finished wounds

endings wrapped in 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

[iadoresora]

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝘩𝘪 𝘪’𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘢, 𝘴𝘩𝘦/𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯🗝️ 𝙄𝙣𝙛𝙤: 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪. 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯. 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘰, 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭. 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦．

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 .☘︎ ݁˖ 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙚 .☘︎ ݁˖ 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙨 ✍︎ 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣.☘︎ ݁˖

[iadoresora]

hey it’s me sora and thank youuu for 100 followers

please read the message below :—

Hey everyone, it’s me, Sora. I’m really sorry for disappearing for over a month without any update. There were many reasons behind it, but the main reason was that I needed to focus on my mental health.

Over the past few months, my mental health got really bad. I started having frequent panic attacks where I would completely blank out and even pass out sometimes. My hands would shake constantly, I was struggling a lot with stress, anxiety, and depression, and honestly, things became very overwhelming for me. There were moments where I felt completely hopeless, and I was not doing okay at all. I’ve self harmed myself and also tried to end my life.

I’m still struggling, and I’m still dealing with depression, but I’m doing better than before. I’ve been taking counselling and therapy sessions with my psychologist, and I’m also on medication prescribed by my psychiatrist. Earlier, I was taking around four or five pills, and now it has reduced to two medications. Even then, sleeping has still been difficult for me despite taking sleeping pills.

On top of that, my family situation has also been stressful. I’ve been having a lot of arguments with my dad regarding the college degree I want to pursue because we both want different things for my future. Everything together became too much for me, and I needed time away.

But I’m back now. Writing has always been something very healing and comforting for me, and I genuinely missed being here with all of you. I’m really sorry for not posting or updating stories for so long, but I’ll try my best to be more active and post more frequently again.

Also, thank you so much for all the love and support you’ve given me. We finally reached 100 followers, and that truly means so much to me. I’m definitely planning a surprise for you all, maybe a surprise series or something special.

Thank you for staying patient with me and for supporting me through everything. I love you all so much 🤍

[iadoresora]

never let go/wonwoo

pairing- boyfriend wonwoo x f! reader genre-angst with comfort, misunderstanding, almost breakup,healing though presence wc- 1.3k synopsis- after a midnight argument you walk out angry but wonwoo follows you afraid this goodbye might become permanent. a/n- would recommend listening to never let go by lngshot and ican’teven by the neighbourhood

2:02 AM

The apartment felt too small for the silence growing between you and Wonwoo.

Rain tapped against the windows in uneven rhythms, and the green digits on the digital clock glowed 2:02 AM, sharp and unforgiving. The living room light was warm, but the air felt cold. You stood near the couch with your arms folded tightly across your chest, while Wonwoo leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you quietly as if searching for the safest words to say.

“You always do this,” you said, your voice tight with frustration as you looked directly at him. Your tone was controlled, but your eyes were already shining with hurt. “You shut down when things start to matter.”

Wonwoo lifted his gaze slowly. He spoke softly, almost careful, as if each word needed permission to exist. “I’m listening,” he said in a calm, low voice, his expression restrained but not indifferent.

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t feel like it,” you replied, sounding exhausted more than angry.

He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, hesitant. “I don’t know what you want me to say right now,” he admitted, avoiding your eyes for a second.

You laughed once, bitter and small, turning away as frustration spilled over. “Exactly,” you said, the word heavy with disappointment.

You grabbed your jacket from the chair. The sudden movement made him straighten, concern flickering across his usually calm face.

“Where are you going?” Wonwoo asked, his voice slightly sharper now, his worry for you was slipping through the calm.

“Obviously, going out,” you answered quickly, refusing to look at him. “I need space.”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said softly, taking one step forward as if unsure whether he should follow.

“Yes, I do,” you replied, your voice firm but trembling at the edges. "Fresh air is calling for me.”

The silence that followed felt louder than the rain outside. You reached for the door but deep down you expected Wonwoo to say something but he didn’t. He stood still.

“Fine,” you said quietly, turning back just enough for him to hear. Your voice softened into hurt. “If you don’t know what to say, then don’t say anything.”

The door closed behind you with a sharper sound than you intended.

The rain swallowed you immediately as you stepped out onto the street.Cold drops soaked through your clothes within seconds as you walked fast down the empty street. Streetlights blurred into golden halos on the wet pavement. Your anger burned hot for a moment, then slowly dissolved into something heavier.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and kept walking, breathing unevenly.

Behind you, footsteps splashed through puddles.

“Wait,” a voice called out to you, breathless and urgent.

You stopped and turned. Wonwoo was running toward you without an umbrella, hair damp, his thick rim glasses foggy and clinging to his forehead, his usually composed expression softened by urgency.

“You shouldn’t be out here like this,” he said once he reached you, breathing harder than usual. His voice was low but sincere, filled with concern obvious in the way his eyes searched your face.

You frowned, rain dripping down your lashes. “You followed me?” you asked, your tone defensive but quieter than before.

“I didn’t want you walking alone,” he answered immediately, speaking with quiet certainty.

You looked away, hurt resurfacing. “You didn’t look like you cared back there,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly.

“I did,” he said quickly, stepping closer. His tone carried more emotion now, less restraint.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, turning back to face him. Your words came out tired rather than accusing.

He opened his mouth but paused, then closed it again. The hesitation stung.

You shook your head and started to walk past him. “Forget it,” you muttered in a way your voice sounded small and defeated. You started walking again but then, you felt a hand reaching out instinctively and wrapped gently around your wrist. It was Wonwoo’s, his touch was warm despite the rain, it felt careful and a bit hesitant rather than forceful.

“Please,” Wonwoo said softly, his voice almost swallowed by the storm. His eyes held yours, vulnerable and earnest. “Don’t go angry.”

You froze.

You glanced down at his hand, then back at his face. “I’m not angry,” you whispered, though your tone betrayed uncertainty.

He let out a quiet breath, almost a sad laugh. “You’re walking through heavy rain at two in the morning,” he said gently, his voice laced with worry. “You’re not okay.”

The rain fell harder around you, but neither of you moved.

“You shut me out,” you said after a long pause, your voice softer now, eyes lowered. “I never know what you’re feeling.”

Wonwoo’s grip loosened slightly, his thumb brushing your wrist unconsciously. He spoke slowly, choosing honesty over perfection. “I go quiet because I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing,” he confessed, his voice barely above the rain.

“That silence feels like distance,” you replied, looking up at him with tired eyes.

“I know,” he said, nodding once. His voice carried quiet regret.

He swallowed before continuing, his gaze steady now. “When you’re upset, I start thinking about how to fix it. Then I overthink everything… and I freeze.”

You studied him, your anger slowly melting into understanding and patience with him.

“You make it hard to read you,” you said softly, your voice gentler now. “Sometimes I think you don’t care.”

His expression shifted, pain flickering briefly across his face. “I care too much,” he said quietly, his voice thick with honesty.

The words settled heavily between you.

Rain dripped from his lashes as he stepped closer. His voice softened further. “When you walked out, it felt like something was slipping away. I couldn’t just stand there.”

Your breath caught.

The city felt distant, muted by the storm. His hand moved from your wrist to your hand, fingers intertwining carefully, as if asking permission without words.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you murmured, your tone gentle now.

“I’m not trying to fix it,” he replied softly, looking directly into your eyes. “I just didn’t want you to leave like that.”

The rain cooled your skin, but warmth spread through your chest.

“So what now?” you asked quietly, voice small and uncertain.

He hesitated, then answered honestly, his voice calm but emotional underneath. “Now we stand here until you’re ready to come back.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

You stepped closer without thinking. His free hand lifted slowly, brushing wet hair away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Neither of you kissed because the moment felt too fragile for that.

You leaned your forehead lightly against his shoulder. He exhaled slowly, relief softening his posture.

“I’m still upset,” you whispered, your voice muffled but honest.

“That’s okay,” he said quietly, his tone warm and steady. “Just don’t disappear.”

The rain continued around you, heavy but no longer harsh.

After a while, you started walking back together, hands still linked. Your footsteps fell into the same rhythm, quiet and unspoken.

No apologies were spoken aloud and no confessions were fully finished.

But when your fingers tightened around his hand, he squeezed back instantly, as if promising silently that he was still there.

And this time, neither of you let go.

[iadoresora]

interlaced/mingyu

pairing-boyfriend mingyu x f! reader genre- fluff, non idol au, established relationship wc- 0.85k synopsis- just a casual walk with your boyfriend and him holding your hand.

The evening air is cool enough to notice but not enough to complain about. The streetlights flicker on one by one as you and Mingyu walk side by side, the sidewalk familiar beneath your feet. There is no destination that matters. You are just walking because it is what you do together when the day ends.

Your hands hang at your sides, close but not touching. Every few steps, your knuckles brush his. Not enough to count as holding hands. Enough to be intentional.

Mingyu notices first. He always does.

He slows his pace without announcing it, adjusting to the shorter rhythm of your steps. You catch it, the way his long stride shortens like muscle memory responding before thought. It makes something warm settle in your chest.

“You tired?” he asks, glancing down at you.

You shake your head. “Just enjoying this.”

He hums in acknowledgment, a soft sound that says he understands exactly what you mean.

A breeze passes, cool against your fingers. You flex them once, unconsciously. Mingyu’s hand shifts closer, his pinky brushing yours again. This time, it lingers. Neither of you look down.

“Your hands are cold,” he says.

You shrug. “They’re fine.”

He does not argue. He simply curls his pinky around yours, tentative at first, giving you space to pull away if you want. You do not. Your fingers hook back, fitting easily, like this is how they were always meant to rest.

Mingyu exhales softly, the tension leaving his shoulders as your hands connect fully. He slides his fingers between yours, palm to palm. His hand is warm, broad, familiar. The kind of warmth that does not rush, just stays.

You walk like that for a while, hands swinging slightly between you. Each step matches now. His thumb rubs slow circles against your knuckles, absentminded, soothing. You know he does it when he is content.

A cyclist passes too close, the rush of air sudden. Mingyu tightens his grip instantly, pulling you half a step closer to him. His body angles just enough to put himself between you and the street.

“You okay?” he asks, already looking down at you.

You nod, squeezing his hand once in reassurance. His grip loosens but does not let go.

“Next time,” you tease gently, “you’re going to pick me up and carry me away.”

He snorts, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I could.”

“I know,” you say, smiling.

You turn down a quieter street, houses lined with warm windows and low fences. Somewhere nearby, someone is cooking dinner. The smell drifts through the air, comforting.

Mingyu shifts your joined hands, adjusting his grip so your fingers rest more comfortably. You notice the way he always does that, small corrections to make things easier for you. He tugs his sleeve down when it rides up, then uses his free hand to smooth it back into place.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you murmur.

He glances at you, confused. “I’m not fixing. I’m just making sure you’re warm.”

His voice is simple, sincere. Like it never occurred to him that this could be anything else.

You stop at a crosswalk, the light red. Mingyu stops with you, still holding your hand. He does not release it even when you are no longer walking. Instead, he shifts closer, your shoulders nearly touching. Your hands rest between you now, his thumb tracing the lines of your palm slowly.

You look down at it, at the way his fingers fit so naturally with yours.

“What?” you ask, feeling his gaze.

“Nothing,” he says. Then, after a pause, “Your hands are smaller than I remember.”

You laugh quietly. “They haven’t changed.”

He shrugs. “Feels different every time.”

The light changes. You step forward together.

As you walk, Mingyu switches your joined hands to his other side so you are farther from the road. You notice because you always notice these things. He does not comment on it. He never does.

Your fingers squeeze his twice, a habit that started without discussion. It means thank you. It means I see you.

He squeezes back once, firm and steady. Always once.

The path curves into a small park, gravel crunching underfoot. The streetlights give way to softer lamps. Mingyu guides you instinctively around a rough patch in the path, his hand firm, his movements gentle.

“You’re very focused,” you say lightly.

“Someone has to be,” he replies, smiling down at you.

You sit on a bench for a moment, shoulders brushing. Mingyu keeps holding your hand, lifting it to rub warmth back into your fingers with both of his. His touch is careful, deliberate. Service in its quietest form.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m really good.”

When you stand again, he laces your fingers together without looking, like it is a continuation rather than a decision. You start walking back toward home, steps slow, hands steady between you.

There are no big words. No declarations.

Just the weight of his hand in yours, constant and sure, carrying everything that does not need to be said.

-the end

[iadoresora]

constellations on my skin/joshua

pairing-classmate joshua x f! reader genre- highschool au, non idol au, mental health fiction, highschool friends, hurt/comfort and coming of age mental health focus- emotional overwhelm, Self-harm as an unhealthy coping mechanism, depression, isolation, Shame and secrecy around pain warning-(mild) non-graphic self-harm references and self harm scar cover up wc- 3.1k synopsis- you cover your scars and marks on hands in stars, constellation, and doodling to keep the world from asking questions. one afternoon, joshua sits beside you anyway, and somehow the quiet between you begins to feel lighter and the next day he surprises you with a plan a/n-this is long and sorta poorly written 😭but please bare with me and consider reading it, commenting your thoughts and reblogging it

The canteen was loud today. Trays clatter, someone drops a fork, and laughter bounces off the walls. You sit in the corner, backpack spilled open, a rainbow of pens and brushes around you. Your notebook is open, and your hand moves fast, filling the page with stars, tiny planets, and flowers.

“Wow, look at all those pens,” a girl whispers as she passes, nudging her friend.

“She’s obsessed,” the friend laughs. “Last week, she had all those colors on her arms. Kinda cool, right?”

You bite your lip, letting them pass. Most people don’t see the real reason you draw on your arms and skin. They think it’s just for fun. They don’t see that it’s a shield, a way to keep the noise and the weight inside from spilling out.

Joshua slides into the seat across from you. His tray clatters softly, a sound that seems quieter than the rest of the room. He doesn’t comment on the pens, the brushes, or the chaos around you. He just watches your hand move back and forth once in the page and then on your hands, a small crease forming between his brows.

“You really like space, huh?” he asks, tilting his head.

You shrug, a little stiff. “Yeah… it’s calming.”

He nods, leaning back just enough to give you room. “Calming how?” His voice isn’t pushy. There’s care in it, the kind that lets you decide how much to give.

You pause, glancing at the page. Usually, you’d laugh and say something vague, like, “Just doodling.” But with him, it feels safe enough to be honest. “It’s easier to… make something pretty than deal with everything else. Making skies on my skin and hands makes it look less of a battlefield,” you say softly, fingers hovering over the notebook.

He doesn’t say anything right away. He waits. You can feel the silence stretch, but it’s not uncomfortable. He’s giving you space.

“Then you’re doing a good job,” he finally says, voice low, gentle. “Your sky looks… endless.”

You blink at him, and a small, shy smile curls at the corner of your lips. “Thanks,” you murmur, turning back to your page, adding another tiny star. Your hand trembles slightly, but you keep going.

Around you, the chatter continues. Laughter, gossip, the clatter of trays. You usually feel the walls closing in, the weight of all those eyes noticing but not really seeing. But Joshua’s presence… it makes the room fade into the background. He doesn’t laugh at you, doesn’t ask why you have so many pens. He just notices.

A few moments pass. Joshua shifts slightly in his seat. “Do you… want to see some of my doodles?” he asks, lifting his notebook just enough to show you.

Curiosity wins, and you nod. “Sure.”

He flips the page to a mess of uneven stars, crooked planets, constellations that don’t quite connect. “Not as neat as yours,” he admits, shrugging.

You lean forward, studying the page. “Imperfect stars are still stars,” you say softly.

He smiles, the kind that touches his eyes. “Guess that makes mine… okay then.” His gaze lingers on you, but he doesn’t hover.

“Do you ever… share these with anyone?” he asks after a pause.

You shake your head. “Not really. People like the look, but they don’t see the rest. It’s easier to just make something pretty.” Your fingers trace a line you drew yesterday on your wrist, a swirl of ink layered over faded lines from last week.

Joshua nods, quiet, understanding more than he asks for. He doesn’t need the full story. He sees enough to know this isn’t just art, it's a kind of armor, fragile but brave.

“You know,” he says finally, softly, carefully, “I think it’s kind of brave. Showing all that… and keeping it to yourself at the same time.”

Your eyes meet his. For a second, you want to look away, but there’s something in his gaze that makes it safe to stay.

“I… I guess it’s easier to control the sky than the storms,” you whisper. Almost to yourself, almost hoping he won’t hear.

Joshua tilts his head, lips curling just a little. “Then maybe you don’t have to control it all alone.”

You swallow, eyes dropping to your notebook. The colors blur under your fingers. It’s strange hearing someone say it out loud, like he sees something you’ve tried so hard to hide. You bite your lip, hesitating. “I… I don’t know how,” you admit, voice almost a whisper. “Sometimes it just… gets really loud in my head. And I… I do things I know aren’t right, things that I shouldn’t.”

His gaze softens, careful but steady. “You don’t have to explain everything,” he says. “Not right now. But I want to understand, if you’re willing.”

You shake your head, ashamed. “I don’t even know how to say it properly. People would just… think I’m weak or… or I like it. I don’t. I hate that I feel this way sometimes. I’m supposed to be able to handle it, but it’s… it’s like I can’t.”

Joshua leans slightly closer, resting an elbow on the table without breaking the quiet. “It’s not about weakness,” he says softly. “Everyone has storms. Some people just hide them better. I can’t fix it, but I can… notice. I can be here.”

Your hands hover over your notebook, trembling a little. You shift the sleeve of your sweater, trying to cover the pale marks along your arm, the faint redness in a few spots that you’ve been so careful to hide. Your chest feels tight, but there’s something in the way he doesn’t flinch or look away that makes it easier to breathe.

“Most days, I just… try to draw over it,” you whisper. “Make something pretty so nobody sees the rest. But it doesn’t really go away. I feel guilty for even thinking about it.”

Joshua reaches out slowly, resting his hand lightly over yours, not pushing, just acknowledging. His touch is steady, calm. “Then maybe tomorrow we can do something different,” he says. “There’s that leisure period, almost three hours. We can… do whatever you want. No pressure, no one else. Just… a day to make something better than just covering things up.”

You look up at him, a small spark of hope in your chest. It feels almost fragile, but it’s there. “You really think…” you start, voice catching.

“I think we can try,” he says quietly. “Even small things matter. You don’t have to face everything alone.”

He stands then, grabbing his tray, giving you a small, warm smile before walking away. You watch him go, notebook in hand, heart a little lighter. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself imagine that maybe tomorrow, just maybe, you could make a memory that isn’t weighed down by shame or fear. Maybe tomorrow, you could feel the sky a little brighter.

the next day

The classroom feels unusually still during the leisure period. The hallway outside is full of scattered laughter and distant footsteps, but inside the room most of the desks are empty. A few chairs are pushed aside where people rushed out earlier to spend the free time wherever they wanted. Some are probably outside on the field, others leaning against corridor railings, talking too loudly about things that will not matter by tomorrow.

You stayed back.

Your notebook lies open in front of you, but you are not really drawing anymore. Your fingers rest loosely around a pen while your leg shakes restlessly beneath the desk. Every now and then your eyes flick toward the door before returning to the little constellations scattered across your hands. The stars and tiny planets you drew this morning stretch across your skin, overlapping in careful layers, hiding the faint pale marks underneath. You added more before coming to class today, just in case someone looked too closely. Just in case the quiet parts of you became visible again.

You trace the outline of a small star near your wrist and let out a slow breath.

Then footsteps approach the doorway.

You look up before you can stop yourself.

Joshua appears in the entrance with sunlight behind him and a canvas bag hanging from his shoulder. The moment his eyes find you, his expression softens into the same bright smile you remember from yesterday. Something about it immediately settles the nervous knot in your chest.

“Hey,” he says, stepping inside the room.

You straighten slightly in your chair and return a small smile. “Hey.”

Joshua pulls the chair beside you and drops the bag gently onto the desk. His eyes briefly scan the quiet classroom before settling on your hands, the new stars glimmering faintly where the ink caught the light.

“You waited here,” he says, sounding quietly pleased.

You shrug, trying to keep your voice casual even though your leg is still bouncing beneath the table. “It’s quieter than outside.”

Joshua nods slowly like that explanation makes perfect sense. Then he taps the bag with a small, excited grin.

“I told you yesterday I was planning something.”

Curiosity flickers across your face immediately. “You did. What is it?”

Joshua unzips the bag and begins placing things on the desk between you. First a box of glitter pens appears, the colors catching the light from the window. Then sheets of glitter stickers shaped like stars, moons, and tiny constellations. Finally he sets down a pack of rhinestone stickers that sparkle softly in pale blues and silvers.

The desk slowly fills with shimmering little things.

You stare at them for a moment, completely caught off guard. “Joshua… why all this?”

He rubs the back of his neck briefly, looking a little shy about the whole display. “Yesterday you said you draw the sky on your skin so it feels less like a battlefield,” he replies gently, his gaze drifting to your arms where the new doodles stretch across your hands and wrists. “So I thought if you’re building a sky… maybe we could make it brighter.”

For a moment you simply look at the things he brought, your chest tightening in a way you cannot quite explain. No one has ever responded to your drawings like this before. People either compliment them without thinking or pretend they are not there. But Joshua showed up with an entire bag of ways to add more stars.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur quietly.

Joshua shrugs, though the warmth in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I wanted to.”

He picks up one of the glitter pens and turns it slowly between his fingers before glancing toward you again. “Can I draw one?”

You hesitate for a brief second before extending your hand across the desk toward him.

Joshua takes your wrist lightly, careful and gentle, like he is asking permission even in the way he holds it. The pen touches your skin and leaves behind a small shimmering line.

He draws a star first.

Then another beside it.

Then a faint curved line connecting the two.

You watch him work, noticing how focused he looks as he finishes the tiny constellation.

“What is it?” you ask softly.

Joshua leans back slightly to look at his work before answering. “It’s supposed to be a guiding star,” he explains, tapping the small cluster he just drew. “You know how people used stars to find their way when they were lost?”

You nod slowly.

“So I figured,” he continues, his voice gentle, “if things ever get loud again… maybe this star can remind you that you’re not completely drifting.”

Your eyes linger on the tiny constellation glittering faintly on your hand.

“That’s… really nice,” you say quietly.

Joshua caps the pen and slides it toward you before rolling up the sleeve of his uniform shirt. He places his arm on the desk between you with a small grin.

“Your turn.”

You glance at him with mild disbelief. “You trust me with that?”

He laughs softly. “I trust your artistic vision.”

You pick up the pen and hover it above his arm, thinking carefully for a moment before beginning to draw. A small circle forms first. Inside it you place a single star. Then you add a few faint curved lines around it, creating something that looks like a gentle orbit.

Joshua watches quietly while you finish.

“What does that one mean?” he asks.

You lift the pen away and study the drawing before answering. “Sometimes when everything feels like it’s falling apart,” you explain softly, “it helps to know something is still staying close. Even if everything else moves.”

Joshua glances down at the little star surrounded by its orbit.

“So this one isn’t alone,” he says thoughtfully.

You shake your head slightly. “No.”

Joshua looks back up at you and smiles, and for the first time in what feels like a very long time, you return the smile without forcing it. It’s warm and genuine, and it surprises even you.

Joshua notices immediately.

“There it is,” he murmurs.

You blink. “What?”

“That smile,” he replies quietly. “It suits you more than the quiet one you wear most days.”

You glance away quickly, suddenly self conscious.

Joshua reaches for the sheet of stickers and carefully peels off a tiny silver star. He presses it lightly near your wrist, right beside the constellation he drew earlier.

“These are extra stars,” he explains.

You raise an eyebrow. “Extra?”

“In case the sky needs backup,” he says with a small grin.

You laugh softly and pick up one of the rhinestone stickers from the sheet. Instead of placing it on his arm, you lean forward slightly and press it just beneath his eye.

Joshua freezes for a second before laughing.

“Well that’s new,” he says.

“It looks good,” you insist.

He shakes his head in amusement before peeling another sticker and placing it in the same spot beneath your eye.

“Now we match,” he says.

For a moment the two of you sit quietly, the classroom filled with warm sunlight and the faint sparkle of tiny stars scattered across the desk.

Joshua’s expression softens slightly as he studies your hands again.

“You know,” he says gently, “life can get really heavy sometimes.”

You nod slowly.

“People develop ways to cope with that weight,” he continues. “Sometimes those ways aren’t the healthiest ones. But most of the time it just means someone is trying to survive something.”

Your gaze drops to your hands.

“I know hurting myself or cutting my skin isn’t right,” you admit quietly. “I hate that it even crosses my mind sometimes and I use this as a coping mechanism when things mess up or I feel I did something wrong when it wasn’t even my fault .It’s really difficult and hard to explain and to declutter my feelings as well as thoughts.But when everything gets loud… I don’t know where to put all that pain so when I bleed I feel a sense of odd relief which is not good, but works for me.”

Joshua listens carefully before responding. He lifts your hand slightly, looking at the stars covering your skin.

“Your skin is still yours,” he says softly. “Paper is just paper. You can cut paper and nothing happens because it isn’t alive.”

His voice grows gentler, “But you are alive. And living things deserve care.”

The words settle somewhere deep in your chest.

Joshua reaches into his bag one more time and pulls out something small before placing it in your palm. It’s a soft textured stress ring that fits easily around your finger.

“Next time things feel overwhelming,” he says, “try this first. Roll it, squeeze it, draw more stars, put another sticker somewhere… anything that gives you a moment before the urge gets too strong.”

You turn the ring slowly between your fingers.

“I’ll try,” you whisper.

Joshua smiles warmly. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

For a while neither of you says anything. Sunlight spills across the desk and catches the glitter on your skin, making the tiny stars shimmer softly. You look down at your hands again, at the constellation Joshua drew earlier, and something inside you loosens just a little.

Joshua notices the way you’re staring at it.

“Still thinking about it?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

“It’s strange,” you admit. “Usually when I look at my hands I just see the parts I’m trying to hide. But today it just looks like… a sky.”

Joshua’s smile softens at that.

“That’s because it is,” he says.

You glance at him.

“A sky can have storms,” he continues gently. “But it still belongs to the stars too.”

Your chest tightens slightly at the quiet kindness in his voice.

Without really thinking, you ask softly, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Joshua seems surprised by the question at first. Then he reaches out and lightly brushes a few strands of hair away from your forehead before giving your head a gentle, affectionate pat.

The gesture is simple, but it feels strangely comforting.

“Because you deserve it,” he says.

You blink, caught off guard.

Joshua keeps his voice calm and steady. “You’re someone who feels things deeply. People like that often carry more pain than others see.”

He taps the little star he drew on your hand.

“But feeling deeply also means you can create beautiful things out of that pain. Like this sky.”

Your throat tightens again.

“So don’t be so quick to hurt yourself,” he adds softly. “The world already has enough things that break people. You don’t have to be one of them.”

You lower your gaze, quietly absorbing the words.

Joshua gives your head one more gentle pat before leaning back in his chair.

Outside, the bell rings faintly in the distance, signaling the end of the leisure period. Voices begin filling the hallway again as students start returning to their classrooms.

But for a moment longer, you stay exactly where you are.

Your hands rest on the desk, covered in new stars and tiny stickers that sparkle in the sunlight. The stress ring sits around your finger, cool and steady.

And when you look at the constellation Joshua drew earlier, you realize something small but important.

For the first time in a long time, the sky you carry with you doesn’t feel like something you have to face alone.

[jwonstcr-deactivated20260318]

heeseung’s decision to leave the group and continue as a solo artist is something i deeply respect. however, i can’t help but wonder how much of this decision is his own and not because of the company’s pressure. we are all divided on this topic, i know. but could heeseung not make solo music while staying in enhypen, like so many other k-pop idols have done?

enha’s contract is ending next year. if heeseung really wanted to continue as a solo artist, he could do that by not renewing his contract with belift. however, the fact that the announcement came at such a time—literally on a random tuesday when everything was going alright—makes it feel strange. i can’t help but think it’s fishy, or maybe i am just thinking too much. though i can’t help myself.

i have grown up with enha. i remember watching i-land after coming back from school. i remember voting for niki like a madman. i remember being so happy when all seven members were announced. i entered k-pop through girl’s generation in late 2013 and then moved on to bts, txt, and ultimately i found my home in enhypen when they were created.

i used to watch their lives even when i was getting late for school or had an exam. these seven boys always felt like my lucky charm, my safe space when the world got too loud. so many things changed in my life ever since then, but enhypen—those seven boys who are far too loud and passionate—were my constant. sometimes i would join streaming parties with my friends, listen to their albums on repeat so i could tell everyone which song i liked the most and which one i didn’t.

while i know things shift and people change, heeseung’s departure feels personal to me because he is one of the members i have always felt emotionally connected to. warm, steady, and mature—he is someone with the right amount of humour and maturity that makes him so...admirable. his passion for his music, his humility, his kindness—all of things which i have always admired in heeseung, all of the qualities a long of artists have but don’t carry it the way he does.

maybe i am thinking too much. maybe i am simply a fool for feeling so concerned when i know idols leave their groups on their own for various reasons all the time. but at the same time, i can’t pretend and say it’s alright, as if his decision makes sense—perhaps it does, at some point, though there are a lot of unanswered questions. even if the decision was his or not, if something happened between the members—which i’m praying is not the case—or if it’s just belift being a bitchass label as always.

the fact still remains: the announcement was abrupt and strange. it came out at a time when they were thriving and had so much planned ahead as a group of seven members, not six. i will make peace with the decision someday, but engenes, like me, can’t help but raise questions. to address them or not is ultimately heeseung’s or belift’s choice. all we can hope for is that everyone stays safe and healthy.

also, please refrain from saying hurtful things to anyone. we are all entitled to our own opinions and feelings. nobody is forcing their feelings down your throats.

logging off,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎─── lian.

[iadoresora]

constellations on my skin/joshua

pairing-classmate joshua x f! reader genre- highschool au, non idol au, mental health fiction, highschool friends, hurt/comfort and coming of age mental health focus- emotional overwhelm, Self-harm as an unhealthy coping mechanism, depression, isolation, Shame and secrecy around pain warning-(mild) non-graphic self-harm references and self harm scar cover up wc- 3.1k synopsis- you cover your scars and marks on hands in stars, constellation, and doodling to keep the world from asking questions. one afternoon, joshua sits beside you anyway, and somehow the quiet between you begins to feel lighter and the next day he surprises you with a plan a/n-this is long and sorta poorly written 😭but please bare with me and consider reading it, commenting your thoughts and reblogging it

The canteen was loud today. Trays clatter, someone drops a fork, and laughter bounces off the walls. You sit in the corner, backpack spilled open, a rainbow of pens and brushes around you. Your notebook is open, and your hand moves fast, filling the page with stars, tiny planets, and flowers.

“Wow, look at all those pens,” a girl whispers as she passes, nudging her friend.

“She’s obsessed,” the friend laughs. “Last week, she had all those colors on her arms. Kinda cool, right?”

You bite your lip, letting them pass. Most people don’t see the real reason you draw on your arms and skin. They think it’s just for fun. They don’t see that it’s a shield, a way to keep the noise and the weight inside from spilling out.

Joshua slides into the seat across from you. His tray clatters softly, a sound that seems quieter than the rest of the room. He doesn’t comment on the pens, the brushes, or the chaos around you. He just watches your hand move back and forth once in the page and then on your hands, a small crease forming between his brows.

“You really like space, huh?” he asks, tilting his head.

You shrug, a little stiff. “Yeah… it’s calming.”

He nods, leaning back just enough to give you room. “Calming how?” His voice isn’t pushy. There’s care in it, the kind that lets you decide how much to give.

You pause, glancing at the page. Usually, you’d laugh and say something vague, like, “Just doodling.” But with him, it feels safe enough to be honest. “It’s easier to… make something pretty than deal with everything else. Making skies on my skin and hands makes it look less of a battlefield,” you say softly, fingers hovering over the notebook.

He doesn’t say anything right away. He waits. You can feel the silence stretch, but it’s not uncomfortable. He’s giving you space.

“Then you’re doing a good job,” he finally says, voice low, gentle. “Your sky looks… endless.”

You blink at him, and a small, shy smile curls at the corner of your lips. “Thanks,” you murmur, turning back to your page, adding another tiny star. Your hand trembles slightly, but you keep going.

Around you, the chatter continues. Laughter, gossip, the clatter of trays. You usually feel the walls closing in, the weight of all those eyes noticing but not really seeing. But Joshua’s presence… it makes the room fade into the background. He doesn’t laugh at you, doesn’t ask why you have so many pens. He just notices.

A few moments pass. Joshua shifts slightly in his seat. “Do you… want to see some of my doodles?” he asks, lifting his notebook just enough to show you.

Curiosity wins, and you nod. “Sure.”

He flips the page to a mess of uneven stars, crooked planets, constellations that don’t quite connect. “Not as neat as yours,” he admits, shrugging.

You lean forward, studying the page. “Imperfect stars are still stars,” you say softly.

He smiles, the kind that touches his eyes. “Guess that makes mine… okay then.” His gaze lingers on you, but he doesn’t hover.

“Do you ever… share these with anyone?” he asks after a pause.

You shake your head. “Not really. People like the look, but they don’t see the rest. It’s easier to just make something pretty.” Your fingers trace a line you drew yesterday on your wrist, a swirl of ink layered over faded lines from last week.

Joshua nods, quiet, understanding more than he asks for. He doesn’t need the full story. He sees enough to know this isn’t just art, it's a kind of armor, fragile but brave.

“You know,” he says finally, softly, carefully, “I think it’s kind of brave. Showing all that… and keeping it to yourself at the same time.”

Your eyes meet his. For a second, you want to look away, but there’s something in his gaze that makes it safe to stay.

“I… I guess it’s easier to control the sky than the storms,” you whisper. Almost to yourself, almost hoping he won’t hear.

Joshua tilts his head, lips curling just a little. “Then maybe you don’t have to control it all alone.”

You swallow, eyes dropping to your notebook. The colors blur under your fingers. It’s strange hearing someone say it out loud, like he sees something you’ve tried so hard to hide. You bite your lip, hesitating. “I… I don’t know how,” you admit, voice almost a whisper. “Sometimes it just… gets really loud in my head. And I… I do things I know aren’t right, things that I shouldn’t.”

His gaze softens, careful but steady. “You don’t have to explain everything,” he says. “Not right now. But I want to understand, if you’re willing.”

You shake your head, ashamed. “I don’t even know how to say it properly. People would just… think I’m weak or… or I like it. I don’t. I hate that I feel this way sometimes. I’m supposed to be able to handle it, but it’s… it’s like I can’t.”

Joshua leans slightly closer, resting an elbow on the table without breaking the quiet. “It’s not about weakness,” he says softly. “Everyone has storms. Some people just hide them better. I can’t fix it, but I can… notice. I can be here.”

Your hands hover over your notebook, trembling a little. You shift the sleeve of your sweater, trying to cover the pale marks along your arm, the faint redness in a few spots that you’ve been so careful to hide. Your chest feels tight, but there’s something in the way he doesn’t flinch or look away that makes it easier to breathe.

“Most days, I just… try to draw over it,” you whisper. “Make something pretty so nobody sees the rest. But it doesn’t really go away. I feel guilty for even thinking about it.”

Joshua reaches out slowly, resting his hand lightly over yours, not pushing, just acknowledging. His touch is steady, calm. “Then maybe tomorrow we can do something different,” he says. “There’s that leisure period, almost three hours. We can… do whatever you want. No pressure, no one else. Just… a day to make something better than just covering things up.”

You look up at him, a small spark of hope in your chest. It feels almost fragile, but it’s there. “You really think…” you start, voice catching.

“I think we can try,” he says quietly. “Even small things matter. You don’t have to face everything alone.”

He stands then, grabbing his tray, giving you a small, warm smile before walking away. You watch him go, notebook in hand, heart a little lighter. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself imagine that maybe tomorrow, just maybe, you could make a memory that isn’t weighed down by shame or fear. Maybe tomorrow, you could feel the sky a little brighter.

the next day

The classroom feels unusually still during the leisure period. The hallway outside is full of scattered laughter and distant footsteps, but inside the room most of the desks are empty. A few chairs are pushed aside where people rushed out earlier to spend the free time wherever they wanted. Some are probably outside on the field, others leaning against corridor railings, talking too loudly about things that will not matter by tomorrow.

You stayed back.

Your notebook lies open in front of you, but you are not really drawing anymore. Your fingers rest loosely around a pen while your leg shakes restlessly beneath the desk. Every now and then your eyes flick toward the door before returning to the little constellations scattered across your hands. The stars and tiny planets you drew this morning stretch across your skin, overlapping in careful layers, hiding the faint pale marks underneath. You added more before coming to class today, just in case someone looked too closely. Just in case the quiet parts of you became visible again.

You trace the outline of a small star near your wrist and let out a slow breath.

Then footsteps approach the doorway.

You look up before you can stop yourself.

Joshua appears in the entrance with sunlight behind him and a canvas bag hanging from his shoulder. The moment his eyes find you, his expression softens into the same bright smile you remember from yesterday. Something about it immediately settles the nervous knot in your chest.

“Hey,” he says, stepping inside the room.

You straighten slightly in your chair and return a small smile. “Hey.”

Joshua pulls the chair beside you and drops the bag gently onto the desk. His eyes briefly scan the quiet classroom before settling on your hands, the new stars glimmering faintly where the ink caught the light.

“You waited here,” he says, sounding quietly pleased.

You shrug, trying to keep your voice casual even though your leg is still bouncing beneath the table. “It’s quieter than outside.”

Joshua nods slowly like that explanation makes perfect sense. Then he taps the bag with a small, excited grin.

“I told you yesterday I was planning something.”

Curiosity flickers across your face immediately. “You did. What is it?”

Joshua unzips the bag and begins placing things on the desk between you. First a box of glitter pens appears, the colors catching the light from the window. Then sheets of glitter stickers shaped like stars, moons, and tiny constellations. Finally he sets down a pack of rhinestone stickers that sparkle softly in pale blues and silvers.

The desk slowly fills with shimmering little things.

You stare at them for a moment, completely caught off guard. “Joshua… why all this?”

He rubs the back of his neck briefly, looking a little shy about the whole display. “Yesterday you said you draw the sky on your skin so it feels less like a battlefield,” he replies gently, his gaze drifting to your arms where the new doodles stretch across your hands and wrists. “So I thought if you’re building a sky… maybe we could make it brighter.”

For a moment you simply look at the things he brought, your chest tightening in a way you cannot quite explain. No one has ever responded to your drawings like this before. People either compliment them without thinking or pretend they are not there. But Joshua showed up with an entire bag of ways to add more stars.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur quietly.

Joshua shrugs, though the warmth in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I wanted to.”

He picks up one of the glitter pens and turns it slowly between his fingers before glancing toward you again. “Can I draw one?”

You hesitate for a brief second before extending your hand across the desk toward him.

Joshua takes your wrist lightly, careful and gentle, like he is asking permission even in the way he holds it. The pen touches your skin and leaves behind a small shimmering line.

He draws a star first.

Then another beside it.

Then a faint curved line connecting the two.

You watch him work, noticing how focused he looks as he finishes the tiny constellation.

“What is it?” you ask softly.

Joshua leans back slightly to look at his work before answering. “It’s supposed to be a guiding star,” he explains, tapping the small cluster he just drew. “You know how people used stars to find their way when they were lost?”

You nod slowly.

“So I figured,” he continues, his voice gentle, “if things ever get loud again… maybe this star can remind you that you’re not completely drifting.”

Your eyes linger on the tiny constellation glittering faintly on your hand.

“That’s… really nice,” you say quietly.

Joshua caps the pen and slides it toward you before rolling up the sleeve of his uniform shirt. He places his arm on the desk between you with a small grin.

“Your turn.”

You glance at him with mild disbelief. “You trust me with that?”

He laughs softly. “I trust your artistic vision.”

You pick up the pen and hover it above his arm, thinking carefully for a moment before beginning to draw. A small circle forms first. Inside it you place a single star. Then you add a few faint curved lines around it, creating something that looks like a gentle orbit.

Joshua watches quietly while you finish.

“What does that one mean?” he asks.

You lift the pen away and study the drawing before answering. “Sometimes when everything feels like it’s falling apart,” you explain softly, “it helps to know something is still staying close. Even if everything else moves.”

Joshua glances down at the little star surrounded by its orbit.

“So this one isn’t alone,” he says thoughtfully.

You shake your head slightly. “No.”

Joshua looks back up at you and smiles, and for the first time in what feels like a very long time, you return the smile without forcing it. It’s warm and genuine, and it surprises even you.

Joshua notices immediately.

“There it is,” he murmurs.

You blink. “What?”

“That smile,” he replies quietly. “It suits you more than the quiet one you wear most days.”

You glance away quickly, suddenly self conscious.

Joshua reaches for the sheet of stickers and carefully peels off a tiny silver star. He presses it lightly near your wrist, right beside the constellation he drew earlier.

“These are extra stars,” he explains.

You raise an eyebrow. “Extra?”

“In case the sky needs backup,” he says with a small grin.

You laugh softly and pick up one of the rhinestone stickers from the sheet. Instead of placing it on his arm, you lean forward slightly and press it just beneath his eye.

Joshua freezes for a second before laughing.

“Well that’s new,” he says.

“It looks good,” you insist.

He shakes his head in amusement before peeling another sticker and placing it in the same spot beneath your eye.

“Now we match,” he says.

For a moment the two of you sit quietly, the classroom filled with warm sunlight and the faint sparkle of tiny stars scattered across the desk.

Joshua’s expression softens slightly as he studies your hands again.

“You know,” he says gently, “life can get really heavy sometimes.”

You nod slowly.

“People develop ways to cope with that weight,” he continues. “Sometimes those ways aren’t the healthiest ones. But most of the time it just means someone is trying to survive something.”

Your gaze drops to your hands.

“I know hurting myself or cutting my skin isn’t right,” you admit quietly. “I hate that it even crosses my mind sometimes and I use this as a coping mechanism when things mess up or I feel I did something wrong when it wasn’t even my fault .It’s really difficult and hard to explain and to declutter my feelings as well as thoughts.But when everything gets loud… I don’t know where to put all that pain so when I bleed I feel a sense of odd relief which is not good, but works for me.”

Joshua listens carefully before responding. He lifts your hand slightly, looking at the stars covering your skin.

“Your skin is still yours,” he says softly. “Paper is just paper. You can cut paper and nothing happens because it isn’t alive.”

His voice grows gentler, “But you are alive. And living things deserve care.”

The words settle somewhere deep in your chest.

Joshua reaches into his bag one more time and pulls out something small before placing it in your palm. It’s a soft textured stress ring that fits easily around your finger.

“Next time things feel overwhelming,” he says, “try this first. Roll it, squeeze it, draw more stars, put another sticker somewhere… anything that gives you a moment before the urge gets too strong.”

You turn the ring slowly between your fingers.

“I’ll try,” you whisper.

Joshua smiles warmly. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

For a while neither of you says anything. Sunlight spills across the desk and catches the glitter on your skin, making the tiny stars shimmer softly. You look down at your hands again, at the constellation Joshua drew earlier, and something inside you loosens just a little.

Joshua notices the way you’re staring at it.

“Still thinking about it?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

“It’s strange,” you admit. “Usually when I look at my hands I just see the parts I’m trying to hide. But today it just looks like… a sky.”

Joshua’s smile softens at that.

“That’s because it is,” he says.

You glance at him.

“A sky can have storms,” he continues gently. “But it still belongs to the stars too.”

Your chest tightens slightly at the quiet kindness in his voice.

Without really thinking, you ask softly, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Joshua seems surprised by the question at first. Then he reaches out and lightly brushes a few strands of hair away from your forehead before giving your head a gentle, affectionate pat.

The gesture is simple, but it feels strangely comforting.

“Because you deserve it,” he says.

You blink, caught off guard.

Joshua keeps his voice calm and steady. “You’re someone who feels things deeply. People like that often carry more pain than others see.”

He taps the little star he drew on your hand.

“But feeling deeply also means you can create beautiful things out of that pain. Like this sky.”

Your throat tightens again.

“So don’t be so quick to hurt yourself,” he adds softly. “The world already has enough things that break people. You don’t have to be one of them.”

You lower your gaze, quietly absorbing the words.

Joshua gives your head one more gentle pat before leaning back in his chair.

Outside, the bell rings faintly in the distance, signaling the end of the leisure period. Voices begin filling the hallway again as students start returning to their classrooms.

But for a moment longer, you stay exactly where you are.

Your hands rest on the desk, covered in new stars and tiny stickers that sparkle in the sunlight. The stress ring sits around your finger, cool and steady.

And when you look at the constellation Joshua drew earlier, you realize something small but important.

For the first time in a long time, the sky you carry with you doesn’t feel like something you have to face alone.

[iadoresora]

𝙎𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙣’𝙨 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❤︎︎ - 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵／𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴, ☘︎︎ - 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, ✿- 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘶

𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 - 𝘸𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘩𝘶𝘪 ❤︎︎ 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 - 𝘬𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺𝘶 ❤︎︎ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘴 - 𝘫𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘸𝘰𝘰 ❤︎︎ 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘱 - 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘭 ❤︎︎ 𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 2:32 𝘢𝘮 - 𝘺𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘫𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘢𝘯 ❤︎ 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘰 - 𝘫𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘸𝘰𝘰 ❤︎ 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵-𝘬𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺𝘶︎ ‪‪❤︎‬

[iadoresora]

weight/mingyu

pairing- boyfriend mingyu x f! reader genre- soft angst, established relationship, mental health fiction and domesticated romance mental health focus- emotional numbness, depression , anxiety and burnout wc- 1k synopsis- just a thought crosses your mind and you as your boyfriend to lie on top of you in a way it feels somewhat calming and comforting for you and your anxiety

The ceiling fan hums as it turns, uneven enough that you notice the sound and then cannot stop noticing it. Your eyes stay fixed on the blades, following their slow rotation while your chest feels wrong. Not tight, not painful, just heavy in a way that makes breathing feel like something you have to remember to do.

You lie on your back, hands resting stiffly at your sides. The bed feels too big. The room feels too loud even though nothing is happening. Your lungs fill and empty, but the rhythm is off, like your body has forgotten how this is supposed to work.

Your fingers twitch against the sheet.

Mingyu is sitting beside you, leaning back against the headboard. He is scrolling through his phone without really looking at it, the screen lighting his face in brief flashes. The moment your breathing changes, he notices. He always does. The phone is set aside quietly, his attention shifting fully to you.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and careful. “You okay?”

You nod because it is easier than explaining. Because you are not fully panicking, not yet, and putting words to the feeling might push you there. Your jaw tightens instead. Your hands curl into the fabric beneath you.

Mingyu watches you for another moment, eyes soft and focused. He does not rush you. He does not ask again. He simply stays close, close enough that you can feel his presence without him touching you yet.

When you finally speak, your voice is quiet.

“Can you lie on me?”

He stills completely. “Yeah,” he says right away. Then he adds, slower this time, “Tell me where.”

You swallow. You lift one hand and press it lightly against your upper chest, just below your collarbone. “Not all the way. Just here. I do not want your full weight.”

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I have you.”

He moves with care, shifting closer inch by inch like he is making sure your body agrees before he does anything else. He turns onto his side first, bracing himself with one arm. When he leans in, it is slow and deliberate, his chest coming to rest against the top of yours.

His face settles gently against your upper chest, cheek warm against your skin. You feel his breath there, steady and calm. One arm drapes over your side, heavy enough to ground you, loose enough that you do not feel trapped. The rest of his weight stays supported by his elbow and hip, offered to you instead of pressed into you.

You let out a breath you did not realize you were holding.

The pressure helps almost immediately. Not in a dramatic way, not like everything suddenly becomes okay, but in the way your shoulders drop a little and your breathing stutters less. Your body reacts before your thoughts can catch up.

Mingyu exhales against your chest, slow and deep. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, still faster than normal, but steady. You know he can hear it too. He does not comment on it. He simply stays where he is.

“I am right here,” he whispers. “You are safe.”

Your fingers loosen slowly, unclenching one by one. The buzzing in your head does not disappear, but it dulls. Your thoughts become less sharp, less urgent. The room feels quieter, even though nothing has changed.

You rest your chin lightly against the top of his head. His hair brushes your skin, soft and familiar.

He adjusts slightly, careful not to put pressure on your ribs or your neck. Every movement feels considered, like he is constantly checking in without making you answer out loud.

“Breathe with me,” he says softly.

He does not count. He just breathes in a way that is easy to follow. You match him without thinking, your chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. Each breath feels a little less forced than the last.

Time stretches. Minutes pass without you noticing. The ceiling fan continues its uneven hum, but it no longer drills into your skull. Your heart slows gradually, the frantic edge fading until it is only a steady rhythm beneath his ear.

Mingyu does not move, even when his arm must be getting tired. He stays, solid and patient, like this is exactly where he wants to be. Like nothing else matters more than keeping you grounded.

The anxiety does not leave completely. It rarely does. There is still a faint tension curled somewhere deep in your chest, a reminder that this feeling might return later. But right now, it is manageable. Right now, you can exist inside your body without wanting to escape it.

“I think it is getting better,” you whisper eventually.

He hums softly, relief tucked into the sound. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He stays a moment longer anyway, as if making sure. When he finally shifts, it is only slightly, lifting some of his weight while keeping contact. His face remains near your collarbone. His arm stays draped across your side, still warm and grounding.

You lift your hand and slide your fingers into his hair.

It is an unconscious motion, something you have done a hundred times before. Your fingers rake gently through the soft strands, ruffling them in a way that makes him sigh. The sound is quiet and content, vibrating against your chest.

“You are doing good,” you murmur, sleep already creeping into your voice.

He lets out a soft laugh. “So are you.”

Your hand slows, fingertips tracing lazy patterns through his hair. His breathing evens out again, matching yours without effort. The warmth between you deepens, turning heavy and comforting.

Your eyelids start to droop. The tension in your body melts into the mattress, supported by his presence. The anxiety lingers at the edges, but it no longer feels overwhelming.

Mingyu settles in fully, careful to keep his weight exactly where you asked for it. His face rests against your chest, his arm secure around your side. He does not say anything else. He does not need to.

The last thing you feel is the steady rise and fall of his breathing and you hear the quiet rhythm of his heart beneath your hand.

You fall asleep like that, together, held in place by warmth and weight and the comfort of not being alone.

[iadoresora]

weight/mingyu

pairing- boyfriend mingyu x f! reader genre- soft angst, established relationship, mental health fiction and domesticated romance mental health focus- emotional numbness, depression , anxiety and burnout wc- 1k synopsis- just a thought crosses your mind and you as your boyfriend to lie on top of you in a way it feels somewhat calming and comforting for you and your anxiety

The ceiling fan hums as it turns, uneven enough that you notice the sound and then cannot stop noticing it. Your eyes stay fixed on the blades, following their slow rotation while your chest feels wrong. Not tight, not painful, just heavy in a way that makes breathing feel like something you have to remember to do.

You lie on your back, hands resting stiffly at your sides. The bed feels too big. The room feels too loud even though nothing is happening. Your lungs fill and empty, but the rhythm is off, like your body has forgotten how this is supposed to work.

Your fingers twitch against the sheet.

Mingyu is sitting beside you, leaning back against the headboard. He is scrolling through his phone without really looking at it, the screen lighting his face in brief flashes. The moment your breathing changes, he notices. He always does. The phone is set aside quietly, his attention shifting fully to you.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and careful. “You okay?”

You nod because it is easier than explaining. Because you are not fully panicking, not yet, and putting words to the feeling might push you there. Your jaw tightens instead. Your hands curl into the fabric beneath you.

Mingyu watches you for another moment, eyes soft and focused. He does not rush you. He does not ask again. He simply stays close, close enough that you can feel his presence without him touching you yet.

When you finally speak, your voice is quiet.

“Can you lie on me?”

He stills completely. “Yeah,” he says right away. Then he adds, slower this time, “Tell me where.”

You swallow. You lift one hand and press it lightly against your upper chest, just below your collarbone. “Not all the way. Just here. I do not want your full weight.”

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I have you.”

He moves with care, shifting closer inch by inch like he is making sure your body agrees before he does anything else. He turns onto his side first, bracing himself with one arm. When he leans in, it is slow and deliberate, his chest coming to rest against the top of yours.

His face settles gently against your upper chest, cheek warm against your skin. You feel his breath there, steady and calm. One arm drapes over your side, heavy enough to ground you, loose enough that you do not feel trapped. The rest of his weight stays supported by his elbow and hip, offered to you instead of pressed into you.

You let out a breath you did not realize you were holding.

The pressure helps almost immediately. Not in a dramatic way, not like everything suddenly becomes okay, but in the way your shoulders drop a little and your breathing stutters less. Your body reacts before your thoughts can catch up.

Mingyu exhales against your chest, slow and deep. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, still faster than normal, but steady. You know he can hear it too. He does not comment on it. He simply stays where he is.

“I am right here,” he whispers. “You are safe.”

Your fingers loosen slowly, unclenching one by one. The buzzing in your head does not disappear, but it dulls. Your thoughts become less sharp, less urgent. The room feels quieter, even though nothing has changed.

You rest your chin lightly against the top of his head. His hair brushes your skin, soft and familiar.

He adjusts slightly, careful not to put pressure on your ribs or your neck. Every movement feels considered, like he is constantly checking in without making you answer out loud.

“Breathe with me,” he says softly.

He does not count. He just breathes in a way that is easy to follow. You match him without thinking, your chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. Each breath feels a little less forced than the last.

Time stretches. Minutes pass without you noticing. The ceiling fan continues its uneven hum, but it no longer drills into your skull. Your heart slows gradually, the frantic edge fading until it is only a steady rhythm beneath his ear.

Mingyu does not move, even when his arm must be getting tired. He stays, solid and patient, like this is exactly where he wants to be. Like nothing else matters more than keeping you grounded.

The anxiety does not leave completely. It rarely does. There is still a faint tension curled somewhere deep in your chest, a reminder that this feeling might return later. But right now, it is manageable. Right now, you can exist inside your body without wanting to escape it.

“I think it is getting better,” you whisper eventually.

He hums softly, relief tucked into the sound. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He stays a moment longer anyway, as if making sure. When he finally shifts, it is only slightly, lifting some of his weight while keeping contact. His face remains near your collarbone. His arm stays draped across your side, still warm and grounding.

You lift your hand and slide your fingers into his hair.

It is an unconscious motion, something you have done a hundred times before. Your fingers rake gently through the soft strands, ruffling them in a way that makes him sigh. The sound is quiet and content, vibrating against your chest.

“You are doing good,” you murmur, sleep already creeping into your voice.

He lets out a soft laugh. “So are you.”

Your hand slows, fingertips tracing lazy patterns through his hair. His breathing evens out again, matching yours without effort. The warmth between you deepens, turning heavy and comforting.

Your eyelids start to droop. The tension in your body melts into the mattress, supported by his presence. The anxiety lingers at the edges, but it no longer feels overwhelming.

Mingyu settles in fully, careful to keep his weight exactly where you asked for it. His face rests against your chest, his arm secure around your side. He does not say anything else. He does not need to.

The last thing you feel is the steady rise and fall of his breathing and you hear the quiet rhythm of his heart beneath your hand.

You fall asleep like that, together, held in place by warmth and weight and the comfort of not being alone.

[iadoresora]

never let go/wonwoo

pairing- boyfriend wonwoo x f! reader genre-angst with comfort, misunderstanding, almost breakup,healing though presence wc- 1.3k synopsis- after a midnight argument you walk out angry but wonwoo follows you afraid this goodbye might become permanent. a/n- would recommend listening to never let go by lngshot and ican’teven by the neighbourhood

2:02 AM

The apartment felt too small for the silence growing between you and Wonwoo.

Rain tapped against the windows in uneven rhythms, and the green digits on the digital clock glowed 2:02 AM, sharp and unforgiving. The living room light was warm, but the air felt cold. You stood near the couch with your arms folded tightly across your chest, while Wonwoo leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you quietly as if searching for the safest words to say.

“You always do this,” you said, your voice tight with frustration as you looked directly at him. Your tone was controlled, but your eyes were already shining with hurt. “You shut down when things start to matter.”

Wonwoo lifted his gaze slowly. He spoke softly, almost careful, as if each word needed permission to exist. “I’m listening,” he said in a calm, low voice, his expression restrained but not indifferent.

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t feel like it,” you replied, sounding exhausted more than angry.

He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, hesitant. “I don’t know what you want me to say right now,” he admitted, avoiding your eyes for a second.

You laughed once, bitter and small, turning away as frustration spilled over. “Exactly,” you said, the word heavy with disappointment.

You grabbed your jacket from the chair. The sudden movement made him straighten, concern flickering across his usually calm face.

“Where are you going?” Wonwoo asked, his voice slightly sharper now, his worry for you was slipping through the calm.

“Obviously, going out,” you answered quickly, refusing to look at him. “I need space.”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said softly, taking one step forward as if unsure whether he should follow.

“Yes, I do,” you replied, your voice firm but trembling at the edges. "Fresh air is calling for me.”

The silence that followed felt louder than the rain outside. You reached for the door but deep down you expected Wonwoo to say something but he didn’t. He stood still.

“Fine,” you said quietly, turning back just enough for him to hear. Your voice softened into hurt. “If you don’t know what to say, then don’t say anything.”

The door closed behind you with a sharper sound than you intended.

The rain swallowed you immediately as you stepped out onto the street.Cold drops soaked through your clothes within seconds as you walked fast down the empty street. Streetlights blurred into golden halos on the wet pavement. Your anger burned hot for a moment, then slowly dissolved into something heavier.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and kept walking, breathing unevenly.

Behind you, footsteps splashed through puddles.

“Wait,” a voice called out to you, breathless and urgent.

You stopped and turned. Wonwoo was running toward you without an umbrella, hair damp, his thick rim glasses foggy and clinging to his forehead, his usually composed expression softened by urgency.

“You shouldn’t be out here like this,” he said once he reached you, breathing harder than usual. His voice was low but sincere, filled with concern obvious in the way his eyes searched your face.

You frowned, rain dripping down your lashes. “You followed me?” you asked, your tone defensive but quieter than before.

“I didn’t want you walking alone,” he answered immediately, speaking with quiet certainty.

You looked away, hurt resurfacing. “You didn’t look like you cared back there,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly.

“I did,” he said quickly, stepping closer. His tone carried more emotion now, less restraint.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, turning back to face him. Your words came out tired rather than accusing.

He opened his mouth but paused, then closed it again. The hesitation stung.

You shook your head and started to walk past him. “Forget it,” you muttered in a way your voice sounded small and defeated. You started walking again but then, you felt a hand reaching out instinctively and wrapped gently around your wrist. It was Wonwoo’s, his touch was warm despite the rain, it felt careful and a bit hesitant rather than forceful.

“Please,” Wonwoo said softly, his voice almost swallowed by the storm. His eyes held yours, vulnerable and earnest. “Don’t go angry.”

You froze.

You glanced down at his hand, then back at his face. “I’m not angry,” you whispered, though your tone betrayed uncertainty.

He let out a quiet breath, almost a sad laugh. “You’re walking through heavy rain at two in the morning,” he said gently, his voice laced with worry. “You’re not okay.”

The rain fell harder around you, but neither of you moved.

“You shut me out,” you said after a long pause, your voice softer now, eyes lowered. “I never know what you’re feeling.”

Wonwoo’s grip loosened slightly, his thumb brushing your wrist unconsciously. He spoke slowly, choosing honesty over perfection. “I go quiet because I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing,” he confessed, his voice barely above the rain.

“That silence feels like distance,” you replied, looking up at him with tired eyes.

“I know,” he said, nodding once. His voice carried quiet regret.

He swallowed before continuing, his gaze steady now. “When you’re upset, I start thinking about how to fix it. Then I overthink everything… and I freeze.”

You studied him, your anger slowly melting into understanding and patience with him.

“You make it hard to read you,” you said softly, your voice gentler now. “Sometimes I think you don’t care.”

His expression shifted, pain flickering briefly across his face. “I care too much,” he said quietly, his voice thick with honesty.

The words settled heavily between you.

Rain dripped from his lashes as he stepped closer. His voice softened further. “When you walked out, it felt like something was slipping away. I couldn’t just stand there.”

Your breath caught.

The city felt distant, muted by the storm. His hand moved from your wrist to your hand, fingers intertwining carefully, as if asking permission without words.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you murmured, your tone gentle now.

“I’m not trying to fix it,” he replied softly, looking directly into your eyes. “I just didn’t want you to leave like that.”

The rain cooled your skin, but warmth spread through your chest.

“So what now?” you asked quietly, voice small and uncertain.

He hesitated, then answered honestly, his voice calm but emotional underneath. “Now we stand here until you’re ready to come back.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

You stepped closer without thinking. His free hand lifted slowly, brushing wet hair away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Neither of you kissed because the moment felt too fragile for that.

You leaned your forehead lightly against his shoulder. He exhaled slowly, relief softening his posture.

“I’m still upset,” you whispered, your voice muffled but honest.

“That’s okay,” he said quietly, his tone warm and steady. “Just don’t disappear.”

The rain continued around you, heavy but no longer harsh.

After a while, you started walking back together, hands still linked. Your footsteps fell into the same rhythm, quiet and unspoken.

No apologies were spoken aloud and no confessions were fully finished.

But when your fingers tightened around his hand, he squeezed back instantly, as if promising silently that he was still there.

And this time, neither of you let go.

[bei-b]

☀️🐢 happy birthday to the 218 bros, DK and Vernon! ⚔️🐻‍❄️

[iadoresora]

happy 218 bros day!!

[arwen-u]

GYUCHEOL 🥹🥹🥹 i love them so much

[iadoresora]

pouty unit 😗😗😗

[iadoresora]

never let go/wonwoo

pairing- boyfriend wonwoo x f! reader genre-angst with comfort, misunderstanding, almost breakup,healing though presence wc- 1.3k synopsis- after a midnight argument you walk out angry but wonwoo follows you afraid this goodbye might become permanent. a/n- would recommend listening to never let go by lngshot and ican’teven by the neighbourhood

2:02 AM

The apartment felt too small for the silence growing between you and Wonwoo.

Rain tapped against the windows in uneven rhythms, and the green digits on the digital clock glowed 2:02 AM, sharp and unforgiving. The living room light was warm, but the air felt cold. You stood near the couch with your arms folded tightly across your chest, while Wonwoo leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you quietly as if searching for the safest words to say.

“You always do this,” you said, your voice tight with frustration as you looked directly at him. Your tone was controlled, but your eyes were already shining with hurt. “You shut down when things start to matter.”

Wonwoo lifted his gaze slowly. He spoke softly, almost careful, as if each word needed permission to exist. “I’m listening,” he said in a calm, low voice, his expression restrained but not indifferent.

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t feel like it,” you replied, sounding exhausted more than angry.

He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, hesitant. “I don’t know what you want me to say right now,” he admitted, avoiding your eyes for a second.

You laughed once, bitter and small, turning away as frustration spilled over. “Exactly,” you said, the word heavy with disappointment.

You grabbed your jacket from the chair. The sudden movement made him straighten, concern flickering across his usually calm face.

“Where are you going?” Wonwoo asked, his voice slightly sharper now, his worry for you was slipping through the calm.

“Obviously, going out,” you answered quickly, refusing to look at him. “I need space.”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said softly, taking one step forward as if unsure whether he should follow.

“Yes, I do,” you replied, your voice firm but trembling at the edges. "Fresh air is calling for me.”

The silence that followed felt louder than the rain outside. You reached for the door but deep down you expected Wonwoo to say something but he didn’t. He stood still.

“Fine,” you said quietly, turning back just enough for him to hear. Your voice softened into hurt. “If you don’t know what to say, then don’t say anything.”

The door closed behind you with a sharper sound than you intended.

The rain swallowed you immediately as you stepped out onto the street.Cold drops soaked through your clothes within seconds as you walked fast down the empty street. Streetlights blurred into golden halos on the wet pavement. Your anger burned hot for a moment, then slowly dissolved into something heavier.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and kept walking, breathing unevenly.

Behind you, footsteps splashed through puddles.

“Wait,” a voice called out to you, breathless and urgent.

You stopped and turned. Wonwoo was running toward you without an umbrella, hair damp, his thick rim glasses foggy and clinging to his forehead, his usually composed expression softened by urgency.

“You shouldn’t be out here like this,” he said once he reached you, breathing harder than usual. His voice was low but sincere, filled with concern obvious in the way his eyes searched your face.

You frowned, rain dripping down your lashes. “You followed me?” you asked, your tone defensive but quieter than before.

“I didn’t want you walking alone,” he answered immediately, speaking with quiet certainty.

You looked away, hurt resurfacing. “You didn’t look like you cared back there,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly.

“I did,” he said quickly, stepping closer. His tone carried more emotion now, less restraint.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, turning back to face him. Your words came out tired rather than accusing.

He opened his mouth but paused, then closed it again. The hesitation stung.

You shook your head and started to walk past him. “Forget it,” you muttered in a way your voice sounded small and defeated. You started walking again but then, you felt a hand reaching out instinctively and wrapped gently around your wrist. It was Wonwoo’s, his touch was warm despite the rain, it felt careful and a bit hesitant rather than forceful.

“Please,” Wonwoo said softly, his voice almost swallowed by the storm. His eyes held yours, vulnerable and earnest. “Don’t go angry.”

You froze.

You glanced down at his hand, then back at his face. “I’m not angry,” you whispered, though your tone betrayed uncertainty.

He let out a quiet breath, almost a sad laugh. “You’re walking through heavy rain at two in the morning,” he said gently, his voice laced with worry. “You’re not okay.”

The rain fell harder around you, but neither of you moved.

“You shut me out,” you said after a long pause, your voice softer now, eyes lowered. “I never know what you’re feeling.”

Wonwoo’s grip loosened slightly, his thumb brushing your wrist unconsciously. He spoke slowly, choosing honesty over perfection. “I go quiet because I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing,” he confessed, his voice barely above the rain.

“That silence feels like distance,” you replied, looking up at him with tired eyes.

“I know,” he said, nodding once. His voice carried quiet regret.

He swallowed before continuing, his gaze steady now. “When you’re upset, I start thinking about how to fix it. Then I overthink everything… and I freeze.”

You studied him, your anger slowly melting into understanding and patience with him.

“You make it hard to read you,” you said softly, your voice gentler now. “Sometimes I think you don’t care.”

His expression shifted, pain flickering briefly across his face. “I care too much,” he said quietly, his voice thick with honesty.

The words settled heavily between you.

Rain dripped from his lashes as he stepped closer. His voice softened further. “When you walked out, it felt like something was slipping away. I couldn’t just stand there.”

Your breath caught.

The city felt distant, muted by the storm. His hand moved from your wrist to your hand, fingers intertwining carefully, as if asking permission without words.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you murmured, your tone gentle now.

“I’m not trying to fix it,” he replied softly, looking directly into your eyes. “I just didn’t want you to leave like that.”

The rain cooled your skin, but warmth spread through your chest.

“So what now?” you asked quietly, voice small and uncertain.

He hesitated, then answered honestly, his voice calm but emotional underneath. “Now we stand here until you’re ready to come back.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

You stepped closer without thinking. His free hand lifted slowly, brushing wet hair away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Neither of you kissed because the moment felt too fragile for that.

You leaned your forehead lightly against his shoulder. He exhaled slowly, relief softening his posture.

“I’m still upset,” you whispered, your voice muffled but honest.

“That’s okay,” he said quietly, his tone warm and steady. “Just don’t disappear.”

The rain continued around you, heavy but no longer harsh.

After a while, you started walking back together, hands still linked. Your footsteps fell into the same rhythm, quiet and unspoken.

No apologies were spoken aloud and no confessions were fully finished.

But when your fingers tightened around his hand, he squeezed back instantly, as if promising silently that he was still there.

And this time, neither of you let go.

[arwen-u]

cheol twerking its the best thing EVER

[iadoresora]

cheol’s pang heheh 😈

[slut4kwon]

i’ll never understand how a thirty year old man is so baby girl

[iadoresora]

i’d just nomu nomu him

[iadoresora]

ramen at 2:32am/jeonghan

pairing- boyfriend jeonghan x f! readers genre- fluff,rom-com sorta, slice of life, established relationship and just jeonghan teasing you a lot. wc-0.8k synopsis- just a late night rush for ramen with your boyfriend.

2:32 AM

The street is almost empty, lit by tired streetlights and the faint glow of one stubborn ramen shop still open at the corner.

You are running in rush.

Jeonghan is behind you, laughter already slipping into his voice as he tries to keep up.

“Hey,” Jeonghan calls out, breathless but amused. “You do realize we could just go tomorrow.”

You glance back, ponytail swinging. “If they close before I get tonkotsu ramen, I will never forgive you.”

“I did not cause this,” he says, wheezing slightly. “This is your midnight craving speaking.”

“It is a medical emergency,” you reply seriously. “Move faster.”

Jeonghan laughs, long and helpless, and somehow finds the energy to sprint the last few steps with you. You burst through the door together, the bell chiming wildly above your heads.

The cook looks up. The clock on the wall reads 2:33 AM.

Jeonghan bows immediately, polite even while panting.

“Sorry. Please. One bowl. Two people. We will eat very fast.” Jeonghan says.

You nod enthusiastically beside him, hands pressed together like you are praying.

The cook sighs, then gestures toward the counter seats.

You grab Jeonghan’s sleeve and drag him forward before the offer can be revoked.

“Hey,” Jeonghan protests lightly, nearly stumbling. “I agreed. You don’t have to abduct me.”

You slide onto the stool first, then pat the seat next to you. “Sit. Before he changes his mind.”

Jeonghan sits, shoulders brushing yours. He exhales deeply, resting his elbows on the counter.

“Worth the cardio,” he says. “I think I pulled something.”

“You are thirty,” you reply. “Act accordingly.”

“Rude,” Jeonghan says, smiling anyway.

The cook sets down a massive bowl of tonkotsu ramen between you. The broth is rich and pale, steam rising thickly. Two big slices of pork rest on top, glossy and tender, with soft boiled eggs cut perfectly in half.

Your eyes light up.

“Oh my god,” you whisper reverently.

Jeonghan leans closer, voice solemn. “She is beautiful.”

You snort.

Jeonghan slides the bowl slightly closer to you without comment, then breaks the chopsticks and hands them to you first. His movements are unhurried, careful.

“It’s hot,” he says gently. “Don’t burn your mouth like last time.”

“That happened once,” you say defensively.

“It happened every time,” Jeonghan replies.

You dip your chopsticks in immediately, blowing on the noodles before taking a bite. Your shoulders relax the second the broth hits your tongue.

You hum, eyes closing.

Jeonghan watches you, chin resting in his hand, clearly pleased.

“That sound,” he says. “That’s how I know it was worth running.”

You open one eye. “You didn’t even eat yet.”

“I like watching you eat,” he replies casually. “You look less stressed.”

Your face warms, but you hide it by slurping loudly.

You freeze. “Sorry.”

Jeonghan laughs, shaking his head. “No. That’s correct ramen etiquette. Very professional.”

You grin and take another bite, this time more confidently.

Jeonghan finally eats, but slower than you. He tears off a piece of pork and places it into your bowl without asking.

You glance at him. “That’s yours.”

“You like the pork more,” he says simply.

“You also like the pork.” you replied.

“I like you more,” Jeonghan replies, then pauses. “That sounded smoother in my head.”

You laugh, leaning your shoulder into his. “You’re such a clown.”

“An effective one,” he says proudly.

Halfway through, you slow down, hands resting around the bowl. Jeonghan notices immediately.

He nudges his water toward you.

“Drink.” he says softly.

You obey without thinking, taking a few sips.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

Jeonghan shrugs. “I am a caretaker by nature.”

“You spilled coffee on yourself yesterday,” you remind him.

“That was unrelated,” he says seriously.

Your foot hooks around his ankle under the counter, absentminded. He shifts closer instead of pulling away.

The shop grows quieter as the cook cleans behind the counter. The clock ticks toward closing.

Jeonghan glances at it, then back at you.

“Best decision of the day?” he asks.

You look at the empty bowl, then at him. His hair is a little messy from running, eyes soft with fatigue.

“Yes,” you say honestly. “I needed this.”

He smiles, small and real. “Me too.”

When you stand, Jeonghan stands first, reaching for your coat. He helps you slip into it, tugging the collar into place.

“Arms up,” he says gently.

You comply, smiling.

Outside, the night is quiet again. The door clicks shut behind you.

Jeonghan slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. His warmth sinks into you immediately.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “if you run for ramen every night, I will have to train.”

You laugh. “You would.”

“I would,” he agrees. “For you. And the pork.”

You walk down the street together, tired and full and smiling, the world hushed around you.

The ramen was incredible.

But being here, at 2:32 in the morning, unmasked and laughing together, feels even better.