#and both will have depression while doing it :)

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 10

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, family issues, generational trauma, self-growth, personal issues (and dealing with it), hurt and comfort, hmmmm…. let’s leave it at that for now :) A/N: Final chapter, guys! Thanks so much for reading <3

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

“Oh, what the hell—since when do you cook?”

“Bitch,” you laugh, nudging past them, the ceramic pot still steaming in your hands. “Do you want the risotto or not?”

The scent of garlic and pecorino permeates the air as you stand in front of the small foyer of the duplex where your friend—questionable, at the moment—lives. Your most recent culinary masterpiece, deemed safe (enough) for public consumption, rests between your hands in silent offering to the skeptic figure who’s barring you from crossing the threshold. 

It’s still warm, and you’re not one to brag, but you think you’ve outdone yourself with this one. Not that it matters—everybody’s a fucking critic these days.

“Risotto?” Khol parrots in disbelief. “You don’t show up in forever, suddenly you’re all cuoca straordinario or some shit. Get out of here with your Mario ass–”

“Don’t mind them,” Anna interjects from behind your biggest hater, all cheer as she plucks the pot from your hands. “This smells amazing, actually. Come in!”

With that, she vanishes inside, leaving you and Khol alone in the doorway. You give them a knowing look.

“Oh wow,” you remark, all mock surprise. “You live together now?”

Khol rolls their eyes, already tired of you. “You missed the biggest arc of the last five months, but yeah.”

You step inside, and right away, something feels… different. It could partly be due to how much time has passed since you last visited, and it’s clearly still their place—the brooding industrial-emo aesthetic remains intact, still suspiciously close to resembling the lair of an angsty comic book antihero on acid—but it’s been overtaken by bits of boho-chic scattered all over the space.

Where there was once nothing but charcoal, vinyl, and concrete, there are now textures. Colorful woven throws drape artfully over the arm of the leather Eames sofa they won off a Craigslist bid. Tasseled pillows have multiplied across every seat surface like some kind of fabric-based contagion, while pothos vines dangle lazily from macramé hangers, stretching towards the moody Edison bulbs like they’re trying to escape the existential crisis of living here.

And then there’s the rug. Oh god, the rug. 

A comically massive tufted ‘Flower Power’ rug sprawls across the center of the room, a swirling explosion of pinks and oranges—a final, cutesy fuck you to the apartment’s formerly depressing atmosphere before Khol’s new roommate staged her cheerful coup.

It should’ve been a hilarious sight, like a chaotic school art project where every kid picked a different medium to color and refused to compromise. But somehow… it works? 

Against all odds, the goth cryptid and the hippie gremlin have found domestic equilibrium.

“Love what you did with the place, Anna,” you call out, toeing off your shoes at the door. “It doesn’t look like a twelve-year-old’s fantasy bedroom anymore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Khol laughs, shaking their head. “As if you’re one to talk. Last time I visited, you still had that stupid-ass sofa. Is it still there?”

You sniff haughtily. “Excuse you, but that’s a custom piece. You wouldn’t get it.”

"Alright, you two," Anna says, leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen, one hip propped against the frame. "Both of you have terrible taste in decor. Now, I have a fabulous Prosecco to pair with the risotto." She tilts her head, shooting her partner a pointed look. "Khol, darling, be a dear and grab the crystal from the cupboard?"

"Whipped," you sing as Khol, predictably, does exactly as told. They don’t even bother with a comeback, just flashes you a lazy middle finger over their shoulder as they disappear from view.

You grin, shaking your head. The moment stretches into something easy, comfortable. It’s nice—being here, bantering like no time has passed. You let yourself sink into it, tugging off your beanie as you cross the room.

The creaky couch welcomes you like an old friend, and you flop down unceremoniously, stretching your legs out, rubbing your feet against the oversized monstrosity of a rug that is... honestly, pretty fucking comfortable, actually.

Anna follows suit, settling beside you with far more grace, tucking one foot under the other.

She watches you for a moment, expression warm but slightly inquisitive. “We haven’t seen you in a while.” 

You exhale, tipping your head back, staring up at the beams on the ceiling. "Yeah, sorry. Been a little out of it these past… couple of months, I guess."

Anna makes a quiet noise, something between understanding and acknowledgment. "You’re doing okay now?"

The easy answer sits on your tongue—yeah, of course. An automatic response, a reflex built from habit. Another front to put up, another lie to slip behind.

But you’ve been working on this. So instead, you take a breath and say,

"Not… really." 

The words feel foreign, heavy, but oddly freeing as they leave your mouth.

Your gaze flickers to the side table—framed photos of Khol and Anna, smiling, sunlit. You don’t linger.

“I mean, better now compared to, maybe, a few weeks ago. I’m getting there.”

Anna’s brows lift slightly—not in surprise at the sentiment itself, but at the fact that you admitted it out loud. There’s something thoughtful in her expression, something softer around the edges. “Good. That’s good.”

You can tell she means it. Maybe even more than you expected.

"Yeah."

There’s a brief lull. You catch yourself tugging at the edge of your cardigan—a nervous habit you never quite broke. The warmth of the apartment is settling in you quite comfortably, but there’s something about sitting still under Anna’s gentle scrutiny that makes you restless.

From the kitchen, there’s the unmistakable clink of glass, followed by a muffled, “shit.”

Anna exhales, long-suffering. “I don’t know why I even bother buying nice things.”

“‘Oy,” Khol’s voice carries from the other room, “get in here and help. We have, like, seven things to carry.”

You take that as your cue, trailing after Anna into the kitchen. Between the three of you, it’s quick work—bowls of warm, brothy risotto in hand, glasses of white wine balanced carefully between fingers.

By the time you step back into the living room, Khol is already dropping onto the blue accent chair near the window with all the dramatics of someone who’s worked far too hard for far too little.

You settle into your usual spot, Anna beside you. You don’t touch your food. Your appetite’s still in remission, though it’s been steadily improving lately.

Khol notices. “Now, why the hell aren’t you eating?” They shoot you a side-eye like you’ve personally offended them. “I knew it. You put something in this, didn’t you?”

“Jesus, Khol,” Anna sighs, exasperated, already two spoonfuls in. “Your diet was literally gas station burritos and eight-pack Coors before I moved in. You’ll live.”

She pauses, though, casting you a look. “Don’t get me wrong—this is really good.”

“Ha,” you retort as Khol prods suspiciously at a floating mushroom. You glare. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

“Alright, alright.” With an exaggerated sigh, Khol finally takes a bite. They chew once, twice—eyes narrowed in concentration, acting like some hard-ass seasoned judge from Top Chef. You can practically see them digging for something snarky to say—until, begrudgingly, they nod.

“Shit. This is actually pretty good. Who are you?”

You preen at the praise.

For a while, there’s nothing but the quiet clinking of spoons against ceramic, the occasional satisfied hum. It’s… nice. Comfortable in a way you haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

You’ve missed this.

Missed being here. Missed being with people.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the last few bites of risotto, Khol angles their head toward you, their curiosity piqued. “How come you’re free today? You on leave or something?”

You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the light catch on the amber surface before answering. “Oh, I quit my job.”

There’s a beat of silence. You don’t know what reaction you were expecting, but Khol just blinks at you. "Huh. Finally."

Anna looks mildly more concerned. "You quit?"

You nod, stretching your legs out beneath the coffee table. “Yeah. The OT was getting ridiculous, and they had me working night shifts again. That was kind of the last straw for me.”

Khol grunts in agreement. “Good fucking riddance. That job was killing you.” They pause for a beat, turning serious, contemplative. “You’re not hung up about it, are you? You’ve been bitching about that job for ages.”

You exhale through your nose, staring at the rim of your glass. “Yeah, no. I’m glad I left.” The words come easily, and they’re mostly true. But still—there’s something about suddenly having all this space, this aimless in-between, that makes you antsy. 

A thought strikes you, and you glance up. “Hey, you know if Marion's still looking for someone to work part-time at the bistro?”

Khol raises an eyebrow. "You looking to apply? It’s minimum wage, just telling you in advance."

"That’s fine," you assure them. "I just need something on the side. I’m doing freelance work right now, I just want something to fill in the gaps."

Anna perks up at that. "I think that’s a great idea. I can hit up Marion later, but I’m pretty sure they’re still looking."

Khol stares at you, and for once, they don’t have a quip lined up. No sharp-edged humor, no quick banter—just a quiet look of something almost foreign on their face. Pride. Maybe even relief. You’ve worried them. The realization jars you like a pebble dropped into a clear pond, sending ripples through the stillness of your self-imposed isolation. You hadn’t meant to, not really. It wasn’t like you deliberately wanted to disappear... But you did, didn’t you? You let the days blur into weeks, then months, telling yourself naively that no one would notice if you just—vanished for a while. Five months, to be exact.

You press your lips together, clearing your throat against the tightness creeping in. “Thanks,” you say, quiet but sincere. “Really.”

Khol snorts, and the moment shatters. “You can show your thanks by knocking ten percent off the cocktails when we visit.”

You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Get me the job first, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Anna grins, raising her glass. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

––––

You get the job.

You stand in front of the fogged-up mirror, dragging your palm across the wet glass. The reflection that stares back is warped, smudged—half-formed, half-there—but unequivocally yours. 

A month ago, you wouldn’t have been able to say that with certainty. Back then, the figure in the mirror had been more ghost than person—distant, spectral. Fractured. Someone you watched from the outside, not as a host of the flesh you inhabit. 

Now, though, the pieces are starting to slot back into place. Some are still missing, and others don’t quite fit as they once did. You doubt it will ever return to how it was… But slowly, a familiar shape is coming back into focus. More than the shadow of a woman, but you.  Time moves like water carving through rock—gradual, barely perceptible, but steady. Inevitable.

The shifts are diminutive. A morning where you wake up feeling less crushed by the weight of grief in your chest. An afternoon where you suddenly break into laughter, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard it in weeks. A quiet night where you go to bed without feeling like you’re stuck frozen in an endless loop of wishing, waiting for the impossible.

You’re here, alive. Present. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you’re doing more than just holding on.

(You think he’d be proud of you.)

And the thought doesn’t leave you aching the way it used to.

––––

“You think I can handle taking care of another living thing? Like a plant?” You ask Maru, glancing at him lounging by the window, right where a sliver of afternoon sunlight spills across the floor. “I mean, I raised you well enough, I think. But you’re pretty self-sufficient anyway.” Maru looks unimpressed. His tail flicks once—dismissive, uninterested—before he returns to grooming himself, utterly indifferent to both your question and your sudden enthusiasm for gardening. “Well, if your dad can grow plants in that dungeon he calls a base, I’m sure I can manage,” you mutter unconvincingly. “How hard can it be?” 

–

By the middle of the second week into your little project, you begrudgingly admit that your tiny repotted begonia isn’t exactly thriving. You don’t want to be a pessimist, but the (browning) margins seem to curl inward—more than they should, if the reference pics on that “Indoor Succulents” blog you’re subscribed to are anything to go by. 

You eye it dubiously, trying to stay gung-ho about the whole thing, forcing yourself to look up care tips again. It’s just a plant. Not rocket science. So you do the research, gather more supplies, and give it another shot. You reposition it closer to where the sun lands—earning a disgruntled hiss from the sunbathing feline—and sprinkle a careful amount of water just beneath the leaves, closer to the root. Then you lean back, waiting, tapping your foot impatiently like it’s supposed to just... fix itself.

–

The next few days pass with you watching it more than you’d care to admit—checking, hoping, second-guessing yourself. 

You narrow your eyes at the leaves, more russet than Inca Flame red, still hanging limp like a sad testament to your lack of skill. 

But you keep at it, because you’re nothing if not stubborn.

–

A single flower has bloomed.

You stand there, spray bottle in hand, caught in quiet awe at the metallic pink sprout peeking through the foliage. It’s small, delicate, barely more than a bud, but unmistakably there—nestled among heart-shaped leaves that, for the first time in weeks, look alive. Brighter. 

A faint smile tugs at your lips. It’s not groundbreaking, not by a long shot. But it’s something.

The fragile blossom clings onto dear life, stubbornly seeking the sun rays, inching toward the warmth it needs to grow—larger, stronger.

You can’t wait to bear witness to it. 

––––

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up in this situation; all you could recall past the sweat blurring your vision is the memory of being in front of the reception desk, pen in hand, scrawling your name onto the sign-up sheet for beginner boxing lessons. 

It’s not… something you planned on doing, really. You’d been showing up for the past week, trying to convince yourself that fitness was something you could get into. Something you could stick with. But this one’s more of an impulse decision, fueled by a mix of post-workout endorphins and the misplaced confidence that sometimes follows after an extra few—unpremeditated!—minutes on the elliptical. 

It all started with a casual glance at a flyer taped to the wall beside the water dispenser.

GET TOUGHER, FASTER, STRONGER! SIGN UP NOW!

The cheesy tagline stared you down as you were in the middle of refilling your teal green AquaFlask. And for some dumb reason—sheer curiosity, definitely not because it reminded you of a certain someone—you thought: Why not?

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you’d marched straight up to the nearest staff at the counter, credit card in hand, and asked to sign up. Now, as you stare at the buff woman currently goading you to hit harder, reality sets in and you feel a little lightheaded. Even slightly delirious.

“Up, up–” your trainer urges, somehow not even remotely out of breath, despite being thirty grueling minutes into the session. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, red-faced and sweating like a fucking pig. “Keep your arms up at all times, alright?”

You pant, nodding weakly, fixing your posture. She gives you an approving nod in return.

It’s part of the whole self-improvement thing, anyway. Pushing yourself. Fitness, jazz, and all that. You’ve never had much inclination for sports or anything remotely physically taxing, as far as you can recall.

…Or maybe that decision was made for you the moment you tried out for volleyball in high school and took a spike straight to the face. A memory so humiliating, that your brain did you a favor and buried it deep in the recesses of your mind. 

But things are different now! You’re trying new things. You’ve done wall climbing, aerobics, even pulled a hamstring attempting HIIT Tae Bo. And if getting punched in the face is the next step in this… wellness journey, then, well, so be it. You’ll take it with a brave face and, hopefully, minimal bruising to both body and ego.

You slog through two sets of combos and thirty jab-straight-hook-uppercuts, punching like your life depends on it. You’re wheezing like an asthmatic child, and you’re about one bad punch away from toppling over.

Then, mercifully—

“Okay, that’s enough for today.”

Oh, thank god.

“You did good,” she tacks on, flashing you an encouraging smile, like you didn’t just spend the last half hour flailing at the focus mitts with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

You stare at her, unconvinced. Did I? Because from where you’re standing—wobbling, really—you’re pretty sure you looked closer to an overstimulated toddler throwing hands with gravity, but sure. It must’ve been in the fine print, to segue in a little positive reinforcement. Probably to keep people from bolting after the first session. 

Not that you’re planning to. No, of course not. You’re just... reevaluating some things. Like your life choices. And your capacity to lift your arms tomorrow. As you trudge your way out of the yoga-studio-turned-boxing-area, still gulping for air and very aware of the soreness settling into your limbs, someone calls out.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You turn your head, blinking in confusion. A guy—mid to late twenties, give or take—jogs up to you, looking offensively too fresh compared to how you feel. “Oh, hi. Sorry, do you mean me?”

He laughs as he slows to a stop, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “Yeah, you. I saw you training with Coach. Just wanted to say—you’re improving.”

You blink. Wait, what?

A wave of mortification rolls through you. Shit, you didn’t know you had an audience. “Uh—thanks, I guess?”

You shift your weight awkwardly, clutching your boxing gloves tightly against your chest.

His grin turns sheepish, as though he realizes how that might’ve come off. “Fuck, sorry. That came out weird, didn’t it? I swear, I wasn't, like, watching the whole thing or anything.” He makes a vague gesture to his left. “The studio’s right in my line of sight when I did my TRX reps. Hard not to notice.”

You force a smile. “Ah, yeah. Figures.” 

“I’m Byron, by the way,” he offers, sticking out a hand.

Now that you get a proper look at him, you notice he’s got this kind of… geeky charm going for him. Curly hair, sleepy brown eyes behind round, rimless glasses, and shy boy-next-door vibes—except for the fact that he’s jacked.

(Honestly? Work.)

You give him your name, still smiling awkwardly. You’re about to wave goodbye and turn away when— “So, what are you doing later?”

Um.

You hesitate. “I’m, uh… heading straight home after this?” Your voice comes out a little more uncertain than you intended, mostly because you’re not really sure why he’s still talking to you.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he replies quickly, glancing down like he’s suddenly nervous. “I just… thought I’d ask if you’d wanna grab coffee sometime?”

Oh.

It takes a moment for the question to fully register. The first thought that pops in your head is: Wait, how does he know I’m a barista?

… The second thought is one of pure disbelief. Holy shit, did I just get asked out? At the gym? By the Temu version of Peter Parker?

Your face burns hotter than it did mid-workout, caught completely off guard.

“I—woah, um.” You stumble over your words, eyes quickly darting away from him. “Sorry, I already have… a boyfriend. If—if that’s what you’re leading up to.”

You say it like a question. He picks up on it.

“You don’t sound too convinced,” he comments with a light chuckle, shaking his head. “If you’re not interested, you can just say that, you know.”

A prickle of irritation flares up, followed by something sharper—something that stings. You push it down. “No, he’s just… not around.” “Ah.” He clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Long distance?” “…Yeah.” You have no idea.

He shrugs, undeterred. “Alright, no pressure. We could always just hang out as friends, if you want.”

I… don’t think I do. “Um, maybe?” you answer instead, forcing out a laugh.

“Oh, come on,” he says, his grin widening. “You can even introduce me to your boyfriend,” he emphasizes the word out, “when he gets back. Does he work out? We could all hit the gym together.”

Social anxiety is afraid of this man, you think belatedly. Unfortunately for him, you’re the very embodiment of what fears him.

You’re so out of your element that all you can manage is, “He boxes too, actually.”

“Yeah? He any good?” 

That gets an involuntary snort out of you. Unthinkingly, you say, “Could probably beat you up.”

Byron laughs, startled but amused, shaking his head as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—message received.” He flashes you a wide smile. “Well, if you change your mind about the coffee, I’ll be around.” He jerks his chin toward the pack fly by the corner. “There, usually.”

Okay, nerd. Despite yourself, you can’t help but find the whole thing slightly hilarious. Then again, you find humor in the dumbest things. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You offer him a quick, half-hearted wave, trying (and failing) to mask your embarrassment with an exaggerated, too-casual show of nonchalance. It’s so painfully awkward, you can feel yourself internally dying from the cringe of it all.

Without another word, you spin on your heel and start speed-walking away, practically running back to the safety of your personal space.

Smooth.

––––

It’s another relatively easy night at the bistro. You’re on the last two hours of your shift, and you’re carrying a single glass of roseberry mule to serve at table four. As you round the corner, you catch sight of a student, glasses perched low on her nose, completely absorbed in a thick coursebook on Programming Languages. Papers are scattered across the table, and she looks to be utterly engrossed in her readings, unaware of the world around her. 

You don’t want to bother her more than necessary, about to set the drink down on the only clear space—by the iPad propped up on a tablet holder to her right—when something red catches your attention.

A familiar pair of crimson eyes stops you dead in your tracks.

For a moment, you feel like you’re suspended in time. The sharp memory of a similar instance where you’re in her place, and he’s there, keeping you company while he’s polishing a gun burns through your brain, and you don’t–you can’t think—

You stand there, rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and unmoving. Then, the girl’s gaze shifts to you, and a hot flush spreads across her cheeks, betraying her surprise.

With swift fingers, she locks the screen with a quick flick on the power button, pulling you away and breaking you from the echoes of the past.

“Oh, shit,” she giggles, a nervous edge to her voice. “That’s embarrassing.” 

You shake your head, forcing yourself back to the present moment. “No—no, don’t worry about it,” you chuckle weakly, setting the drink down beside her with shaky hands. “Cute guy, honestly.”

That makes her giggle louder, her eyes bright with an almost conspiratorial glint. “Oh my god, you have no idea.”

Fuck—you can’t breathe.

––––

The night hangs thick with stifling heat, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock as you catch your breath, your broken moans too loud in the heavy silence. The sheets cling to your feverish skin, damp and uncomfortable, as your body moves in a rhythm that feels unnatural now, but still—but always—familiar.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths as you force the draconic toy deep inside you. The heat, the fire—it licks at your skin, making your whole body yearn for more. To chase more of the feeling, to chase more of the memory of him. 

Errant strands of hair stick to your forehead, your chest flushed and burning, a quiet throb spreading through you with every friction, every desperate movement.

Your body aches, a relentless thrum urging you to push deeper, to find something—anything—to fill the gaping hole inside you, a wound you’ve tried to stitch shut over months, now threatening to tear its way open again, once more ripping from the seams. 

A sharp pressure builds inside you. Your body stretches too far, too much, struggling to take in what it can’t quite handle. It burns in a way that hurts, but you need it. You need to feel more, to fill the emptiness, to grasp at something that feels real.

“Yours, yours–” you tremble, desperate. “Yours. Just yours. Please.”

-

-

-

You lie in the wake of it—pleasure fading into something heavier, regret creeping in like a shadow, waiting as always.

“I miss you,” you whisper in the dark. You always do.

You try to ignore the pull of it, the sharp descent that comes with the high.

You were doing so well.

But it’s fine. You’re fine. 

Everything’s fine.

The words swirl and echo in your mind, until they’re swallowed by sounds that ring hollow. You let the moment wash over you, sinking beneath the weight of the tides, where sorrow and longing blur with the fleeting warmth of what you can’t keep.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another chance to try again.

For now, you let go of your grip on the fragile raft of sanity you’ve built, painstakingly, for months on end.

Tonight, you let yourself drown once more in the somber depths of loneliness and despair, confined within these four walls that feel—once more—like a penitentiary.

––––

The plane begins its slow descent, and through the window, the world comes into view—large swathes of land interrupted by winding roads that seem to follow no rhyme, nor pattern. A river glints faintly beneath the fading sun, while the sky turns a dull blue, a washed-out slate, streaked with the last embers of daylight.

Below, the small city stirs.

Tiny specks of color flicker to life, lanterns strung along the streets like beads on a thread, marking the season, an ending, and the inevitable turning of time. A chill hangs in the air, the wind whipping past you from the half-open window of the taxi, sharp and crisp in a way that you can only find in the province.

Your hometown. 

It all rushes past in a blur of light and shadow, an eclectic mix of old and new—some buildings unchanged, others unfamiliar, as if they’d sprung up in the years you’ve been away. It’s been a while since you last came back, long enough for the roads to feel... foreign, almost. Though muscle memory stirs when the car takes a turn. One you could have easily navigated even with your eyes closed.

Only your sister lives here now, her and her family—a couple of hundred miles far. Far enough to feel like another world, yet close enough for the past to catch up the moment you lay eyes on the old two-story house tucked away on the quaint cul-de-sac of this suburban neighborhood. 

The residential property was left to her, scrawled onto the title in an act of generosity, perhaps. Or maybe as a weight your mother never intended to carry, something meant to anchor her eldest child while she carved a different life for herself elsewhere. Free-spirited as she is, she left with the ease of someone shedding an old coat, slipping into the shoes of another, barely a glance over her shoulder.

But houses remember. And as you step out of the vehicle, your feet meeting the rough asphalt that once belonged to your childhood, you wonder if they remember you too.

"Maru, Maru!" Your five-year-old niece cries the moment she spots the grumpy feline peering through the mesh of his portable prison.

"What—no excitement for me too?" you tease, ruffling her hair. She giggles, scrunching up her nose.

"Auntie, hi! Hi!"

You snort at her enthusiasm, setting the carrier down. The second you pull at the zipper, Maru springs out, landing with a soft thud before stalking off with his usual air of disdain. Your niece shrieks with delight. 

"Ah! Cat!"

"Well, there go the chances of her socializing with her brother," your sister remarks dryly from the doorway, sauntering closer. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey," you greet, hoisting a handful of paper bags. "Where do I dump these?"

She eyes the bags. "Any of those for me?"

"You have three kids, and one of them insisted on a Lego set. Do you know how much those cost?" You shoot her a flat look. "You’re getting socks."

"Wow, stingy." She huffs but takes some of the bags anyway, hitching one onto her hip as she grabs your other hand-carry.

You step inside, and the house greets you with a riot of lights and color. Plastic tinsel and bright string lights drape across every visible surface—along the bannister, around doorways—leaving no space untouched by the festive chaos. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, nearly buried beneath an avalanche of baubles and sentimental ornaments collected over the years.

The room feels swallowed by the exuberance of it all, an almost overwhelming jamboree of holiday cheer.

It’s gaudy, excessive, and completely over-the-top, but beneath it all, the bones of your childhood home remain unchanged—familiar in a way that settles deep in your chest. The Narra wood floors are still scuffed with the marks of time, there’s still the distinct tang of turpentine mixed with waxy resin and citrus you’ve long since associated with home, and the odd decorative masks still line the far wall, their painted expressions frozen mid-celebration.

Your eyes land on the canvas floater above the mantel—a whimsical cross-stitch of three women flying kites, their stitched dresses rippling in imagined wind. You remember it well, though you never quite understood why your mother had chosen that particular scene to painstakingly sew into existence. Still, it belongs here, another piece of the house's patchwork history.

Your gaze shifts to the couch, where Andrew, your sister's husband, is sprawled out, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, the other holding his phone.

He flicks his gaze up at you, offering a half-hearted wave before turning back to whatever has him so absorbed on the screen. Beside him, your three-year-old nephew is perched on his knees, bouncing with energy as he mirrors Bluey's movements on the TV with exaggerated enthusiasm, his tiny arms flailing in childlike glee.

You sigh inwardly, rolling your eyes. Typical.

“There’s a few more hours before dinner. Want to hang out in the kitchen while I roast the ham?” She asks casually, setting down your bags by the foot of the stairs. “Actually, scratch that—you’re in charge of the punch.”

“You just want a head start on the drinks,” you tease, the banter flowing easily between you. “Hey, where’s the little squirt?”

She points toward the small crib, near the island counter. “She finally stopped crying, thank god. Don’t wake her up, or you’ll be the one in charge of putting her back to sleep.”

The two of you slip into the kitchen, where the air already carries the promise of dinner—cloves and brown sugar blending nicely with the lingering scent of citrus. A tray of ham sits on the counter, prepped and ready, the scored surface glistening under the fluorescent light. 

Your sister pulls a bottle of Luisita Oro Rum and Agimat Gin from the second-to-last cupboard and places them on the counter in front of you.

"Go ham," she quips.

You give her a flat look. "You think you’re funny.”

She shrugs, unfazed, and turns her attention back to where she’d left off before your arrival. 

The two of you fall into a natural rhythm, the kind that comes from years of cooking together. You work your way through cans of Del Monte, the metallic clinks filling the space as you drain the syrup and dump chunks of mixed fruit into the large punch bowl.

Your sister leans against the counter nearby, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the oven door, as if sheer willpower alone could make the meat cook faster.

In the background, the soft drone of the TV drifts in from the living room, punctuated by your nephew’s occasional giggles.

There’s no rush, no need to fill the silence with anything more than the occasional clang of utensils against glass and the low humming of kitchen appliances. The day is winding down to a close, and for now, everything is alright.

“So, Mom called,” she says casually, one arm braced on the counter as she leans in, glancing at you. “Kept calling, actually.”

“Mm.” You reply noncommittally, shaking the last can’s contents into the crystal bowl, watching as the fruit chunks bob lazily in the pool of alcohol.

“She’s worried about you.”

You don’t answer.

“She was. She is.” Her voice shifts, more serious now. She watches you closely, noting your lack of reaction. “You know that, right?”

Your fingers tighten around the can opener, but you pull your gaze away from the bowl. “I know.”

She sighs, resigned, already familiar with this song and dance. Familiar enough to know there’s no winning this one, not tonight. Not anytime soon. “I am too.”

You blink, before looking away. “Oh.”

And maybe she does worry—your mother. But any hope of truly knowing is swallowed by the chasm between you, the one that keeps your conversations at surface level, never breaching the depths beyond. 

Your body, born from hers, perhaps more alike than you realize, might have been brought into this world with the same pains that she’s carried. The pains of separation. The unresolved hurt of being unwillingly removed from your person—her former husband, your father—and that if you and your mother were closer, you could have opened up about your own situation. Perhaps then, you wouldn’t feel like a ship that has lost its ballast, drifting endlessly in the same turbulent seas for the longest time.

But you are your mother’s daughter, and she is her mother’s daughter. There is the truth that the women in your family are not the best communicators, nor do they wear their hearts on their sleeves. So you were born mute and overly sensitive. Pain drips from you, unnoticed, like a purposeless leak in the heart. You’ll carry it with you until you die.

“But you look… okay,” she observes, cocking her head. “Are you okay?”

You swallow. For the same reason you compare your mother to a storm you can't outrun and your sister to an intermittent drizzle, you find it easier to admit, “I haven’t… been okay for a while.” 

Not wanting to bring the mood down, especially on a day like today, you quickly add, “Things are better now, though.”

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Could be a little more specific there, but I’ll take it.” She gives you an exasperatedly fond look. “You let me know if that changes anytime soon, ‘kay?”

Your lips quirk in the faintest semblance of a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

–

It’s ten minutes before midnight.

You’re leaning against the island counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, nursing a glass of the fruit punch (though it’s mostly gin, with the teensiest amount of fruit), watching your sister’s family at a distance as they eagerly wait for the clock to strike twelve. The blinds of the large living room window have been pulled up, giving an unobstructed view of the sky, ready for the first firework to light up the dark.

For a moment, you feel like an outsider, watching through a lens, as if you’re not quite part of the scene. There’s a strange sense of detachment—voyeuristic, almost—as though you're peering in on a private, intimate moment. 

Your sister cradles the infant in her arms, and that all-too-familiar pang stirs to life—the same one that always does when you look at her.

You can't quite place what you're feeling, exactly. It’s tumultuous, and it’s complex. Andrew’s practically dozing off in his seat, and you see your sister shake her head in mild annoyance. Your nephew, fighting to keep his eyes open, starts to fuss.

Something tightens inside your chest.

“Andrew,” she hisses, startling the man awake. He blinks, disoriented, before spotting their son and the early signs of an explosive tantrum.

He sighs, and pulls the boy closer to him. “Hey, hey, little guy. Look at the sky. In just a couple of minutes, the lights are gonna go boom-boom.”

Your nephew sniffs, his eyes blinking up at him as he processes the words. “Boom-boom?”

“Yeah! Just like the one we watched on TV!”

The kid’s face visibly perks up at that, bad mood quickly forgotten. “Boom-boom!”

You watch as your sister’s gaze softens, and a small smile replaces the earlier frown on her face.

And in that instant, you understand.

You look at your sister and, for a brief moment, all you see is a wretched mirror of yourself. She is all of your fears, all of your failures, and all of what you could’ve been rolled into one. Barely in her mid-thirties, and yet already carrying the weight of a family: three kids, a husband who feels like a faded echo of your father—a man who didn’t quite measure up, who never did, and just as unreliable. 

You feel the suffocating weight of it all, of being tied to a place that’s meant to be a home but feels more like a tomb, marking the passing of dreams unspoken. She’ll grow old here, buried in the same soil you both sprang from, fading into the landscape of this town that swallows its own.

You look at her and you almost feel the repressed pain of missing the last semester of college to give birth, the lament of a missed opportunity that life has stolen from her. 

You feel her pain as if it’s yours. You feel it in the marrow of your bones—her blood flowing through you. “3…” You look at her, and it feels like seeing someone bound, held down by an anchor around her foot, unable to break through the surface of freedom. You look at her and you see dreams once aglow, reduced to cinders. You look at her and see—

She glances up at you.

Oh. “2…” In the fleeting moment where your eyes meet—eyes you two share with your mother—you feel so small.

Just a kid. Shortsighted and unfairly dismissive. Too blind to see your sister’s quiet victories, too selfish to admit you’ve diminished them just so you could feel less alone about your own failures. A child grasping for meaning, unfair in the ways only children can be. “1…” And in the fraction of a second before midnight, it's as if you’ve been doused awake. 

You see her anew—what seemed like monotony is really the bedrock of stability; tenacity in place of routine. An almost single-minded doggedness to make something out of this life. You see the steadfast strength she possesses, the kind that gets her up every morning, to face the world and all its demands without question. With purpose. 

You see resilience. Compassion. Traits that you’ve always lacked, that you’ve long resented, the same traits your mother never learned to embody.

And now you see your niece in her arms, born from this, and you name the indescribable feeling that dwells in you—borne from the pure look of adoration in your sister’s eyes for her youngest daughter—as envy.

You know, with utmost certainty, that she will be okay, because she has your sister as her mother, and she is so, so loved.

As you watch them, something inside you shifts—a deep, aching realization. 

You see… home. Something you've always longed for but never truly found. “Happy new year!” The spell breaks. The two of you startle at the sudden eruption of fireworks, the distant chorus of car horns blaring from the streets outside.

Your niece and nephew jump and shriek, their laughter ringing through the room, celebrating something they barely understand but find joy in anyway. The baby in your sister’s arms lets out a wail at the commotion, and she is soothed instantly with murmurs of soft assurances. Her husband struggles upright—then, with no small amount of effort, leans forward to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

The image before you is far from perfect, but it’s theirs.

“Auntie, auntie!” The little rascals cry out in unison, their voices overlapping in excitement. “‘appy n’year!”

A breathless, almost pained laugh escapes you. Still, you smile as you respond with your own, “happy new year!”

You’re tired—tired of running, of measuring yourself against the ghosts of your past. Tired of carrying the weight of a childhood that’s left you with more questions than answers, of making excuses for wounds that should have healed long since. You've spent so much time mourning the growing pains, the irreparable, that you never stopped to see what’s in front of you. 

This moment, this realization, feels like the final missing piece in the fractured puzzle of who you are.

The new year arrives, marked by the crackle of fireworks and the loud cheer from your family.

This time, you won’t hesitate. You’ll choose to embrace the change, both good and bad, with open arms. With the quiet resolve of someone finally ready to move forward.

You lift your gaze just as a brilliant burst of red explodes into the night sky, its iridescent glow bleeding into a softer silver before fading into the dark. 

A warmth settles deep in your chest—bittersweet, but steady. A quiet peace.

Happy new year, my love. . . . . . . .

.

.

.

.

. . .

The air at the threshold of Vagrant’s land is restless. Volatile. A hazy distortion ripples through it, folding and unfolding, like a lost mirage—an area of transition between worlds. Porch collapse, he calls it. 

Sylus has stood here countless times, watching the way this anomalous disturbance twists the very fabric of this reality, how it flickers in and out of form, erratic. Impossible to predict. 

It had taken him longer than he likes to admit to understand the phenomena for what it’s truly worth. Not just an alternate space caused by some spartan energy field. Not just any other protofield. But a thread. A connection. A door. 

A fault line between realities, an entryway that hums with the possibility of you.

Since the moment the idea took hold, he had thought of little else. It has consumed him in every waking moment; his entire being seeming to bend toward a singular purpose—getting to you. He had torn through endless streams of data, followed every unstable pulse of energy, mapped its fluctuations down to the smallest inconsistency.

Nights bled into days, and days bled into weeks, until he can no longer keep track. Not that the passage of time meant much to him at this point. 

He’s worked tirelessly through the stillness, through the storms of uncertainty, through the aching silence left by your absence. Ever since you’ve exchanged your temporary goodbyes. 

He had measured everything he could—the unstable frequency of radio signals streaming through the interstice. He had traced the influx in real time; recording the rate of deterioration, isolating the waveform, and filtering out outside interferences. 

But for all the data he gathered, for all the precision in his calculations, the core of this phenomenon remained just out of reach. His knowledge on the matter is rudimentary at most. He could waste years observing for abnormalities, trying to decipher how its presence has disrupted the very threads of this universe, but the why and how of it all will still elude him. 

Still, theory matters less than function. He doesn’t need to understand the full depth of it. He only needs to harness it.

It’s a gamble.

Contrary to whatever reputation he’s earned for himself, Sylus has never been one to play his cards recklessly. He deals in certainties, in probabilities stacked in his favor, in risks that—while dangerous—are still within his grasp to control. He has never been the type to leap without knowing where he’d land.

But this is different.

He has never needed to, before. Never had a reason to throw himself into the unknown with no assurance of survival, no way to predict the outcome.

He had no reason to—until you.

Now, it matters less whether or not the odds of his survival are abysmal, that he has no precedent to follow. That your world might reject him entirely. None of it matters. Because if the choice is between staying and never reaching you, or plunging into the great, endless unknown—

He’ll take the leap, every time. Without hesitation. 

He’ll leave this world behind, step beyond the edges of everything that has ever defined him, and venture into lands unseen, uncharted. Unknown. He doesn’t know what awaits him on the other side. If he’ll make it there in one piece. If he will make it there at all.

Sylus has never really questioned why he’s the anomaly in this world. The curiosities of his existence are yours to ponder. After all, he finds that he doesn’t care much of the answer as much as he cares about being with you.

Because wherever you are—that is home. 

He takes a step forward, and the universe dissolves into a blinding light.

-

-

-

Sylus wakes to the sensation of weight.

Something presses on him heavily, sinking into his limbs like gravity itself is wrapping around him for the first time.

The ground beneath him is unfamiliar, uneven—tangible in a way he’s never felt before. His fingertips press into the damp earth, leaving the faintest imprint, yielding beneath his touch. The scent of soil rises around him; a rich, bitter brown. 

This world does not recognize him, yet it cradles him like its own all the same.

Above, the sky erupts.

Fireworks split open the night, streaks of color exploding and dissipating in an instant—too fleeting to hold, too bright to ignore. A flashbang of incandescent reds and fluorescent greens, followed by bursts of crackling gold and shimmering silver scatter into tiny pinpricks before fading into the darkness.

The air is heavier here, denser in a way that feels almost… alien. It clings to the contours of his new form, seeps into his lungs with every breath. 

And oh, how it burns. Not in pain, but in its sheer presence. It rushes into him not as mere oxygen but as something real. Something palpable. He’s lost in the sensation. 

He exhales. Then winces. 

Immediately, he feels it—the weakness. The brittleness of this new body. Gone is the invulnerability he once wielded so effortlessly, the certainty that nothing could touch him unless he allowed it. 

That certainty is gone now, stripped away the moment he crossed the threshold.

He is flesh and bone. Finite. Mortal.

A lesser man might have feared it.

But in the middle of this empty field, miles away from civilization, Sylus can only laugh. 

He tips his head back, reeling from the sheer impossibility of it all, eyes tracing the brilliant display above—as if committing it to memory, a coronation of sorts. Of existence. Of arrival. Of a life finally his own.

Reborn. And for the first time in his existence, he is alive.

––––

It’s summer—the summer that marks two years since he left. 

Two years. It’s enough time to feel the weight of it, but not enough to make the events feel like something that happened a lifetime ago. 

The seasons cycle once more, as they always do, pushing time forward with a steady, indifferent rhythm. And with that change comes a familiar pang—a bittersweet ache, neither grief nor regret, just the weight of knowing that nothing stays the same. Mono no aware. 

You’re closer to thirty now, and the thought doesn’t terrify you as much as it did before. Your hair’s in a pixie cut—short and sleek, although the edges are a little ragged from the half-assed trimming you gave it a few days ago. 

It would have made you feel stupid, once upon a time, for trying out something drastic for a new look. Instead, you just take it for what it is—one more thing you did because you wanted to. Like the rest of the choices you’ve made over the past two years. It’s yours. Uneven, impulsive, maybe a little questionable. But yours.

It’s liberating. Even if it makes your head look like a pencil. 

The voice—the one that picks at your face, your body, your thoughts, everything down to the last imperfection—never really shuts up. It’s quieter now, easier to ignore, but it still lurks in the background, waiting for an opening, a moment of weakness. Maybe it always will. Maybe that’s just the price of being human.

But you don’t fight it anymore. You don’t let it drag you down to a breaking point. You carry yourself differently now, you'd say. No pep in your step just yet, but you don’t feel the need to drag your heels either. Literally and figuratively. 

The change has come in waves—sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh—but it’s there, marking you, marking the passage of time. Just like the earth, just like the seasons, you’ve shifted and grown. And perhaps that’s enough.

The sky is ablaze now, a deepening canvas of pinks and purples as the sun sinks lazily to the west. The fiery orange light spills through the large windows, bleeding into every corner of the room, and the world outside seems to slow, caught in the hour before dusk.

You’re behind the counter, wiping down plates with the kind of ease that comes from repetition, the motion so ingrained in you that it barely registers anymore. It’s all routine—the rhythm of it, the quiet hum of the bistro, the clinking of porcelain. The air is thick with the sticky smell of warm pastries, and it’s the sort of evening that feels almost liminal. A moment suspended in time.

You hear the soft tinkling of the door chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer. 

It’s a soft, unassuming sound, barely noticeable against the evening lull. You swipe your hands across your apron, turning on instinct, your mouth already forming the usual greeting. 

“Hi, welcome to—”

The words die in your throat.

It’s a slow unfolding—almost a gradual realization that stretches across the seconds like the last rays of sun dipping beneath the horizon. He stands in the doorway, a figure outlined in gold, and his presence fills the space between you, no barrier that separates, and it feels... impossible. Unimaginable. Inevitable. 

His height is the first thing you notice. He’s taller than you expected, and you know he’ll tower over you, even at a distance. His hair is dark now, the color of midnight, almost—not the silver you once traced with your fingers in your mind. The cut is still similar to what you’ve always known it to be, though a little more unkempt, as if he’s lived in this body long enough for it to take on its own wear.

Then his eyes. The red is gone—no longer the shade of crimson that used to see right through you, those sanguine pools you once loved. In its place, a stormy grey, deep and impossibly expressive, pulling you in like an undertow. The color is striking, alien in its own way, yet there’s a warmth buried beneath it—and the familiarity of it tugs at you.

Even with the changes, even though you’ve never met the person standing in front of you, you’ll know him anywhere. 

There’s a shift in the room, a subtle, yet unmistakable change in the air. It’s as if the whole bistro has drawn in a breath—and you with it. Time stretches thin, each passing second expanding into what feels like an eternity.

Your eyes lock—and for a moment, nothing else exists. 

It’s as if the world has shifted off its axis. Or, perhaps more accurately, it’s as though a piece that’s always been missing has finally snapped into place.

Something settles in you, something foreign and indescribably familiar at the same time.

Sylus smiles.

“Hello, my love. Have I kept you waiting?”

It feels like home. 

____

“Now I found myself this kind of love, I can't believe it I'll never leave it behind I thought I'd never get to feel another fucking feeling But I feel— This love, this love, this love Oh, I feel it.”

End A/N: So this is done! Wow! I'm kind of proud of myself for writing something this long in the span of, idk, three months? Basically, the entire duration of my "vacation" back home. Now with another term and a busier schedule coming up, I really wanted to finish this series before life catches up to me. *sobs* Anyway, I'm so, so happy about the reception of this fic, and you've all been so sweet :') Again, thank you for reading! I'll see you in the spin-off, or whatever shit I put out next haha <3 Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira

[mangionebabymama]

“six thirty” — Luigi Mangione

“Whatcha gonna do when I’m bored and I wanna play video games at 2 am? What if I need a friend? Will you ride ‘til the end?” - “six thirty” by Ariana Grande

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: LOTS of pining and yearning, sort of slow-burn online romance, but it's also platonic, maybe? This also contains some slight mentions of depression and loneliness; please proceed with caution.

A/N: Inspired by this ask from a while ago, where those particular lyrics of "six thirty" about playing video games at 2 am have always stuck with me. If you don't know this about me by now, I am a Cancer sun, and it shows. I am emotional, and I'm going to be an emotional writer. Please note that this is purely fictional, but these feelings are real.

The glow of Luigi’s monitor lit up the dim room, casting long shadows across the walls. It was 2 a.m., and the quiet hum of his computer was the only sound breaking the silence. He shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as the faded memories of his surgery still lingered in his movements. Recovery had been slow, and lately, he’d found himself retreating into the digital world more and more. The real world felt heavy, distant—like it wasn’t his anymore. Like he was watching his life happen from somewhere far away. His family and friends tried to reach out, but he’d been pulling away, retreating into himself.

His cursor hovered over his Steam library, scrolling aimlessly. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. Just something to fill the void. That’s when he noticed it—the little green dot next to your username. You were online. His heart gave a little leap, and before he could reconsider his decision, a notification appeared from you.

Can’t sleep either? Is it the insomnia again or were you hoping to see if I was up?

Luigi’s fingers flew over the keyboard for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the heaviness in his chest. He glanced at the clock on his desk— now 2:01 AM—and then back at the glowing screen of his monitor. The room was darkling, lit only by the soft blue light of his computer, and the hum of the fan inside the tower was the only sound accompanying his thoughts.

Pep: Both.

The reply came almost instantaneously, like a reflex, as if you’d been waiting for him. 

You: Figured. You’ve been on late a lot lately. Not that I’m complaining—company’s nice.

Luigi leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. His back ached faintly, a dull reminder of the surgery he’d had months ago. The doctors had said he’d recover fully, but they hadn’t warned him about the mental toll it would take. The weeks spent in bed, staring at the ceiling, had given him too much time to think. And now, even though he was physically better, he couldn’t shake the weight that seemed to settle deeper into his chest every day.

Pep: Yeah, I guess I have. Sleeping’s been… hard.

You: Hard as in “can’t fall asleep” or hard as in “don’t want to”?

Luigi hesitated. You always seemed to know the right questions to ask, the questions that cut straight through the noise and got to the heart of things. He wasn’t sure if it was comforting or terrifying.

Pep: Both.

There was a pause before your next message appeared. 

You: You’ve been quiet lately. Not just tonight—like, in general. Even when we’re playing. You okay?

He stared at the words, his chest tightening. How does she always know? He wondered. You’d never met in person, never even seen each other’s faces, but somehow, you always seemed to see him. 

Pep: I don’t know. I guess… I’ve just been feeling kind of lost. I don’t even know how to explain it.

You: Try. 

Luigi let out a short, humorless laugh. Leave it to you to cut straight to the point. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the words.

Pep: It’s like… everything just feels heavy, you know? Like I’m just going through the motions. I’ve been distancing myself from everyone—my family, my friends—but I don’t even know why. I just… I can’t seem to connect with anything anymore. Except this. 

He added, gesturing to the screen even though you couldn’t see him. 

Talking to you. Playing games. It’s like the only time I feel… I don’t know, alive, I guess. 

The cursor blinked as he waited for your response, his heart beating a little faster than it should have.

After a moment, you wrote back. 

You: You’re not alone in that. I think a lot of people feel that way sometimes. Especially now, with everything going on in the world. It’s easy to get lost in your own head.

Pep: But it’s not just that. It’s like… I’m stuck. Like I’m just watching my life pass by, and I don’t know how to make it stop. I don’t know how to fix it.

There was another pause, longer this time.

You: Have you talked to anyone about this? Like, really talked?

Luigi shook his head, though he knew you couldn’t see him. 

Pep: Not really. I don’t want to bother anyone with it. And I don’t even know what I’d say.

You: You’re not bothering me

And you don’t have to have all the answers. Sometimes, just saying it out loud helps.

Or typing it out, lol

He smiled faintly, a warmth spreading through his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Pep: Thanks. Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

You: Probably be even more of a mess

You joked about that last bit of your message, and he could almost hear the teasing tone in your voice as he let out a chuckle reading what you said. 

Pep: Ya, probably

There was a comfortable silence between you both, broken only by the soft sound of his keyboard as he typed some more.

What about you? Why are you up so late?

You: Couldn’t sleep either. Insomnia’s a bitch. Plus, I was kind of hoping you’d be on.

Luigi’s heart skipped a beat, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

Pep: Yeah?

You: Yeah. You make the nights better.

He felt his face heat up.

Pep: You make them better, too. 

Another pause preceded your following message.

You: You know, it’s okay to not be okay. And it’s okay to lean on people when you need to. You don’t have to go through this alone.

Luigi stared at the words, his throat tightening. He wasn’t sure if it was the late hour or the raw honesty of the conversation, but he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He typed, his fingers lingering uncertainly over the keys.

Pep: I don’t want to be a burden. 

You: You’re not a burden. 

If anything, you’re the opposite. You’re important to me, Luigi—more than you realize.

His breath caught in his throat, and he had to blink back the tears that threatened to fall. 

Pep: You’re important to me too.

His hands shook as he typed. 

More than I think I’ve ever admitted.

There was a long silence, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d said too much. Yet, your response showed up, and he felt a surge of adrenaline in his chest.

You: Maybe we should admit it more. To each other. To ourselves. Life’s too short to keep everything bottled up.

Luigi nodded, even though you couldn’t see him.

Pep: Yeah. Maybe we should.

He tilted back in his seat, caught in a strange sensation of relief intertwined with fragility. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but at last, he felt like he wasn’t alone.

You: You know…

Sometimes, I think about what it would be like to meet you in person.

Luigi felt a flutter in his heart once more. 

Pep: Yeah?

You: Yeah. I think it’d be… nice. To talk face-to-face. To really see you.

Pep: I think it’d be nice too.

You: Maybe, one day, we will

Pep: One day, for sure

The cursor blinked on the screen, expecting the next words to appear. For once, Luigi felt a spark of something he hadn’t felt in months: hope.

You: Until then, I’m here. 

Whenever you need me.

Luigi smiled, his chest swelling with gratitude. 

Pep: Same goes for you. Always.

The cursor blinked lazily on the screen, as if it, too, was holding on for Luigi to gather his courage. He sat in the dim glow of his monitor, the rest of the room swallowed by the darkness of the early hours. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking, as if betraying the weight of the words he was about to type. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Why now? He thought. Why does it feel like I can only tell the truth at 2 a.m. when the world is asleep?

But he knew the answer. It wasn’t the time that mattered. It was you. The way you listened without judgment and your words seemed to reach into the parts of him he’d locked away. You made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as broken as he thought.

He took a deep breath, his chest tightening as he started typing.

Pep: There’s something I’ve never told anyone.

He wrote away, his words appearing on the screen in a rush as if they were desperate to escape. He paused, his heart pounding in his ears. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to lay himself bare like this?

Just as he was about to second-guess himself, your reply appeared up.

You: You can tell me anything, Luigi. You know that.

He exhaled shakily, his fingers moving almost of their own accord.

Pep: It’s about why I’ve been so… distant lately. It’s not just the surgery. Not just the insomnia. It’s… I’ve always felt like I don’t belong. Like I’m on the outside looking in. Even with everybody in my life. I try to act like I’m okay, like I’m fine, but I’m not. I haven’t been for a long time.

He stopped, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. His eyes darted to the clock in the corner of the screen—2:04 AM. The world was still asleep, but he felt more awake than in months.

Your reply came quickly, longing for him to say those words all along. 

You: That’s a heavy burden to carry alone. You don’t have to, you know. You’re not as alone as you think you are.

Luigi’s lips trembled as he absorbed your words, a tight knot swirling in his throat. Deep down, he yearned to trust you, to hold on to the fragile hope that he wasn’t as solitary as he often felt. Yet, the weight of loneliness pressed heavily on him, an ever-present shadow that made believing in that hope a daunting challenge.

Pep: It’s not just that

He typed, his fingers moving faster now, as if they couldn’t keep up with the thoughts tumbling out of his head. 

I’ve been struggling 

with something else

Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even my closest friends.

The cursor blinked mockingly, sitting tight for him to continue. He swallowed hard, his stomach churning. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment he either let it all out or shut it away forever.

You: Take your time, Luigi. I’m here.

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage. When he opened them, he started typing again, the words spilling out, his cup runneth over with transparency. 

Pep: I’ve always felt like I was different. Like there was something wrong with me. Something I couldn’t put into words. It’s not just the loneliness. It’s like… I’ve been searching for something my whole life, but I don’t know what it is. And it’s tearing me apart.

His hands trembled as he pressed the enter key, the letters materializing on the screen in sharp black and white. A rush of vulnerability washed over him, as if he had peeled away a layer of skin, revealing the raw, bleeding chaos lurking beneath. It was an eerie sensation, as though he was standing naked before an unseen audience, laid bare and utterly exposed.

His heart pounded as he waited for your reply, each second stretching into an eternity. When your message finally appeared, it was simple but profound.

You: Thank you for trusting me enough to share that. You’re not alone in feeling that way. A lot of people feel lost, like they’re searching for something they can’t quite name. It’s part of being human. But you don’t have to figure it all out right now. 

Just take it one step at a time, one day at a time.

Luigi’s breath caught in his throat as he read your words. It wasn’t judgment or pity that he saw in them. It was understanding. Compassion. And something else—something that made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Pep: I don’t know where to start

He confessed, his fingers shaking as he typed. 

I feel like I’m stuck in this… this loop. Like I’m just going through the motions, but I’m not really living. I don’t know how to break out of it.

Your response was prompt, as though you had anticipated him saying those words. 

You: Start by being honest with yourself. About what you want, what you need. It doesn’t have to be all at once. Just take small steps. And remember, you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. As much as you’ll let me be.

Luigi's vision swam before him as he absorbed your message, a lump rising stubbornly in his throat. He scrubbed at his eyes, fighting back the tide of emotions that surged within him—gratitude coursing through his veins, relief washing over him like a gentle wave, and a flutter of fear that danced just beneath the surface. Yet, amid this tumult, there was something else—a warm, comforting sensation enveloping him, as if he were being wrapped in a soft, reassuring hug that eased the weight on his shoulders.

Pep: I don’t know why you’re so kind to me.

He typed, his fingers moving slowly now as if each word carried the weight of his heart. 

I don’t feel like I deserve it.

You: You don’t have to earn kindness, Luigi. You deserve it just because you’re you. And you’re worth it. Don’t ever doubt that.

He stared at the screen, his breath hitching. Those words—those simple, powerful words—struck something deep inside him, something he’d buried long ago—a tiny spark of hope, flickering in the darkness.

Pep: I don’t know what to say. I just… Thank you. For being here. For listening. For… for seeing me.

You: Always, Luigi. Always.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he could breathe. Like the weight on his chest had shifted, just a little. It wasn’t gone, but it was bearable. And for now, that was enough.

Pep: There’s one more thing. Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even myself, really.

He paused, his fingers trembling. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment he either let it all out or shut it away forever.

You: You can tell me anything, Luigi. I’m here.

He closed his eyes, gathering his courage. When he opened them, he started typing again, the words spilling out in a raw, unfiltered stream.

Pep: I think… I think I’ve been searching for someone. Not just anyone, but… you. I don’t know how to explain it, but talking to you, it feels like… like I’ve finally found what I’ve been looking for. I know it sounds crazy, but—

Your reply interrupted him, cutting off his words before he could finish.

You: It’s not crazy, Luigi. I feel it, too.

His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at the screen, his mind racing. Did you really mean it? Or was it just the late hour, the vulnerability of the moment, making you say things you might not normally say?

Pep: Do you really mean that?

As he typed, his fingers erratically tremored; he couldn’t keep up with the thoughts tumbling out of his head. 

Or is it just the insomnia talking?

You: I mean it, Luigi. I’ve felt it, too. This connection between us. It’s real. 

It’s always been real. 

Pep: I want it to be real.

You: Then let’s make it real. 

His pulse quickened. The compulsion hung in the air, heavy and loaded. He’d thought about it—more times than he could count. He’d imagined what it would be like to hear your voice, to see your face, to feel your presence beside him. But it felt like a dream, something just out of reach.

Pep: But there’s so much distance. And I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that. If I’m even capable of it. I know you’re real, and this is, but I want to feel it, too. 

The honesty in his words surprised him. He hadn’t meant to say so much, but something about the late hour, the quiet, you—it made it impossible to hold back.

You: I get it. I really do. But… what if we didn’t have to figure it all out right now? What if we just… let ourselves want it? Even if it’s just for tonight.

I mean… what if we stopped pretending like this isn’t something real? Like we’re just two strangers who happen to be online at the same time. Because we’re not. We’re more than that. 

And… I don’t want to hide it anymore.

Luigi gazed at the words, his chest constricting. He felt naked and vulnerable, yet also… relieved. It was as if someone had torn off a bandage he hadn’t known was there.

Pep: I don’t want to hide it, either. I do want this. I want you. Even if it’s just like this, for now. Even if it’s just words on a screen. It just feels so real to me.

You: Then let’s stop pretending. Let’s just… be. Together. Even if it’s just for tonight.

He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He let out a slow breath, feeling the pressure ease slightly, now knowing that deep down, he understood what he wanted—he wanted you, and at long last, you were there, waiting for him. He was no longer alone. At this moment, going forward for however long the night would last, it would be just you and him—and only you and him. And it was going to be real. 

Then, slowly, he typed.

Pep: Okay. Let’s be together.

[miraclechatbug]

The way Marinette and Adrien consciously and unconsciously choose to portray themselves as Ladybug and Chat Noir respectively is fascinating to me. We can take just the first two released episodes S6 and see the differences and similarities.

Marinette is clumsy, forgettable, scatter-brained, and constantly in anxious, worst-case scenario mode all the time. She's frazzled, speaks faster than her brain can keep up with, fidgets constantly, and is always doing something or the other. She always over-prepares and has a plan for everything. Her mannerisms as Marinette resemble her dad (Tom Dupain) and when she is Ladybug, I think she unconsciously channels her mom's (Sabine Cheng) confidence.

It's clear that as soon as she transforms, she carries herself with more composure and certainty, something she only occasionally manages as Marinette.

As Ladybug, she moves with more certainty, effortlessly taking charge and trusting her instincts. But at the same time, she carries the weight of responsibility, bound by the pressure of being the leading face as the savior of Paris and the expectation to always have a solution. Even though she’s more confident in her abilities, she isn’t necessarily more free— if anything, she’s more constrained. Every decision matters, every mistake has consequences, and she has to think about the bigger picture at all times. As Marinette, she doesn’t have that same overwhelming burden. She’s anxious, scattered, and often lost in her own thoughts, but she has the space to obsess over the little things, whether it's an overly detailed plan, a small interaction with her crush, or a passing worry that spirals into something bigger. While Ladybug has to act, Marinette has the luxury of hesitation, of focusing on minutiae instead of the weight of the world.

And then in contrast there’s Adrien, in how he navigates his dual identity. As Chat Noir, he thrives in the freedom his mask gives him, in being playful, loud, and entirely unrestrained. He takes up space without hesitation, making himself seen and heard in a way he never does as Adrien.

As his civilian self, he fades into the background, careful and composed. He rarely draws attention to himself, moving through the world with quiet politeness rather than asserting himself wherever and anywhere he wants as Chat Noir. He’s considerate, always attuned to the needs of those around him, and I think he very much consciously and unconsciously he holds himself back. Where Marinette over-prepares and overthinks and often falls into spirals, Adrien is overly polite, often depressed even though he hides it very well, repressed, avoidant, and non confrontational. It’s only as Chat Noir that he allows himself to be messy, make mistakes, rambunctious, and completely unfiltered.

That’s why their conversation about being the best versions of themselves in Sublimation is so interesting to me. They both genuinely believe that they are better, be it more capable, more confident, more themselves when they’re transformed and fighting side by side. It’s not necessarily true, and in many ways, they underestimate their own strength as civilians, but it’s what they feel, and that belief shapes how they carry themselves once transformed.

What makes this so fascinating is that, whether they intended to or not, their masks have now became more than disguises. Over time, they’ve unconsciously crafted personas around Ladybug and Chat Noir, leaning into traits they suppress in their civilian lives. Marinette channels a confidence and decisiveness that she struggles to access as herself, while Adrien embraces a level of freedom and self-expression that he never allows when he's de-transformed. It's like when they are Ladybug and Chat Noir, they give them permission to be the versions of themselves they think they should be.

I’m really excited to see how they keep changing, how the lines between themselves keep blurring. And honestly, their best selves were never just one or the other. It’s not Marinette or Ladybug, Adrien or Chat Noir— it’s all of it, all at once. They just need to learn to find the balance in that.

[mrsriddlenott]

~ Oh, It’s You ~

<<Prev THREE Next>>

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Ex-Sneaky Link!JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader

This is an AU set 1 year after s4 however canon plot points won't really be mentioned.

After months of hooking up with JJ in secret, you both began developing deep feelings for each other, but when his friends, Kie especially, learn of your relationship and plot on it's downfall JJ leaves you reeling and confused as he enters a relationship with his best friend leaving you to wonder what you did to push him away so quickly. Unbeknownst to you however. the blonde was struggling more than he let on, wanting nothing more than to go his own path but feeling trapped with those who used to make him feel free. The only person he can think of now that makes him feel as open as he once did is.... you.

Warnings: emotional cheating(they almost kiss), ooc Kie, Depressed JJ but he doesn’t realize, lying and small amount of manipulation on Kie’s part.

~~~~

JJ’s fingers clenched against his phone, knuckles turning white as he waits for your response. Eyes darting between his phone screen and Kie’s angry face in front of him. “Don’t you want a life JJ” She spits at him like venom.

She seemed like such a different person now. JJ remembered when he trusted her with almost anything but whenever he thinks of her now he needs to stop himself from thinking of his dad. He can’t help but wonder if his mother was as easily manipulated by him as he’s beginning to realize he was by Kie.

Nothing he ever does is good enough.

“You said I needed a job and I have an interview, I don’t understand what the big deal is.” JJ sighed, still waiting for the feeling of his phone buzzing in his hand.

“I didn’t mean at some shitty little garage, that’s not going to get you anywhere in life. Working on cars is your hobby, you cannot make a livelihood off of it.” The way she said “you” so full of spite and anger made him feel so small, holding back his own anger as to not snap and make everything worse.

“I’m good with cars Kie, if I get enough legit experience I could open up my own garage.” JJ shrugs, only half enjoying the idea himself but wanting to please her. His eyes fall shut as she scoffs again, arms crossing over her chest while she gave him a disapproving look.

He didn’t want to do this, he hated when she talked to him like this. And when he got your text in the middle of one of their many fights, it felt so right that he should have known it was wrong. But he just couldn’t stay here, and he couldn’t admit to her that he had nowhere else to go after everything. His phone buzzed and his heart jumped, his eyes falling to the screen in his hand trying not to act weird as he read your text.

Y/N🤫💛 Are you sure that’s a great idea?

JJ wastes no time in typing out his response, ignoring the way Kie paces in front of him. She speaks angrily about him getting a job at Rafe’s fancy new nightclub instead, raising her voice with every word and glaring at his phone every second. His eyes roll despite how hard he tried to control them, knowing she hated when he did that but finding it harder and harder to be the perfect boyfriend she had imagined. “Are you seriously ignoring me? If you don’t want to talk about this maybe you should leave for the night.” Kie spat, anger clear on her face and JJ couldn’t blame her.

Jay Not sure if anything is a good idea anymore but ik u feel safe and i have nowhere else to go anymore

It took you much less time to formulate your next text as you read his. Your heart hurts at the pain he seems to be in, he seems so trapped in whatever worries he had right now. He seems hurt and lost, and you know him well enough to know he’s feeling like a burden so you quickly respond, leaving it up to him in the end.

Y/N🤫💛 The window will be unlocked, don’t feel like a burden Jay. I know things are weird between us now and they might always be, but I will never turn you away when you’re struggling. No matter what.

JJ read your text with slightly watery eyes, he felt lost and hurt, he was hurting the people around him just by his existence. He couldn’t be who Kie or John B wanted anymore, it was becoming too much. JB was a dad now and JJ understood why everything needed to become so serious so fast, he really did. But despite how happy he was for him and Sarah and their beautiful baby boy Jackson, he was terrified. The last few years felt like a blur, they went by so fast and JJ ignored it by telling himself he would be free in his 20s.

But he was wrong. It all kept piling on. He felt like in a blink of an eye he would be 30 and still feel absolutely nothing real. With a pang of guilt he bid a stressful goodbye to Kie as he left her house, knowing exactly where he would go, knowing he shouldn’t but knowing he couldn’t resist.

You were the only one that could slow everything down.

The sound of JJ’s bike outside your house had you shooting up from your bed, darting to unlock the window hoping your mom couldn’t hear the sound. She had heard too many tear filled rants about the blonde to ever accept him in her house but you just couldn’t resist him.

JJ quickly scaled the flower trellis on the wall outside your window just as you opened it for him, stepping back and attempting to discreetly watch him. His muscles were on full view from his cut t-shirt, constricting while he worked his way into your room, quickly turning to shut the window before looking back to you, catching you staring with a smirk.

“Hey Princess,” The nickname slips past JJ’s lips without a thought, so easily and smoothly as if he never stopped speaking it, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip as his eyes train themselves on you, “Thank you for letting me in.”

“You can’t call me that anymore JJ,” You breath out quickly before continuing, “And you don’t need to thank me.”

JJ watches you walk around your bed to retrieve the same blanket and pillow he used last time, handing them to him as you plop down onto your bed, “So what happened? You seemed different when we were texting earlier.” JJ scoffs at your words, sitting next to you, almost too close as he starts speaking.

“Me and Kie got into another fight,” He sighs, his eyes finding yours like a refuge before falling to his feet, “She’s been pestering me to work for Rafe so I got an interview at this garage close to her place to get her off my back but she doesn’t think it’ll be enough.”

“Well she doesn’t get a say, it’s your life Jay, don’t pick a job just to spite her. And I understand where she’s coming from, Rafe has basically become an overnight success in the last year but I agree that you shouldn’t settle for what she wants.” JJ watches you, waiting for you to push him one way or the other, but you dont. You wait for him clearly wanting him to choose for himself.

And JJ can’t remember the last time any one accepted, or even wanted to hear, his opinion.

“I don’t care how much everyone thinks he changed or how easily he can convince people, hell I don’t care if he has actually changed. A Cameron will never be my boss.” JJ states matter of factly and you smile up at him, his reserve and certainty always being some of your favorite aspects of his personality.

“I don’t doubt it Jay, and I personally think you’re too good to work for him anyway.” You giggle, and JJ takes note of the fact that is sounded exactly as it always used to. He almost forgot what it sounded like. JJ found himself reminiscing on every second he spent with you, how happy he was and how happy he could be again if he just took a leap of faith.

“I just don’t know what to do,” JJ averts his eyes from you, feeling lost in his own feelings and wants, “Nothing I ever do is good enough for her and it feels like this just wasn’t right, everything feels so forced.” The way his head falls into his hands almost breaks your heart, and you wish you could hug him even though you knew it was inappropriate.

“I can’t help with everything going on but my boss is hiring,” You grimace, your face twisting slightly, “I wasn’t gonna say anything because it’s for a janitor.”

JJ side eyes you with a weak smile making you laugh, turning on your bed to face him fully. “I’m serious JJ, it’s a good idea I swear.” You state with a bit of a giggle in your voice, instinctively gripping at his bare shoulder for only a second before retracting your hand quickly.

“How is that a good idea?” JJ laughs, the warmth of your hand lingering on his shoulder like a burn for far too long.

“Well A it’s not Rafe and B it’s not a random garage with no one you know. Mr.Barnes even grew up in the Cut, he’s way more down to earth than you would expect at first glance and he won’t treat you poorly. ” Your eyes meet his, a smirk growing on his lips at your words.

“So I’d get to work with you, every day?” JJ speaks slowly, words slipping off his tongue like they were somehow sultry. Against your better judgment you smile at his words, breaking eye contact while you try and form words.

“Well not every day, but I would be who shows you around and everything until you get the hang of the place.” You sigh, trying to ignore the excitement running through your body at his close proximity.

“What do you guys even do there?” JJ asks with a small laugh, wanting to hear you talk more than anything.

“Well I just answer calls and fix Mr.Barnes schedule mostly, and y’know take deliveries and stuff but it’s a security company so we more or less just give rich people protection.” Your eyes meet as he watches you talk, JJ can’t think of a better sight than your happy smile while you speak. He could listen to you talk about anything, genuinely. And he knew right then and there that he didn’t care if he was mopping floors and taking out trash, he was gonna take the job just to see you.

Your breath catches, your eyes meeting his again, this time letting them stay locked together. The intensity grows quickly making your chest feel tight, your irises feeling trapped in the strong blue gaze of his. A gasp escapes your lips as he begins to lean in instinctually, making you place a hand on his chest while you put distance between you both by standing.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” JJ stutters, eyelids closing tightly preparing for you to yell at him to leave, that he was a two timing piece of shit that needs to get out of your life for good. Instead you stay pacing in front of him eyes brimming with tears, “I shouldn’t have even thought- fuck I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, lets just forget it,” Feeling bad for him, you stare to his reddening face feeling your own heat up. Knowing he has nowhere else to go, and despite the sense of worry settling deep in your chest as you decide to ignore this moment you let him stay. “We should probably get to sleep anyway.”

“Yeah yeah,” JJ starts, jumping up from your bed and avoiding eye contact as he prepares a spot to sleep on the floor.

~~~~

~ Taglist ~ (ask to be added❤️)

@slut4-gojo @cali-888 @marley1773 @agnxstic @apeachtea @juno2369 @bee-43 @definitelymentallyderanged

[akindaflora]

Say it with Conviction

Bangchan (idol) x Reader (Fluff)

Warnings: Thoughts about depression, Insecurities in not being enough, Some kissing and some suggestive themes were mention. Bangchan is called Chan, Channie, and Christopher.

Description: Morning depression hits you hard as you awoke in your lover arm. He finds you crying and he comforts you with words of passion and truth expressing his love for you.

Author note: Hey gang was feeling major morning depression and I just couldn't help but think about Chan and how he might comfort a lover in deep insecurity about their relationship. Instead of mopping I wrote this. Now glad that I did because in a way it did help me feel less alone in my little delusional bubble. Hope this warms you as much as it did me when writing this story. :)

WORD COUNT 2,357

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You have always dealt with deep depression since you could remember. Always sad on days you should be the happiest scared for the start of a new year wondering if worse things will come. But when you got together with Chan, you did your best to hide the sadness away. Afraid he would leave like all the others did when they found you crying over nothing or laying in your bed like the wakening of a funeral.

“You are always sad, why can’t you see the good in the world,”

“You are so self-centered it’s not always about your problems,”

“I can’t take it anymore Y/N it’s your birthday and all you can do is be anxious,”

“You need help and I just can’t be it,”

The phrasing of words from past lovers cut through your heart like a knife. Constantly afraid you were undeserving of love and constantly holding back to show only the best sides of yourself. It had been a problem with most of your relationships. And yet while you tried to build your walls so high only a few ever stood up to the test. Your close friends who'd never let you shut them out and to your surprise Chan.

That was the most surprising thing about your relationship with Chan. Every time you tried to push him away he’d do something unexpected getting a laugh out here and there. Finding the root of the problem before you could even find the words to explain. Even going so far as to wash you when the world was heavy. And he never said a word against it only that you should always feel comfortable talking to him about anything. He made it his purpose that you were to always feel love even if he was miles away. And when you simply needed space to process he would give you it but never stopped at making sure you eat by sending a few deliveries here and there. Sending a bouquet of your favorite flowers with simple love notes that remind you why he loved you.

Even when you felt alone he was always there. Apart of you was afraid that one day he’d wake up and leave. Walk through the door and never speak to you again but every day he found new ways to stay. Planning trips so you always had something to look forward to. Buying matching clothes or jewelry so you’d both have a piece of each other no matter the distance. He always did his best to respect your boundaries and still somehow pushed the limit that you didn’t know could be pushed.

But as you lay on his chest listening to his heartbeat you couldn’t help but to let a few tears slide down your face. If there was one thing Chan was scared of in your relationship it was your tears. “You never make a noise when you're sad, please find me don’t close yourself off, you don’t even have to say a word,” he would say as he would caress your head and hold you like it was all he was ever made to do. And while you wanted to wake him up you didn’t. The voices in your head had been growing these days. Reminding you of all the things he did for you but what did you do for him?

Nothing

The voice ranged deep in your head reminding you of feelings you did your best to talk yourself out of. As if he could sense your sadness in his sleep his hand that rested around you tightened pulling you closer to him, his spirit trying to remind you that you were his everything. Tears fell from your face even more like a damn breaking gushing from your eyes. You thought about getting up to whip your eyes before he woke but you remained frozen in his warmth more afraid to ruin the sleep that he desperately needed. No matter the painful thoughts telling you to leave him before he did. You couldn't, he is everything you could have ever wished for.

With that thought you carefully tilted your head to look at him. He was smiling in his sleep, your heart clenching at your lover. You slowly brought a hand to his face pushing away the wild hair that peaked towards his closed eyes. And softly you fell into a trace slowly running your hands on his nose. Softly touching around the shape of his lips. He slightly shudders at the feeling of your touch and his eyes slowly opening. His hand sleepily looking for your face but his eyes shot open at the feeling of your tears.

“what’s wrong baby,” he said voice groggy with sleep as he turned to face you not letting go of your waist. “did you have a nightmare?” he said whipping the tears from your eyes. You only smiled at him, your morning sadness slipping away at every touch.

“It’s nothing do you want breakfast?” you asked stroking his cheek as his eyes looked at you with worry frowning only a bit at your dismissal of your own emotions. He studied your face looking deep into your eyes searching for whatever may be the cause to make you cry so early in the morning.

“It’s not nothing if it makes you cry, tell me what’s wrong I'd find a way to make winter stop if it made you too cold or hid the sun away if it made you too hot. There is nothing in this world that’ll stop me from caring even about the simplest things that make you cry, tell me please so I can find a way to bring you peace,” he said with urgency. You only smiled quietly at his determination to bring you joy.

“but I'm happy right now see I'm smiling,” you said giving him a light peck to ease his mind. “your the reason I'm smiling now so you have nothing to worry about,” you said running you fingers over his furrowed brow you began to try and leave the bed. Key word tried. Chan didn't let go only pulling you closer. Rubbing softly at your back gliding up and down from your arms as he looked see into your eyes.

“Yeah but I found you crying, why didn’t you wake me what do I always say,” he said but as he started you said the words in sync, “Always find me” him giggling at your joking expression. “it’s nothing to worry about I promise,” you said after he still didn’t let go. He only pulled you in more in response. Your head back to his chest as he caressed your head. You couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Tightening your arms around his waist.

After what felt like hours only a few seconds he spoke again into your head. “You know when you say it’s nothing, I get afraid that you’ll leave. I’m afraid that I’ll never be your cure anymore,” he said quietly almost in a whisper. If you weren’t so close you’d probably miss it. Your head rose from his chest quickly as you looked into his eyes sternly. “I would never leave you, Chan, if anything I’m more afraid you’ll leave me thinking I’m too much or too little,” you said caressing his head softly. Trying to push away the fear from his mind.

“Is that why you were crying this morning,” he asked quietly. Putting your head back in his chest you sighed. He always found a way to wiggle the truth out of you. You both never being good at hiding from each other. It was always scary how well you both could see each other and how easy it was to confess your darker sides. But yet you never ran from it. If anything it brought you both closer like it did in this moment.

Tracing shapes on his chest you began to whisper out, “I’m afraid I don’t do enough for you,” you said quietly. He remained quiet as if giving you space to explain more as his grip tightened slightly. “You do so much for me love, you give me space when I need it, you buy me flowers and food and you even help me wash when I can’t. I’m afraid all I do is take from you. I’m worried I don’t add up to you,” you said with a bit more courage. He pulled back slightly pulling you both up to sit and look at each other but he didn’t let go. Fear ranged in your eyes as he did so worried that your words had woken him from this dream to a nightmare of reality.

He looked in the distance as if trying to find the words. This is it said the voice in your head he’s gonna finally break up with you.

He took a deep breath before looking at you carefully reaching for your face to rub away the tears that flowed with ease. And he softly kissed your forehead before he spoke.

“My love, you do more for me than you can even see,” he said with determination. “I’m never leaving you if anything you’d leave me. You do so much for me. When I’m sick you take care of me with such care. When I get hurt from practice you force me to rest and even go so far as to find ways to ease my pain. You make me lunches with cute notes that taste only of your love. When it’s my birthday you make me the most beautiful cake and get only the most thoughtful gifts that I don’t even think about. When I’m stressed from work you give me massages that help ease my mind. When I go to bed sometimes I get too excited to sleep because I can’t wait to experience another day with you. You fill my mind even when I dream it’s only about you. You’re so caring and kind and you have these moments of true bliss that I work hard to keep on your face. Hell, even now when you are crying you are more worried about me. You are my everything I'd never leave you.” In between every sentence that left his mouth, you couldn't help but smile gripping onto him as if he disappeared and he did the same looking into your eyes with worry as he said each sentence. But no matter how worried he was there was a fire of determination to prove his love was real and that you were his end game. “if anything I'm trying to find ways to keep you with me forever. I’d plead to the gods just to have you again in another life,” he said again rubbing your cheek as you laughed.

“Your obsessed with me aren’t you,” you said sweetly looking into his eyes. He only nodded smiling at your smile. “Good because I’m just as obsessed with you,” you said back. his smiling deepening as he rushed to take your lips.

“You’re forever mine,” he said in between pecks. You giggled at his possessives. “And your forever mind right,” you asked questioning. He looked at you with slight confusion a small pout. “Say it with conviction,” he said looking into your eyes studying your face as you smiled again, “Your forever mine,” you said this time with just as much determination as him. He smiled as he peck your lips.

“Louder,” he said simply. “say it again but louder,” he said again pleading running through his voice.

“YOUR FOREVER MINE,” you said again. Him slightly wincing at your loudness but he giggled as he pecked your lips again.

“And don’t you dare forget it,” he said going back in for a longer kiss. Deepening as your lips moved. You sighed happily feeling every loving thought every loving touch he tried to tattoo upon your heart your soul.

The kiss grew with urgency to help you remember this moment for the next time that stupid voice was in your head.

He suddenly pulled away but not before pecking the areas of your face. You giggled in response, “Channie” you said softly with giggles still slipping from your lips. He pulled back so he could kiss your lips softly only touch your lip as if stamping his love with approval.

He pulled back again this time picking you up in his arms as he led you to the kitchen. You laughed loudly and slapped his chest softly.

“What are you doing,” you said as he walked looking down at you with a smile.

“Oh nothing just taking the love of my life to the kitchen so we can have breakfast together,” he said as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Your heart beating at his words and looking at his face for any lies or anything foul but as you looked you only found his love for you. You only leaned up kissing his cheek. “And what does the love of my life want to eat,” you said whispering in his ear. His cheeks blushing at your question.

He smirked a little something naughty brewing in his mind, “I’d say you but sadly humans have these things called stomachs and while I think you are more than enough I guess I can settle for some pancakes and maybe if you're keen I can have a little nibble of you,” he said setting you down on the counter. You looked away as a deep blush settled onto your face. Still to this day, you could never understand how he could be so sweet and charming to so devilish in a mere second.

“Christopher,” you said covering your smile as he only laughed kissing the side of your head. “chocolate or blueberry,” he said simply in response pulling your face back to his own smiling face.

“Chocolate,” you said back with your own smile. But as you tried to get off to help with the ingredients he shook his head keeping you there. “Nope not today,” he said rubbing circles on your hips with his thumb. “Today my love gets to sit pretty as I make them breakfast,” Your face forming to protest but he silent you with a kiss that linger only slightly before pecking again.

“If you're really itching to help you sit their and tell me hot I am when I mix the batter,” he said again. You only laughed at him, “your egos so big,” you said looking lovingly into his eyes. He only scoffed, “How could I not be when I get to wake up to the love of my life every morning,” he said inches away from your lips.

You only pushed him away before he could kiss you again, he looked slightly offended at you pushing him away but smiled as you blew him a kiss, “You dork just go make the pancakes and maybe I’ll cheer you on hot stuff,” you said jokingly his smiling winding at your words as he caught your kiss bringing it to his heart.

Oh yeah, you guys were definitely stuck with each other. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After reading notes: hahahaha I hope I didn't fill your delusions too much. But when looking for my own stores to read I can't help but feel a lack of soft Chan moments. He always written as the leader and this tough steam engine that could if you read the feugo like stories. And while I don't disagree with him being this hot dom, I can't help but to crave more of his softer sides that we get to see pop out every once in awhile when he decides to make his presence known in content. I treasure those moments because it reminds me that he still gets to feed into that inner child every so often. I just hope he feels as loved as he does with Y/N in this. Sorry brb gonna go write in my diary about being obsessed with some random Idol that doesn't know I exist. Ha very much feeling spain again. RIP :(: Hope you enjoyed, write again soon.

[fishingisuniversal]

Imagine you're a mentally ill twenty year old who had to move out of your parents basement because you and your dad had a violent falling out after your mom's death. You spend the next year taking depression naps and ignoring all your problems till two, admittedly hot, assholes break in, try to beat the shit out of you, then recruit you into a quest to kill your dad who is now on a suicide mission to irrevocably fuck Up the entire world because of what happened to your mom. They're trusting you, looking to you for answers you don't have, to kill a man you don't want dead, but you're just twenty years old and the only thing you're sure of is that you miss your mom. You travel across the country for weeks fighting monsters created by your Evil Dad who you have a Complicated Relationship with, and grow closer to the guys that broke into your house, relearning what family and love mean, and maybe accidentally getting into a situationship with both of them until you do actually succeed in killing your dad. Well, your dad dies. Actually, he kills himself in front of you while sobbing and apologizing for everything he did wrong in your life, but he's dead now! Then your only two friends in the world confess their love to one another and fuck off to go fight more monster while you're stuck in your now empty childhood home that's somehow haunted by you as much as it is your dead parents. After slowly spiralling back into depression and having to kill two people you thought cared about you, you rediscover your purpose and save a town full of people, bringing them back to your castle for safety just as your besties (really seems like you're part of a polycule now but communications never been a strong suit for any of you) return and help you save the world again.

But also you're immortal and soon everyone around you dies and you're forced to be content protecting the lineage of your closests friends as you desperately try and stop their children and their children's children from making the same mistakes.

My point is that Alucard is truly God's strongest soldier because I probably would have made Trevor and Sypha vampires.

[truelotus]

“𝐈𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋” — 03

Yandere! Sosuke Aizen X F! Reader

TW: Smut/ lemon, 18+ content or mature content

The spark between you and Sosuke continued on even after visiting the cave together, things have gotten a lot serious ever since. There was no need to label what you were. There was a clear connection and loyalty between you both.

Though ever since visiting that cave together, things around you seemed to be different..

It’s hard to explain but, men who have interacted with you seemed to disappear from existence the day after or whenever. Were you some kind of bad luck towards men?

Just a couple days ago, you stopped by a dango stop. It was a stand you often visited when heading out for a mission. You knew the owners son had a small crush on you but you chose to ignore it. Just to be able to enjoy the dangos you ate.

But.. the last visit you made, he gave you a beautiful single rose as a gift. You accepted it out of kindness, and again choosing to ignore the blush on his face as he gifted it to you.

Then you revisited the other day, the owner had a depressing aura surrounding him. You couldn’t help but be worried and ask him what had happened.

“Is everything alright? You seem to be down.” You said as you put your hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort the old man.

“Not exactly.. my son.. he passed away the other night. He was..murdered” Causing you to gasp.

You were so deep in thought you didn’t realize that Sosuke had snuck up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your head.

“Is something the matter, darling?” His voice brought you back to the present, you blushed when he called you darling, you were like a teenager fan girling over him when he used that pet name.

“Oh no, I was just thinking.” He pulled away as you turned around, you then placed a gentle kiss upon his jawline.

“Well.. I’m aware that you’ve been quite busy, darling. However, I have some plans for us tonight. The festival and all, do you think you’ll be able to make it happen?” he said in a soft and calming tone.

“Of course I can! I’ll always find time for you Sosuke. You know it.” He chuckled lightly, then placing a kiss on your glossy lips.

“That’s splendid.”

“Let me go get my captain, I need to inform him about the meeting for today. Though I doubt he will be attending.. You know how my captain is.” You were just about to leave your office to fetch him, just for Sosuke to grab your hand, pulling you back to him.

It was such a quick moment, somehow he spun you around, your face was right to his chest.

“Sosuke..?”

“I actually needed your assistance with.. something else.” You titled your head slightly, confused on what on earth he was talking about. But just then you could feel something hard touching your thigh.

“Oh my.”

“I apologize.. It’s been quite some time since I’ve last felt your touch. As you can see I am very.. touch starved for you.”

“Of course, Sosuke.”

It was almost embarrassing on how quickly you stripped yourself down for this man, Sosuke could feel himself getting harder just by watching you strip down for him.

He loved how devoted you were to him, if he wanted a handjob while he worked on paperwork, you’d do it, if he wanted you to give him a blowjob while there was someone in his office, you’d do it. You did everything for him and with no complaints.

“Beautiful. As always.” He said as he placed his hands onto your hips, looking at yours curves and beauty.

You are his prize possession, you are his everything, you are to be flaunted to the whole universe. If everything goes accordingly to plan, you will be. You will be the queen that everyone praises, he will do everything in his power to make you the queen of his new world. Everything just has to go according to his plan.

In a swift movement, he bent you over your desk. He bent down a bit just to see your pretty little cunt.

“You’re dripping already.” He stuck his tongue out, licking your cunt. Causing shivers down your spine. “Please.. Sosuke.”

He stood back up so he could get his cock out, “I’ll fill you up just nicely.” You could feel his hard tip at the entrance of your wet cunt, slowly, he entered inside.

He fit you like a glove.. your walls clamped down onto him, making him throw his head back. “I can never get enough of you.” Slowly, he started to thrust himself into you.

Your hands gripped onto your desk, your breasts laid out onto your desk. The room was filled with your lustful moans. “S-Sosuke..” You moaned out his name.

You felt his sex twitch inside you as you moaned out his name, gosh he fucking loved when you moaned his name like that. “That’s right..huff—say my name just like that.”

You could feel his thrusts getting faster, and with each thrust, he hit that perfect spot of yours. He knew very well how to make you feel amazing.

He absolutely loved fucking you from behind, though he can’t see your beautiful face, he gets to see your ass jiggle with each thrust he made.

He put his hands onto your ass, gripping onto your cheeks. You let out louder moans, you were beginning to get too loud..

Aizen removed one of his hands from your ass, he used his free hand to shove two of his fingers into your mouth, “People will hear you..” He leaned over, whispering into your ear while fucking your cunt.

“But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You gagged on his fingers when he shoved them deeper into your mouth. “I bet you would.. you want people to hear you getting fucked like a dirty slut.” He used his other hand to smack your ass.

Causing you yelp out, even with fingers shoved in your mouth. He took his fingers out of your mouth but then grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back.

“O-Oh..F-Fuck..!” Your words were shaky just from how hard Sosuke’s cock was fucking you. You could feel yourself about to come soon.

“Sosuke.. I’m about to..”

“Hah.. I know.. me too.” He could feel himself about to finish, your walls clamped onto his cock, making him groan.

And just like that, your juices were all over his cock, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, slobber slightly coming out of your mouth when coming.

“Look at that..” He looked down to see your juices all over his dick, what a beautiful scenery to him.

“Oh fuck..”

He was now finishing up too, he did a quick more thrusts into your cunt before he came inside you, he stopped all his movements, he stayed still inside of you just to make sure your sweet cunt was filled to the brim.

“You took me so well.” He placed a kiss on your shoulder, giving you a quick smack on your ass before pulling out.

He bent down to see your cunt in all it’s glory, seeing his semen spill out of you pleased him. “Beautiful.” He said as he stood back up, you looked awfully exhausted.

“Come on darling.. we still have a meeting to attend you. Go on and get your captain.”

You straightened yourself up, legs wobbly, you could still feel his cock inside of you but it wasn’t actually inside of you. “O-Okay..” You collected your clothes that were on the floor, dressing yourself up.

[cicerfics]

So, I have been vaguely noodling around with an idea that's, like...

OK, first of all: I choose to headcanon that the SIS has a K9 unit, because why wouldn't they! They have dogs that are trained to sniff out bombs and do all kinds of other things! And I don't know if realistically these dogs and their handlers would be kept anywhere near MI6 HQ...but make-believe land can have anything I want, so they are there now!!

And I always choose to headcanon that Q was a Weird Neurodivergent Kid Who Spent All His Time With Animals Instead of People and had like ten million pets of all different species. But mainly he had cats and dogs, and he's as comfortable with dogs as he is with cats.

And he gave up having dogs when he moved to London full time and got very busy with grad school and MI6, but he still loves dogs very much. So he visits the K9 unit regularly and makes friends with one of the handlers and helps her with training and exercising the dogs. It's like free therapy for Q! It helps him decompress after a bad day! He is soothed by working with these creatures for an hour or two!

And I've been thinking about how maybe one or two of these dogs have been retired from active service but still hang out with the others. Their handlers take the retired dogs home with them at night, and bring them into work in the morning, and the retired dogs get to exercise with the others and stay busy and feel useful! They are also helpful for socializing the newly trained puppies and keeping them in order!

Aaaaand maybe the handler of one of these old dogs has to move away to take care of her sick mother, or something. And she can't take the dog with her. And she's very upset because she doesn't know who will look after this dog now!

And Q is like ☝️🤓 💡

Because, as it happens, there is another old dog lurking around HQ these days who is about to be retired from active service but needs to stay busy and feel useful!

And so Q simply leashes up the dog and hands him to Bond.

Congrats, Bond! You have your very own retired-from-service dog now! He is scarred and grumpy and suspicious of everyone and he has a bad hip! You two are gonna get along GREAT. Also, he needs to go for walkies every morning, and he needs to go swimming every afternoon, and you are going to have to spend two hours a day working with him in the training room or he will fall into a deep depression. And also, he needs a special expensive kidney-health diet and distilled water and regular brushings and nail trimmings. I will teach you all his commands and walk you through his daily routine for the first few weeks until you get used to each other! You two are going to have so much fun together! 🤩

Bond does not want this dog. The dog does not want Bond. But Q is determined, and now Bond is walking this dog around Hyde Park (or the dog is walking HIM) and they're both eyeing each other like...it's rotten work. Especially to me, especially if it's you. I'll do it, but Jesus Christ.

But both Bond and the dog have a strong sense of Duty which carries them through until they can properly get used to each other, and they do become very fond of each other in time!

(Also, I just have a nebulous Thought in my head of Q teaching Bond the dog's routines and commands and giving the dog treats and headrubs, and Bond getting jealous and needing Q to also give HIM treats and headrubs for participating in the Training Routine with the dog. After each training sesh, Q has to have them both sit politely while he feeds them treats and rubs them down and tells them they are Good Boys.

@halfbaked00q, maybe you have more thoughts on this, idk!!)

[junedenim]

2013

beneath the boardwalk, part 11 (series masterlist)

do i wanna know?

warnings: depression & desperation

word count: 3.7k

I moved in with Jackson at the end of January. It was sudden and maybe too soon, but I liked Jackson and his place. I had known him long enough and slept (plain old sleeping) with him long enough to know I could live with him. I felt I had grown out of my old apartment. I had expanded so much like I had eaten a Wonderland cookie that the windows were bursting, shattering glass onto the street, and cutting into me.

It was a form of self-harm that unfortunately hurt Jackson in the process as well. I felt early on in living together that we weren't perfect matches. We didn't talk very often about unrelated things, only ourselves. My narcissistic tendencies were often inflicted on him, but he did the same to me, something I didn't mind because we rarely saw one another, only at nighttime.

It didn't help that he was still my agent. I shunned myself from writing a memoir again because there were unavoidable subjects that would expose me to him in unkind ways. I began writing short stories, thinking I would make a collection of them. Jackson found the idea to be dumb but was polite enough not to phrase it like that.

I started to think about my death in horrible ways. I was convinced I'd get pushed onto the subway tracks. I started seeing my dead grandmother around New York and thought I had developed schizophrenia. I wrote a story about it and labelled it as fiction. Jackson called it "depressing" and found it to read like a science fiction mess. Both were true and criticism I could take back when he was my agent, but not as my boyfriend.

I told Fennel and Kaka about the problem and they told me to go see a therapist. I didn't until I got so high one night that I was convinced I was going to jump out the window by accident. Dr. Varma was thirty, blonde, and had these ugly side bangs. The day after my first session I had Opal cut bangs, full-frontal ones, into my hair. They turned out rather well for someone who has unstoppable shaky hands. I got put on an SSRI, which stumped my creativity until I got used to it around March.

I thought about moving back to London but only ever told Dr. Varma this because I figured it would hurt every New Yorker I knew. In general, things felt aimless. Winter tends to have that effect on me. It's consuming and feels like my stomach has a parasite on it and my brain is being squashed between someone's hands. I was also 26, anxious, and terrified by the thought that I was suddenly going to be 27 that year.

It feels anti-feminist to say a man made everything make sense, so, I'm not going to say that, but certain people make everything make sense. Even though Alex and I didn't talk much, the thought that he'd be 27 too made things feel less troubling. Things made sense in his mum's car driving in circles. 

I don't mean to discourage the power of my friends in this process. Opal comforted me more than anyone. I was often disillusioned with how the start of the year had turned out, mostly with my relationship with Jackson, and despite her close friendship with him, she was always understanding. She never pushed ideas on me. Never toward breaking up or staying together. She felt like Dr. Varma sometimes, her words pointing me in a certain way, but I never had to pay her for it. I always knew she just wanted the best for me.

One evening, we watched The Sound of Music and I cried in her arms while Christopher Plummer sang Edelweiss. I declared Captain Von Trapp would be my husband. I sounded the same way I did when I was 6 but he sang with a tenderness I love so dearly to this day. I found comfort in childish things. I realized how disconnected I had become from that part of my life, with the people who gave me life, the land I grew up in, and how much of a tailspin every chapter had felt. The most normal I had ever felt had been 10 years ago. It belonged in a world I never knew.

I knew I had to get out of New York.

*

I bought a plant in February. One that doesn't need much attention and can sit on your windowsill for a year at a time and not die. It made the act of having a plant a lot less beautiful but I felt like a proper starting point for taking care of things, including myself.

During this time, Jackson and I were still together. We would break up in April where I would be accused of using him, something I did partially do. For a long time after I felt ashamed of that because Jackson had been a person who had changed my life, brought my happiness, and had a beautiful friendship. Our relationship began out of insecurity of my singledom but was also built on the foundations of those traits.

I did use Jackson, but in the same way everyone uses a relationship to fulfill a part of their life. If I didn't need a use for him then we wouldn't have been together. However, I admittedly did use him as a rebound, something I confessed to him when I started going to therapy.

Jackson and I didn't talk much about anything other than ourselves, so we never got to the topic of what we wanted from a relationship. I never had any intentions of marrying Jackson, not to say he had any with me either, but he took it a lot more seriously than I did. Frankly, I didn't take anything seriously and that was starting to scare me.

I had maintained the difficulties of a romantic relationship with near-consistency from the age of 18 to 25, which is particularly rare in the 21st century, especially two people like Alex and I. I took my work seriously during that time and when the relationship fell apart, almost everything else fell to the side.

The proper levels for taking things seriously I'm not sure of, but for me, I didn't feel like I showed up, other than with Opal and Jackson. The only two other people I was as close with were an older gay couple that fed me once a week. I was dependent on everyone. Opal went through a lot of shit in 2012 that I disappeared away from and took Jackson with me. I knew I did it but I was too ashamed to make a change or even say sorry for it. Yet, she took our friendship seriously and still showed up for me.

I decided that after my birthday I would take a trip to upstate New York. I picked dates I knew Jackson couldn't accompany me and rented a car. I wanted to be alone. When I told Opal this she asked me if I wanted company. I thought I didn't need it but her question made me realize that what I desired most was genuine socialization.

Even though she hates suburbia and hiking, Opal came with me.

We drove for four hours up to Watkins Glenn. Opal drove us the first two hours out of the city and I drove the remaining four to our hotel, The Colonial Inn & Creamery. Creamery meaning it had a built-in ice cream parlour, which saved us from many late-night snack runs.

The State Park, which was the main reason I went, had these gorgeous waterfalls. Since it was early spring and the air held a slight drizzle, the park was fairly empty. We stopped at the gorge, right where the water falls down, not in some rushing force, but just like that drizzle of rain that surrounded us on a work up to it. It was gradual before forming a small lake at our feet. I squatted, dipping my hand in, and patting the cold water on my face.

"Should we take a break here?" I asked Opal, who was standing beside me.

She loudly sighed, "Yes. Please!" She sat beside me and took chapstick out of her purse. "It's very beautiful," she said while placing it on. "Thank you for taking me."

I smiled over at her. She wasn't elegantly dressed, something out-of-the-order for her. She looked tired from the walking and her jeans were dirty at the bottom cuffs. She placed her arms on her legs and I felt calm. "Thanks for coming with me," I said. 

We didn't talk after that. We had talked the whole trail and we had many words left to say but we watched the water drizzle down the stone, not a sound made.

She stood and began taking pictures. She had begun dabbling in photography at the end of last year when her boyfriend bought her a camera. (Is that a gift most boyfriends get their girlfriends?). I took out my notepad, small and dainty, and a gift from Jackson.

I drew the waterfall. It was two circles to signify the gorge with a bunch of lines cracking down the middle. On the next page, I wrote, Eroding for a billion years until, one day, water spilled out, and here I am now looking at it. How many paths were walked until the water found this one? I'm not good a poetry, clearly, but it was a respectable description of what my mind was ticking through. I found it to be dumb, even when writing it, but paired with the awful drawing I had drawn and more importantly the photo Opal took of me sitting on the rocks, just me and the water. All together it embodied a piece of me.

On our way back to the hotel we bought peach Schnapps. We drank it while we flicked through the television. It undeniably felt like two kids who broke into their parents' liquor cabinet. We each sat on our individual queen-sized beds and I turned to Opal across the gorge that divided us and said, "I think you're my sister."

She giggled while swallowing, trying to keep all the fluid in. I could tell she almost said something snarky but she softened by the time she could speak. She was an only child and she said to me, "Yeah. It feels that way for me too."

*

After Jackson and I broke up, I briefly lived with Fennel and Kaka while I tried to figure everything out. I was writing more ever since Watkins Glen and Jackson, through his kindness and belief in me, set me up with a different agent. There was no promise to be friends, but we knew we'd run into one another again, especially because of Opal. We ended amicably and he helped me move out. We hugged each other goodbye and I didn't see him for a while after that.

I heard Arctic Monkeys would be headlining Glastonbury again around this time. The announcement had been made weeks prior but I hadn't paid much attention to any news, let alone my other ex-boyfriend. I sent an email to Alex because we were old losers who still primarily communicated through it. If Alex ever got Facebook I think we would still be communicating on it to this day.

In the email, I apologized for not sending my congratulations sooner and that I was excited about the next album. On the whole, it sounded sterile and formal. It came off as something a person he’s never met would send as congratulations in hopes he’d throw some money their way.

Alex politely wrote back a thank you and then asked if I had suffered a stroke because I used “your” when I should have used “you're.” I wrote back how I was rolling around in embarrassment from the thought of it alone. He wrote back a note of laughter. After that, things were dry and I didn't hear from him until June.

*

When the band headlined Glastonbury that year, I didn't watch. You can't get the BBC stream in America, which was beneficial for my well-being. I had decided to move on and not be so absorbed with him. Something I never really did. He was hard to avoid.

I had thought the moment I moved out of the apartment Alex and I used to share that all old wounds would feel healed. I had thought leaving New York City would dissipate all the aches in my bones. Every absence was fleeting. However, I needed to go somewhere that didn't feel so loud.

I settled in New Lebanon, New York for two weeks. It was cooler than the heated cemented city. The house I stayed in was an old sawmill with a garden and stream nearby. Since I was staying there alone, I only had make-believe to keep me company. It wasn't the healthiest but it made for good writing.

It also forced me to learn how to cook because there were very few places to eat. Alex called me when I was in the middle of making pasta. I had just gotten a new phone (my first iPhone, the 5) and had yet to transfer all the contacts. 

I picked it up and felt like an old lady with my inability to pick up the call. "Hello. Who is this?"

I knew it from the chuckle alone. "We've really fallen out enough that you don't remember my name."

"Oh." I embarrassingly laughed. "Hey, you. I've just gotten a new phone. It's Apple. The new one. I'm feeling very posh right now. I'm cooking dinner."

"You're cooking?" It's like we had skipped thirty chapters. I had broken up with my boyfriend, started therapy, temporarily moved out of New York City, learned to cook, got a new phone, and learned how to do a cartwheel since we last talked. I had yet to register all of it too.

"Yeah. I've got a house too. Well, temporarily. I'm in New Lebanon, New York. It's a writing retreat. A personal one with no other writers."

"That sounds nice. You've always liked seclusion. You've got chickens too?"

"No. It's making me want to get a dog. Or a cat. Or maybe a cow. You'd hate it here."

"Why?"

"It's quiet. You're alone with your thoughts the whole time."

"Yeah. I would hate it." He grew quiet, like he believed I could read his thoughts across the call line. I probably could. Something along the lines of terror and isolation. He wracked through so much and tried to bleed the rest of it out.

I switched. "It's also home to the Shaker movement."

"What's that?"

"It's these Christians that don't have sex so they don't have babies and they've pretty much all died out but three. I've been to the museum here way too many times because there's nothing else to do."

"You thinking of joining?" He posed.

It would make for an interesting experience. If I ever ran out of topics to talk about I might vow to the Shakers in hopes of getting another book out of it. "At this rate, I might as well. Everyone is either married or dying out here." 

"You can't do that,” he insisted. “It would be a loss to humanity."

"Me having sex?" It was crossing a line. He had a girlfriend and was my ex-boyfriend and I was lonely and thinking about taking a lifelong vow of celibacy. 

He avoided. "Where's Jackson?"

I sighed and stirred a fork through the boiling noodles. "We broke up a few months ago. Nothing big. We're going to stay friends and all that." I said it not quite believing it, dripping my words with sarcasm.

He plainly said, "Sorry about that."

"Eh," I voiced, "what can you do? Que sera, sera is my new motto. I'm becoming a housewife to myself."

An ugly snort sounded through the phone. "Are you high?"

I giggled. "No. This is what happens when I'm left alone in nature for too long. I'll be joining a nudist cult soon. What about you and Arielle?" 

"Fine. You know, I'm touring and all that." He didn’t talk about her with me ever, which was the appropriate thing to do, but I took it as a sign that they were like Jackson and me: never seeing one another and on the edge of a breakup. 

"I know," I said. "How's that going?"

"Good. We're having fun."

"I'm liking the new stuff."

He was short and wanted to change the topic quickly. "Thanks." He was evasive. I don't know what that meant about the subject matter of "Do I Wanna Know?" and I won't write who he had in mind when his pen hit paper. But I have written the history here and you can deduce what you want.

"How's your new material?" He asked. I couldn't remember the last time I had sent him any of my writing. Our art had become separated. He didn’t ask for my opinion. I didn’t ask for his. I think that’s when our relationship died. We were so attached through our love of creating and not sharing that with one another was proof that whatever was left was necrosing.

"Fine, I think. Just short stories for now. I don't know what else to write. Nothing much has happened."

He outwardly laughed. "Seems like a lot has happened."

"Maybe. It doesn't feel like it." He was on the outside looking in, but from within, everything played out slowly, and it all went down in an inevitable nature.

"I get it. I'll leave you to dinner."

So, we faded away from one another once again. We were barely a blip on one another's radar. I went back to the city and lived with Fennel and Kaka until I was done "figuring everything out." I wondered why Alex had called me. If it was just to catch up or he had something to tell me. Despite my loneliness and desperation, I never called Alex. He was always the one reaching out.

I submitted the collection of short stories to my new agent and began renting a studio apartment in Downtown Brooklyn. I began writing freelance again to exercise my writing muscle and get the additional paycheck. 

The night AM was released I listened to it and tried my best not to dissect it. My brain imagined who the muse of the songs but when the album finished I went to bed and decided that all it would be to me was an album. It was nothing more than a collection of good songs.

The Monkeys passed through a week later and I got a text from Katie that we should get lunch. I had a meeting with my agent then so she asked if I wanted to go to the show. I liked the idea of it. Of just being able to enjoy the music again, but I knew my presence didn't exhibit that. I went anyway.

I tugged Opal along with me and we went to Webster Hall. We would enjoy the show. I would get drinks with Katie and that would be it.

It was wishful thinking that I didn't even believe in. I enjoyed playing with fire too much for that to be the case. 

I sat on a couch with Opal squished next to me. Alex sat in a chair to my side and we knocked knees with one another. "When I moved I found all those guitar picks that you misplaced," I told him. I held some drink and leaned on the arm of the couch. "They were behind the couch and under the bed. I found one in one of the kitchen drawers."

He plucked a smile and fell further back in his chair. "Yeah, I was never good at keeping track of those."

"I know," I laughed at him. "I lived with you. It was very annoying."

"I probably left that one in the drawer just to annoy you. I did that sometimes."

I crossed my brows and faked a sternness. “You enjoyed pissing me off?”

He took a deep breath and sank back in his chair. “Well…” He didn’t say anything else. Our conversation conjoined with the group’s and we never discussed how much meaning sat in that single word. Well.

As my time apart from Alex grew, I wondered how much of him I truly knew. He had these secrets he buried deep. Those guitar picks were tokens for me to collect. It was his own game he never told me about. He got a kick out of getting a rise out of me in the same way as when he would call me posh just to get an eyeroll. More and more I felt Alex to be a closed book that I only got to experience a few pages of.

The night grew later and we didn’t feel the need to linger. I felt the doors closing. I felt a need for it to be over. When we got on the subway home, I didn’t know when I would see Alex again. I didn’t know if it would be next year or another decade but I knew it wouldn’t be either of us reaching out. We would run in the same circles. Weddings, birthdays, babies, but we wouldn’t share those with one another. We wouldn’t be plus ones and we wouldn’t be giving presents to one another.

We said goodbye with a wave. I felt stupid for going in the first place. There was a feeling I had held onto what could have been for long enough. When I went to bed that night, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t think about Alex. There was no pit. I didn’t do anything wrong. It just wasn’t right. I was comfortable. 

When I spoke with Alex, every word was spoken with a tinge of hesitance. I was holding myself back. I couldn’t live in that awkwardness and I don’t know why I was fighting for so long to be able to do that. I had invaded his territory for nothing but a few words and a drink. I had surrendered now. Happily.

*

a/n: well, sorry for the wait, followed by the shortness, but i suppose the length illustrates the point. the next part will be much longer and much sooner. i'm luckily in the writing spirit (for now). thanks for reading!

[smellslikechahnspirit]

[Book]

Are we good for each other?

1. Strawberry Milk

Bang Chan x F. Reader

Synopsis: Written according to y/n trophy. A story about how you two met. Both having a difficult life, finding peace in each other. Not without lots of drama. Just read it, it's great.

Genre: Enemies to lovers, soft, some smut, drama

Warnings: Under eating, depression, toxic ex (Let me know if I missed something)

Word count: 1241

______________________________

[5:28 PM]

Another day, the same job, the same annoying people, everything the same. Lately life wasn’t that great for you. After all these months nothing has changed yet. When you dropped out of college to live with you boyfriend, now ex, you imagined your life way different. Living with him at his place, joining a real career. This waiter job was supposed to be temporary. But then after you two broke up, and had no place to stay, you kind of had no other choice but to keep the job. You needed the money. You were broke. So broke, you even sometimes skipped proper meals. You did eat, but was it good food? Healthy food? No, most of the time just cheap stuff, like a burger at a fast-food restaurant, or something of that sort. You were trying to save money, but that wasn’t an easy task and especially not because your job also paid pretty poorly. But hey, what else could you do? Give up? No, you were determent to show your ex, and the rest of the world that you’re strong enough to overcome this hardship.

‘’Fuck, it’s only 5:30…”, you said softly. Your shift lasted till 8 pm. ‘’Language!”, your boss said looking angry at you, who happened to walk by right as you said that. You needed this job, but you and your boss haven’t been on the same page lately. You keep ‘messing up’ stuff, and it’s always an excuse for her to call you out on it, even if it’s as small as forgetting sugar in a coffee. You were trying your best. It was just never enough for her. ‘’Sorry...”, you replied.

You couldn’t wait to be done today, so you could hop back online on your PC. You were a streamer on the side, not a paid one, just for fun. You never showed your face or anything, you were just hella good at playing games, and people seemed to enjoy watching you play. You were quite famous on there actually. Gamers all over the world have heard at least something about you, since you broke a world record of goals per minute in a soccer game. You played any type of game really. But your favourite at the moment had to be this shooter game you had been playing a lot.

You actually met a guy on there a few weeks back. You didn’t know his name; all you knew was his gamer tag and his voice. You two had been playing this game together almost every day. Unless he was busy. During the day he mostly was, due to his job. You didn’t wanna be a creep and ask him too much about his personal life though, so you always waited till he replied and told you he was gonna go online. Only sometimes you had to cancel, since your PC was lagging most of the time if you played with him. Your PC was kinda cheap, but you couldn’t afford to buy a better one, for obvious reasons.

‘’Table 8 needs your attention right now, go!”, your boss whisper-yelled at you. You fake smiled at her and walked over to the table. ‘’Hello sir, what can I get you?”, you asked the guy who was wearing all black and had his hoodie hood covering most of his face typing excessively on his laptop. ‘’Uh, yeah just….uhm, just an iced strawberry milk, please.”, the man said, not even looking at you once. Even though you couldn’t see his face fully you knew who he was. He was pretty famous. You just didn’t care and treated him normally. He seemed very annoyed and stressed for some reason. Probably work, you thought. ‘’Anything else?”, you asked. “No, thanks, just one strawberry milk to-go. Please hurry I’m gonna be late for my appointment.”, he said while putting his hand over his forehead, like he had a headache. “Yes, sir.”, you said as you went to go get his drink.

You hated customers like him. Looking like they’re more important than the rest of us. He was handsome though. Very nice lips too. Maybe he really was stressed and you wanted to help him out by getting his order as fast as possible, so that maybe he’d feel a bit more at ease. He was still a customer after all.

You went to the counter and prepared his order. While you were busy mixing the syrup into the milk, another customer went over to you and complained about the fact that his coffee was served cold. Your boss started yelling at you and made quite a scene already, but since you were busy with the strawberry milk order, you didn’t want to engage much so you just apologised and continued.

You were done and started walking over to the customer to serve him his iced strawberry milk order, while your boss followed. That stressed you out and made you lose focus and tripped over the handsome guys’ bag, spilling the milk all over his clothes, almost his laptop. He jumped up and started yelling at you too. For obvious reasons your boss also started yelling and well basically everyone was looking at you and yelling.

You realised you really messed up too much now and the following statement from your boss wasn’t that big of a surprise. “You’re fired, Y/n!’’, she yelled and pointed to the door, for you to leave immediately. You teared up. You were not only a disappointment for everyone here but also for yourself. You hated yourself even more than you already did. You threw your apron off and started walking towards the door.

While on your way out you looked at the handsome guy once more and mouthed the words ‘I’m so sorry’. He was obviously still annoyed, but a part of him felt bad for you too. He was looking at your face and saw the tears clearly now. He felt bad. Then he also realised he was 100% gonna be late for his work now due to that fact that he’d have to go home and change his clothes, on top of the fact he was already late. So, when that thought hit him, he looked back at the mess and yelled at your boss for napkins. You closed your eyes for a second to escape the situation for a second, then walked through the door and went home.

[5:54 PM]

When you got home you threw yourself on your, what was left of a decent, couch. For the first time in a while you felt completely hopeless. Normally you’d find a bit of willpower left in you and always got back up from hardships, since you knew you had to stay strong, to fight. But now, after today...everything was too much. You couldn’t even keep a simple small job. Were you really that useless?

Something in you knew you’re a wonderful person and that you had much potential, but how would you ever be able to get out of this shithole, if you couldn’t even make a little bit of money. You had no money, no friends, no nothing. Not even family, since they all shut you out after you left your country back then. You decided to open a can of pineapple you still had, ate it and eventually you fell asleep. A part of you didn’t care if you’d wake up or not.

Part 2

...Masterlist...

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

© 2022-2025, smellslikechahnspirit • No posting on other sites or platforms, rewrites, or translations

[swtt4hk]

Come back to me || Sang-woo X fem!Reader (Oneshot)

author’s note: if you feel uncomfortable with sexual content please don’t read it because this one’s a little smutty…enjoy!

You are sitting on a chair , in the balcony of your apartment. You are thinking about how far you’ve come ever since you moved here , two years ago. So many things have changed. When you came here , you were in a long-term relationship with the love of your life , Cho Sang-woo. You unfortunately had to break up because you were constantly fighting…you didn’t even know what you were fighting about , you were just fighting and fighting and fighting…The break up really affected your life , it made you depressed and even drove you to the point of thinking about killing yourself. Losing the person you thought you’d spent your life with was the worst thing to ever happen to you. But of course , you had to move on. You tried your best to make new friends and meet new people until you met him.

Kai. Kai was a guy your age , who you met via your friend group. He is a really nice guy and showed interest in you from the first time you met. You found him adorable and some weeks after getting to know each other , you got into a relationship with him.

Being in a relationship with Kai was definitely a big step for you. It meant you had to get over your past lovers and focus on Kai…which meant you had to stop thinking about Sang-woo. Which was extremely difficult for you. Sometimes you unconsciously thought about him or even talked about him like he was still in your life…for you , he was still a big part of your life. You always wondered if he feels the same. If he constantly thinks about you and wonders what you’re doing. If you’re still a big part of Sang-woo’s life. You both definitely weren’t happy about breaking up but that’s what had to happen.

Your relationship with Kai was totally different. New feelings , new experiences, everything is new to you. But it still doesn’t feel like when you were with Sang-woo. You can’t lie to yourself, you surely aren’t as much in love as Kai is with you but you’re trying you’re best to treat him right and not do anything that will hurt his feelings. And talking about feelings…Kai is sensitive. You are the type of person to say everything to people’s faces and when you do that to Kai he cries , which was not something Sang-woo would do. Sang-woo actually loved when you did that. He said that it’s better than lie to his face. Sang-woo was also a gentleman. You don’t know if it was because of the age gap or if he was just like this but he was such a gentleman to you…it pisses you off when Kai opens the door and enters first and sometimes even close the door in your face. There are a lot of things pissing you off about Kai but you’re still trying to love him. You can’t be stuck loving a person who isn’t in your life anymore.

All those thoughts fill your head as the sun sets which means it’s almost time to go to bed. You aren’t exactly a night owl , you like sleeping early so it’s easier for you to get up for work. You get up from your chair , all the thoughts leaving your head , and you head to the kitchen to eat some dinner before you head to bed.

TIME SKIP

today is Saturday which means that you don’t have to go to work. You wake up early and get ready to enjoy your Saturday. You usually wake up pretty early because you like watching the sun rise while drinking you morning coffee. It brings you some kind of comforting feeling inside you. You make your regular morning coffee and you sit on the balcony to watch the sun rise. Your phone rings.

“Kai💕”

You let out a long sigh. It pisses you off that he ruined your peace but he’s still your boyfriend and you have to pick up the phone.

“Hello , love? How’s your morning going?”

He says in a cheerful demeanour

“Good morning Kai , it’s going pretty good actually , thank you”

“How about I make it even more better?”

You unconsciously smile to yourself, wondering what he’s about to say

“I’m all ears…”

“Come on , open the door”

You freeze

“The door? My door?”

You can hear his chuckle through the phone

“Yes Y/N your door. Come on , I can’t keep waiting out here for too long! I’m tired of standing up!”

You hang up and rush to the door to open it. There he is. He’s standing in front of you with a bag of your favourite snacks on one hand and a bouquet of flowers on the other. Even though he’s not much of a gentleman he loves giving you gifts. Even if they’re cheap and simple ones.

“Oh my God , Kai , you didn’t have to!”

You take the things on your hands and let him come in

“Oh shush it was my pleasure to get you those gifts…what are you waiting for , open the snacks!”

You chuckle at his impatience and open one of the snacks and start eating them.

You spend the whole day together and then you decide to bake something together but you’re unfortunately missing some of the ingredients so you go to the convenience store near by…whose owner happens to be Sang-woo’s dad…of course you haven’t mentioned that to Kai ,because of how jealous he gets when you mention your ex especially Sang-woo , but you still go there often and you still talk to his dad since you’ve built a nice friendship with him over the years.

You both enter the store and you freeze. It’s him. Behind the register is the man of your dreams. Cho Sang-woo.

“Y/N! Is that the baking powder you asked for?”

You hear the faint voice of Kai’s in the backround. You don’t respond. Words can’t come out of your mouth. You are just staring at each other , all the memories coming back.

Kai approaches you

“Babe , can you please help me? I don’t know which brand is better…”

Sang-woo looks at you with a look of question , still frozen in place with all that’s happened in a matter of seconds. You turn to Kai with a smile and respond.

“Of course , my Kai , let’s go”

You usually don’t call Kai yours or any other nicknames but you responded this way to make Sang-woo jealous. You didn’t know why you wanted to make him jealous , since you’re supposed to have moved on , but you still did it.

Sang-woo was quietly watching you two chatting and laughing while shopping. He could see how in love Kai looked with you and how you smiled at him and hugged him…oh…he realised how much he has missed that smile and the warmth of your embrace…it’s like he can still feel it after two years of being broken up…he misses you so much…he has regretted all the pain he has caused to you and wishes you would come back to him but you seem like you have moved on. It makes his blood boil seeing you being happy with another guy. It was supposed to be him , not Kai.

“Hello sir , we would like those please”

Kai says and places the things on the register. You stand beside him , looking down nervously, avoiding eye contact with Sang-woo. The last thing you need in your life right now is drama which involves Sang-woo in it.

“22,6 ₩”

Sang-woo says coldly. He couldn’t hide with jealousy and frustration and you knew how jealous he is feeling right now. And you know how he acts when he’s jealous. He might seem calm but inside him , he’s screaming.

When you get cashed out , you quickly drag Kai out of the store and go back home to cook to distract yourself from everything that just happened.

Time Skip

days pass and your mind keeps going back to your interaction with Sang-woo. The whole situation makes you nervous. Your ex seeing you with your new boyfriend. It sounds like a soap opera.

Today you have a day off work but ,unfortunately , Kai is working so you have more time to yourself so you decide to go on a relaxing walk to the park. The park wasn’t a random destination you chose to go to for a walk. You used to go there with Sang-woo and just talk about life. It relaxed you both. You knew that Sang-woo still goes there since he used to go there even before you guys got together.

Walking with your headphones on makes you feel relaxed. It’s like an escape from this cruel world we’re living in to you. You keep walking and there he is. He’s sitting on a bench , watching the view of kids running around and playing. You used to do that together. You used to look at the little kids and talking about the family you’d build together after you got married. The feeling of seeing him doing this alone makes you feel sick to the stomach but that’s what fate wanted. Maybe it didn’t want you to be together.

You take a deep breath and keep walking like nothing happened. You’re not supposed to be feeling like this while you’re in a relationship. But you’ve missed Sang-woo so much…the way he touched you , the way he would comfort you , the way he would whisper sweet things to your ear while stretching your pussy. All those things are nothing but a memory now.

“For how long are you gonna be ignoring me?”

You hear a familiar voice behind you…Cho Sang-woo.

You can’t do anything else but turn around. Your eyes go immediately to his. His eyes are sparkling , like he’s holding back tears but is trying to play rough and his hands are in fists , his knuckles white.

“Cho Sang-woo…”

You whisper. You don’t know why but you felt like you had to say his name. You hadn’t said it in so long.

“Y/N L/N…” {L/N = last name!!}

You just look at each other , all the memories coming back once again. You can feel some kind of connection between you , like there’s something unfinished that has to be finished. That’s when you realised. You need Sang-woo in your life. He’s the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. No matter how many pointless arguments you’ve had , most of your memories were happy. But…what about Kai?

Sang-woo could feel it too. He felt the tension in the air and the connection between you. He had never gotten over you and never tried you. He’s been waiting for you. For some reason , he had a feeling that you’d come back in some way. And you did…and now that you’re back , he’s not going to let you go. Ever.

“Sang-woo I—“

Sang-woo cuts you off

“I don’t need to hear any excuses…”

Silence.

“Y/N…”

Sang-woo takes a step closer to you

“I’ve been waiting for you…”

He says softly and places his hand on your cheek , caressing it. And there it is…the butterflies in your stomach…you haven’t felt like this in so long. His touch is so familiar and you immediately melt into his touch , without realising it. A tear rolls down your cheek.

Words are not enough to explain how you both feel to finally be able to touch , feel and see each other again. It all felt familiar yet so new…new feelings that you haven’t felt before…in that moment , you made your decision. You had to break up with Kai , even if it was gonna be a hard process to tell him without making him feel hurt. You slowly pull back from his touch.

“U-um…I have to go somewhere”

You say and quickly leave without saying another word. Sang-woo neither reacted not responded. He knew you were gonna come back.

You go back home as quickly as possible. As soon as you arrive, you can’t help but break into tears. You found Sang-woo again and it made you so happy…he made you so happy. But you had to hurt someone to get back with Sang-woo. Kai. You knew that gonna get hurt but it’s the right decision.

Nearly an hour later , you hear a knock on your door. It’s time. You welcome Kai with a kind and soft smile and you both sit on the couch.

“So what did you wanna talk about?”

Kai asks , clueless about what’s about to come. You take a deep breath before responding.

“I’m breaking up with you”

For some reason , Kai doesn’t react but instead he nods like he knew that this was coming.

“It’s him , isn’t it?”

You freeze

“W-what?”

“You know who I’m talking about…”

you know who he’s talking about. Tears roll down your face and take Kai’s hands into yours.

“I’m so sorry Kai…”

Kai smiles softly

“It’s okay Y/N…I’ll be okay , don’t worry…”

“I-I’m really sorry Kai…I-I didn’t mean to waste your time and—“

“Shhh…it’s all okay…I know…you tried your best…and thank you for spending all this time with me , trying to love me…but you have to go back to him…I know how happy he makes you.”

“H-How did you know…?”

Kai chuckles

“I’ve seen the way your eyes sparkle whenever you mention him and…the way you looked at each other at the store was obvious how in love you are with each other…the fact that I’m ignoring it doesn’t mean I don’t notice it…”

You look down in embarrassment. Of course it’s obvious. It has been obvious all this time that you never got over Sang-woo.

“I’m sorry…”

Kai looks at you with a soft smile on his face even though he’s fighting back tears.

“Go…”

You wipe your tears and you both get up , get out of your house and say one last goodbye to each other.

“Thank you Kai…”

“Thank you Y/N.”

You watch him disappear into the light of the evening sun which is almost set. You calm yourself down and take the courage to finally go to Sang-woo’s house. A new chapter of your life was about to start.

You softly knock at his door and it slowly opens , revealing the familiar figure of Sang-woo. With no hesitation, Sang-woo pull you into the house , shuts the door and kisses you. You both melt into the kiss and you can feel the love and desire in your bodies. Before you know it , clothes are on the floor , your bodies are sweaty while he’s pounding into you like a greedy old man who hasn’t had sex in years.

“You’re taking me so well darling , I bet he didn’t make you feel as good as I do , hm?”

No words can come out of your mouth and you just moan at the pleasure he’s giving you right now. You haven’t felt so good ever since you two broke up.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He says and his pace gets faster and faster , making you come close and closer to cumming.

“Fuck , you’re so tight…”

He groans and then you both moan in sync as you both finally release. After coming down from your high , he lays down next to you , wrapping his hands around your waist and burying his face into your neck.

“I missed you so much…”

He says softly and places a kiss on your neck , making you smile.

“I missed you too my love…sooo muchh…”

You respond and caress his hair softly as you both slowly drift into sleep.

———————————————————————

THE ENDDD! I’m sorry that it took so long for me to write it but I got kinda lazy halfway 😓 anyway , I apologise if it’s poorly written , ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE and I’m sorry if the smut part was kind of cringe but I’ve never written a smut before lmao😭 WHATEVER , new fics coming soon!

[gay-dorito-dust]

You once thought Wally was far too sweet for you, or sweeter then you deserved, and it seemed as though that when you got like this -this being depressed or in just a bad mood- Wally only became even sweeter if that was even possible.

The boy with the big doe brown eyes would be the death of you and you knew it but you wouldn’t mind it one bit, for at least you would’ve known you died loved by someone and someone who did so as though it was as easy as breathing.

In all honesty it still took you aback how easy he made caring for someone, how effortlessly he would make everything feel better without hardly ever trying to, he was just that kindhearted and loving that you swore that all the previous loves you had pale in compassion; for Wally had become the standard for what love actually was to you.

Wally always had your favourite snacks on hand for when you inevitably get hungry or had nothing to eat prior other then a quick breakfast, all of which you had assumed were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, having worn it before you remembered how spacious those pockets were. So you could easily see him fitting several of your snacks into one pocket without struggle.

Even if you asked him why he has so many snacks, he’d only smile sweetly and say; ‘you tend to forget to eat, so I might as well keep some on me as a reminder.’

Wally could read you like a book and would be able to tell from subtle expressions of how you were feeling and would act accordingly. You never need to say what you want or were in need for because Wally had it in droves whether it’s be cuddles, some advice or just physically being there for you when he knew you needed him.

You could ask Wally to do the most silliest thing your mind can come up with and he would do it without hesitation. He would do pretty much anything that he’d knew would make you smile and that was all that mattered to Wally, just seeing that you were in a better headspace because of him was all the motivator he needed to know that you were both going to be okay.

You both wouldn’t find it awkward if you were to do your own things while in the presence of one another, if anything it was highly encouraged that you two would find the down time and do things whilst knowing that your other half was doing something they enjoyed. To Wally it didn’t matter if your interests couldn’t be more different form one another, what did matter is that you could be completely comfy with him and be able to be yourself without judgment.

[jonathanbyersphd]

Saw this post and wanted your thoughts on it.

“Hc that Jonathan and Nancy have a mutual breakup. I think similar to Steve and Nancy, they have very different goals for their lives. Jonathan doesn’t seem to have any major drive to go to college and make his way up in the world. He’s content to live in Lenora for the rest of his life, taking care of his mom and siblings and smoking with his best friend. Nancy wants to go to college, she wants to get out of small towns and make herself a big name in the world of journalism. I think she’s more interested in her career (and no shade to that!) Considering that she grew up without much supervision from her parents, I don’t think she ever leaned the drive to take care of her siblings like Jonathan did for hers. Jonathan and Nancy originally bonded over being outsiders, but I think they didn’t have much in common outside of both being outsiders in Hawkins. That’s not to say they don’t care about each other- I just think they’re better off friends.”

Hi Nonny

I saw this earlier and SHOCKINGLY chose not to be a hater...

That being said I do think it's INCREDIBLY disingenuous. First, Jonathan isn't content to stay in Lenora, it's something he feels like he HAS to do BECAUSE he's been parentified since he was 12 at least. Like in the show pitch deck it flat out says "While he loves his family very much, he also feels burdened by them" like it's in fucking print.

Second point, this idea that Nancy can't have a career and a love life or family is SOOOOO fucking gross. Like it feels a bit like a dig that she isn't taking care of Mike without processing that she doesn't have to BECAUSE Karen can afford to stay at home in a way that Joyce can't. Like it is normal for Nancy at 17 to have the relationship she does with Mike. Do I wish that they were closer? Yes but that's not on her that's on the duffers forgetting they're siblings.

Additionally, saying that Jonathan and Nancy don't have anything in common other than being outsiders is an argument for people who don't pay attention. Like other than the core of them being birds of feather, you also have the unhinged shared traits that lead them to hunting monsters.

Like they're both inquisitive in nature, and very much truth-seekers, like I know everyone's like "oh he's just her boyfriend in s2 & s3" but like we HAVE to acknowledge that Jonathan also wanted to overthrow the government/burn the lab to the ground. He wanted justice too! HE drove them to driscolls. Like they may have a different way of going about things but part of what makes them good partners is that they're both operating from a place of wanting to change the world. FURTHERMORE, Jonathan has just as much ambition as Nancy. You don't want to go to NYU at age 6 without that. Like I'm so sick of people seeing him depressed and acting like that's his whole character.

Lastly, of course it fucking looks like they don't have anything in common the fucking show only has 34 episodes. Do you know how much more time we could have for characterization if these episodes were longer? Instead, we have to infer. We have to infer that Nancy also likes David Bowie or that they're both avid readers because there's not enough time IN STORY to say it.

[izavella21]

This book. This book right here. I love it. I love it a lot. Here are some reasons why:

The narration style. I remember when I first read this book, there were so many moments where I'd read a line and think "so relatable". Tori, why are you so relatable?

Tori and Charlie's relationship. I think it's not that common to see a wholesome sibling relationship, so I'm glad that was included in this book. (Also, I don't know if it's just me, but I feel that we don't really see that a lot in Heartstopper)

Tori and Charlie both saw the signs of each other's decline in mental health, and regret never doing anything about it. And they both assure each other that despite the mental health struggles, and despite not doing anything about each other's mental health struggles, they still love each other and care about each other.

There's a scene where Lucas gives Tori a can of Sprite, and Tori mentally notes that it isn’t the drink she likes. Later in the book, Micheal gives Tori diet lemonade, which is the drink she likes. And the beats of these two scenes are very similar.

Also, after Lucas gives Tori the sprite, she asks him about the books he has, and one of them is The Great Gatsby. When Tori asks him what’s it about, he answers “It’s about someone who's in love with a dream." You don't say...

(Basically, I think those two scenes are meant to show that Lucas is in love with idea of Tori, while Michael loves Tori as she is. Lucas goes about his relationship with Tori in the "wrong" way, while Michael goes about it in the "right" way)

The way Tori’s depression was handled felt so…candid for lack of a better term. I feel that depression and suicidal thoughts/ideation is something that is tricky to get right. I think Solitaire is a good depiction of depression. A believable one at least. One where you're able to empathize with the character.

Michael Holden. Just, Michael Holden.

I don't know about others, but I've always read Tori and Micheal's relationship as queerplatonic. You never see that in fiction, so I appreciate it.

The story takes place in winter, and there are so many moments when Micheal shows up in a t-shirt, or otherwise light clothing, and Tori wonders at various points if he’s a human furnace.

Meanwhile, there are multiple lines where Tori is described as a “ghost” or as “cold”.

Nick Nelson beating up Ben Hope. Do I condone violence? No. Do I condone violence towards Ben Hope by Nick Nelson? Absolutely.

The scene where Tori's not having a good day, and Michael comes over to her house to spend time with her so that she isn't alone. In their phone conversation before that, Michael says that Tori reminds him of "an old person who lives alone, like, with cats and daytime television." Michael also seems like the type of person who would keep old people company.

The scene where Tori realizes Michael wanted to invite her to one of his races, a really important one at that, and the minute she realizes this, she instantly books it to the rink. She wasn't planning on doing anything that day, but the minute she learned that Michael had something important going on, she dropped everything to be there.

I think every scene focused on Tori and Micheal is amazing.

To this day, it amazes me that Alice Oseman wrote and published this book at the age of SEVENTEEN!

There was the right balance between dark and mature elements and more wholesome ones. I'd say that's the case for all of Alice Oseman's work, but especially Solitaire, which is considered the darkest. I feel that's a tricky balance to strike, and I felt that Solitaire, even the original iteration, strikes that balance well.

This book has short chapters, and I think that makes it easy to read.

I love the audiobook. I mean the old audiobook narrated by Jayne Entwistle. I've listened to the new one narrated Jenny Walser, and it's good, but I think I prefer the old one. It's so pleasant to the ears. I love her voice.

Thank you for reading!

[rei-ismyname]

Heroes for Hope 'highlights'

In 1985 Marvel and DC both decided to do a charity comic raising money for and attempted awareness of the then famine in Ethiopia. Despite Marvel having a murderer's row of talent on the book - Heroes for Hope starring the X-Men - it's godawful and problematic AF. It sold well, bringing in $150K, but Oxfam refused the donation and any association - calling the book 'racist, sexist, and reprehensible.' This led Marvel to donate to an organisation focusing on the entire African continent (?) instead. Jim Shooter hates Oxfam to this day. Seriously, he blogged about it.

The action kicks off with Rachel screaming her head off and the X-Men running out the front of the mansion to find a barren desert in place of their front yard. Just like Ethiopia from those ads! 🙄 This is how the X-Men are informed of the famine and they vow to help.

Upon arrival they witness a starving swarm of black bodies rushing into the plane's propellers, only to be held back by a handful of white people. Get used to this imagery, cos there's a lot of it - but zero black voices except for Storm. What were they thinking?

The clumsy notion of the mutants not experiencing bigotry here is presented as a thing? I have no idea what this panel is trying to achieve tbh. The people are starving to death and even Kitty can't cheer them up.

Superhero comics are fundamentally unable to do anything about famine or any real world inequality. A capitalist entity from the imperial core clumsily trying the same is a pretty good analogy for how nothing ever gets better. Nevertheless, a bad guy was chosen for them to punch. They don't cause the famine but they 'feed' off it. For some reason it manifests as Uncle Sam taunting Storm with racist stereotypes and throwing pies in her face. It's ridiculous. They defeat the bad guy and it's beyond pointless.

There's exasperation that their powers can't solve a famine. 'I don't know if there is a way of winning' says Kitty. Honestly they're just saying things. No coherent messaging or statements here, except maybe 'famine is bad.'

Each page is written by a different person (this one by George R R Martin of all people) and overseen by editorial, so I'm pretty sure the irony of this panel is unintentional. 'Shit sucks, can't fix it easily, try not to think about it' feels like an accidental metatextual statement about this approach.

Jesus fucking Christ. This is the final panel after the X-Men have helped a little and left. This white lady works for a famine relief organisation and for some reason feels hope. A single tear flows down her cheek at the thought of the X-Men/Marvel/America returning with 'the aid needed to end this tragedy.' Yeah, that didn't happen. If I was being charitable I'd speculate that this is a self aware nod to making white people feel good while not helping/actively contributing to global inequality.

I'm not being charitable though. Oxfam was right and this is some tone deaf shit. I think having the X-Men go to an unnamed part of Africa, assumed to be Ethiopia, was a mistake. Real world misery and comic books don't mix well - you end up with an insincere and uninformed mishmash of the two and it's depressing AF for all the wrong reasons. It centers mostly white people with orientalised generic African people in the background. I think a thoughtful approach is possible, but this isn't that. At least they raised some money I guess?

[winterfeverscare]

How do ya think Sly x Scrap would play out? Would it be hurt and comfort sort of thing or slow burn?...

I was waiting for this my entire blog lifespawn.

I have a headcanon actually. Espers see people's lives from their perspectives, I mean they see what people felt and their purposes. Scrap saw Eve's complete life, seeing how she was "wounded" by Sly, because this is how she felt for all this time. Scrap thinks squeak bothers Sly as a karma class, even if he disagrees.

Now, Scrap has never met Sly. Whenever he went to the house of the comets, fen was always hidden in her room so as not to see the visits and anyone.

Even if Eve does not act cruel to Sly in front Scrap, he can read what Eve did and her previous actions, because she recalls what she does.

"I want my brother to see me. Give me attention."

"...I know."

So, one day along with his Savior Complex, Scrap dares to go to Sly's room to try to talk about things. When she opens the door, he can see Sly's life completely. Eve's "severe" trauma was only caused by Sly trying to grow, while Eve comes to Sly to destroy fen self-esteem and flood her in fen depression.

Who to believe? He could see in Sly's eyes that Eve was nothing more than a victimist in her own mind, showing what squeak was capable of.

"What Happened?" Sly whispered, something uncomfortable for seeing a visitor to her room.

"I..."

But Scrap was in shock. Her girlfriend is an abusive asshole to squeak own sister.

"Nothing, I'm sorry for coming."

Scrap would take a few days to think, being against the sword and the wall. He wanted to help Sly, but he couldn't leave his girlfriend like that. But...after seeing what his girlfriend was capable of, does he really want a future with her?

He hits Sly's door again on another day, coming to visit the house of the comets. Eve was next to Norma, and wanted to take advantage of the situation.

"What happened...Again?"

"Eve is with Norma. Can we talk?"

"... if this is about Eve, I don't want-"

"I want to talk to you, about you. Please."

---

I think it would be both hurt-comfort AND slowburn. Sly accepting she was hurt, and Scrap accepting the person he loved was an abusive person. They both grow in each other.