#I will answer asks on here soon! I apologize!

[cadelinhadaromanoff]

𝙽𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜

Summary: After a messy divorce, Scarlett Johansson moves to a quiet house in the woods with her young son. Her plans for peace are quickly derailed by nosy cattle, a sarcastic neighbor, and a series of chaotic (and hilarious) encounters. But somewhere between wild animals and electric fences, a strange and unexpected connection begins to grow.

Paring: Scarlett Johansson x Reader

Word count: 6907

Warnings: Divorce, Dead Rat, Ox doing gardening, Scarlett being a diva

Author's notes: First of all, I want to apologize for the pause in Keep Telling Yourself That. I’m still stuck in a creative block and honestly have no idea how to move the story forward besides the lack of time as well 🤡. And I am going to reply all your asks very soon thanks for all the love you guys are giving me <3

In the meantime, I brought this as a little apology… and because I laughed way too much while writing it. I really hope it makes you laugh (or at least smile) as much as it did for me. Fair warning: this will very likely NOT get a part two.

゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓂃𓈒𓏸 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᥫ᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ༝ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚₊

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🪻 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🐄 ‎ ₊

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ૮₍ ˶´ᵔ ᵕ ᵔᵕ˶ ₎ა ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

　　 　˳ 　 　⸝⸝⸝♡　　⁺　　˚₊

After her divorce, Scarlett had sworn off everything that even vaguely resembled Los Angeles — the cameras, the parties, the constant need to smile like she wasn’t slowly being eaten alive. She didn’t want another staged interview where she had to laugh about her “exciting new chapter.” She didn’t want to wear makeup. She didn’t want to talk about her ex. She didn’t even want to talk about her career.

She just wanted to breathe.

So she bought a house in the woods. A real one. Not a rustic fantasy designed by architects for a Vanity Fair photoshoot. No. This one had creaky wooden floors, a fireplace that hadn’t worked in decades, and ivy claiming every inch of the southern wall. The place smelled of damp soil and something older. It wasn’t glamorous. But it was quiet. And it was hers.

She started waking up before the sun. Drinking coffee in a heavy mug she found in the attic. Planting things with her bare hands — mostly wrong, she suspected. She didn’t care. The garden grew unevenly, wildly, like it was celebrating her freedom with her.

She wore the same boots every day. Cut her own hair in the mirror with sewing scissors. Answered texts only when she felt like it, which was almost never. If the world wanted her, it could wait.

So when she heard a car pull up behind her one morning — the crunch of tires on gravel just loud enough to cut through the buzz of insects and the rustle of her gloves in the soil — she didn’t look up right away. She assumed it was the delivery guy who always left her packages too far from the porch.

And then she heard a voice.

A compliment.

Low, casual. Like you belonged there. Like you knew her.

She rose to her feet, brushing dirt from her hands, not even turning around before replying with just enough bite in her voice to make her point.

“Look, I moved here for a reason. If you’re a fan or—God forbid—a paparazzo, I will not hesitate to call the sheriff. Or worse, I’ll give you my ex-husband’s number and let him deal with you.”

She turned.

And that’s when she saw you.

Not with a phone. Not holding a camera. Just standing there like someone who lived here. One brow slightly raised. Your arms crossed as if you couldn’t believe her ego had actually reached these trees.

You rolled your eyes — an honest-to-God, theatrical roll — and let out a dry little scoff.

“I was just trying to be nice,” you muttered. “Wanted to let you know the neighbor’s Nelore cattle broke through the fence and they’re, uh… currently trampling your lavender.”

Scarlett blinked.

You looked her up and down once. Not in admiration. In amusement. Like she was the absurd one here.

“They’re territorial. Real beasts. Ready to kill something if they’re feeling moody.” You paused, pointing lazily over your shoulder. “Might wanna call the neighbor before you end up on the evening news.”

And then you were gone. Just like that. Hopping into your car with a half-laugh still lingering in the air, dust rising behind your tires, and Scarlett left staring at her lavender patch being annihilated by two very large, very aggressive cows.

She didn’t know whether to scream… or laugh.

Scarlett stared at the lavender — or what remained of it — in a daze. Two massive Nelore bulls stood in the middle of her flower bed like smug, horned villains straight out of a Western. One of them mooed at her. Mooed. Loud and long, like it knew she had once been the highest-paid actress in the world and still didn’t care.

She took three steps back, whipped out her phone with dirt-stained fingers, and hit the number she swore she’d never use unless it was a literal emergency: Mr. Alfredo, the elusive 84-year-old neighbor who owned the “ranch” next door. Ranch was generous. It was mostly fence posts and chaos.

The phone rang five times.

He picked up with a grunt.

“Your cows,” Scarlett said, voice shrill, “are ATTACKING my lavender! I’m not kidding, Mr. Alfredo, they are OUTSIDE. They are HERE. On my land. Breathing on my tomatoes.”

“Which cows?” he asked, bored.

“The murdery ones!” she shrieked. “The big horned ones that look like they’re planning a coup!”

He sighed. “Ah. Joaquim and Dandara. They get emotional sometimes.”

“EMOTIONAL?” She looked over just in time to see Dandara trying to sit in her antique wheelbarrow. The wheel snapped clean off. “One of them just crushed my cradle!”

“What cradle?”

“My decorative cradle! It’s vintage!”

Silence. Then a slow chuckle.

“I’ll be there in twenty. Don’t provoke them. Joaquim hates sarcasm.”

Scarlett hung up mid-sentence, clutching her phone like it could save her.

But now… she had another problem.

You.

She hadn’t asked your name. Or where you lived. All she knew was your smug little half-smile, your warning about beasts ready to kill something, and the deeply annoying fact that you were right. She scanned the treeline, practically vibrating with the need to track you down and… thank you? Apologize? Shove a cow at you?

She stormed up her driveway, determined. The only other house down the road was a charming A-frame with a mailbox that read “Lancaster.” Cute. She marched toward it with all the ferocity of a woman who once did her own stunts.

Except—she stopped halfway there, realizing she was still in her gardening overalls, one strap falling off, gloves tucked into her waistband, her boots caked in mud, and was that cow poop on her sleeve?!

She gasped.

“No. No no no—this is not how I meet people!”

She turned back, tripped over a root, caught herself, then turned back again.

“Whatever. I’ve been in worse premieres.”

By the time she reached your porch, she’d rehearsed five different ways to sound breezy and casual. All of them failed immediately when she knocked and shouted:

“HELLO?! You were right the demon cows are emotionally unstable and possibly psychic, and I’m pretty sure they’ve cursed me and my garden!”

No answer.

“Hello? Neighbor?! I—ugh.”

She peeked in through the side window and caught a glimpse of something pink. A cat bed. Of course. You were probably the type who rescued kittens and gave them vintage names like Myrtle or Captain Whiskers. She sighed and sat down on your porch, cross-legged, utterly defeated, smelling vaguely of manure and heartbreak.

Behind her, in the distance, Joaquim mooed again.

Scarlett flinched and groaned.

“God, just take the house. You win.”

Scarlett was about to give up entirely — possibly even accept her fate as a disgraced lavender farmer with cow trauma — when she heard the creak of a screen door behind her.

She turned, hopeful, brushing her hair from her face with the back of her wrist like she was in a movie and not… visibly smeared with cow shit and shame.

You stepped outside, squinting at her from the porch like she’d just stepped out of a swamp. You were holding a half-eaten piece of toast and wore pajama pants with tiny stars on them like this was all very routine.

You looked her up and down once — slowly — then raised your brows and said:

“I don’t give stale bread to rude blonde women covered in cow crap.”

Scarlett blinked.

You took another bite of toast.

“Just a personal rule. It’s on a sign somewhere. I think it’s the Fourth Commandment.”

Before she could form a reply — or a comeback, which was hard with her dignity leaking from her pores — your cat slinked past your legs and trotted straight toward Scarlett like she’d been summoned by chaos itself.

A pale, elegant thing with a dramatically poofy tail and a little jingle on her collar.

Scarlett gasped. “Oh my God—hi, sweetheart,” she said instinctively, reaching out.

The cat immediately rubbed against her shin, purring so loudly it was almost suspicious.

You squinted again and took another bite of toast, chewing slowly.

“Petunia, get away from her. She’s probably contagious with, like, spoiled caviar parasites or a yacht flu.”

Scarlett straightened. “Excuse me?!”

“She might’ve touched a champagne flute before washing her hands. I can’t risk it. I just got you dewormed.”

Scarlett opened her mouth to respond — something dramatic, maybe noble — but paused.

“Wait. Petunia?”

You raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“I knew it.”

You blinked. “Knew what?”

“That your cat would have a vintage floral name. You look like the kind of person who would name a cat after a Victorian ghost.”

You stared at her for a second. Then grinned.

Scarlett hated that it was kind of cute.

Still, she huffed. “Well. I didn’t come here for carbs, or to be insulted. I came here to say thank you. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I might have… misjudged you earlier.”

“You think?”

“You were smug.”

“I was right.”

She pursed her lips.

You shrugged and stepped off the porch, scooping Petunia into your arms before she could fully imprint on Scarlett’s aura. “She’s already got asthma. I don’t need her developing diva lung.”

Scarlett muttered something about diva strength and crossed her arms — which only made the strap on her overalls fall again. Petunia pawed toward her longingly from your arms like she was being torn from a one-woman cult.

You turned halfway back to the door, then paused. “You want coffee?”

Scarlett stared.

You smirked. “Don’t worry. It’s not stale bread. And I can brew it without emotionally scarring anyone.”

She hesitated for one full second.

Then followed you inside like it was a perfectly normal morning and not the weirdest, most chaotic thing that had happened to her since the 2017 Oscars.

Scarlett stepped inside, and immediately it felt like she’d walked into a page torn out of one of those “Live Simply” lifestyle magazines — except yours didn’t feel curated or performative. It felt… real. Warm wood floors, pale curtains catching the breeze, soft cushions in earthy tones, and dried flowers hanging like delicate whispers from old hooks. Everything smelled faintly of cinnamon, books, and something that might’ve been lavender tea.

She blinked, caught off guard by the softness of it all. By the lack of chaos.

The only sound was the low rumble of the kettle heating on the stove and the little clink of mugs being set on the counter — and, well… the soul-piercing stare of a cat.

On the couch, stretched like an offended loaf of pumpernickel, was a small black feline with a short, crooked tail that twitched just once as their glowing yellow eyes locked onto her with a disgusted intensity that felt… biblical.

Scarlett stilled.

The cat didn’t blink.

Its entire vibe screamed: You don’t belong here, peasant.

“Oh my God,” Scarlett whispered. “Is he judging me?”

You turned from the counter without missing a beat. “Yeah. That’s Captain Scratches. And yes, that’s the correct reaction to someone who threatens Petunia with rich girl germs.”

Scarlett’s jaw dropped.

You slid a mug toward her — clean, ceramic, with tiny little blueberries painted near the rim. The steam rising from it smelled like the beginning of a forgiveness arc.

“Fresh coffee,” you said. “No cow spit. No passive aggression. You’re welcome.”

Scarlett took it slowly, half expecting another insult to be hiding at the bottom. But it was warm. Comforting. Possibly the best-smelling thing she’d encountered since she moved into her disaster of a fixer-upper.

She took a careful sip, then glanced back at the couch.

Captain Scratches hadn’t moved. Still loafed. Still judging.

“He… kind of looks like a very angry loaf of bread.”

“That’s because he is an angry loaf of bread. He was born cranky and partially tail-less. The vet said he’s fine physically, just spite-based.”

Scarlett gave a soft, involuntary laugh — the kind that slipped out before she could control it.

“I mean… respect,” she muttered. “He gets it.”

You leaned against the counter, eyes glinting with amusement. “And you? You still feel personally victimized by the cows?”

She groaned. “I was not emotionally prepared for a livestock ambush.”

“They broke your cradle.”

“You don’t have to keep bringing that up.”

You sipped your own coffee, smiling into the mug. “You sat on my porch like a haunted Victorian governess and yelled about cow curses.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched.

Captain Scratches let out a long, slow sigh, as if offended by the flirtatious undertones.

Scarlett raised her mug in the cat’s direction. “To your judgment, Captain. May it be as eternal as your disapproval.”

He blinked once.

She looked back at you. “He likes me now. That was a blessing.”

You laughed softly. “If you survive the next 24 hours without Petunia bringing you a dead beetle offering, I’ll believe it.”

Scarlett took another sip of coffee, slowly settling into the strange warmth of it all — the soft morning light, your unapologetically sarcastic presence, the two weird cats, the mug in her hand.

She hadn’t expected any of this. But maybe that was the point?

The coffee between you and Scarlett was warm and surprisingly soothing, like a gentle exhale after the chaos of the Nelore invasion. Your kitchen smelled faintly of fresh herbs and old wood, the sunlight filtering through linen curtains casting soft, golden pools on the floor.

You leaned against the counter, sipping from your mug while she cradled hers with both hands, occasionally glancing around the room — curious but hesitant, as if trying to decide whether she was still dreaming or actually here.

Between sips, you offered her practical advice about the fence, your voice low and casual but unmistakably firm.

“Honestly? That fence? It’s a joke. You’ll want to reinforce it, or those Nelore beasts will show up at your window with a cow’s head pressed right against the glass. Imagine your kids waking up to that nightmare.”

Scarlett chuckled, a little breathless, almost like she appreciated the vivid image.

“You’re not kidding. That would definitely ruin my ‘quiet retreat in the woods’ vibe.”

You shrugged, smirking.

“Mr. Alfredo’s got a good heart, but the man’s lucky if he remembers his own birthday. If you rely on him for fence repairs or anything more complicated, you’re on your own. Best bet is to call a contractor yourself, fix it right, and then just send Alfredo the bill.”

She raised an eyebrow at you.

“Send him the bill?”

“Absolutely. He sold you the house, he won’t mind — or he’ll mind a little, but it’s his mess to clean up.”

Scarlett smiled, the kind of smile that was both amused and grateful, the kind that told you she was beginning to appreciate this strange, sarcastic neighbor with a penchant for feline judgment.

The conversation drifted then — a little less formal, a little more easy. You swapped stories about the occasional wildlife visitors, the quirks of living out here, and the mysterious charm of rural life that city folk could never understand.

She admitted she missed the city sometimes — the energy — but this? the anonymity this was something else. A chance to start over without an audience, without expectations.

You joked that she might want to invest in a scarecrow shaped like a Terminator to keep the cows in line.

She laughed, nearly spilling her coffee, and told you she’d consider it.

Eventually, she stood, smoothing down her overalls and gathering her things.

“Thanks for the coffee… and the advice. I’ll probably need more of both.”

You nodded, already imagining the next time you’d cross paths.

Scarlett stepped back outside, the cool air brushing against her cheeks like a soft reminder that this place — wild, unpredictable, messy — was hers now. She looked down at her hands, still a little stained with soil, and then toward the patch of lavender struggling to survive. The memory of your sarcastic warning about the cows’ murderous tendencies made her smirk despite herself.

As she walked back toward her house, a sudden rustling in the bushes made her freeze. Her heart jumped—not out of fear, but because she was beginning to expect the unexpected here.

The afternoon morning came slowly, wrapped in the kind of pale, golden light that makes everything feel softer than it is. Dew still clung to the grass, and the fields smelled of earth and promise. Somewhere, a rooster cried far too confidently for someone who hadn’t seen the city in years. The kettle began to hiss inside just as she stepped out onto the porch with bare feet and sleepy eyes.

The world was quiet again—but not the kind of quiet that made her wary. The kind that felt like a pause, like something was holding its breath.

But it was just you, casually leaning against your car, arms crossed, watching her with that same half-amused, half-exasperated look.

“Missed me?” you teased.

Scarlett rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just making sure my garden didn’t get totally destroyed.”

“Well, I am telling you’ve got a few days before the next attack,” you warned, pointing toward a sagging section of her fence. “If you don’t fix that, your kids might wake up to a cow’s face pressed against their bedroom window.”

She crossed her arms. “Maybe they need to toughen up.”

You laughed, the sound warm and easy. “Or maybe you do.”

The air between you felt lighter than before, more charged too—as if the shared battle against rampaging cattle had broken some invisible ice.

“Seriously though, do it. Don't wait for the men to do something” you said, stepping closer, “I’m serious about the fence. And Mr. Alfredo? Good man, but if you want that fixed right, you’ll have to call someone yourself. Then send him the bill. Trust me.”

Scarlett sighed, nodding. “Sounds like I’m going to need a lot of help.”

You shrugged. “That’s what neighbors are for.”

For a moment, you both stood there, the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows across the gravel road between your houses. Then Scarlett tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Think you can help me find someone who knows how to fix a fence?”

You smirked. “I know a guy. And he owes me a favor.”

Her smile softened. “Good. Because I’m not going to let any more cows invade my garden.”

You laughed. “Deal. But only if you promise not to sit on my porch yelling about cow curses again.”

She grinned. “No promises.” Scarlett did get the guy’s number, but instead of calling, she stubbornly decided to ignore your advice and wait for Mr. Alfredo to show up…

A few days passed. The lavender began to show signs of recovery — stubborn little green shoots curling back toward the sun — and the house started to feel less like an escape and more like something she could actually belong to. Scarlett kept busy. Fixing up the porch. Reorganizing the kitchen cabinets. Pretending she wasn’t glancing toward your house more than she should.

She didn’t run into you again — not at the mailbox, not in the woods, not even at the quiet gravel road that connected your two lives. She told herself that was fine. Good, even. You were just a neighbor. Helpful. Direct. Infuriatingly funny. It wasn’t like she was waiting or anything.

Still, on the third morning of silence, she stood barefoot in her kitchen, pouring coffee into a chipped blue mug, and muttered to herself, “I should’ve at least asked her name.”

As if on cue, there was a sudden, sharp thud from the back of the house — followed by a muffled, very unholy moo.

Scarlett froze. “No.”

Another thud. Louder. Closer.

“No no no—”

She sprinted to the window and yanked open the curtain. And there, with the exact dramatic flair of a horror movie monster, stood Joaquim. Again. His massive head just inches from the glass, eyes blank, chewing something she prayed wasn’t her oregano.

He stared at her like he’d returned to finish what he started.

She cursed under her breath, scrambled for her phone, and punched in the only number she knew would answer in under five rings.

You.

“Hello?” Your voice, casual. Calm. Possibly still in bed.

“There’s a cow at my window.”

A pause. “Again?”

“I think it’s the same one. I think it’s holding a grudge.”

You snorted. “Did you fix the fence?”

“I— I meant to!”

“Well, he meant to eat your entire herb garden, so.”

Scarlett growled softly. “Do you have a broom? Or a taser? Or a very firm voice?”

“I’ll be there in five.”

True to your word, you arrived in five minutes — hair pulled back, boots half-laced, holding a metal rake like you were preparing for war.

Scarlett met you at the back gate, pointing dramatically at the oversized menace.

“There. That’s him. Joaquim. The lavender-crusher.”

You sighed deeply and marched past her like this was all painfully routine. With a few loud claps and a stern voice (and one incredibly creative insult involving beef jerky), you got him to move. Slowly. Disrespectfully. But move, he did.

Scarlett stood there, stunned.

You turned to her. “You really didn’t fix the fence?”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what? Staring at tomatoes?”

She hesitated. “…Yes.”

You shook your head with a laugh and gestured toward her toolshed. “We’ll patch it. Temporarily. Just enough so he doesn’t come knocking like some weird ex-boyfriend.”

She followed you toward the shed, her coffee still in hand, trying not to smile too much.

“I didn’t catch your name last time,” she said quietly.

You glanced over your shoulder. “Y/n.”

Scarlett repeated it under her breath. “Y/n.” Then smirked. “Well, Y/n… Now I owe you coffee.”

You looked at her with a glint in your eye. “Make it strong. I don’t rescue women from cows for free.”

And that’s when Scarlett knew this wouldn’t be the last time she called you.

Scarlett didn’t know what she expected when you said “patch the fence”, but it definitely wasn’t this.

You stood at the edge of her property, sleeves rolled up, a coil of electric wire over one shoulder, work gloves on, and a multitool strapped to your belt like some kind of intimidating rural superhero. Scarlett trailed behind you in boots she wasn’t sure were waterproof and a denim jacket that did nothing to hide the fact that she was already regretting every decision she had ever made regarding livestock management.

You dropped the coil next to a splintered post and turned to her, serious as death.

“Alright. We’re going electric.”

Scarlett blinked. “Like… electrocute the cows?”

You gave her a look. “No. Just a little buzz. A warning zap. Enough to say, ‘Hey buddy, this is not your salad bar.’”

She stared at the wire like it might leap up and bite her.

“I’m not sure I love the idea of weaponizing the perimeter…”

“You know what I don’t love? Looking out my window and seeing the reincarnation of Mufasa standing in your herb patch.”

Scarlett huffed. “He’s not that big.”

“He’s an emotional terrorist in a fur coat,” you shot back, already threading the wire through the insulators. “Trust me, your kids will thank you.”

She sighed, folding her arms. “My kids are three and eight. I don’t think they’ll thank me when they get their first life-altering trauma from your fancy cow taser.”

You snorted. “Then don’t let them lick the fence.”

Scarlett blinked. “Who does that?!”

You pointed at her with a gloved hand. “Children. Children do that. They see a fence and think it’s a snack or a challenge. Tell them it’s cursed or full of ghosts or something.”

She groaned. “You’re a menace.”

You grinned, completely unbothered. “I’m a practical woman. Now hold this.”

She took the spool of wire reluctantly, standing awkwardly while you moved with practiced ease, hammering in a new post, securing the lines, and connecting the charger to a very ominous-looking battery pack.

Scarlett flinched every time something clicked or sparked.

“You know, when I moved here,” she muttered, “I imagined growing tomatoes. Maybe reading a book under a tree. Not surviving The Revenant starring cow-shaped trauma.”

You stood up, brushing off your hands. “Well, surprise. You’ve officially joined the war against large ungulates.”

Scarlett looked at the now-zinging fence, wires humming softly with warning.

“And it won’t, like… fry me, right?”

You smirked. “Not unless you decide to throw yourself against it while holding a toaster.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Y/n.”

You raised both hands. “It’s safe. I promise. You could touch it and you’d just get a little jolt.”

“I’m not going to touch it.”

“Then you’re good!”

She eyed the wire suspiciously.

You stepped back to admire your work. The line was straight, tight, and honestly kind of beautiful in its own grim rural way.

“There,” you said with satisfaction. “No more bovine break-ins. Your lavender’s safe. Your cradle can rest in peace.”

Scarlett chuckled despite herself.

Then you turned to her, brushing dirt off your palms. “Now. If anything breaks? Don’t call Mr. Alfredo. Call me. I can actually read instructions.”

She smiled, one brow arched. “And what do I owe you for today’s electrified masterpiece?”

You thought for a second. “Coffee. Strong. And a muffin. Something cinnamon. No raisins. I don’t trust people who like raisins.”

Scarlett gave a slow, dramatic nod. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I work with livestock and rich people. I’ve built up resistance.”

Scarlett watched you brush the last bit of dirt from your hands, that quiet satisfaction in your posture like someone who actually enjoyed knowing how things worked. You were still smirking, clearly proud of your electrified, cow-repelling masterpiece.

And she didn’t know what came over her — maybe the lingering hum of adrenaline, maybe the weird comfort she felt whenever you were near — but the words slipped out before she had time to second-guess them.

“You want to come inside? I owe you that coffee now.”

You blinked, surprised. Just for a moment.

Then you nodded, casual as ever. “Only if your house is cow-free.”

“I checked all the closets this morning.”

You followed her up the porch steps, your boots leaving little trails of dry earth on her welcome mat. Inside, the house was warm and a little chaotic — half-unpacked boxes in the hallway, a mismatched pair of rainboots by the door, a folded quilt thrown over the back of the couch like someone had fallen asleep under it not too long ago.

The air smelled faintly of apple-scented cleaner and fresh laundry. Real. Lived in.

You were mid-step into the living room when a blur of motion came hurtling around the corner on socked feet.

A tiny, pajama-clad missile with a head full of messy curls and wide eyes. Scarlett barely had time to call out before her son skidded to a stop in front of you.

He stared.

You stared back.

He blinked slowly — a little suspicious, very curious.

You crouched a bit, dropping into that instinctive, soft body language reserved for tiny humans and cats named Petunia.

“Hey there,” you said gently. “You must be the tomato-guardian.”

He didn’t answer.

Just reached up and handed you… a half-eaten cracker he had clearly been working on for a while.

Scarlett, mortified, opened her mouth to intervene — but you just took it like it was gold, like it was a sacred ritual.

“Wow,” you said seriously. “This is for me?”

He nodded solemnly.

You nodded back. “Big honor. Thank you, Sir Crumbs-a-Lot.”

He gave a tiny, toothy grin. Then ran off again with a shriek, disappearing behind the couch like a gremlin.

Scarlett blinked. “Okay… so I guess you’re part of the family now.”

You straightened with a grin, holding up the cracker like it was your official badge.

“Do I get a sippy cup and voting privileges, or…?”

She laughed, a warm, breathy sound that surprised even her. “If you can get him to eat a full meal and not just string cheese and olives, I’ll consider you for co-parenting.”

You followed her into the kitchen, the tension from earlier bleeding into something softer. She busied herself at the coffee machine while you leaned against the doorway, watching her with a subtle kind of curiosity.

Scarlett kept her back to you for a moment longer than necessary, suddenly aware of the way she’d hastily tucked her hair into a loose clip, of the smudge of soil still near her elbow. She didn’t usually feel self-conscious in her own kitchen, and certainly not around neighbors with sarcasm in their pockets and electric wires coiled under their arms.

“You like it black?” she asked over her shoulder.

You lifted an eyebrow. “You calling me predictable?”

“I’m calling you practical,” she replied, turning around with two mismatched mugs in hand — one with a faded Broadway logo, the other with a cracked handle and a drawing of a goat that said I kid you not.

You took the goat mug with a smirk, inspecting it like fine china. “A woman of culture.”

“I try.”

You sipped, humming a little in approval. She leaned against the counter across from you, folding her arms as if settling into a new rhythm she hadn’t quite expected.

“Thanks for helping with the fence,” she said, her tone suddenly a little quieter. “I know I joked, but… really. That thing’s been keeping me up.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, well, you’re not the first newcomer who underestimates how territorial Nelore bulls are. Or how annoying Alfredo can be when you ask for help twice in one week.”

Scarlett chuckled, a warm line forming at the corner of her eyes. “He did promise to fix the gutters last Thursday. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Classic.” You sipped again. “Next time, hire your own guy. Just send Alfredo the invoice and a plate of cookies. He’ll feel guilty enough to mow your lawn for a month.”

She was still smiling when her son reappeared in the doorway, one small hand rubbing sleep from his eye, the other clutching a plastic truck missing its wheels.

He made a beeline for you again, this time less shy, his tiny legs clambering awkwardly onto the bench beside you like he’d claimed his spot.

Scarlett blinked, startled. “Wow. He doesn’t usually…”

You waved her off, setting your mug down. “He’s a good judge of character. Clearly.”

The little boy shoved the broken truck toward you as if demanding repairs. Without missing a beat, you flipped it upside down, inspecting it like a pro.

“Well,” you muttered seriously. “This is a disaster. I’ll have to bring the full toolbox next time.”

Scarlett watched as her son stared at you like you were magic. Something in her chest tightened — not in a heavy way, not grief, not longing. Just… surprise. A softness she hadn’t felt in a while.

He didn’t do that with strangers.

He barely did that with her sister.

“I think he likes you,” she said, reaching for her coffee again.

You looked at the boy, who was now leaning against your arm and chewing on a string from his sleeve, utterly content.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I think I like him too.”

There was a pause. One of those rare, dense silences that didn’t feel awkward or empty — just full. Charged.

And then you ruined it, bless you.

“Maybe he just wants the rest of my cracker.”

Scarlett snorted, covering her mouth. “You’re not that charming.”

You raised your mug. “Give it time.”

The house felt a little quieter after you left.

Scarlett cleaned up the coffee mugs slowly, pretending she wasn’t still hearing your laugh in the kitchen tiles or the way her son had curled so naturally against your side, like it wasn’t a brand-new connection, like you’d always been part of the furniture.

She didn’t like that — how easy it had been. Or rather, she did like it. And that was the problem.

The next morning, she was pouring cereal into a bowl when she heard the unmistakable thunk-thunk of hammering just past the tomato bed. At first, she thought it was Alfredo finally returning from the dead to do the gutters, but when she stepped onto the porch, squinting into the sunlight, she saw… someone else entirely.

A man. Toolbelt. Setting wooden posts in a neat, curved line that followed the slope of her property.

She blinked.

He waved.

“Morning! I’m here to build the fence. Materials are in the truck.”

Scarlett raised a hand awkwardly. “Wait—what fence?”

The man pulled out his phone and double-checked a note. “Says here it’s already paid. Custom design, cedar wood, no exposed electric, kid-safe, cow-proof.” He grinned. “Pretty fancy. You’ve got good taste.”

Scarlett stared at him. Then at the posts. Then at the neat little bundle of invoices tied to the clipboard hanging on his belt.

There wasn’t a note. No smug message. Not even a doodle of a cow getting zapped.

Just… a fence.

By the time he’d finished outlining the first third of it, she realized it wasn’t just functional — it was beautiful. Curved just right to frame her garden. Sturdy, but soft in its lines. The electric wires you’d put in were subtly re-routed, now hidden inside carved channels. Still there. Still effective. But nowhere near the eyesore she’d feared.

She stood at the edge of her porch in loose flannel and leggings, barefoot, arms crossed and jaw tight in disbelief.

And then she heard it.

A snort.

From behind the oak tree near the edge of your property.

She turned her head sharply — and there you were. Hoodie on. Coffee in hand. Looking way too smug for someone who clearly hadn’t brushed their hair yet.

“Did you—”

You took a slow sip. “It’s not dangerously electric anymore. You can let the kid chase butterflies without risk of trauma.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

“You could’ve at least asked.”

“I did. Yesterday. You said thanks for helping with the fence.”

“That’s not permission to—”

“Eh,” you shrugged, already walking back toward your porch. “Charge Alfredo.”

“Wait—was this a guilt gift for insulting me in front of my child?”

You called out over your shoulder, without turning around:

���Nope. That was a gift for him. This is just me being neighborly.”

And you disappeared behind your door.

Scarlett blinked. Again.

She looked at the fence.

Then the sky.

Then back at your house, where she could still see your cat — Petunia — sprawled across the porch railing, giving her a look of absolute feline judgment.

She muttered under her breath, “This town is going to ruin me.”

It had been three days since the Fence Episode. Three days of quiet, of trying not to glance out the window every time your truck rolled down the gravel path. Three days of wondering if she should say thank you again. Or drop off cookies. Or file a restraining order for unsolicited carpentry and light flirtation.

Scarlett was mid-way through watering the potted lavender on her porch when she heard the distinct sound of something being dropped. Something wet.

Something that had a thud.

She froze. Slowly turned her head.

There, right at the top of the porch steps, stood your cat. Capitán. That small, black, rectangular loaf of disdain. His twisted tail flicked once, a lazy punctuation to the act of horror he had just committed.

At his feet lay a rat.

Not a little country field mouse. No, no. This thing was massive. A rodent built like it had been lifting grain sacks in a barn for twenty years. Dead as sin. Belly-up. One leg twitching from whatever feline justice had been served.

Scarlett dropped the watering can.

Capitán blinked slowly, then sat, tail curling around his feet. He didn’t meow. He didn’t need to. The message was clear:

“I see you. I respect you. Here is the corpse of your enemy.”

Scarlett stepped back.

“Oh my god.”

She looked around frantically, half-hoping you were watching so she could scream at you, or possibly sob. But your porch was empty, your windows dark. Petunia was sunbathing somewhere, presumably too elegant to hunt.

“Is this because I insulted your grooming routine?” she hissed at the cat, who continued to stare like a tiny, judgmental gargoyle.

She considered just going inside and pretending it wasn’t there. Let the wind take it. Let time erase the trauma.

But then her son toddled to the screen door behind her, curious. “Mama?”

Panic. Immediate.

“No! No no no—back inside, buddy. That’s not—there’s nothing fun out here!”

She slammed the door shut, turned back to Capitán, and pointed a trembling finger. “You. You stay right there.”

He yawned.

Two minutes later, she walked a few meters down the gravel path armed with an old dustpan, Scarlett marched down your path like a woman on the edge.

She didn’t knock. She didn’t ring.

She yelled from your front yard.

“HEY. YOUR CAT IS A SERIAL KILLER.”

You opened the door slowly, still chewing a bite of toast. “Capitán?”

“HE BROUGHT ME A RAT. A DENSE ONE.”

You stepped onto the porch, peering past her. “Oh. Huh. That’s generous of him. He doesn’t usually like blondes.”

Scarlett stared at you, disheveled, holding a plastic Target bag that now contained a double-bagged rodent corpse and what was left of her faith in the countryside.

You sipped your coffee, eyes twinkling. “That’s actually a good sign.”

“HE’S TWISTED.”

“He’s family.”

Scarlett shook the bag lightly. “What do I do with this?”

You gestured calmly. “Tie it. Hang it from your porch like a warning to other rats.”

She blinked. “I hate you.”

You smiled. “You’re welcome.”

She spent the rest of the afternoon scrubbing her porch with vinegar and soap, cursing both the cat and your unnerving ability to stay completely unbothered by woodland murder. The lavender was spared, but her dignity wasn’t. Her son, however, had pointed at the dead rat with the wide-eyed wonder of someone discovering The Lion King in real life.

“Scawy!” Cosmo had whispered, crouching dramatically like he was about to narrate the Circle of Life.

“Exactly,” Scarlett muttered under her breath, scrubbing so hard her shoulder ached.

It had been a long time since she’d done this kind of work — hands raw, knees dusty, back bent and sore in ways no personal trainer could’ve prepared her for. She wiped sweat off her brow with the inside of her wrist, only to realize she’d smeared soap and rat-related trauma across her temple.

“Ugh. Why is it sticky?” she groaned.

Cosmo, perched on the step above her, was still staring at the scene of the crime with a kind of reverent silence.

“He died-ed?”

“Yes, baby. He died-ed.” She gave one last furious scrub to the floorboard, then tossed the sponge into a bucket with a dramatic splash. “And he probably had a name, because that cat doesn’t kill strangers. He kills friends.”

Cosmo blinked slowly. “Cap’tan make him sleep?”

Scarlett paused. “…Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He looked pensive, chubby hand pressed to his mouth like he was in mourning.

Scarlett sighed, standing with a groan and stretching her back. “Listen, kiddo. If Capitán brings you a rat, it’s not a snack. It’s a threat.”

Cosmo nodded solemnly.

“And if you ever pick one up—”

“I eat it?”

“No! No, no—God, absolutely not.”

Cosmo blinked up at her, unbothered, a little smudge of dirt under one eye and curls damp with summer sweat. “But Cap’tan eated it.”

Scarlett held his squishy little cheeks in her hands and looked him dead in the eye. “That’s because Capitán is a sociopath, honey.”

Cosmo giggled, mostly because she made a face when she said it, not because he knew what it meant. Then, with all the grace of a drunk duckling, he leaned into her neck and yawned. “You sme’ like pickles,” he whispered sleepily.

She let out a laugh, weary and warm, and scooped him up again, stepping back into the house with him wrapped around her like a sloth. His tiny fingers clung to her tank top as his breathing slowed against her shoulder.

The house smelled like soap and lemon oil and the faint, fading stench of rat crime. She dropped the towel by the door, walked barefoot across the floor she hadn’t quite finished cleaning, and gently laid him on the couch. Capitán was still curled there, glaring like a Victorian ghost. Scarlett narrowed her eyes.

“We’re not speaking.”

The cat blinked. Slowly. Unapologetically.

She sighed and slumped into the armchair opposite them, letting the quiet settle for the first time all day. Her eyes drifted to the porch through the open window. Your yard was just visible through the trees, the faint shimmer of your electric wire catching the afternoon sun.

She had laughed when you explained it earlier — that dry, sarcastic smile of yours wrapped around a warning not to traumatize her children with barbed voltage. The way you just… existed out here. Like it was easy. Like animals and chaos and strange cats were just part of the rhythm. And that damn joke about not giving dry bread to rude blonde women — she should’ve been insulted.

She wasn’t.

She couldn’t even deny it — there was something about you. The way you spoke like everything had a punchline. The way you rolled your eyes like her fame meant nothing out here, like you weren’t afraid to call her ridiculous when she was being dramatic (which, fine — maybe, maybe she’d overreacted about the cow invasion). It was oddly grounding. Infuriatingly so.

“Ugh,” she muttered aloud, rubbing her temple. “Why do I like you?”

Cosmo, now barely awake, lifted one finger in the air. “She funny,” he whispered again, as if it solved everything.

Scarlett looked over at him, startled.

She smiled despite herself and leaned her head back against the chair.

“Yeah,” she murmured, watching the light move across the ceiling. “She kinda is.”

And just like that, the silence folded in around them again — warm, strange, a little dangerous. The kind of quiet where something new could start.

[deadpanjisung]

̆̈ ♡ friends, lovers or nothing ♡  ̆̈

pairing: mullet!bangchan x afab!stylist!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut

MDNI!!!! please have your age in your bio 

wc: 3.0k

warnings: y/n is used, mutual pining, mentions of alcohol and drinking, long-haired bangchan <333, touchy chan, kinda possessive chan, oral sex (m! receiving), fingering, car sex, public-ish sex (with nobody around), unpr0tected sex, cre4mpie. 

a/n: the title is based on a john m4yer song but I kinda h8 him, so it’s rlly not based on the song btw! again, not rlly proofread. i tried to make this short but im a yapper :(

thanks for reading <3

“I can’t believe I actually grew it out.” Chris said, examining his figure in the mirror in front of him. His hands played with his own hair, longer than anticipated. His hair grew without him noticing —most days he would have it up in a ponytail or covered by headwear of any sorts. 

“You’ll officially keep it long, then?” You asked, staring at your friend curiously as he tousled his hair. 

“What do you think? Should I?”

“I like it.” You answered, reaching to run your fingers through his new luscious locks. “It’s gotten healthier, too.”

“Really?” A rhetorical question. You removed your hand from his head as he ran his own fingers through his hair to validate your statement. “Hm. I guess so.”

“I think you look great like this.” You stated, looking at him through the mirror. “I just cut the ends a bit. And, please, do not dye it for a while. I want to see if it can reach its full potential.” Chris scoffed at that comment, knowing well that he didn’t always have a say on whether or not he’d dye it for a comeback.

“I’ll try.”

“If they give you shit, send them to me. I can fight.” You joked. He chuckled.

“I’m probably a better shot than you, if we’re being honest.”

“I have shears, though. I’m basically Edward Scissorhands.” 

“Touché.”

“So, am I still invited to the release party on Friday?” You asked Chris, who was still styling his hair in front of the mirror. 

“Of course you are.” He replied. 

“Don’t you think it’s kind of… funny that you’re bringing your hairstylist as your plus one?” You asked. Chris placed his hands on each side of his hips and rolled his eyes at you.

“Did you forget the years of friendship we’ve had?” He asked. “You’re not just my hairstylist. Plus, it’s great that we get to celebrate Itzy’s new EP here instead of being on tour or busy or whatever.”

“Okay, ‘m just making sure that you don’t regret it.”

“I won’t. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Yeah.”

Chris was always busy, working on something… he never had time for leisure or for dates, visits to his family, long-term relationships, nothing like that. He barely made space to take care of his basic needs. He had been like that since you met him when you worked for JYPE as a hairdresser. You started there as an intern and took a temporary position for a few months, which turned into a few years. It hadn’t been long since you opened your own salon. You were still familiar with the current talent. But you didn’t really keep in contact with anyone except Chris and the occasional text or visit from Hyunjin and Jeongin, who asked for hair-related consultation often.

It didn’t shock you too much when Chris sent an apology text that he’d been running late at the studio and that Jeongin would pick you up instead. You were slightly disappointed at Chris overworking himself (again!) but definitely not surprised. 

Jeongin picked you up earlier than you anticipated. 

“Hi noona. Have you been well?” He asked, as you sat down in his car, pulling down the mirror to continue doing your makeup.

“I have! How have you been?” 

“Tired. Hungry. Bloated. A little bit of everything.” He replied, a light blush appeared on his face. 

“Your hair looks cute like this.” You commented. Jeongin blushed.

“Thank you. I think I’m liking it natural for now.”

“Good, you should all stop bleaching it so often if you don’t want a baldracha soon.” You teased; he laughed. “Thanks for picking me up, by the way.”

“You’re always welcome, noona.” 

Jeongin pulled up at the company’s venue and left his car in the valet parking. You, who had considered taking your own car and meeting Chris there, were endlessly thankful that you didn’t; just because you wouldn’t have to park. When you arrived at the venue, someone took your attendance as Chris’s plus one that instead arrived with Jeongin.

You greeted your past clients and coworkers with excited and emotional hugs, holding small talk with all of them, even with JYP himself. 

“Y/N!” Yeji almost screamed when she saw you, instantly taking you into her embrace. Jeongin congratulated her and squeezed your arm to let you know that he’d be with his members. “I’m so happy to finally see you again!”

“You are too! Congratulations on the album as well. I’ve been playing ever since it came out!” You said, she blushed at that.

“Where’s Chris? I thought you’d be coming with him… not Jeongin?” She asked. “Did you know that I asked him for your address to send you an invite and he said that you were his plus one? Rude, right? I didn’t want you to think that we didn’t want you here!”

“I did not know that.” You chuckled, confused but, again, not too surprised. “I would never think that you didn’t want me here, though. I’d be salty if that were true.” She laughed. 

“Ah! I miss you, unnie.” She spoke. “My new stylist is great, but I miss talking to you.”

“Feel free to text me whenever.” You offered. “Hyunjin and Jeongin text me, like, once a day to ask about shampoo and styling cream.” She giggled, still holding you in her embrace. You felt reminiscent; not missing the workplace environment in itself but you did miss your clients. Especially those with whom you had worked closely with, like Itzy and Stray Kids.

You turned around when you felt a hand on the small of your back. You smelled his perfume before actually seeing him. Looking back, Chris, Changbin and Jisung stood around you and Yeji. They expressed their commendations to Yeji before shifting their attention to you. Yeji thanked them and gave you one last squeeze before leaving you. 

“Noona!” Jisung sang as he gave you a hug. Changbin followed suit. 

It had been months since you had last seen them. They both looked (and felt) more muscular. You almost blushed at their embraces. Then you turned your attention to Chris frowning at him. Jisung and Changbin waved at you, leaving you alone with Chris, catching the vibe.

“I know, I know! I’m sorry!” He said, before you could speak up. You deadpanned. “I couldn’t leave just yet! I was going to let you know with a bit more time, but Jeongin offered to pick you up.” You just stared at him, slowly blinking. “Will you keep guilt-tripping me or are you going to enjoy this? I could’ve brought Hannah.”

“I don’t know. A certain member of Itzy told me that I was invited anyways, so you could’ve brought your sister instead.” You smirked, Chris’s face turned crimson immediately. “So yeah. I could’ve been here on my own accord!” 

“Okay, you got me there. I wanted to pick you up because I have something that I wanted to show you…” He muttered. “But whatever, it’ll be too late to go now. I wasn’t even supposed to go to work today.” You rolled your eyes.

“Or you could’ve been honest and invited me out independently.” You countered, making him blush again. 

“I’m kind of dumb. I didn’t think you’d want to hang out with me if you saw me last week.”

“Chris, I love hanging out with you. You don’t really need an excuse for that.” You added, softly, taking a hold of his arm. “Let’s go. Your children quite literally look so lost and miserable without you. They work with everyone here, why are they standing in the corner huddling like penguins?” Chris laughed.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. I promise it won’t happen again.” He said, you deadpanned once again. “Okay, I’ll let you know with anticipation, if it’s going to happen.” You stared at him. “I won’t lie about your invitation to events.” You said nothing, he sighed. “And I’ll give Yeji your address…”

“Apology accepted! Let’s get shitfaced!”

You excitedly greeted Felix, Hyunjin, Seungmin and Minho. You had seen more of Jeongin and Hyunjin as they visited you at the salon sometimes. And you did know what Jisung and Changbin were generally up to because they were always with Chris. But the other members and their current personal endeavors were a mystery to you. You listened as Felix talked about how the tour would start soon. Seungmin was taking piano lessons from Jeongin. Jisung had been writing song for a new group. Changbin’s family bought a golf cart and had to return it. Minho told you about his latest fishing trip and how it ended early because Jisung couldn’t handle living without air-conditioning. 

Not that you paid too much attention to their conversations. You couldn’t pay attention when with every passing drink, Chris’s arm shifted a little lower on your body. It started with his arm around your shoulders, then on your upper back, lowered down to your waist and now his arm was draped lazily around your hips. It almost seemed unintentional. 

You could feel the heat of his body next to yours. His hold on you nearly seemed… possessive. As if he wanted to let everyone know that you were there with him. Him… not anyone else, despite being surrounded by men and arriving with a different guy. A few drinks in and the alcohol’s buzz made you feel like dancing. You were taken by surprise when Hyunjin asked you to dance with him, even with Chris’s grip on you. 

You agreed, of course. 

You couldn’t remember which track was playing, you just knew that dancing was top priority. Especially when you had Hyunjin, an acclaimed dancer, on your arm. His hands found their way to yours, interlocking your fingers. He twirled you around, laughing at the childish dance for a not-so-childish song. You didn’t care and neither did he or anyone else. Instead, people joined you and Hyunjin (always a natural trendsetter). The song changed to a slower beat, a deeper tone.

Suddenly, you felt the same warm arm around you, dragging your attention away from Hyunjin who kept dancing alone. Chris’s strong hands held your waist, pulling you closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck. You were so close that his drunken breath ghosted against you. Your heart nearly skipped beats due to the close proximity between you. You swung your hips lazily to the song, not being able to register anything aside from Chris. 

“You look beautiful, by the way.” He said in a low, deep voice. “I would’ve loved to have arrived with you. For everyone to see us… getting here… together. The way it should’ve happened.”

“Chris.” You warned him, knowing that he could regret saying something stupid. 

“I know…” He paused. “But I don’t care.”

“You’re drunk.” 

“I’m tipsy at most, not even that.” He countered. “I meant what I said. I wish we had come together. I should have risked it all.”

“Why don’t you, then?” You teased; he blinked at you in disbelief. You weren’t sure if he was bluffing or not. “Risk it all…” Chris clenched his jaw. 

“Babe, you’re joking, right?” He asked less dazed, more serious, “don’t play me like that.” You nodded in response, inching closer to his ear and whispered

“I’d risk it all… if it’s for you.”

Chris took no time in grabbing your arm, pulling you away from your dancing friends, who stared at you confounded —not that you noticed or even cared about that. Not when Chris seemed so needy. You had blurred the lines of your friendship many times… a drunk confession here, a stoned kiss there. But you weren’t sure where Chris actually stood in terms of you —not until Yeji said that he was adamant about you being his plus one… or him wanting to arrive with you on his arm. And you would risk it all for him. That was the truth of the matter, you hoped that he’d mean those words as well; that it wasn’t just another tipsy confession that would be ignored the next day. 

You said a very, very quick and superficial goodbye to the members of Itzy and the Stray Kids who weren’t on the dance floor, still held by Chris’s grasp… on your hand now. Using the excuse that you were tipsy and not feeling well. Which was a blatant lie, you felt sober once Chris’s hands were on your body. By the looks of it…  and the intentionality of his actions, he wasn’t even tipsy either. 

He didn’t say anything to you; you arrived at the parking lot. Chris never cared for valet parking, instead he searched for his car, parked in a dark corner of the lot, and unlocked it with his beeper. Your heart raced when he opened the passenger door for you. Once inside, he slammed his lips on yours… not giving you or himself no time to regret it. This kiss was different from the others. It felt more desperate and hungrier and real. It felt like a kiss you weren’t going to conveniently forget the next morning. His lips tasted faintly like lychee soju and cocoa whiskey, yours were locked on his… your lipstick transferring to a smudge on his face. His hands were on your face and yours tangled in his luscious locks. 

You kissed him hard and slow and sexy for that seemed like an eternity. The familiar warmth of his hands roamed your entire body as the kiss grew needier and hungrier with each passing moment. And you couldn’t help but focus on the feeling of your arousal soaking your panties. Especially when one of Chris’s hands had been sitting on your inner thigh, grabbing at it, inching closer to your center.

“Fuck, Y/N...” Chris moaned out, breaking the kiss. “Want to get out of here?”

“We could…or…we could take it to the backseat?” You offered. Chris nodded frantically. You crawled from the passenger seat to the backseat as Chris placed the sunshade on his windshield for a better —false sense of privacy. You started undressing, desperate to finally feel Chris’s body on yours. You took off your heels, then your panties. Then, Chris joined you in the back, desperately attempting to take his shirt off, discarding it in the front seat.

“C’mon, baby.” Chris said, patting his lap for you to straddle him.

His black slacks did miracles to conceal his growing bulge because you didn’t notice it until you were sitting on top of it. You could feel his sharp erection poke at your entrance through the flimsy fabric of your underwear. The unexpected friction made you let out an involuntary moan. Chris’s hands found your hips, helping you grind against him until it became too much. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted in such a delicious manner that you would’ve loved to take a picture. To save that moment forever in a physical sense. You halted your movements, lowering yourself onto your knees in the small space between the back and front seat. Chris looked at you, confused. 

Your hands found the button of Chris’s pants; he looked at you with dazed stars in his eyes and helped you lower down his pants and underwear. His cock sprung up, girthy and hard against his stomach. You wasted no time in taking him into his mouth. Chris’s hands wasted no time in tangling his hands into your hair, which, in return, made you moan. 

“Baby, that feels…heavenly.” He groaned as he accidentally bucked his hips upwards. Your nose met the coarse hair on his pubic bone. His hands pushed your head, making you deepthroat him further. “Sorry, baby. S-sorry. It just feels so good.” He released his grip on your hair, but you kept him deep in your mouth. Chris moaned at that feeling. “Shit, baby. I’m going to cum if you don’t…”

You released his cock with a pop of your mouth. Your saliva coating his dick, pubes and the corners of your mouth. 

“Come ride me, baby.” He said, breathless… grinning with satisfaction. 

You were now bare in front of him, teasing his erection with your folds, grinding against it. He threw his head back every time his tip prodded your entrance. Then, you took him in… all at once. It was painfully pleasurable. But you still made a mental note to not take him without prep again. The stretch was still delicious. Chris took his time in adjusting to the feeling of your walls clenching around him. But, you were desperate. His hands tried to ground you on his dick, you started moving. Chris moaned at your unexpectedly fast pace. His tip kissed the deepest crevices of your cervix as his hands caressed your ass. They groped and grabbed at it every time you moved on his dick. 

His hand snaked between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing sultry circles around it. The pleasure made you feel surprisingly on edge. You kept bouncing on Chris’s dick, desperate for release… more specifically, his release inside of you. You didn’t have to say that you wanted it. Chris knew. 

“You want me to cum, baby?” He asked, breathless. You nodded frantically, speeding your movements. Chris thrusted upwards, meeting you in the middle. Until he pumped you full of him with a curse; warm, deep and delicious cum flooded your insides.

Chris slipped out of you after he caught his breath. He asked you to sit down where he was sitting just moments before. He observed his cum dripping out of you, licking his lips. Ultimately deciding to use his fingers to bring you to your release. Two fingers on one hand worked on pushing his release deeper into your counter, while the fingers on his other hand rubbed wet circles on your clit. The sight itself could make you cum if you weren’t already about to. Your climax found you quickly, you saw white stars everywhere as you clenched around his fingers; helping his cum reach deeper than he ever thought it would. Chris pressed a kiss to your soaked cunt and slid your panties on.

“Not that I care if you drip on my car…” He justified. “I just like seeing you full…” He chuckled lightly, unserious. Chris leaned to kiss you in a reassuring way. 

“So, what are we now?” You teased. “Friends, lovers or nothing?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to being friends.” He replied, chest rising and falling. “And I could never bear to be ‘nothing’ to you.”

“So, lovers it is?”

“If you want to, of course.”

You do. 

Of course.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・

Copyright Ⓒ 2025 by deadpanjisung

All rights reserved.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・

[sereia4skz]

Heyy I just finished reading your newest post and I love the elements you incorporated😭 would u mind if you wrote a complete version of naiad!chan. Like a whole back-story for his wound and the whole angst package hehe, yk for the 2k followers event.

It's ok if you don't want to! I'm just stopping by and asking, alsooo credits to the person who gave the original idea<3

2k Followers Event | quiet sorrow

pairing: chan x reader

synopsis: wounds in the sanctuary run deep

warnings: naiad!chan, comfort

event masterlist: #2kShootingStars

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

AN: extension of the hcs piece: hurt in the sanctuary | ot8 headcanons

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

The spring where he usually waits for you is restless again, ripples cresting too quickly for the wind to cause, spiraling out as if something stirs just beneath the surface. As if the water itself is caught in a memory it doesn’t want to revisit.

You still kneel beside it, like always. Your satchel of salves rests on the moss nearby, barely disturbed by your movement. It's a ritual by now, murmuring a greeting to the water, waiting for him to appear in that way only naiads can, like mist sculpting into form.

But this time, Chan doesn’t surface. Instead, the water slowly parts, and a hand, his hand, emerges from below, fingers webbed slightly at the joints, trembling. He doesn’t speak, but the meaning is clear.

He wants to be touched. He’s just… afraid. 

You reach for him gently. When your fingertips brush his, there’s a faint pull, like gravity but made of feeling. He lets you take his hand in both of yours, and you draw him upward until his body surfaces, torso bare, hair slick and clinging to his jaw, shadows carved under his eyes like he hasn’t rested in moons.

You see the wound again. The same one that hasn’t healed. Right below his ribs.

“Still hurting?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer. But the water still ripples.

So you try again. “I think something’s festering. If you let me treat it,”

As soon as your palm hovers over the scar, the water explodes between you.

A violent, defensive shield. Pure instinct, pure panic. It knocks you backward, hard, drenched and startled. Your heart jackhammers as cold seeps into your bones.

Chan’s expression shatters.

“I-I didn’t mean- don’t go-” he stammers, the water dimming behind him, curling into shame around his waist like a robe.

You press your hands to the earth to ground yourself, as you sputter on water. It takes everything in you not to flinch from him.

“I know you didn’t,” you whisper, voice raw. 

He doesn’t reply. He just disappears beneath the surface, as if the shame itself drags him under.

That night, your room smells faintly of river moss. By your bedside, you find a small arrangement of smooth stones placed in a perfect spiral, a naiad’s apology. It’s the small piece of driftwood that makes your breath catch. A message carved carefully into its grain: 'You never deserved the weight I carry.'

You press the wood to your chest, and for a long while, you don’t sleep.

⋆｡°✩

You don’t see him for days after that.

Others at the sanctuary ask where he’s gone, Felix (half out of water himself, worried), Seungmin (dry-eyed but concerned). Even Minho scowls more than usual when the spring grows quiet.

You check on the spot every evening, but it remains still, reflecting only the sky. Until the fifth night, when something changes. You step into the clearing and the water sings. Not with joy. Not with peace. With grief.

The sound rises from the spring like the echo of rain falling backward, unraveling time, pulling memory to the surface.

And then you hear it, him.

“…Do you know what a river feels when it dies?”  His voice is a whisper, disembodied. All around you.

You take a cautious step forward. “Chan?”

“The land dries up. The fish vanish. The birds fly elsewhere. And then the silence comes.” He sounds hollow. 

You kneel by the water. “Where are you?”

“Here. Everywhere. The spring and I… we’re the same now.”

Silence again. Quietly: “You should know. How I got the wound.”

Your breath hitches. “I’m listening.”

“It was when they dammed my river,” he says, voice shaking. “I tried to stop them. I begged them. Cried out from the current. But they didn’t see me.” A pause. “They did see the boy who got in their way.”

Your throat tightens. “Chan…”

“I tried to undo it. I swelled the water. Tried to break the machines. Tried to show them I was alive. But then one of them-”

A sharp inhale. “One of them had an iron hook. And I-I remember teeth. I remember metal.”

You feel the echo of it in your ribs, like something lodged there ever since.

“When the river bled, I bled too,” he finishes. “That’s how it works. When the river dies… I stay broken.”

You reach out toward the water, hoping he’ll take your hand. “But you’re still here. That has to mean something.”

“I only survived because this spring formed from what was left,” he murmurs. “But it’s not sacred anymore. It’s just… a puddle in a forest that doesn’t exist.”

You shake your head. “It’s home. It’s where the others come to drink, to heal. You made that possible. You saved them.”

His voice cracks. “Still I hurt you.”

You don’t flinch from the memory of that moment now, the water lashing out, his panic, the fear in your heart. You don’t forget it.

“I think,” you say softly, “that we lash out worst when we don’t believe we deserve care. I think you’re used to being the healer, not the healed.”

The spring begins to ripple again, but gently this time. As if it’s listening.

“Come back,” you whisper. “Let me tend to the parts of you you think aren’t worth saving.”

For a long time, nothing happens.

Then: the water begins to rise. Like breath drawing in.

Chan surfaces slowly, half-submerged, curls wet and clinging, tears mingling with droplets on his face.

You hold your hand out again. No pressure this time. Just an invitation. This time, he takes it.

Your fingers find the wound again. Still raw, still aching, but not just physical. It’s an old scar carved through spirit. You let your fingers work, dragging on his skin. He exhales shakily and leans into you.

“I don’t know how to be whole again,” he says against your shoulder.“You don’t have to be,” you whisper. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere @bangchanspineapple @sunfk88 @sillyseob @rougegenshin @yaorzu-blog @babigriin @tricky-ritz

[fir-fireweed]

Hi Fir! :D

Thanks for giving advice, I really do appreciate it. Though, please don't feel pressured to answer anything I ask. Writing should be fun and with you writing Cantata and answering RO reaction asks, I don't want to add unnecessary stress by thinking of answers to my questions too! Apologies if that comes off as me being overly worried, I just legitimately don't want you to get worried over a question for advice when you have other things on your plate!😅

That said, here is question numero uno :)

How do you write when you don’t have people to bounce ideas off of? It’s just me, myself and I over here and, uh, that doesn’t seem like it’s going to change anytime soon lol. And I’m sure that other people also have that experience of writing alone for one reason or another. Not just for IFs but for their own original books and fanfictions too (not me looking at my pile of ongoing and abandoned WIPs, haha). Like many things, writing is something that is much easier when you have someone else there with you that's invested.

As you said, writing in a vacuum is really hard! Not impossible, but hard at times. Do you have any ideas as to what people can do when they don’t have that sort of support? Something to make things just a little easier.

Thanks again and I hope you’re doing well! <3

Hi Blue! Ooh, starting with the big questions. Okay, long post incoming!

My knee jerk reaction is to say “Are you sure there’s no one else?” But that doesn’t help you. I volunteer myself as tribute, but no pressure, and as you say, many people simply write alone. So here’s some tips that help me brainstorm ideas when my cohorts are unavailable.

People Watch

I have a small journal I always carry in my tote and I jot down little scenarios I see or conversations I overhear. Make up stories behind the people you see. Who are they? Why are they there? And be granular—why are they there on that particular day? I once wrote an entire short story around a snippet of conversation I overheard on the L on my way to college in Chicago.

Consume Media

Read, read, READ!! And watch movies, documentaries, broadway, listen to music, get lost in a rabbit hole on Wikipedia. But especially read. If you discover a book you like, read more from that author. Read everything you can.

Write What You Know

And by this I mean you personally. Write about something that happened to you or you witnessed. We tend to think our own lives are boring but even the small moments make good fodder for stories or character studies. One short story I wrote was about a time my parents accidentally locked themselves out of the house at night. They managed to wake my younger sister through her window and were trying to get her to wake me to open the door, but she was afraid to wake me up. Don’t know why, I was an angel. 😇 Ahem.

It’s a small instance but it makes for a great character study. You don’t have to write that exact moment truthfully, feel free to embellish—whatever helps generate ideas.

I am an awesome big sister, btw. Just ask me, I’ll tell you. 😉

Avoid Scope Creep

I’ve seen mixed opinions on tumblr when it comes to the scope of your writing. I’m on the side of keeping things small. I’ll preface this by saying I have a professional background of project management, creative briefs, and business proposals. I’ve been trained to keep my scope manageable, but I honestly do think it’s best. Set real expectations, small goals, and write short dabbles.

And if I may add, this is a skill that will help you professionally.

Don’t Force It

This is another I’ve seen mixed advice on. Many people will say push through the writers block and write what you can, even if it’s a few sentences. I say close that laptop, iPad, phone, whatever and go for a walk. Watch a movie. Play a video game. If you don’t write for 2 weeks or 2 months, that’s fine. If you’re not enjoying it, forcing it will only make it worse. You’ll start second guessing everything you’ve already written. Step away, go do some people watching at the park, then return when the inspiration strikes.

These are all tips that helped me, but of course everyone is different. My sister likes using writing prompts when she’s short on ideas, but I personally have never been a fan. They feel like homework, lol.

However, I do 100% recommend taking creative writing workshops at the local college if you can. It’s a great way to generate and share ideas; not to mention nothing helps you accept criticism better than having a dozen of your peers absolutely demolish your writing. 😭

I hope that helped, and I’m honored that you’re seeking advice from me! ❤️

[dennyzsworld]

𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐒 - part three (finale)

ian mckinley x popular!fem!reader

cw: stuff might not be accurate to the time, some swearing, confessions, this is kinda rushed(sorry), not proofread, small argument, kiss scene.

a/n: ITS FINALLY HERE! i feel like it’s a little rushed but i’m just glad it’s done.

monday came and you were dreading it. mostly because you had a test. but when you got to school you had a entirely different reason to hate today.

you were just walking in the halls when you heard a familiar voice.

“hey!”

you turned to see ashlyn approaching you.

“hey, what’s up?” you waved at her.

she had her phone in her hand and she quickly rushed up to you. “you gotta look at this.”

she showed you a photo of you and ian at the movie theaters.

“it’s like all over myspace n’ stuff.” she pulls back her phone and closes it.

shit.

this wasn’t good.

“who took that photo?” you asked urgently.

she shrugged. “dunno. but like why were you on a date with mckinley.”

“it wasn’t a date. just us hanging out.” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“that’s basically a date.” she replied.

“uh. look i gotta go to class soon.” you say, trying to change the topic.

you walked off without another word.

—

in your first class you were pretty much miserable. you heard some people whispering about you.

you usually don’t care about rumors. but for some reason you couldn’t get this out of your head. it’s not like you were embarrassed about being seen with ian.

you definitely weren’t. you thought he was a great guy. just misunderstood.

anyways, the day went on. and it was filled with many stares and whispers. probably conversations of ‘do you think they’re dating?’

you went home that day, feeling worried. as you got into your room you immediately texted ian.

- did u hear? [3:24]

you text.

a few minutes go by until he responds back.

- what? [3:26]

- somebody took a photo of us at the movie theater [3:26]

- seriously?? [3:27]

- yes. i was literally getting stares all day. it was hell. i was so embarrassed. ur lucky u weren’t there. [3:28]

- oh. [3:28]

you didn’t know what to say for a bit. you just sat there on your bed.

- can we talk at school tomorrow? at lunch [3:32]

he texts back. and you hesitate for a second.

sitting with him at lunch. that wouldn’t help the rumors. but you decided to just say ‘fuck it’.

- sure. [3:32]

—

at school the next day instead of sitting with the ash(s) you headed over to ian’s table. which got you some looks as expected.

“good, you didn’t decide to ditch me.” a faint smile on his lips.

“how could i?” you joked, even though you were still kinda nervous about people seeing you with him.

it was quiet for a moment.

“be honest. do you not wanna be seen with me?” he suddenly says, catching you slightly by surprise.

“no, no! of course not.” you quickly answered.

“then, why do you seem so upset about this whole stuff. i mean, don’t get me wrong. it sucks but who cares if people think we’re together.” he crosses his arms.

you didn’t know what to say really.

“i just don’t want rumors spread about us…that too much to ask for?” you sighed.

“you just made it seem like you were embarrassed to be seen with me.” he mumbled under his mouth.

“yet i’m here now. i’m risking my reputation for you, mckinley!” you snapped.

“so, i am right. you are embarrassed to be seen with me? huh? you can leave.” he raised his voice a bit.

you were stunned but you decided to comply and get up and go. his facial expression was hard to read. but he did kinda look guilty.

you didn’t mean to snap at him. you were just trying to defend yourself.

after school, you saw that he tried texting you. it was just some apologies. which you didn’t respond to. maybe it was your pride? you didn’t know though.

—

a few hours passed by and it became dark. your parents were gone on a date so you were home alone.

everything was quiet until you heard a car horn outside.

“what the hell?” you said to yourself.

you made your way to the front door and looked out the window.

ian’s van was parked outside the house.

you quickly opened the door and stepped out on the porch.

“what are you doing here?” you yelled out.

he got out of his car and started walking towards you.

“you didn’t respond to my texts.” he said matter -of-factly.

you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.

“doesn’t mean you get to come to my house.” you muttered.

“well, i’m here now.” he shrugged.

a moment of silence goes by before he breaks it again.

“i’m sorry.” he apologizes.

“i know that. you texted it about 10 times.” you scoffed.

“c’mon i’m serious. i’m sorry.” he said again.

“fine…i forgive you…and i’m sorry too.” you admitted.

“i forgive you too.” he smiled.

y’all stand there staring at each other, awkwardly.

“i shouldn’t have raised my voice like that at you.” he hesitantly grabs your hand.

you looked down at y’all’s joined hands and blushed a bit.

“no big deal…” you suddenly feel shy.

ian clears his throat. “could i…could i do something to make it up to you?”

“sure…” you reply, wondering what he had in mind.

he glanced up at you, nervously. but quickly tried to mask it.

you didn’t know what he was gonna do until he started to lean in.

you started to feel extremely shy.

“uh, i don’t really know how-“ your words were cut off by his lips connecting with yours.

and damn. it felt great.

the kiss lasted a few seconds before he pulled away.

“i like you. and not as a friend.” he says, looking a bit more confident now.

“cool.” honestly you didn’t know what to say. your brain was still fuzzy from the kiss. you quickly shook your head and regained your focus. “uh, i like you too!”

he smirked a bit and nodded his head. “cool. so…i guess the rumors are true.”

“they’re true now.” you corrected.

“i should probably go now but do a favor for me?” he asked.

you nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“go on myspace and list me as number one on your top eight friends. you let the whole school know that we’re together now.” he responded.

you laughed a bit but gave him a thumbs up. “no problem. you do the same.”

he let out a small ‘okay’ and headed back to his van.

as you watched him pull out of the driveway you smiled.

never in a million years would you have thought you would have kissed ian mckinley.

but damn are you glad you did.

[oh-no-its-bird]

On top of everything else that's happened in the last month or so

(girlfriend breaking up with me / me running off in the night w the friend I was supposed to be maid of honor with bc her (now ex) fiance came home drunk and scared us, while ofc we also both were in swimsuits and had like NO money or even shoes due to incredibly poor timing / Getting stuck in Dallas for TWO MONTHS longer than I meant to be due to bullshit work transfer systems (and admitedly my own inability to remember that deadlines exist) / that same friend going BACK to her shit boyfriend alone to a city 4 hours away from anyone she may call for help if things go wrong / me now no longer having a place in dallas to stay for these next 2 months bc I was SUPPOSED to stay with that friend but her bastard boyfriend doesn't want me in his house anymore bc he knows I'd tell his girlfriend to dump his ass)

I have now lost my fucking house keys.

Anyways I may or may not be way less active for a bit so this is the formal apology and explanation for that. Sorry guys, we are NOT going back to ur normally scheduled rapid fire ninja content as promised for like. A minute. Possibly. We'll see. Sometimes my own motivation wave surprises me.

Tbh it's my own fault for daring to become a fanfic author tbh. Should have known the "sorry I didn't update, my house burned down teehee <3" curse would come for my ass

[ask-seb]

Willy vs. Demetrius—who do you think would win that fight?

... definitely willy. that guys got some secrets the world's not ready to hear.

have you seen the guy? he looks like he could deal some serious damage. that being said, my money's on him.

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

The Rain is Especially Loud Tonight

Synopsis: The Prefect gets hurt due to Crowley's negligence.

TW: Injury, Stitches, Medical Stuff, Prefect gets caught under a collapsed Ramshackle

Part 1 (here), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11 (coming soon), . . .

Tick Tick Tick Tick

The room would be completely silent were it not for the ticking of the clock on the wall.

The environment was more comfortable than your usual medical setting, but it still felt cold in a way.

The door creaked open and in stepped professor Crewel. "Hey, Pup." His voice lacked its usual stern tone one would hear in the classroom; instead, his voice was gentle and almost hoarse.

The hoarseness was no doubt a result of him screaming at the headmage in a roar you shiver even recalling. He had spent hours tearing into the man for his gross negligence and irresponsibility.

"Pup?" His voice became more worried when you failed to answer.

"Sorry." A meek, rasped voice leaves you throat. Your throat burns with dryness despite the 6 glasses of water you already drank, and it feels like every syllable echoes through your head and causes an intense, throbbing pain. You don't recognize the voice that claws its way out of your throat as your own.

You hear the soft scrape of a chair on the floor next to your bed. "No. Don't apologize, Pup." Rocking your gaze slowly over to him its clear to you, with the way his jaw clenches and unclenches while his eyes search the blanket covering you, that he wants to say something, but isn't sure what.

You slowly rock your head to look forward again. "Everyone's been in such a panic. . .and it's my fault, I-"

The man cuts you off as you choke on your words: "Pup. This is not your fault."

"But-" Your throat feels like its been given a massage with a thousand razor blades. The coughing your attempts to speak cause only make the pain worse.

Crewel quickly grabs another glass of water and holds it up to your lips for you to drink. "But nothing, Pup- Keep those arms down or you'll re-open the wounds. That old building was bound to collapse at some point. We all knew it. If the fault is on anyone it's on us staff. Crowley made you stay there, and we didn't stop him." The glass cup clinks slightly too harshly onto the nightstand as he sets it down.

Silence falls between the two of you.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

The ticking of the clock numbs your thoughts. You force your mind to stop focusing on the pain radiating from every inch of your body and instead listen to the steady ticking of the clock. The only other sound that can be herd is the occasional hurried footsteps outside the door as the other staff do their best to take care of the situation.

Your injuries have already been treated by a specialty team sent from STYX the moment the news got to them. They were the only ones aside from Grim, Leona, and the staff that had seen your mangled form before you were wrapped up like a mummy. You didn't have to ask how bad it was. Seeing Crowley throw up at the sight of you was enough to tell you it was bad.

The STYX team had spent nearly a whole 24 hours stitching you back together like some ragdoll and rearranging the many pieces of you that had been ripped and jostled out of place. If not for them. . .well, you don't want to think about it. If you looked like a mummy on the outside, you were sure that under the bandages you looked like Frankenstein's monster. There really wasn't a single bit of you that got out of that death trap unscathed.

You were kept in the school infirmary instead of being carted off to some high-tech STYX facility only because they needed to operate on you as soon as possible and didn't want to move you too much after the initial procedures. They made do by shipping a ton (literally speaking, more like 3 tons) of medical equipment to the school, most of which was now littered around the infirmary in a rushed yet professional way.

Despite your closeness to your friends, the only people who had come to see you were the staff. It's not that none of your friends wanted to see you, but that they weren't allowed to. The doctor's worried having them in so soon, when they were still full of hysteria from the news, wouldn't be the best idea. They weren't able to text you either as your phone had been crushed in the collapse.

"How's Grim?"

Professor Crewel hums: "Physically, he's pretty unscathed. He just has a few scrapes and bruises. Mentally, he's a bit traumatized."

You supposed that made sense. You didn't remember much, but what you did remember was Grim's voice. He had been returning to the dorm from after school detention when he found the building in shambles on the ground. He called out to you but your lungs were filled with debris and your torso was being crushed by layers of rubble. The dorm ghosts met Grim at the edge of the junk pile that used to be a dorm and confirmed that you were inside and that you needed help. The ghosts talked to you as you laid there, not being able to physically move anything off you themselves. They kept you awake and assured you that Grim was getting help.

Not long later you heard shouting. Two of the ghosts stayed with you while the third went out to meet the staff and fill them in. You were told after the fact that that's about the time they called up Leona to use his unique magic so they could get you out as soon as possible (that was the first time many saw the lion run).

You were blanking in and out of consciousness when they found you, but you remember them finding you. The feeling of the weight of the rubble lessening as it was methodically turned to sand and removed (in order to not end up crushing you with sand instead), the small grains dripping on your face, and eventually, the full force of the pouring rain battering your face as the last of the rubble was removed from above you. You remember Leona's manic eyes turning horrified, Crowley puking, and worst of all, Grim's face.

"STYX sent over a few trauma counselors. There are ones assigned specifically to Leona and Grim as well since they saw some of the worst of it." Crewel finally broke the silence again.

"And you? You and. . .the other teachers were there too. . .and Sam."

"Calm down, Pup. We've all had evaluations done to assess how we're handling it. We'll be fine.

"What about. . ." Your voice trails off, but from the look in your eyes, Crewel can tell what you were about to ask.

"What about the headmage?"

You nod, wincing slightly when the motion disturbs an injury on your neck.

"He's under investigation." Crewel responds after a brief pause. He knew that you surely couldn't be all that fond of the crow, but as you saw it, he was probably also your only ticket home. Crewel looked up to gauge your response, but your face remained neutral.

"And you, Pup? I obviously know you aren't doing particularly well physically right now, but what about mentally?"

"Hm?"

Crewel hesitated, not wanting to dig around in a mental wound and make it worse, "You were. . .under there for a while. I'm sure it must've been. . .scary."

You think for a moment before responding: "Was I really under there that long? It didn't feel like it. . .I think I passed out a few times." Your mumbled words put Crewel at ease in a way. He's not happy that you had been passing out, but he was at least glad that you weren't stuck under there fully conscious and feeling every second tick by as if it were an hour.

"Hmm. I see." Crewel nods. "I ought to let you rest now. A counselor will stop by tomorrow to talk to you about what happened." He stands up as he says this, his knuckles still white from how tightly he'd been gripping the fabric of his pants. "Rest well, Pup."

You simply nod, this time more carefully as to not disturb your wounds, and watch him walk out. When the door closes you swear you hear a choked sob.

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[sourcherryandsprinkles]

rafe having no boundaries and grabbing his girlfriend's ass in front of family during a family trip

A little Rafe and Sarah being siblings

—

‘’Can you not do that here?’’ Sarah grimaced after Rafe wandered in and smacked your ass on his way to the fridge. ‘’We’re cooking. That’s gross.’’ 

You and Sarah had woken up earlier than everyone else and decided to whip some pancake batter. They were coming along nicely, slowly piling up on a plate.

Rafe rolled his eyes in response and leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘’Chill out, Sarah. I’m just saying ‘good morning’ to my girl.’’

Sarah scoffed, giving him a glare as you flipped out the pancake in the pan. ‘’Well, keep your 'good mornings' to yourself until after breakfast and when I’m not around, alright? I’ve seen and heard enough things I didn’t want to.’’ 

Your cheeks turned red and you kept your eyes on the pan, embarrassed as memories of Sarah catching you topless in their pool and all the times she heard you through the walls of Tannyhill before Rafe got his own place. You’ll never apologize to her enough. 

‘’Stop acting like a prude. I’ve heard you on the phone with that pogue you’re seeing. Ahh, John B., I wish your fingers were inside me. I’m so close, I need to—’’ 

Sarah grabbed a blueberry and threw it at her brother, her face burning hot at his mockery. If eyes could kill, Rafe would be a dead man. She looked murderous. 

Rafe smirked, unfazed by the blueberry that was thrown his way. He crossed his arms crossed over his broad chest, and his blue eyes flickered with amusement. ‘’These walls are old. Did you think I couldn’t hear you?’’ 

To avoid a Sarah vs Rafe duel from happening, you asked Rafe if he wanted chocolate chips or blueberries in his pancakes. You already knew the answer, but you needed to defuse the bomb before it would explode. 

‘’Blueberries. You know how I like my pancakes, baby,’’ he said, pushing himself off the counter and closing the distance between you and him in a few strides. 

Sarah shot a glare in his direction, her eyes narrowing, but Rafe chose to ignore her and kiss your shoulder, standing right behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his chest against your back and resting his chin above your shoulder.

‘’Rafe, you’re distracting me,’’ you warned, pouring batter in the pan and adding some blueberries. 

Rafe laughed lowly, his chest rumbling against your back as his arms wrapped tighter around your waist. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear, his lips lingering on your skin for a few seconds. ‘’These look good. Think we can take the pancakes to bed after you’re done?’’ 

Breakfast in bed, away from everyone else, sounded tempting. You've had breakfast with the Camerons since you arrived, sticking to the polite routine. You missed being alone with Rafe in the morning, taking it slow and engaging in non-PG activities.  

Before you answered, Sarah cleared her throat beside you, a disapproving look on her face. Rafe thought he was subtle and sleek when he had his hand wander under your robe. 

He lifted his head and gave her a cocky grin. ''What?'' 

‘’In case you forgot, I’m still here,'' the blonde recalled, taking a few plates from the cupboards and deciding to set the table. ‘’And Wheezie and Dad and Rose are gonna come down soon.’’ 

‘’I know,'' Rafe replied, stepping back and letting you finish the pancakes. ''If you had not been here, I would have her bent over the counter already.’’ 

His words should have shocked you, but you were used to his bluntness by now. Rafe never held back, always saying exactly what was on his mind, no matter how outrageous. No matter the audience. You thought he would behave and tone it down with Wheezie in the house, but he didn’t. 

Thankfully, her young ears were not around.

You looked over your shoulder, failing at hiding the smirk that tugged at the corners of your lip.

—

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[noisilyscreechingsong]

Dp x Dc short idea

Jason is Danny’s dad

Warning: Language

Jason had just returned to the family publicly about two weeks ago. It hadn’t even been that long for him to settle before something happened. The press weren’t even off his ass and he has Alfred requesting he return home for an urgent matter immediately, which is butler speak for get your ass here right now!

The family was happy but adjusting to everything. They had mandatory family dinners at least twice a month and voluntarily got together more frequently, mostly just the siblings, but every once in a while Bruce would sneak in for a movie in the family room.

Alfred was pleased with the progress the family has made over the course of many years. It finally felt like everything was coming together and maybe settling down. He knew he thought that too soon when he answered the buzzer at the front gate. They weren’t expecting any visitors and looking at the video feed it was a young woman with hands on her hips glaring back at the camera. There were two large bags with her and surprisingly enough a young child playing in the grass just a short distance behind her.

“Wayne Residence, Alfred Pennyworth speaking, how may I assist you, ma’am?”

“Lettin’ me in for starters,” she says back with venom on her tongue.

“My apologies, but you do not have an appointment.”

She snorts, “Nah, but ya see, I saw that bastard on the news and thought I’d drop off what he gave me.”

To get her point across, she turns and looks back at the little boy not paying her any attention.

“Danny!” She snaps and he jerks his head to look at, who Alfred is assuming is, his mother. “Come here.”

He hops up at his own pace and dusts off the grass on his knees before trotting over. She leans down to angle the young boy away from the camera and pushing back his hair.

He couldn’t see it well before by the way the boy was positioned before, but Alfred could clearly see a prominent patch of white hair on the left lower section by his neck. Just like the white batch on Jason.

“You gonna let us in now?” She asks rudely.

Alfred has already determined he did not like this woman. He still buzzes them in. He contacts Jason immediately followed closely with Bruce.

Alfred then helps the two carry in the bags, while subtly checking for any weapons or explosives. Instead he finds things meant for a child.

He really didn’t like this woman.

Bruce is the first one to arrive down the stairs, pausing towards the bottom. He glances at Alfred and can see the displeasure in the butler’s eyes.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Bruce Wayne, nice to meet you.”

“Fuckin’ everyone knows who you are, Brucie Wayne,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes.

Bruce glances down at the very young child who is hearing the foul language. He couldn’t be more than five, and completely oblivious as the little boy runs a hand along the wall and looks around at everything. He particularly keeps going back to the shiny chandelier above their heads.

“Who might you be?” He asks the woman, coming back to her as she almost touches the vase on the entry table. She draws her hand back to fold her arms across her chest.

“Grace.”

The name seems ironic compared to her behavior.

“And how can I help you, Miss Grace?”

“Your thought-to-be-dead son left something of his. I’m here to return it.”

It took no detective to determine she was talking about the boy currently using the door frame to the sitting room as leverage to rock back and forth, holding on with his tiny hands. Bruce could see the splash of white among the dark hair from this angle.

Bruce hums.

“Is that so?”

“I’ve already contacted Master Jason. He should be arriving soon. Shall I prepare some refreshments in the drawing room?” Alfred informs.

“Thank you, Alfred. Right this way,” he says to Grace, directing her toward the left while pulling out his phone to ask Tim to prepare the proper equipment downstairs.

“Danny!” The woman calls with impatience. She glares at the little boy who calmly turns to look at her, then skips behind them.

Grace huffs but doesn’t say anything else as they enter the room. She sits herself in the middle of the love seat and Bruce takes one of the chairs across from her. The boy, Danny, explores the room thoroughly, walking around without pattern and investigating every nook and cabinet to keep himself entertained. Very curious little child.

Bruce tries to engage her in conversation to dig up more information, but she firmly wanted to wait for Jason before divulging anything. He did however find out that Danny is four and needs to be enrolled in kindergarten next turn. Grace works night shift but wouldn’t say where.

Alfred came with three waters, one in a smaller plastic cup for Danny, and a plate of crackers and cut up fruit.

Grace eyes the butler with a raised brow. However, the first words Danny has spoken in their presence is a cute, “Thank you, mister,” before munching on a cracker and sipping from his cup. His curious eyes flick over the fruit and wanders over to his mother who picks at a rip in her jeans. He taps her knee and she sighs.

“What is it?”

“What’s that?”

Danny points to the fruit.

“What’s what?”

He creeps forward to point directly at the blackberries mixed in with the blueberries and strawberries.

“Blackberry,” she answers shortly.

“What’s it taste like?”

“Why don’t you try it and find out?”

He must have approved of that suggestion and reaches in to clumsily wrap a tiny hand around one of the dark berries. He flips it over in his hand for a minute, observing it at all angles, feeling the texture of the little bumps, before shoving it in his mouth. Danny leans his body over the coffee table to drag the bowl closer and rummage through it for more goodies.

Really looking at him, Bruce could see Jason’s freckles and the few other similarities like his square jaw and lip shape. He hasn’t seen it yet but Bruce bets Danny has the same crooked grin as his son.

He has the woman’s pale complexion and nose shape. His hair was straight like hers instead of Jason’s curls, but Danny took his dark coloring compared to her light brunette.

The boy was an adorable mix of both his son and this woman. He almost felt the test was unnecessary, but he didn’t stop Alfred from replacing the plastic cup and take it back to the kitchen where he knew it would be handed off to Tim.

Thankfully it was a day where there weren’t any meetings for either of them to attend.

Surprisingly, it isn’t Jason that enters the room first, it’s Damian coming home from school. The fourteen year old, almost fifteen, holds a leash in one hand with Titus standing patiently next to him, ready for his after school walk.

“Father, I heard we have guests.”

The teen stops in the doorway and Danny turns with interest until he spots the animal, then his eyes bug with excitement.

“Mommy, doggie,” he whisper shouts.

She just hums in affirmative, looking the new arrival up and down.

Danny grabs a blackberry from the bowl and trots over to Damian. He holds out the piece of fruit.

“This is a blackberry,” he states proudly.

Damian blinks down at the small child. Titus tilts his head, his nose working hard.

“I’m aware.”

“You can have it, if you let me pet your doggie,” he negotiates like he needed to give something in order to receive permission.

Damian looks up to his father for answers.

“Jason will be here soon,” is what he gets instead, his father’s lips twitch.

Damian looks back down in sudden realization when he sees the similarities between the man and this boy. He sighs tiredly.

“Pennyworth. A wet washcloth if you please.”

“Right away, Master Damian.”

“Next time, you only need to ask to pet Titus, you do not need to give me anything in return,” he tells the child.

Danny looks down at the berry sitting in his stained hands.

“So you don’t want it?”

“…Maybe later.”

“Okay!”

Danny skips back to carefully set the berry off the side on the tray, as if to save it for Damian for later like he said. He jogs the short distance back to them.

“Can I pet your doggie now, please?”

Damian takes the washcloth Alfred hands him with a nod and crouches down to get level with the boy.

“We must wipe our hands first. We don’t want anything sticky in his fur,” he explains as he holds out the washcloth for Danny’s hands.

The four year old looks down at the stains to see what he means and then places his hands on the washcloth for Damian to get the juices off.

The teen then calmly explains how to properly approach a dog he does not know by letting Titus smell the back of his hand first and then to always stay calm and confident.

Titus, the gentle giant that he is, had no problems letting the tiny child pat him and run small fingers through his short fur. It was endearing to hear the giggles when Titus used his big nose to sniff at the child’s face and neck. Sitting down, Titus was taller than the child standing up, which would have been scary to some kids, but Danny seemed to love Titus instantly. The little boy easily telling the dog what a good boy he is even with the dog sitting there doing nothing.

“Titus needs his afternoon walk now,” Damian informs.

Titus stands at the word walk, clearly ready to go.

“Oh, okay.” Danny turns to the big dog to reach up and pat his head twice. “Bye-bye, Titus. Have a good walk.”

The two leave and Danny skips back over to hang over the arm of the love seat his mother sits in, typing on her phone.

“Mommy, did you see the doggie? His name is Titus. He’s a good dog.”

“Uh-huh,” she comments without really listening.

“Do you like dogs, Danny?” Bruce asks with a smile.

Danny looks at him like he forgot the man was there, tilts his head as he studies him for a moment. Bruce waits patiently until Danny deems him okay and perks back up with bright eyes.

“Uh-huh! I love dogs! Mommy says we can’t get one ‘cuz our ‘partment is too small and they’re dirty. You’s guys are lucky,” the boy rambles as he wanders around the coffee table to get closer to Bruce and away from his distracted mother.

“How do you feel about cats? Damian has a black and white one around here somewhere.”

Danny shrugs and they continue to have a rather pleasant conversation about different animals and foods and each of their houses. It takes up the amount of time for Jason to walk through the door, seemingly already informed of the situation from Alfred.

Jason was… flabbergasted. Bewildered. Caught unprepared. He was a lot of words. Mostly he was scared.

Did he really have a child? A son? If that was true then he missed so much. He missed all of his firsts. First words, first steps, first laugh, first everything.

Would the boy even like him? What if he saw all his scars and was scared of him? What if he didn’t want anything to do with Jason after not being in his life this whole time?

But the boy might not be his. There’s that. That could be… Jason didn’t like the disappointment that thought brought.

Grace was the first one he noticed. Her ripped jeans and low cut top being out of place among the antique furniture and Persian rug. She scowls at him, putting her phone down.

“Finally decided to show up?”

He bites back a comment. He broke several traffic laws to get here, it wasn’t his fault he was fourty minutes away at the time he got the call.

He glances over at Bruce and instead his eyes zero in on the child standing by the armchair Bruce was sitting in.

Just one look and he knew the boy was his.

He looks to Bruce anyway for confirmation, since he has no doubt he sent off a sample to Tim hiding like the troll he is in the basement. The man nods. Jason sucks in a deep breath and suddenly needs to sit down.

He sinks heavily in the matching armchair next to Bruce’s, separated only by a round end table. Jason can’t stop staring at those big, blue eyes that are filled with such curiosity and innocence he almost breaks down right then. But he can’t. He has to be strong. He can’t just walk away to get a handle on his emotions. He’s a dad now.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Grace folds her arms over her chest.

“I’ve been busy,” he answers lamely.

She humphs and looks away with a shake of her head.

The boy, Danny Alfred said his name was, creeps around Bruce’s legs to get closer, obviously seeing something in Jason enough to investigate. The room is quiet as they wait to see how Danny will react.

Coming to a stop right before his knees, Danny stares up at the large man with lots of scars and muscles from what he can see. He wasn’t scared. There was just something familiar that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He looks… he looks like… and he also feels almost like…

Furrowing his brows in a pout, he knows his Mommy doesn’t like it when he does it, but he still makes his eyes burn with green.

The man gasps and his eyes also swirl into an angry green.

“Daddy?” Danny asks with hope and joy.

Daddy swallows and then nods.

“Yea, buddy, I’m your dad.”

“Daddy!” The boy cheers, jumping in place with a wide smile. “Daddy! Mommy, look! It’s Daddy!”

Danny wastes no time climbing into the man’s lap and wrapping his arms around him as far as they’ll go (not very far) to press his ear to Jason’s chest over his heart. He’s practically vibrating with excitement and Jason makes sure to set a large hand on his back to hold him close.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Grace hisses, her eyes wide at the display earlier. Both of their eyes had returned to their calmer blue and teal color, but everyone in the room saw it. “I knew he got it from you.”

His eyes narrow in warning, pulling the boy closer to his chest. He sets a hand over Danny’s exposed ear to protect him from the harsh words he’s probably already heard before.

“Do you have any idea how creepy it is to deal with a tantrum when your kid has fucking glowing green eyes?”

“Did you hit him?” Jason growls, the vibrations seeming to settle Danny even more.

“Please, I’m not my mother,” she dismisses with a sneer.

Could have fooled him.

“Everything was fine until he started doing freaky shit. I don’t know how to raise a meta kid, alright?”

“What are you talking about?”

Now he was just confused. What stuff was Danny doing that Grace thought he was a meta?

“Don’t try to pretend you don’t have powers too,” she points viciously.

“I’m not pretending. I don’t have powers. I don’t have the meta gene. What can he do?” He demands while being transparently clear.

She just glares back at him, obviously not believing him. That didn’t exactly matter at the moment.

“What can he do?” He repeats with emphasis.

She puckers her lips like she’s tasted something sour and then lifts her chin.

“Why doesn’t he just show you, huh? Danny- Would you stop babying him? Danny, show him the things you can do.”

After Jason takes the hand off the boy’s head, Danny turns to his mother warily.

“But you don’t like it,” he reminds, like she forgot.

“He wants to see it, so show him,” she waves a hand at Jason like he just asked for something he would regret.

Danny leans back to look up at his dad.

“You won’t get mad? Or scared?”

He sounds so unsure and scared. As if Jason could ever hate him. Jason really wants to punch something. Preferably something with her face on it.

“I promise I won’t.”

Another parent might have something more profound to say to reassure their child, but Jason was just starting out and honestly, it was more than Bruce would ever say.

Danny thinks for a second before wiggling to get down. He looks back once more at his mother who gives him a ‘get on with it’ motion.

The boy fidgets a little before covering his face with two hands like he’s playing hide and seek, then- disappears. Jason jerks at watching his son blink out of sight like a Martian.

“Boo!” Danny pops back into view, exactly where he was standing before with his hands out like any child on Halloween.

Jason blinks and then starts laughing. This was karma. Danny could literally become invisible, something the Bats train to do for years.

“That was good, buddy,” Jason chuckles, ruffling the kid’s hair.

Danny hesitantly smiles back, a bit of hope and pride in those eyes.

“There’s more,” Grace interrupts, seemingly uneasy with how well Jason reacted.

“Yea?” Jason directs to Danny, his focus on his son.

Danny gives a shaky nod, glancing over worriedly at Bruce who is just silently watching. Jason could see the tension in his shoulders but also the intrigue.

The boy places a hand on the coffee table and focuses on his hand. It took a few minutes of concentration before Danny’s hand went through the table like he was just dunking his hand in a pool instead of through a solid object.

He pulls his hand out and they could see it be slightly translucent.

“That one’s harder to do when I want to,” Danny mumbles.

“You mean it mostly happens on accident?”

Danny nods.

“I drop a lot. And get stuck sometimes.”

Yea, Jason can see how that could be a problem. He can’t imagine how terrified Danny was the first time a body part got stuck in an immovable object. He really wishes he could have been there for him in his panic.

“The last thing is hard too. But I’ve been practicing. Watch!”

Danny jumps once, twice, and on the third time he lingers in the air, coming down slowly like someone in water or astronauts on the moon. Danny pushes off the ground a fourth time, this time floating steadily higher like gravity meant nothing to him.

Despite the kid obviously have done this before and enjoying it with his giggles, Jason stands under him in case he falls. And falls he does. Suddenly, like the strings being cut and gravity taking hold of him again, Danny plummets into Jason waiting arms. The boy grunts on impact and then smiled sheepishly up at his dad.

“Sorry, Daddy. I promise I’m doing better.”

“That’s okay, squirt. I’m glad I was here to catch you.”

Jason plops back into the chair with his child in his lap.

“Anything else up that sleeve of yours?” He teases but is equally as serious.

Danny shakes his head enough to make his hair fluff. Jason looks to Grace for confirmation and sees she is still recovering from Danny’s fall out of the air. How many times has she had to catch him? Or wasn’t able to catch him?

She clears her throat.

“I don’t know if it’s part of it, but he never gets sick. Never even had a cough.”

Children always get sick, that’s how they build immune systems. For Danny to have never gotten even a cold, Jason doesn’t know if it’s worrying or a good thing.

“Any allergies?” Is the first thing on his mind, thinking of what Alfred will need to know.

She shakes her head with a negative hum.

“In one of the bags is a folder with all of his documents. Birth certificate, immunizations, doctor visits. I also made a list of some favorite things and things he hates. It has foods on there too.”

That was… honestly more than he was expecting from her. But it also cements the fact that she intended to drop him off with him and then never see them again. She raised him for four years and she doesn’t even want visitation? Does she not understand there are legal documents she needs to sign to transfer custody properly?

“There are some things you need to sign, but it will take some time to get it sorted,” Bruce chimes in all business.

Long nails swipe through the air like signing her rights away was trivial.

“My phone number and address are on one of the documents. Just tell me when and where.”

She stands to leave and Jason can feel Danny tense up.

“Are we leaving?” He asks worriedly, climbing down from his seat on his dad’s lap. He didn’t want to go.

“You’re staying here. With your dad,” Grace says shortly, not once looking at the boy.

“Are you going home to get the rest of our stuff?”

“No. I’m going home. You’re staying here. End of story.”

Danny visibly thinks on that for a second then scampers after his mother as she leaves the room.

“Is it like Robbie where his mom lives in one ‘partment and his dad lives in a different one?”

Grace sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She’s clearly flustered and is showing it as irritation, but Jason can’t help but trail behind in case she says something that she shouldn’t.

“No, Danny, it’s not like Robbie. I- I am leaving you here and I’m not coming back, okay?”

Jason takes a step forward to draw her attention and send her a look that says ‘choose your words carefully, this is a conversation he will remember for a long time’.

“But- but why? Is it ‘cuz of my things? I’m sorry I scared you, Mommy. I didn’t mean to. I won’t do them again, promise.”

Jason grits his teeth at how desperate his son sounds, trying to keep his mother with him. Even making a promise he can’t keep.

Grace finally looks at her baby. Sees the turmoil and tears in his baby blue eyes. She gets down on her knees to get level and places her hands on his tiny shoulders.

“You will do them again and that’s not a bad thing. Your things are part of you. That’s okay. You’re not in any trouble. I just- I’m in over my head here, Danny. I can’t take care of you the way you should be taken care of, okay? But your dad can, I hope. So I’m leaving you here. With him.”

Danny’s lip wobbles and she has to restrain herself from not hugging him like she always does when he’s upset.

“Then- then you’ll visit, right? Like Chase’s grandma visits him?”

Why is this so hard?

“I don’t think so, baby. I don’t think you’re gonna see me again. I’m sorry.”

Danny is silent for a while. He wipes his eyes and sniffs.

“Are you goin’ ‘way like Jamal’s dad?”

The ten year old in the same building as them lost his dad in a wrong place wrong time type situation. Jamal had told Danny his dad went away forever so he couldn’t see him again. Grace had told him that when people go away forever, they get put among the stars he loves so much to be remembered.

Grace wears such a pained expression Jason half thought she was about to burst into tears.

“Kinda,” she nods. “So give me a big hug, okay?”

Danny was in her arms before she finished speaking. Jason didn’t exactly know why she wanted to stop all contact, but he had a theory that if Danny really was a meta (and with his powers he was leaning toward believing it) then Grace would want to distance herself as much as possible to protect them both. He met her in Crime Alley, he knew they didn’t live in a good spot. If any one of those crooks saw Danny use any of his powers, they could steal him easily from his single mother. She didn’t want to give those kind of people leverage to get Danny and sell him off. She wasn’t trying to be cruel, she was just trying to do what was best for her kid, even if that meant cutting her out of his life.

He had a strange new respect for her he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Grace takes a heavy breath and pulls away showing Danny’s tear stained cheeks. She wipes them like it would do anything.

“I gotta go now, Danny.”

“No,” he cries and Jason’s heart breaks a little more.

“We gotta say goodbye now. Please.”

Grace is just barely hanging on. Jason knows as soon as she walks out that door she’ll break down.

“I don’t want to. Don’t want you to leave,” Danny whines, trying to keep a strong grip on his mother.

She holds his hands in hers and gives him a serious look.

“You’re going to be fine. You’re gonna be just fine with your dad.” She leans in and whispers, “You’re not alone, Danny. You are never alone. Just look up. Look at the stars, baby, and you’ll be okay.”

Danny pouts, but thinks about those words.

“I like the stars,” he mumbles.

She smiles, probably the first one in a while.

“I know you do.”

She kisses his forehead one last time and stands. Danny whines. She steps away.

“Bye-bye, Danny. I- I love you.”

“Mommy,” he cries, tears and snot coming full force now.

Jason can’t take anymore and picks up his son to hold on his hip.

“It’s okay, buddy. I got you,” he assures. He turns to Grace who is having the internal battle of her life in the foyer. “I got him.”

It’s an assurance to her too, that he will take care of Danny, that he would be there for him. It was a promise.

Grace sees it for what it is and leaves out the front door without another word.

Danny screams and cries and struggles, but Jason holds on tight, scared he’ll fall or use his powers to get away and disappear. The man walks back to the drawing room so his son wasn’t staring at the door longingly.

As soon as Jason sits down, Danny struggles harder since they stopped moving. So Jason stands again, adjusting the boy in his arms and starts pacing a path around the room.

Bruce has already disappeared, not knowing what to do with a heartbroken child crying his eyes out. Alfred has cleared away the tray of snacks, leaving two waters on the table, one in a small, plastic cup. Jason spies Damian poke his head in for a second to see what the matter was, and upon seeing no immediate threat went off wherever. Other than that, father and son were alone to figure themselves out.

Danny was going through a lot for a toddler and Jason didn’t exactly know how to handle what happened either. He tried his best with speaking reassurances into the boy’s hair, but he didn’t know if Danny even heard him over his own crying.

It was a rough first meeting to be frank, but after a while (what felt like ages) Danny cried himself to sleep and Jason felt it safe to finally sprawl out on the loveseat with the boy laying on his chest. Compared to a grueling patrol, that was definitely worse. He never wanted to have to go through that again, but knew as a dad it was part of the job description.

[tbaluver]

Hewoo! I'm so so soo weak for your family fluff headcanons aaa can I request a scenario of the little kiddies of LADS men sneaking off with reader's phone and made a video call to their papas because they've been away from home and/or simply making a silly video call to brighten up their papas day? 🥺🫶🏻

˗ˏˋ Incoming Baby Call!˗- The Love And DeepSpace Men

featuring ( in order ): xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb genre: fluff fluff summary: your child(ren) sneak off with your phone to call them a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ WAHHH THANK YOU MWAH i love writing them as dads like i fear i want no husband as long as its them .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. this one is not beta read so i apologize for any mistakes! i have so much wip of them as papas that i hope to post soon <3 anyways i hope i did this request with justice ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ i hope you enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Xavier was exhausted and hungry, his mission dragging on longer than he’d hoped. He couldn’t wait to get back home, pick up some dinner for his family, and finally relax. He couldn’t wait to wrap up this mission and be back home with you both.

Just as he refocused on tracking the wanderer, a soft ringtone caught his attention. Without a second to spare, he answered once he saw your name flash through his screen. But instead of you, his little boy appeared instead holding his plushie-shaped cookie.

“Hi, little buddy.” Xavier smiles softly. His son, as usual, flashes a cute peace sign in front of the camera. It was a little habit he did whenever there was a camera around and it’s a habit that you both hope he’d never outgrow.

“Papa,” his son whispers, holding up the tiny plushie to the screen as if he were offering it to him.

“Are you offering me a bite?” Xavier asked, playing along as his son nodded eagerly. “Thank you. It tastes great,” He adds, pretending to chew thoughtfully and giving a mock critic nod. “I think we should get more of these.”

It warmed Xavier’s heart to see his son share food even through the screen. Perhaps it’s something he’d watched you both share meals often and picked up on it. “Don’t forget to share with mommy too, okay?” His son nods enthusiastically, his chubby cheeks puffing out. “By the way, where is mommy?”

His son placed a finger to his lips to quietly shush him as he tilted the phone to the side, revealing you peacefully napping close to him, a plushie tucked under your arm. Xavier chuckles softly, not wanting to disturb you.

“Alright, let’s keep it quiet so we don’t wake mommy up okay?” He whispers, “If you take a nap now, I’ll be home before you know it.”

His son nods sleepily as he snuggles up closer to you. Even in such a small and simple moment, Xavier couldn't help but feel grateful. It reminded him just how lucky he was to come home to a family with so much love.

Zayne:

It was another busy night at the hospital. Multiple reports to go through before checking up on several other patients who are waking from surgery in a few hours. Another stressful night, but he’ll manage like he always does. Just as he was about to settle down in his seat, he checked his phone.

11 missed calls

Concern floods his body as he immediately calls you, only to find your baby daughter on the other end. “Papa!” She coos, her sweet little smile makes him feel slightly relieved. 

“Hi my love, where is Mommy?”

“in the bafroom,” She replies casually, his heart easing. That would be correct, her snowman pajamas tell him that you both should be getting ready for bed right about now. “Papa! I miss you..Are you going home now?” She pouts into the screen and Zayne only chuckles into the camera, adjusting his glasses. 

“Not yet my love.” He says softly, her pout deepening further. “I’m sorry but it seems that I’ll be here for a while.” His heart twinges at his own words. As much as he hates to disappoint his daughter, he knows this is a part of his job, something she’ll understand better as she grows older.

“But whyyy? Can’t you work here instead? You look tired papa.” She whines with pleading eyes, hoping this time she can make her father come home early again. 

He chuckles, he must’ve heard you both talking about his reports in the morning and mistaken it for something like homework. “Not tonight my love. Unfortunately, some patients need me right now”

She pouts, her head turning away, and he can’t help but feel worried. Did he upset her? He would hope not, he would want her to sleep well tonight. Maybe he should come home early or he can make it up by getting secret sweet treats together again.

“Papa, how about I read you a book then?” She asks, breaking his thoughts. She held up a book that she’s been practicing with. Maybe she noticed the bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep and is trying to cheer him up in her own little way.

“Of course,” A smile tugs on his lips as he adjusts the phone so he can hear her better. She opens the book, sounding out each word with Zayne occasionally helping her with the tricky ones. His heart swells as he watches her, she’s already growing up so fast.

She stops reading when he hears your voice in the background, asking her what she’s doing. “I’m talking to papa, mommy! I’m reading to him right now” You chuckle, thinking she was talking to a picture of him on your phone again but don’t realize she’d manage to call him this time.

“Sorry, Zayne! We can call you another time!” You quickly grab the phone to see your handsome husband’s face on the screen. You know at this hour isn’t his break but before you can say anything more, Zayne gently cuts you off.

“No, it’s fine. Stay, please. Let her keep going. I haven’t taken my break yet anyway.” His voice softens with a chuckle when he hears her cheer in the background. You smile, adjusting the phone and settling her on your lap. Together, you both help her continue reading her story before you say your goodnight’s.

Rafayel:

Boredom isn’t even the word to cover it. Rafayel felt tired, drained, from the endless back and forth conversations with multiple collectors, sucking away all the energy from him. The more he conversed with them, the heavier his eyelids became. He wanted to yawn, to make it clear how uninterested he was in their never-ending rambling. However, if he did, Thomas would surely give him an earful later or worse another due date for another art project.

He glanced around the room, jealousy gnawing at him as he watched a group of an artist's family admiring art together. He wished you and the kids were here with him. He would’ve had you here if he hadn’t procrastinated to accept the invite, the room’s capacity was already maxed out and the lists of invites were soon closed.

As the collector rambled on, Rafayel could feel his eyes slowly drooping, surely soon enough the glass in his hands would drop. Luckily, just when he thought he might lose the last bit of focus, his phone ringing caught his and the collector’s attention.

“Excuse me, it’s my wife.” The collector nodded, walking away, giving Rafayel the perfect opportunity to slip into a private bathroom.

As soon as he answered the phone, his heart lifted. On the screen were his little bundles of joy. “My little glubs!” A wide grin spread across his face, his eyes lighting up as the kids' tiny smiles beamed back at him. “What are you guys doing? Where’s Mama?" He asks, tilting his head, hoping to catch a glimpse of you through the screen.

“She’s cleaning!” One of the kids chirped, earning a playful shushing from her siblings. Rafayel chuckled, they had definitely taken your phone again.

“Papa, can you come home now? We’re bored and we miss you!” Their pleas echoed from each other, hoping he could understand that they really missed him. His heart ached, he could practically feel their tiny arms reaching out to him through the phone.

“Just a couple more hours and I’ll be home, I promise. Then we can play all night long, yeah?” He raised a brow, tilting his head.

“No Daddy! We made something for you!” One of them piped up, excitement bubbling in his voice.

“Yeah! We made our own art...ex..exa? examission?” The word came out cute, and Rafayel’s sure he meant to say was exhibition. Rafayel didn’t know yet but they had planned to surprise him with their own little art show that you were secretly setting up in the living room. You figured it would be a good idea to cheer him up after a long day without his family. However, you didn’t know the kids would take your phone while they ran off to go ‘play’.

“Papa, you have to come soon or else we’ll close!” His youngest insisted. Raf smiled, realizing this was one of their clever little ways of getting him to hurry home before they had to go to bed.

He paused for a moment, tapping his finger on his chin. His kids waited in anticipation, a playful grin spreading across his face as an idea sparked in his head. “Got it!” He said, snapping his fingers. “I’m coming home now!” The sounds of cheerful giggles erupted on the other side of the line.

Rafayel quickly exits out of the bathroom, Thomas follows behind closely while he asks where does he thinks he's going. Rafayel mentioned briefly that he had another art exhibition that was way more important than this one, making it enough to leave Thomas confused and stop in his tracks.

Sylus:

There’s nothing more infuriating when the tradesmen don’t want to cooperate even if they’re tied up. They whine and complain but the moment they realize no one’s listening, they cry out for help. But before their pleas can even form properly, Sylus silences them with a single look, fear flickering across their faces.

“One moment,” He says, raising an index finger to quiet them. Everyone's attention shifts to his ringtone, a melody of a childish tune unexpectedly playing from the speakers. The tradesmen freeze, exchanging confused glances at each other.

“Bossman said one moment!”

“Yeah, one moment!” Luke and Kieran chimed in, nodding as they let Sylus step away

Sylus taps the green button, his brow furrowing as he sees your name and contact photo flash on the screen. A wave of concern washes over him, did something happen while he was away? But that worry disappears when he sees his daughter's bright, familiar face light up on his screen.

“Daddy!! Hi daddy hiii!!” She chirps, waving excitedly at him.

“Hello, my little dove. What’s going on? Are you and Mommy alright?” He feels the tension in his shoulders ease when she nods rapidly, her little pigtails that you tied bouncing up and down. His heart melted at the sight of her, she looked almost identical to him, with white hair and red eyes yet her personality reminded him so much of yours.

“She’s in the kitchen,” She whispers as if she was sharing a secret. He assumes that she’s taken your phone in secret again. It should be fine, he has taught her to use the phone for emergencies. This wouldn’t count as much as one but he needed to take a step away before he caused one. “Papa, are you okay?” Sylus pauses, taken aback by just how perceptive she is. Perhaps it’s the vein on his forehead that’s threatening to pop. She’s sharp just like her mother.

He exhales deeply. “It’s just a rough night sweetie.”

Her brows furrowed with concern and her pout deepened, pitying her father. How she wished to hug him through the screen. “Papa, how about I sing you a song!” She offers, earning another soft chuckle from Sylus. He always sings her to sleep or cheers her up with a song so it’s no wonder she picked up the habit from him.

“Go ahead, my dove.”

Her vocals were very much like her father’s. When she spots his grin, her confidence grows, making her sing even louder.

“Make it stop!” One of the tradesmen suddenly screams, his voice cracking in desperation. “I’ll give you whatever you want- just please make it stop!” He cries, making Sylus’s ears twitch, the vein in his forehead threatening to make a reappearance.

“Papa, what was that?” She asks, tilting her head innocently.

“I think it was your audience dear. They seemed to enjoy your performance.” Her face immediately lights up, letting out a gleeful cheer.

“Can you give me a moment sweetie? I’ll be right back,” He quickly mutes the call and shuts off the camera. Quickly he extracts the necessary information before the men are lifted from the ground, their feet dangling helplessly in the air as red tendrils swirl around them. Despite their begs and cries, they vanished into thin air, leaving the room finally quiet.

With the problem dealt with, Sylus flips his phone back on. He hears your daughter’s cheerful greeting from the other end of the call, her innocent enthusiasm makes his smile return.

“Looks like you brought some good luck little dove. It seems we’re heading home early tonight.”

Caleb:

It had been a long, grueling shift in the skies. Nothing but endless stretches of blue with a few clouds to break the dullness. The minutes dragged by, each one feeling longer than the last. Caleb sat in his cockpit, his elbow propped on the console and his chin resting on his hand as he gazed at his screen. He could handle a shift here and there but ever since your family has grown, miles away from everything he cared about, it weighed on him.

That’s when a familiar, cheerful ringtone broke through the silence.

Caleb immediately perks up, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he sees your name and a photo of you flash on the screen. However it wasn’t you on the other end, it was someone much smaller and cuter and very much identical to him.

“Dad, dad!” The little boy grins ear to ear. Caleb couldn’t help but grin back, the weariness from his shift fading away.

“Hey there, squirt! What’s up?” Nothing seems to be wrong as he reads from his son’s facial expression. “Where’s mom? Everything alright there?” But of course, he just had to make sure. He would not hesitate to fly this ship back around.

“Yeah! She’s in the kitchen cleaning up. I ate all my vegetables just like you said!” His son beamed, making Caleb chuckle, shaking his head fondly.

“Good job! Don’t forget to thank your mom too, alright?” Your son nods enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling but Caleb couldn’t figure out why he could be so hyper until he held up a thick book about the Jurassic era.

“Dad, I finished this whole book!” He said, flipping through the pages to show his dad the pictures. “Did you know black beetles are one of the only creatures that survived the Jurassic era? We should go find some!” His tiny finger lands on a picture of a massive beetle, his eyes wide with awe.

Caleb chuckled, his heart melting at how much his son was almost like him. “That’s awesome buddy. You know, I think-”

Before Caleb could say anything more, a soldier by his door interrupts him. “Colonel, sir-!” Caleb’s fingers twitched, slamming the door shut before he finished his sentence. 

He returned his attention to his son, letting him continue his chatter about dinosaurs, and beetles while Caleb would chime in, sharing a little fact or story like how he used to tell you when you were walking on your way to school or just to help you fall asleep at nights.

Time seemed to slip away as Caleb listened to his son’s excited ramblings, the hours of his shift seemed to go faster than he realized. Even though he still had a while to go, hearing the voice of his family was enough to keep him going.

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

[windyremedy]

reeling revelation

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: finding out their bestfriend is a dad in the most unexpected way possible.

Time constraints and lack of availability are impossible to avoid and meeting up since after highschool had only gotten harder and harder. Each time they actually got close to hanging out, someone suddenly has to cancel because of either work related issues or whatever else it may be. Though everyone’s understanding for the most part including Mina but her in particular quite frankly had enough.

So when Bakugou called Kirishima up explaining that he couldn’t make it after 4/5 of the Bakusquad members attended she just couldn’t let it happen again and so she and really all of them were graciously invited (totally did not whine and beg) to the Bakugou household which doesn’t happen very often.

Last time anyone came there was back when they were just starting out their pro hero lives. It was honestly a surprise to everyone aside from probably Midoriya that Bakugou got married so early but they were invited to your wedding and from what they could tell you were super nice.

When they finally knocked on the huge door they were expecting everything else but an unimpressed look of what seems to be a mini Bakugou, almost a mirror copy of their best pal’s expression who did not inform them that he was now a dad.

Although he wasn’t a complete copy and paste with most of his facial features being from his mom and mainly baby Bakugou’s hair being a different color but his eyes, oh they knew that sharp ruby stare from anywhere. It was actually kinda worrisome how he seemed to pick up Bakugou’s temperament at their antics. Maybe they would even feel kinda intimidated (as much as you can with a baby at least) but he looked too cute all bundled up in an all might themed suit with a white pacifier in his mouth.

“Bakugou! you never told us you had a baby?” Mina excitedly exclaimed, squealing from the cuteness.

“Yeah! I thought we were your best buds??!!” Kaminari dramatically shouted in betrayal.

Bakugou shuffled Ryuu to a more comfortable position after the little one turned away from his loud friends.

“Didn’t know how to bring up and well you never asked.” he answered busy handling Ryuu who was getting more agitated by the second.

“So it’s our fault you never shared this big fact about your life?” Sero half joking half wryly asked.

“Yeah, you dumbasses would fuckin— shit nevermind.” He tried to recover placing his palms around Ryuu’s ears.

“Why is he so annoyed already? don’t tell me you’ve been talking bad about us?!! don’t hate me baby Bakugou.” Kirishima pleaded.

“S’ names Ryuu and he’s not mad at you, just thought it was his mom at the door. Come in before he actually kicks you out.”

“You mean you kick us out?” Kaminari corrected.

“Yeah, yeah.”

As they stepped inside the house they took notice of the evident amount of family pictures along the walls and on cabinets. Both admiring and unnerved about seeing Bakugou look so soft in all of them. They’ve seen many expressions from Bakugou before some more than others (like annoyance and anger) but this was a wholenother level they weren’t at all used to.

Leading to the living room where building blocks can be seen scattered across. They each took a seat around the area, Mina asking about your whereabouts as she sat.

“She’s coming back soon, supposed to be here today but her work called this morning and she had to come in.” he informed going into the connected kitchen.

“Ohhh that’s why you couldn’t come.” Kaminari solved albeit a bit late.

“Yep, sorry about that.” he apologized although not sounding at all affected by not being able to meet up with his self proclaimed friends (they are friends).

Grabbing a bottle of milk from the fridge as he fed it to Ryuu who sleepily closed his eyes.

“Bet you didn’t want to anyway. I mean I wouldn’t either, look how cute this little guy is.” Sero admitted getting cute aggression from Ryuu’s chubby little cheeks.

Bakugou only nodded, half heartedly listening to the conversations while chiming in once in awhile before getting back to rocking Ryuu to sleep. Who seemed to be dozing off before he jolted up after hearing the familiar ring of the doorbell.

“Hold on a second.” Bakugou briefed before going to the open the door, not knowing he was being secretly followed.

“Hey Kats.” you greeted lovingly as he pecked you on the lips, hugging you in the process as well as Ryuu whose arms signaled that he wanted to be handed over for a hug too.

“Hello to you too my little dragon.” you smiled as he wrapped his small arms around your neck.

Standing there by the doorway both of you failed to notice the scooby stack happening behind the corner of the doorframe sniffling at the domestic sight.

“This is so beautiful.” Kaminari sobbed.

Kirishima nodded in agreement. “What a manly sight indeed.”

“I’m so proud of him.” Mina whispered whilst shedding a tear.

Setting aside the dramatics Sero smiled, happy for his friend. “He definitely made it.”

©windyremedy

[linoxpudding]

Like Father, Like Son- Lee Know

summary: when your son gets in fight at school, you realise he's just as possessive as his dad

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: fluff, humor, married with kids

word count: 989 words

Masterlist

Han's POV

*Mingi and his friends are all 8 year olds*

~°~

You were in the middle of folding laundry when your phone rang. The moment you saw "Mingi's School" flashing on the screen, your heart skipped a beat. Parental instincts kicked in immediately—had he gotten hurt? Was he in trouble?

"Hello?" you answered quickly, pressing the phone to your ear.

"Mrs. Lee? This is Mrs. Park from the school administration. Your son Mingi was involved in a… disagreement with another student. We would like you and your husband to come to the principal’s office as soon as possible."

A fight? Your sweet little boy? Your mouth parted in shock, but you quickly pulled yourself together. "Of course, we’ll be there right away."

Hanging up, you immediately dialed your husband.

"Hey, babe. Miss me already?" Minho’s smooth voice came through the speaker.

"Minho, I just got a call from Mingi’s school. He got into a fight!"

There was a beat of silence before Minho asked, "Did he win?"

"LEE MINHO!"

"Okay, okay, bad timing," he chuckled. "I’m on my way. Be outside in five."

As promised, your husband pulled up a few minutes later. He barely put the car in park before you got in, crossing your arms. Minho glanced at you with a smirk, sensing your frustration.

"Relax, jagiya. It’s his first fight—it was bound to happen."

"That is NOT the attitude we’re taking into the principal’s office, Minho."

Minho shrugged, casually driving towards the school. "Just saying, boys fight. It’s a part of growing up. At least he’s standing up for himself."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just hope it’s not serious…"

When you arrived at the school, the receptionist immediately directed you to the principal’s office. As soon as you stepped inside, your eyes landed on your son, Mingi, sitting on a chair, arms crossed, lips in a deep pout. Beside him, Rowoon sat in the exact same position—his dark eyes glaring at the floor and your jaw dropped. Your son got into a fight with Hyunjin’s son.

Your eyes flickered over to Hwang Hyunjin and his wife sitting.

You exchanged glances before Hyunjin let out a small chuckle. His wife covered her mouth, failing to stifle her laughter.

"Oh my God," you muttered under your breath.

Minho, standing beside you, took one look at Hyunjin and grinned. "So our sons fought?"

Hyunjin nodded, shaking his head. "Like father, like son, huh?"

Minho smirked, clearly too amused by the situation. "Who threw the first punch?"

"They both claim the other did," Hyunjin’s wife answered, sighing. "But the real issue here is why they fought."

Your heart dropped. "Why?"

Hyunjin grinned, exchanging a look with Minho before saying, "Over Han Jisung’s daughter, Minsoo."

You gaped. "You mean to tell me our sons fought over a girl?!"

The principal cleared her throat, clearly unimpressed with the casual atmosphere between the parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Lee, Mr. and Mrs. Hwang, while this situation may seem amusing to you, fighting is not acceptable in this school. We will not tolerate violence, even if it was over… romantic disputes at such a young age."

You turned to Mingi, giving him the look. His little lips pursed stubbornly, but he avoided your gaze.

"We understand," you assured the principal. "This won’t happen again."

After wrapping up the meeting and ensuring no serious consequences would be given (other than an apology and a week of lunch clean-up duty), you and Minho took Mingi home.

---

As soon as you stepped into the house, you turned to your son.

"Alright, Mingi. Start talking. Why did you fight Rowoon?"

Mingi, still pouting, huffed. "He said Minsoo liked him more. But she told me she likes me better!"

Your mouth fell open. "So you punched him because of that?!"

"He called me a liar first!" Mingi defended himself.

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. "That is not how we solve problems, Mingi. Just because someone says something you don’t like doesn’t mean you start throwing punches!"

"But he punched me back!"

"And you should’ve walked away!"

Mingi crossed his arms. "No. He deserved it."

You groaned in frustration before turning to your husband. "Minho, please deal with your mini version before I lose my mind."

Minho crouched in front of his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Mingi, buddy, listen. I’m proud that you stood up for yourself—"

"LEE MINHO!" You gave him a deadly glare.

Minho immediately coughed, straightening up. "Uh, what I meant was, fighting is bad. Really bad. We should use our words, not our fists."

Mingi frowned. "But I did use my words. He didn’t believe me."

Minho bit back a smirk, and you shot him another warning look. He quickly sobered up.

"Apologize to Rowoon tomorrow, alright?" Minho said, ruffling his son’s hair.

Mingi huffed, clearly unhappy, but mumbled, "Fine."

"Good." You sighed, relieved that this was resolved—for now.

As Mingi stomped off to his room, you turned to Minho, narrowing your eyes. "Why do I feel like you’re secretly proud of him?"

Minho smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. "Because I am."

You groaned. "Minho! We’re supposed to be setting a good example!"

"He’s just like me," Minho mused, grinning. "Possessive over what’s his."

You rolled your eyes, playfully smacking his arm. "So possessive. Just like you."

Minho tilted his head, his gaze softening as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "My son, after all."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Should we tell Jisung to start planning their wedding?"

Minho burst into laughter. "Oh, Jisung’s gonna lose his mind."

"Good. He deserves it after all the teasing he’s done to us."

Minho pulled you even closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss against your lips. "Then let’s make a deal. You handle Jisung, and I’ll handle our little troublemaker."

You sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if Mingi gets into another fight, you get the next principal call."

Minho smirked. "Deal."

[gorysims]

ৎ୭ synopsis - house husband Nanami, whose favorite hobby is baking, wants you, his pretty little wife, to taste his new custard cream pie filling.

ৎ୭ wrd count - 721

ৎ୭ house husband series

House husband! nanami who loves his pretty little wife just as much as he loves baking, isn't particularly open about his love for baking like he is for his wife; he enjoys it enough to consider it a hobby.

House husband! Nanami, who's recently been studying a new pie recipe for you to try, and he's almost perfected it, except for the cream filling. For the past week and a half, he's been struggling to find the perfect filling, and as of lately, it's really been annoying him.

House husband! Nanami ears perked up the second he hears the locks on the front door unlocking and soon enough he’s wiping his flour covered hands on his ‘kiss the cook’ apron before heading towards the front door to greet you his lovely wife.

House husband! Nanami who greets you with a look of content as he steps forward to grab your purse with one hand and paper bag filled with groceries in his other hand before setting them down on the console table near the front door.

House husband! Nanami who then helps you take of your coat before tilting his head down slightly and pecking a kiss onto your lips, “how was your day?” he’s asking as he hangs your coat up on the coat rack while you hum thinking about how to answer his question and slipping off your sling back stiletto kitten heels and stepping into your house shoes.

“It was good Ken, Oh! and I just remembered—it's Higuruma's birthday! Make sure to give him a call so he knows you haven't forgotten.” you say as nanami nods his head in remembrance before grabbing the bag of groceries and heading off to the kitchen.

House husband! Nanami not typically one for talking, quickly apologies for the mess he made…The sink holding a small stack of dishes, while flour dusted the dark oak hardwood floors. and bowls of different fruit flavored custard cream fillings just sitting there lined up on the granite island counter top.

“baby you don’t need to apologize, i know how hard you’ve been working lately” you comment softly while sneakily dipping your finger into one of the fillings while his back is turned, you knew your husband could be quite the neat freak so you never minded when nanami made small messes because you know he’d clean up after himself either way.

House husband! Nanami whose ears flushed pink after hearing you call him baby, even though you’ve been married for years he still never got used the the pet names you’d call him…thankfully he was turned around so you wouldn’t be able to how flushed his face was.

“this one needs some vanilla extract” you say after licking the lemon-flavored cream off your finger, the taste was somewhat sour and with the little knowledge of baking you had, you knew adding vanilla would balance the flavor. Honestly, you were surprised that Nanami hadn’t thought of it already.

House husband! Nanami whose left eye twitches slightly after hearing your words, how could he not think to add vanilla of all things.

and now here House husband! Nanami was letting out gruntled groans as he sank himself into the warmth of your cunt, your body was pushed against the granite counter top, black pencil skirt somehow pushed up your to your waist while the sheer stockings your wore were now ripped open with your panties pushed to the side.

needy moans leave your lips as you clench around your husband’s girth, nanami, whose grip on your hair never falters while muttering the nastiest of praises into your ears. You’re practically hanging on by a thread—Nanami stretching out your walls with each thrust and muttering how much he adores and appreciates you and your pussy.

his apron long gone and forgotten to the side, same with the grocery, “kennnnn” you moan out dragging out the n in the little nickname, your so close to reaching your orgasm and nanami knows it, he’s studied everything about you, from how pretty you look cumming on his dick to how your eyes get droopy and your pupils would dilate.

nanami leaned forward feeling himself working through his own and letting his grip on your hair go, another round of gruntled groans leave his mouth as his hot sticky cum shoots into you.

guess you could say your husband’s pie wasn’t the only thing getting filled. <3

@gorysims — this is my first time writing on tumblr so I’m very new to shit like this so constructive criticism is very much welcomed and appreciated.

all work belongs to me @gorysims, do not try to copy or revise my work without asking me cause I’ll shut that shit down real fast.

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw explicit, smut,mdni

"I can't listen to the movie and you chattering about the actors at the same time," your overworked bf nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Seriously?" You pout.

"Seriously." He answers. "Pick one."

"The movie, I guess," you say, rolling your eyes.

"Then be quiet and come here," he says, gesturing for you to come closer.

You huff, but walk your hands out toward him and lay your head in his lap. His hand glides over your shoulders and down your back, gently rubbing circles into your skin.

"Sorry for being grumpy," he murmurs.

"Hmm," you hum in response. You might accept his apology if talking weren't against the rules.

"Just been a long day, you know?" He says as he slips his hand under the hem of your top. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as his fingers slide up between your shoulder blades and back down again.

You giggle and arch into his touch as he dips his hand under the waistband of your pj bottoms. He hums as he gropes you ass, rough fingertips clutching at one cheek, then the other. "Hmm, you're so bad," you murmur into the flesh of his thigh as you feel yourself getting wet for him already.

"Quiet, I said," he snaps, but there's no heat behind the words, not an angry kind, anyway.

Although it isn't easy, especially when his hand slips between your thighs, a thick finger prodding your slick folds from behind, you manage to obey.

"You work so hard, and still take care of me so good," you coo, wiggling your ass as his fingers find your clit. His rapidly hardening cock twitches against your cheek.

"Yet you blabber on and on after I've told you and told you to be quiet," he growls thickly.

Smiling, you mouth his hardening length through his sweats. "Whatcha gonna do about it?" You ask, although you already know and he soon confirms your suspicion.

You whine at the loss of his fingers as he lifts your head from his lap by a fistful of hair. He cock slaps your cheek as he frees it from his sweats.

"Oh, yeah," he hisses as you take him into your mouth. "That's much better."

His fingers return to your dripping cunt just as the fat head of his dick kisses the back of your throat and, this time, he doesn't scold you for the sounds you make as your watery eyes roll back. He even rewards you by drawing slow circ l es around your puffy clit, because Nanami always takes care of you, no matter how overworked or tired he is.

[bokutoko]

KUROO was pretty sure he was about to lose his job.

but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

just like clockwork at 5:30 PM, he walked up to your best friend’s apartment with a single flower—your favorite, not just the typical ‘apology roses’ he picked out in the past—along with his work phone. while you never told him where you went, he knew you ended up here, far across town from him.

he stood face-to-face with the cheap mahogany of the door, debating if he should knock. how would you react? would you even answer?

nevertheless, he left his things in a little bag, turning off his work phone that already had four missed calls from coworkers. it wasn’t much, but it was proof. it was evidence that he was trying, trying to show you he could do it.

he could separate work and his life—for you.

the heels of his shoes clicked on the hardwood floor of the hallway as he walked back to the elevator, back to his high-rise that had never felt so dark and empty as it had since you left.

the late-night autumn air was cold, and kuroo saw his breath as he walked, the brisk chill cutting through his coat. but he’ll freeze if it means he could prove to you he could change—that he could be the man you deserved.

and that was what he did, every morning and evening.

as days passed, kuroo brought more upon his visits: your favorite sweets when he dropped his phone off, a book that he remembered was on your TBR, a little note saying he hoped you were well and drinking enough water. you always were bad about that.

one morning, he left your favorite coffee since he knew you had an important presentation that had been marked in your shared calendar in the kitchen. he gave the door a soft knock—not because he wanted you to see him (even though he definitely did) but because he knew you didn’t like your coffee to get cold—and he quickly walked off.

one morning, he came rounding the corner at 8:30 AM on the dot to pick up his work phone, another flower in-hand, when he saw you standing at the front door, and he swore he could’ve fallen to his knees at the sight of you.

you were wearing comfier clothes—must be your day off—and he opened his mouth to say something, anything.

“hi,” is all his voice uttered. is that all you’re gonna say to the love of your life, who you haven’t seen in weeks?? good job, you fu—

“what’re you doing, tetsu?” you softly asked, skepticism lining your gaze as you gave his work suit a once over. his tie is slightly lopsided.

his brain short circuited at the sound of your voice, a balm to his soul. “what do you mean?” he prompted, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“all of this,“ you motioned around you and to him standing before you, “what are you doing?”

kuroo’s eyes followed her, glancing at his hands, which held another one of your favorite flowers, the little bag that was now conveniently missing the chocolates he left for you yesterday, his turned-off work phone that probably had dozens of missed calls—not that he cared about that anyway.

you were here; he wasn’t about to ruin his chance to talk to you.

“you know what i’m trying to prove here, angel,” he reasoned, taking a hesitant step forward, “and i’ll do this for as long as it takes—”

“for what?”

“for you to come home,” he said, his eyes zeroing in on your finger, the beautiful engagement ring he gave you months ago still sparkling, even in the shitty apartment hallway lighting.

she still wore it, after all this time.

he had to remind himself to breathe, and he added a soft, “angel, please come home soon.”

he knew she can see right through him, she can see how this man has stripped himself bare before her, all the way to the marrow of his bones. all his cards were on the table. no games, no bullshit.

he knew it wouldn’t be that day, the next, or maybe even in another long week before you’d come home, but he hoped that one day, you’d trust him to give him your heart once more.

he won’t lose you.

PART ONE

a/n: TADAAA part two! i lowk was not expecting so many people to like angsty kuroo but here we are

*HUGE thank you to the anon for the help with an idea; you’re wonderful, and i hope your pillow is cold on both sides tonight

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