#Love like Winter Rain//Eerie
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Continued from: X
@dethdvncer
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□
"...ya don't gotta suffer alone, Eerie. Ya don't have ta hide from me. I love ya, all of ya, the mis'rable parts included. ...If ya want, I'll jus' ...sit nearby. I won't touch ya, I won't talk. I won't stare at'cha. I'll jus'.... be here."
Cress wants to grab them and hold them tight. But he has the feeling that would just make things worse.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
@dethdvncer
“can i be a hater for a second” girl you can kill someone in front of me and id be okay with it be fr
28K notes
·
View notes
Text
꥟˚。Love Unexpected ꥟˚。
꥟˚。Pairing - Lee Know × Fem Reader
꥟˚。Plot - Two years after a horrible accident, YN is left paralyzed but secretly finds purpose in a quiet job. The stranger who saved her life reappears unexpectedly at her workplace, stirring emotions and memories she thought were buried. Their fateful encounter raises questions about second chances and unspoken connections.
꥟˚。Genre - Angst, Trauma, Hurt, Comfort, Fluff
꥟˚。Warnings - Mention of accident, blood, trauma, paralysis, anxiety, insecurities of yn, mention of the word gore, hurt to comfort, au, non idol au, Strangers to lovers au
꥟˚。Word Count - 10.8 K ꥟˚。Screenshot Count - 4
꥟˚。A/N - Staymas Episode 2 is here! Dive into Y/N’s emotional journey of healing and rediscovery after life-altering events, and witness how Minho’s unwavering love and support become her guiding light. A story of resilience, love, and finding hope again. ( Inspired by Japan's Dawn Robo Cafe for disabled workers ) It's just slightly proofread so apologies for any mistakes 🙂↕️
꥟˚。SKZ Masterlist ꥟˚。Staymas Masterlist
The neon lights of Tokyo stretched endlessly, their vibrant colors blending together in the misty evening air. As you hurried down the crowded sidewalk, your breath formed small clouds, visible in the crisp chill of early winter. The rain from earlier had left the pavement slick, creating mirrors that reflected the glow of countless shop signs, vending machines, and the steady stream of passing cars. The city felt alive, buzzing with energy, but all you could focus on was the time ticking away. You were late…again.
“They’re going to kill me,” you muttered under your breath, gripping the straps of your bag like a lifeline. You had promised to be on time for the movie night, yet here you were, rushing through the streets twenty minutes after it had already started. The culprit? A last-minute customer at the café, who wanted all of the last stock left for the puddings.
Your phone vibrated incessantly in your pocket, no doubt another flurry of teasing texts from your friends. They loved to give you a hard time for always being late, and this would only add to their ammunition. You didn’t dare check the messages yet; it would only slow you down.
The crosswalk ahead blinked green just as you reached it. A small blessing. Without hesitation, you broke into a jog, your footsteps echoing faintly against the damp asphalt. The weight of guilt pressed heavily on your chest as your mind scrambled to come up with a plan.
"Should I bring snacks to make up for it?" you thought, already considering a detour to the nearest convenience store. "Maybe that’ll soften the blow. But what if they’re already too annoyed to let me in?"
Pulling your phone from your pocket, you quickly typed out a message to your friends, asking if they wanted anything specific. Your thumb hovered over the send button when a sharp, blaring horn shattered your concentration.
The world seemed to freeze.
Your head snapped up, and your eyes locked onto a truck barreling toward you, its headlights glaring like twin suns cutting through the darkness. Time moved in slow motion as panic gripped your entire body. Instinctively, your legs pushed you forward, trying desperately to cross the street, but it was too late.
This can’t be happening.
The impact came like a thunderclap, a brutal force that knocked the air from your lungs. Pain exploded through your body as you were flung backward. The world spun wildly,a chaotic blur of neon lights, muffled screams, and the distant screech of tires. When your body finally hit the ground, the cold, unforgiving pavement sent a jolt through you.
You tried to breathe, but each inhale was shallow and sharp, like your ribs were made of glass. Every part of you ached, your arms, your chest, your head. But what terrified you most was the eerie numbness in your lower body.
Your legs.
You tried to move them, but they wouldn’t respond. Panic clawed at your throat as the realization sank in. Something was horribly wrong.
Before your mind could spiral further, you felt a pair of strong arms scoop you up from the pavement. Warmth flooded over you as your cheek pressed against someone’s chest.
His scent-woodsy, clean, and faintly familiar,calmed you in a way you couldn’t explain.
“Stay with me,” he said, his voice deep and steady, cutting through the haze of pain and confusion.
You squinted, trying to focus on his face, but the pounding in your skull blurred your vision. All you could make out was the faint outline of his jaw and the shadows of his features against the streetlights. It seemed like you've seen him before, but where ?
“Who… who are you?” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling with pain and fear.
“Can you hear me? Are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentle but urgent. He shifted you slightly in his arms, cradling you as if you were made of glass.
“My… my legs,” you stammered, tears spilling over as you struggled to get the words out. “I can’t… feel them.”
His grip on you tightened just slightly, a quiet curse escaping under his breath. “Don’t worry about that right now,” he said, his voice firm yet soothing. “We’re almost there. Just hold on.”
The sound of approaching sirens grew louder, mingling with the distant hum of the city. Each step he took was deliberate and steady, as if he was determined to keep you safe no matter what.
Your vision blurred as the voices of the paramedics grew louder, their words a distant hum against the roaring chaos of your mind. The relentless pain and exhaustion finally overwhelmed you, lulling you into a deep, heavy sleep. The darkness took hold, pulling you further away from reality.
The last sensation you felt before slipping into unconsciousness was his hand,warm, firm, and undeniably reassuring, gently squeezing yours. His voice followed, low and steady, like a lifeline in the storm.
"You're going to be okay."
------------------------------------------------------
Two years had passed since that fateful evening.
Minho stepped off the bustling train platform in Tokyo, the city’s vibrant energy hitting him like a wave. It was a stark contrast to the quieter streets of Seoul, where he'd spent the last couple of years, working tirelessly to climb the ranks at his job. And now, he was back in Tokyo, taking on a new position. Not even two weeks into the job, and already, he found himself buried in meetings and overwhelmed by tight deadlines, leaving him exhausted.
One evening, with no work to occupy his mind, Minho decided to take a stroll around the city to clear his thoughts. The cold December air hit him sharply as he stepped out of his apartment, but there was something in the atmosphere that urged him to walk. Whistling a soft tune, he wandered through his neighborhood, which, to his surprise, was unusually quiet even in the early evening hues of 6 pm. Of course, people were likely busy, either shopping for the holidays, nestled in the warmth of their homes, or working, just as he had done for most of his days.
After hours of aimless walking, he found himself on a street that seemed strangely familiar. At first, he couldn’t place the memory, but as the traffic light turned green and he crossed the street, it hit him like a truck. This was the same street where the accident had occurred,the one where he had saved that woman….
-------------------------------------------------------
Two years ago, Minho's friends were having a get-together, and he had one simple task: bring dessert. Yet, as always, he had forgotten. Panic set in as he rushed through the streets, desperately searching for any café or restaurant still open that evening. Unfortunately, the city seemed to have shut down after 8 PM. He ran through neighborhood after neighborhood, street after street, but every café he passed was dark and locked up tight.
Finally, in the last neighborhood, feeling defeated, he was about to turn back when a soft glow from an establishment caught the corner of his eye. It looked like a café from a distance. His legs moved automatically in that direction, hoping, praying they still had any desserts left. Huffing and puffing, he pushed through the door, the sudden entrance startling the woman who was packing up some boxes for closing.
"Sorry," Minho said, breathless as he approached the counter.
"We’re about to close, sir," she replied, her voice distant, her attention still on the boxes.
"I’m so sorry for barging in last minute," he blurted out in a rush. "I completely forgot to bring dessert to a get-together with my friends, and every café in the neighborhood seems to be closed. If it’s possible, could you sell me any puddings you have left? I’ll take them all and be on my way."
He spoke so quickly that he almost didn’t pause for a breath, but still, she didn’t look up. The sincerity in his voice, however, seemed to reach her, and she paused her work, glancing up at him. She walked over to the counter, her gaze softening as she met his eyes.
"We’re closing, sir. I don’t think it’s possible," she said gently, though there was a hint of regret in her voice.
Minho felt a pang of disappointment but couldn’t help but notice how sweet her voice was, like honey. He blushed, and the warmth spread across his cheeks as he looked back at her. "I’m so sorry, I humbly request just a couple. I’ll pay, and I’ll be out of your way, I promise. It won’t take long."
------------------------------------------------------
From the woman’s perspective:
The man in front of her looked to be about the same age, his face a perfect mix of soft features and a sharp jawline. Even in a basic hoodie, sweat dripping from his face from his rush, there was an undeniable handsomeness about him. She felt a sudden catch in her throat, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words.
"Is that okay?" he asked again, his voice pulling her out of her daze.
"Y... yeah," she stammered, shaking herself from the shock. "We have a couple of puddings left. How many do you need?"
"Thank you," Minho replied, a grateful smile lighting up his face. "Could you pack 20, please?"
She nodded, quickly starting to pack a box full of puddings. Under her breath, she cursed as she glanced at the clock, she was running late.
End of her POV.
-------------------------------------------------------
Half an hour had since passed and Minho was rushing back to his friend's apartment when the scene unfolded in front of him. A truck barreled down the street, and there she was-the same woman from the café-standing frozen in its path. His heart dropped as he realized what was about to happen. Panic set in as he scrambled to help her, dropping the box of puddings he was carrying. But it was already too late. The truck struck her with full force, throwing her into the air. Her body slammed into the cold pavement with a sickening thud, and a pool of blood began to spread from beneath her head.
Minho didn't hesitate. He ran to her side, desperately trying to scoop her up. His phone was in his hand, but when he tried to call an ambulance, no one picked up. The nearest hospital was ten minutes away, and he knew carrying her was the only chance he had to save her. Adrenaline surged through him as he lifted her into his arms and began running, each step feeling like a race against time.
He spoke soothingly to her, trying to keep her awake. " Stay with me! She stirred beneath his touch, murmuring softly, "Who are you?"
Minho felt a rush of relief when he saw that she was still conscious. His voice, though gentle, carried a trace of urgency as he asked, “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” His words, meant to comfort, felt hollow, as if they couldn’t reach the depth of his fear. Panic surged through him once more when she whispered that she couldn’t feel her legs.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an underlying tension. “We’re almost there. Just hold on.”
Even as fear twisted in his chest, Minho forced himself to believe in the calm he was trying to project. He spoke with more confidence, hoping that the reassurance would reach her, and that it would somehow settle his own racing heart.
When Minho reached the hospital, the building seemed eerily quiet, almost deserted. Panic clung to him like a second skin as he rushed inside. Before he could make it to the emergency room, the paramedics arrived and took over. They moved quickly, whisking her through the double doors, their voices urgent but steady. Minho stood frozen at the entrance, unable to do more than hold her hand one last time. Giving it a soft squeeze, he whispered, “You’re going to be okay,” his voice trembling with determination, even as fear gnawed at him.
As the paramedics disappeared into the depths of the hospital with her, Minho finally released a shaky breath. His hands were still trembling, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he stared at the now-empty hallway. Moments later, the quiet was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps and frantic voices. A group of people burst through the hospital doors, their faces etched with panic and fear.
“Y/N! Y/N, please wake up! You’re going to be okay! Just stay with us!” a young woman cried, her voice breaking as she rushed toward the direction the stretcher had gone. Her desperation was palpable, raw, and it hit Minho like a wave.
Minho, still standing at the door, desperate to be of any help, quickly picked up on her name. Y/N. It echoed in his mind, anchoring him in the chaos. “Y/N, hang in there,” he whispered softly, as if somehow his words could reach her through the walls.
Turning to the young woman, her sister, he realized.Minho tried to offer what little comfort he could. “I was there,” he said gently, his voice low but steady. “I saw the truck coming. It swerved out of nowhere. I… I got her out of the way just in time.” His voice faltered as the memory replayed in his mind. “But the impact… I’m so sorry.”
Her sister’s tears streamed freely as she listened, clinging to every word. She nodded, her voice trembling as she whispered, “You saved her. You saved my sister.”
When Y/N was finally wheeled into the operating theater, her sister turned to Minho, her face streaked with tears, her eyes glistening with gratitude and heartbreak. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re her guardian angel. I don’t even want to imagine what could’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”
Minho nodded mutely, overwhelmed by the weight of her words. He couldn’t find the right response, couldn’t process the mix of emotions swirling inside him,the relief of knowing he’d done what he could, the fear of what might come next, and the raw ache of seeing a family on the verge of losing someone they loved.
As the night stretched on, Minho stood outside the hospital, his figure silhouetted against the dim glow of the streetlights. A strange mixture of hope and helplessness washed over him. Her name, Y/N, echoed in his mind, repeated like a lifeline, tethering him to the present moment
Even after the chaos subsided and he returned home...
-------------------------------------------------------
Minho's throat ran dry as he recalled the scene unfolding in front of him that day.Her face remained etched in his mind. He often wondered if she had fully recovered, if her life had returned to normal after the tragedy…
"Focus," Minho murmured to himself. The past was just that, the past. He couldn’t change it, and now, his craving for something sweet tugged at him. Even though he had tried to forget her, a persistent voice in his head urged him to seek out the café she once worked at. He never had the chance to taste her desserts after he’d accidentally dropped them to save her. The memory lingered, but he couldn’t quite shake the need to return to that place, to experience what he missed.
As he wandered through the winding backstreets, he found himself standing at the corner where the café had stood two years ago. But instead of the familiar cozy spot, there was only a pharmacy now. The café was gone,nothing more than a distant memory. His heart sank in disappointment, and he sighed, deciding to head home. The chill in the air was becoming sharper by the minute.
Taking a shortcut through a narrow alley, he walked into a quieter street, the contrast to the bustling lanes he had passed earlier striking. It was much calmer here, with the glow of a few lit shops casting soft, warm lights onto the pavement. As he neared the corner, a café sign caught his attention. The bold letters “Open” gleamed back at him, and curiosity bubbled inside him.
He approached and stepped inside, greeted by a rush of warmth. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries filled the air, the soft hum of machinery a backdrop to the quiet atmosphere. A curious name adorned the café’s front: Twilight Robo Café. Minho raised an eyebrow. The name intrigued him.
The interior of the café was unlike any he had seen before. Robots, sleek and small, glided around with surprising grace. They served drinks, delivered snacks, and interacted with customers in a way that blurred the lines between technology and humanity. Their screens displayed animated avatars, mimicking emotions with perfect accuracy. It was futuristic, yet oddly comforting.
Minho chose a seat by the window, gazing out at the winter landscape as snowflakes began to fall, casting a soft veil over the world outside. He could feel the warmth of the café against the chill creeping into his bones. He exhaled, content for the moment.
Moments later, a small robot wheeled up to his table and stopped in front of him.
"Welcome to Twilight Robo Café!" the voice chirped brightly, warm and inviting. "What can I get for you today?"
Minho froze. There was something about the voice, something unnervingly familiar. His mind raced, but he couldn’t place where he had heard it before.
"Sir?" The robot’s voice broke his train of thought.
Minho blinked, shaking himself from his stupor. "Uh, I’ll take a pudding... and a black coffee, please."
“May I know whose name it’s going for?” the robot voice asked.
“Minho,” he replied.
“A pudding and a black coffee for Minho, coming right up!” The screen flashed a wide smile before the robot zipped away.
Minho stared at the empty space where the robot had been, confusion clouding his thoughts. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the voice belonged to someone he knew, or at least someone he had once met.
Minutes passed, and soon enough, the robot returned, carefully placing his coffee and pudding on the table. "There you go! Anything else I can do for you?" it asked, the screen flashing another bright, animated grin.
Minho leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Um, this might sound strange, but your voice... do you choose it yourself?”
The robot's head tilted in a quizzical way, that made it seem almost human. Behind the screen, you were controlling it, your fingers hesitating on the joystick as your heart skipped a beat. There he was, he was here. The man who had rushed to your aid that night, the one you had tried to forget, yet never could. The same man who had been by your side when everything had fallen apart. You hadn’t expected to see him again, let alone hear his voice now.
Sitting in your dimly lit apartment, you blinked twice, your eyes wide in disbelief. Was this really happening? It couldn’t be him... but it was. The man from that day. The one you had barely spoken to but had thought about constantly since then. How was it possible that he remembered your voice? That day, your words had been barely audible, lost in the chaos of the accident. Your voice had been raw and broken. You had been a mess…scattered emotions and fear. And after everything, after your accident, your life had changed so drastically.
You had become a shadow of the person you once were, paralyzed from the waist down, the scars marking your body and face a constant reminder of everything you had lost. The woman you once were, vibrant, full of life, running the café you owned, with ease and a warm smile, was no longer. Now, you hid behind the screen of a robot, controlling its every movement, its every expression from the confines of your small apartment. It was the only way you could still interact with the world, without the fear of frightening people with your appearance. The very face that had once greeted customers with warmth now carried the weight of painful memories, and you couldn't bear to see the looks of pity or fear in the eyes of those who might recognize you. So, you stayed behind the safety of the screen, crafting your persona through the robotic avatar, a small semblance of the woman you used to be, but never fully seen.
But there he was, still as handsome as you remembered. His smile hadn’t changed, and it made your heart ache. You hadn’t expected him to recognize your voice, yet here he was, doing just that.
Minho knocked gently on the screen, as though checking if the robot was malfunctioning. The action snapped you back to the present, your palms suddenly clammy. You quickly moved the controls, realizing you’d left the robot on idle for too long.
"I certainly do," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, keeping your voice light. "It just... your voice sounds oddly familiar. Like I’ve heard it before."
Minho’s brows furrowed as he tried to place the voice. "Maybe I just have one of those voices," you deflected, not wanting to reveal too much.
"Maybe?" Minho murmured, taking a sip of his coffee and watching the world outside with a contemplative look on his face.
For the next several minutes, Minho continued asking questions, trying to get to know the person behind the robot. Each answer you gave was carefully measured, trying your best to keep your emotions in check. You couldn’t risk revealing your identity, not yet.
"So," Minho asked, setting his coffee down and leaning forward, "how does this work? Are you controlling it remotely?"
"Yes," you replied, trying to keep your tone even. "I control it from home. Everything you see, the movements, the voice, the expressions, it’s all me, just through a robot."
"That’s amazing," Minho said, his lips curling into an impressed smile. "Does it feel weird... interacting with customers like this?"
"Not really," you answered. "At first, it was awkward. But after a while, you get used to it. And maybe it’s a nice way to interact with people in ways I couldn’t before."
Minho nodded, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table. "Do customers ever forget there’s a person behind the robot?"
You laughed softly, a genuine chuckle that escaped without you meaning to.
"Of course! You’d be surprised how many people forget and just say things like, ‘This robot has great customer service.’ Like it’s some kind of AI program," you giggled. "It’s fun, though."
"Yeah, seems like you enjoy your workplace," Minho replied with a grin, taking a bite of the pudding. His eyes lit up as the sweetness of the caramel and the creamy texture hit him. It was the perfect balance of flavors, nothing too overwhelming. He closed his eyes for a moment in pure satisfaction. Behind the screen, you couldn’t help but smile, warmed by his enjoyment.
"Miss, may I know who made this?" he asked eagerly.
You smiled, pride swelling in your chest. "It’s my family’s recipe. I just control the robot to make it perfect here. After a couple of trial and errors, we finally got it just right."
"It’s delicious!" Minho exclaimed, his smile widening.
"Thank you," you said, pleased to see him enjoying it.
The conversation continued to flow naturally, the lighthearted exchanges easing some of the tension you’d felt earlier. But then Minho asked a question that made your heart stutter.
"Did your family own a café?"
Your breath caught in your throat. You had almost said too much. You froze, but then tried to cover up the slip.
"Yes... they did, but I did, too. It was just around the... " You stopped yourself mid-sentence. The words you almost let out were too dangerous.
Minho looked at you, confused. You quickly recovered, the warmth on your face barely hiding the panic you felt. "I mean, yes, it was a family recipe turned into a business... but not anymore," you added awkwardly, forcing a smile.
Minho nodded, his attention returning to the pudding. "That explains the taste."
Minho leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on the robot, as though he were studying it for answers. "So, do you get a lot of people like me? The ones who ask too many questions?"
You laughed more genuinely this time, the sound like music in the quiet café. "You’d be surprised. So many of them treat me like a therapist, venting about their day and asking for advice. Others just make small talk about the weather."
Minho chuckled at one of your stories, the conversation feeling more relaxed. It almost felt like you could breathe again.
But then he asked something that made your heart race once more.
"Do you think we’ve met before? I can’t help but think your voice reminds me of someone."
Your heart skipped a beat. You froze, not sure how to respond.
"Maybe I just have one of those voices?" you said, your voice light and carefully measured.
"Maybe?" Minho replied, though his tone carried a hint of doubt. "But I can't shake the feeling that that's not it... The way you talk, it's just too personal."
Minho tilted his head slightly, studying the robot as though the answer might be hidden there, etched into its smooth surface.
Your grip on the controls tightened, and your pulse raced in your ears. A wave of heat flushed over you, making it feel like you were trapped in a sauna. Every part of you screamed to deny it all, to retreat, but your heart, oh, your heart, yearned for him to remember you.
"Well," you said, forcing a light smile, "It's a small world. Maybe we've crossed paths before?"
Minho’s gaze narrowed, his expression thoughtful. "You think so? Tokyo's a big city. Anything's possible."
Your voice softened as you responded, "Maybe."
Minho’s next question caught you completely off guard. "Do you ever wish you could meet the person you're talking to? In person, I mean?"
You hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as you processed his words. "Sometimes," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "But it's complicated."
Minho didn’t interrupt. He just kept looking at you with that same, unwavering curiosity, as though he could see beyond the surface, searching for the truth that you had buried deep within.
"I believe it's easier for people to connect when they don’t see the messier parts of someone's life," you said quietly. "The robots, they make things simple. No judgment. No awkwardness. And I'd like to keep it that way."
Minho frowned. "That's not fair, though. Everyone has a messy past. That's what makes us human."
You were left at a loss for words once again. How could he say such things so easily? The very reason you applied for this job was to avoid letting anyone see who you really were. They couldn’t see you like this, not when you were too broke to even afford to hide the scars on your face. Not when going outside felt more like a monumental task. It was exhausting, living without the use of your legs.
A tear slipped down your cheek, but you wiped it away quickly. You had no answer for him. The silence between you felt deafening.
"It’s just..." you finally managed to croak, "Not everyone thinks like you."
Minho tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. "Maybe they should..."
He smiled gently. "I’d like to meet the wonderful lady behind this voice as well."
-------------------------------------------------------
It was almost 10 p.m., closing time for the café. Minho was disappointed when another robot politely told him it was time to leave. The robot he'd spent so much time talking to was now busy attending to another customer. Maybe it was his questions. Maybe he had overstepped or overwhelmed her.
She had excused herself to tend to others, and Minho was left standing there, contemplating the conversation. As the clock ticked closer to 10, a thought struck him,one that seemed silly but lingered in his mind. He wasn’t sure if anything would come of it, but he wanted to know more. It had felt nice talking to her.
Before he left, he handed the next robot worker a note addressed to the wonderful robo Missy.
‘It was nice talking to you. I’m really sorry if I overstepped. Call or text me if you ever need to vent.”
-------------------------------------------------------
"It was nice talking to you. I'm really sorry if I overstepped. Call or text me if you ever need someone to talk to or vent."
You stared at the note for what seemed like an eternity, the words dancing in front of your eyes but never quite sinking in. Weeks had passed since your last encounter with Minho, yet you couldn’t stop replaying that moment over and over. He had wanted to meet you, to know you, but you had been frozen in place, unable to say a word. You had scrambled for an exit, seizing the first opportunity; A last-minute customer ordering takeout. You had apologized to him, your voice a strained whisper, as you quickly steered your robot towards the new customer. You avoided his gaze, his eyes, still burning into your back, full of something you couldn’t quite read.
And now, you were holding this in your hand, a simple note with his number scrawled across the bottom, an apology for something Minho didn’t even know he had done. He had respected your boundaries, your silence, even when everything in you had screamed for him to see you, to understand you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up, to make it clear that you were not just the voice behind the screen.
Yesterday had been one of those days, the kind that chipped away at you slowly, piece by piece, until you were left wondering how much more you could take. The café was bustling as usual, but the warmth that typically filled the air had been replaced with an unsettling, tense energy.
A group of rude customers had strolled in, their voices cutting through the usual hum of the café like a razor. At first, it was subtle. They made snide remarks about the novelty of the robot café, their laughter sharp and mocking. But soon, their jabs became more pointed, their words carrying an edge that sliced deeper than you wanted to admit.
One of them leaned in close to your screen, his sneer almost palpable. "Oh, how lucky you are to be working from home," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as if your reality were some kind of twisted privilege.
Another chimed in, her tone laced with venom. "Really? Don’t you think you’re being ungrateful? Life handed you a golden opportunity, and you’re complaining?"
Their words stung far more than they should have. Because they didn’t see you. Not truly. They didn’t know the reality behind the screen. The daily battles you fought, the pain of waking up in a body that no longer obeyed your will. They didn’t know how exhausting it was to perform even the smallest tasks, how something as simple as getting dressed could feel like scaling a mountain. They didn’t know the humiliation of needing help for the most basic functions, or the way the world seemed so much larger, harsher, and more inaccessible now.
They didn’t know about your sister, your fiercely loyal, stubborn sister, who had taken on the role of caregiver without hesitation, even when you begged her not to. You had pleaded with her to chase her dreams, to live her life without the shadow of your limitations hanging over her. But she refused. And every time you saw her push her own happiness aside for your sake, guilt gnawed at you, sharp and unrelenting.
Life before the accident felt like another lifetime, a fleeting memory of who you used to be. Back when you were independent, whole, and full of possibilities. That person felt like a stranger now, someone you’d never quite find your way back to. And days like today only widened the chasm between who you were and who you had become.
Their cruel words echoed long after they had left, bouncing around in your head like a relentless reminder of everything you had lost. You had kept your voice steady, your responses professional, but inside, you were crumbling. The mask you wore was cracking, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold it together.
Later that night, as the silence of your apartment pressed down on you, your eyes landed on the letter Minho had left at the café. His handwriting was neat and careful, but the words… they were like a lifeline thrown to you in the middle of a storm. An invitation, a chance to connect, to be seen. You had read it over and over, the lines blurring as doubt crept in.
What if he didn’t mean it? What if he had only written it out of politeness or guilt? The idea clawed at you, feeding the insecurities that always lingered just below the surface. But another thought followed, quieter and far more dangerous. What if he truly meant it? What if he actually wanted to know you, not out of pity, but because he cared? Because he saw something in you worth knowing?
That thought scared you more than anything. Because you weren’t the same person he had saved two years ago. That version of you had been whole, bright, and full of potential. Now, you were a patchwork of scars and insecurities, trying desperately to hold yourself together. Would he even recognize you? Would he still care if he knew how much you had changed?
You stared at the letter for what felt like hours, caught between fear and hope. The weight of the day pressed heavily on your chest, and the idea of reaching out felt impossibly daunting. But something in Minho’s words lingered, a warmth, a sincerity that made you want to believe, even just for a moment, that someone might see you for who you were now, not who you used to be.
Finally, you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room,
"What if?”
You wiped a tear from your cheek, your hand trembling as you stared at the number Minho had written at the bottom of the page. It had been days of battling conflicting thoughts, of wondering whether you should even try to reach out.
Part of you wanted to hear his voice again, to feel that connection, but another part of you warned against it. What if you burdened him with your pain? What if he thought you were just being dramatic, that you were too much to handle?
The weight of yesterday pressed down on you, suffocating and relentless. Every word, every sneer from the café replayed in your mind like a broken record. Tonight, the walls of your apartment felt closer than ever, the silence too loud to bear.
With trembling fingers, you found yourself reaching for your phone. You hadn’t planned this, hadn’t even allowed yourself to consider it. But now, your hand moved as if it had a will of its own. You scrolled through your contacts until you found his name. For a moment, your thumb hovered over the call button, doubt creeping in. What if this was a mistake? But before you could overthink it, you pressed down, the ringing filling the void.
It felt endless. Each tone seemed to stretch on for an eternity, echoing in your ears and amplifying the pounding of your heart. With every ring, a fresh wave of nerves rolled over you, making you question what you’d even say if he picked up.
And then…voicemail.
A deep sigh escaped your lips, a mix of disappointment and relief. The automated message played, his voice absent, replaced by a mechanical tone inviting you to leave a message. You hesitated, the silence on the other end daring you to speak. But the words you wanted to say felt caught in your throat, tangled with fear and uncertainty
"Of course," you whispered to yourself. "He’s probably busy. Why would he want to hear from me?"
You set the phone down, shaking your head at your foolishness. He had saved your life that day, yes, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about the mess your life had become. Slowly, you changed into your pajamas, ready to crawl into bed and let the darkness of sleep take over.
Just as you settled beneath the covers, your phone buzzed in your hand. The soft vibration startled you, and when you glanced at the screen, your heart skipped a beat. Minho. His name, glowing in the dim light of your room, sent a wave of panic and excitement through you.
For a moment, you froze, staring at the screen as if it might disappear. Should you answer? Could you? What if he didn’t remember you? What if this was just a courtesy call, and he’d forgotten everything? Doubts swirled in your mind, threatening to paralyze you. But before you could overthink any further, your fingers moved on their own, and you pressed the green button.
“H-Hello?” you stammered, your voice shaky with nerves.
There was a pause on the other end, one that felt like an eternity, before a familiar voice filled the line. “Who is this?”
The breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. “I… I’m the robot voice you talked to the other day,” you finally managed to say.
“Oh, yes, Robo Café Missy!” he said with a soft chuckle, the warmth in his tone instantly melting some of your anxiety. “You really rushed off that day. I barely got a chance to say goodbye.”
“Yeah,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “My manager was giving me this concerned look for talking to a customer so long.”
“Sorry about that,” Minho said, a note of humor in his voice. “Didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“It’s alright,” you said quickly, your nerves easing slightly. “I just… I got your letter, and I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but I was having a bad day, and… I thought I’d call. I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
His tone softened immediately. “You’re not bothering me, Robo Missy,” he said gently. “But before we dive into your day, how about we properly introduce ourselves?”
You hesitated, biting your lip. Sharing more of yourself felt terrifying, like peeling back a layer of armor you’d grown so used to. But there was something about Minho’s voice, its warmth, its sincerity,that made you want to take the leap.
“I’m… Y/N L/N,” you whispered, barely audible.
There was a brief silence on the other end, as if he was processing the name. Then, he let out a soft laugh, tinged with disbelief. “Y/N? That’s a crazy coincidence. Someone I used to know had the same name as you.”
You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the phone.
This was it
“Minho… it’s not a coincidence.”
The silence that followed was heavier this time, charged with anticipation. You could almost feel the shock on the other end of the line.
“I… I’m Y/N,” you said, your voice trembling. “It’s me.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a stunned, “Wait… what? Y/N? That Y/N?”
“Yes,” you confirmed with a hesitant laugh. “That’s me.”
The line went quiet for a beat, and then Minho exclaimed, “Oh my God, Y/N! It’s you! I can’t believe this!”
You chuckled nervously, the sound more of a release of tension than amusement. “Yeah, it’s me. Thank you for saving me that day, Minho. I never got the chance to properly thank you.”
“I’m just relieved you’re alright,” he said earnestly. “You made a full recovery, right? Everything’s fine now?”
Your smile faltered, and you took a shaky breath. “Umm… about that…”
Minho’s voice softened instantly, his concern palpable. “What do you mean?”
You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But then, with a deep breath, you began telling him everything. You told him about the accident, the surgeries, the endless therapy, and the long, grueling days of learning to live in a body that no longer worked the way it once did. You told him about the guilt you felt watching your sister sacrifice so much to help you, about the nights spent crying in frustration and pain, and about the fear that you’d never be seen as anything but broken.
Through it all, Minho listened silently, not once interrupting. His quiet attention was steady, grounding, as though every word you said mattered deeply to him.
When you finally finished, your voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. “I… I didn’t want to tell you all this. I didn’t want to bother you or make you feel sorry for me. But today was just….”
“Y/N,” Minho cut in, his voice firm yet impossibly gentle. “You’re not bothering me. And I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m just… I’m glad you called. I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me.”
Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from sadness. They were from something warmer, something that felt a lot like hope.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.
“No, thank you,” Minho said softly. “For calling me. And for being honest. You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”
You smiled faintly, clutching the phone tightly to your ear. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to.
And thus began your connection with Minho...
----------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------
Your fingers hovered over the video call button, trembling slightly. Since that phone call last Christmas eve, Minho had become an undeniable presence in your life. Whether it was his casual phone calls, random texts checking in on you, or the silly messages that always made you laugh, he was there, ensuring you never felt completely alone.
But last week, something changed.
“Why don’t we have a movie night?” he had texted casually. “We can video call while watching.”
You froze at the suggestion, your immediate response a firm, resounding no.
"Come on,” he coaxed gently. “It’ll be fun. I want to see you.”
And that was the problem. You didn’t want him to see you.
The thought of showing your face made your stomach churn. What if he was disappointed? What if he looked at you differently after seeing what the accident had done? You tried every excuse you could think of, but Minho’s quiet persistence was hard to ignore.
“I won’t push you,” he finally said, his tone soft yet resolute. “But I don’t care what you think you look like. You’re Y/N, and nothing will ever change that for me.”
His words lingered all week, pulling at the corners of your mind whenever your insecurities screamed louder than your hope.
And now, here you were, sitting in front of your phone, staring at the glowing call notification. Your heart raced, your palms damp as you adjusted your hair for the fifth time. Every buried doubt clawed its way to the surface.
Don’t do this. He’ll regret staying in touch, your mind hissed.
But another voice, softer yet stronger, whispered, He cares. He won’t leave.
With a shaky breath, you pressed the button. The camera flickered on, and you quickly angled it so only the top of your head was visible.
“Y/N?” Minho’s voice came through, soft and cheerful.
“Y-Yeah, it’s me,” you stammered, still too afraid to tilt the camera lower.
“I can’t see you,” he teased lightly. “What, are you hiding from me?”
You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the "end call" button. But something in his tone....so patient, so warm...nudged you forward. Slowly, you lowered the camera, revealing your face.
“There you are,” Minho said softly, a smile spreading across his face.
You braced yourself for disgust, disappointment, anything that would confirm your worst fears. But his reaction wasn’t what you expected. His expression didn’t falter, his smile didn’t waver, and his eyes held nothing but warmth.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply, as if it were a fact, not a compliment.
Tears stung your eyes as you looked away. “Don’t say that,” you whispered, your voice trembling.
“I mean it,” he replied firmly. “I’m not just saying it to make you feel better. You’re Y/N, and you’re beautiful to me. Always have been, always will be.”
His words chipped away at the walls you had built around yourself. He wasn’t looking at you with pity or discomfort, he was just looking at you.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself a small smile. “Thank you, Minho,” you murmured.
“Now,” he said, his tone shifting to playful. “Are we watching this movie, or are you going to keep hiding from me?”
You chuckled softly, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Alright, alright. Let’s watch.”
As the movie began, the tension in your chest slowly eased. Minho’s occasional sarcastic comments or soft laughter warmed you in ways you didn’t fully understand. The awkwardness that had gripped you at the start of the call melted away, replaced by a rhythm that felt natural.
During a quieter part of the movie, Minho spoke, his voice cutting through the momentary silence. “This feels nice.”
“What does?” you asked, glancing at the screen.
“Being able to see you while we talk. It feels... more real.”
His honesty caught you off guard, and you fiddled with the edge of your blanket. “I guess,” you mumbled.
“Don’t downplay it,” he chided gently. “You don’t realize how much I’ve missed this, just spending time with you.”
Your heart thudded at his words. “Minho, you barely knew me before the accident…”
“And yet,” he interrupted, his tone soft but unwavering, “I’ve always felt like I knew you. The way you smiled at the hospital, even through the pain. The way your sister shared pieces of your life with me that day, the struggles you faced, in the hospital. You left an impression, Y/N. And no matter how much time passed, I couldn’t forget you.”
His confession left you speechless. You opened your mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.
Minho smiled faintly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”
The movie ended, but neither of you hung up. The conversation drifted to lighter topics, your favorite foods, places you’d love to visit, funny childhood stories. You found yourself laughing, surprised at how easy it was to talk to him, how intently he listened to every little thing you said.
When the clock struck midnight, you yawned, trying to stifle it.
“Am I keeping you up?” Minho teased.
“No, I’m fine,” you lied, but your sleepy tone betrayed you.
“You need to rest,” he said with a soft laugh. “But… can I call you again tomorrow? Or, you know, whenever you’re free?”
The warmth in his voice made your chest ache in the best way. “I’d like that,” you admitted quietly.
“Good,” he said, his smile evident even through the screen. “Sweet dreams, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Minho,” you replied, ending the call and setting your phone aside.
As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the night replayed in your mind. For the first time in years, you felt a little lighter. A little less alone.
You didn’t know where this connection with Minho would lead, but tonight, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he saw you, not just your struggles, but you.
And for the first time, that felt like enough.
-------------------------------------------------------
Over the next few months, Minho became your lifeline. What started as casual conversations and video calls grew into something deeper. He was patient, funny, and warm,someone who made you feel seen, heard, and cherished. For the first time in years, you felt like you could breathe again. It wasn’t something you could pinpoint, a singular moment where your feelings for Minho shifted from gratitude to something deeper. It happened slowly, quietly, like the way the first hints of dawn creep into the night sky.
At first, you told yourself it was nothing more than admiration. Minho had saved your life, after all. When you woke up in the hospital, groggy and disoriented, the nurses told you about the stranger who stayed by your side, ensuring you received the care you needed. That alone had been enough to etch his name into your mind.
Months later, when you heard his voice again at the robot café, your heart stumbled. It was almost embarrassing how much his presence, even through the robot’s camera and speakers, stirred something inside you. He spoke to you with such warmth, such genuine interest, that it felt like you were more than just a disembodied voice behind a screen.
But it wasn’t until the letter he left for you that the walls you’d so carefully built around your heart began to crack.
You read it so many times that the edges were worn from your fingertips. His words weren’t overly flowery or poetic, but they were sincere, making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in years. He didn’t just write about how thankful he was bout the customer service, he wrote about you. That you can call or text him anytime you wanted to vent.
From that point on, every phone call, every text, chipped away at the fears you’d held so tightly. At first, you were careful, guarded. You kept your responses light, your conversations surface-level. But Minho had a way of disarming you without even trying. He’d slip in questions about your favorite childhood memories or tease you until you laughed. And before you realized it, you were sharing pieces of yourself you hadn’t shown anyone in years.
And then came the video call.
You almost didn’t do it. The idea of letting him see your face, the scars that made you feel like a stranger every time you looked in the mirror, was too much. But Minho had been gentle in his persistence, assuring you that he just wanted to watch a movie with you, nothing more.
When you finally turned on the camera, your hands were trembling, and you could barely meet his eyes on the screen. You braced yourself for the shift, for the flicker of discomfort or pity that you were so used to seeing.
But it never came.
Instead, Minho smiled, his gaze soft as if he were looking at something beautiful. “Hi,” he said, his tone light and full of warmth, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
And in that moment, something inside you shifted. The fear that had kept you isolated for so long began to loosen its grip, replaced by something warmer, brighter.
He made you feel normal. He made you feel seen. And over time, you realized it wasn’t just gratitude or admiration anymore.
You were falling for him.
You tried to fight it at first, convincing yourself it was foolish. Someone like Minho...a man who could light up a room with just his presence....could have anyone. Why would he choose someone like you, with your scars and limitations?
But then he’d call you late at night, just to ask how your day went. Or he’d send you pictures of stray cats he’d found, knowing how much you loved them, just like he did. Or he’d make you laugh so hard you’d forget, even for a moment, about all the things you thought made you unworthy.
And then, over the course of the next few weeks, something unexpected started to take root inside you. At first, you brushed it off as fleeting, an echo of loneliness mistaken for something else. But it grew, steady and undeniable, a strange, fluttering feeling in your chest every time Minho’s name lit up your phone.
You found yourself lingering on his texts longer than you should, re-reading them late at night when the world was silent. His words, simple and casual, had a way of making your heart race. And those calls? They were becoming the best part of your day. It wasn’t just his voice....it was the way he laughed, the way he said your name, like it held a special place in his vocabulary.
He looked different to you now, too. Or maybe you were just seeing him for the first time. Handsome didn’t even begin to describe it. There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, a quiet confidence that made him seem untouchable, yet he was so real with you. So patient, so kind.
And that’s when the panic set in.
Because how could you fall for him?
It wasn’t fair. Not to him. Minho was everything you weren’t: free, whole, untethered. He could have anyone he wanted, someone who could walk beside him in the park without needing a wheelchair, someone who could dance with him instead of watching from the sidelines.
You hadn’t left the house in years. The thought of facing the world outside, with its prying eyes and unspoken judgments, made your stomach churn. How could you expect someone like Minho to accept that? To accept you, when even you struggled to accept yourself?
Your scars felt like barriers, visible proof of the life you used to have and the one you were forced to live now. You’d lost the power in your legs, and sometimes it felt like you’d lost the power to dream, to hope for something better.
And yet, Minho made you hope.
It terrified you, this fragile thing blooming in your chest. Because if you allowed yourself to fall for him, truly fall, what would happen if he didn’t catch you? Could you handle the heartbreak? Could you bear to see pity in his eyes where kindness now shone?
You tried to push the feelings down, bury them beneath the weight of your fears. But they wouldn’t stay hidden. Every text, every call, every laugh chipped away at your resolve until you were left raw and vulnerable, clinging to a question you were too afraid to answer. Will Minho even accept you?
------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------
That evening during the video call, Minho dropped a bombshell.
“Y/N, let’s meet,” he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
You froze, blinking at the screen. “What?”
“I want to see you,” he repeated, smiling. “In person. How about a café date and a stroll in the park? I know a quiet spot, not too crowded.”
Panic surged through you. You hadn’t left your house in years....not since the accident. The thought of people staring at you, noticing your scars, filled you with dread. You opened your mouth to protest, but Minho’s gentle expression stopped you.
“Take your time,” he said softly. “You don’t have to decide now. But I’d really like to spend time with you, Y/N. No pressure.”
Minho ended the call with a hopeful smile on his end when you told him you'd think about it.
For the next few days, you agonized over his request. Part of you wanted to see him, to feel the sun on your face and experience the world outside your walls again. But the fear of judgment and rejection was overwhelming. Finally, with a shaky breath, you agreed.
------------------------------------------------------
Minho had never been the type to hesitate when it came to the people he cared about. But with Y/N, everything felt different....delicate, like holding something precious in his hands that could shatter if he pushed too hard. The past month of video calls and late-night texts had been like a breath of fresh air for him. He loved how she spoke, how her voice softened when she was relaxed or brightened when she talked about something that brought her joy. But he could also sense the walls she’d built around herself, her hesitations woven into every interaction. It didn’t matter to him, though. He’d seen enough in her to know she was worth the patience. The idea to meet her in person had been bubbling in his mind for weeks. He missed being able to see her face beyond the tiny camera frame, to hear her laugh without the digital lag of a call. And more than anything, he wanted her to know she didn’t have to hide anymore...not from him, not from anyone.
When she’d finally agreed, he’d been careful not to show just how thrilled he was. He knew it wasn’t an easy decision for her, and he didn’t want to add to the weight she was carrying. Instead, he spent the days leading up to their meeting planning every detail, choosing a quiet café and a serene park where she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed.
The day of the date, he arrived early, checking his reflection in the café window to make sure he looked okay. Not that it mattered much to him, he just wanted Y/N to feel comfortable.
---------------------------------------------------
Whereas you, on the other hand, were on a completely different wavelength altogether.
The days leading up to this moment had been an emotional tug-of-war within yourself. A part of you longed to experience something new, something outside the prison of your four walls. But the other part...the one that whispered cruel reminders of your scars, your limitations, and the judgment of others...fought to hold you back.
The night before the date, you barely slept. You paced your room, questioning everything. Why would Minho even want to be seen with me? He’s kind, patient, and could easily find someone who isn’t a mess like me. What if people stare? What if I embarrass him?
You looked at yourself in the mirror that morning, pulling your favourite hoodie over your head and adjusting it. The scars that stretched across your temple and cheekbone felt like they screamed at the world, a constant reminder of the accident and how different you were now. You sighed deeply, pushing down the lump in your throat. You can’t back out now. He’ll think you don’t trust him.
When your sister wheeled you to the café and you saw Minho waiting, his face lighting up the second he spotted you, something in your chest softened. You weren’t used to people looking at you like that...as if you weren’t just enough, but more than enough.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice full of warmth, “you look beautiful.”
Beautiful? The word echoed in your mind, foreign and almost laughable. You glanced away, unable to accept the compliment, but his sincerity made it impossible to dismiss.
The café was quiet, the conversation light and easy. Yet, no matter how much you tried to relax, the anxiety simmered under your skin. Every time someone walked by or glanced your way, your fingers twitched, wanting to pull your hood further down. They’re staring. They’re judging. They’re wondering why someone like him would bother with someone like me. Minho noticed the anxiety in your face. He squeezed your trembling hand, comforting you. Nodding silently, as if to tell you it’s okay.
You calmed down a little and asked him if you could leave early. He agreed and suggested a walk in the park. You hesitated but eventually agreed. The park was peaceful, the fresh air soothing, but the nagging voice in your head wouldn’t let you rest. You kept your hood pulled tight, your eyes darting to every person who passed. They’re all looking. They can see right through me.
And then, it happened.
A strong gust of wind swept through the park, catching your hood and pulling it back. You gasped, immediately reaching to fix it, but your trembling hands froze as you noticed the stares. Strangers’ eyes lingered, their expressions unreadable, but in your mind, you could hear their judgment loud and clear.
Hide. Cover your face. Run. You don’t belong here.
Your breathing quickened, panic rising in your chest. Your vision blurred as tears welled up, and you wanted nothing more than to disappear.
“I....I can’t do this,” you choked out, barely able to form the words.
Before you could spiral further, Minho was by your side. His hands rested gently on your shoulders, grounding you.
“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise in your head. “Look at me.”
You hesitated, but his calm, steady presence drew your eyes to his. The world seemed to fade, leaving only his warm gaze and the reassurance in his expression.
“You’re okay,” he said, his voice firm yet soothing. “I’m here. Forget about them. Just focus on me.”
“But they’re staring,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “They’re looking at my face… at my scars…”
“Let them stare,” Minho said firmly, his hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “What they think doesn’t matter. What matters is you. And you’re perfect just the way you are.”
His words pierced through the storm in your mind, and for a moment, you could breathe again. He guided you to a nearby bench, sitting beside you and giving you time to calm down.
As your breathing steadied, Minho knelt in front of you, his gaze unwavering.
“Y/N,” he began, taking your hands in his. His touch was warm, steady, and grounding. “I know this is hard for you. I know you’re scared, and I know you think you’re not enough. But you need to hear this.”
His eyes searched yours, filled with an unshakable sincerity that made your chest tighten.
“It’s always been you,” he said softly. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were someone special.”
“Min, what are you...?” you began, your voice trembling with uncertainty.
“Let me finish, Ynnie,” he interrupted, a small smile tugging at his lips. The tenderness in his tone silenced your protest, and your breath hitched as he continued, his voice heavy with emotion.
“Your strength, your kindness, your heart....those are the things that matter to me. Not your scars, not your disability. Just you. And I still can’t believe it… how someone so intelligent, so beautiful, and so powerful came into my life. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”
He paused, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly as if grounding himself.
“You brought color to my mundane life, Ynnie,” he said, his voice trembling now. “And I love you. I love you so much.”
Tears spilled down your cheeks as his words settled into your heart, breaking through every wall you had built. But once again, a part of you wanted to retreat from this. Minho deserved someone better. Not you.
And so, with a heavy heart, you asked, “Why me?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “You could have someone better. Someone who isn’t… disabled or disfigured. Someone who could give you more.”
His grip on your hands tightened as he shook his head. “No one could ever be better than you. No one else is you. And I don’t want anyone else. I want you. Scars, fears, everything. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
You were at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice and the love in his eyes.
“So, Y/N,” he said, his voice softening, “will you let me stay by your side? Will you be my girlfriend?”
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the insecurities tried to creep back in. But then you looked at him...truly looked...and saw nothing but love and acceptance.
With a shaky breath, you nodded. “Yes.”
“I love you too, Min!”
“So much!” Happy tears spilled down your cheeks.
A bright, almost boyish smile spread across his face as he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with affection. He kissed you softly, a tender, lingering touch that made your heart flutter. The moment was quiet, but it felt like the world had paused, leaving only the two of you in this space of peace and understanding. As he pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms wrapped around you, warm and steady...like a shield that protected you from everything outside of this moment.
For the first time in years, you let go of the fears and doubts that had held you captive. You allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were worthy of love. His embrace was a reminder that you didn’t have to hide or be afraid anymore. In Minho’s arms, the weight of the world seemed to lift, leaving only the soft warmth of his love surrounding you, filling you with hope that, no matter what, you were never alone again.
As he held you, you realized that this moment was everything you had been longing for. It wasn’t just the comfort of his touch, but the genuine care in his heart, the way he made you feel beautiful...scars and all. It was a love that didn’t ask for perfection, only for you to be yourself. And in that truth, you found the strength to believe in the future, to believe in the love that was growing between you.
꥟˚。Tags - @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @yangbbokari @theo4eve @livelovelaughmiko @silverstarburst @galaxycatdrawz @skzoologist @shua-f4lmings @iknowyouknowminho @krisstheidiot @hyunjinhoexxx @gho-ster @ezlynkisses @elmoslungcancer @b1nn1e-1s-cut3 @seungseung-minmin @cuddlylonelyperson @jeonginsleftcheek @oreoqueen @freekyfangirl
Comment your @ If you wish to be added or removed from this list ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
꥟˚。ENDNOTE - Everything Here is a work of fiction and my own imagination. This does not represent the real life characteristics of Stray Kids. Make sure to like, reblog comment, and follow me for new updates!
#staymas#stray kids#stray kids imagines#stray kids reaction#stray kids × reader#stray kids × yn#skz#skz scenarios#skz imagines#skz texts#skz au#lee know stray kids#lee know angst#lee know scenarios#lee know imagines#lee know fluff#lee minho skz#skz stay#skz × reader#skz smau#lee know × reader#lee know au#tumblr flyp
167 notes
·
View notes
Text
if my heart was a house - a shigaraki x f!reader fic
It's been nineteen years since Tomura was sentenced to death, and you've built a life in the space he left behind, braced each day for the worst. You're prepared for everything - the questions your daughter asks, the memories that sting a little more in the winter, the specter of the news you've been afraid of for years. But of all the things life's thrown your way, it's the one you haven't dared to hope for might be the one thing you can't handle. (cross-posted to Ao3) The prequel can be found here: what I can't remember now written for @pixelcafe-network's Challenge Friday event! Banner/divider by @cafekitsune
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
Chapter 1
You know even before you open your eyes that it’s snowed overnight. The world always sounds too quiet afterwards, and you used to have so many words to describe it – almost comforting, almost eerie, almost serene. But that was when you were young. Now you’d replace all those words with a different one: Empty. You used to love the winter, the first snowfall of the year, and you still do. But it always reminds you of him. And he’s gone.
He’s been gone for years now. The length of time you spent with him has been swallowed six times over by the time you’ve spent alone, and you’d like to think that even in the beginning, you wore your sadness well. Now, nineteen years in, it barely shows. You keep it buried through spring, summer, autumn – until the first frost, the first freezing rain, the first icicles on the eaves and the first drifts of snow on the ground, when it crawls free of the grave and sprawls on top of you at night. You met Tomura in the winter. Fell in love with him by spring. You got two more winters with him after that, and then he was gone, and nothing can fill the space he left behind.
But even if one chamber of your heart is frozen open for good, the rest is still alive. And there’s room for a different kind of love, a way for you to translate your grief rather than buckle beneath its weight. There’s a knock at the door to your room, and your daughter’s voice slips cautiously in. “Mom? Are you awake?”
“I’m awake,” you say, and you blink away the tears. “Come in.”
Even at eighteen, Chihiro still hesitates before she steps across the threshold, but once she’s made the choice, she throws herself onto the bed with abandon. “We got half a meter. That’s even more than the forecast said.”
“And we’ve still got power. Lucky us.” You wipe your eyes, just in case, and turn to face her. “Good morning, kiddo.”
“How long do I have to be kiddo? I’m almost done with high school.”
“Okay, you’re right,” you compromise, even as your throat tightens. She’s never met her father, never will, but the tone in her voice when she’s putting her foot down reminds you painfully of him. “What should I call you instead?”
“My name. You’re the one who picked it out.” Chihiro’s dressed in her pajamas with a hoodie thrown over them, and you can see her phone lighting up through the front pocket. “Don’t you like it anymore?”
“I love it,” you say, “Chihiro. Did you sleep okay?”
She nods. There’s something on her mind. You can tell by the way her brow furrows, and the way her mouth thins tells you that she’s planning to keep it quiet. Or that she’ll try. Chihiro has a hard time keeping her feelings inside. She and Tomura have that in common, but while you always gave Tomura space to figure out how to say what he needed to, you always let Chihiro know you’re aware, and listening. “What’s going on up there, Chihiro, my daughter who’s almost done with high school?”
She rolls her eyes, but a smile is pulling up the corner of her mouth. Her smile’s always been a little lopsided, but so has yours. “There’s only one morning of the year you ever sleep in,” she says. “The first time it snows. And then you’re different all day – not mad or depressed or anything. Just different. I was wondering why.”
“I’m sorry,” you say at once. “I’m not upset with you. It’s not anything you did. You could never do anything that would –”
“I know, Mom.” Chihiro’s crimson eyes are intent on your face. “It’s one day. You get to be weird if you need to. I just wanted to know – is it because of him? My dad?”
When she was little, you’d lie, and tell her the snow is so pretty that you can’t help but get emotional about it. There was a while where she didn’t ask. But she’s old enough now that you can admit it. You think. “Yeah,” you say. Your voice is steady. You’re proud of that. “This is around the time of year when I first met him. It brings back memories.”
“Good ones?” Chihiro settles into the pillows the way she used to when she wanted a bedtime story. “Tell me.”
You hesitate. “Not the gross stuff,” Chihiro clarifies. “I don’t want to know about that. Kaori’s mom tells her all about that stuff. And she bought her a vibrator for her birthday.”
“Huh,” you say after a second. “That’s sex-positive of her.”
“You’re being nice. What do you really think?”
You think she reminds you of Tomura. He never let you duck behind the niceties; he always wanted to know your real reaction. “I think it’s weird. Especially if Kaori didn’t ask.”
“She definitely didn’t. She’s really shy.” Chihiro grimaces. “I’m glad you’re not weird like that.”
Not weird is a good thing. Maybe. “You know I’m here if you need to talk about –”
“No, Mom. Gross.” Chihiro buries her face in the pillow. “Tell me about my dad.”
“Okay,” you say. “Your dad. He, um – there was something about him. I never met someone like him before, and I haven’t since. He told the truth about stuff, even if it wasn’t pretty, and he said what he thought even if it was a bad time. One time we went on a double date with one of his friends and their new boyfriend, and the first question out of your dad’s mouth was whether the boyfriend had drawn his facial hair on.”
Chihiro wheezes. “That’s awful,” she says, but she’s laughing – just like you were. “Had he, though?”
“We never got an answer,” you say, and Chihiro laughs harder. “Your dad could be a jackass sometimes, even to people he liked, but when it really mattered, he’d –”
Kill for them. You swallow the words. “He was there for people when they needed him,” you say instead. “He was always there for me. Even if he didn’t know the right thing to say, I could count on him to listen. And he never gave me a hard time for standing up for myself. Not even when we argued about things.”
You were sort of a pushover early on. You were worried that saying no would make you difficult, and being difficult would make him want to leave. It wasn’t how you were most of the time, or how you’d been before you and Tomura got together, and he wasn’t scared to call you out. You remember the grin on his face the first time you really put your foot down about something, set a boundary and held it. I knew you were in there somewhere, he said. This is how I like you.
That was something you loved about being with Tomura: You were good for each other. You made each other better. “It sounds like you were happy,” Chihiro ventures, and you nod. “Do you think you’d have gotten married sometime? Did you guys want kids?”
Married, maybe. Your friends and his all used to joke that the two of you were the old married couple of the group, but while you talked about the future, you almost never talked about marriage to go with it. Not until it was almost the end, and you never made it to the discussion, any discussion, about having kids. Your pregnancy was catastrophic because of what happened before it, but even if it hadn’t been, it would have raised a lot of questions that neither you nor Tomura knew how to answer. “We were really young,” you say. “I was only twenty-two. We hadn’t had that talk yet. But I think we’d have talked about it if –”
“Yeah.” Chihiro’s voice is muffled by the pillows. “Did he know about me? Before he died?”
Your stomach clenches in a tight, guilty cramp, one that’s been getting steadily worse over the years. “I didn’t find out until after he was gone.”
“Oh.” Chihiro’s voice goes small and wavering. “Do you think – um – do you think he would have liked me?”
There’s no way to know. That means what you say next isn’t technically a lie. “He would have loved you,” you say. Her shoulders shake, and you rest your hand on her back to settle her, the same as you’ve done since she was a baby. “Just like I do.”
Chihiro turns her head to look at you, her eyes glassy with tears. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.” You rub her back in slow circles. “Ask about him whenever you want. I’ll always try to answer.”
“Do you miss him?”
Other than your daughter’s ragged breathing and your own steady, shallow sips of air, there’s no sound in the world. When you open up the blinds, you’ll see an empty snowfield, unmarked by human footprints for a little while longer. Footprints in the snow will be filled in by the next storm or melted away in the thaw, but the marks Tomura left on you are indelible. There will never be room for someone else where he stood, because he’s still standing there, somewhere you can’t reach.
Sometimes you’ve thought, selfishly, that it would be easier if he really was dead, just so you wouldn’t have to cope with knowing that he’s still out there, knowing exactly where he is with no way to get to him. You’ve let Chihiro think he’s dead. You tell yourself it’s easier for her this way. It’s better that she doesn’t know what really happened to Tomura. The fact that you know is bad enough.
“Mom?” Chihiro asks, and you realize you never answered her question. “Do you still miss my dad?”
You still love him. That’s the same thing. “I do,” you say. “Every day.”
Chihiro cries herself out, and then it’s time to get moving. Her school has a late start, not a snow day, and you still have to go to work. You make a special breakfast anyway, play the music you and she used to dance to when she was little, and soon your daughter’s smiling again. Chihiro doesn’t have trouble being happy, not like you and Tomura both did. Still do, probably. Your depression was just that, but the sheer weight of Tomura’s past regularly threatened to crush him, and you doubt the nineteen years he’s already spent in prison have done anything to improve things.
But Chihiro knows how to be happy, and you know, because she tells you when she’s not. You’re not naive enough to think your teenager tells you everything, but she knows she can talk to you. And she does talk to you, getting steadily back to herself as you eat breakfast and clean up and get ready, her for school, you for work. Then the two of you crunch your way to the car and start digging it out of the snow. The snowplows must have been out last night and early this morning, because the road doesn’t have much in the way of accumulation. You’ll have to be careful of ice.
You’re both a little sweaty under your winter coats when you get in the car at last. “I’m already gross,” Chihiro complains. “Why can’t we get a garage or something?”
“Where would we put it?”
“In your room,” Chihiro says. You snort. “Or in mine. Since I’m going to uni soon.”
Your heart sinks whenever she says that, but you’ll be damned before you let it show. “You’ll still need somewhere to stay when you come back,” you say. “Maybe we don’t really need a kitchen.”
Chihiro rolls her eyes. “What? You’re not planning to turn my room into, like, a sewing room or something once I go to school?”
"No," you say. "My parents did that when I went away. I hated it."
Looking back, you took it way too personally. They weren’t saying they were done with you, or that the place you’d grown up wasn’t home anymore. You were just hurting, and looking desperately for a reason why. Coming back on school break to find your room cleaned out was a good one. “I’m not going to do that,” you say to Chihiro.“Even when you live somewhere else, you’ll always have a place with me.”
Chihiro glances sideways at you. “Kaori’s mom is freaking about her moving away.”
“Kaori’s mom freaks out a lot,” you say. You and she should have bonded, because you’re the only single moms in this small town, but Kaori’s mom makes you nervous. “How does Kaori feel about it?”
“Her mom will be fine. She’s not worried.” Chihiro pauses for a long moment. “I am, though.”
Your grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckled. “About Kaori’s mom?”
“About you,” Chihiro says. You reach a stop sign, come to a full stop, and turn to look at her. There’s a stubborn set to her jaw that’s all too familiar. “Kaori’s mom is crazy. But Kaori’s mom has a life. She goes out some nights and her friends come to visit and she has parties and hobbies —“
“I have hobbies,” you protest.
“Yeah. Your hobby means you hang out in the house all day,” Chihiro says. “You can't carry your sewing machine and all your fabric to a craft party. Maybe if you learned to knit or something —“
“I’m not going to knit.”
“Something,” Chihiro says firmly. “Something that means you’re not alone all the time. I’m excited to go to uni. I’m worried about what’s going to happen to you when I leave.”
You’ve fucked up, big-time. “Chihiro, I understand why you —“ No, you don’t. All you understand is that you were stupid to think your damage didn’t show, awful for making Chihiro think she has any responsibility for your mess of an internal life at all. “It’s not your job to make sure I’m okay. I can take care of myself.”
“It’s not about taking care of yourself,” Chihiro fires back. “It’s about being happy. You want me to be happy, right?”
“Of course I do,” you say. “I love you.”
“I love you, Mom.” Chihiro says it bluntly, unashamedly. “So I want you to be happy, too.”
You don’t know what to say. It’s quiet, and it keeps being quiet, until a car pulls up behind you and honks its horn. You refocus on driving in a hurry. With you distracted, Chihiro pushes the point. “You barely even talk to people, Mom. Kaori’s mom thinks you hate her because you never say yes when she asks to hang out.”
“I don’t hate her,” you say. Chihiro’s skeptical look skewers you to the seat. “Look, she’s just not — it’s complicated.”
“No it’s not,” Chihiro says. “Next time she asks to hang out, say yes.”
No. “What if I sign up for an art class at the community center instead?”
“Do that, too,” Chihiro says. You grimace. “You want me to be happy. I’ll be happy if I know you’re talking to other people and doing stuff that’s not in the house. I don’t want to come back on a school break and find out you’ve only been talking to the trees or something.”
She pauses. “I guess you can talk to them a little. As long as you don’t start thinking they talk back.”
“Got it.”
You drop Chihiro off at school less than a minute before the bell rings, but she still makes you get out of the car and hug her. She hugs really tight. She got that from you. Tomura used to complain jokingly that you were a boa constrictor in a girlfriend suit. You kiss her forehead and send her on her way, then get back in the car and drive to work, feeling even worse than you did when you opened your eyes to a snowy silence this morning.
Chihiro’s wrong about Kaori’s mom. It is complicated — not because you hate her, but because she’s the nosiest person in town, and because you’ve got a lot to hide. You didn’t mean to have a lot to hide. It was just something that happened, and as the years since Tomura’s conviction have unfolded, you’ve gotten steadily more attached to the lie. It’s not about you. It’s about Chihiro, who shouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that her father’s a convicted murderer awaiting execution in supermax prison, who shouldn’t have to deal with people looking at her differently. It’s about Chihiro. It’s not about you.
Or so you tell yourself. But there’s a reason you fled from Tokyo in the aftermath of Tomura’s sentencing, why you cut off contact with his friends and yours, why you dyed your hair and changed your phone number and nuked your social media along with every email address you ever had. People hated Tomura. And because you were with him, they hated you, too. It didn’t matter that you knew nothing. That the murders he was accused of committing took place before you met him. Even if you’d dumped him the second he was arrested, you’d have been called stupid for not seeing it all along. You couldn’t hack it. You were headed for a breakdown at high speed. But you would have stayed, if Tomura hadn’t told you to go.
The last time you spoke to him was after his sentencing, as they were taking him away. You seized his hands, already cuffed, his wrists chafed raw, and for a split second, he held on so tightly that one of your fingers broke. Then he looked up, hopeless fury in his eyes. Get out of here. Don’t come back. I don’t want you to watch.
You thought he meant he didn’t want you to watch him being shoved into an armored truck for transport, but when your letters came back unopened, when he refused to let you visit or even call him, you realized the truth. He wanted you gone, just as completely as he was gone from you. That moment in the courtroom was the last one you’d ever have with him. And that was what tripped the breakdown at last. You were throwing up too much to overdose and you were too chicken to try another way, so you went to the doctor to figure it out so you could kill yourself with your chosen method. You just wanted anti-nausea pills. The doctor did bloodwork, made you give a urine sample, and gave you a diagnosis.
“Hyperemesis gravidarum,” he said, and you looked at him blankly. “You’re pregnant.”
He expected you to get an abortion. Everybody and their mother probably expected you to get an abortion. If Tomura had been there, if your accidental pregnancy had been something the two of you were dealing with together, it probably wouldn’t have even been a question. And for any other pregnancy, it would have been the only viable option in your mind. But when you thought about it, about this pregnancy, your mind rejected the idea so violently that you threw up again. You couldn’t get rid of this baby. You needed it. Looking back, you know your reasons were terrible. You had a kid so you wouldn’t be alone. So you’d keep some memory of Tomura close to you always. So you’d have a reason to keep getting up in the morning, a reason to eat and sleep and exercise, a reason to find a new job in your new town and work hard at it. So someone would need you. So you could do something with your agony at losing Tomura, grab it with both hands and twist it back into love. Deciding to have the baby was the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. And raising Chihiro, loving her, is the most important thing you’ll ever do.
She’s right about you. You do live for her. And if that means signing up for a pottery class at the community center and agreeing to grab tea with Kaori’s crazy mom so she won’t worry, that’s what you’ll do.
You work in the combined billing/records/HR department at your town’s medical clinic, with occasional ventures to the front desk when a receptionist is out sick. You spend a lot of time staring at the computer, a lot of time on the phone, and very little time talking to your coworkers — but you’ve been here for seventeen years, longer than almost anyone else. You were working here before some of your coworkers were out of primary school.
Dr. Kawada is your age, though. He greets you as you walk in. “Glad you made it. Anybody who lives past the town limits is staying home.”
“They should. The roads are terrible even with the plows out.” You hang up your coat, then sit down and power up your computer. “How many patients do you think we’ll get?”
“We have a ton of cancelations already,” Keiko, the nurse-practitioner, reports. She would be the one to make it in — Kawada would crawl here with his teeth if he had to, and she’s his wife, so of course she tagged along. “And there was a call for you, bright and early.”
“For billing? Somebody must have been losing sleep.”
“Not for billing. For you,” Keiko admonishes. “I forwarded it to your phone. It seemed kind of urgent.”
You log into your computer, then decide to check the message while you’re waiting for it to perk up. The voice on the other end of the line is completely unfamiliar. “Hi there. My name is Midoriya Izuku, and I’m a lawyer with the —" There’s a really loud sound on the other end of the line, completely obliterating whatever he was about to tell you about the organization he’s part of. “Due to confidentiality I can’t share much over the phone, but it’s really important that I get in touch with you! Please call me back to arrange a meeting —“
You hang up and delete the message. You don’t like lawyers, and this guy sounds like he has prosecutor written all over him. Or else he’s a reporter lying to you about his credentials to trick you into giving him a quote. The twenty-year anniversary of Tomura’s conviction is coming up, and there were articles at the ten-year mark, too. You’re more concerned about how this Midoriya Izuku got your number in the first place. You’re not easy to find. You made yourself tough to find on purpose.
It’s a quiet day at the office. Almost all the appointments are canceled, which means that the walk-ins get seen almost immediately, and you have time to start on your end-of-the-year reports. And time to talk, because Keiko and Dr. Kawada are in talkative moods, and you’re the best and only target. “How’s Chihiro?” Keiko asks. “Has she picked a school?”
“Not yet. Still weighing her options,” you say. And then, because you’re tired: “She’s worried about what will happen to me once she leaves.”
“Tell her not to worry. We’ll take care of you!” Dr. Kawada says with a grin. “What’s she worried about, anyway? You seem fine.”
“I am fine. But I’m signing up for an art class so she’ll stop worrying that I’m going to wither away alone,” you say. Dr. Kawada snorts. “How I’m doing isn’t her responsibility. She didn’t ask to be born and I didn’t have her so she could take care of me.”
“Nobody thinks that,” Keiko says. She gives you a weird look, but then she changes the subject. “Hey, but even once she moves out, you don’t have to be alone! Me and Shogo know lots of people we want to set you up with!”
You’re pretty sure your face goes dead white. “What?”
“I mean, I know you haven’t been seeing anyone since you moved here —"
“Because it’s not about me anymore. It’s about Chihiro.”
“Yeah, but if it’s about Chihiro, shouldn’t you want her not to worry?” Kawada’s not helping. You feel like you might be sick. “I moved here right around when you did and I’ve never seen you date anybody. Things must have gone down real bad with your ex —"
“Shogo!” Keiko swats him, mortified, then looks at you. “Sorry. He should know better.”
“Chihiro’s dad isn’t my ex,” you say. “He’s — gone.”
It’s the same trick you’ve been pulling on Chihiro since she was old enough to ask, and it works on adults, too. Kawada backs off, chagrined. “Sorry,” he says. There’s an awkward silence. “I’ve known you for seventeen years. How did I miss that?”
“I don’t like to talk about it.” You don’t even like thinking about Tomura, but every winter, it’s unavoidable. Every winter the sadness curls up around you, and although time is supposed to heal things, it’s never gotten any easier to throw off come spring. “I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.”
“Yeah,” Keiko agrees. Her eyes are sad. “Still. Tell Chihiro not to worry. We’ll keep an eye on you.”
You force a smile, force your eyes to brighten. “Thank you.”
It’s the clinic’s slowest day in a while, and you spend a lot of it screwing around on the computer. You sign up for an art class, one that meets the same night as Chihiro’s choir practice, so you can pick her up on the way home. You google therapists, too — maybe she’ll feel better if she knows you have one. And maybe you need one. Chihiro’s your daughter, the most important person in the world, the one you’d sacrifice everything to care for. Caring for her takes up most of your thoughts, distracts you from the pain of losing Tomura. Once Chihiro goes away for school, there won’t be anything left to keep your sadness at bay.
Tomura’s been on death row for nineteen years. They could execute him at any time, and you’d never know until his name was released by the government. During his trial, when you realized the death penalty was on the table, you looked up how it would happen. It still haunts you sometimes. You don’t want to think of Tomura with his neck broken, his eyes open and staring, dying with feet chained together and his hands bound behind his back. You want to remember him before it all went wrong. Back when you still believed he was the best thing that ever happened to you.
You met him at university, on a day when the campus was iced over. Your on-campus job started early, which meant you had to make your way to the library on paths that wouldn’t be de-iced for another hour. Tomura had an early class. He was headed the opposite way from you, and you were both so focused on not slipping and falling that you walked headlong into each other and fell on your asses anyway.
Your backpack slid from your shoulders, and the papers Tomura was carrying scattered across the path. Fuck, Tomura said, with feeling, and you laughed. What’s so funny? You fell down, too.
I know, but — An image popped into your head and set you off all over again. We look like we’re in a cartoon. Except without the stars and planets around our heads.
No stars and planets? I want a refund, Tomura said, and cracked a smile that opened up a split in his lower lip. Damn it —
Here. You retrieved your fallen backpack and a packet of tissues, then started gathering the papers Tomura had dropped. Sorry. It looked like you were in a hurry to go somewhere.
Comp-Sci building. I’m never signing up for a 7am again. Tomura’s phone buzzed, and he yanked it out of his pocket. And now it’s canceled. Motherfucker. I have to walk all the way back —
Maybe not all the way, you said, and he looked at you. I work at the library. It’s definitely open. You can hang out there until they get the paths salted.
Tomura looked at you, the tissue still pressed to his bloody lip. You didn’t know his name yet, didn’t know anything about him, but there was something you liked about his face. Something you liked about how he still got in on your joke, even though he was pissed about the fall. Something about the fact that he hadn’t gotten up yet, even though you’d gathered all his papers and were holding them out for him to take. I’ll level with you, he said after a second. I’ve never been to the library.
I get that a lot, you said, and you stood up. The plan was to hold out your hand to help him up, but you moved too fast, and your feet slid out from under you again. You managed to hang on to Tomura’s papers, but you went down hard. Fuck!
Tomura didn’t ask if you were okay. He just lifted the papers out of your hands, set them aside, and helped you sit up with hands that shook ever so slightly. I’m surprised you swore, he said, and you raised an eyebrow. You look like the type who says fiddlesticks instead.
Fuck off, you said, and he laughed. Making him laugh felt like an achievement, one you were proud to win. Looking back, that was when you knew you were in trouble. Maybe we should just crawl to the library.
It’s cold. Walking’s faster. Tomura got shakily to his knees, then his feet, and you copied him. I bet we can make it.
He stumbled twice on the way there, and you stumbled once, but neither of you fell again. You were leaning on each other to balance, more contact than you ever made with guys you weren’t dating, and nothing about it felt tense or awkward. It was just the only thing that made sense to do.
And that’s how everything was with Tomura. It just made sense, and you were so happy — and you think Tomura was, too. You fought sometimes, sure, but everyone does. Sometimes you didn’t know the right thing to say, but neither did he. He had a rough past, and you didn’t push him to talk about it. You just let him share what he wanted to, when he wanted to, and towards the end you had something close to the whole picture. It just didn’t have the murders in it.
No. You don’t want to think about this. You know what you believe about this, and going in a circle won’t help solve anything. You decide to redirect your feelings of frustration by looking up the lawyer who called you. Sure enough, he’s a prosecutor— or he was. Looking at the profile on his law firm’s website, you’re not sure what he does. He was in the news a year or so ago. Some case involving the yakuza.
The bell rings, and since Keiko’s on break and the receptionist got snowed in, you hurry up to the front to check the new patient in. It’s a good distraction. It helps to stay busy. When you’re busy, you don’t have to think about any of it — not Tomura, not the fact that he’s gone, not the fact that your daughter is leaving soon, too. And you don’t have to think about how it won’t be long before all your distractions run out.
Chapter 2 ->
#shigaraki tomura x reader#tomura shigaraki x reader#shigaraki tomura x you#tomura shigaraki x you#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki x you#reader insert#x reader#man door hand hook car door#a bisquared production
133 notes
·
View notes
Text
HI, NEIGHBOR — FINALE
• JASON TODD x MALE!READER
SUMMARY — you’re new to the neighborhood and find yourself becoming friends with the residential bad boy, Jason Todd. From his perspective, you seem like an outgoing guy yet there’s a mystery to you he couldn’t quite figure out.
WARNING! Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Violence.
WORDS! 2k
AUTHOR’S NOTE! Again, thank you for all the love and support for this series. Don’t worry, I have more series coming, but until then enjoy.
PREVIOUS PART! FOUR
Gotham's skyline stretched endlessly before you, jagged and unforgiving, a maze of towering steel and cracked concrete that clawed at the cold night sky. Neon signs blinked erratically in the distance, casting eerie glows of red and electric blue over rain-slick streets far below. The moon hung high and distant, pale and remote, its silvery light spilling unevenly across the city's twisted landscape like a half-hearted blessing.
The city never slept—could never sleep. Faint sirens wailed somewhere far off, threading through the ever-present growl of engines, the angry shouts of late-night arguments, and the persistent buzz of flickering streetlights. Gotham breathed in chaos and exhaled violence—steady, relentless, alive.
You stood at the edge of the rooftop, motionless, barely registering the sharp, biting chill of the wind cutting through the seams of your armor. It howled around you, fierce and untamed, tugging at your cape as if daring you to leap into the void below. You didn't flinch. You hadn't flinched in a long time.
Your gloved fingers rested against the rough, weather-beaten edge of the rooftop ledge. The old bricks were cold and crumbling, worn down by years of brutal winters and fierce summer storms. Your gaze was locked across the street, fixed on the darkened, silent silhouette of a familiar building—your old apartment.
The windows stared back, empty and hollow. Once, those windows had glowed warmly, their light spilling out onto the cracked pavement like a beacon in the dark. You could still see it in your mind—the soft, golden haze of a lamp burning late into the night, curtains gently swaying in the breeze from a half-open window.
You remembered the way the old wooden floorboards groaned beneath your boots after long nights spent chasing shadows, the smell of cheap takeout mingling with the ever-present aroma of strong coffee brewed out of necessity, not comfort. You'd sit there in the dim light, armor peeled away, tracing worn-out street maps spread across a scarred table, planning your next move... still daring to hope.
But that life felt impossibly far away now, like a half-forgotten dream. Someone else's life. Someone softer. Someone less broken.
Your fingertips drifted down, brushing lightly over the familiar, sharp edges of the bat-emblem etched into your chest plate. The armor was cold and unyielding beneath your touch, its matte surface rough and scarred from countless battles. It was a part of you now—woven into your identity as surely as the blood in your veins.
There was no going back. No running. No hiding.
This was your life now. The mission. The fight. The endless war.
And you weren't alone in it—not anymore.
The familiar, deliberate sound of heavy boots landing softly on the rooftop behind you broke through the quiet. You didn't have to turn around to know who it was.
Jason.
"Figured I'd find you here," his familiar, rough voice called out, warm and teasing. You could hear the faint smirk woven into his words even before you turned around. Jason had a way of speaking like he was in on a private joke the world hadn't caught up to yet.
You exhaled slowly, already feeling the tension in your shoulders begin to unwind. He had that effect on you—steady, grounding, like the first breath after being underwater too long.
When you finally turned, he was standing a few feet away, clad in his signature Red Hood armor, its matte-black plates etched with battle scars and worn edges from countless fights. His blood-red emblem gleamed faintly in the moonlight, sharp and bold—a warning to anyone foolish enough to challenge him.
His helmet was tucked loosely under one arm, his other hand resting casually on his hip. Wind tugged at his dark hair, tousling it in a way that made him look effortlessly rugged, though you knew he hated when it got in his eyes. His piercing blue gaze locked onto yours with that familiar, intense focus—sharp and assessing, but gentler now... softer, just for you.
"You gonna stand there brooding all night," he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, "or can I join in on the dramatic rooftop staring contest?"
You couldn't help the quiet huff of laughter that escaped you. Jason always knew how to break the weight of the moment, no matter how heavy it felt.
Shaking your head, you leaned back against the rough brick ledge, your fingers trailing over the worn edges. "Thought you were on patrol."
Jason shrugged, stepping closer until he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with you. Even through his armor, you could feel the familiar warmth radiating from him, grounding you in a way the cold city air never could.
"I was. Then I heard you were out here looking all..." —he waved a gloved hand vaguely in the air— "dark and mysterious. Thought I'd check in... make sure you weren't planning anything stupid."
You smirked, bumping your elbow lightly into his side. "Only stupid thing I've done is let you follow me."
Jason chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, wrapping around you like a protective shield. He shook his head, lips twitching into that lopsided grin that always made your heart ache in the best way.
"You love it," he said with quiet certainty, no hesitation in his voice.
The familiar, comfortable silence settled over you both. The distant hum of the city faded into the background as you stood side by side, staring out over Gotham's sprawling, chaotic skyline. The cold wind tugged at your cape, howling around the edges of the rooftop, but it felt far away now—just another piece of the restless city neither of you could ever quite leave behind.
After a long moment, Jason's voice softened, losing its usual teasing edge. His words were quieter, tinged with something deeper.
"Thinking about... before?"
Your gaze drifted back to the old apartment across the street—the empty, dark windows that used to glow with warmth and light. Memories tugged at the edges of your mind: late nights spent over binge watching movies, coffee growing cold on the counter; quiet conversations whispered in the dim glow of the worn kitchen lamp; stolen moments of peace in a life that rarely allowed them.
"Feels like... another life," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like... someone else lived there."
Jason tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful—serious in a way only he could be when it came to you. He studied you for a moment, his sharp gaze searching yours like he could see the thoughts you couldn't quite voice.
"Maybe... but you're still you," he said quietly, with a conviction that left no room for doubt. "Different suit, different mission... but the same person who's always fought like hell to survive."
His words hit deeper than you expected, settling into your chest with quiet finality. He always had a way of cutting through the walls you put up—seeing through the armor, both literal and otherwise.
You turned toward him slowly, meeting his gaze head-on. His eyes were steady and unwavering, fierce in their sincerity.
"You know that, right?" Jason asked, his voice rough but soft—open in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
The weight of his words settled over you, pushing past the cold ache that had lived in your chest for so long. You swallowed hard, feeling something warm unfurl deep inside despite the icy wind biting at your skin.
"Yeah," you whispered. "I know."
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt charged, humming with everything unspoken—but understood.
Then Jason's mouth tugged into a familiar, mischievous grin, the teasing light returning to his sharp blue eyes.
"Besides," he added casually, the warmth creeping back into his voice, "you're way too badass to be some regular apartment-dwelling civilian. I mean... you fly, for crying out loud."
A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it, light and genuine. Jason's grin widened, his expression softening with quiet pride—like seeing you laugh, even here, even now, was the greatest victory he could ever claim.
Before you could overthink it, you stepped closer, your fingers brushing against the cool, worn surface of his armored chest. His breath hitched just slightly, but he didn't pull away—couldn't.
His free hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing gently against the back of your neck as he pulled you in with quiet reverence. His touch was steady, sure, yet so achingly careful—like holding something precious he couldn't bear to lose.
His lips met yours in a slow, lingering kiss—warm, fierce, familiar. He kissed you like it was the only thing grounding him to this brutal, unforgiving city... and maybe it was. His hand stayed firm against your neck, anchoring you both in that shared, perfect stillness.
For that one moment... nothing else existed. No city. No missions. No past. No future.
Just you and him.
Then...
"You do realize you're still on patrol, right?"
Bruce's sharp, no-nonsense voice crackled through the comms, cutting through the stillness like a blade. The words were clipped, precise, weighted with the authority of someone who never asked—only commanded.
You and Jason broke apart instantly, breathless but grinning like a pair of guilty teenagers caught sneaking out past curfew. The cool night air rushed in between you, sharp and biting, grounding you back in the reality you'd momentarily forgotten.
Jason groaned loudly, tilting his head back toward the sky with exaggerated exasperation. "Of course he's watching," he muttered, dragging a gloved hand down his face.
You chuckled, still catching your breath, already reaching for your helmet. "Can't say we didn't see that coming."
Jason shot you a sideways glance, his smirk slow and wicked despite his frustration. His ice-blue eyes still sparkled with warmth, the echoes of the moment you'd just shared lingering there, untouched by Bruce's interruption. "Told you we should've gone somewhere higher," he added with a low, teasing drawl.
You rolled your eyes, suppressing another laugh as you secured your helmet into place. The familiar click of the locking mechanism felt natural, practiced—second nature after all these years. The HUD display flared to life, casting your world in sharp, tactical clarity as it scanned the city's endless expanse of crumbling rooftops and twisting alleys.
Jason hesitated just a second longer, still watching you with that same soft intensity, even as he reluctantly raised his red helmet. The smooth, battle-worn surface gleamed faintly under the distant glow of the city's scattered neon lights. His expression stayed open and unreadable for just a moment longer—raw and unguarded in a way only you ever got to see.
"Alright," he finally drawled into the comms, his voice flattening into something cool and sharp—the tone of a seasoned vigilante back on mission. "We're moving."
He tugged the helmet into place with practiced ease, the familiar, menacing faceless mask transforming him in an instant. His voice crackled again through the comms, distorted but still unmistakably him. "You coming, or you planning to stare dramatically at the skyline all night?"
You snorted softly, already moving toward the edge of the rooftop. The city stretched out before you—dark, endless, defiant—its tangled streets a labyrinth of secrets and danger. Gotham's breathless pulse thrummed beneath your boots, calling you back into its relentless embrace.
You closed your eyes briefly, letting the familiar hum of your Chi energy stir deep within your chest. It started as a low, electric warmth, igniting like a spark caught in dry tinder. The power surged upward, rushing through your veins in a brilliant, burning pulse of golden light. Energy crackled around you, shimmering faintly like distant thunder in the charged air.
You took a steady breath, embracing the sensation, letting it lift you effortlessly off the ground. The wind roared in your ears as the rooftop fell away beneath you, leaving nothing but open sky and electric possibility.
Jason lingered for just a heartbeat longer, watching you ascend with that same quiet awe he never voiced but couldn't quite hide. The edges of his mouth tugged into a small, proud smile—soft, private, meant only for you.
With a low, knowing chuckle, he crouched, muscles coiling with practiced precision, and leapt after you—graceful, powerful, unstoppable. His silhouette cut through the dark like a blade, chasing after you through the sky...
...Always.
#dc x male reader#batboys#x male reader#jason todd x male!reader#jason todd#dc#jason todd x male reader#jason todd imagine#batfam
145 notes
·
View notes
Text
@dethdvncer
“he has your blood all over his mouth” well we are in love. If you must know
15K notes
·
View notes
Note
you HAVE to write a fic of billy from burn, i beg youusdjfsudfjskdksad
A Quickie to Relax
Heyyyyyy. Again, sorry this took so long. My winter break kinda sucked and I just had no motivation to do anything. I am finally back at it, and have more motivation and yeah thank you for being patient with me! I have another fic coming after this as a little present, so be ready for a Derek Danforth fic! There is going to be an overflow of those coming. Anyways, I love you all who support me and I hope this story lives up to some of my others!
CW: smut, f!reader, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v, dom!billy, semi-rough sex, mentions of firearms(promise that aspect has nothing to do with the sex)
Word Count: 1,505
“Come on Billy, I don't think this is a good idea,” you mumbled as he parked outside of what seemed like an abandoned gas station. The night was cold, an eerie tone filled the air as rain sprinkled down from the cloud-ridden sky. Billy turned to you, setting his jaw in place.
“Y/N, you know the shit I’m in? You said you would do this with me, why are you backing out now?”
“I just…” you hesitated for a moment, thinking before you spoke next. “I just think we may be… Lowballing it with a gas station that looks abandoned.” His face lit up from headlights of a car pulling into the closest gas pump. His eyes showed an emotion you weren’t able to quite put your finger on. You out your hand on his cheek, running your thumb along his cheek bone. “I love you, Billy, but this is fucking stupid. Why can’t we just get out of here, run away and forget about those stupid bikers?” He turned his head away from your touch, a visible frustration setting into his expression.
“You… You don’t get it, y/n. They’ll kill me if I dont get them that money, you fucking understand that right?” He stared at the front doors of the gas station. “I can’t not do this,” he turned his head to look at you. You stared back into his eyes, wavering concern covering your face. He shook his head. “y/n-”
“Billy, I can’t do this. I think we should just drive and start over-”
“No, y/n, no!” he shouted, hitting the steering wheel. You jumped, his eyes darting toward you, seeing the obvious discomfort that him shouting gave you. “Jesus, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He grumbled.
You hesitantly lean over the seat, pulling his chin to look at you. “Let me,” you mumble, bringing him closer, your lips grazing against his as you spoke. “Let me help you out there, Billy, maybe clear your mind a little?” You felt him shift in his seat, sighing against your lips before you pressed yours against his. Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling of his hand resting on the back of your head taking you by surprise. His tongue pushed into your mouth, you groaning at the sensation. He deepened the kiss, pulling you closer to him, his breathing becoming more erratic as the seconds passed. You groaned as his free hand groped over your tits, the heat filling your core with arousal.
“Get in the back,” he growled. “Now.” You didn’t hesitate, stumbling over the center console and falling onto the back seat. You giggled as he followed suit, landing on top of you, crashing his lips into yours again. His mouth parted slightly, giving you the chance to push your tongue into his mouth, making him groan against you. He pulled you down to where your back was laying against the back seat. “I need,” he panted, fumbling with your jeans. “Need to get this shit off.” You bit your lip as you watched him unzip your jeans, swiftly slipping them off. He looked at you with a hungry expression. You smirked, opening your legs wider for him. “I can see,” he mumbled as he got lower down, his hot breath touching your core. You shuddered as he hooked his finger around your panties, pulling them to the side. “I can see how wet you already are.” His tongue attached to your clit, a low groan escaping his lips. Your back arched as he moved his tongue into your opening, tongue-fucking you. You grabbed his hair, tugging at it softly. A soft moan escaped your lips as you leaned your head back, bumping against the door.
“Fuck, Billy,” you managed out. His actions became quicker. He grabbed at your thighs, running his nails down them. You moaned, pushing himself onto as much as you could, pushing your thighs against the side of his head. You felt the heat building in your lower belly as Billy attached his tongue to your clit again, relentlessly sucking and nipping on it. His hands grabbed at your hips, borderline suffocating himself as he pushed you further onto his face. He pressed his lips against your clit, sending you over the edge, your body jolting as waves of pleasure ripped from you. Billy did not wait long before sitting up in the seat, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down enough for him to take his cock out, spitting on his hand and stroking himself a couple times before pulling you onto him. His grip on your hips tightened as he pushed into you, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. A hit of frustration hit your mind at the lack of being able to see him, not to mention sucking his dick. You moan as he stretched you out, your head falling onto his shoulder. He began to rock your hips against him. Tremors of pleasure ran through you with the friction of your clit rubbing on his pubic bone.
“Fucking so wet for me,” Billy mumbled into your ear. “You know just how to take care of me when I get worked up, huh?” He was breathless, but did not stop his own movements of pushing his hips up onto you. You whined at the aggression that was hidden in his movements, but fuck you loved seeing this side of him. He removed a hand from your hip, bringing it up to hair, pulling you back to you could look at him. His nose and cheeks were a shade of red and his mouth was slightly open. “Look at you, all fucked out already and I haven’t even gotten to cum.” You began to speed up your movements, making him suck in a breath of air before letting out a loud groan as he leaned his head back onto the seat.
“B-Billy-” you moaned out. His movements were sloppy as he trailed sloppy kisses down your neck.
“Y/n, oh fuck y/n youre so fucking good,” he breathed out. “You take my cock so fucking well, such a good fucking girl.” Heat rose up in you again as you felt his dick twitch inside you, telling you he was close too. He pulled your head back by your hair as you grinded on him, attaching his lips to your neck and sucking at a sensitive spot that send you over the edge. You didnt get much chance to ride your orgasm out before he pushed you off of him. “Fuck,” he groaned, grabbing his cock squeezing it. “Put that pretty mouth of yours to use, now wouldja?” You contorted your body to where you were holding onto him. He grabbed your hair, turning it into a makeshift ponytail, pushing you down onto him. He threw his head back as he stuffed your mouth, thrusting up into you, abusing your throat. You groaned onto him, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. He was so fucking big, but you liked the rough treatment he had with you. Without warning, he held you down onto his cock, the tip pushing against your throat making you gag. He groaned, body confusing as you felt him cum. You took it all, not wanting any to escape your mouth. You pulled off of him, gasping for air. He grabbed your face in his hands, looking you over for a moment. He wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. “Was that too much?” His aggression had turned to concern in an instant. You shook your head, getting your breathing back to mostly normal.
“H-hot,” you managed out. He smiled, grabbing your jeans off the floor of the back seat, helping you back into them before planting a kiss on your forehead. You watched him pull his jeans back up, buttoning them before reaching into the front seat and grabbing his backpack.
“Are you ready?” He smiled, clearly less stressed than he was before.
“You are positive that this is going to be okay?” He reached into the bag, pulling out a gun and tossing it over to you. You looked at him, eyes wide. “What the fuck is this, Billy?”
“It’s not loaded, don't worry. If they feel threatened, they are more likely to comply. You groan, stepping out of the car and tucking the gun into the back of your jeans. You threw your jacket on, thankfully covering the bulk of the gun. You shook your head, looking at Billy over the hood of his car.
“You are literally so stupid for this, you know.”
“It’s life or death.”
“Or 5 years in prison.”
“Well, I guess.” He shrugged, shutting the car door and walking behind the car, planting a kiss on your cheek when he approached you. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” You took a deep breath, putting your hands in your jacket pockets as you closely trailed Billy, following him into the gas station to go through with your plan.
#josh hutcherson#josh futterman#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmidt smut#mike schmidt imagine#josh hutcherson fanfic#josh hutcherson smut#billy burn#billy burn x reader#derek danforth#derek danforth smut#peeta x reader#thg peeta#josh futturman smut#josh hutcherson x reader
360 notes
·
View notes
Text
re8 as classical music
badly explained cause its 2am and i dont know musical terms.
Btw if anyone has any notes or other songs that would fit them id love to see it-
Ethan: Tchaikovsky - Marche Slave
youtube
Slow start, Ethan is unknowingly ensnared in a trap. As he realizes the danger Rose (and himself) are in the song becomes tragic and determined. Fastpaced strings, frantic beats —like prey escaping from predator— keeps escalating into something more and more insurmountable. A hopeful jingle is heard as Ethan finds out he can still save his daughter. A heroic theme plays as he overcomes the horrors despite it all (a sense of control over the situation is marked by highpitched anxious flutes superimposed by a deep stable horn). Then comes the first faceoff with Miranda who taunts him and Ethan’s tragic hero theme comes to a grinding halt as his heart gets pulled out of his chest. The drums pick up again and the little soldier is off to his final battle.
Mia: Claude Debussy - Clair De Lune
youtube
Sadly the real Mia doesn’t appear much. In the Winters home, Ethan writes that Mia doesn’t want to talk about what they went through in Louisiana, which leaves him with a lot of questions unanswered. In the flashback where she desperately tries reaching out saying ‘𝘺𝘰𝘶 matter’, she still can’t help keeping secrets- maybe out of fear that Ethan wouldn’t let it go (being extremely persistent) and they’d never return to normal. The song is heartbreaking and sad as she struggles coming to terms with the guilt and grief over what she’s done and what the one she loves went through because of it. On a last somber note, her child, who takes after her father both in looks and unresolved powers, is all she has left.
Rose: Saint-Saëns - Le Cygne
youtube
A little girl whos only ever known unconditional, all encompassing love. Even before her birth, it was known that her life would be full of uncertainty. Though stolen away for possessing powers she’s not even aware of yet, she continues to live and provide a beacon of hope for her family.
Chris: Richard Wagner - Ride of the Valkyries
youtube
Comes in the dead of night and rains hell on the Winters home. In his eyes, he’s doing the right thing, but has made himself the villain to the one he was trying to protect (victorious trumpets superimposed by high fearful strings). The transport gets intercepted by Miranda and the music falls. Once Chris finally explains himself to Ethan they’re allowed a brief bit of victory (steadier horn) as their combined efforts take down Miranda’s last line of defense (Heisenberg). In the end, Chris has to live with the victory of taking down the megamycete, the guilt and grief over Ethan’s death/sacrifice, and the troubling news from BSAA. A tainted victory.
Alcina: Tchaikovsky - Swan Lake
youtube
Appears first as a noble elegant socialite. She’s at the height of her power, owns a castle and three daughters and believes herself to be Miranda’s favorite. It’s business as usual, calm serene music. Suddenly an outsider has made his way into her home, killing her daughters one by one. She reaches out to Miranda, who only cares about the stupid ceremony, and realizes everything she knew was a lie. Anger and frustration builds. The music deepens, falls and rises again as she transforms, tries taking revenge on Ethan and fails, having lost everything in one evening.
Bela, Cassandra, Daniela: Rimsky Korsakov - Flight of the Bumblebee
youtube
Self explanatory. Hurried, manic and playful.
Donna: Tchaikovsky - Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy
youtube
Entrancing but with eerie insidious undertones. Fitting for the childlike dollmaker and her little porcelain friends. Ends with a fast and chilling theme for the twisted game of hide and seek
Moreau: Edvard Grieg - Hall of the Mountain King
youtube
Quiet, lumbering and slow. Ethan takes the Rose flask back easily; threatened with losing Mother Miranda it very quickly escalates as panic sets in and Moreau throws everything he has at him. The music swells and ends with a bang.
Karl: Aram Khachaturian - Masquerade Suite
youtube
A bold start. Right from the beginning he exudes arrogance, charisma and danger. He plays nice in front of Miranda with a waltz that picks up in intensity when putting Ethan through his first gauntlet. Then the tone gets deeper and quieter for a moment, as he plots in secret; it’s finally time to set his plan in action. It’s a race to the finish line as Ethan tears through the other lords, unknowingly playing right into Miranda’s plan. Realizing he could be a particularly useful asset/ally, Heisenberg puts him through the second gauntlet. The music is sadistically playful as he tests his will and endurance. Upon failing to recruit Ethan, the music picks up for the third gauntlet and ends with a bang, as Karl dies at the hands of Miranda.
Duke: Georges Bizet - Votre Toast
youtube
A friendly face unfitting in a place such as this. The upbeat and energetic theme sticks out like a sore thumb among the others. Whimsy and grandiosity acts as a brilliant facade for his enigmatic true nature. Though the jolly merchant schtick may be a lie, he always delivers on service.
Miranda: Sergei Prokofiev - Dance of the Knights
https://youtu.be/bBsKplb2E6Q?si=jnSpMO-bIhEcjJzb
Immediately imposes a sense of authority and dread. The dark theme plays over and over as she performs the same cruel experiments expecting different results, though it only succeeds in remowing her further from humanity. She imagines a world of pure bliss in acquiring her child, which at this point is as illusory as chasing the holy grail since she’s never satisfied. When she hears of Rose she schemes her way into the Winters home, elated to find the perfect vessel after a century of searching. She steals the child away, leaving behind a trail of destruction that finally catches up to her.
#re8#re8 ethan winters#ethan winters#re8 mia#re8 rose#re8 chris redfield#re8 alcina#lady dimitrescu#re8 donna#re8 moreau#re8 karl heisenberg#re8 heisenberg#re8 duke#re8 mother miranda#classical music
119 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Whateva ya like honey, I ain't had a lazy day inna good minute." Cress replies, kissing her hand again. Holding her hand after, just because it's nice to.
"I'mma get a snack. Ya want sumn? Fruit or coffee maybe?" he questions, planning on going into his snack stash.
_______________________________
Continued from: HERE
@dethqveen
_______________________________
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
@dethqveen them
my favorite genre of art is like. here are The Horrors. and here is the horrors beloved gf.
856 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wait For Me - Geto Suguru
────────────────────────────────────────────
Warning(s): Blood, Mild Gore, Mentions of Death, Character Death
────────────────────────────────────────────
The Suguru you once knew no longer exists.
Blood trickles onto the floor, slow and deliberate, like a steady rain. The sharp scent of iron fills the icy air, making the atmosphere almost unbearable under the weight of his piercing gaze.
Your stomach churns. Bile rises, pressing against your tongue as you struggle to contain it. The sight before you is gruesome, the body mangled beyond recognition.
You’re frozen in place, unable to react, as Suguru ruthlessly slays a civilian—someone you once called a friend—right in front of you.
He’s like a predator, his eyes locked on you with a chilling, silent warning. They're devoid of the warmth that used to watch over you. The kindness that once made you feel safe is gone, replaced by a ruthless emptiness.
Blood stains your hands, dripping through the gaps of your fingers. Suguru kneels before you, indifferent to the thick, red liquid seeping into his black robes. His calloused fingers reach for your face, thumb and forefinger pinching your cheek with enough force to demand your full attention.
“I’ve warned you time and time again,” he murmurs, his voice as cold and final as death itself. No longer does he tease you with playful jabs or affectionate words that used to warm your heart like a fire on a cold night. “Stay away from them.”
This is your fault, Suguru tells you. You’re the one to blame for disobeying him. And now, look where it has led you. You stay silent, lips parted and trembling, your soaked body still as you stare ahead, the light gone from your eyes.
His fingers dug into your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. His touch is cold. It's like the death of winter biting at your skin, and it no longer contains a loving and comforting warmth.
“Why can't you listen to me... you stubborn woman.” His voice is cruel and callous. His dark eyes bore into your own with a deep-seated anger. You let your tired eyes close, the familiar nickname echoing in your mind, once used in moments of comfort and joy, and now…
He grips your chin, forcing you to open your eyes.
“Don't you dare look away from me.” There is no affection in his voice. It’s dark. Cold. It feels more like a warning. “Open your eyes.”
He’s not asking. It’s an order. It’s a command.
You flinch ever so slightly, your lifeless eyes meeting his with a bleak, empty stare.
His grip on your chin tightens, but his expression softens ever so slightly at your dull reaction. There is a subtle change in his gaze as he notes your lifeless stare. He releases his hold on your face and instead, he grabs your shoulders tightly, pulling you up to your feet. He holds you steady, his grip is firm and unyielding.
“Look at you...” His voice is cold, but there is a hint of pity in his tone. “You disgust me."
You let out a dry, humorless chuckle, your chapped lips cracking into a faint grin.
He pauses for a moment, his grip on your shoulders tightening further as he takes in your broken grin. He hates it—hates how your smile was no longer filled with the warmth of joy or the sweet happiness he has grown adore seeing. No.
No, this was worse. So so much worse.
His lips pull into a frown, his expression darkening further. “What's so funny?” Suguru's voice is filled with disdain. His tone sharp and biting.
You let your laughter grow, the sound cutting through the rain as you tip your head back, the eerie echoes ringing out into the night.
Laughter.
Of all things—Laughter.
Suguru has never hated something more.
He grabs your chin once more, this time with a bit more force, forcing you to look him in the eye.
“Enough.” His voice seethes with a cold fury. “The same eyes I once loved now look at me with nothing but disdain. The same lips I used to yearn for now call me disgusting. The same face I never grew tired of seeing now looks like it wants to tear my heart out. The person I fell so deeply in love with now wishes I were dead. It's almost funny, isn’t it?”
His grip on your chin grows tighter as you speak, his teeth gritted, his jaw clenched. The anger within him boils.
Those were the same eyes that once looked at you with fondness and adoration, the same lips that whispered affection and love, the same face that once gave you warmth and comfort. How ironic to see the very person who used to seek your company now wanting to take your life.
He's quiet. The only thing that is heard is the pouring rain, and his heavy exhale.
“Stop your nonsense,” Suguru warns.
“Kill me, Suguru,” you say, your voice steady, stripped of emotion.
His mouth opens. Hesitates. He's caught off-guard, surprised by your words. For the first time in a while, he is at a loss for words.
His dark eyes stare at you intently, his grip on your chin loosening. “...What?” Suguru's voice is low and quiet. A warning, but there is a hint of disbelief in it.
“You've killed me over and over, but just end it for good this time.”
His grip falls from your chin, your words strike him like a cold dagger.
Suguru remains silence, his expression guarded, his eyes cold and emotionless. His chest heaves.
“You...” He starts, his voice is harsh. “You don't know what you're saying.”
His expression softens. A flicker of hesitation can be seen in his eyes. “You... You don't really want that.”
“I do. I want you to kill me, Suguru. I want it to be you.”
“No.”
His response is immediate. Sharp. The word spoken with such conviction, such refusal, that you could almost hear the fear in his tone.
He clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing. “I'm never going to kill you.”
Suguru's voice is filled with a mixture of anger and desperation. “Why... Why would you ask me for that?”
“Why wouldn't I?” you ask, your tone genuine as you look at him with clear determination.
His expression shifts again, replaced by confusion and disbelief. He doesn't understand. How can you not see the weight of your request?
Suguru's voice rises, his anger and frustration evident in his tone. “Why would you, damn it?!”
He grabs your shoulders tightly once more, shaking you. As if trying to bring you back to your sense--back to him. His voice is filled with both desperation and disbelief.
“Why would you ask me to kill you? Answer me.”
You smile softly, your eyes fluttering shut.
“I no longer have a reason to live. Not without you.”
His expression falters for a moment, a small crack. Vulnerability.
Suguru's grip on your shoulders tighten, almost painful, but he keeps his hold on you.
“No- you-” He starts, his voice hoarse. “You can't-”
He pauses, taking in your closed eyes and gentle smile. All the anger and frustration that resided within him vanishes, replacing his expression with an unusual sense of fear.
“You...” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “...You really mean it. Don't you?”
You open your eyes, your smile lingering as you meet his gaze earnestly.
“Do you remember what I told you when we were younger?”
“Whenever you're in doubt, just look into my eyes. The answer will always be there.”
His eyes grow wide, the realization hits him like a bolt of lightning. The old memory resurfaces, almost as if it was just yesterday.
The warmth of his expression is gone, replaced with a mix of despair and heartbreak. His breathing is ragged, and his hands tremble as they remain firmly gripped on your shoulder.
Suguru remembers you so well. How can he not?
His eyes flicker as he gazes into your eyes. He swallows.
“How... How can you ask me to do something I can't do?!”
You keep smiling as you place your cold, icy hand on his cheek.
“You can. You will.”
His breath hitches, his eyes wide as he feels your cold touch on his cheek. It's so foreign. He's grown so used to the warmth.
Suguru grabs your wrist, gently pulling your hand away from his face. “You don't know what you're asking.”
He whispers, his tone is soft. A small plea for you to stop. “You-”
He pauses. His eyes linger on you—on your smile—on your lifeless eyes—on your cold touch.
“We both know what I want, Suguru,” you say firmly, meeting his gaze. “Consider this my last wish from you.”
The last wish. How can he do this when all he ever wanted was for your happiness?
Suguru's grip on your wrist tightened. “No.”
He shakes his head, his voice hoarse. “I told you... I told you I'm not going to kill you.”
“If you love me, you'll do this,” you say, tone steady.
“You know I do.”
His voice cracks and quivers, and he lets out a scoff as he holds back the tears.
“You know I do love you, but I can't do this. I can't...”
His expression breaks, filled with both pain and grief. “You're asking for too much.”
You chuckle dryly, letting your hand drop. “You can't even do this one thing for me, Suguru?”
The silence is deafening. The rain feels heavier. The pressure feels heavier.
His expression wavers, his chest heaving. The anger in is tone vanishes, replaced by a mixture of resignation and despair.
Suguru grips your shoulders tightly once more, his voice low and hoarse.
“...Don't make me do this, please. Please.”
“I died the moment you left me, Suguru. When you told me I disgusted you, it felt like a knife drove straight into my heart. I can never live with that.”
Oh how the words tore through him like a knife to the gut.
His hold on your shoulder starts to tremble. He hates it—hates how your words affect him. Hates how it makes him question his own choices.
Suguru's gaze softens as his eyes flick around your face, memorizing the features that he's grown to love. His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Please, don't do this to me.”
“I want you to do this because I love you, Suguru.”
His breath hitches as you speak, his heart skips a beat. Those three words—those god damn three words he has been hearing since the beginning—they sting, they hurt.
Suguru's expression starts to crumble. He's not one to show his vulnerability openly, but he's losing the battle inside.
His voice is filled with pain. “You can't say that. Not now.”
“I can’t live without you, Suguru. Please, just make this end.”
The grip on your shoulder tightened, and his jaw clenched tightly as he fights back the emotions welling within him.
Suguru's breath hitches, he stares at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of despair and pain.
His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “...This is all my fault.”
You stay silent for a moment before wrapping your arms around his neck, your eyes closing as the rain continues to pour over you both.
He freezes, his body goes rigid at your sudden embrace. Memories of how you used to hug him floods his mind.
You're so cold.
His breath stutters, and he can feel his chest tighten. It almost aches, as if it's fighting against the lump that has formed in his throat.
His heart hurts, and it aches, and it breaks.
Almost on reflex, he wraps his arms around your waist, his grip is firm, his touch desperate.
“It hurts. So much,” you say, your voice strained.
His body shakes, his grip on you is almost like he's holding onto you for dear life.
Suguru's voice is strained, his words heavy as he holds you desperately, almost as if he needs you to hold him together.
“I know... I know.”
He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath coming out as shuddering exhale. The rain continues to pour down on you, mixing with the tear that starts to slide down his cheek.
“I hope you know how deeply you were loved and how much we miss you each and every day.”
His body tenses at your words, his arms tighten around you.
“Don't do this.” He whispers hoarsely, his voice gruff with both despair and pain. “Don't... don't say things like that.”
Suguru pulls away from your neck, his eyes locking onto yours. His face is etched with guilt and remorse, and there is pain, oh god so much pain in his eyes.
You take his hands and gently place them on your cheeks. “I want to take my last breath in your arms… just give me that peace.”
His hands trembles against your cheek as it rests against your cold skin. So cold as if winter has consumed every part of your body.
Suguru's eyes fall on you. How could you ask something so tragic.
He hesitates, his breath hitches. The lump in his throat grows bigger.
“This... This isn't how it's supposed to go.”
“I-… I know, but life just couldn't stand how good we were,” you say, chuckling softly as your eyes lift to the sky.
Those words stung.
His eyes follow yours as you raised your gaze to the sky, his expression darkens as the rain continues to fall around you.
His hand on your cheek moves to your chin, gently forcing you to look back at him once more.
“Why...?”
His voice is hoarse, filled with both pain and despair.
“Because you're the last thing I want to see. If not in bed, beside each other in your embrace under the moonlight, then here, where you still look as beautiful as I remember.”
He looks at you. Really looks at you.
His jaw clenches as he processes your words. His eyes darkened, his breath grew heavier.
Suguru's mind is conflicted, but you always did say that you see through him and know what he's thinking.
His grip on your chin tightens, his voice is low and hoarse.
“You know... I can't say no to you, right?”
You break into a soft smile, nodding.
His heart aches at the sight of that smile. How he missed it so.
Suguru's expression hardens as he stares at you, his eyes flick around your face one more time, memorizing your features—again—one last time.
“I'll see you then,” you say, your voice steady. “I'll always be waiting, Sugu.”
His heart skips a beat, he falters for a moment.
Suguru's expression changes into something you've never seen from him before. A mixture of pain, love, and acceptance.
He nods, his hand falls from your chin and returns to your waist, his touch is firm, desperate—as if seeking the warmth and life that once flowed through you.
His eyes linger at you. Every feature of your face, the way the water drips down your skin, it's almost haunting, as if every moment spent is just his last memory of you.
His grip on your waist tightens as his hand move to grip the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling your body flush against his.
“I love you, you know that?”
You let out a shaky sigh, resting your head on his chest to hear his heartbeat one last time. The steady rhythm lulls you to sleep as your eyes flutter closed.
The feel of your warm breath against his chest, the weight of your head, it makes his heart ache and break.
But he endures.
He holds you like the most precious thing in the world, his fingers threading through your hair, his face buries into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent—memorizing it so that he'll never forget.
Suguru closes his eyes, his breath ragged and heavy.
“Wait for me.”
────────────────────────────────────────────
masterlist - anime masterlist
© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.
#geto suguru#jjk geto#geto x reader#jujutsu geto#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk suguru#getou suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen suguru#angst#creative writing#writing#jujustu kaisen#x reader#reader insert#gn reader#gender neutral reader#geto#geto x you#geto x y/n#x you#x you angst#x y/n#fanfic
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Summary: Dottore had always been impressed and interested in the making of puppets, with Scaramouche at his disposal he could finally dive into the topic and create a prototype of his own..
Pairings: Scaramouche/Balladeer x puppet!reader
Notes/Warnings: Reader is completely gender neutral and has no pronouns beyond "you"! POC friendly! Reader is said to have long indigo hair, but is not physically described beyond that!
When Dottore brought up the idea of creating a puppet as an experiment by following his design Scaramouche had said he didn't care what he did in his free time, but he truly did. Knowing first hand what it was like to be created as an experiment or to satisfy someone's curiousity, it was hard not to care even if he didn't want to. Especially when the Doctor had said that you would be created by "following his design".
It was dysphoric to live in a world full of humans that looked and talked exactly like you, but were so incredibly different from you. Humans who if they found out the truth would betray and fear you - not that he cared about anything like that anymore. But you likely would. You would have to go through that as well, if the Doctor didn't simply dispose of you after he was done tinkering...
Scaramouche had said he didn't care, but would occasionally he would go out of his way to deliver something to his corner at the palace to see his progress. Dottore knew immediately and would always have a smirk on his face when the Balladeer appeared to deliver something. He would love to poke fun at him, but he didn't. He would simply give some insight or details about his progress without acknowledging what they both knew to be true.
The Doctor was successful in creating you and giving you life, while you were made following his design you didn't exactly resemble him. There were some details and personality traits he could connect between you, well more like traits he had when he was still just Kabukimono - but at the same time you were very different from him too. Dottore had clearly had some creative freedom in what he made you look like, but the long indigo hair you had was clearly made to resemble his.
It was eerie looking at you as you reminded him so much of his past. You were always quietly observing everything around you with curious eyes, you tried so desperately to not be a burden to anyone. He hated your doe like eyes that would look his way occasionally, they were filled with so much innocence it was almost disgusting to him. Technically you were still in your infancy, just in a grown body.
In the end Dottore didn't much care for you or even need you. Creating you was a simple act of curiosity - to truly understand this delicate act of creating artificial life. Once his curiosity had been sated, he simply moved onto other things and never thought much of you or your presence beside him or away from him.
It was actually the Tsaritsa that gave you freedom and a name. While she wouldn't involve herself in matters conserning the Harbingers free time or personal life, she made an exception for you. To her you were alive and thus deserved to live like it, with your own room and own name - free to do whatever you wished. But truthfully you didn't know how or what to do with such freedom. Unlike Scaramouche you didn't have a purpose before or after creation, so you didn't have anything to strive for.
You weren't like humans, you couldn't have a normal life where you eventually grow old. You could potentially live till the end of time and it left you hollow. Longing for something you couldn't quite grasp, something like a purpose.
You stood barefoot in the pure white snow, your head tilted upwards towards the grey winter sky. The cold didn't bother you, you couldn't even truly feel it. The snow flakes raining down the sky fell against your face, but didn't melt when landing on your face. After all... you weren't a human. You didn't produce warmth that would cause them to melt away, you couldn't stay out too long to prevent you from being buried in snow. Perhaps it had been a joke, but you still followed the suggestion.
Scaramouche watched from the sidelines as you stood still enjoying the pure snowfall. He didn't know why he didn't just leave to do what he was supposed to, perhaps he was curious. His feelings and relationship with you were complicated to say the least. He wasn't your creator like Ei was his, but he felt some sort of connection to you. He didn't necessarily want to feel connected with you, but he did.
He hated that a small part of him was curious about you, of what you were like. If he could possibly relate to you or if he would form a connection with you if he were to approach you. Even if you were technically his kin, he knew it didn't mean anything as in the end even Ei had betrayed and forsaken him - who was to say you wouldn't do so as well?
You both knew he was there watching you, he often was. You never acknowledged him as he seemed to not want to interact with you. You did know of your connection, you would silently and carefully go through the Doctor's projects and had come across the plans that he used to create you. You longed to connect with him knowing he was possibly the only being you could ever relate to, but he refused to come close to you.
Unbeknownst to you he was actually quite protective of you. He had once heard some fatui members talking about you in a rather provocative way and it didn't sit right with him, he couldn't ignore it no matter how hard he tried. He didn't kill the morons, but he did make sure they'd never utter another word about you or to you. He didn't need to warn anyone else as the word spread around quite quick.
He would face stupid comments from the people he was supposed to acknowledge as colleagues, but he didn't respond to them. The next day he found you standing behind his door with a gentle smile and a nod. He had never seen you smile before, or been this close to you - his chest filled with unexpected warmth from the small interaction... You said nothing before leaving him standing puzzled in his doorway. You didn't need to say anything for him to understand what you meant. That was the beauty of your connection, you could understand each other so easily without the traditional need to say anything.
He later wandered out to the courtyard out of instinct and found you there once again gazing at the sky. This time though, he couldn't help but approach you. He didn't even know why or what he was going to say or do, but he still kept going. His steps caused the snow to crunch beneath his feet, alerting you to him. You curiously turned around to watch as he approached...
A/N: Not proofread lol
#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact#genshin impact fanfics#genshin impact fic#genshin impact fandom#genshin impact scaramouche x you#genshin impact scaramouche x reader#genshin impact scaramouche#genshin impact kunikuzushi x you#genshin impact kunikuzushi x reader#genshin impact kunikuzushi#genshin impact wanderer x you#genshin impact wanderer x reader#genshin impact wanderer#genshin impact kabukimono#genshin impact kabukimono x reader#genshin impact kabukimono x you#genshin impact x you#scaramouche#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche x you#kunikuzushi x you#kunikuzushi x reader#kunikuzushi#wanderer x reader#genshin wanderer#wanderer x you#kabukimono x reader#scaramouche the balladeer#genshin impact balladeer
336 notes
·
View notes
Text
Eternal Sunshine
(Gif is not mine)
Request: Nope
Gavin Gore x Male Reader
Desc: When reader comes back from winter vacation during the end of spring, Gavin and him have a lot of catching up to do.
Type: Fluff
Warnings: Kissing two idiots in love.
Enjoyyy
You and Gavin were always attached to the hip. Mostly due to his golden retriever personality and you secretly being madly in love with him. He was your everything. And secretly, you were his. But he stuck to girls. Not because of opinions. But it was what he was used to.
You ended up leaving town for a winter. Coming back during the summer. And he couldn't be more estastic. He waited for you at your house for about three hours that day. When you finaly got out of your car and saw eachother you guys ran as quickly as you could.
He picked you up spinning you around, and even when he sat you down he was still hugging you. He missed the way you smelled, he missed hearing your flip flops or sandals smack the ground. And most of all he missed you.
And you missed him. "I'm glad I'm missed" you said after you two pulled away from the hug. "Yeah, it's been kinda boring without you here. I've missed you, a lot" Gavin Said. And it created butterflies in your stomach giving you a light blush.
He soon took your hand dragging you off to somewhere. "Gavin, where are we going?" You say giggling as he pulled you. "You'll see" he said giggling. You were gonna question where his girlfriend was but you thought, for your benefit you shouldn't ask.
You guys eventually came upon an abandoned park in the middle of a field. It wasn't eerie, it was more comforting than you'd think. He walked over to the swings sitting on one and you sat on the other.
"How was your winter?" He asked you genuinely."It was boring, I really did miss you" you said laying your head on his shoulder. Gavin blushed. He liked the feeling you gave him. He liked the feeling of, being somewhat protective over you.
"Gavin?" You asked with your head on his shoulder. "Yeah, (y/n/n)" He responded gazing at the sunset. "I'm glad I'm here with you" You said lifting your head up to look at him. He then turned to you with furrowed eyebrows. But then they softened at the sight of your face.
He gave you a toothy grin giving you a great view of his pearly whites you blushed. "Oh, guess what, I gained abs" Gavin Said excitedly as he lifted up his shirt showing you a lightly muscular chest. You giggled. "Uhm, but seriously, if I tell you something will you be mad" you asked preparing to let the cat out of the bag.
"I doubt it, I don't think you could say anything to make me really mad" he said with a serious face. You took a deep breath and... "I love you" you said Quickly closing your eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him. His eyes softened. He had a goofy grin on his face. Only if you could see it.
"Please say-" you were cut of by Gavin cupping your chin and making you look at him in the eyes. You saw his beautiful goofy smile and your heart jumped. You didn't expect his next move. He smashed his lips onto yours.
His lips were soft and plump and intoxicating. You put a hand in his hair smiling into the kiss. It then started raining. It was like a scene from a movie. And you were enchanted. You cupped his face. Deepening the kiss making him moan into it. You finally pulled apart for air.
"I love you too,and I think I have for a long time. Eversince you set m and my ex up I knew I loved you" Gavin Said smiling through the rain. Both of you now wet. "Kiss me" you say grinning.
And he does. He picks you up wrapping your legs around his waist. He kissed you passionately not breakin at all. You gripped his hair, now as the wet feeling became normal. You finally pull away once more. "Will you go out with me?" Gavin Said grinning
You smiled softly. "I'd love to" you say basking in his embrace. "Great, titans on Saturday?" Gavin asked."Of course. You said. He gave you a kiss on the head. "Can I Uhm, walk you home? If you don't mind" Gavin asked. "I have no problem with that" you say.
He the signals for you to get on his back and you do. You kiss his cheek giggling and he blushed a bright pink. He dashed to your house making sure you didn't fall. He loved you with his all. And you loved him even more.
Should I make this a series????
#male reader#Gavin Gore#Gavin Gore x reader#Gavin Gore x Male Reader#The sasquatch gang#the sasquatch gang x reader#Spotify
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
My friend puts together end of the year album rankings. I asked him if I could share it here and it’s pretty awesome. Check it out.
Best Albums of 2024
1. MJ Lenderman - Manning Fireworks (A beach house up in Buffalo and a houseboat docked at the himbodome)
2. Rosali - Bite Down (Rosali and Jim Schroeder’s guitar explosions)
3. Waxahatchee - Tigers Blood (my spine’s a rotting 2x4)
4. Advance Base - Horrible Occurences (intruders and ghosts)
5. The Decemberists - As it Ever Was, So it Will Be Again (wait for the reapers to mow)
6. Geordie Greep - The New Sound (jazz rock for creeps)
7. Mount Eerie - Night Palace (winter on a vacation island)
8. Cindy Lee - Jubilee (geocities Twin Peaks)
9. Chelsea Wolf - She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She (goth metal trio hop)
10. Foxing - Foxing (Carson MTV, Bizkit NYE, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK)
11. Merce Lemon - Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild (seeds between all my teeth)
12. Jessica Pratt - Here in the Pitch (a decaying lost record)
13. Vampire Weekend - Only God Was Above Us (I Scream Piano)
14. Jack White - No Name (like a White Stripes)
15. The Smile - Wall of Eyes (like a Radiohead)
16. Blood Incantation - Absolute Elsewhere (Prog metal for waking)
17. Adrianne Lenker - Bright Future (sadness as a gift)
18. This is Lorelei - Box for Buddy, Box for Star (all fucked up)
19. Fontaines D.C - Romance (an inhaler for a panic attack)
20. The Lemon Twigs - A Dream Is All I Know (1 in 1000 beach boys imitations sound this good)
21. Glass Beach - Plastic Death (the soundtrack to Metropolis)
22. Beth Gibbons - Lives Outgrown (Portis-folk)
23. Los Campesinos! - All Hell (a psychic wound)
24. Katy Kirby - Blue Raspberry (cancer has entered the chat)
25. The Cure - Songs of a Lost World (a fragile thing)
26. Mannequin Pussy - I Got Heaven (loud bark, soft bite)
27. Hurray for the Riff Raft - The Past is Still Alive (two weeks just to catch the Buffalo)
28. Friko - Where We’ve Been, Where We Go From Here (Bright Eyes-core)
29. Being Dead - EELS (Godzilla Rises)
30. Magdalena Bay - Imaginal Disk (chill wave pop)
31. Father John Misty - Mahashmashana (an accidental dose with a drop of Imagine Dragons)
32. Arab Strap - I’m totally fine with it don’t give a fuck anymore (bliss?)
33. Cloud Nothings - Final Summer (reliable post-hardcore)
34. Cassandra Jenkins - My Light, My Destroyer (Sophisti-Kate Bush)
35. Tyler, the Creator - Chromakopia (intruder noid)
36. Tucker Zimmerman - Dance of Love (the idiot’s maze)
37. Christopher Owens - I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair (welcome back Chrissybaby)
38. Ben Seratan - Allora (screaming guitars)
39. Fred Thomas - Window in the Rhythm (a guitar left in the rain)
40. Jake Xerxes Fussell - When I’m Called (don’t place your affections on a green growing tree)
41. The Smile - Cutouts (like a Radiohead)
42. Young Jesus - The Fool (shit, I feel like a million bucks. I think I’ll take the bus down to New Orleans. Yeah I think I’ll buy some drugs)
43. Storefront Church - Ink & Oil (Scott Walker-core)
44. Parannoul - Sky Hundred (Korean shoegaze)
45. MGMT - Loss of Life (a bubblegum dog)
46. SUMAC - The Healer (Sludge Metal for sleep)
47. Julia Holter - Something in the Room She Moves (spinning these morning)
48. Haley Heyndrrickx - Seed of a Seed (a garden)
49. Sour Windows - Revival of a Friend (Midwest emo)
50. Dummy - Free Energy (Baggy Madchester)
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
MCR Songs & their vibes
MCR songs and whether I think they’re day, night, sunrise, or sunset songs. Also adding seasons. If you get it, you get it. If you don’t then idk what to tell you homie. I do get carried away & include scenarios I personally picture with the songs. It took me a couple hours to write this so please read. This might make more sense for my fellow autistics though:
First album: Bullets
As an overall album I don’t have a set season for it BUT if I had to pick it would be a transition from Summer to Fall. It’s also more of a Day album for me but not ever sunny. With exception of sunsets.
Romance - Sunset but when the sun is almost down, Summer but transitioning into Fall
HTMIBHFTBOU - Night but just after Sunset, still that Summer to Fall transition
Vampires - Night, but sometimes fits a cloudy rainy day, Fall
Drowning Lessons - Night, probably around 9pm, then again I get rain vibes, Fall but exceptionally chilly this day
Our Lady of Sorrows - Night, Fall, i imagine being aggressively drunk to this song in some small shitty venue
Headfirst for Halos - Day but slowly transitions into sunset, nice fall day
Skylines and Turnstiles - Day but super rainy/cloudy to where it looks night, Fall
Early Sunsets Over Monroeville - Day and night because it starts off nice then progressively gets darker, winter
TITBDE - Sunset/night but like right after the sunset, i imagine being at the fairground & setting the firewheel ablaze, Summer transition into Fall
Cubicles - Day but cloudy, Fall but getting close to winter, being miserable at a shitty corporate office job, coffee & cigarettes
Demolition Lovers - Day into night, Winter, blood in the snow
Second Album: Revenge
Easily a Fall album with SOME Winter exceptions. From the story we know I get lots of vibes of murder and suicide. I get lots of screaming and yelling between a couple vibes too. Definitely a Night time album overall.
Helena - Day but rainy & cloudy, funeral vibes but that’s so obvious, peak Fall
Give ‘em Hell Kid - Day but very cloudy it’s almost night, Fall, definitely ‘just got out of school 4 the day’ vibes
To The End - Night, a very eerie night somewhere in the woods bc you & your friends found a vampires mansion and the lore to the house is that a husband & wife lived there but they killed each other, Fall
YKWTDTGLUIP - Night but you're in prison so you don’t care what time of the day it is, Fall but it’s a bit chillier because it’s ALMOST winter
I’m Not Okay (I promise) - Day, cloudy school day with light drizzle, Fall but a bit warmer but it feels like summer because the gym teacher made you run laps outside & you threw up on the side
The Ghost of You - Day/night but cloudy (Kinda going off MV), Winter probably
TJLIGKY - Late Night, downtown somewhere sketchy in a hotel, missing person vibes tbh, rain, Fall transition into Winter
Venom - Night but early on, I imagine fighting for something you want/to keep living/fighting for love even if it’s not necessarily romantic love
Hang ‘Em High - Day, Sunny fall day, emo cowboy vibes idc!, Sunset later on in the song though, very sinister & hungry eyes, possession comes to mind here
Fashion Statement - Night but just turned, graveyard, crawling out of coffin in ground, Fall but foggy
Cemetery Drive - Day but cloudy and rainy, when you were found on the bathroom floor though it was night, staring out the window like a movie, Fall
INTYWIDFAL - Dead of the Night, lots of mania & killing, Staring at the mirror with blood on your hands, Fall
Third Album: Black Parade
This album is Winter through and through! Definitely a transition into Day from Night. Themes of death obvi and incompletion and self hatred. Lots of fire and potentially setting stuff ablaze, so arson! Memories on memories.
The End - Day but you’re in an auditorium watching a play/musical until Night, lots of screaming & agony, Fall but just about Winter
Dead! - Day but it’s cloudy, lots of dreaming & being taunted by death, Winter
TIHID - Night, being in the woods late at night, walking in snow barefoot & blood trailing behind, seeing ghost, Winter
The Sharpest Lives - Night but it’s 2am, drunk, cigarettes, trying to comes to term w/ your career & how you won't achieve anything, Winter
WTTBP - Day into Night, cloudy, dead of Winter but lot’s of fire to keep warm, seeing death finally
I Don’t Love You - Day but cloudy & rainy, Fall transition into winter, painful breakup but we knew that
House of Wolves - Night but downtown vibes so the lights keep everything alive, running from cops vibes, personal rebellion against church & religion, reminiscing on running the streets with friends when young, the memories are Summer but song is Winter
Cancer - Right after Sunrise, patient dies early in the cloudy morning, body stays in bed until Night though so family can visit, lots of flashback of memories, Winter
Mama - Night, arguing with family, lots of anger, war flashbacks, rainy Winter
Sleep - 4am Night, nightmares, sleeping in shitty hotel, haunted hotel, creaky floorboards, sleep paralysis, Winter
Teenagers - Day, Fall, zombie like & judgy teenagers, reminiscing on teenage years, violence
Disenchanted - Night, drinking yourself away, disappointment, feeling like you didn’t do enough, Winter, around Christmas
Famous Last Words - Night 12am, realizing your memory will forever live on, coming to terms w/ death, Winter but the fire is enough to keep you warm
Fourth Album: Danger Days
If you say anything else but Summer you're just wrong. Blazing summer heat & just sweaty musty & dusty mf’s. Themes of fighting for what’s right, the power of friendship & love. Partying in the desert. Obviously a Day time album.
Na Na Na - Day, blazing hot in the desert, partying at some underground rave, hanging head out window to shoot the corporation ppl, robbery, Summer
Bulletproof Heart - Sunset, lots of smiling & laughing w/ crush, trying to runaway with crush to somewhere better, one of the lovers dies because of Korse, Summer but it’s very breezy
SING - Night, “I’m gonna save the world” vibes, sneaking around, cool Summer night
Planetary (GO!) - Sunset but it’s just about to be night, partying, lots of colorful lazerbeams and strobe, very sweaty, Summer
TOHFMIY - Sunset, fighting for friends & showing them love, taking pictures with friends on a desert cliff, Summer
Party Poison - Day, pompous ass character, fighting for what’s right, protest, Summer
SYIHTB - Day into Night, fighting off the Exterminators, stealing cars & sneaking off, sneaky make out session, helping friends get away from Exterminators, Summer
Scarecrow - Day almost Sunset, feeling safe, finding a place to rest & collect thoughts, maybe mourn the people you lost, being found & have to keep moving, Summer but it’s not humid
Summertime - Day into Night, so much love, finally got with crush, telling story of them, sappy, laying in the desert/on-top of car & staring at the stars, hot Summer day but chilly night
Destroya - Day, horny, so hot you had to get almost naked, fighting against corporation by holding a concert of sorts to raise awareness, borderline dehydration, blazing Summer heat
The Kids From Yesterday - Sunset, reminiscing hard, missing childhood/younger self, living in the moment, hand holding w/ friends, realizing you’re not actually alone, Summer into Fall
Vampire Money - Day, causing chaos with friends, so many crimes, more crimes, scary teenagers, selling soul for fame, Summer in Los Angeles
#mcr shitpost#mcr#frank iero#gerard way#ray toro#mikey way#my chemical romance#mcr fanfic#mcr albums#mcr discography#mcr revenge era#danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys#i brought you my bullets you brought me your love#welcome to the black parade#mcr lyrics#mcr5#three cheers for sweet revenge#i have too much time on my hands#had no reason for this#mychemicalromance#dont tell me im wrong i can't handle that
95 notes
·
View notes
Text
IL DOTTORE
I don't want realism; I want magic
angst, fluff??
MAIN MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST
.
Prologue | Next, Part 1
Synopsis: Being with Dottore for some time is enough to drive some insane. But what about living with him? Thick and thin. Sweet and sour. Love and hatred. Lust and chastity. It all burns passionately. Wrapped around each other's fingers.
Warnings? This is an experimental series. Also contains the mention of inner body parts, blood and gore.
In the ethereal realm, where the boundaries of reality blur and emotions intertwine, a tale of snow, death, love, and chastity unfolds. It is a story of enchantment, where the forces of passion and purity guide the delicate dance between life and death.
But purity isn't always present. If at all.
In a land draped in a pristine white blanket of snow, the air hung heavy with an eerie silence. The winter's icy grip held everything in its frigid embrace, encased in snow and ice, as if the world itself had been cast into a deep slumber.
Deep within the heart of this mystical realm, you found yourself caught in a turbulent storm of emotions. Your heart, once filled with the innocent joys of youth, now ached with a sorrow they could not comprehend. You had witnessed death, a sight that had forever changed your perception of the world. Even if you were the one to take some lives away.
But you would slowly get used to it, as this was how you lived your life. A purity that surpassed the boundaries of mortal understanding to the point that it didn't seem so pure anymore. Your devotion to virtue and chastity made you a soft candle-like light in a world overshadowed by darkness. But now, as you navigated the treacherous path of grief and broken families, your heart yearned for solace.
As a break in the forever snowstorm arose, you sought refuge in Zapolyarny Palace that guarded the archon of Cryo and her subordinates, as well as you.
Unbeknownst to you, a figure would somehow be watching you from a distance. He was no ordinary being, for he possessed an evil that surpassed human comprehension. Some even questioned if he was even human at all. His presence exuded an aura of death, as if he carried the weight of countless lives lost at the hands of himself.
This… perplexing figure, known only as il Dottore, had witnessed your unyielding commitment to your responsibilities and work. Your so-called innocence captivated him, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, but his perspective would change as he saw you in action. Yet, he knew that his own existence was intertwined with the very essence of death.
He was like a crow, and you were like a dove. Crows are associated with death, as is he. Doves are often associated with purity, as are you—sort of, always glistening with some blood somewhere on your person.
Crows like shiny things, hence all the things the bird had collected, but in his words, you are one of his favourite shiny things.
But once they were in each other's presence for the first time, they were forever in each other's presence. As your eyes met, a connection sparked between your souls. It was a forbidden love destined to be tested by blood and restless winds.
taglist: @jqnehr • @rain-soaked-sun • @mmeatt •
please fill out the Google form on the series masterlist if you want to be added! :3
#gender neutral reader#genshin impact x you#genshin impact x reader#il dottore#il dottore x reader#dottore x reader#dottore x you#dottore angst#dottore fluff??
40 notes
·
View notes