t have been so easy for the dead to manipulate them.

It only exacerbated their most negative qualities and the biases they already had against you, and with that realization you knew you couldn’t give them grace.

The haunting needed your misery because feeding off of Bruce wasn’t enough after being a stagnant food source for almost 4 decades and you were the sensitive sacrificial lamb.

You were the survivor who got a billionaire father while countless innocents lost their lives because he couldn’t put one maniac to sleep or get off his high horse.

‘Sins of the father…’

You stared at the ceiling and thought of them all–The members of Bruce’s family who made you ashamed to even be alive. You clasped your hands over your stomach and willed yourself to be strong.

Damian had been the physical one from the beginning. From the kick when you had just arrived, to shoving you against walls, and making you fall flat on your face—something about you tempted the violent nature he overcame in the years before you showed up and he couldn’t resist.

You developed a fear response and could detect when he was near even if he was rooms away.

You recognized his steps, his breathing patterns, and the way the air shifted around him. You were more aware of his presence than your own, and the mere thought of him inspired the most primal fear in you more than the first humans feared the dark.

Maybe it’s because you suspected if he “accidentally” killed you no one would question it. Maybe it’s because if he amped up his cruelty and did something truly criminal, there’d be no justice for you.

He made Wayne Manor a 24/7 battlefield but a hell that was too familiar to escape. If you ran, where would you go? You had no life skills or safety net. There was no place for you in the manor or the outside world.

Damian was the instigator of many shameful memories that’d haunt you in your subconscious but one thing that you’ll never forget for as long as you live was the time with your Nana’s picture.

You had found an old photo of your Nana online that you printed out and kept with you. It was your keepsake and absolute treasure, especially after you’d lost all your possessions in the flood.

When you looked at that picture, you saw someone who looked like you. That photo was an anchor that kept you from completely losing yourself and proof that even though you didn’t belong to this family, you had indeed belonged somewhere.

It was a quiet and good day because you hadn’t seen anyone all day. You had let your guard down and you recall looking back on that moment and hating yourself.

You’d been standing in front of Thomas and Martha Wayne’s portrait and gazing up into Martha’s face while wondering what she had been like. Her eyes were soft but undoubtedly intelligent. She didn’t want for anything, but she didn’t hold on to her wealth with her history or charity. She was truly noblesse oblige.

Her smile made you smile back as you held your Nana’s picture in one hand. ‘I wonder if you two would’ve got along.’ You honestly felt they would’ve hit it off.

You reached forward with your Nana’s picture to tuck it into the picture frame. It was a little 3 by 2 photo that didn’t take any space at all and you weren’t going to leave it there. You just wanted to set the two women near each other so you could look at the resemblance.

Your two grandmothers.

You were so at ease that you didn’t notice Damian had been watching you from down the hall until he stormed at you when he saw you touching the portrait.

You were usually hyper-aware of him but had been lost in the warm feeling that thinking of your two grandmothers had brought and your heart almost jumped into your throat when he burst onto the scene.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His tone was accusatory and you felt like you’d been caught stealing. He wrenched your wrist and bent it painfully while ripping your Nana’s picture out of your grasp.

He scanned the small photo. “Who’s this?”

“M-my N-Nana.” You didn’t mean to squeak but he scared you and his hold on your wrist had you curling up in pain. If you had to speak anymore, you knew you’d end up blubbering.

“Hm,” He stared down at the photo but something in his eyes changed. The razor blade cruelty won.

“Then she’s nothing.” He dropped the photo and then stomped down and ground it into the floor leaving a shoe print.

“No!” You pulled away and he let go, almost causing you to fall back. You dropped to your knees to recover the picture and he stomped down on your hand. You shrieked and felt knuckles crack and dislocate. Your cries echoed in the hall and he hissed “Stop whining.” as if you were a child throwing a tantrum in the toy aisle.

He took hold of your hair and looked down at you.

“Don’t think that because your whore mother tempted father into bed that you’ll ever be one of us.”

You were struck speechless and felt like you were submerged in ice cold water. You wanted to retort but so many thoughts overwhelmed you at once.

How could anyone say that?

Why would he say that?

What had you done wrong?

You want to defend the two most precious women in your life but words failed you as you doubled over in a panic attack.

“Pathetic.”

He wiped his hands on his pants then turned on his heel and left you there to pick up the pieces.

Over the years, he mellowed out and just ignored your presence. He’d scowl when you were near or exude an aura that said ‘Don’t speak.’ but at least he didn’t attack you like before or ransack your room and rip up your books and anything of personal value.

For a while after you came to the manor and before he decided you were nothing, every book, notebook, sketchbook, or anything else you cherished would be torn apart and left in your room for you to find. He was mocking you. Goading you to tell someone.

He knew no one would listen.

No one believed you or offered to speak to him about it and actually, most everyone (minus Alfred and Jason) thought you were trying to pin your own bad behavior on him, trying to frame him for attention, or were genuinely going crazy and wrecking your own stuff.

He used Titus to intimidate you, and instigated Stephanie to harass you by saying you were talking about her or messing with her things, and she’d always believe him and fly off the handle.

You had tried to clear up the misunderstanding once or twice but you’d overwhelmed with tears and couldn’t speak during these altercations.

In the end, you always looked like the guilty party who could dish it, but couldn’t take it and every case was closed with you as the bad guy.

It was like Stephanie relished in hating you. You were her prey. A way to assert dominance and maintain her place in the family. You were never invited to things and when you were, it was to the wrong location or the wrong time and you always missed it or stood up.

“Y/n! Why didn’t you come? We waited for you.” Her eyes were mocking but her voice was concerned and almost wronged as if you stood her up.

She had a gift for projecting her voice so all could hear her side and assume you were in the wrong. Your voice only shrunk in anxiety, and her manipulation worked every time.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” No the fuck she wasn’t.

“We would’ve invited you, but we didn’t think it was your kind of thing.”

“Why are you always looking so sad, gosh!”

“You’re Bruce Wayne’s daughter. You’d think you’d have something to smile about.”

“You’re like a vacuum that sucks out all the fun in the room.”

You were in social danger any time you were in her sights. Every interaction had to be in front of an audience and she laid into you with no one to intervene. The few times you tried, you were ganged up on for being too sensitive and not getting the joke.

You remember her getting up in your face shouting and you could feel little drops of spit hitting you. You remember that disgusting memory vividly. She was yelling at you to never touch her stuff again but you never did to begin with.

You could see Damian smiling devilishly behind her as she did exactly what he wanted. He was the devil on her shoulder and she was too stupid to see it. Maybe part of her knew but she always bit the bait giddy to have a reason to go off on you.

God, you should’ve popped her in the mouth even if she would’ve beat you up after.

Cassandra was always witness to the social humiliation. She was the toughest in the family, the only one that could best Bruce in combat, but she did nothing to protect the weakest person there.

She watched, she judged, she ignored when you weren’t actively being a victim, and you felt like a ghost.

Sometimes it felt like you were already dead.

Tim got you mentally and Dick got you emotionally. You thought you could be friends with Tim with him being closer in age and sharing similar interests. He got along with everyone so why couldn’t you?

Simple. He was already biased.

After reading up on you and fighting the media circus from the moment you were discovered, he’d seen enough of you for a lifetime and didn’t hide it.

Attempts at conversation were met with withering looks that made the words die in your throat. Questions were met with exaggerated sighs as if you were the most mentally incapable person he had ever met.

When you started homeschooling because your mental health declined, he mocked your course work and why it was hard for you to keep up. “I guess intelligence isn’t hereditary,” Something dark took over in him, “Or this is the best your mom could do.”

He embarrassed you in front of his friends and even made them feel awkward about it. Connor and Bart were disturbed by his behavior, and couldn’t get a real reason from him for why he was acting this way.

“Just ignore her.”

“She’s no one.”

“When is she going to get out of here? Why’s she even around?”

One time, Tim caught you struggling over a very difficult math problem when you felt someone staring at you. You turned to meet his eyes and he said something that killed a part of you that you thought had already died.

“I wish you hadn’t been found.”

His eyes said he meant it.

Dick was apparently physically flawless if you asked anyone. He was considered a true hero, the de-facto leader of any team he joined or at least the most trusted advisor, and countless people and respected heroes trusted him as an equal.

Surely someone as big hearted as him could just treat you like a person, right?

Wrong.

Your weight fluctuated with your mental health and your skin changed too. Stress breakouts and pimples were a common occurrence and your skin was either too oily or too dry at any given time.

His eyes never really saw you, or let you in like a person he accepted. He looked at you like a half finished sketch that the artist had given up on. You weren’t worth finishing, but he figured he’d take pity and steer you in the right direction.

He was so nice like that.

“You know that’s really bad for you.” He would say when you’d grab for anything you could eat quickly as you rushed back to your room.

“You’d look and feel better if you lost some weight, you know?”

“Look at everyone. You’d really benefit from some exercise.”

He pinched at your sides to emphasize his words. “Steph and Cass are so active. Maybe you could workout with them?” As if they’d even let you. If you tried with them they probably wouldn’t go easy on you and you’d be battered in minutes.

Or when you starved? He was proud of you. Of course, now you lost weight in some of the ‘wrong’ places and your hair was thinner and you were even weaker, but you were going in the right direction! Keep it up, Y/n!

He was confused that you didn’t glow like the others. You didn’t look like the others. Damian was so good looking so how were you the awkward step-sibling when you had Wayne blood in your veins? Dick shrugged. Maybe it just skipped a generation.

It had weighed on you.

The misery had been too much to carry and you had attempted to take your life several times during your decade at Wayne Manor.

You smiled wryly. You’d thought you were such a loser that you couldn’t even kill yourself right, but maybe it never worked because there was still goodness in the world that reached out to you when no one else would.

You hadn’t failed. You had been saved.

The faces of those special few crossed your mind, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest and to your belly.

The horrors of the past and the attempts invaded your mind as if to overwhelm you and force you back on that lonesome path to your end, but it couldn’t force you again. Those kind faces and selfless eyes made you smile as tears prickled the corners of your closed eyes.

It all went like this…

❥

You had gotten addicted to exercise and any way to lose weight. Images of Barbara’s and Starfire’s perfect bodies flashed in your eyes whenever you blinked and Dick’s “advice” kept you awake at night. It hadn’t been an attempt, but a consequence of your pain.

You’d been doing exercises on your bedroom floor, going too fast, pushing too hard, when you went into cardiac arrest. You and Alfred don’t know how he did it, but he felt a pain in his own heart when you were having the attack and he nearly flew to your room before he knew it.

He performed first aid and rushed you to bed where he tended to you. He took you to doctor’s appointments and put you in therapy. He managed your diet and watched you like a hawk.

Once again, no one visited.

❥

Tim’s cruelty had become too much for you to bear. It’d been a beautiful spring day and a gentle breeze carried the scent of jasmine all the way up to the third floor balcony.

You stood at the railing and a great sadness and bitterness consumed you. Why were you the one pushed to the edge like this? Frustrated tears blurred your vision. Why were you so hated when your only sin was living?

Even now on such a beautiful day you were going to end it all while they were all having fun together.

It wasn’t fair.

You climbed the railing and angled yourself so you’d land on the stone below and without another thought you pushed off and tilted head first.

Bart had watched it all in disbelief from the backyard, and hoped that he was just being dramatic until he saw you climb the railing.

Tim had been prattling on about some new tech thing he was working on while Bart’s body was vibrating with unreleased energy.

‘She won’t…’

She did.

He was racing to you and catching you in his arms in a flash. He caught you just in time before your head was cracked open on the stone patio and your tearful eyes fluttered open and found his petrified face.

His heart was pounding in his throat and his hands felt numb. He had never seen you so up close before. He didn’t even remember the last time you spoke or if you’d ever spoken to each other without Tim interrupting and shooing you away.

His mind was going crazy trying to find you in his memories and he realized he hadn’t been able to make any with you with Tim around. All that came to mind were anxious eyes and an insecure smile before darting away.

You blinked through the tears and a strangled gasp slipped out as your face broke into disappointment, “Why?”

“What?” Bart was dumbstruck. Did you mean why’d he catch you or were you just confused. He hoped it was the latter.

“Why’d you save me?” You cried and Bart stared down at you as you fell apart in his arms.

He didn’t treat Tim the same after that. He tried to tell Tim about your attempt and Tim waved it off as an accident. “She’s crazy.” He’d said and Bart couldn’t let it go.

He felt like he needed to avenge you in some way, but he didn’t know how. It was a family thing, wasn’t it? People always said not to get into other people’s business, especially family matters.

He stopped coming around as much and even Tim realized he was being ghosted but didn’t get why. Bart tried to keep tabs on you when he’d ask Barry to mention you to Batman but nothing ever came of it. Barry knew something was up but was stonewalled hard by Bruce whenever he tried to be a good adult and float the idea that, hey, maybe his daughter needs help.

None of the adults intervened, and he carried that with him and wondered what he could’ve done differently for the rest of his life.

News of your death had hit him personally. He saw it coming. He knew if no one had intervened it would end up like this, but he prayed someone in your family would come around and see the signs if they wouldn’t listen to an outsider like him.

He was too hard on himself. He had been a kid like you were, but he hated himself for not saving you,

He never forgave himself or the batfamily.

❥

It had been a gorgeous winter day and the pond had frozen over into pure crystal. You should’ve been enjoying nature, but you weren’t here for sightseeing.

Damian’s words and actions had gone too far regarding your mother and what made it worse was that no one defended you.

You’d had enough.

You were wary of large bodies of water since the storm, but something about drowning to meet your end seemed right. Like finishing what had been started.

You were numb, almost robotic, as you walked to the middle of the pond, kicked on the ice, and let it swallow you whole. The icy cover slipped back in place seamlessly and it was like you’d never been there at all.

Connor was always aware of you when he came over. Tim dismissed you and you were too afraid to meet Connor’s eye no matter how disarmingly smooth he tried to be with you, but he was still always aware of your presence.

It was like he was unconsciously keeping track of you, something he’d never done for anyone else unless required for a mission. For some reason, due to a completely foreign feeling, he needed to make sure you were there.

He could feel you getting farther away, and used his x-ray vision too look through Tim’s bedroom wall, through the mansion and out in your direction.

His eyes found you immediately and he stilled as he saw your figure getting smaller and smaller as you got further away from the manor and farther into the brush. ‘Where’s she going?’

He half-rose from his chair as dread began to set in and leaned forward as he watched you get farther away and then suddenly your heat signature dropped and disappeared.

He jumped from his chair and bolted out of Tim’s room, clipping doorframes and knocking off wooden panels along the way. Once outside, he took to the sky in the direction you were and found the point where he’d lost you.

His heat vision melted the ice above you and he dove in and dragged you out in seconds. His heart was racing the entire time as he gave CPR like he’d seen in the movies, kicking himself for not knowing how to save someone when he called himself a hero.

What if he didn’t make it in time? What if he wasn’t doing CPR right?

He flew you through the cold and gently lay you in front of the fireplace where his heat vision had it lit and raging instantly. Alfred rushed to gather blankets, but besides that, they were the only two in motion.

Connor realized that he was screaming for someone to help, for Tim to get his ass downstairs. His mind was so loud he couldn't even hear his own screams until he became aware of his throat going hoarse.

Tim ambled downstairs and gazed at your pale, violently shivering and barely conscious self.

“What’s the big deal? She fell.”

Connor looked Tim in the eyes for a hint of a joke or just a simple tale of Tim putting his foot in his mouth once again but Connor’s heart plummeted when he saw that the man he called a friend was dead serious.

‘What the fuck is wrong with these people?’

There’s a shouting match after that, but Tim didn’t understand what the problem was. Y/n fell in the pond, and of course she’d be out there all alone because she’s dumb and just wants attention.

Connor saw red and it all happened so fast. He may have hit Tim, and he may have gone on a minor rampage in the manor before storming out to never return again.

And that was the end of their friendship.

Connor would fly as far away from the manor as possible but close enough to see you using his x-ray vision. Sometimes he’d just watch you all night just to know you were still there. Just to know you were still alive.

Metas were barred from Gotham and when Batman and the others found out about Connor’s bodyguarding, they ramped up anti aerial measures that forced Connor to stay farther away until he couldn’t enter Gotham airspace at all.

The one night he slacked off on watching you was the one night he lost you.

❥

Jon had been over and innocently passed by the lounge when he heard Stephanie yelling in your face, “Don’t touch my shit again!” Her voice was shriller than he had ever heard from her even when yelling at bad guys, and you were as quiet as a mouse with wide glassy eyes. Even a naive boy could tell that this was unfair.

He peeked inside and saw Damian grinning like he was watching his favorite show. “She falls for it every time.” Jon didn’t know if he was talking about you or Stephanie as he frowned in confusion.

His brows knitted together and his face burned hot when he saw your mouth trembling and heard you choking to speak.

“Get Bruce to buy it for you. Why do you always take my stuff?”

“Maybe that’s how she always was.” Damian offered from the background, gleefully fueling the fire.

Jon snapped.

He wasn’t sure what was going on but he knew this was wrong. His inner sense of justice told him so.

“Leave her alone!”

Damian startled beside him, not expecting the outburst and the sheer force the shout gave out, and Stephanie leaped up and whirled around with wide eyes like she had been caught in an embarrassing moment.

“W-Wha-, you were there?” Jon ignored her question and marched forward, “What are you doing?” He puffed up his small chest, his fists balled.

“W-well, she took my thing…” She was suddenly slightly aware of how immature this seemed, but pride wouldn’t let her give in.

Jon was younger than her, but stared up at her like she was a simple child. “Did you see her do it?”

Stephanie and Damian held their breaths.

“No, but Damian said—”

Jon turned around to his friend, “Did you see her do it?”

Damian sneered indignantly, “And if I said yes?” Jon stared at Damian like he was seeing his true self for the first time.

Had he been mistaken about his friend’s character this whole time?

“Th-thank you.” You choked out pathetically to Jon and hurried from the room.

It was a screaming match between Jon and Damian and Stephanie that shook the walls, and even though Damian was one to always get the last word, Jon’s voice shook pictures from their hooks and threatened to knock over priceless art unless he composed himself.

He had to calm himself down because he had a feeling the more he fought with them, the harder it’d be for you later. He knew that he could leave and go back to his safe warm home, but you had to stay here with them.

He didn’t want to leave you in a worse position than he found you. Clenching his fists and screwing his eyes shut tightly, he counted to 10 like his dad had showed him.

Maybe it was something Kryptonians shared because just like Connor, Jon couldn't let this go as he felt a grudge forming for you. Jon stalked away from the argument with no answers or guilt from the people who harassed you, one of which he’d called a “friend,” and he wanted to see you one last time before he left.

He pushed open what he thought was your bedroom door and anything he wanted to say died in his throat as only a pitiful “Y/n.” tumbled out.

His voice had been so small then, and it came clearly through the eerie silence that surrounded you in your room. You had fashioned a noose and hung it over a low hanging beam and Jon had walked in on you standing in place. He knew what it was for.

“Don’t do it.”

Your eyes were red and glassy. They begged for help but they wanted even more to not cause some innocent kid distress. You tore down the noose and tossed it to the dirty clothes hamper. “I wasn’t, I promise.”

He didn’t believe you, but he wasn’t prepared for a situation like this. What would his dad do? It finally hit him how young and inexperienced he was, and he felt like a sorry excuse for a hero.

“I’ll be okay.” You hurriedly tried to rub the snot from your nose and rushed to grab tissues and move the stool away. “Thank you for saving me, Jon.”

He thought back to that altercation in the lounge and thought it didn’t count. “I didn’t save you.” He said more bitterly than he intended.

He didn’t make anything better! The people who hurt you didn’t care and he had even misjudged someone he thought was a friend this whole time!

You looked over at him, “Yes, you did, Jon. You saved me twice.”

Jon’s chin quivered and he was too ashamed to cry in front of you. He never visited Damian again and after hearing about the insanity at Wayne Manor and Superman himself trying to talk to Bruce, the relationship between the Supers and Bats was never the same.

Your death caused a rift between the two families. Superman treated Batman like a coworker and stopped acquiescing to his eccentricities.

He went toe to toe with the Bat and didn’t back down on many things.

Connor and Jon focused on Metropolis and growing into men you could be proud of.

They’d never forget the one they didn’t save.

❥

You hadn’t had him the first 16 years of your life and you’d thought you outgrew needing a father. You didn’t know him, and didn’t want him so why did it hurt so much when he obviously didn’t care about you.

Why was one child loved and the other wasn’t? Was it because of your mother? He loved Damian’s and not yours? Damian was blue blooded and you were a statistic?

You did it the old-fashioned way in the tub and Jason and Titus were the ones who found you.

It’s funny that the dog that put you on edge was the first to notice something was up. .

He’d never attacked you, he was a good boy and unlike dogs bred for fighting and assault you knew he didn’t have bloodlust, but he intimidated you with his sharp knowing eyes.

However, contrary to his master’s wishes and the evil dead that surrounded you, he couldn’t hate you. He saw the spirits of beloved pets floating around and following after you and he knew you were a good human with a loving heart.

He wanted to get near but the malicious energy concentrated around you knew he could see them and that put him in danger. So, he steered clear of you and watched the tendrils and the dead that hated you for surviving from a safe distance.

He was the only one who could see what you were going through, but couldn’t do a thing about it. Who could he tell?

And things remained like that until one evening he felt a shift. The walls were groaning and the wind howled but as always he was the only one who could hear it. His tail went straight up and his hackles raised.

Something was wrong with you.

Titus bolted for Jason, one of the few humans he could sense had good feelings towards you, and took bit down on his ankle and tugged hard.

“Titus! What the hell?” Jason pulled back but Titus dragged him clean out of his chair and to the ground. The dog dragged Jason a little more to make sure he got his point across and then dropped Jason’s leg.

Titus rushed to the door and turned back to Jason expectantly, barking when Jason wasn’t getting up fast enough.

“What kind of Scooby-Doo bullshit is this?” Jason mused as he pulled himself to his feet and chased after the anxious dog, his blood going cold as he realized he was heading to your room.

Something in him knew what this could be about.

‘No. Please, no!’

Titus ran towards a door and barked and scratched desperately. Jason was close behind, almost overtaking the dog and broke the door down with a shoulder charge. It sounded like a bomb went off as the wood split and splintered, sending its remains scattering across the tiled floor.

There you were.

Your eyes were closed.

“No, no! Y/n, why would you?” He knew why, actually. He’d always had a feeling that there was a darkness you shouldered that was even darker and deeper than he knew, but he just assumed he had more time!

More time to come around and finally talk to you, more time to work his way into your life and get you out of the manor. Why did he take it all for granted? Why did he, like everyone else, take you for granted?

He hauled your soaking wet body out of the bath and to a room nearest to the front of the house all the while screaming his head off.

“Help! Alfred! Someone fucking help!”

Alfred stitched you up and treated you in the med bay, and Jason fought Bruce in a way he never did even when he first came back as the Red Hood.

Walls collapsed, bones were broken, and several had to jump in to try to separate the two but none were strong enough to end the struggle.

It finally ended when Jason realized he wanted to kill Bruce, and he almost succeeded.

He withdrew when he realized it’d feel so good to kill Bruce for you.

After that, Red Hood and Jason Todd officially broke away from Bruce Wayne and Batman. It was like Jason had died a second time as a quiet gloom was once again cast over Bruce’s life, but he wouldn’t acknowledge his failure. He wouldn’t acknowledge that he had any fault in your attempt or that that was the reason Jason would never forgive him.

The one time Jason came back to try to build a bridge to cross over to you, was the night you ended your life in front of him.

He thought he had more time.

Your eyes flew open and you inhaled a shuttering breath that struggled down your throat. Your lungs felt like they had been shriveled up and you turned your head over the side of the bed to throw up water. Where had it come from?

You coughed while wiping the tears from your eyes and looked up to see long tendrils like thick black hair reaching out and surrounding you from all sides. It was like you were a juicy fly entangled in a web and the widow was creeping closer and closer knowing that you had nowhere to run.

It should've scared you.

It pissed you off.

"You motherfucker!" You reached out and took hold of the black mass with both hands.

With two unbandaged arms and weaving scars that healed over the course of 10 years.

You didn't waste time wondering why you were an inch or two taller or why you felt stronger than ever before. You didn't take notice of the clothes that were far sexier and fantastic than your wildest dreams.

All you could feel was the raw hatred you had been holding on to for 10 long years as golden chains shimmered and wrapped around the writhing black mass that struggled in your hold. The moment a chain touched the mass, it sizzled and popped like bacon touching hot grease.

The mass let loose a horrific shriek from a nonexistent mouth like several pigs being slaughtered at once and your eardrums felt like they'd popped. It writhed desperately as the chains from your scars tightened and squeezed around it.

It shook in your grasp but you held tight and wouldn't be knocked from your feet.

"Go to hell!"

The chains clenched tighter until the mass was eviscerated into nothingness.

Your bedroom shook and you could hear the walls and inner beams shifting around you as other entities cried in horror and retreated farther into the mansion and away from you.

Your clenched fists shook as you caught your breath.

You ran your tongue alone a pointed canine and smiled salaciously.

Then, you looked up and saw your reflection in the plain vanity mirror. The 26 year old you who you had never seen so radiant and powerful before stared right back and winked.

❥ Tag list~

@kore-of-the-underworld @simpingpandas @delusiontown-exe @ottjhe @therealme13posts @yuezodiaco @fernwehraarta @crispybelieverworld @c4xcocoa @alishii @linasrosetown @oxt3n @omgfangirlland @nxdxsworld @chaoticmoontimetravel @marmalemon @rythespy @sassam @bellethesleepypotato @oliviaewl @lovebug-apple @sydneyyyya @pearlyribbons @nirvanaxx1942 @teabutnerdy @mourart7 @galaxypurplerose @holderoflostmemories @aelxr @magdalenacarmila @romancedeldiablo @addieverse18 @dirtydiavolo @ironsaladwitch @1nfinity-void @llikeballs @bit-subway @celesteelysia @kksmush @plsfckmedxddy @dannyisdying @inkdelicious @candyluck05 @mazixxss @wonderlace19 @lilithskywalker @eyeless-kun @treeeeeeefrog @yandere-enthusiast @soriansick @dumpsterdiverinc @ecto-800-1 @the-bookish-artist @ghostxmio @crunchycereals @hopingtocleaemedschool @cheshire-kitsune @rovcarmen

#yandere batfam #yandere batfam x neglected reader #ty.writes #yandere dc #yandere jason todd #AND NOW WE'RE DONE WITH THE SAD PART #I'M TRYING TO GET TO HORKNEE HRS TYVM

265 notes · View notes

unterdans · 1 day ago

Text

contempt

johnny storm x ex-gf!reader

summary: You and Johnny dated briefly in college. Things ended when he got his powers and his whole world changed. When Sue asks you to tutor Franklin, you come back into each other's lives.

content warnings: reader with fem pronouns, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as "doc" or "professor," lovers to enemies to lovers, some hurt, mostly fluff :3

wc: 3.9k

a/n: as you can see, i got carried away with my first fic here/written in... five years! sorry if it's ooc, i've only seen the new movie once so far! please enjoy-- it'll be up on ao3 in the near future.

“If she should make tender of her love, ‘tis very possible he’ll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.” - Don Pedro, Much Ado About Nothing

You had met Johnny in your third year at Harvard when he was in his fourth year at MIT. Things flowed easily between you two. Your romance was fast but tender. Past his cocky first impression, Johnny was caring, softer than butter, and toothachingly sweet. On the nights you spent together in your apartment curled around each other in your bed, he would read whatever was on your nightstand until you fell asleep in his arms.

Then came his graduation.

You were proud of him, of course, but also scared of what would become of your relationship. He was moving to New York to work with his sister and while that wasn’t horrendously far, you knew it would put a strain on the easy, light, sugary thing you had going. You had met Sue, her husband Reed, and Reed’s best friend Ben when they would come to visit Johnny. They were all nice in their own ways, but you weren’t close enough with any of them to voice your fears about Johnny. Was what you had serious enough to inconvenience him? To inconvenience you?

When he left, you both swore up and down that you would write to each other and call in the evenings when you had the time. And at first, you both did. Johnny wrote as much as he talked— about his sister, about New York, about this space trip he and his family were selected to go on.

The letters and the calls stopped when he came back from space. Everything changed: his DNA, his job, his whole life. What would you two even talk about anymore? You were just the nice girl from his old life. It hurt like hell but you pushed on, finished your English doctorate the following year, and moved to New York yourself.

For unrelated reasons— for opportunities, of course.

You got a teaching gig at a university uptown, settled down, made friends. You didn’t forget about Johnny— how could you when his face was on literal billboards? But the ache of his leaving was just that: a dull pain in the back of your mind that you didn’t consciously think about most days. Most.

But sometimes, when the hum and glow of the city punctured your closed curtains, the loneliness hit you. He was out there, without you, a new girl on his arm every few weeks. What you had didn’t mean anything to him.

Two years passed in the comfortable rhythm that had become your life when you received a letter in a pale blue envelope at your office mailbox. It was from Sue. Although only two years old, Franklin’s intellect was developing at a rapid pace. Of course he was surrounded by the most brilliant scientists on Earth, but they wanted him to have a well-rounded education. When it came to literature and history, the Fantastic Four were aware they lacked the same prowess they had in the various sciences. Yes, Sue was a renowned diplomat. Yes, Reed had solved teleportation. Yet neither of them had read any Shakespeare beyond Romeo and Juliet. Long story short, they were looking for a tutor and her first thought had been of you, “that brilliant girl we met in Cambridge, in a different life.” She invited you to the Baxter Building Friday to meet Franklin.

No, was your first thought. That would be entirely too much. But how could you say no to this opportunity, to the goddamn Fantastic Four? Maybe Johnny wouldn’t be there. You doubt he hung around the penthouse with his nephew all day. He probably had interviews to do, magazines to pose for, and whatever else came with being America’s heartthrob. So you sat at your desk and wrote back to Sue with shaky hands.

Yes, of course. It would be great to see you again and to meet Franklin.

Your students came and went, asking for help, extensions, book recommendations. As they did, you only had Friday on your mind.. When your office hours were over, you mailed the letter, hesitating before the mouth of the mailbox. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, tutoring the Fantastic Four’s fantastic toddler.

Rather than dragging by, the week sped headfirst towards Friday. As one of the younger professors at your university, you got stuck with the undesirable Friday morning lecture slot. For once, it went by quickly. Too quickly, because the next thing you knew you were in the Baxter Building elevator. You prayed as it trudged upwards that Johnny wouldn’t be there. You could do this if your contact with him was minimal.

The elevator jolted softly when it reached the penthouse floor. Even before the doors opened, before you stepped out of the shaft, you could hear the strained voices.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The last time you heard that voice was over the phone. Back then, warmth exuded through how tired he was. Now his words had a fiery edge to them, burning you.

“I didn’t think it mattered to you, Johnny.” Sue, ever the diplomat.

Panicking, you step heavily to announce your presence. Thank god for loud heels.

“Oh, come in—”

“Give us a minute!”

Sue and Johnny’s voices mixed together in the high-ceilinged echo. You decided to listen to Sue and tentatively stepped out of the elevator and onto the landing. Blue and orange toys littered the contemporary carpet. Your eyes were glued that way for a few seconds, hesitant to look up. When you did, Johnny was already looking at you. Fuck. Franklin had been in his arms but he now handed the toddler back to his mother. Johnny looked sharply back at Sue, a soft scoff coming from his perfect mouth.

He stormed out of the living room and onto the balcony. He glanced back at you and saluted to his sister before lighting his fire and leaping into the sky.

Sue turned to you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You swallowed, trying to regain your composure. “It’s fine! If my being here is a problem at all—”

She smiled at you in that dazzling, comforting way of hers. “Not at all. He was just caught off guard.”

You nodded in understanding. “This handsome guy must be Franklin!”

Talking to Sue and getting to know Franklin had a sense of ease to it. On the part of the Invisible Woman, it nearly felt like you were picking up right where you had left off. Although her whole world had changed— not only with her new powers and her role in international politics, but with her son as well— she was the same earnest and intelligent woman you had briefly known those years ago. She listened to you intently as you discussed the curriculum you had come up with. She seemed to respect you, despite how things had fizzled out with Johnny.

Franklin was a wonder, his intelligent eyes sparkling all over the room as he played on the floor, examining you from time to time with curiosity. Despite your initial hesitancy and awkwardness around Johnny, you were excited to take up this challenge. Having next to no experience teaching children didn’t make a difference— Franklin was far from normal.

As the sun lowered in the sky, Reed and Ben returned from the lab. Both men came up short for a moment upon seeing, no, upon recognizing you. You were a ghost from their past, however briefly they had known you. You were Johnny’s ghost most of all. Besides Sue, they all reacted so strongly to seeing you that anxiety prickled your neck, worrying about what they thought of you. You took a breath to steady yourself and in that span of time, both Ben and Reed regained their composure and greeted you.

“Good to see you again,” Ben said when he shook your hand.

“Same to you, and to you Dr. Richards,” you said and turned to the shorter man.

“Just Reed, please,” he shook your hand for longer than most would. “Sue has been filling us in on your career since we last met.”

Your face flushed. “Oh!” was all you could squeak out.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Sue said from the living room. “Would you be able to stay for dinner?”

Your face flushed further. Dinner with the Fantastic Four? Dinner with your ex’s family? Dinner with your ex?

“I wouldn’t want to impo—”

“It’d be our pleasure,” Reed assured you.

Sue came up behind you and put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Have you read James Baldwin's new book?” Ben asked. All the tension eased out of your shoulders. You could do this.

“I actually just picked up a copy last week,” you said.

H.E.R.B.I.E had started cooking while you were talking to Sue, so all that was left was to set the table and make some finishing touches to the meal, which Ben did eagerly. You chatted with the family about the political context and perspective Baldwin brought to his new work as you gathered around the table, waiting for Johnny. Five minutes passed easily, then ten.

When he finally flew in from the balcony, he didn’t notice you at first. His eyes glazed over you, but not as if he were purposefully ignoring you.

As if you belonged there.

You blinked rapidly to get the thought out of your head. Johnny could have anyone he wanted, why would he be stuck on you? Normal, nerdy you.

“Sorry, sorry everyone. Flew upstate to clear my head and lost track of time.” He sauntered over to the table and took the seat across from you. Only when he sat down did he realize you were there. He stilled. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“Wasn’t expecting you to still be here, doc.”

You scoffed lightly, it could almost be a laugh. Hardly anyone ever called you doctor, even if you did have a doctorate. “If you call me doc, I’ll have to call you the Human Torch.”

Ben laughed and it encouraged you until Johnny glared at him and spoke. “I could live with that.”

For such a hothead, he seemed to be icing you out. The rest of dinner was somewhat tense as the rest of the family asked you about your dissertation, the university you taught at, and your students. Johnny didn’t speak the rest of the time, which was both a relief and a concern. Johnny never shut up. Never. But tonight he sat like a kicked puppy across from you, his big eyes glued to his plate.

The deal you cut with Sue was to come Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons to teach Franklin. Most of these would end right before the family had dinner, so you became a regular at their table, much to Johnny’s chagrin. After two weeks of pouting, though, he seemed to at least accept that you’d be around for a while.

At the end of the third week of having you around, Johnny was finally able to admit to himself that it was nice seeing you again. You were on his turf, which was remarkably different from when you two had dated. He never want to bring you to his apartment back then, because what if you didn’t love his space, his things, didn’t love him, like he—

But that was a lifetime ago. Everything was different now. When you never called after the space mission, it was clear to Johnny that you didn’t want to be part of his life now that he was… not normal. Imagine his confusion when Sue told him you were coming to tutor his nephew, the least normal child in the universe. As you sat at his family’s dinner table multiple times a week, his confusion only grew. You treated them no differently than you did three years ago. To Johnny, it didn’t seem like it registered to you that they were celebrities either.

So why did you never call?

“You’re on fire, Johnny,” Ben said, gravelly but cool. The rest of the table looked at Johnny with surprise; he never put his flame on at the dinner table and had gained complete control over it… or so they thought. The torch himself looked down at his hands in surprise and extinguished them. He realized with embarrassment that he had been staring at you and warped his fork with his heat.

“Are you feeling alright?” you asked.

Why did it have to be you who asked? The worst part of all was the genuine care in your voice. Your eyebrows knitted together in concern and it made Johnny’s heart stutter. He couldn’t reconcile this version of you with the one he had in his head: ashamed and distant.

“Johnny?” Sue brought him back to now.

“Should I get some water?” You asked him.

“No,” he said sharply, “I don’t need you to get me water.”

“Jonathan!” Sue scolded him.

“What does that mean?” you asked as he stormed to the kitchen with his plate, half tripping over H.E.R.B.I.E.

“That means I don’t need anything from you,” he said simply. “Ever.”

The room collectively sighed as he escaped to his room. Your face burned with embarrassment and hurt. “Ever.” Maybe you had hoped that things would change when you took this job. How foolish. Everything about him was different. Where was that sweetness, that softness you had known? Had it all burned away?

Sue, for one, had had enough. She knew her little brother and she knew you well enough to read how you both still cared for each other. Platonically at the extreme least. So she came up with a plan: the two of you could hardly communicate with each other, but if the rest of the team were to convince one of the other’s feelings, maybe, just maybe, you would come to a resolution. Back when you were both in college, you brought out the best in Johnny— enough that Sue could tell, even though she didn’t see her little brother often. His grades improved, he got in trouble less because he wanted to impress you. His motorcycle stunts and purported nonchalance had no effect on you, so he had no choice to bring out the real Johnny. And the real Johnny was refreshing to Sue.

The only problem Johnny had with an open floor plan was that it made it difficult to eavesdrop. Reed and Sue sat on the sofa just out of sight from the kitchen, behind the fireplace in the center of the room, discussing the seating plan for the Future Foundation’s upcoming benefit.

They seemed to have forgotten he was there.

“And the professor?” Reed asked.

“I’m not sure,” Sue said, humming thoughtfully.

“There’s an open space next to Johnny.”

The Human Torch swallowed his cereal and ate another handful, crunching quietly.

Sue chuckled. “I thought we wanted this to run smoothly.”

“She won’t know anyone else there,” Reed offered.

“She told me the other day that—” Sue lowered her voice enough so that Johnny had to focus to hear her “— she misses Johnny’s friendship. She’s professional, so she didn’t let on at dinner last week, but their exchange really hurt her.”

Johnny’s heart stuttered. He had been shoveling more cereal into his mouth but paused his chewing to listen.

“Why hasn’t she told him?”

“You know Johnny, Reed. Once he’s been burned, he doesn’t forget. And you’ve seen them interact enough— it wouldn’t go well. He’s too proud.”

Too proud? Is that what his big sister really thought of him? Of all the people, Sue knew him best. And apparently she knew him to be… unforgiving. He didn’t want to be that person— for her, for Franklin, for you.

Reed and Sue moved on from discussing you, and Johnny crunched on his Lucky Charms, lost in thought.

You arrived at the penthouse of the Baxter Building at three pm on the dot, like always. Johnny had made a point of leaving out the window when you arrived most days, but today, he sat with Franklin in the living room. You hesitated to come closer, but he noticed you and… smiled.

“Hi,” he said with a little wave. Your face must have betrayed your thoughts, because his grin turned sheepish.

“Is Sue around?” you asked.

Johnny shook his head. “No, sorry, she was called to present at the UN today. Seems you're stuck with me till Reed comes back from the lab.”

Anxiety crept up your neck again. You were not emotionally prepared for this. Shit.

“Okie dokie, then,” you said, mentally kicked yourself, and entered the den.

The lesson was brutal. Sue always sat in and it never bothered you, but Johnny’s gaze felt so heavy on you as you explained the act of Much Ado About Nothing you had just read with Franklin.

“Sometimes people that love each other have a hard time expressing it. Benedick and Beatrice were so wrapped up in what they thought the other had done wrong that they couldn’t realize how deeply they cared for one another.” Your voice trembled. When you lifted your eyes from your notes, Johnny was staring at you again. His lips were parted as if he were about to ask you something, but instead he looked away. Your heart raced for some reason— he had made his feelings clear, hadn’t he? Or…

“Shakespeare makes it clear that they have a history, but never what exactly happened. Perhaps even they don’t know and it was simply…”

“Circumstance.” Johnny finishes your sentence when you trail off.

“Exactly,” you breathe.

The elevator dinged and Reed entered the apartment not a moment too soon.

“Hello, professor,” he greeted you warmly.

“Hi, Reed.”

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“I was wondering—” Johnny interjected as he picked up Franklin, bouncing the boy in his arms, “—if you’d want to go out to dinner?”

“H.E.R.B.I.E.’s been cooking for hours already,” Reed said.

“Just the professor, Stretch, I see you more than I’d like.”

Reed rolled his eyes as he took Franklin from his uncle. You watched the two tentatively.

“So, how about it?” Johnny asked again. He rocked back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets, the very image of a nervous little boy. His eyes sparkled in the low light, brows knitted together almost apologetically.

“Sure,” you finally said with a nod. Johnny grinned and legitimately cheered. Reed flinched at the volume of it. As the two of you walked towards the elevator, he pat Reed on the shoulder.

“Sue and you are not that slick,” he whispered to Reed. “...but thank you.”

Johnny took you to a quiet restaurant that was only fifteen minutes from the Baxter Building. All the waitstaff recognized him and you figured he must bring girls here often. Nothing special was going on here, surely. You were intrigued, though, by the fact that the restaurant was a little worn down. It wasn’t flashy, like you expected Johnny Storm’s date spot to be. In fact, it occurred to you as you sat down across from him, none of the tabloid pictures with his various flings featured the checkered tablecloth the establishment was very fond of.

“First of all,” he started as he poured you a glass of wine, “I’d like to apologize for being… well for being an ass these past few weeks.”

You shrugged. “It’s been weird for me, too. Apology wine accepted.”

He laughed as you brought the glass to your lips. “You’ve changed a lot since Cambridge.”

At that, you raised an eyebrow. “Your DNA was literally restructured. You’ve saved the universe. I’m the same person you knew then.”

“No, you’re not. You’re— you’re more mature. I mean, you’ve really made a life for yourself and I’m proud of you. I haven’t changed much besides being more… of an uncle.”

You laughed lightly and he giggled along with you.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who was born to be an uncle, Johnny.”

“It’s a good fit, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

He looked lovely like this: lit by warm candleglow, eyes darting between you and the table, his leg bouncing anxiously. Johnny similarly marveled at the way you leaned in close to listen to him, the way your eyelashes fanned across your cheek when you laughed, how you nervously fiddled with your hair.

He swallowed his pride and finally asked you.

“Why did you never call after the space mission?”

You perked up at the question and he watched as a wave of sadness rolled over you. A pit dipped in his stomach at the sight of how you turned inward, how you withdrew from him. You looked at him like he should know the answer already.

“It was clear life had more in store for you. I didn’t want to hold you back from that. I was just me and now you were a hero. When you never called, I thought it was because you had moved on. Because you had changed and now I was too regular.”

As you spoke, your eyes drifted towards the flame between you two, gaze becoming distant as you remembered those feelings at their most raw. When you looked back up at Johnny, his face was stricken.

“I thought… you never called because you didn’t want to be with someone like me. That you didn’t like the changes I— we— had gone through.”

“No, Johnny, of course not. It’s quite cool, actually.”

“Fantastic, even?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. What a cornball.

Dinner came and went pleasantly, mostly talking about music, but Johnny laughed unprompted while you shared dessert.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he tried to dismiss it.

“No, tell me!”

He put his spoon down and leaned back in his seat. “We’re just a couple of idiots, that’s all. This whole time I thought you didn’t like me, you thought I didn’t like you, meanwhile I never stopped caring about you.” He didn’t dare to speak on your behalf.

“I never stopped caring about you, either,” you breathed. Your hands prickled with excitement.

“See? A bunch of idiots, you and me.”

“Mostly you.”

“Mostly me.”

When you left the restaurant, your hand dangled near Johnny’s, begging him to hold it without saying a word. Your fingers bumped once, twice— he finally got the hint and laced your hands together. Sometimes your strides would become unsynchronized, but he’d make a point of slowing down to match you. The air felt charged between you two, now that everything was revealed.

“I missed this,” you hummed.

“I missed you, pretty girl,” he said, pausing in the street. You took this moment to embrace him. He didn’t respond at first, stunned, but then hugged you tighter than he ever had. Your cheek pressed against his warm chest as if it were meant to be there. Johnny pulled away first, but only to look down at you, admiring. One hand snaked up to brush hair out of your eyes.

“Is it too soon to ask to kiss you?” he whispered.

“We’ve been waiting a few years, haven’t we?”

He chuckled at that. “May I?”

“Of course.” He leaned down to kiss you— so chastely it almost made you laugh. It was fucking sweet, how gentle he could be. When your mouths met, they weren’t hungry or desperate but full of steady longing. In your previous relationship, things had been fast and intense. A perfect match marching towards its inevitable fizzle. This? This was a hearth you could build a home around.

thank you for reading! let me know what you think :3

dividers by @saradika-graphics.

#johnny storm #human torch #fantastic four #f4 #johnny storm x reader #human torch x reader #fantastic four x reader #joseph quinn #joe quinn

289 notes · View notes

buckybarnes82 · 2 days ago

Text

Ice cream and ambushed feelings.

Summary: Yelena (your best friend) knew both you and Bucky had feelings for one another that you’d never be brave enough to share, at least not without a little push. 😉

Bucky Barnes X Reader— FLUFF.

Bucky wasn’t really the dating type, hell he didn’t know how to date and hadn’t done it in a long time. So when you came to the watch tower all covered in distress and warm tears he wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

Yelena was your best friend, which funny enough was the least likely companion for a girl like you, at least in Buckys unasked-for opinion. Yelena was the black cat, and you were less of a golden retriever and more of a cute and tiny lap dog but nevertheless, the two of you couldn’t be more opposite.

“Yelena isn't here” Buckys' shocked expression almost made you snap out of the depressed state you were in. He was clutching a pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream like it owed him money and was wearing half of it on his salt and pepper-littered beard.

“I know, she said I could stay here while I waited for her” you sniffled and he stepped aside to let you into the tower. It was then that you noticed he was the only person home.

“Why aren’t you on the mission?” You wiped your face with your forearm as Bucky walked to the kitchen, you followed him silently waiting for a response.

“I had to get an EKG done today, and haven’t been cleared yet.” He opened the freezer, opened a fresh pint of ice cream, and handed it to you with a clean spoon.

“You look like you could use this” he softly smiled before walking back over to the couch to continue watching the movie he had on.

“Hey, Bucky?” Your voice came out small and raspy. Bucky lifted the remote to pause the television again turning to you with his full attention.

“Thank you” you lifted the pint of ice cream at him with a smile.

“No problem” he scooted over on the couch, making room for you. “Do you want to watch TV with me? It’s just some romcom that Yelena suggested I watch.”

You had met Bucky a few times over the last couple of months, and when Yelena told you her new living situation it took some time to get used to. She knew you had a hopeless crush on Bucky but would never do anything about it, and it’s not like Bucky was known for having game either.

You also knew Bucky didn’t typically like company, and you jumped at the chance to get to know him even a little bit. Nodding as you babied the pint of ice cream in your hand and walked over to him.

“Wait, is your heart okay? Why did you need an EKG?” You worried you were already getting too personal with him but you couldn’t help but wear your heart on your sleeve. No pun intended.

Bucky smiled, covering your legs with the same blanket that was currently covering his lap. “I’m fine, just a precautionary thing they make me do now and then.”

You nodded, reading between the lines.

“Why were you crying?” Buckys eyes didn’t miss the way your facial expression slightly changed, as you looked at the floor.

“We don’t have to talk about it” Bucky quickly hoped he recovered from asking in the first place.

“No, you’re fine. I just…” You sighed, shifting to face him. “Do you ever feel like dating is hopeless? I feel like everyone these days is so immature and weird” You ran a shaky hand through your messy hair.

“Honestly? I don’t even bother” he nervously chuckled. “I feel like I’m probably too much to handle for most.”

“You’ll never be too much for the right person, and I think you’re just being too hard on yourself.” You smiled sweetly at him, making sure he knew you meant it.

“Maybe” he shrugged, unsure if he should read into what you said.

“I know it, you’re the total package Bucky. You just don’t see it” You wouldn’t usually be this forward but you knew an opportunity when you saw one.

“That’s really nice of you to say” he smiled, a noticeable twinkle in his eye catching you off guard before he turned the movie back on. It didn’t take you long to realize what was playing.

“I’m sorry, you said Yelena suggested this movie?” You turned toward him with a suppressed giggle almost escaping your lips as you set your ice cream down on the coffee table in front of you.

Bucky nodded, “Yeah she told me I needed to watch it and it was a crime I had never seen it.” He rolled his eyes and you couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, which eventually erupted into full-blown giggle fits.

“What? What’s so funny?” Bucky leaned forward placing his empty ice cream pint beside yours. He couldn’t help but smile, the sound of your laughter made his own cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Yelena hates this movie! It’s MY favorite romcom” you snorted, and Bucky started to laugh too.

“Do you think she did this on purpose?” You giggled, wondering how Yelena knew you would end up at the watchtower tonight.

“Probably, she knows I like you,” Bucky said nonchalantly as he looked over at you.

“You like me?” You practically melted into the couch when you noticed his beautiful blue eyes on you.

“I gave you a pint of ice cream, I’m sharing a blanket with you and our feet are nearly touching, we are practically already married” Bucky teased as you took a look at the man next to you.

“But you just said you don’t date” You crossed your arms against your chest playfully pouting.

“And I believe it was you who said I wouldn’t be too much for the right person” he reminded you with a giant smile.

“You’re right, I did say that, didn’t I?” You smiled as you leaned in for a kiss, Bucky quickly cradled your face in his hand deepening it as the front door swung open.

‘Well, that happened a lot faster than I expected” Yelena chuckled to herself as she and the rest of the team walked right past you both and into their respective rooms.

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes fic #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fan fic #Bucky Barnes fluff #Bucky x reader

156 notes · View notes

rmview · 11 hours ago

Text

you’re distant, ENHYPEN.

featuring — enhypen members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — how the enhypen boys deal with you being distant after getting back together! ( can be read as part 3 of this )

contents — hurt & comfort.

hee ⁑ seung

heeseung notices right away that you’re holding back, even if you try to smile like nothing’s changed. he’s incredibly intuitive with emotions, especially yours, and the way your voice is softer, your laugh shorter; it eats at him. he regrets what he said more than he can ever express.

at the time, he was overwhelmed, trying to protect himself by pushing you away, but he never meant it. now, he finds himself tiptoeing around you, trying to fix things without knowing how.

he offers small gestures — your favorite drink, a playlist he made, longer hugs — but they don’t land the way they used to. and it breaks his heart.

“you’re still scared i’ll leave, aren’t you?” he asks one night, voice barely a whisper. when you don’t answer, just look away, he wraps his arms around you from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder. “i’ll spend as long as it takes proving that i won’t.”

heeseung’s not perfect, but he’s incredibly self-aware. once he sees the damage his words did, he works quietly, steadily, to rebuild the safety he shattered — never rushing you, never demanding forgiveness, just showing up, again and again.

jay ⁑

jay carries guilt in a very heavy, quiet way. he’s prideful, but he’s also deeply emotional underneath that, and knowing he hurt you — that he made you feel unsafe in your own relationship — makes him feel sick. he apologized already, sincerely, but he can sense your distance. the way you hesitate to meet his eyes, the way you no longer instinctively reach for his hand, it all makes his chest ache.

“you don’t trust me anymore,” he says one evening, sitting next to you but not touching, “and that’s my fault.”

he wants to fix it, desperately, but he doesn’t know how. so he becomes gentle in everything; softer words, slower movements, always giving you space. he tries to show you he’s here to stay, even if you can’t believe it yet.

some days, the tension breaks his heart, but he doesn’t push. he understands you’re protecting yourself now. instead, he chooses patience: waiting at the edges of your heart until you let him back in fully. and when you do, even just a little, he never takes it for granted again.

that fight changed him. he never wants to risk losing you like that again.

jake ⁑

jake’s apology was instant and emotional — he probably cried while saying it. he’s the kind of person who speaks from the heart, and when he said he wanted to break up during the fight, it wasn’t because he meant it, it was because he panicked.

now, even after you’ve said you forgive him, he sees that you don’t feel safe yet. you’re more careful, more reserved, like you’re constantly bracing for the next blow. it wrecks him.

he becomes overly cautious, overcompensating by constantly checking in: “are you okay?” “did i say something wrong?” “do you still love me?” he can’t stand the thought of being the reason you’re anxious. it makes him cling more; holding your hand tightly, watching your face for reactions, blurting out “i love you” at random times like he’s afraid you’ll forget.

when you finally tell him how you're walking on eggshells now, he breaks down a little. “i’ll never say anything like that again. i swear. i’m so sorry, angel.” he means it with everything in him.

from then on, he becomes extra mindful with his words, determined to never make you feel unloved or unwanted ever again.

sung ⁑ hoon

sunghoon’s first instinct is to withdraw when he notices your shift. he’s always been a little awkward when it comes to emotions, and now he’s overthinking every word he says, worried he’ll trigger something again.

he thought apologizing would be enough, but now he realizes how deep his words cut. it hits him when you flinch slightly at his raised voice — not even at you, just at the tv. he stops, mid-sentence, turning toward you with wide eyes.

“do you… are you scared of me?” he sounds broken asking it. he doesn’t want to believe he made you feel that way, but he sees the answer in your hesitation.

from then on, he tries in his own quiet way to reassure you — being extra gentle, extra soft-spoken, opening up more than usual. he gives you space, but always stays close enough that you know he’s still here.

he won’t bring it up unless you do, but if you do, he listens carefully, nods, and says, “i deserve that. but please don’t shut me out forever.” he’s not good with grand emotional speeches, but his consistency and soft care say everything you need to hear; he’s not going anywhere.

su ⁑ noo

sunoo is devastated the moment he notices your change in behavior. he’s so emotionally attuned, especially to you, that even the slightest shift in your energy feels like a storm. he’d thought his heartfelt apology fixed things, but now that you're quieter, less bubbly, it eats at him.

he becomes a mix of guilt and nervous affection: constantly checking your expression, doing little things to make you smile, and then overthinking when you don’t react the way you used to. “do you still love me?”

he’ll ask in the most vulnerable voice, tears shimmering in his eyes. he’s not afraid to cry in front of you if it means being honest. when you finally tell him you feel like you’re walking on eggshells, he pulls you into a tight hug and whispers, “you never have to be scared of me. never again.”

he showers you with reassurance — not just with words, but with gentle gestures, unshakable presence, and a love that glows even through your silence. he gives you time, but never lets you feel alone.

your distance hurts him, yes, but not nearly as much as the idea of losing you. so he waits; with open arms, and an open heart.

jung ⁑ won

jungwon takes it the hardest. not just your distance, but the fact that he knows it’s his fault. as the leader, he’s used to fixing things, taking responsibility. so when he sees you become quieter, more careful around him, his self-blame spirals.

he starts tiptoeing around you, second-guessing everything he says, even overcorrecting with excessive sweetness or long silences. he doesn’t know how to approach it at first: he’s still learning how to navigate deep emotional waters, but eventually, he sits beside you, hands on his knees, and says softly, “i hurt you. and now i see that you’re scared of getting hurt again.”

he doesn’t make excuses, doesn’t push you to move on. instead, he says, “i’ll earn your trust back. one day at a time.” from that point on, he becomes the most emotionally available you’ve ever seen him — open, gentle, asking about your comfort constantly.

he doesn’t just want your forgiveness; he wants to rebuild everything from the ground up. every time you hesitate, he slows down. every time you look away, he speaks your name so softly it brings tears to your eyes.

jungwon loves deeply — and now, he’ll prove it in a million little ways until you feel safe again.

ni ⁑ ki

niki’s not the best with emotional vulnerability, especially when he feels guilty. at first, he doesn’t know how to handle your distance. it frustrates him — not at you, but at himself.

he knows he messed up by saying something so reckless in the heat of a fight. his apology was sincere, but now your coldness stings more than he expected. he wants things to go back to normal, but when you flinch away from his touch or smile without warmth, it finally clicks.

“you’re scared i meant it, aren’t you?” he says one day, voice low, eyes unreadable. when you don’t answer, he takes a shaky breath. “i didn’t. i swear, y/n.” niki might be young, but he’s emotionally perceptive, especially when it comes to you.

he starts being more careful; checking in, holding back from teasing too much, just sitting beside you in silence when you’re not ready to talk. he starts expressing himself in actions more than words: cooking something for you, bringing you small gifts, standing outside your door with headphones so you’ll know he’s there even when you don’t want company.

he doesn’t demand closeness. he patiently waits for you to reach for him again.

notes: here’s the final part! i think it ended on a much more positive note than my angsty self would like xp but i hope you guys like it anyway! give a like if you enjoyed <3 and requests are open!

143 notes · View notes

strawwbyy · 2 days ago

Text

Overtime my view on all the Kings have changed... and I've come to the personal opinion that Satan and Mammon are the best love interests. I've made a post a long time ago on why Mammon (imo) is the best option for an actual relationship, but thinking back Satan is also a great option. They're both great but have differences, I want to point them out.

This is all in my opinion!!!!! Mind you I haven't read all cards, but (I think) enough to have made up my mind.

Like I said I've talked about Mammon before on this post. But, I'd like to add some things. Overtime, it's been clear that Mammon grows more and more attached to MC as time goes on. He talks about his extreme devotion all the damn time, specifying sometimes how he's more in love the more he sees them.

Also, sometimes I wonder if some Kings (or demons in general) have a preference for MC, at least at first, due to them being related to Solomon and having the same soul, however this doesn't apply to Mammon. He didn't feel strongly towards Solomon, he mostly saw his time with him as just messing around/having fun, but it wasn't love. However with MC, he's said multiple times that he LOVES them, and that he fell in love at first sight. This makes his love more honest to me, seeing as he's liked MC since the beginning because of who THEY were, not because they're Solomons Descendant.

I've also learned thanks to people who share screenshots that Mammon is a lot more infatuated than I first thought... We know that he devotes himself greatly to MC, acting like they're his master. But, I feel like deep-down he doesn't actually see himself as MC's posession, but that being theirs makes MC his (if that makes sense...) He did say, in his H-Scene, that he went for this to gain MC's favor, since there were a lot of other devils trying to own them already. He wants to make MC dependant on him completely. It's slightly scary, because this means that he's actually kind of very obsessed. He spends a lot of time on MC, even scolding devils behind their back when he deems their attitude towards them unproper. Also, Bimet, Valefor and Eligos refer to MC as their Queen/King, and sometimes even Mammon does so, so it's clear he's talked to his nobles before about it, and has already decided that MC is basically his. He's also talked about marrying and kids.

Onto Satan, sometime ago I wasn't that into him. He was fun, but I never really saw him with a lot of love. However I've been enlightened. He (from what i've seen) never says that he's in love with MC or anything, he's not very lovey-dovey. He even got slightly shy when holding their hand once.

He gives his all to protect MC and make them happy. It doesn't show too much, but it's a clear fact. I don't want to bring it up...... but even in Mammons pirate card, he uses all his free time getting to work to build a barrier to keep MC safer, which isn't something a King would usually do.

Another thing I really like about him is that he's just really happy around MC. He loves spending time with them and you can really tell that deep down he loves them fr fr

(Of course I don't need to mention that he's really hot. And strong! But this isn't a satan appreciation post lol.)

Now... I want to mention that, although in my opinion Satan and Mammon are the ones who seem to love MC the most, and they're both great, they have a big difference.

Satan is a lot more... Human? Idk how to say it, but by this I mean he's more "normal" than Mammon.

Mammon is amazing, yes, but he's almost too perfect in a way. Everything he does feels so far from MC (or us even). Again, he's really perfect in everything he does.

Satan feels a lot more sincere to me. Overtime I've come to the conclusion that Mammon has ulterior motives with what he does, with the fact that he wants to eventually make MC dependant on him. Meanwhile, Satan is a lot more straight-forward to me, a lot more emotional. He feels more human in his interactions, while Mammon feels more like a fictional character.

Idk if it's understandable. I feel if you've seen enough of them both you know what I mean. A lot of times I think WHY is Mammon the least popular King, but I think it might be because of that: Mammon is less emotional in his ways. Almost too perfect compared to Satan, who feels more like a normal guy who happens to be a really angry demon King.

This isn't to say Mammon isn't my favorite. HE IS. But I really enjoy Satans personality as well, it feels more real. This is a bit of a word vomit, but hopefully someone gets what I mean? lol

#whb #what in hell is bad #prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#whb mammon #whb satan

87 notes · View notes

formulafanfics13 · 1 day ago

Text

‼️Please read. (my week break, negativity, AI, what's coming, and what's next)

usual pinned posts can be found here

masterlists can be found here

Okay, hi, I'm here.

First things first, the past few days I have had time to think about what I want moving forward with this blog. I want to carry on, but I'm not prepared to receive the messages or have to defend myself so much for simply doing something I enjoy.

⚠️ A Note on Negativity, Hate & Death Wishes

Let’s get one thing very clear: negativity, hate, and death wishes are not okay. They never have been, and they never will be.

If you’re here to send that kind of message, simply don’t. Please just block me and move on with your life. I’m not holding anyone hostage. If you don’t like the way I write, who I write for, or the stories I choose to tell, that’s totally fine. But you are not entitled to my inbox.

In the past week alone, I’ve received so many kind messages from people supporting me, but also from other writers saying they’ve faced similar hate. Honestly? It’s heartbreaking. You don’t know who’s behind these blogs. You don’t know what they’re going through in real life. And you don’t get to decide what’s “okay” to say just because you’re behind an anonymous mask.

If you don’t vibe with my content, do not interact. Block me. Mute me. Curate your own space. But don’t come here with cruelty and act like it’s justified. We’re writing fanfiction, not committing crimes.

Going forward:

Any hate, negativity, or death wishes will not be responded to on my page.

Accusations will not be addressed, your messages will simply be deleted.

None of it will be made public.

This blog is not a space for drama, cruelty, or anonymous bitchiness. If you genuinely have a concern, want clarification about something, or have constructive criticism that would be useful for me to consider, my messages are open, and we will have that conversation privately and respectfully.

We’re not doing the anonymous sniping thing anymore. If you’ve got a problem, say it with your chest. If not, scroll on. This space is meant for softness, chaos, fun, creativity, connection. Not hate.

📝 A grammar lesson - AI and Editing

Let's clarify things here (because from the comments I had at the start of the week, a very small amount of people don’t know some of this).

'-' is used between words ('co-found', 'step-sibling').

'–' is used between numbers and dates (2000–2010, 12:50–12:00). - i dont often use these as i personally think they're ugly)

'—' is used for pretty much everything else (example: a break in text. "I can't do—" "yes you can").

Let's be clear here, I have been a university student for the past few years, and I know how to write grammatically correct (and no, I know I don't always do it). No, Em-dashes were not created by AI; it does not always indicate that AI was used. This conception was created because AI writes grammatically correct. But let's not forget, many people can also write grammatically correct.

On Windows, you can type '--' and it will automatically change to '—', on Mac, you can press 'option', 'shift' and '-' and it will change to '—'. You can change this (I personally don't know how because my partner did it for me, because I use '—' most commonly, so it was an easier option for me).

Let's clarify, using em dashes, en dashes, and Oxford commas does not prove something is written by AI; it simply indicates the writer knows how to use punctuation correctly.

Do I write every first draft of my fics with '—'? Yes.

Do I go back through them when editing and replace them with the wrong dash? Yes.

Why? Because people do not understand correct grammar, and with the work I put into each fic I write, I do not want people to think it's not me writing.

Do I also forget to change a few throughout, or miss some when editing? Yes. I'm dyslexic, I miss things, and there are spelling and other grammar mistakes throughout some of my fics, and I see no complaints about that.

Will I continue to change the dashes and hyphens I use? Yes. But again, some may be missed.

No, originally, I didn't change the '—' to '-' in the first chunk of my fics, because I never saw writing grammatically correct as an issue.

If you want to believe my fics are stolen, not written by me, or AI-generated, then please leave my page, block my account, and do not interact. We don't need negativity here. I do not want your opinions. I have explained before, I do not use AI, I don't know much about it, and quite frankly, it scares me.

I have also explained that my university work was flagged for AI, which led to countless meetings and having to show my supervisor and course leader how to access the different dashes on a keyboard. I got a first, one of the highest in my course overall, because of my writing and grammar. So yes, I write academically, and that's okay.

If you do not like my writing, please scroll. Please block me. Please do not interact. This is the last time I will be addressing AI, stolen fics, or someone else supposedly writing my fics.

⏳ A Note on Time, Writing & Realistic Expectations

Let’s talk about time, because I think some people need a little behind-the-scenes insight into how this all works (despite the fact that I have spoken about this so much).

Before I even started this blog, I had already written over 300 fics for myself. I didn’t just wake up one day and start pumping out stories on demand; I’ve been writing privately for years. That’s why, when I post a long fic like All Eyes On Me or The Secret Girlfriend, it’s already pre-written. Usually 30+ chapters ahead. Why? Because I have ADHD. And sometimes, I get bored. I need to know I’ll still enjoy the story before I commit to sharing it; otherwise, I risk dropping it halfway through. That wouldn’t be fair on me, or on you.

Since launching this blog, I’ve been writing for 17 to 19 hours a day, sometimes more on nights when my insomnia kicks in. I type fast, thank you, university essay hell, and I plan fast. When requests come in, I already know what I’m going to write most of the time because I take notes and keep my inbox open. That prep helps more than people realise.

I also re-use parts of old, unpublished fics. I cut, reshape, and adapt things that I’ve previously written but never shared. It speeds up the process and helps me stay creative without starting from scratch every single time.

Sometimes my fics are only 200 words long. That’s something I can write in 10 minutes if I’ve already mapped it out. But that doesn’t mean it takes 10 minutes to plan, edit, or finalise. I also sometimes use dictation (hello, microphone) to get words out quicker, but trust me, editing audio-to-text is its own nightmare because grammar gets lost along the way.

I am not magic. I write every single word. Fics don’t appear out of thin air. And while I love writing more than anything, the truth is: this pace is not sustainable going forward.

I’ve been able to maintain it because I was in between finishing university and graduating. But now? Things are changing.

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned a job interview, and I’m so thrilled to share that I got the job I wanted. Which means I’ll soon be stepping into full-time work. And that means I will no longer be spending 17 hours a day writing fic. Or working in a place that allows be to sit on my laptop all day.

What does this mean going forward?

Fic output will slow down.

Requests will take longer, and I may not get to all of them.

I’ll be writing when I can, around my real-life job.

But I’m not leaving. I’m not giving up. This page isn’t going anywhere.

The pressure of starting a completely new job is something I will be dealing with, therefore, I will not be putting pressure on myself to write more than I can.

We’ll be shifting to a new, realistic, and sustainable schedule. One that allows me to enjoy writing again, and hopefully still gives you all the chaos, softness, and smut you’ve come to love.

This will also help me to stay on top of my masterlists.

🛠️ What I’ve Been Up To This Week

So... what have I been doing during my few days break?

Honestly? A lot more than I expected. I didn’t just disappear into the void (as tempting as that was), I’ve been using this time to reset, recharge, and get things a little more organised around here.

First of all: Masterlists have been updated! (multi-part fics will be linked together tomorrow!)

Second of all: new headers are coming. I’m gonna be real with you: I’ve been so bored with the “requests” header. So I’ve been playing around and designing some new ones that better reflect the tone and vibe of different fics. Expect to see those roll out soon, because it’s time for a little refresh. There may be a few variations of these, so keep an eye out for the pretty colours.

I’ve also been writing. Not as intensely as before, but enough to start building a stockpile. I’ve got a few pieces prepped and sitting in my drafts now, which means I’ve got backup content ready for those especially hectic weeks when I don’t have time to write in real time. It’s all about pacing myself better moving forward.

✨ Things you can look forward to:

A bunch of mini-series (some new, some continuing)

Several long fic chapters.

Some long-awaited part 2s

And a handful of new one-shots that I’m really excited to share

Basically, we’ve got lots of good stuff coming. it just might be rolling out a little slower.

💌 Some Last Things I Want to Say...

I just want to take a moment to say thank you. Like, really thank you. The messages I’ve received over the past few days have honestly overwhelmed me in the best way. Some of them made me cry, not from hurt, but from how kind and supportive you all have been. I’ve read every single one. I wont be replying publicly to these but please know it’s been seen and felt. Deeply. And they will be staying in my inbox.

I’m so grateful for every one of you who took the time to send love, encouragement, support, jokes, memes, all of it. You’ve reminded me why I started sharing my work in the first place. And it means the world.

🧡Just to summarise and reiterate:

Hate will not be tolerated.

Death wishes, accusations, and negativity will be deleted, not dignified.

If you don’t like my work, my style, or who I write for, please just block me. It’s okay. Truly.

If you have something constructive or respectful you want to say, message me privately.

This blog is a safe space, and it always will be. For me, for you, and for everyone here.

✨ A new, realistic schedule will be shared soon and linked below this post. I’m going to keep doing what I love, just at a pace that’s manageable with my new job and life in general.

Starting Monday, we’ll hopefully be back in action with a bit more than one post per day. For now, however, I will not be taking requests. I will let you all know when I will be. I just feel I may need a week to settle into my new job, get on top of life (because I have also moved house), and also continue to get on top of fics for the future.

The Silverstone Situation mini-series wraps up tonight, and a brand new Lewis Hamilton Ancient Alpha mini-series kicks off tomorrow, friday 1st (3 parts). - This is my 3rd time writing alpha/omega. I am still learning; however, I tried, okay, because this was highly requested!

This weekend, you might see a few little extras or one-shots drop, but mostly, I’ll be writing ahead and prepping content for the future while I prepare mentally to start my new job on Monday. I won’t be very active, but everything will be scheduled.

📝 what to expect whilst i get back into a rhythm:

— long fics (‘all eyes on me’ & ‘the secret girlfriend’) returning to their usual update schedule slowly (possibly around the end of next week). (+ all eyes on me will be longer than 50 chapters, despite my original plan to end it at 50) — a mini series once a day at least — a few one-shots or spontaneous extras here and there. — a few trial schedules, until I find one that works for me and for you.

⏱️what will be temporarily put on hold?

— paddock bunny (I love writing this, however I want to rewrite the parts I have in my drafts) — drivers in bed and series similar to this — drivers as and drivers reactions (these will come out more slowly as they take a lot of my effort to write, and I would rather do these as a little extra thing rather than a set fic.

🚮What will not be continued for now (but may make a return in the future):

— foodporn (im out of ideas for what food to be used, and im a little bored of writing this - it started as a single request, then spiralled into a mini series) — Just The Tip (theres only so many ways to write the same scenario)

✨

Once again, thank you. For being here, for being patient, for being kind, for being feral little icons.

I love you. Evie 🫶🏼

(pinned post, info posts, schedule and guidelines/rules will be posted and updated by monday - hopefully)🧡

(also i will be replying to questions in my inbox in about an hour or two!)

75 notes · View notes

joonam · 3 days ago

Text

right where you left me | jjk

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Reader (f)

Genre: exes to lovers, angst, fluff, slow burn, reunion, regret, idol!au, heartbreak, second chances, past infidelity, romance.

Summary: A story about the one mistake that changed everything in Jungkook's life. After a drunken kiss with another idol ends his three-year relationship, Jungkook confessed his mistake to you immediately. But you, carrying a history of being cheated on, walks away without looking back. Right Where You Left Me explores the pain of heartbreak and Jungkook's guilt of knowing he was the one to cause it.

Word count: 7360

Warnings: cheating, emotional devastation, breakup, alcohol use, regret, unresolved feelings, angst, sadness.

a/n: this is my first one shot and its inspired by the song right where you left me by taylor swift. Just hoping it's not cRINGE. im also OPEN for requests!! and I have another one shot coming your way on Friday ^^

next | part 2 >>

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Jungkook told himself he could forget which was a lie that felt bitter the moment it passed his lips every time someone asked him how he was doing. Every time the stage lights shine on him, he became BTS’s Jungkook, the golden maknae. He sang lines of songs, able to hit every single high note, smiled when the cameras capture him, and made jokes now and then during interviews. It was muscle memory at this point as it's been a few years since BTS debuted.

But in the seconds between lyrics, in the gaps between the texts he read on the prompter machine, and the emptiness after the applause, he always remembered you.

The kiss did not mean anything. That was what made it so unforgivable, at least Jungkook thought. There was a little too much alcohol involved. And before he knew it, a mistake in the form of his lips pressing into someone else's was already unfolding. He confessed the morning after. Before the guilt started to rot his insides. You were silent at first, before you looked at him like you didn’t know the person who was standing in front of you. Like he wasn’t the man who rubbed your back during period cramps or memorised your favourite songs or kept a picture of your sleeping face in the notes app on his phone like a secret admirer.

You didn’t cry, not when he was still standing in front of you. You just asked him one simple question, “Did you mean it?” “No,” his voice shaking. “I was drunk. she didn’t mean anything, baby, I swear to you.” You nodded, just once, enough for your feelings to be understood by the stranger in front of you. And then, you did the one thing he was not prepared for. You left.

And that was eleven months ago. He still hasn't moved from that moment.

The room was filled with noise. “Hyung, the setlist looks good, but I think we should swap Run and Boy with love.” Jungkook blinked. Taehyung was talking. Jimin was sitting with his legs up on the couch beside him. Namjoon staring into the monitor which showed their setlist on it. Life was happening around him. Jungkook was there with them. He was always there physically, at least.

“Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin said gently, snapping his fingers near his face. “You with us?” He nodedd. “Yeah. Just thinking about, uh, the bridge for Zero O’clock. I might want to switch it up a little bit. It could sound cleaner.” It wasn’t true, He never thought about the song even once.

But they nodded. They let it go as they always did. Because they knew you left him.

Yoongi was the only one who said it out loud. “You look like hell,” he said two weeks after the breakup, watching Jungkook stare blankly at his phone screen. “You need to eat, to sleep, to write about her or scream about her or get in your car and go fucking beg, you need to stop bleeding in silence, Jungkook.”

He didnt replied. What was there to say? Yoongi wasn’t wrong. He was hurting, just not in ways anyone could see.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Sometimes the flashbacks hit him like a tsunami. A laugh from across the street, the smell of a cherry shampoo, and the streamer streaming a Valorant match. The brain never forgets happiness, his brain never forgets you.

He remembered the way you screamed mid-match, throwing your headset off because some kid sniped you again in mid. Jungkook laughed, “No, no, baby, you can’t just rush mid with a classic and no shield” “Sage is supposed to heal, not get jumped!” you argued, pointing at him dramatically. He leaned in then, kissed your forehead. “Well, maybe Sage shouldn’t push like a duelist.”

The quiet after the game ended had been his favourite time just right when your energy drained but your hearts were full. “Stay over,” you whispered, already knowing he would.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Jungkook walked home in the rain some night not long after the breakup. Refused to get into the black van or the umbrella the staff offered him. He wanted to let the water soak his hoodie. It was somehow easier to let something outside him match what was happening inside. The streets were blurred and lights smudged through his wet lashes.

He passed by the bench you once waited for him on with your hands stuffed in your pockets and your lips pouting because he was late for a dinner date. He passed the cafe that still plays the same indie playlist you used to sing along to. And then he passed the bookstore. He stopped when he realised it was still open. He stepped inside and the clerk didn’t notice him somehow even with his black hoodie up, mask on, and soaked clothes dripping water across the tile.

He went straight to the poetry section or your section as you called it. She used to read this one, he thought. And this one. And the one at the end of the bookshelf. And this was the one she said reminded her of me. He plucked a random book off the shelf and opened it to a random page, something you would do believing that whatever is on the page is the universe speaking to you.

" If our love died young, I can't bear witness and it's been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong I'm right where you left me." – Taylor Swift.

He closed the book and left the bookstore without buying anything.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The thing about loving someone who has similar interests was that they are in everything you do.

He couldn’t even ride his motorcycle anymore. Not without remembering your arms wrapped around his waist and your voice in his ear through the helmet, screaming “Drive fast but not reckless, Jeon Jungkook. I like you alive!” “You’re scared?” “Yes?," you said like your grip around his waist wasn't strong enough to express your fears. "I like your pretty face attached to your body, Kookie.” He laughed then revved the engine just to tease you. “You like my body?” he said, followed by a smack on his shoulder. “Shut up and drive safely.” He did. But now he can’t even ride without wondering who you wrap your arms around.

He used to help his hyungs write love songs with you in mind and now he just can't write at all. You were the anchor and now he was just a lost ship at sea without direction. He didn’t blame you, not for a second. You told him about the boys before him, the liars and manipulators. And he had promised you to be different. He was different until that one night. That one fucking mistake he made and you were gone.

He wondered if you ever think of him. If you were okay. If you still sleep with his hoodie. If you ever played “Euphoria” when he was on tour and skip it halfway through because you missed him too much. If you ever whispered, “I miss you,” into the plushie he bought you like it could reach him somehow. Because he whispered it every night. He said it into the quiet of his apartment, “I miss you.” But you never answered because you were gone. And Jungkook was still right there. Right there where you left him.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

He found your bobby pin under his couch 5 months after. Jungkook froze when he saw it. His fingers shaking as he picked it up, turning it over in his palm like it might break from how long it has been waiting there. You always left them everywhere in his apartment. The bathroom sink, the kitchen counter, tangled in his sheets, and somehow he found it once stuck in Bam’s fur.

He sat on the floor for twenty minutes with that bobby pin resting between his fingers. He couldn't bring himself to throw it away.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The last time he saw you laugh was in the hallway of your apartment. You were wearing his oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks even though it was still summer. He had just beat you for the third time in a row on Mario Party and you looked like you were about to cry. “I’m throwing this game away” you said pointing at him. “No more using items. It's basically cheating. Next time, we’re playing F1.”

He grinned. “You can’t throw away my game.” “I can and I will.” “Baby, why would you want to play F1 anyway? you can’t even play without hitting the walls.” “You’re so dead,” you chased him down the hallway with a pillow. Bam barked, wagging his tail, excited by the chaos in your apartment. Jungkook had caught you mid-laugh and tackled you onto the couch, holding your face between his hands like you were something delicate.

“God, I love you,” he whispered into the skin just below your ear. “So fucking much.”

You’d gone quiet then, eyes wide and soft, “I love you too,” you whispered back. “Even when you cheat on Mario Party by using shitass items.”

He should’ve known that kind of happiness doesn’t last forever.

The apartment was quiet now, there was no sound of your footsteps, no sound of your singing voice from the shower, and no random “emo 2000s songs” Spotify playlist you made just to annoy him playing in the background.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

His therapist told him grief doesn’t always come in clean stages and that losing someone who is still alive is a different kind of hell but he didn’t need a paid session to tell him that. He’s aware of it as he lived it daily. On the outside, he was still Jungkook. But on the inside, he was standing still in that morning, he never left.

He showed up at your doorstep unannounced the next morning after the mistake. No call or text to inform you of his visit. Just his shaking fingers hovering over your doorbell. It was early for visitors, even for you who wakes up at 7 AM. His stomach twisted as he rang the bell. You opened the door still in your pyjamas and messy hair and uou smiled the second you saw him.

“Hey baby,” you said. “You’re so early,” you said followed by a yawn. He didn’t answer right away. You tilted your head, stepping aside so he could come in. “Kookie?” He stepped inside, passing you as if he was a ghost, like his body was moving ahead of his soul. The door shut behind you both. You followed him into the living room where everything smelled like you, a faint cherry smell from that shampoo you love so much.

He didn’t sit, he was just standing there in your living room with his fists clenched and jaw tight. “I need to tell you something,” he said, barely above a whisper. “What happened?”

He looked at you like he knew it would be the last time. “I kissed someone,” he said. You blinked then laughed before answering “What?” His throat burned. “Last night. At the afterparty. I was drunk and, she leaned in and and I didn’t stop it before it happened.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. You didn’t yell or cry, you just stood still. He reached for you instinctively. “It didn’t mean anything, I swear,” You stepped back and that hurt him more than any slap could have. Your voice was hoarse. "Did you mean it?” “No,” his voice shaking, "I love you, baby. I was drunk she didn’t mean anything, baby, I swear to you." Tears built up in your eyes but none fell as you nodded slowly and said, “You should go.”

Jungkook froze. “Y/N—”

“Please,” he could hear the sound of his heart breaking, “I don’t want to lose you.”

You didn’t say anything and just like that you were gone.

He didn’t cry on the way back to his car. He didn’t cry as he sat in the driver’s seat, driving for hours with no destination. But when he came home. And he saw the hoodie you always wore tossed over his couch, the blanket you curled up with during movie marathons, that’s when it hit him. That’s when he dropped to the floor. That was the moment Jeon Jungkook broke. Grief didn’t knock, it barged in itself into his body. And his mind kept going back to before he ruined everything, before one drunken kiss destroyed his whole world.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

It was a Thursday night. Rain tapping gently against the dorm windows. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor of BTS's apartment living room with an oversized hoodie swallowing you whole, his hoodie, of course. A controller in your hand, you were determined to pass this level of It Takes Two.

“Left! Go left!” Jungkook shouted, “I am going left!” “You’re going into a wall—” Taehyung laughed from the couch behind you, “You two are a disaster.” “Shut up!” you both said in unison.

You dropped the controller with a dramatic groan after not being able to clear the same level for the 4th time, “This game is actually fucking toxic.” “You just suck,” Jungkook teased, your elbow jabbed his side, “Says the guy who fell off the map twice.” “That was lag!” he insisted. “You saw the lag!” You reached over, grabbed his face and squishing his cheeks with both hands. “My poor little laggy baby.” Jungkook melted instantly. God, your smile lit up the whole damn room.

He remembered Taehyung sliding you a bowl of popcorn without a word. Jin pulling out the stool at the counter so you could sit beside him while he cooked. Yoongi casually handing you his phone, letting you pick the next song for the speaker. Hoseok making you learn a TikTok dance with him. Namjoon quietly pouring you a glass of hot matcha he made. Jimin asking you to sit next to him during movie nights.

You were also family to his hyungs, not because of him but despite him.

And at night, when the others drifted off to sleep, you were cuddling with Jungkook on the couch. The Switch and PlayStation controllers scattered around the living room. The hot coffee turning cold. He remembered looking at you and thinking; this is it, this is what forever feels like.

He already memorised the way your fingers play with the drawstrings of his hoodie. How your hair smelled like cherry shampoo. And the way your eyes move when you were trying not to fall asleep mid conversation.

And now your silence was louder than the goodbye, the hoodie you wore, untouched. and his world, colder. He had all these memories but you weren’t there to reminisce it together with him.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Nine Months after the breakup, Jungkook wasn’t expecting the knock on his bedroom door, especially not at 1:34 AM. Not that he was expecting anyone during the day.

Namjoon didn’t say anything right away. He stepped inside shutting the door behind him and leaned his shoulder against the frame. “Hyung?” Jungkook blinked, pulling his earphones off. Namjoon sighed. “I got a message from Y/N.” His heart didn’t race, it stopped.

Namjoon stepped closer, “She reached out to me this morning saying she didn’t know who else to talk to.” “What did she say?” Jungkook asked like he was in a hurry.

Namjoon hesitated, “She said she doesn’t regret walking away. But that some nights, she regrets not waiting longer. Not trying harder.” He met Jungkook’s eyes then, “She said it still hurts and that she has tried to move on, but nothing feels like," he paused, “Like you two.”

“She’s not coming back,” Namjoon added carefully not to raise his younger brother's hope up. “That’s not why she reached out. She just wanted to say it to someone who knew you both. She said she still listens to the playlist you made her,” Namjoon added. “Even the dumb meme songs like baby shark you slipped in between the love songs.”

Jungkook released a quiet broken laugh. “She remembers everything, Jungkook. And she said she’s not angry anymore. Just tired.”

He didn’t speak and didn’t trust himself to. Namjoon sat beside him, “I told her that I would tell you, because I knew you would want to hear it even if it doesn’t change anything.” Jungkook nodded once then again and again, just slower. Because it didn’t change anything but somehow, it still meant everything.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

They were sitting on his bike, parked under the Han River bridge with their helmets off with midnight wind blowing in their faces. You were behind him, arms wrapped tight around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder. “You ever wonder how long this can last?” you asked quietly, eyes on the stars. He didn’t hesitate, “Forever, duh” before turning around to press his lips against yours.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The first four months after you left wasn't just silence, there was a war fought with his own fingers typing messages he didn’t want to send but couldn’t stop himself from sending. Every night, when the dorm was quiet and the hyungs were sound asleep, Jungkook’s fingers were tapping all over his phone.

“Please, Y/N, just hear me out.” “It was just a kiss. It didn’t mean anything.” “I was drunk. I was stupid. I’m so sorry.” “I miss you. I miss us.” “Please don’t shut me out.”

He sent message after message. It wasn't double texting, at a certain point it was just him spamming. some long, some short, some just a single word: “sorry.”

Most times, the messages were unread. But one night, he typed the worst message he immediately regretted sending: “It was just a kiss, not like I fucked her.” He wanted to take it back, but it was already too late.

Your reply came fast. Too fast for him to unsend the message he just sent. Full of rage, you replied:

“How dare you say that to me, Jeon Jungkook. You think this is about sex? It’s about trust. About respect. About me. You broke us. You broke me. I don’t want your excuses or your lies.”

He stared at the screen, hands trembling that message wasn’t just an angry reply, it was a final blow.

After that messaged, your name didn’t appear in his chat list anymore. You blocked him. It was a goodbye he never wanted to hear but knew he deserved.

“I fucked up,” he whispered to the empty room. “I fucked up everything.”

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The night of the mistake started as something else, before turning into the taste of alcohol on his tongue, and adrenaline running through his veins. He doesn't usually drink at events like this. But that night he did. Surrounded by his friends from other K-pop groups, it was hard not to be socially pressured. One glass. Then two. Then three. Then someone from another group handed him a fourth glass.

That was mistake number one.

Mistake number two had red lips and a laugh that was annoyingly loud. She leaned in close when she spoke with a drink in her hand. She told him he looked too serious for someone who just won multiple awards. He didn’t kiss her because he wanted to. He kissed her because he was drunk, and she was annoying him. So when she leaned in, and put her lips against him, he thought it would at least shut her up. Just one second. One blurred second. He pulled away almost instantly, panic setting all over him.

And then a hand landed on his shoulder. “Come on,” Jimin muttered. Hoseok appeared beside them within seconds, his jaw clenched. Namjoon came next, eyes already burning with anger and disappointment. Even drunk, Jungkook could read his hyungs gestures easily. The air shifted around him and his hyungs. It wasn’t a party anymore, it was damage control. There was no shouting nor chaos, just three brothers surrounding their youngest and leading him out like a silent storm.

Back at the hotel suite, the silence was too loud. Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, his hands covering his face. “I need to tell her,” he whispered. No one answered right away.

Seokjin was the first to speak, “Do you even remember how it happened?” “I didn’t want it,” Jungkook whisper. “She leaned in.” Yoongi exhaled slowly, “but you didn’t stop it.” Jungkook nodded, shame burning deep in his stomach. “No, I didn’t.”

Namjoon sat down across from him, elbows on his knees, eyes locked onto Jungkook’s. “You know what this means, right?” “I do.” But Namjoon wasn’t done. “It’s not just that you made a mistake,” he said. “It’s who you hurt.” Jimin crossed his arms. “She’s not just your girlfriend, Jungkook. She’s our friend too” Seokjin followed Jimin's words with “You hurt someone we also love.” The words hitting Jungkook harder than any punch could. “I know,” he whispered, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi leaned against the wall, arms folded, looking more tired than angry. “You don’t owe us the apology.” “I know.” He clenched his fists, “I’m going to tell her everything.” Taehyung sighed, “You better do it before she hears it from one of us, or worse someone else from the party.”

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

His family still thinks of you, of course, they loved you. “Is Y/N coming to dinner next time?” his mother would ask quietly over the phone, as if hoping Jungkook might say yes. While his father, when they visited, would glance at him sideways and say, “You seem quieter these days, everything okay with Y/N?”

Jungkook always froze. He never knew what to say. Because part of him wanted to tell them everything but another part of him was too ashamed and too scared to admit how badly he lost the one person who made his world full of different shades of colours.

Not until 4 months later, they found out about the breakup. His brother pulled Jungkook aside while their parents weren’t looking, “I know you guys broke up.” Jungkook blinked, surprised by the sudden confession. “How do you know?” he asked. His brother sighed, “It’s in your eyes and I see you sometimes looking at your phone like you’re waiting for a message that you know would never come.” Jungkook wanted to deny it to protect himself with pride. But it was true. And for once, he let the tears fall in front of his brother because the family who loves him also loves you and they knew what losing you meant to him.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

One year after the breakup, Jungkook never planned on coming to this particular cat cafe in Japan, but somehow, when his schedule gave him a free morning, his feet carried him here without much thought. The cozy cat cafe was tucked away on a quiet street of Tokyo. He stopped in front of the store hesitating for a few seconds before stepping inside. The scent of jasmine tea mixed with the smell of cats shampoo filled the air instantly. The sounds of conversation and the quiet purring of cats created an atmosphere so unlike the city outside. For a fleeting moment, Jungkook allowed himself to breathe in deeply and relax.

And then he saw you.

You were sitting near the window, your attention completely absorbed by a fluffy grey cat that snuggle into your lap without hesitation. You didn’t notice him at first as you were lost in the calm world you created as your fingers brush the grey cat’s fur.

Jungkook froze. His heart pounded with each beat loud enough to drown the soft meows and chatters in the cafe. Seeing you here, in this unexpected place, far away from home felt like the universe planned this all out just for him, for the both of you.

You looked up slowly, and the moment your eyes met, Jungkook’s breath caught. There was recognition there, yes, but also a weariness he has never seen before. Your smile seemed cautious, as if you were unsure whether to welcome him or run away.

Jungkook swallowed hard, trying to push down the emotions waiting to be freed. He took a step forward, the soles of his shoes barely making a sound on the wooden floor. “Y/N,” he said, his voice low and heavy with everything he hadn’t been able to say for so long. You blinked, the faintest tremble in your lips betraying your calm exterior. “Jungkook,” you replied quietly, almost like a question.

Cats gathered themselves around his feet and another leapt onto your lap, but neither of you moved. It was as if the world had pressed a pause button waiting for one of you to speak first before pressing play. He wanted to ask so many things like starting of wit the easiest being how you were doing. Instead, he watched you closely, you looked beautiful yet tired and it tore something deep inside him. The vibrant girl who used to brighten every room he was in seemed like a distant memory now and he knew he played a part on it.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. You smiled again, a little more genuinely this time, but with a sadness that made his chest ache. “Neither did I.”

For a moment, words felt unnecessary. The soft purring and the warmth of the cats filled the space between you, comforting yet cruel all at once. He remembered how much you love cats and the way you would light up at the sight of a stray kitten and begging him to adopt it.

“I think about you every day,” he admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of truth. “More than I ever thought possible. I never stopped.” Jungkook stepped a bit closer, careful not to invade your space but desperate to close the distance. “I kept hoping that maybe one day, we could try again. Maybe I could fix what I broke.”

You shook your head gently, a bittersweet smile touching your lips, “Maybe. But not today.” His heart clenched painfully, but he nodded. “I get it. I don’t want to pressure you.”

He searched your face one last time, “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything.” Your eyes softened, tears threatening to spill but you held it back, “Me too.”

Just as Jungkook turned to leave, he paused. He wasn’t ready. He knew if he leaves now, he might not see you ever again. He turned back around slowly. “One more chance,” he said, voice low but steady. You blinked, the grey cat in your lap stirred but didn’t leave. “Jungkook” “y/n, I’m not asking for everything back right away,” he said quickly like he was in such a hurry. “I know I don’t deserve it. And I know I’m the reason you left. But if there’s even a part of you that still wonders what it would be like if we tried again,” He stepped closer, “Then let me in just enough for a second chance.”

“I don’t know if that would be good for us,” you finally said, “I live here now.” Jungkook’s throat tightened. “Here?” he asked, You nodded. “I moved a few months ago. Got a job here. I’m working as a graphic designer now, well, technically senior designer,” you added with a small shrug. “It was a promotion. I couldn’t say no.”

A soft smile broke across Jungkook’s face, he felt warmth despite the pain in his chest. “That’s amazing,” he said sincerely. genuinely. “You’ve always been so good at what you do. I’m proud of you.”

You looked down for a moment, caught off guard by the genuine praise. You didn't expect him to react like that, not with pride nor the affection within his words. He took a deep breath, “We can make it work,” he said quietly still giving it a shot. “I’d fly out or move some things around. Hell, I’d move here if it came to that.”

You met his eyes again, and for the briefest second, hope sparked between you. “I don’t know if it’s that simple,” you said, “We’re not the same people anymore.” Jungkook nodded slowly, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t want us to be the same. I want to see if who we are now might still belong to each other.”

“I’m not asking for your answer right now,” he said gently. “But just don’t close the door completely on me.” You didn’t respond for a while, fingers absently stroking the soft grey fur under your hand. “I won’t,” you whispered. It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even a yes. But to Jungkook, it was enough. He gave you one last look and gently pushed open the cafe door. The breeze hit him softly as he stepped outside and for the first time in a long, long time, the weight in his chest and shoulders felt just a little lighter.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Namjoon was in his hotel room, music playing through a Bluetooth speaker while he flipped through the worn pages of an art magazine. His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen, looking at the notification with your name in it.

“Hi, Namjoon, I hope it’s okay to message you like this. I know BTS is in Japan right now as I ran into Jungkook today. I didn’t plan this nor did he. But I guess the universe did. He approached me. We talked a little, not long. But before he left, he asked if I could give him another chance. I told him I don’t know. I wanted to say yes. God, I wanted to. But I’m scared. I live here now. I got promoted and moved to Tokyo a couple of months ago. It’s a fresh start. And I thought I was doing okay. But seeing him today messed me up.”

Namjoon set the phone down for a second. He could still remember the first time you came over to the apartment, awkward and quiet, standing just behind Jungkook as the others gathered around, eager to learn about you. How you gradually turn into someone they all loved. You had a soft presence yet always there to make them feel less lonely among the chaos of their lives. And when you left, he saw how Jungkook changed like his world had been taken apart brick by brick. Namjoon picked up his phone again.

“Y/N, It’s okay. I’m glad you messaged me. I hope you’re doing well. I won’t pretend to know what’s best for you. You have every right to be scared. You gave so much to him and what happened broke you. I saw that. I remember how small you looked when we helped you pack the stuff you had at our apartment. How Jimin had to step out of the room because he couldn’t handle seeing you cry. But I also need you to know that Jungkook was never the same after you left. Not even close. We dragged him out for drinks, tried to make him laugh, made up excuses to distract him. Nothing worked. He showed up to everything, practices, shoots, and interviews. There were days he’d stare at his phone for hours”

Namjoon sighed and leaned back against the bed frame.

“He never blamed you. He said it every time we brought it up. I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty. I just think you should know that he’s not asking lightly. He wouldn’t talk to you if he wasn’t willing to fight for you back. I just want you to know he’s not the same guy who made that mistake. He’s been paying for it every damn day since.”

Namjoon stared at the message for a few more seconds, then sent it. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe something lost could still find its way back. Namjoon didn’t expect a reply so soon, but it came.

“I’m crying, I thought I was over him.”

He sat up straighter, heart aching at the simplicity of it. He exhaled slowly. You were never dramatic, you had always loved quietly, but you hurt the same way too. Another message popped up.

“I think I buried the pain. I told myself I forgave him so I could breathe again. But I didn’t. I just locked it away somewhere.”

Namjoon leaned forward, typing:

“Forgiveness isn’t a light switch, Y/N. It doesn’t just flip. It’s a process, you know that.”

There was a pause. Then you replied again.

“He told me we could make it work. That he’d try. But I can’t stop wondering if the same thing will happen again. What if I trust him and he lets me down like that all over again? I won’t survive it twice.”

He let that sink in and did not respond right away.

“He knows that. He knows he won’t get another chance if he breaks you again. And I really, truly believe he never will. Not because he’s somehow perfect now. But because he learned. He lived in the absence of your love and it destroyed him.”

Another pause. Then Namjoon added, slower this time:

“I’m not telling you what to do. I just think you shouldn’t make your decision based on fear. Not when you have so much love still inside you.”

He waited. You took your time this time. Maybe you were rereading. Maybe you were pacing around your tiny Tokyo apartment. But your next message appeared:

“I just don’t want to be a fool again.”

Namjoon smiled softly. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, and then:

“You weren’t a fool the first time. You loved him. And he failed you. If you choose to try again, it won’t be foolish either. It’ll just be brave. Because choosing love after loss? That’s one of the bravest things anyone can do.”

There was no reply after that. But Namjoon didn’t need one. He had a feeling you were staring out your window and somewhere in Tokyo, Jungkook was probably doing the same thing.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

They were set to leave Tokyo in two days. But Jungkook's mind was still stuck in a cat cafe in Tokyo. He was not expecting to run into you especially not in another country. He didn’t know what the meeting meant, whether it was closure or a chapter closing or maybe another chance.

Jungkook sat quietly with the others that night. He sipped his beer, nodded along, and even laughed at one of Jimin’s dramatic reenactments of a random fan interaction.

No one expected the knock at the door, it came suddenly. Namjoon stood up almost immediately. He didn’t say anything just moved toward the door calmly. Jungkook barely noticed as his back was towards the door. He was watching Hoseok trying to balance two grapes on top of his water bottle cap.

But then, the air in the room shifted. The room didn’t fall silent, it was more of a pause. Taehyung’s hand froze mid air with his fingers still holding a piece of popcorn he never tossed into his mouth.

Jimin’s posture straightened. His shoulders that was once loose against the couch cushions suddenly tensed up. His lips parted just slightly, eyes flickering toward the door, but he didn’t say a word.

Yoongi looked up from his phone with an unreadable expression. His eyes flicked between Namjoon, then the door, then away again like he already knew what this was about.

Hoseok stopped laughing. His smile didn’t drop, not exactly, it just softened. Like the warmth had drained out of the moment and he didn’t know how to get it back yet.

Jin stopped clicking the remote trying to find a tv station worthy to watch. The remote now rested on his lap. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stared at the door with a serious look.

Jungkook turned his head to the door, just right after you walked in. And he was frozen in place. You weren't looking at him yet as you offered a nervous greeting towards the group, “Hi.”

Namjoon stood beside you and gave a small nod to the room. “She’s here to see Jungkook.”

Your eyes finally met his. “You came,” he said. The room didn’t fully settle even after she arrived. Namjoon offered her a small, supportive smile before ushering the rest of the members towards the hotel suite next door. No one resisted. Taehyung gave Jungkook a quick glance that said: Don’t mess this up.

Then, it was just the two of them. The door clicked softly shut behind the others.

Jungkook stared at you, heart pounding against his chest like it was trying to escape. He didn’t know what to do first. Should he apologize again? Ask if he could hold you? Should he fall to his knees?

"I’m here," you said, your voice almost a whisper. "But I don’t know if I should be." You moved toward the couch, hesitating only briefly before sitting. Jungkook followed, carefully taking the spot next to you, but not too close. He didn’t dare touch you. unless you let him.

“I thought I was over you,” you said, your eyes fixated on your hands. “I just started over with a completely new routine in Japan. But then I saw you and I just,” your voice broke, "I missed you," you whispered. "even when I hated you.”

“I never stopped missing you,” Jungkook said with trembling voice. “Even when you were gone, even when I knew I deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve any of what I put you through," he said with tears forming in his eyes.

“I spent the last year trying to forget how it feels to be with you,” you said, more to yourself than him. “To believe you’d never do what they did to me. And then you did.” Then softly, you said, “This is your last chance, Jungkook.”

“If I’m going to try,” you continued, “it’s only once. I won’t survive a second heartbreak from you. I barely survived the first.”

“I won’t ask you to trust me yet,” he said. “But I’m going to earn it. Every single day. However long it takes.” Jungkook let out a shaky breath, like he’d been underwater for a year and finally surfaced. You just nodded, before eventually telling him, "Okay."

He reached out slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His fingers hovered near your cheek and when you didn’t flinch, when you tilted your head just enough to lean into his touch, he let his hand rest against your cheek. “You can kiss me,” you said.

His lips met yours, soft at first and then deeper like he just came back home after decades of being lost in a maze.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The reunion with Jungkook’s older brothers didn’t happen all at once instead it unfolded slowly. The morning after you came to the hotel, you were still there. Jungkook hadn’t slept the whole night too afraid that you would vanish if he closed his eyes. But when he opened them and saw you curled up on the other side of the bed, he finally let himself breathe.

Namjoon was the first to knock. He came in with coffee, one for Jungkook and one he handed to you without a word, just a soft smile. “You still take it black, right?” he asked gently. You blinked in surprise, nodding. “Yeah, I do.”

Jungkook watched the way you relaxed under Namjoon’s quiet presence. “Thought so,” Namjoon said, settling into the armchair in their room. “I remembered from that one night you beat all of us in poker and claimed your prize as ‘coffee made by Namjoon for a week.’” You let out a soft laugh. “I forgot about that.” “I didn’t,” Namjoon grinned. “My ego still hasn’t recovered.”

Later that day, they were all in the lounge as their schedules were cleared for the day. Jin was the next one to approach. He didn’t say much, just offered you a plate of food and sat beside you like no time had passed. “You still hate carrots, right?” he said, nudging his chopsticks toward yours. “I took them out for you.” Your lips parted slightly in surprise. “You remembered?” “Of course,” Jin said simply. “I cooked for you and Jungkook a hundred times. I don’t forget stuff like that.”

Later, Yoongi joined you on the couch. He didn’t make a show of it. Just sat down beside you, cracked open the Nintendo Switch case, and handed you a controller. “Wanna play something?” he mumbled. “Overcooked?” you asked. “You used to be so obsessed with this game.” “I still am,” you said smiling. “I wonder if you still fall off the damn platform,” Yoongi gave her a look. “That was one time.”

Jungkook watched from the kitchen pretending to scroll through his phone, heart racing at the sound of your laughter. He haven't heard it in so long, especially not from something as simple as yelling at Yoongi for burning the digital soup. The two of them shouted instructions like no time had passed. You were still awful at chopping in game and Yoongi still yelled dramatically whenever they missed a ticket.

Hoseok was a bit different. He didn’t come straight to you. There had been a time you were his unofficial TikTok dance partner, even if you stated to him so many damn times that you have no rhythm. At all. Your departure hit him harder than he let on. Eventually, you stood up and approached him. “Hi, Hoseok” He turned, eyes softening as he looked at you. “I’ve missed you,” you said honestly and that was all it took before he pulled you into a hug and whispered, “I’m so so glad that you’re back.”

Then came Jimin. He walked up to you with gentle steps and even gentler eyes. You had once described him as the emotional compass of the group. “You okay?” he asked softly. You nodded, “Yeah. I think so.” “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” Jimin said, before continuing, “I wanted to reach out a hundred times. I didn’t know if I had the right.” “You always did,” you murmured, voice breaking slightly. He sat down beside you, “I was so angry at him,” Jimin admitted. “Not because he made a mistake, but because I knew how much you mattered. You still matter.” Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I’m trying,” you whispered. “I know,” he said. “And he is too.”

Taehyung was the last one. He had been quiet most of the day, watching from across the room. He didn't speak to Jungkook about it, but the others knew Taehyung was the most heartbroken on your behalf. He adores you like a sister. He brought you Polaroids he took on tour, saved you his favourite snacks, and sided with you when Jungkook playfully bullied you. It wasn’t until night time that he came up to you on the balcony. You were leaning on the railing, sipping tea Jungkook had made for you earlier. “Still pretending you like tea with honey so he would feel good about himself?” Taehyung asked, his voice teasing but warm. You turned and smiled. “Some things never change.” Taehyung stepped beside you, "You really back? or is this temporary?” “I don’t know yet,” you answered honestly. “But I’m trying.” He nodded, “He’s different, you know. Not in a bad way, just different.” “I know.”

“We missed you, I missed you, Y/N. But he lost you," Taehyung said.

When you went back inside, Jungkook looked up instantly. “Everything okay?” he asked. You nodded, “Yep, just had a chat with Tae.” He reached out, brushing your fingers with his. “You don’t have to talk to everyone all at once.” “I want to,” you said softly, "they’re your family, but they were mine, too.”

“They still are,” he said.

And slowly, the space around you and Jungkook began to feel like home again.

87 notes · View notes

dollvtte · 2 days ago

Text

Velvet tension

cw arranged marriage, first date, sexual tension, banter, kissing

note: this is literally my first fic ever so i hope its not too bad. my main focus to write is husband!sunghoon so i can’t wait to finally get there hehe

The room fills up with notes of amber, vanilla and musk. You spray two more spritz of Angel’s share by Kilian. Your signature date night scent. The bottle is filled to the brim reminding you that date nights are not a frequent occurrence for you despite the long line of suitors your friends and family ward off every year.

Being raised in a loving family with parents who were each other’s first loves, you had high standards for men since you turned 13. No amount of sweet talking or grand gestures impressed you. You faintly remember a guy buying you a set of custom designer heels in the second week of university. Can’t recall his name however.

You stand up and set your hair one last time before you leave the room to meet someone who’s been on your mind for years now. Park Sunghoon. His name alone makes your insides twist with nostalgia. You’ve known Sunghoon since he was 13 and you were 14. Your families frequented the same galas and events often crossing paths and exchanging greetings.

You’ve seen him across countless rooms. But no words were ever exchanged. Just fleeting, curious and careful glances. Sunghoon left to finish his higher studies abroad while you stayed back to graduate from SNU as your parents have always wanted.

He’s only been back in Seoul for a month and your terrifyingly coordinated mothers didn’t waste any time setting up a dinner date for you two. "Just to catch up," they said. “You’ve known each other since childhood. It’ll be good for you.” Which, in their language, meant: “Marry him eventually. Or at least make us look good in the tabloids.”

You couldn’t say no. Not when you’ve spent years wondering how he grew up and what he sounded like now. Did he still have the same cold, distant gaze when the room around him was filled with life? Did he only have one mole on his face or have you forgotten the others already? There was only one way to find out.

And that’s how you ended up standing outside Le Saphir, Seoul’s most exclusive rooftop restaurant. A black Mercedes pulls up to the curb. You know its him before the door even opens. Something about the stillness in the air shifts, as if even the city is holding its breath.

And then there he is.

Park Sunghoon steps out of the car in a charcoal coat, crisp and sharp like it was pressed with a blade. His black dress shirt is unbuttoned just enough to hint at his collarbone, and his hair is styled perfectly falling effortlessly onto his face.

He looks up, and for the first time in what feels like ever, your eyes meet his.

His gaze flickers down, once, quickly. The corner of his mouth lifts with a hint of a smile and something more secretive.

"Yn," he says, his voice deeper than you’d expected.

"Sunghoon," you reply, matching his tone. Smooth, composed.

He offers his arm. "Shall we?"

The hostess nearly faints when she sees him. Of course she does. You’re escorted to a private table near the glass edge of the rooftop, with the whole glittering skyline of Seoul spread out. It’s all breathtaking but its his presence across the table that makes your heart skip.

He watches you with unreadable eyes as you sit. His fingers are long, resting lightly on the white tablecloth. He hasn’t looked away from you once.

“You’ve changed a lot,” you say, setting your clutch down and crossing your legs. His eyes flick down to them, then back up.

“You say that like you expected me not to.”

You raise a brow. “I didn’t say that. I’m just surprised you actually showed up.”

“I’m surprised you did,” he replies smoothly. “I heard you hate being set up.”

“I do. But I also hate mystery, and you’ve always been a bit of one.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze not leaving yours. “You think I’m a mystery?”

“I think you’re impossible to read. And I don’t like puzzles I can’t solve.”

“You’re always this intense on first dates?”

“Only with men who act like they’ve walked out of a noir film.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. Its a small sound, but it cracks something wide open in you. You realise the jitters from before meeting him have only gotten worse since and the night has just started.

The waiter arrives with wine. There’s something in the air that tells you this conversation is going to change your life in ways you’re not ready for and yet, you’re almost dying just to hear his voice again so you ask him about his life abroad.

Did he miss home?

How is his dad’s business doing?

He asks you about your violin classes.

He asks if you’ve ever thought of leaving.

The food on the table sits untouched. The conversation is the main course, and its never ending. There’s a rhythm to it already, an unexpected chemistry that neither of you seem prepared for.

By the time dessert arrives, you’re sitting just a little closer, and so is he. Your legs brush beneath the table, and neither of you move away.

He looks at his watch. Vintage, expensive, stupidly sexy on his wrist. “It’s late.”

“Baby prince hoonie got a curfew?.”

“No,” he says, standing up and offering you his hand. “But I should take you home. I feel drunk and I haven’t even taken a sip.”

The car is quiet when you slide into the backseat beside him.

Not awkward quiet. Not tense quiet. Its the kind of quiet that hums, thick with things unsaid, unsipped wine, and all the eye contact you didn’t get tired of at dinner.

The city rolls past in blurry gold streaks as the driver pulls away from the restaurant. You rest your hands in your lap, perfectly composed, even though inside you feel like a firework waiting for someone to light the fuse.

Sunghoon doesn’t look at you right away.

He sits back, legs relaxed, one hand resting carelessly over his thigh. The other brushes his jaw as he stares out the window. Calm, unreadable, maddeningly composed.

But his knee touches yours. Barely.

And he doesn’t move it.

You glance at him. “You always this quiet after a good date?”

His mouth twitches. “You think it was good?”

“I think if it wasn’t, you’d have ghosted me by now.”

“True,” he says, finally looking over. His gaze lands heavy on yours. “But maybe I stayed because I was curious.”

“Curious?” you ask, tilting my head.

He hums. “You’re not what I expected but also exactly what I expected at the same time.”

“That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“I know,” he says, voice low. “Its a compliment but I don’t know if you’d want to be someone who fills my expectations.”

You study him in the passing glow of streetlights. His face is a sculpted kind of perfection with a sharp jaw and the faintest shadow of stubble. But its the way he’s looking at you that sets your skin ablaze.

“Do I surprise you, Sunghoon?”

“Every minute.”

There’s a pause. Then,

“I thought you didn’t like surprises,” you say softly.

He turns toward you fully, one arm resting along the back of the seat. “I don’t.”

“And yet here we are.”

His fingers brush a strand of hair from your cheek. It’s the first time he’s touched you like this. Not accidental. Not fleeting. Intentional.

The contact is so gentle it makes your pulse stutter.

“Maybe I was wrong,” he murmurs. “Maybe I do like surprises.”

You don’t move. You can’t. The air between you feels electric and alive, like it could spark and ignite at any second.

“Sunghoon,” you say quietly. The minute his name leaves your mouth, you faintly register how weak and reverent it sounded.

He leans in, just slightly. “Hmm?”

“I think... if you’re going to kiss me, you should do it before I start thinking too hard about it.”

That gets a low, quiet laugh out of him. “You’re always this honest?”

“Only when I want something.”

“And what do you want right now?”

You pause. There’s no way sober yn would’ve ended up in this situation and in this conversation. But you have nothing to lose when he’s looking at you like that.

Then you say, steady and clear, “You.”

His expression shifts. The cool mask cracks. You finally see the bubbling hunger, desperation and want he’s been hiding all night long behind the slow smirks and long gazes.

He moves closer, and you meet him halfway.

His lips brush yours. Softly at first, barely there. Just a test. A tease.

Then he kisses you for real.

It's slow, at first. Thoughtful. As if he’s tasting the idea of you. His hand slips behind your neck, fingers curling into your hair, and his mouth moves against yours with aching precision. Controlled, yet desperate. Careful, but not shy.

When you finally break apart, you’re breathing harder than you should be.

“You’re not what I expected either,” you whisper, forehead resting lightly against his.

He smirks. “What’d you expect?”

“Colder. Arrogant. Boring.”

“And what am I?”

You run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, smoothing it out. “Trouble.”

His eyes flicker. “Do you want trouble, Yn?”

“I think I just kissed it.”

His smile fades, just a little. His eyes search yours like he’s trying to decide something.

Then he pulls you closer again.

This kiss is hungrier.

Less composed.

His tongue slips past your lips, and you gasp softly against his mouth, fingers clutching the front of his coat. His other hand finds your thigh just above the slit in your dress and lingers there, warm and firm. But he doesn’t go further. He just stays, like a promise.

You can feel the tension in his body. He’s holding himself back.

You don’t want him to.

The car pulls up to your estate, and he gets out before you can protest. He opens your door, offers his hand. You take it. Your knees are wobbly and your mouth is swollen and you want him so badly it hurts.

At the entrance, you stop.

“I meant what I said,” you tell him softly. “This was more than I expected.”

He nods once. Serious. “Same.”

He looks down at your lips and brushes his fingers against them while tucking a stray hair strand behind your ear.

“Goodnight, Yn.”

You whisper it back.

He takes your hand into his and presses his cold lips against the back of the soft skin. With one last smile he turns and gets back into the car. Its only as the car disappears around the turn that you realise that you’re holding your breath.

As you make your way upstairs into your room, your face is warm, hands tingling where his lips touched and heart pounding against your chest like you ran a marathon. You already know no herbal tea or skincare routine is going to help you sleep tonight and no music can drown your thoughts of missing him already.

#sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon #park sunghoon #enhypen imagines #kpop imagines #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x you

72 notes · View notes

orpheuslament · 3 days ago

Note

Hi there, just saw that tweet you reblogged about depressing books and a little life. If you don't mind, what are your thoughts on the book? It's one of my favourite books, but I am often conflicted about recommending it to people/talking to them about it due to some of its content...

hi!! i had the privilege of reading a little life years before it became a Thing amongst "book influencers" & i went more or less blind so no one could have possibly influenced my opinion of it thank god. i quite literally did not know anyone who had read it at the time, i dont even remember how i ended up being interested in it. its a book i have a lot of affection towards, both for what it is & for how my life looked like when i was reading it. i liked it, i loved it, it horrified me & it broke my heart in a thousand different ways & THAT is why i loved it so much. people often underestimate how powerful catharsis can be, how oddly freeing it feels to experience terrible things & coming out the other way. & experiencing terrible things through art is quite literally the safest way to do so. you can read something that fundamentally changes you as a person, & then you can absorb that, close the book, & carry on with your life with that nestled up inside you. there is also of course a sense of recognition, of seeing parts of yourself you deem too ugly to expose dissected & amplified on paper. the knowledge that you are not alone in your experiences because someone even if not directly has felt like that before. tragedy exists for a reason. tragedy has existed since we began to tell stories for a reason. we need to feel like we are not isolated in our suffering. its comforting, its healthy & its /human/. the seemingly recent viewpoint that anything that is not purely created to Entertain & Feel Good is somehow perverse & unacceptable is very very fucking concerning (also. fascist. but yknow).

#sorry i got carried away this is not even about the book anymore #but yes i like a little life a lot i understand why someone would not want to read it but it also pisses me off so bad the way everyone &#their mother has decided that it is the Devil from the Bible because its ? sad ?#ask #anonymous

38 notes · View notes

hyuneskkami · 1 day ago

Text

⭔ . 𐔌 황현진 .ᐟ ꒱ ─ always love ✦

⭑ hwang hyunjin ⓘ years of yearning turning into a loving confession on a beach.

⌣ ﹒ ୨ৎ ﹕ lover boy!hyunjin ₊ ‎ ‎ 9th member!f!reader ˙ . ꒷ masterlist ! ⭑ 🌊 ⋮ fluff — ⭔

ꪆ୧ 𝒶n 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ happy birthday STAY! 💗 this is my second official STAYweek hehe, and i’m so hyped <3 firstly, a huge huge HUGE thank you to skz themselves. 🫶🫶 they worked their asses off this tour and gave us such good music. they deserve a huge break! second, karma’s dropping in just 3 weeks!!!!! 😭 i’m so excited, and i’m rlly hoping that the ‘ceremony’ track is the next chk chk boom 🫠 lastly, thank you to the anon who requested this fic! it turned out quite well (to me, at least lmao), so I hope it’s up to your expectations 🎀🫧 here’s a fic about my favourite genre (friends to lovers), favourite idol (hyunjin), favourite genre (9th member!reader) for STAY’s birthday!! happy reading! [p.s. this is literally my longest fic ever lmao.] [p.p.s. thank you anon who requested this. again. also i cant find your ask so im just gonna cry now.] [p.p.p.s. thank you all for 700+ followers!!!! ily!!]

ꪆ୧ 𝓌arnings + tags 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ windbreaker mentioned , jeongin calling reader ‘noona’ , my hero academia mentioned , reader, hyunjin, and minho have a very high cold tolerance lmao , reader has glasses , head over heels kdrama mentioned , this is me manifestating a kdrama beach episode for my friend group , first kisses , light makeout (non-desc) , chan’s insomnia mentioned , so much fluff ;

ꪆ୧ 𝓌c 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ 3.1 k

you had never found it hard to fit in with the boys.

sure, you were the only girl in stray kids, but that didn’t really change anything.

as a part of the maknae line, you were heavily doted on by everyone except jeongin, since he was the only one younger than you and the fact that you babied him.

interviewers and magazine pages often described you as ‘introverted’ or ‘shy’ or ‘reserved’, but the boys knew that those weren’t the correct words to define you most of the time.

[ ot9 interview. ]

you were all at an interview now, talking about each other, but the question was more directed towards how you were treated as the only girl.

“chan takes care of all of us like he would his own younger siblings, you know? he was born with that caring nature,” minho said.

“minho and I, being the only children to our respective parents, always had a special bond that I don’t think I share with anyone else,” you said. minho glanced at you, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“changbin always treats y/n like a boy anyway, and she actually likes that,” seungmin added, covering his smile. you gave him a look that you always did when he put his hand over his mouth. he immediately dropped his hand.

“hyunjin is like y/n’s personal knight, to be honest,” one of the boys said.

“yeah! whenever she needs something, he always gets it for her. but when we ask for the same thing, he even ignores us sometimes!” han complained.

“she just asks for it nicely!” hyunjin replied. “you yell at me for it!” han stayed quiet.

“han and felix always watch anime with me, though,” you added, nodding at them. “we recently watched windbreaker!”

“oh, i’m so down bad for kaji ren,” felix said, and you nodded aggressively in agreement.

“we play quite a lot of board games, and let jeongin do our skin care a lot,” seungmin mentioned, moving on from anime.

jeongin smiled smugly. “STAY,” he addressed the camera directly. “your favourite idols—noona and seungmin—are only so pretty because of my skin care routines, you know.” he giggled like a child. “you should all thank me for it!”

[ cut to solo interviews of each of the members. ]

interviewer: y/n’s birthday is coming up, isn’t it? as well as STAYweek? so, could you tell us what you think of y/n?

chan: she always keeps the dorm clean and knows where everything is… I feel like she’s a mini-me sometimes. it’s also nice when she sometimes tries to take care of me, because she sees me as chris and not stray kids’ leader bang chan, which I think I really needed a few times.

minho: I wouldn’t let her hear me saying this but i’ve always wanted a sister, and for many years now… it feels like she’s my younger sister. I wouldn’t want to replace her with anyone, ever. sometimes she feels overwhelmed by everything, and I hope I can always be there for her, to help her through it.

changbin: I don’t think i’ve ever met a braver or kinder person than her. she’s younger than almost all of us, but she doesn’t hesitate to speak up against the people who talk ill about us. we do get hit by her sometimes, but of course, i’m strong so it doesn’t hurt. also, she once made us all personalised gift bags with our favourite energy drinks and chocolates to celebrate a comeback! she’s so adorable, aaah.

hyunjin: y/n… she loves us fearlessly, and that’s my favourite thing about her. when she cares about someone, she pulls out all the stops. if you are loved by y/n, you will know. she will make it known to you, for sure. one day, I want to look at the world like she does, through her eyes. and i’ve even thought about painting her so many times! the other members too. they’re all very beautiful, aren’t they?

han: we immediately became the best of friends. I mean, we bonded over anime so quickly in the beginning of our friendship, which has now evolved a lot. our friendship has definitely grown with us. I couldn’t imagine stray kids without her. and if anyone saw her outside the dorms, they would never guess that she dreams of bakugo from ‘my hero academia’—

felix: she’s exactly like my sisters back home. y/n always games with me, sometimes even when she’s tired. she once fell asleep in the middle of a 2v1 and I got completely destroyed because of that. I still love her a lot though, and i’ll continue making brownies for her. and she’s usually more introverted around others, but it’s nice seeing her turn into a wild extrovert when she’s with us.

seungmin: it’s completely different than I expected. having a younger sister, I mean. she made me realise that… my smile was worth being shown to the world. she may be younger than me, but she’s definitely more mature than I am.

jeongin: noona’s amazing. absolutely amazing. she kills every performance and her outfits are always so pretty! but that’s just probably because she is so pretty. y/n’s the best noona I could ever ask for because she always helps me out with stuff, and she’s so responsible. I wish she’d been my sister since we were born, because then I could’ve been ‘the kid with the cool older sister’ back in middle school and high school.

[ cut to ot9’s interview. ]

“Your birthday and STAY’s birthday are on the same day, right?” the interviewer asked you.

“yes, august 1st!” jeongin said, happily.

“that means we get two cakes!” han added, smiling along with jeongin.

“yah! you only keep me around for extra cake, don’t you?” you rolled your eyes in amusement and mock-annoyance.

the interviewer actually laughed, and continued with the interview.

you shifted around to pull your shorts a little lower as you were still sitting. hyunjin saw you from the corner of his eyes, and dropped his jacket onto your lap to cover you up.

you looked at him for a second, and then smiled gratefully at him, turning your attention back to the interview.

“in honour of STAYweek, we’re going on vacation to a secret place,” chan said, smiling.

“will you still be doing livestreams or perhaps… recording a new episode for SKZcode?” the interviewer asked.

“yes, actually. we’re going to a beach, so be prepared for some fun episodes of SKZcode!” felix said.

⋆ 𖤓 ⋆˚࿔ timeskip . . .

some staff drove us all from the hotel to the beach in a van that was big enough to fit all of us.

“yah! hyunjin! can you move in a little bit? I literally don’t have any space left on this side,” chan complained, pushing hyunjin. you were sitting by the window, beside hyunjin.

when chan pushed him, hyunjin’s arm pressed against yours.

your heart skipped a beat at the sudden contact, which wasn’t that unusual, really. it was just that it was unplanned and… sudden.

to distract yourself, you looked outside, rolling down the window.

han was screaming the lyrics to some popular tiktok audio (something about a bayerische motoren werke?) while felix was watching the gameplay for one of his favourite games. vocalracha and changbin were singing girl groups’ music’s karaoke. the entire vehicle was filled with chaos.

after all… where stray kids went, chaos followed.

you all decided to to go for a three-in-a-room system.

chan, jeongin, and felix took the first room, which was also the one with the biggest beds.

han, changbin, and seungmin decided on the room closest to the gym.

minho, hyunjin, and you picked the room with the best air conditioning, of course. the three of you practically thrived in sleeveless shirts and shorts during the winter months. and chan too, insisted on the room choices.

“I hope you freeze to death,” seungmin said, walking away from you three.

minho and you glared at him with matching sharpened eyes, while hyunjin was a little… preoccupied… staring at your pout and mock-angry face.

“why is she so beautiful?” he whispered to himself. “too perfect.”

minho glanced at him for a second, and then turned away, almost missing what hyunjin said.

that night, minho left to annoy han, leaving hyunjin alone with you.

you didn’t have an awkward friendship at all. you had known each other for a while even before stray kids had become a group.

hyunjin sat on the large bed, crisscrossed his legs and pulled his ipad close. you sprawled across the length of the bed, with your head resting in his lap. you looked up at him through the edge of your glasses. he gently pulled them off, setting them on the table beside the bed.

“what are you watching?” you asked, still looking at him upside-down, making silly faces at him.

“oh, chan hyung suggested this kdrama called ‘head over heels’! do you wanna watch it with me?” he asked excitedly. you nodded with equal enthusiasm, sitting up beside him quickly.

you pulled up the blanket to cover both of you together as you began watching the kdrama on his ipad.

around one in the night, minho returned to your shared room to find a slightly unexpected sight.

hyunjin and you were practically cuddling on the bed. your face was nuzzled into his neck, breathing deeply and snoring a little. hyunjin’s hand was wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. he was fast asleep as well, his head resting on top of yours.

korean audio was playing from the ipad beside you, forgotten by both of you who were asleep.

minho smiled smugly, snapping a picture of the two of you and sent it to a group chat called ‘y/n-jin ship captains’, the chat without hyunjin and you.

“cute kids.” he mumbled to himself.

walking over to the bed, he pulled the ipad away slowly, setting it down on the table.

he shut off all the lights, and padded over to his bed, falling asleep soundly, still smiling at the thought of hyunjin and you, looking comfortable with each other.

“I hope this industry doesn’t take their love away from them.”

the next morning, everyone woke up early to go to the beach to watch the sunrise. hyunjin and you untangled your web of sleepy arms and legs while giggling like children, and got up to get ready. it wasn’t uncommon for you to share a bed or cuddle, because it had become a normal thing after sharing a dorm with him. minho wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but you just assumed he had left early.

hyunjin got dressed before you, and was relaxing on the bed as he waited for you. he was scrolling through his private tiktok, watching edits of his group, and memes of chan.

“y/n-ah! how much longer will you—” he stopped abruptly, looking at you coming out of the dressing area.

you were wearing his favourite tank top and your loose denim shorts. you had accessorised yourself in simple silver jewellery, nothing too much for the beach.

“that shirt definitely looks better on you than it did on me,” he whistled.

“that’s why i’m stealing it,” you said, like you were stating a fact.

the brightness of his smile rivaled that of the sun outside, and he felt proud, watching you walk around in his shirt, looking for your earphones and phone.

he took a candid picture of you with his film camera, and pulled back to look at the image. “woah.” he whispered to himself.

you looked like… well, like his hopefully-future-girlfriend.

he knew he always liked you, but his heart swelled at the sight of you in his clothes.

while he was basking in your presence, chan called you. your eyes lit up as you finally found your phone, answering the call to talk to chan.

hyunjin saw you nodding aggressively at your phone, glancing at him once in a while and quickly turning away.

⋆ 𖤓 ⋆˚࿔ timeskip . . .

hyunjin and you reached the beach together to meet the other seven soon.

you sat down and reached your hands out to collect some seashells.

the waves lapped peacefully against your ankles and palms.

you rubbed the sand between your fingers, relishing their texture.

the salty air sprayed into your mouth every time a wave crashed, and you could see the salt blowing over the water in magic-like wisps.

the feeling of sitting at a beach was your favourite. you loved the colours of the sky reflecting in the water, the crabs trickling out of the sand after a wave recedes, the seashells, the love in the air.

chan was walking up to you. you smiled at him.

“thank me later,” he said, walking away just as quickly, confusing you.

you furrowed your brows, but let it go.

you glanced up at hyunjin beside you, whose hair was whipping about a little bit by the cool breeze. his eyes were closed, arms outstretched, waiting for the next wave to wash over his feet. he looked like a prince, awaiting his princess’ return…

“are you staring, jagi?” he asked you, opening one eye and looking downwards at you. your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, completely in bliss and a happy smile stretched across his beautiful face.

before you could respond, felix’s voice dragged you out of your fever dream.

“minho, han, and I are going to get snacks. anyone want anything?” he asked.

“two vanilla ice creams and some chocolate for us!” hyunjin yelled out to felix, who nodded.

he turned back to you, and sat down beside you.

the two of you began collecting pretty shells, without saying much, in comfortable silence.

well, not complete silence.

“I need to drink some juice! I forgot to tell felix!” jeongin said, standing up quickly a little farther away from you.

“i’ll come with you. don’t get lost,” seungmin said, tagging along with him.

“chan hyung, can we get some fans here? it’s too hot to just sit,” changbin complained, and the two of them left behind seungmin.

hyunjin was looking at you, as the sun reflected its brightness from your smile.

you turned to him, shifting your gaze away from chan, who just left.

you were too close to each other, breaths already mixing.

until then, you hadn’t realised that you two were left alone on the beach.

“y/n… can I say something?” he asked. his fingers were drawing circles in the sand, in the little space between your hands.

“yeah,” you whispered, wishing that he would say he felt the same as you secretly did…

“i’ve had crushes before, but i’ve never felt about anyone like I feel about you. you draw me in with every breath. I always think of painting you, but no colour could ever compare to the way your eyes look at the world. you’re different, and you… I love you, y/n. so much. so much that I never want to let you go, never want to go even a day without hearing your laugh or seeing your smile. but—I don’t want anything to ruin our friendship or our group, so you can just pretend this never happened, if you want—”

“why would I pretend this didn’t happen when it’s what i’ve been wishing for, for the past few years?” you whispered, still looking at him carefully.

his eyes widened and gaze softened.

“I love you, hyunjin,” you said softly.

“wait. wait! you like me too?”

“of course I do, pabo!—” you started giggling but you were cut off by him moving even closer to you.

one of his hands snaked around your waist, tugging you closer, half sitting on him. the other found its way to your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair.

you wrapped your hand around his neck, tugging at his unruly, short hair. your other hand rested on his shoulder.

“can I be your baby?” he asked softly, closing his eyes, and touching his forehead to yours.

“yes. yes.” you whispered, words seeming too loud.

“I love you, I love you so much—” you cut him off with a press of your lips to his.

the kiss wasn’t feral or messy. it was sweet and everlasting, in the way first kisses were meant to be.

years of feelings of longing poured into each others’ mouths.

he removed his hand from your neck to take off your glasses, which kept trying to clock him in the eye. he folded them and carefully put them to the side, still not stopping kissing you.

“you’re beautiful,” he murmured against your lips, before closing the distance again.

“you’re my favourite boy ever,” you returned.

distantly, many giggles and some ‘sshhh!’s sounded.

you both broke off quickly, pulling apart from each other’s bodies, but still holding hands.

the rest of the boys fell out from behind a nearby dustbin.

“were you spying on us?” you asked accusatorily, narrowing your eyes at them.

“just pretend we were never here—”

“YAH!”

“they finally did it! I was so tired of looking at them watching each other with all that disgusting yearning.”

that night, after hyunjin and you watched some more episodes of the kdrama you had begun watching the previous night, he had fallen asleep with his head on a pillow, assuming it was you.

you slowly slipped out of the bed, slipping on your slippers, and padding over to chan’s room, knowing he would still be awake because of his insomnia. before you could even knock, chan opened the door.

“I guess I do need to thank you,” you said, smiling shyly at him. he motioned you to come in, closing the door behind you.

“felix and jeongin left to work out,” he said. “we’ve got the room to ourselves, if you wanna thank me by doing an interpretive dance?” he laughed at his own joke. you rolled your eyes at him.

“why are they working out at 2 in the night?”

“I don’t know, actually. anyway, tell me about it.”

“about what?”

“what you came here for.”

“I really do love him,” you sighed, falling onto the bed.

“oh, really? I couldn’t tell by the way you practically made out for two minutes—”

“why were you spying on us in the first place?!”

“we were so tired of you guys just whining secretly about each other; we were so excited when we saw you together!”

“are you seriously all kids—ugh.”

“so… he’s going to treat you well. we know that,” chan said, falling on the bed next to you.

“he’s hyunjin. he’ll treat me well,” you confirmed, nodding happily.

“okay, so, no kissing, no going out after 9—”