#leaving it here for someone else to continue

[chosolar]

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈ when I'm with you

street racer sukuna x fem!reader

streetracer!sukuna is arrogant and cocky for a reason. he knows he's the best and no one can compare to him when it comes to being the fastest.

streetracer!sukuna has had a few run ins with the police here and there for speeding ofc and reckless driving, but he has enough money to pay off the tickets. the police have gotten so many complaints about him that they are on a first-name basis with him, but sukuna has always managed to get out of trouble with them

streetracer!sukuna may seem like the biggest fuckboy but finds hooking up and relationships to be a waste of time. he doesn't know why he has a reputation of being a fuckboy when he hasn't been with a lot of girls. why would he spend his money on flowers and date nights when he can use it to buy parts for his car?

streetracer!sukuna drives 2 different cars - the car he often uses for racing is his custom-wrapped burgundy red supra mk5, modded to the gods. the other one is his daily car, a black gt4 that is his baby. both of his cars are unique and anyone knows that the dark red supra is his.

streetracer!sukuna is wealthy enough as it is, but with all he races he's won, he's able to provide himself without his family's money. his parents wanted him to take over as he's the oldest but refused to do so, feeling that his calling in life was not being in suits and meetings all day. his parents aren't happy with the career he chose but they support him by giving him a huge monthly allowance.

streetracer!sukuna met you for the first time at a gala he was forced to go to in place of his father. he was getting annoyed of the other guests asking when he'll be working with his father over and over again so he took off to an empty part of the building, hoping to relax before he goes back in again. sukuna loosens tie and opens the door that leads to the balcony, not expecting to see a lady already there. "oh sorry I didn't know someone was here already."

"oh no don't worry, I was just about to leave," you reassure him and smiled. sukuna sighs and walks over to the spot beside you, resting his arms on the top of the balcony railing. "you don't have to leave. did you come out for a breather too?"

you nodded, "yeah a little. it's my first time going to a gala and I wasn't expecting it to be so..."

"snobby? pretentious? all of the above?" he butts in, his interruption earning a laugh from you. "yeah just a little."

both of you kept quiet for a bit when sukuna speaks up to introduce himself and you reciprocate the action. he's silently glad that you don't know him, either through his family or as the reckless street racer. he ended up staying with you longer than expected but he wanted to continue getting to know so he asks for your number before heading back to the gala.

streetracer!sukuna usually spends his friday and saturday nights driving around when he's not racing. usually he cruises with gojo and geto, but sometimes sukuna prefers the silence of being by himself. he's used to it now though, often choosing to race with no passengers compared to the other racers.

streetracer!sukuna finds himself wanting your company after meeting you at the gala. with races taking place at night, sukuna likes that he has the daytime to meet with you. whether that was picking you up from work or taking you out to a breakfast date, sukuna is always wanting to spend time with you somehow.

streetracer!sukuna is uncharacteristically bashful when you ask him about racing and his cars. he usually loves talking about it and always brags about his cars whenever he gets the chance but when it came to you, he has a hard time. (it's because he's worried you'll think he's living a dangerous and irresponsible life and if it was anyone else he wouldn't care but you're the first person whose opinion he cares about). he makes sure to only tells you half-truths when you question him about racing - yes he goes fast (and has crashed into road barriers), yes the police have stopped him a couple times (he's been arrested a couple of times but is released the day after). he cares about how you perceive him so he tries to not inform you of the dangers he experiences with the career he's in.

streetracer!sukuna usually drives fast but when you're in the passenger seat, he is not going any more than 10 above the speed limit. he's a professional racer so he's used to driving at high speeds but he doesn't want to risk anything with you in the car. sometimes you'll ask him to do a pull which he reluctantly agrees to, but he doesn't even try to reach the red line. he knows his cars well but he thinks about the off-chance that something could go wrong.

streetracer!sukuna is elated that you don't judge him for what he does for a living. he knows that it's a non-traditional job and it can be unstable but for sukuna, it's a lucrative occupation. he asks you often to come with him during races with a large prize because he says you're his lucky charm, he actually just wants to show off. ever since you got together, he's earned more than enough for the both of you to live very comfortably.

streetracer!sukuna only lets you drive his car. word spread around that someone that's not sukuna was in the driver's seat of his supra AND his gt4, and even some of the guys texted sukuna to see if it was true. he asked you first if he can tell them that you guys are together, and immediately said yes when you let him. to confirm everyone's suspicions, sukuna posts on his instagram a photo of his cars side by side with you sitting down on the hood of the gt4 posing cutely with the caption "everything I love". it's the only picture that he has pinned on his profile (yess we love a king who shows off his girl)

streetracer!sukuna is the epitome of gentle giant to you. everyone knows him as the intimidating tall racer who has a resting bitch face and does not like talking to anyone, but he's such a giant softie when he's with you. when you're beside him, all of a sudden he's smiling and doesn't look like he wants to murder someone. other racers only come up to sukuna when you're with him because you force sukuna to be nice and actually talk to them (they're thankful for you).

streetracer!sukuna is 2 words - THE CLINGIEST! because he races at night and when he hasn't seen you for a long time (1 day), he'll come over to your place and sleep over. he doesn't care if he has to drive to the other side of the city to do so, he wants to see you now. he gets grumpy if he doesn't feel you in his arms when he wakes up. mans just wants to wake up being cuddled and who can blame him

streetracer!sukuna was insanely nervous when he met your parents. he wasn't worried when you met his because he knew that they would love you (spoiler alert they do), but his palms were sweating when you said your parents wanted to meet him. he knows that his appearance is not the most conventional with his pink hair and tattoos all over his body, especially his face. he wanted to make a good impression so he opted to went to his mom to get help for his outfit and how to impress your parents. his mom thank you after he left because she never thought she'd see the day her son son would willingly wear a shirt with a collar.

streetracer!sukuna contemplates if he should stop racing when he misjudged the distance of the car when he was trying to take over and got into a really bad crash. he recovered quickly and is fine now, but the image of you crying at his bedside wouldn't leave his head. he knows you want to be supportive but he notices how hesitant you get when he tells you he has a race. he would do anything for you, even if it that means giving up his dream so that you could have a peace of mind.

streetracer!sukuna loves you unapologetically. he's never met anyone so encouraging and so patient with him, and he would be the world's biggest idiot if he fumbles you. he doesn't care if anyone calls him a simp for prioritizing you first above all else, he loves you too much to care about being name called. he knows you deserve the world and does his best to give you so, treating and spoiling you with whatever you desire. he's never going to let you go, and he doesn't care what anyone thinks because he knows that you're his endgame.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈

I wanna make a smau for this but like idk if I should, what do you guys think? again, not proofread hehe

[jungwnies]

roommate from hell - oscar piastri (5/5)

୨ৎ : pairing : oscar piastri x gn!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : forced into an accidental roommate situation, oscar and you struggle with clashing habits, sarcastic banter, and unexpected tension…until frustration turns into something much deeper.

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy & light angst (barely...) ୨ৎ : tws : forced proximity, mild conflict, emotional tension, and mutual pining. ୨ৎ : wc : 1209

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

The envelope sat untouched on the counter for a full week.

Neither of you brought it up. Neither of you made a move to start packing, to start looking for other places, to start doing anything that would acknowledge the inevitable reality—that this arrangement was temporary, and that the lease was never meant to be anything more than a situation you both got stuck with.

But then one morning, Oscar finally cracked.

"So, are we just going to pretend the deposit letter doesn’t exist forever?"

You looked up from your coffee, raising an eyebrow. "I thought that was the plan."

Oscar sighed, leaning against the counter. "I mean, I wouldn’t mind pretending if I knew what exactly we’re pretending for."

You frowned, stirring your drink a little too aggressively. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, crossing his arms, "that you haven’t made a move to leave. And neither have I. And yet, neither of us is saying anything about it."

You stared at him.

"So," he continued, gaze flickering to yours, "are we both just avoiding the conversation because we like the convenience? Or is it… something else?"

Something twisted in your stomach at his words.

There it was. Laid out in the open, right between you.

You had spent weeks pretending it wasn’t there, pretending that the shift between you two was just the natural result of learning how to tolerate each other, of becoming… well, not enemies. Not exactly friends, either.

Something else.

You scoffed, trying to play it cool. "Why are you making this sound like some kind of dramatic breakup?"

Oscar rolled his eyes. "I’m not."

"You kind of are."

"I just want to know if you actually want to leave," he said, tilting his head slightly.

You hesitated for just a second too long.

"Thought so," Oscar muttered, looking way too smug.

You glared. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "It means you don’t want to leave."

"I never said that."

"You didn’t have to," he said simply, taking a sip of his water. "If you really wanted to, you would’ve been gone by now."

You scowled. "Okay, maybe I just don’t want to deal with moving again."

"Maybe," Oscar said, unconvinced.

"Or maybe it’s just easier to stay."

"Maybe."

The way he said it—calm, easy, knowing—made your skin heat.

You set your cup down, arms crossed. "Why haven’t you left?"

Oscar shrugged again. "I don’t know. It’s kind of nice having someone around. Even if that someone chews too loudly and leaves the thermostat two degrees too high."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your chest tightened. "You’re annoying."

"And yet, here we are."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Fine. What are you suggesting, then?"

Oscar’s gaze didn’t waver. "Stay."

It was just one word, but it sent something warm spreading through your chest.

You pretended to think about it, even though you already knew the answer.

"I’ll think about it," you said finally, just to see how he’d react.

Oscar smirked. "Take your time."

—

You thought about it.

You thought about it that night, while you sat next to Oscar on the couch, watching some stupid show you both pretended not to be invested in. You thought about it when he absentmindedly passed you a blanket without you asking, when your shoulder brushed against his and neither of you moved away.

You thought about it when you caught yourself laughing at something he said, realizing how easy it felt to be around him now.

You thought about it when he stared a little too long, when you saw him hesitate like he had something to say but never quite found the words.

You thought about it until you couldn’t not think about it anymore.

—

The next morning, you walked into the kitchen, grabbed the deposit envelope, and handed it to Oscar.

His brows furrowed slightly as he took it from you. "What’s this?"

You exhaled, leaning against the counter.

"Give it to Greg," you said, your voice even. "I think I want to stay."

Oscar blinked, clearly caught off guard, but his expression remained unreadable. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

His fingers tapped against the envelope, gaze lingering on you for a second longer than necessary. Then, ever so slightly, the corner of his lips lifted.

"Good," he said.

You rolled your eyes, snatching your coffee and walking away. "Don’t make it weird, Piastri."

Oscar smirked, shaking his head as he watched you go.

Something about the way you said I think I want to stay made him wonder if you were talking about more than just the lease.

And, judging by the way you hesitated at the door before glancing back at him—your expression unreadable, your lips parted like you were about to say something else but thought better of it—maybe you were wondering the same thing.

Later that night, Oscar knocked on your door.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little quieter than usual.

You looked up from your phone. "What’s up?"

Oscar hesitated for a second. "So… we’re staying here. Together."

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I think we established that."

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, well, if we’re going to be roommates for real this time, then I should probably ask—"

You waited, watching the way he shifted slightly, his usual composure faltering for just a second.

"Would you want to—" he paused, clearing his throat, "—go out sometime?"

You blinked, caught off guard.

"Like, outside the apartment?" you asked, voice teasing but your pulse suddenly racing.

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Yes, obviously outside the apartment."

You tilted your head. "Are you asking me on a date?"

He shrugged, but there was a smirk playing on his lips. "Call it what you want."

You pretended to think about it, just for a second, just long enough for him to shift again—like he was waiting for an answer he already knew.

"Sure, Piastri," you finally said. "Let’s see if you’re as tolerable outside of this apartment as you are inside it."

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, nodding. "Guess we’ll find out."

— 1 year later

You had expected something to go wrong.

That somehow, you and Oscar wouldn’t work—that the relationship would feel like a mistake, that it would mess up whatever dynamic you had built.

But, somehow, it had worked out.

You still lived together. Except now, Oscar kissed you when he left for races, when he came home tired from a long day, when he had no other excuse but the simple fact that he wanted to.

Now, he didn’t just tolerate your habits—he adjusted to them. He let you steal his hoodies, he let you take over the bathroom, he let you mess with the thermostat sometimes.

And in return, you learned that you actually liked mornings when he was there to make you coffee.

Some things hadn’t changed.

You still bickered. You still made fun of him. You still drove each other insane.

But now, it always ended with him pulling you into his arms, his lips ghosting over yours as he muttered, "You’re still annoying, you know that?"

And now, you didn’t argue when you whispered back, "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

taglist : @sugarfreerbr , @no-144444 , @window-to-nothing , @judelina , @littlegrapejuice , @formulaal , @spikershoyo , @eclipsedcherry , @whispersofthewild , @1-queenofpotatoes-1 , @obxstiles , @poppysrin , @a-beaverhausen , @blakebearsblog , @fastandcurious16 , @imdyinghelpplease , @reginalaufeyson-holmes , @percy-jackson-fan909 , @bavo-delta-eccho , @chloes-book-corner , @edgyficuselastica , @wierdflowerpower , @briefkittenearthquake , @saachiep81 , @takimakiiiii | (comment to be added ... bolded couldn't be tagged)

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[himasgod]

Where you fill their faces with lipstick marks.

FIRST-YEARS

THIRD YEARS HERE

Where, in a fit of affection, you start showering your boyfriend with soft, quick kisses. However, before you know it, you've covered his entire face with your lipstick. How would the guys react?

Ace Trappola

“Ohhh, so you love me that much, huh?”

From the moment you leave your trail of kisses on his face, Ace laughs with that mischievous smile that makes you want to kiss him even more. Far from being annoyed, he sees it as the perfect opportunity to show off

“How do I look? Attractive, right?” he asks cheekily, tilting his head so you can appreciate your masterpiece from every angle.

He doesn’t rush to clean himself up. In fact, if Deuce or someone else is around, he won’t hesitate to take advantage of the situation to show off. “Hey, Deuce, how does it feel to know my face gets more love than yours?” he jokes, enjoying his friend’s embarrassed expression.

He might even stroll around Hearstlabyul with one or two marks still visible, just to see how others react. However, when he feels like he's had enough, he'll try to clean himself up… though not without a bit of a whine.

“Hey, wait! You left one on my neck? Now everyone's going to think weird things…” But he says it with a smile, because deep down he loves the attention you give him.

Deuce Spade

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

My poor baby almost falls over on his back when he sees his reflection on his phone screen. His face is covered in lipstick marks and his brain completely shuts down.

He brings his hands to his face, as if that could hide the mess. His cheeks burn with embarrassment and he stutters, not knowing what to say.

“This is… this is… I can't—! Why did you do this?!” he asks in a higher-pitched voice than usual.

If Ace is around, things only get worse. “HAHAHA! “Look at this guy’s face!” Ace taunts, slapping him on the back as Deuce only sinks deeper into his embarrassment.

He quickly wipes it off with his sleeve, rubbing his face like he’s in the throes of a crisis. But even after he erases the marks, he's still bright red.

“…Don’t do things like that without warning,” he mutters under his breath, avoiding eye contact. But if you look closely, you’ll see a small smile struggling to make its way onto his lips.

Jack Howl

“…Hah?”

Jack freezes in place, eyes wide and an expression of pure bewilderment. His wolf-like ears twitch slightly, betraying his surprise.

“…what do you think you’re doing?” he asks in a serious tone, frowning. It’s not that he’s upset, but he doesn’t know how to react.

He immediately wipes it off with the sleeve of his jacket, trying to get rid of the marks as quickly as possible. But despite his stoic attitude, his ears and tail betray his emotions.

“You shouldn’t do that all of a sudden,” he says in a murmur, not looking directly at you. However, his tail continues to wag slightly, showing that, even though he denies it, deep down he liked it.

For the rest of the day, he will be unusually quiet and distracted, with the images of those kisses replaying in his head. Even though he won’t admit it, every time he runs his hand over his face, he will remember the feeling of your lips on his skin.

Epel Felmier

“Hey! This is embarrassing!”

Epel jumps as soon as he feels your lips repeatedly smacking his face. At first, he tries to pull away, but it’s too late. When he sees his reflection, his face turns as red as an apple.

“This is too much! I look… I look…!” He doesn’t even know how to describe himself. He covers his face with his hands, feeling that if Vil sees him like this, his reputation in Pomefiore will go down the drain.

“If Vil finds out about this, he’s going to tell me to clean my skin with essential oils or something weird!” he complains, taking a handkerchief to clean himself as quickly as possible.

But if you look closely, you’ll notice that when he thinks you’re not looking, he touches his cheek with a slight smile, as if deep down he liked it.

Sebek Zigvolt

“WHAT IS THIS DISHONOR?!”

Sebek practically jumps back when he realizes what you’ve done. His voice echoes throughout the hallway as he points at you indignantly

“INSOLENT HUMAN! YOU CAN’T MAKE ME DIRTY LIKE THAT!” he exclaims, as if you’ve committed an unforgivable crime.

He tries so hard to clean himself up that it looks like he's in the middle of a battle against an invisible enemy. But as much as he yells about how 'outrageous' this is, his red ears and the way he avoids looking directly at you say otherwise.

If Lilia or Silver walk by, the situation becomes worse for him.

“Oh, Sebek, it seems someone has won your heart~” Lilia sings with a mischievous laugh.

“T-THIS IS NOT LIKE THAT!” Sebek shouts, his face now completely red.

For the rest of the day, he'll be uncharacteristically grumpy and try to avoid the topic, but if you look closely, you'll see his lips tremble as if he's trying to hide a smile. Deep down, though he'll never admit it, something in his chest feels… warm.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

hi babe can i request an auston matthews x reader, where reader stays over at auston’s for the first time and he gives her one of his tee’s to sleep in and it’s so big that it swallows her and auston just loves it and becomes obsessed with her wearing his clothes?🤭🫣

— i love your writing and thank you for continuing to bless me/us with papi content💞

I hope I've given you what you wanted, bby! 🥹🥹🥹 And always happy to write Auston stuff! 🩷🩷🩷

"You're welcome to stay the night, Y|N. I don't think the storm's going to pass anytime soon, but it's up to you."

You were sitting cross-legged on the sofa, scrolling through your phone at pictures that you had taken from tonight's game. You hadn't even taken into account the storm raging outside Auston's house until he had said something about it. Sure, you had heard the booming thunder, but it was comforting background noise, and you were also reviewing videos you had taken of Auston, so your mind was obviously elsewhere.

"What, sorry?"

Your expression made him smile, like he had caught you doing something you shouldn't have. "Whatcha doing over there?"

"Absolutely nothing! Definitely not cringing at the amount of space you're taking up in my gallery!"

"Oh, is that so?" His smirk was dangerous as he crossed the room to you, wasting no time pinning you against the sofa. "You wanna show me?"

You were laughing, feigning helplessness against him laying over you like he was. "Show you what?"

"Uh-huh, right!" Playfully, he tried to take your phone from you, but you pressed it against your chest. "Saving them for later, are we?"

You blushed, even though he wasn't right. It was the mere implication of what you were going to do with them that made you embarrassed. "Pfft! No!"

"Riiiight," he teased, pulling himself off of you, leaving you laying there, still giggling.

"What did you say though?" You asked, finally dragging yourself back to a seated position. "I honestly didn't hear you."

"I asked you if you wanted to stay because of the storm.”

You were slightly taken aback by what Auston had proposed. Not in a bad way, but that he didn't mind having you stay. "You don't care?"

"Of course not. I don't really want you out in this shit."

"Or you don't want to take me home in it?"

Auston gave you a side-eye before he cracked, "Hey now, I didn't say that!"

You'd wink as a reply, “I don't want to get out in either, so if you don't mind me staying, I wouldn't say no."

“You’re more than welcome to. Now, I don’t think any of my sweats would fit you,” he laughed. “But I’m sure I’ve a t-shirt you could wear.”

“Oh, okay, thanks.”

Auston gave you a soft smile after seeing you yawn, “You wanna go upstairs?”

“Yes, please.!”

Auston would wait until you got up to move, “Not I’m curious how you’d look in my pants. Let me clarify what I said earlier.”

You snorted, “That’s quite the thought! I could probably get both of my legs in one pant leg!”

“Heh, you probably could!”

- - -

Upstairs, you’d sit on the edge of his king-sized bed, legs swinging while he took an extended amount of time just looking for a t-shirt. You had no idea what was taking him so long, unless he was looking for one that wasn’t from a designer brand, to which you couldn’t blame him. Auston was the first guy you’d ever be with who cared so much for his appearance and how he styled himself. It was refreshing and fun to have someone who enjoyed fashion and things like that, though sometimes you felt like you always had to match his energy or else you felt frumpy and out of place.

“Here, I think this one should work.” He said as he handed you the purple shirt. “If you’re not warm enough I’ve long sleeves and hoodies.”

“I’m sure this is fine. Thanks!” After thanking him, you’d slip into his ensuite bathroom and change your clothes.

You had to keep yourself from laughing, seeing yourself in the large mirror. The hem of the shirt was at your knees, and the intended short sleeves were now past your elbows. The whole time you were folding your clothes, you were trying to muster the courage to go back into the bedroom. For whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by how you looked, even though it was just to sleep in -- this wasn’t clubwear. Eventually, you’d shuffle back into the bedroom, yearning for sleep. When you got back into the room, you’d find Auston not there. You weren’t sure where he had gone, so you just kind of stood there, rocking back and forth on your feet until he came back.

“My god, you’re adorable,” Auston said, wandering back in from his walk-in closet, which took you by surprise.

“Oh?”

“You look so little,” he laughed, stepping up to you. “It’s a cute look. I wouldn’t be upset if you ‘borrowed’ a few things of mine if you look that cute wearing them.”

“Ha, like borrowed without the intent of giving the back?!”

“Pretty much that, yeah,” his smirk flashed deviousness before it softened. “C’mon, I’ve kept you up long enough. Do you want to stay in here with me, or one of the guest rooms?”

You looked at Auston softly, “I’ll stay with you.”

He smiled upon hearing your quiet voice, “I’ll warn you: if I get you in my arms, I won’t let go until the morning.”

[strangelysamantha]

match maker ❀

rafe cameron x fem!reader.

warnings: rafe camerons buzz cut

summary: sarah’s eager to play match maker, so she can find you, your perfect soulmate. meanwhile, rafe changes his appearance to cater to you, in hopes you would notice.

a/n: this is so fun, my master list is pinned on my profile. like if you enjoyed! ty guys!

------------------------------------------------

rafe usually wouldn't intervene when it came to sarahs friends. typically, they seemed like a bore, he could never learn to care about any of them. however, the first time he met you, it was different. after a few of your visits, rafe was determined to get to know you. sarah had told you he wouldn't bother you guys for too long, but once you went downstairs for snacks, he immediately invited himself into the conversation.

"what are you two up too?" he smiles, leaning against the counter. you look up at him, "we were just making food." sarah giggles, "and she was about to explain to me what her type was." you groan, recalling her earlier question. you sigh, "i don't know, it just depends." sarah pokes your side as she slides by you to use the microwave. "c'mon tell us!!" she eggs you on, desperate to hear your answer. "i guess i like guys that are casual, laid back. i like buzz cuts, i dont know." you sheepishly scratch the back of your neck. sarah grins, "finally!" you playfully roll your eyes. "yeah, yeah.. why do you wanna know so bad?" you question her. "im going to play match maker for you!" you face goes hot, "i guess i can't say no to that."

rafe watches intensely. "there sarah goes, playing cupid again." the two of you break into a fit of laughter due to his comment. "anything else you can think of?" you contemplate for a moment, "i like when they are protective, kind to me, and they support me." you shrug, "i want something serious too, im sick of flings" sarah nods, "good, this intel will help me find your perfect match." you glance at rafe, noticing how interested he was in you, and your responses. you become nervous under his eye contact. you quickly revert your attention back to sarah. she grabs two drinks, handing them to you, to carry. sarah grabs the two bowls of food, that were now finished. "well rafe, it was nice talking but our foods done." she leads the way back to her room, you softly speak up as you leave, "bye rafe!" his lips curve into a smile, and he nods.

the two of you enter sarahs bedroom, continuing the sleepover. meanwhile, rafe was back in his room. his mind was racing, all he could think about was your response. "casual..." he leaned back in his office chair, "laid back," he runs his hands through his hair. rafe knew he could win you over, he had charm, and he knew exactly what you wanted in someone. he stood up, walking to the bathroom, he looks into the mirror. he bit his lip, contemplating if it would be too soon to buzz his hair. however, he figured he needed to be confident to get what he wanted. he quickly decided, reaching for the electric razor. he turns it on, taking off a swipe of hair. the adrenaline he felt only fueled him more, and after ten minutes he had perfectly buzzed his scalp.

in the morning, you leave in a rush, your parents ushering you home so you can help out around the house. sarah gave a genuine goodbye, and you were quick to leave. rafe was disappointed when he woke up and found sarah alone downstairs. "why are you alone?" sarah shrugs, "you just missed her, she had to go back home." this piqued rafes interest, "is she okay, did something happen?" he urgently requests some answers. sarah lifts her eyebrow up in concern, "you shouldnt be that worried about her, you dont even know her." she stares at him a little longer before noticing his hair cut. "a buzz cut?" she shakes her head, "no rafe! no. you are not going to get with my friend." rafe chuckles, "cmon match maker, im right here." he places his hands on his hips. sarah groans putting her hands in her pockets. "she would never go for you." rafe smirks. "oh? she wouldnt?" he laughs, "im nonchalant, protective, looking for something serious, and oh! i got a buzz cut." in the air, he uses his hand to gesture checking boxes. "check, check, check." sarah sighs, "those were generic traits! i bet i could find someone who isnt related to me!" sarah storms upstairs, and rafes quick to follow after her.

"sarah please, i wont hurt her. shes different. all i want to do is protect her." sarah frowns, "why do you feel so attached already?" she questions him, he sighs. "i dont know how to explain it." he leans against the door frame. sarah crosses her arms, "well try." she taps her foot, annoyance seeping through. "if you can give me reasons why you genuinely care about my friend, then i will play match maker for you." he shifts uncomfortably, struggling to explain his emotions. "shes just really sweet, and i want to protect her. i care about her because the few times we talked she was nice, and i know she could make me better, because i want to be better for her." he look away, his breath heaving. "please, just give me a chance." sarah sighs, "okay, but you better not hurt her, you would ruin our friendship." he nods understandingly, "i promise, i would never." she nods. "alright. well i’ll see what she thinks of you, but there’s no promises.” with that rafe feels accomplished, he leaves sarah’s room gleaming.

sarah sits on her bed, pulling out her phone. she pulls up your contact, eager to fulfill her match making prophecy. she sends you a text, “hows chores coming along? will you be able to hang soon?” your phone dings and you smile as you open it, a text from sarah. you quickly type a response back, “almost done! where should we meet?” sarah lets out an excited squeal, her plan was effortlessly falling into place. “my place is good if you are down.” you quickly send back the thumbs up emoji, finishing everything your parents asked before getting ready to go back to sarah’s.

once you arrive at sarah’s place, she’s waiting outside for you. “i’m so glad you’re here! i may have found you the perfect match!” your mouth falls open, “this quickly!?” your shock was evident, and she couldn’t hold back her smirk. “first, i want to ask you something.” you nod, “what would you like to ask me?” she rubs the back of her neck, “do you think my brother is attractive?” your heart drops at her question. “why do you ask?” your face went red, embarrassment seeping through. “i think rafe might be the perfect match for you…” she says these words slowly, testing the waters. “i think he is attractive, and he seems protective.” you look up to see sarah grinning. “upon further evaluation, he actually hit every requirement on the list you provided” you look around, trying to see if rafe was around. “really? but does he like me back?”

“i do, i’m the one who convinced sarah to recommend me.” rafe joined in the conversation, revealing himself. you grin, “sarah! is that true?” you question her. she nods, “yeah, it is true.” you’re overwhelmed by his confession, “well, rafe, i was not expecting this.” sarah stands up, “i’m going to head inside. ill let the two of you talk and figure this out.” with that she exits, leaving the two of you alone together for the first time. “rafe, i really would want to give this a try.” you admit. he steps closer to you, reaching for your hands. “i really want to prove to you that i can treat you right. just give me a chance.” you bite your lip sheepishly. “i would love that. will you take me on a date?” rafe chuckles, “ill take you on so many, i’ll show you all my good spots.” you grin at this, “that sounds perfect.”

[bakuhve]

ace trappola x reader

you couldn’t help but stress about when you’d return to your world but somehow, a certain someone could ease that worry, if only for a little while.

the air was soft with the warmth of early spring, the kind that melted away the last traces of winter’s chill. sunlight filtered lazily through the canopy of trees, casting golden patterns on the cobblestone path beneath your feet. the scent of fresh grass and blooming flowers lingered, delicate and sweet, mixing with the distant sound of rustling leaves and birdsong. somewhere nearby, the faint chatter of students echoed, a gentle reminder of life continuing even as yours seemed to stand still.

you walked without really thinking, feet carrying you toward the quiet shade beneath a nearby tree. the the sound of the student’s laughter and chatter barely registered through the hum of anxious thoughts swirling in your mind. when would you go back?

the uncertainty coiled tightly in your stomach, a dull ache beneath your ribs. how long could you keep pretending you belonged here, when part of you was always bracing for the day you’d have to leave?

you reached the tree, its branches heavy with dark green leaves. without thinking, you sank down beneath it, the cool grass pressing against your palms as you drew your knees to your chest. a leaf floated down, landing softly on your arm. you stared at it, chest tightening.

you brushed the leaf from your arm, watching it drift lazily to the ground.

how many overblots had you faced now? riddle, leona, azul… so many faces twisted in pain, darkness swallowing them whole until it left them hollow and breaking. you had stood through it all. the fear, the desperation, the impossible weight of trying to reach them when no one else could. and then there was malleus.

your fingers curled against the grass. the image of him, his dark horns casting long shadows beneath the storm-black sky, flickered behind your eyes. his voice had been so low and fractured beneath his years of loneliness. he had nearly lost himself, and you… you had reached for him even when you weren’t sure you’d make it out alive.

and now, with malleus still recovering, the threat of overblot lingered over night raven college like a shadow that refused to lift. how much more could you handle? how much longer could you keep pushing forward, knowing that each step brought you closer to an end you couldn’t see?

footsteps rustled through the grass, light but deliberate. you didn’t lift your head, but you heard them stop just a few feet away.

“there you are.”

the voice was easygoing, familiar. ace.

you heard the shift of fabric as he crouched down, his shadow falling over you. a breeze stirred the leaves overhead, and a few drifted down around you both. he didn’t say anything right away, just sat there, watching you with a quiet steadiness that felt out of place coming from him.

“you really thought i wouldn’t find you, prefect?” he said eventually, his tone light and teasing but threaded with something softer beneath it.

your eyes remained on the grass beneath your hands. you didn’t answer, but you felt him shift to sit beside you, the warmth of his presence settling beside you like it belonged there.

ace didn’t speak right away. a leaf landed on his knee, but he didn’t seem to notice. his shoulder brushed lightly against yours as he leaned back on his palms. “you’re really not gonna say anything?”

you stayed quiet.

ace sighed through his nose, the sound soft. he didn’t push, didn’t tease for once- just sat there, close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing. his hand brushed against yours as he went to flick a leaf away.

“okay,” he said after a moment. his voice was steady. “then i’ll just sit with you.”

and he did.

you sat there in silence for a while, and the breeze rustled the branches overhead. ace didn’t say anything- didn’t push, just stayed close, his shoulder still brushing against yours. your fingers curled against the grass. slowly, you exhaled.

“…thank you,” you murmured.

ace’s head turned toward you. “huh?”

you swallowed, lifting your gaze to him. his amber eyes widened slightly, but you pressed on before you lost the nerve.

“for being here,” you said, voice steady despite the tightness in your throat. “through all of it- the overblots, the near-death experiences, everything. i don’t know how i would’ve gotten through it without you.”

ace’s brows rose. then his mouth curved into a small smirk. “well, someone had to keep an eye on you. you attract trouble like grim attracts tuna cans.”

you huffed out a soft laugh despite yourself.

“and, y’know,” ace added, stretching his hands behind his head, “you’ve put up with me too. i mean, ever since i picked a fight with grim on the first day? honestly, i’m kinda impressed you didn’t ditch me then.”

you rolled your eyes. “maybe i should have.”

“hey!” ace nudged your side with his elbow, grinning. “too late now.”

you smiled, the weight in your chest easing just a little. ace’s grin softened as he leaned back on his palms again.

“anyway,” he said, gaze drifting toward the branches above, “i guess we’re stuck with each other now.”

your smile faded. your gaze slipped to the ground, a faraway look settling in your eyes. ace noticed and his grin immediately faltered. “hey,” his voice was quieter now. “what’s with that face?”

you hesitated, your fingers fiddling with the grass beneath you. “i just…” you swallowed. “we’re not really stuck with each other, though.”

ace sat up straighter. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you forced yourself to look at him. his amber eyes sharpened, the playful edge gone.

“you know what it means,” you said quietly. “i don’t belong here, ace. i never have.”

his brow furrowed. “come on, don’t say it like that.”

“but it’s true,” you insisted. “i’m not from this world. and one day… i’ll have to go back.”

ace’s lips parted like he was about to say something- but nothing came out. a breeze stirred the branches above, sending more leaves drifting down around you.

“…do you know when?” his voice was low. careful.

you shook your head. “no. that’s the worst part. it could be tomorrow. it could be years from now. i don’t even know if i’ll have a choice.”

ace was quiet for a long moment. then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“well,” he said, his tone lighter than his expression, “guess i’ll just have to make you miss this place too much to leave.”

you blinked, caught off guard.

ace smirked faintly. “what, you thought i’d let you go that easily, prefect?” his hand brushed against yours where it rested on the grass. “i’m not gonna make this easy for you.”

your breath hitched. he was teasing, but there was something deeper beneath it, something real in the way his gaze lingered on you.

“…you’re impossible,” you muttered.

ace grinned. “yeah. but you don’t mind it.”

you didn’t answer, but your hand stayed resting near his. and even as the ache of uncertainty sat heavy in your chest, the warmth of his presence softened the edges of it.

[nekococo-thecola]

SHEDLETSKY x GN! READER. (HEADCANONS.)

Wassup, forsaken players/fans, how we feeling.

Warnings: None, lol.

(No pictures/fanarts here, I couldn't find one. WAAAAAAAA-)

:(.

POST UNDER THE CUT.

• Oh, he definitely gives/offers you his chicken, you're probably the only one he actually offers chicken to. But you didn't really dig up to conclusions, you thought he was just being nice. Well, he is, but it's mostly because he likes you, more than platonic.

• When you're low on health, and Elliot (or any support people, basically.) aren't there, well, don't worry, your knight in shining armor appears! He will stun the killer, or distract them to buy you some time to escape.

• And when you're fixing the generator, he'll always watch on guard besides you, if something happens, or if a killer is near. But if you're still learning the basics, he'll always try and give you some tips, or help you fix it. (Or do it himself, only for you tho.)

• You might subtly, or rarely notice, but his gaze always softens when he looks at you. (No matter how angry, sad, happy, or nervous he is, you would still always win his heart.)

• His heart aches, and yearns for your attention, when you're blissfully chatting with someone else, and not him. Oh, how he'd do anything for your attention. (Def not jealous. he is.)

• He's prepping himself, and mentally, for his confession, and for finally asking you out. (For the best, and for the worst of his heart, just in case..)

• He didn't (and never will.) admit it, but he sometimes fantasizes about being lovers with you, or being your boyfriend, fiance, and just a bunch of stuff that always connect being beside your side.

• "Someday, maybe I will." He told himself, as he ate his chicken. As Builderman looked at him with bewilderment, as he was building sentries and dispensers. What in the world was he talking about? He thought, before he looked at Shedletsky's face, before finally realizing what he meant. .. Ohhh.. he was talking about Y/N. He finally realized, before calmly continuing building his sentries and dispensers, and Shedletsky was oblivious to Builderman realization.

DATING HEADCANONS. (Now dating.):

• Oh, NOW he's more affectionate to you, his displays of affection will be MORE noticeable and recognizable, and his acts of kindness towards you. (Everyone knows you both are dating, but they support you both!!)

• He isn't really that jealous if the person you talk to isn't really your type, or isn't a threat to his/your relationship, but if they WERE flirting, or trying to win you over, he will discreetly fume (it wasn't even discreet anyways, only to you tho since you could tell. He. Was. MAD.) and lean towards you, and wrap an arm around your waist and glare at the person, while trying to be friendly, until they leave.

• Not much of a PDA giver. Though, he wouldn't mind being the one receiving it, (only if you both are indiscreetly being dirty to each other in public, or infront of someone. Only in private, that's, it.)

• Overall, he's just a big sweetie, or sweetheart <333

(WTHHHH, 32 LIKES ALREADY??????? TYSMMMM GUYSSSS) 😭😭

[jscrawls]

Grave... Affection?

I'm which Jason accepts some things...

(One shot)

Warning: contains mentions of blood, mentions of harm, yandere Jason coded...

🔹🔹🔹

Jason was a lot of things.

A survivor, a fighter, a vigilante, a good soldier, someone's son.

But he wasn't perfect, no one is right? Perfect doesn't go out at night and use themselves to break those that have committed the sin of being on the wrong side of the law, perfect doesn't rage and seethe and pitifully ache for the love of the people they push away from as much as it begs those same people to let in, Jason's not perfect.

He's very aware at the very least, when he's rejected of things he knows it's because he's too much, too cruel with his words, too aggressive, makes too many waves. He won't forget, how can anyone else forget? Why is he the only one screaming?

But everything shifted just a little when he met them. (Name) Addams. They were so…. Odd, too loud and too happy, sticking out at all the wrong angles just so in a way Jason knew Gotham would grind down forcibly. she always does.

But…. They continued to be loud and wild and deliriously happy, they stabbed a man and grinned happily in their mugshot, they giggled madly in the face of super villains, even Bruce Wayne couldn't brow-beat them into submission, he hates that he envies them.

The worst yet was how they treated him, they heard he died and cooed at him, he snapped at them and called them vile names and they'd giggle behind their hand, he showed them the scars and marks of his hurt, his own pain and the pain he's caused others, and they kissed his palms and told him he was a work of art. It's infuriating how much he thought about that last incident.

He can't shove them away, no matter how hard he bites and pushes, but when he asks they leave. They laugh at his brute force like he's their favorite show in the world and lay gentle, reverent hands on him only when he allows them the chance.

Maybe that's why he started to ache for them too.

They don't allow him to shove himself into a corner of isolation, instead they act like they'd prefer to sit in the dirt with him at the edge of everyone else's comfort than sit at their table with the ‘good ones.’

they like that he's fucked up. Not even in the ‘you make me feel better about myself’ way either, they don't see him as company to their own misery, they just see him.

So maybe that's why he started going over to their house more, the place was unsettling and creepy and broken and…. He's starting to see a pattern here.

But Jason doesn't care, not when they give him what he's so desperately craved in his life, unconditional affection.

He doesn't need to fight to earn it or be the best of, he doesn't need to shove every single part of himself into a small, Robin shaped box to be worthy.

He goes to them, covered in blood and ichor and sin and they still caress his cheek like a monarch blessing their knight in red. He doesn't even know whose blood dribbles off his chin onto their hand when he kneels before them, but as he looks up at them in the dim light of their room, the yellowed lightbulb casting a halo around their head as blood drips onto them like pomegranate juice staining their fingers….

Jason suddenly understands what it's like to be completely mad for another imperfect, mad person.

🔹🔹🔹

| m.list |

A/n: I cooked this up after @viilan inspired me! Check her out y'all shes got a phantom! Reader au starting up that's so fun 😚😚😚

[yutahoes]

Small World

Part Two

characters: single dad! soccer coach! widower! Yuta x female! single mom! fashion designer! divorcee! Y/N (with son! Jung Sungchan, son! Shotaro Osaki, daughter! Sachiko Osaki (OC), daughter! Sakura Nakamoto (OC), dad! Jung Jaehyun, uncle! Kim Jungwoo word count: 8.7k words genre: chaptered, fluff, drama summary: Who says one cannot fall in love once again? warnings: single parents au, a little mutual pining, aged up and aged down characters, violence, a lot of sexual comments, a lot of drama

taglist: @nuoyipeach @tenjyucat @justsomekpopstuff @amazinggraxia

Part One

It is such a busy day. 

Y/N wondered if it was already wedding season. Why is there a sudden influx of ordered wedding dresses? Looking at the different lace and white fabrics made her head hurt. She missed doing pastel colored rainbow dresses, not these boring plain white dresses. When her fingers grazed the material of the dress she is currently working on, a sudden feeling of nostalgia came to her. This was the same material as the dress she wore when she got married, except it was not as fancy as the dress in the display.  

The nostalgia was then replaced with a bubbling feeling that she cannot pinpoint. Was it jealousy? Longing? Will she even wear these kinds of clothes again? 

A chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head. There’s no way. 

“Miss Y/N,” a woman’s voice can be heard after a knock on the door. It was a well-known rule in the boutique to not disturb her when she’s in the workshop unless it’s an emergency. “I’m sorry,” the uniformed saleslady started, “But a woman is looking for you with regards to…” she lightly glanced at the piece of paper before continuing, “Sakura Nakamoto.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. Sakura? She removed her sewing bracelet before exiting the workshop. In the middle of the store stood a woman, probably in her late thirties, and the little girl who shouted in glee seeing her, “Auntie!” Sakura ran to her side, lightly hugging her leg as she smiled at her. What is she doing here? 

“I’m sorry. I’m Sakura’s teacher,” the older woman introduced herself and Y/N greeted her back. “It’s been two hours since our dismissal and I cannot get hold of her father.” Oh, Y/N gets it now. But why is she here? She’s not even Sakura’s family member. “When I asked her if she knew someone else in town, she mentioned you and this store.” Y/N only nodded. ‘I’m sorry but I have another part-time to go to and I cannot leave Sakura alone.” 

When Y/N glanced at the young girl, her eyes were very glossy and puffy. She had already been waiting for two hours, she probably cried a lot.  “I’ll take care of Sakura. Thank you, teacher.” Her grin was so wide that it made the older giggle. 

“I’ll leave a message to her dad that she’s with you.” Y/N nodded, thanking her as she rushed to get out of the place. 

Is this even alright? But she cannot leave Sakura alone as well. Yet, how can she inform her dad that she’s with her if the teacher already said that she can’t get hold of him? She also doesn’t have Yuta’s number. Maybe her siblings. Maybe Sungchan has Shotaro’s number. 

It took two missed calls and five rings before Sungchan answered the phone, reasoning out that he’s at soccer practice and just took a short break. “Do you know Shotaro’s number?” Sungchan was revolting immediately, asking why that made her chuckle. “Sakura is here in the boutique. Her teacher said that she was dismissed two hours ago, yet no one came to pick her up.” 

“Wait up, Coach Yuta is here,” Sungchan claimed, confusing Y/N. Coach Yuta? “My mom wants to talk to you, coach.” She heard Sungchan say before there was a huge change of voice on the other line. “Hello? This is Yuta Nakamoto speaking.” 

Why is Yuta’s voice so low? Is his voice really that good in the phone? “Yeah, hi. It’s Y/N,” she said almost in a rush. “Sakura is here with me.” Her gaze fell on the girl beside her drinking a pack of orange juice. Yuta sounded confused, “The teacher said that they were dismissed early.” 

“Oh shit.” Y/N bit her lip. That was hot. “I’m sorry. I forgot they have shortened class today.” Y/N nodded then hummed when she realized that they’re only talking through the phone. “Is it alright if she stays with you for maybe half an hour? I’ll end practice early and pick her up.”   

“Yeah sure. No worries.

”Thank you, Y/N.” 

“You’re welcome, Yuta.” Then the call was returned to Sungchan who just asked if he could go out and eat with his teammates. Y/N agreed as long as he doesn’t come home late. 

The girl had to breathe hard when she dropped the call. Why is that call so tiring? It’s as if she ran a marathon with the rapid racing of her heart. This is crazy. Her gaze fell on Yuta’s daughter who was grinning so wide with her chubby cheeks. What the hell was she thinking about this young girl’s dad? Y/N must be crazy in her head. 

Yuta could easily spot Sakura with Y/N seated on one of the booths of the pizza parlor. The older one was wiping the sides of the younger’s lips as she kept on babbling excitedly. When he opened the door, he saw how her daughter’s eyes lit up while shouting, “Daddy!” The older one turned to him and he just gave her a light bow while apologizing. “I waited for so long and you didn’t pick me up.” She whined as Yuta sat beside her, in front of the older girl chuckling. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” Sakura stated dramatically. 

The older man chuckled wholeheartedly. “Who would even take you if you’re this dramatic?” Sakura pouted. 

How cute, Y/N thought. Truly, daughters are different. If she tells that sentence to Sungchan, he’ll give her a deadly glare. “Auntie can take me.” The younger girl noted, brushing her fingers from crumbs. “Can I play on the slide?” She asked Y/N who only gestured at her dad who nodded immediately. They watched as the young girl ran to the play area, greeting some kids her age. 

“I’m truly sorry Sakura bothered you at work.” Yuta started but Y/N shook her head. It was a nice break. She had been overwhelmed with work and when Sakura showed up, she realized how much of a break she needed. “I was stuck at practice and her siblings are in their extracurriculars.” 

Y/N smiled. Everyone is busy, she understands that. “It’s fine. I was just surprised when I called Sungchan and you were there.” Yuta nodded. “So you’re the new soccer coach of the academy?” 

“It was the reason why we moved,” Y/N nodded. “I have to say Sungchan is so good at soccer.”  

The girl giggled, “He got that from his dad.” 

That piqued Yuta’s attention. Come to think of it, he had never seen Sungchan’s dad before. Maybe one can call it curiosity. Y/N is a pretty and classy woman, she surely wouldn’t settle for less. Even her son is good-looking and so tall that his youngest daughter has a major crush on the guy. Her husband must be some kind of a God. “Is he an athlete?” 

Y/N shook her head, picking the pickles off her pizza. “I would say he’s a model.” Yuta was just flabbergasted. That explains a lot of things. Must be a perfect family. “Do you think Sungchan can be a great soccer player? That was his dream when he was young.” 

“He is,” Yuta claimed while nodding. “Surely, you’ve seen him play.” 

“I haven’t,” she whispered while poking the pickles with her fork. “It’s always my stepbrother watching him.”  

Why? Yuta wondered. And only Sungchan’s uncle? What about his dad? If Shotaro becomes interested in sports and starts playing soccer, he’ll surely be in every game and cheering him on. With Sungchan’s talent in sports, he knew he wouldn’t disappoint his parents. So why don't they come and watch his games? “We have a game this Friday. You should watch Sungchan.” 

The girl only nodded. Maybe she will. 

—---

Sungchan ruffled his hair, sweat dripping from his forehead as he watched the ball resting on the goal. His teammates were cheering as the point of their team increased. All because of him. Soccer had been his number one love, his favorite activity. Maybe it’s the blood running in his veins. His father, although not an athlete, taught him different kinds of ball games even at a young age. It was their bonding moment: soccer, basketball, billiards. Even his mother’s stepbrother plays soccer. 

His smile faltered as his gaze fell on the crowd and where his uncle was seated. What is his mom doing here? Why is she seated next to his uncle? He purposely didn’t tell her of the game so why is she here? 

“Sungchan!” He heard the coach’s voice before he felt a kick on his leg. He crouched down in pain as a whistle was blown and Yuta came running to where he was. “Are you alright?” His gaze fell on the man in front of him. Isn’t he going to ask what he was doing first? “Can you walk?” He asked before offering a hand to help him stand up. 

He lightly glanced at his mom, who looked worried while he was being brought to the bleachers. “You should rest,” the coach claimed and asked one of the assistants to bring some ice. “You already did your best for the team. Thank you, Sungchan.” 

With the score on the board and the sloppy playing of the other team, he knew the other team wouldn’t catch up. This is already a sure win. Maybe that’s why the coach is in such a good mood. 

But Sungchan cannot deny that Coach Yuta is different from his other coaches. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the same as those jerks from way before. 

—-

“Have you seen the girl seated next to Sungchan’s uncle during the game?” Shotaro had to stop putting his earphone at the mention of his friend’s name. Why are these guys talking about Sungchan when he wasn’t even here? They’re his teammates from soccer, right? “She’s hot, isn’t she?” 

“Do you think she’s his aunt? She’s sexy.” 

One guy chuckled darkly before shaking his head, “That was Sungchan’s mom.” 

“The MILF?” One guy shouted, making Shotaro glare. What the hell are they talking about? “Sungchan is one lucky bastard.” 

“Do you think Sungchan got tall from drinking from those perky breasts?” 

Before Shotaro could stop them, one guy commented. “I bet he still does.” The next thing he knew, his tall friend was landing a punch on the guy’s face. 

True, he had only met Sungchan a short time ago but this was the first time he saw the calmness leave his system. Another punch and blood was already dripping on the floor. Shotaro had to reach out and stop his friend just as the teacher emerged from the door, shouting at the commotion. 

—----

“Jung Jaehyun is here!” One female teacher screamed, that made Yuta’s ears perk up. Jung Jaehyun? That well-known model? He remembered Sachiko having a crush on that guy when she was young. What is he doing in this school? Maybe a promotional ad. He didn’t know this school could be so high profile.  

Another teacher came to his desk, asking him to come to the headmaster’s office since ‘his players’ had a brawl in the classroom. Yuta was just shaking his head as he went his way. Before he could turn to the hallways of the headmaster’s office, the tall, fair-skinned man was standing outside the door. “Is this the headmaster’s office?” Jung Jaehyun asked and Yuta was just stunned to speak. He looks so handsome. Television and print ads don't lie when they say he looks like a God. But what is he doing in this school? 

Yuta only nodded and he curtly thanked him. Wait, is he the dad of one of his soccer team players? The two entered the office at the same time, two students seated in front of the headmaster. One dad was next to probably his son, who has a cut on his face, and Yuta could not hide the surprise when Jung Sungchan called the handsome guy entering ‘dad’. Of course, Y/N mentioned that Sungchan’s dad is a model. Of course, Y/N is married to Jung Jaehyun. It makes sense.  

They do have a perfect family. 

Based on what he heard, Sungchan caused a commotion in class by punching the other student’s face. The other dad kept on complaining about how the cut on his son’s face would ruin his handsome face and that it was unfair. He kept on revolting that he wanted Sungchan to be kicked out of the school because he was very violent. “I’m sure my Sungchan could never do such a thing.” Jaehyun only muttered once the other man’s sentiment died down. 

“Have you seen this? And you pretend that your son didn’t do anything.” 

Sungchan looked bored. Yuta wondered what this brought on. He’s usually calm, very mischievous. But right now, he looked so different. A knock on the door shut the males inside, followed by Y/N coming in a rush. She introduced herself as Sungchan’s mother, making her son sigh heavily. “You see?” The other student, with a bruised face, muttered at his dad who only laughed. 

Now, it all makes sense. 

“I finally get what you mean, son.” the other dad said loud enough for everyone to hear. Sungchan glared at the father-son next to him. “Maybe they’re both taking her at the same time.” Everyone’s eyes turned to him in disdain and Sungchan was about to stand up but his father held his arm, stopping him in the process. 

Y/N had to bow at the headmaster. “I’m sorry for the trouble our son caused,” she mumbled nicely. “We’ll accept the punishment you’re going to give Sungchan. We’ll also make sure that he’ll learn a lesson from this.” 

“Are you going to punish the boy? How? Can I watch? I bet it will be hot.” The other father asked. Sungchan hissed in annoyance. “Maybe I could join and touch that smoking body.” The headmaster had to call out the other man’s name to stop him. 

Yuta watched as the girl smiled at the man’s way. “Oh, you’re going to get it, mister.” She said in a coy voice. “Talk to our lawyer and the next thing you’ll be touching is the hard, cold prison cells.” There was a smile on her face that made Yuta scoff. A smile appeared on his lips, that was adorable.  

The family of three exited the office with the headmaster’s permission, leaving Yuta shaking his head. Why is he so deeply impressed by this woman? 

—---

“Channie,” Y/N called once they’re outside the office. Jaehyun was just standing on the side, arms crossed. “You know better. Why do you have to do that?” 

There was a heavy sigh on the taller guy. “You should have punched all his teeth off.” Jaehyun supplied that made the girl glare at him. “I mean if you want to be expelled, you should have done better.” 

“Jaehyun!” she called pointedly. 

“Why is it my fault?” Sungchan shouted, that made Y/N step back. “I repeatedly asked you not to go to my games. Why do you think I refuse to give you a ride to school?” 

“How is it my fault? I just wanted to…” 

Sungchan breathed heavily before mumbling, “I always wished you gave birth to me later.” Y/N was surprised at the confession, clutching her bag a little tighter. “I always wished you weren’t my mom.” 

“Sungchan!” Jaehyun called in his booming voice. 

“I hate you.” Then the younger one stared at his parents before bolting out of the place. 

Y/N staggered that she had to reach for a nearby wall to balance herself. What was that? “You know he doesn’t mean that, right?” Jaehyun asked, holding her arm to help her stand. No, he meant it. All this time, he hated her. 

“Go to him,” Y/N whispered, removing Jaehyun’s hold on her. “I need to be alone.” Jaehyun called her name before she continued, “Your son needs you more, Jaehyun.” 

Of course, Sungchan hates her. It was a fact that Y/N had been trying to bury for herself. She knew the signs were there but she refused to believe them. His sweet Channie cannot hate her. But he’s now all grown up and he’s his person now. He’s not her Channie but his very own Sungchan. Of course, he would hate her. She made his life miserable by bringing him into this world when she didn’t know anything about how to be a proper mom. She ruined her relationship with his dad. She’s making her son’s life miserable. 

“Y/N,” she looked up to see Yuta looking at her in worry. She didn’t realize she was lost in thoughts. “Are you crying?” She didn’t realize that she was crying so much. Yuta handed her a handkerchief and that’s when she realized the tears. Why is she crying this much when it was entirely her fault? “I’m picking Sakura up from school. Do you maybe want to go with me?” 

Maybe she’ll just try to distract herself from reality. 

When was the last time she came to this elementary school? A lot has changed that she wondered if this was the same school her son went to. She remembered how she would always wait for her son to come out of the school gates along with the other moms who would only look at her. Y/N would always be shy standing in the middle of the crowd of moms who knew what they were doing but that inferior feeling would change whenever a fair-skinned, doe-eyed boy would run to her and call her “Mommy!” excitedly as if they hadn’t seen each other for months. A moment she would always look forward to. A moment when she and Sungchan only mattered in the world. 

A moment she knew wouldn’t happen again. 

“Auntie!” Instead, a high-pitched, starry-eyed kid with chubby cheeks called. “You’re here!” Sakura exclaimed while laughing in glee, waving at her excitedly. 

Y/N had to smile, “Yeah, I wanted to see you.” The smile on the younger’s lips grew wider, which Y/N mirrored. How is Sakura so cute? “Did you have fun in school?” 

The younger nodded, handing her unicorn backpack to her father. “I did! We made bracelets today.” And she showed her wrist full of colorful beads. “I shared some bracelets with my classmates.” She shared excitedly while removing one pink bracelet. “You can have this, auntie. I made this.” 

“Are you sure I can just take this?” Sakura nodded, claiming that she’ll just make Sachiko one later. 

The bright pink beads of the bracelet were twinkling with the sunlight as Y/N braided Sakura’s unruly hair. Yuta just sloppily put Sakura’s hair in a bun when the young girl asked if she could play in the playground, earning a whine from the young girl. Y/N had to take a hair tie from her purse, offering to braid the young girl’s hair much to her glee. Sakura was grinning so brightly when she showed her what her hair looked like. “It’s just like my classmates but better.” 

“What are you going to say?” Yuta asked strictly. 

“Thank you, auntie,” The younger girl said with a hug. “I hope you always fix my hair like this.” 

The older had to giggle at that. Sakura was running to the playground, her squeals of excitement heard from where Y/N and Yuta were seated. She’s so cheerful and full of energy. “I probably should learn how to braid Sakura’s hair. She will never shut up about it.” Y/N only laughed in response. “You should have been a girl mom.” 

The comment made Y/N lightly glance at Yuta. “I should have,” she muttered quietly. “But I ended up having a son who hates me as his mom.” 

“So that is what it was all about?” 

The girl sighed, “I’ve never seen Sungchan that mad. Maybe he does hate me so much.” 

Yuta shook his head. “It’s teen angst. We all passed a point in our life where we think we know everything and say mean words.” He claimed then chuckled lightly. “I don’t think Sungchan hates you. He’s a nice kid, he probably doesn’t mean saying those words to you.” 

Y/N pursed her lips at that. “I think he does.” She whispered. “When he was young, I was always the best mom. The person he loves the most in the world.” She smiled timidly at the memories. “Then he suddenly became too grown up and got embarrassed of me.” The girl watched as Sakura slid on the huge slide, waving at them as if showing off. “I wish he never grew up.” The guy beside her started laughing, which made her glare. “Do you think that’s so funny?” 

“Well, you cannot stop him from growing up. He’s still your son.” Yuta claimed. “Sungchan isn’t embarrassed by you. Do you remember at Kura’s birthday? He looked so proud when my daughter chose you as the prettiest mom.” Y/N pouted. “If I were in Sungchan’s shoes, I wouldn’t do anything. But he never cared about himself and he just straight up protected you.” He continued, “And I think that’s more admirable, Y/N.” 

The girl looked so lost in thought. Yuta smiled, she is so lovely. “Being a boy mom suits you.” 

“You just said I should have been a girl mom.” 

“I think you’re just a great mom overall.”  

Y/N had a small smile on her face, “You mean that?” Yuta nodded, even teasing that it’s not teen angst talking. The girl had to laugh at that, “Thank you, Yuta. That means a lot.” 

The guy held up his hand. She gave him a high five and just like before, he threaded their fingers together. “You’re welcome, Y/N.” 

Sakura came running to where they were, followed by two girls, “Auntie, can you also fix their hair like mine? They said it looks pretty.” Y/N nodded. 

“Truly, a girl mom.” Yuta teased while shaking his head. 

—----

“Is she still not answering her phone?” Sungchan asked, seated on the kitchen stool while glancing at his dad who only shook his head. “Do you think she went to work? Should I call Uncle Jungwoo?” 

Jaehyun shook his head. “You should call her.” But Sungchan only glared. “If I knew your mom better, I’d say she’s crying her eyes out in a park while beating herself for it.” The younger gave the older a death glare but Jaehyun just shrugged. “You did hurt her feelings.” 

“I said I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, to me. Not to her.” Jaehyun claimed. Sungchan put down his phone after creating a message to his uncle, asking for his mom. “If I were a traditional dad, you should be grounded by now.” 

The younger guy sighed once again, “But you understand me right?” Jaehyun lightly glanced at his son. “This isn’t the first time this happened.” Sungchan was reminded of all the soccer coaches and male teachers who would always praise him and give him special treatment just because they wanted a chance with his mom. As he grew up, it became more intense to the point that his classmates would always make these sick fantasies about him and his mom. 

“You cannot blame your mom for that, Sungchan.” Jaehyun started before sitting on the adjacent stool as his son. “When you were still young, your mom would always spoil you that she often forgot about herself. She would come out of the house with tattered and worn-out clothes. She never really cared about how she looked as long as you’re well.” In Sungchan’s point of view, that is so hard to believe. When he first heard this story, he thought his dad was only tripping with him and making him guilty. But his uncle would often share the same story as how his mom suffered a lot when he was young. “The kids wouldn’t play with you because they thought you’re the maid’s son and that broke your mom, big time.” 

“So she promised herself that she would look good,” Sungchan finished for his dad. 

“That’s why we don’t blame mom for anything. I saw that woman almost dying just to bring you to this world, be grateful.” The older claimed ruffling the younger’s hair. “You’re lucky she’s your mom. You wouldn’t grow up well if not.” Sungchan sighed at that. “Apologize to your mom.” The younger nodded. 

Both guys were in the middle of preparing for dinner when the car could be heard parking in the garage. Somewhat Sungchan’s insides were shaking. How is his mom? Where has she been? How can he talk and apologize to her? 

“You’re home!” It was Jaehyun who greeted her. “We’re making pasta for dinner.” 

“I already ate,” she said in monotone. “I’ll sleep early.” Then she just walked away without staring at the two guys. 

Sungchan glanced at his father in worry but he only shook his head. “Just let her sleep on it. Apologize to her tomorrow.” 

—--

When Y/N woke up that morning, she just groaned at the pain in both her head and eyes. Maybe she’ll just inform Jungwoo that she cannot go to work today. Her throat was so parched but she tried to feel if there was someone in the house. Is she alone? Did Sungchan already go to school? But he might be expelled right now so he’s probably somewhere in the house. And somehow, she doesn’t want to face him yet. 

When was the last time she cried this much? Y/N wondered. When she broke up with Jaehyun? When her father died? And now because of Sungchan. Why does she always cry because of a man? “Good morning!” She almost screamed hearing Jaehyun’s voice but the other just laughed. “You look so bad.” Y/N had to roll her eyes at that which only made her head throb some more. “I’ll reheat the pasta so you can eat it.” 

“Where is Sungchan?” She asked, sitting on the kitchen stool. “And why are you still here?” 

Jaehyun smiled as he turned on the stove. “Your son went to school. Apparently, his classmates were claiming that Sungchan didn’t start anything so the school will probably review the punishment they’ll give him.” 

“You didn’t even come with him?”

The guy shook his head with a laugh, “He said I should just stay at home and take care of you.” There was an evident surprise on Y/N’s face. There’s no way Sungchan said that after what happened yesterday. “He felt bad for the things he said, Y/N.” 

“Jaehyun, do you think I’m making our son’s life miserable?” 

“You’re not,” he claimed. “But if it helps, both of us made his life miserable.” 

“He should have stayed with you.” She whispered making Jaehyun laugh wholeheartedly. 

“Did you forget that Sungchan chose to be with his mommy rather than live with the robots in Japan? My mom is still salty about it.” Y/N had to breathe heavily at that. Another nostalgia creeping up on her. Why does she miss Sungchan more? “Your son loves you so much that he’s willing to protect you at all costs yet you wanted him to stay with me?” Jaehyun put down the plate of pasta. “If I was in Sungchan’s shoes and someone talks like that about my mom, I wouldn’t care. That’s not worth getting expelled for. But the kid straight up just punched someone for you. He cares for you so much to do that, Y/N.” 

Y/N finds it weird because that was what Yuta exactly said. Was that really a man’s wisdom? The tears unconsciously fell as she took a bite of pasta. “You’re doing a great job as a mom, Y/N,” Jaehyun whispered while gently tapping the top of her head. “Now, great mom, can you bring Sungchan his phone?” Y/N had a curious look on her face. “I asked him to leave the phone so you two could talk.” 

The girl only had to glare at the man, “You are so annoying!” 

“That’s why we got a divorce, honey,” Jaehyun muttered, laughing as he exited the kitchen.

Y/N doesn’t know how to return Sungchan’s phone without facing him. Mentally, she wasn’t ready. What if he’s still mad at her? What if it could only lead to more shouting and mean words? Emotionally, she cannot handle anything as of the moment. She even had to force herself to come out of the house so physically, she wasn’t available as well. Jaehyun repeatedly told her that she looked like a mess but she didn’t care. Instead of her usual dresses and high heels, she’s wearing jeans and an old, worn-out t-shirt of a band Sungchan likes way back. She’s only wearing flipflops and eyeglasses, then a light lip tint to at least look a bit presentable. 

She knew she could not enter the school after what happened yesterday. That’s just awkward. So giving Sungchan his phone while he’s in class is a huge no. Maybe she could contact some of his friends to give it on behalf of her. But then, who were his friends that she knew of? Maybe this is the reason why her son never introduced her to his friends. 

Shotaro, she remembered. She knew Shotaro and they belonged to the same class. But how can she contact Shotaro without making it weird? Hurriedly, she looked for the contacts on her phone for the recently added person. This is her only choice for now. 

With a wide, teasing smile, Yuta came out of the school gates and she immediately apologized for taking his thing. Good thing Sakura asked for her number yesterday, that earned her Yuta’s number as well. “Is this your teen angst?” She rolled her eyes as Yuta chuckled. “You still haven’t talked to him?” 

Y/N only shook her head before handing her son’s phone. “Did you know what punishment he received?” 

“I only heard that it isn’t expulsion. The class said that it was the other guy who started and he provoked Sungchan.” Yuta explained as she nodded. That’s a relief. “Will you still let Sungchan play soccer?” 

“Are you going to kick him out of the team?” 

Yuta looked startled. “God, no. He’s my star player.” He then startled, fiddling with his thumbs. “I just thought maybe you decided to ground him as punishment.” 

“His dad didn’t say anything,” Yuta only nodded. “And I can’t do that. He already hates me enough.” The guy had to laugh teasingly. “Thank you Yuta and I’m sorry for bothering you. I have to go back home.” 

The guy held his hand up for a high five, which she returned and he threaded their fingers together like what he usually does. “You look better wearing these clothes. You seemed human.” 

“Am I not a human before?” 

“You’re a Goddess,” Y/N was startled. “That’s what Sakura calls you.” 

The girl had to laugh at that. “Can I just trade your daughter with my Sungchan?” 

“In ten years, when she starts telling me that she hates me, I might just give her to you for free.” 

—--

Yuta was supposed to go to their homeroom to hand over the phone. Maybe he’ll talk to Shotaro and ask him to give the phone. But instead, he saw Sungchan seated on the bench overlooking the soccer field. Are classes over already? Why is he outside? “Jung Sungchan,” he called which made the younger turn to him in surprise. “Are classes over? Where’s Shotaro?” 

“I skipped,” he confessed in a soft voice as Yuta sat beside him. “I’m sorry, coach. I might stop playing soccer.” 

“Why?” he asked then handed him his phone. “Your mom just said that you’re not being punished so why would you quit soccer?” 

Sungchan looked so surprised. “She came here?” Yuta nodded, “Then you probably knew what happened?” 

“Not everything,” Yuta confessed. “All I know is that it heavily affected your mom.” Sungchan nodded. It did. She didn’t eat dinner with them and he cannot miss those bloodshot eyes. “And it’s heavily affecting you too.” 

Sungchan had to lean his back on the bench, crossing his arms. “I feel like an evil child for hurting mom like that.” He whispered, “But in my defense, I was just so mad that time that I lashed out at her.” The younger breathed heavily. “She’s probably so mad and disappointed at me.” 

Yuta mirrored the same posture the younger had before shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s the case.” He mumbled then smiled at the past interaction he had with Y/N. “I think your mom just misses you.” 

“Miss me?” 

“We, as parents, really cannot stop you from growing up.” Yuta started, “But as you grow up, your parents grow older as well.” He started tapping Sungchan’s back, “You’re a nice kid, you grew up well. You know what to do.” The older stood up while brushing his pants, “Skip practice today but you’ll have to run double the lap tomorrow.” 

Sungchan nodded, “Thank you, coach.” The older smiled. “I hope you’re not doing this because of my mom.” 

Yuta had a small smile on his face, “You’re my player. Not your mom.” 

—----

The house was too quiet when Sungchan came in. His mom’s car was in the garage, meaning she didn’t go to work today. She’s probably in her workshop and designing dresses again. His dad’s car isn’t here so he probably left. He should have gone home earlier if he knew this is the scenario. How can he face his mom alone? What if she’s mad? What if she cries? He doesn’t know what to do. 

Maybe he should call his uncle Jungwoo. 

But the fact that he hasn’t bombarded him with messages about hurting his mom only meant that he doesn’t have any idea about what happened. And letting him know is scarier than apologizing to his mom. 

Sungchan breathed heavily, a tub of ice cream on hand as he knocked on the door. Just apologize, Sungchan. Don’t make her cry. He heard a hum on the other side of the door, “Mom, it’s Sungchan. I bought ice cream, it might melt if we don’t eat it now.” He heard her agreement before he shakingly opened the door. His mom was seated on her desk, papers scattered on the floor while some were taped on the wall. 

What struck him the most was the small yellowish paper pinned on her corkboard. Sungchan had been in this room a couple of times before, but this is the first time he took note of that paper. “Where’s your dad?” She asked as she moved to the small couch in the room. 

“He’s gone. You didn’t know?” he asked while handing her the small bowl and spoon. “I didn’t know you still have that card,” Sungchan started pointing at the piece of paper on the corkboard. “How long was that? When I was in first grade?” 

“Second grade,” Y/N claimed curtly. “The first year your father and I got a divorce.” Oh, he remembered now. “Do you still remember that paper?” 

Sungchan nodded, “Grandma wanted me to go live with her someplace with robots but I chose to be with you and she wanted proof of that.” Y/N smiled timidly, nodding at him. “I love mommy more than robots,” he whispered, remembering what was written on that piece of paper. “And I still do,” he said in a soft voice, staring at the slowly melting ice cream. 

“You’re already past the robot age, Sungchan.” 

“But if given the same choices, I’ll still choose to be with you.” 

“Even if you hate me as your mom?” 

“I’m sorry,” Sungchan started kneeling on the carpeted floor. “I didn’t mean any of those words, I didn’t know what possessed me to say those things. I’ll forever repent my actions.” he kept on rubbing his palms together as if asking for forgiveness. “It’s fine if you don’t forgive me, I just hate that I hurt you and made you cry.” When he looked up, his mom was sobbing, which made him whine. “Mom!” he revolted. “I can’t calm a crying girl. I don’t know what to do.”  

He sat beside her on the chair, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned in to cry on his chest. When did his mom become so small? He remembered hugging her when he was young and she seemed so big. But now, she felt so small in his arms. He had truly grown up. And maybe the coach is right. His mom just missed him. The young him. “Did you hate me as your mom?” 

“No,” Sungchan said in a low voice. “But I hate how people perceive you as an awful mom because you’re young and pretty.” He rubbed her back to calm her down. “I’m thankful that I’m your only child because you’ve always showered me with your love and I promise I’ll repay you by taking care of you in the future.” Y/N had to stare at him in confusion. “I wouldn’t get married and would just take care of you.” 

The older lightly slapped her son’s arm. “Ya!” she shouted, making Sungchan laugh. “Are you stupid?” She started wiping her tears from her face. “I already told Sakura you’ll wait for her to grow up.” 

“That’s crazy,” Sungchan claimed while shaking his head. “The ice cream is all melted. I’ll ask dad to get us a new one.”  

“And ask him to cook dinner. He can’t live in this house for free.” Sungchan laughed, nodding at her. He’s glad everything worked at its best. He just had to make sure that this doesn’t happen again. 

—----

The weather wasn’t too hot and since both his uncle and dad were here in town, Sungchan decided to invite the three adults to play basketball. When he was young, the four of them would often play basketball in the nearby court just for fun. His uncle and dad were usually partners, while he’s always with his mom. Before, they were all taller than him and he felt it was unfair to play with them and team up with his mom. But now that he’s towering over the three adults, maybe he and his mom could finally defeat the two older guys. 

But as their family of four neared the court, he could see a group of three guys playing basketball in the court. Sungchan’s face lit up at the sight of his friend, “Shotaro!” he called as the group turned their way. 

Sakura, who was seated on the bleachers earlier, came running to him while squealing, “Sungchan-oppa!” She even waved to the only girl from the other group then hid behind Sungchan, tugging his leg. “Oppa, who are they?” 

“That’s my dad, Jung Jaehyun.” The taller introduced, pointing at the fair-skinned man with dimples popping from his cheek. “And that’s my uncle, Kim Jungwoo.” 

The younger girl’s eyes were so wide as she innocently asked, “He is your dad?” Sungchan nodded proudly. “That’s why you’re so tall and handsome.” The wonder and realization in her voice made the older guy laugh. 

“Why didn’t you mention that your dad is Jung Jaehyun?” Shotaro asked. 

Sungchan shrugged, taking the ball from his hands. “I didn’t know you know him.” 

The other guy then glanced at his twin sister seated on the bleachers, who was ogling at the celebrity walking past her. “Sachiko has a huge crush on him growing up.” The son of the said person looked surprised. He didn’t know his dad could be that famous. 

The adults were introduced to each other: Jungwoo was remembered by both Sachiko and Sakura as the man in the boutique with Y/N while Johnny was the waiter in the restaurant which Y/N mentioned. Sungchan was the one who suggested playing against each other with four players each, but Y/N stepped back, claiming that she’s not playing because it’s too hot. 

“You have to play, you’re already in your jersey,” Jaehyun claimed, which made her glare. “We brought you outside to exercise.”

The girl scrunched her nose, “What am I? Your dog?” She asked before dragging Sakura and Sachiko, “We’re getting ice cream.” 

Jaehyun shook his head and whispered, “Such a kid.” 

Yuta was just watching the interaction. He had never seen such a perfect couple before. A beautiful mom and a handsome dad, with a very good-looking son. What a perfect family. And somewhat, Y/N looked so much lovelier in his eyes this instance. Maybe because this is the first time he had seen her as a wife. Why did God love Jung Jaehyun so much?     

When the girls left the court, they decided to have a three versus three half-court game. Since they came first, Yuta’s team was the first offense. What Y/N said before about Sungchan’s talent in sports coming from his dad makes sense. He knew Jaehyun isn’t an athlete, he is a model. But his agility and speed made him amazing at the game. The first point was created by Johnny and then Shotaro.  

The court was so loud with the sound of their rubber shoes, all the calling, and the laughs from both Shotaro and Jungwoo. Jaehyun kept on shooting consecutively, making Yuta more competitive. Even if the other team was significantly taller, Yuta’s team scored more mainly because of their teamwork and Johnny’s endless rebounds. The older didn’t realize that his son could be good in basketball as well. 

Feeling tired, the six men were lying on the floor of the court after Yuta scored the seventh point for their team. Why is basketball this tiring? He lightly glanced around. But moreover, where are his daughters? 

Sakura kept on groaning as her hair kept on blocking her face from eating the ice cream. Y/N had to chuckle, stopping the two girls and asking Sachiko to hold her ice cream so she could tie the younger’s hair. “Auntie, how did you find a handsome husband?” Y/N laughed at the innocent question. “Do I have to be as pretty as you?” 

“You are pretty,” Y/N complimented while rubbing her chubby cheeks. “And Jaehyun is my friend before so I don’t think he finds me pretty.” 

“That’s nonsense.” Even Sachiko revolted at that. “Where can he find a girl as pretty as you?” 

The older of the girls shrugged, “Her girlfriend is prettier.” Both girls stared at her in surprise. “Oh, I should have started with Jung Jaehyun is my ex-husband.” Sachiko looked startled at that. “We divorced a long time ago.” 

The teenage girl shook her head at the shock. “More reasons not to believe in love.” She mumbled under her breath that startled Y/N. Did she just ruin this girl’s idea of love? She’s being such a bad influence on this teenager. 

When the three came back to the court, the six boys were still playing basketball. Sweat was dripping on their foreheads so Y/N just guided the two girls to sit next to their things on the bleachers. She had never been a fan of sports. Never really understood anything in these games, but she knows that the game is intense. Maybe someone provoked her ex-husband’s competitiveness because there’s no sign of the cheerful Jaehyun from before. Sakura was cheering for her dad who was dribbling the ball and then shooting it from behind the half-circle.  

Wow, Y/N thought, Yuta is good at sports. There’s no doubt he’s the soccer coach. 

The moment Shotaro rebounded the shot done by Yuta, Jaehyun announced that the game was done. Even Jungwoo was surprised that the other team got six points already. Sungchan immediately ran to the girls, then took a bite of his mom’s ice cream, making the older whine. “I’m so tired!” he complained while leaning on his mom. Y/N had to laugh while she finished her ice cream.  

“Sungchan oppa, you play so well and you’re so tall,” Sakura claimed, walking to where the older guy was. He only chuckled before asking if she wanted to shoot the ball to the ring, earning a nod from Sakura. 

Y/N had to repeatedly tell Sungchan to be careful as he carried Sakura on his shoulders so the young girl could be as tall as the ring. The older one was standing next to her son, holding Sakura’s back so she wouldn’t fall as she kept calling her son’s name. The younger girl’s giggles filled the whole court. All eyes were on the three of them: Johnny. Shotaro, and Jungwoo were laughing, Sachiko taking a picture with her phone camera, while Yuta was just focused on the scene before him. 

How can a girl just look so lovely as a mom? Y/N is proving to him that she’s neither a boy mom nor a girl mom. She could be both and she would surely do her best as a mom. Now he wonders why they only had Sungchan as a child. Does Jaehyun not want another child? What a waste of good genes. His gaze fell on Jaehyun who only smiled at him knowingly. What was that? Did he catch him checking out his wife? Wait, was he even checking out Y/N? 

Maybe Yuta is sick in the head. 

“Y/N!” Jaehyun called, “Let’s have a barbecue party at home and invite them over,” Sakura shouted that she liked barbecue before he glanced at Yuta. 

Yuta feels like he’s in trouble. 

The initial impression of this woman being wealthy came to Yuta once again when they reached the Jungs’ place. It is a huge house with a two-car garage. How can their family be that perfect? The kids were immediately playing Sungchan’s PlayStation while both Jaehyun and Jungwoo were already preparing for a barbecue party on their lawn. Johnny didn’t come, excusing himself that he had a part-time job to go to. He promised to attend the next barbecue party though.

Y/N, on the other hand, hurriedly went to the kitchen to prepare some ingredients. “Hey,” Yuta greeted, making his way to the kitchen. “Do you need help?” 

The girl shook her head, “I’m sorry Jaehyun had to drag you here. You probably have some other plans with the kids today.” 

“No, it’s not.” Yuta shook his head. “I am sorry for making you prepare this much.” 

The girl giggled at that. Y/N was washing the vegetables, which made Yuta help her by peeling the onions. “Your house is amazing.” 

“Sungchan’s grandfather is an architect,” she claimed. “He made all these for his only grandson.” 

Yuta had to put the onion on a plate, “Why don’t you give him another grandchild?” Y/N only laughed. “I think Sungchan is ready to be an older brother.” He gestured to the older guy helping Sakura with the controller of the PlayStation. 

The girl breathed heavily while leaning on the counter and watching her son. Truly, he is gonna be a great older brother. “I almost died giving birth to Sungchan. I was young and it was a complicated birth.” Yuta just nodded and her eyes widened, “Oh shit, I’m sorry. It’s not…” 

“Oh, no worries.” Yuta shook his head with a smile. “I’m actually amazed at what women can do and endure. I personally think giving birth is the most painful feeling in the world.” There was a small smile on his face, “Moms are amazing.” 

Y/N giggled. “I think Sungchan is already enough.” She then turned to face the counter and cut the vegetables. “He loves me the most in the world, you know.” 

Yuta laughed, “He does.” Then whispered, “I’m glad you two are okay now. You both look like a mess during your fight.” Y/N only laughed wholeheartedly. 

The meat looks delectable, the smell tingling their senses. Jaehyun had probably done this a couple of times before. Not only is he handsome and famous, he’s also a great cook. What a complete package. No doubt a lovely and classy girl as Y/N would fall for him. Additional brownie points for Jaehyun for how attentive he is to both Sachiko and Sakura. 

He probably also wants a daughter just like Y/N. 

He didn’t expect a guy like Jaehyun to succumb to his wife’s request. Maybe he is the type to fall head over heels for a girl. But in Y/N’s case, who wouldn’t? If he were her husband, he'd probably worship her on her feet. 

Yuta shook his head. That was a bad thought. 

Both families were seated on a long table in the yard. Maybe they hosted barbecue parties like this before, since they have all the things needed. “I didn’t know you have these many plates, Y/N.” Jaehyun joked as he sat on the head of the table while his husband sat opposite him on the other side of the table. “Probably from all the tea parties and neighborhood meetings you have.” 

“You are so annoying!” Y/N revolted. 

Jaehyun laughed, “That’s why we got a divorce, honey.” The statement startled Yuta so much that he almost dropped the glass he was holding. Divorce? Jaehyun and Y/N? But she still wears her wedding ring. When he glanced around, he was the only one who looked shaken at the statement. Do his kids know? But why is he so shaken about it? “Yuta,” the other called, making him cough lightly. Don’t be suspicious, Yuta. “Is the food alright?” 

He nodded, taking another bite of the meal. “It is.” Jaehyun nodded with a smile. 

For every bite of the meat, Yuta had questions forming in his head. Why did they get divorced? Why is she still wearing her wedding ring? How long have they been divorced from each other? Why is Jaehyun here if they’ve already broken up? His head just kept on throbbing with questions. Is she open to falling in love again? 

Once again, Yuta had to shake his head. That is a bad thought. A crazy thought. He should stop himself before he acts on that thought of his. 

Sungchan had never washed these many plates before. If he’s normal, he would easily lash out at his parents for inviting a lot of people over for their little party. Yet, somehow, his heart was happy. He knew how much this little party meant for his mom. He’s somewhat glad that she found a person with the same situation as hers, with whom she could easily talk to. Not like those other women in the neighborhood who only gossip. He’s also glad that his family could know a lot about his best friend's family.  He hopes these hangouts will be frequent. 

“Sungchan,” Jaehyun called, entering the kitchen which made the younger man hum. “I’m leaving.” 

The guy turned to his dad in surprise. “Suddenly?” 

“I have to meet your grandma.” Sungchan only nodded. “Your mom is already in her workshop so I cannot bother her.” Once again, he nodded. 

Jaehyun leaned on the counter, “Son, will you be alright with your mom marrying again?” The sentence surprised Sungchan. Where is this conversation heading? “Will you let her fall in love again?” 

He turned off the faucet, hands on the counter to help with his balance. “I don’t know why you’re asking that but I cannot stop her if she does want to marry again.” Then he sighed, “But dad, that is highly impossible. You know mom still wears your wedding ring.” 

“To scare unwanted suitors,” Jaehyun claimed with a laugh. “I taught her that technique.” The taller guy just shook his head while rolling his eyes at his dad. “Sungchan, promise me that you will never stop your mom from falling in love and marrying again.”

It was a weird request, yet Sungchan can’t say no to his dad. But where is this conversation leading to? Is his mom seeing a guy that he doesn’t know about? And does his dad know about it? How? That was very weird. 

He shook his head. Sungchan was sure that it wouldn’t be a problem with his mom. 

[mapofsouthdakota]

Caleb’s headcanon -

The Maze

Synopsis: In a future where war and technology have blurred the line between man and machine, Caleb was resurrected—not as who he was, but as who he was programmed to be. With only 3% of his original self left intact, the latest reboot of his chip has reshaped his logic, his purpose, and his understanding of his emotions towards you.

Bound by his own design, he has built you the Maze—a flawless, shifting sanctuary meant to protect the one person he refuses to lose. But protection and captivity are two sides of the same coin, and inside the Maze, freedom is just another unsolvable puzzle.

Will you escape, or will Stockholm Syndrome take hold before that day?

Details: 2600ish words. Some kind of spin off AU, but corresponds with in-game canons. Obsessive Caleb. Yandere Caleb. Controlling Caleb. Colonel Caleb. Crazy hot Caleb. 18+ due to psychological thriller/drama/angst galore (and a prelude for p0rn with plot, I’m just calling it now tbh lol). You are warned.

Tags: @gavin3469 @mcdepressed290

Disobedience | Chapter one

The Maze, you

The sheets beneath your fingertips are soft, smooth against your skin—yet the coolness of the night still lingers, a stark contrast to the heat of your own body.

For a moment, you just lie there, still. Listening.

The room hums with a faint, steady silence—too perfect, too controlled. There’s no creak of floorboards, no shifting of walls, only the barely-there whisper of circulated air filtering through vents.

A breath. A heartbeat.

Then—

“Morning, sunshine.”

The sound curls through the space, warm, teasing, familiar.

You don’t flinch.

Your hands, hidden beneath your pillow, run over the rough scratches in the headboard.

Ten days.

Ten days in Caleb’s Maze.

Ten days of carefully mapping the shifting corridors, learning the rhythm of the walls.

Ten days of waiting for a single mistake.

You let your thumb press against the newest line, the wood rough beneath your nail. The only thing here that feels imperfect.

Ten lines. Today makes ten.

Your fingers move carefully, hidden beneath your pillow, tracing over the rough scratches in the headboard. The grooves are uneven, worn from repetition.

A habit now. A ritual.

Another inhale. Another second where you are just waking up.

Then, deliberately slow, you stretch—arms reaching high, toes curling, your spine arching briefly before you relax again, exhaling softly. You force yourself to move naturally. To pretend.

“Did you sleep well, Pips?”

His voice is smooth, effortless, the same playful lilt it’s always had. The intercom crackles faintly at the edges, a reminder that he isn’t here.

You push the sheets off, swallowing down the tightness in your throat.

“I’ve had worse,” you murmur.

A low chuckle hums through the room. Soft, unbothered.

“That’s not an answer.”

You don’t give him one.

Instead, you slide out of bed, bare feet meeting cool marble flooring, and head toward the kitchen. It’s pristine, the kind of luxury that feels staged, artificial. Polished marble, deep walnut cabinets, light spilling through windows that show a perfect sky that isn’t real.

You reach for a glass from the overhead rack—thin, cool, smooth against your fingers—before pouring yourself orange juice.

It’s cold when you drink, tangy with just the right bite of citrus.

“The apple juice is fresher.”

You pause mid-drink.

His voice is still warm, too conversational for someone keeping you captive.

“But,” Caleb adds smoothly, “you’re free to choose whatever you please.”

Your jaw tightens. You set the glass down too hard.

“Oh, how generous.”

Silence stretches for a moment, and you swear you hear the faintest flicker of static in the speakers. Like he was about to say something else.

Then—nothing.

You don’t wait for him to continue.

You turn on your heel, leaving the kitchen, heading toward the bathroom.

——————————————————————————

The mirror doesn’t lie.

You brush your teeth, staring at your reflection. Messy hair, sharper eyes. With a slow inhale, you smooth down the wrinkled fabric of your pajamas, then splash cool water onto your face, letting the droplets slide down your jaw. You straighten, gripping the sink for a moment before exhaling.

You look fine. Healthy.

And yet, something invisible coils inside you as you step out of the bathroom. The plush carpet yields softly beneath your bare feet, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile reality of the Maze beyond this space.

The walk-in wardrobe is spacious, curated to perfection, a collection of clothes you never asked for but were chosen with meticulous care. Your fingers trail along the fabrics, skimming over silken dresses, impossibly soft loungewear, intricate embroidery.

Not clothes meant for movement.

Not clothes meant for running.

But today, you dress for yourself.

Your hands move with quiet certainty. A fitted, dark long-sleeve shirt, breathable and weightless against your skin. Black cargo pants with deep pockets, light enough for speed, flexible enough to run.

You don’t rush as you pull the shirt over your head, as you fasten the buttons on your pants.

You don’t care if he’s watching.

Let him.

You glance at your wrist, at the smooth, metallic weight of the watch he gave you—shaped like an apple, polished to perfection. A taunt. A joke only he found amusing. You’d scoffed when he fastened it around your wrist on the first day, smirking like he was doing you a favor. As if time mattered in a place like this. As if knowing the hour would change the fact that every second still belonged to him.

And yet, it had given you something.

You’d started noticing the patterns. The way his voice filtered through the speakers more often at certain times, his presence reduced to an unseen observer rather than the man himself. A shift in routine, a window of opportunity. If he wasn’t here in person, then maybe—just maybe—it was the best time to run.

Your best chance.

You step into the halls.

——————————————————————————

The Fleet, Administrative wing, Caleb

The Maze breathes.

Not in the way a person does—not with lungs or with a heartbeat—but with the constant, seamless shifts of its corridors, the silent recalibration of its pathways, the ever-adapting nature of its design.

It moves because it is meant to.

Because he made it so.

His design.

From his office aboard The Fleet headquarters, Caleb watches.

Multiple screens flicker in front of him, displaying live feeds from the Maze’s surveillance systems. Some show stark, metallic corridors bathed in cold fluorescent light, their silence almost oppressive. Others reveal lush, curated spaces—gardens where bioluminescent flowers bloom in a soft, otherworldly glow, their petals unfurling like whispers against the artificial breeze.

Waterfalls cascade down smooth stone walls, their shimmering descent captured in crisp, high-definition clarity. Libraries sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling glass, dark wood shelves lined with both rare books and glowing data slates, and plush leather seating bathed in soft, golden light—a seamless blend of luxury and knowledge.

Yet, despite the breathtaking variety before him, his attention is drawn to one screen in particular. Something about it—perhaps the flicker of movement, the subtle shift in shadow—demands his focus.

You.

You stand before the open wardrobe, fingers skimming over the array of fabrics, hesitating.

Something twists in his chest.

It happens fast, instinctive—like a flicker of old wiring trying to reroute itself. Something he shouldn’t feel.

But he does.

His violet eyes trace every detail as you shift through the clothing options. There’s an abundance of choices—elegant silks, soft cottons, layers meant for comfort rather than necessity.

And yet, when your fingers pause, it’s on something practical.

Dark, fitted. Movable.

A slow, amused sound escapes him—“tsk, tsk, tsk.”

He already knows.

Even before you strip off your nightwear and begin sliding into a long-sleeve shirt, breathable and light, he knows.

You’re planning to run.

Again.

His gaze lingers for a second too long as you fasten the buttons on your cargo pants, checking their fit, testing their flexibility. It’s almost methodical, the way you move—not just dressing, but preparing. A muscle feathers in his cheek, and without thinking, his teeth catch his lower lip, a small, unconscious bite—barely there, barely a reaction, but enough. A fleeting lapse in control before he smooths it away, blinking once, recalibrating.

Caleb exhales through his nose, fingers loosely tapping against the polished surface of his desk. The gesture is unconscious, almost idle, but there’s an undercurrent of something he can’t quite name.

Not frustration. Not even disappointment.

Something closer to sadness.

For a moment—just a moment—he allows himself the thought:

You don’t trust him.

Even after ten days in the Maze, after the security, the warmth, the meals he ensures are exactly as you like them—you still choose to run.

That small, dying fraction of himself—the part that still feels, still remembers, still wants—aches.

Then, just as quickly, he shuts it down.

His violet gaze hardens, refocusing his thoughts, and with a measured glance toward the digital clock in the corner of his screen, he makes a decision.

“Early lunch then.” The words are low, absentminded, spoken only to himself.

He stands, rolling his sleeves down, adjusting the crisp lines of his uniform. His movements are fluid, practiced—not rushed, not tense.

This isn’t unexpected.

You always were predictable in your defiance. And while he should be sitting through another briefing on Fleet logistics, securing operations for Skyhaven’s next expansion project, this takes priority.

You take priority.

Without another glance at the monitors, Caleb steps away from his desk, his boots echoing lightly against the pristine floors of his office.

His command to The Fleet’s automated systems is brief, quiet, and final.

“Cancel my schedule for the next hour.”

——————————————————————————

The Maze, you

The air is fresh, sterile. The Maze is designed to feel real, but it isn’t.

Some corridors have grass growing in patches, soft beneath your steps. Others are lined with polished stone, textured enough to feel almost natural. Somewhere, hidden beyond the walls, you hear the soft, rhythmic hum of unseen machines. The constant, inaudible shifts of the Maze adjusting itself.

Every sound. Every change.

Caleb built this place beautifully.

But a golden cage is still a cage.

You let your fingers graze the walls, memorizing the faintest seams. The air is still, too quiet. You keep walking, turning a corner—

Then—

A door stays open a second too long.

Your breath catches.

You move. Fast, silent, sharp.

Each step is calculated, your feet landing light against the ground as you slip through the threshold before it can close.

The first hallway is clear.

Your pulse spikes, adrenaline flooding your veins.

A second hallway—open.

You keep going.

Your heart pounds.

A third hallway. Open. Your pulse spikes, adrenaline burning hot in your veins.

You don’t stop. You don’t think. You move.

And then—

A shadow. A shift in the air.

Arms wrap around your waist.

A solid, crushing force, an unyielding grip stronger than your own body. Your breath leaves you in a sharp exhale, and you thrash immediately. Fingers claw at his forearm, at the muscle in his wrist, nails digging into flesh—but he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know better than this, Pips.” Caleb’s voice is too steady. Too calm.

The fight in you explodes.

You shove back, twisting, slamming your elbow into his ribs. It’s a clean hit, right where you aimed—

And he doesn’t even move.

“Really?” Caleb exhales, the sound a mix of amusement and something dangerously close to indulgence.

You fight. He doesn’t flinch.

In a single motion, he lifts you. Effortless. Controlled. Like this was always how it would end.

Your breath stutters as the world tilts.

His hold is secure, strong, completely unshaken. His body is warm against your back, his presence a wall you can’t break through.

“I’m disappointed,” Caleb murmurs. “I thought we were past this phase.”

You twist again, wild, desperate—he tightens his hold.

It isn’t painful. It’s just inescapable.

“Still fighting me, huh?” A sigh, low, almost indulgent.

Then—he turns.

And carries you back. Deeper into the maze.

——————————————————————————

The door hisses shut behind you, locking with an unmistakable click.

The room is warm. Comfortable. Familiar. Which only makes you hate it more. Everything here is chosen for you. The plush seating, the softest blankets, the bookshelves filled with titles you’ve mentioned in passing. There’s even a record player in the corner, already humming out a low, nostalgic tune.

Caleb has built you a paradise.

And then he’s tied you to the chair.

The contrast is almost comical.

A high-backed, cushioned armchair, angled just slightly toward the crackling fireplace. The restraints—thin, smooth straps, nothing rough or cruel—keep your wrists and ankles in place.

And once again it’s not painful. Just inescapable…

“You know,” Caleb says conversationally, adjusting the straps like he’s tucking you in for the night, “this wouldn’t be necessary if you behaved.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you glare at the bookshelf across from you, focusing on the hardcover spines of your favorite novels rather than the man currently fastening you into your luxury prison.

“Pips, don’t be like that.”

The nickname makes you grit your teeth.

Caleb straightens, stepping back, hands loosely resting on his hips as he surveys his work. His violet eyes flick over the restraints, your tensed arms, your jaw clenched in irritation.

Then—a smirk.

“Comfy?”

Your glare could burn through steel.

“Oh, come on,” he sighs, gesturing vaguely around the room. “I could’ve put you somewhere far less accommodating.”

Your eyes flicker around the room, unwillingly cataloging every sickeningly perfect detail.

The softest blankets in the universe draped over the nearby couch. A table of fresh fruit, chocolates, and a steaming cup of tea—your favorite blend. A window overlooking a perfect sunset, artificial but beautiful.

And worst of all—the armchair you’re currently restrained to? It reclines.

Your fingers twitch.

“See?” Caleb tilts his head, reading your expression effortlessly. “I’m not unreasonable.”

You huff through your nose, looking away.

Caleb leans down, hands bracing the armrests, his breath a whisper of warmth against your skin. Violet eyes—too sharp, too knowing—trace your features, his stare slow, deliberate, as if committing every defiant line to memory.

“I don’t like doing this to you, Pip-squeak.” His voice is softer now. Too close. Too careful.

His gloved fingers glide over your cheek, a slow, feather-light drag of cool leather against your too-warm skin. It shouldn’t leave an impression, but it does—a whisper of control, deliberate, inescapable.

Then, he moves—not back, but forward.

He leans in, slow, deliberate, until his breath ghosts against your lips, warm and steady, the space between you shrinking into nothing.

And then, just there, against your mouth—

“But you have to stop trying to leave me.”

The words are soft, almost gentle—but there’s nothing soft about the way they settle into your bones. A command, a fact, absolute.

He’s already gone.

Straightened. Moved away, as if he hadn’t just stolen the air from your lungs, as if he hadn’t just set your pulse stumbling. Like he’s in control.

Because, of course—he is.

Caleb he tilts his head slightly, gaze flickering down as he taps a single finger against the watch on your wrist—light, teasing, as if this is just another game.

“Should we say two hours of relaxation?” His voice is smooth, almost coy. Then, with a smirk, he leans in just slightly, like he’s sharing some playful little secret. “Then we can go play basketball later.”

And just like that, he turns on his heel, stepping away, unbothered, already moving on—as if he hadn’t just tied you down, as if he hadn’t just reminded you exactly where you belong.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, Caleb

Caleb stands just outside the room, his back to the door, his gloved fingers twitching at his sides. His breath escapes too sharp, too uneven, something off-rhythm about it.

He should be proud. He handled the situation with perfect efficiency.

You fought. He won.

And yet—his pulse is off. The air in the corridor feels heavier than it should.

He presses his fingers to his temple. Once. Twice.

Like he’s trying to force something back into place.

Steps sharp, too controlled.

He moves down the corridor, into the main halls of the Maze, the exit looming ahead.

Then, as if remembering something only he can hear, Caleb pulls a small device from his belt—sleek, no larger than his palm, its surface smooth and seamless.

His grip tightens around it.

It’s unnecessary.

You’ve made your choices. He’s made his.

And yet—his thumb presses down.

A soft, nearly imperceptible beep registers in his earpiece. Inside the locked room, the restraints will loosen. You won’t be free to leave. But you’ll be free to move.

His shoulders drop by a fraction of an inch, just enough that someone trained in reading body language might notice.

But no one is watching.

Caleb’s fingers press down on a door panel.

The door unlocks.

And Caleb steps through.

Behind him, the Maze remains unchanged, unmoving, silent. But no matter how far he walks, no matter how many doors close between you—

He will return to you.

He always does.

Because you are still inside.

And Caleb has never been able to stay away from you for long.

Not before.

Not now.

Not ever.

——————————————————————————

Chapter two

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: So I had this idea and I love crazy delulu Caleb. I kinda like it? It’s something? It has potential, I think? I’m playing around with writing styles and this is the product. I feel like anything could happen in this maze lol. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[the-stove-is-divorced]

I will when I get to it, thank you! And House’s on pause. Was watching with a friend and cannot continue without the friend there lol.

Omg, didn’t even consider the excessive heat for a closed room! I wonder if Debbie makes him open a window or leave the door open to eliminate the build up of moisture/steam in the bathroom. Not ruining the value of their home on her watch, no thank you, just cause they end up getting mildew from Mister Walking-Sauna over here. Like it’s so funny if he’s an accidental mold/mildew/general floor/wall damage-causer. Does he begrudgingly use towels sometimes? And knowing Nolan’s out the shower cause random shit starts boiling is so fucking funny oh my goodness. Like does he warn them beforehand in cause they’re nearby liquid that will boil or steam up, alas they’ll get burned?

Also makes me cackle if Nolan’s ever fighting a water based villain and not only can he hold his breath, he will simply vibrate to the point of BOILING. I love when Nolan is like powered to the point of it being freaky or unexpected. Like I know that villain is screaming what the FUCK. Or even Aquarus on the team! Blasts water jokingly and Nolan Shake-Boils It Off. like ????? Hello???

But I have NOT heard about Nolan slapping a turkey to cook it, but that’s so fucking funny???? The heat build up is such a terrifying yet fascinating point… superheated glass floors, the BURNS on people’s bodies from attacks, these walking atomic bombs LOL.

And so true? I am dying to know what a society filled with people who can simply shake off water by overheating it develops? Is fire invented WAY down the line, but cooking is eased by their manipulation of heat? Like if they can see in the dark, cause they stare at the fucking sun with no issue, what’s the need for fire as light even? What is farming like????? They are their own tractors, and heavy machinery for mass production of food, so another doubt for any domesticated pets? Or maybe that’s a Post-Slaughter thing? Do they gaze at others technology and mimic it for themselves?

Like, did they used to have domesticated animals which is now looked down upon? Or is that warrior/solider specific? Conquest’ speech about HIM weirding out others makes me itch to know what the ENTIRE empire is actually like!

See, I’m also thinking Nolan cannot drive because why would ever even consider that, but I raise you Mark habitually hearing someone say they’ll drive and he goes to pick up the car and fly. He can see parking spots from up there, trust. Or imagine he puts the car on a roof lmao. Surely it’ll a while before anyone notices. It’s also easier to him, a) helpful/useful, b) he can carry everybody that can fit in the car AND be faster.

But people think Nolan’s afraid of flying because he cannot stand the purpose of getting on a plane is SO FUNNY. Debbie snorting, like yes, my husband is terrified of planes. Be nice by not mentioning them ;) Nolan just like :/ Debbie I am not. Debbie planes are useless you know this. Debbie stop saying this.

And truly he must be so starved??? Nolan having random global friends would be so intriguing. The chest guy in the park. A chef that thinks he’s neat and gives him extra when he’s in town. “I don't think this man has literally ever experienced someone being happy to see him until he came to Earth” <— hearing it said like that puts so much in perspective, yeah, damn. And yeah that’s such a brilliant way of his thinking, real people are people he KNOWS, but anything else isn’t Viltrumite, just an npc. He def doesn��t need to be violent like that, s1 shows he’s elevated to flirt with Debbie lol. I think that’s so true, as well, death is only a possible consequence of violence, but violence is a neutral to him.

Like I didn’t think he was trying to kill Mark, but was using violence because that is what he knows. I definitely think Mark wasn’t sure he’d be alive by the end of that battle, and sometimes I ponder like what if Mark DID die then lol. What then buddy ???

Nolan thinking he’s never killed PEOPLE before makes so much senseeeee, ughhh, chewing on this furiously.

And very much agree, it never felt like a work of fiction as much as it was a strict diary of events Nolan lived through, which I think why it partially failed? He’s not a writer for fiction, or at least he doesn’t recognize there needs to be a story there, as much as he’s detailing XYZ happened exactly like this, events and situations, but not a story. Nolan not getting the Little Mermaid but being so emotional about it is everything to me. IM SCREAMING. It’s like the 17th time and Mark is BEGGING to watch anything else, Mark can’t stand that movie at like 19 to this day, and it’s one of Nolan’s favorite films. LMAO not the acquired thing for redheads lol.

And yeah!! I was just looking at his regular clothes and buddy is layered up! Him having the hybrid impacts of confused body trying to regulate temperature but it finally evening out when he gets his powers is sooooo fascinating. But damp Mark is so fucking funny. Swearing to get rid of heat he barely has, of if it actually gets worse after power kicks in and now his body realizes they gotta be able to withstand High Temp. He does form Mister Shivers to Constantly Damp. He changes his hero suit to gloves or sticks to specific materials that help him keep cool. Nolan shakes to air dry, and Mark often soars or spins to shake off sweat or feel cool breezes. I wonder if he prefers colder/higher places then, because then his body won’t work a hard to cool off = sweat. He fights the urge wear shorts in winter.

Peter putting in a different outfit but still getting harassed by the GDA ???? I’m crying. It never ends for him. Ever. Eternal suffering lol. Imagine Nolan does try to be friendly, too, and Peter viciously does not want this at all. Like outside of pictures, he’s like… maybe I should say so hi to this guy, and he turns and Peter is already about to scale a wall to get away from him. Peter actively avoids being left in the same room as Nolan, but also when it’s Debbie and Nolan. He must web his ears LOL.

Mark having a very short lived Diamond creation career is so fucking funny. I’m sure villains adored the diamond statue and the little guy who made them. I wonder if people pester him to start it up again lol???? It just wasn’t his thing :/ it’s like a hobby, but if it becomes a career it just ruins the fun. And I’m screaming about the drill, Mark is just idk man. How is that my business anyway? :/ it’s not my fault they tried to drill into your stomach or whatever, just escape???? You survived, right? Mark drives TT insane I think lmao.

Like it’s so funny to me how Mark cannot, in this AU, understand danger or the concept of anything lethal. Even old age is a more concept than reality. Kate tries to talk about the pain of dying, and he still FEELS pain, but he’s just like sounds like it sucks idk? Have you tried quitting then? :/ cause I like what I do. You seen to find it sucks…. so ….? Unintentional asshole cause he simply cannot comprehend it. If it sucks then leave. Diamond crushing was boring so I left? In theory Kate would combat with expenses + career tho canon speaks it’s easy to go so?? Tho part of me wonders like, how many heroes retire early similar to how athletes in sports can retire at relatively young ages because of the damage to the body can cultivate? Especially if they’re starting young. Or is Kate almost immune to injury when she can just have a whole new body?

Also I know Mark did lava training or whatever dueling the montage, but like???? If the body can shed heat like a mf, could Nolan enjoy lava? I can see him personally not being interested but like heat baths becoming a cultural thing perhaps? Like saunas? Again what kinda culture does this fucking empire gave us that’s powered like this… Like does Nolan ever take Mark to practice one tidbit of his culture, expect Mark’s half human and he sweats furiously, creating constant steam lol. I can see being wholly interesting in what people do, but Lava Baths are like pool parties equivalent, and he doesn’t mind them? No more baseball scene, they dip their toes in searing hot lava lol.

Truly there’s so much to talk about lol. Like hell or a demonic realm being real??? Hello??? Are there other demon heroes? Villains? I think we discussed the realm not wanting the detective which is hilarious + dimensional/realm immigration. Anyways I’m being for bootleg Ghost Rider guys. Funnier if he’s retired and he’s just vibing as a flaming Skeleton.

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.

[sixfootrod]

I would like request more Price angst , please!

I’m back. Small announcement to add before I continue with this ask.

NSFW asks will be closed for now. I’m a lot more.. inexperienced with writing it than I thought. Apologise to all those who have been waiting onto them. I’ll get to them eventually.

Back to the writing.

TW: SUICIDE, SUICIDAL IDEATION, MENTIONS OF ALCOHOLISM.

John had fully accepted the risks of his job.

He’d accepted the fact that it was literally a cruel game of life and death — except, you couldn’t exactly respawn. And no matter how hard you tried to prepare yourself, no matter how many times you experience it; it doesn’t fade. The pain buried deep within the crevices doesn’t just.. leave in time. Sure, it becomes smaller, but sometimes? It all comes back up.

John felt a sense of responsibility as the captain. He trained these soldiers. Watched them do drills with a stoic expression, knowing that any moment — one of them could be returning to their families as nothing more than a soulless husk. Either dead or alive. But still, either way — soulless. Just like him.

Thoughts like that usually ended up in nights like this. John hated the night. Too quiet. Nobody to keep him company. Nobody to dampen the utter, crippling and debilitating guilt that weighed down on his shoulders. Nobody to wash the blood off of his hands after taking the gloves off. The hands that currently held a small sidearm. Considering. Eyes flicking across the barrel, the trigger, the handle; everything. The thought of himself being the one to take himself out felt better than being embarrassingly killed by the enemy. Wouldn’t he be his own enemy?

Though, he wasn’t able to stir in those thoughts for long. Because the door to his office was soon shoved open — the sound of the hinges creaking as the face of Simon appeared. Maybe he’d been here to talk about something else, but once his eyes flicked over to the empty bottles of beer, the stink of alcohol and the occasional hiccup from John? It all went out the window.

“Price..”

“What, Simon?”

“.. put the gun back.”

“I wasn’t gonna—“

“Put the fucking gun back, John.”

John felt his nose flare at the tone in Simon’s voice; icy blue eyes flicking up to practically glare at the man in the doorway. But nonetheless, he tossed the gun (maybe a little too carelessly) back onto his desk. Simon gave a small sigh of relief before jerking his head in the direction of the hallway.

“C’mon. Off to bed with you.”

At least someone still gave a shit enough to pretend they cared.

[sylusonychinus]

Fake it, Till you make it

this is for @kira-loves0905 came across her post and decided to endulge in her little prompt :3

"You owe me for this."

Rafayael flops dramatically onto the couch beside you, draping himself over the armrest like a fainting noble in some period drama. You barely spare him a glance, focusing on your surroundings instead—because unlike someone, you actually take your job seriously.

"You agreed to this," you remind him.

"Under duress!" he whines, rolling his head to look at you, pouting. "I was bullied into this arrangement, Miss Bodyguard. Coerced. Trapped."

"You literally said, and I quote, ‘Fine, but only if I get to be the hot one in this relationship.’"

"And? That doesn’t mean I wasn’t emotionally manipulated." He huffs, tossing his legs over your lap, forcing you to either shove him off or accept your fate. You choose the latter. For now.

Rafayael, sensing victory, beams. "You should be grateful, you know. People would kill for a boyfriend like me."

"People would kill you for being annoying."

"And yet," he sighs, stretching like a satisfied cat, "here I am, bravely enduring the cruelty of my fake girlfriend."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Raf—"

"By the way," he interrupts, twisting to smirk at you, "how long do you want to keep this up?"

You freeze for half a second. He catches it, of course.

"...Pardon?"

He grins. "I mean, until when do you want to continue this fake boyfriend-girlfriend thing?"

The teasing lilt in his voice makes you want to shove him off the couch. But his eyes—sharp, watchful, knowing—keep you rooted in place.

"As long as I need to," you say evenly.

Rafayael hums, tapping his chin. "Hmm. So mysterious. So vague. So incredibly suspicious—"

"Rafayael."

He sighs dramatically. "Fine, fine. Keep your secrets, Miss Bodyguard." Then, as if to ruin the moment entirely (which, knowing him, is fully intentional), he flings himself against you, burying his face in your shoulder.

"But I demand compensation," he mumbles into your sleeve. "affection"

You shove him off the couch.

Rafayael yelps as he lands on the floor, groaning. "Cold-hearted!"

"You’ll live."

He groans again. Then, softer—almost to himself—he mutters, "You still didn’t answer me, though."

You don’t have an answer.

And something about the way he’s looking at you tells you he already knows that.

You should’ve known better than to agree to this.

Xavier leans against the bar, one arm draped over the back of your seat, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder. He’s playing the part of the devoted boyfriend a little too well—flashing that lazy, cocky smirk at you, tilting his head whenever you speak like he’s fascinated by every word that leaves your mouth. It’s all for show, of course. A necessary illusion to fool the ex who can’t seem to take a hint.

And yet…

His touch lingers. His gaze drops to your lips when you aren’t looking.

“Relax,” he murmurs, voice smooth as honey, just loud enough for you to hear over the chatter of the restaurant. “You’re acting like you don’t enjoy being my girlfriend.”

You scoff, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. “I don’t. This is a job.”

Xavier hums, amused. “Cold. And here I thought we were having fun.”

“Fake fun.”

He chuckles, then leans in—closer than necessary. Close enough that his breath fans over your skin, and his next words send a shiver down your spine.

“How long do you want to keep this up?”

You blink, caught off guard. “...Pardon?”

“I mean,” he murmurs, tilting his head, “until when do you want to continue this… fake boyfriend-girlfriend thing?”

The teasing glint in his eyes is unmistakable. But there’s something else there, something quieter. Something that makes your stomach twist in ways it shouldn’t.

You swallow, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “As long as I need to.”

Xavier exhales a laugh, and when he speaks again, it’s softer.

“How long do you need me to?”

Your heart stutters.

This was a bad idea.

A very bad idea.

Because for the first time since this started… you’re not sure if you want it to end.

“You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m gonna hold your hand.”

Sylus’ voice is laced with irritation, but his grip on your wrist says otherwise—firm, steady, reluctant.

You roll your eyes. “You agreed to this.”

“I agreed to pretend to be your boyfriend. Not to act like some lovesick fool.”

“Wow, what a loss. I’m heartbroken.”

His lips twitch—like he’s trying not to smirk—but he schools his expression into something unimpressed. Typical Sylus. Always too smug for his own good.

You’d both been thrown into this situation for one reason: convenience. You needed to fend off an unwanted admirer, and Sylus—well, he had his own reasons. Reasons he refused to elaborate on. But the deal was simple: you fake date for a while, then go back to ignoring each other like always.

No complications. No real feelings.

At least, that was the plan.

Then he had to start acting like this.

Leaning down just a little too close when he talks to you. Throwing an arm around your shoulder in crowded places. Holding your gaze for a second too long, like he’s waiting for you to call him out on it.

And now, this.

“How long do you want to keep this up?”

You blink at him. “...Pardon?”

His eyes glint under the dim light of the café, unreadable as ever. “I mean, until when do you want to continue this… fake boyfriend-girlfriend thing?”

He leans forward slightly, just enough to crowd your space. His voice drops lower.

“How long do you need me to?”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach flip.

This is just an arrangement. A game.

So why does it suddenly feel like you’re the one about to lose?

“Careful, sweetheart.”

Caleb’s voice is a low drawl, a teasing lilt in it as he steadies you with a hand on your lower back. His touch lingers—fleeting, warm, familiar. You roll your eyes, pulling away, but not before you catch the smirk tugging at his lips.

“You don’t have to call me that,” you mutter.

His smirk widens. “Oh, but I do. It’d be suspicious if I didn’t.”

You exhale sharply, ignoring the way your heart stutters. You should be used to this by now—Caleb playing the role just a little too well, saying all the right things with just enough sincerity to make you second-guess.

After all, this was your idea.

A mutually beneficial arrangement. A fake relationship to keep your nosy family off your back and to help Caleb dodge some persistent admirers.

No feelings. No attachments.

And yet—

“How long do you want to keep this up?”

His voice is quieter this time, almost… hesitant. It makes you look up, catching the shift in his expression—still playful, still wearing that damn smirk, but there’s something else lurking beneath it.

“...Pardon?”

He leans forward slightly, eyes never leaving yours. “I mean, until when do you want to continue this… fake boyfriend-girlfriend thing?”

Your throat dries. “As long as I need to.”

Caleb hums, tilting his head like he’s considering something. Then, with that same infuriating smirk, he murmurs—

“How long do you need me to?”

The words send a shiver down your spine.

Because he says it so casually. Like he’s asking what you want for dinner. Like he’s not subtly giving you an out while also offering to stay.

Like he’s pretending this doesn’t matter to him just as much as it does to you.

And for the first time since this whole thing started…

You don’t know what answer you’re supposed to give.

You should have known better than to make a deal with Zayne Li.

He leans back against the bar, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the other resting casually on his knee. He looks utterly unfazed, like this whole arrangement—this fake dating thing—is just another one of his perfectly calculated moves.

But you know better.

There’s always something simmering beneath the surface with Zayne. A quiet intensity in his gaze, a sharp edge to his words, like he’s waiting for you to slip—waiting for you to realize just how deep you’ve let yourself sink.

“How long do you want to keep this up?”

His voice is smooth, laced with amusement, but his eyes—dark and unreadable—never leave yours.

You swallow. “...Pardon?”

“I mean,” he murmurs, swirling his drink lazily, “until when do you want to continue this… fake boyfriend-girlfriend thing?”

You hate that your breath hitches. That the way he says it—low, deliberate—sends something electric down your spine.

This is just an act. A temporary arrangement. You were the one who asked for his help. You were the one who swore there’d be no complications.

But Zayne has never been the type to follow the rules.

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “How long do you need me to?”

The words are deceptively simple, but there’s an unspoken challenge in them.

A test.

Because he’s watching you too closely, waiting for your reaction. Like he already knows you’re in too deep—like he’s daring you to admit it.

And the worst part?

You don’t know if you can anymore.

[cjlouwho]

below the cut is an absolutely mess of a post about cancer and losing someone to cancer so you've been warned, but I needed to ramble. Please feel free to ignore!

Shockingly, I used to have a good memory. Like, really good. I never had to study in school, I could look over something one time and have it memorized, my parents would take me with them to appointments and functions so I could retain whatever info was being presented.

That’s not my life anymore. Trauma is wild.

It will soon be one year since my dad died from cancer. I’m going to speed this thing along to his last month. Things went downhill so quickly. From the time he was diagnosed until a month before he died, my dad continued his daily routine of either working out for two hours a day or running 6-8 miles. He was a strong man, a big man, a proud man.

And then the treatments all stopped working. There was nothing else they could do. Cancer was spreading throughout his body at an unbelievably quick speed.

I watched my dad go from 240 pounds of muscle, to 220, to 200, to 180, to 160 in under a month. I watched him go from being constantly active to barely being able to walk from the living room to the bathroom. I saw the life drain from his eyes long before he took his last breath.

I’m still haunted by the times my mom, sister, and I had to change his diapers. The times we had to work together to lift this 6’4 man in and out of bed. The times we had to pick him up off the floor when he thought he was strong enough to walk.

We thought hospice would help. We didn’t realize they would only come once or twice a week for a sponge bath. Had no clue they’d only briefly go over medications, then leave us to administer it.

We bathed my dad twice a day. We changed his sheets and did everything in our power to make him comfortable. My mom’s back has never recovered. My sister and I both have neck and back issues that we didn’t have before.

My dad went into these episodes in his last week where he'd be out of it. He’d think he needed to get up and go to work, or go workout, and we’d have to tell him he’d already done that. We’d tell him he could rest. He’d calm down after that.

But he was still lucid until he was finally taken to a hospice center and they were able to give him the proper doses of medication. The last few hours that he was home, I was turning on the TV in his room so we’d have something to watch and I made a joke to him that we used to make to each other all the time. I didn’t expect him to respond, but he did. And it was so clear too. It broke my heart, because I knew that he knew what was happening.

I knew he didn’t want to die. He wasn’t ready. That man loved his family more than anything. He’d want to be here.

My sister and I still text each other sometimes with a little “still traumatized?” just to check in. There are certain noises we can’t handle hearing, certain hobbies we can’t do anymore, things that’ll be said that have me going into a type of trance where I end up staring blankly at a wall for twenty minutes without realizing any time has passed.

I don’t remember things well anymore, but I remember every moment of my dad’s last few weeks. It’s the one thing I really wish I could forget.

[thresholdslut]

Please Read

After a couple days of reflection, I’m a little surprised I have to say this, given my vibes and all the warnings I post. But please do not interact with me or my account if you don't like what i write. I have never once claimed to be the writer for everyone. I write darker content and things relating to human nature along with the very disturbing parts of it. I will never stop writing these topics, it’s not my problem if you don’t like it.

I hate to do this because so many of you have been kind and supportive, but I'm no longer allowing anon asks and comments (on either ao3 or tumblr). If you have a problem with what I create, then either face me yourself or DNI!

You can say that I'm "playing the victim" but at the end of the day...You're spreading hate to a complete stranger on the internet over a ship. I do not care for nor engage in ship wars/discourse. These are fictional characters in a fictional world. I do my best to make sure I tag appropriately and some of you decided to interact with a dead dove fic. This story is much darker than just it being rivamika having sex. If that is what you got from it, then you lack the literacy of just the basic tags of the fic. In the future, I'll do better at wording things a little more clearly and using tags on social medias. I will take responsibility there.

I do like eremika a lot and they are pretty much endgame in all of my stories so far. I'm not using it for "attention" or to build an "audience". I've been brainstorming and creating ideas/fics where they has been the center for two years now and I've liked the ship since I started the manga. I’m not going to stop continuing any story even if some people don’t like it, again that’s not my problem.

Anyways, I'm sorry if it feels like I’m taking everything away, but I really should protect myself from further negativity and non-stop spamming. Call me a coward, but I'd rather not listen to someone throwing a hissy fit on all my fics. It’s more fucking annoying then anything else.

Side note: won't really be sharing the step-dad au, maybe this is all I can be, and any future stories (aside from Antidote) on any platforms aside from ao3 (maybe I'll post snippets here and there). I'm doing it like this for now as to prevent it from leaving it's target audience. Everything will still be on ao3, but currently just for archive users (may change my mind later). Please subscribe to my ao3 for future updates if you want ❤️

IF you can’t find them, feel free to message me for links. I’m nice I promise, this situation just pissed me off that’s all.

[panchulien]

Drunk Makarov shenanigans. Random bullshit go!!!!

Makarov is unhappy. He's been stuck at this hotel for the past three days trying to secure a deal because their usual arms supplier had decided to be assassinated at the worst possible time, and now they needed to find a new one for their yearly stock. So now here he was with Nolan, meeting up with some possible suppliers Milena set up for them, and so far it wasn't going good.

Some were bad quality weapons and equipment, some of them were too American, and some of the people simply had no idea how to negotiate. It's day four when Makarov's patience finally wears thin, and he shoots someone point blank in the head. Makarov wipes the blood off of his face as he considers ending Milena's contract, or her life for that matter, for wasting his precious time.

He sighs, motions Nolan to be dismissed and retires to his own private room for the night.

Nolan had been there with him for every part of the negotiations, he doesn't flinch when the trigger is finally pulled because even he was expecting Makarov to snap at some point.

What Nolan wasn't expecting though, is for Makarov to show up at his room in the middle of the night, completely drunk.

Nolan had just finished taking a shower by then, washing away the blood and the fatigue of today. He puts on a robe and lays on his bed, too tired to go and change as he closes his eyes and rests there for a moment. It's only when the door bursts open dramatically that he is startled, and he immediately shoots up from the bed.

"Komandir?" He's shocked to say the least, it's almost two in the morning. There his commander stands before him, or at least tries to, his face sour and his posture wobbly. He's clearly drunk, and he's not happy about it.

"Andryusha..." He starts, approaching his second in command. His tone is exhausted, he drags out the last letter of his nickname, and he scrunches his face in discomfort. "I am horribly tired of this!"

He walks up to where Andrei is standing and collapses into the mans chest, head resting against his shoulder. Their bodies are still a few inches apart and Andrei has no idea how he's supposed to react. The wires in his brain completely short-circuit with the next words that leave Makarov's mouth,

"Andrei." His voice is muffled against the robe. He's leaning on him in an almost comically funny way, but it stops him from falling at least. Then he lifts his head up a little, as if something just hit him. "Are you... Are you naked under there?"

Andrei freezes on the spot. What else is one supposed to do when their commander asks them such a ridiculous question?

"You.." A hiccup, then the slurred speech continues, "You absolute WHORE." Makarov says, but then his expression turns serious as he takes in what he just said. He looks like he's just heard some serious accusations, he looks betrayed, surprised about this new discovery.

"Komandir, I don't understand-" Andrei tries to reason, to do something before it gets to a point. Makarov is entirely unpredictable in this state, and he only confirms Andrei's suspicions when he suddenly pushes Andrei back until his legs hit the bed and he loses his balance, falling on top of the bed.

"Sir!" He falls back, his robe slightly falling open.

"Save it, Andrei. You've been hiding this from me all this time? How could you do this? Does loyalty not mean anything anymore?" Makarov is just saying shit at this point, and Andrei is too confused as to how he should start approaching this in the first place.

Before he can think any further though, Makarov pushes him against the bed and collapses on top of him with an "oof". Andrei is extremely uncomfortable in this position, his back hurts and his robe is dangerously close to falling off from his body, and having his boss on top of him is not helping his internal panic.

Makarov's head is planted against his shoulder, and a hand comes up to shamelessly grope at Nolan's chest. At that moment Nolan could have sworn he heard Makarov giggle, but before he can question it, Makarov is already passed out on top of him.