#reconciliation

[taylors-a-goblin]

As a queer gnc Aboriginal person, this week is for me and my people. Everyone has to give money to their nearest LGBTQIA+ Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander person this week. I don't make the rules, I just raise awareness of them 🤷

[cursio-neptune]

Reconciliation

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Invisible chair.

[paddock-princess-writes]

Day 2: Snowed In - LN04

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Tropes: Forced Proximity, Snowed In / Blizzard, Brink of Divorce, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort," Emotional Confessions, Husband!Lando.

WARNING: Heavy emotional angst, discussions of divorce and marital neglect, swearing

Summary: The plan was clinical: drive to the cabin, sign the divorce papers, and finally leave Lando Norris in the rearview mirror. But a Finnish blizzard and a stuck McLaren Artura have other plans. Trapped in the freezing cold with the man who broke your heart, trying to win gold trophies, you’re forced to confront the wreckage of your marriage. As the temperature of the cabin starts dropping, you start seeing things a bit differently than before.

Word Count: 2.7k+

A/N: This actually broke me, I love writing angst, and I thought "what is better than two people stuck in a cold cabin...than two people going through divorce." (I'm sorry...not sorry). I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS! I think this is my favorite so far. See you in day 3.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 📼 masterlist. 🏎️ inbox. 🏁 taglist

"I told you to rent the SUV."

“And I said, we don’t need one!” Lando protested, his voice cracking slightly as he gestured wildly at the frosted window.

“Clearly, we do because your dysfunctional car drifted into a pine tree that is now blocking the very exit we need. Lando, we are fucking stuck here."

You stood by the window of the cabin, arms crossed, staring out at the disaster in the driveway. The McLaren Artura—a vehicle worth more than most houses and designed exclusively for dry asphalt—was buried up to its wheel arches in a Finnish snowdrift and a huge pine tree just mocking both of you. It looked ridiculous.

You stared at the car, a bitter laugh bubbling in your chest. It was so typical. Lando Norris: the boy who lives life like a game. He never planned for the bad weather. He never planned for the hard days. He just assumed everything would work out if he went fast enough.

That was exactly why you were leaving him. You were tired of being the passenger in a life that was moving too fast to actually be lived.

Inside, the air was already turning stale and cold. The "smart heating system" Lando had insisted on installing two years ago was currently flashing a red error code that probably meant Game Over in Finnish, and the WiFi router was dead.

Lando was pacing the length of the living room rug. He was wearing a bright neon green Quadrant beanie that clashed violently with the rustic timber walls, looking less like a Formula 1 driver and more like a glow stick experiencing an existential crisis.

"My stream," he muttered, tapping his phone screen aggressively. "I was supposed to be live in a few hours. The chat is going to think I died."

"Priorities, Lando," you sighed, turning away from the window to face the room. "We are trapped in a blizzard with no heat, no internet, and..." You gestured to the coffee table.

There, the reason why you both are here in the first place, sitting in the center of the room like a radioactive device, was the thick manila envelope. The divorce papers.

Lando’s eyes flicked to the envelope, then immediately away, bouncing to the ceiling, the floor, the window—anywhere but the evidence of your failing marriage. He pulled his beanie down lower. "I’m going to check the fuse box again."

"You don't know what a fuse box looks like.”

“I can be an engineer if I wanted to!" he yelled over his shoulder, fleeing into the kitchen.

—————————

Two hours later, the engineering attempt had failed, and the silence was louder than the wind howling outside. You were both huddled on opposite ends of the oversized leather sofa, wrapped in whatever blankets you could find.

Since talking about why you were divorcing was too painful, and talking about the weather was too depressing, you had resorted to arguing about the assets, specifically the things in the last house that you were unable to sell. It was petty, it was stupid, and it was the only thing keeping you from crying.

"I don't want the deer," Lando said, pointing a gloved hand at the terrifying taxidermy head mounted above the fireplace. "It looks like it’s judging me… kind of reminds me of you, actually.”

"Well, I don't want it!" you snapped, pulling your blanket tighter. "You bought it! You said it gave the place 'scandi-vibes'!"

"I was drunk! That shouldn't be legally binding!"

You looked at the deer, and a memory hit you so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of you. You remembered that day. It was two years ago, during the winter break. You were stumbling through the Helsinki Christmas market, Lando laughing so hard his nose was bright red, holding that stupid deer head like a trophy. He had kissed you right there in the snow, promising that this cabin would be your escape—a place where cameras couldn't follow.

Now, the cabin was just another asset to liquidate, and the deer was just a dusty witness to the end.

He huffed, sinking lower into his hoodie. He looked ridiculous and looked exhausted. But also, annoyingly, he looked cold. He hadn't brought a proper coat because Lando lived life on the edge, and now he has to suffer through it, and clearly, you don’t give a fuck if he freezes for the next 48 hours. His teeth were chattering, a soft click-click-click sound that was chipping away at your resolve.

Don't do it, you told yourself. Do not offer him your scarf. He is a grown man. He is a millionaire. He can buy a scarf factory. But god, he looks like a shivering puppy.

"What about the Nespresso machine?" you asked, trying to distract yourself from the urge to choke him with your scarf.

"You take it," he said quickly.

"But you love that machine. You named it 'Brew-is Hamilton'."

"Yeah, well," he mumbled, picking at a loose thread on the sofa cushion, refusing to meet your eyes. "I don't know how to use the milk frother properly. You were the one who made the good foam. 

"It’s useless to me. It doesn't taste right if... if you don't make the foam."

The next blow. He was basically saying, It’s useless to me without you. This house is just bringing up past memories that you would like buried with the snow.

You looked away, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Fine. I take the machine.”

—————————

Night fell, and the temperature plummeted. The generator gave a final, dying wheeze and cut out, plunging the cabin into darkness save for the dying embers in the fireplace.

"Dinner," you announced, trying to keep your voice steady. You rummaged through the pantry with your phone flashlight. It was a grim selection of non-perishables left over from your last visit. "Okay. We have pickled beets, a jar of sardines... or plain crackers."

"I am not eating a fish from a jar," Lando said from the floor, where he had moved to be closer to the fire. "That is a crime against humanity. That is worse than Oscar’s dry sense of humor."

"It’s that or starvation, Norris."

“Fine…Crackers, please.”

You joined him on the rug, the only warm spot left in the house. You sat shoulder-to-shoulder, not touching, sharing the box of dry crackers and the bottle of expensive red wine that was supposed to be for the 'Closing Sale' toast.

You took a sip, trying to stop your own shivering. The cold was seeping through your socks, biting at your toes. You shifted your legs, tucking them under you, but it didn't help.

Lando paused mid-chew. He didn't turn his head, but his gaze dropped to your socks, tracking the subtle, involuntary tremor of your knees. He knew that fidget. He knew exactly at what temperature you stopped functioning. Without a word, without even looking up from the cracker he was inspecting, Lando reached out.

His hand clamped around your ankle. He tugged your legs straight, then lifted your feet and tucked them securely under his thighs, sandwiching them between the warmth of his legs and the rug.

You froze.

It was muscle memory. A habit from three years of marriage. Your feet were cold; he warmed them. It was a reflex attested through a shared life you once both knew.

You looked down at his hand resting on your shin. The gold wedding band was gone; he’d taken it off for the legal proceedings, but the skin on his ring finger was still pale, a stark of white against his tan. A ghost of the promise he claimed he couldn't keep.

He chewed his cracker, and he paused. The realization hit him a second later that you.

He went rigid, his hand hovering over your shin. But he didn't let go, and you didn't pull away, either. The heat from his legs was seeping into your frozen toes, a painful, wonderful reminder of the intimacy you were throwing away.

"Jesus," he hissed, his hands tightening around your ankles to generate more friction. "Are you actually part of the undead, now? "

"Rich," you mumbled, eyeing the sad, half-eaten cracker in his other hand. "Coming from the man trying to survive a blizzard on a dry biscuit."

But neither of you moved. The air between you was charged, heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and the vanilla perfume you hadn't changed in years.

The fire popped, a loud crack that broke the trance. You looked at the coffee table. The manila envelope was barely visible in the firelight, but its presence felt heavy, suffocating.

"Just sign it, Lando," you said, your voice trembling. You pulled your feet out from under him. The loss of warmth was immediate and brutal. "The pen is right there. It’s been six months of you dodging the lawyers. Just finish it."

Lando flinched. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. The neon beanie slipped back, revealing messy curls. The mask of the "Cool F1 Driver," the streamer, and the joker dropped completely. He just looked like a boy who was lost.

"I can't," he said quietly.

"Why?" You grabbed the envelope and tossed it toward him. It landed on the rug with a soft slap. "It’s just paper, Norris. You drive at 200 miles per hour, but you can't hold a pen?"

"I opened it, okay! The papers you sent me the first time… I held it over and over again!" he shouted suddenly, his voice cracking, eyes flashing with sudden, wet anger. "I had the pen in my hand! I sat there for hours!"

"Then why didn't you?"

He looked at you, his eyes swimming with tears, his chest heaving.

"Because it felt like signing your name out of my life," he choked out. "Once I put the ink on the paper, I can't undo it. I can fix a bad lap. I can apologize to the team. I can fix a crash… But, I can’t fix this."

He wiped his face aggressively with his sleeve, sniffing loudly.

"I didn't want this," he whispered, the fight draining out of him. "I didn't know how to carry the weight of the title and the weight of your heart at the same time, so I dropped you. I dropped us. I thought if I focused on the car, you’d still be there when I got out, and fuck, Y/N, I was wrong.” He stepped closer, hands twitching as if he wanted to reach for you but was terrified to touch.  “I let you slip through my fingers, lap by lap, race by race. I was so obsessed with the car that I didn't see I was driving our marriage off a cliff. And the worst part? You stayed. You sat in the stands and cheered for me while I was letting you rot in silence. I want to get on my knees and beg you to start over, to tell you I’ll change—but how can I ask you to forgive a man who watched you drown for a year and did nothing but smile for the cameras?" He looked at you dead in the eyes now. “I’m sorry, Y/N, for everything I've done to us. But believe me when I say, Fuck the championship. Fuck the legacy. It’s all just noise. I thought if I won, I’d be enough for you, but all I did was ensure I’ll never be enough again. I let you down in the worst way possible. I left you alone when I was right there beside you. I’d give it back. I swear to God, I’d give every point, every podium, every second of it back if it meant you wouldn't look at me with those dead eyes. Please... just tell me it isn't too late."

The silence that followed his confession was louder than any cheering crowds that had drowned you out during your entire marriage.

Fuck the championship.

Three words. Three words that would have saved you six months ago. If he had said them when you were crying on the bathroom floor in Monaco, or when you were staring at the ceiling in an empty hotel room in Vegas, you would have stayed. You would have fought.

But now? Those words just felt like a eulogy.

You looked at him. The desperation in his eyes was raw and terrifyingly real. This wasn't Lando the Superstar; this was your Lando, stripped down to the bone. He was offering to burn down his empire just to keep you. God, it hurt. It hurt because you believed him. You knew he meant it. He would give every trophy back.

But he couldn't give back the time. He couldn't undo the loneliness.

But the love? The love was always right there between the two of you, terrified and freezing. It hadn't left. That was the cruelest joke of all. You didn't want to leave him because you stopped loving him; you were leaving him because loving him had started to kill you.

But looking at him now, shattered and breathless, the horrific truth finally hit you: He hadn't neglected you because he didn't care. He had neglected you because he thought he had to be a god to be worthy of you.

He was just a boy who had convinced himself that the only way to keep you was to be the best in the world. He had driven himself into the ground, chased every point and every win, not for his ego, but because he was terrified that if he was just Lando, he wouldn't be enough. He had broken your heart trying to protect it with trophies and glory when all you ever wanted was him.

If you walked away now, you weren't just leaving a bad marriage. You were leaving a man who had finally woken up. You were pulling the trigger right when he was ready to lay down his armor.

Is asking for a divorce really the right call?

You made a choice.

You reached over and picked up the thick manila envelope.

Lando flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, turning his head away as if expecting you to force the pen into his hand.

Riiiiiiiiip.

The sound was tearing and loud in the quiet cabin.

Lando’s head snapped up. He stared, mouth slightly open, as you tore the document down the middle, then stacked the halves and tore them again.

"My lawyer is going to kill me," he whispered, staring at the confetti in your hands. "That was the original copy."

"Let him sue us," you said, your voice trembling but firm. You tossed the shredded paper onto the floor. "We’re snowed in. We have at least twenty-four hours before a tow truck can get here. Maybe forty-eight."

You crawled across the small space on the rug and he followed you. You didn't kiss him. It was too soon for that. But he sat next to you, shoulder to shoulder, pressing your side against his.

"We don't sign today," you said softly. "We talk about us, about the schedules, about everything.”

Lando let out a shaky breath, a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. He leaned his head sideways until it rested heavily on your shoulder. His hand found yours in the dark, his fingers tangling with yours, holding on tight.

"Okay," he murmured, the tension finally leaving his body. "We talk."

He paused, sniffing loudly, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

"But can we also talk about getting better snacks for this cabin? Because if we get back together, I am banning the sardines."

You let out a wet laugh, leaning your head on top of his neon beanie. “Deal."

—————————

The next morning, the sun rose over a brilliantly white, frozen landscape. The Finnish tow truck driver arrived at 9 AM, shaking his head as he winched the flashy McLaren out of the snowdrift. He walked up to the cabin to get a signature, knocking loudly on the thick timber door.

Nobody answered.

Inside, the fire had long burned out, but the room was warm. Buried under the single faux-fur throw, two figures slept tangled together, limbs knotted in a desperate seek for warmth, surrounded by the torn remnants of a divorce decree scattered like snow. They didn't hear the knock. They were too busy making up for lost time.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Taglist : @sassypostpatrol, @whos-mem, @lydia-demarek, @frantic-babbling, @thetorturedblogger, @mytearsricochvtt, @anamiad00msday , @dessashippr @gizzes77 @wertyuizxcvbnm @ninareads25 @edgyficuselastica @gso35 @lyricsandvenom @gabby-marrie15 @hyunette @sunshinevansh

[kosmicklouds]

𝐌𝐇𝐀 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬:𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

“𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖”

Pt1

IZUKU MIDORIYA

“𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖”

There’s a knock on your door it’s late-half past eleven,not super late but enough to be suspicious. You walk up check the peep hole and see green hair? You open the door swiftly.

“Izu? What’s going on?”

“Sorry sorry I just- I really uh I really need to talk to you. C-can I come in?”

You look at him stunned but reply quickly

“yes yeah of course come in” you lead him to your living room couch and sit down.

“You can sit” you gesture to the couch.

“Yes of course” he says but doesn’t sit down he begins to pace.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” You ask but are swiftly cut.

“Why?”

You are immediately puzzled “why what?”

“Why didn’t you- we work,why wasn’t it me” he blurts out.

“what are you-our break up was mutual with work and-“

“I’m sorry but I just- I never wanted this. you brought up that it would be too hard for us to continue our relationship as upcoming hero’s but I just can’t support that cause how would it be any easier with anyone else so it makes no sense unless it’s about me!”

“No i-“

“its okay if it’s about me,I just want know.”

“no its not.”

“cause it just been really nagging at me and I can’t get it off my mind, I love you I really love you I still love you I mean its only been a month so how could I not but-“

“Izuku!” He stops pacing and you are suddenly in front of him

“You’re right it wouldn’t be any easier I realized that. I also realized that I don’t even care if it’s hard, I want to be with you. it’s you,your the only one I want but I didn’t know if it was too late.”

“y/n it will never be too late for us your the only one for me too”

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have given up on us,on you. I never could have gotten over you.”

“I couldn’t either and I didn’t want to”

SHOTO TODOROKI

“𝑯𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝑰'𝒎 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒄𝒌, 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒕”

Todoroki is out shopping for the week he casual browsing when he stumbled upon one of your favorite snacks. he unconsciously reaches for it and it met with the sound of the bag but not the feeling what he’s feeling is a hand it’s oh my god it’s you hand. He whips his head towards you.

“Y/n?” You both lock eyes.

“Hey” You glance down at your guys hands. You give him a cheeky smile

“did I get you addicted to these,you still buying them after we broke up”

He gives you a small smile “Habit”

“I hear those are hard to kick”

He chuckles a bit almost like old times he thinks.

“Yeah hard to get over like people and feelings” you half joke again.

There’s a silence while he contemplates what that supposed to mean but you don't give him the chance and change the subject immediately

“It’s good to see you” you say trying to break the tension.

“It really good to see you too” he’s so earnest you decided long ago that was probably your favorite quality of his.

“Would you like to join me?”

He asks earnest and straight forward without ever really being blunt you feel the butterflies in your stomach like when he asked you out for the first time.

“Sure why not”

you both realize that your hands have not move this whole time so he takes the initiative and place the snack on your basket with a warmer not comfortable smile. You guys roam the grocery store after multiple attempts at breaking the thinning ice you guys eventually fall back into old habits. Forgetting why you even were apart in the first place. After you guys check out giggling as he takes things from your basket so he can pay for them. You walk to the door and he sighs

“I miss this, I’ve missed you y/n”

“I miss you too shoto,your a habit I don’t know why I quit”

KATSUKI BAKUGOU

“𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆”

You’re on patrol with Katsuki…again,How convenient. After another day of leaving your house and having a gift and a note from him at your door. You haven’t really decided if it’s annoying or endearing how he hasn’t given up. I mean the breakup was valid right but it still nice to know how much he cares. You decide that’s true but it’s annoying he won’t let you talk about it, He knows what you’ll say probably verbatim,he knows you so well. So instead of talking you guys walk silently on patrol, him ever so often stealing glances your way. You were about to attempt to bring up the gifts again when you guys run into another duo of hero’s patrolling. After some polite coworker chit chat the conversation between Katsuki and the other hero starts to shift.

“So dynamight I heard your single” she says in a nervous but flirtatious tone.

“No I am not”

I freeze up “Katsuki.” I say sharply.

“What? I’m not. I’m not gonna lie to the girl”

“yes you are”

“no I’m not”

“yes you are”

“I’m not doing this shit with you y/n you know damn well how I feel and that’s not going to change”

There’s a slight clench in your fist

and you excuse you and Katsuki to talk in private. You pull him away throwing apologies at the two hero’s.

“If you think talking in private will change anything I have to say to you you are dumber than I thought”

“why must you be so damn stubborn. we broke up why can’t you accept that.”

“It takes two to break up I never agreed I never wanted to be away from you. You don’t have to act like your still my girlfriend but I’m still your boyfriend,I’m still yours. if the gifts and shit make you uncomfortable or whatever the fuck I’ll stop but you can’t say that you don’t feel how wrong it is for us to not be together.”

“I know that what we had wasn’t working that no matter what I feel for you that I can’t go back to a dead end”

“we can change I can change. none of this shit it worth it if I don’t have you kicking ass beside me we were meant to be partners. you made me believe in soulmate bullshit let me make this work…please”

there’s a pitiful look in his eyes that he would deny to anyone else. A look that he would wipe off as soon as he realized-if he hadn’t recognized the same vulnerability in yours as all your walls come down. You practically fall into his arms.

“Yeah okay whatever it takes, I’m yours”

EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

“𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍”

Kiri was racking his brain to find a way to fix you guys he couldn’t take this any longer he felt so alone without you by his side to watch movies with and laugh at his dumb jokes. He needed a gesture and he had help you remember how good it was too,so in a kinda unmanly fashion he tricks you into going on a date. He tell you its going it be you guys and a couple friends but when you get there it just you and him. On of the reason you guys split was because you both agreed a lot of the romance had unintentionally died in your relationship you guys were in a rut not a big dramatic thing you guys had fallen into routine and not actively being there for one another so what better way to rekindle the relationship with some new found romance. He decided that a grand gesture would do the trick. He swiftly put in a large order for your favorite flowers,picked up your favorite dessert and for safe measure picked up your favorite takeout instead of cooking (it has to be perfect and bakugou was too busy to help him cook). He texts you and asks you to come over to a group hangout at his apartment.

“Hey ei I’m here-“ you are stoped in your tracks to see a candle lit room rose petals on the floor leading to Kiri holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

Surprise”

“Ei what is this?”

“Y/n this is me hopefully successfully trying to get back the best thing that ever happened to me. This time without you I can feel your absence everywhere. It’s driving me crazy I want you back.

“I don’t know what to say”

“If you feel that same way I hope you say you’ll take me back. You’re my best friend, the best partner, you are truly my better half. you bring out the very best in me let me be the best I can be and then some cause you deserve it. Things will be different let me show you how much you’re worth.

“How could I ever say no” you give him the brightest smile. “You got yourself a deal babe”

He practically runs into your arms and you guys wrap your arms around each other. Feeling the familiarity of the man you love but something new as well something new and good in this relationship. He nests his head in your neck and you feel his grip tighten a bit.

“I got my girl back”

KEIGO TAKAMI

“Swear to be over dramatic and true to my lover”

It a normal day for you it seems and hawks agrees as he’s about to head of back to his usual patrol until a villain starts to rampage the street. You jump into action almost immediately he wait for a moment to see if he should jump into action and help move guys move in so he swoops down and joins the fight.

“Ke-hawks? What are you doing here this isn’t you area”

“just providing back up sweetheart”

the fight continues and just when it seems that it’s over hawks takes a hit through the stomach with some kinda sharp quirk

“holy fuck no no no keigo” you run to he catching him before he falls.

“It’s okay you’re okay” you sit and lay him down.

“Sweetheart I have something to tell you I have to say it now.”

“What is it keigo tell me”

“I love you” and then he passes out. You hold him closer.

A bit later you in the hospital with him as he wakes up.

“Y/n?”

“You are one dramatic mother fucker”

“what!?”

“You telling me you love me like your going to die you were barley Injured I’m sure you passed out from you own theatrics”

“I didn’t know how bad it was. I just couldn’t not say it, in case something happened”

your silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry but I’m not over you.”

“Keigo I know,I know you’ve been watching me we’re both professionals. You know To be honest it was nice still having you watch my back. it made me realize when I started watching back that i still love you too.” You bend down to kiss him

“Will you let me be the heir to drama king throne again”

“Of course my love I missed you in my castle”

SHOTA AIZAWA

“𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆?”

It’s a rainy night your walking around a little farther than your neighborhood enjoying the dramatic weather when you are stoped by a person crouched on the ground petting a cat. You scan the person and it clicks it shota,you ex boyfriend,helping a cat. So like him it’s one of the reasons you fell in love with him.

“Shota?”

He is unfazed and doesn’t turn around at first he thinks it’s his mind playing tricks on him again, he hears the wet foot steps approaching still drowning it out until he feels your hand on his shoulder.

“Y/n?” He looks up at you,it’s really you he could cry he hasn’t seen you like actual seen *you*

“Hey what’s are you doing out here?”

You ask so casually like you’re not making his heart pound out of his chest.

“I was” he takes a breath “out for a walk saw the cat”

“yeah sounds like you...god the universe is so funny sometimes“

“what does that mean“

“thats my cat and of course you out of everyone would just so happen to be the one to find him“

“Kinda like it was fate” he says picking up the cat and standing up.

“Yeah exactly like that”

“Look I’ll go I know you hate me so here’s your cat” he hands him to you. “And I’ll go”

“I don’t hate you”

“I haven’t seen you like at all not a trace so assumed”

“I know and I’m sorry but it was just too hard it felt easier to…disappear. I thought if I saw you again I wouldn’t be able to help myself-I mean I just you make it so damn hard when you look at me-you know I shouldn’t be saying this I should just take my cat and go”

“Wait-don’t please we should talk about this if you feel like that cause I know I feel like that.

You nod slowly

“Would you like to come upstairs?”

He nod back and you turn around as he join you side and he it hit with that haunting smell. its no longer a ghost of you is there your real and at his side again.

“You know it your eye get me every time” you say with a bit of a giggle.

“My eyes what about yours there too romantic it’s like kryptonite”

DENKI KAMINARI

“𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅,𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓”

o’clock in the morning your getting a call from sero. Why? kaminari is drunk like out of his mind drunk. Why is this your problem considering you haven’t been together for months,well he’s refusing to let anyone but you take him. Begrudgingly you get dressed and go to pick him up. You can’t lie part of you was curious what could possibly be the reason he wants to see you, he’s been fine since the breakup. maybe he so drunk he doesn’t remember the break up. You chuckle at the thought as you approach the front of the bar kaminari is hanging off sero presumably babbling.

“Hey guys” you say stepping out the car making your way to them.

“Y/n!!” Kaminari yells rush out of seros arms and into yours.

“What’s going on with him?” You say steading yourself from his impact.

“We have no idea he came in started drinking like a monster and then demanding to see you.”

Kaminari starts nuzzling into your neck.

“So my Ubers here am I good to leave him with you”

you roll your eyes. “Yeah fine”

sero gets into the car and you stand there holding up your ex boyfriend.

“Denki let’s get into the car and get you home.” He immediately shoots up

“no no not yet i want to talk to you”

“kami let’s not do this here and definitely not now”

he yanking you to walk with him down the street not much strength behind it beacuse of how drunk he is you decided it’s better to just go with it then to fight him.

“I want to tell you *hic* you that we were so good together”

“Kami-“

“i *hic* miss you so *hic* much”

“kaminari please don’t do this to me” there’s a wobble in your voice and that sorta sobers him up. He looks up to see a tear in you eye.

“Y/n did I break you heart”

you were silent and adverting your eyes from his.

“Yes kaminari you did but it’s okay”

“no its not I don’t know why but I-“

“You don’t have to talk about this anymore it’s over with, heartbreak is just a reminder that you were in love I’m grateful for that”

He looks at you very intensely a look you can’t stand you could melt into him right there. “I know I’m a tree pardon the sap- “I’m still in love with you”

You give him a look similar to the one he’s still giving you. Anyone around could feel the tension but most importantly the love. The love that never left no matter what happened or what was said. You straighten both of you up and turn you and him around back to the car.

“kaminari I’m going to take you back to my apartment” you drop into the passenger seat and before you shut the door you say.

“I love you too”

────────── ୨ৎ──────────

Omg hi cuties💋ྀིྀི

I have no idea why this took so long I was being picky about It and even after that I still think it could be better but I hope you guys enjoyed it.

Please follow and comment if you liked this and give it a like if you really liked it lol more fics coming very soon!

[khorazir]

Tried out a new ink because the one I’ve been drawing with for years has apparently been discontinued. The art is inspired by the wonderful DBDA fic Reconciliation by @sthilarions

[petalsofgiarratana]

“CO-PARENTING AS A BIT”

Pairing: Angela Giarratana x Reader

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: swearing, use of y/n, emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of a pet being lost (resolved safely dw)

Summary: two ex-roommates with a messy history fight over custody of the chihuahua they adopted in college—until they realize the dog isn’t what they’re really after.

divider credits: @uzmacchiato

the thing about jointly adopting a dog with your best friend at two in the morning during finals week is that it seems like a great idea until four years later when you’re texting said friend about custody arrangements and she responds with “we can meet but i’m bringing my lawyer” and you’re ninety percent sure she’s joking but only ninety percent.

you’re back in los angeles after four years in san francisco, and the first order of business before unpacking, before setting up your new apartment, before doing literally anything else is apparently meeting your ex-best-friend (a term that makes you cringe) in a coffee shop to negotiate visitation rights for a blind chihuahua named spork.

your lawyer is a pad of paper with “TALKING POINTS” written at the top in sharpie. angela’s lawyer is apparently just her, sitting across from you in ripped jeans and a vintage hoodie, looking simultaneously like she wants to hug you and like she wants to throw her iced coffee in your face.

“so.” she says.

“so…” you echo.

spork is not present for this negotiation. angela had texted he’s at home, didn’t want to stress him out which is probably code for “i didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of seeing how much he’d freak out over you being back.”

the coffee shop is too loud. some indie song is playing overhead and a group of film students are having an intense argument about auteur theory two tables over. angela is doing that thing where she tears her napkin into tiny shreds, which means she’s either nervous or annoyed or both.

“you look good.” you try, because someone has to start this conversation.

“thanks. you too.” she doesn’t look up from the napkin execution. “very san francisco of you.”

“what does that mean?”

“i don’t know. you just look expensive now.”

you glance down at your outfit. jeans and a plain t-shirt, nothing fancy. “i’m wearing target.”

“expensive target, then.”

this is going well. super well. you’re absolutely nailing this reunion.

“look,” you say, “i know this is weird—”

“it’s not weird.”

“—but we’re both adults and we both love spork—”

“i love spork,” angela interrupts. “you sent me money sometimes and asked how he was doing over text. that’s not the same thing.”

there it is. the thing you knew was coming but still hits like a punch to the gut.

“that’s not fair.” you say quietly.

“no, you’re right. i’m sorry.” she doesn’t sound sorry. she sounds tired. “i’ve just had him for four years. by myself. and now you’re back and you want to what, split custody? like he’s not a living thing that’s been with me this entire time?”

“i paid for half his vet bills—”

“money’s not the same as being there when he had that seizure last year. money’s not the same as sleeping on the bathroom floor with him when he had that stomach thing. money’s not—” she stops, takes a breath. “i’m not trying to be a bitch about this.”

“could’ve fooled me.”

her eyes flash. “you left. you left and you took this job and you barely called and when you did call it was always ‘how’s spork’ and never ‘how are you’ so forgive me if i’m a little bitter about you waltzing back into la and expecting everything to be the same.”

the film students have gone quiet. you think they might be eavesdropping. great.

“i didn’t waltz,” you mutter. “i got transferred. my company opened an office here.”

“you could’ve said no.”

“why would i say no? my entire life was here before i left.”

“was it?” angela asks, and there’s something sharp in her voice. “because it seemed pretty easy for you to go.”

you don’t know what to say to that. because she’s right and she’s wrong and this whole conversation is veering into territory you’re not ready to navigate in a coffee shop in silver lake at eleven in the morning on a tuesday.

“can we just—” you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“can we figure out the spork thing? please?”

angela sits back, arms crossed. “fine. what do you want?”

“i want to see him. spend time with him. he’s my dog too.”

“our dog.”

“right. our dog.”

she’s quiet for a moment, studying you in that unnerving way she does. angela’s always been able to read you too easily, see past whatever bullshit you’re trying to pull. it’s one of the things you loved about her. love about her. fuck.

“okay,” she says finally. “we can do a trial run. you can take him on weekends or something.”

“weekends?”

“you have a better idea?”

“that’s like… glorified dog-sitting. i want actual custody.”

“he’s not a child. we don’t need to go to court about this.”

“you’re the one who threatened to bring a lawyer!”

“i was joking!”

“i said i was only ninety percent sure!”

the barista looks over at you. you both immediately lower your voices.

“fine.” angela says. “fifty-fifty. we split the week. but i’m keeping him at my place primarily because that’s where all his stuff is and where he knows the layout and i’m not disrupting his routine just because you decided to come back.”

the way she says “decided to come back” stings more than it should.

“fine,” you agree, even though nothing about this is fine. “we can alternate. i’ll take him monday and tuesday, you take him wednesday and thursday, and we switch off weekends.”

“that’s a lot of back and forth.”

“you just said fifty-fifty!”

“i know what i said, i’m just saying it’s not practical—”

“oh i’m sorry, is my presence inconvenient for you?”

angela’s jaw clenches. “that’s not what i meant.”

“then what did you mean?”

she stares at you for a long moment, and you watch something complicated cross her face. anger, maybe. or hurt. or some combination of the two that you don’t have the right to parse anymore.

“forget it,” she mutters. “mondays and tuesdays are fine. i’ll text you my address.”

“i know your address.”

“i moved.”

“oh.”

of course she moved. four years is a long time. people move, people change, people build entire lives in the absence you leave behind.

angela stands up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “i’ll drop him off monday around six. try not to rearrange your furniture without warning him first.”

it takes you a second to realize she’s referencing the time spork ran into a wall because you’d moved the couch two feet to the left. it was during exam season junior year and you’d been stress-cleaning at two in the morning, and angela had come running out of her room at the sound of the collision, and you’d both ended up on the floor with spork between you, checking him over while trying not to laugh at how ridiculous the whole situation was.

you’d caught her eye over spork’s head and she’d been smiling, really smiling, and for a second you’d thought—

but that was then. that was college. that was before.

“i’ll keep the furniture exactly where it is.” you say.

“good.”

she’s halfway to the door when you call out, “angela.”

she turns.

“it’s good to see you. i know this is weird and you’re pissed at me, and you have every right to be, but… it’s good to see you.”

something in her expression softens, just slightly. “yeah. you too.”

and then she’s gone, and you’re sitting alone in a too-loud coffee shop with cold coffee and a napkin full of talking points you never used, wondering how the hell you’re going to survive this custody arrangement when just looking at angela makes your chest feel like it’s caving in.

monday arrives too quickly and not quickly enough.

you’ve spent the weekend making your apartment as dog-friendly as possible. you’ve bought new food bowls, a fancy orthopedic dog bed, the specific brand of treats angela mentioned spork likes in a text from eight months ago that you definitely didn’t keep starred in your messages.

at 6:15pm, there’s a knock on your door.

spork is older than you remember. grayer around the muzzle, moving a little slower, but the second you kneel down he’s immediately in your lap, tail going absolutely feral, making these little whimpering sounds that dogs make when they’re too happy to contain it.

“hey buddy,” you murmur, and your voice cracks embarrassingly. “hey, i missed you. i missed you so much.”

he’s licking your face with the enthusiasm of a dog who has been personally victimized by your absence, and you’re trying really hard not to cry in front of angela, who’s standing in your doorway with spork’s travel bag and a complicated expression.

“he remembers you,” she says quietly.

“of course he does.”

“i wasn’t sure if he would. it’s been a long time.”

four years, two months, and sixteen days.

you finally stand up, spork still in your arms. angela hands you the bag—it’s navy blue with spork’s name embroidered on the side, definitely not the ratty old backpack you used to transport him in.

“there’s a list inside,” angela says, not quite meeting your eyes. “his medication schedule, his food portions, things that trigger his anxiety. he doesn’t like loud noises or sudden movements. he needs his eyedrops twice a day for the cataracts. and he sleeps better with a light on because the complete darkness disorients him even though he can’t see anyway, we think it’s a comfort thing—”

“ang. i know how to take care of him.”

“you knew how to take care of him four years ago. he’s different now. he’s old.”

he’s ten, which is old for a chihuahua, but the way she says it makes it sound like he’s ancient. fragile. like she’s trusting you with something precious and she’s not sure you deserve that trust.

“i’ll take good care of him,” you say. “i promise.”

angela finally looks at you, and there’s something raw in her eyes. “he’s all i had, you know. when you left. he was all i had left of… everything.”

the everything hangs between you, weighted with four years of things unsaid.

“i’m sorry,” you tell her, and you mean it. “i’m sorry i left the way i did.”

“you got a good job. you were allowed to leave.”

“i could’ve handled it better.”

“yeah,” she agrees. “you could’ve.”

spork wriggles in your arms, trying to get to angela. she reaches out automatically to pet him, and for a moment you’re both holding him, your hands almost touching in his fur.

“i should go.” angela says, pulling back. “call me if anything happens. or if you have questions. or if he seems off at all.”

“i will.”

she’s backing toward the hallway, and you’re standing in your doorway, and it feels like something is ending before it even began.

“same time wednesday?” you ask.

“yeah. six o’clock.”

“okay.”

“okay.”

she’s at the elevator now. you should close the door. you should go inside and start your two days with spork and not think about the way angela looked when she said “he was all i had left of everything.”

“hey ang?” you call out.

she turns, hand on the elevator button.

“do you want to maybe… get coffee? sometime? not to talk about spork. just to talk. talk about us.”

she’s quiet for so long you think she’s going to say no. then: “maybe. let me think about it.”

the elevator dings. she steps inside. the doors close.

you go back into your apartment with spork and try not to think about how maybe isn’t yes but it isn’t no either, and how that’s probably the best you’re going to get right now.

turns out, taking care of a blind geriatric chihuahua is both exactly like you remember and completely different.

spork still hates the sound of the blender. still loves classical music. still has a vendetta against anyone smelling lavender, which you discover when your neighbor stops by to borrow sugar and spork loses his tiny mind.

but he’s also slower now. more anxious. he follows you from room to room like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loses track of you, and it breaks your heart a little bit every time.

you work from home on tuesday, and spork sleeps under your desk, his little body warm against your feet.

you send angela a photo, “someone’s making sure i’m productive”

she responds three hours later, “he’s supervising. he takes his job very seriously”

you: he’s literally asleep

angela: he’s SUPERVISING

wednesday arrives too fast. you pack up spork’s things and try not to feel weird about the fact that you’re going to angela’s new apartment. the one you’ve never been to. the one she got after you left.

it’s in los feliz, which makes sense. angela always loved this neighborhood. you used to come here for brunch on weekends, back when weekends meant something different.

her apartment is on the third floor. you can hear music playing inside when you knock—something indie and vaguely melancholic. very on-brand.

angela opens the door in paint-stained sweatpants and a tank top, her hair piled on top of her head. there’s a smudge of what looks like acrylic paint on her jaw.

“you paint now?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

she touches her face self-consciously. “i’m taking a class. it’s stupid.”

“it’s not stupid.”

“you haven’t seen my paintings.”

“i bet they’re good.”

“you’re required to say that. dog custody diplomacy.”

but she’s almost smiling, and you count that as a win.

spork knows exactly where he is the second you step inside. he immediately starts his usual routine—three steps forward, bump into the couch, recalibrate, continue to his water bowl. angela’s set up the furniture the exact same way as the old apartment, you realize. so he knows the layout.

“you kept the same configuration.” you say.

“it’s easier for him. he’s got the whole place memorized.”

you look around while angela gets spork settled. the apartment is so quintessentially her it makes your chest tight. vintage concert posters on the walls, a healthy collection of plants somehow thriving, a bookshelf full of comedy books and scripts. there are photos too—her at various comedy shows, her with friends you recognize and some you don’t. none of you, you notice. not a single one.

“nice place.” you offer.

“thanks. it’s smaller than the old one but the light’s better.”

the old one. the apartment you shared. the place where you’d spent four years learning exactly how angela took her coffee and what her pre-show anxiety looked like and how she’d sing in the shower when she thought you couldn’t hear.

“do you want something to drink?” angela asks. “i have water. and… water.”

“you don’t have coffee?”

“i have coffee but i’m out of milk and you drink it with milk.”

she remembers how you take your coffee. you’re trying not to read into that.

“water’s fine.”

you end up sitting at her kitchen counter while she fusses over spork, and it’s so familiar it hurts. this is what you did every day for four years. existed in each other’s spaces like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“he was good?” angela asks, not looking at you. “no problems?”

“he was perfect. we watched a lot of true crime documentaries. he’s very opinionated about unsolved cases.”

that gets a smile out of her. a real one. “he always takes the side of the most obvious suspect.”

“right? he’s got no patience for nuance.”

“he’s a simple man with simple needs.”

you’re both looking at spork now, who’s passed out in his bed, absolutely exhausted from the ordeal of changing locations.

“i’m glad he got to see you,” angela says quietly. “he’s been different since you left. more anxious. i think he missed you.”

“just him?”

it comes out before you can stop it. angela’s eyes snap to yours.

“that’s not fair,” she says.

“i know. i’m sorry.”

“you don’t get to—” she stops, takes a breath. “you left, y/n. you made that choice. and i respected it even though it sucked, and i took care of spork and i built my life here and i was fine. i am fine.”

“okay.”

“i’m just saying, you don’t get to come back and make me feel guilty for being hurt.”

“i’m not trying to—” you run a hand through your hair. “i’m not trying to make you feel guilty. i just… i missed you. both of you. and i know that’s my fault for leaving but i did. i missed you.”

angela’s gripping the edge of the counter. “why did you leave?”

“i told you. the job—”

“no, i mean why did you really leave? because we were fine. we were good. and then you got this offer and you just… went. you didn’t even try to find something here. you didn’t ask me what i thought. you just made the decision and left and i—” her voice cracks. “i didn’t understand. i still don’t understand.”

this is the conversation you’ve been avoiding for three years. the one you knew was coming the second you decided to move back to la.

“i was scared,” you admit.

“of what?”

“of us. of what we were. what we were becoming.”

angela stares at you. “what were we becoming?”

“ang, come on. we lived together. we adopted a dog together. we fell asleep on the couch together more nights than not. we were…” you trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

“we were friends,” angela says, but she doesn’t sound convinced.

“were we? because i’ve had friends. and none of them ever made me feel the way you did. the way you do.”

“stop.”

“angela—”

“no, you don’t get to do this.” she’s backing away now, arms wrapped around herself. “you don’t get to leave for four years and come back and say this shit like it changes anything.”

“i’m not trying to change anything—”

“then what are you trying to do?”

“i don’t know! i’m trying to figure out how to be around you again without feeling like i’m constantly fucking it up!”

the silence that follows is deafening. spork snores peacefully, oblivious to the emotional carnage happening above him.

“you should go.” angela says finally.

“ang—”

“please. just… go. i’ll see you monday.”

you want to argue. want to stay and force this conversation to its conclusion. but angela won’t look at you, and you’ve already pushed too hard, so you just nod and head for the door.

“y/n.” calls when your hand’s on the doorknob.

you turn.

“i missed you too,” she says. “for the record. i missed you so much it felt like i couldn’t breathe sometimes. but that doesn’t mean i’m ready to just… pick up where we left off. i don’t even know where we left off.”

“neither do i.” you admit.

“so maybe we figure that out first. before we try to figure out anything else.”

“okay. yeah. we can do that.”

you leave before you can say anything else stupid, and you sit in your car for ten minutes before driving away, and you don’t let yourself cry until you’re safely back in your own apartment.

this is fine. everything’s fine.

the custody exchanges become a routine. mondays and wednesdays at six. you drop off, angela picks up. sometimes you chat for a few minutes. sometimes it’s just a quick handoff. you’re both being very careful, very polite. it’s awful.

your friends ask how it’s going.

“fine.” you lie. “we’re co-parenting like mature adults.”

“are you talking about the thing?” your best friend asks.

“there’s no thing.”

“there’s definitely a thing. there’s always been a thing with you two.”

“we’re just friends.”

“you lived together for four years and jointly adopted a dog. that’s not normal friendship behavior.”

“we were in college. everything’s weird in college.”

“you’re avoiding the thing.”

you are absolutely avoiding the thing. the thing is too big and too complicated and you’re not ready to look at it directly yet.

but then it’s week three, and you show up for the wednesday exchange, and angela looks terrible. not terrible like she looks bad—she could never look bad—but terrible like she hasn’t slept. like she’s been crying. her eyes are red-rimmed and her hair is messy in the way that means she’s been running her hands through it, and she’s wearing the hoodie she always wears when she’s upset.

“what’s wrong?” you ask immediately, spork forgotten in your arms.

“nothing. i’m fine.”

“you’re not fine.”

“it’s not your problem.”

“angela, what happened?”

she’s not looking at you. “i had a show tonight. it went badly.”

angela doesn’t talk about when shows go badly. she’s got this thing where she pretends everything’s fine even when it’s not, where she processes her feelings internally and then makes jokes about it later once she’s dealt with it.

the fact that she’s admitting this means it went really badly.

“i’m sorry,” you say. “do you want to talk about it?”

“not really.”

you stand there in her doorway, uncertain. spork is trying to get to angela, so you hand him over. she takes him automatically, burying her face in his fur.

“i bombed,” she says, muffled. “like completely ate shit. there was this heckler and i tried to handle it but i just… froze. and then i tried to recover but everything i said just made it worse and people were leaving and i could see the club owner looking pissed and i just—” she stops. takes a shaky breath. “i feel like i’m not getting anywhere. like i’ve been doing this for years and i’m still bombing at open mics.”

your heart breaks a little. “you’re brilliant, ang. one bad show doesn’t change that.”

“it’s not one bad show. it’s like… constant rejection and constant feeling like i’m not good enough and i’m so tired, y/n. i’m so tired of trying so hard and getting nowhere.”

she’s crying now. proper crying. and you’re still in the doorway, and every instinct you have is screaming at you to hug her, to fix this, to make it better.

“can i come in?” you ask quietly.

she nods, stepping back.

you close the door behind you and gently take spork from her arms, setting him down in his bed. then you turn back to angela, who’s just standing there looking lost.

“come here,” you say.

she falls into your arms like she’s been waiting for permission. you hold her while she cries into your shoulder, one hand rubbing circles on her back the way you used to when she’d get stressed about exams or auditions or life in general.

“you’re good at this,” you murmur. “you’re so good at this. i’ve watched your stuff online. you’re funny and smart and you have a voice that matters.”

“you watched my stuff?”

“of course i watched your stuff. all of it. every video you posted, every show you mentioned. i’ve been watching from san francisco like a creepy stalker.”

she laughs wetly against your shoulder. “that is pretty creepy.”

“i’m supportive creepy. there’s a difference.”

you end up on her couch, angela curled into your side like no time has passed at all. spork has somehow made it up onto the couch too and is sprawled across both your laps, snoring peacefully.

“i’m sorry i fell apart on you,” angela says after a while. “i know we’re doing the whole civil co-parenting thing.”

“hey, emotional breakdowns are part of the package. it’s in the custody agreement. page seven, subsection three.”

“there’s no page seven.”

“sure there is. right after the part about alternating holidays.”

she elbows you halfheartedly. you can feel her smiling against your shoulder though.

“i’m glad you’re here,” she admits quietly. “even though i was so mad at you. even though part of me still is. i’m glad you came back.”

“me too.”

“and not just for spork.”

your heart does a complicated thing in your chest. “no?”

“no. i just—” she pulls back slightly to look at you. her eyes are still puffy from crying but there’s something soft in them. “i don’t know how to do this. be around you and not be everything we were before. but i don’t want to not be around you.”

“we could try being different things,” you suggest. “new things. we don’t have to be what we were in college.”

“what would we be?”

“i don’t know. friends who are actually friends? who talk about real shit instead of just spork’s bowel movements?”

“his bowel movements are important.”

“they are very important. i’m just saying we could also talk about other things.”

angela’s quiet for a moment, considering. “like what?”

“like how you’re feeling. how comedy’s going. what else you’re doing besides the shows. i want to know about your life, ang. i want to actually be in it again, not just adjacent to it.”

“that sounds suspiciously like a friendship.”

“it is a friendship. we’re building it from scratch. no assumptions, no history, just… starting over.”

“we have a lot of history.”

“okay, starting over but acknowledging the history. new friendship, built on the foundation of the old friendship, co-parenting a blind chihuahua.”

she’s smiling now. really smiling. “when you put it that way it sounds almost normal.”

“we’ve never been normal.”

“true.”

spork shifts between you, grumbling in his sleep. angela reaches down to pet him absently, and her hand brushes yours. neither of you pulls away.

“so we’re doing this?” she asks. “the friendship thing?”

“if you want to.”

“i do. but i have conditions.”

“of course you do.”

“you have to actually tell me things. no more disappearing into your own head and making decisions without talking to me first.”

“that’s fair.”

“and you have to come to my shows. not all of them, but like… some of them. when you can.”

“i can do that.”

“and you have to be patient with me. because i’m still kind of mad at you and i don’t know how long it’ll take for that to go away.”

“i can be patient.”

she studies your face like she’s looking for the catch. “okay. we can try the friendship thing.”

it’s not a resolution. it’s not a happy ending. it’s just two people who used to know everything about each other trying to figure out how to know each other again.

but it’s a start.

you end up staying for another hour, just talking. angela tells you about the comedy scene, about the other performers she’s been working with. you tell her about san francisco, about the job you left behind, about why you came back. (the promotion was part of it, but mostly you were just tired of being away.)

when you finally leave, angela walks you to the door with spork in her arms.

“same time monday?” she asks.

“actually,” you say, “what if we did something different?”

“different how?”

“what if instead of just trading him back and forth, we did like… joint custody days? where we’re both there?”

angela raises an eyebrow. “like parallel parenting?”

“sure. we could take him to the dog park or something. together.”

“that’s either a really good idea or a terrible one.”

“probably both.”

she considers it. “okay. we can try it. but if spork gets confused and runs into things, i’m blaming you.”

“that’s fair.”

you’re halfway down the hallway when she calls out: “thanks. for tonight. for staying.”

you turn.

“anytime, angel.”

and you mean it.

the joint custody days become a thing.

saturday mornings at the dog park in griffith. angela brings coffee (she bought milk, you notice). you bring treats. spork mostly just stands in one spot and judges the other dogs, but he seems happy to be outside.

“he’s very critical,” angela observes as spork refuses to acknowledge a golden retriever trying to befriend him.

“he has standards.”

“he’s a seven-pound chihuahua.”

“a seven-pound chihuahua with standards.”

it’s easy, this. easier than you expected. you fall into conversation like you’re remembering how, talking about work and comedy and the new thai place that opened down the street from angela’s apartment. she tells you about the painting class (she’s terrible at it but it’s fun). you tell her about your terrible boss who keeps scheduling meetings at eight am.

it feels like friendship. like maybe you’re actually pulling this off.

week five, angela texts you on a thursday night, “emergency. need backup”

you call immediately. “what’s wrong? is spork okay?”

“spork’s fine. i’m dying. can you come to my show tomorrow?”

“you’re not dying.”

“i’m performing new material and i’m absolutely dying. i need a friendly face in the audience.”

“you want me to come to your show.”

“yes. please. i’ll owe you forever.”

you shouldn’t. you’re supposed to be taking this slow, rebuilding the friendship carefully. going to her show feels like too much too fast.

“what time?” you ask.

you can hear her relief through the phone. “nine. it’s at the improv lab in hollywood. and y/n? thank you.”

the show is good. better than good. angela’s fucking hilarious, and watching her on stage—confident and bright and so wholly herself, makes you remember why you fell into friendship with her in the first place. she’s magnetic.

afterward, you wait by the side of the stage while she talks to other performers. she spots you and her whole face lights up, and something in your chest goes warm.

“you came,” she says, slightly breathless.

“of course i came.”

“and?”

“you were incredible. seriously. the bit about your landlord? i almost cried laughing.”

she’s beaming. “really?”

“really.”

you end up at a diner at midnight, splitting fries and talking through the show. angela’s buzzing with adrenaline, talking fast and excited, and you just listen and watch her and think about how much you’ve missed this. not just angela, but this version of her. the one who’s pursuing her dreams and fighting for what she wants.

“i’m really proud of you.” you say at some point.

she pauses mid-fry. “yeah?”

“you’re doing it. the thing you always said you’d do.”

“it’s not exactly sold-out stadiums.”

“yet. it’s not sold-out stadiums yet.”

her smile is soft. “you always believed in me more than i believed in myself.”

“someone has to.”

you drive her home because she took an uber to the show. spork is waiting by the door when you arrive, and angela scoops him up immediately.

“successful show,” she tells him. “your other mom came to support me.”

“other mom?”

“what? we’re co-parenting. that makes us both his moms.”

“i thought you didn’t want to do the mom thing.”

“i changed my mind. spork has two moms now. he’s very progressive.”

you’re laughing, and angela’s laughing, and spork is trying to lick both your faces at once, and it’s midnight on a friday and you’re standing in angela’s apartment like you have a right to be there.

“i should go,” you say, even though you don’t want to.

“yeah. okay.”

neither of you moves.

“this is good,” angela says quietly. “what we’re doing. the friendship thing. it’s good.”

“yeah. it is.”

“i’m less mad at you than i was.”

“that’s progress.”

“don’t push your luck.”

but she’s smiling, and you’re smiling, and when you finally leave you sit in your car for five minutes just processing the fact that maybe you’re actually going to be okay.

it’s week eight when spork escapes.

you’re supposed to have him for the weekend, but you run out to grab coffee for literally ten minutes and apparently that’s all the time a blind chihuahua needs to squeeze through a door you definitely thought you closed all the way.

you return to an empty apartment and immediately panic.

you call angela. she doesn’t answer. you call again. and again. and finally, “what’s wrong?”

“spork’s gone. he got out. i’ve been looking for twenty minutes and i can’t find him and angela i’m so sorry, i thought i closed the door—”

“okay, breathe. where are you?”

“my apartment. i’ve checked the hallways and the stairs and—”

“i’m coming. stay there in case he comes back.”

she shows up fifteen minutes later in sweatpants and a jacket thrown over her pajamas, her hair unbrushed. you’ve never been so relieved to see anyone.

“tell me exactly what happened,” she says.

you do. she listens, already pulling out her phone to text neighbors and post in the building group chat.

“he can’t have gotten far,” she reasons. “he doesn’t move that fast. and he usually sticks to familiar places.”

“what if he’s scared? what if he’s hurt?”

“he’s fine. he’s survived this long by being a stubborn little shit. he’s not going to let a little thing like being blind and lost stop him.”

you spend the next hour searching. knocking on doors, calling his name, checking every corner and crevice. angela is methodical about it, creating a grid pattern, refusing to panic even though you can see the worry in her eyes.

you’re on the verge of calling animal control when your phone rings. unknown number.

“hello?”

“hello, i think i have your dog? little chihuahua? he was sitting outside my door.”

you almost drop the phone. “where are you?”

“apartment 3b.”

angela’s apartment building. he went to angela’s apartment building.

you look at angela. she’s already halfway to the stairs.

he’s there, sitting patiently outside 3b like he knew exactly where he was going. a kind-looking older woman—has given him water and is petting him gently.

“he just showed up about twenty minutes ago,” she explains. “seemed very determined. i recognized him from the elevator.”

angela scoops him up, and you can see her hands shaking slightly. “thank you so much. we’ve been looking everywhere.”

“how did he even know how to get here?” you ask once you’re back in the hallway.

“i have no idea. it’s like four blocks.”

“he can’t see.”

“i know.”

you both just stare at spork, who seems perfectly content now that he’s accomplished his mission of finding angela.

“he wanted you.” you say.

angela’s quiet for a moment. “or he wanted us both. and he knows we’re usually together at my place.”

the implication of that hangs in the air.

“do you want to come up?” angela asks. “you look like you need a drink.”

“it’s two in the afternoon.”

“fine. coffee then. you need coffee.”

you end up on her couch with spork between you, both of you still coming down from the adrenaline. angela makes coffee with the muscle memory of someone who’s done this a thousand times—one sugar for her, milk for you.

“i’m sorry,” you say. “i should’ve been more careful.”

“it’s not your fault. he’s an escape artist. he’s done this before.”

“he has?”

“yeah. a few months after you left, he got out and i found him three blocks away, sitting outside our old apartment building.”

your old apartment building. the one you lived in together.

“he was looking for you,” angela says softly. “or for both of us. for what things used to be.”

you look down at spork, this tiny blind dog who somehow navigates the world through sheer determination and stubbornness.

“he keeps trying to get us back together,” you observe.

“he’s a dog. he doesn’t understand that things change.”

“maybe he understands better than we do.”

angela looks at you. really looks at you. “what are you saying?”

“i’m saying maybe he’s onto something. we’re both miserable with this back and forth. we’re constantly texting each other anyway. we hang out more than we actually trade him off. and he clearly wants us both around.”

“so what, we just… what? live together again?”

“or something like that. i don’t know. i’m just saying this isn’t working. the separation thing.”

“we’re not together, y/n. we can’t separate from something we never were.”

there it is. the thing you’ve been dancing around for eight weeks.

“what were we?” you ask. “in college. what were we actually?”

angela’s quiet for a long time, petting spork. “i don’t know. we were us. that’s all i ever knew how to explain it.”

“and what are we now?”

“i don’t know that either.” she looks up at you, and there’s something vulnerable in her eyes. “but i know i like having you around again. i know spork is happier when we’re both here. and i know i’m tired of being mad at you for leaving when all i really wanted was for you to stay.”

“i’m not leaving again.”

“you can’t promise that.”

“i can. i am. i’m promising you right now that i’m not leaving. this is where i want to be.”

“in los angeles?”

“with you.”

the words hang there. too honest. too much. but you don’t take them back.

angela’s eyes are shiny. “don’t say shit like that if you don’t mean it.”

“i mean it. i’ve meant it for four years. i just didn’t know how to say it when we were twenty-two and i didn’t know what i wanted from life. but i know now. and what i want is this. you and me and our ridiculous blind dog who keeps running away to prove a point.”

“this is insane.”

“probably.”

“we don’t even know what this is.”

“we can figure it out.”

“what if we fuck it up?”

“then we fuck it up together.”

angela laughs, but it’s watery. “you’re really committing to this joint custody thing, huh?”

“i’m committing to whatever you want to try. friendship, roommates, co-parents, whatever. i just want to be in your life, ang. however you’ll have me.”

she’s crying now. proper crying. spork is trying to lick her tears away, which just makes her cry harder.

“we should probably start with roommates,” she says finally. “work our way up.”

your heart is doing olympic-level gymnastics in your chest. “really?”

“yeah. but we’re getting a bigger place. your apartment is too small for two people and a dog.”

“our apartment was smaller.”

“we were also poor college students. we can afford better now.”

“so we’re doing this.”

“we’re doing this.” she wipes her eyes. “but slowly. like, actual slow this time. not our usual version of slow where we jump in headfirst.”

“i can do slow.”

“and we have to talk. about everything. about what we were and what we are and what we want to be.”

“okay.”

“and you have to promise you’ll tell me if you’re freaking out or having doubts or thinking about leaving.”

“i promise.”

she’s looking at you like she’s trying to decide if she believes you. then she reaches over spork to take your hand, lacing your fingers together.

“i’m still a little mad at you.” she says.

“that’s fair.”

“but i’m really glad you came back.”

“me too.”

spork, satisfied with his matchmaking efforts, falls asleep between you. you sit there for a while, just existing together, and it feels like something is settling into place. not fixed and not perfect, but together. finally.

“we’re going to need to work on his escape artist tendencies,” angela says eventually.

“or we just accept that he’s smarter than both of us.”

“he’s a blind chihuahua who walks into walls.”

“a blind chihuahua who successfully orchestrated our reunion. give him some credit.”

it’s just you and angela and spork on a saturday afternoon, making a plan to look at apartments together, figuring out how to be in each other’s lives again.

it’s a start.

and right now, a start is more than enough.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[blondechariot]

hiii i hope you’re doing well could you write for ot6 piwon where the reader and the members had a heated fight before going to bed and they’re both giving eo silent treatment but they wake up to the reader being in their arms and legs are tangled together and readers’ head being on their chest/neck basically all cuddled to them??

pairing: P1Harmony x reader

warnings: fluff, making up after a fight, passive aggressiveness, fluff, cuddling

disclaimer: not my pic!

Keeho

You woke up already tense, like your body remembered before your brain did. The argument from last night sat heavy in your chest, ugly and unresolved, full of words that landed wrong and silences that landed worse. You stayed still, eyes closed, facing away from him on principle alone.

Then you noticed your feet.

Somehow, sometime in the night, your toes had tangled with his. Your ankle rested against his, warm and unmistakable. It made no sense. You had gone to sleep stiff and distant, a clean line drawn down the middle of the bed. And yet there you were, back to back, feet knotted together like they had ignored every rule you tried to enforce.

You swallowed and shifted slightly, testing it. Keeho did not pull away.

You risked a glance over your shoulder, moving slow, careful, like the moment might shatter if you breathed wrong. His eyes were already open. Already on you.

For one quiet second, you locked eyes.

It felt like getting caught in the rain. Too sudden. Too honest.

You both looked away at the exact same time.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath, staring at the wall. You debated pulling your feet free, reclaiming your space, proving a point you were not even sure still mattered. Your pride urged you to move. Your heart hesitated.

Before you decided, you felt him shift.

Keeho’s leg slid closer, deliberate but gentle, his foot hooking more securely around yours. His back pressed into yours, heat spreading through the thin barrier of fabric. You stiffened, breath catching, every nerve lighting up.

He pulled you in tighter.

Not rough. Not forceful. Just enough to say something without saying anything at all.

You stayed quiet. So did he. Stubbornness was a language you both spoke fluently.

Your thoughts raced anyway. About how mad you were. About how unfair it felt. About how tired you were of being mad. You considered saying his name. You considered pulling away again. You considered pretending to still be asleep and letting the moment pass.

Instead, you felt his hand move.

Slowly, carefully, like he was giving you every chance to stop him, Keeho reached back. His fingers brushed your wrist once, barely there. You did not pull away. He took that as permission.

His hand found yours.

He did not lace your fingers right away. He just held your hand, palm to palm, thumb resting against your knuckles like a question. Your chest tightened, something soft and fragile blooming behind your ribs.

You let him.

Your fingers curled into his, fitting like they had always known how. His grip warmed, steady and grounding, like an anchor dropped quietly between you.

Neither of you spoke.

You felt his shoulders relax. You felt your own tension ease, just a little. The fight did not disappear. The words still waited somewhere between the sheets and the daylight. But this felt like a pause, like a breath taken together before the next sentence.

A small smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.

You felt it when his thumb brushed your hand, a subtle movement that carried a smile of its own. You did not turn around again. Neither did he.

You stayed back to back, hands joined, feet tangled, sharing a silence that finally felt gentle instead of sharp.

Talking could wait.

For now, this was enough.

Theo

You woke up warm.

That was the first thing you noticed, before your thoughts caught up, before the memory of last night crept back in. Your arm was draped over a solid shape in front of you, your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades, your body curved perfectly to his back like you had planned it that way.

Theo.

Your breath hitched, just slightly. You blinked, still half-asleep, and for one dangerous second you let yourself enjoy it. The way his back rose and fell under your arm. The way his warmth soaked into you, familiar and grounding. The quiet morning air wrapped around you like a secret.

Then the fight came rushing back.

The sharp words. The frustration. The way neither of you had apologized. The way you had turned away from each other in bed, stubborn and hurt, pretending sleep would fix what pride refused to touch.

Your jaw tightened.

You had no idea how you ended up like this, clinging to him in your sleep like nothing was wrong. It made your cheeks heat with embarrassment, even as your heart betrayed you by softening.

You loosened your arm slowly, carefully, as if sudden movement might wake him and make everything worse. You told yourself you were still mad. You reminded yourself of everything you had not said. You shifted your weight back, inch by inch, pulling away from his back.

That was when his hand closed around your arm.

Firm. Certain.

You froze.

Theo stirred, just barely, his voice rough and low with sleep as he tightened his grip. “Don’t even think about it,” he mumbled, words slurred but intention crystal clear.

Before you could react, he pulled you back in.

Your chest pressed against his back again, your arm trapped comfortably against him as he tucked it closer, claiming the space you tried to abandon. His body shifted, settling deeper into the mattress, like this was exactly where you belonged.

You swallowed.

You considered saying something. Anything. His name. A complaint. A reminder that you were still upset, still hurt, still very much in the middle of something unresolved.

But the words stayed lodged in your throat.

Instead, you let your forehead rest against his shoulder. You adjusted your arm, not to escape, but to hold him properly this time. Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, breath evening out as you inhaled his scent. Clean laundry. Sleep. Something unmistakably him.

Theo exhaled slowly, a sound that felt like relief more than sleep.

Neither of you moved after that.

The anger did not vanish, but it dulled at the edges, softened by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body against yours. You were still mad. You knew you would have to talk later. You knew apologies were waiting somewhere in the morning light.

But right now, wrapped around him, you chose quiet.

You snuggled closer, pressing your cheek into his back, letting your legs tuck in behind his. His hand loosened slightly but never let go, fingers resting securely around your arm like a promise he was not ready to speak out loud.

Theo shifted just enough to angle his head toward you, not fully turning, just acknowledging you were there. Still holding him. Still choosing to stay.

The silence between you felt different than last night.

Softer. Safer.

You closed your eyes again, breathing him in, letting the moment stretch. Words could come later. Fights could be unraveled piece by piece.

For now, being here felt like enough.

Jiung

You were warm when you woke up.

Not just comfortably warm, but held-warm, the kind that made you hesitate before opening your eyes. Your head rested against something solid, steady beneath you. For a brief moment, you stayed still, half-asleep, letting the feeling linger.

Then you realized where you were.

Your cheek was pressed to Jiung’s chest, his heartbeat slow and even beneath your ear. His arm was loose around you, not tight, but close enough to keep you there. You remembered the fight immediately. The ugly one. The one that ended with both of you turning away in bed, refusing to talk, refusing to even look at each other.

Your stomach tightened.

But still, you drifted off to sleep again.

Jiung’s eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the morning light. The first thing he registered was the weight on his chest. The second was you. Your hair was spread across him, your face relaxed in sleep, far too peaceful for someone who had been such a pain in the ass the night before.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, the argument replaying in his head. Your tone. His frustration. The way neither of you had backed down. He remembered thinking you were impossible. Stubborn. Exhausting.

Then he looked down at you again.

You sighed softly in your sleep, the sound barely more than a breath. Without waking, you shifted closer, your body instinctively seeking him out. Your hand slid across his stomach and settled there, fingers relaxed, trusting.

You did not know it, but that was the moment his tension broke.

Jiung felt his chest loosen, shoulders easing as if someone had quietly untied a knot inside him. He studied your face, the way your lashes rested against your cheeks, the faint crease between your brows that never quite went away. You looked nothing like the person he had argued with hours ago.

You looked small. Soft. Safe.

He let out a quiet breath, something between a sigh and a laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting despite himself. Whatever anger he had clung to felt dull now, blunted by the warmth of you against him.

Carefully, he lifted a hand and brushed his thumb along your hairline. The touch was slow and gentle, more instinct than decision. You hummed quietly in response and snuggled closer, pressing your weight into him as if you belonged there.

Jiung smiled.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. It was light, careful, and full of everything he was not ready to say yet. The apology he had not voiced. The affection he never questioned. The reassurance that the fight had not changed what mattered.

You stirred slightly but did not wake.

He reached for the blanket and pulled it higher, tucking it around both of you. He made sure your shoulder was covered, that no cold air could reach you. When his arm slid around your back, it felt natural, like it had always been there.

You breathed evenly against him, unaware of the thoughts racing through his head.

The fight still existed. Jiung knew that. It waited somewhere ahead, something that needed words and honesty and effort. But right now, with you curled into him like this, it did not feel impossible anymore.

You shifted again, settling more comfortably against his chest.

Jiung rested his chin lightly against your hair and closed his eyes, holding you just a little closer.

Talking could come later.

For now, this was enough.

Intak

You woke up too close to pretend you did not notice.

Your forehead rested against his, noses almost brushing, breaths mingling in the quiet morning air. Your fingers were tangled with his, hands fitting together like they had never let go. For a second, you stayed perfectly still, afraid that even blinking might break the moment.

You woke up first.

Intak was still asleep, his face relaxed in a way he never let anyone see when he was awake. No teasing grin. No dramatic expressions. Just soft lashes against his cheeks and lips slightly parted as he breathed. He looked peaceful. Younger, somehow. It made your chest tighten.

You studied him quietly, hesitant, conflicted. Last night’s fight hovered in the back of your mind like a bruise you kept poking. You were still upset. Still stubborn. Still convinced you had every right to be mad.

And yet here you were, holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your thumb twitched against his without meaning to. You froze immediately, heart jumping. He did not move. You let out a slow breath and relaxed again, eyes tracing the familiar lines of his face.

Then he stirred.

You felt it before you saw it. A subtle shift. A change in his breathing. Panic flared, irrational and quick. Without thinking, you shut your eyes tight, face carefully smoothing into what you hoped looked like sleep.

You felt his gaze on you almost instantly.

Intak opened one eye, then the other, taking in the scene in front of him. The way your lashes fluttered just slightly. The tension pulled tight across your brow. The way your grip on his hand was just a little too firm for someone supposedly asleep.

A grin tugged at his lips.

He chuckled quietly, the sound low and warm, vibrating between you. You felt it more than heard it. He leaned forward just enough for his lips to brush yours, soft and brief, barely a kiss at all.

“Dramaqueen,” he murmured fondly against your mouth.

Your eyes snapped open.

You huffed, annoyance flaring as you glared at him. “I am not,” you muttered, even though the heat creeping into your cheeks betrayed you completely.

His grin widened.

Before you could pull away or say anything else, his hand tightened around yours and he tugged you closer. His other arm slid around your waist, closing the small space between you until there was nowhere left to retreat.

“Gotcha,” he said softly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You opened your mouth to argue. To remind him you were still mad. To bring up the fight and all the unresolved words sitting heavy on your tongue.

He did not give you the chance.

Intak leaned in and kissed you properly this time.

It was deeper, slower, nothing rushed about it. His lips moved against yours with a confidence that made your thoughts scatter, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as if grounding you there. You resisted for half a second out of stubborn habit, then melted into him with a quiet sigh.

He smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again, breath warm against your lips. His eyes were bright, playful, but softer now, something sincere hiding beneath the teasing.

“You can't fool me,” he whispered.

You rolled your eyes, but you did not pull away. Your hands stayed linked. Your body stayed close. You let your forehead rest against his again, even as you tried to hold onto your glare.

He laughed, wrapping you up completely, arms secure around you like he had no intention of letting go. He pressed another kiss to your temple, lighter this time, affectionate and familiar.

The fight had not disappeared. You both knew that.

But tangled together like this, hands intertwined and foreheads touching, it felt less like a wall and more like a bump in the road.

And for now, wrapped in his warmth and laughter, you let yourself stay.

Soul

You woke up wrapped in him.

Not neatly. Not politely. Soul’s arm was slung over your waist, loose but firm, like it had claimed you sometime in the night and never let go. His chest was pressed to your back, every breath warm against your shoulder. His head was buried in the curve of your neck, nose tucked just beneath your jaw like it belonged there.

For a second, you forgot everything.

You let your eyes stay closed and breathed him in. The warmth. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The way his arm tightened just a little when you shifted, instinctive and possessive in a quiet way. It felt safe. It felt familiar.

Then the memory of the fight crept in.

Your mood soured instantly. The words you had thrown at each other the night before echoed in your head, sharp and unresolved. You stiffened, the comfort suddenly feeling unfair. You were still mad. You had every right to be.

You started to pull away.

You moved slowly, careful not to wake him, inching forward like you could escape without being noticed. The arm around your waist loosened for half a second.

Then it tightened.

“No,” Soul murmured, voice rough with sleep.

He pulled you back against him, one smooth motion, tucking you closer until your back fit perfectly against his chest again. His face pressed deeper into your neck, breath warm against your skin.

You frowned, irritation bubbling up again. “But I’m still mad,” you whispered, voice quiet but firm.

“I don’t care,” he replied immediately.

There was no hesitation. No teasing. Just certainty.

“You stay here.”

You went still.

You thought about snapping at him. About reminding him why you were upset. About listing every reason he was being unfair and stubborn and impossible. Your pride urged you to push back, to prove a point.

Instead, you inhaled.

His scent wrapped around you, familiar and grounding. Clean and warm, mixed with something uniquely him. His body heat soaked into you, chasing away the chill you had not realized you were holding onto. His arm stayed steady around your waist, thumb brushing slow, absent circles against your side like he was anchoring you in place.

Your shoulders dropped.

You melted before you could stop yourself.

You leaned back into him, the resistance draining out of your body as you relaxed against his chest. His breath evened out behind you, a soft sound of satisfaction escaping him when he felt you give in.

“Good,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You huffed quietly, more tired than annoyed now. “You’re annoying,” you said, though there was no bite left in it.

Soul smiled against your skin. You felt it.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, unhurried and warm, not asking for forgiveness, not offering explanations. Just there. Present. Certain.

You stayed quiet, eyes closing again as you let yourself be held. The fight did not disappear, but it softened, blurred at the edges by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the comfort of his touch.

His arm tightened just a little more, like he was afraid you might change your mind. You did not.

You rested your hand over his arm, fingers curling lightly into his sleeve. The gesture was small but enough. He relaxed behind you, chin resting against your shoulder.

Whatever needed to be said could wait.

For now, wrapped in his warmth and his certainty, you let yourself stay exactly where he wanted you.

Right here.

Jongseob

You woke up trapped.

Not uncomfortable. Just… firmly held. Jongseob’s arm was wrapped around your waist, tight enough to make it clear you were not going anywhere, even in your sleep. His hand rested flat against your stomach, fingers curled slightly like he had pulled you close and never bothered to let go.

You blinked, staring at the wall in front of you.

The memory of last night hit immediately. The ugly fight. The words that came out sharper than you meant them to. The way you had gone to bed angry, backs turned, convinced you needed space more than comfort.

And yet here you were.

You shifted just a little, testing his grip. It did not loosen. If anything, it felt more possessive than accidental, like some part of him had decided while asleep that distance was not an option.

You turned your head carefully to look at him.

Jongseob was still asleep. His face was relaxed, lashes resting against his cheeks, mouth slightly parted. He looked unfairly peaceful for someone who had argued with you like that just hours ago. The sight made your chest ache in a quiet, annoying way.

You sighed.

“I hate you sometimes,” you mumbled softly, more tired than angry now.

You leaned forward just enough to press a light kiss to his cheek. It was brief and gentle, barely there, the kind of kiss meant more for yourself than for him. An unspoken truce you were not ready to announce.

You started to pull away.

You had barely lifted your shoulder when his arm tightened suddenly, rougher than before. In one quick movement, Jongseob dragged you back against him, your back hitting his chest again, breath knocked from your lungs in surprise.

“Hey,” you started, startled.

“I hate you too sometimes,” he said.

His voice was low and sleepy, words slurred just enough to prove he had been awake longer than you thought. He did not open his eyes. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek, right where you had kissed him moments ago.

The audacity made your jaw drop.

“You're awake?” you asked, half annoyed, half embarrassed.

“Mm,” he hummed. His arm stayed locked around your waist, fingers tightening like punctuation. “Don’t overthink it.”

You scoffed, trying to twist around to face him, but he only pulled you closer, chin resting against your shoulder now. His breath was warm against your neck, steady and familiar.

You opened your mouth to say something. To argue. To remind him that the fight was not magically gone just because he was being like this.

“Shut up,” he murmured, cutting you off before you could start. There was no bite in it. Just a lazy confidence. “And cuddle me.”

You froze.

“Jerk,” you muttered, but your body betrayed you immediately. You relaxed back into him, shoulders dropping, tension melting out of you like it had been waiting for permission.

Jongseob smiled against your skin. You felt it.

He adjusted his grip, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. His arm stayed firm around your waist, grounding and secure, like he was daring the world to try and take you away.

The fight still existed. You knew that. He knew that too. But right now, wrapped up in his warmth, with his quiet breathing behind you and his stubborn affection refusing to let go, it felt less overwhelming.

You reached down and rested your hand over his arm, fingers curling into his sleeve.

He sighed contentedly.

“That’s better,” he said softly, already drifting back toward sleep.

You rolled your eyes, but you stayed exactly where you were.

Just this once, you decided, you could shut up and cuddle him.

[thefantasywench]

free | s.r.

Spencer is irrevocably damaged after prison and tries to push you away, but you're not willing to just give up.

category: angst, fluff word count: 4.3k content: bau!reader, post-prison!spencer, breakup/reconciliation, canon character death, fem!reader, reader wears a dress and makeup, no use of y/n a/n: i was listening to the kpop demon hunters album one day and i noticed just how postprison spencer the song free is and HAD to write this oh my god. kinda proofread but not really. as always thank you so much for reading! <3

Things with Spencer were…

Offbeat. To say the least.

You had joined the BAU just six months before he was arrested in Mexico, and the spark between you and Spencer was undeniable from day one. After four months of mutual pining and a hard push from JJ, you finally confessed your feelings for each other and had your first kiss after a night out at a movie festival. You were soaring, and you had never felt this way about someone before. Spencer was profoundly special, and you knew then that you weren’t just going to let him go if you had a say in it.

You had just barely won the title of girlfriend when he went to prison, and suffice to say it had been the most devastating few months of your life since then. From fighting to get Spencer out of prison, to helping in the rescue for Spencer’s mom against Cat and Lindsey, to facing down Mr. Scratch to save Emily, to then dealing with the aftermath of that as well as Stephen’s death; it had all been too much to even think about the status of your relationship with Spencer. What was there to even say?

What hurt the most was that you’d genuinely fallen so hard for Spencer the second you saw him, and you could comfortably admit to yourself that you were in love with him. This was a fact that you hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him before shit hit the fan. 

Sure, you got to visit him in prison a couple times, had coffee ready for him almost every morning since he got out, and you had both talked plenty since he was released, if only platonically.Your relationship and the emotions of the events that had unfolded hadn't exactly come up, and you didn’t want to push it. 

Not to mention you couldn’t exactly spring your emotions on him like that during the worst moments of his life. It wasn’t fair to him, and you wanted to give him plenty of time to process. It put your relationship in a sort of uncomfortable limbo where you knew you had feelings, but you acted more like friends than two people in a relationship.

If you were honest with yourself, it felt like Spencer had one foot out the door.

He started to cancel plans last minute, ghost you for hours, sometimes days at a time when he was on his mandatory sabbatical, and he would avoid your eyes during briefings. It was like your relationship was long-distance, even if he was right next to you, and it had been going on for months now.

You knew Spencer didn’t tell you everything from his time in prison, and you really didn’t expect him to come running to you. Technically, you were still in the early stages of your relationship and he was obviously closer to others on the team. You knew all of this, but it didn’t make it hurt less to feel out of the loop when it came to your own boyfriend.

It all came to a head one day when Spencer finally showed up to plans you had made; just a simple night cooking dinner for him at your apartment. You tried to plan dates where you could do the heavy lifting so he didn’t have to think about it. You thought being together would be more appealing to him if he didn’t have to plan a thing.

You’d cooked his favorite meal, gotten a more expensive bottle of wine, lit candles, and put on your best vinyl to set the tone for the night. Not to mention all the time you put into your appearance for the night; new dress, hair and makeup done. It should’ve been the perfect atmosphere to light the spark between you again.

You just missed him.

It’s these thoughts that led to your breaking point when Spencer tried to take off early, after you had put so much effort in curating a perfectly romantic night for you both.

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, arms loosely crossed. You were trying really hard not to take it personally but it just wasn’t working tonight.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I really need to get home, it’s late.” Spencer said dismissively. 

“It’s only 7 o’clock.” You tried, but was met with silence as he continued to grab his things.

You felt your blood start to boil. You went extra lengths to make your night special and there was no acknowledgment, no appreciation, not even an apology.

He had just reached for his coat when you finally snapped.

“Do you even understand how hurtful this is? I’ve put so much planning and energy into making this a good night for us and you don’t care at all. It’s like you don’t even want me around, like my presence is this huge inconvenience for you when I’ve been doing all the heavy lifting in our relationship for months now, if you can even call it a relationship at this point!” You knew your voice had started to raise, but it had been six agonizing months of this treatment and you were at a complete loss. 

Spencer had finally turned his full attention to you, eyes slightly widened in surprise at your blowup.

Good.

“I’ve been doing everything I can to cater to you, to let you process any way you need to, to care about you from afar, and I thought that could be enough for me. But it’s not, Spencer.” He winced at your use of his full name, but you continued.

“I can’t keep hiding how painful it is pretending I don’t feel more for you than friendship. I’m your girlfriend with no sense of romantic or emotional connection with you and it’s starting to really bother me. 

“I’ve tried to keep my distance, I’ve tried to wait for you to be ready to come back to me, but I can’t keep allowing myself to sit in misery for god knows how long while you remain brooding and in your own head when I could be helping you in some way. Please just let me help, I fucking miss you, Spence.” You finished, trying but failing to keep tears from streaming down your face, freeing months worth of pent-up frustration and emotional anguish.

Spencer looked at you, guilt flashing across his eyes, but it was gone so quickly you thought you imagined it. He dropped his gaze. “I don’t want your help.”

Your heart dropped. “Then what can I do to make things, anything, better? I can’t keep letting you sit on this alone-”

Spencer cut you off, “I said I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.” He said harshly. You dropped your head into your hands. This was your worst nightmare coming true; you thought he was talking to someone.

“We both know that’s not true, Spencer. You need to-” you started, but he cut you off again.

“I don’t need to do anything!” he shouted, raising his voice to equal your own. “You couldn’t possibly understand anything I’m going through right now. Everything that happened to me in prison is damage done that I’ll probably never fully recover from. Not to mention everything that followed. Stephen-” the mention of Stephen was when you broke for the second time that night.

“Stephen was my friend, too!” You nearly screamed. You were in a full blown yelling match with him now. “And during everything with your mom, Cat, Lindsey, and everything with Emily, I was there too. I was scared too. I was devastated too.” You were starting to lose control now, but you didn’t care.

“I couldn’t sleep every single horrific night you were in prison, Spencer. I was there, ready to support you through it all, even after you cut me off from visiting you.” Your voice broke at that, but you swallowed it and continued, “I thought that was the last time I would ever see you. I know that feeling can’t possibly compare when you were at the center of it all, but you weren’t the only one suffering. You don’t have to do it all alone, but you’re choosing distance instead. Please talk to me; I can’t keep going like this!” You pleaded with him. There was a beat before he delivered a gut-punch.

“Then maybe we should call it off. Clearly, this isn’t working.” Spencer concluded quietly. You laughed bitterly.

“It’s not working because you’re not trying, Reid.” You argued. Spencer fully flinched at the use of his last name. He tore his gaze away from yours and grabbed his coat. He put his hand on the doorknob but paused at the sound of your voice breaking.

“Don’t leave. Don’t you dare leave right now, Spencer Reid.” You ordered weakly, your tears cascading down to your jaw. He didn’t turn back to you. “If you leave right now, I’ll never forgive you.” You said, sobs wracking through your words. 

Your heart clenched as you watched his grip loosen, then tighten again on the door handle as he wrestled with his thoughts.

But you felt your heart shatter as he opened the door and breezed through it without another word, flinging the door shut behind him.

You dropped to the ground, trying to muffle your cries with your hand over your mouth. 

This was not where you thought the night would go. 

You drank the whole bottle of wine by yourself.

You had the whole weekend to prepare yourself for Monday. 

It wasn’t enough time.

You showed up to briefing feeling like a complete mess. You didn’t bother with makeup, and your hair was neatly braided away from your face, but it didn’t help with the emotional ache of your breakup.

Spencer was now on his sabbatical, but the tension coming from you was palpable. To a group of profilers, it was pretty easy to deduce what had happened. You didn’t meet any of their eyes, you wouldn’t be able to stand the pity pouring from them.

After briefing, you’d been staring uselessly at a file for about 20 minutes when JJ gently placed a cup of coffee on your desk. You looked up, nodding in thanks as tears threatened to spill. She rubbed your shoulder and walked off. It was the exact act of care that you needed. 

Shortly after that, you hear your name.

Emily.

“Can I talk to you in my office, please?” She asked, carefully. You forced yourself out of your chair and dragged yourself into her office, dropping unceremoniously onto the sofa as she shut the door.

“You’ve been looking through the same file for over an hour now.” She mentioned, sitting down next to you. You didn’t say anything, just sat there picking at your nails absentmindedly. You didn’t have any defense or excuse for it.

Emily sighed. “I’m not mad, but I am worried. I’ve never seen you like this.” She stated candidly. You planned to stonewall, throwing in the occasional one-word answers. But you never could hold out against Emily’s care and kindness.

“I thought the weekend would be enough. I even had non-work friends over to help, but they don’t know me, or us, in the same way. Even if they did, I doubt it would’ve been any more helpful.” You rambled, but Emily was sat and listening intently so you continued.

“I just wanted us to have a nice night, maybe even rediscover our spark, enjoy a little romance and feel like we’re in a relationship for once. I don’t know. God, fucking sue me, I guess.” you could feel frustrated tears starting to pour down your face, but couldn’t stop. 

“I’ve been carrying so much for months, and I know it’s not nearly as much weight as him, I would never even try to compare. But I thought he’d at least want me around after he got out. I thought maybe I could help. I’m at a total loss.” You cried, sobbing unrestrained now. Emily put an arm around you, the genuine comfort making you cry even harder.

After you had moderately calmed down, you decided to confess something you’ve never dared to say out loud. You knew you wouldn’t get another chance to voice it.

“I never got to tell him I love him. Things were so messy and complicated, and I didn’t want to spring that on him when he wasn't ready to hear it.” You turned towards Emily, compassion and what seemed to be disbelief filled her eyes. You nudged her gently.

“No need to feel bad for me, Em. None of it matters now.” you admitted in total defeat.

Emily pulled back, “Wait, you never told him?” You shook your head.

“I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair.” Emily gave you a look like you were speaking in a language she somehow didn’t know.

“You have to tell him.” she borderline demands. You open your mouth to object but she cuts you off before you can make a sound. 

“No, really, you have to tell him. I know to you it seems counter-intuitive, but I’d argue that this is exactly the kind of thing that he needs to hear.” You look at her tentatively, but she continued.

“I know that you’ve reached a breaking point, but you can’t give up on him. Not quite yet. I watched you two fall for each other for months, I know how good it was. I’ve never seen Spencer like that before. He needs to know.” she concludes, but you’re still unsure.

“Emily, I’ve done nothing but fight for him for months, and it was all for nothing. He’s the one who walked out, not me.” you argue. Emily sighs.

“Look, in the end it’s your decision. If you’re ready to be done, I will support you in that and you won’t hear another word from me. Just, think about it. I would hate for you to be torturing yourself in a few years grappling with ‘what ifs.’ I’ll give you a minute alone.” At that, Emily rubs your shoulder one last time, and swiftly stands to exit her office and leave you to gather your thoughts.

But it didn’t take long for you to make a decision.

Emily didn’t even make it to the door before you spoke again.

“Hey, Em? I think I’m going to need to leave early today.”

Your hands were shaking as you climbed the steps to Spencer’s apartment. You had the whole drive over to come up with what you wanted to say, but nothing came.

At least, nothing good.

As you stood in front of his door, you took a deep breath and tried to calm your racing heart as you knocked a pattern, your pattern, to let him know it was you.

Nothing.

You felt your confidence start to crack, but persevered.

“Spence?” you heard a shuffle, but no response. You tried again, “Spencer, I know you’re in there. I can smell the coffee.” you waited, and still nothing. Your shoulders fell.

You knew this was a mistake. How you allowed Emily to talk you into every bad decision you’ve made since you joined the team, you didn’t know.

Dejected, you turned to leave, but froze when you heard the slide of the door chain and the door creep open.

Spencer, cautiously taking you in. He looked like hell, just how you felt on the inside. Your eyes completely softened when you saw him.

“Can I come in, please? 5 minutes, I promise.” you ask, expecting rejection. He sizes you up for a beat, before hesitantly nodding his head and standing aside.

You carefully walked through, as if giving him a chance to change his mind.

He didn’t.

At that, you fully entered the living room with his silent permission, Spencer trailing close behind you. When you reached the center of the room, you turned and faced him head on. Your heart was pounding, hands clammy, and you felt like you could throw up or pass out, or both. With the last of the confidence you had, you started talking before your doubt and anxiety could stop you.

“I don’t know how to say this delicately, but I’m tired of being careful so I’ll just be blunt.” Spencer’s eyes were filled with confusion, so you said it as fast as possible before you lost your nerve.

“I’m in love with you.” You revealed. Spencer blinked, like he couldn’t wrap his brilliant head around what you just confessed. He opened his mouth to respond but you cut him off.

“Please, just let me get through this.” you pleaded. Spencer’s mouth closed, and he leaned against the wall. You took a step towards him, and continued.

“I know I can’t possibly understand all the weight you’re carrying on your shoulders, and I would never try to compare. But I’ve been in so much turmoil the last few months. I’m grieving too, Spence. I definitely drink more than I used to. I’ve thrown plenty of things around my apartment and shattered them. I sleep in my entryway sometimes because that’s as far as I can make it into my home before I break down. I don’t like anything about who I’ve become in my grief.” Spencer’s whole body relaxed at that, softening at the mental struggle you’re vocalizing. You tried to blink away the tears that were forming as you kept going.

“I got so close to Stephen, especially while you were in prison. He was my main partner in the field. I confided in him about how badly I was struggling with you gone. He knew exactly what to say to make everything magically better,” you chuckled, wiping away a tear, “and now I don’t have his guidance. I don’t know how to handle this. I miss him so much.

“But then you were out. You were finally here. I know we haven’t connected romantically since you got out, but those platonic nights, just talking; they truly did mean everything to me, Spencer. You are the only person that makes me feel sane, especially as of late, but you grounded me in a way I’ve never felt the first day I met you.” You licked your lips, apprehensive to speak your truth, but Spencer needed him to know everything.

“You didn’t know, but Spence, I was not in a good place when we met. So many things happened to me that led to me taking this job, and none of them were good. I’d been drowning, suffocating; my mind was too loud and it never slowed down. I couldn’t sleep because of it. But being with you?” you shook your head, “I could finally breathe again. I felt like I could soften my sharp edges and let my guard down. It just felt so right to let you in, and it felt like I could tell you anything, even if they were secrets that revealed all the damaged parts of me. And you saw me through all of it without even knowing.” The tears fell freely now, wetting your cheeks.

“God, I fell for you, Spencer. I fell so hard. I fell in love with you the night we first kissed. I loved you while you were in prison. I loved you through the horror of watching you have to face down multiple unsubs almost single-handedly. I’ve loved you in your grief. I’ve loved you in all of our conversations, good and bad. I’ve loved you even when you were pushing me away and I still love you now.” you confessed, taking a step towards him with each declaration of love. Spencer was locked in on you, his jaw tightening as you got closer.

“I love you even if you don’t love me back.” your throat tightened at the admission, but you swallowed it and wiped your eyes. 

“And I understand if you still want to call it off.” You reached for his hand, and he let you take it. Whether that was out of pity or not, you couldn’t tell yet. Your gaze bore into his, “But you need to know that you are lovable even when you feel your worst. You are deserving of safety and kindness even at your darkest hour. You don’t need to be perfect or have it all together in order to receive love, and not just from me. Rossi, Emily, JJ, Penelope, Luke, Tara; we’re all here for you. We are calling for you from beyond the void you’re engulfed in and we’re just waiting on you to hear it and answer.” you breathed. Spencer was shell-shocked, unmoving. His eyes were glossy, and he kept trying to blink it away.

“Please, just let me love you. Please let me face all of this with you. I know we can face it together and it wouldn’t be so unbearable anymore.” You were begging now, but you didn’t care, even if it landed you on your hands and knees in front of him.

Spencer said nothing, still unmoving, eyes shining but not able to reveal anything he was feeling. It was like he was frozen, processing and analyzing everything you just exposed about yourself, and, although indirectly, him.

After a beat, you released his hand and stepped back, hoping to put some pressure off of him. 

“You don’t need to answer me now. Please, just think about it.” You turned away from him completely, feeling incredibly vulnerable after your multiple proclamations. You adjusted your jacket to busy your hands as you prepared to make your exit.

At that exact moment, Spencer lunged forward to grab your wrist and spin you towards him, effectively preventing you from running away. His eyes were tender, but panicked.

As he rested his large hands on either side of your head, thumbs brushing your tears away, Spencer leaned his forehead against yours. 

“I love you too.” he confessed. Your breath hitched, but he didn’t stop there.

“I think I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you in the bullpen on your first day. You were laughing at something Penelope had said, and I thought you had the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. Your laughter was contagious and music to my ears. I wanted to say or do something, anything, to make you laugh just so I could hear it over and over again.” You lightly giggled, sniffling. Spencer smiled at that sound, but kept going.

“You had the type of kindness most people don’t have. You never made me feel like an annoyance with my ramblings. You just glowed. I’d never met anyone quite like you before, and I don’t think I ever will again.” Your eyes filled with tears once again, almost immediately spilling over. Spencer kissed them off of your cheeks, your jaw, and continued.

“I’ve been keeping you at arms length because I couldn’t bear to see you look at me differently, to see you feel differently when you realized my damage was permanent, that you couldn’t be with the person I’ve become. I was perfectly content to allow the darkness to swallow me whole if it meant keeping you away from it. I thought that you would eventually get tired of being kept at a distance and pull away, fade from my life.” he swallowed.

“But then you kept coming back. You kept trying,” Spencer’s voice broke as his tears started falling. You gently wiped them away. “You stayed close without force, a gentle presence. You kept coming over to see me, making me eat, talking to me, and bringing me coffee at work. You were slowly breaking through all that darkness in me. You were waking up old parts of me that I thought would never surface again.

“It felt so easy being with you, and all I wanted was to trust the safety net you freely offered, but I couldn’t. Not after everything I had to do to survive in prison. I had to become someone I loathe and it’s changed me for good. I thought I didn’t deserve the refuge, the solace, you offered me. So I shoved down all those parts of me that you were stirring up, and I cut you off. The moment I left your apartment that night, I regretted it.” He pulled away slightly, looking into your eyes.

“You didn’t deserve any of that. I should’ve just trusted you the way my heart wanted me to, no matter what lie my mind was fabricating. I should’ve let you in a long time ago, but I promise I’ll never, ever shut you out again.” Spencer vowed, his hands moved to your waist as he sank down to his knees. Still crying, your hands flew over your mouth and a quiet gasp of disbelief left you.

“I am so sorry, and I will gladly spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll allow me to. I’ll stop ghosting you. I’ll plan dates. I’ll do whatever it takes if it means I have another chance with you. I love you so much, and I’ll never take you for granted again. Please, let me prove it to you.” He groveled, eyes glassy with more tears threatening to make an appearance. The gravity and passion of his words pierced through any defenses you might’ve still had.

“How could I ever say no to that?” you said, barely able to speak through your tears. Spencer stood, resting his forehead on yours once again. He breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“I love you so much. I promise you won’t regret it.” he said. You finally allowed your lips to capture his, allowing all your repressed emotions to drive the kiss. You pulled away slightly and looked into his eyes.

“I love you too, Spencer Reid.”