#i can barely deal with my own depression | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solelifauna · 2 months ago

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Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.3

When depression hits hard.

Later that day, you and your friends gathered at the usual spot behind the school—an old, forgotten storage shed that had become your makeshift meeting place. It was secluded enough to keep your conversations private, and right now, privacy was exactly what you needed.

You all sat in a circle, the air heavy with unspoken tension. The reunion earlier had been emotional, a moment of pure relief in the chaos, but now reality was crashing down on all of you. The weight of the situation pressed on your shoulders as you faced your friends, each of them looking as shaken as you felt.

“How the hell are we going to do this?” Hallie muttered, running her hands through her hair in frustration. “We have to stop the world from being taken over, fight off Demogorgons, and—” she gestured wildly, “go to school like nothing’s wrong? My mom’s already noticed I’m acting different. I’ve barely been back a day, and she’s asking questions.”

You winced. Hallie had always been the one who had a close relationship with her family, and hiding things from them wouldn’t be easy. If her mom was already suspicious, it was only a matter of time before she started digging deeper. “What did you tell her?” you asked quietly, dreading the answer.

“I told her I wasn’t sleeping well, which, I mean, isn’t a lie.” Hallie sighed. “But it’s more than that, you know? She can tell something’s off. I can’t just pretend everything’s fine. I’m… different. We all are.”

Connor, who had been sitting silently up until now, finally spoke up, his voice shaky. “My family knows something’s wrong too,” he said, staring down at his hands. “I had a full-blown panic attack yesterday when I heard explosions on the TV. It was just a show my brothers were watching, but… I freaked out. My parents had to spend half an hour calming me down and coaxing me out from under the table.”

His face was pale as he recalled the moment, and you could see his hands trembling slightly. The trauma of being in an active warzone, of watching the world fall apart, had left scars that none of you could hide. It wasn’t just the physical scars from fighting; it was the emotional ones, the kind that didn’t heal easily.

You all exchanged grim looks. None of you had really considered just how hard it would be to hide what you’d been through. Surviving in an apocalyptic world, facing death at the hands of the people who were supposed to protect you, and then actually dying—it was too much. Too much to carry, and now you were back, thrust into your old lives, expected to pretend like none of it had happened.

“I guess we didn’t think about the trauma,” Weston murmured, breaking the silence. “It’s not like we didn’t deal with it before… I mean, fighting Demogorgons wasn’t exactly easy on any of us, mentally or physically.”

He was right. In your previous life, the constant battles with Demogorgons had already left you scarred. You’d all had nightmares, sleepless nights, and moments of pure terror even back then. But now? Now there was another level of horror you had to contend with. The memory of your skull being crushed by your own father, the feel of death creeping in—it wasn’t something you could just shake off.

“And now we have even more to deal with,” You said grimly. “It’s not just the Demogorgons. We have to stop Omni-Man and Invincible from taking over the world. How the hell are we supposed to do that while we’re still dealing with all of this?”

You didn’t have an answer. No one did.

“It’s not fair,” Weston muttered, and all eyes turned to him. “Why does everything always fall on us to solve? We’re just kids! Freshmen in high school, for crying out loud! We should be–I don’t know, playing, going to parties, worrying about homework and who’s crushing on who.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Instead, we’re stuck trying to save the world, fighting monsters, and keeping it together so our families don’t figure out we’ve been dead. It’s not fair.”

His words hung in the air, the truth of them sinking into everyone’s minds. It wasn’t fair. Not in the slightest. You were all supposed to be worried about grades and fitting in, not about war, apocalypse, and death.

You sighed, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. It’s not fair. None of this is. But we don’t have a choice.”

“We never really did, did we?” Hallie said quietly. “Even before this—before all the time travel and Viltrumite stuff—fighting Demogorgons wasn’t exactly a normal kid thing.”

You sighed. He had a point. None of you had ever really been kids, not for a long time. While everyone else your age had been worried about tests and dances, you were out there fighting for your life, battling creatures that no one else even knew existed. The things you had seen, the things you had done—no child should have had to face that. You hadn’t felt like a kid in years.

“Feels like we never got to just be kids,” Connor murmured, his voice strained. “We’re always the ones stuck with the impossible. Every time, it’s on us to fix everything.”

You bit your lip, the anger inside you simmering. It was like the universe had decided to heap every impossible task on your shoulders, expecting you to carry the weight of the world while everyone else went on living their normal lives, oblivious. And now, even with the chance to live again, to be back in time, it still wasn’t really your life, was it? Not with everything you knew.

You were forced to be soldiers in a war that hadn’t even started yet, while everyone else was blissfully unaware of the destruction to come.

“I’m just tired,” you admitted, your voice softening, the exhaustion you felt finally bubbling to the surface. “We should’ve gotten to feel normal, at least for a little while.”

The group fell silent, the truth of your words settling in. No one argued with you because they all felt it too. The unfairness of it all was suffocating. None of you had been kids in a long time, even though, by all rights, you should’ve been. Life had robbed you of that, forcing you into roles you never should have had to take on.

“But,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat, “it doesn’t matter how tired we are. We don’t have the luxury of being kids anymore, do we?”

Hallie looked down at her feet, her lips pressed into a thin line. “We haven’t been kids for a while.”

You nodded, looking around at your friends—your teammates, your family. “And I guess we’re never going to be. So we have to handle this the way we always do.”

“We fight,” Weston said quietly, but with conviction.

“Yeah,” Connor agreed, though there was a distant, haunted look in his eyes. “We fight.”

It wasn’t fair. It never had been. But deep down, you knew you didn’t have a choice. You’d survived worse before, and now you had a second chance. As much as you wished things could be different, the reality was clear. The world needed saving, and once again, it was up to you to do it.

The conversation eventually shifted from emotions to logistics. You all knew what needed to be done, but the how of it was trickier. “We need to tip off the Guardians,” you said, glancing at your friends, who nodded grimly in agreement. “The sooner they know what’s coming, the better.”

Hallie bit her lip, thinking it over. “But it can’t come back to us,” she said, her voice firm. “If the government finds out it was us, we’re screwed. They’ll lock us down, probably treat us like we’re a threat or something.”

Weston nodded, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, and if Omni-Man and Invincible find out…” He didn’t need to finish that sentence. You all knew what would happen. If your father and brother found out you were behind the warning, they’d kill you without hesitation. You couldn’t afford to be sloppy about this.

“So we’re agreed then,” Connor said quietly. “No one can know it’s us. We have to figure out a way to warn the Guardians without leaving a trace. But… how?”

You all sat in silence for a moment, the question hanging in the air like a dark cloud. It wasn’t just about warning the Guardians—it was about doing it in a way that kept all of you safe. There were so many risks, so many things that could go wrong. You’d have to plan carefully, every detail accounted for.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said, though you didn’t sound nearly as confident as you wanted to. “We just… need more time. We can’t afford to mess this up.”

Hallie sighed. “Yeah. But we can’t wait too long, either. The Guardians don’t have much time. We don’t have much time.”

Connor let out a shaky breath. “We’ll come up with something. We always do.”

The conversation continued for a little while longer, but there were no concrete solutions yet. The weight of everything was heavy, and the longer you talked, the more overwhelming it felt. Finally, you all came to an agreement—you’d figure out the details later. Right now, it was getting late, and school was looming over you like a grim reminder of the double life you had to live.

You hated it. The thought of going back to school, pretending everything was fine, acting normal when nothing was normal anymore. But for now, that’s what you had to do.

With another emotional goodbye, none of you really ready to leave each other, you finally parted ways. It was always hard to say goodbye these days, even though you knew you’d see each other the next day. Still, after everything you’d been through, every goodbye felt a little too final.

As you made your way home, the cool night air helped clear your mind a bit. But as you approached your house, you glanced at the time on your phone and cursed under your breath. It was late—too late for you to just walk through the front door without raising suspicion. You’d have to sneak back in, the way you’d done so many times before.

Luckily, your bedroom window was right next to a large tree, its thick branches stretching out toward the house. You’d used it countless times to sneak out during the night—mostly for Demogorgon hunts, other emergencies, or just moments when you needed to breathe. No one had ever noticed you were gone before, and you hoped tonight would be the same.

You scaled the tree easily, slipping through your window with practiced quietness. Your room was dark and empty, just as you’d left it. You landed on your feet with a soft thud, shutting the window behind you and breathing out a sigh of relief. Another successful sneak-in.

As you peeled off your jacket and kicked off your shoes, your mind buzzed with everything that had been said tonight. The Guardians. The warning. Your double life. You were exhausted, but sleep didn’t feel like an option. Your thoughts raced too fast, the weight of everything too heavy to ignore.

But you’d have to manage. You had school in the morning, and you had to act like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t living on borrowed time in a world that had no idea what was coming.

You stared at the ceiling, the darkness of your room feeling more suffocating than comforting.

We’ll figure it out, you reminded yourself.

But you couldn’t help wondering if there’d be enough time for that.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Your mind was racing with everything you had discussed with your friends—plans, risks, the weight of the world. You tossed and turned for hours, until at some point, exhaustion finally claimed you around 1 AM. But it wasn’t peaceful. Your sleep was fitful, plagued by nightmares that wrapped around your mind like chains.

Suddenly, you jerked awake, a small scream ripping through your throat. You bolted upright, cold sweat drenching your skin, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were trying to escape. For a moment, you couldn’t remember where you were—your mind still trapped in the vivid images of your dreams. It took a few seconds to realize you were in your bedroom, safe in the quiet of the night.

You took a few deep breaths, clutching your chest in a futile attempt to calm your racing heart. Your hands shook slightly as you ran them through your hair, trying to shake off the lingering terror of the nightmare. It had been so real, like you were reliving every moment of your death, your father’s hand crushing your skull all over again.

Carefully, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet touching the cold floor as you nudged the door ajar. You peeked through the crack, listening for any signs of movement in the house. The hallway was dark and still, and after a few moments, you sighed in relief. It seemed like your scream hadn’t woken anyone up. The last thing you needed was to explain why you were screaming in the middle of the night.

You checked the time on your phone. 3:17 AM.

With a frustrated groan, you realized there was no way you were getting any more sleep tonight. You felt too wired, too shaken, the adrenaline still rushing through your veins from the nightmare. Instead of lying back down and risking another round of restless tossing, you decided to head downstairs.

The kitchen was your destination, and you had every intention of making yourself a cup of tea or coffee—anything to calm your nerves. But once you made it to the dining room, something inside you crumbled. You found yourself sitting down at the table instead, your head falling into your hands, elbows resting on the worn wood surface.

You zoned out, your mind going blank as you stared ahead, your hands cradling your head like you were trying to hold yourself together. You felt small. Pathetic, even. You couldn’t even bring yourself to make coffee, let alone deal with the impossible task that lay ahead of you. Everything felt too heavy, too overwhelming. For all the strength you had shown fighting Demogorgons and surviving the apocalypse, right now, in this quiet house, you felt more fragile than ever.

Unbeknownst to you, someone was watching.

From the shadows of the staircase, Mark stood silently, his eyes locked onto your hunched figure as you sat there, lost in your own world. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t move. He just watched.

From where he stood, you looked so small, almost frail. It was crazy to him that the two of you were even related, considering how different you were. You, with your fragile human body, your easily bruised emotions. He, on the other hand, had grown stronger, more powerful. The gap between the two of you had widened so much over the years that, in his eyes, you weren’t even in the same league anymore.

But that’s what Mark had always obsessively loved about you. His precious little sister. You were human, weak, and that meant you relied on him and Dad to protect you. To him, that was your role—to be the one he could shelter and protect. The one who couldn’t do it on her own.

At school, he had made it very clear to everyone: you were off-limits. No one dared lay a hand on you, not with Mark’s reputation looming over them. If anyone even thought about hurting you, they’d meet his fist—and death—before they had the chance to follow through. That was the silent promise he had made. Nobody was allowed to hurt you.

Except him and Dad.

As he stood there watching you, a strange mix of emotions twisted inside him. He couldn’t help but feel a strange satisfaction knowing you were dependent on him, that your weakness kept you under his protection. But at the same time, something about the way you looked tonight—hunched over in that chair, lost in your thoughts—stirred an odd feeling in him.

He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but something was off about you lately. He’d noticed it. The nervous energy, the odd silences, the way you seemed to be… slipping away from him somehow. But it didn’t matter. Whatever was going on, he’d keep a close eye on you. You were his sister, his responsibility.

And no one could take that from him.

Morning arrived far sooner than you would have liked. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, cutting through the quiet of the house and landing directly on your face. You groaned, blinking against the harsh light, realizing you hadn’t moved from the dining table. Your body ached from sitting hunched over in the chair for hours, your mind still foggy with the weight of your sleepless night.

Today was going to suck. A lot.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling the heaviness beneath them, the exhaustion settling into your bones. You could practically feel the bags under your eyes, the dull ache of tiredness seeping into your skin. You didn’t even need to look in a mirror to know you probably looked like a mess. Red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, and the exhaustion you could never quite hide.

Just get through the day, you told yourself, trying to muster some kind of resolve.

You slowly pushed yourself up from the chair, every muscle in your body protesting. The kitchen felt too quiet now, the soft sounds of the house waking up adding to the strange stillness of your thoughts.

Gods, you need a warm shower. Or maybe a baseball bat to the head.

With a tired groan, you shuffled toward the stairs, deciding a shower might at least help clear the fog in your mind. You hoped the hot water would be enough to wash away the exhaustion clinging to your body. Maybe it could ease the tightness in your chest.

You stripped off your clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over your shoulders, washing away the cold sweat from last night’s nightmares. The warmth soothed your muscles, but it did little to ease the knot in your stomach. The events of last night, the conversation with your friends, the weight of everything still hung over you like a storm cloud.

There was no escape from it.

You sighed, leaning your head against the cool tile. The shower wasn’t helping as much as you had hoped. You were still exhausted, both physically and mentally. The knowledge that you had to face school today, pretend everything was normal while juggling this monumental responsibility, was almost too much to bear.

But you don’t have a choice.

You had to go on like you always did. Put on a brave face, go through the motions, act like everything was fine, and then meet with your friends later to figure out how to save the world. Again.

The water began to cool, and with another groan, you reluctantly stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying yourself off. You stared at yourself in the mirror, wincing at your reflection. Red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, and exhaustion etched into every line of your face.

You look like a wreck, you thought, shaking your head. But there was no time to dwell on it. You had to get through the day, no matter what.

You sluggishly dried yourself off, the warm water doing little to shake the exhaustion clinging to you. Once you were dry, you threw on some clothes, not really caring much about what you wore today—just whatever was clean and comfortable. You glanced at the clock on your dresser. 7:00 AM.

School wouldn’t start until 8:20, so you had some time. Normally, you’d still be asleep, trying to squeeze in the last few minutes of rest before rushing to get ready. But after last night, sleep wasn’t really an option.

For the next thirty minutes, you just sat on your bed, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly. You weren’t really looking for anything specific, just trying to remember who you used to be. Pictures of you and your friends popped up—Hallie, Connor, Weston. The four of you, smiling at the camera, carefree, before everything went to hell. Then there were other photos—random shots of acquaintances from school, parties you barely remembered attending, school dances where you smiled like the biggest worry in your life was whether your shoes matched your dress.

How different things had been. How different you had been.

The sound of movement from down the hall snapped you out of your thoughts. You heard Mark getting ready in his room, the familiar sounds of him moving around as he prepared for the day. Right. He drove you to school most mornings, and today would be no different.

You used to be excited about these car rides. Before, it was one of the few times you could really spend with Mark. He was a senior, always busy with schoolwork, football, or hanging out with his friends, so the drive to school was a guaranteed window of time where you could talk, laugh, and catch up.

But now? Now you dreaded it. The idea of sitting in a car with Mark, pretending everything was fine, made your stomach churn.

With a sigh, you got up from your bed, scrambling around to find your school bag. You mentally checked off the things you’d need for the day—binders, notebooks, pens—but your mind was elsewhere. Without thinking, you checked the small hidden compartment of your bag, making sure it was still packed.

A small knife. A bottle of hairspray. A lighter.

For the Demogorgons. Their biggest weakness was heat, especially fire, so you and your friends always carried around something to ignite them with. It had become second nature by now—packing your school bag with both homework and weapons. Sure, if the school ever found out you were carrying that stuff, you’d be expelled without question. But you were usually one of the good kids, known for being respectful and doing your work. That bought you a bit of leeway.

Did you occasionally miss class, ducking out to handle Demogorgons or chase down whatever creature was lurking nearby? Yes. And when you got caught? Detention. You smirked a little at the memory of you, Connor, Hallie, and Weston all sitting in detention together, exchanging looks across the room, barely holding in your laughter after a particularly difficult hunt. You had spent more than a few afternoons in those detention rooms, trying to explain your absences in ways that wouldn’t raise suspicion.

Grumbling at the thought, you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed downstairs. You grabbed a protein bar from the pantry as you slipped your shoes on, trying to push the nerves out of your stomach as you mentally prepared for the car ride with Mark.

You could hear him coming down the stairs behind you, and for a second, you froze, bracing yourself for the interaction. It felt like every moment with him now was tinged with tension, with the unspoken knowledge of what was to come.

“You ready to go?” Mark’s voice was casual, as if everything was normal.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile as you glanced over your shoulder at him.

He smiled back, though there was something in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the weight of everything you knew, or maybe it was just your paranoia creeping in, but for a brief second, you felt like he was watching you a little too closely.

You pushed the thought away and grabbed your jacket, trying to act like everything was fine. You think you’d gotten pretty good at lying and pretending everything was okay, i mean, you did successfully hide the fact that you hunt Demogorgons in your past life.

So, it should be no different this time around, right?

Taglist: @plsfckmedxddy, @marsmabe, @leiiasurez, @shycreatorreview, @naina326, @neverano, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch,

#neglected reader #platonic yandere #yandere invincible #yandere omniman #yandere mark grayson #yandere nolan grayson #debbie grayson #mark grayson #nolan grayson #omni man #invincible x reader #invincible

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 months ago

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cigarettes after sex

tags: mullet!stan pines, fem!reader, mentions of alcohol and smoking, nsfw, sexual themes, depression, ptsd, drunk sex, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, inspired by cigarettes after sex songs, so I recommend to listen some while reading that :)

Stan hasn't been himself since the portal swallowed Ford up.

His life is ruined, his mind is ruined, everything is ruined. Every single night, he’s hunched over the journals, Ford’s stupid, cryptic notes that Stan can’t figure out, can’t understand, but wants to. It's like trying to read in the dark. He knows there’s something in them, some answer, but it’s out of his reach and every time he thinks about his brother being gone, his chest tightens, that guilt slamming into him so hard he feels like he can’t breathe so he drowns in his own tears.

Stanley knows he’s not the smart one, never was, and now it feels like he’s lost every chance to make things right. The lab is his prison. The cigarettes are his only escape, one after another until the ashtray overflows, the smell of smoke permanently clinging to everything in this place. His eyes burn from lack of sleep, the bags under them deep and dark and he doesn’t bother to clean himself up anymore. What’s the point? He’s all alone. Again.

Tonight, something changes. He can’t sit in that goddamn lab for another second, can’t stare at those useless pages with his head spinning. So, he stumbles out into the cold and ends up at the bar down the street — the only place still open this late.

When he walks in, he’s already halfway drunk and you spot him immediately from across the room. It’s not hard; the guy’s a walking disaster. His coat is rumpled, hair a tangled mess, and his eyes are empty, hollowed out like he’s already lost something far more important than money. You've seen a lot of people sink to the bottom, but this guy sank even lower than most.

Stan doesn’t notice you at first. He barely notices anything as he stumbles up to the bar, hands trembling as he grips the counter. His cigarette hangs loose between his fingers, half burnt and about to fall, but he’s too out of it to care. He leans heavily against the bar, head down like the weight of his own body is too much.

“Whiskey,” he grumbles. “whatever’s cheap.”

The bartender glances at him, sizing him up with a frown. Stan looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, hasn’t eaten much either. It’s written all over him, the sag of his shoulders, the unsteady sway when he tries to straighten up.

The bartender slides the glass toward Stan, but before he even picks it up, he’s already mumbling something under his breath, little grin pulling at his lips. “Don’t think I got the money for this, pal.”

He downs the drink in one go, barely wincing as the burn hits his throat and for a moment, you think he might get away with it. But the bartender’s patience is wearing thin. He scowls, leaning in with narrowed eyes, clearly not in the mood to deal with Stan’s shit tonight.

“I’m not running a charity here,” the bartender snaps. “you pay or you leave.”

Stan grins, and it’s the saddest, most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen. “What, no freebies? Guess I’ll have to put it on my tab.” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

The bartender looks about two seconds from throwing Stan out on his ass and for some reason, you find yourself moving before you even realise it. Sliding off your seat, you walk over. Stan doesn’t notice you until you’re standing right next to him, and even then, his gaze is unfocused, blurry as fuck.

Before things get ugly, you step in, sliding a couple bills across the counter, “I’ll cover it.”

The bartender takes the money without a word, though you can feel the tension of the situation, he’s definitely bothered and not in the mood. Stan looks at you, bleary-eyed, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real or just another hallucination. His mouth twists into that lopsided grin again, but there’s something softer about it this time, like he’s genuinely surprised someone bothered to step in.

He’s too drunk to notice the bartender’s scowl as you grab him by the arm, hauling him to his feet. He stumbles, almost dragging you down with him, but you manage to keep him upright, though just barely.

“Hey, thanks, sweetheart,” he slurs, blinking at you like he’s trying to clear the fog in his head. “didn’t know I’d be gettin’ free drinks tonight.”

He tries to stand up straighter, but the alcohol’s got a firm grip on him. His body sways dangerously so you reach out, grabbing his arm to keep him steady. He’s heavier than you expected, way too much, his body leaning against yours as you pull him away from the bar.

“Come on,” you mutter, dragging him toward the door. “let’s get you out of here before you piss off anyone else.”

Stan stumbles along beside you, his steps unsteady, barely able to keep himself upright. He’s mumbling something under his breath, words too slurred to make out, because he’s so fucking drunk, but you can tell it’s nothing good. Outside, the cold hits you both like a slap to the face. The winter air is brutal, biting through your clothes and cutting through the haze of alcohol that’s been clouding Stan’s head.

“Jesus, it’s freezing out here,” he mutters, blinking against the cold. His breath comes out in visible puffs, his flushed face suddenly looking even redder in the harsh chill. Then he looks at you. “So what, you my babysitter now?

This time you have to shove him back against the wall just to keep him upright. His back hits the cold brick with a dull thud, and he lets out a low, drunken laugh, his head tipping back to rest against the wall.

“Ohh, you gonna pin me here? gotta say, I’m not usually into this kinda thing, but for you, sweetheart, I might make an exception.” his body sags, leaning heavily into the wall as he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “or are you just waiting for me to do something stupid?”

Your brows furrow at that, irritation flaring in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He’s a mess, a complete disaster, but there’s something about him that makes it hard to walk away. Maybe it’s the way he’s still trying to crack jokes, even when he’s clearly drowning in his own misery. Maybe it’s the way his hands tremble, even though he’s trying to play it off like he doesn’t care.

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes half-lidded as he stares up at the sky. Stan chuckles. “Well, I could just. . . y’know. Throw myself off a cliff. Put an end to all this crap. What’s one more dead Pines, huh?”

He’s not joking anymore. There’s something raw in his voice, he sounds way too hurt, too honest, too broken that makes your stomach twist. You don’t really know what to answer on that. You aren’t that good at supporting people, but supporting drunk guy? He’ll barely hear what you’ll tell him.

You pull a cigarette from your pocket, lighting it up with quick movements, because cold air stinging your fingers. Stan watches you through half-lidded eyes, his breath visible in the frigid air.

“Hey,” he mutters. “mind if I bum one off ya?”

You hand him a cigarette without a word, and he takes it, his fingers still shaking from cold or. . . as he lights it. He leans back against the wall, the smoke curling around his face as he exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

Neither of you speak after that. There’s nothing to say. You don’t know how to start a talk either. Is it even needed?

Stan’s a complete mess, the kind you don't want to get too close to. But as you stand there, cigarette smoke curling between your fingers, you can’t tear your eyes off him. He’s slumped against the wall, looking like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders or maybe that’s just the whiskey. You wonder why the hell you bothered to drag him out here in the first place. He’s a disaster and his weird comments aren’t helping, they just disturb you.

You take another drag, feeling the bitter taste of nicotine hit your lungs, and for a moment, you think about just walking away. He’s not your problem. You’ve done your good deed for the night and the cold air is starting to bite at your skin. Just leave him here. He’ll figure it out, or. . . he won’t. Either way, it’s not your concern.

But just as you’re about to turn and go, Stan mumbles something under his nose. It’s faint, too quiet to catch.

“. . . should’ve never messed with the damn portal.”

You blink. Portal? The word echoes in your mind, that’s surprising, intriguing. What the hell is he talking about? You glance at him again, but his eyes are fluttering shut, his body slumping further against the wall.

“Hey,” you say, stepping closer. “what did you just say?”

Stan’s lips move, but no sound comes out, he’s completely out of it. Your eyes widen in shock as you say “hey, man” louder to get him back to his senses, but before you can react, his knees buckle and he collapses, dead weight against the cold ground.

“Holy shit!” you drop your cigarette, your hands immediately going to his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. His head lolls to the side, completely out cold

Of course. Of fucking course! He’s drunk off his ass, hasn’t slept, probably hasn’t eaten anything substantial in days. You run a hand through your hair, staring down at him, your mind racing.

You’re not sure what the hell to do with this guy. You don’t even know him. But something in your gut twists, something telling you to stay, to not leave him lying here like this.

***

He’s strange, sure. But why does that word “portal” keep sticking in your head?

Days pass, but your thoughts keep drifting back to him. That night, his ramblings, the look in his eyes before he passed out. You shouldn’t care. He’s just some guy, a random drunk you stumbled across. But you’ve always been a curious person. You keep thinking about how broken he looked, how utterly wrecked he seemed and you wonder what could’ve driven him to that point.

You’re out in town again, aimlessly wandering the streets of Gravity Falls, and without even realizing it, you find yourself back at the bar where you met him. It’s the same cold winter night, what makes your body shake from chill no matter how many layers you’ve got on.

You stand outside with a cigarette, your breath mixing with the smoke. Your mind’s still on him, on that weird stranger. You can’t help but wonder if he’s alright. Probably not? Guys like that don’t bounce back easy.

You take another drag, exhaling slowly, your thoughts swirling. You think about how he stumbled around, barely able to stay on his feet, and for some reason you smile. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s such a loser. But there was something strangely. . . cute about it all. God, why are you even thinking about him

Suddenly, the door to the bar swings open, and a familiar figure stumbles out into the cold. You blink, and sure enough, it’s him. That drunk weird guy. Same red jacket, same disheveled look, but this time he doesn’t seem quite as far gone. Still drunk, but not teetering on the edge like last time.

The bouncer gives him a shove, muttering something about not coming back without cash and Stan nearly trips over his own feet before catching himself. He stands there for a moment, muttering insults and then his eyes land on you. His gaze lingers, squinting through the haze of alcohol, and recognition slowly dawns on his face. He straightens up, well, as much as a guy like him can, and adjusts his jacket, trying to look somewhat presentable.

“Well, well, if it ain’t my guardian angel,” he says with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, flicking the ash from your cigarette. “didn’t know angels had to drag drunks out of bars.”

Stan laughs, but it’s more of a low chuckle. “do I know you? I feel—“ he hiccups. “fuck, feel like I should know your name. . .”

“I never told you, dummy.”

Stan stares at you for a moment, processing that, and then he smiles wider. “Ah, right. Guess I can’t forget what I never knew.” he winks, but it’s sloppy, and you can’t help but smile back.

He takes a step toward you, leaning against the wall beside you. “Y’know, I gotta thank ya for payin’ for me back there. ‘Specially since that whiskey was crap. Worst I’ve had in years.”

You snort, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, and that’s why you drank all of it, right? real convincing, man.”

He chuckles again, running a hand through his brown hair. “What can I say? Gotta give every drink a fair shot. Even the bad ones.”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. The guy’s a mess, sure, but there’s something oddly charming about his complete lack of shame. He’s so human. Flawed and ridiculous, but human. And funny.

For a while, neither of you say much, just standing there under the night sky, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you walk slowly down the street. The cold bites at your skin, but it feels less harsh with him beside you, talking about nothing in particular. He rambles about the bar, about the bartender, about how he’s been kicked out of worse places, but there’s an ease to it, like he’s just talking to fill the silence.

And for some reason, you don’t mind it. His company is strangely nice. Despite everything.

As you walk, you glance over at him, still trying to figure out what it is about this guy that’s gotten under your skin. He’s weird, yeah. Definitely not what you’d call put-together.

He catches your gaze and smirks, a little lopsided but softer this time. “What, you like what you see?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not even close.”

***

Over time, you start to see Stanford Stan more regularly. It's never planned, never some formal arrangement. He’s just there, outside that same dive bar, smoking under the dim streetlight or wandering down the streets with his red jacket pulled tight against the cold. And every time, you find yourself walking beside him, talking about nothing and everything.

It’s not like you’re close, not really. He doesn’t open up, never gives you much more than surface-level comments or dumb jokes to deflect anything too personal. You only know what he lets slip, and even that feels like more than you should. He insists his name is Stanford, though something about it always sounds. . . off.

Stanley thinks he’s idiot. It’s a role he’s playing, a mask he’s not ready to take off, won’t take for for the next thirty years.

One night, after you’ve met up for what feels like the hundredth time, you finally ask him why he’s always drunk when you see him. It’s been bugging you for a while, how every time you meet, he reeks of whiskey and stale cigarettes, eyes glassy, speech slurred, sometimes flirting with you or winking dumbly at you. You’ve tried to ignore it, but tonight the question just slips out.

Stan pauses, cigarette halfway to his lips. You think he’s not going to answer, but then he takes a drag, exhaling slowly before speaking. “Helps me think,” he mutters. “keeps the noise out.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Noise?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the wall, his eyes scanning the street. “Yeah. The crap up here. Some people got quiet minds, y’know? Not me. Gotta slow it down.”

It’s vague, cryptic. You don’t push for more. You’ve learned by now that pressing Stan doesn’t get you anywhere. He only shares what he wants, and even then, it’s always layered in something else, sarcasm, a joke, some offhand comment that makes it hard to tell what’s real and what’s just him deflecting.

Nevertheless, there is something in the way he says it that does not leave you indifferent. The way he looks when he mentions his thoughts, as if there's something more hiding under the surface that booze and cigarettes can't hide. You wonder what’s rattling around in his brain, what kind of shit he’s trying so hard to drown out.

Time passes, and your strange friendship, or whatever it is, continues. Nothing changes. You meet up, you talk, you walk through the streets of Gravity Falls, smoking and trading stories. Stan makes jokes, you laugh, and somehow, despite everything, you find yourself growing more comfortable around him.

But he never lets you in, not really. You can only guess at what’s going on in his life, at what’s driving him to the bottom of a bottle every time you see him. It’s frustrating in a way, how closed off he is, how he seems determined to keep everything buried. There’s a part of him that’s afraid to let you see the real him, afraid to show just how broken he really is.

You start to ask him more personal questions, though he always dodges them with some half-assed joke. Like the time you asked him about his hair. His mullet, to be specific. It’s a mess, now unruly and overgrown, and you can’t help but wonder why the hell he refuses to cut it.

“Why don’t you change a haircut?” you ask teasingly. “you look like you haven’t touched it in years.”

Stan just grins, flicking his cigarette into the street. “Ah, what can I say? Chicks dig the mullet.”

What you don’t know is that Stan’s too scared to look at himself in the mirror.

The way he avoids mirrors, the way his eyes flicker away if he catches his own reflection for even a second. It’s not about the hair, it’s about something deeper. Every time he sees his reflection, it’s not his face he sees, it’s Ford’s. If he cuts his hair, changes anything, he’s worried he’ll lose himself completely, that he’ll become the brother he’s spent his whole life running from. It’s not something he’d ever tell you, though. That’s way too deep for the guy who lives behind a wall of bad jokes and alcohol.

Stan never talks about his past. You’ve asked, but he always deflects with a joke or changes the subject. The most you’ve gotten out of him is when something goes wrong, he drops something, or his stupid car won’t start, or even when he just stumbles over his own feet. He’ll shake his head, muttering to himself, “Screw-up. Always been a screw-up.” It’s weird, like it’s the only thing he knows how to be.

It bothers you. You don’t get it. Yeah, he’s a mess, but this weird obsession with calling himself a screw-up, like it’s some kind of mantra, doesn’t make sense to you. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but every time he says it, you see a flash of something bitter in his eyes, like he’s heard those words so many times they’ve become part of him.

What you don’t realize is that those words are burned into him. His father used to call him a screw-up, over and over until it became his identity. And then there was Ford, his golden child of a brother, the smart one, the successful one. Stan’s always felt like the lesser of the two, never quite measuring up, always stuck in his brother’s shadow. He’s spent his whole life trying to live down to that title, like it’s all he’s worth. Stan was a kid, who heard those words over and over until they stuck, until he couldn’t see himself as anything else.

You can’t fix what’s already broken. But that doesn’t stop you from trying. Something about Stan makes you want to help, even though you know you can’t. He’s too far gone, too buried in his own mess. Still, you keep coming back. Maybe out of curiosity, maybe out of some sense of hope.

***

Another night, another round of drinks. The two of you sit at the bar, glasses clinking against the wood, the air is filled with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. Stan’s already a few drinks in, and you’re not far behind. You laugh at something he says, probably another dumb joke, but you’re not really paying attention. Your mind is clouded, your body is hot from drinking, and before you know it, your gaze slides over his lips.

It’s stupid. You’re both drunk, and this is Stanford, the guy who can barely keep his life together, let alone maintain a relationship. But the way he looks right now, disheveled and messy, his lips curling into that cocky grin, makes your heart race.

His lips. Your lips. Apocalypse.

The kiss happens fast, messy, without warning. One minute you’re sitting there, and the next, his lips are on yours, rough and dry. It’s not graceful, not soft. It’s desperate, like he’s been holding something back for too long, and now it’s all spilling out at once.

The kiss deepens, but you don’t care. His mouth moves against yours, hungry, needy, like he’s searching for something, like that’s what he needed all those years. Human touch and someone else's warmth.

You’re both drunk, of course. Maybe that’s the only way it could’ve happened.

Stan tastes like smoke and cheap liquor, the bitterness lingering on your tongue as his hands slide up your back, pulling you in. You can feel the heat of his body, the way his chest presses against yours.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is a mistake, stupid drunk accident. But then he kisses you harder, his hand tangling in your hair and all thoughts of logic fly out the window. This isn’t about fixing him. You don’t care about anything except the fact that Stanford, the complete disaster of a man you’ve somehow gotten tangled up with, is kissing you like the world’s about to end.

His hands are rough, clumsy as they cup your face, and it’s all heat and desperation, like neither of you know what the hell you’re doing, but you don’t want to stop.

You’re not sure how it happened so quickly, one second, you were sitting at the bar, laughing, your lips crashing into his, and now you’re pressed against the cold wall of the bathroom. The neon lights of the bar barely make their way out from under the door, flooding the room with a dim glow as Stan presses you against the sink.

Stan kisses like an animal, like he’s trying to lose himself in the moment, drown out everything that’s weighing on him. Like he’s searching for some kind of escape. The alcohol has dulled his brain, but not enough to make him forget. He needs something more, something real to pull him out of the relentless spiral of thoughts, of portals, journals and the constant gnawing guilt.

Stan needs to lose himself in something, anything else. And tonight, that something is you.

His big hands are on you, one sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair, tugging you even closer as he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth and you feel how his hard cock presses through his jeans as he pushes you against the sink in the bar's bathroom. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out, every nerve igniting under his touch, his mouth trailing down your jaw, leaving a scorching path along your skin.

You barely notice when the door creaks open, someone stepping into the small, dimly lit room.

“Bathroom’s occupied, unless you wanna watch, but that’ll cost you.” Stan snaps, irritated as he glares at the stranger. The man stutters away quickly and the door slams shut with a loud bang.

Before you can say something, he’s kissing you again, hard, desperate, rough, demanding.

You moan into his mouth, tangling your finger in his brown hair, tugging him closer, and the word slips out between your breaths. “Stanford. . .”

Stan freezes and that name seems to knock all the alcohol out of his blood. It feels like something heavy and wrong between you, Stan's gaze is blank, like he's not here at all. It’s his brother’s name, the one he’s stolen, the one he’s buried himself under. You look at him and see something in his eyes. Regret. Guilt. That endless pain that’s been eating at him for as long as he can remember. You don't know what's going on, but you want to solve this damn mystery so badly. What's wrong with this man?

But then it’s all gone, replaced by that cocky grin.

“Stan’s fine, sweetheart. Trust me.”

His hands fumble with your pants, yanking them down roughly, desperately, his fingers massaging and rubbing you through your underwear. You’re already soaking, practically trembling from his touch, and he groans when he feels it, his fingers sliding through your wetness.

“Shit, you’re so wet for me,” he growls. “fuckin’ perfect, baby.”

You moan, head tilting back, the sensation overwhelming as he slides two fingers inside you, rough and fast. He’s not gentle, not tonight, there’s no time for that, no point for that too. He’s desperate and it shows in the way his thick fingers pump into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit in the most delicious way.

“St-Stan—“ you moan, looking down at his fingers thrusting into you.

“Please, don’t say it, don’t say that name,”meanwhile, Stan thinks, hoping your drunken mind has figured it out.

“—fuck me,” your last words make him breathe a sigh of relief. Good girl. And then he’s yanking your panties down as he have you bent over the sink, your palms pressing into the cold porcelain and you barely have time to register the sound of his belt hitting the floor before you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he lines himself up. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, right now. And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

You moan, nodding, pressing back against him, desperate for the stretch, to feel him inside you because your brain can't think of anything else but getting fucked hard in the bathroom of a bar. “Please, Stan— please, use me!”

And he obeys, slamming into you, burying himself deep in one rough, brutal thrust that actually hurts, but your drunk state doesn’t care much. You gasp, his cock fills you so completely you can barely breathe, you cry out, your body arching, but Stan's hand is holding you back, pressing on your back to keep you in place and he groans. It’s overwhelming you, a mix of pain and pleasure and you can’t stop moans that escapes your lips as he starts to move, his cock sliding in and out of you with rough thrusts.

“Huh, oh jesus fuck, baby, yer tight,” Stan grits out between ragged breaths, his voice hoarse. He pulls back only to slam into you again, harder this time, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal rhythm that has you gasping.

“Staaann—!” you whimper his real name again, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink for dear life, his cock so deep it’s like he’s claiming every part of you. “Oh, fuck-fuck-fuck!”

“my fucking god, baby,” he groans, his dick hitting that spot deep inside you that has your body trembling. His fingers find your clit, rubbing in quick circles as he fucks you harder. “you feel so fuckin’ good, doll, so tight around my cock.”

Of course, there's a mirror hanging over the sink, and Stan glances up, wanting to see your fucked-out expression, how gorgeous your face looks when he's pounding into you like this. But, almost spitefully, his eyes land on himself instead. He wants to look away, he should look away, but something makes him stop. For the first time in years, the reflection staring back at him is someone else. Not his twin. Not his nerdy brother. No, not Stanford. Ford would never end up like this. Never get so fucking dirty.

Stan sees himself for what he is. What he's become. Hair disheveled, drunk, filthy, fucking in a bar bathroom. Ford would never be like this. Stan, you piece of shit, you're a disgrace to your brother's name, Stanley thinks.

But then your moans reach his ears, pulling him back, reminding him where he is. Thank God the bar music is loud enough to cover you. He blinks, realizing he's let the pace slip, and his hands tighten on your hips, his grip hard enough to bruise, grounding himself.

You’re a mess of moans and gasps, your body shaking, your warm walls tightening around him as the pleasure builds. “Stan— fuck, I’m gonna—”

Stan leans into you as much as the position allows, one hand tangling in your hair, tugging hard enough to make the roots sting, though in your drunken haze, you barely even feel it.

“Do it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck. “Cum for me. I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

And you do, the orgasm rips through you, your body convulsing as you cry out, your walls squeezing around him what makes Stan groan, his fingers digging into your hips, thrusting harder, faster, chasing his own release. You can feel him throbbing inside you and then he’s pulling out, his hand wrapping around his cock as he strokes himself, his cum spilling hot and thick onto your skin.

***

The days began to stretch into weeks. Time wasn’t something you paid attention to anymore, not since that night. You could still feel him sometimes, his rough hands ghosting over your skin, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes lingering long after he’d left, his groans, the way he said your name. It hadn’t been anything gentle or romantic that night, just bodies lost in drunken hunger. And after that, you hadn’t seen much of him since, not like before.

You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that night had ruined something between you. Maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe he’d felt nothing, and you’d been stupid to think it could’ve been anything more. The way his lips had pressed against yours, hungry, desperate, hadn’t felt like love. He was drunk, did he even know who he was kissing? Your anxiety was growing, your thoughts were fighting one another. It wasn’t love. It had been something else entirely, it was raw and messy. You knew it wasn’t love, just a night. It wasn’t tender or slow; there were no whispered promises of endless love, marriage, kids, whatever “all happy” people have. Just a desperate fuck, not some grand confession of feelings. Whatever had been between you before — it felt like it was ruined, as if that thing in the bathroom had burned everything else to ash.

Stanford had disappeared, leaving you with silence and your own thoughts, and you believed that he regretted it. Maybe it was just too much for him.

However, Stanley, he couldn’t shake the feeling of your lips on his, the way they were so warm, because no one had ever kissed him with that kind of passion before. He wasn’t used to that, to being touched like that. His entire life, he believed nobody really liked him. Not like this. Hell, even his own family had given up on him at some point. Except for his mom, she’d always tried to love him, even when he couldn’t love himself.

He tried to ignore the way his chest ached when he thought about you, tried to drown it out with more cigarettes, more drinks, he tried, but failed because nothing worked. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. Stan was getting attached to you, he knew it, even when he didn’t want to admit it. Even without alcohol, without the nicotine to calm his nerves, he knew he wanted you and your presence. It wasn’t just lust. It was something deeper, something that scared the fuck out of him because he wasn’t used to it. And maybe that’s why he’d been avoiding you. Because how the hell was he supposed to deal with feelings he didn’t even know how to name? Stan always felt that people didn’t love him, they tolerated him.

With you, for the first time in a long time, Stan had felt like he mattered. Like he was seen.

It scared him a lot.

***

Spring came early that year, and with it, the world outside the window seemed to come to life. Gravity Falls blossomed with colors you hadn't noticed before — the world is painted in bright greens and soft pastel tones, flowers made their way through the ground, as if the whole town was shaking off the cold and waking up. And that's when you saw him again.

You weren’t expecting to run into Stanford like this, not here, not in daylight, when spring is blooming around you. He was standing at the edge of the road, hands shoved into his pockets, a slight frown on his face like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be here. But then his eyes met yours and he didn’t look away this time.

There was no alcohol, no bar lights casting shadows on his face. Just sober Stan, the man who had kissed you with so much need that it had nearly broken you.

“Hey,” he called out and you immediately responded with excited “hi!” you smiled, he stood there, waiting for you to come closer. When you did, there was a long pause, neither of you quite sure what to say. His eyes flicked down nervously and you noticed it then, the subtle change, not too noticeable. Had he fixed his mullet a bit? It wasn’t much, but it was. . . cleaner. Neater, like he’d put in just a little more effort. Like maybe he had been planning on running into you.

“Uh, you wanna grab some coffee or somethin’?” Stan asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to play it cool, but the way he shifted on his feet betrayed him. He was nervous. Actually nervous. You hadn’t seen that in him before. “I figured we could, ya know, talk. Maybe. If that’s somethin’ you wanna do, of course.”

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That’s how two of you ended in a small caf�� nearby, the conversation light at first, both of you avoiding that specific term about. . . Doesn’t matter.

It was much easier to talk about the weather, or the weirdness of Gravity Falls, or how spring had made the town feel alive again. But every now and then, your eyes would meet and you exchanged awkward laughs and smiles.

“So, uh. . . I gotta ask,” Stan started. “did ya notice somethin’ different?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think for a moment before grinning. “Your hair? you mean you actually put effort into it?”

He smiled back at you. “Yeah, well, figured I’d try to clean up a bit. Y’know, look a little less like a bum.”

You laughed, feeling warmth blooming in your chest. It was such a small thing, but it felt significant to you. Like he’d actually cared enough to try for you, impress you maybe. And that meant more than you could say.

***

Nights bled into days and days slipped back into nights. Time seemed to blur together, the moon swapped places with the sun over and over. And here you were, tangled in the sheets of Stan’s bed, staring at the ceiling, while the moonlight filtered through the triangle-shaped window, the soft glow of it lays over your face, feels like the world outside was holding its breath just for you.

Things between you and Stan had shifted in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t quick or loud. At end, Stan let you get closer, but piece by piece, he was afraid you might notice if he let you too far in all at once.

The first time Stanley let you hug him, really hug him, was late in night. You weren’t sure how it had happened, it wasn’t planned, you reached for him first. You didn’t even think about it, just pulled him close. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him carefully at first, waiting for him to tell you to stop. But he didn’t. Stan stiffened at first, because the idea of being held was foreign to him, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do. Then his face buried against your shoulder, and at first, you thought he was just tired, resting, taking what he needed and nothing more. But then you felt it. The dampness against your skin.

You realized with a sinking heart that Stan was crying.

It wasn’t loud. No sobs, no gasping breaths. Just silent bitter tears soaking through your shirt, his grip tightening on you like he was afraid you might disappear, just like his brother. His body trembled slightly, now he couldn’t hide anymore. It broke something in you, seeing him like this, this man felt so small in your arms.

He clung to you like a child, because no one had held him in years. No one, no one had hugged him like this since he left his family.

You sighed and held him tighter, feeling his tears soak into your skin. Stan wasn’t just crying about tonight, he was crying for all the years he’d spent running, for all the times he’d pushed people away because it was easier than getting hurt. He was crying because, for the first time in so long, someone was holding him, and it wasn’t just physical, it reminded him of what it felt like to be cared for. To not be alone.

Your hand gently stroking the back of his head, letting him melt into you like the child he probably hadn’t been allowed to be in years. Decades, maybe. For the first time, Stan didn’t feel like the tough man you knew him as. He felt small, fragile, like he was that little boy again, the one who had been left behind, pushed out of his family and told to figure it all out on his own.

Stanley pulled back, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hand, embarrassed as he looked down. But you didn't give him time to think again and regret his actions, you didn’t let him feel that shame for long. You reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table, handing one to him without a word. Stan took it and you lit it for him, the soft click of the lighter the only sound in the room.

You sat together in that silence of the night, both of you smoking. You weren’t drunk this time and that made everything feel more real, clear. It wasn’t about the cigarettes, though. It was the quiet between you, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel uncomfortable or awkward. Stan wasn’t running anymore, he could finally relax, finally let himself breathe.

He looked up at the night sky, at the Milky Way stretching above you and smiled then, just a little, but it was there. A real, sincere smile. You hadn’t seen that on him before, not like this. It wasn’t the cocky grin he wore after dumb compliments or the smirk that followed some joke. This was softer. Stanley stared at the stars, his eyes reflecting the distant light and you wondered what he was thinking about. But while he was smiling, you were calm.

Stanford, real Stanford, he’s always been somewhere up there. In the stars, in the galaxies, in other world, always lost in science and mathematics, in things Stanley never really understood.

Nights passed like this more often, where it wasn’t about the rush of everything. He didn’t have to keep running anymore, didn’t have to keep pretending he didn’t care. He’d gotten soft around you in a way that surprised both of you, but it felt right. He could relax now. He could let himself be vulnerable.

One night, after the smoking had long stopped, after the silence had stretched between you in that comfortable way again, the two of you ended up in his bed. Not in the desperate lust way you had before, but in a way that felt natural. Like this was where you both belonged, in each other’s arms.

Stan was lying on your chest, his head resting against you as you calmingly ran your fingers through his hair, the brown strands slipping through your hands. He let out a long, contented sigh, relaxing into your touch.

You felt his breath against your skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest in sync with yours, and that made you understand just how fragile he really was. He never was the tough guy he always tried to be. Stanley Pines was was just a man trying to figure out how to feel again.

Stan’s arms wrapped loosely around you, holding on but not out of desperation this time. Just out of comfort. Out of need.

You smiled softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Stan.”

And for the first time, he believed it and smiled.

***

It wasn’t in Stan’s nature to lay everything out in some big, romantic gesture, not now. This will happen later when he gets older, much older. So there was no official conversation, no ‘what are we now?’ that hung awkwardly in the air.

It happened one evening, at dusk, because at this time of day people always become more sincere and honest, the two of you sitting on the back porch, sharing the silence in the way you’d grown to love. He had that usual cigarette between his lips, the glow of the ember flickering in the dark and you were watching the stars. That's when he said it, which in his language meant “I love you”:

“I think I like you best when you’re just with me and no one else.”

That was his way of telling you. You didn’t need him to say the word love. You understood him well enough by now to know that what he felt was real and that was all you needed.

You didn’t ask him to clarify, didn’t push for more. Stan was never someone you could push. Instead, you waited. You knew he would tell you everything in time. He just needed to get there on his own, at his own pace.

Sometimes he’d disappear into the lab, working on some thing he barely explained, shrugging it off with that typical grumble about science and mathematics. “It’s all bullshit anyway,” he’d say, tossing his hands in the air. “I ain’t ever understood that crap.”

“Not like my brother, he’s the smart one.” Stanley continued in his thoughts.

Then you started noticing the small changes. The way the bottles that once cluttered his desk and the corners of the shack were fewer now. He still drank, yeah, but not like before. He wasn’t drowning himself in it anymore. It was like he was learning, little by little, how to exist without that forever haze of alcohol clouding his thoughts, feelings and memories.

Stan was still scared though. He was scared of a lot of things, scared you’d leave, scared you’d find out something about him and realise you couldn’t stay. And then there were the nightmares. The ones he never talked about, but they were all the same, repeating every time. You’d wake in the middle of the night to find him tense beside you, his breathing uneven, his hands gripping the sheets as though he was trying to hold on to something slipping away.

That haunted him. The portal, always the portal. He’d never say it, at least not now. He’s not ready yet. He’s terrified that somehow, you’d be pulled into it too, just like Ford. That one day you’d be gone and he’d be alone again, abandoned forever.

But when your lips touches his in slow kiss, when you brush your fingers through his messy hair and kiss his forehead, all these fears are washed away. You’d hold him close, feel his body relax against yours and slowly, slowly, his breathing would steady as the nightmares faded. There he stops dreaming about portals and disappearances. Instead, he sleeps deeply, peacefully, like a normal human being.

In the mornings, he’d stay in bed longer than you, his eyes still closed when you slipped out from under the covers. He’d stretch, arms reaching out lazily, that rough voice of his so sleepy. “Sweetheart, come right back,” he’d mumble. “i’ve been waitin’ for you to slip back in bed.” he’d smile when he’d feel your warm body next to his.

That’s what made you fall in love with him harder.

The way he was always a bit softer in the mornings, not yet fully awake and not needing to be. He wasn’t running anymore. Not from you, not from himself. For the first time in what felt like forever, Stan was learning what it meant to just be. To exist in the quiet moments. He still smoked, but it wasn’t to escape anymore, it was just a part of him, something familiar, habit.

Stanley had spent so much of his life running, from his past, from laws, cops, states, from his brother, from his mistakes. But with you, for the first time, he wasn’t running anymore. He was staying.

#stanley pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls smut #x reader #gravity falls x you #stan pines x reader #stanford pines #gravity falls #stanley pines x you #stan pines smut #stan pines #stanley pines #grunkle stan #stan pines x you #stan pines x oc #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls fanfic #mullet stan #gravity falls fanfiction

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littlelamy · 26 days ago

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I was the one who requested Reader going through a depression and stopped responding to Rafe. That was soooooo good, I just wish it was longer because you're such a talented writer and I could read your stuff forever. Could I.....maybe request a part 2? With some happy ending. Maybe she opens the door....or maybe he bumps into her outside when she's getting her perscribed anti depressant pills at the pharmacy or something. WHatever you want, but I just want Rafe to show Reader that HE CARES and she lets him in emotionally, and he is super attentative, not at all making her feel like a burden, and is happy to take care of her

a/n: here’s part 2!😘

you hadn’t expected to run into him. you’d finally worked up the energy to go outside, the sun's warmth on your skin almost foreign after days—weeks—spent in the isolation of your apartment. your hands trembled slightly as you stepped into the pharmacy, clutching the prescription your doctor had sent over. it was supposed to help, the medication, but even taking this step felt monumental.

you kept your head down, trying to avoid any familiar faces. but of course, the universe had other plans.

“y/n?”

your heart sank at the sound of his voice, soft but unmistakable. you turned slowly, your eyes meeting rafe’s. he was standing near the entrance, a small reusable grocery bag in hand, his expression shifting from surprise to something gentler.

you froze, unsure of what to say. your mind immediately jumped to how you must look—unkempt, tired, a shell of the person he’d met a few months ago.

“hey,” you said finally, your voice barely audible.

rafe’s brows knitted together as he stepped closer, his blue eyes scanning your face. “what are you doing here?”

“just picking up something,” you mumbled, holding up your prescription bag as if it explained everything.

he nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he spoke again. “do you have time to talk?”

you hesitated, glancing around the store. the thought of having this conversation here, in public, made your stomach churn.

“not here,” you whispered.

“okay,” he said immediately, his tone reassuring. “my car’s outside. we can talk there?”

you nodded, following him out to the parking lot.

the silence in his car was heavy but not uncomfortable. rafe didn’t rush you, didn’t push for answers. he just sat there, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, waiting for you to speak.

“i’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice breaking. “for disappearing. for not answering your texts. for… everything.”

he turned to face you, his expression soft. “you don’t have to apologize, y/n.”

“yes, i do,” you insisted, your chest tightening. “i’ve been a mess, and you don’t deserve to deal with that. you have your own life, and i—”

“stop,” he interrupted gently, his hand reaching out to rest on yours. his touch was warm, grounding. “you’re not a burden. and i don’t care how messy things are right now. i care about you.”

his words hit you like a wave, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself.

“i don’t understand why,” you admitted, tears streaming down your face. “why would you want to deal with someone like me? i can’t even—”

“because you matter to me,” he said firmly, cutting you off again. “and it’s not about ‘dealing’ with you, y/n. it’s about being here for you. because that’s what you do for the people you care about.”

you didn’t go back to your apartment that day. instead, rafe drove you to his place, insisting that you didn’t have to be alone.

“just for a little while,” he said when you hesitated. “you don’t have to talk or do anything you don’t want to. just... stay.”

——————-

his house was quieter than you’d expected, the warm tones of the furniture and the faint smell of cedar making it feel more like a home than you’d imagined.

he led you to the couch, draping a blanket over your shoulders before disappearing into the kitchen. when he returned, he had a cup of tea in his hands, setting it on the coffee table in front of you.

"it’s chamomile,” he said, sitting down beside you. “i don’t know if you like it, but wheezie taught me how to make it back when i couldn’t sleep."

you managed a small smile, the gesture feeling foreign but welcome. “thank you.”

“anytime,” he replied, his voice soft.

the first night was the hardest.

you felt like an intruder, like you didn’t belong in his space. but rafe seemed to sense your unease, keeping his distance while still making it clear he was there if you needed him.

“if you want to talk, i’m here,” he said before heading to bed. “but if you just need to rest, that’s okay too. whatever you need.”

——————-

you spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, your mind racing with doubts and fears. but when the morning came, you felt a little lighter, the weight of your thoughts less suffocating than before.

over the next few days, rafe became a constant presence in your life.

he didn’t push you to talk about your feelings, but he also didn’t let you retreat completely into yourself. he’d sit with you during meals, even if you only picked at your food, and he’d put on movies you liked, filling the silence with soft laughter and the occasional comment.

when you mentioned feeling guilty about imposing, he shook his head, his expression serious.

“you’re not imposing,” he said firmly. “you’re here because you need someone, and i’m glad you trusted me enough to let me be that person.”

his words stayed with you, a small beacon of light in the darkness that had consumed you for so long.

one evening, you found yourself opening up to him in a way you hadn’t expected.

“i started the medication,” you said quietly, your hands wrapped around a cup of tea.

rafe looked up from his phone, his full attention on you. “how’s it going so far?”

“it’s... okay, i think,” you admitted. “it’s only been a few days, but it feels like a step in the right direction.”

“i’m proud of you,” he said, his voice warm. “that’s a big step.”

you felt a lump form in your throat, his words touching a part of you that had been starved for kindness.

“thank you,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his.

he smiled, reaching out to rest his hand over yours, gently rubbing small circles on it. “always.”

——————-

as the days turned into weeks, you started to find pieces of yourself again.

it wasn’t easy—there were still bad days, moments when the weight of everything threatened to pull you under. but rafe was there, steady and unwavering, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone.

he celebrated the small victories with you, like the first time you cooked a meal together or the day you went for a walk around the neighborhood. and when you had setbacks, he was there too, offering quiet reassurance and a shoulder to lean on.

“healing isn’t a straight line,” he said one evening as you sat on the couch together. “it’s okay to have bad days. what matters is that you keep going.”

his words stayed with you, a mantra you repeated to yourself during the harder moments.

one night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, you felt a surge of gratitude for him—for his patience, his kindness, his unwavering support.

“rafe?” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet.

he stirred beside you, his arm draped over your waist. “yeah?”

“thank you,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “for everything. for being here. for caring.”

he shifted closer, his lips pressing against your temple. “you don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “you’re worth it, y/n. every second.”

and for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

additional tags: @rafegf-real and @readingsmuts

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joonberriess · 9 months ago

Text

⋆ TAGS — really soft and domestic, TW: this deals with postpartum depression, baby daddy!jk, soft lil kisses, insecure!oc, angsty as hell, this is more of a comfort fic, mentioned baby, oc rlly struggles but jk is super supportive, mentioned past pregnancy, this made me cry, soft hours, jk pampers his lovely gf, CANON AUUUU JK’S JUST JK HERE LMAO

⋆ WORD COUNT — 2.4 k

“vámonos a comer un heladito, tu princesita, cómprame cositas. en mis tacones casi todo el día, dame un foot-rub and ice out mi tobillo,”

Your eyes fluttered under the feeling of lips sliding across your forehead, eyelid, and nose. You hear Jungkook laughing quietly as he envelops you in his strong arms and tugs you close. His murmurs and pestering have you pulling a face in your sleep, nose scrunched cutely given the way he coos teasingly.

“What time is it?” You mumble softly and blankly stare back at him, eyes heavy from sleep.

“Noon.” This has you going stiff, “Relax baby, he’s okay your mom came early to pick him up.” He comfortingly strokes over your side and backside.

You sink back into the sheets and nod, “Why didn’t you wake me?” You mumble under your breath as your eyes flutter shut.

Jungkook pressed more gentle kisses to your forehead with a low rumble, “You need a break, figured maybe we could go out–do some shopping, go to that sushi place you’ve been dying to try.. That sounds good, yeah?” He murmurs.

You hum, “It does, feels like I haven’t been out in forever.”

He waits with a bated breath and smiles softly when you open your eyes and stare back with more clarity, all traces of sleep etched away. “You’re so pretty, y’know that?” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face.

A subtle heat rises in your cheeks as you smile back, “Even with baby barf and spit all over my shirt?”

“The prettiest.” He leans over to kiss your nose, looking into your eyes with a twinkle in his own. He looks at you like you’ve just hung the stars for him.

Shyly, you press a soft smooch to his lips before flopping flat on your back with a sigh, “The fridge’s nearly empty isn’t it?” You mumble, “I’m sorry, I meant to go the other day but I ended up—”

“You’re fine, it’s okay. You know I’m here too right?” Jungkook reaches over to hold your hand, “Don’t worry about it baby, you’ve got your hands full right now and I get it. ‘s okay to ask for help too.”

You look at him with a soft smile, “I love you.” You lay a quick kiss on his cheek and roll out of bed to head to the bathroom.

Jungkook huffs, “Only one? On the cheek too..” He grumbles like a petulant child, sitting up in the messy sheets tangled around his hips and his bare chest out for your viewing.

“Get ready, it was YOUR idea to go out too so don’t make us late.” You fondly roll your eyes, you can hear him whine about something else behind you as the door shuts.

“…..” You pass in front of the body length mirror, pausing for a moment to observe your appearance. Your hands come up to rest over your tummy as you stare long and hard. “…”

You better get ready.

“y/n.”

“y/n?”

You snap out of your daydream and look over at Jungkook curiously, “Yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted to check out the fruits, it’s strawberry season and I’m sure they brought out all the fresh stuff.” Jungkook doesn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that you’ve spaced out for a second time since entering the store.

You shake your head, “I don’t like strawberries.” You say disinterestedly.

‘But you ate them your whole pregnancy, what’s wrong now?’ Your brain is screaming at you to just say yes and deal with it but you can’t.

He gives a soft hum, “That’s fine. Is there anything you wanted to get?” He steers the shopping cart away from the fruits, leading you down an aisle filled with spices and other cooking ingredients.

“Um, what was that thing you bought last time? When you made that white stew.” You scrunch your nose, “Ugh I forgot.”

“Ohh, you mean the cream stew mix? Uhh I think it’s down this aisle lemme check.” Jungkook leaves the cart with you as he trails down the aisle looking up, down, and around.

You pick out a few things to try out later on and happily make your way over. “Did you find it?” You curiously peek over his shoulder, damn near yelling because he shoots back up with a ‘ah-ha!’.

“What?” He innocently says after noticing the scowl on your face.

“You scared me.” You huff and punch his arm gently, “C’mon, I wanna get some chips and the aisle is back that way.” Jungkook happily trails after you, telling you all about his upcoming Calvin Klein campaign.

“Look,” Jungkook snorts as he holds up a pair of lace g-strings, “you mean to tell me this tiny triangle covers your entire pus–”

“Jungkook!” You hiss quietly after noticing a few older women turn their heads, “Put those down.” You snatch the panties away and toss them back into their respective drawers.

He cheekily grins and picks up another pair of underwear, “What? I didn’t do anything, I was just asking.” He chuckles.

“You are so dumb.” You giggle quietly, “Stop!! You’re going to get us kicked out, I thought I had one baby not two.”

“But babyy this is so boring, jus’ a bunch of girlie stuff and these women keep lookin’ at me like I’m a creep but I swear I’m just trying to help you.” He pouts.

You shake your head fondly, “Here, go find something to buy or do while I finish up here.” His eyes light up and he presses a messy smooch to your cheek before practically sprinting out.

Your eyes slowly turn over to the mannequin sitting tall on the platform donned in a new lingerie set. You stare at it for what seems like eternity while the world goes on about their day around you. Eventually a staff comes to break you out of your bubble.

“Is everything okay miss? Were you interested in our new spring collection?”

“Oh, um yeah, well I’m trying to surprise my boyfriend you know? I don’t know if he’ll like it ‘n stuff.” You murmur softly, eyes lowered and averted from the mannequin.

“Mmm.. what do you like?”

“Silk, maybe a babydoll or teddy..? I think.” You can’t stomach the idea of wearing a two piece, because then that means your….

“We have just the set then, we got a ton of new items for this spring. ” She grins while leading you away.

When you come out of the store, Jungkook’s barely walking back. He has this goofy little smile on his face as he stops in front of you, barely containing his excitement. “Guess what.”

“What did you do?” You giggle softly and eye the bag in his hand.

“I got this for you.” He brings out a large shirt and holds it up proudly, “It says: Best Milf Ever.”

You stare at the words with disbelief and then you’re breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. People around you look in curiosity but you can’t stop, you feel like you’re about to pee from how hard you’re laughing.

And Jungkook?

He stands there with a fond smile, gazing at you lovingly as he puts the shirt back, “You like it?”

You haven’t laughed nor felt this much joy in a while. “I love it.”

After having dinner Jungkook takes you out for ice cream. You were a bit burnt out from being out all day so you waited in the car while he went inside to buy the ice cream.

You think back to everything that happened today, it feels nice. You make a mental note to ask Jungkook to take you to a cat cafe sometime later on in the week. “Oh my god.” You mutter in embarrassment.

Jungkook’s walking back with a monstrosity of a ice cream sundae and then your perfectly NORMAL scoop of sherbet with gummies on top. “Jungkook what is all that mess?” You whine.

“What? I wanted triple chocolate with sprinkles and fudge.” He slips into the car and hands the small bowls over, “C’mon you gotta try it.”

“Hell no! This looks like it can either send me to do number three or I’m gonna puke my guts out.” You hiss.

“Number three doesn’t exist, nice try.” Jungkook scoffs softly while pulling out of the parking lot.

“It does now.” You mumble, ignoring his loud laughter.

You can’t hide the face you make while Jungkook eats that horrendous dessert. He doesn’t even care that you’re judging him as he happily watches his little Netflix show he’s been yapping about as of lately.

“I knew it, it was her all along..” He mutters to himself as he eats a large spoonful of ice cream.

“I’m going to the kitchen, you want anything?” You can’t take it anymore as you stand abruptly and pass by.

“No.”

You put your ice cream away and drink a glass of water in the kitchen. You enjoy the peace and quiet, it’s been a cool minute since you’ve had some time to yourself. Between caring for a newborn and balancing your everyday life, shit’s been hard.

Not that Jungkook doesn’t help, but sometimes you feel like you put too much on him. He says he doesn’t care but.. you do.

With a heavy sigh you leave the cup in the sink and trail over to your bedroom. The dainty lingerie bag sits on the corner of the bed, you have yet to try it on but you don’t know..

“Fuck it.” You mutter while stripping down and slipping on the pretty babydoll top and matching thong to go with it.

The soft pink and silky smooth feeling of it has you smiling to yourself over how pretty it is on you. The set even came with a robe so you slipped that on too and tied it securely around your waist before heading back out to show your lover.

“Jungkook.” You call out, “What do you think?”

He pauses his show and looks over, his eyes visibly glaze over as he takes you in from head to toe. “Pretty, I like it—pink suits you.” He beckons you over.

Right, he thinks it’s just a robe.

You walk over with a soft hum and stand between his legs, “I got something else, it’s under.”

His eyes darken and he licks his lips, “Can I?” His hands hover over the sash. You can’t help but shiver with the way he looks at you like he wants to eat you alive. Makes you feel hot.

“Yeah..” Your voice comes out breathier than usual, a hint of excitement underlying your tone.

Jungkook unties the knot and slowly pulls your robe off. “Fuck.” He whispers when he sees the pretty babydoll underneath, he gets a peek at your thong too and he’s nearly drooling.

“Shit baby you look so fuckin’ pretty, look at you,” he gently twirls you around with a low whistle.

His hand hovers over your ass, not quite touching but there. You gently pull his hands closer with a soft, “You can touch.” You murmur.

Jungkook audibly gulps and grabs a fistful of your babydoll, he lifts it up enough to slip his hands around both cheeks. He gives both doughy cheeks a tight squeeze before he’s jiggling it in the palms of his hands.

“Can I baby?” He asks softly, “I wanna take you to bed.” To that you nod.

Before you can get another word out, he abruptly stands and hauls you up into his strong arms. You squeal in shock and hit his shoulders, “Jungkook..! Put me down!” You whine.

“No.” Jungkook smirks as he lands a sharp smack to your ass, “Let me take care of you yeah? Just sit ‘n look pretty for me.” He carries you down the hall and kicks the door open, gently tossing you onto the center of the bed.

You bounce back on the mattress with a soft ‘oof’, he doesn’t let up because he’s already crawling over you and landing a sweet yet heated kiss on your lips. You wrap your arms around him and hug him close, enjoying the soft touches.

Jungkook takes his sweet time kissing you, the kiss is slow and his touches are light and feathery. He holds you like you’re made of glass or something, gently cupping your hips and massaging them. It tugs on your poor heart strings and you find yourself tearing up for no reason..?

He pulls away with a soft pant, pressing his forehead to your own as he stares into your eyes with devotion. “Why are you crying baby? Hm? Why’s my pretty girl sad?” He wipes your tears with his thumbs.

“B-Because, you’re so good to me.” You softly hiccup, “Feel safe with you.”

He brushes your hair out of your face and smooches your nose, “Yeah, what else baby. Talk to me.” He murmurs patiently while cupping the side of your cheek.

“You don’t make me feel alone.” You whisper, and his heart breaks seeing you this vulnerable, “I-I know I haven’t been there for you b-but with the baby and–”

“And who said you needed to take care of me? You already have enough with the baby, you spent nine months carrying our baby and you worked hard to bring him into the world my love. Makes me proud of you baby, strongest girl I know.” He softly smiles.

Your heart races and you feel a knot in your throat as you continue listening to him, “You’re going to be okay—we’re okay. You know I’m always going to be right here for whatever you need, you’re doing so good my love.”

You let out a soft sob and bury your face in his shoulder. These past two months of silently struggling with coming to terms of your newfound motherhood and changes with your relationship finally come to a stop. You feel good knowing that Jungkook is so understanding and supportive.

For a while you thought you were going insane, that it was your fault and you were a horrible mother for feeling so…bad.

Even when you were bedridden for days, void of any life and emotion, Jungkook is still here.

“I love you.” Jungkook whispers.

“I love you too.” You sniffle.

Jungkook helps you slip into one of his shirts as the two of you cuddle for the rest of the night watching silly rom-coms. You know the future will be okay.

Everything is okay.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore @rrosiitas

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xenteaart · 3 months ago

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when you're feeling weak, i'll be the words if you can't speak

pairing: chan x reader (i wrote it with idol!chan or producer!chan in mind, but it can fit any au, really) genre/warnings: er, angst, hurt/comfort, implied suffering w depression and anxiety. reader is feeling off and insecure. also kinda going almost non verbal author's note: a short lil songfic ig coz it's inspired by Isak Danielson – I Can't Lose You. basically channie being a comfort boyfie material

to put it simply, you were never not anxious or insecure. but stepping into the big adult life, you sort of learned to conceal it well, even from your own self. the fake it till you make it thing, and you could even say you've "made it" with a small exception of the days where your brain and your entire nervous system randomly circled back to your default settings. "so what are you gonna eat, baby?" chan asks with a cheerful soft tone, glancing over the menu and then back at you.

today's a good day. you haven't been too overwhelmed with work, nothing out of the ordinary happened. so naturally, a pinch of guilt somewhere deep in your guts makes you feel like a bother to be around, and today — for no good reason.

"are you okay?" he notices your slightly spaced out gaze when you're trying to read the menu but not really reading, more like frowning and getting nervous.

"yeah.. no. no, i don't know," you murmur barely audibly, losing your focus for the tenth time in a span of the last five minutes. brain fog takes over, making your vision blurrier than normal and your thinking all floaty and hazy. as if you're looking at the world through dirty lenses, but also the lights are too bright and your surroundings are loud.

"i dunno, i just..." can't even speak for myself today and choose a meal and say it out loud because suddenly everything is embarrassing and difficult.

chris looks slightly worried because you might be in pain or feeling unwell, but nothing hurts except your pride. because you're a big girl, you have been for years, and now you want to cry on the spot because you can't choose between pasta and soup all of a sudden. it makes you feel even more stupid.

"can you please choose and order for me today? my brain just can't," you try to explain, visibly stressed and overwhelmed by a simple mundane task, "i want somethin' warm and filling," you specify to make it easier for chan.

he doesn't make a big deal out of it, just nods and meets you with a gentle 'course, baby. he then talks to the waiter and makes sure they don't ask you anything which feels like a relief. sometimes it's nice to feel invisible, especially in a vulnerable state.

after the horrifying deed is over with, chris leans in a little closer to be able to speak in a softer, quieter voice.

"d'you wanna just have dinner in silence and head home?" he asks while massaging your palm with his fingers soothingly, so calm and nonchalant as if you didn't just obsess over the smallest thing to the point of making yourself filled with shame and insecurity.

that's how chris always does it. by showing you that whatever it is that's bothering you is not a burden to him. he's got you. it's okay if you want or rather need him to do something for you. he's happy to be your strong shoulder to lean onto and not think about a single thing while he takes care of whatever it is at the time.

"yeah. or you can tell me about your day and stuff. i wanna know and i'm okay with listening. just not... responding, maybe?" you give him an awkward smile as he nods understandingly and plants a little kiss on the back of your hand. a modern gentleman and a caring lover.

somewhere in the middle of a story about how cubase was lagging and almost crashed mid producing session today, the waiter brings your meals. it's two pumpkin cream soups, some grilled and seasoned breads and a fresh greek salad to share.

oh, to be loved like this.

your stomach growls at the smell of food, and a bright proud smile is instantly painted over chan's features.

#bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan x female reader #chan x you #chan x reader #bang chan x you #skz x you #skz x reader #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids bang chan #stray kids imagines #chan x y/n #chan x female reader #bang chan x y/n #my fic #my writing #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 9 months ago

Text

The crushing | joel miller x f!reader, 5.2k

Summary: This is the story of a man who had everything in the palm of his hand and traded it all for an empty space in the hollow of his heart. Or This story follows Joel, two to three years after he cheated on his wife.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST, cheater!Joel, Joel's POV, this is NOT “The Falling” from Joel's POV, brief mention of smut (p i v) but nothing too graphic (I think), self-loathing, depression, therapy, flashbacks and memories from the past, alcohol consumption, Tommy being a supportive brother (eventually), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Ok, so, Joel gave me a whiplash on this one, he was either staring at me through the screen giving me nothing, or he was mumbling unintelligibly in my ear while I was trying to keep up with him. It started out as a final chapter, but I really think that this part should be Joel's POV and the next and -probably- final one should be the resolving, however that may come. I guess it can be read as a standalone, but if you're interested, it's a sequel to “The Falling”. I edited it seven thousand times because I kept adding things along the way, so I hope it all makes some sense and there are not too many mistakes.. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

P.S.: I just wanted to take a moment and let you know that I really appreciate everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged and asked about “The Falling”. I honestly didn't think a single soul would take the time to read that kind of story. It means more than you know and I didn’t take lightly how close to home this fic hit for some people; yet you’ve given it a chance, sharing some of your own experiences with me. I love you all, take care and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! 🥹🫂

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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...need your reassurance...

...your only focus…

...for the foreseeable future...

He did make it his sole focus. Because of course, he closed the deal, even after he left that damn table like a madman. He still found a way to get what he wanted. That's the man he was. And he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or not. But self-loathing was a daily occurrence now, so one more reason added to the list was nothing he couldn't handle.

For two years he would wake up every day, is it called waking up if he doesn’t sleep at all?, he would work his ass off, he would go home, he would sink into despair and then he would start all over again the next day. A vicious cycle consisting of 730 days in a row. The deafening silence within the walls of the house was excruciating, the loneliness was unbearable. Even the light penetrating through the windows seemed different than when you were there with him, a dullness surrounding every corner of the now barely lived in space.

You. He hadn’t seen your face in 730 days. He hadn’t smelled your scent or touched your soft skin. He barely listened to your voice anymore, any form of unavoidable communication, you preferred to be conducted by the lawyers, or via text messages, at the most. At the 731st one, he finally knew, something had to change. He couldn’t repeat another day, like all the others that came and went. He simply couldn’t.

Tommy suggested that therapy might help Joel, a few times, but he refused every one of them. Maria was keeping her distance, her place was delicate, being his brother’s wife but also his wife’s best friend. Surprisingly, she was the one who finally got through to him.

“Are you gonna stay a recluse for the rest of your miserable life, then?” Maria wonders, switching her gaze between Joel and the dining room. Everything was untouched, as you left them when you moved out, but the place felt empty, depressing, probably mirroring Joel’s existence.

Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not a recluse..”, he snarls through his teeth, rolling his eyes at her. He was more than eager to be done with the dinner his sister-in-law insisted on having in his house and be left alone, in his natural state. Alone. Infuriating woman.

“What do you call that?”, Maria persists, goddamn lawyer to the bone.

“What?!” Joel spits back pissed off, looking at his brother next, for support.

“That!” she gestures around his body and his surroundings. “The way you go on for the past two years! Either get over it or do something about it!”, she doesn’t hold back, even when Tommy proposes a gentler approach. Yeah, look where it got you, is the paid answer, so Tommy steps back, shaking his head and raising his hands up in surrender.

“You’ve got him on a leash, hm?”, Joel jokes absentmindedly, “Can you breathe alright, Tommy boy?”, earning himself a hard glare from Maria.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..” Maria mutters, causing Tommy’s eyes to widen in horror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Joel retorts doing a double back at her.

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”, Maria throws her napkin on her plate and leaves the room. Joel remains silent, pondering the meaning of her words. It would be a long time before he understood what she meant.

Therapy was hard.

Therapy was hard because he had to do it for himself. He had to concentrate on himself. He thought, being the contractor that he was, that he would walk into the room, get the answers he needed and fix his marriage, just as he rearranged the bricks and the wood and the steel on the construction sites.

But this wasn’t about his marriage. His marriage and the way it crumbled down was the aftermath, he came to learn. It was the outcome of insecurities, selfishness, lack of communication, ungratefulness.

He got it all wrong. Everything. Every little thing. He had to rewire his brain and change every point of view he was holding onto. Honesty. Honesty was the key.

“Why didn’t you reach out to your wife after that night?”, his therapist insists.

“I respected her boundaries.”, Joel was quick to respond.

“And what were those?”

“She didn’t want to see me.”

“Did she say that?”

“No-, I mean-, the way she left that night, she didn’t say much in general. But she blocked my number, so.”, he shrugs in defence.

“So, how can you be so sure that she didn't want to see you? Even if you're right, it doesn't mean that she didn't expect a reaction from you, or that you weren't allowed to try, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would she? I upset her, she needed time to think, work things out.”, Joel explains.

The therapist swipes her fingers over her lips, contemplating her approach. “Joel, you walk into your bedroom, into what is supposed to be a safe place and you see your partner with another person in an intimate moment. How does that make you feel? Just say the first words that come to mind.”, his therapist changes the point of view.

Joel shudders just at the thought of it. You, naked, flushed, lips parted and swollen, skin sweaty, breaths short and pupils blown wide, coming for anyone other than him. It would utterly destroy him. “Furious, pissed, betrayed, heartbroken.. I think I would lose it, if I’m honest.” he admits instantly, in his haste to throw the abomination of this image from his thoughts.

“I see. But in her case, you think your wife was just upset?”

“No, of course not.” Joel slightly frowns, shaking his head.

“Do you think she felt all those feelings that you just described to me?”

“I believe so, yes.”, god this is so hard.

“You believe so?” the therapist pushes, again.

Joel’s nostrils flare from the sharp inhale, “I know so.”

“So, she wasn’t just upset.” the therapist concludes and Joel agrees without meeting her eyes, “No, she wasn’t.”

Over time, Joel came to realize that his choice of words was a subconscious attempt to diminish the seriousness of his actions.

“You said in a previous session that you gave space to your wife to work things out.”

“Yeah, it was only fair.”, Joel confirms.

“So, it was hard for you to give her that space?”

“Yes, of course, I missed her every day.”

“Was that a constant in your relationship?”, the therapist wonders.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“How did you work things out as a couple, before? I assume you had difficult times as partners, no?”

“Nothing major to be honest, my wife was a very calm and reasonable person. If anything occurred she would talk to me about it.”

“And how did you respond to that?”

“Uh, I was there to listen, we always found a solution together as a couple.”

“Hmhm, so, what changed this time?”

“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.

“Why didn’t you talk to her? Communicate with her? Maybe help her see your side of things, like you did before, find your way out of this together, as partners.” his therapist explains. “And even before the infidelity, did you let her know that something was bothering you, that you felt differently?”

"I didn't feel differently about my wife. My feelings for her never changed.", he immediately corrects her. "My love for her was never the problem," he confesses and it's the first time since his therapy began that he's shared something so personal, so private.

“But there was a problem, something was wrong if you felt the need to be intimate with another woman. So, why did you keep that from her?”

Joel opens his mouth already knowing he does not have an answer. Or that he doesn't want to give one. He shakes his head, raising his brows in a silent admission that he can’t answer that. Or he won't. His gaze is fixed on a loose thread on the fabric of the couch, his fingers keep picking on it.

“Joel?”

“I- I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know.” he keeps shaking his head. He can’t answer that. He won't.

He was so angry when he left the session that day. He was so angry at you. He was angry at your honesty, your clarity, your courage to have a mind of your own and to speak it freely, knowing full well that probably no one else shared the same opinions as you did. That's what he loved most about you, but now he hated it.

“Own it, Joel. Own what you have done. At least that way it will be worth something. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”

This was one of the last things you said to him on the phone, while he was trying to persuade you to change your mind about the divorce. You were always so brave about those matters. Matters of the heart, of integrity. He remembers you always talking about things that he found admirable but utopian. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

“I need to be able to sleep at night. I need to own my decisions; not because I’m always right, far from it, but at least I know I’m being honest with myself. And that matters.” he recalls one of your late-night talks.

You usually found it easier to share your most vulnerable thoughts once you were thoroughly fucked and satiated. When Joel held you in his arms, your breaths almost shared over the same pillow, your scents and your fluids mixed together.

“We’re all imperfect beings, flawed; we all feel embarrassed when we fuck up,” you continue, “it’s hard to admit our mistakes to others, I get that. But deep down we always know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Admitting it only helps us to be present in our lives.”

“Be present?”, Joel seems fascinated by the way your mind weaves your thoughts together into deeply rooted beliefs.

“Yes, my love, there's no greater freedom than to live your life truthfully.” you smile at him, softly. Your sleepy eyes roam his face affectionately. Your fingertips caress his jawline, your thumb pressing lightly against the bare patch of his beard. He can feel your devotion pouring from your fingers and sinking into his skin at that moment.

“That’s one of my greatest fears, you know. Living my life in ignorance, in a lie.”, you whisper your deepest insecurity against his soft lips. His hold on you tightens as he rolls you onto your back, nestling his hips between your welcoming thighs. You are safe in these arms. His arms. You surrender to him, body and soul. You can feel his growing erection pressing between your folds, already wet from your combined releases. He tenderly brushes his lips against yours and slowly licks his way into your parted mouth, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He enters you in one fluid, slow thrust, his warm exhale cooling your wet lips. “Then let me give you something real.”

Thinking back to those moments, Joel couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had brought that fear of yours to life. What broke him was that it was not a lie. Your life together had not been a lie. He loved you. In fact, he was burning up for you. He was a man of control, but not with you. Never with you. You consumed his every thought; being around you for too long made his lungs constrict in pain, begging for a deep breath. Sometimes he was worried sick that if he completely let himself love you like he needed to, he would suffocate you. He loved you. And it killed him that his actions suggested otherwise.

But at some point he had to be honest with himself. He was just protecting his ego. He was trying to get the upper hand out of a shitty, compromising situation. He wasn't being thoughtful, he was being selfish. He was biding his time. He thought the longer he left ‘it’ untouched, the less it would hurt when the inevitable time of confrontation came. He was scared out of his mind that he would lose you forever. No second chances, no redemption, no reconciliation.

No lingering scent on his pillow as your hair pools there, under his chin, as you nestle your face between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. No laughter through the enormous house, damn, why did he build it so big; you never clarified what the disbelief in your eyes meant when he said he built this house for you, while he pulls you up on your feet for a silly cowboy dance.

No more gentle touches, no more noses brushing together as a silent goodbye in the kitchen before you rush off to work. No more turning around just before you open the door to leave, running to him like a little girl, giving him quick, hungry pecks on the lips while he laughs on your mouth, squeezes your butt cheek and slaps it playfully to say goodbye. Later, baby, he would promise you, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and he could feel your skin crawling with anticipation.

No more I love yous, either breathed, either whispered, either panted, as he makes a home for himself inside your warmth.

When did he fuck you last? He used to have you every day. You craved it every day. You craved him. Why did he stop telling you he loved you every chance he got? When was the last time you said it?

A week before that fateful night, when you touched him longingly, aching for him to touch you back and he told you he had work to do, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he sit there and watch the light fading from your eyes? I love you, you said with a sigh against his temple and walked out of his office defeated. Why did you say that? Did you know? Did you suspect? Why didn’t you fight him? You should have said something, anything, pushed him, punched him in the chest, woken him up. Would he have woken up? Or did he need that to come to his senses? Does he have to fall? Does this falling ever stop? Does he have to let you go? Will you come back to him? Does he deserve you?

Days blurred seamlessly into one another. Joel drifted further and further away from everyone. The house haunted him, all the progress he was making within the therapy walls was dissipating once he stepped inside the cold space of his empty house. Leaving the confines of it was his first thought in the morning, while he hurriedly dressed to go to his office far earlier than necessary and his last when he closed his eyes, as he laid his weary limbs on the couch, chasing still your now long gone scent on its fabric, knowing another sleepless night was his only companion until the first rays of sunlight hit the floor-to-ceiling windows to announce the beginning of another day.

People at work tiptoed around him, not knowing how to act. It was as if he was there, but not really. He was focused solely on the Marks project, mechanically going through board meetings, paperwork and supervising the construction site. He. Just. Wasn’t. There.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

He simply stares at the text message for a good full minute, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone. This was one of the rare occasions you had initiated communication with him, always about the progress of the divorce.

No, no, I won’t, the little toddler in him screams, stamping his little feet on the ground.

The papers are not ready.

Joel texts back. He keeps it simple, frightened he might not get an answer back.

Joel, we both know they are. I don’t want any of your assets or your money; this is an easy signature, please.

An easy signature? You think he cares about the houses, or the cars, or the money?

You know I can’t accept that. The house is yours and so is a good part of the money.

The point was to share this house together, Joel, don’t you think us splitting up kind of defeats the purpose? And what on earth makes you think I would ever want to go back in there?

So, there’s nothing I can do to make this easier for you?

Easier? You think money or property can make up for what you’ve done?

Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Just wanna do something for you, anything.

Can you turn back time?

Of course, he can't. So, he doesn't know what to say to that. He just keeps staring at the screen, lost in thought. After 2 minutes another text follows.

You know I can’t..

Sign the papers. Please.

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about today, or should I take the lead?”

“Actually I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”, Joel suggests for the first time. He usually lets the therapist decide where to steer the conversation, then simply refuses to elaborate until he feels ready to talk.

“What about it?”, he shifts his gaze from the window to the direction of her voice.

“I should probably rephrase that. I’m always thinking about that night, repeating it in my head again and again and I’m troubled by something I realized.”

His therapist nods to signal that she's listening.

“Why did she just leave? The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense to me. She just left. No shouting, no breaking things, no attacking either me or-”, her. “Why she didn’t stay? Why she didn’t insist that I leave? She was just- so quiet.”

The therapist smiles in recognition of Joel's near breakthrough. They were beginning to get somewhere, his empathy nudging him under the surface.

“I'm really glad you mentioned that, Joel, so I'd like to take you back to that night and try to understand what might have been going through your wife's mind at that moment," she explains.

“So, she walks into the house, finds her safe space violated by her husband, and she chooses to handle the situation calmly and quietly-” Joel tries to stop her, but she already knows what he's going to ask. “I can't tell you why she chose that path, that's for her to answer, only she knows why.” His therapist continues, “She is making one request of you and one request only, can you tell me what it is?”

“She asked me to leave the house.”

“Hmhm.” the therapist looks at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to talk to her.”, Joel elaborates, “I thought that if I refused to leave, she would accept to listen to me.”

“So you forced your needs on her, while she was in a particularly fragile state of mind.”

“I should have made my intentions clearer, you mean?”

“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place. Why do you think was so important to you, to explain yourself right at that moment?”

“Because I knew it was probably the last time I would see her for a while, I just wanted to ease her pain, why is that so wrong? Should I be indifferent? Would that be better?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be depriving her of her right to choose?” Come on, Joel, break some eggs.

Joel now begins to make connections. He rubs his hand over his face, the realization of what has really happened crushing him. “Oh, god, I-” He's been so selfish from the start. He hasn't shown you any respect, not even at this delicate moment. He didn't give you a choice as to whether you wanted to listen to him or not. He didn't even let you choose where you wanted to stay. He just made you leave the house. Did he make you believe he wanted you to leave? That he wanted her to stay? Because he didn’t. Fuck. “-I never thought about it like that.”

Fuck.

How could he be so blind? Why was he so blind?

His therapist insisted on it. Because no matter how much progress Joel made over the course of a year, he never revealed the true reason behind his infidelity.

“Joel, we’ve talked about a lot of things; you’ve tried really hard to make this all about your wife and about understanding what she was feeling and how your actions have affected her, but as I keep reminding you”, she smiles understandingly, “you’re the one in therapy, you need to heal your wounds before you even attempt to heal hers. And although it is in fact a really noble thought, this” she gestures between them, “can only work if you do it for yourself. I know it may sound selfish, but I promise you, it is not. It is the exact opposite.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”, his voice hoarse from sleep as he answers the door after the insistent knock at it. Tommy looks at him surprised once he opens it, “You’re sleeping, already?”. No, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t call it that. But when he goes almost a week without any proper rest, passing out is the right word for what he’s doing. “Yeah, I guess I dosed off..” Joel lies. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Tommy responds as he squeezes himself through the door to enter the house. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”, Joel mutters under his breath. “You just saw me at work this morning, is everything all right?”

“I just came to check on you.” Tommy confesses uncomfortably.

“You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?” Tommy deadpans.

Touché.

“Tell Maria I’m fine, Tommy, no need to worry about me; go spend the night where it counts.”, Joel replies in an attempt to push him away, as he walks farther into the house, rounding the kitchen island.

“Hey, brother, I’m here, I am here for you.” Tommy’s eyes narrow in pain and concern as he stares at his sibling's back, following behind him.

Joel exhales hard through his nose, his grip tight as he grabs the edges of the counter, his head lowering between his shoulder blades.

“You shouldn’t, nobody should.” Joel sighs, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his forehead.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Tommy snaps at him. “Enough self-loathing, enough resignation. Enough. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

Joel laughs at that. “Is that right? Is it enough for you? What about her?” he asks, his head turned to the side, looking at his brother over his shoulder.

“What?” Tommy is genuinely confused.

Joel turns his back, resting his waist on the edge of the counter, now looking straight at Tommy. “I should have what? Just get on with my life? Let it all be water under the bridge? Disrespect her even more?”

“Jesus..” Tommy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip, his eyes shut in frustration.

“Are you doing this for her? Does she even know that?”

“It doesn’t matter, Tommy!” Joel raises his voice, exasperated. “I’m not doing this for her, I’m not doing anything for her, apparently and that’s the problem.”, his voice breaks, the lump in his throat too big to push down. “She’s not here anymore, Tommy.” he’s standing fully on his feet now, pushing himself away from the counter, leaning slightly forward, like he’s trying to make his brother understand; his eyes are glazed, Tommy had never seen him so devastated before. “She’s gone. I’ve lost her.”, his palms clenched in fists in front of his chest, resisting the urge to wrap them around his shirt and rip it to shreds, as he wants to do with his heart.

“I thought therapy was working..” Tommy whispers, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath him.

“Oh, it’s working, all right!” Joel chuckles in irony, sniffing his nose. “I’m getting a front-row seat, witnessing what a piece of shit I am-”

“Hey!” Tommy tries to cut him off.

“-what on earth was she doing with me to begin with, is beyond me.”

“HEY!” Tommy's eyes bulge out of his sockets, angry at his brother's self-deprecating words. Joel bends his waist forward, puts his elbows on the island in front of him and lets his head sink in again.

“Ok.” Tommy breathes deeply to ground himself, his hands in a position of a prayer in front of his mouth, “Ok, we could both use a drink.” he realizes, as he moves to open the cupboard to grab two tumblers and the whiskey from the shelf with the drinks. “..or five.”

The two brothers drink their first round in silence, both calming their nerves down. Tommy refills their glasses without asking; he knows this is going to be a long night.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Tommy begins, pushing Joel’s drink back towards him. Joel wringles his brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? You’re always there for me.”

“No, I haven’t, not really.” Tommy admits, “I let Maria take over when all this happened and I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing you could do, Tommy, don’t sweat it.”

“Let me say this, please.” Tommy raises his hand, his palm facing his brother. “I was just- fuck, we all knew how much you loved her, how much you loved each other, so when it all went down, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. What to say to you, how to comfort you. I didn't know how to deal with you.”

“You blamed me.” Joel says matter-of-factly.

“No-”, Tommy weakly refuses but Joel shakes his head dismissively, interrupting him. “It’s ok, Tommy, you should.”

Tommy looks embarrassed, his cheeks slightly pinkish, not only from the whiskey. “It’s just that I- I couldn’t reconcile the image of the man you were with her, with.. you know..”, he stutters.

“..the image of a cheater. Say it.” Joel adds.

Tommy shakes his head, like he still can't believe what's happened. “Besides, while she was staying with us those first few weeks I saw how devastated she was, man- she was a shell of a woman, so I was confused, I didn’t know how-”

“Tommy. Tommy, it’s fine.” Joel feels his skin crawl visualizing you like that in his head, cutting his brother off once again; he deserves every ounce of mistrust and he knows it.

“No, it’s not.” Tommy insists. “Yes, you fucked up. Brother, you really did. You did a number on her-”, Joel’s body tenses instantly at his brother’s words, his jaw clenching as his eyes darken, moving down to his hands, his grip on the tumbler tightening, his knuckles turning white and Tommy stops abruptly, “shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”, his face twitches with regret.

“It’s the truth. That’s exactly what I did.” Joel’s gaze seems detached as if he's somewhere else right now.

“What I meant to say, is that I should have been there for you in spite of what has happened. I can see you're suffering, it's taking its toll on you, it has been for some time now; tell me what I can do. How can I help you?” Tommy seems almost desperate, like he’s the one in need of redemption.

Your text flashes through his mind, can you turn back time?, making him smile bitterly.

“Can you turn back time?” Joel's repeating your question and as the words leave his mouth he can feel your presence next to him. That's the most he felt of you for the last three years. He's almost blissful.

“You know I can't.” Tommy sighs. Joel laughs earnestly, the irony of the moment too good not to appreciate.

“Joel, brother, please, just talk to me. Help me understand. You act like you’re the one who’s been cheated on. So, what happened? Why did you do it?” Tommy is pleading with him to give him anything.

Silence fills the room for much longer than either of them would like. Joel feels torn between telling his brother everything or keeping his mouth shut. He wants to tell him, he hasn’t told a soul, but he’s not sure he can get the words out. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not sure he can substantiate it, make it real. Because that’s how it feels. He talks about it and it becomes real.

But maybe this is the right thing to do. That’s what needs to be done. He needs to talk about it. He needs to tell the truth and admit the pain he’s caused. Make it real for you, too. Perhaps it is time for him to give you what is rightfully yours. Acknowledgment.

Joel’s made up his mind. He’s gonna talk to Tommy. He lifts his glass to down his drink for some liquid courage, freezing his hand in mid-air as the next words fall from his brother’s mouth. “First of all, who was it?”

“What?” Joel's eyes search Tommy’s through his glass for an explanation.

“Who did you do?”, Tommy clarifies.

Joel feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Who did you fuck, Joel?”, Tommy begins to feel confused, are they not on the same page here?

“You don’t know?”, Joel can barely speak now, his voice low in shock.

“No one does, not even Maria; she never told anyone.”

You told nobody? Not even your best friend? Why on earth would you do that? Did you feel ashamed? Was it just too much to talk about?

But his brain takes pity on him, helping him for once to understand. He’s connecting the dots while your voice fills the corners of his mind through his memories. His head is swarming with images of you standing in that walk-in closet, remembering what you said the last time he saw you. You’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.

You were right.

It didn’t matter who it was. That is why. He was the one making the choice. He was the one breaking his promises, breaking your trust, breaking your heart; breaking you. He was the one who should have known better. He was the one who should have been honest. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

He feels a fresh wave of pain scattering through his body. He welcomes it. Damn, he’s craving it. He’s glad you chose to withhold the identity of the woman. Not because somehow it’s making it easier for him to defend himself, on the contrary.

There’s no one else to blame. Nobody. Just him. All of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment, all of them on him. He embraces them all. Everything. He will take it all, swallow it down and let it rot inside of him.

Joel tells Tommy everything. Everything, but her name.

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Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre

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creamflix · 2 months ago

Text

PERSEPHONE — ryomen sukuna x female reader [chapter 3]

summary: ryomen sukuna, ruthless tycoon of the alcohol industry, is used to crushing rivals. but when his former meek secretary walks into his office as his newest competitor, he’s blindsided. you’ve transformed into a powerful force, ready to go head-to-head in a high-stakes battle for dominance. as tension rises between you — both in business and something far more dangerous — sukuna realizes this fight might cost him more than just his empire.

content warnings & tags: enemies to lovers, modern au, business tycoon sukuna, mentions of depression and alcoholism, love-triangle, angst, slow-burn, eventual smut, mentions of other jujutsu kaisen characters (suguru geto, choso kamo, uraume, yuuji itadori) - this takes place in the same universe as my upcoming salaryman!choso fanfic

word count: 10.7k words

notes: who are y'all rooting for !! this is by far one of my fav chapters to write, i <3 softkuna. thank u all for the love so far!

masterlist

sukuna glared at the invitation yuuji had shoved in his face, barely glancing at the cheerful font before tossing it onto his desk. "join us with your family to ring in the new year!" it read, the kind of saccharine bullshit that made his skin crawl.

"nii-chan, look! it specifically says your family, so we can call choso too, right?" yuuji’s excitement was palpable, but sukuna just rolled his eyes.

“your brother is too busy slogging his ass off at that shitty desk job of his to come for this party.” he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest as if to physically ward off the impending festive spirit.

“liar! even salarymen get holidays, you know?” yuuji countered, undeterred by sukuna's dismissive tone.

sukuna let out a low growl of frustration. he was seriously considering skipping out on this stupid event. the idea of seeing you again — especially after that christmas party disaster — made his stomach twist uncomfortably. he didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness, the way the sounds of your discomfort felt like daggers in his chest after he stormed off that night. he could just pop in, pay his dues, and leave, right? simple.

"oh, can we bring uraume too, nii-chan!?" yuuji piped up, his enthusiasm infectious, and sukuna felt a reluctant tug at the corners of his mouth. he didn't want to admit how much he appreciated their company, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

“fine. but stop messing up my office, dammit!” he snapped, irritation bubbling up, but he knew deep down it was more about masking his own unease than anything. why did he even care? why was he letting this stupid event get to him? as the thought crossed his mind, sukuna let out a frustrated sigh, knowing he was going to have to confront the lingering tension between you and him eventually.

“did i dress up too much?” choso asked, adjusting his collar nervously as he glanced at his reflection in the car window.

“nah, choso, you look great!” yuuji replied, giving his brother an encouraging thumbs-up.

“you look like an overstuffed turkey,” sukuna deadpanned, barely suppressing a smirk as he leaned back in his seat.

choso shot sukuna an annoyed glare, but yuuji just chuckled. “you should be more supportive, nii-chan. it’s new year’s! everyone’s dressing up.”

“supportive? this is a party, not a damn fashion show,” sukuna retorted, rolling his eyes as he scanned the road ahead.

“oh, come on! let him shine a little,” yuuji said, nudging choso with his elbow. “it’s about time you showed off those muscles!”

“what muscles?” sukuna muttered under his breath, then added louder, “if he’s gonna strut around like a peacock, i’m gonna need to see some actual muscles.”

“you’re just jealous because you can’t pull off this look,” choso shot back, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face.

“jealous? please,” sukuna scoffed, though the truth was he couldn’t remember the last time he’d dressed up for anything. “i’d rather wear a potato sack than look like a wannabe model.”

the banter continued as they pulled up to your sprawling penthouse. sukuna’s eyebrows raised at the sight, unimpressed, yet unable to hide the flicker of intrigue. “showoff,” he muttered, his usual demeanor creeping back in.

yuuji and choso, on the other hand, were practically gaping. the fairylights adorned every single tree lining the pavement, twinkling like stars against the night sky, and the house itself radiated warmth and welcome despite its massive size.

“wow, look at all the lights!” yuuji exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. “it’s like a winter wonderland!”

“it’s too much,” sukuna grumbled, though he couldn’t deny the inviting atmosphere. it made something twist uncomfortably in his chest — a comfort he usually only felt around his brothers. eugh, what was he even thinking? he shook his head, trying to dispel the odd warmth that threatened to settle within him.

“you’re just grumpy because you didn’t bring a date,” choso teased, and sukuna glared at him.

“shut up,” he barked, even as yuuji laughed beside him.

“this is going to be fun! let’s go!” yuuji said, throwing open the car door and stepping out. choso followed suit, glancing back at sukuna, who was still seated in his seat, arms crossed.

“you coming or what?” yuuji called, bouncing on his heels, a wide grin plastered across his face.

sukuna rolled his eyes but finally pushed himself out of the car, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “fine. but if anyone asks, i’nm here for the free booze.”

“now that’s the spirit!” yuuji laughed as they made their way toward your house, the laughter and banter of the brothers echoing into the night.

yuuji burst through the door, practically bouncing off the walls as he called out your name like a lost puppy on a mission. you turned at the sound, a grin spreading across your face as you spotted him weaving through the crowd. “hey, champ! glad you could make it!” you laughed as he rushed over, pulling you into one of his characteristic hugs. wow, he was definitely growing taller than you at this rate.

“sorry, too weird?” he asked sheepishly, stepping back but keeping his hands on your shoulders, eyes wide with that usual enthusiasm.

“nah, kid, you’re good,” you replied, your smile warm and reassuring, just as the moment was punctuated by the approach of choso, who stepped up to join you both.

“and you are —” you started, but choso interrupted.

“choso. choso kamo, i’m —”

“yuuji’s brother, yes. i’ve heard many things about you,” you said with a smile that lit up your features. it was contagious, and choso couldn’t help but mirror it, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“yea? all good things, i hope…” choso replied, sounding a bit shy but pleased by your recognition.

“only the best,” you assured him, your voice warm and inviting. “yuuji here is like a little sunshine; i can only imagine where he gets it from.”

“ah, that’s definitely him,” choso laughed, relaxing in your presence.

as sukuna watched from a distance, his pace slowed, an odd sensation swirling in his chest. he felt like an outsider, observing something he wasn’t sure he should be a part of. his brothers — fucking choso of all people — were laughing and joking with you, and seeing their smiles brightened by your presence stirred something in him that he couldn’t quite articulate.

was it envy? concern? or maybe something more complicated? he’d always been the one to shoulder the weight of responsibility, to keep his brothers grounded. but now, here they were, so easily comfortable with you, and he felt that weird feeling settle deeper in his gut.

“you’re really good with them,” he muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as he continued to observe. he didn’t want to admit how nice it was to see choso and yuuji at ease, their laughter ringing out in the crowded room. it made something ache inside him, a longing for connection he rarely let himself indulge in.

sukuna’s gaze flickered between you and his brothers, his heart tightening at the sight of the warmth you brought into their lives. he hated how much he wanted to step closer, to be part of that moment, yet he stayed rooted to his spot, silently watching over the happiness that somehow felt fleeting.

suguru approached the three of you with a casual wave, a smirk dancing on his lips as he motioned for you to take care of “pinkie pie over there.” sukuna stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the interaction with a sulky expression that resembled a lost puppy. you rolled your eyes, a smile creeping onto your face at the sight of sukuna’s irritation.

“come on, let’s give you lads a look around,” suguru said, guiding the brothers away with a friendly pat on choso’s shoulder. “y/n, you got this!”

as they walked off, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach. sukuna was still standing there, eyes flickering toward you, and it made your heart race in a way that was entirely unexpected.

sukuna leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he tried to ignore the growing tension inside him. he had been fine, standing there by himself, watching yuuji and choso blend into the crowd. but then you had to walk up to him and now his entire focus had shifted to the way you moved through the room.

he cursed under his breath, catching himself in the act of staring. what the hell was wrong with him? you looked… good. too good. but he wasn’t supposed to care about that, right? this was just business, just another event to make an appearance. yet here he was, feeling like a damn teenager, suddenly hyper-aware of your every step.

“you look like you’re enjoying the party about as much as i am,” you said, stopping in front of him, a casual smile tugging at your lips.

“yeah, well, these things aren’t really my scene,” sukuna replied, trying to sound as indifferent as possible, but the way his voice came out a little rougher than usual betrayed him. “too many people.”

“you and me both,” you chuckled lightly, leaning slightly closer. “but it’s your brother’s first time at one of these, so… worth it?”

he glanced over at yuuji, who was grinning like an idiot while choso awkwardly nodded along to whatever suguru was saying. sukuna huffed, feeling a mix of exasperation and something else — pride? — bubbling up. “tch, guess it’s worth it if they’re having a good time.”

you smiled, a real one this time, not just the polite one you’d been wearing most of the evening. “you care more than you let on, don’t you?”

his jaw clenched at that, a sharp retort forming in his head, but it never made it out. instead, he found himself caught between wanting to shrug it off and actually admitting that, yeah, maybe he did care about his brothers more than he’d ever say out loud. not that he’d ever admit it to you, of all people.

“don’t get the wrong idea,” sukuna muttered, looking away from you and back at the crowd. “i’m just making sure they don't do anything stupid.”

“right,” you said, but the teasing lilt in your voice told him you weren’t buying his half-hearted excuse.

there was a beat of silence between the two of you, the sounds of the party fading into the background. sukuna’s mind was racing, torn between his usual self-assuredness and this uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling that crept up whenever you were too close. it was irritating as hell, but at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

“you know,” you said, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to play the tough guy all the time.”

sukuna scoffed, but there was no real venom behind it. “and you don’t have to pretend like you know me, woman.”

you shrugged, unfazed. “i don’t have to. i just see more than you think.”

those words hit harder than he’d like to admit, and for a split second, he wasn’t sure if he hated or appreciated the fact that you always managed to get under his skin. either way, he couldn’t shake off the strange warmth that lingered as you stood there, as if you saw something in him that no one else ever bothered to look for.

damn it, he needed to get a grip.

you approached sukuna again later in the evening, holding two glasses in hand. without a word, you offered him one, and he raised an eyebrow.

“what’s this?” he asked, his gaze flicking between the glass and your face.

“ryomen,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “thought it’d be fitting for the host of the year’s most successful wine to have a taste.”

he took the glass from you, swirling the liquid inside with a thoughtful look. “serving my shit at your own party? i’m flattered.”

“thought i’d give it another shot,” you replied, a hint of teasing in your voice.

sukuna raised the glass to his lips, taking a long sip before pulling it away, his expression unreadable. after a moment, he smirked, that familiar edge of cockiness settling back in. “still tastes like it did when i first made it,” he remarked, his eyes flickering with something almost nostalgic.

“oh yeah?” you prompted, leaning in just enough to show your interest.

“yeah,” he grunted, leaning back a bit. “when i made it for the first time, i didn’t know shit about winemaking. but i figured, hell, people want to get drunk and have a good time, and wine’s as good as any poison, right? so i made it work. took a few tries, but once i got the formula down, it was easy to see the market. people would pay anything for something that makes them feel good for a few hours.”

he paused, his gaze sharp as he turned to look at you directly. “it was a no-brainer to get into the alcohol business. easy target. high demand. good profit margins. all it takes is a bottle or two and people are hooked. but,” sukuna’s smirk widened into something more challenging, “i gotta wonder — did you get into the wine business because of me?”

your breath caught at the question. sukuna’s eyes were locked on yours, almost daring you to respond. your fingers tightened around your glass as you tried to come up with a response. did you? the truth wasn’t simple. you had your reasons, but did sukuna really influence your decision to enter this world?

“what?” he prompted, leaning in slightly. “cat got your tongue? don’t tell me you’re scared to admit it, woman.”

before you could decide whether or not to tell him, your mother’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “y/n,” she called, approaching with a stiff, formal expression on her face. “i see you’re keeping… interesting company tonight.”

your entire body stiffened as she neared, and sukuna, ever the perceptive one, noticed the change in your posture. he turned slightly, eyeing your mother with a lazy grin, but there was a sharpness behind it.

“ah, just in time,” sukuna drawled, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he glanced back at you. “your daughter was just about to explain the story behind persephone. i’m curious, myself.”

your mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her tone clipped. “there’s no need to involve yourself in family matters, mr. ryomen.”

but sukuna, ever the provocateur, wasn’t having it. “family matters, huh? sounds serious.” he looked back at you, that smirk still playing on his lips. “come on, tell me. i’m dying to know. what’s the real story behind persephone? why’d you start the business?”

your mother’s face paled, and you felt your stomach twist. this wasn’t how you wanted this to go, not here, not in front of sukuna, of all people. but your mother’s presence, her cold, expectant gaze, left you little room to maneuver. and sukuna? he was watching you like a hawk, waiting to see how you’d handle the situation.

you opened your mouth, but before you could speak, your mother’s voice came out, low and cutting. “she didn’t want anything to do with alcohol after… after what happened.”

your heart dropped, and you shot her a look, silently begging her to stop. but it was too late. she continued, her voice tight with barely concealed frustration. “y/n struggled for years — depression, alcoholism. it nearly destroyed her. the only reason persephone even exists is because she decided to take control and make something positive out of it. but this partnership?” her eyes flicked to sukuna with a glare, “this is the last thing she needs.”

the silence that followed was deafening. sukuna’s expression shifted, the cocky grin fading as he looked at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. the weight of the secret was out now, laid bare for him to see.

“so,” sukuna finally said, his voice quieter than before, though no less sharp. “that’s what this is, huh? your way of turning things around?”

you swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze as the truth hung between the three of you like a heavy cloud.

“she’s worked hard to get where she is,” your mother added, her voice colder than ever. “i don’t want to see her dragged back into old habits.”

sukuna’s jaw clenched, and for the first time tonight, he didn’t have a quick, cutting response. instead, he just looked at you — really looked at you — and for a brief moment, you couldn’t tell if he was angry, impressed, or something else entirely.

the silence stretched on, thick with unspoken words, until sukuna finally spoke, his voice rough but lacking its usual edge. “guess that explains a lot.”

sukuna stormed away from the scene, his footsteps heavy as he made his way through the crowded penthouse, ignoring the curious glances thrown his way. he couldn’t shake the twisted knot of emotions that was curling up tighter in his chest. anger, confusion, frustration — all of it swirling in a chaotic mess inside his head.

it all clicked as he pushed open the glass door to one of your balconies, stepping out into the cool night air. the city lights spread out below him, the noise of the party muffled now that he was outside. the space was quiet, peaceful even, but sukuna was anything but.

he gripped the railing, his fingers clenching hard around the cold metal as his thoughts raced. “fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, the realization hitting him harder than he wanted to admit.

you puked at the christmas party because of his wine — because you drank ryomen.

it made sense now. the way you’d looked, the panic in your eyes when you’d tasted it, the way you tried to hold it together before you ran out. he’d been so wrapped up in his own damn ego, so sure that you were just putting on some kind of show, that he hadn’t even considered why. but now? now it was obvious.

you had a history with alcohol. a bad one.

he let out a bitter laugh, the sound rough in the still night air. “should’ve fucking known,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if that would help clear the mess in his head. he replayed the conversation with your mother, her sharp words cutting through him like knives. she hadn’t pulled any punches. the way she spoke about your past — your struggles — it all made sense now.

he leaned forward, elbows resting on the balcony railing as he stared out at the city. why the hell hadn’t you said anything? why hadn’t you told him you had a history like that? his mind was racing, trying to piece everything together. the christmas party, the way you had avoided drinking since then, how stiff and tense you’d become every time the topic of alcohol came up. he hadn’t paid attention. he hadn’t wanted to pay attention.

“shit,” he muttered again, the weight of it all sinking in.

for once, sukuna didn’t feel like he had the upper hand. he didn’t feel like the one in control. and that pissed him off. not at you — no, he couldn’t pin this on you. this was on him. on how blind he’d been to the signs.

he gripped the railing harder, his jaw tightening as he tried to shake off the feeling that had settled deep in his gut. guilt, maybe? that’s what it felt like. the fact that he’d been so proud of the wine, so fucking smug about ryomen’s success, and the whole time, it had been a trigger for you. a reminder of the darkest part of your life.

what the hell was he supposed to do with that?

he scoffed, shaking his head. emotions like this weren’t his strong suit. he wasn’t built to deal with feelings — especially not this complicated mess. he was sukuna, the one who bulldozed through shit without looking back. but this... this was different.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, staring out into the distance, his thoughts still tangled.

the wine, your past, the way you had puked at the party, it all started to blur together in his mind. for the first time, he couldn’t just shove it aside. it stuck with him, gnawing at him in a way he didn’t like. he wasn’t used to caring, wasn’t used to giving a shit about anyone else’s problems. but somehow, without even trying, you’d managed to wedge yourself into his thoughts.

you found sukuna on the balcony, his broad back facing you as he stared out into the city. the night was still, a cool breeze brushing against your skin as you stepped forward, your footsteps soft against the stone. you didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you.

he must have heard you, because without turning around, sukuna spoke, his voice low, rough. “didn’t realize i hurt you like this,” he said, his tone gruff, like he was trying to push the words out. “i’m sorry.”

his apology caught you off guard. sukuna didn’t do apologies. that much you knew. but here he was, standing on your balcony, admitting that he might’ve fucked up. your gaze softened as you took a step closer.

“you don’t need to apologize for my alcoholism,” you said, your voice steady but gentle. “and besides, this is just your way of saying your wine is good, isn’t it?”

that earned a slight turn of his head, and he glanced back at you, eyes narrowing in a mixture of amusement and something else — something harder to place. “oh yeah?” he asked, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “that what this is?”

you shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. “yeah.”

sukuna shifted, turning to face you fully now, his eyes locking onto yours. the tension between you two was there, thick in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was… something else. something unspoken.

for a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at you, his usual sharpness softening around the edges. then, with a strange sort of hesitation — one that didn’t fit the man you knew — he spoke again. “sukuna.” he paused, his gaze lingering on your face. “call me sukuna, not…ryomen. we’re business partners, no?”

you raised a brow, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “business partners?” you echoed, tilting your head slightly as you looked up at him. “this about being professional all of a sudden?”

he let out a low scoff, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the railing, his expression guarded. “something like that,” he muttered, deflecting, his eyes flicking away for a brief second.

you could see it, though. that small crack in his usual armor. something vulnerable hiding behind his sharp words and the cocky attitude he wore like a shield. he wasn’t good at this — at being soft — and it showed in the way he deflected, the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes now.

“sukuna, huh?” you repeated, letting the name roll off your tongue. it felt strange, calling him that. intimate, almost. but not in a way that felt wrong. more like… like it made sense.

his eyes flicked back to you, a quick glance before he looked away again, jaw tightening. he wasn’t used to this — wasn’t used to you looking at him like that. like you could see past the rough edges, past the walls he always had up.

“don’t make a big deal outta it,” he muttered, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

you smiled, taking another step closer, until you were standing beside him. “i won’t,” you said softly, your gaze steady on him. “but, for what it’s worth… it’s nice seeing this side of you.”

he let out a sharp breath, rolling his eyes, though you noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight uncomfortably. “don’t get used to it,” he grumbled, clearly trying to shake off whatever soft moment this was turning into.

but you could see through it. through him. the way his fingers clenched slightly on the railing, the way his eyes darted back to you every few seconds. he was trying to put the walls back up, but you’d already seen what was behind them.

you leaned on the railing next to him, the cool metal pressing into your arms. “you can run away from it all you want,” you said, your tone lighter now, almost teasing. “but i think you care more than you’re willing to admit.”

he shot you a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “don’t push your luck.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head as you looked out at the view. “i won’t,” you said, echoing his earlier words. the silence between you two wasn’t awkward. if anything, it felt… comfortable. a kind of understanding lingering in the air.

sukuna, though, was struggling with it. the softness, the quiet, the way you were just there, not asking anything from him, not demanding anything. it was throwing him off, making him feel things he didn’t want to deal with.

“i’m not good at this,” he muttered suddenly, his voice low, like he wasn’t even sure he wanted you to hear it.

you glanced at him, surprised by the admission. “what, standing on balconies?”

he huffed, a short laugh escaping him despite himself. “nah. this… whatever the hell this is.”

“you mean being human?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

he shot you a look, but it was softer now, less guarded. “something like that,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, before adding under his breath, “pain in the ass.”

you grinned, looking out at the city again. “yeah, well, you’re not too bad at it. when you’re not being an ass.”

he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “don’t push it.”

the soft clinking of the balcony door sliding open interrupted the rare, quiet moment between you and sukuna. suguru stood at the threshold, arms crossed over his chest, a sharp smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took in the scene. you could see the glint of something… off in his eyes, but he kept it under wraps with that same calm, calculated demeanor.

“am i interrupting something?” suguru’s voice was low, mocking, his usual easy confidence underlined by something harder tonight.

you straightened up from where you were leaning on the railing, your posture stiffening a little. sukuna shot suguru a sideways glance, his expression unreadable but clearly unbothered by the tension that suguru's snark added to the air. you, on the other hand, could sense that suguru wasn’t exactly happy about walking in on you and sukuna having what could almost pass as a… normal conversation.

“nothing worth interrupting,” sukuna replied flatly, his voice steady, almost dismissive. his gaze lingered on suguru for just a beat longer, sharp and assessing.

suguru’s eyes flicked to you, holding your gaze for a second before his usual composure returned, though you could still feel that tightness beneath the surface. “right. well, it seems like your boy yuuji ‘stomach bug’ itadori has had a bit too much fun tonight,” suguru said, his tone drier now, almost amused. “choso’s in the bathroom with him. the kid’s fighting for his life in there after inhaling half the appetizers.”

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you muttered, exasperation slipping into your voice. yuuji’s appetite almost always did get him into trouble. you rubbed your temples, already feeling the stress of being a host stacking up.

sukuna’s eyes flicked to you, a brow raised. “kid can’t even handle a few snacks without keeling over?” he scoffed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“yeah, well, yuuji’s got the stomach of a vacuum, apparently,” suguru added, amusement flashing briefly in his dark eyes. but the tension between you and him lingered, unspoken.

“great,” you muttered, already feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “i’ll go check on him in a minute.”

sukuna was already moving, pushing off the railing and stepping toward the door. “i’ll grab something for the kid,” he grumbled, clearly not wanting to stick around any longer than necessary. “nearest pharmacy should have something for his dumb ass.”

you hesitated for a second before speaking up, feeling a bit of responsibility as the host. “i’ll come with you,” you offered, voice steady but casual. “you know, in case you get lost or something.”

sukuna shot you a look, the faintest trace of a smirk pulling at his lips. “you think i need help finding a pharmacy?”

“just trying to be a good host, sukuna,” you replied, your tone light but pointed, echoing his earlier words.

“fine. whatever.” sukuna shrugged, starting to head toward the door before stopping, turning back to glance at you.

“you have a merc?” he asked, almost incredulously.

you blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. “you don’t?” you shot back, raising a brow.

sukuna scoffed, shaking his head as if the mere idea was laughable. “nah, too flashy for my taste.”

“well, lucky for you, my merc isn’t just for show. it’ll get us to the pharmacy and back in record time,” you said, already moving to grab your keys.

suguru stood back, arms still crossed as he watched the exchange with thinly veiled irritation, though he didn’t say anything. it was clear he had more on his mind, but whatever it was, he’d hold it until later. right now, all he could do was let out a low chuckle as you and sukuna headed for the door. “don’t have too much fun playing chauffeur,” he muttered under his breath, though only you seemed to catch the edge to his tone.

you shot suguru a quick glance, sensing the unspoken frustration simmering beneath his usual cool facade. something to deal with later. for now, you had a sick yuuji to worry about — and a silent car ride with sukuna ahead of you.

as you and sukuna stepped out into the night air, you could feel the lingering tension from earlier slowly ease away. sukuna didn’t say much as you unlocked the car, and you didn’t push him to talk, but you could feel his gaze on you every so often, as if he was still trying to figure out where the hell this night was going.

the hum of your mercedes’ engine filled the silence between you and sukuna, a heavy contrast to the noise and chaos you’d just left behind at your place. the roads were mostly empty, your headlights casting long shadows on the quiet streets as you drove to the nearest pharmacy. you hadn’t realized how tense the atmosphere would feel, stuck in such close proximity with sukuna, the ryomen sukuna, in the small space of your car. it felt surreal.

beside you, sukuna sat with one elbow resting against the door, his gaze drifting out the window, though you could tell he wasn’t paying much attention to the passing scenery. he seemed... uneasy? maybe? you couldn’t quite place it. you thought about saying something to break the silence, but nothing came to mind. and then —

the click of your aux being connected startled you slightly, the car's speakers coming to life as sukuna fiddled with your stereo. before you could even react, the heavy beat of megan thee stallion’s “body” came through the speakers, the bass hitting hard in the confined space of your car.

you blinked in surprise. "you listen to megan thee stallion?" you asked, glancing over at sukuna, a brow raised in mild disbelief.

sukuna didn't miss a beat, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back into the seat. "you don’t?" he shot back, his tone laced with mock surprise. you could hear the teasing undertone in his voice, poking fun at your earlier comment about him not having a merc.

you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all. ryomen sukuna, of all people, playing megan thee stallion in your car while his younger brother was quite literally fighting for his life back in your house’s bathroom. it was almost too much. the absurdity of it made you feel... lighter, more at ease, as if the heaviness of the night had been momentarily lifted by the unexpected normalcy of it all.

“god, this feels weird,” you muttered under your breath, half to yourself. sukuna, of course, caught it.

“what? can’t handle good music in your life?” he asked, smirk growing as the track hit the chorus, the catchy, almost hypnotic beat making it impossible not to tap along to the rhythm.

“body-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody…” megan’s voice filled the car, and you couldn’t help but chuckle again, glancing out at the road ahead to distract yourself from the growing flush on your cheeks.

you were hyper-aware of everything in that moment — the thumping bass vibrating through the car, the subtle scent of sukuna’s cologne that lingered in the air between you, and the fact that his sharp eyes, despite being focused on nothing in particular, kept flicking to your side of the car every so often.

and that damn blush on your cheeks? yeah, he noticed. out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance at your face again, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if he was trying to figure out why the hell you looked so... flustered. but sukuna, ever the unbothered one, just brushed it off. probably makeup or the cold weather — that's what he told himself.

still, it was there, nagging at the back of his mind. why the hell were you blushing?

you pulled up to the pharmacy, the neon lights illuminating the quiet parking lot. as the car came to a stop, you reached for the keys to turn off the engine, the last echoes of the track fading into the background.

“well, this is it,” you said, exhaling softly as you undid your seatbelt.

sukuna didn't say much as he got out, but there was something lingering in the air between you two, something unsaid but thick with meaning. it was as if, in the quiet moments of the drive, with only music and occasional banter to fill the space, you both had somehow settled into an oddly comfortable rhythm — one that neither of you were fully ready to acknowledge.

you stepped inside the pharmacy together, and while sukuna kept his usual stoic expression, you could tell he was still thinking about the ridiculousness of the situation. you could feel his presence beside you as you made your way to the over-the-counter meds, his large frame moving with that same predatory grace, always aware, always watching.

“you get something for yuuji, i’ll grab the other stuff,” sukuna said, his tone more serious now as he focused on the task at hand. business mode was back on.

you nodded, grateful for the distraction as you grabbed the necessary meds off the shelf. but even as you busied yourself, you couldn't quite shake the feeling that something had shifted between you and sukuna tonight — something small, but noticeable.

as you stood in the pharmacy aisle, browsing through the meds you needed for yuuji, your phone buzzed in your pocket. without even glancing at the screen, you knew who it was. sugu🤍, the contact name flashing up, paired with that familiar picture of the two of you sitting in your mom's garden, smiling like there wasn't a care in the world.

you swipe to answer, holding the phone to your ear, balancing the medicine in your other hand. “hey, sugu.”

“where are you?” his voice was clipped, almost tense. great, you thought, he was definitely not in a good mood.

“sugu, i just left. i’m getting the medicines for yuuji.” you answered matter-of-factly, tossing another box of meds into your basket.

“did you really have to go with pinkie pie? or, fuck that, did he have to come with you?” his voice had that edge to it, laced with frustration. you could picture the way his jaw was probably clenched right now, his expression tight.

you sighed, rolling your eyes at his tone. “suguru, his own brother is sick, at my house. i need to be a good host.” you emphasized the last bit, hoping to get him to back off a little.

“i could have just gone to get it, you know.” he grumbled, like it was the most obvious solution to the whole situation.

you paused in the middle of the aisle, hand resting on a shelf as you narrowed your eyes slightly at his words. “you didn’t offer to,” you pointed out flatly.

there was a long pause on the other end, and for a moment, you wondered if the line had disconnected. you glanced down at your phone screen just to check, but no — he was still there. the silence was heavy, lingering between the two of you.

“suguru?” you prompted after a beat, tilting your head as if he could see your expression.

he sighed, his tone losing some of its sharpness. “whatever. just... come back home to me soon.” the words slipped out of him in a way that sounded... a little too possessive, even for him.

you raised a brow, caught off guard. “to you soon?” you echoed, a teasing lilt in your voice, the phrase sticking with you because it was such a... suguru thing to say.

there was another pause, but this time it felt deliberate, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to double down or just brush it off. eventually, though, he muttered, “yeah, see you.” and the line disconnected.

you blinked, staring down at the phone for a moment, the abrupt end of the call still making you smile a little. it wasn’t like suguru to be this weirdly possessive, and honestly? it made you giggle. you knew he was being protective more than anything — he always was when it came to you, especially when sukuna was involved — but the way he framed that parting sentence? come back home to me? god, it was so suguru, in the most ridiculous way possible.

while you were at the other end of the pharmacy, dealing with suguru’s call, sukuna’s phone buzzed quietly in his pocket. he glanced down, eyebrow raising when he saw the name flash on the screen — uraume. no fancy emoji, no photo, just their name. typical.

sighing, he picked up the call, already half-expecting some snide comment. “what now?” he grumbled into the phone.

uraume’s voice came through, dry as ever. “so, you finally took my word of advice, huh?”

sukuna narrowed his eyes. “fuck you talking about?”

“going with y/n as she gets medicines for the young master,” they responded, a slight note of smugness in their tone that sukuna immediately hated.

“for the record,” he began, tone already defensive, “she offered to come with me, not the other way around.” his words came out a bit harsher than he intended, but he couldn’t help it. the whole situation was making him more agitated than he cared to admit.

uraume, of course, didn’t buy it for a second, though they let it slide. there was a pause before they spoke again, more business-like this time. “how is yuuji holding up, and choso?”

“the young master is what the kids today would call ‘hard coping,’ and choso... well, he’s about to faint from concern,” uraume reported, their tone as matter-of-fact as ever.

sukuna groaned inwardly, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. “of course he is,” he muttered under his breath. “just keep them put. i’m on my way back.”

“understood,” uraume said, and with that, the call disconnected.

pocketing his phone, sukuna glanced around, spotting you further down the aisle, finishing up your conversation with suguru and grabbing the last of the meds. he took a deep breath, collecting himself as he walked toward you, ready to leave the pharmacy and get back to the chaos waiting for him at your place.

meanwhile, you glanced around the pharmacy, searching for sukuna. basket in hand, you walked through the aisles, your footsteps echoing softly in the near-empty store. you spotted him standing by the entrance, his eyes scanning the shelves as he absentmindedly tapped his foot, probably waiting for you to finish up.

“got the stuff,” you called out, walking up to him, shaking the basket lightly.

“finally,” sukuna muttered, glancing over at you before eyeing the basket. “you get everything for the little shit?”

“yeah, all set.” you nodded, handing him the basket to carry, which he did without complaint. he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.

as the two of you walked to the register, you couldn't help but think back to the call with suguru. despite the awkwardness, there was an underlying comfort there, a reminder of how close the two of you were. and now, with sukuna silently walking beside you, the tension of the night felt... almost forgotten.

"you sure your brother's gonna make it through the night?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

sukuna scoffed. "he's stronger than he looks. stomach bug won't kill him."

“still can’t believe you let him eat that much.”

“not my problem if he doesn’t know how to handle himself.”

you both shared a quiet laugh, and for a moment, the weight of everything else faded into the background, leaving just the simple, strange normalcy of the moment between you.

by the time you and sukuna stepped back into your penthouse, the clock read 11:47 pm — barely making it before the new year hit. rushing past the decorations and muffled party sounds, you both headed straight for the bathroom where suguru was hovering near yuuji, looking a mix of exasperated and slightly grossed out.

yuuji was still slumped on the toilet, groaning dramatically. “i can’t believe i spent the new year on a toilet seat,” he whined.

suguru, arms crossed, shot back sarcastically, “hey, it’s better than spending it with people you don’t like.”

yuuji’s head shot up. “what was that?”

“ugh, just forget it. here, take your medicine before you puke again,” suguru muttered, stuffing the medicine into yuuji’s hand, wrinkling his nose as he tried to avoid breathing in too much of the bathroom’s unfortunate aroma.

yuuji gave suguru a slightly offended look, then turned to ask, “is my brother okay?”

suguru, always the sarcastic one, smirked. “yeah, he’s a little further away from passing out now. congrats.”

yuuji pouted, clearly defensive. “hey! don’t make fun of my bro like that!” he whined, clutching the medicine as if it would defend choso’s honor. despite the tone of the conversation, there was no real bite in suguru’s voice, and yuuji seemed too tired to actually be mad.

while the bickering continued, the volume of their voices increasing from the bathroom seat to the door, you took this as your cue to find your mother and say goodbye. she had made it abundantly clear that she was ready to spend the rest of her night with her gardening club friends, but there was one last thing you had to address.

“mom, i’ve got the medicines for yuuji, and suguru’s taking care of everything now,” you started, but you could see from the way she pursed her lips that there was something else on her mind.

“hmph,” she began, clearly still irked. “you disappeared from the party because you were off with him, weren’t you?” her voice dropped a notch at the mention of sukuna.

you sighed, exasperated, and quickly explained the situation. “mom, yuuji was sick, and sukuna came with me to get the medicine. it’s not like i was off gallivanting somewhere.”

her expression softened, but not without one last snarky remark. “well, i suppose i can’t fault you for helping that poor boy. yuuji’s sweet… innocent, handsome boy... i still don’t know how he’s related to that devil,” she muttered under her breath, glancing toward where sukuna stood.

you rolled your eyes, not even wanting to get into it with her right now. “yeah, yeah. okay, mom. happy new year,” you said, wrapping her in a quick hug before she left to join her gardening friends. you could still hear her grumbling under her breath about sukuna as she walked out.

with your mom gone, you let out a sigh and turned back to the chaos in your bathroom — suguru still bickering with yuuji, and sukuna silently standing by, clearly done with the night.

what a way to ring in the new year.

by 11:53 pm, the house was buzzing with energy, and everyone seemed more than ready for the new year. the countdown flickered across the massive tv in your living room, adding to the rising anticipation. despite yuuji’s earlier bathroom ordeal, the energy was contagious, and no one wanted to miss out.

“how can i get unsick in five minutes, no borax no glue?” yuuji whined dramatically from inside the bathroom, his voice practically echoing off the tiles as he leaned pathetically against the sink.

“you take the damn medicine, that’s what!” suguru yelled from the hallway, his patience clearly wearing thin after dealing with yuuji’s theatrics for the past hour.

“i’m tryingggg!” yuuji sobbed, fomo hitting him hard as the minutes ticked down. every second felt like torture, and the idea of missing the countdown was clearly not sitting well with him.

meanwhile, sukuna, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, shot a sharp glare toward the bathroom. his voice, low and threatening, cut through the noise. “brat! if you don’t get your ass out here in the next two minutes, i’ll wrestle that stomach bug out of your gut myself!”

there was a heavy silence, one that made your heart race a little, wondering if yuuji had finally succumbed to his illness or if sukuna’s threat had genuinely scared him into silence. but before you could even open your mouth to check, yuuji emerged, wiping his face and grinning like he hadn’t spent half the evening locked in the bathroom.

you blinked. “yuuji… you okay?”

“yup!” he chirped, bouncing on his feet like he had never been sick at all. turns out, a threat from sukuna was all it took to chase away whatever stomach bug had plagued him.

the whole group barely had time to process yuuji’s miraculous recovery before you all rushed outside to your backyard, practically dragging choso along with you. choso, who had been hovering anxiously around yuuji, was reluctant at first but was quickly yanked into the excitement as the clock ticked closer to midnight.

the air was electric as you stepped out, everyone gathering just in time for the fireworks. the backyard was packed with friends and neighbors, all of you craning your necks toward the sky as the final moments of the year slipped away. there was something about standing there, shoulder to shoulder with everyone — yuuji looking more alive than ever, choso finally smiling, suguru muttering something sarcastic under his breath, and even sukuna standing there, his usual scowl softened just slightly — that made the moment feel... perfect.

the countdown echoed through the crowd as everyone began shouting.

“ten! nine! eight!”

you felt your heart race, glancing at the faces around you. suguru caught your eye and gave you a small smirk. yuuji was practically vibrating with excitement, and even sukuna looked somewhat engaged, his sharp eyes flicking to the fireworks as they started to light up the sky.

“three! two! one!”

the sky exploded in color, fireworks bursting overhead as the new year officially began. everyone cheered, and for a moment, it felt like all the tension of the night melted away. choso clapped a hand on yuuji’s back, and suguru leaned into you with a knowing smile.

and sukuna, standing just a little further back, cast one last glance at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

he stood back, watching as the scene in front of him unfolded. you were leaning into suguru, laughing at something he’d said, and nearby, yuuji and choso were lost in their own conversation, chuckling about something ridiculous, no doubt. the fireworks lit up the sky, but it felt like sukuna was watching it from another world entirely, standing just a little further behind, isolated despite being surrounded by people. it made him feel... weird.

it wasn’t a feeling he was used to — this odd tug in his chest. his brothers, people he cared about, seemed so at ease, so connected to something he was still struggling to grasp. he couldn’t even focus properly, caught up in the sight of you fitting so comfortably into their dynamic. it was infuriating in a way, how natural you looked with them. his jaw tightened, fingers twitching at his sides as he tried to shake off the unfamiliar sensation.

he didn’t even register uraume standing next to him until they spoke quietly, their voice cutting through his thoughts.

“you know, a life like that is right within your reach. you don’t need to deny yourself.”

sukuna’s head snapped towards them, but uraume’s face remained neutral, as if they hadn’t just dropped that bombshell. their words echoed in his mind. what the hell did they mean by that? were they talking about him finding some kind of happiness? a life where his brothers were content with people who weren’t just him? the thought sat heavy in his chest, uncomfortable.

it annoyed him, really, how accurate it was. it wasn’t the first time he’d noticed yuuji and choso building connections with others, and yeah, it pissed him off sometimes. but this was different — there was something about tonight, about you being so easily part of their circle, that made it feel more... real. like it was happening with or without him.

sukuna clicked his tongue, frustrated, as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “don’t talk like you know everything,” he muttered, though the usual bite in his voice was missing. uraume, as always, wasn’t fazed, their calm demeanor steady as ever.

they walked a few steps ahead, glancing back at him, waiting for him to follow.

sukuna lingered for a second, his eyes trailing back to the four of you standing there, almost glowing under the light of the fireworks. his brothers were laughing, carefree, and there you were, comfortably settled between them, like this was just the way things were supposed to be.

"damn idiots," sukuna grumbled under his breath, but there was no heat behind the words. just something else, something more difficult to name. maybe uraume was right. maybe there was a part of him that wanted to be a part of that life. but fuck if he was going to admit it.

he let out a low sigh before finally stepping forward, walking with uraume to join the group. the moment felt... off-balance, like he was being dragged into something he wasn’t ready to face. but for tonight, just for a little while, he could handle it. he could stand beside them and pretend that this strange feeling — whatever it was — didn’t bother him.

almost like he was embracing this new normal.

though in the back of his mind, sukuna couldn’t shake the thought. how long could he keep pretending it didn’t matter?

as the fireworks burst overhead, casting brilliant colors across the sky, suguru leaned into you, his voice low and soft as he murmured, “you know i love you, right?”

you’d heard him say it before — plenty of times, in fact — but something about the way he said it now felt… different. it carried a weight that made you pause for a second, caught off guard. the fireworks’ loud cracks drowned out the silence that followed, and though you tried to brush it off, chalking it up to the adrenaline and excitement of the moment, you couldn’t ignore the subtle shift in tone.

“yeah, i do,” you responded with a smile, keeping your voice light, hoping to mask the brief flicker of confusion in your chest.

suguru’s words, though innocent enough, didn’t go unnoticed by sukuna. standing just a few steps behind, he overheard the exchange, and something in him tightened. it was subtle at first — just a prick of annoyance he could easily brush off. after all, what right did he have to feel any type of way about it? suguru had always been close to you, and this wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that. but tonight… yeah, tonight it felt different. and he hated it.

screw this, sukuna thought, clenching his jaw as he tried to shake off the feeling. but the way suguru leaned into you, his words hanging in the air, stuck with him more than he wanted to admit. it wasn't jealousy — at least, that’s what he told himself. nah, couldn’t be. but something about seeing you and suguru in that moment, wrapped up in your little world, made sukuna feel… off.

he gritted his teeth, glancing away like the fireworks had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. but his mind was elsewhere, replaying the scene, overanalyzing every little detail. was there something more to it? was he just imagining things?

sukuna let out a low grunt, frustrated by how much it was getting to him. why the hell do i even care? he thought, biting the inside of his cheek. this wasn’t his place. you and suguru were whatever you were, and he had no claim to anything. yet, that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach wouldn’t go away. the thought of you being so close to suguru while he stood on the sidelines — like some fucking spectator — was driving him nuts.

he stole another glance at you, watching as you smiled at suguru like it was the most natural thing in the world. sukuna felt his chest tighten, a mix of frustration and something else — something he didn’t want to name — swelling inside him.

damn it. snap out of it, he scolded himself, trying to shake off the unfamiliar sensation. but it was too late. the seed had already been planted, and as much as he wanted to pretend it didn’t bother him, it did.

uraume’s eyes, sharp as ever, didn’t miss the brief flicker of something in sukuna’s expression as he watched you and suguru. the way his jaw tensed, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long before he tried to look away — it wasn’t hard to figure out what was running through his mind. uraume knew sukuna better than anyone, and in that split second, they could see the cracks in his usual stone-cold demeanor.

“you’ll never tell her, will you?” uraume’s voice was low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the noise of the fireworks like a knife.

sukuna stiffened at the comment, his eyes narrowing. fuck off, he wanted to snap, but instead, he muttered under his breath, “don’t.”

it was a warning, short and sharp. his voice carried a bite, but uraume didn’t flinch. they knew him well enough to know that sukuna was deflecting, pushing back the only way he knew how. the truth was there, hanging between them in the silence that followed.

“you can’t keep pretending you don’t care,” uraume continued, their tone casual, like they were discussing something trivial. but sukuna felt the weight of it. “but it’ll eat you up. sooner or later.”

“i said drop it.” sukuna’s voice was firmer this time, but beneath it, there was a hint of something else — something almost vulnerable. and that pissed him off even more.

uraume gave a soft huff, not one to push any further when sukuna was like this. but they knew. they always knew. sukuna’s feelings were something he’d never admit to himself, let alone to you. no, he’d rather let that shit fester inside him than confront it.

sukuna turned away from the scene, focusing on the fireworks as they lit up the sky. but even the bursts of color couldn’t drown out the knot in his chest or the frustration gnawing at him. uraume was right — he’d never tell you. because what the hell would that even change? nothing good, that’s for damn sure.

besides, you seemed happy enough. with suguru, with your whole life. what good would his mess of feelings do in that picture? he scoffed under his breath. none.

“you really are an idiot sometimes,” uraume commented dryly, sensing his internal struggle. but they didn’t press the issue, stepping back and letting sukuna stew in his own thoughts.

sukuna clenched his fists, shoving them into his pockets as he let out a frustrated sigh. this is bullshit.

as you and suguru stood by the door, thanking everyone for coming, you were ready to start the cleanup on your own, but choso, yuuji, and uraume had other plans. despite your and suguru's protests, uraume's no-nonsense logic, combined with yuuji’s almost puppy-like excitement to "help out," completely overrode your resistance. even choso had already started clearing up trash, his quiet nature making him surprisingly efficient at it.

suguru sighed, hands on his hips, clearly not thrilled but accepting it. you exchanged a small smile with him before joining the effort, figuring it was pointless to argue. after all, with everyone pitching in, it made things faster — and more fun, apparently, as yuuji and choso somehow turned even picking up trash into some weird competition.

sukuna, on the other hand, stood in the middle of it all, awkward as hell. his hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and his eyes darted around, unsure of where to even begin. domestic shit wasn’t his thing, never had been. and seeing everyone else laughing and bonding over something as mundane as cleaning up only made him feel more out of place.

“are you just gonna stand there, or help!?” suguru snapped from across the room, glaring at sukuna as he adjusted a pile of empty cups in his arms.

you rolled your eyes, letting out a small laugh as you turned to sukuna, who looked like a cat that just got sprayed with water. “come on,” you said, motioning him toward the kitchen. “you can help me with the dishes.”

he muttered something under his breath but followed you anyway, his steps heavy. when you reached the sink, you handed him a towel and motioned toward the rack where you'd be passing the freshly washed dishes. “dry them,” you instructed with a teasing smile. “i’m not trusting you with washing.”

“yeah? don’t think i can handle it?” sukuna shot back, a small smirk playing on his lips, though there was a flicker of something softer in his tone, like he was grateful you were making this easier for him.

you chuckled. “nope, not risking it.”

as you cleaned the dishes, sukuna stood next to you, drying each plate, occasionally glancing sideways at you, the quiet between you both strangely…comfortable. he could hear yuuji and choso laughing in the other room, could see uraume silently stacking empty bottles into neat rows. so fucking normal, he thought, shaking his head in disbelief.

this wasn’t the kind of scene he was used to — this warmth, this casual domesticity. shit, he wasn’t even sure how to act around it. but here he was, drying dishes in your kitchen, a part of this weird, unfamiliar normalcy.

after a few minutes, he couldn’t help but blurt out, “this really how you spend your time? doing dishes and shit?”

you gave him a look, amused. “well, someone’s gotta clean up after parties. unless you think the dishes do themselves?”

“would be easier if they did.” he smirked again, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to enjoy this as much as he was.

suguru passed by the kitchen, glaring at sukuna like he was trying to figure out how he got out of the heavy lifting. “i still can’t believe you’re just standing there drying dishes while we’re out here busting our asses,” he muttered, though there was more of a joking edge than real anger behind his words.

“hey, drying’s a critical part of the process,” you shot back, defending sukuna with a grin.

sukuna snorted. “yeah, listen to the boss.”

“you’re lucky she’s got your back,” suguru muttered, shaking his head and walking away. you could hear him barking orders to yuuji and choso again, much to yuuji’s loud complaints.

you both worked in silence again, a strange but not unwelcome rhythm falling between you. sukuna, surprisingly, didn’t hate it. didn’t hate the simplicity of just…helping.

in a loop of thoughts he wasn’t ready to face. his hands moved mechanically, drying the plates you passed him, but his mind was somewhere else — swirling around the feeling that was creeping up on him, a feeling he didn’t expect to find in this place.

he didn't want this to end. but what was "this?" was it the business partnership, the reason you’d both ended up in each other’s orbit in the first place? the unspoken understanding you both shared, despite how wildly different your worlds were? or was it this — this bubble of normalcy that he never thought he'd want, where you, his brothers, uraume, and even that bastard sugur all coexisted in a way he knew he couldn't provide on his own? or maybe it was just this moment — the quiet domesticity of standing next to you in a kitchen, washing dishes, as if this was something the two of you did all the time.

"I don't want this to end," sukuna muttered, his voice low, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

you glanced up at him, surprised by the sudden admission. “you like dish drying that much?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

he shot you a look, his usual smirk tugging at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "you know what i mean, woman."

you set the dish you were scrubbing back in the sink, the playful smile on your face softening. "i suppose i do," you said quietly, your voice reflecting the undercurrent between you both — one neither of you had fully addressed but had always lingered just below the surface.

the hum of the water filled the silence that followed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. there was something grounding in it, like the two of you were sharing a moment neither of you knew how to name, but neither of you wanted to break.

sukuna sighed inwardly, hands gripping the dish towel a little tighter. what the hell am i doing? he thought, his mind betraying him as the realization hit him harder than he expected. he didn’t know how to handle this. this warmth. this…want.

but he couldn’t deny it either. whatever this was, he wasn’t ready for it to slip through his fingers.

“it’s not just about this, you know,” he added, a little softer this time, almost hesitant. “this whole damn thing... with you, with them.” he gestured vaguely toward the other room, where yuuji and choso’s muffled laughter could still be heard through the living room. “i don’t know what the hell it is, but...”

you paused, hands in the soapy water as you turned to him, really seeing him for a moment. sukuna, the ever-powerful, ever-confident ryomen sukuna, was struggling. not with business — but with the simple idea of wanting something more.

you raised an eyebrow, giving him an out, a chance to laugh it off. "what? feeling a little domestic, sukuna?"

he gave a low growl, though there was no real heat behind it. “watch it, or you’ll be drying these yourself.”

you chuckled, but the gravity of the moment wasn’t lost on you either. you weren’t ready for this to end, either. there was something comforting about it — the ease, the surprising peace of just… being here with him.

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0omillo0 · 2 months ago

Note

Oki so Im like searching fics all day long and u said i can request and im never getting enough of ur fics anyways so here luv 💕

Sooo Chan x reader

where maybe reader is already feeling horrible lately. And today smth appens at the studio and chan gets rlly frustrated so he comes home and today yn has been feeling even worse and feels like she can’t even get out of bed but like Chan comes home, not even seeing yns horrible stadium so he lets all the anger out on her wich rlly gives her the last push to like feeling just entirely depressed. Then she is standing crying and totally drained in front of one of the other members door, breaking down totally.

I’ll let the rest up to u, pls make it really really angsty but pls i just need a good lot of comfort at the end ❤️

BANGCHAN X READER

a/n: I’ve already made a vv similar story but I like this one so much better! let me know what you think ♡ also this is for my beloved @hannamoon143 tysm for your request and sorry for the wait!

genre: angst, comfort

The day had already been heavy, dragging you down like you were walking through thick mud. Lately, it seemed every breath took more effort than the last, and today, it had reached a peak. You couldn’t even get out of bed. The weight of everything pressed down on you, making the air feel like it was suffocating. It wasn’t like this was new—this lingering sadness had been with you for days, like a dark cloud refusing to lift.

You curled up deeper into your sheets, staring at the wall. You hadn’t moved in hours, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t done anything but exist in this space of nothingness. The world outside your room felt miles away, unreachable. The only sound you heard was the occasional muffled voices from outside your apartment.

And then there was a slam. You heard the front door being pushed open harder than usual, and you knew Chan was home. The sound of his keys hitting the counter was sharp, followed by a frustrated sigh that cut through the quiet air. You knew that sound—something must’ve gone wrong at the studio. His day hadn’t been any better than yours, apparently.

Your body wanted to get up, wanted to greet him, but you couldn’t. It was like you were glued to the mattress. Even when you heard his footsteps approaching, your body wouldn’t listen.

The door to the bedroom opened, and without looking at him, you knew he was tense. His energy radiated frustration, the kind that made rooms feel smaller, the air thicker.

“God, today was insane,” Chan muttered, not noticing how you barely shifted under the covers. His voice was rough, filled with a mix of exhaustion and irritation. “Everything went wrong. Absolutely everything.”

You bit your lip, the words you wanted to say caught in your throat. Maybe if you said something, anything, it could stop what you knew was coming.

But then he turned, finally looking at you, his eyes glossing over the state you were in. He couldn’t see it—he couldn’t see how you were breaking inside. All he saw was a person not responding, and it made him snap.

“Can you at least say something?!” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut deep. His frustration had reached its peak, and you were the closest target. “I’ve been dealing with so much today, and you’re just lying there. Not a word, nothing. Are you a fucking emotionless doll??”

You flinched at his tone, at his words. Your chest tightening even more. The tears that had been sitting at the edge of your eyes began to spill over silently.

Chan didn’t notice right away. His anger kept him blind. He sighed. “I’m sorry if I sound harsh, but it’s been such a mess, and I can’t—” His words stumbled to a stop when he saw the way your body shook, the way you were crying silently beneath the covers.

“Y/N?” His voice softened, the frustration vanishing as quickly as it had come. “Hey, hey…” He moved closer, but it was too late. The weight of everything—his words, your own struggles—it all collapsed in on you like a tidal wave.

You sat up slowly, the sobs shaking your frame as you tried to wipe the tears away, but they kept coming. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible through the storm of emotions. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— I just… I can’t…”

Chan’s face fell as he realized what he’d done. “No, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t see it. I was so wrapped up in my own head that I didn’t see how much you were hurting. I’ve made it worse I’m so sorry—“

But his apology couldn’t stop the breaking that was already happening inside you. You needed to escape, to find some sort of relief from the pressure that was crushing you from all sides.

Without saying a word, you slipped out of the bed, your legs unsteady, and you walked toward the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. Chan’s voice followed you, concern clear in his tone, but you couldn’t stop. Not now.

You found yourself in front of one of the other members’ doors. You didn’t even know how you got there, your vision blurred with tears. Maybe it was instinct, seeking comfort somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t the suffocating silence of your room or the crushing weight of your mind.

You knocked, barely registering the sound of your own fist against the wood. And then, as if the last string holding you together snapped, your body gave in. You slid down to the floor, your arms wrapping around your knees as the sobs came harder now, uncontrollable, raw.

The door opened, and the blurry shape of someone—was it Felix?—stood there, eyes wide in shock. “Y/N…?” he asked gently, his voice like a balm, but you couldn’t respond. All you could do was cry.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Felix crouched down beside you, his hand hovering for a moment before gently resting on your shoulder. His touch was warm, comforting in a way that made you feel safe enough to let it all out. “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re not alone.”

His words broke something else in you, but this time, it wasn’t painful. It was a release. The tears kept falling, but his presence kept you grounded, kept you from drowning completely.

Behind you, you heard Chan’s hurried footsteps. He stopped when he saw you on the floor, a mix of guilt and worry etched into his face. “Y/N…” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

Felix looked up at him, a silent exchange passing between them, and Chan knelt down beside you. “I didn’t mean to—” He stopped, choking on his own emotions, before continuing softly, “I should’ve seen that you were hurting. I was selfish.”

You looked up at him, your vision still blurred, but you could see the regret, the hurt in his eyes. And it wasn’t just because he’d had a rough day. It was because he hadn’t been there for you when you needed him most.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice shaking.

Chan shook his head, reaching out to take your hands in his, his grip gentle, tentative. “No, no, you don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention. I love you, and I should’ve been there for you. I’m so so sorry for calling you.. the way I called you. I’m sorry baby”

You shook your head. “Do you think I’m useless?? Am I just a doll to you??”

Chan realised how much his words hurt you. At this point he felt so guilty, his expression softened, his big glossy eyes looking directly at yours. “Y/Nie, my love, I didn’t mean to say those awful things to you. I understand if you’re not going to trust me anymore, but I swear I love you more than anything and I’ll do anything to make it up for you.. for us..”

Felix gave a small nod and stood up, retreating to give the two of you space. Chan pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours, his breath shaky as he spoke, “We’re going to get through this. Together, okay? I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone.”

And for the first time that day, you felt a small sense of relief, a small flicker of hope. It wasn’t going to be easy—these feelings, this heaviness—but you weren’t alone. Chan was with you, and that made all the difference.

As you sat there, held in his arms, the storm inside you slowly began to calm, the cracks in your heart starting to mend, piece by piece.

“I’m here,” Chan whispered again, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I’ll always be here.”

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lupinqs · 3 months ago

Text

CHAPTER FIVE ━━ Happy Halloween

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.8K

☆ ━ warnings: beau being a dick, vaping, dani’s still depressed as shit, like idk

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: i’m sorry this chapter is so messy and all over the place it’s lowkey my least favorite so far, but good things are coming i promise!!!!

HIS MOUTH presses against hers with an intensity that makes Dani stiffen. Beau kisses her with a hunger that she doesn’t feel, his hands cupping her face, fingers in her hair, deepening it. His lips are rough, insistent, like he’s trying to draw something out of her that she doesn’t want to give.

Dani kisses him back because she knows she should. She tries to match his urgency, his need. But it feels all wrong, like she’s wearing someone else’s skin. Her heart isn’t in the kiss, isn’t with Beau at all. It drifts to other places—another person—and she can’t shake the growing discomfort building in her chest.

Beau’s hands roam lower, sliding from her face to her waist, gripping her hips firmly as he presses closer. The position is uncomfortable in the small confines of his car, and she shifts slightly. She thinks he takes that as an invitation, because he moves closer, his mouth trailing from her lips to her neck, kissing a path down to her collarbone, closer to her chest. The top she’s wearing leaves little to the imagination there, and he seems to like that. Dani’s breath hitches, body tensing. She isn’t here. She doesn’t want this.

But Beau doesn’t pay attention to the way her body recoils. He doesn’t notice how she stiffens under his touch. He’s too focused on his own need, his mouth feverish against her skin as he starts fumbling with the button of her jeans, eager to go further.

“Beau, stop,” Dani says softly, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t stop. His hands are moving too fast, his breath hot and uneven against her neck as he presses harder to her.

“Beau, stop,” she repeats, more forceful this time, her hands pushing at his chest.

He ignores her, his hand still tugging at her jeans, more urgent now. “You can’t just keep doing this. We haven’t—” He pulls back just enough to look at her, frustration written all over his face. “You barely even let me kiss you anymore. What’s the point of us if you’re just gonna shut down every time I try to get close?”

She slaps at his hand now, and he finally retracts it. “I said stop,” she mumbles, breath quickening.

Beau sits back in his seat, his face darkening slightly. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Jesus Christ, Dani. What the hell is your problem? We haven’t fucked in weeks. You won’t even touch me, and now this? What, do you not even want me anymore?” His voice grows louder, harsher with each word.

Dani stares at him, her chest tight, her hands trembling in her lap. She doesn’t have the words to explain it to him, can’t tell him how disgusted she feels with herself every time they’re together. How she feels like she’s living a lie, forcing herself into a relationship she doesn’t want, creating a life that isn’t meant to be hers. But all she can manage is a weak, “I just… I don’t feel like it, okay? Can’t you respect that?”

“Respect that?” Beau’s eyes narrow, and he scoffs, shaking his head. “How the hell am I supposed to respect that when you don’t give me anything to work with? I’ve been patient, Dani. I’ve tried to give you space. But I’m not one of your fucking Catholic saints. I have needs, too.”

Dani winces at his words, feeling the sting of guilt and shame twist in her stomach. She hates this, hates the way he makes it sound like she’s failing him by not being able to give him what he wanted. But at the same time, she hates herself more for letting it get this far—for pretending she can be someone she’s not.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Beau snaps, cutting her off. “I’ve been dealing with your bullshit for weeks now, Dani. You’re distant, you’re cold, you won’t even look me in the eyes half the time. If this is how it’s gonna be, then maybe we shouldn’t go to the Halloween party together tomorrow. Hell, maybe you shouldn’t come at all.”

Dani’s throat tightens, and she feels the hot prickle of tears burning behind her eyes. “Beau, I—”

“No.” His voice is sharp, final. “You need to figure your shit out. Because I can’t keep doing this.” He unlocks the car doors, staring at her expectantly. “Get out.”

Dani blinks, stunned, thinking she may have misheard. “What?”

“Get out of the car.” His eyes are hard, cold. “If you’re gonna be like this, then just… go. Walk home. Maybe that’ll give you time to think about what you really want.”

“Are you serious?” Dani’s snaps, looking at him in disbelief. They’re parked in some random lot, miles away from her house. It’s dark, and she has no way of getting home except by walking. She can’t even call someone to come pick her up, because her phone died a little bit ago.

“I said get out,” Beau repeats, his voice like ice.

Dani swallows hard, before scoffing, opening the passenger door. She steps out into the chilly night air, and, immediately, she wishes she brought a jacket, the small cropped shirt she’s got on not doing anything to shield the cold.

Before she can say anything else, Beau reaches over and slams the door shut from the inside. He speeds off, leaving her standing alone in the dark parking lot, the distant sound of his car’s engine fading into the night.

The silence around her is deafening. Dani stands frozen for a moment, her arms wrapped around herself as the cold wind bites at her skin. She blinks back the tears that blur her vision, the ones she desperately tried to keep in so that he couldn’t see them, her mind racing with thoughts of everything that led her to this moment.

She wants to scream. To sob. To fall apart. But there’s no one here to see it, no one to hear her.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she starts walking.

PAIGE’S HANDS lazily hold the steering wheel as she drives down the empty, dim lit street, the hum of her car’s engine and the quiet voice of Drake the only sounds to keep her company. She’s just left Thaliah’s house after a low-key night spent playing Fortnite, and she’s thankful now that she finally has her license—no more relying on her friends or her dad for rides. The freedom is nice, the kind of feeling she’s been craving for a while.

As she continues driving along the road, something flickers at the edge of her vision, pulling her from her thoughts. A figure. A lone person walking down the sidewalk. Paige furrows her brows as she drives past, the figure just barely visible under the faint glow of the streetlamp. She turns her head a little, squinting as she stares at her side mirrors. All she really sees from that view is long hair blowing in the wind. A girl. It’s late—after midnight—and what girl would be stupid enough to be walking alone at this time?

Paige’s mind runs through the possibilities, but something gnaws at her. The silhouette looked familiar, like someone she knows. Someone with a very specific walk, a hunched posture, a familiar dip of the head, long hair…

No way. No fucking way.

She’s driven past already, but the doubt lingers in her mind, tugging at her. Paige’s hands hover over the wheel, her foot still on the gas as she debates with herself. But her gut is screaming—if it had vocal chords, they would be shredded by now. Because if it’s who she thinks it is, she can’t just leave it alone. She can’t ignore it.

With a frustrated groan, Paige quickly makes a sharp U-turn to go back the way she came. The street is dead silent, save for the crunch of her tires on the pavement. As she nears the figure again, her heart rate speeds up. Please don’t let it be her. Please don’t let it be Dani.

But as she slows down, pulling up alongside the sidewalk, her breath catches in her throat. She should’ve known all along, shouldn’t have even questioned herself. Because consciously, subconsciously, in any way possible—Paige always knows Dani. She can pick her out in any crowd, so doing it on a deserted street isn’t so hard. And she’s very right, because this is Dani. Walking alone. And it’s cold as hell out, too. She’s wearing nothing but ripped jeans and a cropped t-shirt. What the fuck is she doing?

Paige slows to a stop, rolling down the passenger window. Dani immediately stiffens, her head whipping toward the car, eyes wide. Paige leans over, her voice cutting through the silence.

“Dani, what’re you doing?” she asks, her voice sharp with concern and an edge of accusation.

Dani stares at her in disbelief, her brows knitting together in surprise. “Fuck, I thought you were some old man about to kidnap me,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself as a gust of wind whips through the air.

Paige rolls her eyes, the tension easing from her chest just a bit. “No, I’m not gonna kidnap you,” she says flatly. “But someone else fucking might. Get in the car.”

Dani hesitates, her gaze flicking between Paige and the road ahead. Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, Paige thinks she might refuse. There’s a tension in Dani’s stance, a stubbornness that Paige knows all too well.

“Dani, seriously,” Paige presses, her tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “It’s freezing out. I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

Dani sighs, a puff of visible breath in the chilly air, before muttering, “Fine.” She reaches for the door handle, and with a click, the door swings open, and Dani slides into the passenger seat.

Paige immediately turns the heat up, casting a quick glance at Dani. Her arms are crossed, her shoulders hunched, and Paige can see her shivering, despite the attempt to seem unbothered. Paige’s chest tightens with concern as she wonders what the hell could’ve happened to land Dani in this situation.

For a few moments, the car is filled with an awkward silence, broken only by the sound of the heater kicking in. Paige tries to focus on the road, but her mind races with a million questions on why Dani’s out here in the first place, why she was walking all alone in the dark as a teenager girl that most certainly could not defend herself should a kidnapper find her.

“What were you doing out there?” Paige finally asks, her voice more gentle this time, though still laced with concern. “Why are you out this late by yourself?”

Dani shakes her head, her eyes fixed on the dashboard in front of her. “It’s nothing,” she mumbles, her voice flat, detached.

Paige frowns, tightening her grip on the wheel. “It’s not nothing. It’s past midnight, and you’re walking around in the cold like it’s the middle of the day. What happened?” she presses, sending a glance at her ex-best friend.

Dani stays silent for a moment, then scoffs lightly, turning to look at Paige. “When’d you get your license? I thought you couldn’t drive?”

Paige rolls her eyes, biting back her frustration. “Don’t change the subject, Dani.”

Dani shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable, her arms tightening around her body like she’s trying to make herself smaller. “Just… drop it, Paige,” she replies, dismissive.

Paige exhales sharply, shifting her eyes over at her again. Dani’s walls are up, higher than ever. It isn’t like her to be this closed off with Paige. Or, at least, it hadn’t been like this before… before everything went sideways between them. No matter how much she hates it, Paige supposes she should get used to it—this is their new normal, after all.

“I’m not dropping it,” Paige shoots back, keeping her voice steady. “Not when I find you walking around alone at night looking like…” She trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence without pushing too far.

Dani’s jaw clenches. “Like what?” she snaps, her eyes flashing with an edge of anger.

“Like you’re not okay,” Paige says, softer now, her eyes darting between Dani and the road. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Dani lets out a harsh breath, her fingers digging into her arms as she stares out the window. “I’m fine, Paige. Seriously.”

Paige doesn’t buy it for a second. Not with the way Dani’s sitting there, tense and cold and distant and—no matter how much she tries to hide it—vulnerable.

“Fine? Really? Because it sure doesn’t look like it,” Paige mutters. She knows she’s walking a fine line—at this point, Paige is probably the last person Dani wants to open up to right now, and pushing her too hard could make her shut down even more. But Paige can’t just sit there and pretend like everything is okay when it clearly isn’t.

Dani shakes her head again, more forcefully this time. “I’m fine. I just—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip, like she doesn’t even believe her own words.

Paige isn’t sure what it is, but something about Dani’s demeanor—the way she’s hunched over, trying to make herself disappear—makes her feel sick. Dani’s so different from the girl Paige used to know. Something’s wrong. Something’s been wrong for months now.

“Did Beau do something?” Paige asks quietly. It’s probably not the long term issue, the reason for the girl’s whole switch up, but Paige thinks it damn well could be the reason Dani’s in this situation tonight—and the thought makes the blonde’s stomach sick.

Dani stiffens immediately at the name. That reaction tells Paige everything she needs to know.

Nonetheless, Dani’s laugh is bitter, a sharp sound that cuts through the quiet car. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

Paige’s heart drops, her pulse quickening. “Dani…”

But Dani turns her head away, staring out the window like she can’t bear to look at Paige anymore. “Just drive me home, okay?”

Paige hesitates, her throat tight, but eventually, she nods, pressing her foot down on the gas. The tension in the car is palpable, and Paige hates it—hates the silence, hates the distance between them. But she feels like she’s exhausted all she can do to try and repair it between them, so she leaves it be, and turns up the music just slightly.

The road stretches out ahead, leading them back toward their neighborhood, toward the familiarity of home. But as the houses grow closer, Paige can’t shake the feeling that something is just deeply wrong. And this isn’t just about tonight. It isn’t just about Dani walking alone in the dark.

This is about everything that’s happened between them—everything that’s changed since Dani was sent to that camp over the summer. Since Dani had come back different. Closed off. Dani hasn’t been the same since she returned, and even though Paige doesn’t know the full story—well, doesn’t even know an ounce of if, actually—she can still feel the weight of it.

Paige glances over at Dani once more, but Dani’s back to staring out the window, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. In spite of everything, Dani’s still shivering, and Paige knows it’s not from the cold—the heat has surrounded her car by now. It’s about everything else.

They turn down their street, the familiar houses coming into view, bathed in the soft glow of porch lights. Paige can see her house up ahead, just a few doors down from Dani’s. Normally, this is where they’d share a goodbye, a see-you-later. But nothing is normal anymore.

Paige slows as they near Dani’s house, and for a moment, she considers just pulling into her own driveway, since their houses are right next to each other. But something stops her. Even if they live right next door, this still feels different. Dani needs more from her than just a quick drop-off. Paige needs to make sure Dani knows she’s not alone, even if she can’t fix whatever’s going on.

So, she pulls into Dani’s driveway instead, parking right next to Dani’s car. Paige’s car idles for a second, the engine’s soft hum the only sound between them. Paige shifts in her seat, looking over at Dani, who still hadn’t moved.

“You’re home,” Paige says quietly, breaking the silence.

Dani finally tears her eyes away from the window and sets her eyes on Paige, her expression guarded, tired. For a second, Paige thinks Dani’s just going to get out without a word, like every other time they’ve had one of these stilted, painful interactions. But then, Dani surprises her.

Dani shifts in her seat, turning slightly so she can look at Paige more directly. Her eyes soften, just for a moment, as she holds the blonde’s gaze. “Thank you,” she says quietly, her voice low but sincere. “For picking me up.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard by the sudden change in Dani’s tone. There’s no anger, no sarcasm, no bitterness in her voice. It’s raw, earnest. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Paige sees a glimpse of the old Dani—the one who didn’t have walls up between them. The one who trusted her.

Paige nods, unable to find her voice for a second. “Yeah. Of course,” she manages to say, her heart aching at how much she misses that side of Dani. The side that isn’t buried under layers of pain and fear.

Dani lingers for a moment, her eyes searching Paige’s face, like there’s something she wants to say but can’t find the words. Then, without another word, she reaches for the door handle and steps out of the car. Paige watches as Dani walks toward her front door, her shoulders hunched against the cold, but there’s something softer in her movements now. Something less defensive.

Paige stays in the car, watching as Dani unlocks her door and steps inside, the porch light flickering off as the door clicks shut behind her. The house swallows her up, and Paige is left sitting there in the quiet, her mind racing with everything that’s just happened.

It isn’t much. A simple thank you. But it’s the first real crack in the wall Dani’s built between them, and Paige can’t help but hold on to that. Maybe it’s a start.

She sighs softly, leaning back in her seat for a moment before putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the driveway. As she makes her way back to her own house, just a few yards away, Paige can’t shake the feeling that things are far from okay between them. But for the first time in a long time, she feels like maybe there’s hope.

And for now, that’s enough.

PAIGE SITS cross-legged on Thaliah’s bed, absentmindedly picking at the hem of her shirt, while Jalen lounges next to her, scrolling through his phone. Both of them are already dressed in their costumes, though neither put in much effort. Paige went the simple route—she’s wearing an old basketball jersey with some fake blood smeared across her face, playing the part of some sort of dead or zombie hooper—she doesn’t even really know herself, if she’s honest. Jalen wears a black hoodie and he’s got a plastic scythe, calling himself the Grim Reaper. Basic, but effective.

Thaliah, on the other hand, is still in front of her vanity, meticulously applying the finishing touches to her makeup. She’s going all out, dressed as a witch, complete with dramatic eye shadow, dark lipstick, and glitter cascading along her cheekbones. Her hair is done up in some complicated updo, and Paige is sure Thaliah will be the best dressed person at the party. As usual.

Paige leans back, resting on her hands, eyes distant as she vents, her voice low but agitated. “I just don’t get it. Like, why the hell would Dani even doing out there last night? Alone? She was walking by herself literally at twelve-thirty, J. She could’ve gotten kidnapped or murdered or—or something!” Her voice wavered with frustration and disbelief, and she glances at Jalen, hoping he’ll give some sort of input.

Jalen shrugs a little, tossing his phone aside and turning toward her. His brows are furrowed in the way they are only when he’s concerned. “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ weird, P. Did you ask her what happened?”

Paige lets out a sigh, her frustration evident. “Of course I did. She just brushed it off, said it was ‘nothing’—like that’s supposed to make me feel better about it.” She throws her hands up in the air, expressing the confusion she’s feeling. “And I swear, she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She was, like, literally freezing and she looked so sad and I’m just like—what the hell happened?”

Thaliah, still working on her eyeliner, chimes in from the vanity, not looking up but clearly listening. “Dani’s been distant for months, Paige. It’s been off ever since she got back from camp. I don’t think it’s just about last night. Something’s been wrong for a while now.”

Paige nods, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her jersey. “I know. But last night just made it so much more real. I feel like—I don’t know—I feel like something happened. Maybe it was Beau. Maybe he did something to her.”

At that, Jalen’s eyes narrow slightly. He’s always quick to jump to conclusions when it comes to Beau Hudson, a guy that he’s had problems with for years now. “You think he hurt her? I mean, he is the type.”

Paige bites her lip, her mind racing with the possibilities. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s not like Dani would tell me, though. She doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

There’s a long pause as all three of them sit in the heavy silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. They’s all thinking the same thing—what the hell happened to Dani? The girl they all knew so well has practically disappeared, replaced by someone colder, someone more distant, someone more shallow.

Thaliah finally puts down her eyeliner, spinning around in her chair to face them. “Something’s definitely up with her. But I don’t think it’s Beau that’s the main problem. I mean, she started acting like this before she and that bitch boy got together. Paige, I know you weren’t here when it happened, but she started dating Beau after she cut J and I off,” Thaliah points out, staring at the pair of her friend son the bed expectantly. But then she sighs, shaking her head, adding, “But if she’s not talking, what are we supposed to do? Just keep watching her spiral and probably ruin her life? Like, I don’t even know.”

Paige clenches her jaw, her mind racing with the memory of Dani walking along that dark sidewalk, looking so alone, so vulnerable. “I don’t want to just sit back and do nothing.” But she knows Thaliah is right—there’s really not much they can do if Dani won’t give them the light of day.

Thaliah shakes her head a little before standing up and moving toward her bed, where Paige and Jalen sit. She grabs her vape off the nightstand and takes a long drag, blowing the smoke out in a cloud that lingers in the air before dissipating. “Look, Dani’s been different for a while, but we can’t fix it tonight. We can’t fix her tonight.”

Paige frowns, her stomach sinking at those words. Fix her. It isn’t like Dani’s broken, but she isn’t herself either. Still, she understands what Thaliah is saying. She just doesn’t like it.

Thaliah hands the vape to Paige, raising her eyebrows when Paige hesitates before taking it. “C’mon, you need to relax. It’s Halloween. We’re supposed to be having fun, not stressing out over all this. Dani’s a tomorrow problem.”

Paige rolls her eyes but accepts the vape anyway, taking a small hit and handing it back. The familiar burn fills her lungs for a moment before she exhales, watching the smoke curl up toward the ceiling. “I just hate that we don’t know what’s going on with her.”

Jalen sits up straighter, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ll figure it out, P. We just have to give her time. Maybe tonight, she’ll show up at the party, and we can talk to her then.”

Thaliah shakes her head, leaning back against her vanity. “Doubt it. She’s been avoiding us for weeks. Even if she shows, it’ll be with Hudson and that prissy Serena girl, and it’ll end in shit like it did last time.”

Paige knows Thaliah’s probably right. They’ve gone to the same parties a couple times since school started, and each time, Dani stays closed to Beau Hudson and Serena Corren’s sides, not bothering to give any attention to Paige. The odds of her suddenly showing up and deciding to speak to them at tonight’s Halloween thing seems slim. Still, Paige can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, Dani will surprise her.

Thaliah takes another drag from the vape before offering it back to Paige, who takes another hit, letting the smoke relax her nerves just a bit. “But seriously,” Thaliah says as she exhales, “tonight’s about us. Let’s just have fun, forget about all the drama, and worry about Dani tomorrow. It’s Halloween! We deserve a good night.”

Paige smiles faintly, nodding. Thaliah’s right. Tonight is supposed to be fun. Maybe she can take a break from worrying for one night. Maybe.

And, she thinks maybe she really actually can, because the party does turn out to be fun. It’s a lot different from the last party she went to, the one where she drank herself stupid and fought Beau Hudson. She doesn’t regret the second part… just thinks she could’ve found a better way to do it. But tonight, she’s the designated driver, meaning she’s sticking to her Sprite, laying off the alcohol. But it doesn’t really matter. She doesn’t need to drink to have fun with her friends—especially on Halloween.

The house is decked out for Halloween—fake spider webs hanging from the ceiling, carved pumpkins in every corner, and purple lights casting shadows along the walls. Most people are dressed in costumes, though a lot are half-assed like Paige and Jalen’s. Paige gets a laugh out of a guy dressed in a banana costume, dancing on a table, though.

Eventually, Paige, Jalen, and Thaliah settle in the living room, perching on the couches and standing with some of their other friends from school and basketball and such. It’s easy, it’s fun, the atmosphere is lively but not chaotic. Paige enjoys it.

That is, until out of the corner of her eye, she spots them.

Beau Hudson, Serena Corren, and the rest of that group Dani’s been hanging around with lately are clustered near the kitchen, laughing and talking amongst themselves. Paige’s stomach tightens, her eyes scanning the group for one specific person. Dani. But as she searches, she realizes with a sinking feeling that Dani isn’t here.

Paige narrows her eyes slightly, confused. Dani’s always with them—whenever Beau and his friends show up to a party, the girl’s practically glued to his side. But tonight, she’s nowhere around.

Paige glances over at Thaliah, who’s too busy chatting with some girls to notice her. So, the blonde taps Jalen on the shoulder, nodding toward Beau and his friends. “Hudson’s here,” she acknowledges.

Jalen follows her gaze, rolling his eyes. “Dick,” he mutters, his disdain for the quarterback evident. He stares at the group for a second longer before Paige watches a familiar flicker of confusion cross along his face. “Dani’s not with ‘em?”

Paige shakes her head, mind racing. It’s so weird. Ever since Dani started dating Beau, they‘be been almost inseparable, especially at parties like this. But now, Dani just… gone. And it doesn’t sit right with Paige. Especially not after what happened last night.

However, before she can dwell on it too long, nature calls. She needs to pee. Paige stands up, muttering something to Jalen about finding the bathroom. As she makes her way through the crowded house, her mind stays locked on the thought of the Callan girl. Maybe Paige is just being dramatic. Maybe Dani is here and she just hasn’t seen her and she’s worrying for no reason.

When she finally finds the hallway leading to the bathroom, she groans. There’s a line.

And the person standing at the back of the line? None other than Beau Hudson himself.

Paige’s eyes narrow as she approaches, trying to play it casual. She leans against the wall, taking Thaliah’s vape out of her pocket and bringing it to her lips. She inhales, letting the vapor fill her lungs as she stares at the back of Beau’s head. He hasn’t noticed her yet, so she waits a beat before speaking.

“Dani here?” she asks, her tone nonchalant.

Beau turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her. His expression is somewhere between annoyed and smug, like he can’t be bothered with her question. “Nope,” he replies shortly, turning back to face the bathroom door as if that’s the end of the conversation.

But Paige isn’t done. She presses, “How come?”

Beau scoffs, a low, bitter sound that grates on Paige’s nerves. “You’re fuckin’ nosy, Bueckers,” he mutters, barely looking at her.

Paige raises an eyebrow, not backing down. “Well, when it comes to Dani, yeah. I am.” Her voice is sharp, but controlled. She isn’t about to let him dismiss her like that.

Beau finally turns to face her fully, his expression twisted with irritation. “Why do you care, anyway? You’re not even friends anymore.”

Paige clenches her jaw, holding his gaze. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

For a moment, there’s a tense silence between them, the music and chatter from the party seeming distant in comparison to the charged atmosphere in the hallway. Paige can feel her heart racing, could feel the anger bubbling under the surface.

Beau breaks the silence first, rolling his eyes as if he can’t be bothered with her anymore. “She’s probably rotting in her bedroom right now. I told her not to come.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard by the harshness in his voice. “What? Why?”

Beau shrugs, leaning casually against the wall as if what he’s saying is no big deal. Which, to him, it probably isn’t. “She’s been a bitch lately. Told her to stay home.”

Paige’s grip on the vape tightens as a rush of anger surges through her. She hates him. She hates how he talks about Dani like that, like she’s just some inconvenience instead of his girlfriend. The same girlfriend he’s never deserved.

The same girlfriend that Paige picked up in the middle of the night last night.

Her gaze slides to Beau, and before she can stop herself, the words are out of her mouth. “Did you do something to Dani last night?”

Beau’s head snaps toward her, his eyes narrowing. “What the fuck are you talking about?” His tone is defensive, a little too defensive for someone who’s supposedly innocent.

Paige doesn’t back down, her pulse quickening as the frustration bubbles to the surface. “Last night,” she repeats, her voice steady. “I found her walking home alone in the middle of the night. She wouldn’t even tell me what was going on. So I’m asking you, Beau—did you leave her out there?”

Beau’s expression shifts, his jaw tightening as he stands up straighter, his arms dropping to his sides. “Are you seriously accusing me of something?” he snaps, his voice low and threatening. “I didn’t leave her anywhere.”

Paige scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares him down. “Then why was she out there, alone? She looked like she’d been crying.”

Beau rolls his eyes, but there’s something uneasy in the way he shifts on his feet, something that makes Paige’s stomach twist. “I don’t know, Paige. Maybe she was crying because she’s a fucking mess lately.”

Paige’s eyes flash with anger. “She’s a mess? You’re her boyfriend. Aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, give a shit?”

Beau’s lips curl into a sneer. “You don’t know anything about our relationship, so maybe you should keep your nose out of it.”

Paige takes a step closer, her voice lowering as she looks down on him ever so slightly—having those couple inches on him. “I know enough to know something’s wrong with her. She’s not herself, and you’re just standing here acting like you don’t care.”

Beau’s face hardens, and for a second, Paige thinks he might actually shove her away. They’ve had a physical fight before—what’s another one? But instead, he takes a step back, exhaling sharply as he glares at her. “You think this is my fault? You think I’m the one who’s making her act like this? You have no idea what she’s like, Bueckers. You only ever saw the good parts of her.”

Paige’s heart skips a beat, but she doesn’t flinch. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she reports.

Beau huffs out a humorless laugh, his gaze flicking to the bathroom door as it remains stubbornly closed. “It means that she’s been a bitch lately, okay? Just like I said before. Moody as hell. I’m not her fuckin’ babysitter, like, Jesus Christ.”

Paige feels her hands clench into fists at her sides. “So you’re just going to leave her to deal with whatever’s going on by herself? Real classy, Hudson.”

Before Beau can respond, the bathroom door swings open, and a couple stumbles out, laughing drunkenly and clinging to each other. Paige shoots them a disgusted look—God only knows what they had been doing in there. Beau takes advantage of the distraction, slipping past her and heading straight for the open bathroom.

Before he disappears inside, he shoots Paige one last glance, his expression dark and full of resentment. “Stay out of it, Paige.”

The door slams shut behind him, leaving Paige standing in the hallway, her heart racing with anger and confusion. She leans against the wall, lifting Thaliah’s vape to her lips and taking another long drag, the vapor filling her lungs as she tries to calm herself down.

Stay out of it? He’s fucking stupid if he thinks that’ll stop her from doing anything.

She exhales slowly, her mind still spinning with everything that just happened. Beau’s words leave a bitter taste in her mouth, but more than that, they leave her with an even deeper sense of worry for Dani. There’s something wrong, and Beau either doesn’t know how to handle it or simply doesn’t care enough to try.

Paige closes her eyes for a moment, leaning her head back against the wall as the sound of the party buzzes around her. Halloween is Dani’s favorite holiday. Dani’s always, always loved it, always got excited about dressing up, about watching horror movies and going to parties with their friends. She and Paige have done coordinating costumes every year since forever. But this year? Dani’s sitting at home, probably miserable by the sound of things, and Paige wants to help. To do anything to help.

She takes another drag, and thinks.

DANI LAYS on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the silence in the room pressing down on her. Halloween has always been her favorite day of the year, the one she looks forward to the most. But tonight, it feels hollow. She glances around her bedroom—dimly lit, the shadows from her string lights casting a soft glow on the walls. It’s quiet, too quiet, and that’s the problem. Her friends are all probably at a party somewhere, dressed up in ridiculous costumes, laughing, drinking, having the time of their lives.

But she isn’t there. Not with Beau and Serena and everyone else she was meant to go out with tonight.

And certainly not with Paige and Thaliah and Jalen, who she’s spent every Halloween with for years.

The thought stings like an open wound. Halloween’s always been something she and Paige share—whether it was sneaking candy at sleepovers when they were younger or staying up late to watch horror movies that terrified them both, or—more recently—attending the dumbest parties and getting shit-faced. But this year, Dani’s alone, cut off from everything and everyone that once made her feel like herself.

She lets out a long sigh, sitting up in bed. She decides to be masochistic, and pulls one of her old scrapbooks from her the drawer in her bedside table. This is so stupid, she thought, thumbing through the pages. She hasn’t added to it in months, not since before everything changed. Not since her dad sent her to that place. She flips through the pages, her eyes scanning the scrawled handwriting, the cut photos, the scattered tape, reliving bits and pieces of her old life—laughing with Thaliah, playing (and losing) basketball with Jalen, sneaking out with Paige, pretending nothing could ever come between them.

Before camp. Before everything got fucked up.

Her heart clenches as she turns to an old picture tucked between the pages. It’s the two of them—her and Paige. Taken last Halloween, in matching costumes they’d thrown together at the last minute. Dani smiles faintly at the memory, the way Paige had made her laugh so hard that night she thought she’d never catch her breath. It had been one of the best nights of her life, but now it feels like a lifetime ago, like it belongs to a different version of her—a version of Dani that no longer exists.

Dani’s throat tightens as the memories overwhelmed her. She drops the scrapbook on the bed and covers her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling. I still love her. The realization hits her like a ton of bricks, the words echoing in her mind over and over. She loves Paige. She always has. But it feels so impossible now, so wrong, so tainted. After everything that’s happened, after the months apart, after the cold distance between them, after everything that’s been cemented into Dani’s head, how can they ever get back to what they used to be?

Tears blur Dani’s vision as she buries her face in her hands, her body shaking with quiet sobs. She wants to be the girl she used to be—the carefree, happy, whole version of herself that hadn’t been shattered by her father’s cruelty, by the camp, by the guilt that now consumes her every waking thought. She wants to go back to the way things were before her mind became warped and twisted by everything she‘a been forced to believe.

But she can’t. She doesn’t know how.

She cries until her chest aches, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She feels like she’s drowning, and there’s no one there to pull her out of the deep end. She’s lost so much—her friends, her sense of self, her relationship with Paige. Who is she now? She doesn’t even know anymore.

Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell echoes through the empty house, pulling Dani out of her thoughts. She wipes at her tear-streaked face, frowning as she glances at the clock on her nightstand. It’s way too late for trick-or-treaters, and no one else os home. Her dad is out for the night, and the house has been dead quiet for hours.

Confused, Dani gets up from her bed, pulling on her hoodie as she makes her way downstairs. The doorbell rings again just as she reaches the bottom of the staircase, and she hesitates for a moment before opening the door.

The porch is empty.

Dani blinks, her heart racing as she stepped outside and glances around. There was no one in sight—just the dark, empty street in front of her house. She thinks maybe it’s just some stupid Halloween prank until she looks down. There’s a small basket sitting on the porch, filled with Twix and Sour Patch Kids and Snickers—all of her favorite candies. Her breath catches in her throat as she crouches down, her fingers trembling as she picks it up.

Sitting on top of the candy is a folded note.

Dani’s heart pounds in her chest as she opens the note, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting:

Dan,

Please know that if you ever need to talk to anyone, I am always here for you. I hope this basket makes your Halloween a little better.

P <3

Dani’s vision blurs with tears again, but this time, they aren’t necessarily tears of sadness. They’re something else—something warmer, softer. Paige left this for her. Paige went out of her way to make sure Dani wasn’t completely alone tonight.

She clutches the note to her chest, her heart aching in a way that feels both painful and comforting all at once. Paige has always been there for her, even now, even when everything is so broken, so different. Dani stands on the porch for a long moment, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she stares down at the basket.

She lets herself be a little optimistic. She thinks that maybe not everything is lost.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #uconn #wbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #wcbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #hopkins p fic #take me to church #wlw

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sammylkcho · 2 months ago

Note

Everybody stand back I got an idea !! X3

Reader was Sebastian’s spouse before urbanshade got their grubby hands on him but that’s short lived !! So after the whole 12 years down at blacksite without his spouse, they kinda show up as an expendable with a group down at his shop but there’s an angsty catch !! They don’t recognize him and he can’t exactly do much about it since there’s a group there watching >:3

you can add your own twist to this ofc, this is just an idea I had cooking in my head for the longest time! ^_^

Thanks for the request! I tried to include everything you asked for <3

Warnings/Notes: mild aggression, hints of an anxiety attack, mentions of violence, A LOT of text, not reviewed, again, my bad english i suck

divider by @/cafekitsune

You had followed the same routine every day, each day repeating itself without anything new or interesting. It wasn't that you were looking for something flashy, productive, or that made you jump with joy. You could barely muster the strength to get out of bed and force yourself to meet your basic needs to avoid ending up worse than you already were.

It’s not like you found yourself sick, nor were you actually ill; perhaps you were experiencing severe depression, but you couldn't be sure since you didn't want to deal with a psychologist. You felt that any words spoken to you would fall on deaf ears, just as you had done with acquaintances and family.

The events that had occurred twelve years ago still affected you harshly, each day feeling worse than the last. In the early days, you had vehemently denied believing that your husband had truly been taken away for a crime for which they wouldn't even allow you to see the evidence that claimed he was the one who had committed the offense.

That was until the day of the trial arrived, and the words that Sebastian Solace was to be sentenced to death in the electric chair hit you like a truck. The distance between you and Sebastian was considerable at that moment; he was being restrained and handcuffed, flanked by two police officers, while you stood beside the lawyer you could afford.

Sebastian's gaze showed no expression; his strands of hair concealed most of his face, and it seemed he only wanted to lower his eyes to avoid looking at you, as if he were ashamed and didn't deserve to meet your gaze. You didn't realize you were trembling until you were forced to leave the courtroom, each step weighing more heavily on you.

Two years after the death sentence was handed down for the person responsible for the deaths of nine individuals, he was declared innocent of the murders he had been cruelly accused of. This news left you with a worse feeling in your body and mind. You wanted to laugh and cry at the surreal nature of the situation, after your husband had been sentenced to death only for them to declare him innocent two years later. An innocent who had always been innocent.

From that day until today, you regretted not being able to do anything to prove that he was indeed innocent, that he didn't deserve that damnation. You even stopped talking to your family because they fully believed that he was a cold-blooded murderer. In contrast, the Solaces shared your belief in his innocence and allowed you to grieve alongside them, as you apologized through tears for not having been able to do anything, for not doing more than what was within your reach.

You didn't reach out to them again due to the immense guilt you felt inside; you wouldn’t allow yourself to be happy or to tell yourself that the situation was beyond your control and that you had done nothing. You felt more than useless; you even wished you had been the one in his situation instead of him.

But unfortunately, fate listened to you twelve years too late.

It had been just another ordinary day, this time finding yourself in the living room trying to focus on reading a book, until a group of soldiers broke down the door of your home and forcibly detained you. They held your arms behind your back while a portion of the group separated to search every corner of your house.

Apparently, you had murdered a group of five people along with four children, each around 7 to 8 years old, and they found their (unrecognizable) bodies in different trash bags. How did they conclude that you were the murderer? You didn't know, nor did you bother to remember why you were being accused among so many others.

The memory felt like something distant, as if it had happened a long time ago, even though it had only been about a week since you were arrested and taken to jail while they decided what to do with you.

And what a surprise, you received a death sentence in the same electric chair that had executed your husband.

Just a few days before you were unjustly executed, a company called "Urbanshade" offered you the choice to either die or work with them under a fair deal. You ended up choosing to go with them; you didn't know what had compelled you to join when simply breathing in your own home felt suffocating and made you want to die right there.

They told you that you would be searching for a crystal that the company needed, and if you managed to return with it, they would grant you freedom without charges and from the horrible act that you had not committed. You would also be going with a group of about five other prisoners who shared the same common goal: their freedom.

However, you weren't very excited. The company didn't expect any of them to return; they were expendable.

They instructed you to return with everything you could obtain from the place: USB drives, documents, small crystals containing DNA, and so on.

You let your group take charge of grabbing everything they could while you stayed behind them, but occasionally you tried to grab one or two things along the way.

"Hey," one of your group called your name, prompting you to turn your gaze toward the person and feel obligated to listen to what they had to say. "Do you mind holding onto these documents? I need to stash my flashlight over here since the battery is running low."

"I don't think I can; the pockets of this suit are too small, and-”

"How thoughtful of you, thanks!"

They abruptly left you holding the classified documents, leaving you confused for a couple of seconds.

You had no choice but to carry them until you reached door 54. Three people in the group were injured from opening the wrong doors and being attacked by the Good People, along with the AI turrets that never ceased to trick them with false doors or deploy their turrets.

Everyone was on high alert, with ears sharpened to remain attentive in case Pinkie was approaching or if a Pandemonium unexpectedly drew near.

When you arrived at door 54, a small "psst" made everyone stop, remaining still as statues to figure out where the sound was coming from.

"Over here!" said a voice that sounded human.

The small opening of a ventilation shaft on the left side against the wall appeared to have been "opened" from what seemed like a blow. This left everyone paralyzed, unsure whether to heed the voice or to carry on.

Your group decided to pretend they hadn't heard the voice and began searching for the access card around the area, leaving you standing at the door of the room in a very reflective state.

You felt like you had heard that voice before; it was familiar in some way. Even a thought crossed your mind that it was Sebastian's voice, but it couldn't be. He was dead. You had been focused on surviving in that damned place, and for a moment, you could stop thinking about him; a voice couldn't pull you back into that state of denial. He was dead; you had to accept it.

You shook your head from side to side to refocus on reality, noticing how your group was increasingly desperately searching for the access card. The room was small, and there were no more places to look for the access card for the next door. They had already used the code breachers they had left from previous rooms, so they couldn't keep moving forward.

"Where are you going? I don’t bite" the voice spoke again, with a sarcastic tone.

A chill ran down your spine when you heard it again, the same thoughts surfacing that the voice resembled his-identical, if you were honest. You didn't want to torture yourself this way anymore, but it seemed the universe didn't want to help you move on from the last twelve years.

You saw how your group seemed to come to an agreement to enter the ventilation shaft and see what life had in store for them. Whether this would put their lives in more danger than they already were or provide a small respite.

"Hey, c'mon. Whatever's in here can't be as dangerous as the things chasing us" a woman from your group said, one of the injured. She had a deep cut on part of her cheek from the Good People.

"I'm going."

That was all you said before being the last to crawl through the ventilation shaft, grateful it wasn't one of those long ones you sometimes had to traverse when a door was damaged.

"Welcome, welcome! Don't be afraid, I'm not gonna hurt you, despite what you have seen, heard, or been told. My name is Sebastian, your only friend. If I'm correct, your supervisors have told you to secure "loose assets"-documents, vials, whatever. However-" the same masculine voice from before spoke again when he noticed four of your group had already entered his small store.

He gave the same introduction as always, just like he did with every expendable who managed to reach his shop. The same routine, until halfway through his presentation, he noticed a fifth figure entering, and that's when he saw you.

It was you, his wife.

You looked just as beautiful as you had twelve years ago when he had been away from you. Although you were a mess in appearance: you had noticeable dark circles under your eyes, your hair hadn't been taken care of in who-knows-how-long, and you looked overly restless (though of course, one could argue it was due to a place like this where you had to stay alert to avoid dying). You weren't focused on reality; you hadn’t even noticed the enormous "creature" standing in front of you.

He had an overwhelming urge to cry, to rush toward you, regardless of whether the people in your group might get hurt more than they already were because of his sudden behavior. All he wanted was to be in your arms, to feel your fingers running through his hair while you kissed his entire face. He wanted to be in the presence he had longed for during the unbearable twelve years he had been tortured, battered, mistreated, and experimented on without any remorse.

He had seen death up close, had killed in cold blood, and had wanted to die more than once in those same facilities, wishing only to be in your arms while planning an escape with his brothers or when he played one of your favorite songs on his guitar after you had a rough day. You and his family had been the only ones who managed to keep him motivated to return.

And now you were there, unaware that he was right there with you, breathing the same air.

But he couldn’t break down in front of four expendables; he had to make a mental effort to continue as if he wasn’t literally standing in front of you. Even though it hurt his heart.

"As I was saying, if I can make it worth your while, I’m gonna ask you to cut a deal. You give me any research you might have on you, and I’ll give you some of these items I’ve scavenged. Here, you can just pick it off my tail. These would be far more useful to you compared to some ‘silly data,’ no? If you don’t ask questions, I won’t either. You get yours, and I get mine. And if you already have anything that might be running low on juice, you can buy batteries on the table next to me. Whenever you wanna get going, the keycard to the next zone is by the radio." He continued with his presentation, skipping a couple of things at the end, but not caring. After all, they would likely die (except for you).

And there you were, trying to focus on reality as the voice finished speaking. You kept your gaze on the ground, not wanting to see the figure standing in front of you and your companions, who already seemed “comfortable” with the voice’s owner.

You forced yourself to lift your head, and as soon as you did, you froze once again.

It was some sort of sea serpent with a tail fin at the end, its skin a light blue with various scales. What caught your attention the most were its hands, which had only four fingers and a third arm wrapped in bandages of reddish tones. As you raised your head more to look at its face, you noticed it had dark hair, two eyes that shone blue, and a third that stood out behind its wavy hair.

You found it hard to swallow when that same hair and eye color seemed so familiar, but you forced yourself to bury the thought once again. It had to be pure coincidence; yes, that was all. A humanoid creature that resembled your deceased husband and-

Wait, did it just say its name was Sebastian?

The place fell silent, and you found yourself immersed in your thoughts until you heard a small murmur from your companions, telling you they would wait for you in the next room until you decided to buy something.

Were you even going to buy anything?

Anyways.

You noticed how the figure of the humanoid creature was moving something with one of the fingers on its third arm, as if trying to ease the anxiety it carried. It reminded you of the same action Sebastian used to do when he was anxious about something in particular.

"Stop thinking about Sebastian. He’s dead." you forced yourself to think, biting your lower lip as if that would rid you of those annoying thoughts.

"Hey, looking for something specific? Unfortunately, your companions have nearly exhausted all the stock, but I can give you a discount on a couple of items" the creature spoke, focusing back on you.

You suddenly felt uneasy under its gaze, as if you were afraid it would do something with just the two of you alone in the room. Yet, on the other hand, a part of you felt comfortably at ease with it.

"Uh… I don’t think I can buy anything from you. I only have these documents, and, well… I think they could make better use of anything I could buy." you said, scratching the back of your neck in a futile attempt to shake off the sudden comfort and survival mode you were in; it was becoming too bothersome.

You noticed how the creature looked at you thoughtfully for a moment longer, its gaze sweeping from your feet to your head, as if to say it didn’t believe you at all.

"The name’s Sebastian, remember?" it reminded you of its name, sensing a hidden plea in its tone.

"… Yes, Sebastian." You repeated its name, finding it strange to utter the name of your deceased husband. It had been a long time since you said his name, and it felt good to say it; it brought you a kind of comfort for a few seconds.

You both gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, as if searching for something in the other's soul, trying to unearth pieces of something neither of you knew what it was but were seeking nonetheless.

The two souls that had longed for each other in a mutual way were now together, yet one remained unaware of the other's presence.

#pressure x reader #sebastian solace fanfic #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian x reader #pressure sebastian #sebastian solace x yn

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graceofagodswrath · 27 days ago

Text

Transformers x HASO Headcannons | Part 2

Back on my Transformers kick and it’s making me depressed about the realism behind humans being helpless and tiny. I also went over this in my first set of Transformers headcannons as a reply, so this is me expanding on a lot of those points.

My main focus is that if humans were the average size of other sentient beings in the Transformers universe, we would finally be taken a little bit seriously. Cue ridiculous research into humans' actual strengths.

Transformers are coming to understand our evolutionary path. Because we’re so small, it’s easily overlooked that humans are still predators. We hunt, we kill, and we’re violent. If we don’t have someone to hate as a unified group, we turn on ourselves.

But specifically, we’re pursuit predators. Our endurance and stamina is what makes us deadly. Our main hunting strategy back in the cave and hut days was literally to just walk after an animal for days on end until it either gave up or dropped dead from exhaustion. We can go miles without tiring (when trained properly).

As long as we have water, we can last a month without food. The longest someone ever fasted was for 382 days (look up Agnus Barbieri), and that was with the bare essentials of liquids and vitamins. No solid food.

And when we do have to find our own food, anything is game. We will find a way to eat it. Whether poisonous, venomous, tough-skinned, or just a lot of teeth, we will figure out a way to make it a meal. We have the advantage of being omnivores. In a game of survival, outside of predators, we’re top dogs.

While no natural armor sucks, our hairless selves are perfectly adapted to adapting to any environment. We are hella sensitive even to the slightest changes. We can smell weather changes based on moisture in the air, taste anomalies in our food, feel the slightest brush on something on our skin, etc. Our lack of armor allows for easy flexibility most species can only dream of, especially transformers. Getting into tight spots, getting out of tight spots, and moving hella fast is our bread and butter (when motivated lol).

One thing I really find interesting is our prey/predator instinct vs transformers.

Transformers did not evolve (as far as my knowledge goes) with natural predators. They have been through horrific times, from slavery under Quintessons to their own government, but the only really natural evolutionary advantage they have is their technological adaptability. Their ease of learning alien languages is an example. As well as their main transformation ability.

TF One really highlights this (small spoilers). Their planet is shown to be a constantly changing environment, from flat surfaces to rapidly changing cliff faces. Their ability to transform between a vehicle and bipedal form is imperative to quickly adapt to such a fast-paced and even deadly environment. The only predators I can account for are scraplets and spark eaters (there are probably more, but idk them). However, their reaction to this is to pull guns and freak out. They assume their technology and "superior" processes will solve all their problems.

But their cockiness in other environments shows how nonchalant they are about these interactions, and it backfires heavily. The only real threats they see are other transformers and larger sentient species. Plus diseases, but that’s a whole other thing.

Humans on the other hand have had to contend with thousands of predator species over our evolutionary path. It’s only in the last couple hundred years or so that we’ve truly eliminated most of these threats or domesticated them. And when I say eliminate, I mean either mass hunting or learning about said predators to easily deal with them and avoid dangerous situations. Our prey instinct gives us the alertness to deal with imminent threats easier than species that don’t have such a strong experience.

That leads to the big evolutionary advantage of humans - our brains. Even though we’re considered primitive by transformer standards, that’s transformer standards. A race that has existed for ten million years through technological immortality, is also their undoing. Because they have lived for so long, breaking free of long-held traditions is near impossible for their society, which is why their war took place. Without consistent generational death and birth, they are literally stuck in the past.

Humans don’t have that issue - we change with the times because of our short mortality. While not the main influence for the size of our brains, it’s a point I wanted to add to clarify why transformers may struggle to adapt to certain environments versus humans.

Through the consistent stresses we endure because of our vulnerability, we have to consistently think outside the box to survive. To stagnate is death, forward is all we can do. Our brains have developed in such a way that we can comprehend, understand, and innovate with ease. It’s our main calling card. Hell, when there’s no stress we just do that shit for fun (shrimp literally frying rice contraptions for example).

When you combine these talents and we know what the fuck we’re doing, we’re pretty much unstoppable. As long as we’re on an even playing field. Via size. Because let’s be honest, that’s the only reason humans are looked down upon (other than being organic, but if anyone has any other ideas, let em flow).

A personal fav of mine is the idea that if we were the same size as the average transformer, we’d be cryptid level creepy. The way we move, behave, even the way we smile would be unnerving, no matter how similar we look. If anything, the similarities between the average cybertronian and human would probably freak transformers out, seeing their own features reflected in an organic. Noses, eyes, teeth, especially toes.

My personal headcannon is that Transformers would think toes are so weird. Like, what’s the point of having so many extra digits? Cue our climbing abilities and balancing in weird places. Or just closing a drawer or door with a foot. Grabbing something with the dogs. Pull a chimpanzee and let the weird looks fly.

Better yet, our pain tolerance. Sure, we’re squishy and get hurt easily thanks to the lack of armor and exposed skin. But that just builds pain tolerance. We tolerate getting picked up and thrown around by these giant asses so much because it’s what we’re already used to. We teach our children coordination, balance, their physical limits, and so much more through rough play. Its how we learn to become this versatile.

Roughhousing, doing dangerous shit just for fun, our vulnerability makes us used to the pain. It becomes easy to ignore and work through. This leads to the crazy shit about getting stabbed or shot and just walking it off. Imagine a transformer losing their shit over their human getting shot and the humans just like, “damn, feels like when I burnt my hand on the stove” or some shit. Unfazed.

And ANOTHER thing. Our instincts play a big role. That feeling you get when being watched? Or uncanny valley? I have a huge headcannon that humans would not be fooled by holomatter avatars. It would just hit us immediately. Transformers have no instinct to breathe. They probably don’t think about blinking. Their movement would probably be stiff and awkward, used to navigating spaces with more stationary bulk. Sure, they could probably program their avatars to do it, but I get a feeling that you would… get a feeling.

Plus their clothes choices make no sense half of the time (I’m looking at Rodimus, wtf was that getup in swerves arc in MTMTE?? Only Nautica and Swerve looked normal, plus Megatron - without his shoulder-padded trenchcoat).

This was a 2am rant, so if it’s unclear, I apologize. And if anyone wants to clarify or make corrections, please do! Again, I am not up to date on all comics or lore, so I’m probably missing a lot of shit. This is based on my personal feelings, knowledge, and observations.

#humans are space orcs #humans are crazy #humans are space australians #humans are weird #transformers headcannon #maccadam #tf one #tf one spoilers #tf mtmte #tf prime #rodimus #megatron #nautica #swerve

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withleeknow · 11 months ago

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magnolia.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, kinda fluffy, kinda angsty idek, hurt/comfort; unedited and self-indulgent as hell !! word count: 0.4k listen to 🎧: hold my girl - george ezra

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

sometimes, it's crazy just how in tune minho is with you, how he can sense that something's wrong before you even have to say it.

he knows all of your signs - smiles that don't quite reach your eyes; soft, barely audible sighs instead of frustrated ones like when you're angry; talking about insignificant things throughout dinner with a distinct lack of energy just for the sake of holding a conversation and not letting your home fall into a state of depressing silence. an overall aloofness that can't simply be blamed on exhaustion.

when you're upset, you shut down.

minho doesn't need you to justify your defense mechanism, doesn't try to coax you out of your shell because he's the same way. when something is eating away at him, he detaches himself from the world too.

in those instances, the last thing he wants is for someone else to offer unhelpful advice when no one but him knows what's going through his mind.

there are some things that you just have to process on your own, some motions you have go through by yourself.

minho can only be by your side while you deal with your inner turmoil. hold your hand and give you a shoulder to lean on, whatever you need until you're ready to come back to him again.

that's what he does this time too. he doesn't ask you any questions; he just puts on the kettle and lights your favorite vanilla and magnolia scented candle. makes you a steaming mug of tea and peels some oranges, arranging the slices neatly on a plate afterward. then he sits on the couch next to you, a random movie playing on the tv that no one's really watching.

at some point, you move closer to tuck yourself under his arm. minho instantly pulls you to rest against his body, a hand on your shoulder giving you comforting squeezes over your sweatshirt.

just the two of you, the willingness to be there for the other especially when it's hard, and the occasional meows reverberating from somewhere nearby.

when he thinks you might've fallen asleep just like that, you start sniffling. the ache that minho feels in his chest is almost immediate.

even then, all he says is, "i'm here."

you meekly nod in acknowledgment as you continue to cry, painful sobs making you fist the material of his shirt in your hands.

he knows that you'll talk when you want to, when you're ready. he gets that in this moment, you just don't have the capacity to articulate your thoughts and explain your feelings in a way that other people could understand.

so he simply presses a kiss to your forehead and hugs you a little closer. he sits with you until it passes. he loves you enough to wait for you, to hold you through all of the lowest lows.

"i'm here. i love you. i'm right here."

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz1skz @jazziwritesthings (italicized = can't tag)

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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azrielbrainrot · 5 months ago

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 8

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: You struggle to come to terms with your supposed death, everything you've had and everything you've lost, all the blood that stains your hands, a mating bond, and most importantly, finding your place in the world after all of it.

Warnings: Feelings of depression, suicide ideation, a hint of social anxiety and agoraphobia, awful self image, all around angst sorry, some depictions of violence

Word Count: 6860

Notes: I actually got a little too lost in my head writing this chapter but it ended up being somewhat cathartic writing my feelings through someone else's. It ended up taking me longer than expected to finish this part though, I'm sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy!

Part 7

You can feel him sitting by your door. Even if the deafening mating bond weren't screaming in elation at his proximity, the enhanced senses you've exhausted yourself training for in that Gods forsaken guild would have let you know. You don't deserve any of it. Not his worry, not his loyalty or his love, certainly not the bond. Maybe you had, a long time ago, but that female was ripped away from you, from him.

The shadowsinger probably paints a tragic picture. Sitting on the cold floor, back against the closed, heavy door, hunched over his own body, powerful wings laying by his sides, waiting for a selfish mate who will not open the door no matter how much he pleads or how long he waits, who can barely bring herself to get out of bed, let alone face the male whose life she brought nothing but ruin and heartache.

Ever since Rhys tore down the walls keeping your memories away, there has been a war raging inside you, one in which there will be no victors. It has been eating you away from the inside. You feel like two people have lived in this body before, led completely different lives, and have now abandoned it for you to deal with the scraps and somehow put the pieces back together.

It's almost impossible to keep up with the passing of time as you are. Weeks, maybe even months could have passed since that day. There was a sense of relief when the walls first came crumbling down, even happiness when you saw Azriel and recognized him as the male you loved beyond words, but everything else rushed into your mind the next moment and rendered you speechless.

One moment you had been sitting in Azriel's lap, and in the next the breath was knocked out of your lungs, and a deep ache spread over your body. It felt like your entire being was on fire and drowning at the same time as you saw numerous people die at your hands. It felt foreign, you felt foreign. You started clawing at your own skin, trying to get that hateful person out, ripping your flesh apart desperately. You don't remember what happened next, though you vaguely recall Azriel's anguished screams. Rhys had probably come and rendered you unconscious, effectively calming you down and giving you what must have been the last peaceful night of sleep since then.

You don't know who you are anymore. You can't be sure if you ever did. All those years ago, when you married Azriel, you thought you knew exactly who you were, what your values and aspirations were, how you'd spend your life. You had plans and dreams. It all feels like one giant, heartbreakingly realistic fantasy now, like that life in itself was an idealistic dream.

Looking back now, you know you had simply been sheltered. You had led a privileged life, protected by your parents when they were alive and then by Azriel. Because the person you so easily became when Norris took you had to be living under your skin all along, waiting for an opportunity to show her claws. Someone can't do even half of the things you've done if they had been truly good to begin with. Norris had simply coaxed this hateful, bloodthirsty monster out of you.

Perhaps you should have thanked him before you killed him, if it weren't for him you would have kept living that lie until your last breath. You would have tried tampering it down until you couldn't anymore, until that vile thing ripped open your skin, escaped its bounds and destroyed everything in its path. Would you have hurt Azriel if you had stayed? Killed his entire family in cold blood? The family who took you in like you were one of their own, who were there for you to show you love and happiness when you thought you had lost everything with your parents' deaths.

And what now? Which one were you now, if any at all? You know you're far from the starry eyed female who walked these halls a century ago, arm looped into her loving husband's, who was ready to face any challenge that was put in front of her so long as he stayed by her side. Who dreamt of buying a house and decorating it to both of their tastes, who planned a life by his side down to the last detail. In sickness and in health, in life and in death. What a joke.

The fearless killer was a stranger to you as well. She'd committed atrocities with this body, soaked your hands in blood, but she at least had a purpose, even if she hadn't been the one to find it for herself. The guild trained her, made her strong, and gave her missions. Her life had some sort of meaning, one even she wasn't proud of, no matter how many times she forced herself to emulate her handler, swallow down the guilt that threatened to eat her whole, but a meaning nonetheless. When she eventually snapped she would become one of the few who had been stupid enough to try and escape the guild, maybe even try to paint her blade with Norris' blood. That alone would have meant something, if only a whispered rumor across the guild's low ranks in between missions.

All you were now was a ghost. Slowly fading into the wallpaper, sinking into the bed. Spending your days staring into space, consumed by your own betraying thoughts, suffering through your nights as nightmares reigned free inside your brain. The worst part is they weren't simply nightmares. They were memories, your memories. You had lived through every single haunting image being shown to you. The blood coating your body, covering you in a sickenly metallic smell, had been spilled by your masterful blade, and you had walked away from every single one of those lifeless bodies, leaving them behind without a care as you searched for your handler once more, giving him news of yet another successful mission and awaiting a new one, a new life for you to take.

A sudden knock on the door brings you back to the present, somewhat. Your head turning to face the door, the first movement in a while judging by the ache that follows it. The knock had been soft, careful not to startle you - he's always so careful with you, even after everything, - but in the deafening silence of the room, it still echoed, making your headache worse.

Azriel calls your name, the way the syllables escape his lips sending a shiver down your spine. Even in this state the bond finds a way to make itself known, reminding you of the connection between the two of you, as if you could ever forget.

“I know you can hear me,” he murmurs. You can hear how defeated he is, how sad you've made him once again. It's all your fault, it's always your fault. “Like I told you yesterday, I'm here for you. I will help you through anything as long as you let me, as long as you want me by your side.”

He pauses for a moment, in case you'll give him a response for once. You envy his hope. If you had the courage to hope for even a second maybe you would have called out his name and invited him in, let him hold you in his warm embrace, and make it better, but hope had died along with you and you didn't know how to get it back, didn't know if you wanted to.

A pained sigh escapes him, resigning himself, for the night at least. “I'll come back tomorrow, and every day after that. I promise I will be here when you need me.” You hear him swallow, can feel him trying to steady his voice and keep strong for you in a time when you can't find any strength in yourself. “I love you, more than anything.”

His soft steps retreat, slowly dragging his body away from your door so he can go into his own room and lay in his own empty bed, far away from the wife who he thought he had just gotten back after a century but can't bring herself to even look at him.

The bond screams in your chest, a piercing sound that could make your ears bleed at its intensity. A tear escapes your unblinking eye, running down your skin until it loses its path as it reaches your ear, ultimately falling into the mattress. And still you don't move.

You study the lifeless body in front of you, inspecting the female's beautiful kohl lined brown eyes as they stare right at you unblinking. Listening for the sound of her breath or heartbeat, a sound you know will not come, never again. She had on an elegant silk dress, it was once a shade of green, now tainted with red. She was probably going to meet someone - her friends or her lover, maybe her family. Whoever it was wouldn't see her again, would only be left with bittersweet memories.

Reaching over her, you pull the blade still stuck in her chest out in one smooth, heartless movement. As you go to clean the blood off so you can put it away and escape, you take note of the knife in your hand, frowning down at it as you study the hilt, too intricate to belong to your standard knives. There was even a blue gem encrusted on it, you had never seen let alone owned anything like this.

Looking up, you find strangely familiar hazel eyes staring at you, unblinking as that female's had been. Your eyes travel to the knife in your hand once again as your brain races to keep up with the situation. It's coated in blood, you hadn't wiped it yet, so were your hands, there was so much blood. Your breath catches in your throat when you find a wedding ring around your finger, the blue gem shining under the moonlight.

The knife falls from your hands. Tears cloud your vision, a broken sob escaping you. Azriel. The corpse in front of you belonged to Azriel. You killed him. You killed your husband, your mate. It was all your fault.

You open your eyes with a gasping breath as if you'd been stuck under water. The image of your dead mate refusing to leave your mind as tears keep running down your cheeks, chest rising and falling as if you'd been physically running from this nightmare. It takes you quite a while to fully come to and realize where you were - sitting up in your bed, and not in an empty alley with a dead body at your feet.

It takes you even longer to notice you were not alone anymore. Wide eyes find teary, hazel ones searching your face frantically. As soon as you see him, it becomes impossible to ignore the way his rough hands hold you up, the soothing words he whispers even when he himself looks terrified

Unlike in that awful nightmare, Azriel stood before you breathing. He was blinking, and his heart was beating. Azriel was alive. He was right in front of you and he was alive. You hadn't killed him. The realization finally allows you to catch your breath, the weight at the base of your skull subsiding as you repeat the words over and over in your mind, counting the beats of his heart as you did.

The relief was short-lived though. The reminder that you had stabbed him in real life not so differently from how it happened in your dream making you reel back, back crashing into the headboard hard enough that it almost knocked the wind out of you, his hands dropping from their comforting grip on your head, the heartbroken expression on his face intensifying.

You're both frozen like that for a few seconds, your wide eyes watching his every movement as he stood kneeling down in front of you, hands stuck in the same place like you hadn't moved from under them. Even in the midst of all the chaos taking your mind hostage, you noticed the fear in his eyes. Was he afraid of you? He should be. Though you're not so sure that was the case since he tried reaching for you again as soon as he was pulled out of his stupor.

It makes you recoil even further into the headboard, a sob escaping you, recalling the image of his lifeless body playing in your dream and the way his blood stained your skin in the townhouse only a few weeks ago.

Tears flow down your cheeks with a new vigor when he calls out your name, an heartbreaking sound. You remember how much you loved to hear him whisper your name in that low, sweet timbre of his. It makes your chest tighten uncomfortably, until you can barely breathe now.

“Please leave,” you manage to push out.

“Wait.”

“You can't be here.”

Wrapping your arms around your legs, you hope he listens. You can't hurt him anymore than you already have, couldn't bear to live with yourself if you did, and for that you need him to go, need him to be out of your tainting reach.

“Please, my love. Let me take care of you,” he begs, his own tears escaping freely now.

My love. The way he says it so carefully, so sure of himself makes you sob harder. You don't deserve his love, his attention or care, you never did. And he doesn't deserve any of this pain, so you need him to go, you have to push him away.

“I can't…” Why are the words so hard to say? Why can't you just tell him to go and never come back? “Please,” you manage through a sob, an ugly sound in the back of your throat, hiding your face in your knees.

Azriel closes his eyes, salty tears running down his heartbroken face. He tightens his grip on the sheets for a moment, hard enough that his knuckles turn white. Telling himself to stay, or maybe forcing himself to accept your dismissal.

“I'll go,” he whispers out after a while, opening his eyes at last, defeated, “but if you need me just call out and I'll be back in a heartbeat, alright?”

You don't answer him, your entire concentration going into keeping your eyes off him. Trying desperately to push not only the haunting nightmare down, but also the mating bond, who demanded you seek comfort from your mate while you were trying so hard to push him away.

He gets up slowly, dragging his feet as he walks to the door, looking back at you multiple times as if he can't bear to leave you alone like this, as if begging you to call him back, but you've made your decision and you won't call out to him no matter how desperate you are.

“I was thinking it would be a good idea to bring you up to Rhys' cabin for a few days. You can stay in your room or go outside on your own, and I promise you won't even have to see me if you don't want to,” Azriel explains tentatively through the closed door. “It wouldn't be much different from being here except you could take in the fresh air of the mountain. You always used to love it up there, said it helped you think more clearly.”

This conversation hadn't come out of nowhere and it certainly wasn't entirely about a simple change of scenery - though you wouldn't be surprised if it doubled as a way of trying to get out of this room if nothing else. They were unsure about keeping you in this house, in Velaris even. You overheard part of their discussion on the subject, the tricks you've learned at the guild proving themselves useful at least as you approached the room without them noticing.

You had been curious when you felt most of the inner circle's presence in the house. For a moment, you had even panicked, thinking they would try to talk to you, maybe a form of intervention, but when it was clear they would all keep their distance, you couldn't stop yourself from eavesdropping on their conversation. You had already known it would be about you, or maybe the guild, for them to gather up in the House of Wind.

Given your current apathy and insistence on distancing yourself from everyone, they were worried about keeping you so high up in the mountain. No one had actually said the words, but the implication was clear, - if you so wished, all you had to do was open the window and let yourself fall through the wind, finding your sweet release as you crashed into the ground. And, even with some of their vehement denials, it was painfully obvious that they were all scared of it becoming a reality.

They had moved onto the topic of moving you off Velaris as well, almost at Azriel's insistence. They thought the city could be too suffocating for you since you seemed to want to be alone with your thoughts. And so the idea of moving you to the cabin for a while came up at Feyre's suggestion. You zoned out when they started trying to decide on the best way to bring it up to you, knowing you would refuse the offer no matter how it was brought up. The thought of making the trip there was exhausting on its own.

Azriel's shadows had definitely noticed you spying on the inner circle. You saw them swirling by your hiding spot in the hallway multiple times, lingering for a moment before moving closer to the door. You can't be sure if they had not alerted their singer out of their own volition, or if he had chosen to let you hear the conversation.

You knew he would be more than happy for you to step into the office and speak for yourself, but you barely had to give it any thought to decide against it. You didn't see the point in it. They were right about your lack of will to be alive. You genuinely couldn't bring yourself to care if you were in this house or the next, in Velaris or on the other side of the world, if they were the ones to decide it or not so long as they left you alone.

Truthfully, you didn't quite see the point in living either, and at the same time killing yourself felt like too much of a hassle. Not to mention that Azriel wouldn't survive your death this time, and hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do. Just the thought sent the bond into disarray, a weight growing in your chest and taking your breath away.

You hadn't spoken more than a few sentences to Azriel in all the weeks you've been here so you obviously haven't told him about the bond. The downside of that is that you don't know if he's felt it himself either. He has been devoted to you to say the least, but he always had, even before you died. Azriel always treated you like you were his entire world.

As if processing all your memories wasn't enough, the bond had somehow made things even more complicated. Every happy memory of the two of you together sent the bond almost vibrating with joy, pushing you to go and see him when all you wanted to do was disappear in this room. It makes you feel like you're not fully in charge of your body, just as it felt like watching back your memories at the guild.

“What do you think?”

His voice brings you back to the present once more. Your eyes finding the closed door, imagining him leaning against it on the other side, forehead leaning against the dark, carved wood, praying for an answer he knows won't come.

You consider saying something, to at least let him know you wanted to stay here just as you were, but your body wasn't agreeing with you, refusing to move or form out the words even if you were asking it to. You knew it would be better to refuse his offer, not only because you knew he wouldn't force you to leave if you told him you didn't want to, but also because hearing you speak after so long could lessen their worries, his worries. Still, you couldn't force yourself to even move your mouth.

Azriel lets out a sigh, that heartbreakingly defeated sound you've grown so used to, taking your silence as an answer. You hear him swallow, pushing back the tears and the heaviness you could almost feel in your own heart.

“It's alright,” he breathes out, “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Alright. You were starting to grow a distaste for the word. How could it be alright when you've done nothing but hurt him? You disappeared on him for decades on decades, making him think you were dead while you were off killing people for money. Only to come back and try to steal from Rhys, stab him and then ignore him after they helped you recover your memories. He has been sitting at your doorstep multiple hours a day for weeks without getting as much as an answer. How is any of this alright?

You wish he would just forget about you. Maybe then you wouldn't feel so guilty for all you've done.

If it weren't for the magic pumping through this house your bath would have been freezing cold by now. The perfectly warm, lavender scented water the House provided almost pissed you off, and so did the oils and balms it presented you, urging you to take care of yourself when it was the last thing on your mind.

You've spent hours in the ostentatious tub, scrubbing your skin raw. Desperately trying to get rid of the disgust you felt every time you looked down at your own hands, always finding them covered in blood no matter how many times you washed them. Some things can't be washed out with anything, and you can't undo the things you've done.

After wishing to recover your memories so fiercely, you can't believe you find yourself wishing you could forget everything all over again, the happy and awful ones alike. Every time you remember your short marriage with Azriel, you end up reminding yourself of all the things you've done, of how much you didn't deserve even a second of the happiness he brought you during those years.

You remember when Azriel confided in you about the guilt he felt for the things he's done. You'd always soothe him as best as you could, thinking you could understand how he feels, telling him you'd always love him no matter what. It makes you cringe just to think how naive you were.

Everything Azriel had done had been by the High Lord's orders - unfortunately including Rhysand's father - but, whether it was the best solution or not, it was all for the good of the Night Court and its people. And even then you couldn't have imagined what that burden felt like on his back. You had fought before, helped them keep the court safe, but had hardly ever killed anyone, only getting that far when it was strictly necessary.

Now you had lost count of how many people's lives had ended by your hand, or you wish you had at least. Your nightmares insist on showing you every single person, one after the other playing incessantly in your mind. Now you know what it felt like to be on the other end of the conversation.

Letting out a sigh, you submerge yourself underwater, hoping to drown out your thoughts for even a moment. You almost felt bored today, which shouldn't come as a surprise since you've done virtually nothing in weeks, but given your current disposition it certainly was something new. It almost makes you wish you had accepted Azriel's offer of taking you up to Rhys' cabin though you still weren't sure you could make the trip there. The only way to leave this house was by having someone fly you down, which is probably why they keep you here in the first place.

It could be completely unrelated to your mood, but Azriel hadn't come by today. He warned you there was something important he needed to do when he left the night before. He rarely leaves your side these days, always sitting by your door or in the room next to yours, keeping his promise of being a simple shout away, so you know it had to be about the guild or the general safety of Velaris for Rhys to actually manage to convince him to stay longer than a few hours away from you.

Curiosity got the best of you, asking the question out loud while he was informing you through the door before you could stop yourself. He didn't answer right away, probably too surprised at hearing your voice after weeks of silence, so you didn't even realize you had asked it out loud at first.

When the shock wore off, he told you there were some suspicious movements close to the Hewn City, the smile noticeable in his voice despite the safety threat he was describing. Routine checks like these never took him too long, and with the added situation you were in, he would likely be back by the early hours of the morning.

You couldn't call them conversations at all, but hearing Azriel talk to you, sometimes to tell you about his day, telling you old stories or even new ones, the important moments you've missed in recent years, helped you not feel so empty somehow. As much as you were desperately trying to distance yourself and lay forgotten alone in this room, the fact that he wouldn't allow you to do it brought you a sense of relief.

These feelings were too confusing, wanting complete opposite things like this. You needed to be alone, were always just shy of a panic attack when you so much as caught a glimpse of anyone or heard their voice, but it was starting to feel like you still wanted them to reach out a hand dispute it all.

Your lungs start to burn after being left with no air for so long. You consider just letting it run out, put yourself out of this misery, but your hands reach for the sides of the tub, pulling yourself out of the water, air filling your lungs once again, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Even this you couldn't do right.

Getting out of the tub and cleaning yourself off with a fluffy towel, you move to walk out into the bedroom, but hesitate for a moment, glancing at the calming oils the house left you on top of the counter. You've scrubbed at your skin so much it's irritated and slightly itchy, the oil could help soothe it so you didn't end up scratching at yourself all night.

One of the oils smelled like lavender too, so maybe with a little luck and nothing else disturbing you, it would help you relax enough for you to get at least a few hours of sleep without any unwanted nightmares waking you up right away. You felt exhausted down to the bone, and wanted nothing more than a little dreamless peace, so you picked up the oil for once.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, you search through the closet, finding it full of your old things. There was more than what Azriel had shown you before, when you still couldn't recognize any of them, a lot more in fact, it looked like he hardly got rid of anything. There were also things the rest of your friends must have saved from that time.

You hadn't stopped to think about what happened to everything you owned when you died, too consumed with every other thought. It seems everyone ended up keeping a piece of you for themselves, Azriel keeping as much as he could, desperately so.

Rummaging through the boxes, you pick up a necklace Cassian had bought for you as a Solstice present. It was simple in nature, but the blue stone hanging from it was absolutely gorgeous. He had been very proud of this find, and later that night Azriel had told you all about how he had begged Mor to help him get something special for you, since he wasn't too good at buying gifts for people but wanted your first Solstice with Azriel to go without a single misstep.

The necklace holds a nostalgic weight as you put it around your neck, letting it sit as you look through the rest of your things. There was a lot more jewelry in these boxes since you always had a love for shiny things, and Rhysand didn't have any sort of restraint when it came to his money. Once he had bought you an entire collection of gold, sapphire encrusted jewelry for Solstice, one that would have embarrassed you had you not given him an extremely rare cologne that same night. You even had to employ the help of Azriel's shadows to find it. Finding gifts for the High Lord was always an adventure.

Picking up one of the many decorated daggers the inner circle, including your mate, had gifted you over the years, you find it's the first dagger Amren gave you. It hadn't been a solstice or birthday gift, she had simply decided you needed it after an attack. You had more than enough daggers, even more if you went through Azriel's collection, but her giving it to you was a sign that she cared, in her own way. You had almost started crying in Azriel's arms when you realized the ancient, terrifying creature cared about you later that night.

Most of your expensive clothes seemed to be hanging in this closet as well, and almost all had either been gifted by Mor or you had bought them when you were shopping together. You wonder for a second if any of the old stores you used to visit were still open. You're also not entirely sure if you'd like any of the things you used to, dressing in color felt foreign to you now.

Even from your position on the ground, you knew the carefully wrapped dress hanging in the closet had to be your wedding dress, the thought making your mouth go dry. You thumb at your ring finger unconsciously, finding it empty. You had lost your wedding ring, Azriel couldn't have kept it since you had it on when you died. You find yourself wishing you still had it, as undeserving as you were of something so special.

Memories of the ceremony rush into your head, bringing tears to your eyes, it truly had been the happiest day of your life. You wonder if you would have still married him if you had known what was to come. Selfishly, you think you would.

You have to tear your eyes away from the garment, making your way through the boxes sitting at the bottom of the dresser once more to distract yourself. There were so many random things in here, even bookmarks and cookie cutters. He truly has kept anything that reminded him of you.

In the middle of it is sitting a dandelion preserved in resin. Azriel had given it to you when you told him you missed looking at the fields full of them as you sat under the trees when you were a child, finding the most comfortable looking one to take a nap. You used to keep it by your bedside, and looking over to the empty nightstand you think you might start doing it again.

At the bottom of the box were a few letters, a copy of your contract with Rhysand, letters your parents had written, and a few you wrote for Azriel. There was one in particular that came to mind. You search for it, knowing the inscription and date written on the envelope by heart. When you find it among the others, you open it slowly, hands shaking as you do.

You had written this letter for Azriel after he proposed to you, leaving it on his pillow for him to find one night. It had always been easier for you to write your feelings rather than saying them out loud, and so you had decided to do just that, pouring your heart out into the pages.

Reading through it brought tears to your eyes, sobbing silently at her precious feelings. No matter how naive or innocent she was, one thing you can't deny was that her love for Azriel was always real, your love for Azriel. You find yourself agreeing with every word you had written all those years ago, even when you felt unworthy of it. You still loved him as much as you did before, there's no point in denying that.

You don't know how many times you read the letter or for how long you sit on that floor, holding onto the dandelion Azriel immortalized for you, crying at everything you've lost, and everything you still have.

When Azriel comes by that night you find yourself opening the door, only wide enough for you to be able to reach your hand out, but it sets his heart beating dangerously fast nonetheless, the rush of happiness traveling through the bond somehow. You hand him the letter silently, and almost thank the gods when he carefully accepts it without touching you, without question, before closing the door back up.

You've never been good at explaining your feelings, much less when your head is as messy as it is now, but you hope he understands what you want to say with this gesture, you want him to know you still love him, that you always will. Judging by the way he starts audibly crying, much like you had been hours prior, you think he does, and, for the first time in weeks, those sounded like happy tears.

It's hard to say where the sudden courage came from, but your body moves before you have the chance to ignore it or talk yourself out of it. Getting out of bed and almost throwing yourself into the bath, letting the scented wash take away all the lingering cold sweats left behind by yet another nightmare.

Drying yourself off, and throwing on one of the dresses Mor had left for you quickly. She truly knew you well, even this warped version of you. The black dress was simple enough, although somehow too intricate for the dinner you were about to interrupt at the time, but it was beautiful.

She had come by your room not long ago, calling out your name softly, but unfortunately still scaring you in the process, unused to company as you were. The obvious panic shown by your heartbeat made her pause for a moment but it didn't completely deter her as she left a bag full of new clothes at your door, lingering only long enough to write out a note explaining she wanted you to have some updated clothes before going on her way, understanding you didn't wish to see or talk to anyone while holding out hope that you would one day.

You had waited for her to leave the house entirely before opening the door hesitatingly, and picking up the bag quickly, reading the note as well back in the comfort of your room. The kiss she left on the note, marked by her red lipstick, was so much like Mor that it made you cry.

That was the last time you had opened this door, and as your hand finds the doorknob you hesitate, heart beating so loud you think it might jump out of your chest. It takes you entirely too long to go through with it, but a loud, boisterous laugh coming from downstairs allows some of your courage to return.

Descending the stairs slowly, step by step, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, simultaneously trying to not make any noise and telling yourself you could do this. When you get closer to the dining room, close enough that you could hear them talking and find Azriel's shadows lazing around along the walls, you hesitate once more.

They sounded happy and you would only ruin the mood with your presence. Those thoughts quickly consume you, and almost make you turn around, but as one of his shadows suddenly passes you, sliding into the room to warn Azriel of your arrival, you round the corner and take the last few steps, walking into the room and facing the other three residents of this house.

Cassian stands up immediately at your presence, your name leaving his lips in surprise as he studies you with wide eyes. His familiar lack of subtlety almost brings a smile to your lips. You think it did at first, only to raise your hand and find your mouth set in the same line it had been stuck in for weeks, the muscles still unused, but you still stayed.

They were all frozen in place, as if scared that if they made any sudden movement it would send you back running to your room, and, truthfully, it probably would. Everyone's eyes are now on you, every single one of your instincts is telling you to turn back around, and you're still here. Maybe you can actually do this.

“I…” Your voice falters, you couldn't be sure when it was the last time you had used it. “I thought I could join you for dinner today.”

No one answers right away, still watching you as if they couldn't believe you were really standing there. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, closing your hands into fists, hard enough that your nails bite into the palms of your hands, the pain keeping you present in the moment. You wanted to approach the table, but felt entirely too exposed.

Nesta is the first to break out of the spell, grabbing onto Cassian's arm and pulling him back down into his chair, making you let out a sigh of relief. As soon as his butt finds the chair, Azriel also shakes himself out of his surprise, a blinding smile trying to fight its way into his lips while he attempts to act normally. His shadows all disperse to different corners of the room as he lets out a breath, one that seems to come from deep within him.

“Of course you can,” he answers at last. He comes up to your room and talks to you every day, but hearing it unmuffled by the door, his eyes locked on yours, makes goosebumps appear in your arms. It also sends you walking to the table, choosing the seat at the top instead of the empty one next to Azriel. One step at a time.

A bowl of soup appears in front of you as soon as you sit down. The worst part was over, you reminded yourself. Now you just have to sit and eat, let them get lost in their conversations and just push through. It takes them a moment to understand your feelings, but once again Nesta seems to read you like an open book, starting their conversation back up and forcing them to follow.

You hadn't eaten all day if you remembered correctly, but your appetite was the last thing on your mind, having to almost force yourself to finish the soup, as was the usual these days. It was also hard to keep track of their conversation as you kept repeating encouraging words in your head and ordered your limbs to keep moving, entirely too aware of your every movement.

They tried to be subtle, but every once in a while you could also feel their side glances at you. You never met their eyes though, staring into your soup as if it was the most interesting thing you've ever seen in your life.

Azriel's shadows seemed to be your biggest supporters, lazing around under your feet as if reminding you that you weren't alone. They were easier to deal with that Azriel himself for now, but as an extension of him, it felt like having him close.

You hardly say another word during the whole ordeal, the air so awkward it almost made you want run away multiple times, but you stay until you finish your food, and when you go back to your room, excusing yourself quickly, you're incredibly proud of yourself. Azriel tells you as much when he visits one last time before sleep as well, a warmth spreading in your chest at the words. Maybe all wasn't completely lost yet.

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