#hard to be positive when i have bad days like this

[kikidoul]

── CRY FOR ME.

ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ 박성훈 x fem! reader content established relationship ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content petnames used pussy eating fingering unprotected sex dacryphilia breeding kink minor degrading belly bulge overstimulation(?) mating press position LOL . . .!? 1320 — mlist. req+req

note. i combined two requests together as i don't want to write the same things twice... and i HAD to use the weekend's song from hurry up tomorrow. please listen to the album thanks xoxo taglist. @tfwbluu @heesimps

If there was one thing Sunghoon learnt in his six-months relationship with you, it was that he secretly loves it when you’re crying. Don’t get him wrong, he hates it whenever he sees you breaking down, telling him through your sobs about how horrible your day went—ranging from how your boss had scolded you in front of everyone to how things simply weren’t going your way.

In those scenarios, Sunghoon will take it upon himself to comfort you, embracing you in his arms as he whispers sweet-nothings while lovingly brushing his hand through your hair. 

However, he prefers to have you underneath him, pressed into the mattress of your bed. The lewd sound of skin against skin along with obscene squelches of your body fluids and the barely audible chanting of his name, spilling from your lips echoed amongst the four walls of the bedroom. Sunghoon tightened his grip on your hips, nails digging into your skin hard enough to leave indents behind. Your legs were slung over his broad shoulders, toes curling at how his cock kept abusing the same spot without any intention of stopping. 

“Hngh—T-Too much!” you protested, warm tears forming in your eyes. Despite your words, you couldn’t find it in yourself to move away. Although, it’s not like you could in the first place, not when you were helpless and completely left at his mercy. 

Sunghoon grinned at the sight of a single teardrop trickling down your face. “Oh? You were begging for this and now you’re saying it’s too much? Too bad, because you’re going to take it, no matter what.” 

He timed his thrusts with the final three words, eliciting a high-pitched whine from the depths of your throat. You couldn’t say his name anymore, not when he had you in this position for what felt like an eternity. Only breathless whimpers, moans and whimpers fell from your lips. Your muscles tightened and you wanted to say something, anything but the pure intensity of your climax made you forget how to speak. 

Sunghoon groaned when he saw how you squirted with some landing on the already dirtied sheets while some landed on your bodies. He glanced up, eyes darkening a shade at how you were sobbing, body trembling as he continued to thrust into you. 

“H-Hoonie, st-stop,” you sniffled, looking at him with teary, misty eyes. He swore he nearly cum right there and then. 

“Fuck, you’re driving me insane,” he cursed, grabbing your legs and pulled them off his shoulders. He moved to hover over you without pulling out. This way, he was able to get a front-row view of your facial expressions. 

You tried to hide your face but Sunghoon moved your hands away, leaning down to press a soft kiss on your forehead—a huge contrast to your current situation. “Don’t hide from me, princess. I want to see you.”

His eyes greedily drink in your face—dazed eyes and parted lips. To him, you were as beautiful as always. He ducked his head, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss. You gasped, whining into his mouth when his left hand snaked down to fondle with your hardened left nipple. He gently tugged on it, groaning into the kiss when you twitched, instinctively clenching down on his cock. 

You were able to see the signs of Sunghoon reaching his climax—his ragged breathing, his previously timely thrusts growing sloppy and frantic as he’s chasing after his orgasm and how he became more vocal as well. You whined as he spilled inside you, pushing himself deeper, not wanting to waste a single drop. At this point, you were beyond exhausted, unable to move your limbs as you laid there, catching your breath. You hissed as he slowly pulled out while rubbing comforting circles on your hips. 

Your eyes flickered to his face, noting how he couldn’t look away from where you were connected, how you were split apart by him. He reached out, his long, slender fingers easily sliding into your warm, full hole. You squeaked, legs spasming at the sudden invasion. 

“Hoonie, n-no more!” You outright wailed when he curled his fingers in the correct angle, making stars explode in your sight and your mind spun. 

But Sunghoon wasn’t listening. His mind was in another place—thinking about how good you’ll look bearing his children. He could visualise it: mini versions of you and him running around the house while both of you were relaxing, basking in the warm sunlight. He turned a deaf ear to your protests, wasting no time in slamming his cock back into your stretched out hole that shows no form of resistance. 

“Fuck!” You whimpered, hands blindly reaching out to grip onto his upper shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

“How’re you still so tight? Maybe you need to be fucked everyday to loosen this tight cunt of yours,” he cursed, changing your position, resulting in him sitting and leaning against the bedframe with you sitting prettily on his lap. 

Sunghoon coos at how you sniffled, reaching out to wipe the tears away. His hand trailed down and down until he stopped at your stomach—where a bulge was seen. “Look at you, you’re taking me so well and deep, princess. It’s like you’re asking to be bred, am I wrong?” 

He gently pressed down on the bulge, savoring the way you sweetly gasped, letting out a mixture of a moan and mewl. Your eyelids fluttered shut when your boyfriend thrusted upwards from below. You rested your hands on his stomach, feeling how his muscles tightened as he quickened his pace, easily reducing you to a flushed, blubbering mess. 

“Ngh—H-Hoonie, fuck, m-more,” you cried, words borderline slurring. You felt like you were floating, with how smooth his cock moved in and out of you. 

“Yeah, you want more? You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He sneers, words dripping with disdain, eyes focused on you getting drowned in pleasure. “You want me to pump you full? Make you carry my children? Is that what you want, hm?”

Sunghoon’s words make you let out a pathetic whimper. “P-Please.” 

“Please what, darling?” His lips curled upwards, already knowing what you’re about to say. 

“..want you to knock me up,” you mumbled, shyly averting your eyes to the side. It feels like you were confessing your sins. 

But Sunghoon was having none of it. He grabbed your chin, turning your head forward—forcing you to look at him. “Since you asked so nicely, who am I to refuse?” 

Before you could react, he flipped you onto your back, returning you to your previous position. He bends you until you are in a mating press, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck as he raises your legs, making you wrap them around his waist. Sunghoon was able to slip in deeper with the change of position, earning a moan from you. He wasted no time in pounding into you with new determination—the determination to make you pregnant. 

You could barely think straight, arching your back off the bed. It didn’t take you long to reach your climax. Your walls clenched against him, your breath hitching with every thrust. Your boyfriend was quick to follow, releasing inside you. Sunghoon kissed your forehead, his previously erratic movements eventually coming to a stop. Panting, he made no move to pull out and instead, collapsed on top of you. 

“Get off me!” You squeaked, smacking the back of his head, scrunching your nose in disgust at how your fluids were now stuck on your sweaty bodies. 

“Ow! That’s not how you should treat your lovely boyfriend, you know,” he grumbled, rolling off you, granting you the chance to breathe without feeling suffocated. 

“Lovely? You literally blew my back out,” you retorted, only to regret what you said when he sent you a teasing smirk. 

“Do not.” 

Sunghoon raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t even say anything!”

[ylangelegy]

true hate’s kiss 💋 chan x reader.

★ footnotes: first seen in svt x reverse tropes. dedicated to @chanranghaeys and, of course, the birthday boy himself. word count: 905.

It started with the ribbiting.

The first time it happened, Chan had thought it was a hiccup. Some weird sound caught in the back of his throat. But then it kept happening, and happening, and happening, and no amount of water could fight it down. 

What a horrifying thing to realize— that he was slowly but surely turning into a frog. 

It’s the type of fuckass situation that Chan thought only existed in fiction. He’d seen the Disney movie, of course. He even gave it four stars on Letterboxd. 

To have it happen to him, though? Insane. 

All because he’d gotten into a spat with someone at the park. He’d thought the old hag was crazy when she screeched about being a witch, when she waved a stick at him and claimed he could only be cured by ‘true hate’s kiss’. Not true love, mind you. True hate. 

There was really only ever one person that Chan loathed with every fibre of his being.

You’d understandably been skeptical when he came up to you. In hindsight, starting off with “I need you to kiss me” may have not been one of his stronger openings.

“This is a weird way to confess,” you had shot back, and he laughed so hard he thought he might cry. 

He called you delusional. You retaliated by slamming the door in his face with a scathing remark of “Enjoy being a fuckass frog, then! Ribbit ribbit, bitch!”

‘Ribbit ribbit’ he has been doing, much to his utter distaste. The trilling has been driving him mad. He’s convinced his palms are getting more clammy by the day. And is it just him, or is his skin taking on a more greenish tint? 

Chan swallows what little pride he has left and does what he has to do: He grovels. 

He gets on his knees and grits out pleas for just one kiss. (No tongue, even, he says, unless you want some. That earns him an upside smack to the head.) 

He promises to leave you alone for a week, a month. That’s not enough; he can tell by your stoic, unwavering expression. 

“Anything,” he blurts out. “I’ll give you anything.” 

It’s a dangerous thing to promise, but it’s what lands. “Anything?” you repeat, tilting your head to one side. 

You’re the perfect picture of everything he’s despised. Composure, ridicule, smugness. 

Chan shifts from down on the ground, his knees pressing into the cool wood of the floorboards. “Anything,” he confirms with the solemnity of a man accepting a death sentence. 

You feign like you’re thinking about it, fingers resting at your chin. The litany strikes up in Chan’s head. A chant of I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I—  

“Deal,” you say. 

He blinks. Dread shivers down his spine, though it’s quickly replaced by something more akin to relief. Better one bad kiss than be a frog for life. 

“Okay.” His words are an exhale as he scrambles to his feet, drawing himself up to his full height. “Alright, then.” 

Chan has never been more grateful to be a couple of inches taller than you. It’s always been the topic of his jabs, and now it gives him both literal and metaphorical leverage. 

“Let’s make this quick,” he grumbles even though he’s in no position to be making demands when he’s the one cashing in a favor. He can only hope and pray that the anything you might want is somewhat reasonable, that it won’t shatter his already wounded pride. 

You roll your eyes. He bites back a snarky remark on the tip of his tongue. 

Chan rests his hand on the column of your neck, because if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right. Don’t overthink it, a voice in the back of his head wryly advises, and so he doesn’t. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and leans down, bracing for the worst. I hate you, I hate you, I hate—

—green apple lip balm. 

The refrain screeches to a halt. Chan never thought he’d use the word ‘soft’ to describe you; he knows you for your rough edges and sharp wit. Nothing about you is subtle or mellow, most especially when it comes to him. 

And yet. 

You’re not even touching him. You haven’t laid a single finger on him, and yet Chan is holding his breath like he’s underwater.

When your mouth parts ever so slightly— he doesn’t have the time to analyze that, to wonder if it’s impulse or pleasure— he responds in kind, his tongue briefly tracing over your lower lip. 

His earlier jab must register in your mind because you begin to pull away, your part of the deal fulfilled. The feeling of loss is instant. 

Don’t overthink it, his conscience had yelled. He didn’t realize it might translate to Don’t think at all. 

Chan’s fingers flex at your neck. If kissing you felt like being underwater, being apart felt like gasping for air. 

Gone is the chorus in his head. Why did he hate you, anyway? 

He doesn’t have to say a thing. His body acts for him; instinctively, he leans forward, chasing your lips for another kiss. 

(Later: A doctor’s visit reveals that the ‘ribbiting’ was, in fact, hiccups. An electrolyte imbalance, the attending tells a mortified Chan. Might be good to drink Gatorade. 

When Chan’s first thought is the apple-flavored variant, he knows he’s screwed.) 

[synvil]

Do you think that Rafe would act differently if the reader were having excruciating period cramps? As if she's having a hard time talking and is sobbing into her pillow. She first tries to oppose Rafe's attempts to calm and reassure her, so he has to be a little direct and use his tough voice to get her to listen.

hello anonnie !! <3

short answer : yes. but i do think it also depends on what season rafe we’re talking about. like s1 rafe i think would grow pretty aggravated bc he doesn’t quite understand just how painful the cramps are and gets annoyed with reader. but if we’re talking s3-4 rafe, then i think he would be more assertive but not aggressive and then comforts her afterwards. maybe feeling bad for being so commanding yk?

thought i’d do a little blurb (⸝⸝⍢⸝⸝) ෆ comfort time.

synopsis : bf! rafe trying to comfort you when you’re having severe cramps.

“baby, how’re you feelin’?”

the lack of response and the curling of your figure on his bed makes him sigh as he quietly steps inside the room and shuts the door. “baby, come on. you need to get up..”

it’s been a couple hours since you’ve been curled up like this, hugging a pillow tightly and finding yourself unable to move. every shift creates a sharp pain into your abdomen and you can feel the tears well up in your eyes.

rafe felt terrible at what you’re going through, even if he didn’t quite understand the length of it. he went out and bought some items for you but you couldn’t enjoy any of it if you couldn’t move.

“[name], i bought some snacks for you. i also bought a heating pad for you.” rafe takes a small seat on the edge of the bed and sets the bag down as he pulls out some items. “you need to get up now, it’s not going to help if you stay in that position all day.”

you only groan in response, hugging a pillow tightly. “c-can’t..” you meekly whisper, your breathing a bit heavy as you whimper and moan from the cramping.

rafe frowns as he sighs. “come on, i know it hurts a lot but i’ll help you. you’ve been laying like this so you haven’t changed your pad, which you should. i know you’re going to regret it if you bleed through so let me help you to the restroom and i’ll set up a warm bath as well, okay?”

“no..” even though you knew he was right, you had to refuse. you couldn’t even think about moving, wanting to just bare the pain in bed forever.

standing up, rafe exhales out at your persistent refusal and leans down, tucking his arms under your body, successfully surprising you as you gasp sharply and drop the pillow.

now carrying you bridal style, rafe narrows his eyes down at you and his once soft voice becomes firm. “i’m not going to say it again, [name]. let’s go get you into a warm bath to soothe your stomach and a fresh change of clothes. after that,” he begins to bring you to the bathroom as he continues to speak. “we’ll cuddle up together with a movie and you can enjoy your new snacks and the heating pad, and if you’d like, i’ll rub your stomach to ease the pain too.”

once inside the restroom, he sets you down on the closed toilet seat and kneels down to set up the bath for you.

you feel tears brim your eyes as you clutch your stomach and listen to him, imagining the heat of the water doing wonders for your pain. you can’t help but feel your chest warm as well from how sweet rafe was being, and feeling bad how difficult you were..

rafe notices the look on your face and smiles lightly, turning to you and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, rubbing your stomach with his hand over yours on your abdomen.

“I’m sorry for being a little assertive, but i promise it’s going to be okay. i’m here for you, baby. i love you.”

a/n : this might not be what you were expecting but this made me feel better :) especially as someone with bad cramps.

[stardustrebels]

A Hunger Like This- A Joel Miller x f!reader one shot

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E/ 18+ MDNI WC: 5k

Summary: I really wanted to write a Joel Miller Valentine’s Day story, but couldn’t decide between naughty or nice so I wrote both.

Tags: No Outbreak!AU, established relationship, Joel Miller x f!reader, no/ minimal age gap, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV, pet names (darlin’, sugar, honey, baby,) dirty talk, rough sex, creampie and some bdsm elements- D/s dynamics, praise, light spanking, pussy/ clit tapping, edging and orgasm denial. Use of traffic light system & aftercare. Everything’s safe, sane and consensual. No use of y/n, minimal descriptions of reader. She wears fishnets, a bra and heels and has hair long enough to pull. Joel Miller is a competent partner because of course he is. Possessive dom!Joel comes out to play. He eats pussy like an absolute beast, as he should. 

A/N: A Valentine’s day story with a rough Joel Miller who’s had a bad day and a reader who likes to tease. I just wanted an excuse to write something porny for fun and it ended up a bit of a monster. I’m not even sorry. 1/2 of my Joel Miller Valentine’s day naughty & nice one shots. Enjoy!

You knew by the way Joel answered the phone at lunch time that he was having a bad day. He was still kind, called you the sweet names he usually did, and still told you he loved you before he hung up, but you could tell from his tone that something was wrong. He was dog-tired from working too hard and trying to hide it from you. He’d told you he booked a table at your favourite place for that night to celebrate Valentine’s day with you, but you knew it was only to make you happy. He’d told you once he’d do anything to see you smile. 

You figured you could probably make his day at least a little better by offering to spend the night at home, but you wanted to make it extra special, and when you eventually decided on how you would do that, your insides fluttered with anticipation. Joel wasn’t one to talk much about what he wanted, but you paid attention when he did. One night during lazy conversation between tangled sheets he’d let something slip. 

“Fishnets, huh?” You’d teased, grinning as you lay draped across his chest. 

“Mhm.” His voice had been thick with sleep, his fingers trailing idly across your skin as he admitted there was just something about the idea of fishnets and heels that drove him wild, that they had since he was a teenager, and you’d stored that little detail away knowing that you’d use it one day. Today was that day. 

By the time Joel’s truck pulled in to the driveway, you’d positioned yourself in the entryway, leaning against the wall in black fishnets, the bra from the lingerie set Joel had bought you last year, a barely-there skirt that left little to the imagination, and your favourite pair of black heels. 

When he stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the bouquet in his hand- red roses held together by brown paper with a familiar logo stamped on it. This man, despite his tiredness, had gone across town after work to pick up flowers from your favourite shop. Your heart stuttered and for a second you almost abandoned your plan and ran straight in to his arms. 

You stopped yourself as soon as you saw the look on his face.

“Jesus Christ.” Was all he offered as he closed the door behind him.

You stepped forward, smiling sweetly as you reached out to lay a hand against his arm.

“Rough day, baby?” 

Joel’s fingers tightened around the bouquet, the paper crinkling under the grip. His gaze dragged over you so slowly you could practically feel it. 

You took the bouquet, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Are these for me? They’re so beautiful, thank you.” You said, tone saccharine as you placed them down on the console table beside you. 

Moving your attention back to him, you slid your hands up his chest to push his jacket from his shoulders. He let you, though you could feel how tense his muscles were under your touch. 

“Darlin’…” he muttered, so low you would have missed it had you not been standing right in front of him. You shushed him, giving his jacket one last shove, letting it land on the floor by his feet. 

You leaned in, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “You’ve been working so, so hard,” you said, emphasising the words with an exaggerated pout and a whine. 

The way his eyebrows shot up towards his hairline almost made you break, but you caught yourself before you laughed, pressing a kiss against his shoulder to hide your smile before you continued. “Why don’t I help you relax?” 

His hands drifted up to rest on your waist, fingers pressing gently in to the soft skin there, one of his favourite parts of you, he’d admitted one night. You peppered gentle kisses up his neck toward his jaw as your hands wandered across his chest and down the firm muscles of his arms, before moving to undo the buttons of his shirt. His jaw clenched hard under your lips as your fingers ghosted over his bare chest, and you expected him to snap, to take control the second your hand touched his bare skin, but he didn’t. 

Interesting. 

You felt his stomach tense under your touch, heard the tiny intake of breath as your fingertips dipped lower and brushed just past the waistline of his jeans, but he didn’t move. 

You grinned and leaned in to brush a kiss under his ear, where you knew he was sensitive. His fingers twitched against your waist, but still he held back. 

“You must be exhausted, baby,” you murmured against his skin, voice dripping with sympathy. “I thought for sure by now you’d be telling me exactly how you wanted me.” 

The hitch of his breath was almost satisfying, but he still didn’t react. It made you pause for a second. Was he too tired? Had you misread this? Doubt crept in around the edges of your plan, and you faltered a little, until you glanced up at him.

His lips were curled in to a devilish grin, dark eyes locked on yours, dazed with a look that was nothing more than pure, unadulterated lust. He was letting you have your little game, enjoying it until it was time for him to play.

Oh. 

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the heat now pooling in your stomach made it difficult. 

You pressed a couple more kisses down his neck and onto his shoulder for good measure before taking his hand to lead him further in to the house. You made sure to sway your hips just enough, knowing damn well that his eyes were fixed on your ass. 

You could practically feel the tension radiating off him when you stopped in front of the couch, and a heat crept up your neck at the severity of it. You resisted the urge to look at him, knowing if you caught another glimpse of that dark, hungry look in his eyes, you’d lose your nerve entirely. 

You stepped close to him, your focus fixed on your hands dragging up his chest, slow and deliberate, pushing his open shirt to hang loose on his shoulders. You traced a nail lightly across his sternum, revelling in the subtle shiver that ran through him at the sensation, and you couldn’t help your smirk when you noticed his jaw tick out of the corner of your eye. 

You pressed yourself against him and reached for one of his hands, guiding it to rest on the front of your thigh. A sound rumbled from his throat then, a low groan that he couldn’t hold in, but he still didn’t move. His fingers trailed up with encouragement from yours on top, his rough skin catching against the delicate net. You pushed his hand up further, brushing past the hem of your skirt and between your legs. His body went rigid against yours when he realised you’d forgone any underwear as part of the surprise. 

Something in the air around him shifted as his fingers hovered between your legs, just shy of where you wanted them. Resisting the urge to buck your hips up in to his hand, you finally met his gaze and his expression made your heart skip more than a few beats. He’d never looked quite so intense; pupils blown with lust, nostrils flared, taking slow, deep breaths. You were struck with the sudden urge to run. 

As if he could sense it, he pushed you down on to the couch before you could move. The air left your lungs with a squeak as you collided with the cushions. He caged you in with his arms and took one last deep breath as he smiled down at you. 

“My turn,” he said in a growl, kicking your legs apart with a gentle tap of his foot before sliding down to kneel between them. 

You let out a whine as he admired you for a second, head tilted slightly at the sight in front of him. He trailed his hands up, pushing the skirt up to bunch up around your waist.  “Is this what you wanted?” He murmured, eyes locked between your legs as his thumb brushed over your clit, pushing the net against it ever so slightly. You sucked in a breath and raised your hips, trying to gain just a tiny bit more friction. 

He stilled and his other hand slapped the inside of your thigh, just hard enough to sting and send a jolt of electricity through your core. 

“I asked you a question, baby.” He said, his voice thick with arousal. “This what you wanted when you decided to tease me like that?” 

You swallowed hard, head spinning from how quickly he’d flipped your game on its head. 

“Yes,” you whimpered, gasping when his thumb pushed harder against the seam over your clit. “Yes, Joel, it’s what I wanted.” 

He hummed in approval, adjusting his weight to pepper kisses up your thigh. You bucked your hips again and Joel tapped your clit lightly with his fingertips, making you gasp and grip the cushions on either side of you. 

“Uh-uh, dirty girl,” Joel muttered against your skin, resuming his trail of kisses, torturously slow. “For all your teasin’? You’ll get what I fuckin’ give you.” 

When he reached the apex of your thigh you let out a long, needy whine, trying desperately not to squirm as he nudged his nose against your mound, pressing his tongue flat over the net that barely covered your folds. Your head fell against the back of the couch and you let out a string of curses, causing him to chuckle, the vibrations of it heightening every sensation. 

The seams between the holes of your tights were scraping against you as he licked, adding a new level of torture as his tongue flicked up and down, catching tiny points of your skin underneath. Your legs trembled, heels sliding against the floor as you tried to arch up to his mouth, desperate for more, but his fingers dug in to the outside of your thighs, keeping you pinned. Every time his tongue dragged against the fabric, it was almost where you wanted it most, but not quite. It was torture. Exquisite, delicious torture. 

You let out another whine, this one more frustrated than the last and Joel stopped altogether. 

“Somethin’ wrong, darlin’?” He drawled, lips ghosting over the netting, his breath hot against the dampness that had gathered there. “Thought this was what you wanted?” 

You groaned and gripped fistfuls of cushions in clenched fists. Joel hummed in amusement and kept going, alternating between light flicks of his tongue and slow, dragging licks that made you squirm uselessly under his hold. Every time you tried to angle yourself so that your tongue would hit where you ached for it, the fishnets got in the way. It wasn’t until you felt the breaths of another soft chuckle that you realised he was doing it on purpose. Another frustrated noise bubbled up in your throat, and you grimaced at how sensitive your clit was under the seams dragging against it. 

“Joel, please-”

He exhaled sharply, the sound almost sympathetic, but the way his tongue continued its ministrations told he wasn’t quite done making you suffer. You gasped when he sucked gently on the sensitive spot just above your clit, his teeth scraping lightly, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your legs twitched, thighs threatening to close around his head, but he gripped your hips and held you where he wanted you. 

“Jesus,” you gasped, panting now, every muscle tight with need. “Joel, I- I can’t-” 

He groaned against you, tongue pressing a little harder, still blocked by the crosses in the fabric. You let out a desperate sob and raised your head from the back of the couch. He stilled and locked eyes with you. 

You felt as wrecked as he looked, and he must have felt some pity for you because the next thing you knew, his fingers were tearing a hole in your fishnets, right at the center of your soaked aching core, earning a gasp and a shocked, breathy laugh from you. 

He ripped at the fabric until he was satisfied with how much of you he’d uncovered, groaning at the sight now in front of him. He swatted lazily at your thighs, pushing them further apart. 

“Spread those legs, baby. Let me see what’s mine.” He rasped, voice dripping with desire. 

You hardly had time to take another breath before he was on you. His tongue was everywhere- hot, wet and relentless. Now that there was nothing in the way, Joel was devouring you like a man starved. You struggled to focus on anything, but obeyed and spread your legs wider, earning a muffled hum of approval as he buried his face deeper. 

Your fingers found their way in to his hair, threading through his thick curls as his tongue worked you over, unsure if you were pulling him closer or trying to push him away. Either way, Joel wasn’t going anywhere. 

His grip on your thighs tightened as he flattened his tongue and dragged it up through your folds again and again, his low groans mingling with yours in the most intoxicating way. 

“Fuck, sugar,” he murmured against your heat, “Ain’t a single inch of you I don’t wanna put my mouth on.” 

You gasped as he latched on to your clit, sucking just hard enough to make your back arch. The pleasure was sharp, coiling tight at the base of your spine, dancing just beyond your reach and tempting you to chase it. 

And then, he pulled back. 

You groaned in protest and your fingers tugged uselessly at his hair, trying to guide his head back to where it had been. Joel chuckled, pressing a wet kiss to your inner thigh instead. 

“Not yet, darlin’,” he murmured, glancing up at you. His face would have been the picture of innocence had it not been absolutely saturated in the evidence of your arousal. 

His fingers replaced his mouth, teasing through your folds, barely pressing where you needed them. You writhed beneath him, trying to push in to his touch, but he only pulled away again, leaving you aching. 

You whined a plea down at him, voice cracking with frustration and he hummed back in mock sympathy.  “Y’gonna be a good girl f’me?” 

“Yes,” you gasped, more desperate than you’d ever been for him to make you come, “Yes, please I’ll be good. I’ll be a good girl just please-”

His tongue was on you again in an instant, causing your rambling pleas to morph in to a deep moan in your throat, but it was too soft and slow, keeping you just on the edge without allowing you to fall over it. 

“Joel,” you sobbed through your moans, rocking your hips, “I- I need-”

“Oh, I know, baby,” he said, pouting before pressing a teasing kiss on to your clit. “Poor thing. You’re real close, huh?” 

Your fingers tightened in his hair. “Yes!”

He pulled back again, lips curling smugly as he looked up at you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. 

“You’ll come when I let you.” 

The whine that left your lips was such a foreign sound to you, you almost couldn’t believe you’d made it. Your thighs were trembling uncontrollably and you glanced down at Joel, tears blurring the edges of your vision. His smirk softened just a fraction at the sight of you and his fingers moved from your thigh to trace the curve of your hip. 

“We green, darlin’?” His voice was rough with restraint. Your head was swimming, but the mention of your safe word system grounded you for a moment.

You swallowed thickly, nodding. “Yeah,” you gasped, breath hitching at how delicately he was caressing your skin. “We’re green.”

“Atta girl.” He rumbled, voice thick with approval. He traced slow circles back down to your thigh, his eyes fixed on yours, watching your changing expression intently. “You’re gonna be good f’me, ain’t you? Good girls get to come.”

When you let out a sigh and shot him a relaxed smile and a nod, his satisfied smirk returned, sharper this time. His head dipped again, and he pressed teasing kisses around your clit before flicking his tongue over it, making you shiver. It wasn’t long before you were moaning and gasping again, whispering broken pleas up toward the ceiling. 

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he ordered, his thumb taking over, pressing against your clit in the way he knew drove you crazy. “Beg for it, baby.” 

You had no pride left, no shame. They were gone and raw, desperate need had taken their place. Your head fell back and your hand left his hair to grasp at the edge of the couch and you rocked your hips against his hand, legs threatening to close around his head. 

“I need it, I need to come, I- please, fuck, Joel, I-”

He groaned and slid two fingers inside of you, curling up to press against the spot he knew made you come undone. The moment he nudged it, you let out a sharp cry, hips jolting toward him as the heat coiled tighter in your stomach. 

“There it is, pretty girl. Come f’me, let me feel it,” he murmured, before flicking his tongue back against your clit. 

You clenched around his fingers in response, thighs twitching, pleasure so sharp it was almost unbearable. Your moans gave way to a garbled sob, fingers clutching the cushions in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. Joel grunted and lapped at your clit like a man possessed. Every flick, every calculated curl of his fingers, every slick, filthy sound had you spiralling toward your inevitable release. 

You held your breath as your body went tight, pleasure knotting so tightly you thought you might snap in half. When you finally fell over the edge, it hit you like a truck; pleasure slamming through you so hard your vision went white. You let out a choked cry as your entire body seized, back arching clean off the couch. The pleasure was devastating- wave after wave of it crashing through you, with Joel’s fingers dragging every last drop of pleasure from you as you sobbed his name, trembling under his touch. 

After a moment, his hands slid down your legs to your feet, his touch gentle and reverent. He sat back on his heels and slid your shoes off one by one before tossing them over his shoulder. His hands continued their tracing, back up to your waist. He unbuttoned your skirt before pulling it off in one smooth motion, leaving your wrecked fishnets firmly in place. 

He stood, unbuckling his belt and shrugging off his shirt. You bit back a moan when he shoved down his jeans and boxers, freeing his hard, leaking cock. He stroked himself, breathing heavily as he watched you squirm and lick your lips beneath him.

Before you got a chance to really admire him, Joel grabbed you and flipped you on to your front, setting you on all fours, fingers hooking in the net to drag your hips toward him, causing the fabric to rip again. He ran his palm over the curve of your ass and gave it a squeeze as his other hand slid between your legs, fingers pressing against your swollen clit, drawing a choked moan from you. 

“So sensitive, sugar. I know you can take it, though.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him, silently begging for more. Joel huffed a laugh as he lined himself up against your entrance, teasing. 

“Tell me you want it.” 

“I want it,” you gasped, hands clutching against the cushions, scratching at the fabric as you keened.. “I want you. Please, Joel-” 

He didn’t make you wait any longer. With a low, wrecked groan, his entire length was inside you in one slow, ruinous thrust. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fingers digging in to your hips. “You feel so goddamn good. Gonna let me take what I need, darlin’?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, arching your back to press further into him, revelling in the way he was stretching you: overwhelming in the best way. 

Joel pulled back and slammed in to you again, setting a ruthless pace, dragging you back to meet him with every thrust. His hands were rough, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back to fist in to your hair.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he praised. Each thrust was deep and desperate, stealing what little breath you had left from your lungs with each sharp snap of his hips. Joel sounded like he was hanging on by a thread, babbling strings of praises punctuated by hissed curses, voice wrecked and rough with need. “You’re mine, ain’t you? Mine. Takin’ me so well. Made for me. So fuckin’ perfect.” 

His hand left your hair and you almost whined with the loss of contact before his fingers curled around the nape of your neck, the feeling pulling a deep, animalistic moan from your throat. The sound only seemed to spur Joel on, and he dragged you up against his chest, keeping his rhythm with near-perfect precision against something blissful deep inside of you. 

He pressed a burning kiss to your neck, growling against the spot just below your ear. You could barely keep yourself upright, but Joel was one step ahead of you, wrapping an arm around your middle to keep you pressed to him, his other hand reaching between your legs, fingertips circling expertly against you, despite the rapid pace he’d set. 

“Love havin’ you like this,” he rasped, rhythm stuttering just slightly as you clenched around his cock. “Fuck, that’s it, you’re gonna give me another, ain’t you?” 

A sob tore from your throat, a familiar pleasure tightening like a vice inside of you. 

“I got you, sweet girl. C’mon, come on my cock. Let me feel it.” 

You shattered with a cry, pleasure ripping through your muscles so intensely you thought you might collapse beneath the force of it, but Joel held you steady, his movements turning frantic, losing his perfect rhythm as the tight heat of you squeezed him, pulling him over the edge alongside you with a deep, guttural groan. It vibrated against the damp skin of your neck and contorted in to something soft and raw, breaking apart in to broken whimpers as he spilled inside of you, his body wracked with tiny, involuntary shudders. His hands trembled where they held you, fingers flexing and gripping like he needed you closer, even though there wasn’t a single inch left between you. 

It left you gasping, sucking in the air even though it felt like there was none left in the room; overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy of it all. The way he clung to you, the way his lips imparted breathless murmurs of your name, the word falling over your skin again and again like a confession. His devotion to you rolling off of him in waves, pulsing through you with every thump of his heart against your back, along with aftershocks that made you quiver along with him. 

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds filling the space were your gasping breaths -  lingering echoes of your pleasure. You turned your head just enough to press a shaky kiss to the side of his jaw, the sharp scratch of his scruff pulling you further from your reverie. He let out a heavy exhale and rested his forehead against your temple, his breath cool against your scorching skin. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he finally said, voice scratchy and worn. You gave a satisfied hum. You knew he did. How could you not - he was clutching you to him like some precious thing that might fizzle out of existence the moment he let go. 

“I love you too,” you said in return, lifting a hand to cup the back of his head, carding your fingers through his thick, tousled curls. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” 

He peppered kisses down your neck in response and shifted so that he could slide out of you. You groaned in unison as he did, his spend leaking out on to your thigh. He ghosted a finger between your legs to feel it, and a low hum rumbled from his chest; the feel of it igniting the residual embers of possessiveness, ever-present at the edges of his desire for you. 

“Can you stand?” Joel said against your neck. You nodded, and moved away from him, but the moment he eased his grip and your feet hit the rug, your legs wobbled beneath you. His reflexes were quicker- of course they were, and his strong arms were around you before you could sway even an inch.

“Yeah, I figured,” he chuckled. “C’mon, sugar. Hold on t’me.” 

He slid a hand down your arm and laced his fingers with yours as you clutched his arm to steady yourself. Even when you found your footing, he kept his hold on you, making sure you were alright on your own before he even thought about letting go. He turned you to face him and lifted himself from the couch to press a soft kiss against your lips, the energy of it in such stark contrast to how he’d fucked you not ten minutes before. You sighed in to the kiss, tasting yourself on him as his tongue danced over your lips, coaxing yours out to meet it. 

“Let’s get these off,” he said, crouching down to help you out of your torn fishnets. He peeled them off with care, muttering about how it was a damn shame, before glancing up at you with such a salacious grin that it made you giggle. 

“Guess I owe you a new pair of these, huh?” 

You smirked, “Only if you wanna do that again.” 

His smile grew, crooked, lazy and just shy of arrogant. 

“I’d do that every day if I could, sweetheart.”  

Joel stood and his hands moved to your bra, unclasping it with practised ease, his fingertips following it as it slid from your body, his gaze tracing over every inch of exposed skin. 

“Christ, look at you,” he muttered, tone tinged with reverence, “Most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on.” 

You felt suddenly shy at the way he was looking at you and you shot him a coy smile. His hands cupped at your waist and he guided you in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, darlin’.” 

The steam of the shower curled around you both as Joel pulled you under the water with him, his broad chest solid against your back. He took his time, lathering shampoo through your hair, massaging at your scalp until you melted against him. His lips found the curve of your shoulder and he pressed soft, lingering kisses between quiet murmurs of praise. 

Once you were both clean, wrapped in the fluffiest towels you could find, Joel led you to your bedroom and draped your robe over your shoulders while he rifled through drawers for the comfy clothes he knew you favoured on nights like this. He froze when he turned back to you, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. 

“Shit,” he said, “We’ve missed our damn dinner reservation.” 

You bit your lip, sheepishly avoiding his gaze as you took your clothes from him. 

Joel squinted at you, catching the shift in your expression. “What?” 

“I canceled it earlier,” you muttered, a shy grin curving your lips. 

His brows lifted. “You did?” 

You shrugged, reaching out to clasp his hand in yours. “I thought we could just have a quiet night at home instead. Just us. Order a pizza or something. I just wanna spend some time with you, Joel, I don’t mind where we do it. I bought you some beers, or we could have some wine- maybe just relax for a bit?” 

Joel only stared at you, the crease between his brows deepening like he was trying to work through what you’d just said. His throat bobbed and his fingers twitched against yours as he let out a shaky breath.

A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips, but there was a slight waver to it. “I’d love that, sweetheart. It sounds perfect.” 

You barely had time to register the movement before he was wrapping his arms around you, tugging you against him so tightly it almost knocked the breath from your lungs. His nose nestled in to your hair as he held you, chest rising and falling in controlled breaths beneath your cheek. 

“You’re so good t’me.” 

Joel had dressed in his sweats and left the room after checking in with you one last time and pressing a kiss to your temple. You agreed to meet him downstairs once you had dressed and dried your hair. 

By the time you made your way down, Joel had cleaned up. The evidence of your earlier tryst had been erased: your shoes, the fishnets and Joel’s clothes were gone. He’d placed your favourite blanket on the edge of the couch and there was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table between two glasses. The bouquet of roses he’d brought home was already in a vase on the side table, and you allowed yourself a second to admire them. 

Joel was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, phone in hand. The sight of him in comfy clothes made your heart ache- you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him in them. He glanced up when you walked toward him, a smile breaking through the tiredness on his features.  “Pizza’s on its way,” he said as you reached for him, tucking your hands under his t-shirt, suddenly struck with the need to feel his bare skin against yours again. 

“Great,” you said, “You wanna come cuddle with me on the couch?” 

He cupped your cheek and his eyes flitted between yours as he looked down at you, his expression overflowing with adoration. 

“I’d love nothing more, darlin’.” 

[slimmyluvsnagi]

Important notes: This is something funny that it occurred to me to do, in reality I just put some characters! (Soft content, blk x yn)

With: Seishiro Nagi, Reo Mikage, Michael Kaiser, Chigiri Hyoma, Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Yukimiya Kenyu, Bachira Meguru.

꒰ 🎮 𝙋𝙡𝙤𝙩: "How would they sleep with you"

Seishiro Nagi 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Sleeping with Nagi is like sleeping with a big teddy bear.

Normally Nagi really likes long naps, while you give him cuddles on his hair, it relaxes him a lot.

His favorite position is sleeping against your chest, after a long workout and a gaming session on his phone he needs a break, then he always goes to your arms, while he surrounds your torso with his hands and positions himself on you.

Don't expect to go to the bathroom, because he won't move at all, if you try to leave before he wakes up he will be in a bad mood all day, or he will let out some sighs between dreams of annoyance, everything is a nuisance for him.

Reo Mikage 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Sleeping with Reo is like sleeping in paradise.

His big king side bed is like being in heaven. He has tons of pillows since he's constantly on the move, his favorite position is spooning, where he's obviously the big spoon, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning your back against his firm chest.

He usually lets you pet his hair before bed, he likes it when you run your fingers through his long hair, or when you make little pigtails for him.

After training, he usually wants to rest by your side, too bad if you have work to do, he'd be able to get your boss to give you the day off thanks to his contacts.

Chigiri Hyoma 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Chigiri really likes sleeping with you, especially when he has hard days, a game or a stressful moment.

Sleeping next to him is very nice, they always have a skincare session together while watching something, he always tries to make room for you even if he is tired from his soccer practices.

He likes you to do hairstyles in his reddish hair, you are the only person he lets him touch his hair. His favorite position is for you to be against his chest, he likes to see you calm while you sleep, this gives him security and peace at the same time, since you are his priority.

He will always treat you like a queen, since he was raised by his older sister and mother, he knows that he must be delicate at bedtime, preparing the bed minutes before you come to sleep next to him, organizing everything as you like and finally being comfortable.

Itoshi Rin 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Even though Rin seems serious, he always shows his sensitive and loving side with you.

Rin doesn't beat around the bush when it's time to sleep, he just wants you to be close to him while you give him cuddles and some kisses. He's not too much of a fan of romance but with you it's different, sometimes he doesn't say anything and just hugs you from behind possessively, while placing one of his hands on your lower back, completely relaxing.

He likes to spend the weekend with you in bed, since he hardly has too much time to spend with you due to his heavy training, you're the only thing his brother Sae can't have, so constantly in his dreams he takes you possessively and holds you to his chest.

Itoshi Sae 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Sleeping with Sae means: Waking up without him.

Sae is very strict with his schedules, always getting up at a specific time every day, he is too disciplined with his career as a soccer player.

You were already used to waking up without him, although there were days of exceptions. You understood that there were times when his mind was only on the games, so you always woke up without him by your side.

His favorite position is for you to lie on him, placing your head on his bare chest, since he usually doesn't wear a shirt at bedtime.

He is the type of boy who probably consumes asmr content to relax. He is always stressed out and needs some stimulation for that, which is why he is too picky about all that.

Sae, despite everything, prepares you breakfast and leaves you a note on the fridge, saying that he was leaving, but he does leave you thousands of messages on your phone when he leaves the house. Poor you if you don't answer him right away.

Yukimiya Kenyu 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Yukimiya is very loving when it comes to sleeping with you.

He is a person who always tries to prepare everything for you before sleeping, since he knows that you like to sleep with everything arranged.

Before sleeping they have a conversation about everything they have done in their day, he likes to listen to you talk too much and smiles every time you say something about it.

He doesn't have a specific position that he likes, since he is constantly moving and they can have thousands of sleeping positions in one night. When he wakes up to go to his training he gives you a light kiss on your forehead and lets you know that he is already on the court.

Bachira Meguru 𖦹 ࣪ ۪

Sleeping with him is like sleeping with a little boy..

Bachira is the type of boy who before going to sleep tells you a thousand things he did in practice, such as "Do you know what I did with Isagi today? The goal I scored today was amazing!" and thousands of other things before going to sleep.

His favorite position is spooning, where you are the big spoon. Since Bachira is given to moving all night while sleeping, he even talks in his sleep when he is very tired. It is something tender and funny at the same time, so you make sure he is in the same position all night.

Although there are days when he wants to be the big spoon, he does not like it very much when you treat him like a little boy, maybe he is a little, but he always wants to change roles even if he wakes up on the floor afterwards.

His room is surrounded by pillows and stuffed animals, both of you are fans of having them all over the room, so don't be surprised if he hugs a stuffed animal or pillow instead of you. He has a hard time waking up early, so you have to be his alarm all the time.

[legalmente-loca]

They Were Real

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: You sacrificed your life for humanity twice. Days later you find yourself in an unknown room and with your memory lost. You must not overlook any details since it could be a lie. The most important thing that occupies the center of your head is to discover who he is... Who is that man named Dean Winchester.

They Were Real Masterlist

Word Count: 2,479

Tags/Warnings: memory loss, jump in time

Prologue:

Who makes the rules about what is right or wrong? Surely they are the same people who have never found themselves between a rock and a hard place. Surely, if they were put in that position, they would not know what to do and would end up choosing the “bad” choice. All people are hypocrites and if someone says they are not... It is because they are one of the most hypocritical people on the planet.

To what extent can a person be judged by their decisions?

To what extent would you judge yourself for your decisions?

You walked through the hallways of this abandoned building looking for the monster. Charlie hadn't really found enough information to attack with confidence, but it was enough. A vetala, that's all.

But as soon as you heard a voice, your senses took off and you pressed yourself against the wall, dust sticking to your jacket, knife raised.

“I don't see her anywhere, Sammy.” He said in a tired tone.

You felt him move to the other side of the wall and you strained your hearing. You didn't know who it was, it might or might not be your fighter, but if he was a civilian, he was complicating things.

You concentrated even more when you noticed that he didn't make a sound. You didn't think he was gone.

Then, you understood the cause of the silence.

You took a deep breath and gripped your knife firmly. You quickly moved your back away from the wall and turned around, knife firmly in front of you. At the same time you made your movements, he executed them. You were facing each other, pointing at each other.

“Hey.” He greeted and you narrowed your eyes.

“Do we know each other?”

“Not in person.”

“Are you what I should hunt?”

You looked each other firmly in the eyes, one wanting to guess the other's next moves.

“Let's admit it. No one will lower their weapons.” You said.

“You would really do me a favor if you did.”

“I don't do anyone favors.”

“Not even Charlie?”

Your face paled, putting you on alert upon hearing your sister's name.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. I'm sure you do your sister a lot of favors.” He smiled sideways.

“How do you know her name?” You growled.

“We were talking.”

You both went around in circles, going in and out of the rooms while still pointing at each other.

“Did you murder her?” Your voice shook, but you didn't care. You needed to know the answer even if you didn't like it.

“No.”

You looked at him curiously, and although your body relaxed, you were still on alert. The dust at his feet fluttered with every movement and the stranger's green eyes shone in the rays of sunlight.

“What did you do to her?”

“What I told you. We just chat. Amicably I must clarify.”

“About what, genius?”

“But how much kindness.” He said sarcastically, but slowly raised his machete in a sign of peace. “We killed this vampire together and both sides get the credit.”

“What credit? They don't even pay us and I'm not sure you're not what I'm looking for. Besides, I don't need a partner.”

“Your sister thinks so.”

“Don't mention her.” You groaned and stopped walking.

“Okay, kitten, without taking out the claws.”

You rolled your eyes.

"Besides, it's not a vampire, it's a vetala."

He frowned and lowered his machete.

"What? No. Of course it’s a vampire.”

“Blood sucked, they hunt in pairs, it's a damn vetala.”

“I haven't heard from a second monster.”

“That's because I killed him.”

You raised an eyebrow. Dean could practically feel the arrogance oozing out of your pores.

“Okay, Lara Croft, are we doing this or not?”

“I don’t even trust you.”

“But yes in her, right?

You looked at him in confusion as he lowered his hand to one of his pockets.

“Hey.”

“Relax. It’s just my cell phone.”

And just as he said, he took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number, raising it to his ear as his gaze remained on you. Someone answered on the other side.

“Charlie, there is someone who wants to talk to you.”

He moved his cell phone away from his ear and brought it closer to you. Seeing that you didn't let your guard down, he sighed and left the machete on the ground and then kicked it away from him.

“Believe me, I wouldn't do that for anything.”

You thought about it for a few seconds, looking him up and down carefully, looking for anything that would set off an alarm in your brain. But there was nothing.

You grabbed the cell phone and brought it to your ear.

“Charlie?” You said doubtfully.

“Ahoy, here I am.”

You breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

"Are you okey." You nodded.

“Yep, alive and well.”

“So, this guy tells me you made a deal with him.”

"That's how it is."

The way she said it so easily made you frown.

“Just like that? So easy? Were you even planning to consult with me?” You asked angrily.

“I knew what you would say, little sister.”

“And you didn't think that maybe I have my reasons?” You looked at Dean with disdain, his reaction being a shrug. “How can you be so sure he won't betray you?”

"Listen, I've already talked to his brother too-"

“Oh, so there are two?” You interrupted her. “This just keeps getting better.”

“Everything will be fine. You just have to trust me.”

“You know I trust you.” You paused. “But it's them I don't trust.”

“Listen, little sister, let's make a deal.”

“Haven't you done enough for today?”

“Trust me and let's do this. If everything turns out as expected, then we'll move on with our lives and go out for a drink. If it doesn’t work out… I’ll admit I was wrong.”

“I like the sound of that. Although I don't think it matters much when we're dead, but oh well.”

“We have a deal?”

“In a minute you will have my answer.” You looked at the man in front of you. “If you betray us, can I take care of her?”

“No one will betray you.” Seeing that you didn't say anything, he sighed and put his hands in his jacket pockets. “But yes, you can. Damn, I'll even give you all the tools you want to torture her.”

You nodded and returned your attention to the call.

“I'm in.”

“Yay!” Shee exclaimed in a triumphant tone. “You won't regret it.”

“No, I won't.”

You hung up the phone and handed it to Dean. You decided to put the knife away for now. He gave you a charming smile that you actually didn't find charming at all and extended his hand.

“Welcome, darlin’.”

You watched his hand nonchalantly and he cleared his throat, removing it and instead combing his hair.

“My name is Dean and the other guy is my brother Sam.”

You sighed and extended your hand, giving him your name. He looked at your hand before extending his own. Your hands touched, a gust of wind moved the dust at your feet.

“Your sister told me that you know when people are going to die.”

“Exaggerate. They are just… Instincts.”

“Uh…” He nodded and let go of your hand, running it over his chin. “But are you really right?”

“Yes, why? Do you want to bet?”

He smiled sideways.

“You shouldn't bet with me, sweetheart, I always end up getting the most.”

"C’mon. I will tell you if anyone will die during the mission, and if it turns out that way, you will give me that machete.”

“What if I win?”

“What do you want from me?”

You extended your arms and turned around. Dean smiled, but preferred to save the perverted comments for when he got to know you better.

“Your knife.”

"Really?"

"What? Are you afraid of losing?”

You shook your head in amusement. The mere idea of fearing something you were so sure of seemed ridiculous to you.

“Of course not. I have never missed a premonition.”

“Then we have a deal.”

He extended his hand again and this time you took it without protest, giving it a firm squeeze.

“We have a deal.”

He smiled at you, and you couldn't help but smile back. You had to admit he was charismatic and engaging.

You still couldn't separate your hands from each other, your smiles like mirrors, and they reflected each other in your eyes.

You opened your eyes slowly, feeling them heavy. In fact, as you slowly gained consciousness, your entire body felt heavy. You turned your head to either side as you studied the unfamiliar room in which you lay groggily.

Where were you?

You sat up slowly, your body aching at the movement. You had an IV and you took it out, a little blood coming out. You placed your feet on the ground and a shiver ran through your body as you felt the cold surface. You ran a hand over your forehead and closed your eyes for a few seconds, needing to come back completely.

You were wearing a hospital gown, but you didn't seem to be in one. You looked for your clothes, but they didn't seem to be there.

Suddenly, you began to hear sounds of footsteps heading towards the room. You looked for something to defend yourself with and ended up grabbing the IV. You stood against the wall, behind the door. Seeing someone open it, you prepared yourself.

It was a man. A very tall man who slowly approached the bed, surprised to not find you there. You quietly walked up behind him and placed the tip of the IV against his back, applying light pressure to let him know that what was behind him was sharp and therefore dangerous.

“Stay still and don't make any noise, understood?” He nodded. “Now, how many people are in this place?”

“Listen, I-”

You pressed the needle harder.

“Answer.” You said firmly.

“Six.”

“I can finish all of you.”

“Wait, you must listen to me.” He said your name and you cocked your head. “…And you know me.”

“Nice trick, but it won't work.”

“It's the truth. Did you have an accident-”

“Stop talking! Take me to the people who kidnapped me.

“What? No one kidnapped you.”

“You want to die?”

He sighed.

“Fine…” He gave up. “I'll take you to them.”

“Good boy.”

You pushed him towards the door. You walked close to his back. The place caught your attention. It looked big, full of hallways, but there were no windows in sight. Were you in a bunker?

He stopped before turning and you understood. His friends were there around the corner, the room without a door.

“We’ll go into the room and you and your friends will answer some questions.” You whispered. “If you don't do it, you will die.”

“You must listen to me…”

“Don't you dare talk to me like you know me.”

He stayed silent and you gave him a little push to keep him going. When you two entered you observed the people scattered around the place.

"Guys…"

“Oh, heya, Sammy.” Commented a man who had his back turned. “How is she?”

No one turned their gaze towards you, they were quite busy reading.

“Why don't you ask her instead?” Your voice echoed through the room, making everyone turn around.

Those who were sitting stood up and stuck their noses out of the books. Each one seemed to be going through different emotions.

“I don't have time for this.” You growled. “Each of you will release what you have in your hand and hold it high. You will then head over and stand in the middle of the room. If anyone makes a sudden movement, I swear I will give him a big cut on their back.

“How did I not prevent it?” Lamented one wearing a trench coat.

“Do what I said.” You ordered.

Everyone obeyed and went to the center of the place, standing side by side.

“Now that there is order you will answer my questions.”

“The angel ruined it again.” A bearded man in a suit rolled his eyes.

“…And no one will speak unless it is to answer my questions.” You continued.

The room fell silent.

“What am I doing here?” You asked.

They exchanged glances.

“You live here.”

“I don't think I explained myself well.” You pressed the needle against Sammy's back.

"Wait!" The one in the rain trench coat exclaimed. “We are honest with you.”

"Did you have an accident." One with green eyes followed.

You softened your grip because he didn't seem to be lying. But you couldn't risk it. You weren't sure if they worked for someone or alone.

“Let's say I believe you. Tell me what is happening.”

“How much do you remember?” Asked an older man in a cap

“I ask the questions, old man.” You answered.

“Okay, okay. Let's start again. You are part of us…”

“You had an accident that left you in a coma.” Another followed.

“I don't remember any accident…”

“It seems that you lost your memory.”

“The question is…” The one in the suit looked at you curiously, studying you. "How much?"

You looked at each one of them. The only thing that made sense of his entire story was memory loss. That would be the answer to all your questions. They seemed confident when they spoke, even when one of their own was under threat.

At that moment, you remembered Charlie.

“Where is-?”

“Guys, something happened to my…”

You turned around, seeing Charlie, who was rushing into the living room.

“Bitch…” She whispered.

In your distraction, that man snatched your weapon and pushed you. You tried to get closer, but he pointed it at you. You sighed defeated and raised your hands.

But he, instead of continuing to point the needle at you, threw it on the ground, which surprised you. You lowered your hands as you looked at Charlie.

“What is happening?” You asked her.

“Something happened to you and you lost your memory.” The one in the raincoat explained instead.

“But… I don't understand…”

“Don't worry, you're safe here. We are your family.”

"Family?"

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“I…” You ran a hand through your hair. “I remember surviving with you, Charlie.”

She was thoughtful and something clicked in her mind. After the death of her parents and finding you, many years had passed in which you survived every day.

Everyone exchanged glances with each other, observing the conversation.

“What's going on?”

“That happened a long time ago, little sister.”

“I don't understand… How much exactly?”

Charlie walked over to you and held both of your hands.

“It was many years ago… Many years…”

Loca's notes: Ha! It's true that I deceived you. Summing up the prologue ahead of time is a gift of joy to you, my precious followers. Comment what you think, I love you!

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[f4ggydog]

LOVE lottie breeding kink but what about reader having a breeding kink and wanting to be bred by lottie so bad and lottie indulging them...

nsfw!!! Lots of breeding going on and talks of it

"baby you have no idea how long I've been thinking about this," you plead. "it wouldn't be a problem, baby. I promise, I'd be so good for you."

"you don't even have to beg," lottie chuckles. "if that's something you wanna do, you know I can't deny you baby."

thank god she wasn't difficult to please. it's been a reoccurring fantasy you've been happening. and if lottie couldn't do it, you wouldn't know where you could find fulfillment. luckily, lottie was always open to trying new things in the bedroom.

lottie wastes no time with peeling off both of your clothes. there was nothing sexy about it. it was an urgent action, a quick motion to satisfy your longtime craving as soon as possible. if you wanted a baby so badly, lottie would supply you with one, pumping you full of cum day and night until your stomach swelled in size.

lottie positions herself on top of you, planting kisses all over your face. if she's going to breed you, she's going to do so with a tender sort of passion. because she's doing this for you. sure, she'll get pleasure from having her cock swallowed by a hot cunt. but this is mainly about you and accomplishing your own fantasy you've dreamed of. your enthusiasm and enjoyment is her main goal right now.

the red tip of her cock squeezes out precum, sticky white smothering your pussy lips. she's ready to slip inside, but lottie squeezes your hand as a way of asking if you're also ready. you nod. you've never been more ready for anything in your life.

lottie enters your cunt without a problem. your legs shiver when she penetrates you, but you have no issue adjusting quickly to her throbbing length. you relax into the bed, the back of your head nuzzled against the pillow as lottie thrusts. lottie secures her hands around your thighs, holding you in place so that she can't accidentally slip out of you.

"doing so good already," lottie compliments. "my god, you take me well. you always do baby."

"so hard for me lottie," you moan. "fuck, you feel so good. need this so badly, baby. you have no idea, f-fuck."

"I know how bad you need this," lottie groans deeply. "fuck, your pussy always feels amazing. fuck baby."

lottie wants to last long for you. but she's not sure if her stamina can keep up. it's a shame that she can't plow your cunt for at least a good half an hour. but lottie knew she was setting unrealistic expectations for herself, especially when you felt this incredible.

lottie tilts her head back slightly, gnawing on her bottom lip. you buck into her cock, hoping she'll stop suppressing some of her moans. both of you should be expressing your ecstasy. as much as lottie wanted to make this whole session about you, you wanted to see gratification painted on lottie's face too.

when lottie cums, it's like she's riding an extreme tidal wave. she shouts out your name, cum pouring into your pussy in long ropes. she leans her head against your shoulder, whining and panting into it as more cum pumps deep into your womb. lottie's hands tangle in your hair with desperation and her own hips jerk.

now here's to hoping that something actually came out of this breeding session.

[okkinannah]

CHIHIRO - nanami kento

pairing: Kento Nanami x fem!reader

synopsis: have Adam help lol

word count: 11.7k

warnings/tags: major character death, hurt/some comfort, hurt/no comfort, angst angst angst

a/n: eep, i’ve never written anything like this so i’m PRAYING it’s good. i feel like the pacing is a little off but whatever, who gaf

march 2006 - said you won't forget my name

“Y/N!”  

At the sound of your name, a grin tugged at your lips—a warmth spreading through you as two familiar figures approached. One radiated an unshakable enthusiasm that made you feel as if everything was possible, while the other exuded a quiet, measured resignation that had become comfortingly familiar. Haibara Yu waved with both hands, practically bouncing with excitement, his energy filling the space between you. Behind him, Nanami Kento walked at his customary, deliberate pace, his expression as inscrutable as ever, though you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—a silent acknowledgment that he was glad to be here too.  

“I was starting to think you two were going to stand me up,” you teased, your voice light despite the undercurrent of loneliness that had marked your days. As you spoke, you adjusted your grip on your kusarigama, feeling its reassuring weight against your shoulder.  

Nanami exhaled slowly, a soft roll of his eyes conveying, without words, “Of course not.” He offered no verbal retort, yet the barely perceptible upward curl of his lips betrayed his fond exasperation. Yu’s smile, meanwhile, shone so brightly it bordered on disarming— the kind of smile that made you wonder if he ever had a bad day.

“If we didn’t come, who else would keep you company, Kyoto’s one and only first-year superstar?” Yu quipped, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“Superstar?” you snorted, shaking your head, though his warmth was infectious, coaxing a soft, genuine laugh from you.  

It was a strange, bittersweet position to occupy—being Kyoto’s only first-year sorcerer, always paired with Tokyo’s freshmen because none of you were yet allowed to take missions solo. The setup was far from perfect. You didn’t possess the influential backing of a powerful family name, nor did you have a flashy innate technique that made heads turn. All you had was decent cursed energy and the kind of combat skills you’d honed through sheer determination. And perhaps, deep down, that “just decent enough” was what made you real.  

Your fingers flexed reflexively around the hilt of your weapon as you nodded toward the road leading into the village. “Come on. The auxiliary manager is waiting, and I don’t feel like getting chewed out for being late.”  

Yu groaned dramatically, tossing his head back as if in mock protest, but his eyes sparkled with humor as he followed without complaint.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

kinda strange, feelin' sorrow

The village was silent when you arrived—unnervingly so. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, leaving the trees motionless and the air thick with an unsettling stillness. The auxiliary manager had done their job well; the evacuation was complete, the curtain had been raised. Yet, a cold knot of unease churned in your gut, warning you that this quiet was only the calm before the storm.

Then—well, shit.

The report had lied.

This wasn’t a Grade Four curse. Not even close.

Its presence pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, making your skin tingle with an almost desperate urge to escape. The air was suddenly tainted by the acrid stench of rot and something metallic—a smell so thick it churned your stomach. Bile rose unbidden, and you had to swallow hard to keep it at bay.

You tightened your grip on your kusarigama, though your fingers betrayed you with their tremor. This was wrong. It was stronger than you’d been led to believe—Grade Two at the very least. Perhaps even worse.

Before you could fully register the shift, the curse lunged.

Instinct took over. The chain of your weapon whipped through the air as you swung, but the curse was unnervingly fast—its elongated limbs twisting in a grotesque dance to avoid your strike. It moved with an agility that defied its monstrous form, leaving you momentarily stunned.

Then it hit you.

The impact sent you sprawling across the rough ground, scraping against the dirt as you rolled desperately to evade the next attack. A sickly wet sound followed—a slithering, shifting noise that made your stomach churn in revulsion.

“Damn it,” you hissed, forcing yourself to rise even as your ankle pulsed with pain.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Nanami moving with that same precise efficiency that you relied on. His blade flashed silver in the dim light as he aimed for the curse’s arm—a clean, calculated strike meant to disable it. Even he, however, struggled to land a decisive blow.

“Watch out!” Yu’s voice rang out, sharp with urgency.

But the curse was already shifting again.

Then came the searing pain.

A burning agony wrapped around your ankle, dragging you down before you could even process the shock. The curse had you in its grasp—a slimy, sinewy limb coiling like a vice, its touch scorching as if your very existence was an affront to it. A strangled scream tore from your throat, and you clawed at the dirt, desperate for anything to hold onto.

“Hold on!” Yu’s call was barely a whisper over the roar in your ears as his hands found yours, gripping tightly and pulling you toward stability. His strength was a lifeline, but the curse’s grip only intensified, sending white-hot pain shooting up your leg. Your vision blurred, the edges darkening, until— 

Nanami.

In one fluid, calculated motion, he delivered a strike that severed the cursed limb. It fell away, oozing something black and viscous, and for a moment, the relief of being freed clashed with the lingering agony.

You gasped, scrambling upright as your breaths came in ragged, uneven bursts. The curse wasn’t finished yet—it writhed, its grotesque form twitching as it prepared to lunge again.

Not this time.

With trembling fingers, you forced the words out, your voice hoarse yet resolute.

“Divine Weight.”

In that instant, a surge of cursed energy erupted from your palm, unseen but undeniable. The force crashed down upon the creature, pinning it to the ground with a sickening crack. It writhed in defiance, its twisted form contorting violently, but it was trapped—for now.

Nanami didn’t waste a moment. Stepping forward with calm, lethal precision, he raised his blade in a single, unerring arc. The Ratio Technique cut through the chaos—precise and final. The curse let out an ear-piercing shriek as it dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the echo of its agony.

Silence settled over the scene.

Your legs wobbled, the adrenaline that had propelled you now fading into exhaustion and lingering pain. You exhaled sharply, collapsing onto one knee as your injured ankle throbbed mercilessly.

Before you could gather your scattered senses, Yu was at your side. The usual lighthearted spark in his eyes had been replaced by a rare seriousness as he crouched down, studying your injury with cautious concern.

“This doesn’t look good,” he muttered, his hands hovering uncertainly near you as if he feared that any touch might worsen your pain. “Does it hurt?”

You shot him a flat look. “What do you think?”

He winced. “Right. Stupid question.”

A weak, humorless laugh escaped you despite the pain.

Nanami knelt beside you next, his gaze sharp and assessing. One glance was all it took. “Chemical burn,” he stated evenly. “We need to get it treated before it worsens.”

You nodded, swallowing hard against the discomfort. “Shoko can—” you began, but before you could finish, Nanami moved.

Without ceremony, he scooped you up. His arms were steady and unyielding as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you away from the immediate danger. 

“What the—? Hey—” you sputtered, instinctively gripping his shoulders as a flush of heat rushed to your face. “I can walk, you know.”

He didn’t dignify your protest with words. Instead, his grip tightened, securing you in a way that left no room for argument. His expression was resolute, unreadable—but beneath it lay an unspoken tenderness, a silent promise of protection.

“Don’t be reckless,” he said simply.

Those words weren’t scolding, nor were they gentle; they were immutable, as inevitable as gravity. The quiet conviction in his voice silenced any protest before it could form.

Damn him.

You shifted slightly in his arms, torn between discomfort and embarrassment. “You’re overreacting,” you muttered, turning your face away. “Shoko will fix it in five minutes.”

“Exactly,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Which is why you’re not making it worse by walking.”

Yu snickered beside you. “Wow. Never seen you so docile before.”

You shot him a glare. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His grin was wicked and unapologetic. “Oh, absolutely.”

A groan escaped you as resignation settled in. “You’re both ridiculous.”

Yu laughed again, adjusting his hold on your kusarigama with exaggerated care, as if the weapon were the most delicate treasure. “Ridiculous?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Or incredibly dependable?”

Despite the pain, a twitch of a smile betrayed your amusement.

Fine. You’d let them have this one.

Leaning your head back, you sighed. “If Shoko gives me hell for this, I’m blaming you both.”

Yu’s easy laughter rang out again, and for a brief, precious moment, you swore you saw the corner of Nanami’s lips twitch up in a smile.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

august 2007 - i know you said before you can't cope with any more

Your breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as you raced through the hushed halls of Jujutsu High, your heartbeat a frantic drum that seemed to echo your mounting dread. The school was unnervingly quiet—as if it, too, were mourning a loss it couldn’t quite name.

Ahead, the morgue door loomed like a silent sentinel. For a heartbeat, you hesitated, unsure if you were ready to face what lay beyond. But you had no choice. You had to be strong.

Peering through the small window, you caught a glimpse of him—Geto Suguru, his third-year uniform rumpled as if he’d been slumped there for hours. His dark eyes briefly flicked toward the door at the sound of your approach before turning back to the table before him.  

You didn’t see Kento. You didn’t see Yu either.

But you did see the body lying on the cold, unyielding steel slab.

A hollow ache settled in your chest, growing until it threatened to overwhelm you. You had heard the news on a mission—details delivered in sparse, clinical fragments. Two second-years were sent out; only one returned. You had fought hard to keep your mind from conjuring their faces as you processed those words. But standing here now, staring at that table, the reality was inescapable.

Steeling yourself, you nudged the door open. The creak of the hinges sliced through the suffocating silence like a desperate plea. The first thing your eyes fell upon was Nanami, slumped in a chair against the far wall, a damp cloth draped over his face. His uniform was streaked with sweat and something darker, his loosened collar a testament to the exhaustion weighing him down. He hadn’t stirred at your arrival—not even a flinch.

Yet he was alive.

A wave of relief crashed over you, raw and almost painful in its intensity. But as your gaze drifted back to the table, that relief curdled into something far more devastating.

Yu.

Joyous, dependable Yu—whose too-wide smiles and unshakeable optimism once made even the bleakest moments bearable—now lay still. Unmoving. The sight of him, so at odds with the vibrant life you remembered, made your stomach churn.

A lump rose in your throat as you swallowed hard, your fingers curling into trembling fists. The sterile, cold air and the incessant hum of the fluorescent lights above made the moment feel unbearably loud.

Suguru’s eyes tracked you silently from across the room, his expression unreadable yet heavy with resignation. In his gaze, you saw shards of your own despair—the same quiet rage and helplessness that told you none of you were safe, that this wasn’t a tragic mistake, but an inevitability.

Before you could stop yourself, your legs carried you forward. You found yourself standing over Yu’s body, your breath coming in shaky, unsteady bursts.

He looked… peaceful.

And that twisted the knife in your heart further, making you want to scream into the oppressive silence.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood—a bitter reminder of how deeply this pain cut. Lowering your head, you pressed a trembling kiss to Yu’s cold forehead. The chill of his skin sent a shiver through you, a cruel confirmation of the finality you could neither deny nor escape. You whispered a quiet prayer, the same one your mother had taught you as a child—a prayer that now felt empty, yet it was all you had left to offer him.

Turning away with leaden legs, you forced yourself toward Nanami.

He still hadn’t moved.

As you drew closer, his hand lifted almost imperceptibly—a small, tentative reach, as if by instinct, as if hoping to anchor himself to some semblance of stability.

Without hesitation, you let your fingers slip into his. In that moment, he squeezed them—three times, a rhythm you had memorized long ago.  

I’m here.

You squeezed back. I know.

His grip was firm, almost too tight, but you welcomed it. If this was the only thing holding him together now, you were willing to let him crush your hand if that was what it took.

The silence between you stretched on, thick and oppressive, punctuated only by the hum of the morgue’s lights and the slow, measured cadence of Nanami’s breathing.

Finally, your voice emerged as a barely audible whisper, laden with resignation and sorrow.

“This is going to be a shitty year.”

For a long, suspended moment, nothing more was said. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of Nanami’s lip twitched—not a smile, but a bitter, hollow acknowledgment of a truth both of you knew too well.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

you told me it was war, said you'd show me what's in store

Neither of you got much sleep that night.

How could you, when grief clung to you like a second skin—heavy, suffocating, and inescapable—even in the quiet darkness? It seeped into every space between your breaths, into the way your fingers curled subconsciously into the fabric of Nanami’s borrowed shirt, desperate for something tangible, something real.

The moment you saw his face in the morgue, you’d made your decision. You couldn’t go back to Kyoto. Not now. Not when he was grieving. Not when you were drowning in sorrow.

The consequences could wait.

Now, curled up beside him in his cramped dorm, you stared blankly at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the shifting shadows on the walls. The bed was too small for two, yet neither of you minded. His warmth pressed against you, his slow, steady breathing the only anchor in a world turned unrecognizable by loss.

He had lent you one of his old band tees—a shirt worn soft by time and memories, still carrying the faint, familiar scent of him—and a pair of shorts to replace your uniform. The fabric was gentle, yet it offered little comfort against the ache in your chest.

Time had lost its meaning. You couldn’t tell how long you’d been lying there, limbs tangled together in an unspoken, desperate attempt to hold on. The sun had long vanished, leaving the room shrouded in shadows that seemed to mirror the weight in your heart. Yet neither of you stirred. In that silence, there were no empty pauses; instead, the quiet was filled with exhaustion, sorrow, and the words you both couldn’t find the strength to speak.

Then Nanami shifted ever so slightly. His hand, almost instinctively, brushed against yours before sliding up to rest gently under your chin. His touch was impossibly soft—as though he were trying to memorize every contour of you, anchoring himself in your presence to stave off his own unraveling.

Without a word, he kissed you.

It wasn’t a kiss born of desperation or urgency, but a soft, aching press of lips—a kiss so tender it stung with its gentleness. In that fleeting moment, the warmth of his embrace enveloped you, and your own grief stirred and softened in response. There was no frantic need for rescue, no urgent hunger; only the quiet, fragile desire to feel something beyond the crushing weight of loss.

And so, you didn’t pull away.

You knew you should. You knew you ought to. But before the thought could even fully form, it was swallowed by the heat of his mouth and the way his fingers curled reassuringly against your jaw—as if he feared you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight.

“Kento,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with the weight of too many unsaid words. “We shouldn’t.”

The words tumbled out, sounding more like an obligation than a plea, and even as they left your mouth, you didn’t move away. Instead, the words felt hollow, and you watched in silent dismay as you saw a flicker of sorrow pass over his face. It wasn’t anger that marred his expression—it was something deeper, something quiet and broken.

He didn’t retreat. Instead, he exhaled shakily and pressed his forehead against yours. His breath, uneven and warm, spoke of his struggle to remain whole. His grip loosened—not out of surrender, but out of a shared, silent understanding.

“Please.” His voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges—a single, vulnerable plea that shattered the fragile barrier you’d both built around your pain.

And in that moment, you unraveled.

It wasn’t a cry of desperation; it was pure, unadulterated honesty. It was the quiet admission that both of you were drowning under the weight of loss, that neither of you could possibly face this abyss alone. Every ounce of exhaustion, every shard of heartache you’d endured felt too much to bear. And so, the only thing that made any sense was to hold on—to each other.

You had always seen Nanami as the steady rock, the unyielding foundation. But now, in this dim room, he was simply a man weighed down by too much sorrow. And you? You were utterly exhausted by the relentless need to be strong.

Your resistance crumbled as you met his kiss with one of your own, slow and deliberate. Your fingers wove into his hair as he sighed softly against your lips, the moment deepening—not with urgency or passion, but with a soft, aching tenderness that was raw and real. His hand slipped to the small of your back, grounding you, tethering you to this fleeting present while everything else threatened to slip away.

It wasn’t about fixing the broken pieces or forgetting the loss. It was about finding something, however fragile, to hold on to amid the wreckage—to share the unbearable weight, if only for tonight.

And as his hands pulled you closer, his touch reverent and laden with unspoken promises, you realized—

For the first time that day, the grief didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

april 2010 - said, "i need to be alone now, i'm takin' a break"

You were the first person he told when he decided to leave jujutsu sorcery behind. It was a soft kind of devastation—the kind mixed with a desperate, almost unbearable relief that, for once, you wouldn’t have to send someone else you loved away in a body bag.

The conversation had come almost a week after graduation, after you had finally made the move to Tokyo. His apartment—spacious, quiet, and unerringly practical, just like him—was no longer solely his. It was yours, too.

You glanced over your shoulder as you peeled a potato, the smooth scrape of the knife against the cutting board serving as your only distraction. “You sure that’s what you want to do?” you asked, your voice carefully calm. You concentrated on the task, determined to hide the brief flicker of relief that flashed in your eyes.

Nanami nodded without breaking his focus, his gaze heavy with certainty. “You’ve seen what it’s done to the people we care about. I mean… I can’t say I blame Geto.”

Your grip on the knife tightened, the blade halting mid-motion. You avoided meeting his eyes. “I can’t say I do either,” you admitted after a moment, the truth hanging in the air. “Though… I think he’s going about it the wrong way.”

You sensed his eye roll even without turning to look at him. “That’s implied,” he replied, a note of gentle reproach in his tone.

A soft hum escaped you as you set the knife aside and wiped your hands on a dish towel. When you finally turned to face him, you took in every detail—his tired eyes, the deep lines etched by relentless burdens, the way he carried the weight of his past missions and future disasters as if they were tangible. “What would you do?” you asked quietly, letting the question linger. “You know, after quitting?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering a life so far removed from the life you both knew. “Maybe one of those fast-track college programs. I could work as a salaryman,” he said, half in jest, half in a search for something simpler.

A dry chuckle escaped you, and you arched a brow. “Ah, trading one soul-sucking job for another. Sounds perfect,” you replied, your tone laced with irony that belied your inner turmoil.

His expression softened into a half-hearted glare as he closed the distance between you. His hands found your hips, seeking solace in the warmth of your touch. In response, your arms naturally wrapped around his neck, your fingers grazing the nape of his neck as if to memorize every line, every curve. He leaned forward, his breath warm against your skin, and murmured, “Don’t be like that, Sweetheart.”

For a moment, the room shrank to just the two of you—the soft, deliberate kisses he placed on your neck, each one an attempt to soothe the tension, the unspoken worry that perhaps you were drifting apart. “I’m not being like anything,” you replied lightly, though the truth was more complicated. “I’m just pointing out the truth.” You sighed, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes searching his for a spark of understanding. “Look, if it’s what you really want, then obviously I’ll support you.”

He nodded against your neck, his face burying itself in the comforting curve of your shoulder for a heartbeat longer than necessary, reluctant to let go. But when he finally pulled back, his eyes held a seriousness that silenced the room. “It is what I want,” he said firmly. Then, lowering his voice as if to share a secret, he added, “I think you should think about quitting too.”

A laugh bubbled from you, almost instinctive—a laugh that quickly faltered as you caught the earnest, almost pained look in his eyes. He wasn’t joking. In that moment, every unspoken fear and every quiet hope surged forward, leaving you to wonder if the life you envisioned together was slowly unraveling, or if perhaps this was simply a part of the journey you both had to navigate.

The silence that followed was heavy with meaning, and in that weight, you realized that sometimes, the truth was more complicated than words could ever capture.

“No.” The word slipped out before you could stop it—sharp, resolute, final. “Absolutely not.”

“Y/N,” he began, but you cut him off.

“No.” Your arms released their hold on him as you stepped back, creating space that felt more like a chasm. You couldn’t believe he would even suggest this. “I’ve worked too hard for this. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get here? To prove myself when no one else believed I could?”

His eyes darkened with concern, his voice low yet unwavering. “I know how hard it was,” he said. “I saw it, Y/N. I’ve seen you push yourself to the brink over and over again. You don’t have to keep doing that—”

“Yes, I do!” Your words burst out, raw and unfiltered. “Do you have any idea how many people are counting on me? How many lives I’ve saved? How many more I can save?”

His tone shifted then—calm, but each word cut deeper than the last. “And how many more people are you going to watch die?” he asked, his voice a measured blend of sorrow and urgency. “How many more times are you going to walk into a fight, knowing it could be your last? How long before I have to bury you, too?”

The question struck you like a blow, and you flinched as the weight of his words settled between you. “That’s not fair,” you murmured, your voice trembling as if each syllable pained you.

“It’s not fair,” he agreed softly, his eyes softening with unspoken grief. “None of this is. But I’m tired, Y/N. I’m tired of watching people we care about die. Tired of seeing you risk your life every day. I can’t—I can’t lose you too.”

For a long, heavy moment, the air was thick with silence—a space filled with your shared fears and unvoiced frustrations. You crossed your arms, turning your gaze away as if the distance might dull the sting of his words, trying to steady your racing heart.

Finally, he spoke again, his tone gentler now. “I know you’ve worked hard. And I’m proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you. But I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself when there’s another way.”

“And what?” you snapped bitterly, your words laden with raw pain. “You want me to give up everything I’ve worked for? Everything I’ve fought for? Just so I can… what? Sit at home and pretend the world isn’t falling apart?”

His reply was quiet but piercing. “I want you to be alive. That’s all I want.”

The conflict inside you churned, a storm of pride, duty, and love. You understood his plea—deep down, you did. Yet this wasn’t something you could simply set aside. No matter how much he wanted you to walk away from the edge, you couldn’t abandon the path you’d chosen.

“I can’t,” you whispered, voice barely audible, the words heavy with resignation. “I can’t just walk away.”

Nanami hesitated, then closed the distance between you once more. His hands, gentle and insistent, found yours. “I’m not asking you to decide right now,” he said softly, his tone a blend of pleading and patience. “Just… think about it. Please.”

Reluctantly, you nodded, letting the remnants of the argument dissolve into his touch.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

august 2011 - how come when i rеturned, you were gonе away?

“More overtime again?” You frowned, glancing at the clock in the kitchen as a surge of frustration prickled beneath your skin. The minutes ticking by felt like they were mocking your expectations. Nanami didn’t even get the chance to answer before you continued, your words tumbling out as if a dam had burst. “But you said last week you wouldn’t take any this week. That you’d be here for our anniversary.”

On the other end of the line, he sighed—a heavy, weary sound that carried the weight of long hours and unspoken regrets. “Look, sweetheart, I know. I know I did, but things came up, and—”

“Things came up for me too, and I turned them down,” you snapped, your knuckles white as you gripped the edge of the counter. Each word was loaded with the sting of disappointment and the exhaustion of compromise. “Do you know how much trouble I’ll be in with the higher-ups because I said no? Just so I could be here? For you?”

There was a long, agonizing pause on his end—a silence that stretched and throbbed with unspoken apologies. For a moment, you allowed yourself the fragile hope that he might say he was sorry. Instead, his tone shifted to something defensive. “It’s not like I wanted this to happen. I don’t exactly have a choice—”

“You do have a choice,” you cut in, your voice rising with a blend of anger and hurt. “You always have a choice. But you’re the one who keeps choosing work over us. Over me.”

“That’s not fair,” he countered, his calm beginning to fracture. You could hear the strain in his voice as if every word was a battle against obligations he couldn’t escape. “You think I enjoy working overtime? Do you think I like spending hours away from you? This isn’t about what I want, Y/N. It’s about what has to be done.”

“What has to be done,” you repeated bitterly, shaking your head though he couldn’t see it. The words felt like a bitter mantra, each syllable deepening the ache. “You know what? Forget it. Clearly, I’m the only one who cares about today.”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, but his words sounded hollow—a feeble attempt to bridge a growing chasm. “You know that's not true.”

“Do I?” you shot back, the anger melting into raw hurt. The question hung in the silence, laden with all the unvoiced longing for reliability and closeness. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. Not when you keep breaking your promises.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Each second seemed to stretch on, the distance between your hearts growing with every unsaid word. Finally, you exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall as the fight drained out of you like water from a worn-out sponge. “Whatever. Happy fourth anniversary to you, too.”

Without waiting for any further reply, you ended the call and tossed your phone onto the counter, the clatter echoing the finality you felt in that moment.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

and that's when you found me

That night, you went to bed early, slipping beneath the covers with a heaviness in your chest that no amount of tossing and turning could shake. Usually, you’d stay up waiting for him, savoring every silent moment before the day began again. But tonight, exhaustion and sorrow weighed you down too much.

In the dim quiet, you heard the bedroom door creak open, each familiar footstep a reminder of all the nights you’d clung to his presence. You kept your eyes shut, steadying your breathing as you pretended to sleep—pretended that you didn’t need him, even though every fiber of your being ached for his closeness.

“Baby,” he whispered, his voice tentative, as though he feared disturbing the fragile peace between you. When you didn’t answer, his tone shifted gently. “Y/N, don’t be like that. I know you’re awake.”

The bed dipped as he slid in behind you, his body warm and solid, a living shield against the loneliness you felt. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close until your back rested against his steady chest. In that moment, you wanted to push him away—to hold onto your lingering frustration—but the comfort of his embrace softened the edges of your anger.

He reached up, gently moving your hair aside, and pressed soft, lingering kisses to the nape of your neck. His warm breath stirred your skin as he murmured, “Sweetheart, please. Don’t shut me out.”  

Your resolve wavered as you bit your lip, the single word escaping as a quiet, almost desperate, “Ken…” It was as if that one syllable carried all the hope you had left.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and earnest—a raw admission that broke through the distance that had grown between you. “I’m sorry I missed today. I’m sorry I broke my promise. I don’t have an excuse, and I won’t make one. But I need you to know that I love you. I love you more than anything, and the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you.”  

Hearing him, you felt the anger you’d been clinging to slip away, replaced by a fresh wave of hurt and longing. “Do you know how much this meant to me?” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your vulnerability. “I wanted today to be special. I wanted us to be special.”

His grip tightened, as if trying to hold onto you a little closer, a silent plea for forgiveness. “And we are,” he said softly. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. I know I don’t say it enough, and I know I don’t always show it the way I should, but it’s the truth. You’re my world. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

Slowly, you turned in his arms, coming face-to-face with the man who had always been your safe harbor. His eyes, shining with a mix of guilt and love, seemed to plead for another chance. “You can’t keep doing this, Kento,” you said, your voice trembling as you spoke not just for yourself, but for the future you both deserved. “You can’t keep putting work before us. It’s not fair—to me or to you.”

His thumb brushed gently along your cheek, a silent vow to do better. “I know,” he murmured. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

You searched his face, desperate for any sign of insincerity, but found only the man you had fallen in love with—a man flawed yet earnest in his desire to make things right. “Okay,” you finally whispered, letting the words fall between you, heavy with both resignation and hope. “But this is your last chance, Kento. I mean it.”

His forehead rested against yours, a tender act of closeness that made your heart ache all over again. “I won’t let you down again,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate—a mingling of sorrow, apology, and unwavering commitment. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that spoke of unspoken promises and fragile hopes. It wasn’t just an apology—it was a lifeline, a silent pledge that somehow, together, you could mend the broken parts.

Your hands, almost on their own, found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as the kiss deepened. He pulled you closer, his touch reverent, as if afraid that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips brushed along your jaw and trailed down to your neck. “I love you,” he murmured against your skin, his hands tracing lazy, comforting patterns along your back—a language of tenderness that needed no translation.

“I love you too,” you whispered, barely audible, as he pressed you back against the mattress. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

june 2014 - contemplatin', beg your pardon

Shoko flipped a page in her magazine, the soft crackle of the paper filling the quiet infirmary. Her eyebrow arched ever so slightly as she remarked in a tone that was flat yet touched with amusement, “Nanami’s coming back to sorcery? I thought he was done with all of this.”

You leaned back in your chair, cradling your tea cup between your hands. The steam curled upward, its warmth a fleeting comfort against the chill of uncertainty in your thoughts. “Supposedly,” you replied, your voice carrying both skepticism and a trace of wistfulness. “He’s talking to Gojo about it now.”

For a moment, Shoko’s gaze flickered over to you, as if searching for something behind your words, before returning to the glossy pages of her magazine. “Huh. Maybe they’ll ship him off for that thing in South Korea,” she mused, the casual curiosity in her tone belying an undercurrent of knowing amusement.

A dry but genuine laugh escaped you. “Doubtful. The only place he’s ever mentioned interest in is Malaysia. He’s made that much clear.”  

Shoko tilted her head, her expression unreadable yet thoughtful. “Maybe. Maybe not. I hear they’re narrowing down who to send, though. The higher-ups are playing favorites, as usual.”

You took another slow sip of your tea, savoring its earthy bitterness as it grounded you. “Well, it won’t be Satoru,” you said with a wry grin that hinted at both admiration and exasperation. “They need their strongest here. They can’t risk him causing international incidents.”

A soft snort escaped Shoko, and her lips curved into a faint smile. “God forbid. The world isn’t ready for Gojo Satoru off-leash,” she quipped.

You rolled your eyes, settling deeper into your chair as the room’s quiet enveloped you both. “Can you imagine?” you continued, your tone half in jest, half in disbelief. “They’d probably bring him back on the first flight—hands tied, blindfold on, with a ‘return to sender’ note taped to his chest.”

Shoko laughed outright then, a sound rare and genuine that broke through the usual monotony. “He’d still call it a success somehow,” she muttered, shaking her head as if at the absurdity of it all.

After a comfortable lull, you found your eyes drifting to the ceiling, your mind awash with conflicting emotions. The idea of Nanami returning to sorcery brought a strange weight to your chest—a cocktail of relief mingled with unease, hope tangled with fear.

Breaking the silence, Shoko’s tone softened, more serious now. “And how do you feel about it?” she asked, her steady gaze fixed on you as though she could see every unspoken thought.

You met her look, the silence between you thick with understanding. “I don’t know,” you admitted softly, your fingers absently tracing the rim of your tea cup. “Part of me is glad. It’s selfish, but I hated watching him throw away that part of himself—the part that wanted to help people. But the other part of me...” You paused, exhaling slowly as if expelling the uncertainty. “I don’t want to lose him, Shoko. Not like we’ve lost everyone else.”

Her eyes softened, and she nodded slowly, as though absorbing every word. “He’s a stubborn one, though. If he’s coming back, it’s because he’s made peace with the risk. Or at least convinced himself he has.”

A faint laugh escaped you, shaking your head in both amusement and incredulity. “That’s supposed to comfort me?”

“Not really,” she replied, leaning back and lighting a cigarette with deliberate calm. The thin stream of smoke that followed seemed to carry her resigned amusement. “But it’s the truth. And hey—if he does decide to pack up for Malaysia, maybe I’ll join him. Sun, beaches, no dead bodies to autopsy? Sounds like paradise.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, though a small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “You’d get bored in a week.”

“Maybe,” she conceded with a shrug, exhaling a final, languid plume of smoke. “But it’d be a hell of a week.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

july 2014 - not today, not tomorrow

The meeting room felt suffocating in its rigid formality—neatly stacked paperwork, shoji screens casting delicate, transient shadows, and the heavy scent of incense mingling with an undercurrent of authority. You’d never imagined that being summoned by the higher-ups would feel so oppressive.

“You want me to go to South Korea?” you repeated, your voice a mix of incredulity and a sharp laugh that escaped before you could clamp it down. You turned your head slightly, scanning the room for any hint that this was an elaborate joke—a ploy to test your reaction, as the elders had done before. But there was no mischief in their eyes; not even the faintest twitch of a smile.

"You're serious?" The amusement in your tone evaporated, replaced by disbelief. "Wouldn't Utahime be a better fit? Or, frankly, anyone else?"

Teaching had never been your forte. Sure, you’d led missions and taken younger sorcerers under your wing when needed, but molding an entire generation? Establishing a jujutsu program from scratch in a foreign land? That was a beast of an entirely different order.

The elders exchanged measured glances before one of them cleared his throat and launched into a long-winded, condescending explanation. It quickly became apparent that this wasn’t about your skills or past achievements. It was about control, influence, and ensuring that the new program in South Korea would reflect the indelible mark of Japan’s jujutsu society.

"You come from no clan," one elder stated deliberately, his tone slow and deliberate. "You are skilled, yes, but without the backing of powerful lineage, your presence will not overshadow the program itself. We require a more neutral choice."

"Not to mention," another chimed in with clipped precision, "your adaptability has been noted. Unlike some of your... peers, you follow orders without excessive disruption."  

That was an unmistakable dig at Gojo—and you felt the sting of it.

You hummed, cocking your head to the side as your mind churned with conflicting emotions. “Can I have some time to think? A week, maybe?”

The request slipped out before you could fully register why you needed it. Deep down, you already knew the answer. You weren’t going anywhere. You couldn’t leave Tokyo behind—not now, not when things were finally beginning to settle, not when you were almost certain that he was planning to propose soon. It was something overdue, as both your friends had pointed out, and, if you were honest with yourself, something you desperately longed for.

To your surprise, they didn’t argue.

"Very well," one of them said, nodding curtly. "One week."

You offered a polite bow and stepped out of the room, exhaling slowly as you made your way down the dimly lit hallway.

Still, a week was a long time.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

when i come back around, will i know what to say?

The knife in your hand glided effortlessly through the meat, the rhythmic slice against the cutting board a steady, grounding sound. Across from you, Nanami diced onions with his usual precision, his brow slightly furrowed in quiet concentration. The domesticity of it all felt reassuring—comfortable—a life you had built together, piece by piece.

Which is why you were careful. Calculated. You chose your moment like a surgeon making an incision, acutely aware of the blade, of where to cut.

“So, I’ve been thinking…” you began.

Nanami didn’t look up, but you caught the slight quirk of his lips. “A dangerous thing,” he teased, his voice as dry as ever.

You rolled your eyes and nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Shut up, I’m serious.”

That made him pause. He set down the knife and tilted his head toward you in quiet expectation. There was something undeniably steady in the way he looked at you—patient, unwavering. You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself.

“Maybe it’s time to start talking about a wedding? I mean, we’ve been together for almost seven years. Don’t you think it’s time?”

The response was immediate.

“No.”

The word hit like a slap—sharp, absolute. You recoiled, blinking at him in disbelief. “No?”

Nanami exhaled, irritation threading through his voice. “I mean no, Y/N.”

A slow, creeping numbness settled in your chest. “So what, you just never want to get married?”

His brows furrowed further. “Why does it matter? We’ve been together for years. Isn’t that enough?”

Enough.

The word cracked something open inside you. “Maybe for you,” you said quietly, controlling the tremor in your voice, “but not for me.”

Nanami sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Marriage doesn’t change anything, Y/N. It’s just a piece of paper.”

You let out a sharp breath—a mix of scoff and bitter laughter. “It’s not just a piece of paper to me. It means something. It means commitment, security—hell, it means you actually want this for the long run.”

His jaw clenched. “And you think I don’t?”

You searched his face desperately, hoping to catch a glimmer of regret or doubt—anything that showed this conversation mattered as much to him as it did to you. But all you found was that same quiet stubbornness, that familiar wall he always raised when things got too close.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “I don’t know, Ken. Every time I try to talk about the future, you shut me down like this.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched into his features. “I just don’t see the point, Y/N. We’re together, we live together—what more do you need?”

You needed to breathe. You needed to not feel as if you were standing on a ledge, waiting for him to pull you back from the edge.

“So that’s it?” you asked, voice wavering as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “You’re fine with us just… staying like this forever?”

“Yes.”

It was simple. Final.

Your stomach twisted painfully. You pressed your lips together, inhaling sharply before speaking again. “Well… maybe I’m not.”

The words landed between you like a drawn knife, gleaming harshly under the kitchen light.

Nanami’s expression hardened. “What are you saying?”

You swallowed hard, gripping the counter as if it could anchor you. “I got an offer.” The words felt foreign on your tongue, heavy. “The higher-ups want me to help start a sorcerer program in South Korea.”

Silence.

Nanami’s eyes darkened, and his shoulders stiffened. “And?”

You lifted your chin. “I think I’m going to take it.”

His entire body shifted; tension coiled in the set of his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. “If you take that job, we’re done.”

Your breath hitched. You forced out a hollow, disbelieving laugh. “You don’t mean that.”

Nanami didn’t waver. “Yes, I do.”

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, raw emotion clawing up your throat. “You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

“I’m asking you to choose.”

It was the first time in seven years he had ever asked that of you. And suddenly, everything became crystal clear.

You had always been the one to compromise. The one to wait. The one to be patient. But no matter how long you waited, he was never going to give you the future you wanted.

So why the hell were you still fighting for it?

Your fingers dug into the counter, nails biting into the wood as your voice came out quieter, raw and steady. “Fine.”

A pause.

Then, softer—emptier—“Then I guess it’s over.”

Silence.

Nanami didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

So you did the only thing left to do.

You turned, grabbed your coat, and walked out the door.

And just like that, seven years collapsed into nothing.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

august 2014 - i don't, i don't know why i called

You hadn’t heard from Nanami since before you left Tokyo for South Korea. He hadn’t even joined your friends in seeing you off at the airport.  

Maybe that should have been enough of a sign to move on.  

But distance does strange things to grief. It softens the edges, blurs the hurt, and leaves behind a persistent ache—a void that no amount of fleeting companionship can quite fill. The Korean sorcerers were good people; you got along with them, went out drinking with them, even let one take you to bed when loneliness crept in. And yet, despite the transient distractions, a deep, unyielding loneliness still settled in your bones.  

Perhaps that’s why, when his name lit up your phone, you didn’t hesitate to answer.  

You pressed it to your ear, clearing your throat to keep your voice steady. “Y/N speaking.”  

A sharp exhale on the other end—relief, raw and unguarded—followed by his voice, tentative yet familiar.  

“Hey.” There was a pause, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d remain on the line. “I just—I wanted to see how it was over there.”  

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the phone. “Oh, you know, it’s alright. It’s going fine.”  

“That’s good.” Another pause, then, softer, almost fragile: “I miss you.”  

Those three words pressed into your ribs, stealing the breath from your throat. You turned toward the window, watching the moon hang heavy in the sky, its silvery glow mingling with your bittersweet memories. You couldn’t say why hearing him say it hurt so much—why it cut deeper than any wound—but it did.  

And still, you answered, “I miss you too.”

Silence. That delicate pause which carries both promise and peril.

Then, a plea escapes—a soft, trembling whisper wrapped in quiet desperation.

"Then come home, baby."

Your eyes flutter shut, weighed down by a tide of memories and unspoken fears. It would have been so easy to say yes—to gather your scattered hopes, pack your bags, and board the next flight back into a life that once felt like home. But you weren’t that person anymore.

Your voice, gentle yet resolute, cut through the quiet. "I have a job to do."

A heavy sigh resonates on the other end, filled with resignation and longing. You realize he expected this—a call meant not only to connect but to hear those words spoken aloud, to grasp a piece of what once was.

"I know," he murmurs. "I just thought I'd try."

Your lips part, words caught somewhere in your heart, before you turn back to the window. Outside, the moon hung in the sky, its silver glow a constant reminder of distance and connection all at once.

"Do you see the moon tonight?" you ask, your voice barely more than a fragile thread in the stillness.

There’s a pause—a moment stretching out like a heartbeat. Then comes his quiet reply, as if pulled from a dream: "Yeah, I do."

A sad smile tugs at your lips, bittersweet as it flickers with both hope and resignation. "It's nice, isn't it? So far apart, yet we're both gazing at the same light."

For a long, suspended moment, he remains silent. And then, his voice returns—so soft you almost wonder if you imagined it at all.

"Yeah... it is."

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

february 2016 - open up the door, can you open up the door?

Even after all this time, you hadn’t left Korea.

You could have. Your work had been done for nearly a year—your contract fulfilled, your purpose here long since served. And yet, you stayed.

Maybe it was because you weren’t ready to face Nanami. Maybe it was because there was nothing left for you in Japan.

Maybe it was both.

But despite the miles between you, you had never really let him go.

The phone calls, the texts—they should have stopped a long time ago. You should have drawn a line, allowed the wounds to close, forced yourself to let him become nothing more than a fading memory.

But you didn’t. Neither of you did. You couldn’t.

Not when the sound of his voice still felt like home. Not when his presence—even through a screen—still steadied something deep inside you.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the quiet. You reached for it instinctively, a well-practiced motion. The screen lit up, displaying the name you had never stopped waiting for.

A message. A picture.

The moon, full and bright against the Tokyo skyline.

Thinking of you, Sweetheart.

Your breath caught, warmth blooming in your chest before you could even stop it.

You crossed the room and pulled back the curtain, revealing the same moon glowing softly over Seoul. It was strange—how something so far away could feel so close.

Lifting your phone, you snapped a photo and began typing your response.

Same moon :)

You hesitated for just a second before adding two more words.

Miss you.

After setting the phone down, you exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself.

Somewhere, across the sea, Nanami was looking at the same sky. And maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for your message just as much as you had been waiting for his.

This ritual between you—these quiet acknowledgments of longing, of loneliness—had crept in without either of you planning it. You didn’t know when or how it began, but it had become something unspoken, something neither of you was willing to let go.

A minute passed. Then another.

Then your screen lit up again.

Wish you were here.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart pulled in two directions at once. Then, before you could stop yourself—

Been thinking about coming back soon.

The moment the words sent, doubt clawed at the edges of your mind. Did you really mean it? Or was it just another way of saying, “I miss you,” without admitting just how much?

Three little dots appeared—then vanished, then reappeared.

Then—

Yeah?

You swallowed, unease settling in your stomach. You had meant it when you typed it. But seeing it there, staring back at you, made it real. Made going back real.

And yet—

Yeah.

This time, his response came almost instantly.

Let me know when. I’ll be there.

A shaky breath left you, uncertainty pressing in on every side. But beneath it all—the weight of what those words truly meant—a smile slowly spread across your face.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

april 2016 - but there's a part of me that recognizes you

Finding him in the crowded airport felt like something inside you finally gave way—a dam breaking, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding until it shattered into sobs.  

In that instant, when your eyes met his, the world around you blurred into insignificance. Time and space collapsed, and you moved before you could even think, as if every month spent apart was converging in a single, overwhelming moment.  

Then, finally—finally—your hands cupped his face, and his lips found yours.  

The kiss was desperate, almost frantic, a silent plea to make up for every second lost. Warm, salty tears streamed down your cheeks, yet he kissed through them, each gentle press of his lips swallowing the tremor of your breath and every whispered “baby” that escaped you, before kissing you again, again, as if trying to mend the distance between your hearts.  

When he pulled away, it was only to trace the wet paths of your tears with his lips, each soft kiss an attempt to soothe the lingering sadness.  

And when he finally allowed himself to truly look at you—really look—he saw the subtle changes that time had wrought.  

Your hair was a little shorter. Not drastically so, but just enough for him to notice.  

Your eyes, though heavy with fatigue, held a softness now—a quiet lightness that spoke of hope and healing.  

That transformation—this vulnerable, tender beauty—was everything Nanami had ever wished for you.  

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed you once more, this time slowly, reverently—as if you were fragile porcelain, something precious and irreplaceable that might shatter if handled too roughly.  

“I missed you,” he whispered, and in that simple confession, all the pain of separation and the promise of reunion mingled into one timeless moment.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

december 2016 - do you feel it too?

You frowned, your brows knitting in a silent question. “I thought we agreed—no gifts.”

Nanami’s lips twitched into a sheepish smile, the kind that softened even his sturdiest features. “We did.”

And yet, without another word, he placed the small velvet box on your lap.

In that instant, your heart skipped a beat.

You weren’t naïve—you knew precisely what that box meant. Your fingers hovered over it, hesitating as the weight of unspoken expectations pressed down on you, even though the box itself was astonishingly light.

You lifted your gaze to search his eyes, hoping for reassurance, for a spark of confirmation.

He simply nodded. “Just open it.”

So you did.

The moment you lifted the lid, everything changed. Nanami moved in one smooth motion, sinking gracefully onto one knee before you. His warm hands, firm yet tender, clasped yours as if anchoring you to a reality you desperately needed to hold onto.

And then, as clarity crashed over you, it all became undeniable.

Your breath caught, halting in your throat. “No,” you whispered, as though voicing the truth might shatter the delicate illusion. “You’re not—”

But Nanami’s steady gaze never wavered. “I am.” His voice, deep and resolute, vibrated with quiet certainty. “I want to marry you. I do, I really do.”

In that moment, you wondered if your time apart had softened the walls he once built so immovably around his heart—or if perhaps he had always yearned for this, only realizing it when the thought of losing you became unbearable.

You swallowed hard, your vision blurring as a shaky breath escaped you.

And then, despite every hurt, every year of separation, despite the lingering heartbreak—you found yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you murmured, barely audible, just as he leaned in and brushed his lips against yours—gentle, reverent, and filled with unspoken promises.

His breath, warm and steady, caressed your skin as he whispered, “Yeah?”

A quiet laugh, soft and almost disbelieving, escaped you. “Yeah.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

december 2017 - wringing my hands in my lap

You hated this. More than anything.  

Being separated from Nanami, fighting on opposite ends of Japan, gnawed at you in a way you couldn't escape. Every moment you spent in Kyoto, you thought of Tokyo—of him.

But you couldn’t be there.  

Kyoto had once been your home, your sanctuary, and when the call for help rang through these old streets, you couldn’t turn your back on it. The sorcerers here needed you—someone who knew this city, its corners and alleyways, its shadows. They needed the strength you could bring, even if it meant being torn from the person you needed most.  

You swallowed the ache in your chest and forced yourself to focus. “Move. Now,” you barked, your voice steady but not without a weight behind it as you ushered Zen’in Mai and Miwa Kasumi down the ruined street. The once-familiar cityscape had become a battlefield—buildings shattered, blood and curses thick in the air like a toxic fog.  

Then the air shifted, the familiar pressure of a curse closing in on you.  

You didn’t have time to process before it crashed through the alleyway, tearing the world around you apart. In an instant, you were separated, your pulse spiking as you searched for Miwa, your heart sinking when you saw the chaos engulf her.  

“Kasumi!” you shouted, but she was already gone, swallowed by the debris and the nightmare that was this cursed world. Your chest tightened, but you didn’t hesitate. You couldn’t.  

Mai was still by your side, gun drawn, her eyes sharp as she assessed the situation. You could see the fight in her—the same fire that burned in you. But the reality was, there were bigger battles to fight, and you couldn’t afford to let pride cloud your judgment.  

You were stronger than this.  

“Go,” you said, your voice firm, cutting through the tension. “Find Miwa. Get to the others.”  

Mai’s brow furrowed, confusion and frustration flaring. “What? I can fight—”  

“You’re needed elsewhere,” you cut her off, already stepping forward, the curse closing in like a looming shadow. “Don’t waste time.”  

The pause stretched long enough for you to feel the weight of her stare, the unspoken challenge hanging between you. But you saw it in her eyes—a flicker of understanding, and then a reluctant nod before she turned, disappearing into the smoke and wreckage.  

Leaving you alone.  

Your breath left you in a harsh exhale, your body coiling in anticipation as you squared off with the curse. You knew it would be brutal—knew the blood would spill, the pain would be sharp. But in this moment, it wasn’t just about the fight. It wasn’t even about surviving. It was about something deeper. Something you couldn’t ignore.  

You hated being separated. Hated the feeling of being worlds apart from him, from Nanami. The fear of knowing you couldn’t protect his back, not this time. But there was something else in that too—a stark, aching realization that if you couldn’t be with him, then you had to survive. You had to make it back to him.  

So you gripped your weapon, eyes narrowing as the curse twisted in front of you.  

You would make it back.  

With one last deep breath, you lunged.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

and they tell me it's all been a trap

Waking up in the infirmary was disorienting. The sterile, quiet space felt like it belonged to someone else, a place that smelled faintly of antiseptic, its air heavy with the residue of too many battles lost and won. You could taste the bitterness of it in your mouth, lingering and sharp.  

The dull ache in your chest grounded you—reminding you of the curse. Its putrid breath, how it had clawed its way into your lungs, leaving your throat raw, like fire was licking at the inside of your skin. Flashes of the fight flickered through your mind, quick and fragmented, each memory a jagged shard of something terrifying you couldn’t fully grasp. You couldn’t remember the details, just the feeling—the sensation of being overwhelmed.  

But then, you saw him.  

Nanami.  

He was slumped in a chair far too small for his broad frame, his head tilted back at an awkward angle. His hair fell in unruly strands across his forehead, the lines of his face drawn in deep, fatigued tension. Even in sleep, he carried the weight of it—of everything. The weight of the fight, the weight of watching you nearly slip away.  

“Kento,” you whispered, voice hoarse, cracking in places. The sound was so soft, almost drowned by the hollow silence of the room. The effort pulled a sharp, searing pain down your throat. You couldn't stop the coughing fit that followed, harsh and desperate.  

He was awake in an instant. His eyes shot open, sharp and frantic, as if your pain had sliced through his sleep and left him wide-eyed. His large hand wrapped around yours with a kind of urgency, a desperation you hadn’t seen in him before.  

The relief in his gaze almost knocked the breath from your chest. As if seeing you awake had yanked him from a nightmare—one where you weren’t here anymore, one where you didn’t survive.  

He leaned forward, his hand coming to your forehead, brushing against your skin with the gentleness of a touch meant to reassure both of you. His lips, warm and tender, pressed softly to your forehead. He lingered there, his breath steadying against you, like he needed this as much as you needed him.  

“How are you, my love?” His voice was low, rough in a way that reflected more than just concern. It was the weight of someone who’d watched, helpless, as you fought to stay alive. The endearment slipped from him effortlessly, but there was a tremor in the words—an ache beneath them, the way he clung to the sound of your name like it was a lifeline.  

You managed a shallow laugh, a rough and brittle sound that scraped through your chest. It didn’t feel like much, but it was something. “I’ve been better.”  

The corner of his mouth twitched, forming a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was wry, worn thin with exhaustion. His thumb brushed over your hand, slow, soothing. It was a quiet gesture, but it held all the care he didn’t know how to put into words.  

“You scared me,” he said, and there was something raw in his tone that made your heart ache. He wasn’t just talking about the physical danger, not just the fight. It was everything—how he’d feared losing you, how helpless he had felt.  

“I’m still here,” you murmured, the words tasting bittersweet. You forced your gaze to meet his, trying to convey the strength you still had left, the stubbornness that refused to be erased. “Still stubborn, still kicking.”  

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes flickering with something unreadable, before softening. A deep breath he’d been holding in exhaled with a quiet huff. “Just... try not to give me a heart attack next time.”  

You chuckled weakly, letting your body relax into the steady rhythm of his presence. “Can’t make any promises,” you whispered.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

october 2018 - and you don't know if you'll make it back. i said, "no, don't say that.”

“Well, this can’t be good,” you muttered, your gaze fixed on the oppressive veil stretching over Shibuya. The sky, once a vast expanse, now felt strangled—an unnatural pall hanging heavy in the air, pulsing with an energy that seemed on the verge of snapping. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.  

Beside you, Nanami stood rigid, his posture unyielding, eyes narrowed with the weight of something darker than fatigue. His jaw clenched, the muscles at his temples flexing. His fingers twitched at his sides—claws threatening to dig into flesh, the tension in his body not yet breaking but already too familiar.  

Fushiguro Megumi and Ino Takuma flanked your group, their faces drawn, their bodies taut and on alert. The silence between all of you was thick with unspoken understanding—this wasn’t just another mission.  

“This level of a barrier…” Megumi’s voice cut through the stillness, his tone low and level. But even with the calmness of his words, you could feel the edge beneath them, the recognition of something beyond the usual threat. “It’s coordinated.”  

“Which means this wasn’t just a random attack,” Takuma added, his voice tighter than usual. “They planned this.”  

Planned. The word sank deep in your gut, heavy and cold. This wasn’t chaos, wasn’t the unpredictable eruption of violence you’d faced countless times before. This was deliberate, precise, and far more dangerous.  

Then your phone buzzed. Shoko.  

You glanced down at the screen, reading the message, the words sinking into your chest like stones. Your heart skipped—then stuttered.  

“I need to go,” you said, your voice tight, betraying none of the unease swirling in your gut. “Shoko’s requesting backup.”  

Nanami’s eyes flicked to you immediately, darkened with something unreadable, something raw. His face, usually a mask of calm, shifted for just a moment as his gaze swept over you. “Where?”  

“She’s at the designated triage point. But if they’re calling for me, it means something’s wrong.”  

Silence. Only for a heartbeat, but in that space, a thousand unspoken words passed between you.  

Nanami exhaled slowly, like he was trying to release the tension in his chest, but it didn’t fully leave. His fingers found yours, steady but firm. The touch anchored you, grounding you in the moment, in him, for just a fleeting second longer.  

“I love you,” he whispered, the words both a promise and a plea, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that lingered with more unsaid than spoken—too quick, too fleeting, like he was afraid to hold on to you too long, afraid that doing so would make it harder to let go.  

You melted against him, your hand finding his chest, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat, steady, but faster now, echoed beneath your palm, reminding you that nothing was certain, that nothing would ever be.  

“I love you too,” you whispered, the words barely a breath, but they were all you had to give him. You wanted to keep him safe, keep him in this moment, but you couldn’t.  

He rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours for just a second. The softness of the moment, the quiet exchange between you, made the world feel smaller, more fragile.  

“Stay safe,” he murmured, his voice low, a little rough.  

“You too,” you replied, your voice catching on the knot in your throat.  

You pulled away first, unwilling to, but needing to. If you stayed too long, you wouldn’t leave. You couldn’t afford that. Not with what was coming.  

You stepped back, a small distance, just enough to breathe without feeling his presence burning against you. You let your gaze linger on him for a beat longer, tracing the lines of his face, memorizing the set of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his brow furrowed just slightly in concern.  

“I’ll see you soon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything you couldn’t say.  

You wanted to believe it. You had to believe it.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

june 2019 - did you take my love away from me?

The months after Shibuya were hard—harder than you ever could have imagined. Losing Nanami felt like your world had been upended, like the ground beneath you had crumbled away, leaving nothing but an endless, aching void. But not being able to say goodbye? That was unbearable. The silence where he should have been, the absence that echoed louder than any words ever could—it tore at you, thread by painful thread.

You had been helping Shoko keep count of the sorcerers who returned. Your hands were steady, but your heart was anything but. It pounded, frantic, desperate, hoping beyond reason that Nanami’s name wouldn’t be absent. That somehow, against the odds, he would walk through that door and take you in his arms again.

One by one, they trickled in. Battered. Broken. Alive. 

And Nanami wasn’t among them.

You remember Yuji finding you first. His face, stricken and haunted, told you everything before his words ever could. You didn’t need to hear them. The air around you thickened, suffocating. The world tilted, and then everything became unbearably still.

You didn’t remember much after that. Just the sick, choking sensation in your chest. Your lungs seemed to forget their purpose as you collapsed, your knees hitting the cold floor like it was miles away, impossibly far. The sound that tore from your throat was raw. So ugly. You didn’t recognize it as your own, but it was all that came out. Something primal, desperate, the kind of scream you never knew you had inside of you. 

You didn’t even feel Shoko sedating you.

The days that followed blurred together in a haze of numbness and pain. You couldn’t tell where the grief ended and the anger began. You heard whispers—whispers about Satoru’s imprisonment, about Yaga’s sentencing, about Yuji’s execution being expedited. Each piece of information felt like another knife, twisting deeper. 

You stormed into meetings, fueled by rage, screaming until your throat bled. The higher-ups didn’t care. They never did. All you earned for your outbursts was a target on your back—an investigation, a charge of abandoning a mission, a punishment you couldn’t bring yourself to remember.

You didn’t care to remember.

All you cared about was running.  

Running to the only place that felt familiar anymore—the home you had shared with Nanami. The place where his presence still lingered in the air, where the scent of him remained in the sheets. You grabbed what mattered—his glasses, a few clothes, the wedding rings you never got to wear. You clutched them like they were all that remained of the life you had dreamed of.

And then you left Japan.

For where? Malaysia.  

It had been his dream, once. To retire there, to escape, to build something new together. Now, you stood alone on the quiet beach, watching the waves gently lap at the shore, as the first light of dawn stretched across the horizon.  

It was peaceful. Serene. 

But it wasn’t enough.

Because for just a moment, you thought you saw him.  

A flash of blonde hair, a laugh that made your heart stutter—too familiar, too real. Your breath caught. Your heart clenched so tightly that you could feel the pulse of it, frantic and reckless in your chest.  

And then, just as quickly, it was gone.

A stranger. A ghost.  

The grief washed over you again, relentless and suffocating. It pressed against your ribs, making it feel as though you might shatter, might collapse under the weight of it all. 

But you didn’t.  

Instead, you closed your eyes. Exhaled. And you let the waves swallow the sound of your grief, knowing that no matter how far you ran, it would always find you again.

divider from: @cafekitsune

mdni banner from: @adornedwithlight

[lets-get-kraken-boys]

*in Patrick’s voice* I have an idea! Bakugou changing from being the #1 morning person to ever grace this planet to a grumbling, snuggly mess who won’t let you free from his strong hold because of your influence on him.

Bakugou is 100% the type to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to fulfill his whole morning routine. Call him a creature of habit because he wont feel like he’s even a real person until he completes every step with flawless ease. This includes, but is not limited to, his brutal morning workout, whipping up a quick protein shake, and browsing the headlines of the news. Like, it’s not a question for him to be alive and exist coherently without complaint at that time of day—he’s just gotten used to it after committing to the idea of getting the most out of his day for so many years. Comes with striving to be the best, you suppose. Still couldn’t wrap your head around why it feels right for him to be doing pushups with over a hundred and fifty pound strapped on his back at SIX AM, but nonetheless. Many times you’d have only just shuffled out of your shared bed, blanket swaddled tightly around the lower half of your face in an attempt to keep the delicious heat generated from your sleeping body around you, and you’d see him sitting on the couch, ankle crossed over his other knee, midnight black blend coffee in hand as he’s reading a novel. He’d zing out any number of snarky one liners he’s got in his back pocket with a knowing smirk, before getting up to give you a loving kiss on your frazzled hairline and pulling you close into his sturdy arms, swaying you back and forth to an imaginary song playing for only you two.

When you guys first started dating and staying at each other’s places, it actually used to annoy him how long you’d “sleep your day away” (you literally wake up around 10AM on your days off. Like, come on, Kats). Day in and day out, he’d grumble as he watches a nearby clock inch to 9AM, wait for a couple minutes to see if you changed your habits (unlikely), and stood with a heavy sigh. He trudged on over to the bed you’d only just snuggled in a few hours ago, shaking your shoulder with a gentler voice he reserved only for you to hear in the privacy of your home. Thankfully, he learned from his mother that if you wake someone up not by their own choice, you either reap what you sow and face the wrath of the sleeping bear, or you appease their fury with a gift. So, before you’d ever get angry enough to rip him in two (which he’s sure you’d be able to do, given enough incentive), he presents you with your favorite breakfast in bed to start your day.

After all that, I need to make a correction. I should say he WAS the type of guy to do all that.

Now, Bakugou’s a changed man. For better? For worse? You’ll have to decide that, because you’re currently stuck underneath the mountain of muscle you deem your husband.

Bakugou’s now a member of the eepy seepy honk shoo mimi club after all your years of “bad influence” on him. You’d swear he’s a grizzly bear from how long he sleeps in! He used to be the one waking you up with you grumbling unhappily about the intrusion—which used to end in him starting a war with tickles as his artillery and raspberries as his ammunition being blown into your cheeks and tummy until you were laughing so hard it warranted gasping for air. Now, you’re the one smacking his broad, and totally not distracting, shoulders in an attempt to wake the sleeping hulk of a man currently sinking deeper into your embrace. Throughout your pleads for him to get up or at least get off of you, he just buries his cute button nose into the dip of your warm neck.

Usually, two negatives equal a positive, but if the “right” positive in this situation was supposed to equal one of you taking responsibility to wake the other up on time…

Welp…we failed that test.

He really only grumpily rolls off of you when you threaten to murder him if he makes you wait to use the bathroom any longer. Even then he doesn’t let you stray far. He blearily opens his crimson eyes the tiniest sliver with a deep, gravely groan of displeasure. He watches as you stand up, lean back until you hear a satisfying crack your back, and make your way to the restroom. You’ll the feel a tug at your wrinkled sleep attire as he’s now standing behind you. One hand is occupied gripping your outfit between his pointer finger and thumb, his other hand clutching your cozy down comforter blanket draped over his head, eyes draped shut once again, and a displeased pout stitched over his gorgeous facial features.

You’d have killed someone to get a picture on your phone of him right now to treasure forever, if you weren’t currently dealing with the dilemma of nearly pissing your pants at the moment. So, snapping delectable blackmail pictures of your man will have to wait.

He’ll shuffle close behind you as you make your way to the bathroom, reluctantly release you and allow you to shut the door on him to handle your business, and stand patiently waiting for you like a knight protecting his precious princess. Once you’re back, he’ll tilt his head down to you and leave it hanging there as if awaiting something. It hits you that the knight is waiting for his princess to repay his valiant bravery of watching over your chambers with a sweet kiss. You’ll giggle, and stand up tall to place a loving peck to his hairline just like the many he used to place on your weary bedhead in not too long ago. A pleasant, soft expression dispels the crease that used to invade his pinched brows. You could almost imagine the silly doodle flowers dancing around his head as Bakugou relaxes into a blissful state.

You tenderly slide his rough, calloused hand into yours and lead him back to your bed. He doesn’t even have to ask or force you to lay back down to continue your cuddle session, you just automatically lay back, and lead him to rest fully on top of you again. You pet his spiky hair and he wraps his thick arms around your waist. Bakugou uses the last of his energy to drag his head up to give a quick peck to your lips, as if congratulating you on not fighting him anymore. You both will slowly slip back into a blissful sleep together entangled in the real hero of this story, your mattress.

…

Of course, racing out the door only a few hours later because you were going be late for work all the while still battling a needy husband wasn’t relaxing, but it was still totally worth it.

With Love,

Kraken 🐙

[slaymitchabernathy]

Busy, Busy, Busy

In the great city that is the Capitol, it is frowned upon to eavesdrop. It’s considered rude, bad manners, and childish. Soarynn can’t help but do it all the time.

It’s not like she’s after some big secret, trying to sniff out an affair. On the contrary, the only other thing her husband is married to is his job.

And it’s been a very hard mistress to shake.

She presses her ear to the heavy mahogany door that separates her from his study, trying her best to listen to the bits and pieces of his conversation. It’s hard to make it all out with his voice being muffled and all, but she can still make out his distinct, dominant voice.

“…no, no because it was a disaster last time he was in charge. I’m tired of putting incompetent people in charge and then being expected to pick up the pieces. No, I’m not insinuating anything, not when it’s clear as day to the rest of us. He got the numbers wrong for the quarterly meeting last month, he’s slacking off on his reports, all we need to do is find him fucking his secretary at this point.”

Soarynn eyes widen at her husband’s use of vulgar language.

The Coriolanus she knows is so sweet and gentle, endlessly patient and speaks to her in the softest, kindest tone.

She’s well aware of his powerful position at work and how he’s known for being absolutely ruthless when it comes to getting the job done. His colleagues have commented on it more than once at company gatherings, always when he’s out of earshot.

“Your husband is certainly sharp,” they’d say with a chuckle, as if even joking about it could land them in a world of trouble.

Soarynn usually brushes it off, chalking it up to them being intimidated by him and his success. Not to mention his physical stature can be quite large to most people. Soarynn married a broad man with wide shoulders and big hands. And yet he is endlessly gentle when he holds her.

“Well yes, we can certainly see where that leads. How does the fourteenth work?”

Soarynn tries to listen even better but she feels something soft brushing against her foot. Petunia. She glances down at her cat who follows her everywhere, even when she’s snooping. Soarynn pays the feline no mind, eager to hear what Coriolanus is trying to plan.

“Ah, perhaps the sixteenth then? Hmm? The twentieth? No, that doesn’t work for my schedule, my wife and I are going to the theatre.”

Soarynn can’t help but smile when hearing him speak of her in such a way, to know that he puts her first, that he wouldn’t just brush their planned dates to the side for the sake of work.

Coriolanus has always been a hard worker, always buried in appointments, meetings, and more.

Busy, busy, busy.

“Alright then, that works for me. I’ll speak with Festus about arranging a meeting when I see him tomorrow. Yes, yes of course, alright then. You as well. Goodbye.”

She hears the sound of him setting the phone down with a heavy sigh and Soarynn carefully removes her ear from the door. She’s done this countless times, carefully tiptoeing down the hallway so he’s none the wiser.

But this time Petunia is here and she needs attention.

Immediately.

Soarynn tries to shoo her away with the wave of her hand, “Petunia,” she desperately whispers, “go somewhere else.”

The little cat rolls onto her back, asking for pets on her belly which Soarynn would gladly give to her if it weren’t for her compromised situation.

“Petunia, not now,” she hisses through her teeth.

That seems to set Petunia off and to her horror, Petunia rolls back onto her feet and lets out a very loud meow before darting away from her. Soarynn scoffs, the nerve of that little lady.

Before she can step away from the door, it opens and Soarynn is caught red handed.

She looks up at her husband who’s looking down at her with an amused expression, eyebrows raised, “I didn’t know I had a little spy living in my house,” he says, cupping her face with his large hand.

Soarynn blushes, embarrassed that she’s been caught and called out. She’s usually so good at this!

“I was just about to knock, and to ask if you wanted anything to eat,” she quickly lies, figuring it won’t hurt to bend the truth a little bit. Coriolanus wears a cocky smirk on his lips, “And what about the other times darling? Because we both know this isn’t the first time you’ve been lingering outside of my study.”

Uh-oh.

Her mouth hangs wide open, if she knew that he knew, she wouldn’t do this so often. Coriolanus chuckles, using his pinky to slide under her chin and shut her mouth for her, “I can see your feet from under the door, and your shadow.”

Perhaps she should get a new hobby that doesn’t consist of making an absolute fool out of herself.

He feigns a look a sympathy, “Nothing to say, darling?”

Soarynn all but manages to shake her head, there truly is nothing say, she’s been caught, the crook has been caught. Coriolanus grins and leans down, pecking her cheek, “My pretty girl likes listening to me talk on the phone hmm?”

Oh goodness.

Soarynn closes her eyes, gasping when his lips travel down to her jaw, then to her neck. Coriolanus is a very touchy man, touchy in a way that borderlines on obsessiveness. He can’t go but a few hours without needing to touch Soarynn and he’s been working for about five.

Looks like time is up.

“I…I just miss you,” she croaks when his lips close around her pulse point, sucking on her soft, tender skin. Soarynn whimpers from the feeling, resting a hand on the door frame to steady herself. If she fell he would catch her, she knows that much.

Coriolanus rests his other hand on her waist, keeping her right where she’s standing.

“Miss me? But I’m right here darling, I haven’t gone anywhere today.”

That’s true. Whenever Coriolanus works from home, he never leaves the house. He stays cooped up in his study, making phone calls and barking out orders while Soarynn listens on the other side of the door.

“You’re busy,” she whispers, tilting her head back so he can have better access to her neck. Much to her chagrin, he pulls away, a laugh leaving his lips. Soarynn peers through her heavy lids up at her husband, a domineering look in his piercing blue eyes.

He takes a hold of her chin, shaking her head back and forth in a taunting manner, “Busy, busy, busy,” he teases, laughing again when her eyes get teary. Soarynn is most definitely the sensitive one in their relationship and every once in a while, he’ll tease her just for the fun of it.

She tried to blink her tears away but her attempts are futile, “Stop,” she whines, batting his hand away.

Coriolanus leans down until he’s almost at eye-level with her, reminding Soarynn once again that Coriolanus loves control no matter what the situation is. He especially loves having control over her and she gladly gives it to him.

She is his most precious rose.

“I think you need a kiss to feel better,” he tells her in a low voice, “my angel should never be sad.”

Soarynn pouts at the petname, she could say that she doesn’t have a favorite one but they’d both know that she’s lying. He’s called her ‘darling’ for the longest time so she sees no reason to change it.

He leans further in, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose and Soarynn squeezes her eyes shut, a giggle escapes her lips. “My angel, my good girl, my babydoll, my darling,” he continues while peppering her face with kisses.

Soarynn squeals when he lifts her off the ground, both hands now on her waist, “Coryo! Coryo, put me down!”

He does no such thing, carrying them into his study and kicking the door shut behind him. She expects him to set her down on the desk but instead, he sits back in his chair, keeping her glued to his lap which is much better.

Soarynn becomes acutely aware of her choice of clothing for today, which is just a silky nightgown since she has nowhere to be for the afternoon. Coriolanus is a big fan of the flimsy sleepwear and easily slides a hand up her thigh, tugging at the waistband of her panties.

Soarynn gasps, rolling her hips in the hopes that he’ll pull them all the way down and gift her a toe-curling orgasm. Instead, he pulls his hand away and kisses her on the mouth, soft and sweet like always.

It’s second nature for her to return the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, fully leaning into his strong frame. He’s so strong, so big and important.

He could give her the world if she asked.

Their sweet moment is abruptly interrupted by the phone ringing on his desk, causing her to jump. Soarynn frowns, she knows how this will go, how he will gently usher her to the door and go back to work, forgetting all about her for the next few hours.

She supposes it’s nice that she got a few kisses though.

When she goes to pull away from the kiss, he follows her lips, pulling her in further. Now she’s confused.

“The phone,” she mumbles between kisses.

Coriolanus is a man who puts work above almost everything, she assumes this is one of those things.

His hold on her waist grows stronger, gluing them together. The next words he whispers are music to her ears, words that let her know that eavesdropping just paid off.

“I’m busy.”

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @lovelylove268 @kickmybark @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @erensrealgf @evilmenarehot @cervvsq @snowgirl12 @matcha-muses |

[midnightshindig]

what if cecil’s spouse was one of the guardians omniman killed in the first episode 👀

Cecil x OgGotG!Reader

Damn we all need some therapy, huh?

I've been getting a lot of angst requests and if you requested angst, and I haven't done it yet- especially if it's a Viltrumite reader, it's mostly because I'm mentally quite soft and it takes a lot more out of me to write good angst than good smut or fluff

Don't let this make anyone feel bad or stop requesting, I love it, but I just wanna be transparent about my process

You guys are amazing at requests though I eat this shit up EVERY time

Fic below the cut!!

I'll be honest idrk how to format this

Cecil and you are married in secret due to your status as a Guardian of the Globe

and it actually works out quite well

He's able to trust you to not die, and he's not constantly anxious you're going to get murked in battle

your power is super healing, like on some Deadpool type shit it should be virtually impossible to kill yo-

what the fuck.

Cecil and Donald arrive on scene at GHQ and there's blood everywhere.

Literally.

Everywhere.

Now Cecil is a tough man, he's been through stuff that would make the average person lose touch with reality

But this makes him almost throw up.

By far the worst part is that he can tell which blood Is yours because it's actively bubbling and trying to pull itself back together

The rescue team is trying to scoop you into a pile so you can reform, but there just isn't enough of you

Just blended and mashed guts and viscera, like your insides had been slushies before you'd died, and you'd been torn to shreds

but your blood was bubbling

could you even really die? Could you feel this? Could you think? What was Cecil going to do?

He watched you struggle to come back, and after THE IMMORTAL couldn't be resuscitated, he knew it was over

Your blood levelled and there was no effort to reform

maybe you'd finally died, perhaps you'd just given up

He didn't know.

He's pissy when he gets home, he can't cry, he's not sure he physically can

He wants to, but he's alone now, in his house, there's nothing stopping him

but he can't.

He looks at your wedding photos on the mantle, and down to the band on his hand

The cleanup team leaves yours in a box on his desk the next day

and he sobs.

He sobs so hard and so violently Donald clears the room, before excusing himself.

He hasn't cried since he took his job the GPA, this is decades' worth of tears just built up and pouring out of him as he clutches your ring to his chest

His was a black tungsten band, yours the very same band with Lonsdaleite set in. The two strongest materials available to him so you could wear it in battle.

He remembers asking you to marry him, and sobs harder

The two of you are on the beach, a ridiculous venture to get Cecil over his distaste for it. He's younger then, shortly after accepting his position at the GPA

"Y'know-" you start, adjusting your sunhat as he grimaces on the towel laid out for him, under a large umbrella "I don't understand how you can hate the beach, it's so cheery!"

"You get sand in your ass and the water is polluted, there are screaming children everywhere and this beach allows dogs."

You roll your eyes, leaning over to kiss the top of his head before standing back up

"Well I'm going into the water, you don't hate me, do you?"

"No, of course not. I know what you're doing, Y/n, it won't work."

"Noooooo, of course not" You wink at him, leaving him under his umbrella as you head into the water.

Ah hell.

He adjusts so that the ring box in his pocket isn't so obvious

This should go well. This has to go well.

You're at the beach until sunset, when Cecil is so anxious he springs into action without any thought

He doesn't have a speech prepared

He doesn't have anything prepared except the ring in his pocket

but fuck, it's so picturesque.

"Y/n- Y/n get out of the water!" He calls to you, but you just stick a tongue out at him

"If you wanna talk to me you have to get in!"

He can't believe you're doing this to him- or rather, he's marrying you because you do this to him.

And so Cecil plunges into the water, all the way up to his hips in it before he reaches you

You smile wide at him "Ahh you got in!! What's up?"

The wind blows the hat off your head as Cecil pulls out his ring, unable to kneel due to the water

"Will you marry me?"

"..."

"...??????" He's stressing out

"...!!" You're estatic

You tackle him into a hug, plummeting you both into the water

so much for not getting his hair wet

"Oh Cecil- this ring is beautiful!"

"Haha- I know, and it's resilient too, you can wear it while fighting..."

"and never take it off..." He finishes to himself, wiping the tears from his eyes and hoisting himself up, braced against the desk in front of him.

"Ugh... that's embarrassing. I can't believe it." He tries to put back on the tough guy act, but there's a pain in his heart and in his gut and everywhere. It hurts everywhere.

This is when Donald pokes his head back in with a box of tissues and a warm beverage

He doesn't say anything, just brings it over and sits in the desk chair next to where Cecil is holding himself up

After a long silence, Cecil nods at him, taking a drink from the mug

It isn't better, but it helps.

[hockybish]

Jack with pregnant Ava

...this is a lot, hold on...

Ava wants a baby really badly. She knew it was going to be virtually impossible because her body hated her. But that didn't dissuade either of them like at all.

Jack and Ava only dated for a few months before Jack proposed on Valentines day. They got married not too long after that. They decided right away to start trying for a baby.

Ava was hesitant about telling Jack about her fertility issues. Ultimately she decided it was for that best to be honest about them. Jack understood. And he never pushed her to do anything she didn't want to do. If she ever said she was done trying, he would abide by that.

Yes they did consider IVF and surrogacy and adoption. Ava didn't want to go through all of that just for the pain of one of those options not working out. The couple put all of their faith in fate. If it was meant to be it was meant to be.

There was a time that when they stopped trying so hard and really considered giving up hope and resigning themselves to being cool Auntie Ava and Uncle Jack.

It was after they had seen Quinn and his wife, Luke and Maisie, and Lola and Mason have their babies (this is excluding baby boy McTavish (he comes after Xander)). That was a total of 7 babies. Ava was convinced it was never going to happen for them. So she threw around the idea (it also didn't help that Lola just had a miscarriage as well)

"Maybe we should stop" Ava tried her hardest not to cry. She had wanted a baby for so long, thought of giving up this dream wasn't easy.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" It wasn't easy seeing his wife so torn and heartbroken. He held her as she cried into his shoulder.

"I don't know anymore Jack, I don't know" Snot and tears ran down her face. She hated this.

"Think about it for a little longer. We can revisit in a week or so."

"I have thought about this. I've prayed and wished, and worked for so long. I don't know anymore. Why not us? Why not me? Am I not made to love a baby? Why me?" Ava felt completely broken all Jack could do was helplessly hold her and comfort her.

About a month later they did revisit. And a month after that Ava got sick one morning after Jack made breakfast. The sent of bacon sent her running for the bathroom to hurl her guts out. She thought maybe she had food poisoning, after all the sushi they had the night before seemed a little sus.

"Wouldn't it be funny if you were pregnant?" Jack joked. Ava shot him a look but the idea stuck in her brain.

She found the box of old pregnancy tests that she had bought when they purchased the house years ago. The first one she took came back positive. Her heart fluttered when she saw the little plus sign. She had to be sure though before she told Jack. So she took the rest of the tests she had.

And all nine of the extra came back negative. Only 1 of the ten tests she took were positive and it was the first one. That puzzled her. She was so confident after that first one that she was pregnant, that she couldn't understand why the others weren't positive.

Jack came home from practice to all of the negative tests. Once Ava told him the situation, he wasn't as confused as Ava was why there was only one test that was positive in the sea of negatives.

"It's just a false positive." Jack explained.

"No you don't understand. The first one was positive. I'm pregnant. I know it. I just don't understand why the others don't show it."

"Do you have an appointment?" Jack didn't want to be the bearer of bad news that she probably wasn't pregnant, he would let the doctors do that. He was just going to be there to pick up the pieces. Again.

"The earliest one would work for our schedules was next Wednesday." She confirmed. Ava was clutching the good test close to her chest. Jack nodded and looked back at the all the negative tests. He examined the box that the test came from.

"Ava ..." he paused "you do know these test are expired right?"

She had no clue, she didn't even realize they could expire. Jack offered to run to the store to get more. He got a bunch of different ones, as long as they weren't expired he got em. Ava took all of when he got back and they waited. One by one each test came back positive.

"Oh my god"

"I told you!"

Once the doctor confirmed it, Jack and Ava were over the moon. They kept their news secret from their families for a few more months. They just wanted to get over that first trimester, possible miscarriage hump before they said anything.

It wasn't too hard. Luke and Maisie weren't around anymore. And Ellen and Jim were running around spending more time with the couples that gave them grand kids versus the childless couple. Ellen did have a hunch when Ava drank soda instead of her usual hard seltzer at game, she voiced it to Jim who concluded with a "they'll tell us when they want to"

The whole family cheered for the couple came on the monthly family facetime call with tshirts that read recently upgraded from auntie to mommy/uncle to daddy. They did a typical puck shooting contest to announce the gender. And when Ava was about 7ish months along they officially announced it to the public.

Jack is so attentive and protective with Ava when she's pregnant with Xander. She's already a kinda clumsy when shes not pregnant, can you imagine how wobbly and accident prone she is when she is pregnant? He will cook for her and make sure she's taking her vitamins and drinking enough water. He gives her foot massages when her feet swell up. Jack holds the bump when it gets to heavy for her. He treats her like the queen she is. He kinda makes his brothers feel bad and jealous because of amazing he is with Ava

He's going to be a good dad.

...theres more but lets start with this for now...

[reel-fear]

Genuinely so curious who Mike thinks is gonna be buying The Cage or the new DCTL GN bc with the way he tweets as far as he's concerned, it's not gonna be:

The queer people he has actively admitted he will never show any representation of in the games.

2. The POC he has actively fought against representing in his franchise. [Who he also mocked for thinking they would be represented in his franchise]

3. The Bendy fandom which has always been concerned with topics of diversity esp in the sense of queer people since its creation. Who he has responded to really poorly esp in regards to the GN.

4. The fans who critique him. [He blocked me for doing so lol]

5. His fans in general who he tweets about like this currently. [He's being vague about why people were mad at him or sent him 'nasty messages' because if you actually looked into why you'd see he was in the wrong. Either way, a very hateful way to speak abt ur own fanbase.]

Reminder while Mike is trash talking his fans he has always treated them rather poorly. The fans who won the fanart contest for Chapter 5 never got their posters actually in game due to it being rushed. Not only was chapter 5 a big slap to the face story wise, but it was literally so rushed he couldn't be bothered to add in the art his fans gave him for his game FOR FREE. [Meatly blames this on a crazy timeline, reminder him and Mike are the literal ceos of this company. The proposal of future updates here is also pretty cruel considering Mike nowadays happily admits he corrupted Chapter 5's source code and therefore literally can't update it At All currently. Because he is a moron]

At least they got to be in Boris and the dark survival, and by that I mean that was the Only game they got to be in so far, isn't that just treating your fans like you love them? Shoving their hard work into a spin off game almost nobody has played or addresses much. [Hell, who knows if with the Lone Wolf rebrand they'll even stay there. In which case they'll be in None of the games, only in the credits of BATIM]

6. The Bendy fans who just generally disagree with him on stuff. Like the new ink demon design where there is literally a public poll showing people generally prefer the old one.

7. The Bendy fans who can see he is actively lying to them. To their fucking faces.

He says this has always been the case, but screenshots and links to tweets regarding the books being canon prove it was not. Does he really think bendy fans are stupid or something? [Unless he's admitting here he lied to Kress when he told her the books were canon which sounds worse!]

8. Anyone who doesn't like the idea of giving money to a guy who laid off tons of employees then afterwards thought it was a great idea to express his anti-union views! Also brag about how good of an employer he was, according to his employees, he was not!

So in summary; Mike is an awful person who has not learned anything from the awful things he did. I will not be purchasing The Cage because, combined with this and his absolute refusal to take any kind of critique or see any differing interpretation of his franchise, I have no reason to think my problems with the franchise will ever be addressed or fixed. I probably will pirate The Cage along with any future Bendy Products [Including the movie] and will do my best to avoid giving it any kind of monetary support. Unless this changes any time soon, I can't see myself making anymore positive Bendy posts soon.

Mike has just managed to make it so hard to speak positively or optimistically of this franchise when he's so willing to broadcast how little he cares about it or its fans. I'm at the point where I refuse to pull any of my punches with my problems with it. What's the point of trying to play nice with my critique when either way the people creating it don't care?

So with this post, I want to invite anyone who feels similarly about the franchise to tell me, make a post or send an ask talking about how all of this makes you feel. It may not change how things are, but genuinely seeing other people share my feelings of anger makes me feel better. It feels nice to see when other people share our same concerns and worries. I'd also love to know if anyone else thinks they'll be avoiding purchasing Bendy products over this.

I'm not forcing anyone to participate in it nor trying to say anyone who doesn't supports mike but genuinely maybe if we can collectively decide to boycott things like the movie, graphic novel and The Cage... It might at least make the bendy devs acknowledge how much they have destroyed their own fandom's faith and trust in them.

The way Mike tweets about his actions like he had no control over why people were mad at him at least proves to me he takes NONE of it back nor regrets it. If you didn't know about his actions and only went off his tweets, you would be led to believe Mike has been needlessly picked apart by fans over things he couldn't control [or in his own words, had his words twisted and taken out of context]. That is not how you speak about your actions if you have actually learned better from them.

anyway, that has been my bendy dev callout post. This is an open invitation to anyone feeling similarly upset about the way the franchise is going to talk about it. It's genuinely nice to see how people feel about this and the more we talk about the more it's likely the bendy devs are forced to address our concerns. I don't think they will but hey, that's why I'm not gonna support them with my money anymore nor am I gonna be nice to them in any content I make critiquing Bendy. I mean I'm also basically making this post just in case anyone asks me Why I feel this way towards to bendy devs/as a way to respond to anyone who thinks I am too harsh in my critique in the future.

As always, it seems the best part of Bendy isn't actually anything about canon but about what the fan's are creating with the ideas Bendy failed to do anything interesting with.

Also the books, the books slap.

[bunnyboy-juice]

awawawawawawa

[jitteryjive]

i need to remake my cup bros ref… both cup and human designs… it’s been almost a year(?) and i’ve developed the headcanons and i would like to share with the class!!! (i wrote thirty tags. Please help me)

[fxckinemo]

i think i just met an angel????