#I had somehow more to say than I expected

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a no-known sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm such a great guy, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

case dismissed ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Summary: sometimes, men don't take y/n seriously in their world. y/n doesn't like to play the mafia card often, but what use is a mafia husband if not for this?

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ln x reader ⋆˙⟡

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ mafia au ⋆˙⟡

masterlist ☾☼

the courtroom buzzed with tension, as y/n y/l/n, highly skilled and known for her quick retorts, faced the jury. she was in an all-out war with a condescending christian who seemed to enjoy hurling his sexist remarks about her during the proceedings.

“i'm sure the jury is smart enough to decipher emotional manipulation by ms. y/l/n,” christian spat, itching with his overly expensive tie. “come on, don’t they teach women in college about emotional manipulation these days? because, that's exactly what's happening here!”

a shift of anxious whispers traveled across the court, but y/n simply raised an eyebrow and continued her points. she had grown to expect patronizing men like christian, and all dismissive of her just for being a woman. she had suffered much worse in this world, yet somehow, she always came out victorious.

as the suit dragged on, christian's quotes got more and more frequent, and too intrusive. he gave her directions about how to dress, what to say, and even what to do. while y/n was calm, she was also trying to put the flames of rage out. she certainly was not going to let this man’s crude sexism prevail.

the case revolved around a complex corporate fraud scheme, where christian's client, a powerful conglomerate, was accused of swindling millions from unsuspecting investors. y/n, representing the plaintiffs, had meticulously built her case, exposing a trail of deceit and manipulation that led directly to christian's client.

christian, however, resorted to personal attacks, hoping to distract the jury from the overwhelming evidence against his client. he questioned y/n's competence, suggesting that her success was due to her "feminine charm" rather than her legal acumen.

"i'm surprised ms. y/l/n even understands the intricacies of this financial matter," christian scoffed, "perhaps she should stick to cases that are more... emotionally driven."

y/n gritted her teeth, but refused to rise to the bait. she knew that christian was trying to provoke her, to make her lose her composure. but she was determined to remain professional, to let her legal skills speak for themselves.

the trial dragged on, with christian's sexist remarks becoming more and more unbearable. y/n endured it all, focusing on her arguments, presenting her evidence with unwavering confidence. she was determined to win this case, not only for her clients but also for all the women who had been underestimated and belittled by men like christian.

finally, the moment came when christian made a particularly nasty comment about her "emotional instability," suggesting that her arguments were based on feelings rather than facts. y/n had had enough. she reached into her purse, pulled out her ID, and walked over to christian, her eyes blazing.

"can you read out my name, please?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft.

christian smirked, thinking he had won. "sure, whatever," he said, taking the id from her hand. he glanced at it, and his eyes widened in shock. His face paled, and he started to stammer.

"y/n y/l/n- y/l/n norris?" he stuttered, his voice barely a whisper. "but... but that's..."

"yes," y/n interrupted, her voice now ringing with authority. "it's also the last name of lando norris, the most influential, not to mention dangerous, man in the city. my husband."

the buzz between the people in the courtroom, was subtle yet frightening. christian looked like a corpse and was one more second away from truly fainting. what he did not know was that wife of the mob boss he was insulting repeatedly was in fact married.

“apologies, mrs. norris,” christian softly murmured, trembling. “i really did not know.”

“y/l/n-norris. and, that’s correct. you did not,” y/n cut off. “you were so preoccupied in being a sexist pig that you could not notice anything else.”

turning to the judge, she continued in the same cool and controlled tone, “your honour, this case is as clear cut as they come, there is no additional information that i would like to provide.”

in silence the judge seemed to admire her calmness and how she handled that unexpected turn of events. “very well,” he said, looking at her. “the case is dismissed.”

y/n y/l/n-norris could not help herself smiling after the case had ended, she was not only able to win the case, but educate christian on respecting women. however, she had not quite finished yet. she still had her husband waiting for her with a gleeful glimmer in his gaze.

that evening, christian was bound to a chair in a dark, soundproofed room. he was frightened, realizing that he was in the hands of lando norris, a man not particularly famous for his mercy.

the door slowly opened, and lando entered, accompanied by y/n. christian's eyes went wide with fear as he beheld the mob boss come towards him, a sadistic grin spreading across his face.

"look who's back," lando said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "about time. death has been waiting for you."

y/n snorted, "babe, that was a terrible line,"

lando groaned, "i knew i shouldn't have used this one! george said it would sound cool!"

"clearly, george was wrong!"

christian began to plead for his life, but lando, turning his attention back on the man who was tied up, just laughed and shook his head. "you should have thought of that before you chose to disrespect my wife," he said. "now, you're going to pay the price."

y/n observed her husband handle christian, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. she knew that lando would handle things and that she didn't need to worry about christian ever causing her trouble again.

as she left the room, she couldn't help but feel a burst of pride in her husband. he was a dangerous man, but he was also intensely protective and loyal to her. she knew that she was in safe hands with him, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

did i hate this? absolutely. did i still write it? clearly. will i regret it? no, i've already forgotten about it. dee, this is for you. anyways, i hope you like this! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff ; @opastries81

[max-nicoxfandom]

Happy WIP Wednesday ! Here is a first draft/snippet of a random chapter in my long fic I'm working on (don't go looking for it, still unsure if I'm going to post it), bc I think I'm gonna take this part out even if I really like the concept.

Danny is like 6-7yrs old in this

Danny is a weird kid.

That's not to say Dick expected him to be normal when his family took him in. No, even if Danny wasn't still half dead, no one in this family is normal. Not even Duke and Barbara, the self proclaimed normies of the family.

Danny has brought a certain life to the manor, even in death, that has Dick contemplating moving back. Somehow, even Jason has been spending more time than usual there. Arguments have been lessened, the manor has been less creaky and more settled, Alfred even looks a little younger these days.

It's both the fault of Danny's sweet exterior, and the odd green that swirls in the blue of his eyes. Not the same hue as Jason's, but something near to it.

He's a lot like Jason, actually. Dick is sure if Jason had come to them just a little bit younger he'd be the spitting image of Danny.

It's the little things that make them look so similar. Almost everyone in the manor has the blue-green eye, black hair combo. It's everything else in Danny that makes him look exactly like Jason.

Danny likes to wish the moon good morning when he sees it during the day, and insists on opening his curtains when he goes to sleep so the moon can listen to his bedtime story too. He likes to check his stuffed animals for injuries when they fall off furniture. He thanks Alfred for his food, and thanks his food for being yummy. When he leaves the manor, he blows the building a kiss goodbye.

Dick does not tell Bruce that the house pulls itself from the ground, and creaks back.

Sure, Jason wasn't dead (not yet, anyway), but he was so excited to be alive. He had that same disposition to do good to everyone and everything that Danny does. Jason may not be some sort of partial human like Danny, but Jason was Robin, and Robin? Robin is magic.

You don't have to believe in ghosts for them to be real, and you don't have to see Danny for him to exist. On the same wavelength, you don't have to see Robin to know Jason made him magic. It was just the truth. Like how the sky is blue and Bruce is Batman.

Dick is watching his life be changed one step at a time, just like it was with Jason–like how it was supposed to be with Jason–and like it was with his siblings.

He keeps flowers in his car now. He didn't before, he never had a reason for it.

But one time, Danny cried as they passed a graveyard. He was sitting curled up against the window in the back while Dick hummed along to some ballad on the radio. It was peaceful, as things tend to be when Danny's around, and even as the kid cried Dick never stopped feeling tranquil. He knew everything would be okay, Dick would stop at nothing to make his new brother happy again.

“I have no flowers.” He’d said. Dick hadn't even gotten the chance to ask what was wrong. “They'll all be so sad I came by, and I had no flowers.”

Danny's eyes were green when he'd spoken. Green, teary, and filled with more mourning a child should ever understand. Dick's heart broke about a thousand times over.

So now Dick keeps flowers in his car. Whenever he drives past a graveyard he throws a flower out the window, just like Danny does. And if the bouquet dies before he gets to give them away, he gives them to Danny, and he buries them in the backyard.

Green eyed and sad. Sometimes Jason joins him, sometimes Damian does. Dick never feels like it's his place.

This fic also has to do with the cult thing I was talking about sometime ago, and the post about big cities. I kinda regret having this take place in Gotham instead of Amity, but it's too late now (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Asks and interactions are always welcome !

[humanjarvis]

the world when you're with me

synopsis: you seek out sylus for comfort after realizing you were wrong about him.

tags: comfort, fluff, implied avoidant!reader learns to trust sylus, implied avoidant!reader clings to sylus, sylus takes care of reader from afar, sylus has mephisto and the twins follow reader but wbk pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mostly mc word count: 802

a/n: is this the peak of literature? no. did i need to write it after the day i had? yes. did i need to post it today? no, because i’m trying to stagger my posts more, but here we are. anyway 4k caleb pwp coming tomorrow 

For the first few weeks after you’d infiltrated the N109 Zone, you’d avoided Sylus Qin like the plague. 

After being scared out of your wits by the first version of him you'd met—the cold, unavailable criminal mastermind who’d forced you to shoot him within 5 minutes of knowing one other—you were unashamedly wary of working with him again. 

But Sylus’s intel was unrivaled. More and more often, you found yourself visiting the N109 Zone to meet with him, eventually not even bothering to book a place to stay. There was always a guest room at the Onychinus base prepped for your arrival.

As you spent more time with Sylus, he’d noticeably changed his approach to interacting with you. Rather than forcing you to resonate with him, he’d explained to you how his Evol worked, letting you aim his hands at some training dummies to test it out yourself. Instead of unceremoniously shutting you out when he was tired, he’d drag his robe-and-slippers-clad self to sit beside you on the sofa, answering your cautious questions by practically giving away all his secrets. 

His shift in attitude hadn't stopped there. Sylus had clearly been using that endearingly incorrigible crow to keep tabs on you, but for the strangest reasons. 

Whenever you had a bad day at work, some building-wide maintenance emergency would magically appear, forcing your team to cease operations for the rest of the day. He’d text you a couple hours after your early dismissal, saying he was in the city and inviting you on an evening joyride to clear your head.  

The day after you’d lugged a case of water up the stairs to your apartment, having to pause a couple times to catch your breath, you came home to see your fridge mysteriously stocked with groceries. The only traces left behind were the masked twin figures you spotted scurrying away from your window. 

When a new phone showed up at your doorstep one day—you never even told him you’d shattered your screen, you thought—you’d decided that Sylus wasn’t as bad as you’d once assumed. Not anywhere near as bad, in fact. He was thoughtful, generous, and helped you without taking credit or forcing you to ask for it. You’d never had that before.

Which is why, somehow, you find yourself standing in the doorway of his armory, studying him silently as he polishes an antique-looking gun.

When he notices you, Sylus looks up, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “Something wrong, kitten?” he drawls, subtly checking your body for injuries. 

Mind numb from your absolutely dreadful day, you stay silent while Sylus looks at you expectantly, his hands forgetting their earlier task. 

But for the next minute, you remain hovering in the doorway. You expect him to get annoyed—you almost want him to, so you have an excuse to go back to relying only on yourself—but all you see on Sylus’s face is patience.

When you start shuffling toward him, that patience mixes with a glimmer of anticipation that he visibly tries to suppress. You need him to be calm right now—an anchor, he thinks. If he loses his composure, if he startles you with his excitement at your approach, you might bolt at any moment. 

Sometime during his inner struggle, you reach him. Meekly, you stand before his chair, briefly opening your mouth before closing it. 

“What is it, sweetie?” he asks softly. “Tell me, and we can figure it out together. I’ll personally track down whoever seems to have stolen your words from you.”

At his offer, you break, collapsing into his lap. His large, warm hands immediately encircle your waist, and you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his leather and spice cologne. 

“Aw,” he coos in his baritone voice, rocking you slowly in his embrace. When he lifts your head an inch, you resist, letting out a soft whine. Gently, he guides your head back to his chest, his quickening heartbeat thumping in your ears and grounding you in the the moment. 

After several moments of silence, your deep, shuddering breaths the only interruptions, Sylus murmurs into your ear. “When I noticed you never ask for help, I was worried the world may not be treating as well as it should. You must be very tired, hmm?” he asks, rubbing his chin against your hair. 

Tightening your arms around him, you sit there for a while, his steady breaths seeming to mend a decades-long rift in your heart.

The next time Sylus tries to lift your head, you let him. He pulls your face from his neck so he can look into your eyes, hoping his gaze conveys his sincerity, before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. 

“You don’t need the world when you’re with me,” he promises. “I’ll treat you better than it ever could.”

[girlkisser13]

being married to toji fushiguro would include

• toji is fiercely protective of you, even if he doesn’t always express it. he doesn’t hover or ask if you’re okay every five minutes, but he notices when something’s off and is always there to back you up.

• he doesn’t say "i love you" often, but his actions speak louder than words— shielding you from harm or making sure you’re always safe, especially when the dangers of his life as a former assassin creep in. still, he’d maintain his space, valuing his independence but always watching out for you.

• he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t put up with nonsense, so when it comes to household matters, he’s straightforward.

• if there’s a problem, he deals with it quickly, often in a practical manner. that said, he’d also likely appreciate the quiet comfort of being at home with you, especially after a long day of dealing with the outside world.

• while toji doesn’t come across as soft, there are moments when he shows his care in small ways— maybe brushing your hair out of your face or sharing a fleeting but tender look when you’re alone.

• he’s not one for big romantic gestures, but when he does something for you, it’s meaningful, like getting you your favorite drink or taking care of things when you’re overwhelmed.

• he may not always have a lot to say, but if you’re going through something difficult, toji is there for you. he’d stay silent, listening without judgment, and give you a quiet, reassuring presence.

• his support might not be verbal, but his actions would show that he’s there for the long haul, no matter what.

• if you two had kids, toji would be a hands-on (we are ignoring the fact that he is canonically an absent father), though unconventional, father.

• he’ll play it cool, acting like he’s not that interested, but you’ll catch him watching baby videos on his phone when he thinks you’re not looking.

• he’d teach them about survival, how to fight, and how to protect what’s theirs, all while being the solid, reliable figure they need, even if he doesn’t know how to express it all the time.

• toji’s not great with emotions, but he’ll secretly adore his kids, and you’ll know it by the way he keeps an eye on them from a distance or his subtle ways of making sure they have what they need, even when he won’t say it out loud.

• the trust between you two would be solid. toji would expect you to be honest with him, and he’d give you the same respect. you wouldn’t need to speak all the time to understand each other; there’d be a deep, unspoken connection, even in the moments of silence.

• don’t expect anything overly sweet or cheesy. toji’s idea of romance might involve getting you something practical, like new clothes for a dangerous mission or fixing something around the house.

• but those small acts of care would mean more to you than any grand gesture.

• life with toji is a rollercoaster of questionable financial choices.

• his idea of a budget is more of a vague suggestion. you could go to bed with a full savings account, and by morning, he’s bought a motorcycle, a new set of knives (because he deserves them), and a ridiculously expensive set of rare steaks— because, apparently, that’s how you live life.

• he will ALWAYS justify impulse buys with, "it was on sale."

• toji is very independent, and while he might not ask for help, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it. if something breaks or goes wrong around the house, he’ll absolutely try to fix it himself first— no matter how unqualified he is for the job.

• broken sink? he’ll attempt to fix it with duct tape and some questionable youtube tutorials. the worst part? he’s usually successful… in a very "that’ll work for now" way.

• he doesn’t exactly plan grand romantic gestures, but when he does do something sweet, it’s always unexpected.

• like that time he brought home your favorite food when you didn’t ask for it, or when you were having a rough day, and he somehow found the exact book you were looking for, even though you didn’t mention it. it’s not always flashy, but it’s the little things that show he’s paying attention.

• also, this man is WAYY too confident.

• he’s usually pretty calm, but when he’s certain about something— whether it’s a decision, a plan, or a random idea— good luck trying to change his mind.

• he’ll insist he’s right, even if he’s 99% sure he’s not, and he’ll have a smug look on his face while doing it. it’s an annoying habit, but somehow, he pulls it off.

• toji’s idea of date night involves grabbing takeout and binge-watching random action movies, preferably while he’s armed with snacks he’s "borrowed" from the convenience store.

• he’s surprisingly a pretty good cook (when he takes his time).

• it’s usually something straightforward— steak, grilled chicken, or ramen— but when he actually tries, it’s surprisingly tasty. the best part? he’ll act like it’s no big deal, even though you know he’s secretly proud of himself for not burning anything.

• toji is your scary dog privilege.

• he exudes an aura of danger, which makes you feel untouchable. not that he tries to look intimidating, but it’s hard not to notice when people start treating you both with a certain amount of caution just because he’s around.

• whether it’s the way he moves, the way he talks, or just the fact that people know better than to cross him, you’ll get used to the unspoken respect (or fear) that follows him.

• he’s not the type to smother you with affection, but he has his ways of showing he cares. whether it’s leaving a random "you good?" text, adjusting your coat when he notices you’re cold, or letting you take the last slice of pizza (even though he’s definitely eyeing it).

• while toji is pretty sharp when it comes to violence or strategy, he’s totally lost when it comes to social situations or subtle hints.

• you’ll find yourself frequently having to explain things multiple times because he either didn’t catch your tone or completely misinterpreted the situation.

• if you try to drop hints, he’ll stare at you blankly, and then you’ll have to go into full detail before he understands what you’re saying. it’s frustrating, but also kind of endearing, considering how smart he is in other areas.

• although he’ll never openly say it, in those quiet moments when he watches you sleep or shares a rare smile, you know you’re his soft spot. toji fushiguro has made you his world, and his devotion to you speaks louder than words ever could. <33

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Valentine's Day! I love your work! fma? Something with havoc? Or something with Leon from Merlin?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

They spend a lot of time talking with Ed, but not that much time talking about him, comparatively. It's like the bar is it's own private space, somehow separated from the real world and all its accompanying complications. It's like Ed's pulled a piece of Resembool into Central through the force of is presence alone.

Which means Havoc's not expecting it when they're all at the office working late, except for Roy for reasons the rest of them are trying not to worry too much over, and Maes leans against his desk and says, "So. Edward."

His head pops up, looking around, but it's just the rest of their office who's also staring at Maes.

Maes rolls his eyes. "We're not bugged right now. It's fine."

The right now should really concern him more than it does. "Okay. What about him?"

"You're the one that knew him first, right?" he asks.

He nods warily.

"Did you know about his brother?"

Havoc stares. Like anyone could know Ed without knowing Al. The two of them had been joined at the hip as kids. They still were, really, since Ed is willing to tolerate city life so Al can teach at the university. "Alphonse? Yeah. What about him?"

"Did you know that he's an alchemist?" Maes asks.

There's a beat of disbelieving silence and then Havoc's laughing in his face.

He can't help it. Maes is dumbfounded and everyone else is looking at him like he's crazy, but it's ridiculous. Does he know that Al is an alchemist? Does he know that Alphonse Elric is an alchemist?

"Jean," Riza snaps finally and he waves at them, wiping the tears from his eyes and forcing himself back under control.

"Hughes, man, come on," he says. "Are you messing with me? Yeah, of course, they've been doing alchemy since they were knee height. They redirected the town river before I'd left. On request, but still."

"They?" Breda repeats. "Are you saying Ed's an alchemist too?"

They can't be serious. Has it never really come up? He casts his mind back, but Ed doesn't do alchemy at the bar. Well, not that he's noticed anyway, and Ed's good enough that he wouldn't notice if Ed didn't want him too. "Ed's the scariest alchemist I know."

Sure, both of the Elrics could bend bedrock to their will and transmute seemingly anything out of thin air, but Al at least had the restraint to ask if that's something he should do before acting. Ed rarely bothered.

Roy had been a weapon during the war, like all the other state alchemists. But they should all count their lucky stars that the Elric brothers had been too young to be drafted.

[v4mpire45]

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is part 8 of the series, so other parts will be on the m.list.

☞ Link: click here.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: I'm so sorry this took so long to get out, I needed time to think about ideas. And I'm working on other works at the moment. This is also a bit short, but only because the next part will be juciy.

Things have been good, or as good as they can be.

You and Bakugo have kept your promise to each other. The two of you have been spending more time together, slipping back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship.

And honestly? It feels like you've gotten your best friend back.

You've missed this. A lot more than you'd like to admit.

Maybe it was stupid, holding onto something like this so tightly. But Bakugo had been there for you through everything. Before the war, before all the chaos. When you met, you butted heads just as much as you got along, but somehow, through all the fights and challenges, he became your person.

The one who understood you without needing to say much at all.

And after everything, after the war, after all the distance that formed between you, getting him back felt like getting a part of yourself back.

Not that you'd ever tell him that.

But there's a shift you can’t quite put into words. Maybe it’s just in your head, maybe it’s nothing at all, maybe it's been here all along and you’ve been ignoring it, but when you’re with him, there’s this... awareness.

This weight in your chest tightens when he’s close loosens when he laughs, and straight-up betrays you when he does something as simple as calling you by your first name.

But lately, Kimiko's been watching. Not just Bakugo, you. And you don’t like what’s behind those eyes.

Today, training drills had been assigned. Nothing new, just the usual combat sparring to sharpen reflexes and adapt to different fighting styles.

You were heading toward Mina, already expecting to pair up with her, when a familiar voice grunted behind you.

"You. Me. Partners."

You turned, blinking as Bakugo stood there, arms crossed, already walking off like your answer was obvious.

"Oh. Okay...!"  You tried to sound casual, but your voice had a little too much enthusiasm to pass as apathetic.

Before the war, you and Bakugo were almost always partners for these kinds of things. Sure, sometimes he’d go with Kirishima, and you’d switch it up with Mina or Jirou, but you were a duo.

Then the war happened.

And after that, Kimiko came along, sliding into the space beside him like it was hers to claim. You stopped partnering with Bakugo. Maybe you didn’t even realize how much you missed it until now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Kimiko’s gaze, her expression unreadable. She had been heading toward Bakugo, too, but he hadn’t even looked her way. Instead, he had gone straight to you.

Not your fault. He made his choice.

Still, you felt her eyes on you like a weight.

The spar was intense.

Bakugo never held back. Not with you. Not with anyone. But today, it felt different. More focused. Like he was pushing you, not just physically, but daring you to keep up. And you did.

Sweat beaded on your forehead as you dodged another one of his attacks, skidding back just in time to avoid the explosive blast.

You shot forward, aiming a kick toward his side, but he blocked, catching your ankle with a firm grip before shoving you back.

"Too slow,"  he taunted, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"You’re just fast," you shot back, adjusting your stance.

"Damn right I am," he said, rolling his shoulders before lunging again.

The tension was there, thick, buzzing. Maybe it was just your own head making it worse, but every time he moved closer, every time his eyes locked onto yours with that sharp intensity, your breath caught for half a second too long.

And every time you caught a glimpse of Kimiko watching. You waved at her when Bakugo wasn’t looking. She only narrowed her eyes and turned back to her own partner.

The match ended when Bakugo finally got the upper hand, knocking you onto your back with a hard sweep of his leg. He loomed over you, hands on his hips, panting slightly.

"You finally tired yet, dumbass?" he muttered.

"Not even close," you lied through your teeth, even as you struggled to catch your breath.

His smirk widened, but he didn’t press it. Instead, he just held out a hand, which you grabbed without hesitation. His grip was firm, warm, steady.

And maybe you held on half a second longer than necessary.

After training, everyone had packed up, heading back to the locker rooms. You took your time, changing into your uniform, running a towel over your damp hair before slinging your bag over your shoulder. As you stepped out of the girls’ locker room, a voice called out behind you.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?"

You turned to see Kimiko, standing a few feet away, hands on her hips, her expression unreadable.

"Oh, um... sure?"

She smiled, but there was something off about it. Before you could react, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you aside, leading you into a quieter corner of the hallway.

Then, she let go. Crossed her arms. Tilted her head. And that fake little smile faded.

"So," she said, voice deceptively light. "What’s going on with you and Bakugo, hmm? Do you like him or something?"

Your throat went dry. "What? No, I—" You let out an awkward laugh. "That’s— what are you even talking about?"

Kimiko huffed, unimpressed. "Hmph. Yeah, sure."

For a second, she just stared at you, then sighed. "Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask since that party. The one where you told me to ‘hop off Bakugo’s balls.’" She raised an eyebrow. "Kinda funny, isn’t it? Considering you’re the one acting all territorial now."

Your stomach dropped. "I—I didn’t mean—"

"Save it," she cut you off with a wave of her hand. "You already apologized once, remember? I don’t need you groveling again."

You hesitated. "Then why bring it up?"

Her expression shifted, something unreadable behind her eyes. She glanced away for a moment before exhaling sharply.

"Because," she said slowly, "I think you and I both know you’re full of shit."

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked off, leaving you standing there.

You didn't know what was worse, the fact that she called you out so easily.

Or the fact she might be right.

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

Tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg @charlotterosea13 @chuugarettes @mtsudaa @myblogsucks @emmaafinchh @adherethecomingofage @uhsakusa @shewki @galaneiaeris @surprisemodafakas @uhnanix @ilovemushroomss @bakunianadecorazon @bonbonbytes @snoozebunz @wowbon @holobean @littlestinkybastardman @closehereyes

[gf2bellamy]

Hi hello!

Oh my gosh I love your work so much like you are the absolute GOAT of Spencer fluff fics.

If it’s not a bother, can I please request reader starting her first day at the bau and she’s all shy and nervous because she’s the youngest and wants to make a good impression and as she’s greeting everyone she goes to shake Spencer’s hand he does the whole thing about pathogens and says how it’s safer to kiss and her being so flustered just goes ‘oh okay’ and gives a quick peck on his cheek without thinking and scampers away leaving him completely dazed?

impressions — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: statistics about bacteria , reader being nervous a/n: thank you so so much !!! that actually made my day thank you <3333333 i hope you like this :)

Your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest that you were convinced everyone in the bullpen could hear it.

You had barely stepped through the doors of the BAU, and already, nerves were twisting in your stomach like a tangled mess of wires.

Your first day, your first real job with the FBI, and, perhaps most daunting of all, the knowledge that you were the youngest agent on the team.

Someone had been kind enough to guide you through the bullpen.

It was surreal, stepping into their world.

You took a deep breath, forcing your feet to move forward, and stopped in front of the door to Aaron Hotchner’s office. You quickly smoothed your hands over your neatly pressed blazer, as if that would somehow make you appear more put together than you felt.

Swallowing hard, you raised a shaky fist and knocked.

“Come in.” The voice was firm, authoritative, but not unkind.

You exhaled, steeling yourself, and pushed the door open.

Aaron Hotchner sat behind his desk, looking up from a file in front of him. His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes scanning you in that way you imagined only a profiler could.

You quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

He greeted you with a small smile, standing up as he extended a hand. “Welcome to the BAU.”

You shook his hand as firmly as you could manage, hoping he couldn’t feel how clammy your palm was. “Thank you, sir. It’s—” You hesitated, your mind scrambling for words that didn’t sound completely ridiculous. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Hotch gave you a small nod, motioning for you to take a seat across from him. “I’ve read your file. Your record is impressive.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your heart rate picked up. “I, um—thank you, sir.”

“I know this unit can be… intimidating,” he continued, leaning forward slightly. “But you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t capable. I trust that you’ll prove yourself.”

This settled some of the nerves still twisting in your stomach.

“I’ll do my best,” you said, meaning every word.

“I expect nothing less.” Hotch nodded with a small smile at you.

“The rest of the team is in the conference room,” Hotch continued as he stood, already moving toward the door. He pulled it open for you, nodding for you to follow.

As you stepped into the bullpen, trying to steady the nerves still buzzing under your skin, Hotch continued, “We have a case in Texas. You’ll be briefed shortly.”

Right. No slow introductions, no easing into things. You had expected as much, but it still made your stomach twist with anticipation.

This was it—your first case, your first real step into the world of the BAU.

Just as you rounded the corner toward the conference room, a blur of movement caught your eye.

Spencer Reid was practically sprinting through the bullpen, his satchel bouncing against his side as he hastily adjusted his tie. He skidded to a stop just in front of Hotch, his curls slightly disheveled, his breath uneven.

“Sorry I’m late,” Spencer said quickly, pushing his hair back from his face. “The metro had a delay, and then I was going over some of the Texas case files and lost track of time—”

Hotch held up a hand, cutting off the ramble. His expression was unreadable, but the sharp look he gave Spencer was enough to make him straighten his posture.

“Reid,” Hotch said, a quiet warning in his tone.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry.”

Hotch sighed but let it go, instead turning to you. “This is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You took a step forward, offering a polite smile as you extended your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer glanced at your outstretched hand for half a second before grimacing slightly. “Oh, uh—I don’t really do handshakes,” he said, hesitating before explaining further. “Handshakes transfer more bacteria than any other common form of physical greeting? Studies show that the average handshake can transfer up to 124 million bacteria in just a few seconds.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say.

Spencer nodded, entirely serious. “Statistically speaking, it’s actually safer to kiss someone than to shake their hand.”

You blinked.

For a moment, your brain completely stalled.

Kissing.

Safer.

Without thinking—without even processing what you were doing—you leaned in and pressed the quickest, most flustered peck to his cheek.

Spencer went completely still. His mouth fell open slightly, his wide eyes blinking in rapid succession as if his brain had just short-circuited.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you forced yourself to straighten, offering him a small, nervous smile—because what else were you supposed to do?

Before either of you could say anything, Hotch pushed open the door to the conference room. You stepped in immediately.

Spencer, meanwhile, was still frozen in place.

His mouth hung open slightly, his brain working overtime to process what had just happened.

Hotch gave him a look. “You walked into that one.”

Spencer barely heard him. His hand drifted up to his cheek, still warm from the press of your lips, and he stood there, completely dazed, as the reality of his morning took an unexpected and utterly bewildering turn.

[zerosbubble]

Coffee Routine.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.

A/N: Thank you so much for the support! I honestly didn’t expect so many of you guys to love this series. Definitely gave me more motivation to write! 🥹

Summary: Your everyday routine consisted of many things—one of them being bringing Tim coffee right before roll call without fail. However, one morning, Tim notices something awfully wrong. You didn’t bring him coffee today.

The first time it happened, Tim barely even looked at you.

You strolled into roll call, dropped a coffee onto his desk without ceremony, and took your seat like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t just handed him a large black coffee from his usual spot, perfectly made.

Tim blinked at it. Then at you.

You didn’t even glance up, already flipping through your notes.

Alright. Maybe it was a coincidence.

But then it happened again. And again. And again.

Every morning, like clockwork. Before his first cup of the day, before he even had a chance to be irritated at something stupid, you were there, sliding the cup over without so much as a greeting.

Like it was routine. Like you just knew.

And Tim—being Tim—did what he always did when confronted with something odd. He ignored it.

For weeks.

But then, one morning, he got to work a little later than usual, and when he walked into the briefing room—no coffee in hand—he felt it immediately.

Something was missing.

He glanced around. You were at your desk, looking half dead, chin resting on your palm as you aimlessly scrolled through a report.

And on the table that he sits at every morning?

Nothing.

No cup waiting for him. No routine exchange. Just an empty desk and a sluggish-looking rookie who was barely upright in her chair.

Tim frowned. “Where’s my coffee, kid?”

You blinked up at him, eyes unfocused, like it took you a second to register the question. “Huh?”

“My coffee,” he repeated, slower this time. “The one you hand me every morning like some kind of overgrown intern.”

“Oh.” You yawned, rubbing a hand over your face, expression hazy. “Didn’t get one.”

Tim squinted, like it was a riddle that he (for once) didn’t have the brains to decipher. “You didn’t get one?”

You shrugged, barely lifting your shoulders. “Forgot.”

Forgot.

That was new.

You had managed to grab coffee every single shift for the past three weeks, unprompted, like some weird unspoken pact. You weren’t exactly a creature of habit—more impulsive, more instinct-driven—but somehow, this had become routine. Reliable. And now, suddenly, you just… forgot?

Tim crossed his arms, taking in the mess of you. Your uniform was a little more wrinkled than usual, your posture slumped. Dark circles weighed under your eyes, and you had that glassy, half-there look of someone running on fumes.

It clicked.

“You overslept.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto your folded arms. “Why do you say that like it’s a crime?”

Tim huffed, unimpressed. “Because for you, it kind of is. What happened? Alarm not go off?”

“Woke up an hour late,” you mumbled, voice muffled against your sleeve. “Didn’t have time to stop.”

Tim stared at you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and walked right back out of the briefing room.

You barely even noticed. Probably too half-asleep to care.

Five minutes later, when he returned, he dropped a cup onto your desk—your usual order, still warm.

Your head lifted slowly. You stared at it. Then up at him.

Tim just arched a brow. “What?”

You squinted. “Did you… just get me coffee?”

He scoffed. “Yeah. It’s called returning the favour.” He muttered, before clearing his throat to restore his imagine, “—and I can’t have a rookie who’s sloppy just because they didn’t have their morning coffee. Don’t overthink it.”

You blinked again, as if trying to make sure this was real. Then, with an exaggerated sniffle, you clutched the cup to your chest. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about you.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Drink your damn coffee, kid.”

And just like that, the routine was set back into place.

[sweetfcwn]

sharing a bed for the first time with george and hes trying to make you feel comfortable but hes also just teasing you nonstop

same sheets - george clarke.

this is such a cute request! thank you so much - let me know what you think!!

you’re lying there in the quiet of the room, barely able to breathe without feeling your heart skip. george is next to you, sprawled out but somehow still so close. the bed feels impossibly small, but not in a bad way. you can feel the heat of his body even though there's still a little space between you.

“you’re being awfully quiet,” george says, his voice light and teasing. you glance at him, only to find him watching you with a grin playing at the edges of his lips. you roll your eyes, trying to act like you’re unaffected.

“i’m just tired,” you mutter, but it comes out more as a confession than anything else. george raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“tired, huh?” he repeats, leaning up on one elbow. “or maybe you’re just too shy to admit that you’re nervous sharing a bed with me?”

you try to hide the blush creeping up your neck by pulling the blanket tighter around you. “i’m not nervous,” you insist, but even you can hear how unconvincing it sounds.

“uh-huh,” george says, his grin widening. “sure, sure. i can see that little twitch in your eye.” he wiggles his fingers, making you jump slightly as they hover just above your arm. “you’re practically vibrating with nervous energy.”

“i’m not!” you protest, though it’s even harder to hold your ground when he’s so close, that ridiculous grin on his face, and his fingers so close to your skin.

“okay, okay,” he says, giving you a mock-somber look, like he’s trying to act serious. “i’ll stop teasing. promise.”

you relax a little, but just as you start to feel like you’re in the clear, you feel the bed shift beside you. before you know it, george’s arm is around your waist, pulling you gently closer. “but you’re still blushing,” he whispers in your ear. “and now you’re way too close for me to ignore that.”

you stiffen, half-expecting him to tease you about it more, but instead, you feel his thumb softly rubbing circles on your arm, gentle and reassuring. “you’re cute when you blush,” he says, the teasing in his voice replaced by something softer.

“stop,” you mumble, but the smile on your face gives you away. you know exactly what he’s doing, and he knows exactly how to get under your skin in the best way possible.

“what? i’m just telling the truth,” he says innocently, but the way his fingers trace along your skin tells you that he’s enjoying this way too much. “besides, it’s cute that you’re embarrassed. i didn’t know i had this effect on you.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but you can’t stop your lips from curving into a smile. you give up trying to pretend like it’s annoying when it’s actually just… endearing.

george’s grin softens a little, and he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “i just like making you smile,” he admits, his voice quieter now, a little more sincere. "and if that means teasing you a bit, i’ll take the risk."

you melt into the warmth of his embrace, the teasing, the laughter—it all feels like a comfort now, like something that’s just part of the rhythm between the two of you.

“yeah, well,” you say, your voice soft but playful, “you’re doing a pretty good job of it.”

george chuckles, and you feel the vibrations in his chest. “that’s all i ever want to hear.” he tightens his hold on you just a little, and you can’t help but feel a quiet happiness settle in your chest as you close your eyes. maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

[carnalcrows]

YANDERE GANGSTER

☆ name: Felix Marino (Феликс Марино | Félix Marino) → "Fortunate and Of the Sea"

☆ ethnicity : Italian-American

☆ age : 34

☆ gender : Male

☆ mbti : INTJ

☆ his story : [click to proceed]

Once just a regular blue-collar worker with a simple dream—build a good life for his wife and their unborn daughter. But fate had other plans. A tragic misunderstanding led to his wife's brutal murder at the hands of a gang seeking revenge for a crime he never committed. Grief turned into vengeance, and vengeance turned into power. One by one, he eliminated those responsible, leaving no stone unturned, no soul spared. But revenge wasn’t enough—it never is. By the time the dust settled, he had built an empire from the ashes of his pain. Now, he rules one of the most feared mafia syndicates in the world, his name whispered in both reverence and terror.

He’s a ghost of the man he used to be, his heart long buried with his wife. He tells himself love is no longer for him—his wife would have hated the monster he’s become. But in a world of blood and betrayal, the past has a way of creeping back in when least expected.

☆ appearance:

Dark brown hair, always neatly styled but never too perfect—like he doesn’t care, but somehow, it still looks effortless.

Dark green eyes with brown flecks, almost black in the shadows, but strikingly green in the sunlight—if he ever lets himself stand in it.

6'2" with a lean but powerful build—every move he makes is calculated, every step, deliberate.

A face that looks carved from stone—strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, an expression that rarely changes.

Wears expensive but understated suits, always in dark colors—nothing flashy, just powerful.

Tattoos: His wife's name on one wrist, their unborn daughter’s name on the other, the only softness left in him. He has various other tattoos of flowers and snakes running down his arms and his back.

☆ personality:

Cold, calculating, and terrifyingly efficient—he doesn’t waste words or emotions.

A master of control—of himself, of his enemies, of the entire underworld.

Speaks in a quiet, measured tone, but when he gives an order, it’s absolute.

Loyalty is sacred to him—betrayal is met with ruthless consequences.

His patience is legendary, but once it runs out, there’s no going back.

Haunted by his past but refuses to show it—his grief is a private wound, one that never truly heals.

Believes emotions are a liability, yet can't fully extinguish the ghost of the man he used to be.

☆ with a lover:

He doesn’t do casual—if he lets someone in, it’s serious, but that’s a rare occurrence.

Overprotective to a dangerous degree—if you’re his, no one touches you. Period.

Doesn’t believe he’s capable of love anymore, but if it happens, it’ll be deep, intense, and consuming.

Shows love in subtle ways—protecting, providing, making sure you’re safe before you even realize you’re in danger.

Will never say "I love you" easily, but his actions will speak louder than any words ever could.

Doesn't do jealousy—he does ownership. If you're his, he makes sure you know it.

☆ strengths:

Unmatched strategic mind—he sees five moves ahead at all times.

Ice-cold under pressure—he never panics, never loses control.

Deadly with both words and weapons—he can end someone with either.

Inspires fear and loyalty in equal measure—his presence alone is enough to command a room.

Never forgets a debt—whether he owes one or is collecting one.

☆ weaknesses:

His past—no matter how much he buries it, it never truly stays dead.

Love—he tells himself he’s incapable, but if he ever lets someone in, they’d become his greatest weakness.

His wife's memory—she is both his strength and his curse, the one thing that can still make him hesitate.

He doesn't know when to stop—revenge, power, control—he always wants more.

Has built his empire alone and trusts almost no one—loneliness is his own prison.

☆ relationships:

Wife (deceased): The only woman he ever loved, the only person who ever made him truly happy. Her memory haunts him, and he wonders if she’d still recognize him now.

Unborn Daughter (deceased): A life that never got to begin, but one he still mourns every single day.

Right-Hand Man: The only person he trusts, the only one who dares to speak freely in his presence.

Enemies: Too many to count, but they all share the same fear—crossing him means death.

Potential Love Interest: If someone ever manages to break through his walls, they’ll find a man who is both terrifying and deeply, painfully human.

☆ extra:

Speaks fluent Italian, English, Russian and a handful of other languages (for business reasons).

Has a soft spot for old jazz and classical music—not that anyone would dare comment on it.

Never lets anyone see his wrists uncovered—those tattoos are the only vulnerability he has left.

Keeps a single photograph of his wife tucked inside his wallet. No one has ever seen him look at it.

[vandme12]

our serials (kc) with a reader with glasses? :3

Reader who is always forgetting to wear their glasses, making CONSTANT typos in the server, or the characters catching them squinting. Just curious to how that would go ^~^'

V

At first, he assumes your typos are some kind of code. He spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to decipher the nonsense until you admit you just... forgot your glasses.

“You should be more careful. Words matter.” He says this like you’re committing war crimes every time you accidentally call him “Vurghilante.”

Eventually, he starts proofreading your messages. If you send something particularly chaotic, expect him to correct it with the same energy as a disappointed English teacher.

He absolutely notices when you’re squinting at something. If you resist putting your glasses on, he will silently place them on your face like you’re a stubborn child. No words. Just the weight of his judgment.

The one time you squint at him, he deadpans, “I’m not blurry.” But there’s a hint of amusement when you still refuse to wear your glasses.

Once, you mistyped his name so badly it resembled a rare plant species. He spent the next 24 hours sending you obscure botany facts as punishment.

Misaki

Oh, he thinks it’s hilarious. Your typos? Screenshot folder. Your squinting? Material for endless teasing. They calls you “Mole-ey” and won’t stop.

If you try to defend yourself, they just leans in uncomfortably close to your face like, “You sure you can see me, sweetheart? Or am I just a mysterious blur?”

Constantly quizzes you on random distant objects. "What does that sign say? No, no, don't squint. Use your powers."

Steals your glasses when she’s bored and wears them, claiming they're smarter now. He calls himself “Professor Misaki” while pushing them up the bridge of their nose.

If you lose your glasses, prepare for them to find the worst replacements. He once handed you pink heart-shaped sunglasses and insisted it was an upgrade.

If you squint at them, they wiggles his eyebrows and says, “Careful, if you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you have a crush.”

Angel

She immediately appoints herself your “Seeing Eye Babe.” If you squint for more than a second, she takes your hand and narrates the world around you like you’re in a dramatic audiobook.

When you make typos, she just rolls with them. Whatever weird word salad you send becomes canon. You once typed “I need a hug pls” as “I need a hog pls,” and now she periodically sends you piglet pictures.

If you’re squinting in her direction, she just tilts her head and teases, “Sweetheart, if you wanted to check me out, all you had to do was ask.”

If you lose your glasses, she will find them immediately. She has a sixth sense for misplaced items and is smug about it every time.

When she catches you struggling, she pulls your glasses from your bag and slides them onto your face with a fond smile. “I like your eyes better when you aren’t torturing them.”

She once bedazzled your glasses case without telling you. You open your bag and suddenly it’s glitter city. “Now you’ll never lose them again,” she winks.

Ronin

Oh, he lives for your mistakes. Every typo is ammo for his endless mockery. He purposefully misreads them to make things worse.

“What do you mean, 'I’d like to grab a dork'? Bold move. Keep talking.”

If you squint at him, he just smirks and leans in too close. “Better? Or do you need me even closer, baby?”

Constantly calls you “Blind Bat,” but somehow it sounds weirdly affectionate. Like you’re his favorite helpless disaster.

If you lose your glasses, he will absolutely hold them hostage until you grovel for them back. And, oh, he will make you grovel.

When he sees you straining at your screen, he dramatically sighs and tugs you onto his lap. “If you won’t fix your eyesight, I guess I’ll just have to keep you close so you don’t wander off and die.”

Despite all the teasing, he memorizes where you usually leave your glasses. He never admits it, but when you panic because you can’t find them, he always knows exactly where to look.

[aspenmissing]

Jayce x Reader experience their first times in a relationship, like: Their first kiss / the first time saying "I love you" / The first time telling someone, that they're in a relationship / Etc.

With much fluff and comfort 🫶

ᴏᴜʀ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 3505 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʙʀɪᴇꜰ ᴀʀɢᴜᴍᴇɴᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ!! ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜᴛᴇꜱᴛ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ! (ɪ ᴍᴀʏ ᴏʀ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ) ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!!!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

FIRST DATE

Jayce had insisted on something simple. No extravagant dinners, no fancy galas—just the two of them, somewhere quiet.

So, they ended up on the rooftop of one of Piltover’s tallest buildings, a picnic laid out between them. The city glittered below, its golden lights stretching out in all directions, while above them, the stars flickered faintly against the vast night sky. The wind carried the distant hum of airships and the occasional burst of laughter from the streets far below, but up here, it was just them.

“This is nice,” Y/N admitted, leaning back on her hands, letting the cool evening air kiss her skin.

Jayce chuckled. “You sound surprised.”

She tilted her head. “I just expected something… grander. This is surprisingly thoughtful.”

He scoffed, nudging her with his knee. “I can be thoughtful, you know.”

She smirked. “I’m just saying, Councilman.”

Jayce rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. He watched her for a moment, something soft and unreadable in his gaze before he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary. “I just wanted to spend time with you. No distractions. No responsibilities.”

Y/N felt her heart stutter, a warmth creeping into her chest that had nothing to do with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. It wasn’t like this was their first time alone together, but somehow, this was different. More deliberate. More real.

“Well,” she murmured, a small smile playing at her lips, “mission accomplished.”

Jayce exhaled, something like relief flickering across his face before he leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the stars. “You know, when I was a kid, I used to think the city lights were brighter than the stars. That they were better somehow.”

Y/N turned her head to him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “And now?”

He was quiet for a beat before glancing at her, his warm brown eyes reflecting the sky. “Now, I think they don’t even come close.”

She swallowed, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of her sleeve.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city hummed beneath them, a world of expectations and duty waiting below, but up here, it didn’t matter. Up here, they could just be Jayce and Y/N, two people caught somewhere between what was and what could be.

Jayce shifted closer, his shoulder brushing against hers, and she found she didn’t mind the closeness. In fact, she welcomed it.

Maybe this thing between them was still new, still uncertain.

But in this moment, under the starlit sky, it felt like the start of something neither of them would ever want to forget.

FIRST "I LOVE YOU"

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t grand. It just… happened.

Jayce was hunched over his desk, deep in thought, his brow furrowed as he muttered under his breath. The dim glow of the lamp cast warm shadows across his face, highlighting the exhaustion clinging to his features. He had been at it for hours, tools scattered haphazardly around him, notes filled with scribbled equations stacked precariously to one side.

Y/N, watching from the doorway, sighed softly. She knew how he got like this—wrapped up in his work, pushing himself past reason. Without a word, she stepped forward and set a warm cup of tea beside him.

Jayce glanced up at the quiet gesture, his tired eyes immediately softening at the sight of her. He reached for the cup, fingers curling around the warmth, and let out a slow breath.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he murmured, the words slipping out so naturally, so effortlessly, that he barely noticed them. Then, without a second thought—“Love you.”

The pen in Y/N’s hand nearly snapped in half.

Jayce blinked, suddenly registering what he had just said. The gears in his head ground to a halt, panic flickering across his face. His grip on the cup tightened.

“Uh—”

“I love you too.”

Silence.

Thick and brimming with something unspoken, something fragile yet overwhelming. The weight of those three little words lingered between them, hanging in the air like static before a storm.

Jayce stared at her, stunned, before his lips parted, his expression shifting from shock to something softer—something so utterly full of warmth it made her chest ache.

Then, he smiled.

Not his usual confident grin, not the smirk he wore in the Council chambers or the easy one he flashed in passing. No, this was different. It was wide and bright, filled with something raw and real, and it made Y/N’s heart stutter in her chest.

“Yeah?” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he needed to hear her say it again.

She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah.”

Jayce exhaled, relief and happiness flooding his features, and in the next second, he was pulling her into his arms, burying his face in her shoulder. His body was warm, solid, his embrace something that felt like home.

“You just… said it,” she mumbled against his shoulder, half in disbelief, half in awe.

He huffed a laugh. “You did too.”

Y/N smiled, closing her eyes, breathing him in. Maybe it hadn’t been planned, maybe it hadn’t been some grand declaration—but maybe, just maybe, this was better.

Because it was them. And it was real.

FIRST KISS

It happened during one of their late-night walks through Piltover’s upper districts. The streets were quieter at this hour, the usual bustle of the city dimmed to a peaceful hum. Gas lamps lined the walkways, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets, and the crisp night air carried the faint scent of metal and oil from the distant workshops.

Jayce had been rambling about something—an experiment gone wrong, a prototype behaving unpredictably—but exhaustion clung to his voice, slowing his usual enthusiasm. Y/N had been content to listen, enjoying the rhythmic sound of his voice, until he nearly tripped over his own feet mid-step.

She caught his arm instinctively, steadying him before raising a smug eyebrow. “Wow. I knew you were tired, but this is a new level of tragic.”

Jayce groaned, rubbing his face before shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. “Unfair. How do you look perfectly composed while I’m out here fighting for my life?”

Y/N smirked. “Maybe you’re just a mess.”

He huffed, kicking at a loose stone on the path. “Or maybe you always look flawless. It’s annoying.”

She snorted. “Flawless? High praise, Councilman.”

“I mean it.”

The weight in his voice made her pause. She turned to him fully, expecting to throw out another teasing remark, but the way he was looking at her made the words tangle in her throat.

Jayce was not a subtle man. He never had been. When he wanted something, he made it clear, whether it was a new invention, a seat on the Council, or—apparently—her.

His gaze was steady, unwavering, the usual playfulness in his expression giving way to something softer, something almost hesitant.

“Can I kiss you?”

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before rolling her eyes. “You’re asking now?”

“Hey,” he said, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips, “I like to be respectful.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You—”

But before she could finish, he closed the space between them.

His lips met hers, warm and eager, a little clumsy in the way first kisses often were. It wasn’t perfectly timed, nor was it practiced—but it was real. His hands hovered at her waist, unsure, as if he didn’t want to push too far, but the way he leaned into her, the way he let out the faintest sigh against her lips, told her everything she needed to know.

Y/N melted into him without thinking, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. The city faded away—the distant sound of an airship passing overhead, the occasional flicker of street lamps, the world beyond this moment.

When they finally broke apart, Jayce’s breath was warm against her lips, his grin widening as he searched her face. “So… was that okay?”

Y/N let out a breathless laugh. “You’re such an idiot.”

He chuckled, his hands finding hers, lacing their fingers together with an ease that made her chest tighten. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m your idiot now.”

And with the city glittering around them, their world just a little bit smaller, Y/N found she didn’t mind one bit.

FIRST TIME TELLING SOMEONE

Viktor was the first to know.

It wasn’t that they had planned to tell him first—he was just too damn observant.

Jayce was hunched over his desk, fidgeting with a prototype, but he wasn’t really paying attention to it. His fingers idly twisted a bolt between his thumb and forefinger, his focus entirely elsewhere. Across the lab, Y/N was sorting through notes, flipping through pages and occasionally tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear.

She probably didn’t even realize she was doing it, but Jayce did.

He noticed the way she bit her lip in concentration, the way her brows furrowed ever so slightly when she came across something particularly dense. He could watch her for hours and never get bored.

And apparently, he had been watching her for too long.

Viktor sighed loudly and set down his notes with an air of exasperation.

“So,” he drawled, tapping a finger on the table, “how long have you two been together?”

Jayce choked on his coffee.

Y/N, still flipping through papers, arched a brow. “What makes you think we’re—”

Viktor shot her a flat look. “Please. The way he watches you like a lovesick puppy, the way you pretend not to care when he does something reckless? You are not as discreet as you think.”

Jayce wiped his mouth, still sputtering. “I—what? That’s not—I don’t—”

Y/N smirked, folding her arms. “Lovesick puppy, huh?”

Viktor tilted his head, unimpressed. “Tell me, Jayce, when was the last time you looked at research notes with that much longing?”

Jayce spluttered, gripping his coffee like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “That is not—You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Viktor snorted. “Oh, of course. I must be imagining things.” He turned to Y/N. “And you? The lingering glances? The way you subtly guide him away from his own worst decisions?” He waved a hand dismissively. “Completely unrelated, I’m sure.”

Y/N pursed her lips, feigning thoughtfulness. “Well… maybe he has a point.”

Jayce shot her a betrayed look. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged. “You are reckless. Someone has to keep you alive.”

“I am perfectly capable of keeping myself alive.”

Viktor scoffed. “Debatable.”

Jayce groaned, setting his coffee down. “Okay, fine. Yes. We’re together. It’s recent, alright?”

Viktor leaned back, smirking. “Congratulations.” Then, with an entirely too smug expression, he added, “Try not to be insufferable.”

Jayce rolled his eyes. “Too late for that.”

Y/N grinned, nudging his side. “You’re the one who kept staring at me.”

Viktor hummed, already returning to his notes. “Yes, do keep up the public displays of affection. It will make my work so much more enjoyable.”

Jayce sighed, rubbing his temples. “I hate both of you.”

Y/N chuckled. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

Viktor, flipping a page, didn’t even look up. “Yes, yes. Very cute. Now go be disgusting somewhere else.”

Jayce groaned, but when Y/N grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, he found that, honestly?

He didn’t mind one bit.

FIRST ARGUMENT

It started with frustration and ended in regret.

Jayce had been spending too much time in the Council chambers, drowning in politics, buried under the weight of expectations. The man who once spent his days in the lab, grease-stained and full of boundless ideas, was now tethered to long meetings and diplomatic battles. Y/N felt the shift like a slow-moving storm, creeping in until the space between them wasn’t just physical—it was something heavier, something unspoken.

She wasn’t one for confrontation. She wasn’t the type to demand attention, to force someone to make space for her. But when Jayce cancelled yet another evening together with a half-hearted I’ll make it up to you, something inside her snapped.

“You’re always busy, Jayce. I get it. But when do I become a priority?”

Jayce, still shuffling through papers on his desk, let out a sharp sigh. He didn’t even look at her. “Y/N, come on. Not now.”

Her stomach twisted. Not now. It was always not now.

She crossed her arms, refusing to let this go. “Then when?” Her voice rose, her frustration bubbling over. “Because I’ve been waiting. And waiting. And every time I think we’ll finally get time together, you have another meeting, another crisis, another—whatever the hell this is!” She gestured to the Council reports strewn across his desk, the documents that had replaced her.

Jayce dragged a hand down his face, his own patience fraying at the edges. “I’m trying to build something here, Y/N. A future. For both of us. Do you not understand that?”

Something in her cracked.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Don’t make this about me not understanding. This is about you not making time. For me. For us.”

His shoulders stiffened. He finally met her gaze, frustration flashing in his eyes. “I don’t have the luxury of making time whenever I want, Y/N. I have responsibilities! The Council, Piltover���”

She let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, of course. Piltover.” She threw up her hands. “How stupid of me to think I could compete with an entire city.”

His brows furrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what it feels like, Jayce!” Her voice cracked, raw with emotion. “You fight for this city like it’s the only thing that matters, and I get it, I do, but when was the last time you fought for us?”

Jayce exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of his desk as if grounding himself. His jaw tightened. “I’m doing everything I can.” His voice was quieter, but still taut with frustration. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then don’t make me feel like I have to!” She shouted, her own breath uneven, her heart hammering in her chest.

The words slammed between them like a force of their own, vibrating in the air.

For the first time, Jayce didn’t have an immediate retort. He just stared at her—at the hurt in her eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly, how she was barely keeping herself together.

The weight of it all crashed into him at once.

The exhaustion, the guilt, the fear of losing her.

His hands curled into fists, his breath unsteady. Then, with a deep inhale, he let go of whatever pride had been holding him back.

He took a step forward.

Y/N tensed, expecting more words, another excuse. But instead, she felt his arms wrap around her, his warmth pressing against her like an apology he didn’t know how to say.

Her breath hitched.

“I’ll do better,” he whispered against her temple, voice rough, like he was barely holding himself together. “I promise.”

She wanted to stay angry. Wanted to tell him that promises were easy to make and even easier to break. But as his arms tightened around her, as she felt the way his body sagged slightly, like he needed this just as much as she did, she let out a slow breath.

“…Okay,” she murmured, leaning into him. Then, after a beat, she added, “But you owe me dinner. A real one. No cancellations.”

Jayce let out a soft chuckle against her hair, his hold on her tightening just a little. “Deal.”

He held her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded, and in that moment, she believed him.

Because if there was one thing Jayce had always been, it was someone who tried.

FIRST TIME SLEEPING TOGETHER

They didn’t plan on it.

Jayce had invited Y/N over after a long day, swearing up and down that this time, he wouldn’t get caught up in work, that this time, he’d make time for her. And he tried—he really did.

They ordered food, talked between bites, let the warmth of each other’s presence ease the weight of the day. Laughter came easily between them, the kind that settled deep in their bones, smoothing over the exhaustion clinging to their bodies. Y/N listened as Jayce vented about the latest Council debates, his voice animated despite the tired lines beneath his eyes. She offered teasing quips, grounding him, making him forget about the weight on his shoulders for a little while.

The conversation drifted into quieter things. Their childhoods, their dreams, the parts of themselves that rarely got the chance to breathe.

And then, somewhere between the warmth of the fireplace and the steady comfort of being near each other, exhaustion crept in like a slow tide, pulling them under before they even realized it.

Y/N curled into his side without a second thought, resting her head against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. Jayce, for once, didn’t overthink things—didn’t worry about meetings, expectations, or anything beyond the steady warmth of her against him.

His arm draped around her shoulders, pulling her closer, his fingers idly tracing slow, absentminded circles against her back. She barely registered the touch, but something about it lulled her deeper into rest.

Neither of them noticed when their conversation faded into comfortable silence.

Neither of them noticed when their blinks became longer, breaths slowing in sync.

And neither of them noticed when sleep claimed them completely.

=

The morning light streamed in through the wide windows, golden rays stretching across the floorboards and casting a warm glow over the room. The fireplace had long since burned down, leaving only the faintest hint of lingering heat in the air. The city outside was already stirring, but here, in the quiet of Jayce’s home, time moved slower.

Y/N stirred, the weight of sleep still clinging to her limbs, and as she shifted, she became acutely aware of how warm and solid the body beside her was.

Her eyes cracked open, and realization set in.

She was completely tangled up in Jayce—his arm curled protectively around her waist, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath her cheek. One of her legs was slotted between his, and his other hand rested lightly on her hip, as if even in sleep, he refused to let her drift too far away.

For a brief moment, she simply existed there, letting herself savor the warmth of him, the way his body fit against hers so naturally.

It was easy. Too easy.

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze settling on his face—soft, unguarded in sleep, his normally furrowed brow relaxed, his lips parted just slightly. His hair was a mess, strands sticking up in a way that made him look boyish, and she felt something stir in her chest at the sight.

He always looked so much younger like this. Like the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on his shoulders for once.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

She should probably get up. Should probably untangle herself from his arms, make some coffee, pretend like this wasn’t something that made her chest feel too full.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she shifted just enough to tuck herself closer, burying her face against his collarbone with a quiet sigh.

Jayce groaned slightly in his sleep, shifting before his hold on her instinctively tightened. His body curled in toward her, his breath ghosting against her temple. A deep inhale, then a lazy mumble:

“Mmm… five more minutes.”

Y/N smirked, her voice still heavy with sleep. “I wasn’t even trying to move.”

Jayce cracked one eye open, blinking at her with unfocused, sleep-drunk hazel eyes. His grip on her didn’t loosen, and if anything, he only curled around her more. “…Good.” He let his eyes fall shut again, pressing his face into her hair. “Stay.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. He probably didn’t even realize what he was saying, caught in that half-awake state where thoughts and feelings blurred together without pretence.

But she liked the way it sounded.

“You talk in your sleep a lot, don’t you?” she teased, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

Jayce hummed, lips twitching into a lazy smirk. “Only when I’m dreaming about my amazing girlfriend.”

She rolled her eyes, but the fondness in them betrayed her. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” His arm flexed around her, pulling her impossibly closer, his lips brushing against her temple. “Though I gotta say… this is even better than the dream.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, shaking her head slightly as she let herself settle against him once more.

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in warmth, in golden morning light, in something that felt almost too good to be real.

But it was real. And it was theirs.

Yeah.

She could get used to this.

[aquamarixx]

breaking the internet

chapter ten Hiori finally finds the courage to meet his mom and her new family, with Miss Journalist, his self proclaimed emotional support girlfriend, by his side as he faces the inescapable reality he’s been running away from blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains fluff, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, very hiori centric piece masterlist

Hiori has been staring at his phone for almost ten minutes now. His grip tightens around the device, as if the pressure alone could somehow alter the words on the screen.

"Are you free for dinner this weekend, Yo-kun?"

A simple invitation. A casual question. A few harmless words.

But to Hiori, they might as well be a ticking time bomb.

Dinner with his mother. To catch up. To talk about life. To finally meet her new family. To face the reality he's been avoiding for months.

Just dinner.

Ever since she remarried, she has been persistent about him meeting them.

Every few weeks, another invitation. Lunch, dinner, brunch. Whatever excuse she could find to get him to sit at the same table as her new husband and the kid who aren’t his family.

She even hinted once about bringing them over to his apartment. That was when he started dodging her calls more often.

I’m busy.

I have training.

I’m too tired.

Some of those excuses were true. Most of them weren’t.

And his mother, perceptive as ever, never called him out on it. She knew. Of course she knew. But she let him have his distance, never pushing too hard.

Because in the end, they both understood the truth—this wasn’t just about a meal.

This was about moving forward.

And that terrified him.

He knows it’s selfish, but the thought of seeing her with a new family, a new life—one where he isn’t the center of her world anymore—feels like a rejection. 

A confirmation that while she has turned the page, he is still stuck in a chapter that no longer exists.

The only thing tying his parents together anymore… is him.

Just a lingering reminder of a failed marriage and a legacy that was never fulfilled.

How ironic.

Because when he was younger, he hated being their world. He resented the weight of their expectations, the suffocating pressure of their broken dreams forced onto his shoulders.

But now, standing on the outside looking in, he realizes that he wasn’t trying to escape them.

He was trying to matter to them in a way that didn’t feel conditional.

And now that they’ve let go… he isn’t sure where he belongs anymore.

The warmth of your touch jolts Hiori from his thoughts. Your hands rest gently over his, pulling him back from whatever storm had been brewing inside his mind.

“You okay? You’ve been spacing out for a while.”

Your voice is soft, gentle but laced with concern. Your brows knit together slightly as you search his face, eyes filled with warmth.

Hiori glances at his phone, then back at you. He wants to say something—anything—but the words feel like they’re caught in his throat, stuck somewhere between hesitation and the overwhelming urge to let it all spill out.

“You know you can talk to me,” you murmur, squeezing his hands ever so slightly. “But only if you’re ready, okay? No pressure.”

A small, reassuring smile tugs at your lips, offering him an out if he needs it.

You know Hiori. He isn’t the type to just talk about things—not the heavy stuff, not the things that weigh on him in the quiet hours of the night. He keeps them locked away, buried under layers of restraint.

And yet, even without words, you can see the unspoken pain lingering in his eyes, in the way his shoulders tense, in the way his fingers twitch against his phone.

If he wants to talk, you’ll listen. If he doesn’t, you’ll sit here beside him, offering comfort in whatever way he needs.

That’s who you are in his life. His girlfriend.

It still feels a little surreal, calling yourself that. But more than anything, you want to be his safe place, his steady ground when everything else feels uncertain.

And as if he hears your unspoken promise, Hiori finally exhales.

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter than usual. “My mom just texted me.”

You wait, watching as he stares at his phone again, the weight of something unspoken hanging in the air.

“She’s inviting me to dinner.” A pause. “With her new family.”

There’s a bitterness laced in his tone. Not outright anger, but something more fragile, more resigned.

And when he says new family, there’s an ache behind those words, as if saying them out loud makes it all the more real.

He wonders if they look like a picture-perfect family. Laughing around the dinner table, filling a space he once occupied. A space he wasn’t sure he could ever truly belong to.

Hiori leans back against the couch, his head falling back, an audible sigh escaping his lips.

“I’ve been avoiding it for so long.”

You shift closer, closing the small space between you. “Do you mind me asking why?”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to meet your eyes.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly.

And then, barely above a whisper—

“It scares me, y’know?”

His voice cracks, just for a second.

And in that moment, you see it—the weight of everything he’s been holding back, pressing down on him all at once.

"It scares me… because if I go to that dinner and see her new life, it’ll be like accepting that things will never be the same again.”

His voice is raw, trembling at the edges. He puts down his phone, his gaze fixed on his fingers curling into a fist on his lap.

“It hasn’t been the same… not since Blue Lock ended.” His voice wavers, barely above a whisper.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before they divorced. But now… it’s different. They’ve moved on, and I’m the one left behind. It’s ironic, isn’t it?” He lets out a bitter laugh, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I hated being their entire world when I was a kid. I resented the pressure, the expectations, the way they suffocated me. But now… now I’m the one clinging to a family that doesn’t exist anymore.”

His words hang heavy in the air, an open-ended question more for himself than for you. He’s questioning the cruel irony of it all, the way life keeps twisting the knife even when you think you’ve grown numb.

Your fingers find his, gently wrapping around his trembling hand. You give a reassuring squeeze, grounding him in the present, reminding him that he’s not alone. It’s the only thing you could do for him.

Hiori’s shoulders sag, his weight leaning into you as if he’s finally allowing himself to break. You let him, holding him steady as the six-foot man folds into you, his head resting against your shoulder.

There’s a vulnerability in his touch, his fingers clutching yours as if letting go would mean being swallowed by the sea of emotions threatening to drown him.

“I hate this feeling,” he admits, his voice cracking. “It’s like this heavy weight just sits here, crushing me… and I don’t know what to do with it. And I know… I know wallowin’ in self-pity won’t change anything, but… why does it feel so damn hard to let go? Why can’t I just… accept it?”

His words shake and you feel your own heart breaking. You want to take his pain away, to carry even just a fraction of that weight.

But you know better than to promise things you can’t fix. Instead, you offer him the one thing he needs most—understanding.

You run your thumb gently over his knuckles, giving him an anchor to hold on to. Your voice is soft, steady. “Because it’s never easy to take the first step… not when moving forward means leaving behind everything you once knew.”

Your words are gentle, echoing the very fear that’s kept him rooted in place. “And that fear? It’s valid. It might feel ironic, but it actually makes perfect sense.”

Hiori’s fingers tighten around yours, his jaw clenching as he listens.

“It’s okay for you to feel this way,” you say. 

“You were forced to grow up under impossible expectations. They put their broken dreams on you, made you carry burdens that were never yours to bear. And now, seeing them move on, seeing them do better with someone else… it hurts."

"It makes you wonder, ‘Why wasn’t it like that for me? Why did I have to suffer alone?’” Your voice is tinged with pain, echoing the unspoken thoughts he’s been too scared to voice.

“It feels unfair. Because you went through so much. And now it seems like they’ve moved on like nothing ever happened. Like you were just a chapter they’ve already closed.”

Hiori stiffens under the weight of your words. He feels seen and understood in a way he never thought possible. He releases a trembling breath, his head leaning further into you.

“If you’re not ready, you don’t have to go,” you whisper.

“We can stay here. We can watch cheesy romcoms, marathon anime or I’ll play Hades 2 while you backseat and critique my every move. Whatever you need, I’m here. We’ll get through it together.”

Hiori stays still, his breathing uneven. He’s so quiet that it makes you nervous, a lump forming in your throat. Just as you’re about to speak again, his voice breaks the silence.

“No.”

You blink, confused. “No?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, “Let’s go.” His voice wavers, but there’s a quiet determination behind his words. “I—I’ll to go to that dinner. But only if you’re with me.”

Pride swells in your chest. You see the fear in his eyes, but you also see his courage—the bravery it took for him to reach out, to ask for help, to take that first step. You nod, your voice unwavering.

“Of course. I’ll be right there with you. Every step of the way.”

Hiori doesn’t see the smile on your face, but he hears it in your voice. He feels it in the way your fingers tighten around his, steady and unwavering.

And in that moment, he realizes that maybe he’s not as alone as he thought.

Hiori checks his phone for the third time in five minutes. 

30 minutes early.

He sighs, glancing at the screen to re-read your text from last night, just to be absolutely sure he’s at the right place. The last thing he needs is to embarrass himself by knocking on the wrong door and looking like a complete idiot.

You haven’t replied to his last text. You’re probably still getting ready.

Hiori shifts on his feet, feeling the awkwardness settle in his bones. If he stands out here for the next half an hour, he’ll definitely look like a creep to any nosy neighbors who pass by.

His fingers tap against his leg, nervous energy bubbling up inside him. Before he can overthink it, he lifts his hand and knocks—three quick taps against the door.

No answer.

The silence stretches. His heart starts to pound a little faster. He’s about to knock again when he hears muffled shuffling from the other side. 

The door creaks open just a sliver, revealing a dark-haired girl peeking through the narrow gap. Her eyes narrow, scanning him up and down with suspicion.

Hiori instantly recognizes her from your descriptions—Miko, your roommate. The same loudmouthed girl who’s apparently a serial yapper and the world’s worst movie critic.

But right now, she’s nothing like you described. She’s quiet, guarded, eyeing him like he’s a stalker.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice low and cautious.

Hiori’s heart stutters, but he quickly recovers, offering her his most harmless, polite smile. “Good morning. I’m looking for Y/N.”

Miko’s eyes narrow further. “And you are?”

The words roll off his tongue easily, almost too easily. “I’m her boyfriend.”

He feels a flicker of warmth at the admission. It still feels surreal, saying it out loud. But each time he does, it becomes a little more real, a little more his. 

Her expression flickers, her eyes widening with recognition. The door opens wider, revealing more of the apartment behind her. Hiori catches a glimpse of your shared living room—messy, cozy, filled with a chaotic warmth that already feels like you.

Miko shouts over her shoulder, her voice louder now, “Babe! There’s a pretty boy at the door! Says he’s your boyfriend!”

Hiori’s cheeks flush at the description. Miko turns back to him, her face breaking into an unnervingly wide smile.

She doesn’t move. She just stands there, her gaze fixed on him, silently appraising him like he’s some sort of artifact.

The longer she stares, the more awkward he feels. His confident smile wavers under her scrutiny. He shuffles on his feet, pretending to dust off an invisible speck from his bomber jacket before clasping his hands in front of him to stop his fidgeting.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoes from inside the apartment, followed by a loud, frantic voice.

“I’m coming! I’m almost ready!”

You burst into view, hair slightly tousled and face flushed. You’re wearing a black skirt that sways around your knees, moving fluidly with your every step.

You practically trip over your sneakers as you shove your feet into them, mumbling under your breath about how you’re never letting Miko wake you up late again. When you look up and see Hiori standing there, a warm smile instantly lights up your face.

“You’re early!”

A chuckle escapes him, the tension melting from his shoulders. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

He extends his hand towards you, and you immediately slip yours into his, letting him pull you closer.

Miko’s grin widens, and she leans against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold with unabashed curiosity. Her eyes flicker between the two of you, her head tilting in amusement.

You shoot her a warning look, but it only makes her snicker.

“We’re off,” you announce, deliberately ignoring the mischievous look in her eyes. “Don’t wait up.”

You lead Hiori away, your fingers intertwined with his, warm and steady. You’re almost at the elevator when Miko’s voice rings out behind you, echoing through the hallway.

“Have fun, kids! And use protection!”

The drive to the house is nothing but quiet and tense.

Hiori’s grip on the steering wheel was tighter than usual, his posture tense and awfully upright. There’s an unnerving feeling lingering in the back of Hiori’s mind, lurking. As if anytime, it would pounce right at him—this irrational fear of his—and would make him crawl back at home and just chicken out.

He’s played against world class players under the eyes of the world, with his team’s victory hanging in balance where tension is at an all time high. But nothing has prepared him for the crushing pressure of meeting his mom’s new family and accepting the inevitable.

Nothing. 

And when Hiori pauses in front of the house, you can feel his nervousness. His breath is shaky as he exhales, as if he was holding his breath for such a long time during the drive.

Without thinking to much, you reach over and slip your fingers through his. Your presence, your support, is the only reassurance you can give him. 

“You ready?” You look at Hiori. He gives you a strained smile as he nods and presses the doorbell.

The doorbell rings from the inside of the house, the faint sound of it muffled by the closed doors and windows. 

For a brief second, nothing happens. The house remains silent, unmoving. A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. Maybe they’re not home. Maybe he doesn’t have to do this today. Maybe—

A young boy stands there, barely reaching Hiori’s waist, his wide eyes curious and innocent. He looks up at Hiori with curiosity, his head tilting to the side.

Hiori’s heart stutters. The boy’s eyes are so familiar—large and expressive, a shade of brown that reminds him of his mother’s.

Before he can process it, Junko appears behind the boy, her face lighting up in recognition. She’s wearing a pink apron, her hair tied back in a messy bun, a warm, welcoming smile stretching across her lips.

“Yo-kun!” Her voice is bright, affectionate, and she pulls the gate open wider, her eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m so glad you made it!”

You feel Hiori’s fingers twitch, his shoulders going rigid for a moment before steps forward.

You gently release his hand, giving him space as Junko steps forward and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

He hesitates but then he melts into her embrace, his shoulders sagging, his face burying in her shoulder just for a moment before he pulls away.

Junko’s gaze shifts to you, her eyes widening as she takes you in. She steps closer, her hands reaching out to grasp yours. Her hands are warm, slightly calloused—the hands of someone who’s worked hard her whole life.

Just like Hiori’s.

“And you must be—”

Her words die off as her eyes widen in realization. Recognition flickers in her gaze, and her mouth falls open in a soft gasp. Her head whips towards Hiori, her expression a mixture of shock and delight.

“Oh my! You’re the—” Her eyes dart between you and her son. “And you two are dating?!”

A crimson flush spreads across Hiori’s cheeks, his eyes flicking to the ground as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, we are. So can we go inside before the neighbors hear all about my love life?”

The boy, no older than ten, scurries after Hiori, his small legs working double time to keep up with Hiori’s long strides. You follow closely behind, watching as his tiny steps try to match Hiori’s big steps.

Inside, the house is warm and cozy, sunlight filtering through the curtains, illuminating the framed photos on the wall.

Your eyes catch on one with a younger Hiori in a Bastard München jersey, standing next to his mom who looks impossibly proud.

You even spot a framed article about him from years ago, back when he first officially joined Bastard Munchen’s starting lineup as a rookie.

Junko’s voice calls from the kitchen, “Make yourselves at home! Lunch will be ready soon!” The rich and savory scent of curry wafts through the air.

Hiori sinks into the couch, his shoulders relaxing as he leans back.

You carry the cake you bought to the kitchen, hesitating for a moment before approaching Junko.

“Um… Mrs. Hio—” You catch yourself, realizing the name might be a sensitive topic.

Junko turns to you, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Just Junko, dear.” She reaches out, taking the cake from your hands with a warm smile.

“And thank you for bringing this. You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem. Also, it’s nice to finally formally meet you. I’m Y/N, Hi—You-kun’s girlfriend.” Your voice gets a little bit higher, a shy smile breaking across your face.

It’s your first time addressing Hiori by his first name. It does make his ears perk up hearing you say it from the couch.

“Thank you for taking care of Yo-kun, dear. And it’s really nice to meet you under better circumstances.” Both of you laugh at the inside joke that is the exhibition match fiasco.

It somehow thaws the awkwardness you’re feeling. 

“I’m sorry, dear. The curry’s still cooking. I was helping little Ryuu with his homework earlier and completely lost track of time.” Junko apologizes, mid stir of the curry.

“Also, my husband’s running a bit late from a client appointment, but he’ll be joining us for dinner. So please relax and make yourselves at home.”

The words echo in Hiori’s head, bouncing around before finally sinking in.

Her husband.

It feels weird for Hiori to hear his mom call another guy her husband. And it’s definitely weird to be in a house with her other than the house he grew up in with her and his dad. 

It smells like curry and laughter and a life that doesn’t include him. A life his mom built without him.

His fingers tap against his leg, restless and jittery. His knee bounces rapidly, his body wound so tight it feels like he might snap.

A gentle poke to his side breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looks over to see you watching him, concern etched into your features.

Your eyes are soft, wide with worry, and your lips are pressed into a thin line.

“You good?” Your voice is low, meant only for him.

He forces himself to nod, his head moving stiffly. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

You don’t look convinced, but you don’t push. Instead, you shift closer, your shoulder pressing against his, your warmth seeping into him. The tension in his chest loosens just a little, his knee slowing to a stop. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent thank you.

Every so often, little Ryuu's eyes flicker up to Hiori, wide and curious, while he draws on the paper in front of him absentmindedly. 

It’s funny to him, seeing how looking at the kid reminds him of his younger self, with the same curious big eyes. 

There’s something hauntingly familiar about those eyes—big and innocent, filled with questions he’s too shy to ask. He sees himself in that curious gaze, a younger version of himself who was just as small and wide-eyed once upon a time.

The realization hits him hard. That’s his brother.

Or step brother, right? Since they're not blood related. 

The words feel foreign to him. He’s never been a brother before. He doesn’t know how to be one. Should he introduce himself? Would that be too weird? What would he even say?

His heart hammers in his chest, his fingers twitching at his sides, but before he can fully process his thoughts, you’re already moving.

You slide off the couch and plop down beside Ryuu on the floor, cross-legged and casual.

“Hi, Ryuu!” you greet, your voice warm and friendly. “Whatcha doin’?”

The boy’s head shoots up, his big eyes widening even more. He looks at you, then at Hiori, then back at you, his mouth falling open slightly. You wait patiently, giving him time to process before he mumbles, “Just drawing.”

Your eyes light up with genuine curiosity. You lean closer, watching his tiny hands fumble with the crayons, drawing a person kicking a ball.

“You’re really good at this. I can’t draw well but I can draw pretty flowers.”Ryuu’s lips twitch, the beginnings of a smile forming. He shyly pushes a piece of paper and a crayon towards you.

“You can help if you want.”

Your face lights up. “Really? Thanks, Ryuu!” You take the crayon, carefully drawing sunflowers on the paper. You glance down at your drawing, cringing. You’re pretty sure Ryuu’s stick people look better than yours.

From the couch, Hiori watches the scene unfold, his chest tightening at the sight. You’re so natural with the kid.

Junko’s voice rings out from the kitchen, breaking his thoughts.

“So, how long have you two been dating?”

“Four months,” Hiori blurts out before you can answer. His face immediately flushes, his eyes darting to the floor.

A soft chuckle drifts from the kitchen. “Four months? And you didn’t tell me, Yo-kun?” There’s a hint of hurt behind her words, masked by a strained laugh.

An awkward silence follows.

You sense the tension and decide to break it the only way you know how—by being your usual, chaotic self. You turn to Ryuu, a mischievous grin forming on your lips.

“Hey, Ryuu. Wanna see something cool?”

The boy’s eyes sparkle with interest, his head bobbing eagerly. “Yeah!”

You wiggle your eyebrows dramatically. “Wanna see how cool your big brother is?”

The words tumble out naturally, and Hiori’s chest tightens.

Big brother.

The title is heavy, unfamiliar… but somehow, it feels right. It leaves a warmth lingering in his chest for some reason.

Ryuu’s head snaps towards Hiori, his eyes widening in awe. “Big brother?” His voice is soft, reverent, almost as if he’s been waiting to hear those words.

Hiori’s heart stutters, his breath catching in his throat. He can’t speak, his voice stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat. 

Meanwhile, you’ve already grabbed the remote, switching on the TV with practiced ease. You navigate to YouTube, typing in the search bar with a speed that makes Hiori’s head spin.

He squints at the screen, his eyes widening when he sees the search result:

Hiori Yo nasty highlight clips

His face flushes red. “Ehem.” He clears his throat, his eyes flicking from the TV to you. “Seriously?”

You look at him, confused. “What? That’s the title. I’ve watched it before.”

He stares at you, his mouth agape. “That… sounds so wrong.”

He imagines you in your pajamas at home, lounging in front of your pc, your glasses reflecting the videos  of him you watch.

The idea makes him chuckle because he’s damn sure you’ve done it a couple of times. Now he wonders which clips of him you’ve watched countless of times and which ones are your particular favorites. 

The video starts with a close-up of Hiori, sweat dripping down his face as he rakes his fingers through his hair, his expression intense and focused. Then, the scene cuts to a montage of his best plays.

Perfect passes, impossible assists, and jaw-dropping goals that make even the commentators lose their minds.

The scene cuts to a series of b-rolls—Hiori walking to his position, his body language exuding quiet confidence. Then another shot of him standing on the field, his gaze unwavering, scanning the pitch with laser-sharp focus. 

A third clip shows him conversing with his teammates, his expression serious, his words inaudible but his leadership evident. All the shots are from official match broadcasts, crisp and clear, showcasing Bastard München.

Then the music picks up, an upbeat, electrifying tune that sets the perfect stage for action. The atmosphere shifts, the anticipation building as the video plunges into a sequence of breathtaking highlights.

The first clip is a wide shot of Hiori facing off in a 1v1 with Bachira who makes the first move, his feet a blur of motion as he pulls off a series of feints. But Hiori doesn’t bite. He tracks Bachira’s movements and then, in a flash, Hiori lunges. 

His foot intercepts the ball, flicking it away as he pivots, the ball glued to his feet.

Effortless dribbling, perfect ball control. Hiori’s genius as an offensive midfielder on full display.

You let out a low whistle, fanning yourself dramatically. You look back at him, your eyes wide with exaggerated admiration, mouthing the words, “So hot,” with an over-the-top expression that makes him chuckle.

Ryuu’s eyes widen, his mouth dropping open. “Wow… that’s you?”

Pride blooms in Hiori’s chest, his lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah… that’s me.”

You turn to Ryuu, your eyes shining. “Pretty cool, huh? Your big brother’s a superstar.”

Ryuu nods eagerly, his admiration evident from his sparkling eyes. He looks at Hiori like he’s the coolest person in the world.

The video keeps going, the music intensifying as the plays get even more spectacular.

Hiori pulls off a Rabona against PXG’s Charles Chevalier, his body twisting gracefully as his foot wraps around the ball, curving it perfectly past Charles. The stadium erupts, the camera zooming in on Hiori’s calm, unbothered face as if the impossible play was just another day at the office.

You dramatically fan yourself again, your head shaking in disbelief. “Okay, now that’s just unfair,” you whisper, clearly mesmerized by his speed and agility.

But the video isn’t done yet. The final highlight is a masterpiece of playmaking—a two-stage fake pass followed by a no-look alley cross.

Hiori sprints down the sideline, his eyes locking with Isagi’s for a split second. His body shifts as if preparing to pass, his entire stance selling the fake perfectly. The defenders bite, their bodies moving to intercept—only to realize too late that the ball never left his foot.

With a quick turn, Hiori spins around his marker, his eyes still on Isagi as his leg swings back. But instead of kicking towards Isagi, the ball flies to the opposite side, curving beautifully towards Yukimiya, who’s unmarked on the far post. Yukimiya heads it in effortlessly, the net bulging as the crowd goes wild.

You whistle lowly, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re so good it’s actually scary.”

Hiori laughs, his cheeks flushing under your praise. But his eyes soften when he notices Ryuu’s reaction.

The boy is motionless, his face a mask of pure awe. His big brown eyes are locked on the screen, his mouth hanging open as he watches Hiori work his magic.

When the video ends, Ryuu doesn’t move. His eyes stay glued to the screen, his little body leaning forward as if waiting for more.

Then, his head whips around, his eyes wide and sparkling. “Can—can we watch it again?”

You grin. You hit replay, and the video starts all over again.

This time, you provide a colorful play-by-play, adding dramatic sound effects every time Hiori pulls off a crazy move. Ryuu giggles, his body swaying with excitement as he watches the highlights with newfound fascination.

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes locking with Hiori’s. You tilt your head towards Ryuu, raising an eyebrow. “C’mon, Yo-kun. Don’t just sit there. Get down here and watch with us.”

Hiori blinks, a little startled by the invitation. But when you pat the spot next to you, he feels his body moving before his mind catches up.

He slides off the couch, his long legs folding as he sits cross-legged beside Ryuu. The boy’s eyes widen in delight as his face breaking into a huge grin.

“Football looks so cool,” Ryuu breathes, his voice tinged with awe. 

It catches Hiori off guard, his mind flashing back to his younger self—wide-eyed and hopeful, mesmerized by the magic of the game. It’s the same look he had when he first fell in love with football.

Then you lean in, your voice playful. “Bet if you ask nicely, your big brother will teach you how to play.” You loudly whisper to Ryuu, making sure Hiori can hear every word loud and clear.

Ryuu’s head snaps towards Hiori, his eyes wide and pleading. “Really? Will you teach me?”

His voice cracks for a bit. “Ask mom if she’s okay with it.” Who can say no to a kid who gives the most adorable face, right?

Without missing a beat, Ryuu scrambles to his feet, his little legs propelling him towards the kitchen as he shouts, “Mom! Big brother’s gonna teach me how to play football! Can I? Can I?”

There’s a brief pause, followed by Junko’s voice, shaky and emotional. “Y-yeah, of course, sweetie. If your big brother is fine with it… then I’m fine with it.”

Ryuu trudges back to Hiori, his small feet pattering against the floor, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He skids to a stop beside Hiori, his chest puffed out with pride as he beams up at him.

His entire body vibrates with excitement, his smile so wide it crinkles the corners of his big, bright eyes.

There’s a strange tug inside him, a flicker of something warm and unfamiliar. But there’s also an uneasy twist, a hollow ache as he looks down at the boy—at those eyes, so full of wonder.

Was I like this before?

He remembers himself as a child, smaller and wide-eyed, standing on a football field for the first time. He remembers the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of kicking the ball, the way his heart soared when he scored his first goal.

His heart throbs, his chest aching as he remembers how fast it all changed.

How the light in his eyes dimmed as football became less about fun and more about perfection. How the joy was replaced with pressure, the excitement overshadowed by expectations. How he became an extension of his parents’ legacy, a vessel for their broken dreams.

How he sacrificed everything—time, friends, childhood—just to be the best. Just to make them proud.

And how, one day, he looked in the mirror and realized the love for football was gone. 

Nothing was left but emptiness.

His eyes flicker to Ryuu, to the boy’s wide, innocent gaze, so full of hope. The wonder is alive in his eyes, glowing brightly, untouched and pure.

An unfamiliar protectiveness washes over him, strong and overwhelming.

Ryuu isn’t even related to him by blood, but that doesn’t matter. Hiori’s chest burns with the desire to protect that light in his eyes. 

To keep that wonder safe. To make sure Ryuu never loses that joy. To never lose himself to expectations and pressure and heartbreak.

By the time dinner rolls around, the warm atmosphere is momentarily interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

Footsteps echo through the hallway, each step growing louder, closer, until a man appears in the doorway.

Junko’s face lights up, her posture relaxing as she walks towards the man, her smile bright and genuine.

She wraps her arms around his waist, his hand resting on her back as he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her head. He smiles into her hair, his eyes soft, his expression tender and affectionate.

A strange, hollow ache twists in Hiori’s chest.

He watches as his mom giggles, playfully swatting the man’s arm as she glances back at them, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. There’s a lightness to her that he hasn’t seen in years.

She never smiled like that at his dad.

The man pulls away, his eyes flicking to Hiori, his expression warm and welcoming. He steps forward, his movements unhurried, his demeanor gentle. He’s not intimidating, not imposing in any way.

Just… normal.

“I’m Kobayashi Yohei,” he says, his voice steady and kind. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Yo-kun.” He extends his hand towards Hiori, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a genuine smile.

For a split second, Hiori freezes, his body going rigid. His mind races, his heart thudding in his chest.

Yo-kun.

The nickname feels foreign and strange when spoken by someone who isn’t his dad.

Hiori stands up and reaches out, his grip firm as his hand meets Yohei’s. “Likewise. And… thank you for taking care of my mom.”

His words come out even and controlled. Not bitter, not overly enthusiastic. Just an honest acknowledgment of the truth.

They break apart, and Hiori quickly steps back, his eyes flicking to the floor. You sense the tension and immediately step in, introducing yourself with a bright smile, your voice warm and friendly.

Yohei’s eyes soften, his shoulders visibly relaxing as you greet him. He thanks you for coming, his voice gentle and sincere, and you can feel the atmosphere slowly thawing.

Dinner is surprisingly lively, mostly thanks to Ryuu’s animated storytelling. He recounts the videos he watched earlier with you and Hiori, his eyes wide with excitement as he describes each move with exaggerated hand gestures.

“And then Big Brother—” Ryuu’s voice falters, his eyes darting to Hiori as if seeking permission.

He meets Ryuu’s gaze, and after a moment, he gives a small but gentle smile.

Ryuu beams, his face lighting up as he continues, “Big brother did this crazy move where he passed the ball behind his back without even looking!” He leans closer to his dad, his eyes sparkling. 

“It was so cool! I wanna learn how to do that someday.”

Yohei’s eyes widen, his brows arching in surprise. His gaze shifts to Hiori, his expression softening. “Is that so?” He ruffles Ryuu’s hair affectionately.

“Well, if your big brother is willing to teach you, then I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

He looks at Ryuu, the boy’s face glowing with excitement, and for a brief moment, he feels something unfamiliar… something like belonging.

When dinner finally ends, you offer Junko help to wash the dishes while the men move to the living room.

Ryuu slumps back in front of the TV, watching more Bastard Munchen clips. 

Yohei looks over at Hiori, his expression thoughtful. “I heard from your mom that you were sick and got benched during a match.” His voice is soft, laced with genuine concern.

Hiori blinks, surprised. “Mom’s just exaggerating. It was an exhibition match, and we were trying new things on the field.” He shrugs, trying to play it off.

Yohei nods, his face relaxing. “That’s good to hear. Your mom worries a lot.” His lips curve into a gentle smile. “She always talks about you… how proud she is of you.”

A lump forms in Hiori’s throat, his eyes dropping to his lap. “Yeah… I know.” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

To break the tension, Hiori clears his throat. “Mom mentioned you’re a physical therapist?”

Yohei’s face brightens. “Yeah. I’ve been working with athletes for years, along with the usual cases that come my way. It’s rewarding, helping people get back on their feet.”

Hiori’s interest is piqued. “Do you work with football players, too?”

“Occasionally. Mostly with runners and swimmers, but I’ve had a few football clients. It’s fascinating… the way the body moves during a match, the strain on the muscles.” Yohei’s eyes light up as he speaks, his passion evident.

They fall into an easy conversation about training, stretching, and how to properly take care of his body as an athlete. Yohei even points out Hiori’s posture, teasing him about how Junko mentioned he hunches over while playing video games.

Hiori laughs, his shoulders relaxing, the awkwardness fading just a little.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Junko hands you a plate to dry. 

“Thank you… for being here with him. I don’t think he could have done this alone.” Her voice is thick with emotion.

You smile gently. “He’s stronger than he thinks. But I wanted to be here. For him.”

Junko’s eyes glisten, her lips trembling. “He’s changed so much. And it gives me hope. Maybe we can find our way back to each other.” Her voice cracks just a little and you feel like the damn might break any moment now.

Before you can respond, Hiori appears in the doorway, his face serious. “Mom… can we talk?”

Your heart tightens, knowing he needs this moment. You give him a reassuring nod before slipping out to the living room, joining Ryuu as he replays Hiori’s highlight videos.

Junko gestures to the dinner table, her hands trembling as she pulls out a chair. Hiori follows suit, sitting down across from her, his body rigid, his fingers twisting together in his lap. He can’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the table.

Silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Then, Hiori lets out a shaky breath, his voice breaking the quiet. “Thanks for dinner. And for inviting me.”

Junko’s lips tremble, her eyes glistening. “I—I wanted to see you. It’s been so long. And… I missed you, Yo-kun.” Her voice wavers, the vulnerability raw and exposed.

Hiori’s chest tightens, his heart aching at the pain in her voice. He swallows thickly, his fingers gripping his knees under the table. “I missed you too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it was easier to stay away.”

Junko’s face crumbles, her shoulders shaking. She drops her head, her hands clenching the dish towel as she fights back tears. “I know. I deserve that. I deserve every bit of that.”

Hiori’s fingers twitch, his throat tightening. “I was so angry. For so long.” His voice wavers, his eyes stinging. “I hated you. And Dad. Even football. I hated everything.”

“I thought—I thought it was my fault. That if I was better, you and Dad would’ve been happier.” His voice cracks, the vulnerability raw and exposed.

“I was the reason everything fell apart.”

Junko’s head snaps up, her eyes wide and horrified. “No… no, Yo-kun. No.” She moves without thinking, reaching across the table, her hands trembling as she takes his.

“It was never your fault. Not even for a second.” Her grip tightens, her voice desperate.

“You dad and I were wrong. For pushing our dreams to you. You were just a child back then and our motivations were in the wrong.”

Junko lets out silent sob, her face buried in her hands. “I failed you as a mother. I was selfish and weak.”

"I wish I could go back and do it all over. I wish I had been a better mother to you.” Junko’s words felt heavy, filled with pain and regret. His chest heaves, his shoulders shaking.

But amidst the pain, he feels something shift, easing the tightness in his heart.

“I’m not mad. Not anymore.” Hiori’s voice is quiet, steady. 

“I—I was. For a long time. But I’m not anymore.” He looks up, his eyes meeting hers. 

“You… you’re good to him. To Ryuu. And you look happy.” He pauses, his voice cracking. “I want you to be happy, Mom.”

Junko gives him a small smile. “I want that for you too. More than anything.”

Hiori takes a shaky breath, his fingers squeezing hers. “I’m 26 now. I’m an adult. And things are different. You have a new family. New priorities.” He pauses, his voice wavering. 

“We’ll just do better and figure things out. But this is a good start, right?”

Tears well up in Junko’s eyes as she tries to hold herself back from crying. Hearing those words from her son felt like a huge weight from her shoulders were lifted.

“Thank you, Yo-kun. And for what it’s worth, no matter how different things are now, I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always be in your corner.”

She stands, her chair scraping against the floor as she rounds the table, her arms wrapping around him. Hiori’s body stiffens, his breath hitching. But then, his arms move, wrapping around her, holding her close.

They stand there, their shoulders shaking as they softly cry in each other's arm. The years of pain, anger, and loneliness still there but slowly melting away, replaced by a fragile hope.

It’s not perfect. It’s not a fairytale ending. The scars will always be there, reminders of what was lost. But it’s a start.

Things can’t be fixed. Not completely.

But that doesn’t mean they can’t get better.

And maybe this is how things get better.

amari's notes: this is the longest chapter by far, thank you for the wait! jan and feb have been so busy for me so i didn't really have much energy to write but now, i'm planning to get back into it! also this chapter is really close to my heart, being a child of divorce who is also an only child and an eldest siblings to my half-siblings an all, i feel like hiori would be the type to be protective of his step brother. a lot to unpack in this chapter but i didn't want to make it longer huhu. anw, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask. i'll greatly appreciate it! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (if you wanna join the taglist, just comment or send me a message!)

taglist: @inu1gf @pookalicious-hq @dontmindtheevie @wannabepoeticischiya @chokifandom @momoriii-i

[solarismoons]

SPOILERS FOR S2 EP7 OF SCHOOL SPIRITS

Mr. Martin rowing away with Janet is so ominous…

His acting is SO great. His mannerisms and the way he speaks is so perfect. “We deserve this.”

“It makes me sad.. That we couldn’t have gone to any of these places together.” NO one can tell me Maddie doesn’t like Wally as much as he likes her. That girl is in love.

I genuinely didn’t expect everyone to be right about Yuri and Charley! They recreated that pottery making scene!! I did not expect them to get freaky, but i’m NOT complaining.

IM GONNA SCREAM. The way Wally hooked his finger in her bra strap??? My heart is actually beating so fast..I know i’ve said this before, but the tongue is INSANE.

I love how the ghosts are having sex with each other while the living kids are literally crashing out.

I really wish we saw Quinn going into her scar for the first time… I really wonder what it would’ve looked like.

IM ACTUALLY CRYING. I did NOT expect to see Milo’s bare ass today, but DAMN… My jaw dropped to the FLOOR.

“It’s kind of hard not to think about everything that’s waiting for me here.” Ugh, don’t make me cry today PLEASE.

I’m a little surprised there was no talk of Maddie begin a virgin, since that seemed fairly important to her in the first season. I’m not complaining at all though, because WOW..

“Oh, god! I’m gonna need to guys to peel yourselves off each other and come down to the library stat.” The way Maddie nor Wally didn’t even TRY to cover up is killing me. They genuinely don’t GAF.

They were planning on torturing the other ghosts?? This just keeps getting worse and worse the more we learn.

“I’m glad it was you, too.” Please don’t make me like these two together…

‘Notice of suspension’??? God, i feel so awful for Simon. I never even thought of how this affected him. He’s missed so many classes countless times.. What about his future? He flunked that one college admission interview, too. If anything bad happens to Simon, i’m throwing a tantrum.

Oh my god… Poor Rhonda. I love her so much. Knowing she was alone with Janet and Mr. Martin for so long is just so horrifying.

I didn’t expect Dawn to be so involved! I love how she’s really not stupid or airheaded. She’s just a little eccentric. I’m so glad we got another scene with her.

This show is honestly a horror movie at this point… ‘Mr. Anderson’ being soaking wet, covered in mud with his head gushing blood walking around with a fireplace poker is terrifying. My heart is beating so fast.

Mr. Martins manipulating Janet is infuriating. I don’t even have the words to express how much I hate him.

Poor Quinn! I feel so bad. “I died knowing that everyone was mad at me.” My baby 😞💔💔.

“You can’t just leave me now.” STOP. I love them so much it hurts so bad.

I really didn’t expect Simon and Maddie to argue but it was bound to happen.

“Is this because of Wally?” I called it. I fucking called it. I KNEW this was going to come up. Kristian’s acting always gets me. I love Simon so much.

Patrick Gilmores acting is amazing. He somehow even sounds like Mr. Martin and it’s terrifying. Also, he’s lowkey hot and i’m not sorry for saying that.

Mr. Martin forcing Janet into the hellscape made me sick to my stomach.

This fandom is so smart it blows my mind. Everyone said Mr. South must know more about the scars than we had thought. I kind of thought he was just being melodramatic, but the more we saw the scars I changed my mind.

Everyone was right about the scar being Mr. Martin’s. This makes a whole lot more sense. The woman could’ve been his finance, considering the fact that we haven’t seen her before.

This episode was genuinely insane. I still haven’t even fully processed anything.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

For the first time in years, Ser Criston Cole is not guarding his Queen. Alicent has sent him on a covert mission to retrieve her wayward daughter, who has fled from the prospect of marrying her twin brother. It was supposed to be simple, but he quickly finds that the girl he thought to be so like her elder half-sister is in fact quite different.

Author's Note: We are absolutely, uneqivicolly, without a doubt not mentioning that this was planned to be a part of my 2023 12 Days of Smuff. The muses are fickle bitches and I'm a natural procrastinator, what can I say? It's also late for the second writing event it's a part of so maybe just start expecting it at this point.

Pairing: Ser Criston Cole x Aegon's Twin!Reader (3rd person)

Warnings: accidental stimulation

This work is a part of my 12 Days of Smuff event! Read the rest here.

This work is also part of the @hotd-bigbang House of the Dragon Ships Month for Trope Week!

My Masterlist

Ser Criston Cole held his charge close against his chest as his horse slowed, knowing her legs were likely numb after riding for half the day. Queen Alicent would not be pleased if he let her eldest daughter topple into the mud. She would not be happy that he was taking her to this decrepit little town, either, but they were still more than a full day’s travel away from King’s Landing, and the princess needed rest.

Indeed, she groaned with relief as they approached the inn, with its ramshackle walls and crooked sign. “Thank the gods,” she mumbled. “I thought you were going to make me sleep on the horse. Or in the woods.”

He had considered it. They were more likely to be discovered in a town. But it would be far easier to protect her if she was within solid—or at least, mostly solid—walls. They would be out in the open in the woods, too exposed. He would not only be looking out for men who would harm her but the beasts of the forest as well.  And if she were to somehow escape him, it would be far easier for her to hide in the forest. Far easier for her to get herself killed.

Yes, the town was better. Even if it was as seedy as Flea Bottom and as filthy as a stable. It certainly smelled like a stable.

Criston guided his horse to the side of the inn, dismounting and hitching it before he turned back to the princess. “Pull your hood tighter,” he instructed, “do not let it fall.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance, but she obeyed, pulling her hood tighter than was truly necessary, the same petulant show of dramatics Criston had come to expect of her and her twin brother. And her half-sister, he thought with a twinge.

The gods must be punishing him for that transgression for him to again be tasked with chaperoning a girl so like the one he had broken his oath for. It was well-deserved. But he was determined to bear it with as much dignity as he could muster. He stood at the horse’s side and raised his hands to the Princess’ waist.

“I can do it myself,” she snapped.

He knew she could not. Could see the tightening of her jaw as she tried to swing her leg over, only to find it would not move at all. On any other day, he would let her struggle until she wore herself out and asked for his help.

Today, however, he did not have the time. He needed to get her inside and safe as quickly as possible so they could set out all the earlier the following morning. So, he took hold of her, ignoring her yelps of protest and her fists pounding against his shoulders, and lifted her off the horse.

The moment she was on the ground, she wobbled dangerously, and the arms that had been attempting to push him away held tightly to him. He let her steady herself for a moment. “Are you able to walk?”

She glared at him but then looked down to frown at her legs. “I think so.”

“Hold to my arm and stay close.” Criston moved slowly as they rounded the corner of the building, allowing her to find her footing before they entered the inn.

The princess paused at the door, eyes narrowing as she took in the broken sign dangling from the wall. “I thought inns were supposed to be cozy.”

“Some are,” he answered, tugging at her arm to pull her forward, “not this one.”

“Can we not find one that is?”

With a sigh, he faced her, leaning down to meet her eye. “Do you wish to get back on the horse, princess?” She blanched and shook her head. “Then this is it.”

She clung to him as they entered the inn and paid the keeper a gold dragon for his best room, never allowing even a hair’s breadth between his arm and hers.

The inn’s ‘best room’ put half of Flea Bottom to shame.

The floor was crooked. The glass of the single window was spiderwebbed with a thousand tiny cracks. And the bed—the one, small bed—rested on wood blocks rather than proper legs. It was not a place where a princess should sleep. It was hardly a place where anyone should sleep. But it was already dark out, and he would not risk the princess just because he did not want to sleep in such a hovel.

“Do you need to visit the washbasin? Or the privy?” Criston asked the princess, not looking at her eyes. In his periphery, he saw her blush and shake her head. “Good. Get in bed.”

He released the princess’ arm and locked the door behind them, then shoved his dagger into the gap by the hinges as an extra precautionary measure.

When he turned back, he was surprised to see the princess had obeyed his order without protest. It was unlike her. Like her half-sister, she had always fought back against his every command. But not now. It was strange in a way he could neither understand nor explain, yet it made him want to smile.

“Where will you sleep?” she asked. He finally looked at her and found her visibly nervous—her eyes wide, darting about, and hands clutching tightly to the blanket. When he said nothing, she bit her lip and turned away.

She was afraid. Not of returning home and facing her mother or the brother she was to marry, but of the place they were in and what may happen to them. Though it was good to be afraid—it would make her more alert and aware—he could not help his desire to reassure her.

“I will sleep on the floor,” he said as he removed his cloak to bundle for his pillow. “Between you and the door.”

“Will it not be too uncomfortable?”

Criston shrugged. “I slept in more discomfort when I was a soldier.”

“But that was when you were young.”

He froze. “When I was ‘young?’ Are you suggesting that I am old?”

She blushed again, ducking her head to hide her slight smile. “I did not say that.”

Rhaenyra once smiled at him in the same way. Damn. The thought only served to make him angry, even if he knew it was not the princess’ fault that she resembled her half-sister in certain lights. He bunched up his cloak and threw it to the ground. “I am not old.”

“You were a man grown when I was born, were you not?”

She was turning it into a game, masking her own fear by taunting him. Criston knew it, and yet he took the bait. If it helped her to feel safe and sleep, he would play the fool. “I was.”

Her smile brightened. “And I am now a woman grown, about to be married. That makes you, my dear Ser Criston, old.” She was giddy and giggling as she lay on the bed and buried herself beneath the stack of threadbare quilts. “Now get in the bed. You are of no use as my protector if you are too stiff to raise your sword.”

His heart sank. Not for the commentary on his age—he would admit that her logic there was sound—but for the fact that to lay in bed with her was a dangerous thing. A temptation that echoed his lowest moment.

The gods were not punishing him. They were testing him.

Another Targaryen princess. Another innocent game. Another opportunity to break his oath and sully his honor.

“What would your future husband think?” Both a refusal and a reminder of why he had followed her halfway to Duskendale to bring her back to King’s Landing. And if she were trying to coax him, as Rhaenyra did, perhaps it would make her angry enough to abandon the effort.

As expected, her smile immediately fell, and the playfulness vanished from her eyes. “Aegon spends every night on the Street of Silk. What right has he to judge me for simply ensuring the comfort of my escort?”

Again, Criston could not fault her logic. Still, he had to argue, “He is to be your husband and king.”

“Of that, I am all too aware,” she whispered. But she did not snipe back at him. She did not smile, nor frown. All the fight seemed to leave her in a single moment, along with her energy. Sighing, she closed her eyes and turned to face the wall. “Get in the bed or do not. I no longer care.”

He did not quite know how to respond to that, to her seemingly… giving up. In all her life, he had never seen her do that. Rhaenyra certainly had never done so.

Then again, Rhaenyra was never forced to marry her fool of a twin brother.

When the betrothal had been announced, Criston had pitied her. At every event where she was forced to sit next to Aegon while he drank himself silly and groped at serving girls and ladies alike, he had pitied her. When he and Queen Alicent had happened upon her in the Grand Sept, where she begged the gods to deliver her from the marriage, he pitied her. Yet, when she fled, and the king commanded him to track her down and bring her home, he did not hesitate to obey.

For the first time since he found her trying to trade one of her earrings for a new pair of shoes in the common room of the Old Stone Bridge, he felt guilty for what he was doing.

No matter how much he pitied her and wished he could aid her in some other way, he served the king, and the king had commanded him to bring the princess home. He could not disobey, but he could give her this one small concession.

So, Criston laid on the bed beside her, atop the blankets despite the cold, and as far away as he could manage without falling off the edge. He would not be able to sleep like this, but at least the princess could.

After a while, he was sure she had fallen asleep. Until she grumbled, “You are cold, Ser Criston.”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with, princess.”

She huffed. “I truly am not allowed to be concerned for you?”

“No, you are not.”

Once again, she fell silent.

Then, just when Criston thought she might have fallen asleep again, “Am I allowed to complain that your shivering is keeping me awake?”

Damn the girl.

Criston rearranged himself under the blankets and turned away from the princess. If she were Rhaenyra, she would likely ask that he hold her to keep her warm.

But she was not Rhaenyra, and soon, her breathing softened and steadied.

With that settled, Criston closed his eyes, even if he would not fall asleep.

Criston fell asleep.

He must have, for he found himself startling awake with a soft moan and the mortifying realization that his cock was hard.

Gods, he would never forgive himself for this. He was sharing a bed with the young princess, and he was hard. No better than a young boy after catching his first glimpse of a woman’s bare leg if he reacted like this, even with the space between them. Except…

There was no space between them.

Not anymore. The princess now lay flush against him, her back pressed to his chest, her head resting on one of his arms while her waist was safely cradled in the other, and her… rear pressed against his traitorous, treasonous, troublesome cock.

The gods truly, deeply hated him, for she was dreaming. Actively.

Every movement brought a light, teasing, agonizingly wonderful pressure. It took every bit of his will not to follow her rhythm, to not press back against her. Instinct warred with oath, and Criston was caught in the crossfire with no escape.

He could not disentangle himself from her without waking her. If she woke, she would feel him against her. Perhaps with her younger sister, he could be confident that she would not realize what it meant, but with a twin such as Aegon, he had no doubt she would know.

But if he did not, if he allowed her to continue her movements, he would soon find himself in an even more embarrassing situation that he would not be able to conceal when she woke in the morning.

That was the decision made.

Slowly removing his hand from around her waist, Criston pulled his hips as far away as he could. Only when he felt there was no chance of her feeling his predicament did he press against her shoulder and whisper, “Princess, wake up.”

He should have gotten out of the bed.

The Princess startled, spinning around to face him, draping an arm around his neck and pulling him close. She moved so fast that he could do nothing to stop her legs from entangling with his, her thigh pressing between his legs and forcing a gasping groan from him.

Her eyes grew wide as she felt his hardness against her, but when she again faced him, they changed. The violet of her eyes faded, overtaken by growing blackness, her eyelids heavy with sleep and something that heated Criston’s blood when it should chill it. Yet even as those eyes fell to his mouth, they held no trace of the mischief he had seen the last time he was so close to a Targaryen princess.

She wanted him but made no move to take him.

It only made him want to kiss her more.

But he could not do that. The gods had given him this chance at redemption and he refused to fail again.

Criston shoved the princess away and rolled out of the bed, crossing the room in two strides to rest his forehead against the rough wood of the door, willing his heart, his blood, and his cock to calm.

Voices, laughter, and music from a very poorly tuned fiddle still bled through the gaps in the doorframe. But no light came through the window, not even from the slight sliver of the moon that had begun to rise when they arrived. Night, but perhaps still early within it? The hour of the eel?

Whatever it was, it meant it would be some time yet before he could resume taking the princess back to King’s Landing.  

“Did I…” Her voice trembled slightly. Was she simply cold? Or was she hurt by him pushing her away? “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he had to take a moment to catch his breath. Perhaps he was getting old. “No. I have done you wrong, princess. I am deeply sorry.”

When they returned to the Red Keep, he would confess his sins to both the gods and his queen. She had mercy on him all those years ago, she could forgive him again, absolve him of his repeated shame.

But this was not Rhaenyra, her erstwhile friend turned stepdaughter and rival. This was her daughter, her second-born child. When she and Aegon were born, Criston had held them before their father did. He had played with them, taught them. Tried to guide them as best he could so they would not feel the absence of their father.

And now, he had come so close to defiling her.

No, his queen would not forgive him for this. He would not forgive himself.

“There is nothing to apologize for, Ser Criston.”

He turned to look at her in bewilderment. ‘Nothing to apologize for?’ According to law, he should be gelded or killed. Two times over. “Yes, there is, my princess. I have dishonored you, myself, and my oath.”

She stood, the blanket draped over her shoulders like a cloak. “No, there is not.”

“Princess – ”

“No, it was my fault!” Her uncharacteristic anger – petulance was more characteristic of her than true anger – was enough to stun him into silence. He only hoped none in the common room heard the slight outburst. But there was no pause in the din nor the truly awful fiddling. “I am the one who tried… I wanted to kiss you, but I should not have done that. I just thought…”

Even knowing that she wanted him, hearing her say it sent a strange feeling of warmth through Criston’s body. “What did you think, princess?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked steadfastly at her feet. “I thought you might want to kiss me, too.”

Gods forgive him. He had wanted to kiss her and still wanted to. But he could not tell her that for his own sake and hers. “What we want is not always possible,” he said. It felt cruel to tell her, even though she must know. It felt like crushing the hopes of the little girl he had known for so long as if it were nothing more than the hollow shell of an egg. “I have sworn an oath that forbids me from…  such things. And you are to be married.”

Her face hardened, and for a moment, Criston could see the fierceness of a Targaryen queen in her eyes as she spat, “That didn’t stop you with Rhaenyra.”

His heart turned to lead, its weight enough to pull him through the floor and the earth itself. “Whatever you heard –”

“Rhaenyra told me herself.” She sank back onto the bed, her body drawing in on herself as if she were being scolded rather than exposing the truth of his sins. “Back when she still talked to us. I believe she thought I was too young to understand or remember what she said. She did that a lot, actually.”

Her eyes grew distant, lost in the memory of a sister who was her sister no more, but her enemy. Indeed, her small, sweet smile quickly gave way to a pained grimace. “I do not remember everything she told me, but I remember that. It was a while before I truly understood it, but I remembered. I think… because it was about you.”

“I wish you did not,” he said. “Remember. It is a shame I have long sought to forget myself.”

Silence fell over them like heavy rain, interrupted only by the occasional shouting from the common room. Criston thanked the gods many times over when he was finally able to rid himself of his lust. It was, perhaps, not entirely vanished, but enough so his body finally calmed.

Pity and guilt washed in to replace it. Pity for the poor girl he cared so deeply for who wanted only the one thing he could not – would not – give. Guilt for nevertheless wanting to give it, guilt for the hapless life he was delivering her to, and guilt for the fact that it was his wrongdoings that had led her here.

“Did you love her?”

The answer came easily, instinctually. “No.”

He had never admitted to loving Rhaenyra, but he had never denied it. After all, if he had loved her, was the sin not lessened? Love was the greatest virtue of the gods, so even if it could not erase the stain on his honor and soul, could it not at least redeem him from damnation?

But he did not love Rhaenyra.

“It was not love,” he declared to himself, the princess, and the gods. “I once believed it was, but in truth, it was no more than a foolish infatuation.”

That was what he was – a fool. On that night and now.

The princess’ voice was so soft Criston nearly could hardly hear it over the murmurings of the busy inn. “I do not love Aegon.”

He knew. Still, “I am sorry, princess.”

“I do not want to marry someone I do not love.” She picked absentmindedly at the skin around her nails. “And I do not want to be queen.”

But she must. It was her duty, and that was not something anyone could escape – not even a Targaryen. Criston certainly had not been able to. Yet he could not bring himself to say so. Instead, he asked, “What do you want?”

“What I want – what I was going to do before you found me,” she gave a humorless laugh. “I was going to find a ship to take me across the Narrow Sea to Lys. My great aunt Saera said she would take me in while I figured out what to do after that.”

Criston’s eyes widened at the name. “Princess Saera? The Old King’s daughter?”

She nodded, jutting her chin out in defiance of the reproach that was surely coming, even as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I have been corresponding with her for the better part of a year.”

“In secret?” She nodded again, and his body began to feel as if it were made of molten lead.

A year. She had been planning this escape for nearly a year. It was not, as he had assumed, just an impulsive, rebellious notion but a proper plan. A plan she had risked all her hopes and dreams and happiness upon. A plan he had foiled in mere days, and with such dismissive contempt for her in his heart.

The weight of his guilt became so heavy he could not bear it, and he fell to his knees before her. Of all the sins he committed since Rhaenyra had shackled him with his white cloak, this was the worst—a step too far, even for him.

This lovely princess, a future queen, was good. Sweet and pure and full of hope in a hopeless world. When he looked at her, he no longer saw the impish young girl who so happily followed Aegon in his mischief, but the beautiful, kind woman she had grown into.

He could not condemn that woman to the misery that surely awaited her should she marry Aegon. Whether it damned his soul or cost him his life, he could not.

So, he enveloped her hands in his and gazed up at her eyes. A softer shade of violet than Rhaenyra’s, and all the more beautiful. All the sounds and smells of the awful inn faded away as he looked into those eyes. “If you would allow me, princess,” he swallowed the slight lump in his throat, torn between grief and elation at the prospect of her saying yes, “I would be honored to accompany you on your journey.”

The princess smiled, and as he basked in its radiant glow, Criston realized that what the gods offered by bringing him to her was not temptation or redemption but the chance at a new beginning. A new life. With her.

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