#just imagine a world where everything is big wild

[lilypixels]

🦖, 🌿 and 🎤!

Favorite extinct animal?

Ok so there’s a lot of cool and fascinating ones, and I almost want to go with a dinosaur but there’s more than dinosaurs 💆 I like a lot of the megafauna cause it’s insane how big they are o.o so we got megaloceros (giant elk) and titanoboa (really really big snake) as two

Describe favorite outfit

I have…many…I also got some new fun pants recently I’ve been waiting to try out hehe

Is there a song you know all the lyrics too?

Yes, it’s more than one too but most it’s like I only know lyrics when song plays xD ones I know most of not all lyrics off top of head tho is Never too late by three days grace and Save me by Shinedown, oh and ig I also know Numb by Linkin Park and Bring me to life by evanescence 🤔 I heard these when growing up and heard them many times over since lol

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Max "If It Weren't For The Baby" Verstappen | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Max and George show no signs of stopping anytime soon and poor y/n is stuck between a rock and a hard place. but soon things escalate when Max accidentally opens his big mouth.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

y/n_russell posted:

y/n_russell: Habibi come to Abu Dhabi✨

Comments:

user: SHE’S BACK, EVERYBODY STAY CALM!!! 🔥🔥🔥 user: MOTHER RETURNED TO THE GRID AND IT SHOWS. user: Abu Dhabi isn’t ready for her!! 😍 user: Not to be messy, but is that a bump or just the angle? 👀

user: Delete this before you embarrass yourself further. 🙄 user: You do realize that’s body-shaming, right? Yikes. user: Maybe it’s just the dress, maybe it’s none of our business. Either way—don’t. user: Imagine logging onto the internet just to get ratio’d in the comments. Couldn’t be me.

georgerussell63: Wow. 2 whole photo in front of Lewis’s garage? Feeling betrayed right now.

y/n_russell: omg george, do you want me to write "george is my favorite" on my forehead or something? relax. georgerussell63: I’m just saying, where’s the support? y/n_russell: maybe if your garage didn’t feel like the waiting room at a dentist’s office, I’d consider it. georgerussell63: That’s because we’re professional. y/n_russell: nah, it’s because you have the personality of unseasoned chicken. user: 💀💀💀 SHE CAME FOR HIS LIFE.

user: MAX. LIKED. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN.

user: Not Max creeping in the shadows like that. George, sweetie, you seeing this? user: Netflix doesn’t even need to make a script this season. The show’s writing itself.

landonorris: MOTHER.

y/n_russell: 🔪🔪🔪 user: The knives are out. Lando, RUN.

lewishamilton: Always great to have you around. Thanks for showing up and supporting me this weekend. Much love ❤️

y/n_russell: Wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know I’m rooting for you Lew! Big things ahead 💪🏽

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: Okay, F1 fans, we’ve got a hot one for you! Max Verstappen and George Russell’s sister, Y/n, were spotted on a hotel balcony together, and it’s seriously got people talking. 👀 Y/n was supposed to be at a totally different hotel with George, so why is she with Max—especially with all the drama going down between them? 🤔

Is there something going on between these two? Or is Y/n just making it clear that she’s Team Max in this ongoing feud? You know we’ll be watching this one unfold closely... 🔥

Comments:

user: Yooo, what’s going on here?! Y/n is in Max’s hotel?? 😳

user: Is this a secret relationship or is Y/n just picking sides? I need answers!! 😬

user: So Y/n's team Max now? This is messy. 👀

user: Max and Y/n are lowkey dating and no one’s telling us?! I need the receipts ASAP. 😩🔥

user: Sis really out here with Max?? I can’t believe this. George is gonna flip. 😬

user: Okay, but like... is she betraying George by cozying up with Max right now? Or is she just done with the drama? 👀

user: Nah, this can’t be real. She’s out here looking all comfy with Max while George is literally her brother?? What kind of betrayal is this? 😱

user: Is this the kind of power move we’re witnessing?? Y/n dropping George for Max?? 🤯💥

user: Ok, but lowkey, I ship them so hard. Max and Y/n would make the hottest couple. 🔥🔥

user: No, fr. Max and Y/n are EVERYTHING. They look so good together, I’m lowkey obsessed. 😍👀 user: Can we just take a minute to appreciate how they’re literally radiating chemistry? I don’t care if they’re not dating—they should be. 😩💅

user: The way she’s just chilling with Max tho... George must be somewhere crying right now. 🤣💀

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: “If it weren’t for the baby.” Three words that sent the paddock and the internet into absolute mayham today after Max Verstappen dropped the bomb during an interview. 👶💣

Fans are already in detective mode, dissecting every second of this wild moment. Whose baby? Is Max a secret dad? And what does George Russell have anything to do with it?

Interview Transcript:

Journalist: Max, earlier this week George Russell referred to you as a “bully” in his recent comments. Do you have any thoughts on that?

Max: (chuckles awkwardly) Well, you know, George always has something to say. I’m not going to get into it.

Journalist: But do you think his characterization of you is fair?

Max: (sighs) Look, I’m just here to race. I’m not interested in petty drama.

Journalist: It doesn’t seem like George is letting it go anytime soon. Are you planning to address it with him directly?

Max: (visibly annoyed) I really don’t see the point in—

Journalist: But isn’t it important to clear the air, especially since the tension is so public now?

Max: (snapping) If it weren’t for the baby, I wouldn’t even bother trying to make peace with him!

(A beat of stunned silence. Max’s eyes widen in realization.)

Journalist: The… baby? What baby? Max, can you clarify—

(Max mutters something under his breath and walks off, leaving the journalist baffled.)

Comments:

user: BABY???? HELLO? MAX, EXPLAIN YOURSELF.

user: What baby, Max?! WHOSE BABY?! I haven’t been this confused since Abu Dhabi 2021.

user: Can someone please check if Max even knows what he said? He looked so panicked when he walked off.

user: “If it weren’t for the baby”??? Sir, we’re not in Panem; calm down.

user: Peeta Verstappen has entered the chat. Someone hand him a loaf of bread. user: Peeta Mellark walked so Max Verstappen could run user: I just KNOW someone’s editing Max into a Peeta scene as we speak. Can’t wait.

user: Okay but what baby would involve George? George is childless?

user: Guys, hear me out: What if Max is secretly dating George’s sister? That’s the ONLY way a baby ties them together. user: Nah, there’s no way. George would’ve punched Max into next week already. user: Okay but think about it. Max. George’s sister. A baby. Uncle George. THIS IS LORE. user: I’m just saying, George’s sister has been looking very glow-y lately… 👀 user: Not a theory, just facts: Max is babytrapping George into a truce. 💀 user: Wait... isn’t George’s sister in Abu Dhabi right now?? 👀 user: omg and they were seen together on his hotel balcony jskjsk user: I’M SCREAMING. THIS THEORY IS TOO GOOD. user: Max... the man, the myth, the secret brother-in-law.

user: F1 fandom today: trying to figure out if Max has a secret family or if we’re all just collectively hallucinating.

user: Bro, if this is true, Netflix better dedicate a whole episode to Uncle George. user: “If it weren’t for the baby” is my villain origin story now.

user: GUYS. What if Max meant baby as in, like, his cat or something? We’re spiraling.

user: Okay but why would George care about Max’s cat?! Use your brain. user: Honestly, the only thing that makes sense is Max dating George’s sister. Uncle George confirmed. Case closed.

user: Y’all, the way I will actually SCREAM if Max and George’s sister are together. This is better than any race drama.

user: Max Verstappen?? A baby daddy?? In THIS economy??

user: Everyone’s fighting over the baby, but I’m just here wondering how Christian Horner is gonna spin this in interviews.

user: Plot twist: The baby is Christian Horner’s with Toto 😭

user: STOP. This is the most chaotic F1 season ever, and I love it.

Taglist: @ilovechickenwings @spooky-librarian-ghost @diaryofarandomkid @rd14 @hc-dutch @tremendousstarlighttragedy @grussellsprout @dannyespinosa06 @awritingtree @shelbyteller @diorbrxtz @96mcobo

[fishnapple]

How they proclaim their love for you

(lover/partner/future spouse)

This reading is about how the person you have in mind would proclaim their love for you. You can consider these as their mini love affirmations

Disclaimer : cheesy edition

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

CUBE 1

• Let's take all our time in this world. There's no need to rush. Time? It might not even exist for us. We have escaped time.

• You sent an electric shock down to my core and I still find myself standing. Stronger than ever. Like a machine getting its fuel.

• Our language is of moonlight, fluttering wings, laughter of the stream, cloudy scents of flesh.

• Our lips kiss through the air with words.

• Actions speak louder and we are loud in our actions.

• My mind is spinning, soaring then diving, goes a hundred miles around then comes back, struggling to take you all in.

• This dark corner is our playground.

• I'm in hardworking mode when it comes to our connection. I have lofty goals. Let's work hard together.

• We look like kids when we're out into the outside world together. People ask whether we are friends? We are best friends, whether we are lovers? We are best lovers, whether we're having fun? Nothing is more fun and more serious.

• I have fears, but when I open my mouth, I don't let them escape. But you helped them get out. Is this a prison break for them or for me?

• My mind keeps going back and forth from past to future and you're there, in all of them.

CUBE 2

• Here, take my money. What's mine is yours.

• Do you know the plot where one character is thrown into a dire situation, and somehow, the other one character will come to their rescue. That's me, I'm the one rescued, by you.

• After winter is spring, time goes on, seasons change, I have you with me to witness that together.

• I've become greedy. Wanting to possess every minuscule expression of yours. If I would just freeze them in time.

• Do you see those wild beasts outside the window? And here we are, snuggle comfortably in our home, safely. The light of our home attracted those beasts, they're outside, cold and hungry. Our home will welcome them, but they won't be able to come in as their old shells. They will come in as happiness, transformed.

• I fall in love fast and then I keep it slow.

• I love giving you a bath, bubbling up your hair, seeing water running on your skin then later drying your hair for you and smelling the fresh shampoo scent. Aromatherapy at its finest.

• There's this need growing in me, and I can feel it growing in you too, we share some parts of ourselves with each other. This need is big, it's overwhelming, it makes my heart feel a tugging pain, it animates my body, giving me energy. It's the need to be, to stay alive, so that I can be together with you.

• I know all the right words yet feel like a fool with you.

• I imagine myself a parent, coming home to see our kids fighting, then I will act as a mediator, coming in to lecture them. I look forward to this scenario more than the promotions of my career. Biggest achievement.

• Thank you for letting me love you.

CUBE 3

• Loving you feels like second nature for me, something I've done so many times already, everything in me just do it automatically.

• We definitely have met before. Did we share past lives together? You look so familiar, like the ghost in my dreams, the daydreams in my head, the face of a character in those novels I read.

• My soul is a trapped pool, I would use my bare hand to scoop out all the dirt and monsters from it, take a cupful of water, boil it over and over again until it transparently pure, keep it warm or ice it the way you like then present it to you.

• I stand firm on this earth, confident that I have someone to come back to.

• Our hearth is the most sacred place to me. I would put offering before it, just like how people of bygone days worshipped at the god altar.

• I will keep it warm and nourishing for you.

• Never fear.

• Our lifetime together will blink by so fast, I'm already missing it. But have no fear, it won't end.

• We navigate this path so well that we're definitely professional travellers.

• Change of places, change of jobs? Doesn't matter, I can go along with everything, as long as there's no change of hearts.

• We've travelled from faraway lands to each other and we will continue to travel together.

• I wish you could read my mind and feel my heart, and I could do the same for yours, it would save a lot of time and misunderstanding.

• This is just the beginning.

CUBE 4

• I will tell you "I love you" everyday. Make that a checklist.

• If you and I went to the same school, you would be my high-school sweetheart, the one that I would secretly gush about in little notes, the one that I would absentmindedly draw a heart next to your name.

• Even if we were continents apart, I still feel you next to me, every waking moment and every sleepy dream.

• You fill my throat with sweet sweet love dripping down so much I feel like I can't breathe.

• I love you.

• I can't speak! Tongue tied. Unlock me. But then, if the door is open, I'm too shy to step out.

• In sickness and in health.

• I feel a part of myself went missing whenever you're not here.

• Your pain makes me bleed.

• This is new to me, I don't know what to do. Help me, teacher.

• I probably have a malfunction somewhere in the system to be acting like this. What have you done?

• You are love personified.

• Life has been good since you came to me. But it also has been exceptionally difficult for me to stay alone.

• I have imagined countless times how you would hold my younger self in your arms and feel soothed by them. I may not get to feel it in the past, but I will feel it now, for my past self, my present self and my future self.

[cumironi]

PLAY HOUSE? DON’T BE JOKING : TOJI FUSHIGURO

he wasn’t going to calm down, his world fell apart in his own hands, and yet. . . he can’t do anything. he doesn’t know how to stay tender with so much blood in his hands.

warning. angst no comfort, fem! reader, breaking up, little megs, infertile reader.

the warmth of his tiny body pressed against yours was both comforting and heartbreaking. megumi clung to you, his small frame curled into your chest as if you were the only anchor keeping him safe. even in his half-asleep state, he refused to let go, his fragile grip on your shirt tightening now and then, as though the thought of losing you haunted his dreams. you held him close, your arms wrapped protectively around him, but the ache in your heart was undeniable.

you lay on his small bed, the mattress far too short for your grown frame, your legs awkwardly bent to fit. his blanket, soft but barely large enough, draped over the two of you. it was a poor attempt to shield you both from the chill in the room, but you didn’t care about your own discomfort. your focus was entirely on him—megumi fushiguro, a child who bore no resemblance to you yet had somehow burrowed his way into your heart. his fever-flushed cheeks glowed faintly in the dim light, his long, dark lashes brushing against the delicate skin as his eyes fluttered between wakefulness and sleep.

he looked so much like his father, toji—his sharp features softened only by the hints of his mother. his mother, you reminded yourself bitterly. not you. you had no claim to him, no blood tie that made him yours, yet here you were, cradling him as if he were your own. the thought tore at you, a sharp pang of longing and sadness intertwining with the love you felt for him.

a faint whimper escaped him as he shifted closer, seeking comfort in your warmth. his little hand clutched at your shirt, desperate and fragile, and your breath hitched. you wanted to be everything for him—his shelter, his solace—but no matter how much you loved him, you weren’t his mother. that truth weighed on you like a stone, each beat of your heart a cruel reminder of the line you couldn’t cross.

you brushed a hand gently through his dark, messy hair, soothing him even as your chest ached. he didn’t understand why he felt the way he did, why he clung to you with such desperation. but you understood. you were a stand-in for someone who wasn’t here, someone who should’ve been here. and as much as you cherished being his safe place, it hurt to know you’d never truly be enough.

megumi’s breathing slowed, his tiny body relaxing slightly as sleep began to claim him. yet, even in slumber, his grip on you remained firm. you closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry, not to let your sadness seep into this tender moment. it wasn’t his fault. none of it was. he was just a child—one who needed love, stability, and someone to hold onto when the world felt too big and frightening.

you pressed a soft kiss to his feverish forehead, whispering words he wouldn’t hear. “i’m here, baby. i won’t leave you.” and though the promise felt hollow, you meant it with every fiber of your being. even if he wasn’t yours, you’d stay as long as he needed you.

the night stretched on, inching closer to exhaustion, yet sleep refused to claim you. the hours seemed to drag, each one heavier than the last, and the weight of your heart grew unbearable. you sat in the dimly lit room, every creak of the house and every rustle of the wind outside pulling your attention, hoping—praying—that the next sound would be him.

toji had been gone for days now, and the silence of his absence gnawed at you. you didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. was he safe? was he hurt? the questions circled endlessly in your mind, each one darker than the last, until they became an oppressive cloud you couldn’t escape. your imagination ran wild, conjuring scenarios of danger, of injuries he wouldn’t admit to, of him lying somewhere, unable to return to you, or maybe he wouldn’t, just yet..

you tried to tell yourself this was normal. toji was a man who came and went as he pleased, his life one of constant unpredictability. he rarely shared the details of where he was going or what his plans entailed. yet, no matter how often this happened, the uncertainty never got easier to bear. each absence left you restless, each unanswered question a weight that settled deep in your chest.

the clock ticked steadily in the background, its monotonous rhythm a cruel reminder of how slowly time was passing. you wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in the empty room, but it was a poor substitute for his presence. the house felt too quiet, too still, without him there to fill the void.

you glanced at the door for what felt like the hundredth time, half expecting it to swing open and reveal his familiar figure, but it remained closed. the anticipation was unbearable, every second a tug-of-war between hope and dread. you wanted to be angry, to scold him for leaving without telling you anything. yet, beneath that frustration was an ache you couldn’t ignore—a longing for him to walk through that door, safe and whole, so you could finally breathe again.

with a sigh, you leaned back, your eyes drifting to the ceiling as your thoughts spiraled further. “where are you, toji?” you whispered into the emptiness. the question lingered in the air, unanswered, as the night wore on.

he was an assassin— a fact that was never unfamiliar to you, even from the beginning. his work, his lifestyle, the danger that followed him like a shadow, none of it was a secret. but familiarity didn’t make it any easier to accept, and it certainly didn’t stop it from being the source of so many arguments between you.

you often pleaded with him to find a real job, something stable, something safe. you wanted him to have work that didn’t demand he risk his life, something that wouldn’t force him to disappear for days at a time, leaving you and megumi behind with no word, no reassurance, nothing but the empty ache of waiting. “find something better,” you’d tell him, desperation slipping into your voice. “something that doesn’t put you in danger, toji. something that doesn’t leave us alone like this.”

but those conversations always spiraled into fights. they never ended well, always exploding into shouting matches filled with anger and frustration on both sides. toji would accuse you of not understanding, and you would accuse him of not caring enough about what his absences did to you or to megumi. and then he would leave—storming out the door without another word, disappearing for days, sometimes even weeks. when he eventually returned, it was always the same. no apologies, no explanations. he would act like nothing had happened, like the wounds from the argument weren’t still raw, as if you were supposed to just move on without question. maybe you isn’t enough for him to stay’ sometimes, you think.

it was exhausting. the cycle of fights, his departures, the waiting, and the uncertainty—it all wore you down more than you ever let him see. but what hurt the most wasn’t your own pain; it was the quiet toll it took on megumi. he was so little, too young to say anything, too young to ask for what he needed. but you could see it in the way his eyes lingered on the door when toji was gone. he never asked about his father, never said anything out loud, but you knew he missed him, and wondering.

he missed him in the way he clung to you at night, seeking comfort in your embrace because his father wasn’t there to give it. he missed him in the silence, in the unspoken ache that filled the room when the two of you sat together. and it broke your heart because no matter how much love you gave him, no matter how hard you tried to make up for toji’s absence, you couldn’t fill that void. he needed his father, even if he didn’t know how to say it.

and yet, toji’s job always came first. it always pulled him away, always left you wondering if this time would be the last time he walked out the door. you hated the job, hated the danger, hated the man you saw in him when he chose it over his family. but more than anything, you hated how much you still loved him despite it all. you hated how much it hurt to see megumi wait for someone who might never truly be there for him. and still, you stayed, clinging to the hope that one day, something might change.

it’s two in the morning, and you’ve just managed to put megumi to sleep. finally, his tiny body is at rest, though his fever is still alarmingly high. you stayed by his side for hours, wiping his sweat-soaked forehead, whispering soft reassurances, and hoping that somehow, your presence alone could ease his discomfort. but through it all, he never cried, never fussed, not even a whimper.

it made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t describe. he was only two years old—too young to understand the burden of resilience, yet somehow, he carried it like someone far older. he should’ve been crying, clinging to you, seeking comfort in the way most children would. but megumi wasn’t like most children. his quiet maturity only deepened your guilt, a sharp reminder of the life he was born into—a life he didn’t deserve.

now, you sit at the small dining table under the dim, flickering light of the kitchen. a half-empty bottle of cheap alcohol rests in your hand, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue as you let your thoughts spiral. the silence in the apartment is suffocating, broken only by the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards. you feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at you, but sleep is the last thing on your mind.

the faint click of the door jolts you from your thoughts. you sit up slightly, straining to listen as heavy, familiar footsteps make their way through the apartment. your heart tightens, and you know exactly who it is before he even steps into the kitchen.

toji.

he pauses in the doorway, his broad figure cast in shadows from the dim light. his sharp eyes sweep over you, taking in the sight of you sitting alone with a drink in your hand, your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. for a moment, neither of you speaks. the air feels heavy, the unspoken tension between you hanging thick.

his deep voice breaks the silence, low and rumbling as he asks, “why aren’t you asleep?” the question is straightforward, but there’s a softness to his tone, an edge of concern that he rarely lets show.

before you can answer, he crosses the room, his footsteps slow but deliberate. he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead—a gesture so brief yet so tender it takes you by surprise. your eyes flutter shut for a moment, a quiet sigh escaping your lips as his warmth lingers against your skin. then, just as quickly, he pulls away, making his way to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

you watch him in silence before he disappears behind you, chest tight with a mix of emotions you can’t quite untangle. there’s relief in seeing him safe, frustration at his absence, and a lingering sadness you don’t have the strength to confront. he doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you. instead, you sit there, staring at the cheap bottle in your hand, wishing the gap between you wasn’t so wide. wishing you didn’t feel so alone, even with him standing just a few feet away.

toji leaned against the counter, the cold granite biting into his skin, a sharp reminder of the divide that stretched between you. the glass of water in his hand felt heavier than it should, yet he took a slow sip, his eyes fixed on you. you sat hunched in the corner, half-shrouded in shadows, your silhouette a fragile, aching thing. even in the dim light, he could see the exhaustion etched into your every movement—the slump of your shoulders, the quiet defeat in the curve of your spine. it wasn’t just weariness; it was something deeper, something that made his chest tighten and his throat dry.

his gaze dropped briefly to the half-empty bottle in your hand, the liquid inside catching the faint light. it wasn’t the first one tonight—he could tell—and the sight of it twisted his gut with worry and something heavier, something he couldn’t name. he took another sip of his water, but it didn’t help. nothing did. the silence between you pressed in like a weight, thick and suffocating, filled with all the things neither of you could bring yourselves to say.

the soft clink of his bottle meeting the counter broke the stillness as he set it down, his movements slow, deliberate. he pushed away from the counter, his steps hesitant as he approached you, each one feeling like a gamble. you looked so small, so distant, even though you were right there. he studied your face, searching for something—anger, resentment, anything—but all he found was exhaustion. it was a quiet kind of pain, one that sat in your eyes and clung to your posture, and it left him feeling utterly helpless.

he pulled out the chair beside you, the scrape of wood against the floor loud and jarring in the stillness. he lowered himself into it, his broad frame suddenly feeling out of place, too big, too heavy in the fragile space between you. for a long moment, he simply sat there, his eyes tracing the shadows under your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the hollow sadness that seemed to hang around you like a cloud. you looked like you were carrying the weight of the world, and he hated himself for being part of what had put it there.

he wanted to reach out. god, he wanted to reach out. to close the distance, to take your hands in his and pull you into him, to hold you against his chest and remind you that you weren’t alone, that he was still here. he wanted to feel your heartbeat against his, to reassure himself that you hadn’t slipped away entirely, even if it felt like you had.

but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

he sat frozen, his fists clenched tightly in his lap, the frustration and self-loathing building inside him. he knew the cracks in your relationship were his doing—his silences, his failures, the way he never seemed to say or do the right thing. every unspoken word, every withheld apology, weighed on him like chains, and now, sitting here beside you, they felt insurmountable.

he could feel the distance between you like a chasm, vast and unbridgeable, even though you were close enough for him to hear your soft, uneven breaths. he clenched his jaw, the words he wanted to say choking him, stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat. apologies felt useless, explanations even more so. how could they compare to the pain in your eyes, the quiet devastation that he knew he’d put there?

so, he stayed silent, his presence heavy and uncertain, his gaze locked on you like a man staring at something slipping through his fingers. the ache in his chest deepened as the moments stretched on, and all he could do was sit there, knowing that even his closeness wasn’t enough to bridge the distance that had grown between you.

your reaction was hesitant, almost fragile, like a thread stretched too thin. for a long moment, you stayed still, staring down at the bottle in your hand as if it held the answers to questions you were too tired to ask. the room felt suffocating, the silence pressing in on your chest, making it harder to breathe. you didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see the worry in his eyes or the guilt etched into his features. it would only remind you of how far apart you’d drifted, how the gap between you felt insurmountable, even now.

but something in the way he sat there—so close yet so tentative—drew your gaze to his. your eyes met his green irises, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to really see him. the sharpness that once defined him was gone, replaced by a dullness that mirrored your own. he looked tired, almost as tired as you felt, and the sight made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with anger. it was sadness, heavy and unrelenting, wrapping around you like a shroud.

his hand reached out slowly, gently, as if he were afraid you might pull away. he took the bottle from your grasp, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. the touch was warm, grounding, and you felt the tiniest flicker of something you thought you’d lost—a fragile, fleeting hope. he set the bottle on the table with care, the soft clink of glass breaking the oppressive quiet.

your body moved before your mind caught up, driven by an instinct you couldn’t suppress. your arms found their way around his neck, and you buried yourself in him, seeking solace in the steady, unyielding strength of his presence. your body folded into his lap, trembling as you clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that felt like it was crumbling beneath you.

you didn’t cry. the tears that should have come remained locked inside, caught somewhere deep in the hollow ache that had taken root in your chest. instead, you held him tighter, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for the warmth he offered. your head rested against his shoulder, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the strong, warm arms that wrapped around you in return.

the moment you moved into his lap, his arms went around you on instinct, pulling you tighter against him— it was as though the weight you carried began to crack and crumble, piece by piece. . the familiar feel of your body in his arms, the scent of you, somehow still so sweet and faintly floral despite the weariness that stained your skin—it hit him like a punch to the stomach. the realization of how desperately he’d missed this, how deeply he’d longed for this closeness but had done nothing to repair what had been broken, hit him like a freight train.

he held you there, one hand running slowly up and down your spine in a soothing rhythm, the other buried in your hair as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. he steady, grounding pressure of his palm gliding along your spine, the way his fingers tangled in your hair like he was anchoring himself to you—it was almost too much. his breath, warm and uneven against your neck, sent a shiver through you, and you closed your eyes, trying to steady the storm that swirled inside you.

there were words he wanted to say, words that clawed at the back of his throat— “i’m sorry,” “i missed you,” “don’t leave” —but they all felt wrong, too small and insufficient. he pressed his lips to the pulse point on your neck, feeling the rapid thrum of your heart against his mouth.

you feel it— no, you missed it— the gently kiss against the hollow of your neck, soft and tentative, like he was afraid you might vanish if he held on too tight. that simple touch, so full of longing, sent a ripple through your chest, a sigh slipping from your lips before you could stop it. it wasn’t relief, not fully, but it was something close—like a door opening just wide enough to let the smallest ray of light in. your hand moved without thought, trailing down to his chest, where you could feel the strength of him beneath your palm—the steady, unyielding beat of his heart. but even now, even with all that strength, he felt fragile. weak. like a man caught in the wreckage of something he couldn’t fix.

you pulled back slowly, reluctant but needing to see him, to look into the green eyes that had once felt like home. your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. the faint stubble on his cheek prickled beneath your fingertips as you cupped his face, your thumb moving in slow, deliberate strokes over his skin. it felt rough, unkempt, like the rest of him—a man unraveling, his edges frayed and worn.

you studied him in the dim light, your gaze tracing the lines of exhaustion etched into his face, the heaviness that clung to him like a shadow. this close, you could see it all—the regrets he carried, the guilt that weighed him down, the cracks in the armor he tried so hard to wear. and you hated how much it mirrored your own reflection, how you could feel the pull of him drawing you in even as the words in your chest begged to push him away.

your voice came softly, trembling but resolute, breaking the silence that had stretched too far for too long. “i will leave.”

the words hung between you, sharp and heavy, slicing through the air with a finality you didn’t know you were capable of. his breath hitched against yours, his hands tightening on your waist as though he could hold you in place, as though sheer willpower could keep you tethered to him. but you didn’t say anything more, didn’t elaborate or soften the blow. instead, you let the weight of those words settle over both of you, the truth undeniable.

your mind spun with the possibilities, the what-ifs and could-bes that clawed at the edges of your resolve. what would it look like, a life without him? would you be freer, lighter, or would the absence of him feel like a gaping wound that would never fully heal? and what about megumi? the boy who had grown to look at you like a constant, like something steady and safe in a world that had taken so much from him already? how would he understand the choice you were on the brink of making?

your chest tightened with the weight of it all, the enormity of what leaving meant. but the thought of staying, of continuing this cycle of hurt and silence, felt just as unbearable. so you stayed like that, forehead pressed to his, your fingers trembling as they traced the curve of his jaw, memorizing every detail of him as if this moment might be your last.

“you’re a mess,” you whispered finally, your voice breaking on the words. there was no malice in them, only a deep, aching sadness. “we both are.”

he didn’t respond, couldn’t seem to find the words, but his eyes—those tired, dulled green eyes—bore into yours with a desperation that threatened to undo you entirely. you could feel his heart racing beneath your palm, a frantic rhythm that echoed the chaos in your own chest. it was as if he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words, begging you to stay, to give him one more chance, even as he seemed to know that the cracks between you might already be too wide to bridge.

for a moment, you considered it—letting yourself fall into him, letting his arms hold you together even as you both came undone. but the pain of the past lingered too close, a reminder of all the times you’d tried and failed, of the nights spent wondering if love was supposed to hurt this much.

so instead, you stayed silent, too, letting the closeness of him fill the void between you for just a little while longer, knowing it might be the last time.

toji’s body was tensed beneath you, his chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath he took. he didn’t say a word, didn’t move, but he was a coiled wire, taut and ready to snap at any moment. the air between you felt charged, thick with the weight of words unspoken, of questions asked yet left unanswered, of apologies and pleas that remained stuck in both of your throats.

the silence felt suffocating, a crushing weight that pressed in on your lungs, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. but still, neither of you spoke. his silence felt deafening, a stark contrast to the maelstrom of his thoughts. he wanted to reach out, to pull you to him, to fix whatever was broken between you. but he was frozen.

he couldn’t tell you what stopped him, the memories of past arguments, the fear of causing more hurt, the knowledge that words alone couldn’t stitch together the torn edges of what was left of your relationship. the only thing he could do was sit there, his body taut against you, his heart hammering in his chest.

his eyes were fixed on your face, studying every feature, as if he was trying to memorize them. he could see the way your brow was furrowed, the way your lips were pressed together, the way your fingers continued to trace over his skin. and he wondered if you could feel the way his pulse was racing, the way his heart was lurching in his chest.

“please,” he finally managed, his voice raspy and unsteady, almost like a man drowning. the words hung in the air, pleading yet resigned, a last-ditch effort to keep you from slipping though his fingers.

he reached up, his fingers trailing along your collarbone, the touch so light it was almost reverent. his eyes flickered over your face, tracing the lines he’d come to know so well, the curves and planes of you as familiar as his own reflection. “don’t leave. not yet.”

not yet.

your breath hitched at his words, the rawness in his voice cutting through the walls you’d built around yourself. please. it was a small word, but the weight of it was staggering, heavy with a kind of desperation that made your chest ache. his fingers brushed against your collarbone, featherlight, almost trembling, as though he was afraid that even the slightest pressure might shatter what was left between you. his gaze burned into yours, searching, pleading, memorizing every inch of you as if he was afraid you’d vanish before his eyes, just like his late wife.

your lips curved into a smile, soft and bittersweet, a fragile thing that seemed to carry the weight of your exhaustion. it wasn’t happiness—not even close. it was the kind of smile you wore when you knew something was over, when the pain was too deep to cry anymore. your hands lifted to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over the roughness of his stubble, the sharp angles of his jaw. his skin felt warm beneath your touch, grounding, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself forget the inevitability of it all.

“yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “i will.” the words felt like a betrayal even as they left your lips. you saw the way they landed, how they rippled through him like a physical blow, and you hated yourself for it. but this was the truth, the only truth you could offer, and you hoped that somehow, deep down, he understood.

you leaned in slowly, your movements deliberate, as if you were giving him time to pull away—but he didn’t. he stayed rooted in place, his breath shallow and uneven as you closed the distance between you. your lips brushed against the scar on his mouth, a touch so soft it felt like it might break you both. you lingered there, your breath mingling with his, the intimacy of it so fragile, so fleeting.

when you finally pulled back, your eyes fluttered open to meet his, and you saw the pain there, raw and unguarded. it mirrored your own.

he didn’t pull away. instead, his hands moved to your waist, gripping you with a desperation that made it hard to breathe, like he was trying to etch the feel of you into his memory. his grip on you tightened, desperate, trembling with the need to hold on, to keep you there just a moment longer. his fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes, clutching at you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

then, without giving yourself time to second-guess, you kissed him fully. your lips pressed to his in a way that was soft but resolute, like a thread unraveling one final time. it wasn’t passionate or hurried; it wasn’t a plea to stay or to change. it was gentle, quiet, and achingly painful—a goodbye masquerading as a kiss.

his breath came in shallow, broken gasps, his chest heaving as he fought to find words. but they eluded him, caught in the raw agony swelling in his throat. every thought, every feeling, twisted into a silent scream he couldn’t release. his lips found yours— kissing you back. and he kissed you with everything he had left—despair, love, a futile plea that tasted of salt and sorrow. it was a kiss laced with the echoes of goodbye, with all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. but there was a hesitance to it, a kind of fear that came from knowing this wasn’t the beginning of something—it was the end.

when you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though you were trying to hold onto him for just a moment longer. but even as you stayed close, you could feel the distance growing, the inevitability of your choice settling in like a storm on the horizon.

your voice broke as you whispered, “i’ll always love you, toji.”

for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. your words, soft yet heavy with finality, lingered in the air like the toll of a mournful bell, resonating deep within him. your hands clung to his shirt, your foreheads pressed together still, as if you could will time to stop, as if your closeness could delay the inevitable.

the ache in your voice cut deep, sharper than the words themselves. it was the resignation, the quiet certainty that this was the end—the end he had always feared but never prepared for—that shattered him. it was not just the loss but the cruel, unyielding finality of it that left him hollow.

“please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, barely more than a breath. a single word, fragile and aching, hung in the space between you, a final plea to stop the inevitable. but even as it passed his lips, he knew it was hopeless. your decision had been made, and your resolve, as much as it pained you, would not falter.

he opened his eyes, searching yours with a desperation that burned. and there you were, looking back at him with a strength that seemed unbearable, a strength that masked your own heartache. he saw the exhaustion in your features, the brittleness in your stance, like glass held together by sheer will. yet your gaze was unwavering, unyielding. you were a mountain, immovable in your choice, and he was the storm, battering against you in futility.

his chest tightened as a wave of helplessness surged over him, dragging him under. he wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, to rage against the cruel twist of fate that had brought him here, to demand that you stay. but the fight within him ebbed, replaced by a hollow acceptance that settled like ash in his soul. anger would change nothing; it could not rewrite the truth.

he took a trembling breath, his heart a cacophony of pain, and looked at you like a drowning man gazes at the surface—longing, desperate, and full of grief. the threads that had bound you together unraveled with every second, slipping from his grasp like water, no matter how tightly he tried to hold on. and in that moment, he understood that love was not always enough to keep someone by your side. sometimes, love meant letting go, even when it broke you beyond repair.

your forehead rested against the side of his head, your hand cradling the back of his neck with a tenderness that felt cruel in its finality. his hair, dark and slightly unruly, brushed against your fingertips, and for a moment, you let yourself stay there, suspended in a fleeting fragment of closeness. your breath hitched, your lips slightly parted, and the tremble in your chest betrayed the storm inside you.

your voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. fragile. raw. “you know i can’t stay. it’s unfair to me.”

the words quivered in the air between you, heavy and sharp like broken glass, and you felt him tense beneath your touch. his breathing faltered, the steady rhythm you once found solace in now uneven, jagged. your eyes burned with unshed tears, but you refused to let them fall, even as your chest heaved with the weight of it all. you’ve cried enough, you told yourself, but your body betrayed you, trembling as you inhaled a shuddering breath.

“toji, baby,” you murmured, his name breaking on your lips like a prayer turned curse. “i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep waiting… hoping… starving for something you never give. god, i was starving,” your voice cracked, the pain pouring out despite your efforts to keep it contained. “you come and go like the tide, leaving me behind to wither while you do whatever you want. you disappear for days, weeks… and i sit here, waiting, aching, drowning in this emptiness you leave behind. it’s killing me.”

the confession spilled from you, unfiltered and raw, as if the dam you’d so carefully built had finally shattered. the words tumbled out, each one slicing through the air, heavy with the pain you’d carried in silence for far too long.

you closed your eyes, pressing your forehead more firmly against his temple, as though the proximity could ease the ache. it couldn’t. nothing could. your hand tightened against the back of his neck, your fingers digging into his skin, desperate to hold onto something tangible even as everything else unraveled.

“i love you,” you admitted, your voice barely audible now, a quiet confession meant only for the space between you. “i love you so much it hurts. but i can’t keep sacrificing pieces of myself for a love that leaves me empty. i deserve more than this, toji. more than the crumbs you give me when you decide to come back.”

your tears, unbidden and unwanted, finally escaped, trailing hot and fast down your cheeks. you tilted your head, pulling back just enough to look at him, your gaze meeting his. the pain in his eyes mirrored your own, but you couldn’t let it sway you. you couldn’t let his sorrow chain you to a love that had become your prison.

“i can’t keep breaking myself apart to keep us whole,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the finality of your words settled over both of you. “i need to let go… before there’s nothing left of me.” your words were a dagger, each one finding its mark with painful precision. the air felt thick, heavy with the weight of all that was left unsaid, all that he knew you had been holding inside all this time.

he didn’t say anything at first, his mind reeling, trying to process the torrent of everything. his eyes never left yours, taking in every flicker of emotion that played across your face. the tears, the pain, the acceptance, all of it hit him like a gut punch. he reached up, his hand closing over yours on the back of his neck. his grip was firm, holding your wrist with a quiet strength, preventing you from pulling away just yet. he needed to look at you, to hold onto this moment, even as it burned through his heart.

“i…” he began, but the words got stuck in his throat, lodged there like a lump he couldn’t swallow around. he tried again, his voice hoarse and shaky.

“i’m sorry,” he finally managed, his eyes not leaving yours. and he meant it. he was sorry, sorry for everything. sorry for the pain he’d caused you, sorry that he was too broken to be who you needed he closed his eyes, his fingers tightening around your wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your skin. each beat felt like a countdown, a reminder that you were leaving, that this was the end.

your gaze softened, though the ache in your chest only deepened as you watched the cracks in him grow wider, his remorse spilling out like water from a shattered vessel. his fingers, firm yet trembling around your wrist, felt heavier than they should, like they were tethering you to a moment you could no longer stay in.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t give you what you need,” he continued, opening his eyes to look at you again. “i’m sorry i’m such a colossal screw-up.” each word felt like a confession, an admittance of failing you, of failing both of you. it was a hard truth, one he’d avoided for too long. a soft hum escaped you, unsteady and fragile, like the faintest echo of comfort in the middle of a storm. it was a sound that carried all the weight of your sorrow, an acknowledgment of his pain even as your own threatened to drown you.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, though your voice was brittle and uneven, the words trembling as they fell from your lips. but they weren’t okay, not really—not for either of you. and yet, you said them anyway, because what else was there to say?

“it’s not okay,” he shot back, the words a harsh whisper. his eyes searched yours, desperate for some flicker of understanding, some hint that you weren’t just going through the motions of saying goodbye.

“it’s not okay ‘cause you’re leaving,” he added, his voice cracking. “i… i don’t want you to leave.” his grip on your wrist tightened, the tremors running through his muscles mirroring the tremors in his voice. he swallowed, his throat feeling too tight for words, but he pushed through, needing to get it all out while he still could.

“i know i’m a mess, okay?” he rasped out, his eyes fixed on yours. “i know i’m not husband or boyfriend of the year material. i know i’m not the kinda guy you take home to meet your parents or anything. i know all of that.” he paused, his breath coming in unsteady gasps, like he was fighting for control, for one last moment of vulnerability before the walls slammed back up again.

“but i love you,” he said, the words so quiet they almost got lost in the air between you. “i love you so goddamn much. that’s gotta count for something, right?”

you shifted slightly in his lap, creating just enough space to tilt your head back and meet his gaze. his words hung between you like fragile glass, their weight pressing down on your chest, threatening to shatter the last remnants of resolve you clung to. your hands found their way to his cheeks once more, the warmth of his skin grounding you in a moment that felt far too fleeting.

your hum was soft, barely audible, a sound that trembled with hesitation and sorrow. “maybe,” you whispered, your voice as delicate as a thread unraveling in the quiet air. the word carried the faintest flicker of possibility, though even you knew it wasn’t real. it was a fleeting comfort, an acknowledgment of his love that couldn’t undo the damage done.

your thumb traced the sharp angles of his face, the faint stubble that tickled your fingertips, as though memorizing the contours of him for the last time. “but,” you added, your voice breaking slightly, “the count wasn’t enough.”

his hands, suddenly desperate, shot up to cover yours, trapping them against his cheeks as if he could keep you there indefinitely if he just held on tight enough. “not enough,” he echoed, his voice a strangled whisper. “it’s not enough…”

his eyes searched yours, searching for something, anything. a hint that he could change your mind, a promise that this wasn’t really it. his fingers curled around yours, pressing your palms against his skin like he was trying to tattoo the feel of your touch into his flesh. “then what is enough?” he asked, the words a broken plea. “what do you need from me?”

he leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against yours for once more, the proximity forcing your breaths to mingle. his body trembled, the tremors running through him like an earthquake. “i’ll give it to you,” he promised. “whatever it is. just tell me what you need.”

your fingers slipped into the strands of his hair at the nape of his neck, idly curling and uncurling them as if the motion could steady the tremor in your chest. his desperation weighed on you, heavier than his arms around your waist or the intensity of his gaze, pinning you in place. you looked at him for a moment, long and silent, as though memorizing every detail—the lines etched by pain and time, the shadows in his eyes that never seemed to leave, the scar that tugged at his lip even as it trembled.

you didn’t speak right away, the quiet stretching between you like a string pulled taut, ready to snap. your hand drifted upward, brushing the edge of his jaw, then falling away again as though even that small contact might tether you too tightly to him. when you finally whispered, it was soft and breathless, like the words hurt to say, but you needed to let them out before they suffocated you.

“marry me.”

the air seemed to leave the room, sucked into a silence that felt deafening. his eyes widened, and for a moment, his breath hitched. you felt the tremor in his body still as though the words had struck him frozen, their weight sinking in too deep to ignore.

you didn’t elaborate. you didn’t plead or justify or explain. because you knew.

you knew what you were asking wasn’t fair, that it was a wound you shouldn’t press on, a ghost you shouldn’t summon. you knew the memories of his wife still haunted the spaces between you, that her absence shaped him more than her presence ever had. and you knew, deep down, that no matter how much he loved you, he didn’t have the courage to give you what you needed.

but still, you had to ask. because if this was the end, you needed to hear the answer you already knew, needed him to face the truth neither of you had been brave enough to say out loud.

his mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. his grip on your hands faltered, loosening just enough for you to pull away, though you didn’t. his forehead pressed against yours again, his eyes shutting tight as though he could will the moment away, as though he could keep your words from echoing in his head.

you waited, your heart pounding in your chest, even though you already knew the answer. his silence was louder than anything he could have said, a confirmation of the doubts you’d been holding all this time. he was silent, his mind reeling. he’d been ready to promise anything, to say he’d change, to do better, to be better, but this... this he wasn’t prepared for.

he’d buried the possibility of a future together under the wreckage of his past, and here you were, exhuming it, offering it to him like a fragile thing. he swallowed, his throat bobbing with the effort, but words still didn’t come. he was lost in the storm of his thoughts, his heart and mind at war.

marriage, with all its complexities and risks, was a chasm he’d avoided for years. it was an admission of permanence, the final nail in the coffin of his lost love. and yet, hearing the word from your lips, the weight of it hung in the air, undeniable. he loved you, god, he did. but the thought of being married again, standing at the altar and promising forever, felt like staring down the barrel of a gun.

“i...” he started, his voice catching in his throat. “i can’t....” he couldn’t finish, the words refusing to form. he could see the hurt flicker across your face, the disappointment in your eyes. he hated it, hated disappointing you, but he couldn’t give you what you wanted. he could give you anything else, everything else, but that one thing, that one thing he couldn’t stomach.

he drew in a shuddering breath, his hands grasping yours more tightly, as though begging you to understand. “please,” he whispered, the word a ragged plea. “please, don’t ask me for that.” your smile was small, fragile, like glass held together by trembling hands, threatening to shatter at any moment. the corners of your lips wavered as you let out a shaky hum, the sound catching in your throat. you nodded, slowly, over and over, as though convincing yourself more than him.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of the lie. “it’s okay.”

the words came again, softer, more broken, tumbling out like a mantra you needed to believe. “it’s okay, it’s okay…”

but it wasn’t okay. not really.

your hands slipped out of his grasp, his warmth lingering on your skin even as you pulled away. you felt the tears brimming, threatening to spill, but you held them back with sheer willpower, your chest heaving with the effort. you couldn’t cry—not now, not in front of him.

you glanced at him, your gaze meeting his for a fleeting second, and the look in his eyes nearly undid you. he was desperate, broken, his pain as raw as your own. you knew he wasn’t choosing this to hurt you. he just… couldn’t.

he watched as you pulled away, the loss of your touch feeling like a wound in his chest. he wanted to reach out, to pull you back, to hold you tight against him and never let go. but he couldn’t. it felt like there was an invisible wall between them, one he didn’t know how to scale. the silence that settled felt heavy, filled with all the things they weren’t saying.

he watched as you kept nodding, your words a soft, hollow reassurance. he hated it, hated the resignation in your voice, the acceptance that he couldn’t seem to offer. his eyes never left yours, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every tremble of your lips. he saw the struggle, the fight within you, and it tore at his heart. his fingers flexed at his side, as if they ached to reach out for you.

he wanted to be what you needed. he tried hard, he did. but he’d built his life around what he couldn’t do, not what he could. marriage, that sacred promise of forever, was not something he was capable of giving. it had been stolen along with his wife.

your movements were slow, deliberate, as though the weight of your decision had settled into your very bones. you pushed yourself off his lap, your hands lingering for a second longer than they should have, your touch burning into his skin as you stood before him. “i’m going to pack my things,” you said quietly, the words steady but hollow, as though you had rehearsed them in your mind countless times. your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, unable to meet his. if you looked at him now—at the way his hands were clenching into fists, the way his lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line—you knew you wouldn’t be able to follow through.

the bedroom was cloaked in a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the occasional, uneven breath that escaped from your lips. the air was heavy, dense with the weight of unspoken words and lingering regrets.

toji sat on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. his hands dangled uselessly between his legs, fingers twitching every so often like they wanted to reach for something—for you—but didn’t know how. his gaze was fixed on the floor, on a stray thread of the rug, as if it could provide him the answers he didn’t have.

you sat on the floor in front of the wardrobe, knees bent and body folded in on itself, your fingers trembling as they carefully, methodically folded your clothes. each piece felt like a small goodbye, a memory slipping through your hands as you placed it into the open suitcase. the suitcase itself looked like a wound, wide open and gaping, the contents spilling out like the remnants of a life shared and now divided.

the tears had long since dried on your cheeks, leaving behind a raw, burning ache. your eyes stung from crying, your head throbbed from the hours of grief. but nothing compared to the hollow ache in your chest, the way your heart seemed to squeeze with every breath you took. you moved slowly, painfully, each motion deliberate as though the act of packing was draining the last bits of strength you had. a sweater slipped from your grasp and landed limply on the floor. you stared at it for a moment, your fingers frozen mid-air, before picking it up again and folding it with trembling hands.

toji’s head tilted slightly, his dark eyes flickering to you, but he said nothing. he didn’t know what to say. the sight of you on the floor, hunched and fragile, sent a sharp pain through his chest. he wanted to call out to you, to tell you to stop, to tell you to stay. but his throat felt tight, his voice trapped beneath the weight of his guilt.

the night stretched on, cold and endless. the walls seemed to close in, the room once filled with warmth now unbearably hollow. the moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting pale shadows across the floor. the glow touched your hair, your face, and he thought you looked like something fleeting, like something he’d already lost.

“you don’t have to do this,” he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, the words rough and uneven, as if dragged from the depths of his chest. your hands stilled, gripping a shirt tightly, but you didn’t turn to face him. instead, you closed your eyes, took a shaky breath, and let the silence answer for you.

he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. “please,” he tried again, his voice cracking, “just… just stay. we can figure this out.” his words hung in the air, fragile and desperate, but you didn’t move. instead, you placed the shirt in the suitcase, smoothing it down as though you hadn’t heard him.

toji felt the weight of his failures pressing down on him, suffocating him. his hands clenched into fists as he looked at you, his chest burning with the helplessness of it all. he wanted to get on his knees, to beg you not to go. but he knew—he’d always known—that this moment was inevitable.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, the words so soft they almost didn’t reach you. but they did, and you paused again, your hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the suitcase. you didn’t turn, didn’t look at him, but your voice, quiet and tired, finally broke the silence. “sorry doesn’t change anything, baby.”

his chest tightened with every word you spoke, each one cutting through him like a blade. they mirrored the ache already festering in his soul, a deep, unrelenting hurt he could no longer ignore. he knew you were right—sorry was just a word, a feeble attempt to patch the gaping wound he had inflicted.

he wanted to fight it, to protest, to swear on everything he had that he’d do better, that he’d fix what was broken. but the promises felt hollow, brittle things that couldn’t bear the weight of the pain between you. his guilt loomed over him like a thundercloud, heavy and oppressive, choking the words in his throat before they could form.

he swallowed hard, the lump in his throat almost unbearable. the silence that followed your words was suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides, stealing the air from his lungs. it was the kind of silence that left no room for hope—just a void where something beautiful used to be.

“where will you go?” he rasped at last, his voice barely above a whisper, rough and frayed from holding back the storm inside him. the question lingered in the air, fragile and trembling, like a ghost of all the things he wished he could say. he knew you had thought this through, planned every step with a careful precision that broke his heart all over again. but he wasn’t ready to hear it, to have the finality of it spoken aloud.

his gaze never left you, drinking in every detail like it was the last time he’d see you. the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of it all, the faint tremor in your hands as you folded your clothes with a quiet, mechanical detachment—it was unbearable. each movement of yours felt like another step away, another piece of you slipping from his grasp.

he ached to reach for you, to close the distance and feel your warmth beneath his fingertips, to remind himself that you were still here. but he couldn’t. the chasm between you was too wide, carved out by every mistake he’d made, every unspoken word, every moment of silence when you needed him most.

he sat there, paralyzed, watching as you drifted further away, knowing that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t stop you from leaving. he couldn’t undo what had been done, couldn’t bridge the unrelenting void between your hearts. and it shattered him.

the weight of his question hung in the air, suffocating and unanswered. you didn’t look at him, couldn’t. your hands moved on autopilot, folding clothes and tucking them away into the suitcase, but your mind was far from the task. his voice had cracked when he asked, and the sound of it had carved another wound into your chest.

you didn’t respond. not because you hadn’t thought about where you’d go—god knows you had. you’d spent nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of everything and nothing all at once. but now, with his question hanging in the stillness, the answer felt like a tether, something that might pull him toward you when you couldn’t afford to let him get close.

maybe it was because you didn’t trust yourself. if he showed up, if he found you, you weren’t sure you’d have the strength to stay away. you didn’t think you could withstand the gravity of him, the pull of his broken promises and desperate pleas. you weren’t sure you could stop yourself from falling into his arms all over again.

so instead, you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “one day... one day, i’ll take megumi with me.” the words felt like a fragile thread, unraveling between the two of you. they weren’t meant to hurt him, but you knew they would. and they did.

toji flinched like you’d struck him, his hands clenching into fists against his thighs. his head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto yours, wide with something between shock and desperation. “you’d take him?” he asked, his voice barely audible, trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

you hummed softly, the sound so quiet it was almost swallowed by the heavy silence in the room. it wasn’t meant to be cruel, but the truth of it hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. your hands stilled for a moment, clutching a folded shirt before you placed it carefully into the suitcase, as if the act could ground you.

“megumi deserves a better life,” you murmured, your voice steady but hollow, like the words were coming from somewhere deep, unreachable. you kept your gaze on the suitcase, unwilling to meet his eyes and see the anguish you knew would be there. “better everything… better than this.”

the last word caught in your throat, but you pushed forward, the weight of what you had to say pressing down on you. “better dad.”

the words left your lips like a whisper, soft and deliberate, but they landed with the force of a sledgehammer. you didn’t mean it to be an attack, but you couldn’t hold back the truth any longer. it wasn’t just about you—it was about megumi, about the kind of man and father he needed.

his heart fractured under the weight of your words, splintering into countless shards that cut him from the inside out. his lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came, only the quiet gasp of a man brought to his knees by the truth. his eyes stayed fixed on yours, pain swirling in their depths like a storm he couldn’t escape.

your words stung, sharp and unyielding, wounding his pride and stripping bare the fragile veneer of his ego. but beneath the sting, he couldn’t deny the truth they carried. he had failed—not just as a father, but as someone you could rely on. he had failed both of you.

his jaw tightened, muscles clenching until his teeth ached, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “how dare you,” he muttered, his voice rough, scraping against the silence. anger ignited in his chest, quick and consuming, burning like dry kindling caught in a blaze. It was easier to give in to that anger, to use it as a shield, than to confront the overwhelming weight of his guilt. He wanted to refute you, to insist he was trying, that he cared more than you could understand. But the words tangled in his throat, heavy and useless, strangled by his own inadequacy.

with a sharp motion, he stood, the scrape of the chair loud against the floor. his movements were stiff, his body rigid as though holding himself together by sheer will alone. he stepped closer to you, his presence a forceful weight, his dark eyes clouded with emotions too raw to name—hurt, regret, defiance.

“you don’t get to decide what’s best for him,” he growled, his voice low and unsteady, the edges frayed by a desperation he couldn’t hide. the words came out rough, jagged, as if they were torn from him against his will, the only defense he could muster against the truth you’d laid bare. and yet, even as he spoke, the hollowness in his chest deepened, a chasm opening wide as he realized how little power he had left to keep either of you close.

you paused, your hands stilling over the suitcase as his words cut through the air, sharp and heated. slowly, you turned to face him, your gaze calm but piercing, steady even as the storm of his anger loomed over you.

toji stood before you, his tall, imposing frame trembling with tension, fists clenched at his sides. his eyes, dark and wild, bore into yours, but you didn’t flinch. instead, you tilted your head slightly, studying him like he was a puzzle you’d long since solved.

“do you even know,” you began, your voice quiet, controlled, “that megumi is sick right now?”

the question hit him like a punch to the gut. his brows furrowed, and for a moment, he looked genuinely lost. “what are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice still rough, but the fire in it flickered, uncertainty creeping in. you let out a soft, humorless laugh, the sound filled with exhaustion rather than mirth. “exactly,” you whispered, the weight of your words pressing down like a heavy stone.

you pushed yourself up from the floor, standing to meet him eye to eye, though his towering figure still loomed over you. “he’s had a fever for two days,” you continued, your voice steady but edged with pain. “he’s been coughing, barely eating, and clinging to me because he doesn’t know where his father is.”

his anger deflated in an instant, replaced by a cold realization that hit him like a freight train. the color drained from his face, eyes widening in a mix of shock and disbelief.

he’d been so wrapped up in his own guilt, his own shortcomings, that he hadn’t even noticed his own son was sick. the reality of it felt like a dagger to the heart. he took a step back, away from you, as if to distance himself from the truth. “i... i didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the confession.

you let out a bitter laugh, sharp and cutting, the sound bouncing off the walls like a cruel echo. it wasn’t loud, but it sliced through the air with more force than any shout could. shaking your head, you turned back to the suitcase, resuming your task with trembling hands. “you never know, toji,” you said, your voice low but trembling with restrained anger. “never there.”

for what felt like the hundredth time that night, his heart sank, heavy and aching, beneath the weight of your words. they struck with a bluntness that left no room for denial, carving through him with their unrelenting truth. the sting of them burned, sharp and unforgiving, and he felt the urge to fight back, to argue, to plead his case. he wanted to shout that he was trying, that he cared, that he’d been there in the ways he could. but the excuses lodged in his throat, crumbling to ash before they could take shape.

his eyes flickered to your hands, trembling as they folded the fabric in front of you with methodical precision. every movement betrayed the pain you held back, the frustration, the hurt that lingered unspoken. your voice, though steady, carried the weight of all the words you hadn’t said, words that would have gutted him even more.

he stepped back, the distance between you widening with every moment, and raked a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over in jagged waves. “i’m... i’m trying, goddamnit,” he choked out, his voice raw and unsteady, like a desperate man grasping at straws. but even as the words left his lips, they felt hollow, a frail echo of the truth he wished he could give you.

you didn’t look up, didn’t pause, didn’t waver. your hands moved steadily, folding each piece of clothing with a care that belied the storm brewing in your chest. his words—i’m trying—hung in the air, but they felt hollow, an echo of promises that had long since lost their meaning. “let’s not lie to ourselves, toji,” you said quietly, your voice devoid of the anger it held moments before. now it was just tired, resigned, as if you’d given up on expecting more from him. “we both know it’s not true.”

the weight of your words settled in the room like a thick fog, heavy and suffocating. you didn’t bother to glance at him, your focus entirely on the task at hand. the suitcase was nearly full now, the sight of it both a relief and a heartache.

“i hope,” you began, your voice soft but firm, “you can keep megumi safe. just for a year or two. take care of him while i’m gone.” you paused, fingers smoothing out a small wrinkle in one of megumi’s shirts. “then i’ll come back for him.” the words cut deeper than anything else you’d said. they weren’t laced with anger or bitterness. they were just the truth, laid bare, unflinching and cold.

toji felt like the air had been knocked out of him. his fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he watched you. gone. you were going to leave, to walk away from him, from this. the thought of it was unbearable, but the way you spoke of megumi—calm, certain, like you’d already planned your exit—shattered something inside him, and it anger him.

in your heart, you knew how furious toji was, even if he didn’t show it the way he usually did—with raised voices or slammed doors. this was a quiet, simmering anger, the kind that vibrated in the air between you, heavy and tense. and you understood why. you knew it wasn’t just your words that had stung—it was the truth behind them. megumi was his son, his flesh and blood, his responsibility. not yours. he had every right to be angry, to feel the weight of your accusation. but that didn’t make it any less true.

toji was mad, indeed. you could feel it in the way he stood rigidly by the bed, his broad frame tense, his fists clenched as if trying to physically hold himself together. but you also knew he wasn’t just mad at you.

he was mad at himself.

he was mad because deep down, he knew you were right. he was a deadbeat dad, and it wasn’t something he could argue against, no matter how much he wanted to. the reality of it stung worse than anything you could have said. but maybe that wasn’t the only reason for his anger. maybe it was because megumi was the last thing he had left of her—his late wife, the woman he’d loved so fiercely and lost so tragically. every time he looked at his son, he saw her in the curve of his smile, in the brightness of his eyes.

or maybe it wasn’t even that. maybe it was because, somewhere along the way, he’d started to see megumi in the moments you shared with him—the way you hugged him, laughed with him, cared for him in a way that toji couldn’t.

megumi was a reminder. a painful one. of everything toji had lost, everything he could never get back, and everything he didn’t deserve. and now, here you were, talking about taking him away.

it was too much.

toji’s jaw tightened, his chest rising and falling with the effort to keep himself from exploding. he turned his face away from you, his dark eyes shadowed with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

his voice broke through the heavy silence, sharp and trembling with anger, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. “how dare you,” he growled, his tone low and dangerous, yet tinged with something deeper—pain, fear, desperation. “how dare you say something like that. take my kid? my kid that isn’t even yours?”

you stopped folding mid-motion, your hands frozen over the fabric as his words hung in the air. they hit you like a slap, stinging and raw, but you didn’t let it show. you stayed still for a moment, your shoulders stiff, before slowly placing the shirt into the suitcase.

your chest burned, your throat tight as you swallowed the lump threatening to rise. you didn’t look at him as you spoke, your voice eerily calm, soft but firm, the way you might talk to someone teetering on the edge of reason.

“yes, he’s your kid,” you said, still focused on the task at hand. “but tell me, toji, where were you when he needed his father? when he was sick and crying for someone to hold him, where were you?”

you finally looked up at him then, your eyes meeting his with a steady, unwavering gaze. the words that followed weren’t meant to be cruel, but they came out with an edge nonetheless. “being a father isn’t just about blood. it’s about showing up. and you? you haven’t been there.”

toji’s anger flickered in his eyes, a sharp contrast to your steady calm. your words hit a nerve he didn’t know he had, but you pushed on, your voice cool and measured, even as your heart ached at the truth behind it. “yeah, i wasn’t there,” he snarled, his voice hoarse with anger and something that almost felt like shame. “i wasn’t there. so what? that doesn’t give you the right to just take him away. you think you can just come in and take him from me?” he finally spat, his voice louder now, rising with the heat of his emotions. “what gives you the right?”

your lips pressed into a thin line, the fire in his voice igniting something deep inside you. you stood, the weight of his accusations forcing you to meet him on equal ground. “i don’t want to take him from you,” you said, your voice rising now, matching his intensity. “but someone has to make sure he’s okay! someone has to love him, to care for him, to actually be there for him. if you can’t do that, then yes, toji, i’ll take him. because he deserves better than this!”

the room seemed to vibrate with the force of your words, the air between you crackling with tension. toji’s chest rose and fell as he stared at you, his dark eyes flickering with a mix of anger, guilt, and something softer—something vulnerable that he tried desperately to hide. toji’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles almost white. your words hit him like a punch, but they also struck a chord deep within him, one he wasn’t willing to admit.

“you think i don’t know that?” he growled, his voice hoarse, a slight waver in it betraying the anger that rolled off him like a wave. “you think i don’t know he deserves better? i’m his father.” he took a step forward, closing the gap between you. he loomed over you, trying to use his size to intimidate you, but you stood your ground, refusing to be cowed. you lifted your chin, your eyes meeting his straight on, refusing to back down.

“then act like it,” you snapped, your voice still steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “don’t just stand there making excuses. do something, toji. be a father.” there was a pause, a moment of silence between you. toji’s jaw clenching, his eyes glittering with a mixture of anger and something else you couldn’t quite place.

when he spoke again, his voice had softened, his words tinged with a hint of defeat. “it’s not that simple.”

you held his gaze, studying him, trying to see past the defensiveness to the heart of him. “then make it simple,” you said, your tone firm yet gentle. “find a way.” toji visibly hesitated, the fight slowly seeping out of him. he looked away, his shoulders slumping as he ran a hand through his hair. the silence stretched between you, filled with the weight of his uncertainty.

toji’s jaw clenched as he stared at you, his chest heaving with the effort of keeping his anger in check. the way you said it, like it was so simple—as if he could just wave a hand and fix everything—it grated against every raw nerve he had left. he scoffed, a bitter sound that held no humor, his dark eyes narrowing on you. “you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he spat, his voice low and sharp, dripping with frustration.

“you don’t know anything about being a parent,” he spat, his eyes dark and accusing. “you can’t even have a child.” the moment the words left his mouth, the air in the room changed. it was as if time itself froze, the weight of his statement hanging heavy in the silence. his voice had been sharp, cutting, but it wasn’t just anger that colored his tone—it was desperation, shame, and the bitter need to lash out, to deflect his own failings onto you.

you stared at him, your hands falling still, the fabric slipping through your fingers as if the weight of his words had drained all strength from you. your breath hitched, your chest tightening painfully as his accusation sunk in. he regretted them. but it was too late. they hung in the air between you like a knife, sharp and unforgiving, and toji could see the way they sliced through you. the way your hands stilled, the way your breath caught, your lips parting in a silent gasp.

he hated himself in that moment. hated the way he’d let his anger and pride control him, the way he’d reached for the lowest blow just to protect himself from the shame, the guilt of knowing you were right.

but he couldn’t take it back. and maybe, deep down, some part of him didn’t want to. some bitter, broken part of him had wanted to lash out, to make you feel even a fraction of the pain he carried every day. and now he watched as his words hit you, as they crushed you, and it felt like he’d just taken a knife to his own chest. your face didn’t crumble, didn’t break like he thought it would. no, you just stared at him, your eyes wide and glassy, like you were holding back the tidal wave of emotions threatening to drown you.

toji couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. his fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as if the pain might wake him up from this nightmare he’d created. he wanted to take it back, to say anything else, to tell you he didn’t mean it.

you couldn’t believe it, couldn’t wrap your mind around the cruelty of his words as they echoed in the silence between you. your hands froze mid-motion, the fabric slipping from your grasp like it had lost all meaning. it felt like the air had been sucked from the room, leaving you gasping, suffocating on the weight of his accusation.

you looked at him, disbelief painted across your face, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. he knew. he knew. your legs felt weak as you slowly pushed yourself to your feet, every motion deliberate, like moving through water. your hand trembled as it found his cheek—not in anger, not in violence, but in an aching, desperate need to ground yourself in the reality of what he had just said.

“how dare you,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the strain of holding yourself together. your chest heaved as you struggled to breathe, as though the pain of his words had physically struck you.

your fist found his shoulder—not with force, but with the raw weight of your anguish, the emotion pouring out of you in waves. tears spilled freely down your cheeks now, hot and relentless, carving paths down your skin like they were trying to etch the pain into your very being.

“how dare you,” you repeated, your voice cracking, the words barely above a whisper but heavy, so heavy. the phrase tumbled from your lips over and over again, each time weaker, more broken, as though the weight of it was too much for you to carry.

you gasped, your breath hitching as your body trembled under the strain of your emotions. you hit him again, and again, tears spilling down your cheeks as you repeated the words like a broken mantra. “how dare you,” you choked, the phrase splintering in your throat as your fist faltered, falling uselessly against him. “how dare you...”

he was there. he knew. he’d been there the day your world collapsed, the day the doctor delivered the words that turned your dreams to ash. he was the one who held you as you screamed into his chest, the one who stroked your hair when you cried yourself to sleep night after night. to hear him—to hear the man who had once wiped your tears, who had once told you it didn’t matter, that you were enough—use it against you... it felt like a blade, twisting slowly, cruelly.

toji stayed still as you hit him, his body taut as a bowstring, the blow of your accusation and your raw, desperate words striking deeper than any blow you could have given him physically. his eyes, dark and hard, watched you, a maelstrom of emotions raging in their depths. he let you hit him, his face stoic, his body unmoving. he wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and hold you tight. but the words he had spoken hung in the air between you like a barrier he couldn't breach.

but as you repeated the words like a litany of pain, something in toji broke— each one spilling from your lips like a prayer for mercy, toji’s insides twisted painfully. it was like you had taken the sharpest blade and twisted it into his chest, the weight of your anguish crushing every ounce of him. he had been the cause of it all, the one who had driven you to this raw, desperate place, and in that realization, something inside him fractured. he couldn’t bear to see you like this, to hear the anguish in your voice, and know that he was the cause. with a sharp intake of breath, he reached for you, his hands closing around your wrists, stopping you from continuing your onslaught.

he couldn’t look at you any longer. he couldn’t stand the hurt in your eyes, the way you were so vulnerable, so broken before him. it wasn’t just the sting of your words that cut deep, it was the way you had so carefully peeled back his walls, exposing everything he had buried. the thought of losing his son, of you taking megumi away, it was like a sickening twist in his gut. and the thought of you leaving him—abandoning him—wrecked something far more delicate inside him. megumi, his reminder of everything that could be lost, hung heavily in his chest, a cruel echo that threatened to drown him.

and yet, even though the pain inside him was unbearable, there was something else—a defense mechanism. a cold, jagged shield that he pulled over himself as he stared at you, his green irises darkening to almost black. the words formed in his throat like acid, burning and bitter, but they didn’t stop. he couldn’t stop them. he clenched his teeth to stave off the flood of guilt threatening to rise within him.

you stood before him, a shattered shell of the person he once knew, and still, all he could think of was the hurt, the betrayal that was eating him alive. so, he said it. his grip tightened on your wrists, his fingers digging into your skin as though that could somehow stop the torrent of pain he was drowning in.

“marry you?” he spat, his voice rough with venom, with the desperation to push you away. “play house and family with you? you’re not even good enough to be a wife. what? a mother? don’t be joking.”

there was no other way to hurt you more. he knew it, and he said it anyway, as though those words could silence the storm raging inside him. they were meant to cut, to break you as much as you had broken him. he saw the way your face fell, the tremble in your hands, the way your breath caught painfully in your throat, and a twisted satisfaction curled in his chest. it was poison—poison that tasted worse with every passing second, but he didn’t stop. he couldn’t stop.

he released your wrists abruptly, as though you had burned him. the sound of his breath came harsh and shallow, his heart pounding like a drumbeat in his ears. without looking back, he turned and stormed out of the bedroom, the door slamming behind him with a force that shook the house to its foundation. the noise echoed down the empty hallways like a warning bell, and toji couldn’t help but feel the weight of it, the finality in the sound.

he didn’t dare turn around. not now. not after what he had said. the shame was too thick, the guilt too suffocating. toji fushiguro had been a coward. he had said the most terrible things to you, knowing how they would land, knowing how they would shatter you. but in the moment, his pride, his fear, his own suffocating pain had all been louder than the love he had for you. and he couldn’t take it back. no, he wouldn’t.

he walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last, until he reached megumi’s room. the door was slightly ajar, and for a fleeting moment, toji paused, his heart lurching at the thought of his son—his son, who still believed in him, who still loved him despite everything. he could almost feel the weight of the boy’s presence, the innocence of his sleep, and it brought a rush of guilt over him.

he pushed the door open slowly, silently, and found megumi sleeping soundly in his bed, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest a stark contrast to the chaos that churned in toji’s soul. the boy’s small, serene face was untouched by the darkness that had plagued his father for so long. and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, toji thought of how easy it could be to be like him—untouched, unburdened, innocent.

but that thought was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. he was a failure—a coward—a man too broken to protect the things he loved.

without a sound, he sat down on the edge of the bed, watching his son sleep. the room was quiet, but the silence between him and everything that was wrong with his life felt suffocating. toji ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his temples as though trying to erase the weight of the words he had spoken, trying to push them out of his mind. but it was no use. they would stay with him, hanging in the air like smoke, suffocating him from the inside out.

he thought of you. he thought of how he had hurt you, how he had used your deepest wound against you, and how he couldn’t take it back. and he hated himself for it. he hated himself more than he had ever hated anyone or anything before. but that self-loathing was buried beneath a thick layer of pride, of fear, of pain. and so, he sat there, next to his son, hoping for something—anything—that would make it all right again. but there was nothing. there was only silence.

and as the hours passed, toji found that the longer he sat there, the more the guilt became unbearable. but he couldn’t move. he couldn’t leave. he was stuck in the very prison he had built for himself, trapped by his own weakness, and no matter how hard he tried to escape, he could not.

it was winter, and the snow fell gently, dusting the world outside with its soft, white touch. the coldness pressed against the window of the car, the small flakes drifting down like feathers in the quiet of the evening. inside, however, there was warmth—warmth that had little to do with the heater and everything to do with the presence beside you. your eyes wandered out the window, catching the view of an alley you knew too well, a path you had walked through countless times in your life. the alley, though ordinary to most, was a place of memories for you. its cracked pavement, the dim light from the streetlamps that had once seemed so far away—it had seen the darkest parts of your life and now, somehow, it felt different. it was like the alley had softened, just like you had.

despite the cold of the world outside, you felt a strange warmth curling within you, wrapping you in comfort. there was a fullness to your heart now, an unspoken happiness that you had longed for. hunger, both physical and emotional, had faded into something distant, as if the universe itself had conspired to fill the spaces you once thought empty. and as you sat there, in the car, with the soft snowfall outside and the quiet hum of the engine, you realized that you were no longer alone. not in the way you once were. there was someone beside you now, someone whose presence filled every corner of your soul.

a hand, strong yet gentle, brushed against yours, the touch warm against the cold air. the sensation made your chest tighten, but in the best way, like the world had finally decided to be kind to you. his thumb rubbed softly against your skin, an action so tender it almost made you forget to breathe. you flickered your eyes, caught in the unexpected warmth, and then turned to your left. your heart skipped a beat when your gaze met his. there, right beside you, were eyes the color of the sky on the brightest of days, a blue so deep it felt like you were gazing into the soul of the world itself.

his hair, almost as white as the snow outside, framed his face like an ethereal halo. the sight of him made everything around you seem to fade away—time, space, even the cold. his smile, warm and effortless, was a mix of boyish charm and cheeky confidence, like he had always known how to make you smile without even trying. it was a smile that spoke of history, of shared moments, of promises kept and futures built. it was the smile that had saved you countless times, the one that always made you feel like no matter what happened, everything would be alright.

he leaned closer, and the familiar warmth of his presence surrounded you. his hand, large and strong, slid to your hair, brushing it away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a softness that belied his usual confidence. his touch was gentle, deliberate, as though he was savoring the moment just as much as you were. his eyes never left yours, the sincerity in his gaze a quiet promise, an unspoken truth.

“are you ready?” his voice was soft, but there was something in it, something deeper, like he was asking more than just whether you were ready to step out of the car.

you hum softly, a smile tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze. there’s something in the way he looks at you, something that makes the whole world seem right. you nod, the smile growing a little wider, more genuine. “yeah,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “i’m ready.”

with a slight shift, you feel the warmth of his hand on your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you in his presence. his touch is familiar, comforting, like a steady anchor in a world that once felt so uncertain. and as his fingers press gently against your side, you know that this is where you’re meant to be. not just here, but with him—his warmth, his strength, his confidence. it’s all-consuming, filling the emptiness that once clung to your heart. with gojo satoru, you feel full. loved. whole. in a way that toji never could offer you, no matter how many times you tried.

you step out of the car, your shoes crunching softly against the snow as you move beside him. every step feels like a promise, and the weight of it doesn’t scare you—not when he’s right there, guiding you forward, keeping you steady. you don't have to look back. you don’t have to think about toji or the past. because with gojo, there’s only the present. there’s only now, and in that moment, now feels perfect.

when you finally stop in front of the house, the sight of it hits you like a punch to the gut. it’s just as it was before, dull, gray, like a shadow of the life you once had here. the memories, so vivid, crash into you—laughs shared, tears spilled, promises made, and then broken. your hands tighten into fists at your sides, and for a moment, you’re unsure if it’s the cold or something else that makes your chest tighten. you wonder if this place still holds the ghosts of your past, the ones that haunt every corner, every crack in the walls.

you glance up at the house, trying to picture it differently. trying to picture it as the home it was meant to be. but instead, your mind wanders to megumi. how tall is he now? you wonder. has he changed? the little things that once made him him—have they stayed the same? and then, your thoughts shift, dark and unspoken. you wonder if toji has been kind to him. you wonder if he’s been taking good care of his son.

the doubts swirl in your mind, almost suffocating, and for a second, you feel the weight of everything—past mistakes, lost time, the fear of what might have been. but then gojo’s presence pulls you back, steadying you. his hand still rests on your waist, a silent reminder that, no matter what happens, you’re not alone.

with a deep breath, you push the thoughts aside, focusing on the present, on the here and now. it’s time to pick up megumi.

beneath the ancient tree, buried in the soft silence of snow, he watches you. unseen, as he has been for years, he stands in the shadows, a ghost of what he once was, bound by the chains of his own mistakes.

you are radiant, bathed in winter’s light, your laughter spilling into the air like a song he can no longer hear. you’re playing family, your hands cradling a boy he knows is his but feels like yours. your son, your life. the man beside you, your husband, is everything he was too broken to be. he knows this, and still, it cuts deeper than the cold that seeps into his skin.

the snow around you glitters with a brightness that feels cruel. he almost imagines the soft hum of Christmas carols spilling from your home, the jingle of bells echoing faintly in his mind. he can see megumi, eyes wide with wonder, rushing toward the tree, his tiny hands tearing into brightly wrapped presents. toji knows he hasn’t given him even one in years.

and then, for the first time, he notices something unfamiliar, something almost foreign—those faint, delicate wrinkles around megumi’s eyes when he smiles, a smile so pure, so whole, it steals the breath from his chest. he watches as his son gazes up at you, small fingers wrapped tightly around yours, his little eyes filled with love so boundless it feels like a knife twisting in his gut.

he almost doesn’t recognize that smile, and it hits him like a tidal wave—he’s forgotten what it looks like. after you left, there was no more laughter, no light. his home became a hollow shell, filled with nothing but heavy silences and echoes of what could have been. none of the smiles reached their eyes—megumi’s or his.

he swallows hard, but the lump in his throat only grows heavier, bitter like the regret he’s carried for years. the weight of it presses down on him now, unbearable, inescapable. it’s not your fault, nor your husband’s, not even megumi’s. the blame lies squarely with him—his reckless hands, his selfish choices. he ruined it all, crushed his life beneath his own fists like a man desperate to destroy what he didn’t believe he deserved.

and as he stands there, watching you, his son, your family—his family—he feels the ache of it all, sharp and unrelenting. the life he lost unfolds before him like a distant dream, close enough to see but too far to touch. the snow falls heavier now, wrapping the world in white, but no amount of winter’s beauty can hide the hollowness in his chest.

he watches, and he wonders, if somewhere deep in his son’s smile, there is a piece of him left—or if it’s all gone, just like you. and if there is none, he understands.

he sold megumi, after all.

[dollfacefantasy]

Hold My Calls

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you teasing leon about his flip phone leads to some fun

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), fucking during a phone call, age gap, daddy kink, praise/degradation, over-stimulation

word count: 2.9k

a/n: hey everyone school is kicking my ass rn, but i am back with another one. thank you so much for the support on my last post that meant the world to me. i don't care if this is not technologically accurate or whatever just let me be delusional in peace. as always comments and reblogs are appreciated and i will give you special smooches in return <3 also thank you too my loves @tosuckmyweenis @kaitkatme @chasingkennedy @explorevenus @sleepyluxe @death-paint @petitecolibri for helping me come up with ideas for this one and/or beta reading - ily all sm :)

When you started dating Leon Kennedy, obviously you knew there was an age gap. You figured it wasn’t a big deal. He’s only thirty-six. That isn’t that much older. And for the most part, that was true. The difference in years never seemed to play a huge part in how you loved each other. But there was one thing that reminded you of this man’s age.

He had a fucking flip phone.

Honestly, it didn’t even say much about his age. It highlighted his stubbornness. He was not incompetent. His job had him working with all kinds of shit that you didn’t even try to understand, so it’s not like he can’t work a smartphone. He just doesn’t want to.

It didn’t really matter. If anything, it was kind of cute. The way he fumbled with the buttons that were too small for his fingers. The loud chiming ringtone that he would grumble about yet never turn down. The sight of him trying to find the right distance to hold the phone away from his face so he could read the font. You had heart eyes on your first date when this man popped in a CD because he couldn’t use the aux with his flip phone. They were simple quirks, but they were just so endearing to you. You’d tease him about being outdated, and he’d put up with it cause it was you.

“Why do I need anything more? This thing can call you, and that’s all I really need,” he’d say with a teasing expression when you’d crack a joke.

You’d roll your eyes at the excessive charm, but you couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, but-”

And he’d cut you off with a kiss. “Trust me. I like it. It’s simple. Plus it’s like indestructible. But if I ever want an upgrade, you’ll be the first to know.”

The only time Leon ever considered ditching his trusty flip phone and upgrading to something more advanced was when you would send him nudes. Seeing the masterpiece that is your body reduced to a handful of pixels on the tiny screen drove him fucking wild. Upon hearing the chime of his phone and seeing the small image of you gracing his screen, he’d find a moment alone to try and see the details. He’d hold the phone two inches away from his face trying to make out every last curve. Days when he got those pictures ended with nights where you got fucked on every surface in the house.

He’d come home from work, his eyes full of lust before he even saw you. You’d glide into the room with a knowing smile on your face. You wanted him just as bad as he wanted you.

“Hi, baby. How was work?” you ask, feigning innocence. You close the distance between the two of you and wrap your arms around him.

“Oh, you care about my work now, huh?” he asks, a smirk creeping onto his face as his arms return your embrace, “Doesn’t seem like it when you send me those cute pictures during the day, distracting me, making me think about you when I should be focused.”

Your lips part and your eyebrows raise in mock offense. “I only send those to help you, motivate you,” you tease as your fingers coast along his biceps, “Maybe if you had a real phone they wouldn’t bother you so much. You’d be able to see everything clearly and not be left imagining.”

“I don’t need to stress about pictures though when I got the real thing waiting at home for me every night,” he purrs as he leans in and starts kissing you.

You return the kiss with the same level of passion, lips moving with his as the two of you stumble over to the couch. You fall back onto the cushions with Leon on top of you. His hands already roam your body and begin removing articles of clothing. He wasn’t in the mood to take his time after having that grainy image of you gnawing at his mind all day.

“Fuck, baby. Every time… I can never get enough,” he grunts as he yanks your top over your head and tosses it to the side. His hands rub up and down your sides, the rough pads of his fingers dragging over your sensitive skin and making you squirm. In no time though, they’re on your breasts. He kneads the plump flesh as his lips trail down to your neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of saliva-coated skin in their wake.

He’s all over you all at once it seems. It’s overwhelming in the best way. You’re moaning and writhing on the couch, nearly trying to hump his leg while one of your hands tugs at his hair. You bite your lip and whimper as his lips move down over the swell of your chest.

He grabs your hips firmly and presses them down to the couch. His half-lidded eyes look up at you momentarily. “Quit squirming,” he breathes. He gives your chest a few more kisses while keeping his eyes locked with yours. “Need time with my pretty girl after I’ve been aching for her all day.”

You give a weak nod and focus on controlling your movements as he tugs your shorts off and drops them.

“Good girl,” he mutters before attaching his lips to one of your nipples and swirling his tongue around the peak. He hums in satisfaction as he feels the bud in his mouth. His fingers lazily stroke up and down your folds over your panties. He disconnects his mouth momentarily and looks up at you again with a smirk on his face.

“So wet already?” he teases, now being his turn to look smug, “You want me just as bad, don’t you? That’s why you send those pictures right? You’re missing Daddy while he’s at work?”

“Mhm, miss you so bad. It drives me crazy,” you say. A whimper escapes you as his fingers apply more pressure and his movements more strategically target your clit.

“I can tell. Makes you act like a little slut, huh?” he asks before he kisses down your stomach to the hem of your panties.

You feel your face getting hot at his comment, but you nod anyway. You bite your lip and keep your eyes locked with his.

He chuckles at your timid confirmation. “That’s ok, honey. Daddy’s here now. I’m gonna make sure you get all the attention you need. Can’t have my girl left wanting,” he says, pulling down your panties and putting them with your other discarded clothes.

He loops his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer so that you’re angled in a way he can reach you from his position on his knees. Your back is flat on the couch, and your legs are held over his shoulders. He doesn’t waste time, licking a stripe up your cunt and then delving his tongue inside of you.

Your head falls back onto the cushion in response. A moan escapes your throat at the sensation. Your sounds only increase in frequency and volume as he grips you tighter and fucks his tongue in and out of you. He watches you, relishing how he can pleasure you with so few touches. His tongue laps up your wetness and his mouth finds your clit again, sucking and flicking against the bundle of nerves just how you like.

His name and a variety of expletives leave your mouth while your hand slides into his hair and holds the blonde locks. Your hips twitch from the rising feelings of ecstasy in your tummy, but Leon’s hands keep you firmly in place. He devours you like a starved man, the hours of torture that little picture inflicted on him all paying off right now.

He’s skillfully swirling patterns onto your clit and occasionally exploring your insides. He knows you’re close because he can feel the way you’re pulsing and hear the way your moans and whines reach that slightly higher pitch. It only makes him work with more dedication.

“That’s right, sweetheart. C’mon, give it to Daddy. Let me taste it,” he grunts as he continues working you to the edge.

You cry out, your thighs quivering and your hips bucking as you succumb to release. You’re moaning with abandon, fingers clutching his hair as tight as possible. He groans into you from the sight in front of him.

You ride the high and he continues with his mouth throughout. When you reach the seeming conclusion, your chest is heaving and your limbs feel heavy, but Leon doesn’t stop. He continues on as if you were still on the way to your climax instead of coming down.

“Too much,” you whimper as your hips jerk and your hands make a weak attempt to push his head away, “Daddy, please.”

“Daddy, please?” he mocks with a laugh, “But this is what you wanted, babydoll. You wanted my attention, didn’t you?”

You whine, hips still squirming as your retort dies in your throat. It felt euphoric, it was just so much. This was what you wanted though.

“That’s what I thought,” he says before burying his face between your thighs again.

He continues eating you out until you’re an absolute mess. Your eyes are rolling back, nonstop whimpers fall from your lips, and your twitching thighs are clamped around Leon’s head. It was what he’d been wanting to see since he’d heard that chime in his back pocket.

“I’m gonna cum,” you slur. Your head felt cloudy from the numerous orgasms he’d brought you. A strangled cry tears through you as your body moves like it’s possessed. You convulse on the couch while his mouth makes you see stars for the umpteenth time.

Tears prick at your eyes from the intensity of your release, and finally, he starts easing off of you. He pulls your thighs off of his head and leans back. He wipes his chin that’s coated in your slick and licks his fingers. Seeing that alone has you clench around nothing which in turn spreads a smirk on his face.

“Good girl, baby,” he coos, planting a kiss on your inner thigh, “You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

He stands up from his knees, grunting as he gets to his feet and taking a moment to stretch. You can tell the extended amount of time in the position put some strain on him. Your lips curl into a small smile while adoration fills your hazy eyes.

“Your joints locking up on you, old man?” you tease with a quiet laugh.

“Don’t start,” he says, trying to sound stern, but you can see him suppressing his own smile, “Especially since I know you want more.”

That shuts you up because he’s right. He shakes his head and makes a mock sound of disappointment.

“I know you, baby. My dirty girl. Made you cum how many times, and you still want more,” he says. He begins stripping off his clothes into a pile next to yours. “My little whore would never turn down a chance to take my cock.”

Once his clothes are off, he languidly strokes himself a few times and climbs on top of you. He peppers some kisses on your face and starts to slide inside you. You were more than ready but still sensitive from the recent series of highs.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’ll get you full of my cum in no time. Fuck all that neediness right out,” he murmurs into your ear, his breath on you sending chills down your spine.

You mewl and tighten around him in more ways than one. Your arms cling to his torso that hovers above you while your walls squeeze around him to take him deeper. He grunts and his head falls forward a little as he feels sparks of pleasure in his abdomen.

“There you go, angel. Taking me so perfect. My pretty girl. Made for me,” he says into your ear as he sinks into you completely.

You nod mindlessly, your head fogging up again as he fills you. He presses sloppy kisses to your neck as he starts pumping in and out. You’re both breathing heavily and allowing the pleasure to take over. One of your hands slides to his hair to rub his head while his hips snap against you.

He’s falling into the perfect rhythm with you, one that’s driving you both toward the goal line, when suddenly you hear a muffled guitar strum coming from the floor. Leon groans and you burst into laughter as you hear the ringtone you had set for him as a joke.

His movements get weaker as his focus is drawn elsewhere, but he doesn’t stop rocking his hips. He reaches down to the floor where his phone is ringing in the pocket of his crumpled pants. He fishes it out and shifts so he’s kneeling while drilling into you.

He holds the phone up and squints to read the tiny caller ID on the flip phone which makes you laugh harder through moans. He smirks at your laughter and clamps a hand over your mouth. “Shut up, I gotta take this,” he says teasingly.

He whips open the phone, the maneuver causing you to moan and squeeze around him again. He winces at the sensation, nearly unable to restrain himself from giving into his carnal urges to groan and slam into you harder.

Your eyes widen as he brings the phone to his ear without stopping his hips and in the most monotonous voice says “Kennedy here.”

It’s good that his hand is over your mouth to keep you quiet. The contrast of his movements and that voice have the sparks of pleasure igniting into flames in your belly. Seeing how he handles his dumbass flip phone so smoothly has your arousal nearly pooling on the couch.

He listens to the call while grinning at you struggling to keep yourself somewhat under control. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Sounds about right,” he drones as the person on the other end goes on and on.

His strokes are just as deep as before, nudging you in the perfect spots repeatedly. Your eyes roll back as you feel yourself getting near the peak. A soft whimper escapes you, loud enough to pierce the barrier of Leon’s hand. His hips sputter at the noise and his face contorts. He lets out a quiet grunt but quickly catches himself before losing it further.

“What? Yeah, I’m listening,” he says, his tone growing a little impatient, “Look, I’m just wrapped up in something right now. Could you not have just told me this before I left?”

You know he’s getting closer himself and struggling to hold back. You can tell from the way his jaw is clenched and his eyes are projecting his rising frustration he has for the person who made this call.

“Yes, I understand. I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” he says, effectively ending the conversation. 

Then, to hang up, he doesn’t press a button. Instead, he flicks his wrist and shuts the flip phone with a clack.

You throw your head back against the couch cushion and a loud moan rips through your throat. You shudder as a wave of pleasure courses through you after witnessing something so unexplainably hot.

His eyebrows raise in amusement, noticing how much you enjoyed that. “Hmm, I’m not hearing any complaints about the phone now,” he says. He’s trying to tease, but his voice is husky with arousal. He maintains his grin as he drops the phone to the floor again and returns to his previous position which was closer to you.

“Careful, you’re gonna break it,” you whimper.

“Nah baby, I told you that thing is indestructible,” he breathes and starts pounding you into the couch mercilessly.

You bite your lip and resume clinging to him, your fingers digging into his back. You both are panting, expressions going lax as you focus on chasing the high.

“Daddy, ‘m gonna cum,” you mewl, unable to contain yourself for much longer.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he says into your ear, his voice taking on more of a growl, “Daddy’s right there with you. You deserve it for being so good for me. Being nice and quiet while I was on the phone.”

As soon as you have permission, you give into another release. Your legs shake and your arms cling to him tighter as the euphoria shoots through you. You’re gasping for air and whining while squirming beneath him. Soon it’s just too much for Leon. He tightens his grip on you and slams deep before groaning and draining himself inside of you.

He rocks in and out a few more times before slowly pulling out. He then sits up on the couch and sinks back into the cushions. You follow by sitting up as well and curling up against his side. He pulls you into his lap, stroking your hair away from your face and kissing your forehead. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while until he gazes down at you with a smug look in his eyes.

“I knew the flip phone was a turn-on,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.

You scoff. “It is not. It was just… it was the situation,” you defend.

“Sure, but you were tightest when I was messing with the phone,” he says knowingly.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

He laughs at your stubbornness and gives you another kiss. “You can admit it, baby. I won’t judge. Really, if you like it that much, maybe I’ll show you how strong it can vibrate later.”

[solxamber]

Maybe a Skully request for him learning the reader's birthday is really close to Halloween? I just think he'd get excited to hear the reader's had a Halloween themed birthday every year because of it, and due to it not being ON Halloween its like having two in 1 year, would absolutely be his dream if he doesn't already do that

Skully J. Graves x Reader

I'm so sorry for the wait, I hope you like it <3

You casually mention your birthday while lounging in Ramshackle, almost as an afterthought. "Oh, yeah. My birthday’s next week. It’s always super close to Halloween, so I’ve had a Halloween-themed party almost every year."

Skully, who was dramatically arranging some black and white decorations in the room (for "aesthetic purposes"), suddenly freezes. He turns toward you slowly, his eyes widening with a mixture of awe and reverence. He drops the cobweb-covered garland he’s holding and rushes to your side in an over-the-top theatrical flourish, coat sweeping across the floor.

“What did you say?!” he asks, his voice high, almost like you’ve revealed some ancient secret.

You blink at him. “Uh...my birthday’s next week?”

“And every year…” He leans closer, eyes locked on yours like you just said the most magical thing in the world. “...it’s Halloween-themed?!”

Grim, who’s curled up in front of the fire with a snack, snorts. “Pffft. Why’s that such a big deal? We don’t even get extra tuna just ‘cause it’s spooky time.”

Skully completely ignores Grim, focusing all his energy on you. “This is...this is...this is the dream.” He grabs your hand and dramatically bows over it, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “You’ve been living my ideal life all this time, and I never knew! You, my friend, have been blessed with not just one, but two Halloweens every year!”

He gets this far-off, dreamy look in his eyes, as if he’s envisioning a world where he, too, has two Halloweens, one on your birthday and one on the actual holiday. "A prelude Halloween, and then the real Halloween...It’s a masterpiece of planning, a work of art." He lets out a breathy sigh, “Jack Skellington himself would be proud!”

“I mean, it’s not that big of a deal…” you try, but Skully’s already on another planet, his face lighting up like a jack-o’-lantern.

“Do you know what this means?!” He suddenly grabs both of your shoulders, eyes wide with the joy of someone who’s just unlocked the key to eternal happiness. “We can have TWO Halloween parties in a row! One in your honor, and then the official Halloween! Two nights of pure, spooky glory!” He releases you, spins dramatically, and gestures around the room. “The decorations, the costumes, the endless dark colors—just think about it! It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of!”

Grim rolls his eyes, crunching loudly on his snack. “Yeah, yeah. And where’s my tuna in all of this? I’m not seein’ how this benefits me.”

Skully waves his hand dismissively at Grim. “You’ll get all the tuna you want, little furball. We’re talking about a double Halloween extravaganza! This is bigger than any feast of fish!”

Grim’s ears perk up. “Double the tuna, huh?”

“I said parties, not tuna,” you point out, but Grim’s already on board.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go with double the parties, double the snacks,” Grim says, throwing in his vote for this wild plan. “I’ll bring the fireworks.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “No fireworks inside the dorm, Grim.”

Skully looks ready to faint from excitement. “Imagine it...we’ll start with a pre-Halloween bash for your birthday. Dark, moody decorations, not a single bright color in sight. No candy—just the eerie emptiness of true Halloween spirit.” He twirls around, his cape billowing behind him. “Then, on the real Halloween, we’ll raise the stakes even higher. There will be no sugar. No colors. Only shadows.”

Grim looks horrified. “Wait, no candy?! That’s...that’s sacrilege! You can’t have a Halloween without candy!”

Skully turns to Grim, his voice deadly serious. “The only true treat...is fear.”

Grim groans. “Ugh, you’re the worst.”

Skully turns back to you with a grin. “What do you say? Two Halloweens! Double the spooky goodness, twice the amount of dark, colorless celebration...”

You laugh, watching the pure joy radiating from Skully. “You’re absolutely obsessed.”

“I am obsessed!” he says proudly, puffing out his chest. “You are living proof that Halloween is not confined to one day. It is a lifestyle, a way of being. And now, you and I...we shall celebrate that lifestyle together. Forever!”

Grim mutters something about “weirdos” and “no candy,” but you just shake your head, feeling both exhausted and entertained by Skully’s antics.

“Well,” you say with a grin, “I guess I’d better start planning for two spooky parties this year.”

Skully nearly faints from happiness. “This...this is everything I’ve ever wanted!”

Grim groans dramatically. “Great. Two days of weirdos and no candy. Can’t wait.”

Skully, in all his dramatic, Halloween-obsessed glory, was in for a treat. And now, you’ve somehow roped yourself into throwing a double Halloween bash. Lucky you.

Masterlist

[just1cefor4ll]

—You’re the kind of person they write rock songs about

-modern!au Viktor x fem!reader warning. not proof read, swearing, might be OOC

part one || part two

‼️A/N. if anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this fic, let me know!! ‼️

'Taste me, you will see

'More is all you need..'

You were an art major with dreams of becoming a performer—a passion that stuck to you during your high school years. It wasn’t always a dream of yours; as a child, you’d imagined yourself as a ballerina or a doctor saving hundreds of lives but everything changed when the gates of high school and teenage drama opened up to you.

In your sophomore year, you and a few friends stumbled upon a shared love for music and decided to form a small rock band. Powder, your best friend, took the lead as the singer. Her stepsister, Isha, played the drums, while Ekko, Powder’s boyfriend, handled the bass. You took on guitar duties and backup vocals. The band quickly became a big part of your lives, and you weren’t half bad.

By the time you all made it to college—except Isha, who was in her senior year of high school—you were performing at local bars and small venues. The gigs didn’t pay much, but they weren’t a loss either, and your parents were proud of your dedication.

You got more of a recognition when the principal assigned you and the band to play some of your own songs or whatever covers you deemed fit for the occasion and even got an award which earned you the title of the ‘schools rock stars’ by most of the people who attended that day and it quickly spread and stuck until graduation.

The journey, however, wasn’t always just rainbows and sunshine. Learning guitar and perfecting your singing skills took patience, and there were moments of frustration.

Your forgetfulness and stupidity often kicked you right in the ass—or well, fingers— having to buy a new guitar pick every few days leaving your fingers bloody and sore. On a particular night performing at the Last Drop your guitar was left bloodied after you thought it would be an absolutely genius idea to play Metallicas ‘Master of Puppets’ which luckily went great! The crowd went wild however it did earn you quite a scolding from Vander as he carefully put band aids on each of your fingers. However he could tell by the proud look on your face that you thought it was worth it, people coming up to cogratulate you on your performance, suggesting songs or giving you sweets they bought as a sort of reward and all Vander could really do was laugh at his daughter’s best friends foolishness.

While you immersed yourself in music, Viktor—a double major in physics and engineering—navigated a completely different world. His close circle of friends—Vi, Powder’s older sister; Jayce, Mel and Caitlyn, Vi’s girlfriend—shared little in common with your bandmates, yet you crossed paths by chance from time to time. Viktor knew of you mostly through Vi and Jayce’s stories or from the few times he happened to see your band perform.

One such instance was prom, where he watched you take the stage with confidence. Another was a night at The Last Drop, where Viktor had ended up by chance when Vi dragged the group into the establishment for a few drinks.

Today the bar was as lively as ever. The dimly lit bar was packed, and the familiar hum of chatter and clinking glasses filled the air before the first note was played. “Are you ready?” You half screamed into the mic as a roar of cheers and claps bounced through the walls. You strummed your fingers along the strings of your guitar, gifted to you not long ago by your friends since your old one was pretty wrecked however it still had it’s place and on display in your bedroom as a symbol of where you first started while Isha got into the beat of ‘Can’t stop’ by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

You saw a few faces light up but most didn’t quiet recognize the song but still looked like they were enjoying themselves as the chatter slowly died down, all eyes and ears on your performance.

Viktor sat in the corner with Vi, Jayce, and Caitlyn, his attention flitting between their conversation and the band on stage. He wasn’t one for loud, crowded places, but something about your music intrigued him. He knew of the rock genre because of Jayce being quite a fan of System of a Down and many other bands he would need a whole notebook to name however Vi had a big part of the introduction herself but he adjusted to the change of genre he wasn’t quiet familiar with before he met his dear friends.

There was a passion in your performance that resonated with him, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

After the set, you stepped off the stage, sweaty and exhilarated. Powder gave you a playful nudge, her eyes twinkling with pride. “Killed it as always,” she said with a grin.

“Thanks, Pow,” you replied, wiping your brow. Your gaze swept across the room, catching sight of a group you vaguely recognized—Vi’s crew. As if on queue Vi averted her gaze from the group and caught your attention, waving you over, and though you hesitated for a moment before you all made your way to their table. “Hey, Rockstar!” Vi greeted, giving you a playful smirk. “Nice set tonight. You finally learned how to tune that thing, huh?”

You rolled your eyes at her teasing. “Thanks, Vi. You still can’t keep a beat, though, can you?”

The group laughed, and you found yourself pulled into their orbit. Introductions were made, though most were unnecessary—you already knew who they were. When it came to Viktor, however, there was an awkward pause.

“Viktor,” he said, offering a polite nod. You smiled and gave your name in response and decide to strike up a conversation with the man. “Thanks for sticking around! You don’t seem like the type for these kinds of outings.” You say truthfully and chuckle nervously.

“It was... impressive,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but sincere. “You’d be correct on that last part. I don’t often attend these kinds of events, but your performance was captivating.” His accent was foreign to you yet it was a cute quality, making your stomach flutter with butterflies. The compliment however caught you off guard. You weren’t used to that kind of earnest praise, especially from someone who seemed like they’d be more of the jazz or pop type. “Thanks,” you said, a bit bashfully. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

The conversation shifted back to the group, but Viktor’s words lingered in your mind. Something about his quiet demeanor fascinated you, and you couldn’t help but want to know more about this mystery of a man.

That night when you all went your seperate ways once you got to the college dorms, Powder noticed how lost in thought you were; basically just lying on the bed and looking at nothing. “Okay, what’s with your teen spirit Cobain?” She chuckles at her own joke and you look at her with a ‘really?’ face, letting out a giggle of your own. “So many other jokes out there and that’s what you come up with?” You push her shoulder playfully and sit up from your bed, facing her. “Okay, okay.. enough shaming my stand up comedy, what’s wrong Y/N?”

“That Viktor guy from your sister’s group.. with the accent and shit?” You start as a smirk sneaked onto her lips, kicking her feet in the air as she lied on her stomach. “Yeaah?” “Well I don’t know, something about me just.. makes me want to get to know him you know?” You sigh, throwing yourself onto Powders bed, lying on her stomach. “He’s such a nerd though! From what Vi told me over the phone a few times he’s like a workaholic but ten times worse girl. And he looks like he has a couple conditions.. probably should get that checked.” She mumbled to herself, making you giggle. “Come on Pow that’s just straight up mean.”

“But look who’s giggling.” She flicks the side of your head and joins in on your laughter.

You remember the cane he had, the golden details and carvings and the way his under eyes were darker then the rest of his pale, almost sickly skin. His jawline was sharp with a straight nose and an almost unnoticeable underbite. He was pretty cute.. He was probably a cool person to be around so you wondered if you’d have the chance to maybe hang out with him.

“Do you think your sister would be up to hanging out? You know, our group and hers? We have that show next weekend we can invite them there and spend the rest of the night doing whatever!” You suggest and quickly get a nod of approval from your blue haired friend which only made your excitement rise.

Next weekend it is.. Maybe he’d be up to a one on one hangout once you have the chance to ask, maybe even over the phone if you’re lucky enough to get his number or socials. Until next weekend all you could do was practice and imagine every sort of scenario of how it would all go.

taglist: let me know if you want to be added

© URFAVLARRY

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE OR COPY ANY OF MY WRITING TO OTHER PLATFORMS

I DON’T CONSENT FOR MY WRITING TO BE USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫

[martinluvrr]

FLATLINE | PAIGE BUECKERS

⋅˚₊‧ paige x fem!gf!reader

⋅˚₊‧ summary: y/n and paige experience what it means to be in a long distance relationship, but with the distance between them, can they overcome it?

⋅˚₊‧ warning : secret relationship, angst (kinda) ,long distance.

⋅˚₊‧ duayaps: first post🥳🥳🥳.

⋅˚₊‧ inspired by flatline by justin bieber.

⋅˚₊‧ nav ||

"I'LL MISS YOU" paige muttered against her neck.

"it'll go by before you know it" y/n said pulling away from the hug. When college applications started being filled, she took a big risk and applied for Politecnico di Milano, a fashion uni in Milan, Italy. She had already said goodbye to her parents, thinking that was the hardest goodbye she could imagine, but the tears in her eyes from saying goodbye to her girlfriend right now, told her she lied to herself a while ago.

Paige and y/n had always had a rocky side of their relationship, for one, it was a secret waiting to bomb the world, two, they always knew that long distance was going to be a thing for them. With Paige going to Uconn and Yn going to PDM, 'it was already doomed' said by most people. But overcoming the rocky side of their relationship, there was the fairytale side. The one where they in love, where they supported each other in everything, where they took each others first kisses, first everything. They were each other's lifelines in a way, they didn't go a day without speaking to each other.

They both hoped that these future 4 years, weren’t going to change their feelings of each other.

✩

Lately you've been busy, wondering if you miss me

Why did you go against me? I just wanna know

How come you act so different? Talk to me, I'll listen

All the love I'm giving, don't act like you don't know

“…leave a message after the tone” y/n sighed as she hung up the phone. It was 7am and her alarm had just gone off, Paige was most likely asleep. It’s 1am at Storrs.

If you put the time difference aside, they were doing well. Both of them spent at least 2 hours everyday on the phone and haven’t had an any problems yet.

But it’s only been 5 months. 7 months and 3 years to go.

Y/n was glad Paige settled in great, she got along with her teammates and had a great support system there. Paige became a media star, with that came many fans. While y/n wasn’t the jealous type, these fans were wild.

She opened her instagram app, and slowly started to scroll through stories. When she stopped, went stiff. “Oh” she muttered, her girlfriend’s teammate, Aaliyah, had posted a story with the Uconn women’s basketball team having fun ,at what she would guess, a bar. Paige is in the background , a girl sitting next to her, whiles shes on the phone. Y/n quickly checked when the story was posted,10minutes ago.

‘Okay so she could’ve just posted this when she came home’ y/n quickly assured herself. Paige wouldn’t just ignore her calls, especially on a night out, right?

As those thoughts filled her head, a notification sound came from her phone.

pb 👩🏼‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏽

gm baby. can’t talk, tired, going to bed.

y/n didn’t think anything, she couldn’t. She just typed ‘sweet dreams💗’ and hit send.

no i love you, no ily, not even an emoji.

‘Stop, don’t overthink this ,shes just tired’ she told herself. She shut her phone off and got out of bed, leaving her thoughts about P in her comfy bed.

:

It had been a month since the bar incident, and everything seemed normal, until a week ago.

Y/n just got out of work, a small intern job to help her graduate early. It was 6pm in Milan, and 12 in Storrs.On her way home, y/n called P.

The phone rang, 1,2,3 times before she hung up. Tried a gain, 1,2,3. User is busy.Paige had hung up on her, she didn’t think much of it. ‘She’s probs busy’.

That was 6 days ago.

While they exchange texts, no calls were made this week. Paige was busy, like really busy, But not busy ‘not go out with her friends for the 3rd time this week’ busy. Y/n got it, freshman year, new teammates, she had to have fun. She also knew that their relationship was on the down low. Even though she assured Paige that it was okay to tell her teammates, P reluctantly agreed. ‘I don’t know, i’ll see’ She muttered to y/n, 2 weeks ago on their normal facetime call.

Y/n didn’t want to think much of it, she didn’t want her overthinking to brew a fight. The last 2 years she was back home, her and paige had never gone a day without speaking to each other, but so what it stopped now?, it was common sometimes to not call. So she let it be, but Paiges text became more and more rare,more dry and definitely more weird.

But y/n knew, paige was just busy.

✩

Girl you always catch me at the bad time (Bad time)
When I know you probably think it's a lie (A lie)
I know I told you last time was the last time (Last time)
How could you pull the plug and leave me flatline?

On the other end of the phone. Y/n hit the red button, and ended the call. She hit her head on the wall behind her in frustration, thankful that the call wasn’t on facetime and Paige could see her sad face.

Y/n had called in sick at work so she could watch Paiges game in peace, her boss gave her an earful, because it was one of the more busier seasons in the fashion world, but she let her be ‘sick in bed’. She was proud of Paige, and was the happiest for her.

But the mood drifted when she heard the voice tell her they need her. ‘I need her too’ Y/n thought. This was the first time in a month that Y/n heard Paiges voice. Her heart clenched when she heard her sound weird, it sounded like she was frustrated. Frustrated with who though, with y/n?.

As time went quick, it felt like Paiges texts were more rare, and even more dry. And Y/n didn’t know if Paige was aware of the way she was acting, she also didn’t know if she should say anything, Paige was a freshman in college having fun, alone,without Y/n next to her.

If Y/n were to say anything, she didn’t want to seem like the bitchy jealous girlfriend that only wanted Paige to spend time with her, she just wanted Paige to spend some time with her.

It felt like their relationship was a bomb, and their time was running out quickly.

How could you pull the plug and leave me flatline? (Flatline)
Cause when I hit you, you don't even reply (Reply)
How could you pull the plug and leave me flatline?

✩

Not breathing, what is it I'm not seeing
Said she's leaving, damn I can't believe it
It's like my heart's bleeding knowing that you don't need me
Shut my heart down, now I don't know what Imma do now

“… i just need some space y/n” Paige said with frustration, a sigh coming after. Y/n’s heart dropped.

It all started an hour and a half ago.

Paige went out with her teammates after a late night practice, forgetting that y/n was waiting on her phone call that she promised she would do after practice.

After she came home, she was bombarded with messages from Y/n. 8 to be exact.

y/n💍

hey did you finish practice?

- 8:15PM

you ready?

- 8:18PM

paige?

- 8:20PM

paigeeeeeeee???

- 8:30PM

pbabyyyy

- 8:35PM

pls tell me u didn’t forget

- 8:45PM

paige are you fucking kidding me

- 9:45PM

it’s our anniversary

- 9:45PM

call me when you get home and make sure you’re not busy

- 9:50PM

And when she called, the yelling happened. It was the first fight they’ve had in a while. While Y/n finally exploded demanding to know what’s happening with her, Paige only had one thing to say.

“I think we should take a break”

“What?” Y/n whispered after a long pause.

“i’m not ready to be in a relationship Y/n/n, i’m still questioning what i want, and i don’t know if its you yet.” Paige said. “I’m sorry, i just need some space Y/n”

Y/n heart dropped, she didn’t know what to say or think. While Y/n knew that not everything lasted, Paige was a sure thing. Paige was her lifeline. What was she going to do?.

Y/n gulped and said the only thing she knew she could say “It’s okay”.

‘It’s okay?’ Paige was taken back. Had Y/n want to breakup before?, and then Paige shockingly felt hurt in her chest, her stomach slightly dropped. Why was she feeling like this? why isn’t she feeling relief?. This has been on Paiges mind for the past 3 months, wasn’t this the solution?

“Go be a superstar but don’t expect me to wait for you while you figure out what you want to do” Y/n said, her voice sweet. Not even a slight tone of bitterness.

Y/n still wasn’t able to move from her spot on the kitchen counter. Tears were streaming down her face, and before a sob sound could come, she hung up the phone. All Y/n knew was Paige, but know she didn’t even know that.

She had literally left her clueless, without her lifeline. now flatline.

✩

- 5 MONTHS LATER -

Paige stood there, watching from her afar.

“That’s her?” a croatian accent asked. She felt Nika sit beside her. “Yeah” Paige answered still in awe of her.

“She’s really pretty” Nika said. Paige nodded agreeing with her. She was wearing a flowy white short summer dress with cowboy boots.

It was Drews birthday today, and as the team had some off time, Drew invited them to his barbecue party. And the weekend before his birthday, he ran into Y/n. Of course the boy was oblivious to the breakup and while he asked still asked Paige for Y/n, she didn’t have the heart to tell him that they broke up.

So when Drew begged Y/n to come to his birthday party, Y/n didn’t know what else to say but yes. He could literally get whatever he wanted out of everyone.

At first, Y/n debated if she should just call Paiges stepmom and cancel, or she should just go and pray that Paige couldn’t make it.

Well, Paige had come. And so did the rest of the huskies. When Y/n saw them, she sighed. Although she was friends with Azzi, she didn’t know the rest of them, but by the look on their faces when she came in, she knew that Paige had told them her history.

Azzi, being the sweetheart she is, excitedly came running to Y/n and hugging her tight. The whole party they caught up with each other, with Azzi telling her about Uconn and Y/n telling her about studying abroad. For the past 30 minutes they’ve been talking, not once have either of them mentioned Paige.

Y/n turned, meeting Paiges eyes. The two of them made eye contact with each other again. Y/n then heard Azzi laughed, when she snapped her head to look at her friend. She saw a small teasing smile on her face. “Don’t even start” Y/n said, glaring at her. She got up and made her way to the other side of the backyard, where there was no Paige in sight.

“Y/n/n” she heard a child scream. Drew was suddenly hugging her legs. “Hi Drewsky” she laughed, beginning to tickle him. She felt the boy starting to laugh, and start to kick her hands away, while Paige and her were together, Drew became a big part in their relationship. Paiges parents often made Paige babysit Drew, and Y/n just tagged along. Through that time, Drew and Y/n became close, Y/n considered him as a baby brother. She would miss him.

“Paigeyy help me” Drew screamed laughing. Y/n became stiff, the hair behind her neck stood. She could feel her ex behind her as she let the little boy go and stand up.

Paige and Y/n stared at one another. Paige was thankful her teammates weren’t around right now, they would be on her ass all day after this.

“Hi” Y/n whispered, looking away from her and to the ground.

“Hey” Paige said back. “How’ve you been-“

“Paige please no small talk, what do you want?” Y/n cut her off. This was already awkward enough, no need to make it even more.

“Uh” Paige stuttered, a sigh coming after. “I missed you” Paige admitted. Y/n’s blood boiled, now she missed me?

Paige could sense Y/n anger, she placed a hand on Y/n elbow, tugging her from leaving. “Please just wait” Paige pleaded “I’m sorry, i just didn’t know what to do i kept having all of this kind of feelings and i know i was busy but i swear just one more chance-“

“Paige” y/n cut her off

“- and i’ll promise i’ll try harder-“ paige continued

“-stop-“ she tried to stop her

“please just give me one more chance”

“-okay” she agreed. Paiges eyes went wide, she didn’t think she would get her to agree that easy.

“I only needed you to apologize P, i only want you to make some time for me thats all. And if were really trying this again you have to be sure you want this because i don’t know if i can handle loosing you again” She said still looking at the ground.

Paiges heart dropped hearing her voice break. Although she knew how Y/n felt, Paige had been nothing but moody,grumpy and miserable these past few months. Seeing Y/n today, brought her hope that she had a second shot with her.

Y/n slowly picked up her head, and looked up at Paige. Paige was jaw dropping hot, and she knew that, her head couldn’t get any bigger by her ego.

Paige reached a hand towards her waist, pulling Y/n towards her. When she did, she slowly dropped a sweet kiss on her girlfriends lips, when she pulled away, her forehead dropped to Y/n’s.

She felt like she could finally breathe, her chest no longer hurt. She had her lifeline back.

✩

[quarterlifekitty]

The screech I scrumpt at tramp!soap oh my god I’m unwellllll I love them I adore them they’re everything to me and I greatly appreciate you sharing your thoughts thank you :)

Can I ask and pls ignore me if you want about tramp!soap getting territorial? He’s perfectly happy to let other dogs from the neighborhood come around, even tries his luck at friendliness with price and nik once or twice, but when another stray starts sniffing around sweet innocent lady’s house? Practically glued himself to her side and sleeps in front of the doggy door. Maybe even sneaks along on a walk to the park with lady’s owners, jumping in right on time to keep her (and her owners by extension) safe? Sweet innocent little lady has never heard a growl like that but she’s not sure she disliked it and really how could her owners not start leaving out food and water for the stray who saved them

Keep scrumpting baby!!!

I’m gonna do a bit of twisting on this one, hope that’s ok!

I imagine your owners are a little protective over you, of course. You’re just a sensitive little girl to them, they got you when you were just a puppy! And your breed makes you smaller than street mutts like Soap. So when they notice him hanging around, they do try to chase him off, worried he’ll hurt you. They even think about calling the dog catcher, but ultimately decide against it.

Soap isn’t even a little discouraged. He’ll dig his way under any fence he has to if it means he gets to see his lady again!! Maybe he even calls you lassie. Because I’m unoriginal!!!

And maybe if you return his affections, you start sneaking out later in the evenings to see him. Your owners have gone to bed, and you go through your doggy door, prancing through the back yard to go to your little meeting place where you kiss, and cuddle, and talk about puppies.

But Soap isn’t there tonight. There’s another stray. One that growls. One that chases and nips at your heels until you’re backed into the corner of the little fenced in yard. By now the barking and yipping has woken up your owners, you see the bedroom light turn on.

It’s then that Soap makes it to you, having sprinted from a few houses down when he heard you so distressed. He growls and bares his teeth as he dives between you and the other stray, arching himself in as fierce a manner as he can manage. They tumble in a mass of fur and fangs and wild eyes, Soap managing to sink his teeth into the neck of the other stray as your owners come out of the back door, robes in hand with a flashlight.

The other stray bolts, looking worse for wear. You start tending to Soap— bitten up and bruised in his own right, his hackles starting to lower. You lick and soothe over the sore marks. It’s clear to your owners that the stray that they’d been trying to keep off of their property protected you. And it’s not like they can pretend it’s not the sweetest thing— seeing you curl up with him, nuzzling noses between your comforting little kisses.

He becomes a much more permanent resident in the back yard since they’ve stopped chasing him away. And he wants to stay closer in case that stray comes back. He stays in your doghouse (you’re too much of a good girl to ever really get sent there anyways) for a few weeks, your owners leaving out food and water for him. And you love being able to run outside and see him almost any time you want!!! Every time you get a treat, like a slice of ham or some jerky, you dash outside to share it with him.

Until one day, you coax him inside. He’s wary, and he’s right to be, because your owners are gonna wash the fuck outta him in the bath when he least expects it. But before that? They present him with a collar. A bit bigger and thicker than yours, a deep teal color dying the leather. A silver tag with the house address on it. A new bed— much too big for just you alone. And you take him to show him the fireplace— your favorite place in the whole world. His tail thumps against the carpet when he finally settles fully, in his first real home.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Championship love

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Max one-shot inspired by him winning the championship for the fourth time !!

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

You've been by Max's side for as long as you can remember. Teenagers with wild dreams and even wilder hearts, you both grew up together—through the awkward phases, the endless karting weekends, and the late-night phone calls where he shared his hopes of making it big in Formula 1. And he did. You’ve celebrated every step of his journey, but nothing compares to how you’ve marked each of his world championships together.

2011: The first time Max won the championship, it felt surreal. You were in Abu Dhabi, tears streaming down your face as he crossed the finish line and screamed over the radio. That night, back in the hotel room, it was just the two of you. Max was exhausted but glowing with pride, the trophy on the bedside table. He pulled you into his lap and kissed you like it was the first time, whispering, “This is just the beginning.”

2022: His second championship was no less thrilling. Max insisted on celebrating at home in Monaco, just the two of you again. He cooked you dinner—well, tried to. Half-burnt pasta and wine turned into laughter and slow dancing in the kitchen. He held you close, murmuring, “I couldn’t have done this without you.” You knew he meant it.

2023: The third title was chaotic—Sprint race in Qatar. But later that night, back at the motorhome, Max pulled you aside. His team was celebrating loudly in the background, but his focus was entirely on you. “Three-time world champion,” he said, smirking. “But being yours is still my favorite title.”

And now, here you are in Las Vegas. Max’s fourth championship.

The moment he crosses the line, you can barely hear the roar of the crowd over your own cheering. Your chest swells with pride as the fireworks explode over the track. It feels like a culmination of everything you’ve built together—his hard work, your unwavering support, and the love that’s only grown stronger with time.

Later that night, the team throws a party in one of the grand casinos. The celebration is lavish, the energy electric, but Max never lets go of your hand. Every so often, he leans down to kiss your temple or whispers something only for you to hear. He’s glowing, but there’s something else in his eyes—a secret, maybe, or anticipation.

Hours later, he whisks you away from the crowd, leading you to the rooftop of your hotel. The view is breathtaking—Las Vegas glittering like a sea of stars, a warm breeze wrapping around you both. You laugh, spinning to face him. “What are we doing up here?”

Max looks at you, his blue eyes soft and steady. He takes your hands in his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “I wanted to end this night with just us,” he says. “Like we always do.”

Your heart swells. “You’re getting sentimental, Verstappen.”

He chuckles but doesn’t look away. “I have a good reason.”

Before you can ask what he means, Max drops to one knee.

Time stops.

Your breath catches as he pulls a small velvet box from his pocket. “You’ve been with me through everything—every win, every loss, every moment in between. I can’t imagine doing this without you. I don’t want to do this without you.” He opens the box, revealing a stunning ring that glitters even brighter than the city lights. “Will you marry me?”

Tears blur your vision as you nod frantically, a smile breaking across your face. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Of course, yes.”

Max stands, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. The kiss you share feels like every dream you’ve ever had coming true.

“You just made this the best championship celebration ever,” you say against his lips.

He grins, pressing his forehead to yours. “I think this one’s my favorite too.”

Under the Vegas sky, with the world at your feet, you know this moment is just the beginning of a lifetime of celebrations—together.

[jesncin]

Where the Wild Things Are, morals for kids, and queer art

One of my favorite things about this children's book is that the way adults respond to it is a great litmus test for how much they get kids.

At it's core, Where the Wild Things Are is a book about a tantrum. Max misbehaves, is sent to his room without supper, imagines a world where he gets to be in charge and let all his monstrous rage out, but when he's had his fun? "Max the king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all" he says goodbye to the beasts and makes his way back home where "he found his supper waiting for him. And it was still hot." It's still hot. The book describes his journey into and out of Where The Wild Things Are as taking "years, weeks, days" that he can smell his supper "far away across the world" but that's because everything feels so big when you're a kid. Your tantrums feel like they last an eternity but by the time you're back from it, your supper is still hot.

Deep down, Max understands that his mom sent him to bed without supper because she cares about him. Because when he's out having a wild rumpus with the beasts that follow his every command, he still sends them to bed without supper. Max might not understand why, but he sure does repeat that action to the beasts he watches over as king. Supper is still waiting for Max when he returns because his mom understands that even though Max misbehaves, it's not coming from a place of malice. It's a tantrum, and kids come back from that. They don't mean the cruel things they say or do.

So when I see grown ups read this book and go "what the heck?' This book is about a spoiled jerk who gets to boss monsters around and come back home to a nice meal? Where's his punishment??? He didn't learn a thing! What's the lesson?" I'm just amused. "he threatens his mom and she lets that slide??" Dude, the mom calls him a "WILD THING!" and he responds "I'LL EAT YOU UP" a child can't threaten you. "what if this book influences my child to act out, thinking they'll be rewarded??" Kids are going to act out no matter how you raise them.

This book has stayed with me because it's pretty to look at, it scared me, understood me and as I grew older I learned that the author, Maurice Sendak was queer. Sendak was also the son of Polish-Jewish immigrants escaping the Holocaust. He never told his parents he wasn't straight. "All I wanted was to be straight so my parents could be happy. They never, never, never knew." Adults constantly demand moral closure from kids' media. To them, kids have to be taught and disciplined and influenced into the right behaviors. But Where the Wild Things Are isn't that kind of book. This book gave me a space to let out my messy, ugly, tantrum feelings without being judged or punished for it. I didn't have to learn a lesson. I got to go to Where the Wild Things Are and come back when I'm ready.

I'm a children's book author now, and there's something so special about being able to connect to another queer creator through their work like this. My book also talks about how important it is to have the space to just feel and make sense of change. A lot of queer art is inherently challenging. To know that even the stuff we craft to nurture kids can still confound and challenge their parents? "What if this book influences our kids??" some things about queer art never change.

[ha-rinrin]

And what about me?

felt like writing something about jinx with her new look from season two so here it is :). wordcount:770

masterlist

It’s been a while since you last saw her. The streets of Zaun haven’t changed much—still steeped in shadows, the air thick with tension, and that familiar scent of grime and chemical fumes. But Jinx? She’s different.

You lean against a rusted railing, waiting in the spot she mentioned in her cryptic message. The faint light from neon signs flickers overhead, casting eerie glows that dance across the rooftops. You’re not even sure why you’re here. Jinx is... unpredictable. You could be in for a crazy night or a chaotic disaster, but you can never resist her pull.

A faint giggle breaks through the quiet, and you instinctively look up.

“Boo!” Jinx suddenly appears above you, perched on a ledge like a spider about to pounce. Her hair is shorter now—blue with a few purple chunks, framing her face. It suits her wild energy, a chaotic mix of rebellion and danger. Her eyes practically glow in the low light, and there's something darker in her gaze now—something more dangerous.

“You’re late,” she says, dropping down next to you with cat-like grace. Her hands are constantly moving—twitching, fingers tapping, as if she’s always a second away from tearing something apart. You notice her metallic middle finger gleam as it catches the light—a new addition, and one she seems all too eager to use. “Were you scared I wasn’t gonna show up?”

“More like I wasn’t sure what would show up,” you reply with a smirk. But truth be told, your pulse has been racing since you got her message.

Jinx grins, a crooked, slightly off-kilter smile. “Oh, you wound me. I’m still me, you know... Just a little more explosive.” She winks, pulling a small, glowing gadget from her pocket, twirling it between her fingers It hums ominously. You’re not sure if it’s a toy or a bomb. That’s always the game with Jinx. Just then, you notice, her new metallic middle finger, how did she lost the original one? anyways.

“Why’d you call me here?” you ask, leaning in closer, your hand briefly brushing hers. It’s been months since you two had time like this—just the two of you.

Jinx shrugs, looking up at the darkened sky. “Felt like having some company. I’ve been busy—doing things, you know? Big things. I thought my girlfriend might wanna see.”

“See what?”

She grins wider, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Before you can protest, Jinx grabs your wrist and pulls you along, darting through the alleyways with reckless abandon. You struggle to keep up, her pace as frantic as her mind. She’s humming a tune, something jaunty but with a hint of madness. You remember the last time you followed her like this—explosions, chaos, and a narrow escape. Tonight feels no different.

She leads you to a rooftop, overlooking a sprawling district of Zaun. In the distance, you can see Piltover’s towers glistening. Jinx stands on the edge, arms outstretched, like she’s claiming the whole city as her own.

“This,” she says, gesturing to the chaotic view, “this is my canvas.”

You look at her, not sure what she means. “Your canvas?”

“I’ve got plans. Big ones. Piltover, Zaun... doesn’t matter. I’m gonna shake things up. Make ‘em remember me.” Her voice has that manic edge again, the one that makes you wonder if you should step back.

But instead, you stay close. You’ve always been drawn to the fire in her, the danger. And even when things get wild, you can’t imagine being anywhere else. There’s something about Jinx that makes the world around you fade into the background, like it’s just the two of you against everything else.

“And what about me?” you ask softly, your eyes locking onto hers. “Where do I fit in?”

Jinx tilts her head, her gaze sharpening as it meets yours. For a moment, there’s a flicker of something softer beneath the chaos, but it’s quickly masked by her usual bravado. “You?” She steps closer, and her lips curl into a playful grin. “You’re part of the fun, babe. You’re always part of the fun.”

Her fingers brush against yours, and you feel the coolness of her metallic finger against your skin, lingering just a second longer than necessary. It’s not a promise, but it’s the closest thing to one you’ll ever get from her.

“You’re crazy,” you say with a small laugh, shaking your head.

Jinx cocks an eyebrow. “You love it.”

And maybe, just maybe, she’s right.

As she spins away, hair flashing in the neon lights, her eyes gleaming with mischief and madness, you can’t help but follow. Because with Jinx, you never know what’s coming next. But it’s always going to be something unforgettable.

[atinylittlepain]

ok so given that the oscars just happened, imagine a joel x actress!reader. before everything went to shit joel was a normal human being who loved watching movies and like any basic person had a celebrity crush. fast forward and the world has gone to shit and joel and ellie (and maybe tommy too) go on a patrol that goes wrong and get saved by miss “i just smashed a guys head in with my oscar” or something like that, just a fluff and fun imagine that isnt gonna break my heart in a million pieces like last nights episode

oh my god, your mindddddd - I love this idea :)

Big Fan

Joel Miller x actress!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

Joel recognizes her right away. After all, she starred in his favorite movie of all time.

warnings | 18+ a little angst, nothing wild, this is fluff through and through

Read part two!

.......................

“Are you–”

“I am.”

“You were in–”

“I was.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” 

“Alright, somebody better start speaking in full sentences, because I have no clue what the hell is going on.” Joel huffs, glancing at Ellie who's looking at him like he’s gone crazy, her gun still cocked at the woman in front of them.

“What? You don’t recognize her, kid? I just showed you Curtis and Viper.” Ellie’s brow furrows, but then she looks back at the woman and her eyes finally widen in recognition.

“Holy shit.” The woman laughs, eyes still focused on the barrel of Ellie’s gun.

“That’s not usually the movie people recognize me from. But I suppose it was my big break.” Joel nudges Ellie, muttering for her to put her “damn gun away, jesus christ,” and she quickly tucks it back in her belt.

He’s trying to not be weird right now, they did just kill five clickers together, but he’s finding it hard not to lose his cool over the woman who had been a silly crush of his since he first saw that cheap action movie as a teenager. He knows she did much better films afterward, remembers hovering behind the couch one night while Sarah was watching one of those awards shows, lingering just a bit longer when he saw her giving an acceptance speech with a blinding smile in a dress that probably cost more than his house. She’s certainly less elegant-looking now, but even after twenty years in a world like this, he can’t help the quick kick of his heart at actually meeting this woman in the flesh.

He clears his throat, also trying to clear his mind.

“Are you alone?” She sighs, wiping the blade of her knife on her jeans before sliding it back into its sheath.

“I wasn’t, and then I was. We were headed toward a settlement we heard about, I think a bit further north from here?” Joel keeps his expression steady, but can feel Ellie glancing at him. Movie star or not, he knows they have to be careful about who finds out about Jackson. But apparently, this woman isn’t just pretty, and she seems to pick up on the heavy pause after what she said.

“Do you two know about the place I’m talking about? Are we close?” Joel, sighs, looking at Ellie before making a decision that Tommy is probably going to smack him for later.

“We, um– we’re from there, actually. If you’re talking about where I think you’re talking about.” She huffs out a laugh, and offers them that megawatt smile Joel remembers seeing on his TV screen. Ellie, meanwhile, scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she glares at Joel.

“No shit. Do you think you have room for one more?” Joel’s eyes dart once more to Ellie, just seeing the subtle shake of her head, but he chooses to ignore it. How could he say no to the woman who had, embarrassingly, been one of his first wet dreams?

“You’ll have to talk with my brother, but I’m sure you’ll be welcome to stay on.” Megawatt, megawatt, megawatt. He reckons that smile could melt steel beams.

…

“Joel, what the fuck–”

“Ellie–”

“No, what are you thinking? If not Tommy, Maria’s gonna be so pissed she’ll probably cut your balls off.” He shushes the girl, glancing ahead at the woman hiking further in front of them.

“Look, she’s all alone– hardly a threat– and she’s looking for somewhere to stay–” She scoffs.

“Oh, so this has nothing to do with the way your eyeballs practically popped out of your head just looking at her?” He grumbles, hand tightening around the strap of his rifle.

“You just mind your own business, alright? I’ll take care of it.” Ellie huffs, starting to trudge further ahead of him, but not before muttering out “whatever you say, fanboy.” Joel is stunned still by her words.

“Where the hell did you get that word from?” She turns on her heel, walking backwards for a beat as she smirks at him.

“One of those old magazines. Pretty sure she was on the front page if you wanna borrow it.” Before he can get a word in edgewise, she’s already turning back around and continuing their hike back to Jackson.

…

“Holy shit. Joel, look who it is!” Joel grunts, nudging Tommy out of his starstruck stupor.

“Yeah, I know. Just hiked five miles with her.” Tommy laughs, slapping him on the back before grinning at her.

“It’s real nice to meet you. You know, Joel here had your poster on his bedroom wall–” The nudge he gives his brother this time is a little less friendly, causing Tommy to grumble and rub his arm. She, however, takes it in stride, laughing lightly as she shifts in her boots.

“I’m flattered, really. It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you, Tommy.” Tommy’s eyes go wide.

“I can’t believe you just said my name. This is crazy–”

“Tommy.” Joel cuts his brother off with a hard look before he embarrasses himself anymore. He clears his throat, seeming to get a hold of himself as Joel continues.

“She had been traveling with a group, looking for this place. She’s the only one left though. Was hoping to join the town.” Tommy grins again, glancing between her and Joel.

“Well, I’m sure we can make that happen. I think Joel would kill me if I didn’t let–” He squeezes Tommy’s shoulder hard, willing him to shut his mouth. 

“That little house next to ours is still empty. Why don’t we set her up there?” Tommy’s smile at his brother’s words is all too smug for Joel’s taste, but he still nods, turning his attention back to her.

“If that’s alright with you, ma’am. I’ll let the folks know to turn the gas and electric back on for that place.” She smiles brightly at that.

“That would be amazing. Thank you so much. I owe you all big time.” Tommy snorts.

“I’m pretty sure you can pay Joel back with an autograph, he’d probably cre—“ Joel’s heard enough, resorting to kicking Tommy in the ankle to shut him up. Ellie huffs from where she’s watching their pathetic display.

“Alright, well if you two freaks are done making fools of yourselves, I’ll show her over to that house.” 

…

When Joel gets home, the first thing he does is look at that DVD. He had found it a week or two ago on a patrol shift, left in a hollowed-out RV. Ellie was less than impressed and Maria refused to show it at movie night because it’s so gory, but he held onto it anyways. He can still remember going to see it in the theater with Tommy, both of them too young to get in if not for their friend working the ticket booth. He flips the case over in his hands, and sure enough, there she is on the back cover, looking impossibly beautiful while firing a machine gun. What’s not to like, right?

He’s broken out of his revelry by the sound of the front door opening, and soon enough, Ellie is stomping up the stairs to come looking for him. When she finds him in his bedroom, sitting on the end of his bed, she glances at the DVD he’s holding, a grin spreading over her face.

“Just like you remember, huh, old man?” He grumbles, getting up to set the movie back on the bookshelf before turning back to Ellie.

“She settling in alright?” She hums, nodding lightly.

“Yep, made a beeline for a shower. Told me to thank you. I told her you’d be coming around for your autograph later.” His face crumples in indignation while Ellie lets out a cackle.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But in all seriousness, I think she’s interested– in you– which pains me to even say, but, I figure you deserve to know that the woman of your pubescent dreams was asking questions about you.” Joel’s jaw goes slack, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“She– she was asking about me?” Ellie nods around a smirk.

“Mmhmm. And I told her you’re a grumpy old bum who doesn’t take kindly to strangers.” He huffs, but she laughs again.

“Sorry, kidding again. I didn’t tell her much. Just that you’ll be around. But if I were you, I’d “be around” sooner rather than later, before the rest of Jackson gets a piece of her. Snatch her up before there’s sweeter bait to bite down on, you know?” He thinks briefly that he needs to see just what sort of magazines this kid is reading, because he can’t quite believe what’s coming out of her mouth. He grumbles, shaking his head at her antics.

“There ain’t gonna be any snatching going on. Just mind your–” She huffs, already walking out of his room.

“Mind my business, yeah, yeah, I know. But think about what I said, old man. Better cast your line quick for this one. My guess is you weren’t the only one who had her poster in your bedroom back before.” 

He’s not letting that kid read magazines anymore.

…

When he steps out on his porch later in the afternoon, fully intent on what Ellie has affectionately started calling his “adult nap time,” he’s interrupted by someone calling his name. He catches sight of her sitting on the porch of the little house next door, waving and smiling at him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Hey, neighbor.” He tentatively waves back, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy her as she motions for him to join her. He sighs, rather stiffly walking over to her porch and joining her on the bench seat, keeping a very respectable distance between them. Clickers, raiders, general imminent danger, he can handle. Pretty lady? That’s touchy. Pretty lady who he imagined marrying as a teenager? Just put him out of his misery already. He knows it’s ridiculous, that none of that matters now. She’s just as worn and weathered as the rest of them by this crumbled world. But that smile she keeps flashing him might just bring him to his knees.

“I wanted to thank you– for bringing me along. I was, uh, starting to lose hope back there a little bit.” He nods, glancing at her.

“No need for thanks. Just the right thing to do in this world. I’m sorry– about your group. I don’t know what happened, but that couldn’t have been easy being out there on your own.” She shrugs, waving off his sentiment.

“It was barely a group to begin with. Just some folks who happened to get out of the San Francisco QZ together.” His brain is quickly trying to knit together the movie star he remembers from the past and this woman who sits before him now, an obvious edge to her.

“Were you in California? Back when everything…” She nods, her face set in a grim look.

“LA, where else? Now that was a nightmare. I bet the only worse place to be when everything went down was New York. Bodies everywhere. Don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” She lets out a humorless laugh before glancing at him.

“That movie you like so much? I remember when I got the role, I had no idea how I was gonna pull it off. Grizzled heroine with a dark past and a penchant for violence. I was nothing like her. But now, I feel a whole lot more like her and a whole lot less like me.” She sighs, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I dumped that on you.” Joel is quick to shake his head, leaning over his thighs to catch her gaze.

“No, no. I get it– in my own way, I guess. The world changed and– we had to change with it.” That coaxes a crooked smile out of her as she looks at him. A simple silence descends between them as they share quiet smiles. She finally giggles, scrunching her nose at him.

“That girl– Ellie? I think she said something about you wanting an autograph?” Joel can feel the hot blush creeping up his neck as his face goes slack. She just splits out in a laugh, tipping her head back in delight.

“I’m sorry, I’m kidding. But, you know, what I went by, what people still call me, that isn’t my real name.” Joel’s eyebrows quirk up and she sighs, shaking her head.

“Just a stage name. I don’t really mind people calling me that, but can I tell you my real name?” He can feel the smile tugging at his mouth as he nods. Before he knows what she’s doing, she’s taking his hand into her lap, slowly tracing out her name with her finger across his palm. An autograph, of sorts. He’s pretty sure his brain short-circuits, just barely stringing together her name as she finishes. He murmurs it lowly and she offers him her brightest smile yet, still holding his hand lightly in her own.

“And you’re Joel, right?” He’s only a little embarrassed by how quickly he nods.

“Mmhmm. Miller– Joel Miller, yep.” She lets out a breathy laugh, now clasping his hand in a firm shake.

“It’s nice to really meet you, Joel Miller.” 

[tangledinink]

Right. So. To recap... Donnie and Leo live as the Gemini with Big Mama. Raphael lives as Oblation amongst the Foot Clan. Michelangelo was raised by Draxum... So Splinter didn't keep any kids in the divorce? :(

( incorrect! this man is a dad whether he likes it or not-- and it doesn't even have to be his kid. )

enter -> hamato yoshi, former champion, current hermit.

after yoshi was mutated, his physical appearance altered so drastically that he could never dream of returning to his previous life on the surface, he was understandably devastated. even worse, into the world came a gaggle of little turtle children bearing his DNA...! only to be immediately torn from his grasp, lost and presumably killed in the lab explosion. yoshi isolated himself in the sewers after this, not only because he had no desire to seek out the company of others... but because he had no where else to go.

he lived as a recluse and hermit for several years in the sewers until, through some ungodly twist of fate and he presumes some amount of child negligence, he investigated an odd noise in the tunnels only to find a small, sobbing girl in his sewers. he had kept himself from the prying eyes of others for this long, and he considered leaving her and trusting that someone would find her eventually, but...

enter -> april o'neil, tamer of grouchy rats

she was a child. he couldn't just leave her, could he? banking on the fact that she couldn't be more than five or six, and therefore any tales she recounted of a rat man in the sewers would hopefully be dismissed as a 'wild imagination,' he revealed himself to her, calmed her down, and helped her out of the sewers so she could find her parents again. april was equal parts thrilled and fascinated by her rescuer-- this was easily the most interesting person she had ever met in her life. and she lived in new york city!

and after that, well...

yoshi just couldn't quite seem to get rid of her? she just kept showing back up, no matter how many times he brought her back home. he did everything he could to discourage her, refusing to entertain her questions or even give his name, (that's okay, she picked out her own name for him-- splinter.) but this did little to dissuade april o'neil. she's grown up frequently visiting the rat down in the sewers, despite his protests. he's still the most interesting person she knows-- and besides, she can't leave that pitiful old rat alone at this point! he loves her and she knows it, he just won't admit it. and she knows he's still got fascinating secrets for her to tease out of him. there's definitely more to his story... and she'll uncover it eventually. after all... she's april o'neil!

[queenie-official]

‘Grey sweatpants’ Modern!Anakin

main masterlist

pairing: Modern!Anakin x reader

a/n: saw this clip and knew i needed to write for modern Ani about it🤭 a bit of childhood friends to lovers for you 💋

growing up with Anakin gave you a lot of opportunities then most people got with there crushes. for instance where most had to wait till they where comfortable in order to be seen a certain way by their partners and vice versa, you had the privilege of maybe being overally comfortable with him.

i mean it didn’t mean anything, you were childhood friends after all- except it did mean everything. at least to you anyway.

you’re the one with the crush on him, Anakin was completely oblivious to this fact. you were sure if he had even an inkling that you liked him he would change how he acted with you, not big things but the small things that were more important to you. like the nicknames he used, and the way you’d cuddle when you were having a bad day- obviously to others that looked like something more but this was a completely normal thing for you and Ani.

So was dressing in whatever was most comfortable. For Anakin that just so happened to be shirtless with a pair of grey sweats…

god, you would think you’d be used to it by now. this wasn’t even close to the first time he’d worn this and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last. or maybe it would if you couldn’t control yourself, i mean you were practically drooling over him.

As per usual Anakin was completely unaware, focused on a personal project he refused to tell you about. you sat on his bed watching him contently, eyes tracing over the way his back muscles moved with each shift of his arm. counting the freckles and resisting the urge to walk behind him and kiss each one.

letting out a longing sigh at that thought which unfortunately drew Anakin’s attention to you, turning to face you with a raised brow. “what was that for?” he asks while looking over your face trying his best to read what was wrong, which usually came pretty easy to him.

“what was what for?” you ask feigning ignorance as you shift so that you’re now laying on your stomach, playing with the edge of his blanket as you speak.

your question makes him role his eyes, standing up so that he could walk over to you. big mistake on his end. your eyes immediately fell down to his waistline, trailing over his happy trail that led straight down into his sweats.

your imagination running wild as you looked him over, feeling your throat run dry before you forced yourself to look back up at him.

Meeting his eyes with a blush hoping he hadn’t noticed you checking him out. The greyish blue you normally saw was swallowed by his dilated pupils… oh he definitely saw you. your whole body flushed maybe this was a sign that him finding out you liked him wouldn’t be the end of the world.

he places his hands on the footboard leaning over it slightly. the muscles in his arm flexing as he grips it, looming over you from where you laid. feeling your heart beat race from his simple actions.

“what’s going on with you lately?” he asks but the question seems empty, like he already knows the answer but just wants to hear you say it.

you feel frozen in place, internally debating wether to just tell him or come up with a excuse.

have you been acting differently? you thought for sure you where doing a good job at hiding your feelings- then again Anakin always was good at reading you, years of friendship only aiding his abilities.

“Nothing, im fine…” you answer, moving so that you were sitting up. feeling like you were on more common ground with him no longer towering over you as much.

of course he didn’t believe that, he knew you. he licks his lips as he stares down into your eyes.

usually you’d at the very least still have a basic idea as to what he was thinking but the look he was giving you wasn’t one he’d ever used before. it gave you chills, made your thighs squeeze together subconsciously. oh… made your.. that’s what that look was.

“it’s seriously nothing Ani” you try again, not wanting to admit your thoughts. mostly out of embarrassment now than out of fear of rejection.

Anakin scoffs looking off to the side, his brows now furrowed slightly in thought. you could see when something clicked in his mind.

what, you weren’t sure but as he stood up straight and walked over to his bedroom door to close it you had a feeling you where about to find out.

he locked it before turning back towards you, arms crossed against his bare chest. abs on full display, his sweats hanging deliciously on his waists.

you where doing it again, staring. snapping out of it, you force yourself to look back up once more. you startle slightly seeing him staring at you with a devilish smirk on his face.

“fine, i guess i’ll just have to pull those thoughts out of you myself” his voices is a few octaves lower then his usual deep gravely tone, making your stomach twirl…

okay 🙈i hope you guys like this- you can just use your imagination for how the rest of this goes ✨ Anyway i have so many drafts atm that i need to finish so can’t wait to share that with you guys. Love you all Xx<3

[jeonscatalyst]

Someone just told me that if a joker says things like…

“Jikook are in their own world”

“Jungkook pays attention to Jimin”

“Jungkook does whatever Jimin wants”

“Jungkook gives Jimin princess treatment”

“Jungkook doesn’t know what to do with himself when Jimin is not around”

“There is no platonic explanation for Jungkook having Jimin’s name on his chest”

….A taekooker is found kicking, screaming and popping veins somewhere. Their insecurities have gotten so loud that jokers cannot even make throw away statements or harmful jokes about Jikook anymore because what do you mean you are having a whole mental breakdown on your blogs because jokers say “jungkook treats jimin like a princess”? Whose fault is it that Jungkook gets back from a trip and cooks for Jimin? Whose fault is it that Jimin that when Jimin tells Jungkook he wants to do a travel show Jungkook accepts? Whose fault is it that Jungkook was walking around in a towel with a big “Jimin” written accross his chest? Whose fault is it that everyone noticed how different things were when Jimin was around Jk in AYS and when he wasn’t? You don’t see jokers going crazy when the cult says that Jk was snoring in Tae’s bed at 3am or when they claim that the Dream premiere (where Jk went back to his own house after and started a Live at 4am) was a taekook soft launch! 💀

Taekookers can say the most unhinged things like, Tae gave his wooga squad ring to Jk to wear on his pinky on his way to debut, or they can make up things in their heads and believe like claiming that Jk went straight to Tae after he got back from a trip (even though now we know for a fact that, that is true for Jikook) but jokers cannot even say cute and harmless things about jikook without the cult going screaminf their heads off? Lol.

Even now, they cannot handle everything AYS has shown them so they are lashing out and saying nasty things about Jimin and even Jk, while also claiming that Tae, Jimin and Jungkook lied about Tae inviting himself and that the staff asked him to join the show to make it more interesting or that Jimin begged him to join the show😂😂😂😂. These are things they do yet we are the jokers? How can Taehyung open his own mouth to tell you that he found out about a trip 2 days before it started from a groupchat and then said he wanted to join yet you sit on your blogs openly claiming otherwise? I mean what kind of madness is this?

Blatantly ignoring everything he said and making up your own reality just because you cannot deal with the truth is WILD!

This is why the cult will never be satisfied with anything because reality is never enough for them. Reality doesn’t validate their beliefs and that is why they change it every single time. They have to turn their own faves into liars to be able to sleep at night. Imagine going on everyday about how Taehyung is honest, and has integrity and doesn’t like to deceive people yet you are the first one to call him the biggest liar when his words don’t match your delulu. Taehyung says he invited himself to a show and you say he was casted by producers to make the show more interesting? How was him being ok his phone almost the entire time adding to make the show more interesting?

Just a friendly reminder to people who have succeeded in gaslighting themselves to believing that the boys live their entire lives as liars and actors… Your narratives and conspiracy theories do not change reality. They might work in your heads to help you feel better about a non existent romance but in the real world, the truth will always be the truth and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. Taekook fucking each other 10 ways from Sunday might exist in your minds but that doesn’t mean it exists in reality and if the only way you can make your ship make any lick of sense is by constantly branding them liars, actors and pretenders, then that is when you should know that you are chasing the wind.