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wqnwoos · 3 days ago

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⇢ pairing. chwe vernon x reader ⇢ summary. vernon loves music, and you love vernon. ⇢ genre. fluff, bffs2lovers, college!au ⇢ word count. approx. 2k ⇢ author’s note! happy (early) valentine’s day! i unfortunately wrote this last week which means it came so close to deletion at least 10 times, and so im posting it now to prevent that. thank you to alta @haologram for helping me brainstorm the playlist, i truly believe u are a gift to this world.

playlist. love language, kehlani / jasmine, dpr live / want u around, omar apollo & ruel / like i want you, giveon / thinkin bout you, frank ocean / best part, daniel caesar & h.e.r.

It’s closing in on two in the morning when you finally leave the library. Your phone’s been on do not disturb since you got there at seven, which feels like forever ago — as you exit, casting a sympathetic glance at the remaining two students still glued to their textbooks, you scroll quickly through your notifications. Two emails, a follow request, and a passive-aggressive threat from Duolingo.

You pull your coat tighter around you as you finally emerge through the last set of double doors — it’s freezing, and you’re just about to stow your hands deep into your pockets when your phone buzzes.

[2:03am] vernon 👽🖤 yo [2:03am] vernon 👽🖤 ur prob asleep but i made u smth [2:04am] vernon 👽🖤 https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4grGIbqG5VSvNpDLuwdG7X

Instinctively, you smile. You and Vernon have a bunch of playlists. A collaborative one, for when you’re together, driving or hanging out or whatever. Then he has one for you with all the songs he thinks you’ll like, and then you have one for him for the same reason.

[2:05am] you another one? [2:06am] vernon 👽🖤 yooo why are u still up dude [2:06am] you hypocrite 🫵 [2:06am] you but i’m walking home from the library rn

vernon 👽🖤 is calling . . .

“Dude,” he says, by way of greeting, and he doesn’t sound impressed.

“Dude,” you mimic exactly, biting back a smile at the sound of his voice.

“It’s two in the morning,” he sighs, and you can hear sheets rustling in the background. “Why are you walking home alone?”

“It’s not far, Vernon.”

“It’s dark and it’s been snowing. You should have called me,” he reprimands without any heat. “I would’ve picked you up.”

“Well, it is two in the morning.” You cross the road, stepping over a patch of snow. “I assumed you’d be asleep, not curating another playlist.”

“Oh. Yeah, that — that was — have you opened it?” Vernon’s words trip over each other, and your lips turn up ever so slightly. God, he’s so sweet.

“What, are you nervous?” you tease, unable to resist. “I have, like, fifteen of your playlists saved already.”

“You haven’t opened it,” he infers, and exhales a little. “Okay, um, maybe you should… wait. Until the morning or something.”

“Yeah, right,” you snort. “I’m listening to it now! It’s going to keep me company on my way home. Talk to you later!”

And you hang up before he can protest, already scrolling to find the link he sent you.

The first thing you notice is the name — Love Language. Which makes your heart twist a little, until you realise it’s the name of the first song, and anyway, you and Vernon have made this joke a hundred times. His love language is making playlists, he does it for his friends all the time. You included — you especially. Like the time he’d eaten the last slice of a cake you’d bought, apparently because he thought it was free-for-all. You’d given him the silent treatment for a day and a half before he’d texted you a playlist link:

I AM (IVE)

really (mimi bay)

Sorry (Justin Bieber)

About (SoKuen)

EATING (Sukihana)

The Cake (John Powell)

I Will (Remastered 2009) (The Beatles)

Buy (Cousines like Shit)

You (Basil Valdez)

MORE (j-hope)

Please Please Please (Sabrina Carpenter)

Forgive Me (Chloe x Halle)

It made you laugh, because Vernon always makes you laugh. A few months and a few playlists later, you were harbouring the biggest crush known to mankind.

That was three years ago. You and Vernon are seniors now, set to graduate next summer, and what was meant to be a harmless crush on a friend has turned into being completely, totally in love with your best friend. It wasn’t that serious until it suddenly was. It was butterflies in your stomach when you saw him, at first. Now it’s like a sigh of relief. It's more coming home. Which is a lot more dangerous, and a lot more painful.

You handle it, most days, but sometimes he’ll do something or say something that completely throws your perfectly regulated emotions into overdrive. He’ll laugh at a stupid joke you make, or he’ll grab your hand to make a point or he’ll tell you that you’re pretty, and your heart swells until it presses painfully against your ribs, hot and slippery and aching. Those days, you mostly go home just to lie on the floor, listen to the only playlist of yours that Vernon hasn’t seen.

The second thing you notice about the playlist Vernon made you is the cover. It’s you, you know it immediately, and you know exactly which day it was taken. You just didn’t know it was taken. But your best friend must’ve snapped a photo when you weren’t looking, because the cover is you, looking up at the cherry blossom tree that the two of you stumbled on during a late-night walk. It was maybe a little under a year ago, it was the night you realised you loved him, and it was the night you almost kissed.

You don’t know if he remembers it the same way you do. To you, that’s your biggest what if? moment. To him, it’s probably just another fun memory with his friend. His best friend, if you’re lucky.

It takes you a second, but you finally click play on the playlist — but the picture stares back at you, practically taunting you with the memory.

The two of you had been walking for twenty minutes, sharing airpods, until you’d seen the tree and gathered a pile of pink petals to dump over Vernon’s head; he’d realised what you were doing just a moment too late. Asshole, he’d said smilingly, brushing the petals off with two hands. Everything that happened next was cliché. He’d missed a spot, one pale petal still clinging to his hair; you reached your hand up to get it, and lingered a little too long, a little too close. You don’t think you’ve ever held eye contact for so long — it felt like forever and then some.

Until his eyes flicked downward. Only for a split second: if you’d blinked, you would’ve missed it, but you saw it, and it was enough to have you taking a step back. Not like this, you’d thought to yourself. You wouldn’t do anything like that. You wouldn’t throw years of friendship and an extended period of pining away so easily — you wouldn’t risk it over an impulse that Vernon was experiencing. If you couldn’t have all of him, you refused to even take one night. You’d rather not know than live with the memory.

You’re halfway through the second song when you finally snap out of the memory, and you can actually take a moment to glance at the rest of the playlist. To your surprise, it’s short — it’s only six songs — and more interestingly, you know all these songs. And Vernon knows you know them; some of them you recommended to him, some of them he’s sent to you already, and you’re still wondering what he’s thinking as the third song ends.

Despite you claiming to be his best friend, you don’t always understand Vernon. Sometimes it’s little things, like how he fist bumps the cat on the street corner of his apartment. Sometimes it’s bigger, like the girl he dated last year. You didn’t understand that — or maybe you didn’t want to, because yes, you were well on your way to being in love with him, but he also didn’t tell you. You found out from Seungkwan (who was kind of triumphant about it, because he was always vying for the position of Vernon’s best friend, and he finally knew something you didn’t).

Mina was lovely. As if Vernon would date someone not lovely — he brought her to movie night after a month or so of them seeing each other, and she met your group of friends, and everyone loved her. Even you. And honestly, after excusing yourself to the bathroom to blink away your watery eyes, you convinced yourself that it was for the better: that this would be how you officially got over your best friend. So when Soonyoung asked you to go on a blind date with one of his friends the next week, you said yes. You and Wonwoo saw each other for about a month before you broke it off, and about a month after that, Vernon showed up at movie night without his girlfriend, and casually mentioned that they’d broken up.

Even the news of that didn’t do much to soothe you, because you’d quickly come to a conclusion while dating Wonwoo: that it would not be easy to get over your best friend. You knew you loved him now. You’d come to that realisation under the cherry blossom tree, a few months after both of your breakups, a year after you realised that you liked him like that in the first place. It’s been well over two years since you first fell for him, and you’ve been stuck there ever since — falling deeper and deeper because you refuse to pull yourself out.

Sometimes, on your most hopeful nights, you think that maybe Vernon could feel something too. Some nights he looks at you with a certain shine in his eyes, or when he hugs you he makes it last a little longer than usual. Some nights he opens his mouth to say something and the words get stuck in his throat, and he waves it off like nothing happened. Symptoms that are all too familiar.

Those nights are even worse, the ones where you go home and read too much into his every move, try in vain to stifle the hope that insists on clawing its way to your chest. Those nights are getting more and more frequent, and you don’t know how much longer you can handle it. Those nights, something in you is convinced he feels something, that maybe he could like you — on the very worst, you think he might even love you. But by the next morning, you’re dead certain that all you’ll ever be is a friend to him.

But now — today — you’re eight minutes away from home and nearly five songs in when it starts snowing, and at the same time, the cogs in your mind slowly start turning. You love these songs, Vernon knows you love these songs. You’re pretty sure they’re some of his favourites too; he’s always listening to them. And you’re so preoccupied with the realisation that’s sinking in, that same traitorous hope you’ve always shoved down stirring again in your chest, you barely even notice the snowflakes settling around you.

Because maybe you don’t always understand Vernon, but most of the time you do, even if it takes a little while — even if he has to spell things out for you, like his stupid cake playlist. Because that’s what he’s doing, you realise with a sudden jolt, looking at your favourite songs. Your favourite love songs. He’s spelling it out for you. That this is his love language; that he wants you; that he thinks about you; and as the last song finishes, just as you turn onto your street — if you love me, won’t you say something?

When you finally look up, you think you’re hallucinating. Because Vernon’s standing in front of your apartment building, holding an umbrella, and it startles you so much you actually stop in your tracks a few metres from him, blinking idiotically.

Vernon gives you a shy smile, charming and awkward. Your heart does the thing it always does when he looks at you like that; stutters, skips a beat, clenches tightly.

“You stopped replying to my texts,” he says, and the street’s empty enough that you can hear him, even from where you’re standing. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You don’t say anything because what can you even say? Where do you even start? You don’t have words — but you tap quickly at your phone with a sudden idea, and you hear the ping of Vernon’s phone from where you’re standing. You move closer anyway, smiling at the familiar furrow of his brow as he glances between you and the phone he digs out of his pocket. And you see the exact moment he registers what you’ve sent him, the smile that spreads across his face.

[2:39am] you https://open.spotify.com/track/5oO3drDxtziYU2H1X23ZIp [love on the brain - rihanna]

You and Vernon first met at a party. Seungkwan had promised both of you, separately, that it wasn’t a party, more of a small gathering between his friends, but of course, Seungkwan’s definition of small doesn’t match yours. And so you were kind of hiding in a corner, nodding your head and mouthing subconsciously to Rihanna’s Love on the Brain; you’d turned your head a few inches, and Chwe Vernon was standing a few metres away, doing the exact same thing. You guys had accidentally made eye contact and split into matching embarrassed smiles, until he’d sat next to you. He’d offered you possibly the most awkward fist bump ever, pairing it with an even more awkward, “So, uh, got love on the brain?” You’d laughed, and that was it — the beginning of you and Vernon.

Now, he pockets his phone again, but holds the umbrella out over both of your heads, which only makes you giggle. “You brought an umbrella?”

“It’s snowing,” he shrugs, but his smile is wide, “It’s just like… colder rain.”

“Stupid.” What’s more stupid is the smile you can’t peel off your face. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” he counters, and you tilt your head with a sheepish smile. So many reasons, but one look at him and you forget them all.

“So,” he murmurs, slipping his free hand around your waist, “got love on the brain, hm?”

“Something like that,” you agree, and after three years of wanting and waiting, you finally kiss him.

a/n i linked the playlist vernon made at the top (yes i dug up one of my very old spotify accounts to do this). i have very mixed feelings about this one. it's kind of cheesy but so is most of my work, and anyway it's valentine's day!! so who cares!!! also once again this got a banner bc once again this picture inspired the whole thing. also wtf is up with tumblr ruining image quality!!!

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @wondering-out-loud

@tokitosun @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin

@icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars

@immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya

@yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm @phenomenalgirl9

@lightnjng @strnsvt @onlyyjeonghan @athanasiasakura

@iamawkwardandshy @twilghtkoo @yuuyeonie @lllucere

@pearlesscentt

@sourkimchi @porridgesblog

#vernon fluff #vernon x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #vernon fic #vernon scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fic

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ducktoo · 1 day ago

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Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

Note: I have resorted to the sacred prompt list by Anon again….this helped me so much frrr. Hope you will post your first ever fic here so I can tagged you!!

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But…she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.

#kpop #ive x male reader #ive x reader #ive wonyoung #wonyoung #wonyoung x reader #jang wonyoung #ive wonyoung x reader #ive fluff #ive angst #izone #izone wonyoung #izone x reader

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cozylittleartblog · 1 day ago

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9th annual nick valentines day (ft. soup again) + doodle i made last year that i forgot about, from when bethesda gave us that free update

#fallout 4 #nick valentine #valentines day #fallout soup #art #doodles #fo4 #fallout fanart #once again do not tag ship or soul survivor she is not the protag <3 thats just his dumass kid #i finished this just in time to get dragged into a 5 player game of Pressure with my brother and i have forgotten my tags. uh #i wanted to do something more interesting but it wasnt working out so all i have are a bunch of doodles djbhsdfjhb #lil more somber than silly. had to have at least one somber. its very hard to be sillie right now #i was very close to breaking my 9 year streak im not even gonna lie. but im making it to at least ten. I'm Gonna.#im always like. 'waa i dont wanna get invested in a fan comic longer than a few pages bc i could be making an original comic'#i need to embrace the ideas i have while i have them 😭 i should just be making shit. ofc writing is still hard but writing a few pages #is much easier than building an entire comic from scratch. so #anyway i say that cuz i wanna make a few FO4 comics i just always am occupied with other shit because adhd go brrt #hey chat do u think if i tell a doctor 'drinking gamersupps brings me the closest to normal ive ever been' it'll expedite the process #of figuring out what is wrong with me #mmmmmmmmm Mango Meta

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zeropro · 1 day ago

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So I’ve seen you draw and tag a couple of different ships, just wondering which are your favorite???

Love your art btw :D

Thank you!

I don’t have a specific ship i'm particularly loyal to, so I guess I’ll rate them and also provide my own headcanons:

(disclaimer i dont know ship names so imma just try my best)

Trine-shipping: yes, put the three of them together, I don’t care. familial, sexual, romantic, platonic, its all good. I go crazy seeing them stand next to each other in the cartoon what do you want from me.

thunderwarp: I see this one a lot and I quite like it. these two being mates with starscream doing his own thing kinda makes sense considering starscream has a bunch of other ships. also makes it fun when something happens to one of them and starscream is left in the awkward position of having to deal with that.

thunderstar: been thinking about this one more lately. they’re like foils to each other. thundercracker’s a good boy to starscream’s bad boy, and he does such a concern about all the morally dubious stuff starscream gets up to. but at the same time, he admires starscream’s ambition and rizz and starscream the kinda bot that would pull you so high if you followed him. I think out of anyone, starscream is the closest to actually trusting thundercracker.

starwarp: i had this thought one time of what if skywarp is like the horniest asexual and starscream is the most traumatized aromantic, and how would that even work XD nothing solid in the works just an idea that I had. ive seen these two less often outside of trine shipping but it can be pretty hot. I like when they are being protective of each other. I always see skywarp as more emotionally open than his trinemates and starscream can use some of that open and honest emotional love and care. someone to forcfully make him accept being loved. someone who will actually push back when he’s being stupid. and with skywarp being loyal to megatron, so much angst potential for both of them.

starbee: im a sucker for the whole ghost bee starscream dynamic. I already made a post about these two, and after all this time I still really enjoy this ship. I think characters that don’t actually like each other at first but grow into a mutual respect is so tasty. I think some people don’t like the ship because they headcanon bee as too young? well, starscream is actually younger in my fic lmao, but also they’re like 6 million years old and are born with full adult processing capabilities, I don’t think age matters here :P its less about intimacy for me anyway. I like them together because of how much it takes to get there.

starwavewave: okay this one is 100% fueled by tfone but guyssss guysss theyre married and megatron is their son and im just aaaagh dont seperate them! such a kookie dynamic, the cool headed soundwave, the emotionally volatile shockwave, the arrogant yet cowardly starscream, all being fail dads to their little scamp leader. hahaha. high command polycule

megastar: gasp, rated above skystar. yes, I just find this dynamic more interesting. I like an abusive ship sometimes for the angst but I also enjoy seeing megatron when he isnt abusive? kinda catharsis maybe. I read a fic once where the war is over and starscream invites megatron to one of optimus’ high profile parties and is appalled at megatron showing up in robot equivalent of underdressed, meanwhile megatron the working class miner is like “I washed, what else was I supposed to do” XD and I just love that haha. theres just so many ways to take it. I wont be doing any megastar in my au, I just tag anything that has megatron and starscream interacting with megastar cuz thats the dynamic to me

skystar/jetstar: iddkkkkk i know this is the most popular ship but it’s just!! idk! its not as interesting to me haha. I love this as a past ship, they were roommates in college, starscream opened himself to someone, chose to become close and then was hurt by it. just another wound on starscream’s spark before he ever even meets megatron. I don’t think theyd get back together after the ice. idk how well I can write this so I’ll just explain how it happens in my au here: skyfire died and starscream created this version of skyfire in his mind that was perfect, he memorialised him because he was dead! you just cant live up to how someone remembers you. I think that was part of the reason why starscream reacts so badly when skyfire “betrayed” him. unlike thundercracker, skyfire knows how to set healthy boundaries. not to mention he’d been on ice for four million years, lost his entire life, everyone he knows, and his entire civilisation, planet, and culture to a war he had no part in. bot’s gonna be upset. pissed off even. skyfire shouldnt have to be some soft sparked punching bag for starscream, he’s kind and a pacifist but he’s also going to get upset and have feelings. I think starscream’s betrayal would hit pretty hard, he’d gonna be upset about how much starscream’s changed, how much damage starscream helped cause during the war, and also starscream shooting him in the back for wanting to protect the native wildlife! when they properly talk to each other again it’s going to be heated on both sides, and I think after some hard work from both sides they could end up in a place where they are willing to be friends again, but I don’t think they’d conjunx. skystar isnt end game to me, but it is canon and an important part of the story

starop: I think ive read one fic where I really liked this ship. it’s just such a random pairing. my initial reaction is just noooo optimus prime?? but that guy’s everyone’s dad! Ive been told a big part of it is they’re both megatron’s ex’s and that’s pretty funny. not for me sadly haha (opxmegatronoldmanyaoiotpfrfr)

starjack…wheelstar? whatever the starscream and wheeljack one is. I’m not into this one. I see where people are coming from with it, but wheeljack isnt an interesting character to me. they can be science bros tho

starscream and windblade: ive seen this like once or twice. not for me. windblade is like, starscream’s daughter or something idk XD

soundstar: uuuh i dont see it. sorry! i legit have no thoughts on soundstar. theyre coworkers XD. ive seen fics where the seekers are really young and soundwave moms them, and that’s really cute. okay, I like soundwave as a caretaker if the seekers are young, but yeah I don’t think I understand this one.

shockstar: nooooooo. tho ironically theres more canon content there to fuel this one than soundstar (is this emotion?) but still no XD I don’t even hate shockwave! let him be sunstorm’s dad, that’s cute. but no, shockewave too creepy. no ship. they are also coworkers

what other ship is there even? oh yeah

starprowl: this is apparently a really popular ship?! I guess in a way prowl is sort of like the autobot’s starscream, undermining his leader, arrogant, willing to do the dubious play. they’re both ruthless. I like this one better than starjacked, but its still an odd pairing to me.

oh! knockout and starscream, i can kinda see it? like, as a rebound after breakdown? I like knock out and breakdown, so I’d only see these two as like friends or if something happened to breakdown. they’re a LOT of fun when they interact tho heh heh, perfectly clashing personalities

on the topic of tfp, I guess starscream and arcee is a ship? I can see this similar to my enjoyment of starbee, they’d have to work reeaally hard for this one to work but they have had potentially positive interactions in the show (before starscream screws it up) so its possible in a better world where starscream doesnt suck they could become friends. him killing cliffjumper is gonna be a huge hurdle tho!

dont talk to me about airachnid

do people ship starscream and ratchet? I don’t ship it, but I do really like interactions between them. starscream is so terrible but he also gets hurt a lot. ratchet is grumpy and prejudice but he’s the best doctor and he’ll fix him up! I like when something terrible happens to starscream and ratchet cant help but feel bad for the guy. that’s the good stuff.

lastly i have been asked a few times on trinebee. im assuming this is bumblebee and the trine. i hadnt thought about it but it makes sense! if youre a starbee shipper, but you also support trine propaganda, then it only makes sense to bring bee into the trine. also bee and thundercracker are friends! the only ones who havent really had any interaction is bee and warp, and honestly idk if I see those two getting along but bumblebee is everybody’s friend so XD I’m sure it’ll work out!

and i think those are all the thoughts i have on the ships!

no hate on anyone who ships any of these!!! you all do what you do, these are just my opinions, and honestly I’m just not a huge shipper to begin with haha. I am…unsure if there will be any shipping content in my au, I write my scenarios very much “canon but to the left” and so it comes out very sex-less because romance and intimacy is just not the type of content I’m in the business of writing. but, idk, i think about it sometimes. sometimes I think about the end of chapter one of thundercracker’s origin, the night starscream took thundercracker out on a not-date. i think, who knows, in some version of the story maybe they shared a kiss? maybe they went back to the apartment and things went further? maybe. but of course, in every version of the story, starscream is gone the next morning.

happy valentrine’s day!

#transformers #starscream #skywarp #thundercracker #transformers shipping #opinions #megatron #skyfire

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pussyisg0d · 3 days ago

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photographer!vi headcanons

sfw & nsfw

note: hi ive never done this before. writing these i have like a chubby!user (reader?? idfk) in mind since that’s basically me! its not directly mentioned though

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sfw (slightly suggestive)

————

photographer!vi who has to constantly buy new sd cards cause all she does is take photos of you

photographer!vi who begs you to pose for her when you dress up all nice

photographer!vi who tells you how pretty you are and how you’re doing so good for her, just to get you to smile while posing

photographer!vi who’s camera roll is just photos of you with the occasional meme, landscape photo, or workout photo

photographer!vi who lets you take photos of her sometimes (specifically her back tattoo)

photographer!vi who takes mirror selfies with her camera after just working out (definitely transfers them to her phone just to show you)

photographer!vi who’s job is to photograph events that she ends up bringing you to just to show you off (and show off her amazing camera skills to you)

photographer!vi who sometimes does portrait photography

photographer!vi who makes it known she has a girlfriend whenever one of the women she’s photographing tries to flirt with her

photographer!vi who will teach you how to use a camera and get extremely good photos (if you dont know how already)

photographer!vi who occasionally will record videos of you and her’s everyday life (like a little mini movie)

photographer!vi who will move you like a doll so you’re posed how she wants you to be

photographer!vi who has a portfolio dedicated to you…..and other parts of you.

photographer!vi who will literally cry if you buy her a new camera, one she’s been wanting for years

photographer!vi who will buy a polaroid camera just so she can have a polaroid of you in her phone case

photographer!vi who will constantly compliment your looks. “you’re so pretty today baby.” “you look gorgeous in this lighting.”

photographer!vi who tests all new camera techniques she learns by taking photos of you

photographer!vi who pretends to be paparazzi when you model the new clothes you got

photographer!vi who, when the time comes, will be super critical and specific on how the wedding photographer should take the photos

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nsfw

————

photographer!vi who will straddle you and lift your shirt to take a photo of your tits

photographer!vi who sometimes makes you pose naked for her

photographer!vi who will get so worked up she almost drops her camera

photographer!vi who has an album in her camera roll dedicated to your boobs

photographer!vi who will take photos of her strap buried inside you. “hold still baby…”

photographer!vi who tells you what a perfect photo your blissed out expression would make. “think it’d be a nice one for the collection? yeah?”

photographer!vi who buys a tripod so she can set the camera to take photos while she eats you out

photographer!vi who uses that exact tripod to record you two having sex, making you look in the lense. “look forward. wanna be able to see your pretty face.”

photographer!vi who will rewatch the videos while getting herself off

photographer!vi who will have you hold the camera, recording while you ride her

photographer!vi who will show you the sextapes, much to your embarrassment. “c’mon you don’t wanna see how deep i was?”

photographer!vi who sets the camera in front of you while she has you bent over so she can capture all the faces you make as she thrusts into you

photographer!vi who begs you to dress in pretty lingerie for photos

photographer!vi who will rip off the lingerie 5 minutes later

photographer!vi who will give you a box full of provocative photos of her for your birthday

photographer!vi who smushes your boobs together for a photo

photographer!vi who takes a mirror selfie with you bent over the bathroom counter as she pounds into you

photographer!vi who praises you during sex just like she does when she takes your photos

photographer!vi who’s surprised to see you using what she taught you to photograph her abs whenever they tense as she thrusts up into you

photographer!vi who after your wedding makes sure to record the whole bedroom session. from beginning to end.

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lowkey got lazy here in the end but anyways teehee i love vi

©natssillygirlfriend ©pussyisg0d

#vi #vi x reader #vi smut #headcanons #arcane #vi headcanons #photographer!vi #violet #vi arcane #vi arcane smut #vi arcane headcanons #league of legends #wlw

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sbarrysncream · 3 days ago

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David and Cush are the GOATs of the Macbeths

(in my opinion)

I think the reason I liked David and Cush so much as Lord and Lady Macbeth is because they actually felt like a couple that had been married for several years, and had gone through some shit. In other clips of the characters that I had seen before I watched the Donmar recording, the Macbeths always seem very passionate, which, don't get me wrong, you absolutely want with these characters, but passionate in a way that always read to me as new love. Not necessarily young love, but new, passionate, exploratory love. Whereas with DT and CJ, you can tell from the moment they are first on stage with one another that they of course love, respect, and cherish the fuck out of each other....but they are so fucking exhausted, and have been for a while. Which I, not only found very realistic, but I also found it more romantic. (I'm also asexual, so I may be biased, lol)

Like, these two are so traumatized, morally grey, angry, and scared, and yet they still have time for the little things like swaying back and forth with each other, making fun of each other, yelling at each other, all while having insane respect for each other.

idk man, ive never done a review of a show before, idk if you'd even call this rant a review, but this has been going around in my mind ever since I watched it, and I just needed to share my brain worms.

my murderous blorbos

#David tennant #Cush jumbo #macbeth #lady macbeth #donmar warehouse #west end #theater review?#or something

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kkoga · 18 hours ago

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Pretty eyes, jeung yoonchae x IVE!fem!reader

A/N : this is my own little valentine special, so sorry it's a bit late. Had to work my ass off for the collab, and js so yk i also have a dani angst fic in the works so def watch out for that one

Warning ! Mentions of homophobia, foul words, definitely NOT proofread

Disclaimer ! Everything written is pure fiction. No person is an accurate representation of themselves.

Now playing ! Pretty eyes by zehdi

Wc — i don't know ok. I pulled this out my ass. Its not even valentines anymore. It was supposed to be a val special. Watch me jump off the cliff.

Divider creds : @steviebbboi

Yoonchae hesitantly holds hands with Y/n. Even though they were holding hands below the table, it was still incredibly risky. Considering the fact that both girls were idols, and from different groups no less, would completely destroy their career.

Yoonchae hated this. The korean hated the hiding, the concealing. She wants to show off her girlfriend to the world, to shout and tell them the one and only person she loved was none other than Y/n L/n.

But the Korean knew she had no choice. Gay people were gravely frowned upon in Korea. The girl doesn't even know whether or not her own parents would support her.

Y/n was even more popular than Yoonchae. The girl was a member of the famous girlgroup IVE, a group every junior admired.

The two had initially met at an award show. Y/n, ever so confident, approached the Korean first. Yoonchae was incredibly shy at first, thinking, "There is no way Y/n of IVE is talking to me right now."

But after a couple weeks, the two girls had grown close. Too close, for Yoonchae's liking. After a few months, Yoonchae noticed her heartbeat was too fast around the girl, her words almost always getting jumbled up whenever within the vicinity of her bestfriend. It was pathetic, really. Y/n never let's her live it down.

Yoonchae had a feeling she knew why she felt that way, but growing up in a traditional house, the girl tried convincing herself it wasn't true. She had nothing against gay people of course, but the internalised homophobia the Korean had to grow up with was starting to hit her hard.

Yoonchae ran to an old friend for help, who had calmly asked her two questions.

"Alright, let me ask you two questions. Would the world end if you came out as gay?" Yoonchae was weirded out by the question.

"What? That doesn't even make sense.." Her friend sighed.

"I didn't mean it literally, Yoons. I meant would it feel like your world was ending?" Yoonchae almost immediately answered.

"But my— my parents wouldn't... and the public, good god, my fans. I can't be—" Her friend then interrupted her.

"Now imagine Y/n with someone else. Someone who most definitely isn't you. Would you be able to bear that? Does that seem like it's worse than your world 'ending'?" Yoonchae paused, her expression filled with every negative emotion possible. Anger, sadness, and confusion were all neatly displayed on her face.

".... yes." Her friend smiled, content with Yoonchae's answer.

"There's your answer."

After the conversation, Yoonchae had taken a day off. To think about herself, and her feelings. It was definitely a big thing to process, the fact that she had apparently never liked men. The Korean had always questioned where the "spark" her friends always mentioned was. But now that she had thought about it, the girl now knew why.

It took a while, but eventually, Yoonchae had finally accepted herself for who she was. However, the Korean still come out to her members. She wasn't ready yet.

But now, after successfully confessing to Y/n and having been together for the past two years, the Korean finally considered herself ready.

And today, she was going to ask Y/n if she would like to meet her members. Not as a friend, but as her partner, as the love of her life.

As Yoonchae got in Y/n's newly acquired car, one she got right after earning her license, the Korean took it as a good time to ask.

"Y/n? Can i ask you something?" The girl was nervous. What if she said no?

"Yes Yoons? What's up?"

"I.. i want to introduce you. To my members, I mean." Y/n was shocked, but excited. Extremely excited.

"Really?"

"Really. I'm ready, Y/n. I want them to know I have a beautiful wonderful girlfriend who takes care of me every single day." Y/n, so enamoured by Yoonchae's braveness, leans over for an excited and cheeky kiss.

"Love you soo much Yoon!"

Yoonchae warmly smiles, "Love you too hun."

It was finally the day. Today, Y/n was going to introduce herself to Yoonchae's members as her girlfriend. Well, not immediately, but eventually.

Yoonchae had carefully planned out the afternoon. First, she would get her members to warm up to Y/n. Then during dinner, finally tell them something— or rather someone she's been keeping a secret for far too long.

Y/n nervously rings the doorbell, adjusting her collar just before Manon, one of Yoonchae's bandmates, answer the door.

"Hey girl so nice to meet you, Yoonchae's friend right?" Y/n nods, and returns Manon's smile.

"Come in girl, she's like in her room right now." Y/n hesitantly walks into the house and is met with Megan and Daniela on the couch, Sophia and Lara apparently in the kitchen, and Yoonchae exiting her room.

"Y/n! Hi! Sorry, I had to grab my switch. Let's play now." Yoonchae shot Y/n a cheeky smile, one she undoubtedly fell for.

"Oh you are going DOWN! Also hi, nice to meet you guys." Megan and Daniela sweetly greet the girl, finding the difference of her demeanour with them and Yoonchae silly.

It has been four hours since you and Yoonchae have started playing on her switch, the game projected on the TV. An hour in, Megan and Lara had joined you and Yoonchae's games of Mario Cart.

Yoonchae couldn't help the warm smile slowly creep up her face. It was nice. Seeing you interact with her members was just so— natural.

Sophia and Lara were peacefully sat on the couch, Manon taking pictures in the corner of the livingroom. It was as if Y/n was already a part of them, a part of their little family. And Yoonchae loved it.

By now, it was already dark outside. Dinnertime was approaching, and Yoonchae had to prepare herself. They liked her so far, nothing bad is gonna happen.

As they all ate on the dinner table, Manon started a conversation.

"I still can't believe you're friends with Y/n from IVE Yoonchae, How did you guys even meet?" The couple looked at each other, a cheeky smile on both their faces.

"Oh, we met because of a common friend. That's all." Manon nodded in response, and Lara looked at Yoonchae and Y/n a little suspiciously.

As they all finished off their food, Yoonchae had very suddenly asked them all to sit on the couch, which confused her members. But they obeyed nonetheless, curious as to what their maknae had to say.

They all lined up on the couch in order, Manon, Daniela, Lara, Megan, and Sophia. While Yoonchae and Y/n stood in front of the five.

"I just wanted to say..." Yoonchae said as she held your hand, doing so in a romantic manner. Lara's eyes shot up, as if saying "I FUCKING KNEW IT!"

"I'm dating Y/n. I like girls. The whole point of today was to get you all to warm up to her." Yoonchae wasn't sure how her members would react, but she was pretty sure at least Megan and Manon were gay, so it wouldn't be that bad.

Barrages of questions were shot from Daniela and Manon's mouth, and Lara asking for her 10 dollars from Megan could be heard too. But all Sophia did was send the couple a warm smile. The leader kindly asked them all to shut the fuck up, and after the rest did as she said, she calmly and proudly told the couple.

"I'm proud. Thank you both for trusting us, and congrats on your relationship. You don't have to give us all the information about your relationship now— you can do that as the night progresses. Let's just enjoy the night, yeah? You should sleep over Y/n." Yoonchae teared up, and Y/n did too, thankful the Katz were accepting.

Yoonchae leaned in to Y/n's ear, and whispered, "Love you." Y/n giggled like a little kid, and gave her a little cheek kiss, which resulted in reactions from the rest of Katseye.

#kkoga #katseye x reader #katseye #katseye x female reader #katseye smau #yoonchae #yoonchae x reader #yoonchae jeung #yoonchae katseye #katseye yoonchae #katseye x fem reader #katseye x y/n #katseye imagines #valentinesgift #happy valentines #happy valentine's day #valentine special

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mattsobvimyfav · 3 days ago

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unknown

Y/N has always played it safe—balancing her job as a pediatric nurse, and her careful lifestyle. But one night out with her friend, Jordan, changes everything. When she meets Matt and Chris—two dangerous, enigmatic brothers—she’s drawn into a world she doesn’t belong in. But the more she resists, the harder they pulls her in.

pt 5

The sterile glow of fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as I glanced at the clock—12:03 AM. The hospital never truly slept, even if the world outside did. The quiet hum of machines and the soft beeping of monitors filled the air, a constant reminder of the fragile lives within these walls. My scrubs felt heavier tonight, clinging to me with the weight of exhaustion that came with the night shift.

I made my rounds, clipboard in hand, checking vitals and adjusting IVs. Liam was my first stop, a six-year-old with a stubborn spirit and an even more stubborn case of pneumonia. He was awake, his big brown eyes peeking over the edge of his blanket. I smiled softly, trying to mask my fatigue.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, keeping my voice low. “How are we feeling?”

He gave me a weak thumbs-up, and I chuckled, adjusting his oxygen mask slightly. After checking his stats, I promised him a superhero sticker when he woke up in the morning. His small smile made the sleepless hours feel a little less heavy.

The night blurred into a routine of soft footsteps, hushed voices, and the occasional urgent call over the intercom. At 2:15 AM, I found myself in the NICU, staring down at fragile lives encased in plastic incubators. The tiniest of fingers twitched, and my heart clenched. I adjusted monitors, recorded notes, and offered comfort to anxious parents perched beside their babies.

By 4 AM, exhaustion was creeping in, settling into my bones like a chill I couldn’t shake. I slipped into the break room, cradling a lukewarm cup of coffee, my mind drifting to Matt. Wondering where he was, what he was doing, if he was okay.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me from my thoughts. A simple text lit up the screen: "You good?" It was Matt. Just two words, but they warmed me more than the coffee ever could.

"Thinking about you," I replied quickly before tucking the phone away. No time for distractions.

The final hours passed in a haze of routine checks, comforting whispers to restless children, and quiet moments spent beside tiny hands gripping mine. When 7 AM finally arrived, the morning shift trickling in like a tide washing over weary sands, I felt the weight of the night pressing down.

But as I stepped outside, the first light of dawn brushing the horizon, I realized that even in exhaustion, there was a strange sense of peace. The world was waking up, and I was heading home.

The sky was painted in soft hues of pink and orange as I pulled into my driveway, the exhaustion from my shift weighing heavily on me. My limbs felt like lead, my mind foggy with fatigue, but something sharp pierced through the haze—Matt’s car parked across the street.

I frowned, squinting against the early morning light. He was there, slouched in the driver’s seat, his eyes dark and focused, scanning the street like he was expecting trouble. My heart skipped a beat, a mixture of surprise and something else I couldn’t quite name.

I crossed the street, my footsteps quiet against the pavement. As I approached his car, he rolled down the window, his gaze softening when it landed on me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice low, still rough from the long night.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The guy from the other night… he’s on the run. Chris and I haven’t been able to track him down yet.” His jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes. “I didn’t know what time you got off and I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

My heart twisted, the fatigue momentarily forgotten. “You… you sat here all night?”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Not to me.

“Come in,” I said softly, reaching for the door handle. “You must be tired.”

Matt didn’t argue. He killed the engine and followed me inside, his presence filling the quiet space of my house like he belonged there. I kicked off my shoes, feeling the exhaustion crash over me again.

“I’m gonna shower,” I mumbled, heading toward the bathroom.

“Alright,” he replied, already making his way to my bedroom, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The hot water was a welcome relief, washing away the hospital’s sterile scent and the tension clinging to my skin. But my mind kept drifting to Matt, to the way he watched over me without expecting anything in return.

When I finally emerged, wrapped in a towel, the house was silent except for the faint creak of the bed as he shifted. I peeked into the bedroom, finding him lying there, his eyes half-closed but still alert, as if he couldn’t fully relax.

I slipped into some fresh clothes and climbed into bed beside him. Without a word, he reached for me, pulling me close, his arm draped over my waist, grounding me.

“Thank you,” I whispered into the quiet.

He didn’t respond, but the way his fingers traced slow, lazy circles on my back said everything.

The soft glow of afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds when I slowly blinked awake. The clock on my nightstand read 2:03 PM. Matt was still beside me, one arm draped lazily over my waist, his breathing steady and even. I shifted slightly, and his eyes opened, sharp and clear, like he'd never truly been asleep.

“I need to head home soon,” he murmured, his voice husky from sleep. “Got some business to handle tonight. You wanna come?”

I stretched, suppressing a yawn. “I can’t. I have to watch the kids I nanny around five. Their parents are going out for a date night.”

Matt propped himself up on one elbow, his brows knitting together in concern. “You work too much.”

I gave him a soft smile, brushing a stray hair from his face. “I like staying busy. Plus, it’s good money.”

He sighed, his hand trailing down my arm. “I just don’t want you running yourself into the ground.”

“I’m fine, Matt. Really.”

I finally decided to get moving. I didn’t have much time before I needed to be at the kids’ house by 4:45, so I hurried through my usual routine. Matt was gone by now and the sun was beating down outside. I was just thankful I could get away with something casual today.

I slipped into a pair of jean shorts and grabbed a cropped top from my closet. It was light and breathable, perfect for a long night with the kids. I didn’t even think twice about it as I tossed on my pair of Converse sneakers.

I checked the time—4:30 pm. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I grabbed my keys off the counter and headed out the door, feeling the heat of the afternoon sun on my skin as I made my way to the car.

The moment I stepped through the door, they practically tackled me with hugs. It’s funny how quickly they latch on to you, like you’re part of the family.

By the time dinner came around, the house was full of energy. Little voices chattered away while I tried to make sure they ate at least a decent portion of their meals. I was used to it by now, this constant dance of playing, tidying up, refereeing fights, and making sure nobody was covered in food by the end of it.

Around 7:45, I herded them into their bedrooms, the youngest curled up under her princess blanket, the older one complaining about the “boring” bedtime story I always read. I brushed it off, knowing the moment I left the room, they’d be fast asleep. And they were.

By 8:00, the house was quiet again. It always feels surreal after a day of chaos. I sat on the couch, scrolling through my phone, the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old house the only sounds filling the space.

Then, I heard it. A noise. Soft at first, but unmistakable—a scraping sound, like something dragging across the floor. I froze. My heart started racing, and I quickly glanced around, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. It couldn’t be the kids. They were in bed, fast asleep, I was sure of it.

The noise came again, this time louder. I stood up slowly, trying not to make a sound, but the air felt thick. I moved toward the kitchen, my steps quieter than normal, and grabbed the first thing I could find—a sharp knife from the counter. My fingers tightened around the handle, the cool metal grounding me in this strange mix of fear and caution.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself, then moved toward the sound.

I took another step toward the sound, my grip tightening around the knife. But before I could even get another step closer, someone grabbed me from behind, their arm wrapping around my waist and a hand clamping over my mouth. My heart slammed in my chest as I struggled, but the grip was too strong. The knife slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor.

Panic surged in my veins. I tried to twist free, but then I felt something cold press against the side of my head, a faint metallic sensation that made my stomach drop. My breath caught in my throat, and just as I was about to scream, the grip on me loosened slightly, and the voice I dreaded hearing cut through the tension.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” My mind went blank as I turned my head at the all to familiar voice and caught sight of someone walking towards me. Matt.

I tilt my head and look up at the person restraining me, already knowing who I will be met with. Chris.

I gasped, finally pushing myself away from him as he let go. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I snapped, my heart racing from the shock and sudden release.

Matt’s jaw clenched, and he stepped closer, his eyes scanning the room quickly before focusing back on me. “This is one of our dealer's house,” he said, voice low but urgent. “We think the guy who lives here is stashing someone—someone we’re looking for.”

I shook my head, still trying to process what was happening, the fear slowly turning into disbelief. “That’s impossible,” I said, backing up a step. “The man who lives here is… he’s the dad of the kids I nanny for.”

Matt’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced toward Chris, who was already walking toward the kitchen. “You think you know what he does in his free time?” he asked, voice a bit colder now, as if doubting me.

“I don't know- I thought,” my voice shaking a little. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I've known him for years, I didn't think there was any way the man who took care of those kids would be involved in whatever shady dealings Matt and Chris were wrapped up in.

Matt didn’t say anything, just glanced toward the kitchen where Chris was already searching through the cabinets. The silence in the room was thick, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to spiral out of control.

Matt’s eyes narrowed, his gaze never leaving mine. “You’re out of luck,” he said flatly. “I need answers from him, and I’m not leaving here without them.”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. The adrenaline was still coursing through me, but it didn’t make what Matt was saying any less terrifying. “What am I supposed to do then?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t have me involved in this. What if he finds out I’m wrapped up with you two?” The weight of the situation hit me, and the panic flared again.

Chris looked at me thoughtfully, like he was considering my words, before his lips curled into a smirk. “We could always pretend we’re tying you up,” he suggested casually, his tone light despite the intensity of the situation. “Make it look like we’re waiting for him to come home. Keeps up the illusion that you’re just some innocent bystander.”

I stared at him, my pulse hammering. As much as I hated the idea, it was the only way I could keep from getting too tangled up in this mess. The alternative didn’t seem any better. “Fine,” I said, my voice tight. “Do it.”

Chris didn’t waste any time. He moved quickly to grab some rope from the kitchen drawer and expertly looped it around my wrists, securing it loosely enough to look real but not too tight to hurt.

Time felt like it was dragging. The parents would be back in ten minutes, and I could already hear the faint sound of the clock ticking in the background, counting down the seconds. Chris worked quickly, securing the ropes around my wrists in a way that looked real enough to buy them some time, but not tight enough to cause pain.

When he was done, he stepped back, his eyes scanning his work. “That should do it,” he said with a satisfied nod.

Matt gave a small, approving grunt. But just before he turned to follow Chris, he paused and walked back toward me. “Look, I’m sorry it had to be this way,” he said, his voice quieter than before. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, something unexpectedly gentle in the gesture. “We didn’t mean to drag you into this. But I need him to talk, and I don’t have time to mess around.”

I sat still, the warmth of his kiss lingering, but the weight of everything else pressing down on me. The fear was still there, heavy in my chest, but the concern for the kids was all-consuming. If the dad worked for Matt and Chris, what else was going on in this house?

“You didn’t drag me into any of this, If anything the dad did” I said quietly, my voice strained. “But I’ll play along for now. Just be careful, okay?”

Matt didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on me for a second longer before he turned and followed Chris to finish what they came for. As the seconds ticked by, I sat there, helpless but trying not to panic. The sounds of their movement faded into the background, but I couldn’t shake the tight knot in my stomach. The parents would be back any second now.

The tension in the air was thick, and the seconds felt like hours as I sat there, pretending to be helpless, the ropes pressing against my skin. My mind raced, my heart pounding with each sound that echoed through the house. Then, in the distance, I heard it—the unmistakable rumble of a car pulling into the driveway. My stomach dropped.

Matt didn’t waste a second. He moved quickly, crossing the room and grabbing a roll of tape from a nearby drawer. My eyes widened as he ripped off a strip and pressed it firmly over my mouth, silencing any protest I could have made. I wanted to yell, to ask what the hell was going on, but it was too late.

The door opened, and I heard footsteps from the entryway. The dad walked in, his expression shifting when he saw me tied up on the couch, the rope and the tape making me look like a hostage in some twisted game. His eyes darted between me and the two men who had been quietly lurking around the corner.

"What the hell happened here?" he demanded, his voice shaky with alarm.

Before he could move any closer, Matt and Chris stepped out from behind the corner, both of them with guns drawn, the cold metal glinting in the dim light of the living room. My heart skipped a beat as I tried to make eye contact with the dad, silently pleading with him to stay calm.

“Where’s Steven?” Matt demanded, his voice calm but dangerous, the kind of tone that sent a chill down your spine.

The dad blinked rapidly, his face pale as he took a step back. “I—I don’t know what you're talking about,” he stammered, his hands shaking slightly. “I don’t know where Steven is. I haven’t seen him in days. Please, just let her go. Whatever this is, it’s not about me—”

Chris stepped forward, his gaze cold and calculating. “You’re lying,” he growled. “We know he’s been here. Where are you hiding him?”

The mom came rushing in from behind, her eyes immediately locking on the scene in front of her. “What’s going on?!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in panic as she saw Matt and Chris with guns in hand. She froze when she saw me, my hands tied and the tape covering my mouth, but it didn’t take long for her to understand the situation.

The dad, now visibly sweating, held his hands out in front of him as if to ward them off. “I swear to God, I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen Steven. Please, you’ve got to believe me. You’ve got to believe us—we’re not involved in whatever this is!”

The mom stood beside him, nodding vigorously, her voice shaking as she added, “We don’t know anything! We’re just a normal family. Please, don’t hurt her.”

Matt and Chris exchanged a look, the tension still hanging in the air. Matt’s gaze never left the dad as he took a step forward. “I’ll be the judge of that. You’ve got five seconds to start talking, or this is going to get a lot worse for everyone here.”

Chris’s gaze never wavered from the dad as he stood there, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sneer, he glanced over at the wife, her face filled with confusion and fear. “Never told your wife you were dealing, huh?” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I guess you’ve got a lot of secrets, don’t you?”

The dad’s face went pale, and for a second, I thought he might break down. The wife blinked at Chris, confusion shifting to shock. “What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice small and trembling. “What do you mean, dealing?”

The dad’s resolve cracked. His shoulders slumped as he let out a shaky breath, and then he spilled everything. “A year ago... I lost my job. I didn’t know how I was going to pay the bills, take care of the kids... So I started dealing. I never told you. I never wanted you to know... I thought I could keep it all under control. I’m sorry…”

Matt let out a laugh, but it wasn’t a friendly one. “Shut up,” he said, cutting off the dad mid-sentence, his voice sharp and filled with annoyance. He stepped closer, gun still in hand, his gaze deadly serious. “Where’s Steven?”

The dad, now completely broken, didn’t hesitate. “Last I heard, he was hiding out at the warehouse in downtown Boston,” he said quickly, his voice cracking. “Please... Please don’t hurt them.”

Chris exchanged a look with Matt, who let out a short, amused snort. “You’re lucky this time,” Matt said, his voice icy. He motioned toward the door with his gun. “We’ll be back if you’re lying.”

With that, the two of them turned, walking toward the front door. They didn’t waste any time, leaving the house in silence, their footsteps echoing in the hallway before the door slammed shut behind them.

The mom stood there for a moment, still trying to process what had just happened. Then, she rushed over to me, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the ropes that had bound my wrists. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she muttered, her voice filled with regret. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know any of this.”

The dad slowly approached too, his face pale and stricken with guilt. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said, his eyes full of sorrow.

I pulled away from them both, feigning a shaky breath and an overwhelmed look. “I just... I just want to go home,” I said, my voice trembling as I stared up at them, trying to hide the whirlwind of emotions that had been spinning in my head since Matt and Chris showed up.

I rubbed my wrists dramatically, still playing the part. “That was terrifying,” I added, swallowing hard as if trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t know what they were going to do to me.”

The dad’s face twisted in guilt as he finally finished untying me. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to say...”

The mom nodded, her hands shaking as she reached out to offer a comforting gesture. “You’re safe now,” she said softly, but I could see the worry in her eyes, the fear that their world was crumbling down around them.

I stood up, finally free, and took a step back, putting my hands up in mock reassurance. “It’s fine,” I said, my tone shaky but sincere. “I just need to get out of here. I don’t want any part of this. I need to go home.”

The dad and mom exchanged a glance, both of them looking as if they wanted to apologize again, but I was already moving toward the door.

I barely waited for the front door to close before I bolted for my car. My pulse still hammering in my chest. I threw myself into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut, and started the engine without hesitation.

My fingers were already reaching for my phone before I even pulled out of the driveway. I needed answers. I needed to know what was going on. As soon as the phone rang, I found Matt’s contact, pressing the call button.

When he finally answered, I didn’t hold back.

“Get the fuck to my apartment now!” I screamed into the phone, my voice raw “Now, Matt, now!”

Without waiting for him to respond, I ended the call, tossing my phone into the passenger seat as I sped off down the road. My mind was a blur of thoughts. My stomach churned, as I tried to keep my focus on the road.

By the time I reached my apartment, I could already see Matt’s car parked outside. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed Chris’s car next to it. As I slammed the car into park, I didn't hesitate to rush up the stairs to my door. I unlocked it quickly, my breath shallow as I stepped inside.

And there they were—Matt and Chris, already waiting for me.

Matt’s eyes lifted to mine, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “That was fast,” he said, leaning casually against the wall like nothing was out of the ordinary. Chris was seated on the couch, his eyes scanning the room, looking as unfazed as always.

I shut the door behind me, locking it quickly before turning to face them. My heart was still pounding, but now I felt a different kind of fury burning through me.

“What the fuck is going on?” I snapped, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice. “Why did you go there?”

Matt pushed off the wall and took a step toward me, his expression still unreadable. “Relax,” he said, his tone cool. “I told you, Steven is on the run from us, with our money.”

I choked back. “What does that have to do with my kid's dad though? I'm never going to be able to watch them again, You know how much those kids mean to me.” This all felt way more personal than before.

Chris looked up at me, his brow arched in curiosity. “Why not?”

I shot him a glare, “I can't just act like being held hostage at their house is fine, Especially if they can't know I'm associated with you two.”

Matt walked over wrapping me in a tight hug, making all of the sadness of leaving my kids behind lessen a little.

I took a deep breath and relaxed into him. “So what happens now?” I asked, my voice quieter, the tension not fully leaving my shoulders.

Matt let go of me glancing at Chris before answering, his gaze steady. “Now, we wait for Steven to make a move. We’ll track him down, you don’t need to worry. You’re not a part of this anymore.”

“Fine,” I muttered, turning away from them and heading for the kitchen to grab a drink. I heard them both chuckle behind me, but I didn’t turn around.

It was nearly 11 pm when the three of us settled into the couch, the glow of the TV flickering across the room. Matt was on one end, his feet propped up on the coffee table, and Chris sat next to me, barely paying attention to whatever show was on. The quiet voices of the TV was the only sound between us.

Chris was the first to break the silence, sitting up suddenly and glancing over at Matt. “Got a deal. We need to go kid.”

Matt’s eyes flicked toward Chris, a nod of acknowledgment passing between them. Then, Chris turned to me, his gaze lazy but with an edge to it. “You coming?”

Without thinking, I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll come.”

Maybe it was the restless energy buzzing inside me, or maybe it was just the adrenaline that hadn’t worn off from earlier. Either way, something inside me wanted to go, even if it was a bad idea.

We all stood, I followed Matt and Chris out the door. The cool night air hit me as soon as I stepped outside, and the headlights of Matt’s car cut through the darkness.

When we reached the car, Matt stopped, opening the back and grabbing a hoodie. He handed it to me without a word, his expression serious. “Put this on,” he said, his voice low. “Cover up. These men are scumbags.”

I hesitated for a second, glancing at him before pulling the hoodie on. The fabric swallowed me up. I could feel the weight of his words, the underlying warning behind them. Whoever these men were, they were dangerous. And for some reason, I was excited.

Matt gave me a quick glance, his eyes briefly softening before hardening again. “Let’s go.”

The ride was smooth, and despite the late hour, The hum of the engine filled the car as Matt drove, his hands gripping the wheel with effortless control.

In the backseat, I let myself relax, sinking into the leather, my gaze never leaving Matt. The low beats of Jukebox Joints by A$AP Rocky pulsed through the car, the rhythm adding to the easy vibe of the night. It was one of those moments that felt surreal, yet completely natural.

Matt’s jawline caught the light as he turned the wheel, the scruff of his stubbly beard lining it perfectly. I couldn’t help but watch how it framed his face, the way his blue eyes glowed under the streetlights, glimmering with a mix of cold determination and something else. Maybe it was the faintest softness I caught in them whenever he glanced in the rearview mirror, or the way his lips would curve into the smallest smile when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

Matt may seem intimidating—hard, distant, cold. But he was perfect. Every inch of him, from the way his hands moved on the steering wheel to the way his eyes could make me feel like the only thing in the world, was exactly what I needed. I didn’t need to worry. With him in control, everything felt right.

I could feel my heart racing as I thought about him, how everything about him pulled me in deeper. No one had ever made me feel this way—safe, in a strange kind of way. He was exactly what I wanted, and the feeling of knowing that I was exactly where I was meant to be settled deep inside me.

We pulled up to a nondescript house that looked like it had seen better days. The lights were dim, casting shadows across the overgrown lawn. It wasn’t much to look at, but in this world, it didn’t need to be. The muffled noise from inside—the sound of loud voices, clinking glasses, and low laughter—told me everything I needed to know. The moment I stepped out of the car, I could feel the shift in the air, like I was stepping into something dark, something dangerous.

Matt moved ahead, confident, like he owned every inch of this place. Chris was close behind, his eyes scanning the surroundings, alert and ready.

We reached the door and stepped inside, and immediately, the smell of smoke and alcohol hit me. The house was dark, dimly lit by a few weak lamps, the air thick with tension. I could hear the murmurs of conversation from the men hanging around, but as soon as we entered, the room seemed to freeze.

A few men glanced up, sizing the boys up. They were eyeing Matt and Chris, their faces changing from casual indifference to cautious recognition. These were the kinds of men who knew power when they saw it, and they recognized it immediately in Matt and Chris.

One of the men, a scruffy guy with a beer in hand, stepped forward, attempting a cocky smile. “Well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with false charm. “A couple of big shots. You boys here for business, or something else?”

Before I even had time to register his words, the room fell silent. The other men in the room watched the exchange, their gazes shifting uneasily between Matt and Chris. It was like they could feel the weight of the moment like everything had shifted in an instant.

Matt’s gaze flicked over to the guy, his eyes cold and calculating. He didn’t say a word, but his presence alone made the air feel heavy. His silence was more intimidating than any words could have been. He took one step forward, and the man with the beer faltered, taking a half step back as if instinctively knowing he was in over his head.

Chris, standing beside me, didn’t even glance at the guy. He just raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

The guy’s eyes widened slightly, and he hesitated. “Look, I didn’t mean anything,” he muttered, clearly unnerved now, his cocky grin gone. “Just—just tryin’ to be friendly.”

The room had gotten deathly quiet, every pair of eyes on Matt and Chris, every single person in that room recognizing the authority they held. Even the man who had been bold enough to speak was backing off, his shoulders slumping.

I wasn’t surprised. Matt and Chris had this effect on people—intimidating, relentless. The way they carried themselves, the unspoken threat that followed them—it made everyone else uneasy. They didn’t have to say much, because the energy they exuded did all the talking for them.

“Good,” Matt finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. He didn’t need to raise it. “Now, let’s get down to business.”

The tension in the room shifted once again, but this time it was with the unmistakable shift from uncertainty to compliance. Everyone knew their place now.

The man who had tried to make small talk took another step back, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, no problem,” he muttered, and just like that, he retreated to the couch, not daring to make another move.

Chris gave a small, almost bored, shrug as he turned to follow Matt deeper into the house. I stayed close behind them.

We walked into a dimly lit room that smelled of stale smoke and tension. The walls were lined with old, worn-out couches, and a few men were lounging around, talking low and eyeing us as we entered. I stayed close to Matt, feeling the weight of their stares.

Matt and Chris sat on one of the couches, and I followed them, sitting down beside Matt. The three men who had been sitting across the room stood and made their way over. They didn’t seem too eager to be here, but when Matt and Chris walked in, the vibe shifted, and they knew better than to act tough.

One of the men, a lanky guy with a beard, took a seat on the couch opposite, the other two following suit.

Chris didn’t waste any time. He reached into his backpack, pulling out a couple of bricks of coke wrapped tightly in plastic. He placed them on the table with a soft thud, and the men’s eyes immediately locked onto the product, their faces betraying a mix of desire and calculation.

“Here’s the deal,” Chris said, his voice low but commanding. He looked directly at the guy who had been eyeing the coke the hardest. “Two bricks, top quality. You know the price. No games.”

The lanky guy nodded, his fingers twitching as he looked at the bricks. “Yeah, we know the price,” he said, his voice rough. “But we heard you’ve been slacking a bit. No one wants to be stuck with bad product, and we ain't in the habit of losing money.”

Chris didn’t flinch. He leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxed, but there was a dangerous edge to him. “If you think you’re gonna sit here and lecture me about quality,” he said calmly, “then maybe you’re in the wrong business. These are the best. You want them, you pay up. Simple.”

The men across from us exchanged quick glances, the tension palpable, but they all knew the deal wasn’t something they could just walk away from. Money was money, and coke was always in demand.

The man sitting closest to Chris leaned forward, taking a good look at the bricks, then glanced up at Matt, his eyes narrowing. “We don’t want any issues this time, Matt. You and Chris are tight, but we’ve heard some rumors. People get too greedy, things go south.”

Matt didn’t flinch. His stare was unyielding, like he wasn’t just the one who made the rules—he was the one who enforced them. His voice was calm but steady, the kind that didn’t allow for negotiation. “If you’ve got concerns, now’s the time to speak. But if you’re just here to waste time, we can walk out the door. I’m not here to argue over rumors.”

The guy swallowed, his jaw tightening. I could see it in their eyes. This wasn’t a game to them. It never was. But Matt made it clear it was his world, and they were just living in it.

The lanky guy looked at the bricks again, then back at Matt. “Alright,” he said, voice shaky now, “let’s do it, no bullshit. We’ll take them.”

Chris grinned, the deal sealed with a nod. The man reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a stack of cash.

Matt reached forward, his fingers brushing the cash as he slid it across the table. He counted it once, then twice, his eyes flicking back up to the men across from him, checking for any sign of hesitation.

“It’s all there,” Matt said, his voice calm but sharp. “Let’s go”

The deal had gone smoothly. The men gathered the bricks, standing quickly, eager to get out of there with the product they just secured. They didn’t dare linger.

Without a word, the men left the room, disappearing into the shadows of the house. The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The tension slowly dissipated, and I relaxed back into the couch, feeling the adrenaline from the deal finally settling.

Matt’s eyes met mine briefly before he stood, nodding to Chris. "Let's go. We've got what we need."

tag-

(divider by @cafekitsune) @tbfaptbfae @ch0llies @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @slut4christopherr @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @realuvrrr @namelesssav @matts-girlfriend @emely9274 @sturnslutz @secret-sturniolo @vickytaa @matteatmeout @pair-of-pantaloons @theboredknightcat-blog @sturniolostuff @dariellemccaul @mamamadssss

#nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo

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elliespaggetti · 3 days ago

Text

GET IT - CHOI SEUNGHYUN

LUCKY FOR ME - LAUFEY

a/n: im so sorry i posted this so freaking late, i legit got HARASSED by school, and mostly have been feeling lazy. I will update this series every week, or bi-weekly, depending on my mood. again, i apologise for updating this series so late, and enjoy my babies.

(this is a oneshot collection, but if you want part twos request them)

warnings: swearing, no beta read femme reader fluff VERYYYYYYYY short.

summary: After being hired as a translator for BIG-BANG'S shows, you cover for your friend who was supposed to fetch their outfits for tonight's show. But then, unexpectedly, they had moved the outfit section months ago, and now you have no idea were you are. But then, a certain someone comes as your savior.

get it masterlist

Why the fuck did I agree to this? I have absolutely no idea where the fuck I am.

You walked in the so-called closet, but no clothes are in sight.

The room was covered wall to wall with awards, and the floor was a marble white. I glanced at the floor, and I was met with my own reflection. It was really that white, wasn't it.

My eyes flicker to the wall, and I walk closer to take a look at them.

"MAMA, AWARD FOR SONG OF THE YEAR" The words were printed neatly around the base of the award.

These are all the awards that they have won, I realise.

I turn around to call my friend to complain that the closet wasn't where it was, where i was met with one of the band members.

"Impressive, isnt it?" Seunghyun says in broken english. You look up to see him leaning against the small frame of the door.

"Hah, I speak Korean. I'm a translator." You speak in Korean, surprising him.

"Oh, well thats a relief. It would have been really awkward." he huffs, and you both share a tense glance.

"Anyways..." You start, "I have to go and complain to my friend that I have no idea were your costumes are for tonight show" You walk forward, trying to escape this intimating show-down.

"Wait, I can show you to it, if you like." He offers. Its much better then just wandering around, hoping to find it.

"Well, okay" You accept, vowing to curse out your friend for not having better instructions.

He makes room for you to walk through the frame of the door, and you both start walking, him leading.

"So...." he starts, trying to make conversation, something that you desperately didn't want. "What are you doing here? Arent you supposed to be translating?'

You laugh before answering "Well, my friend was out sick, and she asked me to cover for her."

"So what does that have to do with you sneaking around the trophy room?" He jokes, but gives you a serious look.

"Well, she had to get the clothes for the show tonight, and my dumb ass thought that was the closet. Sorry for lurking around.." You apologize.

"No, it's okay." Seunghyun reasures, and he stops.

You hadn't noticed, but you had arrived at the closet.

It was filled to the brim with clothing, mostly brightly coloured. It hurt your eyes to look at, but you were still thankful for Seunghyun's help guiding you. You glance at Seunghyun, and you see him mesmerized, like he had never been here before.

"Wow, its been a while since ive been here..." He breathes, meeting your gaze.

"Well, thank you for taking me here." You say, before freezing. Should you hug him? I mean, you both just met each other, and you technically work for him.

Before you could decide if their should be any contact at all, you hear a voice.

"Seunghyun! Come here for a sec!" The voice yells, and his eyes furrow.

"Im sorry we couldn't talk more. I have to go. Can you talk later?" He questions.

Honestly, your surprised that he would even want anything to do with you.

"Oh, sure.." You say, before he turns around and walks towards the exit.

Thank god he was faced away from you, or else he would have saw the blush that covered your face.

" Lucky for me, I guess" You mumble, and turn around to try and find the outfits for the show.

---------

#t.o.p #t.o.p bigbang #thanos #choi seunghyun x reader #choi seunghyun #seunghyun x reader #fic #oneshot #x reader #seunghyun #t.o.p x reader

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aspenmissing · 2 days ago

Note

hii!! a lil request as this is my 1st ever doing this but ive been thinking abt this idea:

arcane characters w hallucinating!reader where reader had a tragic backstory n lost their love one(s) (either friends or families) n all of a sudden they started to hallucinate their love one(s)

i just want angst thats all LMAOO n u can make it fluff if u want! (well i mean reader needs some comfort after shit had happened)

anyways thank u for reading n have a nice beautiful day!

ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛꜱ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 6075 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʜᴀʟʟᴜᴄɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜱɪʙʟɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛʜᴇᴀʀᴛ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ! <3 <3

JAYCE

Y/N sat by the window of the apartment, gazing out at the grand skyline of Piltover. The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden hue across the city. But inside, the room felt cold. A strange heaviness had settled in her chest, a weight that no amount of time or comfort seemed to lift. It had been years since she’d seen her family, since she’d left Zaun, since everything had fallen apart.

Yet, tonight... it felt like she was still there.

Her fingers curled around the fabric of the chair she sat in, the stitches in the material biting into her skin as she gripped tighter, her mind pulling her into the past.

A familiar voice echoed in her mind, rising from the depths of her grief. "You could have stopped this. You could have saved me."

Her breath hitched, her heart skipping a beat. She knew that voice. She could almost see him—her father.

His eyes, once full of love and wisdom, now burned with accusation. He was gone, but tonight, the pain of his death felt as fresh as the day it happened.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the hallucination away. It had been happening more frequently lately. The images came in waves, like cruel reminders of the life she had lost. His face, his voice, the anger and hurt that now tainted his memory—it was all too much.

"Y/N?"

The voice that broke her from her thoughts was soft, comforting, steady—Jayce’s. He had been by her side through thick and thin, but tonight, even he couldn’t seem to chase away the ghosts that haunted her.

She turned to him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. "I... I can still hear him," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I keep hearing his voice like he’s still here, blaming me."

Jayce’s heart ached at the sight of her torment. He stepped closer, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. He could see the depth of her pain—the way it clawed at her soul. The tragedy of her past had a grip on her, and no matter how much time passed, it still held her in its iron grasp.

"Y/N," Jayce said softly, kneeling before her. "You're not to blame. You were just a child. You didn’t cause this."

But Y/N’s mind was a battlefield, her father’s voice ringing louder. "You should have protected me... You should have saved me from this miserable life."

The guilt gnawed at her insides, the anger in his voice twisting the knife deeper. She had failed him. She had failed everyone she loved.

Her hands trembled as she reached up, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall. "I wasn’t enough," she whispered, the words barely audible. "I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t protect him."

Jayce reached out and gently cupped her face, lifting her gaze to meet his. "Y/N, listen to me. You are not responsible for what happened. Your father’s death... It wasn’t your fault."

But the words seemed to slip away, drowned by the echo of her father’s accusatory voice. "You left me to die, Y/N. You let me fall."

Her vision blurred as the hallucination became more vivid, like a cruel mirage. She could almost see her father now, standing before her, his expression one of sorrow and rage.

"No..." she breathed, her voice shaking with the weight of the memory. "I didn’t want to... I couldn’t protect you."

Jayce’s hand gently brushed a tear from her cheek, his voice low and full of tenderness. "Y/N, you did everything you could. You were just a child when it happened. Your father wouldn’t want you to carry this guilt forever."

But the hallucinations didn’t stop. His voice, now tinged with anger, continued to claw at her mind, every word a reminder of her perceived failure.

"You should have been stronger. You should have saved me," her father’s voice mocked, the accusation in every syllable.

Jayce’s brow furrowed in frustration, but his voice remained calm, firm. "Y/N, your father’s gone. And you can’t change that. But you can choose how you live now. You’re not alone in this."

Y/N pulled back slightly, her chest tightening, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The guilt threatened to overwhelm her, the voices in her mind too strong to ignore.

“I don’t know how to stop hearing him,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I failed him. And now, I’m haunted by it.”

Jayce’s heart ached for her. He could feel her pain, her internal struggle. He wasn’t sure how to make her see it, but he would try anyway.

"You didn’t fail him," Jayce said firmly, cupping her face in his hands, his thumb brushing away the last of her tears. "You were just a child, Y/N. A child who was forced to grow up too soon, but not because of anything you did. This guilt—it’s not yours to bear."

She trembled under his touch, her mind still fighting the hallucinations, but in that moment, Jayce’s presence seemed to anchor her to reality. His warmth, his steadiness, helped push back against the darkness, just a little.

“I can’t let him go,” Y/N admitted softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"You don’t have to forget him," Jayce replied gently. "He’ll always be a part of you. But you don’t have to carry this burden alone. I’m here for you, Y/N. I’ll help you through this."

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to believe him. The guilt, the voices—they didn’t disappear, but maybe... just maybe, with Jayce by her side, she could find a way to live with them. To move forward.

She took a deep breath, her grip on Jayce’s hands tightening, and allowed herself to believe that she could heal.

And for the first time in a long while, she felt like she might just be able to start letting go of the past.

VIKTOR

The air in the lab was thick with the smell of machinery and smoke. Y/N sat hunched over a workbench, her hands trembling as she carefully pieced together an intricate device. The hum of Viktor's machines filled the room, but Y/N's mind was elsewhere, lost in the swirling thoughts of a past she couldn't outrun.

It was late—darker than usual. Viktor had long since left for the night, his heavy footsteps fading from the corridor. But Y/N hadn’t noticed his absence, her mind too consumed by the memories that seemed to creep up on her when she least expected it.

She froze for a moment, the sound of a soft laugh echoing through her ears. Her heart twisted in her chest. The familiar sound of a voice that used to bring her so much comfort.

"Y/N?"

She slowly turned, her eyes wide, and there she was. Her.

"Elora?" She whispered, voice cracking. Her vision blurred with tears as her late friend—her best friend—stood before her, as real as the day she had died.

"Y/N, you’ve been distant lately. It’s like you’ve disappeared into yourself," Elora said, her smile kind, but there was a sadness in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Y/N took a step forward, her hands reaching out to touch the apparition, but before her fingers could meet Elora's skin, the figure flickered, and the world seemed to shift.

Suddenly, Viktor's voice pierced the air. "Y/N?"

Y/N blinked rapidly, and Elora was gone, vanishing like smoke in the wind. But the emptiness left behind was worse than the hallucination itself. Her chest tightened. The grief surged through her again. She tried to shake it off, but the memory of losing Elora was always there, lurking just beneath the surface.

"You’re… here," Y/N murmured, her voice almost a whisper, her breath catching in her throat. She didn’t want to appear weak, but the strain was evident in her face.

Viktor had entered quietly, leaning heavily on his cane as he observed her. His sharp eyes softened when he saw the state she was in. He could see the ghost of something painful in her gaze, the way her eyes darted as if she was still trying to make sense of the world around her.

"Y/N," Viktor said softly, his voice a soothing balm against her disjointed thoughts. He slowly approached her, his cane clicking against the floor with each careful step. "What's happening?"

She could barely meet his eyes. “I… I just saw her. Elora. I thought she was… gone, but she was here… and she was talking to me." Y/N’s voice wavered, the raw ache of her grief tearing through her again.

Viktor’s expression softened, though there was a weight to his eyes. He’d known loss, too, in his own way. But this was different. He could see the torment in Y/N's eyes, the way she struggled to pull herself back from the brink.

Without a word, Viktor placed his cane aside, stepping closer to her. His hand, warm but firm, gently cupped her cheek, guiding her face to meet his gaze. He knew how much pain she carried, how much she hid behind her strength.

“You’re not alone in this," Viktor said quietly, his voice rich with sincerity. "I know the feeling of losing someone, the way it lingers in your mind. But you have to remember—they’re always with us, even if they’re no longer here physically."

Y/N blinked, tears spilling down her face as she finally let herself crumble in Viktor's arms. The weight of her loss felt unbearable, but for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to mourn. The past few years had been so focused on survival, on the moments she'd spent in this city that she'd forgotten to grieve.

Viktor didn’t try to make her stop crying. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, his touch gentle despite the hardness of his frame. He had a quiet strength, and in that moment, Y/N clung to it. She buried her face against his chest, the warm embrace pulling her away from the spiraling grief, even if just for a moment.

"Elora… she was everything to me," Y/N whispered between sobs. "I never thought I'd feel this empty again. I can't… I can't keep living like this." Her voice cracked as she spoke, the vulnerability raw and unguarded.

Viktor closed his eyes for a moment, listening to her broken words. He had felt loss before—he knew the suffocating weight it carried, the way it clung to your every thought, your every breath. He couldn’t pretend to understand the depths of her pain, but he knew that there was no simple solution. But one thing was clear—she wasn’t alone in this. Not anymore.

"You don't have to live through it alone," Viktor whispered back, his voice like a promise. "I’ll be here for you, Y/N. Always." He tightened his hold on her, as though willing the strength to flow from him to her. "We’ll carry the weight together, step by step."

Y/N sniffed, her breath still ragged. His words felt like an anchor, keeping her grounded when the world around her felt like it was falling apart. Slowly, she drew in a deep breath, feeling the steady presence of Viktor beside her. His arms, his warmth, his very being—he was a constant, a source of strength when hers had failed.

The hallucinations had faded, but the echo of her loss still rang loud in her chest. Her mind wandered back to Elora, to the life they had shared, the future they had dreamed of. For a moment, she wished she could go back—to hear Elora’s voice, to feel her presence. But that was impossible. What was left now was a deep, aching silence.

With Viktor's quiet comfort, she began to believe that, perhaps, it would hurt less one day. Perhaps, one day, the pain would ease, and the weight wouldn’t feel so crushing.

But for now, though, she wasn’t alone. And that was enough.

JAYVIK

The streets of Piltover were bustling with life as the evening sun cast long shadows over the buildings. The city, always so full of promise and ambition, never felt like a home to Y/N. There were too many memories of the past that clung to her—ones she couldn’t escape no matter how hard she tried.

Her steps quickened as she walked, her breath shallow. She could hear it again. The whispers, the voices. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to acknowledge the ghosts that followed her every step. She could feel the weight of them pressing on her chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. Her mind was starting to unravel, just like the threads of her crochet work when she couldn't focus.

“Y/N…” The voice was soft, familiar, so painfully familiar. She clenched her fists at her sides and fought back the tears. It couldn't be. It wasn’t.

"Stop," she whispered to herself, but the sound of a door slamming shut echoed in her ears. She could almost see them—the ones she’d lost, the ones she couldn't save. They were right behind her, walking just close enough that she could feel their presence but never see their faces clearly.

Back at their shared apartment, Jayce and Viktor were discussing plans over their latest projects. Viktor had been unusually quiet, his gaze shifting to the window every now and then, as if he were waiting for something—or someone—to return. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that the Y/N they knew wasn’t the same anymore.

“Do you think we’re doing enough for her?” Viktor asked, glancing over at Jayce.

Jayce paused, the question catching him off guard. “I hope so. She’s strong, Viktor. Stronger than most people I know, but she… She’s been through so much. We both know she’s carrying a lot more than she lets on.”

Before Viktor could respond, the door to their apartment opened with a soft creak, and Y/N staggered inside. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and confusion. The sight of her made Jayce's heart ache. Something was wrong.

"Y/N?" Jayce called gently, but Y/N’s eyes darted around the room, and it was clear she didn’t even register his presence.

Her breath came in short gasps, and her hands trembled as she reached up to grab her hair, yanking at the strands in desperation. "No... please... stop... stop!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "It’s not real! It’s not real!"

Viktor moved toward her cautiously, his brow furrowed with concern. "Y/N, listen to us. You’re here, you’re safe."

But she didn’t hear him. She was locked in her own mind, her fingers pulling at her hair like she was trying to force herself out of the hallucinations. The voices were growing louder now, no longer whispers but full-blown echoes of the past—her family, her friends, the ones she’d lost in Zaun. Their faces flashed before her eyes, cruelly mocking her, accusing her of failing them.

"I couldn't save you," Y/N sobbed, her voice raw. "I couldn't save any of you..." She collapsed onto the floor, her hands still clutching her hair as if she could tear it out to stop the torment. "I tried... I tried so hard..."

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a look, both knowing the source of her pain. The trauma of her past, the loss of so many loved ones—family, friends, the ones she had tried to protect—had left deep scars, ones that she couldn’t escape.

"Y/N, it’s okay," Jayce said, kneeling beside her. He gently took her hands in his, guiding them away from her hair. "You didn’t fail anyone. You did what you could. You're not alone anymore."

Viktor crouched down on the other side, his voice soft yet firm. "We’re here for you, Y/N. We won’t leave you."

Y/N’s eyes flickered between the two men, still lost in the haze of her hallucinations. Her breath hitched, and her body trembled as if she were caught between two worlds—the past and the present. Her chest tightened as she fought to push the memories back, but they refused to stay buried.

"I... I miss them," Y/N whispered, her voice a broken sob.

Jayce and Viktor shared another silent look, and without words, they both moved closer, wrapping their arms around her. She didn’t resist this time. Her body slumped into their embrace, finally allowing herself to break down. It had been so long since she’d let herself grieve, so long since she’d allowed herself to feel anything but the weight of her responsibility.

The apartment was a mess—papers scattered across the floor, books and tools abandoned in haste—but it didn’t matter. All that mattered in that moment was that she wasn’t alone.

Jayce’s hand gently caressed her hair, his voice soothing as he whispered, “We’ll face this together, Y/N. Whatever it takes.”

Viktor, his voice a quiet promise, added, "You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. We’re with you."

Y/N closed her eyes, the sounds of her hallucinations slowly fading into the background, replaced by the warmth of their presence. For the first time in so long, she felt like she could finally let go of the pain—just for a moment.

And maybe, just maybe, she could begin to heal.

VANDER

The dim, smoky tavern buzzed with the usual noise of Zaun's underground haven. The low hum of conversation and clinking mugs filled the air, but Y/N hardly noticed it. Her thoughts, heavy with grief, spun around the same haunting memory, the face of the person she had lost years ago.

Vander sat at the bar, watching her from across the room. His gaze softened as he observed the subtle tension in her shoulders, the distant look in her eyes. It had been months since she'd come to him for shelter, but there were still days when she seemed so far away.

"Y/N," he called gently, standing and walking over to her side.

She blinked, her gaze snapping back to the present as if she had been pulled from another world. For a moment, his concern mixed with the shimmer of something else in her eyes. Something foreign.

“Are you alright?” Vander asked, taking a seat beside her. He could sense something off, something deeper than the usual weight of her sorrow.

Y/N gave a strained smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, just tired," she muttered, her fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the wooden table. She hated how it felt—this emptiness that lingered in her chest. She hated how her past still haunted her, how it still left her like this, staring into nothingness. But there was nothing she could do.

As she tried to push the thought of the lost one from her mind, a faint sound reached her ears. The unmistakable sound of laughter. Her stomach clenched as the memory flooded back—the sound of them laughing, full of life, before everything had shattered. Before the world had taken them away.

The laughter grew louder in her mind, ringing in her ears. She could almost see them, standing in the corner, their eyes sparkling with the joy they used to share.

Stop... Y/N's breath hitched, her pulse quickening as the laughter grew overwhelming. She gripped the edge of the table harder, her nails digging into her palms. Why are they laughing?

"Y/N?" Vander’s voice cut through the haze, but the laughter persisted, louder and mocking, as if they were right there with her, teasing her for her inability to save them.

"No!" Y/N suddenly shouted, her voice shaky and raw. She stood, her legs unsteady, and turned toward the empty space where she felt them, her body trembling with the surge of panic. "Stop laughing! Stop it!" she cried, her voice cracking as she dug her nails into her arms, holding herself tight.

Vander was on his feet instantly, his heart sinking at the sight of her so clearly tormented. He could see her spiraling, caught in a moment where the line between the past and present blurred, where her loss consumed her. The laughter still echoed in her ears, and it was as though she couldn’t escape it.

"Y/N, look at me," he said, his voice firm but gentle, reaching for her. He could see how badly she was hurting, how the hallucinations were clawing at her. "Come on, let’s get out of here."

Before she could react, Vander gently took hold of her arm, guiding her away from the crowded tavern, his grip strong and steady as he led her through the back door and into the quiet alley behind it. The cool night air hit her, the silence of the alley wrapping around them, but still, the echoes of laughter lingered in her mind.

"Y/N, breathe," Vander said softly, holding her close, his voice low and soothing. "I’ve got you. You’re safe now."

Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts, and she dug her fingers into her skin, trying to pull herself together. But the hallucinations were relentless, her past was relentless. "They’re laughing at me, Vander," she whispered, her voice raw with pain. "I couldn’t save them, and now they... they think it’s funny."

Vander’s heart broke at the rawness of her words, at how deeply the guilt had dug into her soul. "It’s not your fault," he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch grounding her in the present. "They’re not laughing at you, Y/N. It’s just the pain talking, and it’s going to fade. You’re here, and that’s all that matters."

Her body shook, but slowly, her grip on herself loosened. She wasn’t sure if the hallucinations would stop—if the laughter would ever leave her—but Vander was here. His presence, steady and unwavering, was the anchor she needed.

"You’re not alone," Vander whispered again, his voice warm as he held her close. "You don’t have to carry this burden on your own. I’ll help you through it. You’ll heal, love. I won’t let you go through this alone."

Y/N closed her eyes, her breath slowly evening out as the tension in her body began to ease. The laughter still clung to the edges of her mind, but Vander’s voice, steady and strong, helped push it back. In his arms, she felt safe. For now, that was enough.

Time would pass, and the wounds would eventually begin to heal. And as she leaned into Vander, trusting him to help her carry the weight, she knew she had someone who would never let her fall apart, no matter how loud the echoes of her past became.

SILCO

The small room was suffocating, the walls closing in on Y/N as she sat in the corner, her knees hugged tightly to her chest. The flickering light from a single lamp overhead cast long shadows that danced across the walls. Silence lingered, oppressive, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the voice in her head.

It started softly at first, a faint whisper. Then it grew louder, more insistent.

“Momma…”

She froze, the blood in her veins turning cold. The name, that voice… it couldn’t be.

Her eyes darted around the room, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. The space seemed to twist, warp, and stretch before her as the hallucinations began to consume her. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image burned brighter, clearer. A little face she once cherished, a child she loved more than life itself, stood before her. But the innocent smile was gone, replaced by a twisted, mocking grin.

Her heart skipped a beat. “No, no, you’re not real…”

“Momma, why did you leave me?” the voice asked, its tone dripping with venom.

“NO!” Y/N shouted, slamming her fists to her ears as if the physical pain could drown out the ghosts of her past.

The image of her child laughed—loud, mocking, endless. The echo of that laughter twisted into screams, the sound reverberating through her mind, unbearable, sharp. She gripped her head, eyes wild, desperate to escape.

"Why did you leave me, momma?" the voice taunted again. “You should’ve saved me…”

“Please… please stop…” Her hands were trembling as she reached for her gun, fingers brushing over the cold metal like a lifeline. The room around her seemed to blur, the walls pressing in as if to crush her beneath their weight.

And then, in a moment of madness, she stood, her heart pounding, breath coming in jagged gasps. With a sharp, guttural cry, she pulled the trigger.

Bang. The shot rang out, splitting the silence like a whip. A piece of the wall exploded, dust raining down. But it wasn’t enough.

Another shot, then another, until her hand was aching, and the gun’s barrel was smoking. The world around her was falling apart, fragments of broken furniture, shattered glass, and torn fabric littering the floor. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out everything but the screams.

“You’ll never be good enough!” the hallucination of her child screamed, their voice now distorted, a cruel caricature of the once-sweet tone.

But then, from the shadows, a voice broke through the chaos—cold, steady, but with an undertone of something far softer. “Y/N… put the gun down.”

It was Silco. His figure emerged from the doorway, his posture unwavering, though his eyes were filled with something that mirrored the pain she felt. He knew. He’d been there. He understood the horrors of losing someone you loved. But there was something different in his expression now—compassion? No, it was more than that. It was a quiet understanding, a recognition of her suffering.

Y/N’s chest heaved, her breath ragged, but her grip on the gun didn’t loosen. Her mind was spiraling, the hallucination still mocking her, still taunting her with her child’s voice.

“They never forgive you, Y/N…” the phantom whispered, cruel and malicious.

“You’re not real,” she murmured to herself, her voice cracking.

Silco’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, cautiously, aware of the danger. His voice was low, soothing, as if speaking to a wounded animal. “I know what it’s like to live with ghosts… but you don’t need to face them alone.”

Her eyes flicked to him, confusion and desperation swirling within her. “I— I don’t know how to stop it. I can’t...”

“Y/N,” Silco said firmly, his voice cutting through the panic. “The only way to stop them is to stop running from them. They can’t hurt you if you face them. You’re stronger than this.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as the hallucination of her child laughed one final, cruel laugh. The sound echoed in her skull, but for the first time, it didn’t seem as deafening. Silco’s words held her, anchored her.

Slowly, trembling, she lowered the gun. Her vision was blurred, tears staining her face as she let out a ragged sob. She sank to the floor, her hands dropping to her sides, empty, the gun clattering softly next to her.

Silco was there in an instant, kneeling beside her, his presence grounding. “You’re not alone,” he murmured, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. “We all have our demons, but we don’t have to fight them alone.”

Y/N leaned into him, her body shaking with the weight of her grief, but for the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of warmth, of something real, beneath the heavy shadows of her past.

And as she allowed herself to be held, the haunting laughter of her lost child began to fade, as if the sound was swallowed by the darkness, leaving her with the quiet understanding that, maybe—just maybe—she could heal.

Maybe.

JINX

The air was thick with tension, the kind that made it hard to breathe. Y/N’s heart raced in her chest as she wandered through the dimly lit alleyways of Zaun, her hands trembling at her sides. The towering structures cast long shadows across the narrow paths, the hum of machinery echoing in the distance, but all of it was a blur, a haze. Her mind was caught in the grip of something far more consuming—memories. They churned like smoke in her thoughts, impossible to grasp and even harder to push away.

She could see him—him—her brother. His face was vivid, sharp in the haze of her mind, so real that it almost seemed to shimmer in the air. His smile. His eyes. Everything about him was there, standing just a few paces ahead of her, waiting.

But he was dead. He couldn’t be here.

Y/N stumbled forward, her breath catching in her throat. Her feet moved on their own, pulling her toward him, as if some invisible force guided her steps. She had promised herself she was done with this, that she had buried the memory of him—the memory of that night—the explosion that had taken him away from her forever. She had buried it deep, pushed it down until it barely hurt. But now, standing here in the darkness of Zaun, the pain was rising up again like an open wound, flooding every inch of her.

"You're just... hallucinating," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. She repeated it, hoping the words would make it true, but her heart wasn’t convinced. Her chest tightened with every breath, her palms slick with sweat as she moved closer, her eyes fixed on his face. "This isn't real... It can't be real."

"You don’t have to face it alone, Y/N," his voice echoed, soft but so familiar. It was a comfort, the kind of warmth that she hadn’t felt in years. But it was wrong. It couldn’t be him.

"Stop," she gasped, her hands clutching at her temples, trying to block out the sound of his voice. "Please... stop."

She could hear the sound of her own breath growing shallow, panicked, as her body trembled under the weight of it all. The ground beneath her feet felt unstable, as though the very earth was shaking beneath her, and her lungs burned as though there was no air left in the world. Her chest was tight, and no matter how much she gasped for air, it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t escape.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, her body shaking violently as her vision blurred. The hallucination of her brother’s face grew clearer, more vivid, until it filled every corner of her mind. It was like she was being pulled into it, into the past, into that night. She could almost feel his hand reaching out to her, could almost hear the words he would say if he were here.

And that was when she felt it—the panic, the suffocation. Her heart was racing. Her body wasn’t her own anymore. She felt as though she was slipping away, drowning in memories she couldn’t escape.

Then, a voice cut through the chaos. It was strange but somehow grounding, chaotic but comforting in a way Y/N didn’t understand.

"Hey! Breathe! Breathe, okay?"

Y/N blinked, dazed, and then she saw her. Jinx.

Jinx stood just a few feet away, her wild eyes locked on her. Her usual manic energy was toned down, and her face held an understanding that made Y/N pause. There was something in her eyes, something that spoke of a shared pain, an unspoken connection.

Y/N’s vision wavered as the hallucination of her brother's face grew sharper, more intense, but Jinx stepped between them, blocking her view.

"Focus on me, not him," Jinx said, her voice strangely gentle. The edges of her manic grin were gone for now, replaced by something softer, a flicker of empathy. She knelt down beside Y/N, her gaze never leaving her face. "You’re freaking out. You gotta breathe, Y/N. I get it. I’ve been there."

Y/N’s chest tightened further, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t make sense of anything. "I can’t—he’s right there, I... I can’t breathe—"

"Yes, you can!" Jinx snapped, but there was no malice, only urgency in her voice. She reached out, placing a hand gently on Y/N’s shoulder. "Focus on my voice, alright? Forget the ghosts. Forget him. Just breathe."

Jinx pulled in a slow, exaggerated breath, her eyes wide, focused. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Like this."

Y/N tried, but the breath caught in her throat, the panic choking her again. The hallucination of her brother was still there, still so real that it felt like she could reach out and touch him. Her mind screamed at her to move, to run, but her body refused to respond.

"Look at me," Jinx said firmly, leaning closer. Her face was just inches from Y/N’s now, and Y/N could see the quiet pain in her eyes, the understanding that went beyond the madness. "You’re not alone, Y/N. You hear me? Not alone. We’ve all got our ghosts, our demons, but we don’t have to drown in them. You’re strong. You’ve got this. I’ve got you."

Y/N’s hands were shaking, but she tried again. She inhaled slowly, following Jinx’s breath, though it felt like an impossible task. The tightness in her chest didn’t ease, but the focus on Jinx’s voice helped. Slowly, the image of her brother started to blur, losing its sharp edges, becoming less clear. His voice faded into the background, replaced by Jinx’s steady rhythm.

"There you go," Jinx whispered, her voice softer now, as if she, too, was fighting to stay steady. "It’s okay. You don’t have to carry that weight alone anymore."

Y/N blinked, her chest still tight, but the panic began to loosen its grip. Her vision cleared, the hallucination of her brother fading to nothing. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her body trembling with relief.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, side by side in the dark alley, listening to the distant hum of Zaun’s ever-present machinery. Y/N’s heart rate slowly returned to normal, and she felt the weight on her chest begin to lift, just a little. She wiped her face, blinking back the tears she hadn’t realized had fallen.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

"Don’t apologize," Jinx replied with a quiet shake of her head. "I get it. Trust me. I’ve been there more times than I can count."

There was a silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was... understanding. A shared moment of something deeper, something unspoken.

"I still see them sometimes," Jinx added quietly, her eyes far away, staring into some distant memory. "My brothers. They never really left me. But... I keep going. For them. For me. For the people still here."

Y/N felt a pang in her chest, a sympathy for Jinx that she hadn’t expected. She wiped at her face again, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it wasn’t just sadness now. It was something else—a recognition of their shared pain, the unspoken connection between them.

"I don’t know if I can... let go of him," Y/N said quietly, her voice trembling. "I don’t know how to stop seeing him."

"You don’t have to forget," Jinx said softly, her voice steady, her gaze unwavering. "You just... you learn to live with it. You learn to breathe through the bad parts. And the more you breathe, the easier it gets. You’re not alone, Y/N. Not now. Not ever."

Y/N nodded slowly, taking in Jinx’s words. Slowly, she felt a kind of quiet strength rising in her chest, something that had been buried deep inside her, waiting to be found.

"Thanks," she whispered, her voice quieter now, steadier.

"Yeah, yeah," Jinx grinned, though it was softer than usual, more genuine. "We’re both a mess, huh? But that’s alright. You’ve got me. Don’t forget that."

Y/N chuckled weakly, taking Jinx’s outstretched hand. She pulled herself up, feeling the weight of her past still lingering but not holding her down.

"We both got this," Y/N said softly, her breath finally steady, the echoes of her mind growing quieter.

And with that, they walked together through the dark streets of Zaun, side by side. The weight of their shared pain wasn’t gone, but they were no longer carrying it alone. And that made all the difference.

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dragonsrrad · 3 days ago

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dnp yap alert!

first of all, this is simply my opinion/take on the Phan Dog™️ and I’m not trying to start discourse, so please don’t take it too seriously if you disagree :)

anyway, as someone who’s been in the phandom for 10+ years, i think that dnp getting a dog would be the beginning of the end (in terms of them being creators). many many times, dnp have stated that they like the idea of a dog but that they’re too busy to have the necessary time to take care of them, especially if dnp get a puppy. i think this is super responsible of them and i admire their acknowledgement that they don’t have the time for a dog rn, regardless of want.

i feel like a dog is going to be a ‘retirement’ thing for them (retirement in quotes because who knows when and to what extent they’ll leave the internet). whenever they’ve decided to slow down/stop their internet careers, and don’t travel often and for long periods of time. then they’ll announce that they’re getting a dog. it makes me feel bittersweet because yay them living happily ever after but not yay our dads leaving.

but hey, i may be way out in left field. idk ive just been thinking about this

#dragon yaps #dan and phil #dan and phil games #daniel howell #amazing phil #phil lester #dnp #dnp games #dnpgames #phan #phandom #phannie #phan dog

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babylacedream · 21 hours ago

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I'll throw my heart out to the ocean tonight

pairing: merman!rafayel x f!thalassophile reader

warnings: suicidal attempt & ideation, mini panic attack, cancer patient, angsy

summary: recently, you were diagnosed with cancer in your heart that would soon take your life. you have been obsessed with the ocean ever since you were a child, and when all hope was lost, you decided to give your heart out to the ocean.

note: inspired by pinkpantheress unreleased song called ocean. i recommend listening, its a beautiful song.

The beeping sounds of your heart monitor and the occasional sounds of nurses passing by were starting to bother you. Even the stench from your hospital room gave you a headache. The bitter-like smell of chemicals made you feel nauseous.

You started feeling breathless, as your chest pain was too unbearable to handle. Tears streamed down your cheeks. You couldn't scream for help nor rid yourself of this ache.

You tried calming yourself by grounding yourself by looking around your room. Many seashells hung up on the white walls. Pictures of whales, dolphins, and turtles.

The throbbing pain in your heart stopped. You breathed with exhausted exhales and inhaled.

You weaky reached for your phone, playing your playlist you kept especially for moments like these. The sound of the waves of the sea, and the moans of the whales carried you as you soon fell asleep on your hospital bed.

The next day was like every other miserable day in this place, getting chemotherapy, having to join therapy groups, and occasional greetings from doctors who have failed you.

Your parents made sure that you were taken good care of and observed carefully after your recent attempt. Their influence reached even the deadliest parts of your life. The life you wanted control over.

You wanted to see the ocean before your inevitable end. You wanted to give the ocean, the most bruised part of your body that failed you. In hopes, that it would make a beautiful seashell that twinkled and basked under the moonlight and stars.

You would hope that it would live on for years and years to come to preserve the ocean.

"Wishful thinking."

One night when the night seemed too quiet and long, you ripped out the IV out of your inner elbow, and blood dripped down your arm. You placed your feet inside your slippers and changed out of your hospital gown to a pink-laced nightgown. Soon, the blood on your arm would stain your nightgown almost as if foreshadowing your doom.

These past few months, you've studied the nurse's scheduled time off making sure when they left, you timed it on your phone. You were able to easily slip by their suffocating watch.

The automatic doors opened as you reached the door of the hospital entrance. A relieving sigh escaped your lungs as you walked out of the place you called, purgatory.

The night sky was darker than the other nights. You requested beforehand a taxi. As you sat in the back looking out the window reminiscing about your life. You knew you would not have regrets.

Your parents? The one time you've ever asked them for anything, you even begged your parents to release you or see the ocean but they refused, deeming it idiotic and selfish.

But, instead of loving you, they used you to gain pity from their supporters to gain an upper hand as a candidate in their political standings. You left a note on your hospital bed, hoping that this would be your last and final way of getting your revenge against them.

Your friends? They became bored when they realized you lost your parent's favor after being diagnosed with heart cancer. Back then, you cried so much but now all your tears have dried out for those people.

"This is your stop."

The driver called out, slipping you out of your reminiscing. You stepped out of the taxi and closed the door.

You turned around to face the ocean, hearing the sound of the waves crashing felt liberating. As the wind was howling, it made your nightgown and hair move against the winds.

At this point, you were losing a lot of blood but you didn't let that stop you. You took off your slippers as if the sand were holy ground, stumbling in the progress as you stepped on the sand.

Your eyes trickled with tears as adrenaline pumped through your body erasing the throbbing pain in your heart. Your feet reach the cold ocean water, and you let your feet get used to the feeling as your toes shift under the sand.

You let out a breathy puff as you felt tears forming yet again. You weren't in tears for your miserable life but for your pass over to the ocean.

"I'll throw my heart out to the ocean tonight. I hope you'll accept me as I am, bruises and all."

You gloomily softly spoke into the wind before walking deeper into the water. Your nightgown became drenched in water as the waves splashed on you. Your nightgown became heavily engulfed by the water.

Your heartbeat pumped so loudly that the sound of the waves was too low to hear. Irritated, you drove under the water completely submerged under the water.

The water filling your ears felt good, for your heartbeat was silenced. Holding your breath, you swam further. You wanted to rest where not even the filthiest hands could ever reach you.

You ascend to breathe before weakly submerging again. When you were far from land, you ascended again to catch a glimpse of the moon and stars above the sky.

"How peaceful."

You thought the waves would be rough, but it was surprisingly calm. Could this be a sign? A sign that the ocean accepts you as you are?

The calm waters and the oceanic smell of salty air consumed you even more; it felt like something was pulling you in, like the current.

It felt alluring, almost like the deep sea lily that hypnotizes and captivates with a sweet smell to only drown its prey with its venomous blooms.

You were starting to cough up blood and grimace at the feeling; it was affecting your blood vessels and spreading to your lungs. Though you were violently coughing, the oceanic waves receded gently.

You had to hurry; you were running out of time. You swam even further in; the surrounding sea was dyed with bits of your blood. You took one last look at the moon and stars and drove underwater holding your breath.

Gravity usually pulls you up, but gravity seems to keep you down. When you were completely surrounded by nothing but your thoughts. You close your eyes, letting yourself float as you sink even deeper.

'Please, make my heart into a beautiful, pleasing seashell that can live on for days and days to come.'

Your nightgown and hair were floating with you as you descended. You hoped that the waters would carry you to a peaceful place. As water filled your lungs, you struggled underneath the hold death held on you.

You never wanted this, never wanted death, but if death meant ultimate peace, you would surely let it take you.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain merman heard you. You, a poor, sicky human, have been accepted by the Sea God himself.

You heard a siren-like voice sing in an ancient language. It was pleasing to hear. You opened your eyes, hoping to see a whale, but it was hard to see as your vision started getting blurry, but you could see the outline of a fish... or a tail? A merman...

You thought you were only hallucinating; how beautiful to see a merman at your approaching death. You closed your eyes again, letting yourself be consumed by the sea.

You felt a pair of hands cupping your cheeks; you wanted to look, but your eyes felt so heavy. The hands caressed your cheeks almost lovingly. Then, it went to your lips, rubbing them with its thumb. A kiss that felt soft and good gave you the gift of breathing underwater.

But you were still dying.

The hands slowly went to your neck, caressing it, and lowered down to your chest in the direction of your heart. You felt the string of fate mend your heart to perfection.

You opened your eyes to see a merman with dusky purple hair and bluish-pink eyes. The merman had iridescent light blue scales surrounding his skin and fish-like ears that you were sure would sting you if you touched them.

You looked down weakly to see an iridescent light blue tail that looked more beautiful than anything you'd seen in your life. You were sure, the merman was about 8 feet. The attracting tail swayed back and forth as you followed its movements.

The merman smiled, seeing how you gazed at his tail. He gently supported you in his arms, lifting your body and wrapping your legs around his waist. The merman didn't want to be apart from you.

His smooth fingers gently raised your chin to look at him. Then, he grabbed your wrists, placing them around his neck so you would feel more secure in his hold.

"I heard your cry. Oh, weary human." A melodious voice spoke with a lamentable expression cascading his ravishing face.

"I have accepted your heart, as is." The merman looked towards your now healed chest, gone from any scars on your body. It's almost like he knew of your suffering. Your miserable life.

"Now, won't you be my bride, mm?" He waited for your answer as he slowly glided his hand down your leg.

"Won't you be mine?" You were trembling; being affectionately cared for by an oceanic ancient creature was transcending.

You simply gave him a slow and unsure nod as you pulled him in for a hug, hiding your face away from him. You heard chuckling escape the merman.

The merman started rubbing your back in soothing motions. This merman saved your life, took your pain away, and mended it into something beautiful.

"This is your home now."

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