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astraystayyh · 8 months

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please fall before i fall

jeongin x reader. best friends to lovers. they think it's unrequited love so a bit of angst. but they're just idiots. happy ending :))

summary : 3 times you saved jeongin's ass and the 1 time he saved yours (and ended up confessing along the way). holidays themed.

winter falls masterlist.

a.n. : i am very happy to finally post my first fic for the winter falls collab with my author xi hehehehhe i hope you'll enjoy this one <333 it's very light and fluffy she's the cute one!! oh and my song rec is i bet on losing dogs by mitski

One.

Jeongin’s thumb hovers over your contact name, his rosy lip pulled tightly between his teeth. He hesitates for a few seconds before finally dialing your number.

“What do you want?” you start which makes an incredulous snort escape his lips, a gust of powdery air materializing before his mouth from the cold.

“How much do I have to pay you for you to come over?”

“Ten thousand dollars. Cash,” you precise as he mouths along to what you say, already guessing what your next words would be.

He's come to know you at an abhorrent speed these past few months; since you sat right next to him in your biology class, head buried in an oversized navy hoodie. Your perfume knocked into him like a gentle breeze— Sicilian lemon and white bouquet notes, nostalgic summer amid an unforgiven autumn. Memories of sticky fingers from molten ice cream and feet soles meeting the warm sand wafted in the air, alluring him to the kindness of a long-gone summer, you.

That is why he talked to you at first, because you smelled nice, incredibly so. He tells you it's because he liked the pair of shoes you were wearing.

“What if I brought you your favorite coffee?”

“Are you outside my dorm?” you squeal and he imagines you must be scrambling to get up, opening the curtains. He knows he's right as your figure materializes behind the window. “Hi,” you wave, a small giggle escaping your lips. He can't help the fond smile that draws upon his lips.

He thinks he likes you a little.

“Hey, please help me wrap my family’s gifts,” he pouts, waving the coffee in the air. Your order that he memorized by heart, not even meaning to, it was just natural for him to order you coffee every day, to remember your preferences as if they were his own.

“Why are you here if we're going to your dorm anyways?” you laugh, leaning against the window.

“Because I know I need to bribe you,” he sighs, angling his head to the side. “Are you not going to hang up and come downstairs? The coffee will grow cold.”

“I’m coming!”

An hour later, four gifts are resting beside Jeongin's figure, perfectly wrapped thanks to your skilled hands. He's lying on the warmed tiles, and you're right beside him, so close your knee brushes against his thigh now and then.

He is keeping count, well, more so his heart, constricting in his lungs each time you touch.

He's so aware of you, so much he's sure you’ve crawled into his skin, morphing him into nothing but a shell of you.

Perhaps he likes you a lot.

“You're an insane man. Who leaves gift wrapping to the last minute?”

“You're best friends with said insane man.”

“Remind me how did that happen again?” you ask, propping your head on your elbow, and turning to the side to look at him. Jeongin has to pretend that the sight of you hovering over him doesn't affect him. That his eyes aren't drawn to your lips, heart dissolving at your feet, hoping to brush against your own.

Please fall before I fall, he nearly pleads.

“Why are you so close,” he feigns disgust, pushing your face away with his pointer finger.

“What? Does that fluster you?” you question, amused, bringing your face even closer to his. He scrambles away before a blush sprouts on his face, one he wouldn't be able to justify to your scrutinizing gaze.

“As if. You're ugly,” his eyes squint, lips thinning into that particular smile he knows annoys you. He moves to the side swiftly, anticipating the shoe you throw at him.

“You're literally— remind me to never help you again, asshole.”

“I'm kidding. Thank you for today, seriously. I didn't know wrapping gifts could be this hard.” He falls back to the floor dramatically, banging his head against the tiles in the process.

“Well deserved,” you whisper.

“I heard that.”

“Good,” you giggle, before gently massaging the spot where he has bumped his head. He purses his lips against one another, afraid of what words might escape the confines of his throat, vocal cords moving to the gentle rhythm of your touch.

“Will you keep on being this clumsy, Innie? mm?” you muse, tone quieter.

The nickname makes his insides churn, it is always so tender when it falls from your lips. No one has ever called him this softly before. No one has ever called his heart before you.

He shouldn't be this clumsy with it. It is a fragile organ, akin to glass, easily breakable, so translucent— it'd be easy for anyone to peer inside and find you in it.

“Yeah, I probably will.”

He'll stop liking you next year. He hopes. He'll try.

Two.

Next year has come, familiar frigid winds pulling you to Jeongin’s heart, perhaps even more so than before, cementing your being into the nooks and crannies of his soul, perfectly so, as if it was destined for you alone to fill the emptiness inside him.

Seasons have changed and yet summer remains, its essence stored safely within the notes of your perfume, it tickles his nose as you're seated on the countertop, legs swinging lazily while he scouts through his fridge.

“Remind me why we're doing this again?”

“Because I made a bet with Yoon.”

“Your sixteen years old brother?”

“Yes.”

“You are in college.”

“I know.”

“Why are you taking it to heart?”

“Because I have my pride,” he says solemnly, hand on his heart and you roll your eyes.

“You literally begged at my feet fifteen minutes ago to help you.”

A year later, Jeongin stood beneath your window once again, phone brought up to his ear, hand hidden behind his back. You pick up on the first ring.

“Look out the window,” he quickly says before you can even speak.

“Hello, Y/n, how are you, Y/n, are you surviving with the cold—” you say sarcastically as you pull the curtains, the words dissolving in your tongue as he brings a single flower before him— you recognize its pink petals easily, Camellia, the rose of winter.

“I did not have time for coffee, but I plucked this off the sidewalk,” he offers, an amused grin on his face. “Help me bake cookies, pretty please, I'll be forever indebted to you. Forever and ever and ever and ever—”

“This is such a poor rendition of Romeo and Juliet, I'm afraid Shakespeare is suffering in his grave right now.”

“Do you think he knows of every theater play that was done to his story?” Jeongin muses.

“That's a good question actually. I hope he didn't see mine,” you shudder before your face pales.

“You did not tell me you ever did that!”

“I'll bake your cookies and you'll never bring this up again.”

“Deal. My Juliet,” he smirks and you throw a middle finger aggressively to his face before hanging up. He shouldn't find it as endearing as he does.

“Because, my dear Y/n, this is my holiday reputation at stake. I kind of raised the bar last year with my gift wrapping.”

“You did?” you raise an eyebrow promptly at his words and he sighs, taking out the butter before leaning against the fridge.

“We did. Which is exactly why I need your help again. Imagine how embarrassing it would be if Yoon wins,” he shudders and a giggle finally escapes your lips.

The kitchen warms up at the sight of your smile.

“It's cute when you need me once in a while,” you say nonchalantly, hopping off the counter and moving to wash your hands. Jeongin freezes in his place.

“I always need you though,” he confesses quickly, swallowing the words, hoping that this way you wouldn't be able to taste the sincerity coating them, sticky honey dripping from his tongue whenever it speaks of you.

“Good thing you'll always have me then,” you beam, your words hanging into the air, oxygen suddenly harder to inhale.

“Gross,” he fakes a shiver, as his heart drops in his chest, breaks, and twists at the weight your words carry.

He'll always have you, but not in the way he wants to, your eyes would never soften at the mere mention of his name, and you won't think that a season blooms into every room he is in. He has you, but just a fragment of you, not how you have him, as a whole, heart, body, and soul.

He's already fallen, a terrible, terrible fall.

“Will you help me or just stare off into the distance?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. He smiles bashfully, rolling his sleeves and sidling by your side to mix in the eggs, one by one, per your instructions.

It smells nice in the kitchen, the caramelized fragrance of browned butter, sweetened by the sugar dissolving into the warm liquid. Tentative sunlight streams through the window, and it falls perfectly on Jeongin's face, highlighting his sharp features.

Not that jeongin needs any additional light, he reminds you of spring, a flower blooming on his face each time he smiles, his dimples two youthful fountains the roots strive from, brightening his face even more.

He tentatively glances at you as he adds the chocolate chips to the mix, only to find you staring forward. He misses the fond look on your face by a few seconds, the tinting of your features with soft hues of pink, of spring, of him. He always misses it, always misses you.

Three.

"I can't believe you have 37 pairs of shoes but not one nice shirt.”

“It's 36, please count correctly,” Jeongin retaliates and you snort, flopping around in bed till you land on your stomach, chin propped up by your hand. Jeongin is still rummaging through his closet, head almost disappearing into the dark void of his wardrobe.

“What do you need this for anyway?” you question, as you scroll through your phone mindlessly. Jeongin’s eerie silence causes you to look up.

“Um. I have a date tonight.”

“Oh.”

His words hang over the room like a heavy cloak soaked with rain, the oxygen sucked out of your lungs and ensnared within that singular gasp.

Jeongin swiftly turns around, before kneeling beside the bed, eyes brimming with a hopeless search— you are too focused on steadying your breathing to notice.

“Should I go?”

“I mean… Why are you asking me?”

“If you don't want me to, I won't,” he speaks in an overflowing sincerity, as though he'd willingly surrender the reins of his life for you to guide, should you only dare to ask.

A breath, a pause, and he adds, “In case you'll be lonely tonight.” Your hope deflates in an instant, akin to a birthday balloon tossed into the careless hands of children.

Pity, that's what he feels for someone who hasn't had a date in a year while he went on ones regularly. Although they never transcended beyond that first meeting, always a first date, never a second. He says none of the people he meets are his type.

“I have a date too.” It was the truth, Suhoo had told you to meet him at the ice rink. You said you'd think about it. You knew deep down that your answer would be no, solely because he isn't Jeongin.

Perhaps it is too late for him to fall for you.

“Really?”

“Yeah, with Suhoo, you know, the guy in our Economics class.”

“He's nice.”

“Mm.”

Could you lose something you never had in the first place?

“You should wear Seungmin’s white shirt.”

“Yeah. That's what I thought too.”

“And bring them flowers. The rose of winter, maybe.”

You had preserved the plucked flower he gave you in a vase. The pink of the petals liquefying and bleeding into the blush on Jeongin’s cheeks once he noticed.

“That one's just for you.”

Four.

You're alone on the ice rink, the frigid winds assail your form, fingers numb from winter's cruel grasp. Suhoo didn't come after all, perhaps he was offended by you calling him at the last minute to confirm your date.

The chill of disappointment is more biting than the frost— you want to melt off the ice, you want your spring. You want your Jeongin.

But he isn't yours, perhaps he will never be. He is too sought after, too captivated by the fleeting chase of someone new to spare a glance at you.

But in this instant, you need him. You need him to hold your hands in his larger, warmer ones and get you off the ice rink. You need the sight of his familiar dimples and blooming smile.

So, you call him. He picks up on the first ring.

“Are you that bored on your date?” He playfully taunts, and his voice becomes a gentle breeze that stirs the emotions you struggle to contain. Tears cascade down your cheeks in an achingly familiar path.

“I-Innie,” you hiccup, and you’re instantly met with the sound of scraping chairs against the floor, the hastening cadence of footsteps hurrying out into the street.

“Did he do something to you?” He speaks so coldly, a tone so foreign to the warmth of your Jeongin. He shouldn't be tainted with winter too.

“He didn't come. Can you p-please pick me up?”

“I will. I'm coming in a bit, okay?”

He finds you rather quickly on the ice rink, a sore thumb unmoving between the gliding bodies. He skates over to you, almost falling twice in the process.

“You're so clumsy,” you snort as he stands before you, sobs racking through your body once more at the sight of him.

You weren't mad at Suhoo. You were heartbroken over Jeongin.

“I'll beat him up for you. I'll tell Changbin to help me too,” he smiles, hands fidgeting as they land upon your cheeks, trying their best to wipe away your tears.

“Please don't cry. I hate seeing you cry, Y/n, I really can't bear it." The tears only fall harder at his words, as if he's stringing them forth with each touch of his.

“Did he do something to you?” an unknown voice startles you and you turn to your right to find a girl looking at you then at Jeongin, a frown etched on her eyebrows.

“No, I'm her friend I didn't-”

“I wasn't talking to you,” the girl cuts him off and you laugh despite you, as Jeongin’s jaw hangs open, before closing once more.

“It's not him, thank you so much though,” you smile gratefully and she nods, eyes wary as she glares at Jeongin one last time, before skating away.

“I can't believe that just happened,” He exhales, a breath tinged with bewilderment, before he delicately encircles a hand around your back. Gently, he guides your head to rest against the comforting refuge of his chest.

“What are you doing?” you mumble against his navy hoodie, the one he borrowed from you. You can still smell your perfume on him.

“I'm comforting you.”

“You don't like hugs.”

“It's different when it comes to you.”

You close your eyes, allowing the tide of his warmth to envelop you like a cascade of spring petals.

“Where is your date?”

“I didn't go.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I love you. I'm tired of looking for you in other people,” he quickly says and you peel yourself away from him, feeling as if his clothes were suddenly made of fire.

“What?” you whisper, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I love you,” he repeats, each word drawn out, much slower this time, his hands cradling your face, tenderly, as though holding the sun between his delicate fingers. “I'm tired of pretending you're not my summer.”

“Don't say things you don't mean,” your voice wavers.

“I mean it. I've always loved you. You complete me in ways I didn't know were possible, and I know you only see me as a friend but-”

Your lips press against his, a culmination of aching desires that have lingered for two years. Distant laughter echoes in the background, ice cream melting onto your fingers, a soft breeze ruffling your hair, flowers blooming under the soft caress of the sun— two seasons melting sweetly into the kiss.

“You're literally so blind,” you giggle against his lips, and his smile widens, your noses brushing against one another. “I love you too, idiot.”

“You love me?”

“You're my favorite season.”

“Don't steal my lines.”

“Hey—” he kisses you this time, the winter is long forgotten.

Was it ever a fall if you caught him in the end?

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bokutosbabe · 2 months

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It's Nice to Have a 'Friend'

( soft launching with the haikyuu boys )

a / n — these are fun to make so i thought i'd do one for my favorite boys. find the blue lock version here !!

content — haikyuu characters x gn! reader, takes place during timeskip, fluff, tried to make it as gn! as possible, but the photos have women, lmk if i missed anything!

synopsis — soft launching with the haikyuu boys <3

✿.｡. “ sun sinks down, no curfew, ” .｡.✿

has a great following for being 'aesthetic' even though they rarely try. most things they post have photos of things they've done in the week like pictures of their food or them working.

their followers are used to aesthetic photo dumps with 10 photos each that have no rhyme or reason to them, so when they get online and see a post from their favorite account with only 3 photos and the caption

" my love " with the song 'my love mine all mine' by mitski attached? there was immediate reactions, some trying to find out who this mystery person is while others seemed to be happy with just these little snippets of the relationship.

theyluvmeee: OMG?? anyone know who this is??

↳ anon2001: it's a soft launch for a reason. that's like- common sense i fear.

they don't think of themselves as a 'content creator', they just like posting their photos. however, they did like how much strangers on the internet would stand up for them and your relationship.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ AKAASHI KEIJI, ennoshita chikara, ARAN OJIRO, daichi sawamura

has a decent amount of followers, mostly just people they'd known in high school and family, but there were a few hundred people who followed for the cute quotes that they would post before one of their chaotic photo dumps.

their usual feed was filled with the first picture being a quote that really made you think and then the craziest pictures. them face down in a puddle after a night out? yep it's there. pictures of them at a scenic dog park? also there

people began following them for the stark contrast that showed in every post they made, but when they posted something with no quote and it was a soft launch? their fans had immediately blown up the comments.

volleyballfreak: A SOFT LAUNCH? with who? omg.

and they had replied to almost every comment asking just who you were with...

' my lover <3 '

oh he was down bad.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ YAMAGUCHI TADASHI, aone takanobu, SUGAWARA KOSHI, osamu miya, NISHINOYA YUU, kita shinsuke, TANAKA RYUNOSUKE

so so so sooo many followers (that came with being a professional volleyball player you supposed) many people who didn't even enjoy volleyball followed them because of the silly stuff they posted.

their fans watched their stories where they would post memes and such, something that many pros didn't do on the daily...because they had a reputation to upkeep. to be fair, all of their followers never knew them to be the brightest, so nothing they posted caused up a stir.

until they posted photos they took with, what was supposed to be, some mystery person with the caption ' a soft launch on MY minecraft server ? '

and it would have been an AMAZING soft launch...if they didn't tag your PERSONAL ACCOUNT on every. single. picture.

you weren't a pro volleyball player, you weren't an actor, you weren't even a manager, nope! you were just some normal person who lives an everyday normal life.

they had the spirit, just not the execution, but that's why their fans (and you) loved them <3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･BOKUTO KOTARO, atsumu miya, HINATA SHOYO, KANJI KOGANEGAWA

didn't get a chance to soft launch you before the paparazzi put out the tabloids of the both of you. the titles always saying something like "STAR VOLLEYBALL PLAYER WITH MYSTERY LOVER??"

the article was posted ten times over on every single social media platform there was, with many people with many different reactions replying to it

MSBYmomma: ur joking. he's literally mine

goofgoob: thank god one person on this team is in a loyal relationship.

the two of you hadn't even gotten the chance to open your own social medias before hundreds of texts invaded both of your phones. only from the people who knew of your relationship and were worried about the both of you.

so what did they do? reposted the photo on their story with two simple emojis...

"👍❤️"

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI, kageyama tobio, OIKAWA TORU, sakusa kiyoomi

✿.｡. “ twenty questions, we tell the truth. ” .｡.✿

i love soft launches and haikyuu <3

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

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arminsumi · 11 months

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that megumi writing was so cuuute i melted <33

do you have any megumi bf hcs?

bf gumi

💗めぐみ + fem!reader

note : hehe thank you sugarpuff :)

🍒 More from Jay : JJK works / oct. reqs open

bf!megumi always does things with you in mind. he stops by vending machines and thinks i'll get y/n's favorite. he spars with gojo sensei and thinks i'll show off this move to y/n later. he gets scuffed up by a curse and thinks y/n will kiss it better when i get home.

bf!megumi asks "can i kiss you?" even though you two have been dating for years now... and it's totally fine for him to just... yk... kiss you on his own accord. but nah. he still asks. with puppy eyes too. and those eyes sparkle when you say yes.

bf!megumi and his need for makeouts. needy!! he can't go a day without spending that quality time with your lips.

bf!megumi will mutter "what're you doing, idiot?" and lower his chin on your shoulder to hint that he needs your attention. he can't just say hey, gimme attention... no he hints and then gets frustrated when you don't get it.

bf!megumi is super attentive to your needs :( you briefly massage your shoulder? well he'll come give you a proper massage. you got chapped lips? he slips your chapstick into your palm. shivering? engulfs you in a hug.

bf!megumi refuses to let anyone mess up his hair... except you. he curls up close in the mornings, clinging to you like you're the only thing that's real after he's had a long dream. "play with my hair..." he mumbles into you groggily.

bf!megumi blushes in the mirror and smiles a little, tracing his fingertips over the hickeys you gave him on his neck and collarbone the day before.

bf!megumi spends nights geeking out to you about music, and makes playlists with you. then he listens to them while daydreaming of you when he's alone, and it feels like you're there with him. yuji teases him about zoning out during practice, and asks, "what's the "my love mine all mine" playlist for? mitski stuff? oh there's just love songs... WAIT. DO YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?" and megumi is grimacing at him, snatching his phone back and bonking yuji on the head with it.

bf!megumi is such a daydreamer, actually. you're right in his mind, stuck there, a constant thought in his subconscious even when he's busy.

bf!megumi stares at you with an adoring look and completely loses himself in you. so many times, his friends have made jokes about how they wish they had someone who looked at them like how he looks at you.

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

#🎃 ~ oct. reqs #fluff #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk megumi #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro fluff

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cheesesoda · 6 months

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calling you out based on your favorite triplet!

it’s ya girl back at it again with the call out posts

cw: mentions of mental health issues, sexual trauma, and EDs

nick: if you’re a nick girl/boy/person, i get the feeling you’re the oldest. you sometimes tend to feel sorry for yourself and then you feel bad about feeling sorry for yourself and it becomes a vicious cycle. you probably have either dealt with body image issues or an eating disorder (idk every nick person i’ve met has dealt with that). you’re probably pretty insecure and you constantly compare yourself to all your friends and it’s tearing you apart. you have a hard time accepting compliments because you simply don’t believe them. i think there’s a lot you don’t talk about but then you blame others for your secrecy and feel bad for yourself, as if they just don’t understand. maybe try letting people in and let them have a shot at trying to understand you. you’re not an enigma.

songs you remind me of:

prom queen by beach bunny

not strong enough by boygenius

idontwannabeyouanymore by billie eilish

sippy cup by melanie martinez

orange juice by melanie martinez

tv by billie eilish

matt: if you’re a matt girl/boy/person, you’re probably the quietest one of the group. you possibly grew up without many friends and you often feel left out or unseen. you were the quiet kid and never really talked. you’re very nurturing and you try to take care of all your friends because you want them to know you see them. you’ve most likely dealt with mental health issues (specifically anxiety and/or depression). you tend to overthink a lot and you probably have a lot more to say than you actually say. you were probably the one who walked on the grass, the one who was the photographer but never in the photo, and the one who sat alone at lunch. as a kid, you went unnoticed but now you’re not. as a result, you end up purposely excluding yourself from your current friend group(s) because it’s what you’re used to and then you end up isolating yourself but you don’t realize that you’re doing it to yourself. i hope you’ll see that people do notice you and they do care about you. you’re not invisible.

songs that remind me of you:

the archer by taylor swift

chosen last by sara keys

letter to my 13 year old self by laufey

nobody by mitski

afraid by the neighbourhood

everything i wanted by billie eilish

chris: if you’re a chris girl/boy/person, i think you grew up too quickly. you probably had to start looking out for yourself at way too young of an age and now you have a hard time accepting nurturing and loving treatment. i get the feeling that you were sexualized from a young age too and you probably have some sexual trauma. as a result, you act hypersexual because it’s what you’ve been made to believe you’re supposed to be. people don’t take you seriously, probably because you are the funny one or the pretty one but you’re actually very observant and analytical. you notice things most people don’t. you’ve often been the butt of the joke in the friend group so now you make fun of everyone else before they can make fun of you. you might come off as mean but i think you’re just scared of being vulnerable. you definitely have commitment issues which probably stems from your childhood trauma (including but not limited to family issues). you end up getting yourself into dangerous or unhealthy or self destructive situations because it’s what you’re used to and you think it’s what people expect from you. you don’t have to follow your self fulfilled prophecy. you don’t have to be what others tell you that you are.

songs that remind me of you:

goddess by laufey

labyrinth by taylor swift

safeword by tv girl

don’t miss me by claire rosinkranz

brand new city by mitski

first love/late spring by mitski

#cheesesodaspeaks #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nick sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets

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jjunieworld · 5 months

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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ TXT AS MITSKI LYRICS ‎⸝⸝⸝

pairing: txt x gn!reader genre: scenerios/headcannons, fluff, angst, established relationship, hurt/comfort, exes to lovers, lovers to exes, fwb to lovers (suggestive), childhood friends to ??? word count: 500-700 for each member author’s note: i’ve been listening to mitski a lot and this idea randomly popped in my head! it’s not completely based off the meanings of the songs!! i feel like these would be fun to write full fics for. if you listen to mitski, what’s your favorite song?? mine is once more to see you and last words of a shooting star!!! (｡´‿`｡) all feed back and reblogs are welcome! enjoy!! ♡ ⇢ ( continue on to . . . masterlist or request rules )

𓍼 ˋ✮ YEONJUN

brand new city - mitski 𓍯 “but if i gave up on being pretty, i wouldn’t know how to be alive. i should move to a brand new city and teach myself how to die.”

yeonjun couldn’t understand it. he simply couldn’t understand what was making you feel this way. what was making you feel so insecure. the two of you sat on the bed in your shared bedroom, you with tears streaming down your face and the saddest expression on your face that absolutely broke yeonjun’s heart into pieces.

he had his arms wrapped tightly around you, scared that if he let go you’d completely shatter, with your head buried in his chest. you pulled away so you could sniffle and so your already hard to hear voice wouldn’t be even more muffled. “i just… i just feel like i’m not good enough,” you said through choked sobs. “not pretty enough, not smart enough, not good enough. and i feel like nothing that i do to prove that i am pretty, that i am smart, that i am good enough is enough.”

you furiously wiped your tears and stared hard at the comforter of your bed. “everywhere i look, there’s someone better than me. and if i’m not good enough, not pretty, then what am i? what purpose do i serve?” yeonjun could feel his own tears well up in his eyes at your words. at the fact that you even think this way. he cupped your face gently so that you looked at him through glassy tears.

“you’re not here to serve a purpose. you’re not here to be pretty enough for someone, or smart enough for someone, or even good enough for someone. you’re here to simply be, that is all.” yeonjun wiped the tear trails on your cheeks with his thumbs. “and you are pretty enough, and smart enough, and good enough, but none of that matters if you’re measuring yourself on the opinions of someone else.”

nodding, you took in his words, a hiccup escaping your mouth. yeonjun continued, “the people who you see somewhere who you think are better than you? they’re thinking the same exact thing about you. all that matters is how you feel about you, if you feel like you’re enough for you. not for someone you’ve never met, not for me, for you.”

yeonjun kissed your forehead and looked at you in the eyes through furrowed brows to make sure his words were getting across to you. you gave him a small smile before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. pulling away giggling, you apologized for the salty kiss, for which yeonjun just laughed. “i’ll take a million salty kisses if it means you get out of this mindset,” yeonjun said.

you buried your face in his chest again, no doubt getting his shirt all wet. “thank you, jjunie,” you replied, voice muffled. yeonjun rubbed circles into your back, “there’s no need to thank me. what kind of boyfriend would i be if i didn’t try and help you?”

𓍼 ˋ✮ SOOBIN

francis forever - mitski 𓍯 “and autumn comes when you’re not yet done with the summer passing by, but i don’t think i can stand to be where you don’t see me.”

it was a warm summer day when you and soobin stopped being a couple. you were on a walk on a tree-lined street—now that you looked back on it, it was such a normal day. how could you see the forming cracks in your relationship when the sun was shining so brightly outside?

you’ll never forget the words soobin said that changed everything. “y/n, when are we going to stop pretending?” soobin had asked, breaking the silence that filled the space between the two of you. at first, you were confused about what he meant, and you expressed such. “when are we going to stop pretending like we aren’t in two different places?” soobin had then guided you to a bench to talk. there, the two of you had broken up. that was the last time you saw him.

it was autumn now and the multicolor leaves swayed to the will of the wind. you were sitting on that same bench that you were four months ago, on that same tree-lined street, only now not as naive. you were so stupid for letting such a good thing slip between your fingers.

you couldn’t help but think about the good times in your relationship with soobin despite the way it ended. your walks, how you would take them when the two of you needed to be alone with your thoughts but still wanted to be with each other. how soobin would never let either of you go to sleep angry at one another, even if in the moment it pissed you off. how whenever either of you had a bad day, words didn’t even need to be said. all that was needed was comforting looks and gentle and soothing touches.

now you stared up at the gaps of sunlight coming down through the multicolor leaves, cold and alone. four months ago, you decided to mutually breakup to grow alone before you both grew together. but now, you realized just how stupid that was. why couldn’t the two of you have grown together—find yourselves together? why did you have to do it alone for it to be so significant? wasn’t the point of being in a relationship growing together?

just when you were about to think about how much you missed soobin, you heard a familiar voice come from your side. “y/n?” the voice asked hesitantly, and you wanted to thank your lucky stars for this moment. you turned just as soobin came more into your vision. a warm smile lit up your face, “soobin, hi! it’s been a while…” you almost cringed at how awkward that sentence was and how unnatural it felt.

soobin was never one to get to the point, but you could sense a quiet determination in him as he nodded and sat on the bench near you. “i know, and i just want to say that i’m sorry,” soobin started. you gave him a confused look as you waited for him to continue. “and i just want to say how stupid i am to think that even though at the time we were in different places, that we couldn’t make our way towards each other together. i was so stupid for even starting the conversation and i’m sorry that it took four months for me to realize that.”

the smile on your face grew and in turn, it caused a nervous smile to grow on soobin’s. “what?” he then asked. you laughed a little, “you know, i was literally just thinking the exact same thing!” you scooted closer to him and took his hands in yours like it hasn’t been months since you last saw him face to face, last touched him. “i missed you, soobin,” you said quietly.

“i missed you too, y/n,” soobin replied. “let’s grow together, yeah?” you giggled and nodded. soobin came just centimeters from your lips before stopping in a silent question and your smile grew as you closed the gap. you didn’t want to be where soobin wasn’t, there wasn’t any point in it. the last four months showed you that. as long as you were with him, growing with him, you’d always find your way back to each other.

𓍼 ˋ✮ BEOMGYU

goodbye, my danish sweetheart - mitski 𓍯 “maybe when you tell your friends, you can tell them what you saw in me and not how i turned out to be.”

to say you and beomgyu were on the rocks was an understatement. you both were hanging off a cliff by the tips of your fingers with a raging ocean underfoot. it was surprising to the both of you how you managed to get here after three years of dating. one moment everything between you two was perfect—sunshine and rainbows and crystal clear skies.

then the dark, stormy clouds started to form slowly until it snuffed out the sunlight. until you couldn’t see the rainbows anymore. and it didn’t just rain, it poured—hailed even. as the two of you stand in front of each other, red in the face and screaming, you both wondered—how.

“who are you?” beomgyu asked you, brows knitted together. he stared at you as if he was finally seeing clearly for the first time in his life. “because it’s like you’re a complete stranger now…” you scoffed as even more anger filled you to the brim. at this point, you didn’t even know what the two of you were arguing about.

it seemed like anything set the two of you off these days. yesterday, the two of you argued over a blanket. someone had folded it and placed it in the wrong place. that argument ended up with the two of you screaming at each other and sleeping in different rooms. you couldn’t remember the last time you and beomgyu slept in the same bed.

“who am i?” you asked him incredulously. “who are you?” scoffing again, you turned your back to beomgyu and tried to unclench your tightened fists at your side. twirling back around, you started, “if anyone is the stranger, it’s you. tell me, beom—“

“do you love me?” beomgyu cut you off. your mouth closed and you took a small step back in shock, eyebrows raised. you stared at him for a brief second as you tried to process what he just said. “o-of course!” you stammered out, your eyebrows now furrowing. “of course i do! what kind of question is that?” you added. it felt like ice cold water had just been poured over you, suddenly melting away all the anger.

beomgyu gave a defeated sigh as he slumped down onto the couch. he rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes. “not the way you use to,” he spoke, now looking up at you. “you love me out of obligation now. because you don’t want three years to have gone down the drain. you love me because it’s necessary, not because you actually love me.”

you took timid steps towards the couch. “that’s not true…” you trailed. despite your running thoughts, you didn’t know what else to say to him. of course you loved him, he was the love of your life, your everything. this was just a rough patch that all couples have and you would get through it, wouldn’t you? “you’re the love of my life, beomgyu. my everything,” you echoed your thoughts.

“was,” beomgyu responded. you flocked to him as tears formed in your eyes. you went to cup his face but he just turned away from you. “but despite everything, you’re still mine,” beomgyu spoke as he looked you in the eyes. “we can’t keep going on like this—arguing everyday about nothing. one of us has to end it. so i’m ending it.” he stood up, leaving you on the couch in tears.

𓍼 ˋ✮ TAEHYUN

a loving feeling - mitski 𓍯 “holding hands under a table. meeting up in your bedroom. making love to other people. telling each other it’s all good.”

taehyun wanted you, and he wanted you bad. in a way, he already had you. just not fully—not in the way he truly wanted you. and don’t get him wrong, he enjoyed having you under him, but after that moment passed and you both cleaned up to leave, that was it. he wanted more.

he was fine with just hooking up with you here and there, being your date when you didn’t have one and holding your hand under the table hoping you would get his message. but you didn’t. it wasn’t part of the unspoken agreement you both came up with. the intimate relationship the two of you had was strictly physical, not romantic.

“sorry for ending things so abruptly,” you spoke as taehyun helped tie the opening your shirt had, “i kinda forgot that i’m suppose to meet this guy i met online for a date.” taehyun’s eyebrows raised slightly, which you could see with the mirror in front of you. his eyes met yours, “date?”

you smiled slightly, nodding. “yup,” you replied, turning to him as he finished tying your shirt. “pretty nice guy so far. why, you jealous?” you teased him. taehyun smirked, “we both know nobody else can compare to me. why would i be jealous?” your pretty laugh filled his ears as you moved to put on your shoes.

taehyun’s heart dropped slightly at your reveal. he desperately wished that it was him you were preparing to go on a date with. instead, he had to watch as you got ready for a date with someone else. watch as you slipped out the door and into the arms of another. it felt like the two of you were going in circles.

“i just don’t get it? why do they all act the same?” you sulked on taehyun’s shoulder, drunk out of your mind. you had called taehyun after you had broken up with your recent boyfriend, needing a shoulder to cry on. of course he obliged, what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t? you stared up at him with big glassy doe eyes as your speech slurred, but he heard you perfectly, “none of them are you. why don’t you feel the same about me, taehyun?”

taehyun’s eyes widened as you turned to take another shot. he put it to the back of his mind for now, determined to get you home safely. a couple days later he came to you with your admission and you froze in fear. “o-oh…” you mumbled, looking down. “i didn’t—i’m sorry if y—“ you didn’t get a chance to sputter out any more words before taehyun’s lips were on yours, a kiss full of passion and wanting connecting you. “i do feel the same about you,” taehyun smiled as he pulled away, holding you in his arms. “i have all this time.”

𓍼 ˋ✮ HUENINGKAI

two slow dancers - mitski 𓍯 “but we’re two slow dancers, last ones out. we’re two slow dancers, last ones out.”

the first time you met kai was at your middle school dance. your “date” had left you to go dance with your friend, leaving you heartbroken in the middle of the gymnasium floor. he had swept in like your knight in shining armor asking if you wanted to dance and saving you from embarrassment. as the two of you slow danced together, that’s when your love for him had first started to bud.

unfortunately, the two of you never progressed past that moment. kai had moved away shortly after and through the grapevine you heard that the dance was a makeshift goodbye party with his friends. you heart was broken, but eventually you moved past it and middle school.

the second time you and kai met was on your college campus. it turns out you two were actually going to the same place. you feelings for him had always lingered inside you and seeing him in person again ignited those feelings. the two of you had gotten close. your feelings for him suddenly bloomed rapidly, and right when you were gonna take the leap and ask him out, he told you about this girl he was talking to.

“we’re a lot alike,” kai had blushed, turning the textbook page the both of you were studying. “i just can’t believe she actually likes me back!” you had begun to distance yourself from him for your own sanity, not that he noticed. he was a man newly in love and you didn’t want to do anything to disturb that. again, you moved past it and eventually college.

you didn’t meet kai again until years later down the line. you were older now, wiser and all that. you barely thought about the boy who once plagued your mind—not outside the occasional ‘what if.’ by pure chance, you accidentally collided with him miles away from your middle school and college.

“i’m so so sorry, oh my gosh!” you frantically exclaimed as you ran to the nearest table to grab napkins. as you pressed it to the huge coffee stain on a pure white shirt, you finally looked up and came face to face with your first love. your eyes widened and you choked on your words. from the looks of it, kai did too. “y-y/n!” kai exclaimed. “it’s been so long! how have you been? oh—and don’t worry about the stain, i’ll just get another shirt!”

the two of you sat in that cafe for what seemed like hours as you caught up with each other. you asked each other various questions, such as ‘where has life been taking you?’ and ‘are you taken? any special person waiting for you at home?’ it turns out you were both single. you felt that familiar blooming at your chest and as the night progressed. you were determined not to let him slip from your fingers again.

“you know, i use to have a thing for you,” you mentioned as the topic of your college days was brought up. kai laughed softly, his voice teasing, “use to?” you shot him a playful smile back. “i use to have a thing for you too,” he added quietly. your smile turned genuine as it widened. “still do… always will,” you trailed as you took a sip from your mug, you glanced up at him bravely.

“so then what are we waiting for?” he asked you, his features lighting up with a smile causing one of your own. you sat your mug down and gave a playful shrug, “i don’t know—ball’s in your court.”

permanent taglist: @jjunberry @gothgyuu @spooksh0wbabe @beargyuuzz @kittyhyuka @dani-is-tired @riaawr @nxzz-skz @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @rapmonie2047

masterlist┊taglist┊request rules

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rafeysbafey · 10 months

Note

hey! i love your fics and was wondering if you could do a fic based on mitskis song ‘my love mine all mine’ ( mostly the part “nothing i do belongs to me”)

I was thinking maybe reader thinks rafe is using her for s-x and maybe she thinks that rafe doesn’t love her and becomes distant?

if you can’t it’s totally okay! 🩷🎅🏻

LOWKEY dont know how to feel abt this fic i feel like i went off track im so sorry in advance

you sat in silence with the comforter pulled up to your chest as your eyes trailed after rafe, watching as he left to start a shower.

no aftercare, no checking to see if you were okay.

‘cause my love is mine, all mine

you and rafe were never dating, is what you had to constantly remind yourself.

but even with the whole ‘friends with benefits’ deal, he would still treat you like his girlfriend.

“coffee for you, m’lady,” he bowed, sticking out his hand to give you an iced latte.

you took it with a funny look, teasing him as you spoke, “is it poisoned?”

he gasped at your response, faking offense with sad eyes.

or when the two of you would lay in comfortable silence after sex, your body fitting perfectly next to his as he drew shapes across your skin.

“you hungry?” he asked, paying attention to how your stomach growled softly.

“only if you are.”

“ill take that as a yes,” he chuckled before grabbing his phone and typing in your favorite take-out restaurant.

but here you were, sitting in his bed by yourself as you listened to the water hit the tiled floor.

i love mine, mine, mine

deciding you weren’t going to wait for him, you slide out the bed and grabbed your clothes that were carelessly thrown across the room.

you didn’t hear much from him the day you left, but when it was close to midnight the next night, your phone pinged.

‘rafeeeeeee’

want 2 come ovr

you decided to ignore his text, not caring to respond as you tossed your phone to the side and continued to watch your show on Netflix.

the weekend went by with you ignoring rafe, leaving the boy confused as he left voicemails asking what was wrong.

it was cheesy, but you guys really didn’t spend even a day apart, always hanging out or sleeping over at each others houses.

you were getting ready for school when you heard a car honk outside, your brows furrowing together before realizing who it was.

rafe always picked you up for school, you just forgot to tell him not to today.

sighing, you answered the front door but froze when you came face to face with the boy, an iced latte in his hand and a frown covering his features.

“you’ve been ignoring me,” he automatically said, hurt laced in his voice as you stood there in silence.

“can we not do this right now?” you asked, voice quiet as if someone else were listening to the conversation.

“i just want to know why my girl hasn’t been responding to my texts or calls.”

your body flinched ever so slightly at the words ‘my girl,’ catching you off guard as you looked at him in shock.

“im not ‘your girl,’ rafe,” you stated, although the quiver in your voice seemed to give it away.

“you’re always my girl-”

“then why have you been treating me so different lately?”

nothing in the world belongs to me

it was his turn to freeze in place, mouth opening to speak but nothing coming out.

“I just-” he cut himself off before running his free hand through his hair, “i just got scared, okay?”

“scared of what?”

“falling in love with you!”

your eyes widened at his confession, rafe’s mouth immediately snapping shut at the realization.

“I shouldn’t have said that- i shouldn’t have said anything.”

“rafe,” you mumbled, eyes searching in his for any sign of regret or bluff.

“you shouldn’t be afraid, i think- no i know,” you corrected, “i know im falling for you.”

his shoulders fell in relief at your response, eyes lighting up as a small blush painted his face.

“really? you’re not just saying that, right?”

you let out a small laugh before shaking your head, “im not.”

“well, will you take this iced latte and make me the happiest man on earth, and be my girlfriend?” he stuck out the cup as he got on one knee.

“rafe you’re making this weird!” you laughed, grabbing both his shoulders and yanking him up.

“but yes, i would love an iced latte.”

“and?” he asked, brow raising as he pretended to get impatient.

“oh, yes i will be your girlfriend.”

but my love mine, all mine, all mine

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron obx #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe fanfic

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v3nusstardust · 6 months

Text

My Love, Mine All Mine

Genre : Comfort, fluff 🙈

Summary : You had a terrible day at work/school. Everyone treated you like shit and as soon as you got home, you began to cry and vent to your boyfriend.

Warnings : none honey this is good Fr 🐺 #baddie

a/n : bois I saw Niki listening to this fkn song on Weverse and freaked the fuck out so here I am🐺.. my ass is also not gonna edit so v sorry for mistakes🧑🏻‍🦲..

Niki held you in his arms, rocking you gently. You were crying, venting to him about your shitty day. Snot, drool, and tears cascaded down your face, smudging your mascara and leaving you feeling terrified of how you must look to your boyfriend. His gentle touch caressed your face. “Look at me.” He whispered. “No.. my makeup is… it’s messed up and I look scary.” You said through sniffles. “Please Angel?” He pleaded softly. His voice was so soft snd smooth, how could you resist? You slowly looked up at him. Your eyes met with his and he gave you a warm smile. “Hi pretty girl..” he cooed. His thumbs tenderly wiped away your warm tears. “I look scary don’t I? Like a raccoon.. or something..” you said. “A cute raccoon.” Niki gently laughed. He continued to caress your face with admiration and love in his eyes.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice soft and soothing. "Go sit in front of your vanity. I'll be back, okay? I’m gonna go to the kitchen really quick.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your wet cheeks before you reluctantly nodded, your pout and teary eyes melted his heart. "Okay," you murmured softly.

When he returned, his hands were filled with your favorite snacks.🩷

"Alright, here. Eat some snacks," he said, placing them on your wide vanity. You eagerly grabbed a bag of your favorite chips and some candies, feeling a bit more comfortable. You grabbed some makeup wipes and wipes away all of your smudged makeup.

"Where are your hair ties?" he asked, rummaging through your drawer. "They're here on my vanity... why?" you inquired. "Gimme," he replied with a smile, and you handed them to him. He then took out a couple and put them around his wrists.

"Can I connect to your speaker?" he questioned. "Yeah, sure," you replied.

The familiar melody of your favorite song, "My Love, Mine All Mine" by Mitski, filled the room, making you smile. “How’d you know I like this song?” You asked. "I've heard you sing this in the shower a couple of times... you have a beautiful voice, Y/N," he said, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and kissing your forehead. You blushed at the compliment, feeling a rush of warmth.

"Okay... let me know if I'm hurting you... I'm not the best with this stuff," he said, picking up your hairbrush.

Niki began to brush through your hair slowly and gently, his touch soothing and comforting. The tension began to melt away as the gentle strokes of the brush untangled knots and smoothed out your hair. The music played softly in the background, creating a comforting atmosphere in the room.

“Close your eyes. I wanna surprise you.” He smiled. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment.

You felt Niki's movements around you, a sense of anticipation building in your chest. His touch remained gentle as he worked, his hands moving with practiced ease through your hair. You could faintly hear him singing the song, your favorite🩷 his voice was so pretty , it made you feel so warm inside.

Slowly, you blinked your eyes open, greeted by the sight of yourself in the mirror. Your hair was styled in a cute single braid.

“You look so pretty..” he whispered as he bent down to place a kiss to your cheek. “Say it..” he said. “Huh..? Say what?” You asked. “Say you’re pretty.. look at yourself my love..” he tucked a couple strands of hair behind your ear. “I’m pretty..” you softly smiled at yourself in the mirror. Niki let out a little chuckle. “You should take a picture and post your hair style on your insta.. show it off though that I did it.. I wanna make your exes and secret admirers jealous lowkey..” he laughed.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Is that why you did my hair.. and played my favorite song?…” you questioned with a hint of sass. “No.. I just wanna show my girl how much I love her..you’re mine.. mine all mine..” he said caressing your bottom lip with his thumb before bringing your soft lips to his.

A/n : Ight bois srry for the mistakes if there are any u guys💀 ima disappear for another 3 months.. unless this shi blows up I think😭 🩷x enjoy

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sirenedeslily · 1 month

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𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ‎𐦍 𝐜hristopher 𝐬turniolo

❛you have so much to do, and i have nothing ahead of me.❜

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, in the bustling streets of new york city, a struggling artist burdened by her mother's chaos meets chris, a vibrant spirit who reignites her dormant passion for art. as their connection deepens through museum visits and intimate conversations, y/n is torn between the weight of her sacrifices and the allure of newfound love. when their paths inevitably part, chris must confront the heartache of losing the muse who transformed his art, while y/n faces the painful reality of her shattered dreams, forever haunted by the ephemeral beauty of their once-shared moments.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, angst, mentions of emotional and physical neglect, fluffy moments, mental health struggles, open ending (sorry)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭, 13.9k !

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬, this is based on the song “your best american girl” by mitski aswell as “fake plastic trees” by radiohead. this one took everything out of me to write so i apologize if the writing isn’t its best or if it gets repetitive in anyway, i really tried chat. idk if y’all could tell but i got inspired by little women (2019) and eternal sunshine of the spotless mind for some scenes. ANYWAYS this is dedicated to gf @sweetangelgirl7 !! love u so very much sweets

standing behind the counter of the bustling café, you were enveloped by the rich aroma of coffee beans mingling with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of cups. the everyday symphony wrapped around you like a familiar song. as the door swung open, a rush of summer air and the distant murmur of traffic stirred the atmosphere. you glanced up from the drawing you had been mindlessly sketching, your pencil pausing mid-air

a man entered, his presence commanding attention like a character stepping out of a film. dressed in a denim jacket and worn jeans, his curly hair framed his face with an effortless charm. his striking blue eyes, a shade reminiscent of clear summer skies, scanned the menu before locking onto yours. he approached the counter with an easy, unpretentious smile.

"hi there," he said, his voice a blend of warmth and curiosity. "what do you recommend for someone who needs a bit of inspiration?"

a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a reflex of shared understanding. "i’d say a mocha with an extra shot of espresso. it’s got just the right amount of kick to get the creative juices flowing."

"perfect," he replied, nodding appreciatively. "i’ll have one of those. and maybe a blueberry scone, if you’ve got any left."

you quickly prepared his order, your hands moving with practiced ease, though a curious sense of anticipation fluttered in your chest. as you handed him the steaming cup and the scone, your fingers brushed briefly, sending a fleeting spark of something unfamiliar through you.

"here you go," you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "one mocha with an extra shot and a blueberry scone. that’ll be $6.50."

he handed you a ten-dollar bill, his gaze lingering on you just a moment longer than necessary. "keep the change," he said with a smile. "thanks for the recommendation...?"

"y/n," you supplied, feeling a warmth spread through you at his genuine interest.

"y/n," he repeated, savoring the sound of your name like a cherished word. "nice to meet you. i’m chris."

"nice to meet you too, chris," you replied, noticing as he glanced at the sketchbook you had left open. his eyes widened slightly, a look of recognition crossing his face. "you drew this just now?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"uh, yeah," you said, a bit self-conscious. "it’s nothing really. i just like to doodle from time to time."

he continued to study the page, which depicted a scene from fallen angel, a film that had left an indelible mark on your imagination. his gaze softened with genuine admiration. "you’ve perfectly captured the essence of the scene. it’s one of my favorite movies."

a blush crept into your cheeks at his compliment. "thank you. i really love the cinematography of it all."

"i completely agree. i seriously believe that if a movie has shitty visuals, it undermines its entire meaning." his candidness made you smile, intrigued by the easy rapport that had sprung up between you.

as chris took a sip of his mocha, his eyes met yours again, a spark of connection kindling between you. the café, with its familiar sounds and smells, seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you, suspended in a moment that felt both ordinary and extraordinary. he lingered a moment longer, his gaze drifting back to your sketchbook. "do you draw often?" he asked, genuine curiosity colouring his tone.

"every chance i get," you admitted, feeling a strange mix of shyness and pride. "it helps me unwind."

chris nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "i get that. i paint when i need to clear my head. something about creating, you know?"

you did know. the act of creation, whether with words or images, was a sanctuary from the chaos of the world outside. "what do you paint?" you asked, leaning forward slightly, genuinely interested.

"mostly landscapes," he said, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "i love capturing the way light changes throughout the day."

the two of you stood there, the café bustling around you, but in your corner of the world, time seemed to slow. you shared a smile that felt like an unspoken understanding, a shared secret between kindred spirits.

glancing at his watch, chris had a flicker of regret crossing his features. "i should get going, but i'd love to talk more about your art. maybe over coffee sometime?”

you felt a spark of excitement. "i’d like that," you said, the words simple but sincere.

chris handed you a small card with his contact information. "shoot me a text when you're free," he said, his smile warm and hopeful. "i'd love to see more of your work."

"i will," you promised, tucking the card safely into your pocket.

as chris turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back one last time. "thanks for the inspiration, y/n," he called out, his voice carrying a note of something almost magical.

you watched him go, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving you with a sense of possibility hanging in the air. the café resumed its regular rhythm, but everything felt just a bit brighter, a bit more hopeful.

returning to your sketch, you found your pencil moving with renewed energy, capturing the scene with a fresh perspective. the encounter with chris had ignited something within you, a spark that you knew would fuel your creativity for days to come.

𝜗𝒞

the shift ended, and you slipped out of your apron, folding it neatly as you prepared to leave. the evening light bathed the city streets in a warm, golden hue, a stark contrast to the cold, fluorescent lights of the café. you walked home, the sketchbook tucked under your arm, your thoughts drifting back to chris and his easy smile.

home was a small apartment on the edge of town, where the rent was cheap, and the walls were thin. you unlocked the door, stepping into the familiar clutter of dishes in the sink, laundry waiting to be folded, and your mother sprawled on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey within arm's reach. she barely acknowledged your arrival, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the television.

"dinners in the fridge," you said softly, knowing she would not respond. she rarely did these days, lost in her own world of regret and resentment. you had grown up with a mother who was more like a ghost, always there but never present. her dreams had died long ago, and she had never forgiven you for being the living reminder of what she had lost.

you heated up a leftover meal, sitting at the small kitchen table with your sketchbook open in front of you. the pencil moved by itself, lines and shapes taking form as you lost yourself in the act of creation. drawing was your escape, your way of coping with the harsh realities of your life. silence was loud in your home; drawing helped you drown its achingly loud quietness. it was in these moments that you felt most alive, the weight of your responsibilities lifting, if only for a little while.

as the night wore on, you were consumed by thoughts of your future—or rather, the lack of it. once, you had dreamed of becoming an artist, envisioning your work gracing galleries and museums. but those dreams now felt impossibly distant, eclipsed by the relentless need to support yourself and your mother. your father had vanished by the time you were nine, leaving you and your mom to fend for yourselves. at least, until her accident. after that, it was you against the world, while she retreated into a haze of painkillers and alcohol.

you were so intelligent that you began tutoring your fellow classmates. at first, the tutoring income covered the bills, but when your mother started siphoning your money for her drugs, you had to take on another job as well. juggling multiple jobs to keep the bills paid, you eventually had to abandon your education as the financial pressures mounted. despite everything, you kept your mind sharp by devouring countless books.

stealing moments to draw whenever you could, you clung to your passion in the scant free time you had. it was a precarious balance, and more often than not, you felt as though you were barely holding on. yet, there was something about chris that had reignited a spark within you. his passion for art and his unwavering belief in following your dreams resonated deeply. for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope—not necessarily for yourself, but for the world. his contagious smile and confidence in his future provided a comforting reminder that, for some people, there is light at the end of the tunnel. even if it was not your tunnel, knowing that it existed for someone else brought a sense of solace.

𝜗𝒞

the days that followed were a blur of work and stolen moments with your sketchbook. you found yourself looking forward to your shifts at the café, hoping to see chris again. it was a slow afternoon when he walked in, his presence like a breath of fresh air.

“hey, y/n,” he greeted, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “got time for a break?”

you glanced at the clock, then at your manager, who nodded with a small smile. “sure,” you replied, your heart skipping a beat. you made two mochas and joined him at a corner table.

“how’s the art going?” chris asked, sipping his drink.

you shrugged, feeling a mix of pride and self-consciousness. “i draw whenever i can. it’s hard to find the time.”

chris nodded thoughtfully. “i get that. life has a way of getting in the way, doesn’t it?” he pulled out a small notebook from his jacket. “mind if i show you something?”

curiosity piqued, you nodded. he flipped open the notebook to reveal sketches, each one more beautiful than the last. some depicted serene landscapes bathed in the golden glow of sunset, while others captured the stark, haunting beauty of a storm rolling in over a rugged coastline. the detail and emotion in each piece were astounding, the kind of art that made you feel something deep in your soul.

“these are incredible,” you said, genuinely impressed. “you really captured its light. even in the darkest ones, i can still see some sort of radiance.”

chris smiled, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes, a shadow of vulnerability. “thanks. painting has always been a way for me to process things, to make sense of the world. some of these are from when i was in a really dark place.”

you looked closer at the sketches, noticing the subtle differences in tone and style. one piece, a vivid sunrise over a peaceful meadow, seemed to radiate hope and renewal. in contrast, another sketch showed a desolate, wind-swept landscape under a brooding sky, the sense of isolation almost palpable.

“these two,” you said, pointing to the contrasting pieces. “they feel so different from each other. what was going on when you drew them?”

chris glanced at the sketches and sighed, a mixture of nostalgia and pain crossing his face. “the sunrise was when i first moved out here, trying to start fresh and find some direction. it was a hopeful time, full of possibility. but the other one,” he said, pointing to the darker piece, “was during a period when everything felt like it was falling apart. i had just lost a part of me, and i felt completely alone.”

you could hear the raw emotion in his voice, the weight of his past struggles. “i’m sorry,” you said softly. “it’s amazing how you can convey so much through your art. it’s like i can feel what you were going through.”

he nodded, a small, grateful smile on his lips. “that’s what i love about art. it’s a way to communicate things that words can’t always capture. it’s been a lifeline for me, in more ways than one.”

as you looked through more of his sketches, you saw a range of emotions and experiences, each one telling a different story. there were joyful moments, like a vibrant carnival scene filled with laughter and light, and somber ones, like a lonely figure standing in the rain, the sadness almost tangible. each piece was a window into chris’s soul, a testament to his resilience and creativity.

“what about you? got any new sketches?” he questioned, his blue eyes boring into yours as you looked up from his pieces.

you hesitated, then pulled out your sketchbook, flipping to a recent drawing. it revealed two evocative paintings, each depicting a moment of solitude. on the left, an overhead view showed a figure seated in a bathtub, their back exposed, water enveloping them in a quiet embrace. on the right, a close-up focused on the same individual, their face partially submerged, eyes closed in deep reflection. the delicate brushstrokes and soft colours conveyed intimacy and vulnerability.

chris studied it intently. “this is incredible, y/n. you have a true gift for capturing pure and raw emotion.”

you spent the rest of the break talking about art, techniques, and favourite artists. it was the first of many conversations that deepened your bond. chris became a regular at the café, and you found yourself looking forward to his visits. he encouraged you to keep drawing, to explore different styles, and to believe in your talent.

𝜗𝒞

for months, you had felt an undeniable connection to chris. his enthusiasm was infectious, spreading through you like wildfire and lingering long after he had left the coffee shop. after those first few weeks of him showing up without fail, ordering his mocha and whatever pastry was available, and watching you as you deftly managed the morning rush, he started inviting you on little adventures.

it wasn’t that you didn’t want to join him; it was that you couldn’t. between your shifts at the café and helping the seemingly endless stream of students cramming for finals, you barely had time to breathe, let alone take a night off. but chris had a way of chipping away at your resolve, a determined persistence that wouldn’t let you ignore your own needs. for every reason you had to say no, he always had two more reasons why you should say yes.

“i got us tickets to this exhibition in manhattan,” chris announced one afternoon, his excitement like a burst of sunlight in the room as you focused on the espresso machine.

you sighed, glancing up at him briefly as you handed a latte to a waiting customer. “chris, i can’t just hop over to manhattan and back to brooklyn in one night. not this week, anyway.”

his smile faltered, but only for a moment. “you can’t say no without at least asking me when it is, moonie,” he teased, leaning against the counter.

“moonie?” you raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-bemused.

chris’s grin widened, his eyes dancing with mischief. “yeah, moonie. like the moon. always there, casting light on everyone else but keeping just out of reach. you shine for everyone else, but you stay hidden in the shadows yourself.”

you tried to keep the smile off your face, but it slipped through anyway. “alright, sunny, i appreciate it, but i have responsibilities. my mom, my job—i can’t just drop everything on a whim.”

his expression softened as he leaned in closer, his voice dipping into a serious tone. “i know, but you deserve to live a little, too. you’re always taking care of everyone else. who’s taking care of you?”

his words hit you like a gentle nudge, stirring something deep inside. you’d always been the one to shoulder the burdens, to be the provider, the one who put others first. but here was chris, looking at you like you were something more than that—as if you could be more.

“just think about it,” he urged softly. “one night. it’s not the end of the world. it could be a beginning.”

you exhaled, feeling the weight of your responsibilities pressing down on you. yet, chris’s earnestness was hard to resist. “fine,” you said finally, a small smile playing at your lips. “what’s the date?”

chris’s face lit up like the dawn. “next friday. i’ll pick you up at six.”

“next friday,” you echoed, your emotions a tangled mix of anxiety and excitement.

chris’s smile turned thoughtful as he recalled something from earlier. “sunny, huh?” he chuckled, catching your eye.

you looked at him, puzzled for a moment, before the memory clicked. “oh, right. sunny,” you laughed softly. “yeah, like the sun—always casting light, even on the darkest days.”

he stared at you, his smile growing warmer, more intimate. “sunny and moonie,” he murmured, as if testing the words. “i like that.”

chris had a way of making the ordinary seem extraordinary, and soon enough, you found yourself counting down the days until that friday. the nickname exchange was just one example of how he made things feel special—how he saw the world in a light you had long forgotten to look for. where you saw endless shadows, he saw the stars peeking through.

𝜗𝒞

the days flew by, a blur of coffee cups and late-night study sessions. but every time you thought of friday, there was a flicker of something different inside you—something you hadn’t felt in a long time. maybe it was the idea of finally allowing yourself to step out of the shadows, if only for a night. maybe it was just chris, and the way he seemed to believe that you deserved the world.

when friday finally arrived, you were nervous. your usual routine was a safety net, one you had clung to for years. but there was also a thrill in breaking out of it, in letting someone like chris pull you into his world of light.

true to his word, chris was there at six, waiting outside your door with that signature grin of his. he looked almost too perfect, standing there with his tousled hair and a casual confidence that made you feel both excited and a little out of your depth.

“you look amazing,” he said when you stepped out, and even though you had spent more time getting ready than usual, his words still made your cheeks warm.

“thanks,” you replied, feeling a bit awkward under his gaze. “you don’t look too bad yourself.”

he laughed at that, a warm, easy sound that made you smile in spite of yourself. “ready for our adventure, moonie?”

you nodded, feeling that mix of nerves and excitement again. “ready.”

𝜗𝒞

the train ride into manhattan was filled with easy conversation, chris making you laugh with his stories and little observations about the world around you. he had a way of making you forget your worries, of making you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could allow yourself this one night.

when you arrived at the exhibition, it was like stepping into another world. the gallery was alive with colour and light, the walls covered in art that seemed to pulse with life. chris guided you through the crowd, his hand brushing against yours as he led you to the first piece.

“what do you see?” he asked, his voice low, as if the art demanded a kind of reverence.

you looked at the painting in front of you, taking in the swirling colors and bold strokes. it was beautiful, but there was something about it that felt... heavy. the colors, though vibrant, seemed to carry a weight, a sadness that lingered beneath the surface.

“it’s... complicated,” you said finally, searching for the right words. “it’s like there’s something hidden beneath all the color. something... sad.”

chris tilted his head, considering your words. “i can see that,” he said, surprising you. “but i also see hope in it. like the colors are fighting against the darkness, refusing to be overshadowed.”

you glanced at him, seeing the art through his eyes for a moment. it was strange, how two people could look at the same thing and see something entirely different. yet, there was a beauty in that too—in the way he found light where you saw shadows.

as you moved through the gallery, you found yourselves interpreting each piece in a similar way. where you saw struggle and sorrow, chris found hope and resilience. it was like you were seeing two sides of the same coin, both valid in their own way.

but as the night wore on, you started to realize something. maybe it wasn’t just the art that was different for each of you. maybe it was the way you saw the world—how your experiences had shaped you into someone who expected the worst, while chris seemed to believe in the best.

it was a thought that lingered in your mind as you left the gallery, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement as you walked side by side. chris was talking about the exhibition, his voice animated, but you were only half-listening, lost in your own thoughts.

when you finally reached your apartment building, the reality of the night came crashing down. this was the moment where most dates would end with an invitation inside, but you couldn’t do that. you couldn’t let him see the world you lived in, the mess you kept hidden behind closed doors.

chris stopped in front of your door, his smile softening as he looked at you. “i had a great time tonight, moonie.”

“me too,” you admitted, even though your mind was already racing with excuses. “thank you for inviting me.”

he stepped closer, his hand finding yours in a way that felt both natural and electric. “can i see you again?”

you nodded, though the words felt like a promise you weren’t sure you could keep. “i’d like that.”

he hesitated for a moment, then leaned in to kiss you. it was soft, tentative—like he was giving you a chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you let yourself have this moment, let yourself feel something other than the weight of the world on your shoulders.

when he finally pulled back, he smiled at you, a little breathless. “goodnight, moonie.”

“goodnight, sunny,” you replied, your heart still racing as you watched him walk away.

you waited until he was out of sight before turning to unlock your door, the spell of the night slowly fading. inside, your mother’s voice drifted from the living room, a reminder of the life you couldn’t escape. the excitement of the evening was already being overshadowed by the reality waiting for you behind that door.

but as you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but smile, just a little. maybe you couldn’t let chris into your world—not yet—but for the first time in a long time, you felt like there might be a way out of the shadows. and that was something.

𝜗𝒞

from then on, chris would whisk you away to every exhibition new york had to offer. each outing was carefully orchestrated to fit around your work schedule, and when they didn’t align, he would appear with bags full of treats for you and your students. on the days you worked at the café, you’d often find him seated at a table nearby, lost in the world of his sketches. occasionally, your eyes would meet, an unspoken conversation passing between you.

you couldn’t quite fathom why he went to such lengths to be with you or why he chose to spend his time in your presence. each encounter, wrapped in the glow of café lights or the muted brilliance of gallery walls, left you both puzzled and enchanted. his presence was a gentle constant, like a soft murmur of wind that stirred the leaves of your daily routine. as you navigated your days, his quiet dedication painted a new layer to your life’s canvas, one you hadn’t anticipated but couldn’t ignore.

in those fleeting moments of shared glances and unspoken understanding, you found yourself drawn to him, grappling with the inexplicable warmth of his affection. it was as if he saw something in you—something hidden, yet profoundly significant—and his efforts to bridge the gaps in your lives became a silent testament to his feelings.

despite your confusion, there was a growing realization within you, like a hidden spring slowly unfreezing. his presence wasn’t just a backdrop to your days; it was a catalyst, nudging you toward something you hadn’t yet defined. and with each passing day, you began to wonder if perhaps you were both searching for a place where your paths might finally converge. as the weeks passed, the rhythm of your days began to harmonize with chris’s presence. the city, once a cacophony of distant dreams and scattered hopes, now seemed to pulse with a new, vibrant energy. his frequent visits to the café and his thoughtful interruptions of your routine became a comforting cadence, a reminder that you were not alone in your solitary journey.

in those quiet moments when he would sketch or when you’d catch his gaze from across the room, there was a subtle dance of connection that unfolded—a delicate interplay of curiosity and affection. you noticed how he would sometimes pause, his eyes reflecting a quiet intensity, as if searching for something within you. and in those moments, you couldn’t help but feel that he was unraveling parts of you you hadn’t even known existed.

you started to understand that his attention was not just an act of devotion but a mirror revealing facets of yourself you had kept hidden. each exhibition, each thoughtful gesture, was not just about sharing experiences but about creating a bridge between your worlds. his presence was a reminder that amidst the noise and chaos of life, there was still room for understanding and connection.

though you continued to question the reasons behind his unwavering commitment, a tender curiosity began to blossom within you. you found yourself looking forward to his visits, savoring the way he seemed to fill the gaps in your life with warmth and sincerity. and as the seasons changed, so did your perspective, gradually shifting from bewilderment to a quiet acceptance of the possibility that perhaps, in some way, he was meant to be a part of your story. the rhythm of your life continued to intertwine with chris’s, each day offering new layers to this unfolding connection. his persistent presence brought a warmth that seeped into the corners of your routine, transforming the mundane into something infused with new possibilities. the exhibitions, once a distant dream, now became a shared adventure, each outing a testament to his belief in the beauty of the world and your place within it.

you found yourself eagerly awaiting these moments of escape, the gallery visits becoming more than just breaks from routine. they were brief but intense encounters with a world beyond the confines of your daily struggles. chris’s enthusiasm was a contagious force, drawing you into a vibrant dance of discovery and appreciation.

one crisp evening, as winter's chill began to settle over the city, chris arrived with a surprise. "i thought we’d do something different tonight," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "how about a stroll through the city lights?"

"i have to tutor carl, remember?" you replied, removing your apron with a wistful smile.

"actually, no you don’t," chris said, his smile widening. "i talked to matt, and he said he’d be okay with taking over for tonight." matt, chris's brother, was a harvard student back in new york for winter break. his brilliance was well-known, and you trusted him implicitly.

"oh, okay," you agreed, curiosity piqued. as you walked together through the illuminated streets, the city's energy felt different—more alive, more hopeful. the cool air was invigorating, and with chris by your side, the world seemed to expand, revealing hidden layers of beauty and potential.

as you meandered through the sparkling streets, your conversations flowed freely, punctuated by moments of comfortable silence. chris shared stories of his childhood and the small joys he found in everyday moments. you, in turn, opened up about your own dreams and fears, the walls of your carefully guarded heart slowly coming down.

each street corner revealed a new vista of light and shadow, and with every step, you felt a deeper connection to the city—and to chris. the evening felt like a canvas painted with the *colors* of possibility, each shared laugh and heartfelt conversation adding a new brushstroke to the picture of your evolving bond. the city lights cast a warm glow over the street, their reflections dancing in the cold, darkened windows of nearby buildings. chris and you had walked for hours, your steps and breaths synchronizing in a rhythm of shared moments and unspoken connection. now, standing under a canopy of snow-dusted trees, he stopped abruptly, turning to face you with an intensity that made your heart leap.

“y/n,” he began, his voice a low murmur, almost lost in the hum of the city. “i can’t keep this to myself any longer. being with you these past months… it’s been like finding a part of myself i didn’t know was missing.”

you felt your heart pound, a mixture of hope and fear swirling within you. “chris, i…”

he stepped closer, his gaze never wavering. “let me finish, please,” he implored, his expression earnest. “you’ve become the most important person in my life. your strength, your talent, the way you see the world—it’s all so beautiful to me. i find myself wanting to share everything with you, to be there for you in ways i’ve never wanted with anyone else.”

tears welled up in your eyes, and you blinked them back, trying to hold onto the walls you had built so carefully. “chris, i’m scared. i’ve spent so long being strong, keeping everything inside. letting you in… it’s terrifying.”

he took your hands in his, his touch gentle and r reassuring. “i know,” he whispered. “and i’m not asking you to change or to be anyone other than who you are. i just want to be there for you, to share your burdens and your joys. i want to love you, y/n.”

his words hung in the air, a fragile promise. you felt the weight of his sincerity, the depth of his feelings. and as much as fear gripped your heart, there was also a yearning—a desire to step into the light he offered.

“i don’t know if i can,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “i’ve been hurt before, and the thought of being vulnerable again…”

chris’s eyes softened with understanding. “you don’t have to decide right now. but i want you to know that i’m here, and i’m not going anywhere. you’re worth the risk, y/n. you’re worth everything.”

in that moment, something inside you shifted. the fear didn’t disappear, but it was tempered by a glimmer of hope. and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, closing the distance between you. your lips met his in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a silent confession of your own.

the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of warmth and possibility. when you finally pulled back, you saw the same hope reflected in chris’s eyes, a promise of a future you had never dared to dream.

𝜗𝒞

from that night on, your life took on a new rhythm, one marked by shared moments and unspoken understandings. chris continued to surprise you with outings, each one designed to pull you further from your cocoon of fear and into the light of his affection.

each weekend, you found yourselves wandering through various art museums, chris always with a thoughtful expression, you with a mix of curiosity and wariness. at the metropolitan museum of art, you stood before a grand, sweeping landscape painting. chris’s eyes lit up as he took in the vibrant colours, the play of light on the canvas.

“look at how the artist captures the dawn,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “it’s like you can feel the hope and promise of a new day.

you studied the painting, seeing instead the lone figure in the foreground, a small silhouette against the vastness of the landscape. “i see solitude,” you murmured. “a person standing alone, facing the immensity of the world. it’s beautiful, but also so lonely.”

chris turned to you, a thoughtful smile on his lips. “i never thought of it that way. i guess that’s what makes art so incredible—how we can see the same piece so differently.”

𝜗𝒞

at the museum of modern art, you stood before a striking abstract piece, all bold lines and vibrant colours. chris saw movement and energy, the potential for change and growth. you saw chaos, the struggle to find order in the midst of confusion.

“it’s like life,” you said, your voice soft. “so much happening at once, and we’re just trying to make sense of it all.”

chris nodded, his expression contemplative. “but there’s beauty in that struggle, don’t you think? in the way we keep going, keep finding our way through the chaos.”

𝜗𝒞

as the weeks passed, your differing interpretations became a dance, each one revealing more about yourselves and each other. chris’s unwavering optimism was a balm to your often weary soul, while your introspective views grounded his boundless enthusiasm.

one evening, as you strolled through a lesser-known gallery, you stopped before a small, delicate watercolour. it depicted a single tree, its branches reaching skyward, its roots firmly planted in the earth. the simplicity of the image spoke to you in a way few pieces had.

“roots and wings,” chris said softly, his arm slipping around your waist. “the tree is both grounded and reaching for the sky. it’s like us, finding our place in the world while still dreaming of what could be.”

you leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his presence seep into your bones. “maybe,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips. “maybe we’re finding our way together.”

in the quiet of the gallery, surrounded by art that spoke in myriad voices, you realized that you were no longer alone. chris’s love had become a guiding light, illuminating the path before you. and as you looked up at him, you saw not just a lover, but a partner, someone who saw the world through a lens of hope and possibility, and who was teaching you to do the same.

the journey was far from over, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace, a quiet assurance that with chris by your side, you could face whatever came next. and as you walked hand in hand through the gallery, you knew that the future, with all its uncertainties, held a promise of beauty and love yet to be discovered.

the night air was crisp, a faint whisper of winter's end curling through the streets as you and chris strolled back from yet another gallery. the city's lights twinkled like stars that had descended to earth, casting a soft glow that danced in your eyes. you walked in companionable silence, your hearts speaking in the quiet moments between words.

as you neared your apartment, a familiar tension began to creep into your chest. you could feel chris’s gaze on you, his presence a comforting warmth against the chill. yet, with each step closer to your building, the weight of your reality pressed down on you. your mother, the disarray, the stark contrast to the beauty and light chris brought into your life—it all felt too much to reveal.

chris paused at the entrance of your building, turning to face you. his blue eyes, the color of a summer sky, held a depth of emotions you weren't sure you were ready to face. he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“i had a wonderful time tonight,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your anxious heart.

“me too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. the fear of what lay beyond this moment was a shadow in your mind, threatening to eclipse the light chris brought.

chris took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “i know you have your reasons for not letting me in, for keeping this part of your life hidden. but i want you to know that i care about you, y/n. all of you. your art, your strength, your vulnerabilities—everything.”

his words pierced through the walls you had built, each one a gentle push against your defenses. you opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat, tangled with the fear and shame you carried.

before you could respond, chris stepped closer, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “you don’t have to be perfect or have everything figured out. i’m here, and i want to be here. for you.”

tears welled in your eyes, the weight of his sincerity almost too much to bear. you looked up at him, seeing not just the man who had become your anchor, but a beacon of hope in a life that often felt too heavy to navigate alone.

“chris—” your voice broke, the words dissolving into the cold night air. but chris understood. he always did.

without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that spoke volumes. the kiss was a promise, a silent vow that transcended the fears and uncertainties that plagued your heart. it was a moment of connection, of shared vulnerability, that neither of you could deny.

when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, seeking the reassurance you struggled to give. “i’ll wait, y/n. as long as it takes.”

you nodded, the tears finally spilling over as you whispered, “thank you.”

chris smiled, a bittersweet curve of his lips that held the promise of understanding and patience. “goodnight, y/n,” he said, pressing a final, tender kiss to your forehead before turning to leave.

you watched him go, a mixture of relief and longing twisting in your chest. the night felt colder without him, the weight of your reality settling back over you like a heavy cloak. yet, as you turned to enter your building, a small flame of hope burned within you, kindled by chris’s unwavering support.

one day, you thought. one day, you would find the strength to let him in completely. until then, you would carry this night with you, a reminder that love and understanding could pierce even the darkest corners of your life.

as the weeks passed, you and chris continued to explore the city's art museums. every night would end the same way, with chris walking you home, lingering at the doorstep with a kiss that held all the promises of tomorrow. and every night, you would retreat into your world, holding onto the hope that one day, you would find the courage to let him in completely.

chris’s footsteps echoed through the silent hallway as he approached the door. he knocked on your door, his heart heavy with a mixture of hope and confusion. when the door finally swung open, his eyes searched for a sign of the warmth and openness he’d come to expect from their evenings together. but the darkness of the living room, the disheveled remnants of a life in disarray, struck him like a cold wind.

“are you ever going to let me in?” chris asked softly, the question laced with the delicate edges of frustration and concern. his voice trembled, not from anger but from the sting of being so close yet so distanced.

your eyes, shadowed by the dim light from the hallway, flared with a sudden intensity. “it’s not about letting you in. it’s about what’s behind this door.”

chris stepped closer, his gaze fixed on you. “i don’t understand. i thought we were building something together. but every time i try to get close, you shut me out.”

“building something?” your voice was a mere whisper, yet it carried the weight of countless sleepless nights. “do you think you can simply erase the mess of my life with your visits and your hopeful smiles?”

“i’m not trying to erase anything,” chris insisted. “i want to be here for you, to understand. but you keep pushing me away.”

“and i keep pushing you away because i don’t want you to see this,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the cluttered, sorrowful room. “it’s not just a room; it’s my entire world, falling apart. i don’t want you to see how i live, how i struggle.”

chris’s expression softened, though frustration still clouded his features. “but isn’t part of being together facing those struggles? you don’t have to hide from me.”

your eyes shimmered with a blend of pain and resignation. “you say that now, but what happens when you see the full picture? when you see that my life is a perpetual struggle, not a picture-perfect canvas?”

chris’s voice rose, filled with an aching intensity. “why do you think i’d turn away? why do you believe that knowing the full picture would change how i feel about you?”

“because,” you retorted, your voice breaking, “because it’s not just about how you feel about me. it’s about what you’ll see in me—the chaos, the failures, the person i can’t escape from.”

chris’s frustration boiled over. “you’re not a failure! and you’re not your circumstances. but you have to let me see who you really are, not just the part you choose to show.”

your face crumpled with anguish. “you don’t understand. the chaos, the disarray—it’s not just an obstacle. it’s a reflection of everything i’ve had to sacrifice, every dream i’ve had to let go. you think you can just walk in and fix it all?”

“i don’t want to fix it all,” chris said, his voice heavy with a plea for understanding. “i want to be here with you, through all of it. but you’re not letting me in.”

there was a long, painful silence. your shoulders slumped, your defenses faltering. “i do not know how to let you in. i have spent so long building walls to keep everyone out. i’m afraid that if i let you see everything, it will be too much for you.”

chris reached out, gently touching your arm. “you don’t have to do this alone. let me help you, not by fixing everything, but by being here with you. by understanding that the mess and the chaos are part of who you are, and that’s okay.”

your tears fell freely now, mingling with your whispered words. “i don’t want to be a burden to you. i don’t want to drag you down into my darkness.”

chris’s expression was one of profound compassion. “you’re not a burden. you’re a person i care deeply about. and if that means standing by you through the darkness, then i’ll do that willingly.”

your gaze met his, a flicker of hope amidst your sorrow. “but what if the darkness is too much? what if it’s something i can never escape?”

chris’s voice was steady, filled with conviction. “then we face it together. we learn from it, grow from it. but you don’t have to face it alone.”

in the stillness that followed, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if awaiting the resolution of their anguished debate. your heart ached with the raw vulnerability of your exchange, yet for the first time, you felt a fragile bridge forming between your fears and chris’s unwavering support.

and in that quiet, amidst the shadows and the echoes of your argument, a fragile understanding began to take shape—one that might, if nurtured, bridge the divide between your hearts and heal the wounds that had kept you both apart.

𝜗𝒞

the invitation to dinner at chris’s house felt both exhilarating and daunting for you. the idea of being part of a family gathering—a far cry from your own fractured home life—was both thrilling and intimidating.

the sturniolo house looked like something out of a postcard, the kind with perfectly manicured lawns and warm lights glowing from within. it was the kind of home that promised safety, stability—everything you’d never had. chris parked the car and gave you one of his easy smiles, the kind that usually made you feel like you could conquer anything, but tonight it barely reached you.

“you ready?” he asked, voice full of optimism as he turned off the engine.

you nodded, though your stomach was a knot of nerves. feeling like the plastic one among a garden of real, breathing things. and now, sitting here on this impossibly quiet street, you couldn’t help but think about how you’d never be the “best american girl” that chris’ family probably wanted for him.

the door opened to a flood of warmth, both from the house and the people inside. the air smelled of something delicious—rosemary, maybe, and roasted chicken. marylou was the first to greet you, her smile wide and welcoming, though it felt more like a spotlight than a comfort.

“hi, sweetheart! we’ve heard so much about you!” she gushed, pulling you into a hug that was more familiar than you were ready for.

“thank you, mrs. sturniolo,” you replied, your voice small and hesitant.

“oh, call me marylou!” she insisted, her hands gripping your shoulders as she held you at arm’s length, examining you with a look that was both kind and curious. “we’re so glad you could join us. chris never stops talking about you!”

you forced a smile, the words catching in your throat. what could you possibly say to that? the truth would be a disaster, but lying felt like choking on your own breath. so you just nodded, trying to ease the anxiety that buzzed under your skin like a thousand tiny needles. marylou was warm and welcoming, but her kindness only made you more anxious. you couldn’t help but think about your own mom, how different she was from the picture-perfect mother marylou seemed to be. what would they think if they knew about the nights you spent cleaning up after your mother, the times you had to be the adult when she couldn’t be?

jimmy appeared next, tall and imposing with a firm handshake and a face that was harder to read. “good to finally meet you,” he said, his tone polite but measured, like he was trying to size you up in just a few words.

“nice to meet you too, mr. sturniolo,” you replied, hoping your voice didn’t betray how much you felt like an intruder in their world.

“jimmy,” he corrected with a nod, but you could feel the unspoken assessment in his gaze, a weight that pressed down on you with every second.

the triplets entered the room like a burst of energy, and the tension shifted, just a little. nick, with his bright, boyish charm, came at you first, grinning from ear to ear.

“hey, finally! the famous coffee shop girl,” he teased, pulling you into a quick hug. “chris wouldn’t shut up about how cool you are.”

you managed a laugh, the sound more hollow than you intended. “i could say the same about you. he talks about you guys all the time.”

matt followed, quieter but no less genuine, giving you a smile that felt more like a lifeline than anything else. “good to see you again,” he said, his voice a little softer, more reserved.

you smiled back, grateful for the familiarity. “you too, matt. thanks for all your help with my tutoring.”

“no problem,” he said, his eyes understanding more than his words let on.

and then there was justin, the one you’d heard about but never met. he stepped forward with a more distant smile, like he was trying to figure out where you fit into this picture.

“so, you’re the girl who’s stolen chris away from us, huh?” he said, his tone half-joking but with an edge that made you uncomfortable.

“uh, i guess so,” you replied, shifting awkwardly.

dinner at the sturniolos’ felt like stepping onto a stage with no script, and you were in the spotlight, unprepared and unsure of your lines. dinner was served in a dining room that looked like it belonged in a magazine. the table was set with what seemed like a million utensils, each one gleaming under the soft light. you fumbled for the right fork, your fingers trembling slightly as you tried to keep your focus on the conversation buzzing around you.

they asked you about school—whether you were planning to go back, what your major would’ve been, what your future looked like now. every question felt like a tiny cut, opening wounds you didn’t want them to see. you stammered through vague answers, feeling the disappointment settle like a stone in your chest.

“oh, i’m just taking things one day at a time,” you lied, the words bitter on your tongue. “i’m not really sure what the future holds.”

marylou’s face softened with concern, but it only made you feel worse. “it’s important to take care of yourself,” she said gently. “you’re young—you have plenty of time to figure it out.”

but you knew better. time was something you couldn’t afford, not with the bills piling up and your mom’s condition growing worse by the day. you could see it in their eyes—they didn’t understand. how could they? this wasn’t their world. their worries were about grades and careers, not about whether there’d be enough money to keep the lights on.

chris tried to steer the conversation toward lighter topics, but it was no use. every word felt like another reminder of how different your lives were, how far apart you were from the kind of future they imagined for their son.

you felt like you were drowning, every breath a struggle as you tried to keep up with their lively chatter. they laughed and teased each other, stories flowing effortlessly, while you sat there, every smile forced, every laugh hollow.

it was matt who noticed first, his sharp eyes catching the tension in your shoulders and the way you kept your answers short and guarded. he didn’t say anything, but the slight frown on his face told you he understood. across the table, matt caught your eye, offering you a small, reassuring smile. it was a silent reminder that you weren’t completely alone here, that someone understood at least a part of your life. but even his quiet support couldn’t erase the feeling that you were out of place—a square peg in a round hole.

nick, oblivious as always, kept the conversation going, asking you about your favorite books, movies, everything that felt light and easy, but you couldn’t shake the weight in your chest. you could barely meet their eyes, every question a reminder of how much you didn’t belong here, how you’d never be the kind of girl they wanted for chris.

chris reached under the table, his hand finding yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. you looked at him, trying to find comfort in his smile, but even that felt distant, like it was just out of reach. he believed in you, you knew that, but right now, it wasn’t enough. you were drowning in your own insecurities, the fear that you’d never be good enough for him, for his family, for anyone.

as the night dragged on, you couldn’t help but feel like you were playing a role in a play you didn’t understand, the words heavy and unfamiliar on your tongue. the sturniolos were everything you weren’t—successful, confident, a family that had it all together. and you were just… you. the girl with the broken home, the one who had to drop out of school to pay the bills, the one who had no idea what the future held.

by the time dessert was served, you felt like you couldn’t breathe, the walls closing in as their voices filled the room, warm and familiar, everything you’d never had. you excused yourself, slipping away to the bathroom, where you locked the door and sank to the floor, trying to catch your breath.

you felt like you were unraveling, every thread of your life coming apart as you sat there, the weight of their expectations crushing you. you weren’t their best american girl, the one who had it all together, the one who could make their son happy without bringing all your baggage with you.

and as you sat there, you felt the cruel reminder of everything you weren’t, everything you could never be. you were just a girl who was trying to survive, who had sacrificed everything for a future that felt more uncertain with each passing day.

when you finally emerged, your face composed but your heart heavy, you found chris waiting for you, concern etched on his face.

“are you okay?” he asked softly, his hand reaching for yours.

you nodded, forcing a smile. “yeah, i’m fine. just needed a minute.”

but you weren’t fine, and as the night wore on, you knew it would be a long time before you felt anything close to okay again. dinner continued, the sturniolos oblivious to the turmoil in your mind. they laughed, they shared stories, they embraced the easy camaraderie that comes from years of being a family. but you were adrift, caught between the image of who they thought you were and the reality you couldn’t escape.

as the evening wound down and the sturniolos began clearing the table, chris walked you to the door. the night air was cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the warmth of the house. he turned to you, his eyes searching yours.

“you did great in there,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “they loved you.”

you wanted to believe him, but the doubt lingered, clinging to you like a second skin. “thanks,” you whispered, your voice heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. “but i’m not sure i’m the girl they think i am.”

chris frowned, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand. “you’re exactly who you’re supposed to be. and they’ll see that. i see that.”

his words were meant to comfort, but they only deepened the ache inside you. because as much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were a square peg trying to fit into a round hole, that no matter how hard you tried, you would never be the girl who belonged at that dinner table, in that world.

as you said your goodbyes and walked away, you couldn’t help the word “imposter” echoing in your mind—a painful reminder that sometimes, no matter how much you try to fit in, you can’t change who you are or where you come from. and maybe, just maybe, that was okay. even if it didn’t feel that way tonight.

𝜗𝒞

inside, marylou watched you leave, her heart heavy with concern. she turned to chris, who was still standing by the door, his eyes following you through the window. there was a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that made her heart ache.

“chris,” she began, her voice gentle but firm, “can we talk for a moment?”

“‘course, mom. what’s up?” chris replied, sensing the seriousness in her tone.

marylou hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “i’ve been thinking about tonight, about y/n.”

chris’s brow furrowed slightly. “what about her?”

marylou sighed, reaching out to place a hand on his. “i can see how much you care about her, chris. it’s written all over your face. but i have to ask—are you sure this is worth it? i mean, the two of you are in such different places. she’s carrying so much on her shoulders, taking care of her mother, trying to hold everything together. and you… you have all these dreams, these goals. you’ve already applied to art programs all over the world.”

chris’s eyes widened slightly. “how do you know about that?”

marylou smiled faintly. “a mother knows. i saw the letters, the applications. i’m proud of you for going after what you want, but have you thought about what that means for her? for the two of you?”

chris looked down, his thoughts swirling. He hadn’t told you about the applications yet, hadn’t found the right moment to share that part of his life. he loved you, but there was a gnawing doubt, a fear that maybe his mother was right, that maybe your paths were destined to diverge.

marylou squeezed his hand. “i’m not saying you should give up on her. but i want you to think about what you’re asking of each other. is it fair to hold on if it’s only going to bring more pain down the road?”

chris felt his heart clench at the thought. he wanted to believe that love could conquer all, that the connection you shared was strong enough to weather any storm. but as he looked up at his mother, he saw the wisdom in her eyes, the concern for his future, and for yours.

“i don’t know, mom,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t know if i could ever let her go.”

marylou nodded, her expression softening. “just promise me you’ll think about it, chris. i know you want to help her, to be there for her. but sometimes, love means making the hard decisions, even if it means letting each other go.”

chris swallowed hard, the weight of his mother’s words settling on his shoulders. “i will, i promise.”

marylou leaned in, kissing his forehead softly. “i just want what’s best for both of you, chris. whatever that might be.”

as chris sat there, the room quiet around him, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a way for the two of you to find a future together—or if you were destined to become another sad song, another missed opportunity, as your paths inevitably drifted apart.

the weeks had slipped by in a rhythm you were starting to get used to—late-night conversations with chris, shared laughs over cups of coffee, and those stolen moments where everything else in the world seemed to fade away. but lately, chris had seemed a little distant, preoccupied. you chalked it up to his art, the way he sometimes got lost in his work, but there was something else, a tension that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

then, one evening, during one of your dates at a cozy little restaurant you both loved, chris seemed especially quiet. the two of you were tucked away in a corner booth, surrounded by the warm glow of candlelight, your usual banter replaced by a heavy silence.

“hey, what’s going on?” you asked, reaching across the table to place your hand over his. “you’ve been a million miles away all night.”

chris looked down at your hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if he were trying to find the right words. finally, he took a deep breath and met your eyes, his expression a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

“i got some news,” he began, his voice careful, as though he were stepping onto fragile ground. “and... i have been trying to figure out how to tell you.”

you felt a knot tighten in your stomach. “what is it, chris? you can tell me anything.”

he hesitated, then blurted out, “i got offered a residency at the école des beaux-arts in paris.”

for a moment, the words didn’t register. paris? the prestigious école des beaux-arts? it was the kind of opportunity that only came once in a lifetime. but as the reality of what he was saying sank in, so did the implications.

“that’s... that’s amazing, chris,” you managed to say, your voice tinged with both awe and dread. “i’m so proud of you.”

he smiled, but it was a small, uncertain smile, as if he knew there was more to say. “i didn’t tell you because i wasn’t sure if it would actually happen. i didn’t want to get our hopes up, but... now it’s real.”

you nodded, trying to keep your emotions in check. “when do you leave?”

“in september,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s for an entire school year, but if it goes well, it could turn into something more permanent.”

the weight of his words hung in the air between you, heavy and unspoken. this was everything chris had ever wanted, everything he’d been working toward for as long as you’d known him. and you were genuinely happy for him—ecstatic, even—but beneath that happiness was a growing sense of loss.

chris watched your reaction closely, his eyes searching yours for something, anything, that would reassure him. “moonie, i don’t know how to do this,” he confessed. “i don’t know how to leave you behind.”

the pain in his voice cut through you like a knife. you knew what he wasn’t saying, what he was afraid to admit—that this residency could mean the end of your relationship, the end of everything you’d built together.

“you shouldn’t have to choose, chris,” you said softly, though your heart was breaking. “this is your dream. you have to go.”

he looked at you, his expression torn. “but what about us? i don’t want to lose you.”

you forced a smile, even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “you’re not losing me, chris. you’re gaining everything you’ve ever worked for. i’ll always be proud of you, no matter what.”

chris squeezed your hand, his grip tightening as if he were holding on for dear life. “i wish... i wish things could be different.”

you nodded, blinking away the tears. “me too.”

the rest of the evening passed in a blur of bittersweet conversation, both of you trying to ignore the inevitable. but in your heart, you knew that the clock was ticking, that the moment chris stepped onto that plane to paris, everything would change. and as much as it hurt, you also knew that you couldn’t stand in the way of his dreams, no matter how much you loved him.

𝜗𝒞

spring had arrived, painting the world in soft pastels and fragrant blooms, but the season’s warmth couldn’t chase away the growing sense of dread that hung between you and chris. each day felt like a countdown to the inevitable, and though you both tried to hide it, the weight of his upcoming departure loomed over every conversation, every touch, every stolen glance.

you walked together through the park, the cherry blossoms above you shedding petals like gentle tears. chris held your hand, but there was a tension in his grip, as if he were afraid that if he let go, you might disappear. the sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the world, but all you could feel was the darkness closing in.

neither of you spoke much, the silence between you heavy and charged with everything left unsaid. you both knew what was coming, and the closer it got, the harder it became to ignore the truth that you’d been avoiding for weeks.

finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. you stopped walking, pulling your hand from his and turning to face him. the words were stuck in your throat, but you forced them out, knowing that this conversation was as necessary as it was painful.

“chris,” you began, your voice trembling, “we need to talk about paris.”

he looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and fear. “i know,” he said quietly, as if he’d been dreading this moment as much as you had.

you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “i don’t want you to go to paris thinking about me,” you said, your voice breaking. “i don’t want you to hold back or hesitate because of us.”

chris’s face crumpled, and he reached out to you, his hands gripping your shoulders as if he were afraid to let you go. “i can’t just stop thinking about you, y/n,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “you’re everything to me.”

tears welled up in your eyes, and you shook your head, trying to be strong, even though every word felt like it was tearing you apart. “but that’s just it, chris. you have this incredible opportunity, and i don’t want to be the reason you miss out on any of it. i don’t want you to feel torn between your dreams and... and us.”

he looked at you, desperate to find a way to make it all work, to keep everything from falling apart. “but we can make it work,” he insisted, his voice cracking. “we’ll figure it out. we’ll make it through this.”

you shook your head again, the tears spilling over now. “it’s not that simple, chris. you’ll be on the other side of the world, and I’ll be here, and... and we both know how hard that will be. i don’t want us to end up resenting each other because of the distance, because of the what-ifs and the maybes.”

chris’s grip on your shoulders tightened, as if holding onto you could keep everything from slipping away. “so, what are you saying?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid of your answer.

you swallowed hard, trying to find the strength to say the words you knew needed to be said. “maybe... maybe we should end things now,” you said, your heart breaking with each syllable. “before it gets any harder. before we both end up hurt.”

chris stared at you, his eyes wide with shock and pain. “you don’t mean that,” he said, his voice shaking. “you can’t mean that.”

“i do,” you whispered, though it felt like a lie even as you said it. “i love you too much to hold you back, sunny. and i love you too much to let us fall apart slowly, to watch us unravel because we couldn’t let go when we needed to.”

the tears were streaming down your face now, and chris pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could, as if he could fuse you together and keep you from slipping away. “i don’t want to lose you,” he choked out, his voice thick with tears.

“and i don’t want to lose you,” you sobbed into his chest. “but we can’t hold on to something that’s only going to hurt us in the end.”

you stayed like that for a long time, clinging to each other as the world around you grew darker, the spring air turning chilly as the sun dipped below the horizon. neither of you wanted to let go, neither of you wanted to face the reality that was closing in on you.

but eventually, you both knew it was time. with a final, heart-wrenching kiss, you pulled away, wiping the tears from your eyes and trying to steady yourself. “you’re going to do amazing things, sunny,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “and i’ll always be proud of you.”

he nodded, his own tears glistening in the fading light. “and i’ll always love you, moonie. no matter where i am. please don’t let your dreams go. the world deserves to see your art, angel.”

you gave him a small, sad smile, knowing that this was the beginning of the end, the moment where your paths started to diverge. and as you walked away from him, leaving the park and the spring blossoms behind, you felt the weight of the future pressing down on you—a future without chris, without the person who had meant everything to you.

and though you knew it was the right thing to do, it didn’t make the pain any less real. the two of you had tried so hard to hold on, to make it work, but sometimes love wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between dreams and reality.

𝜗𝒞

the weeks that followed were a blur of heartache and routine. you threw yourself into your work, trying to numb the pain that gnawed at you. each shift at the café felt like an eternity, a constant reminder of what you’d lost.

one evening, after another long day, you trudged home to the small, cluttered apartment you shared with your mother. she was sitting at the kitchen table, her face flushed with alcohol. the dim light cast long shadows, adding to the oppressive atmosphere of the room.

as you walked in, she looked up with a vacant expression, her words slurred but surprisingly clear. “you know, kiddo,” she began, her voice soft and almost gentle, “life’s... it’s not easy. it’s like a constant fight. i see you trying so hard, and it’s like... you’ve got this light in you. don’t let it go out. don’t... don’t let it be for nothing.”

you were taken aback by her unexpected clarity. the vulnerability in her voice, the rare moment of motherly concern, struck a chord deep within you. you sat down, your heart aching, as she continued to speak in a quiet, rambling monologue about her regrets and missed opportunities.

but the next morning, when you awoke, her words were already a distant memory, overshadowed by the haze of her intoxicated state. she was back to her usual self, lost in her own world of highs and lows, her brief moment of insight forgotten.

despite her fleeting clarity, her words lingered in your mind, echoing through the silent corners of your heart. they were a stark reminder of the dreams you harbored, the life you wanted to reclaim, and the harsh reality of your current existence. they offered a glimmer of hope amidst the despair, urging you to keep moving forward, even as the world seemed determined to keep you tethered to the past.

chris stumbled through the rain, his once-pristine outfit now clinging to him like a second skin, saturated and heavy. each drop felt like a judgment, each gust of wind a reminder of the chasm between his art and his heart. he was drenched to the bone, but he barely noticed. his mind was a storm, as tumultuous as the weather around him, swirling with remnants of the love that had slipped through his grasp.

his heart ached with a familiar ache—a blend of longing and loss—as he approached your home, the apartment complex that now seemed more distant than ever. the light from inside spilled through the gaps in the curtains, casting warm pools of light onto the wet pavement. he raised his hand, trembling slightly, and knocked on the door.

the door swung open to reveal your mother, her face shadowed by the cigarette she held between her fingers, smoke curling lazily into the night air. her gaze, though steady, held a mix of curiosity and wariness. she looked at chris with an understanding that came from witnessing her daughter’s silent struggles.

“you must be the one who stole my daughter’s heart,” she said, her voice a gravelly whisper. there was a note of reluctant admiration in her tone, mingled with the faintest hint of something else—perhaps hope or desperation.

chris nodded, his voice nearly lost in the rain’s cacophony. “is she here?”

“she’s in the shower,” your mother replied, stepping aside to let him in. “come on in. we’ll wait for her.”

as chris stepped into the warmth of the house, he was immediately enveloped by a heavy sense of confinement—both literal and emotional. the interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of cigarettes and a faint undertone of stale beer. they moved to the living room, where chris sank onto a worn-out sofa while your mother took a seat opposite him, her eyes reflecting a guarded empathy.

“i know you’re probably wondering why i’m here,” chris began, his voice hoarse and tired. “but i needed to see her. i needed to understand.”

your mother exhaled slowly, releasing a cloud of smoke into the room. “you know,” she started, her voice softening, “she was always so sensitive as a child. she never let it show, but she felt everything deeply. when her father left, she blamed herself, even though she shouldn’t have. she tried to be strong, to make up for what was missing, but it wore her down.”

chris listened, absorbing the weight of her words. the room seemed to close in on him, the silence punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the rain against the windows. your mother’s eyes held a sadness that mirrored his own.

“y/n took on more than she could handle,” she continued, her tone a mix of regret and resignation. “i couldn’t be there for her—i was too wrapped up in my own failures. she’s had to be a caretaker, always putting others before herself. but lately, with you, i’ve seen a change. she’s been happier, more like herself. she wouldn’t tell me and i’m too coward to ask questions anymore but you’ve made a difference. and for that, i’m grateful.” chris nodded, your mother’s unexpected words hitting him like a ton of bricks. “she’s a good kid, you’d be a fool to let her go— i know i am.”

the sound of the bathroom door creaking open broke the heavy silence. chris’s heart skipped a beat as he saw you emerge, in a set of pyjamas and droplets of water still clinging to your hair. your eyes widened in surprise when they landed on him, a mix of confusion and anxiety crossing your face.

“chris?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“i needed to talk to you,” chris said, standing up and moving toward you. “can we go outside? just for a minute?”

you nodded, your gaze flickering between him and your mother, who gave you a reassuring nod. together, you stepped out into the rain, the cool droplets mingling with the warmth of your lingering emotions.

as the night enveloped you both, the rain drummed softly around you, a gentle, melancholic accompaniment to the conversation that was about to unfold.

the rain cascaded around you both, turning the world into a blurry, shimmering painting of melancholy and despair. chris stood before you, drenched and desperate, his eyes pleading with a depth of emotion that seemed to defy the storm's intensity. his voice was raw, breaking through the rain as he spoke with a fervor born of both hope and anguish.

“i can’t be anything without you,” he cried out, "i find myself unable to draw breath or live without you. you have woven yourself into every fiber of my being, occupying my thoughts, my dreams, my very essence. without you, i am lost—unable to be or do anything of meaning. you are my muse, y/n, the very air i breathe." his words cutting through the tumult of the storm. “come with me to paris, i leave tonight you can come with me. we can build a life there. we can be—everything we’ve dreamed of. i need you, y/n. please.”

“i can’t,” you choked out, your voice breaking under the weight of your grief. “i can’t leave my mom. she needs me. i—”

your voice faltered, but the flood of reasons came pouring out in a torrent of desperation. “i am not right for you, chris. i can’t even give you what you want. i’ve got nothing to offer. i am too broken, too caught up in this life that’s crumbling around me. i would ruin you. i’d drag you down.”

as each reason left your lips, chris’s eyes filled with more tears, his resolve unshaken by your pleas. with every reason you listed, he responded, his voice breaking through your objections, “i love you, y/n.” the words were tender, insistent, and utterly unyielding. his repetition of those three words was both a comfort and a torment, a balm that only seemed to amplify your pain.

“stop,” you cried out, frustration and anguish mingling in your voice. “stop saying that. it doesn’t change anything. it doesn’t make me any less broken.”

for a moment, silence enveloped you both, the rain’s rhythmic patter the only sound in the quiet space between you. chris looked at you with a mixture of sorrow and determination, and then he spoke again, his voice gentle but firm. “those aren’t reasons to me. you are everything i have ever wanted. you’re my heart, my soul. i need you.”

tears streamed down your face, blending with the rain, as you felt the weight of his words, the finality of his plea. he continued, his voice trembling with every utterance, “please, y/n. i need you with me. i can’t imagine my life without you.”

you reached out, pulling him into a desperate kiss, one filled with all the love and sorrow that words couldn’t convey. the kiss was a blend of passion and farewell, an attempt to capture a lifetime of feeling in a single, fleeting moment. when you finally pulled away, both of you breathless and teary-eyed, the gravity of the situation became undeniable.

“i can’t,” you repeated softly, your voice breaking. “i just can’t. this is the end.”

chris leaned in for one final, heart-wrenching kiss. it was slow and aching, as if trying to savor every last second before the inevitable goodbye. as the kiss lingered, it felt like an eternity, a final, beautiful moment suspended in time. but even as you both struggled to end it, you knew it had to be over. you pulled away, your hearts breaking with the weight of the farewell.

with a heavy heart, you walked back into the house, your tears mixing with the rain on your face. the warmth of the interior felt hollow compared to the storm outside, and you collapsed onto the floor, the sobs that erupted from you visceral and agonizing. you were consumed by a pain that seemed to tear at your very soul.

your mother rushed to your side, her arms enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and unconditional love. she held you close, her own tears mingling with yours, her kisses on your forehead gentle and soothing. “it’s okay,” she whispered, her voice a tender murmur in the midst of your sobs. “it’s okay. i’m here.”

as you wept, her embrace was a fragile comfort, a small beacon of solace amidst the overwhelming grief. the rain continued to fall outside, its relentless rhythm a mournful echo of the love that had slipped through your fingers.

𝜗𝒞

the morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, casting a pale light over the room. you lay in bed, feeling the aftershocks of the emotional whirlwind from the night before. the storm had passed, leaving behind a quieter, more reflective day.

your mother’s footsteps approached with a newfound determination. she entered the room, her demeanor more resolute than you’d seen in a long time. sitting on the edge of your bed, she took a deep breath, her gaze steady and earnest.

“i am going to rehab. i need to get better, not just for me, but for you too.”

the gravity of her words hit you like a tidal wave. you stared at her, trying to reconcile this new resolve with the image of her that had been marred by addiction. “rehab?” you echoed, trying to grasp the significance of this decision.

“yes,” she said, nodding. “i can’t stand to see myself ruining more of your life, especially after everything that happened the other night. it’s time for me to step away and focus on getting better. but i need you to listen to me.”

you sat up, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. “what is it?

“when i come back,” she continued, her eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity, “i expect you to start focusing on yourself. i want you to pursue your art, to follow your dreams. it’s time for you to stop putting your life on hold for me.”

her words felt like a lifeline, pulling you from the depths of despair and giving you a glimpse of a future you’d almost forgotten. “but—”

“no,” she interrupted gently, placing a hand on yours. “no more excuses. you’ve put your dreams aside for too long. i need to make this right, and that means letting you live your life fully, without the burden of my problems.”

tears brimmed in your eyes, but this time they were a mixture of hope and fear. “i don’t know if i can—”

“you can,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering. “you have so much talent, so much potential. i’ve seen it in you, and i believe in you. when i come back, i want to see you thriving, not just surviving. i want you to be the artist you’ve always dreamed of being.”

the promise in her words, the sincerity of her intention, was a beacon of hope that cut through the lingering darkness. you squeezed her hand, feeling a flicker of determination ignite within you.

“okay,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “i’ll follow my dreams momma.”

“good,” she said, a smile touching her lips. “that’s what i want. to see you finally living the life you deserve. i am going to get better, and i’m going to make sure that when i come back, things are different for both of us.”

as she stood to leave, the weight of her decision seemed to settle over you like a cloak of both comfort and challenge. you watched her go, a fragile but potent hope blooming within you. the path ahead would be difficult, but for the first time in a long while, it felt like there was a clear direction—a chance to reclaim your dreams and build a future, even as you navigated the complexities of healing and change.

the years had passed in a blur of creative fervor and personal growth. you found yourself standing in your studio, surrounded by the pieces that had become your voice, your outlet, your lifeline. the gallery was bustling with the energy of a successful exhibition, and as you moved through the space, a sense of accomplishment filled you.

a gallery assistant approached, her face alight with excitement. “you won’t believe this,” she said, her voice barely containing her enthusiasm. “someone has bought every single piece of your work. every last one.”

you blinked, a mix of surprise and curiosity washing over you. “every piece?”

“yes,” she confirmed, nodding eagerly. “they want to meet you. they’re waiting in the back room.”

a flutter of anticipation gripped your chest as you followed her through the gallery. you entered the back room and stopped short. there, standing amidst your art, was chris. his appearance had changed—his face now framed by a beard, his hair longer, his style different. yet, despite the differences, his eyes remained the same: those summer eyes, deep and familiar, that had once held so much promise and pain.

“sunny?” you whispered, your heart skipping a beat as the recognition hit you.

he turned to you, a slow smile spreading across his face. “moonie,” he said, his voice holding a mix of nostalgia and affection.

ᨳུ⠀ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @l34n @sofieeeeex @sturniolossss @eternaldecisions @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 to be added click here

my inbox is always open !!! pls feed it some content 🧸🫐 likes, comments & reblogs are highly appreciated.

#sirenedeslily ✶ ˖ ࣪#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturiolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets x you #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader

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nemesyaaa · 1 month

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a house in nebraska ! rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary ; you were the reason he won't come home but you still call home. this story is based on the song of ethel cain.

warnings : it's angst. fully angst. it's about toxic relationship. so violence, arguing and fighting, sick behavior, daddy and mommy issues, the urge of love and being loved, mentions of drugs, the feeling of being misunderstood and unsteady. home is used as a metaphor of relationship. it's about inner rage too. slight of smut but very little. both rafe and reader being fucked up. southern goth/small town coded.

author's note : it's my first time writing angst so be easy one me please ! as i said, it's based on " a house in nebraska" by ethel cain (because she's my favorite artist and my muse.) and a lot of her songs make me think of rafe, but i also take inspo of her others songs like crush, strangers, and hard times. also a hint of bet on losing dogs by mitski.

i dont know how many words are in this works, but i think around 3k ? it's a one-shot ! BETTER TO READ IT WHILE LISTENING TO A SAD SONG. (a house in nebraska (live version)or anything else)

you lived in the nebraska with rafe, he was your man and you were his girl. it was a small town that allowed you to be just him and you against the world, to be safe from the rest. but the ugly truth was that your house had become a raging mess. the mattresses had become dirty, the silence too comfortable, the night too long, the emptiness too deep, the love too absent and the violence too present. everyone was angry here, even demons and the silence.

rafe was a storm, and every time you tried to calm it, you became further worse. no, you weren't becoming like him, you were becoming him, the mirror of his emotions, full of rage and inexpressible feelings. like a bomb, you needed it to come out, to scream and explode. like a bomb, you needed to hurt, and destroy everything in your way.

you had built this house together, when he still worked with his hands, oh god, how much you loved those big and strong hands, the dirt and bruises on his skin. the softness of his palms when he touched you, the pulsating veins engraved. they were made to love you, to caging you. they were always rushed with blood and wounds because of his work, but despite how dirty they were when he came home, they were always pure and clean on your body. but you also were so in love with his messy sweaty hair, caressing by the wind. he was tall and handsome, the kind of man who worked all day, and drunk at night, some whiskey or bourbon. but never missed to please the needs of his girl.

when he smoked his red marlboros on the porch, you were sitting on his lap like a sleepy girl to take a nap on his heavy arms that managed to hug your body. when he took a sip of his cold beer, while you had nothing to do but being his own pretty girl. when he allowed you to bathe him, cleaning the mess and the sweat. when you used to learn him how to play some classic music on the old piano, and he was just turned on by the way you used so damn well your fingers, and making you sit on the board, and fuck you right there, even if the windows were wide open.

at this time, you would have die for him.

when he still listened to what you said, when he still answered your calls and did not make you sick by his silence, when you laughed every time he came home . but now you were starting to hate the fact that he was coming.

how did the man who was supposed to make you so happy manage to break you so easily? but you weren't an angel either, oh far from it, you had neither wings nor halo on your head, you didn't even have god in your heart. you made him, like all men, your enemy.

it was four in the morning, it was still dark, you were waiting in the living room.

the tv wasn't on. rafe had broken it during an argument. that wasn’t the only thing he shattered, you had to be the hardest thing he does. not even with his fists, with just the force of his words, the way they were murderous, the way they had the force to tear your heart open and crushed it into pieces.

most people would say that this man was not the type to cry, that a man doesn't cry, but rafe cried. and you had seen him a couple of times, and the first time you saw him burst into tears, you knew straight away that it was the real him. that behind all this hatred, this anger, there was a hurted little boy. and who grew up with an open wound, a wound impossible to heal, even with all the love in the world.

rafe was the kind of man who screamed, who cried, who bled, a fallen angel who had lost god along the way, who had been ignored, but mostly, never heard.

when he opened the door to the house, you hated the strong smell of alcohol, but also of blood. you never asked him for anything, the only thing you wanted was for him to come home on time for dinner, to go to bed with you. but no one, absolutely, no one tamed a dog like him. and you rathered not bet on losing dogs.

“where were you ?? ” you had already started shouting due to lack of patience, getting up from the chair to confront him.

you had seen him sigh, making that bored face, like you had no reason to be upset, that face that made all women become even worse.

“if you had the same energy to scream when we fuck, we would have a fantastic sex life.”

“seriously, rafe? you want to play the asshole, right now ? ”

“ it will suit your bitch behavior, so why not ?”

you slapped him very hard in the face. what obviously rafe didn't find this very amusing, he crushed you in the wall, pinned your hands above your head.

“ don't you dare slapping me again. you want to be mean, sweetheart ? i can be meaner. let's see....oh this is the necklace that your mom offered to you before leaving ? how sweet. maybe, i can sell it for a good price. ”

“ rafe. don't. ”

he shushed you, by putting his other hand on your mouth. “ you're not allowed to talk right now. you had your turn for, now, it's my fucking turn. and i will do whatever the fuck i want ! it's my house, my rules. ”

he unhooked the necklace, as you tried to break away from his grip but he closed his fingers tighter against your wrists.

“I'm going to kill you, no matter what you do, i'm going to kill you. ”

“murder me” he said with a louder voice. “i’m asking you to murder me! it’s probably the only good thing you’ll have done well in your life. you know even if i die tonight, i will die yours. even if you kill me, i will always be here.”

he released you, and you exploded. “you have exceeded the limits, rafe! ”

” since when are there boundaries between us, sugar? we're freaks, remember? ”

you threw away the first object you found, it was an empty coffee cup. you threw it at his face. but he had dodged it with a sick smile. your jaw clenched, eyes blazing with fury, you were out of control. you were what he wanted you to be every time he came home late

” oh you can do better than that baby. i'm sure i taught you how to shoot better than this when i showed you how to kill? do you remember? ”

“ this, this fucking attitude, rafe is why everybody leaves you ! ”

“ yes. and do i fucking care, y/n ? do i fucking care ? i grew up in a family where nobody loved me, nobody reached after me, nobody looked after me, nobody dared to pay attention to me and you tell me i have to care about everyone leaving me ? no, it's not fucking fair ! so do you understand ? i don't care. if you want to leave, you know better than me that the door is open because you're the only one to be stucking in front, waiting like a fucking dog that i come come. ”

“ fine. i leave ! ”

you took the keys of the car, even if rafe hated that you drove, especially at midnight. but you were too upset, too mad.

your man wasn't done with you. he stood in front of the car you were driving.

“if you think i'm afraid of killing you, when you were the one who taught me how to do that, you're wrong. ”

" yes ? then show me how well i did my job. kill me. ”

“ rafe, i’m not kidding. ”

“ perfect, we are both serious then. ”

you moved the car forward, pressing the pedal with your feet. you hitted him with the car. it was strong but not violent either.

you got out of the car quickly to check on him. but he was smiling, a little blood on his face.

“are you sick!? ”

“ i raised you well, i fear. now, lick this face. i can see in your eyes how pretty you find me covered with blood, so please yourself, lick it all. ”

“ wait, i will find some tis….”

“ no, with your tongue. clean my whole face with your tongue. don't waste anything. i want to be able to kiss you right after, and recognize the taste of my blood all over your mouth. you want to be sick ? make me feel sick too. ”

maybe you were too young to realize that some loves could be bad. but this relationship was toxic. you had both destroyed each other, and it was complicated when you saw this world, this universe only through your union. you felt like you had lost a lot, like you had lost everything, like you had failed. maybe, you were the failure, and rafe, the problem. but also, maybe, he was the failure and you, the problem.

and you hated not knowing what was going on in rafe's head, you hated that no one on this earth could figure it out, and that even rafe himself didn't know it. he was crazy, he was sick but that wasn't all, it couldn't be just that.

you gave up the fight, going to the bathroom to take a bath. you needed some peace because the house didn't feel like a home anymore.

sometimes wheezie would call you to see if you were okay, she had grown up, and you lied to her all the time. because it hurt so much to be two in a relationship, but not feel like you were a part of it anymore. and the worst part of it all was that you could kill yourself for just one minute of affection, just one second of happiness, just one moment in the past when everything was okay. where rafe was still the sweet little boy you knew. but the stories were not meant to have a happy ending.

it was hard this feeling, this lack when he still lived with you in this terrible house. but one day you'll be the reason he won't come home again. but you would always call home. you promised yourself. because it would always be yours.

rafe had joined you in the bathtub. and you could tell by his red and empty eyes, his blank stare that he had been crying. he cried and he was not the drugs, he was you, only you.

and you didn't mention it. you didn't say anything. you preferred to stay smart and not start another fight.

“the walls could break down with so much screams. ” you said, laughing slightly.

“maybe we should sell the house. ”

“i like this house. i feel at home here. i have nowhere to go. ” you lied for the two first, but not for the last.

and it was true. you had built everything, paved everything here. you had remade a world. you couldn't leave, you couldn't leave anything. and above all, you were too tired to leave.

it would be a lie to say that you didn't had sex in the bathtub, that you didn't feel his tears on your shoulder, that you didn't feel his thrusts get harder each time a sob broke out his empty eyes, that you didn't feel how much he was breaking every time you took pleasure. because, it was hard for him to seeing you being happy. because it was so hard to take care of you. because it was so hard to feel loved and being loved. you were both too young, too stupid, too sick for love.

and rafe wanted to make you happy without sex, without all this selfish sex. no, he wanted to make you happy by some casual things. but sometimes, you pissed him off so bad to the point, he wanted to leave. but how can a man who hoped to be loved can leave the woman who promised to cherish him ? it was too tired, too angry, and too unsteady to leave. you broke him too. and it was sad for him, because you were the only one he was not scared to tell it hurts.

but at six in the morning you were fighting again as if it were a ritual, a need, a desire to destroy each other, as if sometimes love needed to be violent and destructive to work. actually, for freaks like you, surely.

“why did you throw my fucking drugs down the toilet?! ”

“because you don’t need that!” ”

“you don’t know what i need, you barely know what i want! you had no fucking right to do that. ”

“ don't be a crybaby ! ”

“ repeat. i dare you to repeat. ”

“crybaby! you're a fucking crybaby, rafe! your new personality changes nothing about the boy you were and will always be! what, you don't like the truth ? bad for you, i'm about to tell you what everyone doesn't want to tell you. because i'm not scared at all of you ! you're a fucking crybaby ! ”

“ but you're still here, you're still fucking here. because you know what ? i'm maybe a crybaby, but i'm a river worth wading. and this is why, you're standing in front of me with all this confidence. you wanted a broken man, you wanted someone to fix ? then come on baby, i'm here, i'm watching you, i'm listening, i'm literally at your feets, fix me ! fix the little boy you wanted, make him better. ”

“ rafe…”

“no, i'm asking you now who do you think you are? do you think that because you have this attitude, it doesn't make you a little girl who needs her daddy? because damn, yes, you need him. but i fear daddy was the only one who didn't need you because guess what ? he left. and you make all the men leave around you ! but the difference between us is that you care. when i fucking dont care.”

“ you're sick, a sick asshole. and don't touch me ! ” you pushed him away, but he came back, his hand on your throat. “ but you're the sick one who loves me, remember that ?” he answered.

“ but do you think i still love you ? ” you said with a smirk, taking pleasure to see his widen eyes. “ i'm asking you right now, do you think i still love you, and if one day, someone will like you like i do ? it would be so hard for you to find happiness after me, i can promise you this. you will fight a lot. because ? can you see ? can you see i can breathe without you, i can live without you ? but you, can you do this ? yes, you can fight, you can scream and shout but what else ? ”

“ it doesn't hurt, y/n. it doesn't hurt. and you can't break me, as you can't fix me. ”

“ then why are you crying, big boy ? why are those tears for, if not for me ? ”

“ i built a home for you, i did everything for you. ”

“ and then what ? ”

“ don't make me regret it, y/n. don't make me regret the only good thing i've made well in my life, just don't make me regret...this. you don't understand. why did every house i'm in never felt like home ? ”

“ you destroy everything, rafe. but me too, i guess. the difference is that you have an excuse, a reason for being like that. your dad fucked up with you. and i hate him for that. if he had loved you correctly, you would have known and learned how to love people, how to be attached to them. but you don't know any of that, you don't know what it is to love, and to be loved. everything i do for you, you could call it love, even when i'm mean. but it's false, love is tender, it's beautiful. but you know, i think i'm sick because i also like the way you love me, this violence, this rage, this impulsiveness, it drives me crazy but it makes me alive. so, do you think you could do it again? ”

“ why you didn't leave, why you never leave ? ”

“ because it's our house. we're stuck in forever. this is our house in nebraska, our only heaven. now be a good boy and cry a little for me, i think i'm going away a little...” you said, taking him in your arms, your hand placed on his back, and your hand pressed to his cheek. “don’t worry, i cry a lot too. all the time, even when you make me happy. ” you shushed him, bursted in tears in the hug.

you kissed him on the corner of his lips, your mouth meeting his tears, before he joined you in this kiss, you felt his sad and salty tongue against yours, his hands came squeeze your waist.

but now in the present, you were alone. the house still existed but it was just you.

you weren't sleeping anymore, because you kept hoping that he would come home, you were hoping that he would come home late at night.

but you were alone in a dirty and cold mattress. and you prayed for him hoping he was okay. the phone was broken but you were hoping to hear it ring, the door was open and you were waiting for a sign.

nothing was right, everything was wrong. you just wanted to say to rafe that he had you, that he had a house, and his home missed him, like nobody ever does in his life.

you didn't realize that you had been lying all this time, and that you were silently dying. but at least you died, only his.

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jinxthequeergirl · 1 month

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Fireworks

pines family x parental figure!reader/ implied stanfordx reader

Summary: based on the song "Fireworks" by mitski- you've lost yourself in your journey to bring back your friend from another dimension that you've almost forgotten about your family.

Warning: ANGST BABY!!!!! WOWOW! Also corny as hell

Enjoy

~~~~~~~☆~~~~~

You wondered how long you'd feel like this. The sense of constant unease and dread and guilt.

"You're going to drive yourself crazy staring at those pages."

You blinked with heavy eyelids as you stared at the half complete layout of the large portal machine. "I can figure it.. I know I can..." You mumbled.

"There's nothing we can do until we have the last journal."

You said nothing but focused on the pages, thinking till your brain was numb.

Stan sighed, realizing he wasn't getting you away from those books without a fight.

"ME and the kids are going to be outside incase you care to join us."

You mumbled or groaned he couldn't really tell the difference. He frowned he had noticed a change in you most recently though he knew you didn't think he did.

A slight grey in your eyes as you continued to work. He knew you wanted to bring Stanford home so did he. But not to the extent you had been pushing it too. So he quietly went to meet the kids upstairs.

You felt your eyes growing heavy. Your thoughts drift as you stared at the page and wondered when you had gotten to this point.

You had spent so much time crying for Stanford to come back, so much time blaming Stanley for losing him. Then the feelings just fossilized one morning. You knew they where still there. You still felt the grief, the guilt the anger.

But for some reason, you'd forgot how to cry.

You heard a faint popping from upstairs but didn't think much of it at first. Still dazing into the old journals.

Trying for anything. A spark of an idea a glimmer of hope, the courage to face what you feared be true, to feel less lifeless again.

hoping that the almost numb feeling wasn't your lost feelings for him. If that was the case, then that would mean you'd given up hope on finding him again.

You hear the popping again, followed by cheering. You look up for the first time in what feels like hours. Your neck hurts, and you groan in pain as your eyes are met with a photo of you and Stanford.

Is this what he would want for you? The feelings you had were real and still hurt. The feelings you had for Ford were just the same.

Your eyes drift to the photo next to it. You and Stanley and the kids squished together to fit the frame. A wide grin across all your faces.

You heard the popping and booming louder this time.

This isn't what Stanford would want for you. You decide as you push yourself out of the chair with a stretch and up the basement steps.

You he'd want you to realize that what you felt was healing. Not losing hope or feeling for him like you feared.

Your eyes adjust to the light as you step into the warm summer night.

He'd want you to connect with the people you called family.

"Y/n, you made it! We still have some fireworks left!" Mable cheered as you shut the door that led to the roof. "I saved all your favorite colors incase you came out."

Take care of yourself.

"I dunno guys. Isn't this kinda dangerous?" You asked. The twins shared a look with eachother before you laughed.

"Who am I kidding? Hand me the biggest one you have!" You exclaimed.

Stan laughed. "Ah there they are the y/n we all know and love!"

And more importantly be there for them.

You placed an apologetic hand on stans shoulder and offered him a smile. Which he returned.

You sat on the edge of the roof watching the fireworks for most of the night feeling your worries wash away.

Everything was gonna be alright with them by your side.

It always had been.

~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~

#ford pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #stan pines x reader #Stanley pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #Spotify

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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months

Text

Reflections | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: alcoholism, toxic relationship dynamics, mentions/descriptions of smut (MDNI 18+ ONLY), angstangstangst, the crippling reality of being broke and in your twenties, an ambiguous ending! Up to your imagination what happens next :)

Word Count: 5026

A/N: For a lovely nonnie!! This fic hits close to home LMFAO as does the song the fic is inspired by. Not to call you out nonnie but tell me you’ve been in a situationship that ended horribly without telling me you’ve been in a situationship that ended horribly… lol. Anyway, i hope y’all enjoy this absolute angst cesspool of pre-season one Dean!!

Songs of the fic ! (did anyone else’s exes listen to the trifecta of male manipulator music aka car seat headrest, cigs after sec, and the neighbourhood? bonus points if chase atlantic is thrown in there, too)

Reflections by the Neighbourhood

Casual by Chappell Roan

Working for the Knife by Mitski

It’s Only Sex by Car Seat Headrest

Cry by Cigarettes After Sex

Queue up your favorite music streaming service if you’d like, and have a wonderful read!

Meeting Dean Winchester was among the more wonderful things that happened to you. After graduating from college, your life had been complete hell. Between non-stop job interviews, working shifts at a crappy restaurant job you’d had since sophomore year to be able to pay your rent, and a crumbling relationship with your family, you were drowning. Needing a night off, you decided to go out with a few of your friends.

It was that night that you met Dean. As soon as you walked into the bar, he caught your eye. He was busy chatting with a pretty blonde with long, toned legs, but you hardly noted her. He was all muscle, tall, freckled, and had probably been sculpted by the gods.

Men didn’t usually hold your attention. You were too busy and had too many previous relationships with frat boys and abusive idiots to worry about or focus on another one. Dean, however, was different.

Through the night, you tried to just enjoy your time with your friends, but every piece of you was hoping that the beautiful stranger would come over and talk to you. And finally, finally, your silent prayer came true.

His confidence was intimidating. Your friends all blushed and giggled when he approached, and your best friend pulled your other two girls away to another table to let you and Dean talk.

“Your friend seems disappointed,” he said evenly.

“In what?” you asked, a smile pulling at your lips.

“That I’m talking to you and not her,” the man replied.

Oh, god. You knew his type. You knew he’d be horrible for you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “You’re very sure of yourself…” you trailed off, waiting for him to tell you his name.

“Dean,” he told you.

“Dean.” The name felt good rolling off your tongue. “Nice to meet you, Dean.”

“Trust me, pleasure’s all mine,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You can drop the cheesy lines.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows.

“C’mon, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” you smirked, taking a sip of your beer.

“Most girls like ‘em,” he said, confidence unwavering.

“Do you think I’m like most girls?” you asked, eyes challenging and lustful.

“No,” he smirked.

***

That night was officially marked in the calendar as the night you had the best sex of your life. Dean was incredibly giving in bed, and he wouldn’t let himself finish until you did. He knew when to be gentle and when to be rough with you, and you appreciated how attentive to your reactions he was.

After that, Dean came over to your apartment every night for four days. And yet, you still knew very little about him.

“Where ‘re you from, Dee?” you asked, sitting on the couch across from him with a beer in your hand.

“Lawrence. In Kansas,” he replied shortly. Dean normally wasn’t as curt with you, and you knew you needed to press further into that.

“We’re a long way from Kansas, Toto,” you joked. “What’s got you out here?”

“Eh, y’know. My brother’s off at Stanford, my dad’s a dick when he’s not around, and I just needed to get away for a bit,” Dean explained, shrugging.

“Brother?” you asked.

A smile spread across his face. “Yeah, uh, Sam’s his name. He’s in undergrad for law. His freshman year.”

“Oh, damn. He must be really smart, then,” you prompted.

Dean nodded, still grinning. “Yeah, he is.”

“What about you?” you asked.

“What about me?” he replied, taking a sip of his beer.

“College?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Dropped out as soon as it was legal to.”

You snickered.

“What about you? What are you doin’ out here?” Dean asked, sinking further into your couch. Even the way he sat emanated confidence.

You sighed.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you—”

You shook your head. “No, no! It’s okay. It’s just— It’s complicated.” Dean allowed you to collect your thoughts for a moment. “Went to school, got myself a degree, and I graduated last year. And now, I’m barely keeping myself afloat. Applied to tons of places, got interviews at some, and all of ‘em fell through.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, taking a deep breath. “It’s alright. I’m sure every new grad goes through this shit.”

“What about your family?” Dean asked you. “You close with them?”

You scoffed. “All of them can suck my dick.”

Dean chuckled, clearly caught off-guard. “Jesus. That bad?”

“Absolutely.” You stretched and put your empty beer bottle down on the coffee table. “Life’s not all bad, though.”

“Oh?” Dean prompted.

“I met you, didn’t I?” you smiled lopsidedly.

The man chuckled but said nothing.

Immediately, you felt embarrassed. “Sorry, I— I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable if I did. I know we’re just hooking up, and—”

Dean shook his head. “No, no. It’s okay. Just… I wanna be upfront with you. I’m just rolling through. I’m never gonna be in one place for long.”

Your heart sank. “Oh.”

“It’s nothing against you, trust me. You’re—” Dean cut himself off, sighing. He sat up fully, put his beer down, and turned to face you. “Trust me. It’s not you.” He put his hand over yours, making you look up at him.

‘Damn his gorgeous face,’ you thought. You would never be able to stay angry with him for too long. You surged forward and pressed his lips to yours, pushing him down on the couch.

***

If you couldn’t have anything else with Dean, you were going to have sex with him as much as humanly possible. Slowly but surely, he was giving you indications that he was forming feelings for you, too.

Dean started staying the night around a week into the two of you hooking up. You were pleasantly surprised when he’d hold you while you slept, too. The sex became more passionate as opposed to rough and hard, even though you thoroughly enjoyed both. He asked you questions about your upbringing and your job, and was giving you every signal that he was interested in you for more than just sex.

And then, he disappeared. You called him several times, but you never got an answer. To say you were crushed was an understatement.

Even though you’d only known Dean for three weeks, you were falling hard for him. He had an effect on you that no one else did. Dean was kind, compassionate, funny, smart, and although immature at times, he had all the makings of a wonderful man and partner. And just like that, he left. No word, no note— nothing. Just the night before he was telling you how glad he was that he met you. Maybe that should have been a sign that something was wrong, but you supposed hindsight was 20/20.

At work that day, you were a complete mess of smudged eyeliner, knotted hair pulled back in a claw clip, and puffy eyes from crying.

“You good, (Y/N/N)?” one of your coworkers asked when she found you on your smoke break.

The cigarette trembled between your fingers, and tears poured down your cheeks. Your only response was a frantic head nod.

She gave you a deadpan look. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Holding the cigarette away from your face, you scrubbed your hand over your eyes. “Just this fucking guy.”

She grimaced, sucking in air through her teeth. “Shit. That’ll do it.”

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “On top of everything else that’s fucking falling apart in my life, I thought—” you cut yourself off, sighing. “Whatever. He’s a dick.” You took in a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves, and took a puff of your cigarette. You let out all the air and smoke from your lungs and turned to face your friend. “I gotta get back. I’m sure table twenty-five needs another fucking bucket of Michelob.” Having smoked almost the entire cigarette, you dropped it on the ground and stomped out the remaining embers.

Your coworker laughed as you opened the back door to the kitchen for her. “Let me know if you need anything,” she told you.

Nodding, you smiled in thanks for her kindness.

***

Truthfully, you were drowning. Bills just kept piling up, two more job applications had fallen through, and the restaurant had been slowing down on the weekdays steadily since summer ended. Tips were shitty, and your situation had gotten so bad, you’d need to start working a second job and taking the bus to work. If you couldn’t find a second job or a job your degree suited soon, you were screwed.

After yet another fight with your parents over how much of a screw-up you were in comparison to your brother and sister, you were done. You needed something to numb the world out. None of your friends were able to go out, seeing as it was a weeknight, and they all had “real” jobs.

And so, you sat on your couch and drank alone. You didn’t want to run up your power bill any more than it would already be this month, so you sat in silence with candles lit as you drank. Your logical mind knew this was a horrible idea— combining emotional exhaustion, fire hazards, and alcohol— but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

***

Your next late-night escapade with drinking came when you discovered you could numb out the feeling of being hungry with alcohol. The fridge and pantry were virtually empty, and you hadn’t had enough time or spare change to go to the grocery store after barely scraping by on rent and your bills the week prior.

Drinking also helped you to sleep through breakfast, so the only time you really needed to eat was lunch before going to work. You’d stopped responding to your friends’ texts, and your routine didn’t consist of anything aside from working, drinking, and applying to jobs.

The weeks droned by, and despite the chaos in your life, your thoughts were still of Dean. Why did he have so much power over you? You didn’t even really know him, and here you were, a complete fucking mess because he left without a word. You knew you couldn’t have been in love with him; maybe infatuation was a better way to describe your feelings for him.

Finally, your friend, Melanie, came over to drag you out of your misery. She did your hair and makeup, forced you to eat something, and brought you out on a Saturday night with your friend group. Her kindness was very much appreciated, and you thanked her profusely for it.

Your night out with your friends relit a bit of a fire in you. What kept you on even more of a high note was the interview you had a few days later at a bar. It had gone incredibly well, and the manager told you to expect a call very soon. Hope filled your chest at the thought of being able to have more than just a few cents left in your pocket after the monthly billing period.

***

You’d done it. You got the job! Your friends took you out once again as a celebration, and you felt like you were finally getting back to your old self. However, that was when your friends noticed something was wrong. You’d never been the friend to get blackout drunk; you were always holding your friends’ hair back while they threw up in the bathroom. And yet, you were as sloppily drunk as ever.

The next thing to catch their attention was you stumbling over to them with a seemingly arrogant prick’s arm around you.

“Guys,” you swallowed, “guys! This is…” you trailed off, not exactly sure what his name was. “Sorry, handsome, what’s your name?”

That was when another of your friends, Syriah, pulled you aside and away from the man. “(Y/N), what is wrong with you?” she asked.

Your eyes were immediately dewey. “What? What’d I do wrong?”

“Babe, you’re all over the place. What’s happening to you?” she asked compassionately, steadying you with her hands on your shoulders.

Tears slipped down your cheeks. “I don’t know,” you said earnestly, collapsing onto her shoulder when she pulled you into a tight hug. “I don’t like how this feels, Riah.”

She petted your hair and just held you against her. “Look, I’ll get you a cab. We just need to get you home safe, okay?”

You nodded into her shoulder, still hiccuping.

Once you got back to your apartment, you flopped down across the couch. Against your better judgment, you called Dean. Of course, he didn’t answer, so you left a voicemail. “Hey! Hi, Dee.” Your voice sounded funny because your cheek was pressed against your couch, and you laughed at yourself. “Sorry for calling, I, um—” you swallowed harshly, “I just miss you. A lot. And I don’t know why. ‘Cause I kinda hate you for leaving me, y’know? Like, what the— what the fuck is wrong with you? I’m a catch, okay.” You paused, hiccuping. “And another thing, it’s rude to leave without saying anything. I thought we were better friends than just fuck buddies. Why wouldn’t you— why wouldn’t you say something? Anything?” Sniffles and tears escaped you. “You suck, okay? But also, I miss your dick. Bring it back, okay? But fuck you.” And then, you hung up.

***

Thankfully, you woke up just in time the next day to get to your new job for training. You looked like a complete trainwreck, but you did your best to smooth out your hair and conceal the bags under your eyes on the bus ride there.

You went about working absentmindedly and did your best to smile and joke around with your trainer. After an exhausting day with little time to recount the events of the night before, you went back to your apartment to catch up on sleep. However, your nighttime routine was interrupted by frantic knocks on your door.

“Alright, alright I’m—” You cut yourself off, mouth going slack when you found Dean standing in front of your apartment.

“Dean?” you breathed out.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smirked awkwardly.

You suddenly snapped yourself out of your surprise and became incredibly angry. “You have a lot of fucking nerve showing up here, do you know that? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. Can we— Can we just talk, please?”

“Why should I even give you the time of day?!” you snarked incredulously.

“ ‘Cause you told me you miss me. And my dick,” he tried to charm you.

You scoffed. “What?! No, I didn’t.”

He clicked his tongue. “Yeah, you did. In your voicemail last night.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you remembered flashes of leaving that horrifically embarrassing voicemail. “Oh, fuck.” You dropped your face toward the floor, pinching your temples and thinking. “You’ve got five minutes,” you finally told Dean, letting him into your apartment.

“Look,” Dean began while you closed the door behind him, “I didn’t wanna leave.”

You scoffed again.

“I know. But I had to,” he explained.

“Why?” you asked. “If you had to leave, fine, but why couldn’t you at least call me back?”

“Because this isn’t good! For either of us,” he responded, voice rising slightly.

“Why?!” you pressed. “And what gives you the right to make that decision for me?!”

“Because I can’t give you what you want!” Dean argued. “I can’t stay for longer than a few weeks at a time. I can’t. And I can’t tell you why. And I’m making that decision because I know you won’t make that decision for yourself.”

“You don’t know me, Dean! We hooked up, for like, two fucking weeks!” you laughed incredulously. “I am perfectly capable of making decisions for myself, thank you!”

“I do know you. God, we are so much alike, and that’s just another reason why we don’t fucking work,” he responded. Then, Dean’s voice quieted considerably. “And, sweetheart, it’s not that I don’t want you. ‘Cause I do.”

“But we can’t see each other. ‘Cause you’ll just leave again,” you nodded, hugging yourself protectively.

Dean nodded, his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry I left like I did.”

“I’m sorry I called you,” you told him.

He shook his head, eyes still fixed to the floor. “Don’t be.” Tears began to cloud your vision, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “What are you still doing here, Dean?”

He didn’t respond for a moment. When he finally spoke, your breath caught in your throat. “I don’t wanna leave you.”

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours. Through the rest of the night, the two of you apologized and made up and apologized again with deep kisses, your bodies connecting, and words murmured through shuddering breaths.

***

To your surprise, Dean was still in your bed the next morning with his arms wrapped around you. As much as you were angry at him for a little over two months, the night you shared and words you exchanged had you forgiving him easily.

He hummed, alerting you that he was awake, before promptly pulling you closer to him and burying his face in your neck. You giggled as Dean’s breath tickled your neck, and he peppered kisses against your skin.

“Mornin’,” his deep voice rumbled against you.

“Mm, morning,” you replied, a smile stretching across your face. You bit your lip, and you tugged at Dean’s hair while he sucked a dark mark onto your collar bone. “I better be able to cover that up with my work uniform, or I swear to god, asshole—”

“It’ll be fine,” Dean replied, kissing your collarbone. “You got work today?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “New job.”

“Oh, wow! Good for you,” he told you, picking his face up from your neck.

“Eh, just another gig to make ends meet. Bar this time, though.”

“And the other one you work at’s a—”

“Restaurant—”

“—restaurant, right.”

You smiled at the fact that he remembered. “I’m working, like, fifty hours a week, now. But I gotta keep my lights on, y’know?”

“Jesus, that’s a lot,” Dean grimaced.

“What about you? You never told me what you do for work,” you told him.

“I don’t,” he replied quickly.

“Oh, god. Just what every girl wants to hear,” you joked.

Dean chuckled. “My dad’s settin’ me up to take over the family business since Sammy’s off to be a lawyer, or whatever.”

“Family business?” you prompted, hoping he’d explain a little bit more.

“Yeah,” he responded. You could tell he was dodging your question, but you wouldn’t make him talk if he didn’t want to. “For now, I’m just road-trippin’. Makin’ the most of my youth.”

“Well, I don’t know that hangin’ out with a girl like me is ‘making the most of your youth’,” you joked.

“What?” he replied. “You’re awesome, what are you talking about?”

You shrugged, getting out of your bed. Dean’s eyes followed you as you moved around your room trying to get yourself ready for the work day ahead. “I mean, I ain’t got much. Two bucks to my name, a useless ass college degree, fifty-thousand dollars in debt, and two siblings with a long list of accolades that make me look like literal sewer trash in comparison.”

Dean nodded. “In case you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, I’m pretty much in the same boat.”

You turned to him while you brushed your hair, struck by his words. “Yeah,” you nodded. “I guess you are.” A smile began to tug at your lips. “Makes me feel a little better knowing I’m not the only disappointment to their bloodline out there.”

Dean laughed. “Amen to that.” He then noticed the bottle of beer you’d pulled from the fridge across the small studio apartment from his position on the bed. “Whoa. Little early for that, isn’t it?”

You shrugged, “It’s five o’clock somewhere, I guess,” and took a large swig.

***

That day at work had been okay, and you were exhausted when you got back to your apartment. Dean was coming over, but you told him ahead of time that there would be no sex happening since you needed to get up early the next day. He’d given a petulant yet funny response but seemed eager to get over to you.

And that was how your routine continued for a few days. He would come over after you got off work, you’d have sex, rinse, and repeat. Then, after a particularly rough day, Dean found you indulging in the binge drinking habit you’d adopted.

He burst through the door to your apartment concerned only to find you watching the television with a beer in your hand. “Holy shit, (Y/N), why the fuck didn’t you answer?” Dean then seemed to notice the several empty bottles on your coffee table.

“I just didn’t wanna talk tonight, Dean, take the fucking hint,” you grumbled before finishing off the bottle in your hands.

“Okay, you’re cut off,” he told you, trying to help you up from the couch.

You jerked your arm away from him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Dean seemed angry, but his expression melted into something else. “How long has this been goin’ on?”

You scoffed. “Why do you care?” The words came out slurred. “You’re not my boyfriend or anything.”

“Dammit, (Y/N), that shouldn’t matter,” Dean insisted. “You know this isn’t good for you, right?”

A laugh escaped you. “You said the same thing about you, and you’re still here, aren’t you?”

That caught Dean off-guard, and he was silent, for once.

“Just go away, Dean,” you said quietly.

And he did.

***

The next day, you were horrified by your actions. You called Dean once; no answer. The second time you called, there was still no answer, but you left a voicemail. “Dean? Dean, I’m so sorry. I— I remember what I said to you last night. God, that was fucking horrible of me. Please come back. I’m so sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to you later, please?” You hung up, running a hand through your hair.

You did the only thing you could think to do in the moment and pulled out another beer. Your tolerance had certainly increased since you started binge drinking, and a bottle in the morning had become the equivalent to a cup of coffee.

Against your better judgment, you called out of work. You needed the money from both shifts you were scheduled for today, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go in.

Finally, Dean called back.

“Dean!” you squeaked as soon as you answered the phone. “God, I’m so sorry—”

“I know you are,” he told you. The silence between you was thick; neither of you completely sure what to say. “How long you been actin’ like Lebowski?”

That actually made you laugh despite the perhaps tone-deaf nature of the joke. “Meh, I’ve always liked to drink.” You considered your next words carefully. “It, uh, it started after you left.”

Silence encapsulated the two of you again.

“I’m so sorry,” was all Dean could say to you.

“No, no no!” you said. “It’s not your fault. I’m just a fucking mess, ‘s all.”

“Yeah, but if I would’ve picked up the fucking phone—”

“Dean,” you asserted. “It’s not your fault.”

He sighed heavily. “I’ll be over later, okay?”

“Okay.”

You took the day to try and get yourself together a bit. By the time Dean arrived, the apartment was sparkling, the empty beer bottles were picked up, and your hair and face had been washed.

Dean smirked lopsidedly when he noticed the work you’d been doing. “Good for you, sweetheart.”

***

That night, it was taking both you and Dean much longer than usual to fall asleep.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked him quietly.

“I’m not a good person, (Y/N),” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” you asked, putting your hand on the side of his face. However, he wouldn’t turn it up to look at you. “How could you say that?”

“I shouldn’t have left you,” he said.

“Dean, we already talked about this—”

“No,” he cut you off. “I meant last night.”

“Oh,” you replied, stomach flipping.

“I shouldn’t have left you like that,” Dean reiterated. “I just— I got so angry. ‘Cause you’re right. I’m not good for you. And it’s selfish of me to keep you on the hook like this.”

You felt your heart cracking in your chest. “Dean, I have no idea what we are or what we’ve been doing, but…”

“I know,” he said. “I care about you a lot, too.”

“But we’re not good for each other,” you admitted quietly. “I can’t— I can’t be what you deserve.” You swallowed harshly, tears brimming your eyes. “I’ve got too much shit going on. I can’t—”

Dean cut you off again. “I know,” he said, seeming like he was crying, too. “And I’m gonna have to keep leaving. And I don’t wanna leave. I don’t— I don’t know how to be alone.” Dean’s admission broke your heart, and you grabbed his hand. “I can’t give you a relationship. There’s just— There’s no room in my life for that.”

Your lip was trembling, but you tried your best to force your next words out. “It’s okay,” you said, even though it definitely didn’t feel okay.

“I don’t wanna just keep having sex while you’re in the state you’re in,” Dean continued. “That’s not fair to you.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

He snorted, caught off-guard. “What?”

“Thank you. ‘Cause I wouldn’t have been able to tell you to go,” you said. “You were right.”

“I know you, (Y/N). I see too much of myself in you,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

A long moment passed between the two of you, the only noise coming from the window unit in your apartment.

“I’ll be gone when you wake up,” Dean told you, holding you against him.

As much as your heart was breaking, you stayed resting against Dean’s chest, the rising and falling of it soothing you to sleep.

When the sunlight streamed through the curtains and hit your eyes, you realized Dean followed through with his promise.

***

Four years went by. The first one had dragged as you healed yourself from your addiction and the loss of Dean. Admittedly, you’d tried several times to get in contact with him, but the number had been disconnected. The next year, you began to feel happy again. You’d gotten a steady job, had tons of alcohol-free fun with your friends, and generally had a more positive outlook on life.

That third year, though, your life would change forever. The world of monsters, spirits, and demons was unveiled to you when your sister was found dead. The police arrested her husband since your mother had told them the couple had been having problems in the months leading up to her death, but you knew your brother-in-law wouldn’t do that. Everyone insisted you were just in denial, but your gut told you there was something else going on.

The way she died raised red flags for you, too. It almost looked like she’d been mauled by an animal, and some of her organs were missing. Her husband was a relatively stable person; no way was he capable of something like that. And if he was, where were her organs? Why would he have left her on the living room floor in a pool of her own blood? Why did he call the cops himself? Nothing was adding up in your mind.

As any person desperate for answers would, you turned to a psychic. She introduced you to the idea that your sister had died being attacked by a werewolf. At first, you laughed, insisting she was crazy. When all the evidence was presented to you, though, it was the only explanation that made sense.

From that moment forward, you trained and researched relentlessly to try your hand at hunting. You knew that going it alone would be dangerous, but there wasn’t exactly anyone else in your life you could talk to about what you knew.

The day after you met with the medium, you abandoned your apartment, cell phone, laptop, and car, and hit the road.

A year into your new life of motel rooms and gas station dinners between ghost hunts, your job brought you to Wisconsin where a college athlete drowned in a lake outside her home. You’d already interviewed the girl’s father and brother as well as the local police chief that morning. Around one o’clock, you were starving and headed out of your room to get some lunch.

When you rounded the corner of the building to head to your car parked in the front lot, you slammed into a wall of solid muscle. The man grunted, as did you.

“Oh my god, I’m so—” you cut yourself off when you realized who you were looking at.

“(Y/N)?” he breathed out.

“Hi, Dean.”

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