#fluff until it's not huhu

[aquamarixx]

breaking the internet

blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains slow slow slow burn, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader, angst, fluff

SYNOPSIS

Hiori Yo may be one of Bastard München’s most technically gifted players, but he’s hardly the most popular. Stoic, soft-spoken, and an unapologetic introvert, Hiori’s tactical and supportive play style tends to get overshadowed by his flashier, extroverted teammates. Fame was never his goal—until, unexpectedly, it finds him.

When a mid-season slump raises doubts about the team’s future, an insightful article by an up-and-coming sports journalist shines a new light on his understated brilliance and strategic approach. Her piece goes viral, drawing fresh interest in both the team and Hiori, and challenges the flashy “egoist” narrative with a deeper look at his impact.

As her articles captivate fans and bring unexpected attention to Hiori, their interactions both on and off the field spark a fan-fueled fascination. Their chemistry is undeniable, to say the least, and Bastard München’s marketing team jumps on the opportunity of pairing them in official content. 

What begins as a mere marketing tactic quickly becomes more personal. As their chemistry continues to captivate fans, Hiori finds it harder and harder to ignore the person who believed in him before anyone else did. He wants her to keep watching him, to see the player he’s becoming — and for the first time, he doesn’t mind the attention.

And maybe, just maybe, he’s not the only one getting caught up in the unexpected connection under the eyes of the world who’s watching, waiting and hoping for something more.

CHAPTER LIST (ongoing)

chapter one (1.6k words) after Bastard München's third loss, Hiori Yo finds a spark of hope in a warm, unexpected article by a cute keen-eyed journalist

chapter two (2.6k words) Hiori discovers Miss Journalist might be a loyal fan of his — and learns the hard way that stalking someone on Winstagram can quickly get complicated.

chapter three part 1 Miss Journalist follows the day-in-the-life of Bastard München for the midseason promos, unexpectedly bringing her closer to Hiori in ways she didn’t anticipate.

chapter three part 2 after one video and a candid photo, Miss Journalist and Hiori go viral as their chemistry together off-camera stirs up unexpected fan attention, leaving them both wondering what’s next.

chapter four (5.3k words) a whirlwind of chaos and laughter turns into something much more when Miss Journalist and Hiori Yo can't ignore the spark between them any longer.

chapter five (4.1K words) a win turns bittersweet for Hiori when the person he wants to share it with the most seems just out of reach—as he sees Miss Journalist running towards someone else.

chapter six (5.1k words) a series of misunderstanding and lack of communication finally leads Hiori and Miss Journalist to talk, once and for all.

chapter seven (4.9k words) Hiori and Miss Journalist share more than just a passionate night, opening up about their relationship and the uncertain future that lies ahead.

chapter eight (3.9k words) when some clout chaser claims to be the mystery girl in the photo, Hiori shuts down the rumors and teases about the girl who truly has his heart

chapter nine (6.6k words) sparks fly as Hiori finds himself with unexpected realizations and plenty of "oh" moments, proving that love and self-discovery often come hand in hand.

chapter ten

chapter eleven

author's notes: i have hiori yo brainrot for weeks now. and i just have to get this out of my system because i fear for the lack of hiori fanfics for my himejoshis out there (if there are any huhu) it is a very lengthy synopsis so bear with me, it's my first time writing a fanfic will update the chapter list as soon as i have the energy to finish it

[pemiski]

CUPID’S COMPULSION DISORDER FT R. ITOSHI

Summary Healing isn’t always just physical. As a resident, you’ve always been taught that recovery isn’t only about stitches and surgery— it’s about the mental and emotional journey too. Being prepared to accompany your patient through said recovery has never been a problem for you; not until Rin Itoshi, anyway.

Tags fem! surgical resident! reader x pro player! Itoshi rin, corse language, meet-cute, medical lingo, making out, slow burn (hopefully, i tried my best), use of the metric system, character death (not reader or any main character), in depth description of surgical procedures, lots of medical inaccuracies so pls let’s not talk about that, reader wears a dress, mentions of marriage and children (only at the end, you can skip it if it makes you feel uncomfortable), Oliver aiku is a warning in itself, some good old sibling angst bc character development is just as important as romance, lots of fluff, lots and lots of Greek mythology because i just can’t help myself i love it too much

Word count 24.3k words. That’s 60 pages!

Author’s note however much you think I’m excited and also scared for this to get published you can probably multiply by one zillion. I have spent months writing this, editing over and over and over to gather the courage to finally publish this!! I love this fic with all my heart, particularly because it is home to many firsts of mine, and I sincerely hope you will too! I have never written a fic this long, and even if it might not seem like much to you, this is truly colossal to me. I devoured so many books, watched so many videos and overall learned so much about writing just to make this as entertaining as possible for you to read, and for me to write, and seeing it finally finished is so so bittersweet to me. This is so sappy but I had to say it lol.. Lastly, before you hit read more, happy reading! (+ disclaimers are down below, please read!)

I am not a doctor, nor am I currently training to be one. Any and all surgical talk in this fic is an unfortunate result of me binge-watching greys anatomy. I did use quizlet and books, but I doubt it makes me legitimate in anything medical lol

Speaking of greys, there are a few Easter eggs from the show in here, couldn’t help myself huhu.. tell me if you can catch them!

Not a disclaimer, but please make sure to reblog and/or comment! Not just for me, but for all content creators on this app :) That’s it! Enjoy!

It’s just like one of those stories hospitals collect over the years— two years ago, a first-year surgical resident fell in love with her patient. The kind of love that had no business in an OR. Everyone remembers how it ended— her hands slipped, he bled out, and she crumbled right there on the floor. This resident, whoever she was, bright and promising, became a legend for all the wrong reasons.

For the next years of her residency, she was a social pariah. Now, her name floats through the hospital like a ghost story. Don’t get attached. Don’t lose focus. And for God’s sake, don’t be like that one resident. Her name has long been forgotten, and no one really talks about her anymore, but her mistake still lingers, a quiet warning in every scrub room and hallway.

Just like any big time gossip in any workplace, they all fold into routine, cautionary tales buried under new scandals. And while everyone remembers what happened to this surgeon, it hasn’t stopped some residents to follow in her footsteps anyway.

The cafeteria buzzes around you, trays clattering, voices blending into a dull hum— mere background noise to your exhaustion. Your focus drifts in and out as you pick at what’s left of your meal. Rounds were a blur, the same routine: tired interns, tired cases, and you, running on fumes. Your ears only caught about half of what was said this morning anyway. Something about a necrotic bowel. Or maybe it was an obstructed one. Whatever it was, it wasn’t interesting enough to wake you up.

You sigh, letting your head fall back slightly. You’ve been in this hospital for nearly 47 hours. Your brain feels like it’s wrapped in cotton, sluggish and heavy. The only thing keeping you going is the promise of that surgery board staying blissfully clear after this one case. If all goes well, you might even get home for a few hours of real sleep.

The interns were amusing at first. Eager, wide-eyed, practically tripping over themselves to impress you. You’d send them on wild goose chases, toss them paperwork, maybe throw one a bone and let them assist a minor surgery. And the coffee was borderline endless. But now? They’ve gone stale. Less enthusiasm, more sulking— especially Frederick, who’s been moping for weeks because he hasn’t touched an appendix.

You shake your head, muttering around a spoonful of almost stale, hospital food. “Seriously, it’s just an appy. It sucks. It’s not like he’s missing out on a heart transplant. Get over it.” You sigh again, pushing the tray away. Even your complaints feel half-hearted. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation.

“Tell me about it. You know Vaughn? Blonde, huge stick up her ass? I really struck gold with that one,” Livy says, leaning back in her chair, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. “Talks all the time. She can’t stop!”

“Nice ass though,” Oliver adds with a chuckle, spooning some frozen yogurt into his mouth. His eyes crinkle with mischief, his expression somewhere between casual and amused.

Livy shoots him a sideways glance, clearly unimpressed. “Sure, if you’re the hospital whore. Hey, maybe we should start giving you away to sexually frustrated patients,” she muses, tapping her chin, then gesturing vaguely in the air. “You know the guy in 408? Saw him watching something called ‘Naughty Little Nurses’ on his phone. I’m sure he’d love a naughty little resident.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow, looking less than amused. “He? Forget it.” He grabs his tray, standing up with a frown.

Livy, not one to back down, calls after him. “Aiku! If you bail on that laparoscopy like you did on that lap chole, I’ll kill you!”

Oliver waves her off with a dismissive flick of his wrist, which only makes Livy’s teeth grit. “I’ll kidnap him and lock him in 408’s room. I’ll do it.”

You catch Livy’s eye, raising an eyebrow. “I think his name is Mark.”

Livy shrugs nonchalantly, like she hasn’t already planned every detail. “Well, that’s the least interesting thing about him, isn’t it?”

“It is a good idea though,” you shrug, still facing your half-peeled orange on your tray.

"Right?" Livy gasps, practically vibrating with excitement as she continues to corner you in the cafeteria. Her plan to kidnap Oliver Aiku grows more elaborate by the second, detailing every step of the process in a scarily precise, almost unnervingly detailed way, you start wondering if she’s genuinely thought this through. Would anyone notice? Surely someone would. You can practically hear the sirens in the background as she goes on. Regardless, you’re only half-listening, your thoughts wandering as the clock ticks down to the inevitable.

Before long, it’s time to return to work, and just as you’re mentally preparing for another round of exhaustion, fate intervenes.

“You, over there.”

You instinctively try to ignore the voice, slipping into the on-call room like you haven't heard a thing, but then, you see it: the dark blue scrubs. Something about them makes you freeze in place, and with a deep sigh, you reluctantly turn toward the source.

“I need you to round up your interns and send them away on other stuff,” the attending orders, breezing past you with barely a glance. “It’s a… special guest. Torres wants you on the case. It’s ortho.”

You blink, caught off guard. This wasn’t what you were expecting— not even close. Before you can protest, the attending is already heading down the hallway at a speed that defies the urgency of your thoughts.

“No, I—“ You try to call after him, but it’s too late. He’s already gone, vanished into the corridor like a phantom.

You glance around at the empty hallway, suddenly feeling a weight you didn’t ask for pressing on your shoulders. "I’m tired," you mutter to yourself, leaning against the wall for a moment. The thought of yet another case, another special guest, is enough to make you want to crawl back into the on-call room and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a few more hours. But, there’s no time for that now.

Time to suck it up, grab your interns, and pray you make it out of this shift without completely losing your sanity.

"You, um... Mc— McCallum? Yeah, McCallum and your posse, you can all go to the pit."

The group groans in unison, their collective frustration almost palpable in the air. Normally, you might take a second to sympathize, maybe toss in a joke to ease the tension, but right now, you’re not having it. The day’s been too long, your patience has been running too thin.

The next words come out of your mouth almost without thought, and they feel sharp, cutting. You can see the interns’ faces fall before they even register what you’ve said.

"And since you all seem to like it so much, you can stay there for the rest of the week. Have fun." You grunt the last part, grabbing the file for the so-called "special guest" and ignoring the sudden silence that falls in your wake.

The interns stare at you, wide-eyed. They’ve learned over time that, despite your grumpy exterior, you’ve got their backs— at least when it counts. But right now, you're too tired to care about who likes you and who doesn't. You just want to get through the day, and if this is how it’s going to go, you won’t stand in destiny’s way.

The remaining ones— still a little too wide-eyed— watch you like puppies waiting for a treat. It’s uncomfortable, the way they look at you. Like you're supposed to provide answers, direction, a path forward. You're about to speak when the thought of the attending's earlier words hit you hard.

You freeze for a beat, caught between the irritation of dealing with your interns and the looming responsibility of the surgery. You didn’t sign up to babysit, but that seems to be exactly what you’re doing.

"Errr…" You can feel your brain short-circuiting for a moment, then instinctively you start grabbing a pile of paperwork off the desk, pushing it into the interns' hands. "Post-ops," you mutter, waving your hand in dismissal, "You know the drill. Fill these out. Keep yourselves busy."

As they scatter to comply, you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. It’s not the most graceful order, but it’ll work for now. Now, all you have to do is deal with whatever “special guest” situation Torres has thrown your way— and pray you survive the rest of this shift without further mental collapse.

Either way, you suppose you shouldn’t be mad at Torres. Every surgery offered to a resident is a golden opportunity— a chance to beef up your surgical portfolio and make yourself a prime candidate for future fellowships. Especially since ortho is your endgame. You’d mentioned your interest to Torres once, in passing, not expecting anything to come of it. Yet here you are.

You should be thrilled. And maybe, beneath the layers of exhaustion weighing down your shoulders, you are. But right now, it feels less like a privilege and more like pressure— pressure to prove you’re worthy of the trust an attending has placed in you.

“Hope you’re ready for this one, L/N.”

You turn at the sound of Torres’ voice, catching her reflection in the scrub room window. She strides in just as you finish washing up, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

“It’s an ACL tear.”

Your brow furrows slightly. An ACL tear? It’s common enough— routine, even. Hardly what you’d consider high-stakes.

Torres catches your expression and smiles knowingly. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. You think this is gonna be easy. But, point number one: at your level, any work is hard work.” She fixes you with a pointed look, her tone leaving no room for argument. Then, she gestures toward the OR with a nod of her chin. “And besides, the guy in there? High-level footballer. Some kind of genius, apparently. That’s point number two: he’s still young, so recovery should go well, but for that, this surgery has to be flawless. Understood, L/N?”

Before walking away, Torres pauses, her gaze lingering on you as if sizing you up. Her voice cuts through the tension, calm but firm.

“This is your first solo surgery,” she says, her words heavy and her eyes gleaming. “How you pull this off is how people see you for the rest of your residency. Make it count.”

You glance around the room, your gaze landing on the senior orthopedic surgeon seated calmly at the foot of the table. It hits you like a freight train: aside from them, you’re the leading surgeon today.

A wave of nerves surges through you, spreading from your chest to your fingertips. You try to steady yourself, cycling through the breathing exercises you’ve practiced so many times before, but your heart isn’t listening, and neither is your brain. Your heart is racing, your thoughts spiraling.

Nobody told you this was going to be a solo surgery. Was it an oversight? Or worse— was it intentional? Some kind of test? The thought slowly wraps around your brain, your mind constantly conjuring up worst-case scenarios. Were they just waiting for you to mess up so they’d have a reason to kick you out of this hospital?

Despite your inner turmoil, you nod, pulling your mask over your face, steadying yourself. This is definitely a test, you sigh to yourself.

The door slides open, and you position yourself in front of the body, gathering the tools, the bright lights of the OR gleaming down as you make the incision, your hands steady despite the tension radiating through your shoulders. You’ve rehearsed this in your mind a dozen times, but the reality of handling a live ACL tear on a high-profile athlete feels different. Your focus sharpens as you expose the torn ligament.

“L/N, what’s your first step in graft placement?” Torres’ voice cuts through the hum of monitors, calm but firm. You feel like a squeaky intern again. Your attending’s gaze is sharp, and typically, you’re the one asking the questions. Nevertheless, you find yourself reporting for duty almost immediately like an old reflex.

“Secure the femoral tunnel first to ensure proper alignment,” you answer, carefully inserting the guide pin.

“And why is that important?” she presses, stepping closer to observe.

“To maintain knee stability and prevent rotational instability post-op,” you reply, glancing at her briefly.

Torres nods, her expression unreadable. “Good. Keep going. Remember, precision is key. His career depends on this.”

You take a deep breath and steady your hands, feeling the weight of Torres’ words linger in the air. You’ve answered her questions correctly so far, and you’ve only got another set of questions coming your way, but the gnawing voice in your mind won’t let up.

A few more questions— that’s all it is, you try and tell yourself, but another voice in your head sneers. A few more is also the difference between standing here tomorrow or being kicked out today. Between a career and a blacklist.

You scoff, trying to silence the thought. Blacklisted is for cutting LVAD wires to move your patient up the transplant list, blacklisted is for—

“Is there a problem, Doctor L/n?” Torres’ voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, sharp and pointed. Her raised eyebrows are a warning.

“No,” you blurt, feeling your face heat. “No, I just—I’m threading the graft through the femoral tunnel.”

She nods, her eyes drifting back to her magazine as if nothing had happened. “Good. Keep going.”

You force your focus back on the task at hand, trying to shake the storm of thoughts clouding your mind. It’s almost over. Just a few more minutes, and this patient will be transferred to recovery. He’ll heal. He’ll get back on his feet, back on the field—or maybe he won’t.

The thought creeps back in, insidious and loud. What if he never plays again? What if he sues? What if this ruins you?

“Looks good,” Torres says, her voice softer now, but no less commanding. The words slice clean through the noise in your head. “Close up, and let’s get him to recovery.”

You finish the last suture, your breath catching slightly as the weight of the moment settles in.

“You’ve done well today,” she adds, and the tension in your chest loosens just enough for you to finally exhale.

Relief washes over you, but you keep your composure, nodding as you finish the sutures. There’s still work to do, but for the first time today, you feel like you’re more than just a resident. You’re a surgeon in the making.

Just as you’re about to wash up and get rid of your gloves, your attending makes her way back to you, and hands you a chart.

“Post-ops,” She says. “He’s your patient now, so you do the checking up. Explain the surgery went well, keep him updated on the treatment that follows, and so on. We’ll keep him here for some time, so he’s your responsibility.”

Nevermind surgeon-in-the-making— you’re just a resident after all. Post-ops can easily be pawned off on your interns, but there’s no dodging this check-up.

———————————————————-

“So, first solo surgery, Y/n, how does it feel?” Livy elbows you with a teasing smile. The trauma of her own first solo surgery is long behind her now. She had hers months ago, and even then, you’re sure no one sprung it on her like a surprise birthday party.

“Awful,” you groan, rubbing your temples as if that might somehow alleviate the tension still coursing through you.

“Aw, did you flunk it?” she quips, her grin widening.

“No,” you admit with a sigh. “I don’t think so? I mean, I got through it, but I had no idea it was happening. Torres just walked up to me, told me I was flying solo, and suddenly, I was the leading surgeon. No prep time, no warning—just boom. Sink or swim.”

Livy winces in sympathy, toying with the rings on her fingers. “That’s rough. But, hey, she probably figured you could handle it if she threw you in like that.”

“Or she just wanted to watch me crash and burn,” you mutter, bitterness creeping into your tone. “It felt like walking a tightrope with no safety net.”

Livy raises an eyebrow. “But did you crash and burn?”

“That’s not the point. I could’ve.”

She shrugs, leaning back in her chair. “You could spend a lifetime obsessing over all the could’ves, would’ves, and should’ves, but it won’t change what’s already done.”

You turn to her, crinkling your eyes slightly. “You are such an existentialist.”

Livy crosses her arms defensively. “Am not!”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, you know,” you tease, your lips quirking into a small smile.

She shrugs again, this time more nonchalantly. “I just think some things in life shouldn’t be written off as absurd.”

You snort lightly, curiosity piqued. “Like what?”

Livy’s smile turns mischievous, her eyes gleaming. “Like your patient chart,” she says sweetly, discreetly sliding her hand across the table.

“He’s a football player, apparently,” you mutter, grabbing your stale coffee and the stack of post-op charts. Before you can make your exit, Livy snatches the paperwork from your hands, her eyes scanning the pages with growing curiosity.

“Itoshi, Rin,” she reads aloud, sending a jolt of panic through you. You lunge for the chart, but Livy sidesteps you, oblivious to your distress. The attending’s warning echoes in your mind as nearby staff glance your way. Nothing fuels the hospital rumor mill faster than a name like that.

“Twenty-five,” Livy continues, ignoring your frantic attempts to grab the file. “ACL tear, blah, blah, blah…”

“Livy—”

“Oh! He’s 187 centimeters? God, this guy’s massive—”

“Livy, I’m serious. He’s supposed to be low-profile—”

“Hmm, 67 kilos? Lanky, but it could work… Oh! Do you think I can find his Instagram? Room 407! Right next to the naughty nurse guy in 408. Think they’ll watch together?”

You finally manage to snatch the chart back, your cheeks reddening and your hair sticking out. “No, you can’t find his Instagram. No, he won’t be watching porn with the weirdo in 408. And no, you’re not telling anyone what you saw in this chart. He’s a… a big shot, or something. I’m supposed to keep the people who know he’s here to a minimum. So if you could keep his personal info to yourself, that’d be great.”

Livy raises an eyebrow but says nothing as you toss your coffee in the trash. “I gotta go,” you mutter, storming off before she can get another word in.

By the time you reach Itoshi Rin’s room, your mood has dwindled to the lowest depths of hell. The day had already started on a bad note, but between the third part of your medical licensing exam, a certain football prodigy, and your stupid interns, your head feels like it’s on the verge of exploding. Still, you put on a brave face and brace yourself as you step inside.

“Itoshi Rin?”

Piercing blue eyes meet yours, and the deep frown on his face warns you that this conversation won’t be pleasant.

“Do doctors have to crawl through tunnels to get to patient units now?”

“No,” you huff, mirroring his frown. “I apologize.”

“You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

You rearrange his chart on the bedside table, exhaling irritably. “You’ll spend the rest of your stay here the same way you did those ten minutes. You’ll be fine.”

As the words leave your mouth, they hit your brain like a delayed bomb. Realizing the sharpness in your tone, you scramble to recover. “Oh, I—no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“When can I play again?” he interrupts, completely unfazed by your backpedaling.

You pause, slightly taken aback by how little he seems to care about your apology. “I was trying to apologize.”

“I don’t need an apology you don’t mean.”

His bluntness stings, but you force a tight smile. “Well, I really am sorry. But for now, let’s focus on your check-up before we dive into questions, okay?”

“Don’t bother with the bullshit customer service act,” he retorts, his voice sharp. “Just tell me when I can play again.”

Your forced smile grows saccharine. Fine, you think, if he wants to play this game, you’ll play along no problem. “I would, but according to HPSO guidelines, I should let the aggravating patient calm down before proceeding.”

“Did you just call me aggravating?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

Before you can respond, his gaze flicks past you. A shadow looms in the doorway, and dread settles in your stomach. You turn slowly, heart sinking as you recognize the figure: the attending physician who assigned you this case.

Your mind races. One opportunity, blown in a heartbeat, all because you lost your cool with a difficult patient. The attending’s expression is a careful mix of disbelief and disappointment.

“I—” you start, voice faltering, “I didn’t mean—”

Before you can finish, Rin lets out an annoyed grunt, motioning for a nearby nurse to escort the attending out and close the door. You whip your head around to stare at him, stunned.

He shrugs, as though this is no big deal. Through the small window in the door, the attending looks half-convinced, suspicion lingering before they finally walk away.

The door clicks shut, leaving you alone with Rin. You can’t decide if you’re more relieved or furious.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you mutter, picking up his chart from the bedside table.

“What the hell,” he mutters back, rubbing his forehead. “A normal person would just say thank you.”

“That’s funny,” you snap, flipping through the chart without looking at him. “Coming from someone who didn’t bother thanking the surgeon who just spent hours saving their career.”

Rin’s eyes narrow. “You don’t know that. What if I don’t recover well?”

“That’s on your physiotherapist, not me.”

“Aren’t you my physiotherapist?”

You roll your eyes, shutting the chart with a snap. “I’m your surgeon. I’ll monitor your progress for a bit, make sure everything holds up, and then I’m gone. Should be exactly what you want, right?”

“What I want,” he says, his voice clipped, “is to know when I can play again.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “That depends on a lot of factors.”

“When?” he presses, his tone sharper now.

“I can’t give you a definitive answer yet,” you reply, your patience wearing thin.

“Why not? Aren’t you a doctor?” He scoffs, picking up his phone from the nightstand. “I knew I couldn’t trust anyone with this. I specifically asked for someone competent.”

His muttering is loud enough to hear, and it pushes you past your breaking point.

“I am competent,” you snap, stepping closer to his bed. His eyes lock onto yours, and the tension between you becomes palpable.

“As your doctor, your surgeon, and considering all the variables you clearly haven’t thought about, I’m telling you—I cannot give you an answer right now. Are we clear?”

He doesn’t reply, but his glare doesn’t waver.

You push a stray strand of hair out of your face, steadying your voice. “In your case, we repaired the medial collateral ligament, which is a common injury in your field. Recovery typically takes six months, depending on how consistent you are with the rehab plan. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to.”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and leave, the door clicking shut behind you. Rin’s glare follows you, but the silence in the room is louder than anything he could say.

As you disappear down the hallway, Rin glares at the door, his jaw clenched. Moody, stuck-up smartass. That’s all you are. A pretty face with an attitude sharp enough to cut glass. He’d stepped in, helped you out when you were clearly drowning, and all he got in return was indifference. Not even a thank you.

He huffs, crossing his arms tighter. Should’ve just kept my mouth shut. You weren’t worth the effort. Maybe he should pass your number to his brother. You and Sae would probably get along just fine—two arrogant know-it-alls. The thought makes him scowl even deeper.

Yet, as irritated as he is, he can’t quite shake the feeling that he’ll be seeing more of you than he’d like. And for reasons he can’t explain, that thought bothers him even more.

———————————————————-

As your keys jingle inside your apartment’s lock, you can already feel your body ready to faceplant you straight to the ground. You’ve never been as tired as you are now, even considering the hellish schedules you had to endure during your internship.

So much for a well-deserved break, you thought.

You ungracefully stumble onto your couch, and search for the TV remote to skip channels until you inevitably fall asleep. Your fingers continuously tap on the same tile, until a news anchor gets your attention. It isn’t her specifically that catches your eye, but more-so the familiar mop of black hair paired with those icy blue eyes in the background. Below his picture, a headline scrolls across the bottom:

”Prodigy Itoshi Rin to sit out for the rest of the season, PXG faces tough road ahead”

Well, if he wasn’t already in a bad mood today and yesterday, he definitely is going to be tomorrow. Only difference is, tomorrow, you’ll be able to pride yourself on a perfectly good night’s sleep, and you can only hope that it will make enough of a difference to hopefully enough to make that check-up go smoother. Or less disastrous, at the very least.

Your phone dings, and as you check it, you realise it’s nothing more than a link. You grab it, and make a point to sigh when you see it’s Livy who has sent said message.

The link takes you to Instagram, and you immediately dread what’s to come. There’s a mountain of possibilities, considering her personality. Either a hot nurse from the ER, a hot attending, a hot patient…

Just as you feel like you know exactly what you’ve stumbled upon, your worst nightmare has materialized right in front of your face.

His profile is exactly what you’d imagined it to be like. Cryptic, simple, with an embarrassing amount of effort put into a semblant of mysteriousness. His bio is made up of three letters spelling out his club, his username is a bland combination of his first and last name, and yet, he has amassed a whopping twelve million followers.

Twelve. Million.

You stare at the number, dumbfounded. You don’t understand how such a nasty personality could ever have people looking up to them, let alone twelve million.

You toss your phone onto the couch with an exasperated sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions. Twelve million people following that guy? You rub your temples, still processing the sheer absurdity of it. Rin Itoshi— who finds the grueling task of thanking someone he considers far below him absolutely insurmountable —has somehow captured the hearts of millions.

The thought gnaws at you. It’s not the followers, not really. It’s the disconnect between the person you met today and the public persona those twelve million people seem to worship. You can’t reconcile the icy glare, the condescending tone, with the polished, enigmatic figure plastered all over social media. Maybe they don’t see what you saw. Or maybe they just don’t care.

Your phone dings again, signalling another message from Livy:

"Told you he’s hot. Should’ve gotten that Instagram when you had the chance 💋"

You roll your eyes, tossing a quick reply:

"Not my type. Also, not yours. Stay out of trouble."

You don’t have a problem with admitting he’s hot. Really, you don’t. And maybe he could’ve been your type, if he wasn’t cranky and resentful as if you’d just shot his mom in front of him.

You drop the phone onto your chest, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow is going to be a long day. Rin’s mood will be even worse after the media circus surrounding his injury, and you’ll be right in the middle of it. Still, with a good night’s sleep, maybe —just maybe— you’ll have the patience to survive his check-up without losing your mind.

And if not? Well, there’s always coffee. Lots of it.

———————————————————-

The moment you had dared to step into his dark, borderline cavernous room —which had once resembled a proper patient unit— Rin was already glaring at you. Not one to back down, you glared right back, slamming his chart onto the desk at the foot of his bed with enough force to make the clipboard rattle. You flipped the pages with unnecessary vigor, regularly shooting him pointed looks over the top of the file.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Rin finally snapped, his brows furrowed in what you could only assume was his default expression.

“I’m trying to anticipate the stupidities that are about to come out of your mouth so I can refute them before you even finish,” you deadpanned, barely sparing him a glance.

“How mature and diplomatic of you,” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You didn’t miss a beat, and huff, ‘I doubt diplomacy was ever in your cards.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, his face contorting into something caught between annoyance and borderline murderous intentions.

“Oh, yeah, that was very diplomatic,” you shot back, mockingly sweet as you continued flipping through the chart.

Rin rolled his eyes, leaning back against the pillows like your very presence was a personal affront. “Why do you even bother showing up if all you’re going to do is insult me?”

“Because I have this very unpleasant thing called a job, that causes me to have interactions with equally unpleasant patients,” you shot back without hesitation, jotting something down on his chart. “Though I’ll admit, it’s getting harder to tell if I’m here to treat your knee or your ego.”

“You’re hilarious,” he muttered, deadpan. Bitch, he thinks.

“I know,” you quipped, flashing him a quick narrowed look before your expression sobered. “Speaking of your knee, how’s the pain? Any discomfort, swelling, or anything else I should know about?”

Rin hesitated for a moment, his frown deepening. “It’s fine.”

“Fine isn’t a medical term, Itoshi. Try again.”

He huffed, clearly irritated. “There’s some stiffness when I move it, but it’s not unbearable.”

“Progress,” you said, your tone deliberately cheerful as you made a note in his chart. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He muttered something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch, but the sharp glare he threw your way made it clear it wasn’t complimentary.

“Careful,” you hum, glancing up from your notes. “Keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you actually enjoy these little visits.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he shot back.

You finished jotting down your notes and closed the chart with a decisive snap. “Alright, that’s enough verbal sparring for one day. Keep up with the exercises, and let me know if the pain gets worse. And, for the love of everything holy, try not to terrorize any more nurses.”

“I didn’t terrorize anyone,” he grumbled, eyes squinting at you, indicating he’d clearly found this conversation much less amusing than you have been these past few minutes.

“Sure,” you replied, clearly unconvinced. “Just keep telling yourself that.”

As you had turned to leave, you couldn’t resist throwing one last jab over your shoulder. “See you tomorrow, evil spawn.”

You chuckle to yourself. Evil spawn was a nickname you’d nicked from a show you were watching. You had congratulated yourself with how accurate it had been, and even more so with the way Rin would grit his teeth in anger at the sheer disrespect you clearly had no problem in displaying. Either way, it didn’t matter. There was no way in hell that Rin itoshi was gonna ruin your finally-back-to-normal sleep schedule by interfering in your late night thoughts. Or even daytime ones.

———————————————————-

“I feel reborn!” you announce, striding through the hospital’s main entrance, practically glowing.

“Is it because your patient is a good-looking football prodigy, and you’ve got the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to check up on him every single day?” Oliver’s gruff voice cuts through your euphoria, and you whip around to face him.

“Does everybody know about this?”

“God and everybody,” he replies, raising an eyebrow over the rim of his coffee cup.

You scowl, crossing your arms. “Well, I’m so glad everyone is so invested in my personal life.” Then, with a huff, you add, “But for your information, I was talking about the amazing amount of sleep I got last night.”

Oliver smirks. “He’s kind of like a sad German shepherd, isn’t he? All about being dark and twisty. That’s definitely a hit with the ladies.”

“What would you know about that?” you mutter, unconvinced, eyes fixed on the cuffs of your coat.

“Tried it out last night,” Oliver twists his pen around, “Chicks love it. I felt like poultry farming.”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of that,” you slam your charts on the reception desk. Livy, who you hadn’t even realized was listening in on your conversation, falls into step beside you as you both head down the hallway. She leans in, her voice low but amused. “Poultry farming? Seriously?”

You shake your head. “Don’t ask.”

Livy snickers, glancing over her shoulder at Oliver, who’s still lounging at the reception desk with that smug grin plastered across his face. “I don’t know what’s more disturbing—him calling it poultry farming or the fact that it probably worked.”

“Neither,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “The most disturbing part is that I’m going to have to hear about it all day.”

Livy smirks. “He’ll milk it until someone gives him a reason to stop.” She nudges you playfully. “Maybe we can set him up with one of the weirdos in the pit. That’ll humble him.”

“I’m not sure I want to deal with the aftermath of that disaster,” you sigh.

As you reach the elevators, Livy presses the button and crosses her arms. “Speaking of disasters, how’s your ACL tear patient? Or should I say, your ‘mysterious football prodigy’?” She raises her eyebrows in a mock-serious way.

You glance at her, wary. “Why?”

“Just curious. I heard he’s already making a name for himself around here, and not just because of the injury. Apparently, he’s been giving the nurses a hard time.”

You groan, leaning back against the wall. “Great. As if dealing with him in surgery wasn’t enough, now I have to handle his attitude during recovery.”

Livy grins. “Well, you did sign up for ortho. All those high-maintenance athletes are part of the package. At least he’s not throwing tantrums. Yet.”

“Give him time,” you mumble as the elevator doors open. “I’m sure it’s coming.”

You both step inside, and Livy taps the button for your floor. “Good luck. Maybe today will be tantrum-free.”

“I’ll take ‘unlikely’ for 500,” you mutter, bracing yourself for another day of chaos.

It only takes a few seconds for you both to reach your floor, and as soon as your ways separate, you begin regretting not having taken Livy in with you to deal with the devil incarnate.

You slide open the door to room 407, and the scene that greets you makes your stomach churn. The room, usually neat and orderly, looks like the aftermath of an earthquake. A mountain of gifts is scattered across the floor, the vase of flowers on the windowsill has been shattered, and the bed is in disarray, blankets torn and thrown about. But most alarmingly, Rin is nowhere to be seen.

“Itoshi?” you call, your voice sharp as you scan the room.

“What?” His voice is gruff, coming from the bathroom, making you raise an eyebrow.

You step cautiously toward the bathroom and find Rin sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him. He looks far from the composed, untouchable figure you’re used to—his gown is crooked, his hair is a mess, and there’s a sharpness in his eyes.

“Did you fall? Are you hurt?” you ask, your voice a mixture of mild concern and absolute confusion.

“No,” he snaps, not bothering to meet your gaze. “I’m fine. Just go do your thing.”

You’re not having it. “Are you kidding? I spent three hours in that OR making sure your ACL was repaired properly. I’m not leaving until you’re back in bed and I’ve finished my check-up. So, get up.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes narrowing as he drags a hand through his disheveled hair. “Are you always this charitable?”

You look around the room at the absolute mess. “You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “What happened here? Looks like someone broke into your room.”

Rin’s face hardens, and he straightens up, visibly frustrated. “They did break in. They wouldn’t leave, so I made them.”

You blink, confused for a moment. “You—what?”

“The nurses wouldn’t listen,” Rin mutters, gritting his teeth. “I told them to get out. They kept hovering, so I made them go.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow, surprised by his outburst. “You chased them out?”

He gives you a look that’s a mix of annoyance and irritation. “Yeah, I did. And I don’t want any more pity gifts or anyone pretending like I’m helpless just because I got benched.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “You’re not getting benched, though, are you?”

He shrugs, his eyes flickering briefly with a semblant of dejection, but he quickly hides it. You move to the broken vase, carefully picking up the shards of glass as a nurse cautiously enters to help clean up. She looks terrified at the mess but quickly gets to work, not daring to argue.

Rin watches you in silence, then drags a hand over his face, muttering, “Great. Now even you know about it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you reply, gently removing the bandage to assess the potential damage.

Rin glares at you from the corner of his eye. “You ask too many questions.”

You can’t help the corners of your mouth that lift up, if only just slightly, shaking your head as you continue to examine his knee. “Ah, yes, that must definitely change you from your empty-headed teammates.”

Rin’s eyes narrow at you, the tension thick in the room. “What does that mean?”

Without missing a beat, you mimic his gruff tone, “You ask too many questions.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Rin’s expression darkens, but then—just barely—there’s a crinkle at the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t smile, but it’s clear he’s not as offended as you thought. The little quirk in his gaze makes it obvious he didn’t take it as badly as he could’ve.

“Whatever,” he mutters, his arms crossing defensively, but there’s no real bite to his words, even if the blatant disrespect is still awfully obvious.

You glance up at him, your hands still busy with the chart as you make your final notes. You let a brief silence hang in the air before you add, “You’re not half as bad when you don’t act like the devil incarnate.”

Rin stiffens slightly, eyes flashing as he straightens up in bed, but the corner of his mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly. You can tell he’s holding back a snort, though he doesn’t fully let his guard down.

“Devil incarnate, huh?” he says dryly, arching an eyebrow as if he’s considering the statement. “You’re a real piece of work yourself.”

You meet his gaze, and mock . “I’m just here for the knee. And the attitude, if you’re offering.”

Rin shakes his head, muttering under his breath as you finish your notes. Maybe you’ve struck a nerve— just not the one he’s used to people poking.

———————————————————-

Weirdly enough, for a bar so close to a hospital teeming with exhausted interns, fatigued residents, and perpetually annoyed attendings, the atmosphere was surprisingly upbeat. It hummed with the chatter of people shedding the day’s weight, drinks in hand, laughter cutting through the tension they’d likely carried in with them. You suppose alcohol really does work miracles in times of need, and tonight, you desperately hope to be on the receiving end of those miracles.

“I really, really need to get off this case,” you groan, finishing off another shot and barely suppressing a wince as the burn claws its way down your throat.

Livy snorts from her perch beside you, her head leaning heavily against her palm. “Tell me about it. I’ve got a kid who’s juiced up on steroids because he thinks it'll get him a girlfriend.” She lets her head drop onto the bar with a dull thunk, her misery almost theatrical.

You cross your arms and rest your head on them, letting out a muffled laugh. “Sounds like a real catch. Maybe he should swing by the ortho ward. I’ve got a surly footballer who could use a few pointers on how not to scare people off.”

Livy lifts her head just enough to arch an eyebrow at you. “Surly footballer, huh? This the same guy who turned his room into a war zone?”

You nod, gesturing for another round. “The one and only. The mess he makes might actually rival his attitude.”

Livy chuckles, though her laugh is muffled as she lays her cheek back on the bar. “Sounds like you two are perfect for each other.”

“Perfectly incompatible,” you counter.

Livy sits up slightly, her interest piqued. “Wait, wait, hold on. Don’t tell me you’re actually into this guy?”

You scoff, picking at a napkin on the bar. “Into him?” You settle your elbows on the bar decisively, “I’m into complex orthological cases. I’m into passing all my exams and becoming an attending at a good hospital. What I’m not into is an emotional landmine of a man with an ego the size of his paycheck.”

Livy tilts her head, studying you like a puzzle she can’t quite crack. “Okay, but does he at least have the goods? You know, tall, dark, and moody kind of thing?”

“Tall, dark, and irritating,” you correct, leaning into the banter despite yourself. “He’s not bad-looking, but trashing the entire room? If that’s not a dealbreaker, I don’t know what is.”

“Hmm.” Livy hums thoughtfully, swirling the last bit of her drink in the glass. “So you’ve noticed he’s handsome?”

You give her a flat look. “I have eyes, Livy. Doesn’t mean I want to play house with him for the rest of eternity.”

Livy grins, clearly amused. “It doesn’t have to be for the rest of eternity. Could be a night in the on-call room. Or day. Doesn’t matter if you don’t like his personality, because his personality is in his wallet.” She sips on her alcohol like on a juice box, and looks at you with pointed eyes.

“I’m not looking for a transactional relationship, thank you,” you quip. “Besides, we’re stuck together until his knee’s functional again. That’s it.”

Livy raises her glass in mock salute. “Whatever. Just don’t come crying to me when you start falling for your disaster patient. Happens to the best of us, you know.”

You roll your eyes, but the hint of a smile creeps onto your lips as you clink your glass to hers. “If that ever happens, I give you full permission to slap some sense into me.”

“Deal,” Livy says, downing the rest of her drink. “If you become a social pariah, I’d have to become one by proxy,” she sighs. ”I’m not letting you ruin my life.”

“Your sense of solidarity has always been your strongest quality,” you mutter, finishing off your drink with a frown.

———————————————————-

Another shift at this godforsaken hospital almost always means a trip straight down to Hades’ underworld. Some people call it Room 407. To each their own.

“Have fun, Persephone!” Oliver’s voice rings out behind you as you make your way to your personal hell.

Your so-called friends have been calling you that since the beginning of the week, after overhearing a nurse’s nickname for you. Apparently, your frequent trips to Rin Itoshi’s unit bore an uncanny resemblance to Persephone returning to the underworld every winter. At first, the joke had made you laugh, but now, the more you see the resemblance, the less amusing it becomes.

Unbeknownst to you, your grim expression only adds fuel to the joke that has spread like wildfire throughout the hospital.

“Persephone? I thought your name was y/n,” Rin remarks, his dark eyes flicking up from where he sits as you clip the chart to the bedside stand.

“It is,” you sigh, already feeling the wear of the conversation. “They call me Persephone because they call you Hades.”

His brow furrows. “Well, why?”

“Why what?”

His huff is almost audible, as if asking for clarification pains him. “Why do they call me Hades? And what does that have to do with Persephone?”

You scoff and gape at him, utterly dumbfounded. “You— You trashed the entire room! You chased out every nurse who tried to help you! You seriously don’t know why they call you Hades?”

He frowns, his jaw tightening as he mutters just loud enough for you to catch, “Just wanted some peace.”

“If you want peace, you ask for it! You don’t just go around terrifying people!” you snap, crossing your arms.

“I did ask,” he growls.

“Oh, did you?” you retort, leaning forward slightly, challenging him.

“I did.”

The two of you lock eyes in an intense, silent standoff, the tension crackling in the air like a brewing storm. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh, grabbing the chart and switching to the matter at hand.

“Whatever. Scar is nicely healed, no sign of tissue abnormalities—”

Before you can finish, Rin interrupts, his eyes widening slightly. “Yeah okay, whatever— what’s this Hades bull got to do with Persephone anyway?.”

His tone softens slightly toward the end, but it still catches you off guard. You lower the chart, tilting your head at him. “You— You want me to explain Persephone? Like, the myth? You don’t know it?”

His blank stare is answer enough, and he mutters, “People say shit about me behind my back, I wanna know what it’s all about.”. You blink at him, momentarily dumbfounded. “You’re serious. You really don’t know? What, were you too busy dribbling a ball to learn the basics of mythology?”

Rin looks away, scratching the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “No. I just didn’t have time to get to know stuff like that.”

You blink, genuinely taken aback. “Yeah, but how do you not know about Persephone? Did you sleep through literature class or something?”

“I had other things to focus on,” he says flatly, then glares at you. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

You sigh, setting down the chart. “Ugh... Uh— Persephone is the goddess of spring, but she’s also Demeter’s daughter.”

”Who’s Demeter?” Rin interrupts, and it takes everything in you to not snap. Instead, you grit your teeth; “I was getting to it.”

You take in a breath, and with a warning glance to Rin that he pointedly ignores, you start again. “So. Demeter is the goddess of, um, harvest, I think. Among other things. Whatever, it’s not relevant to the story anyway. So, the whole story is that Hades, the god of the underworld, kidnapped Persephone and dragged her down to his realm to be his queen. Her mom, Demeter, freaked out, causing eternal winter until Persephone was allowed to leave for part of the year. So, when she’s in the underworld, it’s winter. When she’s on Earth, it’s spring. That’s the gist of it.”

Rin raises an eyebrow. “And this has to do with me because…?”

You gesture vaguely at him and then the room. “You’re the brooding, moody god of the underworld who scared everyone off. And I’m the one forced to come down here every day to deal with you.”

There’s a beat of silence as he processes this, his frown deepening. “That’s stupid.”

“You think I like it?” you snap, crossing your arms. “I didn’t choose this nickname. Or this assignment, for that matter.”

Rin leans back against the bed, a soft frown playing on his eyebrows. “So, does that make me your husband in this scenario?”

You nearly choke on your own breath. “What?! No! Don’t—just—ugh, no. Forget I even told you the story.”

He chuckles softly, clearly amused by your flustered reaction. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

“You? Joke? Who are you and what have you done with my patient?,” you mutter, picking up the chart again, your cheeks warm. At this, the slight twinkle in Rin’s eye disappears as quickly as it came, and you can almost see the walls come up again. “Because the idea of marrying my most difficult patient is enough to make me want to quit.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Rin says, his voice low and sardonic. “If anyone’s being forced into this situation, it’s me.”

You shoot him a glare but choose to let the comment slide. “Anyway,” you say firmly, turning your attention back to the chart, “your scar is healing well. No sign of scar tissue. You’re progressing as expected, so keep following your physiotherapy plan.”

Rin leans forward slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Does that mean I’ll get rid of you soon?”

“Not soon enough,” you mutter, though there’s a faint smile tugging at your lips as you scribble a note on the chart.

———————————————————-

“I don’t know why I have to be the one doing all of this. No, seriously, what’s the point?”

The hospital is full of mysteries. A storage room filled with forgotten keepsakes from surgeries. The infamous on-call room, where the stories alone are enough to keep anyone from asking questions. And, of course, the infamous patient room where a doctor cut her patient’s LVAD wire because she fell in love with him.

But the fourth mystery? That one is far more exclusive, and for cause. Room 239 is a quiet secret among your group that you’d stumbled upon as interns. You’d kept it under wraps, specifically because this room is home to what you call the perfect patient: quiet, cooperative, and perpetually asleep. In short, it’s a haven for a peaceful lunch break. No snark, no frowns, no superiority complex. Just pure, unbothered bliss. You’d had your fair share of theories about the guy (dead, in a deep coma, or maybe just asleep…), but ultimately, you’d just decided that as long as he was quiet, whether he was dead or alive mattered little to you.

“I mean, patient care was the first thing we learned in med school. I don’t need Itoshi Rin to teach me that,” you grumble around the salty cupcake you’d snagged from the cafeteria. You chase it down with a gulp of water, practically choking it into submission.

Oliver, lounging in the corner, watches you attack your second cupcake with a raised eyebrow of judgment. “He could probably help you out with that stick shoved up your ass,” he drawls, voice thick with mockery.

You scoff, swallowing another bite. “Right. Like he’s the one to help with that. If anything, I’d leave that room even more stuck up than when I went in.”

“I meant sexually.”

You pause mid-reach for your next snack, the word landing with a heavy thud between the two of you. After a beat, you mutter a flat, “Oh,” before turning back to your tray. Your fingers hover thoughtfully, then swipe up a cookie, as if nothing had happened.

You crunch into it, savoring the sweetness as if it could erase the last thirty seconds of your life. Oliver, of course, is still watching you like he’s just delivered the punchline of a joke he’s dying for you to laugh at.

“You’re quiet,” he says, smirking. “Don’t tell me I hit a nerve.”

“You didn’t hit anything,” you mutter, brushing crumbs off your lap. “Unlike some people, I don’t make everything about sex.”

“Oh, please,” Oliver says, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin. “You’re just mad because I’m right. Admit it: you’ve thought about it.”

You glare at him. “Thought about what?”

“Itoshi Rin,” he says, waving a hand dramatically. “He’s what? 187 centimeters of pure evil brooding energy? Tell me you haven’t entertained the idea.”

“Not even for a second,” you reply, a little too quickly.

He raises a brow. “Sure. And I’m the Chief of Surgery.”

Before you can snap back, the door creaks open, and Livy pokes her head in. “Oh, good, you’re here. Room 407’s asking for you again,��� she says, her voice pitched with barely concealed glee.

You groan, slumping forward. “Of course he is.”

Livy grins like a cat that’s caught a particularly annoying mouse. “What’s wrong, Persephone? Your Hades beckons.”

Oliver barks out a laugh, and you grab your tray, scowling as you shove the rest of the cookie into your mouth. “You’re all insufferable,” you say through a mouthful of crumbs, already marching toward the door.

“Have fun!” Livy calls after you, and Oliver’s laughter follows you down the hall.

As you head toward Room 407, you can’t help but think that, of all the things you’ve been called this week, “Persephone” is starting to feel uncomfortably accurate.

"Hey, you asked for me?" you say, slightly breathless as you burst into the room. One hand grips Rin’s chart against your chest, the other keeping the door ajar.

"Why did Hades want Persephone in the overworld?"

"What ?" You stumble over your words, completely blindsided by the question. Out of all the things you’d expected—questions about his recovery timeline, complaints about being benched, maybe a snarky comment about the staff—this wasn’t anywhere near the list.

"It's the underworld," you correct instinctively, recovering enough to squint at him. "And he brought her there because he loved her. Or… something like that. Look, I’m not a mythology expert. Is this seriously what you called me in for?"

He doesn’t stop there, of course. You’d underestimated just how persistent Rin could be.

"If he loved her, why would he drag her to the underworld?" he asks, heavily emphasizing the word “underworld” like it’s some alien concept. "Pretty sure that counts as kidnapping."

"Because it’s Greek mythology, and Greek gods were all a little off their rockers. I don’t know," you reply, already feeling the beginnings of a headache.

"Why would the Greeks idolize gods if they were as batshit crazy as people say?"

"You— This is a hospital wing. There are kids here, so mind your language, would you?," you hiss, gesturing toward the hallway before continuing. "But I don’t know! That’s just how it was—"

"You don’t seem to know much for a doctor," he drawls, raising a single eyebrow with mock disdain.

You take a deep breath, visibly restraining yourself. "Alright, fine. People didn’t idolize gods because they were good or moral. It was about their power, their strength, their control over things humans couldn’t understand. Kind of like how people have favorite athletes."

His frown deepens, but you press on.

"Take football, for example. You probably admire someone for how they play on the field, right? Doesn’t mean you have to like them as a person. People separated admiration for what the gods could do from how they behaved. Same concept."

Rin doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond you. Finally, he mutters, "The gods were cruel. What part of that is worth admiring?"

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Rin, it’s mythology. It’s not supposed to be a blueprint for good behavior— it’s symbolic. The gods were reflections of human nature: flawed, complicated, and sometimes cruel. People admired their power, their ability to control life and death, nature, and fate. It wasn’t about liking them; it was about respecting what they represented.”

He tilts his head, his gaze sharp but oddly contemplative. “So they were admired out of fear?”

“Not just fear,” you say, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, alright, maybe. They were storytellers’ way of explaining the unexplainable. Why the sun rises, why storms happen, why people fall in love or die tragically. The gods made sense of chaos.”

Rin crosses his arms, his expression unreadable. “Still sounds messed up.”

“You’re not wrong,” you admit, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But that’s humanity for you. Messy, complicated, and just trying to make sense of things.”

For a moment, he’s quiet, his eyes flicking toward the window as though deep in thought. Then, with a faint scoff, he looks back at you. “You talk too much.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re the one who started asking questions.”

His lips twitch, forming an unimpressed glower, but he looks away before you can confirm it. “You still didn’t explain why he wanted Persephone with him.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe he thought she made the underworld less miserable. Maybe he thought she brought some light into his life. Or maybe he was just selfish. You’d have to ask him yourself.”

He leans back against the headboard, his arms still crossed. “Sounds stupid.”

You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “Kind of like a certain someone I know who chases everyone out of his room because he doesn’t know how to ask for peace and quiet?”

Rin glares at you, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a walking storm cloud,” you counter, stepping back toward the door. “But at least we’re consistent. Let me know if you have any more deep philosophical questions.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” he mutters, though his gaze lingers on you a second longer than necessary as you leave.

———————————————————-

Just like that, you’d somehow become the resident expert on Greek mythology within a matter of days. Every day for the past week, Rin had asked for a new myth. It wasn’t part of your job description, nor anything you’d ever imagined doing during a hospital shift, but there you were, recounting tales of gods, heroes, and monsters to an injured football prodigy with a perpetually sour expression.

When you’d finally worked up the nerve to ask him why he suddenly had such an appetite for mythology, his initial response had been dismissive, a casual shrug paired with, “Patients are entitled to whatever they want. You’re the one who said that.”

You’d raised a skeptical eyebrow, refusing to let him off that easily. “Nice try, Itoshi, but that doesn’t explain why you want them. Come on, I’ve been working my ass up to come up with the abundant demand. You owe me that. What’s the real reason?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the blanket as he muttered, “It keeps my mind off football.”

It was a surprisingly candid admission, one that softened your stance despite yourself. Football was clearly the center of his universe, his world, and now, sidelined by his injury, that world was out of reach. If listening to ancient myths helped distract him from the ache of being benched, then who were you to deny him that small comfort?

“Well,” you’d replied, sliding into the chair by his bedside with a small smile, “You’re lucky your doctor isn’t someone who goes by the book,” You swiftly check your watch, and continue, “I’m supposed to be filling in charts.”

For the first time, his lips had twitched—not quite a smile, but not the usual scowl either.

On Monday, he had reluctantly admitted to asking for a pick-me-up from the last time you’d told him a myth. He had claimed he didn’t like the first one, but by the end of your conversation, you could tell it had gotten him pretty down. You didn’t understand why, because to you, it was just a myth, but you had a slight suspicion that it wasn’t the myth itself that had bothered him, but something else among what you’d said had probably resonated with him a little too much. At the end of his request, he’d made you swear not to tell anyone, in consequence of which he would besmirch your professional career, and drag your name to the depths of hell.

As such, you did not question him further, and told him the tale of Perseus and Andromeda. You weren’t sure he would find it all that interesting, but you’d found it quite sweet anyway.

"Fine," you had said, pausing in the doorway. "The myth of Perseus and Andromeda is pretty sweet. You’ll like it, I think."

You grabbed a chair, plopped it down near his bed, and sat with an exaggerated sigh. Rin raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt as you launched into the myth.

"So, Andromeda was the daughter of Cepheus and Cassiopeia, a king and queen. Cassiopeia, being, uh, very full of herself, claimed she and her daughter were more beautiful than the Nereids—you know, sea nymphs. So the sea god Poseidon? Not thrilled about that, you can imagine."

Rin nods slowly, as if urging you to continue, though his skeptical expression suggests he’s not sold on where this is going.

"So because he was pissed, Poseidon sent a sea monster to terrorize their kingdom as punishment. Naturally, the people freaked out, and the only solution the oracle gave them was to sacrifice Andromeda to the monster."

"So her own family left her to die?," Rin cuts in, his voice low and sharp.

"Basically, yeah," you reply, giving him a rueful look. "They chained her up to a rock, and waited for the sea monster to kill her. But then Perseus shows up, fresh off his victory against Medusa, and he sees Andromeda all chained up. He asks her a few questions, and decides to rescue her. Because, you know, he’s a hero and that’s what they do."

"And he killed the monster?" Rin’s voice is a little more interested now, his earlier skepticism fading.

"Yeah, Perseus used Medusa’s head to turn the sea monster to stone. Then, as the story goes, he married Andromeda. There’s more, of course, but that’s the gist."

Rin leans back, his arms crossing over his chest as he processes the tale. "So Andromeda gets punished for something her mother did, and Perseus just shows up to fix everything? That’s not sweet. That’s fucking awful."

"That’s one way to look at it," you admit. "Another is that Andromeda’s story is about redemption. She starts as a victim of her family’s arrogance and ends as someone who gets saved and finds a new life. But I mean, yeah, it’s mythology. It’s not exactly known for fairness."

He doesn’t respond for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. Then, almost grudgingly, he mutters, "At least he fought for her. Took action. Didn’t just leave after making promises."

You study him for a beat, tempted to press, but ultimately decide against it. Instead, you stand, brushing imaginary dust off your scrubs. "There you go. Storytime’s over. If you have more questions, I’ll bill you for them."

On Tuesday, you decided to surprise Rin with a new myth. He hadn’t asked for another one the day before, but you figured his curiosity wasn’t something that faded quickly.

To your surprise, Rin seemed distracted, staring at the bedside table and muttering something under his breath about how he didn’t want to hear about myths today.

"I prepared one for today!" you announced, holding the notes you’d scribbled down. "You can’t just blow off my hard work like this!"

His gaze snapped to you, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “You think I’m a child?”

“What? No, I— Rin, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t need bedtime stories,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

You blinked at him, taken aback. “They’re not bedtime stories, Rin. They’re Greek myths. Or do you often tell kids about violence and murder to help them fall asleep?”

Rin shrugged, unfazed by your exasperation. “My brother used to tell me horror stories before bed. Never stopped me from sleeping.”

Your face twisted in a mixture of disbelief and mild horror. “Your brother—how old were you when this happened?”

“Six or seven, I think. Can’t remember,” he said nonchalantly. For the first time since you’d walked in, his gaze met yours, holding steady.

“Doesn’t sound like the best brother to me,” you murmured as you began unwrapping the bandage around his knee, carefully checking for any swelling.

“He was a good brother,” Rin replied, his tone softer, distant. His eyes seemed to lose focus, and for a moment, he was somewhere else entirely.

You hesitated, unsure if pushing forward was a good idea, but you took the risk anyway. “Well, speaking of siblings,” you said cautiously, your hands massaging the surrounding muscles, “the myth I was about to share is about Pollux and Castor. Thought you might find it interesting.”

Rin grunted, his expression unreadable, but the absence of a sharp retort was all the permission you needed to begin.

"Alright," you begin, settling back into the chair you’d just vacated, bandages and medical treatment in hand, and beckon Rin to settle his leg near the chair. "Castor and Pollux were twins. Thing is, they weren’t exactly identical. Castor was mortal because he was the son of Tyndareus, a mortal king. Pollux, on the other hand, was immortal, being the son of Zeus, god of thunder, King of the Gods."

Rin raises an eyebrow. "Different fathers? How does that work?"

"I don’t… I don’t think that was the main focus when they taught the tale. Just go with it," you reply. "Anyway, the two of them were inseparable. They were called the Dioscuri— great warriors and super tight-knit. They did everything together: fought battles, raced horses… the kind of bond only siblings can share, you know?” For a moment, you let out a little laugh. Of course, he knows. He’s a sibling as well, isn’t he?

"And then?" Rin prompts, his tone less sarcastic now, leaning just a fraction forward.

"Well, like all Greek myths, things took a prett tragic turn," you say. "During one of their adventures, Castor was killed in a fight. Pollux was devastated. He couldn’t imagine life without his brother, so he begged Zeus to help."

"And Zeus actually did something for once?" Rin’s skepticism is palpable.

A giggle escapes you. "Well, yeah, surprisingly. Zeus offered Pollux a choice: he could either keep his immortality and live alone, or give up half of it to share with Castor so they could be together. Pollux didn’t hesitate—he chose to share his immortality with his brother."

Rin’s lips press into a thin line, but his eyes stay locked on you. "What happened next?"

"They became the constellation Gemini," you explain, gesturing vaguely upward as if the stars were visible through the hospital ceiling. "Zeus placed them in the sky so they’d never be separated again. Immortal in their own way, together for eternity."

Rin leans back, his expression thoughtful. "So Pollux gave up part of himself to bring Castor back."

"Yeah," you say, standing up again. "It’s a story about love and sacrifice. Not the kind of love myths usually focus on—no drama, no romance—just pure loyalty between brothers. Pretty refreshing, actually."

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, his gaze distant, as if searching for something you can’t see.

"Anyway," you add lightly, breaking the silence, "don’t go getting any ideas about asking Zeus for favors, alright? He’s got a worse track record than the hospital vending machines."

Rin snorts softly, the sound almost a laugh, and you take that as your cue to leave. As the door closes behind you, you can’t help but wonder what about the story struck a chord with him.

But as your own mind wanders places you’re not sure it’s supposed to, Rin remains still, staring at the ceiling. The story of Castor and Pollux circles his mind, clinging like an unshakable echo. He doesn't know why he'd let you recount it—maybe he was just bored, maybe it was something in the way you spoke about myths that made them seem less like ancient stories and more like glimpses into people’s lives.

But now, the tale won’t let go.

Pollux couldn’t imagine a life without Castor, Rin thinks. He gave up his immortality for him. That kind of bond... it hits closer to home than he wants to admit.

Sae flashes through his thoughts like an unwelcome specter. The older brother who had once been his everything—his Castor, his constant, the one he’d followed like a shadow. They’d shared dreams once, the same dream of reaching the pinnacle of football, side by side. But unlike Pollux, Sae had left him behind, choosing his path and leaving Rin to stumble through the pieces of their fractured bond.

Would Sae have given up anything for me? The question digs at Rin, sour and raw, though he already knows the answer. Sae’s actions had always been clear: ambition first, family second.

But Pollux didn’t care about what was fair, Rin reminds himself. He cared about his brother. He gave up half his immortality, even if Castor wasn’t perfect.

Rin’s jaw tightens, and he glares at the bandages wrapping his knee, the evidence of his own imperfection. Injured, benched, and stuck in a hospital room— Sae probably wouldn’t even know. Or care.

A flicker of resentment rises in his chest, but it’s dulled by something softer. Pollux’s choice wasn’t about pride or fairness. It was about love, loyalty, and the refusal to let the bond between brothers be severed.

And Rin hates how much he misses that. He hates that no matter how much he resents Sae, there’s still a part of him—buried deep beneath all the bitterness—that would give anything to have what they’d once shared.

The door creaks open slightly as a nurse peeks in, but Rin doesn’t even glance up. "I don’t need anything," he mutters, dismissing her before she can speak.

She leaves, and he’s alone again, the story still rattling in his head. Castor and Pollux were reunited, placed in the stars together for eternity.

———————————————————-

On Wednesday, you hadn’t told Rin a myth. Your schedule had been jam-packed, leaving you incapable of even swinging by his room for a check-up.

“I think it’s for the better, honestly.”

You turned sharply to Anri, a nurse you had befriended when she had helped you find OR 2 back in first year, who was buried in reviewing post-op files, frowning. “What ?”

She shrugged and swiveled her chair to face you.

“I’m all for a forbidden romance, but seriously, y/n, two weeks ago you were calling him a total asshat. And I overheard a nurse say he was calling you a ‘bitch on wheels.’ Now you’re… what? Inventing bedtime stories to tell him while you pull up a chair to his bedside table?”

There were plenty of things wrong with that statement, but you held back and let her continue.

“Look, all I’m saying is I’ve noticed. And I’m not the only one. Sometimes you’ve gotta swallow a bad pill to get better, and this”—she jabbed a finger at the desk for emphasis—“this is a bad pill.”

“It’s not romance, Anri, it’s—”

“It is romance, y/n!” she cut you off, her voice rising. “You like him. I get it, okay? And I want you to be in a relationship, I really do! But is it worth risking your medical license?”

“Who says I need to—”

The redhead raised a hand to stop you, her expression softening. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. But think about it. It’s a line, and crossing it? It’s not worth it. Not for anyone.”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy and unwelcome. You opened your mouth to argue, to deny, but nothing came out. Instead, you picked up your charts and left, her voice still echoing in your mind.

"She’s totally overreacting," Oliver’s voice echoes through the hallway as he falls into step beside you. “You just gotta wait it out. That’s all there is to it.”

“God, not you too,” you groan, clutching your clipboard a little tighter.

“Yeah,” he begins, shrugging casually, “I mean, I’m a ladies’ man. I’ve been there before— And I don’t think you should listen to what some stuck-up nurse has to say. Take it from me” He glances at you sideways, his expression slightly comical, “The amount of twelve year olds outside of this hospital is lethal. You should get to him before they do. I heard they bite. And they use their signs to hit people.”

You roll your eyes, “Take it from you? Because you’re a so-called professional, I presume?” You pick up your pace, but he keeps up.

“Sure,” he shrugs. “I mean, it’s tricky business. But I’d say, he probably doesn’t see a lot of genuine people walking around in his field. This can be good for you and him”, he takes a breath, and, looking you in the eye, he continues.

“I’m serious, y/n! If you blow it with him, you might never find anyone else again .”

You stop abruptly, turning to face him with a scowl. “Are you saying no one else will want me?”

“No, I’m just— he’s the only guy on planet earth that can be potentially as stuck up as you are,” he says, gesturing vaguely as though it explains everything. “Just hold it in for this case, and when he’s not your patient anymore, you can do whatever.”

You turn around in retaliation, “Are you—” You whirl around to face Oliver, your voice laced with frustration. “If someone needs to hold it in, it’s you. You hooked up with 3 nurses last week. And 4 of your interns! You flirted with 2 attendings yesterday! ”

Your voice draws in a few unwanted stares from the nurses, causing you to quiet down, while Oliver raises his hands, palms out, but you don’t give him a chance to respond.

“I don’t like him,” you continue, you whisper firmly, “and even if I did, I would know how to hold it in without the help of a certified hospital whore! I’m an adult, not some teenage girl gushing over a hallway crush. I am fully conscious of my actions, and I am painfully aware of the rules set by this hospital because I'm not stupid!”

Without giving him another second to argue, you turn on your heel and stride down the hallway, leaving him standing there.

But of course, Oliver can’t help himself. His voice calls after you, accompanied with a frown.

“You know, if it comes down to it, I really prefer the word slut. Whore feels demeaning.”

You don’t look back, though Anri’s words linger like a weight pressing against your chest.

On Thursday, Rin found himself staring at the clock, wondering why you hadn’t come by yet. It had been two days, after all.

He wouldn’t admit it— not even to himself— but the hours felt heavier in your absence. His time in the hospital was nearing its end, and the thought of leaving without saying something gnawed at him. You’d probably flip out if he left without a word, much like the time you’d discovered he’d removed his bandage and neglected the prescribed cream for two days straight.

A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts as a nurse entered the room, her demeanor cautious, as if stepping into a lion’s den. She carried a small card, her movements stiff and deliberate as she placed it on the bedside table next to the wilting flowers someone had left days ago. Without a word, she retreated as quickly as she had come, leaving Rin alone once more.

He sighed, leaning back into the pillows, and cast a glance at the card. It was pale blue, with a generic “Get Well Soon” emblazoned on the front. He didn’t even need to open it to know it wasn’t from you.

The thought made his chest tighten slightly. The nurses still scurried away from him, despite his recent efforts to dial back his temper. He’d stopped chasing them weeks ago— really, he had— but apparently, his reputation was following him around like a shadow.

What’s the point of trying if nothing changes?

He turned his head toward the flowers, the small card sitting innocuously nearby. His jaw tightened. For a second, he thought about crumpling it up and tossing it into the trash. Instead, he reached for the card and turned it over in his hand.

“...Probably not from her anyway,” he muttered to himself, as though saying it aloud would somehow make it sting less.

Rin hesitated for a moment before opening the card. The sharp edges of the paper felt out of place in his calloused hands, but curiosity won out. Inside, the neat, precise handwriting immediately caught his attention.

"Itoshi,

Rest up. The team needs you back in one piece. We’ll handle the field until then.

- PXG”

A faint grimace one could eventually interpret as a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Of course, it was from them. PXG wasn’t exactly known for warm, heartfelt messages, but this was about as close as they got. They didn’t expect him to change, didn’t expect him to soften. They just wanted their star striker back, sharp and ruthless as ever.

The smirk faded quickly. He wasn’t sure why, but the card felt hollow. He glanced at the flowers again, brow furrowing. They were beginning to droop, petals curling inward like they were giving up. Rin’s fingers tapped idly against the card, his mind wandering.

This is what it’s always been. Keep moving forward. Keep winning. Anything else is just noise.

But lately, things felt… different. The noise had become a presence—an infuriating, stubborn presence that glared at him with just as much fire as he gave. Someone who dared to talk back, who rolled their eyes at his antics but still showed up anyway.

He clenched his jaw and tossed the card onto the bedside table. He wasn’t going to think about it. You were late for your check-in (inexcusably late, but if you made it today, he’d try to work up the energy to forgive you) and that was probably all it was. You were busy, and he was overthinking things.

Still, when the door creaked open a moment later, his head snapped up, his heart betraying him with an almost imperceptible jolt.

But it wasn’t you.

Another nurse entered, this one carrying a tray with his afternoon medication. Rin’s face hardened, and he leaned back into the pillows with a scowl.

“Medication time,” she said softly, keeping her distance.

“Just leave it there,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the desk.

The nurse hesitated but obeyed, setting the tray down and scurrying out like she couldn’t leave fast enough. Rin’s eyes followed her retreating figure, his mood souring further.

She’ll come by eventually, he thought, his gaze flicking back to the door as it closed. She always does.

By the time the sun rose on Friday, Rin was positively fuming. He couldn’t get over the fact that you hadn’t come to discharge him. It wasn’t like he’d been expecting some grand farewell, but he figured you’d at least show up. The guy from yesterday was competent enough, sure, but there was something grating about his overly cheery demeanor and his unsolicited stories about his son.

Rin scoffed at the memory. Calling someone a twelve year old genius didn’t generate much excitement when the statement itself came from a doctor of all people.

He flexed his fingers absentmindedly, feeling the ghost of a soccer ball’s weight in his hands. It was stupid to even be dwelling on it. He’d be out of this hospital and back on the field soon enough. That was the point of all this—healing, recovering, moving forward.

But his thoughts kept circling back.

The last time you’d come to see him, you’d been your usual exasperating self. Glaring, scolding, throwing medical jargon his way as though he’d ever care enough to remember it. Yet, between all the banter and the tension, there had been a sort of steadiness.

You were never one to sugarcoat things, and Rin had come to appreciate that. Maybe that’s why he was so agitated now. This hospital stay had been a drag, but you’d made it tolerable, even interesting.

The knock on his door broke through his thoughts.

“Come in,” he said gruffly, his eyes narrowing as he sat up straighter in bed.

To his disappointment— and growing annoyance— it wasn’t you. Another nurse entered, clipboard in hand.

“Itoshi-san,” she began carefully, “I’ve brought your discharge papers. You’ll just need to sign them, and then someone from the team can escort you out whenever you’re ready.”

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t expected to be discharged for another two days. After a long pause, he nodded curtly and took the clipboard, signing his name with quick, precise strokes.

As the nurse turned to leave, Rin finally spoke up, his tone sharper than he intended.

“Where’s Y/N?”

The nurse blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh… Dr. L/n is on a different rotation today. I believe she’s in surgery most of the day.”

Rin’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked away, dismissing her with a wave.

So that was it. You were too busy to stop by. Logical, reasonable, expected.

Still, as Rin swung his legs over the side of the bed and prepared to leave, he couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in his chest.

———————————————————-

You couldn’t tell if getting pulled from Rin’s case was a good thing. On one hand, you wouldn't have to deal with his constant arrogance, permanent frown, or smart remarks anymore. On the other hand, the visits had become a routine, and getting pulled from a certain routine takes a toll on people. Especially when said routine has been replaced with something worse.

The sounds of clips and metal tools clacking against each other in the OR were unnerving. Being a surgical resident assisting in her first lung transplant ever was a far cry from dealing with an injured athlete.

“Suction.”

The attending's voice cuts through the tense air, commanding and calm. Your hands moved instinctively, grasping the suction tool and working to clear the surgical field. Every motion was precise, deliberate, and yet, your nerves thrummed like a taut string.

You kept your eyes on the open thoracic cavity. A part of you was in awe of the doctors working on the transplant— the way the attending's hands danced across the cavity, navigating the mess full of blood vessels and tissue. Another part of you was screaming internally, worried you might miss a step or fumble at the worst possible moment.

”Keep it steady,” the attending sternly said, as your instrument wavered for the briefest second.

”Yes, doctor,” you replied, voice tight.

In that moment, you realized something unexpected: the steady banter and sharp-edged humor of Rin’s room seemed almost... calming in comparison to the sterile tension of the OR. There, you could throw back a quip or roll your eyes without fear of dire consequences. Here, every move had the weight of life and death.

As the attending began the anastomosis, joining the pulmonary artery to the donor lung, your focus sharpened. There was no room for error. The room was heavy with concentration, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors the only sound besides the surgeon's measured instructions.

You exhaled slowly. Routine or not, this was a challenge you’d always dreamed of facing. And despite the anxiety, a spark of determination flared within you. You’d proved you could handle an ACL tear with no assistance— if a lung transplant was thrown your way, you’ll deal with it.

The first signs that something was wrong came almost imperceptibly—a slight falter in the rhythm of the beeping monitors, a whisper of uncertainty in the attending’s voice as he called for another instrument.

“Suture,” he demanded sharply, and you scrambled to pass it, your hand trembling ever so slightly as you did. The air in the OR felt thicker now, like it was closing in.

Then came the sudden, shrill alarm of the heart monitor.

“Blood pressure’s dropping,” the anesthesiologist announced, her voice calm but clipped. “Seventy over forty.”

“Clamp the artery!” the attending barked. The scrub nurse moved quickly, handing over the vascular clamp. You watched as the attending’s hands worked faster, his movements less fluid and more urgent than before.

“Heart rate’s falling,” the anesthesiologist warned again, her voice tighter this time.

Your breath hitched as you stared at the patient, your suction tool frozen mid-air. It felt like the world had tilted on its axis. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not here, not in this room with some of the most skilled surgeons you’d ever seen.

“Doctor L/N, focus!” the attending snapped, snapping you out of your paralysis. You immediately resumed suctioning, but the pit in your stomach deepened.

“I’m seeing a tear in the pulmonary artery,” the attending muttered under his breath. He didn’t look up as he issued the next command. “Get me more gauze—now.”

The nurse moved to comply, but it was clear that the bleeding was already too much. You could see the blood pooling in the cavity, no matter how much suction you applied. Your gloves were slick with blood, the sterile world of the OR dissolving into chaos.

“Pressure’s tanking—fifty over thirty!” The anesthesiologist’s voice cut through the room like a knife.

“Damn it,” the attending hissed, leaning closer to the patient. “We need to stop this bleed or we’re going to lose her.”

The seconds stretched into eternity. You felt helpless, your limited role as a resident confining you to the sidelines of a battle that was rapidly being lost. Every beep of the monitors seemed to grow louder, more frantic, until they finally gave way to a single, flat tone.

“No pulse,” someone murmured, though the words echoed like a shout in the silent room.

“Start compressions,” the attending ordered, his voice now devoid of its earlier sharpness. You stepped back as the scrub nurse took over, pressing rhythmically against the patient’s chest while the attending worked furiously to repair the damage.

“Adrenaline, one milligram,” the anesthesiologist called, her hands moving with practiced efficiency.

But even as everyone in the OR fought to revive the patient, a grim certainty settled over the room. Minutes passed, feeling like hours, and the flatline on the monitor remained unwavering.

Finally, the attending slumped back, his gloves and gown stained deep red. His voice was heavy as he spoke the words you’d never wanted to hear.

“Alright, I’m calling it.” Shooting a look at his watch, he quickly declared what you’d dreaded to hear the most, “Time of death, 10:47 AM”

The room was silent except for the hum of the machines and the shuffle of exhausted feet. You stood there, frozen, staring at the still figure on the table. You’d known, logically, that not every surgery ended in success. But knowing it in theory and experiencing it firsthand were two entirely different things.

“Clean up,” the attending said quietly, already removing his gloves and gown. He looked at you for a moment, his gaze unreadable. “There’s always next time. Dr L/n, you’re free to go.”

You nodded numbly, your hands shaking as you removed your own gloves.

As soon as you pushed the button and make your way out of the OR, the sobs wreck through your body like a storm, uncontrollable and raw. You press your palms against your face, as if that could somehow push the pain away, but it only makes the ache in your chest sharper. The hallway is lit with horrible, fluorescent lights, and offers little to no comfort, its emptiness amplifying the sound of your heartbreak.

The patient on the table was a thirteen year old girl with whom you’d worked with for two months. Leah’s laugh echoes in your mind, a cruel reminder of the life that was now gone. You’d made promises to her, assurances you thought you could keep. “You’ll be just fine,” you had said, your voice confident and steady, even when she’d looked at you with wide, worried eyes. But what was the point of words when they ended in this? When you couldn’t keep her safe?

She’d trusted you. Her bubbly little voice still rang in your ears, calling you “sister from another mother,” and now it felt like a dagger to the heart. You remember the games you’d played to distract her from the pain, the little jokes that always made her giggle, the way her face lit up when you walked into the room. How could someone so vibrant, so full of life, just be… gone?

Your hands tremble as you clench them into fists, your nails digging into your palms to ground yourself in something, anything, other than the overwhelming grief. But it doesn’t help. Nothing does.

The weight of the day crushes you. The guilt is suffocating, a vicious cycle of “what ifs” and “if onlys.” What if you’d caught something sooner? What if you’d advocated harder? What if you’d somehow done more? The logical part of your brain, the part trained to understand that not every battle can be won, doesn’t stand a chance against the emotions consuming you.

After what feels like an eternity, the tears stop, not because the pain has lessened but because your body has nothing left to give. You sit there, hollow and numb, staring at the sterile white walls. You’re not sure how much time has passed—minutes? Hours? It doesn’t matter.

The sound of distant footsteps pulls you back to reality. You quickly wipe at your face, though it’s a futile effort; your eyes are red and swollen, your cheeks streaked with tear tracks. You don’t care. Let them see. Let them know how broken you feel.

But as the footsteps grow louder, you instinctively steel yourself, pushing the emotions down into the deepest recesses of your mind. There’s no room for vulnerability here, not in this place where strength is expected at all times.

"Y/n?"

You quickly rub your palms across your cheeks, desperate to dry your tears and wipe away the redness in your eyes. Your attempt at composure is poor at best, and the sting of crying makes your face feel heavy.

"Uh, yeah, I’ll, um— I’m going," you stammer, avoiding eye contact as you push yourself up from the bed.

As you turn to leave, you collide with a firm chest. Startled, you curse under your breath and glance up, only to freeze when you meet Rin’s sharp, questioning gaze.

“Are you… okay?” he asks, his voice lower than usual, almost cautious.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is cold and distant, your gaze glued to the floor in a desperate attempt to hide the tears staining your cheeks.

Rin’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to speak again. “I got lost. Why are you here? What happened?”

“I’m here because this is my workplace. You’re not supposed to be down here. This part is off-limits to patients.”

“I’m not a patient anymore.”

“Fine, it’s off-limits to empty-headed footballers. So leave, will you?”

“I’m trying to be nice.”

“Genuinely nice people don’t usually tell others when they’re being nice.”

“Well, I’m not a genuinely nice person, am I?”

You try to deflect, forcing a weak smile as you mumble, "Are you really asking? Because I really need to talk about this." Your voice cracks, betraying your strong appearance you’d crafted, and you can feel your lower lip quivering as the tears threaten to spill again.

Rin takes half a step back, his brows furrowed in discomfort. "Well, now I’m not so sure I’m asking," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

You lose the fragile grip on your emotions, a single tear escapes, sliding down your cheek, and your lower lip wobbles again, and Rin stiffens. His eyes dart between yours and the tear as though it’s a puzzle he doesn’t know how to solve.

"No, um, joke," he blurts, his words tripping over themselves. "I was joking. Seriously."

But it’s too late. You close the distance, wrapping your arms around his neck in a sudden, desperate hug. His entire body goes rigid, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides as if someone has just activated his fight-or-flight response.

"You’re an asshat," you sniffle, burying your face into his shoulder, "but I really, really need someone right now."

Rin is silent for a moment, clearly at war with himself. Then, with an almost audible sigh, his arms hesitantly come up to rest around your back.

"Yeah," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "Well, you’re a bitch on wheels."

You let out a watery laugh, your grip around him tightening. "I know," you whisper back, your voice shaky but lighter than before.

Rin relaxes, just slightly, his hold on you firm but careful. It’s clumsy and unpracticed, but the warmth of his embrace feels genuine. For once, neither of you have anything snarky to say, and the silence speaks louder than any words could. His hand slips from your waist to find your own, and your breath catches as your fingers meet. Your eyes widen against the curve of his neck when he takes your hand and, with surprising gentleness, guides you toward the hospital beds near the wall. The fragile silence settles around you like a bubble, one neither of you dares to break.

Cautiously, you lean your head against his shoulder, half-expecting him to stiffen or pull away, or maybe to even drop-kick you onto the hospital floor. But he doesn’t.

Instead, the steady rise and fall of his chest is almost soothing, and the faint scent of muscade, rain, grass, and cologne weaves between you like an invisible blanket. It’s intoxicating.

Strangely enough, this feels about a thousand times more intimate than it has with any of your past relationships. Things get even more strange when you realise: you don’t want this moment to end. Ever. You start telling yourself you must’ve been around too many questionable medicaments when the only thought that echoes in your mind is the one that tells you that even forever wouldn’t be long enough.

“One of my patients died,” you admit, your words trembling as much as your hands. “I… I really liked her. She was so young…” You swipe a hand under your nose, sniffling as you try to keep yourself together.

Rin doesn’t say anything at first. His shoulders shift, and he glances at you briefly, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of such raw emotion. “Oh,” he mutters finally, his voice low.

“I’m not—I don’t want to seem pushy,” you add quickly, your words rushing out in an effort to fill the silence. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I just really need to talk.”

“Sure,” Rin shrugs, leaning back slightly.

You take a shaky breath, your voice climbing a pitch as tears threaten to spill again. “It’s just… people have been on my ass about everything. Torres is counting on me so much, Leah’s parents probably hate me because I told them she was going to be fine, and now she’s—she’s gone.”

Your hands fly up as you let out an exasperated sigh, leaning your head back against the wall behind you. You can feel the familiar sting of tears building again, but before they can spill, Rin’s elbow nudges you lightly, pulling you out of your spiral.

“Wasn’t your fault though, right?” he says, his tone almost casual. “You’re not a real doctor yet.”

You whip your head around to glare at him. “I am a real doctor. Just not an attending.”

Rin raises an eyebrow. “Don’t know what that means.”

Despite the tears brimming in your eyes, you let out a scoff, shuffling around to sit cross-legged on the bed. “Fine. I’ll explain it to you.” You sniffle again and swipe at your face before continuing.

“So… there are interns. They don’t do much unless someone decides to throw them a bone. Maybe an appy once in a blue moon if you’re feeling generous. Most of the time, they’re stuck filling out post-ops and running errands.”

Your voice falters slightly, and your mind flashes back to Leah. Her post-op report is probably sitting on someone’s desk right now, untouched. The thought makes your throat tighten, and you’re about to lose it again when Rin nudges you once more.

“But I know you’re not an intern, so what are you?”

“I’m a resident,” you manage to say after a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. “I’ve got interns to manage, but I’m also like my attending’s intern. It’s… complicated, but I’m somewhere in the middle.”

Rin leans his head back, arms crossed over his chest. “So what’s an attending?”

You let out a watery laugh, swiping at your face again. “You seriously don’t know? After being stuck in here for that long?”

A small smile draws on Rin’s face. This was pathetic. Pretending to be stupid just to keep someone’s mind off tough times is weak, and laughable.

“No, I don’t. I’m an empty-headed footballer, remember?”

You laugh, for the second time this evening. Too bad. It’s not like everyone would know he’d been weak and pathetic for you, anyway.

———————————————————-

To: yn.ln@orthopedics.hospital.org

From: sayuri.itoshi@outlook.jp

Subject: Thank You!

Dear y/n,

It’s been a bit of a challenge getting your name out of that stubborn, football-obsessed son of mine (I’m sure you’re well aware of this!), but I wanted to take a moment to personally thank you for all of your hard work. Rin is back on the field and his knee is performing miracles—thanks to you!

I couldn’t make it in person to express my gratitude, but I wanted to extend an invitation: in a week, one of Rin’s cousins is getting married. The entire family would be thrilled to see you there and offer our thanks in person, including the bride herself! I understand this is short notice, so please don’t feel pressured to accept. But if you do, we would be absolutely delighted.

Sayuri Itoshi, Ph.D.

Professor of Economics

Department of Economics

University of Tokyo

7-3-1 Hongo, Bunkyo-ku, Tokyo 113-8654, Japan

“Oh. My God.”

Livy is leaning over your computer, hands on the back of your chair, her eyes wide as she stares at the screen. When she speaks up again, it’s with an excitement that makes you wince. “You should go,” she practically squeals, spinning your chair to face her. “I can help you pick out a dress!”

Then, with a finger tapping the corner of her mouth in mock contemplation, she bemoans, “Well, now you have to go. If you don’t, the idea of helping you pick out a dress for your first date will be etched into my mind forever, tormenting me until the end of time. And it will all be your fault.”

Her theatrics reach a dramatic climax as she locks her arms around you, shaking you lightly while declaring, “But thankfully, my beautiful, smart best friend would never let me suffer this way. Oh, how grateful I am! How lucky!”

“Cut it out,” you grit through clenched teeth. “I’m not going.”

“What!? No, you can’t not go! Remember how you said you’d never torture me mentally? This is torture. You’re torturing me. Please stop torturing me.”

You’re about to retort when Oliver comes into view, clipboard in hand. His smirk almost makes you want to bolt from the hospital entirely, while Livy continues twisting her body as though in invisible agony.

“You should go,” Oliver says casually, leaning against the desk.

“I don’t take advice from whores.”

Oliver’s jaw drops in indignation. “No— I told you! You can’t call me that; it’s demeaning! There used to be a time where you respected my wishes. Now you just humiliate me in hospital hallways.” He spins on his heel dramatically, crossing his arms and it’s clear talking to you is no longer in his prospects.

You smile, turning back to your computer with a fleeting sense of victory— only for your heart to drop when you catch sight of the screen. The faint "Sent!" animation flashes in the corner, and dread floods you as you scramble to check your sent emails.

Your worst fears are confirmed.

To: sayuri.itoshi@outlook.jp

From: yn.ln@orthopedics.hospital.org

Subject: Re: Thank You!

Dear Mrs. Itoshi,

I couldn’t be happier that your son has regained full mobility. His physiotherapist certainly did an excellent job. As for me, I am deeply grateful for your kind words and could never bring myself to refuse such an honor. It was a pleasure working with your son, and I am glad to have been of help.

Sincerely,

Y/N L/N, M.D.

Orthopedic Surgery Resident, PGY-4

Blue Lock Medical Center

Department of Orthopedic Surgery

Your City, Your State/Country

You stare at the screen in horror, while Livy smirks in malice behind you. “I did tell you you were going.”

———————————————————-

"Okay, so. There are three checkpoints we need to go through," Livy declares solemnly, pushing her glasses up her nose with the air of someone about to deliver groundbreaking news.

"I need to go through," you correct her, not bothering to look up from your computer.

She glares at you over her papers. "Actually, I’ve decided that, considering the absolute disaster you are, you’re going to need me during the dress fitting, the flight, and the wedding."

You whip your head toward her so fast your neck twinges. "The wedding?!"

"Hm? Oh, yeah," she says nonchalantly, flipping a page like she hasn’t just dropped a bombshell. "I texted Itoshi’s mom. She loves me, by the way. Well, maybe not more than you, but she definitely loves me."

"You texted her?!" you screech.

"How else was I supposed to ask if I could come?" she replies, tone impossibly casual.

"Wait—hold on," you say, holding up your hand. "You have her number?!"

Livy smirks, leaning back in her chair. "You don’t?"

For a moment, all you can do is gape at her, your jaw practically hitting the floor. "Livy, how the hell do you have Sayuri Itoshi’s number?"

"Easy," she says, ticking off her fingers. "I’m charming, resourceful, and clearly the brains of this operation."

You bury your face in your hands. "You can’t just invite yourself to someone else’s family wedding!”

"Why not?" she asks, sounding entirely unbothered. "Mrs. Itoshi said it’s fine. She actually sounded excited. Something about the more, the merrier."

You stare at her, mouth agape. "You’re insane."

"And you’re welcome," Livy says with a smug grin. "Oh, and I told her I’d sit next to you at the reception. You know, to keep you from embarrassing yourself."

"Livy!" you groan, leaning back in your chair.

"What?" she shrugs. "She loves me."

Your eyes almost pop out of your sockets

#1 CHECKPOINT : FITTING

“Livy, I can’t move. This dress sucks. And it’s ugly. I feel like a geometry shape, the dress is actually made of metal. I cannot move.”

”It’s not ugly, it’s… special. I like the red, it’s very— joyful! You know, merry Christmas and all that. It’s cute…” at the frown on your face, Liv can only grimace. “— ish?”

“No, it’s not.” You draw the curtains harshly, and turn around to get this horrid dress off from you. “How did you say we were gonna get there again?” You grit your teeth as you attempt to open the zipper on the back.

“By plane. Sayuri sent me the tickets. We leave in two days by the way, so hurry up with the dress.”

You draw the curtain back, and show your horrified expression through the gap.

“What? You—” You pinch the bridge of your nose with your index and thumb, inhaling sharply in a desperate attempt to rein in your spiraling thoughts. “Two days? How is there going to be enough time to get everything done?” You shove a bright red dress back through the curtain, letting out an exasperated groan. “And this is too red.”

“No, I— Y/n, this is a Christmas wedding!” Livy huffs from the other side. “It has to be on theme. Red is on theme!”

“There are plenty of Christmas colors to work with that aren’t bright, in-your-face red,” you argue, already regretting your choice to come along.

This time, Livy groans loudly, the sound dripping with frustration. “White is out, green is boring, and that leaves us with red. I never said it had to be bright red anyway!”

Her words make you pause mid-turn in your cabin. You glance at the dresses she’s forced on you, a sea of reds ranging from deep burgundy to literal crimson that reminds you of your nephew’s fire truck toy. They glare back at you mockingly, each shade more vibrant than the last. Even with the heavy curtain separating you from Livy’s persistent presence, you resist the urge to roll your eyes— though you doubt she’d care if she could see you.

How did you even get here? You’d been adamant about not going along with this. Sure, you hadn’t sent that email, but you definitely hadn’t consented to being dragged to an impromptu shopping trip for someone else’s Christmas wedding. Yet here you are, drowning in an actual tsunami of reds, your fingers sifting through material and nuance options as your mind drifts somewhere you wish it wouldn’t.

The memory of that night creeps in, despite being as unwelcome as it is. You try to shove it aside, but the image of Rin lingers, sharp and intrusive. It had been after that god-awful surgery, when the stress and exhaustion had left you raw and exposed. You shouldn’t have hugged him. You really shouldn’t have hugged him, and yet you did.

And now, no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop replaying it in your head. Did he think it was more than what it was? Did you think it was more than what it was? And, more importantly, what was it, exactly? It’s not as if it was a kiss. If it had been a kiss, maybe you could justify this endless loop of overthinking. But it wasn’t. So why does it still feel like your heart is caught in a vice?

Your hand trails absently over the materials covering the cabin walls as you change again, and your thoughts spiral deeper into the memory, your focus completely stolen by questions you aren’t sure you even want the answers to.

“Hello? Can you hear me? Earth to Y/n?”

“What?” Your head snaps around so fast it’s a wonder you don’t give yourself whiplash. You yank the curtain open, annoyance radiating off you in waves.

Livy stands there, momentarily stunned, her eyes scanning the dress you’ve reluctantly put on.

“Never mind,” she says after a beat, a smile creeping onto her lips. “You look great!”

“It’s too tight,” you bite out, your tone as stiff as the fabric clinging to your body.

Livy rolls her eyes, completely unbothered by your complaint. “It’s supposed to feel tight, sweetheart. That’s how you know it’s doing something for you.”

Before you can argue further, she grabs the curtain and pulls it shut again with a dramatic flourish. “Now hurry up and get changed,” she calls through the fabric. “We still need to figure out accessories, and at this rate, we’ll be here all night!”

#2 CHECKPOINT: AIRPORT

You hated airports. No amount of martinis, gin, or whiskey in the lounge could ever erase the sinking dread of knowing you’d soon be thousands of miles above the ground, trapped in a pressurized metal tube.

“Isn’t it great he booked us business tickets? We’ll have to thank him somehow…” Livy’s voice broke through your sulking, her eyes peeking over the hem of her magazine. “Prada has nice ties. You could pair one with some flowers or something. Classic.”

You shot upright, abandoning the slouched position you’d melted into. “A tie? What does she need a tie for?”

Livy glanced at you over her glasses, unimpressed. “Are you listening to me? Not she, he. Ties are a pretty standard gift for guys.”

Your brows furrowed. “What guy?”

Her exasperation was palpable, her dramatic sigh echoing in your ears. “Rin. Obviously.”

“I’m not getting Rin a gift. He’s not the one getting married.”

“No, he’s not,” Livy said, lowering her magazine just enough to glare at you knowingly. “But he is the one who booked your ticket.”

You blinked, stunned. Your fingers curled into the armrest of your seat as you tried to wrap your head around her words. “How do you know that?”

Livy, completely unbothered by your growing suspicion, calmly removed her glasses and flipped another page. “Relax. I told you, his mom and I text.” She held up her phone as if that explained everything, the screen lit with a string of cheerful messages.

“And?” you prompted, your patience wearing thin.

“And,” she said with an almost mischievous smile, “he upgraded your ticket. Something about it being a thank-you gift. Although, if I had to guess, his mom probably forced him into doing it.”

Your hands were already itching to throttle her, if only to shake loose the full story you were certain she was keeping to herself.

“So,” she spoke up again, “Isn’t it nice, what he did?”

“Sure it is,” you shrug. “Did you change his diapers? Is that why he upgraded your seat, too?” You say, sipping your coffee.

“I have my ways. I don’t need to change anybody’s diapers,” Livy says, raising her eyebrows smugly over the rim of her sunglasses, “or read him bedtime stories to help him fall asleep.”

Your head snaps toward her. “How do you know about that?”

Her smirk grows wider. “You really did read him bedtime stories?”

Rolling your eyes, you counter, “No. They were Ancient Greek myths.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! You know Anri—the nurse? She called them bedtime stories, too. It’s ridiculous—”

“Y/n.” Livy cuts you off, her tone shifting slightly, almost as if she’s trying to ground you in the moment. “You know what I’m talking about—it’s not about Greek myths or bedtime stories. You’ve never put this much effort into anyone. Ever.”

Feigning indignation, you shoot back, “Yes, I have!”

“Last year, you gave me the exact same present you gave me two years ago. That’s the same gift. Back to back.”

Her words make you falter, the faintest trace of heat creeping into your cheeks. “That was… purely coincidence,” you mutter, your bravado waning.

Livy lets out a soft chuckle, but her expression remains sincere. “Look, none of us have ever blamed you for it. You’ve always been practical, and we respect that. But what you’ve done for Rin? That goes beyond friendliness, doesn’t it?”

You hesitate, your brows furrowing as you grapple with the idea. You’ve desperately tried to forbid yourself from dwelling on it for too long—brushing off the teasing and heat as inconsequential, refusing to acknowledge the way his presence has slipped past your defenses.

“No, it just… started once, and then we just kept going, but I never intended… I never…” Your words falter, tangling in your throat as your gaze drifts into empty space.

Livy sighs, realizing she won’t get anything more from you. Still, she knows you well—better than anyone else. You two had pulled through med school together, had snagged an internship at the same place together, and now, you’re residents together. She knows you like the back of her hand. She knows you’re logical to a fault, always weighing every decision with precision. And yet, when it comes to Rin, all logic seems to crumble.

She wonders if it’s because you see love as inherently illogical—a chaotic, uncharted territory where reason holds no sway. That might explain why you’ve let yourself become so tangled in something you can’t quite define.

But Livy knows more than she’s letting on. She itches to tell you about how Rin behaves when you’re not around— the cold, dismissive tone he reserves for the rest of the staff, the outright refusals to accept anyone else’s diagnostics or treatments. How he insists on you, and only you, for the massages and check-ins. How you’ve drawn more words out of him than anyone else in the entire hospital.

If only you knew.

Still, Livy knows you wouldn’t take this kind of conversation well in a calm, controlled setting. Perhaps a little nudge, a change in approach, is what’s needed to help you see what’s right in front of you.

Livy leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other with a deliberate air. “Do you know the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea?”

You didn’t even bother looking up from your magazine. “Oh, this should be good. Are you seriously trying to use my own technique on me? I know what you’re doing.”

She rolled her eyes, tossing her sunglasses onto the table. “Well, do you?”

That made you pause. You raised an eyebrow, finally sparing her a glance. “Yes, I do. You can do better.”

“No I don’t think so,” she said, her lips curving into a sly grin. “So, Pygmalion was this sculptor, right? Crazy talented but kind of… emotionally constipated. He didn’t care about love. Thought no one was good enough for him, that most people couldn’t keep up with him. Then, one day, he sculpts Galatea, and she’s everything he’s ever wanted. Perfect in every way. And—”

You snorted, flipping a page. “and he falls in love with Galatea, prays to Aphrodite to help him out. She makes Galatea come alive, and he’s still not happy. I told you, I know the myth.”

“My point is,” Livy said, leaning forward as if she were about to deliver a groundbreaking revelation, “he didn’t realize he was falling in love while he was working on her. He just kept pouring all this time and energy into her, treating her like she was the most important thing in his life. Sound familiar?”

Your fingers froze mid-turn, and the page fluttered back into place. “What, so you’re comparing me to Galatea? You’re saying that I completely changed the rules of his entire world and am the love of his life?”

She threw her hands up dramatically. “No smartass, I’m comparing you to Pygmalion.”

“Livy, he’s a patient,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady. “I’m a doctor. End of story.”

Livy’s grin softened into something closer to a small smile. “Sure. If that’s what you want to tell yourself.” She leaned back again, watching you with those too-perceptive eyes. “But think about it. You’ve gone above and beyond for him. You’ve put more effort into him than I’ve seen you give anyone else—ever. Not even me, and I’m your best friend.”

“It’s not like that,” you muttered, dropping the magazine entirely. “I’m just… helping him through a rough time. That’s all.”

Livy tilted her head, studying you. “And maybe it started that way. But Pygmalion didn’t know he was falling for Galatea until she came to life. So ask yourself this—what exactly are you sculpting here?”

#3 CHECKPOINT: WEDDING

“Woah.”

It was the only thing you could manage, and you knew it didn’t come close to doing the place justice. The venue was stunning—like something out of one of those glossy magazine spreads you always thought were too perfect to be real.

Right in the middle of the room was a massive Christmas tree, its branches dusted with snow and decked out in silver and red ornaments. The centerpiece served as a reference point for the tables, arranged in neat circles around it, each one set so perfectly it looked like no one had dared touch it yet.

The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, letting in just enough of the snowy view outside to make you forget you were indoors. Garlands hung from the dark ceiling, their lights twinkling like stars in a way that felt straight out of a fairytale.

And then there was the snow. It was falling—inside, somehow—but frozen midair, like it was posing for a photo. None of it landed on the guests or the tables, just hung there, suspended in a way that made you want to reach out and see if it was real.

It was the kind of place that made you stop for a second, your brain scrambling to catch up with everything your eyes were taking in.

“This is so…”

“Magnificent? I sure hope so. I paid for some of it.”

The voice was unfamiliar, but the sharp tone—balanced with just enough amusement to keep it from feeling cold—made you freeze. You had a pretty good idea of who it might be.

“Uh…”

“Don’t worry,” the woman continued, her words breezy and direct. “I wasn’t alone. My sons helped. With all the money they’re raking in now, I’d be questioning my parenting if they didn’t chip in.”

And then you saw her. The blue eyes, the fierce, unreadable stare, the kind of eyelashes most people would kill for— it all clicked. Rin’s mother.

“Oh my God, Ms. Itoshi, hi, I— I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” you stammered, your words tumbling out as your hands flew to smooth the fabric of your dress.

Before you can even try to respond, Rin appears at your side, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Mom, can you not?” Rin grumbles, clearly unamused.

“Can I not what? Make polite conversation with your friend?” she teases, swiping lightly at his shoulder. Rin straightens instinctively, his usual scowl deepening.

She waves her hand dismissively. “Go accompany her to the bar and introduce her to the family instead of saying something stupid, will you?”

Rin mutters something under his breath, but before you can catch it, he grips your wrist lightly and pulls you toward the bar.

In an attempt to diffuse the tension lingering in the air, you clear your throat and force a light tone. “So… your mom runs a tight ship, huh?”

“Not any tighter than how you ran that hospital room,” Rin shoots back, his sharp gaze flickering toward you.

You laugh dryly, shaking your head. “Please. It could’ve gone a lot worse.”

“Could it?” he challenges, his tone skeptical as you both settle onto the barstools.

You shrug, taking a sip of the drink the bartender places in front of you. “If Livy were here, she’d tell you all about the time we had this kid that had been in a car crash. Total nightmare. Earphones in 24/7, wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t let us do anything. Her mom went along with everything she wanted— so when we had to pull her in for surgery and she refused, guess what? Her mom wouldn’t give consent either. We had to send her home. Now her room, I ran like a military camp. She called me sergeant and everything.”

Rin’s frown deepens, his fingers tapping against the bar. “Did the kid have a death wish? And was the mom having a brain aneurysm or something?”

You suppress a laugh. “Look at you with all those medical terms. Maybe you should’ve pursued med school instead of football.”

His scowl sharpens, and he motions with his glass for you to continue.

“Some people just…” You exhale slowly, your fingers brushing against the condensation on your glass. “It’s hard to explain. I see it every day, and I still don’t fully get it. But my best guess? The mom was afraid of her kid.”

“Afraid of her own child?” Rin says, his voice edged with disbelief. “That’s pathetic.”

“Not that kind of afraid,” you clarify, meeting his gaze. “It’s more… she was desperate for her kid’s love. Saying no—whether it was about a life saving surgery or a bag of candy—felt like a step closer to having her kid resent her forever.”

Rin takes a long sip of his drink before setting the glass down. “Still pathetic.”

You shrug. “Everyone’s different,” you say, as the liquor burns down your throat. You pull a grimace, and hum in discomfort.

“This burns.” You explain, and Rin sighs in subtle amusement, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, until the frown etched on his face earlier resurfaces again. “I get wanting your kid to love you, but letting them die because you’re scared to piss them off? That’s weak.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, leaning slightly against the bar. “It’s easy to judge when you’re not in their shoes. People have their own battles, Rin. Some are just… quieter.”

“Quieter doesn’t mean they’re not bullshit,” he mutters, taking another sip.

“You’d be surprised how fear can change people. That mom probably thought she was doing the right thing, in her own twisted way.” You pause, giving him a sidelong glance. “Kind of like how you think being an uncooperative patient is somehow noble.”

Rin shoots you a sharp look, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. “You saying I’m as bad as her?”

“Not quite,” you tease, lifting your glass to your lips. “But you do have a knack for being stubborn when you think you’re right, even when you’re not.”

“I’m always right,” he retorts, leaning back in his chair with a hint of defiance.

“Mm, sure. That’s why I had to chase you down the hall last time you tried to escape physical therapy.”

“That was a tactical retreat,” he counters, deadpan.

You laugh, the sound light against the festive hum of the venue. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Itoshi.”

His gaze softens slightly as he looks at you. “You’ve got some nerve calling me stubborn when you’re the one arguing philosophy over a bar top.”

“I’m just trying to educate you.”

Rin tilts his head, considering you for a moment. “You know, you could’ve just told me I was a good patient and spared me this lecture.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You grin, nudging his arm lightly, as he leans over to you to grab a bottle of god-knows-what— and you stiffen. You stiffen, because when Rin leans close to you, you are transported back to the night of Leah’s death, and the scent of muscade takes over your senses, and realisations come to hit you like a truck all over again— and you don’t think you can handle them.

You think about what it would be like to kiss him, to rest your head on his chest, to—

“Oh, Rin! Is this the doctor you told us about?” A woman to whom you couldn’t be more grateful for interrupting your spiralling train of thought, comes up to you both and slaps a hand on Rin’s shoulder.

The black haired footballer only grunts in return, and you smile at the obvious display of familiarity between the two.

“Yeah.”

“Well, you never told us how pretty she is!” She smiles brightly at you, and settles her elbows on the mahogany bar top, nestling her face between her hands. “As pretty as a picture! Tell you what, you should take Rin out on a date—“

“Tsumugi, enough.”

“Oh,” she clicks her tongue in annoyance and lightly glares at Rin, before turning back to you, hushing her voice theatratically, “You know I have never seen him talk to someone for this long? You are a real sweetheart putting up with him for as long as you have, really-“

“Tsumugi.” Rin can’t stand it. Most of this conversation has been smooth sailing, until his other cousin (god, how come he has this many cousins in the first place?) came in and crashed said sailing like an actual tornado. Worst of all, Rin can’t seem to hide the heat creeping up his neck, nor his embarrassment at Tsumugi’s words.

Sure, he’s talked to you a lot. Sure, you had hugged, and he had, out of the graciousness of his heart let you rest your head on his shoulder for a moment. But, honestly, what was he supposed to do? You were crying, and you were dealing with… stuff.

“Yeah, thanks.” Your awkward smile and tone breaks him out of his reverie, and he almost feels bad for the predicament his cousin forced you into.

You are pretty, though, he thinks. It’s obvious. You’re more than pretty, even. And you’re smart. His mother likes you. His cousin likes you, too. Sure, your friend is a little over the top, and your other friend is kind of a slut, but you’re great. Rin wishes he could find another word, because he knows in the depth of his heart that you’re not just great, but the corners of his mouth only dip and his expression sours when he can’t seem to find one. Better you find someone who actually knows how to compliment someone without coming off as a jackass, he thinks. Better not be me.

“She’s great.”

The voice feels so familiar it bounces off the walls, and makes Rin’s heart heavy. He looks at you briefly to make sure you’re not listening in, and turns the other way when he sees you talking animatedly to Tsumugi, any and all awkward introductions seemingly forgotten.

“Who is?”

Sae only clicks his tongue, and nods at you. “Her. Doctor, wasn’t it?”

Almost immediately, Rin’s brain thinks up as many conversation starters to steer the conversation topic away from you like a dispenser pumping gas. If it won’t be him, it won’t be Sae, he thinks, hands clutching under the bar top. Anyone but Sae.

“She’s not single.” Rin blurts out, face composed.

“Who’s not single?” The black haired football player’s eyes almost bulge out of his eye sockets, and it takes him the strength of a thousand mountains to not spill the contents of his glass all over the place when you suddenly make your appearance, turning around, your knees knocking into Rin’s.

“You, apparently.” Sae says, voice smooth as he downs the contents of his own glass.

You splutter at the eldest’s words, eyes widening, and your hand covering your mouth.

“I— Excuse me?”

His older brother only grins slightly, leaning back against the back of the chair in silent victory. “Ah,” he starts, eyes riveted to the black haired player next to him. “Is that not the case?”

Heat slowly creeps up your neck and you have a hard time getting a sentence, let alone words, out of your throat.

“Have you finally found some other person to follow around like a puppy?” Sae wonders out loud, and the more he talks, the more you can see Rin’s eyes darkening. “I have to say,” The eldest turns to you, “I’ve never seen my little brother with a crush. ‘Suppose I should congratulate you for that.” He sips on his glass again, eyes seemingly faraway.

When you finally regain your senses, they rip out of your trachea like a rose full of thorns. Long, pointy, deadly thorns.

“I don’t— I gotta go. To the bathro— restroom. Sorry,” you quickly shimmy out of your chair in a hurried frenzy, eager to make your way out of this very unfortunately awkward conversation. Maybe Livy was right. Maybe you do need to figure out what exactly you were sculpting here, you reluctantly admit to yourself.

“I’m sorry, have you seen Livy? I mean, Olivia? Olivia Matsson, tall, blond?" You mimic her height with a hand above your head, and hope you’re not coming across as a coke addict with how energetic you’re being. “A little over the top?”

A woman tells you yes, and nods over to a direction near a table somewhere in the back. You don’t see her right away, but you take the hint anyway, and sprint over until you spot a head full of vibrant, blonde hair.

“Liv! Livy!”

Livy turns around, and visibly gasps at your state.

“Wh— How? What happened?”

“I think,” you breathe in, “I think, I know what I’m sculpting.”

Livy points at you, already reaching for a hefty bottle of whiskey. “You,” she declares, shoving a glass into your hand, “need a drink.”

You barely get a sigh out before she fills it to the brim.

“Bottoms up.”

You lift the glass, ready to down the whole thing in one go, but Livy stops you with a sharp gasp.

“No! You animal! This is whiskey, not a cheap shot. Sip it, savor it— God.”

You don’t question her very specific expertise or extensive knowledge on alcohol consumption, just take a breath and a small, slow sip before launching into it.

“Rin lied.” Another sip. “He told Sae I wasn’t single. Like I was taken.” You shake your head. “And maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but then they were both looking at me, and Sae was pointing at me, and you said Rin liked me, so I thought—”

“Okay, okay, slow down.”

“You said, that he—“

“That he liked you,” Livy finishes, and motions for you to keep going. You you turn your palm towards her to show your agreement with a small “Right,” and keep going.

“Well, I was— I did think about it, you know, I did, and you’re right, he is handsome, and we’ve had our moments, and he’s not, I mean it’s not like he’s my patient anymore, so who cares right? I can try something. And I think I want to, so—“

“Oh, honey.” Livy smiles fondly and hands you a napkin when a trickle of alcohol escapes down your chin after a few too many sips. “Take a seat and tell me everything.” She pats the chair beside her, urging you to sit.

You sigh, dropping into the seat. “I don’t know how to approach him. We’ve talked about my feelings, but never his. And I know, I know this probably sounds stupid and obvious to you, but I’m terrified this is all just—just a total misunderstanding. Because, oh my god, I really like him. And if I’ve been reading this wrong the whole time, I think I might actually die.”

Livy hums, swirling the drink in her glass. “I get it. It’s scary, but sometimes the only way forward is to throw yourself to the wolves.”

You snort. “Great. That makes me feel so much better.” You mumble against the rim of your glass, eyes locked on the mural across the room.

She laughs, nudging your knee with hers. “I’m serious! It’s nerve-wracking, sure, but it’s part of the process. And honestly?” She tilts her head, considering her next words. “If you saw the way he looks at you… If you don’t know how to go about this, what makes you think he does?”

You swallow, staring at your drink. “I just— I don’t want to ruin things.”

Livy sighs, leaning her elbow on the table. “You know, love isn’t about having all the answers beforehand. It’s not this neatly wrapped thing where you always know what the other person is thinking. It’s messy. And it’s— it’s, god it’s a great deal of awkward. And it’s a lot to stand in front of someone and hoping they don’t run in the other direction.” She smiles softly. “But when it’s real? You meet in the middle. You figure it out together. And, lovely, I think he’s already halfway there.”

Your throat tightens, and you shake your head. “And if he’s not?”

“Then you’ll survive,” she says simply. “Heartbreak isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you. You know what is? Never trying. Spending forever wondering what could’ve been.” She reaches over and squeezes your hand. “You deserve to know where you stand. And if that means throwing yourself to the wolves, then at least you’ll do it knowing you were brave enough to want something real.”

A deep breath expands in your chest, and for the first time tonight, the panic quiets just a little.

“You make it sound so easy,” you murmur.

Livy grins. “It’s not. But love isn’t about easy. It’s about worth it.”

“You’re too good at this.” You frown.

“I know. I should consider a career change. You’re the only thing holding me back, hun.”

“Cute.” You grin, “I’m like your white knight in shining armor.”

“Ugh, no. You’re the reason I’m going insane.” Her face twists, and you laugh.

———————————————————-

“You’re a fucking pain in the ass, you know that?”

For the first time, Rin refuses to let Sae walk away unscathed. Nearly ten years of pure resentment shoved into the deepest, darkest corner of his heart, boils over, and tonight, he’s finally gonna let his brother take the brunt of it.

Sae barely spares him a glance, idly swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Hm?”

“You fucking—” Rin exhales sharply, fists clenched. “You arrogant, prideful, son of a bitch.” His voice trembles with barely contained fury. “When you came back from Spain, you ruined everything. Everything. I thought we were gonna do this together. I thought—”

“I told you,” Sae interrupts, voice maddeningly even. “You won’t get anywhere living in my shadow. I was right.”

“I don’t give a shit what you think was right!” Rin snaps. “When I met this girl, I thought I was done with all this brooding, dark bullshit. I thought I could finally get that goddamn day where you destroyed my entire world out of my head.”

His breathing is uneven, his pulse hammering in his ears. He’s seconds away from knocking that smug look right off his brother’s face.

“And so all that resentment, all those years of training and training and pushing myself past my limit just to surpass you—I was done. Fuck!” His fist slams against the bartop, rattling glasses. A few guests gasp. His cousin frowns. Their mother shoots them a sharp glare.

Sae doesn’t flinch. “Careful.” He takes a slow sip.

Rin’s vision blurs with rage. “You— you ruined my perception of football. You ruined my perception of relationships. I can’t even look Mom in the eyes anymore because they remind me of you.”

That gets a reaction. A barely perceptible shift, a flicker in Sae’s gaze.

Rin exhales shakily, his shoulders tight with exhaustion. Then, he looks Sae dead in the eyes.

“I hate you. So much.” His voice drops to something dangerously quiet. “And before I get up to go and salvage what’s left of what you broke, again, I'm gonna look you in the eyes, brother to brother, and say,” He leans in, the words sharp enough to cut. “I fucking hate you.”

———————————————————-

The next time you see Rin, he’s hunched over the balcony, his hands gripping the stone so tightly you half expect it to crack under the pressure.

“Heard you made quite the scene back there,” you say cautiously. “Don’t tell me you’re back to your nurse chasing days.”

He doesn’t respond, the only answer you get is the sharp gust of wind and the heavy silence stretching between you.

Don’t shut me out again, you think, watching the way his shoulders stay rigid, his expression unreadable. You need him to talk— need to gather all your strength for what comes next. His silence won’t do.

“I’m not—” he exhales, dragging a hand down his face before forcing himself to continue. “I’m just pissed. That’s all.”

He pauses, then mutters the name like it’s an open wound.

“Sae.”

You hesitate for a second, choosing your words carefully. “What did he do this time?”

Rin exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Nothing new.” But his tone betrays him, bitter and exhausted. “Just the usual bullshit.”

You don’t press him, not yet. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Rin, it’s that pushing too hard only makes him retreat further. So you wait, let the silence stretch just long enough for him to decide whether he wants to fill it.

Eventually, he does. “Remember Pollux and Caster?”

“Castor,” you instinctively correct, “Yeah, I remember.”

“They weren’t even full brothers,” Rin mutters, frustration threading through his voice. “And still, they sacrificed for each other, didn’t they? Pollux gave up his immortality. Castor—he—” Rin exhales sharply, fingers curling against the railing. “Sae didn’t have to sacrifice anything. What he did was so—so ridiculously unnecessary, and yet…”

You have no idea what he’s talking about. The feud between the two brothers has never been new, and yet, the details remain firmly sealed between the two brothers. You study him for a moment, the way his shoulders rise and fall with barely restrained emotion. You could tell him that he is enough, that his relationship with Sae— or lack thereof— doesn’t define him. But you know Rin. That’s not what he wants to hear right now.

“I’m sure you know this, Rin, but the Dioscuri are not something to compare real life to. They represent an ideal, not reality.”

Rin scoffs, shaking his head. “An ideal.” His voice is sharp, like he doesn’t believe a word of it. Like he wants to argue but can’t quite find the energy.

You tilt your head, studying him. “The Dioscuri were a paradox from the start— one mortal, one divine. They were never meant to exist in harmony, not really. But instead of accepting that, they kept trying to hold on, to fit together like they were made for it.” You exhale, glancing up at the sky. “And in the end, the only way they could be together was through tragedy. One had to lose everything for the other.”

Rin is quiet. His grip on the railing loosens, but his knuckles are still pale. You wonder if he’s actually listening, or if he’s just letting your words wash over him like waves against the rocks— present, but not really sinking in.

“Sae’s not Pollux, and you’re not Castor,” you continue, softer this time. “You’re not bound by fate, or the gods, or some tragic, poetic bullshit about what brothers should be. You don’t have to be anything for him, Rin. And he doesn’t have to be anything for you.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to snap at you. Instead, he just mutters, “That’s easy for you to say.”

“Sure.” You shrug. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

The wind picks up again, sweeping through the balcony, tousling Rin’s hair. He looks out over the city, his expression unreadable. Maybe he’s still angry. Maybe he’s thinking. Maybe he’s just tired.

You don’t expect him to say anything more. You’ve known him long enough to understand that silence is just as much a language as words. But then, after a long pause, he exhales, shaking his head.

“I just don’t get it,” he murmurs. “Why did he have to do it? Why does he always have to be—” He stops himself, like the words are caught in his throat.

You don’t ask what it is. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you. If not, well… some things are meant to stay between the Itoshi brothers.

Instead, you rest your arms against the railing, mirroring his posture. “Maybe it’s not about understanding him,” you say. “Maybe it’s about deciding whether it’s worth it to keep trying.”

Rin doesn’t answer right away. But this time, the silence feels different. Less like a wall, more like a door that hasn’t quite opened yet.

“You know, I—”

The words barely escape your lips before they’re swallowed whole, cut off by something firm and sudden pressing against them. It takes you a moment— one, two, three erratic heartbeats— to even register what’s happening. The warmth, the way his breath mixes with yours, the way his lips move against yours with a hesitant urgency, like he’s holding back but doesn’t want to.

Rin is kissing you.

The realization crashes into you just as quickly as the kiss itself, but your body doesn’t catch up. Your brain stalls, your muscles freeze, and before you can even think about responding, before you can even breathe, Rin is already pulling away.

“Figures,” he mutters, his voice low and tight, like he’s trying to sound unaffected. “First time I actually show a girl how I feel, I get rejected.”

Your heart lurches, a sudden, frantic thing hammering against your ribs. The air between you feels charged, humming with something unspoken, something fragile.

You can still feel the ghost of his lips against yours, like an imprint burned into your skin, and it’s almost overwhelming how fast everything unraveled. You had thought about this, hell, you’d imagined it, even hoped for it, but now that it’s happened, it feels like the entire world has tilted off its axis.

You should say something. You need to say something.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out, your thoughts tangled in a mess of shock and disbelief. Rin shifts beside you, jaw tightening, hands flexing at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to clench them into fists.

“…Forget it,” he mutters after a beat, turning away slightly. His voice is quieter this time, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying to bury whatever flicker of hope had been there just moments ago. “Should’ve known better.”

That snaps you out of your daze. “Wait—”

You reach for him instinctively, fingers brushing against his wrist. He stiffens but doesn’t pull away. Your pulse is a wild, erratic thing, drumming against your ribs. Your fingers weave into his hair, sliding through the soft strands at the nape of his neck, and you feel him stiffen beneath your touch. For a split second, he’s completely still, as if the air has been knocked from his lungs. Then, against all logic, against all sane judgment, you close the space between you and press your lips to his.

It’s not careful. It’s not hesitant. It’s an answer, a contradiction, an undoing of every doubt Rin had just had mere moments ago.

His hands find your waist, gripping like he needs to anchor himself, like he doesn’t quite believe this is real. The fingers at the back of his neck curl slightly, and when you tug just barely, he lets out the quietest sound, almost a sigh, almost a groan.

And then he’s kissing you back.

The world narrows down to the heat between you, the way he angles his head to deepen the kiss, his nose brushing against yours, and the heat between you only intensifies.

One of his hands slips up your back, pressing against your spine, pulling you closer— like the mere act of kissing you isn’t enough, like he needs more, needs you. His other hand stays firm at your waist, fingers flexing against the fabric of your clothes, grounding himself in the moment.

Your heartbeat thrums wildly, matching his, a silent rhythm only the two of you can hear.

When you finally part, your lips are tingling, your breath unsteady. Rin doesn’t move far— his forehead rests against yours, and his warm breath fans over your lips, like he’s not ready to let go just yet. His fingers linger at your waist, hesitant now, as if waiting for you to pull away, to take it all back.

You don’t say anything. You just smile, brightly and effortlessly, bathed in moonlight that kisses your skin, making you look almost unreal. Breathtaking. And for the first time, Rin swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful. Yes, he’s sure. He’d rather die than ever let you go.

EPILOGUE

The roar of aircraft engines filled the air, blending with the faint hum of chatter in the lobby. Behind the desk, the flight attendant lets out a sigh, her exhaustion evident. Her shift had been a parade of entitled demands: three Economy Plus passengers insisting on lounge access, half a dozen unbearable business types, and two spoiled rich kids throwing around lines like, “Mom said…” or “Do you know who my father is?” She didn’t, nor did she care. Her patience, much like the coffee machine nearby, was running on fumes.

Leaning on her elbow, she swiped her hand across her forehead, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Just as she began to relax, a tiny hand appeared on the desk, clutching a shiny card.

Peering over, the attendant saw a little girl, who couldn’t be over five, balancing on her toes to peer above the tall white counter. Her small fingers gripped the edge of the desk for support, her toothy grin revealing a few gaps.

“It’s from my mommy,” the girl announced, her lisp soft but clear.

The flight attendant picked up the card, the gold lettering catching the light. She looked down at the child, leaning closer to meet her gaze.

“Your mommy gave you this?”

The little girl nodded with the determination of someone delivering very serious business. “I want a—”

Her request was cut short as a tall figure swooped in, lifting her off the ground. The man, presumably her father, cradled her in one arm while addressing the attendant.

“Mommy didn’t give her anything,” he said, giving his daughter a pointed look, a mix of stern exasperation in his tone. “She snagged it from my wife while we were going through security. She thinks it’s a credit card—”

“Magic card, Daddy!” the girl corrected, wagging her little index finger as if to scold him. “It’s called a magic card!”

The father chuckled softly, his expression softening despite the situation. “Right, magic card. My bad, baby. Sorry.”

A woman entered the scene, walking briskly toward the desk. She gently plucked the card from her husband’s hand and handed it back to the flight attendant.

“Sorry for the trouble,” the woman said, her shy smile matched with an air of calm as she rummaged through her bag.

The flight attendant waved her off with a practiced, polite smile. “No harm done, really,” she said, sliding the card back across the counter after checking its validity.

“Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi, this way please,” the attendant declared, gesturing toward the nearby doors. “The car taking you to your plane will be waiting downstairs in just a moment. Welcome to the HON lounge.”

As the little family moved toward the designated lounge, the little girl clung to her father’s neck, her face nestled against his shoulder. “I told you it was a magic card, Daddy,” she mumbled, her tone brimming with childlike triumph.

Her father shook his head with a grin. “I know. Almost forgot. Thank you for telling me sweet girl.”

“You’re welcome,” the daughter babbled, pride shining through her words.

@pemiski 2025 - all rights reserved. I do not authorize any reposting translating or modifying of my content on any platform

[yukkiji]

wrong place, right hands

it was just a writing exercise–something silly, something private. a pretend love letter for a class project that was never meant to be seen. but when it ends up in the hands of the very person it's about, everything changes. sometimes, love has a funny way of delivering itself.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. akaashi keiji x fem!reader ft. kotaro bokuto

genre: fluff, best friend!akaashi, bokuto is super supportive of the two, friends to lovers

wc: 1.5k

author's note: i love my boy keiji sm huhu and this is one my favorite drafts; good thing that i finally got the chance to post this

it was supposed to be harmless.

something private. something silly.

a writing exercise for literature—a pretend love letter, meant to test tone and form and emotional honesty without being real. the kind of thing you write while chewing your pen cap, giggling under your breath at the absurdity of pouring out fake feelings onto a blank page. the kind of thing you submit, laugh off, and forget about.

only you didn’t turn it in.

you kept it. folded it twice and tucked it into the back of your folder, marked not for submission. it felt… too honest. too specific. even if it was just a joke. even if it was meant for no one’s eyes but your own.

you didn’t even sign it.

but you described him. clearly. unmistakably.

you’d written about his voice—the one that lingers in your head long after he reads passages aloud in class. about the way he tips his head when he’s thinking, how he pinches the bridge of his nose when bokuto’s being dramatic, how his hands are “embarrassingly elegant” and distractingly expressive when he speaks.

and now?

now that folded page was sitting in the very capable, very real hands of akaashi keiji.

he read it in the gym.

in front of the team.

you didn’t even know it was missing until bokuto shouted something across the court about “keiji’s secret admirer,” and you looked up, heart seizing, just in time to see your best friend unfolding your handwriting in the middle of practice.

he didn’t laugh.

he didn’t share it.

he just read it—brows drawing together, quiet as the world moved around him—and folded it again like it was something precious.

you ran before he could see your face.

he found you afterward. of course he did.

you were leaning against the locker room wall, arms crossed tight over your chest like you could physically hold in the embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. akaashi stepped out of the gym, hair still damp from a quick rinse, a folded paper in his hand.

the paper.

he looked at you.

“this isn’t for class,” he said softly. “is it?”

your mouth opened. closed. opened again.

you weren’t sure if your soul had already evacuated or if it was still making a run for it.

“what gave it away?” you asked weakly.

he glanced down at the page again. “well, the line ‘you look prettiest when you’re annoyed at bokuto’ felt… oddly specific.”

you groaned and buried your face in your hands.

“of course you recognized yourself. of course you read the one thing i didn’t mean for anyone to see.”

akaashi’s voice was gentler now. “bokuto found it under the bleachers. he thought it was part of someone’s homework and handed it to me. didn’t realize it was about me until…” he trailed off.

you peeked through your fingers. he was holding the page like it was fragile. like it mattered.

“you weren’t meant to see it,” you said, voice muffled through your palms. “it was… it was supposed to be a joke. a fake letter. i wasn’t even going to turn it in.”

“still,” he murmured. “you wrote it.”

there was a pause.

you nodded, slowly.

“i did.”

akaashi keiji has always been calm.

not just quiet—but calm. in that rare, grounding way that makes people lean toward him without realizing. like he carries gravity in his chest and people orbit it instinctively.

he’s been your best friend for years.

the constant. the person you text when your umbrella breaks, when your brain won’t shut up, when you need someone who won’t try to fix you but will listen. he’s been the voice of reason during bokuto meltdowns, your late-night study partner, the first person to notice when you were upset even when you smiled through it.

he was your lighthouse.

and you… you tried your best to stay afloat. to be steady. to look like you had it all under control.

but he was holding that letter now. holding it like it was something more.

his voice was quieter when he spoke again.

“can i be honest?”

you looked up, startled.

he’d stepped closer.

not close enough to touch—but enough that you could see the tiny droplets of water still clinging to the ends of his hair. enough to notice that his eyes weren’t sharp like they sometimes were on the court. they were soft. searching.

“i liked it,” he said.

you blinked. “the letter?”

he nodded. “i liked that you notice when i get annoyed. that you remember what i wore the day of our midterms. that you like how i read out loud, even when i think i sound like a textbook.”

there was a tiny smile tugging at his mouth now.

“i liked that it came from you.”

you stared, heart hammering.

“and if i’m being really honest…” he hesitated, then gently reached out, his fingers brushing your sleeve. “i’ve been wondering if you’d ever say something.”

“say what?” you asked, breath barely there.

he looked at you like you were the only thing in the hallway.

“that you like me,” he said simply.

the words cracked something open in you.

“i didn’t think you noticed.”

“i noticed everything,” he replied.

you were still processing—still somewhere between panic and floating—when an unmistakable voice echoed from inside the gym.

“whaaaaaaaaat?!”

bokuto slammed open the doors with the force of a gale, arms wide, socks squeaking against the polished floor as he launched into view.

“no. way.” he pointed, bouncing. “no. way this is happening. finally.”

you flinched. akaashi didn’t.

“how long was he—?” you began.

“the letter,” bokuto shouted, positively glowing. “the letter was real?! i knew it! i knew you two were in lo—”

“please,” you moaned, face in your hands again. “please let me evaporate.”

“i read it too,” bokuto beamed. “it was so good! so romantic! the part where you said he has ‘hands like he plays piano in another life’? art. masterpiece. i cried. internally.”

you looked at akaashi in horror. “you let him read it?!”

“i did not,” he said dryly. “he took it out of my bag when i was showering.”

bokuto did a twirl. “i had a feeling! my otp! blooming before my eyes!”

you groaned into the wall.

“i’m never writing anything again.”

“noooo,” bokuto said. “you must write more. you’re a poet. the youth needs your words.”

“she’s exaggerating,” akaashi said mildly, lips twitching.

“she’s not! that letter was amazing. i’ve been shipping you two since junior high!”

“you’ve been what?” you gasped.

“shipping!” bokuto declared. “like ‘relationship-ping’? keep up!”

you stared. “you cannot be real.”

“i’m the captain of love,” he said seriously. “and i demand a kiss. for proof.”

akaashi, impossibly, didn’t roll his eyes. he just looked at you again.

“ignore him,” he said gently. “unless…”

he trailed off.

you met his eyes.

unless.

unless you wanted it too.

and then—slowly, so slowly—you felt his hand reach for yours. fingers threading together like it was something you’d done a hundred times already.

he stepped closer.

and then, soft as a secret, he kissed your forehead.

your knees nearly gave out.

it wasn’t loud or showy. it wasn’t something made for bokuto’s theatrics.

it was quiet. intentional.

like he’d wanted to for a long, long time.

“i was right!” bokuto screamed from behind you. “love is real! i’m telling the whole team. i’m putting it in the group chat.”

“please don’t,” akaashi said, still remarkably calm, though his hand tightened slightly around yours.

you were still frozen, your forehead tingling, breath caught in your throat.

“are we… dating now?” you asked, stunned.

akaashi tilted his head. “we can take it slow. one step at a time. but yes. if you want to.”

you nodded.

“i want to.”

he smiled—a real one, warm and unguarded.

“unless you regret writing the letter,” he murmured.

you looked at him.

at the boy who’d been your constant.

at the boy who noticed everything.

and you said, with a quiet kind of certainty—

“no. i’m glad it ended up in the right hands.”

bonus scene

“hey,” bokuto said proudly, slinging an arm around both of your shoulders as you sat together on the bleachers, post-practice.

“i still think you should’ve made out.”

“bokuto,” akaashi said.

“just saying! that forehead kiss was like, pg. come on. spice it up for your number one fan!”

you reached over and lightly smacked his arm.

he grinned.

“you’re welcome, by the way,” he added, nudging you. “if i hadn’t picked up that letter—”

“i know,” you sighed.

“wait,” akaashi said slowly, turning to him. “why were you under the bleachers?”

bokuto paused.

then looked away. “…that’s not important.”

akaashi stared at him.

you leaned into akaashi’s side, watching bokuto whistle innocently as he swung his legs over the edge of the bench.

“god help whoever he ends up dating,” you muttered.

akaashi smiled again, softly, and brushed a knuckle over your temple.

“let’s just hope they’re patient.”

and maybe—just maybe—romantic enough to write something silly and private that turns out to be everything he was hoping to hear.

[yanyandam]

hi! i hope you're having a nice day! it's my first time requesting here :> can i get a scenarios wherein the bonten is babying the reader or comforting her because she's so stressed from work (it's me, im so stressed huhu) it can be fluff, suggestive, anything hehe. you dont have to rush, and thank you very much in advance if you ever granted my request. i love your works so much. take care always <3

HEYYY thanks for requesting. I genuinely hope you'll feel better, im also bad at handling my stress...This is sadly pretty rushed, I wrote it during my economy class (mfs will write bonten ffs instead of focusing on money problems.) Didn't know if you meant bonten separately or not so I did both lmao, there's a scenario w the whole gang down there

WARNINGS: None, except that this is pretty out of character omg Idk how to write FLUFF with BONTEN in the same dimensions without it seeming like a comedy show from the 80's

Manjiro doesn’t talk about emotions, but he understands exhaustion deeply. -If he lets you stay close to him despite his dark impulses AND doesn’t let them make him hurt you, that alone means he cares. -He’ll silently take action, making sure your workload disappears without admitting he did it for you.

You come home late, your body aching from work. You barely manage to take off your jacket before collapsing onto the couch with a groan. Your head is throbbing. He’s sitting nearby, eating Dorayaki, his face blank as usual. He barely acknowledges you, but after a few moments, he finally mutters, “Tired?” You exhale sharply. “What do you think?” There’s a long silence. You expect him to say nothing else, he usually doesn’t. But then, in a slow, detached voice, he mutters, “Go to sleep. I’ll handle it.” You blink. “Handle what?” No response. But the next morning, your biggest work problems have mysteriously disappeared. Someone “took care of it.” You don’t ask who. You already know.

Sanzu’ first instinct is to eliminate the problem. If he can’t do that, he’ll take control of you instead, not in a bad way -If you mean something to him, he’ll make sure you survive, even against your own exhaustion -He’s trying. OK?

You’re sitting at the table, rubbing your temples, your head buried in your arms. You’re so drained you barely notice him watching you. "What’s wrong?" His voice is low, flat, like he’s assessing a problem to be solved. "Just… work. It’s killing me." He doesn’t blink. "Then quit." You huff a laugh. "I can’t just quit." He stares at you for a long time, his face unreadable. Then, without warning, he reaches over and takes your phone. "Hey..! what are you doing?!"

"Making you rest." He shuts it off, slides it into his pocket. "You’re not getting this back until you stop being pathetic." You glare at him, but before you can argue, he places something in front of you, a plate of food. "Eat," he orders. His tone is sharp, but there’s something close to concern deep down. You don’t fight him this time.

-Kakucho’s way of helping is subtle, he won’t say much, but his actions speak louder than words. -If you push him, he might give the laziest, most half-hearted comforting words, but only if no one else is around. He’s not the same sweetheart he used to be.

You’re hunched over your laptop, typing furiously. Your eyes sting from exhaustion. He walks in, glances at you, then sighs. He disappears into the kitchen for a moment, then returns and sets something on the table next to you. A cup of coffee. You blink up at him. “Thanks.”

"Whatever." He turns to leave, then pauses at the doorway. There’s a long silence. You can feel him hesitating. Then, barely above a mutter, he adds, "Don’t overwork yourself." It’s simple yet so genuine.

-Kokonoi doesn’t believe in emotional support anymore, but he does believe in efficiency. He somehow decided you were worth protecting. -His way of fixing your stress? Throwing money at it until the problem disappears. I hate to limit Koko's character to 'the god of money', but really: unfortunately, he has no idea how to show his 'affection' otherwise.

You’re pacing the room, venting about your workload. "It’s just so much—I can’t even keep up. And my boss is breathing down my neck and—"

"Enough," he interrupts. You pause mid-rant. He pulls out his phone, taps a few buttons, then looks up at you with that same unreadable, calculating expression. "It’s handled." You frown. "What do you mean, it’s—"

"I mean I paid someone to do it for you." He tilts his head, watching your reaction. "Now sit down and stop acting pathetic." You want to be mad. You should be mad. But when you check your phone, your workload has been cut in half. He smirks. "You’re welcome."

-Mochizuki  actually wants to be supportive, but he doesn’t know how, so he does what he knows best: feeds you. He’ll act like it’s not a big deal, but deep down, he hates seeing you miserable.

You’re slumped on the couch, groaning. He walks in, glances at you, then disappears into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he plops down next to you and shoves a takeout box into your hands. "Eat." You groan. "I’m not hungry." He glares. "That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Just eat." You sigh, but take a bite. It’s really good. He smirks. "See? I know what I’m doing."

-Ran doesn’t understand emotional suffering, but he knows how to fix problems: pampering you

You’re buried in paperwork when he suddenly snatches it out of your hands. "What the—"

"You’re taking the week off," he states. "I already paid your boss. If he refuses…Let's just say he's going to have some serious problems with my subordinates.” You stare at him. "…You’re joking."

"Try me." The next day, you’re sitting in a luxury hotel suite, all expenses paid.

-Rindou  pretends not to care, but he actually does. -His way of helping is dragging you away from your stress and forcing you to relax.

You’re staring blankly at your laptop when he suddenly grabs your wrist and pulls you up.

"What—"

"We’re going out."

"I have work—"

"I don’t care. You’re boring when you’re stressed."

He drags you outside. Club, restaurant, spa…Whatever is your preference. You protest at first, but hours later, after a fun distraction, you actually feel relaxed. He smirks. "Told you."

BONUS: ALL OF THEM

You were sitting at a round table in one of their private lounges, elbows on the polished wood, face buried in your hands. The stress of work had hit you hard today, your boss was an idiot, the deadlines were impossible, and the thought of going back tomorrow made your stomach twist. You let out a long sigh. "I think I'm gonna snap and kill someone."

"Wouldn’t recommend it. You don’t have the balls for it," Kakucho muttered, lighting a cigarette, his usual calm expression unreadable. "I could get rid of the body for you," Sanzu said casually, tilting his head. "If Mikey allows it."

Manjiro, who was slouched in the armchair across from you, exhaled a long drag of smoke, watching you with that dangerous, unreadable gaze of his. "They pissing you off that bad?"

"Beyond." You groaned.

Mochi, sitting beside you, leaned forward. "Maybe you should just quit. I mean, you don’t need that job. You could just… open a café or something." Ran scoffed, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand. "What a naïve thought. This is real life, not a fucking dream."

"You’re the last person who should talk about real life," Rindou muttered, rolling his eyes before turning to you. "You should take tomorrow off. Sleep in, eat something decent. You look like you’re about to pass out."

Kokonoi, who had been watching you in silence, finally leaned forward, his sharp gaze locked onto yours. "Your boss… give me a name."

You blinked. "What? No—I'm not getting you guys involved."

Sanzu smiled "Too late. We’re already involved."

Mikey sighed. "No one's killing anyone. Yet." He gestured for you to come closer, "You just need to relax. We’ll handle the rest." Mochi grinned and pushed a plate toward you. "Here. Eat. You can’t complain about life on an empty stomach." Rindou smirked slightly "Might as well drink too. You won’t care about your job after three shots."

You exhaled, looking at the ridiculous group around you. Dangerous men, criminals, killers… but somehow, tonight, they were just a bunch of idiots trying to make you feel better. And it worked.

[vylosinbound]

Hi!! I just stumbled upon your account:)) I really love your fics a lot! Mostly the fluff and angsty ones 🫶🏻 And I think if I remember correctly I saw that your requests are open? If so, I do have a request! ^^

The brothers with a Gender Neutral MC who is an artist/painter.

Ever since they arrived at devildom, MC would continue to paint and draw— and of course, an artist needs to have a muse right? So the brothers began noticing that MC always drew this seemingly random person, in their sketchbooks, paintings, and such. They never really asked about it, until they found out how the person that MC always paints/draws actually used to be MC’s former lover who has passed, and still mourns for that said lover, even having a locket necklace with their painted picture on it huhu.

This could be rather bittersweet/angsty, since the brothers has grown attached to MC, but also them finding out that MC still pretty much loves their former partner :,))

(You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to! So no pressure at all ☺️)

Ahhh, thank you so much for your lovely message! It honestly means the world to me that you enjoy my writin, and the fact that you took the time to send such a heartfelt request? Truly touched my heart. Thank you again for the trust. Sending you the biggest hug!

Painted in memory

The brothers with MC who is an artist/painter

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor.

Genre: Bittersweet / Angst / Soft Hurt-Comfort / Gn!MC

TW: Loss (mentioned), emotional vulnerability

The Brothers discovers a hidden part of MC’s past. The contents reveal a past love, a lost dream, or a version of the person they never knew existed. As emotions surface, the discoverer must decide: do they bring it up, or carry the secret alone? And how will this change their relationship moving forward?

LUCIFER

Lucifer first noticed it when he walked into the music room late one night, only to find you asleep on the couch, paintbrush still in hand, and a half-finished portrait resting against your knees. The subject wasn’t a demon, nor an angel, nor anyone he recognized.

At first, he said nothing. But then he saw more of them. Sketches tucked between books, half-rendered silhouettes on canvases, brush strokes soft with familiarity. Always the same face.

One evening, when you stepped away from the dining table, Mammon made a comment, half-joking, about your "mystery muse." You stiffened. Lucifer saw it. And when you finally told them, about the lover you lost in the human world, the one whose image you couldn't stop painting, whose memory lived in every color you used, he didn’t lecture. He just sat in silence, nodding once.

Later that night, he passed your room and noticed something had changed. The necklace you usually hid was resting outside your sketchbook now, open, vulnerable, with that painted face inside.

Lucifer didn’t ask questions. But his next gift to you was a new leather-bound sketchbook. It came with a note: "May your art always have a place, even when your heart aches."

MAMMON

He found the locket by accident, he was not snooping, no matter what you said later. He just happened to trip and land on your desk. And, well, the sketchbook was already open...

“Oi—who’s this?” he muttered aloud, flipping pages. Dozens of drawings. All the same person. At first he thought it was some anime actor. Then he realized how careful the strokes were. How every line was drawn like you were trying to remember.

The locket confirmed it.

You came in moments later. His eyes were wide, but he said nothing. Not at first. Then, quietly: “Ya still love ‘em, huh?”

You nodded. And Mammon’s heart cracked just a bit, not from jealousy, but something softer. He reached over and closed the sketchbook, placing the locket on top. “…They were lucky, y’know? Bein’ loved by someone like you.”

From that day on, he never said another word about the drawings. But he started carrying a little pack of your favorite paints whenever you two went anywhere. “Just in case,” he’d say. "Never know when inspiration hits."

LEVIATHAN

Levi caught a glimpse during a stream.

You were sitting behind him, doodling absentmindedly as he played. The moment he died in-game, he turned to whine, and saw what you were drawing.

Not a demon. Not a character. Just a soft, wistful face. “Who’s that?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

You flinched.

The silence stretched long. Then you said it, quietly, like it still hurt. “Someone I used to love. They're… gone.”

Levi didn’t know what to say. Grief wasn’t something he could button-mash through. So he didn’t say much. He just scooted a little closer, handed you one of his fancy markers, and said:

“C-Color it in. I mean, if you want. I’ll shut up.”

After that, he started coding you a little visual archive, something private, just for your artwork. “For the memories,” he called it. And maybe… a way to keep them with you, without it hurting quite so much.

SATAN

Satan had always been curious. Observant. Analytical. So it wasn’t surprising he picked up on the way your fingers lingered over certain pages in your sketchbooks, the ones you never let anyone else flip through.

He waited. Patiently. Until the day he found you painting in the library, tucked between stacks of poetry books. You were quiet, focused. The figure on the canvas was serene. Familiar to you. A stranger to him.

He didn’t ask who it was. Not yet. Instead, he sat beside you, watching the way your hands moved, carefully, as if painting someone you were terrified of forgetting.

Later, over tea, you told him the truth. About the person you'd lost. The way they used to pose for your drawings. The way they smiled. How the grief still snuck up on you when you were least expecting it.

Satan didn’t offer hollow comfort. He simply listened.

And later, when you returned to your room, you found a rare poetry book sitting on your desk. Inside was a pressed flower and a bookmark labeled: "For your muse. They would’ve loved this one."

ASMODEUS

Asmo had noticed long before anyone else. How your paintings shifted tone when you worked alone. The way your eyes softened when you looked at certain portraits.

He thought maybe it was an old celebrity crush at first. Then, one evening, while you were painting in your room with music playing, you didn’t hear him come in. He saw the locket open beside your brushes. And he saw the tear that dropped onto your canvas.

His heart broke for you.

Later, after you told him everything, Asmo didn’t pry. He didn’t tease. He just pulled you into his arms and said, “No wonder your art is so beautiful… you painted it with love.”

He offered to help you create a shrine, something elegant and peaceful where your art could rest. A gallery of love, he called it. He even framed one of your favorite pieces himself.

And when you cried, he held you. “You don’t have to stop loving them,” he whispered. “There’s room in your heart for the past and the present. I promise.”

BEELZEBUB

Beel found one of the paintings by accident, he was helping you move canvases so you could make room for a new easel. One slipped from his arms, and he caught it before it could hit the floor.

The person in the painting looked peaceful. Familiar. Beel had seen that face before, in the way your eyes lost focus when you stared out the window too long. In the quiet sighs when no one else was looking.

He looked at you, and you nodded before he could even ask. “I miss them,” you said.

Beel didn’t say anything. He just sat beside you and offered half of his pastry. You took it. And for a while, that was enough.

Later, he asked if he could carry one of your drawings with him. “So they’re with me too,” he said. “They were someone you loved. That makes them important to me.”

BELPHEGOR

Belphie noticed when you were painting late into the night. Again. He was supposed to be napping, but your light had stayed on too long. When he finally opened one eye, he saw the figure on your canvas.

“You’ve drawn them before,” he said sleepily. “Do you dream about them too?” You flinched, but nodded.

You told him everything. Belphie didn’t say much. Just rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “…It sucks, doesn’t it?” he mumbled. “Loving someone who’s not here.” You didn’t respond. But he knew you understood.

After that, he’d nap in your art room sometimes. Not to bother you, just to be there. Quiet, grounding. And once, you found him asleep with your sketchbook in his hands, cradled to his chest like something precious.

He never said it out loud. But from then on, he started painting stars with you. Not your muse, but you. You in the sky, you in dreams.

As if to say: “You’re still here. So I will be too.”

[the-lazyyy-artist]

i saw you in a dream a two-part Karasu Tabito x Filipina!reader story part two

Synopsis: The dreams of a distant war led you to believe that he could exist now. Maybe he did.

Word Count: 2.3K

Content Warning: Discussions of history (especially with how Japan teaches it), reincarnation au, reoccurring dreams, fluff, a little ooc (sighs again i know), mentions of Karasu's childhood experiences (lmao huhu)

Author's Note: Now, I know that the discussions of Japan's way of teaching their people about the history of WW II are quite different from how the rest of the world tells it and how it's still controversial, I dabbled lightly around this sensitive topic just to give an insight of how the reader and the other characters dealt with it. I just wanna give you a heads-up on that. If you have any insights about it, please let's discuss it together through replies, reblogs, dms, or asks. I want everyone who reads this part to have an open mind and be willing to give out their points in terms of writing and history. Thank you so much for reading the first part.

Read part one here!

@mininji @wannabepoeticischiya @x3nafix ✨

You were 8 years old.

The dream was always blurry like a camera lens that needed some wiping. The voices sounded underwater; only its tone was familiar to you. The song from the record player was oddly clear to you, but you never figured out what the song was. You can feel the grief in it... because, in the dream, you were the woman left behind by... what was his name again?

At a young age, you'd always read the story of the Japanese Occupation in the Philippines in your History Book almost every week, memorizing the events. However, to your knowledge, you know that there's something more than just the important date of when the Bataan Death March started and where the destination was or what McArthur said when he fled the Philippines for safety. 

You asked your teacher to tell you more when the class reached the lesson, being the only one awake and active in such a boring class. She was more than willing to tell you more after classes for a one-on-one session, further increasing your excitement. She warned you as you sat comfortably beside her desk that the deeper event of the colonization wasn't for children, to which you only responded, "I'm a big girl, teacher! I'm sure I can handle it." 

You did not.

Because who even knew that there were abuses against women, forcing them to bring men comfort? Who even knew that the Philippines suffered the most because of the battles between Japan and America? Who knew the country was almost erased from the map because of the war? Who knew that it was a bloody part of the country's history?

You struggled to sleep that night, and the dream didn't help you much.

By age 12, your parents took you to Japan as they worked there. It was better for everyone to be together; they told you to comfort you as you cried and cried not to let you leave your grandparents' house. They promised a complete family if you just go with them this time. The plane ride in a foreign country, the country that did so much damage to your homeland, made you feel nauseous. You didn't want to be with these people, you thought, as you sat in your seat, unable to understand anyone in class. It was a sad sight. You were thankful that your dad was patient enough to teach you basic phrases and Hiragana. "You'll get better when you make friends. That way, you can talk and learn from them," he told you one night after your nightly tutoring session.

Easier said than done. Until someone did approach you.

He was nice, at least. He didn't care much that you were different and quiet. He sat beside you one day and said, "Otoya." You replied with your last name, and he nodded. Then he started to talk. You tried to understand what he said, and he was patient enough to let you process what he said before saying more. He was so chill around you that you brought him home to introduce him to your parents, saying, "Ma, Pa, Otoya," then turning to Otoya, saying, "Otoya, Ma, Pa."

It was a weird sight that your parents talked to him more than you did to him, your parents translating what they just said in your native tongue. Slowly, he became a frequent visitor in your home, being around whenever your father gave you your daily language lessons. When you started to get the hang of the language, you finally had a proper conversation with him without writing your questions and responses on paper. There would be times that Otoya would correct you, and you'd roll your eyes at him at which he'd just shrug.

You told him about the dream, how it's connected to history, and how your country suffered. You and Otoya had a silent argument about what version of history was right, almost causing both of you to almost break off your friendship.

You decided to say sorry and to just drop the history thing. But Otoya was still intrigued by your dream.

"Might be reincarnation," he said as you two were taking a break from studying, lying on the hardwood floor of your living room. His silvery hair shone from the sunlight streaming through the window. You sighed and started to fidget on the hem of your shirt. "That would be weird. Why would I be a reincarnation of a sad lady?" you asked quietly. Otoya turned to look at you, his slanted eyes looking bored yet interested. "Maybe you'd grow into one," he teased, his tone unchanging. He always spoke nonchalantly, but you always picked up the intention of his words through the little quirks of his voice. You grabbed your notebook and slapped his head with it, earning a little "ow" from him. "And you'd grow up into a miserable old man who will never get a girlfriend."

Otoya laughed softly and shook his head. "You're wrong. I'm already on my sixth girlfriend this year," he said, his laughter fizzled into a small smile on his lips. "Eugh, we're in our second year of middle school and you had 6 girlfriends already? Gross." 

"If you aren't so hung up with your dreamscape husband, maybe you'd enjoy dating too," he replied, sitting up. The ends of his silver hair dropped on his forehead, then he fixed the green streak in front. "Are you really gonna grow your hair out?" you asked, ignoring his comment from earlier. Otoya nodded and messed his hair up a little. "I read somewhere that girls are into guys with longer hair. Might wanna try that out."

You let out another gagging noise before you sat back up. "Enough with the dating talk. You disgust me."

You noticed that the dreams were becoming clearer yearly, revealing more events. The conversations were a little audible, the faces of your dreamscape siblings were no longer a blur, and the song... you were finally able to figure out the tune of the song. The moment you woke up one day, you quickly hummed the song through your phone's voice recorder, hoping one day you'd find the title. 

By the time you reach the age of 17, you realize you've been having the dream more frequently than before, sometimes five times every couple of months. By now, you know how deep the man's voice was, comforting and warm despite the situation. He was caring, he was kind. You wondered if Otoya's guess years ago of this being a reincarnation was true because now, you only wanted to find someone like the man in your dreams. How much of a coincidence would it be when you find the same person as him?

Five years have passed, and you have slowly forgotten about the dream. Maybe it was just your busy life that made you forget how you had it for the past year. Now, it's just an afterthought, a memory of how you experienced a love story every time you closed your eyes at night. 

The classroom door opened, revealing Otoya and the security guard following behind him. "Eita! It's class hours, what are you doing here?" You asked, pushing him out of the room. The kids inside the room gasped and giggled, hushed conversations between them. "You're attracting too much attention now," you scolded him silently. Otoya shrugged and replied, "Come with me this weekend." Typical Otoya, not acknowledging the commotion he's causing. Now kids are lurking by the door, looking at the star footballer and wondering what he's doing with their beloved English teacher. You smiled at them and asked them to get inside, your sweet voice filling the hallways. The kids giggled and hid behind the door. "Eita," you said, returning your focus to your childhood friend, "you could've texted me that you're back in town."

"You could've been busy, and this is easier. I've invited some soccer friends to visit and take them around the city. Plus, they don't believe I have a best friend, so come with me," Otoya replied, his voice a little sing-song tune, but when he sounds like that, he's annoyed. You scoffed, reaching out to tug his green-streaked hair gently. "Alright, I'll accompany you and your friends. Just text me the details so I can clear my schedule, but only on the weekend. Okay?" 

As soon as Otoya nodded, you started to push him out of the hallway. "Now you have to leave. The kids might not be able to stop themselves from seeing more of you." Otoya nodded and waved at the kids peeking through the door, watching him leave. The moment you turned to tell the kids to get back inside, they started to bombard you with questions about your relationship with Otoya and how you knew him. You sighed, knowing that the lessons would be put aside for this.

The moment Karasu heard Otoya mention your name in the locker room after their last match, he knew.

The dreams, he knew this is what it meant. He knew that he was going to meet you one day. "Who?" he asked.

"Oh, interested?" Otoya replied, "Too bad 'cause she's in love with someone else."

He must be interesting, Karasu thought, but meeting you might change everything. Maybe. Chigiri chimed in, saying he doesn't believe that Otoya has a best friend when all he talks about are girls and how to pick them up. "How about we visit each other's hometowns while off-season?" Otoya suggested, throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder, and waiting for Karasu and Chigiri to finish up. Chigiri shrugged, saying he was okay with it. Karasu agreed too, saying it would be interesting to look around.

Your name has been on his mind for years, it's crazy. He has never told anyone about his dreams, how he sees himself as a soldier in high ranks, marrying a girl in a country he has studied so much about, learning as much as he could, even the parts he cannot accept at first but kept his mind open for the possibility that it might be true. It was crazy enough that people might start making fun of him for it, so he kept it to himself, kept it in his heart, and swore to find you, even if the possibility of meeting you were low. He believed that in his ordinary life, this dream made it extraordinary.

The dreams started when he was 8. Every night, it’s always so clear. Karasu could see the face of the lady, the way she smiled, the way she cried when he left, the way she looked when he danced with her. The sad lady, he once called her, became his favorite dream. Maybe that's why he rejected Marisa. He was too in love with her. 

It was sad when he dreamt of the lady less and less as he aged. He could remember her name, her face, and her voice. Karasu knew that this might have meant something.

He read about reincarnation in other religions and how it works. He read about it in fairytales and watched it in romance movies his sister loved to watch. Karasu knew he could be reaching, but if he kept dreaming of a certain woman, this might be it.

Now it seemed fate was working overtime as he and Chigiri waited for Otoya to pick them up at the station. It was a lovely day, too. The breeze was gentle and cool, and the sky was as blue as ever. 

He knew this would be the day he’d meet the sad lady.

"Sup," Otoya greeted as he arrived, walking towards the two. "Where's your best friend?" Chigiri asked, looking around, "You said your 'best friend' would be here."

"She will be here. She has some school things to do," Otoya responded.

"Student?" Chigiri asked.

"Nah, teacher."

The day went on as Otoya took Karasu and Chigiri to local spots to avoid a surge of tourists that day. Otoya was good at playing tour guide for the two, taking pictures of each other, noting places with great deals, and buying souvenirs for their families. It was not long before Otoya took Chigiri and Karasu to Sakae District, awaiting your arrival.

And Karasu knew you before you even spoke.

God, you looked exactly like how you did in his dream. The kind eyes, a smile that could take every worry away, and your hair, though longer, was the same. But you weren’t as sad as you were in his dreams. "Is that her?" Karasu asked, his eyes glued on you as you walked towards them. "Yep."

"Hi, guys! I'm sorry I joined you so late! Had to grade the kids' essay papers," you said, your cheerful voice somehow lifting their exhaustion. Otoya threw his arm over your shoulder, pulling you to him. "It's alright. We had fun without you anyway."

"Rude," you scoffed, nudging his rib with your elbow. "Are you gonna introduce me to your soccer friends, Eita?"

"Ah, right. Karasu, Chigiri, Y/n. Y/n, Karasu, Chigiri."

Your mind somehow sparked at the name. Karasu. Where have you heard that name again? 

His eyes met yours, pretty blues that reminded you of something distant. A memory? His smirk reminded you so much of someone you met before. He was familiar yet a stranger, someone you want to know more and get close to. What was this feeling?

You held out your hand for Chigiri, which he was happy to shake, and turned to Karasu who held your hand firmly, and for a split-second...

You were taken back to the conversations in the dream about the war and the soldier telling you he loved you, how he told you he wanted you as his wife, and how his name was...

"Tabito?"

Karasu smiled at you as he stepped closer, meeting your gaze once more.

"So, it really is you, Y/n. I've been waiting to meet you for years."

[nuginugi]

first kiss... ( itoshi rin x female reader )

(beware of bad grammar!!)

♡ fluff ;3

"Rin," you say his name. Your voice, sweet as honey.

You and Rin just dated few weeks ago, but never kissed. Come to think of it, you were just not ready (at that time,) but now, you were born ready! Rin understands. He's patient, and prefers to take the relationship at a slow pace.

He turned his head from his phone, and his attention was on you. "Huh?" He murmurs, his lips was in a thin line, yet, his teal-colored eyes were glimmering just by looking at you and his eyelashes just made him more attractive. Unlike his deadpan stare that he usually has.

You let out a long, deep inhale, and exhale. "...I want to tell you something." You said, scooting more closer beside him, practically your arms touching by the closeness of the two of you. Rin responds with a raise on a brow, leaving him confused and curious.

You hum, and looked at him with your soft and cute smile. He always loved that cute smile of yours. You cleared your throat, then spoke, "Do you remember what I said during our first date?" You ask, crossing your arms. Rin stayed silent for a while, until he answered. "Yeah, I did. Why?" He mutters, looking down at you. Only you would reply with a chuckle, "well... Um, I wanna do it. I want you to be my first kiss."

Rin's heart flutters, sending an overload explosion inside his stomach, but his expression really never showed it. He sighs, and looked away. "...What..." He says in a quiet tone, but you could hear it. You couldn't help but smile, "I said, I want you to be my first kiss... I've been waiting for weeks, you know?" You mumble, and his cheeks turned beet red. Rin puts away his phone, and tried to look at you, but always had to avert your gaze. "...Sure." he whispers, leaning closer to you.

Wow, it was quite straightforward of him, and you loved it. Then, you let out a small laugh, "...I don't really know how to kiss, but, can you teach me?" You ask him, as you leaned closer to him.

Rin clicked his tongue, giving you his poker face. "Okay, I'll teach you." He whispers.

With a final breath, Rin cups both of your cheeks, as he held you in place. "We'll just have to... lean closer like this, and..." He instructs, then without further ado, Rin slowly plants a soft kiss on your lips, sending butterflies inside your stomach, and the shock of adrenaline hit you. His lips... Was so soft. It was so sweet... He kissed you dearly, but decided to kiss you more longer. His head tilted, giving him more access to press his lips more on yours. You loved it. You felt the love just from this kiss. You loved everything about the kiss, just like you love him.

Rin slowly pulled away, looking at you with worry. "Sorry, did I go too far-"

"-You didn't... It felt... good." You cut him off, pressing your forehead on his. And it made Rin crack a smile. "...Okay, that's good." He chuckles softly, before holding your hand, rubbing your knuckles.

"I didn't know you were such a good kisser. You sure this is your first kiss?" You teasingly said, wiggling your eyebrows. Rin shook his head, and hummed. "Nah, I was just... practicing. I don't want to leave a bad impression on you." He mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

You can feel his warmth, and his breath hitting on your skin. You were grateful to have him as your boyfriend, and him, as your first kiss.

"Thank you, Rin."

"For what?"

"For kissing me the first time."

"W...What about it?"

"I'm happy that I was the first girl you've kissed. I feel so special."

"Eh, don't mention it."

"..."

"I love you."

( when I was writing this, I was listening to cigarettes after sex, and it made me imagine about this scenario :× i really love the band so much that I couldn't stop thinking scenarios like these, huhu )

[faeriichaii]

Hello ! How are you? Hope you're having a lovely day<3 this is a weird request so feel free to ignore haha! What about a Legolas x reader where the story is based on the song "Lily" (by alan walker). It just randomly came in my mind and thought it would be cool 🤭🤭 thank you!

Lily ~ Legolas x Fem!Reader

A/N: I am alright, wbu?? Thank you so much for requesting!! I had so much fun with the song and I really hope you like the story! I actually almost posted it before adding a bit more Legolas huhu cause like I barely had him in the story even though it is a story for him?? Kinda?? But I think now he really is part of this story and not just the reader hihi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: fluff, lil angst, mention of death ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 4.3k ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes (thank you <33) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Meleth Nin ~ My Love ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Le melin ~ I love You ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Hiril vuin ~ My Lady ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Aranel ~ Princess ࿐ྂ

Summary: Being a princess with a gruesome father as a king makes you only wish to run away. So you do and run directly into the arms of an ethereal prince

The sound of your feet hitting the stone path outside of the castle walls filled your ears, as you quickly turned around the corner. Your hands were tightly holding onto your dress, making sure that the fabric is far away from your running feet. “The princess went that way!” A guard shouted, following into your direction. You knew they were hot on your tail, they always were. This wasn’t the first time you attempted to run away from a kingdom you have learned to despise. The king, your father, was a ruthless man with no sympathy left for his children. Especially after the passing of your mother. Oh, your mother was the loveliest woman known to Middle Earth. Her heart was made out of gold and every single person that crossed her path was left astonished at the pure kindness she gave away. She was a Queen, who ruled with the goodness of her soul, the complete opposite of your father nowadays. As the Queen still wandered the halls, your father was like her. His radiant smile accompanied his heartfelt actions he shared not only with his family, but also with the whole kingdom.

He was a king that knew how to properly care for his citizens. That was until the Queen fell ill. The sickness quickly taking over her body and making her bedridden. Only her family was able to visit her. You remember sitting by her side, holding onto her hand with your much smaller one. You were still a little girl. Your older brother sat on the opposite side of you, grasping her other hand tightly. “Mother, when will you play with me again?” You innocently asked, a smile gracing your lips. She let go of your hand and put it on your cheek. You leaned into her slightly cold touch. “My dear (Y/N), I will play with you very soon. Do not fret about it my child. Maybe your brother is willing to play with you for the time being?” She tilted her head to the side, as she looked at your brother, awaiting an answer. “Of course, mother, what would you like to play (Y/N)?” His eyes were a little glossy, but you of course didn’t notice. “Let’s play tea party!” You enthusiastically jumped off of the bed and took your brothers hand in yours, pulling him out of the chambers.

Weeks passed and your mothers condition worsened with each day. “Father, will mother ever be all right again?” You once questioned him, after finding him in the kitchen. A bottle of wine in his hands. His eyes were brimmed red and tear streaks were staining his cheeks. He didn’t even look at you, as you slowly began to approach him. But before you get the chance to talk with him again, a guard rushed into the room. He was breathing heavily, almost as if he rushed all the way here in search of the king. “Your highness, the Queen.” The king set the bottle onto the table at once and approached the guard with in quick few strides. You followed behind, almost running to catch up with the two. Approaching the door to his chambers, he almost threw it out of its hinges, as he kneeled at the side of the bed. Grasping onto the Queens pale hand. “My love, are you alright?” He tentatively asked her, his thumb rubbing loving circles onto her skin. Her head was resting on a pillow as she looked at him. Her eyes were glistening over as she slowly began to speak. “My king, I am sorry to depart so soon from you.” A pause settled in, followed by a coughing fit. Your father quickly grabbed a glass of water that set at the bedside table and handed it to her.

After taking a few sips, she continued. “Please take care of our wonderful children. They deserve to feel loved and experience the warmth we hold for them.” Tears were flowing down the kings’ cheeks. His free hand was clasped over his mouth, in order to stifle the sobs that escaped him. You have never seen your father in so much pain. Carefully approaching the both of them, your mother noticed you first. “My dear (Y/N) sit down.” She gently pet the spot on the bed, right beside her thigh. Lifting your tiny body onto the bed, you took your spot beside your mother. Opening her arms for you, you immediately threw yourself into her embrace. Her fingers gently stroked through your hair, as she hummed a soft tune. “Don’t be afraid of the big wide world my child. I will always be with you, either in your heart or the stars.” Tears were streaming down your face as your heart began to ache. “Mama, I don’t want you to leave.” You sobbed out, holding onto her. “Shh I know my child, but it will at some point be everyone’s turn to return to the stars. Mine might have come too soon but I will not be completely gone. Like I said I will be always right here.” She gently pointed at your chest, where your heart was beating away. You buried your head deeper into her, listening to her slowing heartbeat. The pain in your chest tightened, as you felt someone try to rip you away from your mother. “No, no!” You struggled against your brothers’ grip, as he carried you out of the room, where your mother slowly began to close her eyes. The las thing you saw were the white lilies, sitting on her bedside table.

“Got you!” A guard harshly grabbed your arm, as you tried to round another corner. “Let go of me.” You tried to push him away, however his grip was stronger. Other guards followed soon suit and escorted you back into the castle. A huff left your lips, as they shoved you back into your room. “The king will attend to you and your poor escape plan tomorrow morning after breakfast.” The guard closed the door behind you, a soft click indicating that he also locked it once more. Groaning angrily, you threw yourself onto your bed. You let out a frustrated scream, that was muffled by your pillow. After letting a bit of your anger loose on your plush bed, you turned to your bedside table and took out the paper you had stored neatly away. Walking towards your desk, you used your quill and drew another line next to the other eleven.

Twelve times you had tried to escape. Twelve times you successfully were brought back into this wretched room with your awful father and your oh so loving brother. A knock filled the silence of your room, as you heard a click and how the door opened. Footsteps approached you, before angrily turning you around. “Have you lost your mind?” Your brother angrily asks you, shaking you by your shoulders. “This is what, the tenth time you tried to escape? Are you insane?” “Actually, it was the twelfth time.” You muttered. He raised an eyebrow at you, before letting you go. “I know you do not agree with fathers’ way of ruling the kingdom and how he married you off to another, but risking your life to get away from a perfect one? That is just utterly stupid.” “Perfect? My perfect life? I think you are the stupid one. Father is cold hearted and does not care for anybody but himself. He sold me off to a man thrice my age! Have you seen the way he looked at me? He is like a sleezy little weasel!”

Your hands were thrown around, to visualize your point of how gruesome the man was. “I know (Y/N), but this is what he wants and it is the only safe way to get you out of his grasp and out of this fallen kingdom.” His eyebrows scrunched up in worry. You knew he cared for you. You knew he only meant well as he told you in advance about this marriage. But this is not the live you wish for yourself, neither for anyone else. A sigh left your lips as you looked at your brother Alaric. “I know, but at this point I don’t even know what is worse. Being married off or living in a kingdom with a man who burns every house down.” Alaric gently smiled at you. “(Y/N) please just promise me to stop running away. Mother wouldn’t want that.” “Mother wouldn’t want me to be married to a pig either.” He sadly sighed, before letting go of you and walking towards the door. “Catch some sleep my dear sister. Father will probably rip you to pieces tomorrow.” And with that, he closed the door behind you.

The sunny rays of the morning lit the dining table up, making it almost look idyllic. Wouldn’t it be for the awful scorn that your father wore day and night on his face. It was quite and you almost didn’t even dare to breath. Suddenly the king threw his utensils on the table and looked at you from a distance, before standing up. “You awful child! Are you trying to ruin this kingdoms reputation by running away? I am doing you a favour by marrying you to a noble man! And you just humiliate me with your stupid little actions.” You stayed quiet, gaze focused on your plate. “You will be sent away in a week. The marriage is going to happen as soon as possible.” “What?! You can’t do that!” You stood up from your place, rage filling your body, mixed in with the shock of the news. “Father, I have to agree with her. It wouldn’t be the right course of-“ “Silence!” The kings booming voice bounced off of the stone walls. Some guards even flinched at the sudden noise. “I don’t care what is right and wrong. She will be sent away. Her actions lead to this misery and now she has to pay for it somehow.” Your hands tightly held onto the edge of the table. Taking deep breaths, you tried to calm yourself down. “I apologize my king, but this is absolutely inappropriate and totally ridicules.” The words slipped out of your mouth like pure venom. He raised an eyebrow at your statement, while Alaric looked between you and your father. “You are such a stupid child. You have the world at your feet and you are still unhappy. So ungrateful.” “Ungrateful? Ungrateful?? You are the worst man to walk this earth, right beside this nasty man you married me off to. You are out here ruling a kingdom and kicking it with your feet, while spitting onto the poor citizens who try to get by somehow. They barely have any money and you hoard it like the dragon Smaug once did to Erebor!” You seethed, throwing your napkin onto your plate. “I am done eating your disgusting food and being in your unbelievable terrible presence.” Walking towards the doors, the guards opened the doors for you, as you quickly exited them and marched over to your chambers.

Night quickly approached and you found yourself laying on your bed, hands folded over your stomach. You stared at your ceiling, thinking about how things would have been different if your mother was still around. Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh at the painful memory of her departure. Turning to your side, you cuddled into your blanket.

You were running once more, but this time you were deep inside a forest. Your lungs were burning as you quickly duck behind a tree, in order to lose the guards running after you. The quietness was eery, as the sun was replaced by the moon. It was dark and the only light source you had was up in the sky. You came out from your hiding spot and carefully walked around the forest. A shiver went down your spine at the distant sounds of grunts and howls. Your eyes were wide, panic flooding your system, as you quickly looked around you. A twig snapped and you immediately turned into that direction. “Is there someone out there?” You asked tentatively, praying that it is not a beast which is about to pounce on you.

Instead, a beautiful elf walked out behind a tree. His white hair was partly braided. He had a bow in his hand and the matching arrows were strung on his back. “Don’t you worry.” The elf slowly began to approach you. He put his bow back with his arrows, to signify you, that he wasn’t going to hurt you. “Who are you?” You ask him, still trying to keep somewhat of a distance between you. “My name is Legolas, what is yours?” Telling him your name you mustered him from head to toe. “What are you doing out here?” “I could ask you the same Hiril vuin.” You tilted your head at the unfamiliar word. Legolas smiled at you gently, taking a seat at a fallen tree. “It means ‘My Lady’.” You sat down beside him. “Where are you from?” Curiosity filled you, as you looked at him. “I am from Mirkwood. It is quiet the journey from here.” “Really? Is there a chance, that I could go with you?” Your eyes were filled with hope. This could be your chance to get far away from your father. “Well, you can surely travel with me, but I doubt that my father will allow you to stay forever.” “Your father?” “The king of Mirkwood.” Legolas said, standing up and holding a hand out to you. “I will only share my story, if you are willing to share yours.” A soft smile graced your lips as you stood up, not taking his hand. “Well, there is not much to know about me my prince.” You said as the both of you walked deeper into the forest, pink lilies lining your way.

“I think you must hold quite a deep story, if you, as a princess, run away from your home.” The prince looked around the dark woods, making sure that no thread would approach you. “I was born to the most heartwarming king and queen. However, my mother died while I was only 4. I barely even remember her, but she left a great impact on the king. He turned cold-hearted and pushed me and my older brother Alaric away.” A frown graced your face, as you explained the story of your family to Legolas. He nodded, his gaze focused on you. “I just wanted to be free after all the hardship I had to witness and endure under his rule. I know that my brother will steer the kingdom into the right direction once more, but until then I wish to hide away.” You honestly explained. “Is this why you want to travel to Mirkwood?” You nodded at his question. “It is not the only reason, but definitely the one that impacts this decision the most.” The both of you walked through the forest, until the sun slowly started to ascend into the sky. Both of you shared different stories, about your journeys or the tragedies that formed you to be the people you are nowadays. “I am so sorry for your loss.” You said to Legolas, as he opened up to you about his mother. “It is alright. At some point the pain fades away. A sad smile graced his lips. Spotting a yellow lily, you point at the beautiful flower.

“Do you know the significance of the lilies?” He shook his head after pondering about your question for a while. A smile graced your lips, as you gently let your fingers glide over the petals. “The yellow lily symbolizes thankfulness, as well as joy. I think it also gives off the energy that one should push through hard times. It also gives me the feeling of reassurance. That I will be fine eventually.” Legolas smiled at your explanation and held out his hand to you. “Does this make you my yellow lily?” A blush dusted your cheeks as you looked up to him. The sun was hitting him gently, making him look like an ethereal angel. Your lips parted in awe. “And you must be my pink lily.” You said, before taking his hand. Coldness seeped through you, as you woke up with a jolt. Looking around you, you noticed that you were still laying in your room, hidden deep inside the castle. You stared at your hand that just brushed Legolas’ one. Shaking off the feeling of missing something, you stood up and prepared for the day.

The day passed by in a quick frenzy. Spending most of your time with your brother Alaric, as he walked you through the preparations of your upcoming wedding. He also praised you for cooperating so well for the time-being. Of course, you sometimes let one or two cruel comments slip, but nothing that did any significant damage. You also did not argue with your father this time during dinner. Both of you tolerating the other one’s existence. As soon as you prepared yourself for bed, you jumped under the covers and slipped into dreamland, praying to see the prince once more. It was the same scenario. You running through the woods and bumping into Legolas. “Hello again Aranel.” A bright smile graced your lips, as you approached him. “So, you actually remember me?” You asked him, as happiness washed over you. He remembered you. The prince who, strangely enough, did not leave your mind the entire day, remembered you. A chuckle left his lips. “Of course I remember you (Y/N). How could I not? A beautiful princess, running through the woods all alone. It is not something I see every day.” Blushing slightly at the compliment, you began to follow him through the forest. “Well, I wasn’t so sure. This is after all a dream. Or is it not?” Legolas pondered in thought for a moment, eyes focused on the small path the two of you were walking on. “It is indeed quite odd, but I think this is not just a dream.” His gaze wandered to you. “Maybe this is some kind of sign? Do you perhaps think about running away from your kingdom?” “Yes, all the time. I even tried to do it a few times, however I have always been caught.” You pout at the thought of you constantly being dragged back into your room.

“I think in that case it might really be a sign. Maybe you are meant to run away.” Your eyebrows scrunched up in thought as you pondered about the elven princes’ words. “Even if it is a sign, how would I get past the guards? The farthest I went is out of the castle’s front doors. I would never make it to the woods.” Your hope was squashed at the realization of your failing plans. “I’ve tried twelve times. I would know if there was any chance left for me to flee.” Legolas took his place beside you on the log. “Maybe you should approach the matter differently now. Change up how you escape or change up when to escape.” Your eyes looked up at him. “But my father makes sure I never leave the castle by day and locks me up by night. Plus, I only have a few days left until I will be sent away.” Legolas tilted his head, urging you to continue your story. “I am supposed to marry another man.” Fisting the dress in your hands, you let out an angry huff. “You still have a few days left, try to form a plan and look at the schedules of the guards. There has to be a loophole. And as soon as you find one, we will reunite in this forest.” His eyes were glistening like stars under the moonlight. You stare back at him, as you began to lean towards him. “I will return to you, my prince.” You say, before laying your hand on his cheek.

Days and nights passed, as you intently looked into the schedules of the guards, as well as several other routines. You knew when they would pass your room and when they put the key in your lock at night. Writing everything down, you created the perfect escape plan in order to run away. The only thing holding you back being your brother. You loved him and he was the only family member you could really count on. You knew that you were going to miss him dearly, but you had to get out of there. Today was the last day and you made sure to spend as much time as possible with Alaric. Even if spending time with him lead to you having to deal with wedding preparations. “You really have changed over the past few days.” He suddenly said, as he ticked off another item on the list. You looked at him confused. “What do you mean?” “Well, you haven’t really argued much with me or father. You didn’t even try to run away or sabotage the wedding.” You nodded gently at his reasoning, guilt creeping up slowly. You knew that Legolas was partially the reason behind why you are so calm and down to earth. The two of you have spent quite a lot of time in the dream realm, constantly sharing stories and laughing together.

Suddenly grabbing you, Alaric tucked you behind a corner. “What are you planning (Y/N)?” Your eyes widened. Did he find out about your plan? “I don’t know what you are talking about.” He raised an eyebrow at your denial, before pulling out an all too familiar envelope. “Care to explain this then?” A shiver went down your spine as all the hope left your body. You bit your lip as you stared at the paper in his hand. “You have a detailed plan on how to escape this kingdom. You even wrote down the schedules of each guard. Have you lost your mind?” You knew he would be angry if he saw that, so you just stared at the floor. Shame filling your body slowly as you listened to him. “Have you lost your mind to not tell me and properly saying goodbye to me?” Huh? Your head whipped up as you registered your brothers’ words. “What?” You dumbfoundedly asked. He opens his arms for an embrace. “Please be careful out there (Y/N). There are creatures hiding in the dark.” A tear slipped down your cheek as you threw yourself onto Alaric. “I will miss you my dear brother.” You whispered, tightly holding onto him. His hands wrapped around you, as his hand gently brushed through your hair. “I will miss you too my dear sister.” After the heartfelt departure, you went down to your mother’s grave. White lilies were in your hand, as you kneeled down in front of the stone. Her name was written in cursive letters. “I wish you could have been here mother. I mean technically you will still follow me on my journey but please, take especially good care of Alaric and father. They both need you more than I do.” You lay the white lilies on the grave, before walking back to your chambers and preparing for your run.

The sun was setting, as you quietly slipped out of your room. Looking around each corner, you made sure that nobody was crossing your path. This was your chance to escape. This was the day you have been waiting for. This was the day you would reunite with Legolas and join him on a wonderful journey. Jumping out of a window, you quickly began to sprint down the road. Your hood was covering your face as you darted through the dark shadows of the castle. The sun was still up, but barely visible at this point. You ran as fast as you could. Your lungs began to burn as you saw the beginning of the woods. The familiar blaring of the trumpets announcing your disappearance to the whole kingdom. But you didn’t care, for you have reached the forest. Pushing away branches and walking over some bushes, you saw Legolas in a distance.

A smile graced his lips as he spotted you. Brightly smiling at him, you quickly rushed towards him and embraced him in a hug. “I can’t believe this is really happening. You really came.” You lovingly look up at the elven prince, as he held you by the waist. “Of course I did Meleth Nin. I promised you that we will meet again.” His hands reached for your own, intertwining your fingers with each other. The touch lets electricity free, as you finally realized that you could touch him. You could touch him. A giggle left your lips, making him tilt his head to the side. “What are you laughing at?” “I just can’t believe that I am finally free. I am finally with you after nights of not being able to touch you. Only seeing you in my dreams. I was scared that you were just part of my imagination, but you are so real.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, gently embracing him. He laughed softly, as he drew circles on your back. As the both of you parted away, he moved his hand to your cheek. “Le melin.” He whispered, before leaning down and gently placing his lips on yours. Your arms tightened around him, as heat travelled to your cheeks. His lips felt like the early morning rays of the sun, gentle and warm. He tasted like spring, refreshing and filled with love. You already craved more of his lips and him as he slowly detached himself from you. Legolas hand however, was still holding onto your own. “I think we should go Meleth Nin. They are after all still searching for you.” You nodded softly, but before you followed him deeper into the woods you took a look back at the kingdom, noticing one lonely white lily laying on the ground. A smile graced your lips as you jogged up to Legolas, took his hand and made your way to your new home. Mirkwood.

[sqgeism]

╭₊˚ ๑︰babysitting sigwinne :)

:★: relationship : wriothesley x g-neutral reader

:★: warnings : none! fluff

:★: a/n : saw a pretty mf and took my chances 🦕 disclaimer : i'll be going with the popular hc that hes nearsighted / blind but if what i write is incorrect or innacurate, please let me know & i'll immediately change what i've written! i'm always welcome to constructive criticism especially in areas im unfamiliar with. i talked with a partially blind friend to help me with this huhu.

You really didn't know what to expect when your boyfriend WRIOTHESLEY tells you that he's coming over.

He could be happy, angry, sad, it's just really hard to tell his mood over paper.

But when you hear that doorbell, you walk over to the door and see him standing there but.. there's a child holding his hand? "Hi!" The little bunny girl waved, smiling brightly however when your eyes shift back to your dearest lover - he seems exhausted, almost the verge of passing out.

"Hello!" You reply with a smile, watching Wriothesley let go of her hand, trudge past you and on his way to your very comfortable couch. "What's your name?" You inquired to the little lady. "I'm Sigwinnie, but I know all about you (name)! Mr. Wriothesley talks about you very fondly."

You couldn't help but feel your heart squeeze at the idea of him talking about you so sweetly, you move away from the door to let Sigwinne in and look at her surroundings - familiarizing herself with the home. "So, do you mind telling me why you're here? Since my boyfriend seems just about dead on my couch."

"I can hear you."

"Great! You can answer."

Picking Sigwinne up into one of your arms, you approach the couch and stand infront of him with your free hand on your hip. "So?"

"Tired."

"I'll kick you out. Explain."

You can hear a defeated groan into the couch cushions. "I have to take care of her, but work came up.. I'm really exhausted but I really didn't want to disturb you like this." He mumbles softly, a hand through his hair while sighing.

Already knowing how much your boyfriend works, you were happy to do this for him and Sigwinne seemed to be a very behaved child at heart. "Alright, rest well." You murmur, bowing down to kiss his forehead softly.

. . . . 💐 . . . .

A few hours pass, Wriothesley is awoken by the sounds of giggling in the distance. His eyes take a moment to adjust, rubbing them softly as he yawns. He looks over to the table to what seems to be a bunch of markers and papers, all depicting what seems to be a happy family.

"Shhh! You're gonna wake him up!"

His head turns to what he can remember to be the general location of the kitchen, hearing hushed giggles followed by the sound of cups clanking.

Of course, it doesn't sound like anything that could cause trouble, but he may aswell check what's happening. Due to the fact he has your home layout memorized, he really has no struggle navigating through the furniture and towards the kitchen.

At first the sight is a blur, what seems to be Sigwinne in your arms reaching up for something in your pantry until a little 'Oop!-' escapes your lips when you realize you've been caught.

Wriothesley takes a moment to adjust his eyes, taking a few steps closer until your smile comes into clear view. "Good morning!" You giggled, the girl in your arms waving enthusiastically as a greeting.

Maybe he's yet to properly process anything, but the sight of you and Sigwinne getting along makes his heart melt. It's adorable to see the light peeking from the windows into the scenery of the kitchen and almost illuminating you in his vision.

"Ah- well- um.. Good morning." He murmurs, turning his head away as he feels that oh so familiar warmth on his cheeks. "Are you blushing???"

To shift the topic, "What were both of you doing?" He asks, remembering the giggles and whispering he had heard. "Oh! We wanted to make you tea."

He then feels a tug on his sleeve, looking down at the Sigwinne who had the sweetest smile on her face. "Tea!"

He hovers his hand over the cup and chuckles.

"I prefer my tea hot, this is ice cold. This is one of your drinks, isn't it?"

"Huuuh?! Not fair! How does he always know.." Sigwinne pouted, her ears flopping downwards in defeat.

You ruffle her hair with a smile. "Oh well, we tried."

"You were apart of this?"

"Noooooo..?"

Wriothesley pulled you by the waist and buried his face into your neck, his laughter echoed into your as his breath tickled your neck. "You really are a handful.."

"Are you guys gonna kiss?"

[seris-the-amious]

WELCOME TO THE FLOCK!

<No Smut Reqs and Fics here! Not at the level.. y e t>

// Hello all! Im Seris, a LaDs Fic Writer and Rookie Digital Artist

you've probably seen me in quite a few comments in other people's works-- I finally show myself here to share my very own Love and Deepspace shorts/stories in hopes of practicing my writing until I share my own stories to the world!

<Also bare with the poor cropping of dividers, it's maximized I swear HUHU>

'Orange Kisses' - Fluff

Posted on 3-24-25

"Here's an Example.." - Fluff/Tease

Coming Soon!

'Shudder' - Fluff/Silly

Coming Soon!

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'Vegetables.' - Banter/Silly

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Posted on 4-13-25 | LaDs x Reader

"Dont Blink" - Comfort/Fluff

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"We were always a Losing Game" - A N G S T / HC :D

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{ LaDs AUs }

Love in Multi-Space

Each of the LaDs Men has their own MC!

Main Post | Lore Post

Love and Switched-Space

Coming Soon! ;))

// Excited to interract with yall! Comments and Reblogs most appreciated :3

[mewwccury]

modern porco… hmm…

library hours and coffee

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. fluff, modern au, uni student!porco x reader

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. thankyew anon for the amazing req or inspo or WHATEVER YOU CALL IT i love this MODERN DAY PORCOO (sorry if this wasnt the modern porco u were asking for huhu)

୨୧ — ꒰ featuring. porco galliard

୨୧ — ꒰ prompt. lib study sesh turned something sweeter?

porco galliard wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you expected to see in the quietest corner of the campus library—especially not three times in one week.

but there he was again, slouched over an open textbook, blond hair sticking up like he’d run his hands through it one too many times, pen tapping rhythmically against the desk. he looked like he hated whatever he was studying, but he also looked like he’d fight the textbook in a parking lot if it talked back.

“you’re in my seat,” you said one afternoon, setting your laptop bag down with a raised brow. you weren’t joking, not really, but this had been your spot since freshman year. everyone knew the third table by the east-facing windows was yours.

porco glanced up, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to place you. he leaned back, chewing his gum with a smirk. “didn’t see your name on it.”

“that’s funny,” you said flatly, “i thought my constant presence here every tuesday and thursday was enough of a reservation.”

his brows raised. “bold claim. guess you’ll have to prove it.”

he didn’t move. and for whatever reason—maybe out of spite, or maybe out of curiosity—you sat across from him.

it became a thing after that.

tuesday and thursday afternoons, same table, shared awkward silence and occasional side-eye when one of you dared to eat a snack too loudly.

you learned he was in your comparative politics class. same major. different approaches. he spoke up in lectures, sharp and sarcastic, always challenging the professor like he had something to prove. you kept to yourself, took notes, scored high. he noticed.

“you write too much,” he muttered one day, watching you scribble in your notebook.

“you write too little,” you countered, not looking up.

“yet somehow we both get a's,” he said, smug.

“coincidence,” you replied, though you’d noticed it too.

one day it rained hard. campus emptied early, and yet he showed up. soaked hoodie, dripping hair, but still there. he didn’t say why. neither did you.

you slid him your unused handkerchief. he took it without a word.

“don’t catch a cold,” you muttered.

he glanced at you, a teasing grin plastered on his face. “aw, you worried about me?”

you scoff, “you could drop dead for all i care.”

he howled a laughter, “yeah right. you wouldn't bear that.” to which you rolled your eyes—yet a small smile crept on your face.

you didn’t realize it was a friendship until he started waiting for you outside your last class.

“walk me to the café?” he asked once, pretending it wasn’t weird.

you went. and kept going.

finals week hit, and he looked worse for wear. under-eye bags, hoodie every day, coffee glued to his hand.

“you okay?” you asked.

“peachy,” he grunted, flipping through a dog-eared flashcard set.

you sat beside him and pulled out your own notes. “wanna trade study guides?”

he blinked at you. “…you serious?”

you nodded.

he didn’t say thank you. but his foot bumped yours under the table halfway through.

graduation crept closer. you tried not to think about it. about how this quiet, sarcastic, infuriatingly smart boy had become your favorite part of the week.

he looked up from his coffee one evening and said, “what are you doing after this semester?”

you shrugged. “not sure. probably grad school.”

he nodded, eyes flicking toward yours. “guess we won't run into each other anymore.”

“oh. yeah,” you weakly nod, heart sinking.

a beat of silence passed. then he leaned forward, voice a little softer.

“we don’t have to leave it to chance.”

with a swift movement, a small peck was hastily placed on your cheek. he stood straight quick, his ears a deep shade of red. he muttered something along the words, "don't think much of it", or something like that before walking away, heading to his friends.

you giggle at his antics.

well, at least now you were sure this wasn't the last time you'd run into each other.

im so sorry this took a literal week to make

[spectersgirl]

huhu I love the change reader took care of Harvey instead of the other way around. Can you write where the reader takes care of overworked Harvey please? preferably reader has a different job :D I love fluff domestic fic <3

Loveeee this!!

Overworked

Harvey Specter x Reader

------

You loved the passion your husband had for his job, it's what allowed you to be a full-time artist and still live a more-than-comfortable life, but a few times a year, he went through some incredibly intense periods of work that caused him to be working more than he was home with you. You'd understand and try not to be bothered by it if you couldn't see the way he literally worked himself sick by not caring for himself. He barely ate unless you reminded him, he would hardly sleep more than a couple of hours a night, and you could tell he was taking himself down the same path again.

It was one of the rare nights that Harvey hadn't stayed at the office until 10pm, and since you weren't a lawyer and couldn't actually help him with his case, you were determined to make the evening as relaxing as possible. He sat on the couch, a stack of legal documents that mirrored the skyscrapers he conquered during the day strewn beside him.

"Harvey," you murmured, concern evident in your voice as you took in the weary lines etched into his face, the heavy bags under his eyes that seemed to have made a permanent residence.

He glanced up, the weariness in his eyes softening as they met yours. "Hey," he greeted, a faint smile gracing his lips, though it couldn't hide the exhaustion that weighed him down.

You sat beside him, fingers tracing the tension lines on his shoulders. "You look exhausted, you've barely slept at all in two weeks... Harvey, you're overworking yourself."

He attempted to brush it off with a nonchalant shrug, but the tightness in his muscles betrayed him. "It's just a busy period. Can't help it."

"You can help taking care of yourself," you countered gently. "Let me help."

"I'm fine, baby. I'll be fine, just a few more weeks and this case will be over."

You sighed and sat down next to him, and leaning into his side as he opened his arm for you. You sat like this for a while, debating if you wanted to push the issue or just let him be, but it simply wasn't in your nature to watch him neglect himself.

"Will you let me take care of you tonight? No working, I just want you to relax for a little while. I can run you a nice hot bath and make some dinner," You suggested hopefully.

Harvey looked pensively between you and the stack of files, knowing he still had a lot of work to do but also knowing how drained he was. Finally, he turned to you, a tired smile on his face.

"That sounds perfect. A little break and a night with my pretty girl might be just what I need to push through the rest of this."

You grinned widely, planting a kiss on his cheek before standing to start on dinner and his bath.

A few hours later, Harvey was knocked out, snuggled against you in bed, having eaten his first full meal in days that wasn't eaten over a sink in a rush, and soaked in the chamomile bath salts you'd put in the tub for him.

You lightly massaged his scalp as he slept, happy he finally was getting the rest he desperately needed, and happy that he let you take care of him for once.

[yukkiji]

daylight

after a painful betrayal, she turns to iwaizumi hajime — the quiet constant from her past. in his steady presence, she learns that love was never too much to ask for, just asked of the wrong person. with him, she finally finds something real: her daylight.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader ft. oikawa tooru

genre: fluff, romance, slowburn, hurt to comfort, timeskip!iwaizumi, timeskip!oikawa

warning: mentions of cheating, iwa punches the ex, and some profanity

wc: 8.4k

author's note: happy birthday iwa-chan!! iwa's such a green flag in this fic and tooru also like they're the best boys huhu

you weren’t supposed to come early.

you just wanted to surprise your fiancé — his favorite takeout in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, heart still fluttering with the weight of the promotion you hadn’t stopped dreaming about. all you could think about, all day, was coming home and sharing the news with him. his smile. his arms. the soft sort of joy you’d been chasing for so long.

but the moment the door cracked open, you knew something was wrong.

it was quiet at first — just laughter. not his, not yours.

then it was voices, too close. a whisper. a breathless giggle. the unmistakable sound of skin against skin.

as if your feet had a mind of their own, you felt them moving toward the bedroom. everything else — the takeout bag, the wine, your thoughts — faded into static.

your chest was tight. your pulse louder than your breath. maybe it was denial, maybe it was instinct, but something in you still hoped it wasn’t what it looked like.

the door wasn’t even fully closed. just slightly ajar. just enough.

and what you saw made your stomach drop.

your worst fears were right. worse than you'd imagined.

there he was — your fiancé — sitting up against the headboard, hair messy, shirtless and she was there, too. straddling him. laughing. naked.

the sound you made was barely audible. a quiet, broken thing. your heart felt like it had been split in two before it even had a chance to react.

they didn’t notice you. not at first. or maybe they did. maybe they just didn’t care.

you couldn’t breathe. couldn’t move. the takeout bag finally slipped from your hand, landing softly against the hallway floor.

still, you didn’t say anything.

you just turned and walked away.

you weren’t supposed to be there.

your feet had carried you without thinking — past streetlights, closed storefronts, the quiet hum of evening traffic — until you were standing in front of iwaizumi’s apartment building.

you didn’t remember choosing this place.

maybe your body just knew where safety was.

your phone buzzed softly in your pocket.

iwaizumi: just landed. where are you? iwaizumi: home? iwaizumi: thought i’d stop by. it’s been forever.

you blinked at the screen, heart thudding unevenly.

forever.

it hadn’t been that long, a few months since the last time you saw him, almost two weeks since he left the country for work. but today had made everything feel stretched thin. like time didn’t work the same anymore.

you could still see it, your front door swinging open, the wine bottle still in your hand. the laughter that didn’t belong to you. the mess of skin and betrayal tangled in your sheets.

you hadn’t told anyone. not yet. not even oikawa.

you met iwaizumi through him, years ago — back in high school. your school didn’t even play against theirs that day; oikawa had just wanted to show off. he’d dragged you along to a practice match and introduced you afterward with a smug little grin.

“this is my friend,” he’d said, nudging you forward, “play nice, iwa-chan.”

iwaizumi had given you a look that was mostly exhausted, then offered a short, breathless hey — just off a match, cheeks flushed from the heat of the gym. that was it. simple. no frills.

but something about him stuck.

and through the years, you stayed in touch. texts that turned into calls, video chats squeezed in between time zones. oikawa tried too, even from argentina — pictures of sunsets, long-winded voice notes, the occasional chaotic facetime when he forgot about the time difference.

but it was iwaizumi you heard from the most.

he was steady that way.

and now he was back.

you stared at your phone again.

you: not home you: just needed some air. didn’t mean to worry you. you: welcome back, haji.

you tried to sound normal, like you weren’t unraveling at the seams.

his response came quick.

iwaizumi: where are you? iwaizumi: i’ll come get you.

you hesitated for a second, then typed.

you: outside your place, actually. you: was walking. ended up here without realizing.

maybe it was a lie. maybe it wasn’t.

he didn’t question it.

iwaizumi: stay there. i’m coming down.

you put your phone away, fingers cold from holding it too tight.

you didn’t know what you’d say when he saw you. but for now, you just let the stillness settle.

he was coming.

and somehow, that was enough.

a few minutes later, the glass doors opened and there he was — hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy from the flight.

he blinked at you once. “you walked here?”

you shrugged. “guess i did.”

he frowned, eyes scanning your face. not saying anything about how tired you looked. not asking why you hadn’t told him you were coming. not yet.

“come on,” he said gently. “it’s freezing.”

his apartment was warm — not in temperature, but in feeling. lived-in. familiar. you slipped your shoes off by the door, the silence stretching comfortably between you. he'd always been good at that — not pushing too soon. not pushing at all.

you sat on the edge of his couch while he moved into the kitchen. “wine?” he asked, already pulling the bottle from the cabinet.

you nodded. “yeah. thanks.”

when he handed you the glass, your fingers brushed, just barely.

he didn’t say anything at first. neither did you. the tv flickered with something neither of you were really watching.

until finally, his voice broke through the quiet.

“you took the ring off.”

you didn’t look at him. just turned the stem of the wine glass slowly between your fingers.

“yeah,” you said, voice flat.

his voice stayed low, like he was afraid too much weight would shatter the air between you. “what happened?”

“i walked in on him,” you said. “with someone else.”

you felt more than heard his breath catch. and then — still calm, still controlled — he asked, “in your place?”

you nodded. “in our bed.”

iwaizumi didn’t speak.

he didn’t have to.

he’d known about the engagement. of course he had.

he and oikawa were the first ones you told — back when everything still felt good, felt possible. right after you came back from the date he proposed, you called them.

oikawa picked up from argentina with a dramatic gasp and too many questions, and iwaizumi answered with that quiet tone he always used when he was trying not to wake someone up — half-asleep, still grounding himself in your voice.

he said congratulations. he asked if you were happy. and when you said yes, he didn’t say anything more.

“what did i do wrong?” the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “was i too much? too… i don’t know. boring? or too soft? not soft enough?”

iwaizumi’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“what’s too much to ask?” your voice shook. “to be loved? to be chosen?”

you laughed, bitter and breathless. “i knew his reputation. i knew who he was. i thought… i thought maybe i could change that. not for him. just—i thought if he really loved me, he’d want to be better.”

your voice cracked.

“was that too much to ask?”

for a second, all you could hear was the quiet hum of the apartment around you — the fridge in the kitchen, the faint rush of traffic outside, the way your breath hitched and stuttered trying to keep it together.

then, slowly, iwaizumi reached for the wine glass still in your hand and set it on the table. didn’t say anything. just took it from you gently, like even the weight of that was too much for now.

you felt his palm brush lightly against your shoulder before he moved closer, sitting beside you again. his arm came around you — firm, steady — and that was it. no words. no sudden declarations. just his presence.

your body folded in before your mind caught up. head against his chest, your fists curling lightly into the fabric of his hoodie. he didn’t flinch. didn’t ask you to stop. didn’t try to quiet you when you finally let it go.

he held you through it.

all of it.

and even though he had things he could’ve said — truths that had sat in him quietly for years — he didn’t. not now. not when your chest still trembled with every breath, not when your voice had broken under the weight of everything you'd carried alone.

because iwaizumi knew grief like this. the slow kind. the kind that crawled beneath your ribs and whispered that maybe you were the problem. and he knew that anything he said now — anything he wanted — wasn’t important.

you were.

and so he stayed.

quiet and still. the calm in the middle of the storm. the one person who didn’t ask you to be okay.

you woke to sunlight.

thin and pale, curling through the cracks in unfamiliar blinds. the kind of quiet morning light that asked nothing of you — just existed, soft and still.

the sheets beneath you weren’t yours.

it took a second to piece it together.

the blanket over you was heavier, tucked in with more care than you remembered falling asleep with. the bed was too neat, too cool on the other side. the pillow beside you was untouched.

iwaizumi hadn’t slept here.

you sat up slowly, letting the realization settle in your chest like a stone. your body ached from sleep you hadn’t meant to take. your throat felt dry. your heart, worse.

you padded out into the hallway barefoot, drawn by the quiet hum of the apartment. it smelled like him — warm and clean and grounding. the kind of scent that made you ache in a way you couldn’t name.

and then you saw him.

curled up awkwardly on the couch, arms folded, one foot dangling off the edge like he didn’t really try to get comfortable. the throw blanket barely covered him. his hoodie was twisted at the collar, hair a mess from the pillow.

he must’ve put you in his bed after you fell asleep. didn’t say anything. didn’t wake you. just quietly took the couch.

your chest tightened, but you didn’t say anything. not yet.

you turned, silent, and walked into the kitchen.

you needed something to do with your hands.

the kettle sat where you remembered it. everything was exactly in place, methodical in the way only iwaizumi could be — tea in the left cabinet, mugs above the sink, honey tucked in the corner with a folded note that said “expiration: jan.”

you filled the kettle. turned it on.

by the time he came into the kitchen, you were already holding two mugs, unsure which one to use.

he didn’t say good morning.

just walked over and grabbed the right one — your favorite, the one with the little chipped rim — and handed it to you without a word.

“i didn’t wake you, did i?” you asked softly.

he shook his head, rubbing his neck. “nah. couch just sucks.”

you laughed under your breath — tired and small. “you didn’t have to give up your bed.”

his eyes found yours, steady. “you needed it more.”

you wanted to say something. you didn’t.

he moved around the kitchen like he always did — quiet, efficient — dropping slices of bread in the toaster, pulling fruit from the fridge. the familiarity of it grounded you. reminded you that despite everything breaking open last night, you were still here. still held.

"haji?" you called softly, your voice barely above the hum of the quiet morning.

from the kitchen, where he was drying a plate, iwaizumi looked up. “hmm?”

you didn’t turn to look at him, just stared at the steam curling up from your mug. “can you… like, accompany me later? home?”

a pause, then the sound of a plate gently placed on the rack.

“of course,” he said, voice warm, without hesitation.

you glanced up. “you don’t have work?”

he shook his head, walking over to where you sat curled on the couch. “nah. i’m free the whole week. national team’s on break — mandatory downtime. coaches said we needed to rest before the next round of training.”

you nodded, quiet. something in your chest settled knowing he’d be beside you.

just then, his phone vibrated on the table beside you.

oikawa tooru 💫 calling...

iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, then picked it up. “he’s early.”

he answered with a sigh, already bracing. “what?”

“iwa—where is she?” oikawa’s voice was sharp, urgent, more anxious than usual. “she didn’t reply to anything yesterday. is she with you?”

iwaizumi looked at you, silently checking if it was okay to say.

you gave a small nod.

“she’s here,” he replied. “safe.”

a beat of silence passed.

“can you—can you put her on the phone?” oikawa asked, quieter now.

iwaizumi handed it over.

“tooru?” you said gently, pressing the phone to your ear.

his exhale was shaky, the sound of his worry unfiltered now that he knew you were on the other end. “i knew something was off. i didn’t know what, but i felt it. i barely slept. i just—are you okay?”

your throat tightened, lips trembling slightly. “not really.”

he didn’t say anything right away. didn’t push.

so you told him.

not all of it. just enough. what you walked in on. what shattered under your feet. your voice broke once — maybe twice — but oikawa just listened. no interruptions, no dramatics. just breathing steady on the other side of the world.

until, suddenly:

“i’m booking a flight.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i’m booking a flight back to japan. give me twenty-four hours and i’ll be there just in time to punch that bastard in the face. maybe twice. once for you. once for me.”

despite everything — the ache, the rawness — a sound escaped your throat, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“tooru—”

“don’t try to stop me,” he said dramatically. “this is my civic duty. i owe you at least one dramatic gesture. it’s been too long.”

you closed your eyes, smile trembling. “you don’t have to fly across the world just to throw a punch.”

“fine,” he sighed. “i’ll fly across the world to hug you, and the punch will just be a bonus.”

you swallowed hard. “thank you. for still looking out for me.”

“always,” he said, gentler now. “even from argentina. you’re not alone, okay?”

“i know,” you whispered. “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

you handed the phone back, and iwaizumi ended the call without a word. his thumb brushed across the back of your hand — grounding.

"whenever you're ready," he said softly. "i've got you."

and this time, you let yourself believe it.

the car ride was quiet.

not awkward — not exactly. just… still. the kind of quiet that settled in the chest and pressed gently against your ribs, like your body knew what was waiting on the other side of it.

you kept your eyes on the passing streets, hands folded tightly in your lap. the world outside moved so fast, but everything in you felt slow. heavy. like your body hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that today, you’d be returning to the place where everything ended.

iwaizumi didn’t force conversation. he never did.

the soft hum of the engine, the rhythmic flick of the turn signals, the occasional crackle of the radio static between songs — it all felt strangely grounding. familiar, in a way that reminded you of high school bus rides after volleyball tournaments. of him sitting across from you in a convenience store booth at midnight, nursing a sports drink while you talked about anything and everything.

your throat felt dry. “haji?”

he glanced at you, then quickly back to the road. “yeah?”

“thank you. for… everything. for being here.”

“you don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “you never have to thank me.”

you looked over at him, at the way his fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. his jaw set just a little firmer than usual.

“i didn’t expect to come back to… all of this,” you admitted. “it still doesn’t feel real.”

“you don’t have to go in alone,” he said. “if you need a second — or if you want to leave, we leave. no questions.”

you nodded slowly. “i think i just need to get it over with.”

silence settled again, and you felt it stretch between you — this thing that felt like grief, but heavier, more personal.

“you know,” you said suddenly, “he used to drive me around, too. not like this, though. not quiet. he always had something playing loud. always distracted.”

iwaizumi’s grip tightened just enough for you to notice.

you gave a faint laugh. “it’s stupid, what details come back.”

he didn’t respond. didn’t need to. the way his hand briefly reached over the console to brush against yours said enough.

you were close now. just a few turns away from the apartment.

and for the first time since yesterday, you felt steady enough to walk back into it — not because it would be easy, but because he was here.

because he would stay.

the moment you stepped into the apartment, it felt colder than you remembered.

your ex was already standing near the kitchen island, like he’d been waiting—rehearsing, maybe. the second his eyes landed on you, and then on iwaizumi just a step behind, his expression twisted.

"so you're finally back," he said, voice deceptively calm.

you didn’t answer. just stepped inside, gaze fixed on the floor, your chest tight.

“i called you. over and over,” he went on. “you didn’t come home. you disappeared.”

"after what i saw?" you said, quietly. "i shouldn't have even come back at all."

his jaw clenched. “so what, you run straight to him?”

iwaizumi's posture tensed beside you.

“figures,” your ex scoffed. “maybe i should’ve seen it sooner. maybe you were already cheating on me with him. or was it oikawa? wouldn’t surprise me.”

your breath caught.

iwaizumi moved before either of you could process the shift — a single, heavy punch landed square across your ex’s jaw with a sickening crack.

he stumbled back, knocked into the counter, knocking over a glass that shattered on the floor.

iwaizumi didn’t move again. he just stood there, breathing hard, jaw clenched tight, voice low and cutting.

“don’t ever speak about her like that again.”

your ex wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, blood dotting his lip where the punch had landed. he laughed — dry, bitter, all ego and deflection.

“you’re affected because what i said is true, right, iwaizumi?” he spat. “you were just waiting for the right time. don’t act like some fucking saint.”

iwaizumi’s eyes burned, but he didn’t throw another punch.

instead, his voice dropped into something colder.

“if I were the kind of man who acted on what I wanted, you wouldn’t have had a chance in the first place.”

that shut him up — for a moment.

but the damage was done. the words were out in the open, unspoken things cracked wide and bleeding between the three of you. and still, hajime stayed steady, his presence grounding even as the air buzzed with tension.

you, silent until now, stepped forward slightly.

“you’re not worth the fight.”

your voice cut through the air like glass, sharp and trembling, but steady in all the ways that mattered.

he scoffed, but the guilt cracked through his expression before he could mask it. “so that’s it? you’re really just walking away from everything?”

“no,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “i’m asking you to leave.”

his face twisted. “leave?” he echoed, incredulous. “this is my house, too.”

iwaizumi’s voice came from just behind you, calm but firm — resolute in the way that made silence follow it.

“the lease is under her name.”

your ex’s head snapped toward him. “of course you’d know that,” he sneered. “you always know everything, don’t you?”

iwaizumi didn’t blink. “only when it matters.”

your ex’s laugh was hollow, forced. “figures. you always had something to say. always hovering. waiting.”

you stepped between them — not to defend iwaizumi, not to stop another punch, but to close the distance on your terms. “you lost your place here the moment you decided i wasn’t enough. and now you don’t get to decide when it’s over.”

he looked at you then, desperation seeping into his features like he was realizing, finally, that you weren’t bluffing. that this was the end, and not the kind you could crawl back from.

“don’t do this,” he tried one last time. “we can fix it. i made a mistake, but it doesn’t mean we just throw it all away—”

“you already did.”

that was it.

iwaizumi stepped forward, gently touched your arm. “i’ll make sure he’s out. go start packing.”

and this time, you didn’t hesitate — you walked past the shattered version of a life you once tried to build and toward the one you were finally choosing for yourself.

you sat on the edge of the bed — the one you used to share — hands gripping the edge of the mattress like it might hold you together. the quiet was unbearable now, too thick, too loud. everything in the room screamed of what had been and what never would be again.

your suitcase sat open by the door, untouched. you’d tried, really tried, to get up and pack. but all you’d managed to do was sit and stare at the closet. and then the tears started again.

you didn’t hear the knock. you didn’t even register the door opening.

but you felt him. the familiar weight of his presence, quiet but steady.

“i knocked,” iwaizumi said gently. “you didn’t answer.”

you wiped at your face quickly, embarrassed. “sorry… i just—i needed a minute.”

he didn’t move closer, didn’t push.

“i figured.”

you looked at him — the tired lines on his face, the slight redness in his knuckles, the soft way his brows pinched in concern even when he tried not to show it.

he looked like he hadn’t stopped worrying since you stepped into his life again.

“you didn’t have to come in,” you whispered. “i would’ve… i just needed some time.”

“if you don’t want to leave,” he said slowly, carefully, “that’s fine. i can move here for the meantime. stay with you. i’m sure tooru would want the same if he were here.”

you let out a breathless, bitter laugh, small and strained. “it’s fine, haji.”

his jaw tightened slightly. “he won’t come back,” he repeated. “i made sure of that.”

a beat.

you looked at him, eyes searching his face. “haji… did you—”

“no,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “but i wanted to.”

your eyes softened, something fragile cracking under the surface.

“i’m not going to stay here, anymore.” you whispered again, the weight of everything rising in your throat. “i don’t want to stay here.”

iwaizumi didn’t push. didn’t ask why. he just watched you, a storm brewing in his chest but not touching you.

“it reminds me too much,” you went on, voice unsteady. “and it wasn’t the first time.”

his breath hitched — subtle, but there. you saw it in the faint tremble of his shoulders, the flicker of devastation in his eyes. not shock. not even disbelief.

just pain. the kind you carry for someone else.

you lowered your head, words tumbling before you could stop them.

“i knew who he was. everyone knew. but i kept thinking… if i was just enough, if i loved him enough, maybe it would change. maybe i could be the exception.”

your throat tightened.

“but all i did was keep forgiving him. and every time, i told myself it was fine, that it was just a mistake, that he still loved me. even when i could feel myself disappearing.”

you let out a shaky breath.

“it’s pathetic.”

“it’s not,” iwaizumi said quietly, firmly.

you looked at him.

“it’s not pathetic to want to be loved right,” he added, voice steady. “you weren’t asking for too much. you just asked the wrong person.”

your chest ached, breath caught.

iwaizumi came closer without a word, lowering himself slowly until he was kneeling right in front of you. his hands reached out gently, not to take, but to offer. and when your fingers twitched, he laced them with his own, grounding you.

he looked up at you then — not with expectation, but with something quieter. something steadier.

“ask again,” he whispered. “this time… ask me.”

your breath hitched.

you didn’t look away, even though everything inside you told you to. even though shame clung to your skin like a second layer. even though your heart was still sore and your voice was nearly gone.

you didn’t look away because hajime never had. not once.

his thumbs brushed over your knuckles. “not because i pity you. not because he didn’t love you right. not because i’m here now and he isn’t. but because i’ve loved you for a long time. and i think… i think i’ve been waiting for you to look at me like this.”

your chest ached.

“haji…”

“i know you’re not ready. i know you’re hurting. i’m not asking for anything,” he said, still holding your hands like something precious. “but if you ever think that loving you is too much to ask — let me be the one who proves it isn’t.”

a tear slipped down your cheek. he caught it with the back of his finger, soft and slow, before letting his hand fall back between you.

his voice came next, low and sure — not a promise made in the heat of the moment, but something bone-deep, like it had been waiting years to be said.

“i won’t let you cry,” he whispered, gaze steady on yours. “not like this. not because of someone who couldn’t see you.”

your lip trembled, but you didn’t pull away. you couldn’t. not when he was looking at you like that — like you were worth every ounce of his patience, every second of his silence.

“i will always make you feel loved,” he said, softer this time, like the words were being tucked into the quiet between your ribs. “not just with words. not just when things are easy. always.”

the weight of it hit you hard. not in a way that broke you — not anymore — but in a way that made you ache with all the years you’d settled for less, all the times you’d made yourself small just to be enough for someone else.

and here he was.

kneeling in front of you, hands holding yours like something sacred, and saying everything you had longed to hear without asking for anything in return.

his thumbs traced gentle circles over your knuckles, a silent reassurance that he meant every word — and then he spoke again, quieter this time, like it was meant only for you and the space that existed between the two of you.

“i will wait,” he said, unwavering. “and while i wait, i’ll prove it to you. all of it.”

you swallowed hard, breathing uneven, but didn’t look away.

“that you’re worth loving,” hajime continued, voice thick with quiet conviction. “that you don’t have to shrink yourself. that you don’t have to beg for affection or settle for pieces. that you never have to overthink your place in someone’s life.”

your grip on his hands tightened, barely, like you were grounding yourself in him.

“you don’t have to question it with me. not ever. not again.”

your chest rose and fell too quickly, heart thudding loud in your ears — not from fear this time, but from the possibility of something real. something whole.

and when you couldn’t find the words to respond, he didn’t push. he just kept holding on — his hands steady around yours, his presence solid, unwavering.

the silence stretched, not heavy, but full. full of everything you couldn’t say, and everything he already understood.

then, in a voice so soft it almost broke you, hajime spoke.

“i can’t promise that you won’t see darkness with me,” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “but i’ll make sure you always see daylight.”

your breath caught, tears gathering again — but this time, they weren’t bitter. they weren’t laced with hurt or betrayal. they came from the quiet, aching place that had longed for something gentle. something honest.

“i want to be that for you,” he whispered, like a vow only the two of you could hear. “not just a way out. not just a safety net. but something steady. something real. even when it’s hard. especially then.”

your throat tightened at his words — at how carefully he offered himself, with no expectations, only truth. the kind that made your heart ache in the softest way.

you blinked slowly, tears clinging to your lashes.

“haji,” you whispered, your voice cracked and raw, “i’m sorry. for not noticing you.”

he didn’t flinch. didn’t look away. he just smiled — small and full of something warm.

“you were happy with him,” he said, voice steady. “and being close to you… seeing you happy… that’s what mattered to me.”

you bit down on your lip, heart twisting. because you knew it was true. hajime had always been there, quiet but constant — never demanding space, never trying to be more than what you needed. and now, you were seeing it. all of it. how much he must have carried in silence.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he added softly. “you loved the way you knew how. and i… i’ve loved you from the very beginning, even if it wasn’t my place.”

your hand squeezed his, gently. “you never made me feel like it was wrong to lean on you.”

“because it never was,” he said. “and it never will be.”

you nodded, and this time when the silence came, it felt lighter.

you nodded, and this time when the silence came, it felt lighter.

it didn’t weigh like regret or grief — it lingered like something fragile but hopeful, like the first inhale after a long time underwater.

iwaizumi gave your hands one last squeeze before slowly rising to his feet, and when he looked down at you, there was no pressure in his gaze. just warmth. just him.

“come on,” he said gently, reaching a hand out to you. “i’ll help you pack, okay?”

you looked up at him, fingers slipping into his with something close to relief.

he gave a soft smile, the kind that made your chest ache in the best way.

“then one by one,” he continued, “if you want… you can move some of your things to mine.”

your eyes welled again, not from sadness this time — but from the quiet understanding that he meant every word. no expectations. no timelines. just space. patience. a home if you needed one.

“you’re not alone in this,” he said, and there was no room for doubt in his voice. “not anymore.”

you breathed in slowly, steadying yourself with the feel of his hand in yours.

“okay,” you whispered.

iwaizumi didn’t say anything when you arrived at his apartment with more than you originally planned to bring.

the suitcase had been the original idea — just a few days, enough time to catch your breath and figure out what came next. but in the quiet hours of the morning, as you stared at the remnants of everything you built with someone who had shattered it in one night, the suitcase didn’t feel like enough.

so you packed a little more. a few extra bags. a couple of boxes. the things that made you feel like you again — your favorite blanket, the books you always kept by your nightstand, the framed photo from high school of you, oikawa, and hajime that always used to make you smile.

iwaizumi took one look at the extra load and simply said, “let me get that,” as he took the heaviest box from your hands.

he didn’t ask questions. didn’t tease, didn’t offer platitudes. just made space — in his apartment and, quietly, in his life.

he led you in like it was the most natural thing in the world, setting the box down in a cleared corner of his living room. “you can put everything wherever you need. i don’t mind.”

the apartment smelled like fresh coffee and laundry. the window was cracked open, letting in the breeze. it was quiet — but not the kind that weighed heavy.

you tried to say thank you, but the words got tangled somewhere in your throat.

he just gave you a small smile. “hungry?”

you nodded even if you weren’t.

iwaizumi made something warm and simple — grilled fish, miso soup, soft rice — and by the time you sat across from him, the weight pressing on your ribs didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

that night, you slept like someone who hadn’t rested in months. not just physically — but in the way your mind finally slowed, in the way your chest didn’t ache with every breath. it wasn’t peace, not yet, but it was quiet.

you woke to soft morning light filtering through the curtains, the scent of brewed coffee in the air, and the faint sounds of someone moving in the kitchen.

pulling the blanket around your shoulders, you padded quietly out of hajime’s bedroom. it had taken him a bit of convincing the night before — you insisting that the couch was fine, and him refusing to let you sleep on anything but a real bed. he’d only relented when you stopped arguing, already halfway into tears again.

the apartment was quiet in the way that felt safe.

your suitcase sat by the hallway, but beside it, tucked against the wall, were a couple of boxes you didn’t remember unpacking. he must’ve brought them up without saying anything, while you were still asleep.

you blinked. you were only supposed to bring a suitcase.

but hajime… he didn’t say anything about the extra. didn’t make you feel like a burden or a complication. he just made room.

you stepped into the kitchen, rubbing at your eyes.

“morning,” hajime said gently, glancing over his shoulder. “coffee?”

you nodded, voice still raw. “yeah… thanks.”

he handed you a warm mug without a word, his fingers brushing yours, grounding. for a second, the silence stretched — not awkward, just full of everything unspoken.

you had just taken a sip when your phone buzzed from the counter.

[tooru 👽] incoming call

you blinked, surprised. “he’s awake?”

you answered quickly, “hey—”

“open the door,” came oikawa’s voice, breathless and sharp.

“what?”

“open iwa-chan’s door. i’m outside.”

your hand froze on the mug. “you’re—what?”

three sharp knocks echoed from the front door. hajime looked at you, brow raised.

you crossed the room quickly, heart jumping, and pulled it open.

there he was — oikawa tooru, sunglasses perched messily in his hair, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, suitcase in hand, and a look that was trying far too hard not to seem worried.

“i thought you were joking,” you said, stunned.

“changed my mind,” he replied casually, stepping in past you. “figured i’d come see with my own eyes. and possibly break someone’s nose, if needed.”

you stared at him for a second longer — then your arms moved on instinct.

he dropped the suitcase and pulled you in tight, arms wrapping around you like a safety net you hadn’t realized you still had.

“you look like hell,” he muttered into your hair.

“thanks,” you exhaled, voice cracking with a laugh that wasn’t quite whole.

iwaizumi appeared from the kitchen then, towel slung over his shoulder, coffee in hand.

“iwa-chan,” oikawa said like it had been days instead of months. “hope you made enough breakfast for three.”

hajime shook his head, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “guest room’s ready.”

“you know me so well.” oikawa’s tone was breezy, but his eyes lingered on you longer than needed. “this place is nice. smells like expensive detergent and heartbreak.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning your head briefly on his shoulder.

he went quiet for a moment before turning to you again, softer this time. “i’m staying a few days. you’re not talking me out of it.”

“i’m not going to try,” you said.

he nodded, wrapping his arm around you once more, then looked over at hajime.

“by the way,” he said, like he was commenting on the weather, “you’re not going back to that apartment of yours, missy. i won’t risk you stepping foot in there again—i’ll just buy you a new one.”

you sighed, trying not to smile despite everything. “tooru, don’t worry. i’ll sell the apartment.”

“okay,” he said, with a dramatic shrug. “then i’ll buy you the next one.”

“you’re not buying me an apartment.”

“too late. it’s already in motion.”

“it’s been five minutes since you landed.”

“i’m very efficient,” he said with a grin, before reaching for your mug and taking a sip without asking. “anyway, i just don’t like the idea of you living somewhere with that kind of history. bad for the soul. messes with the energy.”

you gave him a look, and he added, more gently, “i just want you safe. in a place that feels like yours again.”

hajime didn’t say anything, but you caught the way he glanced at you from the side — quiet, steady, the way he always was. there was something in his eyes, though. something unreadable, but warm.

you nudged oikawa with your elbow. “for the record, i already feel safer. with you two around.”

oikawa beamed. “as you should.”

“better yet,” oikawa said, plopping onto the couch like he owned the place, “just stay with iwa-chan. he likes you.”

there was a beat of silence.

then his eyes widened just a fraction. “oh shit. did i say a lot?”

you didn’t bother hiding the soft smile that tugged at your lips. the warmth that settled in your chest wasn’t new anymore — it was familiar now, steady like the man who stood quietly in the kitchen, pretending not to listen.

“tooru,” you said, turning your mug slowly in your hands. “i already know. he confessed.”

oikawa blinked once, then gave a sharp, delighted inhale. “what?! when?!”

“last night.”

“and?!” he leaned forward dramatically. “did you kiss?! did you cry?! did you—”

“i cried,” you admitted, voice soft but steady. “but not because of that. he didn’t… he didn’t push. he just stayed.”

oikawa looked between the two of you, something tender flickering behind his usual theatrics. “of course he did.”

you glanced over to where hajime stood, arms crossed loosely, eyes on you like you were the only thing anchoring him.

“we’re taking it slow,” you added.

“good,” oikawa said, nodding firmly. “but also — if you ever want me to officiate a wedding, i have a really nice white suit.”

“tooru.”

“i’m dead serious.” oikawa leaned back against the couch cushions, a self-satisfied grin blooming across his face as he sipped from his coffee. “you know,” he said casually, “that’s why i made you two meet. since the beginning.”

you arched a brow. “what are you talking about?”

“high school,” he said, waving his hand like it was obvious. “that day you came to watch our match and i introduced you to hajime? yeah, that wasn’t random. i knew.”

“you knew what?” you asked, half-laughing, half-suspicious.

“that you’d end up together.” he pointed between the two of you. “you were perfect opposites. but the kind that fits. it was written in the stars, baby. i just gave fate a little push.”

you blinked. “tooru.”

“what? iwa-chan was grumpy and annoyingly loyal, and you were sunshine and chaos with a soft heart. it was a recipe.”

hajime let out a low sigh from the kitchen, though his voice carried over, amused and a little exasperated. “you’re not as subtle as you think you are, you know.”

“not trying to be!” oikawa beamed. “you’re welcome.”

you covered your face with your hands, feeling warmth rush to your cheeks, and heard oikawa mutter smugly, “matchmaker of the year.”

but when you peeked through your fingers, hajime was still watching you — steady, quiet, unwavering. and it struck you again: maybe tooru had known something all along. or maybe he just saw what you hadn’t been ready to admit back then.

and now? now the truth was finally unfolding. one moment, one morning at a time.

the apartment had settled into a rare kind of stillness.

oikawa was knocked out on the couch, one arm slung over his eyes, mouth slightly open — the aftermath of jetlag and too much caffeine catching up to him all at once. the tv was still on, playing some nature documentary neither of you had the heart to turn off. the volume was low, just a soft hum in the background.

you stood in the kitchen, nursing the last of your tea, the ceramic warm against your palms. hajime was across from you, leaning against the counter, arms crossed loosely, eyes fixed on you like there was no place else he needed to be.

“he hasn’t changed,” you said quietly, tilting your head toward the couch. “still dramatic.”

hajime huffed a laugh. “and loud.”

“but he means well.”

“always.”

a moment passed. the silence between you and hajime wasn’t uncomfortable — it never had been. it was the kind that felt lived in. settled. a silence that had room for everything unspoken.

you exhaled slowly, fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “thank you… for yesterday.”

he looked at you, eyes steady. “you don’t have to thank me.”

“i do. you didn’t have to… all of it. being there. packing. letting me stay.”

“you don’t have to explain anything,” he said, voice low, warm. “you’re not a burden. not here.”

you nodded slowly, but your voice was smaller when you said, “still feels like too much, sometimes. like maybe i’m too much.”

he pushed off the counter then — moved to stand in front of you. not too close, but close enough to make your breath hitch.

“you’re not,” he said. “you never were.”

your eyes flicked up to meet his, and whatever he saw there made his voice soften even more.

“you don’t have to keep carrying everything alone. not anymore.”

you didn’t respond right away. you didn’t need to. hajime waited — as he always did — patient in ways that made your chest ache.

then, quietly: “when did you know?”

“know what?”

“how you felt.”

his jaw tensed just a little, and he looked down, almost like he was sorting through every version of the truth before answering.

“probably the day oikawa introduced us,” he said, finally. “but i didn’t let myself think about it that way. not until after. not until you called me that night you got engaged.”

your breath caught.

“and even then,” he added, “i thought… if you were happy, that’s all that mattered. i could live with that.”

you set your mug down, the sound small against the quiet hum of the room. “i thought i was.”

his voice was barely a whisper. “i know.”

you looked at him — really looked — and saw it then, all the years of quiet longing tucked behind his calm exterior, all the waiting. he never rushed. never pushed. just stayed.

and in that small, quiet moment, you took one step closer.

just one. but enough that your hand brushed his.

“you can tell me to stop,” he said, voice barely there.

“don’t,” you whispered. “please don’t.”

and he didn’t.

he just stood there, beside you — the same way he always had.

months had finally passed.

and for the first time in what felt like years, mornings didn’t ache anymore.

the sun filtered gently through the curtains of iwaizumi’s bedroom, casting delicate golden streaks across tangled sheets and even more tangled limbs. the kind of light that didn’t demand, didn’t burn — it simply existed, soft and certain, like him.

you blinked slowly awake, nestled in the cradle of warmth that was iwaizumi hajime. his chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek, one arm slung around your waist, the other curled beneath the pillow. his skin was warm, his presence solid — and he held you like it was second nature.

it was. by now, it was.

your hand slid across the fabric of his t-shirt, fingertips curling just beneath the hem as if to ground yourself. months ago, you had shown up at his door shattered, unraveling. and he never once looked away. never once told you that you were too much, too broken, too late.

he shifted slightly in his sleep, tightening his hold on you instinctively, pressing a soft kiss into your hair without fully waking. you smiled.

you whispered into the quiet, even if he couldn’t hear it just yet, “i kept calling it love when it only ever burned. but you—” your voice faltered, thick with emotion, “you are the first warmth that didn’t leave a scar.”

he made a soft sound in his throat, the beginnings of wakefulness stirring in his chest.

your fingers brushed along his wrist. “i was never asking for too much. i was just asking the wrong people. you proved that when you loved me without flinching.”

his eyes blinked open then — hazy, soft, greenish-brown and shining with that sleepy tenderness only you ever got to see.

“good morning,” he rasped, voice low and warm.

you nodded, trying not to cry. “it is.”

he tilted his head a little, concern flashing across his features. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you said quickly, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “it’s just… i lived so long in the dark, i didn’t know light could be soft. then came you.”

his breath hitched — and he was awake now, fully, completely, arms wrapping tighter around you like he was trying to memorize the shape of the moment.

he didn’t say anything for a few seconds. just held you. and when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, reverent.

“i told you,” he murmured, thumb brushing against your back. “i’d wait. and i’d prove it, every day, in every way you need me to.”

you nodded into him, your hand fisting his shirt.

“you already have,” you whispered. “in all the little ways i didn’t even know i needed.”

he tilted your chin up, eyes searching yours.

“i’ll keep doing it,” he said softly. “not because i have to — because i want to. every sunrise, every season. you’re it for me.”

his fingers brushed against your cheek again, slow and reverent — like he still couldn’t believe you were here, like you were something fragile he vowed never to mishandle. and maybe in some way, you were. but with him, it never felt like you had to pretend you weren’t.

“you’re it for me,” he said again, voice like a promise. “you always have been.”

your breath hitched — and then he leaned in.

there was no rush in the way he kissed you. no hunger to consume or possess. just quiet patience and something so deeply certain it made your eyes sting again. his lips pressed to yours gently, as though he was telling you, without words, you’re safe now. you’re home.

you kissed him back with that same softness, your fingers sliding into his hair as you moved closer, melting into the warmth you’d found — the warmth that never demanded anything of you, that never burned.

when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours in the most tender of ways.

“you deserve everything soft,” he whispered. “everything good.”

your hands stayed wrapped in his shirt like you were afraid letting go might somehow undo it all. but you knew now — he wouldn’t let go, not unless you asked him to. and even then, you knew it would break him.

you smiled, barely holding the tears that lingered. “thank you, haji. for staying. for waiting.”

he shook his head, just the faintest bit. “you were never late. you just… needed time to see what you’ve always deserved.”

and when you breathed in, it no longer hurt. when you looked around, it didn’t feel like the world might fall apart. because it was morning, and you were wrapped in the arms of someone who had stayed, someone who never stopped choosing you.

and in that quiet, golden-lit room, you finally understood:

you had found him.

your daylight.

[star-suh]

could I request the jungwoo request you just did but instead for bttm m reader and top jungwoo huhu

singin' in the rain

kim jungwoo x male reader (bttm reader ver.)

cw: top jungwoo, cockwarming, passionate sex, fluff attempt, idol au, secret relationship, 3rd person pov

an: it's the same story with only a few changes.

—

everyone knew how good jungwoo and y/n's friendship was, one of the strongest in the idol industry, they are like soulmates but no one knew they were more than that. they have a secret relationship, love fills the air every time their eyes meet and little imaginary hearts float around their heads, they're fools in love.

it was a rainy night, both lovebirds were on bed kissing each other, showing how much they love each other by just connecting their lips but things escalated quickly, jungwoo's hands running through y/n's warm skin, caressing his waist and every part of his perfect body, "you are so hot, you know that right?" asked jungwoo, y/n laughed "of course, you tell me that everyday silly" they kept kissing while discarding all their clothes.

jungwoo guided y/n to straddle him and guide his cock to y/n's entrance sliding little by little all his member until he's finally deep inside. y/n started to move, up and down, enjoying how jungwoo's cock is so fat and fills him so well, while jungwoo feels like y/n doesn't want to let go of him. "c'mon let me hear that pretty voice of yours" demanded jungwoo while kissing y/n's neck, the latter complied filling the room with his moans followed by jungwoo's. their moans was their love song, showing how much they enjoy being with each other, how much they love each other. y/n rode jungwoo's cock as if there's no tomorrow, he wanted to feel jungwoo inside him, wanted to show him how much he wants and loves jungwoo.

y/n kissed jungwoo everywhere, jungwoo was just whispering sweet nothings to his ear while drilling his partner's ass, never forgetting to tell y/n how much he loves him. finally jungwoo and y/n came together on the bottom's chest and abdomen. jungwoo went to search for wipes to clean y/n's body, "stay with me, all night.. please" asked y/n to jungwoo who complied sliding his member inside y/n then hugging him, being the big spoon, "i'm always gonna be next to you, no matter what, ok love?" told jungwoo to y/n who smiled at him, y/n caressed his check and kissed him. both went to sleep, smiles adorning their faces showing how happy they are being together, it is like they were born to be together, well… they're soulmates after all, ones who have the joy of having found each other in this vast and big world…

[ppnuggiex]

HIHII i see yoy dont have obey me content yet,, want me 2 change that😼😼 HOPE IM NOT DISTURBING U OR ANUTHINGF AND ALSO HOPE URE HAVING A NICE SUMMERR

but anywayy could i req hcs(and maybe a small scenario🙇‍♀️) of solomon and simeon(MAYBE DIAVOLO AND BARBATOS IF U WONT MIND,, IDM IF U DONT THO HUHU) with an insomniac/sleepy s/o that accidentally slept over at their place😻 IM SORRY IF U DONT UNDERSTAND,, BUT AS IN THEY WERE INVITED TO THEIR ROOM BUT COULDNT HOLD BACK FROM SLEEPING SINCE THEY HAVENT SLEPT😞😞

sorrei 4 making this so long,,im chatty asf for an introvert omg😭😭 BUT YEYESY THAT'S ALL🤍🤍 LOVE UR WORK VHAI VHAI🙇‍♀️

　　　　　　OBEY ME x gn reader

　　　　『　solomon ,, simeon ,, diavolo ,, barbatos ,, gender neutral reader 』

　　-> side characters w/ sleepy or insomniac s/o

　　— fluff ,, sfw ,, comfort

　　— HIII OMG TYSM ♥️♥️♥️ glad to have my first obey me ask :) i am having a great summer 💪💪 though i start school next week 😭😭 so not too happy about that ,, tysm for requesting though :D i did all of them 😈😈 and its alr !! no worries abt being chatty 😝 i dont mind it one bit !! heres the request tho :) hope you enjoy <3

- solomon

| • he knows how the brothers run you ragged ,, and so he doesnt mind if you happen to fall asleep whilst staying over with him

| • if anything ,, it gives him an excuse to stay with you longer ,, stealing a few extra hours ,, and if one of the brothers do call he can say youre asleep

| • solomon did call you over so he can teach you more about a certain spell you had questions about

| • he'd pick you up from where you had fallen asleep and take you to his room ,, placing you under the covers so you'd be comfortable and warm at least

| • he'll place a kiss to your head and then go to the kitchen and make you something ,, until simeon stops him

- simeon

| • he wouldnt mind one bit if you happened to fall asleep ,, hes thankful for it really ,, since he knows how hard you work and how little time you get to yourself

| • he just wants you to be happy and healthy ,, and being well rested goes with that

| • simeon would make sure that youre comfortable ,, put a blanket over you and a pillow under your head

| • whilst your sleeping he makes you a little snack for you when you wake up ,, so you can have something to enjoy and refill your energy with

- diavolo

| • he had finally gotten some free time with his tight schedule and didnt waste a moment before he invited you over to watch some movies from the human world he's been interested in watching

| • barbatos helped to make popcorn and other snacks for you both ,, and even gave diavolo a quick tutorial how to use the remote and the tv 💀💀

| • diavolo isnt too upset that you fell asleep halfway through the movie though ,, hes mostly upset you havent been able to take care of yourself and in result its made you lose sleep

| • he keeps you under the cover and all cuddle up though ,, pressing many kisses to your head as he finishes up the movie

| • he might also nap with you when he gets a little too cozy

- barbatos

| • he already knew how tired you were before he invited you over ,, really it was the whole reason he did

| • having a little free time to himself for a bit ,, after finishing his duties for the hour that is ,, he invited you over with the intention of you sleeping

| • he made a special tea blend that increases melatonin and is meant to put people to sleep or make them drowsy ,, really just in general help them sleep

| • he'll coax you over to his bed and let you sleep whilst he finishes his duties for the upcoming hour

| • barbatos also has a few treats left out for you on the bedside table ,, with a spotch of tea to help awaken you and restore your energy

[the-lazyyy-artist]

heartbreak weather bachira meguru x fem!reader part one

Synopsis: Bachira Meguru has kept it all inside until you drunkenly kissed him.

Tags and Themes: fluff, best friends to ???, post-NEL, post-World Cup, Bachira scouted by FC Barcha, mentions of other Japan U-20 (recent list) players, Bachira being the sweetheart that he is!

Author's Note: I was inspired to write this while I listened to the new Smosh Reddit Stories episode, and I really see Bachira being in that one huhu! As for the title, it's Niall Horan's song!

Read part two here!

photo grabbed from silent cloud 🌻on Pinterest

Want more stories? Check out the Blue Lock Masterlist!

💛 @werfiedeii

He was a thunderstorm on a bright summer day.

That's what you thought when you met him unexpectedly in primary school. His wild personality, fun and mischievous, was softened by the sunshine in his eyes and hair. The way his little giggles and wide eyes filled the field as he played alone drew you to him, and eventually, you became friends with him.

For most of your life, you've considered each other as your person; secrets, worries, successes... they were all shared. There isn't a day that Bachira wasn't around you, and you were the same. You were convinced he'd be in your life until you both reach 80 years old, as you have each other's backs. Saying I love you became normal because that's what you really felt about him. You love him because he's been around, but it was all platonic. Skinship wasn't so new to you either. Holding hands, hugging, kissing each other's cheeks...

It all felt comfortable with Bachira.

Of course, your parents and his mom became good friends with each other too, as they accompanied you two on your little playdates as kids, and now being so familiar with you and Bachira's closeness. Little fleeting teasing would always be in earshot whenever you'd hang out in each other's homes, and you'd always dismiss it. "Alright, if you say so," The adults would say. It's not that you'd say so. You know so. Bachira's the best friend you've ever had, and it's gonna stay that way.

Bachira was as grateful as you are, letting you know first about his admission to the Blue Lock Project after his mom gave him the letter. You're the first person he saw in the crowd before he even saw his mom during the exhibition game. You're the first one he hit up after he finally got his phone back, hanging out with you as soon as he got home, tackling you in a big bear hug that left you breathless. He missed you dearly as you missed him, and he wanted you to know that every day.

You'd be so invested in his games during the NEL the moment Blue Lock went live, celebrating his wins and feeling sad for his losses. And when he came out triumphant as 5th in the standings, you felt so overjoyed for him. Oh, never once have you doubted his skills!

As years went by, he became part of the Japan U-20 team thanks to his outstanding performance, and being scouted by FC Barcha afterwards only pushed him forward to the future you both envisioned for him: a professional soccer player and the best one in his craft and style. Often dubbed "The Dancing Bee", he never failed to amaze supporters with his outstanding assists, passes, and goals. He became so big that he became one of Japan's prides...

But whenever he's home after a season, he's the same old Bachira: sweet, caring, loving, and your best friend.

You were lounging at your home with your dad when he burst through the door, greeting your mom quickly and then finding you in the living room. "Y/n," He panted. The poor boy looked like he had run all the way there... which he did. "Megs, sit down," You laughed as you pulled him between you and your dad. Your dad gave him a fist bump and ruffled his hair.

Bachira wasted no time and began to spit out words that you had trouble understanding at first, but then you realized he was asking you to come with him to a party Aiku was throwing for everyone who was a part of Blue Lock.

"Y'all are still friends with each other?" You teased as Bachira rolled his eyes playfully at me. "Yes. Believe it or not, even though Isagi ended up being the best of all of us, we are all still friends. But! Don't change the subject! Come with me next week! You're gonna meet everyone and we'll have drinks, food, and games!"

Bachira was buzzing on the couch as he talked. You took his hand and squeezed it, and as always, it worked its magic. "Alright, alright, I'll come... as long as you keep Otoya away from me." Bachira smirked, gazing at you half-lidded. "Oh, don't worry. I can do that. Just stay with me and I'll show him you're mine for the whole night."

Your eyes widen, and you punched him on his shoulder, earning a laugh from Bachira. "You forget that I'm still here, kids," Your father chimed, making Bachira's statement more embarrassing. "I heard that too," Your mom added. As you groaned into your hands, Bachira and your father high-fived. It's always been like that. At times, you'd be unfazed, but mostly, you think Bachira says those things on purpose to make your parents' ears perk up and start teasing you both.

Bachira picked you up from your house the next week. He did say "wear something casual", so a simple dress of your favorite color did the job. It hugged and insinuated all the perfect places in your body, making you look ethereal and breathtaking. You swore you saw the tiny sparkle in Bachira's honey eyes once he saw you walking down the stairs with your heels in your hands. You kissed your parents goodbye as you walked out the door with him.

He felt like it was prom night. He had never experienced prom because of Blue Lock, but he was sure this was how it felt.

He drove you both into the penthouse as you continued to buckle your heel straps and made little touch-ups to your makeup. "Well, do you still expect Otoya to stay away from you when you look pretty as fuck?" He teased from the driver's seat, a smirk adorning his lips. You threw him "the look," and that made Bachira laugh. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. Just stay beside me the whole night and you'll be fine."

Aiku's penthouse was enormous, exactly how you'd expect it to look, especially being one of the treasured defenders of Ubers. Bachira opened the tall wooden door for both of you, soft jazz music filling the room. You were both welcomed by lovely gold and silver decorations, as they made the interior glitter and shine. There was a wide variety of snacks on the dinner table, a charcuterie board, chips, bottles upon bottles of vodka, whiskey, and beer. The rest of the guys were already hanging around the pool, drinks in hand.

As soon as they saw Bachira coming, the guys greeted him with handshakes and pats on the back. Bachira introduced you to them, and he received whistles and smirks, making you feel a bit uncomfortable. "She's my best friend, guys," He corrected, which received even more teasing from them. Luckily, the people from Team Z, as Bachira told you beforehand, treat you well, especially Isagi. He was as bright as Bachira. No wonder they gelled well.

As the night fell deeper, so did the drinks and the conversations. You felt yourself a little loopy as you had decided to let loose... Big mistake on your end. Bachira kept an eye on you all night, always hovering around you and asking if you were comfortable enough. He was surprisingly able to keep Otoya away, and for that, you were thankful. As Bachira noticed your situation, he quickly helped you out of your seat and excused yourselves.

The night air was cool against your warm skin as goosebumps, and Bachira noticed your slight shiver. He embraces you to shield you from the soft breeze. After all, it was normal for him to hold you close like this. "Meguru," You slurred, staring up at him. He looked like a watercolor painting in your eyes as it all turned blurry. Bachira hummed in response, his chest rumbling as he did.

"Do you realize how proud I am of you?" You said with a dopey smile. He was about to respond when you continued. "I'm so happy to see all the things you've achieved, all the friends you've made... They're all soooo, so, so nice and you've surrounded yourself with people who pushed you to be the best...

"In my eyes, you have always been the best, but you showed the world what you're made of... My sunshine..."

Bachira laughed softly at your sluggish actions as your hands flew to hold his cheeks, and you pulled him close, wanting to give a kiss... But then, your lips didn't touch his cheek, no...

You kissed the corner of his lip.

And with his tipsy confidence, he saw it as permission to kiss you, so he did.

His lips properly met yours, and with such longing, he kissed you with gentleness and affection. It was something he had tried to bury for years and years, afraid that if he made a move early on... If he admitted his true feelings... You'd leave him forever.

You were his person, after all.

And to his surprise, you were kissing him the same. He knew it was the alcohol that made you kiss him back, but he couldn't help it. He held you close as you two made out, and he pulled away to gaze into your eyes, all drunk and playful.

"I love you," he told you

"I love you, too!" You slurred.

"No," He replied, "I am in love with you."

That somehow sobered you up because the next thing you knew, you were puking your brains out on one of Aiku's expensively maintained plants.