#i HAVE to laugh at it. i have to or else it just becomes so sad. who wants to hear about my half of a pitc.hpearl roleplay duo on ig in lik

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve couldn't believe he was doing this, but it was for Robin, and it was his day off. He literally had nothing better to do. He shouldered Robin's backpack and walked into the front office of Hawkins High. He grinned. Janice was still working at the front desk. He leaned against the counter and flashed her his best smile.

"Hey, Janice, those glasses look great on you. . .really slimming," Steve said, and she giggled, blushing. "I was hoping you could do me a favor. . ."

Steve didn't feel too guilty about using her weird little crush on him to get into Robin's classes and take notes for her. Janice looked down on anyone who wasn't a jock or a cheerleader. Steve thought about his life for a moment. . .God, it was pathetic that if he was so bored that he actually wanted to go back to school for a day. He nodded to a few people in the hallways and went to Robin's first class. It wasn't so bad. . .it was refreshing to catch up on what he had missed the first time. He didn't actually do any work. He just copied some notes. The second class wasn't so bad either, although people he didn't like kept trying to talk to him. The third class was far better. . .it was his favorite subject. He was surprised when he got to Robin's desk, and Eddie Munson sat next to him.

"Hey, Buckley, kiss any frogs - you're not Buckley," Eddie said.

"No, but I can understand the confusion, we do look alike," Steve said.

"You look nothing - yeah, you're fucking with me," Eddie said, narrowing his eyes at him. "What is King Steve doing gracing us with our presence?"

"Robin's sick. It's my day off, and she wanted me to take notes for her. I'd rather be here than be at home," Steve said. "What were you about to ask Robin?"

"Well, I was going to ask her if she kissed any frogs that turned into princes - princes. . .that turned into princes," Eddie said rather quickly. "Uh, it was an inside joke."

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. Steve was slow, but he wasn't that slow. Eddie had stumbled and put too much emphasis on princes. He was going to say princesses.

"You know," Steve hissed, lowering his voice.

"Of course, I know. She wrote it on her fucking shoes, man," Eddie whispered. "Everyone else is too caught up in their own shit to notice, but I sat right next to her. You know, too?"

"She's my best friend in the world, my platonic soulmate," Steve said. "Of course, I know."

"Platonic soulmate, huh?" Eddie grinned. "I think I have one of those."

"Really?" He asked.

"Her name's Ronnie," Eddie said.

"You're fucking with me," Steve grinned.

"I am not," Eddie laughed quietly. "She's up in New York studying to become a lawyer. Ronnie. Robin. Ronnie. Robin. Yeah, it's funny. . .we've been friends since we were eight. I once tried to kiss her because I thought it was the logical next step in our relationship. Silly me."

"No way, I tried to hit on Robin," Steve said with a grin.

"Well, we're both idiots," Eddie cackled.

"I'm not going to disagree," Steve said.

Steve wanted to say more, but the teacher hushed them, and they had no choice but to begin taking notes. Eddie leaned over casually, his big brown eyes pleading with him.

"If I go to sleep, can I borrow those notes?" Eddie asked innocently.

"Does Robin lend you her notes?" Steve asked.

"Yeeess," Eddie said, laying his chin on his hands, blinking at him, and Steve gave him a look. "Okay. So, no, she doesn't."

"Then why would I?" Steve asked.

"Because she's not the boss of you," Eddie said.

Steve looked at him and thought about it for a moment. No, it was clearly a trap.

"No," Steve said firmly.

"You're mean," Eddie pouted.

Steve smirked as Eddie began scribbling furiously in his notebook, muttering and looking over at him every so often. When the teacher was done, she handed out work for them to do in class. Steve took that up along with Robin's homework. While everyone else worked, he pulled out a book. He wasn't very far into the book when he noticed that Eddie was struggling. He leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Do you want some help?" He asked.

"You wouldn't help me before," Eddie said.

"I wouldn't help you skate by," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "But I can show you some tricks that helped me."

"By all means, my liege," Eddie said.

Steve scooted closer to him, and looking over Eddie's paper, he showed him easier ways to solve the problems. He could feel Eddie's eyes watching him, and he couldn't help but feel warm inside at the feeling of Eddie's gaze on him.

"Did you get all that?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I did," Eddie said, smiling softly. "You're pretty smart."

"Don't sound so surprised. The whole dumb jock thing is just a stereotype," Steve said.

"It's a shitty stereotype," Eddie said in realization.

"Definitely," Steve said. "Just like it's a shitty stereotype that people who play D&D worship the devil."

Eddie and Steve locked eyes. Hazel eyes peering into brown. . .there was a deep understanding there. . .that they weren't so different after all.

"So. . .why don't you want to be at home?" Eddie asked.

"My parents are there, and they're not exactly proud of me for not getting into college or working at a menial job instead of working for my asshole homophobic father," Steve whispered. "Plus, they'd rather not be around their queer son, so I get out of their hair when I can."

"You're. . .gay?" Eddie asked in surprise. "But all those girls. . .?"

"I didn't sleep with that many," Steve rolled his eyes. "It's such an exaggeration. And I'm bisexual. . .more than one gender for Steve Harrington."

"And you're telling me this why. . .?" Eddie asked, not unkindly.

"Because you get it, man," Steve replied.

"Oh, you mean because of Robin?" Eddie asked.

"Not just Robin, I mean, aren't you - ," Steve said and stopped when Eddie just looked at him. "Okay, I'm asshole. I just assumed - ,"

"Everyone does it," Eddie said. "I don't know why."

"Could be because of the way you represent the freaks and the outcasts. Most people assume the majority of them are queer but you'd surprised how many there are among the conservatives," Steve grinned. "But it also might be because of the hanky hanging out of your ass pocket."

"My hanky?" Eddie asked in confusion.

Steve leaned over and whispered in his ear to tell him about the code amongst people like him and Robin. Steve pulled back and watched his dumbfounded face.

"You okay, there?" He asked.

"Well, that makes total sense. . .I think I was actually fucking hit on a couple of times when I went out," Eddie said. "Honestly, I wear it because most metalheads do, plus it's useful. I mean, I've had sex a couple of times, but I've never done stuff like that. I mean, sure, I have handcuffs on my wall so I wouldn't be opposed to being chained up and spanked - ,"

"Mr. Munson!" The teacher yelled.

"Ooh, did I say that a little too loudly?" Eddie asked, and Steve snickered.

After class, Steve started walking to the next one while Eddie got chewed out by the teacher. It wasn't long before he heard someone call his name, and before he could turn around, he felt someone run into his back. He turned around, grabbing Eddie by the arms to steady him.

"Did you get in trouble?" Steve asked.

"Nah, I reminded him that he really shouldn't hit on his students," Eddie grinned. "Anyway. . .you want to sit with us at lunch?"

"Sure, Dustin will be thrilled," Steve said and Eddie laughed.

"I'm flattered by the way," Eddie said with a grin.

"By what?" Steve asked.

"By the fact that you thought I was queer. . .huge compliment," Eddie said. "And you're also, clearly in love with me. . .very flattered about that."

"I am not!" Steve scoffed.

"Sure, you're not," Eddie cackled.

They parted ways, and after fourth period, Steve met up with Dustin and Mike.

"This is so cool!" Dustin exclaimed. "Can you come to school with us everyday?"

"No, man," Steve laughed. "I got work."

"I bet you'd want to go to school with your mother," Mike teased.

"I would love to go to school with my mom. She's awesome!" Dustin yelled.

Steve laughed and placed his hand on Dustin's head, shaking it affectionately.

"I've been invited by your dungeon master to join you guys for lunch," Steve said.

"You spoke to Eddie?!" Dustin gasped.

"Yeah, and he's actually kind of. . .cool," Steve said.

"I told you!" Dustin exclaimed. "Mike, did you hear that?! He thinks Eddie's cool."

"I'm literally standing on his other side," Mike said. "And of course, Steve thinks Eddie's cool. Steve’s not stupid."

"Thanks, Mike," Steve grinned.

Steve followed them into the cafeteria, where they got their lunch, and then headed towards the Hellfire table. He glanced around the room, and his eyes landed on Lucas. Steve raised his eyebrows at him questioningly, and he shook his head. He turned back to the table, feeling disappointed, but he understood. Eddie was sitting at the head of the table with an empty chair next to him. His eyes caught Steve’s and he waved eagerly before slapping the chair next to him.

"I think he wants you to sit next to him," Mike said.

"I think so, too," Steve grinned in amusement.

Eddie really was cute. How he ever thought he was scary was beyond him. Steve adjusted Robin's backpack and walked over to the chair meant for him. He sat down in it, smiling, and Eddie quickly introduced everyone.

"Steve Harrington's really joining us for lunch?" Jeff asked.

"I told you. . .he's cool," Eddie said.

"Didn't you graduate?" Gareth asked.

"I'm taking notes and collecting homework for my friend, Robin," Steve replied.

"Couldn't you have just asked for the teachers to send everything to the front of office?" Jeff asked.

"Sure, but then I wouldn't be hanging out with you guys," Steve said.

"Oh my god," Jeff said, looking into his eyes. "You actually mean that."

"Look, I'm sorry for the other douchebags on the team who made you feel like all jocks are out to - ," Steve started to say.

"Your parents are home, aren't they?" Dustin asked, slamming down his tray for dramatic effect.

"Yeah," Steve shrugged.

"Shit, man, sorry," Mike asked. "I know your parents are total assholes."

"Do they know?" Eddie asked, leaning close to Steve to 'whisper'.

"We know," Dustin and Mike said together.

Eddie snapped his head to look at them. Steve snorted. He really needs to work on his whispering. Mike and Dustin's head snapped to look at each other.

"You know?" Mike and Dustin asked.

"Of course, I know!" Dustin and Mike exclaimed again.

Oops, did he forget to tell them that they knew?

"Steve dated my sister for a year. Whenever his parents were home, Steve had dinner with us and occasionally slept in the basement," Mike said. "He's always welcome around our house."

"I am?" Steve asked.

"Duh," Mike rolled his eyes. "Can't you tell that we care about you?"

"Have you looked at your face when you talk to people?" Jeff asked. "You and Gareth both are a couple of grumpy looking bears."

Before Mike could open his mouth to say something, a basketball came flying out of nowhere and landed on Dustin's tray. Food flew everywhere, including on Dustin. Steve scowled, and he quickly located the source. Jason Carver was laughing with a bunch of his friends. He turned away from the Hellfire table. Big fucking mistake. Eddie moved to get up, but Steve pushed him back down. He grabbed the basketball and judged the distance. Yeah, he could do it. Steve threw his arm back and tossed the basketball. He was pleased when it made a loud thunking sound as it hit Jason in the head. He stumbled into his friends' arms as the cafeteria gasped. Jason whirled around and glared at Steve.

"You might want to keep an eye on your balls, Carver, you don't want to lose them," Steve said.

"Pathetic, Harrington," Jason said. "At least I'm not a disappointment to my family name."

"Yeah, finds someone who gives a shit, Carver, because I don't. At the end of the day, it doesn't fucking matter," Steve said. "You don't scare me. I've seen bigger pieces of shit than you. However, if you go after my kids again. . .I'm going to make you piss your fucking pants. All it takes is a few phone calls."

Steve stared Carver down, his eyes narrowed. At first, it didn't seem like he was going to call him on his bluff, but then Carver huffed and yanked his friends back down with him. Steve sat down to find the entire table, looking at him in shock.

"Holy shit," Gareth breathed with wide eyes.

"Uh. . .sorry, did I make that worse for you guys?" Steve asked.

"I mean, probably, but it was so fucking metal," Jeff said.

"It totally was," Dustin beamed and even Mike couldn't stop from grinning.

Steve looked over at Eddie to find him looking at him wide eyes, his mouth open in awe of him.

"Eddie? Are you okay?" Steve asked and waved a hand in front of his face.

"He gets like this sometimes," Jeff said, looking at Eddie in confusion. "Although, I didn't think he'd get like this over you. Give him a minute."

"Okay. . .here, Dustin, you can have my lunch," Steve said and began cleaning up the mess.

"Thanks, Steve, but I'll go get a new one," Dustin said. "Eat yours."

By the time Dustin came back with a new tray, Eddie snapped out of it. . .whatever it was.

"Fucking metal," Eddie breathed. "Are you an angel?"

"Definitely not," Steve said with a smirk.

A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER. . .

"I still can't believe it. I was joking when I told you to sub in for me," Robin said.

They were currently at Family Video, even though it was closed. It was inventory day, and they were both stuck with the job.

"I was bored, Robin, and my parents were home!" Steve exclaimed.

"You went in my place and fell in love with a straight man," Robin said. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry for you."

"Oh, you should also know that I flirted with Vickie for you," Steve said.

"WHAT?!" Robin shrieked and almost dropped the tapes. "Steven Robin Harrington, I swear - ,"

"Relax, Robin Steven Buckley, I was fucking with you," Steve said. "A little sympathy for my plight wouldn't kill you, you know?"

"Asshole," Robin said, but she was smiling slightly. "Have you tried talking to him?"

"Yeah, but he keeps running away from me. He once zig zagged through the entire school parking lot, screaming," Steve sighed. "I think I freaked him out with my sexuality."

"If he's okay with me, then he should be okay with you," Robin said.

"Robin. . .you know that's not exactly true. You know there's people within our own community who don't accept people like me. You remember what happened when we visited that gay bar. That guy accused me of pretending to be gay and said there's no such thing as bisexuality," Steve said. "And his friend agreed, but he said that I was a confused gay man. He told me that it was okay to be myself while rejecting who I am! How the fuck does that work?"

"Yeah, that was fucked up. I didn't know who to punch first. . .okay, so, you have a point, but maybe he's freaking out about something else," Robin said and sighed. "And if he is being like that, then I'll dismember him slowly while he's still alive and then let him bleed out."

"You'd do that for me?" Steve asked.

"Of course, you're my dingus," Robin said, stroking his hair. "And I expect you to do the same."

"Of course," Steve scoffed and then paused. "You know, Dustin said he left town last weekend. I mean, he came back, but he wouldn't say where he went."

"Yeah, this is definitely something else," Robin said. "I'm going to go to the bathroom, and when I get back, I fully expect all these negative thoughts to be gone."

"How long have you known me?" Steve scoffed.

"Surprisingly less than a year," Robin said.

"It feels like we've known each other our whole lives," Steve said.

"I know," Robin said fondly and then disappeared into the back.

Steve knelt on the floor and tried to focus on the inventory, but his thoughts went back to Eddie. It took one day for Steve to screw that up. . .although he couldn't figure out how he screwed it up. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a tapping on the door. Steve sighed and stood up.

"Can't you read the sign? We're closed - Eddie," Steve froze when he saw Eddie standing at the door, his hands in his pockets.

Eddie pulled one of his hands out of his pockets and waved awkwardly. Steve looked at him for a moment, studying him. Eddie's big brown eyes looked apologetic and guilty. Steve sighed and moved to the door before letting him in. Eddie slid past him, and he closed the door behind him, locking it back. Steve crossed his arms and looked at him expectantly.

"Hey," Eddie said awkwardly.

"Hey," Steve said. "Is that all you have to say or are you going to run away from me again?"

"No. . .no, definitely not. I've just been struggling with something, and I haven't been able to deal with it. I decided to go up and visit Ronnie. We talked about it for a long time," Eddie said pausing. "We've finally come to the conclusion that I've been struggling with the whole bisexuality thing."

"Well, I'm sorry that my sexuality bothers you," Steve said, angrily. "And if you can't tell, that was sarcasm. . .go fuck yourself."

"Fuck! No! That's - ," Eddie was interrupted by a loud scream.

Robin dove over the counter and tackled Eddie to the ground. Eddie shrieked.

"PREPARE TO DIE!" Robin yelled.

"No! No! I'm the same! I'm the same!" Eddie yelled as Robin slapped him, and then she took a box cutter out of her pocket. "I'M BISEXUAL, I'M BISEXUAL!"

Robin dropped the box cutter, but she remained on top of Eddie, frozen.

"Pardon?" She asked.

"That's what I was struggling with. . .my own sexuality. . .ever since Steve threw that ball at Jason Carver," Eddie said. "And I didn't know what I was feeling, so I didn't know how to talk to you so I did what I always fucking do when I get scared. . .I ran."

"Well, this was a rather awkward breakdown in communication," Robin said and got up, helping Eddie. "Thank God, I didn't want to have to kill you. I mean, we have the means to make a body disappear, but I did not want to go through it. Good luck, Steve."

Eddie watched as she disappeared into the back again and he looked back at Steve, his eyes comically wide.

"What the fuck did she mean by that? You can make a dead body disappear? Steve, what did she mean by that?" Eddie asked.

"Never mind about that," Steve laughed. "Tell me more about you realizing you're bisexual because of me."

"Okay, but we're going to come back to that other thing. . .right?" He asked.

"Eddie, focus," Steve said.

"Well, I mean, that's pretty much it," Eddie said. "I like you. . .a lot."

"I like you a lot, too," Steve replied.

"Now what?" Eddie asked.

"Well, this is usually the part where we - "

" - fuck?" He asked.

"I was going to say kiss," Steve laughed. "But I like that your mind leaped frogged to that, but I'm pretty sure that Robin would kill us."

"Damn straight!" They heard Robin yell, and then she laughed. "HA! Get it? Because none of us are. . .Goddamnit, I'm hanging out with Dustin too much."

"Right, so kiss?" Eddie asked.

Steve laughed, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. Eddie froze before melting into it, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. He deepened the kiss as Steve wrapped his arms around his neck, enjoying the way his lips moved against his. . .so soft and plump. God, Steve wanted to kiss him forever. Eddie pulled away, leaning his forehead against his.

"I'm sorry, I should have worded that better," Eddie said. "And I shouldn't have run away from you. . .in one single day, you turned my life upside down. . .although, I guess I've been struggling with my feelings for a long time. According to Ronnie, you're not the first man I flirted with."

"I didn't always know about myself either, so it's okay, Eddie, I get it," Steve said. "You're here now."

Steve buried his head into his shoulder and hugged him tightly. Never would he have been so grateful that his platonic soulmate had gotten the flu or that his parents had been home. . .It's funny how life works out like that.

[demonic0angel]

Twenty something year old Danny becomes a preschool teacher to a class of young meta and liminal kids, he helps to keep the kids calm when they discover their abilities and is genuinely one of the better teachers at the school. He's also a part-time member of the Justice League.

He's in the middle of a meeting when he gets a call from a freaked out substitute teacher saying one of the kids is stuck halfway through the wall and doesn't know what to do. Danny excuses himself and explains that one of his kids is having a small problem and he'll be right back and then leaves not realizing the chaos he left behind in his wake as the Justice League believe that Phantom has multiple kids and is a single father.

Phantom laughed nervously. “I need to pick this up real quick.” His phone continued to ring until Phantom had exited the meeting room.

However, he seemed to have forgotten to go far to avoid eavesdroppers or he was too worried to find somewhere else to pick up the call, because he only stopped behind the door to answer.

“What happened? Are they okay?” He said, sounding urgent. “Do I need to get there?”

“One of your kids is stuck!” Came a voice from the phone.

Everyone within the meeting room was leaning in, nosey as ever. Batman, who was presenting, was even tilting his entire body to the door, the only indication of his listening in.

The voice continued, “I’m so sorry, sir, I don’t know how to get them out! It’s causing a panic and no one can help me and all of the kids are crying for you!”

“How many are there? Are they all okay?”

The voice sniffled, clearly distressed and crying herself. “All ten of them are here. They’re all okay, it’s just that Etiel is stuck in the wall and no one can get him out. It’s freaking them all out.”

Phantom muttered, “Fiddlesticks. Okay, uhm. Try to calm them down, if you can. Can you find Cindy? She’s the most responsible, she’ll know what to do. And tell her that when I come back, I’ll make sure to reward her for her help. I’ll try to get there as fast as I can.”

Phantom then hung up the call after a few more words of encouragement and reassurance to the other person on the line. Then he hung up the call and came back into the room, looking apologetic. Everyone quickly pretended to be doing nothing.

Flash was holding seventeen new orders of fast food burgers, but Phantom was too distracted to notice.

“Is there something wrong?” Superman coughed awkwardly.

“Yes, I’m very sorry, but I have an emergency at home. Is it possible for me to get notes of the meeting later to review? I’m sorry— I know that this meeting had been planned for a while.”

Wonder Woman said, her voice very gentle, “Of course. We shall send you a review of the meeting in an email. Please, go home and rest assured. Take care of your little ones.”

Phantom blinked and then chuckled. “You heard that, huh? Thank you. I have to go now, so bye! Thanks again!” Without hesitation, he then flew off like a streak of light.

They were silent for a moment longer.

Then they all turned to Batman.

“Are you happy that you’re not alone in the club of single father with over 2 kids?”

“….. hn.”

Batman was determined to have more friends with kids and poor Phantom wasn’t going to know what hit him.

[isaadore]

MR. AND MRS. PERFECTLY FINE LUKE HUGHES

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing luke hughes x reader

SUMMARY you and luke were the nhl’s golden couple; young, beautiful, and deeply in love. your wedding was named the wedding of the century, and when you welcomed your son, liam, the world saw nothing but a perfect family. but behind closed doors, perfection was an illusion. the man you once trusted with your whole heart started confiding in someone else, leaving you feeling like a stranger in your own marriage. now, you’re playing pretend for the sake of your child, but how long can you keep up the act before the cracks become too deep to repair? word count 1.7k

warnings heavy angst, emotional cheating, marriage issues

note i cried while writing this ☹️ u guys know i can't be too nice and write fluff all the time... the title is a reference to taylor's song, "mr. perfectly fine"!

LH43 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

THE CAMERA FLASHES were blinding, but you didn’t flinch. You had mastered this performance, smiling just wide enough and standing just close enough to Luke to make it believable. To the rest of the world, you were still that couple.

Liam was nestled in your arms, his small fingers curling into the fabric of your dress as he yawned. Luke had one hand resting on your back, the other adjusting the little Devils hat sitting atop Liam’s dark curls. A perfect family photo.

“You guys look amazing,” one of the photographers gushed. “Seriously, still the best-looking couple in the NHL.”

You forced a laugh. “Oh, stop,” you said, brushing a hand over Liam’s back.

Luke chuckled beside you, his voice smooth and relaxed. But only you knew it was rehearsed. “I mean, she makes it easy,” he teased, sending you a grin that made your stomach twist.

It was second nature now: pretending, smiling, playing the role of the wife who still adored her husband. For Liam’s sake, for Luke’s career, for the image you had spent years curating.

But the truth sat heavy in your chest behind the practiced smiles and forced public appearances.

Luke was no longer yours.

The car ride home was quiet. Liam had fallen asleep in his car seat, his little snores filling the silence. Luke was driving, one hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh.

“You okay?” he asked after a while, sparing you a glance.

You scoffed softly, looking out the window. “You really wanna ask me that?”

His fingers clenched around the wheel. “Look, I know—”

“Do you?” you cut in, turning to face him. “Because I don’t think you do, Luke.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Just stared at the road ahead like if he looked at you, he’d have to face what he did.

What he ruined.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I just—I keep thinking about it. How long did it take before she became the one you turned to instead of me?”

“Come on, don’t do this,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I wanna know.” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “Was it when I was up all night with Liam while you were on the road? Or was it when I told you I felt like we were losing each other and you said I was overthinking it?”

Luke swallowed hard, his knuckles white on the wheel. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?”

Silence.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Thought so.”

Luke sighed, pressing his lips together like he was debating his next words carefully. “I never meant to hurt you.”

You turned back toward the window, the streetlights blurring together as tears welled in your eyes. “Yeah, well. You did.”

Pretending was easier in front of Liam.

At four years old, he was too young to understand why Mommy and Daddy were different now. Why there were nights Luke didn’t come home and why your smiles didn’t reach your eyes anymore.

So you did what you had to. Held Luke’s hand at Liam’s hockey practices. Sat beside him at team events. Let him kiss your temple when cameras were near, even when the touch burned.

And when Liam was asleep, when the house was quiet, you sat on opposite ends of the bed, drowning in unspoken words. Drowning in what could have been.

You still loved him. God, you still loved him.

But he had chosen someone else.

Maybe not in the way that left lipstick stains on his collar or unfamiliar perfume on his skin. But he had given parts of himself, parts that were yours, to another woman. And that was something you couldn’t forgive.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER

Liam had been asleep for over an hour, his favourite stuffed dinosaur tucked under his arm, the steady rise and fall of his little chest the only thing keeping you grounded. You had stayed by his bedside longer than necessary, just watching him, tracing the soft curls at his temple with gentle fingers.

Because once you left his room, once you stepped back into the reality of your marriage, the silence would be suffocating again.

And it was.

Luke was in the kitchen when you finally emerged, leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. His head lifted when he heard your footsteps, but whatever was in his eyes disappeared before you could catch it.

“Liam go down okay?” His voice was casual, like you were just two people coexisting, like there wasn’t an ocean of resentment between you.

You nodded, moving toward the fridge just for something to do, some excuse not to meet his gaze. “Yeah. He was exhausted.”

Luke hummed in response. Another stretch of silence. You grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap, and took a sip. Your wedding band caught the light as you moved, and for a brief moment, you hated the way it still sat so comfortably on your finger.

“I was thinking of taking him to the rink this weekend,” Luke said finally. “Get some ice time in, just the two of us.”

You swallowed hard. You had once loved watching them together, father and son, sharing something that was so deeply ingrained in Luke’s DNA. But now, every moment that didn’t include you felt like a reminder that you weren’t part of Luke’s world anymore. Not really.

“That’s fine,” you said evenly, setting the bottle down with more force than necessary.

Luke sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Can we—” He stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

You let out a sharp laugh, humourless. “Right. Because talking is something we’re great at these days.”

His jaw tensed. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Maybe something that actually means something?” Your voice was rising now, but you didn’t care. “Because I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending everything is fine when we both know it’s not.”

Luke exhaled slowly, staring at the floor like it held all the answers. “I never wanted this.”

You let that sink in. “Neither did I.”

And yet, here you were.

Luke didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to piece together the right thing to say. Like there was a right thing to say.

But there wasn’t.

You shook your head, stepping back. “You don’t get to act like this is some tragic accident, Luke. Like this just happened to us.” Your voice wavered, but you kept going. “You made a choice. You kept making that choice.”

His jaw clenched, and for the first time tonight, something in his expression cracked. “I never meant to—”

“Don’t.” The word was sharp, slicing through the air between you. “Don’t tell me you never meant to hurt me. That doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

Luke ran a hand down his face, exhaling roughly. “I just—” He shook his head, like he couldn’t even explain it to himself. “I felt like I was drowning, and she—”

Your stomach twisted. “She what?”

He hesitated.

You let out a hollow laugh. “Go on. Say it.”

Luke’s eyes met yours, desperate and full of something you weren’t sure you recognized anymore. “She listened. She understood.”

And there it was.

You inhaled sharply, looking away. “Right.”

He took a step forward, but you didn’t move. “It wasn’t about her,” he insisted. “It was about us. About how we stopped—”

“Stopped what?” you snapped, meeting his gaze again. “Stopped trying? Stopped making you feel special? Stopped putting you first?”

Luke flinched, and a bitter part of you relished it. Because God, the hypocrisy.

“I gave you everything,” you whispered. “I fought for us. Even when you started pulling away, even when I felt like I was losing you, I held on.” You swallowed hard, voice thick. “But I was holding on alone.”

Luke looked like he wanted to argue. To fix it. But it was too late for that.

“You want to know the worst part?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “It’s not that you betrayed me. It’s that you needed her more than you needed me.”

Silence.

Luke’s face crumbled, and for a second, he looked like the boy you fell in love with. The one who used to kiss you like you were the only thing keeping him upright. The one who promised forever.

But forever was an illusion.

You let out a breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze one last time. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Luke’s lips parted, panic flashing across his face. “You don’t mean that.”

But you did.

Luke shook his head, stepping closer, his voice tight with desperation. “No. We can fix this.”

You laughed, but there was no humour in it. “How, Luke?”

“We just—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “We just keep going. We don’t give up. We have Liam, we have—” His voice cracked. “We have us.”

You swallowed hard.

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? There was no us anymore.

But there was Liam.

There was the life you had built, the picture-perfect family the world knows and loves. If you walked away now, if you stopped pretending, it would all come crashing down.

Liam would start asking questions. The media would speculate. Your carefully constructed life would become something for people to pick apart.

And you weren’t ready for that.

Not yet.

So you inhaled, steadying yourself. Forced the words back down, shoved the pain into the same locked box where you had been keeping it for months.

Luke watched you, waiting for the final blow. But instead, you did what you had always done.

You smoothed out the edges.

You forced a breath, forced a nod. “Okay.”

Luke blinked, like he hadn’t expected that answer. “Okay?”

You met his gaze, ignoring the way your stomach twisted at the flicker of hope in his eyes. “We keep going.”

Something in his shoulders sagged. “We can make it work.”

You didn’t agree. Didn’t disagree. Just took another breath and nodded again.

Because this was what you did.

You smiled for the cameras. Held his hand at events. Sat beside him at Liam’s practices, feeling his knee brush against yours, pretending the touch didn’t make your skin crawl.

You kept up the performance.

Even when it hurt.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ LH43 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 10

Added dividers because I felt like the time skip/scene change would become confusing without any indication of it.

I really need an answer on how y'all feel about Immortal x Dupli-kate cuz depending on the popular opinion stuff will change 🤐 I'm willing to split a lot of people up for the drama and/or miscommunication nonsense

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 10 >>next

Some place where the supernatural meets the normal, a little place called The Oblivion Bar, John Constantine simply sat shocked at the words he managed to hear and process through his mushed brain. Bobo closes his hung jaw, drinks his whiskey, and pats his friend’s shoulder as the man mumbles a sobering spell, cringing at the effects. “I should go. Good luck, John.” And so, the chimpanzee quickly makes his exit, leaving the Laughing Magician and Death of the Endless to their business.

“I need you to walk me through this again, luv- wasn’t quite paying attention.” Constantine shook his head as he fully turned to face the smiling entity. “You and who did what?!” He hissed, voice barely above a whisper as he tried not to bring attention to what they were saying. This was bad. Really bad.

“Lady Gotham and I took a liking to Batman’s youngest daughter and-“ John quickly interrupted her. “And gave her magical powers beyond my comprehension and immortality- yes, I heard that, did you?!” The man rubbed his face, the thought was making him want to get drunk until he dropped. ”Have you gone mad? Giving a mortal immortality is more of Dream’s style you should know better-“

Death only smiled at him, amusement filling her eyes as she gently laid a hand on his shoulder making him tense up. “She was lonely, she deserves every happiness those powers and eternity are bound to give her. You’ll understand once you see her.” And boy, did John laugh his gut out at that as he shook his finger. “No- no, no, no- there’s no way I insert myself into that mess- Bat’s family is already a mess and reeks of you without magic- No- There’s no way- that’s bonkers-“

Death gets up with a bright smile. “Thank you, John.” Her words make him stutter almost choking on his breath at the audacity. “Don’t thank me ya loon! I’m not going to help her, I’m not even going to see the moppet!” He can only yell and cuss as she leaves.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

 “Alright, Cecil-“ The old man immediately interrupted you, the little communication device in your ear buzzing with life as he told you to not use names. “… Dude… I’m miles in the air, first of all! Second, that was like a really common name once. it’ll take a while to find you specifically, and I doubt anyone could anyway- you seem like the type that would erase himself from the gov’s documents.”

“Anyway-“ You didn’t give him time to say anything else. “What house am I supposed to go to again? And why?”

The old man sighs at your antics, rubbing the side of his forehead as he feels the headache coming while he gives the address once more. “Your brother’s teacher, Mr. Hiles, has been the mall bomber. It took us a while, he was smart about it, kept his search into biological bomb-making off the internet but he wasn’t that thorough about his paper trail.”

“Be prepared for anything and a confrontation.” The older man cleared his throat. You always made him nervous; you were an unexpected equation in everything, something he couldn’t control without risking Earth. Donald and everyone else just took his weariness and suspicion as him being overly cautious, but Cecil could tell something was clinging to you that just gave him nightmares.

“And thank you- usually I would have sent someone from the Teen Team but…uh-“ His eyes followed the action on another screen. “They’re busy. Your brother and father are helping them.”

“You’re nervous. Yapping again. Chill, I’ll take care of it. Just because I don’t want to be your little puppet doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep people safe.” You found the man irritating, but for now, he was being sane, actually doing his job, so you couldn’t complain. “Getting closer to the target. Going dark.”  Was the only warning the man got before the com was powered off.

Finally ready to land you politely greeted the man, walking through the training both Cecil and Nolan provided at the start of your vigilantism. “I didn’t expect to get caught quite this early, and I certainly expected… more conventional authorities when the time did come.” Professor Hiles just sighs and welcomes you in by your birth name. “How did you-“

“Are you kidding me? Mark is unable to shut up about you. And you forget to wear your hood more times than you do wear it.” The man said as he took off his sweater. “Follow me, I’ll show you to the fourth missing student. I assure you, I have no intention of resisting.” Well… This was easier than expected.

As he started to confess about how he started doing this, he led you to his basement. “Mr. Hiles, while I understand the loss of a child to suicide, a divorce, and the loss of a job ruined you until you hit rock bottom, avenging your son like this-“

“I’m not avenging the death of my son. That would be far too cliché.” Your eyes landed on the teen strapped to the table once he turned on the light, breath hitching as you saw the skin of his arms merging sloppily with the metallic torso the professor modified. “It’s the destruction of my life that has me seeking revenge.”

“The domino effect of pain and sorrow that these monsters create. Children who spend too much time at the mall, attend parties, consume alcohol, and play sports when they should be studying and doing homework.”

“I understand your ire, I’m not one for parties or drunks, but not all kids who do that stuff go to extremes, that’s a flawed logic- it does not give you the right to play god and do-“ You tried to placate him, keeping your tone soft and even, to try and make him see reason. “What I did to all of them, turning them into living bombs, an instrument with which to exact my revenge… my crusade to end the pain and sorrow by these- ‘popular’ kids… I feel no guilt for.”

“I can’t think of a more appropriate end to my crusade-” Mr. Hiles ripped open the shirt he was wearing, revealing the same mechanism the unconscious teen had. “-than the death of a superhero!” You quickly acted, not letting him talk more beyond that as the timer set to 50 seconds started trickling down while you grabbed him, breaking through his ceilings and roof and flying high in the air.

“Is this really how you want to die? Suicide bomb? You still can make this right- you don’t have to die like this just tell me how to deactivate it!“ Your eyes remained on the clock. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen. The man just chuckled a dry, humorless laugh. “Do it. There is nothing for me anymore.” Five, four, three.

You couldn’t tell if what you felt was sorrow or shame, but you knew you were defeated. The man was going to get one final death, but it won’t be yours. As your flight came to a stop well above the clouds, you threw the man higher in front of you as the clock struck one second, and as it hit zero, the bomb detonated, the range and heat of the explosion destroying any remains while pushing you back a bit.

Your eyes remained on the cloud of smoke it created. If the cops found him before you did, the bomb would have wiped out the neighbors, too. That’s what hero life was, what it is. Sacrifices left and right that only made you feel more at odds with this job than before.

As you went back to the house, you activated the com, putting it back into your ear. Cecil immediately informs you that the police are en route as well as his clean-up team. “Get an explosive ordnance disposal technician, too. There is a teen in the basement, the bomb doesn’t seem active yet, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ll send a report of what happened soon.” You stayed until Cecil’s people showed up, just to be sure the boy was still breathing and that the bomb wouldn’t activate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Helping Brit and the other heroes clean up the rubble from the alien attack helped keep your mind off things. The Brit enjoyed talking about his kid and wife, yapping until he needed to take a breath and then starting again keeping a smile on your face.

You enjoyed helping clean up, especially when there were no casualties, today wasn't that type of day. But it had become the easy, relaxing part of the job, pick big rubble up, place it into the waste trucks, pick another piece up, make sure to not hit the man in the trench coat, put it in the waste- wait…

Your head snaps back to the man, squinting as your eyes meet. You each take a second to take each other in before your eyes widen in surprise. “Hello, luv. I’m-“ You couldn’t help your excitement as recognition finally settled into your brain. “I know you-“ Your words made John cringe and tense up. When others said that it never ended well for him. “You’re Johnny Con-Job, the lead singer for Mucous Membrane, dude, your band got me into the punk culture.”

That… wasn’t what he expected. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of that or fight back the mental breakdown that was creeping up his spine. “You’re a bit young for that slop, no?” You just shrug. “Your songs got me to finally put myself first, to get the courage to sneak out, see other stuff beyond the walls of my first house, help others, and leave my neglectful family before they could seriously hurt me.” Her words worried him. John never took Bruce as the “lock his kids up” type, but the man was as paranoid as they came, he wouldn’t put that above him.

“It may be slop and shitty vocals, but it’s what I needed to hear.” You teased him while putting the rubble in the waste collector. He watched as you approached him with a soft smile and sparkling eyes. He could see what Death meant. “I need to talk to you. I’m not quite sure about what luv, but I think it’s about Batman-“ He didn’t get to finish, as soon as the name left his mouth, he was grabbed by the throat and lifted well above the clouds, way too close to the ozone layer. “Did he send you?” you hissed, giving his neck a warning squeeze.

Yup. He definitely saw what Death meant as your eyes glowed a Lazarus green. “Nno-“ He choked out. “Did Bruce Wayne send you?” her question was met with the same answer. Your grip softened, grabbing him by his coat instead of his neck as you brought him closer. “Then why are you here?”

“We need to talk in private…” He whispered as he realized the situation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

This was a whole mess that John Constantine knew he should have stayed out of- he knew! From Bruce to the whole family basically ignoring the kid, not even telling her about the vigilantism, to the rogues taking her in and doing a better job of raising her to her running away and getting adopted by another hero- a hero that John knew wanted to conquer the world, the whole fucking race wanted to, the fucking demons had a problem with that and wouldn’t stop complaining to him like he can fix it- he takes a deep breath in. “Why are you telling me all of this?” He whined, rubbing his face as he sat on the edge of some skyscraper with you.

“I’m not hiding my past, I’ll happily snitch and tell a reporter that Bruce Wayne is a shit father, they all just assume I’m Nolan’s actual kid that was in the hospital for a deadly something or whatever.” You shrug. “Please don’t- not because I care about the bellend- I just don’t want to deal with… Huh. Now that I’m thinking about it, that may be great blackmail.” His words only made you snicker.

He didn’t know where to begin. Did she know about the Viltrumite? Was she in cahoots with him? Should he tell her any of that? Would she even believe his ass? Maybe he should get the JL involved...

The scruffy man shook his head. “Not why I’m here. You said your hero name is Sorceress? Great, so you know you have magic powers, that makes it easy-“ John took in your shocked expression. Of course, it wasn’t that easy, it never could be. “If this was another world, I’d call you crazy.” You told him simply. “But Midnight City is cursed, and I guess that makes sense… Is that why I can hear the shadows speak?”

John nodded before doing a double take, asking you to elaborate on the shadows speaking part.  “They just speak, whisper, giggle the whole thing. They can also emit what they feel. They’ve always been present, they’re not as strong here, but I think that’s because they’re more tied to Gotham and Midnight City… or just- where there is more darkness.”

“Well, you’re not far off there, love.” The man nodded in agreement as his eyes drifted to the dark dome around the cursed city. He knew where to start. “This is going to be a long explanation, you better strap in, hen, and let me finish before you ask questions.”

“You remember the painting and murals you made of gods and other entities, demons, angels, the whole sort, in Gotham and here? Yeah, they brought the attention to you from the entities you drew. Some of the moppets took them as a higher form of offering than others, a few of them decided to stick around you.”

“Those have also decided to- ‘bless’ you with a few gifts, I’m not sure of all of them, but I know specifically that Lady Gotham offered the shadows as a companion and protector, and I know that Death of the Endless has blessed you with… well, immortality.” There was no way of walking around that fact. “I don’t remember if any of these two also gave you your powers, I was quite sloshed, but someone did.” John looked at the kit, taking in her shocked expression before he nudged you a bit. “Come on, kid, say something. You got me all worried here.”

“It’s all just- a bit much.” You mumble. “Yeah, I get it. A lot for you to shoulder, but I’m sure you’ll power through- oh, thanks love… Wha- How-“ John’s eyes moved from the beer in his hands to the energy can you were looking at. You just shrug. "I wanted to know if I could, thought…” You narrow your eyes at the can in your hands. “I’m not sure if this is made out of thin air or just- teleported or something.”

Constantine just slowly looks back at his beer mug… She was taking this better than most. He hoped it was because the shock hadn’t worn off yet. Well, he’s had worse things in his mouth, he's sure, so with a shrug, he takes a sip, humming with delight at the taste, muttering something about this being real beer. “You’re here to help me, right? Like- with my powers… I- I think I need help with this whole worshipping gods and demons- entities- thing, too.”

He knew the easy way out would be to say no, to just leave, she had done just fine without him… But that isn’t what came out of his mouth. “Sure, poppet. Just keep on giving me this fine beer.” Given his track record with people and magic, he shouldn’t feel this accomplished at your happiness, but he was always quite selfish, so he returned your hug, even if he was a bit stiff.

“Now- usually the normal thing is to go from small stuff to big, teach the basics, but I’m not one for rules. Have you ever wanted to teleport via portals?” The big mischievous smile you gave him was all the answer he needed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You came home at the same time as Nolan and Mark, everyone’s first stop after greeting Debbie was their bedrooms to refresh themselves before going back to the dining area. “I’m going to be honest, Nolan, the longer hair and full beard fit you better than the silly mustache. Right, mom?” You couldn’t help the teasing as the whole family ate. Debbie looked at Nolan with a scrutinizing eye, before sighing and giving an amused smile. “I’ll definitely miss the beard.”

Mark snorted at the teasing as Nolan pouted, brows furrowing. “It’s not silly- it’s a rite of passage into manhood by the Viltrumite culture-“ you couldn’t help but interrupt. “It’s still a silly-looking mustache. What does the Viltrumite rite of passage for women look like?”

Nolan’s momentary displeasure at the mustache comment was overlooked as the inquiry about the Viltrumite women was brought forth. “Huh… I’m not sure, I never really paid attention to that. I think some cut their hair.” A puff of air escaped you in amusement before deciding to tease him some more. “Well, you clearly weren’t planning for a daughter that’s sure.”

Debbie just took in the chatter. She enjoyed the easy atmosphere, the laughter of her kids. “So, how was everyone’s day?” She asks once the chatter stops. “Oh, I met the Teen Team and helped them with the Flaxan attack, dad got kidnapped by them while I was trying to gather up survivors, made friends with Atom Eve, and met an alien called Allen who apparently got the wrong planet.” Mark shrugged.

“I spent the last eight months enslaved by an army from an alternative dimension, although it seems much less time has passed here. About a week ago, I led a revolt against my captors and regained control of my powers. Today, a team of scientists from the rebellion found a way to get me home.” Nolan lied as easily as he breathed.

“One of Mark’s teachers was turning his classmates into organic bombs in order to take revenge on kids he felt were like the ones who led his son to commit suicide. He turned himself into a bomb also and tried to take me out with him but clearly, it didn’t work in his favor. Helped clean up after the Flaxan mess, and met the lead singer of Mucous Membrane who apparently is a mage. He was here on behalf of Death herself to help me and tell me that my powers aren’t because I’m a meta, they’re magic. Oh, and also, I’m allegedly immortal.” You took a sip of water. “Lex also wants to know if anyone would be interested in attending one of his rich folk parties.”

At the quietness of the room, you lifted your eyes from your plate to look at everyone’s shocked glance. “What?” you ask with a mouth full of food.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That night, the teens wanted to sleep with their parents, both needing reassurance. Debbie and Mark were already gone, sleeping deep and peacefully. “Dad… You awake?” your question was whispered as your head lay on Deborah's shoulder. He answered with a warm hand squeezing your shoulder and a quiet hum. “...How do you move past people you can’t save or the people we have to sacrifice?”

Nolan wasn’t sure how to answer that, he’d never felt anything for the people he couldn’t save. He knew that if he had to save earth’s people or his kids and wife… Well… Earth can be populated again. “You look at the people who you did save. We can’t always save everyone, that’s the sad reality. It’s… painful. But it’s a truth all heroes have to come to terms with. Even I can’t save everyone.” Nolan wrapped his arms around his girls and son tighter, pulling everyone closer. “If all you could save was a person, you still did everything you could. If you couldn’t save anyone, you just have to keep your head high and try again.”

You snuggled closer into your mom, feeling her arm instinctively wrap around you as you draped yours over her and Nolan’s stomach, your fingers laying on Mark’s wrist. The sad reality of being a hero...

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou

I'M REALLY SORRY IF I FORGOT SOMEBODY- MY DOC SOMETIMES FORGETS TO SAVE AND I HAD TO READD PPL

[hy6erion]

Ughhh I need another Jaymelvik fluff x fem reader, like them cuddling and taking care of eachother (especially after work),just the thought is so cuteeee.

𝐀 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭 - 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐕𝐢𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢��𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬

The golden glow of Piltover’s streetlights filtered through the grand windows of Mel’s estate, casting long shadows over the luxurious sitting room. A gentle breeze rustled the sheer curtains, carrying the faint scent of rain from the bay. It had been another long day at the Council Hall, another round of exhausting discussions, debates, and, in Jayce’s case, a fair share of exasperated sighs.

But finally—finally—they were home.

You barely had the chance to kick off your heels before strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind. Jayce buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as his broad chest pressed against your back.

“Missed you,” he murmured, voice heavy with exhaustion.

You let out a soft hum, leaning into him, your hands resting over his. “You saw me all day.”

Jayce huffed a little laugh, squeezing you tighter. “Yeah, but you were too busy being all professional and important.”

A quiet chuckle sounded from the chaise lounge, where Mel sat with her long legs elegantly crossed, a glass of red wine in hand. “He pouted every time you spoke to someone else,” she teased, swirling the liquid in her glass.

“I did not,” Jayce protested, finally letting you go.

Viktor, who was perched on the armrest of the lounge, shot him an amused glance over his book. “You absolutely did.” His accent thickened slightly with fatigue, and the way he rubbed his temple told you he had a migraine brewing—no doubt from overworking himself in the lab again.

You sighed and crossed the room, gently plucking the book from his hands. “That’s enough reading for tonight.”

Viktor made a weak sound of protest but didn’t argue when you nudged him to shift so you could sit beside him. As soon as you were settled, he rested his head in your lap with a weary sigh, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers found their way into his soft auburn hair.

Jayce, not one to be left out, dropped onto the couch beside you and stretched an arm along the backrest, letting his fingers lazily play with the ends of your hair.

Mel observed the scene with a smirk, finishing her wine before gracefully standing. “I suppose I’ll have to be the responsible one tonight.”

Jayce groaned. “Mel, don’t leave, you’re the only thing keeping this from becoming a full-on dogpile.”

She hummed in thought before walking over, her silk robe slipping slightly off her shoulder as she moved. “I suppose I could stay—if someone fetches me another glass of wine.”

“I’ll get it,” Jayce offered immediately, springing up with surprising energy for someone who had been grumbling about exhaustion just moments ago.

Viktor cracked one eye open. “Amazing how quickly he recovers when there’s a chance to impress.”

Mel smirked and took Jayces abandoned spot on the lounge, stretching out with the elegance of a lounging cat. You let out a soft laugh, your fingers still threading through Viktor’s hair. He made a pleased noise at the sensation, pressing slightly into your touch.

“Mm, I should overwork myself more often,” he murmured, voice drowsy.

You tsked, lightly flicking his forehead. “No, you shouldn’t. I swear, you work yourself into the ground just to have an excuse to be spoiled.”

His lips curled into a knowing smile, but he didn’t deny it.

Jayce returned with a fresh glass of wine for Mel, dropping back onto the couch with a sigh. He stretched out, slinging an arm around you while his other hand found Viktor’s shoulder, giving it a warm squeeze.

“Alright, I say no more talk about work,” Jayce declared. “No council drama, no lab experiments—just us.”

Mel took a slow sip of her wine, considering. “A bold proposal. What do you suggest we do instead?”

Jayce smirked, leaning in closer to you. “Cuddles.”

Viktor snorted. “You make it sound so romantic.”

“I happen to think cuddling is very romantic,” you said, pressing a kiss to Viktor’s temple before turning to nuzzle against Jayce’s shoulder.

Jayce grinned triumphantly. “See? She agrees.”

Mel exhaled dramatically, setting her glass aside before settling herself against the cushions. “Fine. But I get to be in the middle next time.”

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh. “We are nothing if not fair.”

Content warmth spread between you all, limbs tangled as exhaustion finally began to melt away. Jayce’s hand lazily stroked your arm, while Mel’s fingers traced absent-minded patterns along your thigh. Viktor, half-asleep in your lap, let out a pleased sigh whenever your nails gently scratched his scalp.

The weight of the day faded, replaced by the quiet comfort of being wrapped up in each other. No responsibilities, no expectations—just warmth, laughter, and the unspoken promise of another tomorrow, together.

[heechwe]

like real people do | 𝐲𝐣𝐢

୨୧ pairing: yang (IN) jeongin x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 2K ୨୧ genre: lots of fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: marriage au, parents au, body worship, dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, breeding kink ୨୧ synopsis: Who would've thought the greatest wish that your husband had for his birthday was to read his son a bedtime story? Well, that, and one other thing... ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to all of the betas who worked on this for me—a (@chugging-antiseptic-dye), ley (@pars-ley), tiya (@gyubakeries), ally (@lovetaroandtaemin), and kae (@ylangelegy)! I love you all loads. And happy belated to the fox himself ♥︎

Where have Jeongin and Kyungsoo gone?

It’s the one question that permeates the corners of your mind as you search for your husband and your son. You had stepped away after slicing the cake you baked for Jeongin’s birthday dinner to fold a few clothes; the chores got away from you, your focus entirely on your husband’s arrival and quiet birthday celebration. However, by the time you came back, the two tricksters were nowhere to be found.

They’re not in Kyungsoo’s toy room, the study, or the backyard. Your husband usually likes to burn off your four-year-old’s energy with a game of tag after dinner, but you don’t hear squeals of glee or anything else to indicate they’re playing. It’s deadly silent, and it puts every one of your nerves on edge.

Trekking up the stairs to the second floor, you realize the last places you haven’t checked for them are your bedroom and Kyungsoo’s across the hall. Tiny giggles emulate from the crack in your son’s door, and you feel relief wash over your bones. You creep quietly so they can continue without being interrupted, listening to the two of them, the inseparable father and son duo.

“‘What is Real?’ asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. ‘Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?’” Jeongin says the words in a high-pitched voice, making Kyungsoo laugh harder than before. When his father continues, however, he goes silent again, eager to hear the next part of the story. He’s just like Jeongin; a jokester, but an inquisitive one.

You forget how long it’s been since Jeongin read Kyungsoo a bedtime story. Work and adult responsibilities had to impede on one of your husband’s favorite ways to spend time with his little boy. He found other ways to make up for missing it, but you know it’s one of the best parts of his day. Perhaps it’s a small birthday wish come true.

“‘Real isn't how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real.’

“Papa?” Kyungsoo asks amid Jeongin’s reading of The Velveteen Rabbit, a book you’ve had in Kyungsoo’s library since he was little, but you can barely remember if you’ve ever read it to him before today. His voice is curious but small, and you wonder what his next words will be before he says them.

“Yes, bud?”

“Does that mean you and Mama are Real, too?” Kyungsoo’s question makes your heart swell, the muscle in your chest already overly expanded from listening in on the two of them together. “Because I really love you. Mama too!”

Jeongin chuckles, and you hear his lips kissing the crown of your young son’s head. Your husband plants a dozen into the little boy’s hair, making him giggle again, the sound making you croon internally. “Of course, Soo. The day you were born was the day Mama and I became Real, I think.”

“Really?” Without looking, you can tell Kyungsoo is so curious yet so happy. You feel tears spring to your eyes.

“Really really. And you’re Real too, because Mama and I love you just the same.” Jeongin responds. “Right, Mama?”

Your cheeks heat up, your husband too perceptive for his own good. You should’ve known better; he’s always been able to sense your presence since you were teenagers, no place too big or small for him to not feel you around. You wipe the tears away before cracking the door open, smiling down at your two favorite boys in the world.

A million memories flash in your mind as you look at Jeongin with the nursery book in one hand and your son in the other. The day he asked you out in the library, the night you said yes to his proposal, the moment you held Kyungsoo for the first time. It’s all because of the man whose birthday you not only celebrate, but thank the universe for in the quiet of your own mind. Without him, you’d really be without some of the best things in your life.

“He’s telling the truth, Kiki.” Hearing his nickname makes Kyungsoo’s lips turn up harder at the corners and his ears turn pink, the color matching the shade on your face.

Jeongin kisses the top of Kyungsoo’s head again. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed. But I’ll read the rest to you tomorrow night, alright?”

“Promise?” Kyungsoo holds his pinky out, and Jeongin takes it a second later. “Pinky promises,” in your husband’s words from so long ago, “are no joke, babe. Once you make one, you can’t take it back.”

“Extra pinky promise. I love you, bud.”

He nods and hugs Jeongin tightly in his small arms, an “I love you” leaving the little boy’s lips and settling into his father’s chest. Jeongin feigns weakness under the hold your son has on him, and you giggle. “You gotta stop growing. Soon you’ll be stronger than Uncle Chan.”

Kyungsoo lets Jeongin go so he can get cozy under his comforter. “Love you, Mama,” Kyungsoo says with a small, sleepy grin, his face suddenly riddled with fatigue.

“Love you too, honey.” You blow him a kiss as he shuts his eyes. Jeongin takes your hand in his before he closes the door to your son’s room.

The second you shut your bedroom door, Jeongin has you sprawled out onto the bed and his lips attached to your neck.

He peppers his words in between kisses, his love and admiration for you clear with each press of his mouth on your skin. “I may have lied to Soo earlier.”

You sit up and furrow your brows. “What?”

“I think I became Real the day you told me you loved me for the first time,” he confesses. His eyes gleam with raw intensity, his lips still placing butterfly kisses across your body. He, then, latches them to your collarbones and sucks, marking you in places nobody else will see.

"Ditto" is the only coherent word you can then say aloud. Jeongin smirks against your body and unbuttons your shirt with agonizing slowness. 

“I love you so much, angel,” he whispers as he pulls your shirt off entirely, the lace bralette underneath making his mouth water. “I’m a lucky man, you know that, right?”

“You say that like I’m not also incredibly lucky myself,” you gasp as he yanks your pants and underwear down in the same motion. He hovers back over your body after he takes off his own shirt and pants, the only garment left on him being his underwear.

He reaches into one cup of your bralette to reveal your breast, his lips and tongue latching onto the exposed nipple. You moan quietly, not wanting to disturb your child in the next room.

“Every day is my birthday because I have you and our family. I’m so fucking blessed, angel. You have no idea.” He turns his attention to the other breast, and you feel like a frenzied animal underneath him as he continues to tease you. You move your hand down to palm him over his underwear. You whimper at his firm erection and the wet patch on the fabric.

“Like what you feel, doll? That’s all for you,” Jeongin says, unclipping the bralette from your back to toss away. “For you only, forever.”

You giggle, dazed and breathless. You use your free hand to press one of his own between your thighs. Your slick folds greet him eagerly, his fingers gathering your pleasure in a matter of seconds. “And that’s all for you, Yinnie.”

He rubs your clit between his fingers, and you roll your hips up to meet the movements head-on. You clumsily pull Jeongin’s underwear down over his ass and thighs, the fabric reaching the spot just above his knees, but you don’t care. You need him inside of you, sooner rather than later. “Yinnie, please fuck me.” The lilt in your voice makes the statement sound more like a question. It’s a question you know Jeongin will always answer with quick ease.

“Of course, angel.” You gasp when the head of his dick glides across your folds before he pushes inside. Your walls have to adjust to his size, even after all these years. When he bottoms out, your eyelids flutter and your mouth hangs open from the fullness.

He says your name once he begins thrusting his hips. “I have one birthday wish I didn’t tell you about.”

You moan when he reaches between your bodies to rub your clit once again. “Anything you want, Yinnie. Always.”

He smiles and takes your lips in his, tugging on your bottom lip lightly. His pace between your legs increases, as does his fingers against your center. “I want another baby, sweetheart. Will you give me another one, please?”

When he asks so nicely, and gives you so much pleasure, how could you say no?

It’s been enough time, you think. Deep inside of you, the prospect of another baby, a sibling for Kyungsoo to dote on, has always been on your mind. You just didn’t know when the right time would be.

Now, it seems, is as good of a time as any when Jeongin begs for it so beautifully.

“Yes,” you say finally. “Fill me up, Jeongin.”

“Ah, fuck.” He switches positions, your body in his lap as he bucks up into you. “I’m gonna make you so swollen, baby. Can’t wait to see you pregnant again.”

As he helps you to bounce on top of him, his finger still deftly playing with your clit, you recall the memories of your pregnancy. How excited Jeongin was to feel Kyungsoo’s first kicks, the look on his face when you finally settled on names, and the tears in his eyes when his first child entered the world.

He’s a great husband, and an even better father, and you know without a doubt in your heart, you’d give him a dozen more if he asked you for them. He would love each one to the depths of his soul, the heart inside of him so big you don’t know how it stays inside of his chest.

“Give it to me, Yinnie. I want it so bad. Come inside of me, please.” The words come out in a tumble as you orgasm, your walls fluttering around Jeongin’s cock and your release coating him as he thrusts harder and faster. 

He changes positions once again, throwing your legs over his shoulders so he can truly go deeper than either of you thought possible. “I love you so much, angel.”

It’s the last words on his tongue before he comes, your insides filled with so much of his seed that you know he won’t let it go to waste. He milks the last of his orgasm before he pulls out, only to stuff what’s seeped out of you back into your pussy. Satisfied he’s done his job, he kisses your stomach and pulls you tightly in his embrace, your back to his front. The two of you are covered in sweat and sticky in more ways than one, but he’s so in love and enamored with what’s coming for the two of you, he pays no mind to instantly cleaning up.

“Best birthday ever,” Jeongin says into your neck. You laugh, thinking the celebration might just be for you rather than him. He treats you like a princess, even on days he’s the one who's meant to be ravished with attention and love. But that’s how he’s always been and always will be, a giver more than a taker. “I love you, sweetheart,” Jeongin says.

“I love you too, Yinnie. Always,” you say as you fall asleep, hoping he knows just how real your love is for him.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @lovetaroandtaemin @xomakara @pars-ley @addictedtohobi

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

[damnfeelings09]

VALENTINE'S DAY COUNTDOWN

First date - Shadow the Hedghog

Pairing: Shadow the hedghog x female reader Tags: fluff, comfort, awkward crush. Word count: 750. Prompt: you and Shadow have been friends for a while, and although he has a massive crush on you and is dying to have you as more than a friend he's not willing to take that step (secretly he's very insecure okay) after a little encouragement from Sonic he asked you out he never imagined how it would end. Notes: First valentine's day prompt and what better way to start it than with my eternal love Shadow. I'm love/romance depraved so these promts will be fluff in its cheesiest and purest form (like melting chocolate in a super sweet cotton candy ice cream with a Cherry on top kind of sickeningly sweet) This time I'll try a different style so let me know if you like it.

Shadow wasn't afraid of anything. He was the ultimate lifeform after all, then… why did his pulse quicken every time he was near you? Why did he feel his palms get wet each time you smiled at him? Why did his fight or flight response activated every time you were there?

Shadow wasn't afraid of anything. But maybe, maybe he was afraid of what he felt for you, afraid that he would become addicted to the feeling of you caressing his cheek, afraid that he couldn't go on without seeing the sparkle in your eyes every day, afraid of getting used to the warmth of your hand on his, afraid that if he said a word of what he felt he would lose you, because let's be honest, who could love a monster like him?

He was unsure, and every time that happened he went to Rouge, however the bat was not at home, so he went to his second best worst option. Sonic

Sonic with his usual cocky grin as Shadow explained the situation. Sonic, the same Sonic that he punched every chance he got just to release some stress and because he enjoyed it, the same Sonic that screwed up time and time again running away from Amy was the one that Shadow had decided to approach for romantic advice.

“Just don't think too much about it Shads” Sonic had said ”She likes you, trust me”

“Easier said than done”

“Well, it's either that or you'll be stuck with ' what could’ve been' forever.”

Honestly, Sonic hadn't been much help, but at least he had planted the seed of doubt in Shadow. What would be the worst that could happen if he kept his feelings to himself? You would probably find someone, that someone would take your hand, receive your caresses, taste your lips and you would forget about him, leaving him aside, alone, unloved.

No. Shadow wouldn't let that happen, the little bit of love he got from you was too addictive and he wasn't about to let anyone else have it. He had made up his mind and although the chances of you feeling the same were low they still weren't 0. He still had no idea how he managed to do it, well maybe he had a little idea. He knew he had walked you home, he knew he had said a few embarrassing things as you walked together making you laugh, what he didn't know was where he had gotten the courage to ask you out when you were about to enter your house.

“See you tomorrow Shadow,” you said waving goodbye to him.

“Wait” he said almost in a whisper. You turned, shaking your head to the side “I... ah...” he scratched his head.

“Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to... I wanted to ask you out.”

“Sure! You know I love going out with you Shadow”

“As... in a date”

“Oh...” oh? What did that mean, it wasn't the yes he was expecting but it wasn't a denial either, it was as if he had surprised you, as if you didn't imagine he could have feelings for-

“I'd love to” you cut off his thought bringing him back to earth. The smile on your face showed shyness but the pink blush on your cheeks and the loud thumping of your heart confirmed to Shadow that his feelings were reciprocated. “I... I'd like you for a while, just didn't know of you might... like me too” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear meeting your gaze with Shadow's causing him to blush. If this were a cartoon his eyes would have turned into hearts and little blue birds would fly around his head.

“I've been feeling like this for a while too, just...”

“It’s okay” you smiled “I'll see you tomorrow for our date” you walked up to him and deposited a kiss on his cheek, waving your fingers in a goodbye motion and closing the door behind you. Little did he know that you slid down the door frame, hand on your heart triyng to stop the rush in your body.

Shadow stood outside your door, his hand holding the very spot where your lips had touched his cheek trying to capture the warmth of your touch, his stomach felt funny as if something was churning inside him just remembering your kiss. It was then that he realized that maybe allowing himself to be happy wasn't such a bad thing.

[antheyaaa]

"Escape from the World"

Tom Taylor x reader

The weight of the world had been pressing down on both of you for weeks. Between the never-ending demands of filming, press interviews, and the constant eyes of the public, it felt like neither of you had a moment to just breathe.

Tom saw it in your tired eyes, in the way your shoulders tensed more than usual, in the way your laughter—usually so effortless—was becoming rarer. He felt it too, the overwhelming pressure of being in the spotlight, of always having to be "on."

So, he made a decision.

"Pack a bag, love," he told you one evening as you both collapsed onto the couch after another exhausting day. "We're getting out of here."

You blinked at him in confusion. "What? Where are we going?"

Tom simply grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Somewhere no one can find us."

---

The next morning, you found yourself on a secluded road, the city far behind you, Tom’s hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drove. The stress you had been carrying started to melt away with each mile.

Hours later, you arrived at a remote cottage nestled between tall trees, hidden away from the world. It was small but cozy, with a fireplace, a wooden deck overlooking a lake, and the most breathtaking sunset you’d ever seen.

Tom parked the car and turned to you with a smug smile. "What do you think?"

You looked around, feeling the tension in your chest loosen completely. "I think you’re a genius."

He laughed, grabbing the bags before leading you inside. "I try."

---

The next few days were pure bliss. No cameras, no schedules, no endless stream of messages or calls. Just the two of you.

Mornings were slow, spent wrapped in warm blankets as you sipped coffee, watching the mist rise over the lake. Tom would pull you close, pressing sleepy kisses to your temple, mumbling how much he loved you against your skin.

Afternoons were spent outside—hiking, swimming in the cool water, lying on the grass, pointing out ridiculous cloud shapes. You hadn’t laughed this freely in weeks, and Tom noticed.

"You look happy," he murmured one evening as you sat together on the deck, the sky painted in orange and pink.

You turned to him, heart swelling with love. "I am."

Tom cupped your face, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your cheek. "Then we should do this more often."

And as you leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, you knew that no matter how hectic life got, you would always find peace in his arms.

Totally in love with Tom Taylor, I'll probably write something else about him, we'll see if I come up with an idea and if I'll feel like writing it

With love-Antheya

[joloml]

hiii! could you make an imagine about maki getting jelous and confessing please? thank you so much ♥

MOMENTS OF SILENCE

maki &team jealousy confession

pairing jealousmaki!&team x reader

warnings smooching and like two swear words towards the end

notes wow my first imagine guys i’m growing up so fast🥹🥹all jokes aside tho im actually really nervous to publish this so if it sucks i am so sorry

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

growing up next door to maki, you guys were known as the duo. you both were inseparable—you did everything together.

when maki decided he wanted to become an idol, you were the most supportive out of everyone. you stuck by his side through the whole process, and it only made your friendship grow even more.

when he was officially in &team and they had their debut, you were always the first to know everything that was going on — even the things that weren’t supposed to be out to the public yet.

now, a few years after their debut, you not only became friends with his members, but they see you as family as well.

your friendship with maki has also grown, but so have your feelings for him. you can’t help but notice how well maki has been aging. his features are striking — everything about him is attractive.

also, after you stopped getting taller and settled on a height, he just seems to keep growing. he towers over you, which you can’t help but find it undeniably hot when he has to look/lean down to talk to you.

on the other hand, you had a massive glow up too. learning how to take care of your skin, hair, and upping your style, maki can’t deny finding you to be the most beautiful girl he’s seen.

you don’t know that though. both of your feelings for each other has always gone unspoken for. the lingering touches and the admiring glances between you two had always been brushed off, neither of you wanting to confess.

you had always been touchy with each other, never making it weird. that’s why, as you’re sitting abnormally close to maki — practically laying on him — none of his members find it unusual. he has one arm wrapped casually around your waist, trapping you in his hold. you scroll through your phone, watching tiktoks until harua makes his way towards you guys.

you look up, giving him a smile. you feel maki tighten his hold around you as harua places himself next to you on the couch.

“hey y/n, i found some new ideas for our handshake,” harua says. “since we can’t seem to settle on a good one.”

maki tenses up at the mention of a handshake. thats always been your guys’ thing. and as much as he hates to admit it, the thought of you having a handshake with someone else made him incredibly jealous.

“alright, show me what you came up with,” you smile. you try to shift to the side to get a better view, but maki’s tight grip around you makes you unable to move. “maki, could you loosen up a bit? i can’t move.”

“sorry,” he mutters, not tearing his eyes away from the phone in his hand. he lets go of you ever so slightly, just barely allowing you to turn your body.

you furrow your brows, confused as to why he seems annoyed. you just decide to brush it off, and refocus on harua.

harua shows you his ideas, some of them more complex than the others. after a few minutes of trying to master the complex ones, you eventually decide to settle on the easier movements.

maki watches you both out of the corner of his eye, wishing that it was him making you laugh like harua is.

and not to mention the way your hands are all over each other (peep the hand in handshake), he doesn’t want anyone else touching you other than himself.

he loves but hates the way that his members care for you so much. he misses the times when it was a little awkward between everyone, so he had your full attention all the time.

now, he only gets to talk to you a minimal amount when you’re in the studio with him because his members are always wanting to hang out with you.

your loud laugh snaps him out of his trance, and he sees you grab harua’s arm from laughing so hard.

he looks away, not wanting to get more annoyed. he notices that his jealousy level has been unusually high today, making him quieter than normal.

you also caught onto his quietness earlier in the day, and you just assumed he was having a rough morning.

you had no idea that he was pissed because you were giving other people more attention.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

after messing around with harua for another hour or so, everyone completed their daily duties, and decided to head out.

you wait for maki patiently by the door as you bundle up in your coat, preparing yourself to walk home in the cold weather.

after a minute, maki finds you by the door and he holds it open for you, allowing you to walk outside. you’re both silent, as maki’s jealously level hasn’t fallen since the handshake incident.

the tension in the air is too noticeable, and you glance at him as you both make your way down the snowy sidewalk.

“are you okay?” you finally speak up, clouds of smoke coming out of your mouth from how cold the air is.

he only nods.

you stay quiet for a minute, not knowing what to say.

“…did i do something?” you ask, your voice quiet.

“do you like harua?” he blurts out after a moment of silence.

“of course i like harua,” you respond, your voice laced with confusion. “why wouldn’t i?”

“no, not like that,” he shakes his head, keeping his gaze ahead of him. “i mean, do you like-like him.”

“oh- oh. no, maki,” you laugh, but immediately stop when you see that he doesn’t find this amusing. “i love harua, only as a friend. why are you asking?”

another moment of silence.

“you guys just seem.. close. that’s all,” he says, glancing at you for the first time since you left the studio. the glance is piercing, his eyes dark and features slightly tightened. his jaw is clenched, and he keeps his hands in his pockets.

reverting his eyes back to the gloomy and misty sidewalk in front of him, you shiver.

but not from the cold.

“are you jealous or something?” you slightly smile, still wondering why he would be questioning this.

when he doesn’t respond, you start laughing.

“oh my gosh, you are jealous!” you teasingly laugh. “maki, you’re literally my closest friend out of everyone i know. i don’t know why you think that i like harua more than you—“

“that’s not why i’m jealous,” he cuts you off, stopping in his tracks. you stop too, and you both turn to face each other.

“then why are you?”

he lets out a huff, looking everywhere but at you.

“because i like you, okay?”

silence overcomes the two of you again, for the hundredth time today.

“oh.” you’re not sure what to say.

“gosh, i’ve just—“ he pauses, looking around and running a stressed hand through his hair. “i began to like you ever since i told you i wanted to become an idol. you were so supportive of me, i just felt like you were the only person who truly cared for me.”

you reach your hand up in the middle of his speech, and run your fingers through his hair to brush the snowflakes out of it.

“i’ve been too scared to tell you, but seeing you all close with the other members just made me realize that i like having your attention maybe a little too much, and— can you stop that?” he swats at your hand that’s still brushing the snowflakes out.

you pull your hand away, “sorry. continue.”

but instead of continuing, he just stares at you.

silently.

the silence kills him.

“fuck it.”

he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into him, crashing your lips together. your eyes widen in shock for a moment before they flutter shut as you melt into his touch.

maki lets go of your neck and moves his hands to wrap around your waist, not once breaking the kiss. you place a hand on his chest, and you let the other gently grab his jaw.

you can feel your heart pounding against your chest as the kiss deepens. his lips feel unbelievably soft, and the unusual warmth between the two of you — given that it’s barely even 20° — makes you never want to let go of each other.

you eventually have to though.

as you slowly pull apart, you rest your forehead against his, still holding onto his jaw. maki lets out a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he was holding.

“so…” you pull your head away from him, reluctantly letting go of his jaw.

“don’t even say anything,” he says, and as you pull away, you get a clear view of how flustered he is.

“alright, i won’t,” you shrug, feeling how red your cheeks are too.

you grab his hand, and resume your walk back home in a comfortable silence.

[st4rgiirll]

rose petals

evan buckley x firefighter!gf!reader

creds: roseraris for dividers!

today, you had the day off, and evan was determined to make it special.

“alright, i’ll see you in a bit,” you called over your shoulder, grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

the plan was simple: you’d run to the store for some last-minute supplies, and evan would handle the rest. he’d been acting a little mysterious lately, which was either a sign of something amazing or a new firehouse prank.

you got back and pushed the door open, the sight that greeted you made your heart race. the living room was transformed.

candles flickered softly, casting warm shadows on the walls. rose petals were scattered around, and in the center was a blanket laid out with an array of goodies—chocolate-covered strawberries, a bottle of champagne, and a couple of glasses.

“surprise!” evan’s voice rang out, full of excitement.

“wow, you really went all out!” you exclaimed, your eyes wide as you took in the scene.

he was leaning against the kitchen counter, a proud grin plastered on his face. “i figured it was about time we had a proper valentine’s day. you know, without the fire alarms and chaos.”

you laughed, stepping further inside. “this is incredible! I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“just wait,” he said, winking. “there’s more.”

“more? what else could you possibly do?” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

“just sit down and relax,” he instructed, motioning to the blanket.

“i’ve got the next part covered.” you plopped down, sinking into the softness of the blanket.

“okay, im intrigued. what’s next?” evan walked over and poured us both glasses of champagne, the bubbly fizzing to the top.

“to us,” he said, raising his glass.

“to us,” you echoed, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip.

the sweet taste danced on your tongue, making you smile. as you both settled into a comfortable conversation, you couldn’t help but admire him.

his hair fell slightly over his forehead, and the way his eyes sparkled with mischief reminded me of a kid who’d just gotten away with something.

“so, what’s the big secret you’re hiding?” you asked, leaning closer, curiosity getting the best of you.

“oh, you’ll see,” he replied, taking a dramatic pause. “but first, i want to give you something.”

he stood and disappeared into the hallway, leaving you in eager suspense. you could hear him rummaging through a drawer, and my mind raced with possibilities. was it a gift? a love letter?

when he returned, he held a small, intricately wrapped box.

“happy valentine’s day!” he said, his excitement palpable. you took the box and turned it over in your hands.

“you didn’t have to get me anything, but thank you!” you said, genuinely touched.

“trust me, this one’s special. open it!” he urged, bouncing on his heels.

with a grin, you tore off the wrapping to reveal a delicate silver necklace, a small heart pendant glinting in the light.

“evan, it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, your heart swelling. “you really didn’t have to.”

“iwanted to,” he said softly, his gaze sincere. “you mean the world to me.”

you slipped the necklace around your neck, feeling the cool metal settle against your skin. “i love it. thank you.”

he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating as he brushed a stray hair behind your ear.

“you deserve all the love in the world.”

you felt a flutter in your stomach, the kind that had become all too familiar around evan. “so, what’s next on our romantic agenda?”

“well… i was thinking we do a bit of a… firefighter workout of our own..” evan smirked, ever the nympho he was.

“oh you were?” you grin.

“yeah… so get your ass up those damn stairs and strip, my fire jacket’s in the closet. get that on before i get up those stairs after you.”

[angel-kyo]

Almost the one [II]

When a too prone to fall in love Satoru decides he is tired of always chasing the wrong person, his eyes finally turn to the one that should be his perfect match, and to your dismay, this is no other than one of your closest friends; and while the idea of assisting your friend in becoming the man of someone else's dreams held no appeal to you, with your past revisiting, maybe helping him might be the way of helping yourself.

Prev: I

=======================

He must be nuts. There is no way he means it.

That’s what you had thought at Satoru’s request to date him before letting out an incredulous laugh followed by a court ‘No’, and turning around in direction to the campus.

“Why not?” he had asked, catching up with your step.

“What do you mean why not? Because it’s crazy.”

He had not insisted after that, and you assumed that he had not really meant it and it would be best to just forget it.

So why were you not forgetting it?

You peeked at Satoru from the corner of your eye. You two were now listening to the lecture of Mr. Nishikawa, or rather him reading an extremely long set of slides on statistics. It was one of the two classes you and Satoru would be taking together that semester. But as your friend kept looking ahead, his mind probably not on the lectures either, you kept wondering...

He could not have meant it, right?

Back there, he had looked so serious about it that, for a second, you almost believed him. However, you knew better. You were not the type he would date. No, he liked a certain kind of girls. Exotic ones, cute ones, some with stunning features or just girls who has a certain air around them. He liked girls who… stood out in a crowd. Girls like…

“Utahime!” a girl behind you called. “We saved you a seat.”

Utahime was one of your closest friends, and you were aware that her cool personality, and not to mention, graceful features, made her rather popular among your peers. So much that she seemed to have picked the interest of the Gojo Satoru himself.

The way he glanced to the back when she arrived did not go unnoticed by you.

He was at that phase of the Gojo cycle where he could not take his eyes off the one he liked.

The “Gojo Cycle” was something Shoko had come up after a night of too many drinks while you and your friends were discussing Satoru’s love life, and it could be summarized in five stages. The first stage was “The Cupid stage”, in which Gojo sets his eyes on someone for the first time and, as if targeted by Cupid himself, he thinks fate has brought them together. That was usually followed by the staring phase, where he currently was at with Utahime, always searching for her and effectively finding her in his surroundings, reinforcing his belief that the Universe wanted them together.

The third stage was dating. Most times, Satoru would be successful in asking someone out and even in taking them on a few dates for two or three week, but then, for some reason, they would inevitably enter the ’This isn't working stage’ and Satoru’s object of affection would start avoiding him, not answering his calls and texts, or plainly stating that they were not interested anymore. It did not matter how much he chased.

And that is when it came, the phase you feared the most: the heartbreak.

The last stage of the Gojo cycle you feared if not for it’s duration but for it’s unpredictability. Albeit short in terms of time, the process for mending Satoru’s heart could be… challenging. Sometimes he needed an emotional marathon of movies, some others, indulging in sweets to the point of almost making himself sick; other times, he just needed to hit the gym as if his life depended on it.

Party nights, running marathons, trying new hobbies, long calls at 3am….The list could go on and on. Sometimes, he would do all. And what all of Satoru’s coping mechanisms had in common was that he would drag you along with him.

Surprisingly, the breakup, if it could be considered as such, with Hana had not hit him too hard. While Satoru had worried you for a second making you think he was looking too deep into the reason why she had left him, his focus had then shifted to Utahime, which wasn’t ideal but just the fact of him moving on was a relief nonetheless.

===

“Are you sticking to basketball this semester?” you asked Gojo while you walked together out of campus.

He nodded with a big smile on his face. “Of course I am. The team is counting on me after all.” He winked and you would have rolled your eyes at his egocentric notions and tried to kick some sense into him so he would focus more on his studies, but the vision in front of you prevented any words from coming out.

Satoru, who had been expecting a snarky reply, looked down at you when none came from your mouth, only to find out you were not by his side but a few steps back, fixed on a couple of guys looking at one of the campus maps.

He knew one of them, Suguru, his friend and fellow teammate in basketball. However, he had never seen the guy next to him. Seeing that Suguru appeared to be giving directions and pointing at the map, Satoru assumed it was a freshman or a visitor who had asked for help, but that did not explain why you had gone pale out of nowhere.

“[name]? Are you okay?” Satoru asked returning to your side.

It took a couple seconds for you to nod and force yourself to look somewhere else.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Peripherally, you saw Geto wave and probably say his goodbyes to the other guy, and you couldn’t help but turn and try to get another look, hoping that you were mistaken, that it wasn’t him but someone with an uncanny resemblance.

You and Satoru were at least thirty feet away from them, but his eyes still met yours and you could have sworn you saw a brief flash of recognition on his face. You averted your gaze a soon as you could.

No, it was definitely him.

=======================

Note: To everyone's surprise, myself included, I'm alive.

[starlvcied]

₊˚⊹♡ rin itoshi x f!reader " FRAMED RIVALRY " CHAPTER 002

in which your academic rival, aka the captain of the soccer team, sneaks his way into the photography club with you. ꨄ︎ CHAPTER 002

cw: swearing (a lot) , rin definitely needs therapy wc : 1.8k

if someone had told you a week ago that rin itoshi would willingly join the photography club, you wouldve laughed in their face. yet here he is, showing up to every meeting like he belongs, sitting in on discussions, and most annoying– actually being good at it. 

it doesnt make sense. rin is the the type to dismiss anything that doesn't revolve around soccer, the kind of person that scoffs at having to do anything that doesnt serve his ambitions. but every time you try to pry into his real motives, he gives you the same flat responses.

“i told you, i just like photography.” or–

“can you piss off?” or–

“mind your fucking business, lukewarm.”

but noone else seems to question it. the club members welcome him in without hesitation (except for livvy and daria, who you specifically warned to stay the hell away from him), is probably more impressed by the fact that the soccer captain is even acknowledging their existence. it gets on your nerves, especially when people start treating him like he’s some kind of prodigy. well, he sorta is– but thats besides the point.

“he’s a fast learner,” daria comments as you all review recent shots on the clubs computer. “look at this framing– i cant believe he did that.”

you barely glance at the image before skipping them with a scoff. “anyone can take a decent picture with the right settings. he’s just copying the techniques i already explained to him.”

rin, whos leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. he doesnt even react to your dismissiveness. “jealous?” he asks, his voice as indifferent as ever. 

you slowly turn around, facing him with a scowl. “of you? not a chance.”

“well thats not a pretty face.”

it becomes a pattern. rin attends every meeting that doesnt get in the way of his practice or his games, participating just enough to remain involved, and occasionally throws in dry, insulting comments at you and your clubmates, mostly you, made to push your buttons. and unfortunately, it works. you’d expect him to lose interest within days, to get bored and drop the act. but he doesnt.

and thats what bothers you the most.

you dont usually mind morning classes. if anything, you enjoy them– mostly due to most of the students being too tired to be rowdy, so mornings at your school are pretty peaceful. but that was before rin itoshi started making them unbearable.

ever since the debate project forced you to work together, things have only escalated between you two. its like a silent war– every test, every assignment, every question posed by the teacher turns into an unspoken battle for dominance.

and neither of you are willing to lose.

so when your first period teacher walks in, announcing an impromptu quiz, you already know exactly where this is headed. you get a glance at rin through your peripheral and find that he was already looking at you. obsessed freak. 

“i’ll be grading these on the spot,” the teacher says, handing out the papers. “no multiple choice– explanations are required. show your reasoning.”

you glance to your left once more, where rin is already twirling that stupid ballpoint pen between his fingers, the epitome of nonchalance. but you know better. you can feel the competitive energy radiating off of him.

the moment the papers hit your desk, it begins. you dont even bother writing your name, nor the date, nor the period.

the only sound in the room is the scratching of pens against paper. you work quickly but precisely, mapping out each answer with clear, logical steps. you’re writing harder than usual, your lead breaking a few times, and your palm begins to burn. you refuse to give rin the satisfaction of finishing before you.

a flicker of movement catches your eye. rin shifts slightly in his seat, leaning forward as he writes, his stroke sharp and decisive. he’s fast. too fast. it reminds you of how he acts on the field.

you grit your teeth. hes rushing. that has to be it. theres no way hes double checking his work at that pace. (unless he doesnt have to. maybe he is as perfect as he presents himself to be.)

your pencil moves faster.

you finish just as rin sets his pen down.

both of you look up at the same time, locking eyes.

theres a moment of intense silence. then, without a word, you both flip your papers over and slide them toward the edge of your desks, waiting for the teacher to collect them.

the rest of the class finishes at a normal, more human pace– less like a factory machine. but you and rin remain frozen in place, the unspoken competition still lingering between you.

the teacher grades quickly, making occasional sounds of both approval and disapproval. you watch as she pauses at rin’s paper (you knew it was his because you had already memorized his stupid handwriting, and got a glance at the moment she picked it up). her eyebrows lifted slightly before marking something. then she gets to yours, tapping her pen against the desk thoughtfully before moving on.

finally, she returns her focus back to the class. “excellent work from most of you,” she says, “but per usual, our top scorers were neck and neck.” 

you sit up straighter. rin remains still.

the teacher glances between the two of you, lips quirking slightly, as if she finds this amusing. “one of you scored 100%. the other, a 99.”

your breath catches.

you whip your head toward rin at the same time he looks at you. his expression is unreadable, but you could see it in his eyes– hes waiting.

the teacher places the papers down on her desk. “the perfect score goes to…” she paused. you felt as if she was creating suspense on purpose. she finally flips one over, revealing the name scrawled at the top.

and to your surprise, its not yours.

for a second, you just stare at it. the weight of that single point settles uncomfortably in your chest, and embarrassment bubbles in your stomach.

slowly, you turn to look at him. he’s not smirking, not outright gloating, but theres a flicker of triumph in his expression. the way his lips press together, the way his fingers drum lightly on the desk as if to say, i win.

you inhale sharply. one point. you lost by one point.

it shouldnt bother you this much. its just a quiz. its not like this is the first time one of you has beaten the other.

but it does bother you– no, it enrages you.

so when the teacher move’s on, discussing the correct answers, you lean slightly toward rin and mutter, “enjoy your fuckin’ moment. this wont happen again.”

he doesnt look at you, but the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “thats not very head of the student council of you.”

that stupid fucking smirk made you want to strangle him and leave him to the rats. you pursed your lips before responding, your tone the opposite of polite. “shut up, dickwad.”

he didnt seem to take it to heart. all he gave was a simple eye roll and a breathy laugh, if you could even call it that. “sounds like someones mad they lost.”

and just like that, the war continues.

rin itoshi is an annoyingly fast learner. 

that much becomes obvious after only a few days in the photography class.

youd hoped he would get bored, that the frustration of being a beginner would drive him a way. but rin treats photography the same way he treats soccer or school– like a challenge. and rin doesnt lose.

which means hes actually trying.

and, worse– he’s getting better.

you watch as he crouches low, camera in hand, adjusting his focus with practiced precision. as of right now, the photography club was taking pictures while the student government set up the school to become more valentine's day themed. currently, you had rin practice by taking a photo of a boy hanging up heart-shaped decor on the walls. he clicks the shutter, barely pausing before reviewing the shot.

you dont want to admit it, but the composition is good. the depth of field is balanced, and the framing naturally draws the eye to the subject.

he stands, his frame towering over you as he turned the camera toward you. “better?”

you tilt your head, pretending to scrutinize. “..its fine.”

rin frowns slightly. “thats what you said last time.”

“maybe you’re just ‘fine’ at this.”

his lips press into a thin line. “lukewarm critique.”

you roll your eyes. “you want real critique?” you snatch the camera from his hands and point at the screen. “your subject placement is predictable, your angles are too rigid, and you rely too much on symmetry. it looks… controlled.”

rin raised an eyebrow. “and thats a bad thing?”

“its a safe thing.” you lift your own camera. “photography isnt just about control. Its about instinct, feeling natural. feeling the shot instead of just calculating it.

rin doesnt look convinced. “feeling doesnt win anything.” 

“tell that to every award winning photographer literally ever.” you step past him, snapping a picture without even looking through the viewfinder. then you turn the screen toward him. “see?”

rin stares at it for a moment, then exhales through his nose. “so youre saying i should just take random pictures instead? thats stupid.”

you roll your eyes again. “i’m saying you should stop treating this like a competition.”

he gives you a look that is so blatantly unimpressed that it makes your blood boil. “you think im competing with you?”

you stare at him. is he fucking serious?

rin doesnt react. no denial, no confirmation. he just watches you with that same impassive expression, teal eyes unreadable. then he tilts his head slightly.

“or maybe i just like photography.”

the way he says it– so deliberately, so casually– makes you want to shove your camera down his throat and watch him choke to death.

instead, you step closer, voice low. “say that again with a straight face.”

rin blinks. then, like the shitty little menace he is, he repeats with a deadpanned expression. “maybe i just like photography.”

you swear he’s fucking with you.

the moment is cut short– the bell. the club members begin packing up, and rin, as usual, moves on as if nothing happened. you watch as he slings his camera strap over his shoulder, leaving without another word.

and you– you are left standing there frustrated beyond belief. 

because of the rivalry.

because he’s improving too fast.

and because you're starting to believe he’s damn near perfect, and you hate it.

what does this mean for you?

001<< >>003

i got lazy w this so its kinda bad sorry!! also i dont know jack shit abt photography lol just roll with it.

tags: @mixolya @x3nafix @rinniebinniebay @levihanmyotp @anqelkoz @megumismyhusband @aisqka

[daisy-01-blog]

Stupidly beautiful model got fucked by another beautiful model (Model! Gojo x fem! model reader)

A/N: was thinking of using porn video title as the title but yea…it doesn’t work. Light angst and ended with smut LMAO. Subby Gojo

You’re a famous model known globally, everyone adores you and everyone wants you. Your face is on the magazine, on the banner, literally anywhere. You know that, and you flaunt it. After all, you're gorgeous and rich. 

There’s someone who didn’t appreciate all that, Gojo Satoru. 

It’s not a surprise he becomes a model, he’s gorgeous-with his striking blue eyes and white hair. People adore him. 

You too, you try your best to take his attention-yet he ignored it all the way. 

You two are usually paired with each other, and many people ship you-you’re afraid what they want won’t come true. 

You’re not a player, you had some lovers in the past-but there isn’t any info about Gojo’s dating life. People said he hasn’t dated anyone at all. 

You tried to ask him to hangout after the session ended, and he always refused. And you can’t force him. You still have (some) dignity after all. 

One day, you bought a coffee that you knew he’d like-and you paused in your tracks. You saw him conversing with a beautiful person. 

You’re more beautiful than her of course, but that’s not the point. He’s laughing and smiling, and you never saw him laughing and smiling with you. 

You turned around, sighing. Goodbye, Gojo Satoru. 

*** 

It’s the next day, and you talked to him. He’s surprised you didn’t bring anything-you usually did, to bribe him into loving you. 

“I’ll give up on you” you mutter. 

He raised his eyebrows and smirked, you must be joking. It has been months since you chased him. There’s no way you’ll be giving up now. 

“Sure” he shrugged, that’s all that he said.

You gritted your teeth, so it doesn’t even affect him. The shooting started and end in a breeze, you just wanna go home.

***

“I wanna stop modeling along with Gojo,” you told your manager. 

She raised her brows “you sure? you two have collected tractions all these years” 

You nodded “I wanna try something new” you muttered. She nods “suit yourself” 

Gojo didn’t know what to do with what happened, his manager told him you wouldn’t want to model with him anymore. 

He’s surprised, but he said nothing about it. After all, he felt nothing. Right? 

*** 

A week has passed and he becomes more grumpy, why does it matter to him now that you model with someone else? he didn’t even like you in that way. This shouldn’t even make any sense. 

And when he walks by and saw you on a cafe, laughing and talking with a guy you don’t recognize-he pulls you out there. 

“What!” you said “I’m in the middle of a date” you scoff, crossing your arms. 

You look nice, he noticed. A purple dress and a necklace. He stares at you “why did you leave me?” he said. 

“What?” you said, confused. 

“Why did you just-stop bothering me?” he mutters. 

You huff “isn’t this what you want?” 

“No” he said “I like you” 

You frown “and I’m in the middle of a date, so go away” you said to him. 

He kisses your hand “please” 

***

No one knows how you two get into this, but you ended up riding him on his bed. He shudders in pleasure as the bed creaks. You moan in pleasure. 

“Am sorry” he whines “please don’t leave me-ha” he moans “again” he whines. 

“Only if you’re a good boy” you moan as you feel his huge veiny cock throbbing inside your walls. 

He shudders “don’t stop” he moans as you did. You ride him fast as he moans in pleasure, shaking and panting. 

“Please” he whines “wanna cum” 

You shudder as you two cummed. But he isn’t satisfied. 

He moans in pleasure as he lets you suckle his cock, shaking and panting as you gag on his huge cock. 

He shakes his hips “so good” he whines needily, shaking his hips over and over. 

“Mmmh…” you drool as you kiss his cock. 

“I love you” he mewls “I love you…please don’t stop” 

You swallow his cum. 

“One more?” he whines. 

You grin “sure”

[until-the-house-shakes]

Crush (part 2)

Wolfstar Raising Regulus / werewolf! Regulus / Bartylus

-

It was a cold November morning during their fourth year the day Barty decided to be brave.

He had this stupid crush on his roommate, Regulus, since the beginning of their first year, and while he thought he was totally cool about it- Evan and Pandora begged to differ and told him he had to tell Regulus about it or stop gushing about him in private.

Which was really unfair in his mind.

He spent the last four years being perfectly normal about his crush in private and now he has to tell him? What type of sick prank is this?

Barty was sure that Regulus did not feel the same about him. Firstly, he was closer to Evan than he was to Barty, so that’s already a strike against the brunette. Secondly, he never laughed at Barty’s jokes. He just stared at him like he was an idiot. Sure everyone else did the same, but it hurt when Regulus did it.

Strike number two.

The third strike, and maybe the biggest in Barty’s opinion, was that Regulus refused to date anyone because of his ‘furry little problem’. During their second year of school, Barty, Evan, and Pandora figured out that their dear friend was secretly a werewolf, and from that day on, helped him however they could. They even went as far as learning to become animagi during their third year, because they learned it could help Regulus. Sure it pissed off professor Lupin because it was ‘dangerous’ and ‘really fucking stupid of them’ but hey! Now Regulus was able to spend full moons with his friends and dad, instead of with his dad alone.

Regulus made it clear to his friends and guardians that he had no interest in dating someone. That his illness only added difficulties to any possible relationship, and he didn’t see any reason to go through such hardship for a ‘mediocre partner’.

Barty had every single odd against him. He wasn’t Regulus’ favorite friend, they didn’t have much in common, and Regulus refused to date anyone. But maybe, just maybe, Barty could be the exception. Regulus didn’t want to date anyone because he didn’t want to go through the hurdles of coming out as a werewolf or lying to them every month. Barty understood the sentiment, however, if a possible date were to already know about the lycanthropy, (and help out each full moon) then there should be no problem.

At least that’s what Barty hoped.

“Hey, do you have any plans for this weekend?” Barty asked Regulus, sitting on the boy’s bed while the other flipped through some quidditch magazine. For the first time in a week, the two boys were all alone in their dorm, and Barty was finally going to take the opportunity and ask Regulus out.

Well, he was also threatened by Evan and Panda to either ask him out by this weekend, or suffer some weird punishment, and while Barty was curious, he found a date with Regulus much more enticing than the threat.

“Dad and I planned on seeing pa in Hogsmeade. Want to come with?” Regulus asked, not looking up from his magazine.

“Oh uh.. yeah I.. I would like that. Wait, don't your dads hate me?” Barty was never the parent’s favorite friend. It was a fact he came to quite enjoy about himself, but when it came to Regulus’ dads, he wished they would at least tolerate him. He did perfectly in Remus’ classes and always treated Regulus like an angel! What more could they want from the fourteen year old?

“They don’t hate you. They’re just protective of me, and you like to get into trouble. That’s all.” Regulus giggled. Gods. If Barty could record that giggle and keep it playing all day every day, he would.

“Well.. maybe I shouldn’t intervene on father-son time. Besides, I kind of wanted it to be just us.” Great, now Barty was starting to get shy. Why couldn’t this be easier? He was normally a confident kid, but the second Regulus looked at him with his innocent grey eyes, and perfect pink lips- all his confidence went out the window and he was just a shy, awkward kid.

“Barty… are you trying to ask me out on a date?” Finally Regulus put his magazine down and looked at Barty. As much as Barty loved it every time Regulus looked at him, he wished the werewolf would stop doing that. Having his eyes locked on his, made breathing and thinking very hard to do.

“… maybe.” Barty squeaked out, feeling his face flush. This could not be going further from what Barty original planned. He was meant to simply ask Regulus out, get rejected, and move on. This long, drawn out, tortuous conversation, was not supposed to be happening.

“Okay. We can have lunch together and I’ll have dinner with my dads.” Regulus shrugged, getting off his bed to grab his quidditch supplies.

Wow. That was easy.

Wait.

“Wait actually? You want to go on a date with me?” Barty asked, making sure this wasn’t some sick prank or awful dream. He would be so pissed if this was a dream.

“I know I said I didn’t want to date anyone… but you’re different. So sure. I’ll go on a date with you, but don’t make me regret it.” Regulus glared at him before leaving their dorm room to get to practice.

Barty simply stared at the closed door in awe.

He had a date with Regulus Black.

An actual date.

He had to tell everyone.

[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

[pogues4lifeee]

𓊝 boat day - jj 𓊝

summary: you’re john b’s younger sister and are also best friends with the pogues, but you’ve always had a deeper relationship with jj. you want to confess your feelings to him but you’re not sure if he feels the same. 

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“hurry up y/n! everyone’s waiting for you downstairs!” I heard my brother, john b yell. “I just need to grab a couple things first!” I yelled back to john b. “you have 5 minutes or else we’re leaving without you!” he responded from downstairs.

 I quickly put on a ribbed tank top  and shorts over my white floral bikini and slipped on some sandals that were next to my bed. the pogues were having a boat day and you did not want to miss it since there was a storm the day before and the fishing would be amazing, even though you didn’t really like fishing. I grabbed my phone and sunglasses and ran down the stairs into the living room. 

“took you long enough!” my brother said when he finally saw I was downstairs. “shut up bird.” I responded, using mine and dad’s nickname for him. dad had died almost 5 months ago now, and I could tell john b was doing much better, which was good. he was a wreck for the first couple months and it was nice to see him returning to his normal self. “let’s roll!” said jj, and with that, we all headed out towards the boat. you met jj around the same time your brother did almost 10 years ago, when you were 6 and your brother was 8. what you didn’t want to admit to anyone was that you’ve had a crush on jj since you were in eighth grade, but you didn’t want to tell him, as he’s become a second brother to you at this point. the only people who know about it are kie and sarah. they keep trying to get you to just tell him, but you always refuse. john b and pope got on first, followed by kie and sarah. jj got on next. “welcome on board y/n” jj said, holding out his hand to help you on the boat. you took his hand and hopped on, and with that, you were off to the marsh.

☼

“no way!” you laugh at pope’s story about his scholarship interview. “anyone want another beer?” jj asked as he headed back to the cooler. “i’ll take one.” i replied. jj smirked as he took two beers out of the cooler. “here you go princess,” he said, handing me the bottle. i took it from his hand and took a sip. once he walked away, kie scooted closer and gave me a nudge. “he obviously likes you too y/n!” she whispers to you. “you need to tell him!” sarah whispered to you, sitting next to you on the other side. i was about to say no when i heard a splash. I looked over my shoulder to see it was jj. he had jumped in the water and started to swim around the boat. i looked at john b confused. “we dared him jump in and swim a couple laps so we could ask you what’s going on between the two of you.” he tells you with a small grin on his face. “what are you talking about JB?” I ask, acting as if nothing was going on. “come on y/n/n, we all know you have a crush on jj!” pope exclaimed. my cheeks turned red. i didn’t want jj to hear us. “ok, fine! i have a crush on jj!” i admit, slightly louder than i wanted to. “i knew it!!!” exclaimed pope. “for how long?!” jb asked excitedly. “since eighth grade…” i replied. “but please don’t tell jj, i don’t know how he will react. as far as he knows, i see him as my other brother and he sees me as his little sister.” “ok, fine y/n. we won’t tell him. promise.” jb said, smirking. 

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JJ pov:

“ok, fine! i have a crush on jj!” I overhear y/n say. jb and pope dared me to jump in the water and swim around to where y/n is. i didn’t know why until i heard them go up to her and ask her what’s up. i couldn’t believe my ears. i decided to keep listening. “for how long?!” john b asked y/n. “since eighth grade…” i heard her reply. i froze. no one knew, but he also has had a crush on y/n since he was a sophomore, the same year she started liking him. “but please don’t tell jj, i don’t know how he will react. as far as he knows, i see him as my other brother and he sees me as his little sister.” she continued. “ok, fine y/n. we won’t tell him. Promise.” jb said. i could hear the smirk in his voice. he had wanted me to hear this. he had wanted me to find out about y/n’s crush on me. i swam back around to where i dove off the boat, trying to be as quiet as possible so that y/n wouldn’t hear me. I got back up on the boat. “Whoo! That water was cold!” i said heading to the cooler to get another beer. i decided not to say anything until we got back to the chateau. for the time being, i would act like this is any normal pogue boating day.

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Y/N pov:

the rest of the day went like any other day on the hms pogue, except jb and pope kept looking at jj dependently, as if they were waiting for him to say something. i figured they wanted him to say if he liked me or not based on their ‘shocking’ discovery today. the sun was starting to set. “let’s head back to the chateau, it’s getting late.” i say, checking the time on my phone. “alright m’lady” jb says in an awful british accent, turning the boat around and driving back to our humble abode. once we docked, i headed to my room to change out of my bikini. I changed into one of my brother’s shirts and leggings. just then, i heard a knock on my bedroom door. i opened it to find jj standing in the doorway.

“hey can we talk?” he asked. i nodded and moved out of the doorway so that he could step inside. i shut the door behind him. “so what’s up?” i ask, confused as to why he wanted to talk when today was like any other day. “do you like me y/n?” he asked me. i start to reply. “of course i like you, you’re like a broth-” “no, y/n. do you… have a crush on me?” he interrupts. I stood there in shock for a second. how would he know? “jj, why would you think that?” i asked. “i overheard you and the pogues on the boat.” John b told me to stop where you were. i heard it all.” he said. shit. “yeah jayj, i do. i’ve liked you since eighth grade.” i admitted. “how come you never told me?” he asked me. “i guess i never told you because I knew you thought of me as a little sister, not as a girlfriend.” i replied. i could feel the tears start to form in my eyes.

 “i like you too y/n. since sophomore year, i’ve liked you. i love the way you take care of others, i love the way you can pull off any colour of clothing, the way you’re always the first one to answer any of the pogues calls, the way you’re the one who takes care of me after my dad gets to me, everything. i love you y/n.” jj gushed. i looked up at him, a tear escaping my eyes. “hey, why are you crying?” he asked, stepping closer to me. i reached up, wrapping my arms around his neck, and stood on my tiptoes to get as close to his height as possible, and kissed him. “i’ve been waiting to do that for a long time.” i say after lifting my lips away from his. “me too.” he responds. we exchange one more kiss before we go downstairs holding hands. 

we enter the living room to see pizza and beer on the table, the pogues eating away. “what’s up guys, jb asks, putting a slice of pizza on his plate and looking up to see us holding hands and smiling at each other. it seems the other pogues realized at the same time he did. they all jumped off the couch and ran up to us. “fucking finally!” says kie, coming up to hug me. “let’s go dude!” says pope, giving jj a woogity woogity. jb runs over and picks me up into a hug. once the excitement had died down, me and jj went to get some pizza and watch the movie that the others had chosen. once i sat down with my pizza and beer, i saw pope and my brother give each other the official pogue handshake and smiled at each other. the dots immediately connected in my head. they told jj to stop swimming so he could hear me. clever bitches.