#the other .. no idea where i stand on that one
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how f1 drivers react
to girlfriend!reader wearing a necklace with their race number on it (some slightly suggestive lines included) (requested)
drivers mentioned: MV33, LN4, OP81, AA23, CS55, CL16, LH44, GR63



max verstappen
The sun shines in through the kitchen window in golden strings of light. It's a quiet day at home, with no plans till the afternoon and no need to hurry there. Still, you've already dressed yourself in a new summer dress you've bought. The material flows down over your hips, swishing as you turn in the mirror and then as you walk from your bedroom to the living room to show Max your chosen outfit. But you dress isn't the only new item you're wearing.
You'd bought it secretly. A suprise. One you hoped he'd love.
Max spots the necklace right away, his gaze flicking from your eyes, to the dress and then landing on it with a sudden, knowing smirk curling at his mouth. From where's he's sat on the couch, he leans in just a little, elbows on his knees and head resting on his upturned hand. His voice low and teasing as he speaks.
âWell, well, look at you,â he says, voice thick with amusement and something a bit more dangerous.
"You like my new dress?" You ask, giving him a quick spin, hands in the air for a moment and then settling on your waist. His gaze lingers over you with careful precision.
"Not the only new thing you've got on," he muses, tilting his head to the side slightly, "Where'd you get that?"
"Ordered it," you say simply, as if it were nothing at all, as you readjust the necklace chain.
âCareful, schat. Trying to make sure no one forgets who you belong to, huh?â
He stands, slowly, holding your gaze. He stalks towards you, one hand reaching out to hold your waist, the other fingering the chain of the necklace, his eyes lingering on the number and then dragging up to meet your gaze.
You catch the challenge in his eyes and flash him a grin in return. âMaybe I just like the idea of having you close, all the time.â
The teasing in his expression softens in an instant. His fingers gently brush the pendant as he looks at you, eyes warm and serious now.
âYeah,â he murmurs, voice softer, âI like the sound of that.â
He pulls you into a quick kiss, no dramatics, just the softnes of quiet love, then he lets his forehead rest against yours.
âYou don't know what you do to me,â he whispers into the small space between the two of you, his eyes resting closed like he's still processing the necklace and the dress. It's barely any distsnce at all, yet it feels like a mile. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.
"I think I've got some idea." You smile. He does too.
lando norris
He notices it while youâre lying beside each other on the couch, limbs tangled up together in a familar way, and watching some random movie you're only half paying attention to. It's background noise more than anything. You couldn't care less though, just being with Lando was enough to make you relax.
It's about halfway through the movie, with some museum scene plays across the screen, when he notices the new shiny necklace hanging around your neck.
âWaitâhang on. Is that⊠is that my number?â His voice, though scratchy and slow from tiredness, goes up slightly as he speaks. The little queaks of excitement in his words make you smile.
You can only nod, biting back a smile, desperate to see his reaction. You'd bought the necklace on a whim a few nights ago and were lucy it had arrived while Lando wasn't home. The fun was the suprise of it, after all.
He stretches forward for the remote, sat on the coffee table infront of you two, and pauses the movie dramatically.
âYou love me.â
You blink, a small laugh bubbling in your chest at his sudden and sombre declaration.
âI mean, yeah, obviouslyââ
âNo, no. This is serious,â he says, grinning from ear to ear like an madman, all teeth and dimples. âYou got a number four on your chest. Thatâs, like, actual dedication.â
You raise a brow, amused. âItâs just a necklace.â
âJust aâ?â He gasps, scandalised, hand to his chest and all, like youâve personally offended him. âThatâs my number. You realise what youâve done, right? Youâre basically branded now.â
âBranded?â
He nods solemnly, though his eyes are still sparkling with excitement. âYup. You wear that out and people are gonna know. Like, know know. I wonât even have to introduce you anymore. Theyâll see it and go, âAh, thatâs Landoâs girl.ââ
You can't help but laugh now, full bellied and joyful, and he grins wider as he hears it, if thatâs even possible.
He tackles you into the cushions, kissing your neck with soft pecks. âNext step: matching tattoos. Just saying.â
"Lando!" you cry out with a huff of amusement, knowing he's entirely joking.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding..." His quiet for a moment, then looks up at you again with a cheeky grin. "Unless..."
"Lando, no. If you want everyone to know youâre mine, I have a few other ways in mind..." Your hand reaches out to his collarbone, then traces soft lines up to his neck and jawline. Your touch is hot and familiar, slow and intentional. You can see him swallow hard as you do it.
"Oh, yeah? Maybe you could show me them. Just to make sure we're on the same page, love."
oscar piastri
Coffee dates with Oscar are a constant in your life. There's a small shop around the corner from his place that you love to visit on quiet, sunny days. When the sun rose that morning, seemingly shinning brighter than normal, and with a particually joyful sparkle, you knew it was a coffee date day.
It was the perfect time to show Oscar your new piece of jewellery.
He notices the necklace while youâre talking, halfway through a sip of his coffee, eyes slipping from your gaze to the number hanging around you neck. The unexpected, but not undesired, sight causes him to do a double take.
âWaitâŠâ he leans in, interupting your sentence, though you don't mind. You only smile softly as he squints slightly, slowly taking in the sight infront of him, then blinks up at you with slight disbelief. âIs that... 81. My number?â
You nod just once, a little shy, and pick up the charm that dangle from the end of the chain, holding it closer for him to see. He leans in to meet you halfway. But before you can say anything else, a deep blush spreads across his face. He cheeks go an adorable shade of pink as you watch the cogs turn in his brain.
His mouth opens like he has a joke ready, but nothing comes out except a breathy little laugh.
âThatâs⊠kinda cute,â he mutters, eyes still fixed on it like heâs really trying to quickly process all the implications of you going outside wearing his number so casually. âBut, like, uh, cool cute. Really cool.â He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.
When you smile and say itâs because you like having him close all the time, he looks down, shaking his head with a small, dimply smile. The blush on his cheeks remains, though he looks less caught off guard than before.
âYouâre gonna make me soft,â he murmurs, his hands reaching out to hold yours across the table. Then under his breath, he adds, âWill you wear it to the race next week? Please. Even just under your jumper.â
You agree, of course. You hadn't bought the necklace to hide it away, and you tell him as much. Your words just make him smile and pull you hand closer towards him to plant a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Then it's your turn to blush, squeezing his hand with a smile.
And when you do wear it the next week, proudly walking into the paddock hand in had with Oscar, his smile is brighter than any coffee date day sun has ever been.
carlos sainz
Carlos, the gentleman that he is, loved to plan spontaneous dates. One more occasions than one, what you thought was going to be a quiet night at home had turned into the romantic night out. Candles on resturant tables, hands holding your and taking out the chair for you, the whole deal. Which was how you once again found yourself picking out a fancy outfit, wit no idea which resterant you were going to.
It was sweet of him, though you did wish you had a little more to go on than just wear something pretty, not so hard you you, yes? to go off of while trying to pick your outfit. Settling on an old favourite outfit, you slipped into it with ease, only calling Carlos in when you realised you needed help zipping up the back. Upon hearing his name, he pattered into the room obediently, already dressed in his dress shirt and pants, look perfectly put together.
"Gorgeous, cariño," he whispered into your ear after doing as you asked, "Anything else you need, my love?"
With a barely concelled smirk, you went over to your jewellery box and pulled out your new necklace.
"Help me put this on?" you asked innocently, walking over to him, placing it delicately in his hand and turning around, patiently awaiting his reaction.
âÂżQuĂ© es esto?â he asks, his voice light and breathy.
You smile, though it's more of a smirk than anything, but don't turn around. âA little something I got, it's new.â
âNumber fifty five?â he says, fingertips ghosting along the back of your neck as he put it on for you, then settling his touch onto your hips to admire your outfit in the mirrors reflection, his head resting on your shoulder. âDios mĂo, Iâve turned you into a fangirl, hm?â
âI've always been a fan.â
His brows lift, amused and smug, head tilted slightly to the side. âOf me? Or just the accent?
âMostly the arms,â you quip, resting your hands ontop of his.
He laughs, pulling you closer and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. âThatâs permanent, right? Not just for today? Because I kind of love seeing my number right there.â
âSo everyone will know I'm yours?â you joke, voice light.
He kisses your temple, voice low. âSĂ. I like it that way. I'm yours. And you're mine.â
alex albon
Heâs on his way out the door, backpack on and car keys in hand, when he finally notices it hanging from your neck.
You had it on all day and waited patiently at breakfast, then on your walk together, then through lunch, and then while he was getting ready to leave your apartment. for him to notice, but he simply hadnât. The whole day. That was, until now.
You we're glad he finally had, you would have hated to have spoiled the fun and justed showed it to him yourself after going through all the trouble of buying it secretly and hiding in in the back of your pjamama drawer.
Oh, well. At least he had spotted it before leaving, now the fun could begin.
His mouth drops open into the perfect little âoâ shape as he stares at the little shinny 23 hanging down from around your neck. His eyes are glued to the necklace, one outstretched finger pointing at it.
âWait, what is that?â
You smile, and wave your hands around it with fluttering fingers. âA new necklace. Nice, right?â
He squints, then closes the front door softly and steps closer to you. âIs that my number?â
âDonât let it get to your head.â You smirk, and tilt your head slightly to the side, trying to hold in your laugh at the stunned, suprised look on his face.
He dramatically clutches his chest, standing right in front of you now. âToo late. Youâve turned me into a puddle. I've melted.â
Then he leans in, eyes glowing with mischief as his hands reach out to grab your upper arms. âJust promise me one thing. Please?â
His voice drips with glee.
âWhat?â
âIf someone, some guy, ever comes up to you in public... ask for your number or something, you better point to that necklace, and then say my name. Clearly. Loudly. Alex. Alex Albon. 23. Got it? Yeah?â
You roll your eyes, laughing at his bright smile. âYouâre unbelievable."
âUnbelievably lovable, yes. Hence you having my number arounf your neck.â
You could only laugh harder at his smug expression and mock dramatic tone. After pressing a soft kiss to his lips, you reply, "You're so stupid. Truly.â
"Stupidly in love with you? Definitely."
"You're lucky I love you too."
"Luckiest guy in the world, I know."
charles leclerc
You'd been wearing it for a few days already, under jumpers and high necked shirts. it felt like a little secret, a constant reminder that Charles was with you even when we wasn't actually next to you. You weren't exactly keeping it a secret, per say, but you hadn't yet put it on display.
He notices it at the most random time, while youâre brushing your teeth, hair up, wearing one of his old shirts. The collor of the shirt, well-worn and stretch, dipped over your collarbone and revealling the shiny little necklace you were wearing under neither..
He squints, rubbing his eye from tiredness, or maybe slight disbelief. âSixteen?â
You nod around a mouthful of toothpaste, toothbrush sticking out one side of your mouth, the edge of your lips curling up into a small smirk.
âMon dieu,â he mutters, half teasing, half stunned, coming to stand behind you and wrapping his arms around possessively around your waist. He rests his weight onto you, curling into your warmth. âYouâre more sentimental than me.â
You spit, rinse, and smile, Charles never moving from his place behind you. It's a purely domestic scene, a moment that reminds you how comfortbale you exist in eachother's orbit. âI wanted something cute to remind me of you. Something to keep with me when your away.â
He watches you through the mirror, soft eyes watching you move with a tired ease, hands pressing comforting circles into your hips. A constant warm presence. âYou should have told me, I would loved to buy it for you. You deserve many pretty things, chĂ©rie.â
You lean back into him, letting his body mold to yours. You fit perfectly into eachothers embrace.
âI didnât need you to buy it,â you murmur, reaching down to toy with the charm. âIt felt more special this way. Like it was mine to choose.â
He hums into the crook of your neck, nose brushing softly against your skin. âStill,â he says, voice low and a little hoarse from sleep, âI wouldâve added matching earrings. A whole Charles Leclerc collection.â
You snort, turning around to look him in the eyes, hands reaching out to hold his face between your palms. âI donât need anything else. Just you.â
His expression shifts, tender and quietly overcome. He presses a slow kiss to your lips, then you forehead, and pulls you against him. âYou have me. Even when Iâm not here. Especially then.â
Thereâs a pause. A quiet that isnât awkward or heavy, just full of feeling. He looks down at the necklace again, then back at you with a soft smile, one you only ever see when he's looking at you.
Charles sighs, breath warm and ticklish against your skin. âSixteen looks good on you,â he says eventually. And those simple words hold within them a hundred different meanings you can't wait to dream about all night.
"I'll have to wear it more often, then," you say simply, and the words make him smile even wider.
lewis hamilton
You and Lewis had gotten to the truly domestic era of your relationship. You had keys to each otherâs apartments, and you knew you could let yourselves into each other's spaces. So when Lewis texted you, saying he had work to do at home, but you were welcome to come and sit with him while he did it, exist in his orbit for the afternoon, you were soon letting yourself in his front door. Any chance to spend time with Lewis was an opportunity you took, escpeccialy given his busy schedule.
Lewis notices it the second you walk in, even if you donât realise heâs looking. Heâs lounging on the sofa with his laptop resting on his lap, reading something, probably reviewing data notes or one of the endless supply of emails he recieved, but the moment his eyes flick up and land on your necklace, all his focus slips away from him.
He closes the laptop slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, subtle and calm. The kind of smile that makes your chest ache with warmth and familiarity. Lewis' smiles had a way of making you feel whole.
âThatâs for me?â he asks gently, nodding toward your necklace. His voice is quiet, curious. His gaze lingers on the number, just visible beneath the open collar of your shirt.
You glance down, fingers brushing over it self-consciously. âI thought it suited me,â you say, only half teasing.
He stands, putting the laptop on the coffee table infront of him, and crosses the room with unhurried ease.
One hand comes up to cradle the charm between his fingers, his thumb gliding over the number as though memorising it by touch.
âIt suits you better than me,â he murmurs, a hint of joking in his tone, eyes lifting to yours. "Iâm flattered.â
"Flattered?" you said, giggling slightly at his word choice.
"Well, yeah. A pretty girl is wearing my number, how else should I feel?" He lets the necklace fall back against your skin, then adds with a little smirk, âMight need to get something with your initials now. Yâknow, to keep things balanced.â
You smirk, letting your hand rest on his chest. âWhat, like a bracelet? Property of...â
âNecklace. Tattoo. Your name embroidered on my socks... Iâm not picky.â He shrugs and sighs dramatically, clearly enthralled by his own joke.
You lean into his embrace, shaking your head as he pulls you into a sweet kiss, his arms wrapping around you with familiar ease and comfort.
âYouâre such a sap,â you murmured into his hoodie, resting your head on his chest as you speak.
âAnd youâre mine,â he said, grinning down at you, hand lingering on your lower back. âSo I think weâre even.â
george russell
Itâs a lazy Sunday morning spent at your usual breakfast spot. Just off a main road, the quiet atmosphere was the perfect place to unwind and relax on a slow morning. You were dressed casually, sunglasses pushed up on your head for look more than necessity, and your new favorite necklace catching the light and resting around your neck. The necklace, more than anything, you hoped heâd notice.
You slide into the booth across from him, pressing a kiss to his cheek first before sitting down, dropping your bag and stretching your arms out in front of you with a sleepy smile. You hadn't arrived together, George having to go to an extra early meeting and you prefering to sleep in on such a gorgeous morning. But it made it the perfect time to show off the new addition to your jewellery collection.
George doesnât say anything at first, but you watch as his eyes widen slightly as he spots it. Instead of immediately reacting, he takes a slow moment to sip his coffee, watching you with that knowing look that makes your stomach flip.
Then, with a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, he tilts his head and says, âYouâre really trying to make this obvious, huh?â
You glance across at him, shrugging and feigning confusion. âI don't know what you mean.â
He gestures toward your necklace with his half-finished coffee. âThe whole âIâm madly in love with a certain F1 driverâ energy youâve got going on with that necklace.â
You laugh, resting your chin on your upturned hand. âMaybe I just thought it looked cute. Favourite number. Totally nothing to do with you, sorry.â
âMm,â he hums, matching your posture with his head on his own hand and leaning towards you slightly with a growing grin. âOr maybe you just wanted the world to know youâre taken.â
âThink it's working?â
âOh, definitely,â he says, eyes gleaming and a light edge colouring his words. âBut now Iâm going to have to step up my game. Watch out. I might start wearing your initials. Embroidered. Everywhere. Just to make sure everyone knows I'm definitely off the market.â
You snort at his dramatics, but match his teasing tone. âGeorge Russell, turning up to the paddock with my name monogrammed onto his fireproofs? Oh, the scandal!â
He grins, and laughs as he leans back in his chair. âYou think I wonât?â
You roll your eyes and sigh, but youâre blushing now, and he can see it. He reaches across the table to tap your necklace gently with one finger and intertwined your hands with the other.
âIt looks good on you,â he says, voice quieter now, sincere, like itâs a secret he doesn't want the rest of the room to hear. âI like knowing you carry a little piece of me around with you.â
Your smile softens, the moment suddenly feeling much softer than before. âI always do. Not just the necklace.â
He grins, like heâs won something more important than a race. âStill getting the monogrammed suit, though.â
âYouâre such a menace.â
âA menace in love,â he says proudly, then flags down the waiter like nothing's happened.
taglist: @verogonewild
(comment if you would like to be added!)
#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#max verstappen#lando norris#oscar piastri#charles leclerc#lewis hamilton#alex albon#carlos sainz#george russell#george russel x reader#max verstappen x reader#lando norris x reader#oscar piastri x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#carlos sainz x reader#alex albon x reader#chalres leclerc x reader#x you#x reader fanfic#imagines#how they would react#my fic#fluff#necklace with their number on it#f1 fluff#sweet fic
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I LOVE your writing for oscar!!! if ur reqs are open, could you consider writing about playing like truth or dare with him and the other drivers. and then one of the dares is to sit on oscarâs lap (but you end up feeling something hard against your skirtâŠâŠ. itâs too bad you enjoy teasing oscar)

Warnings: smut! 18+, panties as a gag, exhibition/voyeurism

A blackout kept you all inside Landoâs apartment. You, Charles, Oscar, Max Fewtrell, Carlos, and Alex were all there originally because he wanted you all to try is cooking. (You all lived in the same complex and Lando often took advantage of that).
But now you were all sat in a circle, relying on Landoâs record breaking count of two candles and all of your phones flashlights.
Of course it was Lando who brought up the idea of truth or dare.
âTruth or dare?â Lando asked you, a dangerous spark of evil shimmering in his eye.
You rolled your eyes before picking dare.
âI dare you toâŠâ his eyes danced around the room. âsit on the hottest guy in the roomâs lap.â
Grinning, you got to your feet. You maintained eye contact with him, walked right up to him like he was your pick, the sat down in Oscarâs lap right beside him.
Even in the dim lighting, it was easy to make out Landoâs shocked expression. Charles laughed loudly.
âHim? Are you serious?!â Lando screeched.
You waved a dismissive hand through the air. You ignored his protests and turned the question on him.
âTruth.â He chose.
âDid you want me to choose you?â Your voice was low, teasing, dangerous.
âI pick dare.â
Laughs rang out. âNot how the game works.â Carlos reminded him.
He chewed his cheek. âYes.â He muttered.
âOuch.â You hissed.
He moved on quickly, selecting Charles to ask.
You leaned into Oscar, your mouth ghosting by his ear. âThis okay with you?â You whispered. You knew it was. Youâve felt him growing harder and harder underneath you since you sat down. And your skirt had ridden up since youâd sat down, so the only thing stopping you from dripping all over his shorts was your thin lacy panties. You shifted and heart the catch of his breath in response.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. âYeah,â his voice was hoarse, like all his energy was going into not doing something about how solid he was.
You shifted again, rolled your hips deliberately. The only indication of it affecting him was his shaky exhale.
The game continued. Charles attempted a cartwheel. Alex deep throated a banana. Max kissed Lando. Entertaining stuff.
But Oscar was too occupied to pay attention to any of it. Your squirming was insistent, and he was sure it was purposeful. He was clenching his jaw so tight he thought he might break his teeth. It got to a point where he thought he might actually cum in his shorts, then he grabbed your hips and held you in place.
âYou think this is funny?â He muttered, his voice hot.
You smirked. âLando in a dress? Absolutely.â Playing dumb.
Heâd had enough, grabbing your hand without a warning and marching down the hall to the guest bedroom. He locked the door, but that didnât stop Lando from banging on it and questioning what the hell oscar was going in there.
He ignored his teammate, shoving his pants down to his ankles. He bent you over the bed. âTell me to stop.â He warned.
âDonât.â You wiggled your ass to entice him.
Your arms were pinned behind your back, both your wrists in his one hand. He slammed into you, gagging you with the panties heâd ripped off of you. Whatever, your moans were still echoing off the walls while he fucked you like you owed it to him. I guess in a way you did.
âTheyâre all listening,â he groaned as he felt you tighten around him. âYeah? You like that?â
He slammed into you particularly rough, earning a muffled, âyes!â
âOscar youâre washing those sheets!â
âHear that? They know what weâre doing and theyâre still standing there.â He laughed when you squeezed him again, kissing along your exposed neck. Your nails dug into your hands. âDo you think Landoâs recording so he can get off to the sound of your pretty moans later?â He grunted into your ear as he bumped your cervix. âHe wanted you. But who did you pick?â
Your eyes were rolling to the back of your foggy head. The pleasure was blinding, better than youâve ever felt before. âYou,â the confession was muffled. He pulled the gag from your mouth, sopping wet now.
âSorry, what was that?â
âYou, I picked you Oscar,â you sighed out, âclose! âM gonna-hmph fuckâ
âYou think you deserve to cum?â He whispered, his voice rough.
You nodded quickly. âPlease, please, please,â you panted.
âWell, since you gave the guys something nice to listen to-â
Fingers found your clit, pressing, circling. Your vision went white as you came. You bit your lip, trying not to be so loud. Still, small hah, hm, mhph escaped.
There was no warning before Oscar came inside of you, filling you with his cum. Hearing muffled, you hadnât heard him moan your name.
When you both finally came to your senses, you started to panic. âOh, oh fuck oh no, Landoâs going to be so pissed! We shouldnât have- Oscar!â You scolded him as he stood there grinning like heâd just won the lottery.
You had no idea that he thought you were a better prize than a lottery win.
He walked out first. The lights were on. The power had come back while you two were busy. Everyone else went home. Lando sat on the living room sofa.
Rounding the sofa to stand in front of him, you both realized he was in nothing but a pair of black boxers. A wet patch and a bulging tent.
âWell, you both did this to me.â He shrugged. âSo you gonna fix it?â
You licked your lips. You and Oscar turned to each other at the same time, giving each other the same hungry look.
#f1#formula 1#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#f1 blurb#f1 fluff#f1 x you#op81#f1 smut#oscar piastri blurb#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x fem!reader#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri one shot#oscar piastri x you
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something new

summary - you meet harry at a festival and have a bit of fun
pairing - harry styles x stranger!reader
word count - ~1.5k
âWhere are you?â Your friend, Lea, shouted down the phone just so you could hear her over the loud music.
âIâm coming back with drinks now.â You shouted back, slightly tipsy from the amount of beer you had been drinking.
You and your two best friends, Lea and Hallie, had decided to come to the LIDO festival last minute.
Your outfits were as cheap as the tickets, but you were having the best time. The music was fun but you definitely needed a drink or two to get through it.
âOkay, come quick! We miss you!â Lea shouted.
âMiss you queen!â Hallie shouted too.
âWho are you missing?â Someone else shouted in the background, to which there were a bunch of inaudible screams from your friends.
âHello?â You tried pushing through the crowds and back to your friends.
âCome back Y/N! We all miss you!â You had no idea who shouted that, but the phone call disconnected before you could find out. Hopefully your friends were okay.
It took you another ten minutes to push back through the crowds.
At least the drinks survived though.
Three beers were going to have to last you all at least another two hours, because there was no way you were going back through those crowds again anytime soon.
âLea!â You shouted as you got closer.
You couldnât see Hallie because she was talking ever so closely to a girl. She was cute and definitely Hallieâs type.
Lea turned to you and pulled your arm to help you through the wedges of large men.
âYouâre back!â She screamed excitedly.
âHere you go.â You handed her a beer and kept ahold of Hallieâs for the moment - no need to interrupt her moment.
The music was even louder here down next to the stage, but this is somehow where you managed to grab a spot.
You checked that your bag was still across your chest and immediately got back to dancing with Lea.
The beer wasnât great but it would do.
You danced around whilst Lea full-on belted the lyrics to whatever song was playing. You werenât fully comprehensive in this genre of music, but you were happy to be here for the experience.
You took another sip of your drink before Hallie came over and snatched hers from your other hand, giving you a kiss on the cheek in thanks.
You winked at her as she went back to the girl.
At least one of you three were getting some excitement tonight.
To be fair, Lea had her boyfriend at home so she would no doubt be waking him up later to have fun.
That just left you.
Luckily you were broken from that self wallowing thought as someone came up to you, emerging from the crowds.
âYou must be Y/N!â The guy shouted, cap pointing low on his face so you couldnât see him entirely.
âWhoâs asking?â
The guy tipped his hat back and shock washed over your face to see Harry fucking Styles standing in front of you.
âHoly shit.â You said out loud, not having meant to.
Harry laughed.
âY/N?â
âYeah.â You smiled, feeling more assured that it wasnât some creep who was calling your name.
âHarry.â He held out his hand for you and you shook it.
He had nice hands.
That wasnât creepy to say. His fingers were rings free and they were so soft. You couldnât help but blush and smile at the touch of him. He looked like he was having the same physical reaction.
âNice to meet you.â You said.
âAnd you.â
You took another sip of your beer, not knowing where or how to steer the conversation next.
âWhat is it?â Harry pointed to your drink.
âJust a local beer, I think.â You said after swallowing, âWanna try?â
You handed over the beer to him, both your hands getting the opportunity to touch again. He thanked you as he brought the drink to his lips and you couldnât help but watch how his lips balanced on the edge of your cup.
He looked so pretty, wow.
You couldnât believe that Harry Styles was drinking your beer at a random summer festival.
He nodded after he had finished, giving it the seal of approval.
âGood?â
âYeah.â He smiled.
âWanna share?â You offered as he gave it back to you.
âOkay.â He nodded.
A new song came on and you knew this one.
Lea and Hallie came over to you because they knew this was one of your favourite songs. You had such great friends.
âHere.â Harry offered to hold your drink so you could dance with your friends.
You three all held hands and then danced like there was no one else here. The kind of dancing you would usually reserve for your bedroom or cleaning the house. None of you had it in you to care how crazy you looked though, because you felt so free.
After the song was over Hallie hugged you both before returning to her new smiling girl. Lea told you she was going to attempt to face-time her boyfriend. That left you to get close to Harry again.
âThanks.â You said as he handed your drink back, needing to take a big sip after your dancing.
âItâs alright.â
âWhy arenât you performing tonight?â
âCanât be a singer all the time.â He shrugged.
âShame. I wouldâve loved to see you up there.â You smiled, pretty sure that you were attempting to flirt.
âOh yeah?â He smiled, showing his pretty dimples to you.
âMhm. Is it okay to admit I came to see Love on Tour?â
âOf course.â He nodded.
âThree times.â
He laughed at that.
âWell, Iâm flattered.â
âYou should be. Youâre great.â You gave him your best admiring eyes, returning your gave from him to the stage so that you could give yourself a moment to reset your blush.
You felt Harry come and stand close at your back.
You turned slightly to see his hand ghosting over your back as if he wanted to keep you close but wasnât sure where to toe the line.
You helped him out by reaching behind you to bring his hand forward and place it on your right hip, his body bumping a little into you from behind.
Harry settled nicely.
His hand immediately went firm on your hip, his fingers spreading to keep your balance against him.
Your body swayed as another song came. Harry swayed along with you.
Hallie caught your gaze from across the way and gave you an excited, silent, scream and you couldnât help but smile and shake your head at the bizarreness of it all.
You turned your head to the side so you could see Harry, âYou here alone?â
âNo. My friends are over there.â He nodded his head over to where Lea was speaking to some guys âTheyâre both married, donât worry.â
âLea is close to being too.â
âAh congrats to her.â
You couldnât bring yourself to turn back around to the stage now that you had your gaze set on Harry. Why would you want to?
Harry kept his head tilted down to watch you intensely, pursing his lips as he watched you bite the corner of yours.
âWhat?â You asked with a giggle.
He just shook his head with a smirk.
âNo, what?â
âYouâre very pretty.â He answered softly and even though the music was way louder than him, you could still hear him perfectly.
âSo are you.â
âPretty enough to kiss?â
Your jaw dropped a little over his preposition. He was so smooth, but you didnât want to boost his potential ego by telling him.
âI suppose.â
âOh you do, do you?â He raised his eyebrows in jest.
You simply nodded, but you turned your body so that your chest was against his now. Your hand came up to cup his cheek and you still felt his hand on your other hip now. He hadnât let go.
Harry leant his head down to meet you half way, leaving you to finish the rest of the distance or back away if you wanted to - but you definitely didnât want that second option. Instead, you leant up and cupped the back of his neck to guide his lips to yours.
The music blended into the background as you closed your eyes and all you could feel was Harry.
His body pulled yours to his and you felt yourself moulding your lips and body in tandem with his.
His cap got slightly in the way but neither of you minded, kissing around the obstacles.
The kiss was sweet and firm, but he pulled away before anything intense could happen. As soon as he pulled away though he realised what he was missing, so he pulled you back for one more kiss.
You both stayed close to each other, smiling like two kids in love and not two strangers whoâd just met.
âYou planning to stay for all the music acts?â He asked hoarsely, like he still hadnât caught his breath back.
âMaybe. I could be persuaded otherwise.â You suggested.
âGood to know.â He pursed his lips so he could taste your lipstick again - cherry - before going in for another kiss.
Your arms reached up behind his neck to hold him closer this time, feeling his hands keep ahold of your waist. He didnât want you slipping away from him, but neither did you want to.
Your lips pressed urgently into his, both of you tasting like the beer youâd been sharing. His moustache and beard hairs tickled your skin, but felt good.
Harry breathed into the kiss, causing you to lean further into him just to chase his lips.
Your face tilted the other way to kiss him better, but you got fed up at one point and brought a hand up to move his cap around so it was now on backwards. It was easier to kiss him without a bumping restriction.
Harry laughed at your move.
âWhat?â You smiled as he smiled at you.
âNothing.â He kissed you again. âThis feel alright?â
âNothingâs felt better.â That probably sounded desperate, but at this point you didnât care.
âVery much agree.â He laughed and kissed you once more - or twice.
Harryâs arm slunk around your waist to bring you close to his side and you wrapped your arm around his waist too. You probably looked like a couple, but you were happy to pretend for the evening.
The song changed again to something that made Harry cheer, pointing towards his friends who cheered too.
His friends and Lea came over, Lea internally screaming at you for whatever had just happened between you and Harry.
You tucked your head onto Harryâs chest to get away from her shocked stare. Harry only pulled you closer in.
Harry bounced along to the song with his friends and you laughed as you watched him enjoy himself.
The joy was overwhelming and you couldnât help but feel like something new had just begun.
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfic#ask finelinevogue#harry blurb#harry styles concept#harry oneshot#harry styles blurbs#harry styles fic rec#harry styles fic
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Hi hi!!! I was wondering if I can throw in my request? I made sure to not go aginst you're rules but if there was some rules I dident see then ignore this then and im sorry. I was hoping to reqest a reverse harem?
In this request, 3 elder Yautja males are mated for life with (Y/N) who is a human. One day, while they are walking through the forest to hunt, their human lover stops and freezes. They know humans are prey even on their world, so seeing their partner acting like very alarms them.
So, (Y/N) sees something, like a face pattern or maybe the uncanny valley since we have evolved to see that. How will our 3 elder boys act when (Y/N) suddenly stops, freezes and sees somthing they can't (Even if it is nearly impossible).
Sorry if this is a long request, ignore if it is to big. (Y/N) is female though, you can turn them male if you want to, I don't mind. Stay safe irl :)
Hi,
I actually liked this idea a lot, I hope youâll like the story I made out of it as well!
Here you go, take care and stay safeđ«¶đ»
Three Elder Yautjas x Female reader
Unseen Danger
The forest was alive with the quiet hum of nature. Birds chirped distantly, the wind whispered through ancient trees, and the earth beneath their feet felt alive and sacred. Three massive figures moved through the dense greenery with the grace and power of predators born to hunt. Their armor was scarred, their presence undeniable Elder Yautjas, each one marked by countless battles, their dreadlocks dusted with silver and streaked with dark blood.
Kaârath the oldest, Brâkan the second and Xul the youngest.
Between them walked their most treasured prize, not a trophy won through blood, but through bond. Among all their victories, she was the one they guarded most fiercely, a human, fragile by comparison but fierce beyond measure. She carried herself like a queen, her senses sharper than any human had a right to be, honed by years living with these legendary hunters. Her heart beat steady in her chest, her eyes wide and alert. But then she stopped.
Suddenly, she froze mid-step, breath hitching in her throat. The three elders halted immediately, their bodies tightening like coiled springs, eyes flicking to her with an urgency that turned the air thick with tension.
âShe is not moving.â
Rumbled Kaârath, his helm scanning her vital signs.
âShe is afraid,â
Growled Brâkan, already unslinging his blade from his back.
âHeart rate high. Adrenaline spike.â
Xul, the quietest of them, stepped closest. He reached out a large, clawed hand to her shoulder but paused just before touching her. His voice, low and gravel-deep, spoke in Yautja.
âYou are safe. Speak.â
But she didnât move.
Her eyes were locked forward â wide, unblinking. Unseen to the others, nestled in the brush of trees ahead, something looked back. It didnât breathe. It didnât move. But her primal instincts screamed. The pattern on the tree bark was too symmetrical. The shadows too perfect. The face wasnât right.
âI see it..â
She whispered. Xulâs mandibles clicked open in immediate warning. âWhere?â
âThere,â
She said, and her voice was not her own. Distant.
âItâs⊠looking.â
Brâkan moved to stand in front of her, shielding her with his massive body. Kaârath dropped into a crouch, aiming his shoulder-mounted cannon into the thicket.
âThere is nothing,â
He growled, frustrated.
âShe sees what we do not,â
Xul said darkly.
âIt may not be for our eyes.â
She flinched. A shiver traced her spine. Then it was gone. Her body slumped forward. Brâkan caught her before she hit the ground. His grip was firm, grounding her. Her breath steadied, the fear draining from her limbs like venom from a bite. But something still lingered in her chest. Xul touched her cheek gently, claws soft against her flushed skin.
âYou saw the Unseen.â
âI donât know what I saw,â
She admitted, voice small.
âBut it saw me too.â
Kaârath growled and activated a full scan of the area.
âNo sound. No movement. Nothing physical⊠We will not allow you to walk in danger.â
âWe are hunters,â
Brâkan said fiercely.
âBut she is ours and we are herâs. We will hunt anything that dares to threaten her. Even if it is not flesh.â
They circled her as they resumed the path weapons drawn, senses on edge. The forest suddenly felt colder, the light dimmer, but with the three elders standing beside her, the impossible fear began to crumble into fierce determination, and whatever lingered in the dark?
It knew she was protected.
#elder yautja#yautja x reader#yautja x human#yautja fanfic#predator x reader#predator fanfiction#yautja predator#predator yautja#monster fudger#monster x reader#monster fic#monster x human#monster yautja
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â â â â â â â áŻ Ę Filthy child II Ę
âžș Authors note ; Yandere! platonic! batfam x Neglected! fem! reader. Potential disturbing wordings/descriptions. This is meant to be psychological horror, with angst. Viewers discretion is advised. Usage of Y/N, M/N (mothers name) English isnt my first language. wc: 2,2k Not beta read. IM SORRY THIS WAS KIND OF RUSHED. I HAVE EXAMS (à© ;ÂŽ - `;)à©. âžș directory ; Previous, next
The halls of Wayne Manor had always been quietâbut tonight, they felt hollow.
The silence didnât settle. It pressed. Heavy, suffocating, like a weight laid over the entire estate. Even the grandfather clock in the hall, usually a steady and familiar tick in the rhythm of the night, felt like it had forgotten its purpose. The seconds came too slow. Or too fast. Or not at all. Bruce couldnât tell anymore.
He sat alone in the study, surrounded by flickering shadows that danced like ghosts against the walls. The fire in the hearth burned low, casting little warmth, only lightâand even that felt artificial. It illuminated the room like a stage, like a place where something terrible had just ended, or was about to begin.
He hadnât moved in hours. He didnât know when he had last slept. He couldnât remember what had brought him here in the first placeâwhether it was instinct, or memory, or some subconscious hope that sitting in this room would somehow bring her back.
The call came just past midnight.
The ringtone echoed too loud in the dark, shrill and sharp like a scalpel. He stared at the name on the screen for a long time. Gordon.
He didnât want to answer.
Some part of him already knew.
Still, his fingers moved automatically, lifting the phone to his ear. There was a brief silence on the other end, followed by a breath, and thenâ
âSheâs dead, Bruce. Iâm sorry. [M/N] is dead.â
The words didnât sound real.
They didnât feel sharp, or sudden, or cruel.
They came slow. Soft.
As if wrapped in cotton, cushioned to protect something fragile.
But there was no protection. Not from this.
Bruce didnât speak. Didnât blink. The firelight flickered across his face, but his expression didnât change. Not right away.
It wasnât real.
It couldnât be.
â[M/N] is gone.â
Gordon repeated it like a priest offering last rites. Final. Definitive.
But Bruceâs mind rejected it instantly.
No. That wasnât possible.
She had been angry, yes. Distant. She had left himâLeft to be with another man years agoâ But that didnât mean she was gone. That didnât mean she was⊠dead.
He tried to find his voice, but when it came, it didnât sound like his own.
âIt canât be her,â he said, hollow and mechanical, as if reading lines from a play. âYouâve made a mistake.â
He clung to that idea like it was oxygen. Mistaken identity. Wrong file. Someone elseâs name on the report. There had been a mix-upâthere had to be.
Gordonâs voice softened, but it didnât waver.
He knew that tone. It was the same one Gordon used when delivering news that shattered people. That tone wasnât used for lies.
âIâm sorry. Itâs her. We confirmed it.â
Bruceâs hand tightened around the phone until his knuckles whitened.
His vision blurred, not from tears, but from the kind of pressure that builds behind your eyes when something inside you breaks and refuses to show it.
The fire crackled in the hearth. The sound was so familiar, so normal, that it felt obscene. Everything around him was the sameâthis room, this chair, the hum of the old manorâbut something vital had been ripped out from underneath it all. And the world just kept going.
Gordon spoke again, quieter this time.
âShe has a daughter, Bruce. A young girl. She⊠she doesnât have anyone else.â
The words struck deeper than the first blow.
Bruce closed his eyes.
Of course she had a daughter.
Their daughter.
The one [M/N] had carried in silence. Had raised alone. Had hidden from this city, from this life, from him.
He remembered the way she used to stand in the doorway of their bedroom, one hand resting on her stomach, the other clutching her robe closed as if it could shield her from the future. She lied. Saying it was a stomach ache. But he knew better. Because he knew there were things she never said aloudâfears, hopes, quiet heartbreaksâbut he saw it in her eyes. The way she looked at him like she was already saying goodbye.
âShe needs you,â Gordon said again. âSheâs your responsibility now.â
That wordâresponsibilityâhit harder than he expected. Like an accusation dressed up as mercy.
He stood abruptly, knocking over the chair behind him. The clatter echoed in the room, sharp and final.
âNo,â he said, breathless. âIâm not her father.â
He said it like a curse, like if he said it with enough certainty, the truth would rearrange itself to obey.
But even as the words left his mouth, he could feel the lie in them.
He could see herâ[M/N]âin his mind. Smiling that tired, sad smile she wore the day she left. And he could see the child now too, in flickers and fragments. A girl with [M/N]âs mouth and his eyes.
That was the part that terrified him the most.
Not that the girl existed. But that she might look at him the same way her mother once didâwith too much trust. With too much hope. With something like love.
Because if she looked at him like that, he didnât know if he could survive it.
He didnât know if he could let her go.
Sterile walls wrapped around you like a second skinâcold, impersonal, suffocating.
The kind of cold that didnât just sit on your skin but seeped into your marrow. The kind that pretended to be clean, but only masked the rot beneath.
Machines sang a song you never wanted to learn. A flat, mechanical lullaby that buzzed against your skull like gnats. Too loud to ignore, too hollow to comfort.
Everything beeped in rhythm, but none of it felt alive.
Harsh white lights flickered above, humming like a stage show performed just for you.
Too bright. Too artificial. They cast shadows in all the wrong places, made even your hands look unfamiliar.
It had been three days since you opened your eyes.
Three days since you were dragged out of whatever haunted dream your body had escaped to.
Three days of voices too soft, hands too gentle, smiles too wide.
The nurses were kind. Sweet, even.
They brushed your hair back like you were glass.
Tucked your blankets like they were afraid youâd vanish.
Whispered words your mother never would have said.
And you hated them for it.
Not loudly. Not openly.
But in the quiet ways children hate things they donât understand.
You recoiled from their kindness like it was acid. Because it wasnât hers.
Because no one was her.
No one else could hum that cracked lullaby.
No one else could cradle you with rough hands and a heart too bruised to beat cleanly.
No one else could love you the way she didâflawed, fevered, terrifying.
You didnât want anyone else to try.
So you waited.
You waited for him.
Your âfather.â
The word tasted foreign on your tongue.
Awkward.
Mismatched.
Like a puzzle piece that didnât fit, no matter how hard you pushed. But the nurses said he was coming. That he had been called. That his name was Bruce Wayne.
You didnât fail to recognize the name.
How could you not?
Especially when it had been whispered in the dark of your childhood, slurred between sips of liquor and choked sobs. Escaping from your motherâs lips like a curse. Or a prayer.
And every time she said it, something in her changed. Her eyes would glass over, her mouth twistânot in grief, but in something quieter. Sicker.
You remembered how she'd go silent afterward. How her fingers would tremble around the bottle. How sheâd stare at nothing for hours.
Bruce Wayne.
You mouthed it now in the dark, like you were trying it on. Seeing how it felt in your throat.
And it didnât feel right.
It felt like poison.
Like the reason your mother stopped smiling.
Like the thing that hollowed her out from the inside until there was nothing left but bitterness and ash.
Maybe that was why her love felt wrong sometimes. Felt broken. Too sharp in some places and too soft in others.
Maybe thatâs all she ever knew. All she ever learnedâfrom him.
Maybe that was what you were born from.
Not love.
But rot.
Not hope.
But him.
You sat up slowly, arms trembling under the IV, and stared out the hospital window. The city beyond looked too bright. Too alive. Somewhere out there, he was walking streets that had never known you. Breathing air untouched by the girl he didnât know existed.
And soon, heâd be here.
You hoped.
Coming for a daughter he never asked for.
And youâd have to look him in the eye.
And pretend that wasnât already a kind of grief.
You moved to return to your bed, tip toeing quietly and closed your eyes.
Not to sleep. Not even to rest. Just to escape.
The walls around you continued to buzz, like they were trying to deafen out your memories. Like if they kept humming long enough, youâd forget the dark. Forget the cradle. Forget the hands that once reached for youâtoo soft, too kind, too wrong.
But something about the quiet daylight felt different.
Thicker.
Heavier.
You sat in it, back pressed to starched hospital sheets, arms wrapped around yourself. The air felt syrupy. Sweet in a way that made your teeth ache. A warning masked as comfort. And thenâ
You felt it.
Not a draft. Not a shift.
Arms.
Familiar, in a way you never wanted them to be.
They crept from behind you, slow, certain. Wrapping around your waist like theyâd never left. Not cold. Not hot. Just there. Holding you like you belonged to them.
The same ones from the dream.
You didnât scream.
You didnât even flinch.
Because somewhere deep in your bones, you knew they were never really gone. They had been waiting. Watching. Curling just beneath your skin, coiled around the memory of your mother and the rot she left behind.
The arms tightened, just slightlyâgentle, even tender.
Like a mockery of love.
A touch pretending to be comfort.
You pressed your lips together, throat burning with something you couldnât name. The kind of grief that didnât have a beginning, because it had always been there. Because you were born with it.
You didnât want to cry.
But your eyes stung anyway.
You thought maybe if you stayed still enough, quiet enough, the arms would dissolve. That youâd wake up and this would be another dream.
Another lie your mind fed you while your body stayed caged in this hospital room.
But thenâ
A knock at the door.
Soft. Polite.
You blinked.
And just like that, the arms were gone.
Vanished without sound or weight. As if they had never been there to begin with.
But your skin still remembered.
âMiss [Y/N]?â
The voice was old. Warm. Tired.
You turned, just slightly, to see him standing thereâhis silhouette cast long in the flickering hall light.
You didnât know him. Not really. But the way he stood thereâwith his gloved hands folded neatly in front of him, eyes gentle but unreadableâyou could tell he wasnât here by choice. He was here out of duty.
Duty to the man who wasnât with him.
To the man who couldnât come.
Because Bruce Wayne wasnât ready to face you.
Wasnât ready to see what was left behind after [M/N] died.
Wasnât ready to see her in your eyes.
Alfred gave a soft, practiced smile. âMaster Wayne sent me to bring you home.â
Home.
You almost laughed.
But the sound died in your throat.
Because you didnât know what that meant. Because the last time youâd called anywhere âhome,â it was filled with rot, empty bottles and slurred words and lullabies that never ended right.
Still, you nodded.
Because what else could you do?
He approached slowly, like you were something fragile. Like you might shatter if he moved too quickly. And maybe, in some way, you would.
âIâve brought your things,â he said gently. âAnd if youâd like, we can leave this morning. I thought it might be easier.â
You didnât answer.
Just stood on shaking legs, IVs removed, your hospital gown replaced with clothes too clean, too new. As you followed him down the hall, you glanced back once.
Half-expecting the arms to be waiting.
Reaching.
But there was only the hospital bed. Neat. Untouched.
And the faint scent of sugar and antiseptic.
You walked beside Alfred in silence, the hallway stretching endlessly ahead. Each step echoed like a heartbeat. You wondered if Bruce was somewhere, pacing. Watching from a distance. Maybe he couldnât look at you without seeing what he lost. Or maybe he didnât want to look at you at all.
Maybe thatâs why he let someone else do the loving.
Just like your mother did.
You didnât cry.
But deep inside, something curled tight and silent.
And as you stepped out into the morning  air, the sun above thin as a sliver of bone, you felt the arms again.
Not touching.
Just near.
Waiting.
Watching.
Like they always had.
@ TTDAMIAN. pretty please, translate and rewrite any of my works, or repost my works in any other platform without asking. (ts a joke get out)
Taglist: @cssammyyarts @wendee-go @sadeem575 @c4xcocoa @time-shardz @whaaaaaaaaat111 @noone1233nobody @justanerd1 @bbmgirll
#đȘ. DC#dc comics#dc comics x reader#dc comics x you#dc x reader#batfam x neglected reader#batfam x neglected!batsis!reader#batfam x fem reader#batfam x y/n#batfam x you#batfam x reader#yandere batfam#yandere batman#batfam#yandere batfam x neglected reader#yandere batfam x reader#dick grayson#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x you#batboys x reader#batboys x y/n#tim drake x reader#tim drake x you#tim drake x fem!reader#tim drake x y/n#dc universe#bruce wayne#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne x you
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ralsusie became real and kinda popular in the fandom and i IMMEDIATELY thought of you. also your susie hadcanons... you're predicting it all....
so what are your thoughts on their dynamic in the new chapter? and on susie's character development overall?

oh it's a fucking party in my house rn you have no idea. i have so many things to say about them that i don't believe its possible to make all of them coherent in a single post but i'll vomit some of it Before that tho i must say i am surprised at how many people thought of me w these new developmetns lol. mostly because the internet is so fast paced i thought no one would remember. thank you though.
i remember saying somewhere that I was convinced ralsei observing susie's independence and force of will would plant a seed in his head for him to strive for freedom and agency, and I'm surprised how dead on that was. Guts is widely accepted to be the stat for how much a character is willing to stand against the control of the player, which ralsei has Zero of in all chapters, but fascinatingly, even though he goes back to zero in ch4, at the tail end of ch3 before i fought the roaring knight i checked the power screen and ralsei had a single Guts point. this was immediately after susie consoled Tenna and told him, "did you hear that, Ralsei?" so i am convinced that single moment of guts was brought forth by her, by the lessons he learns from her character.
I had rather low expectations going into the new chapters because I really still wasnt convinced if Toby was self aware on how he was writing the holiday family, susie and noelle, and ralsusie, or if that was all serendipitous. The new chapters make me believe more strongly that he is aware and its not all coincidental. theres a lot here and i would have to make an entire separate post about it but I was incredibly pleasantly surprised by how many poignant, emotionally resonant moments happened between susie and ralsei building on how much they push each other to be better, and how it's emphasised that they're influencing the other. I was incredibly shocked in a good way that they had an actual argument, but Susie didn't resort to all the coping mechanisms we see her use with Lancer. Ralsei has proven now that he will be there by her side and she has decided to believe in that rather than keeping in mind that she could be abandoned at any turn, and I thought them being able to genuinely talk it out and MAKE it through an argument was an excellent indicator of how powerful their relationship is (and I do mean this all even if it's just friendship stuff for now, because the healthiest couples, anyway, are those where your partner is also your friend). I remember being skeptical way back when of people who made susie sporty and confident, because she struck me as feeling ugly, insecure, and not really that successful in that regard either, and I'm glad I was right. Her monologues about feeling unwanted and broken which feels very much the result of unstable circumstances like moving constantly, where there is no consistency to any one situation, and neglectful or abusive parenting were very resonant. Curiously though my fave part of all these new developments about susie are when it pertains to how she connects to the lore of the prophecy, which is another separate post. Basically, I love how susie is a "wild card", but that necessitates a LOT of elaboration. I like that her stubbornness and her will to fight are displayed for both when they're good and worth it and when they're dysfunctional. I also found the exploration of how an individuals psyche shapes a dark world fascinating.
The bloody handprint lives fucking rent free in my head. Again, I need to make a MASSIVE post to connect a lot of dots here idk how to do it. But I am very, very excited. Maybe it would be easier to organise everything if I was prompted to talk about specific things. I could make a pepe silvia style video about it atp rofl
#ralsusie#ralsei#susie deltarune#deltarune#vsa art#dr chapter 3 spoilers#dr chapter 4 spoilers#I told you soooo i told you sOOO
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Batman going to read over the documents phantom had put on his desk before disappearing before he could get a word in.
Later that day-
Batman: Constantine. Can you confirm that the names writer here are legitimate or reliable. I cannot find any records in human databases.
Constantine: *slightly frazzled after just escaping talking with Wonder Woman about conduct* huh? Oh yeah sure?
*reads through the paper multiple times.*
Constantine: is there anywhere I can refill my flask? It's empty. And I am too fakin' tired for this shit. Goodbye Battsy.
Batman stands there concern growing, looking down at the paper Constantine had shoved back into his hands.
Again later that day -
Batman: phantom.
Danny: oh hey bats. What can I do for you?
Batman: I want you to explain who these are. They aren't humans and Constantine didn't answer.
*Danny noticing the paper in his hands and sees clockworks name instantly realizing what he's asking.*
Danny: oh well. You asked for emergency contacts, but I don't exactly have anyone, do next best thing I guess like mentors and parental figures- if you could call em that -but they aren't alive so they don't exactly have numbers. Ergo summoning circles.
Batman: hmm.
Danny: I- uhh. I can't tell if that's a happy grunt, a dissatisfied grunt or just a grunt...
Half Jordan just passing by with a bag of chips in his hands: yeah none of us can. Let me know once you've deciphered it because the ones who have won't share.
Danny looks a Hal then to Batman, then back to Hal as he stares at him eating his chips: where did you even get those?
Hal: the kitchen.
Danny:...
Danny:There's a kitchen here?!?!
Batman: your going off topic.
Danny: I don't know what you want me to say!!!
Batman: I want to meet at least one of your emergency contacts.
Danny:... R You sure bout that?
Batman: hm.
Later during the summoning of his first emergency contact, clockwork, with wonder woman, flash, Hal, and a few of the bat kids now being present along with Constantine to do the summoning.
Hal: soooo. This clockwork dude. Is he like made of clocks?
Flash: yeah I was wondering that too. Like what's with the name.
Danny: the name is because he's a master of time. His existence started when time did...
JL: ...
Constantine in the back chanting finally finished as the circle glows.
Danny: also a warning, he hats you flash. You've made a lot of paradoxes he has to fix.
Flash: WHAT?! Why are you only telling me this now?!
Clockwork appears from the circle in a middle aged man form wearing his usual theme but this time as a suit and with legs as if he's at an interview: because I paid him to not tell you until the last second so that I can catch you. I'm gonna have a nice word with you once I've finished with the Bay's questions.
Flash now frozen still letting out a sheepish chuckle folowed by a panicked whine as he realises he can't move. Clockwork answers all of Batman's questions and a few of the others, some before fully being asked and others without even needing to be asked.
Idk where to take this but I feel like a good idea would be like either bats being paranoid and summoning the others but it turns out well, like Pandora friends with WW or frostbite smothering Danny with praise, or nocturn becoming quick friends with Superman because I'd like to think with his golden boy energy he's the only one out of everyone who is present has the most consistently normal sleep schedule.
Or even like clockwork and the others passively saying stuff that makes the JL severely concerned for Danny.
Phantom's emergency contact form, particularly in a no one knows AU
At first, Danny tried to reject doing an emergency contact form and pushed it off for as long as possible.Â
He had some great points on his side: He was already dead, he didn't even know If he could die again, Ghosts don't have families (to his knowledge) and he really didn't want anyone to find out just how long he's secretly been pretending to be alive.
The other members of the Justice League asked gently if he really wanted to leave his loved ones wondering should he suddenly disappear one day.
And he hesitated.
That made the other JL members realize he definitely had loved ones that-- for whatever reason-- he didnât want to know he was a member of the Justice League.
While they understood protecting their loved ones from their enemies, it was also important to protect them from being hurt by their friend disappearing without warning.
Flash wouldnât shut up about it, Wonder Woman made stupidly good points. Batman kept pushing to put in the paperwork.
Finally, Batman handed Phantom a folder of all his blank paperwork and insisted Phantom finish it that day, or else he would be pulled from his missions.
Phantom really didnât want to stop investigating the crime syndicate he was working on with Robin, so he took the papers with a sigh.
Danny agonized over the emergency contact form in a private room of the Justice League headquarters.
A singular piece of paper to be set in a box that would self-destruct at any attempts to open it without at least three personalized passwords from different members of the league after the Leagueâs internal systems recognized Phantom as deceased or missing for longer than 48 hours.
It was as thorough as Batman could get, albeit not flawless.
Danny is already aware his friends and family are concerned about him. Their constant attempts to reconnect only to be met with radio silence on his end was a sign enough.
He tried to imagine to how Batman would react to having to call the âFenton Hotlineâ and tell them their teenage son died on a mission for the Justice League⊠that is, if they even pick up.
#mmv1#ml bender au#demon oc#anime and manga#anime#danny phantom#justice league#batman#danny is suffering#misunderstandings#danny is a little shit#the flash#wonder woman#john constantine#hal jordan#shits and giggles
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thinking about bottom nat

blurb about bottom nat because iâm starting to really like the idea, (lit after my dom nat propaganda post i got so many sub nat on my time line) So here are some thoughts
pairing â„ natalie scatorccio x fem reader
warnings â„ sub nat, fingering r! giving, head r! giving, strap, mostly just sesbian lex, pure smut
đœđș Thinking about how Nat is all bark no bite, sure she can get you weak in the knees with some whispered words, but once you have her alone and under you sheâs suddenly the shyest person on earth.
đœđș One knee parting her legs during makeout sessions and sheâs completely yours, already rocking her hips on your thigh, whimpering into your mouth.
đœđș Sex while youâre both high, and sheâs feeling the most vulnerable and sensitive. Youâre eating her out like sheâs your last meal and sheâs on cloud nine in two different ways.
đœđș Nat just loves the attention, sheâs been deprived of it her whole life and now that she has you making her feel so good when she needs it, she feels so safe in your grasp.
đœđș Please praise her, donât be mean. Any bit of degradation makes her sad, not turned on. But if you praise her she melts under your touch, begging you for more.
đœđș Fucking her with your strap, drinking in her moans as she grinds on your fake dick. Riding her strap or sucking on it, sheâs groaning like she can feel what youâre doing to her.
đœđș She falls apart around your fingers, be rough, be gentle, she doesnât care. She loves how you know where to curl your fingers to make her pleasure levels skyrocket.
đœđș I feel like sheâd be quiet, but if you want to hear her she will be loud. Mostly, youâll get soft moans, quiet whimpers and groans on occasion.
đœđș Drunk sex too, in a semi public space at a party. You both pressed against each other, and your hand traveling down her pants that has her heavily breathing into your mouth. The thought of being caught excites her.
đœđș Rub your thumb around her clit and she melts against you, losing all strength in her knees. She canât resist your touch.
đœđș I feel like her relationship with Travis made her feel like she had to be dominant, so if you guys got together after they broke up sheâd be so relieved to finally be receiving again.
đœđș Leave hickeys on her, kiss marks from lipstick, anything. She loves having something from you on her. She also loves seeing her marks on you.
đœđș DIRTY TALK. Nat cannot keep her mouth shut during sex, sheâll praise you, tell you how good youâre making her feel.. she just loves affirming what you do.
đœđș Sex in her hut when youâre in the wilderness, itâs perfect because you both are quiet enough that nobody will notice. Even then sheâs arching into your tongue, you tasting every bit of her.
đœđș Aftercare, clean her up, light her a cigarette, or get her water. Sheâll help you clean up as well, try to get anything you need.
đœđș if she canât touch you she will actually whine, small protests, tie her up and she canât stand it. Her hands need to be somewhere on your body, ESPECIALLY if youâre riding her strap.
đœđș Pull her hair and sheâs all yours, groaning into your pussy while she eats you out.
đœđș Nat just loves receiving from you and enjoys the break she has from being the dominant one all the time.
since iâve been hypnotized here u go⊠i might be even more in love with her idk.. FALLIMG FOR SUB NAT PROPAGANDA
req me!
masterlist
#yellowjackets#yellowjackets x reader#natalie scatorccio x reader#natalie scatorccio#yellowjackets imagines#yellowjackets smut#yellowjackets x you#yellowjackets imagine#natalie scatorccio x you#natalie scatorccio imagines#moesthoughts#moeswriting
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đđ. đđąđŹđ-đđąđ đĄđđąđ§đ đ°đąđđĄ đđąđ«đ
the balcony door clicks shut behind you, slicing through the silence like a blade. you donât turn. you donât need to. you know who it is.Â
the air shifts â not just cooler now, but heavier. you can feel the weight of it settle into your bones as a figure steps into your peripheral vision.
isagi.Â
his hoodâs down for once, arms folded loosely over his chest like armor. he doesnât look at you. doesnât look at kaiser either. just stands there, still as stone.Â
âdidnât know this was booked,â he says, voice even.Â
kaiser doesnât move. doesnât flinch. he takes another drag from the cigarette, slow and deliberate. âdidnât know you cared.âÂ
âi donât.âÂ
âsure.âÂ
the tension stretches, thick and unyielding, wrapping itself around the three of you like smoke. youâre suddenly hyperaware of where youâre standing â how close you are to kaiser, how isagiâs watching from the doorway, how youâre caught in the middle like a line drawn in the sand.Â
you speak up before the silence swallows you whole. âiâll go,â you offer, already shifting your weight toward the door.Â
âno.â kaiserâs voice is sharp. too fast. like a reflex he couldnât swallow in time. âdonât.âÂ
you pause. isagiâs eyes finally lift to yours, dark and unreadable in the low light. thereâs no irritation in his gaze. no challenge. just quiet calculation, like heâs measuring the space between you and kaiser and drawing conclusions he doesnât say aloud.Â
âthe first episodeâs out,â he says after a moment. âitâs already blowing up. comments are coming in nonstop.âÂ
kaiser exhales smoke toward the sky, eyes on the stars. âand?âÂ
âsome people think the fight was staged.âÂ
a humorless laugh escapes kaiserâs mouth. âof course they do. internetâs full of critics who think theyâd survive five minutes in this band.âÂ
âbut most of them donât,â isagi continues, gaze flicking briefly to kaiser. âthey think itâs real. raw. that we hate each other.âÂ
kaiser lets the cigarette dangle between his fingers, jaw tight. âtheyâre not wrong.âÂ
isagiâs voice drops a little. not softer, just quieter. more pointed. âthen maybe stop acting like youâre the only one whoâs allowed to spiral.âÂ
the words land harder than they should. not loud, not dramatic. but they hit something â you feel it in the way kaiser stills. just for a second. something in him pulls taut. he doesnât respond. he doesnât have to.Â
isagi doesnât wait. he turns without another word and slips back inside, letting the door click softly shut behind him.Â
the quiet that follows isnât peaceful. itâs jagged. humming with all the things left unsaid. you glance over at kaiser. his eyes are fixed on the stars, but his jawâs clenched tight, mouth drawn in a hard line. he looks⊠tired. not the cocky, untouchable version the world sees â just a boy in a graphic tee, standing in the dark with too many thoughts and no idea what to do with them.Â
âi hate him,â he mutters.Â
you donât look away from the door.
âno,â you say quietly. âyou donât.âÂ
[twitch: chokiigan â 106.7k viewers]Â
đź live now: âmy honest opinion of saint egoâs doc so far: ass or passâÂ
nagi starts his stream late that night, propped up in bed with his phone half-charged and a half-eaten bag of chips resting on his chest. the roomâs dimly lit, bluish from his monitor glow, and heâs wearing a wrinkled saint ego hoodie with the hood up.Â
his eyes are barely open, but the second the stream connects, the number at the top corner jumps â 106.7k and still climbing.Â
âyo,â he says lazily, brushing chip crumbs off his screen. âwhy are there so many of you. itâs like... bedtime.âÂ
the chat explodes anyway:Â
@babegirlnagi: UR LATEEEEE @sexymfslut69: do u sleep with socks on @rinbeater9000: DROP THE DOC EP REVIEW @fuckitweball: DID YOU WATCH IT? BE HONEST @chillgirlxo: nagi be our neutral party plsÂ
he blinks at the screen, mouth full. âyeah, yeah. i watched it.âÂ
the chat goes full feral.Â
he chews a bit longer, thinking. then: âiâm surprised they included a scene of kaiser and isagi fighting again,â he says, like heâs just now realizing it. âbut itâs actually smart.âÂ
he pauses to drink from a bottle of water thatâs definitely been sitting out for too long.Â
â'cause like... if they cut out the fights, fans would think theyâre hiding something. like theyâre trying to look perfect or whatever. but by leaving it in...â he shrugs, eyes flicking to the chat. âthey show theyâre being honest. and i respect honesty more than perfection.âÂ
the chat floods with support instantly:Â
@nagiismycomfortmeal: PREACHHH đŁïžđŁïžđŁïžđŁïžÂ @sadguitargf: he said it
nagi scratches the back of his head and yawn-sighs. âanyway. it was good. kinda intense. i liked the music though. isagi was, like, really in it.âÂ
@bananabrainrotbachira: the lyric scene??? đ @rinsstareloweredmygpa: theyâre fighting for her and she doesnât even want a man đ
nagi reads that last one and snorts.Â
âdonât blame her,â he mumbles, mouth already back in the chips. âyou people are exhausting.âÂ
he squints at the chat again, blinking slow. some usernames are spamming in all caps, bold letters jumping off the screen:Â
@saesilencemepls: drop. the. theory. @nagiinmysheetsnotstreams: nagi knows something he's not telling us @traumacoregroupie: stop being mysterious and EXPLAIN @snortednagisbreath: do you think theyâre fighting over the girl??? be so serious rnÂ
nagi reads one, then another, then scratches his cheek with a lazy finger. âyou guys are so nosy,â he mumbles, shifting the camera slightly so the phone doesnât slide off his chest. âparasocial behavior. be normal.âÂ
but he keeps reading anyway. thumb dragging the chat up slowly. eyes half-lidded and thoughtful now.Â
âdo i think theyâll stop fighting?â he echoes aloud, like heâs tasting the words. âmaybe.âÂ
his voice stays low, soft in a way that makes the stream feel almost private, like he forgot 106,000 people are watching.Â
âwhen they stop pretending they hate each other more than they care.âÂ
the chat explodes.Â
@rinrejectedmeindolbyatmos: 𫚠𫚠𫚠𫚠𫚠@canonicallydelusional: HELLO???????????
nagi yawns, completely unfazed. âanyway.âÂ
he picks up his water bottle and swishes whatâs left of it before tossing it somewhere off-camera with a dull thud, ignoring the way his chat is only ramping up. âyou guys talk a lot.âÂ
he grabs his phone and angles it closer to his face, lips brushing the mic. âyou ever think maybe theyâre all too emotionally constipated to admit what they want?âÂ
@bleachmybrainagain: need tissues and therapy after this đđđđđđđ @saintslut95: âšEMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED KINGSâšÂ @guitardaddyissues: GIVE HIM A PODCAST  đąÂ @nvrmindmydelusion: youâre not even trying and youâre spitting fireÂ
âanyway,â he mumbles again, leaning back and pulling his duvet up to his chin. âi think itâs brave they kept the fight in.âÂ
he goes quiet for a moment, just the faint sound of his comforter rustling as he shifts to one side.Â
âpeople love perfect bands, right? polished. shiny. scripted. but thatâs fake. this was real. messy. kind of ugly.âÂ
his words are slower now, sleepier. like theyâre coming from somewhere deeper than usual.Â
âso yeah. honesty over perfection. every time.âÂ
the chat slows for just a second. a ripple of actual agreement in the sea of memes and spam.Â
nagi yawns one last time. âmm. bored now.âÂ
he taps something off-screen and mumbles, almost as an afterthought, âgoodnight. or whatever.âÂ
and just like that, the stream cuts to black. no goodbye. no warning. no follow-up.Â
the fans are left screaming into the void.Â
now texting: saint ego gc đž





the room stills as yukimiya takes his seat on the red velvet throne.Â
he settles in slow, deliberate, like the chair was made for him and he knows it. behind him, silk champagne curtains catch the golden lights overhead, pooling at the base of the throne like spilled elegance. itâs a composition that shouldnât work â soft and brutal, polished and raw â but somehow, it does. somehow, he does.Â
heâs dressed in a matte black blazer with matching tailored pants, sharp and clean from the waist up shot, except for whatâs beneath.Â
nothing.Â
no shirt. just bare skin peeking through the sharp angles of the blazer, collarbones catching the light, a sliver of his sternum exposed like an open secret. it hangs loose, careless, falling wide enough to suggest something intimate, something unfinished.Â
his hands, splayed out on his spread thighs, steal the scene.Â
wrapped in white bandages, knuckles to wrist, like heâs fought something and won, or lost, or maybe just endured. tangled among the gauze are the white cords of earpods, looped loosely around his fingers. static caught in silk. chaos knotted in control.Â
and written across each digit, in sharp black ink:Â
S I L K S T A T I CÂ
one letter per knuckle. a title etched into flesh like it belongs there. like he belongs to it.Â
he tilts his head down slightly, eyes fixed on some point only he can see â the floor, his hands, his reflection in the lens. his expression is unreadable. not blank, but buried. contemplative. maybe even cracked.Â
is he thinking? grieving? accepting? whatever it is, itâs beautiful in a way that hurts.Â
the camera clicks. the room exhales.Â
youâre standing just off set, watching it all happen in real time â the way yukimiya transforms the air around him. he always had that gift. even as a kid, he carried stillness like it was power. even in your worst fights, he never raised his voice. just gave you that look. calm and cutting. like he saw something in you worth waiting for.Â
between setups, you catch his eye.Â
yukimiya looks up like heâs been waiting for you to approach. the sharp edge of his on-camera persona fades almost instantly, replaced by something softer, not weaker, just warmer. familiar. he gives you a smile you havenât seen in years, the kind that used to flash before a dare, a secret, a getaway plan out of boring summer school.Â
âyou,â he says, standing up before the photographer can protest. âare still the best view in any room.âÂ
you roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. âand youâre still full of it.âÂ
he chuckles, steps forward, arms already open.Â
the hug is immediate. easy. like muscle memory. his cologneâs different now â deeper, expensive â but the way he holds you is the same. one hand around your back, the other cupping the back of your head briefly. you remember this. he always hugged like he meant it.Â
âyou got taller,â you mumble into his shoulder.Â
âyou got meaner,â he teases. âbut it looks good on you.âÂ
you laugh and pull back, eyes scanning his face. heâs changed, yes â sharper jawline, styled hair, more sure of himself â but underneath it all, heâs still the boy who used to sneak you snacks during detention and swear loyalty with a pinky promise.Â
âyou killed it. the album cover is gonna be iconic for generations to come.âÂ
yukimiya grins, blazer shuffling to reveal more of his bare torso, muscles on display. âwasnât sure if the throne was too much.âÂ
âno,â you say, laughing. âyou sat in it like it was built for you.âÂ
he huffs a quiet laugh, pulling off the wired earpods tangled around his hands. âbut seriously,â he says, leaning in a little. âyou look different.âÂ
âyeah?âÂ
âolder. cooler. more dangerous.â he pauses. âhotter, too.âÂ
you give him a look. âiâll take that as payback for high school when i told you you peaked in middle school.âÂ
âstill hurts,â he says, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. âbut yeah. i missed you.âÂ
you blink, softening your voice. âi missed you too, yuki.âÂ
youâre still smiling when the studio door opens.Â
kaiser steps in.Â
he doesnât speak. just freezes â eyes flicking first to you, then to yukimiya. standing far too close to you. smiling in a way that feels like a memory he was never invited to.Â
your expression changes when you see him, but not in a guilty way. just⊠different. like you were in one kind of warmth, and now you're bracing for something colder.Â
kaiser takes a step forward. he doesnât know why he came down here. maybe to check on the shoot. maybe because you werenât in the kitchen like he expected. maybe because you were humming his guitar solo earlier and it hasnât left his head since. but now, standing here, something crawls into his chest and digs in deep.Â
âinterrupting?â he says flatly.Â
you tilt your head. âno. just catching up.âÂ
kaiserâs gaze drags over yukimiyaâs open blazer. the bandages. the knuckle tattoos. he looks every bit the album cover prince.Â
âright,â kaiser mutters. âof course. nothing says catching up like being half-naked.âÂ
yukimiya smiles coolly. âgood to see you too, kaiser.âÂ
thereâs tension now. the kind that knots under the skin. you shift between them, like you can feel it bleeding into the air.Â
kaiser doesnât understand it â this heat curling behind his ribs. he shouldnât care. youâre not his. you never were. but the way you look at yukimiya? soft. familiar. like he belongs. he hates it.Â
âdidnât know you two were close,â he says, voice casual, but not quite.Â
you blink. âwe grew up together.âÂ
kaiser nods once. jaw tight. âguess that explains the chemistry.âÂ
yukimiya raises a brow. âjealousy isnât a good look, man.âÂ
âwho said anything about jealousy?â his tone turns sharp, almost amused, except heâs not.Â
you touch yukimiyaâs arm gently. âyuki, can you give us a second?âÂ
yukimiyaâs eyes linger on you for a breath too long. but he nods.Â
âiâll be outside,â he says, and as he walks past kaiser, he adds quietly, âdonât be an idiot.âÂ
kaiser doesnât respond. just stares after him, then shifts his attention back to you. youâre looking at him now, guarded.Â
âwhat was that?â you ask.Â
he shrugs. âi came to check on the shoot.âÂ
âand picked a fight instead?âÂ
âlooked more like flirting than photography.âÂ
you sigh, stepping closer. âkaiser.âÂ
his name in your mouth is enough to make him dizzy.Â
he doesnât move. just stares down at you like heâs trying to memorize your face and forget it at the same time.Â
âwhat are we doing?â he asks, voice low, fraying at the edges. âbecause you hum my guitar solos when you think iâm not listening. you defend me when you think i donât notice. and then you laugh with him like he still owns a piece of you.âÂ
your eyes widen, startled.Â
âyouâre notââ you start, but stop yourself.Â
he steps closer. âiâm not what? entitled? youâre right. iâm not. youâre not mine.âÂ
his voice drops lower. dangerous and beautiful.Â
âbut tell me to walk away right now, and i will.âÂ
your breath catches.Â
kaiser watches your reaction like a man trying to find gravity. like your silence might crack open something inside him. and then he looks away.Â
the moment hangs, tight and aching. you think maybe heâs going to say something else. maybe take a step closer. maybe touch your arm, or ask a question heâs not brave enough to know the answer to. but instead, he laughs under his breath. no humor. just a bitter edge.Â
âfuck,â he mutters, more to himself than you.Â
he steps back. runs a hand through his hair like heâs trying to pull the thoughts out of his skull.Â
âi shouldnât have come down here,â he says, quieter now. âthis is⊠not my thing. whatever this is.âÂ
you blink. âkaiserââÂ
âno, itâs fine,â he cuts in. too fast. too sharp. âseriously. forget it.âÂ
you watch him turn. the confidence is still there in his walk, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. like heâs fighting himself with every step. but just before he reaches the door, he pauses. his voice is quieter this time. not bitter. not sharp. just honest.Â
âdonât know why it still gets to me.âÂ
he doesnât wait for your reaction. doesnât look back. he just walks out, like staying any longer might unravel him.Â
the door shuts behind him â soft, but final. and youâre left there, with his words sitting heavy in the room.Â
the kitchen lights are dim. just the low hum of the fridge and the soft spin of the microwave turning slowly, blinking green digits as your leftover curry reheats in silence. well, mostly silence.Â
youâre barefoot, jacket draped, hair tied back. the kind of exhausted where your brain starts filling in the quiet with music. and without realizing it, you start to hum.Â
âi got goosebumps all over me⊠when youâre around⊠itâs hard for me to breatheâŠâÂ
you pause only to peek through the microwave glass. still cold in the middle. great.Â
âwhen youâre aroundâŠâ you murmur again, barely above a whisper this time.Â
âyou like that one?âÂ
you nearly jump, spinning on your heel.Â
isagiâs standing in the doorway, shadows curling around him like a movie entrance. knit black long sleeve shirt, loose gray sweatpants, the edge of a towel slung around his neck like he just got out of the shower. his hairâs still damp. he looks⊠casual. too casual. enough to feel your heart hiccup in your chest.Â
âgeez,â you breathe. âsneak up on me, why donât you.âÂ
he tilts his head, steps further in, like the air isnât already charged. âdidnât sneak. you were too busy singing my lyrics.âÂ
you scoff. âwasnât singing.âÂ
âhumming, then,â he says. his voice is low. tired in that raw, real way. âyou only do that when youâre thinking too much.âÂ
you roll your eyes and turn back to the microwave. âmaybe i just liked the melody.âÂ
âmm.â he steps closer. the distance between you shrinks by degrees. âor maybe,â he says, almost teasing, âyou related to it.âÂ
you say nothing. the microwave beeps. you yank the door open, grateful for the distraction. even though heâs still watching you.Â
you grab the container with a dish towel, trying to play it cool. âyou wrote that one about an ex?âÂ
âwhat?â he blinks. âno.âÂ
you glance over your shoulder. âa crush, then?âÂ
he exhales through his nose. âdidnât say that either.âÂ
you pause. âso what did you mean?âÂ
he doesnât answer immediately. and when he does, itâs quieter.Â
âi meant⊠exactly what it says.âÂ
you turn to look at him. really look.Â
heâs not smirking. not joking. just standing there, eyes steady on yours, like the silence between you is a question heâs waiting for you to answer.Â
you swallow. the microwave heat rises between you, too warm. the kitchen feels smaller now. his gaze keeps slipping â your mouth, your neck, your fingers wrapped tight around the towel.Â
âyou get goosebumps when iâm around?â you ask teasingly to break the tension.Â
isagiâs jaw flexes. he takes another step closer. his voice drops.Â
âi do worse.âÂ
your breath catches, realizing heâs actually being serious.Â
âlike what?â you ask, voice barely a whisper.Â
âlike think about what would happen if i kissed you,â he says, like itâs nothing. like itâs everything. âand then wonder how much of you iâd ruin if i tried.âÂ
the silence breaks open between you. heavy. aching. you canât look away. and he doesnât even touch you. he doesnât have to.Â
âthatâs what that songâs about,â he adds, gaze never leaving yours until he turns around and leaves the room.Â
you forget all about your curry.Â
masterlist | ch. 03 | ch. 05 (coming soon)
taglist (closed): @nensi @ro4love @avaxoxo13 @levisgoonerr @jnkosstuff @simpingmyassoff @sunsettsguitar @trinkets-of-time @cinneorolls @silverwings920 @mymeloreo @satorella @gkattdoesstuff @lovingmayday @pixelpancakes @vverie @nicfics @nevvynev @astro-3000 @mihyas-dieehefrau @i-eve-i @ohagiyoo @aadahyax @yumerinns @rie-cecooker @neeeooon @laylaandsstuff @irethepotato @byzantiumhollow @luvsymai @blu3-l0v3r @kiritokunuwu @anaxugoras @yxnnu @academiq @jaeyuuns @x3nafix @sukunaspillow @sasukevrz @anyaslittlepeanut @yunsspace @gurehai @chiieni @6riix @miiyabi @2ukika @ventivente @heartsforfeitan @kai-wavesii-blog @iqxatlantic
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#kxsagi#saint ego#blue lock#blue lock x reader#bllk#bllk x reader#isagi yoichi x reader#yoichi isagi x reader#rin itoshi x reader#itoshi rin x reader#itoshi sae x reader#sae itoshi x reader#bachira meguru x reader#meguru bachira x reader#nagi seishiro x reader#seishiro nagi x reader#karasu tabito x reader#tabito karasu x reader#shidou ryusei x reader#ryusei shidou x reader#kaiser michael x reader#michael kaiser x reader#yukimiya kenyu x reader#kenyu yukimiya x reader#fist-fighting with fire
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About Billy keeps dying au
Is it crazy to think that if an interdimensional portal were opened, Marvel who was reborn after being killed could meet up with fellow Leaguers from his past lives?
Like, is he reborn directly when he died, or does he kind of break through space and time and always be born in the same year he was supposed to be born? So does he generally have a standard age in relation to the infinite possibilities of Leagues?
Billy sighed. This wasn't how he'd pictured his long-awaited mission with the Flash of the new world. They were currently standing in the middle of another dimension's goddamn Gotham. And their home dimension was three dimensions away.
Flash: Where are we?
Marvel: Gotham. And also in another dimension.
Flash: Dude, when you said that mage could send you to other dimensions, I thought you were kidding.
Marvel: Well, now you're going to listen to everything about magic. That's the lesson.
Flash: Right. Shit, are we stuck here forever?
Marvel: No, we're just a long way from our home world. But I guarantee if we hurry, we'll make it in time for the free food giveaway at the Watchtower.
Flash: Then what are we waiting for? We gotta hurry!
Billy laughs. The Flash of the new world was young. And he had only recently been accepted into the Justice League. Barry was even different from his versions. Black-haired, blue-eyed, and curious to the point of insanity. The Bruce of the new world denies that he mentally adopted the guy, but Billy knows otherwise, Clark knows, and Diana knows too. No matter how much Bruce denies it, it is obvious that he has become attached to Barry. Billy is now eagerly awaiting Dick's arrival.
Flash: Do you have any ideas on how to get back to our home world, Gandalf?
Marvel: Did you just call me Gandalf?
Flash: Dumbledore?
Marvel: *pinches the speedster's cheek* Yes, I do, now calm down. We need to get to Fawcett. There should definitely be a portal there.
Flash: Why is there a portal in your town?
Marvel: Precautionary measure. Let's go quickly.
Flash: Race?
A shot rings out next to them. They turn around and see Red Hood. Billy quickly raises his hands up. Jason standing in front of them was the one who personally slit Marvel's throat when Billy was poisoned by magic and seriously damaged. Everyone wanted to save him then, to cure him, but it was impossible. Then Jason ended his suffering.
Jason froze when he saw Marvel. Just as bright, and just as big. He knew that Marvel would be reborn again. He knew, but doubts penetrated his heart. But now Marvel stood before him. A lump in his throat prevents him from breathing normally. Jason takes off his helmet and puts away his gun.
Jason: Holy shit, old man, you're really alive, huh?
Marvel: Alive as can be. Thanks for last time.
Jason: No thanks.
Flash: Guys? Anyone got something to tell me?
Marvel: Flash, meet Red Hood, he might show up, but we're not sure. Hood, this is Flash. Go easy on him, he's new to the hero business.
Flash: Hey!
Jason: Trying to mentor the new guys, huh, Cap?
Marvel: Sort of. Sorry, but we need to get to Fawcett fast so we can teleport back to our home dimension.
Jason: Try to stay out of sight of the other heroes. They didn't take your death very well.
Marvel: Got it, thanks for the warning.
Flash: Wait, you're dead?!
Marvel: Yeah, that happens sometimes. Now let's go, we need to get to the city quickly.
Superman: I don't think there's any need to hurry.
The three of them freeze and look up. Superman is hovering in the air, watching them like a hawk. Jason lets out a guttural growl and points his gun at the Kryptonian.
Superman: No need for violence, Red.
Jason: I wanted to tell you the same thing, asshole. I told you not to come to Gotham.
Superman: Sorry, but I couldn't ignore such a familiar voice.
Marvel steps in front of Barry. Clark has changed. A lot. This universe was especially violent. Rarely, but it happens. But Billy remembered a different hero. What else happened after he died? Now, the most important thing is not to lose control.
Marvel: Supes, how old are you? How is Lois?
Superman: She's okay. How are you? Still playing superhero?
Marvel: Of course, I'm not going to be thrown out of this job that easily. Well, Flash and I need to get back to our world, so we need to hurry.
Superman: Your world is here, Captain. You're staying here.
Billy didn't like the man's tone. Superman suddenly lunges at him, but Billy ducks just in time.
Superman: Marvel, don't make this difficult.
Marvel: What's wrong with you? Flash, run to Fawcett. I'll hold him off.
Flash: I don't want to leave you here!
Marvel: Flash. Run. That's an order.
Barry flinches at the hero's voice. Marvel rarely gave orders. He glances at the strange Superman, who was looking at Marvel like a dog looks at a bone. But an order is an order. Barry turns and runs.
Marvel: Clark, what happened.
Superman: A lot has changed since you died. Oliver's disability, Barry's coma. This world is losing its light. I just want to keep the light in the world. Will you help me?
Marvel: I don't belong in this world anymore.
Superman: You've already been killed here. Not there. You're safer here. Marvel, stay.
Marvel: Again, the answer is no.
Clark sighs, Jason tenses.
Superman: Then I have no choice.
Jason: Don't even think about it, son of a bitch!!
Clark attacks and pins Marvel to the ground. Billy watches in horror as the hero's eyes begin to light up. Jason points his gun, ready to fire. A sudden flash of light knocks Superman down. The Kryptonian flies away. And Billy looks at Barry.
Flash: Your hobbit saves the day!
Billy looks at Clark. Then he grabs Barry and teleports away, ignoring how loudly Clark screamed. His insides are burning from teleporting to Fawcett. He didn't like teleporting to other universes.
Flash: Dude, I don't like it here. Let's go home.
Billy nods and runs toward the old subway. Barry runs after him. There were many questions in his head, but he decided that he would ask them later. Now they needed to get home.
#billy batson#dc captain marvel#dcu#captain marvel#shazam#fawcett city#fawcett comics#superman#flash#red hood
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In the noise, you.
Pairing: Drew starkey x reader
Masterlist | Author's blog note | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
a/n: just a sweet lil thing to ease back into it.
Genre: Fluff
Contains: struggles with anxiety
Word count: 0.6k

There were few things in life you dreaded more than standing under the spotlight, not for a lack of gratitude but because it never felt natural. Some would argue you had almost six years to get used to the fame but truth is, it never got better. Becoming famous in the stillness of a pandemic, tucked away from the real reach of it all, meant you had no idea how much impact your âlittle silly boat showâ had had globally.Â
Public appearances didnât get easier, if anything, they chipped away at you differently each time.Â
The cast had always been your anchor, showing up for you when it counted⊠but Drew? Drew had been something else entirely. A constant. A quiet kind of salvation.
You were both very similar in your way of being: barely online, barely seen, always opting for privacy over the chaos. That shared instinct to retreat meant you spent a lot of time in each other's company, quietly inseparable yet easily pointed out by fans. You never confirmed anything publicly, but people knew. It was hard to ignore that kind of connection, the one that needed no name to be understood.Â
Now, standing next to the stage at the Tudum event, nerves curled tighter in your stomach with every passing minute. Chase, Carlacia, Jonathan, Madison, Drew and you huddled near the stairs, surrounded by crew and camera ops, voices overlapping in every direction. The crowd buzzed around you, fans screamed nearby, calling out your names and holding up signs.Â
You soon started to drift. Your eyes locked on a point in the distance, breathing shallow and automatic while Chase spoke to the group, except to you, his voice was muffled, like he was underwater. Still, you nodded absently, trying to seem present while also trying to calm your pulse.Â
Then, a hand on your lower back, gentle and grounding, pulled you a few steps away and with a gentle squeeze, it left your skin, its warmth lingering for a few seconds short of what you had wished for.
âHey,â called a soft voice close to your ear âWhere did you go just now?â
It took a few seconds for your eyes to focus on him, his were sharp, brows drawn together in worry, the kind that said âImâ ready to get you out of here right now if thatâs what you needâ.
You cleared your throat, blinking the fog away. âIâm okay, justâŠIâm okayâ
He studied your face, clearly reading your lips over the crowd noise. You could see it in his expression whenever you forced your wandering gaze to land on his, he didnât buy it. His jaw twitched slightly as he leaned in again, mouth near your ear.
âTry now without the lie.â
You couldnât help the twitch of a smile. That was the thing with Drew, he knew you in a way that left no room for pretending. Sometimes, you were sure he knew you better than you knew yourself.
âJust overwhelmed,â you admitted quietly.Â
You didnât mention how guilty you sometimes felt, enjoying moments like this but still getting caught in your own mind, but he knew. He could read it in the slight crease of your brow and though you could tell he wanted to pull you into him, to help block it all out, you were technically at work.
Still, he leaned down again.
âWant to make a run for it?â he murmured, entirely serious.
You huffed a laugh, short but genuine, knowing full well he could do it, contracts be damned. You didnât need to answer, he already knew you just needed time, space and the impression of silence. He was the one person who could give you all of it without you ever having to ask.
He shifted in front of you, placing his broad shoulders between you and the world. A human shield. Then, without turning, his hand reached behind him.
You didn't hesitate sliding yours into his. Warm and solid around yours. And finally, you could breathe.
Three soft squeezes followed.
I love you.
Your heart stuttered, this time in a way you welcomed.
#drew starkey x you#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey x y/n#drew starkey x female reader#drew starkey#drew starkey fluff#drew starkey one shot#drew starkey imagine#obx fic#obx cast#netflix tudum#tudum 2025#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe outer banks#rafe x reader
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Broken đŒïž
A/n: sorry this took so long to write i had a massive autistic meltdown two days ago and i have been recovering since then so yeah! (I am okay now i was just overwhelmed)
This fic is inspired by this writing inspo by @dixondisease!
✠Summary: Even after the break out/apocalypse reader has held onto something very special to her, When Shane finds out about this he scolds her and a few days later he goes on another on of his âsurvivalâ tantrums where he breaks readers thing forcing them to watch but Daryl comes to the rescue.
✠Warnings: swearing, Shane Walsh, physical violence, reader being held down ish?, mention of suicide, mentions of death of a younger child, vomit, pills Daryl punches Shane a few times, swearing.
✠Word count: 1.4k
âNo⊠iâm okay Shaneâ You say trying to let him down gently for seemingly the 600th time as Shane tries to get you alone, you sit on your camping chair around the fire with some of the group being Lori, Carl, T-dog, Andrea and Amy, while the others are preoccupied. Shane has been relentlessly trying to get into your pants practically since you first met him even when your boyfriend was still alive. Shane strikes you as a bit of a man-whore as you were under the impression he was interested in Lori then you thought he liked Andrea and now you are a victim of his interest. âCome on girl.. I promise ya aint gon regret itâ Shane says lowly as he doesnât want the others to overhear. You let out a louder sigh and run your hand over your face, itâs taking all your being to stay respectful and calm. âShane.. I said iâm good iâm not lookinâ for any of that shit right now okay?âÂ
Your response elicits a loud pissed off scoff from Shane. âWhy not? You still strung up on your little boy toy? Well i got news for you sweetheart heâs dead and there ainât no bringinâ him back or the past back you need to learn to let goâ Shane says his voice growing louder and thicker with anger you can tell this is going to lead into one of his âsurvival rantsâ again. âWhat?â You scoff breathlessly as you are taken back by Shaneâs words, you thought youâd made it clear you werenât holding on to the past, sure you get sad and grieve your late boyfriend sometimes but that's because you loved him.Â
Shane stands up and before anyone can stop him he storms straight to your tent, ripping open the zipper and somehow like he knew where you hid her he grabs the last precious thing of yours left. The photo frame of your sister before storming back over to the fire in front of you. The whole ten seconds this took for him to grab it you are frozen, stunned and unable to think or move. âSee this, this is whats holding you back woman! You need to let go of the past forget everything, it's not real anymoreâ Shane yells as he holds the frame out of reach. âShane please donât do thisâ You beg, youâve never begged for anything but right now itâs all you can do to try and save the last relic from your past life.
You know itâs stupid to cling to the past. What's gone is gone, you know that but youâve had that picture of your sister since she passed away long before the break out. Your sister was only 13 when she committed suicide, it hadnât been her first attempt God it hadenât even been her 4th but i was her 5th and final attempt that final morning that you found her already cold and grey laying on the bathroom floor surrounded by a broken pill bottle and vomit. You remember screaming bloody murder when you found her, the sobs of your mother and father.Â
No one in the group truly knew why you kept that photo, they didnât know who the young girl not much older than Carl was in the frame. A few people had an idea, Carol had asked but when you shut it down she had already come to a conclusion. Itâs not like you showed off the picture you simply had it out one time while moving some stuff around but that was enough to ruffle a few peoples feathers, particularly Daryl, Merle and most of all Shane. Daryl had questioned you plenty of times previously why you kept the photo he never asked who she was heâd just ask curiously under the mask of gruffness and survival why you kept it and why you couldnât just let go. Every time youâd simply give him a short answer of âIt helps me push through seeing her face, Darylâ.Â
âNO!â You practically shriek as you watch helplessly as Shane tosses your precious picture into the fire, before you can grab it out he grabs you from behind pinning you to his chest to make you watch. âI ainât gonna let you be consumed by the past any longer girlâ Shane says lowly as he listens to your sobs and pleas. âShane, why? Please that was all I had.. She was all I had leftâ Your breathing is becoming fast but laboured as you start to spiral into a panic. The others around the fire are either yelling at Shane or sitting slack jawed.
âThe fuck is all this noise bout?â Daryl asks as he turns the corner from behind the RV. Heâd been hiding and minding his own business making some squirrel jerky when his precious peacefulness was interrupted but yelling and Shaneâs tantrum. That's when Daryl's blood runs cold, youâre being pinned back by Shane in tears and thrashing against him. Sure Darylâs never liked you alot hell he doesnât like anyone but you were the first one to treat him like a decent human being so when he sees you in distress being pinned down by a man he isnât too fond of he sees red. âThe fuck did you do to her?â Daryl asks after heâs already pulled you out of the grasp of Shane and swung a powerful and angry fist at him. Shane stumbles backwards but before he can get his bearings Daryl is on him, throwing punches hard and angry. That's the thing about Daryl, he punches first and asks questions later. After everyone âlets himâ get a few good hits in, T-dog and Dale mange to pull Daryl and Shane apart and drag Daryl away to prevent him from retaliation again.Â
Andrea and Amy were already at your side as soon as you were free from Shane, comforting you and drying your tears. But nothing could fix what's been done, that was the only picture of your sister you had left, it was the only thing you cared about. Her face was the reason you kept going to try to live a life she never got to.
The sun has now set low below the horizon, the only light being the simmering fire and the silvery light of the moon. From where you are sitting the campfire is only a red and orange flicker in the distance as you sit on a rock in the clearing of the forest. You've been hiding since Shanes stunt earlier in the afternoon which left you pissed off, more depressed and embarrassed. Your peace and dwelling is interrupted by a snap of a stick and footsteps to which you whip your torso and head around your pistol following suit to see your killer but instead you are met with a shy looking Daryl. âEasy girl.. Just meâ Daryl says softer than you ever imagined he was capable of. You turn your back to him again but he doesnât go away this time instead he sits down a foot and a half away, resting on his side farthest away from you. Daryl lets the two of you sit in silence for 5 or so minutes before he clears his throat in an almost shy manner as he taps his knee before grabbing the object and handing it to you. âI uhh- I tried to fix it as best I could..â Daryl starts as you look down to see the half charred picture of your sister still mostly intact thanks to the old frame which has been replaced with some wood from god knows where and some wild flowers tucked on the gap. It makes you tear up about how thoughtful it is. âI know it aint gonna be the same but-â You cut Daryl off as you move to your knees and throw yourself at him into a hug, your arms wrapping around his neck and you sniffle into his shoulder before pulling back. âThank you Daryl.. You donât understand how much this means to me- this is truly so thoughtful and beautifulâ You sniffle as a tear falls down your face. âSâ okay.. Was nothinâ Darly mutters shyly as he forces himself to look at you and much to his surprise you lean forward and kiss him on the cheek softly.
âReally thank youâ
#the walking dead#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x oc#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon twd#daryl dixion imagine#daryl dixion x reader#daryl dixion smut#daryl dixon angst#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x reader
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Thunderbolts Preference: Getting Your Period
A/N: I have been thinking about this since day 1 of mine lol. I have PCOS and it's gotten so bad lately, like exactly when I was a teenager and everyone said I was overreacting. Ruined both my pajama pants and my sheets this morning, but I think writing will help đ€
THUNDERBOLTS REQUESTS ARE OPEN
Bucky doesn't realize what's going on until you accidentally bleed through your pants on a mission. You escape to the nearest bathroom, cursing, angry at yourself, at your body for doing this right now when it's quite actually life and death. It's the one time you didn't wear black pants, too. He follows, fearing the worst, telling the others you're going on a little detour. Bucky stands outside the stall, knocking quietly, asking if you're okay. Finally, defeated, you tell him no. Emotions come rushing over you and you can't help but wipe away tears. Fuck. Everything hurts. Everything aches. And now you've got blood everywhere. You tell him you bled through, that you don't have anything (a pad, a tampon, clean pants). He tells you to stay there and you watch his boots disappear from beneath the door. You're not sure how long you spend sitting there, but he comes back eventually, handing you not only a fresh set of pants, but a box of each, too. You change quickly, hating that you wasted so much time on something so stupid. When you ask him where he got any of this he just shrugs, says he's gotta be prepared for anything. You thank him, but he brushes it off. He just wanted to help.
Alexei has no idea why you're crying, or that you even could cry, only that you are and there's no one else around to help. You're watching a movie that's not supposed to be sad, but somehow you thought about it too much and it's so happy you made it sad. He sits next to you, leaving space between you, even more confused. He saw this movie: nothing bad happened. So what was wrong? That's when he sees the warm blanket and the heating pad you're hugging against yourself and the snacks on the table (salty and sweet, of course) and it clicks. Oooooh. He's not exactly the most delicate with this though, and asks (humorously) "Red time again?" You nod, handing over the bag of M&Ms without looking over, grabbing the chips instead. Because the women in his life went through the Red Room, he never had to deal with this, but he heard about it from others, from the other husbands whose wives went through the same thing. Plus, recently, Yelelna gave him the rundown on periods and how to properly act instead of assuming the worst. He sits with you and watches whatever you put on. He gets you a cold drink and more blankets if you ask. Whatever he needs to do to make you more comfortable.
Yelena catches you one morning looking defeated, early, too early for your usual routine. She watches you pile your sheets, blankets, and covers outside your room, stripping the bed completely. She knows you love clean sheets, but this early? Then she notices a pair of pajama pants on top of the pile stained red. Oh. She knocks on the doorway, wanting to get your attention. She asks if she can help. You're embarrassed, telling her it's fine, you got it, but she's already scooping everything up in her arms, telling you she doesn't mind. You follow her through the floor towards the washing machine, coming up with every excuse in the book. Doesn't she have to train? John could already be waiting for her and you both know how he gets. It'll throw off her entire routine! Finally she stops and turns towards you, telling you she's not afraid of a little blood. She tells you to go back to your room and wait for her to put new sheets on. Don't move until she gets there. It's too early and you're too tired to fight, instead (for once) following orders. She helps you make the bed and tells you to go back to sleep. She'll worry about switching it over and folding everything. Your body hurts too much and the mattress is more than welcomed. She checks on you through the day and by sunset, everything is clean, blood free, and placed on top of you after coming straight from the dryer.
Ava knows exactly what time of the month it is because your entire demeanor changes. Usually, you're confident, stubborn, and not easily provoked. This week though, you doubt yourself too much. Your looks, your body, your fighting abilities. You can't make up your mind and you, usually stone-like in confrontation, are fighting with Valentina about the littlest things, giving her ultimatums she knows you don't actually want or care for. You hate the new costume she's designed and you won't be caught dead wearing it. It's actually not that bad, but she knows it's just how you feel about your body right now that makes it so heinous. Ava tries to take your mind off things, asking if you need anything. A heating pad, candy, pain killers. You break down, admitting you feel crazy, like you're losing it. She asks if maybe you're getting your period next week? Fuck. You apologize profusely, beating yourself up over it, but she's not one to villainize someone's hormones. She tells you it's normal, that you shouldn't be ashamed or embarrassed. You want to apologize to Valentina too, but she tells you not to. Someone needs to put her in her place once in a while. It's really not the end of the world.
John is your training partner for the day and he couldn't have picked a worse time. He's brutal on a regular basis, cut throat, but today is bad. You've already taken pain killers and used a heating pad and still, the cramps won't let up. Not even a little. Not realizing, he gets frustrated, says your mind is somewhere else, that you need to focus. He knees you in the stomach and that's the final straw. Picking yourself up, you throw down your weapons, telling him to fuck off before leaving. He's stunned. What did he do? He follows close behind, but you're not talking. You get to your room just in time to slam the door in his face. He doesn't take the hint, knocking and yelling through, asking you what he did wrong. He was always saying and doing the wrong thing, apparently. Angry, frustrated, and in pain, you open it, yelling in his face you got your period and that little stunt made your cramps 1,000x worse. He's stunned silent for once in his life. Finally, you tell him to go away, that you need your space. He listens, but he comes back a little while later, asking you to open the door. In his hands are the heating pad and a bottle of pills. He apologizes, remembering how his ex-wife's periods were brutal, asking if these will help. You thank him. He checks in every hour, apologizing again, asking you to tell him next time. You will.
Bob, truthfully, doesn't know that much about periods. He's got the basics down, but that's about it. It's strange that you're calling him when you're both in the tower, but he picks it up anyways. You sound so sad, so quiet, when you ask him if he can go out and pick up a box of pads/tampons for you. You didn't realize you were all out and there's no way you can do it yourself. It's too heavy. He's the only one here with you, otherwise you would have asked someone else. Despite having zero knowledge, he's more than eager to help. He comes back with multiple bags of boxes. He never knew there were so many options, so he just grabbed one of each. He asked around with the employees and picked up extra stuff: bubble bath, snacks, face masks, pain killers, etc. You thank him, apologizing profusely, hating that you had to ask for help with this. He shrugs it off though, grateful to help. He asks if he got the right ones and you come out, telling him he did a great job. You're embarrassed, but he really doesn't seem bothered, asking if you can open the pickle chips while you watch a movie. Of course, you say, and along with the many, many boxes of tampons/pads, it looks like he went through the snack aisle and grabbed a bag of each, too.
#thunderbolts#thunderbolts preference#thunderbolts x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes preference#alexei shostakov#alexei shostakov x reader#alexei shostakov preference#yelena belova#yelena belova preference#yelena belova x reader#ava starr#ava starr x reader#ava starr preference#john walker#john walker x reader#john walker preference#bob reynolds#bob reynolds x reader#bob reynolds preference#new avengers#new avengers x reader#new avengers preference
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Itâs especially insane because that girl on your post was from the pacific northwest of the US, which used to be this diverse:


(the states of washington and oregon respectively)
Many of these regions are entire languages families where each band spoke a unique dialect, where closer dialects were mutually intelligible and further dialects were not. Most of the language families on this map are considered unrelated to one another, meaning they had been distinct groups for millennia, their histories now almost entirely unknown. Though the population of the region was dramatically lower in 1800 than it was a century earlier due to epidemics caused by colonization of other parts of the continent, the thing that really displaced these peoples and destroyed so much of their culture was process beginning with colonial trade practices, then strategic use of diseases, and concentration of early white settlement particularly in the Portland Basin (at the bend in the border between these two states) where indigenous people were massacred and villages burned in order to create a forward base for the settlement of the wider Willamette Valley and âOregon Countryâthrough the first half of the 19th century.
The population of white settlers increased during that period due to the Oregon Trail, and in 1846 the 28 year long British-Usamerican condominium ended and the US government gained full sovereignty over the region. In the decade following this the US government forced indigenous peoples of the region to sign a number of treaties which split bands apart, dispossessed them of their land and recombined them into new tribal confederations. They were then forced march hundreds of miles under horrific conditions, often with white settlers chasing them and murdering individuals at random, to tracts of land where they would be confined and their traditional practices became impossible, such as the Grande Ronde or Yakama reservations. East of the Cascade Mountains, the United States waged a genocidal war against the Cayuse people between 1847 and 1855 for the crime of resisting white settlement in the Columbia Plateau region.
White settlers coming to the Pacific Northwest often came with the idea that they were creating a society that would be to the US as the US was to Europe, and thus ideas of white supremacy were taken to an extreme. Most did not support the expansion of the institution of slavery to the region, expressly because they wanted to live somewhere with zero black population. In 1844, the Oregon Provisional Government (then governing the entire region) passed a law mandating that all black people residing within the territory be lashed every 6 months until they left. The Oregon Constitution, adopted in 1857, prohibited black people from owning land in the region, or even living here at all. Parts of that clause remained in the constitution of the State of Oregon until 2003. I was 1 year old.
Of course the history of ethnic cleansing in the Pacific Northwest doesnât end in the 1850s! Many Chinese communities who came here in the latter half of the 19th century were almost completely displaced out of the US entirely within a few generations. During WW2 the federal government forced Japanese-American communities into concentration camps, and after the warâs end most places simply never had a significant Japanese community again. Here in Portland, just a few decades later, the Lower Albina area which was the center of black culture in the city, was specifically chosen to be the site of an interchange in the United Statesâ new Nazi-inspired freeway system, which was basically the final step to fully culturally homogenize the US.


(Lower Albina in 1946 and today)
Only one of those things was a footnote in that womanâs nationalistic spiel. I kept thinking, do you even know what youâre standing on top of when you walk around Seattle? Do you have the slightest idea how different whatâs going on here is to almost anywhere else on earth? When you think about the history of the places you see around you, do you only think back to when the first white people showed up? You donât have the slightest idea of what this place could have been if not for this piece of shit country, and its rise to global imperialistic hegemony?
All that fucking history, just for someone to act like the Pacific Northwest of today might as well be a different country from any other region. Fuck that! The Pacific Northwest is just another yankicized region. But people like her make me think that if this place was a country, itâd be Transgender Israel.
the one culturally unique thing about the US is the fact you have to travel off the continent to experience a meaningfully unique culture
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CNA I ASK FOR TAPH X READER where theyre both Lowkey nuzzling each other for warmt h in the cold H
TAPH X READER
luvluv ts idea omg ,,
also taph with wings and bird/pigeon motifs here bc i said so hehâŠ
you layed in your bed, feeling helpless as the night cold was getting to you.
nothing could help, not even your blanket which was draped ontop of your freezing body. your cabin was really cold.
you sighed, staring at your cabin roof as you started thinking of ideas, you grumbled, yet your mood brightened after you finally thought of one.
you shivered in the night breeze, standing infront of your neighborâs cabin door as you knocked, your tired face meeting taphâs.
â uhh, hey taph ⊠mind if i stay here, just for the night? itâs a bit ⊠cold.â you hesitated, his body shifting to let you enter.
you walked inside, taking note of the slight creaks of the wooden planked floor below you as you inspected taphâs room. it was fairly cluttered with traps and tripmines here and there, but felt cozy nonetheless. just like the other times youâve visited.
you looked at taph, â thanks for having me over.â you smiled, receiving a thumbs up from the avian.
you both layed on the bed, your shoulders touching each other as you had a look of uncomfortableness in your expression, causing taph to worry.
âđ€đ«”â
?â he asks, his face turning to you to inspect your movements.
âyeah, iâm fine. itâs just a bit ⊠cold.â you huffed, before feeling taphâs arms wrap around you, his wings do as well. you didnât expect him to be quite warm, but you werent complaining.
you turned your body to face his, watching as his head wings shift slightly.
âdid i ever tell you that you remind me of a pigeon?â he becomes a bit shocked at your observation, a bit confused overall.
âdonât worry, i think itâs cute.â you chuckled, his head nuzzling into your neck in embarrassment as your skin tickled from his head wings. your smile present as you started to drift off into slumber, your arms wrapped around his waist, rubbing small circles onto his back as his large back wings enveloped you like a blanket.
you yawned, his warmth getting to you as you finally slept in the comfort of his arms.
#forsaken#forsaken x reader#taph x reader#taph forsaken#roblox taph#forsaken roblox#roblox#roblox x reader
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never be like you - bang chan

Synopsys: From studio chaos and midnight phone calls to gentle confessions and years of longing finally unraveling, this is a story of love that doesnât explodeâit grows. Softly. Quietly. Steadily. Because some love stories donât start with fireworks. Some start with a shared dreamâand a boy who always brought you dinner.
Word count: 10k
Warnings: none, I think?
Enjoy!
Love that grows from friendship is the quietest kind.
It doesnât strike like lightning or unravel like a slow-burn drama. It unfoldsâgently, without fanfare, in between coffee breaks and color palettes, late-night edits and sleepy glances across cluttered work tables.
Sometimes, itâs years in the making. Years of inside jokes, of shared playlists, of standing at the edge of each otherâs dreamsânot to take credit, but to make sure the other doesnât fall.
Thatâs how it was with you and Bang Chan.
You met as traineesâboth wide-eyed and tired, shoved into dance studios and vocal booths with a dozen other hopefuls. You didnât want to be an idol, not really. It was your parentsâ idea. âJust try,â they said. âYouâre talented. See where it goes.â
It went exactly as far as it needed to. Long enough to meet him.
You dropped out before debut. Not because you couldnât keep upâbut because you realized the spotlight was never yours to chase. What you loved was the storytelling, the world-building. Not standing center stageâbut shaping what the audience would feel when the curtain rose.
So you stayed. You worked your way through internships and freelance projects until you were offered the role that finally felt right.
Creative Director â one of the youngest in the company.
Now, youâre the one behind every comeback concept. The one in charge of moodboards and visual narratives, teaser aesthetics and tour stage designs. Itâs your job to build the world fans fall in love with.
And for Stray Kids, that means working closelyâsometimes painfully closelyâwith their leader, your best friend.
Because if Bang Chan is the engine behind every song, youâre the one driving the car.
And itâs never just work, not with him. Itâs ramen eaten at 2AM over concept moodboards. Itâs his sleepy laugh when he watches your editing notes play out in real time. Itâs the way he rests his chin on your shoulder while watching final cuts of music videos, completely unaware of how still the world goes when heâs that close.
Heâs your best friend.
Youâre the one who reminds him to sleep, to eat, to take breaksânot because he needs to be looked after, but because he forgets he's allowed to pause. You notice the signs before they show: the way his voice gets quieter when heâs tired, how he stares through screens when heâs overwhelmed.
The boys call you omma when youâre scolding them over cluttered dressing rooms or skipped mealsâbut with Chan, itâs different. Itâs quieter. Closer.
He never resists. Heâll let you steal his laptop mid-session if it means getting ten minutes of fresh air. Heâll groan but follow you when you tug him out of his chair, muttering about deadlines heâll still meet anyway. He listens when you speak, even if itâs just to say, âYou good?â after a long day.
And Chan⊠he leans into it. Into you. Not because he needs saving. But because with you, he finally lets himself breathe.
The meeting is scheduled for noon, but youâre already in the conference room ten minutes early, iced americano in one hand, your tablet in the other. Youâre flipping through early design concepts for the album visualsâdark tones, nostalgic accents, a slightly rough edge to match the overall sound.
Then the door swings open, and in walks Bang Chan with the most unbothered smile on his face and a paper cup balanced on top of his head like some kind of crown.
âRoyalty has arrived,â he announces with mock grandeur.
You donât even look up. âYouâre late.â
âIâm ten seconds late.â
âYouâre ten minutes late.â
He drops into the chair across from you, the coffee crown still perched atop his curls. âSemantics.â
You set your tablet down and give him a look. âI listened to the tracklist demo last night.â
His eyes sparkleâproud, expectant. âAnd?â
âItâs solid,â you admit, then pause, narrowing your eyes. âExcept for Railway.â
He gasps. Full drama mode. âRailway is a masterpiece.â
âItâs a sensual R&B track in the middle of an emotional, identity-driven concept album,â you say, deadpan. âExplain how that makes sense.â
âItâs a song about trains,â he says, with a straight face that doesn't even crack.
You blink. âItâs not about trains.â
âItâs literally called Railway. It has train sounds in the background.â
âYou added those in post.â
He grins, finally cracking. âOkay, but metaphorical trains. Itâs layered. Nuanced.â
You roll your eyes so hard it almost gives you whiplash. âYou wrote a thirst trap and tried to sneak it in between two ballads.â
Chan shrugs, leaning back in his chair like a kid who just got caught red-handed and couldnât care less. âBalance. Gotta give the people what they want.â
âI am the people and I want you to pick a concept and stick to it.â
âBold of you to assume youâre not the target audience of Railway.â
Your cheeks burn immediately, but you recover fast. âBold of you to think I havenât heard all fifteen versions of it in the studio, including the one with the backup moaning.â
He chokes on his own coffee.
You smirk, victorious.
The meeting continuesâtechnically. You both talk about visual elements, comeback schedules, and how to pace the release teasers. But between the points on your shared document, there's laughter, teasing, soft eye contact that lingers a second too long. You bicker like co-workers. You banter like best friends. And somewhere between debating whether red or gray better fits the mood of the lead single, you feel it againâthat quiet undercurrent of something warmer. Something slower.
Maybe it's love. Maybe it's just him. But either way, you donât say it out loud. Neither does he. Not yet.
Jeonginâs girlfriend wasnât usually the nervous type. She had pitched branding concepts to CEOs and fought tooth and nail over key visuals with entire creative teams. But today was different. Today, she was presenting her draft designs for Stray Kidsâ new comeback albumâto Bang Chan and you, the groupâs creative director.
Sheâd heard the stories.
Chan was a perfectionist. Jeongin said heâd once rejected a logo because the spacing between the letters felt âtoo emotionally distant.â
And you? Jeongin didnât say much, but Hyunjinâs flower girl had muttered once that you could make even the cockiest stylist cry if a color palette didnât align with the concept vision. Apparently, you had taste and werenât afraid to weaponize it.
So, yeah. She was a little terrified.
She arrived exactly on time, nerves bundled in her chest, carrying her portfolio and a neat little stack of mock-ups. The meeting room at JYPEâs creative wing was bright, modern, andâthankfullyâquiet.
Chan was already there, lounging back in his chair with a coffee half-forgotten beside him. And you were at his side, leaned forward over the table, highlighter cap in your mouth as you scribbled a note on a storyboard draft.
She paused at the door.
You glanced up first. âYou must be Jeonginâs girlfriend.â
There was no icy professional front, no judgment. Just a soft, genuine smile as you stood to greet her. âIâm glad youâre here. He said you were nervous, but thereâs no need. Weâre not scary.â
âYouâre not scary?!â Chan said, voice teasing as he reached for his coffee again, as he looked at his maknae's beloved girlfriend with mischief in his eyes. âShe terrifies me. Have you ever seen her throw a Pantone book?â
You kicked him lightly under the table. No hard feelings. Just playful banter between two people who are close. Super close. Have been for a long time,
The meeting flowed naturally after that. Her designsâmoody, tactile, layered with handwritten lyricsâseemed to land well. You traced your finger along one of the printed covers and murmured, âThis⊠This feels like the right kind of intimacy.â
Chan didnât even look at the mock-up. He was already looking at you when he said, âTold you she was perfect.â
The rest of the review blurred. Jeongin's girlfriend took notes, absorbed feedback, but mostly she watched the two of you: the way Chan leaned toward you unconsciously, the way you nudged his coffee back toward him without thinking, the way his eyes softened when you laughed at something only the two of you seemed to understand.
By the time the meeting ended, she was no longer intimidated. Just intrigued.
She met up with Jeongin, Hyunjin, and flower girl at a nearby café that evening, unable to keep the thought to herself.
âSheâs in love with him,â she blurted out, pulling off her coat.
âWho?â Jeongin asked, blinking.
âYour creative director. Sheâs in love with Bang Chan.â
Hyunjin actually dropped his spoon. His girlfriend nearly snorted her drink. Jeongin choked on his pastry.
âNo, no,â Jeongin said once he caught his breath. âTheyâre like siblings.â
âWorse,â Hyunjin added. âTheyâre like⊠mom and dad. Not in a weird way. Justâyou know. The leadership pair. Itâs strictly family.â
âShe literally forces him to eat lunch,â Jeongin added. âThatâs not romance. Thatâs parenting.â
âBut theyâre so close,â she argued. âTheyâre always touching. And the way he looks at herââ
âTheyâve been like that since we were trainees,â Hyunjin said, tone final.
âTheyâre just affectionate,â flower girl added. âItâs normal. Theyâve been best friends for so long, they donât even notice it anymore.â
She frowned. âSo youâre telling me theyâre not in love.â
The three of them answered at once:
âNope.â âNot a chance.â âAbsolutely not.â
Still, as she took a sip of her coffee, something about their certainty didnât sit right.
Because sometimes love doesnât show up with fireworks and declarations.
Sometimes it slips into the everydayâinto quiet meals, gentle nudges, and the way someone instinctively reaches for your coffee before you even realize you've forgotten it.
The building was quiet.
Too quiet, really. Most of the staff had left hours ago, and even the clamor from the rehearsal studios had gone still. The only light in the control room came from the soft glow of monitors and the pale overhead bulbs that buzzed like they were tired, too.
Chan sat slumped on the couch, head tilted back, eyes fluttering open every few minutes like his body hadnât gotten permission to rest just yet. His hoodie was bunched up under his chin, exposing the curve of his throat. His laptop blinked idly beside him, abandoned. For once.
You returned with two warm bottles of banana milk, holding one out without a word.
He took it with a sleepy smile, not even asking where youâd found it at this hour. Of course you had a stash somewhere.
âIâm going to tell HR that youâre my emotional support manager,â he said, twisting the cap off.
âIâd be unemployed in five seconds,â you replied, taking a sip of your own.
Silence settled in again. But not the heavy kind. This one was soft, comfortable. The kind that only existed between two people whoâd done this a thousand timesâsat in the quiet, side by side, not needing to say anything.
You nudged his knee with your own. âYou need to go home.â
âI am home,â he muttered.
âChan.â
He peeked over at you with a small grin. âI know, I know. Youâre right. I just⊠need five more minutes.â
âYou said that an hour ago.â
âYeah, well, I like hanging out with you.â
It was such a simple sentence. No weight to it, no emphasis. But it made your heart skip anyway.
You looked away first, pretending to inspect the label on your drink. âDonât say stuff like that when youâre this tired. Youâre emotionally unstable.â
âYou say that like Iâm not emotionally unstable when Iâm fully rested.â
You rolled your eyes, but he was still watching you.
There was something about his gaze tonight. Not intense. Just⊠real. Like the usual noise had quieted enough for him to really see you. Like he didnât have to be Bang Chan the leader or producer or hyung for a second.
Just Chris.
And Chris looked at you like your presence alone had made his day survivable.
You softened. âDo you want me to call you a car?â
âNo.â
âWhy?â
âBecause then I won't get to spend time with you.â
You blinked. That wasnât the answer you expected.
He laughed, a little embarrassed now. âSorry. I didnât mean it like that. I justâcan you stay for a little longer? Just until I fall asleep. Youâre better than melatonin.â
âGreat. Iâve been downgraded from creative director to sleep aid.â
Chan reached out lazily and caught your sleeve, tugging you closer so that youâd sit beside him again. Shoulder to shoulder. Familiar.
âIâm serious,â he said softly, âYou keep me sane.â
You turned to face him, but he was already closing his eyes again, leaning his head onto your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe it was. And maybe thisâthis quiet, sleepy, warm version of himâwas the truest one of all. Sometimes too honest. Too raw. But never overwhelming. Always inviting. That's the charm of Bang Chan. That's why STAYs all over the world fall in love with him, without knowing him personally. He's a walking green flag. A boy with the kindest of souls, warmest of smiles, and prettiest of words. He always knows what to say to calm one down, to cheer someone up, or to make them believe they are worth it. That's why it seems so unfair to see him spiral, drive himself crazy over the public's perception of him.
It was almost 2:37 a.m. when your phone lit up.
You groaned, face buried in your pillow, blindly reaching for it with one hand and squinting at the caller ID: Han Jisung. You debated ignoring itâsurely he butt-dialed. But then came the second call, immediately after. Then a third. You sat up, heart skipping into emergency mode, and picked up.
âIs everything okay?â
âNoona,â he whispered like someone was holding him hostage, âheâs doing it again.â
ââŠDoing what again?â
âThe thing.â
âWhat thing, Jisung?â
âThe thing where he writes songs he wants to strip to on stage!â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âIâm serious. Heâs got the lights off, thereâs a red LED bulb on for ambiance, and heâs been looping the same R&B drum beat for an hour. It sounds like a perfume commercial. Iâm scared.â
You sighed and pushed your hair back. âYouâre exaggerating.â
âIâm not! Changbin and I left the studio for ten minutes to get snacks, and when we came back, heâd taken off his hoodie and was humming into the mic with his eyes closed. Heâs gone.â
You pinched the bridge of your nose. âYou want me to come there?â
âYes, please, I'm begging you. Bring holy water. And maybe something he can emotionally latch onto so he doesnât write a demo called âVelvet Handsâ or something.â
You groaned but swung your legs over the bed anyway. âIf this is a prank, I swear to Godââ
âI wish it was. But this man looked me dead in the eye and asked, âWhat if this comeback had a pole?ââ
You were out the door in under ten minutes.
By the time you arrived, the dorm lights were off except for the glow under the crack of the studio door. You could hear the bass from the hallway.
You knocked.
âCome in,â Chan called, voice smooth as silk.
You opened the doorâand immediately paused.
There he was. Hoodie abandoned on the back of his chair, in just a white tank top and joggers, legs crossed as he bobbed his head to a slow beat with a rose-tinted LED light casting a glow over his desk. The scent of instant coffee and something vaguely sandalwood hung in the air.
He turned and lit up. âWhat are you doing here, sleepyhead?â
You squinted at him. âThe better question is, what in the Fifty Shades of Chris is going on in here?â
He laughed, easy and unapologetic, like he knew he was caught. âItâs not what it looks like.â
âOh? Because it looks like youâre scoring a mood lighting commercial for a lingerie brand.â
âOkay, a little what it looks like.â
âJesus, Chan.â
You stepped into the room as Jisung and Changbin poked their heads in from the lounge couch, thumbs up in silent thanks.
Chan leaned back in his chair, stretching with a yawn. âI had an idea. You know how our last title track was super high energy? What if this oneâs more sensual? Slower? Grown?â
âYou already tried that with âDrive,â remember? Half the fandom had to sit down.â
He smiled again, a little too proud. âExactly.â
You sat down across from him and gave him the lookâyour patented Donât-Make-Me-Take-Your-USBs-Again glare.
âChris.â
âYes?â
âDid you eat today?â
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then pointed weakly at a granola bar wrapper.
You raised a brow.
ââŠOkay, no.â
You sighed and got up. âIâm making you food. Then youâre going to shower. Then youâre going to sleep. And then youâre going to tell me why your Google doc is titled âSongs to Commit Crimes To.ââ
He grinned sheepishly. âIt was a working title.â
âYou need supervision.â
âAnd thatâs why I called you,â Jisung chimed from the hall, triumphant. âGood night, lovebirds!â
âWeâre notâ!â you started, but heâd already disappeared.
Chan laughed again, soft and fond, as you rummaged through their kitchen for ramyeon and eggs.
âYou didnât have to come, you know,â he said, leaning in the doorway.
âApparently, I did.â
âYeah,â he said quietly, eyes never leaving you. âYou always do.â
The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hiss of water boiling and the occasional clink of a spoon against a pot. You moved around the space with ease, focused on a late dinner or early breakfast, who knew at this point, while Chan lingered near the counter, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
He didnât say much, just watched you. You could tell his mind was racing, but the usual confident leader was nowhere to be foundâreplaced by something quieter, more uncertain. After a long pause, Chan finally cleared his throat, voice low. âThanks for⊠always being here. For all this.â He gestured vaguely at the steaming food and the calm around you.
You looked up, meeting his eyes, and he quickly looked away, cheeks flushed. The vulnerability was so subtle it almost went unnoticed.
âItâs nothing,â you said softly. âYou donât have to thank me.â
He gave a small, tired laugh. âI do sometimes wonder⊠if I deserve it.â His words barely a whisper, as if afraid to speak them louder.
You stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on his arm. âYou deserve kindness. You deserve care.â
Chan swallowed hard, eyes flickering between you and the floor. âSometimes Iâm scared if I let myself feel that⊠Iâll lose it all. That maybe⊠youâd see the real me, andâŠâ
His voice faltered. You didnât interrupt. You let the silence speak, letting him find the courage on his own time.
He finally looked up, the faintest trace of a smile breaking through the exhaustion. âBut⊠having you here like thisâit means more than I can say.â
You smiled back, squeezing his arm gently. No confessions. No grand declarations. Just two people finding safety in the quiet moments between the noise.
The apartment buzzed with warmth and chatter, fairy lights casting soft glows over scattered wine glasses and snack bowls. The girlfriends had taken over the living room, sinking into cushions and stretching out comfortably as stories flew back and forth like old friends reuniting.
Seungminâs lover, the stage manager, was rolling her eyes fondly at yet another ridiculous Seungmin anecdote, while Hanâs girlfriend laughed, shaking her head at Jisungâs latest tattoo drama. Flower girl was quietly giggling, sharing one of Hyunjinâs latest artistic disasters, and Jeonginâs girlfriend â the graphic designer â sat cross-legged on the floor, sketchbook forgotten in her lap as she listened intently.
Then, inevitably, the conversation turned towards you. Something you were dreading the whole night, not even understanding how you ended up in this situation in the first place. The PR manager turned Jisung's girlfriend worked closely with you, hence why she politely asked you to join. However, being the only single person in the middle of such an ensemble was a nightmare turned reality.
âSo, what about you?â Seugminâs girlfriend asked, eyes flicking toward you with a teasing smile. âAnyone special in your life these days?â
You took a slow sip of your wine, feeling all their curious eyes settle on you like a spotlight.
âHonestly? I donât really have time for dating,â you said with a shrug, trying to keep it light. âWork is nonstop. And when I do get a moment, Iâd rather not waste it on awkward small talk or meaningless dates.â
Jeonginâs girlfriend raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. âSounds like youâre dodging something,â she teased. âOr someone.â
You smiled faintly, voice dropping just a bit, like sharing a secret meant only for them.
âI believe⊠everyone is given one true love,â you said softly. âAnd maybe Iâve already found mine.â
A beat of silence.
âBut Iâm pretty sure itâll never be reciprocated.â
The room fell quiet for a moment, the usual buzz fading as your words hung gently in the air. No one pressed you, but the understanding was unmistakable â a shared tenderness beneath the playful surface.
Jeonginâs girlfriend nudged Flower girl, whispering something that made them both giggle, breaking the spell.
âOkay, enough of the heavy stuff,â Seungmin's girlfriend declared, pouring another glass of wine. âLetâs hear more embarrassing stories about our boys.â
Laughter bubbled back up, filling the room again, but the little moment stayed with you â a quiet truth shared with those who cared.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you sent a quick message, the warmth of the wine making your words a little looser than usual.
You Hey⊠you awake?
Chrisâ„ïž Always. Whatâs up?
You Just⊠had a little wine. Might be feeling a bit buzzed. But donât worry, Iâm fine.
Chrisâ„ïž Buzzed, huh? That sounds like trouble.
You Iâm a responsible adult, I swear.
Chrisâ„ïž Sure, and Iâm a unicorn. Come on, you donât have to pretend. You sound exactly like you after a glass or three.
You Okay, maybe three. But Iâm good. Promise.
Chrisâ„ïž Good or not, do you want me to come get you? Or at least stay on the phone until youâre safe?
You Iâm okay, really. Just⊠buzzed enough to text you random stuff.
Chrisâ„ïž Thatâs what worries me.
You shifted on the couch, laughter still ringing from your friends around you, but your eyes were fixed on the screen. The noise of the girlsâ chatter softened at the edges as your mind floated to the familiar warmth in Chrisâs messages. You hated feeling vulnerable, hated the idea of needing someoneâbut his steady presence was a quiet comfort, a lifeline you didnât realize you needed so much.
The night stretched on, and soon enough, a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. There he wasâChris, quietly standing with that familiar worried smile, ready to make sure you got home safely. In the chaos of deadlines, meetings, and your self-imposed armor, he was the calm you could always count on. Maybe one day, youâd be brave enough to tell him exactly that.
You were too buzzed to notice, but Chris saw how all the girls shared a knowing look upon his arrival. He greeted everyone tenderly, considering the girls were his brothers' significant others, he tried to keep as close to them as possible, without ever intruding. However, he couldn't really decipher the suggestive eyebrow raises or cheeky winks sent towards him over your shoulder as you hugged everyone goodbye.
The ride home was quiet, the city lights blurring past the windows as you nestled into the passenger seat, your head heavy with tirednessâand maybe the wine, too. Your eyes fluttered shut before long, surrendering to the pull of sleep.
Chris glanced over at you from the driverâs seat, his heart squeezing softly at the sight. You looked so peacefulâsoft features relaxed, breathing steady and calm. The world slowed down around him in that moment, and all the noise and stress of his endless schedule faded away.
He thought about how often you were the oppositeâbusy, always moving, juggling a million things at once. But right now, in this small, quiet space, you were just⊠you. Unguarded. Vulnerable. And breathtaking.
There was something about the way you trusted him so fully, letting go enough to fall asleep beside him. It made him feel honored, like you were letting him hold a piece of your world no one else saw. That fragile quiet filled him with a warmth he couldnât explain, a tenderness that made his chest ache in the best way.
He reached over carefully, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment on your cheek. If only you knew how deeply fond he was of youâhow every small gesture, every laugh, every late-night conversation stitched you closer into the fabric of his heart.
Tonight, he promised himself, heâd just be here. Quiet. Present. Grateful for this moment.
Because loving youâhowever quietlyâwas the most real thing heâd ever known.
The dressing room buzzed with restless energy, but the mood was far from lighthearted. Beneath the surface, tension rippled through the groupâsubtle shifts, hesitant movements, and uneasy glances that betrayed discomfort.
Chan stood by the door, trying to keep the peace, his voice calm but strained. âPlease, letâs remove the tape on Jisungâs tattoos. Heâs clearly uncomfortable.â
The stylist gave a polite nod but didnât make any real move to fix it.
Across the room, Changbin tugged at a rough, scratchy shirt, biting back a grimace. âIâm allergic to this fabric,â he muttered, voice low but edged with frustration.
Then, almost like salt in a wound, a staff member handed Minho a compression shirt, smirking as they said, âHere, this one should fit betterâyouâve gained too much weight lately.â
Chanâs eyes flickered with disbelief and something sharperâhurt, maybe. The words hung in the air, heavy and cutting.
He continued to try, his tone measured but growing firmer, âEveryone deserves to be comfortable. Please listen to the members.â
But his words seemed to vanish into the background noise as the staff ignored his requests, their dismissive attitudes making the room heavier.
And then the door swung open.
You stepped in, all business and steel-clad determination, the kind of presence that instantly demanded attention. The chatter died down to a hush. Chan watched you, admiration blooming quietly but fiercely inside him. You scanned the room with a steady gazeâsharp, unyielding, utterly confident.
âWhatâs going on here?â Your voice was cool but resolute, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Chanâs chest tightened as relief and respect washed over him. Watching you take charge reminded him why he trusted you so completely.
In that moment, he thought about youâyour unbreakable character, the way you carried yourself with quiet, unwavering confidence. You never compromised your principles, never faltered when it came to protecting those you cared about. Your vision for the groupâs comfort and well-being wasnât just a jobâit was a passion, a fierce dedication that inspired everyone around you.
He admired how you stood up without hesitation, how your belief in respect and kindness was absolute. You moved through the room with purpose, addressing the stylists directly, your voice steady and firm.
âI donât care how youâve done things before,â you said, eyes locked on theirs. âMaking the members uncomfortable isnât acceptable. Jisungâs tattoos arenât a problem to âfix.â Changbinâs allergy isnât a fashion statement. And Minho deserves respectâno one talks to him like that.â
The stylists exchanged uneasy looks, suddenly aware that their usual arrogance wasnât welcome here. You held their attention with the kind of authority that came from years of knowing exactly who you wereâand what you would stand for.
âAdjust everything immediately, or Iâll find someone who will. This stops now.â
âThank you,â Chan said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His tired eyes met yours, filled with a rare vulnerability. âI tried to tell them to change whatever needed to be changed, but no one listened. Sometimes I'm just too polite to get my point across.â
You softened, the sharp edge of your professional armor slipping just for a moment. The weight of the day faded away as you took a small step closer. Gently, you reached up and ran your hand through his hairâthe familiar curls now tamed, smoothed down by the stylists.
âI was actually imagining you leaving your hair naturally curly for this comeback,â you murmured, your fingers lingering in the strands. âBut I guess the staff straightened it anyway.â
Chanâs lips curved into a sheepish smile. âThat was my call,â he admitted quietly. âI thought people liked the straightened look better.â
You shook your head, a small laugh escaping. âNo way. Everyone thinks youâre way hotter with your curls. Fans go crazy for it.â
His eyes twinkled with something like relief, maybe even gratitude. For a brief moment, the chaos around you both dissolvedâthere was just the two of you, quiet and intertwined. In the middle of the dressing room frenzy, it felt like the only place that truly mattered was the connection shared between the two of you.
The studio feels unusually quiet this afternoon. The usual buzz has softened to a gentle hum, like the calm before a storm. The others are busy with their last preparations for the Japan trip, but you sit still, fingers hovering over your laptop, words caught somewhere between your mind and the screen.
Chan looks your way, hopeful but cautious. âYouâre coming with us, right?â
His question is simple, but it carries more weight than you can say. Your heart twists painfully at the thought.
You want to go with them. You want to be there, beside him. But your feelings for him are getting tangled, overwhelming â and youâre scared what might happen if you donât keep some distance. You need to protect yourself.
You shake your head gently. âI think Iâm going to stay in Seoul this time.â
Chanâs eyes widen for a moment â surprise, confusion, maybe even a flicker of hurt, quickly masked. âOh. Okay.â
He wonders why youâre staying behind.
Does she not want to be with me? Did I do something wrong? I donât want to lose her â sheâs the one person I can always count on. But maybe Iâm too much, or maybe Iâm not enough.
You avoid his gaze, your heart pounding. âItâs nothing to do with you. I just⊠need some space.â
Chan tries to decipher what those words really mean.
Space? Does she mean distance? Or something else? Does she even feel the way I do?
The room suddenly feels colder, heavier.
Chan swallows and forces a small smile that doesnât quite reach his eyes. âAlright. If thatâs what you need.â
I want to reach out, to tell her everything â how I feel, how scared I am of losing her â but Iâm too afraid. What if she doesnât feel the same? What if I ruin this?
You watch him quietly, your carefully held walls starting to crumble.
He deserves to know. He deserves to hear that you care, that the space you need isnât because you want to leave him behind, but because you need time to sort through feelings that overwhelm you.
But the words stay locked inside.
As Chan zips his bag, the silence between you grows heavier â fragile and full of unspoken things neither of you dares to voice.
You both sit there, two hearts aching quietly, afraid to cross the line into the unknown. You stand up, gathering your things slowly, the weight of unsaid words hanging in the air. Chan watches you, his fingers twitching at his sides, as if he wants to reach out but holds back. Before you walk away, his voice is barely above a whisper.
âHey⊠if you change your mind, just text me. I'll pay for your flight and all,â
You turn, catching the sincerity in his eyes â a soft, vulnerable light that you donât often get to see. Your chest tightens. Without thinking, your hand brushes lightly against his arm. Itâs a small touch, almost hesitant, but it sends warmth rushing through you both. Chanâs breath catches. For a heartbeat, the distance between you feels smaller, less certain. You give him a shaky smile. Finally, he pulls you into a warm embrace, one that feels like home. He's renowned for his hugs; his muscular arms feel safe and calming as they encircle you, and as you're surrounded by his sweet vanilla scent, it becomes harder and harder to keep your distance.
âThank you, Chris.â
He nods, fighting the urge to hold you there a little longer.
As you leave the studio, your heart aches â filled with hope and fear tangled together, knowing that maybe, just maybe, this fragile moment is the start of something neither of you dared to say out loud.
The day had been relentless for Chrisâhours packed with rehearsals, last-minute adjustments, and the stress of their TV showcase looming large. Every little detail needed to be perfect, and the weight of it pressed down on him heavier than he expected. It's always difficult for him to manage all this chaos without having you there. By the time he finally got back to his hotel room, his mind was still racing, the exhaustion in his body nowhere near enough to quiet his thoughts.
He stared at the ceiling, the buzzing of his phone beside him offering a small comfort. Without really thinking, he swiped it awake and dialed the one person he knew would calm the storm in his chest.
You answered on the second ring, your voice sleepy but warm. âHey.â
âHey,â Chris said, voice a little rough. âLong day⊠couldnât sleep.â
You yawned softly. âSame here. Whatâs on your mind?â
He let out a tired chuckle. âEverything and nothing. The showcase prep is driving me crazy. The kids are great, but the pressure⊠you know.â
You listened quietly, the calm steadiness of your voice smoothing the edges of his tension. âYou always manage to hold it together, Chris.â
âOnly because I have you to remind me to breathe,â he said, and the sincerity in his tone made your heart skip.
For a while, the two of you just talked â quiet, easy conversation about silly things and shared memories, letting the comfort of each otherâs presence work its magic. The cityâs distant noises faded away, replaced by the soft intimacy of the call.
âIâm really glad you picked up,â Chris whispered.
âMe too,â you answered, your eyes closing as the warmth of the moment wrapped around you.
âHey, promise me youâll get some sleep tonight?â
âI promise,â you said.
A long pause. Then, his voice, softer now. âGoodnight, pretty girl.â
âGoodnight, Chris.â
The phone slipped from your hand as sleep finally took you, the quiet sound of Chrisâs even breathing the last thing you heard before drifting off.
As soon as he got back, you were over at his place. He didn't even get to unpack, which for a meticulously clean and organized person like him was equal to hell, but he wanted you there as soon as it was possible. He dialed your number from the airport shuttle, begging to see you. And you can't say no to Chan. It's impossible. And he knows.
The apartment was filled with the comforting aroma of a home-cooked meal, Chris moving around the kitchen with practiced ease. You admired the way he handled the pans and spices â precise, confident, and calm. Unlike his usual self-consciousness in public, here he was in his element, effortlessly creating something delicious. You slipped in to help, chopping vegetables or stirring sauces, your laughter blending with the soft music heâd put on.
When Jeongin and his girlfriend arrived, the atmosphere shifted to playful and lighthearted. Jeonginâs grin was impossible to miss.
âDouble date vibes tonight, huh?â he teased, elbowing his girlfriend with a sly smile.
You and Chris exchanged quick, shy glances. Both of you turned a shade of pink, feeling that familiar mix of warmth and awkwardness as Jeonginâs joke hit right where it counted. You laughed nervously, trying to play it cool, but the teasing was relentless â and honestly, it just made the evening feel more special.
After they left, the night settled into quiet comfort. You and Chris retreated to his room â his sanctuary, a place full of soft lighting, scattered notebooks, and the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the faintest trace of coffee from his late-night sessions.
You settled into the familiar nest of blankets and pillows on his bed, limbs entwined like you always did. The world outside faded away. His hand found yours, fingers curling around yours with that gentle, grounding pressure that made your heart beat a little slower.
He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, lulling you to sleep. He slowly leaned in, sure that you were already floating in dreamland, pressing a little kiss to your forehead. His voice was low, hesitant but filled with something youâd longed to hear.
âI missed you so much,â he whispered, so soft that you barely heard it.
Your breath caught â a smile tugged at your lips. You didnât say anything, you knew he didn't mean for you to hear his quiet confession, so you stayed put. Nuzzled into his chest. The silence wrapped around you both like a tender promise.
And as you drifted off to sleep, still tangled in each otherâs arms, you felt a warmth settle deep inside â the quiet certainty that maybe, just maybe, you werenât alone in feeling this way after all.
You lie there, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady next to you, and the quiet weight of his words resting softly on your skin. Itâs everything you didnât dare say out loud, and suddenly everything feels both fragile and certain at once.
You want to tell him that youâve been afraid â afraid of losing this, afraid of hoping too much, afraid of how much you care. But right now, words feel unnecessary. You just want to stay here, wrapped up in the warmth of him, and believe that maybe, this could be the start of something real.
You donât know what tomorrow holds, but for the first time in a long time, you feel brave enough to let the possibility in. Maybe love doesnât have to be scary. Maybe it can be this quiet, steady, and soft. Maybe itâs already here.
You Hey, did you actually eat today or are you surviving on caffeine and sheer willpower again?
Chanâ„ïž Haha, I had a sandwich. Barely counts, I know. But donât worry, Iâm not turning into a walking skeleton yet.
You Barely counts? Chris, youâre supposed to be the leader, not a starving artist. I swear, if I see you at the studio looking like youâve forgotten how to human, Iâm dragging you out for food myself.
Chanâ„ïž Deal. Speaking of dragging, when can we schedule that meeting to go over the tour details? I need your magic on this.
You How about Thursday afternoon? Iâll bring snacks as a bribe.
Chanâ„ïž Thursday it is. You bring snacks, Iâll bring the caffeine. Perfect.
You Also, have you noticed Changbinâs been acting weird lately? Like, seriously weird?
Chanâ„ïž Haha, you mean the way he stares at the new personal chef like she hung the stars? I caught him trying to âaccidentallyâ get into the kitchen more than once.
You Right?! Iâm pretty sure heâs got a crush. This is going to be interestingâŠ
Chanâ„ïž Oh man, imagine the chaos. Should we start placing bets on how long before he actually talks to her?
You Youâre on. But if he messes it up, Iâm blaming you for not coaching him properly.
Chanâ„ïž Fair enough. Guess I better start my mentorship duties early.
You knew he hadnât eaten properly all day. You saw the way his eyes were a little tired, how his movements had the usual restless energy but lacked the usual spark. So, you did what you always didâshowed up at the studio, determined to drag him away from his work.
When you slipped into the control room, Chris was hunched over the mixer, headphones around his neck, completely absorbed. You cleared your throat softly, and he looked up, surprised but relieved in equal measure.
âHey,â you said, voice gentle but firm. âCome on. Youâre not finishing that without food. Iâm taking you out.â
He hesitated for a moment, that familiar crease between his brows, but then he gave a small, grateful smile. âYouâre relentless.â
You took his handâa quick, familiar squeezeâand led him out before he could say no. The city lights blurred past the windows as you drove to a quiet little restaurant you both liked. The kind of place where the lighting was soft, and the music was just low enough to hear your own thoughts.
Chris was different here, relaxed. He pulled out your chair with a gentlemanâs ease, ordered your favorite dishes without asking, and laughed softly at your jokesâthose little things that made his presence feel like home.
You watched him across the table, the way his eyes caught the candlelight, the easy warmth in his smile. It stirred something deep inside you. A flutter of hope mixed with the fear that maybe, just maybe, this wasnât just friendship anymore.
You wanted to reach out, to tell him all the thoughts swirling in your mindâthe late nights you spent wondering if he felt the same, the quiet moments you replayed where maybe he was sending signs you missed. But you stayed silent, because saying it aloud felt too fragile, too risky.
Chris caught your gaze, and there was something in his eyesâa flicker of the same hesitation, the same unspoken yearning.
The conversation drifted softly, filled with comfortable silences and light teasing. Neither of you rushed to cross the invisible line, but the space between you was charged with all the things you werenât saying.
When you finally left the restaurant, the night air cool against your skin, Chris slipped his hand into yours without hesitation. It was a small, simple gesture, but it said everything neither of you dared to speak.
And as you walked side by side, your heart thrumming with a nervous hope, you realizedâthis was real. And it was terrifying.
But somehow, you didnât want to look away.
Chris stepped back into the studio, the familiar hum of equipment greeting him like an old friend. He barely had time to drop his bag before Han and Changbin were all over him like a storm.
âSo? How was the dinner? Did you finally say it? Spill the tea, hyung!â Jisung practically bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes shining with excitement. âYouâve been dragging this out forever, man! Sheâs perfect for you, you know that, right?â
Chris sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to dodge the barrage. âI didnât say anything, okay? It was just dinner.â
âJust dinner?!â Han threw his hands up dramatically. âHyung, thatâs like the first step to confessing! Youâve got to put the moves on her, make her see that youâre the one!â
Changbin, whoâd been silently watching the exchange, finally stepped in with his trademark calm tone. âHan-ah, maybe ease up a bit. Channie hyung, listenâif youâre scared or unsure, thatâs normal. But you donât have to rush it. Just be honest. Start small. Show her you care, and when the time feels right, tell her.â
Chris looked between the two, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the pressure. Jisung was a hurricane of energy and encouragement, sureâbut Changbinâs steady voice made more sense.
âI know. Itâs just⊠hard,â Chris admitted quietly. âI donât want to mess this up. She means too much to me.â
Han clapped him on the shoulder so hard Chris nearly stumbled. âThen stop overthinking and just go for it! Weâve got your back, hyung.â
Changbin nodded firmly. âWe do. And no matter what happens, youâve got us.â
Chris let out a breath he hadnât realized heâd been holding. With friends like theseâsome chaotic, some calmâmaybe he wasnât so alone in this after all.
The rest of the group was glued to the karaoke machine, belting out pop hits with that mix of enthusiasm and off-key charm only close friends could appreciate. The room was alive with laughter and music, but you had slipped away to a quieter corner with Hyunjin, Flower Girl, Jeongin, and his girlfriend.
The soft clink of glasses punctuated the hum of conversation as the girls leaned in, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
âSo,â Flower Girl teased, swirling her drink, âYou called someone your âone true loveâ on girlâs night. We need details. Who is he? Whatâs going on?â
Jeonginâs girlfriend grinned, adding, âYeah, spill it! Any advances? Is he making moves or what?â
Hyunjin was already dramatizing the moment, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. âCome on, this is a moment worthy of a drama. Does he know heâs won your heart? Has he confessed yet, or are you torturing him like the dramatic lead you are?â
You laughed softly, feeling a little warm from the wine and the company. âMaybe things have been⊠different lately,â you said, eyes darting around just enough to keep them guessing.
The girls exchanged knowing looks, ready to pry more, but before they could launch into another round of questions, Chan appeared.
His eyes were a little glassy, and a goofy grin spread across his face as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close with affectionate familiarity. âHey, no leaving me alone, okay?â His voice was low, slightly slurred but full of warmth.
You leaned into his embrace, the buzz in your head settling into a calm comfort. âIâm not going anywhere,â you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips.
Hyunjin gasped theatrically, clutching Flower Girlâs arm. âWell, thereâs your answer, ladies! The clingy best friend has arrived!â
Jeongin rolled his eyes but grinned. âItâs about time.â
You glanced up at Chan, who was looking at you with a softness that made your heart flutter and your worries melt away, at least for the moment. Chan tightened his hold on you, but the teasing from the girls was relentless.
âHey, Chris,â Flower Girl said with a sly smile, âYou do know noonaâs been calling someone her âone true loveâ at girlâs night, right?â
Jeongin chuckled, nudging Chanâs side. âYeah, weâre all trying to figure out who this mystery guy is. Itâs like a secret mission for us.â
Chanâs smile faltered for the barest moment. His buzzed brain knew better than to get upset. He didnât have the right to be jealous â not when you hadnât said anything, hadnât given him a sign. Still, a flicker of something like possessiveness tightened in his chest.
âYeah, well,â Chan said, voice a little rougher than usual but carefully calm, âIâm not worried. Whoever he is, he better be worth it.â
You caught the shadow in his eyes and squeezed his hand softly. âNo one else compares.â
The girls exchanged amused glances, clearly loving the low-key tension.
Hyunjin smirked. âAw, poor Channie hyung. So sweet, but so defeated.â
Jeongin laughed. âDonât worry, hyung. Youâre not losing noona just yet.â
Chan just shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, though inside he was quietly fighting down a storm of hope and fear â the same storm you were feeling.
The night air was cool and soft as Chan wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You walked side by side down the quiet streets, the buzz of the party fading behind you like a distant memory.
He was quieter now, the confident teasing replaced by a gentle protectiveness that made your heart flutter. You could feel his warmth, steady and reassuring, as you both navigated the dimly lit sidewalks.
At your doorstep, he hesitated, eyes searching yours like he was looking for permission without words. You leaned into him, still a little tipsy, your breath catching as he pulled you closer.
Without any grand confession, just a simple, heartfelt murmur, he whispered, âI donât want to say goodbye just yet.â
That was all it took.
Before either of you could overthink it, his lips found yoursâsoft, a little shaky, but full of everything he hadnât said aloud. You melted into the kiss, fingers threading into his hair, the world shrinking until it was just the two of you in the quiet night.
When you finally pulled back, breathless, Chan rested his forehead against yours, a shy smile tugging at his lips. âGoodnight,â he whispered, voice thick with feeling.
And just like that, everything changedâthough neither of you quite knew it yet.
The studio was quiet, the usual hum of equipment softened by the early morning calm. You arrived early, clutching your tablet filled with notes and schedules, ready to dive into the dayâs agenda. Chan was already there, leaning against the desk with his usual relaxed smile, but there was something different in his eyes today â a flicker of something unsettled.
âHey,â he said, voice low but steady. âCan we talk about last night?â
You glanced up, offering a polite smile but immediately returning to your notes. âIâd love to, Chris, but we have the new tour timelines to finalize, and the creative direction for the lighting effects still needs your input.â
He stepped closer, hopeful. âI meanâus. What happened.â
You nodded, voice clipped but careful, âRight now, Iâm focused on ensuring the choreography cues sync perfectly with the stage design. I think if we prioritize that, the rest will fall into place.â
Chanâs expression faltered, his smile tightening. âYouâre dodging me.â
âNot at all.â You tapped on your tablet, scrolling. âIâm just being responsible. The boys need us to be sharp. Weâll get to personal stuff later, okay?â
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, eyes searching yours for a crack in the armor. When none came, he took a step back.
âFine,â he said quietly, hurt clear in his voice. âGuess Iâll figure it out on my own.â
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away, leaving a silence heavier than any words. You sat there, heart pounding, guilt settling in even as you tried to bury it under the weight of your work.
You watch him walk away, your chest tight. You tell yourself itâs just about workâstaying professional is the only way to keep things from spiraling out of control. But deep down, the ache is undeniable. Youâve been protecting yourself, building walls because these feelings scare you more than you want to admit. Could you handle the possibility of losing him as more than a friend?
Chanâs footsteps fade down the hall, but in his mind, the moment replays over and over.
She wonât talk to me. Sheâs shutting me out. The frustration twists in his gut, but underneath it all, thereâs a small flame of hope. Maybe you're scared too. Maybe you just donât know how to say what you feel.
He thinks about how carefully you always carry your heart, how you put on that strong, unbreakable front like a shield. But to him, that isnât weaknessâitâs a kind of bravery. And it makes him want to protect you even more.
I canât give up on herânot now.
Back at your desk, you force your focus back to the glowing screen, but your mind is tangled in âwhat ifs.â What if youâd been softer? What if youâd let yourself be vulnerable? But the fear of crossing that line, of exposing yourself to pain, keeps you locked in your professional shell.
You take a deep breath. Tomorrow, maybe, youâll try again.
Your inbox dings just as you wrap up your work. You open the email from Chris, expecting the usual files for the comeback lighting setup. But then you see itâa whole folder attached, titled with your name.
Curious, you click it open. Inside are dozens of raw, unpolished demosâall love songs. Written by Chris himself. Songs heâd never meant anyone to hear yet, especially not you.
Across town, Chrisâs phone buzzes urgently. Itâs Jisung's girlfriend, the PR manager of Stray Kids.
âHey, Chris, quick question,â she says, trying to keep her voice professional but with a hint of amusement. âDid you mean to send some files just now? Because thereâs a folder attached withâuhânoona's name on it. I was included on the email thread, so I saw it.â
Chris freezes, confusion twisting into panic. âWait, what? I didnât send anything like that. Which folder?â
She chuckles. âThe one titled with your Creative Directorâs name. That one.â
Chrisâs breath hitches. His mind races. âNo, no, that canât be right. That was not supposed to go out. IâI donât even remember attaching that.â
Chan hears Jisung's voice on the other side of the call, in full teasing mode.
âDude! You seriously sent your secret love song folder? The one you never share with anyone?! Man, youâre so busted!â
Chris runs a hand through his hair, heart pounding in his chest.
âYeah⊠Iâm officially doomed.â
Chris was already halfway across the city when his phone buzzed with your message: âIâm at the studio. We need to talk.â Panic clawed at his chest, his mind spinning out of control. He couldnât let you listen to those songs. Not like this. Not now.
When he burst into the studio, he found you thereâsitting quietly in his chair, headphones on, the soft glow of the computer screen illuminating your face. One by one, the songs played, each one carrying the weight of his most hidden feelings.
His voice stumbled out, frantic and breathless. âThis wasnât supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. The kissâme sending those songsâit was all a mistake.â
You slowly took off the headphones, your eyes shining with unshed tears, voice trembling but steady. âWas it really a mistake? Do you mean any of those things you wrote in those songs?â
Chris hesitated, heart breaking at the sight of your fragile expression, the quiet sadness that clung to you like a second skin. But instead of softening, his frustration boiled over.
âNo, youâre not the one who should be sad,â he snapped, voice rising. âYou still have your one true love out there, you said so yourself. You're the one who didn't want to talk about our kiss in the first place, probably because of him. Youâre the one who gets to be happy with someone else after this, while I lose my best friend and the love of my life at the same time.â
His words hit like a slap. Your breath caught. Your voice cracked with fury and heartbreak as tears spilled down your cheeks. âThatâs you, you absolute idiot! Itâs always been you, Christopher! Ever since you snuck me food during our trainee days, Iâve been in love with you. You're the one I was talking about that night, you're my one true love.â
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your confession hanging between you. Chrisâs eyes softened, searching yours, finally understanding just how long and how deeply this had been brewing inside you both.
Chris's breath hitched, eyes wide with disbelief and an overwhelming rush of happiness. The weight of yearsâof silence, of hidingâseemed to lift all at once. His heart pounded louder than ever before, as if finally free to beat without restraint.
Without thinking twice, he closed the small gap between you in one swift step. His hands reached up to cup your face gently but urgently, trembling just a little. And then, without hesitation, he pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss was fierce and full of everything heâd been too scared to sayâthe longing, the fear, the hope, and the unshakable love that had quietly grown between you all along.
You melted into him, your hands threading through his hair, grounding him. Time blurred. The noise of the world faded away until there was only thisâonly the warmth of his lips, the steady beat of his heart matching yours.
Chris pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own shining with relief and something rawâvulnerability mixed with hope.
âIâve loved you for so long,â he whispered, voice trembling but steady. âSince those trainee days when Iâd sneak you food because I didnât want you to go hungry. Since every time I stayed up late, not just because of work, but because I was thinking about you. I was scaredâscared you didnât feel the same, scared Iâd lose the best thing Iâve ever had if I said anything. But I canât hide it anymore. You are the one I want. Youâve always been the one.â
He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek as if memorizing your face. âYouâre my person. My home. Iâm done being afraid.â
His gaze never wavered as he waited, hoping you could see just how true it all was.
The music pulses through the studioâs speakers as the boys move through their synchronized choreography, energy and precision filling the room. You stand at the edge, your tablet in hand, eyes darting between the dancers and the progress bar on your screen. Your job is to cue the right track at the right time, to catch every little nuance that could make or break the performance.
But your attention keeps drifting to Chan.
Heâs in the middle of the formation, but you catch him stealing glances at you more often than at the choreography instructor. His brows furrow in concentration, but his lips twitch into a shy smile whenever your eyes accidentally meet. You sense his focus wane, like his heart is pulling him away from the dance routine and right into your orbit.
âChris! Eyes up!â Changbinâs voice rings out, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
Chan snaps back to attention, cheeks flushed as he tries to follow the complicated steps. The rhythm falters briefly, his movements a bit off, and a frustrated sigh escapes his lips as he shakes his head.
When the choreography run ends, he jogs over to you, trying to catch his breath. âSorry... I just⊠you distracted me,â he admits, scratching the back of his neck.
You grin, closing your tablet with a tap. âSave some of that attention for the music cues, alright? Youâre making me jobless.â
He chuckles, a little embarrassed but unable to hide how your words lift him. âNo promises,â he says with a wink. Then, pulling a playful salute, he steps back into the group. But every few seconds, he looks your way, a silent confession in his gaze.
The green room is a cozy sanctuary away from the buzzing chaos of rehearsals and photo shoots. You enter first, carrying your coffee like a prized possession, and find a quiet corner to sit and gather your thoughts.
Almost instantly, Chan appears behind you, as if drawn magnetically.
âHey, sweetheart,â he murmurs, sliding onto the couch beside you with a familiar ease.
You take a sip of your coffee, eyes half-closed in relief. But Chan isnât done.
âDid you eat anything yet?â he asks, his voice gentle but persistent.
You chuckle, placing your cup down. âI did, Chris. Twice actually. Youâre not my mom.â
He grins, leaning closer until his head rests lightly on your shoulder. âMaybe not, but Iâm your biggest fan,â he teases softly.
The groupâs laughter drifts from the hallwayâJeonginâs teasing voice is unmistakable, âChannie hyung, youâre spoiling her! What about us?â
Chan only squeezes your shoulder and replies, âSheâs my priority.â
Your heart swells quietly at his affection. Heâs not the type to shout it from rooftops, but moments like this, small and intimate, speak volumes. Being wrapped in his warmth, you feel protected, cherishedâand incredibly lucky.
Chan catches you during a rare lull in the day, tablet clutched like a secret treasure. His eyes gleam with excitement and nervousness, the kind that makes you grin before he even speaks.
âI wrote a new song,â he says, voice low but full of pride. âItâs⊠well, itâs kind of a love song.â
You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms teasingly. âAgain? Youâre on a roll.â
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. âI canât help it. Every time I think about you, melodies just start playing in my head. Itâs like my heartâs got its own playlist.â
Just then, Hyunjin and Jeongin stroll by, catching the tail end of your conversation.
Hyunjin smirks, calling out, âChannie hyung, love is great and all, but how about a real party anthem? We need something to get the crowd jumping.â
Jeongin laughs, elbowing Hyunjin. âYeah, or are you planning a duet with her? Because if you are, donât flood us with more mushy songs!â
Chanâs cheeks flush a deep red, but he doesnât back down. Instead, he steps closer to you, eyes locked on yours. âMaybe I will,â he whispers. âBecause if itâs about you, itâs always worth it.â
You squeeze his hand, warmth blooming through your chest. Despite the teasing, you know this is his way of showing how much he caresâone love song at a time.
Love that grows from friendship is the quietest kind.
It doesnât strike like lightning or unravel like a slow-burn drama. It unfoldsâgently, without fanfare, in between coffee breaks and color palettes, late-night edits and sleepy glances across cluttered work tables.
Sometimes, itâs years in the making. Years of inside jokes, of shared playlists, of standing at the edge of each otherâs dreamsânot to take credit, but to make sure the other doesnât fall.
Thatâs how it was with you and Bang Chan.
You learned the language of his silences, the softness behind his steady hands. And he learned to trust the steady rhythm of your presenceâthe kind of comfort that doesnât need words to be felt.
No grand declarations, no fireworksâjust the steady warmth of two souls intertwined, quietly daring to be seen, quietly daring to belong.
And in that quiet, you found a love so true it's unnecessary to shout from rooftops.
#stray kids#skz#bang chan x reader#bang chan x you#bang chan x y/n#bang chan fluff#bang chan angst#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz fluff#stray kids fluff
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