#little did i know this show would change me forever

[iamgonnagetyouback]

sirius black x reader who is camera shy

It all started the day Sirius showed up at your doorstep, grinning mischievously and holding a camera. You’d had no idea he even owned one. Yet there he was, camera in hand, ready to capture everything in sight — and “everything” included you.

“Come on, love,” he said, bringing the camera up to his eye. “Just one shot. It’s like catching a little piece of you I get to keep forever.”

You scoffed, ducking out of frame, feeling that familiar twinge of discomfort creep up your neck. “I don’t know, Sirius… I’m just not photogenic. Really. You don’t need a picture of me.”

He pouted, but let it go, for that moment at least. But the camera became a staple in his life. And with it, he made it his personal mission to capture every beautiful moment — especially if it had you in it.

Whenever you two were out, Sirius would sneak out the camera, trying to snap a photo of you while you were distracted. You’d catch him just in time, turning away with a shy laugh, hiding behind your hands or whatever you could find. He never pushed, just smiled at your evasive maneuvers, a patient glimmer in his eyes.

And over time, he took to gently reminding you how beautiful you were.

“Honestly, love, you have no idea how gorgeous you look in my eyes,” he’d murmur, brushing a strand of hair from your face after you’d duck away from a quick photo attempt.

You’d roll your eyes, heart fluttering at his words but still feeling uncertain. “You’re biased,” you’d counter with a smile. He’d only chuckle, replying softly, “Maybe. But I know a good thing when I see it.”

This went on for months. He’d compliment you when you least expected it, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made you feel warm from the inside out. And slowly — so slowly, you hadn’t even noticed — you started seeing yourself a little bit the way he did.

Then one day, it just happened.

The two of you were out on a picnic, just the two of you and the camera he always brought along. As you watched the clouds roll by, he pulled out the camera and held it up, waiting for the familiar routine of you hiding your face. But something in you shifted. Instead of dodging, you straightened up, turning to face him directly.

And you… posed.

Sirius’ eyes widened slightly behind the lens, but he quickly recovered, snapping the photo before you changed your mind. As the camera clicked, a huge smile spread across his face.

Sirius’ gaze softened, and he looked at you like he was seeing the most beautiful sight in the world. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in a gentle, almost reverent smile.

“What?” you asked, feeling a bit shy under his stare.

“You posed,” he murmured, voice thick with affection, and there was a sparkle in his eyes that melted every last bit of your camera shyness.

With a soft laugh, he set the camera down, moving closer to wrap his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your skin.

you guys didn't think i wouldn't post in honour of THE SIRIUS BLACK'S birthday(づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ🥳

[em-ontv]

Reach for me.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!reader

Summary: he couldn’t love—or didn’t want to love, and you loved too much, so he did what he does best—push people away, push you away.

Warnings: angst, mentions of alcohol consumption, reference to physical violence (not to reader), internal conflict/self-loathing, self-sabotage (Ben), no use of y/n, English isn't my first language

A/n: okay, I was suppose to be working on 'sing a song for me" part 2 but I am very very stuck so I decided to write this. I promise it'll come out soon, I know it's been so long :'(

Word count: 1.2k

You thought you'd seen the worst of him already. The anger, the bitter sarcasm that he tossed carelessly, the silent stretches that left you feeling invisible. And it wasn't as though Ben was ever easy to love. He was a wreck half the time, and he did everything to make sure you knew you were disposable.

He had been in plenty of beds, all warmth and fleeting sighs—but empty. Nights were easy—it was everything that came after that he had no patience for.

Commitment? Stability? It wasn't his thing. He wasn’t the settling-down type, he’d tell himself. And he sure wasn’t made for a "forever." And yet… he’d come back to you, again and again, as if some part of him couldn’t help it. You, who’d been there in all those small, ordinary moments. The kind of quiet loyalty he didn’t know what to do with.

So, Ben had this way of making every little kindness of yours seem like it was nothing. A late-night meal you made him? "That all you got?" He would spit it right out. Patience with his anger? He'd scoff and say, "What, you really think you can fix me?"

And when you'd touch him, hand on his shoulder or your fingers tracing a line across his jaw, he'd look away, just enough so you'd see the faintest flicker of something. But then it would be gone, and he'd shut down again, like all the times before.

But you loved him anyway.

For some messed-up reason, you could see through it. Even when he pushed you away, you stayed. Patient, offering a love he didn't deserve—and he knew it himself.

Maybe it was your patience that made him resent you, that gentleness in your eyes when he spat venom at you. He had gotten used to people leaving the second they saw what a monster he could be, the second he showed them the violence he kept just under the surface. But you stayed, and he both loved and hated you for it, because you made him feel things he'd tried so hard to bury. And somewhere deep down, that terrified him.

Because Ben did love you. That was the worst part. He'd feel it sneak up on him in the quiet moments, when you were sleeping beside him, or laughing at something stupid he said or something he'd mumbled. He felt it every time he reached for you. He loved you in a way that made him feel vulnerable and open, like he had nothing left to hide.

Then came the night that changed everything. A night you'd never forget. When he came back stumbling in, blood on his knuckles and bruises across his jaw—he had gotten back from a fight. You took one look at him and knew he was aiming for another fight with you, eager to burn the only good thing he had left just to prove that he could.

He sneered at you, and you just waited, waited for him to burn out. And he did.

The sharpness and anger in his eyes burned till it was nothing but a wavering sight of lost and hurt, his body slumping against the wall and he couldn't bother to look into your eyes again. He might have broken down.

But then he did what he did best. Push people away.

"You think you love me? Fuckin' waste of time. I don't love, sweetheart. And it's pathetic that you keep hangin' on like this, thinking you're special." he spat, eyes filled with resentment when his eyes met yours again.

You held his gaze and didn't flinch. "I know you don't mean that."

That was when he snapped. His voice went cold, the kind of anger that ran deep. "Maybe you're just too stupid to get it. I don't want you here. Don't need you lookin' at me like I'm some fuckin' wounded dog." His words were harsh, but he knew they were bullshit, just another excuse he used to push you away.

And it worked. It worked.

Ben saw the way tears started to well up in your eyes as you stared at him, and that was what finally made him feel something close to regret. But he couldn't go back now. Couldn't unsay it. It would have been too painful to admit the truth, to admit that he was terrified.

So you left. Quietly, without another word, because there was nothing left to say. You just gathered your things, gave him one last look, and walked out, leaving him alone in that dimly lit apartment.

He'd won, hadn't he?

He had pushed you away. He got what he wanted. No more vulnerability, no more of that insufferable feeling of being known and loved despite everything he hated about himself.

He told himself he'd feel fine. After all, he'd done this before. He'd been alone, and he'd always been better for it. But lying in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, he realized the silence around him had changed. It wasn't a silence he was used to—it was hollow, cold in a way he couldn't ignore.

Days passed, and Ben tried to drown it out, with alcohol, with meaningless fights he'd pick, with anything that might numb the ache, but they all just made it worse.

He'd find himself in the bathroom, throwing up from one too many drinks, and he almost missed the feeling of your hand on his back, rubbing soothingly as he heaved, your touch steady and comforting, even though he reeked of liquor and shame. When he was done, you'd wipe his face with a cold washcloth, taking care of him like he wasn't just some disaster you walked into.

He'd lie on the couch, afterward, barely conscious, the side of his head pressed against your lap as you stroked his hair. Even through that kind of haze, he'd feel your hand smoothing over his forehead, your thumb brushing against his temple.

Now he was throwing up by himself, sick and alone, and how he wished you were here with him right now. He'd lift his head up and catch himself looking over his shoulder, as if expecting you to be there for him, a hand rubbing his back through it all, like before. But you weren't.

He hated it. Hated how much he wanted that same kind of comfort again, that sense of security he let himself get used to. The same kind he didn't know he craved until you were gone. But most of all, he hated himself more for needing it.

He had pushed you away, and he really didn't have anyone to blame but himself, didn't he?

So he sat there, taking in the silence, the first time he's felt so... alone. He let himself feel it, the way you weren't there with him anymore. All the hurt and vulnerability, the pain he’d spent his life trying to shove down. He was alone, and he'd done it to himself. Because loving you had terrified him more than anything, and instead of facing that fear, he destroyed the one good thing he's ever had.

In the end, he did the one thing he was best at—and that was pushing you away.

[gotham-adrenaline]

Can I make a request

Plsssss I never get picked can you do a

Tim Drake x reader where the reader is a girl and she lives with Tim in their own apartment and that she just came home from getting her hair done and it’s this awesome Red Robin streaked patterned in her hair and she surprises Tim plsssssssssss I never get pic for requests 😩😢😩😢😩😢

I gotchu babes- I got way too into my feels during this so the fluff may be so thick it'll choke you, but hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Tim Drake x fem! reader

Word count: 1900

Warnings: None really, mentions of fear toxin and Tim's specific brand of issues, and also near-lethal levels of fluff

So maybe it was a little silly to be nervous, considering the situation. Or a lot silly. Either way, acknowledging the ridiculousness of your current feelings didn’t make them actually go away, much to your disappointment.

You just really wanted him to like it. You wanted him to understand like he always did. 

When you told Tim you were going to get your hair done this afternoon, he didn’t seem surprised, likely because you had told him you were considering getting a new style almost a month ago when you first got the idea. 

Stepping into the elevator, you made a mental note to send the salon a muffin basket at some point this week. The tip you left was fairly large, definitely larger than the standard amount people give, but most people don’t spend almost an hour making sure the shade of red dye will be absolutely perfect while being unable to explain why it needs to be so specific and why all the photo references are weird and extremely close up. The hair stylists who dealt with you today deserved far more than muffins. 

The black dye was much simpler thankfully. 

Your stylist warned you that the colours would wash out and change over time, which was to be expected really. The particular shade of your hair didn’t need to last forever, just long enough for you to get home. 

Because Tim had an eye for details. He noticed so much and cared enough to store all those tiny facts, and yet he was always surprised when you remembered anything about him, even major things. He was so used to going unseen, even by those close to him, and that wasn’t fair. 

You loved Tim. You loved him, and you noticed him, and you needed him to know that. You needed him to know that saw him and loved him because of that, not despite of it. 

Your reflection stared back at you in the spotless reflection of the elevator doors, black hair with large red streaks running through it hanging loose around your face. 

Yeah, maybe a dye job like this shouldn’t have taken as long as it did, but Tim would (hopefully) see the specific shades and understand. You didn’t spend so much time matching the red exactly to his Red Robin suit for no reason, after all. 

Tim “told you” he was Red Robin over 3 years ago now, if you consider telling you as him showing up at your apartment (the one before Tim and you moved in together, a tiny flat in a less-than-ideal neighbourhood of Gotham), bleeding and suffering a mild reaction to fear toxin. He insisted on “guarding you” until Batman (who is apparently Bruce Wayne? Sometimes you truly hate Gotham) showed up half an hour later and found Tim curled up, unconscious, on your coach with you trapped underneath him (for safety reasons, of course). 

When he showed up the next day looking like a kicked puppy, clutching a container of baked goods from Alfred, he seemed genuinely surprised when you steered him inside and back to the coach with a cup of hot chocolate so he could explain while comfortable (“Tim, I saw you less than 12 hours ago, bleeding on my kitchen floor and shaking in fear while trying to protect me from people who weren’t there. Sit down before I make you.”). 

And yeah, sure, maybe it would have been nice to know the guy you’ve been dating for a year was a vigilante who fought criminals and patrolled Gotham every night, but that knowledge could be incredibly dangerous for you, Tim and his whole family. You got it, as much as you could as a civilian, anyhow. This is the same guy who got injected with a new strain of Crane’s drug and immediately became so terrified you were in danger that he ran from his entire family to ensure your safety. You couldn’t argue that he didn’t care enough to tell you about his night job even if you wanted to, not after something like that. 

Even now, you could tell that the obligation of being Red Robin weighed on him, especially recently. He’d been stuck on different missions almost constantly this entire last month and when he finally made it home during the small breaks in between, he was exhausted and usually in pain. Then he’d try to ask you about your day as if his hands weren’t trembling from sleep deprivation. And worse, he’d look guilty when you ushered him into the shower and heated leftover soup for when he got out, apologizing after he nearly fell asleep sitting up at the table as you told him about the new drama at your job. 

As if the world nearly ending at least twice within two weeks was his fault. As if he wanted to be so busy lately, working to his breaking point. As if he hadn’t been trying so desperately to be available for you, insisting on flying straight back to Gotham after a battle instead of resting, calling you almost every night before you went to bed regardless of time zones, asking Alfred to drop off brownies because you mentioned craving them offhandedly in a message the night before. 

As if he hasn’t made sacrifices for you time and time again. 

So yeah, you missed him like hell over this past month, but you also loved him more than enough to compensate for that pain. And Tim showed how much he loved you in return so clearly it almost hurt that he couldn’t see it. He didn’t need to feel guilty that being Red Robin made life difficult recently, that was out of control. Everything that he could have done to be here for you, he did. And you saw that. You saw him. 

The elevator dinged gently, startling you out of your thoughts. Slipping out the doors as they slid open, you dug your keys out of your pocket as you approached the apartment. 

It wasn’t always easy to tell, but Red Robin’s uniform was a different shade of red than Robin’s. While the style of both outfits has changed over time, Tim always kept the colour tones individual. Once, cuddled up with you in a pillow fort you both assembled on the living room floor during a movie night, Tim admitted that it was intentional. That he sometimes still needed the reminder that Red Robin was different, a separate entity from Robin. That he was different. And that those differences could be a good thing. 

So it just wasn’t fair that he felt guilty over something he suffered so much for when it was all for the sake of others. He gave so much to protect people, including you, and still tried to make sure you knew you were loved. 

So maybe matching your hair perfectly to the colours of the Red Robin outfit probably wasn’t the biggest gesture in the world, but it meant something to you, and knowing Tim, he’d understand what you were trying to say. And if he didn’t, well, you’d have to trap him on the coach for another emotional conversation, even if he whined the whole time. 

The front door opened with a click and you pushed inside, hanging your keychain on the hook near the coat rack. Tim’s voice drifted out from the living room, talking with someone on the phone. Admittedly, you were still a bit nervous, but this was Tim, and you loved him. With a measured breath, you walked into the room. 

“-but that’s not how donating works, Damian, and being a Wayne doesn’t mean you can try and steal elephants from the zoo- no, I don’t care that she looked lonely and that they’re Dick’s favourite animal, you could have-” Tim’s mouth clicked shut mid-sentence when he saw you, staring wide-eyed as you enter the doorway. 

“I gotta go, call Dick,” and ignoring the younger boy's annoyed squawks you could hear from the other side of the room, Tim hung up the call. Setting his phone down on the couch, he fluidly rose to his feet and closed the distance between you both in 4 long strides. 

Hovering his hand beside a loose strand of red hanging by your face, he gently wrapped it around his finger and looked down at you, the smallest smile on his face.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is gentle, far quieter than it was on the phone a minute ago, as if speaking too loud would break the moment and you’d disappear in his hands. “This is new.”

And of course Tim would ask a question without making it a question, as if you tripped and somehow accidentally got your hair dyed in his colours. 

You hummed, leaning into him further as he fiddled with the bright piece of hair, a smile of your own pushing across your lips. “Yeah. You like it?”

Tucking the lock behind your ear, Tim pulled you even further into his arms, the hug so encompassing you could hear his voice rumbling through his chest. 

“You’re wearing my colours, baby,” He laughed disbelievingly, long fingers carding through your hair, drifting from black to red and then back again. “Yeah. I like it.”

Sighing into his shirt and letting him take some of your weight, your eyes drifted shut, focusing on his steady heartbeat and the pleasant shivers across your skin from his caresses. 

“Hey,” Tim whispered, hand sliding down to cup your cheek and tilt your head to look him in the eye, and he looked so soft right now in a way you haven’t seen recently, too stressed and guilty to indulge in himself like this. “I missed you.”

“I know.” 

Pressing yourself up to meet his lips, you allowed your hand to drift into his own hair, keeping your movements as slow and loving as you could. 

With the life your lover has lived, Tim knows how cheap words could be, so you found yourself trying to show how much you loved him in other ways. With homemade soup and pillow forts and stupidly long hair appointments. But just in case-

Pulling back after only a few seconds, you cradled him close and grinned up at him. “I love you.”

And he got it. Of course he did. Because it’s Tim, who noticed all those tiny details, all the things he could about you, and loved you because of those details and not despite of them. Yeah, he could be blind when it came to people's affection for him, and the stress of recent events only made his mind fixate further on the “what ifs”, on what he sees as his own inadequacies, but even he couldn’t miss this. 

When he kissed you again, he was smiling so wide you both had to pull away far too soon. He pressed his lips to your forehead instead, hiding his grin against you. 

“I love you too,” and then, “Thank you.”

And it’s hard to say what exactly he was saying thank you for. Thank you for supporting him as Red Robin enough to wear his colours, even knowing the teasing you’ll receive from the rest of his family? Thank you for understanding that he missed you, even if he couldn’t come home? Thank you for loving him? 

It didn’t make a difference, in the end. You understood what he meant.

[respectfulrebel]

^^ Me the entire time reading this chapter 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I can’t put into words how special this story is to me. I already can’t wait to reread it, if you ever decide to publish it I can’t wait to buy it and have it on my nightstand so I can read it over and over and I then read it to my children if I ever have any or my cats if I don’t ever have children.

It was always a little surreal to see them grown up, these two who had shared so much, tethered by a bond she had always sensed. To her, they were still the children who'd once sought refuge in her kitchen after school, where she would braid Lia's hair and smile at Noah's pleas to grow his hair long like hers, that little girl with torn clothes and that boy who used to escape the struggles of his family by playing guitar.

Like this part already made me want to go back and reread from the beginning. It hasn’t even started yet and I’m already emotional.

Hana grabbed whatever was inside with such care that Noah and Lia's curiosity and confusion just increased. A moment later, she placed something in the palm of her other hand and extended it towards them, revealing a piece of red string.

I knew it 😭😭😭😭 Hundreds of hours of consuming fiction in all forms has conditioned me to be suspicious of seemingly unimportant details and it finally paid off 😭 Your mind is brilliant for planting a seed in literally the first chapter and seeing it through to have such a massive payoff 😭😭😭

"What?" she uttered before shaking her head. "How could that-? I don't own red socks."

"You did," Noah corrected her as he snapped his head up to look her in the eye, "when you were six."

CHILLS! LITERAL CHILLS!

"I thought it needed to be sewn back or something. I got worried you wouldn't have any more socks or that those would fray."

He worried 😭 that she wouldn’t have😭 any more 😭 socks 😭 or that those 😭would fray 😭😭😭 at 7 years of age? 😭😭😭 oh sweet boy 😭😭😭😭😭😭

"There was something..." Grandma went on. "It was't just the string. There was something else, a feeling around the two of you, as if the world itself was telling me your place was with each other. When I look back, I'm convinced it all started the moment Noah first saw you, Lia. The thread may have existed long before, but the day your sock got caught on the pedal of his bike... it might have been a sign—a signal from some higher power that didn't want you straying away from each other. I never wanted to interfere, to disturb the natural flow of things... so I did the only thing I could. I held onto this little piece of rope, believing somehow it would help keep you two together. I was afraid the thread might snap or get lost-that something would come between you and your relationship would strain." She looked intently at them for a while. "I've never seen anything as beautiful and intense as what you two have. I said some people are meant to be but they never find their way to each other," she looked directly at Noah, "but you, my dear child, you never left her side." Not even when the thread threatened to break, when there were circumstances that hinted at a separation such as when Lia moved on her own, or when other people came between them-every one night stand, every girlfriend and boyfriend, Mitch, the night they slept together when alcohol was running through their veins.

I’m crying, literally 😭😭😭 He never left her side 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 my heart

And in that moment, her life changed.

Noah saved her.

Stooooooooooop 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"We've been waiting months for this, Grandma. We need to know. Please."

Literally me though, I needed to know 🫠🫠🫠

"I'm so scared of losing you one day," she whispered, her words barely audible against his ear.

FELT THAT 😭😭😭

"I told you. You've always been mine, Lia."

Still crying. Forever crying for those two 😭😭😭

This was an emotional one for me. The amount of love, work, research and planning you’ve put into this story really shows and I can’t tell you how appreciative I am and how lucky I feel to be able to read this and talk to you about it 🥺🥺

I love you and your brilliant mind so much 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

zutto — chapter eleven | wc: 5.9k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Noah and Lia get answers from Noah's Grandma to all the questions they've had since Koi No Yokan.

Reading time: 25mins aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings: established relationship, slight angst, japanese folklore*, chinese folklore*, magical realism, fluff, a few tears, therapy, mentions/allusions to everything that has happened until now, including lia and noah's troubled childhood, lia's abusive relationship with mitch, and the time noah and lia slept together when they were drunk. Answers to all the mysteries that happened in Koi No Yokan.

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

The house welcomed them with the earthy, lingering fragrance of incense. It was a scent neither Lia nor Noah could identify yet, for it was unfamiliar—perhaps it was woven from cedarwood. Perhaps sandalwood. Nevertheless, the scent and warmth of the house wrapped them in a sense of home despite knowing they were far from their own. It was an odd mix of comfort and respectful distance; they knew they were guests in a house where every detail was arranged with thoughtful care by someone else, and yet, it felt like being home in a way. But it wasn’t the place which gave them that feeling, no. 

It was Grandma. 

They slipped off their shoes at the entrance, following tradition, and as Lia wiped her eyes, Noah leaned into a hug to envelop his grandmother, a gentle but steady wrapping of arms that worked as a reminder of everything she had quietly done for him. As a boy, he had been unaware of it all, but now, as a grown man, he was aware and full of gratitude and admiration. 

“Why don’t you let Emi take your things upstairs?” Hana suggested, a familiar sparkle in her eye that meant she felt very joyful at having them home, finally. “I’ll prepare some tea, and we can sit in the tea room.”

At that, they both turned to see Emi, who had appeared with graceful timing at the entrance. She was a woman with short black hair in her late forties who had been assisting Hana for years. Noah and Lia knew her from their previous visits, and once again, as she stood with her hands neatly clasped and she nodded politely in their direction, her expression remained the same as always: serene and carrying a formality that made her seem both close and reserved at once. Though Hana managed the house alone, Emi’s help had become essential as of lately. The house was spacious and slightly too big for a woman alone. There were countless small details to tend to, and Hana, with her body aging with every passing day—that pain in her right leg, the backache—found herself struggling with certain tasks. Emi was there to lend her hands, as she had likely done for others throughout her life.

Emi’s presence had taken on a near-reverent quality since the moment she was hired, and that attitude applied not only to Hana but also to any guests arriving at the house. Her English was very poor, and that had led to some awkward exchanges between her and Noah and Lia in the past. Once, Lia had tried to bridge the gap and she’d asked Emi to sit with them at the tea table. But Emi, polite and respectful as ever, had simply smiled, bowed, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Lia feeling guilty at the thought that, while they were indulging in pastries and warm teas, the woman was cleaning the kitchen. Perhaps it was a cultural legacy of deep-seated respect, rooted in the tradition of servitude where service was considered a quiet honor, but it still didn’t sit too well with neither Lia and Noah. Hana told them, after a few times, there was nothing they could do and they had to accept the way she was, and so they never really said much else, not even when they felt a tinge of guilt.  

Noah thanked Emi gently, shaking his head when she made to lift one of their heavy suitcases. There was no way he was going to let that woman carry those heavy bags upstairs. But as expected, Emi insisted, saying something in Japanese and bending down. Noah exchanged a look with Lia, as if asking for a help she couldn’t provide. Emi attempted again to lift one of the bags, her intent clear even without words and ignoring Noah’s hands. 

“Can you tell her I’ll take care of it?” Noah asked Hana. “They’re too heavy. She’ll hurt her back. I can manage.” 

Hana nodded, understanding, and with a sweet voice but reverence in her tone, indicated to Emi—in Japanese, of course—to leave the task to Noah. Emi listened to Hana with more will than she had listened to Noah, for she nodded in understanding immediately and retreated after offering Noah another nodding and a smile that he tried to weirdly reciprocate. 

Lia trailed behind Noah as he took both suitcases upstairs at once, her carrying their backpacks, and once they reached the top of the stairs, she paused in front of the guest room door where she had always stayed. 

Noah kept walking towards his room until he noticed Lia standing far from him.

“You don’t think we’re sleeping in separate beds, let alone in separate rooms, do you?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head, but her voice softened as she glanced toward the stairs. “I just don’t want to be inconsiderate. Maybe we should talk to Grandma about it first.”

After a brief pause, Noah nodded.

“Yeah. Sure. We’ll talk to her.” He extended a hand to her, and he waited until Lia took it to lead her into his room, sliding the doors open. 

The room was bigger than the guest room, square in shape, with a big futon laying on a wooden tatami, clean soft bedding drapped over it and an array of pillows. There was a small desk next to the door, facing the bed, and two more sliding doors on one side that led to a cozy balcony overlooking the distant mountains. Noah had never really stopped to appreciate how cozy the room was, but now he imagined how much warmer it would feel, having Lia lying in his bed. 

Noah set the suitcases in one side and Lia placed their backpacks on the desk. 

After spending a few minutes sorting through her toiletries and hanging up some clothes in the wardrobe, Lia slipped away to the bathroom for a quick break. Just then, a knock on the door startled Noah, causing him to turn around. He found Emi by the threshold, carrying more pillows in her arms and two colorful blankets. A sigh escaped him; he couldn’t find a way to explain they didn’t need so many, and he didn’t want to discharge her and offend her, so he simply stowed the extras in the wardrobe, thanking her.

Lia came back from the bathroom with her hair gathered in a comfy bun, and both headed downstairs. 

Grandma was in the kitchen, a space that carried the comforting smell of teas being prepared and food being cooked. Hana was placing an iron kettle on a tray and arranging three delicate porcelain cups beside a plate of traditional sweets when both stepped into the room. 

As Hana looked up, her eyes softened, the faint creases at their edges deepening. She paused, noticing the way Noah and Lia lingered at the door as if feeling shy about something. 

Before she focused on that, a surge of disbelief spread through her. It was always a little surreal to see them grown up, these two who had shared so much, tethered by a bond she had always sensed. To her, they were still the children who’d once sought refuge in her kitchen after school, where she would braid Lia’s hair and smile at Noah’s pleas to grow his hair long like hers, that little girl with torn clothes and that boy who used to escape the struggles of his family by playing guitar.

“Is everything to your liking?” Hana asked, her gaze soft but searching.

“Yes,” Lia replied quickly. Noah nodded in agreement, but then Lia glanced at him before adding, a hint of hesitation in her voice, “We were wondering if… if Noah and I could… share a room?”

Hana’s attention drifted downward, catching the subtle movement between their bodies. Noah’s fingers reached for Lia’s, and she quietly laced hers with his. Hana’s eyes lingered on their joined hands for a moment, before her lips curved into an understanding smile.

With a quiet satisfaction that neither Noah nor Lia fully comprehended, Hana lifted the tea tray and moved gracefully around the kitchen island, gesturing for them to follow without saying a word. Despite her petite frame, there was an elegance and authority in her movements.

Noah and Lia exchanged a look, then followed her into the tea room.

Hana’s tea room was minimal yet spacious, containing a square wooden table in the center surrounded by floor cushions. A single cabinet along the wall held a modest assortment of teacups and plates and a bouquet of dry flowers that had been there since she moved into the house, crafted by Lia, of course. On the left, the panneled windows made of washi paper let in the soft, diffused light from the garden at the back of the house. The room had always felt like a sacred space. 

Noah and Lia sat side by side, waiting in a reverent silence as Hana kneeled down in front of them across the table and poured the tea, the steam unfurling in delicate wisps that mingled with the scent of sencha. Lia wrapped her hands around the warm mug only to be warned by Hana. 

“It’s hot, dear. Be careful.”

It was always the same warning, and yet, Lia never seemed to care about it. Hana would always say the same, and Lia would always keep her hands around the mug because instead of burning her hands, the heat brought a sense of grounding to her that spread from her hands to the rest of her body. 

Next to her, Noah, normally patient, was growing a bit restless. He was expecting an answer. Yes. No. It had been a simple question, right? Can we share a room? Can Lia sleep in my bed?  He just needed a simple “yes” or “no” —a “yes” better than the other option because truth was, he didn’t know what he would do if Hana said he wanted them to keep distance while in the house. But Hana had to be so cryptic. She had to draw things out and keep him on this toes. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Hana’s old but wise eyes met his just as she finished pouring herself tea. Her expression was one almost… mischievous. There was softness in it, but she had a knowing smile on her lips that hinted at secrets only she knew. 

Just as Noah opened his mouth to speak, she said, “There’s something I want to show you.”

She started to rise, and instinctively, Noah made a move to help, but she waved him off. 

“No need, my dear. Just give me a moment.”

She dissappeared down the hall, her footsteps a soft patter that didn’t quite fade entirely as she retrieved what she went looking for in a nearby room. She returned moments later. In her wrinkled hands, she held a small, dark wooden box. She settled back onto the cushions. 

“Is that where you’ve been keeping my old baby teeth?” Noah joked, gesturing to the box with a smirk. Beside him, Lia chuckled, but Hana’s silence—her smile still serene—quickly quieted them. 

“Not quite,” was her reply. 

Hana placed the box on the table, facing her. Her own cup of tea steamed right next to it. She slowly opened it, but the attached lid created a barrier that made it impossible for Lia and Noah to see what was inside. Lia shifted, hands on her knees, lifting herself slightly and stretching her neck to catch a glimpse of whatever that was. 

Hana grabbed whatever was inside with such care that Noah and Lia’s curiosity and confusion just increased. A moment later, she placed something in the palm of her other hand and extended it towards them, revealing a piece of red string. 

The string lay delicate and faded in Hana’s palm. It was fraying slightly at the edges where time had worn it thin. Once bright red, it had softened to a muted, dusty crimson. Unbeknownst to the young couple in the room, it had stubbornly survived, first wash after wash, and then travel after travel until it was kept safe in the box that now lay on the table. 

“What’s that?” Lia asked, her eyes jumping to Hana’s, for she couldn’t make sense of the mystery that a tiny worn string could hold. 

She hadn’t noticed Noah going stiff, his eyes frozen over the piece of red laying in Hana’s hand. 

“That’s…” Noah began. He blinked, frowning a little as if he was trying to put the pieces together. He extended an arm and as gently as Hana had done, he took the string in his palm. “That’s a lose string from one of Lia’s socks,” he responded, more to himself than to Lia or Hana. 

Lia’s confusion only deepened at Noah’s words and at his reaction. He kept staring at the string in his palm as if it was made of gold. 

“What?” she uttered before shaking her head. “How could that—? I don’t own red socks.”

“You did,” Noah corrected her as he snapped his head up to look her in the eye, “when you were six.”

Lia wasn’t following. Noah continued.

“It got stuck on the pedal of my bike the first day we met, when I let you ride it. I gave it to Grandma right after I went back home. I thought…” The memories hit him, one after another. He nearly chuckled at his innocence back then. “I thought it needed to be sewn back or something. I got worried you wouldn’t have any more socks or that those would fray.”

Lia’s gaze flickered between the delicate string and the grandmother’s wise, knowing expression. She understood why little Noah, with his big heart and innocent worries, would have been anxious over the lost string. But Grandma? Why had she kept it for so many years? Why had she held on to it so reverently?

Unsure of what to say or feel, Lia found herself at a loss for words. She glanced at Noah, who was just as silent, both of them looking to Grandma.

“Have you heard about the red string of fate?” Hana asked then. 

Noah’s brow furrowed, and he nodded slowly. “I think I might’ve heard something about it… Isn’t that Chinese folklore?”

Grandma gave a gentle nod with an understanding smile. “Yes, it is. But that doesn’t mean it applies only to that region.”

Lia held her tea cup close, her fingers tracing the warmth that seeped into her palms. She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Grandma’s face as she waited.

“According to the myth,” Grandma continued, “the string of fate is an invisible red thread tied around the fingers of those destined to meet, especially soulmates or true loves. The ones connected by this thread are bound to find each other, no matter the distance, time, or obstacles. Though the cord may stretch or become tangled, it is said to never break, symbolizing a bond that is unbreakable and meant to be.”

“Folklore,” Lia concluded, a tinge of dubiety in her tone.

“Folklore, indeed,” Grandma agreed with a tilt of her head. “Life is not that simple, or beautiful. Some people are meant to be, but they never find their way to each other. However, sometimes they do. Sometimes they find each other at the strangest of times; sometimes when they are old, carrying the weight of their lives with them, and sometimes… when they are merely kids, with everything still ahead of them.”

“This is a broken string, Grandma,” Noah pointed out, extending his open palm as if trying to prove a point.

“And I said the red thread is invisible,” she replied with a soft smile touching her lips. “When you came home with that string in your hand, I kept it in a drawer for days, just because you were so concerned about Lia’s socks. But weeks later, when I found it again, I remembered the old myth, the one that had traveled from family to family, village to village, weaving its way across countries. By then, you and Lia were already inseparable, and I couldn’t help but wonder…” She trailed off, tilting her head as she looked at the thread as though it might reveal a hidden truth, as if it held the memories of years gone by. “I wondered if there was something to it. So, I kept it, out of curiosity. And as I watched you both grow—the more time you spent with each other, the more obvious it became.”

“What was obvious?” Lia asked, quietly. 

Hana’s smile deepened.

“That you were soulmates.”

Noah and Lia didn’t say a thing as they absorbed her words in quiet wonder and daze.

“When you moved in with Noah on your eighteenth birthday, I remember Noah calling to let me know that you’d settled in. There was something different in his voice—a blend of joy, contentment, and peace I’d never heard from him before. And then, the day you graduated, the look on his face when you came down the stairs in that beautiful dress, with those shoes you didn’t want to wear… Do you remember that, Lia?”

“I remember,” she replied as the memories flooded back. 

She recalled dancing with a classmate whose name had long since slipped her mind. She recalled Jolly telling her he was suspicious that Noah liked a girl. She remembered sneaking vodka shots with her friends in the restroom, and later that night, Noah giving her a piggyback ride to her room. And yes, she remembered the way he looked at her before any of that—a look she had assumed was the fond gaze of a best friend to whom you mean the world. Nothing more.

She turned her head to look at Noah. He was focused on Grandma, though there was a faint blush coloring his cheeks.  

“There was something…” Grandma went on. “It was’t just the string. There was something else, a feeling around the two of you, as if the world itself was telling me your place was with each other. When I look back, I’m convinced it all started the moment Noah first saw you, Lia. The thread may have existed long before, but the day your sock got caught on the pedal of his bike… it might have been a sign—a signal from some higher power that didn’t want you straying away from each other. I never wanted to interfere, to disturb the natural flow of things… so I did the only thing I could. I held onto this little piece of rope, believing somehow it would help keep you two together. I was afraid the thread might snap or get lost—that something would come between you and your relationship would strain.” She looked intently at them for a while. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful and intense as what you two have. I said some people are meant to be but they never find their way to each other,” she looked directly at Noah, “but you, my dear child, you never left her side.” Not even when the thread threatened to break, when there were circumstances that hinted at a separation such as when Lia moved on her own, or when other people came between them—every one night stand, every girlfriend and boyfriend, Mitch, the night they slept together when alcohol was running through their veins. 

Be that as it may, Noah had always remained close to her. She had, too, in her own way and despite trying to push him away.  

“So,” Noah ventured, “you’re saying that we’ve always been meant to be together?”

“Yes. Lia has always been meant for you, and you for her. That’s what I believe, even if it sounds unreasonable, fantastical—you have every right to feel that way,” her voice flattered as her gaze drifted to a spot on the floor, unfocused. Lost in thought, her expression softened, and tears welled in her eyes. “But you’re here now. You’ve come back to me, together,” she continued, a smile breaking through the weight of years past, “after everything you’ve been through, all the struggles my children have faced so far away from me… I can only imagine how difficult it’s been, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything for you. But now, you’re finally here, as you were always meant to be.”

Seeing Grandma’s silent tears trail down her cheeks was almost too much for them to bear. Even with the joy in this moment, the pain she’d carried across the years was evident, stretching from L.A. to this quiet town in Japan. She had watched, powerless, from afar as Noah and Lia overcame struggle after struggle—every little and not so little thing that threated to keep them apart. She’d been alone, helpless against the silent ache that crossed oceans—the butterfly effect.  

Lia resisted the impulse to react to Hana’s tears, instead setting her cup of tea down quietly on the table. Without a word, she reached over and took the string from Noah’s hands, holding it with a calm resolve.

The moment the fabric touched her skin, she was pulled back to that morning, twenty-one years ago. 

She remembered waking up alone in a crumbling house, piecing together a small breakfast from what she could find in the kitchen. She’d dressed in clothes that had piled up at the foot of her bed, unsure of how to wash them or make the machine downstairs work. Hoping to give them a different smell, she’d played in the garden among the flowers until her clothes smelled of lavender and thyme. Inside, she’d lost herself in her sketching and coloring, hours slipping by in a quiet solitude she barely noticed anymore. When hunger crept in, she’d scavenged an apple from the fridge, slicing away the bruised parts and eating what was left. Eventually, she’d perched by the window, watching the world pass outside, dogs barking in the distance, occasional cars rumbling by. Finally, she climbed the stairs back to her room to put on some red socks and boots. She’d opened the house door, stepped outside, and settled herself on the concrete. A while later, Noah had appeared.

And in that moment, her life changed. 

Noah saved her. 

With the back of her hand, Lia wiped a stray tear as she blinked. She rubbed the string between her fingers, its fibers stiff but delicate, like a fragile relic of the past that carried the memory of those early days—painful and sweet at the same time. 

Both Hana and Noah waited for her to speak. It took a moment, but finally, she opened her mouth, her voice quivering as she looked at Hana, eyes glassy. 

“Can I keep it?”

Noah half-expected Hana to hesitate. After guarding this small piece of their past—of their beginning— for so many years, he thought she might be reluctant to let go, fearing that releasing it might somehow weaken the bond between them. But Hana’s response was instant. Her smile brightened as she nodded.

“You can keep it, darling.”

Maybe, Noah thought, seeing them together after all these years had finally soothed Hana’s fears, rather than fueling them. He was still taking it all in, not so much the fact that she’d kept this string for over two decades, but the meaning behind it. 

But it made sense.

Every little thing made sense. 

And if he was honest, it was exactly how he wanted it. 

He’d wanted Lia since that Saturday morning when she was six and he was seven, in one way or another. 

He watched her fingers play with the red string, as if she were trying to understand if it was just a scrap of her old sock or a sign of something greater. It might have been nothing more than a forgotten string. Or perhaps it was indeed the physical proof of a bond that had been with them since childhood.

His tea sat untouched, forgotten as he focused solely on Lia, watching the worry etched into her expression. He couldn’t look away. He whispered her name, hoping to see if she was all right or if all of this was becoming too much. Her big brown eyes met his, unguarded and glassy with emotion. She didn’t smile, didn’t speak, just looked at him, and then, her concern shifted toward him. Just as he was about to tell her he was fine, she turned to Hana.

“What happened to Noah?” Lia’s voice was steady but edged with urgency. “The coughing. The fever. All those flowers.”

Hana’s gaze softened, though her expression remained unreadable. 

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” she replied, sensing Lia’s growing distress.

But Lia shook her head. “No. Now. We need to know.”

Hana hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. 

“Lia, my darling,” she began gently, “you just got here. Maybe one story is enough for today.”

“We’re fine,” Noah interjected, his tone resolute. He rested a hand on Lia’s knee, squeezing it lightly. “We’ve been waiting months for this, Grandma. We need to know. Please.”

For a moment, Hana’s shoulders slumped as though she were carrying the weight of something long-buried. She took a slow breath, then nodded, her gaze drifting somewhere beyond the walls of the room, as if she were looking back into a distant memory.

“When you were little, Noah,” she began, “I used to tell you folklore stories… so many you probably couldn’t keep track of them all.” She offered a bittersweet smile, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “Do you remember any those?”

“Some. You even got me a compillation book one Christmas.”

Hana nodded. “Yes, I did. And you’d beg me to read them, even when you should’ve been fast asleep.” She paused, eyes unfocused as if seeing the past replay in her mind. “There was one story—the tale of a boy and a girl. This girl loved the boy, loved him so much that it seemed to consume her. But the boy…” Her voice trailed off. “He didn’t feel the same way. It was a one-sided love, and because of that… she fell ill.”

Lia’s brow furrowed. “Ill?”

“Yes. In our culture, we call it Hanahaki disease. It begins with a feeling, a weight in the chest, but then it grows. Flowers begin to bloom inside you, filling your lungs with every unreturned feeling. And the more the love festers, the worse it gets.”

Noah frowned, his mind racing. The name felt vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall ever hearing the full story. 

“That’s not exactly what happened to me,” Noah intervened, lowering his voice. “I got sick every time Lia was physically away. But got better when she was around. And then one day, all of a sudden, the entire thing disappeared. On top of that, it was never a non-reciprocal feeling, so it cannot be the reason why I was coughing up flowers.”

“Not everything happens as its written in the books, my dear. As for the cough stopping one day and never coming back, maybe Lia can tell you more about that.”

Noah turned to Lia, surprised to see something in her expression he hadn’t expected—a trace of guilt, a hint of something she’d held back. She had listened intently, but now it was as if Hana’s words had pulled a thread that led to a long-kept secret. Her gaze met his, a small crease forming between her brows, her face shadowed by a reluctant admission.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Hana said, her voice gentle but decisive.

Both Noah and Lia looked up, startled.

“But we just sat down,” Lia protested. “The tea…”

“Don’t worry about the tea,” Hana replied, already rising with her cup in hand. She smiled warmly at them both before turning, and with a gentle slide of the door, left them in the quiet intimacy of the tearoom.

Noah turned back to Lia with a deeper frown, a look of weariness in his eyes that said he was done with so much overwhelming. There were still questions in the air and he wanted answer for all of them. Now.

“What was that about?” he asked, his voice edged with frustration. 

Lia took a steadying breath, sipped her tea, and set the cup down beside the string as she searched for the right words. 

“I think she’s right,” she started. “I know I brushed off all those times you mentioned Grandma’s theories—that being close to you somehow made you feel better. But after hearing about this string, that story, how long she’s held onto it… maybe there really are things beyond what we can explain and understand. Maybe this strange flower-coughing disease is one of them.” 

“I’m with you on that,” Noah replied, his gaze holding hers. “But it wasn’t one-sided when I fell head over heels for you, Lia.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” she said, meeting his eyes. “But it took me months to realize it myself and then, accept it.”

Noah’s eyes—and mind—were clouded with confusion. Sensing his need for clarity, Lia took a deep breath and tried to lay it all out, piece by piece. 

She’d been in love with him for longer she could admit. Deep inside, her heart had always belonged to him, but over and over, she had refused to believe it, to accept such a thing. She couldn’t jeopardize this near-perfect friendship they shared—that meant everything to her. And they had made a promise. So, she buried those feelings, ignored her heart, told herself over and over that whatever she felt was just a passing infatuation and that it would go away in time. She lied to herself because she hadn’t been willing to admit to herself, let alone to Noah, that she was in love with him. 

In the end, it was her denial that made him sick. It wasn’t that his love for her wasn’t reciprocated; it was that she couldn’t bring herself to believe in her own love for him as more than just a friend. Yet, despite her efforts to bury it, her love always found a way to surface—whenever she made him laugh, whenever she comforted him, whenever she showed up at his door just to be with him. Somehow, Noah’s heart had always known that hers belonged to him, and that was why, whenever she pulled away or tried to distance herself, his sickness would worsen. 

Only after countless hours spent in therapy did Lia finally begin to admit the truth that her own heart, her own body, had been trying to show her all along. She remembered that session vividly: 

“No.”

“Lia—” Dr. Reynolds insisted. 

“That’s not how it is,” she assured nearly through gritted teeth. Her voice was tight with resistance.

“It is, and you know it. You’ve known it for a long time, but you refuse to accept it. For me to help you, you must acknowledge it. You have to say it out loud and accept it. I know you’re scared, but you have to admit what you feel.”

Lia felt the words crawling up her throat, her heart racing, her palms damp as she gripped the arms of the chair. Her breathing grew shallow, and she looked at the doctor with wide, glassy eyes, the truth trembling on her lips. 

“Lia,” Dr. Reynolds pressed, “you are in love with your best friend, Noah. Say it.”

Her heartbeat was rapid and erratic, each beat hammering against her ribcage. She was terrified—terrified of what admitting it would mean, what it would change. But perhaps the only way to stop the ache was to finally speak the words aloud.

“I’m…” Her voice wavered, barely above a whisper. She took a shaky breath, her nails digging into the armrests of the chair as she steadied herself. “I’m in love with Noah.”

Back in the tearoom, Lia took a deep breath, her gaze landing on the steaming cup of tea. Noah's hand was no longer on her knee, and she missed the warmth it’d provided.  

“The day after meeting her,” Lia continued, “Jesse called me. He said you were worried something had happened to me.”

“That was the day the coughing stopped,” Noah acknowledged. “The day before had been Hell. I’d been so fucking sick, and then… from night to morning, I woke up and felt fine.”

“It was because I admitted to myself what I’d been refusing for so long—that I loved you. You were sick all those times because of me.” 

Noah hesitated, his lips parting slightly as he processed the rising panic in Lia’s voice. He shifted to face her, still seated in a lotus position on the cushions 

“That’s—” After a moment’s deliberation, he shook his head and squared his shoulders, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on them. They could continue down this path, but it would only lead them to the painful memories of the past, and that was no longer what mattered. “It doesn’t matter now. That’s all in the past, Lia,” he concluded, his voice steady yet tender. They had endured so much together. Neither had been at their best; they had made mistakes and harbored regrets. How could they have paid heed to some whimsical folklore tale—much less the reality of it manifesting in their lives? Considering everything, there was no sense in revisiting those moments or blaming each other for every obstacle they had placed in one another’s way. “We got the answers we wanted, and what matters is that we’re here, and we’re real, right now.”

Lia blinked back tears, but a few slipped free despite her efforts. She brushed them away. When another tear fell, Noah reached over and caught it with his thumb. Before she could think, she climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms around him, clutching him tightly. He quickly wrapped her in his arms and held her close, resting his cheek against her hair, and she felt his steady breath as he nuzzled into her neck. The weight of her in his lap felt so nice and natural, and the way his arms encircled her made her feel safe, almost fragile but in a good way, because she knew she was out of danger with him. Would always be. 

“I’m so scared of losing you one day,” she whispered, her words barely audible against his ear.

Noah pulled back just enough to look at her. Glancing at the small, coiled red string on the table beside them, he reached for it and held out his hand to Lia. 

“Give me your pinky finger,” he ordered. 

She looked at him questioningly but placed her hand in his. He laid his own pinky alongside hers and began to wind the red string around them. 

“Help me with this?” he asked, giving her a soft smile.

She did. When they finished the knot, their pinkies were tied together with the thin red thread. He tugged gently to make sure it held, then grinned. 

“Now we’re really tied together. See? Problem solved.”

Lia’s laugh came out, light and clear, the tension in her shoulders easing as she looked down at their fingers entwined by the string. The sound was so full of life, of relief, that Noah couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest. He lifted his hand to her face, cupping her chin with two fingers, and leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, savoring the way her smile lingered against his own.

When he finally pulled back, he whispered, 

“I told you. You’ve always been mine, Lia.”

— prev. chapter | chapter twelve 🌶️

Author's note: 100 points for those who guessed it was the red string 🤭 You can reread about that moment in Chapter 1 of Ikigai (literally the beginning of the story). It's no more than a couple of paragraphs, if I don't recall wrong, right at the end, but it was a very important detail for the future. Thank you once again for reading and being with me in this journey :)

*I've done some changes to the original folklore stories mentioned in this chapter to adapt it to Noah and Lia's romance story. I hope everything was more or less clear regarding all those weird things happening in Koi No Yokan. I never had this story planned in detail before I started writing, so it got tricky at some points, but I think I managed to make everything fit reasonably within its flow.

🔖 Taglist:

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@chey-h | @ferduttini

[the-fangirl-diaries]

Funny, story, I thought I'd be able to watch one show specifically for the cinematography, soundtrack and writing and because the trailer made it look genuinely interesting. And then suddenly, this guy shows up out of nowhere with this ponytail and his Jedi robes -- I'm not kidding, they used the old movie/series as a reference for Obi Wan's robes -- and his rare smile and his brown eyes shows up suddenly, I've got 98 screenshots, 12 edits, have read 3 fanfictions.

If evil, why hot?

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied to me about his human job?

I (542 vampire) and my husband (260 vampire) have been together for a little over two centuries. There’s a saying in the vampiric community that it takes a century for a tryst to become an enduring partnership and another century to become soulmates. I thought that was true and that Matthew (using his real name because fuck you, Matthew) and I would be together forever…until this week.

First, let me explain a few things to the mortals here. I don’t mean that negatively – I came here specifically to get the opinion of those with a finite lifespan. However, I want to be fair to Matthew as much as possible and some of his decisions are very immortal-minded.

Both Matthew and I are vampires who have chosen to forsake some of our powers in exchange for the ability to daywalk. We made the transition together on our 100th anniversary almost 115 years ago. It wasn’t an easy transition for me. I was very dependent on human blood and I spent the first twenty years in almost constant sleep as my body adjusted to running off of less lunar magic and more solar magic.

It really felt like I was losing everything. My body got physically weaker and my powers began to disappear one by one. It felt like every time I woke, another part of me was missing. One day I could turn into a wolf, the next I could barely turn into a vapor. I could command a legion of undying servants, and then I could barely convince the mailman he didn’t see me levitate down from the second floor.

Matthew, however, took to daywalking like a werewolf to a sheep farm. He barely seemed to feel the pain of losing his power, maybe because he was so much younger than me. Whatever the case, he was out all the time once he stabilized. He would be gone for days sometimes and when he came back it was with fantastic stories about the humans’ new inventions or the new structures being built in whatever town we were in.

I’m not saying I regret transitioning. Just that Matthew and I had very different experiences. It felt like he barely changed at all while my entire being got rewritten. Being immortal makes you comfortable in your own skin. I never doubted myself or my power after I turned 100. But becoming a daywalker made me feel like I was being born as a human again. It was humiliating and vulnerable. I have to admit there were times I resented how easily Matthew did it. I blamed him for not supporting me like I thought he should. I would daydream about draining a human in front of him, showing him what I thought of his fascination with them. I had all sorts of vile and vengeful thoughts. I’m not proud of the person I was and now I’m grateful Matthew wasn’t there to see the lows I sunk to.

Despite all my awful thoughts, I didn’t quit. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. I stuck with it and, day by day, things got easier.

After 26 years I began to stabilize. The benefits of being a daywalker slowly blossomed before me.  Now I can say that I am completely happy with my daywalker status and all the changes it’s brought.

I am the most mentally stable I have been since my Turning in 1482. It’s like I’m awake. The fits of rage that used to consume me for months at a time have completely disappeared. I don’t experience the same level of obsession I used to which has freed up a lot of my time that I used to spend stalking my victims.

However, that drastic of a change would be challenging in any relationship. Matthew and I ended up together because of my obsessive nature. Our relationship became strained when that part of me went dormant. He expected me to follow his immersion into the human world just as I had followed him in his revenge quest against his Master. He expected me to support him wholeheartedly and with everything I was. He wanted sacrifices from me that I used to not even flinch at before making. But something was just…different. We wanted different things. I wanted different things.

Matthew was obsessed with being the perfect human. He craved full immersion. He still makes it a point to get a human job every twenty years or so. Me? I’m happy to live off our investments and some mild mind control while enjoying the art and theater community the humans have evolved.

It got bad. Some years, we spent like ghosts in our own house, drifting by each other without a glance. Other years, it was like we were spies behind enemy lines. He would do whatever he could to thwart me and I would go out of my way to ridicule him. Our vitriol poisoned the earth. Matthew didn’t speak to me for a full decade when that poison killed off an entire town.

About twenty years ago, it all came to a head. We had a serious sit-down talk about our relationship. It wasn’t easy. What they say about teaching an old dog new tricks is sometimes true. Matthew wanted me to be as involved with the humans as he was. He wanted me to care about them like he did. I wanted him to travel with me like we used to and not just hop from town to neighboring town (which he did to maintain a human identity with references so he could keep working). When it became clear that we were at an impasse, I brought up the idea of separation.

Separating in the vampiric world isn’t easy. There are a lot of alliances and blood oaths to be considered. Over the two centuries we spent together, we became known as a unit to a number of supernatural entities that we maintain an uneasy truce with. Separating would mean creating new oaths and alliances with the same individuals. And there was no guarantee that those individuals would make new pacts with both of you. A LOT of vampire couples end up in blood feuds while separating. Neither of us wanted that.

There was also, of course, the emotional side of things. While a lot of immortals tend to only feel muted emotions (especially vampires as old as me), Daywalking had made both of us more sensitive than we’d been before. We were both attached to the memories we shared and neither of us could imagine life without the other. After 200 years together, it felt like Matthew was my right arm, and I his. When I brought up separation, we both felt it like we were discussing an amputation.

After about a year of talking, we finally reached an agreement. We didn’t want to separate, and so we would compromise. I wouldn’t interfere with any of Matthew’s human jobs for the 15-17 years if he could hold them without arousing suspicion. In exchange, he would take a year off to go traveling with me before finding another town for us to live in. In between my trips, he would go to plays and galas with me to enjoy human artistry at least once a month.

Maybe our deal was in his favor. At the time, it felt practical and fair. A year of traveling wouldn’t undo Matthew’s string of connections. We would still see each other frequently by going on dates that I liked. Matthew would get to stay immersed in the human world at the level he wanted, and I could stay within my comfort zone.

Which brings me to my current problem.

We are currently at the start of one of Matthew’s work cycles. He’s been everything from a fireman to a politician to a subway worker to a barista. He craves knowledge and connection to a terrifying degree. If it weren’t for how we move every 20 years and he goes without protest, I’d call it obsession.

This cycle, Matthew told me he was going to be a teacher. I was hesitant. While the humans have become more tolerant and less violent over the years, that doesn’t mean they will tolerate us near their young. Enough humans know about vampires that staking in the modern era is a real possibility. Matthew could incite an angry mob against us or, heaven forbid, get a vampire hunter on our tail. I have yet to be shot, but I hear that they have silver bullets that hurt like Hell.

When I voiced my protests, Matthew reminded me about our agreement. He said that I wouldn’t interfere with his jobs and he’d go to all the plays I liked. He even pointed out that, as a teacher, he could get us into high school plays and expositions. I was uneasy, but agreements are penultimate to immortals. I silenced my objections and let him get a job as a science teacher at a local high school.

When Michael has had jobs in the past, I’ve never really paid attention. One time he was a state senator for ten years and I never even heard him speak. I didn’t consider it worth my time to hear whatever his facsimile of a human would say. Real humanity is in the art they create, not in the parody Michael enacts.

But this one…I couldn’t ignore this one. Maybe it was because I was still uneasy about his proximity to human young or maybe I could sense his lies even at the beginning. Whatever the case, I watched him.

The first thing I noticed was the hours. He would go to work early and would often come home when it was time for us to sleep. When I asked him about it, he said that he wasn’t used to grading and that he had underestimated what it took to put a good lesson plan together. I visited some online forums and that’s apparently reasonable for first year teachers.

He would also sometimes go in on the weekends. He missed one of our dates because there was a “grading emergency” that needed his immediate attention. Something about a student’s test getting lost and then found and he needed to input their grade before the deadline which was on Saturday. Humans like silly rules like that so I didn’t even look that one up. I just reminded him that he couldn’t miss our dates again or else he was breaking our deal. He apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again.

Then about three months into his new job, the phone calls started. We have a private room in our house for when we need to talk without any visitors overhearing. Michael moved all his school supplies in there, saying that he needed a silent space to concentrate on his grading. Whenever he got a call, he would never answer it in front of me. Instead, he’d say “Sorry, work” and just go into his office.

I also noticed that he didn’t dress very professionally. Human fashion changes quickly so it didn’t register at first. A sweatshirt here and there slipped past me, and also the Gucci slides. When he started wearing baggy jeans and jerseys to work, I noticed. I may not be up to date on all the newest fashions, but I do go to classy events. I know what a slob looks like and it didn’t sit right with me that he was wearing that to school. When I asked him about it, he always had an excuse. “This is what everyone wears” and “It’s a theme day” or, bafflingly, “It’s spirit week!”

I tried to leave it alone. The reason we have stayed together for so long is because of our agreement to not interfere in each other’s lives. But between his hours, the phone calls, and his appearance, something didn’t add up.

Then, last Thursday, he missed another one of our dates. We were supposed to go to the Nutcracker together. Even though I prefer matinees (when the cast is fresh), I agreed to get us tickets for the evening show so that he wouldn’t have to leave work early. When he wasn’t there at 7pm, I called him and he didn’t answer. Then, when I called him again, his phone was switched off.

I was furious. I spend nearly two decades in these tiny towns so he can live his human fantasy and he can’t even show up for one two hour show? It was the first time since becoming a daywalker that I felt that angry. I was scared about what I might do, so I made myself go home to wait for him.

Only, he never came home that night. At 3am, he sent me a text apologizing and promising to make up our date on Saturday. But the Nutcracker was only playing until Friday and that would be too little, too late. To be honest, it already was. I texted him that and he never responded.

He never ended up coming home last weekend. I texted and called him probably a dozen times and he never responded. I got angrier and angrier as the days dragged by. Did he think I was someone to be taken lightly? Did he not realize that the fragile agreement between us was all that was keeping us from separation?

Yesterday (Monday), I couldn’t take it anymore. If he wasn’t going to come home or respond to my messages, then I would go to him. If he was so obsessed with this new job that he would ignore me for it, then I knew exactly where to find him.

I arrived at his school at 10am. I researched enough to know how to go to the office and sign myself in. I asked the office assistant which room Mr. Duetto was in.

The lovely young woman looked confused. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give that information out to anyone but family,” she said.

“I am his only family,” I said.

She clicked a few more keys and looked more confused. “His paperwork only shows his mother, Delilah Duetto.”

That’s right. His mother. But I still didn’t understand then.

“That’s me,” I said.

“You are not the mother of 17-year-old.”

“I’m his wife,” I said.

She was upset by that. I won’t bore you with every detail, but I had to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call the police. I may not look like someone who has a teenager, but I also don’t look like a teenager. I ended up having to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call human CPS on an apparent adult swearing she was married to a minor.

I went home and broke into his office. There weren’t any lesson plans. There were no graded papers. There were syllabus from different classes, homework with his name on it, and a few polaroids taped to the bottom of his desk of him at a party with children.

Human children. I don’t honestly know which is worse.

(EDIT: I know the child part is the worst part. I misspoke because of my anger. It’s not the humans’ fault that my husband is a pervert.)

I broke into his laptop and used that to check his text messages. He’s been texting like a high schooler. He’s been to parties with them, listened to their problems and even fabricated a few of his own. He’s caught in some sort of weird love triangle where a freshman girl likes him but his “best friend” likes her. He has texted both of them about it, promising his “bro” that nothing is happening and then turning around and leading this girl-child on.

Some choice quotes: I should know better than to get close with you. You and I come from very different worlds

To which she replied, lol maybe we should let our worlds collide

!!!!

I find the entire situation disgusting. Matthew is several centuries older than them and he definitely knows better. He’s literally wearing the sheep’s fleece amongst the flock. He has no business forming relationships with human children and even less pretending to be one of them. He’s not a baby. He is over two centuries old!

What is he doing flirting with a child? It’s vile and disgusting and I was set to kill him for it.

I confronted him about it when he came home last night. I told him that he was sick and dangerous and if he loved humans then he needed to stop immediately. I told him we either left town today or I would make sure he never set foot back in that school in a way he really wouldn’t like.

 He threw a huge tantrum over my invading his privacy. He shouted at me that I had broken my promise to never interfere in his job. He called me controlling and crazy.

I told him he was the crazy one for chatting up a child. He told me he wasn’t, she was just his friend. I asked him to read their texts out loud if he was being so friendly. I also pointed out that there was no way a 260-year-old vampire is a child’s friend.

He told me I was a hypocrite because I basically cradle robbed him (we’re almost 300 years apart.) He said if anyone was disgusting, it was me for taking advantage of him.

I pointed out that he wasn’t a child, he was over 60 and had already been a vampire for four decades. He argued that that was basically being a child in vampire terms.

I was so angry at that point that the house was shaking. I told him if he felt that way, then we could get divorced right then and there. That that was what I wanted to do anyway because I couldn’t be married to a pedophile.

He asked me if I was seriously going to start a blood feud over him immersing himself in human society. I said no, I’m starting a blood feud because he’s become every predatory stereotype humans have of vampires.

He called me a hypocrite again and told me he was leaving. He said not to call him unless I was ready to apologize. I told him that the next time he sees me, he’d better run before I showed him the real difference between us. And it wasn’t just 300 years.

When I calmed down, doubt started creeping in. From an immortal perspective, what he’s doing isn’t really wrong. I hate to say it, but most immortals don’t view human lives as significant. I know a few vampires who would say that divorcing because he’s playing with his food is idiotic.

Plus, there’s the agreement to consider. During our fight, Matthew pointed out that being a student is a job to humans. So therefore I didn’t have the right to interfere. A big part of me thinks that’s bullshit, but a small part of me wonders if he’s maybe right about that?

I also have to ask myself why this even bothers me. I’m the one in the relationship that is aloof from humans. I’m the one that’s always saying we are from different worlds (Yeah, he stole that from me) and for good reason. 

But over the years, I’ve become fond of humans. No immortal makes art like them. I may not remember my time as a mortal, but there are works that give me a sense of nostalgia. Sometimes I think I can remember being a child myself, standing in a field like in Monet painting, staring at the wheatstacks and waiting for the miller to come. 

The thought of Matthew playing with them makes me sick. It’s like even after all the years of him living amongst them, he thinks of them as props in his twisted play. It’s even worse that he’s doing this to children. 

I can’t help but think something went really wrong with my husband when I wasn’t looking. At the very least, I’m planning on divorcing him. But would I be the asshole if I killed him too?

 Separating from him will be violent and messy. There will likely be human casualties. But I don’t see any other way. So, I ask.

AITA for divorcing my husband for lying to me about his human job?

----

Thanks for reading! I loved answering some of the responses I got when I first posted this over on my Patreon (X)!

These collaborative story telling pieces are the highlight of my week. Next week's story is about a witch who wants to know if she should attend her high school reunion even though she's responsible for stripping two former classmates of their magic...

Please check that out here (X) if you''d like early access! Otherwise I'll see y'all next week :)

[luvyeni]

⠀ ( drabble ) finally forever ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 박성훈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ sunghoon tying himself to you for once and for all  ヾ

yandere!sunghoon・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ yandere ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎mentions of murder, ‎ ‎unprotected sex, breeding kink, crying kink‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. yandere sunghoon smut PLEASE, your yan work has got me salivating. It can be any scenario you would like (punishment, stokeholm syndrome i hope u get what I mean) love your work !! take care. 🫶

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 hope this is what you wanted 🫶🏽🩷

you no longer walked on eggshells when sunghoon was around like you did when you first started whatever it is you had — you no longer fought with him about leaving ; in fact you hated when he'd leave or when he said he'd take you out. . . all you wanted was to have him to yourself.

sunghoon didn't see that at first; he thought you were just trying to fuck with him , waiting for him to let his guard down just to leave , so he tried everything to get to you — chaining you up to your bed , leaving you without food; that didn't work , he'd come home to you sitting on the bed , waiting for him.

he even tried bringing another girl home; no he had no intentions of sleeping with her , she was purely there just to see if you squirmed; and when you didn't , instead you cried , he killed her , there was no use for her and of course he couldn't let her go , you being tied to the bed kinda threw her off and he didn't want her to call the cops — even then you didn't do anything , not a flinch or anything.

he didn't even console you as you cried thinking he was tired of you — he still didn't fully believe it , he believed this was all an act , that was until you wrapped your arms around him , begging for him to never leave him , that you needed him; that you wouldn't be able to go on without him… that's when he knew he had you.

“you'd die without me?” he said , you sniffled, nodding your head. “stop all that whining , i killed her you saw it.” he said. “i was never gonna sleep with her.” your eyes were red, tears streaming down your face — it was fucking turning him on. “pl-please don't do that again.” you said. “you've acted like a bitch this entire time , why should i listen to you.”

“you know how much trouble you put me through? how many people died because of you?” he grabbed both your hands. “things won't change that easily because you suddenly love me , you still need to be punished.” he dragged you back to the room , throwing you the bed. “you want me to believe that you really won't leave?” he said , cuffing both hands , binding you back to the bed. “then shut the fuck up and let me do what i want to you.”

you laid there; no resistance as he pulled your pants down , leaving you in the underwear he bought. “you love me now?” pulling his pants down , freeing his cock from his underwear , it was your first time ever seeing his dick. “y-yeah.” you stuttered , pulling your panties to the side. “look at this wet cunt , no matter if this shit is just an act , this pussy is definitely singing a different tune.”

“i-i do love you.” you cried out. “i-i swear.” he let out a tsk sound. “then show me.” was the last thing he said before stuffing you completely full of his cock. “oh yeah fuck!” he groaned , wasting no time in thrusting into you. “so warm , fuck i waited so long for this.” he gripped your waist , holding your waist in his hands , as he began to pound into you. “hoonie fuck!”

he never heard that nickname came out your mouth , but it only encouraged him to fuck you deeper , and with much more force. “shit , should just use this little pussy until you can't take it anymore.” he hissed. “forget if you cum or not.” he slapped your cunt. “sunghoon.” you screamed pulling at the restraints. “use you as my cum dump.”

you began to tear up again , he was being really mean. “keep crying , show me how sorry you are.” you sobbed out and apology after apology , not even sure what you were apologizing for. “im sorry , im so sorry.” you said in between sobs. “please let me cum , i need to cum , please i love you so much.” he heard enough , plus he was on the brink of cumming himself. “cum , cum now.”

he gave your clit a few slaps as you came , creaming his cock , tightening around him. “fuck I'm gonna fill you up , keep you pregnant with my kids so you'll have no choice to stay.” he didn't really like the idea of child , but if was to get reassurance that you'd stayed with him then so be it. “fuck im gonna cum inside you.”

“please hoonie , please fill me with your cum.” you begged , he gave you a few more thrust, stilling his hips as his cock pumped a load of his cum into you. “fuck , you're mine.” he groaned. “this is my fucking pussy.” his hand coming up to your throat. “you're mine , and a few kids will solidify that.”

“gonna fuck a few brats inside you so you'll be stuck with me forever.”

©LUVYENI

[thatnewweeb]

Childhood Sweethearts | Bakugo Katsuki

Summary | You moved to America when you were young, having to leave behind your childhood sweetheart. After moving back to Japan, you'll find out if things have changed between you two

Content | Fluff, honestly I can't think of any warnings for this so let me know if you see anything that needs a warning

Word Count | 1.7k+

A/N | I love the idea of Bakugo being in love with someone through his whole life, I have no idea why. At the time of posting, I wrote this forever ago

It had been almost 5 whole years since you moved away. You missed home. It wasn't like you'd wanted to move away in the first place, but your dad's job took you away from Japan all the way to America.

Finally, at 18 years old, you finally convinced your parents to allow you to move home. Having attended an elite hero school for the past 2 years, you managed to have some special arrangements made for your return home.

And so, that is how you got to where you are now, nervously walking down the halls of UA next to Principal Nezu. He had spent the first half hour of the morning before classes began showing you around and explaining a few things to you.

At the start of homeroom at 8:25AM, he walks you to the classroom of Class 3-A, the class you will be joining, starting today.

Everyone looks over as the door opens, the principal strolling in and standing at the front of the class. You follow nervously. These people have had nearly 3 whole years to get to know each other, and here you are, the new girl joining in the final year, not knowing anyone.

At least, you didn't think you knew anyone, until you force yourself to look at the class properly.

Your eyes immediately fall on a blond boy in the second row. His own eyes are widened, locked onto you. A moment later, you rip your eyes away from him, prompting him to look away also.

When you realise Nezu has stopped speaking and is now looking at you, you snap out of it and look at the whole class.

"My name is Y/N. I have two Quirks, which I am sure I will have more time sometime soon to explain. I look forward to spending this year with you." You say and bow slightly to the class.

Your homeroom teacher, Aizawa, points you to your assigned seat, so you sit down quietly, not saying another word.

It isn't until lunch, almost four hours later, that you say anything else, besides answering questions in class. Your fourth period was English with Present Mic. Having lived in an English-speaking country for almost 5 years, it was quite an easy class for you.

Almost as soon as you are dismissed from class, you're surrounded by people, wanting to talk to you, get to know you. You're fine with that, but you did have someone else you wanted to talk to. They already walked out the door though.

"Y/N!" Someone says, popping up in front of you out of nowhere.

"Izuku!" You smile, excitedly throwing your arms around your old friend.

You see a brown-haired girl blushing as she watches you hugging Midoriya.

"I can't believe you're here! I didn't know you were coming back!"

You nod. "I know, I'm sorry I didn't say anything."

He shakes his head, wanting to reassure you. "It's okay! We fell out of touch, that's not anyone's fault."

Izuku invites you to spend lunch break with him and his friends, being introduced to them all, him explaining a little about how he got into UA at all.

After classes have finished for the day, you don't give Bakugo the chance to run. As soon as you're dismissed from class, you walk over to his desk, standing in front of it and resting your hands on the surface.

"It's nice to see you again, Katsuki." You smirk.

He looks up at you from his chair briefly, quickly looking away. “Yeah, it is.”

You lean down so you’re closer to his height, him still avoiding eye contact. “Would you mind walking me back to the dorm? I haven’t actually been there yet, Nezu didn’t have time to take me.”

He tuts but stands up, picking up his bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Not saying a thing, he leaves the classroom, you following him. You know what he’s like, you know to follow.

As soon as you're out of the halls and outside, he decides to say something. "I didn't know you were coming back." He mutters.

You're just happy to hear him say something to you. "Yeah. I know."

He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

You pause where you are, stunned. You hadn't expected him to apologise to you.

When you don't say anything, he sighs and turns to you, also stopping walking. "I shouldn't have stopped responding. I was upset you were gone, and I went about things in the stupidest way. I... I regret it."

It takes a moment for you to say anything, blinking in shock. "It's okay." You smile brightly up at him. "I understand. It was hard on both of us, after all."

"Yeah, but I ghosted you. I shouldn't have done that. Not to you, you don't deserve that."

"I agree you shouldn't have done it, dummy. But I'm saying I understand, okay?"

He smiles a little, looking down at you. "Come on, let's go to the dorms." He tugs on your backpack, indicating that you should take it off. When you do, he slings one strap over his shoulder, carrying it for you.

"Since when did you become a gentleman?" You ask with a small laugh, making him grunt a 'shut up' to you, his cheeks going slightly pink.

Finally reaching the dorms, Bakugo opens the door for you, letting you into the large building.

Everyone else is already there, the people in the communal area looking at you as you enter. Other than Izuku, people seem a little surprised to see you with Bakugo, and even more surprised that he doesn't look as annoyed as he typically does.

With everyone staring, Katsuki shoves your bag back into your arms before walking over to the stairs to go to his room.

You smile a little as you watch him, shaking your head.

Izuku is the first person to come up to you, smiling. "Everyone wants to get to know you a little. If you have some time, come sit with us?"

You do what he says, walking over and taking a seat between him and a boy with a black streak in mostly blond hair.

You end up spending a couple hours with them, telling them about your Quirk and what it's like to live in America. When they ask about you seemingly already knowing both Izuku and Katsuki, you tell them that you grew up with them.

A girl with pink skin, who you learn is Mina, asks you for some stupid stories about them as kids, Izuku going red and telling you that you don't have to talk about anything you don't want to, trying to save himself the embarrassment.

Even though you're unsure if Bakugo will be annoyed at you for telling them this, you also tell them a few stories from when you and him were dating before you left for America.

Everyone seems surprised, a small uproar coming from the class. No one had ever even seen an indication that he had ever been interested in anyone, yet alone had a girlfriend. It appeared to be a ludicrous idea to most of them.

Kaminari seems to deflate a little upon realising you dated one of his best friends. Guess he thought you were pretty.

Not long after, you go find your room, needing to unpack. Right before you close the door, a foot stops it from closing. A second later, Bakugo comes into view.

"Well, hello there." You smirk a little, looking up at him.

He smirks back, placing a hand on the doorframe, standing in front of you. "Hey. Care if I come in?"

You move out the way for him to come in but tell him it's a little messy because you're still unpacking.

He doesn't even look at the room, closing the door as soon as he's inside and standing close to you, essentially pinning you between him and the door.

That's when you really realise how much he's changed. He's so much taller now than when you last saw him, his shoulders broader, entire body more muscular, a few visible scars now. The whole thing makes you a little flustered.

"So, do you have a little American boyfriend now?" He asks with a slight snarl, expression turning into a smirk as soon as you shake your head. "No? Then, would you mind if I kissed you?" He whispers in your ear.

You don't verbally respond, but the look on your face gives him the answer he needs. He keeps one hand on the wall, the other coming to rest on your waist, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. Your own hands find your way to his chest, gripping onto his shirt.

A moment later, he pulls away a little, smirking. "Guess we haven't missed a beat, huh?"

You laugh, not letting go of his shirt. "Suki, you're an ass." You say, making him laugh too.

"Yeah, but you love it." He whispers, leaning in to kiss you again. "It's starting to get late, and you haven't finished unpacking yet. If you wanted to stay in my room tonight, you're welcome to."

You look up at him, a little surprised by the proposal. When he sees the look on your face, he panics a small amount. "I didn't mean it like that! I meant we can spend the night sleeping together- no, not sleeping together! Not like that! I just meant- we- we can- I meant-"

You giggle at his nervousness, making him look a little angry. You move your hands to rest on his cheeks, standing on your tiptoes and smashing your lips against his.

When you finally break the kiss again, both a little breathless, he stares at you, mouth open slightly.

"Sorry, I had to find a way to shut you up." You smile. "I'd love to cuddle tonight, Suki."

He looks relieved, taking your hand. "Come on, let's go."

You spend the rest of the night in Bakugo's dorm, cuddling and eventually falling asleep in his bed.

Before he falls asleep, he spends a few moments just watching you, barely being able to believe that he got lucky enough to get you back into his life. He gives you a soft kiss on the forehead, holding you tighter, closing his own eyes and falling asleep.

[moonlinos]

It would’ve been sweet if it could’ve been me

♡ Pairing: Bang Chan × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Single dad!Chan, friends to strangers to lovers

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), mentions of parental guilt, themes of loneliness, Chan is stuck in the past, lying, mentions of feeling lost in life, story spans over a number of years, nipple play, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

♡ Word count: 8.2k

♡ Synopsis: Being a single dad to Hyerin is all Chan has known for the past four years. He and his ex-girlfriend reached an agreement that saw her going off to live a life she had always dreamed of while he was left with a life of loneliness, which he endured with a smile on his face for his daughter. A small gleam of hope seems to appear in his life in the shape of you. But hiding himself under a haze of lies seems to be his only option if he ever wants to keep you.

♡ A/N: Based off a request by anon! Thank you for requesting, this was so much fun to write 🩷 I will admit this is a lot more focused on Chan as a character than I originally wanted it to be, and I kinda went a bit crazy with the plot, but I hope you still like it! The song Chan sings to Hyerin is Little Star by Standing Egg 💗

Every day in Chan’s life is a monotonous, never-ending cycle. Like watching reruns of bad TV shows on gloomy Sunday nights, every second of his past and upcoming days is etched into his mind like a quilt of mundane tasks and repetitive moments.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Once, excitement filled his every waking moment. His weekends were a whirlwind of new places teeming with bustling crowds and unfamiliar faces who became fast friends. During his university years, he and his friends lived their lives with ardor, savoring every moment as if it could be their last. His days were filled with an array of unplanned parties and impromptu trips which brought a kaleidoscope of color to his life.

Until he met Dana.

He was about to graduate, and she swept into his life like a hurricane — flipping everything upside down before disappearing just as quickly, with only destruction and ashes remaining in her wake.

He was infatuated; she was bored. That was clear from the start, but Chan was too blinded by affection to be concerned with such a minute detail. So long as he got to have her by his side, he was happy. Their relationship lasted a year, yet it changed his life forever.

He was twenty-one when Dana announced her pregnancy. On his twenty-second birthday, she told him she didn’t want to be a mother.

By that point in his life, Chan had already forsaken everything he had for her. He turned his back on his old friends, the vibrant life he once led, and everything that once made him who he was. Without Dana, he would be left with nothing but the ugly reflection of his self-destructive choices made in the name of a loveless love.

And so, they came to an agreement. Dana would leave — that had been her plan from the start, anyway — but she would leave Chan with a small piece of their story.

Hyerin was born on November 20th, 2019.

Dana left on a plane to New York City on December 1st.

Now, the only speck of color in his life is Hyerin. In the four years Chan has been lucky enough to be her dad, he has found she is much more than simply a reminder of Dana or what could have been between them. Hyerin is his entire world. She is the love he’s unknowingly been searching for his whole life, and he would sacrifice every last bit of himself to make sure she only ever knows happiness.

They live a quiet life, with Chan working a less-than-fulfilling corporate job and spending all his free time with her. He sometimes allows himself to wonder what happened to his old friends — did they all eventually settle for the mundanity of adult life, or are they still chasing an endless thrill? But he never dwells on it too much. The sweet memories of his early twenties are now nothing more than a comforting escape when the weight of loneliness becomes too overwhelming.

Today is one of those days. A late Friday night after his shift, Chan sprawled on his couch with Jisung, a co-worker who became his first friend after many years, a silly smile on his face as he reminisced about a trip to Jeju in his sophomore year of college. This is how he lives most of his life; when he’s not in the present with Hyerin, he’s stuck in the past.

How could he not be stuck in the past? So many people he loved and memories he cherished were there.

“I don’t get how you just left all of that behind for someone,” Jisung scoffs, loosening his tie. “Why couldn’t she just join your group of friends?”

“It’s complicated,” Chan sighs, eyes wandering toward Hyerin’s bedroom door for the umpteenth time to make sure she’s still sleeping soundly. When he turns to look back at Jisung, his expression prompts him to elaborate. “What? You want the whole story?”

Jisung shrugs. “It’s not like we have any other plans for tonight.”

“Well, there was this girl in my friend group. We hooked up a lot, but our relationship went beyond that,” Chan explains, fingers tapping his thighs as the memories flood his mind. It was a sore topic, one he certainly didn’t enjoy remembering. “We never dated, but Dana was jealous, and I couldn’t blame her. Me and this girl were… very close. I couldn’t be in a relationship while also being that close to her, but I also couldn’t imagine us being only friends. So it was easier to walk away.”

Chan conveniently leaves out the fact that he walked away because an artificial love strangely provided solace for his heart, unlike the searing torment of unrequited love, which engulfed him like molten lava.

“And that was the last time you ever had that type of relationship with anyone?”

“With Dana? Yeah—”

“Hyung, you know what I mean. You told me yourself Dana didn’t love you,” Jisung points out. “I mean this other girl.”

Chan shrugs dismissively. “I guess, yeah. Doesn’t matter, though.”

And Jisung scoffs loudly at his words, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. Memories of that love flood Chan’s mind, and he's ready to let them sweep him away when Jisung abruptly turns so he sits facing him, resolve swimming in his eyes.

“Give me your phone,” his loud voice reverberates through the small apartment, prompting Chan to shush him with a stern look. “Give me your phone,” Jisung repeats himself with a harsh whisper.

Chan rolls his eyes but ultimately smiles at his friend. He retrieves his phone from the end table, handing it to a much too enthusiastic Jisung. “The password is Hyerin’s birthday,” he tells him, albeit a bit apprehensive.

He watches amusedly as Jisung types away at his own phone before doing the same on his, handing him the device with a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What did you do, you little menace?” Chan questions the younger boy, narrowing his eyes. Jisung simply shrugs.

“I got you a date tomorrow. Thank me later.”

Chan immediately sits up on the couch, eyes darting toward his phone screen. A chat with a single message from him to an unknown contact makes him question his entire friendship with Jisung.

Me: I’m your date for tomorrow 😉 Me: O’neul restaurant, 6 pm. See you there, cutie

“Jisung, what the fuck?”

“What?” His friend asks between giggles. “Sora has this friend she said desperately needs a date, and I have you in the same situation,” he explains, clearly proud of himself. “I just did you both a favor while also getting boyfriend points.”

Chan’s eyes shift toward his phone once more, inwardly cringing at the messages with a heavy sigh.

“And was making me sound this creepy necessary?”

Jisung waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, that was just a little treat for me.”

“And why the fuck is her name Mystery Girl?” Chan queries, the irritation making him unknowingly raise his voice.

“It’s a blind date,” his friend explains. “This girl’s apparently super picky, kept turning down every guy Sora suggested. So, she came up with this solution. Can’t turn you down if she doesn’t know what you look like.”

Chan groans, ultimately sinking back onto the couch with a defeated sigh. Jisung was trying to be a good friend, he knew that, but he wasn’t at all thrilled with the prospect of a date. Not only did he not want one, but he also had no time for such a futile thing. He had Hyerin, and she was the sole reason for his existence. He didn’t need anyone meddling in their little world. But he didn’t have the courage to tell Jisung that.

It would be a lie to say the past four years weren’t lonesome. Falling asleep alone in a cold, empty bed was a sorrow he had simply grown numb to. Yet, he still yearned to have someone to share the grapples of routine life with, someone whose presence alone would effortlessly diminish his worries, someone he could make love to before falling asleep and waking up intertwined.

But he couldn’t afford to have that.

At least this date was bound to fail; the woman’s demanding nature, coupled with Chan’s unwillingness to even be there in the first place sure to make their wasted time brief.

Just as he’s about to grumble about the messages again, Hyerin comes stumbling out of her room, her small feet shuffling against the floor as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“Oh, honey, were we being too loud?” Chan asks sweetly, and his eyes discreetly shoot daggers at Jisung, who mouths an apology.

Hyerin firmly shakes her head, the crooked pigtails Chan clumsily had tied this morning coming undone as she does so. He smiles at her, propping his elbows on his knees and waiting for her to speak her little mind.

“I had a dream,” she mumbles. “With a dragon.”

Chan gasps, hands wrapping around her tiny frame and picking her up before walking toward her room. It took him some time, but he ultimately learned that it’s best to ease her back into bed while she’s distracted, lest she throws a tantrum.

“And was it a nice dragon?” He asks. Hyerin giggles, and Chan is positive that the sound has the power to light up even his most somber days.

“Of course it was a nice dragon, daddy,” she tells him. “You said I only have nice dreams ‘cause my mind is pretty, remember?”

Chan nods as he gently tucks her back into bed, triple-checking that she is comfortable and warm. “Of course, of course. How could I forget?” He slaps a hand on his forehead with a sigh. “Hyerinnie has the prettiest mind. It can only make up pretty things.”

Hyerin smiles at him, tugging her blanket close to her chin, her doe eyes already heavy with sleep and blinking languidly. Chan asks her the same question he does every night, although the answer remains unchanging every time: would she like him to sing to her? She drowsily tells him she wants to hear him sing her favorite song, Little Star.

Chan promptly gets under the covers beside her — Hyerin pouting and whining about how he’s stealing her blanket for himself, to which he can’t help the hearty laugh that escapes his lips. Since turning four, she’s developed quite a strong personality that Chan soon finds he adores, much like everything about her.

He turns on his side to watch her features as he sings; her nose and mouth so similar to his, and the way she furrows her brows while falling asleep mirrors his own habits. Chan might not be a happy man in his job or his personal life, but the boundless happiness his little gift provides him surpasses anything else he could wish for. Every now and then, he finds himself wanting more, but it’s not long before he realizes he already has everything he needs.

Chan goes over his rather extensive list of how to care for Hyerin with Jisung for the tenth time that evening, making sure the younger man knows what to do in any situation that could arise in the couple hours he’ll be gone. Hyerin is the one to usher him out of the apartment, assuring him she’ll be fine with her uncle Han, and Chan has to stop himself from wallowing over the fact that his once tiny baby is rapidly blossoming into a young kid.

He made no real effort to dress for his date; a simple button-up shirt and jeans served him just fine, seeing as he plans to return home as soon as possible. His date and he haven’t talked much at all since his initial texts yesterday, texting each other only to confirm the time and place of their basically forced date.

He arrives fifteen minutes late, all but running from the bus stop to the restaurant while cursing Jisung under his breath. This was definitely not worth the hassle, and Chan wanted nothing more than to be back at home with his daughter. He’d pick watching Tangled with her for the hundredth time over an unwanted date in a heartbeat.

Chan finally walks into the restaurant, informing the waiter that he’s there to meet Cherry. His face visibly grimaces as he mutters the words. Fuck this blind date bullshit.

He’s led to his table, dragging his feet behind the waiter. His attention is immediately drawn to the pencil holding his date’s messy ponytail together. He chuckles quietly, circling around the table and forcing out a smile to introduce himself.

But then he’s met with a sight he had long given up hope of ever seeing again: you.

You, who were next to him as he made stupid decisions during college. Like when he drunkenly thought it wise to bet his laptop in a game of beer pong.

You, who always made him your special hangover soup after a party. He especially loved it when you let him keep the leftovers, knowing that he and his roommate were hopeless in the kitchen.

You, who filled the space in his cold sheets with warmth and always made his bed feel like a sanctuary.

You, who let him make love to you despite you both swearing to be only friends.

You, who later had to watch him walk away from you like a coward, driven by sheer fear.

You, staring back at him with a stunned look on your face.

“Chan?” You ask, an unsure lilt to your words.

And Chan embarrassingly fumbles over his words, his tongue tying itself into knots in front of you. He notices you pursing your lips to stop from giggling and clears his throat a bit too loudly, a few patrons turning their heads to look at him. But he can’t bring himself to care, not when it seems the universe has turned the wheels of his fate in his favor for once.

“Uh, hi,” is all his brain can muster among the jumble of thoughts inside his head. He mentally berates himself for acting so damn awkward when you’re clearly not as affected by this encounter as he is.

“Damn, it’s been so long,” you marvel, eyes not leaving his face for a second. “I thought you moved to a different country or something. It’s so strange how we never ran into each other.”

Chan forces out a chuckle, hands now fiddling with the menu on the table. Of course you two never ran into each other; he only ever leaves the house for work or when he has to accompany Hyerin, and he doubts you frequent playgrounds or zoos.

“Yeah, I… don’t go out much anymore,” he simply says.

You hum, and he properly takes in your appearance. You haven’t changed one bit; from your hair to your choice of clothes, you’re still the same girl who ruled over his every thought during college.

You two order your food and fall into an infuriating cycle of small talk. Chan doesn’t want to talk about the weather or if you have seen the latest movie yet — he’s desperate to ask you how you’ve been, if you ever pursued your dreams, if you can still outdrink anyone in your friend group, and—

And if you’re still single because you find relationships a hassle.

But as the food arrives, you fall into an even more frustrating cycle: silence. Chan feels restless, squirming in his seat every few minutes while you calmly eat and watch the people around you. He remembers your habit of scanning crowded rooms and making up stories for strangers with your vivid imagination. He wants to ask if you still do that, but it seems he’s only grown into more of a coward since your last encounter.

You’re the first to break the silence, waiting for the waiter to leave with your plates to ask what Chan has been doing since graduating. It’s a casual question with no weight to your words, as lighthearted as you have always been. And the complete opposite of his every possible answer.

How can he tell you he’s given up music altogether, now surrounded by gray walls and lifeless faces in his corporate job? How can he tell you he’s alone most of the time, partly by choice and partly because he doesn’t know how to dig himself out of this comfortable hole he’s trapped himself in?

How can he possibly explain that he agreed to be a single father, sacrificing his own happiness for the selfish whims of a woman who never even loved him?

You’re still the same; the same carefree eyes and attitude, same easygoing approach to everything life throws your way — such as meeting him again after years.

All of him has changed.

Chan can’t tarnish your colorful life, can’t sit before you and spill out his problems or grumble about the overwhelming loneliness in his life when he knows damn well that was a consequence of his own choices.

He wants nothing more than to be the same Chan he was in college. Creating life stories for strangers in dive bars with you, not caring about whether he’ll have enough money to pay the water bill next month, not having to bear the burden of something as precious as a human life depending solely on him.

It’s selfish, but he wants nothing more than to go back.

So he does.

“I actually still write songs, though it’s only a freelance thing,” he lies. He hasn’t written a single note in years. “Other than that, I’ve just been taking it day by day. Same as I’ve always done, I guess.”

And your eyes immediately light up — you’ve always loved his songs, after all. Your conversation flows much like it used to in the past after that, with you making witty jokes and Chan laughing loudly at them. You tell him you started working as an art teacher for the elderly when living off of commissions became impossible, and that you adore the stories they share about their younger years. They remind you of your own stories together, you admit with a genuine smile.

Your conversation is endless, continuing even as Chan walks you to your car in the empty parking lot. The night has grown colder, and the crescent moon gleaming in the sky above him almost feels like a sign that things will change for the better.

As you two stand in front of your car, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Ever the free soul, you ask him outright if he would like to come back to your place. There are no further implications hidden in your request beyond a hookup. Nothing’s ever heavy with you, every little thing always feeling light as a feather.

He says he would love to, but quickly excuses himself under the guise of calling his roommate about the spare key. Chan hurriedly calls Jisung as soon as he turns a corner in the parking lot, ensuring you won’t be able to hear him. It’s juvenile, the way he’s actually taking pleasure in almost creating a different version of himself — a version much closer to who he was when you were his, at least in some sense of the word. He’s a father, he should be responsible and dependable, but the weight of that role had been thrust upon him far too abruptly. He can’t be faulted for wanting to go back in time.

“Okay, I have no time to explain,” he blurts out as soon as Jisung picks up the phone. “Would it be too much to ask you to stay the night?”

Jisung chuckles at the other end of the line. “Damn, was the date that good?”

Chan ignores his sly comment, because yes, the date was everything he never thought it could be.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he assures him. “I’ll even pay you if you want. How much—”

“Hey, no need for that,” Jisung cuts him off. “You know I love looking after Hyerin.”

And the pang of guilt inside his chest at the mention of his daughter’s name almost knocks the air out of his lungs. He feels ashamed, as if he’s neglecting his daughter for a hookup, going after a fantasy that has long crumbled and faded away.

“How is she? Is she okay?” He asks, guilt washing over him like a wave. He hadn’t thought of his daughter for a second that entire night. “Did she cry at all? Did she notice I was gone for longer than I promised?”

Jisung calls out his name with a chuckle, prompting him to stop his rambling. “Relax. We painted each other’s nails, she did my makeup, had her dinner, and is now sleeping soundly after listening to another one of uncle Han’s phenomenal stories about frogs,” He details, causing a hearty laugh to fall from Chan’s lips at the image of Jisung’s face painted with Hyerin’s cheap children’s makeup. His friend then adds, “Go get laid, man.”

And so Chan hangs up the phone, all but running toward your figure waiting by your car. You smile at him, taking his hand and pulling him into a tight embrace. It’s the first time he holds you in almost five years, and he feels his dull world away from Hyerin slowly fill up with vibrant hues.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach your apartment building, and Chan is thanking any higher power that might listen for that. The sheer anticipation of what is implied to happen once you two are alone together has him picking at his cuticles until it stings.

He’s nervous, to put it lightly. A couple of terrible drunken hookups in dingy motels after office gatherings were his only sexual encounters after Hyerin was born.

But once you’re standing in front of him in your living room, your eyes never leaving his even as you’re slipping off your heels, Chan knows you’re both equals in this playing field. 

He’s the one to pull you into a kiss, lips barely grazing against yours. But the feeling of finally kissing you again after so many years was like wildfire, consuming him wholly until the kiss turns feverish. His hand travels from your shoulders to your lower back, pulling you flush against his body. You hum against his lips, fingers clumsily undoing his buckle, and the prospect that you might be as eager as he is has him gripping the fabric of your dress.

Chan swears his vision goes black the moment your fingertips brush against his hardening erection, the feathery touch enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

A hand is pressed to his chest before he has the chance to think, and you’re pushing him backward until his back meets the wall. You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, leaning forward and nuzzling your face against his clothed cock.

“I missed you,” you whisper, hungry eyes looking up at him. “Don’t think I got to say that.”

Chan takes in the sight of you, memorizing and storing it in his mind alongside the countless images he already had of you on his knees for him. His fingers thread in your hair, your lips falling open with a sigh.

“I missed you too,” he professes. You have no idea how much.

With a smile, you quickly work his zipper open, pulling his jeans down his legs and pressing a wet kiss to his clothed erection. Chan feels your tongue lap at his member through his boxers, lips sucking around the head as your nails scrape the flesh of his thighs lightly.

It feels like you mouth at his length for hours, the light gray fabric of his boxers stained with your saliva and his precum, leaving Chan panting and tugging at your hair. You trail soft, wet kisses down his thigh while pushing his boxers out of your way, his cock already swollen and flushed. He’d be embarrassed for the way his body reacted so responsively to you if you weren’t also visibly as affected.

Your tongue circles his length languidly, lapping at a small bead of precum with a hum. Finally wrapping your lips around his tip, your tongue flicks teasingly beneath the head of his cock, Chan sucking in a deep breath and using his grip on your hair as leverage to pull you toward him. You almost obediently drop your jaw to slide his now fully hardened length into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base as you begin to bob your head up and down his cock. Chan hisses your name when you relax your throat after a few passes, taking him fully into your pretty mouth, your nose brushing his pelvis.

“Fuck, you always looked so pretty like that,” Chan chokes out. “Pretty lips taking me so well.”

You groan at his words and the vibrations traveling along his shaft have Chan growling with a harsh tug of your hair, causing you to sputter as his cock hit the back of your throat. You seek purchase in his hips as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You’re unrelenting nonetheless, circling your tongue around him before pulling away, hands now sliding up his thigh before gently gliding over his balls. As you slowly lick from the base of his shaft all the way up to the sensitive tip, Chan’s gaze shifts down as he catches a glimpse of your thighs rubbing together. He feels himself twitch, and immediately pulls you away from him.

“Don’t wanna come like this, I need to fuck you,” he rasps out.

You stand back up, legs wobbly, and fumble with the buttons of his shirt while he slides your dress down your shoulders. Your movements are messy and filled with urgency, your breaths quickening as you both want nothing more than to strip away any form of barrier between you. Piling up five years of yearning will do that.

As your impatience reaches its peak, you tear open the last remaining buttons of his shirt, your nails grazing his skin as you slide the fabric down his shoulders. A wave of goosebumps travels across Chan’s body, and his hands abandon the task of removing your dress in favor of tracing the curve of your ass before picking you up off the floor.

“First door on the right,” you tell him, your words answering his unspoken thoughts as if you could read his mind. Chan nods, your proximity making it impossible for him not to press his lips to yours, tongue sliding over your bottom lip before licking into your mouth with a low hum.

He collides with a wall, missing the entrance to your bedroom by a hair’s breadth, and you giggle against his lips. Chan smiles back. Nothing’s ever heavy with you.

He lowers you onto the bed gently, his body instinctively slotting between your spread legs the way he did so many times before. You soon also wrap your thighs around his waist as you always did, pulling him closer until his cock is pressed up against your clothed pussy.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, grinding your hips forward and eliciting a quiet moan from Chan’s lips as he hastily nods. With a tight grip on your waist, he flips you both effortlessly.

Promptly sitting up on his thighs, you finally rid yourself of the inconvenient fabric of your dress, followed by your bra, your nipples instantly hardening. Chan sits up, eyes transfixed on your chest as his calloused thumbs trace the nubs before his lips circle around one, sucking harshly. As you gently roll your hips, he can feel the way your soaked panties cling to his skin as your core presses up against his thigh.

Your fingers tangle in his hair with a whimper, pushing his face into your breasts as he bites the sensitive skin. His lips leave your nipples with a wet sound, then trailing kisses up the column of your neck until his gaze is locked on yours again. He was dying to mark you, bite and suck on your skin until it blossomed into a beautiful maroon — but he knew better. You weren’t twenty anymore, and you weren’t his; in no sense of the word.

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, eyes heavy with lust.

And he knows this is a terrible idea. This was exactly how he came to be a father.

But it’s not his mind that’s doing the thinking, and so he nods, his grip on your hips tightening as you pull your soaked panties to the side just enough to slide the swollen tip of his cock against your slick folds. Chan sucks in a breath, fighting a war against his own body not to come from this feeling alone. It wasn’t just how long it had been since he was with someone, it was you. It was all you. The effect you had always had on him having never faded, simply laying dormant until his body had you again.

Chan rests his forehead on yours as you slowly sink down on his length. His lips find your neck again, gently sucking the skin into his mouth as you slowly grind down on him, a whine falling from your lips and going straight to his cock. His hips buck up unwittingly, causing you to moan loudly in his ears. But your slow pace remains, and Chan knows he should savor this moment, but he wants nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress until he forgets every minor issue aggravating his brain.

Such as the fact that he knows you will leave his life again the second you find out he lied to you.

So his hands find your waist and he flips you down onto the mattress once more. His eyes bore into you as you suck in a breath.

“Fuck me,” you plead, hips grinding into his cock again. “I want it, please—”

Chan doesn’t waste another second, retreating only to plunge back harshly into your cunt. He moves with deep strokes, hips falling into an erratic rhythm, your nails digging into his back as your thighs clenched around his waist. All he can hear is static and your choked moans as he presses you into the mattress.

“Missed this so fucking much,” he groans against your ear. And finally succumbing to his desires, he bends down to suck and nibble on the delicate skin of your neck, mind too focused on how your walls squeeze around him to worry about marking you. He laps at the small bruises he leaves behind, your fingers tangling in his hair as you mewl.

You roll your hips, matching his rhythm, and Chan feels a familiar heat rise within him. He reaches down to glide small circles around your clit, your body jolting and squirming. He absentmindedly smiles against your skin.

After an entire night of pretending his life was the same as it was five years ago, fucking you required no acting.

“It’s too much, fuck,” you whimper, tugging him by the hair until your lips are crashing together in a sloppy kiss. Your walls tighten around him, body clenching as the tension finally snaps, your orgasm coursing through your shaking body as Chan growls into your parted lips.

He keeps fucking into you, until his hips meet yours one last time, and a low groan reverberates through the room. His cock twitches inside of you as his body stills, filling you with his warm release which leaked out of you and onto your sheets as he pulled out with a sigh.

Chan throws himself onto the mattress, labored breaths leaving his heavy lungs. He pulls you into his arms, and you melt into his embrace as if it were a habit. It’s as though he’s gone back in time, even if temporarily.

He feels like he’s simply a guy making love with the girl he adores in the familiar comfort of his dorm room again.

When the first rays of sunlight seeped into your room, Chan was already awake. He watched as you slept, eyelids fluttering and a small smile adorning your lips.

It was as if you were his, in every sense of the word.

Guilt.

That’s what Chan feels every time he sees Hyerin’s laughing face on his phone’s wallpaper when he’s out, entertaining the silly lie he crafted.

It’s been two months since you reconnected and you effortlessly slipped him back into your life. The reunion with his old friends was expected — but Chan dreaded it, regardless. He found that out of the nine people that once comprised their group, only five remained. He wasn’t the only one who had gone his own way.

But he was the only one who had done it in the worst way possible, carelessly ghosting every single one of them, hoping his existence gradually faded from their memories.

That made facing his once best friend frightening. Minho was the first friend he made on the very first day of university, when Chan walked into his dorm room only to find he had snuck his cat into the building.

They were roommates for two years, and best friends for four. Chan complained loudly when he was assigned a new roommate. Minho was silent as he watched his best friend turn his back on him with no explanation.

Minho initially ignored him entirely, and Chan doesn’t fault him. When his vibrant face turned cold upon seeing him walk into a bar, Chan knew he earned that the moment he decided to ignore his friend’s every text message and phone call. When Minho made backhanded remarks about how nice it felt to have him back in their group, he knew he deserved it for not answering the door the only time his friend came looking for him.

It takes a drunken argument leading to a fist colliding with Chan’s cheek for Minho to finally address him. It takes them being escorted out of the bar by security for them to finally have a conversation, tears and resentment flowing freely as they sat at a bus stop late at night. After that, their friendship returned to what it was before, as if they had never been apart even for a second.

Despite the years and the changes, Minho was still his best friend — which was why he was the only person he came clean to.

Hyerin loved Minho, especially his cats. Her new favorite pastime quickly became going over to his house to play with her new ‘friends’, as she called them. And Chan was overwhelmed with happiness to witness his best friend falling under his daughter’s spell — his house now containing its very own box filled with every toy Hyerin mentioned even once, his kitchen stocked with all her favorite foods, and his cats falling asleep beside her anytime they came over to visit.

It was as if he was watching his two worlds collide. His past and present, which he had separated out of a senseless fear, intertwined so effortlessly it made him feel stupid for ever thinking he needed to build this barrier. For assuming the people he loved so much would reject him.

Made him feel even worse for walking away in a futile attempt to protect his feelings, because it only resulted in more hurt.

After so much of his time spent wondering, Chan finally has the answer to his questions. Some of his friends did settle for an ordinary adult life, some already married and some focusing their energy solely on climbing the corporate ladder. Still, some remained relatively unchanged — much like you did.

His social life blossomed again after reconnecting with his old friends. However, he still refused to hire a nanny, too fearful to leave Hyerin to a stranger’s care, resulting in constantly having to come up with excuses when his parents aren’t able to babysit. He won’t deny that he often fabricated these lies purely because staying in with his daughter and watching Tangled now outweighs any appeal of noisy nightclubs.

Jisung remained his salvation whenever he wanted to spend the night at your place, with Chan slowly but surely running out of reasons as to why you can’t go to his apartment for a change. He hasn’t had the heart or the courage to tell you the entire truth yet, only owning up to his lie about his job after you understandably asked him to listen to his new music and he was put on the spot.

Ever since you walked back into his life, he finds himself weaving a web of little white lies that slowly chip away at his heart.

He’s at a small gathering for his friend’s birthday, listening to Minho all but eulogize his fiancee. They have been a couple since university, Chan playing the wingman and encouraging his friend to finally do something about his crush (mostly because he couldn’t handle any more of Minho’s whining before going to sleep). Despite what everyone around them surmised, they beat all the odds and statistics and stayed together even after university. Chan would be happier about that if he hadn’t bet money on them breaking up before graduation. He wonders if Hongjoong will ask for his twenty bucks now that they’re friends again. 

“No, really, settling down with someone is so good,” Minho says after another shot of Soju, a silly smile etched onto his lips. “I thought I would hate it, y’know? Thought slapping such a significant title on our relationship would wear it down, but it’s the complete opposite. Ever since she proposed, it’s like we’re two love-struck nineteen-year-olds again.”

Chan smiles, saying they should drink to that purely because he hopes the sensation of alcohol burning his throat will numb his overwhelming jealousy. After congratulating Minho for the umpteenth time, he finds himself listening to yet another story about his relationship.

And he’s happy for Minho, just as much as he’s happy for Wonwoo for getting married last year. He couldn’t express the overwhelming joy he felt upon discovering these people, who once meant so much to him, had successfully navigated their way through life. But envy rears its ugly head every time he listens to one of their stories, because Chan’s direction in life seems to be a winding road. He’s a father, and his love for Hyerin is immeasurable, but he’s still actively lying about this side of him simply because he feels as if maybe he made the right choices in life at the worst possible time.

As he’s walking out of Hongjoong’s apartment with you later that night, he wraps an arm around your waist, a smile spreading across his face when you nestle closer to him. You two discuss Wonwoo’s marriage, with you talking about how beautiful the ceremony was, but ultimately scowling at the mere thought of getting married. Chan feels the corner of his heart crack at your words, but he laughs it off.

“Do you think he wants kids?” he wonders aloud.

He expects you to laugh at his sudden curiosity. He doesn’t expect you to dig at the fissure in his heart with your words, causing it to shatter completely.

“Gosh, it’d be so weird to see.” You cringe, snuggling deeper into his arms as a chilly breeze brushes against you two. “I like kids, but I’d never have them myself. Feel like it’d kinda ruin my life.”

Chan feels his grip on your waist loosen.

“Having kids doesn’t ruin your life,” he reasons. “You’re given the chance to care for something so precious, so important to this world…” he trails off, shaking his head and taking a step away from you. It feels as if exasperation has filled his entire being. “You look into their eyes and see yourself, and it’s— the love you feel when you first see them is so pure and earth-shattering that you can’t think of anything but how to make that tiny being only experience the good in the world. It doesn’t ruin your life.”

You eye him with confusion, cocking your head to the side and huffing out a laugh. “You talk like you know what that’s like. If you ever have kids one day, then you’ll know—”

“But I do know,” he’s yelling before he can stop himself, his footsteps coming to a halt. “I know because I have that. I have that and it’s the most precious thing in my life and yet I’ve been taking it for granted. And for what?”

He scoffs bitterly, his gaze fixing on your features; your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged lipstick, the way your puzzled eyes gleam under the moonlight. He shakes his head. 

“For childish illusions. The illusion that I could go back in time if I pretended hard enough, the illusion that this romanticized idea I have of my early twenties was superior to the life I have now,” Chan lets out a heavy breath, averting his gaze to the pavement. “The illusion that I could ever have you.”

“So it’s my fault you chose to lie about being a dad?” You blurt out.

He doesn’t lift his head. He can’t, the burden of guilt and shame weighing too heavily on his shoulders for him to face you.

“It’s my fault. You were simply the catalyst.”

“What do you even mean?”

“I mean I’ve always felt this way,” he exasperates, finally lifting his head but keeping his gaze anywhere but on you. He’s a coward. “I’ve always felt like maybe I was too young to be a dad, too immature to fully understand the consequences of the choices I made. I don’t regret my daughter, but I certainly regret the timing, and this haunts me every day. Meeting you again just made these feelings worse because you represent everything about my past that I no longer have.”

You remain quiet for a beat, but it feels like an eternity as Chan is forced to endure the deafening ring of your silence.

When you finally speak, your voice is unsteady. “You know, that’s why I always figured it was for the best that you left.”

“What?” Chan turns his gaze toward your face at last, your words stomping on his scattered heart one last time. He expects anger, but sorrow has taken over your expression, one so heavy he doesn’t recall a single moment in the years he’s known you where he’s seen you like this.

“You were always like this, Chan. You might think you were a different person back then, but you said it yourself,” you shrug with a sullen chuckle. “It’s only an illusion.”

He hums, nodding his head as it dawns on him. “You were never gonna be mine, were you? No matter what I did. I lied to you because I thought you would never want someone like who I am today. But I guess that was all in vain, ‘cause I’ve always been like this.”

“You always talked about getting married, settling down, having kids.” As you run a hand through your hair, an exasperated sigh falls from your lips. “You went along with our bullshit, but even back then, you were always like the dad of our group. This has always been you, Chan, but that’s not a bad thing. Don’t think you need to change or lie about who you are ‘cause you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, but…”

He scoffs. “But?”

“But we’re too different. We’ve always been. We’re great together in every way but the way you want us to be — the way I would love for us to be as well,” you simply say, offering him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And would it kill you if we tried? ‘Cause this unfulfilled hope has been killing me since I first fell in love with you.”

“What’s her name?” You simply ask, avoiding his question altogether. Chan furrows his brows. “Your daughter, what’s her name?”

He shifts on his feet. “Hyerin.”

“I hope she knows how lucky she is to have you as a dad.”

Chan shakes his head. “I’m far from the perfect father.”

“Good,” you state matter-of-factly. “Perfect wouldn’t be you.”

You fall into a much lighter silence, although it’s still far from comfortable. A swarm of questions fills Chan’s mind, but his words fade into silence and die on his lips.

He knows everything is over when you suck in a sharp breath, muttering, “I can’t be what you need. When love becomes too serious, I feel trapped and run away. You know what that’s like,” you trail off. “I know we loved each other back then, and I know I still love you now, but I think it’s my turn to walk away. I’m sorry, Chan.”

And just like that, he’s left to watch your figure slowly grow smaller and smaller as you fade into the dimly lit street. You don’t reprimand him for lying or question if he also loves you still. You don’t explain why you can’t make an effort, probably because you’re unsure of the answer yourself. It turns out you both remained unchanged.

And after all this time, it’s only then that Chan realizes you were always just as lost as he was.

Chan didn’t allow himself to think much about you since he watched you walk away that night. He missed you often, as he had done for so long before your last encounter, but he had long grown numb to that feeling.

In the two years he was apart from you for the second time, he learned that life isn’t black or white. He could be a father while also being his own person; a son, a friend, a boyfriend. He learned that prioritizing Hyerin didn’t mean neglecting himself, as that would negatively impact her as well. She couldn’t only know happiness if her father was always dripping with sadness.

He learned he doesn’t have to choose between who he is now and who he was at twenty years old; they were both him, with certain moments bringing out glimpses of one or the other.

Hyerin started elementary school and is blossoming into a caring little girl, no longer needing Chan to tie her pigtails in the morning or remind her to brush her teeth before bed. Although she still demands that they maintain their nightly routine of lying together until she falls asleep to the sound of his voice singing her favorite song.

During his first parent-teacher conference — after walking into the classroom fifteen minutes late — he’s stunned to see you sitting across from him yet again, a pencil holding up your ponytail the same way it did that night at the restaurant. He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his lips.

You were Hyerin’s teacher. He recalled picking her up after her first day of school and listening to her gush over the art teacher who was so pretty and nice, and talking about how she wanted to be like her when she grows up.

It felt as if you were destined to find each other every time one of you chose to walk away.

Your friendship picked up again slowly this time — no rushing into bed together and no rushing into long overdue serious conversations. They had already been avoided for years, anyway, they could wait a bit longer. This is exactly what you needed; patience. Chan had never had the patience to wait for you, while you never had the patience to understand your own feelings.

It’s been ten months now, and he’s yet again sitting before you. The teachers and parents converse around you both as you sit in silence. When you think no one is watching, you exchange glances, struggling to suppress the silly smiles that insist on spreading across your faces.

As people leave the room one by one after the meeting, Chan approaches you.

“You’re Bang Hyerin’s father, correct?” You speak with a grin.

“Correct.”

“She’s an amazing kid,” you tell him.

He smiles, shifting his gaze toward his feet before his eyes find yours again as you speak.

“We could grab a coffee this weekend.”

This time, there are further implications hidden in your request. You’re not asking as a friend, like you’ve been doing these past months. Some things are heavy with you now, and this is something he’s only recently come to find. He’s also come to find that he loves that change.

So he answers, “Sure. Tomorrow at three?”

“Then I’m your date for tomorrow,” you say with a giggle. “See you there, cutie.”

And Chan lets out a hearty laugh at that, which earns him a scolding look from the other teachers in the room.

He isn’t sure what will come of this. Maybe you two are better off as friends and all it will take is a couple of months to figure that out. Maybe time has changed you both more than he can understand, and you will finally be able to try something real after all these years of unfulfilled hopes and childish illusions.

Either way, Chan knows he won’t let go of you this time.

He wants you to be his, in any sense of the word.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie @vlctorriaa @yongbokkiesworld

[plumipal]

Last Name Dilemma

Yknow, this is purely for myself, happy me hating my last name. This is a yandere thing btw and please note that I am an artist, not a writer :,) so sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes

I had this amazing idea. If you don't really like your last name and get sucked into the world of twisted wonderland, why not just get a new one? It's very easy when you have suitors vying for your attention at every corner of the school! 🤭

It all started in the cafeteria...

Of course they were overjoyed you thought their last names were cool, did this mean you indirectly wanted to marry them? Well the game is on, and they for sure will win.

Much to their displeasure though, rumors speads fast at NRC, with everyone else quickly getting to know about your lastname dilemma. They are not backing down, wanting to burn the world down just to achieve their happy ending with you.

Ace

Of course you would want to marry him! He is your first friend in this wretched school after all! (Deuce would like to differ on that statement but yeah)

Ace may not be the richest, smartest or most beautiful, but he is your best friend, (hopefully) your first choise and (will make sure to be) your first love! Guy is serious. He will also pull all sorts of dirty tricks against everyone else, you're his bestie to marry no one else's!

Deuce

Ah poor little Deuce. Guy choked on his food when he first heard you talk about how cool their last names sounded. You think his last name is cool? Does that mean that you like him too? You wanna date him, marry him? Be his forever?? He is feeding into his own delusions and your words are only making it worse.

As soon as he has finished lunch he will excuse himself and make a call to his mom and tell her the wonderful news on how you and him will definitely get married! (He just gotta get you a sweet, sweet ring that you deserve)

Cater

Cater being quick on the trends, he was even quicker on the rumors about you having no last name (and definelty needing one). He has such a cute last name, it would fit so well with you! <3

He is already dreaming up the perfect magicam wedding, to show off how the oh so wonderful you chose him, and no one else. He also dreams of the private moments after, how you'll hold him as he sobs his heart out, so happy you chose him. He hopes these silly daydreams will soon become reality, cos he can't wait much longer..

He also definelty overloads you with his clones, giving you so much love you don't need to turn to anyone else for that :)

Trey

When Trey heard the rumors he sighed, feeling bad for how overwhelmed you probably are with everyone else's proposals. Well, come to him whenever you feel like it's too much, he will always make sure to lktsen to your problems (he loves the domestic feel to just having late night chats with you in the heartlbuyl kitchen as he prepares another batch of sweets for the next unbirthday party).

He will make sure that his own proposal of marriage is short and sweet, and he is sure it will win you over, who wouldn't want his sweets all day every day? He will make sure to feed and love you for the rest of eternity if you chose him <3

Riddle

Riddle is messy, he wants you as his spouse and he kinda wants it NOW, since he feels like he deserves it. You're the perfect match to him, the king of hearts to his queen od hearts...

He will show off how good of a husband he would be to you, how he will take care of you with a stable job, how he will help you with all homework and make sure you get special treatment on unbirthday parties. If he sees anyone trying to propose why they should be yours and not him, well, you know his unique magic...

Jack

Wolves mate for life. Jack wants to mate for life. Who does he want as his mate? You. You have changed his life, and he does not want to lose you, please. He is territorial, liking how your name would sound with his last name, now he just gotta make it happen..

Ruggie

Ruggie feels desperate when he hears the rumors. Why would you chose him, when you have literal celebrities, prince's and high standing people vying for you? Then he remembers, he owes you. It's usually the other way around yes, bur he owes you somehow.

With this he cooks up the amazing plan of giving you his last name as a thanks for that one time. He also gotta introduce you to his family, he knows granny bucchi is gonna peer pressure you into accepting marriage with him...

Leona

Leona will not lose you. He has lost so much coming second to everyone he knows. He will NOT lose you to anyone here, he will fight dirty and kill for you if there's a chance he gets with you. He has the money to hire help to get rid of people too, and that same money can sway you into chosing him, since that deadbeat crow ain't giving you a liveable sum to live on.

He makes sure to capture you for naps whenever he can, making sure to leave his scent on you, enough so most people can smell how he has been on you.

Floyd

Eeh? Shrimps wants a good last name?? Well with his you could scare oh so many away, leading to an easy life for you! It also leads to a fun life with you and him, and there will never be a dull moment in his life with you by his side!

Just don't take his last name with his brother yeah? Get with him instead.

Jade

Oya? The prefect wants a last name? A husband too perhaps? Jade's smile widens as he plans out how to trap you into a wonderful marriage with him. Perhaps some of his new mushrooms in his terrariums will make you tired enough to get you to sign a marriage contract with him?

Just don't marry his brother instead of him, he don't really know how he would handle that..

Azul

Azul feels himself become of sp happy whenhe heard the rumors. Finally! You will have him corner you as soon as he can, sweet smile on his face as he offers you a golden contract of his. He crafted it meticulously, making sure everything in it would be perfect for the both of you.

He tries to butter you up so badly, please he just wants you to himself, is that too much to ask for?

Jamil

Jamil has to hold back to use snake whisper, but he has it in case you chose the wrong option (not him). He wants you, he does that to lose you to anyone, ESPECIALLY KALIM. He probably uses snake whisper against others, to sabotage, to do anything. He just can't lose you...

He definelty shows off his cooking and cleaning skills, showing how he can be the perfect househusband for you. Look how good you could have it with him...

Kalim

Kalim is manipulative about this. He mat not be aware of it, bur he sure is. He wants you as his (spouce) bestie, and he will get that. Guy has never gotten a no, and he will not get one now (he hope atleast).

Let him plan you a grandiose wedding! With food, clothes, venue, parades and so much more worth millions and millions of thaumarks. He will space no expense for you!

Epel

Why is epel so roughened up? Why he fought for your hand of course! Isn't it manly to show off that you can easily fend gör your love? He also loves loves LOVES the attention you give him as you fix him up.

He feels so proud of the fights he won, wearing the scars like proud medals, so please take care of them before they get infected- he will only let you do it-

Maybe he will get into more fights if he can get your heavenly touch as a reward..

Rook

Rook stalks you on the daily, so of course he got to work as soon as the words left your mouth. He will hunt you down, get your heart and love and live happily every after :)

He 100% gets violent as well, bur of course you won't see that side of him! He wouldn't want to scare you..

Vil

Vil is certain you will chose him. He is the fairest of them all (niege don't count he is ugly), that is what you deserve. He will take care of you, especially your appearance. You've sent how he is with epel, now get ready for double that...

He dolls you up, makes you the best version of yourself so he can show you off on his socials,to mush it into that dumb nieges face that THE vil had you and niege doesn't. He is the fairest of them all with you of course..

Of course, he is the only queen worthy enought for your love and affection, so please just marry him already, he wants a Photoshoot together with you...

Idia (plus Ortho being STRICTLY PLATONIC)

I'm sorry but have you read his ssr story? Guy doxxes over nothing lol. He will breach your security if you tell him no, he has lost so much already, can't he have you please? You're the only thing he wants...

He will 100% use Ortho against you, backing you into a corner together with the robot. Ortho wants to make his brother happy, and he would be the happiest together with you. Ortho would also be so so so happy if you were his bif sibling too!

Theyve lost so much, they just want a happy family, together with you.. (ORTHO ONLY WANTS YOU AS A SIBLING NO WEIRD SHI AGAINST ORTHO PLEASE)

Sebek

Sebek has to run to lilia for guidance. Why has this human out this wonderful spell on him, why does he feel so lightweight? Why is his face so red? Why does he want to reject you for the rest od your days, more than he wants to protect malleus?

He wants to marry you. To have a wonderful marriage between human hand half fae, almost liek his parents... he will protect you at all costs. Please do love his loudmouth ass back..

Silver

Silver has no last name as well, so in his mind you both are already matching. He is too sleepy to actually do anything other than fall asleep with you.

Lilia

Lilia would snicker at the rumors. Ah, how he feels young again, silly what love can do to someone... he would love to help his son's with this, but sadly he wants this just as much if not more...

Malleus

Malleus does not want to lose his friend. His first and only real friend. He has tried to court you for so long, and now that you've dropped a hint that you wanted him (by saying you wanted a cool last name) he starts the royal courting traditions.

He follows all the traditions, step by step, being very careful to be correct and sparing no expense. He makes sure you see the future home of yours (the castle), his humongous hoard and his greatest treasure, gao gao dragon..

.. holy hell this was so much longer than what I expected. Well, who would you go for? Do tell :,)

Also, would yall want more long form content like this or way more short form? My asks got deleted so don't really have any to draw smhhh </3 so do send shi in please <3

[chelseeebe]

yours, forever

18+ mdni. smut. mean!exhusband!eddie;) breeding kink if you squint a lil

a/n: i was not expecting to post again so soon but this genuinely couldn’t wait lol. i have another parts to this little piece so lmk if you’d like to see it. someone posted a really really good exhusband!eddie fic like a month ago and ive lost it, but they inspired this entire thing!

^it was this post by @madelynraemunson !!!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

eddie wasn’t expecting to find you standing on the other side of the door, nor had he expected you to barge right past him and into his kitchen. 

you seemed to show up with zero rhyme or reason, typically wanting something from him. 

that was fine, appreciated even. 

he just wasn’t a fan of you waltzing into his home with the sole purpose of talking about your pig of a husband. 

“david wanted me to ask you if he could take the kids up to washington to see his parents,” you stand awkwardly at the kitchen island, his apartment a shell of the house you once owned together. 

eddie pauses, launching the dish towel onto the counter and laughs, deep and gravely as he swings back around, “no.” 

“why not?” you huff, blinking expectantly at your petulant ex. he’d always been a sucker for your eyes, divorce couldn’t changed that. 

“because i said so,” leaning against the marbled counter, “he asked you to ask me and i said no, that’s it. done.” 

“you’re being stubborn,” crossing your arms over your chest, scolding in the way you talk to him. 

“i don’t care.”

“eddie,” stepping forward. 

“sweetheart,” his tone disapproving as he also steps up, closing the gap between you, “no,” enunciating the word in hopes that you’d actually understand now. 

“don’t be an asshole,” you frown, a couple years ago you’d pout and get your own way but now eddie found great satisfaction in telling you no.  

“i’m not being an asshole, you asked me a question and i answered, dave can go to washington, but you and my kids can’t,” his lip twitching into a dastardly smirk. any minute now you’d crack, really let loose on his ass. 

“oh, so now i can’t go? who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” poking your sharp finger into his chest, a fury behind your eye that almost instantly made him hard. 

“the father of our kids? or have you forgotten about that?” 

“unfortunately not,” rolling your eyes, nonetheless you make no effort to leave, your bag already on the counter, signifying that what he assumed would happen next was definitely going to happen next. 

“you don’t mean that,” sidling closer, trapping your body between the counter and his chest, “because if you did, you wouldn’t let me keep fucking the shit outta you.”

eddie’s rock solid now, this was foreplay for him, getting high off of the way you argued with him, degrading him right to his face. 

“shut up,” rolling your eyes to the back of your head, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt, “you’re so pathetic,” glancing down at his boner now pressing against your cunt. 

“mmhmm,” he wouldn’t fight it, in fact, he’s proud of it, “only for you though,” finding your hips, palming at the doughy flesh. 

your lips twitch and he knows he’s won this fight, planting your lips to his, a firm hand on his chest just to remind him who was really in charge. 

sighing into your mouth as you move against him, his hands running beneath the seam of your skirt, feeling his way up the backs of your thighs to settle on your ass. 

“eds,” you hum, pulling away from his lips, “i’ve gotta go pick the boys up,” making zero effort to stop the inevitable, your chest flush against his.

“well better make it quick this time then,” he growls, walking your body into the countertop, manhandling your body to face you against the hard counter, pressing up against the swell of your ass. his belt clinks as his jeans fall down around his thighs, boxers following behind. 

“this is.. i have to go,” you gasp, rolling your head back to allow his lips room to find your neck, nuzzling right into his favourite spot just tucked underneath your jaw. 

“then why don’t you leave?” his gruff voice vibrates against your chin as his hands slide underneath your shirt, spilling your tits from your bra to get a full handed grope of them. 

your hand rests atop of his, the other gripping to the countertop for dear life. 

you’re not going to leave, that much is obvious. eddie’s also fairly certain that you’ve got at least an hour before you have to go. he’s not stupid, you play the game just as much as he does, pretending to leave just to pounce on him straight after. 

“that’s what i thought,” sarcastic as ever, threatening to score violet splotches behind on your neck, though his lips detach before he’s able to. 

eddie lets his thoughts slip back to the reason you’re even here, letting himself get frustrated by your blind audacity all over again. 

“you must be fucking stupid coming in here, asking me shit like that,” his large, calloused hand pawing at your tits, the other yanking your panties down to hang around your thighs. 

“no i’m not,” arguing back though you’re completely docile, allowing him to bend your torso over the marbled countertop, his hands groping your plush skin. “he’s my..” sigh, “husband now and you need to- fu-uck respect that,” fingers curling around his arm, pinching at the skin when he slides inside with no warning. 

“what was that?” eddie mocks, slamming into your cunt with little remorse, full of years of pent up frustration and a tiny dose of regret. 

once upon a time, this was his everyday. having you absolutely anywhere he wanted, and now it was solely reserved for times you really needed him to agree to something. or perhaps david had done something stupid, as he often did. sending you running back to eddie like a feeble little deer. 

“shut up,” sighing in time with his rough strokes, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoes through his barren kitchen, filthy sounds of sex wailed through his apartment far more often than they should. 

before you’d met david, he’d see you once a week while dropping the kids off, maybe he’d get to taste you a couple times a month, if he was lucky. it was only after you remarried that you’d come around unannounced, asking about something that most definitely could’ve been a call. 

eddie doesn’t care, you’re the only woman for him anyway, a couple divorce papers couldn’t change that. 

“you fuckin’ love it,” he growls, grabbing a fistful of your hair and fiercely tugging your head back, “y’gotta drive all the way over here just to cum, ain’t that sad?” speaking low right into your ear, his arms keeping a strong hold of your torso as your knees grow weak. 

“you don’t.. you’re- fuck you,” knuckles glowing white with your grip on the counter, other hand desperately nuzzling between your thighs, circling your neglected clit. 

“have to speak up honey, i can’t hear you,” the tip of his cock nudges against your soft spot, eliciting a strangled mewl from your pretty wetted lips. 

“i can make myself cum,” you speak proudly through gritted teeth, voice bouncing around with every slam of his hips, “i don’t need you,” rubbing your clit harsher, as if to prove a point. 

“oh yeah? show me baby.. let me see you cum,” slowing his strokes but keeping his cock firmly enveloped inside, jaw clenching with every squeeze and quiver of your cunt. 

eddie palms your tit, getting as much satisfaction from this as you were. your whimpers alone could make him cum, hell, just a look and he was rock solid in his jeans. 

“oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” gasping into the air, leant back against his shoulder, head turning to hide in the nook of his neck as you teeter over, waves of pleasure shocking your body. 

“shit,” he grunts underneath his breath, feeling you writhe around in his arms, “that was good sweetheart, my turn,” resuming his assault on your cunt, breath stuttering as his hips begin to rock again. 

his hand replaces yours, slipping between your thighs to find your clit, thrusts becoming sloppy and weak as the blood rushes to his head, sending his stomach into a series of somersaults. 

even in your separation, your pleasure came first. an important pocket of information wayne had awkwardly handed him when his voice started cracking and girls no longer had cooties. 

you’re putty in his arms, fully relying on the countertop to keep you upright, thighs quivering with the intensity of your orgasm and the anticipation of the quickly approaching next one. 

“oh.. my.. god,” whining with every thrust, your voice thick with lustrous air, too fucked out to stand or even think straight. 

“i’m gonna, sh-shit cum sweetheart,” pounding recklessly into your trembling pussy, dripping in a mixture of your juices. 

you clench around him, tipping over the edge once more, barely able to hold yourself upright with shaking knees and a harsh grip of his arm. 

eddie isn’t, nor had he ever been one for pulling out, he liked running that risk, the thrill of maybe knocking you up again. 

three kids don’t happen without at least one accident, that’s for sure. 

he doesn’t now, pumping the thick ropes of his release into your cunt, groaning belligerently as he does so. praying to god this was the time it stuck, pregnant with his child once again. 

you fall flat against the counter, heaving for breath with the last of his pathetic strokes, growling into the stuff air. 

he slaps a harsh palm to your ass for good measure, trailing his hand down your trembling thighs, “so you run along home now and tell him exactly what i told you,” fingering the lace of your panties as he hikes them back over your thighs.

“no.”

[pankielovesfan]

How would Fan react when learning about the reveal? Read my fun long ramble!

I need to put this down somewhere. Here is my fun not so structured analysis!!!! this is something i think a lot about. of course I do.

I doodled a small little graph of reactions I think he would go through that I will elaborate on further in the paragraphs below. I'm not sure about the order but it'd be something like these stages when processing it - most likely.

This is analyzed from the idea that Fan did not previously predict this in any way or expect it, but I do also suspect he might know! (Which, I'll explain later for his reaction to that.)

Fan's an incredibly emotional and impulsive person, he would definitely have a strong outer reaction to the information. This may be biased coming from me since Fan is my favorite to analyze but aside from Suitcase he would probably be handling it the worst after being told about it, OR just having the most notable reaction! This is considering he was not made to be a contestant but to devote his love, identity, and purpose to the show, which makes him revolve around the show much more than anyone else - since it is a built-in interest in him that he's dedicated his entire existence to, even when he tried to build himself beyond it- he still surrounds himself with Inanimate Insanity even after his elimination. It is forever tied to his mind and interests contrary to many contestants who try to separate from the show and competition entirely.

Fan's most substantial development in Hatching The Plan was the fact that there were many possibilities out there for him to discover for himself (and that others were there for him through that change and discovery). While he recognizes this and states on Fan's Fantastic Features that he's trying to test his limit and push past his comfort zone (notably while in a safe controlled environment where this change can occur comfortably for him) he is still "stuck" in Inanimate Insanity whether he recognizes this or not. He is at Hotel OJ, surrounded by the contestants, and he is still on MePhone4's island, like any other contestant. While Fan has convinced himself that he is more than just a fan of the show and that he is improving as a person, this development is still slow (obvious, coming from a person such as Fan who struggles with it) and he is still heavily attached to the core of his personality - the core which he was built to be in the first place. His love for the show is so clearly his own dedication and passion, and it truly does feel like his own CHOICE to love the show as much as he does. Even if he was created for it, it is a part of him that he loves and puts confidence into.

I swear these earlier points play into this bear with me,

So once Fan is told he was created by MePhone4, after the initial shock dies down, he would be in denial of it, of course, as Fan would react to any new information he had not considered about the show. Some "It can't be"s and some "There is absolutely no way"s being said by him, especially if he had not foreseen this coming. An instinctive reaction coming from Fan (which would also apply to Test Tube) is immediately questioning it, wanting answers- most definitely from MePhone4 himself. I don't think he'd believe Cobs if he told him, maybe not even Suitcase or Test Tube, he'd need to find the evidence for it and piece together if this even made sense at all.

Once he starts to consider it and all the pieces fit together for him as he looks back on everything, he'll let go of that denial. That's when it first really hits him. One of his first reactions is positive. He'd find validation in the fact he was created specifically for the show, he'd be honored and glad he was an actual piece of the show- not just a viewer or contestant, he was actually part of the show he loved so much. Fan puts a lot of his confidence into being the number 1 fan of inanimate insanity, as everyone knows, and being questioned on this or having people challenge him always strongly shows his insecurity over it. But knowing that he quite literally is, without a doubt, the biggest fan of inanimate insanity- and that he actually had this purpose and that he was made for what he loved to do- that would validate him immensely. He would thrive on his notion for a while until the existential crisis started to leap in.

He'd try to be acceptant of it, and this time around he would be in denial of his own emotions. He'd try to show how well he was taking this and to pride himself in being the biggest ii fan ever, so he puts up a confident front which is obviously not normal to anyone who sees him. He'd try his best not to think about the other implications of his existence being made for reality TV. He would try his best to appear in control and unburdened to prove to both others and himself that he was taking it well. I don't think this stage in his realization will go on for long. I think this would fluctuate a LOT depending on his mood.

At one point he does start to question himself. He overthinks his existence and his emotions, and if they are genuine- what if what he feels is fake? Just generated love? What if he truly doesn't like Inanimate Insanity? What's a real feeling from him and what's a fake one?! A million thoughts that some may not even make sense but this is where the existentialism really gets to him. Every time he felt excitement or love for the show, was that even his own emotions? Was that just made by MePhone4 so he could get some appreciation for his show- and maybe he'd get mad that MePhone4 kept dismissing him. Maybe he'd wonder why he was made if he's not being recognized and rewarded for how much dedication- if it was even his own- that he put into appreciating MePhone4, a dedication that was going unnoticed or deemed annoying by him.

Something I mentioned earlier, about Fan learning to embrace new opportunities for himself and about how he was still trapped in the show. He realizes he is forever tied to the show, and all his attempts at making changes for himself and being more than just a fan suddenly feel... meaningless to him. All he was ever made for from the start was to be a fanboy of the show, and he had tried to build himself around that. But those efforts were for nothing if this is all he ever was- just a fan. That was his entire identity, he was never anything other than that. This is all that could ever come out of him. So what was the point in trying? His shell might've been the only place he'd ever felt safe in anyways- and once he remembers it, his old coping mechanisms seem incredibly tempting. Fan would retreat back into his shell. Things just seemed so much simpler if he did, he wouldn't have to deal with all this overthinking if he just stuck to what he was made for, something he already had found so much comfort and significance in. He uses his shell to cope once again, regressing, turning back to his purpose. This would be how he copes with this new information, by embracing what it taught him that he was. He'd be in this state for a while, he'd probably try to pretend he never even learned anything and creating a false reality of his own security. Being a fan is still important to him, and something he feels so deeply about that he's urged into fully embracing it again. early season 2 fan is back babyyyy!

Not sure how long it would go on for, or even how long it would take for him to go through these stages, but this is somewhat of the process I believe he'd have! I think Suitcase and Fan should have a talk about dealing with all of this. possibly. I feel like it will boil down to "if it feels true to you, that's all that matters." for Fan dealing with this. I could definitely see Suitcase saying something similar to him.

As for him reacting to it after already having theorized this would happen or at the very least suspect it, I think it would go similar to that one drawing I made. He'd be proud at first, and it wouldn't sink in as fast because his pride comes first! But to have it actually confirmed to him would then send him into that same realization as stage 3 of processing it. Something something, it goes the same after this.

Anyways i love fannnn i could talk about him for hours boy i love you i wonder if we'll even get everyone's reactions to the reveal or if they'll even tell anyone else but if we do Fan would definitely have a prominent reaction to it <- guy who loves fan saying this. look at this bias

[dcxdpdabbles]

just imagining danny finally finding wes in cassandra's curse all

danny: you have something that belongs to me

wes: damn it fenton! shit like this is why your parents think we're dating

danny: i thought it was your constant obsession with me and the fact you spent months following me with a camera trying to get proof of my identity

tim: *watching his maybe boyfriend flirting with a cute hero*

tim: i can work with this

Given the circumstances, Wes is resting relatively well in his hospital bed. He hasn't seen Tim Drake since first waking up….in a sense. This may have something to do with people's odd reaction to the word "meta."

As far as the people in this world are concerned, Wes is a newly changed meta due to his encounter with Joker.

He isn't sure what that means, as the hospital staff talk about it like he would already know, and he hasn't had much time to find information on the subject. Based on how people behaved, he can conclude that there was a lousy stigma against Metas, and he wonders if it was like the stigma associated with the AIDS crisis.

Some nurses seemed nervous about touching him, and Wes almost felt terrible if it weren't their actual job to have bedside manners.

Wes's days have mostly been filled with watching late-nineties TV shows, doing reruns in his hospital room, and letting the staff check his vitals. He sometimes listens to the radio, but it is only fun if he can dance along to the songs.

It's been about two weeks since his kidnapping.

Whatever the Joker did to him left him feeling weak beyond words, and the most he could bring himself to do without falling flat on his face was wobble his way to the toilet. It took forever to gather enough control to do things like type on a laptop the staff lent him or sat up without flaring his entire boy with pain like the first day.

We could tell this world was different from his own. After living in Amity and surviving whatever new crazy thing happened to Danny, he recognizes portals to other worlds or dimensions.

Just looking outside his window told him how different things were. The cars rolling down the street were less bulky, made smaller, and had smoother edges. The build boards were replaced with giant TV show casting ads, and people walked around with little rectangles resembling buttonless PDAs Tucker was so fond of.

If the more advanced technical devices didn't scream another world, then the fact that his clear blue-sky small town was replaced with towering buildings and grey skies of a large city led Wes to believe he was nowhere near home.

How long would it be now for Danny to find him? He figured he was somewhere close by regarding worlds, seeing as a Clown-Ghost (?) could easily break through the barrier.

He would try calling out for him- as some forms, he had seen online for ghost hunting claimed to say the ghost's name would summon them- but that wouldn't help the secret relationship allegations that the student body had flung onto him and Danny.

At least the nineties sitcom he was forced to get into didn't exist in his world, so they were entertaining when he ignored all the badly aged jokes. Wes sighs, slumping a little in place, trying to ignore the soft ache in his back.

A knock interrupts one of the characters, yelling, "We're on a break!" for which Wes is grateful. He would scream if he had to hear that man complain about his relationship being in on the rocks for not having proper communication. "Come in."

The door flings open to show his favorite nurse. Caroline Hill was one of the few who didn't mind touching or treating him like an average person. She also brought him the laptop, staying by his side while gently encouraging his stiff fingers to type. She laughed when Wes's mind was utterly blown when pressing buttons proved too complicated and flipped the thing into an interactive screen.

She called it a 2-in-1 laptop, but Wes was stuck on the idea that the screen was touchable and that people could use their fingers as a mouse. This world was so cool.

So yes, Wes liked Caroline, so he respected her preference and didn't point out he could tell it was Tim Drake dressed in drag. If she wanted to be known as Caroline and work under that name, then who was he would kick up a fuss about it?

She always answered to feminine pronouns, and the other nurses treated her like any girl Wes, encounter so even if it wasn't simply drag. She was Caroline, and he would treat her as such until she told him otherwise.

"How are you feeling today, Wes?" She asks, voice slightly raspy in the same way that told him she was purposely attempting to make her voice higher but falling short.

He smiles at her. "Same as always. I managed to stand alone without feeling like my legs would give out on me this morning."

"That's great!" She spreads a blanket over his legs, the fabric warm from a heater. He mentions "Gotham" was far too cold for his liking. "What about your meta gene? Any progress?"

She asked a lot about that. Wes wasn't sure what she was hoping for, what the meta was, or if it was safe to admit he had no idea what was happening. On the one hand, it may help him get better treatment if only to earn some respect, but on the other hand, what if metals were targeted by the government, much like the GIW?

He figured it would be better to shrug and act like he was aware but weary of speaking about it. She offered him a small smile, moving the conversation along while checking the machines he was hooked to. He didn't know what half of them did, only recognizing the heart monitor and breathing tank.

On the screen, one of the characters is talking about the betrayal, and he scowls at it. If you sat and talked things through, this wouldn't happen.

Caroline laughs. "But then we wouldn't have a show."

He frowns, "Yeah, but it's not hard to have conversations like that. It's essential in relationships to tell your partner what you expect."

"Speaking from experience?"

Wes flushes, "I haven't dated that much, but my last relationship ended because we wanted different things."

"Well, it's good to know you, and he was mature enough for our age to-"

"Her."

Caroline pauses, blinking owlishly at him. "Pardon?"

"Her. My ex was my old girlfriend." Wes clarifies.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you liked boys, given that you call out for Danny whenever you sleep. " She looks flustered and babbles a little, which doesn't make Wes feel better.

"Why does everyone say that about Danny and me?" He mutters, closing his eyes and trying not to sink in the ground. "I'm bi, and bi-myself but I'm not that desperate."

Caroline offers him an uncomfortable smile before quickly finishing her visit and running out of the room. It's probably for the best.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

{ Thank you for the idea @imsodonewiththissite !! It almost got angsty but i controlled myself!!! }

"What in God's name is that?" Dustin’s voice goes almost shrill as he walks behind Steve, looks down at his pumpkin. Eddie's head shoots up from where he's carving his own pumpkin, his legs shot out in front of him, his feet hitting Steve's across from him. Steve flushes, tells Dustin to shut up, and shoves at his legs to get him to move on.

"Alright alright jeez! It's just... I've never seen a pumpkin like that. Did you even try?" Dustin huffs as he settles back into his own carving area between Lucas and Will.

"Yes. I did try. Thank you very much. Henderson." Steve huffs, wipes at his pumpkin, then wipes his hand in the grass to get the bits of guts off. Eddie sits up taller, making a show of trying to see Steve's carving, but not really trying to see, they'd agreed to show each other at the same time.

Steve hadn't really had any idea what to do, so he'd just done something silly. But he could see Will and Dustin’s and theirs were detailed, and spooky. And his just looked... stupid, now. Steve sighed and put the top back on his, waiting for Eddie to finish.

He was staring, he knew he was. He couldn't help it. He loved when Eddie was in full concentration mode, his tongue poking out between his lips, his brows crinkled. Steve would never tell him that. But he could look. No harm in that.

Eddie looked up and met his eyes, smiled brightly, and dusted of his own pumpkin before popping the top back on. He tilted his head, this way and that, a few times and then looked at Steve again.

"Okay. You ready?" He asked, drumming his fingers on the gourd resting under his hands. Steve scrunched his nose.

"I'm having second thoughts." He said quietly, the kids were all yelling, in their own little world, but he still didn't want them to hear.

"Aww. But I'm excited to see it! Especially with the way Dusty Buns reacted." Eddie drooped, his eyes going wide and sad, the way Steve was weak agaisnt. He sighed, his own body drooping.

"Ugh. Fine. On three?" He tilted his head. Eddie nodded.

"On three."

"One."

"Twosie." Eddie wiggled his fingers, Steve rolled his eyes fondly.

"Three!" They both said it together and turned their pumpkins toward each other.

Steve's eyes shot open, Eddie's was... good. Like really good. Everything a spooky jack-o-lantern should be. Creepy eyes, sharp teeth, what looked like a skull nose.

"Holy shit Eds. That's... holy shit. Mine is so shit compared to- why are you making that face? What's happening?" Steve changed directions mid sentence because Eddie's mouth had dropped open as he stared at Steve hideous excuse for a carving.

"Oh my god you hate it." Steve grabbed at his pumpkin, about to turn it back toward him and hide it forever but he froze when a sound started coming out of Eddie's open mouth.

It took a moment to really form, but once it got going, Steve could hear it. Manical giggles were bubbling up out of Eddie's mouth. He slapped his hands over his face to stop them but they just kept coming.

Steve wasn't sure if he should be offended or not. He frowned though, his brows dropping on his head and Eddie immediately shook his head.

"Oh my god he's ADORABLE!" Eddie cackled the words, shoved his own pumpkin genlty aside and crawled toward Steve's, his hands outstreched and grabbing.

"I know it's- wait what?" Steve was so confused.

"Steve I love him. Look at his stupid little face." He'd devolved into baby talk and was scratching at the pumkin like you would a babies chin. Steve felt himself smiling.

"Wait you actually like it?" Dustin guffawed from behind him. Eddie spun around fast, guarding Steve's pumpkin from sight.

"Excuse me?! 'It'? Don't you ever speak like that about my son- our son!" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Steve. Dustin rolled his eyes.

"It's not even scary! It's just a big mouth!" Dustin’s hands flailed. Eddie screamed at him dramatically, clutching his chest.

"He has a tooth! And two adorable teeny tiny eyes!" Eddie moved, pointed at the face Steve had made. El and Will both aw-d, Max and Lucas smiled, Mike just rolled his eyes.

"He's not- it's just-" Dustin stammered a bit.

"What? Dustin. He's what?!" Eddie asked, his hands still clutching at his chest.

"He's ugly! Okay? It's an ugly pumpkin!" Dustin yelled, Steve didn't even have time to feel hurt, because Eddie shrieked again, his voice going impossibly high.

"Dustin Henderson! I can't believe you just called your brother ugly. You heathen!" Eddie practically hissed the last word before he hopped to his feet and bundled Steve's pumpkin into his arms.

"Unbelievable. We don't need them Steve. Let's go." He popped his nose into the air and looked to Steve. He knew he had to look like a deer in headlights, not sure exactly where they were meant to be going.

"Kitchen." Eddie whispered, giving Steve a wink.

"Oh right. Okay yeah." Steve stumbled toward the door, opening it for Eddie as he stomped after him.

"Oh what you're going inside? Just leaving us out here?" Dustin called, Will and El booing him as he kept taunting Steve and Eddie. Eddie spun, looked at Dustin, propped the pumpkin on his hip like a toddler and pointed his finger accusingly.

"Yes. And we are leaving... in a huff!" Eddie's accent sounded slightly French at the end as he spun around again and stomped into the house.

"Slam the door Steven. Show them we mean it." Eddie said with an air finality. Steve grinned, fighting back laughter, and slammed the door. He tugged the blind closed too, for good measure. He turned to find Eddie wiping at the pumpkin with a wet washrag, getting all the little shavings off.

"You didn't have to do that." Steve said, moving to stand next to him. But not too close.

"Do what?" Eddie asked, grabbing the dish towel off the little hook and drying the pumpkin now. Steve sighed, leaned his butt against the counter and looked at the floor.

"Play it up liked you love the pumpkin. To make me feel better about my complete lack of skill." Steve laughed a little, shrugged, and looked up to find Eddie staring at him. He tossed the towel down and took a step forward.

"Oh no. Unfortunately for you, Steven. That was a genuine reaction. I fucking love this thing." He patted at the side of the pumpkin and grinned at Steve. Steve frowned.

"Really? It's not... I mean it's nothing special. Did you see Will's, I swear there was a castle on it." Steve shook his head. Dismissive.

"Oh I saw it. Still like yours more." Eddie said, matter of fact.

"Why?" Steve was still frowning. Eddie sighed, walked over and stood next to Steve, his arm pressed agaisnt him, warm.

"Me and my mom used to buy four pumpkins. Every Halloween. Always four. Two for her. And two for me." Eddie's voice was soft, the way it always was when he talked about his mother. Steve found himself trying not to breathe to loudly, he wanted to hear everything Eddie had to say.

"We'd each do a classic, spooky guy. But the other one. The other one we used to make just... the most ridiculous faces. Or the dumbest ones. Anything cute and silly." He looked at Steve for a moment, a soft smile on his lips at the memory.

"It very quickly became a contest of who could make who laugh the most. Just by carving some silly face." Eddie shook his head and laughed gently.

"I haven't made a funny one since she died. And you turned that pumpkin around and it took me back. To all those stupid pumpkins and how we used to laugh. And I mean really laugh." Eddie's voice was getting tight as he spoke, a little wobbly, and Steve wanted to hug him, wasn't sure if he could.

"She had the best laugh Steve. She'd have loved this." He moved his hand over the pumpkin again, gently stroked down it's side.

"And you."

It was almost too quiet. Steve almost didn't hear it. Wasn't sure he had until he looked up and saw the way Eddie was looking at him. Steve is so sure that it's the same way he'd been looking at Eddie for months now.

"It's the perfect pumpkin Steve. The best one I've seen in years." He's so serious, when he says it. Steve feels like he might cry. Feels a bit reckless, with Eddie looking at him like that. So he leans toward Eddie, his heart fluttering as Eddie smiles, just a barely thing, and leans toward him too.

The kiss is soft, Eddie makes a little sound in the back of his throat when Steve's hand moves to his neck and pulls him closer. They kiss until they're both smiling so much it's just their teeth clicking together and Eddie dissolves into manic giggles again and buries his face in Steve's neck as he holds him close.

"You have a good laugh too Ed's. " Steve sighs, pulling Eddie closer as he hums and nuzzles into his neck, his fingers pressing into Steve's back as he cuddles closer. Steve breathes deeply, his nose buried in Eddie's hair, and feels Eddie smile against the soft skin of his neck.

-

-

-

( below is an approximation of their pumpkin faces. I fucked up the eddie one's mouth dont looookk at meeeee )

[callsigns-haze]

I love your Tyler fics so much, I just love imagining dad/husband Tyler 😭😭 can I please request something where he always introduces her to people as “my wife”? Like they’re newlyweds and he just loves slipping in “wife” whenever he can 🥹

The Weight of a Word

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Chapter of all fluff

A/N: So I reached 500 followers today and got a few fics done...

The sky above them was a shifting tapestry of dark clouds, a fitting backdrop for the storm-chasing team that had just reunited. The air was thick with tension, the thrill of the chase palpable in every glance and gesture. But amidst the chaos, there was a lightness to Tyler Owens, a quiet joy that radiated from him like sunshine breaking through the storm clouds.

Tyler stood by the team’s van, his arm casually draped over Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her close. They had been together for years now, but something had changed in the past few months—something that Tyler couldn’t quite keep to himself, no matter how hard he tried. He was still basking in the glow of their recent wedding, the memory of saying “I do” still fresh and vivid in his mind. It was a feeling he cherished, a pride that he carried with him everywhere they went.

“Tyler!” one of the team members called, approaching with a wide grin. “You ready for this? We’ve got a big one heading our way.”

Tyler nodded, his eyes flicking from the sky to his teammate, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to share his happiness, had to let the world know how lucky he was. “Yeah, we’re ready,” he replied, a grin spreading across his face as he gave Y/N’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “By the way, have you met my wife?”

There it was again—that word. It rolled off his tongue so easily now, but every time he said it, he felt a surge of pride and love. Wife. The title still felt new, like a shiny badge he got to wear every day, and he couldn’t help but show it off. He turned to Y/N, his eyes sparkling with affection, and she smiled back at him, clearly amused by how much he enjoyed saying it.

The teammate chuckled, extending a hand to Y/N. “Nice to meet you! I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Y/N replied with a grin, shaking his hand.

Tyler watched the exchange, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. He loved seeing her here, a part of his world, blending into the life he led so effortlessly. And more than that, he loved the way she looked at him when he called her his wife, like she was just as thrilled by the title as he was.

As they continued to prepare for the storm, Tyler couldn’t resist sneaking in the word whenever he got the chance. Introducing her to anyone new, he would say it with that same proud grin—“This is my wife.” Even in casual conversation with the team, it slipped in naturally: “My wife thinks this storm is going to be a big one,” or “We’ve been talking about this since before we got married.”

It wasn’t just the word itself that mattered, though it did make him feel like he was part of something bigger, something more meaningful. It was the way Y/N’s eyes lit up every time he said it, the way she would squeeze his hand or lean into him just a little bit closer. It was the way she made him feel like he was doing something right, just by loving her, just by being proud to call her his.

As the storm began to close in, the team started moving with more urgency, checking their equipment and finalizing their plans. But even in the midst of the chaos, Tyler couldn’t stop himself from glancing over at Y/N every now and then, his heart swelling with affection. They had always been a team, but this was different. This was forever.

“Tyler,” Y/N said softly, drawing his attention as they stood together, watching the sky. “You know you don’t have to keep introducing me like that, right?”

He looked at her, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I know, but I can’t help it. I just… I love saying it. I love the way it feels.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head slightly, but the warmth in her eyes told him she understood. “Well, I love hearing it. So I guess we’re both happy.”

Tyler leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then pulled back to look at her. “I promise, I’ll never get tired of calling you my wife.”

“And I’ll never get tired of being your wife,” she replied, her voice soft and sincere.

As the wind picked up and the first raindrops began to fall, Tyler knew they had to focus on the task at hand. But even as they ran to their positions, as the storm loomed ever closer, he couldn’t shake the joy that filled him every time he said that word.

Wife.

It was more than just a title; it was a promise, a declaration of his love, a reminder of the life they had chosen to build together. And no matter how many storms they faced, no matter how wild the weather got, Tyler knew that this was the one thing that would always anchor him, the one thing that mattered most.

As they stood side by side, ready to face whatever the storm would bring, Tyler took Y/N’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. And with a smile that reached his eyes, he whispered one last time, just for the two of them:

“My wife.”

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

[charlotte-zophie]

Therapy conversation

Dear Fandom, dear Mr. Gaiman,

I hope this isn´t weird but i have something to confess.

Since I watched the second season of Good Omens, I've gone through so many phases that I barely recognize myself anymore.

My first reaction after episode 6 was shock, then I was disturbed because I didn't know that it was possible for a series to have such a strong influence on my psyche, I questioned myself and doubted my sanity. Then I was overcome by an incredible sadness and was really heartbroken. I felt like a pubescent teenager, in my mid-30s. I couldn't sleep properly for several days, had nightmares and my thoughts were with these two ineffable loving idiots the whole time.

And the worst thing about it was that for the first few days I was really ashamed to admit to myself and my husband that I was completely and hopelessly immersed in this world. I did nothing but watch videos, listen to sad songs, and read heartbreaking fanfictions for days. And of course I read the book again and watched the series over and over again. All in the hope that it will ease my heartache a little.

But as is often the case in these situations, after a few days in which no real change occurs, you have the thought that you will be lost in this feeling forever. But since I have 3 children that I need to look after, of course locking myself away for weeks with heartbreak wasn't an option, so I had to find an outlet for myself to channel my pain.

So I started painting a picture. By Aziraphale and Crowley. And stroke by stroke I let my feelings flow out of me and into the picture.

It took over a week until I had a motif in which I could see my thoughts and feelings expressed and then it took another week until I finished the picture. On an old canvas with paints that haven't been used for a long time, with many, many layers of old paint underneath.

But when the picture was finally finished, it really took a load off my mind. It was like I had broken a dam and was finally able to let it all out and convert it into creative energy.

But I think the most important thing was that I uploaded the picture to Tumblr and received such a response that I was incredibly touched and immediately motivated to paint more pictures.

Since that day, hardly a moment goes by when I am not holding a pen in my hand or not thinking about a new picture. I'm in one of the most creative phases in a very long time and I'm really enjoying it.

I am so grateful for the wonderful people here! Here I see that I'm not alone with my strange feelings that I still don't really know how to classify. Here I read thoughts that are so similar to mine, here I see works of art that melt my heart, here I feel understood!

And I am so grateful for the pain that showed me the way back to my creative energy!

Thank you Fandom!

Thank you Neil Gaiman!

I would have been lost without you!

Because I don't know my way around here very well, I didn't think about pinning the picture in question as a link when I created this post, but since many people have asked about it, I've pinned it here. Thank you all, love love love