#they were everything i could have ever wanted. more than i ever expected

[lieslab]

If we could only turn back time

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: After a Dispatch article leaks, your betrayed boyfriend kicks you out of your shared apartment and you're silenced in the worst way possible.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 5.1K

Trigger warning: Misunderstood trope, physical assault, anger, yelling, a car accident, plus graphic descriptions of physical injuries, and doctors/hospitals.

A/N: I had three hours of sad One Direction music, one request, and a dream. Requestee, you asked for angst and I have given it my all. I hope this meets every expectation and more <3

_ _ _

You were the light of Bang Chan’s life. At least, that’s what he thought. For months, his love grew for you. Over time, he opened up more and more. You crawled into his heart and made yourself at home. 

And then you tore it open. 

He thought he finally had the love of his life, but it turns out, you were just like the others. Not really loving him, but dragging along, clinging onto clout, and when the next man came, you jumped with both feet. You didn’t even say goodbye, but neither did he. 

There was no warning for either of you. One day, the two of you were head over heels for each other. The next, everything fell apart. Hearts cracked like stained glass. Tears fell, but the words from both of you didn’t provide the comfort the other so desperately craved. 

In the end, two hearts ripped apart. The world tipped in the wrong direction. You both lost your footing and for weeks, nothing would be the same for either of you, ever again. 

~ ~ ~ 

When you came home from buying groceries, the apartment was quiet, like usual. Chan’s warm presence had been gone since this morning. Up at the crack of dawn, he disappeared to continue making his dreams come true. 

You missed him when he was gone, just as he missed you, but dreams were important. No matter what happened between the two of you, it was the one thing you both agreed that it was important. No matter where your life took you, the most important thing was keeping focused on your dreams. 

Yes, the two of you were in love, but that wasn’t stopping either of you from pursuing your passions. Not yet engaged, the two of you vowed to be supportive of each other. Through thick and thin, in the risky moments, and everything in between; you swore to be there for one another. 

Your bare feet glided across the tile floor with ease. Without Chan, the apartment felt empty, but that didn’t stop you from trying to make it feel warm and fuzzy. Over on the side counter, you turned on the candle warmer. Maybe by the time Chan got home, the apartment would be full of a welcoming vanilla buttercream. 

You swore his cologne had hints of vanilla. He disagreed with you and insisted you didn’t know your scents. Just to prove a point, you bought the vanilla candle, and yet, he refused to see it.

He could be stubborn like that sometimes. Certain things he couldn’t see. No matter how hard and how obvious you attempted to make these things, he refused to see them. Sometimes, it was more frustrating than anything, but you learned to deal with every part of him; the good and the bad. 

You had your own set of flaws, too. Out of everyone existing in the world, there was nobody that you wanted to be with more than Chan. The two of you were still so young. There was a lifetime of adventures and fun to have. You were hoping the relationship between the two of you would last forever. 

It ended when Chan stormed through your front door. The bang of the front door slamming against the sidewall sent your heart racing. You grabbed a can of peas for defense and held your breath. 

Footsteps stormed through your living room. Your fingers turned pale around the can. A sigh of relief fell from you when you saw the furrow on Chan’s face. “Holy shit, you scared the crap out of me. What’s wrong, baby? What happened?” 

You put down the can and walked towards him. Your hands stretched out to grab his face. To your surprise, he swatted them away. Your eyes widen at the faint sting. “What are you-” 

“You don’t get to baby me after what you did!” 

“I-I did something? What did I-” 

“Shut up! You don’t get to pretend like you don’t know! You know I’ve felt like a piece of shit because I can’t be here twenty-four-seven! You know I travel for work and yet you still choose to hurt me in the worst way possible!” 

Confusion filled your face and it just pissed him off more. He jerked his Samsung phone from his pocket. You watched as he typed in the password. Your actions from the past few days rolled through your head like stop-motion. Each silent click, more scenes filled your head. 

None of them stood out. You couldn’t recall what you did wrong, but Chan was furious. Your mouth opened, but words didn’t come out. He flipped the screen to find the bold words of a Dispatch article. Your heart hit the ground with a sickening splat. 

Trouble in paradise: A Rocky Road Ahead For Stray Kids’ Bang Chan’s Romantic Relationship. 

Attached, two photos of you grinning at another JYP idol from another group. In one, you were waving at them. In another, you were leaning over and hugging them. 

“It’s not what it looks like!” 

“Really? Because you know what it looks like to me? It looks like you were attempting to hide a close relationship with someone in a younger group.” 

“That’s not true! Chan, it’s Dispatch! You can’t possibly believe that I-” 

“I want you out of my apartment.” 

Your face fell at his words. “You…you wouldn’t. Please, just let me explain and I-” 

“When have you ever talked about him? Never! You’ve never been close to another idol! Yet now, you’re hugging him?” 

“Chan, please!” 

“Get out!” 

“But-” 

“Out!” His voice raised. “Get your stuff and get the fuck out of my apartment! Don’t bother coming back!” 

The words were loud enough to frighten you. You left the grocery bags scattered on the kitchen island and took off. Tears filled your eyes. You wanted to explain, but he kept cutting you off. 

Too heated to think about the situation, his insecurities got the best of him. In the kitchen, he slumped against the counter with his head in his hands. Warm tears filled his eyes at the sound of your sniffles. 

He wanted to comfort you, but the hurt was too much. He grew to love you with everything he had and within one Dispatch article, his swollen heart popped. How could you do this to him? After everything the two of you had been through, why did you have to ruin it? 

Tears blurred your vision and you didn’t look back. You jerked items from the closet and tossed them in your suitcase. Grabbing handfuls from each of your dresser drawers, you tossed them in with everything. Even the toiletries, you didn’t have time to organize them. 

Chan wanted you to go, so you’d leave. At the end of the day, this was his apartment. You paid rent, but his name was the first on the contract. He paid the down payment, not you. 

You gave him one last desperate look as you passed by, but he didn’t see it. His name fell from your mouth in a weak croak, but he didn’t pull his hands from his eyes. “Please, just go away.” 

You spun around, gripped your suitcase tighter, and then you did. 

~ ~ ~ 

All night, you drove around without a destination in mind. You refused to call one of Chan’s members and plead for help. It’d only stir up drama in the group. That was the last thing you wanted. 

Numbness hung over your head. You still couldn’t believe everything that happened a few hours ago. If he would have listened, he would have understood. The tears dried up a while ago, but the empty feeling in your chest didn’t go away. 

Seoul’s late afternoon crept into another dark night. Gray blotted skies drifted into a pitch black. Neon lights reflected off the paint on your car, but the warm colors didn’t warm your heart. 

The car felt lonely without Chan. You’d give anything to hear his laughter from beside you. The playful banter while he reminded you to turn on the correct turn signal. It’d been a constant inside joke between the two of you. Ever since you accidentally flicked on the wrong signal and turned the wrong way, he’d never let it go. 

The way he tipped his head forward. Messy tendrils of dark hair fell over his forehead. His squeaky laugh warmed your heart. Such a far comparison from the anger that rattled the apartment walls earlier. 

You poked his dimples between the stoplights. On nights when the two of you wanted to get away from everyday life, you found peace in this car. You’d drive and be in control for once. He’d sit beside you with a hand on your thigh. 

Simple conversations filled the car. Love pooled between the two of you. Shared laughter, quiet conversations, and the secret getaway that your car provided you’d do anything to turn back time. 

You loved him for a reason. You always had and you always would. Just because photos told one story, it didn’t mean they told the entire story. Snippets didn’t capture the truth. The context was important, but Chan was too distraught tonight. 

Too stressed out. Too angry. Too frustrated. Things built up and that article was the breaking point. Those photographs became thorns in your relationship. In one day, the roses wilted. Withered petals gathered at your feet. 

Tomorrow would be better, you reassured yourself as you drove. Tomorrow, Chan would realize he was wrong. He jumped the gun in this situation. In the morning, he’d call you and apologize. 

Tomorrow, you’d be welcomed home with a heartfelt apology and a bouquet of fresh flowers. A glass full of red wine, sweets, and a home cooked dinner. Tomorrow, things will be okay again. These tears were temporary. This hurt wouldn’t last forever. 

At a stoplight, you grabbed your phone and dialed Changbin’s number. On speaker phone, you waited and waited, but he didn’t pick up. If anyone would know the truth and be able to rationalize Chan’s brain, it was him. 

The red light from the stoplights highlighted faint tear streaks. You sniffled, wiping your long sleeve across your dripping nose. Your eyes shut and your voice cut out and quivered as you spoke. 

“Please know that I didn’t mean to cause him or you guys any harm. I ran into him the other day and asked if he could help teach me a dance. He’s one of JYP’s best dancers and I know Stray Kids are busy. His group is on break and I just thought I could surprise Chan with a dance.” 

“Saying it out loud, I get that it’s stupid now. I was just hoping it’d cheer him up. He’s been so stressed lately. I thought the least I could do was make him laugh.” 

“If you get a chance and if he’s willing to hear it, please let him know I love him. I love him and I’m sorry. Dispatch is stupid and I hate them. You can even ask that idol and he’ll tell you the same thing. I’m so sorry, Changbin. I’ll talk to you later. I have to find a place to stay tonight.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and shut your eyes. After clicking the end call button on your phone, you threw the device into your passenger’s seat. Maybe if you were lucky, Chan would hear out Changbin. Level-headed and rational, you knew Chan appreciated the advice he gave out. 

A car horn honked behind you. Your eyes quickly reopened and the green light stared back at you. Unblinking, you grumbled beneath your breath. “I’m going, I’m going, geez.” You inched out into the intersection, expecting to continue going straight. 

You weren’t expecting your car to jerk left. Your screams blended with the sound of crushing metal. Orange sparks flew. The sickening scent of burnt rubber and diesel hit your nose. Your seatbelt cut into your neck and briefly cut off your air flow. 

The last thing you remembered was the horn of the semi-truck vibrating your entire car. 

~ ~ ~ 

It wasn’t Dispatch that was the first one to find out about the devastating car accident; instead, it was Jeongin. He sucked in a deep breath as he walked into the hospital. Last night, after struggling with the flu, someone admitted his friend to the hospital. 

He mumbled beneath his breath, trying to figure out what to say. A blue medical mask sat over his nose and mouth. He knew to keep his distance, but he still felt awful that they were here. 

Hospitals were lonely. In the brief moments when families and friends disappeared. When the nurses were following their routine rounds and doctors were checking in on other patients, people were left alone. The isolating white walls. The uncomfortable piercing beeps from the heart rate monitor. The cold IV drips, distributing medicine directly into the bloodstream. 

Surgical stitches ached. Disease weighed heavily upon the lungs. Intubation and the mechanical push and pull of oxygen and carbon dioxide. Hospitals were the opposite of warm and welcoming. Cold and sterile, he rather wished his friend was at home. 

The colorful bouquet of multicolored flowers was the brightest thing in the hallway. Closed doors with numbers passed by as he walked. The nurse’s announcement of his friend’s room number echoed in his head. 

It dissipated when he heard your name from a nurse in a cracked room. Before he knew it, he was pushing the door open and stepping inside. On the hospital bed, you were unrecognizable. Scrapes and cuts laced your face. Both plum purple eyes swelled shut.  

The right side of your face puffed up unnaturally. Black stitches poked out from the bottom of your lip. That was just your face. That wasn’t beginning to touch the cast on your arm and the rest of your body hidden beneath the blue covers. 

He knew it was you. He recognized the promise ring on your ring finger. He had helped Chan pick it out. He glanced around, searching for Chan, but he wasn’t there.

“Are you lost?” 

He glanced up to find the nurse. Her blonde hair tied back in a high ponytail. She observed him through black, circular-rimmed glasses. 

He shook his head and repeated your name. The nurse frowned and he pointed to you. “Is this-” 

“Are you family?” 

“Brother.” 

You weren’t biologically related, but it felt true deep down. 

~ ~ ~ 

Changbin tried to bring the situation up to Chan, but every time he spoke your name, Chan would shut down. From what Changbin knew, Chan didn’t know what happened to you. The rest of the guys did, but they all received the same results. Every time they spoke your name, Chan grew irritated and short-tempered. 

“I don’t want to talk about them! Stop bringing them up! Enough!” 

The charming and charismatic leader unraveled at the seams. His heart was full of love for you and you ruined it. That wasn’t something he took lightly. The hurt oozed out in other ways. 

His songs weren’t coming together as easily anymore. He used to get your feedback when he went home, but now the apartment was empty. The bed was colder without you. He was lonely, but he wouldn’t admit it. 

He snapped during dance practice. After he snapped at a manager, a manager lectured him about authority and respecting his elders. Nobody understood the hurt that he was going through. It didn’t help that Dispatch began showing up and bothering him. 

They could take all the pictures they wanted. He’d never give them the satisfaction of breaking his heart. Instead of listening, he put on his airpods and cranked up the music. He shoved through the camera flashes with his baseball hat low and a face mask covering the rest of his face. They didn’t deserve to turn his heartbreak into entertainment. 

He’d never let them break him. They already did it once. You were gone and the longer you went without a call or a text, he assumed they were right. They caught you cheating and you accepted it. You didn’t fight for your relationship. 

You didn’t call and beg for him to take you back. You didn’t call and try to explain. He sent you one text, but you never opened it. He was at a complete loss without you. 

Some would call him stubborn for it, but he’d say that he was just trying to protect himself from more hurt. 

~ ~ ~ 

The lonely days for you didn’t stay lonely for long. Jeongin discovered you hours after your accident. The days slipped by, but you weren’t alone anymore. Unconscious and pumped full of medicine, sure. They were far from lonely. 

Every evening, the guys took turns hanging out beside your bed. Seungmin would sing the songs you liked. Jeongin told you funny stories of Chan, trying to bring you back to consciousness. Minho brought you warm comments from the fans who found out about your accident. The rest of the guys had their own things, but Chan’s voice never filled the room. 

Stuck in a coma, things were dark. Occasionally, you could hear the beeping of your machines. You could feel your lungs expand and compress unnaturally. Your body felt like a shell more than anything. Voices came and went, but never Chan’s. 

In the darkness, you couldn’t see. You weren’t sure if you were dead or not. Stranger’s voices appeared in soft whispers and then they faded. You weren’t sure what was going on, but you knew you were exhausted. 

Those audible voices and sounds never lasted for long. You couldn’t feel pain. Every sensation within you felt numbed. A heavy fog filled your head and something clouded your vision. 

You attempted to open your eyes every so often, but they didn’t budge. Someone glued them shut. Every limb tingled with tiny pins and needles. You didn’t know if this was death, but it didn’t feel comforting. Somewhere between the realm of the living and dead, doctors kept you in a medically induced coma. 

How else could they heal the swelling of your brain? ~ ~ ~  

“I can’t take this anymore!” Felix cried out. He shoved himself from the chair and pulled out his phone. “This is such bullshit! I’m tired of keeping this from him.”

“Well, we’ve tried. What do you propose we do? Tell him to get to the hospital without mentioning his significant other’s name?” Seungmin crossed his arms over his chest. “Good luck. We’ve tried everything and it’s been twenty-something days.” 

“Actually, that’s exactly what we should do. How much longer can this go on for? This is pathetic, even for him! I get that he’s hurt, but look at them!” He reached over and gestured towards your bed. 

You remained intubated and unmoving. The swelling in your puffy eyes faded a little more each day, but they still looked awful. The stitches in your lips disappeared, but a fresh pink scar remained. 

Swirls of purple and blue smeared along your face. Broken bones reset and were on the mend. You were a living miracle. The first responders were afraid you wouldn’t make it, but when they pulled you from the wreckage, you continued breathing. 

So he unlocked his phone and hit Chan’s contact name. 

“Hello?” 

“Chan?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You need to get to the hospital right now. Call me when you get here.” 

“WHAT?” 

“I can’t talk. Just call me when you get here.” 

“Felix!” 

He grimaced and hung up the phone. Seungmin shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You probably gave him a heart attack. He’s going to kill you when he gets here, you know?” 

“That’s a problem for later.” ~ ~ ~ 

Chan flew from his apartment. His heart pounded in his chest and he couldn’t breathe. Losing you was hard enough. If anything happened to a member of his group, he’d never forgive himself. 

“Come on, come on!” He fumbled with his seat belt in one hand. With the other, he swung his car door shut. In seconds, he jerked the car in reverse and slammed the pedal. 

He lurched down the driveway, spun the wheel with a rubbered squeal, and shifted the car into drive. The engine roared and he sped down the road. 

What-ifs grew stronger on the way to the hospital. His breath caught in his throat and he struggled to stay calm. Last he knew, everyone was fine so what happened? Who? How bad was it? 

The moment he parked, he whipped out his phone and dialed Felix’s number. When Felix responded, his voice came out frantic. “I’m here! Where are you?” 

“Room one-twelve. I’ll meet you half-way. I’ll see you soon.” 

“Wait, who is-” 

Click. 

“Fucking hell!” He cried out. He grabbed the keys, sped from the car, and rushed towards the automatic door. 

Everything was a blur inside. Voices appeared from the waiting room. The receptionist glanced over the front desk and eyed him, but she didn’t stop him. He glanced left and right and opted to go left. 

The carpet disappeared beneath his feet and turned into squeaky clean white vinyl. An easy material to clean and disinfect daily. He rushed forward when he saw Felix appear down the edge of the hall. 

The squeak of his shoes didn’t matter. He ignored the doctor he passed that told him to stop running. By the time he reached Felix, he grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. “Who is it? What happened? Tell me!” 

“Just, come on.” 

“Felix!” 

Felix didn’t budge. He grabbed Chan’s wrist and pulled him along. His chest filled with anxiety and his lungs compressed. When the pair appeared at the right door, Felix dropped his wrist and slowly pushed the door open. 

He expected to find Han or Jeongin. A broken and battered Hyunjin or Changbin hooked to oxygen. This was the intensive care unit. This was for the severe cases. The patients that required a close eye and keen detailing. 

Upon seeing you, his face fell. The bruising upon your face. The tube down your throat. Your lifeless skin and unmoving limbs. There was no sign of the life the two of you created. 

No reassuring smiles, or laughter. Seungmin sat solemnly beside your bed in a chair. “I’m shocked that you finally made it.” 

“What the hell happened?” He hurried to the opposite side of your bed. His hand reached out, but he didn’t touch you. Too frightened by your state, he didn’t know where he could touch without causing you pain. 

“Try their hand,” an unfamiliar voice spoke up. He whirled around to find a nurse in blue scrubs. “Their hands survived the crash. You can touch their hands if you wish.” 

“Sorry, I came in to get some vitals. It’ll only be a few moments and then I can leave you alone. Visiting hours are open until eleven o’clock tonight. I’ve never seen you here before, so I thought you should know.” 

“How long have they been like this?” He whispered. Tears filled his eyes and his heart ached. 

“Since the night you told them to leave your apartment.” 

“What?” 

“Felix!” Seungmin’s voice shot out sternly. “It’s not like that, Chan. Yes, the accident happened that night, but don’t beat yourself up over it. A driver of a semi-truck was speeding and couldn’t stop in time.” 

“That was nearly a-” 

“I’m sorry, hyung.” Felix’s hand appeared on his shoulder. “We tried to tell you, but every time we tried to utter their name, you were angry. We should have found a better way to tell you, but…” He trailed off, unsure of what else to say. 

The nurse grabbed your vitals and disappeared to give the guys time with you. Chan collapsed to his knees and grabbed your hand with both of his. For nearly a month, you’d been stuck in this bed. He thought you’d given up on the relationship with him. 

This entire time you haven't texted him back. Not because you were angry. Not because you were sad. Not because Dispatch’s rumors were true. But it was because you physically couldn’t. Intubated and trapped in a medically induced coma, you couldn’t reach out, even if you wanted to. 

“I’m so sorry,” he croaked. “I’m so sorry, I-I thought that they-” 

“Easy, hyung.” 

“What did I do? What the fuck did I do? If I wouldn’t have kicked them out of the apartment, this wouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have been so angry. I should have let them explain.” 

Seungmin shot Felix a look. He shrugged and gently rubbed Chan’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Channie. You were hurting and you didn’t mean for this to happen.” 

He was supposed to be the leader. A strong pillar and an even stronger influence on his younger members. As the eldest member, he was supposed to be reliable. At that moment, he crumbled. Tears appeared in his eyes as a sob broke from his chest. 

No wonder you had been so quiet. He called you once and hit your voicemail. He longed to hit the call button, just so he could hear your voice again. He squeezed your hand tighter and pressed it against his cheek. 

“Wake up. Wake up, baby, please! Come back to me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I'm so sorry!” 

Tears blurred his vision. He struggled to comprehend your mangled face. Your other hand sat wrapped in a cast. You must have been so broken when you arrived here. He wasn’t here to comfort you. He wasn’t here to try and console and cheer you up. 

A wheeze fell from his throat. The betrayal slicing through his heart disappeared. This time, he felt like he was the one that had betrayed you. He hurt you in the most unimaginable way possible. 

You laid here broken and half-dead. You spent hours fighting for your life alone. And where was he? Walking around your shared apartment drowning in his own self-pity. He’d never forgive himself for this. 

“What is this?” He finally whispered after his sobs faded away. His throat was raw. His voice came out scratchy. “How bad is it?” 

“The doctor said they should wake up at any time. They weren’t breathing on their own. A medically induced coma ensured to make sure their brain’s swelling could stop.” 

“It was that bad? They’ve been suffering through all that alone?” His bottom lip quivered. He grew afraid of the response he’d receive. 

“No,” Seungmin spoke up. “Jeongin found out first. He was the one that notified us. He said he tried to tell you, but when he showed up at your apartment, you told him to leave.” 

Horror filled Chan at the memory. Later that same night, back when you left, Jeongin appeared on his front porch pale. Instead of hearing out the younger member, he told him to get lost and slammed the door in his face. Deep down, he was afraid to be viewed as weak in front of the younger member. 

The memory stung his heart. Poor Jeongin just wanted him to know the truth and he slammed the door in his face. No wonder Jeongin seemed so nervous around him. He was probably worried that Chan would find out the truth and yell at him for not telling him. 

He rubbed his face and pawed at his eyes. “So does everyone know?” 

“Everyone besides you.” 

“Sorry you’re late. None of us knew how to get you here. You’d never listen when we tried to talk about them.” 

“I was such a stupid, selfish asshole.” 

“You were hurting,” Felix corrected him. 

“And a stupid, selfish asshole.” 

“You were.” 

“Seungmin!” Felix cried. 

“No, I want him to know that he was. I’m not going to sit here and pity him. You were a jerk, Chan. I hope you remember this moment whenever you try to act like an asshole again.” 

The words were a slap in the face, and yet he wanted to laugh. As harsh as Seungmin’s words were, they rang true. He was a jerk and maybe, in the cruelest way possible, this was his karma. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but paused when your fingernails scratched at his hand. The tube in your throat caused you to choke. You couldn’t fully see as your eyes half-opened. Still swollen, your vision remained limited. Silhouettes appeared and voices became more distinct. 

“Get a nurse!” 

Footsteps hit the ground. You gargled and reached your opened mouth. “No, no, no! You can’t touch that yet.” 

“Easy, love. Try to relax and don’t fight the tube. It’s breathing for you right now.” 

The distress and quickened-pace of the heart rate monitor hit a hiccup. Chan’s familiar voice grounded you, but you still struggled with the tube. Your lungs wanted to expand, but the machine compressed them. You choked again, still fighting the pesky thing. 

More footsteps. Another silhouette. Glasses on an unfamiliar face and latex rubbing against your skin. “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m going to take this out now, okay? On the count of three. One, two, three!” 

You gasped and coughed at the removal. Your lungs filled with air of your own accord. More coughing. You attempted to swallow, but your mouth was so dry. The lingering phantom of a headache filled the side of your head. 

“Try a sip of this, sweetheart.” 

The nurse’s tone was honey to your ears. You swallowed the water the moment it hit your lips. One swallow and then another. Two more and suddenly, you were gulping like crazy. 

“Easy, or you’ll choke,” Chan gently reminded you. 

The nurse pulled the glass away when you finished. “Do you know where you are?” 

“Hospital?” 

“Do you remember your name?” 

“Chan?” 

“I’m right here, honey. I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. Do you remember your name? This nice nurse wants to help you get better. Your doctor is on his way.” 

Every question asked, you answered it perfectly. A buzz of excitement swirled around the room from your consciousness. Seungmin and Felix left the room to give everyone the good news. 

When the doctor concluded you were stable, he disappeared with the nurse. A silence fell between you and Chan. You still couldn’t see perfectly, but you could feel the weight of his hand in yours. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry for that night.” 

“I don’t want to talk about that night.” 

“I was an idiot.” 

“Dumbass,” you weakly corrected him. 

“I see getting hit by a semi-truck hasn’t taken away your sass.” 

“If I can survive this, I can survive anything.” 

“I love you and I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, I love you and I don’t want to hear anything else about that. I’m so tired. Can you sing me to sleep or something?” 

“If I do, promise you won’t die?” 

“I promise.” 

Even if you couldn’t make out his face, you knew his voice, and that was good enough for you. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[kashverse]

I LOVE U SO SO MUCH YOU ARE MY FAV WRITER YOUR WRITING IS JUST SOO UUUHHHGG ✨💕💕✨💕💕✨💓💗

can I request a teacher!nanami x teacher!reader? It would be fun to read em sneaking in between classes :DD

(TYSM FOR BEING ALIVE KUNAFAMILY IS EVERYTHING TO MEE 💕🥳✨)

something about nanami seeking out your company while trying to avoid his feelings......sighs dramatically

the first time nanami stepped into your classroom unannounced, the kids erupted into cheers as if a celebrity had just walked in. you, on the other hand, were a little more skeptical. “mr. nanami, to what do we owe the honor?” you asked, raising a brow. he cleared his throat, his face as neutral as ever, though the slight twitch of his fingers betrayed him. “there is an important matter that requires your attention.”

the children gasped. a mystery! a scandal! what could it be?

“oh?” you played along, crossing your arms. “what kind of matter?”

nanami glanced at the expectant faces staring up at him, then turned to you with a firm nod. “one that should be discussed in private.”

the kids oohed.

you rolled your eyes but gestured for him to step outside. the moment the door shut behind you both, you turned to him, arms still folded. “what’s so important that it can’t wait?” 

he hesitated. then, rather than speaking, he simply took your hand in his, giving it a small squeeze.

“…really?” you deadpanned.

“it was of utmost importance,” he said, completely serious. you stared at him, then sighed, trying not to smile. “you couldn’t just wait for break?”

“no,” he admitted. “also, i needed a marker.”

“oh, for your whiteboard?”

“no,” he said. “it was just a good excuse.”

the next time, it was you who made the excuse.

“mr. nanami’s class and our class will be having a combined lunch period today,” you announced to your students, who immediately cheered at the idea of eating with their friends from next door. “really?” nanami asked when you told him later, sitting beside you on one of the tiny chairs in the cafeteria. 

“really,” you said, popping a grape into your mouth. he looked at you, clearly unconvinced.

“this has nothing to do with us wanting to eat together?”

“why, mr. nanami, i am offended you would think so.”

he sighed, rubbing his temple. “you do realize i would’ve just joined you for lunch if you asked?”

you shrugged. “yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

he shook his head, but you could see the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he unwrapped his sandwich. and if he saved you his extra cookie? well, that was just another matter of utmost importance.

[nhlclover]

FALLING FOR YOU WILL SMITH

pairing: will smith x marleau!daughter!reader

summary: a visit to the guest house, in an attempt to comfort will after a grueling loss, brings you two closer together than ever.

warnings: friends to lovers, pretty detailed make out scene, talks of being insecure

wc: 2.02k

notes: !!IMPORTANT!! i absolutely do not agree with the politics of the marleau family, they are simply being used as a plot device in this. pretend for the sake of this that the family are not bigots.

The house is silent except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of old wood settling in the night. Shadows stretch long and languid across the hallway, cast by the dim glow of the streetlamp filtering through the curtains. You move with practiced stealth, each step careful. Years of navigating this house have taught you exactly which floorboards creak under a footstep, which door hinges squeak in protest when nudged too far. Even still, your breath stills in your chest as you slip past your parent's bedroom door, past your brothers' rooms, your heart beating a steady rhythm of anticipation. The guest house isn’t far — just across the backyard — but trying to tiptoe in absolute silence past your parents' bedroom door and past your brothers' doors makes it feel like an eternity away.

Will had looked wrecked when he came home. The Sharks game had been brutal, a 7-2 loss to Florida, and not even his highlight-reel goal could shift the dejection that settled over him like a heavy coat. You saw it in his posture the moment he stepped off the rink: the slump of his shoulders, the tight line of his mouth, the way he avoided the gaze of everyone in the locker room. You had seen it in the post-game debrief he always did with your dad, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his thigh. You didn’t have to ask to know what was running through his mind. You felt like you knew his thoughts as though they were your own.

It wasn’t always like this. When Will first moved in, things had been awkward. He was polite — too polite. He made his bed with military precision, thanked your mom after every meal, and practically sprinted out of the room whenever he sensed he might be intruding on family time. You weren’t sure if it was out of respect or if he was just trying to survive in an unfamiliar house. Either way, it took weeks before he loosened up, before the sharp edges of his formality softened into something more comfortable.

Somewhere along the way, he had become your closest friend. He was the person you whispered late-night confessions to, the one who could tell when you needed someone to listen rather than someone to talk. And it went both ways. You had spent hours sprawled across the couch in the guest house, talking about everything and nothing. You told him about school, about how you weren’t sure if biology was what you actually wanted to study. It was supposed to be the safe, responsible choice, the thing that made sense. But the more you immersed yourself in it, the more it felt like wearing a sweater that didn’t quite fit. He listened, really listened, in a way that made you feel like you weren’t overthinking things. And in return, he let you see the parts of himself he hid from the world.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he had admitted one night, voice rough with exhaustion. “I mean, I know what I should be doing. I know what’s expected of me. But every time we lose, every time I don’t produce, it feels like — I don’t know. Like I’m letting everyone down.”

You had seen the articles, heard the analysts questioning whether he was adjusting well enough to the NHL, whether he was living up to expectations. You knew he heard them, too, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.

Will knew he was living with Patrick Marleau so he could be moulded into a better player, something like what the Sharks legend once was. But some nights, it felt like you had done more for Will than your father ever had.

The guest house is dark except for the thin sliver of light spilling beneath the door. You knock, softly. A pause. Then the rustling of movement before the door swings open, revealing Will standing in the dim glow of the lamp inside. His hair is damp from a shower, curling at the edges, and he’s wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, surprise flickering across his face before he steps aside to let you in.

“You should be asleep,” he says, voice rough with exhaustion.

“So should you.” You cross the room, your socked feet near silent against the hardwood. “But we both know that’s not happening.”

He exhales, a ghost of a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He collapses onto the couch, the television murmuring in the background showing a post-game analysis droning on about the Sharks’ mistakes. He doesn’t mute it, but his focus is entirely on you as you settle beside him, pulling your knees up to your chest.

The room is heavy with unspoken words, the kind that settles in the air and refuses to dissipate. Will’s eyes flick to the television, then back to you, his jaw tight.

“Tough game,” you say softly.

Will’s jaw tightens. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know I played like shit.”

You tilt your head, watching him carefully. “I don’t think you did.”

Will shakes his head, eyes dark with frustration. “We lost by five. Doesn’t matter if I scored, doesn’t matter if I had the best shift of my life. We still lost.”

Your heart clenches. “Will, the team is rebuilding. You knew that coming in.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I’d be a part of the problem.”

“You’re not.”

He shakes his head, jaw tight. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he leans back, tilting his head against the couch cushions, eyes slipping shut. His breathing evens out, slow and measured, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fade.

You shift slightly, resting your chin on your knees. “You’re a rookie in the NHL. You’re playing against the best in the world every night. No one expects you to carry this team, least of all yourself.”

He scoffs but doesn’t argue. “You’re getting better every game,” you continue, voice gentle but firm. “And the guys in that locker room? They know that. This season isn’t about wins, it’s about building something. And you’re a part of that foundation.”

Will lifts his head and shifts slightly, angling his body toward you. His eyes search yours, dark and unreadable. “How do you always know what to say?”

You shrug, offering a small smile. “I pay attention.”

A beat of silence. Then you notice it — the way his gaze lingers on your face, tracing over your features with something heavy and intent. You suddenly feel warm, hyper-aware of the fact that he’s shirtless, toned torso on full display, and the way his breathing has changed, now slightly uneven.

“What?” you ask, your own voice quieter now.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, and his head tilts slightly. His gaze lingers, sweeping over your face with an intensity that makes your pulse stutter. The air between you shifts, thickens, as if something unspoken has settled into the space, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Will,” you say softly, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. “What?”

He exhales slowly, shaking his head with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Spell what out?”

His eyes darken, and his fingers twitch slightly where they rest against his thigh. He leans in just enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the heat radiating off his skin, the scent of clean soap and something undeniably him.

“You know I want you.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. Your lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. He watches you, waiting, giving you a moment to react, to pull away if you want to. But you don’t. You can’t.

Because you want him too.

The realization hits you with startling clarity, and before you can second-guess it, you close the space between you. It’s tentative at first, a brush of lips, a question unspoken. But the moment his mouth moves against yours, the hesitation dissolves. His hand comes up, cupping the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheekbone as he deepens the kiss.

Your fingers settle against his bare shoulders, the warmth of his skin beneath your touch making your head spin. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s thought about it just as much as you have. There’s something desperate in the way he pulls you closer, something that tells you he’s afraid this might not be real.

You pull back just enough to whisper against his lips, “Will.”

His forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. “Yeah?”

Your heart hammers against your ribs. “I want you too.”

His breath hitches, and then he’s kissing you again, slow and deep, like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth against his. Will pulls away, but barely, his eyes searching yours.

“You sure about this?” Will’s voice is rough, barely more than a whisper, his breath mingling with yours in the space between you.

You nod, barely, but it’s enough. “Yeah.”

That’s all it takes. He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, and then he’s kissing you again. This time, there’s nothing hesitant about it. It’s deep and slow and intoxicating, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s afraid to rush something he’s wanted for so long.

His hands find your waist, warm and firm, fingers flexing as if grounding himself in the moment. You shift instinctively, moving closer until your knees are brushing his solid thigh, until there’s no space left between you. Your hands slide over his shoulders, tracing down to his chest, resting on him as you lean closer. He shivers under your cold fingers, just barely, and the realization that you affect him just as much as he affects you sends a thrill through your veins.

Will’s hands move down to the backs of your thighs, pulling you into his lap in one fluid motion, his strength effortless. You let out a surprised gasp, breaking the kiss for just a second, but his hands splayed against your back, holding you close. He grins, eyes dark with something wickedly fond.

“Better?” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement.

Your lips curl into a grin, but your heart is racing. “Shut up.”

His laughter is quiet, a vibration against your chest, but it fades as his gaze dips to your lips again. He kisses you like he means it, like he’s wanted to do this forever. His hands trace slow, soothing patterns against your back, anchoring you to him.

The television drones on in the background, forgotten, the post-game analysis long past. The only thing that exists at this moment is the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the way his hands cradle your face like you’re something precious. He kisses you with an aching sort of tenderness like he’s memorizing you, like he never wants to forget what this feels like.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to look at you properly, his expression is unreadable — something caught between wonder and disbelief. He exhales a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he admits, voice rough with emotion.

You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing the damp curls away from his forehead. “I can.”

Will's lips curve into a slow, lopsided smile, something soft and unguarded. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, like he’s committing the moment to memory.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

You nod, brushing your nose against his. “Yeah.”

For the first time all night, the weight of the loss seems to ease off his shoulders. He exhales, a quiet, content sound, and lets his forehead rest against yours.

“Stay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “With me… tonight?”

You don’t hesitate. “Always.”

And as he pulls you closer, the Sharks' loss feels like a distant memory — because for once, in this tiny, quiet moment, Will Smith isn’t thinking about hockey at all.

[lucygraysboy]

“my ma had once attempted to teach me when i was little, but i was too rambunctious to be able to focus on knitting for more than fifteen minutes. promise i’m a lot more patient now,” the cowboy laughs, pale blue eyes taking in the look on lucy gray’s face, hypnotized. these doe-like hues will be the death of him. all the kindness that’s buried deep inside her chest seems to be shining right through, making him feel so mushy and warm on the inside. she truly deserves the world, and he’ll do everything in his power to give it to her. “speakin’ of songs… was you singin’ a song when i first saw you? i was so exhausted and dehydrated, it’s all so blurry now but i thought i was at the gates of heaven and an angel was welcomin’ me with a song. what were you singin’ ‘bout?” he wonders out loud, just now reminded of the moment he first laid eyes on her. he was so out of it, and now he can barely tell what really happened and what’s only a figment of his imagination. “thanks for thinkin’ so. i didn’t want ‘im to be no outlaw. i wanted ‘im to have an honest job an’ a good life.” but now that joe’s gone, billy can’t help but wonder if maybe he was a little too hard on the boy, expected too much of him. “always. well, except for the time i went and beat up her husband ‘cause he kept makin’ her cry, bringin’ no money home, stealin’ hers… spendin’ it all in brothels and saloons. she told me to leave ‘im be, but i couldn’t.” his pride and honor and the love he had for her wouldn’t let him. 

“yeah? good ‘cause i would never.” boss her around. he thinks that’s how it should be — men should listen to women more often, they’d benefit from that. “i’m mr. sugar bucket sweet potato, and you’re miss birdie boo little carrot,” he laughs, not caring the names make little to no sense. it’s the thought and affection that counts. “i mean, i kind of understand. if i was a goat, i wouldn’t let no strange cowboy near my udders either. i’d kick ‘im in the head.” expression softening as she touches his cheek, his heart melting into a puddle, making it difficult for him to focus on anything but the way her hand feels so nice and somehow soothes the sunburn on his skin. “i’m hungry, too. it’s ‘cause of that lake. water always makes you hungry, is what i’ve noticed.” he follows her back outside, where the last rays of the setting sun have painted the porch a warm, golden hue. it’s a little more humid now, but the wind remains pleasant, lacking its bite. he lays the potatoes down on the table and takes a seat opposite to her, just so that he can admire her beautiful features in this light. if he only could paint, he’d paint her like this. “this is real nice. this table, i mean. beautiful carpentry.” he praises, but what he actually means is this, the two of them doing something so mundane together after a long, fun day, is nice. he wouldn’t mind spending every afternoon for the rest of his life doing this. “i don’t know if i’ve ever told you this, but i’m a very experienced potato-peeler. it was always my job to peel ‘em when i was little,” he brags with a smile, his hands, rough and calloused moving with practiced ease, as if peeling potatoes was as natural as roping a steer to him. 

"that's exactly why i was thinkin' it'd be good to teach you." he already read her mind, she was thinking it could be useful when he sets out on his own. a shy smile spills over kind visage at being called sweet, of course she remembered. and of course each time he says another sweet thing, it flushes her in a warm sensation of love. fills that void and all the hurt that being talked down to by the preacher that has carved a hole in her chest with, a little at each time. "course i think so. poem's are beautiful. poem's are a lot like songs... and i do love writin' songs." speaking fondly, smiling affectionately. "well, for some reason i think that's cute," lucy gray laughs, the part about bossing his brother around because he wanted to take good care of him. "and at least you listened to your mother." so safe to say, she finds that cute too. putting a cute grin on her face because it's adorable he was stubborn but still so respectful to his mama. "i'm just playin' with you, billy. i don't think you would." a gentle expression softens her features as she peers up at him, after handing him his armful of vegetables. "you're a sweet potato." since they're holding potatoes, small laugh emitting.

hand reaches up to gently pat his cheek, he's so cute, he's gotta stop being that cute in personality and his eyes are too big and pure for her heart to handle. "it's best i do that, anyway. she really is picky with that. she might really try to bite you if you grab on her udders." the brunette laughs, but genuinely feels bad for shamus for being scarred by men. "i'm hungry." amusingly replying, scooping out an armful of carrots next before shutting the lid back. "alright, let's go." grabbing a pan, she leads them back out of the house and off the porch and climbs onto the picnic table's seat before dumping her vegetables on the table top and sitting the pan down. she's got a knife sitting in the middle, she goes ahead and grabs that and starts cutting.

[silent-stories]

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: based on this.

Noah felt it before you even said a word.

That something sitting between you, like you were about to say something that was going to change everything. You were curled up on the couch, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve, your knee pulled up to your chest like you were trying to make yourself smaller. That wasn’t normal.

And then you spoke.

"I got a job offer."

His fingers stilled around the beer bottle, grip tightening just enough that he could feel the condensation slide against his skin. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t trust himself to. "Yeah?"

"In another city."

The words hit harder than he expected.

For a second, just one, he let himself think about what that meant—about this house without you in it, about days without your voice filling the empty spaces, about knowing you were somewhere else, somewhere new, somewhere without him.

And it made his stomach fucking sink.

But you didn’t belong here, did you? You never had.

You weren't his and he wasn't yours. All you had ever been was just friends.

He always knew you’d go. He just never thought it would be so soon.

You kept talking, explaining—something about better pay, bigger opportunities, a smart move. Noah heard it all, but it was like listening through static, every word just another reminder that this was real. That this was happening. That you weren’t just thinking about leaving. You were already halfway gone.

And what was he supposed to do? What was he allowed to do?

Because yeah, maybe he thought about it. Maybe he thought about pulling you in, pressing his forehead against yours, telling you he didn’t want you to go. That he needed you here, that he—

And then, for the first time, it really hit him.

He never told you. Never fucking told you.

Not when he first realized that the way he looked at you wasn’t the way a friend should. Not when you laughed at his dumb jokes, and he caught himself staring at your smile like it was something he could get addicted to, wishing he could bottle up the sound of your laughter, save it for the nights when the silence felt too heavy—when you weren’t there to fill the space beside him.

Not when you fell asleep on his shoulder during long car rides, and he stayed perfectly still, barely breathing, just to make the moment last a little longer. Not when he watched you dance around the kitchen in his hoodie, not when he felt his heart ache just being near you.

Not when he should have.

Not when it would’ve mattered.

And now, sitting here, the words he should’ve said—I like you. No, I love you. More than a friend. More than anyone—were useless. Too late. You were already slipping through his fingers, and he had no one to blame but himself.

So he stayed quiet. Because what was the fucking point now?

What was he supposed to do—throw everything at you now, at the last second, when you had a whole future waiting for you? When you were basically already half out the door? When he had every chance before, and he wasted them all?

No. That wasn’t fair.

Not to you. Not to the life you were about to build. Not to the love he’d never had the guts to give you.

So he bit his tongue. Kept his hands in his lap so he wouldn’t reach for you. Forced his voice steady as he said, "You should take it."

And fuck—he hated how easy it sounded. Hated that it came out smooth when his chest felt like it was caving in.

You hesitated. He could feel you watching him.

"You think?"

Noah swallowed hard, leaned forward, let his eyes settle on the floor instead of your face. "Yeah," he said. "Sounds like a great opportunity." Another shrug. Another lie. "You’d be an idiot not to."

The silence that followed was the worst part.

Because he could feel it—the shift, the way something between you cracked, just slightly, just enough that he knew it wouldn’t go back to how it was.

He tried to imagine what it would feel like to be around someone else the way he was with you. He’d never been able to picture anyone else in your place, never wanted to. You were a part of him now, you were the person who knew him best, the one he always leaned on when things got heavy, the one he could rely on when everything else felt like it was falling apart, the one who always answered his texts sent in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep.

And now you were walking away. And he couldn’t imagine filling that gap.

The comfort of having you around, the steady presence of your friendship, even if it had always just been friendship, was something he never thought would disappear. It was just always there. And it was hard, almost impossible, to wrap his head around the fact that it might never be like that again.

How would he ever find that again? He couldn’t even begin to picture it. And the worst part? He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to. You were it. And now, as he sat there, heart heavy with the weight of what he couldn’t say, of what he had never had the guts to tell you, he knew that he had just let you slip through his fingers. The easy, effortless thing they had—the laughter, the comfort, the quiet moments, the understanding—was something he couldn’t replicate. Not with anyone. Not now. Not ever.

"Right," you said, voice quiet. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

Noah didn’t move. Didn’t look at you.

Because if he did—if he saw the way you were looking at him, if he saw even the smallest flicker of doubt in your eyes—he knew he’d break.

And if he broke, he’d beg you to stay.

So instead, he just sat there, fingers gripping the beer bottle like it was the only thing holding him together, and let you slip further away.

A few days later, you were sitting on the leather couch in the living room of the house you’d spent so many nights in again.

Folio was giving you one of his usual "don’t forget" lists—one that had become a comforting part of your routine over the years for all the times you went on a tour or trip together. This time, however, it sounded different, as if it was the last.

"Okay, remember to pack all your jackets. And the extra batteries for your camera. Oh, and make sure you’ve got your phone charger, you always forget it!" He waved his hands in the air as though he was trying to remind you of the most crucial thing in the world, like the fate of the universe rested on you not forgetting your phone charger.

You chuckled, leaning back on the couch, a small smile tugging at your lips as you gave him a playful eye roll. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, Nick. I’ll pack everything. No need to worry."

Folio grinned. "Good. You know I worry." He paused, then his tone softened, almost hesitant, like he was preparing to say something serious. "I’m really going to miss having you around. It won’t be the same without you here."

The words hit you harder than you expected. You had been preparing yourself for this goodbye for days, but hearing him say it out loud made it real, made it feel final. You swallowed, forcing a smile. "I’ll miss you guys too. And don’t worry, I’ll send plenty of pictures. And I’m sure I’ll come back to visit."

Folio nodded. "Yeah, of course. And we’ll come to visit you, too. So you don't forget us." He said it with such certainty that for a brief moment, you let yourself believe it—believe that things could stay the same, even when you knew they couldn’t.

But as Folio finished his sentence, you glanced over at Noah. He had been sitting at the other end of the room, quietly listening, but now he abruptly stood up, his movements stiff and awkward, as though something had snapped in him.

Noah didn’t say anything, just turned toward the door and walked out without a word. His departure felt like a heavy silence in the room.

You blinked, watching him leave, confused. "Did I say something wrong?" you asked softly.

Folio didn’t seem surprised by Noah’s reaction, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. "It’s been like that for a couple of days now," he said, his voice low. "I don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s been… off. Something’s going on in his head, but he won’t talk about it."

You felt a knot form in your stomach.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had acted the first time you spoke about the job offer. That cold, almost detached response, like he had no opinion on the matter at all. You replayed it in your mind over and over: "You should take it. Sounds like a great opportunity." But something in the way he said it—something in the way he couldn’t even look at you when he spoke—made you wonder if there was more to his reaction than he let on. Was he angry? Disappointed? Did he hate you for making the decision to leave?

You tried to push those thoughts away, but they kept creeping back. It was impossible, you told yourself. He couldn’t possibly hate you. Because you were just friends, right?

But just friends never felt like the right term for what you two had. Not for the long nights you spent talking, for the way you always seemed to understand each other without saying a word, for how comfortable you felt in his presence—like you were home when he was around. It had never been just friendship for you. Not really. Maybe it had started that way, but over time, something shifted. You couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, but you’d always known that your feelings for him ran deeper than what you were supposed to admit.

You thought back to that first time you’d met him, to the way he’d walked toward you with that easy, confident stride but still looking so damn shy. You liked his long hair t, and his eyes—those brown eyes, warm and sweet—that had locked onto yours in that instant.

He had smiled, and you’d felt it all the way down to your bones. It was like something clicked, something undeniable. That’s when you knew, even if you didn’t have the courage to admit it then, that there was something about him that made your heart race.

And all these years, that same feeling never really went away. Not when he touched your hip for a second to grab a cup from a high shelf you couldn’t reach, not when he would pass you the last slice of pizza even though he was starving, not when you’d sit together in silence and it never felt uncomfortable.

You told yourself over and over that it was just a crush, that you were just friends, but every time he touched you, every time his hand brushed yours or he’d take your hand in his while walking through a crowded space, your heart would skip.

And when he would hold your hand, you’d feel the heat flood your face, and when he was on the stage and his eyes locked with yours for a moment, it was like the world disappeared. It was just the two of you.

Did he ever notice?

Did he ever feel what you felt? Was it possible he ever sensed the way your heart raced when he would grab your hand, as if the world didn’t matter and you two existed in your own little bubble just for a while? You wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’d caught the way your breath would hitch when he’d look at you with those brown eyes, like you were the only person in the room.

But now, all of that was left in the past. You were about to leave, and nothing between you two was ever going to change. You were just friends.

You thought about getting up and going after him. But what could you say? "I'm sorry I'm leaving?"

He was the first person to tell you to take that job, it wouldn't have made sense. So you stayed there.

The day had finally come. It felt surreal, the finality of it weighing on you as you stood in front of the door, ready to say your goodbyes. You had spent the last few days avoiding the inevitable, pretending like you still had time, still had something to hold onto. But now, as you stood there, your suitcase in your car and your heart feeling like it was somewhere deep inside your chest, the reality of leaving was all too clear.

You walked into the living room, where the band was gathered. They were all quieter than usual. Folio was the first to greet you, giving you one of his bear hugs that made you feel both comforted and sad at the same time. “Take care of yourself, alright?” he said, pulling back to look at you. “Don’t forget the pictures. And don’t be a stranger.” You nodded, blinking back the sudden lump in your throat.

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” you managed to say, your voice wavering a little.

Then, one by one, the others came over to say goodbye.

“Don’t forget us,” Matt said, pulling you into a quick hug. “I'll miss the food you made for us.”

You laughed and pushed him away as he pretended to be hurt.

Finally, there was Noah. He was standing a little apart from the group, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t approach you right away, and you weren’t sure why that felt different. But when your eyes met his, his gaze softened, and you could see something unsaid flickering in his eyes.

He stepped forward slowly, pulling you into his arms, and for a moment, you didn’t want to let go. You hugged him tightly, the warmth of his body against yours a reminder of all the small moments you’d shared over the years. You could hear his breath, steady and calm, like he was trying to hold onto this moment too.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, and the quiet between you both felt almost too much to bear.

“I’m really going to miss you,” you whispered, your voice cracking just slightly.

Noah gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His hand lifted, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face, a touch so tender it made your heart ache.

“I’ll miss you too,” he said softly, then, without saying another word, he kissed the top of your head.

You only looked at him for a few seconds before taking a step back, as if if you stayed longer, it would only hurt more.

Then, you finally turned toward the door, ready (or maybe not) to leave and start something new. But you also knew, deep down, that no matter where life took you, a part of you would always be right here, with them. And with him.

About two hours later, Noah was sitting on the edge of the couch, his leg bouncing up and down nervously, the restless energy radiating off him like a low hum. His gaze was distant, unfocused, as if he was somewhere miles away from where he actually was, lost in thoughts that seemed impossible to escape.

Nick, who had been trying to make sense of the silence in the room, finally broke it. "What's going on with you?" he asked, eyeing Noah with a raised brow.

Matt, who had been observing Noah for a while, leaned forward, a knowing look crossing his face. "It's about Y/N, right?"

Jolly, sitting across from them, raised an eyebrow. "Y/N?" he echoed, confused, like he hadn’t caught on.

Matt shot him a look as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course, it’s Y/N. He’s been in love with her since the first time he saw her."

Nick blinked, a little stunned. "What? And you never told me?" He looked genuinely surprised, a slight hint of betrayal in his voice.

Folio let out a smug little laugh. "Ah! I knew it. I ducking knew it!"

Noah, who had been tuning them out, suddenly snapped back to reality. He stood up, his frustration bubbling over. "Enough. You’re not helping," he interrupted, his voice louder than usual, the words spilling out in a rush. "I fucked up. I let her go. I feel like shit. Because…" He hesitated, but it was like the weight of it was too much to keep in. "Because I love her. I’ve loved her for years. And when she told me about the job… I thought it was too late to say anything." He shook his head. "I’m such an idiot. I'm such a fucking idiot."

"Yeah, you are." Said Folio, who had been waiting for the confession.

"It’s not too late." Jolly spoke.

Noah turned to him, shaking his head with a defeated look in his eyes. "Yeah, it is. She’s gone."

Matt glanced at his watch. "Her flight hasn’t left yet," he said, his voice steady, as if offering a lifeline Noah hadn’t considered.

Noah froze, his eyes wide for just a moment before the doubt came crashing in. "I can’t do it," he muttered.

Nick leaned forward, a serious expression on his face. "Do you love her?" he asked, not bothering with any other words, just cutting straight to the core of it.

Without thinking, Noah nodded immediately. "Yes," he said, his voice barely a whisper but resolute. "Yes, I love her."

Nick didn’t waste any time. "Then go," he said, his voice firm. "Go fucking get her."

The words hung in the air, and for a split second, Noah didn’t move. He was caught in all his own doubts, his fears, his regrets. But then, something clicked. Maybe it was Nick’s certainty, maybe it was the look in his friends’ eyes, but Noah felt it—he had to go. If he didn’t, he would regret it forever.

He had nothing to lose.

Noah never thought he’d be that guy—the one who ditches his car in traffic, sprints through a crowded airport, and makes a total fool of himself in the name of love. And yet, here he is, running through the terminal, heart hammering in his chest, lungs burning with every breath, because you’re about to board a plane and leave, and he can’t let that happen.

Traffic had been his worst enemy, but he didn’t care. His car had been left behind in the middle of the arrivals lane, engine still running. The thought of you, suitcase packed and ready to leave, was all he could focus on. Every second spent on the road felt like an eternity, but he had to get to you.

He run through the airport.

He narrowly avoided a child who’s been skipping along, then almost tripped over a suitcase abandoned in the middle of the aisle. He bumped into people left and right, his shoulder knocking into a couple who glared at him as he shouted, “Sorry! Sorry, I’m in a hurry!” He didn't wait for their response, didn't care. His focus was on you only.

He cut through crowds, hands brushing against strangers as he weaved between them, the sound of his own breath growing louder in his ears. Another wave of people blocked his path, and he barely managed to swerve, knocking into a woman holding a cup of coffee. It splashed across the floor, the warm liquid spreading out in a wide arc.

“Watch where you’re going!” she yelled.

"I'm so sorry! It's important, I swear!"

The overhead announcement blared, sharp and unrelenting. Final boarding call for Flight 237, please... He didn’t hear the rest. His mind was focused on one thing: You. The gate was in sight. There you were, standing at the counter, your ticket in hand, a look of quiet resolve on your face, your eyes scanning the people around you.

"Wait!"

Heads turned. People gasped. A security guard stepped forward as Noah sprinted toward you, chest heaving, his breath coming out in ragged bursts.

"Don’t go," he blurted out, his voice raw with desperation.

Your brows furrowed as you turned to face him. "Noah, what—?"

He took a step closer, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to confess everything he’d kept locked away for years. "I love you," he said, the words tumbling out, frantic and real. "I fucking love you," He could barely keep his breath steady as he looked at you, his heart thundering in his chest. "And I know—I know I should’ve said this sooner, that I should’ve told you everything before it got to this point. I should’ve been braver, I should’ve figured it out sooner, but I didn’t. I’ve been so damn stupid, too scared to say what I’ve been feeling because I never wanted to mess this up. But I can’t—I can’t let you go without telling you, because if I don’t, I’m going to lose you, and I can’t lose you."

He ran a hand through his hair, "I know I don’t deserve a second chance. Hell, I probably don’t deserve even one, not after all the times I avoided the truth, but please—please don’t get on that plane. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. It scares the shit out of me, honestly, because I’ve let you slip through my fingers, and I’ve never been more afraid of anything in my life than losing you."

He took a deep breath, struggling to steady himself. "Please, just… give me a chance. Don’t go. We can figure this out. You and me, together. I’ve been an idiot for not telling you this sooner, but I know now—I know what I want. And it’s you. It’s always been you. Just don’t walk away from me. Not when I finally have the guts to tell you that I have been in love with you since the first moment I saw you."

There was a moment of silence.

You were sure that a girl was filming the scene, ready to post it on tiktok, probably without even knowing who Noah was.

The security guard took a step toward him, but Noah didn’t flinch. “Sir, you can’t be here—”

"Just give me one second," he said with his eyes locked on yours, pleading.

You stared at him for a moment, a mixture of shock and disbelief in your eyes. Then, as if the weight of his words hit you all at once, your ticket slipped from your fingers and hit the ground. Without thinking, you grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss.

It wasn’t like the movies—there wasn’t a crowd cheering or anything like that. Just the hum of the airport and the soft murmur of an old woman sitting nearby, who, after a brief pause, simply gave a small smile as she went back to reading her book. It made you almost laugh, the absurdity of it all.

Noah smiled against your lips, the warmth of your kiss sinking into his chest.

“You are such an idiot,” you murmured, smiling through the kiss, your hand gently resting on his cheek.

“But an idiot you love, right?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the affection in your gaze. "Yeah, you idiot. An idiot I love."

You both shared one last smile before you pulled away, glancing back toward the gate. The security guard had stepped back, his hands raised in surrender.

Noah took your hand, leading you out of the airport, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.

As you walked with him, you couldn’t help but tease him a little. "I never thought you’d pull the 80s movie move to tell me you love me."

Noah gave you a sheepish grin. "At least the security didn’t tackle me."

You laughed, the sound light and free, as the two of you walked through the terminal, together.

"You should write a song on that, you know?"

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog

[seoups]

close as strangers - y. itadori

yuji thought everything would be the same when he came back. cw: angst w a bittersweet ending song: close as strangers by 5sos a/n: if i have an opportunity to write angst, i will take it.

"TELLING YOU I HAVENT SEEN YOUR FACE IN AGES. FEELS LIKE WE'RE AS CLOSE AS STRANGERS."

Yuji spent an entire month picturing this moment.

In every spare moment- between training in the basement, laughing with Gojo, and going on missions with Nanami- he thought about you.

He daydreamed about seeing your face again. About wrapping you in one of the tightest hugs he could manage and spinning you around until you laughed and smacked his shoulder as hard as you could, so he’d put you down.

He thought about sitting next to you at lunch and stealing bites from your food, sending you stupid TikTok’s that made you giggle at late hours, walking you back to your dorm room after missions just to talk to you a little longer.

And when he finally saw you standing there with Megumi and Nobara, he thought- Finally.

“Hey! Didja miss me?” He grinned, expecting a dramatic reaction. “You absolute dumbass,” Nobara scoffed, slamming a fist into his shoulder that was a touch too hard to be playful. Megumi let out a sigh of exasperation, “Welcome back.” Yuji laughed, rubbing his arm where Nobara had punched him, and turned to you, “And you? I bet you were devastated without me!” You blinked at him, lips parting, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, after a second too long, you smiled, “Yeah, I missed you a lot.”

It wasn’t what you said. It was how you said it. Like you were forcing the words out. Like you weren’t sure if they were true.

For the first time since he’d come back from the dead, Yuji felt uneasy.

He told himself things would go back to normal. You just needed time. You were probably still in shock. Afterall, he had died. That was a lot to deal with.

So, he gave you space. He didn’t want to push you further than you were ready. But after a few days of dry texts and halfhearted smiles, he decided enough was enough.

“Let’s go out.” You looked up from your textbook, brows knit together, “What?” “On a date! Y’know. Movies, snacks, maybe the arcade? Classic,” He grinned, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Come on, it’ll be fun! It’s been forever since we hung out. Plus, I heard human earthworm 4 is in theatres.”

You hesitated.

And that hesitation hit him harder than any curse ever could.

“Yuji…” you sighed, closing your book. “I don’t know if-” “Oh, nope- none of that!” He wagged a finger at you. “No excuses! You need a break. I need to make up for lost time. And I want to spend time with you, so… let’s go!”

There was an ounce of desperation in his voice that he hoped you couldn’t hear.

You stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally you agreed.

Relief flooded his chest so fast it made him lightheaded. Maybe things could go back to normal.

They couldn’t.

Yuji had tried everything. Everything he’d done with you before. New things. None of it was working.

He took you to a movie and cracked jokes through the trailers, but you had barely laughed. He won you a stuffed dog from a claw machine but you didn’t tease him for going all out like you normally would.

He filled the silence with endless conversation- jumping from one random topic to the next- but your answers were always short, your laughter never quite reaching your eyes.

It was like trying to hold onto something that was slipping through his fingers.

But Yuji was good at ignoring things. He could push down the sting in his chest and drown it out with more conversation, more jokes, more desperate attempts at being normal. But when he walked you back to your dorm room and reached for your hand, you pulled away.

It wasn’t dramatic. Not like you were disgusted or unhappy with it. Just… instinctively. Like you didn’t even realize you were doing it. Yuji felt his heart shatter.

He didn’t bring it up.

Instead, he tried harder. He called you every night, sent you stupid tiktoks, and went out of his way to be around you.

And at first, you humored him. You answered his calls, texted back, and sat with him at lunch.

But it was different.

And deep down, he knew that too.

He just couldn’t admit it.

Because if he admitted it, then he’d have to face it. And he wasn’t prepared for that.

The night he finally let himself say it out loud, it was raining.

You sat across from him in a tiny ramen shop that Yuji had sworn was amazing, your hands curled around a steaming bowl, looking exhausted. Not just physically- but in the way you held yourself, in the way you looked at him, like this conversation had been waiting to happen for a long time.

Yuji gripped his chopsticks a little too tightly, feeling the developing indent on his fingers, “You’re different.” You exhaled slowly, staring down at your food, “So are you.” His chest tightened, “I don’t want to be.” For the first time that night, you looked him in the eyes, “Neither do I.”

Silence.

The rain pattered against the windows, the hum of ongoing conversations around them buzzing like static.

Finally, Yuji spoke, his voice quieter than usual, “We’re not us anymore, are we?” You swallowed hard, “No, I don’t think we are.”

He should have seen this coming. Maybe he had seen it coming and had just been in denial.

“I really wanted this to work,” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. You nodded, “Me too.”

Another long pause.

Then, you reached across the table, reading your hand in his, “You’re still my favorite person, Yuji.”

His breath hitched.

Yuji forced a small smile on his face, not allowing this to end on a heavy note, “Yeah?” You smiled, tired but real, “yeah.” He flipped his hand, curling his fingers around yours, “You’re mine too.”

You squeezed his hand, just once. And then, slowly, you let go.

And this time, Yuji let you.

[deansbeer]

♡ a hunter's journey to fatherhood ⎯⎯ dean winchester.

📖 LIBRARY !

SYNOPSIS. dean struggles with anxiety about fatherhood, avoiding you until guidance from mildred helps him embrace love, vulnerability, and hope.

WARNING(S). slight angst | hurt comfort | f!reader | anxiety | self-doubt | dean's fear of failure as a new father | emotional vulnerability | moments of crying | mentions of childhood trauma (a big FUCK U 2 john winchester) | alcohol use (though not excessively) | avoidance | isolation | pregnancy.

kari talks ◞ i saw these gifs of dean n mildred pop up on my feed this morning so i had to write something w a lil fluffy angst <3 don't hate me bc it does have a happy ending !!! + this may sound rushed, has not much dialogue at the end, n repetitive :) my apologies !

dean winchester is an anxiety-riddled mess.

you’ve always known he’s carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but ever since you told him you were pregnant, he’s been distant. not outright cold, but the kind of distant that eats at you—quiet moments stretched too long, averted gazes, and excuses to leave the room.

it hurts.

you knew dean had his doubts about himself; he’s never been shy about the scars his childhood left behind. but you didn’t expect him to pull away like this.

every time you thought about asking him where he stood—whether he was happy, scared, or maybe regretting it altogether—you stopped yourself. you didn’t want to burden him more than he already seemed to be.

so you busied yourself with little things, distracting yourself by cleaning the house, organizing your shared bedroom, or just sitting on the couch with a book, hoping he’d come around.

but tonight, dean isn’t home.

he’d slipped out a few hours ago, mumbling something about needing air. you didn’t push. you’d seen the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed and tightened at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

what you didn’t know was that dean had driven into town, parked the impala outside the local dive bar, and gone inside to drown his thoughts in whiskey.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

the bar was dimly lit and half-empty, perfect for someone who didn’t want to be noticed.

dean sat at the counter, nursing his third drink, his mind spinning.

he couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you. about the baby.

him, a dad.

he snorted bitterly into his glass. what the hell did he know about being a father? he’d barely survived his own childhood. john winchester had been a lot of things—strong, determined, relentless—but a good dad? not even close.

and what if dean turned out just like him?

the thought made his chest tighten, panic clawing at his throat.

he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. the whiskey wasn’t helping; it was only making his emotions come faster, harder.

he slammed a couple of bills on the bar top and left, walking out into the cool night air.

he sat in the impala, gripping the steering wheel as his breath hitched.

and then it hit him—hot tears stinging his eyes, rolling down his cheeks before he could stop them.

he wiped at his face angrily, cursing under his breath.

what the hell is wrong with me?

but then, through the fog of his thoughts, he remembered mildred baker.

she’d helped him and sam on a hunt years ago, and she’d been one of the few people who’d ever managed to get through to him. she was kind, wise, and had this way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when it felt like the world was falling apart.

before he could second-guess himself, he started the car and drove to her place.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

mildred greeted him with the warmth he hadn’t realized he needed.

“dean winchester,” she said with a smile, stepping aside to let him in. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

he hesitated for a moment, standing in her doorway like a lost kid.

“uh... sorry for showing up so late,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “i just... i didn’t know where else to go.”

she frowned slightly, concern flickering across her face, but she didn’t ask questions.

“come on in,” she said gently, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

once they were seated, mildred folded her hands in her lap and waited patiently.

“so,” she said after a beat, her voice soft. “what’s got you all tied up in knots?”

and that’s when it all came tumbling out.

words spilled from dean’s mouth faster than he could stop them—about you, about the baby, about how terrified he was of screwing everything up.

“i just... i don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “hell, i don’t even know if i can do this. what if i screw the kid up? what if i screw her up? she deserves better than me. they both do.”

mildred listened quietly, her expression soft but unreadable.

when he finally stopped, his chest heaving slightly from the emotional release, she reached over and placed a hand on his arm.

“dean,” she said gently, her voice steady. “you’re not your father.”

his head snapped up at that, his green eyes wide and vulnerable.

“but what if i am?” he whispered.

she smiled softly, shaking her head.

“you’re not,” she said firmly. “you’ve already proven that by coming here tonight. you care, dean. you care so much it’s eating you alive. and that’s what makes you different. john winchester loved you boys, but he didn’t know how to show it. you do. and that’s all that matters.”

dean swallowed hard, his throat tight.

“but what if i mess up?” he asked, his voice small.

“you will,” she said with a chuckle. “because that’s what parents do. we mess up. we’re human. but as long as you love that baby and love itd mama, you’ll figure it out.”

her words settled over him like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension in his chest.

“you’re gonna be a great dad, dean,” she said, her voice soft. “just follow your heart.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

later that night, after mildred helped him sober up, dean drove back home.

the house was quiet when he walked in, the only sound coming from the soft clinking of dishes in the kitchen.

he followed the sound, stopping in the doorway when he saw you standing at the sink.

you were wearing one of his old flannels, the sleeves rolled up as you washed the few remaining dishes from dinner.

he leaned against the doorframe, watching you for a moment.

god, you were beautiful.

even now, with your hair slightly messy and your focus on the task in front of you, you took his breath away.

he took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and stepped toward you.

you didn’t notice him at first, too lost in your own thoughts.

it wasn’t until he wrapped his arms around you from behind that you startled slightly, your body tensing before relaxing into his embrace.

“baby,” you said softly, your hands stilling in the soapy water.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“where’ve you been?” you asked, your voice gentle but cautious. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “i’m okay.”

you didn’t push for more, not when he mentioned he’d gone to see mildred.

instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth settle around you like a shield.

he rubbed small circles on your stomach, his lips brushing against your neck.

and for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope.

but when you opened your mouth to ask him where he stood on the baby, he didn’t let you speak.

instead, he started rambling, the words tumbling out in a rush.

he told you how scared he was, how he’d been afraid he’d ruin everything, that he’d turn out like his dad or disappoint you.

“but i want this, sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice breaking slightly. “i want you. and i want this baby. i just... i needed to figure out how to not screw it up.”

tears stung your eyes as you turned to face him, cupping his face in your hands.

“dean,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “you could never be like him. you love so much, sometimes too much. you’re going to be an amazing dad. i know it.”

he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as a single tear slid down his cheek.

“thank you, baby,” he whispered.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

after you’d finished the dishes, you drew a bath for the both of you.

you knew he’d been sore and achy from a recent hunt, and you figured the warm water would help.

he sat behind you in the tub, his arms resting on either side of the rim as you leaned back against his chest.

you brought the soapy cloth to your chest, letting the warmth soothe you before handing it to him.

he took it, running it over his own chest before reaching down to gently rub your shoulders.

the quiet intimacy of the moment was enough to ease both your minds, the tension of the past few weeks melting away.

when the water started to cool, dean helped you out of the tub, wrapping a fluffy towel around you before leaning down to kiss your stomach.

you weren’t even showing yet, but the gesture made your heart swell.

he wrapped a towel around himself, and the two of you went through your nightly routines before climbing into bed.

dean was already lying down when you joined him, his hands behind his head as he waited for you.

you turned off the lights and crawled into bed, settling on top of him with your head on his chest.

his hand rested on your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

the two of you talked quietly about what to expect, about names and nurseries and everything in between.

and when you finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you knew everything was going to be okay.

because dean winchester was going to be the best damn dad in the world.

[puttersmile]

Heart & Sol Month Days 9 & 22

Prompts: Shared Secrets and Under the Stars

A short story comes with this one!

A Lonely Kind of Cheer

The town square glowed with twinkling lights, festive garlands draped across every storefront. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, settling on the cobblestone streets like tiny, frozen stars. It was the kind of picture-perfect winter evening that should have felt magical.

But for Dogday, it felt heavy.

He leaned against a lamppost near the bakery, watching the towns-critters bustle past, their arms full of wrapped gifts and baskets of sweets. Everywhere he turned, someone was laughing, smiling, embracing the season. And every time someone waved at him—called his name—he waved back, flashing that effortless grin of his.

Just keep smiling. They expect you to be happy.

The thought sat sourly in his chest.

It hadn’t always been like this.

In the past he had thrown himself into the holiday rush—helping neighbors hang their lights, hauling trees into living rooms, carrying more bags of flour and sugar into the bakery than Bobby could count. If he kept moving, kept helping, kept making himself useful, maybe he’d find the warmth of the season that everyone else seemed to feel so easily.

But this year was different.

The cold months were a drain. The long, sunless days left him exhausted before he even got out of bed. The thought of lifting another box, decorating another tree, or forcing another grin made his limbs feel like they were weighed down with rocks.

The exhaustion was deeper this time. And worse—this year, he didn’t have the energy to ignore it.

“Dogday!”

He turned at the sound of Bobby’s voice, and for a split second, his exhaustion faded. There she was, bundled in her favorite holiday sweater, a tray of steaming pastries balanced effortlessly in her hands. She looked as warm and bright as the holiday itself.

“There you are! I was hoping I’d run into you.” She beamed, offering him one of the treats. “Fresh out of the oven! Tell me that doesn’t make you feel at least a little festiiiive!"

He took the pastry automatically, but his stomach twisted at the forced cheer in her voice.

It was too much.

Her eyes were too bright. Her voice too eager. And the way she moved—it was as if she was trying to keep pace with the world around her, not allowing a single moment of stillness.

Dogday had known Bobby long enough to recognize when something was off. And right now, beneath all that sparkle, he could see it—something strained.

Something painfully familiar.

“You ever sit down this time of year?” Dogday asked, keeping his voice light.

Bobby huffed a laugh. “Not if I can help it. Too much to do! So many cookies to bake, decorations to fix, last-minute gifts to wrap—”

“Sounds exhausting,” he cut in.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second—so quick that anyone else might have missed it. But Dogday didn’t.

Then she laughed again, waving him off. “I like being busy.”

That was truth but with a hidden lie. He knew it.

But what was he supposed to do? Call her out? Tell her he knew exactly what she was doing because he did the same thing?

Because he used to overcompensate, too—rushing to help every critter with their Christmas plans, throwing himself into the holiday chaos just so he wouldn’t have to sit with the weight pressing against his chest?

Because if he didn’t, people would see what was underneath—and that scared him more than anything?

The thought made him feel sick.

Instead, he took a bite of the pastry, chewing slowly. Strawberry, it was delicious. Of course it was.

“You know,” he said carefully, “you don’t have to do all of this.”

Bobby’s smile faltered, just a little.

“Oh, I know,” she said quickly. “But I like doing it. Really. Makes everything feel…” She trailed off, gaze flickering away. “I dunno. Full.”

Dogday exhaled softly, feeling that sourness rumble in his chest.

“Hey…Bobby,” he said softly. "I want to tell you something. A-a secret."

She looked at him then, her usual confidence cracking just enough for him to see something raw underneath.

For the first time all season, she wasn’t grinning.

And for the first time all season, Dogday didn’t force a smile either.

“I hate Christmas,” he admitted.

The words hung between them, suspended in the cold night air. Bobby’s eyes widened, and for a long moment, she didn’t say anything.

Then, very quietly, she whispered, “I hate being alone.”

Dogday’s breath hitched.

The weight of the season didn't lift. But it had shifted.

They had spent so long pretending, so long trying to convince the world (and themselves) ñthat they were fine—that Christmas didn’t hurt.

But now, standing here, facing each other, there was no more pretending.

“…Guess we’re a mess, huh?” Dogday said, voice thick. Despite himself, there was still a smile.

Bobby let out a breathy, teary laugh. “Yeah.”

Then, before he could react, she reached out and hugged him. A real hug—not the usual playful, squeeze-the-air-out-of-you kind she usually gave. This one was different. It was slow. Careful. Steady.

Dogday hesitated only a second before he hugged her back.

For once, neither of them had to fake anything.

They didn’t have to act.

Maybe they weren’t as alone in this as they thought.

End.

Headcanon: Dogday gets winter depression.

And its likely "canon" Bobby has bad seperation anxiety.

I did use shipping tags but I think a moment like this would happen before they are a couple.

[gensideas]

I’M JUST ONE CLICK AWAY .

summary . rafe is always available for y/n.

content * advisory . Body shaming, a little angst, but most of all fluff¡

It started off simple, only calling rafe when you needed your pipes fixed, something was too heavy, hanging up the TV, etc.

then, it got more frequent. asking him if he was ever free, or he would call you to see if you wanted to be his plus one to an event. Of course you never denied him. If anything, you loved accompanying him whenever he asked. It was sweet really, always having time to talk to each other or just simply hanging out no matter the time.

This time, it was a little different. instead, you both were getting ready together. You never knew where or how it started but, it just did. It was comforting, and relaxing.

“rafey” you spoke as you finished the finishing touches to your make up. “Yes, sweetheart?” he replied, leaning on the doorframe. “Which dress do you think i should wear? the red one or the navy blue one?” you asked, holding both dresses up. “hmmm…” he hummed, walking up to you. “I think the navy blue will look amazing on you.” “Well then, navy blue it is.” you responded, placing the red one down, smiling at rafe. “i’ll be right back!” “I'll be waiting baby.”

“Alright, how do I look?” you asked, stepping out of the bathroom. “You look sexy always baby.” Rafe replied, placing his hands on your waist. you looked up at him, placing a peck on his lips. He held your face, deepening the kiss. you pulled apart, earning a groan from him. “hey hey, don’t get so grumpy, we’re gonna be late if we don’t hurry.” you smiled, walking up to your vanity. “yeah yeah” rafe replied, clearly staring at your ass but, he couldn’t think about too much right now. you had placed to be.

Soon enough, you made it to the party he invited you to. you both walked up and got greeted by a tipsy barry, “country club, i'm glad you two could make it.” Barry spoke, slightly slurring his words. “yeah, you know i couldn’t by myself.” Rafe replied, smiling down at you. Barry stepped aside, letting the both of you step inside. it was quite honestly, you didn’t think Barry would be the type to decorate.

“I'm gonna go get a drink baby, do you want anything?” Rafe asked, holding your waist. “no rafey, im okay. thank you.” you smiled. He nodded, walking towards the bar. “y/n!” you heard someone shouting your name. as soon as you turned around one of your friends ran up to hug you. it caught you by surprise, a little overwhelmed by it, but at last you hug her back. “Hi! how are you?” you asked, walking with her towards the couch. “I’m good, thank you for asking.”

meanwhile, in the bar.

“so, how’s it goin’ with little miss y/n?” kelce asked, taking a sip of his drank. “it’s going really good actually. a lot better than i hoped.” rafe smiled, thinking of you. “aye, im glad it’s goin’ for you man. you deserve it.” Topper spoke up. “yeah man, i mean after the shit with sofia, it was well deserved.” kelce laughed. rafe didn’t like the thought of thinking about sofia. not after everything that happened with groff. Ignoring the question, rafe just takes a sip of his drink. He turned around trying to look for you, but he couldn’t find you. he’d figure you’d be with your friends like you are in the beginning of these types of events. So, he returned to talking to his friends.

“so you and rafe huh?” a girl sitting in front of you spoke. “yeah, we’re a thing, why?” you smiled, questioning why she’d said that. “it’s just, i didn’t expect him to be with someone so..” she stop mid way. “so what?” you asked, giving her a confused look. “so..big.” she finished, trying to hold in her laugh. you just stared at her, questioning why she would say that. Without saying a word, you got up and walk towards the balcony. You could hear her along with her friends laughing as you walked away. “Y/n wait!” your friend yelled after you. “dont. just let her go, she needed to hear it anyway.”

you tried not to cry, the whole time you’d looked good then, someone had to go and ruin it for you. In the process of trying to calm down, you started to feel a lump in your throat form. Causing you to feel like you can’t breathe. Rafe wasn’t there to help you so, you were scared you’d have to do it all by yourself.

you didn’t know but, rafe had already been looking for you but, he couldn’t find you. That’s when he heard his phone ring. “yeah guys hold on.” rafe stopped, and moved to a quieter spot to pick the phone. “Y/n baby, what’s going on?” rafe worried, wondering why you sounded so distressed. “rafe, i cant breathe. i-i don't know what to do and i don't know where you are.” you said, holding onto your chest. “okay baby, slow down. where are you right now?” Rafe asked, trying to search for you. “I'm at the balcony please, i c-cant breathe.” “you cried, feeling the panic attack get worse. “alright baby, stay right there. im walking towards you.” he hung up, running towards you.

“hey hey hey, it’s okay. take a deep breath, i’ll do it with you, ready?” he spoke, leaning down towards you. you nodded, following him, trying to stimulate your breathing. “you’re okay baby, shh” he held you tight, feeling his heart tear while listening to you struggle slightly. “you all better?” rafe asked, kissing your forehead. “yeah, I'm okay now.” you smiled, following up with another question, “can we go home?” you asked, getting up. “yeah of course we can.” rafe responded, placing his hand on your lower back.

as you walked towards his car you spoke up.“thank you for being there. I couldn't find you, so I called you.”

“it’s okay baby, no need to apologize. you needed my help.” rafe replied, opening the side door for you. you waited for him go hop in the driver side to continue speaking. “i know but, you were conversating with your friends. i didnt mean to-“

You were caught off guard when rafe kissed you. you slightly whimpered when he pulled apart from you. “baby, like i said you needed me when you were having a panic attack. i’d stop anything for you.” he smiled when he watched you giggle. “never forget what I told you baby.” you looked confused as he started the car, backing out the driveway.

“I’m just a click away.”

© 2024 gensideas. All Rights Reserved.

[simpforchuchu]

My Enemy’s Sister | Mitsuya Takashi x Haitani!reader - part2

a/n: Hello, it’s been a long time since I wrote for Tokyo Revengers. I’m watching season 2 again and wanted to write something for my dear Mitsuys… Anyway, I hope you like it 🌸💕

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my native language.

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: fights, violence

part1

“Are you mad at me?”

Rindou pulled his eyes away from Ran with young girl’s question and turned to her. When he saw Y/n’s sad expression, he sighed and smiled while patting her head. This was one of the rare times Rindou showed his affection. He wasn’t a guy like his older brother, he just showed his affection with his actions. 

“No, I’m not. But I hope you realize how much you scared us, Y/n. You can’t even imagine how scared Ran was when we saw you with that Toman captain.”

Y/n nodded her head. Without taking her gaze off the floor, she spoke quietly

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I… I just wanted to help Mitsuya-san.”

Rindou winced at hearing his enemy’s name again. He knew the Toman captains. Even if Mitsuya was the best among them, seeing one of them next to his little sister made his stomach turn. 

“Y/n… don’t forget how dangerous he is. He’s a gang member.”

Rindou knew that he and his older brother were more dangerous, but he knew that they shouldn't trust any gang members. That's why he wanted his sister to stay away from all of them. For years, he and his older brother had kept y/n away from everything. Of course, y/n knew that her older brothers were two delinquents, but she had no idea that they ruled Roppongi.

The young girl could understand why they were so protective. Their parents were never home. That's why Ran had raised both of them. And both Ran and Rindou were overprotective brothers for y/n.

Y/n looked at her older brother and the lilac-haired boy who were a little far away without saying anything. They were waiting with Rindou by the motorcycles. And she was very curious about what the two of them were talking about.

Ran and Mitsuya were still nervous. After Ran threatened Mitsuya, Mitsuya smiled calmly and shook his head.

"She doesn't know, does she? She doesn't know how dangerous you and Rindou are, what you do, nothing." Ran twirled his braid with his finger and looked at the lilac-haired boy with a stern look.

“And she will never know, Mitsuya. That’s the only way to keep her safe. You will stay away from her forever. Or else-“

“Or else you will kill me,” Mitsuya finished Ran’s sentence. “I respect you, Ran. I have always respected you. You may not be a good person, but you are definitely a good brother.”

When Ran looked at Mitsuya in surprise, Mitsuya smiled.

“But you are wrong. Neither I nor Toman would ever touch a girl.”

Ran did not say anything. He continued to look at him with the same gaze.

“And… this life you are hiding from her will not keep her safe. She has the right to know the truth-“

Ran grabbed Mitsuya’s collar harshly, thinking that he was threatening him.

“You will stay away from her, or I will hunt down not only you, but every single Toman member. Did you hear me?!”

Mitsuya placed his hands on Ran’s wrists with a calm look.

“You know you put her in danger-“

Before Mitsuya could finish his words, something neither of them expected happened. Y/n hugged Ran tightly from behind and spoke in fear

“Onii-chan! Please! Let go of him!”

Ran was frozen in shock. Mitsuya was also looking at Ran in surprise.

“Y/n…”

The young girl tightened her hug at the sound of her brother’s voice. Even though she was afraid of Ran’s reaction, she wanted to save the boy who saved her.

“Onii-chan, please let’s go home.”

Ran quietly removed his hands from Mitsuya’s collar. Rindou was also silently watching his brother and sister. He knew that Ran felt betrayed, but that wasn’t the point. More than anything, Ran was afraid of losing Y/n. That’s why he didn’t say anything.

“Y/n, Rindou. We’re going home.”

Y/n flinched at her brother’s harsh voice. She silently followed both of her brothers.

Mitsuya watched them walk away for a while. He could see how upset Y/n was. He didn't expect the young girl who saved his life to be his enemy’s sister either. But it wasn't hard to understand that Y/n was unaware of everything. So he didn't know how to feel.

He sighed deeply and brushed the dust off himself. He squinted his eyes at the brightness he saw on the ground at that moment. He bent down and picked up the necklace he saw. It was a thin gold necklace. He frowned at the name written on it. This necklace belonged to Y/n.

***

Y/n thought there was dead silence when she got home. Ran went to his room without saying anything. Rindou knew very well why Ran was acting like this. He knew that his brother wasn't angry with Y/n, but offended. It hurt Ran that she stopped him for someone she even didn't know. But he still knew that it wouldn't be like this for long.

Y/n said goodnight to his younger brother and went to her room. She took off her clothes and got ready to take a shower. She untied the kerchief in her hand and looked at the dried blood. It hurt a little, but it didn't hurt as much as his brother's gaze. Then she looked at the kerchief again. She should wash it and give it back to him. But she didn't know how to do it when her brother was definitely asking her to stay away from him...

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Stand By Me (Part 3)

You knew it was coming.

Your mother wasn’t the type to let things go. The silence—the control she was losing over you—was like a lit fuse, and you knew it was only a matter of time before it blew.

Marshall knew it, too.

He never said it outright, but he stayed a little closer, held you a little longer, kept his phone on him more than usual, like he was waiting for the moment she finally snapped.

And when she did?

It was worse than you ever could have imagined.

---

It happened on a Sunday.

You had just started to feel okay again—just started to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could move forward without the weight of your mother’s words dragging you down.

Then your phone rang.

You stared at the screen, dread settling heavy in your gut.

Mom calling.

You almost let it go to voicemail. But something told you that if you didn’t pick up, she wouldn’t stop. That she’d just keep calling, keep finding ways to push herself back into your life.

So you answered.

And from the second you said hello, it was a mistake.

“Oh, so you do still know how to pick up the phone,” she snapped. No greeting. No warmth.

You swallowed. “Mom—”

“No, don’t start,” she cut you off. “I have sat here for weeks wondering what the hell I did to deserve this. You ignoring me? Treating me like I’m some kind of villain?”

Your grip on the phone tightened. “Mom, I’m not—”

“Shut up!” she screamed, her voice cracking through the line.

You flinched.

Marshall, who had been in the kitchen, immediately looked up, his expression hardening.

“I gave you everything!” your mother raged. “And this is how you repay me? By cutting me off? By choosing him over your own family?”

Your heart pounded. “This isn’t about Marshall—”

“Bullshit! He did this to you! He poisoned you against me!”

Marshall was watching now, his entire body tense, his fists clenched. He couldn’t hear her words, but he didn’t need to. He could see the way they were hitting you like knives, the way you were curling in on yourself.

And that was enough.

Before you could stop him, he was next to you, pressing the speaker button.

“If you got somethin’ to say about me,” he said, his voice calm but deadly, “say it to my face.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

“You piece of shit,” your mother spat. “You ruined her. You took her from me.”

Marshall scoffed. “Nah, lady. You did that all on your own.”

Her breath hitched. “How dare you—”

“I dare ’cause someone had to tell you the truth,” he cut her off. “You don’t get to treat her like garbage and still expect her to come runnin’ back. You don’t get to guilt her into keepin’ you in her life.”

You swallowed hard, gripping Marshall’s hand like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You know what your problem is?” Marshall continued. “You thought you could break her down so much that she’d never leave. But guess what? She did. And she ain’t comin’ back.”

The line was so quiet you almost thought she had hung up.

Then, in a low, venomous voice, she hissed, “She will. When you get tired of her. When you finally throw her away like you do with everyone else.”

Marshall’s jaw clenched, his entire body going rigid. You could feel the anger radiating off of him, the way his breathing deepened.

But before he could say anything, you spoke.

“No,” you said softly, but firmly. “He won’t.”

Your mother let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, honey, wake up. He’s Eminem. He’s not built to love anyone. He’s just playing house with you until he gets bored.”

You felt Marshall flinch beside you.

And maybe, once, you would have believed her. Maybe, once, her words would have sent you spiraling, had you questioning everything.

But not anymore.

Not after everything he had done to prove otherwise.

“He loves me,” you said simply. “And he treats me better than you ever have.”

Your mother sucked in a breath, like you had physically struck her.

And for the first time, you felt free.

She could rage, she could insult you, she could twist the knife all she wanted—but she couldn’t control you anymore.

You had made your choice.

And it wasn’t her.

“Don’t call me again,” you said, voice steady. Then, without waiting for a response, you ended the call.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Marshall was still staring at the phone, like he half-expected it to ring again.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“You okay?” His voice was rough, edged with anger he hadn’t been able to unleash.

You exhaled, dropping your hands. “Yeah.” And then, quieter, “I think I really am.”

He studied you for a long moment, like he was making sure you weren’t just saying that. Then, finally, he sighed and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tight it knocked the breath out of you.

“I got you,” he murmured. “Always.”

And you believed him.

For the first time, you really, truly believed him.

[meangreennunseen]

Does it make pain any easier?

A writing drabble inspired by this:

Because I had to.

Warnings: Blood, injuries, insanity, death. Me trying to write Daemon Fulgrim.

___________________

His body fell to the ground with a loud crashing sound. He felt bones break, as well as copper taste of the blood fill inside of his mouth and taint the lips.

He caughed, red fluid beginning to drip down the mouth on the scorched earth beneath him. The fingers covered in metal dug into the hardened soil, as Argus tried to pull himself up.

Not much life force left in this body. Soon he will die and resurrection will kick in. Even if he was gifted with eternal cycle of life, sometimes it seemed every cell of his body screamt in agony for regenerating process to stop and never again occure. He would lie if he said his mind did not want same.

It hurt. Regeneration hurt in a ways he cannot explain. Vulkan always told him that being born Perpetual is both gift and a curse and the pain rebirth carries is only what Perpetual will ever experience and understand.

Argus' musings to himself were cut short by the sound of dragging blades. Four of them. In each hand of the one, whom he once knew as a second Father.

As he approached, his slithering body movements, drowned everything. Except pain, not physical, which ravaged Argus' dying form, the one inside, the one which could not heal.

- Do it already! - Perpetual screamt, trying to pull his bloodied body off the ground. No avail. His legs were shattered and even if he knew he will walk again eventually, pain he felt now was blinding.

He heard blade being risen, the sound of it's sharp edge cutting the air. One strike and this attempt will end.

- Does it make pain any easier to bear? - All he heard was the voice. Same voice, which usually taunted him with sadistic glee, laughed maniacally and berated any of attempts at attacking him. Still tone felt like more humane of his sides trying to fight a Daemon Prince.

It had to be delusion. Pain inducted hallucination...

Argus gathered all the strenght in his arms and if not necrodium, he probably would have not managed to pull his upper body up. His entire arms were covered in blood, meaning he bled from other injuries too than his mouth or shattered leg bones and torn flesh. Damnit, he had Astartes genes and bone structure and still that was not enough to fight. His fingers dug into hardened soil even harder, splattered with his own fresh blood.

Meanwhile Daemon Prince slithered around him, his massive tail creating a ring around Argus grievely wounded form. No escape.

What he expected was blade at his neck. Strangely even how many times Fulgrim had slain Argus already, he never slit his throat or beheaded him. Like he did before. Like he did with his Father.

Instead what touched his neck were claws. Long, solidly grown into his large emaciated fingers, ringing from golden, now blood mudded chains he wore on his hand.

Again instead of being able so easily slice Argus' throat, he lifted his face up by chin.

- Does it make pain any easier to bear? - He asked same question again.

Argus refused to look at the large Daemon before him, he averted his gaze away, only to notice other three arms get closer to him. Two lifted him by the legs, but not in a usual, angry way, but much gentlier, while third held the back. He was gentle. Weirdly gentle.

Argus' survival instincts kicked in and he slammed the hands off, managing to wiggle of the grasp and throw himself back into the circle formed by scaled snake tail. He screamed of the pain the fall induced into his already shattered bones. He was Perpetual, being able to regenerate and also was Astartes, someone created with ability to regenerate and yet he squirmed from the pain. Like a child who got stupidly hurt.

- Don't touch me! - was all Argus hissed at Daemon above him.

He dared to look up this time. Hatered and frustration won over pain.

Fulgrim watched him from above. One set of lower hands crossed behind the back, the upper duo held out all bloodied with what Argus assumed his own blood in some weird ritualistic manner. The face of Daemon Prince had no expression. He just watched human on the ground, his snake pupils weirdly humanly wide. No sickening grin, no sliced tongue hissing at him. Nothing.

And then his eyebrows arched sadly.

- So it doesn't. I knew it won't. - was all he spoke.

Argus noticed Fulgrim held no weapon. If those were thrown off or were securily laid down behind his giant serpentine tail Argus did not know. At any rate Daemon Prince of Slaanesh needed no weapon to crush his opponent's already seriously wounded body. And yet he made no attempt.

- Enough! - Argus screamt, looking up at Fulgrim with all the hatered in his soul. Never he felt so much blinding hate than now, when person he hated the most was now so close. Once again he used arms to pull his upper body up, but sharp pain shot across his back and he fell down screaming in agony. The fall shatered what was left of his spine. He felt his arms numb up just as legs as his body became nearly fully paralysed.

Most of Argus' deaths were quick and painless. Rare occurence was for him to have suffer through such an agony before dying, but today seemed to be one of those unfortunate times.

Before he hit the ground with his face, massive clawed hand once again grabbed him and he fell on it. This one had no chains on it and skin felt eerly similiar to what he remembered. He wanted to resist, but at this point it was clear Argus' body was at it's limit.

Once again all he felt apart blinding pain was being scooped up in arms. He only saw through his bloodshot vision them engulfing him like a swarm, all four of them.

- Let... Go... - his breath was weakening with every raising of chest.

But Daemon did not react. Argus blurrying eyesight noticed massive wings covering him and their host in some sort of sinister cocoon as well as serpentine tail, who tightened in the circle only for Daemon to gently nest his upper body in it.

Argus closed his eyes. His breaths shallowed as pain engulfed entire body, even with muscle paralysis. He could not move, he could barely breathe. He was moments away from end of his current life.

However before the death, he felt something else. It came to him like a haze of dream. Beating of two hearts. As shallow as his, but with more echo. He recognised the melodic beat: same as it always was, stuck in his memory. Same which lulled him to sleep on so many occasations.

He felt tears roll down his blood covered face. Fond memories he was too weak to fight flooded back in. All Argus managed to do is to press his hand around massive thumb finger of someone whom he used to love so much. He felt once again as a small child, who could not walk, could not talk, but expressed his love with a touch. As strong as he possibly could with all he had left in him.

Before he took one last breath and went quiet.

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

Daemon Prince positioned his body to make it as comfortable for his foe as he could. Not foe, he corrected himself, someone he still loved as much as he did all those millenias ago.

He was aware Enlightment and giving himself to Gods of Chaos will not entirely change him. No, they freed him if anything. He was free of being used as a tool, free to enjoy existance, bathe in all the gifts of Slaanesh, no longer shackled by his own weak and imperfect flesh form. Uncover his true potential given to him by his nature, not Emperor's construct and ambition.

And yet he still felt. Felt pain and felt sorrow. Felt love as well as attachement. It drove him insane because how strongly he now felt, and as a sick gift the inner torture brought pleasure he could not stop lavishing in.

But now... He felt no pleasure. What he felt was disturbance of mind as ever, but clearance of heart. He could not think, he did not know why he didn't just deal with his foe like he usually did. It brought great pain to him, but the excess of pain also brought immense pleasure.

But not today.

Gently he scooped bloodied body of his foe, his boy, using all four of his arms. His arms formed a craddle and he used his massive wings to create intimate space between the two of them and the planes of Slaanesh's realm and other daemons who came to gawk at them.

- Let... Go... - limp figure in his arms spoke through troubled breaths. Fulgrim could just watch his nearly lifeless body.

Argus barely moved for quite some time after that last blow, except then he screamt of pain while trying to pull himself up few times. Now his boy just laid in Fulgrim's embrace, covered in blood from many deadly wounds across his body. It was clear he had not much life left in him and yet he was a Perpetual, gifted with innability to die.

And even if it wasn't first time, it hurt Fulgrim as ever. With every kill he executed against Argus, he saw what he had done to Ferrus. The vivid vision making him hurt in every cell of his body. His actions killing the one he loved the most repeating in a cursed torturous cycle.

But Argus returns. He always returns and it pains him in the ways no one knows, because Fulgrim is forced to kill his son as he killed his Father, his own beloved brother. In blind rage, only snapping out of it once it is too late to save them. He is the only one left to suffer. To vail in agony of his own making. Over and over again.

Now he snapped out of it earlier. Perhaps it was because Argus did not die from the first blow or perhaps because Fulgrim today felt exceptionally melancholic. And yet he still is unable to preserve this life of his son. He is dying. At least what Fulgrim can offer to make both of them hurt less is an embrace.

Pain does not make it easier. To neither of them.

While Argus did not answer the question, Fulgrim knew better. His son desperately hunts him down not because of desire of revenge, but because of wanting to hurt his own soul and flesh, to make inner pain reflect on pain of flesh. Because he believes it makes it easier.

Fulgrim pulled his son's limp body closer to his own chest. His hearts started beating louder than before, he felt that, he felt weirdly alive in this moment, and yet sorrow was strong and slowly swallowing him in another dark episode.

They are alike. Both cursed in so many ways, both never able to die, both forced to live in a purgatory of never ending pain they cannot get rid of. Both their existences are circle or pain and guilt and torture...

Suddenly Fulgrim felt Argus' grip around thumb of one of his hands increase. Even if body did not move except rare shallow breaths, the grip on his finger was strong. As strong as only Argus could do. Fulgrim felt like again he held his small human boy in his way too big arms like all those millenias ago.

Daemon let his black, elegantly curved horn adorned head down, his white long hair dripping over the shoulders to cover not only his face but body of his son too. He felt tears flood his eyes, as the painful memories came back to haunt him.

In one moment it all was over. Argus' breathing stopped, and grip on the thumb finger loosened, hand of his son falling limp. In same moment felt his own hearts stop beating too.

Daemon Prince Fulgrim, still head down, opened his wings and spread them wide, his giant serpentine tail slowly slithering less tight, as he held upon dead body in his arms for little longer. He knew what happened next was inevitable. He cannot preserve this moment for too long even if he so would want to.

Argus' body started to brittle into dust and like some sudden gust of wind cought it, all of it swooped off Fulgrim's embrace leaving this plane of existance. It will reunite with the soul of his Perpetual son somewhere in the galaxy. And his boy will be reborn. Like a true Phoenix of Iron he was.

As last of dust left his arms, Fulgrim spread all four of them, still bloodied from his own son, his head still low, he chuckled.

The chuckles grew into laughter, full on maniacal laughter, as Prince of Excess threw his head backwards, his hair whiplashing back, facing the void above. His pupils narrowed into slits as his laughter shook the realm itself, the tail slashing wildly around him in the centre.

The pain. The pain he felt. It was unexplainable, unimaginable to everyone else. It tore his hearts out and crushed them. It contorted his face, it broke his every bone and tore his every muscle in a way no one else could see. Yet it brought pleasure so immence, Fulgrim felt enthralled by it, fully controlled by it. It pleased him, it pleased Slaanesh.

What he felt no one could understand, but he relished in it. He felt awoken by it.

And he knew. Only another person to feel the same way will come back in search of this same pain. To relish in it. To feel this pain to make him again feel alive...

[lipstick-and-libraries]

Between the Lines

PT. 4

𓋜 Pairing: Minho (XO, Kitty) x fem! Reader

𓋜 Series: The Roommate Exchange

𓋜 Summary: When You and Minho are paired for a class project, unexpected moments of honesty and tension arise. Between late-night conversations and shared silences, you discover that some things are harder to hide than you thought.

𓋜 Notes:

Hello my loves!!

I know that I take a while to upload, however, i fully intend to finish this small series and still give you more than just 4 chapters, soo..what would you think about another chapter coming out directly after this as a thank you for everyone who so kindly supports my thoughts that I didnt expect anyone to see.

Anyhow, I hope you guys are fans of slowburn and heartbreak because from now on this rollercoaster will get a little more bumpy, love will do that to you, and especially to You and Minho <3

𓋜 Taglist:

@finnbbl

@literallysza

@knivesdoingcartwheels

@teaandbacon

@dragonwitchy

@formula1mount

@strayk1ds143

@uhsophiesblog

@iweirdthingsblog

@random-human02

@elizabethgracie

@verycoolmiyah

@mintydump

@shiiiii-okayyyy

@munsonsquinn

@tagakalat

@mirahyun

@cultish-corner

A special thank you to everyone on the taglist, i love you guys ꨄ

Please do let me know if i have forgotten you, i keep the names in my notes app so i shouldnt forget anyone but if it happens anyway i am deeply sorry

If you want to be added to the taglist, just put it in the comments, your reposts or in my asks, even if I havent answered I 100% have seen it and added you <33

Enough talking from my side though, enjoy you study date with Minho

The buzz from the creative showcase announcement still lingered around KISS like an unspoken challenge. Posters were plastered on every wall, reminding students of the looming event hosted by none other than Minho’s father—a showcase designed to highlight the best talents at the school. For most, it was an opportunity. For Minho, it was a reminder of everything he tried to avoid: expectations, vulnerability, and being seen beyond the carefully curated persona he presented to the world.

But none of that mattered right now.

Because Minho was staring at the name list posted outside his literature class, and there it was—bold and undeniable:

Group Project Partners: Minho & (Y/N)

He blinked, hoping his eyes were deceiving him. They weren’t.

“Wow,” Q’s voice broke through Minho’s silent panic, appearing over his shoulder with an amused grin. “Fate really isn’t subtle, huh?”

Dae chuckled beside him, leaning casually against the wall. “You’ll survive. Maybe.”

Minho shot them both a glare before shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s just a project. No big deal.”

But it was a big deal. Because every time he was around (Y/N), he turned into the version of himself he didn’t recognize—awkward, uncertain, and far too aware of every glance, every word, every silence. She had this way of looking at him, like she could see past the walls he’d built, and it unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

The first meeting was scheduled for the library, an attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Minho arrived early—an unfamiliar habit—but he told himself it was because he wanted to pick the best table. Definitely not because he was nervous.

He chose a spot near the back, where the shelves of books created a semi-private alcove. The table was sturdy, the chairs comfortable, and the lighting just bright enough to work without being harsh. He set his bag down, pulled out his notebook, and tried to focus on the assignment sheet. But his mind kept drifting, replaying every interaction he’d ever had with (Y/N), searching for clues on how to navigate this.

When she finally arrived, balancing her laptop and a stack of books, she gave him a polite nod. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Minho replied, sitting up straighter than necessary. He gestured to the chair across from him. “I figured this spot would be quiet enough.”

“Good call,” she said, sliding into the seat and setting her things down. She opened her laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating her face as she pulled up their assignment. “So, any ideas?”

Minho scrambled to focus. “Uh, yeah. Maybe we could… compare themes? Like, how the author explores identity or something.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her expression neutral. “That’s vague.”

“Well, it’s a start,” he muttered defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

She sighed softly, but there was no malice in it. “Okay. Let’s break it down.”

They worked in relative silence, punctuated by occasional questions and the awkward brush of hands when they reached for the same notebook. Minho tried to ignore the way his heart raced at the brief contact, the way her proximity made it hard to think straight. He wasn’t used to feeling this off-balance, and it frustrated him.

But the real shift happened two hours in.

Minho leaned back in his chair, frustrated with a section they couldn’t seem to crack. “This is pointless.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, not looking up from her notes. “The project or your attitude?”

He shot her a look, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes that disarmed him. “Both,” he admitted grudgingly.

She set her pen down and tilted her head, studying him. “Why do you always act like nothing bothers you?”

The question caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got this… façade,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “Like you’ve got everything figured out. But clearly, you don’t.”

Minho’s jaw tightened. “And you think you’ve got me all figured out?”

She shrugged. “No. But you make it pretty easy to see through the act.”

The words stung more than he expected because they were true. He looked away, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge of the table. Before he could respond, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it briefly, then stood. “I need a break. Coffee?”

Minho hesitated, then stood too. “Yeah. Sure.”

The café near campus was quiet. They sat by the glass, sipping their drinks, the tension from earlier lingering like static. Minho stirred his coffee absently, watching the steam rise in delicate swirls.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” (Y/N) said eventually, her voice soft. She stirred her own drink, her gaze fixed on the swirling liquid.

Minho stared at his cup. “I’m just used to people assuming things about me, especially because my parents, well, mostly my father, aren't, well.."

He gets quieter with every word, his expression almost showing the hate he has for himself for even mentioning it, or hatred for his father, it was hard for (Y/N) to tell.

"I don’t usually care, but…”

She knew he wasn't going to continue on with the story about his parents, but (Y/N) let him, knowing that if he wanted to, he will bring it up again when he is ready to tell her.

“But?” she prompted gently, her eyes lifting to meet his.

“But you’re not ‘people,’” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended.

She blinked, clearly not expecting that. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Well, that’s vague.”

Minho laughed softly, the tension easing slightly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“You’re not as complicated as you think, Minho,” she added, her gaze steady.

And just like that, the air shifted again.

That night, back in his dorm, Minho couldn’t shake the conversation. He sat at his desk, staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over the anonymous blog app.

Dae was scrolling on his phone, and Q was fiddling with his headphones, oblivious to Minho’s internal turmoil. Without overthinking, Minho typed:

“How do you stop caring about what someone thinks of you when they see through you so easily? Asking for a friend.”

He hit send before he could regret it, then tossed his phone aside, burying his face in his hands.

The next project meeting was different.

They worked in her dorm this time, Kitty buzzing around briefly before leaving with a sly, knowing grin. Minho tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the papers spread across the floor. For whatever reason, (Y/N), decided to dress up. Not that it mattered, in Minho's Eyes, she, for whatever reason, wasnt physically capable of ever looking bad anyway. She always looked… effortless.

“Do you ever write just for yourself?” Minho asked suddenly, surprising even himself.

She glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly. Minho wondered what that look was about, but decided not to question it for now

“Sometimes. Why?”

“Just curious.”

She hesitated, then reached for a notebook tucked under a pile of papers. “I guess writing helps me make sense of things. Even if no one reads it.”

Minho nodded, understanding more than he wanted to admit. “Yeah. I get that.”

After a pause, she added softly, “It’s scary, though. Being honest on paper.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “But it’s scarier being honest out loud.”

Their eyes met, something unspoken passing between them. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the weight of their shared vulnerability hanging in the air.

"I..", Minho hesitated, his eyes flicking between hers and the wall behind her.

The Room was dim, light enough to see the papers, but dark enough to hide (Y/N)'s quick glance at the subtle twitch in Minho's jaw.

Which is exactly why her next movement caught him so off-guard.

She lifted her hand, placing it on his cheek and softly caressing his jawline with her thumb.

Minho was used to romantic affection and the touches that came with it, with this many people wanting to get atleast a part of you it was like a handshake at best, at least thats what he would usually think.

But this was...something else entirely.

His eyes went wide, looking at her without even attempting to hide it.

She chuckled, giving him a smile before leaning close to him, his eyes quickly switching from her eyes to her lips, only to repeat the same motion.

To his dissatisfaction, she only wrapped her arms around him tightly, rubbing small circles into his back. He hugged her back just as tight, without thinking about it at all

Minho was uncertain, but they almost felt heart shaped. Whether that was just his imagination, or reality, he didnt dare to ponder about it further.

She let go of him, resorting to only grabbing his hand and giving in three subtle squeezes.

Before either of them could break the moment by saying anything, Kitty burst through the door, dramatically complaining about Yuri, effectively shattering the tension.

But it didn’t matter.

Because the only thing he could think about, was how she didnt move her hand, not even by an inch, and to him, it felt like a promise.

[svt-rosalie]

. . . ♡ PREGNANCY ! ? 🪷 AU ★ ﾟ๑

ׁ ׅ ୨ ❪ what could of been! ❫ ୧ ⊹ ࣪

© 2024 , svt-rosalie rosalie masterlist!

content warning / incorrect info on pregnancy and birth, rosie is emotionally, descriptions of birth, rosalie has an at home birth, not spelling checked, brief mention of sex (only brought up once), jihoon is the man we all need in our life

author note / i’m so proud of this! i got the sudden urge to write a pregnancy au for rosie and couldn’t stop writing so here you go! im gonna do some other parts to this au like rosie and her baby in going seventeen episodes, insta post, ect! i hope you enjoy, let me know if you want more AU’s like this :)

one of me is cute, but two, though?

give it to me, baby

juno, sabrina carpenter

THE BEGINNING

✿. rosalie finds out she’s pregnant!

A gasp left Rosalie’s mouth as she sat on her couch, a wave of nausea hitting her faster then she’s ever felt causing her to quickly leap from her spot and rush towards her shared bathroom with her boyfriend Woozi. Her stomach did not hold back as it brought everything back up that she had eaten for breakfast just a mere 4 hours ago.

“Are you okay Rose?” Woozi questioned, you could hear the concern in his voice.

Rosie simply sat there after throwing up and flushing the toilet. Her throat was scratchy and her body fatigued but she nodded her head the best she could.

Woozi rubbed her back with one hand and grabbed some toilet paper to wipe her face with the other. “Is everything okay? You’ve been throwing up a lot more recently from what I noticed.” He questioned.

The girl shrugged her shoulders leaning closer into her significant other, craving comfort. She had been so tired recently — her body felt like it had been rung through a ringer over and over. It didn’t help that she seemed to have caught a bug that made her throw up at randoms times.

Woozi started to chuckle making Rosie look up from her position of resting her head on his shoulder to look at him skeptically.

“What’s so funny?” She asked.

Woozi’s laughter softened but didn’t end as he spoke, “Maybe you’re pregnant!” There was a tone of humor in his voice.

Though as Rosie’s eyes widened and her body became stiff — Jihoon’s laughter died down, “You’re pregnant. . . ?” The statement came out more as a question than anything else.

“We should make a doctor’s appointment.” They both agreed, not realizing it would be the beginning of the rest of their lives.

WE’RE PREGNANT

✿. telling everyone their pregnant

It’s been a couple of months since the couple found out they would be having a child. They were young and in love, though they weren’t married they felt ready for this life. Others had different opinions and concerns especially since they just started their relationship but those words were fed in one ear and out the other.

Telling the company was one thing and the members they were expecting a child was one thing, it was honestly the easiest part they would deal with in the beginning. Telling their parents was another.

Rosalie’s parents are extremely protective of her, not in the sense of “you can’t do anything blah blah you live by my rules till the day you die” but just protective of the fact that she is their baby, their first born and they just want to best for her.

They had already told Jihoon’s family a week before when the couple went to visit the family for the weekend. Reactions of surprise and happiness was overwhelming and the nerves melted away from the two.

“We will be there to help you two no matter the time of day, just give us a call.” Jihoon’s mom had said to Rosalie when she made her way around to hug her.

Now it was time. The couple was sat in the Dumont’s kitchen room gathered around the table, dishes were filled with food as an everyone ate their filling. It was silent for the most part, the only thing heard was the smacking of Rosalie’s little sister Valentine’s mouth eating food and the clanging of metal chopsticks hitting the sides of dishes.

“Okay out with it, what’s going on? You two never act like this during dinner.” Rosalie’s father, Hyeonju asked after swallowing his mouth full of rice.

At those words Rosalie’s palms got sweaty. The speech she had practiced so thoughtfully on to break the news to her parents hasd flown out the window and straight into the pond beside their house.

Hyeonju crossed his arms, “Well—” “We’re pregnant!” Rosalie blurted out. There was no sugar coating it, no ‘Appa, I know I’m young’ speech, just straight for the jugular.

Reactions were mixed between her family, Valentine was confused, her mother had a smile on her face, and her dad; well you couldn’t tell the reaction on his face.

The deafening silence was broken by a chair scraping across the floor as Rosie’s mother got up to her hug her eldest daughter.

“Oh my gorgeous girl, I’m so happy for you.” She said cupping her daughter’s face with tears in her eyes. Her mother went into a tangent asking as many questions about the couple’s pregnancy as possible before she was cut off by her husband.

“Lee Jihoon?” Hyeonju asked. He stood up promoting the boy to stand as well and leave his position of watching his girlfriend and her mom alone. “Yes?” Jihoon answered.

Hyeonju sighed, “You better take care of my daughter and future grandchild, anything and I mean anything gets back to me that is even remotely upsetting — you and I will have words.” said boy nodded and expressed his love for the man’s daughter and their future child. “You have my word, I will be the man your daughter asked for and the best father our child could have.”

Hyeonju nodded and smiled broke out on his face “Come here!” he said, laughing and pulling the boy and his youngest daughter into a hug with his eldest and wife.

The tension in the room disappeared as they all hugged and laughed.

“Wait . . . does that mean Unnie had sex?” Valentine questioned innocently.

Rosalie’s face went red as the group laughed at the younger girls question seemingly meaning no harm by what she said.

It was a good family dinner, and soon instead of just 5 — there would be six!

SHE’S HERE!

✿. rosie finally gives birth

The room was bustling with noise and people. It was finally time for the couples little girl to come introduce herself to her family.

It had been a stressful morning with her water breaking and then immediately her contractions were causing her more pain than she ever expected.

At moment she was sat in her pool of luke warm water. Her desire to have a home birth just like her mother did with herself and her little sister overshadowed any other ideas, only wanting to go to the hospital if deemed necessary. Her mid-wife was instructing Rosie that she was at 9 centimeters dilated and soon enough she would be having to start pushing soon.

The girl nodded and continued to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth as her boyfriend, Jihoon held her hand close to his chest whilst rubbing her tense shoulder.

“You’re doing amazing Rosie.” Jihoon stated softly, he brought up the hand he was holding to give a delicate kiss. Rosie looked up at him as he was kneeled beside her with tears in her eyes. “Really?” She asked, “Because I’m absolutely terrified.” Rosie groaned out as another contraction hit.

The boy nodded as she squeezed his hand as the pain passed through her. If all she needed from him was to hold her hand through this pain then that’s what Jihoon will do, she carried their child for 9 months and was about to birth her, it’s the least he could offer at the moment.

The couple sat in silence as the midwife came over the check the files dilation once more before confirming she was at ten centimeters and was ready to push.

Rosalie’s mother who was their to assist in any way possible kneeled on her daughters other side offering a hand of support.

“Okay Jihye, on your next contraction. Push!” The midwife stated loudly.

And that’s what Rosalie did. It took the girl only 15 minutes to push her child out into the world which caused the medical staff and mid-wife to laugh out stating “We’ve got an eager little girl ready to meet her Omma and Appa.”

Despite being exhausted and out of breath, Rosalie took her baby girl in her arms after she was cleaned off and checked for any signs of health issues. A wave of relief came over the young girl and her partner as they watched their little Young-mi take a breath in and a breath out.

They were alone together for the first time in hours, the medical staff and her mother took their leave after cleaning up the girl, checking for any signs of tearing (thank god there was only a tiny one, she got stitched up in minutes) and getting her dressed and on a bed to be as comfortable as possible.

“We did this.” Rosie stated blissfully. Her voice cracked due to the strain of her yelling out as she pushed a couple of minutes ago.

Jihoon shook his head at her words.

“You did this. You kept her fed and healthy, you made sure she had a safe place for nine months, you brought her into this world. I wouldn’t have her without you, so thank you. Thank you so much.” His words didn’t go unspoken without tears shedding from both parties eyes. Rosie titled her head up to reach the boy sitting next to her and placed a sweet kiss on her lovers lips, cherishing this moment for as long as she could.

“Welcome to the world Lee Young Mi, you’re gonna be so loved.”

T͟I͟M͟ELINE.✶ 🧸

july 2020, baby is conceived august 2020, rosalie and jihoon find out they are pregnant september 2020, company is told about pregnancy november 2020, gender of the baby is confirmed december 2020, fans receive the news of rosie’s pregnancy december 2020, rosalie and jihoon go on pregnancy leave march 2021, baby yvonne dumont/lee young-mi is born

♡: ANNOUNCEMENT POST!

Liked by saythename_17, everyone_woo, and 4,678,092 others

parkjihye ♡

view all comments

rosalienews there is no way…….

tigerose I KNOW THEY ARE LYING WTFFFFFF

rosiecheeks woozi works quick don’t he

saythename_17 열일곱 번째 멤버를 맞이하는 것이 기다려집니다

translation, cant wait to welcome the 15th member of seventeen

roseswrld HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK

rosepetals y’all i have nobody i can share this news with, what am i supposed to do

smelltheroses i died, came back to make sure it wasn’t a joke, died again

woozi_universefactory ♡

click here to join rosie’s taglist!

taglist — @angie-x3 @alixnsuperstxr @allthings-fandoms @peachyaeger @sakufilms @aysxldea @swagcandyfun @wonwooz1 @s4nsmoon @seolarzone @miyx-amour @novwonia @marissa-11 @magicsoyeon @skzfairies @btskzfav @vhsdolly @iamawkwardandshy @yaebbinnie @conniesbbymama @jihoonsbbygirl @kaitieskidmore97 @cheolsboo @mars11rules67 @svt-manon @g4ns3y

[junixscribble]

Hexbug TM

Once again blame the server. I have no excuses for this one.

(Arcane lore + LOL Machine Herald)

Title: Hexbug TM

WC: 2029w

Summary: Jayce's constant need for revenge manifests itself into ingenuity. Very unfortunately for Viktor, Jayce has his sights set dead square on him.

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

Ever since setting up shop with the Machine Herald, Jayce had been getting in a few more fights. Not to the extent of his previous position as the Defender of Tomorrow (who according to the Piltover Press was on sabbatical) but more petty spats with chempunks. He had to admit that a couple of these had been started on purpose, much to Viktor’s chagrin. Viktor, in his high and mighty Herald-ness, thought petty fights were beneath him. Which is why it was such a surprise for Jayce when he walked with his arm half torn off and a hole in his side. 

“Hey, V- holy fuck! What happened?” Jayce rushed over, taking some of the weight off Viktor’s dead arm from him. 

“Some idiot decided to try and scam a child. I stepped in.”

“What’s this I hear from Mr No Unnecessary Fighting?” Jayce couldn’t help but tease, even if the hexclaw singed his hair for it. 

“This fight was necessary. Are you going to help, or stand there?” 

Jayce rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get pissy. Wow, they really did a number on you huh?”

He poked into the mess of wiring that was the cavern in Viktor’s side and he squirmed away. 

“Stop that. Get me over to the table.”

The table was the one in the corner, kept clear and reserved for when one of them fucked up so badly they had to be put back together. Normally it was Jayce on the table. Viktor hauled himself up onto the table and unclasped his mask, tossing it to the side. His face was contorted in discomfort - while his modifications dulled pain, it could not remove it completely. 

“How does it look?” He asked Jayce, his tone betraying his anxiety. Jayce peered at the arm, and then into his side. 

“Hmm. The arm is only torn at the hinge, and none of the wiring broke so that will be an easy enough fix. You’ve demolished some plates on your ribs and the wiring is a mess so that will need a little more time. Jeez, what did they hit you with?”

“Death ray.” 

Jayce gave Viktor a deadpan look and Viktor raised his eyebrows. “It was purple.”

“Sure. Anyway, let's get this armour off and get you fixed.”

Once the armour was off and Viktor had laid down, Jayce pulled out a box lovingly labelled as ‘Vik’s Robo Parts’ and got to work. They kept up conversation the whole time, and Viktor admitted it took him longer to get back because he wanted to make sure the kid was looked after. Jayce should have expected as much - for the stubborn front he put up, Viktor sure had a soft spot for children. 

It took about an hour and a half of work to fix everything back up, not without complaints from Viktor.

“You’re soldering that wrong, I can feel it.”

“No, I’m not. I’m soldering it my way, which is the correct way and not your weird version.”

“Mine is superior and holds stronger. Redo it.”

Jayce sat back and put the soldering iron in its stand. “Do you want me to get the cattle prod while you're immobile here?”

Viktor glared, but couldn’t help the flush that rose to his cheeks. They had recently discovered that powerful electricity had a very different effect on Viktor than it did Jayce. It turns out that when you shock someone who has partially metal nerves, it tickles like hell. Jayce had used this incessantly when Viktor was being annoying and it pissed him off to no end, never mind the fact that Viktor himself had a bad habit of using the hexclaw to torment Jayce. When he was the victim, it was a hate crime in his eyes. 

“If you do, I will put that fun powder I made in a random set of your socks and wait for you to put them on.”

Now it was Jayce’s turn to blush. The powder referenced was an accidental concoction of Viktor’s that made the victim ridiculously sensitive to any form of touch. Getting the stuff off was bad enough, but the fastest way to dissolve the effects was to provide… certain stimulation. This war between the two had been going on for months, and at this point Viktor was winning.

Viktor huffed out a smug laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

Jayce gave him a weary look and went back to screwing the plates into Viktor’s side. He kept his face schooled as he carefully slipped a small disc under the panel without Viktor’s knowledge before screwing it closed. 

“Well, there you go. Good as new.” Jayce stood and wiped his greasy hands on a rag. 

Viktor powered half his body back on with an audible whirr, flexing his arm and feeling hte plating on his ribs. 

“Decent.”

“Just decent?”

Viktor groaned. “What do you want from me? ‘Oh Jayce, it’s the most wonderful repair ever! However may I thank you, big strong beefcake who has come to save me?’”

Jayce couldn’t help but laugh at Viktor’s ridiculous impression of himself. “Well I don’t know, that could be nice. Being called a beefcake is a plus.”

Jayce flexed his arms in jest and Viktor recoiled. 

“Forget it, I am never speaking to you again.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“This time, I do.”

In the week following life went on as usual, and while Viktor did have to stitch up Jayce’s leg after someone decided to run at him with a knife it was uneventful. Which is the perfect environment for them to start pissing each other off. This time Viktor had left blueprints all over Jayce’s workstation. 

“Viktor, is it seriously that difficult to pick up after yourself?”

Viktor shrugged, not even looking at him. “My lab, my space.”

“Which you are currently sharing.”

“What did I just say? My lab.”

Jayce huffed, stashing the blueprints into the box they came out of. “You are a problem.”

“Oh, I’m a problem now? I wasn’t a problem when you ran into a knife two days ago. I even gave you lidocaine.” 

“You’re like if a tin can could speak and it was bad.”

Viktor turned to throw a piece of chalk at his head. It missed, so he turned back to his board with a grumble and realised he had in fact just thrown his last piece of chalk. Jayce could almost see the steam rising off his shoulders. 

“Jayce. My chalk, if you please.”

“Hmm… no.”

“What?”

Jayce laughed at the slightly dumbfounded look on Viktor’s face. “You chuck chalk at my face and expect me to give it back?”

Viktor started striding across the room towards him. “Motherfucker I am going to strap you down to a table and make you feel torture like you’ve never known.”

“Not if I get there first.”

Jayce jammed a hand in his pocket and closed it around a small remote, flicking the switch on the side and turning the knob up three clicks of the seven that were on it. Viktor stopped in his tracks and shrieked, falling to his knees and clawing at his side as a loud zapping noise started. He tried to speak, but Jayce turned the dial up another level and Viktor keeled over on his side, laughing. 

“JAHAYCE!”

Jayce turned the dial down to one, watching Viktor giggle and catch his breath. 

“Whahat did you dohoho?” 

“Hexbug.” Jayce said, turning the dial up and down again and making Viktor cackle. 

“Ehehe… elaborahate!”

“I made it! I took a cattle prod apart and made a little bug out of it. It can emit the same shocks that the prod does. Cool, right?”

“NohohOT COOL! Why- ahaha! Why is it insihide me?” 

“I put it there.” Jayce played with the dial, turning it up and down for fun. “And it means I can do this.”

Jayce placed his thumb on a joystick and Viktor felt something inside him move. The awful ticklish feeling was centred over a spot on his ribs, but that was now rapidly crawling down his side. The current stopped and Viktor felt tiny legs latching onto the wiring in his chest and crawling around. Viktor barely held back a yell as he fell backward onto the floor, kicking uncontrollably. Jayce knew the wires he was messing with connected to his nerves. At least if it was maintenance he could smack away his hands but this? He couldn’t exactly rip apart his own chest, no matter how badly it tickled. 

“JAHAYCE YOHOU AHAHASSHOLE!”

“Aw, does that tickle?”

The bug burrowed into a section of wiring near his spine and zapped again, making Viktor jolt. Jayce noticed the reaction and sent the bug on a fast paced adventure of his internal wiring, zapping at random intervals. This very quickly dissolved Viktor into a squirmy, hysterical mess. 

Jayce watched the carnage with a grin, turning down the voltage and piloting the little bug up Viktor’s spine until it was sitting near his central nervous controls. Viktor’s eyes widened when he felt the bug step onto the motherboard. 

“Jayce- Jahayce I don’t think you realise what this will do to me-”

“Really? Cause I think it’s gonna tickle really badly.”

The bug walked fully onto the board and Viktor made a choked noise, half a laugh in his throat already. 

“I wanna see what each voltage does here.”

 “Jayce, no!”

“Why? Is it gonna tickle?” 

Viktor felt the bug electrify and the popping noise started, along with what felt like a gentle, unbearable tickle throughout all the metal parts of his body. 

“Shihit! Ihit’s everywhehere!”

Jayce lit up like the sun, and Viktor knew he shouldn’t have opened his mouth. “Wait, that translates to all the augmentations?” 

Viktor didn’t confirm, and he didn’t need to. 

“So what you’re saying is if I turn this up here it’s going to tickle all over?”

Jayce turned the dial up to level two, and he broke.

“YEHES!” 

Jayce leaned in with a grin. “Good.” 

The dial turned up to three, and then four. Viktor screamed. 

“Four… five…”

“PLEHEHEASE AHAHAHA!”

“Six…” 

“IHIT TIHIHICKLES!” 

“Aaaand seven!” Jayce counted through all the levels, paying close attention to how Viktor reacted with each one. At the highest level he could see the electricity arcing over Viktor’s body while the man thrashed on the floor, completely lost in his own frenzied laughter. Jayce let him sit through the torture for a few seconds before turning the dial back to zero and switching the remote off. 

Viktor curled into a ball on the ground, still giggling at the last zaps of the current. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“...how do you THINK?” Viktor spat, sitting up. His hair was a tousled mess and his face was flushed adorably. “You just tickled me from the inside! I didn’t even know that could be fucking done!” 

Jayce felt a little bad. Just a little. “If you hop on the table I’ll remove the bug.” 

Viktor heaved for breath and held out a hand to stop. “No, no, just leave it. I can’t be bothered going through the rigmarole. I do ask that you don’t leave it directly over my nervous system though.” 

“Oh!” Jayce started, turning on the remote again. The bug took a step and Viktor arched his back, squeaking. 

“Ah, sorry. Heh. This will tickle.” 

He carefully drove the bug down to Viktor’s side while his partner tittered, placing it somewhere he could easily access the next time Viktor took himself apart. Jayce turned off the remote and placed it on his desk. 

“You deserved that.” 

Jayce got a hexclaw middle finger in response. Viktor stood and brushed himself off.

“I hate to admit it, but I do have to hand it to you. I did not see that one coming.” 

Jayce beamed with pride, and Viktor caught his expression with narrowed eyes. 

“This is not something to celebrate, Jayce. See, now I must one up you. Prepare yourself.” 

Viktor picked up his thrown chalk and went back to his equation, leaving Jayce sweating by the desk. He had just hammered in the final nail of his own coffin. 

[multific]

By Your Side, Always

Isaac x Reader

Summary: Just a cosy late night with your beloved.

It was a regular day, with an even more regular end.

Dinner was always your favourite part of the day.

You carefully set down the last dish.

The scent of roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread filled the air, mixing with the smell of wood from the fireplace.

Isaac sat at the head of the table, his eyes following your every movement with appreciation.

“Everything looks wonderful,” he said with a smile.

“I hope it tastes okay,” you said, sitting down into your seat across from him at the small table which he made with his two hands.

As the two of you began to eat, the room was filled with the sounds of clinking utensils and peace.

Isaac took a bite of the meat and let out a satisfied hum.

“This is delicious,” he said, turning to you with a broad smile. “I don’t know how you do it, but everything you make is always perfect.”

“It’s not magic, I assure you. Just a little practice.” You laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Isaac reached across the table, taking your hand in his.

His touch was warm and reassuring, the roughness of his fingers a testament to his hard work.

He did build your house after all. And only recently he built a new fire place for the winter.

The fireplace came out perfectly.

Filling your home with warmth.

“You know, I count myself lucky every day to have you by my side,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “This life we have is more than I ever could have hoped for.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you squeezed his hand gently.

“I feel the same way, Isaac. I couldn’t ask for a better husband.”

The two of you finished your meal in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging smiles and glances.

When the plates were empty, you began to gather them, but Isaac stood up and gently took them from your hands.

“Let me help,” he said.

Together, you carried the dishes to the basin to wash them.

Isaac stood beside you, drying each dish with a clean cloth.

Every so often, his hand would brush against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You know,” he said, breaking the quiet, “I wasn’t sure what to expect when our marriage was arranged. I didn’t know you, and I didn’t know what kind of life we would have. But now… Now, I can’t imagine my life without you. You’ve made this house a home, and you’ve filled my heart with more happiness than I ever thought possible.”

You turned to look at him. His eyes were full of light, filled with a love so visible it took your breath away.

“Isaac, I’ve never been happier than I am with you. You’re everything I could ever want. I'm happy you feel the same way.”

He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that lit up his handsome face.

Setting the cloth aside, he reached for you, his hands resting gently on your waist.

You leaned into him, your heart beating in time with his.

“I love you,” he said with full confidence.

And soon his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

When the kiss ended, you remained close, resting your forehead against his. “I love you too,” you whispered. Knowing you truly did love him, and you wanted him to know.

The dishes were forgotten for a moment as you stood there, holding each other.

He soon pulled you in for another kiss, this time it was a lot more demanding and hungry than the one before.

But you didn't mind, you allowed him take the lead.

You knew that no matter what the future held, you and Isaac would face it together.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/