#I don’t want to have these dreams anymore. they were gone for a while but this one fucked me up and I woke up crying and idk why

[goyardgoyangi]

being street racer! sukuna's passenger princess

It started as a post-sex thing.

He’d finish, you’d sprawl out like you were melting into the sheets, and he’d grumble something about needing to feed you so you don’t actually pass out like that.

Drag you to some hole-in-the-wall place with killer xiao long bao, toss his hoodie over your still-wobbly frame, and feed you until you were full and soft and pliant again.

Then you’d fall asleep in the car while he drove home—droopy-eyed, mouth parted, limbs heavy with the kind of sleep that only followed being fucked thoroughly and well-fed.

Now? It’s different.

Now he picks you up from work without being asked. Says shit like “I was in the area,” when he clearly wasn’t. His car smells faintly like your shampoo because he started keeping your scrunchies on the gear shift like a good luck charm.

One hand always on the wheel, the other already sliding up your thigh before you remember to buckle your seatbelt. Lazy squeezes, his pinky tucked under the hem of your skirt like it belongs there. You don’t even flinch anymore—you just hum tiredly, fingers curling around his forearm.

And he loves that.

Loves the way your arms wrap around his inked-up limb like it’s a body pillow, your cheek nestled into the crook of his elbow as if he was designed for this. For you.

You don’t say much. Just mumble a soft “You’re so warm, Kuna…” and go limp against him, breathing slow and even while he drives down the freeway with one arm occupied by your whole damn body weight.

And he drives smoother now—less like a street demon, more like a boyfriend who doesn’t want to wake the girl of his dreams dozing off on his arm.

Not because he’s gone totally soft, but because the thought of jolting you awake makes something twist in his chest. He eases up on the gas. Smooths out the turns. Treats the road like something sacred, because you’re in his passenger seat, falling asleep to the sound of his engine.

He doesn’t know when it stopped being about the sex.

Maybe it was the third time he picked you up after work without you asking. Maybe it was when you stopped checking the address of where he was taking you, trusting he’d bring you somewhere good. Or maybe it was the first time you fell asleep mid-drive, head against his bicep, trusting him with your body in a way that wasn’t about heat or urgency—just safety.

Now, it’s a ritual. Feeling the weight of your body slump against his. Letting your warmth bleed into him. You wrap around his arm like it’s yours, like he’s yours—and maybe he is.

This intimate, possessive need to be there. To get you fed, to take you home, to make sure you never had to call anyone else when you’re tired and worn down from the world. It's not just about taking care of you. It's about the way you let him.

And fuck, he likes it.

Almost as much as he likes the way your thigh flinches under his palm when he gives it a slow, deliberate squeeze at a red light. Just to see if you’re really asleep—or if you’re just pretending, so he’ll keep touching you like that.

Either way, he keeps his hand there.

Keeps driving.

Keeps being yours. Even if neither of you have said it yet.

[rafesangelita]

♡ standing in front of rafe’s door after everything that transpired was the last thing you thought you’d do.. yet here you were. luckily for you, rafe has no intentions of ever letting you leave him again.

warnings: enemies to lovers, unprotected sex, rough sex, marathon sex (these two have a lot to catch up on), oral (m. and f. receiving), fingering, choking, face fucking, cum eating, cum play (they are sooo gross), multiple orgasms, rough handling, hair pulling, biting, slapping, overstimulation, crying, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation kink (?), praise, fluff, soft aftercare

a/n: aaaand this is the end ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ this series was something i thought of on a whim, and i couldn’t be any more happier with the way everything came out. to everyone who showed sm love and gave me your thoughts and feedback, thank you so much!! reading your comments and your theories made me smile <3 wrote this while listening to ‘hotel’ by montell fish, i highly recommend listening to it, it’s what inspired this chapter!!

links: previous | mini series masterlist

wc: 3.8k

it’s been four days since rafe’s been blowing up your phone with every second he could spare, all of his calls and messages being either dismissed or ignored. you had fabricated a lie the next morning and told chanel that you and rafe just weren’t compatible with each other, and even though she could see the solemn look on your face, she knew not to dig any further. “you call me if you need anything, okay?” she hugged you tightly before leaving, using her own key to lock the door to your house as you stayed laying in bed.

as much as you wanted to give in to rafe, you just couldn’t find it in you to overlook the fact that he held back from telling you what he knew. sure, now that you look back on it, it was obvious, but to continue feeding into your fantasies, receiving your pictures, and talking to you on the phone as if he didn’t know who you were made you feel like you had been played in a way. since that night, you went to your tumblr and deleted everything, along with deactivating your account and uninstalling the app as a whole.

once rafe saw that your blog was gone, he went ahead and decided to delete his as well. it was pointless for him to be active if you were no longer on there anymore. he had been checking his phone religiously, hoping for any kind of reply, but each time his phone screen illuminated with a notification that wasn’t from you it was just a blow to his chest. he hated not hearing from you, especially because he had grown so used to listening to your voice everyday. now that was all gone. he no longer had that balance that he needed to keep him from going insane.

rafe didn’t view you any differently once he found out his dream girl behind the screen was you. if anything, it just made him want you even more. to know that the same girl that never put up with anyone’s shit was the same girl that wanted to be told what to do was nothing short of gratifying. he loved being the man that did that for you. both of you needed each other, and that was something you were slowly starting to realize as the days went on. finally folding, you had turned your read receipts off so rafe wouldn’t know that you opened up the plethora of paragraphs he had been sending you.

you scrolled down from the very top, only reading the messages that stuck out to you the most.

[Sunday - 10:11 AM] rafe: i just checked into my room, please text me back.

[Sunday - 11:00 AM] rafe: i don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me but we’re gonna have to settle this now or when i get home. either way, you’re still mine. whether you like it or not.

[Sunday - 11:09 AM] rafe: has it ever occurred to you that you know things about me that nobody else knows either? i knew who you were and i still didn’t hold back from being vulnerable with you. i care about you y/n, i think about you all the fucking time. after opening up to me last night, i really just want to make sure that you never feel alone again. let me be there. please.

[Sunday - 10:17 PM] rafe: this is the first night in months that i’m going to bed without hearing your voice. please consider talking to me again.

[Monday - 8:20 PM] rafe: not that it matters anymore but for the entire time that we were texting each other, i never saw anyone else. i wasn’t interested in anybody and then once i found out that you were closer than i thought, you’re the only thing that i could think about. phone sex aside, i truly believe that we see each other and understand one another— at least for me, you do. this isn’t a sunken ship, and i won’t let you turn it into one.

[Monday - 8:27 PM] rafe: i’ll do whatever it takes to be back in your good graces, but leaving you alone isn’t an option. i don’t think it ever was.

[Tuesday - 3:55 PM] rafe: well i finished up all the deals i needed to make, but i want to give you the time that you need, so i’ll be staying here for the rest of the week. i’ve put your name on the visitor’s list for my room number, i know it’s far fetched to think you’ll show up, but i’ll be here.

and then the most recent ones from this afternoon..

[Today - 1:09 PM] rafe: #501

[Today - 1:10 PM] rafe: that’s my room number.

you bit your lip. you couldn’t believe you were really considering going over there. you spent the rest of the afternoon pacing the halls, trying to come up with excuses as to why you shouldn’t pack a bag and give in to the man that undeniably has you in a chokehold. by the sounds of his texts, it’s not like you can just get out of not communicating with him, he has made that abundantly clear. by the time it was seven o’clock you were cursing under your breath as your car parked onto the ferry headed towards the mainland. “you better not embarrass me, asshole..” you whispered, swallowing your pride as the minutes counted down to your destination.

you were hesitant when it came time to go into the lobby, your chest rising and falling as you got off the car on shaky legs. you knew that coming over here meant more than just ‘talking it out’, this was you allowing rafe to prove himself worthy enough for something to grow out of this; something serious. “good evening! are you a guest or a visitor?” the receptionist smiled at you brightly as you answered. “visitor. for rafe cameron.” she clicked away on her computer for a few moments before humming pleasantly. “y/n?” she confirmed. with a curt nod, she motioned towards the elevators, “enjoy your night.”

adjusting the pink bag on your shoulder, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding once the elevator dinged on rafe’s floor. no matter how much you were trying to downplay the situation, you couldn’t help the violent thumping of your heart with every step you took towards the end of the long hallway. standing in front of his door made everything feel like it was closing in on you, like suddenly you couldn’t get out of this and you hated the feeling of losing control. before you could successfully talk yourself out of facing him and running away, you knocked and waited with a bated breath for rafe to answer.

the man on the other side of the door was sitting at the edge of his bed in deep thought when he heard the small sound against the thick hardwood. eyebrows twisting in confusion, rafe got up and looked through the peep hole. he felt relief wash over him as soon as he saw you standing there with your arms crossed over your chest without a word, he opened the door, your eyes finding his. his gaze said just as much as your own, both of you sharing a mutual understanding without having to say anything.

pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, rafe nodded understandingly before dragging you inside, your heart fluttering in your chest at his display of strength. “rafe—” you didn’t even get a chance to say anything before he grabbed your bag and tossed it to the side, his hands cupping your face before he backed you into the wall. “just shut up.” he whispered, both of you moaning once you felt each other’s lips finally press into your own. he tasted like mint with a hint of alcohol and you knew right then and there that you’d never be able to get enough of it.

snaking your hands underneath his shirt, you raked your nails down his toned stomach before tugging at the waistline of his jeans, a small gasp leaving your lips once he inserted a thigh between your legs and pressed into where you needed him most. “fuck,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck, “please, i need you.” hearing you say that you needed him made rafe’s head spin in the best possible way. “yeah? i’m not really convinced..” he leaned in, licking a stripe across your bottom lip. rolling your eyes, you dug your nails into his neck until he groaned, pushing you into the wall with a thud.

narrowing your gaze at him, rafe smiled once he saw what looked like a hint of a challenge dancing in your orbs. picking you up off of your feet, you yelped when rafe slammed you onto his bed, wasting no time in slotting himself between your thighs. “it’s gonna take a lot more than some pathetic begging to get me inside you.” he said through gritted teeth. you refrained from saying something smart, your stare faltering as you swallowed thickly. he was going to make this difficult for you. stroking the back of his neck, you pulled him down so your lips were next to his ear.

he shuddered at the feeling of your breath fanning against his skin, a sigh falling from his lips as you trailed your foot along the side of his hip up to his torso. “please, rafe? i might cry if i have to my own fingers again..it’s been too long,” you whispered, “what will it take for you to fill me up with your cock instead?” rafe cursed under his breath as soon as he heard your lewd words, his hands working to get you out of your clothes so he could give both of you some kind of relief. you shivered once you were left in your bra and panties, your eyes beaming up at the man in front of you as you slowly removed the lacey material.

maybe it was because rafe was still fully dressed, but you couldn’t help but feel overexposed as he ogled your chest, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing up and down as he took your tits in the palms of his hands. “holy fuck,” he laid you back, letting his touch roam your body as you squirmed with anticipation, “the camera doesn’t do you justice, baby, you’re fucking gorgeous.” your stomach erupted in a fit of butterflies at the nickname. “and these..” he tugged at your underwears, his jaw clenching once he caught a glimpse of your glossy folds.

in no time, rafe had your thighs shaking around his head, your back arching off of the plush mattress as you clawed at his hands in a desperate attempt to ground yourself from the pure, white hot pleasure coursing through your tummy. “rafe!” you squealed, your entire body buzzing with need as you felt his fingers prod at your entrance. “you taste so good, ‘pretty, m’gonna have to keep you on your back for me all fucking day from now on.” he cursed, flicking his tongue against your overstimulated clit. you felt like a puddle of nothing once he had his digits curled inside of you, his fingertips continuously hitting that sweet spot that made you jolt with each stroke.

“t-too much!” you shook your head, your hips drawing away from his mouth. he chuckled, his strong grip on the curves of your waist making you hiss in pain. “this can’t be too much for you already, i’m just getting started..” you whined helplessly, feeling the band in your stomach snap for the second time already, the motions of his digits eliciting wet squelches from your cunt as you writhed uncontrollably beneath him.

with your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, rafe removed the hand he had inbetween your thighs and slipped his fingers inside your mouth, his tongue still working skillfully on your sensitive bud as he forced you to taste yourself. you moaned, sucking on his digits without a second thought. “you’re so fucking hot, i love it.” he grumbled, grinding his clothed erection into the sheets, desperate for any kind of friction he could get as he leaked precum from merely giving you pleasure.

he brought you down from your high until your breathing slowed and you were dragging him up to kiss you once again. rafe’s lips molded to yours so perfectly, you cupped his chin and pecked the tip of his nose before slipping out from under his body. rafe didn’t ask any questions as you grabbed his hand and guided him back up to his feet. how you managed to stand up after being overstimulated into oblivion? you don’t know, but you were determined to get rafe out of his clothes one way or another.

rafe watched as you lifted his shirt above his head, the thin material of his t-shirt getting lost on the floor somewhere as you stared at his glorious build. “as much i hated you, i always thought you were stupidly hot.” rafe snorted at your words, his eyes following the way your fingertips trailed down his pecs to his v-line. “hated?” he repeated, noting the past-tense of your statement. meeting his eyes, you blinked softly before pressing another kiss to the corner of his lips. “yeah, hated.”

within seconds, you had dropped to your knees, biting your lip at the sight of rafe bulging out of the denim material of his jeans. looking up at him with sultry eyes, you palmed him through his pants, his nostrils flaring slightly as you took your time getting him out of his boxers. oh and once you did, you were gobsmacked. you’ve spent so much time daydreaming about this cock, just wishing it was the one thing putting you to sleep instead of your fingers, and now that it was standing in front of you, you couldn’t help but rub your thighs together at the sight.

you smiled sweetly before placing your hands on the back of his knees, the man above you already fisting your hair into a makeshift ponytail as you licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock, his hips bucking at the pleasure shooting into his core. “o-oh, fuck..” he swallowed thickly, watching as your sparkly lips enveloped the head of his cock, your tongue swirling around his aching tip with ease. you moaned around his length, taking him inch by inch until your nose nudged his pubic bone.

blinking up at him through your eyelashes, you slowly pulled off of him, holding him at the base as he watched you trace your lips with a mix of spit and precum. “you’re gonna get it.” was the last thing rafe said before he pulled your head back down on his cock, a muffled whine sounding from your mouth before you felt his tip hit the back of your throat. rafe’s head rolled to the side, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. your grip tightened around his legs, your eyebrows pinching together as rafe groaned, his muscles constricting underneath his skin.

“i imagined this for so long..” he said through gritted teeth, “..since way before we even started texting.” you moaned at the revelation, grateful that he took the hint and let you slide off of him for a moment so you could breathe. gasping once you were able to get a full breath, rafe cursed when his eyes landed on the thick string of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock. “why didn’t you do something about it, then?” rafe shook his head, letting go of your hair before landing a playful smack across your cheek. “you know what? that’s a really good question, ‘think you would’ve been okay with me stuffing your mouth back then?”

you giggled, licking your lips before getting up and pushing him down on the bed. rafe brought you down with him, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you kissed him sloppily. feeling him like this, skin to skin, made a weight that you didn’t even know was there lift from your heart, your soft hands stroking his chest as he held you in his big arms. snaking down his torso, you pressed a trail of kisses down his stomach until you reached his length, wrapping a hand around his base.

“tell me, rafe,” you scooted down so you were straddling his thighs, “would you have even had the balls to take me the way you wanted?” rafe’s chest rose and fell as you stroked him languidly, his eyes struggling to stay open as you watched him with that dark gaze of yours. “nah, i didn’t think you’d be able to take it.” you smiled, taking your bottom lip between your teeth before you picked up your pace, the action making rafe’s hips buck. “ah, fuck!” he heaved, his jaw falling slack as he felt himself teetering the edge of euphoria.

“already gonna cum?” you teased, “so fucking pathetic.” rafe blinked, his jaw tightening at your words. he couldn’t let you win this easily. despite it feeling impossible, he mustered up the strength to stop your ministrations, grabbing your shoulders and pinning you down beneath him. “you might be royalty out there, but in here? with me? you don’t get to have your fucking way. you’re nothing.” you gasped, your heart beating in your ears as he threw your legs over his shoulders.

suddenly you didn’t have the same confidence from earlier now that rafe had you right where he wanted you, his cock sitting snuggly between your folds. your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of him teasing your clit, a shaky breath leaving your lips as he entered you slowly. rafe buried his face in your neck, his teeth nipping the sensitive flesh there. your eyes watered at the stretch, a small cry emitting from your throat. rafe looked down at you and made sure you were okay before thrusting into you, both of you moaning in unison.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he praised you, “better than what i could’ve ever imagined.” he pressed a kiss to your calf, pressing a large palm over your lower stomach. you squeaked at the pressure, your toes curling as he fucked into you with vigor. “i wonder what people would think of you if they knew you were a cock hungry slut,” he started thumbing your clit, your hands shooting up to dig crescents into his biceps, “i should mark you up, ‘show everyone who the fuck you belong to when they see us out.”

you don’t know why, but the idea of walking around with rafe, everyone’s eyes falling on you two in every room you enter, turned you on beyond belief, especially at the prospect of being littered with bruises and hickeys from none other than the man on top of you. “i want that,” you whimpered, “want’ everyone to know you’re mine too.” rafe groaned. all he’s wanted to hear since you two started this whole thing. that he was yours.. that you wanted him the way he wanted you.

rafe wished so badly that he didn’t refrain from letting himself cum over the course of these last few months, because then maybe he wouldn’t be close to blowing his load this soon. “still think i’m pathetic if i cum right now?” rafe trailed his lips across your collarbone, his forehead nudging your chin as you nodded breathlessly. “oh, totally.” you laughed, the smile from your face being wiped off as soon as rafe picked up his speed on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“i guess that’s gonna make two of us then..” you had heavy tears rolling down your cheeks when your high washed over you in waves of pure ecstasy, your legs trembling as you thrashed against him. you lost all ability to speak or think, rafe’s hips coming to a stop as he pulled out, still stroking his length as he emptied himself over your drenched folds. rafe shuddered, watching the way his cum painted your pretty cunt. you were left clenching around nothing, a pout forming on your lips.

“w-why didn’t you just cum inside me?” you stuttered, rafe’s eyes widening at your display of offense. “well i wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with that—” you cut him off, clamping a hand over his mouth before reaching down and guided his tip over the mess he made. “put it in me.” your had seen plenty of gazes turn dark before, but rafe’s was just incomparable. he was distraught, the look on your face sending him into overdrive. he did as you said, his mind churning with a thousand thoughts at once.

you took every drop like a champ, his eyes hanging low as he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his side. cradling his head to your chest, you reveled in the feeling of his arms being wrapped around you, both of you panting softly in an attempt to catch your breaths. staying in this position for what seemed like forever, you blinked once rafe’s voice broke you out of your post-sex bliss. “what made you change your mind?” he asked, running his fingertips up and down the column of your spine.

“my mind was already made up..” you whispered, “i just needed to put my ego away and finally choose something for myself.”

at your words, rafe pulled you into a heated kiss, which only then lead to round two and three and so on until you were barely able to hold yourself up in the shower. you and rafe slept in the next morning, both of you spending the rest of the week seemingly catching up with all of the pent up sexual frustration you two shared until it was time to go back home and do it all overs again. your phone had been blowing up with unanswered calls and texts from chanel, your best friend worried sick about you and your sudden disappearance. “where the fuck have you been?! i was starting to think i should file a missing persons report!” she shouted.

“i promise i’m going to explain everything. meet me at our brunch spot in ten minutes.. and feel free to bring topper..”

“how did this happen?!” chanel squealed excitedly, looking between you and rafe as he draped an arm across your shoulders, your lips finding his. oh, god, where could you even start? “it’s a really interesting story, but trust me when i say you’ll thank me for sparing the details.” you laughed. topper was also mildly confused at his best friend’s sudden attitude change towards you. “blink twice if you need help, bro.” he chuckled nervously, both you and chanel shooting him a glare. “nah, no cries for help over here. i’m right where i wanna be..”

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[teaboot]

(Re: I asked if anyone in “John Wick” ever actually explicitly SAID John’s wife was dead, or if it was just heavily implied and stepped around so I could choose to argue that she wasn’t)

Oh, yeah, dude of course- I KNOW she’s dead. I watched the same movie as you. She’s like… SUPER dead. Flatline and funeral, yeah.

What I wanted to know was if anyone in the movie actually SAYS “death, died, dead, deceased” (because I couldn’t remember) because if they HADN’T, if everyone had just kept saying “gone” or “left us” or “not there anymore”, it would give me a WHOLE NEW ANGLE to play with.

Without anyone SAYING she’s dead, flat-out, all we got is heavy implications, a hospital flatline, and a funeral scene that I COULD argue may have been flash-forwards shown out of chronological canon to mislead the viewer, which films have done before.

I LOVE subtext. I LOOOOVE symbolism and metaphor and allegory and foreshadowing. I could talk about the dog from John Wick 2 not getting a name for hours. About Helen’s NAME. Oooohohoho my god or the LIGHTING.

Yeah, duh, we’re supposed to read the room and know she died. They were super good at making that clear. The viewer is supposed to pick up on that. Good movies DO THAT- lead you to an empty space by showing what’s around it.

But VERY GOOD movies… sometimes they lead you to an empty space by showing you what’s around it, then showing that a dozen other things could have that silhouette. They’re misleading on purpose, to play with your expectations and make you think and prove a point. Horror movies, while not my personal favourite, are FANTASTIC at this. Some thrillers and murder mysteries are BRILLIANT at this. Agatha Christie? She had some banger twists.

So like… it’s fun? It’s fun

And we used to talk about movies like this for FUN, like… “oh, what if the sheriff from Walking Dead never woke up from his coma and the last 40 seasons were just a dream?”, not because we think that’s where the movie is headed, but because it’s fun to think about

I’m not sure when exactly we stopped talking about media for fun and started doing it to feel clever and correct, but I don’t want to be right, here. If I wanted to just be right I’d have searched up the info before I said anything.

I want to solve a riddle I invented so I can enjoy a story that wasn’t told for myself, and share the idea with my friends maybe.

And I happen to think that considering the movies again while pretending Helen is still alive and just not around John turns it pretty handily from a tragedy to a comedy kind of, doesn’t it? See how the tone shifts? Isn’t that new perspective fun to look at?

Being correct is boring cause there’s only one answer. You gotta ask what’s possible

[brittle-doughie]

I come with Eternal Sugar fanart and a humble request for story interactions other and y/n cookie

Cool fanart. You say STORY interaction, but do know that this post will be subject to change once we get more on the update in May.

You open your eyes to see…trees? Flowers? A fountain?

Eternal Sugar Cookie floated down next to you.

“It’s not what you expected, right? That Beast-Yeast could harbor something so peaceful….”

“Are we even in Beast-Yeast anymore?”

“Yes, this is my paradise…but it can also be yours, if you choose to stay. This place will have everything you need.”

“But you’re still a Beast Cookie…”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for what my…friends have done to you, it mustn’t been easy on your mind for a long while.”

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a full nights sleep without waking up from nightmares. That they were chasing me, I’d spring up from bed right as they were about to grab me…”

You didn’t see it, but Eternal Sugar frowned in irritation for a moment, her pupils sharpen in hidden rage before she reverts back to her smile and soft demeanor.

“You’ve been through so much. Please allow me to be the one to ease your burden…”

“But I need to-what did you just say?”

“Ssshhh. No need to think on it anymore, my heavenly~ Join me.”

She pulls you up to her cloud and holds you close, stroking your head.

“They can’t reach you here.“

“Nobody can…..”

“You don’t have to fear anymore.”

“Do not be afraid….”

“I have made this paradise to bring happiness to all Cookies who enter.”

“You’ll never want out….”

“Sleep well, heavenly…”

“Dream of me….”

You couldn’t fight back the urge to close your eyes, the grip of sleep taking hold as you drift off into dreamland…

Eternal Sugar holds off on doing anything for a while before she sings a melodious tune, which calls over two Cookies to her.

“My dear angels, please go and make a space for my heavenly. I want it to be the most comfortable and beautiful place in all of Earthbread…”

The two Cookies nod their heads and fly away to handle their duties. Eternal Sugar looked down at you again as she resumed stroking your head.

An ominous shadow casted over her eyes as she smiles to herself.

———————————————————————

Back at the Cookie Kingdom, all Hollyberry Cookie could do was stare in disbelief at an empty living space. It was just occupied a while ago, which is why Dumpling Cookie behind her was just as surprised.

“Where….”

“Where has Y/N Cookie gone…?”

[eyeheartboobiez]

shower sex w/ jason

ask: I’ve been craving backshots with Jaybird(possibly in the shower)and reader being blackout cockdrunk, I don’t know if you’re comfortable with degradation, praise/degradation or slightly mean!Jason so I’ll leave that optional(if you’re not comfortable with that forget I ever said that). And ofc filthy dirty talk is always welcome 😉

a/n: @nyxx01 IM SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG I HOPE U LIKE IT

wc: 800-ish

tw: subspace themes

"Shut up and take it."

The steam radiating throughout the bathroom was nothing compared to what was actually happening in the shower. What was supposed to be a simple wash after a night out, abruptly turned into something much more pornographic.

For hours now, Jason had been plowing into your entrance, not thinking too let up in the slightest. You were surprised the water hadn’t gone cold considering the two of you had been at it for hours now.

Despite the hot water cascading down your skin, your nipples grazing the tile of the wall, or even the slight clutch of Jason’s hand around your throat, you felt completely stripped of all your senses. 

Absolutely weak in the knees by now, your body had gone completely limp from being handled so brutally. The sobs of pleasure slipping from your lips were the only signs of life from you. 

As the rhythm of Jason’s thrusts shook your entire body, you were sure you’d have fallen over by now had it not been for his iron grip around your torso. "Jace,” you huffed, “Jus’ gimme a sec-"

A piercing smack shrilled through the air, loud enough to be heard between the pouring water and your shameless moans. You didn’t even realize how much your rear stung until you noticed callused hands teasingly rub at the stricken area, “Nuh uh, you don't get to talk. Not right now."

The vigilante moved to grip you by your elbows, his hips still thrusting at an unforgiving pace. Tears stained your cheeks as you began to cry, the saltiness of your cries somehow finding a way to stand out against the tap water around you. 

"Aww, you crying sweetheart? I thought you wanted to be treated like a whore t’night, hm? Thought this was what you wanted, baby.” His teases did nothing but add to your arousal, only hurting you on a surface level.

“I should just spread you open and pound you till tomorrow, huh?" He cooed. “I’d finally fuck the brat outta you. Maybe then you’ll start being good ‘fa me.”

You practically shuddered at the thought, desperate to be filled with more of Jason’s cum. His feigned sympathy made your eyes water even more.

However, that dream was quickly shut down. His sudden talkativeness was a telltale sign that he was close to reaching his peak.

Not even a minute later, you felt his hips shudder vigorously against your backside, the grip on you tightening as he was pushed over the edge. Ropes of cum pulsed from the girth between his legs, penetrating deep within your sensitive hole

“Mmmf, there we go.” Groans sputtered from his mouth, languid praises rumbling from chest, “That’s it hon, give it to me.”

Following him in sequence, you reached your final orgasm of the night. Your knees buckled and convulsions took over your body as you felt the climax rush through you. 

Before you could hit the floor though, the Gothamite was quick to catch you in his arms. Gently, he sat you down on the floor of the tub, making sure to angle you away from the pouring water.

Feeling the ground beneath you, your senses were slowly coming back to you. While you weren’t necessarily dickmatized anymore, your thoughts were still a bit hazy.

The water rinsing you down, a fresh towel drying you off, butter massaging its way into your skin; everything happened in a blur. But, even while your mind was still trying to catch up with the world around you, you knew that you were in good hands.

“C'mon doll, help me out a little here.” Blinking into reality, you looked to see you were sat on the edge of your bed, dressed in one of your boyfriend’s tee shirts. Jason was standing between your legs, attempting to wrap your hair for the night, but your drowsy figure was no help whatsoever.

Straightening up, you moved to make the job easier for him. “There ya’ go,” he muttered, the low timbre of his voice only lulling you further to sleep, “Look at you bein’ so good for me now.”

Once your mane was taken care of, you hastily made your way under the sheets, the soft fabric covering you in a blanket of warmth. After making sure you were comfortable, the batboy made his way over to his side of the bed, settling himself in right beside you.

Although, just as you were about to clock out for the night, Jason squished your cheeks together, forcing your eyes to meet his, "Maybe next time think twice before flirting with the bartender, hm?"

You knew he was still irritated with you, but the goodnight kiss he left on your forehead told you he’d get over it. Sooner or later.

a/n: this reads like a wattpad fic (derogatory)

[grantspectortrash]

fantasies & thin walls

Pairing: Rex Sloan/Rex Splode x F!Reader

Summary: post s3 (minus Rex’s relationship with Rae), but everyone is alive and well! nothing bad ever happened! I don’t know what you mean!

You’re apart of the ex-guardians superhero team that are staying at Teen Team’s base. Your room is next to Rex’s, and he can’t ignore the noises he can hear through the wall.

Warnings/tags: Minors DNI, 18+ pls and thank you this is smut. Unknown mutual masturbation, porn reference, smut but no physical contact

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: for all my Rex girlies, because there simply aren’t enough fics so I’m coming out of hibernation after 3 years off.

___

Long days, intense fights, and constant training meant that when you finally crawled into bed way after the sun had gone down, you were knackered.

Your suit was discarded in a heap on the floor and you had told Cecil if there was another emergency tonight he could find someone else. You’d been through too much lately.

All you craved was some time to relax, and nothing seemed to be working.

None of your favourite shows were hitting the spot, you didn’t have the energy to read a book, and the thought of doomscrolling on your phone made your nose wrinkle.

There was only one thing that would help.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted it, but you knew you wanted that release, that blissful chilled out feeling only one thing could give you.

“Fuck it.” You sighed into the darkness, shimmying off your pyjamas and leaving those on the floor beside your suit.

Once you were naked, you loaded up the default porn site you always used in moments like these, and began scrolling.

Your actions started slowly, a hand tracing down your stomach to your folds, where two fingers traced lazily around your clit in circles.

You knew you were doing this just to feel something, anything, that wasn’t to do with fighting or training. Something that didn’t require losing any blood or killing anyone. You just wanted that release.

You just didn’t know the walls were so fucking thin.

For the third time in two weeks, Rex led in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the noises he could hear coming from your room.

He had no idea why the walls were so thin, or why it seemed as if your beds were pressed up against each other, or why he couldn’t bring himself to plug his ears.

He knew he shouldn’t listen in. It was invasive and wrong. But it wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose.

Rex was a good guy now, and he respected you. It just wasn’t his fault that your soft moans made his cock twitch.

He had restrained himself the first time, only allowing himself to listen for the first five minutes while he felt his cock get hard, before shoving headphones on to drown out the noise.

The second time he had truly behaved himself. He had listened to you all the way through, telling himself it was only because he was only curious to see how long it took for you to get there.

And once you had, he had forced himself to sleep while his dick fought against the restraints of his bed covers.

He had woken up in the morning with a wet patch on his sheets, and heat had flushed to his cheeks.

He wasn’t an asshole fuckboy anymore, so why had his dream-self done that to him?

The day after he had punished himself by training extra hard, only taking a break when Rudy demanded Rex had gone beyond the point of exhaustion.

But deep down he knew it wasn’t youthful impulses or ex-fuckboy tendencies that had made him feel that way about you.

Rex thought you were gorgeous.

You had everything he wanted in a woman. The perfect eyes, perfect figure - hell if he had still been the previous him, he probably would’ve saddled up to you the first day you joined the guardians with a “hey sexy mama” and would’ve tried to seduce you into bed.

And while half of him was still tempted to try that, he was different now. He admired you for your powers and skillset, and knew how much you cared about saving people. You inspired him, and in Rex’s eyes that added another level to your beauty.

So while he heard you, moaning and panting, he couldn’t help the reaction his body had.

He couldn’t help it either when he heard his name tumble out of your mouth.

Rex shot up from his bed immediately, his head slamming against the shelves above.

“Fuck.” Rex whispered angrily, a hand coming up to rub the back of his head.

He listened to see if you had heard, but you only paused for a second before the soft moans continued.

Maybe he had heard you wrong. Maybe he was going mad, the sounds of you driving him wild enough that he had reached delirium.

But there it was again.

The faint “Rex” slipping out of your mouth while you touched yourself, your phone and the porn you were watching discarded while thoughts of what you really wanted took over your mind.

You didn’t even know when you had started fantasising about Rex - probably when he dropped the full throttle dickhead vibe and became an endearing asshole instead. Probably before.

You’d fought beside the guy. You lived with him. You’d seen him in just a towel wrapped around his waist after a shower, and you’d seen him beaten and bloody, which shouldn’t have been attractive but absolutely was.

Each and every time you caught a glimpse of his hard abs, or each time the light hit his green eyes just right, you’d felt something stir deep within you.

And now you were wishing Rex was deep within you.

Your legs were spread wide, your hands desperately moving while one fingered your hole with unyielding intent and the other teased your clit.

It wasn’t enough, you wanted Rex, even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself or to him - ever.

But it was more than enough for Rex. He wanted you, and he didn’t want to hold back any longer.

Rex rested his head against the wall, and took his hard cock into his hand, pre cum already glistening at his tip in the low light.

He took one slow stroke, and bucked into his hand involuntarily. And as your sounds got louder, Rex matched your pace.

He moved his hand at the tempo of your rhythm, straining to control his breathing so he could concentrate on your own.

“Rex”, his name came again, this time a little louder and more like a whimper.

It sent a shiver across his naked body, and a silent “oh baby” crossed his lips.

He could hear your pace quickening, knew that soon you would be feeling that familiar tight cord across your stomach, knew that soon it would be all over and he would have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

But as he fisted his cock in his hand, he didn’t care about what would come after. He only cared about coming now. Coming to the thought of you, coming to the sounds of your pleasure, moaning for him.

He got faster as your panting got more erratic, and suddenly he couldn’t stop himself,

“Fuckkk, come on mama.” Rex whispered low, his voice trembling slightly.

And then the band snapped, and you let out a long, breathy moan as Rex’s rhythm faltered and his dick released long, hot cords of cum across his stomach.

All he could imagine was pumping his seed into you, and his head felt dizzy from the high.

For a full minute, all he could hear was his own panting, his breath hitching in his throat.

His dark red hair was uncharacteristically messy, taken out of his usual bun, framing his face as he breathed hard. He blew a strand away.

“Fuck.” Was all he could manage to say.

He cleaned himself up and sunk back down into his bed, mind wild and heart racing.

He hoped you hadn’t heard him, but couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if you had.

And you hoped Rex hadn’t heard you, but as that sweet release enveloped you in a state of peace, and you started to drift off to sleep, you wondered what might happen if he had…

___

__

-

guys I am so nervous about posting this bc I haven’t written any fics in yonks and this is my first Rex and first smut fic ever. God it feels good to get back in the game. Love ya, Leigh x

[metalmonki]

After The Fire

Evan 'Buck' Buckley X Reader

4.1k word count

Summary You and Buck are both complete done with your respective partners. Eddie is the middle man.

Authors Note: Sorry for disappearing. 2025 has been the worst year for me. I worked my own break up into this story. I wish I had a Buck to help me. Oh well enjoy!

After a long day on tour, all you wanted was to come home and lay in the bath so long you turn into the world’s largest prune. You’d been daydreaming about lavender bubbles and scalding water since lunch. You smelt strongly of smoke and sweat, and your spine had officially decided to disown you.

But the second you opened the door to your apartment, reality slapped you in the face.

The first thing that hit you was the smell—Goose’s litter box, untouched. Again. Then came the sight: dirty dishes piled so high in the sink it was a game of Jenga waiting to collapse. Laundry—your laundry—scattered across the floor like it had exploded out of the hamper. And in the middle of it all, your boyfriend, Kyle, slumped on the couch in the same hoodie he’d been wearing three days ago.

Goose waddled toward you with an indignant meow, brushing his hefty body against your legs. The poor thing looked like he’d spent the entire day plotting your murder. You gave him a quick scratch behind the ears, noting how empty his food bowl was. Again.

Before you could even say hello, Kyle piped up without taking his eyes off his phone.

“Finally. I’m starving. What took you so long? Can you make that lasagna you did last week?”

You blinked. “What?”

He sighed, as if you were the inconvenience here. “I’ve been waiting for you. There's nothing to eat. You said you’d grab groceries yesterday.”

“I said I’d be working until tonight,” you said flatly, slipping off your jacket and dropping your keys into the dish by the door. “You’ve been here all day.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I didn’t know what to get. Besides, you always cook it better.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You looked around at the disaster zone of your home—the dishes, the laundry, the cat fur rolling across the floor like tumbleweeds. Goose let out another mournful cry, and you knelt to fill his bowl while Kyle continued scrolling on his phone like he hadn't just dropped a match into a puddle of gasoline.

That bath you’d been dreaming of? Gone. Replaced by the sharp heat of frustration rising in your chest.

“I’ve been working nonstop for two weeks, Kyle,” you said slowly, carefully, like your words were made of glass. “And I come home to this. Again.”

He looked up, clearly annoyed now. “You don’t have to make it a big deal. I’ve been relaxing. You always freak out over little stuff.”

You stared at him, and something inside you snapped—quietly, neatly, with the same finality as a door clicking shut.

“You need to leave.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, standing up and grabbing your bag. “I’m done. You want someone to clean up after you, feed you, do your laundry—get a maid. Or better yet, grow the hell up. I’m not your mother. And I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

“You’re overreacting,” he said, rising from the couch, arms spread wide. “You’re seriously breaking up with me over dinner?”

“No,” you said. “I’m breaking up with you because I’m tired. Tired of being the only one trying. Tired of coming home to a boyfriend who thinks my time and energy are his to drain. Pack your stuff. Be gone before I get back.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, gave Goose another quick pat, and walked out the door—no bath, no prune time, just clean air and the kind of peace that comes from finally choosing yourself.

…

Bucks P.O.V

Buck’s shoulders sagged as he stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway, the weight of another brutal shift hanging heavy in every bone. Smoke, sweat, and exhaustion clung to him like second skin. All he wanted was a hot shower, a cold drink, and maybe five hours of uninterrupted sleep if the universe felt like cutting him a break tonight.

He unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside.

The lights were on.

That was his first red flag.

The second came when he spotted her—Maya—sitting at the kitchen table with her arms crossed, a full plate of food in front of her, untouched and long since gone cold.

Crap.

“Hey,” he said cautiously, shutting the door behind him. “Didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

“Obviously,” she snapped, icy gaze locked on him. “You’re late. Again.”

He dropped his gear bag by the door, instinctively checking to make sure he hadn’t tracked ash or soot onto the floor. “We had a three-alarm warehouse fire. I texted you.”

“Oh, right,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm. “The firefighter excuse. Again. You always have a reason, Buck. You’re always late, always too tired, always somewhere else. You never think about me. Or us. Or our future.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Maya, we’ve talked about this. You knew what I did when we started dating. You said you respected it. You said you understood.”

“Well maybe I thought I could handle it,” she snapped, standing now. “But I’m sick of being second place to your job. What kind of future are we supposed to have if I’m always sitting here waiting for you to show up?”

He ran a hand over his face, grit scratching under his fingers. “It’s not like I’m out at bars or cheating on you. I’m saving lives. That’s my job. It’s always been my job. And yeah, sometimes that means being late. I can’t just walk out of a burning building because you made chicken parm.”

“You always do this,” she spat, voice rising now. “Turn it around on me like I’m being unreasonable.”

“Because you are,” he said, his own frustration bubbling up now. “You’re throwing a tantrum because dinner got cold. Meanwhile, I’m out there dragging people out of collapsed buildings, Maya. I don’t get to clock out when it’s convenient.”

She stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Then quit. Quit the job. If you cared about me, you would.”

And that was it.

Something snapped.

He took a step back, staring at her like he didn’t even recognize the woman in front of him.

“You want me to what?” he said, low and sharp. “You want me to give up the thing I’ve dedicated my whole damn life to—because your dinner got cold?”

“No,” she said, but he didn’t stop.

“I pay the rent on this apartment. I pay your bills. Your phone, your car insurance, the shopping sprees, your nails, your hair—everything. I bust my ass every day so you can live like you do, and the second I’m late, you’re ready to throw a fit like a spoiled kid who didn’t get dessert?”

“Buck—”

“No. I’m done. If this is how you act when you don’t get your way, then I don’t want to be the guy you rely on anymore. Get your stuff, Maya. I want you out.”

She stood there in stunned silence, mouth parted like she had something to say but no words to fill the space. He didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked back out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew anywhere was better than here.

…

Eddies P.O.V

Eddie fumbled with his keys, eyelids heavy and muscles aching as he finally made it to his apartment door. The shift had been brutal—hot, chaotic, and long—and for once, he didn’t have to go home and slip right into Dad mode. Chris was spending the night at his abuela’s, and that meant one very rare, very sacred thing: peace.

He stepped inside, locked the door, and headed straight to the shower. Ten minutes under scalding water worked miracles. He emerged in clean sweats, reheated some leftover enchiladas, grabbed a cold beer from the fridge, and collapsed onto the couch like a man finally free.

He picked up his fork, raised it toward his mouth—and that’s when the knock came.

He froze. Chewed air.

With a heavy sigh, he set down the fork, got up, and opened the door.

There she was—one of his best friends, still in her jacket, eyes sharp and stormy. Before he could say anything, she brushed past him and made a direct line for his fridge.

“Uh… sure, come in,” Eddie muttered, mostly to himself, as she popped open a beer like she owned the place.

He barely had time to process her arrival before another knock came. He turned, still halfway to asking her what the hell was going on and opened the door again.

Buck.

Eddie stared.

“Hey,” Buck said, looking sheepish and slightly windblown. “Mind if I—?”

Eddie stepped aside with a sigh, waving him in.

“Thanks, man.” Buck clapped his shoulder in passing, heading straight for the kitchen like this was all part of the plan.

Eddie shut the door, turned slowly, and finally followed them into the kitchen, where the two stood—backs against the counter, bags dropped nearby, bottles in hand—like they'd claimed the place as neutral territory in some unseen war.

He stared at them for a beat. “Okay. Why are you both standing in my kitchen, drinking my beer?”

They exchanged a look and, like it was rehearsed, both said at the same time:

“I broke up with my boyfriend.” “I broke up with my girlfriend.”

Eddie blinked. “Seriously?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “One at a time. You first.” He nodded at her.

She sighed, the fight draining out of her a little now that she wasn’t alone. “I walked in the door and all I wanted was a bath and five minutes to myself. Instead, he starts whining about how he’s starving and wants a big dinner. Meanwhile, the place is trashed, Goose hadn’t been fed, the litter box was disgusting—and he just sat there all day doing nothing. Again. Like I’m supposed to come home from work and play housekeeper-slash-chef for a grown man.”

Buck let out a low whistle.

She took a long swig of her beer. “I told him to pack his stuff and get out.”

Eddie nodded slowly, impressed. “Good for you. You?” He turned to look at Buck.

“She could’ve done better from the start,” Buck muttered. “That guy was a walking red flag with a superiority complex. I never liked him.”

Eddie turned to him. “That’s not what I meant, Buck.”

Buck blinked. “What?”

“I meant your breakup. Not hers. Why did you break up with your girlfriend?”

Buck shifted his weight. “Right, yeah—okay. So, I get home, she’s sitting there with this whole meal set up, cold as hell, waiting to ambush me. Starts going off about how I’m late all the time, how I don’t care about her or our future. I try to explain—again—that I can’t control fires, or emergencies, or the clock.”

He took a swig. “She starts screaming, like actual screaming, demanding I quit being a firefighter if I care about her. Like, she really said that. ‘Quit your job.’”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. So I lost it. Told her I’m not her sugar daddy or her emotional support firefighter. I pay her bills, her shopping, her nails—everything—and I’m done. Told her to get out.”

Silence settled for a second.

Then Eddie sighed and walked past them both, grabbing a third beer from the fridge. “I was this close to a quiet night,” he muttered, holding his fingers an inch apart.

She gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry, Eddie.”

Buck raised his beer. “We brought drama, but at least we didn’t come empty-handed.”

Eddie just rolled his eyes, dropped into a chair, and motioned between them. “You two are lucky I like you. But if either of you tries to use my shower, I’m tossing you out the window.”

…

Your P.O.V

Eddie had grumbled the whole night, but he never kicked them out.

After a shared late dinner of lukewarm enchiladas and three more beers each, the three of them ended up sprawled across his living room—Buck face-first on the carpet, you curled up on one end of the couch, and Eddie passed out in the recliner with the remote still in his hand. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t quiet. But it was safe. And after the emotional dumpster fire that was the night before, that was more than enough.

The next morning, after caffeine and mutual groans of “never again,” you and Buck left together, splitting off to check your own places. Both were blessedly empty. No texts. No calls. Just space.

You should’ve felt lonely.

But you didn’t. Because over the next few days… then the next week… then the one after that—Buck kept showing up.

Sometimes with coffee. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with Goose’s favorite treats. A few times with nothing but a tired face and a, “Hey, is it okay if I hang here for a bit?”

He started crashing on the couch. Then staying for dinner. Then leaving a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. Then a few shirts in your drawer. Then Goose started sleeping on his chest instead of yours.

You didn’t question it at first. You were just glad to have someone who saw you at the end of a shift, someone who talked to Goose like he was royalty and didn’t expect you to cook unless you felt like it. Buck washed dishes without being asked. He vacuumed. He once left and came back with a new litter box because, quote, “Goose deserves a throne.”

Eventually, though, you noticed the way he lingered.

He never seemed in a rush to go back to his apartment. Never mentioned it, really. He'd get quiet if you asked what he’d been up to there. And one night, when you found him still sitting in your kitchen at 1 a.m. nursing a beer, eyes glassy with the kind of tired he rarely showed, you finally pressed him.

“Buck?” you asked softly, standing in the doorway. “You good?”

He blinked, pulled back from wherever his mind had wandered. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

You stepped into the kitchen, opened the fridge more for something to do than anything else. “You’ve been here a lot.”

“I can go,” he said quickly, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, grabbing your own drink. “That’s not what I meant. I like having you here.”

He smiled at that—small, unsure.

“But,” you added gently, leaning on the counter across from him, “you’ve basically been living here. What’s going on, Buck?”

He hesitated. Twisted the bottle cap between his fingers. “I’m not… used to being alone. I thought I’d be fine after Maya left, you know? Like, good riddance and all that. But that apartment feels... empty. Cold. Like I walk in and the walls echo, and suddenly everything’s quiet in a way that makes my skin crawl.”

You watched him for a second, your heart softening.

Then you said, “Well… you don’t have to be alone. Not if being here helps. You can move in.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “Wait—are you serious?”

You smiled. “I’ve already lost half my fridge space to your energy drinks and Goose likes you more than me. Might as well make it official.”

He laughed, that big, boyish sound that made something warm bloom in your chest.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean, we already know you’re good at cleaning and Goose has claimed your lap as property. Consider this your unofficial roommate interview. You passed.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him something he didn’t know he needed. And maybe, in a way, you had.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Really.”

You clinked your drink to his. “Welcome home, Buck.”

…

The first few days felt like a weird kind of vacation.

Buck brought over the rest of his stuff in a series of chaotic trips, including (but not limited to): two duffel bags, an entire crate of protein powder, at least six fire department t-shirts you were pretty sure he stole from other people, and a worn-out hoodie you immediately claimed as yours.

Goose sat in the middle of the living room and watched the entire process like he was supervising the transition. He didn’t complain, and that was saying something—Goose hated everyone.

By the end of the week, your apartment felt... different. Lived in, but not in a messy, suffocating way like before. It was the kind of lived in where the coffee was already brewed when you woke up, and someone left a note by the door that said "Kick ass today." Buck had that rare kind of presence that made everything feel just a little lighter.

You’d always gotten along well—working together created a kind of shorthand between you—but something about having him in your space all the time cracked things open a little wider.

Like how you noticed the way he always turned toward you when you laughed. Or how he paused a movie to ask what you thought would happen next because he “likes hearing your theories.” Or how he always cooked enough for two now, even if you said you weren’t hungry.

But it wasn’t all easy.

There were the little things, too. Like the way he left his wet towel on the floor even though the hamper was right there. Or how he used all the hot water on long showers because “thinking is a full-body experience.” One night, he accidentally used your fancy shampoo and tried to play it off like he didn’t, even though he smelled like vanilla and chamomile for two days.

You bickered sometimes—snapped over dishes or laundry or who forgot to buy more coffee filters. But somehow, it always ended in laughter. Or one of you giving the other a peace offering in the form of snacks.

The shift was slow, creeping in like sunlight through curtains you forgot to close.

It was the comfort of hearing him hum off-key while making pancakes. The way he knew exactly how you liked your tea, or that you needed silence for the first thirty minutes after a shift. It was the way he looked at you sometimes—soft, unguarded, like you were a home he hadn’t known he was missing.

One night, after a long shift that had left you both emotionally wrecked, you came home and didn’t say a word. Just sank into the couch, kicked off your boots, and stared at the wall.

Buck wordlessly brought you a blanket. Sat beside you without crowding. Waited.

After a while, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“You ever feel like the job just... hollows you out some days?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “But being here? With you? It fills the rest of me back up.”

You didn’t respond. Just sat there, heart stuttering like maybe it had finally caught on to something the rest of you hadn’t.

You weren’t sure what this was—roommates, best friends, something else—but for the first time in a long time, it felt like you weren’t just surviving. You were healing.

Together.

…

The heater had gone out.

Of course it had—on the first truly cold night of the season. You were both bundled on the couch, buried under every blanket the apartment owned. Buck had even added one of his flannel shirts to Goose’s bed, who seemed personally offended by the drop in temperature and took it out on the both of you by yelling dramatically from his spot atop the radiator.

Buck was scrolling on his phone, one arm lazily draped around your shoulder. You’d spent the past hour wedged against him, and by now it felt so natural you almost forgot you weren’t alone on the couch.

Almost.

“You know,” he murmured suddenly, voice low and a little hoarse, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you teased, nudging him gently with your elbow.

He didn’t laugh. Just turned his head slightly, watching you. “About us.”

That made your stomach tighten—just a bit. Not in panic. Not quite. But in anticipation.

You glanced up. “What about us?”

Buck’s eyes searched your face, like he was checking if he was about to say too much.

“I didn’t plan this,” he admitted. “Didn’t plan to move in. Didn’t plan to get... attached.”

The word landed heavy between you, but not unpleasantly. It didn’t feel like a warning. It felt like an opening.

You exhaled slowly, your hand resting where his hoodie bunched near your ribs. “But you are?”

He gave a small smile—just one side of his mouth. “Yeah. I think I was before I ever moved in.”

Your heart thumped once, hard. Then again.

The blankets shifted as you turned more toward him, the soft brush of knees and hands and something else hanging in the air like static.

“I care about you,” he said, quiet but sure. “Not just in the roommate, crash-on-your-couch, eat-your-snacks kind of way. I think you know that.”

You did. You’d felt it in every small thing—every look, every laugh, every night he found his way back to you. You just hadn’t let yourself admit it.

Until now.

“I think I’ve known it since you walked into Eddie’s kitchen with a beer like you lived there,” you murmured. “And honestly? I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

Buck’s hand found yours beneath the blankets, fingers curling gently.

“We can take it slow,” he said, as if reading your mind. “I just… needed you to know. I’m here. I’m all in.”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him—soft, tentative, but no less certain than anything he’d just said. His lips were warm against yours, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it.

When you finally pulled away, you didn’t move far. Just rested your forehead against his, smiling when Goose meowed loudly from across the room.

“We’ll take it slow,” you whispered. “But you’re not getting out of paying half the rent.”

Buck grinned, pulling you closer. “Deal.”

…

They didn’t mean for Eddie to find out.

Not like this, anyway.

It started innocently enough—just the three of you catching up after a hellish double shift. The station had been chaos, the call-outs nonstop, and by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, you were all running on fumes and pure stubbornness.

So naturally, someone suggested beer and burgers. You didn’t say no. Buck didn’t either.

Now, you were all gathered around Eddie’s kitchen island, fries in one hand, beer in the other, talking over one another like usual. Goose had even come along for the ride and was currently sleeping under Eddie’s table like it was his second home.

Which, to be fair… it kind of was.

Everything was normal—until Buck did it.

You didn’t notice at first. You were mid-bite, something snarky on your tongue, when he casually reached over and brushed his fingers along your wrist. Just a light touch. A reflex.

But Eddie noticed.

Because of course he did.

He went completely still. Not a blink. Not a sound. Just slowly turned his head and looked at you both, brows raised in that signature really? expression that spoke volumes without him having to say a damn thing.

Buck froze, halfway through a sip of beer. “What?” he asked innocently, though he was definitely already blushing.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “No. Don’t ‘what’ me.”

You swallowed your bite with a bit more force than necessary. “Okay, so—maybe something’s… happening.”

Eddie didn’t break eye contact. “Happening.”

Buck shifted in his seat. “It’s new.”

“Clearly not that new if he’s doing the wrist thing,” Eddie replied, pointing at Buck with a fry.

You looked at Buck. Buck looked at you. Then back at Eddie.

“So you’re not… mad?” you asked, cautious.

Eddie leaned back in his chair, arms crossing loosely. “Why would I be mad?”

Buck blinked. “I don’t know. Because we didn’t tell you?”

Eddie snorted. “I’m not your dad, Buck.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Buck muttered.

Eddie just rolled his eyes and took a drink, then looked between the two of you again—this time, a little softer.

“I figured it was coming eventually,” he said. “You’ve been orbiting each other for months. Was just waiting to see who’d trip first.”

You gave Buck a sideways glance. “It was him.”

“Hey!”

Eddie laughed, for real this time. “As long as you’re good to each other, I don’t care. Just—” He paused, raising a hand. “No PDA in front of me. I already have a teenager. I don’t need you two acting like hormonal high schoolers in my living room.”

Buck held up both hands. “Noted.”

You grinned. “I make no promises.”

Eddie groaned. “God help me.”

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot) Part 3 (Last Part)

General Masterlist Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages.

Finally Y/N and Harry give in to their feelings.

A/n: I CANNOT BELIEVE HOW MUCH SUPPORT THIS SERIES GOT, I HAD SO SO SO SO MUCH FUN WRITING IT AND I CAN'T WAIT TO DO MORE STUFF. Thanks if you liked, shared, left a comment, anything! REALLY THANK YOU SO SO MUCH.

Thanks to the best of the best @eileenrry for hyping me up (It's already saturday over there so i guess it's fair i'm publishing this now) Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: A LOT OF FLUFF AND A LOT OF CHEESY DATES YOU'LL BE THROWING UP BY THE END OF IT. MAINLY CUTESY STUFF FOR YOU TO FANTASIZE ABOUT. Use of y/n, everything happens really fast, time moves QUICK.

You read his text again, your heart racing. It was playful, sure, but there was something else—something unspoken, just under the surface.

"I think it means we’re in trouble," you finally typed, keeping it vague. You didn’t want to assume anything yet.

"Trouble? 🤔" His reply came almost immediately. "Define trouble."

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. How could you define something you didn’t fully understand yourself? How could you put butterflies at full speed into words?

"I don’t know," you typed. "Maybe… when someone sneaks into your head when you’re supposed to be working, and suddenly spreadsheets don’t make sense anymore."

Brave of you. Classy, even. You hit send and stared at the screen, instantly second-guessing yourself. It was honest, sure, but had you said too much?

The three little dots appeared. Then it disappeared. Then it appeared again.

Oh, shit. Please say something.

"You know what I think it means?" he finally wrote.

"What?"

"That I’ve somehow managed to ruin spreadsheets for you, and I’m not even sorry."

You giggled out loud, the sound breaking through the quiet of your room.

"Good to know you have no regrets" you replied, a smile spreading across your face that nothing could erase.

"None at all," he shot back. "But for the record, you’ve ruined a few things for me too."

The conversation hung there for a moment, his words settling over you like a soft weight. You wanted to ask what he meant, but you were terrified of the answer.

"Fair enough. I guess we’re even," you typed back.

“Want to ruin things for each other tomorrow?”

“What does that even mean?” you chuckled, staring at your phone.

“It means I’ll think of you tomorrow, and I hope you’ll think of me too. Goodnight, Tulip 🌷.”

It felt completely surreal, like you were trapped in a dream you never wanted to wake up from. You couldn’t help but thank your past self—and your lousy fingers—for mistyping that single, life-changing number. Just one little mistake, and now here you were, heart racing and thoughts spiraling every time his name lit up your screen. It was pure magic.

The next morning, you found yourself humming while making breakfast. Humming! Like you were Aurora from Sleeping Beauty, twirling around your kitchen like the birds were about to join in. You were a walking cliché, and you didn’t even care. Doomed, yes—but in the best way possible. In love, obviously. The knock at the door jolted you out of your fairytale haze. You blinked, momentarily confused, before heading to answer it. Standing there was a delivery man holding the biggest bouquet of tulips you'd ever seen—bright, colorful, and completely over-the-top in the best way.

"I didn’t…" you started, unsure if this was a mistake.

"Delivery for Y/N," the grumpy delivery man interrupted, already turning on his heel. "Have a good day or whatever." And just like that, he was gone, leaving you in the doorway with the bouquet in your hands, completely stunned. Were these even meant for you? He hadn’t checked any ID or anything. But the moment your eyes landed on the card nestled between the tulips, your heart flipped.

For Tulip From H.

It was all you needed. That tiny, scribbled note said everything. You felt the heat rush to your face as a grin spread across it. Of course they were yours. Who else would send tulips to you?

You closed the door behind you, clutching the bouquet like it was the most precious thing in the world, unable to wipe the smile off your face.you stared at the flowers like an idiot for a hot minute and quickly grabbed your phone to text him but he beat you to it, as you were typing the message his came first. “Morning Tulip, hope you were awake.”

“I was indeed, woke up to 25 tulips in my face.”

“Oh really? I thought I said 30. Someone’s getting fired,” he replied, clearly joking.

“I really love them, they’re beautiful. 25 is more than enough. Why the flowers, though?” You played the innocent card, knowing full well the answer.

“Oh, I thought I should make sure to mess with those spreadsheets today.”

The sound that escaped your mouth wasn’t even human—it was a mix between a laugh and a scream. You quickly tried to gather your thoughts to reply.

“Then how can I make sure I mess with your day?” you typed, feeling bolder than usual.

“You already are doing it, Tulip.”

And just like that, your heart was officially ruined for the day. You stared at his last message, rereading it like it held the secrets of the universe. How did he do that? Ruin your entire day—in the best way possible—with just a few words?

“Good to know I’m effective” you replied, smirking to yourself.

“So… how do you feel about letting me ruin your evening too?”

It’s happening! Everybody calm down! it’s happening!. Your stomach flipped. You typed and deleted your reply about five times before settling on something casual. 

“Depends. What do you have in mind?”

“Dinner? Unless you’re busy with those spreadsheets.” There it was again, the perfect balance of teasing and genuine interest.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your firing spree, but… dinner sounds good.”

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

As you stared at the screen, excitement mixed with nerves. Was this real? Was he actually asking you out? Tulips were one thing, but a whole dinner? That felt… bigger. And 7. It was barely 9:30 am, and you had to wait until 7? That’s torture. What were you supposed to do for the next few hours? Sit around and obsess over every possible scenario? Yeah, you did.

You groaned and tossed your phone on the couch, pacing the room like it might somehow speed up time. Maybe you’d clean the apartment—again. Or work on those spreadsheets he seemed so intent on ruining. Or maybe… you’d just spend the day imagining what this dinner would actually be like. Would it be casual, or was he planning something elaborate? What would he wear? Oh god, what should you wear? The spiral of overthinking had officially begun, and 7 PM felt like a lifetime away.

By the time 7 PM FINALLY rolled around, you were a bundle of nerves. After hours of trying on clothes and second-guessing your choices, you’d settled on something simple but flattering. You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, but let’s face it—you were. A buzz on your phone snapped you out of your last-minute mirror check.

 “Outside. No pressure, but I’m hungry.”

You laughed, grabbed your bag, and took one last deep breath before stepping outside. There he was, leaning casually against his car, looking effortlessly perfect. How was it possible for someone to make standing look so good? Only Harry Styles.

“Nice ride,” you teased, trying to hide your nerves.

“Nice dress,” he shot back, smirking as he opened the passenger door for you. LOST, you are more than lost for this man.

The drive was filled with the kind of banter that felt like second nature by now. He wouldn’t tell you where you were going, just that it was “low-key, but worth it.” That’s what you expected actually, he was really recognizable, and you? could be mistaken for a waitress if some took the correct picture. Harry Styles and who is she? But then you ended up at a cozy little Italian place tucked away in a quiet corner of the city.

“Looks amazing” you asked as he held the door open for you.

“Wait till you taste it” he said, leading you inside. Wait…was that….about the restaurant? or….

The atmosphere was warm and intimate, with dim lighting and soft music playing in the background. You sat across from him at a small corner table, feeling like the rest of the world had disappeared.

“Alright, let’s get this out of the way,” he said, leaning forward with a grin. “Tell me all the embarrassing stories about yourself before the breadsticks get here.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Absolutely not. But I’ll trade one for one if you’re brave enough.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s on.”

The night unfolded with laughter, stolen glances, and stories that made both of you feel like you’d known each other forever. At some point, you realized you hadn’t checked your phone once—a miracle in itself. You were used to distract yourself whenever the guy you were out with started to talk about bitcoin or some pyramid scheme. When the check came, he waved you off before you could even reach for your wallet.

“Don’t start,” he warned, smirking. “Consider it a payment for ruining your spreadsheets.”

I don’t even think we can still say butterflies. let’s evolve to a full on zoo. As he walked you back to your door later that night, the air between you felt charged but comfortable. You paused, turning to face him.

 “Thank you. For tonight. It was…”

 “Perfect,” he finished for you, his voice soft.

You didn’t even mind that he left you with just that. No kiss, no dramatic goodbye.

But.

His gaze flicked to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, and your breath caught.

‘Can I…’ he started, voice barely above a whisper, ‘...do one more thing to completely ruin your night?’

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You tilted your face up slightly, and he took the hint, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. It was soft at first, tentative, like he was testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, his hand came up to gently cup your jaw, deepening the kiss just enough to leave you dizzy. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment, both of you breathing slightly harder.

‘I think you just ruined my whole life,’ you said. It was pathetic, but it was a completely, utterly, undeniable truth.

‘Alright, Tulip. I’ll take full responsibility. But if I’ve ruined your life, I guess I’m going to have to stick around and fix it.’

You could feel your knees WEAK.

----

By now Gwen knew about your lovelife, who didn’t when you were dating Harry Styles, it was really difficult to hide the blushing moments, the giggles, the fancy car that picked you up every now and then, Your days were magical. MORE than magical.

May 12

Harry had sent you a song that morning with a simple text

“This one it’s just pure truth. Song link Specially 2:32”

Listening to it on repeat throughout the day, you couldn’t help but smile. It was one of those songs that felt like a confession, like it was saying all the things he hadn’t quite said yet.

"Are you trying to tell me something, Mr. Styles?" you texted.

"YOU tell me 😉"

May 14

You snapped a picture of your desk—papers, coffee cups, and a very tired-looking plant all vying for space.

"Welcome to chaos" you captioned it and sent it to him.

Seconds later, a photo of a perfectly neat studio table arrived, complete with his notebook, a few pens, and an untouched cup of tea.

"Show-off" you texted.

"Organized chaos" he corrected. “Coming to make me company later?”

“Obviously”

May 18

“🌷”

Every morning now started with a single tulip emoji from Harry. No text, no explanation—just the flower. It made you laugh every time, this simple, silent ritual he’d created just for you. There was something about it—something understated and intimate.

It didn’t matter if the rest of the world felt chaotic or overwhelming; that one tiny emoji always managed to anchor you. Some days, you’d wake up to find it already waiting for you, like a quiet reminder that someone out there was thinking of you. Other days, it would pop up mid-morning, just as you were starting to feel the weight of your to-do list. But he NEVER failed to send it.

You weren’t even sure how he’d decided to start—but you knew it was the first thing you’d look for every day. It wasn’t grand or overly sentimental, but that’s what made it so special. It was Harry in the simplest, purest form—thoughtful, playful, and somehow always knowing exactly what you needed without you ever having to say a word. Sometimes, you’d reply with nothing more than a matching tulip. Other times, you’d tease him with a string of emojis—🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷—followed by a cheeky, “Did one not feel sufficient today, love?” Yes. “Love” had made its way into the conversation. Tulip was still his favorite, but love was now in the game.

He never explained it, never justified it. But in those simple tulips, he said so much more: I’m here for you. I see you. I want you.

May 30

When you told Harry you’d finally gotten the project approved at work, his response came in the form of three celebratory emojis: 🎉🥂🌷.

"I’m so proud of you, my tulip" he wrote.

It wasn’t over-the-top or overly formal, but it hit you right where it mattered. The simplicity, the care—it was so very him.

"You were the one pushing me to keep doing it at midnight that day in your apartment. So it’s all because of you 💖"

The rest of the day passed in a blur of emails, calls, and the lingering glow of Harry’s words. By the time evening rolled around, you were ready to collapse on the couch with a mindless TV show and a celebratory glass of wine. That was the plan as Harry told you he was stuck with some family stuff, at least, until the doorbell rang. You frowned. You weren’t expecting anyone. Pulling your sweater tighter around you, you padded to the door and peered through the peephole. And there he was.

Harry. Standing on your doorstep, wearing that damn smile, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and—of course—a single tulip in the other.

You flung the door open, heart racing. "Harry, what—"

"Celebrating you, obviously," he said, stepping inside like he’d always belonged there. He handed you the tulip first, letting his fingers brush yours, then held up the champagne. "I figured we could upgrade from emojis."

You laughed, caught somewhere between disbelief and pure joy. "You didn’t have to do this."

"Didn’t I?" he countered, his tone soft but teasing. "You work so hard, Tulip. You deserve to be celebrated properly. And most importantly by your boyfriend"

It was more than 1 month since he made it completely official, and called himself your boyfriend, and you obviously didn’t argue about it, but still, it all felt like a dream. YOUR BOYFRIEND wanted to celebrate you and that’s exactly what he did. You spent the evening sitting on the living room floor, sharing stories, clinking glasses, and laughing until your cheeks hurt. At one point, he grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, and simply said, "I’m proud of you."

It wasn’t loud or flashy, but it was everything. The kind of moment that imprinted itself on your heart, quietly becoming one of your favorites.

June 8

"Busy next Friday?"

"Depends. What’s the occasion?"

"Thought you might like to see what all the fuss is about. Backstage pass included 😉. A kiss from the performer too. Maybe multiple ones."

“I ACCEPT”

Your heart raced. You weren't sure what terrified you more: being in his world or the fact that he wanted you to be. But in reality you were already in his world, of course there were many MANY articles of “Harry Styles spotted with mystery girl” but you were just too busy actually being so in love with him to even care.

July 16 It was Harry’s idea.

“I’m a decent cook,” he said, grinning as he rolled up his sleeves. “You’ll be impressed. Trust me.”

You weren’t entirely sure if you trusted him, but the idea of spending the evening in his kitchen, cooking together, sounded perfect. He handed you an apron, and you got to work. The plan was ambitious: homemade pasta and sauce, garlic bread, and a simple dessert. But things went off course almost immediately.

“Is this what dough is supposed to look like?” you asked, holding up a sticky mess that refused to cooperate.

Harry peered over your shoulder, frowning. “Uh… probably not. But it’s okay! It’s rustic.”

“Rustic,” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s your explanation for this disaster?”

“It’s charming,” he said, taking the dough from you and attempting to salvage it.

“Do you happen to have Gordon Ramsay on your contacts?” You said looking at the unfinished (a bit uneatable) dinner. “I do, but i don’t think he would want to see this”

By the time the pasta was in the pot, you were both covered in flour, and the kitchen looked like a tornado had swept through it. The sauce was a little too salty, the garlic bread had burned edges, and somehow, the dessert had completely fallen apart.But when you sat down at the tiny kitchen table, your mismatched plates in front of you, it didn’t matter.

“To our first—and possibly last—cooking adventure,” Harry said, raising his glass of wine.

“Here’s to hoping we survive the food poisoning,” you joked, clinking your glass against his.

But the truth was, the meal was delicious in its imperfection. And as you sat there, laughing and stealing bites from each other’s plates, you realized it wasn’t about the food at all. It was about this—about him.

----

It had been two days. Harry was on a quick trip to L.A., and the time zones, paired with his whirlwind schedule, made communication sporadic. You told yourself he was busy—his life was far more chaotic than yours—but the silence still felt deafening.

You’d held back from texting or calling him, trying not to seem clingy, but the doubts crept in anyway. Maybe this was too much. Maybe you were too much.

Finally, you broke. Your fingers hovered over your phone, hesitating over his contact like he wasn’t your boyfriend, like he was once again just a stranger. Before you could overthink it, you sent a simple message: “Am I ruining your days over there?👀🌷”

The minutes stretched into hours with no reply. You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping your phone until the screen dimmed, reflecting your worried expression.

Then came the knock.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, rushing to the door.

Harry stood there, out of breath, hair disheveled, his eyes searching yours like he’d been running for miles.

“You’re in L.A.,” you blurted, confused.

“Was,” he corrected, stepping closer. “I—I couldn’t do this over text.”

“Do what?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He held up his phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Your text stared back at you.

“This. You. I literally cannot think straight when I’m away from you.” His voice cracked slightly, and your heart clenched. “I don’t care if we’re moving too fast. I think about you all the time, and I’m—”

You stepped forward, cutting him off as your arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Harry, stop,” you murmured against his chest, your voice soft but sure. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands firm but gentle on your arms. “No, you don’t understand,” he said, his gaze steady. “I love you. Completely. Hopelessly. And I couldn’t let another second go by without telling you.”

The world seemed to tilt, his words hanging in the air.

“You idiot,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes as a smile broke through. “I love you too.”

The kiss that followed wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t a question or a test. It was an answer—a culmination of every tulip emoji, late-night text, and unspoken promise.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you laughing softly, Harry reached into his bag and pulled out a single tulip, slightly crumpled but no less beautiful.

“I couldn’t come empty-handed,” he said with a lopsided grin.

You took the flower, your smile uncontainable. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

That night, curled up on the couch with his arm around your shoulders and the tulip resting in a vase on the coffee table, you realized something profound.

It wasn’t the tulips, the texts, or the grand gestures that made this real. It was the quiet moments—the shared smiles, the silent understanding, the unwavering presence.

No matter what, you had each other.

Forever. --- A/n: If you made it til the end, i just want to say thanks again 🥹🫶 If you have any suggestions or comments or complaints! , please feel free to reach out! --- Taglist:

@jackiehollanderr @proudravenclawbird @hopeyoustaythenight @maryjahps @obsessiveenthusiast @liiit44 @loveheart-123 @harrystyleshotwife @harryscherries28 

@addiemb8332 @cumuluscranium @gguksfilter @alemunson42069 @sarah22194 @summertime-pills @hescrush @cosmomento @harrys-wifeyy @isinpfortvdmen

@familyshow-orisit @notsosweetcreature @cevans-winchester @camillegillians @donutsandpalmtrees @amateurduck @hermionelove @misty-heartbreak

[pathologicalreid]

merry christmas, please don't call | s.r.

in which Spencer pens an email to you, since you've already blocked his phone number

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: nondescript break up, described as spencer's fault, reader is mentioned to have worn lipstick, yearning, word count: 907 a/n: and the worst part is!!! that we both know!!!!! we are doing kind of an unofficial margotmas/reidmas! really i've just been building up christmas ideas for a while lol

To: xreader@gmail.com From: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com Subject: Merry Christmas

Hey,

Spencer shook his head, that was too casual.

Good afternoon,

Much too formal.

Hello,

Too rigid.

Darling,

I passed by the house that you told me you adored. It used to be your dream house; you’d always show me the Zillow listing whenever you were browsing. The owners didn’t put up their Christmas lights this year, and it looks like they’re getting ready to sell. I haven’t been online to check the listing, that was always your thing rather than mine.

Do you remember the house? It had four bedrooms for our kids to sleep in and a library with stained-glass windows. You always told me the stained-glass windows were your favorite feature of my apartment. I keep it covered now; the colored glass just serves as a painful reminder of you.  

Emily called me last week. I suppose no one told her that we weren’t together anymore because she asked what our holiday plans were. I haven’t made any since you left. I’m finding myself hopeful that we get called on a case over Christmas so that I don’t need to be surrounded by the world celebrating while I continue to wallow in the memories of you and me.

That’s all I have now: memories. We made so many of them over the course of three years that I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that having an eidetic memory is a curse just as much as it is a blessing, but with you gone, I know it’s more of a curse. I see you when I close my eyes as if your features have been permanently tattooed on the back of my eyelids, but when my eyes are open, everything is exponentially worse.

You left in such a hurry, so you were bound to leave a few things behind. When I went to make a cup of coffee and found one of your mugs in my cabinet, JJ and Penelope had to practically scrape me off the kitchen floor. There was still a lipstick smudge on it, a piece of our history the dishwasher couldn’t quite wash off. Your necklace was on the bedside table, though maybe that was left behind on purpose. I wish we could go back to the day I gave it to you, you could wear the same green dress, and maybe work wouldn’t get in the way. If I could, I’d call you to ask why you left it behind, but you’ve blocked my number.

There was no need for you to leave me things to remember you by, how could I ever forget you?

I’ve been finding myself grateful that you got so close with Garcia during our relationship, she doesn’t give me any explicit details on your life when she updates me. I never ask, but she knows I want to hear.

It’s a rather odd phenomenon to have once had someone who you shared everything with, only to one day find they want nothing to do with you. I always find myself reaching for my phone to send to a message, or leaning over to show you a line in my book, but you’re not there anymore. I don’t hold any malice in my heart for you, even after you called it all off. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be the boyfriend that you needed, and I’m proud of you for realizing you wanted someone better. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.

Maybe I still have some growing up to do. There might be some sort of emotional stunting as a result of my less-than-orthodox upbringing and education, which makes sense when you consider two of my most common nicknames, “boy genius” and “kid.” One day I could find myself in the same place you were, ready for more, but maybe then I’ll be with someone who is ready for the same things as I am. She’ll never be you though. You’ll always hold that special place in my heart.

Speaking of my upbringing, my mom keeps asking about you. Each time we talk on the phone, she asks if she can talk to you, but I’ve been telling her that you’re still working or are otherwise preoccupied. I know I shouldn’t lie to her, but if I tell her, she’ll inevitably forget, and I’ll be forced to recount the story of how I lost the best thing to ever happen to me forever. That would be my eternal damnation. There’s Sisyphus and Tantalus and Spencer Reid, slowly becoming nothing but a myth. I wonder if I’m a story that you tell your friends at O’Keefe’s.

I go there sometimes, just to see if I can catch your gaze, but you’re never there.

I know this is your favorite holiday, and I don’t intend to ruin your holidays with my message. I suppose I just needed to see if you still dream about that house. To see if you still dream of me the way I dream of you.

Merry Christmas,

Spencer

He clicked send nervously, ready to snap his work-issued laptop shut when it chirped with a notification. Surely you hadn’t responded that quickly. Spencer opened his inbox once more, checking the latest email.

To: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com From: mailer-daemon@googlemail.com Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure)

Message blocked.

Your message to xreader@gmail.com has been blocked. See technical details below for more information.

[mononijikayu]

only fools fall for you (only fools) — fushiguro toji.

Toji let out a bitter laugh, low and humorless. "You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t see the way you choose this life over them? Over me?" "I’m doing this for them too, you bastard." you snapped, gripping the phone so tightly your fingers ached. "So they have something to hold onto. So they never have to struggle the way we did." "Bullshit." The word hit like a slap. “What do you mean by that?” "You’re doing this for you. Just like I do it for me." His voice wasn’t angry anymore. If anything, that made it worse. He just sounded tired.

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, nsfw, r-18, explicit smut, sexual intercourse, making out, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, creampie, angst, romance, teasing, hurt/comfort, pet names (babe, etc....), age gap (reader is early 40s, toji mid 50s), marriage, long-term relationship, infidelity/cheating, toxic relationship, illness, drama, slice of life, married life, emotional repression, family life, children, distress, regret, longing, profanity, acting, actors, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of naked bodies, depiction of emotional repression, mention of sexual innuendo, depiction of illness, mention of sexual intercourse, mention of secrets, mention of toxic relationship, mention of illness, actor! toji, actor! nanami, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 16k words

NOTE: i realized that the more i expounded on this universe, the more there i had to alter things because if i dont they might become plot holes. i edited the ages here. toji's reader is much younger than he is. though its certain to say there was a power imbalance, even if they dated when she was like 19 to 20. all the more to say there's nothing to root for in this relationship.

they were together in the beginning of reader's career and now that she's much older too. she's maybe gojo's age. nanami's reader is in the same age ranger as toji and nanami. the kids though are around the same ages. though tsumiki is at least six years younger than keiko and kenshin is a year or two older than tsumiki. anyway, i love you all!!! enjoy the series~

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the good life ― masterlist.

TODAY WAS EIGHTEEN YEARS OF MARRIAGE FOR THE TWO OF YOU. If you were being honest, you never thought you both would ever get here. Not because you didn’t love him. If anything, loving Toji was the one thing that had always come easy. It was just as easy as breathing, just as grievous as your eyes starting into the light of the blistering sun.

There was a lot that came together with such a marriage between people like you. It was everything that you didn’t think was hard before all the deliverance of parenthood. Everything you weren’t used to. Everything that just made it a little harder to leave. Everything that made it a little harder to stare at your husband in the eye. 

There was too much that could have gone on in those eighteen years. You could barely count it. You could barely recall it. It would not be enough to sit there and talk about it either. But that was just how it was. There will always be distance, sacrifices, and to make it even worse, that putrid stubborn pride that ran deep in both of you.

You were both actors, constantly chasing roles, dreams, and paychecks, all while being parents to your young children, Tsumiki and Megumi, who, more often than not, lived with nannies more than they lived with you or Toji, regrettably.

Yet you both tried to be there, as much as you could. There should, unfortunately, be great emphasis on trying, for you were only good at trying but not succeeding. There could only be so much you could do so well before you end up admitting defeat.

Everything was hectic. Chaotic. The kind of life people envied from the outside but had no idea was slowly eroding you from the inside. One year, it was you flying across the world for a project, kissing their sleepy faces goodbye while Toji stayed home. 

The next, it was him, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead as he whispered, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Except it was never before you knew it.

It was long nights filled with blurry video calls, your kids’ faces pixelated as they recounted their days with excitement you struggled to keep up with. It was birthdays missed, watching Tsumiki blow out candles through a screen, clapping and smiling as if you didn’t feel like the worst mother alive. It was Megumi getting hurt at school, calling Toji first—not you.

There was a bitter realization that, at some point, you had fallen from first place in your children’s list of people to run to. And each time there was an incident like that, there were whispered arguments over the phone when the time difference meant you were half-asleep, his voice tight with frustration. You couldn't help it. You were a mother, who couldn’t be there. You were a bad mother, that’s what you think. Because you didn’t know how to help them.

“You said you’d be back last week.”

"Yeah, well, the shoot got extended. What do you want me to do, walk out?"

Your voice came out sharper than you intended, frustration laced in every syllable. You were exhausted, standing in the dim glow of your hotel room, the weight of the day pressing against your shoulders. 

The clock on your phone read 2:37 AM at the time. Back home, it was the middle of the afternoon. You were sure that Megumi’s soccer practice was probably ending, and Tsumiki was likely doing her homework at the dining table.

And your husband Toji, well he was at home. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was at the gym, or out drinking, or somewhere else entirely. The fact that you didn’t know only made your irritation flare hotter than ever before. 

"For once in your goddamn life, just—just be here."

There was a beat of silence. Static crackled softly between you. Then, your husband Toji exhaled, rather long and slow, the way he always did when he was trying not to lose his temper. The way he had always been told at therapy.

"And what, you think I don’t want to be?" His voice was quieter now, but sharp, a blade dulled only at the edges. "You think I don’t want to be with them? With you?"

You scoffed, rubbing your temple. "If you wanted to be here, you would be."

"That’s rich, coming from you."

Your breath caught. Because he was right. He was always right about this. You left just as much as he did. You buried yourself in work, in scripts, in characters that weren’t you because it was easier than admitting that being at home, being a wife, being a mother….it was sometimes harder than anything a director could throw your way.

Toji let out a bitter laugh, low and humorless. "You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t see the way you choose this life over them? Over me?"

"I’m doing this for them too, you bastard." you snapped, gripping the phone so tightly your fingers ached. "So they have something to hold onto. So they never have to struggle the way we did."

"Bullshit."

The word hit like a slap. “What do you mean by that?”

"You’re doing this for you. Just like I do it for me." His voice wasn’t angry anymore. If anything, that made it worse. He just sounded tired.

And maybe that was the worst part of it all is that he knew you too well. That no matter how much you tried to justify it, no matter how many times you told yourself you were building a better future for your family, Toji saw right through it. He saw you. Just as much as you saw through him.

"You’re the one who told me we’d figure it out," he said after a long silence. "That we’d make it work. So tell me, sweetheart—when does that part start?"

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know.

Toji had always hated fighting over the phone, always saying it was pointless when you couldn’t look each other in the eye. But that didn’t stop you. Not when resentment had been festering for years, not when every conversation started feeling like a negotiation instead of a moment to miss each other.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

It was never just him. It was never just you. It was the both of you, forever chasing something outside of each other, stretching ourselves too thin and expecting love to hold it all together. And yet, even when the walls closed in, even when the bitterness threatened to tip the scale, you both stayed. Even if staying only meant trying over and over again. Even when it was already beyond repair.

You couldn’t help yourself. You just couldn’t.

Because how could you be, without him?

There were times when you wished one of you had been strong enough to walk away. It would have been easier, wouldn’t it? To throw in the towel, sign the papers, make a clean break instead of dragging each other through years of exhaustion and unspoken wounds. It would have been merciful. 

But mercy had never been your strong suit. Neither had Fushiguro Toji’s. Instead, you stayed in this cycle of breaking and mending, pushing and pulling, making love and making war, until you couldn’t tell the difference between them anymore.

"Have you ever thought about leaving?"

You had asked him once, during one of those rare nights when you both found yourselves in the same bed, staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping. There were no cameras, no scripts, no rehearsed lines around you, nothing that could stop the truth from coming out of your lips.

It was just the two of you, tangled in silence, caught between the weight of everything you had built and everything you had broken. Toji didn’t answer right away. He just exhaled, long and heavy, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Yeah." The honesty of it stung, but not as much as his next words. “Multiple times.”

“Well, that’s the most honest you’ve been with me.”

“At least not while I’m drunk.” He says almost too quickly after you. Silence dwells for a moment after his breath. "But then I remember I don’t know what the fuck I’d do without you, babe. I really don’t."

You turned your head, searching for something in his profile. There was that familiar furrow in his strong brow, the line of his jaw, the way his fingers drummed a slow, absentminded rhythm against his well toned stomach.

"That’s not…….you know what I mean, Toji." 

He snorted, dry and humorless. "Never said it was.”

“But…..do you love me?”

“What sort of question is that?” He snickers back at you. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Those three words have become a taboo between the two of you. Only fools said those sorts of things to each other. It was too sacred, too honest, too passionate, too loving, too good. These were things you and Toji have long stopped being. 

A beat passed. A breath. And then, before you could stop yourself, before you could think about the consequences of asking, the words slipped out. "Not even when Tsumiki isn’t yours?"

This time, Toji didn’t hesitate at all with his response. He let out a sharp, cynical laugh, the kind that wasn’t really a laugh at all. You could see the way his muscle tenses each time the talk is brought up between the two of you—even in childish fights. You wanted to see each other hurt. You wanted to see each other burn.

And yet, this moment was real. It was tender. You meant it this time, to ask him about this. Not out of malice, not to exploit him where it hurts. Instead, you meant it with all your heart. You were finally being genuine.

"I cheated on you, and that’s the result." His voice was flat, matter-of-fact. 

No excuses, no justifications. The truth, laid out in the open between you. The one neither of you ever talked about, the one you had swallowed down for years, pretending it didn’t fester beneath the surface. He turned his head then, finally looking at you, dark eyes unreadable in the dim light of your bedroom.

"But that’s the past." His voice was quieter now, but firmer, like it was something he had told himself over and over again. Like it was something he needed to believe.

“Yes.” You whispered to him in reply, just as quietly. “It is.”

"She’s my daughter." His fingers clenched slightly against the sheets before he forced them to relax. "Not anyone else’s. Just mine.”

You swallowed. Because you knew Toji meant it. He had never treated Tsumiki any differently, never once let her believe she was anything other than his. He had tucked her into bed, taught her how to ride a bike, held her when she cried over scraped knees and schoolyard heartbreaks. 

And yet, you had wondered—selfishly, cruelly—if he had ever resented her.

 If he had ever looked at her and seen the biggest mistake of his life.

"Do you ever think about it?" you whispered, because you needed to know.

Toji exhaled sharply through his nose. "Every fucking day."

The admission settled between you like a bruise, dark and aching. “....I see.”

"But not the way you think." His hand found yours then, fingers slipping between yours, rough and warm, calloused from years of fights and work and holding on too tightly.

“What do you mean by that?”

"I don’t think about the way she got here." He squeezed your hand once. "I just think about what my life would look like if she wasn’t in it."

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "And?"

Toji’s lips twitched, something softer flickering across his expression before it faded just as quickly. "And it’d be a hell of a lot worse."

You turned your head back to the ceiling, blinking against the tightness in your throat. "Yeah."

And just like that, the past. All the ugly, unspoken, unforgivable past seemed to settle back into silence. Where it always had been. Where it always would be. But he had reached for your hand, fingers tangling with yours, holding tight. And you had let him. 

Maybe that was all you had left now. It was not truthful love, not at all. It was not as bright. It was not that burning thing it had once been, but something else. Yet maybe that was for the best. You would not have lasted this long without it.

You were content with this, your little something. Something quieter. Something heavier. Something built from shared history, shared destruction, and the fear of a world where the other no longer existed in it. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t right. But it was yours. And for eighteen years, it had been enough.

You swirl the wine in your glass, watching how the deep red clings to the sides. It reminds you of the past, of nights spent drowning in resentment, of fights that left unseen wounds, of years where you weren’t sure whether you hated him or hated yourself more.

You glance at Toji. He looks the same as he always does. Still rough around the edges, too handsome for his own good, wearing that perpetual smirk like life has never been cruel to him. But you know better. You see the things no one else does. The guilt that still lingers on both your hearts, the weight of  endless mistakes that can’t ever be undone.

"I cheated on you, and that’s the result."

The words still echo in your head, not painful anymore. It was just a memory now, faded at the edges. Because you had made your mistakes, too. You had your own sins to answer for. But unlike him, you don’t feel guilty. At least, not anymore. Mrs. Kento freed you. As much as you had freed yourself. 

Maybe you should. Maybe you would have some shame. Maybe, in another life, you would have. But in this one, in this marriage that has been more war than love, you learned long ago that guilt was a luxury. It was for people who wanted to atone, people who wished things had gone differently.

You have no regrets now.

But Toji did. He always would.

You had forgiven him, after all.

Yet he knows you’ll never forget.

You see it now, in the way he glances at you between sips of his drink, like he’s waiting for something. Punishment? Forgiveness? You’re not sure. Maybe he’s not, either. But it’s too late to give one on your part. You were too exhausted with that game. And you were a fool. The best thing a woman like you could be. Well, at least that’s what you think.

"What?" you ask, tilting your head.

He exhales through his nose, a soft huff of laughter. "Nothing."

But it’s not nothing. You know him too well for that. "You look like you got something to say."

"I don’t."

"Liar."

He smirks at that, shaking his head. For a moment, the weight between you lifts, the bitterness dulling into something more tolerable. "Eighteen years, huh?" he says, leaning back in his chair. "Didn’t think we’d make it this far."

"Neither did I." You take a sip of your wine, letting it settle on your tongue before swallowing. "Yet here we are."

"Here we are." He clinks his glass against yours. "Still standing."

You arch a brow. "Barely."

He grins. "Still counts."

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. Because maybe Toji was right. Maybe it did count.Maybe, despite all the years of hurt and betrayal and anger, despite everything you lost along the way, you both still tried. And maybe, just maybe — that was enough.

You kissed him, pouring all your pent-up emotions into it with that drunken spirit. Your lips moved against his with a desperate urgency, as if you were trying to make up for all the years you'd wasted apart. Toji’s hands were everywhere, roaming your body with a possessive hunger. He gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss. 

You gasped for breath, consumed by him, by the feel of his lips, his hands, his body pressed against yours. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The past, the future, the world outside —  it all faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other's arms.

Toji's massive hands gripped your hips painfully, his fingers digging into your flesh as he yanked you against him. His kiss was brutal, punishing, as if he were trying to devour you whole. They always were.

You gasped, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs. Toji's tongue invaded your mouth, dominating, claiming, leaving no room for protest. His hands roamed your body possessively, squeezing and groping as if he owned every inch of you.

"We belong to each other, don’t we?" He growled against your lips, his voice laced with a toxic mix of bitterness and affection and desire."You've always been mine, and I'm never letting you go again."

Toji ripped your shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. He tore at your bra, freeing your breasts, and palmed them roughly. His touch was painful, bordering on cruel, but your body betrayed you, nipples hardening under his calloused hands.

Toji's mouth descended on your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin as he marked you. He sucked hard, intent on leaving a bruise, a visible claim of ownership. His hands slid down your body, popping the button on your skirt and yanking down the zipper. 

Toji hooked his fingers into the waistband, tugging both your skirt and underwear down in one brutal motion. He spun you around, bending you over the nearest surface, not caring what it was.

Toji kicked your legs apart, his hand coming down hard on your bare ass. The sharp sting made you cry out, but he ignored it, his fingers digging into your hips as he positioned himself behind you.

"Toji….please." you gasped, your voice a mix of pain and plea. 

But your husband wasn't listening. He was lost in his own twisted desire, driven by all these years that had come about this marriage. He was always like this when it comes to that.

You don’t blame him. You both were the worst people you knew. And he was desperate most of the time to pretend that the innocence of your love before this was still there.   

He drowned in you as he let his hips snapped forward, his cock plunging into you with a force that stole your breath. He set a punishing pace, each thrust designed to hurt, to claim, to dominate. Toji's hand came down on your ass again, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. Tears streamed down your face, a mix of pain and unwanted pleasure coursing through your veins.

"You're mine, babe." Toji growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Say it. Say you're mine." His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back as he continued his brutal assault.

"I'm yours, I’m yours….." you whispered, your voice breaking. 

It was the only thing you could say, the only thing that would stop the pain. Toji's grip on your hair tightened, his hips slamming into you with renewed vigor. You mewled as he dug deeper with each and every move.

"Louder, babe." he demanded, his voice a snarl. "I want the whole fucking world to hear you."

You took a shuddering breath, forcing the words out. "I'm yours, Toji. I'm yours!"

The admission seemed to snap something inside him. Toji's movements became erratic, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he chased his release. He came with a roar, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his seed.

But even as he emptied himself into you,  Fushiguro Toji didn't stop. He continued to thrust, his movements slower now but no less intense, as if he were trying to brand you with his touch, to imprint himself onto your very soul.

"Never forget it." Toji groaned brutishly, his breath hot against your ear. "You belong to me. Only me….I belong to you the same way. You know that, don’t you? You always have. You always will. This was just a reminder." 

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and something darker, something you refused to acknowledge. Toji's hand slid around your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck possessively.

"I'll never let you go." Toji whispered, his voice a sinister promise. "I'll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me."

“Toji, fuck fuck…huh…ah—”

“You could fuck whoever you want, babe.” He says, choking in his pleasure. “But, fuck—only I have you. Only I do. You know that.”

“I….you’re—too good! Toji, deeper! Fuckkkkkk…….”

His grip tightened slightly, just enough to make you gasp for air. You could feel your husband's other hand snaked around your bruising hip, his long  fingers finding your clit and rubbing in rough, demanding circles.

"Come for me." he commanded, his voice low and dangerous."Come on my cock like the good little slut you are." His words, his touch, the lack of oxygen. It all combined to push you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as pleasure mixed with pain. Fushiguro Toji's fingers dug into your throat, his touch bordering on violent as he rode out your climax. He thrust into you erratically, brutishly, barbarically, feeling his own release building again.

"Fuck, yes, yes…..fucking fuckkkkkkk….." he growled, his hips slamming into yours with a bruising force. "Take it all. Baby, fuck, you feel so good. Take it. Every last drop."

Toji's body tensed, his cock pulsing inside you as he came a second time. He collapsed on top of you, sweat blending as his weight crushed you into the surface beneath you. You gasped for air, your lungs burning horribly, your body aching. Toji's hand slid from your throat, his fingers trailing down your chest possessively.

"Mine, mine…." he murmured, his voice slurred with satisfaction. "You're all mine."

Toji stayed buried inside you, his softening cock a constant reminder of what had just happened. He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so that you were spooned against his chest.  His strong weary wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly against him.

You lay there, stunned and shaken, your mind reeling from the intensity of the encounter. Toji's breath was hot against your neck, his heartbeat steady and strong in your ear. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his lips surprisingly gentle.

Toji chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Happy anniversary, my dear wife.” he said, his fingers trailing down your arm in a parody of affection. "Another year of blissful married life."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "Blissful? Is that what you call it? Or what the trends call it?" you retorted, poking him in the chest. "I seem to remember spending half the year sleeping on the couch."

Toji caught your hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness. "Ah, but think of all the fun we had when I finally dragged you back to bed, babe." he smirked. "You know you can't resist me for long."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Arrogant bastard." 

You mutter those words and yet there was no heat behind the words. This was a dance you both knew well, a twisted game of push and pull that defined your marriage. You had been through this too many times before. 

Toji's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, I'm not just a bastard, I'm your bastard, aren’t I?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And you love me for it."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Or maybe you just love the way I fuck you when you're being a brat."

You gasped, your cheeks flushing at his crude words.But before you could retort, Fushiguro Toji's mouth was on yours, kissing you deeply, possessively. He bit your lip, hard enough to sting, before pulling back.

"Now, how about we celebrate our anniversary properly?" he suggested, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass. "I'll even let you top this time, if you're feeling generous."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't suppress the smirk tugging at your lips. "In your dreams, Fushiguro Toji." you said, pushing him away playfully. "I'm not that easy."

Toji laughed, the sound rich and warm. Your husband grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back against his chest. You started to laugh with him, shaking your head. You were sure that it was the mix of the wine, the pleasure and the ambiance that had put you into such a good mood. 

"Oh, you're easy, babe." he teased, nipping at your neck. "You're just playing hard to get."

You giggled, squirming in his arms. "Prove it to me. Right now." you challenged, your eyes sparkling with mirth. 

Toji groaned, his hands roaming your body. "Fine, I'll prove it. But first, I need more wine." 

You slyly smiled. “That’s more like it. Go on and get it.”

He released you, heading towards the kitchen. "Red or white?" he called over his shoulder. "And don't you dare say 'surprise me', or I'll choose the cheapest bottle we have."

You laughed, settling back onto the couch. "Red." you shouted back. "And make it a good one, or I'll make you sleep on the couch tonight."

“So demanding you are.”

“Hm, that’s what you still need to learn after eighteen years.”

“We’ve been together longer than that.”

You laughed. “That’s why we’re fools, aren’t we?”

“Hm.” He mumbles as he leans in, kissing you as he holds the wine in his hands. “True enough.”

YOU AND TOJI TAKE LONGER BREAKS NOW. And that was perhaps for the best now that the kids are getting older. You’ve decided this a long time ago, but it was only now that it was a reality. With Toji and you being under your own management, there was more ability to say no to projects more often. 

Now that you and Toji are finally able to be a little less busy, you find yourselves grasping at the time that once slipped so easily through your fingers. It’s a strange thing, this newfound stillness. 

After years of living out of suitcases, jumping from set to set, and calling home through glitchy video calls, the quiet should be a relief. But in truth, it’s unsettling. Because now, without the distraction of work, you’re forced to face the spaces you left behind.

You try as much as you can. You really put everything in trying and succeeding to spend more time with your kids, to be present in ways you couldn’t be before. But parenting, when you’ve spent so long being absent, is a careful balance of patience and guilt. 

You’re stepping into lives that have learned how to function without you, and no matter how much they love you, no matter how many dinners you cook or movie nights you organize, there’s no undoing the years of distance.

Seventeen year old Fushiguro Tsumiki is about to take her entrance exams for college, a milestone that you can hardly believe is already here. You remember the day she first came into your life, all wide eyes and soft smiles, and now she’s filling out applications, weighing her options, making plans for a future that doesn’t depend on you or Toji.

Tsumiki sat at the kitchen table, hunched over her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she typed out her application essay. The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face, highlighting the furrow in her brow, the quiet determination in her eyes.

Toji leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with an unreadable expression. You could tell he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to say it without making it sound like an argument.

"Are you sure about this school?" he finally asked, his voice casual, though you knew better. "Could be a bit too far from us, don’t you think?"

Tsumiki barely spared him a glance, too focused on the words forming on her screen. "Yeah, I’m going to be fine at this school, dad."

There was a slight exasperation in her tone, but it wasn’t angry. Instead, it was that was her tender firmness, like she had already decided, like this was something she had put real thought into. At times, you like to think she got that from Toji.

"It’s got the best program for what I want to do."

Toji scratched his jaw, pretending like he didn’t already know the answer to the question he was about to ask. "And what’s that again?"

Tsumiki rolled her eyes, a soft huff escaping her lips as she finally looked up at him. "I’ve told you a hundred times, dad."

Toji shrugged, pushing off the counter. "Yeah, well, tell me again."

You expected her to be annoyed, to say something sharp about how he never listened, about how he always asked the same things but never really heard her. But instead, she sighed and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It’s got the best program for child psychology, Kyoto University." she said, her voice softer now. "It’s one of the top schools for it. The research they do there, the opportunities… it’s what I need if I want to do this seriously."

“Okay, I see.”

She paused, studying her father, then added. "And it’s not like I’m moving across the world. It’s a few hours away."

Fushiguro Toji took a moment and exhaled slowly, leaning against the chair across from her, running a hand down his face. He nodded, though he didn’t say anything right away. It wasn’t about the school. Not really.

It was about her—about how she was growing up, about how she wasn’t a little girl anymore. About how, one day soon, she would leave, and there wouldn’t be application essays sprawled across the kitchen table or late-night snacks stolen from the fridge when she thought no one was looking.

And maybe Fushiguro Tsumiki understood that.

Because instead of snapping at him for forgetting, for questioning her choices, she met him where he was, speaking to him with patience and grace. As if she could see past his words, straight into the unspoken fear buried beneath them. Because at the end of the day, her dad was just concerned for her and wanted her around.

As if she knew he wasn’t really asking about the school.

He was asking if she was really ready to go.

And she was, she was a grown young woman ready to go.

You just sat there, listening to them, watching the way Toji asked questions he already knew the answers to, the way Tsumiki answered with more patience than he probably deserved. It was such a small thing, a simple conversation between a father and his daughter, but it lodged itself deep in your chest, heavy with a kind of warmth you hadn’t felt in years.

For all your shortcomings, for all the missed birthdays, the forgotten recitals, the times you had been nothing more than voices through a speaker or fleeting figures in the doorway—Tsumiki still let you in.

She still sat at this table with you. She still spoke to you both with openness, as if she had never once resented the distance, as if she had never longed for different parents, ones who had always been there. She could have turned away. She could have built walls so high neither of you could have reached her.

But instead, she waited to open that letter in front of you. Instead, she still explained her dreams, still let you be part of them, even after all the years you had spent missing pieces of her life. And that was what broke you the most.

Not the guilt, not the regret—but the grace.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, gripping the edge of your seat as if grounding yourself would somehow make this moment last longer. It wasn’t often that the past allowed itself to be forgiven, and yet, here was Tsumiki, still offering it to you freely, without expectation, without resentment.

Toji exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, the weight of it all pressing down on him in real time. "Well, guess that means I better start looking at housing prices out there."

Tsumiki blinked, caught between amusement and exasperation. "Dad—"

"What?" he shot back, crossing his arms. "You think I’m gonna let you live in some shitty dorm with mold in the walls? Not a chance."

"Dorms aren’t that bad—"

"Have you seen those places? I’d rather pay for you to live somewhere that won’t give you some disease." Toji says to her, shaking his head. “What daughter of mine will live in some shithole? Your mother and I make more than enough to get you some good apartment, you know that.”

You shook your head, pressing your lips together to hide the smile threatening to form. "Toji, let her breathe. She hasn’t even left yet, and you’re already planning to follow her."

He scoffed. "Damn right I am. What kind of dad would I be if I didn’t at least check out the area? Make sure she’s not living next to some creep?"

Tsumiki groaned, dropping her face into her hands, but you caught the small smile tugging at her lips before she did. "Oh my god, you two are impossible."

"You love us, admit it, sweetie." Toji said easily, smirking.

And she didn’t argue. She just shook her head, laughing softly, before turning her attention back to her laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard once more with the eager zealousness she had always had.

You sat back, watching them bicker, watching the way the warmth filled the space between you all, and something inside you settled. Because after everything, after the misgivings, the years spent apart, the quiet fractures that once seemed irreparable. 

She was still here. She still let you be her parents And maybe you hadn’t always been good at it. Maybe you had spent too many years failing, too many years missing the moments that mattered. But somehow, she still lets you try.

Then there’s your son Megumi. Your youngest, but never really your baby. He has always been too sharp, too self-sufficient, always moving through life like he already knows how it ends. And you didn’t know how you could have been a better mother than he already was to himself.

Fushiguro Megumi never hated acting. That much you knew. If anything, he was good at it. He was just that talent that comes once in a lifetime. He was so good, in fact, that it was almost frustrating. 

Some people spent their whole lives fighting for a place in the industry, scraping for every opportunity, but for Megumi, it came easy. Natural. Directors liked him, critics praised him, and his face had become familiar in the industry, even if he never really tried to be.

But you saw it. In the way his shoulders tensed at red carpet events, the way his polite smiles never quite reached his eyes. In the way he flipped through scripts like they were another chore on his to-do list rather than a dream waiting to be realized.

"There’s too much damn dialogue in this thing." he muttered one night, stretching across the couch, script in one hand, a book in the other. “I’m not like Yuuji who can do this all the time!”

You looked up from your own book, raising a brow. "Too much dialogue? That’s the whole point, Megumi. It’s called acting."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, flipping a page lazily before tossing the script onto the coffee table with a sigh. "It’s just… too much talking. Too much over-explaining. Sometimes a look is enough, you know? A pause. A beat. You don’t need a five-minute monologue about life and its fleeting purpose to get that across."

You smirked. "Try telling that to the writers."

"Believe me, I have." he deadpanned, tilting his head toward you. "They don’t listen."

You hummed, watching him. The way his fingers skimmed the worn spine of his book, the way he traced over the inked words as if they carried more weight than any script ever could.

"Why don’t you quit, then?" you asked after a beat, catching him off guard. “I’m sure whatever you do, me and your dad will support you.”

Megumi blinked at you, his lips parting slightly before pressing into something unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might actually consider it, might admit something he hadn’t before. But instead, his mouth curled into a small, knowing smirk.

"I don’t hate it," he said simply, shrugging as he leaned back against the couch.

"No?" you challenged, tilting your head.

"No." He looked down at his book, flipping a page with deliberate ease. "I just like something else more."

You nodded, letting his words settle between you. "Literature?" you guessed.

He exhaled, glancing at you briefly before returning to his book. "Stories."

Something about the way he said it, quiet but certain, stuck with you. You and Toji had spent your whole lives chasing the next big role, the next big paycheck, the next big thing. You had built your careers on the idea that passion and success were the same, that you could never have one without the other. 

But Megumi, he just knew exactly where his love lay. And more importantly, he wasn’t afraid to say it. You watched him for a while, the way his gaze lingered on the words before him, how relaxed he looked in that moment, lost in a world of his own choosing.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt something settle inside you. Maybe he wouldn’t chase the same dreams you did. Maybe he wouldn’t take every job, every opportunity, every chance to stay relevant in an industry that never let anyone rest. 

"We should have dinner together, shouldn’t we?" you said, glancing between Megumi and Toji, who were both still lounging in the living room. "It’s been a while since we actually sat down as a family, and I don’t mean takeout at the kitchen counter."

Toji stretched, cracking his neck as he glanced over at you. "Yeah, that’s a good idea. We can go somewhere nice. Anywhere you guys want."

Megumi just grunted in response, still nose-deep in his book, which you took as his usual version of agreement. “I guess.”

But then Tsumiki, who had been sitting at the dining table with her laptop open, perked up slightly. "Can Kenshin come?"

You paused, your brows furrowing. "Nanami Kenshin?"

She nodded, twirling her pen between her fingers. "Yeah. He’s been kind of… going through it."

You exchanged a glance with Toji before settling your gaze back on her. "What’s wrong?"

Tsumiki sighed, closing her laptop and leaning forward on her elbows. "You know about his dad, right? The cheating rumors?"

You exhaled sharply, feeling the air punctured from your lungs. "Yeah. It’s been everywhere."

Nanami Kento’s scandal had taken over the news cycle for weeks. The once-stoic, well-respected actor had been photographed leaving a hotel with someone who was not his wife, and from there, the speculation spiraled. 

Every single day, there were headlines, opinion pieces, talk shows dissecting his every move, paparazzi following not just him, but his family. Kenshin, being his only son, was getting dragged into it whether he wanted to or not.

In some ways, you were lucky that you never got caught. But it was just that he was good at hiding his tracks more when you both worked together. And you worked together more than twice in two years.

Yet it had to end, once you gave birth to Tsumiki. And then when you were pregnant with Megumi. It wasn’t fair to your children. It never was and it never will. That’s why you broke it off. 

"He’s not handling it well." Tsumiki admitted, biting the inside of her cheek. "You know how private he is. And now he can’t even go outside without a camera in his face. He barely eats, barely sleeps. He’s just… stressed, and I figured maybe having dinner with us would help."

You sighed, rubbing your temple. You’d known Kenshin since he was a kid—he and Tsumiki had been close for years, practically growing up together. He had always been serious, quiet like his father, preferring to stay out of the limelight even though his last name made that impossible.

"Of course he can come." you said finally, softening. "We’ll make sure he eats something."

Tsumiki smiled, relieved, as she reached for her phone.

Toji, who had been silent this whole time, finally huffed. "Tch. If that dumbass father of his had half a brain, he’d have kept his shit together."

You shot him a look. "Not the time, Toji."

He grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. You watched as Tsumiki typed out a message to Kenshin, and something in your chest ached. Because for all the ways you had failed as parents over the years, Tsumiki had grown into someone who noticed when others were hurting.

And that had to mean something.

As you looked at your husband, he knew.

This was a hurt your daughter should never know.

IT WAS EERIE THAT EVERYTHING WAS THIS PEACEFUL. After being in the limelight for so long, you were just used to being surrounded by many people. People who were watching you eat, have a glass of wine, and have a conversation. Tonight was a whole other thing.

The restaurant was quiet, a dimly lit private dining space meant to shield its patrons from the outside world. It was the kind of place you and Toji had grown accustomed to over the years, where deals were made, secrets were kept, and appearances were carefully crafted under the warm glow of candlelight.

But as you slid into your seat across from Nanami Kenshin, no amount of careful curation could settle the knot in your stomach. You had spent your whole life perfecting the art of deception. On screen, in interviews, even at home. You could lie with your face, with your voice, with the ease of someone who had done it for far too long.

But now, as you watched Kenshin unfold his napkin with quiet precision, his brows drawn together in that familiar, contemplative way, you felt something unravel inside you. Because he looked just like his father. Too much just like him.

It had been easier when they were children, when Kenshin and Tsumiki were nothing more than two kids bonding over burnt pastries and mismatched spices in their middle school culinary club. Back then, your fears had been different and rather miniscule, smaller than dust. 

You had only worried about whether Tsumiki would get along with the other students, or whether she would find a friend in the reserved, sharp-eyed boy who always seemed to prefer the background. Back then, Tsumiki didn’t look like Kento.

But as the years passed, something shifted. It was in the little things at first. It was the way her patience stretched longer, the way her silences began carrying weight, the way she observed before speaking, before acting.

Then it was in the eyes. His caramel eyes. And now, sitting across from Kenshin, you felt it again. That gnawing weight in your chest. You couldn’t help but feel your lips dry up. You immediately lift your wine glass up to your lips and drank swiftly.

"You okay?" Toji’s voice was low, his hand settling against your thigh under the table, a gentle squeeze meant to keep you tethered.

You forced a nod, fingers curling around the stem of your wine glass, though the drink did nothing to soothe you. Because it wasn’t about regret. It had never been about regret. You had made your choices long ago, and you had lived with them.

But guilt? Well, the guilt here was different. And it was something you promised you would never feel again. But you couldn’t help it. Not in front of him. You owe it to him to feel a little bit guilty, even if it was all years ago. You were complicit. You were just as guilty.

You continued to let your eyes linger. You could see it. Your own guilt. Guilt was staring at the dark circles under Kenshin’s eyes, at the way he barely touched his menu, exhaustion weighing him down in ways that had nothing to do with the long day he must have had.

Guilt was watching him flinch slightly when Toji made an offhand remark about the press. Guilt was knowing that he didn’t deserve any of this. Guilt was making him stay here with the woman that his father slept with.

And yet, he bore the brunt of it all—the whispers, the cameras, the endless speculation. The price of being born into a home that no longer felt like one. The home you helped ruin. And he would never even know.

Tsumiki was the one to break the silence.

"You should eat, Kenshin." Her voice was soft but firm, the kind of tone she only ever used when she was worried.

Kenshin barely looked up from the menu, his fingers resting against the edges of the pages, but he hadn’t turned them once. "I’m not really that hungry."

You watched as Tsumiki frowned, her brows knitting together in quiet concern.

"You still need to eat, you idiot." she pressed, nudging his foot under the table. "I didn’t invite you just so you could sit here and mope, you know."

Kenshin exhaled sharply through his nose, something close to amusement flickering across his face, but it was faint. He closed the menu and leaned back against his chair, tilting his head slightly in her direction. "You invited me?"

"Of course I did." she said easily, like it wasn’t even a question. “Didn’t you answer me on the phone earlier? At least act interested! My parents are paying!”

Kenshin didn’t respond right away. He stared at her for a long moment, eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place—hesitation, gratitude, maybe even exhaustion. And then, slowly, he picked up the menu again, actually looking at it this time.

"Fine. But you’re ordering for me."

Tsumiki smiled, triumphant. "Obviously."

Toji, who had been silent this whole time, huffed a small chuckle before glancing at you. "They remind you of anyone?"

You knew what he was implying. You and him, all those years ago. It was before the fights, before the resentment, before the weight of your mistakes began pressing into every crack of your marriage. But you couldn’t even force a smile. Not with Kenshin sitting there, unknowingly reminding you of everything you had spent years trying to forget.

"So, Kenshin–senpai." Megumi spoke up, finally tearing himself away from his book. He turned to Kenshin, arching a brow. "How’s your mom doing?"

The question was casual enough, but you stiffened, your fingers tightening around your wine glass. Kenshin sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "She’s… dealing with it. I don’t know. It’s been rough." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "She’s handling it better than I am, though."

You swallowed. Because how could he not be struggling? How could he not be going through it? His whole life had been dragged into the spotlight, his father’s name turned into nothing more than a headline, a scandal, a spectacle.

“Your sister must be just as distraught too.” Tsumiki murmured under her breath, looking with empathy at her best friend. “I hope she’s alright.”

“She’s in Kyoto right now, that’s where she’s prepping for her licensing exams.” Kenshin sighed. “Honestly, I know it’s best for her. But I worry about her. I know that she gets really bad when she’s upset.”

You forced yourself to speak, voice even. "If she ever needs anything, let her know she can call me. I’m sure we can do something for your sister too.”

Kenshin nodded, but his gaze remained unreadable. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Fushiguro. I appreciate it. Really.”

Toji watched you closely, his fingers tapping against his glass, but he said nothing. And as the conversation moved forward, shifting into lighter topics. Now onto university plans, upcoming projects, the best dish on the menu. In that time, you forced yourself to push the guilt down.

Because Kenshin still didn’t know.

And you told yourself that was all that mattered.

That was for his own good.

At least that's what you believed.

TOJI THINKS HE SHOULD WIN AN AWARD FOR HIS ACTING LATELY. Of course, he wasn’t talking about his jobs. He’s not filmed anything in the past year and a half. But there was something else that could give him some sort of award winning accolade. And it’s because Fushiguro Toji had been hiding something for a little while now.

Lymphoma.

It was strange, how the word hadn’t shaken him the way it probably should have. The doctor had said it gently, cautiously, like he was waiting for the weight of it to sink in. But Toji had simply sat there, one leg bouncing impatiently, as if he were waiting for something more pressing to be said.

"It’s treatable." the doctor had assured him, voice steady, professional. "But we need to start soon."

And maybe that was why it hadn’t rattled him. Maybe it was the way the doctor had framed it. It was like a problem with a solution, a challenge to be dealt with rather than a death sentence. Or maybe it was because Fushiguro Toji had lived his whole life expecting something to take him out eventually. But not today. Not yet.

"You have any questions?" the doctor had asked.

Toji had thought about it, had considered asking what the worst-case scenario looked like, and had considered asking how much time he had if treatment didn’t work. But in the end, all he had done was shake his head and stand up.

"Alright. I’ll be in touch."

And that was that.

So far, no one has noticed.

Which was a good thing.

He didn’t want anyone to be concerned.

Not his wife, who had enough to think about. It was a lot of balancing work, their marriage, their kids, all while carrying the kind of history that still bled into their present. If you knew, you would surely drop everything. You’d hover him like he was a pitiful creature. She’d watch him like he was a ticking bomb, and Toji didn’t have it in him to be the reason for that kind of worry.

Not Tsumiki, who had spent her whole damn life caring for people, who had already learned to read between the lines too well. If she knew, she’d put herself on hold. Toji had spent too many years trying to teach her not to do that, to live for herself, to stop putting the world on her shoulders.

And definitely not Megumi. Not his quiet, unreadable, sharp-eyed kid who already carried more weight than he should, who had learned too young what disappointment felt like, what distance felt like, what it meant to survive rather than simply live.

No. If Megumi knew, he’d take it on himself, the same way he always did.  And Toji couldn’t let that happen, not when his kids are doing something for themselves for once. Not when they were at the prime of their lives.

So, he hid it. 

Not when the fatigue settled in his bones, making every movement feel like dragging himself through sand.

Not when the weight slipped from him, slow but steady, his clothes fitting just a little looser, his rings spinning just a little too easily on his fingers.

Not even when the pain dug into his chest late at night, deep and relentless, the kind that kept him awake even on the nights when he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open.

Because what good would telling them do?

What good would putting that burden on them accomplish?

So, he forced himself to keep up. Forced himself to eat, even when the nausea made it difficult. Forced himself to be present, even when his body begged him to rest. Forced himself to be himself at least until he couldn’t anymore. And for now, at least, he was doing a damn good job of it.

But the thing about hiding something this big was that Toji had to be careful. It wasn’t enough to just act normal. He had to be convincing. Like he usually was. He had to keep up routines, make sure there were no suspicious gaps in his behavior.

He couldn’t afford to look tired, couldn’t hesitate when lifting the groceries or shut his eyes too long when rubbing at the ache in his chest. So far, he’d managed. Tsumiki and Megumi hadn’t noticed a thing. And you—his wife—hadn’t either. Or at least, if you had, you hadn’t said anything.

But Toji knew it was only a matter of time. Because the thing about secrets was that they always crept up, slipping through the cracks when you least expected them to. And for all his effort, for all the control he tried to maintain over his body, his body had a way of betraying him.

The first real crack came on a random Tuesday.

He had just stepped out of the shower when you entered the bedroom, flipping through something on your phone, mumbling about dinner plans. His towel hung around his shoulders, water still dripping from his hair, steam clinging to his skin.

You hadn’t been paying much attention at first, distracted, focused on something else entirely. And then you froze. Your husband Toji didn’t understand why at first—then he followed your gaze.

To his ribs.To the way his skin clung too closely to his bones, to the ghastly and rather sharp hollows that hadn’t been there before, to the proof of what he had been keeping from you all this time.

He saw the way your lips parted, how something flickered in your eyes. It was that realization he knew he never wanted to see in your face in any life time. You purse your lips into a line and then a little later, let it slip open.

"Toji." You said his name like a question. Like you were trying to confirm something you already knew.

He exhaled, reaching for his shirt, acting like it was nothing. "Yeah?"

"Have you… been eating?"

A scoff. A forced chuckle. "What kind of question is that? I eat everything that you give me, babe. I’m fine."

"You’ve lost weight."

"I’m busy with the entertainment company. And I produce too, you know. Maybe it’s that. Don't worry too much." He pulled the shirt over his head, voice easy, practiced. "It’s not like I have a home-cooked meal waiting for me every day."

You didn’t respond right away. And that was worse. Because Fushiguro Toji knew you. Knew how your mind worked, how you saw through bullshit faster than anyone else. You did not believe him one second.

You stepped closer, fingertips ghosting over his ribs through the fabric, and he had to fight the urge to step back. Your eyes were sharp, scanning him, searching for something. "You’ve been tired too, aren’t you? That’s why we took a break, didn’t we?"

"I’m getting older, too. Don’t forget that side effect."

"And you’ve been—"

"Drop it." His voice came out rougher than he meant it to. “Babe, seriously. I’m fine. Look…I’m sorry.”

Your lips pressed together, and for a split second, Toji thought he saw something flicker there. Hurt. He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose before dragging a hand down his face. He forced his voice softer. 

"I’m serious about it. I’m fine. Just been working too much."

A long pause.

Then you nodded.

He saw your eyes.

But your eyes told him you weren’t convinced. And Toji didn’t like that look.  Because it meant you were starting to notice. And if you noticed, it was only a matter of time before the kids did too.

So, he needed to do better. He needed to get it together. He needed to be more careful. Needed to keep it hidden just a little longer. This was his problem. He had to solve it his way. Because he wasn’t ready for you or the kids to know. Not yet.

A LOT HAS HAPPENED OVER THE PAST FEW MONTHS. It was a few months later when Fushiguro Tsumiki got accepted into Kyoto University. And everything about it has been a splendid triumph for the Fushiguro family for quite a while. Most especially from you and Toji.

The house had been buzzing with excitement, with you crying happy tears while Megumi offered his usual quiet but sincere congratulations. Even Toji, who had never been the most expressive, had pulled her into a side hug, murmuring a gruff “Knew you’d get in.”

And now, here you were—moving her into her dorm.

Toji had insisted on helping, despite you knowing that he got tired more easily these days. He played it off well, cracking jokes about how dorm mattresses were probably just wooden planks covered in fabric and how campus food was going to be the worst thing she’d ever eat. 

But you saw it very clearly. You were watching your husband all through the steps with eyes like a hawk. You could see the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot, the way he rolled his shoulders like he was working through some ache he wasn’t talking about.

But you said nothing. Not yet.

You didn’t want to push him.

You didn’t want to make him upset.

Not today of all days, when he’s happy.

The drive there had been mostly filled with Tsumiki’s excited chatter. She kept talking about how she had already connected with her dorm mate online, how she planned to join a few clubs, how she wanted to explore the city more now that she’d be living in it.

By the time you reached the dorm, the sun was high, and the campus buzzed with students moving in, parents saying tearful goodbyes. Toji carried most of her heavier boxes despite your protests, only shooting you a look when you tried to take one from him.

Inside her dorm, it felt real. She was really going to be here. She was really moving on to this next part of her life. She’s no longer a little girl. She’s a growing young woman and there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

All the sudden you felt choked up. “I’m going to get us some beverages.”

Your husband nods at you, watching you leave the room with your forlorn look. He knew you were overwhelmed. He sighed. He moved towards the edge of the room. After setting down the last box, Toji stretched, exhaling deeply. Then he glanced around the small space, nodding as if approving it. 

“Not bad. Still think you could’ve picked something closer, though.”

Tsumiki turned from where she was unpacking her books, rolling her eyes. “Dad, it’s not even that far. It’s just Kyoto. The Shinkansen can take me home in a couple of hours.”

"Far enough." He folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall. "Before, if you needed anything, we were just down the hall. Now, what? Gotta call ahead and book an appointment just to see you?"

Tsumiki sighed, but there was a fondness in her expression. “You know it’s not like that.”

Toji shrugged, looking around the room before settling his gaze back on her. "You're growing up too fast. Soon, you won’t need me or your mom anymore."

Tsumiki’s hands stilled as she placed a book on her desk. Then she turned fully, brows furrowing. “That’s not true.”

"Isn’t it?" Toji smirked, but there was something else underneath it. Something unreadable. "What do you need me for anymore, huh? I don’t gotta drive you anywhere, don’t gotta pick you up from school, don’t gotta make sure your dumbass classmates aren’t getting too close to you—"

“Dad—”

"What? You think I don’t know you’re too nice to tell some loser to back off? Don’t make me show up on campus, ‘miki."

Tsumiki groaned, shoving him lightly, and Toji let himself stumble back a little, laughing. “Dad, you’re being silly again.”

Then, after a moment, his expression softened, and his voice dropped just a bit. "You’ll still be my little girl, though?"

Tsumiki tilted her head, smiling. “Yes.”

Toji let out a breath, then grinned. "Good. ‘Cause I wasn’t gonna accept any other answer."

And for a moment, it was just the two of them. They were still father and daughter, standing in the middle of a dorm that felt too empty, too new. Tsumiki looked at him like she had always looked at him. There was warmth, with trust, with the kind of affection that Toji never thought he deserved.

And for just a second, he forgot about everything else. The fatigue. The pain. The weight of a secret that felt heavier than any of the boxes he had carried up those stairs. Because right now, his little girl was starting the next chapter of her life. And he would do whatever it took to be there for as long as he could.

As the afternoon light filtered through the dorm window, Fushiguro Toji sat on the edge of Tsumiki’s bed, watching her arrange the last of her things. For a moment, he just observed. He couldn’t help but take in how grown she looked, how far she had come. 

It was strange how time worked. One day, she was just a kid clinging to his arm, asking him to carry her on his shoulders. Now, she was standing on her own, stepping into a new life, one he wouldn’t be a daily part of anymore. His chest ached, but he ignored it.

Instead, he leaned back on his hands, voice light when he spoke. “So. What do you think of your mom?”

Tsumiki blinked, caught off guard. “What kind of question is that?”

Toji shrugged. “Just wondering.”

She stared at him for a moment, then sighed, turning back to her desk, fidgeting with the edge of a notebook. “I love her.” she said, voice softer. “Of course, I do. She’s my mom.”

Toji hummed. “But?”

Tsumiki hesitated. Then, finally, she admitted. “I feel like there’s always been some kind of distance between us.”

Toji watched as she ran a hand over the cover of a textbook, not meeting his gaze. “I know she loves me a lot, I do. She’s taken care of me, she’s been there—but it’s just… it’s not the same as with you.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Oh?”

Tsumiki turned to him, looking guilty, as if saying it out loud made her feel like a bad daughter. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just—” She sighed. “With you, it’s easy. It always has been. I don’t have to think about what to say, or wonder if I’m bothering you. I just… talk. And you listen. And you tease me.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “It’s just different with Mom. It always has been. And I think she knows it too.”

Toji exhaled through his nose, tilting his head. “And Megumi?”

Tsumiki let out a small chuckle. “They have an easier relationship. They understand each other better.” She shrugged. “Maybe because he’s more like her. Or maybe it’s because he’s actually hers.”

Toji frowned at that. “You really don’t think that, do you?”

“Dad, it’s just….” She looked crestfallen, but she smiled. “It’s just complicated.”

"Tsumiki." His voice was firm, but not harsh. She looked at him, and he reached out, tapping her forehead lightly with his fingers. “You’re her daughter. That’s all that matters.”

She gave a small nod but didn’t say anything.

For a while, silence stretched between them.

Toji could remember how he was with his mother too.

Blood or not, Tsumiki was more like him than he could bear.

Then, Toji smirked, leaning back again. “So? What are you gonna do about it?”

Tsumiki frowned. “What do you mean?”

"You want things to be different with her? Then go to her. Talk to her. You’re a big girl now, right? Not scared of your own mom, are ya?"

Tsumiki huffed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Toji chuckled, then shook his head, his voice turning a little more serious. “Look, your mom—she’s not always the best at showing things. But she does care. She’s still….dealing with a lot. But she cares. Probably more than she knows how to say. So, if you feel a distance, don’t just sit with it. Close it.”

Tsumiki bit her lip, thinking. Then, after a moment, she nodded. “Yeah… Yeah, okay.”

Toji grinned. “Good. Now, are you gonna make me sit here all day, or are you gonna feed your old man before he drives back home?”

Tsumiki laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

"Damn right I am."

And as they headed out for a meal together, Fushiguro Toji hoped—really hoped—that she would take his advice. Because no matter how messy this family was, no matter how much distance had crept in over the years, he knew one thing for sure.

You loved Tsumiki.

And she deserved to know it.

And he doesn’t want you to be alone.

YOU DIDN’T REALIZE HOW MUCH YOUR DAUGHTER ACTUALLY OWNED UNTIL NOW. The afternoon sun painted the dorm room in soft gold, dust particles catching the light as they floated lazily through the air.

The room smelled faintly of cardboard and new beginnings, the scent of fresh linens and wood polish mixing with the comfortable warmth of Tsumiki’s presence.

You and your husband Toji had been helping her unpack for the past hour, moving in a steady rhythm. You watched him carrying the heavier boxes to a storage room while you focused on putting her things away neatly. 

Tsumiki worked between the both of you, arranging her books, tucking away clothes, occasionally stopping to pull out something sentimental. It was her favorite childhood trinkets, an old photograph, a gift from Megumi she hadn’t had the heart to leave behind.

For the most part, the move-in had been filled with light chatter, your husband Toji’s occasional grumbling about “kids these days” and the ridiculous amount of stuff she had brought. You could only laugh and shake your heat at his little banters.  

But then, as you folded the last of her sweaters, Tsumiki spoke. "Mom?"

You paused, fingers brushing over the soft fabric before looking at her. "Yeah?"

She hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the hem of a well-worn t-shirt. Something flickered across her face. It was something unsure, something fragile. “I….”

You smiled softly at her. “Darling, you can tell me anything. What’s on your mind?”

"I wanted to say something to you." She exhaled slowly. "And I don’t—I don’t want you to take it the wrong way, but I think I need to say it."

Beside you, Toji stilled, his gaze shifting from the shelf he was setting up to the both of you. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t intervene. Just let her speak. He turns his back, focusing deeply on the cleaning he was doing.

"I love you." Tsumiki’s voice was soft, but steady. "I love you so much. But I—sometimes, I feel like we don’t really know each other. Not in the way I know Dad. Or even in the way Megumi knows you."

Your chest tightened. “‘miki….”

"And I know you love me, too." She rushed to add. "I do. But there’s always been this… this distance. And I guess I just… I just wish I knew why."

The silence that followed was thick. Toji was watching you now, his expression unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his presence. He wasn’t going to step in. This was between you and Tsumiki. You exhaled, pressing your hands together before finally meeting her gaze.

"Tsumiki, none of that is your fault."

Her brows pulled together slightly, the smallest hint of hurt flashing in her eyes. "Then whose is it?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the words press against the back of your throat like something heavy, something unbearable. "Mine, darling." you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "All of it."

Tsumiki’s lips parted, but no words came out. You glanced at Toji, at the way he watched you—calm, waiting. He knew this conversation had been long overdue. You both talked about how it would work one day. But even now you felt unprepared and scared. Perhaps more than you thought you would ever be.

"I was scared." The confession fell from your lips before you could stop it. "From the very beginning, I was so scared of failing you. Of not being the mother you deserved. I thought that if I didn’t do everything perfectly, I would hurt you. So I tried to be everything all at once. A mother, an actress, a wife. But somewhere along the way, I started thinking that as long as I was there, as long as I provided for you, that was enough. And it wasn’t."

Tsumiki’s fingers curled around the hem of her shirt, gripping it tightly. “Mom….”

You reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “I was at fault. My suffering doesn’t mean I should have done wrong by you. I should have done better.”

“You did your best, mom.” Tsumiki softly shakes her head. “I love you. Thank you for letting me in, even if it’s just a little bit.”

"I love you more than anything in this world, Tsumiki." Your voice wavered, but you held her gaze. "More than I’ve ever been able to show you. And I am so, so sorry if I ever made you feel like that love was anything less than unconditional."

She sucked in a shaky breath, blinking rapidly. “Thank you, mom. For everything.”

You shake  your head. "You shouldn't be thanked for taking accountability. I need to do better by  you. I never wanted you to feel like you had to reach for me, sweetheart. You’ve always had me from now on, okay?”

For a long moment, she didn’t move. And then, without hesitation, she surged forward, wrapping her arms around you, pressing her face into your shoulder. It was like when she was a kid again, when she was coming to your bed when she was afraid of thunderstorms. You let her warmth engulf you whole. 

"I love you, mom." she whispered, voice muffled against your sweater.

Your arms tightened around her, pressing a firm kiss to her temple. "I love you too, baby."

Toji, still standing in the corner, let out a slow breath. You caught the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips before he turned away, busying himself with something on her desk, as if to give you both the space you needed.

And as you held your daughter in that small dorm room, feeling her warmth, her presence, you realized something. It was something you had been too scared to admit before. You had spent years afraid of being a mother the wrong way. But Tsumiki had never once doubted that you were her mother. And for the first time, that fear finally loosened its grip.

Toji had been watching the moment unfold quietly, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. His usual smirk had softened into something more content, something more at peace.

"‘Bout time,” he murmured, shaking his head with a chuckle as he turned to grab one of the last unopened boxes. “Should’ve had this conversation years ago, huh?”

You shot him a look, wiping at the damp corner of your eye. “Shut up, Toji.”

Tsumiki giggled, the tension between you both easing into something warmer. She pulled away just enough to look at you, a lingering smile on her lips. “Thanks, mom.”

Toji scoffed but grinned as he ruffled Tsumiki’s hair. “Alright, enough sappy shit. Do you need us to put anything else together before we head out?”

Tsumiki rolled her eyes but smiled. “No, dad. Don’t worry about that. You did so much for me already. I think I got it from here.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, stretching his arms. “Good. I was starting to think I’d be here all damn day.”

But then, something shifted. Fushiguro Toji swayed slightly where he stood, a slow blink overtaking his features. His hand shot out to the desk all of the sudden, gripping it like he needed to ground himself. 

"Toji?" You straightened immediately, the warmth from before evaporating into worry.

Tsumiki stepped closer, brows furrowing. “Dad?”

Toji tried to shake it off, forcing out a chuckle. “I—”

And then, before he could finish, his knees buckled. It happened too fast. Like a sudden blow of the wind, you watched as your husband went down, his large frame crumpling to the floor before you or Tsumiki could catch him. His head barely missed the corner of the desk as he slumped over, unconscious.

"Dad!" Tsumiki’s voice cracked, panic laced in her tone as she dropped down beside him.

Your own breath hitched, heart lurching to your throat as you knelt beside him, hands pressing against his face, his chest. "Toji—Toji, wake up!"

He didn’t. His breathing was shallow. Too shallow. The world felt like it had tilted, like the air in the room had been sucked out completely. Your hands shook as you patted his face, voice trembling. You could feel the tears pricking your eyes. 

“Toji, open your eyes. Please.”

Tsumiki’s hands were gripping his arm, her eyes wide and glassy. “Mom, what—what’s happening? Is he okay?”

"C–call… call the ambulance now, ‘Miki! Go!”

Your frantic voice came out sharper than you intended, edged with panic you couldn’t suppress. Tsumiki jumped but nodded quickly, her fingers fumbling to unlock her phone. Her breath was shaky as she pressed the emergency number, bringing the phone to her ear with trembling hands.

You turned your attention back to your husband Toji, hands pressing against his face, his chest, anywhere you could reach. His skin was clammy, damp with sweat, but he was still warm. That was good, right? That had to be good. It can only be good. Warm flesh means there’s life.

"Toji, wake up! You gotta wake up." Your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop, didn’t let yourself break.

His eyelids twitched, the barest movement, but he didn’t fully stir. His lips parted, a low, incoherent mumble slipping out. At first, you couldn’t make it out. It was just a string of fragmented words, barely above a whisper.

"Tsumiki?" Your stomach twisted. His voice was slurred, disoriented, almost childlike in the way it fumbled over the syllables. “....’miki….”

"I….I’m here, dad. Don’t worry." Tsumiki choked out, clutching his hand even as she kept the phone to her ear. "Just hang on, okay? The ambulance is coming."

But he didn’t respond. His strong brow furrowed, another murmured whisper tumbling from his lips. You leaned in closer, your pulse pounding so hard you thought your ribs might crack under the pressure of it all.

"—don’t...go yet— ‘m not—"

Your breath caught. His fingers twitched weakly against yours. "Toji?"

Still, he wouldn’t fully wake. His words became softer, less tangible, slipping through your grasp like sand. It wasn’t like him. Toji Fushiguro had always been loud, solid, and unwavering. Even in your worst fights, even in the coldest moments of your marriage, he had always been there.

But right now—right now, he was slipping. 

"Mom—" Tsumiki’s voice broke, and you turned to see her eyes shining with tears, her grip on her phone tight.

"They’re on their way, mom." she said, her voice trembling. "But they—they said it could take a few minutes."

A few minutes.

That was too long.

"Come on, baby, stay with me, please." you whispered, brushing his damp hair back, your voice barely above a plea. “Stay awake.”

His lips parted again, another breathy mumble escaping. This time, it was almost too soft for you to hear. But you knew you heard it. And your heart clenched so hard it physically hurt about how it made you feel.

"‘M sorry…"

You swallowed thickly, fingers tightening against his. "You don’t—You don’t get to say that, Toji. Not now."

But he didn’t respond.

And for the first time in years, the weight of unspoken words that came and went. All the years of love, of resentment, of mistakes and trying and failing and trying again seemed to settle so heavily in your chest, you felt like you might break under it.

You just needed him to hold on.

Just for a few more minutes.

You just needed a few more minutes.

All the sudden, you found yourself praying.

That was all you could do now, truly.

YOU’VE ALWAYS HATED HOSPITALS. They were so devoid of everything that makes life what it is. And you hated it. It’s why you always bring the doctor to you rather than going yourself.

You were too afraid, so disgusted by it. Disturbed by the essence of it being so terribly empty. But right now, you really had no choice. This was the only place you could bring Toji to safety.

The hospital was cold. Too cold. Even though the air-conditioning wasn’t particularly strong, the sterile white walls and the harsh fluorescent lighting made everything feel distant. Clinical. Like this was happening to someone else, in some other reality, and not you.

"Fushiguro Toji?" a doctor finally approached, her face too neutral, too practiced. "Are you his family?"

"Yes, I’m his wife." you answered immediately, your voice coming out steadier than you felt. Tsumiki nodded beside you, her hand still gripping yours tightly. “This is our daughter.”

The doctor sighed, glancing down at the clipboard in her hands. "We managed to stabilize him, but… there’s something we need to discuss."

You hated that pause. Hated the way doctors always did this. Even when you were doing things like this at work in all those massive sets and their dramatic music. Everything was about framing bad news like it needed cushioning, as if it would hurt less if they eased you into it. And to know that it's happening to you in real life, it made you feel so ill.

"What is it?" you asked, throat dry.

"Mr. Fushiguro’s condition is… progressing faster than we initially anticipated." she said carefully. "The lymphoma has advanced significantly, and—"

The rest of her words blurred as she continued to speak right in front of you. The state of shock perhaps will never go away. Everything felt like it was wrong, like it was eager to crash down on you a thousand times. Your breath caught in your throat. Tsumiki stiffened beside you, her fingers digging into your arm.

"What do you mean?" you finally managed, voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor sighed. "I mean that his body isn’t responding to treatment the way we had hoped. The disease is advancing aggressively, and at this stage…" She hesitated, choosing her words. "We need to have a serious discussion about long-term care options."

"Long-term care?" Tsumiki’s voice cracked. "You mean—like, hospice?"

The doctor didn’t answer right away, but her silence was an answer in itself. Tsumiki let out a shaky breath, her other hand covering her mouth as she turned away, shoulders trembling.

You felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you. Like you were standing in the middle of a collapsing building, bricks of reality crumbling all around you. And you hated it. You hated it more than anything. You didn't want this. Never in a lifetime did you want this.

"No, no." you said, shaking your head, as if denial could make this go away. "No, that—there has to be something else. There has to be more treatment, right?"

The doctor gave you a look. It was not unkind, but firm. It had to be, when she has to tell you something as heavy as this. This was her job. Perhaps that's why you weren't screaming in her face. She didn't deserve it. She was just doing what she could. They all were.

"We will do everything we can to make him comfortable."

Comfortable.

The word felt like a death sentence.

You think you were feeling sick.

"How long?" you forced yourself to ask, because if you didn’t, the question would eat you alive.

Another hesitation. "If the progression continues at this rate… months. Maybe less."

A sharp, strangled sound escaped from your daughter Tsumiki. You turned just in time to see her back hitting the wall as she slid down, arms wrapping around herself. She looked miserable, near to tears as she tried to process it all.

You wanted to move, to hold her, to tell her something that would make this better but there was nothing. Because nothing was going to make this better. You were just as much as devastated as your own daughter.

"There has to be something else." The words spilled out of you before you could stop them, sharp and desperate.

The doctor hesitated, her expression unreadable but not unkind. “We understand this is difficult, but—”

"No." You shook your head, taking a step forward as if that would somehow make a difference. "You’re talking like this is already over, doctor. But you know it’s not. There has to be something—anything. More treatment, another hospital, a specialist. We are willing to do everything. My husband can’t….He can’t…."

"Mom….." Tsumiki’s voice was small, raw, but you couldn’t stop now.

"He’s strong. People know that." you insisted, clinging to that fact because Toji had survived everything. He was stubborn, unrelenting. He wasn’t the kind of man who just gave up. "There has to be more options."

The doctor let out a slow breath, her hands tightening around the clipboard. “Mr. Fushiguro has already undergone chemotherapy, months ago. But the cancer is aggressive. We can discuss alternative treatments, Mrs. Fushiguro. However, given the stage of progression, I want to be honest with you—none of them come without risks.”

"I don’t care about the risks. If there’s something, anything, we’ll do it."

Tsumiki reached for your arm, her grip shaky. "Mom… what if—what if dad doesn’t want more treatment?"

Your stomach twisted, the words hitting deeper than they should have. Because it was possible, wasn’t it? Fushiguro Toji had made his peace with this. That he had chosen not to fight this battle any longer. Not because he didn’t care, but because he had already been fighting it alone for longer than you even knew.

You didn’t know what was worse: the idea of losing him or the thought that he had been expecting to leave. “I’m not letting him die on me. On us. Not yet. This is not....We have to try.”

The doctor studied you carefully before speaking again. “We can explore clinical trials. There are experimental treatments available. There are ones that have worked for some patients with similar diagnoses. I can help you attain some access. But it’s important to understand that there are no guarantees.”

"I don't need a guarantee. I just need a chance." You whispered to her. "I just need some chances for my husband's life."

She gave a small nod. “Then we’ll go over the options with him. He should be the one to decide how he wants to proceed.”

You sniffed. “That would be fine. Please make the arrangements as soon as necessary. I want my husband to come home safe and sound.”

"Would you like to see him?" the doctor asked softly. “I think he’s conscious enough to receive visitors.”

Your throat tightened.

Yes.

Of course.

But at the same time… you weren’t ready. You weren’t ready for what came next. And for the first time in a long time, you had no idea what the hell you were supposed to do. How are you going to do all of this?

The walls felt like they were closing in. Even as the doctor stood there, waiting for your response, the air around you felt suffocating. Everything about it just felt thick with the weight of something irreversible. Something that was never going to change.

"Would you like to see him?"

The words barely registered.

How could they ever do so?

Toji was here. He was still breathing. Still alive. But now, you were being told that it wouldn’t be for much longer. Months. Maybe less. A life measured in maybes. Your body felt heavy, the kind of weight that came from grief that hadn't even settled in yet, but you knew it was there, waiting, coiling itself in your ribs like a sickness.

Tsumiki made a sound. It was a sharp, choked sob before she clamped a hand over her mouth, as if she could swallow it down. But she couldn't. You both couldn't. "Mom…" she whispered, her voice breaking apart.

And suddenly, you were moving towards your little girl, your hands reaching for her, pulling her into your arms before she crumbled completely. She didn't resist. She just collapsed against you, shaking so hard it hurt to feel.

"He can't….He can’t just go, mom." she gasped against your shoulder, her fingers digging into your back. "He can't just leave. Not yet."

You squeezed your eyes shut, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I know, baby. I know."

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. You should have known something was wrong. You should have seen it, should have paid closer attention instead of getting caught up in the relief of finally having more time together. 

You had spent so long chasing each other through the chaos of your lives, waiting for a moment to just be and now that moment had arrived, only for it to be stolen before it even truly began. After all you had been through, suffering through and this is the reward of that steadfast spirit?

"He knew."

The thought was sudden. Sharp. You pulled away just enough to look at Tsumiki’s face, her red-rimmed eyes full of the same realization. She looked ever so devastated as her eyes narrowed towards the room door.

"He knew about it and we didn’t, mom." she repeated, her voice steadier this time. "He’s known for a while, hasn’t he?"

And just like that, everything clicked into place. The fatigue that lingered in his eyes even on the good days. The way he had been more present, more patient, more aware of the moments he had with you and the kids. The way he had laughed a little softer, held on a little longer.

He had been preparing for this.

And he hadn’t said a damn thing.

He didn’t feel like doing that at all.

You felt a flash of something—anger, maybe. But it was weak, lost under the sheer force of heartbreak. "I need to see him." Your voice barely sounded like your own, but it was firm. "Now."

Tsumiki nodded, wiping at her face, trying to collect herself even as the tears kept coming. The doctor said something, something about leading the way, about making sure you had time with him but you barely heard it. You didn’t care.

Because all you could think about was how the man you had spent eighteen years fighting for, fighting with, had been fighting this alone. And you weren’t sure whether you could forgive him for that. But you knew, without a doubt, that you weren’t going to let him do it alone anymore.

The moment you stepped into the room, Fushiguro Toji looked up. His face was pale, his skin pulled taut with exhaustion, but his lips curled into something wry, something casual. It was like he wasn’t hooked up to an IV, like he wasn’t the one lying in a hospital bed with death looming over him.

"Well, shit. I must really look bad if you’re already crying."

That was it. That was all it took for something inside you to snap. "Don’t you dare." Your voice trembled, but it was loud, sharp. "Don’t you fucking dare sit there and joke about this!"

Toji blinked, taken aback for the first time. "Hey—"

"No! No ‘hey’!" The dam had broken, and you couldn’t stop it now. "You knew! You knew for how long, Toji? How long have you been keeping this from me? From us?"

His lips parted, but no excuse came. No reassurance.

"You—" you let out a shaky breath, your body trembling. "You let me believe everything was finally okay. As much as there's so much wrong we can't avoid, hat we were finally settled down. You let us believe that we had time…..that we finally had time to just be and now you're telling me you're dying? That we only have months?"

Tsumiki stood beside you, her hands clasped in front of her, lips pressed together like she was forcing herself to stay strong. "Mom, please…." she tried, but you were past the point of stopping.

"How could you do this to us? I haven’t even told Megumi and I just…." The words cracked as they left your mouth. "How could you do this to me? What do I do, Toji?"

Toji sighed, running a hand down his face. "I didn’t want this."

"You didn’t want this?" A bitter laugh bubbled up from your throat. "Like I did? Like Tsumiki did? Like Megumi did? Like we wouldn’t have wanted to be there for you?"

His fingers curled into the hospital blanket. “I’m sorry….”

"You should’ve told me, you idiot." you whispered, voice raw, broken. “You could have died for good. And I wouldn’t have known. And I just….”

"And then what?" His voice was quiet, careful.

"And then we would’ve fought for you."

Toji’s eyes flickered, something almost imperceptible passing through them before he looked away. That was when the tears truly came. You shook your head, wiping furiously at your face, but it didn’t stop the ache in your chest, the way your whole body felt like it was collapsing under the weight of grief that hadn’t even fully arrived yet.

"You were going to let me find out like this? How could you?”

Toji exhaled, a long, slow breath. "I just… I didn’t want this to be what our life became. I didn’t want to see you look at me like you’re looking at me now."

You let out a sharp breath, stepping forward, reaching for his hand despite everything. His fingers twitched under yours, hesitant, but he didn’t pull away. He didn't want to. Not when you were this upset.

"And what about me, Toji?" you whispered. "What about how I was supposed to look at you when you were gone?"

Silence.

For the first time in years, he had nothing to say.

And that was what scared you the most.

Your grip on his hand tightened, desperate and unrelenting.

"You're not leaving me." The words came out ragged, almost broken, but they were firm. A demand, not a plea. "You're not leaving us."

Toji said nothing.

His silence only made the panic rise in your chest, your breath hitching as fresh tears slipped down your face. "We'll find something else. Another way. There has to be something."

Still, he stayed quiet, his jaw clenched, his blue-green gaze flickering with something unreadable. "Toji." Your voice cracked. "Say something."

He exhaled, slow and measured, before giving a small nod. Not a word. Not a promise. Just a nod. It wasn't enough. But it was all you had. And that was when you finally broke ever so harshly, like a wave crashing against a cliff. 

The sob tore through you as you collapsed into his arms, gripping onto him like you could hold him here, like if you just held tight enough, time would stop. His arms wrapped around you, slow at first, then firm. Strong. Steady.

He could see Tsumiki trying to hold it together just behind you from the peripheral of his eye, his heart breaking even more at the sight. He hated seeing her so upset. It was harder when it came to the kids. That's why knew he wasn't prepared to see his son's reaction.

"You're not leaving me, goddamn it." you whispered again, your voice muffled against his hospital gown. "I won't let you."

His chest rose and fell beneath you, and you felt it when he pressed his lips to the top of your head, warm and lingering. "I know."

It was a lie.

You both knew it.

But right now, you need to believe it.

epilogue

Fushiguro Tsumiki had never been one to hesitate when it came to family. So when her father Fushiguro Toji started looking smaller in his hospital bed, nothing like the strong, energetic man he used to be, when the weight he had always carried with ease now dragged his shoulders down, when the exhaustion in his face became permanent.

She knew she had to do something.

She had to save her dad.

She wasn't ready to let him go just yet.

She still needed him.

"I want to donate blood to my dad." The words were firm when she said them to the nurse, standing at the reception desk with unwavering resolve.

The nurse blinked at her, startled. "Oh—well, that’s very kind of you, but we’d have to check if you’re a match first."

"I am, I know I am." Tsumiki answered quickly. "I’m AB negative, just like my dad."

The nurse nodded but still reached for a form. "That’s good to hear, but we’ll need to confirm your blood type. It won’t take long, just a quick sample, okay?"

Tsumiki nodded, rolling up her sleeve without hesitation. “Alright. Go drain me.”

Fushiguro Tsumiki hated needles. She always had. She still remembered being a kid, clutching Toji’s hand as the doctor readied the syringe for her booster shots, his deep chuckle rumbling beside her. 

“C’mon, ‘Miki, don’t tell me you’re scared of a tiny–ass needle.”

She had been. But she wasn’t scared now. She can't afford to be that right now. She had to be strong. She can't be weak. Not when Fushiguro Toji looked weaker every day, when his skin lost its color, when his voice, her father’s voice wasn’t as strong as it used to be.

And she hated it.

She needed his strength back.

She needed him back.

So she sat there in the hospital chair, rolling up her sleeve without hesitation, ignoring the way her pulse quickened as the nurse tied a band around her arm. "Just a little pinch, alright?" the nurse said with a small smile.

Tsumiki nodded and looked away. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” She smiled at you. “Thank you for doing this for your dad. You’re such a sweet young lady.”

“I’ll do anything for my dad.” Tsumiki smiled at her. 

The nurse smiles wider. “I know you would.���

The sting barely registered.

This was for Toji.

This was nothing.

She flexed her fingers as the vial filled with dark crimson, her lifeblood. His lifeblood. The moment it was over, she pressed a cotton swab against the small puncture, thanked the nurse, and stepped out into the hallway.

And then she waited. The minutes ticked by slowly, her knee bouncing with impatience. It would be fine. It had to be fine. She was AB negative, just like him. Just like her dad. The shuffle of footsteps pulled her out of her thoughts.

Tsumiki looked up just as the nurse approached, holding a clipboard to her chest, her expression unreadable. For some reason, the sight of it made something heavy settle in Tsumiki’s gut. And she didn’t like that feeling.

"Miss Fushiguro?"

"Yeah?"

The nurse hesitated for a beat before glancing at the file again. "I just wanted to clarify something—you said you had type AB negative blood, correct?"

"Yeah." Tsumiki frowned. "I mean, I always thought I did. My dad is AB negative, so I should be, too, right?"

The nurse pursed her lips. "Well… your results just came back, and you’re actually O positive."

Tsumiki blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

"That… that can’t be right."

O positive? That wasn’t right. That wasn’t possible.

"I’m sorry, dear, but the results are accurate." The nurse’s voice was gentle. "You’re an O positive blood. Which means you’re not a match for your father’s blood type."

The world tilted beneath her feet. "No, no." she said quietly to herself. "No, there’s….there’s been a mistake. My dad is AB negative. He has to be my dad."

The words died in her throat. Because suddenly, memories started surfacing. Her father’s teasing voice: "You’re still my little girl, yeah?" 

The way her mother had hesitated that night when she poured her heart out. The way Nanami Kenshin had always looked at her with something unreadable in his bright eyes. The blood drained from her face.

"I… I need to go."

She turned on her heel before the nurse could say anything else.

Because suddenly, her father’s illness wasn’t the only thing breaking her heart.

And she hated how this was the beginning of the never ending break.

[willowsnook]

When Love is Left Unspoken

max verstappen x reader

she isn't you i'd be insane not to love you

request from @formulaal

Pt. 2 here

"Alright, one more question from the chat," you said into your mic, scanning for a good one. One caught your eye, and you began reading it aloud before realizing it would reveal something from your past. “Would you choose a guy over your best friend?”

Laughing humorlessly, you looked into the camera with a tight smile. “Anyone who’s been here for a while knows how relevant that question is to my life. But my answer hasn’t changed: if you’re choosing a romantic partner over your best friend, you can get fucked. Thanks for tuning in, everyone. See you around.”

Logging off, you grabbed your water bottle and headed to the kitchen to refill it. Checking your phone, you smiled at the stats from the stream—10k of your fans tuning in tonight was a big turnout. You’d gone viral on BookTok back in 2020, and now, your book podcast had a solid following. Normally, BookTok didn’t bring huge numbers, but thanks to your former best friend, your popularity had skyrocketed. As grateful as you were, his part in your success irritated you now.

Then a notification popped up on your screen, and you rolled your eyes.

MV: Nice stream.

You: Fuck off

MV: Glad I’m still living rent-free in your head.

You: Glad you got permission to text me.

You threw your phone down on the counter, boiling inside. Nobody got under your skin like he could, especially after 20 years of knowing exactly how to do it. Growing up, it hadn’t always been this way. At 10, you’d moved with your family to the Netherlands, right next door to the Verstappens. Max quickly became your best friend, your weekends spent watching him kart. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine things would end like this.

You met Kelly in 2018 at a race Max invited you to. Right away, you got weird vibes. She looked at Max like a toy she had to have. It was creepy, especially given the nine-year age gap. By 2019, they were dating, and she made it clear she didn’t like you, refusing to acknowledge your existence. That led to rocky times between you and Max; he always had excuses to avoid seeing you. When you were together, he seemed tense, as if being watched.

Everything fell apart in Australia 2021.

Flashback

Max invited you to the first race of the 2021 season, though you almost didn’t go. It felt obligatory, as if he invited you just because you’d never missed an opening race. You hadn’t seen him all winter, just exchanging quick holiday texts. Walking into the paddock, you felt a strange sense of finality, like this might be the last one.

Spotting Carmen outside Mercedes, you walked over and hugged her. As you stepped back, she looked worried.

“What’s up?”

She hesitated. “I thought you should know, Kelly’s been saying some nasty things about you around the paddock. No one believes her, but… I wanted you to know.”

“What is she saying?” you asked, heart sinking.

“She’s calling you pathetic, saying you’re still pining over your childhood crush and using Max to become an influencer,” she said softly, looking at you with sympathy.

“You’re joking,” you said, anger simmering. She shook her head.

“Can I be real with you?” She asked, and you nodded. “I love you and George loves you and honestly, everyone does. But I will accept not seeing you here anymore if you finally realize that Max is not being a good friend to you. And he hasn’t been for a long time.”

Eyes filling with tears, you let her words sink in. She was right, but admitting it was brutal. Maybe staying around him was just self-inflicted pain.

You found Max later, pulling him aside.

“I only have a few minutes, so make it quick,” he said, barely looking at you. Seeing him like this, you realized that the man in front of you wasn’t your best friend anymore.

“Your girlfriend’s telling people I’m a pathetic loser here to use you for fame,” you said, voice flat.

“I don’t believe that,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“Really?” you laughed bitterly. “You don’t believe that from your girlfriend—the one who’s disliked me since day one?”

“Seems like you have something to say, Y/N. Just say it,” he replied, finally looking at you.

“There was a time in my life where I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live without you. But now I’m living it. Have the past ten years been nothing to you? All it took was an older woman to bat her eyelashes at you and that was it?”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off.

“I’m not going to stand here and tell you that we had a good run and that I wish you the best. Fuck you. Fuck you for choosing her over me and fuck you for even letting it have to be a choice. I hate you.”

End of Flashback

That was the last time you had spoken to him. There were no texts or calls after that; his life just went on like normal while you felt like you were dying inside. You had thrown yourself into your work after that and now had over a million followers and subscribers to your podcast. You’d stayed friends with Carmen but hadn’t returned to a race since that day. You had tried to block the memory of that day from your mind, but when you were low, one thing always resurfaced in your mind. Kelly was right about you pining after your childhood crush. You had been in love with Max back then. How could you not be?

Then Carmen invited you to the Austin GP, and after much persuasion, you finally agreed. Thanks to your online following, you flew down with her, officially a Mercedes guest. Wearing Mercedes colors felt like poetic justice.

When you entered the paddock, a wave of nostalgia and sadness hit you. But it disappeared as you saw familiar faces you’d missed over the years.

"Y/N!" Alex called, arms open. Hugging him, you sighed, realizing how much you’d missed everyone. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” you admitted before greeting Lily, who gushed over your podcast and joked about being a guest. As you laughed with her, you noticed Alex subtly trying to block your view. Looking over, you saw Max walking by. He did a double take, but you turned back to Lily, ignoring his stare.

Later, as you waited for a coffee, you overheard Checo’s wife and Fernando’s girlfriend chatting.

“I heard Max and Kelly broke up,” Melissa said.

“Oh yeah, it’s been a few months,” Carola replied, shrugging. “Apparently, he was in love with someone else the whole time.”

You smirked. So Kelly finally experienced what it felt like to be second choice.

The race came and went, and you successfully avoided Max the entire weekend. You didn’t even think about the possibility of running into him when you accepted Carmen’s invitation to go out that night. George had actually wanted to go out, so you found yourself at a little country bar that night with what seemed to be the whole grid. You felt Max’s gaze the second you walked in, and you were doing a hell of a job ignoring him. Charles was trying to talk to him, looking confused between the two of you, but you didn’t care.

Ordering another gin and tonic you felt him come up next to you and you refused to look over.

“Put hers on mine,” Max said, handing over his card. You tried to leave, but he held out an arm to stop you.

“No ‘thank you’?” he teased, eyes intense.

You glared. “You can have it, then.”

“Stop being difficult,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You look good.”

“Can’t say the same about you,” you shot back, and his expression darkened.

He sighed. “Can we talk?”

“I said everything I needed to say three years ago. Have a good night.”

This time he let you go and you made your way back to Carmen who was looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You okay?” She asked, and you nodded.

A little while later, you were sitting at a table talking with Charles with Max hovering close by.

“Max, come sit down,” Charles slurred, and at this point, you were too tipsy to put up a fight about it. “Max is my best friend, ya know?”

“Ah yeah?” You asked head tilting. “Those words don’t mean much coming from him.”

Charles giggled, too drunk to understand what you meant and Max clenched his jaw looking at you.

“Insult me all you want schatje, as long as you’re talking to me I’ll take it,” he said and you didn’t say anything, just stared at him trying to figure out his angle.

“Is this the girl Kelly broke up with you over?” Charles asked and Max whipped his head towards him. “You always had a thing for her, so I told Alex that was my guess.”

Max’s face fell, and you froze. Shock turned into anger as you got up and stormed out. You felt Max following and soon he was in front of you, blocking your path.

“Come on,” he urged, leading you to a nearby park.

“Max, I don’t want to talk,” you said firmly, pulling away.

“I don’t care,” he replied, frustrated. “Tell me what I need to do to fix this.”

You laughed bitterly. “Crawling back because you got dumped? It’s too late.”

“It’s not like that.”

“You made your choice three years ago. Now live with it.”

“You want to know why we broke up?”

“I don’t really give a fuck,” you replied before turning to walk away.

“She isn’t you!” He yelled. Your legs stopped moving as your mind reeled.

Whirling on him you got into his face, “You don’t get to fucking say that to me. Not after all this time. Not after what you put me through. Not after you chose her over me. I was there the whole time Max. Me! I was there! It’s not my fault you didn’t realize that till I was gone.” 

“I realized it long before then,” he said softly, and you took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. Tears were starting to fall, and you looked everywhere but him. 

“Then why?” You whispered, voice cracking. 

“Because I wasn’t good enough for you,” he said laughing sadly to himself. “The pressure was starting to cave in back then and I didn’t want you to see that. I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You were my best friend Max,” you said exasperated. “I would have done anything for you.” 

“It’s easy to see that now,” he said. “But then you were so full of life and starting your little videos that I didn’t want to disappoint you. She understood what I was going through, but I never stopped loving you.” 

“Then why did you still push me away?” 

“I had to do that so that I could try and move on. She knew and she hated that there wasn’t anything she could do to change how I felt about you. I knew what she was saying about you in the paddock, and I knew why she was saying it.” 

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and it felt like heartbreak all over again. “You knew and you let it happen. You are the worst person I’ve ever known Max Verstappen.”

He was crying now too and the two of you stood staring at one another not saying anything. 

“I would be insane not to love you,” he said softly and it made you cry harder. “So I will do whatever it takes for however long to make up for what I did.” 

He let you go again and you left him there, crying silently as you walked back to the hotel. So many emotions going through your mind paired with confusing feelings. 

Happiness for your 15-year-old self that has wanted to hear those words for so long. 

Sadness for your 21-year-old self reliving those memories. 

And anger at your 24-year-old self for considering letting him make it up to you. 

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

perfectly imperfect.

summary: steve harrington comes into your campus workplace and flirts with you every chance he gets. after months of turning him down, you finally give in and decide to give him a try. after all, he’s the hottest ticket on campus among the girls, so there has to be something to it. right? 

word count: 3.5k

warnings/notes: smut, breast play, oral sex (brief; f receiving), grinding, handjob, premature ejaculation, catching feelings 

a/n: this is a college au with steve, based on a dream i had! i’m thinking he’s probably right around the age he was in season 4, so that would make him around 19-20 in this fic. as always, reader is 18+ and sorry if anything like this has been done before! i don’t have time to read fic much anymore, so i don’t know what is out there. i hope y’all enjoy!

also shoutout to my bestie @andvys for suggesting I write this dream as a one shot! ily and thank you for everything 🥺

_____

“what would you recommend, babe?”

you had to suppress an eye roll at the nickname. it was nothing new with steve harrington; every time he walked into the cafe where you worked, it was always the same old song and dance. he would walk in, smile at you, flirt, ask what you recommended, and would eat or drink it while sneaking the occasional glance at you. he was a blessing and a curse that you just couldn’t escape, not even outside of work. you had two classes with him–World History and Foundations Mathematics–and he would try to chat you up then, too. you knew his reputation around campus wasn’t a very good one; he was quite the player, apparently. you overheard girls talking about him at work and in class, talking about the time they had with him and how he never called or spoke much to them when he was done. you weren’t about that sort of life, but you had to admit you were growing curious about him. he had to be good if he was getting around and getting a reputation; the girls never said he was terrible. in fact, the opposite was true. you had been on many dates since you started going to college two years ago, but nothing ever stuck. you were mostly having flings yourself, but at least you let those down easily and didn’t just leave them hanging like he did. 

“i recommend what i always do every time you come in here,” you said. “the scones are good today; get one of those.”

“i think i have an appetite for something else,” he said, eyeing you up and down. “i think i want to experience something a little sweeter.”

“you think you’re really smooth, don’t you?” you asked, chuckling. “do you realize how many guys come in with the same line every day?”

“damn, i’ve got competition?” he asked, shaking his head. “here i thought i was special.”

“oh, you’re special, all right,” you said, grabbing a scone and putting it on a paper plate. “i don’t think you realize just how special you are.”

“well, that’s a relief,” steve said, digging in his pockets for money. “i really wish you’d go out with me, though.”

“why?” you asked. “so you could fuck me and leave me, like you do all the rest?”

he shook his head. “no, it would be different with you. you’re different.”

you laughed, shaking your own head. “how many women have you used that line on?”

“come on, harrington,” someone said from behind him. “i want my coffee.”

“just a minute,” he said, leaning in close to you. “one date. we don’t even have to have sex, if that isn’t what you want. just give me a chance.”

you eyed the line behind him, and knew there was no getting out of it this time. he wasn’t going to let up until you gave in, apparently. you sighed, rolling your eyes before meeting his. “fine. one date and i’m calling the shots.”

“thank you,” he said. “that’s all i wanted.”

“yeah, i’m sure,” you said. “it’s two dollars for the scone.”

he handed you two one dollar bills and a ten. “a little tip for you, babe.”

you went to hand it back, but he was already gone, the line moving forward as you were forced to be professional yet again.

****

the night of the date came faster than you wanted. he had pestered you about it every day in class and at work, until you finally set it for the following friday night. you were off work and didn’t have many classes that day, so you thought it would be perfect. it would give you a chance to get ready, to prepare yourself, and to brace for what might happen. you’d been giving it a lot of thought since he’d asked, and you decided that maybe you wanted to sleep with him, after all. you would see how the date went first, of course, but you had no reason to expect that it would be bad. steve seemed like a decent enough guy; he was just a playboy. most men his age were, though, especially college frat boys, so you didn’t know what else you honestly expected. 

you spent most of the afternoon working on yourself, and when the date finally came, he came to your room to pick you up. he couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful you looked, and you had to admit that he looked handsome, too. he was wearing a light blue button-up shirt that was done up to just below his neck, showing off a spray of chest hair underneath and accenting his muscular arms. he wore blue jeans that were nice and not torn, brown dress shoes, and his hair was done up in its usual fashion. he looked damn good; even you had to admit that. you followed him as he walked, and he offered you his arm after a little bit. you took it, feeling your heart flutter as you did so. you had already decided, upon seeing him, that you were going to sleep with him. you couldn’t wait to break the news to him at the end of the night.

he took you to a nice restaurant just off campus, an classy little italian place that served the best food. you’d been there a few times, but never on a date. steve paid for everything, and when you were both walking back to campus, you decided to spring the news on him. you stopped walking and he did, too, giving you a puzzled look. you just smiled at him, hugging yourself for a moment before walking over and standing directly in front of him.

“so i made a decision,” you said. “one that i think you’re going to like.”

“what decision is that?” he asked.

“i think i wanna sleep with you tonight,” you said. “if you’re up for it, i mean.”

“i’m always up for that,” he said with a chuckle. “but why the sudden change of heart? you seemed pretty adamant to not sleep with me before now.”

you shrugged. “i guess i couldn’t live with myself if i passed up on steve harrington.”

he laughed. “well, i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if i passed up the most beautiful girl on campus, either.”

your cheeks heated at that, looking down for a moment before meeting his gaze. “so…it’s on, then?”

“it’s on,” he said. “where should we go? my roommate is out with his girlfriend tonight, so my room might be the best bet.”

“okay,” you said. “let’s go there, then.” 

he walked you to his dorm building and up to his room, which was, in fact, empty. it was a little messy, with clothes strewn about the floor, fast food wrappers on the desks, beer bottles hidden not-so-skillfully under the two beds, and posters of half-naked women adorning the walls. you had to resist rolling your eyes for the millionth time; it was such a typical guy room that it was almost hilarious. steve walked over to the bed on the right, sitting down and gesturing for you to do the same. he kicked off his shoes and you did the same, taking a seat next to him as he turned to face you.

“is it bad that i’m a little nervous?” he asked.

you looked at him, shocked. “you, nervous? why would you be nervous?”

he shrugged. “i don’t know. i guess because i’m not used to being with a beautiful woman like you.”

“yeah, and how many girls have heard that?”

“come on, i’m being serious.”

“so am i.”

“i’ve never really used that on someone. you’re the first.”

“wow, i feel special.”

he put one finger under your chin, tilting your head toward him. “you are special, though. at least you are to me.”

“yeah, yeah,” you said. “are we doing this or not?”

“yeah,” he said, drawing you in closer. “come here.”

he put his lips to yours, kissing you gently at first. it stayed like that for a little bit, his lips working softly against yours as you followed his lead. soon, though, he was kissing you a little harder, his tongue pressing between your lips as they met. he mewled softly, grabbing your hips and pulling you into his lap. you straddled him, cupping his face as he kissed you more heavily. you whined, kissing him deeper as he began bucking his hips into yours. you picked up on his cue, grinding against him as you continued to make out. he groaned, grabbing your ass and guiding your movements. you moaned as well, continuing to move on him as he kissed you harder.

“fuck,” he said against your lips. “that feels so good.”

“you’re already getting hard,” you observed. “i can feel it.”

“i can’t help it,” he said. “you just have that effect on me.”

“oh yeah?” you asked, smirking at him as you leaned down to kiss his neck. “well, i feel pretty flattered, then.”

“i really wanna get your clothes off,” he said, tilting his head back to give you more room. “can i?”

you chuckled, shaking your head. “not yet. i wanna keep doing this for a little bit first.”

“you’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?” he asked with a groan. 

you nodded. “that’s right.”

“you’re such a tease,” he said. “but that’s okay, i like it.”

“oh you do, huh?” you asked, toying with the buttons on his shirt.

“hey, i thought you said we had to wait.”

“i said you had to wait. i didn’t say anything about me.”

“that hardly seems fair.”

“i’m the one calling the shots here tonight, remember?”

that quieted him, and he mumbled a word of permission. you giggled, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing him back on the bed. you started kissing down the middle of his chest, down his stomach to the top of his jeans, and then slowly back up. his breathing was slightly heavier as you worked on him, and he drew you in for a passionate kiss as you came back up. he pulled you on top of him again, where you resumed grinding him for the moment. his hands squeezed your ass, kneading the flesh there as you rocked against him. you whined, moving a little faster as he gasped against your lips.

“you’re gonna make me cum already if you keep doing that,” he said. “please, can i take your clothes off?”

you giggled, nodding. “fine. but not the bra or the panties yet.”

he eagerly removed your shirt and pants, discarding them to the floor with the rest of the clothes. he studied your body with hungry eyes, his pupils enlarging as he took in every detail. you couldn’t help but flush under his gaze, your cheeks hot as he studied you. you pushed him back down, kissing him hungrily, your hips moving again as he slapped your ass. you laughed against his lips and you could feel him smiling, so you kept going. after a minute, steve’s hands found the back of your bra, playing with the clasp. you smiled, knowing that you’d tormented him enough, and you drew back to grin at him.

“you can take it off now,” you said.

“i can?” he asked.

“yep,” you said. “go ahead.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. he practically ripped the garments from your body, taking in every detail of your body as he did so. he licked his lips as he studied you, his eyes moving from head to toe and back again. your cheeks turned hot under his gaze, and you reached out to pull him closer. he went easily, his body pressed flush to yours as you chuckled.

“I think it’s your turn now,” you said. “it’s only fair, don’t you think?”

he nodded, hastily doing away with his clothes. as he did to you, you observed him from top to bottom, your eyes remaining glued on his cock. he was bigger than you expected, with good girth and even better length. a large vein ran up the underside, and his tip was pink and already oozing precum. you reached out to stroke him, and his lashes fluttered as he moaned under your touch. he looked at you with heavy eyes, his lips parted as his cheeks began to flush. you smirked at him, flicking your wrist as his body jerked slightly.

“who has the power now, huh?” you asked.

“you do,” he said, rutting into your hand. “god..”

“you know what I want you to do?” you asked.

“anything,” he said. “i’ll do anything you want.”

“i want you to eat me out,” you said.

“can i?” he asked. “please?”

“mmm hmm,” you said. “go ahead.”

steve turned you over so that you were lying flat on his bed. he kissed your neck, stopping at your breasts to give them some attention. he kissed over each one, sucking one nipple feverishly as he rubbed the other with his fingers. you moaned softly, grabbing his hair and giving it a slight tug as he, too, moaned. you giggled, running your fingers through his hair as he continued to work. he shivered, his eyes trailing up to look at you as he sucked your nipple a bit harder. you arched your back, bucking your hips impatiently as he trailed one hand down your body. he ran his fingers over your clit, barely ghosting it as you gasped. he smirked against your skin, his fingers ghosting your folds next. you wanted to slap him for being such a tease, but it felt so good that you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. 

“you’re so hot,” he said, his hands coming up to squeeze your breasts. he moaned as he watched your nipples harden even more, his thumbs circling them. “the hottest girl i’ve ever seen.”

“oh yeah?” you asked, whining as he started kissing his way down your body. “am i hotter than all those other girls you’ve been with, or did you use that line on them, too?”

“no, just you,” he said, winking up at you as he knelt between your legs. “i swear it’s just you. i told you, you’re different.”

you wanted to roll your eyes, but you didn’t. you were curious as to what he would be like, and now wasn’t the time to offend him or piss him off. you would take him at his word for now; it’s all you could do. you watched as he kissed your inner thighs, painfully slow, and as he kissed around your mound, also painfully slow. he was kissing anywhere and everywhere but where you really wanted him, and you almost pushed his head there. but you didn’t want to do that, so you waited, letting him get it out of his system. he did it again, a little faster, and then finally he was right where you wanted him.

his mouth felt like heaven, and it was a feeling that you’d never felt before with anyone else. his tongue was like velvet, wet and soft and perfect. he lapped at your folds lazily, using the tip of his tongue at first to tease you further. you moaned, sitting up on your elbows to watch him as he looked up at you. he groaned as he pressed his full tongue against you, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit and then back down. he did the same motion a few times, before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. you arched, falling back on the bed and writhing as he sucked harder.

‘steve…” you moaned. “that feels so good.”

“oh yeah?” he asked, and you could feel him smirking against you. “you think it feels pretty good, huh?”

“yeah,” you said. “you’re good at this.”

his smirk widened, and soon he was fucking you on his tongue. he replaced that with his fingers after a few minutes, paying attention to your clit as he sucked again. his tongue swirled the small bud, moaning against it to add vibration. you gasped and bucked your hips, feeling the tightness beginning to settle in your lower stomach. you didn’t think you’d be so close already, but it had been awhile since you’d gotten off–with yourself or with anyone else. you were pent up, and it was about to come to a head very soon.

“i’m close already,” you told him. “please keep going.”

“already, huh?” he asked, grinning up at you.

“don’t flatter yourself,” you said. “it’s just been awhile.”

“sure,” he said, winking at you. “i’ll take your word for it.”

he kept going, fucking you harder on his fingers and sucking your clit harder. he shook his head back and forth, his eyes on you as he kept going. it only took a few more minutes before you were falling apart, cumming hard as you cried out his name. he kept going as you experienced your high, going slower and more gentle, watching as you arched your back, writhed, and tugged at his hair. he moaned, stopping once you came down from your high. he sat back and looked at you, and you could tell by the look on his face that he was proud of himself for what he’d just done.

“that’s a first,” he said. “usually i have to go for twenty minutes.”

“you poor thing,” you said as you rolled your eyes. “how ever will you survive?”

he chuckled, kissing his way back up your body. “you’re so sassy. i love it.”

“come here,” you said. “i wanna pretend to ride you.”

“pretend?” steve asked. “why not do it?”

“because i wanna make you work for it, that’s why,” you said, smirking at him. 

“but i’m about to burst already,” he nearly whined.

“now who’s the one who might cum too soon?” you teased. “come here.”

he lay back on the bed, tucking his arms behind his head. “okay, babe. i’m here. do whatever you want to me.”

you straddled him, positioning yourself over his erection. you began to grind against it, moaning at the heavy, throbbing feeling of him against you. he hissed, his hands coming out to grab at your hips. you kept going, gliding along him at a steady pace as he looked up at you. he leaned up after a few minutes and started sucking at your nipples, lying back against the pillows and pulling you with him after a moment. you moaned, biting your lip as you started moving a little faster.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he said, and you could tell that he was right. he was twitching, his cock throbbing against you as you continued to glide. “please.”

you giggled, getting off of him and taking his cock into your hand. “tell me what you want.”

“I—“ he began, but it was soon over. he came all over your hand, his body in spasms as he bucked into your hand. he squeezed his eyes shut, digging the heels of his hands into them as he came down from his high. “fuck, I knew that was gonna happen.”

you chuckled, holding your hand up to your mouth. “look at me, steve.”

he did so, looking at you with heavy eyes. you started licking the cum off of your hand, making eye contact with him as you did so. he moaned as he watched, and pulled you down for a kiss after you were done. you lay next to him, snuggling against him as he held you close. it was silent, save for steve’s heavy breathing, and you opened your mouth to say something. he beat you to it.

“wow,” he said. “i never…that’s never happened to me before.”

“no?” you asked. “never? not once?”

“no,” he said, shaking his head. “i think it’s because i like you so much.”

you looked up at him. “you do?”

“I do,” he said. “you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met before, y/n. i think I wanna keep you.”

you smile at him, leaning up to kiss him. “you wanna know something?”

“what?” he asked, brushing some hair out of your eyes.

you kissed him again, a bit more passionately. “I think i wanna keep you, too.” 

—

taglist: @andvys @littledemondani @etherealxwitch @eddieschains @happylilthought @trashmouth-richie @eiightysixbaby @thisbrokencapulet @sunkillerencoder @thatredlipped-classic

[rottenfyre]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 3

Summary: after that night, no matter what you do, no matter what you say, no one believes you. You're done. You want to quit being his therapist but you still haven't seen the worst part...

Warning: paranoia, abuse, mental illness.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

PART 1, PART 2, PART 4

It had been days since that night—days since the dead doves, the blood on the walls, the police visit to the Targaryen home. Days since Y/N last felt normal.

Now, the walls of her apartment seemed to close in on her. The curtains remained drawn, blocking out the light of day. The once-cozy space was now a prison, suffocating her with silence, except for the incessant scratching at the back of her mind. The feeling of being watched, of not being alone. Every creak, every whisper of wind against the windows made her jump.

She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. Her body felt weak, and her mind was clouded in a haze of paranoia. Her hair was greasy, her skin pale and blotchy. Dark circles framed her eyes—eyes that were wide with fear, darting around the room, always expecting him. Expecting Aegon to appear from the shadows. She had stopped showering, afraid that if she closed her eyes for even a second, he’d be there when she opened them. Her reflection in the mirror was foreign, ghostly, a stranger trapped in a body consumed by terror.

And her boyfriend…he was tired. More than tired. He was done.

"Y/N, for fuck's sake, you have to stop this," he snapped, his voice breaking the silence like glass shattering on the floor. He stood in the kitchen, staring at her with a mix of frustration and pity, while she sat at the edge of the couch, her legs pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them.

"You don’t believe me. You never believe me,” she muttered, her voice hoarse from days of crying, of pleading. "I saw him. It was him. I know it was him." Her eyes were wild, flicking toward the corners of the room as though Aegon might materialize from the shadows at any moment.

Jacob sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we've been over this a thousand times. The cops checked him out. There was nothing—nothing—to suggest he did anything. No evidence, no signs, nothing. He’s just some guy going through a rough time, and you're his therapist. You’ve taken this too far."

She flinched at his words, the sting of them sinking into her chest. "No…you don’t get it. You don’t see him like I do. He’s dangerous. I’m not safe. He knows where I live. He wants me." Her voice trembled as she spoke, each word a desperate plea for him to understand.

But he didn’t. He was tired of this, of her, of everything.

"You're obsessed, Y/N. Obsessed with this guy. You spend all your time thinking about him, talking about him, dreaming up this whole fucking scenario in your head like you're the main character of some horror movie. But this isn't a movie—this is real life, and you're making shit up!" His voice grew louder, angrier with every word, his patience long gone.

Y/N shook her head, her body trembling. "I'm not making it up. You have to believe me—please. I’m not crazy. I’m not—"

"Yes, you are!" He cut her off, his face twisted with frustration. "You’re fucking crazy, Y/N! Years of being a therapist have finally caught up with you. You’ve absorbed all the bullshit from your patients, and now you’re projecting it onto this guy. Aegon didn’t do anything to you—he’s just some poor bastard who had the misfortune of being assigned to you."

Her stomach lurched at his words. The pain of his accusation was worse than anything she’d felt before. It was like a knife twisting inside her, carving out the last remnants of hope she’d clung to. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

"I'm not crazy," she whispered, her voice broken, fragile. She didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

Jacob slammed his hand on the counter, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Then why are you acting like it? Why can’t you just let this go? You're ruining your life—our life—because you’re so fixated on this guy. You won’t eat, you won’t sleep, you’re a fucking mess, Y/N! I can't keep doing this! Every time I try to help you, you just spiral deeper into this delusion!"

Tears streamed down her face, but she barely felt them. "I’m not delusional," she repeated, but her voice cracked, betraying her.

"Yes, you are!" He shouted, stepping closer, his face red with anger. "You’re making this shit up because you’re obsessed with him. Admit it! You’re obsessed with Aegon. You’ve let him get into your head, and now you’re the one who’s losing it."

"No!" she cried, her voice raw. "I’m not obsessed with him! I don’t care about him like that! I’m scared—he’s going to hurt me! I know he is!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, give me a break. You’ve been so wrapped up in this guy, you probably want him to do something, just so you can play the victim. Just so you can have some sick thrill of being the center of his attention. It’s pathetic, Y/N."

His words felt like a slap in the face, each one tearing at her like claws. She stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe that this was happening—that he was saying these things to her. The one person who was supposed to protect her, to believe her, had turned against her.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with anger. "I can’t keep pretending that you're okay, because you're not. You need help. Professional help. Maybe you should check yourself into a fucking psych ward, because right now, you’re acting like a fucking lunatic."

Her breath hitched in her throat. The room seemed to spin around her, her vision blurring with tears. "How can you say that?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "How can you say that to me?"

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly done with the conversation. "Because it's the truth. And deep down, you know it. You're spiraling, Y/N. And I’m not going to stand here and let you drag me down with you."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. She felt as though the world had collapsed around her, the last piece of her sanity slipping away.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you think I’m crazy…then just go. Leave me."

He stared at her for a long moment, the anger still simmering in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the dark.

And for the first time in days, the silence felt more dangerous than ever.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, her eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights. She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days, and each missed call had sent her deeper into a pit of despair. But today was different. Today was the day she would finally face Aegon.

Her hands shook as she brushed her hair, her fingers trembling with every stroke. Her reflection looked haggard—dark circles under her eyes, skin pale and sickly. She barely recognized herself, but she needed to pull it together. She had to pull it together.

"He’s just a man," she whispered to herself, her voice shaky but determined. "Just a man… I’m in control. I have to be in control. I can’t let him win."

Her eyes flickered toward the closet. She needed to choose something to wear, something that made her feel strong, confident. Something that would hide how utterly broken she felt inside.

She reached for a black turtleneck, one of the few pieces of clothing that didn’t feel too vulnerable, too exposed. The fabric clung to her body in a way that was both comforting and suffocating, but she convinced herself it was armor. Something to shield her from the weight of Aegon’s gaze. She paired it with dark jeans and boots, feeling the weight of each step as she slipped them on.

"It’s just another session," she muttered, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. "I’m going to confront him. I’m going to tell him it’s over. He can’t do this to me anymore."

She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to find some semblance of the person she used to be. Her hands gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles white from the pressure.

"You're not crazy," she told herself, her voice stronger this time. "He’s messing with you, but you can stop this. You can end this. Just get through today, and then you’re done. You’ll quit. You’ll never have to see him again."

Her heart raced at the thought of being in the same room with him again, but she forced herself to breathe.

"In and out," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "Just…in and out. You can do this. You have to do this."

She tried to picture how it would go. She’d walk into the room, sit across from him like she always did, but this time, she wouldn’t let him get to her. She wouldn’t let his twisted words sink into her skin like poison.

"I’m the therapist," she reminded herself, pacing back and forth now, her boots tapping against the hardwood floor. "I’m the one in control. He’s just a patient. He’s just…" She trailed off, the image of Aegon’s wide eyes and the way he had silently told her to shut up flashing in her mind.

She shook her head, trying to push the memory away. "No, no… Don’t think about that. You’re stronger than this. You’re not scared of him. You can quit. You can walk away."

But her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. She stared at them, willing them to be steady. "Breathe," she muttered, forcing another deep breath into her lungs. "Just breathe."

She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, the weight grounding her for a moment. "You’ve got this," she whispered one last time, trying to convince herself.

But as she headed for the door, the creeping sense of dread wrapped around her, cold and suffocating.

Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the door, the silence of the room pressing in on her. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the knot of anger in her chest only grew tighter. She gripped the edge of her desk, her fingers turning white. She was done with Aegon. Done with his games, his manipulations, his stalking. Today, she was ready to confront him—she was ready to make him understand that she wasn’t going to be his victim anymore.

The memory of the dead doves, the blood, still haunted her. Every night, she barely slept, feeling like his eyes were on her, even when she knew she was alone. And yet, despite all of it, he had gotten away with it. He had made her look crazy, gaslighted her in front of the police and her boyfriend, made her question her own reality. But not anymore. Today, she was taking control. Today, she would end it.

Her jaw clenched as she imagined him walking through the door, with that smug, twisted grin. Her mind raced with the confrontation she had been playing over and over in her head. She would scream at him, shout at him until he admitted what he had done. Until he finally stopped pretending to be some innocent victim.

The minutes dragged on, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the clock. And then, finally, the door creaked open.

Aegon stepped in, but something was different. He wasn’t the man she was used to seeing—there was no smirk, no defiance. He looked… broken. Shattered.

Her eyes widened in shock. His face was a mess of bruises, swollen and discolored, with dark bags hanging under his bloodshot eyes. His clothes were disheveled, stained with dirt and blood. He walked with a limp, his steps small and hesitant, like every movement hurt him. His hands were clasped tightly together in front of him, shaking as they fidgeted against each other. He kept his head down, glancing around the room like a trapped animal, flinching at every noise, every movement.

Y/N blinked, completely taken aback. This wasn’t the Aegon she knew—the arrogant, unhinged man who had stalked her, terrorized her. No, this was something else, something… disturbing. He looked like someone who had been run over, like life had chewed him up and spat him out, and now he stood there, fearful and fragile.

For a split second, she felt something almost like pity creep into her chest. But then she remembered who he was. What he had done. And the anger surged back to the forefront.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, eyes darting around, avoiding her gaze. His lips trembled, but no words came out.

She slammed her hands on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Aegon!" she snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of game are you playing now?"

At the sound of her raised voice, Aegon jumped, visibly flinching. His body curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller, his shoulders hunching as his knees gave way. He dropped to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth like a scared child.

Y/N’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion and a creeping sense of dread. "Aegon, what the hell is going on?" she asked again, but this time her voice was quieter, uncertain.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he started muttering under his breath, his voice shaky and broken. "What’s the matter?" he whispered, his words barely audible. "What’s the matter, Aegon?"

Her heart sank as she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to… himself? His voice trembled as he repeated the words, like a broken record. "What’s the matter, Aegon? No. I’m not gonna hurt you. Come here. Come on. What’s the matter?"

Y/N felt her stomach twist as the phrases spilled out of his mouth over and over again, each repetition more unsettling than the last. It wasn’t Aegon’s voice. It was someone else’s, echoing through his broken mind.

She watched in horror as he hugged his knees tighter, his entire body trembling. "I’m not gonna hurt you, Aegon. See? That wasn’t bad," he whispered, tears streaming down his bruised face. "That wasn’t bad. That wasn’t bad."

It hit her like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t some act, some manipulation. Aegon had been abused—horribly, painfully, to the point where his mind had fractured. And now, as he sat on the floor, shaking and crying, he was reliving it. Over and over again.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him like this. She had never imagined this side of him—the scared, broken side. The side that had been hurt so deeply that he could only repeat the words of his abuser like a mantra.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her hands shaking as she stood there, unsure of what to do. Part of her still hated him—still wanted to scream at him, to blame him for everything. But another part of her… felt something else. Something terrifying and sad.

She knelt down beside him, her voice soft and hesitant. "Aegon…"

He didn’t respond, just kept rocking back and forth, his tears falling faster now.

"I’m not gonna hurt you," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "See? That wasn’t bad."

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Aegon," she said softly, "I’m not going to hurt you either. It’s okay."

He didn’t seem to hear her. He was too far gone, lost in whatever memory had taken over his mind. His eyes stared blankly at the floor, wide and terrified, as if he were seeing something she couldn’t.

She reached out slowly, carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, his whole body recoiling, but she didn’t pull away.

"Aegon," she whispered again, trying to keep her voice steady. "It’s okay. You’re safe here."

But he wasn’t safe. Not really. Not with whatever had broken him, not with the darkness that clung to him like a shadow.

He rocked back and forth, mumbling, "Come here. Come on, what’s the matter, Aegon? No, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest. Whoever had done this to him—whoever had hurt him—had left a mark that ran deeper than anything she could understand.

For the first time, she realized she wasn’t dealing with just a stalker or a psychopath. Aegon was something much darker, much more broken than she had ever imagined.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the fear out of her voice. "Aegon," she said quietly, "It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid."

But as his sobs grew louder, as he curled tighter into himself, Y/N knew that nothing she said could reach him.

The real Aegon—the one who had tormented her, who had done horrible things—was still there, somewhere. But so was this… this terrified boy, trapped in his own mind.

And she didn’t know which one scared her more.

Y/N swallowed down the terror rising in her throat, her hand trembling as she reached out to softly pet Aegon’s head. At first, he flinched, his body jerking away from her touch. But then, as if something clicked in his broken mind, he looked up at her—really looked—and his tear-streaked eyes seemed to recognize her for the first time. His lips trembled as he whispered her name, broken, like a child.

“Y/N…”

Before she could react, he clung to her, his body collapsing into her lap, his head pressed against her chest. He sobbed quietly, his whole body shaking, his hands clutching her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. She froze for a moment, completely caught off guard, but then instinct took over, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. His tears soaked through her clothes, and she could feel the tremors in his frail, battered form.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his hair, trying to calm him. “It’s okay, Aegon. You’re safe now.”

His sobs eventually began to quiet, his breathing slowing as she rocked him gently, her voice soft in his ear. “Shh… it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

For a long time, they stayed like that—her holding him, him clinging to her like a lifeline. The moments stretched into eternity, and Y/N could feel his grip slowly loosen as the storm inside him settled. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but he refused to meet her gaze, his head turning away as he tried to wipe at the tears that continued to fall.

“Aegon…” she began softly, “What happened to you? Who did this?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tight, struggling to control the tears still running down his face.

“Aegon, please…” she pressed, her voice gentle but firm. “You have to tell me.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might respond, but then he muttered something, barely audible. “I… I hate it. When she… when my mother does horrible things to me.”

Y/N felt her breath catch. His mother? She had always known that Aegon’s relationship with his family was fraught, but this? There was something darker here, something that had broken him in ways she couldn’t fathom.

“But it’s okay,” Aegon continued, his voice shaking. “Because I love her. And that’s what matters, right?”

“No Aegon–”

"I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N," Aegon said suddenly, his voice softer now, almost childlike. "I was angry that night, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to hurt him. I didn’t like the way he looked at you. The way he touched you."

She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Aegon…"

He turned to her then, his bloodshot eyes wide and full of sincerity. "You can hit me, you know. I won’t stop you. You were so angry, I could see it. You can hit me if it makes you feel better."

Y/N’s blood ran cold. "What? No, Aegon, I’m not—"

"You can," he repeated, almost eagerly. "It’s okay. You’re mad at me. You can hit me." He smiled then, a soft, unnerving smile that made her stomach churn. "I won’t even flinch. I promise."

"Aegon, that’s not—"

“You can beat me if it makes you feel better,” he continued, his voice unnervingly soft, as though he were offering her a gift. “It’s okay. I’ll let you do it. I deserve it, right?”

The pit in Y/N’s stomach twisted. His words, his tone—it was as if he was trying to convince himself, not her. Like he was rationalizing the abuse he had endured.

He turned his head just slightly, enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye. “You’re like me,” he whispered.

Her body tensed at his words. “What… what do you mean?”

He wiped at his face with trembling fingers, still not fully meeting her eyes. “Even though your boyfriend hurt you… you still think about him, don’t you?”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She felt the fear creeping back in—the terror that had been gnawing at her ever since the day the dead doves appeared at her door. The stalker. The horror. It was all coming back.

Aegon finally looked up at her, his eyes glittering with something dark, something sinister. “You love him… don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the air thick with a suffocating dread.

Aegon’s lips twisted into a smile—that smile. The one she had seen before, the one that sent chills down her spine.

“I hate him,” Aegon said softly, his voice dripping with venom. “I hate the way he treats you. The way he talks to you. Hurts you. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She could feel her pulse quickening, her mind racing, trying to piece together what he was saying—what he was implying.

“Do you know,” Aegon asked, his tone disturbingly calm, “why he hasn’t answered your calls?”

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days. He had stormed out after their last argument, refusing to answer her desperate calls or texts. She had been terrified, worried sick about him—about what he was thinking, about whether he’d come back. But now, sitting here, listening to Aegon, that fear morphed into something far worse.

He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have.

Her entire body went cold.

“What… what do you mean?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Aegon’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something inhuman, something evil. He didn’t answer directly—he didn’t have to. The look in his eyes told her everything.

He leaned back, his voice light and playful now, like they were discussing a joke. “Did you open the gift I left for you?”

Her heart nearly stopped.

Gift? What gift? She hadn’t seen anything—hadn’t thought about it. But then, the morning came flooding back to her. The moment she had left the house, her mind too wrapped up in her terror and paranoia to notice anything out of place.

Her blood ran cold as her mind raced with horrible possibilities. The gift. What if it wasn’t just some harmless object? What if it was—

No. No, no, no.

She stood up so fast that she almost tripped, her eyes wide with panic. Aegon was laughing now—a soft, eerie laugh that filled the room, the sound making her skin crawl.

“Oh, Y/N,” he cooed, his voice mocking. “You really should check your door more carefully in the mornings.”

Her mind was spinning, her heart racing. She had to get out. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here—not with him, not with his laughter ringing in her ears, the sick grin spreading across his bruised face.

She grabbed her keys from the desk, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped them. Aegon was still sitting there, watching her with that horrifying smile, his eyes gleaming with delight.

“You’ll thank me later,” he called after her as she bolted for the door.

Her mind was screaming, her heart pounding in her chest as she tore through the office, slamming the door behind her. His laughter echoed in her ears, following her down the hallway, filling her with a terror so deep she could barely breathe.

And as she ran, the only thought in her mind was the horrifying possibility of what she would find when she opened that gift.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[kinzhae]

"Left Behind."

Gojo x Reader, angst with no comfort, reader and gojo drifts away as they enter jujutsu high, being left behind, reader sacrificing her life in order to keep gojo safe.

The first time Satoru left you behind, you brushed it off.

“Gojo Satoru is going to change the world,” you told yourself, smiling as you watched him walk off with Suguru Geto and Shoko Ieiri, his laughter echoing down the hall. His carefree attitude was infectious, and while you were happy for him, it hurt to know that you weren’t part of that laughter anymore.

It hadn’t always been this way. You and Satoru were inseparable once, bound by childhood promises and shared dreams. Back then, the world wasn’t complicated, and neither was he. The cocky smile he wore now was once reserved just for you.

But Jujutsu High changed everything.

---

You noticed the shift slowly. It started with missed conversations—whispers in the hallway you weren’t invited into, a glance over your shoulder to see him too far behind to call out to. Satoru didn’t mean to push you away. You knew that. But as his new friendships deepened, it became clear that your bond wasn’t the unbreakable connection you once thought it was.

Suguru was kind, brilliant, and calm—the perfect foil to Satoru’s chaotic energy. Shoko had a quiet wit that matched his sharp tongue. Together, the three of them felt untouchable, like the rest of the world could only stand by and watch as they carved their own path.

You were no longer part of that world. You tried to let go, you really did.

Even as the ache settled in your chest, you told yourself it was enough to simply watch him thrive. If Satoru was happy, wasn’t that all that mattered? You repeated those words like a mantra, trying to ignore the sting when he barely noticed you anymore.

It wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

But the cracks in your heart didn’t care for reason.

One day, everything changed. You were heading back to the dorms after a long day of training when you overheard the conversation.

Two voices in the shadows.

One familiar, one chillingly foreign.

“Gojo Satoru. The Six Eyes... He’s too dangerous to keep alive,” hissed the first voice—a higher-up whose name you didn’t dare utter. “The balance he disrupts, the power he wields... If he continues unchecked, no one will be able to control him.”

“And what do you propose?” growled the second voice, raspy and cold. It wasn’t human.

You froze, your blood running cold as you peeked around the corner.

“I want him gone. Do it cleanly. I’ll ensure you have what you need—resources, bodies, whatever it takes. Just make it happen.”

The curse smiled, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. “Consider it done.”

Your world tilted.

They were going to kill him.

Satoru.

The boy who laughed too loudly, who stood by you even when the world felt too heavy, who once promised you that you’d always be by his side.

You had already been left behind. But you wouldn’t lose him. Not like this.

That night, you sought out the curse.

Its presence was suffocating, the weight of its aura pressing down on you as it materialized in front of you.

“And what do you want, little sorcerer?” it sneered.

“My life,” you said, your voice steady despite the terror clawing at your throat. “Take my life, my powers—anything. Just leave Satoru alone.”

The curse’s laughter echoed around you, harsh and mocking. “Anything, you say? Bold. And what makes you think I’ll honor such a deal?”

“Because if you don’t,” you said, lifting your chin, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

A lie, of course. You were no match for it. But the curse seemed amused enough to agree.

“Very well. Your life for his. But once the deal is struck, there’s no turning back.”

“I know.”

As the curse’s claws reached out, you closed your eyes, picturing Satoru’s smile one last time.

You disappeared that night.

No one saw you leave. No one even knew why. You left behind nothing but questions and an empty dorm room, your name slipping further from their lips as the days turned into weeks, then months.

Satoru didn’t notice at first. You hadn’t been close lately, after all. But as time passed, he started to feel the absence.

It was subtle at first—a glance around the training field, expecting to see you standing at the edge, watching with a small smile. Then came the ache, the nagging sense that something was missing. He asked Shoko, then Suguru. Neither had seen you.

When he went to your room, it was stripped bare, as if you had never existed.

Satoru wasn’t the sentimental type, but the emptiness you left behind gnawed at him. He tried to brush it off—he was Gojo Satoru, after all. He didn’t dwell on things. He didn’t need to.

But late at night, when the silence grew too loud, he found himself thinking of you. Of your smile. Of the way you used to scold him when he pushed himself too hard. Of the way you had always been there, steady and unshakable, even when the rest of the world felt like it was slipping out of control.

He searched. Of course he searched.

But you were gone.

---

Satoru never stopped looking. Not really. Even years later, long after the grief had settled into something dull and hollow, he still found himself scanning crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

He told himself it was guilt—guilt for letting you slip away, for not noticing how far apart you had grown. But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

He had left you behind.

And he would never forgive himself for it.

[kissitbttr]

“my baby” you murmur softly against his skin. hands cradling both side of his face gently. “my sweet, sweet baby”

toji hates to admit how that makes his heart tremble with pure love, and how the simple act is the sole reason for the crimson color risen within his cheeks,

“that, i am” he mutters with a small smile playing on his lips, tugging you close by the waist. “you love me?”

a small gasp escapes your lips, as if you’re offended by that question. “i can’t believe you have to ask! of course i do” another kiss presses against his temple and down to his cheek bone,

he suppresses a cute giggle from it, not wanting to be embarrassed if you ever caught him letting out such sound. it’s quite fascinating how you are the only person who has a way to make him feeling flustered. as if you’re looking at a teenage boy who finally scored a date with his first high school crush,

“just making sure” toji finds comfort against your naked chest, feeling himself melt under your touch while your fingers toy with his raven haired. he frowns and lets out a boyish groan when you pull away,

“noo, noo” he whines, taking your hand before plopping it back down on top of his hair. “don’t stop. keep playing it”

a confused yet amused frown make its way towards your face, a small giggle heaves out of your mouth,

“look at you. my big boy” the nickname just sends shivers down his spine, causing his grip around your waist to tighten. he loves it when you call him that. “touchy today aren’t you?”

he responds with a hum, letting his eyes close for a while as you continue to play with his loose strands of hair. he’s so comfortable like this. being with you is his favorite place. no large house nor king sized bed could ever compare if there’s no you in it.

he’s dreamed of this for far too long. when his wife was taken away from him years ago, he didn’t think that he could find a solace in someone else’s arm anymore. he had given up on love and pour his frustrations out in a very toxic way. drowning himself in alcohol and getting into fights was his way of coping.

then you came a long,

with your pretty smile, pretty aura, pretty hair, pretty voice… pretty everything. knocked the wind out of the man, he couldn’t even form the right words when you stood in front of him.

‘s-shit—wh-what were you saying?’ he laughed nervously when he realized he was staring at you for far too long,

it was an adorable sight. you really did have some sort of power to make men weak in their knees

his heart bloomed when he heard you giggle, ‘i said… did you come here with someone?’

‘oh! n-no! not at all’ he scratched the back of his neck while looking down on his drink, ‘all alone’

‘oh—well then’ you took a seat beside him at the bar, his eyes didn’t move an inch from you. ‘guess we can be alone together’

“my sweet big boy—wouldn’t even dreamed about leaving you”

and that’s enough to make him feel at ease. to let go of the fears he had been holding back. to let go of the past that had corrupted him in more ways than one. to finally say goodbye to his long gone wife and say thank you to you instead for being here. for being so patient. for being so stubborn despite the times he had pushed you away. for not backing down because he knew how much he needed you, he just didn’t have the guts to tell you.

what’s that saying about the song you had shown him? if life is a movie, then you’re the best part?

yeah. that’s the one. but he knows deep down that you’re better than a movie.

because after all these years, toji fushiguro had finally found you peace,

and may lord helps anyone to those who will try to take you away from him,

maybe toji will remove fushiguro from his last name and take yours instead in the near future

[velvetinks]

The Way He Looks at You

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Warnings: Emotional vulnerability, references to Joel’s past guilt, soft!Joel, established relationship, physical affection, old wounds, healing through love.

Some people say Joel Miller’s hard to love.

You think they just haven’t seen him on quiet mornings.

When the sun barely kisses the edges of Jackson’s rooftops, and he’s still half-asleep, arms wrapped around your waist, cheek pressed to the back of your neck like he needs the contact just to keep breathing.

That’s the Joel you know.

Not the one from stories, or whispered warnings, or the guarded man who moved through Jackson like he was always preparing to lose everything.

The Joel you know is soft in the morning.

And careful with you.

Like now, when he hums low against your shoulder and says, “You’re warm,” in that voice that still makes your spine tingle.

“Because you’re a furnace,” you murmur, smiling into your pillow.

He chuckles. “Don’t hear you complainin’.”

You don’t. Never have.

Especially not when he pulls you closer like this. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s not afraid anymore.

You met him two years after Salt Lake.

After Ellie had started pulling away and Joel had stopped trying to stop her.

He wasn’t looking for someone. Neither were you.

You found each other anyway.

In passing glances. In shared dinners. In the slow, inevitable gravity of two people who needed someone safe to come home to.

He never said “I love you.” Not at first.

Joel showed it instead.

In the way he fixed the draft under your door before the first snow. The way he sat outside your house on the nights patrol ran late. The way he memorized the kind of tea you drank when your hands were shaking after a bad dream.

You didn’t ask him for anything. He gave it anyway.

That was love, you figured.

And eventually, he said it, too.

In a moment that wasn’t grand, or dramatic, or even planned.

You were fixing your coat. He was watching you tie your boots. And then, like it’d been on the tip of his tongue forever, he murmured:

“Love you, y’know.”

You looked up. “What?”

He blinked. “Nothin’. Just—figured you should know.”

You kissed him breathless.

He didn’t say it again for a while. But the second time, you could see it in his eyes. And the third time. And every time after.

Now, in Jackson, with Ellie still distant but not gone, and the world finally quiet around you both, Joel lets himself have this.

You.

You in his bed. You at his table. You singing while you sweep, laughing at his dry jokes, holding his hand during the market crowds.

You kiss the scars on his shoulder like they don’t scare you.

And he looks at you like you’re the first thing he’s ever wanted without guilt clawing behind it.

“I was a hard man,” he says one night, voice low, fingers laced with yours under the blanket. “Hard to love.”

You shrug. “Then it’s a good thing I’m stubborn.”

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“I mean it,” you say, leaning in. “You love harder than anyone I’ve ever known. You just never thought you deserved to.”

Joel’s quiet a long moment. Then:

“I do now.”

You press your forehead to his.

“You always did.”

The town keeps moving around you. Chores. Shifts. Patrols. But in this little space between dawn and duty, Joel holds you like the world starts and ends in your arms.

And maybe for him, it does.

He still flinches sometimes. Still looks over his shoulder. Still dreams of fire and blood and the weight of things he can’t take back.

But you hold him through that, too.

And every morning, he wakes up, finds your face in the light, and says your name like a prayer.

Some people say Joel Miller’s hard to love.

You know better.

He just needed someone who didn’t let him walk away from it.