pairing: yuma x reader
synopsis: yuma and you were childhood friends and used to love each other, but neither of you ever confessed. when you meet each other again, you can't simply let it slip away.
genre: angst?, office work, childhood friends to ???
word count: around 1,5k
a/n: here is the second and final episode! hope you like it!
ep 1 ⋆゜☂︎⋆゜ep 2
the day after your unexpected encounter with your old friend yuma, you headed towards the office with a knot in your stomach.
anxiety taking over you completely, you mechanically closed your appartement door, walked to the underground station, passed through the gates, waited at the platform, entered the wagon and sat by the window.
you hadn’t been able to eat anything this morning, as a lump has taken up residence in your throat at the sight of yuma.
the screeching of the train on the rails. the steps of the passengers entering the wagon. the ring of the doors opening. everything was too loud this morning.
you counted the stations to calm you down.
funabori.
higashi-ojima.
ojima.
nishi-ojima.
sumi-yoshi.
kikukawa.
RIIING.
you raised your head as the train stopped at the station.
your breathing was calmer now. you closed your eyes a few seconds to settle in.
as you opened them again, you noticed a blond guy a few seats away from you. headphones on. it’s yuma. a fixed expression on his face.
of course he’s taking the same line as you, you thought, annoyed.
your heart started beating louder again.
you tried to ignore it, watching the scenery go by through the window.
after the longest half-hour ride, you got up and headed to the exit.
you had lost sight of yuma. what a relief.
the first meeting was the toughest. you realised that it will be impossible to overlook yuma's presence in the team.
you will actually have to address him. but you didn't want to ache the way you did back then.
so you tried to put on your professional mask to not involve your own feelings. your role as a creative director implied coordinating the whole team and ensuring the good communication between everyone.
as the days went by, you found it easier to cross him in the corridor. you even thought about building up your friendship again.
only, yuma's cold look did not leave his face. and he did not hesitate to sharply retort when he disagreed with your propositions.
your short-lived hopes quickly left your mind in view of his cutting behaviour.
the months went by, the project almost reaching an end. everything went well for the most.
yuma and you only interacted when necessary.
but you couldn't help but notice the unexpectedly attractive aura that radiated from him when he was so serious. this thought crossed your mind for a second before you wiped it away.
you couldn't suffer again.
actually, you never had seen him in this context before. during you teenage years, he was always goofing around, like his priority was to let out a laugh out of each person that crossed his path.
not a single giggle escaped his mouth this time.
that also worried you a bit. is he that way only because he's at work? or something happened in his life that deeply changed him?
the last meeting came by.
you greeted all of your coworkers with a large smile. you were proud of this project.
'here we are everybody. today is the day we unveil the final cover of the book. yuma has delivered several versions of it, so now has come the moment to select the one.'
you go through each version with the team, until you notice something wrong.
'hmm ... yuma, why is tayda, I mean ... the second most important character in the story not in most of the versions you sent, or is put so far in the background that we can barely see him?"
'well, i don't think that was ever mentioned that he should appear on the cover,' he answered, impassive.
you felt a prickle of irritation heat up your neck.
'actually, i think it was mentioned in the first brief, let me check.' you went through your email box, trying to stay composed, and displayed the email you sent months ago. 'this was the initial brief, yuma. and we discussed all the details in october, it's now april. i specifically sent you the final sheet approval.'
'you approved the colour palette, not the layout,' yuma retorted, his voice dropping. he didn't look at you but at the screen, his jaw tight.
'well, yuma, we discussed the layout of the cover during every meeting, are you trying to sabotage the project?' you felt your professional mask slipping. as you stated your point firmly, you noticed yuma’s eyes getting teary.
'do you think i did that on purpose? what would i gain from that?'
'i don't know, you haven't talked to me since you got back, or only to disapprove everything i suggest' you snapped back. 'i now see that some people are meant to be left behind.'
no, no, no, you didn't say that in front of twenty of her colleagues. you need to handle the situation in a professional manner, as you always do. but you didn't get that opportunity.
'okay, i'm done', yuma declaimed, while grabbing his jacket and slamming the door on his way out.
the whole team was now staring at you, waiting for your command.
'meeting adjourned,' you whispered, your voice trembling. you reached the door and ran after him.
as you reached the entrance hall, you saw him across the window, escaping the building with long strides, in the pouring rain.
you didn't think twice and headed outside, yelling : 'yuma, you can't do that.'
he did not turn back. you sprinted once again, able to reach him closer.
'why are you doing that, yuma?' you asked, tears at the edge of your eyes. 'do you hate me that much?'
'you don't understand,’ he cried out in a breath, shaking his head. ‘i love you. i never stopped loving you.’
his voice cracked on these last words, and tears started running down his cheeks.
‘i thought you would never feel the same way as i did. as i still do. it was too painful, like someone was stabbing me in the heart everytime i looked at you, so i left.’
he was now looking down, his breath heavy while delivering words he had been holding back for all these years.
‘you can’t imagine how much i missed you,’ he continued, ‘you were the most precious person in my life, always getting me, even though it didn’t make any sense. you understood and supported me without questioning anything, and … finding you back here hurts me because it reminds me that i’ll never have you. and i'm messing everything up. i’m not sure that i’ll be able to stay any longer in this place.’
he stopped talking.
you stood there, speechless. every puzzle piece was getting back to its original place. that explained everything, why he stopped visiting you a few years ago, why he behaved the way he did since he got back.
all this time, you’ve been feeling the same but your fear of ruining your friendship kept you apart.
‘say something, i beg you,’ he uttered painfully, while raising his gaze towards you, a shed of hair dampened by the rain, forming a veil over his drenched eyes.
‘i …’ you started. but words couldn’t find their way to your mouth. your throat was aching, desperate to let out the tears. you couldn’t hold them any longer.
‘yuma, all my life …’ you paused for a moment, it was too much. never, you thought you’d have to face him again. and it was happening here, in your company’s parking.
‘all my life, i’ve loved you endlessly. it didn’t matter to me whether you’d have romantic feelings for me or not, as long as you were by my side. i could’ve give you everything i owned. but you always seemed so … careless? how could’ve gotten the hint about how you felt? so i’ve made up my mind. fell in love with other people. got my heart broken. multiple times. until you were not there anymore.’
your eyes met after this last sentence. you saw pain, remorse, guilt running through his gaze. but more than anything, you perceived love. it was still there, it had never died.
and suddenly, you stepped toward him and your lips were on his.
you sensed yuma’s muscles releasing tension as you pressed your hands on his chest. this kiss was intense, and messy, letting go of everything that you both kept bottled up inside.
you felt your tears running down your cheeks, as well as the warm raindrops and yuma’s own tears.
his hands, which never dared to touch you, were now in your hair, on your hips, alongside your waist. everywhere.
you stay there for a while, intertwined. until the downpour went quiet. as a ray of sun escaped from behind the clouds, you pulled apart, a delicate smile on both of your faces. a sign that you’ve forgiven each other absence and silence, and that you were ready to write this new story.
‘shall we go inside?’
as you headed toward the building, you noticed that the colours of your world started reappearing.
and, none of you noticed it, but a rainbow just made its appearance in the sky.
pairing: yuma x reader
synopsis: yuma and you were childhood friends and used to love each other, but neither of you ever confessed. when you meet each other again, you can't simply let it slip away.
genre: angst?, office work, childhood friends to ???
word count: around 1k
a/n: hi!! i'm back with this story, that I separated into short 2 episodes, because I thought it made sense? i tried something different this time (my first 'angst' story, not sure if it really is though), it was quite challenging (started writing this last november lmao) but I like the result, i hope you like it too :)
second episode will be up soon (if you want to be tagged let me know!)
ep 1 ⋆゜☂︎⋆゜ep 2 (coming soon!)
it started off as a common september morning.
as you crossed the endless corridor leading to your office, you could smell coffee scent spreading in the air, and hear the muffled sound of serious conversations escaping the meeting rooms.
the pressured atmosphere due to the new publishing season was palpable, it was always a hectic time of the year.
the company you worked in as a creative director was one of the biggest publishing house of the country, your coworkers were constantly saying this to whoever wanted to hear it.
no fail was ever admitted, especially not right now.
you spent all weekend wrapping up a project that you had polished on for months. but as soon as you finished it, another one was already waiting for you.
there was no time to rest at the moment.
it was exhausting but you loved your job, being able to adorn someone else’s story to put it out into the world was what you always dreamed of.
contrasting your sophisticated look, hair pulled back in a tight bun and burgundy business ensemble, dark circles started to form under your eyes, as an evidence of your late-night hard work.
you grabbed a coffee from the staff lounge and headed straight to your first meeting of the day. you only knew that it was about the new project that you will have to supervise.
you entered the usual u-shaped meeting room and sat at the closest seat next to the door.
as you set up your notebook and laptop, a familiar face seemed to emerge in the blurry background.
a straight nose, full lips and a slim profile.
you raised your face and your heart skipped a beat.
it was yuma, sitting right in front of you and talking with your superior.
you’ve known him forever, but now it felt like you were facing a stranger.
he had bleached his hair, making his face look brighter. his snaggletooth, a trait that made him so unique, disappeared. he looked more serious in his black suit, but softer than before.
you tried to collect yourself, but got lost in a constant whirlwind of thoughts.
how were you supposed to act? it was the last person you were expecting to bump into at work. was it a part of the team for the new project? how will you be able to work with him? after all the anger and disappointment that grow inside you over the years?
yuma and you grew up together. your mothers were best friends and decided to buy houses next to each other.
during your childhood and teenage years, you’ve lived everything together, from the loss of your first milk tooth to your graduation ceremony.
never there has been a lick of ambiguity between you. or at least that’s what you wanted to think.
in the summer succeeding your graduation, you experienced your first heartbreak. at that time, yuma was the only one there to console you. he was there to wipe off your tears and let you cry on his shoulder.
seeing him so caring and attentive made you realise you had fell for him long ago. only, it was not that simple to admit. he was not seeing you that way.
no. definitely not.
everyday he would ring at the door, asking your mom how you were. he would spend entire evenings listening to you cry about how much you hated your ex while you were curled over his knees. from time to time, he would gently caress your hair, reminding you that he was still there for you.
one day, as you were walking in the park (he had convinced you to go out for a bit as you were staying all day at home), you realised it for real. he was twirling to make you laugh in the pathway and your mind was shouting to yourself that you loved him.
but you could not resolve yourself to confess to him. you were too scared. and then, within the blink of an eye, it was too late.
yuma got into a relationship next summer. later, he moved out of your hometown to study in a design school of great repute, while you stayed there, distraught and powerless.
from that moment, calls became rarer, as well as his visits. there was no real goodbye, but you haven’t seen him for six years.
after realising you lost him, your felt your heart ache in a way that never did before, not even during your first break up.
not having him into your life never was a possibility.
how have we ruined this? you used to think. you were furious against yourself for letting this happen.
since then the world had lost its colours and sparkles.
your eyes met yuma’s for a split of seconds, you grasped a hint of surprise before he looked away and carried on his conversation.
while you waited for the meeting to start, you pretended to be very busy with your notes to not cross his gaze again.
‘here is our new hire, nakakita yuma,’ finally announced the director, pointing at your old friend, ‘an outstanding graphic designer, who will be in charge of the visuals for the next release. you will all work together for the next three months, so i’ll let you some time after i explain the project to get acquainted to each other.’
during the director’s speech, you struggled to focus on what he says as your mind’s constantly goes back to yuma. at the end of the meeting, everyone walked towards him, holding hands, asking questions. on your side, you tried to catch up on what you missed about the next project with your colleague jessica.
‘where have you been all this time?’, she asked.
‘it’s just… i’m tired, i barely slept this weekend and…’, you stopped talking as yuma seems to be heading towards you.
‘hi y/n,’ he uttered.
‘hi yuma,’ you answered, taken aback.
‘do you know each other?’ jessica inquired.
you looked into each others eyes. yes. you knew each other more than anyone else despite the years that separated you.
(THIS WAS SO HARD bcs i have too many favourites ok)
if any of u guys wanna joinn @clsondnd @hwastcr @catinabin @fxreverzora @gyuyurie @dazedjuhoon @mintyykk @chaengiibf @hyejusprunki @somethingsomethingsparkles @stxrsforrosie @etheralfawnette + anyone else i missedd!
currently reading: my lecture book y'all we're in the trenches genuinely haven't picked up fiction in a long time
last movie: rewatched spirited away!! a new movie tho would be turtles can fly (2004) and that... it was on my list for years but i finally got around to it a couple months ago (i know it's not recent but it's the most recent film i have watched lol uni and work has been ahh) and it stayed with me for a long, long while especially because of how wars have not stopped since and children continue to suffer under the tyranny of evil monsters calling themselves righteous
last series: rewatched some eps of bbc sherlock (my ride or die truly) but a new series i have started is idol i!! and!! it's saur!! good?? was not expecting to enjoy it as much as i have and am currently on ep 9 i think
last song: kill me by hayley williams
sweet or salty: yes
coffe or tea: absolutely
currently working: correct. hshshahah i kid i kid. actually been planning on a fic i had the idea come to me after watching better days (2019) the chinese film ((fic synopsis: a series of encounters between a drifter — young college student struggling to hold onto life with debts to pay off and secrets to hide — and a convenience store night shift worker who happens to be a secret superstar.)) but it's been sitting in the docs for two years now lol classic koishua behaviour are we surprised. the fic is mostly inspired by better days because of the characters' relationship, not much else because the themes are so heavy and real. so yeah. but also another fic exploring some mental health themes with yeonjun that's more likely to come out soon
tagging: @mosviqu @starriniqhts @kaikaikoi @armysantiny @freakydazai @ningtual @bywons (chat i lowkey wanna tag all mooties but it's been so long idek if y'all are activeeee if you see this consider yourself tagged mootie ps. are we still friends 🥹🥹 lowkey highkey need to get back on the friendship grind enough with the self isolation dhdhshhs mooties ily im coming for you)
tyty vie ml for the tag!! taking your consumed media as recommendations hehe
currently reading: ummm the only thing im reading rn is les lettres persanes by montesquieu 🤣 me when i only read for academia (fantasy come back i miss you...)
last movie: OOOOO idr..... maybe veer-zaara (2004) ? i loved srk and preity zinta in that omg
last series: oooo... um... currently simultaneously watching the second season of percy jackson and the olympians (2026) and the first season of derry girls (2018)!
last song: but sometimes live ver. (bnd) bc the live album HITSSSSS
sweet or salty: sweet !!
coffee or tea: OUGHHH i have been drinking more coffee lately but i think tea will always be more of a comfort to me <3
currently working: on my 100 follower event reqs!! but also my story for k-record's valentine's day event hehe 🤭🤭
currently reading: heavenly romance by moerosy nd pjo titans curse (STILLL jdhdhsjhs)
last movie: i dont watch movies often i kinda forgot jdhdjsjd ....
last series: finished pjo s2 last week 😛
last song: only ones who know by arctic monkeys
sweet or salty: sweet 😋
coffee or tea: tea all the wayy im not a coffee person and i just had matcha an hour ago (im not performative 🙏🙏)
currently working on: WELL. theres a lot. two requests, new chapters for my series', the beabadoobee fics, three gfrz fics, one myungnyangz, and a riwoo fic 😮💨
currently reading: i havent read a book in a while but the last thing i read was five feet apart
last movie: MARTY SUPREME!!! i loved it so much and wally (tyler the creators character) was my fav
last series: still watching weak hero, b99 and hxh!
last song: your best american girl by mitski
salty or sweet: yes
coffee or tea: tim hortons iced capps
currently working on: a few things actually! a vday fic for an event, my leehan smau, a woonhak that im gonna continue with in a bit, a collab?, and a new smau i have planned once i finish my leehan smau!
tagging: @gentiliana @lusayyawnn @coerbnz @miseulsoup @moesthinking @lovehakie @ziziforsan @moesthinking @taestulipss @himewonu @prodvie @haeonniie @myungmyng @chocosan44 @sa1nt-bambi @flowerstaesan @ihanzzn @verseofliz @miusoju and anyone else who wants to join!
currently reading: I have so many books on my tbr list, but the most recent thing I read was the physical copy of The Guy She Was Interested In Wasn't A Guy At All (green Yuri) manga vol 1 (Mitsuki pls hmu mamacita)
last movie: I lowk can't really remember but I think it was The Wizard of Oz
last series: rewatching Derry Girls (watch if ur also Irish pls) and I started watching Skins UK
last song: Take It Or Leave It by COIN
salty or sweet: depends on my mood, but mostly salty
coffee or tea: yeah we all know im picking coffee... hashtag caffeine addict. Also im picking the third secret option: REDBULL.
currently working on: valentines collab w haeon and stormi!! (promo ofc), new chapter of AUP (sorry for starving u guys ;-;) and I also have a couple random things that need finished ;)
currently reading: i haven’t started it yet but i js bought keeping 13 by chloe walsh cuz binding 13 was soooo good!!!!! im also reading my textbooks 😭 and im really into mangas so im reading some of my sister’s!
last movie: the chronicles of narnia!!! i rlly like the movies and im planning to read the book as well! i also want to watch the lord of the rings and hobbit (and read them!)
last series: bridgerton, jujutsu kaisen and yuyu hakusho!!!
last song: dear. my darling (live ver.) by BOYNEXTDOOR
salty or sweet: currently sweet!
coffee or tea: none tbh
currently working on: knight!sungho x princess!reader and ‘on air!’ <33
oh gosh okay! thank you to tomie, fae, may, nana, lia, leslie, and liz for the tags!!! (wow guys im so popular)
currently reading: the mysterious affair at styles! I think previously when I did this, i was reading murder on the orient express. its by Agatha Christie and its so so so good! I just love her Hercule Poirot collections! I want to read haunting in venice but the book isn't available on Libby :(((
last movie: i don't really watch movies but I recently watched enigma, starring Benedict cucumber. its a really good movie that talks about ww2 and defeating German u-boats and as a history student I loved it <333
last series: jujustsu kaisen, I was binge reading it so bad guyssbirbrfebfedbbd and I was also watching can this love be translated and idol i
last song: at the time of writing this, cliche but Annie by w2e which is literally my theme
salty or sweet: both!!! its a pairing rlly, I love eating malatang / hotpot with bubble tea and ice cream
coffee or tea: COFFEEEEEEEEE all my love of life's know I'm addicted to coffee and my irritable bowel syndrome afterwards...
currently working on: valentines special! and proofreading kkeomchiz...
aaaah I've been trying to write an angst story for a while now but it's so difficult!! like, I don't want my characters to be mean but also that's necessary for the depth and storyline help
Because I'm an &team fic acc you know I had to mainly do my &team bias but I thought I'd share a few pics of skz as well since they introduced me to Kpop!
No pressure tags: @cherry012309 @echoes-oflune
Thank you so much @keeperofasecretsecret for the tag!!!
um, i am a bias-collecting whore, so here are my boos.
i added danielle in here even though i don't write for newjeans because i'm an og bunny, and i am heartbroken over the news we just got about our sweet girl. i know that she'll do well and be successful outside of the group, but it won't be the same without my fave aussie there :(
alsoooo, why does this color match my theme so well lmfao
No pressure tags: @andcteam @luneilyyyy :))
Thank you so much for tagging me @takiwhereareyou. This was very fun!!! 🧡🍑
> soro@lacedwithmsg:~$ run -i "sparks"
> displaying file metadata...
tags; fluff, comfort, established relationship, kinda(?) descriptive make-out session, new year's with juju <3
warnings; slightly suggestive
word count; ~1.2k words
note; made with @i05wook in mind for @lune-net 's secret santa gift exchange! merry christmas and happy new year! (and i hope the fic is to your liking)
> soro@lacedwithmsg:~$ run "sparks"
> file loaded, enjoy!
The clicking of the keys under your fingers was the only thing audible. Your eyes were focused on the screen, determined to finish up a writing project. You would periodically use one of your fingers to push the glasses that sat on the bridge of your nose from sliding down. Occasionally you would straighten your back and stretch your neck. There was only a desk lamp and a small light bulb on the other side of the room that was on— both gave off a warm, orangey tone.
The sky outside was dark, little to no stars were visible. You could sometimes hear the cheering of college students but it hadn't bothered you too much.
Then out of nowhere, you heard explosions go off. One after another, the distant pops of sound did not falter. Turning towards the window, you notice that the sound was coming from fireworks being set off. The bright surges of color looked to be far away from where you were standing, but the sounds still stretched far and reached your ears.
As you were beginning to relax and sat back down to continue your work, you felt something on your shoulder, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around you.
"Happy new year, baby." Euijoo's voice was soft and soothing. You felt the vibrations from his words travel down your spine and resonate all through your body. You slowly slid your fingers in between his, intertwining them while his palms stay placed snugly on either side of your waist. Your breathing slowed but your heartbeat sped up, your toes curled but your shoulders relaxed.
You turned to face him as he pulled back to give you room. As your body turned towards him, you felt his arms slowly circle around your body, finding their resting place on your back. He was kneeling on the floor next to your chair so when you faced him, he allowed his thighs to relax and sunk a little lower— enough for you to hold his head in your lap. You placed one of your hands on the side of his neck and the other on his shoulder. Slowly, you drifted the hand on his neck along his jawline. He was so beautiful, you couldn't stop staring into his round brown orbs, how his hair fell perfectly across his forehead and around his ears, how his lips quivered in anticipation of your next action. You brought yourself closer to him, making sure to take your time with it. You were so close to him you felt your breaths on each other. Dipping in, you placed your lips on his, merely giving him a light peck before pulling away.
Euijoo pouted, then raised an eyebrow and said, "Two and a half years and you're still teasing me?" You chuckled in response before letting Euijoo pull your body flush against his. His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. He slid one of his arms up your body and to the back of your neck, urging you to kiss him deeper. His hand worked at slowly rubbing circles in the bottom of your hairline while your hands extended over his shoulder and around his neck. His lips tugged on yours as much as yours tugged on his. Bringing one of your hands to the back of his head, your fingers swam through his soft brown locks, pulling on them ever so slightly.
Everything you did only made Euijoo want you more. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and found access mere seconds later. You let him take his time traversing the inner corners of your mouth, enjoying the feeling of his tongue against your own. Your tongues worked together in harmony, neither wanting to stop. Euijoo's hand gripped on you even tighter, causing you to let out a quick gasp. In response, you tugged on his hair harder and heard him whimper softly into you.
Both of you pulled away, a thin thread of saliva stretching across the distance between your lips. You stared into each other's half-lidded eyes. You smiled and inched closer to his ear, whispering, "Happy new year, Juju," into his ear.
He slid his palm to the side of your face, gently caressing your cheek. His eyes panned all across your face, landing on your eyes. "You're so..."
Pecking his palm you asked, "I'm so what, baby?"
"God, you're so perfect," Euijoo mumbled before he pulled you back in for another kiss. This time, his palm held your face still, taking in upon himself to maneuver his lips in between yours, dragging the tip of his tongue as freely as he wanted, tasting everything your lips and tongue gave him. When he pulled away again, you whined at the loss of touch.
One of his eyebrows perked up as he smirked at you, "Mhmm, is my baby already begging for more?"
His hands were warm, his lips and tongue were warm, everything about Euijoo only pulled you in, it wouldn't be long before you'd be sucked in. His gaze on you was unwavering, searing your thoughts, and engraved in your mind. He enjoyed how you looked at him with your eyes only showing of want and desire, your mouth agape. Both of you craved the other more and more as the seconds blew past, your yearning for each other becoming ever more apparent.
"Euijoo...," you mewled, attempting to pull him closer. Instead of giving in, he slid his arm under your thigh and lifted you up. You squealed in shock as you tightened your hold around his neck. He placed a gentle peck on your jaw before laying you down on your bed. Your arms held him close to you, his hair falling and almost getting in your eyes.
"You're so gorgeous," he muttered before kissing you on the forehead, "so beautiful," he pecked the tip of your nose, "so... amazing," his lips landed along your jaw, "so perfect," he stopped at your collarbone. His breath was hot against your bare skin and you felt his chest heave up and down. Looking back up at you, his brown orbs stared straight into yours once again.
"I love you," he began, "so much."
You opened your mouth to reciprocate his words but was cut off when Euijoo pressed his lips against yours. Your hand immediately made its way into his hair, pushing him to whimper even louder than before. One of his hands found its way to your thigh while the other supported his weight above you. His tongue traveled deeper than ever before, even you couldn't keep up.
"You were saying?" the smug look on his face couldn't cover up the red creeping up his cheeks and across his ears.
Chuckling, you gathered all your strength and flipped him over. "I love you so fucking much," you whispered into his ear before plunging your lips onto his.
The sound of fireworks in the distance would soon become a thing of the past as the morning sun rose in light of a new day, another day you'd spend with Euijoo by your side.
✸request: hello i really love your work. its so satisfying for some reason and i feel so peaceful whenever i read those. so i got a request and i hope thats okay. So imagine you're a fashion designing student and for your assignment you wanted a model and since you cant afford a real model you wanted to go for a uni student (the same uni). And her friends who knew that she had a crush on nicholas the captain of the sports team they encourage her to ask him. and a romance based on that? like she's so introverted and insecure of herself and him slowly healing her and without knowing she's also healing him from the loud world? Anyways its fine if you dont wanna do this one, stay healthy ☺️💗💗💗
✸synopsis: you, an introverted fashion student, convinces the campus sports captain, nicholas, to model for your final project, sparking a slow-burning romance that heals both of your hidden insecurities. through quiet moments, shared vulnerabilities, and gentle patience, you build a world together stitched with trust, tenderness, and unspoken understanding.
✸genre: one-shot, uni/college!au, fluff
✸pairing: wang yixiang x reader / nicholas x reader
✸content warnings: mutual pinning
✸wc: 6.1k
✸an: lower case intended, no use of y/n, fem!reader / this is such a great idea! thank you so much for submitting your request, i hope i did it justice! ٩(◕‿◕)۶
[now playing: you make loving fun — fleetwood mac]
m.list
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you should’ve known something was wrong the moment your professor smiled.
not the kind, encouraging smile he gives when someone presents a good sketch. no — the evil, assignment-dropping, career-ending kind of smile.
“your final,” he says, pacing in front of the class like a general preparing to send you into battle, “will be a complete look. garment, styling, presentation… and a live model.”
the class groans. you, specifically, feel your soul leave your body.
a live model.
as in a human. a human you have to recruit. a human you have to ask.
your stomach drops through the floor. your bank account flashes before your eyes — a barren desert with a tiny tumbleweed rolling by. there’s no way you can afford a real model. not even a cheap one. not even a volunteer who works for scraps.
you’re doomed.
the moment class ends, chae-won links her arm through yours like she’s catching a runaway criminal.
“you’re thinking dramatic thoughts,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “don’t lie. your face does that thing where it collapses.”
“it doesn’t collapse,” you mutter.
“it absolutely collapses,” she insists, steering you toward the studio. “but! i know a solution.”
you give her a flat look. “unless it involves someone magically paying my fees—”
“it involves nicholas.”
you stop dead in the hallway. chae-won turns around slowly, smiling like she just dropped the biggest bomb of the century. “why not ask him?”
you sputter. “chae-won. be serious.”
“i am serious,” she says, delighted. “you need a model. he has… you know.” she makes a vague gesture at her entire body. “body.”
you bury your face in your hands. “i can’t ask nicholas. he’s — he’s nicholas.”
the boy you may or may not have accidentally stared at during freshman orientation. once. (maybe twice.) and then definitely avoided for the rest of your academic career.
“nope,” you say. “not happening. i’ll just — i’ll figure something else out.”
chae-won plants herself in front of you like she’s blocking the path to self-sabotage. “you have a crush on him.”
“i do not.”
she lifts her eyebrows.
“…okay, maybe a little.”
“a little?” she snorts. “you turn into a stunned goldfish whenever he breathes in your general direction.”
you groan. “this is the worst day of my life.”
“correction,” she says brightly. “this is the day you take a risk and maybe get a model and a date.”
you blink at her with a disbelieving scoff. “you think nicholas wang is going to date me?”
“i think,” she says, linking arms with you again, “that you underestimate how adorable you are and overestimate how terrifying he is.” then she adds, quietly, “but also… you need to believe you deserve help sometimes.”
that part hits a little too close, so you pretend not to hear it.
back at the studio, you stare at your sketches, fingers trembling. the ideas are solid — maybe even good. but none of it matters without a model.
and you can’t stop hearing your professor’s voice echo in your head.
a live model.
you look down at your phone. nicholas’s name sits innocently in the student directory.
chae-won watches you from across the table, arms crossed, foot tapping. “do it. text him.”
“i can’t.”
“you can.”
you take a breath. you don’t text him. instead, you close your eyes, press your palms to your warm face, and whisper, “…i’ll ask him. tomorrow.”
chae-won squeals so loudly, half the studio jumps. “yes! character development!”
you groan again — louder this time — because tomorrow suddenly feels like a death sentence.
but somewhere beneath the dread, deep in the quiet part of your chest… a tiny spark flickers. hope. terror. possibility.
and because life has a sense of humor, tomorrow is coming fast.
─────
you try every excuse in the world.
you tell chae-won you’re sick. she hands you a cough drop.
you tell her you’re too busy. she reminds you the deadline is two weeks away.
you tell her you can’t feel your legs. she grabs your wrist and starts pulling you down the hallway.
“come on,” she whines dramatically, heels clicking. “if i let you run away now, i’m failing as a friend and as a woman of romance.”
“this isn’t romance,” you hiss, stumbling after her.
“it could be,” she sings.
eventually, it’s not just her dragging you — two more friends join in. you don’t even remember agreeing to this intervention. one moment you’re in the studio, the next your entire support group has formed a physical and emotional blockade that marches you across campus toward the athletics building.
by the time you reach the double doors, your palms are sweating, your heart is tap-dancing in your throat, and your soul is halfway to the afterlife.
“i can’t do this,” you whisper.
chae-won tightens her grip on your shoulders from behind. “yes, you can. and if you try to run, i will tackle you. emotionally and physically.”
you roll your eyes, but your knees are shaking so hard, you’re grateful for her hand at your back.
the smell hits you first — gym rubber, fresh turf, the faint metallic tang of weights. it’s cool inside, echoey, too quiet. practice must be over.
you peek around the corner of the hallway that leads to the indoor field. and there he is.
nicholas.
alone.
he’s kneeling, stretching his hamstring with one hand braced on the ground. sweat dampens the ends of his hair, sticking to his forehead. his lips are parted slightly as he breathes, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. he looks… soft in a way you’ve never seen before — not the loud, adored captain everyone sees in public. more human. more tired. more real.
your breath catches.
“go,” chae-won whispers, giving you a sharp nudge.
you stumble forward and immediately want to evaporate. nicholas hears the sound of your shoe squeaking and looks up.
his eyes are warm brown, a little curious, a little surprised. he wipes his forehead with the back of his arm but doesn’t stand yet.
“oh,” he says, breath still steadying. “hey.”
you freeze. completely. like a mouse caught in the world’s gentlest spotlight.
“hi,” you squeak. god. horrible.
he stands slowly, stretching his back, rolling his shoulders. the movement is fluid, practiced — athletic. but he softens his posture when he faces you, like he’s trying not to intimidate you.
“what’s up?” he asks, grabbing his water bottle.
your mind goes blank. blank like a wiped hard drive. blank like a fresh page. blank like you’ve never spoken to another human before.
“i — uh — project,” you blurt.
he blinks. “project?”
you nod too many times. perfect. you’re malfunctioning.
“it’s for my fashion design class,” you manage. “my final project. i, um… i need a model. a real one. and i don’t— i can’t— i mean, i was wondering if — if maybe… you might consider… if you’re not too busy or—”
your voice shakes. your fingers shake. your entire body is basically a vibrating phone.
nicholas straightens a little. not taller — just more attentive.
he looks at you. really looks. not like he’s confused or amused, but like he’s trying to understand you. his eyes move from your face to your hands and back again, quietly registering the nerves you’re failing miserably to hide.
then he smiles.
not the big, confident one he gives crowds. a small one. soft. almost shy.
“okay,” he says simply. “i’ll do it.”
you stop breathing.
he takes a sip of water, like he didn’t just shatter your internal universe.
“when do you need me?” he adds.
you blink. twice. you stare at him like you’re trying to decode a foreign language.
“you’ll… do it?” you whisper.
“yeah.” he tilts his head slightly, a strand of damp hair falling over his forehead. “just tell me when to show up.”
you’re convinced you’re hallucinating. maybe you fainted. maybe this is a stress dream. maybe nicholas is actually a figment of mass campus delusion.
“are — are you sure?” you ask.
he gives a tiny laugh under his breath. “if i wasn’t, i wouldn’t have said yes.”
he throws his towel over his shoulder and gestures lightly toward the hallway. “walk with me? it’s freezing in here.”
you nod numbly. you’re pretty sure your feet move, but you feel nothing.
you walk beside him as he chats casually — asking what your project is about, what kind of pieces you’ve been making this semester, even complimenting the tote bag you customized.
you barely keep up.
by the time you reach the entrance, the others are gone — thankfully — and nicholas is pushing the door open for you.
“so,” he says, leaning slightly against the frame, “send me the details later?”
you swallow hard. “yes. i mean — yeah. i will.”
he gives you another one of those small, soft smiles. “looking forward to it.”
and he walks away.
you stand there. frozen. speechless. brain completely empty except for one overwhelming thought. there is no way that just happened.
and yet… it did.
nicholas wang agreed to model for you.
and for the first time in days, maybe weeks, your chest doesn’t feel tight. for the first time, you feel something else quietly bloom inside you. ambition.
─────
you spend the entire morning cleaning the design studio.
it doesn’t need cleaning — at least not to the degree you’re doing it — but anxiety demands ritual, and apparently today’s ritual involves rearranging fabric bolts by color, refolding muslin, and lint-rolling a mannequin.
you smooth your hair. check the time. smooth your hair again. check the time again.
he won’t come, you tell yourself. he’s busy. he’ll forget. he’ll change his mind. you’ll get a text apologizing, saying something came up —
a knock echoes through the open doorway.
you jump, nearly stabbing yourself with a pin.
nicholas stands there with one hand resting lightly on the door frame, gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair slightly damp like he just showered. he’s wearing a dark sweatshirt and joggers, casual but somehow cinematic.
“hey,” he says, voice soft. “am i early?”
you look at the clock. he’s exactly on time.
“no—! no, you’re perfect—i mean, it’s perfect. the timing. not you. i mean — you are — but — i —”
you want to curl into a ball and roll under the nearest sewing machine.
nicholas bites back a smile, stepping inside. “i gotcha. good timing.”
you nod so hard, your hair moves.
he drops his bag to the side and looks around the studio like he’s entering a different world — curious eyes scanning the racks, the sketches pinned to the walls, the chaos of fabric and thread.
“this is… really cool,” he says, sincere awe in his voice.
that throws you off. most people glance at your workspace and see “mess.” nicholas sees something else.
“thanks,” you murmur, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.
you show him the garment — the early draft of the piece he’ll be modeling — and as you speak, you feel yourself shrinking, making yourself small out of habit.
“so, um… this is rough. like, very rough. i’m sorry it’s not — i didn’t have time to — i should’ve finished the collar —”
“hey,” nicholas interrupts gently. “you don’t have to apologize.”
you freeze. he says it casually, but his tone is warm, steady. reassuring in a way you’re not used to.
you swallow. “sorry. i —”
you stop, catching yourself. nicholas’s eyes soften.
he steps closer, but not too close — just enough that you feel the warmth of him.
“can i look?” he asks, nodding toward the garment.
you hand it over with shaking hands. he studies it seriously, not pretending to understand fashion, not faking enthusiasm — actually absorbing the details.
“you made all this?” he asks.
“yeah.”
his brow lifts. “it’s really impressive.”
your brain short-circuits again.
he shrugs a little when he sees your expression, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “i mean it.”
you turn away, pretending to fix a pin cushion just to hide how flustered you are.
as he changes into the piece behind a makeshift curtain, you try to breathe. you try to remember how measuring tape works. you try not to imagine his shoulders or his collarbones or anything at all, actually.
when he steps out wearing your garment — even half-finished — something inside you flips over.
he looks… good. strong lines softened by fabric you draped yourself. effortless. like the design was made for him.
“okay,” he says. “what do you need me to do?”
you move around him, adjusting the seams, pinning loose fabric. every time your fingers brush his arm or shoulder, you feel his breath catch just slightly. not enough to embarrass either of you — just enough to make your heart do dangerous things.
then it happens.
a sudden slam from the hallway — someone dropping a box outside.
nicholas flinches. not big, not dramatic — but noticeable. barely a twitch of his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes. like he’s so used to noise, yet worn thin by it.
you look up. he tries to cover it with a practiced smile.
“you okay?” you ask quietly.
he nods, a little too quick. “just… tired.”
you don’t push — but the way he says it lingers.
you see it now, clearer than before — the exhaustion carved into the corners of his eyes, the tightness in his posture, the heaviness beneath the charming exterior everyone loves so much.
he watches you too — really watches — when you wince after pricking your finger on a pin, when you overthink every movement, when your voice stays small even though you’re in your own workspace.
“does that hurt?” he asks when he notices the tiny bead of blood on your fingertip.
“no, it’s fine,” you whisper, wiping it away.
he frowns, not convinced.
you both return to your tasks in a quiet that feels strangely… comfortable.
every time you adjust a seam, he steadies himself so you don’t have to reach. every time you hesitate, he steps back in sync with your rhythm. every time you start to apologize, he gives a tiny shake of his head, almost imperceptible, a silent you don’t have to.
by the time the fitting ends, something has shifted — small, fragile, impossible to name. nicholas hands the garment back carefully, like it’s something delicate. something valuable.
“thanks,” he says, voice softer now. “for letting me help.”
you blink, surprised. “i should be thanking you.”
he smiles again — that small, real one — and lifts his bag. “same time next week?”
“yeah,” you breathe.
he walks toward the door, then pauses, glancing back at you. “i had a good time.”
you don’t know what to say. you barely remember how breathing works. and yet, somehow, you whisper back, “me too.”
nicholas leaves, and the studio feels different — warmer, fuller, as if something sacred just happened.
a tiny crack. a tiny opening. the beginning of something neither of you can name yet.
─────
you don’t expect him to come back.
even though he said he would. even though he’d smiled like he meant it. even though part of you — small and trembling — wants to believe him.
people don’t usually stay, not when they get a glimpse of how anxious you are, how easily spooked you become, how quickly you fold yourself into the corners of a room.
so all week, you prepare yourself for him not showing up. you rehearse excuses in your head — it’s fine, I get it, he’s busy, why would someone like him make time for someone like you?
but then the door to the studio creaks open right on time. and there he is. wearing a hoodie, hair slightly messy from the weather outside, holding two drinks — one iced, one hot — like he wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.
his eyes land on you, and his whole face softens.
“hey,” he says. “i, uh… guessed you might like something sweet?”
your heart stops.
he sets the drinks on your workstation, a little shy, like he’s not used to doing small, thoughtful things for people outside his team or friend circle.
you stare at the drinks, at him, back at the drinks.
“i… thank you,” you whisper.
“you don’t have to drink it,” he adds quickly. “i just — you seemed nervous last time, so i thought maybe — never mind.”
he’s rambling. nicholas wang is rambling.
you take the drink before he can overthink it further. “no, i… i really appreciate it.”
his shoulders relax.
the fitting starts the same as last time — him slipping behind the curtain, you pretending to reorganize markers to hide how flustered you are — but the air feels different.
he talks more now. not loudly. not performatively. just… easily.
“practice has been brutal this week,” he says as he steps out in the garment. “coach wants us ready for the championship, but honestly? i think half the team’s already halfway to burnout.”
you adjust the hem lightly, nodding. “you seem tired.”
he chuckles under his breath. “everyone seems to think that lately.”
you glance up. “are they wrong?”
he opens his mouth, then closes it. his expression shifts — defenses pulling tight, then slowly loosening again as he exhales.
“…no,” he admits. “i don’t think they are.”
it’s the first real crack. the first moment where he lets you see behind the bright, perfect captain mask.
he sits on the edge of your worktable as you pin fabric along his sleeve, fingers steadying the cloth.
“i get overwhelmed,” he says quietly. “people think i like attention. the noise. the pressure. all those cameras during games? it’s… it’s a lot.”
you pause, stunned he’s telling you any of this. most people would kill to hear their campus golden boy open up like this. but here he is, offering the truth like it’s something fragile.
you swallow. “you don’t have to pretend with me.”
he looks at you then — really looks — like the thought had never occurred to him before.
“…yeah,” he murmurs. “i’m starting to get that.”
the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. it’s warm. shared. steady.
as you move around him, measuring and pinning, his eyes follow you — not in a heavy, intense way, but in a gentle, attentive way. like he’s memorizing how you move, how you focus when you’re working.
but he sees your cracks too.
when you flinch at a sudden noise from the hallway. when you automatically shrink your posture after giving a suggestion. when you start to apologize for the third time before catching yourself.
“you do that a lot,” he says softly.
“do what?”
“disappear,” he says, almost whispering. “like you’re scared to take space.”
you freeze. his voice is gentle, not accusing. not judging. just… noticing.
you clear your throat nervously. “i’m not— i just don’t want to be annoying.”
nicholas shakes his head slowly. “you’re not annoying.”
his tone is firm. certain. like he means every word and then some.
“you’re not invisible either,” he adds. and it hits you deeper than you expect.
you focus on the stitches, trying to hide the warm sting in your eyes.
he doesn't push. he simply waits — present, patient — in a way that makes your chest ache. when the fitting ends, nicholas changes and comes back out holding the garment gently in his arms. he sets it on the mannequin, then turns to you with a small, sincere smile.
“i like being here,” he says. “it’s… quiet. in a good way.”
your breath catches. “you don’t have to say that just to be nice.”
“i’m not,” he answers immediately. “i meant it.”
you can tell. you feel it.
he picks up his bag, slinging it over one shoulder.
“next week?” he asks.
“yeah,” you whisper in confirmation.
he steps toward the door, then pauses — hand resting lightly on the frame.
“and…” he hesitates, eyes flicking to yours. “thanks for listening today.”
you nod sincerely. “anytime.”
he gives a faint, relieved smile and slips out.
the door closes. and for a long moment, you stand alone in the studio, heart fluttering, breath soft, a warmth settling into your chest like someone finally opened a window in a stuffy room.
you didn’t just see his cracks today. he saw yours, too.
and he didn’t look away.
─────
it starts slowly — a few curious looks when nicholas walks into the fashion building again, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair still damp from practice.
but then people start talking.
by the end of the week, you can feel the whispers chasing you down the hallway.
“why is he going there so much?”
“is he dating someone from design?”
“her? no way, right?”
you pretend not to hear, but your skin prickles every time. your chest tightens. you duck your head lower and lower, shoulders curling in like you’re trying to disappear into yourself.
nicholas has no idea.
or maybe he does — but he keeps showing up anyway.
he brings iced coffees. a snack the next time. then nothing at all, just himself, laughing softly as he pushes open the studio doors like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
and every time he walks in, the whispers get louder.
until you can’t take it.
you start leaving earlier. slipping out back doors. taking different routes across campus. anything to avoid being seen walking with him or even near him.
you think you’re doing a good job.
you’re wrong.
it happens on a thursday — a dull, heavy afternoon where your head feels too full, and your heart feels too small. you’re hurrying down a side hallway when a warm hand catches your sleeve.
you freeze.
nicholas steps into your path, breath soft, eyes steady. not angry. not confused. just… gentle. so gentle it almost hurts.
“hey,” he murmurs. “you’ve been avoiding me.”
your throat locks. you look at your shoes. “n-no, i just— i’ve been busy—”
“don’t lie to me,” he says, but there’s no edge to it. only concern. “did someone say something?”
your breath stutters. your fingers curl into fists at your sides. “i… people are talking. a lot. and i don’t want to make trouble for you or — or look stupid or — embarrass you.”
nicholas goes still. then he takes a slow step closer.
“if i didn’t want to be here,” he says quietly, “i wouldn’t be.”
your breath catches.
he tilts his head, trying to meet your eyes as gently as possible. “you’re not chasing me. you’re not embarrassing me. you’re not… anything they’re saying.”
“but the rumors—”
“they don’t matter to me.” his voice drops further, almost a whisper. “you do.”
your chest squeezes so tight it’s almost painful.
he lifts a hand — stops before touching you, waiting for permission — and when you don’t pull away, he brushes his thumb lightly along your sleeve where he caught you earlier.
“don’t let them chase you from me,” he murmurs. “please.”
you inhale shakily. the hallway feels too small, too warm. his closeness feels like a confession he hasn’t fully said yet.
“i wasn’t trying to,” you whisper.
“i know.” his smile is soft, relieved. “just… don’t disappear on me again.”
and when he lets your sleeve go, your skin feels strangely cold — like you didn’t realize how warm his hand was until it wasn’t there anymore.
─────
the next fitting feels different.
maybe it’s because the whispers got quieter after nicholas started walking beside you again — unbothered, steady, solid in a way you still can’t fathom. maybe it’s because he smiles when he sees you, slow and warm and real.
or maybe it’s because you have changed, just a little.
the studio is quiet, the afternoon light slanting gold across his shoulders as he steps onto the platform. he lifts his arms without being asked, already relaxed in the space that once made him tense.
you try to breathe normally.
you fail.
you’re working on the mock-up jacket today — crisp muslin, pinned at the seams, delicate enough to tear if handled wrong. he holds still, watching you with that focused softness he seems to reserve only for you.
you reach for the collar, and your fingers graze his collarbone. it’s barely a touch — barely anything — but his breath breaks in the middle, a soft inhale he tries to disguise.
you pretend not to notice. you absolutely notice.
you adjust the seam carefully, eyes fixed on the fabric because looking at him feels too dangerous. too intimate.
he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. but the air between you tightens, charged with something warm and fragile.
“turn a little,” you murmur.
he does, moving slowly, deliberately. like he’s afraid any sudden motion will startle you.
you step around him, smoothing the fabric down his back. the muscles between his shoulders shift as he exhales — a sound that almost feels like he’s letting go of something he’s been holding too long.
“you’re good at this,” he says softly.
you swallow. “it’s just a fitting.”
“it’s not,” he replies. “not when it’s you.”
your heart stumbles. you don’t know what to say, so you focus on adjusting the last seam. but the space feels smaller, your pulse loud enough you’re sure he must hear it.
when you circle back in front of him, he’s watching you. not staring. studying. like he’s trying to memorize the way your hands move, the way your hair falls, the way you avoid his gaze like it’s both a shield and a confession.
your fingers brush his wrist, a tiny accidental touch. this time, he doesn’t hide the reaction — a quiet, sharp inhale before he goes still again.
you drop your hand quickly. “sorry.”
“don’t be,” he murmurs. and the softness in his voice nearly undoes you.
you step back, needing space you suddenly can’t find, and start scribbling notes in your sketchbook. you can feel him watching you — not intrusive, not heavy, just attentive. present.
you think the moment is over.
it isn’t.
as he steps down from the platform, he says your name. just your name. soft. careful. like he’s holding it gently in his mouth.
you look up instinctively — and the look he gives you is so quietly intense your breath catches.
it’s not a confession. not yet. but it’s something. something warm. something real.
“see you next time,” he murmurs.
when he leaves, the room feels colder.
that night, when you lie in bed, replaying every second, one thing echoes louder than anything else — your name. the way he said it.
the way it felt.
─────
you don’t hear him at first.
you feel him — the slam of the studio door against the wall, the sharp crack of wood hitting plaster, the sudden rush of heat into the quiet room.
you jump, heart jolting.
nicholas stands in the doorway, chest rising and falling like he’s been running. his jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful. his hair is a mess, half stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his hands are balled into fists at his sides.
you’ve never seen him like this. not confident. not composed. not steady. just… unraveling.
he doesn’t look at you. he looks at the floor, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself together.
“nicholas?” you say softly.
he flinches. not from your voice — from everything else.
he drags a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice, then stopping abruptly like he can’t trust his own legs.
you don’t approach. not yet. you’ve seen animals in pain — the way they lash out when cornered, not out of malice but fear.
instead, you sit on your stool, slowly, gently, letting the silence settle around you both.
he notices.
and for the first time since he burst in, he breathes. not fully and not calmly. but enough.
he sinks down onto the low platform you use for fittings, elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands. his body is coiled tight, every muscle strained, like he’s holding back something explosive.
you wait.
minutes stretch out, soft and thin.
finally, he speaks — his voice hoarse, scraped raw.
“they just—” he stops, shakes his head. “they don’t listen. they don’t shut up. everyone wants something from me. all the time. and if i’m not perfect, if i’m not holding everything together, then i’m—”
he cuts himself off again.
you still don’t move closer. you just sit there, breathing quietly, letting him find his way through the storm.
a long silence fills the room. then, in a small, breaking voice, “i didn’t know where else to go.”
the words hit you like a physical thing. he lifts his head slightly, eyes red at the corners, breaths uneven.
“this is the only place that feels safe,” he murmurs. “here. with you.”
your own breath shakes. because he’s not looking at the room. he’s looking at you. not like you’re fragile. not like you’re someone he has to protect. but, like you’re the only calm in a world that constantly demands he be unbreakable.
you swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. “you can stay here as long as you need.”
his shoulders drop — not fully relaxed, but less painfully tight. relief cracks through his expression, softening the sharp edges. he closes his eyes and just… breathes for a while.
slowly, carefully, like each inhale is stitching him back together.
and you realize something you hadn’t before — while he’s been softening your insecurities, holding space for your quietness, steadying your shaking hands…
you’ve been healing him, too.
healing the boy who never gets to fall apart. who never gets silence. who never gets softness back.
you sit there with him, no words, no pressure — just presence. and for the first time in a long time, nicholas looks like he can finally exhale.
─────
the closeness between you and nicholas lingers long after the fittings end. it settles like a weight in your chest, a warmth you don’t know how to handle. every glance, every small touch, every quiet word echoes louder than it should.
and it shakes you.
you start questioning everything. maybe you’re imagining more than there is. maybe you’re reading into the smallest gestures and inventing meaning where there is none. maybe he’s just being polite.
so you pull away.
you skip a fitting here and there. you take different routes across campus again. you avoid the studio when he’s likely to be there. you become a shadow in your own routine, retreating into safety that now feels strangely lonely.
nicholas doesn’t push.
he doesn’t demand explanations or corner you with questions. he respects the space you suddenly need. but he doesn’t abandon you either.
small gestures start to appear. a sticky note left on your workspace with a simple note.
“hope your day goes well.”
a packet of your favorite snacks, anonymously delivered while you’re distracted in class. and sometimes, quietly, he arrives early — just to sit in the studio, not saying anything, just being there.
it’s subtle. barely noticeable if you’re not paying attention. but you notice.
and slowly, you begin to realize something.
his patience isn’t passive. it’s a hand extended toward you, waiting for you to reach out in your own time. waiting for you to trust that you’re allowed to take up space, that you’re allowed to want his presence, that you’re allowed to feel safe with him.
for the first time in a long while, you feel the possibility of leaning in. not because someone told you to. not because it’s expected. but because he’s letting you choose it. and the choice feels like permission you’ve been craving without knowing it.
─────
the day of your presentation arrives faster than you’re ready for.
the studio is buzzing with energy, models adjusting their outfits, classmates fussing over last-minute details, instructors murmuring critiques to one another. your stomach twists into a tight knot as you glance at your own piece, now complete, now real, now something that has to exist in the world outside your hands.
and then you see him.
nicholas steps onto the runway, and something inside you unclenches just a little. he moves with that same effortless confidence he always carries, but there’s something different — something proud, something steady. he wears your creation like it was made for him. he smiles softly at the audience once, but it’s for you, and the weight of it lands warm in your chest.
you bite your lip, heart hammering, hands gripping your notebook like a lifeline. every step he takes is measured, deliberate, but effortless. you see the way he looks ahead, and the way he carries himself makes your pulse spike in a way you hadn’t expected.
the applause comes, rolling over you in waves, and the world suddenly feels both too loud and impossibly still.
after the show, you’re backstage, trying to calm the storm of nerves that has been building all morning. you’re pacing, tugging at your hair, trying to breathe, when he finds you.
nicholas doesn’t say a word at first. he simply reaches for your hand and guides you out of the crowd, away from the chaos. you follow, heart racing, until you’re in a narrow hallway — quiet, dim, and entirely yours.
he stops and lets go of your hand, but his presence fills the space. his eyes never leave yours, steady and soft and unyielding. for the first time today, the world outside doesn’t exist. there’s no applause, no whispers, no chaos — just the two of you, the aftertaste of adrenaline, and the small, fragile bubble you’ve somehow found in the middle of everything.
you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you know without words that he’s proud. not just of your work. not just of the show. but of you.
and somehow, that makes everything feel… possible.
the hallway feels impossibly small, impossibly still, the chaos of the fashion show fading behind the walls.
nicholas takes a careful step closer, eyes locked on yours, and for the first time, the weight of all the moments between you — the fittings, the quiet gestures, the whispered words — hangs fully in the air.
“you see me,” he murmurs, voice soft but unwavering. “not the stupid captain, not the noise — me.”
your chest tightens. you’ve feared this — feared that what you feel isn’t real, that someone like him could never truly choose someone like you. but here he is, saying it. not in jest, not out of politeness, not as a favor. he’s saying it because he means it.
you swallow hard, voice trembling. “i… i’m scared. i don’t… i don’t know if i’m—worthy of—”
he interrupts with a quiet laugh, warm and tender. “i don’t want someone like you,” he says, stepping even closer, so near that you can see the faintest glint in his eyes, the tremor in his jaw. “i want you.”
every word lands like a pulse in your chest. the air between you hums with heat and anticipation.
then he leans in. slowly. carefully. his lips brush yours in a kiss that feels deliberate, like he’s asking permission with every breath, testing the space you’ve both built, making sure it’s safe.
your knees go weak. your hands lift on instinct, resting lightly against his chest. you kiss him back, and in that instant, all the fear, all the doubt, all the quiet yearning that’s been building melts into warmth.
you lean into him fully — finally allowing yourself to accept the comfort, the protection, the tenderness he’s been offering all along.
and for the first time, the world feels impossibly wide and impossibly still, all at once.
because here, in this quiet hallway, in the soft press of his lips against yours, you realize — you’ve been found. and so has he.
─────
months pass.
you notice the subtle changes in yourself first. the way you move through the studio now — confident, deliberate, unapologetic. fingers that once trembled over pins now handle fabric with quiet authority. your designs are bolder, more daring, full of the little flourishes that used to make you second-guess yourself.
nicholas changes too, in ways small but undeniable. he’s calmer, less brittle around the edges. the weight of expectations doesn’t disappear, but he carries it differently now, grounded in the quiet corners you share. you watch him laugh more freely, pause more often, and notice the little details of the world without rushing past them.
together, you have built something delicate and strong. a world stitched from quiet moments — notes left on worktables, soft smiles across the studio, hands brushing accidentally, slowly, deliberately, until neither of you can imagine letting go.
it’s not dramatic. it’s not loud. it’s ordinary in the most extraordinary way.
your world is yours.
and it is stitched slowly, gently, intentionally — thread by thread, heartbeat by heartbeat, breath by breath. you realize that this — this quiet, imperfect, steady, soft world — is exactly what you’ve been waiting for all along.
synopsis ; tiny domestic moments with enhypen — first nights, shared routines, quiet affection, and all the little ways they love you without saying it.
word count ; 3.2k
first night in the new apartment 니키
the apartment still smells like cardboard and dust, that faint dry scent of a place no one’s lived in yet. there are boxes stacked against the wall in half-finished, half-opened towers; you can see the future home the mess will create, but in the meantime, it’s still just a mess. the two of you collapse onto the mattress on the floor. no bedframe, no sheets except the thin blanket you dragged out of a suitcase. just the soft give of the foam beneath you and the warmth of his body a breath away.
riki lies on his side, facing you. knees tucked in, hair falling messily over his eyes, the exhaustion dragging his eyelids low but making every tiny expression more real. he keeps shifting closer every minute, like the silence in the apartment swells too big unless he’s pressed right up against you.
his hand finds yours under the blanket. not searching — more like… checking. making sure.
“you’re not sleeping yet, right?” he whispers, voice hoarse from the long day. he nudges your forehead with his own, the slightest bump, his nose brushing yours in a way that feels accidental but isn’t. “just… stay awake with me for a little.” your eyes flutter open to meet his at this.
there’s a glow from the hallway — warm, golden, barely spilling into the room. it catches on the curve of his cheekbone when he turns his head, the light making him look unreal for a second. you watch him blink slow, lashes touching, his breath steady but weighted, like he’s fighting sleep.
the apartment hums with refrigerator noise and distant traffic, but riki only listens to you. his thumb moves over your knuckles in small, absent circles. his knee brushes yours under the blanket.
“feels weird,” you murmur suddenly. “like… this is ours now.”
he draws his head back just slightly to look at you while you speak. “kinda scary. kinda nice.”
his eyes close for a second — one heartbeat, two — then open again because he doesn’t want to miss anything. and then he sighs, soft and sleepy, shifting the blanket higher around both your shoulders before settling his arm over your waist in a slow, hesitant motion. waiting for you to meet him halfway.
the moment you relax into him, he melts, the tension draining from his shoulders like he’s finally safe in the quiet.
“yeah,” he whispers into the space between your neck and the pillow, warm breath brushing your skin. “this feels like home already.”
"accidental" matching bracelets 재윤
you notice it before he does.
or maybe he notices it first — he just pretends he didn’t. that’s more like him, honestly. jake, with his easy smile and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, sitting across from you at that tiny café table that wobbles every time someone walks past. sunlight slants across his arm, catching the thin cord bracelet resting on his wrist… the same one you’re wearing.
same color. same pattern. same silly little charm at the end.
your stomach dips.
“what?” he asks, because you’re staring too long, and jake never lets anything slide when it comes to you. he lifts his wrist as casually as he can, glancing down with that soft frown he gets when he’s trying not to look hopeful. “oh. that.”
you raise your arm just slightly, hand beside your face, letting the bracelet slide down your arm. the matching one. his eyes flick immediately, once to your wrist, then to your face, and something warm sparks behind them.
“coincidence,” he says, too quickly. his smile is crooked, defensive in the gentlest way. “totally. i mean, there were a bunch at the shop. i just… grabbed one.”
you hum, unconvinced. the café hums around you — clinking cups, the scrape of a chair, the low warmth of late afternoon sun — but all you feel is the space between your hands on the table. barely a few inches. your bracelets almost touching.
he twists his wrist a little, the cord brushing the wood. “they’re not, like… matching matching,” he tries again.
you arch a brow, and you put your arms back down onto the table, your hands folded together.
jake breaks.
he laughs under his breath, cheeks tinting pink as he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “okay. fine. maybe I saw yours first.”
your heart jumps. he catches the reaction instantly — of course he does — and his smile softens into something quieter. something that feels like a secret.
“it wasn’t on purpose,” he adds, but the tone says otherwise. “i just thought… i dunno. that it would look good on me. too.”
he pushes his arm forward slightly, almost unconsciously, like he wants the bracelets to line up. your wrists side by side, pretending you’re not acting like a couple.
your fingers brush his when you reach for your drink. barely anything. a graze. but he still inhales a little too sharply.
“looks cute,” you say — quietly, but not quietly enough to hide the truth in it.
jake freezes. absolutely derails. sunlight catches in his hair and makes him look so soft it’s almost ridiculous.
“yeah?” he murmurs.
you nod.
and jake, beautiful and hopeless and already yours, smiles like you just gave him something he’s going to replay in his head for the rest of the day.
"wait, you missed a spot," 선우
the bathroom smells faintly like soap and warm steam, the kind that clings to the mirror in a thin fog, softening everything around it. sunoo leans on the edge of the sink, leaning forward just enough that his knees brush yours when you step closer. he’s in the oversized t-shirt he slept in that he didn’t bother changing for a new one post-shower, collar slipping wide on one shoulder, hair fluffy from the towel he barely used.
and his face – his pretty, unfairly symmetrical face – is dotted with little clouds of shaving cream.
“don’t laugh,” he warns you immediately, even though you haven’t said a word. his eyes are already narrowing in that adorable, dramatic way, like he knows he looks a little ridiculous and refuses to admit it.
you bite your lip anyway.
sunoo lifts his chin a fraction, letting you cup it with the gentlest pressure. your thumb rests just under the corner of his mouth, and you can feel the tension there — the way his breath stutters, the way he tries so hard to keep a straight face.
“you’re going to cut me,” he murmurs, soft and breathy, not even pretending to move away.
“i’m not,” you whisper back. “hold still.”
he does. instantly. almost too obediently.
your other hand guides the razor, slow and careful along the sharp line of his jaw. the room is quiet except for the faint hum of the bathroom fan and the soft drag of the blade against his skin. sunoo’s eyes stay fixed on your face, not the mirror, watching every tiny shift in your expression like he’s cataloging them.
when you swipe the last bit from his cheek, his nose scrunches the tiniest bit. “did you get it?”
you lean in to check. too close. close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath feather your lips, close enough that your eyelashes almost touch.
“mm,” you say, voice lower than you meant. “almost. wait— you missed a spot.”
he blinks. “me?”
before he can protest, you dip your thumb into the faint streak of shaving cream he smeared on your cheek earlier — the one he thought you didn’t notice — and tap it right onto the tip of his nose.
sunoo freezes.
then he bursts into the brightest smile, eyes disappearing into crescents, head tilting back as a flustered laugh spills out. “unfair!”
“is it?”
he reaches up with both hands, still smiling, still pink in the cheeks, and gently tugs you down by the waist until you’re standing between his knees again.
“you still missed one,” he says, softer now.
you open your mouth to ask where, but he leans forward and kisses the corner of your mouth, warm and sweet and a little smug.
“there,” he whispers. “got it.”
"you're so handsome, y'know?" 종성
jay is already awake when you open your eyes. not fully, just that soft in-between where he’s blinking slow and watching you like he can’t quite believe you’re real. the morning light spills in from the half-open blinds, thin and gold, brushing over the slope of his shoulder and the dark strands of hair falling across his forehead. it makes him look warm. it makes him look… gentle.
you shift closer, your cheek finding that familiar place on his chest where his heartbeat sounds slowest. the sheets rustle, cool against your legs. jay’s arm tightens automatically around your waist, like his body knows what to do even when his mind hasn’t caught up yet.
“morning,” he murmurs, voice deep and gravelly in that way it only gets right after sleep. he tilts his chin, looking down at you with those soft, half-focused eyes that always make your stomach flip.
you study him for a second — the relaxed set of his mouth, the faint crease on his cheek from the pillow, the sleepy warmth in his expression. he looks unguarded like this. tender. like all that quiet intensity he carries in the daytime has melted into something softer.
and before you can think twice, you breathe it out:
“you’re so handsome, y’know?”
jay goes still.
not dramatically, not jerked or startled, just… still. his eyes widen the tiniest bit, like he’s surprised you said it now, like this, with morning breath and messy hair, barely awake. he swallows once, the movement brushing lightly against your forehead where you’re resting.
“yeah?” he asks, so softly you almost miss it.
you lift yourself enough to look down at him fully, your fingers brushing the hair away from his face. “yeah,” you repeat. “you really are.”
his lips part, a slow exhale leaving him, like your words hit someplace deeper than he expected. a flush creeps along his cheekbones, barely there but impossible to miss, and for a second, he looks boyish, almost shy.
jay reaches up, fingers grazing your jaw. he traces along the shape of it, gentle, reverent, eyes searching yours deeply.
then he pulls you down slowly, like he’s savoring the moment. his forehead rests against yours, noses brushing, breath mingling.
“say it again,” he whispers.
you smile. “handsome.”
his eyes close, lashes low against his cheeks, and he lets out a tiny breath that sounds like relief. or gratitude. or something along those lines.
when he kisses you, it’s soft. gentle. slowly catching up with his slow awakening.
dancing in the kitchen 희승
the kitchen light is too warm for this late at night; that soft, honey-slick kind of glow that makes everything feel a little slower, a little closer, like the air itself is leaning in. there’s a half-finished bowl of something on the counter, music humming from your phone speaker, and heeseung is barefoot on the tiles, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it one too many times.
you’re rinsing dishes when he taps your hip with the back of his knuckles.
not a word, just that gentle little nudge he always uses when he wants your attention without asking for it out loud.
when you turn, he’s already smiling. not the big showy one; the soft one, the one that lifts only one corner of his mouth and crinkles the edges of his eyes. the one that means come here.
“dance with me,” he says, voice low, the music barely more than a whisper in the background.
you laugh under your breath. “there’s barely any space.”
heeseung steps forward anyway, closing the distance in two slow strides. he smells like faint detergent and something sweet that’s been lingering since dessert, warmth radiating from his skin. his hands find your waist like it’s muscle memory, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your shirt, fingers settling at the small of your back.
“then you’ll have to stay super close to me,” he murmurs.
he pulls you in, and the world tilts a little.
you fall into the rhythm easily, swaying in a circle that isn’t quite a circle, more like a slow wandering of two people who don’t care where they land as long as it’s together. heeseung hums along to the music, just slightly off-key, and when you step on his foot you gasp, immediately babbling incoherent apologies to him.
“aaahh.. i’m injured,” he whines sarcastically, a dumb playing at his lips.
“you’re ridiculous,” you counter, shoving his shoulder lightly.
but he catches your hand before you can pull away, fingers slipping between yours with a confidence so gentle it makes your chest ache. he lifts your hand, spinning you once – too fast, definitely on purpose – and you stumble into him, both of you laughing.
the laughter fades when your eyes lock with his, your bodies close. warm breath. warm light. warm hands on your waist.
heeseung’s voice drops to something softer than before. “you look really pretty like this.”
you don’t even get the chance to tease him for it, he’s already leaning in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, breath ghosting along your hairline. his hands hold you like he’s afraid of losing the moment.
the music keeps playing, but you swear the only thing you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat In your ears.
"wait for me!" 정원
it starts with something small.
you’re only going to brush your teeth, nothing dramatic, and still, the moment you step out of the blankets, you hear the rustle of sheets behind you, then a soft thud as jungwon practically rolls himself out of bed.
“wait—! wait for me!”
you’re barely in the doorway when he appears, hair sticking up in about twelve different directions, socks mismatched, pajama pants rolled up his calves from moving around in his sleep. he half-jogs to your side, bumping your shoulder with his as he squeezes past to stand beside you at the sink.
“you could’ve told me you were getting up,” he says, breath a little uneven, like he really sprinted. “what if you slipped? what if you left me?”
you stare at him through the mirror. “i’m brushing my teeth.”
“exactly,” he says, like that explains everything.
the bathroom mirror catches both of you; your sleepy face, his ridiculous bedhead, the soft glow of the lamp behind you. jungwon stands close. way too close. close enough that his elbow bumps yours whenever he lifts his toothbrush, close enough that his shoulder presses into you whenever he leans forward to spit.
he glances at your reflection every few seconds, foam gathering at the corner of his mouth as he tries to smile around the toothbrush. it comes out awkward and adorable and makes your chest warm.
when you lean down to rinse, he leans at the exact same time, bumping into you with a muffled whine.
“jungwon—”
“i’m syncing with you!” he insists, mouth still full of toothpaste. “we’re doing it together.”
he spits, rinses quickly, then immediately turns to you as you straighten up. his hand finds your wrist without him even thinking about it, thumb brushing lightly over your skin like he’s reassuring himself you’re still here.
“where are you going now?” he asks, already sounding suspicious.
“back to bed.”
his face brightens instantly — all soft eyes and soft smile, still a little puffy from sleep. “okay. wait for me.”
and then he’s rushing again — rinsing the sink, tossing the toothbrush back into the cup, knocking into the counter on the way out, all in this frantic little attempt to not let you get more than two steps away. he catches up with you in the hallway, breathless, slipping his hand into yours as naturally as breathing.
as if he was never meant to be anywhere except right beside you.
“there,” he murmurs, lacing your fingers together, voice settling into something warm and content. “now we can go.”
and he walks with you. always. always with you.
artz and craftz 성훈
the table is a mess. markers without caps, paint tubes rolling toward the edge, a cup of cloudy rinse water that both of you keep almost knocking over. the kind of chaos that should stress you out, but somehow doesn’t. the overhead light glows warm and low, turning the whole room softer.
sunghoon sits beside you, close enough that your knees touch whenever either of you shift even slightly. he’s pretending to be focused, really focused, brows drawn, lips pressed together, leaning over the paper like he’s crafting a masterpiece. but every time he thinks you’re not looking, his eyes flick sideways to your face, then back to his page in a snap.
his shoulder brushes yours again.
you don’t think it’s an accident anymore.
“you’re using way too much paint,” you tease quietly, dipping your brush and adding a stripe of color to your own page.
sunghoon scoffs, dramatic, offended, but with that soft pink creeping over his ears. “i know what i’m doing,” he says, even though he’s absolutely making a mess of the palette.
he’s concentrating so hard he doesn’t notice the streak of blue he smudges across the back of his hand. but you notice. of course you notice. his fingers look delicate under the color, long and steady as he paints, movements careful in a way that doesn’t match the chaos on the table.
you lean a little closer to see what he’s working on. your hair brushes his arm, and he freezes for half a second before pretending nothing happened.
“don’t judge me yet,” he mumbles. “it’s not finished.”
you smile. “i’m not judging.”
“you are,” he says under his breath, but he shifts even closer, so your sleeves touch. so your elbows bump each time you dip your brushes into the same jar of water.
the room is quiet except for the scratch of brushes against paper and the faint hum of whatever playlist you started earlier without thinking. sunghoon tilts his paper away from you, trying to hide it, and that’s how you know it’s something earnest. something he cares about. something… sweet.
“is it a secret?” you ask.
his jaw flexes slightly, teeth catching the inside of his cheek.
“no,” he murmurs. then quieter: “kind of.”
you reach for another marker at the same time he does. your hands brush, light, warm, fingers grazing for a breath too long, and he goes absolutely still, eyes darting to yours before he can stop them.
he clears his throat. looks back down. his brush moves more slowly now, strokes softer, more deliberate.
when he finally angles the paper toward you, trying to act casual, your heart stutters. it’s not perfect, not even close, but it’s unmistakably you. your favorite colors, the shape of your silhouette, the soft curl of a smile he must’ve memorized.
sunghoon shrugs one shoulder, pretending it’s nothing. “just practicing,” he says, voice low.
but the tips of his ears are glowing red.
and when you lean into him, shoulder against shoulder, he doesn’t move away.
he stays right there, letting the quiet do all the talking for him.
a/n ; i've been scrolling on pinterest and kept seeing these kinds of pics and getting ideas but i wasn't sure how to really make a fic out of any one of them ... so this is the best idea i had HAHA
dailybridgerton
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izzy806
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