#but when they were saying that they’d be there for him when he gets back it was more somber music

[mikeyisbrooklyn]

Oops, fingers slipped and made this ficlet. Goddamn Phantom Fanfic Disorder strikes again (talk about ghostwriting, amirite—SHOT). Enjoy.

Simon shuffled into the rec room, quieter than the wind, for his second cuppa that day. His first was earlier that morning at 0400 before the gym. He liked getting his lift in when he was confident he would be the sole proprietor, though occasionally another warm body or two would should up towards the end of a session.

Now, a few hours of dense paperwork and routine training later, he finally needed a refill and unfortunately, he knew there would be men roaming around base aplenty at this hour. And with people came the dreaded noise they made. Thank whatever bastard upstairs (or down) created earbuds—they were hardly visible beneath his mask.

He went about making his tea mechanically, mind adrift somewhere he wasn’t fully cognizant of, and in no time was on his way back out of the rec room when—when he noticed…

When he walked in, he had intentionally blocked out any other bodies in the room, only aware of the number (7) and status (all friendlies, all rookies) except, he had been mistaken on that last count. He clocked six rookies correctly but the 7th, the man they were laughing with and listening to intently, was so clearly Johnny. That itself wasn’t anything new—gregarious bastard could talk the ear off a chatty retired divorcée and make her feel inadequate while he did it—no, what was new was…was that… Bloody Croptop.

What possessed that idiot to wear that? If he were showing anymore skin he’d look like a street girl. And why wasn’t anyone saying anything? Like it’s not obvious with those gutters he called abs, they must be drawing everyone’s attention. Everyone has to be looking at the treasure trail and imagining what they’d find if they followed it like the golden road it so clearly was. Everyone was thinking that, yeah? Not just Simon. It wasn’t just Simon, right?

Simon blinked when two fingers appeared in front of that navel and snapped. He looked up directly into Johnny’s eyes as the Scotsman had the nerve to wink. Something left his mouth but Simon couldn’t hear it through his earbuds. Then again he didn’t need to because it must have been something salacious with the downright pornographic way Johnny bite his lip just enough to notice but not enough to be obvious to anyone else. Like it was just for Simon, like he was just for—

Simon doesn’t know if the shattering sound he heard was his mug hitting the floor or his brain but he didn’t pause to figure it out. He just bolted from the scene and didn’t stop until he was back in his room. His back was pressed against the door like he had evaded a murderer and his lungs burned like he ran a marathon. His heart rate was steady like a drum line. Upon looking down at himself he groaned at the clear evidence that blood was flowing everywhere. Bloody hell. He was closer to 40 than 30 and yet felt like 14 year old boy.

He flinched at the sound of knocking on his door, then a familiar gruff voice, “Aye, LT? Ye alright in there?”

Fuck. Simon gulped. Fucking hell, he gulped. What’s wrong with him? “‘M fine.” He choked out.

“Ye sure? Broke yer favorite mug n’ ran like Hell!”

Dammit. So it was the mug, and it was his favorite. Wait, why did Johnny know that?

“Ay ‘an hear ye thinkin through the door. Lemme in.”

Simon sighed loudly but relented, knowing he’d only look more childish and odd trying to shoo the sergeant through the door. Upon opening it he locked eyes with Johnny again and found a look of curious concern.

Silently he walked away from the door and sat at his desk. Johnny closed the door behind him and followed, opting to sit on Simon’s bed. They sat quietly for several minutes, and in any other case, Simon would preen for moments like this. The comfortable quiet that he and Johnny often found in the moments they didn’t banter. But right now, it only made him realize just how much he loved these moments, how he looked forward to them as much as he did the trading of terrible jokes. Simon lived a long life training himself not to look forward to anything he wasn’t ready to lose and—fucking hell, he didn’t want to lose this. And the thought scared him because…what was this?

“So…?” Johnny made an attempt to break the ice.

“It’s your shirt. Or,” Simon looked to Johnny and then scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning away, “fuckin lack o’ one.” He did his damndest to come off brash and annoyed but even he heard the nerves in his voice at the admission.

Johnny looked down at himself and when he looked back up he turned his head just slightly and Simon would swear on his life he had stolen the face from a mangy mutt. So why did it make his heart skip a beat?

“Ye don’ like it?”

Simon palmed his face through his mask. “Bloody—no that’s, I…fuck me…if anything it’s the opposite problem…” he grumbled the last part to himself but it was clear Johnny heard him all the same. The Scot’s face went through confusion, realization, and then wonder. Finally, it landed on a truly terrifying look: mischief.

“Oh this ol’ rag’s just somethin’ I threw on ‘fore drills with the rookies.” Johnny stretched his arms back and arched his torso forward like a cat, dragging the edge of the crop top to just below his nipples. Simon made the mistake of turning back towards Johnny at the sign of movement and his eyes blew wide open. He turned his head down but it was too late, Johnny saw that what was visible of his face and neck was hot red.

At this, the sergeant started cackling in the bed, falling backwards and gripping his gut. “If I knew that’s all it took to catch yer eye, LT, I woulda been walkin’ round base shirtless ages ago!”

Simon growled and was prepared to kick Johnny out for laughing at him before he froze. “Wut? Catch my eye…?”

Johnny caught his breath and looked up. “Steamin’ Jesus, smart as hell n’ dense as bricks. Yer surprised? Really?”

Simon was silent but Johnny could see a pout of concentration beneath the mask. Johnny rolled his eyes playfully.

“Ye really didn’t know? So you weren’t shooting’ me down, just oblivious as hell?”

“Shoot you…have you been flirtin’ with me?”

“Steamin—“ Johnny let out a small laugh again. “Fuck, means Gaz was right, the bastard.”

“Wut?” Simon muttered like an idiot for the second time in as many minutes.

“The cheeky bawbag said—“ Johnny wrist watch started going off. “Aw shite, more drills. I’ll have to tell you later, LT!” Johnny hopped out of Simon’s bed and headed for the door.

“Wait—“ Simon stretched out his hand to the leaving man.

“I would but Price might kick my arse if I’m late runnin’ ‘nother drill this week.” He winced. “Oh, didn’t tell ye bout that, tell ye that later, too.” He walked out of the room and closed the door, but it opened a few seconds later. Before Simon could stop him, Johnny lifted both his arms and flexed. Simon jumped back like he’d been shot at, bumping his hip on his desk in the process.

Johnny left the room laughing to himself, leaving Simon with a red face, a bruised hip, and a lot of self-reflection to do.

✨🧼

[gay-dorito-dust]

batfam fluff headcanons plz

Movie nights are a common occurrence at Wayne manor and as the bat family’s reoccurring guest during these movie nights you have to drag Jason into joining you, not liking him being left out, and as per your agreement you had to sit next to Jason for the duration of the movie.

It sounds simple enough but unfortunately Damian had grown attached to you during these movie nights, so much so that he’s more then willing to fight Jason for the spot next to you, and the funnier thing was that Jason was also more then willing to fight Damian for his spot next to you! It’s his fucking spot he’s not going to lose it to the demon spawn with a knack for swords.

So needless to say that first thing that happens the moment you entered the Manson was Jason and Damian being at each others throats while Dick, Duke, Stephanie, cass and Tim watched the chaos from a safer, safe distance.

‘What’s going on?’ You asked the group just as Jason got Damian in a headlock, their profound use of curse words and insults were the background noise.

‘They’re fighting over who gets to sit next to you during movie night, again.’ Duke informed you as now you could clearly see that Stephanie and Cass was egging on Jason and Damian from the sidelines.

‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ They cheered in unison.

‘Seriously?’ Tim could be heard asking as you looked over at Dick, who was leaning against the doorframe of the theatre room.

‘They do know that they can sit on either side of me right?’ You asked and dick laughed as he brought you into his side.

‘They do but they’d much rather be the one your undivided attention is on.’ Dick replied, booping you on the nose as you gave him an unamused look. ‘This is a movie night, my attention is going to be on the movie not the guy sat next to me.’ You retorted.

‘Try telling them that.’ Duke said as he gestured to Jason and Damian who were now throwing popcorn at each other.

‘I’m sitting next to them! Piss off demon spawn, try next time!’ Jason shouted, almost choking when some popcorn landed directly into his mouth at accurate precision.

‘You can wait next time Todd, you had them sit next to you the past five movie nights!’ Damian shouts back, hiding behind some of the chairs of the theatre room to prevent a shower of popcorn being thrown at him.

‘If they didn’t I wouldn’t fucking bother being here!’ Jason exclaims but while you, Dick, Duke, Tim, Cass and Stephanie watched on a shadow towered over you all, making you all look over your shoulders to see that it was just Bruce Wayne.

Bruce tended to oversee the movie nights, making sure his kids were behaving while you were here but from what he could see from the mess Jason and Damian were making, this was not the case.

‘If the worry of who y/n sits next to is so important then they can sit by me tonight and you two can sit next to each other tonight.’ He says calmly as Jason and Damian stopped what they were doing and looked to their father, then down at the mess they’ve made, then back to their father again before pointing the finger at each other.

‘Todd started it!’ -Damian

‘The little shit couldn’t take the hint and fuck off!’ - Jason.

Bruce sighs and places a hand on your shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry about my children.’

You shrug. ‘It’s okay, no need to apologise mr Wayne.’ Bruce laughs and squeezes your shoulder. ‘Please call me Bruce after all you’ve been here long enough to drop the formalities.’ Bruce replied before addressing his two sons. ‘I mean what I said, y/n can sit next to me this movie night and after this is all over you two can clean up the mess you both made equally as to save Alfred the hassle, do I make myself clear.’

Damian kicks a stray bit of popcorn away from him. ‘Yes father.’

Jason crosses his arms over his chest, huffing. ‘Whatever Bruce.’

Needles to say you enjoyed sitting next to Bruce during movie night but you couldn’t say the same for Jason nor Damian who kicked and muttered insults at each other under their breath in hopes of their father not hearing them, passing balls on who’s fault it was and just acting like two pouting children for being caught in their own actions.

They did indeed clean up their messes afterwards too under the supervision of one Alfred, who couldn’t help but smile while pointing, ‘you missed a spot.’

Jason and Damian groan.

[kouudi]

ᡣ𐭩 winter is cold in tokyo — itoshi rin

contains: reader gender isn’t mentioned but you have a brother, meet cute, not proof read

a/n: I kind of want to continue this into a pt 2 but knowing myself it probably won’t happen soz

You first met Rin at your older brother Hiro’s football game.

Your parents had dragged you along despite your protests that it was too cold to be sitting outside.

In the car, your mom argued, “You need to support your brother.”

“You’ll regret not watching me when I grow up to be a super-famous football player,” Hiro added, sticking his tongue out from the front seat of the family SUV.

“As if you’ll ever be good,” you mumbled under your breath, burying your face in your thick winter scarf.

The moment your mom parked the car, Hiro bolted out to join his team on the field. Your mom sighed, clearly not surprised, before turning to help you out.

“I need to talk to the other moms about the end-of-season party. Stay nearby,” she said, though her words barely registered as you trudged behind her, more focused on keeping warm than on following directions.

Your mom disappeared into the crowd of chatting parents. Despite her instructions, you wandered near the field where Hiro was already running drills with his teammates. He was shouting and laughing as if the cold didn’t bother him at all.

Typical Hiro.

You settled in a spot between the field and the parents, a place where your mother could still see you but far enough away that you didn’t have to listen to arguments over whose house the party should be at.

The ground was cold underneath your thighs—not cold enough to make you stand, though. You picked at a patch of half-frozen grass for a minute before the chill started to creep into your toes through your boots, making you regret every life decision that led you to this place.

You hugged your scarf tighter around your face, determined to get through this dumb soccer game by sheer force of will—or by sulking through most of it.

Your eyes flickered between Hiro, laughing with his teammates on the field, and your mom, chatting with the other parents, a bright smile on her face.

She leaned in closer to one of them, nodding as if they’d just come to an agreement on whose house would host.

It seemed as if everyone around you belonged somewhere. They were connected and warm.

You shifted around on the ground, trying to get comfortable as the cold bit through your layers. The laughter and voices blurred into the distance; none of the noise was meant for you.

Even the air began to feel sharper, like it stung more because no one was distracting you from it. It was as if the air itself was mocking you.

Your gaze drifted back to the field. Hiro was grinning without a care in the world. You had always envied how effortless it was for Hiro to find people, to always belong, for others to want him around.

A gust of wind sent shivers down your spine, and you curled up into yourself, wishing you could disappear into the scarf around your neck.

It made you wonder if anyone noticed you sitting there, alone. Would anyone notice if you got up to use the bathroom? You probably could just leave, and no one would care.

“Can I sit here?” a voice interrupted your thoughts, soft but kind.

You blinked and looked up. A boy around your age stood a few feet away, his cheeks pink from the cold. His long underlashes stood out on his round face, and he was wearing a too-big hoodie under his coat. In his hands was a thermos, steam curling from the lid.

“Sure,” you muttered before scooting over. You didn’t have a reason to say no.

“Thank you,” he said, giving you a small smile before sitting beside you. He unscrewed the lid of the thermos, the rich scent of hot chocolate wafting out. It made you jealous—you wished you’d asked your mom for hot chocolate before leaving.

“Is your brother playing?” you asked.

“Mhm! He’s the redhead!” He pointed toward the field. You followed his finger to a red-haired player who looked exactly like him—underlashes and all.

You recognized the older boy as Itoshi Sae. Hiro always complained about how Sae acted all high and mighty because he was a good player, but you could always tell Hiro admired Sae’s skill.

“My brother is the one with a bad haircut. He says he’s gonna go pro, but I won’t buy it.” You stuck your tongue out at the thought of Hiro going pro. “Oh! What’s your name?”

“Rin.” He unscrewed the lid of his thermos and took a small sip. “Sae says he’s gonna go pro, and I believe him. Sae is the best football player ever!”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “They got beat by another team a few weeks ago.”

“Sae still got the most goals on his team. Once he joins a better club than this one, he’s gonna get even better.”

You furrowed your brow at the slight insult toward Hiro. “What makes you say he won’t suck on another team?”

Rin blinked at you, his expression shifting to one of quiet confidence. “Because Sae doesn’t lose. He plays to be the best, not just to win. And when he’s on the field, it’s like he dominates the area.” Awe shone through his voice. “Sae is different.”

“That’s kind of intense.” You stared at him for a moment, surprised by how sure he sounded.

Rin shrugged and took a longer sip from his thermos. “That’s just Sae. He’s not the type to care about what anyone thinks as long as he’s getting better.”

Rin glanced at the field. You followed his gaze again and watched as Sae effortlessly weaved through a drill. Even from a decent distance, you could see how differently Sae moved compared to his teammates. Every step he took seemed deliberate and precise.

Hiro, on the other hand, was laughing on the ground with another teammate. You rolled your eyes.

“My brother is a clown. I don’t think he’s serious about football because he’s never been serious about anything in his entire life.”

Rin tilted his head at your words. “He probably plays because he loves it. He doesn’t have anything to prove.”

You frowned; his words lingered in the air between you. He was probably right, though. Hiro always talked big, but there wasn’t much effort to give him credit for. Still, you weren’t about to let Rin off the hook for mildly insulting your brother, even if Hiro sometimes needed humbling.

“Well then, if Sae is so amazing, Hiro just needs to beat him one day.” You said it half-jokingly.

Rin frowned. “Good luck with that. Sae doesn’t lose to anyone.”

“Oh, really?” You raised a brow at his confidence. “Everyone loses eventually. You might even beat him one day if you play.”

“I don’t want to beat Sae,” Rin said with a small smile. “I want to play beside him and be the best after him.”

His smile quickly vanished as he looked back at you with a small frown. “Sae definitely won’t lose. Especially not to your brother.”

Rin shook his head, looking at you like you just didn’t get it—and maybe you didn’t.

You sighed. “Oh well. What do I know? I’m only here because my mom forced me to be.”

“Figures. You don’t look like you want to be here.”

“Wow, thanks,” you deadpanned, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

Rin looked over at you. The expression on his face was unreadable. “You just look like you’d rather be anywhere else than here.”

You glanced at the field again, watching the players laugh and shout, Hiro the loudest. “Yeah, well… I kind of would.” You sighed into your scarf. “What about you?” you asked, mostly out of politeness. You already know the answer.

Rin didn’t say anything for a moment, but when you looked back at him, he was smiling—small and quiet. “It’s not too bad here.”

You weren’t entirely sure if he meant watching the game or sitting next to you, but for some reason, his words made the cold feel just a little less biting and for the first time that day, you felt a little less miserable.

written by koudi

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you. 

Part 9 of 12

Synopsis: lies, junk, and ebay side hustles

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

—

The Twinkie’s engine hummed as they drove, the soft rumble steady in the quiet night. Y/N leaned against the window, watching as streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her face, leaving brief glints on her tired eyes. John B’s hands gripped the wheel, knuckles pale in the dim light as he guided them down familiar roads. 

This had been one of the longest - but one of the best nights of Y/N’s life. After the initial shock of finding out each other’s secret wore off, John B volunteered to drive Y/N home, much to Rafe’s dismay. 

They had both grown up on these roads, weaving through the same streets, crashing at each other’s houses, and finding trouble together. Now, things felt… different. As if, somehow, the ground they had always trusted beneath them was shifting. Their silence was comfortable but weighted, as if both of them were holding onto thoughts too heavy to put into words.

After a while, John B finally broke the silence, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “So… I guess we’re practically in-laws now.”

She let out a small laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Guess so. Funny, isn’t it?”

John B smirked but grew thoughtful, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “I mean, I get how I ended up with Sarah, but… you and Rafe? When did that even happen?”

She felt a slight warmth creep up her face. “Uh… tonight, actually.” She paused, swallowing. “We kissed for the first time. I think the word for it is ‘unexpected.’”

He shot her a sidelong glance, eyebrows raised. “You’re kidding me. Tonight?”

“Yeah. Tonight.” She gave a half-shrug, avoiding his gaze. “It's kind of… I don’t know, it just happened.”

John B let out a slow breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “You kissed Rafe Cameron tonight… wow.” He let that sink in, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the wheel. “Guess we’re both out here crossing some major lines.”

Y/N gave a slight nod, feeling the truth of that for herself, too. Sarah Cameron and Rafe Cameron—these were people they’d known their entire lives, kids who had grown up with a silver spoon and never seemed to notice the Pogues except to look down on them. And yet, here they were, tangled in the lives of the Kooks they’d once considered untouchable.

“How did that even happen?” she asked quietly, her gaze still on the passing trees.

John B rubbed a hand over his jaw, considering. “It’s… complicated. It was one of those things that just kinda… snuck up on me. I was working on Ward’s boat one day. He needed help with something in the engine room, and when I came up, Sarah was there. She was sitting by the dock, crying. She’d just broken up with Topper.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, though she wasn’t entirely surprised. “Yeah, he’s… something, isn’t he?”

John B chuckled dryly. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Anyway, she looked… different. Vulnerable, I guess. Not like her usual ‘Kook princess’ self. We just started talking, and I don’t know… the lines got blurry. I wanted to hate her, but it’s hard to hate someone when you’re actually seeing them. You know what I mean?”

She did. She understood that completely.

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, tracing her finger along the edge of the window. “Rafe… I never thought I’d be able to trust someone like him. I mean, it’s Rafe Cameron. But tonight, something just… clicked. And I realized I wanted to be around him. It’s strange, but being with him, even just for a night… it made me forget about a lot of things.”

“Like JJ?” John B’s voice was quiet, understanding. Y/N felt her heart constrict at the name, the weight of years of friendship and unspoken feelings pressing down on her all at once.

“Yeah,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I’ve been in love with him for so long. And it’s like... it’s been this constant thing in the back of my mind, like this background noise that I got used to. But tonight, with Rafe… it was like the noise stopped. For once, I wasn’t thinking about JJ. I was just... there, in the moment.”

John B let out a slow breath, nodding. “It’s kind of terrifying, isn’t it? Letting someone in like that. I know how much you cared about JJ. Honestly… I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you guys. I’ve known you my whole life. You and JJ are the only people who… get me. And now I’m dating Sarah, and you’re with Rafe… it’s almost like we’re betraying something.”

Y/N looked over at him, their eyes meeting for a long moment. “Yeah, it feels like that. It’s not just about us—it’s about all of us. Our whole group, the way we’ve always been there for each other. I keep thinking about what JJ would say if he knew.”

John B’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He’d be pissed, that’s for sure. Hurt, too. But… maybe he’d understand eventually.”

“I don’t know, John B. He’s stubborn. And this would feel like a double blow. We’re his oldest friends, and… he’d feel like we’ve crossed a line. Especially me, with Rafe of all people.” She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “I can’t imagine losing JJ because of this.”

The silence fell again, heavy with memories and old loyalties. Finally, John B glanced over at her, his voice a little softer, a little more vulnerable. “Then let’s keep it between us. We don’t have to tell anyone. I mean… if things get serious or whatever, we’ll figure it out then. But for now… let’s just keep this between us. I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine.”

Y/N smiled, the weight lifting just slightly. “Deal.”

“Good,” he replied, a flicker of relief in his eyes. He offered her a small grin. “Guess we’ll be each other’s partners in crime, sneaking around with the Kooks. Never thought we’d end up here.”

She laughed softly, nodding. “Life has a weird way of throwing curveballs.”

As the Twinkie carried them back down the familiar roads, Y/N felt a sense of calm settle over her. They had their pact now, an unspoken agreement to protect each other and their secrets. 

—

The salty breeze tugged at Y/N’s hair as she made her way down the familiar path to The Chateau. It had been a week since she last saw the Pogues, and her absence hadn’t been unnoticed. She’d spent the days since the chaos at Tannyhill trying to process everything. The kiss with Rafe felt like a whirlwind, and now she had to face her friends, especially JJ, who she knew would be the hardest. Her stomach was in knots as she approached the hangout, trying to steady her nerves.

John B had said he’d smooth things over, but Y/N wasn’t so sure. Not when it came to JJ.

When she entered, the usual hum of conversation was absent. The Pogues were gathered around the table, but it felt… off. Pope and Kie were sitting together, but their smiles seemed forced as they looked up at her. The only one who wasn’t pretending was JJ, standing by the window, his back to the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He didn’t even look her way as she stepped inside.

Y/N hesitated in the doorway, her gaze flicking between Kie, Pope, and John B, who was leaning casually against the counter. “Hey,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Kie’s face lit up, though there was an obvious undercurrent of confusion. “Look who’s back! You good? Where’ve you been?”

Y/N winced at the warmth in Kie’s voice—so different from JJ’s cold silence. “Yeah, just needed some space,” she replied, not wanting to dive into details.

Pope nodded but didn’t press further. “Everyone’s been asking about you,” he said. “Glad to see you finally made it out.”

John B gave a small grin, trying to ease the awkwardness. “Yeah, we were starting to think you’d forgotten how to find us.”

Y/N gave him a small, forced laugh, but her eyes were drawn back to JJ, who still hadn’t turned around. The tension was palpable, and it felt like the air itself was thickening with each passing second.

She tried to take a step forward, but JJ’s voice cut through the room like a knife. “So, nice of you to join us,” he muttered, his tone sharp. “Thought maybe you’d decided we weren’t worth your time anymore.”

Y/N flinched. She hadn’t expected the bite in his words, not after everything they’d been through. She knew he was hurt, but hearing it from him like this felt like a slap.

JJ finally turned to face her, his face hard. “You know, I was worried sick after that voicemail,” he continued, his voice rising slightly. “You didn’t answer my texts, didn’t pick up the phone. What the hell, Y/N? You left me hanging.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She hadn’t expected this level of anger, but hearing him say that struck a chord. She swallowed, trying to steady herself. “You could’ve picked up the phone the first time I called,” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had actually been there when I needed you.”

The words hung in the air between them, sharp and raw. JJ’s eyes widened, surprised by her retort, but there was no denying the hurt that flashed across his face. “Oh, so now it’s my fault?” he said, voice low and simmering. “You think it’s that simple?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “No, I don’t think it’s simple,” she snapped back, her frustration mounting. “But I tried reaching out, JJ. You’ve been so caught up with everything else, and I—” She broke off, running a hand through her hair. “I needed space. That’s it. I wasn’t trying to make you feel like you didn’t matter.”

JJ shook his head, clearly struggling to contain his frustration. “You can’t just disappear like that without telling anyone what’s going on. I thought something happened to you. I was out of my mind, Y/N.”

She softened slightly at the vulnerability in his tone, but her anger still simmered. “I didn’t want to worry you,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “I just needed time to figure things out.”

JJ exhaled sharply, clearly still hurt but now holding back, as if deciding whether to continue his outburst. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. Just… next time, don’t leave me in the dark. I don’t do well with that.”

Y/N nodded, her throat tight as she met his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. That’s the last thing I want.”

There was a long, heavy silence before JJ, with a frustrated sigh, finally gave a small, resigned shrug. “Alright, fine. Just don’t do that again, okay?”

John B, sensing the moment was still tense, stepped in with a lighthearted tone, trying to ease the mood. “Alright, enough of the drama. We’ve got a Pogue reunion here, right?” He glanced at Y/N with a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s just have a good night, yeah?”

Y/N gave him a tight smile, but her gaze lingered on JJ for a moment longer. There was still a distance between them, an unspoken tension that neither of them could ignore. But at least, for now, they were talking again. She only hoped the cracks in their friendship wouldn’t be too hard to fix.

—

A few days had passed since the tense moment with JJ, and things seemed to go back to normal, or at least, as normal as things could get in the Outer Banks. Y/N still spent most of her free time with Rafe, sneaking in moments together whenever they could. It felt like a secret they were both carefully tending, and despite the weight of keeping it under wraps, there was an unspoken comfort in it. She had no intention of telling the group just yet, but she wasn’t pretending things were the same with JJ either. There was distance now, but it was the kind of space that made it easier to breathe. And while Y/N still felt a little uncertain about what it meant for her friendship with the Pogues, she couldn’t help but feel lighter every time she was around them.

People noticed when she disappeared. Pope raised an eyebrow at her a couple of times, Kiara playfully asked if she was meeting some "mysterious boy," and JJ, though distant, was clearly still keeping an eye on her. But no one questioned it further. No one needed to know.

That afternoon, Y/N found herself back at the Chateau, where the gang had regrouped after a few days of avoiding serious conversations. The group was loud, as usual—Kiara pulling out an old map, Pope half-heartedly objecting to some of their more ridiculous ideas, and JJ getting a little too enthusiastic about a new "adventure" they could take. This time, it was JJ’s turn to suggest something chaotic.

“I’ve got it,” JJ said dramatically, eyes lighting up. “We go to the junkyard.”

Y/N shot him a raised eyebrow. “The junkyard? Really?”

“It’s perfect,” JJ continued, ignoring the questioning looks. “We could find treasure, make some plans for the summer, do something that actually makes us feel alive for once. Plus, there’s always weird stuff there—old cars, random bits of metal, who knows what we might find?”

Kiara perked up at the mention of treasure. “Could be a gold mine,” she added with a grin. “Or at least we can see if there’s any cool, rusty junk we can turn into art.”

Pope, who had been staring into the distance, suddenly broke into a mock frown. “The junkyard? Really? You guys are seriously trying to drag me into a place filled with piles of trash?”

JJ grinned, always ready to egg Pope on. “Come on, Pope. You can pretend to be the sophisticated one all you want, but deep down you know you want to get your hands dirty with the rest of us.”

Y/N laughed, leaning back on the couch. It was a sound she hadn’t realized she’d missed—her group, teasing and laughing with no tension. It felt like old times, before everything got complicated. Before she started feeling like she was on the outside of the group, watching as JJ and Kiara danced around each other and trying to figure out what her feelings for Rafe meant.

“I’m in,” Y/N said, sitting up and giving them a small grin. “Let’s go find some treasure.”

Pope, still grumbling, threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine. But I’m not getting stuck in any piles of scrap metal. I’m too smart for that.”

“Just remember that when I find something amazing, you’ll be the first to carry it for me,” JJ teased, already standing up and grabbing his jacket.

At that moment, John B, who had been lounging on the couch with a cup in hand, suddenly perked up. “Did someone say junkyard?” he asked, eyes wide with mock excitement. “That sounds like the kind of adventure I can get behind.”

Y/N shot him a grin. “You planning on driving us there, Captain?”

“Obviously.” John B tossed the cup aside, jumping to his feet. “The van’s ready. And if I’m driving, we’re making this a proper expedition. No half-assed treasure hunts on my watch.”

Kiara rolled her eyes but smiled at the enthusiasm. “Fine, fine. Let’s go then.”

The gang piled into the old, beat-up twinkie, heading off toward the junkyard. As they approached the site, the familiar scent of rust and oil filled the air. The place looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie, with broken-down cars, shattered glass, and twisted metal strewn across the dirt lot. The kind of place where nothing was useful, but everything had the potential for some kind of adventure.

“Alright,” JJ said, standing dramatically in front of the group, “let’s make this a scavenger hunt. First person to find the weirdest thing gets to claim the prize.”

“Prize?” Kiara asked, skeptically. “What, are we going to sell the trash we find?”

“Exactly,” JJ grinned. “Who says junk can’t be worth something?”

Pope rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back a smirk. “This is ridiculous. But I’m game.”

Y/N watched John B, who was already surveying the junkyard with a mischievous grin. He had that familiar glint in his eyes—the same spark he always got when he was looking for trouble, and he wasn’t about to let JJ have all the fun. “Fine,” John B said, “but I’m getting the prize first.”

“You wish,” JJ shot back, already moving toward a stack of old tires. “I’m gonna find something epic.”

As they began to spread out, Y/N couldn’t help but feel lighter. She wasn’t thinking about JJ’s stupid pity kiss, or the constant tension that hung between them. She wasn’t worried about Rafe’s feelings either—he was the secret she didn’t have to explain, and she was content with that. For once, she was just part of the group again, her old self. The Pogue she used to be.

JJ sprinted toward an old car, shouting out, “I call dibs on this beauty!” and began rifling through the trunk, already making an absurd amount of noise. Kiara, Pope, and Y/N followed suit, though their finds were much more practical. Y/N pulled out a few rusted tools, giggling when Pope made a face at the mess she was digging through.

“You sure this is the best we’ve got?” Pope asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm but a hint of amusement.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said with a playful grin. “What’s your definition of treasure, Pope? Something shiny?”

“Exactly,” he said, half-smiling. “I’m all for finding treasure, but not garbage.”

“We’ll see about that,” Kiara called out from behind a pile of tires, already holding up a set of old neon lights she thought could be used for their next bonfire. “This could make a perfect addition to our party setup!”

Y/N watched as Kiara took charge of their little scavenger hunt, leading them through the junkyard with a sense of excitement that made the whole thing feel a little more like a real adventure. Pope was actually getting into it now, his competitive spirit taking over as he tried to beat JJ to whatever “treasure” he could find. JJ, of course, was already in his own world, imagining the junkyard as some sort of personal playground, where every broken thing was just a stepping stone to a bigger, better idea.

John B wandered off toward the far side of the yard, his eyes scanning the piles of junk for anything that might catch his eye. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at how natural it felt, watching the group fall into their old rhythm.

As they explored, laughing and tossing things aside, Y/N realized that it wasn’t just the junkyard that felt like home—it was this. It was being with these people. No matter how chaotic things got, no matter how much she didn’t know what she was doing with her own life, these were the people who always had her back

The sun blazes overhead as Y/N steps into the junkyard, eyes wide with excitement.

“This place is awesome!” Y/N exclaims, practically bouncing on her toes. “It’s like a treasure hunt, but better because it’s all free!”

Kiara chuckles beside her. “I mean, it’s not the best place for treasures, but yeah, you could find something cool.” She swats a crow feather out of her face. 

John B, already leading the way, turns back with a grin. “Follow me, I know where the good stuff is.”

Y/N follows, practically bouncing with curiosity. “Okay, okay. Let’s see what’s in there.”

Pope, trailing behind, lets out a dramatic sigh. “Good stuff? In a junkyard? This is like a museum... for garbage.”

Y/N laughs, waving at a pile of old scrap metal. “Hey, you’d be surprised. There’s probably something worth a lot here, Pope. You never know!”

They reach the shed, and John B immediately tries to open the door. He pulls, pushes, and gives it a shoulder check, but it’s locked.

“Uh, guys,” John B mutters, frowning. “It’s locked.”

“Duh,” Pope replies, unimpressed. “It’s a shed. Who’s surprised?”

John B shrugs. “Well, this shed’s too interesting to leave alone. JJ, grab the crowbar. We’re getting in.”

JJ jumps into action, grinning. “This is gonna be fun.”

Pope looks around nervously. “This is a terrible idea. We’re gonna get caught.”

“Relax,” John B says, already walking back to make room for JJ. “It's fine. We’ll just—”

JJ pulls out the crowbar and gives it a couple of solid swings against the shed’s door. The sound of metal against metal echoes across the junkyard. On the third swing, the door creaks open with a groan, revealing the dark interior.

“Here we go!” JJ says, his grin widening. He steps into the shed like he just found buried treasure.

Y/N steps forward, eyes lighting up. “Okay, okay. Let’s see what’s in here.”

But as the group floods into the dimly lit shed, their excitement quickly fades. The place is stacked with nothing but junk—old furniture, broken tools, and boxes of random stuff, nothing of any real value. The walls are lined with old tires, discarded appliances, and garbage bags.

“What the hell?” Y/N says, her voice deflating. “This is... this is just junk.”

“I told you,” Pope mutters under his breath, crossing his arms. “Who in their right mind would call this ‘good stuff’?”

John B shrugs, undeterred. “Hey, sometimes the best finds are hidden under a pile of garbage.”

JJ pulls a dusty old television out of a box and wipes it off. “Look, I found this! I mean, it’s not working, but who wouldn’t want a retro TV in their house, right?”

Pope raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, because that’s totally what I want—vintage junk.”

And then, the door slams shut.

Y/N spins around, eyes wide. “Uh, guys? The door just closed.”

Kiara, who’s looking around the room with increasing unease, says, “No way. We’re locked in? Are you kidding me?”

John B goes to grab the handle, but it’s stuck. “Great. Of course, the door’s stuck now.”

JJ, still casually rummaging through junk, stops and looks up. “Wait, seriously? We’re locked in?”

“Yeah, JJ!” Y/N says, her voice rising with a mix of panic and amusement. “We’re locked in. Look at this place. There’s no way out.”

Pope starts pacing, his calm demeanor cracking. “This is not happening. We’re literally locked in a shed in a junkyard.”

Kiara looks around, her eyes darting from one junk pile to the next. “Well, at least it’s not a stranger’s shed. I guess we could just chill... but, uh... still... someone has to come looking for us, right?”

Y/N starts laughing, despite the situation. “I mean, yeah. Worst case, we just start a new life in the junkyard. It's practically our new home now.”

JJ throws his hands up. “Yeah! We’ll live off moldy pizza boxes and tire swings. Total dream life!”

John B glares at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Guys, seriously, quit joking. We need to get out of here.”

“Right,” Pope mutters, pulling at the door again. “Maybe if we just pull it...”

The group tries everything—pulling, kicking, even trying to knock the door down, but nothing works. After several attempts, the group begins to lose their energy, and the silence hangs heavy for a moment.

“Okay, so we’re stuck in here,” John B says, flopping down onto an old recliner, his voice nonchalant. “This is officially our new hangout spot, I guess.”

Kiara glares at him. “This isn’t funny.”

“No, really,” John B grins, raising an eyebrow. “You guys remember that one time we got stuck in that abandoned house during that storm? Remember how much fun we had?”

Y/N snorts. “Yeah, except that house was less junk-y and more... ghost house.”

“I mean, this place is just as fun, right?” JJ says, flopping down next to her, pulling a rusted license plate out of a box. “We got old stuff. We got... character.” He waves it around like it's some kind of trophy.

“Sure,” Pope grumbles, “if by ‘character’ you mean ‘how many ways can you die while inside a shed full of junk.��”

John B suddenly jumps up. “Wait, I’ve got it. We break out the windows!”

Kiara looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “John B, that’s not a good idea—”

But John B is already going for it. “Just trust me!”

After a few attempts, they finally manage to break the window, with John B leading the charge. The group spills out into the sunlight, everyone covered in dirt and laughing like it’s no big deal.

“Well, that was an adventure,” Y/N says, brushing off her hands with a grin. “I guess we can cross ‘getting locked in a shed’ off our bucket list.”

Kiara punches her lightly on the arm. “Yeah, not on my list, but sure, let's count it.”

Pope straightens up, shaking his head. “That was a mess. But at least it was... interesting.”

John B slings his arm around Y/N's shoulders, laughing. “Another Tuesday with the Pogues. Couldn’t get any better, right?”

—

A/N: Pogues back to business as usual. Don’t worry—Rafe’ll be back next time. Please drop a thought if anything stuck out to you, I love hearing what you all think!

–

Next time: secrets don’t stay hidden for long

—

Taglist: @hockeybabe87 , @idiotussupremus , @certifiedhaters , @oatmealisweird, @sluggmuffin , @maybankslover , @ren-ni, @wh0reforbucknasty , @enjoymyloves , @bilssturns , @dragonslight , @willowpains , @sidney-86

[walkinthrudaisies]

Crush

dean winchester x fem!reader

2.6k | angst, fluff

summary: operation, have you and dean actually get along. that is all sam begged and pleaded to happen. though, it worked better than he initially had hoped.

sam believed that if he rolled his eyes anymore, they’d get stuck at the back of his head. he loved you, don’t get it twisted. it’s just that when you and dean were in the same room, things seemed to get a lot more. . . aggravating, to say it lightly.

the winchester brothers had met you around three years ago on a hunt in washington. a pesky demon is what brought you all together. well, it was more or less you and sam. dean was just an added on bonus that wasn’t really a bonus because you wanted to slap him across the face every ten seconds.

you and dean winchester hadn’t gotten along since the jump, and sam could easily vouch for the statement since he’d been in the middle of the lengthy feud for many years. dean was cocky, stubborn, and always had to be right, something you couldn’t stand. as someone who strived on being independent, a man like dean was a thorn in your side.

for years, anytime sam called you to help on a case, or you three were in the same place at the same time, you and dean would always end up in some kind of fight. whether it be his idea was better than yours or dean’s constant need to blare his music in the car it didn’t matter. you would always fight and sam would always dream of cutting his eyes out with a blunt butter knife

this hunt wasn’t any different. a witch had been using the residents of a small town in mississippi as her personal test dummy’s. droppings bodies left, right, and centre. so with a call from sam, you hopped on a bus and met the two brothers at their motel in kentucky, ready to join the hunt.

dean always teased you for not having a constant form of transportation, but you weren’t a douche who rode in a classic muscle car. especially one who was attached to it as a baby is to their bottle, so his digs just went completely deaf to you.

knocking on the winchester’s motel room door, sam greeted you with a gleaming smile on his face. arms extended for a hug, you cuddled into his chest and rested your head by his shoulder, catching a glimpse of dean shovelling a mini pie into his mouth.

when the older brother caught your eye, he just scoffed. hands moving to cross over his chest as you stepped away from sam and did the same.

“we really don’t need her help sammy.” dean practically snarled, mouth tilting up in a devious smirk. “she’s probably already got plans with all her little pals on the bus.”

sam just sighed, already mentally prepared for the kindergarten level digs you two were going to throw at each other. he almost left the room as he watched your shoulders square and your jaw clench. “oh very funny dean.” you retorted, hands resting in your pockets so you didn’t choke the man. “why don’t i just go slash all your tires? then maybe we can be bus buddies.”

“don’t you dare even think about touching my baby!” dean’s finger had lifted in the air in a pointing motion at you, and sam felt his hands lift up and slap against his thighs. “oh dear god, you guys are killing me! there’s people who need are help, and you two fighting like an old married couple isn’t going to help them.”

the sour look on your face when sam mentioned you and dean in the same sentence as married couple could’ve been made as a reaction photo, yet sam and dean didn’t acknowledge it as they led the way outside and to the infamous chevy impala.

nothing could ever prepare sam for the long car rides with you and his brother. it was either copious hours of bickering or a tense silence that had sam so uncomfortable he questioned if walking was a good idea.

this time the silence was so thick, sam genuinely reached his breaking point. Years of breaking up your arguments and having to be the middleman drove him to a dire conclusion; he needed to get you and Dean to like each other.

the plan was truly fool proof. force the two of you to work on the case together and boom, all the arguing and petty fights would be a faraway memory. sam had to contain his grin when he mentioned that interviewing the families is more of a one person job than going to the morgue. his grin didn’t leave his face even as he mentioned that he was better with comforting grieving families than either you or dean.

no words were spoken between you and dean in the car ride towards the morgue. in all honesty, you never knew what to say to the man. he was always angry, finding something to get mad about and always finding a way for it to be your fault.

truthfully, maybe that’s why you hated him. he never let you explain yourself, always jumping to conclusions and blaming you for the smallest things. if it wasn’t for his quick temper and communication issues, you’d probably have a huge crush on the man.

it was dean winchester at the end of the day. and as much of a dick as he was to you, you witnessed those moments he had with sam or with a family member or victim on a case where he wasn’t an absolute dickhead. it was sad really, how much dean hated you. sam spoke up and down that you and dean would be a great duo, yet you never got to prove him right or wrong since his older brother couldn’t go five minutes without arguing with you.

although, something you weren’t aware of was that dean’s thoughts were very similar to yours. he didn’t know why you got under his skin, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about you for weeks after you would leave.

the man knew there was nothing wrong with you. he was just stubborn, and pushing people away before he got too close to them was his specialty. what if you became someone special in his life? what if because of that, you died, and then dean would blame himself for the rest of his life.

it was easier to keep you at an arms length than to get too close, and yeah sam would say he was being childish, but dean didn’t really care. you hating him and staying alive was better than him meaning something to you and that being the reason you were dead.

the trip to the morgue was awkward for the better part. you were trying to rid your mind of any thoughts you had on dean in the car and the man in question was trying his best to remain a good foot away from you. both of you could tell that something had shifted in that stupid ten minute car ride, but neither of you wanted to bring it up.

sam knew something was up when he met with you and dean again. it wasn’t even close to his end goal, but he knew that he was getting close to the feud between you and dean to finally be over.

his final shove was suggesting that you and dean check out the home of moira carlson while he goes to talk to the sheriff in charge of the murders. an argument raged on, but begrudgingly, you and dean left together to go investigate the number one suspects home.

dean had gotten to the home in under ten minutes, and now you found yourself and dean sneaking around the back of mrs carlson’s home to slip in the back door.

a scoff could be heard behind you. and as you turned around, you saw dean with an exasperated look on his face. “jesus woman, can you breathe any louder?”

the pettiness of dean’s complaint just had you rolling your eyes, turning back so you could make your way to where the sliding back door was; unlocked thankfully.

moira carlson’s home definitely screamed evil witch who enjoys killing people. occult items and witchy like items were sprawled around the living and dining room. a big pot in the kitchen alongside weird looking herbs also tipped you off. you would’ve mentioned how cliche all of this was if dean didn’t drop and shatter a statue like a dumb ass.

“are you serious!” you exclaimed, whipping around to look at dean’s hunched figure, trying to clean the broken pieces of the statue in a hurry. “can you not be a complete oaf for one damn second?”

the eldest winchester just laughed humourlessly, standing back up with all the broken pieces in his hand. “i’m not the one stomping around like an ogre. she can be home for all we know.”

“coming from the guy with the cinder blocks for shoes.” you scoffed, both you and dean looking down at his monstrous boots. “all of this complaining is really rich coming from you, dean winchester.”

it seemed that at that very moment, dean had enough of your guys’ bickering. with a wild look in his eye, dean flew off the handle in a way that you probably wouldn’t be able to describe in full accuracy ever again. he started off with a disbelieved “really!” and then ranted on for longer than you ever could’ve pictured.

“how is it possible that you think i’m the one always complaining, miss whines a lot.” your eyes buggered out of your head as you looked on past dean. “you know, i’ve been keeping my cool for sammy’s sake but you are really a piece of work. i know i’m not the best person to be around 24/7 but cmon, can you not try and be civil for once?”

he kept going. yet you weren’t focused on whatever dean was saying, for moira carlson, in all of her evil witchy goodness, was coming up behind dean with a spell on her tongue that did not look friendly at all.

“dean.” you muttered, watching as the now ghastly looking woman got closer. he didn’t listen though, just threw his arms in the air and let his hands reside on his hips like a child. “oh so mature y/n. go on and interrupt me-“

“get down you idiot!” your body smacked down to the floor just as the witch threw dean across the room. poor bastard didn’t even have time to turn around. attempting to take shelter behind the sofa, you grabbed on to dean’s sprawled body and shuffled across the floor while trying to shoot at mrs carlson.

somehow, you got the two of you behind the sofa, propping dean in a sitting position before resting your body over the couch so you could take a shot. dean was frantically texting sam, warning his brother about what danger you two were in while wheezing in the air that got knocked out of his lungs.

with a mighty wave of her hand, the witch blew the couch into two pieces. dean’s body slumped back to the floor, too bruised and in pain to allow the man to even move a muscle. a loud cackle could be heard as mrs carlson moved in on dean, ready to deliver her final blow.

she was about to, if it wasn’t for your gun going off at the perfect time and striking her right in her forehead. the woman slumped to the ground beside dean, the man in question shimmying as far away from her as possible before you rushed over and propped him up on the nearest wall.

“oh god.” you mumbled, watching as dean nearly coughed up a lung. you knew he was okay, he took worse beating than this. it was just the fact of seeing him get thrown around like a rag doll that had an emotion bubbling to the forefront of your mind. one you never thought you’d experience towards dean.

waving you off, dean sat himself up straighter and took a deep intake of air. “i’m okay y/n, it’s fine. though you probably just saved my life.” dean all of a sudden had the realization that he didn’t need to be so closed off all this time. you could easily handle your own, and having someone like you would probably be the best thing that ever happened to him.

a sheepish blush rose to your cheeks as dean stared at you longer, and suddenly, you realized that maybe the man wasn’t as bad as you initially thought. deep down, you cared about him. yeah, you two could fight like cats and dogs, but so does everyone. at the end of the day, you would always be there for dean and he’d do the same for you.

“i’m sorry for how i’ve treated you these past couple of years.” your random word vomit had dean snapping his head up, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared at your nervous features. “i know you have your own way of doing things and i shouldn’t pester you about everything. it sucks that you probably still hate me, but can we please work on us-“

“i never hated you.” dean cut you off so quickly it was almost like he couldn’t bare hold down those words any longer. your nervous face turned shocked, and suddenly dean had the confidence to say what he always wanted to. “ever since i was young, every person i’ve ever cared about either leave’s or dies, and i somehow just knew that you were special the first moment i met you.” a somber smile appeared on your face, and you found yourself moving closer and closer to dean as he continued to speak.

“i’m sorry i never gave you a chance sweetheart, but would you give me one now?” you didn’t have to be asked twice, for in an instant you perched yourself in dean’s lap and smashed your lips onto his.

dean didn’t take long to reciprocate your actions. hands moving to go around your waist and nestle in your hair while your own gripped tightly onto his t shirt. dean’s mouth was exploring all the places he wished he could’ve kissed you sooner. your soft lips, all around your face. when he moved on to placing sloppy kisses on your neck, you felt the vibrations of his voice against your skin as he kept mumbling. ‘so perfect’ and ‘you’re so beautiful, everything i could ever dream of.’

unknown to the two of you, sam had just walked in the front door and was ready to defend you all against the destructive witch. though to his surprise — and slight disgust if he was being honest, he stepped into the living room room to see you and dean behind a destroyed couch. the two of you were heavily making out and dean just put it upon himself to wrap his one arm around the underside of your ass, hoisting you further up on his body and giving it a firm squeeze in the process.

“well fuck.” sam mumbled to himself, slightly gagging up his salad from lunch as he watched dean pull your head back by a tuft of your hair and start leaving trails of hickeys down your neck.

“yeah, that’s enough of that.” the youngest winchester just silently mumbled to himself as he walked back outside the front door, leaving you and dean in the middle of a random house to sort out all of your pent up feelings in a way he definitely shouldn’t be seeing.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Spicy chatting with Stan and Ford? Consider this ask my vote for that ❤️💙

(Love your writing, I've lurked for a while and finally remembered to follow)

sexting Stan and Ford headcanons

2 part of this

also thank you so much <3 im so glad to know you enjoy my writing !

tagging : @nekovmancer

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ he tries. god, does he try. but his texts are a combination of filthy and absolutely unhinged, it’s straight to “doll im sittin' here thinkin’ 'bout how good you’d look bent over my desk.”

✧ typically sends a blurry pic of his bare chest, captioned, “betcha wanna get your hands on this masterpiece, huh?" and you’re just staring at the picture like. . . gosh, Stan, who took this? did he set a fucking timer? he looks hot though 

✧ so yeah Stanley sends you photos, usually unprompted and always blurry because he’s just an old man, dear, what did you except?? his clothes half-open, pants unzipped just enough to give you a peek of what’s underneath and next message is: “betcha wanna see the whole thing, huh? be a good girl and ask nice.”

✧ texts you in the middle of the day: “gonna bend you over the kitchen counter tonight babe. make you cum on my fingers before I even think about putting my cock in you. whaddaya think?”

✧ he loves it when you’re bold, you send him something like: “what if I sit on your face instead?” and he’s instantly typing back: “doll, don’t threaten me with a good time. ya know I’d keep ya there till your legs give out.”

✧ Stan worships your photos. you send him a quick pic of you in bed and he replies immediately: “FUCK look at you. LOOK at THAT body. im gonna make you regret sending me that when im back. you better be ready for this cock, doll, ‘cause im not holding back.”

✧ a huge tease tbh, he wants you to beg. “tell me what you want, sweetheart. you want me to spread those legs and eat you out until you’re shaking? or maybe you want this thick cock filling you up?“

✧ “you’re touching yourself right now, aren’t ya? cant stop thinkin bout me pounding into you, huh? go ahead, baby. lemme know how bad you want it.”

✧ he’s got no shame about jerking off while texting you, you say one dirty thing, and he’s already: “jesus fucking christ, you’re killin me here, doll. im so fuckin hard right now. If you were here, I’d have you on your knees, taking care of me like the good girl you are.”

✧ Stan’s aftercare starts in the texts. so after he’s talked you through your orgasm, his messages turn soft. “that’s my girl, bet you look real pretty all flushed and satisfied. get some rest, doll you’re gonna need it when I get home.”

✧ Stan LOVES it when you play hard to get. “cmon, baby, don’t leave me hangin’. I swear, I’ll make it worth your while when I get my hands on you again.” but when you finally cave and give him a little, just a little, taste of what you want, his reply is “yeah that’s better, let me see that pussy of yours. you know I can make you feel good. let me prove it.”

✧ as you have already understood, this man is shameless, and he knows he’s good at getting under your skin.

“been thinkin’ about that pretty little cunt of yours, doll. what’s it gonna take to get my face buried there tonight?

✧ if you send him something back, it’s over. he’s going to double down with something that makes your toes curl. “you don’t know how badly I wanna fuck that smart mouth of yours until you forget your own name.” 

✧ the man is a sucker for dirty talk. he loves it when you tease him back, but he’s the most eloquent in his replies

✧ “If I was there right now, you wouldn’t be able to get a single word out. id have you moanin’ so loud they’d hear you down the street. you like the sound of that?”

✧ “you know I could really go for you in that tiny skirt of yours right now. make you bend over and fuck you while you’re still wearin’ it.” damn

✧ he’s a man of action. his texts are short and right to the point. “im gonna make you scream my name tonight, sweetheart. better be ready.”

✧ sends you something filthy right out of the blue. "you’re really makin' it hard for me to concentrate on work, baby. every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is the way you looked last night, riding me till you couldn’t walk.”

✧ if you send him a picture, especially if you’re in lingerie or something that shows just the right amount of skin, he goes wild. “WOAH, sweetheart. you’re gonna make me LOSE IT. I wanna tear that off you and fuck you right here RIGHTJ NOW.” the author's spelling has been preserved.

✧ a lot messages like: “tell me, doll, what color are those panties you got on right now?“

✧ but the minute you call him on his antics in person, he’s all cocky smirks and “ya can’t blame me for wantin’ to spoil my favorite girl, can ya?”

bonus 

Stan: hey doll, you up?

You: it’s 1 AM Stan

Stan: exactly

Stan: perfect time to talk about what you’d look like on top of me 

You: …smooth 

Stan: c’mon don’t act all shy

Stan: you were thinkin’ it too. bet you’re wearin’ somethin’ cute right now, huh?

Stan: or nothin’. nothin’s good too! 👍👍👍

You: why are you always texting me at the most unholy hours?

Stan: unholy?? c’mon sweetheart i’m just here tryna spread a little late night joy

Stan: i was thinkin’ about you though

Stan: well. you. and about how that sweet little mouth of yours looked last night

You: oh my godd

Stan: what?! it’s the truth

Stan: bet you’d look even better right now

You: you’re horrible

Stan: and you’re fuckin’ gorgeous

Stan: now be a good girl and tell me what you’re wearin

You: literally in my pajamas Stan

Stan: cute

Stan: betcha look sweet all wrapped up in blankets… though you’d look sweeter wrapped around me instead

You: fuck

You: Stan! 

Stan: what? i’m just bein’ honest. you want me to lie? fine! i’m thinkin’ about taxes. there. happy?

You: oh, shut up old man 

Stan: nah i’d rather talk about how soft your thighs are. how they’d feel so good squeezin’ around my head. c’mon, sweetheart, gimme somethin’. don’t make me do all the heavy liftin’ here

You: only if you promise to return the favor

you smirk, biting your lip, already excited because god you love playing hard to get with this man. so you let the moment linger just long enough to make him squirm before snapping a photo, of course you were lying bout pajamas and Stan damn knew, he felt 

you send the picture: lacy panties of your favourite colour barely covering anything, paired with an oversized sleep shirt that’s slipping off your shoulder

Stan: holy fuckin shit

Stan: you’re gonna make an old man’s heart give out

You: what, you don’t like it? :(

Stan: don’t like it? baby i’m gonna FRAME this picture and hang it on my wall

Stan: better yet i’m gonna print it out and carry it around so i can show off what’s mine

You: wtf that’s absurd

Stan: no what’s absurd is how hard i am right now. fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous. every inch of ya

You: your turn, old man

You: prove it 

you don’t expect him to actually follow through, but then your phone buzzes

Stan: look at what you’re gonna get, babe. and it’s all yours

a photo. exactly what you imagined: poorly lit, shot from a slightly awkward angle, but still breathtaking and so damn hot. his cock is thick and heavy in his hand, flushed and glistening at the tip, veins are prominent, pulsing down the shaft, and his fingers, broad, calloused, strong, wrap around it like he’s ready to ruin you as he strokes himself 

your mouth goes dry, you blink at the screen, your lip caught between your teeth. hell, you’ve seen him before, touched him, tasted him, but this photo is something else entirely. your fingers twitch like they want to reach through the phone because you’d crawl through the damn screen if you could

your fingers hover over the keys, trying to think of something clever to say, but the words won’t come. thighs clenching instinctively as you just stare at the screen.

You: okay, not bad, old man

Stan: NOT BAD?!

Stan: sweetheart, you’re lyin’ through your teeth. i know you’re sittin’ there soakin’ through those little lace panties of yours

You: please, you think one dick pic is enough to faze me 

Stan: oh, is that right? big talk comin’ from someone who’s gonna be beggin’ for it by the end of this

You: you wish old man

Stan: nah I know. let me paint you a picture, sweetie

Stan: you, spread out under me, that pretty little pussy so wet i can hear it every time i slide in. your legs wrapped so tight around me like you’re scared i’m gonna pull away. and me, fillin’ you up so deep you can feel me in your fuckin’ throat

and there your smugness falters

You: oh god

You: Stan

Stan: what’s the matter? 

Stan: cat got your tongue? betcha you’re soaked right now, huh? sittin’ there with that pretty little pussy all wet, wishin’ i was there to fill ya up

Stan: admit it, baby. your fingers aren’t even enough. you’re mine. every inch of you belongs to me and i’m gonna remind you of that the second i get my hands on ya

You: you’re not winning this old man

Stan: heh sweetheart, i already HAVE

your fingers fumble on the keyboard as you type, cheeks burning

You: please come

Stan: there you go, now that’s my girl 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines

✧ he starts out so awkward it’s painful. you’ll send him something suggestive, and he’ll reply with: “Oh. Well. That’s… intriguing.” Intriguing, Ford? seriously?

✧ as we all know, Ford overthinks everything! it takes him forever to hit send because he’s convinced he’ll say something wrong and he’s so fucking nervous

✧ but as soon as he feels comfortable, he’s sending you long, well thought out messages full of science-y talk about how he wants to make you feel, because of course he’s analyzing you in a way. “I’ve been reading up on the physiological responses of the body during… how should I put this?… intimate interactions. Your body would likely respond most positively to the—” and then he gets really filthy without realizing it

✧ but Ford, dear sweet Ford, doesn’t always realize just how much of an effect his words have on you. if he’ll start spouting off his deep thoughts, you’ll send him, “Ford, I swear to god, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to need to change my sheets.

✧ absolutely loves when you tease him, but he also knows how to turn it back on you. “Good girl, now tell me exactly what you’d like me to do to you, in vivid detail. I’m taking notes.”

✧ "I’d have you on your knees, darling. Holding you by the hair while I take you deep, slow. You’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you?"

✧ Ford LOVES playing the “I’m going to ruin you slowly” card. It gets under your skin every time. “You won’t be able to think about anything else when I’m done with you. I’ll have you begging for more.”

✧ you’ll send him a flirty text and two minutes later, he’s sent back an entire paragraph detailing how he’d peel your clothes off and worship you from head to toe

✧ as I said, he’s so damn descriptive, I mean bro literally wrote 3 journals, it’s easy for him. “I’d kiss my way down your stomach, slow enough to make you squirm. My fingers would trace your thighs, spreading you open so I could take my time tasting you, savoring every—” you’re already screaming into your pillow

✧ surprisingly filthy when he gets really needy and horny. long messages about exactly what he wants to do to you or what he wants you to do to him

✧ Ford is a huge fan of getting into your mind before he even thinks about touching you. he wants to know what makes you tick, what gets you wet, what turns you on mentally first

✧ he tries to stay composed, but the second you tease him, his composure shatters. you send him a pic, maybe just a peek of your thighs and he’s breathless: “What are you doing to me, darling? Do you have any idea how hard I am right now? I can’t stop imagining those legs wrapped around me while I’m making love to you, God help me.”

✧ “i would love to feel the warmth of your skin beneath my fingers as I slowly undress you. I’ll start by trailing kisses down your neck, your chest, until I reach the sweet spot between your thighs. Would you let me do that, darling?”

✧ embarrassingly vocal about how much he needs you. you’ll get texts like:

“I can’t concentrate on anything. I keep thinking about how tight and wet you felt around me last night. We need to make love again.” and then, seconds later:

“Please tell me you’re touching yourself right now. I need to know you’re thinking about me while you do it.”

✧ “God, I’d give anything to have my cock inside you right now.”

✧ If you send him a spicy picture, he just about short-circuits. “You’re exquisite. I need to see more.”

✧ “You don’t even realize the effect you have on me, do you? I’d ruin you in the most wonderful ways, darling.” you’re a puddle in seconds.  

✧ Ford loves when you’re explicit with him. if you’ll text him something like: “I want your cock so deep I forget my own name,” you’ll get: “Careful what you wish for, darling. I’ll have you screaming it by the time I’m done with you.”

✧ If you ever send him something too really dirty, all your fantasies and wishes, expect him to stare at your text, blink for a second, then type back: “That’s... unexpected. But I’m very intrigued. You must have an incredible imagination.” 

✧ sometimes Ford gets real quiet after a particularly hot conversation, nervous even. “I shouldn’t have sent that… I’m sorry if I…”

“Ford, don’t you dare apologize. I love it.”

bonus

Ford: Are you still awake, darling?

You: what do you think?

Ford: Well, considering you’re answering me, I’d say yes. I must say, you’ve been a distraction all day, sweetheart. I just keep replaying the way your skin felt under my hands the last time we touched… the sounds you made when I kissed you, your thighs.

You: sounds like you’re the distracted one, Doctor Pines

Ford: You’re the most beautiful distraction imaginable. Entirely your fault.

you smirk at the screen as an idea strikes

You: how’s this for distracting?

you send the picture: legs spread wide, your pussy glistening under soft light with two fingers pressing yourself open just enough to expose everything. you know Ford’s obsessive attention to detail, the way he adores every curve and line of you. oh god he’ll lose his mind over this

but. . . 

Ford doesn’t reply immediately. one minute. two now. the anticipation builds and your stomach twists.

You: …

You: Ford?

You: oh my god, say something!

You: was it too much? too forward?

five agonising minutes later, your phone lights up.

Ford: Darling… You are beautiful. Utterly perfect. Forgive my silence, I needed a moment to… compose myself.

You: five minutes of silence isn’t exactly reassuring, Ford

Ford: I assure you, I was not silent in my head.

You: damn

You: thought I broke you there

Ford: You nearly did. It’s taking all my willpower to stay coherent.

You: old man ur making me blush

Ford: I’m sorry! I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing you, my dear. I’d rather make you tremble with pleasure.

You: you really like it that much?

Ford: I’m obsessed, love. Now, listen carefully. Take those fingers, sweetheart. Slowly. I want you to trace circles around your little clit, soft and teasing. No rushing.

and of course you obey

You: im so sensitive rn Ford

Ford: Good, honey. Yeah, nice and slow.

You: like this?

Ford: Exactly like that. Does it feel good, darling? Tell me.

You: so good im already so wet for you 

Ford: Good. Now, slide one of those fingers inside. Don’t go too deep yet. Just enough to feel it.

You: fuck, Ford 

You: feels amazin

Ford: That’s my girl. Now, add another. Stretch yourself out for me, darling. I want you to imagine it’s my fingers instead. Feel how I’d curl my fingers to touch you just right, all your sweet spots. Don’t stop until I tell you to.

You: :((

Ford: Sweetheart? What’s wrong?

You: it’s not the same

You: you’ve got six fingers, i can’t make it feel like you

Ford: Ah, my darling… that’s terribly unfair of me, isn’t it? You’re right. No one else can touch you the way I can. But I promise, when I’m there, I’ll make it up to you tenfold. For now, let’s keep going. I want you to use your fingers, sweetheart. Make yourself feel good for me, pleasure yourself. Please. Slide them deep and tell me how it feels.

[fratttymatty]

Roots Changed

(All characters are 18+)

Ryan Thornton had always been the quiet, bookish kid. At 18, he was still the same shy, nerdy teenager who spent most of his time buried in science fiction novels, comic books, and the occasional video game. Ryan had come to terms with his place in life: an outsider in high school, an openly gay teen with few friends and even fewer social opportunities. His world was small but comfortable, a safe little bubble in the predominantly white suburb of San Diego where he’d lived his whole life.

But when his mom got a new job and the family moved across the city to a much more diverse, predominantly Latino neighborhood, Ryan didn’t know what to expect. The change was jarring. The new school was like nothing he’d known — crowded, full of energy, and with a culture that felt loud and foreign. The kids here were different, the language they spoke, the way they dressed, the confidence they carried — it was all so much more alive than what Ryan was used to.

In the first few days, Ryan stayed under the radar. He was determined to finish high school without any drama, just getting through the final year before heading to college. But that plan quickly unraveled when a group of the popular kids — the jocks and cheerleaders — took notice of him.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. He tried to keep his head down, but he couldn’t ignore the whispers in the halls, the way people looked at him — the way they sized him up. His pale skin, messy blond hair, awkward stance — all of it screamed “outsider.” It didn’t help that Ryan was the only openly gay kid in the school, and he often felt like an alien in the sea of confident, straight students.

One afternoon, during lunch, the inevitable happened. He was sitting alone at a table when Luis, the captain of the football team, and Sofia, the head cheerleader, approached him with their usual entourage. They towered over him, their presence intimidating, but Ryan couldn’t find the words to excuse himself.

Luis looked down at him, a smug grin on his face. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Ryan swallowed hard. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You don’t really fit in here, huh?” Sofia’s voice wasn’t unkind, but it was sharp. She appraised him like a project. “You’re a little too... quiet for this place. Too nerdy.”

Ryan felt his face flush. He had been used to this kind of thing before, but not quite like this. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wanting to disappear.

Luis smirked. “Well, we can help with that. Make you more... like us.” He exchanged a quick glance with Sofia, who gave a small nod.

“I don’t really—” Ryan began to protest, but before he could finish his sentence, they grabbed him by the arms. He struggled, but the group was too strong. Their laughter was loud and mocking, echoing in his ears as they pulled him away from the lunch table, past the curious eyes of the other students, and out to the school parking lot.

“What the hell is going on?” Ryan managed to say, panic setting in as they shoved him into the back of a van.

“We’re gonna make you one of us, gringo,” Luis said, the edge to his voice unmistakable.

Ryan’s heart pounded as the van started moving. “What are you doing? Let me out of here!” But the more he shouted, the less anyone seemed to care. They ignored him, speaking in rapid Spanish, laughing, joking, as if they’d done this before.

The van came to a stop in a neighborhood unfamiliar to Ryan, and they led him into a house that felt more like a base of operations than a home. An older man with tattoos covering his arms stood waiting for them, his expression serious, as though this was just another job.

“Sit,” the man said, gesturing toward a chair in the middle of the room. “We’ve got work to do.”

Ryan’s heart raced in his chest, but he was powerless to fight back. They tied him down, but it wasn’t painful; it was more like they were preparing him for something. The man — who spoke little — went to work, using strange tools and substances on him, altering his appearance in ways that made Ryan’s head spin. His skin, once pale and freckled, slowly darkened, turning a rich olive tone. His features shifted subtly — his jawline more defined, his nose more pronounced. But it wasn’t just his skin that changed.

The most dramatic transformation happened to his hair. Ryan’s once-messy, light brown curls were smoothed out, darkening into a deep, glossy brown. They styled it into a perfectly straight, sharp middle part. It was perfect, almost too perfect. His hair, which had always been unruly, now lay in neat, controlled waves on either side of his head, framing his face in a way that made him look... different.

When the process was finished, they released him from the chair, and Ryan was led to a mirror. He barely recognized the person staring back at him. The face was familiar, but the features were sharper, darker. His hair — sleek and controlled — was no longer his own. The new, confident posture, the athletic build, the deep brown eyes looking back at him — it was like he was staring at someone else.

Luis stood behind him, clapping him on the back with a grin. “Welcome to the team, hermano,” he said, his voice low and proud.

Ryan — or whatever was left of him — looked at himself in the mirror. The old Ryan Thornton was gone, replaced by someone else. Someone new. Someone who looked like he could be a football player. Someone who looked like he belonged here, in this world.

Luis wasn’t finished. “You’re Mateo Hernandez now. We’re not calling you Ryan anymore. You’re one of us, hermano.”

Mateo Hernandez. The name felt strange at first, foreign even, but when he said it aloud, it felt right, like it had always been his. Mateo felt stronger, more confident. He felt like someone who had a place in the world — a world where people like him didn’t get pushed around, a world where his old self didn’t matter.

Over the next few days, Mateo settled into his new life with surprising ease. His old identity, his old life as Ryan Thornton, began to fade. The change was too thorough. The way he spoke was different now. His accent was smoother, more natural, the slang coming to him effortlessly. His new friends, the jocks, the cheerleaders, they accepted him without hesitation. He was one of them now, and they treated him like family.

It didn’t take long before Mateo found himself walking the halls of his new high school with the same confident swagger as Luis or any of the other jocks. He laughed, joked, and participated in everything — the football games, the parties, the casual flirting with the girls in his classes. It all felt so easy, so right. The old Mateo, the quiet, awkward kid who once spent his days hiding in the library, was gone.

Mateo Hernandez was a high school jock. He was strong, he was popular, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like he was pretending. He was who he was supposed to be.

And as for Ryan Thornton?

Well, Mateo didn’t even remember who that was anymore.

Mateo Hernandez had found his place. And he wouldn’t change it for anything.

[junos-jrabbles]

How would baking with the mercs go?

Authors note sorry it's all short and possibly unreadable I might do some more of the fellas another time :) I'm am so cold and eepy

Pyro, Sniper, and Scout :)

Pyro

Spectacularly, believe me, it’d go so well, definitely no burning around here! No sir!

Jokes aside, it’d go pretty well!

You guys would bake some cupcakes, maybe some sugar cookies, as they’d probably love all things sweet in the kitchen, and you’d both be covered in flour, eggs, sugar, and god knows what in no time.

You’d get walked in on while jousting with rolling pins, and have to try and make it seem like you were being normal. Impossible.

Pyro would be sat, cross legged on the floor in front of the oven, watching the baked goods through the window.

Only some of the confectionaries would come out burnt, mostly due to you two getting distracted flipping through the recipe book and gawking at all the pretty treats.

You'd point like an excited ape at a towering cake, and Pyro would excitedly drum their hands on the paper and teeter on their heels, squeaking out muffled, joyous sounds under the mask as the cycle continued.

You guys would FEAST on your delicacies in Pyro's room, and have a little picnic/tea party with some old cartoons in the background :)

~~~

Sniper

It’d be a pretty peaceful activity, I’d imagine, an hour or so spent kneading, rolling and cutting pre bought cookie dough before you set it in the oven for as long as it says on the tin while you go spoon in his bed.

He probably wouldn’t have the ingredients for baking (or much fancy cooking) in the camper, and when you guys snuck into the base’s pantry, Lieutenant Bites was paws shoulders deep in the sugar, so.

The cookies would come out pretty perfectly, a little misshapen, (Sniper definitely tried to turn one into a heart, or an animal of some sort, and it came out as a funny blob) but really good!

He'd make sure you were both there ready the second they started turning a yummy golden brown around the edges.

He'd pull out the tray trying not to laugh, “Promise you won't laugh… the dog's gone blobby—” And almost drop everything.

You guys would cook up a batch, put half in a nice big baggy and eat the other half with him on the sofa with a board game in progress on the coffee table in front of you.

~~~

Scout

He's throwing the eggs between his hands like that one cooking mama mini game, and is NARROWLY avoiding splattering them absolutely fucking EVERYWHERE.

He'd absolutely go try and steal one from Archimedes if he dropped one

There's a crumpled sheet of paper with his ma's Boston cream pie recipe on the counter, and flour covering every single surface.

“Look, I don't know what’cha mean by ‘It won't work’— Are you sayin’ my ma ain't a world star chef? Nuh— Nuh-uh, I ain't listenin!”

He's asking you to make it tiered like a wedding cake, and he's adamant that not only is it possible, but that you definitely know how to do it.

He's got his fingers in his ears when you try telling him you don't think you can do that, and only starts listening again when you offer him the whisk to lick when you're done stirring the base cake mix.

The cake comes out okay, you manage to get just about everything put together, though, you guys definitely ate a bit too much of the cream while you were waiting, and only had a small layer to put in by the end.

It's yummy, at least! And when anyone comes into the kitchen wondering why it smells vaguely like burning and moreso like cake, you two link up like a defensive wall in front of it, looking around very inconspicuously, of course.

“What cake? Where? Someone's got cake?” Sloooowly hiding it behind your backs.

[cosmicalily]

"written by the aces" - a mini series by @cosmicalily. view series masterlist, and outline here

7. "going home" | kim seungmin x fem!reader

Fuck anyone who says they doubt you, I love everything about you, you know, even all of the the things you say you don’t like, nothing I don’t like. I love that you never pretend with me, even from the start you taught me to be, nothing but me

author's note: oh lovesick kim seungmin, you'll always be my weakness

warnings: seungmin has some implied insecurities (not discussed)

“What are we even here for?” Seungmin asked, feigning annoyance as you roamed aimlessly through the aisles of the supermarket.

“I don’t remember,” you replied, wandering into the haircare aisle.

Seungmin huffed, although you didn’t miss the soft smile on his lips before he did so. “That’s why I told you to write a list or something, baby, you always forget.”

When Seungmin had introduced you to his friends, they’d been expecting someone scholarly, quiet and well-organised; essentially, a second Seungmin. “Did you meet her in the library?” Hyunjin had teased. “No, in the stationary section looking at notebooks!” Jeongin had snorted.

However, when you proved to be almost as chaotic, if not more, than Han Jisung himself, they’d been surprised, albeit happily. You couldn’t be more different from Seungmin; you were very physically affectionate, and had no troubles expressing your emotions through words. You were forgetful, yet refused to take actions to prevent it. You were sporadic and inconsistent, planning things last minute and taking your boyfriend on adventures on a whim. It had taken Seungmin time to get used to you when you first met as friends, but he soon found himself drawn to your confidence and chaos. You were a bit all over the place, yes, but you were his, and you found he helped contain the unhelpful aspects of your personality, such as struggles to focus and just generally get shit done, whilst you brought out the louder, gigglier side of him. 

“Oh well,” you chuckled and shrugged, pulling out bottles of shampoo and examining the labels closely. “Ooh, this one’s on sale, Seung! Maybe I should try it, your big sister told me it was really good.”

Seungmin took the bottle out of your hand and placed it back on the shelf. “No,” he said stubbornly.

“Excuse me, Kim Seungmin?” You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms across your chest. “I think I’m allowed to select my own shampoo brand.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t smell the same, stupid. I like the one you use now. It’s nice.” He pulled you close and shoved his face into your hair to prove his point, and you giggled and smacked his arm lightly.

“What a sappy baby,” you tsked, pinching his cheek and grabbing two bottles of your usual shampoo and conditioner. 

“Is that everything?”

“I just want to look around, Seung, then I’ll remember,” you pushed the trolley happily, skipping a little.

“Baby, we’ve been looking around for like twenty minutes. It’s gonna get dark soon, and it’s already snowing outside.” Seungmin gestured out the big windows, where flecks of snow drifted through the wind, dusting the cars parked outside, including yours, like icing sugar.

“Okay, okay, fine,” you huffed, picking up your two bottles and returning your trolley, and he shook his head. You squealed as he scooped you up, staggering along to the cashier. 

He deposited you, paid for your items, then ran outside, almost slipping on the icy tarmac. 

“It’s so pretty,” you gasped, squeaking as a snowflake landed on your nose and another melted down your cheek. “It’s very cold, though. Can we get inside, Seung?”

He nodded and opened the car, and you bundled yourself into the passenger seat, shivering as he turned the heater on.

“Dramatic, much,” he chuckled fondly, starting the engine. 

“Shut up, I’m so cold,” you hissed through your teeth, blowing on your hands. “Hey, stop that, turn the car off.”

“That’ll turn the heater off,” Seungmin stated.

“I don’t care.”

“Where the fuck is your logic, baby?” Seungmin laughed.

You shook your head and dragged yourself over the console, planting yourself onto his lap. His cheeks flushed a little and he took the keys out, his arms moving to your waist automatically.

“You’re really warm, Seung,” you mumbled into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re always so warm, like, you just make me feel so cosy and soft and fluffy and gross.”

“Gross? Excuse me?”

“In a good way. I feel so sappy and lovey-dovey when I’m with you. I disgust myself. If I saw a couple acting like this in public, I’d be like, ew, that’s so weird, but I love acting like that with you. It doesn’t feel cliche or weird. It feels right.”

“Oh, baby.”

“Shush. You’re gonna make me blush.”

Seungmin lifted your head off his shoulder. “You already are, idiot.”

You slapped his cheek lightly. “Fuck off. It’s your turn to be overly sappy with your feelings now, Seung.”

Seungmin took a deep breath. “When I first got with you, all the guys were so surprised, because you’re so different to me. And when they were surprised, it made me nervous, because I trust them so much, though you better not tell them that, or they won’t shut up about it. Then Chan told me he hadn’t seen me act so carefree, so happy around anyone like this in a long, long time. He said he thought you were so good for me, you brought out parts of me he missed seeing.”

You stared into his eyes, biting back a smile.

“And it’s true. I’ve never really felt this happy around anyone before. I worry less, and when I worry, it's less about myself. Because I know you don’t care about the things I worry about myself; like my appearance, or my personality. You just love me. And I’ve never been loved like that before.”

“You went way sappier than I did, loverboy,” you giggled, but pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. “I love you so much, and it makes me happy that I make you as happy as you make me. You’re mine, yeah, Seung?”

“Always,” Seungmin pressed his nose to yours, then wrapped his arms around you tighter.

You sat, in the front seat of your car, in the supermarket parking lot, bodies entwined.

Sure, you should be getting home, but you weren’t in a rush. 

Wherever he was, he was your home.

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Twenty One: It's Over SS: 1 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 4.1K Content Warnings: Abduction, Talks of murder, talks of keeping someone imprisoned Previous Next Masterlist

Hayun’s eyes flutter open, and she groans, her head throbbing as she pushes herself up. The room is dark, but there’s just enough light to make out the shape of a bed, a small desk, and old posters peeling off concrete walls. Her heart drops when she realizes where she is—Jisung’s grandfather’s bunker, the one they’d used as kids to get high and hide out when the world felt too heavy.

She glances around, her breath catching as memories flood back. The rough, cold walls. The creaky bed. They’d practically lived down here on long summer nights, laughing and pretending they had no responsibilities, no broken parts weighing them down. But that was years ago. Now, it feels eerie, like a time capsule gone wrong.

A quiet voice breaks the silence. "You’re awake."

Hayun jerks her head up, her stomach lurching as a man steps forward into the faint light. She blinks, her eyes adjusting, and her throat tightens as she recognizes him.

"Mr. Han?" Her voice cracks, disbelief laced with dread.

Jisung and Lia’s father, Han Minsun, looks back at her with an odd expression, a mixture of something almost like remorse and something darker. "You always were a bright girl, Hayun," he says softly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. "Smart enough to get yourself into quite a mess."

Hayun swallows hard, trying to steady herself. "You- you took me off the street?" Her voice is shaking now, incredulous and angry. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Minsun sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as if he’s burdened by some great weight. "I saw the envelope you sent Lia, the one with all that supposed proof of Yuna’s death." He pauses, his gaze piercing. "Recognized that neat little handwriting of yours right away. Clever, signing it with ‘XOXO, Yuna.’”

Hayun stiffens, her stomach churning. "You recognized my handwriting? What, did you go snooping after that?"

Minsun chuckles, but there’s no warmth in it. “Not exactly. I went to the local chapel. Used to meet Yuna there, as you already know.” His eyes flash with something unsettling like he’s reliving an old memory. “Imagine my surprise when that idiot night priest starts talking about a girl dressed as a- what did he say?” He pauses, feigning a thoughtful expression before his eyes glint with distaste. “Ah, right. ‘Slutty nun.’ And with three friends who made him pick me out like some criminal.”

Hayun feels her fists clench, anger bubbling up despite the fear knotting in her stomach. "So you know, then. You know Jisung found out. He knows about you and Yuna. Knows you were fucking your own student."

Minsun’s face tightens, but he nods, barely flinching. "Yes, he knows. But it’s you who knows everything. You’re the only one who knows that I killed her." He steps closer, his voice dropping to a dark whisper. "And that I killed Lee Chaeryeong."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, her mind spinning. "What? You- You didn’t kill Yuna." She’s stumbling over her words, caught between anger and confusion. "She was alive after you pushed her. I know who killed her, and it wasn’t you-"

Minsun’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, he looks genuinely surprised. "Oh, I know. But she must’ve wandered off, got lost in the woods, something like that. She didn’t make it home."

"No," Hayun says, shaking her head as she processes his confession. "She was alive after that. I know who really killed her." Her voice catches as another piece clicks into place. "Wait, did you just say you killed Chaeryeong?"

Minsun’s gaze sharpens. "You didn’t know?" His brows knit together, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his face. "I thought you knew everything." He chuckles, low and humourless. "I was planning on killing you because I thought you knew that, and now, well, now I have to kill you because you do know."

The terror spikes in her chest, but she tries to keep her voice steady. "What the fuck are you talking about? You don’t have to kill me-"

Minsun’s expression shifts again, and he starts pacing, muttering to himself in an unsettling, almost detached way. "No, no, I don’t have to kill you, do I? You haven’t really done anything wrong. It’s just complicated, isn’t it?" His voice drops, almost as if he’s talking to himself. "Yes, that’s it. I’ll keep you here. Yes, that way, you won’t tell anyone, and I don’t have to do anything drastic. Yes, I’ll just keep you here."

Hayun’s mind races as Minsun’s confession settles like a stone in her stomach. "Why did you kill Chaeryeong?"

Minsun looks at her, almost bored by the question. “If my affair with Yuna ever got out, I’d have been the prime suspect. Chaeryeong was smart enough to figure that out. She confronted me, kept digging her nose in, asking questions she shouldn’t have. I couldn’t let her ruin everything.” His voice shifts to a matter-of-fact tone, his words chillingly casual. “So I drugged her. Forced her to write the note, made it look like she was coming clean on her ‘guilt.’ Then I staged her suicide.”

Hayun blinks, unable to reconcile the man she’d known most of her life with the monster standing before her. She stares at him, her stomach twisting with horror, but she can’t look away.

Minsun shakes his head as if regretting a small inconvenience, oblivious to the disgust seething in her silence. “I had to do it, Hayun,” he says, almost pleading as if she would somehow understand. “I had children to look after, a family name to uphold. If I went to prison, Jisung and Lia would be left alone, and I couldn’t let that happen. They would’ve been lost.”

He sighs, eyes softening. "But I can’t kill you. I’ve known you since you were that tiny little thing in kindergarten with Jisung." He chuckles, almost fondly, as though she hasn’t just heard him confess to murder. “No, I can’t do that to you. So you’ll stay here until I figure out how to fake your disappearance.”

Hayun’s pulse pounds in her ears, each beat a surge of pure, unfiltered fear. "What? No, you can’t keep me down here!" She steps back, her voice a mixture of panic and anger. “You’re insane if you think I’ll just stay here and play along!”

Minsun steps closer, his face calm, an unsettlingly kind smile tugging at his mouth. “Don’t worry, Hayun. I’ll look after you. Just like I always have.”

Every step forward he takes, she matches with a step back, her eyes scanning the room, desperate for something, anything, she can use to defend herself.

“Mr. Han-” she begins, her voice faltering as he moves in, a cold confidence gleaming in his eyes.

“Oh, what happened to ‘Uncle Minsun’?” he asks, his voice soft and full of twisted nostalgia. “That’s what you used to call me.” He pauses, a mocking glint in his eyes. “It felt warmer, more familiar.”

Hayun’s heart races, her feet sliding backward until her heel hits the edge of the old metal table. She glances down for the briefest moment, her hand brushing the cold edge of a rusty wrench left forgotten on the table from long ago. She wraps her fingers around it, pulling it behind her as Minsun steps closer, his posture calm, confident, but something far darker lying underneath.

“Uncle Minsun-”

Hayun tightens her grip on the wrench, feeling its cold weight in her hand. Without another thought, she swings it hard, the metal cracking against Minsun’s face with a sickening thud. He stumbles back, a strangled yell tearing from his throat as blood gushes from a fresh wound on his brow.

“Fuck!” he screams, clutching his bleeding forehead, eyes wide with shock and rage. But Hayun doesn’t waste a second watching him recover. She bolts toward the ladder, scrambling up the rungs with a frantic speed she didn’t know she possessed. Her hands shake, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she pushes against the heavy lid at the top of the bunker, finally shoving it open.

She barely hauls herself out before the sounds of Minsun’s ragged breaths and footsteps echo up the ladder, each one faster and louder than the last. She stumbles as she clears the hatch, barely able to catch her balance as her feet hit the ground above. She takes off running across the field, adrenaline fueling each step as her sneakers dig into the muddy earth.

“Hayun!” Minsun’s voice cuts through the night air, raw and desperate, the sound filled with a twisted frustration. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

But she doesn’t look back; she doesn’t even consider it. She pushes forward, her breath tearing from her in sharp, panicked gasps, her lungs burning with each inhale. The field stretches out in front of her like an endless expanse, the dim light from the farmhouse a distant beacon guiding her toward some semblance of safety.

“Stop running!” Minsun calls, his voice closer than she wants it to be, his footsteps heavy as he barrels after her. The absurdity of his words nearly makes her laugh, but fear tightens its grip around her chest, strangling any response she might have had.

All she can do is keep running, eyes fixed on the farmhouse ahead, the faint outline of the main road just beyond. Her legs ache, and every muscle screams in protest, but she refuses to slow down. The farmhouse is close. So close she can almost feel the rough wood of the door under her fingers, the promise of escape just steps away.

“Hayun!” Minsun’s voice cracks, and she risks a glance over her shoulder, just a split second to gauge the distance. He’s still chasing her, blood streaking down his face, his hand pressed against his head to stem the flow. His expression is a twisted mask of anger and desperation, his eyes wild as he tries to keep up with her sprint across the field.

Minho and Chan park the cars, gravel crunching beneath the tyres as everyone piles out, their faces tense and unreadable in the afternoon light. The farmhouse looms in the distance, worn and familiar, but today it feels darker like the place is harbouring secrets none of them are ready to face.

Jisung points across the fields, his voice barely steady. “Lia would’ve taken her to the bunker. It’s out there, behind the farmhouse. My grandpa, he was a total tinfoil hat man, thought World War Three was around the corner every time he heard a car coming down the road.”

The group moves in tight formation, skirting the farmhouse as they follow Jisung’s lead. Minho spots something glinting in the grass and bends down, fingers closing around a fake pearl-encrusted hair clip, smudged with dirt. His jaw tightens.

“This is Hayun’s.” The words are ground out through clenched teeth, each syllable dripping with rage. He turns the clip over in his fingers as if he can wring answers from it.

A sudden cry of pain echoes from somewhere ahead, slicing through the air and freezing everyone in their tracks. Without a word, they break into a sprint. Seungmin gestures frantically, “There! Look—”

Up ahead, they see Minsun, blood streaked across his face, dragging Hayun by her legs across the field. Her dress is torn, caked in dirt, and her hands claw desperately at the grass, leaving deep, frenzied grooves in the earth.

“Let me go, you murderer!” Hayun’s voice is hoarse, shaking with fury and terror. “You killed an innocent girl!”

Minsun’s reply is cold, dismissive. “Lee Chaeryeong was not innocent.”

Minho skids to a halt, his breath catching as the words sink in. The admission lands like a punch, his vision tunneling as he stares, unable to fully process the horror unfolding in front of him.

Jisung staggers back, eyes wide with shock, his face going pale. “No… no…” His stomach heaves, and he doubles over, retching into the grass as Hyunjin moves to his side, one hand on his back, holding him steady even as Jisung’s world shatters.

The rest of them charge forward. Felix reaches Minsun first, fury blazing in his eyes as he closes the distance. Jeongin glances at Minho, voice tight with restraint. “Let Felix handle it. Dude’s got twelve years of Taekwondo and a hell of a lot of pent-up rage.”

Minho doesn’t budge, fists clenched as he glares at Minsun. “That piece of shit killed my sister.”

Jeongin grabs his shoulder, grounding him. “Killing him won’t bring her back, Minho. It’ll just get you locked up right alongside him.”

As Minsun drags Hayun closer to the bunker’s entrance, Felix intercepts, wrenching Minsun’s grip off her and shoving him backward. Hayun scrambles away, pulling herself to her feet, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Felix’s fury is volcanic as he swings a fist, connecting squarely with Minsun’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Jisung collapses back into the grass, shaking with sobs as he watches the scene unfold, the betrayal ripping him apart. He digs his fists into the dirt, trembling uncontrollably, and Hyunjin crouches down, keeping a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Breathe, Ji,” Hyunjin murmurs softly, trying to calm him. “We’re here. It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Jisung’s voice is raw, broken. “My dad… he… my family... they’re all monsters. How could they—how could he—” He chokes on his words, burying his face in his hands as he crumbles under the weight of the truth.

Meanwhile, Chan crouches beside Hayun, assessing the scrapes and bruises on her arms and legs. She winces as he tilts her head to the side, examining a cut near her cheekbone, worry creasing his brow.

“You alright?” he asks, voice gentle but tinged with anger.

Hayun’s voice is a shaky whisper. “I… I think so.”

Seungmin quickly shrugs off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders to cover her torn dress. She pulls it close, clutching the fabric as if it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

Felix has Minsun pinned to the ground now, his fists bruised and knuckles raw, as he holds Minsun down with a strength fueled by rage. Minho steps forward, the barely contained fury in his voice cutting through the chaos. “Why did you kill my sister?”

Minsun’s face is streaked with blood and sweat as he looks up, desperation in his eyes. “I… I had to! I thought I’d killed Yuna, but Hayun. She said I didn’t. I panicked.” He looks over at Jisung, a sick, desperate look in his eyes. “But I wasn’t going to hurt Hayun! I was just going to keep her there, in the bunker, keep her quiet.”

Jisung pulls himself to his feet, leaning on Hyunjin for support as he looks down at his father with disgust and disbelief. The betrayal is etched deeply into every line of his face, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy.

“I’m sorry!” Minsun’s voice breaks, pleading. “I’m sorry!”

Felix sneers down at him, pressing his knee harder into Minsun’s back. “Save it for the police. You and Lia can have a nice long chat from opposite sides of the penitentiary.”

Minsun’s eyes widen with fresh horror. “Lia… Lia’s going to prison?”

Jisung steps forward, wiping the tears from his face as he glares down at his father, voice trembling with anger. “Yes. She helped a rapist, and you murdered an innocent woman. You’re both going to pay for everything you did.”

Minsun stares up at him, broken and bloodied, the weight of his crimes finally pressing down on him like a death sentence. He looks between Jisung, Hyunjin, and Minho, his face twisted with desperation and terror as the reality sinks in.

Jisung stumbles over to Hayun, his face pale and blotched, and then, as if his legs just give out, he drops to his knees in front of her, broken and lost. His eyes are red-rimmed, tears already streaming down his face as he reaches for her hand, clutching it tightly as if she’s his lifeline.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Yunnie,” he chokes out, voice thick with guilt and pain. “My family—they’ve… they’ve done so much to hurt you. Lia… Mingi… and now… now my dad…” His voice cracks, and he bows his head, letting his forehead rest on her hand as the words tumble out of him, shattered and raw. “I swear, I… I never wanted this for you. I never thought…”

Hayun looks down at him, her own face blank, as though she’s watching this scene unfold from somewhere far away. Slowly, she places her hand on the top of his head, her touch gentle, almost as if trying to soothe him. Her eyes remain distant, her thumb barely brushing against his hair in a quiet comfort that seems automatic rather than intentional.

Changbin approaches cautiously, glancing over at the others. “Uh… is she okay?”

Jeongin shoots him a look, eyebrows furrowing in exasperation. “She was just abducted by Jisung’s father, you idiot! Of course she’s not okay, pabo!”

At that, Minho’s gaze snaps away from Minsun. He turns to look at Hayun, his expression softening when he sees her vacant stare, as though she’s been hollowed out by everything that’s just happened. With a resolve that is almost feral, he steps away from Minsun and heads over to her, gently prying her hand off Jisung’s head and pulling her away.

Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jeongin gather around Jisung, grounding him as he breaks down, his friends becoming a wall between him and the man who tore their lives apart. Meanwhile, Minho wraps his arms around Hayun, leading her to a quieter part of the field, his hand steady on her shoulder.

Once they’re alone, he tilts her face up to his, pressing his forehead against hers, eyes closed as he tries to bring her back to the moment, back to him. “Come back to your mind now, princess,” he whispers softly, his voice a steady anchor in the storm. “Back to reality, okay? Come back to me”

Hayun’s eyes close, and a single tear slips down her cheek. Minho catches it with his thumb, brushing it away gently, his own face etched with worry. She takes a shaky breath, and he holds her a little closer.

“You know,” he says, his voice low, with a soft humor that’s meant to comfort, “I’ve never met a girl who gives me as many damn coronaries as you.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and he nods, catching the flicker of life that returns to her eyes. “There she is,” he murmurs, relief coloring his tone. “I’ve got you, princess.”

Hayun nods slightly, leaning into him, her voice barely above a whisper. “He didn’t hurt me,” she says, almost as if trying to convince herself. “I’m okay.”

Minho nods, brushing his fingers through her hair. “Okay,” he says simply, accepting her words without question. She takes a steadying breath, and her gaze flicks over his shoulder toward Jisung, still crumpled on the ground.

“Jisung…” Her voice is quiet, filled with worry, but Minho cuts her off, his tone gentle but firm.

“No, sweetheart. Right now, you need to focus on yourself,” he says, guiding her face back to him, making sure she’s looking into his eyes. “You don’t have to hold everyone else together. Not today. Just focus on you, okay?”

She bites her lip, a hint of a nod, and Minho pulls her into his arms, holding her close, feeling her start to let go just a little, her weight leaning into him. The world around them might be chaotic, but for a moment, it’s just the two of them, breathing in sync, drawing strength from each other’s presence.

The police arrive at the farmhouse, a swarm of uniforms and flashing lights, and soon they’re guiding everyone one by one to take statements. Minsun is handcuffed, his face a mix of exhaustion and resignation, and as he’s led toward the squad car, a detective approaches Minho and Hayun.

“We’ll investigate Mr. Han’s confession regarding Chaeryeong’s murder,” the detective says, voice flat but tinged with something akin to grim satisfaction. “We’ll be in touch once we’ve gone through everything.”

Minho nods, though his jaw is tight, and his eyes don’t leave Minsun as he’s shoved into the police car. There’s a collective exhale from the group, relief mixed with disbelief at what they’d just witnessed.

Once the police have finished taking statements and the cars start pulling away, Hayun clears her throat, catching everyone’s attention. “There’s somewhere we need to go,” she says, her voice steady but laced with a hint of mystery.

They all look at her, puzzled, but they pile into the cars, the adrenaline still coursing through their veins. Minho starts his car, glancing at her in the passenger seat as she stares straight ahead, her eyes set with determination.

“Where to?” he asks, though he seems to already sense her answer.

“Mingi’s apartment,” Hayun replies, her lips curving into a smirk that surprises him. There’s something new in her expression—calculated, even a little wicked.

In the backseat, Felix glances up, raising a brow. “Wait, why are we going to Mingi’s place?” His voice is curious but cautious.

“You’ll see.”

Minho exchanges a quick glance with her as he turns the ignition, his eyes catching the glint of something fierce in hers. He seems to understand, even without her saying a word, and with a sharp nod, he pulls out of the gravel driveway, followed closely by Chan’s car behind them.

The drive is tense, the weight of what’s just happened pressing down on all of them. Felix shifts in his seat, looking back and forth between Minho and Hayun. “I feel like I’m missing something big here,” he mutters, tapping his fingers nervously against his knee.

“Just wait,” Hayun says, her tone amused yet serious. She turns to look out the window, her fingers drumming rhythmically on her thigh.

As they stand outside Mingi’s apartment, everyone’s eyes are fixed on the doorway, watching as officers escort him out in cuffs. The entire group is silent, tension crackling in the air, as Mingi’s eyes search the gathered faces. His gaze lands on Hayun, her dirt-streaked skin and the cut on her cheek, with Minho, Jisung, and the rest of their friends standing protectively around her like a wall. A flash of recognition crosses Mingi's face, his features twisting into a sneer as he struggles against the officer’s hold.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Jang Hayun!” he yells, his voice rough and unhinged. “Mark my fucking words! I know you framed me for Yuna’s murder, you conniving bitch!”

Hayun’s face remains impassive, but her fingers tighten ever so slightly at her sides. Minho stands close, his body language daring Mingi to make another move, but it’s the officer who gives Mingi a hard shove forward.

“Keep moving,” the officer snaps, voice cold with authority. “You’re not just facing a murder charge, so watch it, you disgusting rapist.”

Mingi’s sneer fades, replaced by a flare of fear, as he’s forced toward the police car. His eyes keep darting back to Hayun, still held between fury and something darker.

Hayun’s eyes drift over to Ryujin and Yeji, who are leaning against the opposite wall, watching the scene from a distance with a kind of detached amusement. Ryujin, cigarette in hand, raises it in a lazy toast toward Hayun, her lips curling into a smirk, while Yeji winks, expression smugly satisfied. There’s no guilt in their eyes. Just a dark, shared triumph.

Minho follows her gaze, watching the silent exchange, noting the look on Hayun’s face as she regards Ryujin and Yeji. He glances back at Mingi being shoved into the squad car and back to Hayun but says nothing, simply resting a hand on her shoulder.

The car door slams, muffling Mingi’s threats, and the crowd begins to thin. Jisung shakes his head, a mix of disbelief and shock flickering across his face. “I can’t believe he killed Yuna,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “If he’s claiming he’s been framed, that means they found evidence that he actually did it, right?”

Chan nods slowly, eyes trained on the departing police car. “I assume so, I mean the officer said he's facing a murder charge, they can't slap that on someone without proof, solid proof"

Felix exhales, his jaw set as he watches the car pull away. “Good fucking riddance.”

Minho’s gaze lands on Hayun, who’s staring at the scene with an unreadable expression, her face blank, as if every ounce of emotion has been sealed behind an invisible wall. He shifts his gaze between her, then Ryujin and Yeji, catching the subtle satisfaction on their faces. He’s sharp enough to connect the dots, but he doesn’t voice his suspicions. Instead, he tightens his hand on her shoulder, a silent gesture of reassurance.

Hayun’s eyes don’t leave the police car, even as it rounds the corner and vanishes from sight. Her voice, quiet and steady, finally breaks the silence. “It’s over.”

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[half-oz-eddie]

I didn’t know I wanted you (Until I couldn’t have you)

Part 5/5 (master list)

Buck found himself, tipsy and angry after another awful shift, on Tommy’s couch, venting to him about the captain he has reached his breaking point with.

“I can’t take this anymore, Tommy. Everyone has no choice but to keep their heads down and not talk back to Gerrard. I—I just feel like I’m alone there. I-I know they’re still my family but I’m the only one that’s taking this so hard. I feel…I feel lost.”

“Evan, I know it’s hard, but you’re definitely not alone. Everyone wants what’s best for you. Everyone cares about you. I want what’s best for you too. I wish there was a better way to go about this. ”

“I’m really glad you’re here for me.”

“Of course. You’ve been here for me whenever I needed a friend.” Tommy’s voice was the gentlest it has ever been and his hand was so warm as it gently caressed Buck’s bicep, offering him the most comfort he’d felt in such a long time.

Buck’s heart was racing wilder than it had ever raced. He couldn’t fight these feelings anymore. He knew what he wanted.

Buck didn’t know if it was a strange magnetic force, or God, or the universe that drew him to Tommy’s lips for a kiss.

The kiss was as soft and warm as he’d imagined it just seconds before it happened, but ended too soon when Tommy pulled away, eyes blown wide in shock and confusion.

“Evan…wh—“

Buck wasn’t sure how to respond, or how to explain what he’d just done. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t—I didn’t—“

“Evan—“

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna go.” Buck sprang up from the couch, rushing to the door.

“Wait—“

He ran out to his car and drove away, trying to get home as fast as he could.

Tommy called. And called. And called again.

“I can’t talk to him. I don’t even know what to say. O-or how to explain myself. I screwed things up.” Buck berated himself.

He was too ashamed to tell anyone what he’d done because it was impulsive. It was selfish. It was hard to explain.

He wished he could turn back time.

Buck carried this around for a day, then 2 days, then a week, until 13 days passed and it had completely consumed him to the point where he’d wake up nauseous every morning.

Tommy went from texting him a handful of times and calling 2 or 3 times, to texting once every other day, and eventually…not at all.

Buck was silent for the first 30 minutes after he’d gotten to Maddie’s. She could see he was pale and his eyes looked like they’d seen the horrors, so she didn’t want to pry but…

“Buck. What’s wrong?” She had to.

“I…I kissed Tommy.”

She blinked 3 times and shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry—what?”

“We were…kinda having a moment. I was venting to him about work and he made all these…I dunno, pent up feelings come out.”

“So—that—I guess…explains why you didn’t like Edgar without even meeting him—“

“Yeah. Okay? I tried to ignore it but it’s pretty clear that I’m—“ Buck realized it for himself as the words were about to slip out. “Shit. I’m in love with Tommy.”

“I had no idea you even—liked men.”

“I didn’t either. Sure, I’ll look at a hot guy’s ass but that’s normal.”

“It’s not ab…normal…” Maddie sighed. “So what now? Where do you and Tommy stand?”

“I-I ran out after he pulled away and I haven’t talked to him since. He’s been calling and texting—“

“And you’re ignoring him?! Why?” Maddie furrowed her brows. “He obviously wants to talk to you.”

“You didn’t see his face when he pulled away. He-he was so confused and he…” Buck sighed. “He looked upset.”

“Are you sure he was upset with you? Maybe he was just scared. Things with Edgar did end pretty badly. And then someone he really cares about, that he didn’t even know likes men just—kisses him out of nowhere! Think about how he’s feeling.”

Buck hadn’t thought about any of that. All he thought about was how badly he’d screwed up their friendship, and never considered how much he must’ve scared and surprised Tommy.

“Buck.” Maddie continued. “You need to talk to him.”

Buck nodded in agreement. “Yeah. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

That night, Buck was sitting at his kitchen island, drinking the last of the beers Tommy had brought over the night of their dinner, when there was a knock on the door.

Those three firm knocks.

His heart was thumping wildly, his stomach was twisted in knots, but he knew he couldn’t avoid this anymore. He opened the door and they stared at one another, unable to catch their breath.

“Hey, uh…can we talk?” Tommy finally spoke firs, breaking awkward silence.

“Yeah…c-come in…” Buck welcomed him inside.

Tommy slowly stepped into the kitchen, his eyes falling onto the half empty beer bottle. “So that’s…that’s it, huh? You don’t call, you don’t text. You kiss me and I never see you again?”

“Tommy, I don’t—“

“I miss you. Even just…as a friend. I miss you.”

Buck nodded, the sadness in his eyes matching Tommy’s. “I miss you too.”

“…Why did you kiss me, Evan?”

“The truth is…” Buck shamefully sighed “when…I found out you were seeing someone, I felt like I was losing you. I-I couldn’t figure out why I was so worked up about it but…I was—“

“Jealous?”

“Yeah.” Buck bashfully chuckled. “I was jealous.”

“You like having me all to yourself?” Tommy smiled.

Buck felt his heart racing in a different way. Not just joy, but a special kind of excitement. One that was coursing through his entire body. “Kinda…”

“Evan.” Tommy said seriously. “If you want me…you can have me. As a friend, or as more.”

“A-are you sure?”

“I only started dating recently because…I was trying to move on from you.” Tommy laughed to himself. “I thought it was stupid that I liked you so much, and I was sure you wouldn’t be attracted to me—“

“I’m attracted to you.” Buck jumped at the opportunity to admit. “Extremely attracted to you.”

The pair of them had suddenly found themselves in each other’s personal space and this time, Tommy seized the opportunity. He pulled Buck in for a kiss. One much longer, and far more purposeful than the first.

Buck moaned in pleasure and relief, like he was finally letting something go, finally confessing to the things he’d been hiding from Tommy for months.

They broke apart, just a little too soon for Buck, who chased after Tommy’s lips again, wrapping his arms around Tommy’s neck, kissing him possessively.

“Easy, easy.” Tommy gently whispered against his lips. “Nobody’s gonna take me away from you this time, sweetheart.”

Buck giggled as their lips connected once more. “I hope not.” Buck mumbled into the kiss.

Two months later…

Tommy and Buck followed their usual hiking trail, holding hands, kissing and taking photos along the way.

They stopped in the picnic area and just as Buck was halfway through unpacking their lunch, Tommy pulled him in for a very distracting kiss while he reached into his pocket for a box.

He opened the box and broke away from the kiss, smiling when the ring in the box caught Buck’s wide eyes.

“Tommy—“

“I know it’s a bit soon, but Evan.” Tommy sighed. “All the time we’ve spent together, all the adventures we’ve shared together…I-I wanna do this for the rest of my life. Please tell me you’ll make me the happiest man alive and marry me, Evan Buckley?”

Buck nodded without hesitation, leaning into Tommy for a loving, turned lustful kiss. “D’you think we could get away with a quckie here?”

“No!” Tommy laughed. “Can I put the ring on you now?”

Buck held out his hand, letting Tommy slide the gorgeous, round cut, two tone diamond ring on his finger.

“Beautiful ring.” Buck smiled, admiring the ring.

“Beautiful ring,” Tommy stole a kiss “for a beautiful man” he stole another “with a beautiful soul.”

“I love you Tommy.” Buck smiled as he rested on Tommy’s shoulder. “I’m glad I kissed you. Even though I ran away and I got scared—“

“It’s okay to be scared, Evan. I’m scared too, and I know there have been so many changes in your life—“

“But…sometimes change is good, right?”

Tommy nodded, pressing a kiss into Buck’s curls. “Yeah…sometimes it is.”

[ficxworm]

Finding the Words

Pairing: Castiel x Dean Winchester

Tags: I don’t even know what to tag this as. I wrote this a few days ago in a desperate attempt to pretend the end of the show never happened.🙃

The bunker was quiet, heavy with an emptiness that lingered in every corner. Dean sat alone in the library, hunched over a half-empty whiskey bottle and a pile of unfinished research. He’d been drowning out the silence with work, but nothing could fill the void left by Castiel’s absence. Nothing could fill the ache of those last words Cas had left him with: “I love you, Dean.” He hadn’t had time to respond, hadn’t known what to say. By the time he did, it was too late.

Or so he thought.

A familiar flutter of wings filled the air, and Dean’s heart leapt. He stood slowly, the bottle slipping from his hand and hitting the floor with a dull thud, spilling across the concrete.

“Dean,” came the voice—low, steady, and achingly familiar.

Dean’s breath caught. He turned, and there he was. Castiel, standing in the doorway of the library, looking just as he had before he left. Maybe a little tired, a little worn, but real.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was thick with disbelief, and he could feel his hands start to shake.

“It’s me,” Castiel said, his lips curving into the smallest, warmest smile. “I’m here.”

Dean crossed the room in a few quick strides, grabbing Castiel’s coat as if to make sure he was real. “Cas, how—how did you…?”

“I fought my way back,” Castiel murmured, his eyes softening. “The Empty let me go, but only because I needed to be here. With you.”

Dean swallowed, his chest tightening with emotions he’d kept locked down for too long. He tried to think of something, anything to say, but all he could manage was, “I thought I’d lost you.”

Castiel reached up, his hand resting on Dean’s shoulder, grounding him. “I couldn’t leave things the way they were, Dean. Not after… not after what I told you.”

Dean’s eyes stung, but he forced himself to meet Cas’s gaze, swallowing hard. “Cas, when you said that to me… I didn’t say it back. I didn’t get to.”

Castiel’s expression softened, and he nodded. “I didn’t expect you to.”

Dean let out a shaky breath, one hand still clutching Cas’s coat, as if he’d disappear if he let go. “Well, you should have. Because, Cas, I…” He paused, his throat tightening as he searched for the words he’d buried for so long. “I love you, too.”

The words fell between them, raw and unguarded. Castiel’s face softened, his blue eyes filled with a warmth that seemed to reach into Dean’s soul. “Dean…”

Dean didn’t let him finish. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to Cas’s, his hands tightening on his shoulders. “I’m sorry it took me this long to say it. I was scared. But I’m done running from this—from you.”

Castiel closed his eyes, his own hand lifting to cup the side of Dean’s face. “You don’t have to run anymore.”

In the quiet of the bunker, Dean leaned in, his lips meeting Castiel’s in a kiss that was both soft and filled with a lifetime of unspoken promises. They stood there, wrapped up in each other, finding strength in a truth they’d both fought so hard to find.

When they finally pulled apart, Dean kept Cas close, his voice a rough whisper. “You’re not going anywhere again. You hear me?”

Castiel smiled, a quiet certainty in his eyes. “I hear you, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, Dean felt at peace. They were both finally where they belonged—together, in a world that had finally let them find each other.

[ezkel]

After spending years being rejected at every turn, James isn’t sure he’ll ever be loved the way he craves. Even now that he’s gotten over his crush on Lily and they’re now close friends, he understands why she never liked him back, he’s too much. She tells him it's nothing to do with him and that she had spent those years pining after her best friend, now girlfriend, Mary. Still James feels as if he's too much and that if he wants to eventually be truly loved romantically then he needs to tone himself down, he needs to be less James in his approach with those he wants a relationship with. 

Especially when his current crush is none other than cold and distant Regulus Black. He told Sirius about his crush as soon as he was aware that it wasn’t going away. He cried to Sirius saying that he knows that Regulus would never accept him for his all in attitude and his love for PDA. Sirius at first warned James that Regulus would never go against his parents for anyone, not even if he did feel the same for James. But as Sirius watched James sulk about his crush, he softened and told James stories of Regulus from their childhood, which only made James’s crush worse, the knowledge that Regulus used to read sickly sweet romance books when their parents weren’t looking, telling Sirius with wide eyes that one day he’d have a love that moved the stars like in the books.

However, James didn’t just develop this crush out of nowhere. Sometimes when James gets up early in the morning to get some quidditch practice in, Regulus was already there and they would spend those mornings practicing together, Regulus’s snark working better to wake him up than the cold air flowing around them. Regulus’s appearance on the field was never consistent and whenever James asked about it Regulus just leaves with a slight flush to practice his seeker skills on the other side of the field before leaving way earlier than he would have, had James not asked. 

James tried not to flirt, he didn’t want to get his heart broken but every time Regulus looked at him with that half smile smirk, James’s heart only grew in size. He tried desperately to not let his heart out, to not scare Regulus away. But the first time James accidentally flirted, Regulus didn’t even hesitate to tease him, not in the cruel way that he had expected but in a playful way. For a moment James thought that maybe that was Regulus flirting back. Slowly James became less guarded and started accidentally flirting with Regulus, but it always ended the same, playful teases and joking degeneration. 

Eventually it even spread to off the quidditch pitch, they’d flirt? In the hallways, in the astronomy tower, in the great hall, James couldn’t help but find Regulus everywhere, their conversations didn't even change tone in front of people. Sirius looked surprised every time Regulus would tease James, Remus would mutter about public indecency, Peter would laugh at how flushed James got every time Regulus responds with a cutting remark, Lily would joke about speaking at their wedding after Regulus leaves. James told them repeatedly that nothing was going to happen and that Regulus couldn’t possibly like him the way James does for him, this was only received with a disbelieving look from all of them. 

One morning it all changed. James was too tired to keep himself in check and his flirting came out unfiltered, fully James. Regulus went silent, James who hadn’t been looking at Regulus had frozen, terrified to look at Regulus and face the inevitable rejection. But when James did look, unable to help himself, all he saw was a deep red flush and a look of wonder on Regulus’s face. It caused James to fly towards Regulus, watching his face closely as Regulus slowly regained control. 

“Potter, you just- i thought it was all a game for you, I thought you were just being playful” Regulus spoke, voice full of shock, eyes full of hope. 

“I tried not to flirt with you, I thought you’d never let me, but I couldn't help myself, you're just so… you're just so you” James admitted, eyes drifting to the side awkwardly. He hears Regulus snort and feels Regulus's broom brush against his as he moves closer to James. 

“why would you even think I wouldn't let you flirt with me.” Regulus asks softly, hand moving up to James’s cheek to make James face towards him.

“Because I'm too much, I didn't want to ruin our mornings with my overbearing feelings” James mumbled, not wanting Regulus to know how deeply he already feels for him, but not having any other way to explain.

Regulus sighs, looking at James like he’s an idiot, “James, i hate waking up before 9am, surely Sirius has told you this. Do you think I would willingly wake up at FIVE in the morning to fly around aimlessly if I didn’t also have ‘overbearing’ feelings and just wanted to spend some time with you.” 

“But-” 

Regulus interrupts, his fingers on James’s face tightening, pulling his face closer to his. “James, you're not too much, I want you to be you. No holding yourself back. Be all in, be overbearing, I want you, not some held back version where you pretend to not be as insane as you are.”

“...oh..., Reg I- fuck, you're so amazing” James breathed out, finally letting his barriers drop.

“I know” he says, his open expression being replaced by his usual smirk, “so what do you say Potter, are you finally going to be yourself or do I need to keep telling you what literally everyone other than you seems to already know.” 

…

When James told Sirius what happened and that they were together now, Sirius only gaped 

“James you didn’t tell me he got up to join your morning practices, Regulus tried to kill me once for daring to talk to him before 8am, you've been talking to him before 6???? And he hasn't killed you???? Hes in love with you what the fuck”

[urcallousedbaby]

Shit. I Need A De-Stresser

Kyle Gallner as Joel 

Warnings: 18+, one shot, pwp, cabezaaaa (male receiving) gn! reader, degradation, facial.

You go visit Joel at his job and are met with a restless, annoyed, and silent boyfriend. 

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

You went down to the New Jersey station after not seeing your boyfriend for 2 days. He would send you messages saying that he was gonna stay after. You were tired of having an empty bed all by yourself, especially with all the recent suspicious suicides and killings that were happening around town. You grabbed your keys and went into the car, a bit anxious in the state I was gonna see him in. You arrived at the station after 15 minutes and were met with one of his friends. His eyes widened when he saw you, you immediately knew that something was wrong.

“He’s bad y/n…” he said and realized you somehow were already at the door of his office. 

You hesitated knocking but ultimately did so, you needed to see Joel, needed to feel him on you, his eyes looking at you. You wanted your boyfriend. You sighed and knocked on the door. You were met with a “come in” and you did. You were met with an absurd amount of bloody ways a person could end their own life. You weren’t used to it but ignored them and looked at the silhouette in the corner. 

“You’re.. here. Why?” I heard Joel say in a raspy monotone voice. 

“I came to see you, been missin’ you for the past couple of days.” I said, he came out of the corner and I saw what looked like my boyfriend but this was not him. His eyes were bloodshot red and he had big bags under his eyes. His eyes looked sunken in, his hair was messy and his clothes looked like they’d been slept in. His eyes looked different. As if he was desperate for something. 

“What do you want y/n?” he said, in a rather rude tone. 

“No, you’re not about to avoid this situation by trying to argue. Babe, what's wrong?” you replied. You read right through him and his avoidant personality when something’s stressing him out. He looked at you defeated, letting out a big breath. 

“This fuckin’ case is just so confusing, we haven’t got no real breakthrough. It’s stressing me the fuck out. Shit. I need a de-stresser.” he said. 

Something about the way he was in a sense, begging for you to help de-stress did something to you, you were just wanting to jump on his bones. You grabbed his collared shirt that was already distressed and sat him down on his couch. You smashed your lips to his and felt his hands reaching inside your shirt, unclipping your bra. He successfully unclipped it and started tugging up at your shirt to which you proceeded to dry hump him over his clothes. you looked at him and could feel his desperation in wanting you, you wanted the same. 

You grabbed his belt buckle and quickly unbuckled him, letting his dick spring out. Your mouth latched on it like a Garra Rufa, producing saliva in your mouth to suck him sloppily. you spit on his balls and started to slowly massage them. you spit on your hands and started kissing his balls, looking up at him and started sucking on them. while sucking, you were pumping your hands on his base, going teasingly slow since he didn’t wanna come home. 

he could sense the brattiness in the way you was teasing him, he yanked your head back, grabbing your hair and saying

“oh? a slut wants to act up knowing they’ve probably been touching theirself every night since i haven't been home.” he let go of your hair and you went back to sucking on him, hands on the base pumping up and down, your tongue swirling around his shaft.

 He pushed your head all the way down to where your nose was getting tickled by his pubes. He wasn’t messy, he maintains his hygiene and they had been freshly trimmed since the last time you went down on him. You were trying to come back up for air but he kept you down, situating himself in a way that would give him better access to your mouth. With his grip still on your hair, he started moving you up and down at a more faster speed. 

you couldn’t breathe but you were moaning around him, sending the vibrations up his body— earning groans from him. you started tapping his thigh as a sign to let you get air and he did. your face covered in your own saliva, he liked his lips and grabbed your face and smashed your lips together. your tongue was swirling in his mouth and he started sucking on your lip. 

you could feel his muscles getting tense so you quickly went down on your knees and he positioned himself right in front of your face and you kitty licked his tip to which he came all in your face. 

“did that de-stress you enough?”

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

-j 

suciassss

[creepycranberry]

Sweet man

Rafe Cameron x fem! Reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, drugs, addiction. Cursing. Not proofread. I think that’s it.

->->->->->

Your friends meant well, they really did. they tried their best to watch after you and warn you about him but every time they tried you countered their points and ignored their pointed looks when you simply told them that they didn’t know him like you did.

JJ was so pissed at you constantly, Kie would judge you silently and John B would keep his mouth shut. You felt like you were walking on eggshells every time your phone went off, Rafes face lit up on the screen.

It all came to a head one night when Rafe called you during a movie night. He knew how your friends felt about him, he knew from the moment pope saw both of y’all together in a spot on the beach that was meant to be secluded and the usually levelheaded boy shook his head in disappointment.

“JJs gonna freak.” He had said, thinking he was out of Rafes earshot.

“I can’t help it, Pope.”

“Can’t or don’t want to?” Pope argued, it stung to hear him so blatantly disdainful of your actions.

“He’s different with me.”

“I’m sure he is.” Pope sighed.

Rafe didn’t care what your friends thought of him, they could fuck themselves for all he cared, but he could see the tears forming in your eyes and it made his stomach twist and his heart soften.

And since then if he knows you’re with your friends, he keeps his distance.

But tonight was different, he was sad and drunk, you could hear it in his voice as you ignored the pointed looks your friends were giving you.

“I need to see you.” Rafes voice was rough from exhaustion and his words were slurred by the effect of whatever he drank.

“I’m busy, hon. Is everything okay?” You sat up off the couch, JJ muttered under his breath as he wiped the aggravated expression on his face.

“You mean a lot to me,” he slurred, loud music was being played in the background, getting farther away as the seconds drew on, “you have to know that.”

“I know, baby,” JJ gagged dramatically and John B slapped his arm, you roll your eyes and make your way into the next room, “is something wrong?”

“I love you.” He pouts, his voice thick with drunken emotion.

“Oh yeah?” You smile, leaning against the porch railing.

“Yeah, I just- Top was being stupid and he was drunk and everyone was drunk and I might have been a little drunk but- that-that- it’s not the point.”

“What is the point?” You ask him and he sighs deeply.

“Well Top said something and he was so- I don’t think he knew what he was saying but we kinda got into it and he said- he just-” Rafe stops speaking abruptly and you hear a slight hiccup on the other end of the call, “I just really need to see you, I-i wanna hold you.”

“Rafe-” you start.

“You’re so nice to hold, did you know that? I love holding you. Just come here, let me hold you.” He pouts.

“Rafe, I’m with my friends right now, I can’t just leave, they’d be pissed if I flaked on them.” You reason and Rafe groans loudly.

“Just one time, baby. I miss you, I need to hold you. I-I just need to be able to- just please come over.”

“I can’t, Rafe. They’re already pissed that you called me tonight, but tomorrow morning I will be there to nurse your hangover and to hold you like my life depends on it.”

The silence on the other end of the phone call feels never ending and then the call ends and you’re left sitting there, wondering what the hell had gotten into him tonight.

You head back to the living room, taking back your spot on the couch.

“What’d he want?” JJ asks bitterly and pope flicks him on the temple.

“He just missed me.” You shrugged, refocusing on the tv.

“I’m sure he did.” JJ sighs.

“JJ, come on.” Sarah nudges his leg from her place on the floor.

“What do you mean ‘come on’? Are we just going to keep acting like absolutely nothing is happening? Like we don’t have a problem with this shit?”

“We don’t have a problem with it, Jaje. You do.” Kie sighs and JJ shakes his head.

“I don’t see why you guys think it’s better to just lie to her to protect her feelings, were her friends, we’re supposed to tell her the truth whether we think she’ll like it or not!” JJ insists and you shuffle uncomfortably in your seat.

“We don’t have a problem with her dating him, we just have a problem with him. She knows that.” Pope shrugs.

“Can you guys not talk about me like I’m not sitting right here?” You mutter under your breath and JJ nods.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He says, turning himself so his feet are sat on the couch in front of him and he’s facing you, “I hate your boyfriend.”

“I know, JJ.”

“And it’s your life so you’re free to do whatever you want, we just don’t get why you’re doing whatever you want- with him.” He explains further.

“Because I like him.” You shrug.

“That’s the part we’re not quite understanding.” JJ clarifies.

“I like him. He’s sweet to me and he always defends me. He respects my emotions and my wishes and he never lets his emotions about the people around me affect how he treats me and I- I like him.” You shrug.

“I genuinely find that hard to believe.” Kie mutters and you scoff.

“Well that makes sense for you kie.”

“What does that mean?” She asks and you shrug.

“Nothing, you’re just a very cynical person.”

“I’m cynical for a reason.”

“I don’t doubt that, I just wish that your trust in my judgment could overshadow that cynicism sometimes.” You argue and she sighs heavily.

“You’re too naive to have good judgement.” Kie accuses and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, Kie.” You sigh, staring at the ceiling.

“We just really don’t want you to get hurt.” Sarah says in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

“I get that, I understand that much, I use don’t understand why you guys won’t trust me on this.”

“We trust you.” Pope says and your skeptical look makes him sigh, “we really do. We’re just kind of wary about him.”

“I know I just- he’s so sweet with me. I feel so protected with him and he’s really different when he’s with me.” You try using your regular argument for ending these discussions but today they aren’t having it.

“I believe you when you say that he has a good streak, I get that, but it’s his bad streak we’re more worried about. What happens when you guys have your first fight? Or when he sees you talking to a different guy and he gets jealous?” Sarah responds calmly.

“We’ve had arguments before, he never lets them escalate past arguments and he’s seen me with different friends of mine that are guys and I mean- he is a bit tenser but the tension diffuses so quickly and he’s just sweet as can be.”

You feel like you’re trying to convince them the tooth fairy is real. They’re all staring at you in utter disappointment and disbelief.

“He’s crazy is what he is.” JJ pipes up and you roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time.

“JJ, I’m really trying. And he is too. He respects my relationship with you guys, even if he’s not y’all’s biggest fan.”

“That is a wild understatement.” John B retorts and you narrow your eyes at him, he speaks up before you can send a snarky remark his way, “he’s reckless and sometimes a danger to even himself. He used to be a raging addict, and even if he’s not still a total dick, he still is the fucking worst.”

“I don’t think you or JJ can say a thing concerning recklessness and he’s been clean for like a year now. He’s doing his best.”

“Say what you want about him, it’s your life so do what you want,” JJ exhales through his nose, “but just know that he’s one bump away from homicidal.”

You stare at each of your friends, the judgmental looks on their faces enough to upset and anger you.

“Why can’t you just trust me? I know him, I know him fully. I know he can be so genuinely sweet and-and the most loving and he has such potential to be so good and he’s trying to get there.” You look at JJ as you begin to tear up in desperation, he doesn’t meet your eyes, his gaze trained on the couch cushion between the two of you, “whatever. No matter how I or he tries to prove it you won’t believe me.”

You get off of the couch and grab your bag from by the coffee table, your friends calling after you.

The only one who gets up to run after you is JJ. He catches up somewhat effortlessly and loops his fingers around your wrist, “sweetheart, come on.”

“You won’t listen to me. I’m not gonna sit in there and listen as you guys insult and degrade my boyfriend. I can’t do it, JJ.” The tears are flowing consistently now and JJ can’t stand seeing you cry but he knows that isn’t any reason to agree with you.

“We just want you safe. I want you safe. We’ve seen the shit he’s capable of and it’s not pretty. He can be reckless and violent and we don’t want that for you. Sweetheart you’ve gotta understand that.” He says, reaching for your other wrist but you shake your head.

“But I’ve also seen what he’s capable of. He can be so good JJ and he really trying, please just- even if you don’t believe me, just trust me.” You plead and JJ just stares at you for a moment. Tears framing his eyes as he tries in earnest to see Rafe as anything that can possibly good for you.

“I’m sorry.” His voice wavers as he drops your hands, “I want to see what you do, I don’t want to spend my energy hating someone who makes you happy but you have to understand-“

“I understand I just- I have to go.” You sniffle and he nods, watching you as you walk away from the house, cursing before dejectedly heading back inside.

->->->->->

Rafe wasn’t home when you got there so you sat on the porch swing, attempting to self soothe as you waited for him.

When his truck pulls up he doesn’t notice you there for a minute as he attempts to find his keys in his pocket.

When he looks up he sees you, curled up on the porch swing.

“Weren’t you drunk?” You sniff and he shakes his head.

“I stopped drinking after I called you, drank some water and waited until I was sober enough to drive, what happened?” He asks, staring at you like you fell from the sky.

“They hate you.” You mumble.

“Who? Your friends?”, You nod and sniffle again, wiping your eyes for the umpteenth time, “let’s go inside, baby.”

He offers you his hands and practically lifts you off of the porch swing, his hand landing on the small of your back as he led you inside and through the house until you got to his bedroom.

He sat you on the bed while he changed, stopping every so often to kiss you on the cheek or forehead.

When he sits back next to you he pulls you into his chest, “what happened, baby?”

“You called and the I went inside and they just started saying all this shit. I’m not even upset that they don’t like you I just wish they trusted my judgment a bit more.”

“What did they say?” He asks, his voice hardening.

“Rafe-“

“What did they say, sweetness?” His voice softens once again as he refocuses on you, moving the hair out of your face.

“That you’re reckless and violent and that when you were an addict you were-“

“Yeah. Yeah I was.” He sighs, “I get that they don’t like me, that’s fine, and far be it from me to defend those assholes,” you give him a look that’s almost a pout and he backtracks, “I know, let me finish. Everything they said is true, in fact I was probably worse than they described me. And despite how I feel about them, they do really care about you. I don’t think trust they’ve ever questioned their trust in you but me-“

“But you’re trying to be better.”

“I am, sweets, I really am. But that doesn’t change what they saw. They don’t trust me with you. That’s all it is.” He shrugs, kissing your forehead and rubbing the side of your arm.

“You do realize you just spent the last five minutes defending them, right?” You smile and he exhales, letting his head hang dramatically, feigning shame.

“I would rather my ego take a hit than your feelings, baby.” He sighs and you smile wide.

“You’re so sweet.” You gush and he groans, falling back onto the bed and dragging you down with him as you laugh.

“No, I’m not sweet. I’m brooding and surly.”

“Maybe to everyone else but to me you’re just the sweetest.” You smile.

“That’s because you’re impossible to be even a little mean to.” He turns on his side to face you, his head rested on his arm.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that all it takes is those pretty eyes looking up at me and suddenly all the mean bones in my body turn to mush, making it impossible for me to be mean to you.” He jokes, pulling you closer to him by your waist and enveloping you in his warmth.

Everything slips away as he pushes your chin up to reach your lips, his hands making their way into your hair. You hum against his lips, so perfectly content. Once you pull away the blush fans across your cheeks and you hide in his neck.

His chest vibrates against you as he laughs softly at you and your flustered state.

“You’re so damn precious.” He sighs.

“I love you.” You smile shyly and he sighs, his eyes soft and so happy to be holding your gaze.

“I love you too.”

[wisecura]

Nanny

It had been a restless evening, the emptiness of your house only adding to the unease. With your husband away on another mission, worry consumed you, and you found yourself checking your phone obsessively. He’d been getting back to back missions recently, the next tougher than the previous. When a message from *Satoru*  flashed on your screen, you sighed, knowing him well enough to brace yourself.  He’d been texting constantly, asking how you were, each question playful yet persistent. But tonight was different.

> “Hey, open up! I brought some company. 😉”

Before you could even think of a reply, there was a knock on the door, quick and insistent. Your heart skipped—you knew Satoru well enough to know he didn't need to wait for an answer. In typical fashion, he’d decided to make an appearance without a second thought. And, of course, Suguru would be there as well, always close behind. Always following Satoru’s impulsive ideas with a tact and restraint that balanced his friend’s recklessness. It’s always been this way. It had been over a year since you’d seen either of them in person, so maybe you should have expected this—an unannounced visit, catching you completely off guard.

Opening the door, you found Satoru and Suguru standing there, too comfortable, as if they’d belonged in your entryway. Satoru’s grin was wide, a touch smug, his sunglasses pushed up on his head so his bright blue eyes could bore directly into yours. Beside him, Suguru wore a slight, closed-eye smile that softened his expression but did little to ease the quiet intensity in his gaze. Satoru looked amused, mischievous, and undeniably pleased to see you, while Suguru’s calm, patient stare held you in place, as if daring you to turn them away. Before you could say another word, Satoru invited himself in, pushing past you.

“Well, look who’s finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Satoru’s voice rang out, laced with that playful edge, as he swept past you, already making himself at home in your living room. “A whole year, and you’re acting like we’re strangers. Not very welcoming, Mrs. Kamo.” His voice dropping in tonnage at the mention of your new surname. 

A shiver ran down your spine at the way he dragged it out, each syllable laced with a mocking drawl. You still weren’t used to hearing it. The new name felt foreign, like a title you hadn’t quite claimed.  Suguru, still lingering by the doorway, let his gaze meet yours, that faint smile on his lips—one that seemed strained at the edges, as though he was just as unsettled as you were. There was something in his look that was patient yet pointed, as if he, too, was piecing together the reality before him.

Satoru set a bag of snacks on the coffee table, his eyes sweeping over the clean yet modest room, taking in every detail with a slight arch of his brow, as if comparing it to the grandeur of the Gojo clan estate. The heat crept up your cheeks under the weight of his silent judgment, and you felt a prickle of self-consciousness under their scrutiny. You finally made your way fully into the living room. Suguru followed a step behind you, his gaze tracing the details of the room and lingering over subtle hints of your husband’s presence: a jacket draped over the arm of a chair, a pair of shoes neatly set by the door. No pictures though. You could feel their silent appraisal, the faint tension crackling between the three of you.

The reality was sinking in for them now. They had heard, of course, only a week after you’d married—a brief, cold announcement that their former nanny, their constant presence, was now married to some grade 2 sorcerer from the Kamo clan. The shock had been palpable, but they hadn’t received so much as a word from you about the whole thing. Not a single explanation. It was as if you’d vanished, leaving only a name and title they barely recognized. Your text messages after the news, became short and distant -- less casual, evading any mention of your husband or your new life. Your schedule suddenly filled, enough to displace your meet ups. Satoru and Suguru had been busy after that. Very busy.

Suguru’s typical restraint seemed to slip, his normally calm demeanor laced with the same faint bitterness as Satoru’s. He was calm, but his words carried a bite, a hint of something you hadn’t expected from him. “You know, Satoru,” he began, his voice soft-purring almost, yet laced with mirth, his eyes sweeping over your modest home, “it’s not really her fault. She’s newly wed, after all.” His voice carried a strain, colder than you were used to, his tone dipping into a mocking edge. “Honeymoon phase 'n all.” 

You felt the sting of his words and braced yourself for the inevitable teasing, knowing they had likely heard about your marriage from someone other than yourself. They were bound to find out, and deep down, you knew you had this conversation coming.

Still, you’d convinced yourself it wouldn’t be as big a deal. They had moved out of the clan house, each finding their own paths. Satoru, ever the rebel, had shirked his responsibilities as clan heir, showing his familiar disregard for tradition and hierarchy. He’d never been one to follow the rules, and you had thought—maybe naively—that this wouldn’t matter so much.

His focus honed in on the two children he'd taken in-Megumi and Tsumiki. Suguru, through your insistence maintained his missions to life balance, having also taken in the two girls he met in that village-Nanako and Mimiko. Something you'd advised him on before things had gotten out of control, like in the original story. Your small interferences in this world that allowed for more peace.

Adjusting to life-in this new world had been jarring at first; you hadn’t expected a second life, especially not after your first ended so soon. You’d read the Jujutsu Kaisen manga, even watched the show. So the cold, isolated world of their childhoods was something you were painfully familiar with. Satoru, at least, had the prestige of his clan, while Suguru’s circumstances were far worse than you’d realized. Using your cursed energy-your life-as leverage, you struck a deal with the Gojo clan-securing a place as Satoru's caretaker. Weighing your life on the line, and your compliance with any request the current clan head deemed necessary. And with this promise you were allowed to bring in Suguru. Suguru, once you found him, required little convincing, his situation had been far more unfavorable than you'd of guessed. Despite being only a few years older, you’d practically raised the two boys. Together. The way you thought it should've been. And when they made it through high school still loyal to one another, you felt a deep satisfaction-pride, hopeful for the future you’d managed to shape.

Now, standing in your small home with them after such a long separation, a tentative smile found its way to your lips. The tension, palpable. You tried to ease into the conversation, letting warmth slip into your voice as you went to shut the door. “It’s so good to see you two,” you said, hoping to mask your own discomfort. “I wasn’t expecting you to just… show up…” you hastily corrected yourself, “but you’re always welcome here. I’ve just been busy—”“Busy ignoring us, yeah?” Satoru cut in, eyes still roaming your living room, sounding like he was putting a great effort into maintaining his playful yet bored persona.

The underlying bitterness was still there. He threw himself onto the couch with an unamused scoff. He patted the cushion beside him—a silent command for you to sit—his gaze steady, almost expectant. But you stayed where you were, studying him with a cautious eye. Satoru could be bratty, sure. He’d thrown tantrums before, though they never went beyond pouting and whining, which usually resolved with him clinging to yours side or Suguru’s until his mood lifted. Even as he grew older, that side of him never faded. Clinging was just something he did, a comfort you’d grown accustomed to.

But this time, he seemed more wound up, his tone just a little more cold that you'd like. Not that you were scared he'd hurt you, but you knew you didn't know where this conversation would lead. the unexpected, yeah?

When you didn’t take the offered seat, he rolled his eyes, and his tone sharpened as he continued, “You didn’t even tell us about the wedding. What was up with that, huh? Did they threaten you or something?” His question caught you off guard, a bluntness you weren’t prepared for beneath his casual delivery. Across the room, Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze calculating-watching the conversation unfold- ready to step in if needed. His posture was relaxed-with great effort. The silence stretched, his presence somehow heavier than Satoru’s, until finally, when he felt you wouldn't answer, he spoke.

“Satoru’s right.” His voice was smooth, calm, but the bite never left his words. “You never even told us about…” He paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he seemed to search for the right term. “Him. And now here you’re married and… preoccupied.” His words felt deliberately chosen, disapproving. 

You hesitated, feeling their unwavering gazes pressing down on you, making it difficult to find the right words. You had to explain yourself. You knew you did. These two boys, whom you raised and grew up with. Who you protected and cared for. At least you could try to explain yourself, without you giving away the deal you struck with the current Gojo Clan Head. The man that took you in that day. The promises you made.  

 “It wasn’t personal,” you sighed, feeling your voice waver. No. You couldn't falter now. Yet, the explanation felt hollow even as you spoke. “And no, I wasn’t threatened,” you added, a small, half-hearted attempt at a joke that fell flat. “I just… I thought the higher-ups would have informed you. It wasn’t meant to be a secret.” Distance. You've always been reminded to keep your distance from the two.  You look away somewhat guilty, knowing how bland your answer was. It really hadn't been personal. You just knew how busy they were. And with the pressure from the higher ups to move forward...quickly… and the reminder from your Clan Head of your duty. Your role in this society. 

Satoru snorted, crossing one leg over the other, his arm stretching across the back of the couch in a way that took up far more space than necessary.

“Yeah, because I love getting news about you from the higher-ups.” His eyes glinted with a rebellious spark, a hint of challenge in his voice. “But you couldn’t tell us yourself? Not a single heads-up? Didn’t think to mention it in any of those text messages? C’mon, you’re better than that, aren’t you?”

Suguru’s gaze softened as he took in your discomfort, his voice slipping into a low, coaxing tone. He knew what Satoru was doing-but he at least needed to soften you up a bit. Satoru was never one for social cues. “We were only a little surprised, you know,” he murmured, confirming Satoru's words, gently. “We thought you trusted us. At least enough to tell us.” His words lingered in the air for a moment. His thoughts turned to a slightly darker place, once again feeling a little peeved that you hadn't even whispered a word about this to them before.  His expression grew colder-not really able to stop it, more guarded as he seemed to think his next words over. “But it seems like your marriage took priority. Did you think we wouldn’t care? That we wouldn't have anything to say about this?”

You knew what he meant. With how close you were when growing up, not even hearing it from you directly would come as a shock. And with how busy you've been lately….and with your husband's requests. “I’m sorry if I made you feel…” you trailed off, hands wringing together as you searched for the right words. “But it’s not as if I chose him… you know that. The higher-ups arranged it. It all happened so fast, and Itaru doesn’t really like me talking—”

“Ugh, don’t even say that name,” Satoru cut you off quickly, his face scrunching up with barely concealed disdain. His words felt like a slap across the face, and he looked at you as if the very mention of your husband was somehow a personal attack. Surprise was an understatement. You had no idea where the hostility for your husband was coming from. For you? Sure. Before you could dwell on it—Suguru’s hand found your shoulder, a steady touch, though his gaze held an edge that mirrored Satoru’s irritation.

“We’re not interested in hearing his excuses. We’re here for you,” he said softly, as though he was talking to a child. Scolding. “And if he’s already setting boundaries on who you can talk to… well, that’s a problem, no? Especially if he's keeping you from us.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed at your lack of response, a faint smirk forming, though it was devoid of humor. “Let me guess,” an uncharacteristic sneer plastered on his handsome face, “He’s got all these ‘concerns’ about you staying close with us. Convenient, isn’t it? Distancing you from the people who’ve actually looked out for you. Manipulating you into thinking he knows what’s best. What a sly little rat.” You hesitated, words failing to form as Satoru’s words sunk in-almost wanting to defend the man you agreed to marry. The truth was complicated, far more delicate than he was making it sound. Itaru had only requested a little distance from other men, something he’d framed as temporary. He hadn’t forced anything, just… gently insisted. And even when you’d explained to him that Satoru and Suguru were like family—brothers, practically—it hadn’t made much difference. He’d merely restated that it was just for a little while, an adjustment to settle into this new life. Especially while he was being assigned to an ungodly amount of missions recently. He didn't trust that the men around you wouldn't notice a lonely housewife when they saw one. Not that-that-was on your mind, anyway. 

But how could you phrase that now, standing before them?

Suguru’s gaze remained soft, condescending. “So… that’s what he’s asking of you? That you keep away from us? All those months…” His tone even but cold. “Is that really what you want?” “N-no that's not how it is-,” you tried. Satoru crossed his arms, leaning back, challenging you to explain. “Why’s he so worried, huh? Because he doesn’t trust you?” His voice dipped, mocking. “Or maybe he doesn’t trust us, because he knows he doesn’t measure up. He’s worried he can’t compete with what’s already here.” His arrogance, back in full swing. Even with the years spent "counseling" him, you still couldn't knock that bad habit of his. 

You felt like they were twisting your words around, or maybe you just weren't explaining things properly.

But you had your doubts about following through with this too. You knew Itaru’s intentions weren’t necessarily mean, that he was just cautious, wanting to ease into things his own way. But now, under their scrutiny, your reasoning seemed thin, flimsy, as if you were the one desperately grasping for excuses. It didn't help that you felt guilty for not mentioning it before. Your marriage, the move, the reasoning behind your distance, you always opting out of the limited meets ups they scheduled with you. But standing here, with Satoru’s sharp gaze cutting through your feeble defenses and Suguru’s quiet intensity drawing out every buried doubt, you wondered if you’d been deluding yourself this entire time. You'd grown so close with them over the years. They could read all your tells.

“I didn’t mean to push you two away,” you murmured, unsure of where this was going-what they wanted you to say here, looking away from their intense gazes. “I just… thought you’d be busy with missions, training—”Satoru laughed, shaking his head as if the half formed excuse was already ridiculous. “Missions? Training?” he echoed, his tone layered with disbelief.

“You really think we’re that busy? You think we’d just… forget about you?” He held your gaze, “Come on, sweetheart. You should know us better than that.” He glanced at Suguru, exchanging a wordless, intense look, sharing a silent conversation between themselves. Just as they always seemed to do. Suguru’s hand that had rested on your shoulder had drifted to your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin, lingering with an intent that was impossible to ignore. He leaned in a little closer, “We missed you,” he admitted softly-almost a whisper, though the subtle edge in his voice told you he wasn’t wholly satisfied with the answer you’d given. The gesture giving you whiplash from the previous tone of the conversation. “It’s been… strange without you around. Lonely.” The word slipped from him like a secret, his voice carrying a vulnerability that made your chest tighten.

You swallowed, the ache in your heart threatening to burrow further. The distance you’d thought would be manageable had weighed on them more than you’d realized, and the hint of desperation in both their words had stung, enunciating the fact that your absence hadn’t gone unnoticed as you’d hoped.

“I didn’t know it would… be like this,” you whispered, feeling the confession tumble out before you could stop yourself. Satoru stood up now, stepping into your space with an unsettling confidence. He leaned in close, so close you could see every fleck of color in his brilliant blue eyes. He seemed taller than you remembered—or maybe it had simply been that long since you’d last seen them. “You really thought you could just get married and… disappear?” You knew a threat when you'd heard one, and his tone of voice left now room for second guessing. You couldn't help the shiver that ran up your spine, reminding yourself that this was the same boy you’d once held close after a nightmare, his tear streaked face buried in your comforter. “You don’t just get to leave us like that. You can’t just drop out of our lives. We’re still here, aren’t we?”

You opened your mouth to somehow explain that things had changed now that you were married, but Suguru stopped you in your tracks, his hand brushing lightly over your collarbone, a touch that lingered just a bit too long, sending your heart racing. The meaning behind his actions-not entirely clear, yet there was an undeniable...intimacy to it, one that left you feeling strangely off-balance. Far too close for comfort. “We’re only here because we care,” he murmured, his voice soothing but insistent. “You don’t need to keep things from us.” He stood like a voice of reason. Like the good cop in this interaction, alleviating the harsh words Satoru spewed at you. Yes. Suguru could navigate most social situations. He knew just what to say and how to say it, even if Satoru didn't. They were tag teaming. Convincing you that this had not been a wise choice. Their tones punishing, yet soft enough to prevent you from closing off completely-

Their gazes met again, and the two shared a silent exchange, a flicker of understanding passing between them before Satoru’s smirk grew wider. Finally, stepping back and standing up straight, he gave you a sliver of space. Some breathing room, though his gaze remained fixed, unnervingly smug. His stare heavy, looking down at you. His voice dripped with mock sweetness. “So, tell us—how’s married life treating you?” he asked. “We’re absolutely dying to hear all about it.”

Whiplash. What the hell. You can't say you're completely surprised. The two had always been a troublesome pair. Perfect together, yes. But troublesome. Always keeping you busy. And always knowing how to get what they wanted. What did they want from you? Another apology? You begging? You hesitated, feeling a sense of vulnerability in the change in questioning. “It’s… fine,” you managed, your voice barely steady. “He’s… a good man,” you added, though the slight tremor in your voice didn’t escape their notice. You firmed yourself in your position, nodding along with yourself. They hadn't expected you to say something like that. Maybe some complaining? Maybe a request for them to take you home? But you seemed relaxed. You didn't seem to mind sharing your home with a stranger. With your husband. 

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of dissatisfaction playing across his face as he leaned back, arms crossing over his chest, contemplative but unyielding. “A good man, huh?” tilting his head with an almost lazy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny, where is he now? Always leaving his new, little wife all alone?” His tone was sharp, but his actions feigning nonchalance, yet he was daring you to argue. To defend him. “Seems… pretty absent to me,” he added airily. Bored. 

He couldn't be serious. Sure he might be upset with you for keeping your marriage a secret, but you weren't stupid enough not to see the open hostility he seemed to have for your husband. It still felt somewhat unwarranted. The way your husband was acting wasn't abnormal for a husband…right? The missions were part of his duty; you knew that much, even if it meant barely getting the chance to know him, your husband constantly whisked away before he could even settle back into life at home. Your relationship was shallow, even at face value. But he was still a person

Still, the thought crept in—how odd it was, this never-ending string of assignments. And how Satoru seemed to know about your husband's absence in the home. Especially when you refrained from talking about him in the first place.  You look at Suguru, knowing he was the more level headed one of the two, hoping for some kind of control on Satoru's mouth. Suguru, however, seemed to have no intention of letting this slide.

Suguru’s hand tightened gently on your shoulder, his gaze softening but his voice steady, insistent. “You deserve someone who’s there for you,” his voice was as smooth as ever, his eyes meeting yours. “Someone who would put you above any mission, any duty.” His words struck a nerve, surprising you. Surely, The Suguru Geto wasn't belittling your husband for simply fulfilling his role as a shaman? But really, how would they even know about his increased assignments?

The words hung heavily between you, the weight of their shared focus making it hard to look away. They were both so close, their combined presence overwhelming, making you feel a strange mixture of familiarity and unease. The way they spoke, the way they watched you—as though they were challenging you to deny their support, to pretend you didn’t need them, to tell them to leave. You could almost feel the certainty radiating from them, that subtle insistence that seemed to imply they were the only ones who truly understood, the ones who’d be there, regardless of what anyone else thought. It was a weird sensation. 

And maybe they were right. But this wasn’t exactly fair to your husband, was it?

You took a steadying breath, trying to ease the tension rising between you and the two of them. “It’s not fair to judge him like this,” you said, forcing a small smile. “He’s just doing what he’s been asked to do. It’s not like he’s choosing to be away.” You reminded yourself of your duty—the terms you had agreed to when you joined the Gojo clan. This marriage had been requested to strengthen ties with the Kamo clan, to bring about peace-and maybe for them to provide a few other benefits for your clan. And really, the man you married was mild-tempered at worst, a good match in every way. He wasn’t a bad man.

Your words seemed to hang, suspended in the charged silence. Satoru’s expression had shifted from mockery to something darker, his playful edge dulled by the hard gleam in his blue eyes. He studied you, jaw tense, his usual teasing still nowhere to be found. You almost felt scared.

“You’re defending him?” he asked, a boarding on mixture of disbelief and chill, a hint of jealousy just barely concealed. His gaze sharpened, almost accusatory, as if the very thought of standing up for your husband was the worst thing you could have done in that moment. “Tell me…you don’t actually… love him, do you?” The words lay in the air for a moment. Your pulse quickened as you struggled to respond. The intensity of his stare felt almost predatory, something raw and unsettled lurking just beneath the surface. You instinctively backed away, only to find yourself against Suguru, who steadied you, moving his other hand to rest snug on your waist.

Satoru’s bluntness had you reeling, leaving you scrambling for words, as you shook your head silently, unsure of your own movements. His tantrums from before noncomparable to this-“Satoru,” you began, reaching for a steady tone, hoping to comfort him. The familiar name feeling foreign on your lips. After all this time—another thing you’d kept carefully distant. You’d always refrained from using their first names, setting boundaries early on, convinced it was best, even though it felt slightly too formal. The clan head had warned you not to get too close, after all, but Satoru had always pushed back, testing that line with lighthearted, almost bratty tantrums, practically begging you to drop the formality. Only rarely did you give in, maybe a handful of times over the years, and yet here you were, saying it now to comfort him—just like before. 

“It’s an arranged marriage. Love doesn’t exactly come into it right away.” You attempted to placate him, not knowing how to handle his uncharacteristic outburst. His stare softened only marginally at hearing his name fall from your lips. You hesitated, attempting another soft smile, the silence still deafening. “Please,” You don't know what you were pleading for exactly. 

Satoru’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as though he hadn’t quite heard the words he wanted. He looked away, as if he couldn't bear to see you. Suguru remained beside you, hands in places they normally wouldn't be. His steady presence is as unyielding as ever, watching you with that same intensity, his fingers brushing your shoulder almost as if in silent support—or silent warning. You couldn't just shake him off right now.

This didn't feel right. 

And Suguru’s silence was as intense as Satoru’s gaze. His eyes held that familiar, unreadable look, his unspoken judgment impossible to ignore. He definitely wasn’t pleased either.

“Love shouldn’t come into it at all,” Suguru’s voice was low laced with a tension that sent a chill down your spine. “This arrangement… never should have happened in the first place. They had no right to decide this for you. Not with us here.” The possessiveness in his tone was now unmistakable. If his touches didn't give it away, his tone of voice surely did. Was he really doing this now? 

Satoru let out a frustrated scoff, his hand running roughly through his hair as if he could shake off his irritation. The charm he usually wore so easily was gone, replaced by a rawness that still managed to catch you off guard. “If I’d had any say in this,” he muttered, his tone holding an uncharacteristic bitterness, “you’d never have left the clan house, let alone gotten tangled up in this shit.” His gaze pinned you in place, his blue eyes glinting with something—something wounded, vulnerable. He seemed to grow desperate at the lack of your response. At the lack of your answers. 

“Why didn’t you come to me?” He seemed to be clinging on desperately to his last thread, pleading, a flash of hurt breaking through his usual bravado. “To Suguru? To either of us? At any time, had you just said something-you couldn't have wanted this.”   Right?  The question lingered, an underlying ache, an unspoken need for reassurance, for an answer that could ease the turmoil you caused. His voice begged for your placation. Begged for an answer that would satisfy them. 

“I… I…” Your voice faltered, caught in the swirl of emotions. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t anticipated feeling so cornered, so affected by the intensity of their focus. Satoru’s gaze remained fixed on you, unwavering, while Suguru’s steady presence beside you only added to the weight pressing down on your heart. His hand heavy. But it hit you. It finally penetrated your thick skull. 

The heavy emotion in their voices and the weight of their gazes struck you back through the years you’d shared together. Reminding you once again just who you were talking to.  How had you not pieced it together? Not noticing it before, only now, standing so close to them, you noticed all the subtle changes— In their actions. In their voices. In their build. They felt imposing, more like the men you’d seen glimpses of in the manga, and less like the boys you’d spent so many years watching over.

They've grown. And as dumb as this sounds, these are now, in fact grown ass men. Somehow, in your mind, they’d remained frozen in those younger years, the boys you could still think of as children, as wards, as brothers. You forget, you're not they only one aging. But now, there was a gravity in Suguru’s lingering grip on your waist-your collarbone, a fierce predatory hunger and desperation in Satoru’s gaze that had you questioning everything. Are they seeing an older sister being forced into an arranged marriage? No. That wasn't the expression a younger brother holds for his sister. And that's not the lingering touch a brother should have. You’d been their constant, their unwavering presence through everything—someone they could always rely on. It would make sense for them to see you as an older sister. But…

Before this, everything seemed to fall into place—that was, until the clan proposal blindsided you. The clan had given you a place, a purpose, and protection in this scary world, and with that came oaths and obligations you couldn’t refuse. The marriage was an arrangement, a duty you’d been forced into. You assumed a role that made you closer to them than any other clan member or servant. With only a few years separating you, you’d found a connection with them that no one else could. You had brought them together, raising them as brothers, childhood friends, ensuring they’d have a bond far earlier and deeper than the story had allowed.

When you’d first found yourself isekaied into Gaygay's world, your purpose had been clear: fuck as much shit up as you could-change the loneliness that had defined their past, fill their lives with warmth and support. This ripple will create the butterfly effect you so desperately hoped for. Piece by piece, you’d crafted a life for them that was closer to family, introducing them to each other, creating the foundation they needed to lean on each other—and, as time went on, on you. Shared dinners, afternoon outings, quiet nights, nightmares soothed, and shared beds on nights they couldn’t sleep alone. You’d become a trusted part of their world, and you hadn’t questioned what they might see in you. And how it might change. 

Something cracked within you, a flood of emotions and unanswered questions welling up, leaving you now on the verge of tears. Standing between the two of them as they waited for the answer that might finally satisfy them, even as you struggled to grasp what had shifted between you all. The realization hit hard, leaving you reeling, your stomach twisting at the newfound clarity. All those years you’d brushed off their glances, ignored the intensity that sometimes crept into their words, or the way their hands would linger just a second too long—it all seemed painfully obvious now. But this attachment—this deep dependence—was the inevitable consequence of everything you’d done to shield them from loneliness. This was your fault. You had wanted them to find stability in each other, to grow up without the isolating weight that haunted their futures, to sidestep the darker paths you knew awaited them. To avoid their eventual deaths. 

You’d always imagined yourself fading quietly into the background, a supportive figure as they grew into the powerful sorcerers you knew they’d become. They seemed well on their way to that future, standing shoulder to shoulder, inseparable and stronger than you’d ever dared to hope. But now, standing here under their unyielding gaze, you felt a different ripple of something you hadn’t expected—a need you weren’t sure you even could answer.  

Standing before Satoru and Suguru, you could feel the weight of their oppressive concern. They weren’t ready to let you fade into the background; to them, your life had always been theirs to protect. You'd always been seen as weaker-someone to protect, yet so warm. So theirs. And somewhere along the way, without meaning to, you had become more important to them than you’d ever intended. You loved them. You loved them so much. More than their characters in a book. You knew them now. 

Suguru broke through the silence, noticing your distant misty eyes, not wanting to lose you to your thoughts. His voice low, the barely contained frustration sending a shiver down your spine. “They had no right,” he murmured, his voice a fraction of a hair away from the shell of your ear, with a conviction that made it clear he was speaking for the both of them. “Not when we would have done anything—anything to keep you from being used like this.” he seemed to pity your situation. Pitying you. Vying to gain your attention back. They didn't want to see you cry. Ok maybe they did-But if it meant getting answers from you…taking you home… they'd probe as much as they needed to.

“I’m… I’m not being used,” your voice so small, the words sounding weak and wobbly. You knew they were empty, a hollow reassurance that didn’t fool anyone—not even yourself. You had been on the verge of tears before, and all it would take now, is one small kick in that dam.

The man you’d married was calm, steady—a safe choice. You try and convince yourself. Marrying into the Kamo family hadn’t been the worst outcome. not the best either.  You knew the dangers that lurked in the darker corners of Jujutsu society and were aware of the possible fates that could have awaited you if the clan had made a different decision. In that sense, this marriage was practical, logical, clinical. And yet, thinking things over, every reason you’d given yourself for going along with it felt so...insubstantial. If your assumption of their 'hidden' feelings were accurate, it would make sense as to why they'd be so nasty about the situation. In this moment, you couldn't even remember why you'd gone along with it-you sense of duty slowly being forgotten yet creeping in the back of your mind. 

“C’mon now, Doll.” Suguru’s voice was low, threaded with a taunting edge that sliced through the quiet, each word deliberate and laced with something that pinned you in place. The whisper against you ear had you shivering again. When the fuck did his voice get so-He moved over to meet your gaze with an intensity that was hard to meet, making you feel strangely small and fragile in his presence. Despite the fact that you were a few years older, his stance, his tone—it was all so… commanding. He’d never called you “Doll ” before. Satoru was usually the one to throw around the nicknames, playful and light. But this? From Suguru, it felt different—possessive in a way that unsettled you, yet damn near excited you. How did you even feel about this shift? The question barely had time to take root before he continued.

“You can’t be naive enough to believe the clan doesn’t have… ulterior motives marrying you off like that,” he continued, each word deliberate, dark eyes boring into yours with a gravity that made your stomach tighten. The accusation in his voice was sharper than you’d expected, laced with something almost akin to disappointment. It was as if he couldn’t believe you’d allow yourself to be manipulated, to be used by the clan without protest. The accusation sank in, filling the silence between you, leaving you scrambling for words that felt weak before they even reached your lips. “It’s not… it’s not as bad as you’re making it sound,”  what were you saying? Why were you denying it? 

“You’re not… happy here… right?” Suguru’s voice was low and smooth, his words more of a command than a question. The thought of you confirming your happiness with another man…His gaze expectant and unyielding, his eyes narrowing as he waited for a response. No. The question wasn't a question; it was a verdict, one he expected you to deny.

Before you could speak, Satoru’s voice cut through the air, sharp and filled with disdain.  “Why would she be, Suguru?” he scoffed, his tone mocking, vicious. He couldn't help himself. Arms crossed tightly over his chest, he looked at you with a hard glint in his eye. “He’s weak. Can’t protect her to save his life. Hell, he’ll probably die within a few months with the missions they’re throwing him on. It’d be doing her a favor, really.”

The words were merciless, dismissive in a way that made it clear. Satoru wasn’t merely being critical—he was condemning the man, speaking about him as though he were nothing more than a shadow, something insubstantial, barely worth acknowledging. His gaze flickered to yours, once again-daring you to say something, to offer a defense he wouldn’t allow you to stand by. Daring you to object, to defend the man they both considered unworthy of you.

“Satoru’s right,” Suguru’s voice almost gentle, as if trying to ease you into his words. Still so coaxing, wearing you down. “You’ve always deserved someone strong. Someone who wouldn’t need protection himself.” He paused, watching your reaction closely. “Not someone who’s one mission away from being carried out on a stretcher.”

Suguru tilted his head, studying you with a faint frown, his expression soft but no less intense. “What exactly did you think you were gaining by agreeing to this?” he asked, voice calm but pointed. “A protector? A partner?” He shook his head, lips twisting in a faint smile. “They could have picked anyone, and they gave you… him. Someone who can barely stand his ground, let alone yours.” Suguru let out a soft, derisive chuckle, seeming to laugh at his own joke. “He’s pathetic, really,” murmuring, his gaze flicking back to you. He's gotten more dramatic over the past year. “The kind of man who clings to you because he knows he could never measure up otherwise. Do you really want to be tied to someone like that? Someone who only brings you down?”

You felt your throat tighten, the instinct to defend yourself—and, by extension only, your husband, but Satoru’s eyes flashed, once again daring you to challenge him. “Don’t tell me you think he’s worthy of you, Sweetheart,” he said, his tone almost mocking, the pet name laced with double meaning now, as though the mere idea were laughable. “Someone like him doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near you. Let alone breathe the same air as you. He’s nothing but a pawn, doing whatever they tell him. And you’re too good to be dragged down by someone so… disposable.”

Suguru chimed in, his voice much lighter, coaxing you to your own answer, as he leaned a bit closer. “We just want what’s best for you,” he murmured, his tone soft but laced with the same underlying scorn. “You’re worth more than some mediocre man who can’t even hold his own. Someone who only got close to you because the clan handed you over like… property.”

“I… It’s not about that,” Shut up, you thought. You didn't even know why you were arguing. Why bother when what they're saying is true? You didn't want your husband to die. And with what you knew now, it seemed his assignments may not have been as random as you'd hoped. You needed a second to breathe. To think. You couldn't place your feelings for the two. Did you have those underlying feelings? maybe-yes

“Oh, isn’t it?” Suguru scoffed at your pathetic attempt to defend that weakling, the intensity in his eyes only growing. His chest right up against your back, staring down at you. Satoru crowding your front side. The two had you surrounded. Far too suffocating. “Tell me, Doll, would you trust him with your life? With your future?” That damn pet name was doing nothing to help your nerves. You felt pinned at this moment. The situation seems more…dangerous than it should. 

You felt your resolve wavering under their combined scrutiny, their words pulling at the insecurities you’d tried to ignore, the doubts you’d shoved down for the sake of stability. “It’s not… he doesn’t need to prove himself,” you managed, “Not like that.” You wanted to dispel some of their hostility, but you seemed to be failing.  Suguru’s gaze grew colder, a faint, disappointed sigh escaping him. “You’re defending him, again,” he said quietly, his tone laced with something that felt like reproach. “Why, exactly? What has he done to earn that from you?”

“What, is he good in bed or something?” Satoru’s words cut through the air, each syllable loaded with mockery that hit you like a physical blow. Your head quickly snapped to look up at him, your stare disapproving and awkward. The question and his tone felt so out of place, so direct, so vile, that you found yourself at a loss for words. His expression twisted in disgust, his nose wrinkling as though he could hardly stomach the thought, despite having put it into existence himself. “Ugh, to even think about that bastard’s hands on you…” His voice trailed off, eyeing you up and down as if he'd find your husband's traces on you. His tone filled with a revulsion that left you speechless. “He can’t be that good,” his tone a mix of disdain and something darker, possessive. “Not when he’s so weak. Wouldn't have the stamina to last longer than a minute.” He kept going. And going. 

Caught off guard by the sheer bluntness of the question. Dumbfounded. Words failed you as you struggled to piece together a response, embarrassed and unsure of how to address the accusations he was piling on. You felt your face grow hot, the embarrassment creeping down your neck. “S-shut up,” you stuttered out, unable to meet his eyes. His vulgar words trailing around the room, harassing you. It almost seemed like he enjoyed making you so uncomfortable. He ignored you.

“Satoru,” Suguru interjected, his voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable edge. His face remained controlled, almost serene, but his dark eyes betrayed a smoldering intensity, a fire simmering just beneath the surface. He gave Satoru a nasty look, as if telling him to behave. He finally sided with you this time it seemed. His gaze met yours, searching, as though expecting you to confirm or deny Satoru's initial concern. Your sex life. Was that why you were here? He couldn't see any other possibility. No protection. Always away. No previous relationship established. An arranged marriage. One that they could have prevented.

Why were you still here? The thoughts stirred in Suguru's head making him more and more restless at the idea of Satoru being correct. 

“Or,” Suguru finally said, ignoring Satoru’s pouty look as he continued muttering quietly to himself about your husband, and his supposed poor performance in bed, “maybe that's the reason you’re staying, huh?” He leaned in closer, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that what this is, Doll? He’s… keeping you around for other reasons? That weakling?” His voice far from friendly, giving way to something more devious and cynical. He was losing his patience. He'd only been wanting to hear it from you. What your reasoning was, but, like Satoru, he couldn't stand the thought of that limp dicked man fucking you. 

The words made your heart race, and you could feel your embarrassment clawing its way up, threatening to betray you further. “I-I..-what-,” you stuttered, head down, and your fist clenching. Your voice sounded so small, as you fumbled through the turn in the conversation, obviously never having breached a topic like

this with them before. 

Suguru’s hand reached out, warm and steady as it tugged your chin to face him. His touch was comforting in its own way, yet his expression still far from warm. He looked at you with a mixture of disappointment, curiosity, his dark eyes searching yours. “Really?” he drawled, his voice a low whisper. “Is that what this is? Because, from where we’re standing, he doesn’t seem like he’s offering you anything you couldn’t find elsewhere.” His thumb traced a gentle line along your lips, his gaze intense. “Or am I wrong?” He simpered. 

Satoru’s hand came to rest on your other shoulder, his fingers warm, sending a shiver down your spine as he leaned in. “You’re a beautiful woman, Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping. “You deserve someone who you wouldn't settle for, someone who could actually keep up with you… please you.” His lips quirked up in a smirk, voice suggestive. “And let’s be honest here… he isn’t that man.”

Your face flushed even deeper, caught between the two of them, their words pressing in on you, along with their looming figures. This conversation was growing painful, circling around and around. You felt like it wasn't going anywhere. Not that you could do much to help it. When they had a goal, they achieved it. “It’s… complicated,” your last attempt. Hoping they'd drop it. Hoping that that was the end. Why were you even bothering keeping your situation a secret? Your promises? 

“Complicated?” Satoru chuckled, shaking his head as though the idea was ridiculous. “Oh, come on. It’s not that complicated. You’re married to a man who’s leagues beneath you. Do you really think he’s what you need? That he could satisfy you properly?” His gaze flickered over you, intense and unyielding, and you could feel the question hanging in the air, heavy and loaded. The question was uncomfortably intimate, each word laced with accusation. Satoru held your gaze, the silence stretching between you heavy and loaded, and you felt as though they could both see right through your hesitation. “If he’s everything you want… everything you need,” Satoru murmured, his voice soft, coaxing, “then why does it feel like you’re trapped?” 

His words were gentle, soothing, and framing the accusation as your own. His eyes remained on you, steady and intense, and you felt the weight of his question press against your carefully constructed reasons. They were putting words into your mouth. You knew it. Yet you could admit, it did kind of feel as though you were trapped. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck, caught in your throat. Finally you kept your mouth shut. The intensity of their combined presence, their fingers brushing over your skin, the steady, unyielding weight of their gazes, made it hard to focus, hard to even think. You wanted to go home. 

“Come back with us,” Satoru murmured, his voice smooth and persuasive, his hand slipping to cup your cheek, taking it from Suguru. He tilted your face up to meet his piercing blue eyes. “We’ll take you back to the clan house. We know we’ve… neglected you, left you to figure all this out alone. We won’t make that mistake again.” “B-but I can't defy the clan head…the higher ups…I promised-.” your voice came out somewhat strained.  Satoru’s expression darkened as he ran a hand through his hair, a grimace tugging at his features. He had hoped to wiggle some confession from you. Wanted to see just where your heart lied, and whether it was worth killing off that waste of space husband of yours. 

“And who do you think is running the clan now?” he grumbled, voice laced with frustration. Giving you an out. Tell them you want out of this marriage.  You're shocked. The always so careless and flippant, Satoru Gojo had finally settled and taken hold of his responsibilities. Something you never wanted to pressure him into. He muttered under his breath, cursing the family he was supposed to lead—the family that had taken it upon themselves to marry you off without a single word to him, the heir. Until now, he’d distanced himself from the responsibilities that came with his title, choosing instead to focus on missions, on battles. But this—marrying you off without even a whisper in his ear—was a final insult. It disgusted him almost as much as the man they’d chosen for you. Spineless. Weak. Unworthy-

You swallowed. Before your marriage, both of them were constantly away on missions, caught up in their own responsibilities, and their time with you was sparse—a few hours here and there, sometimes together, but more often than not just brief moments in passing. After the marriage, your interactions dwindled even further as the clan pushed you to focus on your new “duties” and distance yourself from your past. 

His words sound tempting. A promise to take you home. To your familiar room. But what would happen then? Seeing your resolve finally waver, and your decision within reach, their interrogative assault seemed to be finally over. They would seal the deal. You gain reprieve from their questions and smothering gazes, as they seemed somewhat back to normal. Their eyes filled with nothing but warmness and affection towards you. Maybe it would be better to just go back to the clan house and let Satoru deal with the aftermath. He was still the strongest. What was really so wrong with letting him deal with the higher ups? Backing out of your duties. Out of your promises.  “Maybe…” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, the words trailing off as you struggled to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling within you, you avoid their gazes. You did love them. It was part of your reasoning for making those changes in the story. What would happen when you got home?  The question repeating itself in your head. They hadn't necessarily confessed to the feelings they'd shown on their sleeves. The idea of going back to the clan house, of letting Satoru handle the consequences, seemed like a relief, a way to escape the uncertainty and pressure you’d been feeling.

Satoru’s hand remained on your cheek, his touch warm and constant, as he leaned in for a hug. Finally embracing you. Sealing the deal. You hadn't realized just how much you missed their hugs. “It’s not complicated, Sweetheart. Just come with us. We’ll take care of everything, handle the fallout, make sure you never have another worm sleeping next to you ever again.”

You let out a soft laugh at this, finding such comfort in his arms at that moment. He was serious, despite his fronting it as a joke. You'd never be marrying another man, aside from himself and Suguru.  Suguru’s remained behind you, falling into the hug you shared with Satoru. “You don’t have to carry the weight of this alone,” he said softly, his gaze holding yours with a steady, unyielding warmth. “We’ve always been stronger together, haven’t we?”

You felt a sense of ease wash over you, the tension that had been knotting your stomach slowly unraveling in the warmth of their words, the gentleness of their touch. With them, the pressure and expectations seemed to slip away, replaced by a comforting familiarity that made the decision feel… inevitable.

“Maybe you’re right,” you murmured, feeling yourself give in, surrendering to the gentle coaxing in their voices, the promise of stability and support that lay within their eyes. The clan house, with them by your side, suddenly felt like the only place you truly belonged.

p. 2

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