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ducktoo · 1 day ago

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The night I got drunk

Wendy x Reader

Note: soooo this plot was based on something @octoberautumnbox randomly showed us in our group chat....and I promptly stole it. Thanks box.

Also two ASND artists back to back huh. (I'm still shock btw). Ah right, moody to fluff.

It wasn’t love at first sight. Not really.

When you first met Wendy, she was just “the girl who always brought her own tea bags to the café on campus.” You thought she was a bit odd. Cute, but odd. She’d flash this polite smile to the barista, always overly apologetic about asking for hot water like she was committing a crime. You sat two tables over, pretending not to watch every time she pulled out some mysterious floral blend like she was prepping for a tea ceremony instead of finals.

You didn’t talk much back then. Just exchanged awkward nods. The occasional, “Hey, can I borrow your charger?” sort of thing. But then you were grouped together for a class project, and somehow, she just… fit.

Wendy was smart — like scary smart. But not in an annoying, I-know-everything way. She explained things with patience, laughed off your dumb jokes, and had this quiet intensity that made you want to do better. She was thoughtful. Listened without interrupting. Caught details no one else did — like how you only ever brought lunch if it was Thursday (because you had a break long enough to cook the night before). Or how you always zoned out during presentations (because you hated public speaking and she started nudging you before your turn like clockwork).

Then there were the small things. The tiny, insignificant moments that stuck with you anyway.

Like the time you were stressing over an exam, and she just dropped a chocolate bar on your desk without a word, then went back to her seat. Or how she always remembered how you liked your coffee — milk, no sugar — and ordered it for you without asking whenever it was “her turn.” Or how she’d hold the elevator door even if you were halfway down the hall, waving frantically for you to hurry up while wearing that same annoyed smile she always had when you were running late.

It was easy being around her. Too easy.

You’d text her about the dumbest things just to hear her reaction. “This squirrel outside looks like it pays taxes.” Or “Why do our lecture halls smell like old soup?” And she always replied with something equally dumb or sharp or sweet.

You got addicted to it. To her. Her energy, her presence, her stupid tea.

She started coming over more. At first, it was just study sessions. Then lazy lunches. Then spontaneous movie nights. Then sleepovers after those movie nights because she didn’t feel like walking back. It all blurred together so seamlessly that you didn’t even notice how your place started feeling empty without her.

And then there was the night she came over during a thunderstorm, completely drenched, shivering, mascara smudged. You threw her a towel and made her sit under a blanket with you while she vented about her break up. At some point she fell asleep on your shoulder — soft, warm, her breath steady — and you just sat there frozen, staring at the crown of her head like a complete idiot.

That was the night you realized your heart had already made a decision.

It wasn’t a question anymore. You were in love with your best friend.

Not the fireworks-and-sappy-music kind. No. It was quieter than that. Slower. It grew in between shared glances and missed chances. In the way she’d flick your forehead when you were being dramatic, or how she always leaned a little closer when she was showing you something on her phone. In the way your name sounded when she said it.

Familiar. Easy. Like she’d always known it.

And the worst part?

You didn’t even know when it started. Just that you were too far gone to stop it now.

You’d spend nights lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she knew. If she ever looked at you and felt that same twist in her chest. If maybe — just maybe — she noticed how you smiled a little softer around her. Laughed a little harder. Or if she just thought this was how best friends were supposed to be.

You told yourself it was fine. That you could handle it. That as long as she was around, even as just a friend, it was enough.

But deep down, you knew that was a lie waiting to crack.

And it did on the night you got drunk.

Like... embarrassingly drunk. The kind of drunk where your mouth stopped listening to your brain and started going rogue.

The two of you had planned a sleepover that night — something casual, like the old days. Snacks, laughter, and the newest episode of that trashy k-drama you both hated but secretly loved. It was all normal until you tilted your head back, blurt the words out like they weighed nothing.

“I love you.”

Wendy froze in the middle of pulling her hair into a messy bun. Her hands dropped slowly, and she looked at you — really looked at you. Not like a best friend. Not like a study partner. Just... like someone who wasn’t sure if they should laugh or reach out.

You laughed first. Of course you did. A stupid, wobbly little laugh trying to smooth over the landmine you just stepped on.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you added quickly, waving your hand in the air like that would erase it. “I just thought—I dunno. You should know.”

It just… slipped. You convinced herself.

Three words. A soft confession disguised as a hiccup, carried by the warmth in your chest and the dizziness in your head. You didn’t even look at her right away — you just stared at the floor, heart thudding so loud it might’ve knocked over your IKEA lamp.

Silence.

Then, “...Yah,” she said, in that soft, sing-songy tone Wendy used when she was being gentle with you. Her voice always had this warmth to it, like the first sip of soup after coming in from the cold. But now, it just felt like the warmth before the burn. “You know I love you too, right?”

You looked up, eyes hopeful — for a second, maybe she meant it the same way.

She tilted her head, smile tucked behind a quiet sigh. “But not like that.”

Ah. There it was.

Gentle. Careful. Like she was placing the truth down without breaking anything. But it still hit like a brick to the ribs.

You nod, quick. Too quick. Like you had a contingency plan for this. Like you weren’t seconds away from mentally scheduling your funeral. “Right, yeah. I figured. It’s cool. Just had to get it out, you know?”

You don’t even give her time to reply before you’re already standing, scratching the back of your neck like you could scrub the moment away. “Want me to walk you home? It's late and—"

She frowned. “What? No.”

You paused.

“I mean, it’s fine. Really,” you said quickly, still fumbling for your shoes. “It’s late, and I figured you’d—”

She cut you off, walking right past you like the whole thing hadn’t just happened. “The sleepover’s still on,” she said casually, plopping onto the couch like she hadn’t just turned your heart into a smudge on the pavement.

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. You promised we’d watch the new episode of this shitshow. And you better not pass out halfway through again.”

You stared. She reached over and tossed you a bag of popcorn.

“Come on,” she added, shooting you a look that was both amused and devastating. “I didn’t come all the way here for you to confess and then run away. Sit down. Drama’s about to start.”

And just like that, she was tucking herself under the blanket, all cozy and warm, like nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t just turned you down. Like you hadn’t just completely exposed your heart in the messiest, dumbest way possible.

This girl — this beautiful, maddening, soft-voiced hurricane of a girl — just rejected your love confession and then had the audacity to demand K-drama time like you hadn’t just imploded inside.

You sat down beside her. Too aware of the small distance between your shoulders. Too aware of her hand reaching into the popcorn bag. Too aware that she still smelled like lavender and mint gum.

Somewhere in the background, the k-drama’s theme song started playing.

And all you could think was:

You were still in love with your best friend. And she was still here. Watching the stupid drama. Stealing your blanket. Breaking your heart without even knowing it.

You smiled anyway.

Because you were in love with your best friend.

And she was too busy fighting over a blanket to notice the way you were falling apart.

The room was dim now, lit only by the flickering light of the TV and the low hum of your desk lamp, still clinging to life after three years of pulling all-nighters with you. The air smelled faintly of instant noodles and the cinnamon candle Wendy lit earlier, claiming your room always smelled too much like “lonely boy energy.”

The episode was almost over.

And you were almost out.

You blinked once. Twice. Long, heavy blinks that started blending scenes together. You vaguely registered the second male lead showing up at the airport with an apology bouquet, and then the screen blurred into a mess of motion and muffled dialogue.

Wendy nudged you with her knee. “Yah. Don’t fall asleep. You promised.”

You mumbled something into the throw pillow — possibly English, possibly gibberish. You weren’t sure. “I’m awake…”

“You said that five minutes ago and then called the second lead ‘Mr. Flowerpants.’”

You cracked open an eye. Her face hovered just above you — lips curled into that soft, half-mocking smile she always gave you when you did something stupid but harmless. Her bangs were a little messy, falling over her eyes from when she’d curled up under the blanket, and the collar of her oversized hoodie was stretched from how she’d been fidgeting with it all night.

“You’re cute when you’re delusional,” she added.

You blinked again. “You’re cute when you… call me delusional.”

Her laugh was quiet, a breath through her nose, and she shook her head as you slumped sideways, half-melted against the couch cushions.

You don’t even remember how it happened, but at some point your head found her lap. Her thighs were warm — maybe too warm — and her legs tensed beneath you, just a little.

You waited for her to tell you to move.

But she didn’t.

“You really gonna let me lie here like this?” you asked, your voice slurred but honest.

Wendy’s fingers hovered uncertainly in the air, then slowly lowered. She started brushing strands of your hair out of your face like she’d done it a hundred times before. “You confessed your love to me and now you're passed out on my lap like a cat. Do you want me to throw you out instead?”

You let out a sleepy chuckle. “It’s my place…..but that actually might be fair.”

There was a pause.

You could feel her still playing with your hair, absent-mindedly twisting a strand and letting it go, again and again. You weren’t sure if she was doing it to comfort you or herself.

Then her voice dropped — soft, but sharper than before.

“…Did you mean it?”

You cracked an eye open again. Her face was turned toward the TV, but she wasn’t watching it anymore.

“Yeah,” you said simply. No point lying. Not when your heart was already on the floor, somewhere between the empty snack bowl and your dignity. “I meant it.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just kept tracing her fingers along your temple. You waited, staring up at the ceiling as if the answer might be carved into the plaster.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” she said, quietly.

You turned your head slightly, resting your cheek against her leg. “Yeah, well. I was doing a great job pretending I didn’t.”

Her fingers stilled.

“I don’t want to lose you.” she whispered.

You smiled bitterly. “Even after I dropped the emotional nuke?”

Wendy looked down at you then. Really looked. Her eyes searched yours like she was trying to solve something in real time — something messy and tangled and just a little terrifying.

“No,” she murmured. “Even when you did.”

Your breath hitched, just a bit.

But before you could say anything else, the episode ended. The dramatic OST played. Credits rolled.

Wendy leaned back, shifting slightly to reach for the remote, but her hand paused in mid-air. She hesitated, then looked down at you again.

“Do you think,” she asked slowly, “if things were… different… we could’ve worked?”

You stared up at her, trying to ignore the way her voice cracked just a little at the end.

“Maybe,” you whispered. “But I don’t think I ever had a version of life where I didn’t fall for you.”

That broke something in her eyes. “Don’t say things like that when you’re drunk.”

“I’m drunk…not lying.”

Another pause.

Then, almost inaudibly, she said, “Okay.”

You furrowed your brows. “Okay what?”

She looked away, eyes fixed on the darkened TV screen again. “Okay… you can stay.”

You blinked. “I was already staying. It’s my place, remember?”

“I know,” she muttered. “Just making it official.”

And just like that, she tucked the blanket around both of you. Her fingers returned to your hair. And though nothing was fixed, and nothing was certain, and your heart still ached in places you didn’t know existed.

You fell asleep in the lap of the girl who broke your heart… while she tried to memorize every piece of you she was suddenly too scared to lose.

A few days passed.

The world didn’t end. The sky didn’t fall. But something definitely cracked under the surface.

Wendy had been… different. Not distant, not cold — just weird. Awkward in a way she never was with you. Fidgety, flustered, hyper-aware of every brush of skin between you like it was scripted in a romance drama and not just a normal Tuesday afternoon in your shared favourite café.

It was the little things at first.

You reached over her to grab a napkin — she jolted like you threw a live wire at her.

Your hands accidentally touched while trying to plug in your charger — she muttered something in English under her breath and pretended to cough.

And the kicker? You passed her a bite of your kimbap like you always did, and she stared at the chopsticks like they were dipped in poison.

You blinked. “Seungwan. It’s just rice.”

“I know that,” she replied, voice an octave too high, “I just— you always put too much sesame oil, and— and I have lip balm on.”

You raised a brow. “You literally ate it off the floor once.”

“That was different! We were drunk and it didn’t touch the floor that long.”

You didn’t call her out on the fact that she was the one who made the kimbap. You just passed her the piece again with a flat look.

She took it. Reluctantly. Chewed like it betrayed her entire bloodline.

So yeah. Something had changed.

And you? You dealt with it the only way you knew how: weaponized snacks.

So you showed up to her place with a convenience store bag packed with emotional damage control in the form of snacks. You didn’t even knock properly — just kicked the door with your foot until she opened it, hair damp and tied in a lazy bun, wearing that oversized blue sweater she always stole from your side of the closet.

Her face was bare, flushed slightly from the shower, and she looked at you with wide eyes like you’d just caught her hiding a secret.

“Um,” she blinked. “Hey? What is this?”

“Your favourites,” you said. “Pepero, Chilsung cider, that weird triangle kimbap with the tuna-mayo fusion. I even threw in those gummy bears you pretend not to like. Peace offering.”

She stared. “Why? Are we fighting?"

“No,” You shrugged, stepping in. “But you��ve been weird and twitchy and blushing every time our arms brush, so I’m bribing you into being normal again.”

“I haven’t been blushing.”

You turned to her slowly. “You turned red yesterday when I asked if you wanted to use my charger.”

“I— that’s because your cable’s frayed and I didn’t want to get electrocuted!”

“Uh-huh. So the pink ears were… what? A side effect?”

She opened her mouth, then promptly shut it.

You watched her try to save face while fiddling with the bag, pulling out a box of Pepero and avoiding eye contact like it was some Olympic event. You leaned back on her chair, arms folded.

She sniffed one of the snacks. “This isn’t the almond kind.”

You smiled, slowly. “And yet, you’re still taking it.”

She rolled her eyes and peeled open the box anyway, expression unreadable.

Wendy was hard to pin down when she didn’t want to be read. Her face was expressive, sure — her eyes always sparkled when she laughed, and her nose scrunched whenever she focused — but when she wanted to retreat, she was a fortress.

And right now, she was locking the gates.

Wendy looked down at the snacks again. She picked up the triangle kimbap and turned it in her hands.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, a little softer.

“I know,” you replied, looking over at her. “But you looked like you were going to combust if I offered to share another blanket.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just peeled open the wrapper, letting the familiar scent hit the air. Her shoulders relaxed slightly.

You softened your tone. “I’m not trying to make things weird. I know I kind of dropped a bomb the other night, but—”

“You didn’t.”

You stopped mid-sentence.

Wendy sat down slowly on her bed, cross-legged, snacks in her lap. Her fingers picked absently at the corner of the Pepero box as she finished the kimbap. Her eyes, however, stared at the floor between you.

“You didn’t drop a bomb,” she said again, quieter. “You told me how you felt. That’s not… a bad thing.”

You stepped closer. “Then why are you treating me like I’m radioactive?”

Wendy exhaled. Her shoulders slumped the way they did when she was holding tension for too long. Like she was finally letting herself be vulnerable in front of you again — not the smiley, jokey version she gave everyone else, but the real one. The one who hated disappointing people. The one who overthought everything, especially when it involved someone she cared about.

“It’s not you,” she said. “It’s just—every time I look at you now, I wonder if I’ve been missing something.”

Your heart skipped.

Wendy’s fingers finally stilled. She looked up at you, brows furrowed slightly, teeth tugging at her bottom lip — the way she always did when her thoughts got stuck in a loop.

“I keep replaying things,” she continued, “like… the time you gave me your jacket at that stupid concert. Or when you stayed up with me during finals, even though you had a morning class. Or when you told me to stop dating that guy who made me cry.”

“Because he sucked,” you muttered.

She smiled faintly. “Yeah. He did.”

Silence.

“I didn’t think it’d matter,” she muttered. “The way you felt. I figured it was a passing thing, or you’d pretend it never happened. But now… every time you look at me, it feels different.”

Your chest tightened. Juggling whether it was a good thing or a bad thing.

“And that scares you?” you asked, gently.

She finally looked at you — cheeks pink, but her gaze steady now. “No. It scares me that it doesn’t.”

The silence that followed was thick. Not uncomfortable — just heavy. Full of the things neither of you had figured out how to say yet.

You leaned back, lips quirking upward. “So, what I’m hearing is… I should buy you food more often.”

That earned you a laugh — soft and reluctant, but real. Her head dropped against your shoulder, the way it used to before you confessed, when things were easier and ignorance was bliss. “Bribery doesn’t solve everything.”

You grinned. “Doesn’t hurt though.”

She reached towards the Pepero on the table. “Next time, get the almond kind. And maybe a choco pie.”

You laughed, the tension breaking like glass under your heel.

Wendy smiled back, smaller but real. “You’re still an idiot.”

You leaned your head on your hand. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

She looked at you for a long moment, then turned back to her snack with a shake of her head — but her ears were still pink.

And she didn’t pull away when your knees touched hers.

#kpop #red velvet x reader #wendy #wendy x reader #red velvet fanfic #red velvet #wendy red velvet #son seungwan

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hyacinth-in-a-haze · 21 hours ago

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I absolutely LOVED your yan concubine! I would love to hear more about him! Anything you’re interested in sharing or maybe his relationship with reader after he disfigured her? Maybe his relationship/ how he acts with the emperor and how he plans to over throw the palace? Only if you’re interested ! I love your stories and can’t wait to read more

I am so very much torn between saying everything now or showing it later, anon, so here's a little drabble for your sake xxx

Interlude- Yandere Concubine x Fem reader

Contains- threats of violence, self destructive behaviour, forced dependency, possessive and obsessive behaviour

Other servants who had the misfortune of being disfigured or disabled by their masters were sent far away from any public jobs, relegated to where their appearance would not put off any noble from their dinner. You wouldn't be so lucky, rather it seems now he is much more willing to parade you about. Knowing that everyone else only looks at you with pity or disgust reflecting in their eyes, unable to stop staring at the cruel and puckered crescent that lays across your cheek. You tried to wear a veil outside, for everyone else's comfort if not yours, a cumbersome swatch of silk that did nothing to obscure your face from anyone who looked too close. Eventually you found it burnt to bits in the fireplace, and you made no move to replace it.

He made it almost a point at first to hide your appearance from you, covering up any large mirrors with heavy cloth, confiscating his multiple handheld ones and locking them away. The only idea you had around your appearance was when you'd unbind the bandages to feel around your face, trying to figure out where the creator begins and ends. Picking at it until the blood would flow again and he would roll over in bed to grab your arms and hush you. That he of all people found you to be perfect and good and kind, so why isn't that enough for you to understand why he did this. He lost patience when he found you one night with shattered glass before you and the bandage torn to pieces, when you flinched as he approached you. Anger overtaking him as he grabbed you by the hair forcing you to meet his eyes properly as he snarls.

“Did you want me to let him take you? To tear you in two over and over, because he likes to break pretty things down between his teeth!” He yanks harder until you feel hair separate from your scalp and you howl, but he just continues,“I don't understand you! This is to protect you! If he did anything I'd kill the bastard do you understand? I can take it but you can't even take my protection!” He screams at you, his pupils dilated with frantic mania, slowly he settles as he lets go of your head to see the strands still wrapped around his fingers.

“I thought I could protect you by making you be known as mine,” his hands shake as he wraps them over your shoulders “but that isn't enough to keep you safe, so I ruined you before someone else could. I will not apologise for that.” He brings you closer against his chest, kneeling amongst the mirror shards scattered about on the floor catching the glint of your tears in the low light of the lanterns. You just say nothing, what is there to even say? He is right, you would never survive if the emperor took a fancy to you. Now you would never be able to survive without him, because who would ever want you when your appearance is so marred by his supposed protection. So you just slump, motionless as he rubs the apothecary's balm in slow circular motions. Affixing the bandages carefully in place.

“If you remove this once more and pick at your poor face I'll have to bind your hands until you allow this to heal.” The admonishment is gentle but you know full well he means those words seriously as he kisses your face with all the tenderness you've never had. In truth you don't understand his affections, why he would go to such lengths to protect you and keep you by his side. Perhaps it is because in this palace where everything he has is dependent on the emperor's pleasure, you are the one thing he can call his. A servant girl snatched from her village and sold to the palace, you're loyal to him yes. Because loyalty keeps you alive,keeps you clothed and fed. You're not so much a fool to bite the only hand that has chosen to feed you when all others won't hesitate to beat.

So you let him preen over you, he's much more willing to beautify you now that no one will spare you a second glance. When you first came to the palace you had a hope, most serving girls are let go once they have reached the end of their contracts. You couldn't read the numbers but you thought if you kept your head down and saved your pay, in a couple years you would be back home like nothing happened. What hope is able to be left when you're sat in the prized concubines lap as he pours his prized oils onto your hair, a silent apology for the strands he ripped out earlier. It seems as though now he guards what's left of your beauty just as much as his. In truth, while he may look at you with a flicker of guilt there is no remorse in his heart, he would do it again if he felt he must. The real question would be how far would he go before he'd be secure in your supposed safety?

He hasn't touched you yet, you know it's a matter of time or a strong bottle of wine before he makes the choice to deflower you and ruin you more for any other hands but his to hold. But until then, you will wake sometimes in the night, wondering where his familiar warmth went and wandering barefoot on the cold floor . Finding him deliberating amongst letters and scrolls scattered around him. Since that night, when he took the knife to your face, he's had a fervour with his plans, pulling the net tight around the emperor before you become threatened again. When he sees you in the shadow of the doorway, he only just sighs and gathers everything together before storing it underneath the floor tiles. There's no fear you would discover anything. You don't even know the characters that make up your own name. He merely takes you back to bed with him, holding you so firmly as though you'd be ripped away should he sleep too deeply.

#yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere #male yandere #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #fem reader #anon ask #lucky ones #Yandere Concubine

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sylusgworl · 2 days ago

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02 — FRAGMENTS OF THE PAST

synopsis: you keep away from people, feeling like you don't belong anywhere, with no will to do anything, but a certain doctor is able to move your heart in ways you can't fathom. except, will you let him in again?

content and TWs: modern!au, fem!reader, angst (with eventual comfort), caleb and tara cameo, no evol, graphic description of depression, self-harm, blood, blades, break up, exes to lovers (probably?), yearning zayne, alcohol (brief), both zayne and you are the same age (around 27), use of [name] instead of y/n

word count: 3.1k

REGULAR m.list — SERIES m.list

PART 01 — PART 02 — PART 03 — PART 04 ...

It happened then.

A vortex of emotions you had carefully buried slowly rose from the deepest discrepancies of your tortured heart.

The love that had linked you and Zayne was a tale, to the others unknown.

It started quietly, one random afternoon of your final highschool year.

Zayne, bold spectacles and a short and neat haircut, and you, a pretty average senior, with friends and dreams.

He was a shy person, the kind who’d always keep to himself, focusing on his studies, pushed by his drive to become a doctor. You, on the other hand, were probably the liveliest person he’d ever met, one of a kind—the only woman who was and will always be the only one for him.

Your interest in him began during a chemistry period, one of the too many. The teacher took turns into quizzing the students, and he was the one who stood out the most. The answer was always on his tongue, he always got it right, no matter the level of difficulty.

You thought he hadn’t noticed you then, but you? Oh, you were smitten to the bone.

It took you a leap of courage to go and talk to him.

His answers to your questions were curt, at the beginning, a bit cold and just a formality.

Sometimes, as you approached him in a study hall, at the library, or in the canteen, he wouldn’t even meet your gaze, his eyes too focused on what was in front of him—an essay, a book, his lunch.

Zayne slowly built the courage to look you in the eye without needlessly blushing, without embarrassing himself before even getting to know you properly.

It took some work, patience and grit. However, slowly, you’d made yourself a home in his life, and he in yours.

You became friends—the kind who sit together without the need to talk, basking in the other’s presence and feeling it’s enough, who shyly hold hands but still lack the courage to go a step further, who’d always be there for each other, no matter the time, place or reason.

You weren’t Zayne’s first friend, and he wasn’t yours. You were something more, although it took the two of you some time to understand it.

The first two years of college were harsh, but gratifying—both academically and emotionally.

You were still friends then, although Zayne was often busy with his work in med school.

Something in the air probably changed then—perhaps it was the distance, or maybe the realisation that nothing would last forever.

On a random day of summer break, prior to your fourth year, the friendship slowly faded away.

Zayne understood, through heart and reason, he hadn’t been seeing you as only a friend all along. He wanted more, desired for you to be his in a sense that kind of discorded with the traditional term of friendship. And he chastised himself for having such thoughts, he was scared he’d hurt you, scared of your reaction, he believed you’d recoil from him, disgusted, if he’d ever let out that secret.

So, he slowly drifted away.

He wasn’t texting so often, would use excuses like ‘I’m at the hospital’ or ‘I’m at a seminar’ to avoid being together with you in an enclosed space.

And you weren’t stupid to not notice.

One day, as your first semester of third year was nearing its end, you went to his apartment.

You didn’t text, nor call him. He would’ve found an excuse not to see you, had you done that.

Ringing the doorbell, a swirl of emotions crawling inside of your heart, your foot tapped impatiently on his rugged doormat. You were ready to tell him off, ready to make him open up, because that’s what friends are for.

He opened the door and, besides the subtle surprise as he met your eyes, his gaze was impenetrable, his features rock solid, jaw clenched and… you couldn’t recognise him—the boy with bold spectacles who made you wait months before looking you in the eye was nowhere to be seen.

You pushed him.

Calling all your strength from within your body, you pushed him back inside and he stumbled back. You followed him, the door shut behind you.

“Zayne, can you please tell me what the fuck is up?” your tone wasn’t low, but you weren’t yelling. Not at him. You could never do that, and you never did.

He simply avoided your eyes, his body retracting from your touch, head turning to face anything but you.

“Nothing is wrong,” his gaze fell onto a stack of papers on the coffee table by the living room, “I was... studying, so can you please make it short?” he lied.

The coldness in his voice was unfamiliar. Your lower lip twitched, almost in a pout, and blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes, you did the last thing you believed would help you get through

Your hands clenched in two fists, as you let out your anger while punching his chest, letting out all your frustration.

He didn’t budge, didn’t tell you off, didn’t stop you. His solid body pinned to the ground didn’t move an inch, his arms down by his sides didn’t raise at you, his lips were still sealed,

“You prick, don’t you know how much I’ve missed you? Why can’t you understand for once and stop being so cold and stern? Do I mean nothing to you now? Huh? Why am I being punished like this for loving you?”

There.

Zayne blinked once, twice. Something churned in his stomach, your hits had stopped.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

An angry confession? Really?

Pulling your hands away, your eyes dropped to the floor, shame clouding your cheeks in warmth, your heart hammering inside of your chest.

He was the first to break the silence.

“You… what?” shock dripped from his low tone, which vibrated from his throat and down to your ears.

No answer came out of your mouth. There was no chance you were screwing up twice. Never.

You dug deep in your mind, clutching at straws to find a reasonable excuse.

But you knew him. He was not the kind to be fooled by a brittle lie.

Exhaling deeply, your eyes timidly met his. His gaze had softened, the familiar glint coming back more alive than ever, his features mellower.

“Did I hear that correctly?” he let out, spurring you on, excitement hiding right behind those whispered words.

The damage was already done. You slowly nodded.

Zayne thought it was a dream. It had to be.

You… loving him? He couldn’t measure up to your standards, but somehow, you ended up cherishing him in your heart, out of many whom he believed would’ve been a better fit for you.

The confession left him speechless, and for a short while neither of you spoke a single word.

In your mind, various scenes played out—from the most comical to the most heart-wrenching. You braced yourself, ready for him to turn you down.

It didn’t happen.

Instead, he quietly walked over, his height towering above you, but not a single ounce of arrogance in his steps or gaze.

“Thank God,” he whispered and slowly pulled you in, his arms trembling as they wrapped around your warm body.

The feeling of his hot body against yours felt like nothing else you’d experienced. His soft breath hit your forehead, your heartbeats beat loud—you couldn’t pinpoint whose heart was making such a ruckus, probably both.

Time went by, but as you separated, regret lingered on your limbs, your heart wishing you’d just keep still in his hold for a while longer.

Zayne looked at you with a renewed glimmer, while you felt small under his gaze, your pulse never stilling from its unending marathon.

He spoke first.

“I… I’m sorry,” his apology brought comfort to your soul, a gentle caress against the bleeding wound he had involuntarily caused.

The sun was setting, warm light spilling from the windows and basking the interior in its amber light. Zayne, hit by the honey colours of the fading sun, appeared softer. A lip curved upwards, in a smile only he could make.

“I didn’t mean to act coldly, I admit I’ve been a coward,” his head dropped, shame taking over his previously blissed expression, as he scratched the back of his head while guilt consumed his heart.

You felt the need to get closer, although a few inches were all that separated you from him—the one whom you yearned for most.

One of your hands found the curve of his cheek, lifting it slowly, until you were greeted by his agonizing gaze.

“Yes, your actions were indeed cowardly,” you revealed, a beam peeking out, “but now,” your other hand hovered over his other cheek, then slowly brushed against it, “can I at least have your answer?” you whispered, your gaze traveling from his widened eyes to his soft rosy lips.

He leaned in, in a slow and tortuous march, his hand found yours on the side of his face, as he pulled you in.

The touch of his lips against yours was velvety, pleasant and homey. His breath melted with yours, warm and desperate, sending shivers down your spine as his lips tugged yours, lightly, in an attempt to show you just how much he desired you.

Parting from each other, your touch never faltered, nor did his. His forehead resting against yours, he muttered the words that had started it all.

“I’ve fallen in love with you too, for... quite a while,” then a smile, and another chaste peck, perhaps symbolizing a promise of a forever that was never granted.

That evening, of almost five years ago, was still unforgettable, one of the few that never left you apathetic, the only one you genuinely cherished from the bottom of your heart.

Zayne had been more than you could ask for. A perfect boyfriend, best-friend, helper—no matter the guise you needed him in, he’d fill the role in a way that left you breathless, grateful you’d been granted his love in exchange for yours.

Like a paper card tower, as the two of you attempted to fit in the last card, it crumbled.

Something had changed inside of you, stirred in your mind, shifting the gears and leaving you… helpless. It was nobody’s fault, although the guilt never stopped chasing you under the pretense of a companion to your loneliness.

As the days faded, and the years passed, your desire for more weaned like a rain cloud drifting with the wind.

It had started with small things. You slowly cut your friendships, you stopped going outside as often, unless it implicated your job or menial but necessary tasks, you turned down Zayne’s invites to dates he’d carefully arranged, even though his busy schedule rarely left him with time for his own enjoyment.

The you so full of life and happiness started fading away, of her only a fragile shadow remained, a vacant shell with nothing but a fragment of the once loving soul.

It ate at you from the inside. Guilt, anxiety, hate. Not for him, not for anyone else, for you and you only.

Nothing made your heart stir and your breath stutter anymore, except for him.

So, you did something that made you feel less like a machine and more like a human. Humans, living beings, do feel pain, right?

TW - graphic description of self harm ahead, please proceed with caution and only if comfortable with the topic, or skip to "end"

In the beginning, it was just an impulsive thought. Getting ready in the pale hours of an early morning, the light of the bathroom flickering—like a tremor of fear for what was to come, your eyes found it. A tiny razor blade, one of those that came in packs of ten or twenty you didn’t even remember buying.

It reached for you, and your fingers steadily curled around it, ensorcelled in its spell.

You reached for your other arm, heart thumping in your chest like a runner’s at the olympics.

One slash, tiny, almost invisible. A trail of blood gushed out, crimson, deep and warm. The cut burned, as you hissed at the sting, closing your eyes as if uttering a silent prayer.

Trembling, you dropped the blade into the sink, as if only then realizing the aftermath of your action. Your throat felt tight, but your eyes didn’t shed a tear.

Silent, they surveyed the drops of blood on the ivory sink, then the gush of blood that still ran down your arm, until it fell in small droplets from the tips of your bent knuckles.

You slowly cleaned up the mess, bandaged your arm in a hurry, and discarded the blade away from prying eyes. That was the first time, but certainly not the last.

end of graphic description

It had become a sort of ritual. Sometimes, it happened once a week, always on a morning, never on the weekend—on those, you’d stay at Zayne’s, still gripping tightly at the relationship, but losing yourself in the meantime.

The pain chanted its compelling song, your ears couldn’t turn away at the call.

Until one day, on a pale morning, still early for most to be awake, Zayne found his way to your apartment.

He’d rung the bell, then greeted by silence.

Is she still asleep?

Tucking his hand inside of his coat pocket, he fished out a pair of keys that matched your keyhole—a silent symbol of trust you’d dropped in his hands time ago.

He was already envisioning your groggy voice and sleepy countenance, as you’d utter your ‘good morning’ and, again, charm him like only you could, with your usual smile.

The door clicked shut behind his back, as his eyes followed the only source of light, as it flickered through the parted door of your bathroom.

His steps halted at the entrance, he cleared his voice and then knocked.

You, startled by the sudden sound, and still admiring the red-striped canvases that had become your arms, dropped the metal weapon to the cold floor. It clattered, loud in the silence of the early day.

Zayne opened the door, and his previous delighted smile swiftly morphed in a pained grimace.

“[Name]!” he called you, as if you hadn’t noticed him already.

The blood dripped onto the candid floor, splattering in horror, as he stopped your arms from hiding behind your back.

His grip was tight, but his profession prevented him from clutching you wrong and causing more pain.

Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over numerous, as he sobbed in silence at your voluntary action.

You tried to break free, but his hand was iron against your frail body.

“W-why?” he managed to utter, a hand shuffling in the over-sink cabinet, his darkened eyes never leaving your wounds.

Grasping a white gauze, he skillfully wrapped the gash, his touch tender, his hands shaky.

“Why are you doing this?” he breathed out. You didn’t answer, your face turned away. You were breaking him, never intending to do so.

“So this is why you'd been wearing long sleeves... even in the hottest days of July," he stated, his eyes firm on the bandaged wound, a thumb gently grazing it with a shattered soul.

His hold eased up so you took the chance and slipped away.

Zayne stood there for minutes to count, neither of you speaking a word as the clock ticked the passing time.

“Can you… talk to me? Please?” exasperation clung to his voice, casually shaken by bits of anguish.

Your head shook in denial, before you could even wrap your mind for an answer.

His lips pressed in a line.

He was going to leave. That was the sorrowful belief that washed over you like a winter tide.

Once again, you were painfully wrong. Your heart didn’t know whether to be glad and flutter, or proceed to break.

He pulled you to him, breathing in your scent like a starved man. His arms wrapped around your torso, although you didn’t move your bandaged ones.

“I'm here,” he whispered in your ear, like a lullaby.

His breath tickled your neck, a reminder of how many times he did that, and how equally you liked it.

But you didn’t budge.

You didn’t wish to break him further, you had to let him go before he started regretting his choice of being by your side.

That was the first crack inside of your 'perfect' life picture.

Zayne tried to help, in more ways than you could list.

He never left your side, although you repeatedly gave him the cold shoulder, but still not pushing him away.

He talked to you, trying to draw any kind of answer. Your responses were short and devoid of any emotion. You had to let him go.

“I’ve found someone who can help you.” The second crack came much sooner than you'd anticipated.

He’d said that over dinner, noticing how you picked at your food, not a single bite reaching your mouth.

Those words made you flinch, the fork clanged against the plate, your breath stuttered.

You looked up for the first time since the meal had started.

Zayne’s gaze softened as it met your eyes.

“You should go to therapy, but… afraid… be… your side…”

Your ears stopped registering any word after that first sentence.

He knows you’re broken, he wants to fix you before leaving you for good, was the traitorous idea that captured your mind.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you pushed back the chair as you got up. It dropped to the ground, crashing.

“N-no... I…” your gaze blurred and throat tightened and then... you dashed to the front door, then past it, ignoring the voice you’d loved for so long as it called you back.

The freezing wind of February slapped your cheek, like a deserved punishment.

Your warm skin burned under the aching cold, but your feet never stopped. Not until you reached a park, where you stopped to catch your breath.

Nobody was around—who would be outside, freezing in the cold like a madman?

Tears burned down your face in hot streaks, numerous sobs left your mouth, your throat desperately clutched for some air that didn’t bite into it like feed.

“Love!”

Your head shot back, as Zayne approached you in a run that far exceeded yours in terms of speed.

He was in front of you before you could escape, legs trembling like a man’s on a death row, scared of losing his neck.

That was the last night you spent in his company.

You cruelly broke his heart, you ruined his happiness, although he was only doing his best to be of help. It was out of love, you told yourself, on the days that followed the rift that violently shoved you apart.

Yes, as long as he steered clear from the broken you, he wouldn't get hurt, he wouldn’t notice the state you’d turned into.

Yes, Zayne wouldn’t get hurt. You would have no way of breaking him more, as long as he stayed far away.

taglist (comment HERE to be added):

@colonelkaboom @mephisto-with-a-knife @sapphic-daze @slowburnmithy @unsxnee @zayniedoll @abejaruby @bidisasterforevermore @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @d1ngal1ng @lowkaylove @thdcre @yoonights @auroranavi @catmekate @nixzw @syluslittlecrows @iskwwtftoput @lurkersharkie @moonlight-inthe-sea @lez-zuha @hardstrawberrygardener @na-naami @calebapproves @makingfanfictionstosleep

#★.kay writes #zayne li #zayne angst #zayne x reader #zayne fic #zayne x you #zayne fluff #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #zayne x y/n #zayne x non mc #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #lads x reader #li shen #lads fic

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personasintro · 11 hours ago

Note

Hi Mimi 💗

How are you doing? I just read your latest asks and I found out that you've been sick. I really hope you're taking care of yourself. Your health matters the most. Your rest, your comfort, your happiness, that's the number one priority. Updates don't matter rn. What matters is that you're okay. What matters is you. Everything else can wait.

I've been reading Mutual Help since the beginning. I've been here since the start, and I still love it just as much, if not more. Your writing has meant so much to me. There were times in my life when I felt like I was stuck in the dark, and reading Mutual Help helped me through that. I didn't even used to like the best friends to lovers trope, but when you wrote it, you made me realize how beautiful it can be when best friends fall in love.

The way you write it, it just feels real, soft, and full of so much heart. Now it's one of my favorite things ever, all because of you. You’re the reason I started writing fanfics. You inspire me so much, and I look up to you more than I can say. Watching you write with so passion made me want to follow in your footsteps. I really hope I can become an amazing writer like you someday.

I also just want to say that I'm really sorry you've been receiving hate. That's not fair. It's really upsetting to see people act like that, especially when you're not well. You don't deserve it at all. No one should be treating you like that. You're doing your best, and that's more than enough. You owe nothing to anyone. Don't let any of the hate get to you. You're a phenomenal writer, and there are so many of us who know that and love you for it.

We're always here. We love you so much. Your loyal readers, we're not going anywhere. We'll wait for chapter 60, no matter how long it takes. We'll always be excited to read what you write, but we'll never want it at the cost of your peace. So take your time. Rest. Heal. Be happy.

You're the sweetest, most creative person, and I just want to send you all the love and support. I love you so much, truly. You matter to me, and you've made such a difference in my life.

Take your time, rest well, and know that we'll be here always.

Forever cheering for you 💌

Hi 💕

Thank you so much for saying that! I’ve been trying to put myself first when it came to online “life” but it was way harder to do that offline. I guess that’s just what happens when you’re an adult and there’s a lot going on. I hope everyone’s taking care of themselves and are doing everything for them to be happy and healthy. Including you bub 🫰

You know what? I actually wasn’t a fan of best friends to lovers trope. As someone who prefers enemies to lovers, I didn’t really read stories with best friends trope 🫣 I’m glad you gave it a shot and of course, that you ended up liking this story!

Thank you for this part as well! I’m someone who likes to explain stuff, especially when I feel like I’m aggrieved by people for everything I say or do. It’s been a lot in this particular area as well and my patience is running low. I understand that no matter how much I’m trying to explain, there’s always going to be someone that won’t understand. And I’ve seen many people leaving for this specific reason and I always thought how hard that must be. But now I understand that even better.

Thank you so much for the incredibly sweet words. It makes me tear up and I’m truly touched by your kindness that I can feel just from reading this message. You’re a living proof that there are readers with heart full of love 🥹 I wish I knew your name, so my respond could be at least a little bit more personal but bub, I hope you’re happy, healthy and doing everything in your life that you want to do. Good luck on your writing journey, people will find your good heart and they will love you! I know I do already 🫶

#💜

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sweetnmay · 21 hours ago

Text

a history of heroes, fools and liars.

the beginning of it all . . .

HOUSE OF TYRELL. growing strong.

284AC - 307AC

what if it was a dream . . . and I have only now begun to wake? What if none of it ever came to pass—the war, the fire, the betrayals whispered behind silken veils? what if i am still she, the Lady Demitria of Highgarden, with sun-warmed stone beneath my bare feet and the scent of blooming roses clinging to my hair? What if the banners still fly golden and green, and my mother is in the solar laughing over some petty court tale, and Garlan is sharpening his sword in the yard, and I—

I am simply myself again.

Not bowed, not broken, not lost. Just Demitria. Whole. Clever. Alive. There are moments, just before waking, when I believe it. When I swear I hear the music of the summer birds, and feel the weight of my braid against my back, and I almost turn to call for Margeary or Loras or Father. And then the dream ends.

And I remember.

Gods, I remember.

what if it was a dream? . . . that question haunted her more than most things. she had been a girl born into luxury, yes, but not into stillness. even as a child, Demitria moved like wind through the gardens, her laughter trailing behind her like ribbons. she had a way of looking at the world that made it feel like a game she was already winning. her tutors taught her numbers and heraldry, and how to curtsey just low enough to flatter and never to submit. but no one taught her how to carry grief.

no one taught her how to survive a world where beauty meant danger, and kindness meant weakness.

she had brothers who loved her in their own ways—Ser Garlan with his long silences and tired patience, Loras with his flashing smile and rare moments of honesty—but she was the youngest, and the most watched. there was always someone watching. her mother, her Septa, the ladies of the Reach. even her husband, once she was wed.

that marriage had not been her dream, but dreams did not matter. she smiled at the wedding feast. she said the right words. she played the perfect lady. and when he died—quietly, and without glory—she wore black and said little, just as was expected.

but inside, something shifted.

widowhood gave her a different sort of power. there were no more lessons. no more talk of matches. no more eyes on her belly or her posture or her embroidery. for the first time, she was left alone with her thoughts. and that was when Demitria Tyrell began to see things clearly.

the court was full of cowards. the roses were not always red. and not all brothers kept their oaths.

she was no fool. she saw what was happening in King’s Landing. she saw what was being whispered behind goblets of Arbor gold and gritted smiles. and when the raven came—when the seal of her house arrived scorched and broken—she knew before she opened it. her house was gone. Her family, scattered or dead.

the golden girl of Highgarden became a ghost overnight.

some said she fled. some said she was taken. others swore she died in the chaos. but none of it was true.

she lived.

in shame, in shadow, in silence—she lived.

and sometimes, late at night, when the wind rustled through whatever forgotten place she now called home, she would close her eyes and pretend.

pretend the bells were ringing for her name day.pretend her father was still alive, stroking his beard and telling her to speak less boldly in court.pretend her siblings were laughing in the halls.pretend the roses still bloomed.

pretend she was still Demitria Tyrell, Lady of Highgarden.

and not the ghost the world forgot.

because the world had taken everything from her—her name, her family, her place, her peace. everything… except one thing.

she had not fled alone.

beneath the folds of black silk and silence, she carried a secret: the child of her late husband, growing quietly within her. unseen. unknown. the last small piece of a life lost to fire and betrayal.

and for that reason alone, Demitria endured.

A.N : finally done with this sort of intro lol i tried to keep it short but somehow failed so be aware that initially it was longer than this, anyway I am so excited to share more lore for this dr. This post is sorta a summary of many eras i went through but I’ll definitely post more detailed versions of each, kiss kiss.

#shifting #game of thrones #game of thrones dr #asoiaf #desired reality #sweetnmay #medieval

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wings-of-ink · 18 hours ago

Text

??? SFW Alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Average, prefers genuine affection in private. He likes to pester or charm – use words, especially in front of others. If physical, he's more inclined to run his fingers through hair or give other light touches.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

The type you kick back in public with to people-watch, who makes snide remarks on the behavior of the passersby. The one who "accidentally" bought 2 tickets to that thing you like. Starts…unexpectedly, accidentally even, at least to him.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Sort of – on his own terms.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He can be great at anything, naturally, but has currently never thought of settling…such a thing couldn't possibly happen to him…right?

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It may depend on the reason, but he'd be painfully cordial especially if the other person had hurt him in a significant way or betrayed his trust.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He…admires conviction, you'll learn the rest later.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He's a double edged sword. He can be both very gentle or quite rough or callous. He's kinda figuring himself out a bit too.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Yes, but may pretend otherwise at first. He does not get hugged near often enough, though this is also news to him.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Not terribly fast, it's a heavy word for him.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Not terribly, his confidence makes him stupidly secure.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Depends on what he's trying to do to you. They may be slow and tempting, leave you wanting more and more, or they may be hot, heavy, and insistent to bend you to his will. Lips, neck, wrists...

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Don't trust him with finding age-appropriate activities, but he's surprisingly soft.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Sitting up to read in bed or having tea next to a window that gets great morning light.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Wrangling him in for bedtime (fights it like a toddler).

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Very slowly, not open, especially at first.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Exceedingly patient unless situations make him particularly desperate for some reason (like a "last chance" sort of thing), in which case he becomes explosive and impulsive. Normally, even if he's angry, he plays the long game.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Information is his favorite – he remembers everything.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

TBD

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Quite protective, he's willing to sacrifice a lot. He doesn't think you can protect him from [redacted].

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Well, he makes everything look effortless so it's hard to tell…

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Overworking, overthinking, over-reaching

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He's pretty conscious of outward appearances.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He feels incomplete now, so maybe. ^_^

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

I think all of these are best left discovered later :3

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Pettiness

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

No surprise – he has a nighttime routine. It's not complicated, but it's definitely a ritual and he feels incomplete without it.

#god cursed if #gc ro ???#sorry - meant to have these done by yesterday but I haven't felt well the last few days #feeling better - going to be getting them done soon :D

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orkauh · 12 hours ago

Text

[Pre-lude]

Please, Mr. Kento… Your Wife Really, Really Needs You.

Synopsis.

It started with one protective, bratty remark — the kind you thought was harmless. You just had to remind her whose husband she was lusting after. Now you’re trapped in a cold war of denied orgasms and torturously slow edging, courtesy of Mr. Nanami: your devoted, composed, maddeningly restrained husband… and a pediatric neurosurgeon with the patience of a saint. He says it’s about intimacy. You say it’s cruel. And maybe you are a bit of a brat. But you're also a very slow learner. Unfortunatly for you — he has all the time in the world to make sure you learn your lesson...

Pairing. Kento Nanami X Reader

MDNI — 17+ ONLY. This work is intended for mature audiences. It features adult themes and is not suitable for minors. Do not interact if you’re underage. While this chapter is relatively tame, the series will contain explicit content, including bratty reader behavior, soft-dom Nanami, slow burn tension, and a whole lot of torturous edging. Expect power dynamics, emotional intimacy, pregnant sex, and a husband who is obsessively in love — but maddeningly restrained. No pathetic women here — only messy, real ones who push buttons and learn lessons the hard way. A happy ending is promised, but not without a very long, very frustrating road there. Reader is a slow learner. Fortunately (or not), Mr. Nanami has all the time in the world.

Word count. 569

A/N. im not sorry :)

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“Come on, Nanami,” Gojo drawls, already halfway through his second glass of something suspiciously pink. “Don’t act like you’re not a beast behind closed doors. I’ve known you too long.”

He’s doing it again.

You shoot your brother a narrow-eyed glare across the table, but he just grins wider — clearly enjoying the way Nanami’s expression stays perfectly calm. Perfectly blank.

Nanami sets his glass down with quiet precision.

“Need I remind you, Gojo… you’re talking about your sister.”

The table chuckles.

Gojo shrugs. “Exactly why it’s funny.”

And then she speaks — Akutami. The woman across from you, with too much gloss and too little shame. Her voice is syrupy. Her smile — a shade too sharp. And her eyes? Locked on your husband.

“You know what?” she hums, lazily twirling her earring. “I think Gojo might be right. There’s just… something about a man like Nanami. All that quiet? It usually means trouble. God only knows I’d like some for myself.”

But it’s not just the words.

It’s the way her gaze drags — from his loosened collar to the subtle flex of his forearms beneath cotton sleeves. She lingers there, eyes shamelessly glued to the fabric stretched over his broad chest — like she’s imagining her hands there instead. Like she’s already peeling him apart in her head.

She looks at him like he’s the main course. Like she’d lick the plate clean if given half the chance.

Someone lets out a low “ooh.”

Because everyone at the table knows: She and Nanami used to date. Briefly. Quietly. Until he met you — and never looked back.

That “ooh” isn’t just at the flirtation. It’s at the history.

Earlier, she’d smiled too wide and said too little. Like you weren’t worth mentioning. Like bratty you wasn’t the best option. Like you were a placeholder in heels.

And now — she’s testing the waters. Right in front of you.

It’s a joke. A harmless one, maybe. But it lands like lipstick on a collar that isn’t yours.

Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s that woman. Maybe it’s Gojo.

Whatever it is, you smile. You shouldn’t. You do anyway.

You raise your glass — tilting it toward your husband — and the ring on your finger catches the light like a weapon.

Brilliant-cut. Impossible to ignore. A bold, glittering promise Nanami insisted on. You’d teased him about it once — that it was too much. But he’d only shrugged and said, “If it’s going to be on you, it should be the best.” You reminded him he didn’t have to compete.

He reminded you you’d be wearing it forever.

Diamond. Clarity. Weight. A statement — and a reminder: he’s not available.

“Please,” you purr, swirling your champagne. “If you knew what he was like behind closed doors…”

You pause — grin slow and wicked.

“You’d know he’s the one on his knees.”

A beat. Then —

“For me.”

Silence.

Gojo wheezes — choking on a laugh like he just won a bet. Akutami freezes, blinking like she didn’t expect to be outplayed. Someone drops a fork.

And Nanami?

He looks at you. Pointedly. Just one glance — heavy, steady. A quiet promise of consequences.

He raises a brow. Slow. Sharp.

Then he reaches for his cuff — unclasps one. Then the other. Rolls his sleeves up to his forearms, smooth and deliberate. Still watching you.

He lifts his wine glass. Takes a sip. Doesn’t say a word.

—

That should have been your first warning...

A/N. are you ready? cause im NOT. im not even a big NANAMI stan but i have a friend who is this is for you Beefy. the next chapter has me. Also gege is the villin in all my stories. after go/jo hes dead to me. DED!

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cosmic-whispers · 1 hour ago

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When I'm Above the Trees - Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: Heather Collins sees a lot. She sees how Robby is with you. And how you are with him. And she watches you fall in love. A story of heartbreak, healing, and moving on. Inspired by happiness by Taylor Swift.

Warnings: Collins pov (she is NOT villianized in this, but it’s v angsty for her but with a hopeful ending), fem!reader/robby endgame (age gap mentioned, not specified), attending!reader, mention of attempted suicide patient, violence against healthcare workers, jealousy/self-worth issues/insecurity, medical inaccuracies, no use of y/n

Words: 4.2k

Notes: Hi, coming out of writing retirement with this little fic because I’m in love with this man. This is my first go at writing for the pitt, so please let me know what you think! The news from earlier this week about Tracy was very disappointing. Collins was amazing and deserves the world, and it makes me sad that we won't see her again.

In hindsight, she was blinded. It was obvious, right from the beginning.

When you were first hired on as the new attending at PTMC a few months ago, Heather actually liked you. You were young, had been an attending for just a year before joining the Pitt, but you were eager, kind, and wickedly smart. You were attentive, patient, and listened to everyone’s concerns. You naturally navigated towards Robby. You were both the day shift attendings, you bounced ideas off each other. That wasn’t surprising to Heather. He was an extraordinary doctor, fascinating and full of experience and advice.

You asked interesting questions, encouraged his ramblings. You challenged him in ways no one else dared to–questioning his judgements with patients. You never did it in a rude or condescending way, you were genuine in your curiosity and your input was valued by everyone. Including Robby. That was surprising to Heather at first–he never liked his medical opinions being questioned. But he let you do it. Maybe you were able to get away with it because you were an attending. Maybe because the patient satisfaction scores increased after you started working there and he valued your opinion.

But Robby’s patience was short. He was quick to get frustrated, throw a sarcastic comment, and run away from anything that wasn’t medicine. Heather knew that all too well. She had been close to him once. She shared love with him once. But, as it always happened with Robby, his lack of communication, brutal sarcasm, and steel-enforced emotional walls drove her away. It drove most people away.

But you were not like most people.

You were patient, stubborn, and unwilling to take no for an answer if you knew there was something you could do to help someone. You listened. Without judgement, without expectation. And it was exactly what Robby needed. A friend. Robby opening up was rare, something that he had outright refused to do in the past and something she had begged him to do for years. It made something ache in her chest that it wasn’t with her, but she was grateful that he had someone.

She didn’t realize when it became more than what she thought it was.

She didn’t realize it when he insisted you be at his side for the attempted suicide victim that came into the hospital one Wednesday evening. She had noticed previously that suicide cases were particularly hard for you. You never said anything, and she never asked. But Robby seemed to know and he stayed by your side the entire time. She saw how proud he was of you after the patient was stabilized.

Not when a car accident victim came in and she saw you both working on the patient like a well-oiled machine. You both knew what the other was going to say before you had even opened your mouths. She saw the way Mohan and Mel looked between the two of you in awe–two people completely in their element and tuned to the same frequency.

Not when a patient came in whose lungs weren’t able to provide enough oxygen after catching COVID. She saw Robby’s chest shake in restrained spain when the patient ended up coding. Heather knew he was thinking about Adamson. He walked away without saying a word, disappearing around the corner. She thought about going after him, but noticed you following close behind.

She assumed it was a friend comforting a friend.

But she didn’t witness that summer evening on the roof where Robby hugged you so tight you thought he might bruise you. She didn’t witness the moment the shine returned to his brown eyes and he finally let go of whatever was holding him back from you. She didn’t witness how he kissed you with so much passion and tenderness and devotion.

She didn’t witness the quiet moments late at night in his apartment in the following months–you and him, cuddled in bed naked, and Robby, so unlike himself, rambling on and on about every thought, fear, and insecurity in his head without any hesitation.

She didn’t know.

To Heather, you were just his friend.

To Heather, he was still her chance.

Her chance to have a family, to have a baby. To create the life she had always dreamed of. And in her dreams, Robby was still the man standing next to her.

Until that day in August.

The massive heatwave raging through Pittsburgh was bad enough, the large influx of patients with heat strokes and rashes and sunburns, on top of the usual flow in the ED made it a terrible day for every healthcare worker and patient alike. It seemed like everyone was wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap at any moment.

A patient had come in, screaming and panicked, a stab wound to the shoulder and you took him into a treatment room. Heather could hear him cursing from the nurses station.

“You fucking bitch, that fucking hurts!”

Heather glanced into the room, seeing the knife still embedded in the man’s shoulder. You were applying what she assumed was lidocaine on the stab site. From what she could tell, his vitals were good and you were stabilizing him for scans.

“You’ll feel it start to numb you shortly, Mr. Gale,” you said, patient as always. “It should only burn for a moment.”

He grabbed your arm, his strong grip pinching your skin. “Get this fucking knife out of me!”

Heather stood immediately, moving toward the room. Mateo was already there, trying to step in between the two of you.

“Let her go, man.”

“Mr. Gale, if I remove the knife, it can cause you to bleed out. We need to do scans to be able to best determine how to help you,” you explained.

“Mr. Gale,” Heather said, getting the man’s attention. “She’s right. We need to be able to assess the wound before pulling out the knife. Please, let her go.”

“NO! I’m in pain, I got fucking stabbed, and you’re not helping me!” The man was panicking and started pulling at your arm harder. Heather looked back at the nurses station and made eye contact with Dana, who was already looking their way in concern. ‘Security,’ she mouthed and Dana nodded.

“Sir–” Mateo started to speak, before the man, in his panicked state, grabbed the hilt of the knife and pulled it out. The three of you watched in shock as blood began spurting from the wound, landing on your scrubs, and he swung at you, slicing the skin on your arm. You screamed in pain, causing him to let go. He ran toward Heather, who he pushed against the doorframe, and ran out of the room.

She rubbed her arm where she hit it, and looked back as the man was tackled down by who she thought was security. Her eyes widened in shock, mouth agape.

It wasn’t Ahmad. It was Robby.

Robby, who was always restrained and stoic and showed his anger in sarcastic quips rather than physical violence, tackled a man with a knife in his hands. She felt rooted to the spot as she watched the patient struggle against Robby’s grip. The knife had slid out of the man’s hand and Robby was holding him down on the floor, pinning him down with his hands against his shoulders and a knee on his lower back. The man continued to try to fight him off, but Heather could tell he was weakening from the blood loss.

She looked around, noticing shocked faces of the residents who were all staring at Robby. Perlah and Princess were whispering to each other in a corner, looking between Robby and the room you were in.

Ahmad came sprinting from around the corner and Robby immediately got up, rushing towards her. Heather’s spine straightened and she was about to tell him that she was ok, until he moved past her and into the treatment room. She turned, her gaze following his back as he made his way straight to you.

She felt something physically crack beneath her ribs and she swallowed the lump that swelled at her throat. She felt…unimportant. Disregarded.

She looked at you, tears lining your eyes but still composed as always. Mateo was applying pressure to the wound on your arm. Heather backed away, far enough to be out of the way, but close enough that she could still watch. It was masochistic–the sight before her continued to make her chest feel tight and eyes feel warm, but she couldn’t look away.

“How’s your pain level?” Robby asked you, peeling away the gauze Mateo had been using and assessing the wound.

“Not high. It doesn’t seem that deep,” you answered, your voice unusually low and quiet. Your hands were shaking, in adrenaline or fear, and Heather did not miss your uninjured hand reaching for Robby’s and squeezing him. He stared at you for a moment too long and let go of a shuddering breath.

“Just some stitches,” he said, voice low. “I thought…I heard you scream and I lost it. I wanted to kill him.”

Heather was shocked. At the intimacy of the moment, how close you were sitting, how tender he was being with you.

“I know, but I’m ok,” you said as Robby started gathering everything he needed for your stitches.

“Get her an IV, we’ll start some antibiotics,” he said to Mateo and the two of them moved fast through the process. You winced when he injected the lidocaine and Robby whispered something low to you that Heather couldn’t hear, but it made you laugh.

“Gale is HIV negative,” Mateo said, reading the patient’s chart.

“Good. We’ll still start you on PEP right away, just in case,” Robby said and you nodded.

They continued treating your injury and Heather stood there. Unmoving. Watching.

Watching the familiar way his arms tightened around your waist and cradled your head to his chest once he was done with the stitches and Mateo had left. He leaned his head on yours and she could see his hands shaking where they rested on your back. Your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, holding him close to you and you whispered something in his ear–maybe a thank you or a reassurance. And he chuckled, leaning down and kissing your forehead quickly before letting go of you.

She knew she was intruding, but her legs wouldn’t move. She had never seen Robby like that. He was always restrained, unwilling to be anything but controlled in front of anyone. But here he was. Grasping your hands as you separated and smiling at you before his eyes flickered back to your arm, making sure you were alright. He looked at you like you were the only thing that could make him smile, the only thing that mattered to him…like he loved you. She couldn’t remember if he ever looked at her like that.

You took a deep breath and stepped away from him, turning and walking away from the room.

“You know you’re going home, right?” he asked, walking behind you.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a scratch, Robby. I’m staying.”

You looked up and your eyes met Heather’s for a moment.

“Hey, Collins. Are you ok? I saw him push you.” Your concern was genuine and it made Heather feel almost nauseous.

“I’m fine. Not even a scratch. I’m glad you’re ok,” she said and managed to keep her tone even and calm.

“Thank God! Thank you for coming to help,” you said, smiling kindly at her. She glanced behind you to Robby, who was still hovering behind you. He was staring at you, like there was no one else in the room. It made her heart burn and she forced a smile on her face as she looked back at you.

“Of course,” she said and walked away, unable to look at you and him for another moment.

She couldn’t stop thinking about her dream. In her fantasies, it was still eight years ago. She was waking up with Robby’s strong arms around her, caressing her pregnant belly. It haunted her mind, constantly. At home, where she had too much time to daydream. At work, where she had to bite her tongue every time he saw you with him. The ugly, raging thing inside her chest grew larger every day, and she knew it was a matter of time before it exploded out of her.

It was barely 7 am, day shift was trickling in for their shift. She saw Robby and Abbot finishing their conversation, with the night shift attending clapping Robby on the shoulder and walking away. She gazed towards you as you walked in. You were heading into the lounge, your bag still strung over your shoulder and you smiled at Santos as she walked in behind you.

She slowly approached Robby, who was gazing down at the tablet in his hand.

“Hey.”

Robby quickly glanced at her over his glasses. “Morning.”

She hesitated for a moment, but managed to force the words out of her. “You have a moment to talk?”

He was looking at her now and she wanted to smile. His attention was on her. He almost looked concerned.

“Everything ok?”

“Yes, it’s just something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” She motioned towards the ambulance bay and began walking out, Robby following close behind her. She made it outside and rounded the corner for some privacy. He stood before her, glasses still perched on his nose and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. He felt so familiar to her, like no time had passed since the last time she felt like this for him.

She took a deep breath and spoke before her nerve died. “Robby… I still have feelings for you.”

The silence that followed was deafening and seemed to drag on for hours. She looked at him expectantly, her smile diminishing as the seconds dragged on and he didn’t react. He looked off to the side and took a few deep breaths before looking back at her, seemingly deciding what to say.

“Heather, why would you say that to me?”

She was taken aback.

“Because it’s how I feel.”

“I…it’s been years. Things have changed…What did you expect to happen?” he said, his eyebrows furrowed. His deep brown eyes looked almost sad as they bored into her.

“Robby…things can be like they used to. Better.” Especially since she had heard from Dana that Robby was finally in therapy. She didn’t think too hard about what or who convinced him to do that.

“Heather, it’s too late,” he said, voice low and careful. “If you had come to me a year ago with this I would have jumped at the chance, but I’m not in the same place in my life. A lot of my past…I’ve healed. I’ve learned to move on from the pain and,” he hesitated for a moment before continuing. “And I found someone to help me through that.”

Heather whispered your name. He nodded, eyebrows furrowed, face serious. She looked down, feeling tears burning in the corners of her eyes.

“I didn’t realize it was like that. That you’d move on so quickly.” Her voice quivered as she spoke and she cursed herself for feeling so foolish. So angry and sad and embarrassed.

“Quickly? Heather, I spent years regretting what happened between us. Years wishing I could have you back in my life, but thinking I wasn’t good enough for you. Or anyone.” His hands rubbed over his face and took a step away from her. He chuckled, humorless and sad. “You know I went to therapy? You always begged me to, and I feel like shit knowing that I never did because of my pride. But…”

But he did it for you. He didn’t have to say it.

“I wanted you for years. A life with you. But not anymore.”

She couldn’t stop the sob that bubbled out of her. “Why can’t you want that now?”

“You know why. I'm sorry, Heather, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his hand landing on her shoulder, trying to keep his distance but still comfort her at the same time. “I care about you. I always will. But she’s…she’s everything.”

She didn’t find it fair. You only knew him for a few months. She knew him for years. She had seen him at his lowest moments, yet you were the one to help him heal through it. You were the one he was willing to change for. She wanted to scream at him that he was being cruel, but she knew that he wasn’t.

“It feels like you’re choosing her over me. When we've been through so much together. When I’m the one who’s known you longer.”

“But you never understood me. Not the way I needed you to. And that’s partly my fault for not opening up to you,” he said.

She didn’t understand him the way you understood him. It was unspoken, but they both knew it.

“It's not fair.”

“No, it’s not. We missed our chance. But…Heather, you have to move on.”

She nodded, wiping the tears off her face and straightening her spine. “Alright.”

“Are you going to be ok?” He asked her and she forced another fake smile on her face. She didn’t know if he could still tell if it was real or not.

“You know I will.”

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded and walked away, piercing a hole straight through her heart. She watched him walk away, towards the nurses station where you stood. You were smiling, talking with Dana quietly before your shift officially began. Robby approached you, his hand landing on your lower back and you looked up at him, your grin growing and eyes shining. And him…

The way he was holding you…looking at you. The certainty and devotion in his gaze. A look in his eye that had never existed before you. He was in love.

She could see it now.

Her heart split in two, knowing the future she had pictured in her mind—Robby at her side—would never be a reality. Not with her. The baby she imagined would never have his warm, brown eyes or his charming nose. Or his smile. Maybe in another lifetime, maybe if you had never shown up in Pittsburgh. Maybe if she had loved him better back when they were together.

She loved Robby and wanted him to be happy. That’s all she ever wanted for him. And he was happy with you. Despite her jealousy, she wondered what it was like for you. What he was like with you. Did he cuddle with you? He always used to grumble when Heather would ask him to cuddle saying that he got way too overheated. Did he complain about that to you? Or did he do it without complaint just to be able to hold you close to him? Did he cook his incredible latkes for you? Did you cook for him?

She didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. She didn’t know him like that anymore. But she knew that he opened up to you in a way he didn’t open up to anyone. He let you comfort him after difficult cases, shared long conversations that she only knew existed through brief glances through the window in the break room door. She knew that he was more affectionate and open with you in public than he had been with her. That he was willing to put his medical license on the line and attack a patient because they hurt you. He was healing with you… for you.

She had no right to feel jealous. The ache in her heart changed as she realized that her and Robby were nothing but a pretty dream. And that it was her turn to heal.

With the vision of what could never be lingering in her mind, she knew Robby was right. It was time to move on.

It was difficult. At first.

You all worked together. It was like a nightmare she could never escape.

You were everywhere.

And Robby. He lingered around you and you around him. He did silly things to make you laugh and lent you his sweaters when it got too cold. He gave you secret smiles and held your hand when a case hit you too hard.

He remained professional with her, continuing to help Heather with her education. He wasn’t avoiding her, he was answering her questions, and he continued to value her medical opinion. But it was awkward now, a weird tension in every interaction. All she could feel was the burning ache of rejection and jealousy.

Anger. At him. At you.

It wasn’t warranted. She knew that. But she couldn’t help but feel that way. Every touch, every look, every soft whisper you shared was like a spear to her heart. She tried to look further into every interaction, trying to convince herself that she still knew Michael. Not Dr. Robinavitch. It made her frustrated, trying to move on but feeling stuck in time and lost at the same time.

Why? Why you? Why was she not enough for him when they were together? Why wasn’t she enough for him now?

Why couldn’t she be the one that made him smile more often, or the one making him laugh when she shared an inside joke? It was you. You made him…lighter.

Neither of you were particularly trying to hide it. While nothing outright happened, lingering touches and glances and smiles were noticed by more than just Heather. There was a betting pool about whether you and Robby were already together and if not, when it would happen. She noticed the others trying to avoid the subject around her, but it was inevitable. She had ended up joining the pool just to get everyone to stop looking at her with pity.

It was a shockingly slow morning. Heather was at the computer, catching up on her charting and making up to date notes for her patients when Dana approached her.

“Hey, Collins. Have you seen sad boy and sunshine?”

She didn’t have to ask Dana who she was talking about.

“Who knows?” She shrugged and continued charting.

She felt Dana’s stare on the side of her face and she tried as hard as she could to keep her features calm.

“You ok, kid?” Dana asked and Heather, composed as always, just looked at her.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m not stupid or blind. Things have been…tense lately. With you and Robby.” She waited for Heather to say something, but what could she say? Dana was right.

“Look, I know that seeing them together might not be the best thing for you. And I don’t know what happened between you and Robby that made things this awkward. But whatever it is, you got to let it go. The past…it’s not always a good thing to get swept up in what-ifs.”

Heather smiled at Dana, trying her hardest to make it look real. “I’m fine, Dana. I’m happy for him. For them.”

“Is that why you always avoid taking on a case with her?”

Dana didn’t wait for an answer before walking away. It was true. She would avoid you as much as she realistically could. She suspected that you knew what she was doing, but your kind eyes and bright smile never gave away if it made you upset.

Robby stood in the peds room, his face shoved into his hand and Heather could tell that he wanted to cry. The twelve year old girl had passed away after you and him had been working on her for almost an hour and she knew that Robby was taking it hard. Blaming himself.

She saw you approach him slowly and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. It reminded Heather of what she used to do to comfort him after days like this. She remembered the way he would shrug her off and insist that he was fine and no, there was nothing he wanted to talk about.

But with you…His hand came up to his shoulder to cover yours. She could see the way his grip tightened around your smaller fingers and you placed your other hand on his back, rubbing it gently. You were speaking, but she couldn’t hear anything that you were saying to him. You were tucked away, near the back of the room, away from prying eyes, but she saw. She saw the way his shoulders relaxed, how he was able to take a shaky, deep breath in and come back to himself. He nodded at you and gave you a real–albeit exhausted and sad–smile.

It was easy, simple. It was like you knew exactly what he needed without him having to say anything. Like you were attuned to him.

He was a different man than the one she used to know, she realized. A man you knew intimately. A man you loved just as fiercely as he loved you.

She knew that now. Accepted it.

She watched him engulf you in his arms and she smiled.

The rage in her heart lightened, drifting further and further away and it felt like she could finally breathe after months of drowning. She finally understood that since the moment you came into PTMC, she had no chance. And she was happy for Robby. Happy that he had someone who understood him, listened to him, and loved him the way you did. It hurt to accept that, but she knew that Robby was right.

It was time to move on.

And she was finally ready.

#michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #dr robby imagine #dr robby fic #michael robinavitch #the pitt fic #the pitt #michael robby robinavitch x reader #Michael robinavitch imagine

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justwinginglife · 18 hours ago

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One Year Anniversary Celebration!!

Hi, guys! Wow. It's been a whole dang year since I started posting fics on here. In this last year, I've made so many new friends, watched so much new anime, played so many fun games, got a divorce and survived, amassed over a thousand followers (which is ridiculously cool, thank you!!) and now I'm celebrating with you all! Can't thank you enough for all your support even when I'm edging you with my damn writer's block and unfinished WIPs.

Speaking of WIPs, in celebration of my anniversary, I thought I'd drop some smut for yall, cuz I know yall are a horny bunch and I love every horny bone in your bodies.

So to my KN8 fandom, the coolest fandom in existence, I wanna say that I've literally never met more fun, more silly, more interesting, more kind people in my entire life than I have in this fandom and I feel so blessed to be able to get to know you all. Can't wait to talk with you all more! Hope you enjoy Starstruck.

And for my LADS fandom, the fandom that is literally like 2/3 of my 1000+ followers, thank you so much for the warm welcome! I started LADS kinda late, but boy have I just been SUCKED in and I'm here to stay! I love all of our simp talks, all of our angst talks, I love the passion that everybody shares, and I look forward to more LADS projects and conversations! Please enjoy more of my horny menace of a reader.

Lastly, I want to give special shoutouts so bear with me cuz I'm an emotional person.

To my dear friends who have always supported me even when we haven't had the time to talk because life gets in the way, I love you so so much and I hope you're all doing well. I am genuinely so much happier this year than I was before I met you all. @tbaluver @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @94biscuits @ryzheling @sapphrem @saebaey @maruflix @floweringdaisie @lumincity @inkytypewriter

**special thanks to @ectopodl3 who is the reason I had the courage to make a blog like this and actually post my work

To new friends I've recently made and hope to talk more with, thank you for letting me talk your ear off, and for inspiring me! @irandial @sweetcalebb @iizuumi @wifeyofsylus

And to my followers, the people who support and motivate me, I appreciate your kind words and your patience with me, so much more than you'll ever know. I look forward to surprising you with more fics this year and can't wait to hear your thoughts!

#han’s musings #kaiju no. 8 #kn8 #lads #lnds #l&ds

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lokibutts · 2 days ago

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The Winter Soldier - Like a Dog

Thots from Xionbutt: Two in one day!? I've been really wanting to write more recently, so I ended up just recycling one of my old bot intros from j.ai to write a full fic. A little angst, a little fluffy. I just love this man so much. w/c: 1.5k

He didn’t know why, but he had to be around them. The Winter Soldier didn’t care about much and was designed to kill, yet she consumed every thought he had— Y/N, his little матрешка.

He never wanted to leave her. She was the first person to show him kindness, even if he only met them because he crashed into her window one night, bloodied and full of bullet holes. After a few moments of screaming and trying to settle each other’s heartbeats, she cared for him, stitched him up, and bandaged his wounds as if caring for a wounded stray. He was a well-known and feared assassin. Someone who had made a reputation as being HYDRA's dog, yet around Y/N? He was a lovesick puppy. A mutt who followed her all around the house, scared they would disappear if they weren’t in his sight. They bathed together, ate together, and she even let him sleep in her bed any time he showed up. All he could offer was his protection and company, even if he barely spoke a word to them, only answering in nods, grunts, hums, and when he called them ‘матрешка’ to get their attention.

Now? Now, he followed her around the house as the both of them got ready for bed. The Winter Soldier was wearing a pair of black sweats that she had brought him, so he didn’t need to sleep in his tactical gear. He couldn’t wait to get her in bed and hold her hand as they fell asleep. His eyes wandered across their body, admiring their form as she slipped on a pair of shorts. He had to stop himself from letting out a pitiful whine since she was taking too long. Didn’t she know what he was doing to him?

“Hurry up.” He said to her, a slight frown on his face as Y/N turned around and laughed, holding onto a shirt they were about to change into. His patience ran thin as he got up to scoop them into his arms to bring them to bed, throwing her gently onto the pillows before crawling up behind them. His strong arms pulled her back into his chest as he nuzzled his face into her hair, breathing in the scent of their shampoo - vanilla and honey. The scent alone causes his cock to twitch in his pants and his arms to tighten around them, god he wanted her so bad. He wanted to feel their skin against his own, always wondering how it would feel to press his lips against hers.

“поцелуй меня?” He whispered into their hair, his eyelids growing heavy the more they stayed cuddled up together.

"What was that?" She answered back, letting out a yawn as she turned around in his arms to face him. A sleepy smile on her face when her hand reaches up to cup his cheek, admiring his cerulean eyes and how they seemed to shine as the television casted a soft glow on his face. They always slept with the television on, it helped him sleep better at night knowing that there was constant noise in the background of their little haven.

A huff leaves him as he inches closer to Y/N, seeming to study their expression in case he made them uncomfortable. That was the last thing he wanted, but when he noticed they hadn't moved away as he got closer he put his forehead against their own.

"I said kiss me." he murmurs, his voice almost breaking into a whine as he felt his lips graze against their own as he spoke the words. A shaky breath leaves him as he tries to control himself. If he gets too worked up, he's scared he'll ruin the perfect moment.

"You know, for someone that barely talks, you're awfully needy tonight."

"Hmph."

A smile forms on their face again as they let out their own shaky breath. It was something they always wanted, ever since they started getting closer but they didn't even know his name. There were some nights where they weren't even sure he was real.

"Are you sure that's what you want? For me to kiss you?" her voice barely a whisper as their hand moves to his cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers threading in his hair.

A deep groan left him as he moved forward to crush his lips against their own. The action itself seemed to shock his entire being as their lips awkwardly moved against each other, still giving enough time for one of them to pull away if they needed to. When that never came, they pulled his head back slightly to deepen the kiss. The soldat immediately swiped his tongue against the seam of their lips to beg for entrance. Another whine left him when they obliged, their tongues dancing together as he wrapped pulled them flush against his chest not wanting to leave any room in between them. He needed to feel more, remind himself he was human.

"я тебя люблю" he whispered to them, his brows furrowing at the confession as if it was something foreign to him. Who knows, it probably was and it was the first time he's ever said it to someone else. "Я люблю тебя так сильно, что у меня болит сердце, ко��да тебя нет рядом."

"What does that mean?" her voice soft and quiet as they look at him for an answer, her eyes heavy with sleep. He didn't want to tell them what it meant. It would mean that they would be a liability to him more than they already were. So he just shook his head, not wanting to spoil the secret and choosing instead to just fall asleep with them in his arms.

The next morning he was gone. It was something that she expected since he never stayed past dawn. Y/N wasn’t even sure how he snuck out so quietly or where he would go for days on end, but she never asked.

What wasn't normal was him never coming back. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months yet he never came back. She kept her window unlocked, waiting for the day he climbed through the fire-escape to enter her apartment.

Eventually two years passed.

Y/N was at a local coffee shop around the corner from her apartment, drinking from her cup when someone rushed into the coffee shop to yell at the barista to turn on the news. The commotion caused all the patrons of the shop to crowd around the one TV, everyone wanting to see the chaotic scene on the screen.

The news anchor was at the scene in Vienna where different diplomats of various countries were gathered to pass the Sokovia Accords to keep a better eye on the Avengers and anyone who seemed to have some sort of super strength or powers, yet it didn’t seem like it went as planned.

“One of the victims of this bombing happened to be King T’Chaka of Wakanda who was attending the proceedings with his son Prince T’Challa. We’re still getting more--” The news anchor is quietly interrupted by an unknown person before their eyes widen and they look back at the camera. “Ladies and gentleman, we have breaking news. Sources have told us that CCTV has been released of the bombing suspect who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes. Law enforcement asks for the entire city’s cooperation as they track down the suspect and to call in to the tip line if you have any information about the suspect.”

Y/N’s heart stops the moment they show James’ picture from the CCTV footage. It was him. The same man who would follow her around aimlessly in her apartment, always begged her to make him his favorite snack and who she would hold in the shower as he cried.

‘James Buchanan Barnes’ she whispers to herself with a soft smile before turning around and leaving the coffee shop, immediately messaging her best friend Natasha about the incident to get more information about this James Buchanan Barnes

#oc: lokibutts #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #the winter soldier

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quietpages71 · 2 days ago

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Skz ot8 headcanons (when they comfort you after a bad day)

#straykids #skz fluff #ot8 headcanons #comfortcore #writingblr #softskz #skzxreader ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆🫧🫂

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⋆౨ৎ Bang Chan:

Bang Chan’s comfort is like a protective hug that shields you from the storm. He’s the first to notice when you’re not yourself and won’t let you face a bad day alone. He listens with empathy, never rushing you to explain but ready to catch every word when you do. His voice is steady and reassuring, full of gentle reminders that you’re loved exactly as you are. He’s the one who will stay up late, talking or just sitting in silence, making sure you know you’re safe. His care feels intentional and wholehearted — like the anchor you didn’t know you needed.

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⋆౨ৎ Lee Know:

Minho’s the silent strength you don’t even realize you need until he’s there. When your day crashes down on you, he won’t push you to talk or explain. Instead, he sits quietly beside you, giving you space but never leaving your side. His hand finds yours in a simple, grounding gesture — warm and reassuring. Sometimes he hums a soft tune, almost like a lullaby only you can hear. It’s calm and steady, like the steady beat of your heart reminding you to breathe. His presence alone is a quiet promise: you’re not alone, not ever.

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⋆౨ৎ Changbin:

Changbin’s approach is straightforward but full of warmth. When you’re down, he might seem brash at first, but beneath it is a fierce protectiveness. He wraps his arms around you in a tight hug that says, “I got you.” He’ll talk you through the mess of your feelings, no sugarcoating — but always with respect and care. His energy feels like a shield, reminding you that it’s okay to be messy and imperfect. Sometimes, he’ll get a little fiery defending you, letting the world know you deserve kindness and patience.

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⋆౨ৎ Hyunjin:

Hyunjin’s comfort is all about tenderness and small details. He notices the little things — a tired glance, a shaky breath. He’ll gently brush your hair behind your ear or offer a soft touch on your arm. If you let him, he’ll hold you close, careful not to smother but enough to remind you that it’s okay to be fragile sometimes. His voice is gentle, almost whispering encouragements, like, “You’re stronger than you think.” If you’re up for it, he’ll distract you with a light joke or a quiet moment watching the stars together, letting you lean on him without words.

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⋆౨ৎ Han:

Han’s comfort is quiet but deeply present. He listens — really listens — without interrupting or rushing. When you feel too overwhelmed for words, he’ll sit close with a soft smile, letting you cry or stay silent. He might draw soothing doodles or write little notes just for you, simple reminders that you’re loved. His warmth is steady, like a calm flame that won’t go out. He understands that sometimes the best comfort is just knowing someone sees your pain and doesn’t run away from it.

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⋆౨ৎ Felix:

Felix is the bright light on your dark days. He knows exactly when to make you smile, even if it’s just a tiny one. When you’re upset, he’ll pull out all the stops — funny voices, silly faces, or random dance moves that feel ridiculous but somehow melt the tension. His hugs are big and full of energy, radiating a warmth that slowly chips away at the heaviness. Even when he jokes, it’s always gentle, reminding you that joy can be found even in hard moments, if you let it in just a little.

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⋆౨ৎ Seungmin:

Seungmin’s comfort is pure calm. When your day falls apart, he offers a quiet space where you don’t have to perform or explain. He might make you a cup of tea or prepare your favorite snack, small acts that say, “I care.” His voice is soft and steady, guiding you gently back to a place of ease. If you want to talk, he listens patiently, never pushing for more than you’re ready to give. If words fail, he simply holds your hand or rests his head on your shoulder — a silent, steady presence that makes everything feel manageable.

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⋆౨ৎ Jeongin:

Jeongin’s comfort is honest and warmhearted. He’s the youngest, but that doesn’t stop him from being tender when you need it most. He’ll hold your hand, maybe squeeze it gently, and offer a small, sincere smile that says, “It’s going to be okay.” If you’re sad, he might bring a favorite blanket or play a soft song, creating a safe little bubble where the outside world can’t touch you. His kindness feels pure and unfiltered — like a promise that no matter how tough it gets, you have someone who cares deeply.

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#skz #stray kids #skz ot8 #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz headcanons #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han jisung #felix #seungmin #jeongin #x reader

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