#this is like what 3 years overdue. sorry

[fortruechaos]

DOSSIER.

NAME: Shadow ALIASES: Ultimate Lifeform, Project Shadow, Shads, etc. etc. SPECIES: Artificially created hedgehog imbued with Black Arms DNA AGE: Partner-headcanon dependent ; default is about 23 GENDER: Nonbinary something or other...he doesn't think about it. PRONOUNS: He/him/his SEXUALITY: Grey-aromantic bisexual ALLIANCES: Team Dark, GUN (sort of but not really anymore -- see under the cut for more info)

MY SHADOW: follows the color palette of his original SA2 incarnation (tanned muzzle, brighter reds, etc.). He wears a RED STAR RING for Zone travel underneath his left glove cuff (mostly utilized in crossover threads). Often keeps the GREEN CHAOS EMERALD on his person.

HIS PERSONALITY: is mostly driven from SA2 with heavy influences from his portrayals in Archie, Battle, and 06. He is closed-off, brusque, serious, overly determined, but is not above taunting people or egging people on and he smiles and smirks pretty often. He is driven by his love for Maria and his desire to uphold her wish, and is fine with being seen as morally grey for it, as he ultimately believes in his ability to choose what is right since regaining his memories and sense of self. He hates those that he sees as flighty or noncommittal and is often over-bearing in his pursuit of duty and doing what he thinks is right.

In short, Shadow is a loner who simply struggles with socializing and puts too much emphasis on his personal sense of justice, and will sometimes make fun of people or outwardly look down on them for not seeing things his way.

My Shadow's GENERAL BACKSTORY AND LORE is a hodge-podge of various Sonic canons but mostly sticks to game-verse with emphasis on his portrayal in SA2.

THINGS WILL BE CHANGED A BIT DEPENDING ON WHO I'M WRITING WITH to make threading more interesting. For example, Finitevus and Cosmo might not be "canon" to my general lore, but if I ever were to write with a Finitevus or Cosmo it'd probably just be easier to assume the muses have interacted in some capacity or are at least somewhat familiar with each other. I, the mun, am pretty familiar with all Sonic lore in at least some capacity so I don't mind just jumping around with what's canon and not canon for my Shadow.

The biggest thing I'm a stickler about and the largest point of divergence is that Shadow the Hedgehog 2005 is NOT CANON for my Shadow.

Shadow does not know Black Doom and has not interacted with him. In place of the plot revolving around the Black Comet and Gerald making a pact with Black Doom, this is what I have come up with.

Shadow, post-Sonic Heroes and leading into and intertwining with the events of Battle, sets about traveling the world to learn more about his past and who he really is. He breaks into various GUN facilities (many of which are seen in ShTH anyway) to uncover this information. Some of his travels lead him into a digital white space a la Shadow Generations and Archie 171 where he can interact directly with data recreations of Maria and Gerald and make peace with their passing.

Instead of Gerald's pact, what happened is this: in his attempt to create the Ultimate Lifeform, he looked to the ancient Echidnas and Babylonians for guidance and traveled to Mobius. This is when he uncovered the Gizoid (Emerl) and also found an interesting set of alien DNA that didn't match what he knew of the echidnas nor the Babylonians' tech. He dubbed the DNA "Black Arms" for its interesting appearance and infused it with his creation and Shadow woke up shortly thereafter.

CURRENTLY: Again, this is sort of dependent on whom I am writing with, as I don't generally treat IDW events as "canon" to my Shadow (but it is easier to have Shadow interact with Whisper like he knows of her from her time in the Resistance). In the case of IDW-centric threads, PLEASE NOTE MY SHADOW WAS NOT ZOMBOTTED. Idk why they did that it was a bad writing choice.

Anyway post-Forces and I guess also post-Frontiers (even though Shadow's not in that game), which is where I generally assume most threads to take place, with Eggman largely dissolving GUN during his reign over Mobius, Shadow is beginning to step into more of a separate vigilante role as the dark protector of the planet and outside of his role as a GUN special operative. In the instance of my Shadow, he was primarily teamed with them as a means to an end in using their vast information networks to help him make personal judgement calls on where to go and what was the biggest threat to Mobius.

But since they no longer have access to that kind of information after Eggman's reign thanks to their once-ubiquitous information networks being destroyed, Shadow no longer views them necessary to his own goals, and is beginning to sever ties.

LIL NOTES: I call the planet Mobius and refer to the anthropomorphic animals as Mobians but I don't consider it to be Archie's Mobius.

I refer to the disease Maria contracted as NIDS (although I guess this is canon to everything now and not just Sonic X anymore).

I have certain issues and concepts from Archie I've adopted into my Shadow's canon, but since Archie!Shadow is such a separate guy from the main storyline of Archie, they don't really feel pertinent to mention. But as an example, I like to imagine the Freedom Fighters still exist in Shadow's lore, they are just more of like a separate side-group that sometimes cross paths with Sonic and co. Namely I envision them helping with Perfect Chaos in Station Square during the events of SA1, things like that. I know most people writing Archie characters stick to Archie canon, so dw, I won't operate under the pretense of my made-up canon with your muses.

I consider the Sonic Universe arc where Shadow got sent to Blaze's dimension to handle Metal Sonic to be canon, and it takes place shortly after the events of Rush Adventure.

During the events of Sonic Unleashed, Shadow spent most of his time on Angel Island helping manage an onslaught of Dark Gaia creatures trying to take the Master Emerald. I like to imagine Tikal (or maybe Tikhaos if you're feeling really spicy) get to be briefly re-personified here to help Shadow manage the threat.

[kathaelipwse]

Not Just a 'Stylist' | Bangchan 1.1k Followers special!! <3

Pairing: Bang Chan × Stylist!Reader

Word Count: 9,145 Words | Reading Time: 33-ish mins

Genre: Angst | Slow Burn | Hurt/Comfort | Idol AU | Romance

Trope: Second Chance · Miscommunication · Lovers to Strangers to Lovers · Forbidden Love

Warnings: Mentions of body image issues & industry pressure, Angst-heavy themes, Harsh words, emotional fallout, Mental health struggles (insecurity, self-hate), Mild suggestive content, Strong language, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

Synopsis: She was never just their stylist. She was the one who made sure their voices were heard—even if it meant putting herself in the line of fire. Bang Chan didn’t know how much she mattered until she walked away. Now, two years later, a sly plan, an awkward reunion, and a very overdue confession might be what brings them back to each other… if their wounds can finally heal.

Author’s Note: This one’s for the parts of us we try to hide—because insecurities aren’t flaws, they’re just softer truths we haven’t learned to love yet. Chan’s story in this fic is a reminder that vulnerability doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. And that’s where the real beauty lives. 🤍 I hope all are doing fine! {I know i was gone for a little too long! Sorry lovies, i was trying to heal and keep up with myself first cause it was reflecting on my writings and i didnt wanna write so much angst, i haven't been feeling to write and post since a few weeks its just complicated lol, i hope its just a phase... And i am sorry if this one is a bit of more angst than fluff..}

Notice: Requests a closed for a little while, if y'll wanna talk or share thoughts feel free to do so!!

-

The K-Pop industry was a dazzling, often bewildering, kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, synchronized choreographies, and the relentless hum of constant activity. For many, it was a dream factory, churning out idols worshipped by millions. But beneath the glittering facade lay grueling schedules that stretched days into sleepless nights, and an often unforgiving set of beauty standards that could strip an idol of their individuality faster than a stage light could flicker. Perfection, in this world, was not just admired; it was meticulously engineered, often at the cost of authentic self-expression. Yet, for you, a stylist barely two years into the unforgiving depths of this demanding world, it was also something far more profound: a blank canvas, ripe for a quiet, yet revolutionary, change.

You hadn't simply landed in the K-Pop scene; you had carved out a niche, not with aggressive self-promotion, but with a philosophy that was both innovative and deeply empathetic. Your reputation had spread like wildfire, not just for the avant-garde, trend-setting ensembles you conceptualized, but for an almost fierce, unwavering dedication to the idols' comfort, well-being, and genuine self-expression.

In an industry obsessed with a narrow definition of perfection, your rebellion was subtle but potent. Whitewashing, the pervasive practice of lightening an idol's skin to an often unnatural pallor, was your personal nemesis—a cultural erasure you fought tooth and nail against.

You saw it as a deliberate act of stripping away an idol's natural heritage and unique beauty. Unnecessary layers of makeup on already flawless, youthful skin felt like a crime against nature and authenticity, smothering their natural glow under a mask of heavy product. And the rampant destruction of natural hair, often through harsh chemicals, relentless heat styling, and aggressive bleaching, was a personal affront you simply could not tolerate.

You championed originality, seeing each idol as a unique individual with their own inherent beauty to be amplified, not erased. Your mission was to ensure they felt seen, celebrated, and authentically themselves, rather than merely being packaged into a marketable, albeit homogenous, product designed to fit a preconceived mold.

This philosophy, initially met with skepticism and quiet resistance from management, slowly began to take root among the idols themselves. The members, accustomed to a more rigid, company-driven approach to their appearance—where they were often told what to wear, how to pose, and even how to smile—gradually adjusted to your radical kindness. They started to trust you, to see you not just as a technician of trends, but as an ally, someone who genuinely had their best interests at heart. Slowly, tentatively, some even began to confide in you, whispering their preferences, their discomforts, their secret desires for a different look, a softer fabric, a bolder color—preferences you always, without fail, honored and fought for, often pushing back against directives from higher-ups.

Among them was Han, a whirlwind of creative energy, known for his rapid-fire raps and boundless stage presence. Beneath his vibrant exterior, he carried a canvas of intricate tattoos that told stories only he truly understood, a deeply personal expression of his journey. He had silently endured countless applications of heavy, industrial-strength body tape, used to conceal his art for various concepts, leaving his sensitive skin raw, red, and irritated after every single performance. It was a silent agony he'd simply accepted as part of the job.

One afternoon, after a particularly long photoshoot for a new album, Han approached you cautiously, a faint wince on his face as he gently peeled a corner of tape from his inner arm. "Hey, [Y/N]," he began, his voice low. "Could… could we possibly try something different with this next time? The tape… it's really tearing up my skin." He showed you the angry red marks, some already forming blisters.

You immediately knelt, examining his reddened torso with a frown. "Oh, Han, that looks painful," you murmured, your concern genuine. "Of course, we will. Show me exactly where it hurts, where the tape causes the most irritation. We'll find a way around it, I promise. Your comfort comes first, always." From that day on, you made it your unwavering mission to ensure his clothing was stylish, often strategically covering him in ways that felt natural and chic, using round tops and under mesh that seamlessly integrated into the concept. But there were times, moments of pure, unadulterated playfulness on stage or during content shoots, when Han, swept up in the moment, wanted to show off his tattoos, to let his true self shine through. In those instances, you would take the fall, absorbing the inevitable scoldings and frustrated sighs from management with a calm, unyielding demeanor, a silent shield protecting his artistic freedom and personal comfort. You were their advocate, their quiet guardian against the industry's more suffocating demands.

Yet, despite your growing influence and the trust you had cultivated with most of the members, there was one who struggled profoundly to adapt to your different approach: Bang Chan. The group's leader, he was the embodiment of tireless dedication and relentless self-improvement, but years of relentless industry conditioning had deeply ingrained a specific, often self-deprecating, image in his mind. He couldn't reconcile with the idea of embracing his natural curly hair, which he saw as unruly, messy, and unprofessional, a stark contrast to the sleek, sharp looks favored by many K-Pop idols. Similarly, his slightly tanned, sun-kissed skin, earned from hours in the dance studio and occasional outdoor filming, was something he believed detracted from the desired "idol aesthetic" of pale, ethereal beauty.

After a particularly bright outdoor shoot under the Seoul sun, Chan approached you, rubbing his arm with a towel, a hesitant smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, [Y/N]," he said, almost apologetically. "Could we… maybe go a bit lighter on my skin for the next concept? Like, a foundation shade or two up? I think it would suit the theme better, give it a more… polished feel."

You met his gaze directly, your expression gentle but unwavering. "Chan, your skin tone is beautiful," you countered softly, your voice firm. "It's healthy, it's natural. There's no need to lighten it. You're just fine the way you are." You watched a flicker of disappointment cross his face, quickly masked.

A few days later, during a hair styling session for a variety show appearance, he tried again, running a hand through his slightly damp, springy curls. "My curls are… a lot, aren't they?" he mumbled, tugging at a particularly unruly strand near his temple. "They always seem to have a mind of their own. Maybe we should straighten them out for the comeback? Or at least heavily slick them back? It would look more… put together, I think. More professional."

You smiled, gently pushing his hand away from his hair. "Chan, your curls are incredible," you insisted, beginning to work a light serum through them to enhance their natural texture. "They have so much character, so much life. The fans adore them, you know? They talk about 'Chan's curls' all the time. We can define them, keep them healthy, but why hide something so unique and beloved?" He mumbled something noncommittal, still looking unconvinced. The irony was not lost on you: the other members, and even their incredibly devoted fanbase, Stay, absolutely adored his natural curls, often praising them in fan calls and online comments, begging him not to straighten them cause he is damaging his own hair. But Chan, locked in his own internal struggle, his self-perception deeply rooted in years of industry expectation, remained stubbornly unconvinced, a silent battle being waged beneath the surface of his charismatic stage persona. You knew he needed to see himself as truly "fine" before anyone else's opinion would matter.

The air after the concert was thick with the lingering buzz of fan cheers and the exhaustion of performance, a faint scent of sweat and stage smoke clinging to everything. The dressing room was a hive of activity: members peeling off stage clothes, makeup artists packing up their kits, and staff bustling about. You were meticulously helping Felix unhook an intricate, albeit slightly heavy, ear cuff, your fingers nimble as you navigated the delicate clasp. It was a moment of quiet focus amidst the post-show chaos, when snippets of a staff conversation, sharp and unwelcome, sliced through the general chatter.

"Honestly, I don't know what our new stylist is thinking," a voice, unfamiliar but clearly disgruntled, grated from a few feet away. "She absolutely refuses to cover up Bang Chan's slight tan. It's distracting, especially with the concept photos coming up."

Another voice, a little higher pitched, chimed in, dripping with disdain. "And his hair! It's never properly styled. Those curls just don't suit him. He looks… unpolished. It's not the image the company wants."

The words hit you like a physical blow, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. Your hands stilled on Felix's ear. Without a second thought, driven by instinct and a fierce loyalty to the idols you protected, you straightened up, turning slowly towards the voices. "Excuse me?" you interjected, your voice deceptively calm, though your eyes, you knew, flashed with a dangerous glint. "Chan's skin is perfectly fine. It's natural, and frankly, beautiful. It makes him look healthy and strong. And his curls are adored by fans. My job is to highlight their natural features, not erase them to fit some outdated, unrealistic so called toxic shitty standard."

A sudden, uncomfortable hush fell over the immediate area. Jeongin, who had been quietly packing his bag, looked up, his eyes wide with surprise and a hint of alarm. Han, who had just walked over to grab a water bottle, stopped dead in his tracks, his hand hovering over the cooler.

"Exactly!" Han exclaimed, stepping forward, his voice rising in defense. "Have you seen how many fans comment about his curls? They love them! They're iconic! And his tan? It just makes him look healthier, more real. It's part of who he is!"

"Yeah!" Felix chimed in, stepping away from you, his usually bright demeanor replaced with a stern frown. "And [Y/N] always makes sure we're comfortable. That's way more important than some old-fashioned beauty standard that makes us feel bad about ourselves!"

Changbin, who had been listening from a distance, his arms crossed, nodded firmly. "She helps us feel like ourselves. Chan Hyung looks great. He looks authentic and cute and sexy and the stays and we love him just the way he is."

But it was too late. Chan, who had been walking past the dressing room entrance, having just finished a quick call, paused. His back was to you, but the sudden rigidity of his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head, told you he had heard every single word. His face unreadable, he turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over you, the hushed staff, and then his fiercely loyal members, before he simply pivoted and walked out of the room, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

You glared at the gossiping staff, a silent, chilling promise of retribution in your eyes—a promise that your next styling choices for them would be… unflattering. Then, without another word, you quickly pushed past the startled members and followed him. You found him standing against a cool, brick wall just outside the building, gazing up at the indifferent night sky, his shoulders hunched, radiating a palpable tension that seemed to crackle in the air around him.

"Chan, wait," you began, reaching out a hand, your voice soft, but he cut you off, spinning around to face you. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, and his voice was tight with frustration, barely above a whisper, yet sharp as a knife which was just sharped as in to slit throats and then hearts.

"I told you… I told you I don't wanna be different!" he exclaimed, his words laced with a raw edge of pain and exasperation. "I just wanna fit in, like everyone else! I just want to be normal! But you wouldn't listen to me! You never listen!"

You stepped closer, trying to reason, to soften the blow, to make him understand. "Chan, listen to me. No matter what you do, no matter how you look, no matter how much you change yourself, people will always find something negative to say. You can't please everyone, and you shouldn't try to erase yourself for them. Your worth isn't determined by their opinions."

But he snapped, the dam breaking, unleashing a torrent of cruel words that felt like physical blows, each one landing squarely on your chest. "Don't you get it, [Y/N]? I don't care about what they say when it means I look like this! I don't care about 'authenticity' if it means I'm constantly being criticized! I need a stylist who understands the industry, who doesn't nag me about my personal choices. Someone who will just… do their job! Someone who will just make me look the way I need to look! Pale skin. Straightened hair. I don't need someone like you! I don't want a new style. Maybe the others do, not me!" His voice cracked on the last words, but the venom was clear, sharp, and undeniable.

The words stung, a deep, nauseating ache spreading through your chest, echoing the painful truth that he truly meant them, at least in that moment of raw anger. You knew he was upset, deeply so, frustrated with himself and the pressures he felt, but it still hurt. Of course, it did.

You had liked him the most, perhaps even loved him, in a way that transcended the idol-stylist dynamic. You had witnessed his entire rise, his struggles, his countless "Chan's Room" lives on YouTube where he’d openly expressed his insecurities about his looks, his hair, his identity, his constant battle with self-doubt.

You loved him more than you cared to admit, not as an idol, but as the genuine, vulnerable person you knew him to be beneath the bravado and the leader's facade. He stormed off, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing in the sudden silence, leaving you alone with the bitter echoes of his harsh, cutting words in the cold night air, a profound sense of betrayal settling heavy in your heart.

-

The next week was their much-needed break, a rare window of respite in their relentless schedule. For you, however, it was a blur of silent, agonizing pain. The raw wound of Chan's words festered, preventing you from facing him, or even his concerned members.

Your phone remained stubbornly on silent, vibrating with unread messages, your fingers hovering over them, unable to bring yourself to respond. Each buzz was a fresh reminder of the chasm that had opened between you and a desperate plea to bridge it, but the hurt was too deep, too fresh. The guilt, meanwhile, gnawed at Chan, a constant, dull ache in his chest, a poison he couldn't flush out.

He replayed the scene in his mind over and over: the surge of anger that had driven his cruel outburst, fueled by years of internalized insecurity, and the shattered, heartbroken look in your eyes as he stormed away. That image, the way your expression had crumpled, haunted his waking hours and infiltrated his restless sleep.

That night, unable to shake the feeling of dread, he paced the dorm living room, the quiet too loud, too heavy. "Has anyone heard from [Y/N]?" Chan finally asked, his voice strained, a raw edge of desperation he couldn't quite hide.

Han, scrolling through his phone, shook his head, his own face etched with worry. "No, Hyung. I've sent like, five texts. And checked every social media she used to have. Nothing. No reply. Lix has called her, too, probably a dozen times."

Felix nodded sadly, his usual bright demeanor dimmed. "Just goes straight to voicemail, Hyung. Every single time. I don't know what to do. This isn't like her."

The members, sitting in their living room, exchanged worried glances, a silent conspiracy of concern. None dared to explicitly ask either of you about what had truly transpired that night. They had heard it all, after all, the sharp words and the sudden silence. The chilling silence from both sides was deafening, a tangible, suffocating weight in the dorm, replacing the usual easy camaraderie.

The very next day, a cold, formal email landed in everyone's inboxes: the company announced your resignation. There was a terse, uninformative notice posted internally, stating only that you had "decided to pursue other opportunities." You hadn't given a reason, not to management, not to the members, not to anyone. Just a clean, sharp break, like a snapped string. But the members knew. Every single one of them. And Chan, oh, Chan knew with a searing certainty.

"What do you mean, she resigned?" Changbin asked, disbelief coloring his voice, staring at the stark text on his phone screen as if it might spontaneously change. "She just… left? Without a word?"

"She wouldn't just leave," Jeongin whispered, looking genuinely distraught, his eyes wide and clouded with unshed tears. "Not without saying goodbye to us. Not after everything."

Han slammed his fist lightly on the table, the muffled thud echoing the frustration in his voice. His gaze was fixed on Chan, a mixture of raw anger and deep despair. "It's because of what happened, isn't it, Hyung? Because of what you said! It broke her, didn't it?"

Chan flinched, the accusation hitting him squarely, like a physical blow. His face was ashen, his jaw tight. "I… I know," he mumbled, his voice thick with guilt, barely audible. He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, a dizzying wave of regret. You weren't just their stylist; you were someone who always put their needs first, their comfort first, their problems first, even before the company's often rigid directives and relentless bottom line. You were a true friend, an advocate, a safe space they had implicitly relied on, a rare source of genuine care in an often impersonal industry. Now, that friend was gone, not exactly, but you never replied to anyone's messages, no matter how many they sent, how desperate they became, how many pleas for a simple 'I'm okay' went unanswered.

Months bled into each other, each one feeling heavier than the last for the group. The stylist changed, a new face taking your place. This person was efficient, professional, and entirely detached. They just "did their job," rarely spoke beyond necessary instructions, and worked solely for the company, not for the idols' individual well-being or comfort. The careful considerations you had put in place slowly eroded, like sand slipping through fingers. Han's body tapes reappeared, along with other unwelcome changes to their styling that prioritized concept over comfort, leaving the members feeling like mannequins, stripped of their individuality.

-

One evening, after another long day of taped-up skin and restrictive, itchy outfits, Han sat on his bed, frantically texting you, a silent, desperate prayer. "Please, [Y/N]," he typed, his thumbs flying across the screen, his face drawn. "Are you okay? We miss you so much. This new stylist… it's not the same. My skin is raw again, just like before you came. Please, just reply. Anything?" But the messages remained stubbornly undelivered, stuck on 'sending,' or simply unread. He had been closest to you, relying on your understanding and empathy more than anyone. Your silence was a constant, gnawing void.

Tours came and went, a dizzying cycle of stages and cities, airports and hotel rooms. The high of performing was always followed by a lingering emptiness. Occasionally, the members would catch glimpses of you, a fleeting figure working with other idols and groups at music shows or industry events. You looked good, professional, sometimes even seemed to laugh, but always just out of reach, a distant figure in a bustling crowd.

"Look, there she is!" Felix exclaimed one day, his voice a mix of excitement and longing, pointing across a crowded backstage area. You were laughing with a girl group, adjusting a sparkling top for one of their members, your head thrown back, a genuine smile on your face.

Chan watched from afar, a sharp, physical pang in his chest. You seemed so vibrant, so at ease, so happy, even if the smile didn't quite reach your eyes like before when seungmin would friendly bully chan about his age, but it was in the same profound way he remembered. It twisted something inside him to see you thriving, knowing it was a world he was no longer a part of, a happiness he had pushed away.

Han, though initially unable to forgive Chan for what he'd said, the unspoken resentment a thick wall between them, eventually did. The silent tension between them was too heavy to bear under the constant pressure of idol life, a crack in their brotherhood. One late night, he found Chan staring out the dorm window, lost in thought. "Hyung," Han said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle, "I… I'm still mad about it, believe me. It hurt me too. But I miss you too. We need to be okay. As a group, we can't let this break us." Chan just nodded, a silent acknowledgment of forgiveness and shared pain, a fragile truce. The other members, too, slowly, resignedly, reverted to their old ways, accepting the discomforts as an inevitable part of their careers. They missed you, desperately, but the hope of your return dwindled with each passing month, replaced by a quiet resignation.

And Chan, through it all, finally understood. The empty space you left behind wasn't just a missing stylist; it was a void in his life, a silent reproach to his own insecurities, a constant, visceral reminder of his harsh, cutting words. He had fallen for you long ago, slowly, subtly, in the quiet moments behind the scenes, during late-night recording or editing sessions where he'd often find himself thinking of your gentle corrections, your unwavering support, your quiet strength.

He had always made sure not to hurt you, to never cross that line, to protect that unspoken bond, that fragile trust… and that's exactly what he had done. He wasn’t afraid of losing you, not exactly, not in the typical sense of fearing how he would be without you, how it would affect himself. That kind of fear, he now realized, was selfish.

But hurting you?

That pained him to his very core. That was a different kind of terror. He had always believed that being afraid of losing someone meant being afraid of how one would be without that person, how it would affect themselves. But being afraid of hurting someone meant being afraid of leaving a mental scar, a painful memory that they would carry forever, a wound they might never fully heal from. And he had hurt you. Brutally. He had watched you walk away because of his own words, his own self-doubt, his own inability to see his worth. The realization was a torment he carried every single day, a constant, gnawing regret that ate at him from the inside out, a silent scream in his chest.

-

Two years had passed by in a blow, each day a slow, grinding testament to the void you'd left. The memories of your easy laughter, your firm but gentle touch during styling, and your fierce protection had faded slightly around the edges, but the impact of your absence was a constant, dull ache for all the members. Chan, especially, carried a heavy burden. Han had keenly observed his Hyung's quiet torment – the way Chan would replay old videos of them, of you effortlessly styling other groups at music shows, his gaze lingering on your figure. He'd catch Chan scrolling through old fan photos, zooming in on your fleeting appearances in the background. Everyone had picked up on the signals; it was clear, painfully so, that Chan was suffering and that he missed you more than words could say.

"He's never going to move on, is he?" Felix whispered to Han one night, watching Chan stare blankly at a screen. "It's like he's stuck."

Han sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He won't. Not until he gets a chance to fix it. He messed up, yeah, but he's been kicking himself for two years straight."

He hatched a plan, a desperate, audacious gamble, unsure if it would work, but it was worth a try. He knew you'd blocked all their numbers, even the company's official lines. You’d probably changed yours too. But he also knew you were meticulous, always checking for new opportunities, especially if they came from an unfamiliar but professional source.

"Okay," Han muttered to himself, scrolling through his contacts. He found an old, burner phone number he’d used for a brief, ill-fated prank war months ago. Perfect.

He crafted a message carefully, trying to sound as un-Han-like as possible, adopting an overly formal, slightly stiff tone.

To: [Your old number & a guess at your new number] From: [Fictional Company Name] - Mr. Jin Subject: Urgent Styling Opportunity

"Dear Y/N, I hope this message finds you well. My name is Jin, manager at [Fictional Company Name]. We have an urgent project requiring a stylist of exceptional reputation and innovative vision, specifically with a keen understanding of idol comfort and authentic expression. Your name has come highly recommended. We are looking to revolutionize our group's image. Would you be available for a confidential meeting to discuss this potential collaboration? Please reply to this number at your earliest convenience. Regards, Mr. Jin."

He re-read it, wincing at the overly formal phrasing, but deciding it might just sound legitimate enough to pique your professional interest. He pressed send, holding his breath.

To his utter surprise, that very night, his burner phone buzzed. A text message, short and to the point.

To: Mr. Jin From: [Your new number] "Dear Mr. Jin, Thank you for reaching out. I am available for a meeting. Please propose a time and location suitable for your schedule. Regards, [Y/N]."

Han almost dropped the phone. It worked! A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face, quickly followed by a rush of nerves. Now for the hard part: getting Chan there, oblivious, and then getting out of the way. This was either going to be the best plan he'd ever concocted, or the most catastrophic.

--

A few days later, after a particularly grueling dance practice that left the members drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted, their muscles aching, Han, surprisingly cheerful despite the workout, casually approached Chan. "Hey, Hyung," Han said, swinging his arm around Chan's shoulders, a mischievous glint in his eye that Chan, in his own weary state, barely registered. "I'm starving. Absolutely famished. Wanna grab some coffee? There's this new, not-so-famous cafe down the street I heard about – supposed to have really good pastries."

Chan, still feeling a vague, persistent sense of unease from the unresolved tension of the past weeks, and the constant, throbbing void in his life where your presence used to be, simply grunted in agreement. "Sure, why not. Anything beats staying in the dorms staring at the ceiling, thinking." He was simply glad Han was talking to him again, without the usual subtle undercurrent of disappointment or coldness that had been present in their interactions for so long. It felt like a fragile truce, a tiny crack of light in his self-imposed darkness.

They dressed quickly, pulling on hoodies and baseball caps, the familiar disguise for anonymity, and walked the short distance in the crisp evening air. The city lights began to twinkle, blurring into streaks as cars rushed past. As they neared the cozy-looking cafe, its warm glow spilling onto the pavement, Han paused, feigning a sudden, panicked realization. "Alright, Hyung, I actually need to run back to the dorm for something I totally forgot. My phone! You know how I am – useless without it." He gave Chan a wide, innocent grin, almost too innocent. "Mind going in ahead? Just tell them you're with 'Mr. Jin.' We have a table reserved. He’s already there, probably."

Chan's brow furrowed in confusion, a tired sigh escaping him. "'Mr. Jin'? Who on earth is Mr. Jin?" he asked, scanning the cafe's unfamiliar facade, a vague suspicion tickling the back of his mind, but he was too tired to argue.

Han just shrugged, his eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. "Ah, you know, we're well-known, brother. Company connections, maybe? Just go in, I'll be right there. Don't worry about it, Hyung, just grab the table." He gave Chan a light shove towards the entrance, a gesture of fraternal encouragement.

It was a flimsy, almost ridiculous, but seemingly reasonable enough excuse, especially coming from Han. Chan, still a bit confused but trusting Han, pushed open the cafe door. The warm, inviting aroma of roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries, tinged with a hint of cinnamon, filled the air, a comforting contrast to the lingering chill outside. A young waiter, bustling but polite, approached him with a professional smile.

"Reservation for Mr. Jin?" Chan asked, feeling a little silly saying the name out loud, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.

The waiter's smile brightened. "Ah, yes, right this way, sir. Your party is already seated." He led Chan through the cozy, dimly lit interior, past the gentle murmur of conversations and the clinking of cups, to a secluded table nestled in the back, near a large window overlooking the street.

You were sitting there, nursing a half-empty latte, scrolling through your phone, completely engrossed in something on the screen, your brow slightly furrowed in concentration. As the waiter gestured towards the table, you looked up, your eyes meeting his across the small, round surface. Time, for a heart-stopping moment, simply ceased to exist. Both of you froze, a silent, electric shock rippling through the air. The gentle hum of the cafe faded into an indistinguishable buzz, swallowed by the sudden roaring in Chan's ears. You lowered your phone slowly, almost reverently, your mouth slightly agape, a mixture of profound surprise and something akin to a guarded curiosity flickering in your eyes. Chan’s heart hammered against his ribs, a sudden, dizzying rush of blood to his head. It was really you. After two agonizing years, standing right there, looking both utterly familiar and heartbreakingly distant.

Outside, pressed against the glass wall like a grinning gargoyle, Han watched the scene unfold. He saw the instant recognition, the collective paralysis, the unspoken tension that hung between you two. A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face. He pumped a silent fist in the air, a quiet victory dance, before turning and practically skipping back to the dorms, his mission accomplished, a hopeful lightness in his step.

Chan slowly, almost mechanically, pulled out the opposite chair and sat down, his limbs feeling heavy and disconnected, as if gravity had intensified. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, a silent plea in his gaze, a desperate hope blooming in his chest. You, meanwhile, were already holding up your phone, displaying a text conversation. "This is you, isn't it?" you accused, a wry eyebrow raised, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, a ghost of the old warmth he remembered so vividly. "Trolling me over texts, pretending to be 'Mr. Jin' from some random company? I almost took the bait, you know. I even looked up their fictional website."

Chan leaned forward, peering at the screen, a fresh wave of mortification washing over him, followed by a surge of gratitude towards Han. He recognized Han's overly formal, slightly ungrammatical writing style instantly. "Oh my god," he mumbled, a blush creeping up his neck, warmth flooding his cheeks, not just from embarrassment, but from the overwhelming proximity to you, the sheer reality of your presence. "Han! I am so, so sorry. I had no idea. He set me up completely. I swear. I would never…" His voice trailed off, lost in the enormity of the moment.

You sighed, a small, exasperated sound, but nodded, a flicker of something in your eyes – perhaps understanding, perhaps resignation, perhaps a hint of the old affection. "I figured as much. He always was a menace, that one. And surprisingly dedicated when he sets his mind to something." You began to gather your things, reaching for your bag, the brief amusement fading, replaced by a familiar, guarded distance that chilled him. "Well, since this was clearly a setup, and not a legitimate meeting, I should probably go—"

"Please wait!" Chan blurted out, his voice thick with a sudden, desperate urgency, a raw, primal fear that you would disappear again. His hand instinctively shot across the table, lightly, almost reverently, holding your wrist, stopping your movement. His fingers were surprisingly warm against your skin, a jolt of familiar contact after so long, sending shivers through him, a stark reminder of everything he'd lost. "Ten minutes. Please. Just ten minutes. That's all I ask. Don't leave again." His voice was raw, pleading, a crack in his usual composure, utterly exposed. He felt like he was suffocating, this one fragile chance to explain, to atone, slipping through his grasp.

You hesitated, your eyes searching his, seeing not just desperation, but a profound vulnerability, a deep, silent anguish there that truly surprised you. The grip was light, but firm, a silent plea that resonated deep within you, touching a dormant chord of concern. After a long moment, watching the raw emotion play out in his eyes, the unshed tears reflecting the dim cafe lights, you slowly released your bag and sat back down, a small, resigned sigh escaping your lips. "Ten minutes," you conceded, your voice soft, almost a whisper, a fragile thread of hope linking you.

He nodded, a visible wave of profound relief washing over his face, as if he'd just been granted a stay of execution, a reprieve from an unbearable sentence. He pulled his hand back, then, driven by a sudden nervous energy that made him incapable of sitting still, he got up from his seat and began to pace the small area around the table, his words tumbling out in a sincere, rapid-fire apology, a confession he'd rehearsed a thousand times in his head, each word weighed and re-weighed, now bursting forth with unbridled emotion.

"I know… I know what I said was messed up," he started, running a hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on you, pleading for understanding, for just a glimmer of the kindness he remembered. "That night… I was just so frustrated, so angry. But it wasn't about you, not really. It was all about my own stupid insecurities. My own hang-ups about how I looked, how I was perceived, how I felt like I was never enough. Like I always had to be perfect for everyone else, even if it meant hating myself. And I hated that I hurt you. I saw your face," his voice cracked here, a raw, exposed nerve, "and… and I knew I messed up so badly. The look in your eyes… it just shattered me. It still shatters me every time I close my eyes. You didn't deserve that. You were only ever trying to help me, to protect me from the very things I was too blind to see, too conditioned to accept about myself. And I just… I threw it back in your face like a complete idiot, like a coward." He stopped pacing, turning to face you fully, his gaze intense, earnest, pleading. Tears welled in his eyes, though he fought them back fiercely, blinking rapidly. "I know you're not supposed to forgive me. I don't even know if I deserve it, to be honest. I’ve lived with that regret every single day."

He took a shaky breath, then continued, his voice dropping, his confession raw and vulnerable, laden with years of unspoken feelings, a dam finally breaking. "But I just… I don't know what to do without you around. It's been two years, [Y/N], and it still feels like… like there's something fundamentally missing. Like a part of me just… wasn't right when you weren't there. Everything felt… muted. Less real. The colors drained from everything. The jokes didn't land right. Even the music felt a little emptier. I missed your presence, your perspective, your just being you."

He stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. "And… and I liked you. More than 'liked.' I tried to deny it, tried to push it down because it felt wrong, complicated, impossible. Because you were our stylist, and I was an idol, and there were rules, and fear. But I…I fear that I love you, [Y/N]. I know it's crazy. I know it's wrong, you were our stylist, and I’m an idol, and it's all so messed up and complicated, and I’m probably going to regret saying this later, risking everything, but… I’m fucked, [Y/N]. I truly, deeply, unequivocally love you. I missed you more than I can even begin to say. Every single day was a struggle, a constant reminder of my own stupidity, my own foolish pride. And I’m still a mess, okay? A guy filled with insecurities, a heart that can't quite explain what it is or what it wants… but even then, even though I'm all that… I would always be yours, no matter what. My heart belongs to you, always has, even when I was too stupid to realize it. But if you gave me a chance… I want to get to know you again. Not just as an idol and a stylist. As a friend, first. And then… if it's okay… if you could ever find it in you… I want to try for something more. Something real. Something honest. With you. Always with you." He finished, breathless, his confession hanging heavy in the air between you, raw and exposed, a silent plea for forgiveness and a future he desperately craved.

You stood up. The ten minutes he’d begged for were over, but the weight of his raw confession hung heavy in the air, vibrating between you like a plucked string. Every agonizing word, every exposed vulnerability, echoed in the quiet space.

"Ten minutes are over," you stated, your voice calm, betraying nothing of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you—the profound surprise, the lingering hurt, and the unexpected tenderness his raw honesty had stirred. The urge to stay, to reach across the table and bridge the chasm that had formed between you, was immense, almost overwhelming, but the hurt of the past two years, the cold sting of his cutting words, was a formidable wall, still too high to easily climb.

You turned and walked past him, heading towards the exit, the faint scent of his cologne, a familiar comfort, now tinged with the desperation that had clung to his every plea. You reached the door, your hand resting on the cool metal handle, the decision to leave or stay warring within you.

Just as you were about to push it open and step back into the anonymity of the bustling street, you paused. A tiny, almost imperceptible shift in your posture. Then, slowly, you looked back over your shoulder. A small, knowing grin, a ghost of a smile he once knew, a hint of the playful teasing he remembered so fondly, played on your lips. "See you soon… Christopher."

Then, without another word, you pushed the door open and walked out into the late afternoon bustle, disappearing into the crowd like a fleeting shadow. Poor Chan was left utterly confused, rooted to the spot, staring after you, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The cryptic farewell, the almost-smile, the use of his full name – it tore at him. Did it mean something? Or nothing at all? Was it a promise, or just a polite dismissal?

The next week passed in a blur of anticipation, doubt, and a gnawing uncertainty for him, each hour stretching into an eternity as he replayed your words, your smile, that single, enigmatic glance. He found himself dissecting every syllable, searching for hidden meanings, for any sign of hope. Sleep offered little solace, his dreams filled with your face, both near and impossibly far.

It was time for their next tour, a sprawling schedule of concerts across multiple continents, a whirlwind of flights, rehearsals, and performances. The usual excitement was overshadowed by an underlying tension, a silent worry about the impending change in staff. As he was meticulously packing his suitcase, folding clothes with obsessive precision, trying to decipher the cryptic meaning of your parting words, the dorm room door burst open without a knock. The other members piled in, an unusual seriousness on their faces.

"Hyung! Urgent meeting in five minutes!" Jeongin announced, his usual bright energy replaced with a grim, almost apprehensive tone.

"Yeah, the manager sounded super serious," Felix added, his usual cheer subdued. "He said it's about the tour staff, specifically about the new stylist."

Chan's stomach twisted. He braced himself for another cold, impersonal professional. As confused as the others by the sudden announcement, he quickly zipped up his bag and headed to the main office where their manager sat, a stern, unreadable expression on his face. The air in the room was thick with unspoken tension, heavy with the collective dread of the unknown.

"Alright, boys," the manager began, his voice devoid of its usual warmth, his eyes sweeping over their anxious faces, seeming to relish the dramatic reveal. "I have an important announcement regarding your upcoming tour. As you know, we've been looking for a long-term solution for your styling needs." He paused for dramatic effect. "You're getting a new stylist, effective immediately for this tour."

A collective groan, low and heartfelt, filled the room, a wave of palpable disappointment washing over them. "Oh, no," Seungmin mumbled, slumping further in his chair, already picturing the rigid, impersonal approach they’d come to dread, the return of uncomfortable outfits and forced looks.

"Not another cruel one," Han muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible, exchanging a worried glance with Changbin. The memory of the past two years, with the cold, detached stylist and the relentless return of old discomforts like Han’s body tapes, weighed heavily on them all. Their hopeful spirits had been slowly chipped away.

Just then, as if on cue, the office door opened. All heads snapped towards it. And then, you walked in. Your gaze swept over the surprised faces of the members, a faint, mischievous glint in your eyes as you took in their slumped postures and glum expressions, a knowing amusement playing on your lips. Your eyes finally landed on Chan, and a subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniably knowing smile played on your lips, a direct, unspoken acknowledgement of your last conversation, a silent question hanging between you.

"Seems like you all don't want me… sure then, I will go b—" You began, your voice laced with playful challenge, a hint of teasing that was so uniquely you.

Before you could even finish the sentence, a roar of pure, unadulterated relief and joy erupted in the room. Han and Felix, moving with a speed that belied their earlier exhaustion, had already sprung from their seats, practically tackling you in a synchronized, relieved hug. "You're back! Oh my god, [Y/N], ahhhhhh, I swear we missed you too much!" Han mumbled into your shoulder, his voice thick with emotion, careful not to let the manager hear the sheer, overwhelming happiness in his voice. "We thought you were gone for good! We thought we messed up forever!"

"Don't you dare go anywhere ever again!" Felix exclaimed, tightening his embrace, his voice cracking with relief. "We hated the others! They made us wear itchy sweaters!"

The rest quickly joined in, a tangle of arms and excited exclamations, their previous gloom instantly evaporated, replaced by a radiant collective joy. "No! We do want you! We need you!" Seungmin exclaimed, pulling back with a wide grin, tears glistening in his eyes. "We really, really do!"

"You have no idea how much we missed you, Stylist-nim!" Hyunjin added, his eyes sparkling with genuine happiness, a rare unguarded emotion. Even I.N., usually the quietest, was beaming, his usual reserved demeanor replaced with pure delight as he clung to your arm. "It's so good to have you back."

As for Chris, he simply stood, rooted to the spot, a profound sense of utter, unburdened relief washing over him, so strong it almost brought him to his knees. A genuine, unadulterated smile, the first truly free one in two years, spread across his face, lighting up his features and reaching deep into his eyes. His heart swelled, a warmth spreading through his chest, seeing you there, safe and sound, surrounded by the joy you brought to the group. He just smiled at you, a silent, heartfelt welcome home, a wordless apology and a renewed promise echoing in his gaze. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but his eyes said everything.

They soon backed off, untangling themselves from you, though Han still kept an arm loosely around your shoulders, as if afraid you might vanish again. The manager, looking distinctly put out by the blatant display of affection and the interruption to his formal announcement, cleared his throat loudly, regaining his composure. He looked at you, then at the group, his expression still stern, attempting to reassert control. He began rattling off all the "rules" and expectations for the tour, the company's directives, the strict guidelines for their image – rules you, of course, had no intention of following if they compromised your principles or the members' well-being. You just smiled sweetly, meeting the manager’s gaze with a confident, knowing look, a silent promise to yourself and to the boys that things were about to change for the better, once again. This time, for good.

-

The tour was a whirlwind, a triumphant blur of flashing lights, roaring crowds, and adrenaline-fueled performances. With every passing day, the group grew closer, their bond strengthening, mending the cracks that had formed in your absence. You effortlessly slipped back into your role, not just as their stylist, but as their confidante, their shield. The manager's "rules" quickly became polite suggestions you creatively circumvented. Han's body tapes, once a painful reminder of past discomfort, were gone for good, replaced by innovative layering and clever fabric choices that allowed his tattoos to peek out when appropriate, or be subtly covered without irritation. The other members felt a renewed sense of confidence, embracing their natural hair textures and varied skin tones under your encouraging guidance.

Chan and you, in particular, grew closer than ever before. The initial awkwardness after his confession had quickly melted away, replaced by a comfortable, almost electric familiarity. There were stolen moments backstage, whispered conversations on long bus rides, and shared glances across crowded rooms that spoke volumes. The members often caught you two being "too close," their knowing smiles and raised eyebrows a constant, playful commentary. You'd laugh it off, still calling yourselves "friends," a private joke that only deepened the unspoken understanding between you.

It was a delicate dance, navigating the professional boundaries of your roles with the undeniable pull that drew you together. The trust was back, stronger than ever, built on the foundation of his raw honesty and your quiet forgiveness. His lingering insecurities about his appearance began to fade under your consistent affirmation. He found himself looking at his curls in the mirror not with disdain, but with a new sense of appreciation, remembering your gentle touch, your unwavering belief in his natural beauty. The memory of his harsh words still pricked, but now, it served as a stark reminder of how far he had come, and how much he valued the person who had brought him back to himself.

-

A year slipped by in a joyful blur, marked by the steady hum of a rekindled connection. The tour ended, but the closeness between you and Chan only deepened. It became a cherished routine: late-night sneak-ins to each other's hotel rooms on tour, or hushed tiptoeing down the dorm corridor after the others were asleep. These secret rendezvous were filled with movie nights, deep talks that stretched into the early hours, and even soft cuddles on the couch or a shared bed, a comforting warmth radiating between you. Intimacy, however, remained a silent, unspoken promise, a tender line you both respected, a slow burn of anticipation that made every touch, every shared glance, electric.

Until…

It was October 3rd, his birthday. A significant day for both him and Stay. After a long day of live streams, fan greetings, a special broadcast of "Chan's Room," and being out of the dorm for various schedules, he returned, utterly exhausted but content. As he pushed open the door to his room, he stopped dead in his tracks. The room was transformed. Balloons in silver and black floated near the ceiling, fairy lights twinkled along the walls, casting a soft, ethereal glow, and the unmistakable aroma of his favorite comfort food filled the air. A small table was laden with drinks and snacks, but what truly caught his eye was a human-sized, clumsily wrapped gift sitting conspicuously on his bed. A note, written in familiar handwriting, was taped to the door: "Suggestion: lock the door, don't want the kids in."

He giggled, a genuine, delighted sound that bubbled up from deep within him. "Oh, you guys," he murmured, his heart already swelling with affection. He carefully closed and locked the door behind him, a sense of playful anticipation bubbling in his chest.

"My human burrito!" he exclaimed, hovering over the immense wrapped present on his bed, his eyes wide with curiosity and a growing hope. He carefully tore away the layers of wrapping paper, his fingers fumbling in his eagerness. As the last sheet fell, a burst of laughter erupted from within the paper, and then, much to his utter astonishment, Han unfolded himself from the box, bursting into laughter himself at Chan's priceless, crestfallen expression. Han had seen the brief flicker of disappointment, the way Chan’s eyes had gone from wide expectation to utter bewilderment. He had been hoping, oh so desperately, for you.

From the bathroom, where you had been hiding, barely containing your own amusement, you too erupted in uncontrollable laughter, stepping out into the room.

"Get off him, Chrisie, unless~" Han teased, his eyes dancing with mischief, already wiggling out of the box and heading for the door. "Don't want to interrupt anything!" He shot a knowing wink at you both, giggling like a maniac.

Chan, totally embarrassed, backed away from Han, his face a fiery red. "Yah, Han Jisung!" he protested, a mock glare on his face. He had been tricked! The little menace! Han walked out, still cackling, leaving the door ajar. Chan quickly moved to close and lock the door again, a more deliberate, hopeful click this time.

You emerged fully from the bathroom, dressed in a sleek black satin dress that shimmered in the soft fairy lights, clinging to your figure in all the right places. You were still laughing, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "Very funny, hm?" Chan said, a playful smirk twisting his lips as he pinned you gently against the wall beside the bathroom door, his hands resting lightly on either side of your head.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to stifle your laughter, your eyes sparkling up at him. "Sorry, Channie~" you cooed, the affectionate nickname rolling off your tongue naturally.

"Nope, won't forgive ya," Chan said, feigning seriousness, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

"Whyyyy? It was a prankkkk, Chrissssss," you whined, leaning into his space playfully. "What do I do so you forgive me, you evil man?"

Chan's smirk deepened, a slow, predatory warmth entering his gaze. His voice dropped to a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Simple," he breathed, his eyes locked on yours. "Kiss me like you own me, darling. Just like the one you always have been wanting to. Just like the way your thoughts go straight to hell when you look down at my lips and then away. You think I won't notice, love?" He lowered his head, his gaze intensely fixed on your mouth, then back to your eyes, a silent question. Then, with deliberate slowness, he grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him, the soft satin of your dress brushing against his clothes.

You didn't need to be asked twice. The unspoken promise of a year, the yearning that had simmered between you, finally erupted. You kissed him, rough, raw, hungry, a culmination of years of longing, of unspoken words, of pain endured and hope sustained. His lips were soft, yet firm, tasting of coffee and the lingering excitement of his birthday. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if to meld your bodies together. It was a kiss that devoured the past and ignited the future, a symphony of desperate need and profound love.

After the passionate make-out session, breathless and flushed, you pulled back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other. You whispered, your voice husky, "I love you, Chris."

He opened his eyes, a radiant, triumphant smile breaking across his face. He held you tighter, burying his face in your hair. "I love you more. Don't argue, it's my birthday."

You just rolled your eyes, a wide, utterly contented smile gracing your lips, and hugged him tightly, finally home, finally, truly, in his arms.

…The End

[itgetzweird08]

can i have this dance? k. bakugo x gn!reader

one two three

“Mmm I like the black jacket more”

Katsuki hums softly at your answer as he holds the suit jacket up to his chest. He scoffs, tossing it haphazardly on the bed before flopping down on top of it. He held his phone above his face at arm's length, staring at your face through the screen as you ate your cereal. “This is fucking stupid” he complains softly and you giggle as he moans and groans, chewing your breakfast.

“It’s not stupid Kats, it’s a dance! And technically, it's your first high school dance. If you ask me it’s long overdue.”

That part was true. It was the first formal UA has hosted in the past three years. Usually, there was a dance twice a year: one during the Christmas festival and the other during the spring semester. It was exclusive to students and staff as everyone dressed to the nines and had a good time celebrating the holiday season and the loveliness of spring. Katsuki grew up hearing about it, and sort of looked forward to them. But due to the League and AFO, class 3-A never got to experience one. Until now.

Japan was slowly returning to normal after the events of the war a year prior, and to celebrate the students after all of their hard work and sacrifices, Nezu had finally cleared the spring formal to take place just a few months before graduation. When the class got the news, they were thrilled and even Katsuki had to admit that he was the tiniest bit excited. That was until Mina mentioned that they were all gonna have to find dates- then his balloon popped. He only wanted one person to be his date at any event, and that was you. Unfortunately, you were halfway across the world. This is why as you sat at your breakfast nook munching on Frosted Flakes, Bakugo laid on his comforter in his pajamas in preparation for bed. You called each other almost every day and when one of the first things he told you was the news about the dance, you begged to see his suit options. That’s what led you here, keeping him up two hours past his bedtime as he gave you a little fashion show. But he didn’t mind. He would explode the planet to make you smile, and he valued your opinion. He just wished you were there to give it in person.

“Yeah I guess,” he huffed and sat up, putting his suit back in his closet, turning off his ceiling light, and getting beneath his comforter. “I just don’t see the fucking point in going.” You raised an eyebrow at him and frowned. You knew he was excited, you could tell because of how fast he told you the news when you called. But now he seemed disappointed. “Why not?” You pried softly, trying to get to the root of the problem as he pouted. His room was dark, so you couldn’t see his entire face, but you could hear in the way he spoke that his bottom lip was slightly jutted out in disappointment. “Raccoon eyes was talking about everyone getting dates and shit…and you aren’t here.”

Your heart broke a little and your eyes stung a bit. He wasn’t upset that he had to go to the dance..he was upset that you wouldn’t be there to accompany him. “Oh baby…I’m so sorry” you whispered. All he did was shrug and grumble to himself, which is what he did when he didn’t want to outright tell you he was sad. “You know I would love to be your date Katsuki…I wouldn’t want to be anything more. But I can’t..we both know that.”

While Japan was making leaps and bounds in its recovery, its reputation in the eyes of other countries was still extremely damaged. After the death of Star and Stripe, all travel to Japan was halted indefinitely in your country. Not to mention, due to the aftermath of America’s number one’s death, as a hero student, you had to fight against the villains that tried to take advantage of the gap she left behind. Between the travel ban and your responsibilities, not to mention general travel costs, there was no possible chance you would be able to accompany Katsuki.

“Yeah, I know…just wish I could dance with you, that’s all. Wanna see you all dressed up and shit.”

All you could do was smile sadly at the camera and muster as much hope as you could for the both of you. “Maybe one day…especially since we’re both graduating soon.”

It was silent for a moment, both of you sitting in your own disappointment. You glanced at the clock, seeing the time and knowing that it was way past the time Katsuki usually slept, so he must be exhausted. But before you let him go, you just had to ask.

"Kats...can you even dance?"

His face filled the screen, eyebrows pulled together in offense. "HUH? What the fuck are you talking about?" You couldn't help but smile at him, and the heaviness of the prior conversation lifted off both of your shoulders. "I'm just asking!" " Of course I can dance! The fuck do you take me for??" "Okay prove it!"

Before he could respond, Katsuki yawned and you took that as your cue. You gave him a warm smile, depsite the fact that he was still glaring at you. " You can show me your moves tommorrow-" " m'not showing you shit-' "Tomorrow! I want to see what you got! Now go to bed, I'll text you later. Love you!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. But seeing how goofy and happy you were made him smile slightly. " Love you too. Talk later."

[sakasakiii]

some rumil doodles in response to @whimsicallywiddershins who asked: Oh my god I love your art!!! I'm curious about Rumil. I've never really heard of him and I'm curious about what happened to his eyes....

thank you for the ask!!!! im real happy to hear you like my art, and even happier you took the time to ask about rumil! <333 it took me until your ask to realise that, despite him frequently appearing in group concept sketches n doodles, i've never really elaborated on him haha 😅 i tried to illustrate and summarise some of the key points in the art, but more detailed yap incoming under the cut!

so! to start off, my version of rumil is pretty much at his core the same as canon rumil wherein he's a noldorin sage/scholar responsible for inventing the Sarati and later going on to write the Annals of Valinor. his whole being captured and enslaved in angband for a while comes from the other version of him the Book of Lost Tales, where he was a slave of Melko who learned the speech of monsters and goblins --essentially i thought it'd be fun to combine the two to give him a more complicated backstory ^^

in response to your query about his eyes, i hc that during his time in angband he was one of those who were experimented on by Sauron - acting on Morgoth's orders - during the initial testings for the evolution of elves -> orcs. (maybe sauron thought that blinding the first elf-orcs would make them more unlikely to disobey orders/easier to control? hmm) his band of captives were able to break him out in time and they fled back to safety before he was too far-gone, thus allowing him to reunite with finwe, miriel and co, and then eventually follow Orome to valinor :D

him being miriel's dad was also something i felt would be fun to explore, especially because i thought his ties to Sarati and Feanor would be an interesting dynamic! it's very very much noncanon, and incredibly self-indulgent on my part (im so sorry... 😭), but i like to go on tangents abt their relationship! i think rumil wouldve made attempts to dote on feanor and encourage his linguistic pursuits, but would have been held back a lot on truly being around him by both his health and his lingering guilt about miriel. he is incredibly proud when feanor refines his abandoned Sarati concepts and turns Tengwar into a near-universal system of writing however :D

other thoughts on rumil... hmm... i think he's kind of pitiful tbh. something about him being an absent (albeit not of his own volition) father to miriel, and then in turn him feeling unfit to offer feanor as much emotional support as would be ideal, is a theme i would like to keep exploring (^3^) adding on to the fact that he outlives his wife, daughter, son-in-law, grandson, and like 6/7 of his great-grandsons while miraculously not Fading himself gives him an essence with parallels to maglor that i do appreciate...

major apologies for going off on such a rambly tangent, but i do suppose an explanation on my rumil has been overdue for a few years!! i hope i havent misled anyone since i first drew him in that family tree, but thank you so much again for taking the time to ask about him! im always grateful for the interest in my absurd headcanons, and i hope you have a wonderful weekend ahead!!! ❤️

[cheolaholic]

amourous; lc

summary; You’ve worked hard to escape the shadows of a painful past. But what happens when it resurfaces, threatening the image you tried to build – and the bond you’d built with someone who wasn’t supposed to see the real you?

hybrid au • university au • modern au • fluff, smut, angst

pairing; lee chan x fem! reader | wc; 14.2k | rating; 18+ explicit nsfw

contains; wolf hybrid! chan, human(?) reader, performance unit focused, wolf hybrid! hoshi, wolf hybrid! minghao, human! jun, jun has a wolf gf in this fic, possessive chan, performance unit performs in public, hoshi is kinda ooc (bro is a bit too calm/cool than usual + a bit mean), halloween party organised by SVT

mature/trigger warnings; anxiety/panic attack, mentions of cheating, mentions of bullying, trauma resurfacing, discussion of hybrid stigmas, discrimination/prejudice, the group has a fight at some point (but they do make up), mentions of hazing, dom! chan, sub! reader, scenting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, multiple orgasms, creampie, doggy-style, tail-play (?), praise kink from both parties

petnames; his (Channie, Wolfie), hers (Baby, Foxy, Pretty Fox)

a/n; hope yall enjoy this fluff and lighter themed fic after the semi dark themes in bty lmao 🥴 i'm really sorry that there was no teaser/trailer and that this fic was overdue – work was hammering me and i was lowkey just tryna survive and catch up on sleep (sis was running on a min of 3-4 hrs of sleep rip) also, ik this is like kinda in the theme of halloween, but i can’t wait five months to post this solely bcs it’s been in the backlogs for at least two years lmao (the idea manifested the same time as ROL)

✨ support me by becoming a patreon (enjoy exclusive perks & content) OR tip me on kofi !! 💜 if you are unable to do so, you can also show support by reblogging your favourite works of mine !!

Your peers considered you to be a reserved person, quiet and usually kept to yourself. You were quite, for lack of a better word - picky, with your social circle. Not to mention, you were always on high alert with your surroundings, especially if you were in a new environment.

Walking through the hallway of Pledis Private High, your new high school had your anxiety peaking. You held your tears back as you timidly but hurriedly made your way to your classroom. You took a seat at the back of the class, close to the backdoor as you could just exit immediately without any trouble.

“Before we start, we do have a new student who has joined us for the school year!” the teacher announced, gesturing towards you. You felt your heart in your throat as all eyes fell on you while you stood up, feeling the room closing in on you. “Could you introduce yourself, dear?”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself, “___, my name is Choi ___.”

When the lunch bell rang, you snuck out through the back door and towards the cafeteria. Sitting at an empty table near a corner, you quietly enjoyed your lunch until a trio approached you, peaking your anxiety as you looked up from your food to look at them.

Two boys - one blonde, one dark haired; and a girl with orange hair.

The girl reached out her hand, a vibrant smile on her face. “Hi, ___, right?” she reached out her hand, “I’m Yejin, Kang Yejin. The blonde haired is Junhui, while the dark haired boy is Chan.” When you turned your focus to the boys, Junhui gave you a small smile while Chan gave you a nod.

“We’re friends of Chan, but we’re a grade above.” Junhui said, “Chan mentioned you’re new to the school, he’s your deskmate.” Your eyes darted to Chan who had a small blush on his face as he sheepishly rubbed his nape, “You didn’t notice me taking a seat next to you earlier… And… before I could try and talk to you, you were already out of the classroom…”

“Chan’s a little shy, but he’s a sweetheart,” Yejin stated as she popped a grape into her mouth, “You’re in safe hands with him around.”

You spent the rest of your lunch break with the trio, quietly observing them. You’ve learnt that Junhui and Yejin are dating, Chan is a dancer and seemingly has a personality that’s similar to yours - at least that’s what you’ve gotten from the 20 minutes of interaction with them. As the bell rang and you were about to head back to class with Chan, Yejin called out to you.

“Out of curiosity, what kind of hybrid are you?”

Junhui nudged his girlfriend, shooting her a disapproving look. “What? You can’t tell me you aren’t curious!”

“Yejin, you just met her!” he hissed, “You shouldn’t be asking these questions!”

Before the bickering could continue, you rushed out your answer, “Human.” As the trio shifted their focus onto you once again, you took a steadying breath and repeated yourself.

“I’m a human.”

Three years since that day, you’ve seamlessly integrated into the trio, now a quartet.

You even find yourself attending the same university as them. When Yejin and Junhui graduated, you vaguely remember Chan mentioning Junhui had gone back to ShenZhen for a year to see his family and did his Foundation Studies there while Yejin did hers in Attacca University.

Once you and Chan had graduated high school, you both enrolled into Attacca University for your Foundation Studies of your respective courses - you pursuing Language Studies while Chan pursued Sociology. You were glad to be enrolled into a university with the trio, at least there were familiar faces - easing your anxiety.

“.....hear me? ___!”

Snapping out of your trance-like state, you looked up to see Yejin and her boyfriend, Junhui, standing in front of you with worried looks.

Letting out a confused ‘huh?’, you watch how Yejin’s eyebrows furrowed. “I've been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes, ___. Are you okay? Did something happen before we got here?”

You shook your head, giving her an assuring smile as she sat next to you. Junhui quietly took a seat across from both of you, texting away on his phone as his girl continued to question you. 

“Are you sure? You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“I promise, I’m fine, Yejin.”

While still unconvinced, she stops her questioning and redirects it towards her boyfriend. Junhui had flown back to Korea to resume his degree in Business; coincidentally ending up in the same course with Yejin. Chan had pointed out how the couple were attached to the hip and were so inseparable that even the universe decided to put them in the same university, in the same study course.

Though, you do admit – Yejin and Junhui were essentially textbook couple goals.

“Who’re you texting, Junnie?”

“Chan.” he answered, “Just asking if he’s finished with his class and if he’ll be joining us for lunch.”

“Is he coming?” you asked curiously, the couple looking at you as a knowing smile spread on their lips. A blush formed on your cheeks as you tried to avoid making eye contact, attempting to stutter out a response but failing. Within the years of friendship you had with the trio, you had somehow developed a small (read: massive) crush on Chan. Though you had managed to keep in under wraps from the majority of your peers, had they been as observant as Yejin, they would’ve noticed the subtle signs.

In fact, it had been Yejin who got you to realise your feelings for the wolf hybrid. She noticed the faint blush that would dust your cheeks when Chan would get too close or help you with a task, how only Chan was allowed to refer to you by a certain nickname (which has led to you only responding to him when he calls you said nickname), the extra decorations on his pastries when you’d bake for them - she noticed it all. When she had initially brought up the topic, you heavily denied it.

“I don’t see Chan that way, I swear!” you exclaimed, “It’s just- I just-”

Yejin placed both hands on your shoulders, attempting to calm you down. “___, dear, please take a deep breath. I’m not saying it’s a fact, okay? I’m just… suggesting that you might, based on what I’ve noticed.”

Junhui approached with a cardboard cup holder tray, passing you a drink as he sat next to you. “It’s okay if you don’t want to believe it. Maybe you haven’t fully processed everything yet, but from what Yejin’s told me, I think there may be a chance you fancy Chan.” You whined, burying your face in your hands as your face burnt bright red from embarrassment.

“At the end of the day, it’s your feelings and I’m just making a hypothesis based on my observation.”

“And if you set aside the whole… rut and aggression stigma, Chan’s a gentleman and always looks out for those he cares for. You’re no exception, too.”

Junhui gives you a teasing smile and before he could reply, Chan was standing at the end of the table with two other male students. “Hi, gang!” he greeted in an excited tone, gesturing to the two, “Meet Soonyoung and Minghao! They’re friends I made from the dance club, and we’re actually coursemates! Can you believe that?”

You watch how Yejin’s nose twitched slightly at Soonyoung and Minghao’s presence, “Are you both wolves?”

“Yejin!”

“They smell like wolves!”

The table watches as Junhui’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion as he asks, “They smell like wolves?” Yejin later explained how each hybrid has a distinctive smell, making it easy to identify the different species of hybrids. “So… let’s say there are two different cat hybrids in the room,” Junhui hypothesised, “One’s a Siamese, the other is a Maine Coon, can you tell the difference?”

“Okay, I don’t know about differentiating two breeds of the same animals,” Yejin replied, “but, if you put a human and a wolf, two wolves and a cat, or even just two humans in a room, any hybrid would be able to tell.”

“Not all hybrids.” Minghao chimed in, “While any hybrids can differentiate the smell of a human and a hybrid, only some can differentiate the smell of two hybrids of the same breed.”

Chan felt the seat he was sitting on slightly shake. When he looked down, he noticed your leg bouncing – something he’s come to realise was what you’d often do when you’re feeling anxious. Placing a hand on your thigh, he watches as you tensed up, your head turned towards him with a panicked look.

“You okay, ___?” he asks, the group focusing their attention onto you. “I-I’m fine,” you forced out, “Just… Just feeling a little stuffed. I’m gonna go and get some fresh air.”

“I’ll come with you.” Yejin offered, getting up from her seat and you rushed out a quick “No!”, startling her.

“I… I just want to be on my own for now… I’ll… I’ll see you all at the end of the school day, okay?” Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you got out of the cafeteria as quickly as you could, feeling even more uneasy when you could feel eyes following you.

“Did we… did we scare her…?” Minghao asked, looking at Chan who shrugged. “I hope not,” Yejin said, “I still remember the first time the three of us met and talked to her. Poor girl looked like she was about to cry.”

“She is a human, right?” Soonyoung asked, turning to the female wolf. When Yejin nods, the blonde haired wolf asks again, “But, she has an odd scent… I don’t think I’ve met any humans that smell like that.”

“Well, ___ hangs out with the three of us a lot. And since Chan and I are wolves, alongside the other students she could have to interact with throughout the day, maybe the scent got mixed up.”

Soonyoung considers Yejin’s explanation for a moment before nodding his head, accepting it. However, there’s a voice in his head that’s nagging at him – telling him the human who had just left isn’t who she presents herself to be.

Over the next few months, the boys had gotten closer thanks to their shared passion for dancing.

Junhui’s dance style was more towards contempt, similar to Minghao but you could see some elements of b-boying, which when asked out of curiosity, he confirmed that he indeed has a background in b-boy. On the other hand, Soonyoung and Chan shared a similar dance style of hip-hop and urban.

You’ve never seen them perform, possibly because they are yet to perform as a group of four. Junhui and Minghao were the first to perform – signing up for the Attacca’s International Cultural Night, and their performance had blown everyone away. With the help of Jihoon, one of Junhui’s classmates, the trio had successfully produced a song titled ‘My I’. And after a week of brainstorming, the duo had managed to self-choreo a contemporary style dance for the song.

You remember witnessing the performance for the very first time.

A day prior to said Cultural Night, the duo had practically begged your group to attend the event and support their performance.

“So, you’ve been stealing my boyfriend for a performance and not even bothering to tell us until the very last minute?” Yejin asked, arms crossed as she’s sat on the couch of hers and Junhui’s shared apartment. To outsiders, they might think she’s mad but to the group, at least except Junhui and Minghao at the moment, she’s just teasing.

“Baby, please, I’m so sorry for hiding this from you,” Junhui pleaded, kneeling in front of his girlfriend and looking up at her with puppy eyes. “We wanted to tell you all a few days ago but Minghao had a test, I had a big presentation – and it just slipped our mind!”

You can’t help but giggle at the memory.

“Thought of something funny?” Chan asks, taking a seat next to you on the picnic mat Yejin and Soonyoung managed to secure that was provided by the event (it was also a front row seat to the stage, a better view to spectate the duo). A faint blush paints across your cheeks as you answered, “Just remembering how they told us they’d be performing.”

The wolf chuckles as he recalls the memory, “Yea, I’ve never seen Junhui and Minghao hyung look that scared.”

“Have you ever thought of performing on stage?”

Chan looked taken aback by your question, as if he wasn’t expecting you to have any interest in his hobbies since not many people have asked him anything about his own life. “Well… I had performed in the past – middle school, before you joined Pledis. Every school event, Junhui hyung and I would always perform and everyone called us ‘The Dance Bros’ back then. We kind of went on a hiatus of some sorts when Junhui hyung started high school and wanted to focus more on his studies.” “Did you continue performing?‘

“I may like the solo spotlight, but I still prefer having company if I were to go on stage. When hyung said he wanted to focus more on his studies, I decided to do the same.”

“Some people don’t take Chan seriously with his studies because of his passion for dance.” Yejin chimed in, “Sometimes, they even tell him dancing doesn’t really secure him a future. But, our little wolf boy never let that stop him from occasionally picking up dance gigs.”

“Dance gigs?” Soonyoung, who has been quiet all this while, finally speaks up upon hearing the revelation. You were equally curious, looking at Chan expectantly.

There was a sheepish smile on Chan’s face, “Well… the gigs were just me as a backup dancer, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

Soonyoung leaned in, causing Yejin to lean back a little as she’s sat in between them, his curiosity piqued. “Tell me more about these dance gigs.”

“Guys!” Chan exclaims as he runs up the stairs of Attacca’s football field. “Guys!”

Minghao wanted some peace and quiet; coincidentally, you also needed some peace after the morning you had. Your lecturer had decided to have some kind of Pre-Halloween celebration (it was the middle of September) and after an entire morning of loud noises, you’ve had enough.

So, when Minghao suggested the group just relax and eat lunch at the bleachers of the football field, you gladly took his side.

As Chan ran up the bleachers, Junhui can’t help but chuckle. “He gets any more excited and his tails and ears are gonna pop out.”

“That’s happened before?” Minghao asks.

“According to him, not as often as it did in primary school,” you replied, “He’s managed to get in under control, but tell him exciting news or something extremely good happens, out poofs his ears and tail.”

“Should’ve seen him when he found out you were accepted into Attacca,” Yejin teases, nudging your sides, “I have never seen his tail wag so… violently? Happily? Whatever the term is, his tail was wagging and he was happy.”

“Happy is an understatement,” Junhui adds, “He was over the moon.”

You blush, patting your cheeks in an effort to get rid of the redness as Chan reaches the row you were all sat in. “What’s up, Channie?”

The wolf pants, “Seungcheol wants us to join the SVT Frat and we got a busking offer!”

A moment of silence.

“I’m sorry, but could you repeat that?” Minghao asks, “You said it in one breath and so quick that I only heard Seungcheol’s name.”

You guide Chan to take a seat on the row in front of the group, letting him catch his breath. You hand him your water bottle which he happily accepts, taking a large gulp and wiping his mouth. “Seungcheol wants us to join his frat,” he says after catching his breath, his voice still slightly strained. He hands the water bottle back to you with a sheepish grin.

“Seungcheol? The president of the SVT Frat House?” Minghao recalls.

You’re not one to join a fraternity or sorority so your first question was, “What is that and what does SVT stand for?”

Junhui shrugs, “I think you know what frat houses are. Think sorority sisters but for guys where depending on the guy in charge, they’re either cool guys or… drunkards and druggies. SVT is more on the cool guys spectrum, think big seasonal parties or smaller pool parties.”

“As for what they stand for, according to what’s being said, it’s apparently Sigma Vitae Triumphalis. A Latin-inspired phrase for Sum of Life and Triumph.”

Yejin raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in her seat. “Since when do they recruit mid-semester?”

Chan shrugs, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “Beats me. But he said Jihoon recommended us and something about needing more members, how he’s been keeping tabs on us for the past… two months? Plus, you know how popular their parties are. It might not be the worst idea to check it out.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Are you considering it?”

He hesitates, keeping his gaze on you. “I mean, I don’t know… It’s not every day we get offered into a frat house like SVT. Could be a good opportunity, right? Connections, parties, networking…”

“Correction, you boys get offered into a frat house like SVT,” Yejin snorts, “I’m not into the whole sorority sisters thing and ___ there has social anxiety. We avoid that shit like the plague.”

“There… There won’t be any kind of hazing, right? I heard that frats from NeoCity University…”

“Oh yeah, I know what you’re talking about,” Soonyoung joins in, grimacing at the memory, “The 20XX NEOCITIZEN Hazing Incident.”

You wince at the mention of that incident. While you weren’t apart or knew anyone that were involved, you would consider yourself an empathetic person to some degree. The frat house that was involved weren’t disclosed, but a quick mention of the victims and what they’ve endured were quick to reveal it was the ANOM House.

Two humans suffered from alcohol poisoning, having digested a concoction that police suspected to have at least ten different types of alcohol; and a cat hybrid was forced into a ‘Mountain Dew Baptism’ as his pledge.

The worst part was when investigators announced that the frat seniors had multiple chat rooms where they would upload photos of the newcomers blindfolded and completely nude. 

A shiver goes down your spine as you recall the news, deciding to push it back down before unwanted images or your imaginations think of something similar happening to your friends.

Minghao was the one who tried to ease everyone’s minds, “They don’t do or condone hazing, at least that’s what I’ve heard from Jihoon. They’re pretty selective of who they let in, usually depending on connections and like Chan said, recommendations and some tab keeping.”

He goes on about how the boys in SVT were good people to some degree, saying how one guy named Jeonghan may look sweet and is like an Angel; but he sure as hell knew how to cheat when it comes to playing games. “Wonwoo and Mingyu look like they’re best friends, but they’re practically dating each other and a girl from Wonwoo’s class. Polygamy, if you may.”

You turn back to Chan, who’s surprisingly looking at you with puppy-like eyes, “Why are you giving me that look? You should be giving it to the boys, not me.”

“I dunno…” he mutters, “It feels right.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks flushing at the answer. “How about we hear him out first? See if it’s the real deal and make sure they aren’t secretly trying to haze you guys.”

“Deal.” Chan grins, already looking more optimistic. “Let’s just hope they’re not expecting us to pledge by chugging a gallon of milk or something.”

The group laughs, Junhui shrugging, “I dunno man… They had Jihoon drink that twenty ounce bottle of Coke Zero as his pledge.”

“I mean, the man has a strange obsession with Coke Zero so it’s no problem for him,” Minghao adds, “Remember that mini fridge he had in his room when we visited? I opened it and it was filled to the brim with Coke Zero.”

You turn your head back to Chan, “Hey, didn’t you also mention something about a busking gig?”

“Oh yeah! The gig!” Chan’s wolf ears popped right out of his head, a large grin on his face. “We got an offer for a busking gig!”

Chan was nervous.

You could practically smell it on him.

The boys took close to three weeks to practice their routine, Soonyoung wanting everything to be levelled and in sync for a more smooth or perfect performance. Chan had come to you for comfort several times, his entire body worn out whenever Soonyoung wanted to repeat a certain move or when he made them repeat the entire choreography with little to no breaks in between.

“___…” Chan mumbled, plopping into your arms the moment you were within reach. He didn’t even care that his ears and tail were out on display. “I’m so… tired…”

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around him and giving him some back rubs. His tail slowly wagged behind him, “My body aches, ___…”

“Well, that’s a small price to pay for landing a big gig. You guys must’ve made quite the impression on the SVT Frat,” you responded. “Getting recommended to the frat house president and a talent manager? I’m so proud of you, Channie.”

His tail wags faster. “Thanks…” he mumbles as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent; an action that causes you to shiver. “You’ll… You’ll come watch, right..?”

You run a hand through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. A low, rumbling noise from his throat, concerning you just a little because you thought he’d wag his tail off with the speed it was at. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Y’know, if you don’t calm your balls down,” Yejin speaks up, holding up a fan to Junhui’s face, “You’re gonna end up drenching that outfit and it will not look good.”

“Hey, this is the first time we’re busking for a talent scout!” Chan snaps, sending Yejin a glare only to immediately shrink back when the older wolf shoots him a sharp and unimpressed look. He looked down and muttered, “Sorry.” only for you to tilt it back up so you could pat down the last bit of setting powder along the sharp line of his jaw.

You notice the way his ears tint red – whether from heat or embarrassment, you aren’t so sure. Junhui groans, tugging at the white choker around his neck. “Soonyoung, explain again why we look like emo Angels?”

“It’s for the aesthetics, Jun,” he replies, flashing peace signs at an imaginary camera that was behind the taller male. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Minghao scoffs, the fabric of his tunic swishing dramatically as he shifts his weight. “We look like we walked out of an early 2010s Tumblr moodboard titled ‘Sad Celestial Beings Who Listen to Fall Out Boy on Loop’.”

Chan snorts, clearing his throat when he realises it almost smeared the lipstick you were putting on him.

“Honestly,” Yejin says, “Hao’s not wrong. All y’all are missing is a grayscale filter and an unnecessary Latin quote about lost souls.”

Soonyoung pulls out his phone, a big smile on his lips, “Give me five minutes. I can totally make that happen.”

“But, seriously Yejin, how the hell are you not melting?” Chan asks while you carefully pat at the sweat beading along his forehead with a tissue. “You’re like… Jade from Victorious or something? Are you blessed with some kind of internal ice box?”

Yejin rolls her eyes, “It’s called antiperspirant.”

The younger wolf moves to argue back, but you’re quick to grab his jaw before he can do so. You hold up the eyeliner, narrowing your eyes at him, “Don’t move, Romeo, or I will stab you in the eye with this.”

He freezes instantly, wide-eyed, as if you’d just threatened him with a loaded gun instead of a makeup product. He blinks before giving you a sheepish grin, “Right… Statue mode… Got it.”

You shake your head with a soft laugh. “You’re lucky I’m patient,” you mutter, carefully drawing on his eyeliner. “More like I’m lucky I’m cute,” he whispers, earning himself a small pinch to his sides once you were done with his eyeliner – followed by a very undignified yelp.

“Once you’re both done flirting, we got a busking performance to do,” Soonyoung calls out, his voice dripping with exaggerated impatience. You don’t glance up as you cap the eyeliner with a decisive click, “We’re multi-tasking, Soonyoung.”

Chan sticks his tongue out at the blonde before turning to you with a grin that’s half mischief, half gratitude. “Thanks, makeup fairy,” he says, voice low and teasing.

You snort, setting the eyeliner back into the makeup bag. “Call me that again I’ll make sure your eyeliner on both sides are even.”

He’s quick to shut up, hands flying to his face protectively in a dramatic manner, making you laugh harder than you mean to.

“Alright, alright,” Yejin claps her hands, gesturing to the area that’s been sectioned off just for the group’s performance. “Go impress that talent scout with your dances, and maybe not scare some kids.”

You sat right behind the speaker as the boys began to perform, the energy buzzing through the air. Beside you, Yejin carefully holds up Junhui’s phone, recording a fancam of her boyfriend with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb.

“You’re not helping Chan film his?” she questions, glancing at you briefly.

You casually point toward Seungcheol who’s standing not too far away, phone in hand and already filming Chan’s every move with the intensity of a proud father at his son’s first school recital.

“Damn,” Yejin chuckles, “Chan’s already his favourite, huh?”

“From what I heard from Channie, he gets teased a lot, but they still look out for him.”

Yejin smiles softly, returning her focus to recording Junhui. “Well, the SVT frat is like that. Bite and bark at each other one second, then defend each other like their lives depend on it the next.”

You hum in agreement, shifting slightly to make yourself more comfortable. “Guess that’s just how wolves are, huh? Family first… even if they drive you insane half the time.”

“I heard from Junhui that he’s not the only human,” she adds, her fingers still steady on the recording. “There’s these two boys, Jeonghan and Vernon, they’re humans too. And the wolves are super protective over their human frat brothers.”

Your ears perked up, “Really? I thought most humans and hybrids don’t mix well. Stigmas and whatnot.”

“Yeah, but if you give them a chance, you’ll see it’s not that bad. Take me and Junhui for example.”

You snort, “You two are like, stupidly good together. He looks at you like you’re the only person on the planet.”

Yejin rolls her eyes, her cheeks warming slightly. “Yeah, well, sometimes he looks at me like he’s plotting to steal all my fries too.”

You both laugh.

“But, yeah, you could say we’re both proof that hybrids and humans can work out. Coexist in harmony. It may not be easy, but if both parties respect each other, I’d say it’s definitely worth the ups and downs.”

“Seungcheol said their fraternity is… different. Like, once you’re in, you’re family. No questions asked.”

“Oh, speaking of Jeonghan and Vernon, I heard they’re protective over their wolf brothers too!”

Yejin raises an eyebrow, urging you to continue. “I heard from Chan that Vernon once decked a guy for saying his wolf friends aren’t welcome in the cafeteria during a rainy day because they ‘smelled like wet dogs’.”

“Jeonghan?”

“Apparently one of the students on our campus was involved with the NEOCITIZEN hazing incident. Jeonghan posted an exposé document of it with receipts and everything. I guess you can say he’s more of a…’I will ruin your life with a smile’ type of guy.”

Yejin lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Humans with wolf instincts. That’s terrifying."

“Yeap, but not as interesting as that.” You lift up your phone, capturing a few shots – not of the boys’ performance, but of Seungcheol mouthing every lyric, completely unaware. Yejin leans over slightly, whispering behind her hand, “At this point, we should just get him a varsity jacket that says President.”

You stifle a laugh. "He'd wear it. Proudly."

The busking performance wrapped up as the last notes of the song drifted into the warm evening air. The boys bowed dramatically, thanking the small crowd that had gathered, while you, Yejin and Seungcheol cheered from the sidelines like proud, mildly embarrassing parents.

It wasn’t long before someone suggested food and because all five men were made up of mostly bottomless pits disguised as people, everyone agreed.

“___, you wanna take the aisle seat?” Chan asks as everyone takes their seat at the corner booth of a cozy Italian restaurant. You blink, a confused look on your face. “Why?”

He shrugs with a small smile, “Figured you don’t like cramped spaces. You’re always on the outer seat of class or at the back where there’s more space.”

His voice is light, but there’s a warmth to his words that makes your heart flutter. You hadn’t expected him to notice that behaviour of yours. It may feel like a small gesture, but it was one that made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t felt nor expected.

Plates of pasta, pizza and baskets of bread covered almost every inch of space, the scent of garlic and tomato sauce filling the air.

Junhui was stealing bites from Yejin’s plate despite her swatting at him with a fork. Seungcheol was dramatically telling a story with hand gestures that nearly knocked over his glass of iced tea. Soonyoung and Minghao were locked in a serious debate over the best pasta sauce. And Chan was just happily demolishing a mountain of beef bolognese pasta as though he was trying to regain the energy he’d spent the past few weeks preparing for the performance.

You smile to yourself, twirling another spoonful of carbonara as you enjoy the warm chaos around you. The clicking of silverware, the laughter, and the occasional playful argument all blended together into a symphony of comfort.

This was like a dream come true.

For the first time, you were actually happy to be surrounded by others.

As the night winds down and everyone starts to slip into a comfortable haze only good food and company can bring, Chan leans forward. “Hey,” his voice was a little softer, like he didn’t want the others to hear. “Do you need a ride back?”

His offer catches you by surprise, “O-Oh… I was just gonna call a cab, actually…”

He’s quick to offer you a ride, “I-I can drive you back! It’s on my way home, plus it’s getting late. It’d be safer too.”

A small, shy smile tugs at your lips. “Are you sure? If it’s a hassle–”

Chan shakes his head so quickly it causes a few strands of his hair to fall into his eyes. “You’re not,” he says firmly, his voice a little softer. “Really, I want to do this. Let me drive you back, ___.”

Your heart does that little flutter again, and you find yourself nodding before your brain can overthink it. “Okay… Thanks, Chan.”

He grins, cheeks a little pink as he finally remembers the fork in his hand and dives back into his bolognese with renewed enthusiasm, like just asking you had taken more energy than he’d thought.

The drive back to your apartment was peaceful, the streets mostly empty as the city settles into a quieter rhythm. Chan kept the conversation flowing almost non-stop, talking about everything from the production of the song with Jihoon to a funny story about how Dokyeom, another wolf in the fraternity, accidentally put salt instead of sugar into a batch of cookies.

You listened, amused at how the considerably shy wolf is yapping. You can’t help but notice how… he was more animated than usual. His grip on the steering wheel was a little tighter than necessary, and he was tapping his fingers along the leather in a restless rhythm. Finally, as he launches into a ramble about how he should probably start learning how to cook properly, “I can’t just live on instant noodles forever, right? Even wolves need proper nutrition or whatever it is that–”

“Chan.” You interrupted him gently, “Are you okay? You’re… yapping a lot tonight.”

“Am not!” he blurts out immediately, voice cracking just a little.

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow, and he let out a helpless laugh, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Okay. Maybe I am,” he admits, eyes still fixed on the road. His voice drops to something softer, returning to that shy Chan you know, “It’s just… I kinda over-talk when I’m nervous. I can’t really help it.”

You turned fully towards him, curiosity piqued. “Nervous?” you repeated, “Why are you nervous, Channie?”

He almost chokes at the nickname, feeling the blood rush lower and he hoped to every god out there that you hadn’t noticed the way his thighs tensed, how he was about to have a half hard-on.

The car slowed as he pulled up to a red light, the glow casting a soft, almost intimate light over Chan’s face. He finally turns to look at you fully, his eyes struggling to make eye contact with you. With a deep breath, he answers, “Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that I like you. Like, I like like you.”

The light turns green, but neither of you move, suspended in that breathless second (thank God there were no cars behind, else you’d be faced with multiple angry drivers). Chan scrambled to keep talking, panicked by the silence. “And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same! I just– I didn’t want to keep pretending that it’s just… platonic for me. Because I really do see you more than a friend. You’re an amazing person. Sweet. And you make the worst day feel like nothing, and I just–”

You interrupt him by laughing quietly, “Chan.” You reach out to place a hand over his on the console, and he shuts up, eyes wide like you’d just physically stunned him. You smiled, heart thudding in your chest as you confessed your little crush on him, “I like you too.”

The only sound in the car was Chan’s stunned inhale, then he blinked. Finally, the biggest, most radiant grin spreads across his face, pure joy lighting him up brother than the sun in the day.

“Really?” he breathed.

“Really,” you reassured, laughing a little and motioned to the green light. “Now maybe drive before any cars show up behind us and try not to crash from excitement.”

Chan lets out a shaky laugh, nodding frantically as he drives the car forward again. Throughout the remainder of the drive, he can’t stop himself from sneaking glances at you, like he couldn’t believe that you reciprocate his feelings.

Pulling up in front of your apartment building, he shifts the gears into park but makes no move to unlock the doors just yet. Instead, he sits there for a second, drumming his fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

“What’s up, wolfie?” you teased, an amused look on your face.

He hesitates for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip like he was holding back the words. Then, he finally blurts it out, “Would you, um– would you wanna go on a real date with me tomorrow?”

The way he rushed it out all at once had you giggling. “You… You deserve to be asked out properly and well, if I were to ask you to let me be your boyfriend, I would want it done right. I could come pick you and we could… Get coffee? Brunch? DInner? All of the above. Whatever it is that you want.”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest at the sheer nervous hope in his voice. “I’d love that, Channie.”

Chan’s body relaxes, but only slightly. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Totally chill about this. Not freaking out or anything.”

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, “Text me when you’re here, okay? I’ll be ready by then.”

Before you left the car, you leaned over the console and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to his cheek. The wolf froze, eyes wide and stunned – but the slow, bright smile that followed was enough to make your cheeks burn too.

“Nighty night, Chan,” you said, slipping out of the car with a giggle and a wave.

He stays frozen for a second longer, fingers lightly brushing against the spot where you kissed him. He calls out to you after with a huge, beaming grin, “Night, ___! Sleep well and dream about me!”

Attacca announced that for the week of Halloween, all classes would be suspended after 5pm, citing ��seasonal engagement and student well-being” as the official reason on the letters and emails they sent out. But everyone knew what it really meant.

Halloween at Attacca wasn't just a holiday – it was a tradition. A week-long carnival of curated (but mindful) chaos, underground dares, and elaborate, unsanctioned events that blurred the lines between myth and reality. The staff pretend to discourage it, the administration feigned ignorance. But every year, as the leaves of October fell, the campus came alive in a way no syllabus could prepare the freshmen or you for.

On Monday night, the lampposts flickered with orange lights that weren’t there before. The usual LEDs were replaced with vintage bulbs that cast long, warped shadows across the quad. At exactly 11:11pm, the fountain in the center of campus would dispense black water and dry ice smoke. Scattered across campus were boxes labeled, ‘OPEN ME IF YOU DARE’.

Masks appeared in each on-campus dorm room on Wednesday. They were hand-carved, and the students suspected it to be the work of the uni’s drama teacher – Baek Jongho. He always did have a flare for the dramatics.

The masks were antique-looking, each one came with different designs. Some had feathers, others had horns. A few were grotesquely beautiful, almost… sentient. Whether or not they were meant to be worn, the masks certainly had students locking their doors afterwards. Even the usual campus troublemakers kept their heads down.

Then came Thursday, where the air shifted.

Literally.

Attacca’s main hall smelled of old wood and spices – you figured it’s a mix of clove and cinnamon. Students began preparing for the climax of the week: the Halloween Parties organised by each frat house. They all had different themes, it’s what made Attacca Halloween Parties so special.

BANGTAN was known for masquerade balls.

XLOV was known for their drag shows.

And, SVT? The wildest costume party you’ll ever attend.

The scent of takeout lingers in the air – fried chicken, tteokbokki, and kimchi fried rice. You’re curled up on the couch, Chan’s hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, idly scrolling your phone while Chan argues with Junhui about whether vampires or werewolves would win in a dance battle. You cuddle closer to your wolf, already feeling the cold autumn air – that or because they had the air conditioner turned on.

Soonyoung lounges across the arm of the opposite sofa, legs dangling as he sips on his coca-cola. “By the way, what are y’all wearing to the party tomorrow night?”

You blink. “What party?”

Yejin gasps like you’ve just taken the last piece of fries from her. “The Halloween party SVT is throwing! Y’know, the one that got shut down by campus security because Mingyu set off the smoke machine too close to the fire alarm.”

Minghao snorts, scooping up a spoonful of kimchi fried rice. “Yeah, and that was before they could unveil the haunted basement.”

“Aren’t SVT parties invite only?” you ask, setting your phone down. “I didn’t get an invitation so–”

“___, you’re Chan’s girlfriend,” Junhui points out. “You’re practically invited by just being his girl.”

You glance at your boyfriend, who only shrugs with a sheepish smile. “I just assumed you’d come with me.”

“Romantic,” you deadpan.

Chan is quick to scoot closer, wrapping both arms around your waist while giving you those puppy eyes; hoping that it’ll keep you from escaping the conversation. “Come on, baby~” his voice low and coaxing, “Just this once? Please? I’ll make it worth it.”

You raise a brow, “That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“I mean it,” he insists. “Tell you what, baby? You can pick any couple’s costume. Literally anything. I’ll wear ears, if they aren’t wolf ears – crown, body paint, a crop top – name it; I’m in.”

You shift to get a better look at him, “So if I asked you to wear a full-body suit?”

“If it gets you to come to the party, I’ll be a banana. I’ll be the peel if you want. I’ll even let Minghao film it!”

“Wow, you are whipped.”

“Hello?” Chan leans his cheek against yours, “Have you seen my girl? She’s gorgeous and a fucking baddie! I’d be damned if I weren’t whipped for her!”

Soonyung narrows his eyes, “Not bad for a human. Usually it’s foxes that have these kinds of effects – no matter on hybrids or humans.”

His words caused you to shift, like it made you uncomfortable.

Chan waves it off dismissively, “Hyung, enough of that. We don’t need to hear about you and your ex for the nth time.” Returning his attention to you, he pleads once again. “Baby, please~ I really wanna go with you. It’s more fun when you’re there and well, I wanna show off my girl.”

Your stomach does that annoying little flutter thing it always does whenever your boyfriend goes from clown to Prince Charming in a matter of seconds. Yejin makes a gagging noise, acting as though she hadn’t planned a matching costume with Junhui too. “Disgustingly sweet. I love it. Say yes.”

You sigh, giving Chan a dramatic side-eye. “Fine. But if I go, we’re doing my costume idea and you cannot leave me to fend for myself. You know how I am with crowds…”

“Deal,” he nuzzles his face into your neck almost immediately. “Thank you, and I love you. I’ll be the hottest… Mario or the shiniest disco ball you’ve ever seen!”

The bass from the frat house speakers is already making the floorboards vibrate, but none of that matters at the moment. Chan has you pressed up against the walls of his room, your hands flat against the wood as your boyfriend looms behind you, his warm breath brushing against the curve of your neck. His arms cages you in, one hand resting just above your head, the other firm on your him, thumb brushing the edge of the red satin.

“Chan,” you whisper, half-giggling, half-breathless, ���We’re gonna be late–”

“Don’t care,” he mutters, nose trailing along your jaw. “They can start the party without us.”

His tail sways behind him, ears twitching every time you shift to press yourself back against him. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, his scent thick and lazy in the air – musky, familiar, and distinctively him. It curls around your senses until you’re practically drowning in it.

“Pretty baby smells so fucking good,” he murmurs, nuzzling behind your ear, his voice low and raspy. “You wore this just to drive me insane, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes, though the way your heart hammers against your chest betrays you. “It’s just Red Riding Hood, Channie… It’s not lingerie…”

The laugh he lets out were equal parts soft and dark. “Could’ve fooled me. Look at you…”

His nose brushes the base of your neck, then his tongue darts out to slowly lick up, stopping right where scent gland pulses. You shudder. He doesn’t bite, it’s not like he’s marking you but it’s close enough. He switches between nipping at the skin of your neck and his licking it, letting his scent seep into your skin, into your clothes – deep enough that every single hybrid in that will be in the frat house knows who you belong to.

“Need to make sure everybody knows you’re mine,” he says, lips ghosting your neck. “No one touches, and no one looks too long. Got it?”

You turn your head slightly, meeting his eyes. “Is that jealousy talking?”

Chan grins, eyes glowing just a little with the thrill of it. “Maybe. Add a bit of possessiveness into the mix.”

You turn around to face him, adjusting your red cape and smoothing down your skirt. “You’re lucky I like it when wolves get territorial with their partners.”

“You’re lucky that you being in that costume is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You’d consider yourself… somewhat put together. After two years of therapy, you’d gotten better at managing your anxiety. You knew how to recognise the signs, how to slow your breathing, how to ground yourself before it spiraled.

However, nothing could prepare you for this.

Chan had only stepped away for a moment – to get drinks, he said; kissing your cheek and telling you to stay put. You do as you’re told, staying close to the wall – trying to stay away from the worst of the flashing lights and sticky drinks, fingers toying with the hem of your cloak. You scan the room, trying to soothe the buzzing in your chest. Maybe it’s the heat, or the lack of Chan’s presence, or–

“...___?”

You know that voice. You remember that voice.

There, just a few feet away in a glittered vampire cape and hesitant expression, stood the one person you hadn’t seen since middle school – the one person you prayed you’d never see again. Suddenly, you feel as though you’re thrusted back into your middle school years – how that venomous voice of hers echoed in the back of your skull after countless nights of crying into your pillow, how you begged the universe to let you be anything else but your current self.

Lee Minjae.

She has the same face, just… older. Softer, as though any cruelty she had back then had melted away. But the moment your eyes met hers, the room tipped sideways.

“Hey,” she said, her voice less venomous. “I… I didn’t think I’d see you here. I… I know this is weird, but can… Can I just talk to you for a second?”

She sounded so much calmer now. Gentler. But your body didn’t believe it.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

The music fades out as the room dimmed, faces blurring at the edge of your vision as adrenaline takes over every nerve in your body. You feel a tingle go up your spine and panic curled in your lungs like smoke.

“___?”

As she approached you, you backed away instinctively – flashbacks of that day playing right before your eyes.

Her laughing at you. The cruel words. The humiliation. The isolation.

“Whoa, careful there, baby.”

Chan. His voice was sharp and anchoring as his hands closed over your shoulders firmly.

You flinched like you’d been burned. Your wide, glasses eyes turned up to meet his and you watched his expression drop instantly into full concern. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

You wanted to respond, but you couldn’t.

It was like a hand was wrapped around your throat, stopping you from speaking. Stopping you from breathing properly.

The room was getting too loud. There were too many people. Too many eyes.

You couldn’t ground yourself.

Chan’s scent was there, but it wasn’t enough.

Your breath came in short, shallow bursts.

Then, you feel the slip.

Your hood fell back.

And your fox ears – golden-beige, velvet-soft, twitching anxiously; sprang up for all to see. A beat later, your tails unfurled from under your skirt, bristling like a storm.

There was a gasp from someone nearby. And then another.

“Oh my God–”

“What the fuck– She’s a hybrid?”

“Not just a hybrid, a fox.”

Dozens of eyes were on you.

Chan’s hold on you tightened, his body moving immediately to step in front of you so he could shield you.

But you were already running.

You stumbled out the back door, into the cold October night, lungs stinging and vision swimming. Your legs carried you blindly across the lawn, away from the music, away from the party – away from everything.

You didn’t even feel the tears until the wind kissed your cheeks. It was all too much.

The flashbacks. The exposure. The eyes.

Everything you’d spent years learning to manage, to keep hidden – gone in one night.

The autumn chill had transitioned into the beginning of winter, and most students had begun retreating indoors. The group lounges across the benches and stone planters, passing around warm drinks and lazily throwing acorns at each other while waiting for Chan to finish his lecture.

“She hasn’t texted back today either?” Junhui asks, voice lower than usual.

“She left me on read…” Yejin sighs, “At least that means she’s still using her phone…”

“Could be worse, y’know..?” Minghao adds quietly, “At least we know she’s not ghost ghosting us.”

Chan hadn’t said much the past few weeks either. The grief in his silence was loud enough. As much as he wants to help you, as much as the group wants to help, they knew they had to give you the space you needed.

However, Soonyoung seemed to have a different view. He leaned back with scoff, barely hiding the disdain in his voice. “You’re all acting like she didn’t lie to us for months. Hell, like she hadn’t lied to you three for years.”

Yejin blinked, clearly taken back by the wolf’s tone. “Excuse me?”

“She hid what she was. What she is,” Soonyoung said bluntly, voice harder than usual. “You don’t think that’s messed up? She calls you her friends, yet she hid the fact that she’s a fox from you for years.”

Minghao’s brows furrowed. “She didn’t owe anyone that information. Especially when she didn’t feel safe because of the discri–”

“This isn’t about what she owed, Hao,” the older wolf snapped. “It’s about trust. And don’t act like I’m the only one who felt something was off with her from the beginning.”

Junhui frowned, “Soonyoung, come on–”

“You’re a human, hyung,” he interrupts, arms crossed and jaw tensed. “You wouldn’t know the difference between the scent of a human and a hybrid. I fucking knew it. Not only did she smell not-human, she’s always deflecting questions. Jumpy. Always looking like someone’s about to bite her head off.”

Yejin stood abruptly, “So now she’s the villain because she didn’t fit your vibe?”

“No, she’s the bad guy because she played us. Played Chan. Foxes will always be foxes, right? They’re tricky little things. They get close just enough to sink their teeth in.”

Junhui attempts to calm his girlfriend down, urging her to sit down. “Soonyoung, you don’t believe that.”

The blonde wolf shrugged like it was obvious. “She got what she wanted. Attention. Someone to fawn over her, and now that everyone knows what she is, she runs? Doesn’t even bother to explain herself to Chan? Tell me that’s not manipulative.”

“You’re projecting your own bias onto her,” Minghao says sharply. “That’s not fair.”

Soonyoung laughs bitterly. “Am I? Or am I just saying what everyone’s thinking and too polite to say out loud?”

Silence fell over the group.

No one argued.

“Excuse me?”

The group turned in unison at the unfamiliar voice.

Minjae stood a few feet away in a fitted coat and soft scarf, hands buried in her pockets. Her expression was uneasy, like she knew what kind of welcome she might get, but came anyway. “I… I was wondering if any of you have seen ___?” she said carefully. “I-I was told she’s always seen with you and I haven’t been able to find her since the party.”

Yejin stood back up. “What the hell do you want from her?”

“I just… I want, need, to apologise to her,” Minjae replies. “It’s… It’s long overdue, but I really feel awful about it and I–”

Minghao cuts her off, “Apologise for what?”

She swallowed, “I was awful to her back in middle school.”

“So… You bullied her?”

Minjae’s silence confirmed it. There was a heavy pause, like the air itself had frozen.

“I know it sounds cliche, but I didn’t know any better back then. I just… She didn’t deserve what I did to her, and looking back, I realise that I shouldn’t have let discrimination or stigmas cloud my judgement of a person’s character or who they really are. ___ was really a sweet girl and I–”

“She looked like she saw a monster,” Yejin cuts in. “Even I couldn’t recognise her with how terrified she looked.”

Minjae tried to speak again, this time more subdued. “Look, I’m not here to make excuses for my actions. I really do want to make things right. If she wants me to leave her alone forever, I will. I just… I want to at least tell her I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused her.”

Yejin chews on the inside of her cheek before exhaling sharply. “We’ll pass on the message and she’ll reach out if she does feel like talking. Until then? Stay away.”

Minjae gives a small nod, slowly backing away.

As she walks off, Chan appears from the other end of the courtyard, catching only her retreating form. “...Who was that?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“No one important,” Yejin answered, turning to the younger wolf. “Let’s head inside. I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

You can hear your phone vibrating non-stop on the coffee table of your apartment. You didn’t need to check who it was – you knew it was your friends (and boyfriend) texting and calling to check up on you.

They’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.

Ever since the Halloween party.

Ever since your panic attack.

Ever since your secret was placed under the spotlight for everyone to gawk at.

You’d made it home that night on autopilot, barely remembering the run, only the sting in your lungs and the cold on your cheeks. Then came the sickening ache in your chest when you realised what had happened.

What everyone had seen.

People started to whisper about you whenever you walked by, the looks they gave you were enough to have you quickening your pace and averting your gaze. Hell, you even pretended the world was something you could mute.

But your phone didn’t stop.

Chan calls the most. You hear it in the way the vibrations stretched longer because he’s always letting it ring until it goes to voicemail. Sometimes you pick up your phone just to watch his name light up on the screen.

Channie ❤️ is calling…

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because deep down, no matter how many times Yejin tested “we miss you” and now matter how soft Minghao’s voice had been the last time you answered a call, only to hang up halfway through–

You saw the look in Soonyoung’s eyes.

You’d heard what he said. Not directly, but word travels fast when the gossip involves a fox hybrid who “tricked” her way into a circle of wolves.

“Foxes will always be foxes.”

You’re not even sure who repeated it to you. Maybe it was overheard, or whispered. Either way, it echoed, over and over, even now.

That’s why you’ve stayed away from them.

Because maybe Soonyoung wasn’t the only one who thought that way. Maybe the others were just better at hiding it.

And maybe… maybe even Chan was, too.

You curl tighter into the blanket wrapped around you, as if it could shield you from the thoughts clawing at your chest.

It’s not that you don’t miss them. You do.

You miss him.

But your silence has become a wall now – cold, thick, and possibly safe. If you break it, you’re not sure what you’ll find on the other side.

A few days later, you find yourself standing in front of the SVT frat house, your heart lodged somewhere in your throat. The winter air bit at your skin, and your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve. It was the same house – loud, warm, alive. But to you, it felt like standing on the edge of something you weren’t sure if you were still welcomed.

It took you 15 minutes of mental debate to finally raise your hand and knock on the door. The sound was softer than you thought – hesitant, almost guilty. A few seconds passed, then the door swung open, revealing a very surprised Junhui. He blinked at you like he wasn’t sure you were real, mouth parting slightly in disbelief.

“___?”

You give him a small, anxious wave. He takes a step aside, giving you an assuring smile to welcome you in. “Come on in, Bambi.”

You scrunch your nose, “Bambi..?”

He chuckles softly, “Your eyes are wide like his with how nervous you are, ___. Can I get you anything? A snack? Maybe a glass of water?”

His hospitality is gentle, the kind that makes your heart ache a little because you didn’t realise how much you missed being treated like you mattered. He doesn’t ask why you ghosted them, doesn’t mention the night of the Halloween party. Instead, he just offers warmth, like a heater in the middle of winter.

“No, thanks,” you give him a small smile. “I… I came to talk to Chan.”

Junhui gestures towards the stairs, “He’s upstairs with Soonyoung and Yeijn.” You nod, taking a hesitant step forward as the heavy weight on your chest threatens to drag you back down.

Just as your foot hits the bottom step, he calls out softly behind you. “I know you’re a good person. It’s unfortunate that stigmatisation is something we have to deal with in this society, but I want you to know that hybrid or not, I believe you aren’t what they’ve labelled you as.”

You freeze mid-step, fingers curling slightly against the railing. His words settled over you like a second layer of comfort, barely enough to silence the storm inside you; but enough to keep you moving.

“Thanks, Jun,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you realised you had forgotten to ask Junhui which room the wolves were in. As you’re about to try your luck by knocking on the rooms one by one, you hear muted voices coming from one of them.

Approaching one of the doors that was slightly open ajar, the voices became clearer and you wished you hadn’t come by in the first place.

“So what if she’s a fox?” Yejin’s voice was sharp, laced with the kind of anger that came from defending someone she cares about. “That doesn’t suddenly erase everything she’s done or the kind of person she is!”

“She lied, Yejin!” Soonyoung shot back. “She lied to all of us! You think that doesn’t matter? She’s exactly like how foxes are!”

“She didn’t lie, hyung,” Chan’s voice came then, low and controlled, each word carrying weight. “She’s protecting herself. It’s not the same thing.”

You stood frozen just outside the door, heart hammering against your ribs. It was… surreal, to say the least. Your name – your identity, being dissected out in the open. As though you were no longer a person, just a debate.

“Foxes are deceitful! She literally lied to us, to you! Need I mention their unfaithfulness? Their tendencies to jump partners?” Soonyoung’s voice was raw with something between bitterness and conviction.

“Stop.”

Chan’s voice was so cold it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Hyung, as much as I love you, you’ve gone too far. ___ may be a fox, but she is not someone for you to project your biased views onto. You don’t get to talk about her like she’s some kind of warning label.”

“Lee Chan, are you fucking serious right now?” the elder barked, anger bubbling over. “Foxes aren’t like us wolves! We’re bound to one partner for all eternity while foxes can barely–”

“You don’t know her! I do, and she’s not like that!”

“Lee Chan!” Soonyoung warned, voice rising in pitch.

“Just because you were cheated on by Jihye means ___ would do it to me!” Chan’s voice cracked like a whip.

Yejin rises from the bed, “Okay, both of you, that’s enough–”

But it was too late.

Soonyoung’s eyes blew wide with rage as he marched forward, grabbing Chan by the collar of his shirt with both hands. “Don’t you fucking bring that name up,” he growls out, breath hot and trembling with fury.

“Soonyoung, let him go–”

“Then stop questioning my girl’s loyalty,” Chan bit back, unflinching despite the tension snapping between them like a live wire.

“Boys-” Yejin’s voice came again, edged with panic.

But it was Minghao’s voice that cut through everything.

“___? What are you doing here?”

All heads turned in an instant, towards the doorway where you stood frozen – fox ears flicked upwards but flattened just as quick, wide-eyed and trembling, like a prey caught in the glow of a spotlight. The weight of every stare crushed your chest.

You didn’t wait to see Chan’s face.

Didn’t stay to hear the silence shift into something else.

Because you turned.

And you ran.

Down the stairs, past Junhui’s startled call, out the door. The cold winter hit you once again, but it couldn’t numb the way your heart was racing nor the tears that blurred your vision. Your breath came in shallow bursts, the frantic sound of your footsteps drowned by the thunder in your ears.

You weren’t sure which hurt more.

The fear that Soonyoung could possibly be right…

Or the fact that Chan had to defend you like you were something shameful.

The cold didn’t leave your skin even after you slammed the apartment door shut behind you.

You leaned back against it, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Your hands were trembling – whether from the sprint across campus, the leftover sting of Soonyoung’s words, or the echo of Chan’s voice calling you his girl, you weren’t sure.

You slipped off your shoes, barely kicking them aside before trudging towards the couch. The silence was a cruel contrast to the chaos still ringing in your head. Collapsing onto the couch without turning on the lights, you wrapped your arms around your knees. You hadn’t realised how tightly you’d been gripping your phone until it buzzed.

Flipping it over, the bright screen illuminates your tear-stained cheeks.

Three (3) missed calls from Yejin🐺

Five (5) missed calls from Channie❤️

Then came the messages. So many messages.

You wiped at your face with the sleeve of your sweater, but the tears kept coming. You weren’t even sure what they were for anymore.

Maybe it’s the shame of being seen.

Or the guilt of running.

Or the fear that maybe Soonyoung was right.

Worst of all, the ache in your chest that came with the sound of Chan’s voice defending you. Because part of you… Part of you didn’t think you deserved it.

hao🐺: hey hao🐺: jun caught me up with what happened earlier hao🐺: i can’t justify soonyoung’s actions or words hao🐺: but i just want to say that he’s only looking out for chan hao🐺: and he’s been hurt by a fox hybrid in the past hao🐺: i’ll only say that much bcs it’s not my story to tell hao🐺: but pls take care ok? hao🐺: if you could, at least text or call back Chan

Then, Chan’s name lights up your screen once again. His contact photo, the one Yejin took during the last summer festival, smiling at you like nothing’s changed.

But it has.

channie❤️: baby channie❤️: please pickup the phone channie❤️: or at least answer me channie❤️: idk how much of the convo you heard channie❤️: but pls talk to me

The cursor blinks in the message box.

You could, want to answer. But your fingers don’t move.

Because you’re still trying to figure out if hearing him defend you made things better or so much worse.

You were in the middle of stuffing your face with ice cream, ears flattened against your head and tail thumping sadly. The sound of your doorbell ringing jolts you out of your fog. Pausing the sitcom playing on your TV, you wiped your mouth with a tissue and cautiously padded over to the door. Peeking through the peephole, your breath catches in your throat because on the other side of your door stood Chan – dishevelled, worry etched deep in his eyes.

You don’t answer. Maybe you weren’t ready.

Moments later, the doorbell rings again.

“Baby?” His voice was soft, but urgent through the door. “Baby, I came to talk to you… You weren’t answering my calls or texts, and I’m just… I… I just want us to talk, ___.”

Still silence.

He sighs, words slipping under the door like a warm breeze.

“___, I know you’re home and behind the door. I can smell you, y’know.”

A small squeak escapes you before the door creaks open slowly. Relief floods Chan’s face as he sees you standing there, timid and vulnerable. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, removing his shoes, and pulled you into a tight embrace. His hands settled on your waist as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “My sweet baby fox, why’d you hide from me?”

That term had you freezing up momentarily, breath hitching as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “I… I lied to you…” you confessed, voice shaky. “I… I deceived you… Soonyoung was–”

“Fuck Soonyoung and his words,” Chan’s tone was firm as his hands slid up from your waist to cup your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, “___, I know you have your own reasons for hiding the fact that you’re a fox. But that won’t change the face that I love you. I know you love me too, baby.”

“Chan–”

He presses a finger to your lips, “I think you know wolves only have one partner, don’t you? A partner they’ll spend the rest of their lives with – their one true mate.” Leaning in, his lips brushed against yours as he whispered, “And I’ve made up my mind on who my mate will be.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. “But, Chan–”

Chan captured your lips with his, as though he’s closing the gap between your doubts and his devotion. The kiss was slow, deep and claiming; each movement tender but charged with a quiet promise.

His hands tightened its grip on your waist, fingers digging into the fabric as he pressed closer – his body heat grounding you in the moment. Your tail gave a hesitant twitch at first, flicking once in uncertainty before curling around his left thigh. It trembled just a little, but the way it clung almost possessively revealed betrayed the little faux shyness you had.

You didn’t mean for it to move, at least not consciously, but your body was responding to him – craving his closeness.

You melt into him, heart pounding fiercely, breath hitching as his hands slid lower to pull you flush against him. There was a hunger beneath his touch, patient but it was unmistakably there while he eases you back gently toward the couch.

His strong hands caught you fully before you could fully settle onto the couch, his fingers tracing the curve of your body as he pressed you gently back against the soft cushions. You shivered slightly under his touch, but it wasn’t from the cold – it was the anticipation.

“Look at me, ___,” Chan whispered, his voice low and rough with need. He brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, admiring the way your ears twitched as his thumb lingers on your cheek. “You don’t have to be scared, yea? I’m here, foxy. I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

You meet his gaze, the honesty in his eyes making your chest ache. “I’m scared,” you admitted softly. “After… After everything… What about Soonyoung and the others..?”

He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Forget about them and their opinions. They don’t get to decide who or what you are. You’re you. You’re my girl – clever, strong, the only one I want.”

His fingers trailed lower, sliding beneath the fabric of the oversized sweater you wore with a tenderness that was a complete opposite to the intensity burning behind his eyes. Your gasped softly as his touch found your bare skin, tracing slow and deliberate patterns along your thigh before finally easing inside your panties.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay? As much as I want to feel you, I also want you to feel safe.”

You nodded, breathless. “I do. Always. With you.”

He presses a kiss to your temple before sliding his hand down fully, two of his thick fingers sinking into your pussy with a groan he tries to bite back. “Fuck, foxy,” he whispers, dragging his fingers through your slick folds. “You’re already so wet and I barely even touched you. Do you get turned on whenever I tell you you’re mine?”

You whimpered – quiet, needy – and arched subtly into his hand. He curls his digits and your tail curls around his wrist like it was trying to hold him there.

His thumb brushes up to your clit, gentle at first – drawing small, slow circles; all while his fingers start to move at a maddening rhythm – curling deep and stroking your gummy walls just right. A startled moan leaves your lips at how quick he found your g-spot.

“There she is,” he purrs, voice dipping into a low tone. “There’s my pretty little fox.”

You shivered. Not from the cold, but from the way he said my. You take notice of the way his eyes darkened whenever he looks at you underneath him, like you were the only thing in the world that could calm the storm inside him – even if you were the cause of said storm.

You clenched around his fingers involuntarily, your face flushed with heat.

“I’ll never take you for granted, baby.” His voice was soft, but his movements weren’t. His pace gradually picked up, still careful and loving, but they were no longer shy. “You’re mine. No matter what they say.”

You gasped as he shifted closer, his hand never stopping their ministration. His thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles now, each rub expertly timed with the thrust of his finger. Your hips bucked, breath stuttering with every pulse of pleasure.

“C-Channie!” you cried out, “You’re making me feel so good!”

“Shit, love the way you sound when I pleasure you, foxy…” He sounds a bit more breathless now. It was a known fact that you both shared a praise kink – you get off when he praises you and vice versa.

“Those sweet little noises you make… Only I get to hear them. You know that, right?

You nodded frantically, eyes already glossy.

“Say it,” he urged, fingers pushing deeper into your squelching pussy. “Say that you’re mine.”

“Yours!” you moaned, hips bucking up only for Chan to press it back down. “I’m yours! Chan, I’m… Oh-Oh God..!”

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice a little rougher. “That’s my girl.”

You cum at the praise, crying out as your body shakes underneath him. Your tail gave a sharp twitch before tightening again around his wrist, clinging as the waves of your orgasms crashed over you. Chan’s hand doesn’t stop, fingers slowing but not stopping, his thumb rolling your clit gentler as he murmurs praises against your skin.

“You’re so beautiful… So good for me… My pretty fox…”

Your tail quivered and wrapped tighter around his arm. Even when the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, he didn't pull away. He just holds you, his fingers still resting inside you, his other hand now moving to stroke the base of your tail, coaxing tiny shivers from your spent body.

“You’re not alone, baby,” he whispers into your hair. “You never will be. I love you. Just as you are.”

You meet his gaze, feeling your heart swell at his affection, and for the first time that day, or even in weeks – you smiled.

Chan’s fingers never leave your tail as you lay there, still catching your breath. He slowly traces the soft fur, his touch featherlight but purposeful, pulling out every tiny twitch and flick from you.

“Can’t get enough of you, foxy.” His hand curls around the plush tail, tugging just enough to make you whine. “Such a pretty tail… So soft… So beautiful…”

You felt your cheeks flush, hips shifting instinctively toward his hand. The tail was yours, but at that moment, it felt like Chan owned it instead. His hands move to your waist, “C’mon, baby, turn over f’me.”

You hesitated for a moment, heart hammering against your rib cage before obeying; rolling over onto your stomach before pushing yourself up onto your hands and knees. Chan’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight, exposed and vulnerable, your tail flicking nervously as he settled behind you. You hear the sounds of his pants being undone before he presses himself forward, warm and hard against your slick folds.

“Ready, foxy?”

You nodded and with a slow, steady motion, he pushed inside you, filling you completely. Your tail flicked wildly against his stomach as he started to thrust – slow and deep, matching the pounding rhythm of your heart.

The room was quiet except for the sounds of skin meeting skin and breathless moans as Chan moved behind you at a steady pace. The soft glow of the lamp casts shadows on the wall, dancing across the bare curves of your back, and illuminating the possessive gleam in your boyfriend’s eyes.

Chan had a firm grip on your hips, guiding you back onto his cock with each slow, deep thrust that leaves you gasping and trembling. The stretch was overwhelming but in the best ways possible – filling, grounding, possessive; and you couldn’t get enough – neither can he.

His low groan rumbles from his chest, his head dipping to brush his lips down the nape of your neck as he presses a kiss to your damp skin. “You’re doing so well for me, foxy,” he praises, his voice rough and edged with pride. “Pretty little pussy taking my dick so perfectly.”

His fingers trail down your spine until they find the base of your tail and your breath hitches. He raises an eyebrow, gauging your reaction before dipping his head to kiss the back of your neck again, slower this time – sending another shiver down your spine.

“Your tail is sensitive, isn’t it?” he teases against your skin, voice full of dark amusement.

You squirmed weakly beneath him, cheeks burning. “C-Channie~”

Suddenly, in a deliberate motion, Chan wraps his fingers around the base of your tail and gives it a firm tug. Your response was immediate – a strangled cry rips from your throat as your body arched back into him instinctively, your walls fluttering violently around him.

The jolt of pleasure surging through your body was white-hot, sharp. You cum around his thick cock and you barely had time to recover when he gave you a particularly deep thrust, leaking cockhead hitting your g-spot continuously with perfect, practiced precision.

“C-Channie!” you cried out, voice cracking as your vision blurred from the intensity.

Behind you, Chan lets out a dark chuckle, clearly pleased with your reaction. He leans forward, pressing his chest against your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You liked that, huh?” he growled softly, a wicked grin on his lips as he gave another tug on your tail, eliciting another high-pitched moan from your throat. “You’re so sensitive here, foxy… So responsive.”

Your fox ears flicked up in excitement before flattening shyly against your head, a clear sign of how overwhelmed and sensitive you were from the pleasure. His teeth grazed your clothed shoulder as he bit down lightly, anchoring you as he thrust into you harder this time, rougher – making your arms tremble beneath you as you struggled to hold yourself up.

“Say it,” he commanded. “Say you’re mine.”

“I– I’m yours,” you gasped, dizzy with need. “Only yours, Channie–”

“Louder.”

His pace grew erratic and you knew Chan was close too. The thought of him filling you up with his cum has you tightening around him, and he keeps slamming his cock into your sopping cunt with the goal of making you gush all over him.

“I’m yours!” You sobbed out, feeling another orgasm approaching. “Please! Please, Channie, I–”

His hand leaves your tail to find your clit, two fingers rubbing it in tight little circles as he continues to drive his aching cock into your sensitive pussy. “Cum for me, my pretty fox. Cream all over my cock with this sweet pussy of yours.”

The way he praises you and how his tip grinds against the spongy spot inside you was all it takes to have your orgasm crash over you. With your tail still tingling from the earlier tugs and his name on your lips like a prayer, you came hard – body trembling beneath him. Your moans echoed through the room as Chan fucks you through it, riding out your orgasm with a groan as he chases his own.

Your pussy clenches and unclenches rhythmically as Chan buries himself to the hilt, cock throbbing as he shoots his hot load inside your cunt. You mewl softly when you feel hot ropes of cum filling you up to the brim, some of it already dripping out your stuffed hole.

Chan stays close behind you, his hands gently sliding up your sides, wanting to ground your trembling frame. His touch was no longer urgent – just warm and tender.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks, voice full of concern. He leans over, pressing a soft kiss between your shoulder blades. You nod faintly, still catching your breath as you rested on your forearms, muscles loose and spent. “Y-yeah… I’m okay, Channie…”

He shifts carefully, his dick still lodged inside you, keeping you plugged up. He slides an arm underneath your body to pull you up and cradle your body against his stomach. His hand comes to gently stroke the skin of your stomach.

“I… I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” he murmured, nuzzling into your hair. “I just… I love you, ___. All of you.”

Your fingers found his, lacing them together.

“I know, Channie,” you whispered back, exhausted but safe. “I love you too.”

Chan smiles against your shoulder, holding you just a little tighter as the room settles into a peaceful hush – nothing but your soft breaths and the quiet hum of affection.

The gossip of your revelation as a fox hybrid finally died down. But of course, there are still those that would test your loyalty.

The campus open study area buzzed with low chatter, and your focus was on the assignment that was handed out yesterday.

“Well, well, looks like I found the famous fox hybrid. I hear you’re not as fierce as they say.” The words slid from Jaemin’s lips, coated with false charm as he stepped close, trying to read your reaction. Several students nearby paused, a few leaned in closer to whisper amongst themselves.

You felt the familiar prickle crawl up the back of your neck – the attention alway came with a sharp edge, like waiting for someone to prod just hard enough to see if you’d fight back.

“Maybe you just need a friend… or something more.”

The words hung in the air like a trap disguised as flirtation.

Your eyes narrowed, seeing right through his attempt. A low, guttural growl escaped from deep in your throat, wild and warning. The room froze and Jaemin’s smirk vanished, replaced by a startled flush of unease. His brows shot up in genuine surprise, “Whoa, okay. Didn’t expect that.”

You bared your teeth just enough and fixed him with a cold glare, “I’m not who they made me out to be.”

The space quiets down as the male takes a hurried step back, swallowing hard. “Right. Noted.”

You straightened, calming your breathing as the adrenaline faded. Everyone got the message – you weren’t some heat-crazed fox for them to mock or flirt with just to see if you’d fold. It was clear that your loyalty wasn’t something anyone would ever question again.

The familiar buzz of SVT’s frat house buzzed through the air as you stepped inside, Chan’s hand firmly holding yours. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, every step feeling heavier than the last. You stayed close to him, hiding just a little behind his broad frame, the comfort of his presence keeping you together from falling apart at the anxiety clawing at your insides.

Chan’s eyes met yours, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can do this, okay? I gotchu.”

The room fell momentarily silent when the group noticed your arrival. Junhui’s eyes grew wide, Minghao’s lips parted in shock, Yejin’s expression softened; but Soonyoung’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. You take a shaky breath, summoning every ounce of courage.

“I… I’m sorry,” you start, voice small and hesitant. “I… I didn’t mean to ghost you all. I… I’m sorry for not answering your calls or texts. I wasn’t ready.” Your eyes darted nervously between their faces, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and regret. “I didn’t mean to worry or hurt any of you.”

Junhui steps forward, his tone gentle but firm. “There’s no need to apologise, ___, really. We get it, things have been complicated. But you don’t have to face it alone anymore.”

Yejin nodded, a warm smile breaking through. “We missed you.”

The attention shifts to Soonyoung as he steps forward, his usual confident stance replaced by something more vulnerable. He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding direct eye contact at first. “___,” he greets.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “Soonyoung…”

“I… I want to apologise, ___. For what I said and how I acted.”

He finally meets your gaze, the emotions in his eyes sincere. “I let my past and my pain get the better of me. I know that’s no excuse, but… I understand now that it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. You didn’t deserve that, and you don’t deserve to be treated like an outsider.”

He takes a deep breath, the tension in the room slowly melting away.

“Chan’s really important to me, and when my suspicions were confirmed… I thought… I thought that maybe you’d hurt him the way I was hurt before. But you’re not that person, I see that now. I’m sorry for doubting you, for being harsh.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback by his apology and earnestness. The air between you shifted, heavy with relief. Taking a steadying breath, you managed a small smile. “Thank you, Soonyoung. That… That really means a lot.”

The mood in the room shifted as the group rallied around you, eager to shake off the silence from the past few weeks. Junhui clapped his hands together with a bright grin. “Alright, enough heavy talk. Let’s celebrate having Bambi back!”

Yejin turns to her boyfriend, “Since when have you started calling her Bambi?”

He shrugs, “With those wide eyes, the answer is pretty obvious.”

Minghao pulls out a small box of cupcakes he’d bought, handing them around with a smile. “Welcome back party! Let’s go!”

Laughter fills the room as snacks are passed and music starts to hum softly from the speakers. You feel a comforting warmth surge through you, not just from the food, but from the genuine smiles and open arms around you.

As the night deepens, the noise and chatter starts to overwhelm your senses again. Quietly, you slipped away, making your way to the safety of Chan’s room. You sink into his bed, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the woodiness of the room.

Your tail flicked lazily beneath the covers as your ears twitched at the muffled sounds from the party outside.

A few minutes passed before the door creaked open.

“Baby?” Chan’s voice called out gently, and when he saw you all curled up on his bed, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the whole night. “There’s my pretty fox.”

He closed the door behind him, crossing the room in a few long strides. The bed dipped as he took a seat beside you, reaching out to brush a few strands of stray hair away from your face.

“You okay?”

You hum, “Just… Just needed to take a breather…”

He smiles softly, slipping under the covers next to you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“I missed this,” you whispered.

“Me too, baby,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll hold you for as long as you need.”

[dontcurbyourenthusiasm]

Hashtag Worth it

(aka Play that Funky Music White Boy pt. 2)

(@lousolversons the gif god)

Warnings: None rlly, mentions of blood/vomit/pee, thats it! Just a whole lotta fluff (also not beta read so sorry for any errors!)

Description: Library books must be returned, and cute mousey haired boys must be kissed. It's the law of the land.

Word Count: 3.5k

---

Ever since Funky Music blasted through your place of work, you were unable to think of anything else. Every time those automatic doors whooshed open, your heartbeat would pick up as you prepared yourself for those puppy dog eyes and tousled brown hair. It had been weeks for Christ sake, but still you found yourself lingering by the Kid's Corner, long after you shelved the last children's book, just because it had a better view of the door.

You even started waking up earlier to do your hair before work. When you wore new earrings with a necklace to match, thats when your coworkers started to notice.

"Are you seeing someone?" Bess bluntly asks while in you were re-shelving by Philosophy and Psychology.

"Who would I be seeing Bess? I spend all my time here." You don't bother to stop shelving while answering with a beleaguered sigh.

Bess is not sold. "Then why are you getting all dressed up?" She pauses in thought. "Oh! Are you having a quarter life crisis?" She chirps in a sunny tone. Bess often got bored at work, the quiet of the library unnerving her more than anything. She also often, took out her boredom on you.

You try your hardest not to roll your eyes. "I had my quarter life crisis at 17 thank you very much," you reply, with the misplaced hope that she would drop the subject.

"Well, whats gotten into you lately? You're wearing jewelry, you keep checking your phone when I know your mom is the only person that texts you-"

"Thanks for that" you grumble.

"-so what is it? Do you have a new boyfriend? Girlfriend? Partner? C'mon throw me a bone" she begs. "Nothing interesting ever happens in my life so I need you to do it for me."

Your mind flashes back to Dennis.

Mr. Funky Music.

Honestly, you wish you had something interesting to tell Bess. But you didn't. The situation couldn't be clearer. You pulled out your best flirty moves, recommended him books, AND gave him your phone number, but he never called you or bothered to come back. What bruised your ego even more, was that at the time, you could swear he was picking up what you were putting down.

At this point it seemed like he wouldn't ever come back; not even to return his book, which was now overdue by 2 days.

"I promise you Bess, I am completely, absolutely, utterly, PAINFULLY single-"

You're interrupted by the sheepish grin that has been haunting you for the past 3 weeks and 2 days.

Not that anyone was counting.

"I don't know if you remember me? I'm back for the other books you recommended," is all he says innocently, like he hasn't been stuck in the wrinkles of your brain.

"Hi" you blink blankly at him for a moment before finally registering his words. "Yes, right the books. I saved them in the back... do you wanna..." you motioned in the direction of the storage room.

"Sure," he answers before his gaze moves to a very amused Bess. "Hi I'm Dennis" he offers a hand.

She shakes his it, grinning like a hyena. "Bess," is all she says before slinking away.

As you make your way to the storage room, he starts by apologizing. "I'm really sorry it's overdue I didn't have time to come by and return it."

"Oh, it's no problem, we get overdue books all the time" You wave him off nonchalantly, like you haven't been refreshing his account on the desk computer everyday.

"I don't really get much time to read." The timid tenor of his voice gives you an edge of confidence.

"Oh yea? What are you so busy doing?" You tease.

"I'm a med student. Fourth year. It's when we do our rounds in actual hospitals."

Holy shit. Dennis Funky Music was actually Doctor Dennis Funky Music.

"What speciality are you thinking?" You ask, partly out of curiosity but mostly because the idea of him being a pediatrician made your ovaries want to explode.

"I'm in the ED right now."

ok thank god not a pediatrician. You were in no financial means to even THINK about having a child. But ED?

"Eating disorder? Erectile disfunction?" you raise a quizzical eyebrow.

"No! No, the Emergency Department" he hastily corrects, face flushing slightly.

Well shit. This adorably bug eyed barn mouse was actually an emergency doctor??

Picturing him running around, with a stethoscope around his neck and blood splattered on his scrubs made your palms sweat.

"Ah, so thats why you never called. Too busy saving lives" You reply, hinting casually to the unresolved matter of your little sticky note.

"I didn't know you wanted me to call" he says simply, his eyes wide.

Ugh you wanted to kiss that clueless little pout off his face

"I don't know about you, but I don't typically give out my number to people who I WOULDN'T want calling me."

"That's... true" he shrugs as if he's realizing that possibility for the first time.

You open the door to the storage and room and motion for him to follow. "This is where the magic happens."

It smelled of dust and old paper, probably because that's all that sat in there; old damaged books that needed to be thrown out, new books that still needed barcodes, or books in the return bin that needed to be sorted and re-shelved. On the floor next to the return bin was a small stack of books with a sticky note placed on top that read:

Dennis Whitaker (Funky Music)

He crouches down reaching for the books in the stack, opening them to read the inside cover. You settle next to him, sitting cross legged, back leaning against a nearby desk.

"I'll have you know, my recommendations have changed slightly, now that I know you're a doctor."

He pauses reading and peers at your curiously from the corner of his eye. "Oh? Why is that?"

"Some of the books in here are like, 700 pages. I doubt you have time for a book like that if you're running around saving people 12 hours a day."

"You're probably right," he concedes with a light chuckle, "But some of these look really good" he says eyes glued to the back covers.

You can't help the warm feeling that blooms in your chest.

This was what brought you to the library. And what kept you here. There was something so intimate about sharing a piece of literature. Especially if it was a book. It was like saying, 'here. I was immersed in a completely different world and I still thought of you.'

You don't realize that you're staring until he starts talking.

"So..." he starts fiddling with one of the books, picking at the barcode sticker. "You said something back there about being... painfully single?" He quotes you from earlier and you wrinkle your nose at the reminder.

Welp, he already heard it, why lie.

"Yep. Just me and a ficus." You admit.

"Well, I am... also single... as well" he trails off, his gaze nervously flickering to yours every few seconds.

Oh.

Your lips can't help but turn up into a cheesy smile.

"Dr. Whitaker. Are you asking me out?" You teasingly bump his shoulder with your own.

"Yea, if you're okay with it, obviously. And technically I'm not a doctor yet." he returns your gaze with a soft smile and it pinches your heart in an unfamiliar way.

"Well then, I'm off at three. Can you wait till three?" You check your phone.

You watch his light up at your response. "Yes. Yep, I can wait till three"

"Great!" You move to stand, sticking your hand out to help him up. His hands are slightly rough, probably from the vigorous washing and hand sanitizer, but his grip is gentle and sturdy. It made you wonder how many people he'd saved with these very hands. It also made you wonder if your hands ever fit together this well with anyone else.

When you usher him out and shut the storage room door behind you, your eyes catch Bess' from World Languages. She mouths 'nice' while holding her pointer and thumb in an 'ok' sign.

You roll your eyes and make your way to the circulation desk.

"I just need your library card," he slides it over on the counter before you finish your sentence, something resembling pride in his eye.

"I really liked the book." He says and you must've looked a bit confused because he immediately clarifies, "The one you first recommended me. The one with your number in it. I liked it for more than just your number, though the number was also nice"

FUCK he was cute when he talked. Did any man look good when he talked?

If any man had, you were positive you'd never seen it.

"It was one of my favourite short stories," you add. "It was a little different than Call of the Wild so I worried a bit, but looks like I worried for nothing." You smile as you check in the new book.

The Lamp at Noon.

It had been one of your favourites since you were forced to read it in high school, and something about him made you think he might like it too.

Before you knew it, you were quickly whisked back to work, as more children came in with books they wanted to renew, check out, and return. There was also a bin full of returned books that needed to be reorganized. While you worked, you were still able to sneak glimpses of Dennis, settled in a chair in the corner, nose deep in the new book you gave him.

"So, did you and Linguine do it in the storage room?" Bess' wolfish voice materializes from behind you.

"Ew. And what? Linguine?" You turn your head to convey your disgust and confusion directly.

"You know... from Ratatouille. The chef guy not the rat" her gazes fixes back on Dennis.

"Why would you-" You stop mid sentence.

Huh. Now that she mentioned it, you guess he did kind of look like that guy from Ratatouille.

His big round, down turned eyes that reminded you of a lost puppy, the slight skittishness, and his tousled brown hair, and even the soft tone of his voice.

"Ok ew don't do that," Bess makes a fake gagging noise. "Your lovesick look is disgusting."

"I am NOT lovesick. I barely know the guy." You punctuate the words, like you are trying to convince more than just Bess.

"Denial is a river in Egypt" she hums back at you. "Also," she adds casually, "you can head home early if you want. I'll re-shelve the rest in the bin today."

"Wait really?" it comes out a bit more eager than you expected.

"Yes, now go collect your boy before he melts into a puddle on the floor"

You don't even bother to correct her. You are already shrugging off your work vest and grabbing your bag by the storage room.

Bess' lip curls into a smile, muttering something that sounds like "fuckin' knew it" to herself.

You walk over to where he was, eyes still intently focused on the pages. He doesn't register you until you gently nudge his shoe with your own.

"Are you-" he checks the time on his phone. "Are you done already?"

"Bess let me get off early" you can't help but smile warmly. "Ready to go?"

"Yes" He shoots up to his feet.

Once standing your faces are much closer than either of you anticipated, but you don't move away. You see him his eyes widen in realization, immediately moving his gaze to the ceiling tiles.

He smells like soap and something else vaguely familiar. Kind of like when you walk into someone else's house at their 'home' smell reminds you of somewhere you've already been.

"You smell nice." Is all you say before starting towards the door. But just before you turn away, you can see his cheeks start to redden.

-

You opt to stop by the coffee shop a couple blocks from the library. You learned to love it after long shifts because of the reasonably priced coffee, bagels, and comfy cushioned booths (why all these swanky new coffee places decided to have rigid plastic chairs from hell, you had no idea).

As you both approached the menu, you could see his shoulders tense a little. After you give your order to the cashier you see him shake his head.

"You don't want anything?"

"I ate before I came here." Is all he says.

You don't reply and simply turn back to the counter to order two of each: the bagels and coffee.

"You really didn't ha-"

"I want to." you cut him off, and something in your tone kept him from arguing further. He shoots you a grateful smile. And that was the end of it.

After you are able to grab your food and settle down, you are quickly knee deep in work stories, as you both did little else and your jobs technically forced you to serve the public.

"I once had a kid throw up on me, and the kid's mom yelled at me like I was the one who made him eat three hotdogs and run around in circles."

"I might have you beat." An eyebrow quirks up at his words and you lean on your elbows, tilting towards him. "The first day of my ED rotation, I had to change my scrubs like 5 times. Twice because of blood, and another time because of an unsecured bottle of Mylanta, but the kicker was, I got urinated on while trying to subdue a patient."

"Okay you win" hands up in mock surrender. Hot dog kid was rough but at least you've never been pissed on. "That must've sucked"

He shrugs it off too casually in a manner even for a man who's job required him to be covered in bodily fluids. "It didn't end up being that bad. He was really nice about it. Just ended up being a guy struggling being off his meds without health insurance. That's actually how I learned about the street team." he pauses, smiling to himself softly before his smile transitions to a more mischievous one. "Plus, the same day, another intern dropped a scalpel INTO another doctor's foot so..."

All you could do was giggle at the joke and inspect the soft look in his eye.

He continued with a few of his stories from his time on the street team. The people he encountered, the glimpses of their lives he saw, and how it changed the way he worked back at the ED. The whole time you couldn't tear yourself away from his eyes. The gentle understanding and compassion was palpable; radiating off of him.

From working in a public library you also had your experiences with houseless people in the community. Many would come to use the washrooms, use wifi, print things, or even take a nap on the couches. Although you did your best to make sure the library was a comfortable place for them, you knew not everyone felt the same way.

You learned quickly from work that something that seemed as obvious as respecting someone's basic humanity wasn't guaranteed.

"So why the library?" He asks.

"I like books." you shrug and he looks at you intently like he knows theres more underneath. So you continue. Crack yourself open a touch. "I've always liked them. When written right, I feel the characters like they're real people, like they're my friends or something."

You knew how that sounded to other people; like you were a friendless recluse, obsessing over people that didn't exist; figments of your imagination. While that was true to some degree, you weren't a hermit. You had real life friends and a semi-operational social life, and you found these relationships incredibly fulfilling. But it didn't mean that the humanity of reading a book and experiencing someone's innermost thoughts and feelings was any less sacred.

"Human emotions are able to transcend time; I'm able to feel something someone wrote about 200 years ago. I feel like it's the closest thing we have to time travel."

He quirks his head in thought. "I guess... I guess I've never thought about it like that."

And you're left without anything to say because of that look on his face.

His eyes.

Even when he wasn't looking at you, you could almost see the gears turning in his brain, holding on to your every word. Now that he was looking at you, it felt like he was taking the time to absorb each and every word. Trying to absorb you.

It's an unfamiliar feeling; someone paying so much attention to you. Not to analyze you, or grade you, or lodge a complaint to the library board, but just to know you.

The realization made your heart pinch again. The same way it did back the first time, when his ringtone scared the shit out of him, and before, when he asked you out in the storage room. There's a split second where you don't know what to do with the feeling; you don't know where to put it. His sincerity sort of...

scared you.

Not in a bad way obviously, but in a way that was so clearly unfamiliar to you. People (least of all men) were rarely this attentive, or in tune with themselves or with you. His motives, his thoughts, his desires were all so clear. He was so transparent in a way that made you wanna do the same. It was something you didn't quite know you were signing up for when you ambushed with him while he was reading or when you put your number in his book.

But maybe you were ready for it.

"I really like you" is all you say, getting it out before you talk yourself out of it.

He looks a little surprised, but his face quickly softens into a smile.

"I like you too" he looks down at his drink for a moment. "... alot."

You take a quick scan of the cafe. Most of the patrons had left for the evening, leaving you two and an older couple as the sole patrons across the floor, all the way by the doors.

Without the pressure of extra eyes, you scooch into his side of the booth and slide a hand on top of his.

You feel his fingers tense up under your palm and there’s a flash of doubt in your mind before he curls your intertwined fingers into his palm.

That gives you the bravery to take one last look around the coffee shop before sneaking a quick peck to his right cheek. You can't help the giddy smile that curls on your lips as his cheeks turn red under the skin your lips just touched. His puppy dog eyes are wide and his lips are parted slightly in a way that is painfully kissable. You watch as his flush travels up his ears, and you're openly oogling him when he surprises you by asking:

"Can I kiss you?" His voice is a little hoarse, but his eyes are sincere and searching.

Completely unexpected (but not unwelcome) you're only able to nod, and his other hand, the one not curled under your own, reaches over to cup your cheek, fingertips just grazing your scalp.

You expected a peck; everything about him lead you to believe it would be.

But the firmness of his grip and the heat behind his lips catches you off guard for half a second. Your body catches up to him before your mind does, as you return the gentle pressure of his lips with your own. You can't help your tongue as it moves to lightly graze his lower lip. You feel his breath hitch before he returns the favour.

An abrupt cough rips the two of you apart.

"We're closing in 5 minutes" A very unimpressed teenager in the cafe uniform stares down at the two of you, mop in hand.

"Yep! Uh- right. Sorry, we'll be right out!" Dennis scrambles for your stuff, ushering you out of the booth while you are still a little dazed, pressing your lips together in effort to hold in a laugh.

Your laughter finally breaks when the door of the cafe shuts behind you both. He gazes down at you amused, chuckling alongside you.

"I can't believe you got me kicked out of my favourite coffee shop" you muse.

"Don't blame me, you started it" he raises his hands in mock surrender. You take a second to drink in his expression; eyes still slightly crinkled with remains of his laughter and his cheeks still slightly pink.

"Hashtag worth it."

"You did not just hashtag something in real life" he deadpans.

You quickly bring your lips to his in a quick peck, pulling away quickly.

Could someone be addicted to kissing?

"I did, big time" your tone is casual but a sly smile gives you away, as you walk toward the bus stop. There's a beat of silence before you hear his rapid footsteps catching up to you.

---

AFJGYODISIHUDYSGUEB thank you for reading, I really did love writing this, Whitaker deserves all the love in the world and I really love writing fluff. I already have ideas for a 3rd part, involving an introduction to the rest of the Pitt gang so if yall would be into that lemme know!!!! (also some smut next maybe...)

Here are some Whitaker x You meeting Santos headcanons!

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 48!

hello loves i'm so sorry for the delay!! life has been kicking my ass lately BUT i've been reading some good fics still and i'm happy to share them <3

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

any way the wind blows | notathingtoseehere | 10.1k | M

A post s08e08 look into how Buck could backslide into his season 1 habits when his best friend leaves him. hmmm tis the season of speculation for many more months... may i recommend this one to start off with? i love a return to buck 1.0 so much!! also op i need you to know i did in fact say good job out loud lol

can i be close to you? | myemergence | 4.2k | T

“Woah, woah,” Chim laughs, “please, Buck, do not tell us what or who it is you’ve been dreaming about.” A fic written for a prompt on the Buddie discord, about forehead kisses. Fluff ensues. yes i have in fact been going through the entire buddie forehead kisses tag this past week. no i do not wat to talk about it. but i DO want to talk about this lovely little fic!!

cool | LovelyLittleGrim | 5.6k | T

Buck keeps kissing Eddie on the forehead. Eddie has some THOUGHTS about it. eddie has thoughts and so i do and those thoughts are that buck should keep doing this forever and ever <3 so cute!!

eddie diaz can't have sex | notathingtoseehere | 11.9k | M

Eddie Diaz would like to say that the 118 needs a more involved HR department, or maybe he just needs friends who do less meddling. i love firefam shenanigans and i love demi eddie and i love buddie so basically i love this fic <3

eddie diaz vs the buck's boyfriend agenda | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 23.4k | M

Eddie starts gathering information about why no one trusts Tommy. As he grows to hate their relationship more, he learns more about himself and what he wants. eddie's agenda 🤝 my agenda. all of this author's works are a delight and this is no exception <3

feels like falling in love | justhockey | 5.2k | not rated

five times Eddie doesn’t mean to kiss Buck, and the one time he does. delicious delicious 5+1 fic <3

home is not a place | ithilien22/@ithilien-writes | 9.7k | T

In which Eddie has a series of long overdue conversations - with Chris, with his parents, and also with Buck. eddie and chris having heartfelt conversations at the lake!! this is brilliant and captures their dynamic so well <3

howling all night | clytemnestra/@clytemnestraaa | 3.3k | E

Buck helps him pack. Of course he does. Buck’s helpful like that. Eddie leaves for Texas. this hurt in the best way possible <3 so gorgeous!

i've lost my mind | evenatraitormaymend | 9.4k | T

Buck doesn’t tell anyone about his insomnia for six months. Eddie notices anyway, but neither of them talk about it until it’s nearly six am and he wakes up to Buck climbing in his bed—not having slept since before their 24-hour shift started yesterday. Eddie gets to show Buck how much he’s loved. okay two things i LOVE are eddie taking care of buck but also buck researching and setting up routines and taking care of himself, so basically this is the perfect fic for me <3

the aftermath of liberation and love confessions | ElvenSorceress | 17.3k | T

In which Eddie comes out, sexuality is complicated but coffee is not, Buck makes an excessive salad and is also roasted, everyone has a love confession, and December is the most dramatic time of year. this was a lovely lovely morning read a few days ago!! i love me some good idiots in love <3

the missing children's parents club | notathingtoseehere | 34.5k | T

With Christopher in El Paso and Mara pulled out of custody, there's a lot of parents around the 118 that are missing their kids, and a lot of comfort that can be found with each other. not me realising as i'm putting this together that i keep reccing the same author... i had no idea but i promise they're all brilliant brilliant fics!! think i might have to check out their other works lol this must be a sign

'til my lungs give out | time_leigh | 1.1k | G

Buck wakes slowly, gently. He lays still, breathing slowly, enveloped in the soft embrace of a duvet. He is not awake enough to open his eyes and shifts, slowly turning his head deeper into his pillow, feeling the drag of the cotton, smelling home. There is an arm laced over his chest. Slowly, an ear-splitting grin grows across his face. soft and sweet and absolutely tooth-rotting fluff in the best way possible <3

transduce the mind | detectivemeer/@buick118 | 2.4k | E

Buck’s talking about how nearly a third of US gymnasts are in the southeast and how Maddie did rhythmic dance—not dance, Eddie—and he’s reaching for the remote to find their next binge when all the bad ideas Eddie’s ever successfully obliterated resurrect themselves. And Eddie figures, in a cold empty echo, that his life is already ruined. What's one more grenade launched at the rubble? this is STUNNING and so so so well-written, i loved every second of it!!

trying to be cool about it | jukoist | 6.1k | G

Buck and Eddie have always tried too hard to force themselves to like the people they're dating (to varying degrees of success). They have very different responses to realizing how easy it has been to be in love all along. this is the most brilliant most buddie premise ever and it's executed so so well and i love it!! such a good time <3

when everything's on fire | beartowns/@glowingyears | 15.4k | T

Eddie and Chris move in with Buck after a fire. Buck breaks up with his boyfriend, buys a house with Eddie, and realizes he's in love. In precisely that order. oh the buddie house hunting always hits so good <3 this is a beautiful take on that trope and it's just such a wonderful fic!!

[elegantlyeva]

Thank you again for the story! It was fantastic! I was wondering if you could maybe write one about different stages of their relationship. Like when they first met. Did Scott like her at first sight or did she wiggle her way into his heart? How was their first date?? Who fell first? It can all be one story or multiple. Whatever floats your boats! Thank you again!

DAY ONE

Snowy Encounter

a/n: This is long overdue <3

Word Count: 1.0k

Summary: Scott meets (frostbitten) you for the first time.

The gloves covering your hands did nothing to stop the sting of the cold air, your knuckles becoming ashy from the dryness. 

You were passing out free hot cocoa, after being coaxed by your friend, who ended up backing out, and unfortunately for you, you never checked your phone. Oklahoma was borderline freezing this winter, compared to others.

Your toes were numb despite the layers of socks you had on, and you were now rethinking your decision to choose style over practicality in your boots.

You’d been giving out hot chocolate for at least 30 minutes before you couldn’t take it any longer. The urge to quit hit hard, or at least to take a 15-minute break, and you were about to ask for one when your (new) partner in this horrible task made a beeline for the bar across the street to ‘use the bathroom.’

Still, you knew helping people would be worth it, though

Wrong. It wasn’t worth it.

Ryan, you think her name was, never returned from the bar, and worse, it started to snow.

Sure, there was a small makeshift roof over the stand, but it was made out of an old blanket and wasn’t doing much to stop the snow from sticking to the ground.

It hadn’t snowed in Oklahoma for years, but of course, the day you had no choice but to be outside, it decided to pile up.

Your teeth chattered, your fingers were stiff to the point where it hurt each time you grabbed a cup to fill, and you were sure the hot chocolate was cold by now. Despite telling people, they still insisted on lining up.

With a sigh, you handed a cup to the stranger in front of you, ready to say the same line you’d been repeating:

“It’s cold by now,” you muttered, staring at the ground to keep any snow from blowing in your face from the wind.

“How much do I owe you?” the stranger asked, instead of reacting to your pessimism.

You did a double take at the voice, willing yourself to look up because anyone who sounded like that must be worth looking at.

Taking a frostbitten hand, the weird itchy feeling on your knuckles, which must be a sign they were falling off, you shielded your forehead to look up, and honestly, you were grateful you did.

He wasn’t just worth looking at, he was beautiful.

A steady frown on his face and hair poking out from the cap on his head, not to mention his eyes.

He cleared his throat, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Rubbing your hands together to warm them, you replied, “Oh, sorry. It’s free. I mean, it would be kind of cruel to charge you for a cold cup of milk.”

“You’re giving out free hot chocolate?” It was a lot of judgment coming from someone chewing gum in this cold—especially considering he was about to buy hot (cold) chocolate.

You furrowed your brows. “It’s for a good cause,” you said, shoving the cup into his hand.

“Right,” he deadpanned. “What’s the cause?”

“Holiday spirit?” Honestly, you couldn’t remember why you’d agreed to do this.

He snorted. “Well, I hope it’s worth getting frostbite for.”

You held back a glare, thinking he was much too pretty to be rude.

He stared at you for a moment, as if considering his next words. Without saying anything, he turned around and addressed the line behind him.

“I just took the last cup, so the rest of you idi... people can go home.” You heard the crowd groan, even a few curses thrown out, but for the most part, people left without too much fuss.

“Thank you,” you said, a smile appearing on your face. For a moment, your body warmed, at least internally.

“It would be a stupid ‘cause’ to give out free hot chocolate,” he muttered, shuffling in place.

“I’d like to point out that you were willing to pay for this cold cup of milk two minutes ago.”

The handsome stranger rolled his eyes, but you saw the corner of his mouth tip up. “You live in town?”

The question surprised you, but more so the fact that he was helping you pack away the cups and marshmallows into the bins.

“For the holidays.”

“That’s... descriptive,” he said slowly, giving you a side-eye.

“I’m staying with a few friends. They try to convince me every year to move here, but I don’t know.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, and after a couple more minutes, he was walking you to your car, carrying the rest of the stand, and helping you shove it into your trunk. Scott (you’d learned his name at some point between then and now) shut your trunk, and you quickly thanked him for the help.

“Thank you for that. You didn’t need to stay and help. I’m sure Ryan would’ve come back eventually.”

He raised a brow. “Boyfriend?” Then, “You’re welcome.”

The confusion on your face must have been obvious because he sighed, as though regretting asking in the first place.

“Ryan,” he clarified.

“Oh. No, I hardly know her. She’s a friend of a friend, I think, and she certainly didn’t find me very entertaining since she ran off.”

He laughed then, or at least you thought he did—it came out gruffly, and you could hardly tell.

You sneezed, and he dug into his pocket, pulling out a beanie and holding it out to you. “Here.”

Shaking your head and sneezing again, you replied, “No, that’s okay. I’m about to get in my car and head back anyway. You’ll need it more than I do.”

He rolled his eyes, shoving the beanie into your hands. “You look like you’re going to turn into an icicle. Just take it. I have a hat,” he said, motioning to the cap on his head.

“That’s hardly a hat,” you thought, but decided against saying so. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

When you sneezed again, he ushered you into your car.

You turned on the engine immediately to start the heat. “Where’s your car? Do you need a ride?” you asked, hoping it wasn’t too far, not wanting him to have gone out of his way to help.

He pointed across the street to a white truck.

Nodding, you smiled up at him. “How will I give you your hat back?”

His lips tipped up into an almost smile. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

[rakiah]

So I just watched this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGhWfZj7TNI

Here's a LeoVil prompt: the TWST gang is up against a super big baddie and its all up to the first year squad to save everyone. Leona and Vil stayed behind to deal with mob enemies and are bloody, bruised, and exhausted. They know they might die, the castle is literally crumbling around them.

Leona is laying his head down on Vil's lap as they wait. They bicker and what not, Vil pulls out some lipstick and puts it on. Leona makes fun of him for still being a diva when suddenly Vil kisses him.

Vil: Thank you for loving me as you did.

Leona is confused until he suddenly starts feeling extremely sleepy. He's like "god fucking damn it Vil" as he tries to lift his hand out to him. The last thing Leona sees is Vil lovingly kissing his hand.

Of course they survive in the end, they get found, and Leona confronts Vil on WTF he did. And then Vil just lets out that he wouldn't be able to stand it if Leona died while in pain.

Cue Leona proposing right then and there.

Long, very long overdue answer, I’m so sorry for this! 🙏

I had kept this prompt really close to my heart and drew that from time to time cause I definitely can’t say no to some good angst with happy ending~ (just big good angst is fine too but not now xD)

Btw, here the happy ending <3

Such a way for your proposal Leona

[inkedbydesire]

Can’t Let Go (Pt 4.1)

Jimmy Uso x Black Fem Reader

(Part 1)

(Part 2)

(Part 3)

A/N: This is inspired by an Adele song called “Can’t Let Go.” Please give it a listen if you’ve never heard it. It will enhance your reading experience (I hope 😂).

Warnings: None.

Summary: After two years of unresolved issues and heartache, you and Jonathan finally have a long overdue conversation.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: No way it took 3 months to come back with an update 😭. Hopefully somebody is still interested. Anyways, I apologize in advance for any typos or grammatical errors I may have missed during my proofreading.

Sidenote: Adele’s “Can’t Let Go” inspires the overall story, but here are 4 more songs to describe Y/N’s feelings. Feel free to give them a listen if you want. I think it will enhance your reading experience (I hope).

Tagging: @empressdede @amandairene88 @mindairy @punksyeet (sorry if you’re like “Bitch it’s been 3 months no one cares” 😂)

*************************************************

"You've got every right to be mad, Y/N. You really do. But I'm gonna play devil's advocate here and say you should still try to hear him out. There's so much y'all need to get off your chests. And at this point? You just gotta be adults about it."

Jade's words were followed by an innocent shrug that only deepened the glare you shot at her through your phone screen. Even over FaceTime, you could see the gentle furrow of her brow forming into that all-too-familiar look. The one she wore when she stopped being your best friend and started playing therapist.

The very last thing you needed this morning.

After the stunt Jonathan pulled last night, sleep had been nearly impossible. You tossed and turned for hours, haunted by the image of his glassy eyes and slurred words. When you finally did drift off, you woke up with one goal in mind: hand him back his keys and send him on his way.

It had taken everything in you to build the courage to sit down with him after two years of silence, two years of healing in your own way, and two years of slowly piecing your life back together. And last night, when he made the choice to show up drunk? He blew it.

Disappointed wasn't even the word. You were past that.

You barely wanted to look at him, let alone tackle some in-depth conversation. You had been ready for that last night, but not anymore, not after what he did.

You'd just finished your morning routine and were on your way to kick him out of your house and out of your life again when Jade called. Of course, she couldn't wait to hear how it went. Curiosity won out, and instead of getting ready for her first therapy session at ten, she hit your line.

Now here you were, sitting on the edge of your bed, reliving the mess and feeling the anger you were trying with everything in you to subdue bubble right back to the surface.

You were beyond pissed off at Jonathan. But even more than that, you were pissed off at yourself. For even reading his damn letter in the first place. For deciding to reach out. But the real clown of the day was the secret part of you that had actually looked forward to seeing him again.

Jonathan had been a major part of your life for over a decade. Not having that element anymore was almost like a culture shock. No matter how hard you tried to bury and ignore it, of course, some part of you missed him. Even if you weren't ready to admit it.

And then he had to show up and shit all over it.

You wanted........ no, scratch that, you expected Jade to be on your side. To call him every name in the book. To back you up without hesitation. But no, Dr. Jade Washington had to be logical and balanced. You wanted to rant, but in turn, she wanted to give you what she thought you needed to hear, not what you wanted to hear.

"I hear you, Jade," you muttered, words forced through clenched teeth. You were ready to get her off the phone at this point.

"Do you, though? All I'm saying is try to understand why he felt the need to get drunk before you shut him out again."

"I truly don't care why he did it, Jade. You must be on his side or something?"

Your voice was sharper than you intended, but you couldn't help it. Why was she so damn determined to get you to see things from his perspective?

He was the one who cheated. He was the one who messed everything up. And instead of showing up sober and ready to talk like a grown ass man, he stumbled in, wasted. To you, it felt like a giant fuck-you. Like he didn't respect what you two had enough to face it head-on. Hell, you wanted a drink too last night, but you convinced yourself it would be better for you both if you didn't let any outside substances cloud your mind. It was annoying as hell that he didn't share the same sentiments or possess the same control.

"I'm on your side, Y/N. You know that. I'm offended you would even ask," Jade replied.

"I just don't want you going into this blinded by anger. That'll only bring more stress and chaos. I've watched you carry the weight of how things ended with him for two years. I just want you to get the closure you deserve. If you turn him away today, we'll be right back at square one. Absolutely nothing will get resolved, and you'll go back to trying to avoid everything that reminds you of him. Y'all shared too much and too many years for that to even be possible, Y/N. You never have to see him again after this if you don't want to. Just... get through today."

You paused, letting her words sink in. Of course, they made sense. Everything she said always made sense. But you weren't in the headspace for it. Your defenses were back up, and not even Jade's best advice could break through.

"I hear you," you repeated, quieter this time.

"Alright. Go handle your business. Let me know how it goes later."

"Mmhmm."

You ended the call with a heavy sigh and tossed your phone on the bed.

As you slowly stood, your eyes locked on Jonathan's confiscated keys sitting on your nightstand where you'd dropped them last night. You stared at them for a second before slipping them into the pocket of your shorts.

Whatever anxiety you had about seeing him again was gone. His actions over the last twenty-four hours had killed that. You weren't nervous anymore. You had spent literal days stressing about how you would feel being in his presence again after so long. But now? You were just... over it, and it had barely started.

After releasing another sigh, you left your room, wondering if Jonathan was still snoring on your couch like he had been at 5 a.m. when you passed through to get a drink. Since you no longer had to purchase furniture with him in mind, your couch was far too small for a 6'3", two-hundred-something-pound man. At five, he had been sprawled out awkwardly, half-covered with a pillow because you damn sure weren't offering him a blanket. He could've pulled a Jack Dawson for all you gave a damn.

Admittedly, though, you did find yourself watching him for much longer than needed before retreating to your room. But no one had to know that but you.

Now, as you rounded the corner, you found him sitting upright with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His shirt was gone for whatever reason, and the neat ponytail he arrived with had unraveled into loose, shoulder-length waves.

For a second, you wondered just how long he'd been sitting up like that.

"Jon," you instantly called his name, voice loud enough to jolt him out of whatever spiral he was in. You didn't want to prolong whatever this interaction would be by standing there hesitating.

His head snapped up, and the moment his eyes met yours, the first word that came to mind was pitiful.

He looked absolutely pitiful.

There was a deep sadness in his eyes, the kind that you felt was well deserved, but surprisingly, it didn't bring as much satisfaction as you thought it would.

Dating back to high school, you never found any joy in seeing Jonathan upset. It was such a rare occasion because he hardly ever took anything seriously. He was always known to start cracking jokes, which caused 95 percent of the arguments y'all barely got into. But his mood was how you learned to calm down with your pessimism and gauge how serious a situation was. If he was upset, it meant something. So, his being mad or sad about something always put you on high alert, instantly searching for ways to help.

But this? This was different.

He brought this on himself.

You had no reason to feel even an ounce of sympathy for him. You talked a good game to Jade about not giving a damn about his feelings, but yet here you were. You were so disgusted with yourself for even going there. If you were going to make it through today, you had to be stronger than that.

"There are some extra toothbrushes, towels, and stuff in the bathroom down the hall to the left," you said once you collected your thoughts, pointing in that direction. "You can get yourself together in there."

You turned on your heels without waiting for a response and headed towards your kitchen. When you entered, morning light streamed through the blinds as you opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. You didn't have much of an appetite at the moment. You leaned against the sink, listening to the quiet shuffle of Jonathan's feet as he made his way down the hallway.

Discomfort settled in your body as your mind drifted to how drastically different this morning with him was from any other morning you two had ever shared. 

You used to love waking up next to him.

Countless mornings, you would open your eyes and be melted by the smile he would give you when you caught him watching you sleep. Something he always acted like he wasn't doing, even when he had been caught red-handed.

"Wasn't nobody watching you, girl," his voice echoed in your head, followed by his contagious laughter.

You always playfully teased him about it, but unbeknownst to him, you did the same thing. Jonathan slept like a bear in hibernation. He never caught the numerous mornings you would lie awake, taking in his beauty and tracing your fingertips over his tattoos. Just perfectly content with being wrapped up in him.

Y/N, stop it.

You forced yourself out of the memory and focused on your surroundings.

Your eyes landed on the roses from last night, now wilting, and the small jewelry box beside them. A distraction. That's what you desperately needed, or you were going to continue standing here hurting your own feelings. You set your water down and picked up the box.

Of course, Jonathan thought he could woo you with a piece of jewelry to soften the blow of this "reunion." He was never the type to try to buy his way out of trouble before, but so much had obviously changed over the last two years. You weren't sure he was the same boy you met in the hallway all those years ago or the same man who made you feel safe enough to let your guard down again. 

You didn't know him anymore.

Slightly shaking your head, you pulled the box open and almost dropped it as your breath caught in your throat. The gold necklace tucked inside wasn't some new piece of jewelry that Jonathan purchased recently; it was something you knew all too well. You lifted it from the box, and as you held it out in front of you, your eyes dropped down to the simple "J" pendant.

You hadn't laid eyes on it since the day you discarded it on the bathroom counter when you walked out on him.

To anyone on the outside looking in, it was just a piece of jewelry. But to you? It had been everything.

He gave it to you when you both were seventeen, way back in high school. It wasn't your birthday, Valentine's, or any other special day. It was just a random day when he decided to pull it out and slide it around your neck. That led to it being the same day you decided to trust him with your virginity and the day you realized you could see forever with him.

From that day forward, you wore it like it was attached to your skin. You remembered losing it once during a football game while cheerleading and crying to Jonathan so hard that he gathered Joshua and half the football team to help find it. And somehow they did.

Even after graduation, when you and Jonathan mutually split, even when you were with Trevor, the necklace remained in your possession, tucked away in your jewelry box. And when you and Jonathan found your way back to each other romantically, it was the first thing you put back on the first time you visited him.

Seeing it now hit you like someone just kicked you in the stomach. It was the last thing you thought would be in that box. With shaky hands, you returned it to the kitchen island while blinking back the tears that pooled in your eyes. One escaped, and you wiped it away with the tips of your fingers.

You better fucking not.

You closed your eyes, breathing through the ache. A tactic you mastered during the early stages of the demise of your and Jonathan's relationship. You cried so many tears over him for a whole year. Simple things like certain songs or movie titles would trigger you until you learned how to avoid them.

You weren't about to start that shit today.

Just as you had yourself pulled back together, the culprit appeared in the doorway looking considerably better than he did last night.

He was cleaned up and visibly sober. The black shirt he arrived in was now back on his body, while his hair was pulled back into his signature low ponytail. You kept your eyes glued on him as he planted himself across the kitchen island from you, creating the distance you needed. Two years hadn't changed him much physically. He looked just as good as he had the last time you saw him, which was even more annoying.

A few minutes that felt like hours trickled by with nothing but silence in the air as he watched you. He gave off the impression that he didn't know what to say, which was a first because Jonathan Fatu always had something to say.

"I..." he finally spoke, breaking the silence in the room before pausing and running his hand down his face.

"I... I apologize for coming here like that last night," he finally said after forming what you guessed he thought were the right words. Sincerity was etched in his facial features as his eyes searched your face for a response that you didn't have for him. His mentioning last night infuriated you all over again, and the fact that he decided to bring that necklace to further disturb your peace had you beyond agitated. Before you knew it, you were uncontrollably tapping your right leg to combat your nerves.

"I've been hoping and waiting for this for a long time... and last night... I just fucked everything up all over again," he said solemnly, the sound of his voice adding to your agitation.

"You did," you responded flatly.

"To the point that I don't even want to do this anymore." The words came out faster than you could process your emotions, and there was no room for second-guessing as you reached into your pocket and took hold of his keys.

"You can leave." You tossed them towards him, where they landed on the kitchen island with a loud clack. For a split second, you saw yourself aiming them at his face and had to fight against every fiber of your being not to do so.

"Have a nice life, Jonathan," you dismissed him.

In your heart, you didn't know how serious you were. It took years to get to this point, so you weren't sure how much you would regret this decision when you thought about it later. When you were back to moving through life, avoiding daily reminders of him like the plague because you didn't allow yourself to properly heal from the ordeal, you didn't know how you would feel.

At times, you truly hated it, but Jade was right. There was so much that needed to be said between you and him. Words that had been festering for too long. Because Jonathan wasn't just some random dude that you spent a few years with, he was so much more than that. Trying to ignore how much he meant to you and just moving on with life would never work.

But currently, you didn't care. You wanted him out of your apartment.

And again, you were more mad at yourself for even putting all of this in motion. You couldn't handle talking to Jonathan two years ago when everything went down, and still, after so much time, you felt like you weren't capable. How was it possible to have a civil conversation with someone who all but ripped your heart out of your chest?

You glared at Jonathan as his eyes momentarily dropped to the keys before they flicked back up to you.

"No. I'm not going nowhere, Y/N," he stated while disregarding the keys.

"No?" you asked incredulously.

"I waited too long for this, Y/N," Jonathan said as he rounded the kitchen island, walking up on you, causing you to move back against the sink.

"I don't want to leave here in the same position we were two years ago. I can't keep living like that," the words came out as he towered over you. He was standing so close that you could smell that he still wore the same brand of cologne you had gifted him many years ago.

Or was that just something he pulled out to get to you? Either way, you couldn't allow it to distract you.

"You think I give a fuck about what you want right now, Jonathan? You should've thought about that last night," you said as you looked up at him. You then tried walking away, only to be gently pulled back by the arm.

"Don't touch me," you yanked your arm from his grip.

"Look, I was thinking about it, Y/N. Too much. I was so in my head about seeing you again that I thought a few drinks would calm me down, and I ended up overdoing it. I know that's the last thing I should've done, but I guess shit hasn't been as easy for me to deal with as it has been for you." Jonathan tried pleading his case, but you were stuck on the last few words that came out of his mouth.

I guess shit hasn't been as easy for me to deal with as it has been for you.

You hadn't paid much attention to it before, but it was similar to something he wrote in his letter.

I guess it's not as easy for me as it seems to be for you.

"Wait a minute. Let me get this straight," you said to Jonathan while trying to collect your bearings.

"You cheated on me, and you think dealing with that has been easy for me?" you questioned him, bewildered.

"I had to rearrange my whole life because of what you did, Jon. I had to move back here to Florida and start a whole new life without you in it, something I thought I would never have to do. And you think shit has been easy for me?" You didn't give him time to respond as the words flew out of your mouth while you repeatedly poked him in the chest. You were hoping to create some distance with your poking, but Jonathan didn't budge and just stood there taking it.

You were so vexed that your heart was beating rapidly fast, and you were damn near shaking.

"I aborted my fucking ba—" you said before you realized what was coming out of your mouth. You tried to cut it off, but knew it was too late by the way Jonathan looked like someone had just knocked the wind out of him. This isn’t how you wanted that to come out, but you were just so baffled by his audacity in thinking that the breakup was harder for him. He had no idea what you had to go through to even be able to get out of bed in the morning after what he did. 

"You got a abortion Y/N?" Jonathan asked you softly, but you could barely register his words. Your head fell into your hands as it felt like something fell off the shelf inside of you.

You hadn't thought about the abortion in so long. After going through with the process, you tucked it away into the far back of your mind. You buried it and made sure that Jade was the only person who knew and that she wouldn't bring it up unprovoked. Back then, you couldn't handle the reality of the fact that you aborted a child that you and Jonathan were actively trying to have together.

You used to talk about it for hours because with his schedule and yours, you knew that fitting a child into your world would be a hard adjustment. But no matter the cons, the desire to create a life together overpowered everything. You decided that you would figure it out as it came.

You already had names picked out.

Jonathan Solofa Fatu Jr., if it was a boy.

Journee Jae Fatu, if it was a girl.

You wanted to have a child with him.

So, back when you found out you were pregnant, you weren't shocked because you and Jonathan had long stopped doing anything to prevent it. You were more disturbed by the timing. Because how could you get through bearing his child when you couldn't even stand the thought of being near him? So you did what you felt like you had no choice but to do at that time.

And now it felt like the hurt you didn't allow yourself to properly work through back then was settling into your chest now.

"Y/N," Jonathan said your name, but you weren't capable of responding. Tears welled up in your eyes, and it felt like a dam broke as you started doing the one thing you said you didn't want to do behind Jonathan today. You started crying.

You felt so weak as he slid his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest, and you no longer had the strength to push him away.

To Be Continued...

(I promise this will be wrapped up in the next part. I won’t continue to drag it out. I just needed to get something out cause I still care about this story. 😂)

[saintslewis]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐄

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!oc; Nadia

summary: party time pt.2? (no <3)

warnings: a bit of angst, crying, reassurance from both sides, a bit shorter than the rest lol.

saint’s team radio 🪩: heyyyy!! so sorry this is long overdue but there’s a reason! i wish i could name this chapter anything but thique but that’s the title of the song and we’re not crying today 🫵🏽 don’t jump me for taking so long lol

pls like, comment and reblog!

fc: @/unclewaffles_ on ig!

renaissance: the series • previous chapter

New York had never been more quiet than in that very moment. Nadia wanted to blame it on the fact that the penthouse was far too high up or that it was 2:36 am.

‘Bambi’ played in the background on the large tv, the light illuminating on the many faces in the living room. The friend group had celebrated Lewis’ Silverstone podium since the second they stepped out of the paddock, opting for tonight to be calm and have a group movie night with snacks and all types of pastries (Nadia baked those btw) laid across the table. Everyone was underneath blankets as they watched the tragic scene of Bambi’s mother dying.

Making the terrible mistake of looking at her ever buzzing phone, Nadia could see that Tia tried to contact her within the past few minutes but she internally rolled her eyes. Rea decided to play with her feelings and cause her heart to drop only to find out that the younger girl was lying straight out of her teeth about her marriage being leaked. Wanting nothing to do with social media for the week, Nadia kept herself busy. Spending time with Lewis and spending his money, one of her favourite things to do.

Her job was at stake and she knew that. With each passing day, Nadia’s sudden fame had taken a toll on her and her mental health and she was not sure if she wanted to continue working full time because it was taking a strain on her. She inwardly groaned at the thought of slightly proving her boss right who was consistent in reminding Nadia that this double life was not going to work in her favour.

Swiping further into her phone, she quickly understood why Tia was blowing up her phone.

Time felt slow and her body went numb as she read the headline over and over again. This wasn’t something that was light and airy and she could easily brush off her shoulder with just a flick of her hand. Every piece of jewellery she wore felt heavy, her clothes felt tighter than ever and her blood went cold.

Clearly not being the only one on their phone during the movie, Charlotte’s hair bounced as she snapped her head to her friend who’s tearful eyes were glued to her phone. At first, the woman couldn’t believe what she was seeing but her heart immediately sank when her eyes connected with Nadia’s.

All the food Nadia consumed earlier was rushing back up with intense speed and she quickly threw the blanket off her, running to the nearest bathroom. The blanket landed on Lewis’ confused face as he took it off to whip his head around. The men of the group were utterly confused as all the girls stood to their feet and quickly followed Nadia to wherever she ran to.

Lewis spotted Nadia’s phone on the floor, lifting the screen to his face. His eyes adjusted to the bold words written and as short as the title of the article was, it felt like reading an encyclopaedia written by the vultures within the media.

‘NADIA HAMILTON BATTLES INFERTILITY, ANON SAYS’

The article went on to explain how close the anonymous source was to Nadia, citing that they had kept this secret with themselves for years and hated the new found fame that Nadia attracted. All types of nasty connotations were made against her, calling her out of her name. This anonymous source also spoke on who she saw before Lewis but never exposed their fake marriage.

“Bro..” Andrew spoke up first, all the boys scrolling through their phones and seemingly looking at the same thing. Lewis knew he had to stop himself from reading on after the author wrote that he should divorce her because she’s ‘unable to give him a family’. He quickly locked Nadia’s phone and ran a hand down his face before he stood up to make a few calls.

With her head on Amara’s chest, Nadia wept as she struggled to keep it all together. She did not want to show her vulnerability to her friends so quickly but seeing the headline broke everything she had worked on to be private. Natalia moved Nadia’s hair back as she continued to rub her back.

Charlotte stood with her phone in her hand, immediately shutting down anything that was objectively negative about Nadia. Every single time she heard her friend sob, her heart broke. After what felt like hours of her friends consoling her and encouraging her to stay strong without bugging her for any information, she sat up and wiped her tears.

“Not to chase you guys away but I really wanna see Lewis right now.” She chuckled as she wiped her tears from her cheeks. The girls laughed at their friend’s ability to smile after something so terrible.

“We’ll let him know to bring up some water.” Amara nodded and stood up, giving Nadia’s hand a squeeze. Once her friends left, Nadia began pacing around the bedroom, the New York skyline still shining ever so bright although it was nearing 3 am.

She heard the door and she watched as Lewis walked in with a water bottle in his hand, his ring catching light from the ceiling lights. His eyes landed on her, cheeks hollowed with her trying to breathe as easily as she could, her hands shaking.

Eyes connected and neither of them had to say a word. He brought her head into his chest as her arms went around his waist. Nadia sighed softly as she leaned into her husband’s warmth. “I’ve sorted everything out, baby. You don’t have to worry about anything else.” He spoke, keeping his hands still as his voice vibrated through his chest.

Nadia sniffled before she spoke. “Thanks,” her voice quivered. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. Wanted to be the first one to tell you, you know.” She chuckled through her tears.

“None of this is your fault, love. Please don’t blame yourself, you have done nothing wrong and we’ll get through this together.” Lewis said. “We could try find out who-”

“It was my mom and Rea.” She deadpanned, lifting her head to look in his eyes. His eyebrows furrowed at the quickness of her revelation. “Nads.” He started.

All she did was look at the bed and he took that as a hint to sit on it and she followed. “I’ve only ever told my mother and Rea about my…infertility. Not even my friends. My mom found out through a fight we were having during high school.”

She took a breather and continued. “I completely changed my career path to become a teacher because if I couldn’t become a mom myself, I could be that teacher for my kids. I love those kids more than anything in the world, Lewis. When you introduced me to Willow and Kaiden, my heart was already attached the second I saw them so if we didn’t work out, I was going to feel like absolute shit.”

“To do this properly. Lewis, I am infertile and I won’t be able to have kids with you in the future because of my shitty anatomy.” Nadia finished with a smile gracing her face, always finding a way to lift the mood.

He didn’t want to smile but it crept it’s way on his face. Lewis reached his hand to hold hers. “Love, you are something else,” he chuckled. “I never want you to worry about me in this circumstance, I still want you for you. For everything. You’re my family and I never regret signing those papers, Nads.” Lewis finished, his gaze softening as she looked at him.

The tension in the air eased but there was still a lingering feeling hanging. This was an extremely vulnerable moment for Nadia and she was feeling all types of emotions. Lewis didn’t want to invade on her feelings and make her uncomfortable as she dealt with all this. She deserved the best, if she asked, he would give her the universe. He’d build a kingdom and worship her as his queen.

Feeling her manicured finger poke as his exposed shoulder, he snapped out of it to see a smile on her face. “I thought I lost you there, bruv.” Nadia smiled, her eyes swirling with so many emotions.

A beat or two passed.

“I love you.” Lewis blurted out.

Lewis Hamilton wasn’t someone who usually got nervous. He was learning to express his emotions to people around him and was confident in himself at most times. Now was one of those time where he felt his stomach become queasy, his hands suddenly feeling sweaty and he swore he felt the world had stopped spinning.

Nadia was taken aback at his sudden confession but never showed it on her face. If anything, she felt as if Cupid shot her with a heart shaped arrow. Her body felt warm and relaxed, the butterflies swarming as if her crush just looked at her and smiled. Her cheeks felt tight as she full on grinned.

“I love you too.” She confessed and Lewis swore his world became brighter as she spoke those magical three words. He couldn’t believe it. “Say it again. Please say it again, my love.” His accent became a tad bit stronger as he spoke, his large hands enveloping her smaller ones.

Nadia laughed. “I love you, Lewis.”

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you that. I love you so much, Nadia Thandeka Hamilton and never forget that, my angel.” He scooped her up into a hug, falling back into the bed in a giggling mess.

-

Nadia’s hands were stuck in her hoodie pockets when she stepped out of the bathroom, her face feeling fresh as ever as she had just taken off a new face mask she had wanted to try out.

Los Angeles was a place she would definitely call home if she chose to settle down in that very moment. The couple had flown over after two days of friendship therapy and a crazy amount of ice cream as a way to distract her from touching her phone.

The woman had no clue of what was going on surrounding her and that damned article but one thing she did know was that her ears were not deceiving her.

She had known that Lewis always woke up before her as a force of habit but he had vowed to not wake her up until she was ready to. She even moved her hood to hear properly.

The faint sounds of Minnie Riperton’s ‘Lovin’ You’ rang throughout the house speakers but the volume was clearly amplified in the living room. With her eyebrows furrowed, her ugg boot clad feet slowly led her through the hallway and right downstairs.

Her breath felt like it had been snatched out of her as she looked at the current state of her living room. Pink balloons were scattered across the roof and the floor, two bouquets of tiger lilies sat pretty on the coffee table along with several, several boxes from all her favourite brands. From small boxes to large bags beautifully arranged with a small note sat within the bouquet.

“Oh my god…” Nadia’s hand was over her mouth as she walked further into her living room, not even noticing that Lewis entered from the kitchen with his hands behind his back. “Hope you like it, love. Wanted to make it perfect for you.” He licked his lips as he watched his wife glide her hand all over the bags.

“Like it? I’m absolutely speechless, Lewis.” She softly spoke. “You’ve just…oh my days. You make me feel like a princess.” Nadia turned to look at him. “You tellin me all I have to do is tell you that I love you?” She joked.

“You existing is enough for me.” He spoke. “Boy.” She laughed. “Tryna make me blush knowing damn well I can’t.”

“Well, yes and no.” He scrunched his nose then chuckled with her. A beat or two passed before she spoke. “Let me say thank you.” She tilted her head as her hand went under his simple black shirt.

“Oh?” Lewis expressed. She didn’t have to say anything except look up at him and give him a smirk then he was ready to go.

“Say less, Mrs Hamilton.”

-

lewishamilton

liked by charlottiee, fencer and 2,394,447 others

lewishamilton the mrs. 🤍

view comments

nadiahamilton i love you

lewishamilton i love you more

user lord, guide this type of love to me

megantheestallion absolute cuties 🥹

fencer la familia!

serenawilliams my favs! 👑🤍

user aren’t they going to speak about everything?

user they don’t owe you anything!

sza 💗💗💗💗

saint’s notes: long overdue. love you guys!

tags: @non-stop-imagines @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @thisismeracing @myescapefromthislife @slytherinjimin3nthusiast @jamie2305 @cocobutterqwueen @like-fire-love-blog @sugardontbesweet @simpfortoomanymen @mauvecherie-writes @queenshikongo3 @eugene-emt-roe @deepgothfiremuffin @18754389 @cherry2stems @anubisnoir @littlelizzies-world @httpsserene @apenasumlug4r @eddiesbitch83 @arshiyuh @alika-4466 @peyiswriting @sunfairyy @vsfavs @louvrepool @mistruscity @tian-monique @hopefulromantic1 @exotic-iris13 @yeea-nah @nichmeddar @gg-trini @lifeless-firefly @vellicora @takeoffz-tookoff9876 @serpenttines-library @emjayewrites @royallyprincesslilly @lewisroscoelove @purplelewlew @xoscar03 @kidsol-ar @nothaqks @tremendousstarlighttragedy @ggaslyp1 @henneseyhoe @saturnville

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[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 8

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: Yes, this is long overdue and I'm sorry for the long wait; but now it's finally here and I hope you can enjoy it, we're nearing the end :'). If it's been too long since you've read the other chapters, I'd maybe recommend checking them out again because we're picking it up right where we left off. The next chapters will be posted soon <3. Also, Mobius plays cupid here and we love him for it lol.

Masterlist | Read ch 7 here

You kept your head down as you walked, not particularly looking at where you were going. Rogue tears were falling onto TVA's hallways with each step you took, a hand covered your mouth to stifle the sobs. The sight of your rapidly moving shoes became more unfocused by the second.

You needed an out, you needed to breathe. And you didn't care that the bathroom you rushed into was a communal one, you slammed the door shut behind you and turned the lock, praying that the stalls were empty.

Silence hung in the air, the only sound being your heavy breathing. Gulping back a massive lump in your throat, you leaned back against the closed door. The smooth wood was cold, feeling going past the fabric of your shirt and raising goosebumps on your skin. With the back of your hand, you tried drying your tears.

Would this be it? Were you truly broken beyond repair?

You wanted to shout apologies in the air; for the Loki you'd just found, he deserved it, he did nothing wrong; for yourself, for the bruised heart beating in your chest that you'd promised to mend.

Part of you also wanted to berate yourself for being overly sentimental and utterly incapable of processing your feelings. For being stuck in this limbo.

You pressed your palms to your eyes, feeling them dampening, fingers shaking.

His touch had been like a bonfire on a cold night—a strange metaphor, given the fact his skin was usually colder than yours; yet it held truth—it enveloped your heart in a warm and familiar embrace, the most blissful kind of pain. It hurt, you couldn't quite place why, but it did.

Maybe it was the fear of knowing you wouldn't be able to live through another loss.

There were telltales of a steady rhythm thudding beneath your skin and through your veins; the ghosts of it tickled your fingertips and called out your name. His heartbeat, as real as you'd pleaded for in countless sleepless nights.

And when you finally held it in your hands again…

'But you're not him.'

You regretted it, probably as soon as the words left your mouth. Because… they were a lie. A lie you told yourself for fear of losing him, again.

Yet now, you couldn't help but feel like you just did.

─── ·❆· ───

Thor had once told Loki about the red string of fate—when the god of thunder had been strangely obsessed with Midgardian folklore in his teenage years. A red string that connected soulmates, it could stretch and bend as the two souls drifted apart and then met again, however, it would never break.

Now, as Loki heard your steps getting further and further away from him, he couldn't help but hear a snap.

Maybe he was the one who fucked it up, maybe it was his fault. You weren't his to have or to lose anyway. As much as he wished you were.

Loki stood awkwardly by your desk; he felt almost as if he was invading just because this was your space and, as you'd just made abundantly clear, you wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

He took advantage of your secluded nook to brush off the tear tracks on his cheeks—he didn't need anyone asking questions he barely knew the answers to—before running a hand through his hair, straightening the collar of his jacket, and taking a deep, hopefully steadying, breath.

For the first time, he felt utterly lost, without a north to guide him. He stalled by neatly organizing the mess that was your desk, thinking maybe you'd have a change of heart and come back to him. He stacked documents, organized pencils, and even folded a cardigan of yours that was hanging on the back of your chair.

Loki stalled the longest he could, until there was nothing more to tidy and no hope left. When you didn't come back, he walked up to the elevator, and now stared at the many buttons without knowing which to press. Truth be told, his mind was miles away; focused on the feeling of your soft skin against his and the sweet perfume of your shampoo. Would he ever get to feel you so close again?

"Hold it, please," Mobius called from a few steps away, hurriedly walking towards Loki. The god extended a hand to hold the doors open for him.

Mobius skipped into the elevator with a big sigh, clutching a rather large stack of documents to his chest. "Thanks," he breathed, shooting a glance at Loki. A beat passed and he did a double take, with a frown as he looked Loki over, who still glared at the buttons in front of him, all puffy eyes and pouty lips. "… What happened?" Mobius' voice held the tone of someone who probably already knew the answer he'd get. He reached past Loki and pressed the button that led to the cafeteria—a coffee break couldn't hurt.

For long seconds, Loki kept silent, contemplating whether to lie or be honest. He felt too drained to come up with a lie. "I… believe I messed it up."

Mobius didn't need names. He raised a hand to pat Loki's shoulder. "She'll come around, buddy."

Loki's eyebrows softened, he had a faint, bittersweet smile on his lips as his eyes welled up with tears again. It stung, bitterly. Perhaps he was never destined for happy endings. It was okay, he decided, he'd be okay with loving you from afar; so long as he got to love you at all. He already counted his lucky stars that the slim odds were in his favor and he got to meet you. "I don't think she will."

The weight of his words didn't go unnoticed by Mobius, who turned to Loki with a rather bewildered expression. "You really do like her… Don't you?"

Loki lowered his head, lips parting in a futile attempt to try and word his feelings. All he managed was a defeated sigh as he brought a hand up to rub one of his eyes. That was answer enough.

─── ·❆· ───

It's been a week. Or at least what would be the equivalent of a week in the TVA. You didn't know if you were the one avoiding Loki or if he was the one avoiding you. But you haven't seen each other ever since you said those hurtful words to him.

Your spoon clicked against the ceramic of your mug, stirring a coffee that had probably already gone cold. You stared off into space, watching from a secluded corner table as a few of your colleagues walked by with their own coffees, yet not actually seeing it. Your mind was elsewhere, drifting between what-ifs.

It's been like this, for this past week. Your mind mostly numb, stuck on auto-pilot. You couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't stop missing him; his presence had become such a constant in your life these past couple of months that now that you didn't have it, a part of you felt hollow and empty. There was always a vacant chair beside you that left you feeling perpetually cold and alone.

The last few nights had been more sleepless than not, guilt ate away at your insides and kept you from diving into deep slumber. You wondered if the few grimaced smiles you received from your colleagues today were because you'd forgotten to hide the faint dark circles under your eyes.

"Good morning sunshine," Mobius slid into the chair next to you, placing his steaming mug on the table along with a single donut on a small plate. He took a momentary glance at you and his smile dropped a tad, "or maybe not so good."

You tried giving your friend a decent smile but you could tell by the look on his face that it didn't reach your eyes.

"I'll probably regret asking," Mobius pulled his chair closer, taking a sip of his coffee before continuing, "but what's wrong?"

You've never liked it when people asked you that question, it made you wish that your problems really were simple enough to be put into words. You avoided his eyes, something akin to shame and timidness twisting your stomach. "I'm- I'm not sure," a frown came to your brows, as if you were finally seeing past the fog. You shook your head softly, "I think I messed up."

"So I keep hearing," Mobius sighed. It wasn't condescending, no; it just looked like he was in on a secret you didn't know.

"I'm just… I'm so scared, Mobius." There was a sway to your voice that wasn't there before, with your heart on your mouth beating as raw as the wound you'd carried for so long. "I'm-" You hesitated, words heavy as you closed your eyes briefly. "I'm scared, and I'm still so confused."

You could feel the familiar sting of tears building behind your eyes. "I've wanted him back for so long, and seeing him again like this, it just-" Your lips hovered, trembling. You felt a warm touch landing on one of your hands, reassuring. You squeezed Mobius' fingers in gratitude. "… Now I have memories with him that only I've lived, and part of me still doesn't know what to think, what to do. And if I ever were to lose him again, I- I don't think I could…"

With a gentle nod, Mobius took hold of both your hands, he spoke slowly, "I understand… Well, maybe I don't," he chuckled, and when a small and genuine smile crept onto your lips, a proud glint came to his eyes. "But don't you think that, sometimes, we complicate things too much?" He asked, voice tender and drowning out the increasing hustle and bustle of TVA's cafeteria.

"You got him back." Mobius gave your hands a gentle shake to accentuate his words, voice low yet dripping with hope and excitement; "Yeah, maybe he comes from a little before you two met, but it's still the same Loki." He tilted his head with a tight smile, urging you to take his words to heart. "The one thing you wanted ever since you got here, don't you see how lucky you are? Maybe you should just let yourself be happy about that for a change."

For long seconds that felt like hours, you stayed silent, only feeling the bruising beating of your heart against your ribs. The air left your lungs and you had trouble pulling it back in.

He was right, wasn't he?

Maybe you could allow yourself to be happy after all this time. Maybe you could finally go to where your heart had been trying to lead you to. Maybe you really did get a second chance.

Yet, like freefalling into a frozen lake, the last words you'd said to him came rushing back. "I hurt him, Mobius." You winced at the memory, at the desolate look that had painted Loki's eyes as soon as you uttered the words.

'But you're not him.'

Oh, you couldn't have been more wrong then. Because when he looks at you with that same shine to his gentle eyes that had captivated you since the first time you'd met him on the grounds of New Asgard, when his voice takes on that special tone that's kept for you only, when he touches you with the same delicacy you'd always known, when he has the same bashful smile, laughs at the same jokes, drinks the same tea. How could he not be your Loki?

"It was the last thing I wanted, and it happened, and now I- I don't know if there's a way back from-"

"Listen to me," Mobius cut you off before you could go downhill into a pity party, "he's miserable, okay?" He spoke matter-of-factly, to which you only raised your eyebrows. "I'm serious, you should've seen him this morning, looked like a kicked puppy. Trust me when I tell you you're hurting him more by staying away." He added with a smirk; "and you two are killing me with all this 'will they, won't they'."

A small laugh escaped you as you raised a hand to dry your eyes and squeezed Mobius' ones with the other in a gesture that you hoped conveyed the immense gratitude you felt for him.

You missed Loki. You missed him so much it felt like a part of your soul had been torn out.

"Do you have any idea of where he is right now?"

─── ·❆· ───

You stepped into the smoked glass doorway as if you were walking a tightrope that might snap at any second. You held your breath as you went through, eyes closed, and hands clammy.

A familiarity lay heavy in the cold and fresh air, it has brought you peace many times before. The frozen grass crunched beneath your feet and the rustling of leaves did little to drown out the loud beating of your heart. You didn't need to open your eyes to know where you were, but you did anyway.

The clearing was the same as it's always been, with a few trees on both of the far sides, a clean and starry night sky that adorned the beginnings of the spectacle that was the northern lights, and finally, the lonely wooden bench in the middle.

Loki sat on the far right side of the bench you once shared. The night was cold and he only wore a simple dress shirt, for a second you wondered if he was not cold, before remembering his origins.

The moment feelt intimate, precious. You wondered if he knew you were there and chose to stay silent, or if he was too lost in his own what-ifs. You wondered if he's missed you as much as you missed him.

Your feet were glued to the ground, you noticed. Hands closed tightly into fists and mouth dry. A part of you remained so afraid still, as if, now that you're here, it might be too late.

From afar, you admired how Loki's hair flowed effortlessly with the breeze, coming loose from behind his ears and making you wish to run your fingers through it. He had his left hand lying beside him, fingertips touching the wood of the bench; as if reaching for something, someone, who's not there.

You caught it then, how, with the corner of his eye, he finally noticed your presence. You caught it by how his shoulders immediately tensed up and he looked straight ahead as if bracing for something.

No turning back now. You took the first step towards him.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ch 9 coming soon.

I no longer make taglists. You can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I've posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

[suhkusa]

EGOIST 13.

PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader

CW. plot, feelings, comfort if you squint

A/N. uh oh

-> MASTERLIST.

The ride home is as silent as it was on the way there. You don’t bother trying to fake-sleep to avoid conversation, as conversation never bothered to occur.

Your eyes are locked on the window, watching as the colors of the outside blur together into one. 

It’s hard to reflect on what happened last night, because you don’t even know what came over you. You want to forget it all, but sadly, the one time where you wish you were drunk enough to forget, you weren’t. Which makes it all the more confusing, because you could’ve stopped it. You had enough awareness, control. You just didn’t.

You don’t like Atsumu. Not romantically anyways. Though, after his apology, it felt like you were finally ready to move past everything that occurred. No, you didn’t forgive him, but there was too much on your mind to dwell on things that occurred in high school or months ago. 

Cordial and mutual was all you were willing to offer Atsumu. At least until last night. Boundaries that shouldn’t have been crossed, were definitely crossed. And you’d have to make a mental note to not let that occur again.

The car finally pulls up to the Jackal’s facility. The boys are in the middle of practice when the two of you walk in. You’re greeted by many questions and smiles. You can cry at how happy you are to be back home in familiar territory.

“Y/N,” Coach Foster intervenes with a welcoming smile, “We’ll talk about how the experience was later, but for now I need you to run some errands,”

You smile nervously before grabbing a clipboard from your bag, back to work you go.

———

You’re exhausted when practice ends. Having to come back from a two day trip and get back straight to work definitely took a toll on you. You gather the notes you’ve taken from the videos and leave your office before dropping by Foster’s.

“Here ya go, Coach,” you smile.

“Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replies before getting back to clicking on his computer.

You wave goodbye before closing the door and exiting. 

“Y/N!” A voice calls. 

You weren’t so sure if you were really ready to talk to Atsumu, but you had no choice now.

“Hey,” you greet, tugging your bag to readjust it onto your shoulder.

“I’ll walk you out,”

“No, you don’t have to-” 

“I insist,” he smiles. 

You give him a slight nod before going on your way, him right beside you.

“I’m sorry about last night, I know you were drunk but I don’t want shit to be weird between us or anything,” Atsumu says with a genuine tone.

“No yeah, it’s alright. We can put it past us,” you want to put it past you, “don’t worry about it,”

Atsumu nods at that.

The rest of the way is silent but somewhat comforting. When the two of you get to your car, he helps you load your bags in.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Gora,” he catches you off guard with that, “if you ever need to talk to anyone about it, I’m here,”

“Oh, alright. Thanks,” is all you manage to work out, albeit awkward.

He waves you off as you enter your car and drive back home. 

It felt like there was so much your brain had to unpack. But so little you actually wanted to think about. 

You were on autopilot on the way home, you only snapped out of your head when you reached your parking spot. 

Hauling all your bags into your place, you let out an overdue sigh before collapsing onto your couch. Your body nearly melted into the cushion. It was only 2 or 3 days, but you’ve never been more happy to be home.

A ping from your phone interrupts your comfiness, you nearly curse whoever texted you until you realize it was Sakusa.

Kiyoomi [9:36]: how was the trip?

You [9:36]: it was okay, got to meet lots of ppl tho

Kiyoomi [9:38]: yeah i went last year, it’s not that fun

You [9:39]: no ya but i mean it was technically work for me so

Kiyoomi [9:39]: lol at least you weren’t at practice, it was hell

You [9:40]: really?? sucks ha

Kiyoomi [9:43]: mhm

You think back on the night with Atsumu. You wonder what it would’ve been like if instead of him, it was someone else-

Kiyoomi [9:47]: anyways ill see you tomorrow, goodnight

You were so lost in thought you forgot to respond, nonetheless you type out a quick goodnight text before turning your phone off. 

Gathering every bit of strength in your body, you muster up the energy to pull yourself up and make your way to your bedroom.

As the playoffs grow closer, you can feel anxiety pulling at your heart. There was nothing you could do except sleep it off and hope for the best. 

———

There was approximately one more week before the match that determined whether or not MSBY would make it to championships. During every practice, you could feel everyone on their toes. Tense and nervous.

Even so, it felt like Atsumu was staring at you way more than often. Way more. Even when you weren’t making eye contact, you could feel like there were holes being burnt into your head. Did he need to tell you something? Or was he just keen on making you feel uncomfortable?

After a couple practice rounds, the coach called for a water break. The boys gathered around you to grab their water bottles. 

You watched as they stood around and chattered, using towels to wipe off the sweat beads collecting on their foreheads.

“Y/N,” 

You turned around to find the voice who called you,

“Oh hey,” you greet the blonde.

“Did you get back home safely last night?” he asks before taking another big gulp of water.

“Mhm,” you turn back to your clipboard, remembering to take down some notes from the matches earlier.

“That’s good,” 

Before he’s able to continue with whatever he was going to say, Sakusa walks up to you.

“Were you able to catch anything wrong with the new technique I was using?” 

Turning your attention away from him, you went on to discuss with Kiyoomi what he needs to improve on, leaving Atsumu in the dust.

After that, he’d start to talk to you whatever chance he got. Even if it was a small “hey” or “thanks” in passing. Sometimes he’d get ballsy and start a full-blown conversation. 

If that wasn’t enough, he’d text you everyday, every night, whenever he possibly could. Whenever you’d answer at least.

It felt like whenever you’d try to put walls up between you and Atsumu, there was always something that brought them back down. And while you always told yourself that you’d never let him in, it began to feel like he somehow just broke in and made himself at home.

And while it happened against your will, it doesn’t feel like you want to complain about it.

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[fp-am]

Ok I normally don’t write lazy oneshots in Tumblr posts but I had this idea

What if, during Green’s little evil arc, the gang just talked to Alan?

(And Green and Alan have to have a talk)

Lazy Oneshot under the cut.

*Green walks into Alan’s drawing program. It’s pretty awkward after the CG told him off. Alan is animating.*

Alan: Hey, Green.

Green (awkwardly): ..hey.

Alan: Have a seat.

*hesitantly, Green sits.*

Alan: So, you have a YouTube channel now. Is that correct?

Green: ..yeah?

Alan: That’s great! How’s it been doing?

Green (a bit surprised): It’s been really good! I’ve been gaining a lot of traction recently! I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it yet.

Alan: I see. Well, I’ve been watching your videos.

Green: Really?! They’re great, right?! I already know they are..

Alan: ..I’ve been watching your videos, and I have to say that your more recent ones are.. *he wholeheartedly chuckles, then laughs*.. they’re terrible!

Green(shocked): W-WHAT?!

Alan: Yeah! They’re bad! I can barely get through one. Too much editing, too much energy, it’s overwhelming.

Green (defensive): W-Well! That’s just you! My viewers love it! I know it! I read my comments!

Alan: Really now? Let’s go through them together then.

*Alan pulls up a tab with one of Green’s recent videos, pauses the video, and scrolls down to the comments. They appear positive.*

Green: Hah! See? They love me and the videos I put out!

Alan: Mhm. Let’s go a little further.

*as he scrolls, the comments get more negative and get more criticism”

Alan: There.

Green: Well.. there’s a reason they’re at the bottom! They’re wrong. Haters!

Alan: They’re not hating. They’re giving you feedback. Here’s a good one. Ahem.. “Green, good video, but everything seems a little off. All the extra editing is really headache inducing, and your friends seem distant. Can you please go back to real moments with your friends?”

Green: They’re just being negative to be negative.

Alan: They’re giving you advice and recommendations. I can tell, just by your attitude, that you avoid these on purpose, and that’s not a good thing to be doing.

Green: …

Alan: Not to mention, the only reason you’re doing YouTube is for the traction your videos bring in. That’s not what this job is about.

Green: Then what is it about, huh? How would you know?!

Alan: It’s about doing what you like. I would know, because I have 28 million subscribers.

Green: We- WHAT?! No you don’t! You’re lying!

*Nonchalantly, Alan pulls up his channel.*

Green: ALAN? WH- Why have you never brought this up before?!

Alan: Because I don’t feel the need to brag, which is apparently something you do a lot, according to your friends.

Green: But.. I don’t.. I’m..

Alan: Listen, Green. I get it. YouTube is exciting, don’t get me wrong, it can lead you to some pretty exciting places. But, when you start doing YouTube for the sake of fame, it loses its meaning.

A lot of YouTubers I’ve witnessed the growth of over the years have taken the route you’re going down right now. Exploiting their audiences and staff to produce cheap videos that get them views, likes, and money. That’s all this platform is to them. A way to get eyes on you. A lot of times? That leads to controversy, injury, and a terrible life.

I saw your earlier videos. They were good, Green! You put love into them. That’s the most important thing that your new videos lack. You’re trying to produce content that catches people’s attention, flashy meaningless junk that’s soulless. I would be a bad caretaker and fellow content creator if I just let you go down that route. So I have to tell you to take a step back.

In sorry for being harsh, but if I wasn’t, you wouldn’t listen. The thing is, the people that genuinely like the real content you put out will stay. The rest won’t, and that’s life. You just have to find those people.

Do you understand?

Green: I’m.. yeah. ..yeah. Thank you, Alan. And.. I’m sorry.

Alan: You’re alright. Now, go talk to your friends. I’m sure an apology is way overdue.

:3

[thewertsearch]

>WV: Search for power source. You ate that delicious green nuclear rock earlier in the day, even though it feels like it was more than a year ago.

WV seems completely immune to radiation, which is a lucky break for him.

It's also a weird trait for Sburb to give its NPCs, but I guess it makes sense when you remember they're supposed to explore post-apocalyptic worlds.

Guess there's nothing to do but wait it out.

Lmao. I…. guess that’s a plan?

The problem isn't getting the uranium, it's using it. I didn't spot any convenient Mr. Fission reactor to toss it into, so I don't know what he's supposed to do with the thing once he has it.

He is so impatient. Doesn't he realize how time consuming it is preparing for the holidays? […] Wait… you almost forgot, it's still April, and nowhere near the holiday season. You guess all this wintry weather tricked you into thinking it was. But wait! Even THAT doesn't make any sense, since it never snowed on your island, and you were never able to connect it with the holiday season! […]

Sorry Hussie, there's no way to make this make sense – but I don't care, and neither do you. We’re long overdue for Jade’s alchemy session, so Christmas in April it is.

Karkat cannot be conveyed with a more detailed portrait yet. He is too angry, and is forced to look like shit.

This should have been Karkat's first appearance in the comic.

Hell yes.

Does it have a jpegifying aura, like the SORD.....? Maybe it turns the presents left underneath it into jpegs themselves.

TG: yes perfect GG: it is the prettiest tree i have ever seen!!!!! TG: ok im going to torrent you another like negative billion artifact grists GG: ok great! GG: everything about that makes total sense

The funniest thing about this is that we already know Jade's a talented artist - and therefore, the only logical explanation for these abominations is that Dave's been tutoring her.

GG: is this conksucky enough TG: its the conksuckiest piece of fucking shit that ever still somehow qualified as a boot GG: <3

I was right! She's an apprentice SBaHJist!

[marsoid]

ANSWERING OVERDUE ASKS PART 3!!

ANSWER UNDER THE CUT!!

I try to study photo reference of cars when I color them! Black cars are especially helpful because it’s easier to interpret what I’m looking at. Take this one for example

It’s just a really sexy mirror essentially. You can see the reflection of the sky, the ground, and the greenery in a way that adheres to the form. Blocky cars are simple because the planes are very obvious and clear. Look at the nose just above the headlight chrome, you can tell it’s angled in such a way that you just see almost a solid rectangle of sky, where the hood just above it is reflecting only the greenery because it’s a different angled plane (flat reflective surfaces like the hood are similar to a lake reflecting a mirrored image of what’s right above it).

Thinking of them like mirrors helps me make sense of it lol so IDK MAYBE IT’LL HELP U TOO?!?!

Sugar is some kind of siren i swear

Our 9 year anniversary is coming up this month 🥹

Currently Sugar is having some annoying acceleration hesitation issue that’s almost certainly the fault of the aftermarket EFI system i have on her, might need a new throttle position sensor (which is cheap and simple thankfully!). I always feel like a crazy person if i can’t drive for a few days. I WAUNT TO DRIVE MY CAR

Here’s a recent pic also. Sorry there’s some dumbass idiot in the way

JKFLD

Keep her clean! Inside and out wash days! Maybe fix up any torn upholstery, get her some new floor mats with a matching steering wheel cover, something cool to dangle from the rearview mirror, and truck nuts (don’t do truck nuts)

I’m also a big fan of people who put a sticker of their car, on their car. Makes me laugh every time it’s so weird and endearing LOL

@esendoran thank you!! I also wasn’t very handy when I got my car, but I got her in surprisingly good shape from the get-go luckily. The nice thing about vintage cars is that they’re very simple mechanically. The engine bay is open and spacious and easy to crank on. It’s also got the advantage of being so old that there’s a ton of people who will know how to work on them if you don’t (YouTube videos, car forums etc too). The only thing I would say is that you should definitely have a garage or somewhere else enclosed if you get an old car! They’re an easy target for car theft, and tend to not do well sitting in bad weather (even rain, and god forbid you get some nasty hail). But otherwise, I wouldn’t let lack of knowledge keep you from getting one! Learn as you go. Also get any car you want to buy appraised before you give the seller any money!! They can make sure there’s no serious hidden issues. 👍🏾

I need to do a part 4 dammit what is wrong with me