hi everybody! i'm ash, and have been writing fics since 2024! i'm a big kpop fan, and my ult groups are seventeen, ateez and p1harmony! i also am a bl enthu and will watch any asian bls, my fav thai pairings including williamest and perthsanta!! i'm an avid angst enjoyer, and my best works are mostly angst (i do write other styles as well) i hope you'll enjoy your time here and have fun exploring my works!
read more to get to know more about me:))
-INFJ, ult bias is seungkwan, my die on this hill kpop ship is woosan and my fav thai bl cp is williamest! also born on 16 jan like my ult, i love editing as much as writing and you can find my fan acc and edit acc on tiktok @asheyxash as well!
UPDATING SCHEDULE:
will post an au at least once per two weeks due to busy schedule and juggling in between this acc and irl stuff! updates will be regular but do expect slower updates whenever im in test or exam periods!!
MASTERLIST:
SEVENTEEN🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵
TO SEVENTEEN: 13 FOREVER 💎
seventeen's love letter <3🩵🩷
so as you've noticed i've been inactive for a while now but i think life has been so boring lately i forgot the joy i found in writing fics so i will be trying to make this account alive again! i know yall have been waiting for new stuff and I'm finally going to be posting again, this time with a wider range of fandoms as I've started stanning ateez, piwon and many other groups as well as becoming a fan of thai bls and their couples. i hope yall will continue supporting my works and do wait for new fics to be posted very soon!!
relationship: platonic
genre(s): comfort, fluff
warning(s): none
word count: ~k
summary: after a breakthrough performance places her center stage, she's no longer fighting to be seen — she is seen, celebrated, and embraced, not as the maknae or the girl, but as a vital part of seventeen, as someone who belongs.
guys i had no idea what to write and i just decided to go with her getting the spotlight she deserves after all her efforts pay off so they don't just see her as the young, maknae, girl!!
pt 2 of 14th member 'found family' short series, read pt1 here!
work all mine, no reposting without creds, no stealing of published work, copyrighted:D
the stage lights were blinding.
but this time, they didn’t burn. they didn’t sting your eyes or remind you of all the moments you spent behind them, out of focus, always dancing a half-step behind, always trying to prove you were more than just the exception, more than just the only girl, more than just the youngest. tonight, they felt like sunlight. like the warm, late afternoon kind that filters through old windows and lands on your skin like a promise. they didn’t chase you away, they welcomed you in. and for the first time since your debut, you didn’t feel like an accessory to someone else’s spotlight. you felt like you were the light.
you stood in the center of the stage, not tucked in the corner, not shaded behind the boys’ silhouettes, not posed like a garnish to their performance. no. you were center. you were here. and when you looked down at your feet, planted firmly in the place you used to daydream about when you were practicing alone after hours, something bloomed in your chest that didn’t quite have a name. your spine was straight. your fingers trembled, but not with fear. your heart was loud — so loud — thudding like a second bassline in your ribs, shaking your lungs until you could barely breathe. and then the sound hit you. not the music yet. not the beat.
the crowd.
you could feel it rising like a wave, the kind that swells slow and wide, stretching to the sky before it crashes. and laced in that wave, embedded deep in the fabric of cheers and screams and chants, you heard it. your name. your real name. not just “maknae.” not “the girl.” not “the 14th.”
you.
you didn’t even realise you were crying until you tasted salt on your lips, swallowed down hard so your breath wouldn’t hitch over the opening move. but god, it was beautiful. they knew your name. the music started. and this time, you weren’t just trying to keep up with the tempo or stay perfectly in line behind the boys. you weren’t just part of the formation — you were the center of it. your movements didn’t feel like choreography anymore. they felt like instinct. like exhale. like home. every pop of your shoulder, every twist of your hips, every stomp of your foot, it wasn’t performance. it was expression. your whole body was telling a story you’d been aching to speak aloud for years. and then, just as your turn ended, you glanced sideways, and saw soonyoung already watching you. his grin wasn’t the big, explosive kind he wore on variety shows. it was quieter, warmer, full of meaning. he didn’t say anything, but his eyes said it all. “look at you. i always knew you could.”
when the final beat dropped, you hit your ending pose like a prayer, and the roar from the audience made your knees nearly buckle.
you bowed, sweat clinging to your skin like a second outfit, confetti catching in your lashes. you blinked and laughed and covered your mouth with shaking fingers. the lights dimmed. the cheers still echoed. the music faded. you were dizzy — with joy, with disbelief, with the kind of high that comes only after you’ve given every piece of yourself to something you love. you walked backstage half-floating, heart still hammering, breath still caught somewhere between your throat and your ribs. you didn’t even hear jeonghan until he called your name for the third time, sharp and clear through the noise. “hey- hey! y/n!” you turned, startled, and then suddenly, you were surrounded. arms. laughter. warmth. a full-circle hug. thirteen boys pulling you in all at once, so tight you couldn’t breathe, and you didn’t even care.
“you crushed it,” mingyu said, voice cracking with pride as he held your shoulders like he couldn’t believe what he just saw. “center really suits you, huh?” seungkwan beamed, wiggling his eyebrows as he nudged you in the ribs. “stealing our spotlight already…” “yah,” wonwoo muttered with a teasing glare, though his voice was soft, full of warmth. “don’t make her cry again. she just stopped.” but you did cry. and you laughed through it. and it wasn’t the kind of crying that curled in your chest and whispered not enough. it was the kind that spilled over because your heart was finally too full to contain it.
it was relief. it was release. it was finally. you wiped your face with the sleeves of your jacket and tried to form words, but everything stuck in your throat. finally, you whispered, “you guys didn’t have to do that. let me take center.” there was a beat of silence. and then seungcheol, your leader, your anchor, your forever shoulder, stepped forward and looked at you in a way that stilled the whole room. “we didn’t let you,” he said simply. “you earned it.”
you trended that night. not for drama. not as a sidenote in someone else’s fame. not as “seventeen’s only girl.” but as a name. as you.
“14th member of seventeen commands stage with emotional performance.” “y/n proves she’s not just the maknae, she’s the moment.” “seventeen’s youngest shines brighter than ever,fans call her the soul of the stage.”
you sat in the dressing room staring at the headlines, one hand over your mouth, the other clutching your phone like it might slip out of your fingers from shaking too hard. and behind you, chan leaned over and whispered, “told you the world would catch up.” his voice was low, but sure. like he never doubted it for a second. like he was just waiting for everyone else to see what he already knew. on carat twitter, your name trended in every language.
“i don’t know how to explain it but she felt like the stage tonight.”
“from background to CENTER. she didn’t steal the spotlight — she was the spotlight.” “i cried during her solo move. her presence. her face. her confidence. it’s her era now.” “the members looking at her like she hung the moon. i’m sobbing.”
back at the dorm, they threw you a chaotic little party. a cake too sweet, candles from three different birthdays, and party hats made of folded paper. minghao handed you a single sunflower and said, “for growth.” jun added, “and for surviving us. honestly a miracle.” dokyeom shoved frosting on your nose and declared a food fight which (thankfully) seungcheol had stopped before it escalated to a full break out of food wars and digusting messes you all know will take a day to clean. vernon played your fancam on repeat on the TV, muted, like it was art in a museum. jeonghan stuck a sticker on your forehead and refused to let you take it off... okay you weren't quite sure how that one was related but it was jeonghan after all, soo anything really, would be an encouragement. and somewhere between the laughter and the cake and the yelling over karaoke mics, you sat cross-legged on the floor, a paper hat tilted sideways on your head, and looked around at them. thirteen boys you used to admire from a distance. thirteen boys who once scared you with their effortless synchronicity.
now? they were your family. your home.
your constellation. and for the first time since debut — you didn’t feel like you were trying to keep up. you weren’t behind. you weren’t “just” anything. you were seventeen. equally. fully. finally.
as the night softened into late hours and the noise faded into quiet conversations and half-finished karaoke songs, jihoon slipped a small folded paper into your hand. you blinked. “what’s this?” he didn’t meet your eyes. just shrugged. “something i should’ve said a long time ago.” you unfolded it carefully, heart already racing. his handwriting was messy. not his usual neatness — this was rushed, emotional, unfiltered.
“you were never slowing us down. you were teaching us how to slow down and see you. thank you for staying. thank you for dancing. thank you for being ours.”
you clutched the paper like a lifeline, lips trembling. you looked up, and all of them were watching you. not with guilt. not with pity.
but with love.
real, steady, unwavering love.
soonyoung grinned and leaned against your shoulder. “told you this would be your year.” mingyu pulled you in again, murmuring, “we don’t say it enough. but we’re lucky it was you.” seungkwan beamed through misty eyes. “you’re not ours because you're the girl. you're ours because no one else could ever be you.” and cheol, always the last, always the anchor, pulled you into one more hug and whispered in your ear, “you belong here. always have.” and in that moment, tucked between the chaos of the past and the starlit promise of tomorrow, you realised something. love — the real kind — doesn’t just show up. it sees you.
just like the title suggests, find EVERY drabble, imagine, headcannon or reaction of being seventeen's 14th female member here in this wide variety and array collection of scenarios between seventeen and you, whether its hurt, angst, fluff, humor or comfort, it's going to be a bumpy ride full of ups and downs, highs and lows between you and seventeen as the 14 of you have officially debuted in a group together! being the youngest is never easy, and you can look froward to much teasing, arguments, and also achievements, celebrations, parties!
labelling of genres: a = angst, f = fluff, h = hurt, c = comfort, hu = humor
warnings included in my aus: swearing/cursing, dirty jokes, mentions of abuse/depression/mental health awareness
HOME SERIES:
not home anymore (a,h) pt1
the home that forgot her name (a,h) pt2
the way back home (c) pt3
home is where seventeen is (f,hu) special epilogue!
relationship: platonic
genre(s): angst, hurt, comfort
warning(s): none
word count: ~0.7k
summary: as seventeen’s only female and youngest member, she quietly carries the weight of invisibility — trying to prove she's more than the group's “little sister,” until exhaustion and self-doubt pushes her to the edge, and the boys finally begin to realise just how much they've overlooked her.
pt 1 of 14th member 'found family' short series, read pt2 here!
work all mine, no reposting without creds, no stealing of published work, copyrighted:D
it started the way exhaustion always does, quietly. in the small things no one notices. the slight shake in your hands when you stretch, the way your eyes glaze over during team meetings, the moments where you blink too hard, like you’re trying to stay awake, or maybe just trying to stay here. you didn’t mean to fall behind. not really. but being the youngest meant your mistakes echoed louder. being the only girl meant your tears felt heavier. and being both meant you had to pretend none of it hurt.
you laugh when they tease you. you nod when they correct you. you smile, always — especially when your throat feels tight, especially when your feet feel like stone, especially when someone says, “she’s trying her best.” because that’s all you ever are. trying. but never quite enough. there was a moment, brief, barely a second, where you saw it in soonyoung’s eyes. during practice, when you missed a step, when your knee gave just a bit too late, and he turned toward you. not with anger. not with cruelty. but with that look. the one that says, “again?” he didn’t mean anything by it. he probably didn’t even realise. but you did.
and it stayed with you, through every beat of the music, every echoing count, every sharp breath you couldn’t quite catch. you stayed behind again that night. the studio was dark except for the soft glow of your phone, replaying the choreography over and over like a punishment. your limbs screamed. your vision blurred. but your heart? that hurt worse. you danced until the mirrors blurred, until you couldn’t tell if the girl staring back at you was proud or ashamed.
you didn’t cry. not properly. just sat there, curled up on the cold floor, too tired to feel anything clearly, too quiet to call it pain. when the door creaked open, you almost didn’t hear it.
“y/n?” it was seungcheol. voice rough with sleep, or maybe worry. you didn’t look up. didn’t want to see disappointment in his face. didn’t want to see pity, either. he crossed the room slowly, crouched down next to you like he was approaching a frightened animal. “why are you still here?” he asked, softer this time. you didn’t answer. because what could you say? that you didn’t feel like enough? that you were scared you’d always be the weakest link? that you hated being the one they had to slow down for? instead, you whispered, “i just needed more time.” seungcheol sighed, not annoyed, but heavy, like his chest ached with something unsaid. “you’re allowed to rest, you know,” he murmured. you shook your head before he could finish. “i’m not like you guys. i’m not strong enough. not sharp enough. i’m… the baby. the girl. the extra piece.” he was quiet. unbearably quiet.
then he said, almost brokenly:
“y/n, don’t say that. don’t ever say that again.”
you turned your face toward him, eyes glassy, throat tight. he reached out, slowly, gently placing a hand over yours, not to hold you down, but to remind you you’re here. real. not invisible. not forgotten. “you don’t have to be like us,” he said. “you’re you. and that’s why you matter.” and god, something in you cracked open.
the next morning, you woke up in your dorm bed. you didn’t remember how you got there. just the faint memory of someone tucking a jacket around your shoulders. maybe seokmin. maybe jeonghan. maybe all of them. you find a note taped to your mirror. thirteen messy doodles and handwritings all squeezed into one rather, wobbly, sentence that read, “if we ever made you feel like you weren’t one of us, we’re sorry. we were wrong.” you stared at it for a long, long time.
later that day, they pulled you into a group hug before practice. no teasing. no loud jokes. just arms around your shoulders, hands ruffling your hair, warmth pressing into your back like home. “you’re not ‘just the girl,’” wonwoo murmured against your temple. “you’re seventeen.” minghao nodded. “you’re not the extra piece. you’re the heart.” and for the first time in weeks, when the music started again, your body didn’t feel like it was betraying you. it felt like it belonged.. you belonged. they did too. and the fourteen of you were a family. a found family. so sure you were still the youngest, still the only girl, and forever still the 14th. but now, you weren’t alone in it.
welcome wonwoorideuls to where a twisted rollercoaster ride of emotions with wonwoo is here. sit back, grab a snack and enjoy, because whether it’s the cute and romantic moments, the dirty ones, the sad and depressing ones or the ones filled with rage, it’s never boring when you’re with wonwoo! p.s. you might want to grab a pan or tissues during the angst and hurt ones and have fun:D
labelling of genres: a = angst, f = fluff, h = hurt, c = comfort
warnings included in my aus: swearing/cursing, dirty jokes, mentions of abuse/depression/mental health awareness
oneshots:
i meant it when i said i wanted to be more than friends (f)
pairing: wonwoo x reader
troupe: already lovers
genre(s): est. relationship, angst, hurt, comfort, fluff
warning(s): swearing/cursing
word count: ~2k
summary: she watched him kiss her, and the worst part wasn’t that he did — it was that she believed he meant it.
back in my angsty era i guess! guys i've genuinely been trying but but so far, im only satisfied with my works with angst and hurt in it😭at least this one heals your hearts at the end trust me:)))
work all mine, no reposting without creds, no stealing of published work, copyrighted:D
you felt it before you could name it. not an explosion, not a collapse, just a quiet shift. the kind that creeps in softly, like dusk slipping into night without anyone noticing. wonwoo was still around. still warm. still smiling, technically. but the space between his words grew longer. the hugs lasted a little less. his eyes wandered more often than they used to. you told yourself he was tired. told yourself that love can sometimes look like routine, that maybe people just grow quiet in comfort. but deep down, something inside you had already started grieving. not for a breakup, but for the closeness that used to come so effortlessly. and yet, you stayed. you clung to the silence like it was still him. you made excuses — for him, for yourself. he was just tired. he was just stressed. he’d come back, the way he always did.
you didn’t expect to see it.
you weren’t even supposed to be at the studio that day. you were only there to drop off his sweater, the one he left at your place last week, and maybe to catch a glimpse of the old him, the real him. the one who used to light up the room just by looking at you. you even bought his favorite coffee on the way there. maybe, just maybe, you hoped that if you showed up with something small and familiar, he’d remember how to reach for you again. you turned the corner near the rehearsal rooms and stopped. he was there. wonwoo. leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. and standing in front of him was a girl — her. his ex. the one he only ever spoke about in passing, like a scar he’d learned to live with but never quite forgot. your heart slowed. then quickened. she was too close. her hand touched his arm. you took a step back before you even realised it, instinct kicking in faster than logic. and then it happened. one second. that’s all it took. she leaned forward and kissed him.
the world stopped. everything else, the buzzing lights, the distant music from the practice room, even your own breathing, disappeared. your fingers went cold. your throat closed. you wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything except stand there like the ground had cracked beneath you. you didn’t stay to see what came after. you didn’t see the way his eyes widened in shock. didn’t see how quickly he pushed her back, how he said her name like it burned. didn’t hear the sharp, broken “what the fuck are you doing?” that echoed through the hallway a moment too late.
all you knew was the way your heart shattered with brutal clarity. you turned and left. the coffee cup slipped from your hand. the sweater fell to the floor. you didn’t care. you walked blindly, numbly, until you were outside, until the air hit your skin and reminded you that you were still real — still here, still hurting. the tears didn’t come right away. they waited. waited until you were home, alone, curled up on the floor like a child who had been promised safety and given betrayal instead. then they came all at once, violent and unstoppable. you cried until your chest hurt. until the silence felt louder than the sobs. until even breathing felt like a betrayal.
he kissed her.
he kissed her.
he kissed her.
you repeated it like a punishment, like maybe if you said it enough, the pain would dull. but it never did. it just sank deeper.
your phone buzzed. once. twice. ten times. his name flashing over and over again. you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. if you heard his voice, you weren’t sure if you’d scream or fall apart. both felt equally possible. he showed up the next day. you didn’t want to open the door. you wanted to pretend you weren’t home. but something inside you, some small, broken part, needed to see him. needed to ask him why. needed to understand how someone who once promised forever could do something so unforgivable. he looked like he hadn’t slept. his eyes were red, voice low. “please,” he said. “just let me explain.” your voice was quiet. shaking. “how long?” his brows pulled together. “what?” “how long were you going to hide it from me?” you asked, throat tightening. “or did you not even care if i found out?” his expression shifted from confusion to horror. “you think i—” he stopped. swallowed. “you think i kissed her?” you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to.
“i didn’t kiss her,” he said, voice cracking. “she kissed me. and i pushed her away. i told her i’m with you. i told her to leave. you didn’t stay long enough to see it.” you looked at him like you were seeing a stranger. your chest ached. your heart didn’t know whether to collapse further or reach for him. “you don’t know what it looked like,” you whispered. “i do,” he said, softer now. “i saw your face when you walked away. you looked like you were breaking. and i... i wanted to run after you. but i needed to make sure she understood it was over. completely. i swear to you, i didn’t want that. i didn’t want her. not now. not ever again.” your breath hitched. tears welled again, uninvited. he stepped forward. slowly. like he was approaching something fragile. “you’re the only one i want. you always have been. please don’t let one second ruin everything we’ve built.” your voice trembled. “it didn’t feel like one second. it felt like the end.” he reached for your hand. held it gently. like it was something sacred. “then let’s start again,” he said. “from this second. just you and me.”
you didn’t say anything. no you didn't even open your mouth. instead, you pulled away from him. just barely, but it was enough. enough to make him freeze, hands hovering uselessly in the space you left behind. “don’t,” you whispered, voice cracking. “don’t hold me like that when i can still fucking see it.” his mouth opened. closed. he looked like he wanted to say everything at once, but the words were stuck in his throat, choked by guilt. you stepped back another inch. “do you even understand what you did to me? what that felt like?” he nodded, painfully. “i-yes. i do. i fucked up-”
“no,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. “no, you hesitated. you froze. you let her touch you. and in that moment, i wasn’t even a thought in your head.” his eyes filled with something — panic, pain, shame. but you weren’t done. “i saw everything, wonwoo. the look in your eyes, the way she kissed you, and the worst part?” your voice dropped to a whisper again, shaking. “the worst fucking part is that for one horrible second… i actually believed you wanted it.” he flinched like you'd slapped him. “do you know what that does to a person?” you laughed bitterly. “to feel like they were just someone to settle for, someone you could forget the second something prettier or easier walked back in?” he took a step forward, desperate. “you’re not someone i settled for-” “but i feel like it,” you breathed, fists clenched. “and that’s the problem.” the silence between you burned. he didn’t move. didn’t defend himself. just stood there, his own eyes glassy now, chest rising like he was trying to hold himself together with nothing but air.
“i don’t know if i can unsee it,” you admitted. “i don’t know if i can be that girl who just forgives, just trusts again like nothing happened.” his voice was barely audible. “but do you want to try?” you looked at him. really looked. and for the first time, you saw it. the desperation.
the regret. the love, still there, still clinging to you even when everything else felt broken. “i don’t know,” you said honestly. “but if i do… you’re gonna have to fight like hell to prove you meant every word you ever said to me.” he stepped forward, gently, like approaching a wounded animal. “then i’ll fight. i’ll fight until there’s nothing left of me but proof.” and this time, you just stepped into his arms and let yourself fall apart, this time in the safety of the person who didn’t let go.
he didn’t let go of your hand, not even when the silence stretched too long or your breath trembled against his chest. he just held you. steady. present. the world could’ve been burning outside, but in that moment, it was just the two of you, no exes, no doubt, no shadows creeping into the corners of your love. he leaned back slightly, just enough to look at you. his thumb brushed along your cheek so softly it felt like an apology in motion. “you’re mine,” he said, not possessively, not like a claim, but like a truth he needed you to believe, like a promise stitched into the quiet space between heartbeats. “not because i want to own you, but because i choose you. every single time.” you didn’t respond. your eyes were tired, swollen from crying, still not sure if it was safe to believe him again. but he could see it, the flicker of hope, the little light that hadn’t gone out completely. so he kept going. “you don’t have to forgive me right now,” he whispered, “but i need you to know, the second she kissed me, the only thing i could think about was you. how your face would fall. how it would hurt you. and god, i wanted to run after you, but i knew if i didn’t end it properly, it might hurt you again later. i wanted to protect you — even if it meant losing you for a moment.”
his voice cracked a little then, and you looked up, surprised by the rawness in his eyes. wonwoo wasn’t the type to beg. he never needed big gestures or loud declarations. but right now, every part of him looked like it was begging you to see him, to believe him. and you did. so you nodded slowly, just enough for him to see that you heard him. that you were still here. and with that, his entire face softened. like the air returned to his lungs. like he could breathe again. he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your temple so gentle it made your chest ache. “you’re my home,” he murmured. “i’ve always been a little quiet, a little slow at showing it. but don’t ever think i’d choose anyone else. never. not in this lifetime. not in any.” your hands clutched his shirt, trembling, as his words soaked into your skin. he kissed your forehead next, then your nose, then the corners of your lips, not asking for anything, just leaving reminders. “i’ll make it up to you,” he whispered. “i’ll show you every day that it’s you. not almost. not maybe. just you. always.”
and then, finally, he smiled.
not the small, polite smile he gave to strangers. not the awkward smile he used when cameras were too close. this was the smile you hadn’t seen in weeks. the one that reached his eyes, soft and full of light, like he had stored all his warmth just for you. he cupped your face gently. “i lost you for a second, and it nearly killed me. i’m never letting that happen again.” you nodded again, this time with a little more strength. he wrapped his arms around you tighter, pressing his cheek to your hair, and just held you. no more apologies. no more explanations. just warmth. just him. there was no more almosts, no more nevers, just always.
pairing: joshua (ex) reader
troupe: lovers to exes
genre(s): est. relationship for like three paragraphs HAHA, angst, hurt, sad ending (sorry not sorry)
warning(s): minor swearing/cursing
word count: ~2k
summary: he loved her quietly, but she forgot him loudly.
work all mine, no reposting without creds, no stealing of published work, copyrighted:D
heavily inspired by joshua x slander's collab on love is gone and let me warn you, this one hurts pretty bad so read at your own risk:(
it ends in a whisper. not in fights, but in the soft sound of goodbye — too quiet for the world to notice, but loud enough to leave two people staring at a version of themselves that no longer exists.
you sit on the edge of the couch, legs drawn up, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands like armor. the apartment is quiet. too quiet.
outside, the rain taps against the windows, steady, like a ticking clock that’s been counting down for months. you hear him come in, closing the door a little too hard. shoes kicked off carelessly. bag dropped on the floor. he doesn’t look at you. not at first. you don’t look at him either.
“you didn’t reply to my texts,” he says, standing there with water dripping from his hair, eyes already tired. “wasn’t in the mood to talk,” you mumble. he tries again, "can we talk now then?" you just stay quiet, not even inviting him to sit next to you. "what's going on with you?" he breaks the silence. "i said i wasn't in the mood." your voice comes out colder than you had hoped for, yet you couldn't bring yourself to apologise. he scoffs. “right. because avoiding each other fixes everything, huh?” you look up. “you think I’m avoiding you? maybe I just don’t have anything to say.” “that’s bullshit,” he snaps, stepping forward. “we’re falling apart and you’re acting like you don’t care.” you blink at him. slowly. like it’s taking effort to even respond. “maybe I don’t.”
that shuts him up.
his mouth opens. then closes. he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “don’t say that,” he says. “you don’t mean that.” you laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s too true. “i do, joshua.” and there it is. the thing you’ve both been dancing around for weeks. months, maybe. he stares at you like he doesn’t recognise you. and maybe he doesn’t. maybe you don’t either. “so what?” he says bitterly. “that’s it? you just don’t care anymore?” “it’s not like it happened overnight,” you shoot back. “do you think i wanted to stop feeling things for you? do you think i woke up and just chose this?” “then why didn’t you tell me?” his voice rises. “why the hell didn’t you tell me you were done?!” you stand now, finally, something burning in your chest. “because i wasn’t done! i was trying! i was holding on when you stopped showing up! when you stopped seeing me! you’d come home and barely even look at me anymore! what was i supposed to do?! beg you to notice me?!”
he stares at you, breathing hard. his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it hurts. “i was tired too,” he says. “i was exhausted and trying to balance everything and maybe i messed up, but i never stopped loving you.” “good for you,” you say coldly. “but i did.”
and that breaks him more than yelling ever could. he steps back like you physically hit him. the color drains from his face. his hands drop to his sides. you swallow hard. part of you wants to take it back, not because it’s not true, but because it feels cruel. but maybe it has to be. maybe this is the only way he’ll really hear it. “i didn’t mean for it to happen,” you whisper. “but somewhere along the way... i just stopped feeling anything when i looked at you.” “you’re lying,” he says. quietly. desperately. “you’re saying all this because you’re mad. we can fix this. just talk to me-”
“joshua,” you say, and this time your voice breaks. “it’s gone. the love is gone.”
he doesn’t move. he doesn’t cry. he just stands there, and for a moment, you see it click. really click. the way his chest rises, then falls, the way his shoulders sag like something inside him just gave up. he doesn’t even look angry anymore. he just looks like someone who thought love would be enough. and now he knows it isn’t. and like instinct — always the same — he reaches for his guitar. he strums a chord. you don’t need to ask which song. it’s always the same one. “don’t go tonight / stay here one more time...” his voice is shaking now. you hate how sad it sounds. you hate that you’re the reason. you hate how you had fallen out of love with the man you had once promised would never leave alone, with the man who instantly lifted your mood just by the sight of him, with the man that was now just someone you were extremely grateful towards. you looked away, not wanting to guilt to sink in even more, but the melody brought you back, forcing you to look at him. at his figure, slowly strumming the strings of his guitar, his voice soft and trembling but nevertheless still the same, angelic one you'd once die to hear.
you walked towards him. gently, slowly. you kneel in front of him and place your hand over the strings, stopping the music. “this song doesn’t fix what we broke,” you whisper. “it’s not just the love that’s gone, joshua. i am.” he swallows hard. he doesn’t speak. you reach up and touch his cheek — one last time. his skin is warm. familiar. and it hurts. “i’ll always remember you in music,” you say. “but not in my future.”
you don’t wait for a response. you can’t.
you stand. you grab your bag. and you walk to the door. your fingers pause on the handle, hoping he’ll say something. beg. scream. cry. but he doesn’t. so you leave. the door closes with a soft click behind you.
inside, joshua sits alone on the couch. he doesn’t move.
he doesn’t play. he just stares at the space where you were sitting minutes ago, wondering when exactly your love left, and why he didn’t notice it slipping away until it was too late.
—
it had been three months.
joshua wasn’t counting. not really. not in that dramatic, tragic way movies portrayed breakups — no calendar markings, no red X’s through painful anniversaries. but time still passed strangely. some days disappeared too fast, blurred out by sleepless nights in the studio and long rehearsals where he forgot to eat. other days dragged, especially the ones where he came home to silence, where the only sound was his own breathing and the distant hum of the fridge, not your soft humming in the kitchen, not your laugh echoing from the bedroom, not your footsteps shuffling around in mismatched socks. he hadn’t touched the guitar since you left. not properly. not for himself. the music didn’t sound right anymore, not when every chord felt like a memory he didn’t want to revisit. the guitar used to be comfort, therapy, love. now it was a mirror. and it kept reflecting back the same image of you, kneeling in front of him with your hand gently pressing down on the strings, eyes soft but final as you whispered, “this song doesn’t fix what we broke.”
it hadn’t left him. those words. they looped in his head at night like a haunting refrain. some days he tried to be okay. really. he filled his hours with practice and work, kept conversations light, made jokes to his members that didn’t quite land but were good enough to pass as fine. he even went out occasionally. sat at cafes. tried to pretend. but he hadn’t seen you. until now.
it was supposed to be just another quiet afternoon — a short break between schedules, a coffee run with a friend. nothing special. the cafe was small, tucked in a corner he liked for its quiet, barely occupied by anyone except a few students typing away on laptops. he hadn’t even looked up when he walked in. just ordered his drink, sat down at a window seat, pulled his cap low and sipped his coffee as his friend rambled on about something meaningless. joshua nodded, half-listening, fingers tapping quietly against the cup. his mind was elsewhere, like it always was. and then he heard it. your laugh. it wasn’t loud. it wasn’t even close. but he knew that sound better than he knew the sound of his own voice. that soft, breathy kind of laugh you always made when someone said something that wasn’t even that funny but made you feel warm anyway.
his heart clenched instantly, like his body recognised you before his brain did. and when he turned toward the sound, there you were. you looked different. not dramatically. not in some movie-makeover way. just... lighter. softer around the edges. your hair was a little longer. your face a little brighter. your shoulders more relaxed. like someone who was finally breathing again. you were sitting by the window, bathed in gentle sunlight, across from a guy who looked at you the way joshua used to. and worse — you were looking back. you laughed at something the guy said, head tilted slightly, your hand lazily tucked beneath your chin. the guy smiled, leaned over, and reached to brush something from your cheek, a crumb, maybe, or just an excuse to touch you. and you let him. joshua couldn’t move. his fingers froze around his cup, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. the world tilted, just a little. like someone had pulled the floor out from under him in slow motion. you were right there.
and you looked happy.
happy.
happier than you ever looked in the last few months you spent with him. happier than you did on the night you left. happier than he’d seen you in what felt like forever. and the worst part?
you didn’t see him.
you didn’t even look around. didn’t sense him near. didn’t glance his way or hesitate or freeze or anything that might’ve hinted that he still meant something. anything. but no you, you just smiled, eyes crinkled, hand curled loosely in the other guy’s across the table. it was the kind of image joshua knew he would never forget. and it hurt more than the breakup ever did. because in that moment, it became terrifyingly real. you were gone. you had let go. you had moved on. but he hadn’t.
his friend kept talking, oblivious, words turning to muffled background noise. joshua didn’t hear a single thing. he just sat there, eyes fixed on you, chest tight, throat dry, heart aching in a way that felt almost physical. he thought about going over. he thought about saying something. but what could he even say? “i still think about you every night.” “i haven’t written a full song since you left.” “i miss you more than i know how to explain.” no. it wouldn’t matter. you weren’t his anymore. you weren’t waiting for him to fix anything. you weren’t holding onto hope or reaching for closure. you were happy.
and that killed him.
because no matter how many times he replayed that final conversation in his head, no matter how many versions of the story he told himself to soften the blow, nothing prepared him for this.
for seeing you smile like you never cried in front of him. like you never yelled in the middle of the living room. like you never looked at him with shaking hands and said, “i don’t love you anymore.” you were someone else’s now. and there was nothing he could do about it.
that night, joshua went home alone. he stared at the guitar for a long time before picking it up. it felt heavier than usual. he sat on the floor and tried to play — fingers shaky, breath uneven, and let the melody take shape even though the words wouldn’t come. it wasn’t a song. not yet. it was unexplainable pain. the kind that sits in your chest and never fully leaves. the kind that stays long after someone stops loving you. and joshua played it anyway. quietly, broken. not for anyone to hear. just to remind himself that it was real. that you were real. and that losing you still hurt like hell.
“i watched you fall in love with someone else. and all i could do
was stay quiet.”
LET ME INTRODUCE YOU GUYS TO THE NEWEST GRP IM STANNING!
hi guys, so some of you guys might know ahof, a grp formed by f & f ent. under a survival show program called "universe league"! styled based on an actual football game, the top team and two other members from other teams were called at the finals, lined up for debut, and in this case, team rhythm won! so, nine members, starting from oldest to youngest- steven, jeongwoo, woongki, shuaibo, han, jl, juwon, chih en and daisuke, are now part of the 5th gen grp, "ahof" which also stands for all-time hall of famer and in korean, the word "ahop" translates to nine (because they have 9 members) their music is great and i see sm svt in them<3 i had to stan cuz my diva woongki finally debuted so please support them and i will probably start writing for them as well!!! (my bias line is basically the diva line-woongki,shuaibo,jl, but also jeongwoo cuz #woowoongz :))))
feel free to ask any questions about them and i hope i find more (currently nameless fandom) - carats like me:D
pairing: joshua (ex) reader
troupe: lovers to exes
genre(s): est. relationship for like three paragraphs HAHA, angst, hurt, sad ending (sorry not sorry)
warning(s): minor swearing/cursing
word count: ~2k
summary: he loved her quietly, but she forgot him loudly.
work all mine, no reposting without creds, no stealing of published work, copyrighted:D
heavily inspired by joshua x slander's collab on love is gone and let me warn you, this one hurts pretty bad so read at your own risk:(
it ends in a whisper. not in fights, but in the soft sound of goodbye — too quiet for the world to notice, but loud enough to leave two people staring at a version of themselves that no longer exists.
you sit on the edge of the couch, legs drawn up, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands like armor. the apartment is quiet. too quiet.
outside, the rain taps against the windows, steady, like a ticking clock that’s been counting down for months. you hear him come in, closing the door a little too hard. shoes kicked off carelessly. bag dropped on the floor. he doesn’t look at you. not at first. you don’t look at him either.
“you didn’t reply to my texts,” he says, standing there with water dripping from his hair, eyes already tired. “wasn’t in the mood to talk,” you mumble. he tries again, "can we talk now then?" you just stay quiet, not even inviting him to sit next to you. "what's going on with you?" he breaks the silence. "i said i wasn't in the mood." your voice comes out colder than you had hoped for, yet you couldn't bring yourself to apologise. he scoffs. “right. because avoiding each other fixes everything, huh?” you look up. “you think I’m avoiding you? maybe I just don’t have anything to say.” “that’s bullshit,” he snaps, stepping forward. “we’re falling apart and you’re acting like you don’t care.” you blink at him. slowly. like it’s taking effort to even respond. “maybe I don’t.”
that shuts him up.
his mouth opens. then closes. he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “don’t say that,” he says. “you don’t mean that.” you laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s too true. “i do, joshua.” and there it is. the thing you’ve both been dancing around for weeks. months, maybe. he stares at you like he doesn’t recognise you. and maybe he doesn’t. maybe you don’t either. “so what?” he says bitterly. “that’s it? you just don’t care anymore?” “it’s not like it happened overnight,” you shoot back. “do you think i wanted to stop feeling things for you? do you think i woke up and just chose this?” “then why didn’t you tell me?” his voice rises. “why the hell didn’t you tell me you were done?!” you stand now, finally, something burning in your chest. “because i wasn’t done! i was trying! i was holding on when you stopped showing up! when you stopped seeing me! you’d come home and barely even look at me anymore! what was i supposed to do?! beg you to notice me?!”
he stares at you, breathing hard. his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it hurts. “i was tired too,” he says. “i was exhausted and trying to balance everything and maybe i messed up, but i never stopped loving you.” “good for you,” you say coldly. “but i did.”
and that breaks him more than yelling ever could. he steps back like you physically hit him. the color drains from his face. his hands drop to his sides. you swallow hard. part of you wants to take it back, not because it’s not true, but because it feels cruel. but maybe it has to be. maybe this is the only way he’ll really hear it. “i didn’t mean for it to happen,” you whisper. “but somewhere along the way... i just stopped feeling anything when i looked at you.” “you’re lying,” he says. quietly. desperately. “you’re saying all this because you’re mad. we can fix this. just talk to me-”
“joshua,” you say, and this time your voice breaks. “it’s gone. the love is gone.”
he doesn’t move. he doesn’t cry. he just stands there, and for a moment, you see it click. really click. the way his chest rises, then falls, the way his shoulders sag like something inside him just gave up. he doesn’t even look angry anymore. he just looks like someone who thought love would be enough. and now he knows it isn’t. and like instinct — always the same — he reaches for his guitar. he strums a chord. you don’t need to ask which song. it’s always the same one. “don’t go tonight / stay here one more time...” his voice is shaking now. you hate how sad it sounds. you hate that you’re the reason. you hate how you had fallen out of love with the man you had once promised would never leave alone, with the man who instantly lifted your mood just by the sight of him, with the man that was now just someone you were extremely grateful towards. you looked away, not wanting to guilt to sink in even more, but the melody brought you back, forcing you to look at him. at his figure, slowly strumming the strings of his guitar, his voice soft and trembling but nevertheless still the same, angelic one you'd once die to hear.
you walked towards him. gently, slowly. you kneel in front of him and place your hand over the strings, stopping the music. “this song doesn’t fix what we broke,” you whisper. “it’s not just the love that’s gone, joshua. i am.” he swallows hard. he doesn’t speak. you reach up and touch his cheek — one last time. his skin is warm. familiar. and it hurts. “i’ll always remember you in music,” you say. “but not in my future.”
you don’t wait for a response. you can’t.
you stand. you grab your bag. and you walk to the door. your fingers pause on the handle, hoping he’ll say something. beg. scream. cry. but he doesn’t. so you leave. the door closes with a soft click behind you.
inside, joshua sits alone on the couch. he doesn’t move.
he doesn’t play. he just stares at the space where you were sitting minutes ago, wondering when exactly your love left, and why he didn’t notice it slipping away until it was too late.
—
it had been three months.
joshua wasn’t counting. not really. not in that dramatic, tragic way movies portrayed breakups — no calendar markings, no red X’s through painful anniversaries. but time still passed strangely. some days disappeared too fast, blurred out by sleepless nights in the studio and long rehearsals where he forgot to eat. other days dragged, especially the ones where he came home to silence, where the only sound was his own breathing and the distant hum of the fridge, not your soft humming in the kitchen, not your laugh echoing from the bedroom, not your footsteps shuffling around in mismatched socks. he hadn’t touched the guitar since you left. not properly. not for himself. the music didn’t sound right anymore, not when every chord felt like a memory he didn’t want to revisit. the guitar used to be comfort, therapy, love. now it was a mirror. and it kept reflecting back the same image of you, kneeling in front of him with your hand gently pressing down on the strings, eyes soft but final as you whispered, “this song doesn’t fix what we broke.”
it hadn’t left him. those words. they looped in his head at night like a haunting refrain. some days he tried to be okay. really. he filled his hours with practice and work, kept conversations light, made jokes to his members that didn’t quite land but were good enough to pass as fine. he even went out occasionally. sat at cafes. tried to pretend. but he hadn’t seen you. until now.
it was supposed to be just another quiet afternoon — a short break between schedules, a coffee run with a friend. nothing special. the cafe was small, tucked in a corner he liked for its quiet, barely occupied by anyone except a few students typing away on laptops. he hadn’t even looked up when he walked in. just ordered his drink, sat down at a window seat, pulled his cap low and sipped his coffee as his friend rambled on about something meaningless. joshua nodded, half-listening, fingers tapping quietly against the cup. his mind was elsewhere, like it always was. and then he heard it. your laugh. it wasn’t loud. it wasn’t even close. but he knew that sound better than he knew the sound of his own voice. that soft, breathy kind of laugh you always made when someone said something that wasn’t even that funny but made you feel warm anyway.
his heart clenched instantly, like his body recognised you before his brain did. and when he turned toward the sound, there you were. you looked different. not dramatically. not in some movie-makeover way. just... lighter. softer around the edges. your hair was a little longer. your face a little brighter. your shoulders more relaxed. like someone who was finally breathing again. you were sitting by the window, bathed in gentle sunlight, across from a guy who looked at you the way joshua used to. and worse — you were looking back. you laughed at something the guy said, head tilted slightly, your hand lazily tucked beneath your chin. the guy smiled, leaned over, and reached to brush something from your cheek, a crumb, maybe, or just an excuse to touch you. and you let him. joshua couldn’t move. his fingers froze around his cup, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. the world tilted, just a little. like someone had pulled the floor out from under him in slow motion. you were right there.
and you looked happy.
happy.
happier than you ever looked in the last few months you spent with him. happier than you did on the night you left. happier than he’d seen you in what felt like forever. and the worst part?
you didn’t see him.
you didn’t even look around. didn’t sense him near. didn’t glance his way or hesitate or freeze or anything that might’ve hinted that he still meant something. anything. but no you, you just smiled, eyes crinkled, hand curled loosely in the other guy’s across the table. it was the kind of image joshua knew he would never forget. and it hurt more than the breakup ever did. because in that moment, it became terrifyingly real. you were gone. you had let go. you had moved on. but he hadn’t.
his friend kept talking, oblivious, words turning to muffled background noise. joshua didn’t hear a single thing. he just sat there, eyes fixed on you, chest tight, throat dry, heart aching in a way that felt almost physical. he thought about going over. he thought about saying something. but what could he even say? “i still think about you every night.” “i haven’t written a full song since you left.” “i miss you more than i know how to explain.” no. it wouldn’t matter. you weren’t his anymore. you weren’t waiting for him to fix anything. you weren’t holding onto hope or reaching for closure. you were happy.
and that killed him.
because no matter how many times he replayed that final conversation in his head, no matter how many versions of the story he told himself to soften the blow, nothing prepared him for this.
for seeing you smile like you never cried in front of him. like you never yelled in the middle of the living room. like you never looked at him with shaking hands and said, “i don’t love you anymore.” you were someone else’s now. and there was nothing he could do about it.
that night, joshua went home alone. he stared at the guitar for a long time before picking it up. it felt heavier than usual. he sat on the floor and tried to play — fingers shaky, breath uneven, and let the melody take shape even though the words wouldn’t come. it wasn’t a song. not yet. it was unexplainable pain. the kind that sits in your chest and never fully leaves. the kind that stays long after someone stops loving you. and joshua played it anyway. quietly, broken. not for anyone to hear. just to remind himself that it was real. that you were real. and that losing you still hurt like hell.
“i watched you fall in love with someone else. and all i could do
was stay quiet.”
welcome joshushushus to where a twisted rollercoaster ride of emotions with shua is here. sit back, grab a snack and enjoy, because whether it’s the cute and romantic moments, the dirty ones, the sad and depressing ones or the ones filled with rage, it’s never boring when you’re with joshua! p.s. you might want to grab a pan or tissues during the angst and hurt ones and have fun:D
labelling of genres: a = angst, f = fluff, h = hurt, c = comfort
warnings included in my aus: swearing/cursing, dirty jokes, mentions of abuse/depression/mental health awareness
pairing: joshua x reader
troupe: already lovers
genre(s): est. relationship, fluff!
warning(s): none
word count: ~1.1k
summary: she loves sunday mornings, but with her boyfriend, it can't be more perfect
work all mine, no reposting without creds, no stealing of published work, copyrighted:D
you wake to the sound of soft birdsong and the way golden light seeps through the cracks in the curtains. everything feels still, like the world hasn't fully woken up yet. your bed is warm, your blanket tangled around your legs, and the hoodie you're wrapped in smells like him—fresh laundry and that familiar trace of his cologne that always makes you feel safe. he’s not beside you, but the sheets are still warm where he lay, and there's something gentle in the air… like music, maybe? soft hums and the faintest sound of something sizzling. vyou blink slowly, then stretch. sunlight brushes over your skin like a kiss, and the smell drifting in from the kitchen is unmistakable—vanilla, butter, something sweet.
your heart already knows.
you shuffle out of bed in your socks and his hoodie, sleeves way too long, steps quiet on the wooden floor. you don’t say anything when you reach the doorway. you just watch. and damn do you smile too. your heart is already blooming and it wasn't even nine yet. he was perfect. joshua stands at the stove, his back to you, the early sunlight painting his profile in soft gold. he's humming—something slow, almost jazzy, like he's part of an old vinyl record. his hair is messy, curls a little flattened on one side. he looks like a dream you don’t want to wake up from. you smile wider this time, hugging yourself a little. he turns just then, catching you with sleepy eyes and a soft grin. he chuckles, making your heart beat just a little faster. “well good morning to you beautiful,” he says, like the words are wrapped in honey. “did i wake you?”
you shake your head, stepping into the kitchen. “no. the smell of pancakes woke me. and… you humming.” he chuckles, setting the spatula down. “was i that loud?” “no,” you say, wrapping your arms around him from behind. “you were just… peaceful. it made me want to find you.” his hands cover yours instantly, warm and grounding. he sways a little with you like there’s music only the two of you can hear. “i wanted to let you sleep in,” he says, voice soft. “you looked really peaceful.”
“so you made pancakes?”
“and coffee. and cut fruit. and… well, i may have burned the first pancake but we don’t talk about that one.” you laugh quietly into his shoulder. “you’re kind of perfect.” he hums. “kind of?” you smile against him. “i’ll let you know after i taste the pancakes.” he spins in your arms, hands still holding yours, and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “deal.”
he plates everything gently, like it’s sacred. pancakes with cinnamon, maple syrup, strawberries cut into little hearts, of course, and two steaming mugs of coffee, one with the exact amount of sugar you like. “breakfast is served,” he says, sliding a plate toward you as you sit at the table. the moment feels like something out of a movie. morning light spilling over the table, soft music still playing from the speaker in the background, your knees brushing under the table. “you did all this just to let me sleep?” you ask.
“i did all this because i love you,” he says simply, sipping his coffee.
you go still for a second. not from shock, but from the way your chest swells. because he says it like it’s easy. like it’s obvious. “you’re really just gonna drop that like it’s nothing, huh?” he tilts his head, smile soft. “it’s not nothing. it’s everything. but it doesn’t have to be heavy.” your heart does a little somersault. you take a bite of pancake, and it’s fluffy, warm, cinnamon-sweet. “okay,” you say with a small grin. “you’re perfect.” he lifts a strawberry with his fork and holds it out to you. “only if you say it again.”
“you’re perfect.”
“again.”
you laugh, taking the bite. “you’re impossible.” he leans in, brushing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “and you’re beautiful in the morning.” you nearly melt into your chair. you take a sip of your coffee—warm, perfectly sweetened, just the way you like it. he watches you like it's his favorite show, chin resting in his hand, eyes fond. "what?" you ask, cheeks warm. "nothing," he murmurs. "just thinking about how lucky i am."
after breakfast, you help him rinse the plates while he dries them. he keeps bumping into your side on purpose, and when you flick a few water droplets at him, he gasps like you’ve declared war. “you really wanna start something, baby?” “what are you gonna do, splash me back?” he grins, mischief dancing in his eyes. and then he grabs the faucet sprayer. you shriek and duck behind the counter, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. somehow, it ends with you both damp, breathless, and leaning against the sink, foreheads pressed together. “we’re such idiots.” you murmur.
“and yet you love me anyway.”
“i do.”
you say it so naturally, so easily, and the way he looks at you in that moment makes your knees go a little weak. "come on," he says softly, pulling you by the hand. "blanket. couch. you. now." you don’t even need to answer. you just follow. you end up back on the couch, wrapped in a blanket too big for two people, but you make it work. his arm is around you, your legs tangled in his lap, the soft sound of acoustic music humming through the speaker.
outside, the sun is bright and slow. your coffee mugs are still warm on the coffee table. your heart is full. his fingers trace gentle patterns on your arm, and you close your eyes. “we could bake something later,” you mumble sleepily. “cookies. or banana bread.” “only if we slow dance in the kitchen while we wait for it to bake,” he says. you lift your head just enough to look at him. “you really are trying to win boyfriend of the year, huh?” he smiles, brushing your hair out of your face. “just trying to be worthy of you.” you stare at him for a beat too long. then, in a voice so soft it nearly disappears, you say, “you always have been.”
without a word, he leans in and kisses you—slow, unrushed, like you have all the time in the world. like this is the only moment that exists. his hand cups your cheek, and yours slips into his hair, tugging gently. when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours. “i could live in this moment forever,” he whispers. “me too.” later, as you slow dance barefoot in the kitchen with banana bread in the oven, joshua’s hands resting at your waist, your head on his shoulder, you realise something:
this isn’t just a sunday morning. this is what love feels like.
this is what home feels like. him, joshua, your boyfriend and the love of your life, is exactly who you wanted to spend your sunday mornings with, for the rest of your life.
100 follower event! tysm for this achievement btw:)
i honestly can't imagine to explain how grateful i am for this milestone i've reached. thank you to every single one of you guys that have been reading, supporting and hopefully enjoying my fics and all the work i've put out so far. i promise and hope to give you guys improve and way more fics in the future and i'm certain i'll be able to do so with your unwavering support! although this is only a sideblog and a hobby of mine, i really cherish the power of writing and the amazing things you can do with it, so i thank you guys once more again. from the bottom of my heart, i love yall ~kwanniverse🍊
be ready for some major angst coming your way with this ot13 oneshot series that will hurt, crash, rip, tear apart your heart into pieces and break you because it is going to be rough, painful, heartbreaking ride, and most of all, you'll learn that letting go is also a kind of love.
and, we've finally come to the end of my first ever ot13 series! i wanna thank everyone who has read and followed me throughout this whole writing thing, because the support is honestly beginning to feel unreal, and i promise that i'm coming back with even better fics that will both make you giggle in your bed and rip your heart into pieces! in fact, i'm in the midst of a hoshi one, where its angst x fluff and i've actually teased this one twice, it's titled, "one minute"! be ready for way more works coming your way!
seungkwan didn’t notice at first. he really didn't.
he didn’t notice how your smile never quite reached your eyes. you were always the one who held things together, who laughed first so no one else had to. but the weight you carried had edges, sharp ones that sometimes stabbed, ripped, sliced, burst, broke, tore apart and cut through even your own silence. your joy, when it arrived, did so like a foreign dialect—alluring but often mispronounced, wrapped in the dissonance of unfamiliar cadence, as though your soul had forgotten how to conjugate happiness without first translating it through ache, and yet, you never once said a word.
but then, one day he did. he noticed.
he began to notice the stillness in between your smiles, how you would stiffen up whenever someone asked to take your picture. it wasn’t the silence, but the tension, like something once shattered was learning how to hold its shape. your laughter came out uneven, as if your ribs hadn’t yet relearned how to stretch around joy without bracing for pain. it wasn’t soft, or sweet, or effortless. it was survival, laughter that sounded like it had claws, like it had to crawl its way out of you. and somehow, that made it more real. he didn’t interrupt. he watched it happen like sunrise through ruins—not beautiful because it was whole, but because it rose anyway.
and then he started to see it everywhere. in the way your hands always reached for the sleeves of your sweater when someone looked too long. in the way your shoulders curled in, instinctively, when praised—as if compliments were sharp objects and you’d learned how to flinch in anticipation. in the pause before every “i’m okay” that stretched just a second too long. in the way you laughed harder when the pain crept too close, trying to drown it in noise before anyone else could hear the tremble behind it. he saw the courage it took just to show up. to sit in a room full of joy and pretend yours didn’t ache. to carry the weight of old hurt in a world that only wanted light.
he saw it in your quiet, not the kind that begged to be filled, but the kind that had learned to make peace with its own echo. and finally, he understood—your resilience wasn’t loud. it was delicate, and defiant, and soft in the way broken things are when they keep living anyway. and one night, when the silence between you grew too loud to ignore, he asked, barely above a whisper, “was i one of the things that hurt you?” you didn’t answer at first. you looked at him like you wanted to lie, to soften the truth. but your eyes betrayed you.
“you didn’t mean to,” you said. “but you never asked. and i was always bleeding quietly beside you, hoping you’d see.”
his face crumbled, not from anger— but from the kind of guilt that comes when you finally see someone’s pain and realise you were standing right next to them the whole time. he reached for your hand, but you pulled it back. softly. gently. like someone who had already let go a long time ago, but was only now giving the moment a name. “you see me now,” you whispered, voice trembling.
“but it took breaking to make you look.”
and that hurt more than anything. not the silence. not even the distance. but the unbearable weight of being seen only in the aftermath. of being a lesson, not a love. he called your name like it could still hold you. like maybe this time you’d stay. but you were already turning away. not out of anger. not to punish him. just because it was too late. sometimes, the damage doesn’t scream.
sometimes, it simply stops waiting. and all that’s left is the echo of someone who tried— and was never truly heard until they were already gone.
the rain had stopped hours ago, but the streets still shimmered with it — like the sky had cried so hard, the world didn’t know how to dry. you watched the window, your breath fogging the glass just barely. the apartment was dim, shadows pulled long across the floor. his hoodie hung off the chair you never sat in anymore. his sneakers were by the door, slightly uneven like he left in a rush and came back distracted. he was in the room, just a few feet behind you, but it might as well have been miles.
“you’re quiet,” chan said, softly. you didn’t answer. you were tired of pointing out how long it had been since he noticed your silence. he stepped closer, his presence warm, familiar, and suddenly… unbearable. “did something happen?” your eyes stayed on the window. “nothing happened. that’s the problem.” he didn’t respond. not right away. you could hear the way he exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to find the right thing to say, the right thread to pull — but there was none. every word between you now felt like a string tied to a cracked glass. too much pressure, and it would all fall apart. “we’ve both been busy,” he offered, gently. you turned your head toward him. “we used to be busy and still feel close.” he looked down at the floor, then back at you. “i don’t know when we stopped trying.”
you did. you just didn’t want to say it. it was in the little things. a missed call. a postponed dinner. the way you both kept saying “later,” and later never came. love delayed so many times it stopped arriving altogether. “i still love you,” he said suddenly, and it sounded like a plea. like if he said it first, maybe you’d feel it again too. and you did.
you did love him. but love isn’t always enough when it’s out of rhythm — when one person reaches out and the other is already pulling away. “i know,” you whispered. “i love you too.”
his shoulders dropped, just a little. and then you said the thing that sat in your chest like a stone: “but we’re never on the same page, chan. we’re always catching up to each other, but never at the same time.”
you weren’t angry. just tired. he didn’t argue. he didn’t beg. he just stood there, like a boy still learning that sometimes you can do everything right and still lose something you love. “what do we do now?” he asked. you shook your head, tears stinging quietly at the edge of your eyes. “i don’t know. but i think the trying is starting to hurt more than the leaving.” he took a shaky breath. maybe he wanted to say something else. maybe he wanted to fix it. but you both knew — this wasn’t something either of you could hold together if the timing was always wrong.
so you stood there. he stood there. two people in love. but love alone, in the end, wasn’t the glue you thought it would be. not when you kept missing each other. not when the silence felt easier than speaking. and not when goodbye was the only thing that finally arrived at the same time.
you sat at the edge of the bed, legs dangling, fingers twisted in the worn hem of your shirt like you were trying to hold yourself together with the cotton. the apartment was still — not peaceful still, but the kind that echoed. the kind of silence that settles over things dying slowly. he was in the living room, headphones on, tucked behind the sound of something louder than you. maybe it was work. maybe it was just a wall. the music pulsed through the floor like a heartbeat you could no longer sync with.
you hadn’t spoken in days. not out of spite, but because silence had become the easiest language between you. a language built of glances too brief, touches that missed their mark, questions swallowed before they made it out of your mouth. you stared at the window like it owed you something. the city lights blinked back, distant, unfazed, glittering like a thousand indifferent eyes. you remembered when he used to wrap his arms around you from behind, like a reflex. when your body was a place he instinctively returned to.
now, you were just furniture in his peripheral. unmoving. unnoticed.
you tried to remember the last time he looked at you like you were the center of a universe — not just a planet drifting quietly out of orbit. once, you were the song he couldn’t stop replaying. now, you were background noise, too familiar to hear anymore. you didn’t blame him. not exactly. this was a slow kind of heartbreak — the kind that didn’t shatter but softened. wore you down like wind over stone. love, you were learning, didn’t always end with an explosion. sometimes, it just… faded. like light through an old curtain, slow and sad and irreversible.
you stood up. walked to the kitchen. poured yourself a glass of water because it was something to do with your hands. he was still on the couch, his back a wall you couldn’t get through, his shoulders heavy with something he never let you carry. you thought about speaking. about bridging the space between you with a simple question — are you okay? do you still need me? but the words caught in your throat like glass. you used to talk about everything. now, your silences had grown teeth, and every attempt to reach him felt like bleeding for someone who never noticed the wound. he wasn’t cruel. he just wasn’t here. not in the way that mattered. and you were tired of holding a love that didn’t hold you back.
you leaned against the counter, eyes fixed on his silhouette, waiting. not for him to turn — you’d stopped hoping for that, but for the final thread to snap. the one that kept convincing you this was still love. he didn’t look up. didn’t feel the weight of your gaze. and you knew. maybe that was how people leave, not in storms or slammed doors, but in missed eye contact and fading echoes. but that wasn't the kind of love you wanted. not the the kind of love that leaves you gently.
so gently you barely feel it go until you realise you’re no longer waiting for him to come back—because he already did.
