#I felt I knew what was going to happen. I knew the story already | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaira-diaries · 9 hours ago

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Backstabber: part two

warning: (mentions of trauma/violence)(fluff)(mentions of smut)(yearning angst)(mentions of anxiety/panic attack)

pairing: (fem!reader x In-ho)

word count: 9.7k

a/n: ok ok i know the gif is Mr. Sunshine but rn for the story we're just going to pretend it's not. Was severely hungover while writing this but alas! we got it done. This has been a long time coming & happy reading! (also, is college kicking anyone else's ass already?)

summary: after the events of the games y/n finds herself trying to get back to normalcy and move past the pain of it all, but finds herself back at square one because of a certain someone (wink wink)

read part one here <-

masterlist<-

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The city glowed in a kaleidoscope of colors, each hue of the rainbow shimmering like liquid fire against the slick pavement. Neon signs pulsed with life, their reflections stretching and warping in the puddles that pooled on the streets. The rainfall tapped rhythmically against the windshield as the rivulets of water distorted the view outside. Through the blurred glass, the vibrant lights fractured into streaks, painting the dark skyline in smudged prisms of gold, crimson, and indigo.

Your heart swelled with a deep, comforting joy as you drove through the city.

The evening had been perfect—your father was more vibrant and full of life than you’d ever seen, his laughter echoing in your mind like a melody. Your mother’s eyes sparkled with a youthful radiance, her smile brighter than it had been in years, carrying you back to the carefree days of your childhood. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

When you returned home from the games a year ago, you and Mina made a quiet, resolute decision to sever ties with the relentless chaos of city life. Together, you retreated to the countryside, finding solace in a small, sunlit apartment nestled among rolling hills and whispering trees. The reason was undeniable: the city was haunted. Every corner, every shadow seemed to echo with memories of him—his laughter, his absence, the pain he left behind. It was suffocating, an endless maze of reminders too overwhelming to bear.

So, you both sought a fresh start in a place neither of you had ever called home. The countryside offered a fragile peace, with its golden fields swaying in the breeze and its nights bathed in quiet starlight. Yet, no matter how far you ran, the games had marked you. Their weight lingered in the quiet moments, carving scars so deep you often wondered if they’d ever fade. They had changed you in ways you couldn’t fully articulate, reshaping your very soul, leaving you to navigate a new life that felt as unfamiliar as the land beneath your feet.

Yes, the city haunted you more than you cared to admit, its streets brimming with ghosts of a life you couldn’t outrun. Yet, no matter how heavy the weight of its memories, you couldn’t—wouldn’t—keep away from your parents. They had been your anchor, their concern cutting through your walls with relentless questions about In-ho. What had happened to him? Where had he gone? Were you okay? You could only muster a half-truth, your voice steady but hollow: “He’s okay. We just broke it off. It’s what’s best—so he could focus on his business.” It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The way their eyes lingered on you, filled with implicit understanding, told you they knew better. Yet, the quiet pain etched into your face kept them from prying further.

Now, behind the wheel, your grip tightened on the steering wheel as you approached a red light, the tension in your shoulders mounting as you flinched. A black sedan pulled up too close to your rear bumper, its sleek frame barely visible in your rain-speckled mirror. Your stomach tightened, a chill crawling up your spine, familiar yet unwelcome. You sighed, a long, unsteady exhale, the weight of recognition settling over you. You knew this feeling. You knew him.

As the light flickered green, you pressed on, refusing to look back, your foot steady on the gas. The city’s glow blurred in the corners of your vision, but you didn’t spare an ounce of energy on the creeping dread that clung to you like a shadow. Not tonight. Not now. You moved forward, letting the rhythm of the rain and the hum of the engine carry you through the labyrinth of streets, your focus on the road ahead and nothing else.

You were nearing the edge of the city when your eyes caught sight of the gallery, its elegant facade proudly displaying your name in bold, polished letters. It should have felt like triumph, like validation, but all it brought was a fragile kind of grounding, tethering you to the moment before your thoughts spiraled. It was Mina who had believed in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself, who pushed you to pick up the brush again, to pour your fractured soul into something tangible. Without her, you doubted you would’ve had the strength to confront the canvas.

Growing up, you’d been told over and over that art was a pipe dream, a risky gamble that only fools and dreamers dared chase. But after coming so close to death, what was left to fear? You found the courage—or perhaps the desperation—to create again. Yet, no amount of bravery could erase the color red from your world.

Red.

The very thought of it was a visceral wound, one that tore through you without warning. It wasn’t just a color—it was a specter of guilt, a reminder of lives lost in the cruelest ways. You had seen it splattered across your skin, warm and unrelenting, as innocent eyes stared back at you, lifeless and unblinking. Red was not paint; it was blood. It was screams. It was nightmares.

Now, it was banished. Banished from your paintings, your wardrobe, your home—your entire existence. The sight of it made your stomach twist and your chest ache, the weight of memory crashing over you like a tidal wave. The gallery was proof of your survival, but the absence of red was proof of your scars, the kind that no brushstroke could ever cover.

The breeze wove through your long hair like a gentle whisper as you cracked a window. It was cool and invigorating as you left the city’s glow behind. The hum of your car faded into the rhythm of nature, and the road ahead curved through rolling hills cloaked in darkness. The earth seemed to rise and fall around you, cradling you in its quiet embrace as you drew closer to home.

Above, the night sky stretched endlessly, a masterpiece painted in shades of inky black and deep indigo. The moon hung low and luminous, its surface dappled with grey and white, casting a soft silver light over the landscape. Wisps of clouds drifted lazily across its face, their edges glowing faintly as if kissed by moonlight. Far in the distance, the horizon blurred into a dreamy collage of shadowy mountains and faintly silhouetted buildings, their shapes barely discernible against the star-strewn canvas above.

The scene was mesmerizing, a quiet symphony of beauty that filled the silence in your car and kept your thoughts company. For twenty blissful minutes, you soaked in the view, letting it anchor you in the present and wash away the weight of the day. When you finally turned into your driveway, the familiar sight of your home greeted you, nestled in the hills like a haven waiting to welcome you back.

Stepping through the front door, you let out a tired sigh, kicking off your shoes with a dull thud against the wall. The click of the lock behind you echoed in the quiet house as you shrugged off your pink jacket, the fabric still damp from the night rain. You hung it on the hook beside Mina’s oversized sweater, the two garments swaying gently together like old friends. The promise of relaxation beckoned as you made your way into the living room—until the scene before you sent a jolt through your system.

Your pulse leaped as you froze in place, a startled yelp escaping your lips. “Oh my god!” you exclaimed, spinning on your heel to shield your vision, hand slapping over your eyes. It was Mina—and her boyfriend, James—entwined on the couch, caught mid-act in a moment that no amount of bleach could ever scrub from your memory.

Mina let out a mortified shriek of her own, scrambling off James with the grace of a cat caught stealing food. She grabbed for a blanket nearby, throwing it over herself with a flushed face and wide eyes. “Jesus, Mina, my eyes!” you groaned, your voice dripping with disbelief and exasperation.

Snorting despite her embarrassment, Mina shot back, “Could’ve made yourself known, babe!”

You scoffed, still shielding your face. “Could’ve taken your boyfriend to the privacy of your damn room!” Your voice wavered between frustration and sheer mortification as you heard a muffled laugh from James.

Finally, Mina muttered something about being "decent," and you cautiously dropped your hand, still squinting in case of lingering trauma. Your gaze landed on James, who leaned back on the couch with an infuriating smirk plastered across his face.

“James,” you said flatly, your expression twisted in barely concealed disgust.

“Y/N,” he replied coolly, nodding his head like this was the most casual encounter in the world.

Five minutes later, James slipped out the door, murmuring something vague about an early workday. You didn’t bother to reply; the sound of the latch clicking shut was far more satisfying than anything you could have said. In the kitchen, you leaned against the counter, staring at the stove as the kettle slowly heated. The soft hiss of water simmering filled the quiet space, and the faint aroma of ginger tea grounds you. It was exactly what you needed after… that.

Mina emerged from her room in a plush robe, her damp hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. She hummed a cheerful tune, completely unbothered by the awkwardness of earlier. Spotting you at the stove, she grinned and opened the cabinet, pulling down a mug. “Ooh, make me some too,” she chimed, her voice light and casual. Without waiting for a response, she settled onto the couch, her notebook and a mess of papers spread across the cushions as she began flipping through her homework.

Despite her antics, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of pride as you watched her. Mina, for all her reckless decisions and impulsive streaks, had come a long way. The debts that once weighed her down like a ball and chain were gone, erased thanks to the money In-ho had given her—a bittersweet reminder of him. She’d left her destructive gambling habits in the past, choosing instead to enroll in college and focus on building something real for herself. You admired her for it, even if she still did dumb things like… well, five minutes ago.

The sharp whistle of the kettle snapped you back to the present. You turned off the burner and poured the steaming water over the ginger tea bags, the fragrant steam curling in the air as you filled both mugs. Carefully, you carried them to the coffee table, setting one in front of Mina before claiming your own.

Instead of sitting on the couch beside her, you chose the floor, folding your legs under you and leaning your back against the side of the coffee table. The image of James smirking on that couch was still too fresh, and you weren’t about to risk reactivating that trauma.

Mina glanced up from her notes, a mischievous glint in her eye as she took a sip of her tea. “Still mad?” she teased.

You shot her a glare over the rim of your mug, muttering, “I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

Mina giggled softly, the sound light and teasing as she took another sip of her tea before setting the mug back down on the coffee table. “How are the old folks?” she asked, leaning back into the couch cushions, her robe bunching around her elbows.

You shrugged, your fingers tightening around the warm ceramic of your mug. “Same old. Happy, healthy.”

Her smile deepened, filling with an undeniable warmth that softened her usual playful demeanor. “We got really lucky,” she said quietly, her voice carrying an earnestness that made you pause.

You let out a noncommittal hum. “I guess,” you murmured, your eyes fixed on the tea swirling in your cup.

Mina sighed, the sound heavy with meaning, and when you glanced up, her expression was serious. “I know what happened was... awful, y/n. I have scars too.” Her voice softened, the raw honesty in her tone cutting through the air like a whisper against your soul. “And I guess what I��m trying to say is that I’m proud of you. Of me. Of us.”

Her gaze locked with yours, filled with genuine love and unspoken understanding. The weight of it settled over you like a blanket, and without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your hand gently over hers where it rested on the couch. “I am too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes dropped to your tea, the surface still steaming, faint ripples distorting your reflection. The image wavered, much like your thoughts, and the memories clawed their way back to the surface. What happened was terrible, you thought. The image of In-ho’s face flashed in your mind—the moment his hand slipped from your waist, the cold finality of his silence after you had laid it all bare. Your ultimatum had hung in the air like a blade, and his lack of response had been a response all its own. He had made his choice, and you had been the one left behind.

A sharp ache rose in your chest, unbearable and relentless, like a bruise being pressed too hard. Your throat tightened, and before you realized it, a tear threatened to slip down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, as if denying its presence could erase the pain too.

“Y/n,” Mina’s voice broke through, soft yet cautious, filled with empathy. Her eyes were on you, studying you like she could see the cracks forming. She didn’t push, didn’t prod—just called to you in a way only she could, grounding you before the sorrow could drown you entirely.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to clear the sting in your eyes, and lifted your mug again, letting its warmth anchor you. “I’m okay,” you murmured, more to yourself than her.

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat as you tried to steady your voice. “My gallery looked great on the way home,” you said, steering the conversation into safer waters.

Mina’s face lit up instantly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “The gallery show is going to be amazing!” she gushed, clapping her hands together like a kid on Christmas morning. Then, her expression turned sly. “We gotta talk outfits.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Mina, seriously?”

“What?” she said, feigning offense as she leaned forward dramatically, her robe slipping off one shoulder like she was auditioning for a soap opera. “This is your art, babe! Out in the world! Your name is growing—you’re practically famous now.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to grin. “Let’s not get carried away.”

“I’m serious,” she continued, pointing a finger at you like she was delivering an intervention. “I’ll be damned if I let you show up to your own gallery show looking like—like poop.”

You burst out laughing, nearly spilling your tea. “Poop? Really, Mina? That’s your big motivational speech?”

She shrugged, taking a sip of her tea with the most nonchalant expression you’d ever seen. “Hey, I’m just saying. Your art deserves a look. Something bold. Something sexy. Something that says, ‘I paint masterpieces, and I could also steal your man.’”

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as the laughter rolled out of you. “You are unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smug smile, raising her mug in a toast. “Now, I’m thinking black dress, black heels. You’ll look hot, mysterious, and rich. Total triple threat.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, letting Mina’s playful excitement wash over you. But even as you smiled, that nagging thought returned, creeping into your mind like a shadow. Your name is growing—you’re practically famous now. The words bounced around in your head, but the more you thought about them, the less certain they felt.

There was the real weight of it—the fear that gnawed at your insides, the fear of being found. In-ho. His face, his voice, the way he had slipped out of your life with no real answer, no real closure. The thought of him lurking in the background, somewhere out there, made your chest tighten with dread.

________

Your black gown gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting of the gallery, the fabric flowing gracefully as you moved through the space. The ceilings soared above you, high and vaulted, their pale elegance juxtaposed with the golden glow of the chandeliers that hung like jewels, casting shimmering reflections across the room. The air was filled with the delicate scent of fresh paint—a subtle reminder of the work that had gone into creating the very walls you now stood beside.

The entire gallery radiated warmth, both in its inviting atmosphere and the rich tones of the wood flooring beneath your feet. The walls, a gentle cream, embraced each of your breathtaking paintings, their vibrant colors popping against the soft backdrop. Each piece was lit by strategically placed lights, their glow accentuating every brushstroke, every detail, allowing your art to breathe within the spacious, airy room.

The space felt alive—alive with the pulse of your skill, the soft hum of voices and footsteps mingling with the soft music of the room. Between the intricate molding along the walls and the polished surfaces, there was an undeniable elegance in the air, as if the gallery itself was a work of art.

Every single one of your paintings was up for sale, except for one. It hung on the wall, almost like a secret tucked away among the rest, its presence more intimate than the others. You watched as your family gathered around it—Mina, James, your parents—all admiring the colors, the brushstrokes. It was your mother's favorite, so you had saved it just for her. No amount of her objections could convince you to let her pay for it. It was a gift, one she didn’t need to argue for.

A cordial smile spread across your face as you observed the happiness that radiated from your loved ones. Their laughter and excitement filled the space, and you couldn’t help but feel proud. You continued your slow walk through the gallery, taking in the joy that seemed to pulse through the room.

You couldn’t help but chuckle when you spotted your agent—an energetic whirlwind, buzzing from one person to the next, mingl..chatting up a storm, shaking hands, and making deals. She was a riot, always moving at a mile a minute, but you loved her for it. Without her, this night wouldn’t be the success it was.

But then, your pace slowed. You came upon the first painting you had made after years of silence. The piece felt almost sacred in its own way as if it held a part of you that nothing else could.

It was a portrait—of eyes. His eyes. In-ho’s eyes. The ones that had once looked at you with a depth you couldn’t forget, even if you tried. The brushstrokes were wide and purposeful, capturing the passion of those eyes in a way that felt almost too raw to bear. You had painted the eyes of a man who no longer existed, a man whose memory you had tried to preserve through this one simple piece.

You felt Mina step up beside you, her presence familiar and comforting as always. Her voice was soft, inquisitive. "I always wondered why you painted him," she said, her gaze fixed on the canvas before you.

You sighed, your chest tightening as you looked into those painted eyes. The memories rushed back, but they were no longer as painful as they once were. "I guess I wanted one last look," you began, your voice thick with emotion, "in the eyes of the man I remembered him to be."

You paused, your fingers brushing the edge of the frame as you spoke. "His warmth. His love. I preferred that fiction over the fact of who he turned out to be. A murderer."

You could feel Mina’s quiet understanding beside you. There was no judgment, no need for more words. She just stood with you, letting the weight of the moment settle between you both.

Mina had excused herself a moment later, disappearing into the restroom with a brief, apologetic smile, leaving you standing alone in front of the painting of In-ho. The eyes in the portrait seemed to follow you, a silent reminder of everything you had tried to forget. You couldn’t tear your gaze away, the quiet hum of the gallery around you blending into the background. Time seemed to stretch, the only thing real in the moment being the image before you—the man you had once known, captured forever in paint.

Just as you were lost in thought, a burst of energy tore through the air, and your agent appeared in front of you, practically bouncing with excitement. She squealed so loudly it almost startled you. "Ahh, y/n!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with elation. "I've got wonderful news!"

You had to reach out and grab her shoulders to steady her as she nearly hopped out of her skin, her enthusiasm almost too much to contain. You couldn’t help but giggle, the infectious energy pulling you from your reverie. "Okay, okay, what is it?"

She took your hands in hers, her grip tight with barely contained joy. "Your entire collection has been sold," she declared, her voice cracking with excitement.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. For a moment, everything seemed to stop, the words hanging in the air like a dream you weren’t sure you could believe. You had to cover your mouth with your hands as if to prevent the shock from spilling out in the form of a gasp. "What... who?"

Before she could respond, a voice—his voice—slashed through the atmosphere, smooth and unmistakable. It hit you like a cold wave, the shock of it rushing through your veins. "I never knew you had a knack for the arts."

The words settled in your chest, each syllable like a stone thrown into still water. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body tensed, as if time had frozen. There, standing at the entrance of the gallery, was In-ho—his presence as commanding as ever, his gaze nailed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. Your agent looked between the two of you, a slight frown knitting her brows. You heard her mumble just before excusing herself, surely picking up on the change in the air, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

Your sanity seemed to unravel in an instant, a quiet thread snapping, leaving you exposed and trembling. The ability to breathe, something you had taken for granted, felt stolen from you in a cruel, suffocating moment. He stood there, looking just the same as he did a year ago—too the same. In his all-black attire, the sharp cut of his suit made him seem impossibly distant, yet his red-bottomed shoes gleamed like a cruel reminder of the life you once shared. The man you had loved—maybe even still loved—was here, standing in front of you like a ghost you had desperately tried to bury.

Your body betrayed you, as it always did in moments like this. As he took a few slow, deliberate steps toward you, calling your name, every inch of you screamed to flee, to run, but your legs refused to obey. You found yourself moving backward in sync with him, each step matching his, like a puppet on invisible strings. The ground beneath your feet felt unstable, as though you were walking on glass, and you could hear the sound of your own heart pounding so loudly that it threatened to drown out everything else.

Your vision blurred. Your breath became shallow, ragged, as your mind raced to make sense of what was happening, but there was no escape from the crushing reality of it. This man—this man—was the reason your chest had once felt full of warmth, and now, he was the reason it felt as though every breath was being stolen from you.

You stood frozen, paralyzed by fear, as the memories of what you once shared crashed into you like waves in a storm. Three years. Three years of your life—maybe even more—lost but still echoing in the pit of your stomach. The implicit words between you and him were suffocating, the weight of his presence like a pressure pressing in from all sides.

It was as if time itself had stopped, your body locked in place, unable to move, unable to think. But then, like a break in the tension, a sound shattered the air—a crash. You snapped back to reality as you saw Mina, her champagne glass slipping from her fingers, sending shards of glass skittering across the floor in a violent spray. The noise was deafening, but it was nothing compared to the silence between you and In-ho, the suffocating silence that lingered like a storm cloud over your head.

Mina’s face twisted with pure disgust as her eyes locked on him, her body stiffening as she processed the sight of him. The contempt in her gaze was palpable, but her focus quickly shifted to you—to you, the one who was standing there, paralyzed in the wake of his presence. Without a word, she moved toward you, her hand grabbing your arm with urgency, pulling you away from him.

James was right behind, his grip gentle yet firm on your shoulders, a soft, steadying force in the chaos. But no touch could calm the frantic pulse racing through your veins. Your body felt as though it were vibrating with panic, your chest too tight, your breath too shallow. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in like a suffocating vise. You couldn’t breathe—you couldn’t think. The overwhelming, bone-deep fear that had settled into your bones was blurring your vision, making every step feel like an eternity.

You couldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be here, not with him, not in this moment, not in this suffocating air thick with memories you had buried deep.

With a sharp, desperate pull, you wrenched yourself from Mina’s grip, the sound of her shocked gasp barely registering as you moved. Your feet were moving before your brain could catch up, the instinct to escape roaring louder than everything else. You darted for the doors, the sound of your heart in your ears drowning out the world around you.

You ran—no, you fled. Past the warm golden light of the gallery, past the hum of conversations, and straight toward the exit. You could hear your name being called—his voice—but you refused to acknowledge it. It felt like a rope pulling at you, trying to drag you back into the darkness of everything you had tried to escape.

The doors slammed open in front of you, the cool night air hitting your face like a slap, but you didn’t care. Every step was a fight against the panic that gripped you, a fight against the crushing need to keep moving, to keep running. You could feel the weight of the past pressing against your back, but you pushed forward, ignoring the thumping in your chest, ignoring the tears threatening to fall.

You had to get away.

_______

You found yourself on the nearest rooftop balcony, the city sprawled beneath you in a sea of lights and shadows. The buildings below were faint silhouettes against the dark sky, their windows flickering with life in a world you felt distantly removed from. The cool night air kissed your skin, a small comfort in the stillness that surrounded you. It had taken you nearly an hour to find some semblance of calm, your pulse finally beginning to slow after the frantic rush of fear.

Now, you sat on the edge of the rooftop, your legs dangling carelessly over the side, feet swaying slightly as they hovered inches above the air. The vastness of the city before you seemed to stretch endlessly, the lights below like stars scattered across a canvas too large to take in all at once. Your palms rested in your lap, fingers tense but unmoving, as if your body no longer belonged to you.

You knew you should be heading back to Mina, that you couldn’t stay here, isolated, like some lost fragment of yourself. But you couldn’t bring yourself to move. It was as though your body had forgotten how to function, paralyzed in the space between where you had been and where you needed to go. You couldn’t feel a thing—no warmth, no cold, just an emptiness that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

The world around you seemed muted, distant. Even the sound of the wind brushing through the city, the hum of life below, felt too far away. Then, faintly, you heard the rooftop door creak open behind you. A soft click as it shut, followed by the steady rhythm of footsteps that grew closer with each passing second.

You didn’t need to turn, didn’t need to acknowledge it. You knew it was him—the presence that had once filled your life with warmth, now a shadow that haunted your every step.

Still, you remained frozen. Your gaze stayed fixed on the city ahead of you, watching the endless rows of lights flicker in the distance. You couldn’t look back. You couldn’t face him again.

You let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound barely audible over the hum of the city below. Your gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, the neon lights of a billboard flickering against the night sky, as if they too were too distracted to focus. You didn’t want to look at him. You didn’t want to acknowledge the weight of his presence that seemed to press in from behind, suffocating the already thick air.

“Why are you here?” Your voice was cold, detached, as if you were asking a question you already knew the answer to, but still needed to hear.

He didn’t respond immediately, and you could feel him take a slow step forward. You refused to glance in his direction, but the quiet shift in the air told you everything you needed to know. He was close now, too close. The scrape of his shoes against the concrete was barely audible, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. He leaned against the rooftop’s edge beside you, his body close enough that you could feel his warmth, yet you remained perfectly still, frozen in your resolve.

“I want… I want to try again,” he said, his voice low and tentative, like a fragile promise hovering in the air between you. There was an edge of vulnerability to it, something that clawed at the pieces of you still willing to believe.

You snorted without thinking, the sound bitter and dismissive. Your eyes flicked to the billboard in the distance, the bright lights blinking at you like an illusion—a distraction from the truth. “Leave,” you said, your tone sharp and unwavering. You turned your head slightly, but kept your gaze fixed on the far-off ad, your jaw tight. “You’re wasting your time.”

The words felt like a weight lifted from your chest, but the moment they left your mouth, they felt hollow, the empty space they created echoing back at you. You didn’t want to hear the words, didn’t want to see the man who had once been everything to you standing there, asking for something you could never give him again.

“You never told me about your painting.” His voice was soft, almost too gentle, as if testing the waters, waiting for a crack in your armor.

You swallowed hard, the words like gravel in your throat. "There's a lot of things you don’t know about me anymore," you shot back, your voice colder than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. The words hung between you, each syllable another stone thrown into the chasm that had opened between you. A sudden breeze tugged at your hair, lifting it from your face like a tender reminder of everything you had. But now? Now, it felt like the wind was pushing you away from him.

He stood up, his movements slow, deliberate, and yet, there was a sense of urgency in the way he stepped closer to you. “I doubt that very much, y/n.” His voice was thick with something you couldn’t place—hope? Regret? Whatever it was, it grated against your already raw nerves.

Without thinking, you jumped down from the ledge you’d been sitting on. The movement was sharp and instinctive as if putting distance between you both could somehow silence the noise in your head. Your feet hit the ground with a soft thud, but it felt like the sound reverberated through your chest, shaking your bones. You lifted your hand, instinctively warding him off, your fingers trembling with a mix of anger and something far more painful. “No.” The word came out sharper than you meant, but it was all you could muster as you finally met his gaze. His eyes were weary, so weary, but there was warmth there, too—an impossible warmth that threatened to break you.

“Just… no.” You repeated, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, your chest tight. You took another step back, the distance between you growing but feeling like an ocean. “You made your decision. And in a way, I’m glad you did.”

His confusion was palpable, his head angling as if trying to decipher the pieces of you that were slipping through his fingers. You could see it in his eyes—the search for the woman he once knew, the woman who had loved him unconditionally. But she was gone.

"You have no idea what I had to go through to get to where I am.” The words fell out of you, raw and unfiltered, like a confession that had been buried beneath layers of pain, regret, and shattered trust. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to—he needed to hear it.

“I have yearned for you.” Your voice wavered for just a moment before you steadied yourself as if bracing for the impact. “Your touch, your smell, the way you used to make me feel alive… But I’ve realized again and again that my In-ho—the one I loved—is gone. And what’s left? What’s left is a killer.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and you saw the flicker of pain pass through his features—an undeniable flash of regret, or maybe guilt, but it was fleeting. It wasn’t enough. Nothing could ever be enough to undo what had been done, to heal the wounds that had been carved into your soul.

You stood there, breath shallow, heart aching, staring at him as the distance between you felt vast, impossible to close. You weren’t the same person anymore, and neither was he.

A tear shimmered in his eye, threatening to fall, but it never did. His lip trembled, just slightly, betraying the carefully constructed composure he tried so hard to maintain. He nodded, his expression breaking with something raw, something vulnerable that you hadn’t seen in so long. It was the first crack in the wall he had built between you—the wall that had torn you both apart.

He took a step back as if distancing himself from the emotion that was rising between you like a tidal wave. Slowly, painfully, he turned away from you and started walking toward the rooftop door, each step heavy, weighted with finality. The space between you and him grew wider, and your chest tightened in protest, but you couldn’t move. You could barely breathe.

His hand hovered over the doorknob, and for a brief moment, time seemed to freeze. Then, with one last, reluctant motion, he grabbed it, his fingers curling around the cool metal. He hesitated, turning his head back toward you just before he stepped into the hallway.

The words he spoke were like a slow, fragile exhale—barely audible but cutting through you with the sharpness of a thousand knives. "For what it's worth, y/n," he said, his voice thick with emotion, the sound of it scraping against your heart. "I shut the games down."

Your chin jerked in his direction, your eyes widening in disbelief, a rush of shock and confusion sweeping over you. His eyes were glassy, distant, but there was something else in them, too—shame, maybe sorrow. And, beneath it all, a tenderness that still managed to break through.

"For you," he added, his voice faltering as if the words had cost him more than he could bear to admit.

You felt a tremor run through you as if the very ground beneath you had shifted. He had done it. Shut the industry down—for you, carrying out the ultimatum you had given. The realization hit you like a wave, crashing over every part of you that had ever loved him, ever believed in him.

In a flash, he was gone.

_______

You weren’t sure how you’d managed to end up in your bed, but fragments of the journey flickered in your memory—the way your legs had trembled beneath you, your hand gripping your stomach as nausea clawed its way through you. You could vaguely recall stumbling back to the gallery, the worried looks on Mina’s face blurring into the hum of voices, the soft touch of her hand guiding you. Now, you lay on your back in the quiet darkness of your room, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains and casting pale streaks across the ceiling.

Mina was beside you, her breaths slow and steady, her form curled beneath the blanket like a protective cocoon. The soft rhythm of her breathing should have been comforting, but your mind refused to settle. You couldn’t stop replaying his parting words, couldn’t stop turning them over and over in your head. “I shut the games down. For you.”

The weight of those words pressed against your chest, a maddening mixture of disbelief, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite name. Why had he waited until now to tell you? Why had he carried that secret in silence all this time, letting you believe he was still the man who had abandoned you for something darker, something cruel?

A bitter scoff escaped your lips as you rolled onto your side, the mattress shifting slightly beneath you. Your hand curled into the pillow, your knuckles brushing against the cool fabric as you begged for sleep to come, to pull you into its merciful void. But your mind betrayed you, spinning endlessly, racing through memories and questions you didn’t want to face.

You cursed yourself for it—for allowing him to take up space in your thoughts, for spending even one more second on this when you should have let it go. But the harder you tried to push the thoughts away, the tighter they clung to you, like vines wrapping around your chest.

Your heart ached with the weight of all you had endured, the heartbreak layered upon heartbreak, carved into you by the games. The memories were jagged and raw, cutting into your mind no matter how much time passed. Yet, as painful as it all was, there was a flicker of something else—something that almost felt like peace.

The games were over. They were done. Nobody else would have to endure that nightmare, to face the horrors you had barely survived. And that knowledge, however faint, eased something deep within you, even if just for a moment. But still… he had betrayed you.

Your chest tightened again as you stared at the darkened wall, his face flashing in your mind, his eyes weary and regretful. And then the thought came, unbidden and unwanted—what if you allowed him to explain? What if you let him tell you everything, from the beginning?

The thought lingered, curling around you like a question you weren’t ready to answer. It was a dangerous thing, entertaining the idea of understanding, of finding closure. Yet, in its own way, it brought a strange kind of calm.

And it was that thought—fragile, confusing, and bittersweet—that finally lulled you into sleep, your breaths softening, your body relaxing as the tension melted away into the night.

_________________

It had been a long day—the longest. You sat stiffly in your office at the gallery, the faint hum of distant voices and footsteps barely reaching your ears. The weight of the day pressed down on you, heavier than the leather chair you were perched in. Your desk, usually a comforting space filled with the chaos of sketches and notes, felt foreign now, as though the air itself had shifted.

Your agent had called earlier, her voice brimming with urgency as she reminded you to sign over the paperwork for your collection to the buyer. You had chuckled at the simplicity of it, the practicality. Of course, it needed to be done. But beneath the surface of that mundane task, a strange sensation crept in—a quiet calmness, one you hadn’t felt in so long. This might be it. This might be your chance to finally get the closure you had been chasing in the recesses of your mind. Maybe, just maybe, you could finally get your explanation.

Your hands trembled slightly as you ran a cold, shaky hand through your curled hair, trying to smooth the strands that seemed to rebel against the order you so desperately sought. The thought of seeing him again, here, in this space, set your nerves alight.

And then, as if conjured by your thoughts, there he was.

In-ho knocked gently on the open door, his presence filling the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. He was composed, his suit perfectly pressed, but there was something different about him now—something weary in the way he carried himself, something almost fragile. You didn’t trust it, but you also couldn’t ignore it.

You gestured silently for him to sit, your throat too tight to speak just yet. He stepped inside, his movements measured, the soft sound of his shoes against the floor somehow louder than your own heartbeat. As he sank into the chair across from you, you stood, the paperwork clutched tightly in your hand. You circled around the desk, placing yourself directly in front of him, leaning back against the edge as if the furniture might anchor you.

The distance between you felt suffocating yet electric, and suddenly, you were aware of every small movement you made. You shifted, crossing your arms over your chest, a defensive barrier against the storm that was brewing inside you.

You couldn’t meet his eyes at first, not when the memory of everything you had said to him hung heavy between you. The words you’d hurled at him, sharp and unyielding, still lingered in the air, echoes of the heartbreak you hadn’t fully processed. And yet, even now, there was a part of you—a cursed, stubborn part of you—that begged you to apologize, to soften the sharp edges you’d used to shield yourself.

But you wouldn’t.

You wouldn’t apologize, not even as the tension between you thickened, not even as your heart screamed at you to do so. He didn’t deserve your apology, not after everything he had done.

The silence stretched on, heavy and taut, as you held the paperwork in your hands, your fingers clutching the edges tightly.

Your eyes flicked to him as he sat, legs crossed with an air of practiced ease, his confident demeanor filling the room like he owned every inch of it. Even now, after everything, In-ho carried himself with the kind of composure that could command a crowd—or, in this case, silence. His posture was effortless, but his presence was anything but. Every movement, every breath he took seemed calculated, deliberate, as if even his stillness was designed to draw attention.

You cleared your throat, breaking the thick, unspoken tension that lingered between you like a cloud. “From the beginning,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the quiet. It wasn’t a request—it was a demand.

His gaze flicked to yours, sharp yet unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he might push back, deflect, or stall. But instead, he gave a slight, measured nod as if he’d been expecting this all along. He gestured toward the door with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes locking on yours.

“Shut the door,” he said simply, his voice low and calm yet carrying the weight of something far deeper.

You hesitated for just a beat, long enough for your heart to stutter in your chest. Then, wordlessly, you turned and walked to the door, the sound of your footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet room. The faint click of the latch as you shut it behind you felt like the closing of a chapter—or perhaps the opening of one you weren’t sure you wanted to read.

With the door closed, the room seemed smaller, the air thicker. You made your way back to your spot against the desk, leaning into it with an unspoken attempt to steady yourself. The papers in your hand brushed against the wood, but your focus was on him now—on the way he sat, still composed, as if he had all the time in the world.

And yet, you noticed the slight shift in his shoulders, the faint tension in the way his hands rested on his knee. He wasn’t as calm as he wanted you to believe.

You crossed your arms again, this time more for yourself than anything else, and tilted your head slightly, waiting. A strange mixture of anticipation and dread coiled in your stomach as your gaze bore into him, silently urging him to begin.

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before leaning forward just slightly, resting his forearms on his thighs. The movement was subtle, but it felt like a shift in the balance of the room, as though he was finally ready to open a door he had kept locked for far too long.

"I had played the games. Once before when I was younger." You straightened at that, fidgeting, as he watched you before continuing.

“My wife... she was sick,” he began, his voice trembling just enough to betray the emotions he was trying to hold back. “She was expecting our child, and I was desperate—so desperate. I didn’t see any other way, so I entered.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor as though the weight of the memory was too much to bear.

“My thought process was simple,” he continued, his tone quieter now, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “I’d either save the life of the woman I loved and our baby… or die trying. There wasn’t an in-between for me. But when I made it out, when I finally had the money in my hands…” His voice cracked, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “It was too late.”

Your gaze softened, despite yourself, the sharp edges of your anger dulling for just a moment as your arms slowly uncrossed.

Your throat dried, and your hands shook.

"And then I found you," he looked up, locking eyes with you.

“You were everything—fierce, unshakable, and so utterly beautiful that it hurt to look at you sometimes. The day you left, it was like the air was stolen from my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move—like the world had come to a standstill, and I was left frozen in the neverending emptiness you left behind.”

He leaned back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a weight that made your breath hitch. The intensity in his gaze wasn’t sharp—it was soft, regretful, and filled with something you hadn’t seen from him in a while: vulnerability.

“I ended the games the day you left,” he said quietly, his voice steady but thick with emotion, as though each word carried the burden of his actions.

You froze, the weight of his confession hitting you like a punch to the chest. Your teeth pressed into your cheek as you bit down, trying to steady yourself, trying not to let the shock show. But the tightness in your chest betrayed you, your hands fidgeting at your sides.

“I didn’t tell you,” he continued, his tone lower now, quieter, “because you needed to move on. You needed to heal from… from what I let happen. From what I allowed to become your nightmare.”

His voice cracked, just slightly, and he looked away for a fleeting moment, as if even he couldn’t bear the shame. When his eyes returned to yours, they glistened under the soft light, raw and open in a way that felt almost unbearable.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of the words. “For all of it. For the despair I caused you. For the part I played in your agony. For… for breaking the one thing I swore I’d protect.”

You felt your chest tighten, the lump in your throat rising as his words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. There was no deflecting the rawness of his confession, no mistaking the sincerity that poured from him like a dam finally breaking.

He didn’t try to justify himself further, didn’t try to fill the silence that followed. He just sat there, his gaze searching yours, silently asking for something you weren’t sure you could give—forgiveness, understanding, maybe even absolution.

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady the storm of emotions swirling within you. For a moment, you stayed there, leaning against the desk, your fingers gripping the edge as if letting go might send you tumbling. But then, slowly, you pushed yourself away, your movements deliberate, each step toward him feeling like a quiet surrender to the moment.

He watched you approach, his gaze flickering with surprise and a cautious hope, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were closing the distance between you.

When you stopped in front of him, your heart pounded in your chest, but your hand was steady as you extended it toward him. The air between you felt charged, heavy with everything that had been said—and everything that hadn’t.

“Come on,” you said softly, your voice gentler now, the tension beginning to unravel at the edges. A small, almost tentative smile tugged at your lips, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was for him or for yourself. “Let’s get dinner.”

For a beat, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours as though trying to understand this small gesture of truce. Then, finally, his lips quirked into the faintest semblance of a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was enough to make something in your chest loosen.

He reached for your hand, his touch warm and grounding, his fingers wrapping around yours with a quiet reverence. As you helped him to his feet, the weight of everything between you seemed to shift—not gone, but lighter somehow.

________

Dinner had passed quicker than you anticipated, the hours slipping away like grains of sand through your fingers. Now, the two of you walked side by side down the dimly lit sidewalk, the city alive with a quiet hum. Neon lights shimmered above, their reflections dancing faintly on the wet pavement from a drizzle earlier in the evening. In the distance, the soft melody of a street performer’s guitar drifted through the air, mingling with the occasional chatter of passersby.

You bundled yourself tighter in your jacket, the chill nipping at your cheeks and nose, while In-ho walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. His pace was slow, measured, matching yours as if he were careful not to overstep. The sound of your heels clicking against the concrete filled the silence between you, rhythmic and grounding, giving you something to focus on as your thoughts churned.

A question had been simmering in your mind all night, clawing for attention, refusing to let you push it aside any longer. You stole a glance at him, his profile illuminated briefly as you passed under a glowing streetlamp. His expression was neutral, unreadable as always, yet his presence felt heavier than the cold air.

Taking a steadying breath, you licked your lips, your voice breaking through the quiet. “Have you been following me?”

Your words dangled in the ambiance, remaining in the space between you like a sudden gust of wind.

He turned his head toward you, his steps faltering slightly as his eyes met yours. For a brief moment, his expression flickered—was it surprise? Guilt? Something else? You couldn’t tell. But the tension crackled like static, the city around you fading into the background as you waited for his answer.

He came to a complete stop, his body stiffening as if the weight of your question had rooted him to the ground. His eyes widened, the shock evident as they dropped to his polished shoes, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to meet yours as he rocked between his feet. The faint glow of the city lights above cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the subtle quiver in his lips.

You tilted your head, studying him with a mixture of resignation and frustration, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. “I knew it,” you muttered, the confirmation settling like a stone in your chest.

Your mind raced back to all those moments—the uneasy prickle at the back of your neck, the lingering sensation of being watched, the inexplicable certainty that he had been near. You remembered the black sedan at the light stop, the way your instincts had screamed his name even before your eyes had confirmed it.

In-ho lifted his gaze, and for a moment, there was something raw in his expression—an apology, perhaps, or a plea for understanding. But before you could decipher it, he moved. He stepped toward you, each footfall deliberate and unyielding, closing the distance between you with a quiet intensity that made your breath hitch.

When he finally stopped, he was closer than he had been all day, his presence towering yet strangely fragile, like he was holding himself together with sheer will as you looked up at him. His eyes softened as they locked onto yours, filled with something that looked like regret tangled with a need he couldn’t suppress.

“I ordered my men to keep their distance,” he admitted, his voice low and unsteady, each word weighed down with guilt. He paused, exhaling shakily as he raked a hand through his hair. “But I wanted to…” He faltered, his gaze breaking away for a moment before returning to you. “needed to make sure you were safe.”

His words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, each syllable carrying the weight of his choices and the silent fear he hadn’t dared voice until now. You could see it—feel it—in the way his shoulders slumped slightly, as if the confession had cost him more than he was willing to show.

You turned away from him, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to steady yourself. The city lights blurred in your vision, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. You could feel the tears threatening to rise, but you fought them back, not wanting him to see how deeply his presence still affected you.

“I don’t know what to do with this, In-ho,” you whispered, your voice thick with uncertainty. You wiped at your eyes quickly, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tremor in your hands. “I don’t know what to do with you. With… all of this.” His eyes softened as he took a small step closer, but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t—not right now.

“I don’t expect you to have the answers,” he said quietly, his tone more fragile than you had ever heard it. “I just…I want to make things right, even if I can’t fix everything.”

He took a tentative step closer, his movements slow, as if afraid that any sudden motion might cause you to pull away. You turned back to him. Your breath hitched in your throat, but you didn’t move. The space between you both felt electric, charged with unstated emotion, yet it was still so fragile.

Without saying a word, he reached up, his hand trembling slightly as it cupped your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a wave of emotion crashing over you—everything you had locked away, all the longing and pain, threatening to break free.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you closed your eyes for a moment, leaning into the softness of his touch, letting the comfort of it surround you like a fleeting memory. The space between you was still there, but this touch—this small, gentle act—felt like a lifeline.

Your heart was being pulled in two directions. The part of you that had loved him so fiercely, that had believed in him so completely, still burned with the longing for something—anything—to change. But the other part of you, the part that had been broken by his silence, by his choices, couldn’t see a clear way forward.

“I don’t know if I can let you back in,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, the words leaving your lips like an apology you weren’t ready to make. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that. ”You finally met his gaze, and there was a quiet desperation in his eyes that made your heartache. He didn’t say anything at first—he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all, full of hope and regret and an apology too big to fit into words.

Then without thinking, you whispered, “But I want to try.”

His gaze softened, something in his eyes shifting—relief, hope, or maybe both. Before either of you could speak again, you reached up, your fingers brushing his cheek as you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. The moment felt fragile, full of all the things you had yet to say, and yet, it was everything that had remained unsaid.

When you pulled back, you found yourself searching his eyes, trying to piece together the weight of what was happening between you. You weren’t sure what the future held, but in that moment, you knew you wanted to try.

“I’ll be here,” In-ho whispered, his voice thick with something more than words. “However long it takes.”

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #front man x reader #front man #in ho squid game #fanfic #squid game season 2 #the frontman #squid game fanfic #fan fiction #the front man x reader

45 notes · View notes

aspenmissing · 1 day ago

Note

How about a little comfort / angst request? I think we all know that Jayce had a pretty rough time during his academy days - Nobody believed in his hextech dream, he nearly got kicked out of the academy etc.

Reader x Jayce laying in bed together and Jayce started rambling about his fears for the future. Reader comforts him and tells him, that no matter what will happen, she will always be by his side.

Maybe there is a little timeskip at the end of the story. Jayce is now the "Man of Progress" and he thanks Reader, for the past few years.

ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪᴅᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 2205 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ||

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ/ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴀɪʟɪɴɢ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴍʏ ʙᴀʙʏ ʙᴏʏ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ! ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ

The soft glow of candlelight flickered gently against the stone walls of the modest room they shared in Piltover. The night was serene, filled with the faint hum of distant machinery—a constant reminder of the world they were trying to change. Yet it was a peaceful quiet, the kind that allowed reflection without interruption. Jayce lay with his head resting against Y/N’s chest, his body half-pressed to hers. His arms were loosely draped across her waist, but his thoughts were far away, staring up at the ceiling, his mind heavy with the weight of the future.

It had been an exhausting week—countless meetings, all with different people who questioned his every step, who doubted his vision for Hextech, or dismissed it as foolishness. He could feel it in his bones, the pressure, the uncertainty. Despite his achievements, despite how far he had come, the doubts crept in from all sides. And the worst part was, it wasn’t just others who questioned him. Sometimes, he wondered if he was the one who didn’t believe enough in his dream.

Y/N, ever so attuned to his moods, noticed the tenseness in his posture, the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. It wasn’t often that Jayce allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of others, and especially not in front of her. But tonight, it was different. The mask he wore to shield himself from the world had slipped just enough for his fears to leak out.

His voice was soft, almost hesitant as he broke the silence.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Y/N...” His words felt heavy, laden with the doubts he had kept buried for so long. “I’ve come so far, but sometimes it feels like I’m always on the edge of failure. Every time I think I’m close to something, someone reminds me that it’s impossible, that I’m just chasing a dream that’ll never come true.” His grip tightened slightly around her waist, as if trying to anchor himself to something real, something tangible. “And then everything that happened at the academy... After almost being kicked out for my ideas... I can’t help but wonder if I’m even meant for this.”

Y/N felt a pang in her chest at his words, her heart aching with the quiet sorrow that tinged his voice. She could feel the vulnerability in the way his body shifted against hers, his frame tense as if he were afraid that even admitting his fear might shatter everything. Her fingers traced the line of his hair, threading through the strands slowly, offering the comfort she knew he needed.

“Jayce...” Her voice was soft but unwavering. “You’ve already done more than anyone could’ve imagined. You fought for your dream when everyone else told you it was impossible. You didn’t let the academy or anyone else stop you from believing in Hextech. And now... look at what you’ve built. You’ve created something that’s going to change everything, not just for Piltover, but for the whole world. You’ve made a difference.”

He shifted slightly, looking up at her, his expression filled with doubt as his eyes searched hers. It was as if he were asking for permission to believe again, permission to trust in himself, and in the dream he’d spent years chasing. Y/N smiled softly, her thumb tracing circles on his back as she continued, her voice steady with conviction.

“Viktor believes in you too, you know?” she said, her words carrying a weight of their own. “From the very beginning, he saw something in you—something no one else did. Even when others doubted you, even when they tried to push you out, he believed. He’s always been by your side, just like I have. I think that’s because he sees the same potential in you that you sometimes can’t see in yourself.”

Jayce’s breath caught in his throat as he processed her words. Viktor had always been a quiet presence in his life, never one for grand gestures, but always there in the background, supporting him in ways that were often subtle but powerful. He had never doubted Viktor’s loyalty, but hearing Y/N say it, hearing the sincerity in her voice, helped solidify something inside him—something that had been shaken but never truly broken.

“Do you really think I can make this work?” Jayce whispered, his voice barely audible as he searched for reassurance.

Y/N shifted slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Her chin rested gently on top of his head, and she spoke with a quiet strength that was all her own. “I know you can. You’ve got everything it takes, Jayce. Your brilliance, your drive, your heart. But what matters most is that you’re not alone in this. You have Viktor, and you have me. We’re not going anywhere. No matter what happens, no matter how hard things get, I will always be by your side.”

Her words were a promise, an anchor that held him steady in the storm of his doubts. The sincerity in her voice, the certainty of her belief in him, reached into the places he had locked away for so long. Her touch, soft yet unwavering, seemed to dissolve the tension in his body, replacing it with something warm and comforting.

Jayce closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the steady rhythm of Y/N’s heartbeat beneath his ear calmed him. For a brief moment, the weight of the world lifted, and he could finally relax, allowing himself to be held by the love and support that had always surrounded him, even when he couldn’t see it.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Y/N’s fingers gently carded through his hair, her touch tender. “You’ll never have to find out. We’re in this together. Always.”

Jayce allowed himself to surrender to the comfort of her presence, his body relaxing against hers. The future still seemed uncertain, filled with the unknown, but with Y/N’s belief in him, and Viktor’s quiet support, Jayce finally felt he wasn’t walking that path alone.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jayce felt at peace. The weight of his doubts hadn’t entirely disappeared, but the fear of failure was no longer all-consuming. With Y/N beside him, with Viktor’s faith in him, he had something far stronger than the uncertainty of the future—he had the belief that he could face whatever came next, no matter how difficult it might be.

The grand hall was abuzz with excitement, the rich echo of conversation blending with the rhythmic clinking of glasses. Piltover’s finest had gathered to celebrate the monumental success of Hextech—an invention that had once seemed like a far-off dream but had now changed the face of their world. The brilliant glow of the machines that powered Hextech illuminated the room, casting a warm light on the faces of the people who had once doubted Jayce. But now, in the glow of progress, there was nothing but admiration and awe.

Standing at the front of the room, Jayce looked every bit the man of progress, his sharp suit a testament to his success. The podium in front of him gleamed with polished metal, the heart of Hextech resting just behind him, a symbol of how far they had come. The crowd quieted as he prepared to speak, his gaze sweeping over the room—over the faces of the people who had supported him, and those who had once looked down on his dream.

Jayce cleared his throat, his voice carrying clearly through the room.

“Tonight, we stand on the precipice of a new era,” he began, his tone filled with pride. “Hextech is not just an invention—it is a symbol of what we can achieve when we dare to dream. It began as an idea, a spark of inspiration, and despite all the challenges, the setbacks, and the doubts, it has become something that will change the future. It is proof that innovation, perseverance, and belief in something greater than ourselves can bring about the impossible.”

The room broke into applause, but Jayce’s gaze shifted slightly, his eyes searching for a familiar face. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he found her standing near the back, watching him with that quiet, unwavering support that had never once faltered. Y/N. The one person who had believed in him before anyone else, who had stood by him when the world had been at its most uncertain.

“None of this would have been possible without the one person who never stopped believing in me, even when I couldn’t believe in myself,” Jayce continued, his voice softer now, but filled with sincerity. “Y/N... these past few years, you’ve been my strength, my constant. You’ve been the one who reminded me that progress is not just about the work we do, but the people we trust along the way. I owe you everything.”

There was a noticeable shift in the room, the whispers of the crowd fading as they turned to see the two of them. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, a gentle blush colouring her cheeks as Jayce looked at her with a tenderness that had always been there, but now, it shone brighter than ever. She hadn’t expected this—this public declaration of gratitude, of love. But there it was, in front of everyone. Jayce had never been one for grand gestures, but in that moment, he made the one that mattered most.

The applause that followed was loud, but Jayce’s focus remained entirely on Y/N. He stepped away from the podium, his eyes never leaving hers as the crowd celebrated in the background. He made his way to her, taking her hand in his, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

“You were the first person who believed in me,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You’ve been there for every step of this journey... and I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you that your belief in me was never misplaced.”

As the celebration continued, Jayce guided Y/N through the crowd, his hand never leaving hers. They made their way to the balcony, away from the noise and the spectacle, to a quieter, more intimate space. The city lights of Piltover stretched out before them, a sea of gold and silver beneath the starry sky. The evening air was cool, carrying a soft breeze that rustled through the trees, but in the silence of the balcony, it felt like time had stopped.

Jayce took a deep breath, steadying himself as he turned to face her. His hands were warm against her skin, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her cheek. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time all over again—the woman who had stood beside him through every trial, every triumph.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice more serious now, but no less full of the love he’d carried for so long. “I don’t think I ever really told you how much you mean to me. You’ve been my rock, my anchor in a world that never stops moving. I can’t imagine a future without you, and I don’t want to.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the weight of his words settling in her heart. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability that he didn’t often show to anyone. The man who had once feared failure, who had doubted himself at every turn, was standing before her, stronger and more certain than ever.

“I love you,” Jayce continued, his voice breaking slightly with the raw emotion he could no longer hold back. “And I want to spend every day for the rest of my life with you by my side. Will you marry me?”

The words hung in the air, their significance too profound for any immediate response. Y/N’s heart raced, her pulse thudding in her ears as she stared at him, the world around them fading into the background. Her mind was a whirl of thoughts—of the journey they had taken together, the dreams they had shared, the struggles they had faced side by side.

“I...” she began, her voice soft but steady. “I don’t think I could ever want anything more.”

Jayce’s face lit up, a mixture of relief and joy washing over him. Slowly, he took her hands, sliding a ring onto her finger—simple, elegant, but in its simplicity, it held everything.

Y/N smiled, tears threatening to spill as she gazed at the man who had captured her heart in a way no one else ever could. She had always known that their journey wasn’t just about Hextech or progress—it was about them, about the love they had built, the trust they had forged through the years.

And now, as she stood there, the stars above them and the city beneath, she knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together.

Jayce leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, sealing the promise of their future.

#Arcane #Arcane Fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #Fluff #jayce x y/n #jayce x reader #jayce talis x reader #jayce x you

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winchesterwild78 · 2 days ago

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Daddy’s Girl pt 2

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (wife), Dean and Reader’s daughter, other characters from Supernatural

Warnings: a little angst, lots of fluff

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. This chapter starts out a little angsty and has some surprises along the way.

This is a work of fiction and does not follow the Supernatural storyline. I do not own the rights to the characters used.

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated.

Minors DNI 18+

The next few days I still felt Dean’s uneasiness from his dream. He of course tried to hide it, but knowing him for as long as I have I know when he’s hiding something.

It was early in the morning when I woke up to an empty bed. Delilah was still sleeping. I stretched and grabbed my robe.

I found Dean in the kitchen. He looked exhausted and was nursing a cup of coffee. His green eyes flicked up to mine and he smiled softly.

“Hey baby. Want some coffee?” His voice was gruff and he sounded tired.

I nodded and grabbed a cup. As I walked past him I ran my hand over his shoulders.

“Dean, are you okay? You looked exhausted.” “Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Dean, have you been sleeping at all? I go to bed alone, and when I wake up you’re already gone. Honey, please talk to me.” I placed my hands on his.

“I just can’t shake the dream from the other day. Everything I’ve ever loved, everyone I’ve loved ends up leaving or dying. I just wouldn’t survive if something happened to you or Delilah.”

“Oh Dean, we aren’t going anywhere. We have Jack and Cas on our side. Plus you’ve trained me well enough to take care of myself and her. Baby, you have got to get some sleep. You’re no good to us if you’re exhausted. Plus you get a little cranky.”

A smile formed on his face. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at me. “You’re right. I’m going to go lay back down. Want to join me?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“You and I both know if I go in there with you then neither of us are getting any sleep. Now you go in there and get some sleep. I’ll keep your little princess entertained while you sleep.” I kissed his lips and ushered him to bed.

About an hour later Delilah was awake and kept trying to sneak off to see Dean. “Delilah Rose, daddy is very tired. He needs sleep and we have to leave him alone.”

She stuck out her lip and pouted, “But I want to play with daddy. I miss him.” I chuckled, “Baby he won’t be asleep forever. He will wake up and the two of you can play then.”

She nodded and sat on the floor in the library. I walked in the kitchen to grab her something to drink and when I walked back to the library she was gone.

I sighed, I knew where she was. I caught her before she got the door open. I whispered, “Delilah! I told you to leave daddy alone.” “But I miss my daddy so much. I rolled my eyes, these two are insufferable.

“Delilah, what do you say we go to the park then go get stuff to make daddy an apple pie?” Her big green eyes sparkled and she nodded.

“Okay, go grab your shoes and coat.” She ran to her room and grabbed her shoes and coat, returning to me.

I helped her put them on. And I grabbed my coat. I left Dean a note on the kitchen counter and we left.

We went to the park and played for a little bit. I could tell Delilah was still a little sad. Her and Dean loved coming to the park. She played for a little while longer and I told her we needed to get to the store and then back home.

I reached for my phone and realized I didn’t have it. I sighed. It’s okay. I left him a note. He will be fine. He’ll give me crap about forgetting my phone, but he’s used to it.

Delilah and I went to the store and got the things we needed for the pie and headed towards the bunker.

When we got home Delilah bounded down the stairs. I found Dean having a panic attack in the library. When he saw us he jumped up and scooped up Delilah and grabbed me in his arms.

“Oh my god I was so worried about you two. You weren’t here when I got up, I couldn’t find you and you didn’t answer your phone. Why didn’t you answer your phone?!”

I saw the panic and tears in his eyes and it broke my heart. “Dean, honey. I left a note and I forgot my phone. I’m so sorry baby.” I pulled Delilah out of his arms, “Baby, go play in your room. Okay? I promise, Daddy is okay. He was just scared.”

Dean moved past me and went into the Dean cave and sat on the couch. He started sobbing. It broke my heart to see him. I placed my hand on his bicep, “Dean, baby. It’s okay, we’re okay. I took her to the park and then to the store.” “I’m sorry, Y/N. That dream just rocked me to my core. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you or her. You two are my life.”

I touched his face and he leaned into my palm. “Dean, I know what we need to do to help you move past this.” I closed my eyes and prayed. A few minutes later Jack appeared.

I stood and hugged him, “Hey Jack.” “Hello.” He smiled, then he saw Dean and his face fell.

“Dean is having a hard time right now. I figured he needed to hear from you. He had a dream that scared him the other day and he can’t shake it. He dreamed Delilah and I vanished and he couldn’t find us.”

“I see.” Jack said and looked over at Dean again. “How can I help?” “Can you reassure him we are going to be okay?” He smiled and walked over to Dean. “Y/N and Delilah are okay. They are not going anywhere. Well, Delilah will when she goes to college and gets married. She’s going to have two children and live a very long life. Y/N is going to have another baby in about a year and she is going to live a long life too. No demons, vampires or anything will hurt them. You have trained her well.”

Dean’s eyes looked at Jack and then over at me. “Wait, what? I’m going to have another baby?” “Oh yes, a little boy. He will be like Dean.” I chuckled. “Well then I’m a very lucky girl.”

I heard Dean let out a shaky breath. He hugged Jack and thanked him. Then he walked over to me and pulled me close, “I’m so sorry baby. I didn’t mean to worry you or Delilah.” “Dean, it’s okay. We know how much you love us, and you being scared and worried just proves it. Now where the heck did the note go that I left you?”

“Where did you leave it?” “On the counter in the kitchen.” The two of us walked in the kitchen, I carried the groceries I left in the war room. I didn’t see the note. Dean looked around and found it on the floor almost under the stove. “It must have blown off the counter.” I nodded, “I’m sorry. I promise not to forget my cell anymore. I guess this was just a perfect storm.” He nodded and pulled me in his arms.

“So, another baby, a boy?” I smiled, “I guess so. I wonder when he will be here. Jack said within the next year, so I guess we haven’t made him yet.”

Dean laughed, “Guess we need to get on that.” I playfully rolled my eyes. He kissed my lips softly and behind me I heard the sound of little feet. Dean smirked against my lips and pulled away.

We turned and saw Delilah peeking around the doorway. Dean bent down and held out his arms, “Come here my little pumpkin pie. I’m okay. I promise.” Delilah bounded into the kitchen and threw herself into his arms.

She had her favorite stuffy, a squirrel holding a baby squirrel and handed it to Dean. “To help you feel better daddy.” He took it with tears pricking his eyes. “Thank you baby girl, but your hugs always make me feel better.”

Dean wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly.

I walked up to them and hugged them both. “Okay you two, out of my kitchen. I have something to do here and you both will be in the way.” I chuckled. Dean and Delilah feigned hurt. “Ouch babe, I guess the two of us will leave you then.” They laughed as they left the room.

The next few days things settled down and Dean was sleeping better. He smiled more and couldn’t stop thinking or talking about us having another baby. “Maybe we should ask Jack when the baby is born.” Dean said early in the morning. I shook my head, “Dean, no. We will find out just like everyone else. Everyone who doesn’t have a direct line to Heaven.”

He sighed, “Oh come on. Aren’t you just the least bit curious?” I nodded, “Yes, but you’re driving me crazy with it. If you want to know, then you call Jack and ask him. I want it to be a surprise.” I kissed his lips and started to climb out of bed. Dean pulled me back down into his arms.

His lips on my neck as he held me flush to his chest. My back rested against him and his arms snaked around my body.

“Dean, we have to get up. You promised Delilah and daddy daughter day and you know she’s going to be up soon. What if she walks in here?”

Dean smirked and jumped out of bed, locking the door. A mischievous grin on his face, “There, problem solved.”

Dean climbed back in the bed and pulled my chest to his. “Now, where were we?” He started kissing my lips and down my neck. His hands trailed up my body and I arched my back, moaning.

About half an hour later Dean and I were tangled in the sheets, trying to steady our breathing. “Mmm, that was amazing.” I said laying against him with my head and hand on his chest.

“Aren’t you glad I locked the door.” He chuckled. “Yeah, I am. Now let’s get up so you can take our baby for her daddy daughter day.”

“Yeah, I have to show her what to expect from a man so she never settles for less.” I smirked, “Well, you’re doing an amazing job of that.” I kissed his lips and got out of bed, getting dressed I tossed Dean his clothes.

“Take a shower, I’ll get her up and ready.” He nodded and smiled, “Hey, Y/N?” I turned to face him, “Yes, Dean?” “I love you, Y/N.” I smiled, “I love you too, Dean. So much.”

An hour later Dean and Delilah were loading up in the Impala. He hooked her in her carseat and her legs swung back and forth as her giggles filled the backseat.

I kissed her head and kissed Dean goodbye. “You two have fun. Try not to eat too much junk and spoil your supper.” I winked at him. “We will try. I love you, Y/N.” “I love you too, Dean. Be careful and I’ll see you two later.”

The Impala roared to life and I watched as the two of them drove away. I let out a breath and walked back into the bunker.

I went to the Dean cave and started to clean. I made my way into Delilah’s room and then mine and Dean’s. I decided to strip the beds and do some laundry.

I cleaned the bunker and pulled out a book to read. My phone rang as I sat down and saw it was Dean. I chuckled.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. We have a question for you.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“White or brown?”

I was confused. “What are you talking about? I need more context, Dean.”

He chuckled, “Just answer the question, white or brown?”

“Um, white?” “Okay, thanks sweetheart. We love you. Remember that.”

“Uhoh, what are you two up to?”

I heard Dean and Delilah giggle, “Nothing. We will be home soon.”

“Now I really am worried. I’ll see you two soon. Love you two.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Dean hung up and my curiosity piqued. What trouble could those two be up to now. I loved them going on daddy daughter dates, but sometimes they would get into mischief.

About thirty minutes later I heard the Impala pull into the garage. Dean and Delilah’s laughter filled the air.

I sat my book down and waited for them. Dean was carrying Delilah and they walked into the library.

“Hi Mommy. We’re back.”

“Hi baby. I see that. Did you and daddy have fun?”

Her green eyes twinkled, “The best. Daddy took me shopping and I got a new dress, then he took me to get ice cream and then we got you a surprise.”

I smiled. “Well I can’t wait to see your dress. I bet it’s beautiful.”

She smiled big, “Yes it is. It’s blue with stars on it. Daddy said I’m his angel so I needed a star dress.”

I looked over at Dean and he was grinning. She definitely has him wrapped around her finger.

“Mommy, are you ready for your surprise? We’re gonna give it to her now, right Daddy?” Dean nodded.

“Wait here mommy. Daddy and I will be right back.”

I smiled and my heart beat wildly. What were these two up to. Before Dean left the room to chase after her he looked at me and smiled, “Remember we love you and this is something we need.”

“Oh lord. I can’t imagine what it is.” He chuckled. “I’ll be back.” He kissed me and went back towards the garage.

I could hear Delilah’s giggles fill the air. I knew I was in trouble.

“Mommy, close your eyes please.”

“Okay baby. They are closed.”

I could hear her and Dean walk back into the room. Then I felt a heavy box on my lap.

“Okay open your eyes sweetheart.”

I opened them to find a big brown box on my lap. “Open the box mommy.”

Delilah squealed in delight.

I carefully lifted the lid. A little apprehensive of what was in the box. I gasped. I looked up at Dean and then at Delilah.

“Oh my goodness, are you serious?!” Dean grinned, “Yeah. We saw it and immediately thought about you.”

“Oh my gosh Dean. This is perfect.”

In the box looking up at me was a beautiful white terrier mix puppy with big blue eyes. I had one as a child and she got hit by a car. I had mentioned to Dean years ago how I always wanted one especially for Delilah.

I pulled the puppy out of the box and held her tight. “She’s beautiful, Dean and Delilah. Thank you.”

She was perfect and so sweet. Giving the best kisses and falling asleep on my lap. I lazily rubbed her head as I talked to Dean about a name.

“She needs a name. Something fitting.” Dean nodded. I looked at him and smirked, “I know. How about, baby?”

Dean looked at me and shook his head, “Nope. There’s only room for one baby in the family and she’s in the garage.” Delilah looked at Dean, “No daddy, it’s me.”

I laughed,”She’s got you there Dean.” He playfully rolled his eyes. “You’re my little pumpkin pie.”

“But I’m also your baby.” He nodded and pulled her in his lap, “You’ll always be my baby girl.”

She put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, “And you’ll always be my daddy.”

Dean’s smile grew.

“Okay guys, seriously we have to give this little girl a name.” I said holding the puppy.

Dean smirked, “What about, dog?”

I raised an eyebrow, “Uh no. Good thing we have to agree on our children’s names. Delilah might have ended up being named “girl”.” I laughed.

“Hey, I think I picked a beautiful name for our girl.” “Yes you did, Dean.”

“Well you said no to “baby” what about "Angel "?"

Dean looked at me and shook his head.

Delilah looked up from her coloring book, “Bubbles”.

Dean chuckled, “What? You can’t name a dog “Bubbles”.”

I looked at him and then at her. “It’s a great name, baby girl.”

“But daddy doesn’t like it.” She hung her head.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “No baby, mommy is right. It’s a great name.”

“You mean it daddy?” Her green eyes searching his. “Yes, I love it.”

“Yay! Can we call her Bubbles?”

I smiled and nodded. Dean just shook his head and sighed.

Delilah left to go take her coloring book and crayons in her room and I stood up with Bubbles and hugged Dean.

“See, I told you. She had you wrapped around your finger.”

“Don’t I know it. Now I have a dog named Bubbles. What kind of badass Hunter has a dog named Bubbles?!”

I laughed, “One who would do anything to make his little girl happy.”

I kissed his lips softly and walked towards the kitchen.

“We need to get some things for the dog. Like food, a bed, food and water bowl, and some toys.” I looked at Dean as I sat Bubbles down.

“Already taken care of. It’s in the car. I’ll go grab it.” I nodded.

As Dean made his way to the car he heard the tapping of paws behind him. Bubbles was following him.

“Bubbles, Jeez I can’t believe that’s your name. You have to go back inside. Don’t follow me.”

The dog turned her head like she was listening to him and sat down.

“Good, now stay.” Bubbles stood up and wagged her tail and as Dean walked she followed. Dean stopped and looked. Bubbles wagged her tail.

Dean shook his head. He walked to the car and got out the stuff he bought at the pet store. Bubbles followed behind.

He returned to the kitchen with his arms full. I chuckled when I saw Bubbles following closely behind him. “Looks like you’ve got a shadow.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah. I guess I just attract all the ladies.” He laughed.

I washed the bowls and filled them with food and water. Dean helped me figure out where to put her things, especially her food so she didn’t get in it.

I turned around to show her where her food was and she was gone.

I looked at Dean and we went looking for her. “Hey Delilah, have you seen Bubbles?” I asked as I approached her door. She shook her head no.

I continued looking when I heard Dean.

“Bubbles! No!” I ran to our room and saw Dean standing with one of his favorite flannels in his hand. It looked ripped. I bit my lip to stifle the giggle.

“She ate my shirt! My favorite shirt.” The giggle slipped out.

“Oh so this is funny?” I nodded, “Yeah a little. We just have to train her. She’s a baby, Dean.” “Well first thing tomorrow she’s going to training.”

I laughed, “Dean, you have to sign her up for the classes.”

“Well her and I will go and beg them to take her. I can’t have her eating all my clothes.” “Well, at least it wasn’t the leather in the car, or your favorite boots.”

His head spun and he looked at me and gasped, “Bite your tongue.” He looked at Bubbles who was wagging her tail at him with her tongue out, “And you better not get any ideas.” She barked and wagged her tail at him.

“Aww look at that, another girl already wrapped around your finger.” He scoffed.

Over the next few weeks we all fell into a comfortable rhythm with Bubbles and her training was going good. She had stopped chewing on things other than her toys and she was always by Dean’s side.

“Hey Y/N, have you seen my burgundy shirt? I can’t find it anywhere.” I heard Dean call from the bedroom.

“The last I saw it was in the laundry pile when I washed clothes the other day. Check your closet.”

“I did, it’s not in there.” I walked towards the laundry room, maybe it was hanging in there. I looked and couldn’t find it.

“Sorry babe, I can’t find it. I don’t know where it is.”

“This is weird. I’m missing some shirts, some socks and I can’t find my old leather jacket.” “That is weird. I’ll see if I can help you find them.”

We searched everywhere. Checking the garage, the laundry room, the bathrooms, our room, then I walked into Delilah’s room.

I noticed something sticking out from under her pillow. I lifted her pillow and found one of Dean’s missing t-shirts. I chuckled, “Hey Dean, can you come here please.”

Dean walked to the door, “What’s up?” “Look.” I showed him his shirt and he smiled. He shrugged, “What can I say the girl loves me.” “Yes she does.”

We searched her room for the other things that were missing but couldn’t find them.

“I was sure we would find the rest of the stuff in her room. Let’s check the Dean cave. Maybe you took your jacket off in there.”

We went to the room and started searching, not finding anything. I looked over and noticed Bubbles’ bed was missing. “Dean, where is Bubbles’ bed?” “It was right there.” He pointed to the now empty spot.

“Okay, this is weird. You’re missing things and now her bed is gone.”

I walked around to the side of the couch that was close to the wall. I looked down and chuckled.

“Dean, come here.” He walked over and looked down. There between the couch and the wall was Bubbles. Curled in a ball, laying on her bed and a pile of Dean’s shirts, socks and his jacket.

He sighed, “So she’s not chewing on my stuff, she’s taking it now.” “It’s because it has your scent, Dean. You’re her person.”

“Well can’t I be her person without her taking my stuff?” He chuckled. When he laughed Bubbles stretched and looked up and saw him. She wagged her tail and leaped up.

He scooped her up and she started licking his face. I laughed “You know it’s only fair Bubbles took your shirts. Delilah and I both have your shirts and you’re our person, so she needs something too.”

“At this rate I won’t have any clothes left.” I laughed. I bent down and started to gather his stuff out of her bed. She looked at me and whimpered.

Dean looked at me and at Bubbles, “Leave that one.” He nodded towards an old green shirt he wears when he works on Baby. I smiled and nodded. I put it back in her bed and she snuggled to Dean.

I placed a kiss on his lips and pet Bubbles.

A few hours later Dean, Delilah, Bubbles and I were snuggled on the couch watching Frozen, again. I was sitting on Dean’s right side, Delilah was snuggled to this left and Bubbles was asleep in his lap.

I looked over in the middle of the movie and saw the three of them fast asleep. I grabbed a blanket and draped it over them. I pulled one over me and snuggled back to Dean. Looking over at my family I thought how incredibly blessed I was to have Dean and Delilah. I couldn’t wait to add our baby boy to our family. He will fit in perfectly and will complete our little family.

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.

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@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78

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#hes gorgeous #so damn sexy #dean winchester #dean winchester x plus size!reader #dean x reader

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sunlightwoo · 22 hours ago

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lily of the valley - sim jaeyun

✁ pairing: non-idol!jake x g.n reader

✁ genre: fluff, slight angst, established relationship warnings: nothing but cuteness aggression, and mentions of reader feeling as though they aren't able to love/to be loved

✁ wc: 974

✁ a/n: hi everyone!! this is my first fic in a while as im getting back into the rhythm of writing for bigger pieces to be released this year, so i hope you guys liked this as much as i liked it!! but happy 6 years to sunlightwoo, and thank you to everyone who's ever supported this blog after so long <3 i hope that from here on out i can finally put out the stories that i've been holding off on writing and posting on here for you guys to read! lastly thank you @quaissants for beta reading <3 and also again if you guys wanna join my permanent taglist, or this series' taglist, just shoot me a message/ask or click here!!

now playing: [lily of the valley by daniel] | part of the because i love you series

The silence of the night brought you reassurance after a long day of just thinking to exhaustion. You weren’t sure why today had felt different than any others, when you had done nothing different from your daily routine, but there was a heavy feeling settling in your chest as you looked out your window to the moon. Something didn’t feel complete after a long day that you had, and maybe the moon had the answers to it.

The sound of the front door opening breaks you away from your trance, but you didn’t have the energy to get up from your spot on your balcony. You already knew who entered your home, and it was the quick footsteps that were pacing to your bedroom that slowly made the smile that was starting to appear on your face. Those steps started to slow the same time that you took a deep breath and turned around to face your lover with a small smile, arms wrapped around yourself as you were bracing yourself in the cold with one of your spare blankets.

But it didn’t surprise him at all. What did was the small smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes at all.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen when you met with your parents today?” He asked quietly, slowly taking steps closer to where you had stood on the balcony and you shook your head in response.

“Can you just hold me for a bit, please?”

Your question threw him off guard for a moment, knowing that in all your years of dating, you were never often the first to initiate physical affection like now. It was something that you had struggled to express at first in the beginning stages of your relationship, but you came to a comfortable peace with it as time went on with Jake being the one to show you what it was like to love slowly.

Feeling his arms wrap around you, the heaviness that was once in your chest finally feels as though it were lifting from its shackle on your heart and that you could breathe once again. The both of you rock back and forth underneath the moonlight as he softly hums a small tune that you recognized from the radio that played the other day when you were both driving back from meeting with his family.

It reminded you of the reason you might’ve been so distant with your own mind today, when everybody had asked when you and Jake were going to get married. The both of you had answered them all with shy giggles and brushed off comments of when the time feels right, then it’ll happen since you were both still young. But these last few days had made you think about it more, when you slowly came to realize that you did want to marry him at some point of your life.

Which was why you had the rock sitting quite prettily on your finger with a small smile on your face. He had proposed to you just last night in the early morning hues with the sun shining in on the both of you. It was quiet, but you were both lounging around lazily considering it was a day off for the two of you. Jake felt it was the perfect time to propose when you were both talking about how you were so happy with living in the house that you both moved into just a year ago from yesterday.

Thinking about that moment, you remembered that you used to dislike the idea of marriage, seeing as though it was a specific point in your life where you might never meet the right person, and it scared you, leaving your walls up around your heart and wary of those around you. However, Jake had always proven you wrong and it was times like right now where you couldn’t wait to be with him for the rest of your life.

“You know that I love you, right? My first and last love…” Jake mumbles into your hair as he squeezes you just a little bit tighter at the waist, and you nodded in response into his chest, pulling away slightly to look up at him with a smile.

His eyes met with yours and this time, he could see a little twinkle in your eyes as your smile finally met with them. You notice how there were dark bags forming underneath his eyes from working longer these days, but you could tell that this time there was something hidden behind them as he stared into yours. Reaching up to cup his cheeks, you squeeze them a bit affectionately and start pecking kisses across them from the moment that you felt your heart swell from how much you had loved him.

You wouldn’t know where you would be without him, had you not met that fateful day at the park, but you also knew that it was fate that led you right into his arms.

Right where it was meant to be.

“I love you too, Jake. I’ll keep loving until the lilies in my heart die out.” You reply softly, and he presses a small kiss against your forehead with a smile on his face.

The lilies in your heart were mentioned a long time ago when you were on your first few dates, as you remembered telling him about a poem you once wrote about the flower growing in an empty valley. It reminded you of how you wished for your heart, in reference to the lily, to grow with time with feelings that were as pure as love can be.

And it seems like you had already found it, with the man whose arms are tightly embracing you until the end of time.

taglist: @cafeyuns @from-izzy @quaissants

#kvanity #k-labels #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #jake imagines #jake scenarios #jake fluff #jake drabbles #jake x reader #jake sim #sim jaeyun #jaeyun fluff

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hoe4hotchner · 14 hours ago

Text

Chapter 13 - Rebuilding

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: Dr. Jensen is back, minimal case talk….. Something really nice in the end for everyone who made it this far.

A/N: 1 chapter left + the epilogue after this! Y'all can do it, wait is almost over before the full story is out :)

Masterlist

The hallway leading toward Dr. Jensen’s office was quieter than usual. The rest of the floor was eerily silent as you made your way through the maze of corridors.

Her office lay tucked away from the bustle of agents and analysts alike, rushing around, copying reports, debriefing, and analyzing clues. You walked slowly, the weight of the past week still pressing heavily on your shoulders. You couldn't figure out why the confrontation with Collins kept lingering in your mind, it still felt just as vivid and raw as the day it all happened.

You could still sense the feeling of the cold air rising from the rink beneath your feet, hear the chaotic echoes of screams and shouts, see the flash of Collins’ twisted smirk, but worst of all—you could still hear the sounds of gunshots. When you went to bed, they were there, moving about your day, they were there. Nothing seemed to help you.

Dr. Jensen’s door was slightly ajar. You had never really noticed it, but the placard on it read Dr. Elise Jensen, Behavioral Therapist in clean, professional lettering. You hesitated, your hand hovering just above the polished wood. Your mind drawing to her name—it suited her—you knew your brain was stalling, keeping your body from pushing forward and walking into the office.

You knew you had to talk to her, if not for your well-being, then at least as a courtesy to thank her, to wrap the case up. You tried to justify that this visit was more for her than it was something you needed.

“Come in,” her voice called gently, as though she sensed your presence.

You pushed the door open to find her seated behind her desk, the space was warm and inviting despite the setting. You loved how the office had been decorated with warm tones—it made it feel safe.

A soft beige rug covered part of the hardwood floor, and shelves lined with books on trauma, psychology, and healing framed the room. A pair of comfortable armchairs sat opposite her desk, one of which she motioned toward with a kind smile.

“Good to see you again,” she said as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

You settled into the chair, the cushions swallowing you slightly, and glanced around. A calming landscape painting hung on the wall beside her desk—you always studied it when you didn't know what to say. A small diffuser on a shelf emitted the faint scent of lavender—that one was new. The quiet hum of the air conditioning was the only other sound in the room.

Dr. Jensen leaned forward slightly, clipboard in hand but her full attention on you. “How are you feeling today?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “I don’t really know,” you admitted. “It’s like... I’m here, but part of me is still back there. On the ice.” You tried to explain, hoping that she had already been briefed about what had gone down. You didn't know if you were ready to retell the story yet.

She nodded, her expression soft with understanding. “That’s a very normal response after a traumatic event. Your mind is still trying to process what happened, and it’s common to feel disconnected or stuck. Let’s talk about what’s been coming up for you since then. Have you noticed anything specific—any triggers or moments where it feels harder to cope?”

“Crowds,” you said after a moment of thought. “And loud noises. Even applause—it used to be something I loved, but now it just... it feels wrong. I can't even enjoy a movie or music if the noise is too loud.”

“That makes sense,” she said gently, jotting something down on her clipboard. “Crowds and loud noises mimic the overwhelming sensory input from that moment for you. It’s your brain’s way of trying to keep you safe, but it can become overactive, making everyday situations feel threatening.”

You looked down at your hands, swallowing hard. “How do I stop it? Feeling like this?”

“It’s not about stopping it immediately,” she explained. “It’s about retraining your mind and body to feel safe again. One of the ways we can do that is through grounding exercises. Do you know any of those?”

You shook your head.

“They’re simple techniques to bring you back to the present moment when you feel overwhelmed,” she said. “Let’s try one now.”

Dr. Jensen guided you through a grounding exercise, her voice calm and steady as she instructed you to name five things you could see, four things you could feel, three things you could hear, two things you could smell, and one thing you could taste.

By the end of it, the tightness in your chest had loosened just a little.

“That’s grounding,” she said, smiling. “It’s a tool you can use anytime, anywhere, to help you stay present and reduce the intensity of your emotions. It's ideal to inform your close ones—or generally people you're around—on how the exercise works, to make sure someone can guide you through it if needed.”

You nodded, absorbing her words.

She leaned back slightly, her pen tapping lightly against her clipboard. “Another important part of your recovery will be self-care I think. I know it sounds simple, and maybe silly given the circumstances, but taking care of your physical and emotional well-being can make a big difference. Small, consistent actions—like getting enough rest, eating well, and doing things that bring you joy—can help you regain a sense of normalcy.”

“Joy feels... distant,” you said.

“It might for a while,” she acknowledged. “But even small things— reading a book you love, taking a quiet walk, bubble baths—can start to remind you what it feels like to experience moments of peace.”

You nodded, though the idea felt foreign.

“Lastly,” Dr. Jensen said, her tone a little firmer now but still kind, “don’t hesitate to reach out for support. You don’t have to go through this alone. If you feel like you’re struggling, call me. We can schedule another session or even just talk things through over the phone if it's urgent.”

You met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes anchoring you, it felt nice. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

“You’re taking the right steps,” she said warmly. “Be patient with yourself, and remember—progress isn’t linear. It’s okay to have good days and bad days. What matters is that you’re moving forward, even if it’s just one small step at a time.”

As you left her office, a grounding exercise flyer tucked under your arm, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. It was fragile and could be broken quickly, but it was there, and for now, that was enough.

The conference room buzzed with peaceful energy, the kind that followed most cases once the unsub was caught. Files and laptops were scattered across the table, and the team seated in their usual spots—although the seats weren't assigned, the agents somehow found their way to the same seat every time.

Despite the sense of relief after Collins’ capture, the room was anchored by the weight of what came next.

Hotch stood at the head of the table, his expression composed but serious. He looked relieved. The open file in front of him was thick with documents—arrest reports, forensic analyses, witness statements—bearing the weight of how extensive the case had been. He gestured toward a chart displayed on the screen.

“Our job isn’t done yet,” he began, his tone steady. “Collins is in custody, but securing a conviction will depend on the strength of our evidence and how we present it in court. The U.S. Attorney’s office has taken the lead on prosecution, and they’re expecting our full cooperation to ensure there are no vulnerabilities for the defense to exploit.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Do we know who the defendant is?”

“Lynn Avery,” JJ replied, consulting her notes. “She’s handled high-profile cases before, but she’s meticulous. She’ll want everything ironclad, especially with someone like Collins—It beats me that she's willing to take his case.”

Hotch nodded. “Collins’ defense team will likely argue entrapment, or claim that his rights were violated during his arrest. They’ve already filed a motion to suppress evidence gathered at his residence, citing an alleged lack of probable cause for the warrant. And they're seeking compensation from the FBI since we shot him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Morgan said, his tone sharp. “We had more than enough evidence to justify the warrant—Garcia’s cyber trail, the victim connections, and the physical evidence we tied to him.”

“And that’s what we’ll argue,” Hotch replied. “But the defense will push hard to discredit every step we took. They’ll scrutinize the chain of custody for every piece of evidence, claim coercion in his confession, and argue procedural missteps. We need to be ready for all of it.”

Reid tapped a pen against his notebook. “Given Collins’ personality profile, he’s unlikely to accept a plea deal unless it guarantees minimal sentencing. His narcissism and delusional sense of control will make him think he can manipulate the trial in his favor.”

“Exactly,” Hotch said. “Which means the trial will be a spectacle. He’ll want to testify, to put himself in the spotlight. We need to prepare for that, too.”

JJ glanced at the file in front of her. “Avery also requested comprehensive victim impact statements. She wants them submitted within the next five days to ensure they’re included in the pre-trial proceedings. The problem is that there's only one victim left, and I'm not sure she's ready for that conversation yet.” JJ sighed, and everyone instantly knew she was referring to you, being the last victim alive connected directly to this case.

“I’ll get the digital files ready,” Garcia chimed in, her fingers already flying over her keyboard. “We’ve got detailed reports on every confirmed victim, plus notes on the suspected ones. I’ll cross-reference to make sure nothing’s missing, maybe we can use some of those, although Ms. Avery probably has a way of discrediting the evidence.”

Morgan looked toward Hotch. “And the likely judge? Do we know who’s presiding over the trial?”

“Judge Abbott,” Hotch said, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. “I met with him yesterday to discuss the case, but he denied my request to prosecute Collins myself.”

“Wait,” Rossi interjected, an amused smirk on his face. “You tried to charm Abbott into bending protocol? Hotch, he’s about as flexible as a steel beam.”

Hotch’s expression didn’t waver, though a flicker of humor passed through his eyes. “It was worth a try. Abbott’s insistence on maintaining objectivity is admirable, but it means we’ll need to focus on supporting the prosecution rather than steering it. As I had hoped”

Garcia leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Wait, wait. Did you actually, you know, smile during this so-called charm offensive? Because if so, I need photographic evidence.”

The team chuckled, their laughter breaking the tension. Even Hotch allowed a faint upward twitch of his lips before refocusing.

“Back to business,” he said firmly, though the lightness in the room lingered. “Morgan, you and Prentiss will liaise with the U.S. Attorney’s office to coordinate trial prep. Reid, review Collins’ prior legal encounters. Look for anything the defense might try to use to frame him as sympathetic or rehabilitated.”

“On it,” Reid said, already making notes.

“Rossi, you and I will finalize the timeline of events and ensure the chain of custody for all evidence is documented. JJ, work with Garcia to figure out the victim profiles and organize any possible statements.”

The room buzzed with acknowledgment, each team member slipping seamlessly into their assigned roles.

Morgan leaned back, his demeanor softening for a moment. “Gotta say, though, it’s a relief to have this guy off the streets. And to see you, Hotch, of all people, trying to sweet-talk a judge? That’s just the cherry on top.”

Hotch allowed himself a small exhale, part sigh, part laugh. “Let’s focus on making sure Collins stays off the streets for the rest of his life. Humor can wait until the case is closed.”

As the team gathered their materials and filtered out of the conference room, chatting quietly among themselves, Rossi lingered behind, his gaze following Hotch as he organized the remaining case files on the table. Rossi leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his old friend with a smirk.

“You’re not just protecting her as part of the job, are you?” Rossi asked, his voice was calm but pointed, already knowing the answer.

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, his fingers tightening slightly on the folder in his hand. He quickly recovered, placing the file down and meeting Rossi’s gaze with as much neutrality as he could muster.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hotch replied evenly, his tone betraying nothing.

Rossi chuckled softly, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room. “Come on, Aaron. I’ve known you for years. I’ve seen that look before.”

“What look?” Hotch countered, his posture straightening defensively.

“The one that says you care about her. Not just as a victim, not just as someone under your protection. It’s deeper than that.” Rossi tilted his head, his eyes sharp and unyielding. “So, I’ll ask again. Are you protecting her because it’s part of the job, or is it something more?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the weight of the question pressing down on him. “I’m... Dave! My responsibility is to ensure her safety and well-being, nothing more.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’re good at a lot of things, Aaron, but lying? Not so much—at least not lying to me. You can try to convince me—or yourself—that this is strictly professional, but we both know better.”

Hotch opened his mouth to protest, but Rossi held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t deny it. Not to me.” Rossi’s tone softened, though his words retained their weight. “I’m not here to judge you, Aaron. But I am here to remind you of something important: life’s too short to bury your feelings. You can’t protect her from everything, but you can make her feel safe. And sometimes, that’s all someone really needs.”

Hotch looked away, his usually stoic expression betraying a flicker of vulnerability. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

“You think I don’t know that?” Hotch finally said, his voice low. Rossi could sense the vulnerability in his tone but decided to keep it to himself. “It’s not that simple. She’s been through enough. The last thing she needs is—”

“Is someone who cares about her? Someone who’ll fight for her, stand by her?” Rossi interrupted his voice firm, almost unkind. “Aaron, she’s stronger than you think. And so are you. Stop overthinking and start feeling.”

Hotch exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping slightly as if the weight of his own emotions was finally too much to carry. Rossi stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not telling you what to do,” Rossi said with a small, understanding smile. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t wait too long to figure it out.”

The words hung in the air like a silent command. Hotch nodded slowly, his resolve hardening as he met Rossi’s gaze.

Without another word, he left the room, his steps purposeful as he headed toward the elevator.

Rossi watched him go, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Go get her boy,” he murmured to himself before turning to gather the rest of his things.

The sound of your blades carving through the ice echoed faintly through the rink as Hotch stepped inside, the cool air hitting him immediately. He scanned the space, his eyes landing on you at the far end of the ice. Even from a distance, he recognized the fluidity of your movements—the same program you’d skated at regionals. It was mesmerizing, but there was a heaviness to your routine now, an intensity that spoke of your struggle to reclaim it as your own.

You were lost in the choreography, each spin and glide pulling you deeper into your own thoughts. Hotch stood quietly by the rink boards, watching you for a moment. There was something achingly vulnerable about the way you skated, as if you were trying to shed the weight of everything that had happened.

He knew you'd gone to see Dr. Jensen today, but you hadn't come to see him afterward—you usually did.

An idea—terrible, impulsive, and completely uncharacteristic of him—formed in his mind as he watched you. Without giving himself time to second-guess, Hotch turned and made his way to the skate rental counter.

The young attendant behind the counter looked up as he approached, her expression shifting from polite indifference to hesitant recognition. “Uh... Agent Hotchner, right?” she asked tentatively.

Hotch nodded, keeping his tone calm, trying not to sound authoritative. “I need a pair of skates.”

The attendant blinked in surprise. “Skates? For... you?”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice firm.

Her hesitation was evident as she glanced toward the ice, where you were still completely absorbed in your routine. “I, um... are you sure? I mean, it’s not really a good idea for—"

“I’m sure,” Hotch interrupted, his steady gaze cutting off her protests.

Reluctantly, she handed over a pair of skates, her expression somewhere between confusion and mild alarm. “Just... be careful, okay?”

Hotch nodded his thanks and moved to a nearby bench, where he sat down to buckle up the unfamiliar blue footwear. It took longer than he anticipated to get the right feel—years of tying dress shoes and boots had not prepared him for this buckle mechanism that didn't seem to grip the grooves right—but eventually, he managed to secure the skates tightly enough to feel somewhat stable.

Rising cautiously, he wobbled slightly, gripping the edge of the bench for support. He glanced toward the ice, noting that you were still oblivious to his presence. With a deep breath, he made his way to the edge of the rink.

The first step onto the ice was... precarious. Hotch’s legs stiffened instinctively, his arms flailing slightly before he caught his balance. He gritted his teeth, his focus narrowing as he took another hesitant step, then another.

By the time he was halfway across the ice, he was certain that this had been one of his worst ideas to date. His legs felt like they were made of lead, every muscle locked in an effort to keep him upright. He could feel the amused stares of the rink attendants boring into his back from the offices that looked out over the rink, but he pressed on, his eyes fixed on you.

You still hadn't noticed him, too focused on nailing a particularly intricate combination of spins, you'd done it before and knew you could do it over and over. But as you came out of your final turn, your eyes caught a flash of movement that didn’t belong.

Your gaze snapped to the figure cautiously making his way across the ice, and your heart nearly stopped.

“Hotch?” you called, your voice tinged with equal parts disbelief and alarm.

He looked up at you, his expression a mix of determination and barely concealed panic. “I, uh... thought I’d join you,” he managed, his voice strained as he concentrated on not falling.

You skated toward him quickly, your movements effortless compared to his awkward shuffle. When you reached him, you grabbed his hands instinctively, trying to steady him.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your tone skeptical.

He met your eyes, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Making a fool of myself, apparently.”

You slid backward a little, your skates slicing clean arcs into the ice as you circled around him a few times, studying the tension in his shoulders and the tight set of his jaw. The rink was quiet, save for the faint hum of the lights and the muffled scrape of his borrowed skates against the surface. Finally, you stopped in front of him, your arms crossed lightly over your chest, tilting your head as you took him in.

“Hotch,” you start, a teasing edge in your voice. “You do realize this isn’t exactly your natural habitat, right?”

His lips twitched. “I’m well aware,” he admitted, shifting his weight awkwardly, his knees stiff as he tried to stay upright. “But I’m not here to skate. I’m here for you.”

The sincerity in his tone cut through the lightness of the moment, and your expression softened, a little surprised. “Why, though? Why put yourself through this?”

He exhaled, his breath a mist in the cool air between you. “Because I needed to see how you were holding up. After everything—Collins, regionals, all of it—I needed to make sure you were okay.”

You glanced down, the ice beneath your skates suddenly more fascinating than the man risking his life on two thin blades in front of you. “I don’t know if I am,” you admitted quietly. “It’s like... everything’s in pieces. My career, the trial, my future—it all feels so fragile, like it could fall apart any second.”

Hotch stepped closer—carefully, deliberately— his voice low. “It won’t. You’re stronger than you think, and you’re not alone in this.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes holding several emotions you were not used to seeing from him, and it pulled at something deep within you.

“And Collins?” you asked, the name tasting bitter on your tongue.

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “The team and I are doing everything we can to ensure he’s prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. He won’t walk away from this.”

The tension between you hung in the air, stretched taut but unbroken. You nodded, your skates gliding forward just slightly as you closed the small distance between you.

“And what about you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrowed. “What about me?”

“You’ve been carrying so much—this case, the team, me...” You gestured vaguely. “How are you holding up?”

For a moment, he didn't answer, his expression guarded, but then something shifted. Without a word, he stepped closer, his movements still awkward on the ice but steady enough. His hands lifted, hesitating for a heartbeat before they cupped your face. His touch was warm, and grounding, and it sent a shiver running down your spine.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice raw. “I’ve tried to keep this professional, to do the right thing, but I can’t anymore. I’ve fallen for you—completely. And I know it’s wrong. I know it’s unprofessional, and I’m not like this. I don’t lose control like this.”

He’s rambling, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You deserve someone who can give you everything, without hesitation. But I can’t... I can’t stand by and pretend I don’t feel this way. I—”

You stopped him the only way you knew how. Leaning up on your toe picks, you pressed your lips to his, silencing the torrent of words falling from them. The kiss is slow and deliberate, your hands finding their way to his chest as his breath hitches. He froze for a moment, his entire body tense, but then he relaxed, leaning into you as if he had been waiting for this his entire life.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, and his expression is a mix of shock and something softer, something vulnerable.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you.”

His hands dropped to your shoulders, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of your jacket as he exhaled shakily. “Would you—” He paused, his voice cracking slightly before he steadied himself. “Would you go out with me? On a real date?”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you that no ice could chill. “Yes,” you simply said.

The tension in his posture melted away, and for the first time, you saw him truly relax, a small, unguarded smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the tension melting as the weight of the moment gave way to something lighter. The corners of your lips tugged upward as you took both of his hands in yours, his larger, warmer palms enveloping your own. Mischief sparkled in your eyes as you started skating backward slowly, coaxing him into movement.

“Come on,” you teased, giving his hands a gentle tug. “Let’s see if you remember anything I taught you from the last time you got on the ice.”

Hotch raised a brow, his expression skeptical as he glanced down at his skates. “That feels like a lifetime ago. I wouldn’t count on much.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, your grin widening. “Well, you’re a quick learner. And you survived that day without breaking anything, so I’m hopeful.”

He exhaled a short laugh, the sound warm, though a flicker of uncertainty still crossed his face. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“You’ve faced armed suspects and dangerous criminals, Hotch,” you said. “I think you can handle skating with me.”

He hesitated for a beat longer before he nodded slightly, his grip firming on your hands. As you begin to pull him forward, his legs are stiff, and his movements awkward at first, the careful tension in his body noticeable.

“Relax,” you encouraged him. “Bend your knees a little, remember. Trust me—you’ve got this.”

He mimicked your instructions, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to find his balance. For a fleeting moment, he almost glides, but the motion is shaky, and he gripped your hands tighter as his balance started wavering.

“Steady,” you murmured with a grin, skating a little slower to match his pace. “You’re doing better than I expected.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he muttered, though there was a flicker of amusement in his voice.

You laughed, your voice echoing in the arena. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But seriously, you’re doing great.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said dryly, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Maybe,” you admitted with a playful shrug. “But it’s nice to see you out of your element for once.”

As you continued to pull him along, you could feel his confidence growing bit by bit, the stiffness in his movements easing slightly. His dark eyes flicked to yours, filled with a mixture of determination and trepidation that’s both endearing and amusing.

“You know,” you said, slowing to a stop but still holding his hands, “for someone who claims to hate skating, you’re not half bad.”

“Flattery won’t make this any easier,” he replied.

You took a step closer, your hands still clasping his, and smiled up at him. “Maybe not. But I think you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Hotch looked down at you, his eyes softening as his expression shifted. The vulnerability you saw earlier returning.

“Thank you,” he smiled quietly. “For not giving up on me.”

You squeezed his hands gently, your heart swelling. “I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

The sound of your skates scraping the ice faded as you both started gliding toward the edge of the rink. Hotch's grip on your waist tightened just slightly, as you guided him toward a stop.

For a moment, neither of you spoke—it was as if time itself had frozen. Then, before you could even process the thought, his hands pull you gently yet firmly against him.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Hotch tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead before he looked back at you, his expression full of love.

Without another word, his lips found yours in a kiss, slow at first, as if he was savoring the moment. Your body instinctively leaned into him, the warmth of his chest against yours melting away the chill of the rink. His kiss is tender but filled with an undeniable heat, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

As the kiss deepens, you feel a thrill run through you, an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore anymore. When he finally pulled away, you both gasped for air, but the closeness lingered. Hotch's breath was warm against your lips, and his hand slid down to your waist again, pulling you even closer. He gazed down at you with that familiar, almost teasing smirk on his lips, as he started pressing several kisses to your lips.

"So... pick. You. Up. Tomorrow. At. Seven?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded without hesitation, caught up in the moment, in him. But before you could say anything more, he leaned in again, each kiss feeling like a promise.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @hotchnersgirlxx @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black @maxinehufflepuffprincess @multifandombliss

23 notes · View notes

darnell-la · 17 hours ago

Note

Hii, so, I have a request for Wade Wilson x fem!reader. Like hardcore non con, or just non con with degradation and all that teasing and mocking Wade would do. (you can take your time of course, there is no rush)

note: we had written a story similar to this request already, and never posted it. we’ll be adding on to it, and post it for this request. thank you for reminding us about our work!

since we had a story like this already, a little gift is at the end…

DO NOT READ IF CNC/SA MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

Wade had been at this for an hour now, repeatedly snapping his hips into the drunk girl. Resisting y/n was almost impossible. He was surprised he had lasted this long without feeling her insides.

The way she maimed only made him cum faster. He’s never spilled this much into a woman before. Even if he counts them combined.

Y/n was wet, tight, smelled, and tasted good. She shaved whenever she could, and thankfully for Wade, she had done so last night. Slipping into her smooth cunt felt like a dream, and he didn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

“Augh,” came out of your y/n. Low, but Wade couldn’t miss it. She sounds too good for him to stop now. Who cared if she woke up? He was so lost in the sex that he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

“You feel it? Feels good, right?” Wade asked as y/n slowly woke up, barely understanding what was happening to her. “You, y/n? Holy shit, you’re tighter than a cock ring — Never knew a human body could feel like this,”

Wade was a man who loved to talk. He was talking to her when she was unconscious, so he couldn’t imagine the things he would want to say to her while she was conscious.

“Goddamn, peanut, like — Can you hear that? Loader then a pot of pasta,” Wade did his best to pound into her deeper, causing her to let out a short scream.

“W-Wade,” y/n breathed heavily as she felt the pain in her lower stomach grow. “Yeah, peanut? All I’m doing is filling you up. Been having this need for months — Basically, since you moved in,”

Y/n had only been living with Wade and his roommate for a few months after being pulled out of the void. She noticed the tension, but he was Wade. She always thought the man was joking.

“Wade, what are you doing?” Y/n whined as she tried to understand the pressure she was feeling all over her body. “Just doing you good. Don’t you think? You came about eight times, and Jesus, you squirt a lot,”

Y/n wasn’t sure, only because she didn’t want to believe it, but after the groans coming from the man’s mouth, she could understand what all the pressure was.

“Wade- What the fuck is wrong with you? Wade!” Y/n cried out as her cunt gripped around his cock, sucking him back in, even when she couldn’t take anymore. Even though she was asleep for most of it, she felt like she’d been at this for hours.

“Oh, don’t get all feisty on me, now. Wanna finish this up before our roomie gets back,” Wade whispered in the younger girl's ear as she tried her best to keep back any moan, but it was impossible.

“N-No, I can’t — It’s too much,” y/n couldn’t help but beg the man to give her some mercy. “Just look at you — Always telling me what to do, but let’s face it- I’m stronger — I can do whatever I’d like with you,” Wade said as he felt himself near again.

“Don’t move too much, peanut — I’m so damn close,” Wade groaned in the young lady's ear as he sped up his pounding. “Gonna fill you one more time, okay, sweetheart?” Wade spoke to y/n, which only made her panic.

“Hey, stop the fighting — It’s not like I haven’t come in you already,” Wade laughed, making y/n understand that the wetness between her legs wasn’t just her. It was the amount of cum he had spilled into her while she was laid out.

“No- Wade, stop it! Stop it!” Y/n cried out as her head got dizzy. She knew she was going to cum, but she was afraid of how huge it would be. She could feel how strong it was going to be.

“Shut the fuck up, and take it again,” Wade bowled as he began filling her up once again, this time feeling a load heavier than the other. “Y-You can’t,” Y/n’s voice came out whiny right before she let loose, cumming all over him again, and throbbing harder than she’s ever done.

“I know it feels good, so you can stop the faking,” Wade whispered before pulling out of y/n’s weak figure. She couldn’t stop herself from twitching and feeling her stomach shift. He had filled her up more than she thought was possible.

“What the fuck did you do?” A stern voice spoke in y/n’s doorway. “Oh, hey there honey bagger — Just got a little steam out of me,” Wade said as he fixed himself up, still tripping from his tip, but he knew if he kept going, he’d never stop.

“Did you fucking kill her, asshole?” Logan felt a bit concerned as he made his way towards her, seeing how weak she was, and most importantly, dripping everything Wade spilled in her.

“God, Wade, what the hell — You didn’t just fill her, you- It’s impossible that’ll all come out — Jesus,” Logan said as he softly turned y/n around so she could rest on her back.

“Well, she’s definitely having my kids,” Wade couldn’t help but take this situation as a joke. He never took anything seriously, and Logan knew that. Part of him hated it, but the other part thanked him. He never knew she could expand and feel like this.

“You good, princess? Anything hurt?” Logan asked, making her shake her head slowly. “Really? I’m surprised,” Logan said, wanting to comfort her, but his cock kept twitching. The sight of her only made him want to fill her next.

“Ah, come on! She’s fine, just look at her — I bet you she’s still throbbing. Look- She definitely is!” Wade said as he pointed to her core, showing how her lips fluttered. Logan couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw how pretty the sight was.

“Are you sure you’re fine, princess? You seem like you’re aching,” Logan spoke as he slowly traced his hand down her stomach, feeling how much she shifted. “I-I need to rest,” y/n said, slightly begging for them to let her take a break.

“I know, princess, just let me make sure you’re fine,” Logan said as he slowly rubbed her bud, instantly getting whines from her. “No more, please,” she begged, but he didn’t listen.

“Ssh,” Logan hushed her as he continued by pushing two fingers through her stretched and filled cunt. “L-Logan!” She tried pushing his hand away, but the man was obviously too strong for her, especially in the state she was in now.

“Look at that — You’re not finished yet,” Logan said as he pumped his fingers in and out of her hole, watching the way she shifted on her bed to squirm away from him, but couldn’t.

“S-Stop — Please,” y/n barely had any more fight in her. “Nah uh, you’re gonna be good to me just like you were for Wade,” Logan made sure y/n knew he she wouldn’t be done for a while.

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sujiverse · 2 days ago

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— ୨ৎ . . . zero-zero-two !

sypnosis: just when suji thought it would become worse, she founds herself slowly warming up to the boys.

genre/s: fluff

warning/s: none

word count: 1,584

a/n: not proof read again

“How is it, so far?” Suji took a sip of her iced americano. She stayed silent for a couple of seconds, not wanting to discuss anything regarding the new surroundings. Suyeong, her older sister, rolled her eyes at the way she was acting.

“Come on, little sis. I’m pretty sure it wasn't that bad.” Seeing how the latter zoned out got Suyeong thinking. Suji, on the other hand, her mind drifted off to the first few days being around the new trainees which was definitely something. “Nothing much happened. It was awkward and—” she paused, “something I couldn't pinpoint.”

Her older sister was about to take a bite of the cheesecake she ordered, but stopped when she heard Suji talk. “Tell me what happened that made you think about that.” The younger female sighed, putting herself in a more comfortable position before she narrated the prior days.

Tick, tock.

No one spoke as they arrived at the practice room with Suji. There was tension going in the air as a result of the sudden, overwhelming news to the trainees. All the cameras in the room were turned off. No staff member was inside to give them the time and space to know about each other all by themselves. The only female member’s patience was already running out because they could've used the entire time waiting for someone to talk for their practice.

“We’re just wasting our time.” She spoke, making all heads snap to her way. “Is no one gonna introduce themselves?” The boys exchanged looks, wondering who would like to go first. Suji looked uninterested and kept taking a glance at her watch for the time. Someone cleared their throat and that caught her attention.

The boy smiled at her, his smile reaching his eyes. “Hi, I’m Kwon Soonyoung.” That's why he was familiar. She remembered bumping into him the day she arrived at Pledis, for sure he wouldn't be able to recall it. The person beside him began introducing himself right after up until it went back to her so-called enemy. Seungcheol. He still had the same expression on his face, looking so stern and serious.

“I’m Choi Seungcheol.” His tone was so cold, Suji bet she thought she was living somewhere in the North. She had heard about him a lot—how he was brought up as a potential leader by one of the staff and she could see it. Just from his aura, there was something about him that could make him intimidating. The female nodded, quite happy that everyone was given the spotlight to introduce themselves. Maybe it was a little step, but she knew it was something.

She took her mask off and straightened her posture, she took in the gasps from her sides. “Again, I’m Suji. You might feel like you've seen me somewhere and you're right. Suyeong from afterschool is my older sister because of her I was able to visit the company at a very young age. Unfortunately, before they could even cast me I was casted by a huge entertainment company.” Seokmin, who was beside her, had a shocked face as she turned to him because of the noises he tried to suppress.

“But I think the story screams for another time?” Some of the trainees groaned and she couldn't help but chuckle. “I don't know what you’ll feel about it, but I’ve debuted before.” she hesitated, her eyes moving to take quick glances at each of the trainees. “I’m not here to replace anyone, okay? I’m here to become a part of this team. I know you might feel like this is unfair, I feel it too. I understand your feelings, but I really don't have a say to it.”

Suji felt embarrassed, it was her first time meeting them and here she was—rambling about her thoughts. At first, she initially imagined herself being that cold and intimidating member yet as someone who was as soft as a marshmallow she wasn't able to handle it. “I won't expect for us to get close immediately, but if you need someone I’m here.” Right after she finished speaking, the choreographer entered the room and urged everyone to find their places so they could start their practice.

Seungcheol, who had been eyeing Suji earlier, was slowly bringing his walls down. The CEO wasn't someone who would make irrational decisions and probably thought this was for the better. He often found himself stealing glances at her, watching her do her best to keep up with the team. Maybe, one day he would be able to accept everything but for now, he’ll take one step at a time.

The female came in earlier than everyone. She was so used to the training she received from her previous company that she couldn't let go of it. Doing a few stretches definitely made her feel slightly better. These days, she has been feeling uncomfortable. Well, yes, partly because of the horrible first meeting she had with the boys, but also due to the ache in her knees.

A familiar melody echoed throughout the practice room, it made the latter close her eyes and let her body mindlessly move to the rhythm. There was this ache bubbling in her chest that she tried to ignore. Many thoughts ran through her head, mostly negative. She couldn't do it. Suji walked over to turn the music off—to change it to something that wouldn't make her heart break.

“Oh—hi...” A voice took her attention away from the laptop. Was it Chan? For a split second, she couldn't remember the name of the youngest trainee. Seeing the stoic expression on her face probably scared him that he immediately fixed his posture and bowed to greet her. “I’m Lee Chan.”

She just stared at him.

“I’m sor—”

“Shouldn't you be at school?” Suji crossed her arms, wondering why on earth was he here at this time when she overheard he had classes today from one of the boys. The younger one stayed silent, his lips zipped up as if he was trying to hide something.

Chan opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something but no words came out. Suji could see how he took a deep breath just so he could tell her what he wanted to say. “I..” She raised her eyebrow, almost wanting to laugh at how he gulped and let his eyes roam around the room in an attempt to not have eye contact with her.

“I wanted to…” He looked at his hands, fidgeting with it as he struggled to continue, “...know more about you, sunbaenim.” Suji didn't expect that. They only met yesterday and it was different from whatever was running through her mind. She was in disbelief that what she could only do was laugh and mutter, “What?”

Seeing how the maknae’s expression changed from being nervous to embarrassed made her clear her throat. She eyed him for a couple of seconds before she sat on the floor, patting the space in front of her for him to sit at. Chan’s eyes sparkled and the female felt warmth in her chest, it was like looking at how she acted before during her early trainee days.

“What did you want to know about?”

“Y-you debuted before, right?” Suji nodded and she knew where this was headed. “What happened?” She found herself staring at the wall, thinking of how she could tell everything to him. This wasn't the first time someone asked her about it, but she never really dared to answer. “You don't have to if you can't.” She shook her head and brought her knees to her chest.

She didn't know where to start. There were so many things that happened that for some of it, it was kind of a blur to her. Was it slowly becoming a trauma? Maybe. “I can't tell you every detail because I am not ready.” Chan nodded, understanding what she meant. “It's just sometimes, things you wouldn't expect would happen. At some point in your life, you think you’re slowly reaching your dreams and all of a sudden everything would go down.”

The younger male looked at her curiously, “Were you happy during that time?” It got her thinking. Was she?

“I think at the very start I was happy. It was so cool, you know, being able to perform in front of an audience.” A warm smile spread on her face as a few memories came to her mind. “Sometimes you just have to let go of things in order to grow.” She could feel tears brimming in her eyes, somehow it felt comforting to be able to talk about the past with someone new. Someone she knew would become a part of her life soon.

Chan hesitated yet still called her out, “Noona.” She hummed in response, tilting her head backwards to get rid of the tears that were forcing to come down before she looked at him. “I hope we stay together for a long time.” It brought another smile to Suji's face. “I hope so too.” She stood up and offered a hand to Chan.

“How about I show you new moves?” The youngest member eagerly nodded and held her hand. “Let's go!” The room was filled with laughter and smiles as the two of them turned the music on, dancing whatever move they could think off. What they didn't know was someone looking at them at the door with a big smile on his face.

#ᰍㅤ۪ ㅤ수지 ㅤᜑ ㅤSCENARIOS ㅤ.ᐟ #14th seventeen member #seventeen 14th member #seventeen x reader #kpop added member #kpop fictional oc #svt x reader

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nonbinary-octopus · 2 years ago

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I had a dream, and it kept kinda pausing to be like "this is a real story, it's written down! Here's your tag on tumblr for it, here's the title of the book, here's the names of the characters, remember remember remember, look it up when you wake up, this is real."

this is the second time a dream has been this insistent about me finding the story again when I wake up.

Maybe I need to write more. Get the stories out of my brain and into the real world.

#original #dream writing #the dream was also oddly familiar #I felt I knew what was going to happen. I knew the story already #at least partly #like a book I'd read long ago

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possamble · 7 months ago

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I'm not allowed to be on social media for more than two seconds today but I just wanted to say that Laios will absolutely have his own reaction to all this as someone who would die for Falin but has also imprinted on Marcille as his Emotional Support Comphet White Girl Not-Girlfriend along the way

#a little creature #sometimes i look at the way i want marcille to be the closest thing hes ever had to a girlfriend but in a 100% platonic way and im like #is this what they mean by queerplatonic or have i just never had a dude best friend who wasnt like. a super fruity gay twink #anyway its gonna be as hard on him as it is for us bc he loves them both so much #the most important women in his life bar none #marcille probably slapped him when she got back tho. like she just saw his face and all the misdirected anger at him 'taking falin' just #rose up and burst again #its ok tho. you know she immediately broke down crying in his arms again blubbering incoherently bc she felt bad but also shes still mad #and she just doesnt know what to do with herself #the hardest part about this fic is that like. there are SO many juicy things going on offscreen #but. i have to breathe deep and keep calm and let them happen out of falin's POV #the ryoko kui method. what happens in the story happens and what happens outside can be explored in extras if need be #edit: also just figured out why ive been chafing a *little* bit against ppl assuming that it's the fear of falin dying that motivated #marcille's denial of her feelings so far #bc it's technically true but something just didn't sit right and i didn't wanna say anything until i figured it out #in little creature she has in part already realized that falin's passing is going to hurt no matter what she does right now #bc she's already passed the threshold of preemptive grief and sealed her own fate by how much she cares about falin #so it's not really... about that as much as it would have been during the canon story #it's just that. to acknowledge that she has romantic feelings for falin means recontextualizing their relationship in a way where #she has been the one hopelessly chasing while falin didn't realize/ignored her for the most part #and she couldnt allow that to be true both bc she couldnt bear to make falin the 'villain' in her love story #and bc she subconsciously knew the scope of pain would be too much for her to handle #so now my problem is. how do i make that clear in the fic from falin's POV without getting too heavy handed about it

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genekies · 7 months ago

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tag vent

#i have to move back to my hometown due to a mistake. a misunderstanding. and being too trusting in others ideas #and my boyfriend is moving an hour away as well. neither of us have been able to get a car or license yet due to money and i dont know when #we can see eachother again after we both move. since we started dating weve been sleeping in the same bed because we were/are roommates #just being gone for the weekend in my hometown is hard because i cant stand to be here but its worse because hes not in my bed every night #ive grown so used to falling alseep in his arms that i dont know what to do at night. i dont feel safe without his arms holding me #ive never felt safe where ive lived before. ive never felt safe in a relationship. ive never felt loved for who i am. that was until him.#now i feel safe in our home. i feel safe in our relationship. i feel loved for who i am. and now we have to be so far apart.#ive done long distance before but this is going to hurt so much my cat loves him she is super cautious and scared around new people but #she loved him since the start. not to mention shes my esa so that really mattered to me. he wants to move with me but it isnt happening #he got definite housing an hour away for super cheap in a town where he knows everyone and i have possible in a town where im surrounded by #people i know but am terrified of. im scared to move back here but have no choice. unless i make that terrifying choice of going with him.#the apartment he is getting is a two bedroom. id only have a studio. hes offered for me to come but im scared to move that far away again #i want to be with him but im scared to move to a whole new town with him. i know hes an amazing guy but we'd be moving away from my friends #and family. i already have to move away from all my friends if i go back to my hometown but this would be a different story.#moving to a whole new town with a guy that i only started dating 2 months ago? like yes. i lived with him previously and knew him for longer #than we dated but im still scared. i think rightfully so. but still.#but there are some pros to moving with him. hometown has no music scene and his town does and thats really important to me.#we'd also be close to his family. but farther from mine. hed be around friends and id have none no matter where i go.#idk im just rambling but i really needed to vent. i lost my best friend recently to the point of them siding with strangers almost and they #helped them break and enter into the house to intimidate me and bf and then a few days later came with cops after saying repeatedly that #they were an anarchist and acab but only when they dont use them apparently. because i guess morals/values only matter when its convenient #im so tired though but i cant sleep so i might write some cringe poetry and try to chill out before going on a late night/early morning walk #tag vent #vent in tags

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secondpersonpoetry · 9 days ago

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HI!!!!! whilst eating dinner i watched the “once an otter always an otter” number retirement video on youtube and thought “ooh. cool. let me see what people are saying”. opened tumblr. saw your most recent reblog, pressed play. saw DYLAN STROME say the word “davo” and immediately had to pause it lol. put my fork down to boot. like…..flabbergasted. genuinely. man oh man. my goodness. unpaused. the past tense “it was (WAS!!!!) an honor to be your friend” (😧) and the “and hopefully we can make some more [memories] in the future” and the fade to black. SHUT UPPPPPPPPP. OH MY GOD…………….i don’t have anything of substance to add just im sick!!! im sickened!!!!!! it’s never overrrrrrrrrr. absolutely unbelievable!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! frank ocean ivy trust and believe you WILL be looped for the foreseeable future……..they’ll never be those kids again!!!!! and the game’s in a week and a half!!!!!!! gahhhhhhh. nuts crazy bonkers etc etc. going to have an absolutely exceedingly normal one about it for sure!!!!!! hope you have a good one!!!!!!!

also! just for future reference: do you prefer asks of this nature sent to this blog or your hockey one? thank you!!

"Centaur over Tomer Butte" [amended, abridged], Robert Wrigley

you know. i don't think i actually ever registered dylan saying "davo". i think my ears just decided i didn't need to hear that, for the good of my brain to continue functioning. who up having their present haunted by the ghosts of the past who are less like ghosts and more like someone you keep forgetting walked out of the next room but also aren't quite sure if they came back and you've only just worked up the courage to call out to them. schrödinger's best friend who might or might not be there in your future to make more memories with. but at least this time you opened the door and left it cracked for him to crawl back through.

#me when i. when i. like i was looking for a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT POEM to reply because that is unfortunately the arbitrary mechanism #brain decided to employ here and then this one was like NO ACTUALLY i am invading your brainwaves. i wanted to find all my dylan/zach you #you say his name just to keep him for a while longer in your mouth bring more of him into the world poems wherever they went because.#as mentioned. number one actually i will also say i didn't have the sound on for the first few seconds of the video because human error #of needing to hit unmute BUT my brain :) was protecting me :) from having to think about stromer :) davo-ing him :) and i am LOSING IT #idk. idk. poem felt relevant because we were talking about stars & i have very long had a note about connor & orbits even if it's re: leon #and alsO i keep looking at ash's post about a wobbler and his devoted valet because i'm in love with it and it IS them and so i also #immediately went OH MY GOD but that was second the first part was me going “ME BREATHING DOWN HIS NECK FOR A WHILE IN A FURTHER FOREVER”#DYLAN YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE DYLAN SOME ODD NUMBER OF YEARS OUT STILL TALKING ABOUT CONNOR LONG AFTER YOU'D THINK HE COULD STOP & FORGET and #we were talking about ghosts with bleachers and thinking about like. don't assume ghosts were birthed by other ghosts maybe nothing went #wrong!! the it was an honor to be your friend!! cody's post that was like we all want to know what happened in their friendship and it #sounds like maybe dylan wants to know too! y'all i can't BE HERE there's something percolating and i don't know what it is. smth smth #orion the hunter leon is a scorpio but ALSO i need everyone to understand how complex this square is like i don't hate leon and i need him #to be okay if we have mcstrome & viceversa. anyway i meant the distance between stars forever? OH ALSO I FORGOT TO MENTION ME READING TOMER #LAUGHING LIKE HAHA STROMER right there and then editing the poem so it said stromer & all of you could suffer with me. in a further forever #do u think they promised each other forever when they were kids. do u? do u think the arrow drawn at the heart was one dylan always knew #connor would have to fire? shout out to the verse before that said what lives on that map (charted lightning strikes) never sees the light #& it [s]t[r]omer was significant once before a lava from the west filled its valley in. caved its <3. connor breaking dylan's <3 -> ghost #liv in the replies #anyway made myself more unhinged with the schrödinger's best friend and them missing each other thinking about like. dylan wasn't there fr.#something something time loops and alternate universes i KNOW it's kinda terrible but this is how you lose the time war-esque element #(bc i also just finished reading welcome to forever) of them never seeing each other for real right like. always just an observation. does #he care or does he not. a video of dylan a tweet from connor a text a missed invitation an instagram story the levels of separation and by #god YES i will willfully misinterpret schrödinger & also smtms quantum physics what else do u have a niche interest for. planetary bodies b #ALSO! idrc but yes pls if hrpf related (all side blogs we die like men) send asks over there & maybe i will be more tag story organized #(also while this blog LOOKS more active bc i have a queue for months i am actually more active on the hockey blog lmao) & bc also i want to #share your asks with everyone there. duh. also if i did not tell u already BESTIE THE DMS IF YOU WANT!!! i love receiving asks. u were #already immediately my friend when u sent me one & like. now i would die for u we're having conversations. but if u want a poem send here #p.s. everyone tells me i'd love frank ocean lmao but i haven't listened to him yet for literally no reason. maybe this is the stars alignin

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wholesomepostarchive · 1 year ago

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8/1/2023

Starving to death this morning because ive been to the new local cafe twice this week already and if i go a third time ill look desperate.

#a big BIG affectionate shoutout to the ‘regulars’ of this blog who send me posts to add to this growing collection of wholesome!!!!#AND OF COURSE A BIG HUGE THANK YOU TO @einkleinergruenerkaktus FOR ANOTHER GREAT HIT #so many good stories in this one!!!#and tho it started in a place where i genuinely felt for the people + their fear i’m glad it opened up to a new POV because!! yeah!!!#i LOVE being a regular at places :-) and getting chances to talk to the staff when it isn’t too busy #hearing about what they’re studying in college or what their fave menu item is #or swapping Looks when a customer is being entitled + rude #i remember feeling SO so disoriented the first couple times it happened when the server or cashier #asked me if i was going to have my usual or matter-of-fact told me that they already put my order in + i could go wait #but i started to get to know THEM in the same way they knew ME!!! which!!#some of my favorite moments have been in cafes + tea places + diners #i wonder how they’re all doing #i hope they’re well + getting tipped generously

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shidoukanae · 7 months ago

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also now realizing there's a heavy possibility that the unknown event Daniel references where he asks Lyla "how are you going to find your happiness?" is the same event Helene references when she tells Lyla that Lyla "betrayed" her.

Coincidentally, that's probably the same event that allowed Helene to be manipulated by the Empress into turning against Lyla and might have been the cause of Daniel leaving Lyla (probably to find out how to awaken as a dragon so he could gain the power to take her away from her family faster? maybe even going so far as to try and compete w/ Paris for the throne if it means protecting Lyla?)

There's also a suspicious gap of time from when Helene was poisoned to when she told Lyla to get away from her that has been omitted. And considering baby Lyla cries about Helene not wanting to be with her anymore...and that same baby Lyla is seen hugging Daniel in the unexplored scene...Lyla what the fuck did you do to Helene to embitter her like this?

#the mighty extra #the mighty extra: one girl changes the world #me a week ago: gee im not sure if the Helene saying Lyla betrayed her scene makes sense re: Lyla's death #me now: ohhhhhhhh we haven't gotten to the reason why Helene felt betrayed yet gooootcha that's why something feels amiss #something happened in the gap of time between when Helene got poisoned and when she turned her back on Lyla gooootcha #and here i thought it was a smooth transition but now i see i have yet again been tricked by my own bad expectations LMAO #im so used to just accepting half-baked explanations that are construed to try and explain canon events i didn't even think to doubt myself #this story really is the gift that keeps on giving #also the idea of Daniel competing with Paris for the sake of ensuring Lyla gets to live a happy life is really fucking cute #he gives off a lot of big brother vibes and honestly for a “unpredictable crazy dragon” he's such a sweetheart #my current guess is that Arne somehow tricked Helene to turn against Lyla? or tricked Lyla into hurting Helene somehow (emotionally)?#because these sisters ADORED each other very clearly and Helene being poisoned by Sienna wouldn't have broken their bond so easily #whatever happened was bad enough that Daniel said it was better off if she forgot all about it #which #she did #but not in the way he expects alas #and here i was thinking Helene was just an asshole because she felt severely hurt by Lyla's dangerous actions #nope! she's got a reason indeed and the fact that she felt betrayed by Something TM and yet still tries to save Lyla anyways is just #Interesting!#there's still more depth to dig out of these sisters and their relationship together pre-“Lyla” and im living for it!!!#also im still so confused about Daniel #so he was the sea witch's apprentice which means he knew Sienna but also he ran away from the sea witch at some point #and has been on the run from his own empire joined some pirates is now living with Ellie and is going to Lyla's side post the finale #i still dont get why he didn't take Lyla with him or come back for her. was he waiting to do so? for what? he was already awakened as a-#as a dragon by the time he found Lyla again. and he definitely didn't forget about her so like #*tilts head*#i can understand him being like “oh Lyla left guess she didn't wait for me” but i don't think he's ever implied that???#considering Daniel's side of Lyla's past still has holes in it I think there's going to be answers coming soon to this question but man #i love trying to do a conspiracy board in my head of the events that went down in the bg re: Lyla bc it's so fascinating to piece together #everything is explained but also nothing is explained and the writing for this story is really admirable as fuck

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chuluoyi · 6 months ago

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𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

he is your husband and you are his wife. but of course you know the bitter truth—you will never be able to replace her.

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, drunken sex, mentions of injury, blood, hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here), spoilers! from zayne’s bond story nostalgic sweetness

note: wc. 8k ! i've been having these bits and pieces scenarios for zayne in mind and then i thought what if i combined it all into one angst joyride? :)) tagging per request: @kissxcore @rjreins @i2s2m @tom-pls-fuck-me @yueyoonie @sanriosatoru

07.15 p.m

Zayne would be getting off work soon. He had just finished an emergency surgery, and it had been exhausting. Now it was quite late.

“Dr. Zayne! Great job today!” Greyson exclaimed, suddenly strolling into his consultation room with a grin. “Want to grab dinner with us?”

Honestly, he was starving too. “Where?”

“Oh, you know, that new place that just opened nearby! They have the tastiest tiramisu, or so I’ve heard. C’mon, we’re inviting the nurses too!”

He knew he needed to head home soon, but fatigue and hunger blurred his thoughts at the mention of dessert.

“Alright.”

. . .

08.25 p.m

Getting together with the hospital staff was always nice. They were rowdy, but it was definitely a great way to unwind after a hard day.

The tiramisu was as great as Greyson said. Speaking of his assistant, he and Yvonne were having a blast. Other doctors were getting drunk. Zayne could only shake his head, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had been here quite a while.

It was only when he turned on his phone and saw the time that he realized, with sinking heart that—

He was supposed to meet you at six.

If you were asked how you felt about your life now, you’d be hard-pressed to say you were completely content.

You were a stellar fighter in the Hunter Association, more than content with your job, and you had a good husband. To some, you had what they would call the perfect life.

The wife of the Dr. Zayne. True, it was a flattering title, yet unbeknownst to everyone, also a humbling one.

And the notion struck you once again when your husband of almost two years stood you up on your dinner date without so much as a notice.

“Miss... we’re about to close now...” The waitress approached your table for at least the third time, and you nodded sheepishly, finally finishing your meal.

You paid for it and left the restaurant. The chilly night air hit your skin, giving you goosebumps as you walked home. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Granted, Zayne had a packed schedule, and you figured he might've had an urgent matter to attend to that he forgot to let you know.

Still... it hurts. Knowing you were not a priority in your husband’s eyes wasn’t a fun feeling.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket the moment you arrived at your shared home. Your husband’s name flashed on your screen. The time now was 08.40 p.m.

“Hello, Zayne?”

“Y/N?” Your husband’s voice sounded frantic. “Are you still at the restaurant? I’m going—”

“Ah, no need to. I’m going home.”

“I’ll pick you up then. Stay there—”

“I’ve already arrived.”

An awkward silence settled between you, and you could clearly hear the noise on the other end. Greyson’s laughter was unmistakable.

You forced a laugh, still trying to sound cheerful for him even when realizing that he had completely forgotten about you. “It’s totally fine, Zayne! Are you heading back?”

“Yeah...”

“Take care then. See you at home.”

You ended the call with a sigh, trying to shake off the sting in your heart. As you made your way upstairs to your bedroom, you passed by a large portrait on the wall, and a bittersweet sensation washed over you.

Your wedding photo. Both of you were smiling on what was the most wonderful day of your life. Zayne’s smile was reserved, but yours was radiant.

It is the most wonderful thing that has happened to you... but is it the same for him?

At that time, despite everything, you were convinced a lifetime of happiness awaited you, yet now... it got harder to fool yourself into believing it.

Your marriage has always been lukewarm.

Zayne wasn’t an overly excited person, and you were his opposite—but try as you might, some things between you just didn’t work out. As a result, both of you tended to keep certain things to yourselves.

Most days, this didn't bother him. He valued his privacy, so the way things were suited him just fine. However, several days later, when Greyson approached him with a worried expression and a news, even Zayne had to draw the line.

“Dr. Zayne? Uh, how do I say this? I think I saw your wife being wheeled in earlier with the injured from the hunt zones raid…”

. . .

“Your husband is a doctor here. Why aren’t you calling him?”

Xavier, your fellow Deepspace Hunter who was partnered with you in this mission, questioned you with a hint of annoyance as he observed your pathetic state on the stretcher and crossed his arms. “Why do you have to bleed out in ER when you can get him?”

You winced, pressing the bloodied cloth against your stinging abdomen as you felt yourself growing faint. “He’s... a surgeon,” you panted. “He’s busy.”

Above all, you didn’t want Zayne to see you like this. You could already imagine his angry face, and that mental image alone made you recoil.

“What sort of husband is busy when his wife is injured?” Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Did you at least notify him?”

You shut your eyes, feeling a migraine coming.

“I will then.”

“No.”

“Y/N, you—”

“Shut up, Xavier—”

The curtain was suddenly pulled back, and you braced yourself for whoever had come to check on you next. To your surprise, the cloth in your hand was snatched away, and you felt your uniform being torn open with urgency.

When you opened your eyes, you barely made out your husband’s figure through your hazy vision. “…Zayne?”

His expression was stern, unforgiving even, as he started to disinfect your wound. Despite the tension, you couldn't deny the relief that washed over you. You knew you were in good hands, even if you had to face his fury later on.

Your consciousness slipped away not long after that.

. . .

The next time you woke up, you found yourself in a private room, with a nagging itch where you had been injured.

You groaned, your limbs stiff and heavy, and the room slowly came into focus—along with your husband's face.

"Zayne?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper. He stood pristine in his white coat and glasses, assessing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Your wound is, thankfully, shallow," he said flatly, his tone lacking any real concern. "You'll be discharged tonight. I'll take you home as soon as my shift is over."

"Ah..." You blinked several times to clear your head. "Good then. Sorry for showing up out of nowhere. Xavier and I were on a rescue mission, and I accidentally—"

He walked away before you could finish, the abruptness snapping you fully awake. He was furious, that much was clear.

"Ha ha..." You forced a laugh, fiddling with your fingers, trying to ease the awkward tension between you. "It doesn't hurt much, actually. You're right—I'm fine..."

Zayne shot you a sharp glance. "You passed out due to blood loss."

"This isn't the first time it has happened and nor will it be—"

"And it didn't even occur to you to inform me at all. I found out that my own wife was wounded because Greyson passed by the ER and saw you."

His words left you silent, caught red-handed, but your annoyance was reaching its limit. You had imagined how nice it would be if he panicked about you, showering you with care when he found out. But instead, Zayne chose to rebuke you the moment you woke up.

“I’m not a child,” you reasoned, keeping yourself calm. “I’m a hunter. This is nothing new, and you should understand that.”

“The least you could’ve done is to tell me—“

“Do you know why I didn’t? It’s because I know how you’ll react!”

“—and it would do you better to prioritize your safety and not rush headfirst into danger.”

“Believe me, I do but—!”

Suddenly, Zayne spun around to face you, his eyes blazing with fury as he raised his voice. “I’ve told you so many times already, you have to stay back, or you’ll end up—!”

He stopped abruptly, leaving his sentence hanging in the air, but right at that moment, you knew all too well who he meant, and what the implication was.

His, without a doubt, greatest love. His childhood friend, a hunter like yourself, someone he had vowed to save but succumbed to her illness before he could do so, died on arrival.

The irony was sharp. You had become everything she once was. You knew her well, too. When she passed, the entire Hunter Association mourned her loss. And more than that, on the night she died, you had been with him.

Looking back, you should have seen it coming. Still, it hit you like a splash of cold water. Your husband was still preoccupied with thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, and worse yet, he saw pieces of her in you.

And you suspected he had for a while—perhaps even, from the very beginning.

For a second there, not for the first time, you felt your heart shatter.

“I don’t have Protocore syndrome,” you stated, steeling yourself against the heartbreak. “My heart won't suddenly fail because I get injured. I’m not that weak.”

You turned away as Zayne refused to respond, missing his look of disdain as he stormed out of the room.

That was when your first tear fell.

Right from the start, you knew you had to brace yourself for this. You knew that eventually, this tragedy would overshadow your marriage. Because while Zayne might be your husband by law, deep down, his heart still belonged to someone else.

To her.

You two are too much alike.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed it. And it wouldn’t be the last.

On bad mornings, when his eyes were bleary and he hadn't had a good sleep, he would see her instead of you in your shared bed. And with that mistaken sight came a fleeting sense of relief... until his vision cleared and he remembered she was truly gone and it was you.

Zayne knew how wrong this was on so many levels. It was terribly unfair to you.

Still, his concern for you was genuine. Seeing you lying still on the stretcher brought back that very same nightmare, and really, he truly never wanted you to be hurt.

After his outburst and your clipped response, the two of you barely exchanged any words for the rest of the week. To make matters worse, he was sent on a business trip the following week, and all in all, you went two weeks hardly speaking to each other.

And before he knew it, her death anniversary was only a couple of days away.

. . .

"How much is this?"

"Ah, the bow is 50,000 Gold, sir!"

Inside the airport's souvenir shop, Zayne examined the intricate light blue and white bow clip. Made of tweed and adorned with small pearls, it looked nice.

He thought it'd suit you well.

"I'll get this then."

"Right away!"

As the clerk went to wrap the trinket, Zayne reflected on these past two weeks. A nagging feeling twisted in his gut as he thought about how curt he had been with you in text messages and how often you had left him on read.

Husband and wife shouldn't be this way. He wanted the unbearable air between you to end. Determined to resolve things, he planned to talk to you when he returned. He was on his way to the airport taxi when—

"Zayne!" He stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar voice, and turned around.

There you were, waiting by his car with a smile.

It was never in you to stay angry for long. It was a blessing and a curse, really, because while you no longer wished to give your husband silent treatment, a part of you still felt conflicted.

"How was your trip?" you asked as you started the engine, pushing the events of the past two weeks to the back of your mind.

Zayne didn't immediately answer, and you felt his gaze on you as you drove the car. "It was okay."

You hummed in acknowledgement, and he followed up with, "How is your wound? Do you dress it daily?"

"Mm-hm. It's getting better."

"I'll have a look at it later."

"Sure."

Silence. Usually you would ramble to distract him, but now, even you weren’t sure if you should.

Then, he said, "You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have made my way home on my own."

To that, you pasted on a smile. “You always pick me up whenever I have to go on business trips. It’s only fair I do the same for you, husband.”

Ah. Was it the wrong move? The word had slipped out so easily that you didn’t realize it until after you said it.

But to your surprise, Zayne let out a chuckle and played along. "Well, thank you then, wife. It certainly felt quite off without a certain someone the past week."

So, he actually likes having you around...? The thought made you almost giddy. Despite his usual taciturn and sarcastic demeanor, you knew he was genuine in his own way.

"Bet you missed me," you teased, grinning.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you sure it's not the other way around?"

"Nope. But I did miss getting new snowmen."

"...why do you like them so much? I've made plenty for you already."

"No particular reason. Snowman just kinda reminds me of you somehow."

The tension between you had melted away, and you felt a sense of relief. Beside you, even Zayne couldn’t hide his smile. For the rest of the drive home, you chatted like you used to.

When you arrived back at your shared home, he suddenly stopped and presented you with a little box. "I got you something."

"Huh?" you paused, bewildered, as he took your hand and placed the box in it.

"Open it."

With curiosity, you lifted the lid, and were surprised at the sight of a pretty bow clip inside. "Whoa, how cute..."

Zayne eyed you expectantly. "Do you like it?"

Your eyes lit up with delight, and a smile spread across your lips.

"Yes!" you beamed at him with zero hesitation, and in that moment, something struck a chord within him. Zayne had always thought you were easy on the eyes—

—but when you smiled like that, you were truly charming.

"It's healing nicely."

You felt somewhat self-conscious as your husband examined your bare abdomen, where your injury was, as you lied on your bed. His hands, cool and practiced, tenderly removed your stitches.

It wasn't as if Zayne had never touched you. You two had been married for almost two years, and of course you had been intimate several times, but it wasn't as if you were a passionate couple to begin with—so you often found yourself flustered.

"Mm." Despite yourself, you squirmed. Noticing this, he looked up at you, his unfazed eyes meeting yours with a frown.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, not really... It just feels as if you're tickling me."

He was positively unamused. "I'm not trying to tickle you."

"I know!"

Zayne wrapped your midsection securely with the bandage. When he was done, he let out a sigh and you felt like you had to show him your gratitude somehow.

“Thank you, Zayne…” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. But in the next second, your heart skipped a beat as his hand rested gently on your head.

"You can thank me by being more careful next time." Your husband looked at you with the smallest of smile. "Your safety comes first, always remember that."

Without either of you realizing it, you both had tried to bury that argument from two weeks ago, yet it was still gnawing at you all the same. The thought that he too was bothered with it made you warm.

"Noted," you cheekily grinned. "If I'm not safe and sound, a certain iceman will get angry at me."

Zayne shot you an unimpressed look. “If you come to me injured again, I’ll start charging you fees.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. "How stingy! I'm your wife, not just some stranger!"

"A very uncooperative wife, you are."

You huffed, and he chuckled. You really thought all was well between you two now, until Zayne suddenly stood up and grabbed the car keys. “Well then, rest. I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stop by the florist—”

And it hit you. In two days. The day everything ended three years ago.

Zayne seemed to realize it too, but you quickly masked your falling smile with a faux one. "O-oh, right..."

No matter how, it's still going to be an important day to him. You had nothing against it, really. Your husband's late girlfriend had once been your colleague too, and you mourned her just like everyone else did.

Still, even with that understanding, in your heart of hearts, it remains just as bitter.

You didn't want to, but you needed to find closure. You hoped that by doing this, it would finally put an end to all your insecurities.

"Let's go together, Zayne. I want to pay her a visit too."

Two days later, you and Zayne, a bouquet of flowers in hand, stood before the grave bearing many colorful flowers and postcards.

You supposed you knew already, but seeing it firsthand, you realized just how deeply she was loved still. The outpouring of respect from the Hunter Association was evident in the tribute left behind.

"It's been a while," Zayne, dressed in his most formal black suit, said solemnly, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the pristine stone.

You watched as he knelt to place his flowers and then brought his hands together in prayer. You followed his lead, placing your own bouquet beside his.

What should you even say to her? Your mind raced with countless thoughts, but none felt right to voice before the woman who had so deeply captured your husband's heart.

In the end, when you sensed that Zayne had finished with his prayer, you decided to remain silent and rose with him.

. . .

“Does it get easier?” you asked out of curiosity afterwards. “Three years has passed already.”

Although Zayne wasn’t one for drinking, even the need won today. He didn’t meet your eyes as he sipped his wine, humming thoughtfully. “Somewhat. As they say, time heals.”

You two stopped by a fine restaurant after visiting the grave. The cemetery had been a two-hour drive from Linkon City, and now it was already evening.

“She loved jasmines,” you remarked, recalling the pot of them you once saw on her desk and the flowers overflowing at the grave earlier.

“She did.” The alcohol seemed to loosen his tongue as he continued, “She loved old popsicles and macarons too.”

“And you like them as well.”

“To be honest, I started liking them back when we were kids…” Zayne had this pained, faraway look in his eyes as he had another sip. “She cried over her melted popsicle and it got me to wonder if it was really that tasty...”

The idea that you had to compete with a dead woman for your husband’s affection left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you had failed thoroughly as a wife.

Despite hating yourself for asking, you needed to know. “Do I help you… in any way at all?”

Zayne was clearly taken aback by the question. His sharp, gray eyes locked onto you, mind whirred as he tried to grasp your meaning.

“Y/N, you...”

It was foolish, you knew. But you waited with bated breath for his response, even when one wrong word could shatter your heart beyond repair. You were ready for any sort of unfavorable answer, but then—

“I... am glad it is you.”

His words made you look up, and you found yourself caught in his gaze. Zayne’s ashen eyes were steady, piercing into you.

“You were there on the hardest days. And ever since, you’ve always stayed by my side.” He held your gaze firmly, voice was thick with emotion you couldn’t quite name. “I’m grateful for that.”

And then, with a sincerity that pierced through every uncertainty, he added, “What I want to say is... I’m glad I married you, Y/N.”

You have loved him for so long. Since the days when you know he isn’t yours to love, until now.

Your heart swelled with so much warmth that tears brimmed in your eyes. His acknowledgment of your presence filled you with a profound sense of belonging you never knew you needed before.

Was it the alcohol?

You suspected it might be, because in nearly two years of marriage, Zayne had never lost his control like this. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, he pushed you against the wall and devoured your lips hungrily.

“Mmph!” His hands gripped your arms while his lips and tongue pried yours open. The kiss was searing, almost forceful, with the faint bitterness of wine still lingering.

“Zay…ne…” you gasped between his kisses—teary, breathless, your voice trembling.

But your breathy grunts only seemed to spur him on. His dark eyes, clouded with lust, fixed on you as his hands slipped beneath your blouse, deftly unclasping your bra with a flick.

He is hot. Your husband was everything a woman desired in a man. Cool, handsome, blessed with hands that could do wonders—

In no time, he had you naked and wet before him, and with alarming speed, he too discarded his own suit and pants, throwing them away in flurry. And you could hardly believe what you were seeing next.

He spitted on his hand, ran it along his member—stroking himself with a practiced ease, never breaking eye contact with you. The next thing you knew, he yanked you into another burning kiss and made you topple on top of him—

“Ah!” his hands guided your hips with precision, positioning you and entering you. The instant he did, you whimpered at the sudden, sharp sting of pain.

“Does it hurt?” he asked almost in a growl when you clung to his shoulder with uneven breaths.

It was too sudden, and you hoped the discomfort would pass, so you timidly shook your head.

“If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.” Zayne tangled his fingers in your hair, turning your face to his. “Understand?”

There was always a distinct, almost commanding aura about him whenever the two of you were in your marital bed. Perhaps the way his voice sound lower, but it just hit different.

And you are a willing prey... whenever he becomes that beast.

He inched inside you slowly, making you moan with each instance. He was thick, warm, and taking him in was a challenge in itself. And when he finally sheathed himself fully, your nails had made its first scratch on his skin.

You felt full, and the way your womanhood stretched and clenched around him with each breathe you took made you dizzy. Panting, you finally met his gaze. Zayne’s gray-hazel eyes were still clouded with desire as he placed his hands firmly on your hips. Unable to resist, you reached out to caress his face.

"Hmm..." he subconsciously leaned into your touch, pressing his eyes shut together. "You smell nice," he huskily muttered.

Right this moment, all negative thoughts eluded you. It felt gratifying that your husband sought your touch like this as you towered over him.

And yet, despite that...

“Do you... finally see me now?” you asked, trailing your other hand down his toned chest and starting to grind against him. Zayne drew in a sharp breath and groaned, his fingers gripping your bum tighter.

Depending on his response, you would either find peace or face another heartbreak. You had placed your happiness on this pedestal more times than you could count, and it was a cross you had to bear.

But you never received your answer.

Your husband merely gazed up at you with a dangerous gleam. And oh, you could've sworn, this sight of Zayne eyeing you as if he were about to ruin you right then and there, would live-free in your mind for many days to come.

He then buried his face in your bosom, sucking on you with such fervor that your hands instinctively reached for his head to massage his scalp. The room was soon filled with your erotic groans and the squelching sounds from where your flesh were joined together— as he thrusted inside you over and over.

Right in this moment, you felt truly desired and wanted.

You are so happy. Incomparably so.

At the crack of dawn, Zayne woke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was how spent he felt, his limbs stiff and a throbbing headache pulsing at the back of his head.

Then he turned to his side, and the sight that met him twisted his gut in such a way that snapped him fully awake—

You were beside him, barely dressed and still deeply asleep. Your hair was a mess, and love bites were scattered across your skin, some on your chest looking almost like bruises.

It dawned on him that he, too, wasn’t decent. A sudden coldness gripped him, though it wasn’t just the morning air.

Him and you... last night...

Yesterday marked the third year. He meant everything he said to you, but the fact that he did this, with you, on the day of her death...

There was... nothing wrong with what he had done. You were his wife, no one could condone him for what he instigated. Yet, it still made him shiver.

And to make it worse, his thoughts from last night echoed back with vengeance, and—

He suddenly feels so immensely guilty.

. . .

It was the best sleep you’d had all week.

When you woke, sunlight had seeped through the window, and you discovered yourself already in pajamas, tucked snugly under a blanket. Still groggy with a dull ache in your lower belly, you relished the lingering afterglow, sighing in pure contentment, until you noticed Zayne wasn’t beside you.

Where did he go? You wondered amidst your haze. Sluggish, you stumbled out of the bed, flinching when your foot met the cold floor.

You eventually found him downstairs, sipping coffee at the dining table still with messy hair. "Zayne?"

He glanced up at you and nodded. There was something different about him, a subtle shift you couldn’t quite place. As you took a seat across from him, you hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Before you could find the right words though, he spoke first.

"I'm... sorry," he said, his tone laced with regret, causing a sharp pang of unease inside you.

"What?" you stared at him, feeling small and unsettled. "What are you sorry for?" you questioned as you gripped the hem of your shirt.

And then came the killing blow—

"Last night," Zayne muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. It was a mistake."

Mistake. The word echoed in your mind, but it was still hard to grasp its full weight.

"How was that—" you faltered, trembling, as the realization hit you like a truck and you gasped in disbelief. "Oh..."

Her. Again, and again, and again! Even when he was married to you, even when you were the one next to him each and everyday— even so!

Your husband considers that a night spent with you—his wife—a mistake!

The last of your patience snapped, as you broke down in sobs before him. "You're the worst!" you screamed at him amidst your mournful tears.

Zayne seemed taken aback at your outburst, his eyes wide. "Y/N, wait, you don't—"

"Screw you!" But you were beyond explanations at this point. You fled back to your bedroom. Zayne followed you suit, but you slammed the door in his face and locked it. As you collapsed onto the floor, the realization hit you with full force.

No matter what you did, you would always come second—or not at all.

The fracture in your marriage was undeniable.

Things had changed. Your home felt colder, and the tension was so stifling that you sometimes spent the night at the Hunter Association’s dorm just to escape it.

Zayne initially tried to reach out, but you were unwilling to listen, and eventually, he gave up. Before long, nearly a month had passed with this strain in the air.

You threw yourself into more rescue operations, using work as a distraction from the turmoil that lingered in your mind. Despite your best efforts to distract yourself, the unresolved thoughts and feelings clung to you.

"Xavier, am I lacking as a woman?"

Your frequent partner these days cracked open an eye despite his attempt to nap before today’s rescue mission. "What...?"

"No, forget it."

Things couldn't go like this forever. It was obvious by now—as long as he couldn’t let go of his past and you couldn’t accept him as he was, this marriage couldn't be saved.

Just as you headed towards the printer in the room, Xavier responded. "You talk a lot, eat a lot, and always bothering me when I'm about to sleep..."

You shot him an irked glance, disbelief evident on your face. "Hey!"

"But—" his clear voice cut through the air as he turned to you with half-lidded eyes. "You're exceptionally kind. If anyone can't appreciate that, then it's their loss."

At that moment, the ice inside your chest melted. To know that your own co-worker thought that kindly of you gave you a little boost of confidence.

But then Xavier added, "Sometimes you're stupid too. It's funny to watch."

"—?! You're so mean!"

A subtle smile curved on his lips as he turned to his side, ready to resume his nap. "Anyway, what are you printing?"

You feigned a huff as you gathered the papers and brought them to your desk. "Just something I need to submit when necessary."

A part of you wasn’t fully committed to it, of course—it was just that your emotions had no proper outlet even until now. As you pushed the drawer shut, a wave of bitterness washed over you as you reread the title on the blank form:

Petition for Divorce.

Zayne genuinely wanted to treat you well.

You were a nice girl. Too nice even. From the moment he laid his eyes on you some years ago, as a friend of a friend, he knew you were nothing but kind and cheery.

He still remembered that morning vividly: the hurt on your face, the tears welling up in your eyes, and then you breaking into inconsolable sobs. That sight inflicted something in him—it felt as though his own heart had been split in two.

Believe it or not, he cherished you too.

That night, even though he didn’t show it, he was still mourning her. When alcohol took over his mind and he saw you, you seemed like a perfect escape. He thought that even if he forced himself on you, there would be no consequences.

He hated that he had thought that way. He hated that how, in the end, you had become a means of relief for him.

Now you couldn't even look him in the eye, and Zayne didn't want to risk trying to coax you further. You were angry with him and rightly so, but when you ignored him and went home late more often, he was worried.

It was what drove him to volunteer for the rescue mission. When he saw your name on the hunter list, he felt compelled to make sure you were okay.

. . .

It was strange to see you on duty.

With your hunter uniform and your hair tied up, you were the picture of a very capable hunter. Zayne found himself unexpectedly following your movements as you came and went.

"Dr. Zayne, are you checking your wife out?" the EMT next to him teased with a grin. "Well, when you have a pretty wife such as Y/N, of course..."

He cleared his throat and the EMT giggled as he sauntered away.

So, you were also considered attractive here. Of course you were. Zayne knew it, but he just didn't expect that anyone here would blurt it out so openly.

But that wasn't the most surprising of all—

"Xavier, shush!" you playfully punched the blonde man next to you in the chest, your broad smile lighting up the moment. The two of you whispered closely, and Zayne found himself feeling uncomfortable, like being prickled by several needles.

He has never made you laugh so openly like that. The nagging feeling inside him grew stronger as he watched you—even if it was just in a platonic sense—with another man. It stirred something within him, making him want to pull that blonde aside, give him a word or two, and overthrow him altogether.

Amidst the growing storm inside him, you suddenly turned sideways and caught his eye, and Zayne could've sworn... he felt time stopped at that moment.

It was so candid that it took his breath away. The way your earnest, unclouded eyes met his. How natural you were while loading your gun...

Ah, they were right. His wife was exceptionally pretty.

But before he could fully appreciate it, you broke the eye contact and turned away, pretending as if you hadn’t seen him at all.

Zayne wondered then, why did he feel so hurt all of a sudden?

Battlefields were always a place of chaos, and Zayne was no stranger to it.

He was on standby at the makeshift hospital as patients surged in, continuously aiding first-aid. Some were hunters on duty, and his heart was in his throat the entire time, anxiously hoping you wouldn’t be among them.

"Doc... it still hurts," a little girl sniffled right after Zayne wrapped her injured arm with the gauze. Despite the anxiety, seeing this tearful girl softened his frown.

"It's just going to take a while, hmm?" he patted the kid in the head. "It's going to be better soon enough."

"My mom is still inside..." she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Doc, will they get her out?"

Zayne hesitated, his thoughts briefly drifting to you. He managed a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, they’ll—"

Crash! —all of a sudden, a loud explosion shook the hospital, the sound echoing through the chaos. The little girl clung to his coat in fear.

"Call for retreat!" someone suddenly shouted from outside. "Alert all personnel immediately!"

Retreat. The thought that you might be safe soon brought him a sense of relief. He turned to the girl, trying to keep his composure.

"Look, the hunters are retreating, it means most are already evacuated." Zayne managed a reassuring smile. "Stay here. I'll help you find her later, okay?"

He went to the survivors' camp outside, attending to the wounded and keeping a vigilant eye on each returning hunter. Even until 30 minutes later, he still hadn't seen you. Thinking to contact you, he reached out for his phone.

"Who hasn't gotten out?" Jenna, your team leader, demanded the receiver with a stern voice, standing tall several feet away from the camp, and Zayne overheard the snippets of her conversation.

A frantic voice responded, "Xavier is still inside! Y/N too!"

"Those two! They are always—!"

What?

Zayne almost dropped his phone when he heard your name. Terror gripped him instantly, and then suddenly, again, it was his greatest nightmare realized.

You are still inside. You could be hurt. It was possible you had no means to get out of there.

He didn’t register letting go of his coat or crossing the police line—all that mattered was getting to you. He sprinted away, ignoring the shouts of those trying to stop him.

No. Not again!

Debris flew everywhere, and the roars of Wanderers grew louder as he neared the building wreckage. As a splinter was about to hit him, ice shot through his palms, creating a barrier that shattered it.

"Y/N!" he shouted your name, his voice cracking with panic. "Where are you?!"

All he could think about was the memory of you bleeding out in the ER. Zayne never wanted to see that again. Should anything happen to you now...

He didn't want you to be hurt. He hated seeing you cry. For the past weeks, it had torn him apart to see you so unhappy. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, the one you looked at with love.

The realization washed over him like a tidal wave. Yet it wasn’t an epiphany but a simple truth he had always known but never fully grasped until now.

If he lost you now, it'd destroy him.

He continued screaming your name over and over. And then, after turning several turns, he finally saw you, standing alone in the middle of the wreckage—

You turned to him in surprise when you heard your name in his shout, and were rooted to the spot, in disbelief that your husband was right before you.

Zayne felt a wave of relief wash over him, until a hollow croak from above caught his attention. He squinted—

A glass panel had crumbled and was falling directly towards you.

A sense of dread so great overwhelmed him, a lump formed in his throat, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. He sprinted forward, and with everything he had, he pushed you out the way.

The next thing he knew, everything went pitch black.

"Zayne? Zayne!"

A memory flashed in his mind's eye. The one memory he wished he didn't have to relive ever again.

Sitting on the deserted hospital bench, his eyes were vacant. Utter hollowness choked him, leaving him motionless. It was over. There was no blood on his hands, yet it felt as if there were.

Your grip on his shoulder was tight, shaking him. "Zayne, snap out of it!" and only then he brought himself to meet your eyes.

"She died." That was the only thing he could mutter, pain woven in each word. "She really died."

Your eyes widened in horror, an inaudible gasp left your lips. "Oh..."

He didn't really know what happened next, but he remembered the warmth from when you pulled him to your arms, when sobs wracked his body as he thought the world was ending.

Since then, you have always been there.

And subconsciously, he may have regarded you as his lifeline.

. . .

Another memory.

"Are you awake...?"

His mind was hazy, but he recognized your voice. He blearily opened his eyes to find you placing a cool compress on his forehead.

"Who would have thought the great Dr. Zayne can get a fever?" you said with a soft laugh, patting his hair. "Don’t worry about me. Go back to sleep."

You came to see him. He remembered telling you not to. But you still did, and the fact thawed the ice in his heart.

Just as you were about to leave, his hand reached out and pulled you closer. "Don’t go."

"Are you trying to make me catch your cold too?" you teased with a soft laugh.

"Hmph. Who told you to come here...?"

"Ah, so you're whiny when you're not feeling well," you observed with a smile. "Okay, I'll stay! But only if you agree to nurse me if I catch your cold!"

You were noisy, but endearingly so.

. . .

"Don't pay her any mind," you fidgeted on your seat, a frown on your face. "My mom always does that."

There was never any talk about the nature your relationship between the two of you, but it was clear to everyone nevertheless. You were always around him, and he seemed to enjoy your company just as much.

And not for the first time, your mother pushed him towards marriage with you.

"People are always getting the wrong idea," you grumbled. "Sorry, Zayne..." you lowered your head, seemingly in regret.

He was puzzled, because to him, it wasn't necessarily false. All things you did together lead to this.

"What if it isn't a wrong idea at all?"

You looked at him with slight surprise. "Huh...?"

Your presence was a gift. That tragedy was devastating, but having you constantly by his side made it bearable. He was fond of you, and the thought that if it's you, then surely...

In this memory, he was more sure than ever. What he said then, it came from the truest place in his heart.

"What if I told you... as of right now, I can't imagine being with anyone but you?"

The side of his head was throbbing with pain. Everything hurt, the hard asphalt was bruising his face as the headache set in. He could smell the scent of blood and sweat, but more than that—

"Zayne! Ah, hah— Please, please! No!"

Your voice, choked with tears, blared in his ears as you desperately shook him. You sounded so heartbroken, so utterly panicked, and your voice gradually pulled him back to consciousness.

Opening his eyes took tremendous effort. At first, everything was a blur, but then it came into focus—the sight of you disheveled, smeared with soot, with tears streaming down your face. But still you— the woman he had married two years ago.

Yet his heart lurched. You're crying again... why is it that whenever with me, you're always crying?

"Are you... alright?" he rasped, lifting his hand to touch your face.

"Why did you—" You were startled by his question, your gaze fixed on the blood pooling on the side of his face. "Your head is bleeding!"

Ah, so you're fine. The sheer knowledge brought him relief, a faint smile forming at his lips. "I'm glad..."

"I'll help you get back! Hold onto me—" you said after brushing away your tears, lifting him up and draping his arm around your shoulder. "Can you walk?"

"I'm... fine..."

"You're not!" you refuted harshly, voice trembling. "You have to go back!"

You made him lean on you as you made your way back to the makeshift hospital, each step accompanied by your sniffles as you supported his waist.

Zayne glanced at you, feeling a warmth in his chest despite the migraine. "D-Don't cry... I'll be fine."

"You're an idiot!" you choked out, struggling to hold back your tears. "Why did you even come out here?"

"I... have to find you. They said you haven't returned."

"There are still civilians inside! I'll return eventually!"

"I can’t wait for that. I... have to know you're safe."

His response only fueled your frustration. "You don't have to—!"

"You are my wife—" he snapped, turning to you sharply, his eyes flashing with anger. "How can I not worry— for you?"

The forceful tone in his voice went straight to the most tender part of your heart. It really struck you at that moment that he had come out here for you, that his concern for you was that profound.

And that after all these weeks, he still keeps you in his thoughts.

He had pushed you out of the way, even at the cost of himself, barely missing the fallen billboard in that violent crash. If he was in the wrong position, he could've lost his life.

You stared at him, tears glossing your eyes.

"That's enough... Don't cry again." Zayne reached out to wipe your cheeks. His hands, however, were smeared with his own blood, leaving streaks on your face. "Ah... I got blood on you..."

But in that moment, you couldn’t care less. There was this indescribable sting of grief, but also paired with a sense of relief so great in your chest the very second you realize that now, he sees you.

You threw yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly as you sobbed, calling out to him in broken voice. “Z-Zayne...!”

“Why are you crying again...?” he let out a resigned sigh, but still embraced you regardless. “What a crybaby...”

You buried your face deeper into him, shaking uncontrollably. “You... saved me...” you managed to say amidst torrent of tears. “Y-You... got hurt...”

“I’ll be fine,” he retorted in your ear albeit in a hoarse voice, holding you close, even as blood trickled down the side of his face. “And I’d do it again. I refuse to see you hurt.”

You cried harder, and he pulled you tighter, his chest aching at the sight of you so inconsolable. And in that moment, he made the decision right then and there.

He will protect you so long as time will allow him to.

It was as if the invisible wall between you had crumbled to dust after that incident. You stayed by Zayne's side night and day, monitoring his condition.

And one night, several days later...

"Here, don't move..."

You carefully dressed the wound on Zayne's temple, sitting close beside him. He quietly observed your worried eyes and trembling fingers without a word.

"You even need stitches..." you lamented, biting your lip as you wrapped the bandage around his head. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by the concern you were pouring into the task.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," he gruffly insisted in an attempt to erase your mournful expression. He felt the delicate, almost hesitant touch of your fingers on his face. "It'll heal with time."

Even as he said that, a part of you was still troubled at the sight of the wound on his head and cheekbone. No matter what he said, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow your fault.

"I'm done. Now go rest," you said softly, your voice tinged with bitterness after tying the gauze. You rose to put the kit away, but even after you finished, Zayne remained upright on the bed, so you leveled a frown at him.

"What, why aren't you— Ah!"

Before you knew it, he pulled you by the arm, and you tumbled into his chest in surprise. "What are you doing?!" you yelled at him, clinging to his shoulder and looking up at him with ire. "You could've hit your head!"

He looked down at you with a flat expression, or is that a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes? “Can't a husband cuddle his wife?”

You blinked dumbly, caught off-guard. “Yes, you can, but...”

His arms then enveloped you, fitting you on his chest and he sighed against your hair. “Then there’s nothing wrong with it. Let’s just stay like this for now.”

And so, that was how he decided to sleep throughout the night—with you on top of him, held close. You felt self-conscious as Zayne had never initiated this closeness with you since that night.

"Are you sure you want to sleep this way?" you wriggled a bit in his grasp.

He draped an arm around your waist, pressing his eyes shut. "Mm-hm."

"You..." A part of you recoiled at the vulnerability but decided to ask anyway. "Won't this be… a mistake...?"

That caught his attention, as Zayne's eyes fluttered open. He looked down at you, who avoided his gaze with a pout and a torn expression, making yourself small in his embrace.

It dawned on him then that this persisting issue in your marriage was thoroughly his fault. His past was something he could never—and would never—trade for anything, but right now, you were that sense of peace that grounded him.

At one point, he has to let it go. These feelings inside him… they drive him to.

He softened, his gaze full of understanding as he gently brushed your hair back. "No," he said quietly, his voice tender. "We’ve come too far for it to be one."

Your clear, innocent eyes reluctantly met his, and at that moment something akin to clarity resonated within him.

He once thought nothing could ever mend the hollowness in his heart. And once, he indeed hoped that being with you would provide some form of relief or replace what he had lost.

But right now, feeling how vulnerable you were in his arms like this, he understood that you were not, and could never be, a replacement for anything else. Even before he realized it himself, what he felt for you was something entirely different— something dear that had grown and evolved into a genuine affection different from what he had felt for anyone else before.

Those times spent with you, wanting to protect you... Now that he reflected on it, it was never about filling a void, after all.

“I... want to treasure you better.”

Oh. Your heart thumped loudly as those words left his lips, warmth spreading through your entire being. Overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice, you clung to his chest, feeling a surge of love and a profound sense of being freed from the chains of insecurity that had taken you hostage all these years.

Most precious. Zayne smiled at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This time for sure... I will.”

And at last... he could say it without any lingering guilt.

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