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minhosbitterriver · 14 days

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──── * ˚ ✦ ECHOES OF US ( stray kids )

❛ After a painful breakup, you and Jeongin struggle to maintain a civil front for your mutual friends, but when he accidentally calls you by your old pet name, unresolved emotions resurface, forcing you both to confront the lingering feelings between you.

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 12.6k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 50 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Say hello to my very first long-fic! It took me an eternity to get this done, but I'm actually very proud of how it turned out! Also, my very rough draft for this was accidentally posted a few days ago, so if you saw that...no you didn't! This was anonymously requested! (Anon, I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to finally finish this, but I hope I made up for it with how long it ended up being 🫠) Reblogs for this teaser are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of sibling death and grief, very brief mention of a dysfunctional home, use of they-them pronouns for Y/N, brief explanation of sibling death, Y/N's sibling has their own name, mentions of being abandoned, heartbreak, awkward re-encounter after almost a year, discussions on mental health, a whole lot of angst, comforting ending, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

When Jeongin stepped through the door he had once shared with you, a sense of dread already coiled tightly around his heart, squeezing with every breath. He knew you'd kept your promise to move out by the end of the week, but the reality of it hit harder than he could have imagined. The front hallway, once cluttered with a chaotic jumble of shoes that you always left haphazardly by the entrance, now stood painfully bare, save for his own neatly aligned row of frequently worn sneakers. The absence of your presence echoed louder than any argument ever had, and suddenly he found himself longing for those moments of trivial annoyance—wishing, with a deep, aching desire, that he could quarrel with you about it just once more.

He kicked off his sneakers, setting them carefully amongst the rest of his now lonely footwear. For a moment, he stood there, hesitant, almost willing to call out your name, hoping against hope that you might answer from the bedroom or kitchen, your voice cutting through the oppressive silence that now smothered the apartment. But he knew better. He moved forward with heavy steps, not even bothering to put on his house slippers. The silence that greeted him as he wandered further inside was a deafening reminder of what he had lost. You were gone, and with you, the vibrant energy that had once filled these walls had vanished too.

The living room—once a collage of your combined tastes—was now stripped of the personal touches that made it home. The furniture remained, the couch where you both had laughed and argued, the coffee table marked with rings from careless mugs of tea during lazy mornings. Yet, all the little decorations, the framed art you insisted on hanging, the plants you’d tried so hard to keep alive—they had all disappeared with you. The emptiness was jarring, like a canvas half-painted and abruptly abandoned, leaving every wall and surface barren, the once warm and cozy atmosphere now reduced to a cold, unfamiliar space.

By the time Jeongin reached the bedroom, the last thread of his fragile composure snapped. The bed—where countless memories had been woven—was stripped down to its bare mattress, the sheets gone. The framed photographs of the two of you were turned face down on the bedside table, as if you couldn’t bear to look at them one last time. His eyes moved to the corner where your ridiculously large collection of stuffed animals had once spilled over, crowding half of the bed. That too was empty now. An overwhelming wave of loss washed over him, dragging him to his knees.

Jeongin's breath came out in shaky gasps as he looked around the hollow shell of what had been your shared sanctuary. You were truly gone. Though he had been the one to end things between you, a decision made in a moment of confusion and pride, he was still hopelessly, painfully in love with you. The realization of his own foolishness crashed over him with unbearable weight, suffocating him in the silence that was once filled with your laughter, your presence, and your love.

Jeongin couldn’t summon a shred of resentment toward you, even if he tried. He understood, all too painfully, that everything that had unraveled between you over the past year was nothing but a sorrowful consequence of your grief. You had once been a soul overflowing with light, always searching for the silver lining amidst the clouds, a spirit who could find a glimmer of hope even in the darkest of times. You, who would often conspire with his mischievous best friend, Seungmin, forming a relentless duo to tease him until he’d feign a pout, forcing you to shower him with kisses until he laughed again. You, who came home every evening brimming with stories about the children you counseled at the school, your eyes alight with passion and care for each of them. All that Jeongin had loved so deeply about you seemed to have been buried alongside your sister, Nari, and this loss was a truth he still grappled with, even now.

As he crawled onto the empty, cold bed that had once been a warm sanctuary for both of you, Jeongin curled into himself, his body folding inward as if trying to shield himself from the harsh reality. His sobs came in ragged waves, tearing through him so violently that he trembled, his breath hitching with each shaky inhale. He missed you more than words could convey—he missed everything about you. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, its tones shifting with your moods: soft and lyrical when merely amused, and loud, unrestrained when joy truly overwhelmed you. He missed those sounds, the ones that used to fill this now desolate space with life and love.

He missed the lazy afternoons you'd spend together, brainstorming new exercises for his music therapy sessions. Those moments would often devolve into impromptu concerts, filled with your carefree, barefoot dancing across the living room floor and his voice following your lead, blending into a harmony of shared happiness. It was in those moments that everything felt right in the world, where nothing existed but the two of you, lost in your own little universe of melodies and movements. He missed those afternoons like one misses the warmth of the sun after too many days of rain.

He missed teasing you in those quiet moments when you were deeply focused, often catching you sticking your tongue out ever so slightly—a quirk of concentration that never failed to endear him. He’d gently pinch it between his fingers, earning himself a mildly exasperated huff as you’d swat his hand away. But he knew that a smile would inevitably creep up on your lips, and you’d turn away to hide it, cheeks flushing with a mix of amusement and affection. It was the kind of simple, tender moment that spoke volumes about the depth of your bond, a bond that now felt irreparably severed.

Every corner of this home whispered memories of you, and he was haunted by them all—the good, the bad, the ones that made him laugh, and especially those that made him cry. Your absence left a void that nothing could fill, a hollow silence where there had once been laughter and love. And even though he knew it was your grief that had driven a wedge between you, he couldn’t help but wish he could find a way back to you, to the person you used to be, and to the love that once made him feel whole.

The night that shattered your world was meant to be a day of celebration: your younger sister Nari’s high school graduation. Jeongin could still see you in his mind's eye that morning, almost vibrating with pure, uncontainable joy. Your eyes were bright, brimming with excitement, and your smile—so wide and beautiful—tugged at his heart each time it graced your lips. Nari was the center of your universe, your pride, your joy, your true soulmate in a world that often felt uncertain and cold. You had been more than just a sister to her; you had been her guardian, her comforter, her everything. You were the one who took on the weight of raising her through the chaotic turmoil of your parents' messy divorce, providing stability where there was none.

Jeongin could recall countless times Nari would recount how you shielded her from the constant, venomous arguments that echoed through your childhood home. Despite your own young age, you found ways to distract her, to pull her out of the chaos—whether it was with whispered jokes or made-up games that filled her mind with something brighter than the screaming. To Nari, you were a star, someone who had hung the moon just for her. She often spoke with a mix of awe and adoration about the afternoons you both spent sneaking into the little ice cream shop on the way home from school, spending hours laughing over melting cones until you were sure your mother had left for work.

Jeongin also remembered the quiet, tender moments he would witness after you had graduated and moved out. Nights when Nari would sleep over, curled up beside you, as if you were her very own safe haven in a world that could be so unforgiving. There was a beauty in how you held her close, how you seemed to provide her with an anchor when everything else felt adrift. Yet, no relationship, no matter how deeply cherished, is without its storms. For as vividly as Jeongin could remember the soft, loving moments, he could just as clearly recall the bitter weeks leading up to Nari's graduation—weeks marked by harsh words and heated arguments.

You and Nari shared many things—your fierce loyalty, your protective instincts—but perhaps most notably, the sharp edge of your words. When tempers flared, both of you possessed a mercilessly cutting tongue that could lash out with a force that left deep, stinging wounds. Jeongin hated those fights, hated the cruel things you would shout at each other in the heat of the moment, words that cut so deeply and yet meant nothing once the anger faded. The conflict had started when Nari began dating an older guy who had already graduated. Neither you nor Jeongin liked him, sensing the danger in his recklessness, his penchant for illegal activities that threatened to drag your sister down a path she wasn't prepared for. But Nari, stubborn and convinced she had found the love of her life, refused to listen. The tension between you both grew unbearable, each argument driving another wedge between you and your beloved sister, and Jeongin could do nothing but stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as she slowly pushed you away.

The real fracture came on what should have been a night of celebration. Nari was supposed to have dinner with you and Jeongin to celebrate her graduation. She promised to meet you both, to share in the joy of her achievement, but instead, she turned off her phone and ran off with her boyfriend to a party that everyone knew would be dangerous. For hours, you and Jeongin called and texted, reaching out to everyone who might have known where she was, each unanswered ring heightening the tension, every minute stretching into a painful eternity.

And then, the call came—the one that brought your entire world crashing down. Nari had been found dead inside her boyfriend’s car. Both were intoxicated when he decided to drive, his recklessness steering them straight into a tree. The impact killed them both instantly.

Jeongin would never forget the sound that tore through you in that moment, a wail of agony so deep and raw it seemed to shatter the very air around you. It was a sound that would forever echo in his heart, a haunting melody of a love lost too soon and a pain that could never be soothed.

The piercing sound of Jeongin's phone ringing in his back pocket cut through the thick, oppressive fog of memories that had been drowning him ever since he stepped into the cold, empty apartment that was once alive with the warmth of your shared moments. His body still trembled with the aftershocks of his own heartbreak, his face still wet with a cascade of tears that seemed endless. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, letting it fade away into the void of everything else that felt lost to him. But something compelled him to move, to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. The screen flashed with a name: Chan.

Jeongin’s first instinct was to let it ring out. He wasn’t sure he could bear the gentle, pity-laden concern he knew he would hear in Chan’s voice. The idea of facing someone else’s worry, of being forced to articulate the emptiness clawing at his chest, felt like too much. But he also knew that Chan wasn’t just calling for the sake of it—he was worried. Maybe that thought, the notion that someone still cared enough to reach out, was what finally convinced Jeongin to answer. With a shaky breath, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yes?” His voice came out rough and broken, as if he’d swallowed shards of glass, a hoarse rasp that even he barely recognized. On the other end, there was a sharp intake of breath, a small hitch that spoke volumes, followed by the sound of Chan clearing his throat in that awkward, nervous way he had when he didn’t know how to approach a delicate subject.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Chan’s voice was gentle, tentative, as if afraid that anything more might cause Jeongin to shatter completely. The simple question, so innocuous yet loaded with care, brought fresh tears to Jeongin’s eyes. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his composure, not wanting to add more weight to Chan’s worry.

“As well as I can be...everything is gone.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, sinking like stones into the silence that followed. There was a sigh on the other end, deep and empathetic, filled with an understanding that was both comforting and unbearable.

“I’ll stop by later, yeah?” Chan’s offer came with a note of encouragement, trying to lift the heavy blanket of despair. “I can bring Minho so he can cook you some food, and we can figure out what comes next.” There was kindness in his words, an attempt to pull Jeongin from the pit he’d found himself in, but the weight pressing on Jeongin’s chest didn’t budge, didn’t ease in the slightest.

“Maybe another time, Channie, thank you,” Jeongin murmured, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who had been running a losing race against his own emotions. “I think I just need a few days alone.” The silence that stretched between them after was telling, thick with Chan’s unspoken disapproval. Jeongin could almost see the frown on his friend’s face, the way he’d be chewing on his lip, holding back what he really wanted to say.

Eventually, Chan spoke again, his tone carefully measured, almost as if he were walking on eggshells. “Right. Um, hey...Felix wanted to pay Y/N a visit to make sure everything’s alright and to help with the moving. The problem is, none of us really know where they moved, and we thought that maybe they might’ve told you or something?”

The mention of your name was like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of the knife that had already been embedded in his heart. Jeongin’s breath caught, and he could feel his throat tightening, the sting of tears threatening to spill over once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay composed, to not break apart all over again.

“No,” he sighed after a moment, rolling onto his back and staring up at the empty, featureless ceiling that seemed to stretch on like an abyss. “I thought you guys would’ve known... but maybe Y/N needs some time alone for a while too. I’m sure they’ll call when they’re ready.”

The words felt hollow, a brittle hope that tasted more like ash on his tongue, but it was all he could offer. And in the silence that followed, Jeongin could only listen to the faint sound of Chan’s breathing, the weight of their shared helplessness settling in like a cold, unwelcome presence in the room.

Jeongin had clung to a fragile hope that, in time, you would reach out to the circle of friends who had once been your shared lifeline. He never imagined that you would confide in him directly—he knew all too well that the pain of his departure still festered like an open wound. You had made it painfully clear how much you resented him for breaking things off when you needed him most. He could still hear your voice, raw with anger and hurt, echoing in his mind as you stormed out of the apartment for the last time.

But never in his darkest nightmares had he expected you to vanish completely, as if swallowed by the earth itself. There wasn't even a whisper of your whereabouts, not the faintest trace left behind to hint at where you might have gone. It was as if you had been erased from existence. When you left, you didn't just walk out of Jeongin's life—you walked away from everything that had tied you to this place. You resigned from your job as a school counselor, the one located just a short distance from Jeongin’s apartment where you had once found solace in guiding young lives through their own turmoil. Your phone number had changed, your social media accounts lay abandoned and untouched, gathering digital dust like forgotten relics of a past life.

For what felt like an eternity, each member of your once tightly-knit group of friends wore the weight of worry like a second skin, tirelessly searching for any sign of you, some confirmation that you were still out there, somewhere, still breathing. Nights were spent in hushed conversations and whispered theories, each one more desperate than the last, wondering if you were even alive. The silence you left in your wake was deafening, a void that consumed every bit of hope they tried to hold onto.

Yet, as the months dragged on and there was still no word—no signal, no letter, not even a single fleeting message—Jeongin and the others were forced to confront a harsh new reality. The absence of your presence became a palpable thing, a hollow emptiness that settled in their chests. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to understand that they might never see you again. And in that painful understanding, they had no choice but to piece together their broken hearts and try, however feebly, to move forward.

But even as they moved on, a part of Jeongin remained anchored in that lingering silence, waiting for the day it would finally break.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Eight months had passed since you vanished without a word, leaving behind a void that swallowed everything and everyone you once knew. Jeongin found himself seated on a low stool in the center of his sunlit office, a space designed to cradle broken spirits. The room was filled with warmth, the soft, earth-toned walls bathed in a gentle, golden glow that made it feel like a sanctuary amidst the chaos. Around him, cushions were scattered like islands of comfort, and the soft hum of a guitar rested against his body, its strings vibrating gently with each subtle shift of his calloused fingers.

In front of him, a small group sat in a circle, each person a vessel of silent sorrow. Some had their eyes shut tight, trying to shut out the world, while others stared ahead, their gazes distant, lost in the labyrinth of their own pain. Today’s session was centered around grief—a familiar theme that Jeongin had come to understand all too well. His eyes swept over the group, his expression soft and understanding, a silent invitation for them to share their burdens. Directly across from him, a young woman who had recently lost her mother sat rigid, her shoulders taut as bowstrings, her fingers anxiously picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve. Beside her, an elderly man kept his gaze fixed on his wrinkled hands, folded so tightly in his lap it seemed as if he was afraid he might fall apart if he let go.

Jeongin's fingers began to dance over the guitar strings, coaxing out a few gentle notes that floated through the room like a soft breeze on a warm day. The melody was simple, almost like a lullaby—tender and soothing, a soft hand reaching out in the enveloping darkness. It was a song he had crafted with your help, your voice whispering in his mind, guiding the melody with your mesmerizing ideas and gentle critiques. He tried not to think of you now, of the countless hours you'd spent together creating this very piece, but the memory lingered like a ghost.

“Let’s take a deep breath,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that barely rose above the delicate strumming. “Breathe in... and out. Feel the music as it moves through you.” His voice was smooth and warm as he began to sing, threading through the air like a comforting embrace. The lyrics were a balm for weary souls, speaking of finding peace amid the storm, of a quiet place where one could lay down their burdens. He watched the room with quiet intent, observing as the music began to weave its subtle magic.

The young woman’s shoulders, once so tense, began to loosen ever so slightly, her breath easing into a more natural rhythm. The elderly man’s grip on his hands softened, his fingers unclenching as if the melody had given him permission to let go, if only for a moment. Jeongin’s heart ached as he shifted the melody into a new key, a hint of melancholy now woven into the notes. His voice leaned into the emotion, allowing it to crack and falter in just the right places, like a mirror reflecting the fractures of a breaking heart.

He knew the power of those small imperfections—the way a slight fracture in the music could resonate with the cracks in a person’s soul, giving them the courage to confront their own pain. The room felt heavy with unspoken sorrow, yet somehow lighter, too, as if each note was drawing out a little of the darkness from within. And as he continued to sing, Jeongin allowed himself to feel the weight of his own grief, letting it pour into the song, knowing that sometimes, in the quiet beauty of shared pain, there was a kind of healing.

Moments later, a soft sob broke the fragile silence. The young woman's face crumpled as she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks in rivulets that caught the light. Jeongin’s heart ached for her, a deep, familiar pain unfurling in his chest. His mind flashed back to countless moments where he had seen that same expression etched across your own face—the anguish, the vulnerability. But he didn’t stop playing. Instead, he allowed the melody to swell, his fingers coaxing the guitar strings through the dark waters of sorrow and guiding them back toward a glimmer of hope, like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Let it out,” he murmured, his voice a soft, comforting undertone to the music. “There’s no need to hold back here.” His words were a gentle invitation, a permission to release the emotions that had been held back for far too long. And as if on cue, the room filled with the raw sounds of grief—soft, stifled sobs, muffled cries, the quiet sniffles of those who had long forgotten how to weep openly. Jeongin continued to play, his music becoming a vessel for their pain, a safe harbor where tears could flow without shame or judgment.

Across the circle, he caught a glimpse of the elderly man, his head bowed low, his lips quivering as he mouthed the words of the song. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if trying to ward off a memory too painful to face. Jeongin’s gaze softened, and he let the melody shift, his fingers moving with practiced ease into something softer, gentler—like a lull after the fury of a storm. Each note was deliberate, a quiet caress to soothe the raw edges of the room's collective sorrow. He watched as the weight of grief began to lift, ever so slightly, and the room took a deep breath, exhaling the heaviness that had clung to them like a shadow.

When the final note faded into the stillness, Jeongin let the silence settle, heavy but not suffocating. He set his guitar down gently, his eyes meeting each person’s in turn, offering a silent acknowledgment of their pain. “Thank you for sharing this space with me,” he said, his voice a soft balm even as his own heart bore the scars of past regrets. Too often did Jeongin lose sleep over how he, despite his profession, had failed to help you through your own grief. “Grief is heavy, but together, we can carry it, even if just for a moment.”

The young woman wiped at her tears, her face still etched with the rawness of her emotions, but in her eyes, there was a faint spark—a glimmer of relief, as if, for the first time in a long while, she felt a little less alone. The elderly man’s shoulders sagged, a heavy breath escaping his lips, as though a burden had been lifted, if only for a moment. Jeongin offered a small, gentle smile, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke of understanding and quiet encouragement. He picked up his guitar again, fingers brushing against the strings with a familiar, comforting touch.

“How about we end with something light?” he suggested, strumming a few upbeat chords, his eyes brightening with a hint of mischief. “Maybe a song that reminds us of hope. Even when it’s hard to see, it’s always there… waiting for us.” His words hung in the air like a promise, a tender reminder that there was light even in the darkest of places.

And so, with his voice soft but steady, Jeongin led them into another song—one that spoke of healing, of finding strength in the most shattered places, and of a quiet, enduring joy that could bloom even in the darkest seasons of life. This was a song Jeongin had written and composed in the wake of your absence, in the silence that followed your sudden departure. It was a song born of hope, crafted in those long months of not knowing, a song he had always dreamed of sharing with you. And as he sang, he let that hope fill the room, weaving through the notes, a quiet, resilient thread that held the promise of brighter days.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the group therapy session had officially ended, but Jeongin's office was still filled with the quiet shuffling of his patients gradually making their way out. This wasn't unusual; some of them often lingered, seeking a few more moments to connect or share their thoughts, and Jeongin never minded. He found these moments invaluable—an opportunity to touch base, to offer a final bit of encouragement or reassurance.

As Jeongin turned to watch the last patient leave, he was surprised to find his friend Changbin leaning against the doorframe. Changbin’s muscular arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and it only grew wider when Jeongin’s gaze finally met his. "Bin," Jeongin greeted with a slight bow, his dimples appearing as he returned his friend's smile. He moved toward his desk on the opposite end of the room, a space that served as both his office and a therapy room within the clinic.

Without waiting for an invitation, Changbin followed him, settling himself comfortably into the leather chair meant for Jeongin. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Jeongin let out a small huff of amusement at his friend's antics. He took a seat in one of the smaller chairs intended for his patients, his gaze fixed on Changbin. "What are you doing here?" Jeongin finally asked, watching his friend lounging back in the chair, hands interlocked casually behind his head.

Changbin's playful demeanor slowly shifted, his eyes losing their mischievous spark as they settled into something more serious. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on Jeongin's desk, the sudden shift in atmosphere making Jeongin's heart pick up a little in pace. He tried to keep his expression soft, maintaining a small smile even as he braced himself for whatever Changbin had come to say.

For a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence as Changbin seemed to struggle with his words, his brows furrowing in thought. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke, "You know how Yongbok and Hannie wanted to have a joint celebration for their birthdays this Friday, right?" Jeongin's brows knit together in confusion; he hadn’t expected such a mundane topic. Still, he nodded, waiting for the real reason behind Changbin's visit.

"Well, everything will be pretty much the same... but we wanted to tell you this before you showed up." Changbin paused, his worried eyes meeting Jeongin's increasingly anxious gaze. After a deep breath, he continued, "Y/N moved back here a little over a week ago and reached out to us almost immediately. We helped them settle back down, and we've been spending some time with them, catching up on everything. Yongbok and Hannie wanted them to be included in their birthday celebration, but we also wanted to check in with you. Make sure you're okay with that first."

Jeongin felt his entire world tilt on its axis, Changbin's words crashing into him like a wave he hadn’t braced for. A million questions stormed through his mind, so fast and furious that he couldn’t quite grasp a single one. "Wait." His hand shot up, signaling his need for a pause as he shifted forward, perching on the edge of his chair. His voice, tinged with betrayal and hurt, spilled out in a rushed breath, "What do you mean Y/N moved back here a week ago? Why am I just learning about this now?"

A look of guilt shadowed Changbin's face, his expression softening with regret. "Y/N asked us not to tell you for a little bit because they weren't ready to handle it yet... but now that everything's settled, they have a new job and everything—Y/N is ready to meet with you if you'd like." He hesitated, and a flicker of panic widened his eyes as he quickly added, "But you didn't hear that last part from me. Y/N wanted to be the one to reach out at some point today or tomorrow."

The silence that followed was heavy, all-consuming, wrapping around Jeongin like a thick fog. He struggled to wrap his mind around the news of your return, the idea of seeing you again so unexpectedly unsettling. The weight of your absence, the questions left unanswered, all resurfaced in that single moment, leaving him adrift in a sea of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face.

Jeongin didn't quite know how to feel about you moving back into town after leaving him without so much as a goodbye. The news of your return stirred a storm of emotions within him, each one more complicated than the last. On one hand, he understood your reasons for leaving—the desperate need to escape from everything that reminded you of your younger sister, Nari, and the weight of your relationship with him, which had grown heavy with grief and unresolved pain. He could see why you had to flee, to distance yourself from the memories that clung to every corner of the town like shadows that wouldn't let you breathe.

But understanding didn't erase the sting of abandonment. Jeongin couldn't ignore the countless sleepless nights he’d endured, his mind spiraling into an abyss of what-ifs and could-have-beens. He thought back to the moments when your relationship had still felt beautiful and safe, long before it had quietly begun to crumble beneath the weight of tragedy. In truth, he realized, the love between you had started to fray the very moment you received the devastating news of Nari’s fatal accident. It had unraveled slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what once was. By the time he officially ended things, the love you shared had already been gone, replaced by a haunting emptiness.

For months after you left, Jeongin had nearly driven himself to madness, caught in a vicious cycle of regret and self-blame. Every waking moment was spent agonizing over all the different ways he might have pulled you out of your grief. Could he have said something different, done something more? Could he have been more patient, more understanding? He had replayed these thoughts over and over, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. There was a time when he couldn’t even look at his own reflection without being reminded of his failure—his inability to be the anchor you needed in the storm of your sorrow. He blamed himself for your sudden departure, believing that if he had fought for you a little harder, if he had held on just a bit longer, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Slowly, though, Jeongin had begun to emerge from the shadows of his own grief. He had started to come to terms with the loss—not just of Nari, whom he had loved deeply through you, but also the loss of the future he had imagined with you by his side. He’d begun to accept that his own heartbreak, mixed with the suffocating weight of guilt, was something he needed to release in order to move forward. Jeongin had finally allowed himself to realize that in the grand scheme of things, staying by your side would have meant losing himself in the process, trying to bring back a version of you that had vanished the day Nari did. He’d come to understand that you were never going to be the same person again, and neither was he.

And now, just when he was starting to find a semblance of peace, you chose this moment to step back into his life. It felt like the ground he had just managed to steady himself on was beginning to shake once more. Jeongin wasn’t sure if he was ready to face you again, to reopen wounds that were only just beginning to scar over. Yet, there was also a flicker of something else—a hope, perhaps, or maybe just curiosity—about what this new chapter could bring. But whatever it was, it left him feeling unsettled, standing on the precipice of a past he had tried so hard to leave behind.

As his mind continued to swirl with a torrent of thoughts, Jeongin was startled by the bitterness that began to simmer beneath the surface of his heart. The resentment was unexpected, an emotion so potent that it almost frightened him. It clawed at him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth, a stark contrast to the calm demeanor he usually carried. But as his gaze lifted, his eyes locked with Changbin's, and he saw the concern etched in his friend's face. The anxiety in Changbin's sincere eyes was unmistakable, quietly tracking the cascade of emotions that flickered across Jeongin's vulnerable features like a storm passing through.

Despite the sharp sting of betrayal—the feeling of being kept in the dark by his closest friends, who had not only hidden your return from him but also lied to him so they could spend time with you—Jeongin found a small measure of solace in Changbin’s quiet empathy. It was as if Changbin's presence anchored him, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t navigating these turbulent waters alone. In that brief moment, Jeongin’s chaotic thoughts cleared enough for him to take a deep, steadying breath. He slumped back into his chair, his eyes dropping to his sneakers, suddenly feeling the weight of his own exhaustion. His shoulders sagged, heavy with the burden of emotions he could no longer ignore.

"I don’t know if I’ll be ready to meet with Y/N before the party," Jeongin confessed in a low murmur meant only for Changbin’s ears. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable, a raw and tender ache that clung to every word. He took a moment, trying to gather his thoughts that seemed to scatter like leaves in the wind. "But I’m not going to stand in the way of Y/N joining the birthday party—especially since it’s not my place to decide that. I’ll still be there, and I want to be as civil as possible. So, please, don’t let anyone make it more awkward than it needs to be, or I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it."

His voice trembled by the end, his courage wavering as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Changbin's once more. There was a flicker of something fragile there, something almost hopeful, despite the tangled mess of his emotions. Changbin nodded, a soft smile pulling at his lips, a small gesture of gratitude and understanding. He stood up, moving closer to lay a firm, reassuring hand on Jeongin’s shoulder—a rare show of affection, knowing how Jeongin tended to shy away from touch, especially when his emotions were laid bare like this.

"I’ll talk to the boys," Changbin promised, his voice steady, grounding. It was the most he could offer in that moment, aware of how delicate the situation was.

With that, Changbin turned and quietly exited Jeongin's office, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts. The room seemed to close in around him, heavy with the weight of everything he was yet to fully comprehend. Jeongin remained seated, lost in the labyrinth of his own complicated emotions—anger, sadness, regret, and something else, something almost like a glimmer of hope—all swirling together in a chaotic dance that he had no idea how to untangle.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

In the three days leading up to the eagerly awaited joint birthday party on Friday—an event hosted by Chan for Felix and Jisung—Jeongin found himself ensnared in a relentless spiral of anxiety and anticipation. The looming prospect of encountering you after nearly a year of absence gnawed at him with a persistence that bordered on torment. He grappled with a thousand imagined scenarios, each one an intricate tapestry of potential outcomes and emotional landmines. The uncertainty was a constant, unsettling presence in his life.

Jeongin’s small apartment, once shared with you, had become a labyrinth of memories and regrets. He often wandered its confines, the soft thud of his footsteps a mournful echo of the unease that had taken residence in his chest. The apartment seemed to sigh with each step he took, as if mourning the lost echoes of a time when you had been there. Despite his efforts to bury himself in work, the thought of you lingered like an unwelcome shadow, a constant undercurrent that refused to be ignored. He would catch himself staring at his phone, repeatedly re-reading the message you had sent him just hours after Changbin’s visit—a message that had become both a lifeline and a tormentor.

Your text, which read:

Hey, Jeongin. It’s been a while. I know I left without much of an explanation and cut off contact... I’m sorry for how I handled things. I’m sorry for a lot of things, actually. But I wasn’t in the best place back then, and I needed time to figure things out on my own. I’m back in town now, and I’d like to talk sometime if you’re open to it. No pressure—I just feel like there are a lot of things that were left unsaid between us. Take care!

Every time Jeongin read these words, a storm of emotions would churn within him. The initial formality of your greeting felt like a cold draft from a distant past, a stark contrast to the warmth that had once existed between you. The passage of time loomed large, a reminder of the endless stretch of days that had passed since your sudden disappearance. He was struck by a poignant blend of nostalgia and pain, the abruptness of your departure a constant reminder of how unfinished your story had been.

Your apology, though a balm of sorts, stirred a complicated mix of relief and frustration within him. On one hand, it acknowledged the hurt you had caused, but on the other, it left a multitude of unresolved questions hanging in the air. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why did you sever all contact? Jeongin understood that you were not in a good place and needed space, but that understanding did little to soothe the sting of abandonment he felt. The sense of being left in the dark, coupled with a profound sadness over his inability to help you, left him grappling with a blend of guilt and anger.

The mention of wanting to talk now jolted him, a surge of conflicting emotions rushing to the surface. He was torn between the desire to reconnect and the fear of reopening old wounds. The prospect of addressing the myriad of things left unsaid between you brought with it a flood of memories—regrets, unresolved issues, and a yearning for closure. Each re-reading of your message plunged him deeper into a whirlpool of complicated thoughts and emotions, the turbulence of his feelings both paralyzing and consuming.

Ultimately, Jeongin found himself unable to craft a suitable response, and so he chose silence. His decision not to reply was one shrouded in uncertainty, a choice that left him questioning whether it was the right one. The silence that followed was both a refuge and a torment, a delicate balance between preserving his own peace and the unresolved echo of your return.

The night of the party arrived under a canopy of crisp, clear sky, the stars shimmering with an almost mocking brilliance. Jeongin drifted through the evening like a specter, his senses overwhelmed by a world that seemed too bright, too noisy, and far too indifferent to his turmoil. His apartment, once a sanctuary, had become a chaotic jumble of discarded outfits—each one cast aside with a frustrated sigh and a sense of resignation. The fabric of his clothes lay strewn about like the remnants of a battle fought and lost against his own anxiety. Nothing felt right, and the more he tried, the more he was convinced that nothing ever would.

Eventually, he settled on a modest ensemble—simple, unobtrusive, and devoid of any hint of personal flair. As he dressed, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and what he saw was a stranger staring back—an image of confusion and trepidation. He attempted a smile, one that was supposed to be confident and reassuring, but it fell flat, a mere shadow of what he hoped to project. By the time he arrived at Chan's place, his nerves were a live wire, sparking and fizzing with every heartbeat.

The apartment, already abuzz with the lively hum of music and the warm murmur of laughter, was suffused with the rich, inviting aroma of a feast. Jeongin took a deep breath, steeling himself before stepping into the vibrant chaos. Felix, ever the beacon of warmth, was the first to greet him. His smile was a radiant crescent, eyes sparkling with the playful twinkle of a galaxy etched upon his cheeks and nose. Felix enveloped Jeongin in a tight, enthusiastic hug, and Jeongin could almost gauge the number of drinks Felix had indulged in by the exuberance of the embrace. As he disentangled himself from the fervent welcome, he was met with a slew of half-hidden concern and reassuring smiles that nearly suffocated him with their well-meaning pity.

He made his way to the kitchen, where the counter was a tableau of gifts—boxes and bags for Felix and Han piled high in cheerful disarray. Jeongin added his own contribution to the heap and then sought refuge in the cool solace of the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water to soothe his parched throat. But then, as if fate itself had conspired to make this night even more unbearable, you appeared in the kitchen doorway.

You had been laughing lightly, a melodic sound that seemed to dance on the air, but upon spotting Jeongin, you froze mid-step. The sight of you was like a flash of brilliance in an otherwise dim landscape. You looked as radiant as ever, with a glimmer of the light that had once illuminated your eyes returning to them—a light Jeongin had once lost himself in with reckless abandon. At that moment, the gravity of his own emotions hit him with a brutal clarity. Despite having ended the relationship, he realized with a heavy heart that he was still desperately, achingly in love with you. Even after nearly a year of separation, the feelings remain undiminished.

You slowly composed yourself, though your body remained taut with the remnants of surprise. The smile you gave him was both disarming and electrifying, sending a shiver through him. With a polite bow, you greeted him, your voice soft and warm as you said, “I’m really glad to see you again, Jeongin.” The way you spoke his name made his knees feel weak, the sheer depth of his longing crystallizing in that single, familiar sound. He had not fully grasped how much he had yearned to hear his name on your lips again until that very moment.

Unable to find words, Jeongin merely bowed in return, his smile shy and tremulous. He watched you turn and leave the kitchen with a hurried pace, your earlier purpose forgotten. The realization dawned on him that he might need more than just water to navigate the emotional maelstrom of the evening.

Chan's party was a sanctuary of familiarity, a gathering of a close-knit circle of friends who had weathered years together. The night had unfolded in a haze of laughter and lively banter, and now, as Jeongin found himself pleasantly intoxicated from the endless rounds of drinking games, he couldn't help but revel in the camaraderie that had once again enveloped the room. It felt undeniably comforting to have everyone gathered under one roof again, especially you.

The past year had cast a shadow over the group's dynamic, your absence an unspoken void that lingered between them, palpable despite the silence. Yet now, with your return, the room seemed to breathe with a renewed vitality. It was as though the very air had shifted, carrying with it a sense of ease that had been sorely missed. Jeongin observed you from a distance, his gaze drawn to you as you reengaged with the group. He noted with quiet awe how you moved through conversations with an effortless grace, the same grace that had once been your hallmark.

It was apparent that you had emerged from the clutches of your grief, a revelation that stirred a profound admiration within Jeongin. The way you laughed, genuinely and freely, was a testament to your resilience. Though you had left without a word, seeking solace far away, you had returned with a newfound lightness. The laughter that now danced from your lips was a melody Jeongin had missed, a balm for the aching absence that had haunted him throughout the past year.

Jeongin watched with a bittersweet smile as you engaged with everyone—how your eyes crinkled at the corners when joy sparked within you, how they would occasionally meet his gaze with a fleeting, shy acknowledgment before darting away, leaving behind a gentle blush. Each moment was a delicate brush stroke on the canvas of your reunion, painting a picture of someone who had found a way to heal and reconnect.

The sight of you dancing playfully with Han to a song you both claimed had been crafted just for you was particularly poignant. Your movements were a symphony of carefree delight, a stark contrast to the somber image Jeongin had harbored of you. In these shared, joyful moments, as you reintegrated into the tapestry of old friendships, Jeongin felt his heart tugged with an intensity that defied explanation.

Though the effects of alcohol swirled around him, amplifying emotions and blurring the edges of reality, Jeongin knew that the depth of his feelings for you transcended any inebriation. The love he harbored was as real and potent as ever, a force that no amount of alcohol could replicate or diminish. He was falling for you once more, each glance and shared laugh reaffirming the connection that had never truly faded, only waiting for the right moment to reawaken.

Despite the undeniable truth of his lingering affection for you, Jeongin remained uncertain of how to navigate these turbulent emotions. For now, he chose to keep his feelings veiled in silence, retreating into the solitude of his thoughts. The haze of confusion was abruptly dispelled by the firm, reassuring weight of Minho’s hand settling on his shoulder, grounding him in the present moment.

Minho, his eyes glazed with the soft blur of alcohol—though not nearly as intoxicated as Felix and Han—clapped his hands together, a signal for attention. His voice, amplified by cupped hands, cut through the ambient noise of music and conversation. "Guys! Guys!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of the increasingly inebriated crowd. The room fell into a collective hush, eager eyes fixed on Minho as he continued with a grin that spoke of mischief. "As per Yongbok’s request, we’re about to kick off a game of UNO! But there’s a twist: every time someone lands a Plus Four card, we all take a shot. And the loser—well, they get a revolting concoction of mixed alcohols and juices!"

The announcement ignited a burst of enthusiastic cheers, the crowd’s energy crackling with anticipation. Laughter and playful shoves accompanied the clumsy shuffle to the circular coffee table at the heart of the living room. Jeongin, with a flicker of hope in his heart, watched as you navigated the sea of friends. His wish to have you beside him was met with a hint of disappointment as you chose a seat directly across from him, nestled between Hyunjin and Seungmin.

The seating arrangement became a familiar circle of camaraderie and chaos: You directly across from Jeongin, Seungmin to your right, Chan to Seungmin’s right, Felix to Chan’s right, Jeongin to Felix’s right, Minho to Jeongin’s right, Han to Minho’s right, Changbin to Hyunjin’s right, and Hyunjin bridging the gap between you and Changbin. The table soon overflowed with the raucous sound of drunken laughter, mischievous plotting, and playful bickering.

Jeongin found himself in an unexpected streak of triumph, his luck seemingly endless as he conquered each round of UNO. The others began to whisper suspicions of cheating, their playful accusations accompanied by slurred speech and tipsy frustration. Chan’s voice, tinged with exasperation, rose above the din. "How is it even possible that you’ve been winning non-stop?" he demanded, his words distorted by a chorus of drinks and Seungmin’s relentless strategy.

Jeongin rolled his eyes, a gesture that had become almost automatic in the face of such claims. Han, who had just suffered the fate of the foul concoction, gagged dramatically as he placed the empty cup down with a groan. The room’s attention shifted to you as you slammed your palm onto the table, a spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. The gesture was a beacon of playful challenge, and it made Jeongin’s heart flutter unexpectedly.

"Stand up then, if you’re not cheating," you teased, your voice laced with both suspicion and amusement. The room buzzed with agreement, and Jeongin could not suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as he rose to his feet. He had sobered somewhat since the game began, the action feeling less consequential for him than for the others.

Throughout the night, the games were interspersed with moments of easy banter between you and Jeongin, a reminder of the lighthearted days before the heartache had set in. Each playful remark, every shared glance, and the way you laughed at his jokes tugged at him, rekindling memories of warmth and affection. The realization of how deeply he missed the feeling of being in love with you clenched his heart painfully.

As Jeongin turned around slowly to prove his hands were empty, he couldn’t resist a smirk. "You didn’t empty out your pockets," you persisted, your stubbornness both charming and exasperating.

He met your gaze with a playful smirk of his own, the words slipping out before he could fully process their impact. "Come on, baby, don’t be like that," he said, his tone teasing.

The room fell silent in stunned unison, the playful atmosphere abruptly shifting to one of surprise and second-hand embarrassment. The weight of Jeongin’s unintended endearment hung in the air, leaving everyone, including him, to grapple with the sudden shift in the night’s delicate balance.

Jeongin’s heart sank as he watched the color drain from your face, a pallor of shock and disbelief that spoke volumes in the charged silence that followed. The name he had unintentionally let slip—a relic of a time when you were together—seemed to strike a chord deep within you. For a fleeting moment, your eyes revealed a heartache that cut through the pretense of composure you so desperately tried to maintain. The expression of hurt was almost palpable, like a silent scream against the fabric of the night.

You managed to reassemble yourself with a stubborn facade of mischief, your smile a delicate mask that barely concealed the storm within. Your words, though laced with playful banter, seemed to cut through the tension with a sharp edge. "I just think it's unnatural how many times you’ve won," you remarked with a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Jeongin’s slip-up hung in the air, a tangible weight that seemed to sour the atmosphere of the gathering. Despite your attempt to downplay the incident with a light-hearted quip, the sting of the old nickname echoed like a ghost of past intimacy, making the room feel suddenly foreign and strained. The previously buoyant mood had shifted, leaving behind an undercurrent of unease that neither the laughter nor the playful jabs could dispel.

Jeongin could feel the churning turmoil within him, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest. The game continued around him, but he found himself withdrawing, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Each stolen glance, each forced smile, was a reminder of the painful reminder of how things had changed. The night, which had started with such promise, now felt heavy and laden with unresolved emotions.

As the hour grew late and the laughter waned, the group, sensing the shift in energy, collectively decided it was time to call it a night. The revelry that had marked the evening dissolved into a subdued murmur as everyone prepared to leave. For Jeongin, the end of the night came as a relief, though it was tinged with a sense of lingering regret and an unspoken wish for things to be different.

As Jeongin made his way through the dimly lit apartment, exchanging farewells with the departing guests, he caught a fleeting glimpse of you darting out of the building. His heart, already heavy with a tumultuous mix of emotions, quickened its pace as he instinctively sought to follow. With an urgency driven by both concern and an aching need to make things right, Jeongin scrambled to retrieve his jacket and pull on his shoes, the night air already beginning to bite at his skin as he hurried after you.

He managed to intercept you just as you stepped out onto the cold street. Your name slipped from his lips before he could catch it, a desperate utterance that hung in the frosty air between you. You paused, your breath visible in the night’s chill, and both of you stood there for a moment, hearts racing in unison. Jeongin's breath came in ragged bursts as he caught up with you, the weight of his impulsive actions settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Let me walk you home,” Jeongin implored, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of anxiety and hope. The words, simple yet laden with his longing, seemed to hang in the air, as though the night itself held its breath in anticipation of your response. Your eyes softened, reflecting a tempest of emotions as they met his, and your lips parted slightly as if struggling to find the right words.

Instead of speaking, you turned and began walking forward, your steps deliberate yet hesitant. Jeongin, interpreting your silence as tacit consent, fell into step beside you. The street stretched out before you, unfamiliar and shadowed, and the air between you was charged with unspoken sentiments and lingering regrets. Walking side by side felt oddly reminiscent of days gone by, a bittersweet echo of times shared with friends, now tinged with the ache of what had been lost.

In the week since Jeongin learned of your return, he had been trapped in a cycle of conflicting emotions. The pangs of missing you, of realizing the depth of his feelings that still burned despite everything, battled with the frustration of your unexplained departure. Each time anger threatened to overwhelm him, guilt swiftly followed, a reminder of the suffering you must have endured. His internal struggle was a storm of longing and resentment, a turbulent sea he had yet to navigate.

As he stole glances at your profile in the dim streetlight, the familiar contours of your face brought an unexpected rush of grief. Memories of your younger sister, Nari, flooded his mind—her laughter, a joyful sound that once filled the air, her enthusiastic embraces that had always greeted him with warmth. Your eyes, once so bright with shared mirth, now seemed dimmed by her absence.

The realization that Nari would never again tackle him in playful greeting, that her laughter would never again ring out, was a heavy burden. It pressed down on Jeongin’s heart, a reminder of the irreplaceable void left behind. The twinkle that once danced in your eyes when you laughed at Nari's jokes was now a distant memory, a reminder of how deeply her loss had affected both of you. As you walked together through the unfamiliar streets, the weight of these lost joys seemed to bear down on Jeongin, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Engulfed in the whirlpool of his own somber reflections, Jeongin barely noticed when you came to a halt before an old, weathered apartment building. Absorbed in his tumultuous thoughts, he continued forward for a few steps, his mind adrift in a sea of regret and longing. It was only when the melodic sound of your giggle reached his ears, a playful echo that cut through the fog of his melancholy, that he realized he was walking alone. With a start, he turned, his face flushing with a sheepish smile as he moved to stand before you.

You were standing there, your knuckles clenched tightly around the strap of your bag, a telltale sign of the anxiety simmering beneath the surface. Your lips were caught between your teeth, a nervous habit that Jeongin had come to know all too well. The sight of your distress mirrored his own internal turmoil, causing his foot to tap restlessly on the pavement as he waited for you to speak. The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy shroud that seemed to settle between you.

After a few moments of strained silence, you released a shaky breath and offered him a small, timid smile. "It was good to see you again," you said softly, the words tinged with a trace of the anxiety that laced your voice. It was the same sentiment you had voiced earlier in the night, when you had first reappeared in Chan's kitchen after an eight-month absence.

This time, Jeongin’s response came with a gravity that reflected the depth of your absence. "I’m glad you came back," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the months spent apart, yet softened by a flicker of genuine contentment.

Your smile, though hesitant, shone brightly against the backdrop of the night. It was a beacon that pierced through the haze of Jeongin’s heartache, and despite the unresolved tension, he couldn’t help but return it with a warm, albeit uncertain, smile of his own. The air between you crackled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings, a delicate balance between the urge to bridge the gap and the inability to articulate the depth of your emotions.

As you cast an awkward glance back at the entrance of your apartment, Jeongin understood that you were grappling with the same indecision that plagued him. "This is me," you said, your voice betraying a trace of nervousness as you cleared your throat. "My place is a bit of a distance from our—sorry, your apartment. If you’re comfortable, I can offer you my couch for the night."

Despite the initial reluctance that had gripped him, the prospect of spending more time with you, however fleeting, was too inviting to resist. Jeongin found himself smiling softly, a gesture of acceptance that was both hesitant and heartfelt. Your genuine, wide smile in response seemed to illuminate the night, lifting the veil of uncertainty that had surrounded him. With a renewed sense of hope and a lingering trace of longing, Jeongin followed you inside, each step towards your apartment a tentative step towards mending the fragile thread that connected your hearts.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your new apartment, though modest in size, exudes a quiet charm, nestled in a serene part of town far removed from the familiar streets you once traversed with Jeongin. The moment he crosses the threshold, he is enveloped by a dissonance of emotions—a strange fusion of comfort and estrangement. The space is distinctly different from the apartment you once shared, yet your presence lingers in every corner, making Jeongin feel both intimately connected and like an outsider peering into a world that has shifted just out of reach.

The living room, modestly furnished, reflects a minimalist elegance. A soft, neutral-colored couch rests against the wall, draped with a knitted throw blanket that adds a touch of warmth. This room is a far cry from the eclectic mix of your past home—a space once filled with a vibrant blend of your belongings and his—but it still bears the subtle imprint of your personality. A small shelf brims with books, many titles familiar from your old collection, but new ones have also appeared, whispering of the changes and growth you’ve experienced in your absence. The windowsill cradles a few houseplants, their greenery a delicate contrast to the sprawling flora that once filled your old living space. They are smaller, more contained, reflecting a more subdued chapter of your life.

Jeongin’s gaze drifts to the walls, bare and unadorned, stark in their emptiness. Gone are the framed photos and art prints that once animated every corner of your shared apartment. The absence of pictures—particularly those of the two of you—leaves an unexpected sting, a painful reminder of what has been left behind. Instead, there is a single framed photograph of your younger sister on a side table by the window, surrounded by a cluster of candles. It stands as a quiet tribute, a poignant memorial that tugs at Jeongin’s heartstrings, reminding him of the grief that ultimately drove a wedge between you both.

The apartment is imbued with a subdued quietness, a stark contrast to the lively energy of your former home, where laughter and soft music once intertwined to create a vibrant ambiance. Here, the atmosphere is more solitary, introspective, as if the space has been intentionally crafted as a sanctuary for healing—a refuge from the chaos of the past. A small kitchen table, cluttered with a few empty glasses and a half-read book, suggests many solitary evenings spent with your thoughts, lost in the pages or gazing into the distance, ensnared by memories.

The kitchen itself bears no evidence of the late-night culinary adventures you used to drag him into, those joyous moments of laughter and flour-covered countertops. As Jeongin takes in the scene, he is overwhelmed by a complex weave of emotions—nostalgia for what was, sorrow for what has been lost, and a poignant ache for the version of you who now stands before him. The differences are striking, revealing a careful, deliberate solitude you’ve constructed around yourself in this new space. It feels as though you’ve created a bubble of tranquility, a place where you can breathe freely from the weight of the past, and he wonders if there is still a place for him within it or if you have moved on to a new chapter without him.

The emptiness of your new apartment weighs heavily on him. It’s not merely the physical void but the absence of the vibrant, unfiltered you that he used to know. Standing there, a guest in what might have been his world, Jeongin is acutely aware of how much has changed and how deeply he still yearns for the comfort of what once was, now replaced by the stark reality of what is.

As Jeongin steps into your new apartment, he takes in its subtle details with a blend of curiosity and nostalgia. You move about with a quiet, almost anxious energy, as if the mere act of tidying is a way to manage the fluttering tension between you. Your hands, unsure of their purpose, engage in small, inconsequential tasks: smoothing the corner of the knitted blanket draped over the couch, adjusting the book that rests on the kitchen table, and shifting a houseplant slightly to the left. It is evident that you are aware of his gaze, but you strive to give him space to absorb his surroundings.

The silence stretches until you break it, your voice soft yet resolute. "It's not much, but... it's mine." There’s a delicate balance in your tone, a mixture of pride laced with vulnerability. You glance at him, seeking to gauge his reaction, your eyes reflecting a world of untold emotions. As you move towards the small kitchen area, you open a cabinet and retrieve two glasses. "Do you want some water? Tea? I think I have some wine if you'd prefer that." Your words tumble out in a gentle stream, an attempt to fill the quiet with something tangible, yet they carry an earnestness that reveals your underlying uncertainty about where you both stand.

Jeongin watches you, his gaze softening as he observes the careful grace of your movements—each gesture imbued with a quiet protectiveness, as if you're safeguarding something tender within yourself. The silence deepens for a moment before he responds, his voice subdued and tentative. "Water's fine." It is clear that he is navigating this new terrain with caution, his tone reflective of the delicate balance between past familiarity and present distance. You nod and move towards the fridge, your back turned to him as you pour the water.

Jeongin’s eyes wander around the apartment once more, deliberately avoiding the back of your head as you focus on the task at hand. When you hand him the glass, your fingers brush against his, sending a shiver through him. It’s a sensation he’s not quite accustomed to after all this time apart. He accepts the glass with a quiet "thanks," savoring the cool water as it soothes his dry throat.

"Let’s sit," you suggest, motioning towards the couch. There is a steadiness in your voice that carries a quiet confidence, reminiscent of the times you had managed to ground him amidst the chaos. Jeongin follows you and settles beside you on the couch. The cushions feel foreign and different from those he remembers, amplifying his sense of longing for the comfort of the home you once shared.

For a brief moment, Jeongin is at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the tangled emotions in his chest. He is unsure where to begin, but you gently ease the tension. "How’s work been?" you inquire, your voice a soothing balm to the heaviness in the room. "Are you still at the same clinic?"

Grateful for the opening, Jeongin nods. "Yeah, still there. We started a new program recently... working with kids who've been through some really tough stuff. It’s been challenging, but rewarding." He watches as your eyes soften, a sign of the empathy and kindness he’s always admired in you. The sight of your genuine smile, the one he’s missed so dearly, is like a balm on a wound that has long ached.

"That sounds so nice. You've always been so good with children." Your compliment is heartfelt, and Jeongin feels a pang of longing.

He responds with a light-hearted joke, "That’s more your area of expertise," referring to your work as a school counselor. You chuckle softly, taking a sip of water, and Jeongin senses there’s more you wish to share.

"And... what about everything else? How have you been holding up?" Your question is gentle but probing, and Jeongin’s grip tightens around his glass.

"It’s been... different," he admits. "The apartment feels empty without you there. Like something’s missing."

Jeongin hadn't intended for his words to emerge with such raw intensity, but they tumble out before he can rein them in. He watches as they land upon you, the way your gaze falls and a shadow of sorrow flits across your face. "I'm sorry," you murmur, the words almost lost in the quiet of the room. "For leaving like that. I didn’t know what else to do."

Your apology strikes a chord deep within him, a resonance of shared pain and regret. "I know," he replies softly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding. "I don’t really blame you. We both had to figure things out." The atmosphere between you shifts, the earlier tension giving way to something more tender—like an old wound beginning to mend.

Jeongin sits beside you on the couch, his nerves stretched taut, a wire humming with unspoken words. His hands are clenched in his lap, a desperate attempt to hold himself together as the silence stretches, thick and heavy. His gaze is drawn to you, to the way you hold your glass of water—fingers wrapped around it as if it were a lifeline, anchoring you to some semblance of normalcy.

He recognizes that look in your eyes—the one that signals you are about to reveal something profound, something that has been weighing on you. "When I left," you start, your voice so faint it nearly dissolves into the air. Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat. He had no clear expectations for the evening, but he can feel that whatever is coming will be laced with pain.

"I didn’t really have a plan," you continue, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. "I just... needed to get away." He watches as your eyes drift to the water in your glass, your reflection shimmering and distorted. The impulse to reach out and offer comfort is almost overwhelming, but he remains still, his focus entirely on you.

"I ended up halfway across the country," you say, your voice gaining a faint thread of strength. "I reached out to Lily. You remember her, right? From college?" Jeongin nods, a wistful smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. He recalls Lily’s vivacious spirit, her constant care for you, and feels a pang of gratitude that she was there for you in a way he couldn't be.

"She didn’t ask questions; she just told me to come," you add. Jeongin’s heart clenches at the image of you in a strange, distant place, the weight of your grief looming like an oppressive storm. He loathes the thought of you feeling so alone and adrift, needing to travel so far for solace.

"She lives in this tiny coastal town," you continue, your voice lightening slightly as you recall the memory. "For a while, I thought maybe that was what I needed—being somewhere far away from everything." Jeongin can almost visualize it—a serene seaside town where the waves gently erase footprints, a place where time seems to stretch indefinitely, offering a balm for the wounded soul.

Yet, beneath the surface of your words, Jeongin senses an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The coastal retreat, while soothing, evidently fell short of the healing you sought. His heart aches, burdened by the realization that he wasn’t able to provide the support you needed, even as he too was grappling with his own struggles. The distance between your shared past and the present feels vast, and he yearns for a way to bridge that gap, to be the anchor you needed, even though he was floundering himself.

You pause, and Jeongin watches as you swallow hard, the movement of your throat a testament to the weight of your words. "I eventually realized that it wasn't enough," you say, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. "I needed more help. So, I checked myself into a grief recovery program..." The words falter, and Jeongin feels a tightening in his chest, the emotion reflected in your wavering tone. "A place where people go when they've lost someone and don't know how to keep living."

He stares at you, his vision blurring as he grapples with the magnitude of your suffering. He's known grief, but seeing it through your eyes—so raw, so utterly consuming—is a new experience for him. Guilt crashes over him like a relentless wave. He wasn't there for you. He couldn't help. He didn't even know how to begin.

Jeongin opens his mouth, an apology poised on his lips, but you continue, your voice cutting through the silence with a quiet determination. "There were days I wanted to leave, but I stayed. I wrote a lot. I planted a small garden there, just to feel like I was nurturing something again, you know? And slowly, I started to remember things without feeling like they were completely breaking me."

His hands tremble in his lap, the truth of your words stirring a deep regret within him. He should be happy that you found a way forward, relieved that you began to heal, but instead, he is overwhelmed by the ache of not being there for you—by the realization that he had abandoned you when you needed him most. His eyes search yours, desperate for some sign that you don’t harbor hatred towards him.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like," he finally manages, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I ended things when you needed me. I didn’t know how to help you through it, and I—"

You shake your head, a wistful smile curving your lips. "I didn’t know how to let you help me, either. And I wasn’t ready to accept Nari’s death and move on yet. That’s why I left." Your words settle into the spaces between his ribs, a cold weight pressing heavily on his chest. He wants to explain, to tell you that he was lost too, that he struggled to keep his own head above water while watching you drown. But he stays silent, knowing that this moment belongs to you, just as much as it does to him.

"I needed to find a way to live with the grief," you say softly, "to not let it define every part of me. And maybe I needed to see if I could come back and face everything, including you."

Jeongin’s heart skips at that, a flicker of hope igniting within him. There is a softness in your eyes that he hasn't seen in so long, a hint of something that almost resembles hope. He takes a breath, feeling a slight loosening of the weight of his own regrets. "I'm glad you did," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you—missed this, even if it wasn’t always easy."

You nod, and he sees a myriad of emotions dance across your face—relief, uncertainty, and perhaps the faintest trace of affection. There is much to unpack, many layers to explore, but for now, this moment of quiet honesty, of shared pain and cautious hope, feels like a tentative step towards understanding.

Jeongin notices his hand is closer to yours than he had realized, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what it would be like to reach out, to touch your skin once more. But he doesn’t. Not yet. For now, he is content to sit beside you, to listen, and to cherish the hope that this—whatever it is—might be the beginning of finding each other again.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy @bokk-minnie @tajannah-price1 @lixies-favorite-cookie @madewithchildlabor (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Post taglist: @stascence @xxdwaekkaxx @raspberrii @joyofbebbanburg @drewsandsebastianswife @minholover1 @vangoghsear0 @theodorenottgf @chanshyunjin @cafffeineconnoisseur @villainstayy @qwonyoung23 @fawnoverdawn @sofix-hc7 @softkisshyunjin @anushasstuff

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

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thesparklingwriter · 10 months

Text

treasured moments

tags: established relationship, fem!reader, fluff, dragon zhong doing dragon zhong things (he's hoarding treasure)(he likes soft things)

"celeste, rin's birthday way in june--" shhhh.... i am 6 months behind on everything. hush.

lore: around the time of @zhongrin 's birthday, i very suspiciously left an ask for undisclosed reasons asking about things she thought Zhongli would secretly like. and in order to maximise the surprise I decided to wait six months before even starting the fic, AND almost forgot to add the one thing she said she thought he liked but I digress. nobody expected it, did they? i got you all. right? i got you right? you're all surprised?

masterlist | taglist

It’s a well known fact that dragons are hoarders. When they find something they hold dear, they will go to extreme lengths to protect it. They will fill their abodes with the things they love, collecting anything that reminds them of it—anything to curate their home to the best of their ability.

Your dragon is no different. Zhongli will often return home with small trinkets that you truly believe there is no space for, and you often tell him as such, albeit offhandedly. He’s good at decorating, and for some reason, the house never seems crowded or cluttered.

Over time, you began to notice his preferences change. At first it was noticing the crystal and ores he found matching the colour of your eyes, or your hair, or a piece of clothing you hold dearly. You’d notice that sometimes, after pulling you close to him in the middle of the night, and quietly remarking about how soft you are, he’d come home with something knitted or plush. Things you mention to him in passing suddenly pop up in your room or on your bed. You know not to say anything about it, afraid of making him embarrassed or suppress himself out of fear of offending you, but it’s hard to express you’re gratitude without words.

When you hear the sound of the front door opening, you pull yourself out of the cushions and blankets you’ve buried yourself in (courtesy of Zhongli, of course) and head towards the door to greet him.

“Good evening, love.” He says when he sees you, putting his bag gently pulling you into a hug. “How has your day been?”

“It’s been okay.” You ask about his day too, before shifting you attention to his bag. “What did you get?”

“I happened upon these woven blankets during my walk home.” He watches as you look inside. “I thought they might be a welcome addition to the house.”

Before, you might have agreed quietly, desperate to not make him to aware of himself. But now, you think quietly to yourself. “I’ve been thinking that the seat in the study is somewhat bare.”

You aren’t looking at him, so you don’t notice the slight glimmer that appears in his eyes as you begin to devise where his latest trinket shall go. He isn’t bothered about where you choose to put the blanket or whether colours might clash, however. He knows that his true treasure is found wherever you are.

notes: rin i hope you don't mind me tagging you but if you do I apologise and I hope everything in your life is getting better and your pillow is cold on all sides and---

taglist: @thelonelyarchon@aixaingela@medusuu

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #zhongli fanfic #zhongli fluff #genshin fluff #genshin zhongli #zhongli genshin impact

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mediumgayitalian · 5 months

Text

The crooked, creaky door of the cluttered infirmary storage room pushes open and slams shut in the span of a second, just barely allowing someone to dart through. Nico jumps, banging his head on the shelf he’s hiding under, chomping full force on his lip to bite back a shout. The shadows, on lucky reflex, bend around him and shroud his face. The rest of him he tucks further into the forgotten corner between two filing cabinets, holding his breath.

Under the unflattering light of the single swinging lightbulb, Will looks dull.

A thin headband attempts to hold back his frizzy hair, although it does very little. Curls stick out oddly and many shorter hairs are plastered to his temples and the back of his neck. His skin is unusually lacklustre, even pale, except for the high flush around his cheekbones. The bruising under his eyes rivals Nico’s. He has been wearing the same scrubs for the last two days.

With one last look at the closed door, nothing but garbled voices filtering through the heavy wood, he slumps. He drops his face into his chapped and bleeding hands, heels pressed into his eyes, and holds them there for ten seconds, twenty. Slowly, with trembles so minute they are at first glance unnoticeable, his shoulders begin to shake. The long fingers flexed and tensed around his forehead curl tightly, and he twitches, whole body trembling, teeth sunk hard into his bottom lip to stop his chin from quivering.

It does not work.

The first sob is quiet. He catches it quickly, forcing it back down, breathing heavily through his nose and out his mouth to beat it back. The second follows quickly, though, and it’s harder to choke down. When his face crumples, his resolve goes with it, and his knees hit the floor, sharp crack swallowed by the stillness of the room. He curls forward until his nose nearly hits his knees, hands sliding through his hair and over his ears and settling finally clutching together in the dip of his chest, bouncing with every heave of his chest. It’s quiet, his crying, enough that every dropped tear can be heard as it hits the dusty floor. The only time his sobs are ever audible is when he opens his mouth, trying desperately to soak up enough air to catch himself, to carry himself through.

Mute horror holds Nico’s tongue hostage.

He’d escaped in here the second Will had been called away this morning, dragged for the umpteenth time to handle a crashing patient or a complicated hymn or to soothe someone’s nerves. For the past two days he’s been doing his best to monitor Nico and a handful of other front liners who’d exhausted themselves in battle, but his focus has been split and the infirmary has been crowded. Whenever he runs off to put out whatever fire had cropped up — sometimes literally — the whispers start, the glances, the skin crawling up Nico’s back. Nico can hardly tell anymore what’s the shadows and what’s the people around him, watching him out of the corners of their eyes like they’re waiting for him to bust out a scythe and a black hooded cloak and start reaping.

The storage room is supposed to be an escape. Out of the way and forgotten as it is, it is supposed to be the place he can hide for an hour, escape the heavy gaze of the rest of the camp, collect himself before braving it all again.

Clearly, though, he’s not the only one who thinks so.

There’s something disorienting about seeing Will Solace cry. In the few times Nico has spoken with him during his visits to camp, he’s been a barely-contained explosion of energy, whether talking Nico’s ear off with updates about people he barely knows and references he hardly understands or cussing him out for overextending himself. He’s used — as much as he can be to someone he’s only beginning to really get to know — to his wildly flailing hands and widely playful grin, his loud drawling voice, his painful, constant brightness.

His hands, now, clench until they’re bloodless, trembling. There is no hint of his wide smile or twinkling eyes, because his face is hidden by all the hair that his given up on the pretence of the hairband, and the only sound from him are his gasping breaths and swallowed-back sobs. Nico watches him because he cannot look away. He flinches because every cry, every rough, scraping inhale, sounds like shattering rock, like an iceberg breaking off a glacier.

A quiet beeping startles them both.

For a stretch of time Will is motionless. The beeping continues, steady and soft, bouncing off the cluttered shelves and fading before they echo. After the third round — and Nico counts, if anything for something to do besides watch the chafed skin on Will’s hands crack and bleed with every flex — he drags himself upright, nails drawing lines in the thick dust of the floorboards, and rests back on his heels. He breathes for a moment, shuddering, hands pressed flat to his face; in, beep, beep, beep; out, beep, beep, beep. None of his breaths are ever steady, but he wastes no more time, swiping under his eyes and pinching his cheeks to restore his face to some of its usual colour. He grips onto each board of the shelf to his right as he yanks himself upwards, hand over hand, until he’s stretched, finally, to stand, although there remains a slouch to his broad shoulders.

The beeping continues, emanating from the watch on his left hand, growing softer or louder as he trails his fingers over the shelves from one end to the other, from the first, the second, the third. He pauses finally on a collection of bottles, turning them carefully to read the labels, then tucks them each gently into his already bulging pockets until he is left with what he must carry between his fingers.

The shadows bend to cover Nico again as Will turns, unknowingly facing him, and pulls himself suddenly straight-backed, chin set high, shoulders squared. He smiles, wide, fractured, squinting his eyes deliberately. The beeping stops. He breathes, in, smile, out, nod, and turns, striding, back to the door, opening it with flourish and swiping the dust off his clothes.

“Found them! Sorry it took so long, I really had to look —”

The door swings shut behind him, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Nico stares at it with bile churning in his too-empty stomach.

———

art by the incredible @clingonlikeclingwrap

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sykoangels · 1 month

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movie star

paring: Rodrick Heffley x hyperfemme!reader

warnings: oral sex (f! Receiving) , sex tapeunprotected sex

author note: im literally in love with rodrick!!! sooo enjoy this is gonna be feeding my delusions unfortunately

Rodrick Heffley is a character to say the least he could be a bit bitchy, but he was crazy talented. He’s the frontman of the band Loaded Diper a band he created with his friends. Back in freshman year, he was holding auditions for a new guitarist due to the one he had moving overseas. You went to the audition and got in with flying colors. Rodrick wanted something different from the band and you had to look and the talent. Your aesthetic was very different from the rest of the band, but still leaned into the emo aesthetic as well, but not too far off that they would get called posers. You loved wearing fishnets and baby tees, especially ones with crazy sayings on them like “I heart men whimpering” or “#1 gaslighter.” The band was doing well, especially throughout high school but now you're a sophomore in college doing the band on the side for extra money well also studying music technology because you want to become a music producer.

But you were keeping a secret at least from the rest of your bandmates. You and Rodrick have been in a friends-with-benefits relationship for about six months. This came about after the winter tour had concluded. One minute you guys were talking at a Christmas party and the next minute you were bent over a dingy bathroom sink and some random college frat house. You didn’t mind this since you always thought Rodrick was very attractive. If you were honest with yourself, he fit every piece of criteria when it came to your romantic partner. Handsome, tall, musically inclined, and a bit pathetic looking he checked all the boxes. He wasn’t even bad at sex either. Maybe the rumor you heard about rockstars are right they’re really decent in bed. It was getting difficult to hide the friends with benefits relationship since now they are preparing for our summer tour, which means we’re constantly around our band mates each other 24/7 no breaks.

The air was thick with the scent of stale beer and sweat as the last chords of their set reverberated through the dimly lit club. The crowd roared, their voices a mix of excitement and exhaustion after a night of headbanging to Rodrick Heffley's band. You, the lead guitarist, felt the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, your fingers tingling from the rapid-fire strumming. As you stepped off the stage, Rodrick caught your eye from across the room. His smirk was mischievous, a silent acknowledgment of the secret that only the two of you shared. You made your way through the throng of fans and backstage hangers-on, your black micro mini skirt swishing against your thighs, fishnet stockings adding a touch of rebellion to your hyperfeminine style.

"Great set tonight," he said, his voice low as he pulled you into a corner, away from prying ears. "Always," you replied, smiling coyly. "But you know what would make it even better?"Rodrick leaned closer, his eyes dark with intrigue. "What's that?""A little after-party of our own," you whispered, your breath warm against his neck. His hand found yours, fingertips grazing softly. "I like the sound of that."

With a nod, you both knew the plan. You slipped out the back door, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat inside. He quickly made it to the van loading up the instruments before sending a quick text to the under bandmates saying that you didn’t feel good and that you were going back to his place to rest. You guys called a taxi and made it back to Rodrick’s place. The drive to his place was short, the city lights blurring past as you both lost yourselves in the moment.

Inside, the apartment was quiet, the usual clutter of instruments and band posters giving way to an intimate setting. Rodrick pressed you against the wall as soon as the door closed, his lips finding yours in a hungry kiss. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his band tee beneath your fingers.

"Wait," you murmured against his lips, pulling back slightly. "I need to remember this moment forever.”

Rodrick nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. You walked over to the camera set up on its tripod, a sly grin playing on your lips. Flicking it on, you adjusted the angle to capture the both of you perfectly. "Are you ready baby” he asked, his voice husky with desire. You turned to face him, your outfit a stark contrast against the darkness of the room. "More than ready," you breathed, your heart pounding in your chest. Rodrick closed the distance between you, his hands gentle as they cupped your face. His lips met yours again, this time with a tenderness that spoke of deeper emotions hidden beneath the surface. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the hardness of his body against yours. "You look so fucking pretty babe," he murmured, his gaze tracing every inch of your exposed skin.

"thank you baby" you whispered back, your fingers trailing down his chest to the button of his jeans. With a deft flick, you undid it, sliding the zipper down slowly, deliberately. Rodrick groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Fuck, I need you so bad," he muttered, his voice thick with lust. You smiled, a thrill running through you at his words. "Show me," you challenged, your eyes daring him to go further.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Rodrick lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the couch. The camera captured every moment, the lens focusing on your intertwined bodies with an unflinching gaze. Settling you down, Rodrick knelt between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. His hands were reverent as they explored your body, peeling away layers of clothing with careful precision. You gasped as his fingers found the edge of your panties, slipping beneath the delicate fabric to tease you.

"Rodrick," you whimpered, your head falling back as pleasure surged through you. "that’s it good girl" he hushed, his lips brushing against your inner thigh. "Let me hear you." You obeyed, biting your lip to stifle the sounds that threatened to escape. Rodrick’s mouth replaced his fingers, his tongue darting out to taste you, sending waves of sensation crashing over you. You gripped the cushions beneath you, your body arching towards him, seeking more.

"Fuck yes” you moaned, your voice breaking the silence. "Oh fuck yes " Rodrick chuckled, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "You like that, huh?" “ I love it oh fuck” you admitted, your eyes fluttering shut as he continued his ministrations. The camera watched silently, capturing your expressions of pleasure, the way your body writhed under Rodrick’s skillful touch. You could feel the heat building within you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until you thought you might explode.

"Rodrick," you cried out, your voice raw with need. "Please, I need—" He didn’t let you finish. Rising to his feet, Rodrick positioned himself above you, his eyes burning with desire. You reached for him, guiding him inside you, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity. You both shuddered, a symphony of sighs and moans filling the room as you moved together, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge."Look at you," Rodrick panted, his forehead resting against yours. "So thirsty for my fucking cock like some groupie whore”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "yes your groupie whore," you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper. As the climax approached, the tension coiled tighter and tighter within you, until finally, it snapped. You cried out his name as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, your body convulsing with the force of your release. Rodrick followed soon after, his own cry mingling with yours as he spilled himself inside you, his body shuddering with the intensity of his orgasm. As the afterglow of their passionate encounter began to fade, you and Rodrick lay entangled on the couch, the camera still recording your every breath. The room was filled with a mixture of scents—the musky aroma of sweat mingled with the faint hint of your perfume, creating an intoxicating blend that seemed to encapsulate the intensity of the moment

#sykoangels #sykoangelssmut #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick rules #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #rodrick heffley smut #Rodrick #fanfics #need that #smutty fanfiction

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j2h5b5 · 2 years

Text

There was only one thing that could have dragged Steve out of bed at two in the morning when he was nursing a booze-induced headache and an Eddie Munson-induced heartache.

“We need you,” she said.

He didn’t even bother putting on a jacket.

***

Dustin was sloppy, red-eyed and so unsteady that when Steve thunked a strong hand down on his shoulder, he almost lost his balance turning away from the group of asshats he’d taken up with to see who had grabbed him. Some of the drink in his hand sloshed over the sides of the cup and dribbled down the front of his shirt and onto the already filthy kitchen floor.

“Hey, what the—” he began, and then he dragged his gaze up to land on Steve.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when those same eyes would’ve lit up at the sight of his babysitter slash idol slash best friend. He would wrap him in a hug if it had been a day or two since he’d seen him, or sling a companionable arm around him, or punch him good-naturedly in the arm in hopes of initiating a play scuffle, which inevitably ended with him in a headlock getting his mop of curls aggressively tousled because he was just never going to have any kind of athletic edge on Steve.

But now.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” the younger boy asked in a tone so sharp and cold and so very NOT-Dustin that it made Steve’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

“Hey, man,” Steve said, aiming for casual if only to keep Dustin from embarrassing himself in front of his new asshat friends. “Can I talk to you? Step outside with me for a sec, okay?”

“Um, no,” Dustin bit out. “This’s my party, i'ss my house. It would be rude to leave my guests.”

“Yeah, since you brought that up … who are these people?” Steve swept his gaze over the Henderson kitchen, which was almost unrecognizable with all of the clutter, displaced furniture, and wasted teenagers. “And Dustin … where’s your mom?”

“Not here.”

“Well yeah, I kind of gathered that. Listen, Dust…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are the others here?”

“Oh, you mean the traitors who called and ratted me out to YOU? Who the fuck cares?” His voice lowered to what he seemed to think was a conspiratorial level but was really just an extremely loud stage whisper. “Maybe they tripped and fell and landed their buzzkill asses back in the Upside Down.”

“Okay, that’s it.”

Before Dustin could protest, the cup was plucked from his hand and tossed expertly across the room, over the heads of several unwary drunken youths and into the crusty-dish-crowded sink and he was being towed along behind Steve through the kitchen, the living room, out the front door.

“What the fuck, Harrington? Let go of me! Let go!” Dustin struggled against the vise grip on his bicep but only succeeded in ensuring he’d probably have finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow.

Steve paid him no mind until he had deposited the boy into the passenger seat of his car, slammed the door, and locked it. Then he walked around to the driver’s side, unlocked it only long enough to get in, relocked it, and turned to Dustin.

“First of all,” he began loudly, drowning out Dustin’s sputtering attempts to find the words he wanted to hurl at Steve in his outrage at being manhandled out of his own party. “First of all. Joking about the Upside Down in a room full of strangers? NOT OKAY.”

“They don’t even know what—”

“Not. Fucking. Okay. SECOND, if you ever imply again that one of ours should BE in the Upside Down, you will find yourself with my foot so far up your ass you’ll choke on my shoe, and if you think I’m joking about that, Dustin, try me.”

This time there was only an eye-roll from Dustin, because he kind of didn’t want to try Steve on that point and because he kind of felt bad about saying it.

“Third, your friends are not traitors. They care about you and they’re worried about you; they called me for help because you’re treating them like shit and shut down every attempt they make to help you. Listen, I know I’m not your favorite person right now, Dustin, but you have to let someone help you. You’re not okay, buddy. This isn’t you. And all this shit you’re doing, the drinking and the partying and the pretending not to give a damn? It isn’t going to fix anything. It … it won’t bring him back.”

“Shut up!” Dustin shouted, flinching so hard at the words that he smacked the back of his head against the side window. Steve winced at the sound of skull meeting glass and resisted the urge to reach out and check for blood, or a bump. Dustin seemed not to have noticed that he’d nearly brained himself, infusing his next words with all the venom he could muster. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Steve. Even if you were right, it’s none of your business what I do! I am none of your business.”

“Don’t say shit like that, Dustin. Of course you’re my business.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! What are you saying?”

Dustin barked out a humorless laugh. “As much as I’d like to sit here with you and have a heart to heart right now, I have to get back to my guests.”

“No,” Steve snapped, reaching over Dustin to slap down the peg lock when the teen yanked it up. “We’re not done here. Now I can go inside and clear out your house and we can talk there, or you can drop the bullshit and talk to me right now.”

“You’re not shutting down my party.”

“Then we talk here.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Right, sure you don’t. Maybe I can give you some words, then. How about this, Dustin? How about: ‘Hey, Steve, you useless idiot loser, you promised to keep us safe and then you fucked it all up like you always do. The plan didn’t work and Max got hurt and Eddie fucking died, and you couldn’t stop it. I hate you for that, for lying and making us feel safe and telling us it was going to be okay. I can’t even look at you anymore and I hate my friends because they don’t hate you for some reason, but we know, don’t we? We know whose fault it is that we came back a man short. It’s yours, Steve. Yours.’” Steve’s voice was cracked and painful, like he’d been eating gravel and chasing it with cheap whisky and cigarettes. It hurt, that voice. “How’s that, Dust?” he finished, staring unflinching into Dustin’s shocked eyes. “Am I in the ballpark?”

Before Steve could react, Dustin unlocked his door and flung himself out of the car. He was drunk and it was dark, though, and he only made it a few yards before tripping and landing hard on the grass. Steve was on him almost instantly, hauling him up by the arms and scanning him for injuries.

He didn’t see the punch coming, wouldn’t have believed Dustin Henderson capable of such an effective hit, right in the mouth, knocking him back a couple of feet. “Jesus, Dustin!” he shouted, touching his lip and staring dumbfounded when his fingers came away wet with blood. “What the fuck, man?”

“Hit me back.”

“What? No! Dustin, what’s—”

“HIT ME BACK, STEVE! You have to!” Dustin’s voice cracked, the sudden violent burst of emotion threatening to unleash something big and scary and unforgivable. A tidal wave that had a name.

Steve grappled wildly with the boy, trying to grab his flailing arms so he could pin him, but Dustin was surprisingly swift in his current state, and he launched another punch, this one landing heavy in Steve’s gut and socking the breath right out of him.

“HIT ME, STEVE! I KNOW YOU WANT TO, JUST DO IT!”

Fueled by a burst of frustration and a sharper burst of fear (what is this?), Steve recovered enough to trap Dustin’s arms against his body, using his own weight to twist the boy around until he was trapped with his back against Steve, the hold immobilizing him so all he could do was squirm and shout out his fury. “LET ME GO FUCK YOU STEVE WHY WON’T YOU JUST FIGHT BACK YOU ASSHOLE?!”

“Dustin, stop. Stop it. Breathe, Dustin. Take a breath. No, hey, stop. You’re not going anywhere until you calm down for me. Breathe. Shhh, buddy. Breathe,” Steve’s hold was unbudging, his tone stern but soothing. Dustin’s violent struggles gradually slowed, and it took a couple of minutes for Steve to realize that the boy was shaking with silent sobs. And then the sobs became words, almost indecipherable in the wrecked, wretched voice that was rough and strained from screaming.

Every sentence Steve parsed from the stream of horrible self-accusations added another crack to his heart, which couldn’t have been more than a mess of spiderwebbing at this point.

It’s my fault.

He’s dead because of me.

I couldn’t save him.

You loved him, I know you did.

Why don’t you hate me?

Finally, finally, the words stopped and Dustin sagged, exhausted, in Steve’s arms. Only then did Steve ease up on his hold, but only long enough to turn the boy around and hug him properly. He bent down to bury his face in the unruly curls, his own tears falling unchecked and inconsequential.

“Dustin,” he whispered into the mop of hair. “Oh, Dustin, never.”

And when he realized he didn’t have the right words, he just stopped. He just picked Dustin up and carried him to his car, buckled him into the passenger seat, and told him he would be right back. He had a party to break up, some kids to chase away, and a boy—his boy—to mend.

“You loved him, I know you did.”

With a soul-cleansing breath that sounded more like a sob, Steve made his way back up to the Hendersons’ house.

#stranger things #found family #protective steve harrington #mama steve #dustin henderson #fanfiction #steddie #mom steve harrington #steve harrington #steve and his children #grieving over Eddie #survivor guilt #poor dustin #poor steve #unhealthy coping mechanisms #arm wrestling for the blame #angst #oh the angst #in my heart Eddie survived but this scene wouldn’t leave me alone

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sk-lumen · 9 months

Text

How to declutter for a fresh New Year 🫧

The very first time I got into the spirit of minimalism and decluttering physically, mentally and emotionally, it was challenging as I still had a lot of resistance and attachment to things.

I started this during winter many years back, and it's becoming easier and easier. Not just as a great practice before the new year, but also as a habit throughout the year or whenever I feel like it.

When I started seeing how the mental load, the brain fog and distraction and worry... shifted into peace, relief, joy and mental clarity every time I let go of things, I understood why it's important to not be a hoarder. Physically or otherwise. (Of course this has nuance to it and it can be a privilege to be able to do it, but that's for a different topic.)

Here are ways you can start the new year fresh (or just clear the energy any time you need):

Online / social media

delete old files or photos you don't need from your devices or cloud

unfollow accounts on social media that don't inspire/uplift you

delete old messages

archive or delete conversations you no longer want to see

block or delete numbers that are affecting your mental health

Home

throw away things that are broken or falling apart (clothes, items, lingerie, etc)

donate or sell clothes you no longer use or want

sell items you don't use anymore but which are perfectly functional (hair straightener, lamp, etc)

throw away or repurpose gift bags, bags, cards

put away items you still need but are not using in this particular season - ie. put away into storage any winter clothing during summer, it's just cluttering your hangers

reorganize your home, your room, your bathroom, move furniture around or replace decor to give it a fresh exciting new feel and remove any stale energies

Physically

salt bath with essential oils to release any tension or toxins

lemon water, ginger and turmeric shots for cleansing

drink plenty of water or green tea or mint tea for improved digestion

Mentally

dedicate a journal to write down tasks, lists, to vent any negativity, or just thought-dump at the end of the day in order to feel lighter and clear-headed

have a calendar or agenda to note any important things, to lighten the mental load

say things that keep bothering you for days/weeks, do things you've been antsy to get done for days/weeks

Emotionally

journaling is an amazing way to offload emotionally

going to therapy

talking to a friend or family

cultivating healthy boundaries and communicating your needs

Spiritually

do a guided meditation to clear your head

spend time in nature, in the forest, by the sea, away from noise and crowds to clear your energy

you can also use crystals like crystal quartz to cleanse your aura

#new year #girblogging #becoming that girl #that girl #pink pilates princess #clean girl #growth mindset #new year resolutions #articles #writings #self improvement #mental health

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inconveniently-discorporated · 11 months

Text

I feel like Crowley and Aziraphale are both about The Pleasures, but in similar and yet different ways.

Aziraphale's enjoyment is obvious -- he loves the food, he loves the drinks, he loves collecting physical things that remind him of things he enjoys. I think that these things are all more about the physical experience of them -- he enjoys cake because it physically tastes good, he enjoys hot cocoa because it does all those things Jimbriel talked about.

He turned his psychological safe space (Crowley) into his literal physical safe space (red & yellow bookshop -- *shiver*). He loves his clothes and they make him feel safe. He physically takes care of his clothes and maintains them, rather than making them appear out of the ether or cheating his way out of a stain.

Crowley is similar, but I think it's more conceptual for him.

He doesn't reject food -- we see him eating popcorn at the movies -- but I think it's more about the experience than it is the popcorn itself. Popcorn is an essential part of the experience, thus he has it. And speaking of movies, he's canonically heavily involved in media -- he enjoys partaking in, shaping, sharing the story of the human experience.

He doesn't reject worldly items, but the few he has seem to have deep emotional meaning to him. He has plants, living symbols of his pride, a physical metaphor for working through what happened to him. Otherwise, it's what's "cool". His apartment changes with the times, because it's not about how that specific stuff makes him feel, it's about the experience of staying in the modern era. Same with his clothes -- it's not about the exact outfit, it's how the outfit contributes to his experience of the world and his persona.

The Bentley is similar, though it is one physically object that he hasn't traded up through the years. I do wonder -- if Aziraphale had the Bentley, would it go a hundred years without needing gas, or would he be filling up every so often and dutifully maintaining every routine precisely on schedule? Even though it's a physical object, it still represents to Crowley the experience of being in control, and the physical maintenance of the object isn't really that important to him.

Drinking is especially curious to explore. They both like to do it, but Aziraphale seems to have very particular tastes. I think they both have their favorites, but it seems to me the drinking tends to be about the physical experience of doing it for Aziraphale, while for Crowley it tends to be about the emotional experience of altering one's mind and the method isn't particularly important.

I suspect physical affection might be the same way. I think physical touch is very important to Aziraphale because it feels good -- he likes putting his hands on Crowley, he likes staring and admiring his physical form, he likes dancing and moving to the music with him. I don't think Crowley would need it in quite the same way. I think it would be part of the experience of being in a relationship (e.g., he would like that it makes Aziraphale happy, he understands at the end of S2 the message he is conveying with the kiss) but I think the experience of their emotional exchange ("I say something brilliant, he says something unintentionally funny back. It's great!") creates that same feeling of closeness.

What might also be interesting is how those things look compared to their respective backgrounds.

Heaven is and always has been empty and devoid of things. The supreme Archangel doesn't even have a desk. It's all about the experience of being an angel, knowing one's place in the hierarchy, performing one's role. Gabriel likes the clothes because they make him feel more powerful and we can see that when he's being demoted from the position and he asks about his clothes.

Hell, by contrast, is cluttered and full of things. Things that are broken, things that don't belong, too many things that are just crowded and awful and everywhere. Everyone is someone's boss, everyone is someone's underling, and even orders from Beelzebub can't muster up more than a few dozen demons for Shax out of the millions of demons that are always loitering everywhere. Even a Duke of Hell has to stand by a leaky pipe with a bucket, his status means nothing.

On the flip side, Aziraphale's status as an angel means permanence. He has only ever known Heaven, and he has only ever known one side of Heaven (which is that you don't ask questions or you get in trouble -- he knew this before even Crowley did). I can see why he would find comfort in permanent things, like maintaining physical possessions that don't just up and change.

Crowley's experience as a demon sees that nothing is permanent, and everything can be taken away from you in an instant. You might be an esteemed usher at a trial, but you could still find yourself tossed in a tub of holy water on a whim. Here and now is the only guarantee. Your thoughts are the only things that you really have (though it will be interesting to see if an angelic memory wipe ever comes into play and what that means -- but I suspect it would make his thoughts and experiences even more precious for him to hang onto). He had his identity ripped away from him, of course his emotional identity is important to him now.

Overall, they both enjoy the world in very similar ways, but for Aziraphale I think it's based more in the physical emotion of the thing, and for Crowley the conceptual emotion of the thing. There's a lot of overlap (there's aspects of both physical/conceptual in his they both enjoy things) but that's them in general -- a little bit of each other in both of their personalities.

#good omens #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley

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cloudcountry · 1 year

Text

breaking the mold

Genre/Tropes: Mutual Pining if you squint very hard.

Summary: Vil has always been cast as the villain. With a new writer working with his club, he learns that not every director will see him that way.

Author's Comments: I wrote something similar to this for another character that was normally portrayed as a villain (2p!America cough cough) so it was kinda funny writing something like this again but I really enjoyed it!! Also, in Epel's SSR vignettes this club apparently doesn't have auditions? Vil just picks someone and is like "you're good" so I put Reader in that same role.

~~~~~

“For our next play, I’ve opted to let our newest member write it. They’ve proven themselves efficient at directing the stage crew and have shown me various samples of their writing.” Vil announced, locking eyes with you from in front of the small crowd of club members, “Come to the front, director!”

Murmurs swept through the crowd as you jumped up, rushing towards his side with a huge smile on your face. Vil looked upon your smiling face with pride, confident that he’d made the right choice. It only made you more motivated to please him.

“A new member? Writing for us?” someone muttered from the group, “That’s unheard of.”

“You must push boundaries to progress.” Vil responded, “I’ve made my choice. I only hope the rest of you are willing to give them a chance.”

“I won’t let you down!” you proclaimed, standing even straighter in hopes that the club would accept you.

“Let’s try it out. What’s the worst that could happen?” someone else said, “Besides, Vil will still be overseeing everything, Nothing will go wrong!”

Another murmur swept through the crowd as people started to nod. Vil turned to you with a small nod, and you knew exactly what he was trying to say.

They don’t believe you can do it by yourself. Prove them wrong.

👑

The next day, Vil walked into the small room the club had set aside for you. The table was cluttered with papers and pencils, and in the middle of it was you, writing down one last note before you looked up at him and beamed.

“So, how’s the cast list coming along?” he asked, trying to make sense of the messy writing scrawled over the papers nearest to him.

“I’m so glad you asked! I’m planning on casting you as the main character, of course.” you hummed, pouring over the script on the table, “I want to start off my first play with a bang, but you’re also the safest option because of your experience.”

Vil watched you work, scribbling down notes for the plot and little details you wanted added to the set. The passion and personalization you were giving to this production was admirable. Vil often had to remind his fellow club members to do exactly what you were doing when directing productions and designing sets. All of the actors and crew should be represented in their own special ways when on stage.

“Just so you know, I refuse to play a villain role. If you opted to play me in that role, perish the thought. I refuse.” he declared, pulling out the chair opposite of you and sitting down.

He was prepared for a barrage of complaints and reassurance. He was prepared for ‘but you’d do so well!’ and ‘it’s a great opportunity!’ and ‘what do you mean? Do it for the play!’ His agent’s voice echoed in his ears as he waited for your response, and he shook her away.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the villain. Not every hero is warm and soft, you know?” you laughed, shaking your head, “Heroes can be cool and tough too. If I wanted to write something with a wimpy hero I wouldn’t be casting you in the first place.”

You passed him the list of characters from across the table, pointing to the bright HERO title with stars doodled around it. His name was written in your all too familiar handwriting, a little smile stretching across the bottom of his name that used the two i’s as eyes.

“If this is your verdict, I’ll respect it.” he nodded, passing back to list.

“Oh, but you wouldn’t have if you were the villain?’ you snorted playfully, “I’m just kidding. I’m not here to write something cliche and stupid. I’m here to explore a side to heroes that the productions we’ve seen so far don’t want us to see.”

“Elaborate.” he said, lacing his fingers together on top of the table.

“All of the productions I’ve seen in Twisted Wonderland portray heroes as happy and soft and sweet. But heroes need to be smart and strong and resilient, you know? I don’t understand why people think those attributes are more villain-like. It’s like they want their heroes to be joyful and handsome instead of genuinely strong.” you met his gaze and beamed, “Not that you aren’t handsome. Obviously. You know how good looking you are.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Vil rolled his eyes, gesturing for you to continue.

“Right, right. I’ll keep talking, Your Highness.” you snickered, scribbling a few more notes down on the character page, “I actually cast Rook as the villain this time around. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to share the stage with you. Also, doesn’t he have that dramatic villain vibe about him? I figured he’d be able to play the tyrannical king role pretty well.”

“You’re definitely right about that.” Vil nodded, lifting up the set design from your pile of papers, “Is there a particular reason why you chose the mirror to be here, in the corner?”

“Ooooh, I’m so glad you asked!” you nearly leapt across the table to look at the diagram with him, your hand resting on his arm for support, “You see, the tyrannical king ends up trapped in the mirror at the end of the play. I wanted to pay homage to the Evil Queen and her magic mirror while also giving the impression that the king’s punishment is a result of finally being cornered. He spends so much of the play in the middle of the stage, but once the hero and his allies find him he gets backed into that corner with no escape! He’s hidden away from the audience’s view and then the lights go out and boom! He’s trapped in the mirror for all eternity!”

“It’s very hard to come up with an original story, so I don’t blame you for referencing the Evil Queen.” Vil hummed thoughtfully, “However, are you sure the mirror design is your best work? If it’s truly a symbol to pay homage to the Evil Queen, will the audience get that message from this design?”

He handed the design back to you, watching as you poured over it. Your pursed lips slowly lifted into a smile as you jolted back into your chair, scribbling away at the paper once again.

“I got it now! This next one will be the one that knocks your socks off!” you proclaimed, waggling your pencil at him.

“I look forward to it.” he chuckled, leaning over to pat your head before leaving the room with a swish of his cloak.

You shot up in your chair, brushing a hand over where he had touched your hair. He really did know exactly how to motivate people, didn’t he?

👑

“Why did you cast Vil as the hero?” Epel asked, tilting his head as he read through the cast list.

“He’d be a lovely hero. That’s why.” you replied, waiting for the rest of the cast and crew to read over the list.

“That’s…an odd choice.” someone else piped up, “I mean, Vil is more suited to be a villain, you know?”

The group mumbled in agreement, nodding their heads. You furrowed your brow, holding back the twinge of annoyance in your chest.

“Do you want to have a play with a hero that’s soft and gentle? Or do you want a hero that’s tough and reliable? Do you want someone who only focuses on the princess, or a hero that rallies people together? Do you want a hero that nobody cares much about because they’re so vapid and uninteresting, or do you want a hero that everyone will remember because he’s the one that sent chills down their spine?!” you narrowed your eyes as the club listened, allowing you to explain yourself, “Vil is perfect for a hero role. It’s a disgrace that nobody has cast him in that role before.”

The room was silent for a moment before Epel sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

“If that’s what our director thinks, then I agree. They’re pretty convincing too, when they want to be.”

“Thank you, Epel.” your gaze softened as you relaxed, making sure to make eye contact with as many people as you could, “I’m willing to hear your input on this, but I’m not going to put Vil in a role that I think would be ill-suited for him.”

“I think Rook as the villain is a good casting choice.” Someone offered, “We’ve never seen him in a role like that before, but seeing you make that decision has made me curious.”

“Yeah! I know he’s in the science club, but there’s no way he’d pass up a chance to perform with Vil.” you nodded enthusiastically.

“He has no qualms about getting people not in his club to participate.” Epel mumbled, “I miss Spelldrive practice for one of his plays once…if I missed the play he would’ve killed me.”

“You were our main role, Epel. Our leading star. The play would have been ruined if you didn’t show up.” Vil replied, stepping into the room with grandeur.

“Housewarden!” Epel yelped, “How long were you there?”

“Don’t yell. I’ve been here the whole time.” his eyes flickered to yours, gratitude in his eyes, “I heard your discussion about the roles. I’m glad we’re all in agreement.”

“I’ll run them by Rook later.” you shot up out of your seat, gathering your papers quickly, “I still have to finalize that mirror design, and then I’ll show you that too. Let me know what you think!”

“Wait.” he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, eyes only for you as everyone else filed out, “I want you to stay back for a moment.”

“Hmm? What for?” you asked.

“I want to talk to you. That’s all. Do I need a reason?” he replied, a challenge clear in his tone.

“Of course not, handsome.” you laughed, sitting back down, “What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to show you my gratitude.” he began, sitting in the chair beside you, “You have been the only person that has bothered to take my thoughts into consideration. It’s such a simple thing, but since you are the first to show me such thoughtfulness, I feel the need to let you know the impression you’ve made on me.”

“It’s no big deal at all! I just did what I thought would fit you best.” you stumbled over your words, face warming at the praise.

Since when did Vil praise you for silly things like that?!

Amused by your reaction, he laughed. How was one man so pretty? His hair fell into his eyes before he brushed it away, meeting your gaze again. You swallowed thickly, nerves twisting in your stomach.

“I trust you will do your best.” he said, hands clasped in his lap, “I believe in you.”

With that said, he left, leaving your mouth hanging open in shock.

If Vil Schoenheit wanted you to focus, he’d need to stop praising you like that.

👑

The day of the play was fast approaching as you watched over the rehearsals. The costumes had come together a while ago and the set had been built completely. The paint crew was still touching up on little details of the castle and mirror, each golden swirl and apple motif painted with extra care. Some of the club members that had worked on the set even picked up a paintbrush for the production. It warmed your heart to see everyone try so hard for the sake of you and your production. Even Epel came in to work hard when he didn’t have Spelldrive practice, his painted apples shining more radiantly than anyone else’s. Before you knew it, the show was being performed for any NRC students that wanted to attend. You extended personal invitations to all of your friends, making sure Malleus in particular had the date memorized so he could see your vision come to life. Cater had spammed his Magicam feed with promotional posters for the show, and Vil had also done some advertising to a lesser extent. The nerves were starting to settle in as you watched the people file into the theater, the low rumbling of conversation making your stomach do flips. Pacing around, you took deep breaths as your heart pounded. Today was the day of your debut as a director for Vil Schoenheit and the entire Film research Club. You only hoped you could do him and the rest of his club justice.

“You’re up.” Vil said from behind you, resting a hand on your shoulder, “I know you’re nervous, but you’re ready for this. I would not let you walk out on that stage if I didn’t think you were one hundred percent ready.”

“Thank you, Vil.” you smiled, hands shaking as they took the mic from the nearby stand, “I’ll…I’ll go break a leg out there.”

His eyes shone with affection as he offered you a smile, gently pushing you into the bright lights of the stage.

You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the new lighting, a chorus of cheers and whoops erupting from the crowd. Your stomach twisted itself into an even bigger knot as the darkened blurs wriggled and twitched with movement, but you reminded yourself of Vil’s words and breathed deeply.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight!” you said, putting the biggest smile you could on your face.

The sentiment was met with another round of applause and a loud yell of “THAT'S MY BEST FRIEND,” which you could only assume came from Ace.

“Thank you, thank you! Um…” you clutched the microphone tightly as the applause died down, taking in another deep breath, “This is my first time producing a play with the film research club. Being a director has been hectic, but it has also been very rewarding. As you all know, I got to work with the amazing Vil Schoenheit on this project-”

An even bigger applause erupted from the crowd at the mention of his name, to which you responded by looking backstage for him. He was standing just behind the curtain, a smile on his face as he listened.

“I know, I adore him too. He spent hours and hours with me, pushing me to do my best on set design and costumes and storytelling. He wanted me to make this play personal, and because of that, there are bits of him in the story, too.” you stopped to take a breath, the audience silent as you continued, “Thank you all for coming out tonight to support the work we do. Without further ado, I present to you, Poison’s Heir!”

The audience burst into applause again as you rushed off stage, waving to everyone that had come to watch your show.

“You did so well.” Vil whispered as the lights dimmed, “Now go take a breather. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Break a leg.” you whispered back, beaming at him.

👑

The second the auditorium doors were opened after everyone had taken their final bow, you were jumped on by Ace, Deuce, and Grim. A strangled yelp escaped your throat as you begged them to let you go, but they refused.

“You never told me you wrote in your spare time!” Ace yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at you, “I can’t believe you wrote something like that and didn’t tell us! What is wrong with you?!”

“It was really good, Prefect.” Deuce said, looking at you with stars in his eyes, “I’m so impressed, it must have taken so much work to build everything.”

“That’s why you kept sneaking off! That’s why you had all those late nights! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Grim grabbed your leg and shook it vigorously.

“I wanted it to be a surprise!” you yelped, shaking them off, “I’m surprised you guys even came!”

“Of course we did! You always come to my basketball games and I know you go to Deuce’s track meets too! Don’t act like it’s a burden for us to show up!” Ace crossed his arms over his chest and glared, pouting like a child.

“Hello, Child of Man.” Malleus interrupted, appearing behind you unexpectedly, “That was a lovely production.”

“Hornton!” you jumped, placing a hand over your heart, “You scared me! Don’t just teleport behind people like that!”

“But I didn’t.” he mumbled, a confused look on his face, “I just walked up to you.”

“Ah. My bad. I was occupied.” you sighed, smiling at him, “I’m glad you liked it!”

“I brought you this.” he hummed, presenting you with a bundle of orange roses, “I was told by Lilia that directors and cast members of plays often receive flowers after a play as a show of appreciation. He stressed that I should not give them to you before the play, since I would be bestowing bad luck upon you.”

“Dude, we so got one upped!” Ace quipped, but you ignored him.

“Aww, thank you so much.” you gasped, gratefully accepting the flowers from his arms, “They’re beautiful. I’ll be sure to treasure them for as long as they live.”

“Don’t worry, Child of Man. I’ve enchanted them so that they will not die.” he smirked, “You don't even have to water them. Those flowers will remain stationary, halted in time, just like the memory of your first production in my mind.”

You almost cried with how moved you were, but settled for giving him a huge hug. He returned it, holding your gently before he gave you a final smile and moved on.

The next person to throw themselves on you was none other than Cater.

“Hon!” Cater screeched, throwing his arms around you dramatically, “Oh, that was a gorgeous production! I wish I could have recorded it!”

“Thank you so much!” you laughed, wrapping your free arm around him to hug him back.

“Would you mind taking a picture with me? I’d absolutely love a photo of the director themself!” he begged, hands itching to grab his phone and take as many pictures as possible.

“Of course you can.” you pulled away, putting on another one of your director smiles.

Cater whipped out his phone and took a bunch of quick pictures, trying out a few different angles. You felt your crowd pleasing smile grow into a genuine one as your face warmed, feeling all the love all of your friends were sending to you.

“You don’t mind if I post these to Magicam, right?” he asked.

“You ask every time Cater. My answer is always no. I don’t mind at all!” you laughed, thankful he’d go through the effort of checking every time.

“I just want to be sure! I’ll send you the ones I want to post just so you can go through them.” he said, pulling you in for one last hug, “Great job, hon. I’m so proud of you.”

The crowds slowly died down as time went on, and the club was finally allowed the step back into the auditorium. That’s where you found Vil, standing by the doorway in his costume.

“I was waiting for you.” he said, hooking his arm through yours and pulling you away from the group, “Come with me.”

You allowed him to lead you outside into the cool night air. He sat down on a nearby bench and gestured for you to do the same.

“So how many flowers did you get?” you asked, still clutching the orange roses to your chest.

“I received many flowers from adoring fans.” he said matter of factly, “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“What is it?” you asked, scooting closer.

“Magicam. The production is blowing up.” he murmured, unlocking his phone and pulling up his Magicam feed.

You watched as he scrolled through post after post of happy, celebratory photos, all tagged with #Poison’sHeir. Your heart warmed at the display and the fact that Vil had taken the time to show it to you.

“I dare say your first show was a success. I’m looking forward to the next one you direct.” he chuckled, expression soft and caring, “I’d love to work with you again.”

Pride welled up in your chest at his words, the knowledge that this would not be your last show and that you’d impressed him enough to earn his praise forcing a wobbly smile to bloom across your face.

“Wait…Vil, is that Neige?” you gasped, the laughter catching in your throat as the moment was shattered.

His nose wrinkled in displeasure as he rapidly scrolled away from the post.

“Don’t pay attention to him-”

“Noooo, Vil! I wanted to see his post!”

“Stop trying to take my phone-!”

#auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit fluff #neige leblanche on his way to steal vil's love interest #thats a joke #maybe #depends on who you like more ig

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appalamutte · 2 years

Text

you’re sixteen-years-old, moseying through your local bookstore when you come across it.

you’re not usually into nonfiction, especially not memoirs, but the man on the cover is familiar. laughing over his shoulder with his eyes closed, relaxed in a turquoise button-up and jeans, standing with his back to the camera at a counter cluttered with leafy vegetables and mixing bowls.

from seeds to supper, the title reads, and his name is eric bittle-zimmermann.

you deliberate for a bit, picking it up and reading the blurb, the reviews printed on the back sleeve, the first page. the very first words of the book are hey, y’all! and your friend walks over at that point, and they see him and say—“oh, i used to watch some of his videos.”

so you buy it, because your friend said you should, and later that night you’re already deep into the stories of peach cobbler recipes and learning how to differentiate between living and surviving when they send you the link to the guy’s old youtube channel. it hasn’t been active for a few years, but that doesn’t matter because oh my god are there so many videos. years of videos, almost a decade’s worth, starting all the way back in the early 2010s and you get sucked into them all, laughing at the funny ones and tearing up at the emotional ones, watching as the guy slowly grows up from high school to college and beyond.

you switch between reading the memoir and watching the videos over the next few weeks. you see his video on introducing his boyfriend and you read the chapter on maple-crusted apple pie and how learning to love is a lot like learning to lattice a pie, slow and patient and sometimes messy.

you see his cooking challenge video featuring all of his friends from college and you read the chapter on homemade bagel bites and how family doesn’t have to be a four-course meal you’ve had reservations for all your life. sometimes, family is just frozen bagel bites and sriracha sauce crowded around an uneven table.

you see his two-part wedding vlog posted in 2019, nearly 10 years ago, and you read his chapter on red velvet cake and how the brain can get confused, something to do with all the nerve endings getting tangled up, because when love reaches the same heights fear does, you end up fainting into your then-boyfriend’s arms.

then, you see his final video on the channel, a farewell to his subscribers and a glimpse as to what’s next. it’s short and simple, just his husband and him sitting on a couch together, a toddler between them. and you read the last chapter of the book on chicken tenders and how a seed in the garden never knows it’ll grow into a supper worth loving. it just knows it’ll grow into something, and that the growing takes time.

(a few years later, when you’re twenty and in college, you’re downtown with some friends and come across it. you still aren’t into nonfiction that much, but that one memoir always stuck with you, sitting on your shelf back in your dorm. and this one, with the guy’s back to the camera, tall and steadfast, standing in the middle of an ice rink, an emboldened number one across the back of his jersey. the name is familiar.

melting ice, the title reads, and his name is jack bittle-zimmermann.

you pick it up.)

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #zimbits #my writing #yeah i like to think they’d have matching memoirs #bitty’s is released a year after he ends his youtube channel and right before he gets picked up by the food network #and jack’s is released a year after he retires

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diorlusional · 5 months

Text

CATS APARTMENT AU HCS!!

Victoria is a ballerina and during one of her first performances once she moved into the apartment complex literally all the other cats showed up. One of like the other dancers was like “Yo who tf are all those people cheering for you specifically” and she was like “oh my neighbors :] !!!” meanwhile in the crowd it’s all of them but specifically Jemima being like “YEAHHHHHHH WHOOOOOO🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️💕”

Gus’s apartment is like kinda cluttered because he has a lot of stuff from his youth but jellylorum helps him keep it neat (yall gus makes me wanna cry I love that guy)

Munkustrap is such an upstanding neighbor. Like he is the PERFECT NEIGHBOR. The kinda guy to offer to help you with groceries when he sees you struggling while walking up the stairs. You’d never ever in your life have a noise complaint. And I know his apartment is like impeccably put together mostly for Jenny’s sake.

And then there’s his brother. His place is actually very clean. I don’t feel like it’s messy, BUT. IK he’s petty. Tugger not rude or anything but oh he’s petty. He and alonzo have the craziest beef because ONCE. ONE TIME alonzo was being just like a little loud when he was doing something. (I hc in this au to be like into music so probably that) and ever since then it was WAR. Everyone has just coped with it. They’re like two unstoppable forces there’s no end in sight

I feel like the exterior of the apartment is very beautiful actually, like they all one day pitched it and helped old D make it look better cause it was a decently old building for a while. And i fear it would’ve been after Macavity tried to burn the building down. and im making my jokey jokes but any angst writers that see a vision this is for yall

On a completely different note. YALL. CAN. NOT. TELL. ME. that my boy pouncival doesn’t have the room of your average early 2000s skater boy. I’m taking dirty socks, messy clothes, just random ass stuff all around his place. Like you walk in and you’re for sure slipping on a banana peel or something.

Also he just is a skater boy. Like he’ll try and do sick tricks on the railings on the outside of the building and it’s a miracle there’s been no casualties.

also my asks box is open if yall wanna send ur hcs cause i really wanna hear em :3

#cats musical #cats 1998 #cats apartment au #alonzo #rum tum tugger #munkustrap #victoria #gus the theatre cat #pouncival #cats headcanons #This is probably part 1 of me just yapping about these cats because i want to draw but just don’t have the energy to #if any fanfics r birthed from this PLEASE SEND THEM TO ME #Also my general vibe for this whole this is like early 2000s movie if yall see the vision.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

Text

Dirty Work 42

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I've had a headache every day this week. I swear I want one good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sit on the sofa, the bird still firmly perched on your shoulder. Bragi shows you the twelve-string, strumming lightly between stories about his travel abroad. Laufeyson glowers as he sits in the high-backed chair recently cleared of its clutter. The stout blond is quite talkative, it makes you wonder why your boss even brought you here.

"I'll be playing at Walpurgisnacht, so you will see me tomorrow," Bragi stands and places the guitar in a stand among several other stringed instruments, "perhaps Fossegrim will come too... he likes to sneak into my bag."

The bird squawks and tilts up and down.

"Likes you too," Bragi remarks. "Not as fond as your companion, I'm afraid."

Laufeyson shifts with a huff, "shall we continue to ramble? I did come for a reason."

"I nearly forgot," Bragi declares, "you requested it so long ago I nearly forgot."

"Yes, well, I left in a hurry my last visit and could not drop by, my apologies," Laufeyson rises and dusts off his trousers.

"Right, up in my office."

They leave you without much regard. You set aside your empty cup as Fossegrim rests his beak against your hair. He is rather big, your shoulder is sore from his weight, and yet he is comforting. You sit straight and hold out your fingers shyly. He bends to touch them and dips his head. You pet his feathers, uncertain what to do with yourself.

You hear a thump from above and a grunt. You look up as the bird hops down to the cushion. You rub your hands together and stay as you are. You don't want to intrude, besides, the place is so crowded, there isn't much space to move.

At last, you hear the stairs creak and the men's voices precede their reappearance. Laufeyson holds a wrapped parcel under his arm as a shank of hair hangs past his ear, dangling along his cheek before he sweeps it back. You wonder what happened.

"Sorry about the rug," Bragi chuckles as he scratches his neck.

"Yes, not to worry," Laufeyson dismisses, "as it were," he looks at his watch, "my mother will be less impressed with our delay."

"You will send my regards," Bragi smirks crookedly.

"I will let her know we saw you," he retorts, "let us be off."

He waves you over. You say goodbye to Bragi as you cross the room and the parrot wings over your head, rustling your hair as he lands on the banister post once more. He lets out a chitter and receives a hush from his owner.

"Best go before he grows more obnoxious."

You offer a tight smile as Mr. Laufeyson opens the door and you step outside. It's dark and the moon beams down brightly. You silently descend the steps and near the car. He doesn't say a word as he unlocks the door and you climb in opposite him.

He starts the car and steers onto the street without a word. You feel as if you've done something terribly wrong. You look at your lap and drag your sweat palms over your skirt.

"We need to be very clear about things, pet," he begins as the leather squeaks beneath his grip, "tomorrow, you must stay close to me. No more breaking the rules."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. I'm sorry--"

"Do you remember the rules? That I asked you to be honest with me," he hisses, "yes? I know you recall, you are brighter than you look, aren't you?" He slaps the wheel, "if you need... time, or anything, you can tell me. You must tell me otherwise... otherwise how can our arrangement work? If I am ignorant of what you require, how can I provide it? You cannot be upset that I do not know."

"I... I'm not upset," you murmur.

"Yes, but if you were upset," he exhales heavily, "then I would like to know the reason for it. I--" He stops himself and shakes his head at the road, "I am only saying, if there is some issue between us, you cannot merely run away and hide."

"I didn't--"

"Yes, yes, you were reading," he cuts in, "I do hope you enjoyed your little story."

"It won't happen again, Mr. Laufeyson," you avow.

He takes a deep breath, "that's all?"

"I... I'm not upset, I said, I only..." you mull the words on your tongue, wondering if they'll even matter. "I've never been far from home."

He nods as he slows, idling at a sign, "very well."

You accept his response as he accepts yours. Tension lingers but neither of you wants to add to the boiling stew. So you look out the window and he glares out the windshield, driving on in repressed agitation.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson leaves you alone that night, bidding you to keep the door locked and nothing else. You know for certain he's unhappy with you. You've already put a damper Walpurgisnacht and it's not even begun.

You sit in the small cone of light cast by the lamp and try to read but find the task impossible. So you tuck away Jane and her troubles and lay down to sink into your own. You don't see the next day going well at all. No better than any that have come before.

Perhaps it might be better if you found a reason not to be there. You could keep the white dress on the hanger and just stay inside where you can't do anything wrong. No one would miss you very much.

It's Frigga's celebration and you aren't an Odinson, no one would know any better. Mr. Laufeyson would be free to enjoy himself and not worry about you irritating him. That's all you seem to do.

Your eyes close heavily and you tumble down into a turbulent sleep. Dread colours your dreams and wakes you several times in the grim hues of the moonlight. The fitful night drags on into a dull morning, shining over you until it sears through your eyelids.

Walpurgisnacht. April 30th. A day that feels like a page turning.

You sit up and sift slowly through the early hours as if wading through sand. You wash and ready in the bathroom, ignoring the memories of two nights ago, the echoes of your whines, and the coiling of his touch. Now, he won't even use you. This could be it. When you leave this place, you may also be departing this life. It might just be for the better.

The event doesn't begin until the afternoon. Frigga said as much before. So you pull on a pair of tan pants and a peachy shirt. You near the door but don't flip back the lock. You should wait for a cue. For permission.

You stand at the window and watch the day bloom. The dew gleams on the leaves and petals and the air is fragrant with spring. Oddly, it does feel refreshing.

There's a soft tap, one you're not certain you heard. You turn and lean on the window ledge and hug yourself. It comes again followed by your name. Mr. Laufeyson's voice is just as even-keeled as the night before. Empty of any expression. That's worse to you than anger.

You emerge, head down, and bid him a good morning. You're met by a curt 'morning' and he ushers you down the hall. You smell bacon as you descend and the crackle of grease hisses in a pan. You walk side-by-side with Laufeyson out onto the veranda.

Odin sits, stirring a cup of coffee with a silver spoon.

"Ah, good morning," he chimes, "Joyous Walpurgisnacht!"

"Yes, happy day," Laufeyson intones and sits. You take the seat at his shoulder.

Your attention is drawn by men in work clothes out in the yard. They must be setting up for the celebration. You wonder how you should ask to excuse yourself from the event. You might pretend to be unwell. You don't entirely feel great.

"Happy Walpurgisnacht!" A thunderous boom makes you jump and grab Laufeyson's arm. He merely groans as Thor approaches and drags out a chair, dropping down with a sigh, "father, brother... lady, isn't it a wonderful morning?"

"Son," Odin squints at his son's open shirt, his chest shamelessly bare to the sunlight.

"Mmm, coffee," Thor pours from the carafe then adds a handful of sugar cubs to his cup. Laufeyson helps himself to tea before offering you some with a twitch of the spout. You accept with a nod and a please.

"Coffeeeeee," an echo drawls in the air as Hela strides in, chewing a strip of bacon absconded from the kitchen.

"Ghostly as ever, sister," Thor guffaws.

"Ugh, must you?" She snarls as she slumps into a chair, "ew, do those buttons not work?"

Thor smiles as he looks down at his torso, "it's warm."

"Or maybe it's the hot air stuck in your head," she retorts.

"Children," Odin rebuffs, "please, it is a holiday. Let's try to get along."

Laufeyson says nothing as he sips from his tea. You peek at him, finding his eyes narrowly set on his father. Another twinge pinches in your chest. You hope you haven't made things worse between them.

"Oh, we are all here already," Frigga flutters in, canary fabric swishing around her, "wonderful."

"Wife," Odin outstretches an arm and she goes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Mother," the siblings murmur in unison as you eke out her name.

"We will begin breakfast soon, I just checked with the staff, it is almost ready, but first," she pokes her elegant nail in the air, "there is one matter I need attend to. It won't take very long at all."

She smiles at Odin as he returns the sweet expression, then her eyes meet yours. Her cheeks pinken just a little. She sweeps away and disappears through the open doors. You hear her trill as she speaks to the staff.

"She is up to something," Hela slithers.

Laufeyson hums in agreement.

"Father," Thor peers over at Odin as he brushes his fingertips over his beard.

Odin shrugs, "I haven't any idea."

"Liar," Hela accuses, "you are not so sly as you think."

"I swear--"

"He definitely knows," Thor insists, "Loki, doesn't he? You see it, can't you?"

"I suppose..." Laufeyson squints and lets his voice dissolve into nothing.

"Here we go..." you hear Frigga chime before she appears again, "happy birthday to you..."

The song begins as two maids carry between them a double-tiered cake decorated with perfect white dollops of icing topped with raspberries. Your stomach gurgles and your chest racks as you sit up, caught in headlights as Thor and Odin join in on the melody but Hela and Laufeyson merely lean forward curiously. You gulp and look down at your lap.

As Frigga leads the chorus into your name, your shoulders slope and you turn your face away, tears stinging your eyes. How could she know? As nice as it all is, it's too much. You don't deserve any of this.

"Birthday..." you hear Laufeyson whisper quizzically.

You brace the armrests and push yourself to your feet as the song ends and the cakes placed before you. Your lips tremble as you look around the table. You can barely squeak out your apology before you flee, Frigga's hand glancing off yours as she tries to stop you.

You hurry away from the veranda, hurtling up the path blindly. You plunge into the brush and around the curving trails, retracing the same route Odin led you the day before. You clamour up to the gazebo and hide within, collapsing onto a bench as you fold over and shield your head.

Why would she do it? You don't matter! It's all too much. You don't want to pretend anymore. You don't want to act like you belong. You want them to let you go. You want Laufeyson to just do it already and throw you away.

You sit, bent over, weak and shaking, just breathing, paralysed. You hunch amid the songs of birds and the rippling of water. You can't move. You just want to stay and never come out.

A scuff makes you flinch. You lift your head to look over as a shadow steps into the archway. You raise yourself up straight and face Mr. Laufeyson.

"I didn't know it's your birthday," he says.

You don't say anything. Why would you tell him? Why would he care?

He lowers his chin, sliding his hands into his pockets as he steps into the stone structure, "if I'd known--"

"It doesn't matter," you say, "it's just another day."

"Mm, well..." he begins in a fragile tone, "I wouldn't agree. Birthdays are special..."

"Not mine," you pout.

His cheek ticks and bows his head, nodding as he thinks, "but... my mother did try to make it special..." he chews on his lip as he looks at you, "she's worried."

"She shouldn't care so much. She isn't my mother."

"But she is a good mother," he argues, "and she only wanted to include you."

"And I'm just as ungrateful as my father said," you sniff, "I'm sure you'd agree."

"I don't."

"Sure. It's why you left me alone all night. It's why you were so mad that I dare read a book. I know, Mr. Laufeyson, I know."

"Know what?"

You huff and cross your arms.

"I know better," you stand and jut your chin out. "I broke the rules again, I'm sorry."

"The rules... that isn't-- why are you being like this?"

"Like what?" You challenge.

"Please, I didn't come to lecture me--"

"I know the rules. I remember. I will be good," you drop your arms and force your spine straight, "I will apologise to Frigga and thank her. You're right. You're always right. I was wrong."

You go to step past him and he catches your arm, pulling you to face him, "stop."

"Mr. Laufeyson, is that not what you want? For me to be good? I'm sorry I made you look bad. I only... was surprised," you carefully measure your voice and force a smile, "tell me what to do, Mr. Laufeyson and I will obey."

His brows slant and he swallows tightly. He squeezes your wrist then releases you, "apologise," he breathes, "say thank you."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you reply and march through the door, "whatever you wish."

You keep your gait steady and set. He follows behind you and catches up. You return to the veranda in curdling silence. As the rest look up at you, you gather what's left of your strength.

"I'm sorry," you say, "I was only surprised and I... panicked."

"Dear, it's okay, I should've warned you," Frigga coos.

"I really appreciate it," you sit as Laufeyson pulls out your chair, "really..." you look at the pink cake, "I never had a birthday cake before."

As the words escape, you clamp your lips shut. It's only the silence that makes you realise how pathetic that must sound. You put your chin down and try to hide your embarrassment.

"Of course, dear," Frigga fills the dead air, "would you like to cut the first piece?”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #maid au #series #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

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coff33notforme · 1 year

Text

Mango's the sweetest smell

A/n: Sorry I've been gone forever I've been really busy this past couple of months!

Summary: Miguel's tired of you putting yourself in danger to see him

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara and Gn Reader (romantic, pre-relationship, Miguel being unable to properly express his feelings, a little bittersweet)

“You know you don’t have to put yourself in danger just to see me, right?”

The masked man grunted, slipping through your kitchen window almost with a shadow-like presence.

You jump slightly glancing to see the familiar brooding figure, but that's all he was, familiar.

The corners of your lips curved into an innocent smile as you placed the tattered cardboard box in your arms onto the cluttered kitchen counter, as you turned back to the large man,

crossing your arms as you leaned back against the counter. But it was just that, you were anything but innocent.

That's what Miguel hated.

“What's this now?”

you hummed, cautiously scanning the man in front of you, a softness in your eyes, that filled him with an anxiousness he couldn’t explain.

Miguel only huffed at your feigned innocence, propping himself up against one of your well polished marble counters,

his eyes drifting across the various items, ranging from empty boxes of food, to pens, dishes, and bills, all mindlessly scattered along the counter tops, it all felt very, you,

and the strong wiskful scent of mango and blossoms seemed to be rooted in the halls of your weary home, drawing him back to you time and again.

You crouched down, swiftly, opening the cabinet under the sink, only to result in an avalanche of discarded and forgotten items spilling out onto your wooden floor,

with a sigh you begin to collect the objects once again, scooping them into your arms and placing them back into the cabinet.

A forgotten warmth nipped your cheeks as you noticed the hero on his knees beside you,

shoving the items back into the disarranged box of nonsense you swore you would organize one day.

“You should really clean your house.” he breathed out

You divert your attention from the rubble in front of you back to the vigilante squatted down, cleaning your mess,

you shot him an appreciative grin, and Miguel could swear he felt his heart stutter, he muttered soft curses under his breath as he averted his attention to the opened window, the breeze whistling through the crack.

“Well how else will I see you in your busy schedule if not during ‘work hours’?”

You joked, as you roamed through the crammed cabinet space. Miguel let out a breathy groan as he turned his head back to you.

You could practically feel his scowl behind the mask, burning holes into the side of your head.

“You shouldn’t want to see me, it's dangerous.”

he shifted, his tone mellowed out at your fallen expression, his gaze fell back upon the crowded cityscape through the smudged glass of your window.

“Maybe I like danger.”

the words floated from your lips effortlessly, a lazy sigh drew from his lips as his shoulders fell.

Yet he still couldn’t bring himself to met your gaze, he felt rejection wrapping its cold hands around his throat as he choked out his words

“I wish you didn’t.”

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#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #fluff #fanfic #spiderman x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader

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zvouyage · 29 days

Text

personal muse becomes something more ౨ৎ

pairing.ᐟ ; jo x gn!reader . . . friends into lovers + accidental confessions && fluff . . . précis.ᐟ ; jo’s big day is here and you’re here to help him out , calm him down.

w.c.ᐟ ; 930 ( 𝒷ack 𝓉o 𝒷log ? )

warnings ᐟ ; reader wears bold lipstick , lipstick stains on shirt collar , lowercase intended , not proofread . . . 🎨

the gallery buzzed with anticipation as the final touches were made before the exhibition opened. you found yourself pacing in the back room, where your friend, and huge crush, jo, was a whirlwind of nerves and excitement. the room was a clutter of canvases, paint tubes, and scattered sketches, but jo barely noticed as he fidgeted with a corner of their art display.

“this is it,” jo muttered softly, eyes darting around. “i can’t believe it’s finally happening.” jo put his hand over his chest, touched by how far he has come. you stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on their shoulder. “jo..it’s going to be amazing. everyone’s going to love your work.” jo shot you a grateful but anxious smile. “i’d hope so. this is my first time showing my art to anyone other than you and my teachers. what if they don’t like it? what if i mess up?” you could see the worry etched in jo’s face. you knew how much this exhibition meant to him, and you wanted to help calm his nerves down before he ends up bawling on the floor. “i’m sure they’ll love it,” you reassured, giving him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “and even if there are a few mistakes during your speech, you’re going to be great.” jo let out a shaky breath, his fingers twitching as he straightened a painting that didn’t need any adjusting. “it’s just… all these pieces are so personal.” he whispered softly. “they’re about you, actually.” he added on, you raised an eyebrow, surprised. “me?” jo nodded, his slightly chubby cheeks flushing a delicate pink. “yeah..i’ve always found you to be such an inspiration. most of these paintings are about you—my muse, my source of inspiration.” your heart fluttered at the unexpected confession, your cheeks starting to turn the same colour as his blushed cheeks. “oh…wow, jo...i didn’t know that i could’ve been such an…inspiration, for you atleast.” jo’s gaze dropped, their nerves getting the better of them. “i..uh..didn’t mean to just blurt that out. i’ve been just…so anxious..i guess i’m not very good at hiding my feelings right now.” you smiled, gently tilting jo’s chin up to meet your eyes. “it’s okay, jojo. i’m honored. i’m here for you, and i’m proud of you.” jo’s eyes softened, and he let out a relieved sigh. “thank you. that means a lot to me.” you glanced around the room, noting the hour hand creeping closer to the start of the event. “why don’t we make sure you’re ready for the crowd? i’ll help you with a few last-minute things.” jo nodded gratefully, and together you finished setting up the last of the art displays. as the time ticked closer, jo’s nervous energy was palpable. you wanted to leave him with something to hold on to during the whirlwind of the evening.

as a small gesture of support, and maybe cause you wanted to make the first move since never in a billion years nor once in a blue moon, jo, the most shyest person you’ve ever met would be brave enough to be making the first moves. you pulled out your lipstick, leaning in to give jo a quick kiss on their white collar shirt. the bright red mark was a stark but affectionate contrast against the fabric, jo’s eyes were widen in shocked, his blush deepened in colour and matching the colour of the lipstick stain on his collar.

jo looked at you with wide eyes as you pulled away, like he had seen a bunch of ghosts right in front of him. a soft smile curling on your lips. “just a little reminder that i’m here for you, even if you get busy.” you said in a slight flirty tone. jo’s expression softened, a mixture of surprise and affection lighting up their features. “…thank you, i can…give it back if i successfully wrap this up without any mistakes, i promise..” you gave them a reassuring nod. “go out there and show them what you’ve got. i’ll be right here, cheering you on.”

the gallery doors opened, and the crowd began to filter in. jo took a deep breath, his nerves calming with your support. as he stepped out to greet the guests, you watched with pride, knowing that his art—and his heart—were in good hands. throughout the evening, you kept an eye on him, offering a smile or a nod whenever his gaze met yours. the lipstick stain on his shirt was a small but significant reminder of the support he had, a mark of encouragement in a sea of new faces and unknowns. as the night drew to a close and the guests began to leave, jo returned to you, his face glowing with a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. “you were right,” jo murmured, leaning in for a hug. “it went better than I could have hoped.” you hugged them tightly, feeling the warmth of their relief. “i knew it would. your art is incredible, jo.” jo’s eyes shone with gratitude as he pulled back slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “i guess this means i owe you a little date now.” you giggled, giving him a playful wink. “just promise me you’ll keep making amazing art—and maybe save me a painting or two?” jo laughed softly, their nervousness from earlier replaced with a newfound confidence. “deal.” with that, the two of you walked out of the gallery together, the lipstick stain on jo’s collar a small but poignant reminder of the support and love that had helped make the night a success.

@zvouyage. 24/plagiarism won't be tolerated on my page.

#andteam fluff #andteam imagines #andteam x reader #&team x reader #&team imagines #&team jo #• zeynep’s delulu kingdom ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི #• zeynep’s delulu kingdom’s menu ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི #• zeynep’s delulu kingdom’s artworks ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི #• &team ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི!

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animeomegas · 2 years

Text

24 Hours - Chapter 4

[Alpha!Reader x Omega!Shino]

Summary: You were getting the hang of this ‘mated to a friend for a day’ thing now, and it was starting to come more naturally. You could handle whatever the day would throw at you! Drama, tears and... massage oil? Okay, the last one might be too much for your poor heart to handle. GN!Alpha!Reader x Multiple

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, some sexy content, suicide mention.

(Oh my gosh, I got this out so fast 😅 As always, this is a gift for the lovely @omeganronpa! I hope everyone enjoys and I guess it’s not too early now to say Happy Holidays XD 💜💙💚 There’s only two more chapters left til the epilogue now 😱)

Word count: 7.8k

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Epilogue

You woke feeling content, like you’d had a really good dream that you couldn’t quite remember. Your brain was still fuzzed with sleep and you couldn’t remember why you felt so cosy and relaxed, just that you did and that you wanted the floaty feeling to last forever.

And wasn’t that suspicious.

You immediately forced your eyes open to make sure you weren’t drugged and laying on the floor of the forest during a mission and accidentally abandoning your teammates to die a terrible death, but you were thankfully greeted by a fairly normal, if a little eclectic and cluttered, bedroom and an empty bed rather than any foliage What?

“You will have 24 hours with the seven people you could love the most and who could love you in return. Learn so that you may choose wisely.”

Oh, yeah. Technically you were right about the drugged part even if you missed the mark on the forest bit.

Your eyes immediately flit over to where the glass balcony door had been, searching for Shikamaru, but of course there was no such thing there. Instead you were looking at a massive shelf fastened to the wall, filled with books, boxes and a bunch of clutter and objects you couldn’t name. The shelf wasn’t the only one of its kind in the room, and between them and the massive desk, it was a very crowded space.

You felt a pang of sadness as you pined for Shikamaru, remembering intimately how his attention made you feel. He had impressed you thoroughly but worried you just as much. Even if you didn’t end up with him, you were certainly going to push his friends into helping him balance his life properly, now that you knew him a little better.

You were also grateful to him for allowing your relaxing day because you felt energized in a way you hadn’t in a long time, so rather than dawdle in bed, you jumped up and decided to get dressed and have a little nosey around the room to see if you could find out anything about the omega you’d be spending the next day with, other than the fact that they were clearly an early riser.

Despite the clutter, it was thankfully easy to locate your clothes, many of which you recognised, and you were dressed in only a few minutes. Although, while searching for some hand cream, you had found that your bedside drawer was strangely filled with what you could only describe as ‘knickknacks’. There were shiny stones, pressed flowers, little brass trinkets and so much more. How strange. Why would you have started to collect such things? Or was this linked to your partner in some way?

The lesson plans littering the desk didn’t help shed any light on who this mystery person was either. You couldn’t think of any of your peers that would choose to teach at the academy, and they clearly weren’t lesson plans for genin, unless the genin were particularly inept. Which, remembering your genin team’s early days, was technically a possibility.

Unfortunately, any more snooping was interrupted when you heard crying from somewhere else in the house. The shrieky sort of crying that only pups could produce that made you jump out of your skin if you weren’t expecting it.

Clearly, you were back into a household with pups again for this cycle. Wait, were you supposed to be up and looking after that pup? Was that why they were crying?

Your heart lurched with panic, and you decided to head downstairs as fast as possible in case you were accidentally neglecting your new child. You did not want to spend this cycle at the hospital with a child and an angry oma questioning why you hadn’t gone down like you were supposed to.

Thankfully, as you exited into an equally eclectic hallway, you heard a second voice from downstairs, a deeper, softer and calmer voice. You relaxed. That was definitely an adult voice, probably the one attached to your mate for the day.

You descended the stairs, wondering if you were already somehow the cause for the crying. Wouldn’t that be a good start to the day?

“You can only choose one option, but you must be quick, we do not have time for this.”

“No! I want appa to come with!” the unknown pup cried, voice louder now that you were closer.

“You can stay with appa-“

“No! Not stay! I want appa to come with!”

You reached the bottom of the stairs and were greeted with an open plan style living room and kitchen and three people, one adult and two children. There was a little girl sitting on the floor, the source of the crying, you noted, and another older child, about eleven ish if you had to guess, standing at the front door.

And of course, your mate was there too, crouching down in front of the little girl and attempting to placate her.

It was obviously an Aburame household, the way both the man and the older child were dressed, but you had trouble believing the man to be Shino for a moment because he looked vastly different with his new glasses, hair style and fully adult stature. But you didn’t know any other Aburame, and the fortune teller lady had said these were all people you’d already met in some capacity. It had to be Shino.

Shino looked up when you walked in and although there wasn’t much of his face exposed, he still somehow managed to look relieved that you had come down.

He stood up as you approached, the little girl noticing where he was looking and standing up too.

“Appa!” she wailed, running at you and clinging onto your legs. You let out a little oof sound as she hit you and knocked you off balance. “Appa, you’ll come with to drop Kazue off at school, right? Please?”

“No, they cannot,” the boy you presumed to be Kazue answered before you could think of formulating a response. “Why? Because even the time needed to put on a coat and shoes would make me late for class. Oma, we have to leave now.”

He put his backpack over his shoulder, and he really looked like a mini-Shino from your academy days. It was cute.

“No!” the little girl protested. “I don’t want oma to go!”

“We have to go now,” Kazue said, tugging on Shino’s sleeve. “I don’t like being late.”

Obviously, it was your time to intervene.

“Hey,” you said, crouching down to the little girl’s height as Shino had done before. “We can have lots of fun here, okay? Don’t cry.”

She whined and pushed herself into your chest, so you scooped her up to try and comfort her. You were her appa after all, as weird as that was.

Shino looked reluctant to leave her while she was crying, but Kazue was becoming increasingly distressed at the concept of being late.

“Remember that I am coming straight home today,” Shino said, words rapid as he walked towards the door. “My class is still training in the woods and so I do not have to teach. I am simply dropping your brother off and then I will return home.”

“You’re coming back?” she asked tearily, still burying her face in your shoulder.

“Yes, do not worry.”

His words seemed to placate her enough that Shino was comfortable leaving and so he and Kazue left. It was just you and the little girl whose name you still didn’t know.

Your thoughts raced by quickly, touching on your feelings over the family dynamic, the pups, Shino’s new look, the fact that he was clearly teaching at the academy and what he might be like as a mate. But you didn’t have time to dwell on any of that at the moment because you had an upset child cradled in your arms.

You tried to put her down, but she whined and clung onto you harder so you decided to change tactics and speak to her instead.

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

She nodded. Well, that was good at least; you had no idea what she liked to eat.

Actually, you didn’t know anything about her, maybe that was where you should start. Without asking her directly though. You really didn’t want her to mention any weird behaviour to Shino because you’d end up in a cell in T&I which would be most unhelpful as you were certain none of the people in there were contenders for your future mate.

Flashes of Ibiki and Anko from your first chunin exams popped up and you shivered.

But maybe you could find out more about her with a game? That way you could cheer her up as well and kill two birds with one stone.

“How about we play a game then?” you asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“What kind of game?” she asked, sounding hopefully optimistic.

“It’s a game where you have to pretend to be strangers meeting each other for the first time, okay?”

She didn’t look convinced that this game would be very fun, but she allowed you to put her down at least. You cleared your throat before dropping down on one knee.

“Oh, good day, madame!” you said in the silliest ‘posh’ voice you could manage. “I don’t appear to have met you before!”

The girl started to giggle, and you knew you were doing a good job at selling her on the game.

“Say, fair maiden,” you continued in the same voice. “What is your name?”

“Shihori,” she giggled, stepping closer to you.

“Shihori? What a splendid name! How old are you, Shihori?”

“I am five!” she grinned, holding up five fingers. “I’m big now. How old are you?”

“I am four thousand and sixty-two years old,” you answered instead of giving your real age, as you weren’t entirely sure what it currently was.

“No!” she laughed, knocking into you and gently hitting your arms. “You’re lying! That’s not the game!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes, you are! Stop being silly, appa!”

“Okay, okay,” you said, dropping the voice. “You caught me, you win!”

She laughed again, much happier than earlier and held up her hands to be picked up again. You obliged and she cuddled in, nuzzling and purring the little, broken pup purrs you were now more familiar with. You knew the scientific reason why her purrs were like that, but that didn’t stop them being the cutest things ever.

Her personality was very different from the pups you had spent the day with, with Kiba. Kazue on the other hand reminded you of a young Shino, from what you’d seen so far.

Shino had never really struck you as a family man, you had to admit that you didn’t know him very well. He was always there in class at the academy, and you bumped into him a lot around the village over the years, but you’d never really spoken. Kami, you were realising how much more time you needed to devote to learning about your peers and getting closer with them.

Shihori suddenly gasped in your arms, and you were pulled out of your thoughts.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” you asked, unable to resist pinching her little cheeks.

“I drew some things yesterday, appa! I need to show you!” she said excitedly. She wiggled to be put down and then ran upstairs, calling for you to wait there for her return.

You ended up looking at her drawings until Shino returned a little while later.

…

“Oma?” Shihori asked after mandatory cuddles had been exchanged on Shino’s return. “Can we go to the woods to play today?”

“Of course,” he said simply. “Why? We should spend time together as a family when me and appa both have days off. Go and get your coat on, please.”

“Appa, can you help find my coat please?”

“No,” Shino interjected. “I need to speak to appa for a moment, you are a big girl who can find and put on her own coat.”

You hide your laugh as Shihori deflated, obviously not wanting to claim she wasn’t a big girl. Checkmate. She eventually went upstairs to find her coat, leaving you alone with Shino for the first time.

Shino was still wearing his outdoor clothes, the sort of clothes you were used to seeing him in, but you wondered if he ever took them off, even at home.

“Kazue is behaving strangely about going to school again,” Shino said with a sigh, sitting down on the sofa tiredly. “He was especially nervous today as I was not staying at school with him as normal, but he refuses to explain why he is feeling this way. He will not even admit that anything has changed at all.”

Welp, here you go, straight into the pup issues. This fortune teller had high hopes for your parenting skills (or lack thereof) because you were having to solve a lot of pup problems this week. You needed to reply with something caring and relevant but also generic enough that it wouldn’t be obvious that you didn’t know the backstory of the situation.

“Maybe we should give him until the end of the week to come to us with the problem,” you proposed, swiftly kicking the problem past your 24-hour cycle. “If he doesn’t, then one of us can take Shihori out and the other can talk to him about what’s going on and let him know that we’re there to help him.”

Shino hummed, nodding.

“I could ask my father to take Shihori. I do not wish to pressure Kazue, but I am worried that something serious is wrong.”

“I understand,” you said, putting a hand on his. They were cold to the touch. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Little footsteps ran down the stairs and the conversation ended just like that. Poor Kazue, you hoped he was okay and that you could spend some time with him before you left.

Now you just had to find your coat and shoes…

…

The woods at the other side of the Aburame compound were beautiful, despite the chilly weather. You had sort of implicitly assumed that you were going to roughly the same time in the future with every cycle, but this was the first time you were experiencing a day so close to Winter. There were still some leaves left clinging to trees, but many of them lined the ground instead. As was usually the case in Fire country though, the sun was still shining brightly through the trees, illuminating the woods and bringing an extra notch of warmth with it.

Shihori looked incredibly cute in her little coat and duck themed wellies. She was walking in between you and Shino, holding both your hands, swinging between you and jumping in any muddy puddles she could see.

“Again! Swing again!”

“Alright. One, two, three,” you and Shino swung her on three. She shrieked in delight.

The whole thing was sickeningly domestic.

“Oma!” Shihori suddenly gasped, letting go of your hands. “There’s a big rock! Do you think there are any bugs under it?”

She was basically vibrating in excitement, looking up at Shino with her wide eyes, eyes that you belatedly recognised were your own. That was extremely weird. Cute, but weird.

“Let’s go and look,” Shino said, holding a hand back out for her take. She did, and they walked over together to look at the rock. You followed.

All three of you crouched down around this small-ish (or big if you were Shihori) rock at the base of a tree. Shino lifted it, and although Shihori had her hands on it too, it didn’t look like she was actually helping Shino in anyway.

There was something infectious about Shino and Shihori’s excitement and you found yourself intrigued about what you were going to find. This family was so sweet, and even though you hadn’t spent much time alone with Shino yet, you could see the appeal of this life from the family side.

“Ah, earwigs!” Shihori gasps, pointing at the little creatures crawling around in the mud.

“That’s right,” Shino said, picking one up in his hands. “Here, would you like to hold it?”

Shihori nodded furiously and held out her hands.

“Did you know that earwigs are nocturnal? That is why they seek out dark spaces, like those under rocks, during the daytime.”

“What does nocturnal mean, oma?”

“It means they are awake at night, and they sleep in the day.”

“Ooh, that’s so cool! Appa! Look how cool this earwig is!” Shihori grinned at you as she held up the bug.

“That’s really cool!” you agreed. “I think it likes you too, look, it’s crawling around.”

Shihori looked delighted. But somehow, Shino seemed more delighted. He really looked happy, happier and more animated than you’ve ever seen him, in fact.

“Okay, it’s time to put the rock down now so that the earwigs can sleep,” Shino said, gently lowering the rock. Shihori nodded seriously.

“Yes, we don’t want to disturb their home. I’d be sad if someone broke into my room and picked me up in the middle of the night. Why? Because it would be rude.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. One thing you’d learnt about Aburame pups, or at least Shihori, is that they automatically copied the ultra-logical speaking style of their clan, but they couldn’t actually grasp enough logic to pull it off as intended.

You and Shihori stood up and brushed yourselves off, but Shino remained crouched for an extra moment. You thought you saw him slip something into his pocket, but he was up and ready to continue the walk before you could ask.

And continue you did, the peaceful ambiance interrupted at random intervals by the sound of Shihori hitting sticks against trees and singing nonsense nursery rhymes. You and Shino just followed whatever path she seemed to pick, watching to make sure she was okay. It had felt totally natural for you to join your hands together as you walked. His hands were surprisingly small for someone of Shino’s height and stature, but that just made them nicer to hold.

The domesticity was flooding your brain with all sorts of good chemicals, and you couldn’t help but swing yours and Shino’s hands back and forth a little as you walked, something Shino didn’t seem to mind.

“Did you come here to look for bugs when you were her age?” you asked. It was a moment later that you realised as his mate, you’d probably know the answer to that, so you hurried to make the question more specific. “I mean, were you ever this enthusiastic?”

“Yes,” Shino said, smiling and squeezing your hand. “My father took me here all the time, and I remember being just as excited, although I had a different way of expressing myself to Shihori.”

You both watched Shihori attempt to jump and climb a tree. She missed spectacularly, but rather than cry when she hit the ground, she simply brushed herself off and tried to climb the tree again, this time with spite and determination in her eyes.

“I never tried to climb trees until I knew how to do it with chakra, but Shihori does not seem to agree with that method.”

“I used to-“

Shino cut you off with a tiny, barely audible gasp. He was looking at something off to the left.

“Look at this!” he pulled you over to a nearby tree and pointed at something nestled in between the moss. “They’re out early!”

“What is? I can’t see anything,” you said, confused. Was he looking at the moss?

“These are Cogita Volan bugs, also known as Mirror bugs. They are known for their incredibly reflective wings that they use for camouflage,” Shino explained, leaning in to look at the bug that you couldn’t quite see. He was so animated that you couldn’t help but watch him. He commanded your attention in a way that he never had before. “They hide in things malleable like moss or fallen leaves because it allows them to reflect from every direction and avoid being eaten.”

You looked closer at the spot he was pointing and now that he mentioned it, you could see the distortion of one of the bugs hidden in the moss. You couldn’t believe that Shino had spotted such a thing from the corner of his eye.

“I think Mirror bugs are quite beautiful,” Shino said, studying them.

Emboldened by your good mood, your filter disappeared completely.

“I think you’re beautiful,” you said softly.

Shino startled and his head jolted up to look at you, mouth dropping open. You were both wearing matching blushes, like school children courting for the first time. Shino gave you such a soft look before leaning against you gently, prompting you to wrap an arm around him.

Shino was so sweet. You couldn’t believe you had ever thought he was cold and aloof. Was it a little weird that he had bugs under his skin or whatever? Yes. But was he also calm and passionate and a really loving oma? It certainly seemed like it.

You regretted not properly befriending him in your younger yours, but this was something you could rectify when you went back, even if you didn’t choose to romance him. (And wasn’t it a weird thought that you were going to have to go back in time and then choose which of your friends to try to woo. Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if the person you picked rejected you? Maybe you should have a top 3.)

“Oma! Appa!” you turned and Shihori was still standing under the branch she’d been trying to climb before. “Put me on the branch! Put me on the branch!”

You laughed but jogged over to her and picked her up and spinning her around as she squealed.

“You want to go on the branch, huh?” you said, tickling her. You felt elated all of a sudden. Being with Shino and Shihori like this made you feel like you could do anything, and you really were getting more comfortable pretending to slot into all these different families now.

Shino walked up behind you and pulled a camera from somewhere in his trench coat.

“Can you take a photo of me and Shihori?” he asked softly, handing you the camera.

“Of course, I will,” you agreed. You put Shihori on the branch and Shino stood beside her to support her. You walked back a few paces and pulled up the camera. “Are you ready?”

The two really looked so similar. It was refreshing to see Shino relaxed and smiling when you had only ever seen him withdrawn.

“I am ready. But we must not say cheese,” Shino said. “Why? Because the animals in the woods will come and try to eat it.”

Was Shino… joking?

Shihori started dying laughing and Shino cracked a small smile.

He was joking.

And it was a terrible joke but… just the fact that Shino had said it made it the funniest thing you’d ever heard. Soon, all of you were laughing your hearts out alone in the woods.

You snapped a photo of the two laughing together. It was a gem and something you promised yourself you would frame, even if the photo only existed for one day.

…

Shihori’s head started drooping on the walk back, so you ended up carrying her. She had nuzzled and purred at your neck and eventually fallen asleep, so you and Shino had decided to stop at a little Aburame food stall in the compound and grab some lunch to bring home, including some for Shihori for when she woke up, and a small portion for Kazue to eat as a snack when he returned home from the academy.

“I found this while we were in the woods today,” Shino had said to you while you were eating lunch today. His voice was quiet to keep from waking Shihori, but no less enthused. “I thought you might like it.”

He had handed you a small stone that was shaped like a heart. You had cooed over it and thanked him profusely, warmed by the idea that he had seen something heart shaped and felt compelled to give it to you. It wasn’t until later that you put two and two together and realised that your bedside drawer was filled with the previous iterations of such gifts.

In the end, you had stayed with a still sleeping Shihori while Shino went to pick Kazue up from the academy, so now you were sat beside her as she slowly woke up.

“Appa?” she called out immediately after opening her eyes.

“I’m here, darling,” you cooed. “Did you have a nice nap?”

She hummed in the affirmative and held out her arms for a cuddle. You stroked her hair while she woke up. Today had been so nice, nowhere near as relaxing as your day yesterday with Shikamaru, but it had been so much fun already and it was only the middle of the afternoon. You had enjoyed the peaceful companionship a lot and were hoping for you and Shino would get some more alone time before your day was up. Shihori was adorable and you believed you’d love Kazue all the same, but you weren’t there to pick them, not really, because the people who entered and stayed in relationships just for pups normally screwed up a lot in the process. No, you were here to find a strong relationship and only then, if you wanted pups, would you introduce them.

It was nice that Shino was a teacher at the academy, you thought suddenly. You didn’t see it as first, but he was patient and calm and good at giving logical explanations. It also meant he must be very present in the family and at home, because he worked in the village with consistent hours. The missions pack you saw earlier by the door was probably yours then, but hopefully you’d been taking fewer missions since Kazue was born; you wouldn’t want to miss out on any moment of this, and you’d only been there for a handful of hours.

“I can’t wait until I can have my own bugs,” Shihori said suddenly. “Because then I can play with them all the time and also put them on people I don’t like.”

“That won’t make you many friends,” you snorted.

“I don’t need friends, I have you and oma and Kazue,” she said, grinning up at you. “But I still think we should get a puppy so that list is longer.”

You laughed again. A big thing you’d learnt so far on this weird journey through time was that pups had serious comedy potential.

“I don’t think we can get a puppy right now, but maybe when you’re a bit older.”

Shihori sighed like she’d been expecting such a response.

The front door clicked open.

“Oma’s back!” Shihori cheered, but something didn’t feel right. There was something wrong about the way they were walking through the door.

You were proven correct when moments later, Shino walked into the room looking furious, a hand on Kazue’s shoulder whose face was stained with tear tracks and the beginnings of a black eye.

“What happened?” you demanded, instantly flying off the couch and towards them. You cradled Kazue’s face in your hands and up close you could see how blotchy and red his skin was too. “What’s wrong?”

Kazue’s face scrunched up like he was going to cry, but he turned around and buried his face into Shino’s chest before any new tears fell. Shino immediately encircled him in his arms and cupped the back of his head.

“Shh, it will all be okay,” he said gently, a stark contrast to the rage on his face. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m going upstairs to write in my diary,” Shihori suddenly announced from behind you. You’d forgotten she was there, honestly. She was watching the scene with furrowed eyebrows and had obviously decided she needed to give everyone some privacy. “Why? Um, well, because I want to.”

With that, she turned and ran up the stairs at full speed and if the situation had been less serious, you probably would have found her antics amusing.

“Alright, let’s all sit down, and we can talk about what happened, come on,” you said, directing both people to the sofa you had just vacated. You repurposed the blanket Shihori had been using and draped it over Kazue’s shoulders. “What happened?”

Kazue’s head remained firmly pointed towards his lap, so Shino answered you instead.

“Ikimori sensei told me that Kazue had been targeted by three of the boys in his class this afternoon in a physical altercation,” Shino explained, the calm rage still very present on his face. “Kazue did not fight back, and the altercation was ending swiftly by a teacher.”

So, three boys had assaulted your son who didn’t fight back or defend himself? You could see why Shino was so angry because you were starting to feel the same way.

“You told me I shouldn’t use my bugs against classmates,” Kazue said tearily. “I told them to leave me alone, but they wouldn’t.”

“Was it just an unprovoked attack or were you interacting with them beforehand?” you asked, rubbing his back. “Do you know these boys?”

Kazue just shook his head and refused to speak. You and Shino made significant eye contact over his head; there was something missing from the story, you could tell.

“This isn’t the first time, is it?” you asked gently. His face immediately confirmed your theory. “They’ve been bullying you, is that right?”

There was silence for a moment, but eventually Kazue nodded. He looked miserable, poor thing. You were furious that he’d been treated in such a way at school and his teacher had only just stepped in now. It was making you even angrier that you wouldn’t be here long enough to see through the situation and make sure Kazue was okay and that those boys were punished for their behaviour.

“Were they bullying you because of our clan?” Shino asked suddenly, and Kazue looked up at him, shocked. It was clear that Shino had hit the nail on the head somehow.

Shino’s face softened as he reached the same conclusion as you, before he removed both his and Kazue’s glasses and pressed their foreheads together. “You can always tell us the truth. Why? Because we will never judge you and always help you.”

Kazue was clearly trying not to cry anymore, but the comforting way Shino was holding him was too much, because he quickly broke down into heavy sobs, pushing himself into Shino’s arms. You scooted up behind him and embraced him and Shino so that Kazue was sandwiched in the middle. You hoped he felt safer there.

“Normally, it’s just clan stuff,” he said between sobs. “But I don’t care about that. Today was d-different though.”

“How so, darling?” you asked, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I don’t know how b-but they found out about my first oma and they- they-“

First oma? What? You were baffled for a moment. Was Kazue adopted?

“What did they say?”

“They said my first oma killed herself because she didn’t want to be my oma anymore,” he wailed, heavy sobs rattling through his little body. “And-And that you would do the same s-soon.”

The tension in the room spiked and you felt a tiny flash of killing intent from Shino before he got in under control. You were feeling much the same way. So, he had been adopted by you and Shino, after a tragedy it sounded like. He must have been from another Aburame family, because there was no way he looked so similar to Shino through coincidence.

And those boys were vile, your mind added on to your assessment of the situation. Who made fun of a classmate’s parent’s suicide? Disgusting.

“That is untrue,” Shino said firmly, tightening his grip. He looked even angrier now, made especially obvious by his lack of glasses.

“Very untrue,” you agreed, covering the poor pup in kisses.

“You are our pup and biology will never change that,” Shino said, pulling away to allow Kazue to look at him properly. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to clean up Kazue’s face. “We love you and Shihori more than anything else in this world and that is a promise.”

Kazue let out a little dry sob as Shino cleaned him up.

“When your biological oma died, we were not expecting pups anytime soon, but when I saw you for the first time, I knew I needed you to be mine. Why? I do not know; I cannot explain it. But I have never regretted it.”

“We will always, always help you with any issues you’re having, including this and the bullying for clan reasons. You don’t have to deal with it alone, and you definitely don’t deserve it,” you added onto Shino’s explanation, drawing Kazue’s attention towards you.

Kazue shot you a watery smile.

“Thanks, appa,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around your torso.

“And I’m going to need you to point out which ones are their parents at pick up, okay? I need to teach them a lesson about raising such shitty pups.”

Kazue gasped, scandalised, and Shino gave you a stern look.

They really were so similar, and it was adorable.

…

Dinner had been a quiet affair, and one that consisted of Kazue’s favourite food, some sort of Aburame potato dish you’d never tried before but agreed was delicious, in an effort to cheer him up. (You consciously did not rank Shino’s food against Neji and Kiba’s because again, that would be very rude. Also, Shikamaru won anyway because he got you into an Akimichi BBQ even if he didn’t cook any of it.)

Shihori also seemed to understand that Kazue was sad because she was quieter than she had been all day, baring the part she’d been asleep.

Kazue seemed embarrassed, so Shino had taken him aside once more after dinner and told him about his own experiences with bullying at the academy. It broke your heart to listen to Shino explain all these things you’d never noticed going on in your classroom and you bitterly regretted not befriending him sooner.

Hearing Shino explain that the bullying was so bad in the early academy years that Shibi, an omega who didn’t keep a full-time nest, had started to because of how frequently Shino would come home upset, really tugged on your heartstrings. It did seem to make Kazue less embarrassed though and there was a fire lit under him at the injustice of the situation that wasn’t there before, so you thought Shino had made a good decision in sharing the story with him.

Despite the fire though, Kazue had tired himself out by crying and decided to head to bed at the same time as Shihori, despite his normal bedtime being much later. You and Shino had spent the best part of half an hour tucking him in and making sure he was okay.

Hence why you were now alone with Shino. Properly alone and sitting together at the kitchen table.

Shino was making a list of things to do to help Kazue, but he had long since written down all helpful solutions and he was now just staring at the paper, stressed. Your attempts at making him laugh by encouraging him to write ‘beat up those children’ on the list were no longer working.

“Hey, there’s no need to be so tense,” you said, putting a hand on his. It was still cold. “We’ll sort everything for Kazue and make sure he’s happy, I promise.”

“Everything has been a bit much lately,” Shino admitted slowly. “Between my students, your coming home very late from your mission last week and now Kazue… I have been stressed. I am stressed.”

“I see,” you said, rubbing his hand with your thumb.

Neither of you said anything else for a while. You thought about what you could do to help. He wasn’t particularly emotive in his voice but being so close to him make you privy to his scent which was tense enough to rile your own emotions in return. You needed to help him, no, you wanted to help him, so spoil him, to make all the bad emotions go away. The way your thumb was moving on his skin gave you an idea.

“Would you like a massage?” you said abruptly, your filter refusing to stop the first idea that entered your head from exiting your mouth.

“Wha-what?!”

…

It had taken a few minutes to find enough towels to cover the bed and find some massage oil, which you’d eventually found in the wardrobe in the form of a never opened gift. Clearly, you hadn’t done this for Shino before but as you looked at Shino laying face down, bare bar a towel over his butt, you decided you definitely needed to if you chose Shino. In fact, if you weren’t sure that he would deny you instantly, you’d offer a friend massage too.

It was just so incredibly and overwhelmingly hot that the man you’d never seen in less than six layers was wearing nothing, laying prone in front of you. It was like his skin was taboo, a hidden treasure that you were finally getting a glimpse of after years of nothing. What could be hotter than that? You were glad that he was laying face down, because you were a little worried that he’d notice how ‘distracted’ you were.

His skin was just so smooth, comparatively untouched by scars, compared to other shinobi that was, perhaps because of his role as a distance fighter and his many armoured layers that he never left the house without.

“Are you, uh, are you ready for me to start?” you asked, awkwardly, popping open the oil cap. You couldn’t wait to put your hands on his skin, and you meant that in the least creepy way possible, of course.

“I… yes, but you do not have to do this,” Shino said, softly. “I will be fine, either way.”

“I want to,” you said firmly. “I’m going to start from the lower parts and work my way up, please tell me which parts are best and if anything hurts.”

“Okay. I am ready.”

His final throwaway insistence that you didn’t need to go out of your way for him was cute, but he was seriously underestimating what you’d be getting out of this experience too.

You poured the oil onto your hands and rubbed them together until the oil was warmed up. Technically, his feet were the furthest down, but that would probably be easier when he was on his front, so instead you put your hands on his ankle with the intention of starting with his calves.

You started first on his left calf, applying pressure with your thumbs and pushing them up before curving off to the sides. The oil smelt of vanilla and Shino’s scent blended with it seamlessly. It was very satisfying to watch his skin move around your thumbs, over and over again. Just getting to touch the skin on his calves was getting to you head already.

Shino hummed pleasantly as you applied an extra bit of pressure.

“Does that feel good?” you asked, keeping the ministrations steady and repetitive.

“Yes,” Shino hummed, his voice muffled by the pillow he was resting on.

“Good,” you replied, a little growl lining your voice without permission. You were privileged enough to be able to feel the shiver that ran through Shino’s body in response. This was too hot. “I’m going to switch to the other calf now.”

You worked on both of his calves until it the skin was hot to the touch. You needed to move on, but the thought of touching his thighs was… a lot. But not a lot in a bad way, so you slid your hands further up, still staying in the safer, lower thigh region for the time being.

“Do you like the smell of the oil?” you asked, to keep yourself grounded as you rubbed little circles on the lower part of Shino’s left thigh. “I don’t remember how we got it?”

“I believe it was a gift,” Shino asked, voice slightly slurred. “From Neji, at Shihori’s baby shower, but we have never used it before. Why? I-I don’t know.”

Squinting more closely at the bottle on the nightstand, you could see now that it was branded as a massage oil for pregnant omegas with no harsh chemicals and a soothing scent meant to reduce nausea. That was a nice gift from Neji, you could see him buying something like that now that you knew him better.

“I’m glad we’re getting use out of it,” you said, allowing your thumbs to stray a little further up, just until they made contact with the towel. Should you move the towel up a bit? Or would Shino not like that? Maybe you should ask him.

“Me too,” he sighed, nuzzling at the pillow. “It feels nice.”

“I’m just going to move the towel up a bit, okay?” you asked, hesitantly, taking your hands off his skin to hover over the towel.

“Okay,” he replied easily. Right, you just had to push it up a bit… Why were you sweating more now than like, the Wave mission where you almost died multiple times? At least Shino couldn’t tell your palms were sweating because of the oil. Carefully, you pushed the white towel up until the crease at the top of his thighs was just barely visible. Right, no time to waste, you just needed to do the same things as you had been doing already but just further up, right? That should be easy.

But you failed to take into account how much softer Shino’s upper thighs were, how his flesh would move around your fingers and how powerful the visual of his thighs glistening with oil would look.

Your underwear was not as comfortable as it had been twenty minutes ago.

Your hands glided up his right thigh, the oil making the motion so easy that you slipped and ended up pushing the tips of your fingers under the towel and over Shino’s backside just a little. Shino sucked in a little air and his toes curled slightly, but he did not protest.

Oh kami, you had just totally copped a feel by accident. Just focus, he obviously didn’t mind, just focus on what you’re doing. You kept up that little mantra as you worked.

The skin was soft, and as Shino’s reactions remained positive, you relaxed a little and focused on kneading the skin until it was pink. Shino was getting progressively breathier as time went on.

“Does this feel good?” you questioned softly. “Want me to work on your back now?”

“Feels really good,” he slurred, sounding nothing like himself now. He didn’t bother answering the second question, but you assumed that was a statement of agreeance and moved the towel back down, briefly mourning the sight, and moved onto his back.

Shino’s back was obviously where he was carrying all his stress because he suddenly became a lot more vocal, groaning and hissing and whining, as you worked out the kinks and knots. But once the worst of it was over, he fell completely boneless on the bed, only the changes in his breathing reassuring you that he was still awake, if only barely.

You kept rubbing around his neck anyway, perched over his hips, telling yourself it was to keep him relaxed, but in all honesty, you were having a good time massaging him like this. He was just so pretty, and you’d never seen him like this before, never. Not even close. You were addicted to this side of him, and it was difficult to stop.

“You must have been so stressed,” you whispered into his ear, leaning over him. “Your back was like a rock.”

“Hmm, not anymore,” he whispered, eyes closed.

You laughed. He was right.

You continued for another few minutes, but it was obviously time to start winding down, as sad as it made you to admit that.

“Okay, I’m done,” you said sadly, removing your hands and wiping them on a nearby towel. “We should definitely use the rest of the oil sometime soon though.”

There was no response.

“Shino?” you asked quietly, climbing off the bed and peering down at his face. His eyes were closed and his breathing slow and deep; he was asleep. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him. He was so sweet, and he looked so innocent, relaxed and smelling of vanilla.

Unable to bring yourself to wake him, you decided to leave him be and clean up by yourself, tidying up the towels, wiping up excess oil and even redressing him.

(And you were exerting full effort into not noticing the raging boner he had, even while asleep, while you dressed him into some pyjamas. Shino appeared to have liked the massage more than you had intended.)

He had woken up at one point, just briefly, but when his bleary eyes had settled on your face, he had merely relaxed again and fallen straight back to sleep. It was flattering that he felt so comfortable with you if not a little annoying that you were having to dress someone completely limp.

By the time you had him tucked up in bed with you, it was almost midnight. You decided to hurry up and fall asleep to avoid another headache scenario that you really didn’t want but allowed yourself a few more seconds to watch Shino and think about your day here with him.

The first thought you had was that you wanted to massage him more. His hands, his face, his feet, his chest, everywhere.

Your second thought was less motivated by horniness, and was instead about how much you’d enjoyed today, how loved you’d felt just watching the members of this little family interact with each other. And yes, Shihori was a little madame sometimes, and Kazue was going through a hard time, but you were really going to miss them. You debated going to tuck them in again, but your limbs were heavy and refused to move.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep in the end and when you did, it was with the scent of vanilla sitting heavily on your tongue and Shino’s warmth pressed against your side, thinking about how much you wished you could do a second day here.

Next chapter

#naruto #omegaverse #alpha!reader #alpha reader #reader insert #x reader #a/b/o #gn reader

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