#I will never return to the light when it finally happens

[mononijikayu]

say so — nanami kento.

As you looked at him, you knew that he knew that. But he was only human. It wasn’t easy to not be swayed by human doubts and impulse. You never faulted him for that. If anything, it made you fall in love with him over and over again.  Because your Kento was both sides of the coin of human life. And you embrace it, more than you could ever imagine. Love is just that way. You knew that to be true. You stepped closer, your hands sliding up his arms to rest on his shoulders, grounding him. “Kento, I want you. Only you.” you said, your voice filled with the sincerity you hoped he could feel. “I want you more than anything. Because you’re my life. My oxygen. My everything.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Post-Shibuya Arc, R-18, Smut, Fingering, P to V Sex, Passionate Sex, Pet Names (My Love, Baby), Romance, Friends to Lovers, Husband and Wife, Friendship, Husband! Nanami, Reader! Wife, Fluff, Drama, Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Jealousy, Teasing, Fix-It, Humor, Domesticity, Family Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Idiots In Love, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Pining, Nanami Being A Great Husband, Nanami Kento is FATHER™️;

WORDS: 9.5k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: nanami won my poll again!!! hurray!!! here's tmi about this - thiis was half way finished when i came back to write it, but then i got sick again and i started writing this more differently than my direction. i got frustrated so i stopped for a while then i forgot about it and then i wanted to finish it.

oh, also kento and you speak danish at home, because you both feel like a secret language between you and him. gojo is also retired — thats going to be in us and them!!! thank you so much for waiting!!! thank you for reading too!!! i love you all !!! see you in the gojo fic (second place) <3

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next: little wonders

HE THOUGHT THAT HE WOULD ALWAYS BE NONCHALANT. Nanami Kento never thought he’d be the type to get jealous. After all, he prided himself on being calm and composed, grounded in logic.

But lately, things have changed. You had changed—or rather, something about you had. At least that’s what he noticed now that you’ve come back to Tokyo, so he could become a mentor to the kids with Gojo’s retirement. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Nanami Kento had finally left the endless grind of Jujutsu society, traded the blood and curses for a quiet life in Malaysia, far from the threat of battle.

But when he got that call, it felt like the past had come clawing back, unwilling to let him go. Itadori Yuji’s name on Gojo’s lips stirred something within him—something old, duty-bound, and unwilling to see an innocent youth, especially one with Yuji’s heart, left adrift.

Gojo Satoru's concern was about more than just Yuji, though. Nanami listened as the retired special grade sorcerer, sitting on a cruise across the globe, rattled off frustrations with the new leadership at Jujutsu High and Jujutsu society as a whole. All of it having formed with what he had known from his contacts back at hom.

At the center of it was Usami. That man, the strongest of all first class sorcerers, Usami, who never defied the higher-ups, who prioritized orders and tradition over compassion, whose unfeeling approach Gojo had seen all too often among those aligned with the elders.

Nanami Kento knew the type. They were the very people he’d worked so hard to avoid throughout his career, the type who saw Jujutsu sorcerers as tools more than as people, especially the students.

Now, with Gojo’s absence, Usami had stepped into a more central role at Jujutsu High, and Gojo wasn’t comfortable with it. Why would he? He’s still supporting the remaining conservative factions in Jujutsu High.

There was no other way to feel about it other than this, but concern. The return of a conservative faction, under Gakuganji, would stifle Gojo’s gambles these past few years. Gambles Kento had agreed with, even if not wholeheartedly. 

“I don’t want him making decisions for my students, you know? I’m sure you agree about that with me too.” Gojo said bluntly, his tone carrying the usual lazy confidence but undercut by a genuine concern. “They’ve been through enough. They deserve someone who understands them.” 

Kento could hear Gojo's frustration; it was an unusual tone in the voice of someone who otherwise seemed to brush off his troubles. And in that sentiment, Nanami found himself nodding in agreement. It didn’t sit well with him, either. But what could he do? He is retired now, isn't he? There was no need for this chatter.

Gojo, as though reading his hesitation, chuckled knowingly over the line. “Look, I’m technically retired too, Nanami. I know your feelings about this.” he said with that familiar cheek in his voice. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t meddle. Keeps me busy as I get old, you know? Gojo clan head is empty without any drama.” 

There was a pause, and Kento didn’t know what to say. Gojo Satoru, even in their younger years, used his status to continue to advocate for his interests. And Kento didn’t like it as much, he was someone who liked rules, after all.

Even if he agreed with them, he thinks about the context of propriety. But he knows the soul of Gojo’s argument. He agrees with that. Gojo’s voice softened on the other line.

“Don’t you ever want to keep busy too? I mean, especially when your wife’s at her job? You’re both still in the thick of it, in your own ways. Being a house husband doesn’t always satisfy the itch. Before you rebuttal, you know I’m not lying. ”

Nanami sighed. Gojo’s words struck a nerve. He’s not wrong. Genmei–san also works still, helping out at temples when she has the time. Most of the time, if they weren’t on holiday, it would be Gojo waiting at home and taking care of their children. For a moment, Nanami sat down to think about it properly. 

You were deeply invested in your work as a novelist. You adore it, you truly do. But often, it’s hard for you to deal with. You were just as much an independent person in your own right and that was your own mission, your own purpose.

He admired you for that, but there were times when he found himself wondering about his place. He adores taking care of you, he adores being by your side all the time. He adores being your house–husband. 

But he often questions, besides that, away from the frontline, away from Jujutsu, what was his purpose now? Was he truly content to let the world of sorcery continue without him, even if it meant leaving those like Yuji to struggle without guidance? Or the kids? What can he do for them? What can he do now?

“Fine, Gojo.” Nanami finally muttered. “I’ll look into it. Just… don’t get used to this.” He could practically hear Gojo’s grin over the line, a smug sort of satisfaction that Nanami knew all too well.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Gojo replied smoothly in response. “But I’ll admit, it’s good to have you back, even if just for a little while.”

And so, he tried to muster the courage to tell you about what he had agreed to. Dinner was a warm, familiar ritual together. And by the beachside in Kuantan, everything about it was a wonder to behold.

The sounds of clinking plates and gentle conversation filled the room, and the two of you settled into the ease of being home together, savoring the evening without the rush of tomorrow hanging over you. 

You were halfway through telling him about something small that had happened during your day at the market when he cleared his throat, a subtle shift in his usual, deliberate movements. His fingers, wrapped around his glass, seemed to tighten slightly. You looked at him a little bit confused. 

“There’s something I need to tell you, my love.” he began, meeting your gaze with a calm determination. "I’ve decided… to return to Tokyo." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before he continued. "Jujutsu High needs someone to look after the first years. With Gojo retired, things are… in flux."

You blinked, feeling a jolt of surprise, but before you could fully react, he was already explaining, his tone quickening just a touch, as if he’d anticipated your questions. It was rare for your husband to be this way, to ramble about and have his bright brown eyes shake as he looked at you with a shaken uncertainty. But you know when he becomes this way, it’s because of things he cares about.

“It’s not active service, don’t worry about that, my love.” he assured, almost hurriedly, his hand drifting toward yours in an unspoken promise. “I’m not heading back into the field. It’s only to mentor the kids, give them someone they can rely on. They deserve that, especially now.”

You saw his resolve deepen as he spoke of them, the younger students who’d become like family over the years. His voice softened, and you could tell this wasn’t just about filling Gojo’s shoes. 

"I can’t abandon Yuji, he’s already without someone. I can’t really do much more damage by leaving him without someone." he said with quiet conviction, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you understood. 

“Kento—”

"I know how much he’s been through, and… I don’t want him facing it alone. Nobara, too—she’s so headstrong. She’ll need someone she can turn to, someone to help her channel all that fire. And Gojo’s bound to ask for updates on Fushiguro all the time. You know how he is with him. With them. I just….I just don’t want them to feel so alone about this at all. Usami is gaining some foothold and the conservatives are just….its complicated.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you listened, watching the familiar strength in his face, the quiet protector in him springing back to life. Passion was beautiful in your husband. Seeing even more alive with such caring passion makes you happy.

His gaze held yours, steady and honest, a reassurance that his heart was set on this, that he wasn’t leaving you behind but rather doing what he felt was right, the only thing that made sense.

You let the warmth you felt for him reflect in your smile, reaching for his hand as it rested between you. “Of course, Kento.” you replied softly, squeezing his fingers with encouragement. “They couldn’t have anyone better.”

A soft exhale escaped him, the tension leaving his shoulders as he squeezed your hand back. Relief and gratitude flickered across his face, the subtle shift of a man who didn’t often ask for things but knew he’d been understood completely. There was no need for grand gestures or lengthy explanations between the two of you; your silent agreement spoke volumes.

The conversation turned to lighter things, back to the warmth of dinner. But every so often, you caught his expression softening, a look of contentment and resolve, knowing he was about to embark on something meaningful, not just for him, but for those who needed him.

But of course, that also came with cons.

The move to Tokyo was a calm one.

But it was also a disastrous one, in his mind.

You were both too busy to spend time together.

The shift was subtle at first. Kento began to spend more and more hours at Jujutsu High, guiding the first years, sharing his experience, and quietly observing their progress. He’d come home later than usual, sometimes with papers under his arm and a faint weariness in his expression that he tried to mask with a smile. 

Meanwhile, you were pouring yourself into your new book, the words and ideas flowing freely under the careful guidance of your new editor. It was an exciting time, both for your work and for him. There was a renaissance in your paths to life blossoming in your efforts. But there was a toll, a quiet distance neither of you fully acknowledged.

One evening, you noticed the weight in his gaze as he joined you at the table. He seemed quieter, his usual calm presence tinged with something else; something like sadness. You set down your work, reaching across to hold his hand, catching the faint glimmer of surprise in his eyes.

“Things have been so busy lately, my love.” he murmured, his voice soft, almost reluctant to admit it aloud. “I miss being able to spend more time with you.”

Your heart softened at his honesty, and you squeezed his hand gently. “I miss it too, Kento.” you replied, meeting his gaze with reassurance. “But you know how this is… the busy season. Soon, I’ll be back to post-writing mode, and we’ll have more time to do things together. This won’t last forever.”

He nodded, his lips curling into a small, understanding smile. “You’re right. It’s just… different.” There was a flicker of relief in his eyes, but it was short-lived.

As the weeks went on, your new editor’s involvement became more intense, often stretching into late-night calls or spontaneous meetings that kept you occupied well beyond the hours you’d once spent with Kento.

He’d catch you on the phone, your voice animated in a way that was hard to miss, even as he stood in the doorway waiting for a chance to say goodnight. It was hard to deal with, day by day.

But he said nothing, keeping his feelings carefully hidden behind the same mask of calm he’d worn so well for years. But you could sense it, the slight slump of his shoulders, the way his gaze lingered on you just a little longer.

It was as if he was hoping you’d glance up, catch his eye, and read the unspoken questions there. In the quiet moments, he’d watch you, a silent longing in his gaze, feeling the bittersweet ache of being close but somehow… not close enough.

It was an unspoken tension, a soft thread pulled too tight between the two of you. And though he never voiced it, you began to sense how much he missed you—not just physically, but in all the little moments you once shared, now slipping through his fingers.

After all, you guys were all you truly had in all these times. He would always crave everything about you. About loving you, about being close to you. Just you. He missed you.

Nanam Kento was sure that he hadi tried to be patient. He reminded himself, over and over, that this was temporary, just a busy period that would eventually pass. He knew how much this book meant to you and understood how important it was to have an editor who could match your energy and vision. 

But despite all his quiet resolve, he couldn’t ignore the pang of envy that crept in every time he saw you light up, laughing or discussing something animatedly over the phone.

The way you and your editor connected; it was undeniable. The easy flow between you two, the synergy that seemed to bridge ideas without any need for words, stirred something unsettled in him.

He would come home from a long day at Jujutsu high, weary but hopeful to catch up with you. Instead, he’d often find you mid-call, your voice carrying hints of excitement he hadn’t heard in a while. You’d wave him a quick greeting, mouthing that you’d be off soon, but “soon” stretched, and his footsteps grew slower on his way to your side.

It wasn’t that he doubted you or the love between you two. He trusted you deeply. But the way you seemed to come alive with this editor… it stung in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He knew you and this person worked well together, that they understood your work and helped bring out your best ideas. 

He understood it logically, but logic did little to quell the feeling of being left on the sidelines. After all, it was a feeling he recognized too well—the familiar ache of watching from a distance, of caring deeply and yet holding his tongue.

Some nights, he’d sit across from you at dinner, glancing up occasionally, only to see you distracted, your mind clearly still on your work. Or you’d mention a new idea your editor had suggested, a change you hadn’t considered but were now eager to explore.

And though he nodded, offering his encouragement, he couldn’t shake the thought: When was the last time I could make her smile like that?

As the weeks went by, he felt it more keenly, this quiet envy of the time you spent together. It wasn’t that he begrudged you for the partnership, but he couldn’t help wishing that he could have more of that side of you for himself; the side that was vibrant and full of life, that spark of curiosity and joy he’d always adored.

Nanami Kento wasn’t one to give voice to his insecurities easily, and he knew how silly he might sound, envious over something so innocent. He was a secured man, in all the ways he knew he was. He knew that too well. Yet as much as he told himself it was foolish, the feeling lingered.

So he held back, watching you in those moments with a quiet ache, determined to keep his envy hidden. He’d stay later at the school, throw himself into lesson planning, sometimes even offer to cover additional duties, as though it might distract him. But each time he came home, seeing you lost in conversation or laughter, he couldn’t shake the feeling that, for now, a part of you belonged to someone else.

He told himself it was just work. You had deadlines; he understood that. But there was something else. Whenever your phone pinged with a message, you’d check it quickly, smile to yourself, then type out a reply, sometimes with a small laugh or a shake of your head. And every time, he’d feel a sharp pang of something foreign to him: jealousy.

Kento tried to reason with himself. You were his wife, and he trusted you implicitly. You had built a life together, one based on love, understanding, and mutual respect. But that didn’t stop the gnawing feeling in his chest whenever he saw you so absorbed in those messages or whenever he saw that spark of excitement in your eyes when you talked about the feedback your editor gave you.

He knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t shake the thought. When he saw you typing away late into the evening, smiling at the screen, a quiet worry settled in the back of his mind. What was this editor like? Why did their input seem to matter so much to you? And why did Kento, who usually approached everything in life with composure, find himself so deeply unsettled?

Tonight, though, he’d had enough. He stood in the doorway to your office, watching you as you leaned over your laptop, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fully immersed in your work.

You looked beautiful, more beautiful than ever, but that same nagging feeling of jealousy coiled tighter in his chest. And before he could stop himself, something in him just snapped.

“So, my love.” he said, his voice calm yet edged with tension. “Another late night, huh?”

“Yeah, it would seem so!” You retort, noticing him. “You’ve just come home?”

“Just a while ago.” He says to you, watching you turn your head back to your computer. You were typing even faster. He was sure you were trying to finish it, now that he was home.

You looked up once again, a soft smile lighting up your face. “I didn’t even hear you come in. You came in as sly as a little cat!” You stretched, setting aside your laptop and glancing at him warmly. “I was just going over some notes. The editor had a few thoughts on the latest chapter.”

”Did he have any suggestions for this part?" he asked, casually trying to keep his tone even as he nodded toward your screen.

You looked up, clearly surprised. "Who, my editor?"

"Yeah, my love." he said, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he leaned against the doorframe. "It just seems like he's been really… involved in your work lately."

You tilted your head, noticing the unusual tension in his voice, the way his words held a heaviness that wasn’t like him. “Well, that’s what they’re paid to do, you know?” you replied gently, hoping to keep things light, maybe coax a smile out of him. 

But his expression didn’t shift. You could tell almost immediately. Instead, his eyes held a quiet, guarded intensity that stopped you in your tracks. Realizing this was more than a casual remark, you closed your laptop, giving him your full attention.

“Kento… Is something wrong?” you asked, voice soft, searching his face for a sign of what was going on inside him.

He crossed his arms, hesitating. For a moment, he almost looked as if he wanted to brush it off, to go back to his usual collected demeanor, but he stopped. Instead, he looked at you with an intensity that caught you off guard. 

“I know it’s irrational, and I know it’s probably nothing.” he said finally, his voice quiet, almost reluctant. “But… I don’t like seeing you so wrapped up in this person’s feedback. You’ve been smiling at your phone more than you do at me lately, and I’m… not exactly used to feeling like this.”

The vulnerability in his words, the admission from someone usually so calm and composed, made your heart soften instantly. You reached out, covering his hand with yours, feeling the tension there, the way his fingers reflexively squeezed back. 

“Kento, baby.” you said, voice warm. “You don’t have to feel that way. No editor or anyone else could ever mean as much to me as you do. None of them are you. There’s only one of you, you know?”

He relaxed just a little, his shoulders easing as he let your words sink in. But he didn’t let go of that guarded look, the one that still held a hint of uncertainty. “Then why does it feel like I’m… competing for your attention?” he asked, his gaze never leaving yours. It was a simple question, but the way he asked it, with a vulnerability that you knew he rarely revealed, struck you deeply.

You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. “I guess I didn’t realize how it looked.” you admitted, your thumb brushing lightly along his hand. “It’s just… I got excited about the project, and the new feedback’s been inspiring. But…I’m so sorry for not noticing or making you feel that way, baby.” 

You reached out, tracing a gentle hand down his arm, feeling the tension start to melt away as you looked into his eyes. “None of that compares to what I have with you. I hope you know that.  You’re the one I come home to, Kento. You’re the one who matters most. I love you. Only you.”

He seemed to exhale, his expression softening. You could see the quiet relief in his eyes, the way the tension finally started to lift, and it made you want to close whatever lingering distance was left between you. And then, his voice, low and almost hesitant, broke the silence.

“Tell me, my love.” he whispered, barely above a murmur. “Tell me that you want me. Just… say it.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice, that rare openness he was offering, made your heart ache in the best way. You don’t think you had ever felt like this before Kento. But every day since then, your heart has created more motions you could never understand. And you know, you just knew – it was because you loved him more than anything in life. 

As you looked at him, you knew that he knew that. But he was only human. It wasn’t easy to not be swayed by human doubts and impulse. You never faulted him for that. If anything, it made you fall in love with him over and over again. 

Because your Kento was both sides of the coin of human life. And you embrace it, more than you could ever imagine. Love is just that way. You knew that to be true. You stepped closer, your hands sliding up his arms to rest on his shoulders, grounding him.

“Kento, I want you. Only you.” you said, your voice filled with the sincerity you hoped he could feel. “I want you more than anything. Because you’re my life. My oxygen. My everything.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and before either of you could say another word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm, firm embrace. The warmth you had come to hold onto in this life. 

You sank into his hold, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your ear. There was a familiar comfort there, a quiet strength in his embrace, that had always felt like home.

For a few moments, you both stayed that way, close and quiet, as if the world outside had faded and left only the two of you. He lifted his head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead/

Kento murmured into your hair, his voice gentle. “Promise me you’ll take a break from work. I’ll do it too. We’ll spend time together. Just us. No one else.”

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, a soft smile spreading across your lips. “Of course, my baby. I can postpone everything else. If it’s you, everything else can wait. My husband being happy is more important to me!” you whispered.

A quiet sense of relief washed over him, and he held you a little tighter, his own smile finally breaking through, his usual calm confidence restored. For Kento, there was no greater feeling than knowing you were his and that you were here, sharing this quiet, peaceful moment with him.

As he held you close, he felt a deep contentment, one he rarely allowed himself to savor. The jealousy that had once gripped him faded entirely, replaced by a quiet certainty. Of course there should be. Why wouldn't there be?

The certainty that your love, your life together, was the one thing in the world he could rely on. That he was sure. You love him, after all. And as he closed his eyes, resting his chin atop your head, he silently thanked the universe for you, for this love that was more real, more enduring, than any fleeting worry or passing jealousy.

This, he thought to himself, was where he belonged. 

Right here, in this moment, in your arms.

Nowhere else can compare to this.

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GO AND HAVE A PICNIC. The night before you had agreed that it would be nice to enjoy the Tokyo sun, and have a picnic at the park. You talked about a cat cafe nearby too. He talked about how the yakisoba dish was introduced at his favorite restaurant. There were new spots popping out in Tokyo for you both to check out.

That’s what you agreed on. Today was supposed to be simple, a peaceful day just to unwind and enjoy each other’s company. But the moment you woke up and felt his gaze linger a bit longer.

Slowly, smoothly, you could feel his hand finding the curve of your waist, you knew that quiet was about to turn into something much more intense. You knew your husband too well. When he’s hungry — he remains hungry.

He pulled you close, his grip both gentle and possessive as his eyes darkened. “Mine, only mine.” he murmured, the word almost a growl, his fingers tracing your skin like he wanted to memorize every part of you. 

The world around you melted away as he took his time, every kiss and touch filled with a need that made your heart race. You let him, giving himself over as he murmured softly against your skin, “My pretty wife… just for me.”

You could feel him stretching you out so perfectly with his fingers, causing you to moan loudly. Your husband was good, too good at everything he does. But when it comes to you, he was beyond excellent. Your eyes felt hazy as he looked at you with that predatory stare. You held him even closer, your moan getting louder. 

Your head turns awry with the high as you continue to ride his fingers as he kisses your neck, you're stuck against the wall occupied by him. No one, not even your previous lovers, those green boy boyfriends were able to make you feel this good.

No one could make you feel this way. Only him. Only your husband, your Kento. And every single time, he knew it. Even with his jealousy, he knew it. You were always going to fold when it’s him. Only him. 

“K–Kento.” you moan out, your voice breathless as you rock against his fingers, the sensation overwhelming in the best way. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you can't help but lose yourself in the rhythm he creates. “You’re… you’re… oh—”

His eyes darken with desire, and a sly smile creeps onto his lips. “That’s it, my love.” he replies, his voice low and filled with warmth.

He peppered soft kisses along your neck, each one igniting a fire inside you that burned brighter with every passing second. His fingers pushed deeper, faster, and you felt so incredibly full, the exquisite stretch making your head spin.

“Come. Come for me.” he urged, his words wrapping around you like a spell, both a command and an invitation. The way he held you against the wall, the heat radiating from his body, only heightened the electric connection between you.

Every kiss he placed on your skin felt like a promise, an affirmation of the bond you shared. No one else had ever made you feel this way; so cherished and desired. With him, you were always ready to surrender completely, to give in to the overwhelming pleasure that built within you. Nothing else can compare with what you feel for your husband. Nothing. 

You could feel the tension coiling tighter, your body responding instinctively to his every touch. He was so good at remembering where to touch you next. After being together for this long, Kento knew your body even better than you. He knows how to make you cry, how to make you moan. He knows everything.

“Kento.” you gasped, the sound a mix of pleasure and longing, and as his fingers curled just right, that coil finally snapped. Your body shuddered, a wave of bliss crashing over you, leaving you breathless as you surrendered to the moment, lost in the magic of him.

You looked up at him, and his gaze was intense, filled with a mix of satisfaction and hunger that sent a rush of warmth through you. Without a word, he pressed his lips against yours, kissing you with a fervor that reignited the fire within. 

His movements were slow at first, but as he pushed his fingers one by one, even deeper, your moans escaped you uncontrollably, pulling him closer as you urged him on, wanting nothing more than to feel every bit of him.

Somehow, you had been able to accommodate every tight, muscular finger in his hand. And you knew it felt good. He knew it felt good. Because he knew just what to do. No one else would. Only Kento would.

He responded with a low, pleased growl, the sound reverberating through his chest as his free hand tightened around your hip, holding you possessively against him.

There was an undeniable power in the way he claimed you, every inch of his touch a reminder of the connection you shared. You felt cherished and owned, completely his in this intimate moment.

Each thrust of his fingers sent jolts of pleasure coursing through you, each stroke deliberate and filled with purpose. Your body responded eagerly, arching into him as you surrendered fully to the sensations, every moan escaping your lips urging him on.

The world outside ceased to exist; there was only you, him, and the electric energy that wrapped around you both, binding you together in a rhythm that felt both primal and tender.

As the intensity of the moment deepened, you could feel the heat radiating from him, a tangible connection that anchored you both in a world of your own. His lips traveled down to your neck, trailing kisses that ignited your skin, leaving behind a trail of fire. You could feel the way he held you, his grip firm yet gentle, and it made you crave more, the need building inside you like a rising tide.

“Just like that, my love.” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and teasing. The sound of his voice sent a thrill through you, adding to the layers of pleasure that enveloped you.

He continued to move his fingers with a deliberate slowness, coaxing every last ounce of ecstasy from your body. Each time he pushed deeper, you gasped, the sensations pulling you closer to the edge once again.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you could merge your bodies into one. Drool started to form from your lips as he thrusted even deeper, pleasure repetitive in your lips to his ears. He enjoyed it. He enjoyed making a mess of you way too much. 

“K–kento. Oh my….g—oddddd…..” you breathed, the urgency in your voice echoing your desire. You needed him, all of him, and you wanted to feel that connection intensify. He looked into your eyes, and in that moment, you saw the depth of his love mirrored in his gaze, a promise that went beyond the physical.

He quickened his pace slightly, and you felt every pulse of his fingers inside you, each thrust igniting a new wave of pleasure. You could sense the hunger in him, a deep-seated need to feel you unravel beneath him.

“You’re perfect, aren't you?” he said, the words reverberating through you as you lost yourself in the moment. His possessiveness only heightened your arousal, each stroke of his fingers an affirmation that you belonged to him, and he to you.

With every thrust, every kiss, you felt the world around you blur, leaving only the two of you entwined in a dance of passion. Your bodies moved together as if they were made to fit, every touch syncing perfectly. You surrendered completely, letting the waves of pleasure wash over you, pulling you under and lifting you higher.

“Come for me again, my love.” he urged, his voice a low growl filled with desire. You could feel the pressure building once more, and with a desperate need, you clung to him, riding the waves of sensation that coursed through you. 

The world outside faded entirely as you focused on the way he made you feel—alive, cherished, and utterly consumed by the moment. And as you finally tipped over the edge into bliss, you knew that this was where you belonged, wrapped in his arms, lost in your shared passion.

As the world outside faded into a distant hum, you and Kento found yourselves enveloped in an intimate cocoon, where it was just the two of you. His gaze held yours, deep and searching, as if he were reading the unspoken words that danced between you. The air was thick with anticipation, and your heart raced in sync with the pulse of the moment.

With a gentle touch, he caressed your cheek, his fingers trailing down to your neck, igniting sparks of warmth beneath his fingertips. The softness of his touch contrasted with the burning desire that simmered between you, creating a perfect tension that left you breathless. You leaned into him, craving the connection that felt both familiar and exhilarating.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice low and filled with warmth, laced with a hint of playful teasing that made your stomach flutter. You nodded, feeling a rush of trust and excitement wash over you. You knew he would take care of you, just as he always did.

As he shifted closer, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and safety. When he entered you, it was as if time stood still. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and intimacy that made you gasp softly. You could feel every inch of him, filling you completely, as he took his time, letting you adjust to the fullness.

Kento's eyes never left yours, and in that moment, you felt utterly cherished. Each movement was deliberate, as if he were savoring the connection between your bodies and the bond you shared. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both surrendered to the rhythm of your bodies.

“You’re so beautiful, my love.” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, and you could feel the sincerity in his words.

Those simple words sent a wave of warmth through you, making you feel both desired and loved. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him even closer, as if you could merge your souls together.

He held you firmly, as though afraid to let go, fingers pressing into your skin with a hunger that left no doubt of his intentions. His hands slid from your waist to your thighs, gripping you with an intensity that was both grounding and electric, each touch sparking a heat that made you shiver.

The way he held you was raw and consuming, as though he wanted to memorize the feeling of you beneath his hands, every curve, every softness. He knew everything like the back of his hand/

You could feel his breath, warm and steady, against your skin, each kiss he placed making you arch closer, melting into the strength of his hold. The roughness of his grip, his possessive energy, pulled you deeper.

It was like he was marking you as his, his touch heavy with a passion that left you breathless. He looked into your eyes, his gaze dark and intense, a silent promise of everything he wanted to give, everything he wanted to take.

The world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, his warmth surrounding you, his presence overwhelming in the best possible way. Every inch of you felt alive under his touch, every nerve alight with a need that only he could satisfy.

His hands continued to explore, leaving trails of warmth, his touch demanding yet tender, as if reassuring you that he was there, and you were his.

The heat between you intensified, his hands roaming slowly, leaving a trail of tingling warmth wherever they went. You trembled, feeling the power behind every touch, every possessive whisper.

You could feel him drinking in the sight of you, holding you close as if he didn’t want to let go. It wasn’t rushed; it was filled with a focused, possessive affection that only made you crave him more.

Time blurred as his movements became a mix of gentleness and intensity. His hands slid lower, holding you firmly, possessively, as he whispered your name.

His words washed over you, filled with longing and satisfaction as he whispered, “You’re mine. Only mine.” Each soft murmur made your breath catch, his voice rough with devotion.

Your husband had always had a way of grounding you, pulling you back to him in the moments you needed it most. He held you with a quiet strength, his touches both comforting and electric, each caress more deliberate than the last.

When the busy schedules and late nights began to take their toll, you’d find yourself in his arms, feeling the tension melt away as he made you his world.

He was possessive in the gentlest way, his lips tracing along your skin, his voice murmuring low, tender words that anchored you to the present.

"Mine, mine." he'd say, over and over, his voice a husky whisper as he pressed deeper, slow and unhurried, savoring each moment. "My beautiful wife, my one and only."

You let yourself unravel under his touch, feeling each surge of pleasure as he pulled you closer, his mouth finding yours in heated kisses, his hands firm as they held you against him. The world outside faded, and there was only him—each movement, each shudder of pleasure woven with his love and need for you.

And as your body trembled, giving in to the pleasure he offered, he’d whisper words that sent warmth spiraling through you: His only. His good girl. His good little wife.

With every pulse and every breath, he made you his, claiming you in the way only he could, and you felt yourself give in, letting him take what he needed, knowing that he was yours just as deeply.

In these moments, he was entirely yours, just as you were his, both of you wrapped up in a world where only the two of you existed. And as he held you close, that familiar need he had for you was clear in his eyes, you could feel the depth of his love; the way he wanted you, needed you—all pouring out with each possessive word and touch.

Every thrust was slow and measured, each movement deliberate and filled with purpose, as if Kento were painting a masterpiece with your bodies.

He took his time, carefully crafting a rhythm that drew you both closer to the edge of ecstasy, like the steady buildup of a powerful wave ready to crash upon the shore. Each moment felt like an eternity, stretched and molded by his touch, igniting every nerve ending with heat and longing.

Kento relished in the way you responded to him, the way your body quivered beneath him, your breaths coming in soft gasps that filled the space between you.

He liked making you wait, savoring the way your eyes widened in need and your body writhed, pleading for more. The way you mewled over and over again, lost in the depths of desire, was music to his ears, a siren call that drove him further into the depths of his own hunger for you.

��Please, Kento. More. More—” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation, the need pooling in the pit of your stomach. Each word was a plea, a yearning that echoed in the silence of the room, punctuated only by the soft sounds of skin meeting skin.

“P–please….pleaseeeee…..”

A teasing smile played on his lips as he leaned down, his breath warm against your neck. He bit gently into your flesh, a sweet sting that sent shivers of pleasure coursing through you, causing you to moan, tears streaming down your face from the overwhelming sensations flooding your body. 

“Enjoy it, my love. Enjoy the slow burn.” he murmured, his voice low and husky, wrapping around you like a silken ribbon. “Let’s have fun, hm?”

His words were a command and a caress, urging you to embrace the intensity of the moment. The way he spoke your name, the way he held you, felt like a tether pulling you deeper into the shared experience. You were both caught in a delicate dance, a balance of power and surrender, where every pause and every gentle caress built anticipation.

The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you intertwined, lost in the growing tension between your bodies. Kento was in control, but you loved it. You loved the way he took his time, how each thrust felt like an exploration, a journey into the very essence of what it meant to be together.

He would withdraw slightly, teasing you with the promise of more, before plunging back into you with a slow, deliberate push that sent sparks of pleasure radiating from the core of your being.

Each pulse of his body against yours was a reminder of his possession, of the bond you shared that was both beautiful and intoxicating. The slow burn he created enveloped you, igniting your senses and drawing you closer to the precipice of your desires. You could feel the heat building within you, an insistent wave that throbbed and twisted, desperate for release.

“Just like that, my love.” he encouraged, his voice a soothing balm against the tumultuous storm of emotions swirling inside you. “Let it build. Let it consume you.”

You let his words command you, letting them wash over you as you melted into the sensations. Every tear that fell was a blessing of pleasure and the pain mingling together, a sweet agony that you welcomed wholeheartedly.

You could feel your heart racing, your breaths quickening, as you approached that sweet, familiar edge, caught between the bliss of the moment and the urgency of your need.

With every deep stroke, you felt a delicious tension building within you, a tightness that was both exhilarating and overwhelming. Each time he filled you completely, it ignited a spark of pleasure that resonated deep in your core, drawing soft gasps from your lips. Your husband was a great lover. Perhaps the best there ever was. 

You surrendered to him fully, giving yourself over to the sensations that enveloped you. The outside world faded away, leaving nothing but the two of you entwined in this intimate dance. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, made every moment feel precious. 

You can only focus on him. Only him. He was what mattered. The way his eyes held yours, filled with an intensity that spoke volumes of his love and desire.

You could write as many beautiful works as you could ever want. But perhaps the most beautiful creation in your life was him. Loving Nanami Kento was your most beautiful creation.

In that moment, nothing else mattered but the way he made you feel. It was a combination of love and raw passion, an electric current that flowed between you, binding you together in a way that felt profoundly intimate.

Every caress of his hands, every whispered word, heightened your awareness of him, igniting your senses and making you acutely aware of the depth of your connection.

You could feel his warmth enveloping you, a comforting presence that made you feel safe yet desired. The way he moved, the way he took his time to explore every inch of you, filled you with an overwhelming sense of affection and longing.

With each thrust, you could feel your bodies communicating in a language all your own, a silent exchange that deepened the bond between you.

As you both lost yourselves in each other, the outside world faded into nothingness, leaving only the two of you entwined in a universe of your own making.

The air around you thickened with anticipation, and every touch felt electric, as if the very essence of your connection pulsed between you. As if you truly belonged together.

You could sense the tension coiling tighter, each movement a languid dance that drew you deeper into an exquisite rhythm, a beautiful synergy that melded your souls together and ignited a fire within you that felt utterly intoxicating.

“Kento, I’m coming. I’m so close.” you gasped, the words spilling from your lips as desire swirled through your veins.

He trailed kisses along your jaw, his lips soft yet insistent, igniting a cascade of shivers that traveled down your spine. “Come for me, baby. Let go.” he urged, his voice low and rich with promise, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

That was when he shifted, his movements quickening, a sudden urgency that sent your heart racing. The delicious friction intensified, and with each thrust, the world outside vanished completely, leaving only the two of you in a haze of passion. 

Every kiss, every whisper, every pulse of his body against yours propelled you closer to that blissful edge, where pleasure and surrender intertwined, drawing you both into a beautiful climax that promised to sweep you away entirely.

As Kento quickened his pace, the urgency of his movements sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, building to a peak that felt both thrilling and inevitable.

The air around you crackled with electricity, every sensation heightened as he pressed deeper, claiming you in a way that made your heart race and your body ache for more. His breaths came in ragged gasps, mingling with the sound of skin against skin, each thrust driving you further into a euphoric haze.

“My love, I’m so close.” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I’m….I’m gonna come.”

You could see the raw need in his gaze, the way he was completely lost in the moment, just as you were. It was intoxicating to know that you had this effect on him, that you could pull him into this blissful space where nothing else mattered but the two of you.

“I want you, baby.” you whispered, your voice trembling with urgency as you felt that familiar coil tightening within you. “I need you.”

“D’ you want me inside, hm? Where do you want me?”

You moan, thinking about how hot it was. How hotter it would be to have him inside of you. “I-inside me. Please. Please. Make me full.”

“Y’d like that? You want me to make you full of me, my love?”

“Yes, yes, o–oh, yes—”

With a low growl, Kento shifted his focus, pushing into you with a deep, purposeful thrust that sent stars dancing behind your eyelids. The world outside was a distant memory, all that existed was the heat building between you, a fire that consumed you both whole.

His movements were rhythmic yet fervent, each push coaxing you closer to the edge, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you. It felt so good. It felt way too good and you wanted it to last forever.

“Let go, my love.” he urged, his voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers coursing through your body. “I’m right there with you.”

And then, with a final, deep thrust, you felt him come inside you, warmth flooding you as he released with a low groan, his body pulsing against yours. The sensation was overwhelming—a rush of heat that spread through you, mingling with your own climax as pleasure washed over you in waves, leaving you breathless and trembling benea

th him.

You held on closer to him, taking in a new dawn’s breath.

You were so in love with this man, more than you know. 

And he was the same — he couldn’t get enough of loving you.

“You know, if I had known jealousy would make you like this…” you finally say, your voice still laced with breathlessness as you regain your composure.

The warmth of the moment lingers around you like a soft blanket, and you can feel the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through your body. Kento’s kisses trail along your glistening skin, each gentle press of his lips a sweet reminder of the connection you’ve just shared.

His lips are soft against you, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake, and the scent of your mingled skin fills the air with a heady sweetness that is all-consuming.

“I would get you jealous often, baby.” you tease, a playful smile curving your lips as you look down at him.

Kento pauses, lifting his gaze to meet yours, his expression a mixture of amusement and mock seriousness. “Is that so?” he replies, his voice a low rumble that sends a delightful shiver through you. 

The intensity in his eyes is unmistakable, a mix of possessiveness and affection that makes your heart flutter.You can’t help but laugh softly, the sound echoing around you in the intimate space you’ve created together.

“Absolutely. You should see how cute you get when you’re all riled up, baby.” you say, playfully nudging him with your shoulder. “Fiesty and all.”

His lips curve into a smirk, and he leans closer, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re lucky I’m not the type to stay jealous for long, my love.” he murmurs, the warmth of his breath tickling your face. “But if it means I get to have you like this…” 

His voice trails off, and he plants a series of soft kisses down your neck, each one sending delightful tingles racing across your skin. You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment to relish the sensations he stirs within you. 

“You’re incorrigible sometimes, Kento.” you whisper, feeling the weight of his affection enveloping you. The playful banter only adds to the intimacy, making it all the more special, as if you were sharing a secret joke that only the two of you understood.

“Only for you, my love.” he replies, his voice sincere as he pulls back just enough to gaze into your eyes. “But really, seeing you light up like that—it’s worth it. Just know I’ll always come back to claim what’s mine.”

epilogue 

As the soft glow of the evening light filtered through the window, casting gentle shadows across the room, you and Kento found yourselves nestled comfortably together. You hadn’t left the bed much since this morning.

And your husband was incredibly happy about that. He wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. Everything about the room smelt like sex and sweat, that was to be expected. Your husband’s insatiable when he gets into it. 

But the atmosphere was relaxed and intimate, the air filled with the kind of warmth that comes from deep affection. Everything about the aftermath was the passion of lovers who will always be in love.

And you couldn't help but admit that you felt blessed with that. This passion between you and Kento, it will never die. For bitter, for worse, for good and better — you will always have this. You will always be together like this.

After a playful exchange repeating over and over again, you both took breaks in between. For a while, you both watched some television. Kento seems to enjoy Love Island, so he wants to watch the whole series with you now. A little while later, the two of you talked a little bit about the little things you’ve seen and done lately.

Soon enough, you were sure you were hungry. Kento immediately kissed you and went to the kitchen, coming back with some bowls of favorite snacks and some refreshing drinks, on ice.

But of course, he urged you to drink the water most. With all the screaming he’s made you do, he’s a little bit more worried about your voice, 

You both conversed about silly things now, laughing at how Yuji seems to be as silly as ever before. About how Gakuganji seems to continue to be annoyed by Gojo Satoru’s phone calls.

But then he talked about Gojo Satoru expecting another child on the way, albeit accidental. In that moment, you realized it was that moment. So, you took a moment to shift the conversation to that.

“You know, baby…..” you began, leaning your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. “I know you’re still busy, I’ve been thinking maybe….just maybe…”

“You know surprises aren’t needed.” He laughs, lowering his head to press a kiss to your cheek.

“I know, I know.” You roll your eyes playfully but let out a small smile, leaning against his chest. “Don’t you think it’s time we consider having kids soon. I’m really happy to make that happen soon.”

Kento turned to you, his brow raising in playful skepticism, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Is that so? You’re ready to dive into the chaos of parenting, my love? You know it’s a lot of work, right?” He chuckled, the sound warm and inviting, filling the space between you.

You couldn’t help but grin back, your heart fluttering at the prospect. “Of course! But I think it would be so worth it. Just imagine our little ones running around, making messes and keeping us on our toes.”

He smiles at you fondly. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I know so.” You grinned at him. “I can also see you being the doting dad, teaching them all about fighting and how to protect themselves. Or you know, just making some bread from home! I do miss authentic rye bread from an expert in Danish baked goods. Imagine how our kids will feel when they eat it too!”

He laughed, a rich, hearty sound that echoed in the room and made you feel light with joy. “You think so? I suppose you’re right, my love. I can already picture myself getting wrapped around their little fingers. They’d have me wrapped around their hearts in no time.” 

The sincerity in his tone made your heart swell with happiness.

Everything about your husband makes you feel happy everyday.

If life were to teach what happiness looks like, it would be him.

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over. “And they’d have your strength and my charm. Can you imagine how adorable they’d be?”

Kento’s expression softened, a gentle smile spreading across his face. “You know, I’ve always wanted that. A family with you. You make everything better.” His words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, igniting a sense of hope and love within you.

“So, you’re on board with the idea?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with anticipation.

“Absolutely, my love.” he replied, that playful smirk returning to his face. “But first, I think we need to indulge in another round of this.” 

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin, and captured your lips in a kiss that sent shivers down your spine. You melted against him, losing yourself in the moment, the kiss deepening as he pulled you closer.

It was intoxicating, filled with a mix of passion and love that made your heart race. Everything about Kento was just a pool you wanna drown in. Everything about him was worth drowning in. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped up in each other, a perfect blend of laughter, warmth, and desire.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your cheeks flushed with warmth, Kento looked at you with that glint of mischief in his eyes that you adored.

“Okay, let’s talk about the details later, my love.” he said, grinning widely. “But for now, I think we have some important work to do to ensure that happens.”

With that, he pulled you back into another passionate kiss, laughter bubbling between you as you savored the moment. You felt the electric connection between you, the promise of a beautiful future hanging in the air, ripe with possibilities.

As you both continued to kiss, the playful banter resumed, filled with sweet nothings and playful teasing about the “practice” needed for the future family you envisioned. After all, practice makes perfect.

[spencahreadreid]

His perfect girl.

SMUT. fem!reader, no Y/N, aftercare, fluff, spencers left hard, princess treatment, breast play(?) please tell me if these are wrong, I tried my best, leave asks and requests!!

You both had no idea movie night could lead to this, but here you are. The idea of letting Spencer Reid, your 'innocent' colleague touch you in more intimate ways rather than his usual hugs crossed your mind a lot. Something you'd only dreamt about, never thinking it would actually happen.

But, oh god.

You wouldn't swap this for anything.

His touch grows bold, slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of your underwear, slowly parting your wet folds. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he explores your core. He finds that spot, that magical spot that makes your hips buck against his hand. Desperate whines left your lips, you could've cum on the spot, just from that..

"Shhh, it's okay.." he tries to shush you, to soothe you, but all you can focus on is the way his middle finger is filling you in a way your own can't, reaching places you didn't know existed inside of you.

He takes your moans as encouragement. His thumb begins to put pressure on your clit, rubbing in firm circles, finger still deep in you. His other hand slides up to your breast, cupping it through your shirt. He squeezes gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple which (to his delight) stiffens under his touch.

His ring finger slips inside you, adding to the middle digit which had been almost effortlessly abusing your g spot. You gasp, your hips bucking to meet his hand. He finds a better pace, slowly pumping in and out of you, his thumb never stopping its motion on your swollen nub. He nuzzles your neck, letting his own hips shuffle on the couch, as if it would help his slowly hardening need.

Not too long after finding comfort in the crook of your shoulder, soft kisses and light suction, sometimes even his tongue could be felt on your neck. Open mouthed, wet, hot kisses all over your supple skin. More excuses to knit you a matching purple scarf when it's time for work next week, hiding hickeys he'd left through small comments.

"So good, doing so well. So-kiss-fucking -kiss-pretty."

When you clench around him after he had continuously mumbled out praises from those plump lips of his (not to mention the splotches of his own work on your neck), he's almost ecstatic when he makes you cum. The clear evidence of your release on his fingers, it's not long before his fingers had disappeared into his mouth. The once dripping digits coming out completely clean, but now he's left hard, and also with a DVD still aimlessly running.

That doesn't matter, only you do, he only cares about you

He carries you to the bedroom, cradling you in his arms. He lays you down gently on the bed, his eyes tracing over your body. Disappearing into the bathroom, he quickly returns with a warm washcloth, gently cleaning up the large patches of slick on your inner thighs.

He tosses the cloth aside and joins you in his bed, pulling you close. He strokes your hair, his touch careful and soothing. "You did so well, my beautiful girl.." he praises, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I'm proud of you."

Already half gone, your eyes are half shut, the last thing you remember is him stroking loose strands of hair away from your face, smiling softly at you. Now, you finally understood the looks he'd given you, it wasn't just platonic, he'd been waiting for this the same way you had.

[ataleofcrowns]

Chapter Progress [NOV/06]

Hey all, it's been a while since I've written one of these 🍂

I've been posting regular previews on my Patreon, but a proper update was long overdue! As a refresher, my last update was this one, and I've got lots more to update you on now that I'm further along!

I've struggled a lot with this chapter and have been trying to wrangle it into shape as best I can, and I'm happy (and relieved) to say that I can finally give you an estimated release date: you can expect CH12 to be uploaded in December this year.

I won't be putting a specific date on it yet, since it could be anywhere from early December to late December depending on how much progress I make in November, but I'll let you know! Now, onto specifics.

The Main Plot

I'm currently balancing out LI specific content in the main plot! Regardless of what you chose in regards to Kham and the peri trader, players will be spending some time with D and X to make up for their absence in CH10 at the beginning of this chapter, and I've really missed writing their dynamic with each other as well as the Crown.

I genuinely can't decide which branch is my favorite. Meeting with Kham directly gives so much juicy verbal sparring and tension between not only her and the Crown but her and D and X as well. But meeting directly with the peri trader let me dig more into the worldbuilding, explore the city a bit, and have some more lighthearted shenanigans with D and X too.

I'll add some previews here for both routes that I've also already shared for people on the Patreon. Here's a little excerpt for people meeting with Kham:

“There is one thing I have been wondering, princess,” you say as you stare back into her eyes, watching the way the orange orbs of light flicker like flames. “When you first arrived here, you were accompanied by a retinue of guards. Whatever happened to them?” Kham does not raise her brows at you, exactly, but something similar to the motion as the wood above her eyes arches upwards with a stiff creaking sound. “They are not merely my guards, they are my servants first and foremost. Naturally, they run errands for me.” “What kinds of errands?” “Surely you do not think I would fetch all I require by myself?” She appears amused by the line of questioning rather than offended. “They trade with the peri merchants in your city on my behalf. Although, calling it trade is perhaps not accurate, as I hold the right to lay claim on their supplies whenever I please. They are representatives of my mother, after all.” You consider the explanation, but nothing about it seems notable or inconsistent so far. “So you have never dealt with this peri trader I wish to meet with yourself?” “Of course not.” She smiles, her wooden mouth briefly pressing together. “That would be beneath me.” “A shame,” $xname muses casually from beside you, contrasting the sharp look in their eyes. “We had hoped you might have some insight to share.” “As much insight as you are willing to offer me regarding this flower you seek,” Kham returns, her smile still in place. “The blue siren, yes? A rather strange fixation…” You feel the urge to tense, but withhold yourself from it by taking a slow, relaxed breath. All the rigorous physical training you have underwent over the course of the past month is already showing its benefits: you feel more aware and in control over your body, able to maintain your composure. A necessary skill when dealing with someone like Kham, as conversing with her feels like a dance of sorts. The two of you are watching each other’s steps, waiting for the other to slip.

And here's the excerpt for if you choose to meet with the peri trader:

You manage to make it through the marketplace, finally arriving at a large building with an open front, wrapping around the corner of the street. Tables and shelves are lined with various flowers and plants, perused by a few passing customers. This appears to be the peri trader’s shop, signaled by the sign at the front that reads Eshkar’s Garden. Eshkar being the name of the peri trader in question. Most of the flora on display you recognize, if not by the labeled names then by sight alone, but several look entirely new to you. Pale white flowers whose hanging bulbs pulse with light when a customer brushes against its leaves; bleeding vines wrapped around a miniature roofed trellis atop a tall table, its crimson flowers slowly dripping down pink juice caught by bowls below; a tall flower with only two black petals, large and pointed, that nearly startle you when they snap together several times in sharp, cracking sounds, almost as if the flower were clapping. IF CROWN IS INTELLIGENT Momentarily forgetting about your intended purpose in being here, you approach the clapping flower with curiosity, wondering what set it off. Sure enough, you see dead and decomposing flies of various sorts collected at the center of its bulb as you lean over to peer inside, taking care to avoid leaning in too close lest your nose get caught between the aggressive petals. Does it catch and eat small insects? How fascinating. You glance at the labeling of the flower, its name fittingly given as ‘black ovation’. IF CROWN IS INTUITIVE Eyes drawn by the visual spectacle of the white flowers, you find yourself wandering over to its shelf, glancing at the labeling that reads ‘stardrops’. The bulbs look ordinary at first glance, but sure enough, when you reach out to touch its petals, the flower begins to glow like you saw before. A ring of light travels up its stem, through the petals to the very ends, where it erupts into tiny little golden sparks. Hence the name, you suppose. Unable to stop yourself, you touch the flower again, mesmerized by the light show, until you notice a shop attendee frowning at you from nearby. Feeling scolded, you quickly pull your hand away and offer an apologetic smile.

Lots of fun going on in both routes! I don't envy you for having to make this choice lol.

Aside from this big branch, the main plot will converge for everyone again in the latter half of the chapter, where the Crown gets do to some more typical Crown things: hearing public petitions! They'll contain 2 smaller scenes where your character will hear out some citizen concerns, which will let you rack up reputation points with either the public or the nobility, and 1 major scene that affects a future plot point.

Not gonna spoil these since I've already talked so much about everything else regarding this chapter, so this will have to remain a surprise ✨

The Romances and Friendships

While the start of the chapter is X and D focused, if you have a specific (platonic) LI you want to spend more time with as buddies and perhaps get a little relationship advice, you'll have that opportunity at the start of CH12! I've had to write 12 variations in total for each friendship scene, which was a lot of work, but completely worth it.

Some LI routes also have big additional differences depending on if you have a low or high romance (such as A and R), while it matters a little bit less for the others for the time being (such as D and X). So if you screwed up on D or X's romances and have a low status, you're mostly in the clear from immediate consequences… for now.

Here's a little excerpt, taken from a playthrough of a Crown who has a high romance with A and chooses R's friendship scene:

Something like mischief gleams in $rname’s eyes as $rthey looks at you. “I’ve noticed you and $aname seem especially close nowadays.” You shift a little on the couch, averting your gaze to avoid $rname’s eyes as you strike a casual tone. “Do we?” “Mhm.” When you do glance over at $rname, you find $rthem studying $rtheir nails, and you begin to relax as you think it was just an idle remark. Until $rthey adds, “All the hand-holding underneath the table is endearing, I must admit. Especially since the two of you seem to think you’re being subtle about it.” IF CROWN IS RESERVED Heat flushes up your neck at being seen through so easily, remembering breakfast earlier that morning where $aname’s fingers hooked around yours beneath the table. “We were just… we’re not…” $rname looks up from $rtheir nails to grin at you. “There’s no need to look so embarrassed! I’m happy for you. The two of you seem well-suited for each other.” Trying to move past your flustered state, you clear your throat. “You think so?” “I’ve never seen $aname so at ease as when you’re around,” $rname considers, eyes narrowing with teasing and fondness both. “You look more unburdened with $athem near, as well.” IF CROWN IS FLIRTATIOUS You almost laugh at the remark and give it away completely, only managing to keep it in at the last moment and grinning back at $rname instead. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” $rname looks up from $rtheir nails with a sly smile. “No? What a shame. I was going to say how well-suited the two of you are for each other.” That catches your attention, your playfulness easing into something more sincere. “Really?” “I’ve never seen $aname so at ease as when you’re around,” $rname considers, eyes narrowing with teasing and fondness both. “You look more unburdened with $athem near, as well.”

This scene aside, CH12 will also contain another dedicated romance scene with your LI, dealing with some of the fallout from last chapter whether good or bad. If your romance is high, you'll be coasting- except maybe for D romancers, who are in Pining Hell either way haha.

If your romance is low, though, prepare for some delicious angst 🙏🏼

That's all I've got for now! Thank you all so much for your patience and support as always, especially for how long I've been making you all wait. You're the best 💖

[kiiwiola]

GET A WORD OUT OF YOU

amongst minji’s rowdy life, there was someone whom she couldn’t help but be heavily intrigued by.

Fluff, quiet x popular (?), first attempt at writing a one-shot 😛

Amidst the bustling hallways minji could still spot a familiar pair of eyes standing just by their locker with her gaze focused on something.

There was something about the girl that had always gave minji this intrigued feelings. And no it was just about looks of course she had good looks too but it her quiet and shy demeanor. The girl wasn’t one those type of people to demand attention by being unnecessarily loud.

She captured most people’s hearts in her own way.

Minji took notice of the girls usual reserved nature. She hardly spoke in class mostly exchanging one to two words with others, in her zone her mind always seemed to drift off to something.

There was something mind found cute about the way Yn would shyly blush or smile whenever she receives a compliment or get called out by the teacher.

Her nervous smile would plaster across her face while her eyes drifted around the classroom.

Minji had always been one with the crowd since she was young. Always gaining attention and popularity wherever she was. So she found it quite refreshing to experience something new.

One fateful day, the home room teacher had paired both minji and Yn to make the classroom as spotless as possible not caring a bit on how they were going to do it.

The silence thickening in the air was awkward at first well maybe for minji and not for YN. It was something that best described her so she was probably used to it by now.

But it gave an awkward tension for minji. She thought that this might be her chance to engage herself in a conversation with her. “Uhh YN what do you mostly do during your free time?”

“Sleeping”

A frown formed on minji’s lips at the girls brief response. She was definitely expecting more. She thought of giving it another try. “Do you enjoy cleaning?” She nervously bit her lips. That would probably get a yes or no answer.

YN’s gaze flickered over to minji for a brief second “Hmmm….meh. I do it when I’m mostly bored or it’s an order given by my mom. But it’s mostly fun with your ears plugged in” YN explained her eyes staring at the ceiling while she’s day dreamed for a bit before returning to the given task.

“Ah I see” minji nodded in agreement. The unbearable silence returned back.

As the cleaning continued minji made it her mission to engage Yn in a few if not many conversations. Asking her questions about herself but nothing too personal. She didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

The more closer they became during the period. Minji noticed a side of YN she had never seen. Her response were more longer and animated. A smile constantly popping up on her face when she was yapping her whole heart out.

“Wow I didn’t know you could talk this much. You’re so adorable when you’re free” minji confessed with a sly smile her tone carrying a hint of disbelief.

Yn looked up at minji with a face that said ‘really?’ Her cheeks turning to a light shade of pink. “I wouldn’t really say I’m adorable maybe you are….”

“Yes you are” minji chuckled at the girls response. Attempting to tuck a small strand of hair behind her ears.

The cleaning of the classroom some how came to an end quickly. Yn and minji had chatted away they didn’t even realize when they were done.

On minji’s walk home, her mind was filled with her previous encounter with YN. Recalling every single thing that had happened. A smile tugging the corner of her lips.

She couldn’t believe that she had finally succeeded to get to a side of YN nobody probably knows about. And most of all she couldn’t believe she got to make the girl blush. What she had been day dreaming of doing One day.

With a sigh, minji collapsed onto her bed. Her mind drifting to what could happen at school the next day. Each thoughts only added to her anticipation and eagerness.

She couldn’t resist wanting to explore more of YN. She knew Yn was more than this. Gosh was she so impatient for the next day to roll in.

[bbyseok]

thinking about your boyfriend gojo satoru who starts floating every time you kiss him on the lips, and you finally have your first make out session with him.

gojo satoru x gn!reader, suggestive

“baby, puh-leaseeeee!”

being gojo’s classmate-turned-friend-turned-partner, you’re pretty used to the sorcerer’s occasional pouting ‘n whining, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so desperate before.

you’re in the confines of his dorm room, seated on his bed, facing each other with your legs crossed and knees brushing against his.

it had been like any other lazy afternoon with each other, munching on snacks after the completion of another easy mission when your boyfriend had suddenly grabbed ahold of your hands with a single proposal,

“wanna make out?”

he swears up and down that nothing wonky will happen to his cursed technique once his lips are on yours, but you’re not too sure about that.

you toy with his slender fingers absentmindedly, “i don’t know, ‘toru..”

“sweetheart, you’re telling me you haven’t thought about us making out before?” he huffs and puffs like a kid who isn’t able to stick his hand in the cookie jar, but then again, that sounds just like satoru.

“what? no. i mean- i guess i have…” you try to brush off the fact that you’re getting kinda.. flustered. he’s just so damn insistent about this.

of course you’ve thought about kissing him more.. passionately. it’s just that you also have placed thought in how it might go—with you two up in the air.

a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but it’s not one of those smug, arrogant ones he usually offers his opponents. it’s something more along the lines mirth and affection.

“sooooooo….”

you roll your eyes. “fine.” his eyes light up and before he can cheer, you add, “but the second something goes wrong we’re stopping.”

“yeah, yeah,” he says, but it’s rushed and hurried—excited. admittedly, you are too, as he shuffles closer with a giddy grin.

his eyes are unwavering in their stare even as the corners crinkle up along with his grin, and it only serves to make you smile fondly in return.

unlike your very first kiss, gojo moves in before you—he leans forward and captures your lips with his. the two of you have never kissed for longer than a few seconds, but then he’s suddenly angling his head to deepen it and your breath is stolen.

where the hell did he learn to kiss like this?

you have no time to gather your thoughts, rather going on instinct as you feel satoru’s hand come up to cradle the side of your face, swiping his thumb over your cheek with a tenderness that makes you melt further into his touch.

gojo makes out with you like he’s been waiting for forever to do this, which might not be so far from the truth. you return his enthusiam, fingers tangling with the snowy locks at his nape.

he’s a bit sloppy with it, but you hazily think that’s a given since he’s never made out with anyone before and holy shit—you’re actually making out with him.

it’s the loud sounds of wet lips smacking against each other, all hot ‘n heavy, that make you blush and feel warm all over.

gojo hasn’t started floating yet, and you only know that because he’s leaning forward even more, crawling and invading your space until its no longer yours, and you have no choice to fall back onto the sheets.

his arms cage you in as he hovers over you now, and his lips leave yours for only a few fleeting moments before he’s kissing you fervently again.

everything is going okay (more than okay), satoru is still in control of his powers, you’re getting a lil’ breathless and—

uh oh.

gojo pulls away only by a few centimeters, lips still brushing against yours, but you can feel his panic as his eyes widen and he’s pulling even further away.

you know you said you’d stop if his powers started getting out of control but you’d be damned if this stopped now, so you grab him by the collar of his shirt and shove him back, a yelp leaving his throat when you straddle his lap.

“there,” you huff out, the edges of a smirk on your lips now that you’ve found a little solution to gojo’s floating problem. you laugh a bit breathlessly, “now you can’t float away from me.”

with his cheeks flushed a pretty pink and his sky blue eyes wide, for once satoru looks like he’s at a loss for words as he blinks up at you. he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure, “well damn, babe, if i had known you’d be this forward i would’ve done this a lot soo-”

you roll your eyes again with a slight grin. “shut up, ‘toru.”

satoru grins, but you make good on your words by pulling him by his shirt again to effectively shut him up with your lips.

(and, well.. let’s just say something else goes up whenever you make out with him.)

[doumadono]

(EMERGENCY Request (because I don’t know if the other came through or if Tumblr ate my ask.)

Can I have some Izuku, Shouta, and Shigaraki comforting reader after she revealed that she had been sexually assaulted by a close family friend?..

(Because the above happened to me, and now the idea of being intimate with someone makes me cry and freak out and feel ill.)

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

Tomura Shigaraki

Shigaraki listens with a chilling stillness as you speak, his entire demeanor darkening with each word. His expression goes from steely focus to pure fury, hands clenching tight enough to make his knuckles whiten as you recount what happened.

He doesn’t try to comfort you right away; instead, his eyes narrow, filled with an intense, dark energy that you’ve rarely seen before. He lets you finish, then speaks in a low, almost dangerous tone: “Tell me who did it.” There’s no doubt in his voice, only absolute conviction.

Shigaraki doesn’t ask twice. He wants a name, wants to know every detail, not to wallow in your pain but to turn it into a target — one he intends to take down personally.

Once you’ve shared what you’re comfortable with, he reassures you in his own way, his voice softening, though his gaze remains fierce. “They’ll pay for this. No one does that to you. Not without consequence.”

Unlike most, Shigaraki doesn’t shy away from your pain. Instead, he encourages you to express every ounce of anger and bitterness, letting you know that you have every right to be furious, to feel however you need to feel. “Don’t hold back,” he says, his hand resting over yours, grounding but strong. “Let it out. Let it fuel you.”

His form of comfort is protective, almost ruthless. He speaks of revenge openly, as if it’s the only option worth considering. He’s fixated, promising you repeatedly, “I’ll make them feel everything they made you feel — and worse.”

When it comes to physical comfort, he’s careful. Shigaraki isn’t the most openly affectionate, but if you’re willing, he holds you close, his fingers grazing your shoulder, tracing light circles down your back. His presence is steadfast, a quiet strength, and the promise is clear: he’ll keep you safe, no matter the cost.

Once he has the name of the person who hurt you, he doesn’t rest. He goes out alone, no second thoughts or hesitation, tracking the perpetrator down with a dark resolve, finding them under cover of night.

It’s quick and merciless. He locates them, doesn’t give them a chance to speak or even see what’s coming. In a single, decisive movement, his fingers make contact, and within seconds, they’re reduced to nothing but ashes. A quiet, terrible satisfaction settles in his chest — he’s done what needed to be done. Justice, his own way.

That night, Shigaraki returned to the base of the League of Villains very late, and there was a shift in his energy that you felt the moment he walked into the room. His gaze was dark, almost unreadable, yet there was an eerie calm in the way he settled beside you. His fingers, usually fidgeting with nervous energy, were still, resting against his knee as if he’d finally found his focus, his purpose. He looked at you, eyes intense, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

Finally, he leaned in, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “It’s done,” he said, his hand resting on yours, his touch grounding. “They’re gone. They’ll never hurt you again.”

You could see the satisfaction in his expression, the way his eyes glinted with a dark triumph as he watched you, waiting for your reaction. He didn’t need thanks, didn’t expect it; he’d done this for you, because no one else had. Because he would destroy anything that dared to harm you. "Tomura...."

Tomura’s fingers traced over your knuckles, his gaze unwavering. “Shhh, it's okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, fierce and possessive. “And anyone who thinks of hurting you… well, they’ll end up the same.”

Shota Aizawa

Shota doesn’t say much initially, allowing silence to settle around you both so you don’t feel rushed to fill it. His presence is steady and dependable, and he radiates a calm, quiet strength.

His eyes are intense, focused on you in that careful, unblinking way he has when he’s deeply engaged. There’s no judgment, no pity - just a readiness to listen and understand.

Shota waits until you’re finished speaking, then offers a grounding observation: “You’re strong to have carried this alone. You didn’t deserve any of it, and it was never your fault.”

He lets you know that you have the right to feel whatever you need - anger, grief, even numbness. Shota doesn’t try to solve your pain; he respects that healing is complex and that he’s there to support, not fix.

Touch, he knows, is delicate. If he senses you’re uncomfortable with it, he respects that boundary completely. But he does offer simple gestures - a hand on your shoulder, a gentle brush of your hair - giving you the choice to lean into his warmth or keep your distance.

Aizawa is a man of action, so he makes sure you feel safe around him. He talks about boundaries, offering reassurance that he’ll take things at your pace. He’s honest but tender, letting you know he’ll be patient, however long it takes. And on the nights when you finally drift into peaceful sleep beside him, he quietly searches for every piece of information about the person who hurt you. They may think they got away clean, but they’re dead wrong.

When the words finally spill out, they feel jagged, raw, tearing through the silence like an open wound.

Aizawa doesn’t flinch; he absorbs each word, each broken pause, with an intensity that’s almost unnerving. His gaze is steady, dark eyes fixed on you, taking in every detail, but he doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he stays close, his silence a constant, a reassurance that he isn’t going anywhere, no matter how long it takes for you to finish.

Once the last word leaves your lips, you glance up at him, half-expecting him to pull away, to offer you some hollow phrase that makes him feel better but leaves you feeling even emptier. But Shota stays, his expression unreadable except for the faint tightening around his eyes, the only sign that your pain has struck something deep within him. Slowly, he reaches out, his hand resting on your shoulder, his touch feather-light, as if he’s afraid you’ll break under too much pressure. “You didn’t deserve any of it,” he says finally, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. “This doesn’t define you. It’s something that happened to you, not something that’s a part of you.”

The silence stretches, but it’s a comfortable one, an invitation for you to say whatever you need, or to say nothing at all. He’s patient, letting you lean into him, his hand finding yours and holding it gently, giving you the control to pull away if it becomes too much.

When you finally let yourself press into his side, his arm wraps around you, steady, grounding. He doesn’t say much after that; he just sits with you, his hand slowly tracing soothing circles on your back. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels safe, like an anchor holding you steady in a sea of uncertainty. “Take all the time you need,” Shota murmurs, his voice low, his lips close to your ear. “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. If you need space, I’ll give you that too. Just know that I’m here. For all of it.”

Izuku Midoriya

Izuku’s heart nearly breaks the moment you confide in him. He listens, fully attentive, and doesn’t interrupt - not even to ask questions. His eyes are soft but steady, and he nods as you talk, a subtle affirmation that he’s here with you, every painful step.

He doesn’t rush you to say more than you’re ready to. Izuku senses when you need a pause, his hand on yours, rubbing gentle circles on your knuckles to ground you.

He tells you, without hesitation, that it wasn’t your fault. Izuku’s voice is firm, sincere, as if he needs you to feel it in your bones. He keeps his words simple, gentle. “If it hurts to talk about this, we don’t have to. But I’m here, I’m here whenever you need me, no matter what.”

Izuku understands if physical touch feels overwhelming, so he asks permission before hugging you. “Can I… hold you? Only if you’re okay with it.”

He offers support rather than solutions, respecting that this healing is on your terms. He suggests getting some air together, or maybe some tea, but he doesn’t push anything. You can feel how deeply he cares without feeling pressured to act a certain way.

Izuku reassures you that whatever feelings come up - fear, sadness, anger - are okay, and he’s here for all of them. He promises he’ll protect you, but it’s not a hollow vow; it’s one he fully believes he can keep.

Izuku sits beside you, close but not encroaching. He waits, letting each word hang in the air as you reveal what happened, the details heavy between you, until finally, you fall silent. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes - anger, sadness - but it’s tempered by an overwhelming gentleness as he reaches for your hand, his touch featherlight.

“You didn’t deserve any of it,” he says, voice low but certain. “And it wasn’t your fault. No matter how it might feel.” His words sink in, the conviction in his voice wrapping around you, settling deep in the space where shame and doubt often linger. His gaze is steady, unwavering, as he adds, “This doesn’t change who you are, not to me. You’re still you, and nothing - no one - can take that away.”

You sob quietly.

There’s a pause, a heartbeat, and then he hesitates, eyes softening as he reaches hand out to wipe off your tear. “Can I hold you?” he asks gently, his hand still on yours, warm and ready but not pushing.

When you nod, he shifts, pulling you close into his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a way that feels protective, solid. The quiet thump of his heartbeat against your cheek is steady, grounding, and his fingers stroke your back in slow, soothing motions.

“You’re allowed to be hurt,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice thick with emotion, “and you’re allowed to take your time, however long you need. But you don’t have to go through this alone.” He holds you a little tighter, his breath warm against your forehead as he whispers, “I’m here, and I’ll be here, always."

[agoldengalaxy]

The Many, Many, Birthdays of Stan Pines

read on Ao3

words: 4091

Stan Pines has a complicated relationship with his birthday.

--

Stan Pines is six. It's a beautiful day to be six.

“Ford! Ford, wake up!” He stands up on his bed, holding himself up with his hands to peek over the wooden edge of the top bunk. “It’s finally here!”

Ford’s eyes open slowly, and once they meet Stan’s, his face lights up. “Our birthday!”

Hopping down, Stan stands triumphantly, his hands on his hips as Ford climbs down the ladder a little more gracefully. “We’re finally six! The amount of fingers you got finally adds up!” He punches Ford’s arm, giggling, then holds up his hand. “High six for the coolest six year olds in the universe!”

Also giggling, Ford fumbles to put his glasses on and return the gesture. “High six!”

After a breakfast with the best cereal their mom could afford, they raced each other down to the beach, intent on spending their day outside together. They didn’t have friends, but that wouldn’t deter the Pines.

“Whoa, wait!” Ford grabbed Stan’s shoulder, who groaned in discontent, dramatically melting to the ground.

“Fooord! You’re not even it!”

“No, look, Stan!” His eyes shone in the mid-morning light, a huge grin on his face. Stan hopped to his feet to follow his gaze, finding a huge wooden swing set on the hill by Glass Shard Beach. It was new, and it was unoccupied. Two swings, as if it were made for them both.

They meet each other’s gaze, grinning giddily, tripping over each other and shoving each other to get there first. Ford takes the left swing, and Stan takes the right. They have competitions to see who could swing the highest, who could spin the chains around the most, and imagine what it would be like if they had the money to buy whatever birthday cake they wanted.

Suddenly, Ford’s standing right in front of him, shaking him. “Stan! We have to go home for dinner.” He’d been leaning against the swing’s chain, falling asleep.

He rubs his eyes roughly, and when his vision clears of black spots, his brother is there with his hand outstretched, smiling. Ford pulls him to his feet, then shoves him to the side, sprinting away. “Last one home has to take the trash out!”

“H-Hey! No fair, Sixer!” he laughs, chasing after him.

***

Stan Pines is thirteen. He’s grateful it’s the summer, but he wishes he weren’t here right now.

He sits at the kitchen table, his hands curled into fists in his lap. Whenever he’s in this situation, he likes to stare down at a mark on the old table, left from when his mother had put out a cigarette there. He thinks it looks a little bit like a boat.

“Are you listening to me, boy?” Large hands slam down on the table in front of him. Stan flinches, then drags his gaze up to look at his father. “Look at you. Making that face like some scared little girl. I thought signin’ you up for boxing would fix all that.”

This exact scene has happened many times before. No matter what he does, he’s not good enough. The boxing helped him stand up to bullies, but not to his father. 

His mother grabs his arm. “Filbrick, please! Stanley’s doing his best, a-and it’s his birthday…!”

“That’s exactly the point, Caryn. He’s thirteen now. Why can’t you be more like your brother? He’s never caused trouble!” he exclaims, glancing toward the shelf in the living room, nearly overflowing with the awards he’s been winning. “Or, better yet, stop draggin’ your brother down with your stupidity! Get your damn head out of the clouds and focus for once!”

Stan’s eyes burn, but he knows if he cries now, it’ll make this way worse. He glances down at the burn mark again, mumbling through an apology, when a squeaky voice interrupts them all. 

“Can Stanley help me get the work I left at school?”

Ford is standing in the doorway of the kitchen now, and Stan isn’t sure where he came from or how long he’s been standing there. Filbrick glances between the two boys, then lets out a quiet sigh, lifting a hand to dismiss them. Stan scrambles off of the chair and the twins rush out the door.

Once they’re far enough away from the house, Ford stops walking, turning to face Stan, whose shoulders are hunched. “Are you…okay?”

The words make the dam break. Tears pool in his eyes as he fruitlessly rubs them, though he knows his brother is the only one who’d never tease him for this. “Pop thinks I’m useless.”

“That’s not true,” Ford replies, placing a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “He’s just…he’s in one of his moods again. We’ll spend our birthday out of the house. Again.”

“So…you didn’t need me to get your work for you?”

“No, Stan. It’s just the only excuse I could think of to get you out of there.” He sighs, reaching into his pocket to pull out the handkerchief their mother gave him, wiping at Stan’s wet cheeks. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Sniffling, Stan doesn’t even ask where, letting his brother take him down the pathway, past the swingset that rustles with the breeze, and down to the beach where their slow progress of Stan o’ War was left. Together, they sit on the slightly-sturdy deck, cans of soda in hand. They drink in silence until Stan pipes up.

“Do you think I’m draggin’ you down, Poindexter?”

Ford blinks in surprise, then his brows furrow. “Never. You’re my best friend.”

Stan smiles slightly, running his finger along the open mouth of the can. “Eh, I guess you’re alright, too.”

Giggling, Ford punches his arm. “Hey!”

***

Stan Pines is eighteen. He’s bored.

They’ll be starting their senior year soon, which means they’re closer to finally finishing school and getting to go adventuring. But as he lay on the mostly-finished deck of the Stan o’ War , he’s left completely bored by his brother’s mumbling and writing.

“Do you have to do that today, you nerd?” Stan finally huffs, reaching for a toffee peanut. “It’s our birthday. We should be out getting ladies and partying or something.”

“Unlike you, Stan, I have a lot of classes I need to take next year. It’s really tough to organize it.”

“It’s the summer!” he groans, standing up to snatch the book out of Ford’s hands, who cries out in surprise. “This boring school-y stuff can wait. Can’t you spend some time with your best friend today?”

Ford seems unsure, but he relents and gets to his feet, brushing himself off. “No, you’re right. We only turn eighteen once, right? What should we do?”

A mischievous grin appears on Stan’s face as he walks over to the side of the boat, placing the journal down carefully. “Oh, I dunno, I thought - ” Suddenly, he screams in fake fear, which makes Ford come running. Stan’s mischievous smile grows as he pushes his brother into the water below, leaving him sputtering and gasping for breath.

“Stanley!” he shouts, his body and voice trembling with the cold ocean water. Frustratedly, he takes his glasses off, tossing them onto the ship deck. “That was unfair.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, it was just too good to pass up. You shoulda seen the look on your face. Here.” He holds his hand out, intent on pulling him back up. Ford grumbles, taking his hand, but instead of letting Stan pull him up, he yanks Stan downward. They both tumble underwater, and when they surface, they stare at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“And you should’ve seen the look on your face!”

“I guess I deserved that, huh.”

They splash each other back and forth, and Stan puts an arm around the other while they look up at the setting sun. “Happy birthday, bro.”

“Happy birthday to you too, Stan,” Ford replies with a smile, pulling away after a moment to push Stan’s head underwater.

***

Stan Pines is nineteen. He’s living out of his car.

Glancing down at his notepad, he sighs softly and crosses Illinois off the list. Onto the next, he supposes, with his next bright idea. 

For dinner, he uses his last quarter to get a gumball from the corner store, and while he stands there, he glances at the payphone nearby, watching a woman using it squeal in delight as she congratulates the caller on their engagement. Stan sighs, turning his pockets inside out. 

This is the first birthday they haven’t spent together. He wonders what would happen if he called. Would Ford finally believe him? Would Ford also wish him a happy birthday?

Even if he could afford the payphone, he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to use it. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he blows a large bubble with his gum and walks back to his car, turning the engine on.

“Iowa, here I come,” he mumbles, pulling out of the parking lot.

***

Stan Pines is twenty-six. They’re pounding on his door.

“Pines! Open the door, now! Don’t make me break it down!”

Stan steels himself and stands up, placing a baseball bat beside the door as he opens it. “Rico! To what do I owe this pleasure, old friend?”

The stout man scoffs, stepping inside to grab his collar and hold him close enough that he can smell the cigar smoke on his breath. “You are not my friend, amigo. Your payment. It is due today.”

“Oh, is it?” Stan feigns surprise. “Coulda sworn the last time we talked you told me it was next week.”

“Do not play games with me, Pines. You are aware of what landed me in jail next to you before, yes?” He tightened his grip. “I would do it again to you in a second.”

“Y’know, I actually don’t think we ever talked about what landed you in jail, Rico. You only ever talked to Jorge in Spanish and ignored me. By any chance, were you arrested because of the smell of cigars and bad decisions stuck to your clothes?”

Suddenly, his face explodes with pain, and Stan blinks away stars, looking at the other man with his fist raised, inches from his nose. “Now, where is my money?”

Stan coughs, shaking his head, feeling the panic travel up his chest, knowing he wouldn’t be able to reach the bat if he wanted to. “L-Look, I don’t have it, I really did think you meant next week! Today’s my birthday, just…just give me a few more days! You just got to punch me in the face. That should be enough to hold you over ‘till I can pay you back, right?”

For a few tense moments, they just stares at each other, until Rico huffs and puts him down. “I give you four days. I will not wait longer.”

Nervously, Stan brushes himself off, smiling as bright as he can as he begins nudging him out the door. “Thank you! Not to worry, you can count on me! Off you go, off you go, I’m gonna enjoy my birthday by scrounging up that money for you. Bye now!”

He slams the door shut and locks it, listening to the sound of footsteps and grumbling get further and further away. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, leaning against the door and putting his face in his hands.

There was no way he was going to call his parents. He’s tried to call Ford before and chickened out. It was time to scan as hard as he’d ever scammed before.

A normal day for Stan Pines.

***

Stan Pines is twenty-eight. He doesn’t realize it’s his birthday.

He’s been awake for who-knows-how-many-days straight. It’s been six months since Ford disappeared, and six months of trying desperately to learn how to reopen the portal that was way too complicated for him. He even manages to fake his own death completely on his own, taking his brother’s identity in the process. He wishes, more than anything, that he could have his brain, too, rather than his face.

Slowly, he shuffles toward the lever, pulling it to the side. “Surprise, surprise,” he mumbles, throwing the journal at the portal’s support beam in what he thought would be a much more impactful move. It just falls to the ground listlessly due to Stan’s complete lack of energy. “Give him back. Please.”

His knees shake as he walks to retrieve the journal. When he bends down to grab it, his vision blurs, and he falls forward, his cheek squished up against one of the yellowed pages. He tells his body to move but it doesn’t listen.

“It’s really not safe to sleep here, Stanley. Leave the portal alone.”

“Can it, Poindexter,” he mumbles, only half-aware that he’s probably hallucinating. His eyes slip shut and he doesn’t move for a long time.

***

Stan Pines is thirty-seven. The Mystery Shack is booming, and despite complaints of fraud or rip-offs, tourists still come, tourists still give him money.

He leans on the counter, telling the last customers that they should come back soon as one of the bobbleheads completely pops off. “Remember, we put the fun in no refunds!” he says after them, slamming the door shut before they can complain.

Slowly, his gaze drifts toward the vending machine. A year ago, just the buttons had been blurry, but now the whole thing was. Huffing a sigh, he rubs the back of his neck and heads upstairs to change. Once in his undershirt and boxers, he moves to the living room to watch something.

But as the movie plays, he realizes that from the armchair, he can’t see a thing. The characters and colors are all blobs, moving back and forth with their canny voices. Frustrated, Stan moves closer to sit on the floor, but after a few minutes his back aches, his eyes burn, and he can’t stand it.

Storming back to his room, he angrily pulls open the drawer and takes out a black case, holding it in his hands for a moment. He’d known his vision was going for a while and got himself checked out months ago, but even when he got the glasses, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to wear them.

Today, at thirty-seven, he can’t ignore it any longer.

He sits on the edge of his bed, opening the case. He picks up the glasses, glancing at the pair that had sat on the dresser for the last nine years. They were different enough. He’d be fine.

Pull it together, Stan, he thinks, reminded of his father insulting him for being too much of a baby. Snapping the case shut, he shoves the glasses onto his face and stands up. He draws himself up, marching himself toward the door. He intends not to look, but he can’t help it - his gaze finds his own in the mirror, and for a terribly long moment, it’s not his face in the mirror. 

It’s Ford’s.

The tears start before he can even think about it. He forgets watching the movie, and sits on the edge of his bed, staring at his face in the mirror, wishing it actually was his brother staring back.

***

Stan Pines is fifty. He’s still getting used to his handyman, but he thinks he’d kill for this kid.

“Mr. Pines! Mr. Pines! I chased that woman down and got her to buy this snowglobe, dude!” Soos’ eyes are sparkling with excitement as he runs back up to the porch of the shack where Stan is standing. “And I told her no refunds!”

Chuckling heartily, Stan reaches down to ruffle the kid’s hair.  “Nice work, gumdrop. You’ve come a long way.”

Soos smiles giddily. “Th-Thank you!”

“Hey, it’s almost been a year since I hired you, huh?” Stan muses, remembering it was sometime around his birthday, and that the kid was also wearing a party hat when he came by. “Isn’t it gonna be your birthday soon? What’ll you be, seven? Eight?”

Much to his surprise, Soos deflates a little at the questions. “U-Uh, no. Thirteen,” he murmurs, the quietest Stan has ever seen him.

“Whoa, why the long face there, kiddo?”

Soos plays with the hem of his shirt, sitting on one of the stairs. “I don’t like my birthday, Mr. Pines.” Stan blinks a few times, then slowly moves to sit beside him, waiting for the elaboration. “Every year, my dad promises he’ll come visit. And every year, he doesn’t.”

There’s an awkward silence for a few moments, before Stan says the only thought he has that’s child-friendly. “Whatta jerk.”

Soos lets out a non-committal huff of a laugh. “That’s what my grandma says when she thinks I’m not listening.”

“It’s true! Soos, if that guy can’t be bothered to make time for you, then he doesn’t deserve to be in your life.” Unwittingly, a shiver runs down his back. He supposes hypocrisy can be added to the long list of things he does wrong. “You can spend your birthday here, with me and your grandma. Okay?”

The kid’s big, innocent eyes shine as he looks up at him. “R-Really? You mean it, Mr. Pines?”

“I mean it.” He hesitates for a moment before putting his arm around Soos’ shoulders. “And for the record, kid, I don’t like my birthday, either. But you’re gonna be alright. You got people who love you.”

Soos leans into the hug immediately and Stan pretends not to see the tears that roll down his cheeks. “Y-You got people who love you too, dude!”

They sit in silence after that while Stan ponders if that’s actually the case for him. It sure doesn’t feel like it, but he’s glad to help this kid, even if just a little.

***

Stan Pines is fifty-nine. He’s sitting at the register, reading a newspaper, when the bell above the door rings. He looks up, and much to his surprise, a teenager is standing there, looking slightly nervous but clearly trying to hide it.

“I thought teenagers hated me,” he says, as a way to cut the tension. She looks vaguely familiar. He realizes she’s been here a couple of times with her father before. “What’s up, kid? Why the long face?”

“...My dad says I either have to go to some camp on the other side of the state or get a job. I really, really don’t want to leave my friends behind, and I’ve already been fired from, like, most of the places in town. You’re weird enough that it just might work. Are you hiring?”

Stan blinks, knowing how it feels to be sent away by your father. “...Can you scam people out of their money and/or handle a register?”

The girl smirks. “Bold interview questions, but yes, and yes. I won’t let you down.”

“Alright, you’re hired. Let’s see what you can do during today’s rush.” Stan grins, standing up and offering the stool to her. She grins and takes a seat. “What’s your name, kid?

“Wendy Corduroy,” she says, adjusting her hat, “and I’m gonna blow you away.”

Much to his surprise, she does, in fact, blow him away. By the time the tour bus leaves, she’s made more money than he expected with her smooth talking, definitely better at the conning thing than Soos ever was. She holds up her fist, and he bumps it with his own.

“You’re not so bad, Mr. Pines,” she muses as he walks her out the door at the end of the day. “Everyone thinks you’re weird, which you are, but you’re actually pretty cool, too. Thanks for the job, man. See you tomorrow!”

She smiles and heads down the path, while Stan feels a quiet warmth bubble in his chest. Maybe not all teenagers are terrible.

***

Stan Pines is sixty. Last month, he got a letter from his nephew, asking if he could take their children for the summer. He didn’t get into specifics, but it seemed like he and the wife weren’t doing very well and he didn’t want the kids to see it.

He knows he should have said no. If anyone saw what was happening in his basement, they’d kill him. But he says yes, because they’re family, and family has been what he’s been aching for.

They arrived yesterday, and thankfully it seemed that either his nephew didn’t know it was his birthday or didn’t tell the kids. They’re pleasant, of course they are, since they’re Shermie’s grandkids, but he can tell they don’t want to be here. All he can do is put them to work, keep them busy, hope they get acclimated, maybe even make them laugh. He shows them the attic and the gift shop.

They take to Soos right away. Wendy seems more or less indifferent about the kids. The day itself is a little awkward, and Stan is just relieved that they don’t know it’s his birthday to add any more awkwardness.

Adjusting his glasses, he walks past the attic door, but stops when he hears voices. He’d sent the kids to bed an hour ago, so of course he’s gonna eavesdrop.

“ - not how I wanna be spending my summer. Things are weird here. I miss Mom and Dad. And I think Great Uncle Stan is a criminal.”

“I don’t know…”

“He is! Do you see how he lies to all his customers? He’s, like, a professional conman! What if he hurts us too? I say we should escape through the window and report him to the FBI!”

There’s a quiet silence as the words hang in the air. Stan feels his heart break into a thousand pieces, mostly because he can’t even blame the kid.

A quiet rustling sound pierces the silence. “I know. We can ask the magic eight ball what to do!”

“Mabel, the magic eight ball? Seriously?”

“Has it ever wronged us before?”

A sigh. “Fine. Let’s ask it.”

“Oh, great magic eight ball, should we leave and report our great uncle to the FBI?”

Silence. Stan doesn’t breathe.

“Well, guess we’re staying!”

“Guess so. Hope we made the right choice.”

With each passing second of silence, it feels like his heart is stabbed over and over again. Finally, he forces air through his lungs, forcing himself to walk away from the door, forcing himself to make it to his room, close the door, and sit on the edge of his bed.

For most of his life, he’d felt like he had no family left. He thinks, maybe, it’s for the best. His own family didn’t want him, and now his extended family doesn’t want him.

He’s gonna have to try extra hard, but he knows how that always turns out.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

***

Stan Pines is sixty-one. It’s a beautiful day to be sixty-one.

The ocean breeze feels amazing on his skin, rustling his hair beneath his beanie. The sky is a golden orange, bringing about the new day with warmth. He’s standing on the deck of the Stan o’ War II , leaning on the railing. His memories are still jumbled, even all these months later, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so at peace.

Suddenly, the smell of coffee replaces the scent of salt, and he glances over to find Ford beside him with a fond grin, holding out a mug to him. “Good morning, Stanley.”

“Mornin’. Thanks for the joe.” He takes the mug, and they clink them together. They each take a slow sip, letting the coffee warm them. It’s quiet for a few moments, as if Ford is wondering if he should say something. Stan smiles to himself. “Happy birthday, you big nerd.”

Ford’s eyes widen, and he lets out a sort of incredulous huff of a laugh. “Y-You…you remember.”

Stan nods, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Yeah, I do.”

Wasting no time, Ford leans into the side-hug, letting out a content sigh. A few more moments pass before Ford speaks again. “Happy birthday to you too, Stan.”

It had been forty-three years since he’d heard Ford say those words to him. He blinks the salt and tears out of his eyes and smiles.

Suddenly, a loud ring echoes inside the boat. Ford straightens up, adjusting his glasses with a grin. “That’s the twins. Come along.”

They walk inside their room, sitting on Stan’s bunk to answer the video call. Confetti falls in front of the camera while Dipper and Mabel scream happy birthday to their grunkles.

It’s the best birthday Stan has ever had.

[niceutossu]

Serious | Oikawa x Reader

Oikawa doesn’t want to get married until you get hurt and he can’t see you. “Family only,” the nurse tells him coldly. And he tries his best to charm his way through, joking about how you two were even closer than family but the worker doesn’t budge.

“Only blood relatives?” He asks, despite knowing the answer himself.

“Or spouse.” The woman replied, avoiding eye contact as she scribbled down important information and continued ignoring his existence.

“I’m practically-“ Before he could finish, he stopped at the sight of her hand raising.

“Are you legally married?” She interjected, clearly having gone through this conversation dozens of times before. Oikawa couldn’t even blame her for the annoyance, as much as he couldn’t blame himself for trying.

“No.” He says dejectedly, shoulders falling with a deep sigh.

“Then please just wait until actual family gets here.” She states, motioning towards the waiting room as he did his best not to scowl.

Instead, he offered her a forced but friendly smile, retreating towards the uncomfortable hospital chairs. As he sat down the plastic squeaked: loud and jarring, and he grimaced. There was no point in arguing but it didn’t ease the nervousness crawling under his skin. How long had you been here? How long before he could see you? He began tapping his foot restlessly, only serving to amplify the ache in his chest.

You two were family, practically at least. You both lived together. You shared meals, inside jokes, and the kind of silence that only happens between people who really get each other. He knew how you liked your tea, the temperature you liked to have bath drawn to. Was that not family-like?

He clenched his hands, feeling his fingernails dig into his palms as memories started to surface, further sharpening the ache. He’d never bothered to bring up marriage, and you never asked. You both knew—knew what being a pro-athlete entailed. Time off spent planning was time he lost playing. He thought he had made it clear he was still yours and you were his. But now, as he sits helplessly outside your hospital room, he regrets never saying anything.

If you were really his he’d be able to see you, and if he was really yours then he’d be willing to settle down and take things seriously. He feels himself cringe as he remembers similar words Iwaizumi had spoken to him the night you two had first met.

After introductions and hours of chatting, the three of you finally settled into a comfortable rhythm. You and Iwaizumi were a surprise match—though Oikawa teased that it shouldn’t be that surprising given that he had good taste, earning him a synchronized glare from the two of you.

He he felt his heart flip in his chest—he really did have good taste (and maybe a type). Later, during a moment of quiet, Oikawa excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned, he found the two of you sitting in a mutual silence.

“Hey I was gone for just a second now, what happened to all the good times?” He joked, his signature smirk only lasting a moment before being startled by the sound of the restaurant staff singing happy birthday behind him.

Turning around, he watched as they brought out a small cake with candles. His name written out in chocolate syrup and topped off with powdered sugar in the shape of his jersey number.

“I told her you weren’t worth it but she insisted.” Iwaizumi deadpanned, but the softness in his eyes betrayed him. Oikawa felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of your warm smile. The glow from the candles were nothing compared to the light in your eyes when you looked at him.

“Happy birthday Tooru.” You spoke gently, contrasting the loud cheers behind him. He felt a weird weakness wash over him, one that scared him more than the surprise singing.

You’d already celebrated with him that morning—and afternoon. He’d never thought you’d extend it to dinner. He was known to be a dramatic guy, extravagant even, but being celebrated for those things felt foreign.

Later, as you took a call nearby and he and Iwaizumi argued over the bill, his friend placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi asked, his voice softer than usual, “you’re serious about this, right?” He didn’t need to specify; his question hung in the air, pressing gently but firmly on Oikawa’s usual bravado.

Caught off guard, Oikawa searched for a lighthearted response, but Iwaizumi’s hand didn’t move. He hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I’ve never been celebrated like this before.” He felt small under the weight of his best friend’s discerning gaze.

In all his previous relationships, he had failed to feel true intimacy, always keeping partners at an arms-length. He thought your relationship would be no different, that it’d still be on his terms albeit a bit toxic.

Except it was not like that at all.

You were like a whirlwind in his life, at first catching him off guard but now helping him build solid foundations. Between the two of you, he was definitely more needy. In the past, he would’ve said it was the other way around but you had your own undeniable magnetism. Anyone with eyes would be sure to see it too, and see right through him at the same time.

The feminine niceties he thought he had grown accustomed to had him giddy and unable to keep his hands off you. Everything you did had his heart racing and for the first time in his life, he was nervous to lose someone.

His suave streak had been brutally ended by your presence alone, having made him feel like he was worth loving again and again without even knowing. His own sweet and cheeky angel.

“If it feels good, then take it seriously.” Iwaizumi replied, his words simple but earnest. Before Oikawa could respond, you returned, bringing back your carefree nature he always craved, the same one he was starting to feel like he didn’t deserve.

Despite it being his birthday, despite feeling a certain question rise behind the heaviness in his throat after his exchange with Iwaizumi, he stayed quiet. He could’ve at least made a joke about it then, but he didn’t.

He’d told himself he was taking it, you, seriously—that you would understand without him saying it out loud. You knew him and he knew you, was that not enough? Maybe not to Iwaizumi, who also knew him maybe a bit better than he knew himself sometimes. The thought of losing you the same way he’d lost others left a knot in his stomach.

He had tried to ignore this truth: that you meant something more—not just to him, but to the people he loved. Yet every now and then, there would be reminders of just how deeply you’d embedded yourself into his life.

He started to reminisce on how he’d found out how you kept visiting his nephew after he’d left for Argentina. He’d received a photo out of the blue: you and Takeru, cheek-to-cheek, grinning at the zoo. His younger self would’ve called it impossible—Takeru, in a picture? Smiling? But there it was.

He quickly replied back with a like to the photo and a teasing message along the lines of ‘huh why what’. He’d barely hit send before you replied with another picture. This time it was of you and his older sister pressed cheek to cheek, her eyes shining with the same warmth he felt every time he looked at you.

“Sponsored trip by my favorite Oikawa <3,” you’d written.

As much as he wanted to text back a cheeky remark he felt himself falter, too focused on the way his sisters eyes shined with the same affection he felt for you. It made him feel a little funny, a little weak. The same way he felt when Iwaizumi prodded him. This was family and something else he couldn’t name quite yet.

Without even thinking he called you, needing to hear your voice and feel like he was there with you (and, of course, remind you that he’s your favorite). He’d kept his tone light, playful. But there’d been a weight in his chest, the same question hovering unasked. He knew you could tell in the way you asked him things, lingered onto his replies as if to find some deeper meaning.

Again, he could have asked. He could have made you family in name as well as in his heart, so many times. Except now, that same question haunted him, and he wasn’t sure he even deserved to ask anymore.

He shook his head as if to rid himself of any more good memories, not allowing himself to relish in you with all the regret that gnawed at him. He was so good at not biting his tongue except when it came to things that mattered. Because nothing was serious to Oikawa until it was, for better or for worse.

And he didn’t know exactly when you had become serious to him, but you had. He felt a tremor pass through him at the thought of seeing you look anything less than alive. Or not being able to make you laugh when you come home sullen anymore.

He moved around restlessly at that thought of not seeing you again. It felt wrong—horribly wrong. He took in a deep breath to calm his ragged nerves. He would see you again, even if it meant seeing you at your worst.

You had seen him at his most selfish and prideful and yet, you still reached out to him, unafraid. He wanted, no, needed to show you that he loved every single part of you the same, no matter how overwhelming because no one could be as much as he is sometimes.

All the relationships he had in high school, college, and the flings in-between had felt so stifling. The thought of making a legal commitment had always made Oikawa’s skin crawl. Except now, sitting under the sterile white lights and thinking of just how much you meant to him feels even more suffocating. You weren’t a high school girl or a fling, you were you.

And then the realization hits him hard: maybe he does wants all of it, as long as it’s with you—the highs, the lows, the commitment he once ran from. For there to never be any more regrets, to love and to cherish, all of it as long as it was with you.

But what if he was too late again?

“Tooru?” The soft sound of your voice pulls him from his spiraling thoughts. His head snaps up, eyes wide as he sees you standing there, in a hospital gown, looking a bit pale but alive. Your face is a little worn, eyes sunken in but you’re still here. You’re still you. Relief floods him, so overwhelming he barely notices the way the creak of the plastic chair as he rises, taking long and purposeful strides towards you.

If it feels good then take it seriously.

He stands in front of you for a moment, not knowing where to place his hands as familiar words gather in his throat the way they had so many times before. Except he doesn’t let himself hold back—not this time. He’d held onto these words for too long, out of fear or pride, whatever it was, it didn’t matter now.

Everything is clear as he sinks down on one knee, eyes locked on yours as he finally gives in to what he’s always wanted: you.

[saphiraarts]

Danny crawled out of the destroyed suit and was panting drained as he looked up to Pariah. The rings of light appeared and disappeared around him. He was forcing himself to stay in his ghost form but failing as regions of his body turned human. He was going in and out of consciousness.

"You have lost boy. Time to bring you to death's embrace," Pariah said as he raised his scythe.

Danny didn't want to die. Vlad’s voice rang out, but Danny didn't register as Pariah Dark swung. Ice shot all around him. It erupted around him into not only a barrier but spikes shooting outward. The ghostly scythe was encased in ice and the ice spikes impaled Pariah in multiple places through his armor. His eye widened as these wounds were lethal. The poison Plague Bearer afflicted him with sapping him of ecto energy at the beginning of the fight had finally shown its benefit. Pariah Dark went limp.

"That... was a surprise...." Pariah Dark said as his crown lost its flames tumbling to the ground. "To think a soul whose half dead and alive would come to take my power.."

"A fitting end to the King of Death no?" Plague bearer's remarked as he stumbled over too weak to fly.

The army was crumbling, returning to nothing as if never there to begin with, and the allies Danny recruited slowly came inside, entering the keep. To see what had happened and if Danny had won. The sight that greeted them was unexpected. They expected him to be back in the sarcophagus of forever sleep. Shock crashed into the ghosts like a wave.

"So true.. h-how long were you planning... this?" Pariah Dark was becoming weaker and weaker. His body was seemingly fading, drifting into the ice and into Danny.

"What's going on?!" Vlad called as he rushed over and began to melt the ice near Danny.

"The Rite of Conquest. The four of us were special ghosts. Very special indeed. Our powers are able to be inherited. Whoever is able to defeat us in combat inherits our powers and burden. Once each of us looked after the Ghost Zone. Pariah Dark acted as the keeper of the denizens. Fright Knight maintained the peace, ceasing war and conflict. I maintained their health. And lastly the Soul Devourer dealt with the Ghost Zone itself. Together we were to maintain peace but it went wrong..." His voice became full of regret.

"How.. long... plague...?" Pariah Dark asked. He struggled to speak his voice losing strength.

"I have lost track of the centuries," Plague Bearer said.

Pariah Dark gave a chuckle, "My... reign... is over." He fully vanished, drifting into the ice and into Danny Phantom.

Vlad melted the ice finally and held Danny who was unconscious and back in his human form. Vlad raised his body heat to warm him as the crown glowed and drifted over to Danny's head. It became encased in blue green flames and Danny rose up. The ring of power drifted upwards floating onto his finger, and he became wrapped in flames. In a blinding flash Danny appeared far different. A white cloak with black fur and thorns was draped over black and white armor. Armor that seemed shattered in places showing ice and spikes. He floated back down. Vlad shielded his eyes and he held Danny who groaned as he opened his eyes.

“The whelp is now the Ghost King?!” Skulker called.

“Plot twist,” Ember said.

“I say we deal with this new king before he breaks any rules,” Warden added.

“No. That would be unwise. We are all injured and cannot fight since we cannot regenerate our wounds. Let’s see what the halfa does,” Sidney said firmly.

“Ugh what happened,” Danny asked.

“We won,” Vlad said, giving Danny a smile but it was laced with shock and hints of fear.

Danny sat up and when he heard the clinking of metal he froze and looked down. “What happened to me?!” He called alarmed.

“The Rite of Conquest. You are now the Ghost King,” Fright Knight said kneeling to his new master.

~~~~~~~~

Since my fanfic as it stands won't be finished i thought i would share what i had written. I might just redo this fic which is likely. I shared the scene pariah would have been fully defeated and danny the ghost king

[dokries]

hot chocolate

pairing: boo seungkwan x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, cafe au (with a lil university au), (barista!seungkwan x customer!reader basically), strangers to ?

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mentions of food and drink, seungkwan is kinda flirty and not slick at all, cameos of seokmin (and jeonghan/joshua in passing), seungkwan and reader know each other from previous encounters at the cafe!

author note: this feels like it should be part of a longer fic but i’m not too sure if i actually want to write one…so i’ll post this on its own instead! for context: reader’s usual is lemonade :) and yes i know that this fic is meant to be in the evening and the pics i used are from midday but shh he’s pretty just look at him </3 (i hope you enjoy!)

masterlist

“do you want hot chocolate today? your jacket is way too thin for this weather,” he says, adjusting his glasses to look at you better behind the counter, his name tag flashing as the warm lighting of the cafe caresses it. 

seungkwan.

finally, a name to the face that’s been greeting you joyfully, even at the end of his shift on mondays, like today.

“no, no. i’m alright,” you clear your throat, knowing that your roommate, soojin, saved the jacket around your shoulders for when the leaves had only just started to fall. it was meant to be kept away before she grabbed it by accident and froze in the cooler air of early winter….exactly what was happening to you outside until you entered the (slightly) warmer cafe.

“…if you say so.” his lips turn down into a mix between a pout and a frown as he hums. “one lemonade then,” is what he says before walking towards the mugs kept in the back, and with a faint smile, he pulls out the fruit one he always uses for you—a tangerine, made specially to look just like a real one except bigger, with a green handle on the side decorated with leaf veins.

you rest your arms on the warm counter, the bright green of your roommate’s jacket now faded with use. a quick scan around the small cafe reminds you that it’s fifteen minutes before closing, exactly when seungkwan—his name still feels unfamiliar in your mind, and you turn the letters over as if they’d provide you more clues about your lemon angel—switches the sign at the front to closed.

there’s silence as seungkwan works on your order, his hands hidden away from you in the mess of machines and cups around him. you feel as if you should help somehow. “do you want me to flip the sign for you?” 

seungkwan looks up from his handiwork—which you still can’t see enough of for your liking—in surprise before a soft smile takes over his rosy cheeks. “oh! sure, that would be…really nice of you, actually.”

you return his smile with one of your own, moving towards the front door of the quaint building to turn the sign over so the falling for u was only open for the two of you inside.

there’s some rustling as seungkwan places your mug on the counter before disappearing to refill something (or at least, you assume that’s what he’s doing). you pull out the chair you were sitting on previously before staring quizzically at the steaming drink in front of you. “i didn’t order this.”

“it’s on the house,” seungkwan’s voice rings out through the cafe as he pops his head through the door leading to the back (there’s a sticky note on it you never noticed before: jeonghan stop trying to prank me. i’m going to resign as the co-owner >:( - joshua which intrigues you, but you don’t ask about it).

“i’m not drinking this,” you state instead, shaking your head defiantly as he comes closer, leaning his elbows on the counter behind your drink with a sneaky smile on his face like he’s oh so clever by giving you exactly what you craved on this winter evening (but you would never let him know that).

seungkwan pouts, leaning in as he pushes the mug closer before it ends up in your open hands. “please?”

for an new employee, he seems really keen on annoying his customers.

“no way.” you shake your head. even though this barista’s way too nice (and dramatic) for his own good, you aren’t about to let him win. 

seungkwan huffs, crossing his arms with a head shake of his own. “fine. then you’re no longer my favourite customer! i renounce your title!”

you pause, peering up at him curiously. “i’m your favourite customer, huh?”

he freezes. wait, he wasn’t supposed to say that—his bosses, jeonghan and joshua, had looked at him weirdly when he had mentioned that a few days earlier, with jeonghan warning him to never mention it to anyone else, let alone you, unless he wanted to come off as a creep.

“um, well, i don’t mean it in like a weird way.” seungkwan fixes his glasses, paying closer attention to his hand rather than dwelling on your teasing look—you didn’t seem to think he was being creepy…or maybe he was just being hopeful.

you laugh, staring down at the mug in your hand that reminds you of the man in front of you, now that you think about it. “if it helps…you’re my favourite barista, so i think we’re even.”

he hums, his lips quirking before he clears his throat. “well, if that’s true, you should drink the hot chocolate i made with so much effort just for you.” 

“fine, fine. don’t get too excited,” you say, rolling your eyes with a smile and taking a sip begrudgingly as he lifts up a fist in triumph, disregarding your words entirely as you let out a gentle laugh.

the hot chocolate is sweet as it goes down your throat, and settles warmly in your stomach. seungkwan watches as you relax, his hands moving to grab the mug from you when you’re finished, going to the back to place into the sink, leaving it for joshua when he opens up the next day as a surprise.

you thank him and take a peek outside at the now dark sky with a sigh. maybe it would be a good idea to call up your roommate to walk home together—but you know she’s probably out with other friends though, so you push that thought aside.

seungkwan taps his fingers on the counter to draw your attention to him with a sheepish smile. “sorry, i need to clean up…”

you blink before getting up immediately, gathering all your stuff with a nervous laugh. “oh, right! thanks for the hot chocolate, seungkwan.” 

his eyes widen before he looks down at his name tag. “o-oh right, i finally found this. yeah, i’m seungkwan.” he says, smiling brightly. that makes a lot more sense, you think. you’ve seen all the other workers at the falling for u cafe with name tags, even the owners, so it would have been weird to see a barista without a name tag if you hadn’t been paying more attention to his kindness instead of his apron.

you smile back and his eyes soften before he purses his lips. “wait just a few minutes, okay?”

your eyebrows furrow but you nod, and seungkwan walks quickly to grab his stuff from the back. your eyes linger outside as he walks back out, a blue puffer jacket now on his shoulders, along with a small bag.

he pauses to turn off the small lamps scattered around the cafe, and you go to help with the last few closest to you, earning you another surprised smile.

once he turns the big light in the centre of the cafe off, he glances around the space that usually seems threatening, like the shadows of every coffee he’s managed to spill (a lot) are coming back to taint the floors after he’s worked so hard to mop his mistakes up, no matter how childish it seems.

now, with you staring at him curiously once more, he thinks it’s okay, and the dim light from the windows is the only thing that’s distracting him—it’s way too dark to be out alone.

seungkwan opens the door, and you go outside before he does. he locks up the cafe in record time before turning to you with a signature pout. “do you want me to walk you to the bus stop, or home? you live on campus, right?”

you purse your lips carefully, wondering how much information you should give out. “yeah, i do…but i’m going to be taking the bus. you?”

seungkwan nods, putting his hands in his pockets. “i’ll walk you to the bus stop. seokmin said he’d pick me up anyway, so i don’t think he’ll mind.”

you tilt your head. “are you sure it’s not going to be inconvenient for your friend? i really can go by myself, it’s okay.” you huff out a dry laugh. “it’s not like i’ve been by myself in worse situations.”

you glance up to see seungkwan’s face twisted in horror before he clears his throat and crosses his arms. “no. i’m dropping you off at the bus stop, and that is final.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and who are you to demand things?” seungkwan opens his mouth to rebut your words but he really can’t—you’re basically strangers, even if he feels weirdly familiar at times. “exactly.”

he huffs, taking off his scarf to wrap it around your neck tightly, and you blink at him in shock once he ties a knot to make sure it’ll stay on. “at least take this. you can give it back to me the next time i’m working.”

you give him a look before crossing your arms. “and how am i supposed to know your schedule?” 

seungkwan grins, pulling on one end of the scarf with a wink. “you just have to keep wearing it then, don’t you?”

you open your mouth to protest but a car blinds you with its headlights, and seungkwan grins. “that’s my ride! i’ll see you around, favourite customer.”

you scoff but wave back at him once he gets into the car, a man with a surprised look directed towards you in the driver’s seat until seungkwan gives him an explanation—it must be the seokmin your favourite barista was talking about. 

they both smile at you as seokmin drives off, and you nuzzle into the red scarf that’s already warm from seungkwan’s body heat before putting your hands in your pockets and walking towards the bus stop with a sigh.

you’ll just have to keep going back to the cafe to give it back, you decide, and you can’t deny the grin that appears on your face at the thought of seeing seungkwan’s surprised face again.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

@gilgys-ring: thank you, for your contribution, friend. You made some interesting points. I’m replying through here because I’ve already answered to some of the ideas you gave, above, and it will be relevant to what I’m about to write here.

I also agree that some binding probably happened but I don’t think it necessarily HAS to be on purpose because someone wrote that Sauron might have stabbed her with the crown knowing that he wound would suck her into the Unseen world but he didn’t stab her fatally and so giving her time finally yield to him and hand over Nenya which he could have used to heal that wound as a reward for joining him. He wasn’t above trying literally every tactic in the book to get her to “decide” to join him but since she refused every trick he resorted to violence and the fact that he took the 9 but didn’t take nenya looks to me like he desperately needs this picture to hold that when she joins him he “convinced” and not outright controlled her to do anything because he wants her to yield to him “of her own will”.  

If the blood binding happened, it has to be intentional: this has been Sauron’s desire ever since 1x06, when he was still Halbrand (aka “Repentant Mairon”). This was what he proposed to her in 1x08; you bind me to the light, and I bind you to power. He wants this; giving Galadriel his power, and harvesting her light for himself.  

And, yes, Galadriel’s soul would go to the Unseen world, no matter Sauron’s true intention with this (this is a confirmed fact by 2x08):

As for Nenya, we still don’t fully understand how the rings of power work. From what we saw in 2x01, Nenya chose Galadriel as its ring-bearer; this can be a clue that the Three rings of power might have a “will of their own” like the One ring has.

Meaning: Sauron knows that Nenya belongs to Galadriel, and only her can surrender it to him. And this is most likely the reason why he just didn’t take her off her hand (like he did with the Nine).

Galadriel surrendered Nenya to Elrond in 2x04 for safe keeping, and Adar was able to retrieve the ring by force in 2x07, only he was the one who ended up returning it to Galadriel. We see this dynamic with the One ring, and how much it wants to return to its master, Sauron, in “Lord of the Rings” trilogy. What if the Three work in the same way? 

I have a hard time believing that he actually puppermaster-controlled her to do anything because he wants her to yield to him “of her own will”.  Also I don’t remember if we ever saw him puppetmaster-controlling anyone to a point where they changed their thought, just deceiving with multiple people and then puppetmaster-control with the guards stabbing each other for example. But deceiving Celebrimbor was also never about puppetmastering him but showing and telling him stuff that changed his perception and the guards seemed terrified when he puppetmaster-controlled them right? Unlike Galadriel when she was about to give him Nenya.  

You are correct, because Sauron isn’t a “master-puppeteer”; what he does is “planting seeds” on people’s minds. He’s like a demon whispering in your ear, giving you hints on what to do. Celebrimbor explained this to the audience, in 2x05: “It is a game you play, is it not? Sowing seeds in others' minds and then convincing them that the fruit is of their own thought.”  

However (and this is why this reblog is important), the concept of “free will” is a major theme in Tolkien lore. Sauron might “plant these seeds”, but it’s ultimately other beings’ choice to follow what he says, or not. Sauron is a personification of evil in the legendarium, which means others have the choice to either follow him (evil), or turn away (good). That’s why Sauron tells Celebrimbor “you chose this”; because he, indeed, has. He has chosen to follow evil.  

“That’s why I think he just though she finally got it and gave a shot and she played along to idk fuck with him?” 

Like I said in my OG post, this is underestimating Sauron’s power. He’s one of the most powerful Maiar in existence. Galadriel doesn’t have the power to deceive him, even if she wanted to.  

Another thought was that he stabbing with the crown was symbolic for him whether he knows of any binding power of the blood or of the magic. He’s petty and angry in that moment and he doesn’t use the sword but stabs her with the symbol of his earlier proposal to elevate her above everything else in Middle-earth to show her how hard she fucked this up for herself and what she forced him to do to her if we know one thing about that guy it’s that he’s melodramatic as fuck. Also I agree that he obviously didn’t want to kill her because if that was the case he would have just done it. Maybe he learned from his fuck-up with Celebrimbor to try and control the damage even in anger. 

Sauron knows blood magic, indeed; he’s been a master of it for thousands of years (probably for longer than Galadriel herself is alive). This is why blood binding theory is the one I subscribe to. 

Morgoth’s crown was a symbol of Morgoth’s power and his desires. I talked about this on this post. However, Morgoth’s goal wasn’t to rule only Middle-earth, but the entire world (Arda) by corrupting it. Had him stabbed her with any other crown, maybe, but with this specific object, I don’t think so. Because Sauron’s offer wasn’t to make Galadriel queen of Arda, but queen of Middle-earth.

Sauron doesn’t stab Galadriel in anger; in fact, we see him stopping for a bit, while he’s looking at her, and then he goes for it. This means this was something he did on a conscious and intentional way, and not on a fit rage (like with Celebrimbor).  

Blood binding and Sauron’s intentions

My pal @rey-jake-therapist and I were in one of our usual friendly discussions about this topic in one of her posts, but since the theme digresses so much from her original intent and I’m pretty much spamming her OG post by now, we decided to move the debate to here, and invite the fandom to join in.

As customary, Rey always presents good and challenging counter-arguments to mine. Because it's possible to disagree and keep it civil and friendly. This is good fandom etiquette, and this is the point of debates, after all: sharing different ideas and perspectives on the same topic. We usually end up agreeing on disagreeing and it’s all good in the end.

What were Sauron’s intentions and goals in stabbing Galadriel with Morgoth’s crown in 2x08? 

2x01 / 2x08 parallels: “Only blood can bind.” (Adar; 1x05)

1) Binding/Enslaving Galadriel to his Will

Rey made the case for Sauron’s intention of possessing and dominating Galadriel using Morgoth’s crown. And that we should focus on present intentions, and not lose yourselves in “what if” scenarios (with this I totally agree, so, let's focus on the present time).

This theory states that Sauron wanted to enslave Galadriel to his will, by having her handing over Nenya, in submission. This would explain why Galadriel seemed “bewitched” while removing Nenya from her finger, and almost surrendering it to him.  

This means Sauron has “outgrown” his intentions from 1x08, when he wanted to serve Galadriel (due to his Maia nature; he was created to be a servant to a Vala). Now, he wants full power, and he’s not willing to share it with anyone else (Galadriel included):

Sauron only wants to dominate/possess Galadriel now: she humiliated him when she refused him in 1x08, he developed an obsession for her, so he punished her with physical pain (the stabbing), and attempted to possess her so she would follow him.

And so, if blood binding theory is true, this would work like the Nine and the Nazgûl, with Galadriel not only being a servant, but a slave to Sauron. This theory can also imply she would have, indeed, become a Ringwraith herself, as her soul was entering the Unseen world (“Shadow realm”) when Gil-galad and Arondir found her.

This is a very strong theory, and I think many fellow fans share this view, as well. Would it pass Sauron to do something like this? Absolutely not, and it would not be OCC for him to have this intention, at all.

So what’s my problem, you might ask?

This facial expression right here:

Unless Charlie was having a case of fatigue eyes due to extensive use of contact lenses (speaking from personal experience), there’s no explanation for Sauron getting all teared up when he believed Galadriel was about to join him, if his intention was to enslave her to his will, and that’s what he was doing here.

And no, Galadriel can’t deceive him. This is underestimating Sauron’s power: he’s the “great deceiver”, and only he can deceive himself, really. And if they are, indeed, blood bound, Galadriel couldn’t possibly hide anything from him. And I already made the case for how Galadriel was about to join him, freely, in another post.

2) “You bind me to the light, I bind you to power”

Speaking of Sauron’s intentions, we need to remember the creator of this character and what he says about him. Tolkien tells us (in Letters 131, 153 and 183) that “Annatar” still has “fair motives”: he’s a reformer who, truly, wants to rebuild/heal Middle-earth, and he’s genuine in this endeavor (nevermind his methods, that’s why he’s a villain). Rey counter-argumented this does not translate in a desire to serve Galadriel, and she’s correct.

However, what was his intention in 1x08?  

And if Sauron still has a genuine concern in healing Middle-earth, what if his intention with Morgoth’s crown was giving Galadriel his power, while harvesting her light for himself, just like he wanted in 1x08? And if this was his intention, why would he keep her soul “trapped” in the Unseen world? What if he wanted to make her queen of the Seen and Unseen world? Not a mere queen of Middle-earth, but as nearly as possible to a literal Goddess he could serve?

Because Sauron/Mairon can’t escape his nature, he was created to be a servant, a Maia to a Vala. And, right now, he doesn’t want to serve Morgoth. Even though he does it, unconsciously, and perhaps he recognized this after he killed Celebrimbor in a rage fit (something that’s completely OCC for him, because that’s not who he is; Sauron is a control freak, a mastermind).

This scene with Galadriel happened after that; and Sauron cried because, when he looked up at Celebrimbor, all he could see was Morgoth’s bounds on him reaching the surface. And that chaotic destruction is Morgoth, not Sauron. And he doesn't want that at this point on his character arc in Tolkien lore. I think this is when Sauron makes the decision to bind himself to Galadriel, one way or the other.

I absolutely disagree with the idea that Sauron stabbed Galadriel to punish her or kill her: if that was his true intention he would have used Morgoth sword (he was already using it in his duel with Galadriel the entire time), not a powerful dark magic object infused with own blood (because Adar used it to destroy his previous physical form), nor he would have carried that thing around the entire time while mentioning "binding" twice (“I never believed I could be... Until today. Fighting at your side, I... I felt... If I could just hold on to that feeling, keep it with me always, bind it to my very being, then I...” (1x06); “The door is still open”).

“Binding” (usually connected with “blood oaths”) and “enslaving” are two different kinds of blood magic. Because the Nine rings of power are pieces of jewelry meant to be worn by ring-bearers, with a small dosage of Sauron’s blood (along with other specific spells). Morgoth’s crown not only has a lot of Sauron’s blood on it, but we also don’t know what kind of dark magic it actually contains: we only know it was made to hold the Silmarils and it can destroy Sauron’s physical form (implying that, maybe, Sauron doesn’t have much control over this object?).

Sauron accidentally sharing his power with Galadriel is nonsense to me, as well. He's ancient, has been around since before the world existed (he helped create that very world), has been a master in blood magic and every sort of sorcery for thousands of years, and he’s one of the most powerful Maia in existence, but isn’t aware he would be giving Galadriel some of his power by binding himself to her? When he clearly mentions this in 1x08? "I bind you to power". Because Galadriel appears to be seeing the world in a whole new way in 2x08 epilogue (and even her eyes look off):

Besides, Galadriel is suppose to be a powerful sorceress of her own right in Tolkien lore, mastering several powers. In the legendarium Galadriel own power was amplified by Nenya, yes, but this isn’t the case in “Rings of Power”, because we haven’t seen her displaying any magical powers in Season 1. She won’t have any other powers in the show (besides healing and foresight/visions), completely cutting off with Tolkien legendarium? If the show keeps it true to the lore on that bit, where did her powers (look into others’ hearts and minds, and communicate telepathically) come from? Will they “magically” appear out of nowhere? When and how? But, if these powers came from Sauron it’s because he wanted it to happen, and that was his intention. And if that was his intention, what was his purpose with this if not to serve her?

And Sauron does share power: he does share his power with those he wants to enslave; via the rings of power. That’s why Celebrimbor tells him he’s their prisoner, and not their master. However, these are two very different kinds and degrees of magic. Because with the rings ("enslave") he can control how he wants it to go; while sharing his actual power with another living being ("blood oath") is uncontrollable. He can’t possible know the end result of it.

I know there’s a popular theory that Adar was blood bound to Sauron, but I don’t think so. Adar not only doesn't have any magical powers, but he wouldn’t be able to kill Sauron himself, if that was true. Blood binding is a blood oath, and it’s forever, unbreakable, and it prevents beings from harming or acting against one another (physically) in any direct way. That’s why “Rings of Power” introduced the clue that Sauron might be blood bound to Morgoth in 1x03; and that’s the reason he could never leave nor forsake his master even when he came to resent him.

This means, that, in "Rings of Power", Sauron, most likely, only has Morgoth as a reference to blood oaths. And he probably thinks this will go the same way with Galadriel, and he’ll keep her light to himself, allowing him to keep Morgoth at bay. Only her “light” is merely aesthetic, really. The light that shines on her hair and eyes is the light of the Two Trees of Valinor, and it shines on every Elf that was born during the Years of the Trees (and not only her). Because Galadriel is a complex and nuanced character, and ticking bomb that can turn dark at any minute.  

[kakusu-shipping]

One of these days I’m gonna suck up enough courage to put random-ass BL boys on my F/O list and then we’re ALL going to be sorry

[unceeled]

gojo satoru has you all covered. they were not joking when they said that this man would serve and protect because not a single thing touches you, ever. and gojo satoru is proud of that, that's what he's good at: being your personal shield.

and yet, even if he were to extend his infinity to you at every hour of the day, the one thing gojo satoru could not protect you from is getting sick.

then and there, the strongest one forgets how to act. this was not something he could fight off, something he could exorcise. no. but he felt helpless watching you squirm and curl up into a ball, sneezing and coughing on your bed.

he'd do everything in his power to take care of you, of course. but it was fidgety, at best. he never got sick growing up; he wasn't aware of the procedures of this all. so... he googled.

what else was he meant to do? you refused to eat, you were coughing up something, you were shivering, your temperature extremely high, and more things he truly did not want to think that you were going through. still, it was those same things that found their way to the google search bar as gojo satoru looked desperately for anything that could make your shivering figure feel better.

comfort was the last thing he got from his trip to the internet, however. the text on his screen informed him of the demise you'd supposedly face at this rate. you were gonna get worse and he was gonna lose the light of his life... is how he understood the search result.

after spending the whole afternoon napping, you finally stir awake feeling a cool towel on your head and something dripping on your hand. you blink the sleep away for a few more moments, eyes finally focusing on the sniffling figure holding your hand.

"toru, what's going on?" you squeeze his hand back lightly. you hear an almost theatrical gasp matched with widened blue eyes and immediately become engulfed in big bulky arms.

"i thought i was gonna lose you." he sniffs, nuzzling his face in your neck. you're left puzzled but return the hug nonetheless. "what made you think that?" satoru pulls away and examines your face. "baby, it felt like you were dying on me," he exclaims, still cupping your face.

"toru, it was probably just the flu-" you are interrupted by a cough that erupts from your throat.

"see! this is what google said would happen!"

"google? satoru gojo, you consulted google? and that's why you were crying?"

"next time i'll just exorcise every germ in this world."

"if you say so, baby"

[steddiealltheway]

Eddie chronically leaves his rings at Steve’s place to the point that Steve checks the bathroom and kitchen sink every time after he leaves, only to find one of them there every time.

Not that Steve is entirely complaining since this means he gets to call him and Eddie gets to stop by on his own to pick them up.

But when they’re at the Wheeler’s place, and Eddie says he’s going to the bathroom, Steve says, “Be careful not to leave one of your rings behind,” with a wink that has the kids exchanging confused looks. But Steve doesn’t notice because he’s too distracted by the light blush coloring Eddie’s cheeks.

“Why would Eddie leave one of his rings behind?” Dustin asks Steve when Eddie’s out of earshot.

Steve laughs. “He leaves one behind every time he washes his hands I swear. I don’t know how he hasn’t lost one at this point.” But his amusement is quick to die down when he realizes the kids are staring at him as if he’s absolutely insane. “What?”

They all glance at each other, and Steve is surprised when Mike is the first to pipe in, “He never leaves them anywhere. They’re like his prized possession. I’ve never even seen him take them off.”

Steve frowns and glances around at everyone, sensing that there’s definitely something he’s missing, so he’s quick to lie, “Well, I guess it was only once or twice that it happened. Maybe it was my fancy soap. Made things too… slippery.”

He gets a few eye rolls at the comment, but the group is quick to move on especially when Eddie comes back a few moments later with all his rings on his hands.

Steve gives him a quick smile, and Eddie is quick to return it, eyes lingering on him for a few seconds longer than necessary and the same blush from earlier returning.

It hits Steve very suddenly.

The rings are an excuse to come back.

And with this knowledge, Steve’s let’s his own gaze linger on Eddie longer than he usually allows, moving into his space more often than not, and carefully keeping track of time, waiting for the hang out to end.

When it finally comes to a halt, Steve is quick to say his goodbyes, hoping that Eddie will join and let the kids have their unnecessarily prolonged goodbyes in private. And luckily, Eddie is quick to move out of the basement, following after Steve in a way that’s supposed to look causal but is anything but casual now that Steve knows to look for the signs.

When he and Eddie silently go out the front door, Steve is quick to turn to him and hold out his hand. Eddie gives him a confused look but offers his hand which Steve takes and slides one of the rings off of.

Eddie stares at it for a moment, looking slightly frightened, as if he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

Steve is quick to soothe the fear as he pockets the ring and says, “Just so you’ll have an excuse to stop by later tonight.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush bright red and he runs a hand over his face. “Shit.”

Steve laughs, “So it has been on purpose?”

“No,” Eddie clearly lies, pulling a strand of hair in front of his face.

“And what if I told you I wanted it to be on purpose?” Steve asks.

Eddie freezes for a moment as if he’s waiting for Steve to tell him that he’s joking, but Steve sits in the silence, letting the question settle between them.

“Then,” Eddie starts, taking a small step forward into Steve’s space, “I would-”

The door behind them bursts open and Dustin yells, “Hurry up I have a curfew!” as he races off to Steve’s car.

Steve rolls his eyes at the kid and takes a step back as everyone else makes their way out the door to the cars or their bikes.

Steve and Eddie linger behind for a moment, which Steve uses to quietly ask, “I’ll see you tonight?”

Eddie gives him a bashful smile in return and nods. “Yeah, I’ll see you tonight.”

Steve resists the urge to celebrate in any way in front of the kids and instead puts his hand in his pocket, fingers curling around Eddie’s ring.

As he gets into his car, ignoring Dustin bitching and complaining, he slips the ring over his finger and smiles at it.

He notices the car go quiet and he nearly groans at his mistake.

“Is that Eddie’s ring?” Dustin screeches.

It’s going to be a long drive home, but Steve doesn’t mind when he has Eddie to look forward to.

[twilightkitkat]

RIGHT??

I have so many ideas. I find it really interesting to consider how Wade's mutation would act differently if he got it this way. Would he look the same, like just a guy who didn't get fucked up? Would he be allowed to keep his face in the Origins Universe, only to return to his own body when he goes back home? It isn't his universe, anyways, right?

Wade has to be limited in his actions or he'd 100% steamroll the fuck out of Stryker and Victor and pretty much everyone. Logan and Wade working together would clap everyone easily.

And when Logan saw Wade standing there, looking significantly worse for wear but still so painfully Wade, he'd be shocked. And Wade would joke with him as always, flirting like it was second nature

I think that some major plot points need to stay the same: Logan needs to leave Weapon X, he needs to have a reason (grief) to go after Victor, he needs to accept the adamantium implants, he needs to destroy Stryker's facility, he needs to lose his memory, and he needs to join the X-men.

This would create some issues later down the line because right as Logan started to get comfortable with Wade, when he loved him more than anything, his memories would need to be wiped. To give him a reason to join the X-men. (It makes Wade bitter to think that he needed to be gone for Logan to become a hero. For Logan to eventually save his world.)

So they split apart for a while. Wade moves to his original city and decides to start up his vigilante work. It's liberating, in a way, to get back into the routine of it. He meets Althea, a little younger than his universe but still herself. He manages to weasel his way into living with her even earlier than before.

Of course, Wade keeps tabs even as Logan is a cage fighter through the black market, but he can't do much.

Still, sometimes he can't let it slide. He corners guys who were particularly brutal with Logan and shoots them in an alleyway. When Logan gets battered and bruised from being harassed and passes out in a drunken puddle of misery, Wade picks him up ever so gently and takes him home. Logan is confused about how he's in his own bed with water next to him, but he shrugs it off. Until it keeps happening. It's... strange.

So Logan hatches a plan. He pretends to be more drunk than he is, one day, shivering out in the cold. Only to see some fucker in a red suit come down, muttering about how he's gonna kill some people. He picks him up like he's precious and he carries Logan all the way back to where he lives. (He'd think it was creepy that the guy knew if not for the fact that he was protecting him.) He takes off his shoes and gets him water. He even lights the fireplace and wraps Logan in a towel, muttering something about temperature sensitivity. (It helps more than Logan would ever admit.)

Logan had planned to confront him but he ends up letting him go. A part of him didn't want to scare the man away. It was the first time since he'd waken up on that godforsaken island that someone was nice to him. He wondered if the man knew him from the past because he seemed oddly familiar. But he didn't want to ruin it, so he kept quiet. And it kept happening.

(Logan never forgets him. Even after joining the X-men, he keeps an eye out. Until one day, they finally meet again.)

Time travel GO!

OK let's go.

Like you said, it's a really interesting theory that Worst Wolverine is from the Origins Universe. It matches up with his story considering he seemed confused by Wade's existence, meaning that Deadpool likely wasn't an active vigilante in his universe. This would be plausible if Wade had been essentially "killed" (stripped of his free will) during the Weapon X program. Also, Logan in Origins was a little different than how he acted in the OG X-men films and his personality aligns a bit more with Worst Wolverine. Origin's plotline would account for him being extra cagey and distrustful of the world and the X-men, because his own brother and teammates turned against him in the past.

Logan always struggled with memory problems. Except in his world since he never joined the X-men, he never really fully "remembered" his past. He eventually discovered what Stryker did to him, but not the extent of his involvement in the Weapon X program. It bothered him, but eventually, he tried to move on.

Except he and Wade are up against a villain from another universe. With TVA's ability to time and dimension travel. Right as they're about to finish him off, he hits an emergency button on a device he has and sends them back in time.

Except he latched onto the point where Logan's memory was the weakest and sent him there in hopes that he'd fuck up the timeline enough to never come to Wade's Universe. So that he wouldn't fight them.

So Wade and Logan get sent back in time. Except that Wade remembers and Logan... doesn't. His memories were already spotty at best and were sealed behind a barrier.

The Origins Weapon X program was a little different from the one Wade remembered, but it was so nauseatingly familiar. When he sees Logan with his brother Victor, he damn near starts ugly sobbing. Except for the fact that Logan is ignoring him. He isn't looking at him or talking to him and he's acting like he doesn't remember anything.

It's only when he raises an unamused eyebrow and asks, "The fuck do you need, Wilson?" that Wade realizes how deep in shit he is. Time travel is hard enough, but without Logan's cooperation? In a time before Wade even had his fucking mutant abilities? No thanks...

Wade tries to get closer to Logan. To prod him to remember. Occasionally, Logan looks a little moved by his words, only to get a piercing headache and forget about it. He thinks Wade's schizophrenic and delusional and Wade can't do shit to change it.

So he switches gears. The best thing he could do right now is try to get buddy-buddy with past Wolvie, right? He starts following him on missions, separating him from Victor, and talking Logan's ear off. Logan is annoyed but it's also nice to be around someone who has a shred of empathy for civilians. Who isn't a bloodthirsty psychopath. So he reluctantly lets him in.

So they become close friends. Wade obviously feels more than that, but what can he do? This was a time when being gay was like a death sentence, and Logan was almost 200 years old. He'd had it ingrained into his head and it took years in modern society to undo that shit.

Logan starts feeling a little hot and bothered around Wade, but doesn't know why. The guy pisses him off but this isn't just that? He kind of wants to yank him closer and just... hold him there. But that can't be right. Firstly, Wade is a man. Secondly, Logan isn't Like That. He's a killing machine, an animal. He doesn't deserve nice things.

But Logan starts to have second thoughts. He starts to doubt what he's doing is right. And this time, with someone other than Victor around, he can share his frustrations. Occasionally he gets drunk enough let himself be vulnerable around Wade (only Wade). He tells him how he hates killing, how he just wants to live a peaceful life, how he can't keep doing this anymore. Wade listens to him and comforts him. Tells him he knows. (Holds him quietly when Logan finally lets himself cry. Logan might not say anything the next day, but he stays so close to Wade that their shoulders are brushing and that's all Wade needs to know he appreciates it.)

And so this continues until Logan decides to quit the Weapon X project. And Wade doesn't exactly know what overcame him in that moment, but he followed Logan. He knows he should let the plot run its course but he couldn't. Not when Logan was disappearing from sight and all Wade could remember was a much older Logan from the future about to walk away until he called out for him.

Logan turns around, angry and cautious and fucking terrified because he's leaving behind the only life he'd ever known. And there was Wade, who'd been there for him through all this shit, grinning awkwardly and holding out his dog tags.

"Twinsies?" Wade chuckles as he places them into Logan's hand. Logan can't decide whether to strangle or hug him, so he settles on a combination.

He punches Wade in the shoulder and mutters, "Asshole," and then wraps him in the most bone-crushingly tight hug he can manage. He clings to Wade like a lifeline, like he can't believe he's real, and it's only then that Wade notices he's shaking.

And... oh.

The realization hits him that it wasn't easy for Logan at all. To leave behind his brother who he'd been with his whole life, the only person who couldn't die like him and understood his instincts. To see Victor become someone unrecognizable, tainted by greed and bloodlust. To leave behind the only semblance of familiarity he knew because the guilt was eating him alive.

Wade can't just abandon him. Can't leave him alone to suffer and become the hardened shell of a man he should have become. He isn't thinking about the future ramifications when he takes Logan by the shoulders, grins, and says he knows a way out. Later that night, he manages to borrow a boat from a coastal settlement in exchange for a warning about Stryker. Logan looks dazed next to him as he easily manages to secure an escape route.

(How long would it have taken him before? When he didn't have a translator? How much did he suffer originally?)

And so they run away together. To Canada, where Wade knew Logan would choose to settle. And Wade meets the woman who would have been Logan's wife, in the original timeline. She's sweet and cute and reminds him of Vanessa in a way that makes him viciously homesick. He can see why Logan liked her.

But they don't end up together. Logan is oddly on guard around her, frowning as she chats happily with Wade. Wade might be a little wary because he knows she's a spy, but Logan should have no reason to be so cagey. When she turns to Logan to flirt, he shuts her down immediately and harshly. He storms off and drags Wade with him. (If Wade didn't know better, it almost looked like he was jealous.)

Later that night, Wade brings her up again. Says that she's pretty and seems interested in Logan. It pains him a little, but it's how the timeline is supposed to go. Logan sneers in response before schooling his face into an expression of indifference and asks him what he thinks of her.

Wade... doesn't know what came over him, suddenly, but he feels a sudden urge to be honest. Maybe it's homesickness or just being sick of bottling up his emotions, but he tells Logan that she reminds him of Vanessa.

Logan's eyes are piercing when he asks who she is. Wade says that she was someone he loved, once. That he thought he'd be together with her forever. That he planned to get married and start a family with her. It tumbles out suddenly, like it was stuck in his throat and he had to throw it up or it'd choke him.

Logan tenses beside him. He stares at his hands blankly, and asks quietly, "Do you miss her?"

Wade hears it for the question it is: "Do you regret being with me?"

So Wade drops against Logan's shoulder and grabs his hand and answers honestly, "I loved her, once. But I'm here now. This is my life." The you're my life goes unspoken.

But Logan hears it anyway, and suddenly he's surging to meet Wade's lips, desperately and hungrily. He's pushing him down and looking at him frantically like he can't quite understand his own feelings but he can't stop them either. And then Wade reaches up, cradles his cheek, and kisses him back. Logan melts into him and clings to Wade so tightly he leaves bruises.

Things are different, after that. Wade and Logan unofficially become a couple, away from the public eye. They live a simple but happy life. Logan and Wade both work at the construction company, with Logan as the lumberjack and Wade as one of the builders. It's not the best money he's made, but it'll do.

Except for the fact that Wade is aware their time together has a limit. And he's even more aware that if he goes down the same road as he did originally, he'll die. Narratively speaking, he replaced Logan's wife as the "leverage to use against him." He knew that meant that Victor would come for his ass first. And Wade unfortunately doesn't have his healing factor yet, which makes him even more vulnerable. He may be stronger and more skilled than Kayla Silverfox, but he can't win against an infinite regen hack.

So he starts planning. He gets in touch with some of the black market channels he knew existed at the time. He gets into some shady mercenary work, just like his past life. It's a lot easier when he knows the ropes. He saves up money and hoards it under the floorboards, alongside a special gun he'd managed to get. One with adamantium bullets.

Here's the thing: Wade loves Logan. He does. He had no intention of "fooling" him with their time together. But here's another thing: Wade isn't stupid. He can't live in the delusion that he'll somehow be safe just because he isn't Kayla. He knows how the story goes. And he knows that if he tries to explain to Logan, he'll forget it immediately. He can't work to create a plan with Logan when the universe seems dead set on keeping him in the dark.

But Wade has hope. Maybe he'll be able to escape with Logan, as soon as Victor's time to shine comes close. And soon it does. He's been keeping tabs on his ex-teammates religiously, so when he hears about the first death he knows what to do.

He brings it up to Logan, prepared to flee with him, to fight together to break apart Stryker's plans, and Logan... looks at him blankly. Like he doesn't understand. So Wade tries again, more frantically, and Logan's brain refuses to let him register it. He asks why he's upset, what Wade wants for dinner, and Wade...

Wade collapses to the ground, shaking. The universe wouldn't fucking let him. It was like an immune system fighting against the intruder in the timeline to cut off the infection. It'd let him stay by Logan's side, for now, and change little things... but it refused to let him change the key events. The anchor points tying the universe together.

Wade goes through the motions numbly, after that. Logan can clearly see something's wrong, and tries cornering him a few times, but Wade brushes it off. He can't deal with that again.

Logan's mind is clearly being fucked with. His memories were sealed from the beginning, and his mind seemed to reject any notion of familiarity. Maybe it was the villain's fault, instead of the universe's. In which case, what could be his end goal? This would just cause things to turn out like they did originally, which would be bad for him. (Unless he had a moment he'd step in. A single moment to intercept. Like them meeting in the bar.)

Then, on the night before Victor arrives, Wade puts his plan into action. He grabs the gun and the money stuffs it into his backpack before he leaves for work. He kisses Logan goodbye at their parting point and walks off with a grim look on his face.

The air has a chill to it that can't just be explained away by the cold. The forest seems distorted. Wade can just feel that it's getting close. He hides the bag in a place only he would know to check that wouldn't be suspicious if Logan caught his scent.

Then he "leisurely" strolls out into the woods, whistling with his hands in his pockets without a care in the world. (He's very tense, actually.)

It's then that Victor pounces. Pinning him to the ground, grinning viciously. "Wilson," he punctuates with his claws pushing closer to his throat, "what a pleasure to know that my brother keeps you as company."

But just as Wade predicted, he doesn't kill him. He cuts him, letting enough of his blood spill to be assumed dead, and then hauls him over his shoulder when he's assured Wade can't move. Fucking figures, they needed an experimental subject anyway.

He wakes up later, in a daze, to being chained down on a table in the lab. Wow, so original. Never been done before. He'd wondered how exactly his role as "Logan's wife" and "Deadpool" would meet, but this was roughly what he'd expected. His genes were the next best thing to Logan's, a way to test out the product with room for failure before the next big thing.

(He wondered how Logan felt when he assumed him dead. Did he storm up to Victor, like last time? Was he more or less mad? Did he cry? Victor wasn't here, had that happened yet or not?)

Wade was no stranger to the fucked-up-experimental-torture routine, so when Stryker entered, he didn't act surprised at all.

"Damn, that's crazy," he said blankly. "So you were secretly running a mutant weapon experimentation program this whole time? Weapon X was so cleverly named after the X gene? What a plot twist."

Stryker looks... shocked at his nonchalance. He gets pissed, too, but it's the anxiety as he asks how the fuck Wade figured that out that clues him in. So people other than Logan can still hear him loud and clear... interesting. He can still influence the world.

He riles Stryker up a bit more, pushes all the right buttons (imagines him as Francis, speaking in the exact same way) and he gets what he wants. Stryker snarls at him, tells him he'll show him how to behave, and decides to torture him.

Now's his chance. "Hate to inform you but I already got a free trial of the kitty cat claws. The only way you'd manage to shut me up would be to strangle me," Wade snorts.

And bingo. Stryker mutters that he'll suffocate him just enough to be painful, putting on gloves and eyeing him with a sadistic viciousness only rivaled in Francis himself.

Wade ignores the instinctive panic at the thought of suffocation and focuses on the bright side. Under the same circumstances, he should trigger his mutation early, right?

[gojoest]

“there is never a moment in which i do not adore you” — g. satoru

established relationship, gn!reader, tooth rotting fluff bc i love him terribly and sickeningly, the title quote is from marie antoinette’s letter to axel von fersen, dividers by @/cafekitsune

it is way past midnight when the door clicks open. your ears catch on the barely audible sound of keys being carefully placed on the counter.

satoru is home, finally — after a long day of duties, teaching, meetings and missions, he made it back to you.

and he is being quiet, stepping lightly and silently sneaking in — he doesn’t want to wake you up.

but you are awake anyway, curled up in your shared bed. the shirt he slept in last night clutched against your chest; it smells like him still, and it brings a sense of safety and comfort knowing that he was here this morning, wearing the cloth hugged between your arms; that he took it off and placed it there, on the bed, to wear again tonight.

you know before he makes his way to the bathroom for a quick shower to wash the weight of the day off his body, he will come to give you a kiss. he always does. his lips trace the skin on your cheek ever so delicately, in fact so delicately one could barely feel them even when awake.

but you know, you can feel his breath on you. because you are never sleeping when he does this — just pretending. and part of him knows it — he can easily tell if you’re in slumber or not based on your breathing patter alone that he came to know in his marrow — and his lips curl into a silent smile, soft and loving, grateful to have you wait for him. thankful that there is one person looking forward for his return. that there is a home he can go back to. that there is you.

maybe he also knows that you can never sleep without him. and that the bed feels like an unfamiliar place, the emptiness on the mattress — unnatural. that it makes you restless. that you toss and turn, similar to when you are laid on a new bed you’re not accustomed to, perhaps in someone else’s house or at a hotel, and you can’t fall asleep because it’s not your bed. that you wait, for him to come and make the bed familiar and warm, make it yours again.

maybe this is why he’s been coming back home earlier, or at least trying to, but it’s not always up to him.

“you’re back”, you mutter, turning around to catch him just as he was about to plant a soft peck on the side of your face but paused to take your scent into his lungs. your nose nuzzles against his, arm snaking around his neck and pulling him closer to draw his lips near yours, and the kiss both of you have longed to taste all day finally comes to light.

if yearning was a sound, it would be that of the air you both breath in from the closed space between your faces just the moment before the kiss. the air that enters through your nostrils and lets the scent of the other in, and once it reaches your senses it births a moan in your throats. like that of a thirsty man in the blazing hot desert tasting water for the first time in days.

“you are awake”, he pulls away, but remains connected with you. forehead glued to yours, blindfold off and eyes gazing softly into yours in the dark. he can see you perfectly, and he is afraid to blink. because anytime he does, it robs him of the time he could spend looking at you.

“i just happened to be”, you tell him, fingers gently scratching at his undercut, earning a soft hum from him followed by a “you’re a bad liar, but keep practicing”

you chuckle. he always sees through you.

satoru is leaning over you, avoiding to even sit by your side in his work clothes. the idea of possibly bringing residuals of the curses he’s exorcised that day into the place that he considers closest to heaven is just unacceptable to him. not that he’s ever admitted this, but it’s a pattern you’ve noticed.

but to you it doesn’t matter. you love the mess in him.

you wrap your other hand around him, an attempt to drag him into the bed. “come closer”, you coo.

he is resisting. “i need a shower first — i am sweaty. i smell bad”

“my satoru never smells bad”, you correct him.

he giggles. “you say that because i am your satoru”

“first, there’s no way you can ever be someone else’s satoru. second, please do not ruin my romantic moment — it’s rude”, you pout with a heavy sigh, but playfully.

this time he laughs — he’s missed this banter with you all day.

you can tell by the way his body shivers that he is wavering. his conscience might be in a dilemma right now whether he should break his rule just this once or not, but his muscles aren’t — they always lead him to you by default, like muscle memory. the fight is pointless. this one, he will lose. and he knows it.

and he caves.

the mattress sinks down as his massive self lays himself next to you, taking you into his arms. your forehead buried in his chest, his lips glued to the top of your head — you stay unmoving, in silence. in the dark, but in the warm — just breathing together.

a sigh breaks from his throat when you shift away from him. only slightly though — just to look at him.

“so— where was i before you interrupted my lovely speech”

“you were saying that your satoru never smells bad”, caressing your cheek he reminds you.

“right”, you nod, and then continue — “of course, it is because my satoru is mine — what a silly thing to state the obvious. but also because—“, you pause, charging your lips towards his, not to kiss. but to feed him your love, to pour it from your mouth and into his — “…because, there is never a moment in which i do not adore you”

a smile grows on your lips, but it isn’t your smile — you can feel his lips softly stretch against yours, curl up from the corners — it belongs to him.

and then the smile grows into a kiss, swallowing the love you give him. all of it, hungrily.

“i’ll take the day off tomorrow”, he pulls away, barely.

you smile, “i’ll make breakfast”

satoru thinks he got too lucky with you. and maybe he did.

but so did you, with him.