#maybe a longer one where we see him come for you

[th3secr3th1story]

Hello!!! I was wondering if you could write geto and gojo (you write them soooo well!!) getting a call from reader and she’s is walking home alone and feeing unsafe/ got away from a scetchy situation? When reader calls they immediately come pick them and then ends with some fluff/comfort? Maybe college au? It’s really specific but it’s a but self indulgent right now after the week I had (not a good one haha)! Anyways it’s ok if you don’t write it but I’m a sucker for fluffy comfort! Love your writing!!! You will def see more requests from me in the future <333

gojo - getting a call from scared/unsafe reader

it has been...SO long. i dont even know if youre still here, sorry :( but ive finally logged back onto this account and opened up my inbox to see some asks!! woohoo (hopefully staying active for longer now)! also, i hope youre ok, this req seems a lil personal :( stay safe out there guys

summary: you're on the way home from a party when you notice a man behind you following you home. instinctively, you call your boyfriend to come pick you up. college au, hurt/comfort, angst turned fluff, detailed descriptions of being followed so just beware

words: 1602

is he seriously still behind me? you worriedly think to yourself as you speed up your pace down the street. it was the end of a rough finals week, with exams ferociously following each other back to back. your friends invited you out for a few drinks that friday night, marking the end of the stressful exam season. not being one for parties, you were a little cautious to go out, unsure if you'd even have fun.

"why don't you just stay home with me?" gojo pestered you earlier that evening, pulling on your arm pleadingly.

"we can order out, put on a nice movie, and stay in bed," he whined with those big pleading eyes. he peppered kisses all over your face, trying to reel you in with his comforting presence. you let out a pleased sigh, almost giving in until you remembered the reason you weren't staying home in the first place.

"excuse you, satoru, but you couldn't do any of that. you still have that damn final paper to finish. did you already forget how hard you had to beg your professor for an extension?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow at his pleading look.

"i can multitask," he replied with a wide shit-eating grin.

"biggest lie you've ever told me," you retort, giggling out loud as he continued to kiss all over your face.

"just stay home, please," he pressed one final time, knowing deep down it would be better for you to get out of the house. he'd have you to himself later, after all.

oh, how you wish you had caved in.

the sound of feet shuffling behind you snaps you back to the present, stomach jolting as you swear they begin to get closer. you can almost imagine satoru next to you right now. he'd be glaring daggers into the mysterious man behind you, protectively pulling you into his side as he shielded you from any potential harm. in fact, you doubt any creep would be willing to get within fifty feet of you with gojo by your side.

where could you even go? the shitty bar your friends dragged you to was far away from campus, prompting a 30 minute walk on the way there. it was fine getting to the bar, considering the daylight, but you were seriously regretting not pairing up with a friend on the way home. gojo even made you promise to get back to campus with a friend, knowing that the area around the bar was shady. god, he was going to be so mad at you when you got home. if i even get home, your brain thinks before you can stop yourself, sending another jolt straight to your stomach.

hands shaking, your fingers fumble for gojo's contact, which is already starred in the emergency section of your phone. you tap his name as quick as you can, subtly walking a little faster as you wait for him to pick up.

he answers before the first ring finishes; his cheerful voice almost makes you think everything is okay again.

"hi, baby! i am so glad you called, this is the most wonderful distraction from my paper. what's up? did you have fun tonight? you haven't fallen in love with anyone there, right? i'll kill them all. i swear to god, if this atrocious paper is the reason the love of my life breaks up with-"

your words silence him like a knife.

"satoru, please come get me," you murmur into the phone, keeping an eye on the man behind you, who was inching closer and closer since you had left the bar.

he calls out your name sharply, all excitement from earlier gone. you swear you can already hear him gather his belongings.

"are you hurt? are you alone right now? why didn't you walk with a friend? what happened?" his questions fire off rapidly, concern seeping through the phone.

"no, i'm not hurt. yes, i am alone. all my friends who went with me live on the other side of campus so it didn't make sense for me to walk with anyone. sorry. i decided to just walk home alone but ever since i left the bar there's been this guy following me," you blurt out as quiet as you can. after a moment, you add, "i'm scared, satoru."

the other end of the phone stays silent for a few moments, and for just an instant, you worry that he wasn't really coming to get you at all. that he decided you weren't worth it. that he was about to hang up. of course, all of those fears were dispelled the second you hear his car engine roar to life.

"i'm coming to get you. i have your location, so just focus on staying with me for now, okay? i'll be there soon, baby. just stay with me. you'll be okay," he huffs out, unsure of whether he was trying to comfort you or himself.

"i don't know what to do, satoru," you weakly mumble out. "there's no public spots near here, just brick buildings and random empty lots."

"just keep walking, baby. you're doing everything right; i'll be there soon, i promise," he reassures you despite his strained voice.

over the next few minutes, gojo continues to repeat these small phrases back to you, nearly reaching prayers. he doesn't spare you from any you're doing great, just stay with me, or everything will be fine, chanting these gentle commands right into your ear.

you are nearly certain now that the man behind you is closing the gap between the two of you, and your mind starts to race. what if you didn't make it home tonight? what if just a few hours ago was the last time you'd ever see your wonderful boyfriend's face?

just as you feel the unknown man step up right behind you, gojo comes driving down the street, slowing down just a little as he honks his horn over and over again as obnoxiously as he can. both you and the man behind you jump, head spinning to see where the noise is coming from. gojo continues beating down on the poor car horn, staring the man straight in the face with a look so murderous you had never seen before. the man stiffens up, turns around, mutters "fuck this," and books it back down the way you came.

despite the looming threat now gone, your body still trembles with fear as adrenaline courses through your veins. that was close, too close.

you don't notice gojo park his car. you don't notice his large strides as he rushes over to your shell-shocked figure. you almost forget he's even there until a tall body slams into you, gripping you with all his might.

air fills your lungs the moment gojo pulls you into his arms. you barely feel his hands running up and down over your body to make sure you weren't hurt. you simply grip onto his shirt and hold him as close to you as possible. as the scent of your lovely boyfriend fills your senses, you finally take your first deep breath after nearly an hour of pure fear.

"i got you, baby. everything's okay," he whispers into your hair, relief flowing through his body. to be honest, gojo didn't know what he was about to stumble upon when he arrived at the scene. on his way over, his mind was thinking up every scenario possible. the assailant on top of you, you on top of him, or even your body-

no. there's no need to think about that possibility, gojo reminds himself. especially when you're standing right in front of him, perfectly safe.

"i don't know, satoru. i was so scared. he kept getting closer and closer, and i just kept wondering what would happen the moment he reached me. i was thinking of breaking into a sprint, but of course i'm in these stupid fucking heels and i obviously wouldn't have had time to take them off and run. and god, i just kept thinking about you. what if i-"

gojo only holds you tighter. you bury your head in his shoulder, muffling your soft cries as your tears stain through his shirt.

"you're okay, sweets. i'm here now, and you're perfectly safe. we'll head home now, yeah? we can order some food and watch a movie, just like i said earlier. how does that sound?"

unwilling to show your tearful face, you keep your head buried in his shoulder. instead, you mumble out, "did you finish your paper?"

you can feel gojo smile, despite the fact that his shaky hands are still wandering all over your body.

"obviously not! i can't possibly focus without you next to me. what do you say we get out of here and head home?"

you feel a laugh bubble up in your chest.

"yeah, sounds good."

before you can open the car door, gojo grabs your hand and once again pulls you into him. his joking facade chips away as you hear that same strain in his voice. he lets out a long sigh into your hair before speaking up.

"i'm so glad you're okay, baby. i was really worried there for a second," he whispers, voice cracking near the end.

"i was okay because of you, 'toru. thank you for picking up."

"always."

he presses a long kiss to your forehead and then pokes at your side, laughing at your surprised yelp.

"let's go home!" he calls out, intertwining his fingers with yours and pulling you towards his car.

you grin.

[seellove]

Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 5 // (8.5k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 5 | << Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

2 Years 8 Months

Tuna Kuna,

I feel like I’m finally starting to get settled in my new place. It’s interesting exploring downtown after being gone all these years. A lot of the old rundown warehouses are high end condos now and a lot more restaurants and bars have opened up.

I’m loving my place so far. It’s just a block from the riverfront park and trails. Great view of the mountains too. My parents thought I was crazy at first but you know how it is when someone has lived in the same area forever, they truly believe it’s armed and dangerous haha. 

There are a lot more young people around here too it seems. Since the university has grown in size, so has the young professional population. If I still live here when you get out, you’ll have to come sit on the balcony with me. It’s fun watching the trains go by, dogs running around in the park, and people watching to your hearts content. Maybe you can even grill us up some food, I’ve been cooking for myself for almost three years at this point, it’s your turn to come carry the load :P.

It’s about time Gojo started seeing his daughter! I understand not wanting her to come when she was a tiny baby, but the girl deserves to know and meet her dad. Just because he’s in jail doesn’t make him a horrible person. 

This might be random, but I met your cousin and his wife. She works at the university hospital with me and long story short, found out her husband is Choso! Small world…well more like small town problems ha! 

Speaking of, I’m loving the job so far. Being a physician's assistant in a rural area is definitely hard work, but it’s also rewarding considering there is such a shortage here. 

My parents also say hello. I ended up telling them about us. Well, not everything…but about how we got to know each other while I was here house sitting and now we write to each other and talk on the phone every now and then. They were surprisingly cool about it all. 

What have I eaten good this month? I’ve eaten my weight in barbecue since coming back home, drank my weight in sweet tea, and the cantaloupes are in season so I seem to perpetually have one cut up in the fridge. I feel bad talking about food to you but if it gives you good daydreams and thoughts, I’ll do it for you. 

Well, I guess that’s it for now, I’ll look forward to hearing from you soon!

Your dearest girl of the tomatoes,

PS how long are we going to keep this up? Been going on almost three years of this nickname, I promise I like other fruits and vegetables ha ha. 

Sukuna snickers, shaking his head as he reads the last line. He knows you don’t even like tomatoes that much, but it’s a cute nickname he doesn’t think he’ll ever let go anytime soon. 

“Giggling over there huh?” Gojo drawls, laying on his side on his metal frame of a bed, biting his cuticles, white hair pushed out of his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna hisses, reading through the letter for a second time. He tries to read them multiple times with the hope that each time he’ll get something different out of it. 

He loves reading about food. Prison food isn’t entirely awful, but it’s definitely not as good as shit on the outside. 

“So what’s new in your girl's life?” Gojo asks, getting up and stretching before approaching Sukuna in his bed.

“She moved back to our hometown. Got a job at the university hospital,” Sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off of the paper in his hand, eyes tracing the handwriting he’s become familiar with. It’s comforting in a way, noticing the unique way you draw certain letters, your little quirks evident in such a simple way. 

The juxtaposition of his heart is always surprising to him. While it feels so full continuing to hear from you, it also feels incredibly empty knowing he’s stuck in here unable to be with you during the various seasons of life. He knows he’ll be left behind when it comes to the outside world, but he hopes you’ll be patient with him when he gets out someday and show him the ropes of the modern world.

“It’s time cellmate,” Gojo stares down at him, mouth curling into a small smirk. 

Sukuna flicks his eyes up at him, his own lips returning a grin. 

“Alright, get ready to lose again,” he sits up, following Gojo to the steel table and chairs against the wall. 

Both men shed their shirts revealing their muscular forms. Since being in jail, Sukuna had put on more weight in the form of pure muscle. There wasn’t much else to do in here. 

Taking their places on opposite sides, Gojo claspes Sukuna’s hand in his as they get into an arm wrestling position. 

“Elbows stay on the table,” Gojo mutters, blue eyes piercing Sukuna’s crimson gaze as they size each other up.

“One.”

“Two”

“Three!”

They both start flexing, testing the other’s strength, trying to find a weak point. Going back and forth, their fingers dig into each other’s hands, elbows pressing down into the cold metal. 

“Looking nervous over there,” Sukuna chuckles, tongue sticking out in concentration. 

“I’d never be nervous over your dumb ass,” Gojo scoffs, doubling down to counter Sukuna’s advances. 

Eventually Sukuna slams Gojo’s hand down, claiming victory.  

“Weak ass, I’m still the strongest,” Sukuna jumps up, punching the air. His pink hair is a mess, a few strands sticking to his forehead from breaking a sweat. 

Gojo just laughs in response, leaning back in the chair, watching Sukuna take his victory lap. 

Sukuna remembers the letter on his bed, retrieving it to store on the shared shelf against the wall with the other letters. He saves every one, filing it by date with the others. He reads them almost every day, like a book he never gets tired of and knows by heart. 

The letters are his most valuable possession by far. They keep him semi sane and bring him more comfort than anything else ever could. 

A clang at the cell door startles him, he’d been so focused on carefully putting the new letter away he hadn’t noticed the guard unlocking the door.

“Sukuna, get over here,” the guard barks.

Sukuna sighs out loud, wondering what they could want. It wasn’t his allotted computer time for school, and he wasn’t expecting visitors.

He turns around, the practiced routine of getting cuffed like muscle memory at this point. 

“You’re getting transferred, I’m taking you to processing.”

“Holy shit what?” Sukuna says in surprise. This was certainly a twist. 

“Prison system is too crowded, we need to move folks around to make space,” the guard says shortly, tugging him out into the hallway.

Sukuna’s eyes lock onto his shelf of letters.

“My things, can I take them? I need those letters-“ 

“No, everything’s gonna be trashed. Can’t take shit out of here,” the gruff response has him reeling.

Panic shoots through him, causing him to lunge back without thinking.

“Inmate what the fuck you think you’re doing,” the guard yanks him back, throwing him to the ground, bare stomach pressed into the cold tile floor. 

“Those are special to me, please, I’ll do anything…” he trails off, feeling tears start to well up. He can’t lose the only evidence of your connection he has. Never did he expect a bunch of paper would hold so much meaning to him. He didn’t even know your new address, and you wouldn’t know his either. 

Panic begins to set in, throat feeling tighter and tighter as chills trickle down his spine. 

“Nothing I can do about it,” the guard drags him back up, not bothering to look at him as he shoves Sukuna forward.  

For the third time, he feels like he’s losing you all over again. 

***

Normally you’d expect to hear something from Sukuna after about a month, but eight weeks later you were still letter-less. 

He hadn’t called either, which while calls from him were rare, one normally seemed to roll in once a month or so.

Today was not that day though, so you finished drinking your morning coffee on the balcony of your apartment, soaking in the summer rays and feeling the humidity starting to burn out of the early morning air.

Your phone buzzed on the table next to you, seeing it was your group chat blowing up. Some of you were planning to meet up downtown to hang out in the park, so you were just going to walk from your place.

In typical small town fashion, everyone was more connected than you’d realized. Yuki, who was married to Choso, Sukuna’s cousin, was also childhood friends with Utahime, Gojo’s baby mama / girlfriend. Your old friend, Shoko, was also off this weekend so she would be joining you as well.  

Yuki was saying that Choso was likely also coming with his younger brother Yuji, so you were mentally preparing to interact with a crowd of people in a little while. You’d met Choso in the grocery when you and Sukuna had gone together, but he’d dipped from the drug business shortly after Sukuna’s arrest. He’d initially done it for some side money, so not as involved as Sukuna.

You didn’t mind the boys coming, you enjoyed hearing the stories of young Sukuna and it felt good to be connected to at least some of his family during this time. Even though you had no relationship with his parents, the cousins were incredibly kind and welcomed you with open arms.

Little Yuji was just a ray of sunshine while Choso was more quiet and reserved. Sukuna existed somewhere in between, his goofy but intense personality a happy medium.

You sit in silence, distracted by a dog chasing a frisbee across the park, catching it after a graceful jump and trotting back to its owner. The owner rubs the dog's sides and praises it before tossing the disc across the grass again. 

Cute, you think to yourself, impressed with the way the dog always drops the toy at the man’s feet. After a few more rounds, you retreat back inside, cleaning up the counter before hopping in the shower. 

The hot water washes over you, relishing in the sting it brings. Your mind wanders to Sukuna again, racing as it turns over every stone, unearthing unfavorable scenarios as to why he isn’t responding.

Did he get hurt?

Did he get tired of doing this with you?

Was there someone else this whole time?

The possibilities just get more and more ridiculous as you let the water pour down your face. 

He seems so invested in this. Literally three years have passed at this point, why would he still be talking to you all this time if there were others? He didn’t seem like that type considering he was head over heels for you.

He was a drug dealer though, surely that type had girls fawning all over them. 

Especially Sukuna. He’s so good looking and just exudes an air of confidence that would draw in women like a moth to light. 

You shake your head, attempting to rid your mind of the intrusive thoughts. He’s given you no reason to think this way, why was your brain self sabotaging you at this point? 

Try to give yourself some grace, you remember that line one of your friends had dropped on you on a particularly tough night. 

Nothing about any of this is normal, you’re waiting for a man who would go to the ends of the earth for you. Prematurely ripped away from you when you both were wide eyed and hopeful about the world you were about to mold.

Now that scene you’d begun to paint looks nothing like it initially was intended, but the same two subjects were still within the frame, just on opposite ends of the parchment.

Holding onto that same hope that started it all. 

You haven’t cried in a while, but right now a moment of weakness seems to have overpowered you. There’s no point in fighting it, clearly your body is trying to release some of the tension that inevitably builds up over time as this isn’t your first rodeo breaking down in the shower.

What if you both get out and you are different people? People who no longer are interested in the other. All this time wasted like the water swirling down your drain. 

You’re putting so much faith in promises that will have been made ten years ago when it’s all said and done. The world can look entirely different by then.

But the underlying makeup should remain the same. The sun will still rise and set, the ground below your feet will still be solid, down to the atomic level everything will be made up of these little balls of protons, neutrons, and electrons, and gravity will still anchor you to the earth. 

Surely if the foundation of the earth is constant, you could relearn anything because you’d have a firm jumping point.

Your bond can hopefully do the same. It’s all you can have faith in at this point; trusting in the plans and pacts you and Sukuna forged after becoming one together. 

That alone brings you hope, and for now, it’s enough. 

***

“There she is!” you hear Yuji call out from behind you. The sounds of thumping footsteps only confirms his arrival as he appears at your side, diving onto the outdoor blanket you are sitting on.

“What’s up buddy?” you laugh as he rolls into a chaotic crash landing at your feet. The boy is only about 8 years old and has the accompanying energy to match. 

“School is almost over for summer, I can't wait!” he announces, rolling onto his back to look at you upside down.

“Yuji don’t dive onto people!” Choso’s delayed command sounds as he appears in your peripheral with Yuki in tow.

“Oh my gosh can you believe how lame that potluck was at work yesterday?” she giggles as she joins you on the blanket.

“This is why potlucks are so stupid. Workplace is too cheap to just get us food, we still need to do the work ourselves,” you roll your eyes, remembering how there were essentially seven separate packages of grocery store cookies and hardly any real food.

A dessert spread more than a team lunch. 

“Did you talk to Uncle Kuna?” Yuji rolls onto his stomach, pink hair wild and unruly after thrashing about on the ground. 

The breath catches in your throat as you are reminded of the situation. 

“I haven’t sweetie,” you respond, trying to hide the rawness in your voice.

“Why not?”

You feel your face sag slightly, unsure of what to say.

“I’m not sure, maybe he’s just busy,” you shrug.

“He might not want to talk to you!”

“Yuji!!” Choso snaps, grabbing him by the arm to pull him up. “That’s not nice to say to people. Apologize.”

He gives you an apologetic look while Yuji mutters a sorry before dashing off to the playground adjacent to your group.

You just chuckle, “it’s really alright, he doesn’t understand.”

“Yeah well still, it’s not okay,” Yuki scoffs, shaking her head as he bounds away. “Can’t believe that brat is technically my brother in law. No filter on him.”

All three of you laugh, it was pretty wild having a brother in law almost twenty years younger than you. 

“So you really haven’t heard from him?” Choso probes, laying out their own blanket next to you.

“Yeah, it’s been almost two months at this point. I don’t want to worry, but I’m worrying,” you give an awkward giggle.

“I mean yeah that’s not like him,” Yuki agrees, pulling the cooler over. “Beer?” she opens the lid.

“Sure,” you reach in and grab one, cracking open the can and letting the cold liquid trickle down your throat. 

“I hope he’s okay. Hopefully didn’t get in a fight and fuck himself up or something…or fuck up someone else and get in trouble,” Choso adds, taking a long sip of his drink. 

“Hey sorry I’m late!” Utahime appears, dropping the rowdy snow haired toddler in her arms into your lap while she unfolds her chair. 

“Nooooo!” the little girl squirms, attempting to launch herself from your arms while you hold her hostage. 

“Hey. Enough,” her mother says sternly as you release her onto the blanket in front of you. Bold blue eyes just stare back at everyone before she becomes preoccupied with the toys Utahime drops out of the diaper bag.

“Hey mommy, hanging in there?” Yuki asks an exhausted looking Utahime.

“As best I can, she sighs. Being a single mom is not what I ever wanted. Your daddy really picked a good time to go get locked up!” she says to the toddler with a smirk, but you know there’s at least a little truth to it. 

“We were just talking about how she hasn’t heard from Sukuna in over two months,” Yuki says as she rolls a ball for little Akari to play with. 

“Oh, hmm, Gojo actually got transferred a few weeks ago, I wonder if the same thing happened to Sukuna? It took a little while for me to find out about Gojo, but not this long of course.” 

“I’m calling it, he got in a fight,” Choso says again.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Yuki argues back. “He hasn’t had any issues this entire time.”

“Yeah he’s never said anything about not getting along with the other inmates,” you follow up, repositioning yourself to better face everyone. 

“If he got transferred though, that’s a whole new group of people. You didn’t know him before, but he was a literal demon when he was younger. Always scuffling with people, drunk fights in college, and always getting into it when he was a street dealer. Once he became the top dog, it kinda stopped,” Choso explained to your surprise. This part of him had never really come up until now.

“Wow seriously?” you respond, taken aback at his words.

“Yeah. He never like, seriously hurt someone, and he’s seemed to largely grow out of it, but still. Scary guy when we were younger,” Choso leans back on his hands, looking up at you.

“He just was so charming and goofy when we hung out, I can’t imagine it,” you smile, imagining Sukuna with a black eye or two strutting around like hot shit.

“Oh yeah, he’s a great guy at the end of the day. He’d do anything for the people he cares about,” Yuki adds. “In high school Choso got into some shit and since he couldn’t get out of it on his own, Sukuna took out like three other guys on his own. Scared them so bad they never fucked with him again. Most of his fights were justified in my eyes.”

“Unless it was Gojo,” Utahime laughs. “Those two fought all the fucking time. I don’t even think they knew why once they got older. Some kind of childhood rivalry that carried on and probably still does in jail. Could beat each other up and then the next day be best friends. Even in rival drug rings, there was some weird mutual respect between them. Honestly poetic they ended up cell mates.” 

This is what you loved about this group of friends. Everyone went so far back and had an entertaining history with each other. Plus hearing cringey Sukuna stories gave you teasing ammunition for when he got out. 

“Hun I’m sure he’s okay, he’s not an idiot. He knows he needs to behave to get out. I don’t think he’d intentionally jeopardize his future with you like that,” Utahime pats your shoulder in support, giving you an understanding smile.

“I hope so,” you answer, feeling a little better about everything.

“I’m sure of it. Gojo says he rambles on about you all the time. He’s got your letters all securely stored and sorted. Said he reads them all every day.”

You can’t tell if your heart wants to break or swell in response. It’s so sweet that he’s like that, but also makes you feel very sad for him. It must be so lonely in there, you just want to hug and comfort him.

If only he’d let you visit! Stubborn bastard.

The rest of the afternoon is a blast. Shoko eventually joins too after her shift. You are thankful for this support system you happened to find yourself in. It makes everything just a little easier.

***

3 Years

“Fuck, I’m so glad you picked up!” Sukuna’s voice on the other line makes you drop your phone in surprise. 

Four months. Four fucking months since you heard anything from him. 

“Sukuna!! Where have you been? I was so worried!” you sob into the phone once you get it out from under the kitchen table as it took an unlucky bounce. Thank god it didn’t hang up!

“Oh god, it’s a long story. I got transferred, and it took fucking forever to get processed out and into the new place. No phone time and I couldn’t remember your new address of course. Well then I get in there and immediately get jumped by some other inmates. Guess there is some serious hierarchy in this place and they like to intimate the newbies. 

“Unfortunately for them, I kinda laid them out. You see sweets, I can throw a punch or two.”

“So I heard from your cousin,” you snicker, Choso was right all along.

“Ugh, that dick. I’m not like that anymore. Well, except for now, fuck! Not what I meant… let me finish the story!” you can imagine him shaking his head in annoyance.

“Well they fucked me up too. I don’t look too hot unless you’re into that. So I got put into a solitary area more so for mine and their own protection. So once again, no phone or letter time,” he finishes with an exasperated sigh.

“Oh Sukuna, I'm sorry that happened to you. I’m so glad you’re okay though. I was worried sick!”

“Aw you were worried about me tomato girl?” he says in a playful tone.

“Course I was you idiot! I’m always worried about you. Can you just make sure to come back home in one piece?” you huff at him while sporting a huge smile. You don’t even care, just over the moon that he's okay.

“I’ll try, baby. Anything for you,” his velvety voice serenades your ears. You’d missed it so much, hearing it again has parts of your brain firing up that you swear have been dormant the last few months. 

“Good.” 

It’s all you can say, tears threatening to burst from your eyes from happiness.

“Are you crying?”

“Sh-shut up Sukuna!” you stutter, sniffling into the phone as you feel the screen get damp against your cheek. 

His playful laugh sounds from the other side.

“It’s okay baby. It really is. I promise-“

“I'm just so happy to hear your voice, you have no idea,” you force out, trying to regain your composure. You don’t want to waste these precious minutes crying. 

“Me too sweets. My knees practically buckled when you answered. God I miss you so much. It’s okay now though. There shouldn’t be any more fights or shit. They know I’m not gonna fuck with them as long as they leave me be.” 

“I’m glad.”

“How’s the move and new job been?” he changes the subject.

“It’s been going great actually. Pretty much settled at the new job and my new place feels just like home. I missed the slower pace of life here. And the kind people. I’m right where I need to be. Just waiting on you,” you answer him. 

“I know. A third of the way there. Think you can wait the rest of it out?”

“I do. My friends and family have been a godsend. Your family and Utahime as well. It feels less like I’m going through it alone.”

“Tch, you hanging out with Gojo’s girl is so fitting. She’s a good woman though sticking by him through all this. Honestly he is too. You’ll have to meet him when we get out.”

“I heard you all have quite the history,” you giggle.

“With that bastard? Absolutely. It’s all mutual though. I’m better though, in all ways,” he grumbles.

You both sit in silence, daring the other to speak first. Finally you cave, some of the insecurities from earlier rearing their ugly heads.

“Hey Sukuna?”

“Hmm?”

“What if you get out and we’re completely different people and it’s…not the same?” you tremble as you finish your question.

“Then I’ll just make you fall in love with me all over again,” he answers as if it’s the most obvious and simple response. 

“But what if it’s you who doesn’t want me?”

“Tch, impossible.”

“Sukuna! Be serious!” you whine.

“Sweetheart, I am being serious, it would take an act of god for me to stop loving you. Think about it, we only knew each other for a short time and I fell so hard so fast. I don’t fall in love. Never have, thought I never would. But I did, and I don’t regret it for a second.

“Over the past three years, I’ve only fallen more and more. It might seem weird to you considering I’m in jail, but with how you go out of your way to stay in touch and talk to me, how you stay by my side through the bad…so much bad, it means more than anything to me. I can’t wait to spoil you rotten and try to make it all up to you, to show you how you mean everything to me. I don’t think I could ever compare to the devotion you’ve exhibited over the years, but I’m gonna fuckin’ try.”

You have to sit down as the butterflies explode in your gut. Why you? Why was it you he allowed into his life and decided to love so fiercely? One day you’ll ask, but for now you’ll just have to trust him and believe in him, just like he’s believed in you all these years.

“I’ve gotta go in a minute,” Sukuna says after a pause. “I promise to be more in touch now. Still good to talk on Saturday mornings?”

“Yes, one hundred percent. I was worried I’d need to call a different inmate when I stopped hearing from you.”

He gives an amused huff in response.

“You better not!” he whines, “only allowed to talk to me.”

“You’re the only one I want to talk to anyways you goof,” you laugh. 

“Good. I love you tomato girl. Always.”

“I love you too Sukuna.”

*** 

3 Years 3 Months

Sukuna is surprised he isn’t more animated as Hiromi opens the car door for him. Maybe everything still just doesn’t seem real yet, the shock from the morning yet to wear off after being told he was being let out on parole. After mentally preparing himself to be locked up for ten years, having the rug pulled out from under him in the best possible way had rocked him to his core. 

He recalls how he was immediately processed and escorted to his lawyer who thankfully guided him into the parking lot as he was trapped in a state of disbelief.

Everything is overwhelming. The sounds of traffic and cars on the highway was foreign at this point and the wide open expanses of the rolling hills and farmland felt too exposed compared to being locked away in a low ceiling cell with one source of natural light and only one person to talk to all day. 

As they got closer to town, all the changes that happened while locked away were becoming too much to process. A new president, new buildings appearing all over, gas prices that made his eyes pop out of his head. 

Everything was so different, but he prayed that your love for him had remained unchanged. All these other things he could figure out, but you no longer wanted him, nothing else mattered. 

“Can you take me downtown? Jefferson street along the river,” he blurts out to Hiromi.

“Of course. Is that where she is now?”

“Yeah,” Sukuna replies simply, heart starting to race at the thought of seeing you.

The closer they got, the more he truly believed he’d have to ask his lawyer to pull the car over to puke all over the side of the road. Being forced into a life without you for ten years had been scary, but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer terror that would follow as he prepares to show up unannounced to the woman he needs more than life itself, not knowing if she’d take him back.

“Want me to wait?”  Hiromi jars him from his thoughts, now parked next to an old brick warehouse fixed up into condos.

Is the damn lawyer thinking the same thing? That there’s a very real possibility of the life he’d built in his mind crumbling before his eyes?

“Nah, I got it,” Sukuna shoots Hiromi his trademark smirk before turning around and heading towards the lobby door.

***

It’s a paperwork day so that means working from home. You appreciate these times so you can get some chores done while you’re at it. Usually you can swing one day a week remote and it really has improved your quality of life.

Moving some clothes from the washer to the dryer, you glance up at the time. 

2 PM. 

Just about two more hours and you’ll be done for the day. You start the dryer, leaving the laundry basket next to the machine so you can collect everything and fold them later. 

Trudging back to the office, you sit down and stare out the window. At least it’s Friday, and with only two more charts to complete, you very much intend to drag out the day until the weekend. 

Just as you begin to start the next chart, your doorbell rings.

Weird, it’s not too common to have anyone coming to your door considering you live in a condo that opens to an interior building hallway. 

Sighing in annoyance, you leave the office and cross the living room, cracking the door to peer out into the hallway.

If you weren’t leaning against the brick wall next to you, you probably would have blacked out and fainted as your eyes reveal what is before you.

Messy pink hair. Tired crimson eyes. Tattoos wrapped around his wrists and painting his face and sharp jawline.

“What the fuck!?!” you shriek as you fling the door open the rest of the way, hearing it slam the wall.

You stand, frozen in the doorway, feeling about five different emotions at once as you try to process what stands before you. Your brain would just have to catch up later though because your legs propel you towards him as you launch yourself into his arms, hugging him as tight as you can. Even though he smells like some cheap, sterile shampoo, to you, it’s the best thing your nose has ever inhaled as you press your face into his toned chest. 

It means he’s here. With you. In the flesh. Why? You haven’t a clue.

Sukuna’s arms hover behind you as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real. Trying to make sure this is real. Everything he’d dreamed of right here in front of him. He’d walked up to your place, stomach in knots as he tried to prepare himself to face you for the first time in over three years. Would you actually want to see him? Was there the possibility of you living some double life he didn’t know about?

None of that seems to be the case though, and he finally cages you against him, arms wrapped around your back making you feel more secure and safe than you ever have.

All the emotion begins to well up into the form of tears on his shirt as the somatic response leaves your body. Sobbing against him, you twist your fingers into the back of his shirt as your knees become shaky. Sukuna must notice because he hauls you up off your feet and carries you through the doorway, kicking it shut behind him. Once inside, he leans back against the door, supporting your body while you just unleash all the pain from three years.

“H-h-how? Why? What the fuck is going on?” you choke out, finally starting up into the crimson eyes you only saw in your dreams.

“Why don’t we sit down before you hurt yourself,” Sukuna chuckles and that almost makes your legs feel like jello all over again. His laugh. Hearing it in person. It dislodges another piece of the grief inside and has you crying all over again.

“Sweetheart I hope these are tears of joy or happiness,” he lifts you into his arms once he realizes you can’t walk again. 

“Of course they are you idiot,” you rasp out as he lowers you both to your couch, cradling you against his chest before setting you gently next to him.

“I got released on parole this morning. I’m not a hundred percent in the clear, but I don’t need to go back to jail. I have to check in with a parole officer and have some conditions I need to live by for the rest of the sentence, but other than that, I’m out. I can start living my life again,” his smile only grows as he explains, as if finally believing it himself.

You just stare at him in disbelief, all your prayers answered and the evidence is sitting right in front of you. 

“I just can’t believe it. You’re here. We’re together again. Do you still want me? Like want to do this with me? Life together?” you start rambling out the thoughts as they come into your head.

“Course I do. That’s why I came to you first tomato girl,” he melts your heart with the boyish grin you never forgot about.

“I’m your first stop?”

“Mhmm. And my last.”

You launch yourself into his arms again, straddling his lap and studying his face closer as he wraps you up in his arms again. His thumb reaches up to swipe the tears off your cheeks, red eyes boring into your soul, briefly flicking down to your lips before darting back to meet your gaze.

Leaning in slowly, your noses brush, lips trembling as they brush against his. Your fingers run up through his hair, twisting into the fluffy pink locks, blinking in disbelief that he’s really here.

Soft, chaste kisses are shared between you both as you start to re-acquaint yourselves with each other. You feel incredibly nervous, like it's your first kiss all over again, so you pull back briefly so you can catch your breath since apparently you forgot to breathe through all of that.

His lidded eyes meet yours, grinning at you while you feel your face heat up.

“You okay?” he asks softly, tracing small circles on your back where his hands are resting.

“Yeah, I’m just so nervous for some reason,” you chuckle, noticing a slight blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I am too, but it’s okay. You don’t need to impress me. I’m the happiest man alive right now even though it's clumsy and out of sync. It’s with you, and that alone makes this the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

“You’re gonna make me cry again Sukuna,” you force out. He’s being so sweet, but he’s right. Who the fuck cares, you’ll both figure it out together. You have a whole lifetime ahead of you.

“Well let’s practice again hmm?” Sukuna purrs, hand moving to cup your cheek and pull you in again. This time his tongue swipes along your bottom lip, making you gasp in surprise. You can feel the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as your tongue meets his, moving together in a clumsy dance as you re-familiarize yourself with how he tastes.

You giggle as your teeth accidentally clash with his, but that seems to loosen you up a little and you quickly forget about it, running your tongue along his gums and chasing his around his mouth. Finally finding a decent rhythm, your movements become more and more desperate, Sukuna’s grasp on your chin tightening as he deepens the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip.

Your hands start to wander, slipping under his shirt and grazing your fingertips over his rigid abs and chest, feeling every dip and ridge of his muscles as you feel him up. Sukuna groans into your mouth and you feel something hard twitch beneath you, instinctively grinding yourself against him. The pressure on your clothed clit makes you moan against his lips, feeling his hands moving to grip your hips to push you against his erection again, harder this time.

“Su-Sukunaaa,” you gasp, pulling back to glance down, his thick bulge prominent against his pants, you situated right on top of it. Your heart is pounding so fast you think it might burst, feeling the heat rush to your core.

“Hmm?” Sukuna leans back to look up at you, lidded eyes full of lust, “we can stop if you want baby.”

“Can we just…go somewhere else more comfortable? Not my living room,” you mutter, “I’m just not used to any of this. Feel like I’m going through my first time all over again,” you chuckle.

Sukuna’s lips curl into a grin, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on your lips. 

“Of course, your bedroom?”

You nod and he carries you down the hall, setting you down on your bed as he kicks his shoes off before joining you. Laying down your head on the pillows, you pull him back on top of you to kiss you again, hands trailing down to his waist and pulling his shirt up to his shoulders.

“Shirt off?” Sukuna asks, face hovering just above yours.

“Mhmm.”

Sukuna sits back on his heels, pulling it off and tossing it on the floor.

His body takes your breath away. He’s even more muscular than you remember, tattoos snaking down his torso to disappear into the waistband of his pants, the top of his boxers bunched up on his hips.

You can’t help yourself, sitting up to run your hands all over him, shamelessly feeling him up and tracing each trail of ink down his body, not yet brave enough to follow them lower.

“You’re so jacked holy shit,” you whine as you start to focus on his abs.

“Heh, not much to do in there besides endless pushups tomato girl,” he chuckles, eyes watching your hands, clearly enjoying your exploration.

“I wanna take my clothes off, but you’re just so fucking shredded I feel like I’m gonna look like a joke compared to you,” you smirk at him, fiddling nervously with your shirt.

“Baaaaby you’re the most beautiful woman to me. Look, I want you to be comfortable, but fuck I wanna see you. I promise I’m gonna love it,” Sukuna starts to get more of a feral look in his eye, voice a little whiny in anticipation.

“Okay, just like, don’t look okay?” you laugh, not even sure why that is going to help anything, he’s going to see the end result anyways. Standing up, you peel off your outer layers, leaving your bra and panties on.

Sukuna is behaving, looking away from you like you asked. It warms your heart, and that gives you the final push to just take off everything. It’ll be a nice surprise for him.

“You can look now,” you giggle, laying back down.

Sukuna turns around and disbelief hits his face as soon as he sees you.

“Oh my godddd, so fuckin’ sexy,” his eyes immediately focus on your tits. You reach for his hand and place it on your breast, watching the way his jaw tenses up as his eyes almost bug out of his head.

“Fuckkkkk baby. First woman I’ve seen naked in 3 fuckin’ years. Last one too. God I need to get my pants off or I think I might seriously bust all over myself. Well, still might, but all this pressure is killing me.”

You burst out laughing, sitting up to unbutton his pants while he gropes all over your tits, squeezing the plush flesh between his fingers and brushing his fingertips across your nipples.

Sukuna lets go of you momentarily to shimmy off his pants and boxers, finally freeing his cock from its confines, hanging heavy in front of you. You can’t help but swallow hard, no way you can take all that! Sure you have before, but that was when you weren’t coming off a 3 and a half year dry spell.

“Sukuna fuck! You’re so big!” you reach out to fondle his balls before wrapping your hand around his shaft, making his whole body jerk in response. “I fuckin’ want it though, but god you’re gonna kill me with that thing.”

Sukuna inhales sharply as you stroke his length, teeth digging into his lip as he watches your hand work him.

“Oh my fuckin’ god, shit baby, feels so gooooood,” Sukuna groans, thrusting up into your hand one time before gasping, ripping your hand away.

“Shit I’m gonna cum so fast whatever we do, I’m not gonna even be able to fuck you properly, I apologize in advance,” a deep flush spreads to his neck and chest as you notice his tip leaking with so much pre-cum, his whole cock is glistening and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Just finger me real quick Kuna, please, I need something at this point,” you moan, your cunt starting clench around nothing, desperate for some kind of relief.

He moves quickly, pushing you back down into the pillows as his hand caresses your inner thigh, inching closer to your needy pussy.

“So fucking beautiful, all for me,” he groans, brushing his knuckles against your soaking cunt.

“Baaaaby soooo wet already goddamn,” his husky voice says as he drags some of your slick up to your clit, rubbing tight circles against your bundle of nerves.

“Oh my godddd, Sukuna!” you squeal, everything so sensitive but experiencing pleasure like you haven’t in years. Your vibrators were good, but he was better.

Your eyes slam shut, writhing as he stimulates your clit. It’s pure bliss, finally able to be intimate with the man you love, touching you in the way you’ve craved. Then you feel it, a push at your entrance as his thick finger starts stretching out your walls, working you open with shallow thrusts.

“Ah, fuck!” you grimace at the brief moment of pain that quickly gives way to pleasure as his knuckles drag along your velvety walls.

“You okay?” he asks, thrusting slowly in and out, the clicking sounds indicating how wet you are each time he pushes back in.

“Yeah, just hurt at first. Do another,” you force out, the pleasure intensifying as you get used to the feeling.

Sukuna briefly pulls out, the loss of fullness making you needy. He’s quick to refill you though, the burning stretch returning as he pushes two fingers inside, making you grip his arm in pain. 

“Breathe, relax, you’re clenching me so hard, which I’d normally love, but it's hurting you,” Sukuna says gently, not going any deeper, watching you carefully.

You focus on your breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply a few times, trying to slacken the muscles in your pelvis.

“That’s better, keep doing that,” he purrs, talking you through it as he starts to thrust deeper, the pain soon subsiding. Every thrust of his fingers hits a new angle inside of you, probing for your sweet spot. Eventually, one spot has you moaning, arching your chest into his where he settled next to you.

“Hmm baby, right there? Like this?” he hums as he crooks his fingers up into your sweet spot, fingerfucking you at such a grueling pace that all you can do is whine and turn into a writhing mess beneath him. Your vision is seeing stars at this point as he pushes you towards your release. 

Sukuna leans down to pull a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud while his thumb pad presses against your clit.

“Sukuna! Ohh-oh my god, please, don’t stop, just like that! Fuck Sukuna!” you start babbling nonsense as the pool of desire deep within your cunt begins to ignite, causing you to shatter as the orgasm tears through your body. Your fingers rip through his hair as you arch into his face, cunt gushing onto his hand while clenching so hard, sucking his fingers in deeper.

“Oh fuckkkkk, yesss like that baby, god cum all over me. Fuckin’ perfect girl,” Sukuna’s deep voice just makes it all better as he makes sure you are stimulated through every second of your climax. Finally your body stills, feeling his fingers slip out, coated in your juices.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” Sukuna says with a pop as he pulls them out of his mouth, glancing down at your ruined state before leaning down to pepper your chest and neck with kisses, making you giggle as he finally finds your lips again.

“Mmm want you to fuck me Kuna,” you whine.

“Yeah? God baby I wanna fuck you too, been dreaming of the next time I could feel you clenching around me. How do you wanna do this? I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m not gonna last. Like I’m thinking bad bad, thirty seconds tops,” he gives you a boyish grin.

“Sukuna seriously?” you laugh, not sure if he’s just being dramatic or not.

“I’m dead serious sweetheart, thought i was going to when you were in my lap earlier. Probably even worse than my first time, I’m fighting love this time around too,” he laughs, kissing you on the nose.

“Aww, well I don’t care either way, just wanna feel close to you,” you smile back at him. “We have forever for you to work your stamina up again. Lots of practice in our future.”

“Damn right. How do you wanna do this?”

“Something with lots of skin on skin contact and intimacy,” you respond.

“Alright, missionary it is. Spread’em tomato girl,” Sukuna nudges your legs apart, “got a condom or anything?” 

“Uhhhh no, I have not slept with anyone since you, so I never bought any more” you chuckle.

“Hmph, good. I can pull out-”

“You and I both know you aren’t doing that, and quite frankly I don’t want you to. Fuckin’ fill me up and we can go get a plan b later,” you tease him.

“Girlllll you are….so right though, no way am I gonna fuck you for the first time in years and cum anywhere other than that perfect pussy,” Sukuna growls, lining himself up. He glances up at you one last time and after an approving nod, he pushes his thick cock inside of you.

“Ohhhh my god,” Sukuna collapses on top of you, trembling and shaking as he wraps his arm around your back, pulling you close while resting the other next to your head.

The stretch is intense but quickly subsides as his cock gets slicked up by your arousal. Your heart is so full of love for Sukuna, tears threatening to spill over.

“Look at me,” you pull his chin down, knowing he’s trying to screw his eyes shut to last. When you meet the reds of his eyes, they are full of the same adoration and love you know are in yours, eyes watering as his face contorts to fight back the tears.

Neither of you move, Sukuna bottomed out inside of you while you desperately try to keep yourself from clenching around him.

“I love you,” you whisper, his forehead pressed against yours, every inch of his skin pressed hot against you. It's the most intimate moment you’ve ever had where neither person is moving, but it isn’t needed. All the commitment and hard work you’ve both put in over the years at making this work, being there for each other, and pushing each other to be the best version of yourselves all while physically apart has culminated into this moment of working together one last time to prolong this feeling.

“I love you too. Can’t believe I-ah, I got so lucky to find you in this life. You waited for me, never gave up on me, fuck,” he groans, unable to finish sentence as you clench around him making him thrust once in response.

“Fuuuuuck, I can’t… I’m sorry, I’m-shit, fuck- gonna cum” he starts thrusting his cock into you, his thick tip dragging along your walls as he starts to throb inside of you. Slow and deep, his whole body is shaking as he whimpers just before feeling him spill his hot seed into your cunt.

“Ahhh - shit, I love you,” he moans your name as he pushes himself as deep as he can, cock pulsing as he pumps everything into you, filling you so much that you feel some trickling out down your thigh.

He collapses onto your chest, face buried in the crook of your neck as his breaths are hot on your skin. You run your fingers down his back, a loving caress as you trace the ink snaking down his muscles.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this, but eventually Sukuna sits up, pressing a kiss to your cheek before pulling out of you and moving to your side, pulling you up against his bare chest.

“I didn’t get to finish what I was saying when my dick rudely interrupted me,” he chuckles, “but thank you for not giving up on me. I promise I’m done with that life and I’m devoted to building this new one with you. I swear to god I’ll take care of you, you’ll be my equal, my partner, and my best friend and I’ll always put you first. You’ll never be alone again. 

“I love you so much Sukuna. I was ready to wait longer, but I’m never going to complain that you came back early, this is easily one of the best days of my life. I’ll never take for granted the special moments we share together.”

“I love you too. Let’s sleep, I’m so fucking happy that from now on I’ll be waking up to you for the rest of my life,” Sukuna says, positioning himself to spoon you, finally letting his tears silently fall into your hair.

One more Chapter and it will be a happy fluffy epilogue!

<< Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

Masterlist

taglist: @clp-84 @zeunys @aquaberrydolphin @nynxtea @yuujispinkhair @ssc7514 @sukubusss @scorpiosugar @kiixonmm @xlilycoco @nina-from-317

[cherrywriterrr]

hot on the line

word count: 2,045

warning: blue collar rafe / mentions of sexual themes / suggestive phone call / light dominance / filthy mouth

the call comes in at 3:42 p.m.

you’re lying on the bed in your tank top, fan spinning lazily overhead, when your phone buzzes once. just once. his name. no text. no voicemail. no facetime.

just the call.

you answer on instinct. “hi.”

his voice is low. hoarse. strained. tired. “you alone?”

your lips curl. “yeah.”

“good.”

you bite your lip and adjust the phone against your ear. you can hear background noise—tools clanking, someone yelling, a saw buzzing in the distance.

“where are you?” you ask softly.

“site out by taylor’s creek. been here since six. it’s a bitch.”

you hum. “you okay?”

“better now.” a pause. “what are you wearin’?”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“don’t play dumb,” he mutters, and god—he sounds wrecked. like he’s been thinking about this all day. “i got five minutes before we pour concrete and you’re all i can think about. so tell me what the fuck you’re wearin’, baby.”

you shift on the bed, thighs brushing. heat blooms instantly at the base of your spine. “just… a tank top.”

“no bra?”

“no.”

you can hear the breath catch in his throat. hear the metal clang of something dropping near him.

“fuck. don’t do that to me.”

“you called me, rafe.”

“’cause i needed to hear your voice,” he says, low and filthy. “needed to picture your pretty mouth makin’ those little noises you make when i get you goin’. needed to know if you were thinkin’ about me too.”

you let your hand trail slowly over your stomach, just enough pressure to make yourself squirm. “i was.”

“yeah?”

“mhmm.”

“jesus, baby…”

he exhales hard, like he’s leaning against something. you can hear the sweat in his voice. like the weight of the heat and labor is finally breaking him down.

“you been good for me today?” he asks, slower now.

“i tried.”

“but?”

you grin. “i wore your shirt around the house this morning.”

“the white one?”

“the one you left in the dryer.”

“baby…” his voice is strained again, and you know he’s palming the front of his jeans now, trying to adjust without anyone seeing. “don’t fuckin’ tell me that.”

“you said you wanted to know.”

“you know what that does to me.”

“what exactly does it do?”

you can hear the edge in his breath. the way his control is unraveling slowly. the tension behind his teeth.

“makes me wanna come home early,” he growls. “makes me wanna bend you over the goddamn counter with your legs shaking and my fuckin’ name in your mouth.”

your breath catches. you squeeze your thighs together and try not to make a sound, but he hears it anyway.

“you like that, baby?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “i miss you.”

“i know, baby. i miss you too.” his voice softens, just for a second. “i’m tryin’ to be good. tryin’ to make good money for us. build something real.”

“you are.”

“doesn’t feel like it when i’m fuckin’ hard on a scaffolding, thinkin’ about your ass in my shirt.”

you laugh, and he groans.

“god, i love that sound,” he says. “drives me fuckin’ insane. i’m losin’ it out here.”

“you always talk like this at work?”

“only when i can’t stop picturing your hand down your shorts.”

you flush all over. “i didn’t say—”

“you didn’t have to.”

he’s breathing heavier now, and there’s a muttered “fuckin’ christ” under his breath that makes your spine arch just a little.

“i’m gonna take you apart when i get home,” he says quietly. “slow. real slow. you’ll be beggin’ me to stop.”

“no i won’t.”

he chuckles. “no. you won’t.”

you bite your lip, breath quickening. your voice drops. “how much longer?”

he groans. “two hours. maybe three. boss said we’re behind.”

“you better not show up with dirty hands and try to fuck me on the couch again.”

“i will show up with dirty hands, and i will fuck you on the couch again.”

you shake your head, trying to stifle your smile. “you’re so cocky.”

“’cause i know you’ll let me.”

you don’t argue.

“hey,” he says suddenly, quieter.

“what?”

“you really miss me?”

“of course.”

another pause.

“you think about me when i’m gone?”

you nod, but realize he can’t see you. “yes.”

“you sleep in my side of the bed?”

“every time.”

he groans again, and something about the softness under his filth makes your chest ache.

“you know what i think about?” he asks.

“what?”

“comin’ home. every fuckin’ day. i think about this exact moment—hearin’ your voice. picturing you in bed. smellin’ dinner, or that lotion you wear. seein’ you in my clothes. touchin’ you.”

you swallow hard.

“i don’t give a shit how tired i am,” he says. “you’re always worth it.”

the line goes quiet for a beat. both of you breathing, both of you holding the weight of it in your chests.

then you hear someone yell his name in the distance—“cameron! let’s go!”

he sighs. “gotta get back.”

you nod, voice small. “okay.”

“but listen to me.” his voice hardens again. “don’t touch yourself. not yet.”

“what?”

“you heard me.”

“rafe—”

“i’ll be home by eight. you wait for me.”

“you’re a menace.”

“you love it.”

you pause.

“i do.”

“good. now go put that shirt back on.”

“why?”

“so i can tear it off you later.”

you hear him chuckle low before the line goes dead.

you stare at the screen, heart pounding, face flushed, thighs trembling.

you toss the phone down and bury your face in the pillow.

god help you when that man walks through the door.

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @rafesfavegf

[enha-hype]

&team - period care pt 2 ♡ (maknae line) hyung line

how each member deals with/reacts to different period symptoms

pairing: bf!&team x afab!reader

genre: fluff, comfort, poor attempt at humour lol, little bit of angst in taki’s

warnings: cursing, mentions of nausea, period pain, mentions about food and eating problems but not ED related

w.c.: around 500-700 for each member

a/n: finally back with the part 2 i promised!! taki's turned out to be a little longer than the rest...okay maybe a lot lol (1k). but i didn't want it to be half-assed either so yeah.

posting this on my period.... where is my loving caring boyfriend 😞

🪐 yuma (fatigue)

it's one of those days where you really really do not want to step out of the house (more like the couch in the living room), much less do anything that requires any physical activity. which is not good, because you and yuma have a picnic planned for today at this cute little spot which requires a bit of walking and cycling to get there. and you are absolutely in no mood for that.

(more under the cut!)

at first you think about just sucking it up and getting it over with. but you'll probably be moody and grumpy the whole time and yuma deserves better than that. you would also like it if you could go when you would actually be able to enjoy it.

no other way around it then. you let out a long dramatic sigh and grab your phone to dial your boyfriend. he picks up on the second ring.

“yuma…”

“yes sweetie?!” he sounds so excited you feel doubly worse for what you're about to do.

you chew on the inside of your cheek. “okay, please don't be mad, but…”

“what? did you watch another episode of resident playbook without me again?”

“no! i was just wondering if we could... maybe postpone our picnic date and just stay in instead today?” there's a beat of silence.

“i am SO mad that i'm gonna come over with your favourite snacks and punish you with kisses all over your face before we watch the next episode of resident playbook together,”

you heave a sigh of relief. you knew he wouldn't really be mad – you had been more worried about disappointing him but the fact that he was being so chill about it eased your mind. “ugh, i love you. i'm sorry baby, i know you were really excited about today,”

“it’s okay. i know you were looking forward to it too so if you wanna postpone it there must be a reason. is everything okay? you sound a little off,”

if he were here, you would've kissed him for that.

“i just feel dead tired and don't feel like doing anything today. plus i couldn't get much sleep last night because i kept waking up to pee,” you frown, “i have the bladder control of a pregnant woman when i'm on my period, which is ironic,”

he chuckles. “sorry to hear that, sweetie. do you want me to get you anything on the way? do you have enough tampons at home?”

“yeah i do, thank you. oh but could you get some ice cream?”

“of course. you sure you don't need anything else? juice? diapers?”

“diapers? i don't use period diapers.”

“i didn't mean period diapers. i meant adult diapers in case, you know, you piss yourself or something,” he teases, and you can picture his cute little snaggletooth sticking out (ik he doesn't have his snaggletooth anymore but let me have this plis i miss it 😭) as he grins mischievously.

“ha ha very funny. let's see how funny it is when you get here and i tickle you until you piss yourself,”

“yeah no okay no pissing. only kissing please. do you have the energy for that?” the teasing tone of his voice makes you blush just a little.

“oh there will be plenty of kissing, nakakita yuma, don't you worry about that,”

“well then i guess i'd better hurry,”

🪐 jo (cravings)

it is no secret that asakura jo is an absolute sweetheart, someone who is too nice for his own good. he finds it hard to say no in general, but even more so when it's you and you're giving him you're biggest, widest puppy eyes. he would've caved even without you doing all that, honestly. so needless to say, whenever you're craving anything – especially on the days leading up to and during your period – he makes sure you have it even if it's 11 pm, because he wants to do anything he can to help make it easier.

however, he soon learns his lesson when he sees the damage his overindulgence does to you. he realises the sort of foods you crave also unfortunately happen to be the sort of foods that made cramps and other period symptoms worse. obviously, this is not news to you. you just figure that if you were going to be miserable either way, you might as well eat what you like at least. but jo makes up his mind to change things, and it does not start well. for someone so soft-spoken, you find that jo could be surprisingly assertive when he wanted to. and you do not like it at all, especially since you are so used to just him giving in to whatever you want.

while he makes it seem easy, only he knows the effort that goes into staying resolute. he hates seeing you sulk and wants to do anything to make you smile again. but then he reminds himself that you'll be the one to suffer later, and that helps him hold his ground.

he does not completely cut you off from your guilty pleasures, of course. he just makes sure you have limited and carefully curated access to it, unlike before. it takes you a little getting used to, and you whine and complain about it even though you are aware of the fact that you are probably acting like a spoiled little kid throwing a tantrum and well, it isn't far from the truth - you were used to being spoiled by your sweetheart of a boyfriend. but even though jo hates to see you pout, he continues to remain firm. to make things easier for you, he even looks up recipes and makes you dishes using healthy ingredients and tries to make them as suited to your taste as possible.

he keeps track of your cycle and starts keeping an eye on your diet a couple of days before your period is due – which is exactly when the cravings start. today is one such day when you are displeased with this arrangement – it's the third day of your cycle and you're desperately craving some caffè mocha, but jo said you've already used up your share of cheat meal/drink for today. you sit there sulking like you usually do, half-heartedly working on your assignment.

then it hits you that not only have your cramps substantially reduced this cycle, you also don't feel as tired as you usually do. your other symptoms are better too. guilt kicks in along with the realisation – all that he has been doing really did help.

you abashedly make your way to his room where you find him sketching. you stand at the door watching him for a while, then walk over and wrap your arms around him from behind.

“jojo….” you start, your tone apologetic.

putting his pencil down, he turns around in his chair and pulls you into his lap. “not mad at me anymore?” he asks, a soft smile on his lips. the smile is not teasing or gloating, just pure and pretty, like him.

you bury your face in his neck and groan. you've been a brat and this is still how he reacts? you suppose you shouldn't be surprised.

“you need to stop being so nice…. you've spoiled me rotten,” you mutter.

he chuckles. “ahh, so it's my fault?”

“no, it's not. i'm sorry, jojo. you're so sweet and thoughtful and i have been behaving like a starving victorian child. i've been doing nothing but complain and whine,”

“it's okay sweetie, i know it's hard,” he says, stroking your hair. “if i had periods i'd probably be way more dramatic,”

“oh, no, i think you would still be a saint,” you say and tilt his chin up as you lean in for a kiss.

🪐 harua (nausea)

it has only been a few months since you started dating harua so he doesn't know everything about you yet. like why you go MIA for a few consecutive days every month where he is only able to contact you through texts. on those days, you usually tell him something came up at your part-time job or that you're staying over at your friend's place or that you have to meet your grandma.

today, however, you decide to be somewhat truthful for once. which you end up regretting when he shows up at your door half an hour later. it goes like this:

harua🐇: hi y/n!! d'you wanna go shopping with me later today?

you : i would've loved to but i'm not feeling too good right now so maybe some other day? sorry xoxo

harua🐇: oh, okay, it's np! ♡ hope you feel better soon :(

and then he shows up at your place and your heart drops. under normal circumstances, you would've been happy to see him but right now you're positive you look like shit.

harua doesn't care about that, however – at least not in the way you do. how could he not come when you told him you weren't feeling well? he even brought a sick kit, although unfortunately it doesn't have much to help the kind of ‘sick’ you are right now – he thinks you probably have a cold or are running a temperature.

“oh rua….you're so sweet. but you really didn't have to come,” you say, hastily smoothing out your hair and fixing your shirt.

“no, i'm glad i came. you don't look too good, are you okay standing?” he leads you to your couch and sits down beside you, scrutinizing you with concern.

“no it's really okay…i go through this every month…” you begin, and he tilts his head quizzically.

you sigh with defeat. “i might as well just tell you, i guess. i'm not actually sick, i'm just on my period…i get horribly nauseous during the first three days of my cycle and sometimes even end up puking. i didn't want to tell you because well, it's not exactly a fun fact, is it?”

realisation dawns on him. “ohhh, so that's why you disappear for a few days every month!”

you smile sheepishly, your cheeks flushing. “yeah. i didn't think you kept track,”

“please, i was starting to think you were a werewolf or something and needed to get away to phase,”

you start to laugh but stop midway when you feel a wave of queasiness coming on and immediately clamp your mouth shut with your hand.

“y/n? you okay?”

you put your head between your knees and hold one hand up. thankfully it passes soon, and you sit up when you feel a little better.

“i think you should leave now,” you tell him.

“why? do you not want me here?”

“yes. i mean, no, not that i don't want you here– well i don't– but it's not because…i just…what if i puke? i don't want–”

“i'll hold your hair up,” he shrugs nonchalantly, like it's the most obvious thing ever.

you stare at him incredulously. he returns your gaze with his own stubborn one.

“did you perchance forget that i'm your boyfriend?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

“no?”

“then treat me like one, will you? let me be here for you,”

and how could you say no to that?

he does, however, leave soon after, saying he needs to run somewhere real quick and that he'll be back before you know it. he returns with lemon soda, ginger ale and some mint leaves for peppermint tea.

“stuff that helps with nausea, apparently,” he explains when you look at him questioningly. “did a quick google search. oh, i also bought some scented candles although i don't know how effective those will be… i didn't know what you might like so i picked up a bunch of random ones. i know you like citrus fruits so i bought a few of those and these here are floral scents. later when you're feeling better we can go together and pick more out–”

you pull him into a tight hug, catching him off guard. “i love you,”

he smiles and squeezes you back in return. “in case it wasn't already clear, i love you too,”

🪐 taki (irritability)

you've had a rough day. your professor had shouted at you in front of the whole class for something that hadn't even been your fault. then he made you walk all around campus running errands for him. and like that wasn't enough, you tripped and fell in PE. you didn't sustain any major injuries - just a few scrapes here and there but it was nonetheless not fun and extremely humiliating. you heard a few classmates snickering. and to top it all off, you're on your period.

given the mentally and physically exhausting day you've had, you're so relieved to finally come home and be able to sulk in peace. but before long, your flatmate who is also your boyfriend, also gets home – the one day you're not excited he's home early. while you love him dearly, you would really like some alone time right now.

taki is known as the mood maker in every room he's in. he's lively and cheerful and talkative and fun to be around. he loves putting a smile on people's faces so when he comes home to his favourite person evidently in a shitty mood, what does he do? takes it upon himself to make sure you're smiling again, of course.

and so it begins. he starts talking about everything he did that day and everything he's going to do tomorrow and about the date he has planned for you this week and what he's going to make for dinner tonight. he doesn't ask you about your day because he doesn't wanna make you talk about something you clearly don't want to. and so he talks on your behalf as well. you usually love it when he yaps away like this, he talks so animatedly it's endearing to watch. a lot of the time when he goes on one of his ‘yappathons’ as you call it, you're the embodiment of the blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff meme.

but not right now, not today. right now you're just sitting there silently, your irritation steadily rising, willing him to stop. if only you had said that out loud instead of bottling up until it burst, what happens next could have been avoided.

the final straw comes when he starts telling you about how one of his friends fell and how it was so funny everyone was laughing including the guy who fell. little do you know that he's doing this solely in an attempt to get you to laugh or at least crack a smile – nobody fell, at least not today. the logical part of you knows taki does not know that you yourself had an embarrassing fall today and so he most definitely does not mean this to be a jab at you, leaving your ego bruised. the logical part of you also knows that the anger you're feeling towards him right now is misdirected and irrational. but you're already so done at that point that logic flies out the window and you just snap at him.

“oh my god taki can you shut the hell up and leave me alone for ten minutes?! will your head explode if you don't keep talking all the damn time?”

taki was evidently not expecting such a reaction. he stares at you for a few seconds, stunned into silence. then he mumbles a sorry and gets up and walks away without another word. you hear the front door click shut a minute later. great. as if this godforsaken day hadn't been bad enough you've also managed to hurt the one person who was actually trying to make it better. tears prick your eyes as regret and worry slowly eats you up.

it is only when he returns a little after an hour later that you breathe a sigh of relief. he doesn't so much as look in your direction, however, and heads straight to his room.

“taki, wait!” you call after him.

he stops, but doesn't turn around. you go over to him and take his hand, and he finally looks up at you. his expression is sharp and unreadable, but the hurt is evident in his eyes.

“i'm...really sorry, taki. you didn't deserve that. it was a shitty thing to say and i wasn't even mad at you, i just had a shitty day and am on my period and needed a bit of time to myself to calm down. one of my professors shouted at me for something i didn't even do and then he made me go all around campus asking me to do this and that and then i tripped over my own fucking feet and fell in PE and it was so embaassing–”

“you fell? are you okay?” he asks, eyes wide and hands immediately flying up to clutch your arms.

you wince. “yeah, it was nothing. just a few scrapes and uh, you're actually kind of pressing on one right now,” you say, holding up your elbow.

he lets go immediately. “shit, sorry. where else did you get hurt? did you clean it properly and apply antiseptic cream?”

“yes, i did, i'm fine really,” you assure him, taking his hand in yours again and stroking it, feeling simultaneously guilty and relieved at how quickly whatever anger and hurt he might've felt about what you said earlier dissolved when you told him what happened.

he looks down at his hand in yours, then back up at you and sighs, lacing his fingers with yours. “if you needed some time to yourself you could've just told me, you know,”

“i know, i'm sorry. it was stupid. i'll tell you next time, i promise. don't take what i said to heart okay?”

he smiles a little. “it's alright. i know i would've been worse if i were to get my period,”

“way worse,” you agree, and he hits you playfully.

“so, am i still your favourite yapper?” he asks.

you roll your eyes and pull him close to kiss his cheek. “always,”

his smile widens and your heart feels lighter. “alright then, come on,” he says, tugging your hand. “tell me what you feel like doing. i'll make up for the shitty day the universe dealt you,”

🪐 maki (stomach and back pain)

you and your boyfriend are having a movie night with your friends taki and harua at his place. taki has the bean bag while you, harua and maki are sitting on the couch in that order – they usually try to keep you and maki separated during movie nights because otherwise you either won't keep your hands off of each other or keep making jokes and speculations about what's going to happen next.

halfway through the film, harua and taki are deeply engrossed in the murder mystery but maki has noticed that you haven't been able to sit still for some time now – it's clear you're uncomfortable. but he knows it's not because of the movie because you've always had a stronger stomach for gore and morbid stuff than he has.

he discreetly reaches for his phone to text you.

maki : why have you been squirming and wiggling for the past ten minutes. are you testing out the ‘would you still love me if i was a worm’ hypothetical?

your phone pings, notifying a message. when you grab it to reply, harua rolls his eyes. maybe they should confiscate your phones as well the next time.

you : no tf 😭 im just tryna get comfortable cuz my back and stomach hurts :( d’you think i could go lay down just for a few minutes maybe?

maki : what omg

maki : is it cuz of your period? why didn't you tell me sooner? and ofc you can go lay down you don't even have to ask!! actually wait i'll come with you

before you can tell him it's fine he's already speaking up.

“hey guys, you can continue watching the movie. y/n isn't feeling well so we're gonna take a little break and come back later,”

taki and harua enquire after you with concern and you assure them you'll be fine if you just rest for a bit. they don't even ask maki why he's accompanying you to the bedroom because they know there's no way he'll be able to focus on a movie when there's even the slightest thing bothering you.

the relief you feel when your back hits the soft mattress is palpable. “ohhh that feels so good…”

“better? what about your stomach?” maki asks, caressing your cheek, his forehead creased with worry.

“still hurts a bit,” you frown, placing your hands on the area where it hurts. “should've brought my heating pad. but it's fine,”

“do you want me to go get you one, babe? i'll try to be back as soon as i can,” maki says as he gets up but you pull him down.

“nooo don't go anywhere. stay here,”

“but i want to help,”

“well then…” you take both his hands in yours and his eyes widen as you pull up your top, leaving your stomach exposed. then you place both of his hands on the lower part of your stomach. as expected, the warmth and the pressure eases the ache a little. “don’t press too much but just apply a bit of pressure here like you're doing now,” you instruct.

he leans over your abdomen and wags a threatening finger at it, “hey you, stop hurting my partner or else!” he looks up at you beaming. “is that enough pressure?”

it's dumb and not even that funny, but you can't help giggling. “you are so silly,”

“silly in loooove,” he sings and you roll your eyes. with his hands still on your stomach he leans down to kiss your belly button.

you giggle and then wince. “babe i'm not sure doing anything ticklish is a good idea right now,”

“right, sorry,”

the both of you end up talking about the movie and you fall asleep listening to him ramble about who he thinks the killer might be and why. he keeps his hands on your stomach until you wake up an hour later and assure him you're more than fine.

divider credits: @/saradika-graphics

[starzzarehere]

What you described is the opposite of a superiority complex. Or, well— it's more like self-assured confidence, arrogance maybe. So I'll give you that; because Gojo is arrogant, like annoyingly arrogant. A superiority complex, at its core, is about the blatant disregard for others because "we the best!! Nobody else gets to sit on this throne!!" It's a coping mechanism for the lingering feelings of inadequacy, a chilling fear of a world which your crown is taken from you.

Gojo isn't like that. He sees people who are objectively weaker and decides to dedicate his life into protecting them. He sees his students and decides that "hey, what if I tried making them stronger?" Gojo's core philosophy as a teacher is to make it so that his students are strong enough to not need him anymore. Basically defeating the purpose of "the strongest." He seems pretty content with idea. He doesn't care if his power is surpassed, if his crown is taken, if he's no longer a God to be feared— at the end of the day, all of that translates into a world where people can fend for themselves.

Another thing about a superiority complex is the utter lack of genuine altruism. Gojo is deliberately altruistic; he cares for his students, his colleagues, his friends etc. etc. One of the biggest reasons Gojo comes off as cruel is his unpleasant personality. He comes off as too blunt, too judgemental, too much. When talking with Ijichi, he tells him to never become a sorcerer. This seems harsh, but in retrospect, it's only because Ijichi isn't quite there yet, in terms of jujutsu. He could've very well gotten killed on the field, another repeat of Haibara. In the end, to really hammer the point home, Gojo even tells Ijichi that he trusts him a lot. Trusts him the most actually.

Gojo is arrogant. But he doesn't have superiority complex. He's flippant, but he cares deep down. Gege wrote him to be seen through the lenses of the people around him, so I can see why one would think that. Anyway. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

Gayjo (TW: Suicide mention)

"gojo has god complex! gojo has a superiority complex!" Wrong. Gojo has an Atlas complex. He has an irrational need to take on burdens he doesn't have to take on. His struggles and troubles are constantly being put on the backburner because he's shouldering the troubles of others. Like, chat. Chat, please take a fucking hint and realize that Gojo isn't this arrogant, 'we the best' ahh mf. Chat. Chat, facades exist, chat. Also, the 'Gojo doesn't have depression' crowd. That man clearly has depression. High-functioning depression, I'll give you that, but depression nonetheless. He seems to loathe himself (not hate himself, loathe himself. Yes, there is indeed a difference). Like the Shinjuku showdown seemed like a glorified suicide more than anything. Like, yes he gave it his all, and yes, he was overpowered by sukuna; but also, he kinda wanted to die...? He seemed pretty fucking unbothered at the thought of being dead, which is just fucking depressing. And even before the whole thing, he just told Yuuji that they'd forget him and move on with their lives. Which is just— fucking depressing man. I'm not saying he could've won the 3v1, I'm saying that he took that it the perfect opportunity to go out with a bang. Whenever he's by himself, Gojo seems...muted. Dimmer. I think it says alot about how he views himself and his power. He's dissatisfied with his life, he wants more out of it but he doesn't know how to get more.

[daeniradraconis]

Right Where You Left Me

So, hello lovelies ✨ I’m currently in Germany watching the Leafs melt down in Game 7, and there is never a better time to post this than during the game. Well, there’s not much to say — hope you enjoy this! I wrote this from an outsider’s perspective, and it’s a little bit of a filler chapter, but we need this to connect a few things for the future.

Themes/Warnings: Hannah Elise Hughes x William Nylander, grief and loss, coma, emotional distress, complicated grief, hospital setting, family tension, fragile health

Chapters: 01, 02, 03

Chapter 3: The Quiet Between

The snow hadn’t stopped all day.

Toronto in late December was always a strange mix of silence and noise. Too many cars, too many people—but somehow, days like this felt still. The kind of cold that bit your skin, but numbed your thoughts just enough to be welcome.

Luke Hughes stood in front of William’s condo building, staring up at it like he needed permission to go in. The small velvet box in his pocket felt heavier than it should. Not that it was much more than metal and memory, but that was the problem—memories carried weight no one could see.

He’d debated even coming. He’d told himself it was stupid. That William didn’t need this. But still Luke had ended up here.

He pressed the buzzer. William answered, his voice slightly muffled. “Hey?”

“It’s me.”

A beat.

Then, “Come up.”

William answered the door in a hoodie and joggers, hair longer than Luke remembered and slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times today. He looked... better. Still tired around the eyes, still a kind of shadow beneath his skin, but lighter somehow. 

Luke stepped inside, shaking off the cold. “Sorry for just dropping by. I should’ve texted.”

“You’re good.” William shut the door behind him. “I’m not doing anything important. Just watching bad TV and pretending I know how to cook.”

Luke smiled, stepping into the warm space. “Still burning pasta?”

“Only on Tuesdays.”

They sat on the couch, easy and quiet. It wasn’t awkward. Not really. It had never been awkward between them, just heavy. Grief made everything quieter, more careful. Like walking through a room filled with glass, afraid to knock anything over.

William grabbed two beers from the fridge, tossed one gently to Luke. “You still not twenty-one?”

“Almost.”

William raised an eyebrow. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

They talked for a while—about hockey, about Jack, about how surreal it still felt to see Luke in a Devils jersey, skating on real NHL ice. William smiled when Luke told him about his first goal, even asked if he’d kept the puck. It made Luke feel good. He’d known William since he was just a kid. Over the years, William had always felt like an older brother to him. And somehow, even now, that hasn't changed.

Then the silence came. The one Luke had known was coming.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the box.

“I found this the other day,” he said, setting it gently on the coffee table. “I forgot I even had it.”

William stared at it, unmoving.

“They gave it to us after... everything,” Luke continued. “Doctors said they had to take it off her for the scans. So I took it. I don’t know why. I think I just... wanted to hold onto something.”

William didn’t respond right away. His eyes stayed on the box, like opening it might detonate something inside him.

Luke took a slow sip of his beer before setting it down, his fingers brushing along the rim.

“I don’t know why I took it,” Luke said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I think... back then, I just needed something. You had everything, you know? The house. The dogs. Her clothes still hanging in the closet. Her perfume on the pillows. You were surrounded by pieces of her life.”

He paused, eyes fixed on some far-off point on the coffee table.

“I didn’t have any of that. She was gone, and I didn’t have anything that felt like her. I guess I thought... maybe the ring would help me stay close. Like I could hold onto something real. Sorry…I…I know it wasn’t mine to keep.”

William didn’t speak right away. His fingers rubbed against his jeans, slow, thoughtful.

“Did it help?” he finally asked, his voice thick with emotion. “Having the ring?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah. It did.”

William gave a small smile, almost more breath than expression. “Then I’m glad you had it. You’re right. I had everything else…a little too much, sometimes. It made it harder to let go. But if the ring helped you feel close to her, I think that’s exactly where it belonged.”

Luke swallowed. “Well... it’s yours now. I don’t feel the need to hold onto it anymore. And you signed the papers. I think maybe you need it more now than I do.”

William shook his head gently. “You can keep it, if you want. I’m not sure I can even look at it right now. I’ve had enough of staring at things I can’t change for four years.”

Luke’s voice softened. “Still. Even if you don’t want to look at it right now... it’s yours, Will. You picked it. For her. Maybe one day you’ll want it near. So take it.”

William nodded once. He didn’t reach for the box. Not yet. But he didn’t push it away either.

After a moment, Luke spoke again, his voice more hesitant this time. “I also wanted to say... thank you. For staying. For hoping.”

William exhaled, a soft laugh escaping like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Luke.”

“I do.”

“No.” William turned to him fully now. “Even if I was only her husband for six hours... I was the happiest man alive. And we were together since 2014, Luke. That’s my whole adult life. She was my life. I would’ve stayed longer if I could. God, I wanted to.”

He glanced down at his hands, voice softening. “But yeah, I still feel guilty sometimes. Like… every time I start feeling okay, it’s like I’m doing something wrong—like I’m betraying her just by trying to be happy again. And when I signed the divorce papers last week… Luke, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. In that moment, I felt lower than I’ve ever felt in my life.”

Luke’s eyes were heavy with something that looked like grief and compassion at once. “Don’t think of it like that. Please. She would want you to be happy. You held onto her with everything you had—but you can’t freeze your life forever, not for a chance that may never come.”

William looked up.

“We both know what the doctors said,” Luke said quietly. “There’s a point zero two percent chance. That’s not hope anymore, Will. That’s... punishment. And it’s not fair to you.”

William didn’t reply right away. Just stared at his hands again. Finally, he whispered, “It feels like giving up.”

“It’s not,” Luke said. “It’s choosing to live. And I know that’s what she would’ve wanted for you. To keep living. To maybe even—” he hesitated, “—have kids someday. If you want. To love someone again. That’s not betrayal. That’s surviving man.”

William blinked hard. He nodded once, slowly.

“Thanks, kid.”

Luke gave a crooked smile. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

William laughed—tired but real. “You’ll always be her baby brother. Doesn’t matter how tall you get.”

Luke’s smile softened, shifting into something gentler. “Every time I wondered how the hell you were getting through this... I’d see you still showing up. Still breathing. Still walking the dogs. Still being you. You never shut us out. I’m grateful for that, Will. For you. For how you stayed in our lives.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that either.”

“I do,” Luke repeated. “I just wish we had more time as a family. All of us. But no matter what happens—whether you get remarried or move away or anything else—I want you to know, you’re always going to be part of this family. Once you’re a Hughes, there’s no way out.”

William smiled, but it faltered with emotion. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, trying to stay composed.

“That means a lot,” he said quietly.

They sat in silence again, but this time it felt full, not empty.

Luke stood up first. “I should get going. Need to catch my flight early in the morning.”

William followed him to the door. As Luke opened it, the cold air rushed in, sharp and clean.

Luke paused at the threshold. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

William smiled. Luke looked and sounded like a man—it still felt surreal.

“Same goes for you, Luke.”

And when the door closed behind Luke, and the apartment fell quiet again, William turned toward the table.

The box sat there, still closed. Small. Simple. Heavy with meaning.

He walked toward it, stood for a moment, and gently reached out.

He didn’t open it. Not yet.

But he took it back.

And for tonight, that was enough.

—

The Michigan house was quiet except for the occasional sizzle from the kitchen, where Jim moved around with ease. The scent of onions softening in a pan wafted through the halls—something simple for dinner, maybe stew or pasta, but warm enough to fill the house with comfort.

Ellen poured herself a glass of wine. She brought it into the living room and set it on the table beside the couch, sighing as she lowered herself into the cushions. Her knees weren’t what they used to be.

She reached for the box that had been sitting on the bookshelf for years. Inside, a small chaos of memories: photos, drawings, crayon-smudged cards with crooked handwriting, and the kind of things you don’t mean to keep but never find the heart to throw away.

She flipped through them slowly, one by one.

There was a photo of Quinn, barely two days old, tucked into the arms of a toddler with wispy curls and a too-serious expression. Eli. Her daughter. Her first. Her light. The little girl who had looked up at her baby brother and kissed his forehead like she already knew she was responsible for something sacred.

“I’m gonna protect him,” Eli had whispered that day, proud, sleepy and sure.

Ellen’s throat tightened. She traced the edge of the photo with her finger.

Behind her, Jim began humming softly under his breath. She heard the gentle clink of the wooden spoon against the side of the pan—the comforting sounds of ordinary life.

She took another sip of wine and picked up a photo of their first Christmas with all four kids. Jack had just turned four and was wearing a Santa hat two sizes too big. Luke was a baby, mostly interested in trying to eat the garland. And Eli—Eli had flour on her cheeks, a candy cane apron, and the brightest smile on her face as she stood on a stool in the kitchen next to Ellen, holding a misshapen gingerbread man in one hand.

“This is my favorite holiday, Mommy,” she had said, looking up at Ellen with sparkles in her eyes. “I love it so much, every year.”

And she had. Every year, Eli had taken charge of decorations, baking, gift-wrapping, even organizing the family movie nights. She made Christmas feel like something out of a storybook.

Now, the holidays felt dimmer. Quieter. Like the lights were still strung up, but the glow didn’t reach as far.

Ellen’s hand paused on a photo that made her laugh under her breath. It was one of the few she’d saved from the skating rink.

Eli, bundled up in a pink jacket, scowling in the center of the ice, her arms pinwheeling as Jim tried to keep her upright. Her expression was unmistakable: betrayal and horror in equal parts.

“She hated it,” Ellen said aloud, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She turned around on the couch in the direction of the open kitchen and showed the picture to her husband. “Our daughter. The only Hughes who hated skating.”

“I remember,” Jim said with a nostalgic smile. “She said her feet weren’t meant for frozen water. And if we ever forced her to do this again, she’d move to her grandparents’ in Florida so she’d never have to experience that cold rink again.”

“She was five and already dramatic.”

“Well, she totally got that from you.”

Ellen shook her head, but her smile lingered. “And she’s still married to a hockey player, Jim. I would never have guessed that.”

Jim’s stirring slowed, and the silence that followed stretched between them, gentle but weighted.

Ellen’s hand found Elis’s wedding photo.

The sun poured through the trees that day—golden, gentle, and somehow full of kindness. William stood at the altar, barely holding himself together. Eli looked radiant, like she always did when she was near William—their love seemed to glow through her.

Quinn had wiped his face three times before the ceremony even started. Jack had given Will a playful shove and whispered something threatening into his ear, trying to cover up his own tears. And Luke—sweet Luke—had held Eli so tightly after the vows that Ellen had worried for a moment he might actually break her ribs.

Ellen pressed the photo to her chest for a moment.

The wedding had been a dream. A soft, perfect blur. And then just a few hours later, it became something else entirely.

She didn’t cry now. She rarely did anymore. The tears had dried up in the second year, and what remained was something quieter. A hollow ache. An ever-present weight.

Ellen turned toward the kitchen again, watching her husband move slowly around the stove. He’d always wanted a daughter. She remembered the day Eli was born—how he had cried when the doctor said, “It’s a girl.” He had kissed Ellen’s forehead and whispered, “I’m gonna be a good dad. I swear I will. She’s gonna be my little princess.”

And she had been.

The accident had taken something from Jim—something she knew she could never give back. He never said it aloud, but she saw it in how he spoke about her less these days, and in the way he’d sometimes sit alone in the garage, staring into nothing for long stretches. Grief had silenced a man who once filled the room.

Ellen looked back down at the photo in her hand.

Her baby. Her daughter.

Not gone. But not here.

Alive in the most technical way, and yet unreachable. For four years, they had visited the hospital, touched her hand, whispered to her like she might hear it. And every time, they left a little more broken.

Near the bottom of the box, Ellen’s fingers paused on another photo — one that made her chest tighten with a fresh, bittersweet ache.

It was a photo Jim had taken nearly fifteen years ago, on a late summer afternoon. The four kids sat at the edge of the old wooden dock behind their Michigan house, their legs swinging just above the shimmering lake. The sun bathed their skin in a honeyed glow, while the water whispered softly beneath them.

Eli was there — so alive, so bright — curled up with a worn copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone resting in her lap. Her braid was loose, strands sticking to her flushed cheeks, and she was reading aloud with that gentle intensity Ellen had always loved.

Quinn sat close, arms crossed, pretending to scold Jack — wild as ever — who was half-standing, half-jumping off the dock, his shirt twisted around his neck, wearing that wide grin full of mischief.

Luke, the littlest one with soft golden curls and chubby cheeks, sat right next to Eli, kicking his legs and babbling in that sweet toddler way only he could.

Then, in that photo—forever frozen in time—Luke’s face turned toward Eli. With a bright, clear voice that still made Ellen’s heart tighten, he spoke the word Eli had been waiting to hear for so long:

“HanHan.”

The very first time Luke said her name.

Everyone else called her Eli, short and simple — but Luke’s word was different. Full of wonder and love, spoken like a secret just between them. Eli’s face lit up with a smile that held all the joy in the world.

Ellen’s thumb brushed over the photo, her eyes stinging.

Four years had passed since the accident.

Four years since Eli’s laughter filled the house.

Four years since she slipped into silence.

Four years of holding onto memories like fragile glass — beautiful but easily shattered.

Looking at the picture now, Ellen could almost hear Luke’s voice echoing through the quiet house, calling “HanHan!” as he always did, full of hope and innocence.

She could almost see Eli turning toward him, happiness shining in her eyes, the way she’d drop everything to chase after her brothers, boss them around, love them fiercely.

Tears blurred Ellen’s vision as she whispered to the empty room, “My sweet HanHan…”

The name wasn’t just a memory. It was a thread connecting past and present. The hope that maybe, somehow, Eli was still there — still hearing, still loving, still HanHan to her brothers.

Ellen gently set the photo down and closed the box.

She stood up from the couch and walked toward the kitchen.

Jim stood at the stove, stirring quietly. Ellen leaned against the counter, her wine glass cradled in her hands, the sleeves of her sweater pushed up to her elbows. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it rarely was. After twenty-plus years of marriage, silence could just mean safety.

Still, Ellen’s voice broke the silence gently. “I saw William last week.”

Jim didn’t look up from the stove. “Oh, yeah?”

“When I was at the PWHL conference in Toronto, I decided to grab a coffee with him.”

“That’s nice of you, honey. How is he doing?”

“He looks… better. He finished therapy and seems lighter, I guess. Smiling more. I’m glad his parents convinced him to do it—it seemed to help.” She paused, searching for the right words. “And… he met someone.”

Jim turned toward her, the wooden spoon still in his hand. Surprise flickered in his eyes, but there was no anger. “Oh? Well, I guess we told him last Christmas to get out there and move on. Who is she?”

“Her name’s Lena Gunnarsson. She’s Swedish too and lost her husband, her first love 6 years ago. Same kind of story.” Ellen’s smile was faint, almost fragile. “I guess, grief recognizes its own.”

Jim raised an eyebrow but waited, sensing Ellen wasn’t finished.

“I think that’s why he’s drawn to her,” Ellen said softly, almost to herself. “Not because he’s falling in love, but because he doesn’t have to explain anything. She just… understands him. No explanations, no judgment. It’s safe.”

Jim set the spoon down on a folded towel, folding his arms. “You think that’s a bad thing?”

Ellen exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s exactly what he needs right now. But when I look at him—really look—I don’t see the same spark I used to. Not the way he used to light up when he talked about Eli or the future he dreamed for them.”

Jim nodded slowly, leaning back against the counter. “He’s been through hell, Ellen. No one would expect him to bounce back overnight.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I’m proud of him. God, I am. He stayed. He waited. He never gave up on our baby, not really.” Her voice cracked. “But I worry… I worry he’s building his future on a foundation of shared pain rather than hope.”

Jim reached out, resting a steady hand on her shoulder. “You mean he’s settling? Because it’s comfortable?”

Ellen nodded. “Maybe. It’s safer to be with someone who knows the ache, who understands the silence, than to risk the messiness of love again. But that’s not really living, is it? That’s surviving.”

Jim exhaled softly, his gaze drifting away as he absently wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quiet but steady.

“You remember what I told William, don’t you? To let go. To find something new.”

Ellen nodded slowly. “You were right. He needed to hear it.”

Jim looked down at the counter, voice quieter. “But now that it’s happening... it feels strange. Different than I imagined.”

Ellen stepped closer, voice gentle. “How so?”

Jim swallowed. “I thought I’d feel relieved. Like a weight lifted. Instead, it’s like... I’m betraying my own daughter. Abandoning a space that should only be hers.”

He glanced up, eyes filled with a mix of sadness and confusion. “It’s not anger, or resentment. It’s... guilt.”

Ellen reached out, her hand covering his. “Jim...”

“I love William. I always have. But this—” He gestured vaguely, “—this feels like I’m letting go of Eli in a way I’m not ready for.”

Ellen’s voice was steady but tender. “Jim, you’re not betraying anyone. You wanted the best for William—because you love him. Because you love Eli. Wanting William to find happiness again doesn’t mean you’re letting Eli go. Eli wanted that for him, honey.”

Jim nodded slowly but his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. “I know.It’s just… emotions don’t always follow logic El.”

Ellen squeezed his hand. “Yeh, that’s true.”

She took a breath, steadying herself. “That’s why I’m scared for William. Because I think he’s trying to do what’s right, instead of what feels right. Because he’s afraid of loving again, not because he doesn’t want to, but because the fear of loss is still so big.”

They stood quietly, the kitchen filled only by the hum of the stove and the steady rhythm of their breaths.

Ellen finally whispered, “I’m just scared for him. That he’s so afraid of losing again, he won’t let himself love again.”

Jim bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“We just have to trust him. Trust that he’ll find his way. Maybe it won’t be perfect. Maybe it won’t look like what we imagined. But it can still be something beautiful.”

Ellen nodded slowly, still holding his hand.

“I want him to have a future that’s more than just making it through. More than just breathing.”

“Me too, El,” Jim said softly, his voice thick with quiet emotion. “More than anything, me too.”

—

The envelope was still sitting on the counter.

Stephanie hadn’t opened it right away—just stared at the creamy paper like it had personally offended her. Now it was splayed open, invitation on display, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less surreal.

William & Lena

She read it again.

William & Lena.

It didn’t matter how elegant the font was or how understated the navy and gold design looked. To Steph, it was a soft betrayal dressed up in tasteful serif type.

She stood in the kitchen, one hand pressed to her belly like she was physically holding herself together, the other gripping a mug of now-cold tea. Her knuckles were white on the handle. The silence around her buzzed like static.

Mitch stepped in from the hallway, unwinding his scarf and shrugging off the last of the cold outside. He saw her posture first—stiff, braced—then saw the envelope.

He didn’t need to ask.

“Steph,” he said gently, his voice a thread. “You okay?”

She didn’t look at him. Her eyes were locked on the invitation, like if she blinked, it might morph into something else.

“They’re getting married. In Sweden. In August.” Her voice was clipped, deliberate, like if she said it too softly it might sound reasonable.

“It’s like Eli never happened.”

Mitch exhaled, slow. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” she snapped. One hand stayed anchored on her belly like a warning. “He’s marrying someone else, Mitch. Just like that. After everything. After her.”

“It’s been almost five years, Steph.”

“Four and a half,” she corrected. Too fast.

Her voice cracked slightly, then hardened. “They’ve been together since they were teenagers. They married each other. And now he’s acting like she’s just a part to be replaced—like some role that can be recast.”

Mitch crossed the kitchen slowly, pulled out a chair at the table, and sat. He rested his arms on the table, calm and quiet, the way you approach someone who’s standing too close to a ledge.

“He’s not replacing her. No one could.”

“Then what the hell is he doing?” she said, each word sharp. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like settling. Like he just got tired of being alone and picked the next safest option.”

Mitch hesitated, letting the words settle before he answered.

“Maybe that’s all he has left in him, Steph. Maybe Lena isn’t some grand, romantic love—but maybe she’s someone he can survive.”

Stephanie scoffed, moving again, pacing like she couldn’t stay in her skin. Her fingers twisted the sleeve of her sweater.

“She doesn’t even know him,” she said bitterly. “Not like Eli did. Not like we do. She didn’t see what Eli brought out in him. The way he used to laugh around her—really laugh. Like he believed in something. Now he just... floats. Like he’s underwater all the time. And this wedding?” She gestured toward the counter, voice rising. “This feels like a checkbox.”

Mitch watched her, letting her unravel, knowing she had to.

“A freaking wedding?!” she went on, shaking her head. “He couldn’t even call. Just had his assistant send out invitations like it’s some goddamn charity gala.”

“He probably didn’t know how to say it,” Mitch offered gently.

“Oh, but a monogrammed RSVP card says it better?”

“Steph…”

“No, Mitch. No.” Her voice was rising now, more broken than loud. “This is not okay. He doesn’t get to rewrite everything just because he’s tired of being sad. He doesn’t get to bury Eli under this new-life package just because he wants to feel normal again.”

Mitch stood slowly. He approached her like one might approach a wounded animal—deliberate, soft, steady—but didn’t touch her. He knew she needed space to bleed it all out.

“He’s not burying her.”

“He is,” she snapped. “He’s remarrying. That’s not some minor thing. That’s not therapy or smiling again or going back to the gym. That’s permanent. That’s him telling the world Eli is behind him.”

Mitch turned to the counter and leaned against it, arms crossed. His expression was tired but open.

“Steph, it’s been four and a half years. That’s a long time to stand still.”

“She’s still alive,” she hissed.

He looked at her.

“She’s not gone. Don’t talk about her like she’s gone. Don’t you dare.”

There it was—her line. The edge of her world. But Mitch didn’t flinch.

“I know she is,” he said softly. “But you know she’s not coming back.”

Stephanie shut her eyes. Her jaw clenched so tightly the tendons stood out along her neck. For a moment, she looked like she might scream just to clear the air.

“I hate that you say it like that,” she whispered. “Like it’s just a fact we’re supposed to accept. Like you’ve made peace with it.”

“I haven’t,” Mitch said. “I just... made space for it.”

“She was my best friend Mitch,” Steph said. Her voice was barely audible now. “We were supposed to raise our kids together. We had names picked out. We made stupid Pinterest boards. She would’ve been this baby’s godmother.”

Her fingers found the edge of the counter, gripping it like a lifeline.

“And now I’m supposed to send a gift and wear pastel and clap for this new chapter like none of that mattered?”

Mitch moved to her, slowly, resting his hands on her arm. She didn’t pull away.

“No one’s asking you to pretend.”

“Really?” she said, half-laughing, half-weeping. “Because this?” She pointed at the invitation. “This feels a hell of a lot like pretending. Like we’re supposed to accept Lena as the sequel and call it healing.”

He guided her to sit, crouched beside her, never letting go of her hand.

“Steph. You’re right. It’s unfair. It’s messy and yes, it feels wrong. But maybe for Will, it’s taken everything just to get to the point where he can even try again. Maybe this isn’t a betrayal. Maybe this is the bravest thing he’s capable of.”

Her eyes were glassy, red-rimmed. Her hands trembled.

“I don’t want to see him happy if she’s not there,” she whispered. “Is that insane?”

Mitch shook his head. “It’s not insane. It’s human.”

She looked away. “I just don’t want him to live a lie. He loved Eli in this big, messy, all-consuming way. And now he’s marrying someone who fits into the grief. Who doesn’t make waves. Who doesn’t make him feel too much.”

Mitch exhaled through his nose. “Maybe that’s all he can handle.”

“But is that love, Mitch?” Her voice cracked again. “Or is that just... not drowning?”

He didn’t answer. Just held her hand.

“Does it matter?” he said finally. “If it keeps him alive, if it gives him peace... maybe we don’t get to define it.”

“I want more for him,” she whispered. “Even if he doesn’t want it for himself.”

“I know,” Mitch said. “Me too.”

They sat like that for a long time. The kitchen ticked with the quiet hum of the fridge, the distant creak of winter settling into the house.

Then Steph stirred again.

“And you know what else?” Her tone shifted, sharper now. “She’s going to be one of us. A Toronto WAG.”

Mitch blinked. “Steph…”

“No, I know it sounds petty, but it’s not. You remember what it was like—Eli was part of our crew. She was real. We weren’t brunch-photo wives, we were actual friends. A unit.”

She rubbed at her face with her sleeve, half laughing in disbelief.

“And now Lena gets to wear the jacket? Sit in our row? Be invited to wives’ game night and act like she belongs?”

Mitch watched her with quiet sympathy.

“It’s just a label, baby.”

“You know it’s not,” she said. “You know what that space meant. Eli was the soul of that group. She loved it.”

Mitch wrapped his arms around her. This time she melted into him, boneless with exhaustion.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “But I also know this baby is coming soon. And your hormones are setting fires.”

Stephanie let out a choked laugh, half sob.

“So I’m irrational?”

“I’m saying you already lost Eli once, and now it feels like you’re losing her again. And that’s terrifying.”

She nodded against him, the tears finally free now. Her shoulders shook.

“I don’t want to be this bitter,” she said finally. “I don’t want to hate someone I don’t even know.”

“You don’t hate her,��� Mitch said gently. “You just miss Eli so much you don’t know where to put it.”

Mitch whispered, “We’ll go. We don’t have to smile. We don’t even have to stay long. But I think we should go. For William. For Eli.”

“Alright,” she said, voice low. “But we’re sitting in the back. And I’m wearing black. No exceptions.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Black? Like funeral black?”

She gave him a look that was part mischief, part steel. “Exactly.”

He laughed softly. “You’re going to be a real joy at the wedding.”

“Someone’s got to keep things interesting.”

Mitch shook his head, smiling as he pulled her into a gentle hug again. “Deal.”

—

Jack pushed open the hospital door with a soft creak, stepping into the quiet, sterile room where his sister lay still — fragile as a glass sculpture, untouched by time but entirely changed by it. The faint beep of monitors was the only sound, steady and constant.

He stepped inside, slow. Careful. Like if he moved too fast, the moment would shatter.

It smelled like antiseptic and flowers that died three days ago.

Jack swallowed hard, the weight of five years and ninety-seven days pressing on his chest like it wanted to break something inside him. He hadn’t been here in weeks — between the season, the travel, the rehab — but today... today he couldn’t stay away.

He eased into the chair next to her bed, eyes scanning the stillness of her face. Peaceful. Pale. So fucking familiar. And so far away.

“Hey, big sis,” he said softly. “It’s been a while, huh?”

He reached for her hand — warm, soft, weightless — and curled his fingers around it. Holding on to something that felt like her.

“You took a long nap,” he whispered, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, weak and cracked. “Five years and ninety-seven days. But who’s counting, right? Just your favorite brother keeping tabs.”

His thumb ran over the back of her hand, slow and rhythmic.

“I told myself I’d come every other month. Sit here. Talk. Let you know what’s going on. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

He swallowed.

“I just... I hate seeing you like this, Eli. You’re here, but not. Breathing, but silent. It’s like someone hit pause on your life, and we’re all just... waiting. And every time I walk in, it feels like you’re going to wake up. Like you’ll roll your eyes at me and say I’m late or my hair looks dumb.”

He laughed — quiet, rough.

“I don’t want this to be what I remember when I think of you. This frozen version of you.”

He sat back, dragging a hand down his face, then sighed.

“Anyway. Catching you up.”

He sniffed and cleared his throat.

“Mom and Dad are... well, they’re Mom and Dad. You know. Stubborn and weirdly optimistic in ways that make no sense. Dad’s golfing like he’s on the senior tour. He’s either on the course or on YouTube watching some guy named Sven talk about putters. Mom’s pissed because he’s ‘wasting his damn knees’ but she’s been crazy busy, too. She took this new position with the women’s Olympic team — she’s basically coaching the coaches. Yelling at them and bossing them around. She’s so in her element it’s scary. You’d love it.”

He smiled faintly.

“They miss you. I mean, they won’t say it—not directly. But it’s there. Like... Mom still folds your hoodie and leaves it draped over the back of the chair, like you might swing by. And Dad—he keeps your old voicemail saved on his phone. Listens to it sometimes when he thinks no one’s around. Just stands there in the garage like he’s fixing something, but he’s not. He just... misses you.”

His jaw flexed. “They stopped saying your name after the second year. Like if they say it, something will snap.”

A beat passed.

“Luke’s in the NHL now.”

He gave a small laugh.

“I know, right? Baby Luke. He’s fast, cocky, impossible to deal with — so, basically perfect. You missed his first game. You would’ve hated missing it. He had your name inside his glove. We both did. He’s doing great. I mean, I live with him, so I also know that he leaves wet towels on the floor and eats pasta at 2 a.m. straight from the pot like a gremlin, but still. He’s killing it. I’m trying not to murder him. Mostly succeeding.”

Jack exhaled, shoulders slumping.

“Quinn... Quinn’s dating someone. Kinda. It’s a mess. He’s doing that thing where he’s emotionally constipated but still somehow kind of in love? He keeps texting me for advice like I’m some sort of love guru. I’m like, ‘Bro, I’m still figuring out if I’m emotionally available enough to own a plant.’ You’d be yelling at us both right now.”

He grew quiet.

“And then... there’s William.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

“He got married again.”

The words hung there, blunt and bare.

“It was a few months ago. In Sweden. Beautiful place. It was... nice. Really nice, actually. Candles everywhere. That soft, muted golden light you always loved—the kind that makes everything feel a little quieter. Everyone looked gentle, a little sad. Which, I guess, made sense.”

Jack shook his head, a pained smirk curling.

“I told him I was happy for him. And I am. Sort of. But it also felt like watching someone wear a jersey with the wrong number. You know?”

He hesitated.

“She’s not terrible, Eli. That’s what sucks. She’s... gentle. Respectful. She talks about you. Doesn’t pretend you never happened. She gets it, in this weird way. She lost someone, too. I think that’s the thing — they’re not really in love the way you two were. But they’re broken in the same shape. And I guess sometimes, broken finds broken.”

He went still again.

“But she’s not you. She’ll never be you.”

Jack drew in a shaky breath.

“Stephanie came to the wedding with Mitch. Nine months pregnant. Emotional as hell. She wore a black dress. Like, full black. Said it was ‘formal mourning attire.’ Mitch tried to stop her from wearing a damn veil. She was fighting him in the parking lot. You would’ve laughed your ass off.”

His face softened.

“She still talks about you like you’re gonna walk through the door any second.”

He looked at Eli again.

“I do, too.”

A long silence. The kind that settled deep.

“I had another surgery,” he said eventually. “Shoulder again. Missed a small part of the season and the full playoffs. Rehab sucks. But I’m doing better. Next year I’m back. I’ll score one for you. First game. Even if it’s ugly and I trip into the net, it’s yours.”

Jack leaned forward, his forehead almost touching her hand.

“I don’t know what’s left of you in there. I don’t know if you hear me. If you’ve heard anything.”

His voice broke.

“But I love you, Eli. I love you so fucking much. And I miss you. Every day. Every goddamn day.”

And then — something shifted.

A twitch.

Barely there.

A squeeze.

Jack sat up fast.

“Eli?” he whispered.

Her eyelashes flickered. Once. Twice.

And then her eyes opened.

Wide. Unfocused. Fragile as glass.

Jack’s heart slammed into his ribs.

“Eli,” he breathed.

She blinked. Her mouth parted. Confused. Silent.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eli.”

And for the first time in five years and ninety-seven days, Jack Hughes finally felt like he could breathe again.

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - if we were us (part one)

warnings ; none

prompt ; in which life gives you and Jungkook one more chance to hold on.

note ; AH. IT'S HERE. i won't lie, finding where i wanted this story to start was extremely difficult and took me way longer than i want to admit. but after 2939393 cups of coffee and 393949 emhen inspirational quotes i made it. i have never been more excited about a piece of writing in my life!! for context, i began writing when i was 12 and have written numerous works over 200k words, but once i got to college, diverted to only one-shots and shorter fics to give myself time to live. now that i'm way too old to be on this app, i have time on my hands to actually enjoy writing stories and it both terrifies and excites me if you could see the notion file i have on this story you'd prob understand my anxiety a little more. on the bright side though, this is basically me signing a contract to stay on tumblr for at least another 6-8 months (or however long this story will take to complete.) all this to say, this story is incredibly nuanced and every character has flaws, trials, tribulations, yada yada. i hope your world is just as chaotic, devastating, exciting and messy as theirs. this is for all the lovers in the world who want a second chance. may it be sweeter than the first.

playlist here

series masterlist here

[YOUR POV]

You’ve always liked the rain. 

There’s something oddly comforting about it. The quiet hush of the droplets. The way it softens the edge of the world, but follows no pattern to its madness. 

Pretty much all your firsts have happened in the rain.

The first time you were dropped off for a playdate without crying, your shoes squelched against the pavement, raincoat sticking to the backs of your knees. The first time a friend hugged you was in middle school, outside of a 7-Eleven. The sky had opened up without warning, and you both laughed through it, soaked to the bone. Your first kiss was under a shared umbrella that kept tipping sideways, clumsy and warm and like two puzzle pieces that wouldn’t fully fit together but gave the illusion they might for a moment in time. He tasted like cherry gum and a thunderstorm that was gone too quickly.

The rain reminds you of beginnings. Unlike endings, they require no permission. They simply appear, uninvited, leaving behind fertile ground for whatever comes next. 

Morning light creeps in between the cracks of the blinds. A familiar heaviness weighs your eyes down, the air in the room cold in the way it always is when it rains outside. You shift slightly beneath the comforter, legs stretching out until your toes hit the edge of the mattress. Behind you, his arm tightens instinctively around your waist. 

You feel a soft groan rumble against your spine, breath fanning the back of your neck. Your body pauses its movement for a second, suspended between comfort and obligation. 

Outside, the rain taps against the window louder now. A familiar sound that makes you want to follow his actions and bury yourself into the thick sheets, pretend you have nowhere else to be. 

You really don’t want to get up. Clearly, neither does he. 

The pads of his fingers shift against your hip, digging into the bare skin. You can’t help but smile a little, even though it’s tired and small. 

“Joonie,” you murmur, voice thick with slumber. “I need to get up.”

That earns you another groan. A little louder, more dramatic. His face presses into your shoulder. “Mm. Five more minutes,” he mumbles. “World won’t end if you’re late.”

You want to believe him, but the kids in your class would say otherwise. 

You appease him, stay for one more breath. Maybe two. Normally, you wouldn't give yourself the extra grace. But it’s raining and beginnings are easier this morning. Plus, your boyfriend seems to be the human version of a teddy bear right now and you’re finding it quite endearing. 

Five more minutes, that’s what you give yourself. You don’t look at the clock or count the seconds. Time slips past slowly as you turn over and press your face into the side of his, kissing his cheek, jaw, the patch of skin just below his ear that’s always so soft. 

He doesn’t react much besides a sigh. His hold on your waist loosens as he recognizes your signal, your quiet touch that says you’re getting up. 

You slip out of bed carefully, trying not to shake the mattress too much. His t-shirt is bunched around your hips, creased and bunched from sleep. When you stand, it falls low to your thighs, brushing against your skin. 

The hardwood floor is cold under your feet. Rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, you drag yourself back into consciousness the best you can at 7 AM in the morning. 

You cross the room, flip the bathroom light on and begin your routine. It’s nothing glamorous, but when you work with children all day, this is the one part of the day you get to yourself. The version of you that isn’t constantly giving, fixing or soothing. Some mornings, it’s the only thing that keeps you sane. 

Your reflection in the mirror blinks back at you, fogged at the edges by the sleep still lingering in your expression. Halfway through brushing your teeth, you hear the creak of the mattress followed by the shuffle of feet across the floor.

Namjoon appears in the mirror, hair poking in ten different directions, leaning against the doorframe like his weight is too heavy to carry upright at this hour. 

“You look serious,” he teases. 

You glare at him sarcastically through the mirror and shrug, mouth full of minty toothpaste. 

“Deep thoughts?” he asks, stepping closer. He places a warm hand on your waist, his thumb dragging lightly across his shirt you’re still wearing. “Existential crisis already, and it’s not even 7:30, baby.”

You hum in acknowledgement around your toothbrush, raising an eyebrow. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. 

“What does your day look like?” he questions, reaching around you to grab the floss on the counter. 

You spit the foamy paste, wipe your mouth with the sink water. “I’ve got this new lesson plan I’m trying out. I’m hoping it lands well but knowing my kids, they’re going to make a mess.”

“Mess?” He cuts the piece of floss. 

“We’re using paint to help solve math problems.” Not your best idea. In hindsight, it sounded like it would heal your inner child but in practice, it’s definitely going to end with you cleaning paint off your jeans for the next two weeks. 

“Sounds exhausting,” He leans into the mirror to see his teeth better.

“And you?” You meet his eyes in the reflection, smiling briefly. 

“Mm,” he pauses to run the floss between his teeth before speaking. “Work call at 10. Then coding a shit ton of our new website features. Jin also asked me to look at paint samples with him, which will take approximately four more hours than it needs to.”

You snort out a laugh, “That’s what you get for agreeing to help with his kitchen.”

“Thought I was being a good friend,” he throws out his floss, grabbing his toothbrush out of the holder. “Kinda also wanted the free lunch.”

“Jin already thinks you’re a great friend, baby,” You splash some cold water on your face, trying to liven up your skin. “You know that.”

You’ve known Jin since college. He was always loyal — the kind of friend who showed up with takeout boxes when you were sad, who knew your exam schedules better than you did, who cracked your shell before others even brought out the hammer. You don't talk everyday, but when you do, it always feels like you’re picking up mid-conversation. 

Back when you and Namjoon were just hooking up, seeing where life took you, you introduced Jin to him. He was overprotective like an older brother in a sitcom, side-eyeing Namjoon between bites of ramyeon. Now, the two of them argue about kitchen appliances like they’re married and have a shared spreadsheet for wine recommendations you’re not allowed to edit. 

Sometimes you wonder if Namjoon fell in love with Jin and you were an afterthought. 

Namjoon chuckles while putting paste on his toothbrush, “He better. I sat in his house for two hours last week listening to him talk about that new guy he’s seeing and I… heard things no one should have to hear.”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about Jin’s sex life with him,” You poke his side as you lean against the sink, watching your boyfriend with amusement. 

He spits out the toothpaste, waving the brush in the air animatedly. “You agreed. I tried to agree and got roped into it anyway.”

Rolling your eyes, you push yourself off the sink with your palms and go, “Breakfast?” 

He nods at you, and you disappear down the hall, arms wrapped tightly around your body to block off as much of the cold air as possible. 

Your mornings have always been trivial. Insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe. You move on autopilot: pan on low heat, fridge door creaking open, eggs gathered in one hand, butter in the other. The coffee machine gurgles in the corner. His favorite mug  — the one with the chipped rim and the ugly cartoon bear on it  — is already out on the counter. You know he likes his eggs over easy, toast not too burnt, coffee with a splash of creamer. 

You barely think about these things anymore. 

It’s not like he ever asked you to be this way in the morning. Never said a word about it, or gave any sort of hint, never played helpless in front of the stove. But it was an invisible task that folded in on your routine without ever being discussed. 

It’s what love looks like, you remind yourself. The quiet dig of learning each other’s habits, small sacrifices piling up like layers beneath your feet. 

It doesn’t bother you. You like to give. You remember birthdays without setting calendar reminders, refill the Brita before it’s empty. And it’s not that people don’t love you back. You're just always a few steps ahead, already halfway into caring before anyone else even notices there was something to do. 

Namjoon walks in as you’re cracking the eggs, eyes still droopy with sleep. He’s no longer shirtless, now in his forest green hoodie he always wears when he works from home, which these days, appears to be more often than not. He yawns into his fist before grabbing two plates from the cabinet and setting them down beside you. 

“You beat me to it,” he taunts, gently bumping your hip. 

You hum, flipping the eggs with the new spatula his mom got you last week. “Didn't know it was a race.”

He chuckles, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I was gonna offer. Technically, last week, I made the coffee.”

“Mm. The machine made coffee, baby. You pressed the button.”

He doesn’t respond to you.There’s not much more to say to that. Instead he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. It almost feels like punctuation. Like a period that stops any other words from leaving your mouth. 

He’s quiet for another second, then breaks the silence in the air, “We still good to go to that baby shower on Sunday?”

You vaguely remember him telling you about his coworker’s pregnancy. All you know is it was an event that showed up on your shared calendar in the kitchen, circled in red and scrawled in messy handwriting. 

You nod as you plate the eggs, “Yup. Two o’clock, right?”

“Precisely.” Namjoon runs a hand through his unruly dark brown hair. “Seo-yeon mentioned something about a bouncy house?” 

“A bouncy house?” you repeat incredulously as you hand him his plate. “At a baby shower?” 

“She said the baby can’t use it but the adults should still have fun.” He shrugs like it makes perfect sense. Seo-yeon, his coworker at the tech startup he works for, has always been an eccentric female. You’ve met her a handful of times, but that was more than enough to understand why Namjoon refers to her as an ‘old soul.’ A bouncy house at her baby shower doesn’t even crack the top ten on the list of things that surprise you.

You giggle under your breath, passing him the plate. “If you catch me in the bouncy house, just know I had one too many mimosas.”

Namjoon rounds your tiny kitchen table, settling down in the chair. “Do we need to bring anything?” 

You hesitate for a moment. You don’t really have the heart to tell him you went down to the market last week to pick up a blanket and bear set for her. But you know if you dodge the question, he’ll ask again in a few days. “I already got the gift.”

You hear him start to chew, fork scraping against the plate. “Cool. Thanks, baby.” 

You think he’ll ask you what you got Seo-yeon, but he doesn’t.

You walk over to the coffee machine, pouring out the dark liquid into your respective mugs. Splash of cream for him. Three sugars and milk for you. You set his cup in front of him, ceramic clinking softly against the table, before heading back to the countertop and retrieving your own plate and mug to match.

When you settle in front of him, he peers into your mug. “I don’t know how you drink that.” 

To further prove his own point, he takes a sip, immediately wincing. “God,” he mumbles. “That’s not coffee. That’s dessert.”

“I like it sweet.”

“Offensively sweet.” He deposits your mug back down on your side of the table as if quarantining a biohazard. He’s a broken record at this point, always reminding you that one day, you’ll get a cavity from how sugary you prefer your drinks. Like a ghost that haunts every breakfast table discussion about your choice of beverage. 

“Well.” You tuck a piece of toast into your mouth. “Not all of us are fueled by burnt beans and overpriced creamer.”

He laughs at that, the sound ricocheting across kitchen surfaces. He’s always been easy to talk to, to sit beside in the stillness of early mornings where the world hasn’t quite remembered it exists yet. 

“One day, I’m going to get you to drink black coffee,” he teases. “Whatever it takes.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” you laugh as you cut up another piece of your eggs. 

“You still doing the bug project with your kids?” he asks, and you feel a wash of gratitude for the change in conversation topic. 

You nod, sighing, “Day three. Which means today’s the day someone accidentally steps on an ant farm and cries about it like it was their childhood pet.”

His mouth curves upward, eyes crinkling, “Weren’t you the one who said this year’s class was your most emotionally stable?”

“They are,” you insist around a mouthful of toast. “However, they did stage a protest yesterday when I tried to throw out a dead butterfly. Held a moment of silence and everything. I’m pretty sure they’re building it a grave out of popsicle sticks.”

Namjoon nearly chokes on his eggs. “I’m impressed.”

“You should come by sometime. Meet the little fuckers who take up all my time.” You’re half-joking, half-not. The last (and only) time he visited your classroom was the holiday party where you first met, when he was someone else’s reluctant plus one. You often watch other teachers partners’ appearing at classroom doors, bearing lunch and casual affection. 

He shakes his head. “I barely survived kindergarten on my own.” 

Between bites, he adds, “Got that deployment to push through today. Something’s breaking in the new UI, but I can't tell if it’s the framework or the entire infrastructure.”

You blink at him, chewing thoughtfully. “Wow. Sexy.”

“I know,” he smirks. “Almost as sexy as your bug project.”

You place a hand over your heart, sarcastically swooning. “God, nothing gets me going like scalable infrastructure.” Words harvested from his work calls — incomprehensible things you say without understanding the origins.

He lifts a hand in mock warning. “You better pray I don’t start talking about data streams before you finish breakfast.”

You snort, taking another sip of your coffee. “Enjoy your precious code. I’ll be elbows deep in glue and paint by 9 AM.”

Namjoon finishes his coffee before you do, setting the mug on the sink. When he passes, he kisses your temple, hand grazing your back like water over stones, “Have a good day, baby.”

You nod, already pushing your chair back once your eyes catch on the kitchen clock’s accusatory hands. “You too.”

He disappears down the hall towards his makeshift home office, leaving behind the scent of coffee and the cologne you bought him last Christmas. You stay at the table a second longer. Long enough to sip what’s left of your coffee, now lukewarm and overly sweet. Long enough to listen to the rain tapping against the windows like it’s trying to say something you can’t make out. 

Long enough for you to wonder when sweet started tasting like something you needed to apologize for. 

“An iced mocha latte? Did anyone order the iced mocha latte?” 

Your favorite barista's voice rings throughout the quaint coffee shop, bystanders perking up in hopes of hearing their order called. Everyone collectively deflates when they see a frantic woman barrel past apologetically, reaching for a drink that clearly isn’t theirs. 

You don’t bother lifting your head up. Poor Jiwoo. She’s been manhandling the coffee shop by the school you work at since the day you started, and she might be the only barista who understands how much sugar you typically prefer in your coffee. 

If she ever leaves the shop, you’re pretty sure you’d have to transfer school districts out of grief alone. 

You prefer to leave early for work, leaving ample time to collect your candied coffee, run through your lesson plan, and gossip with the other teachers for at least ten minutes in the lounge.

Unfortunately, today, you might have to exclude the gossip session you enjoy so much. A tragedy in three acts. 

There are two new students starting today, and while you normally enjoy fresh faces in the classroom with different personality types to tame, you already have your hands full between the bug project and the ‘paint your 2+2’s’ activity you very ill-advisedly volunteered to lead. 

“Hey, [Y/N],” Jiwoo solemnly leans over the counter where you're perched, waiting patiently as any good samaritan does if they don't want their coffee spat into. Her hair is frizzing at the edges, apron already stained. “I’m so sorry for the wait. Normally I put a rush on yours, but this Monday is really kicking my ass.”

She looks so stressed you almost want to go back there and put on an apron, maybe start whipping up some Iced Americanos.

“It’s no problem,” you wave her away. “You know I always come way too early.”

She gives you an appreciative smile, rushing back to the counter to take more orders. You turn your back to the crowd, enjoying the view outside. There’s a few kids clutching their mother’s hands, businessmen holding briefcases while fighting with umbrellas, a teenage boy hopping puddles like he’s in a video game. Against the windowpane, the rain sticks to the glass, slowly sliding to make space for new ones. 

“Hi, can I get an iced vanilla latte?”

You’re close enough to the counter that you’ve started eavesdropping on other’s orders without meaning to. Honestly, an iced vanilla latte sounds pretty good. You once got an iced caramel macchiato before 9 AM though, and you were vibrating like a tuning fork until your last kid went home at 2 PM. The girl’s voice is distressed as she taps her card against the reader, probably running late to work now from the long line. 

“Hey, can I get a black coffee? Hot?”

The second voice is different. 

It’s a man’s. Can’t be older than mid-30s. It’s lower, calmer. Unrushed. Like honey poured over gravel. 

Everything in your body stops functioning. 

It’s as if someone snipped the film reel mid-scene. The cafe around you doesn’t gradually fade. It’s replaced by a silence so loud you can hear your own blood rushing through your veins. The clink of cups, the hiss of the milk steamer, the shuffle of feet becomes background collateral, dissolving into white noise. 

Your hands clench around nothing. Lungs forget their one job. Your heart reverberates against your ribs like it’s trying to signal an emergency to anyone within radius. 

No, that second voice is a voice you haven’t heard in ten years but would recognize in a burning building. 

The second voice is a voice that has set up permanent residence in your bone marrow, lingering even after you thought you’d evicted every last trace of him from your system. 

You don’t dare turn around.

You stand there, statue-still, staring out the rain-streaked window as if memories don’t curl up and hibernate in your throat, waiting for precisely this moment to wake and stretch. 

Your eyes close for a brief second. 

When you open them again, the world outside continues its persistent motions. But you, you remain perfectly still, a pause button pressed in the center of the city. 

Seoul is a big city. You’re 32 now and far too old to believe in ghosts.

He wouldn’t be here. He made that very clear a decade ago. 

You hear another voice begin to recite their order. He’s probably off to the side, somewhere in the shop that is now dwindling down the number of patrons inside as work hours creep up on the clock. You’re too scared to breathe, to even glance one foot in the other direction. 

Your eyes instead train ahead on the bag of coffee beans untouched on the counter. 

“Iced coffee, three sugars and milk?” Jiwoo comes running over to you, a triumphant grin on her face as if she just defeated the morning rush. “God, I’m so sorry for the wait. Yours is on the house next time.” 

“No, it’s no problem,” You lean over and pat her hand, like you’re trying to prove your heart hasn’t actually stopped and you’re still a live human, even though it feels like it might. 

You shuffle over to the side station where the honey, tiny wooden stirrers, and other small distractions meant to keep your hands busy are. You grab a few napkins for yourself. You can’t trust your grip right now. In the distance, Jiwoo rattles off some other orders you can’t make out. One of her coworkers comes rushing in, red-faced and apologetic. 

You glance up at the clock on the wall. 8:30 AM. You’ve made great time despite the numerous coffee mishaps. And clearly, you need to sit in your chair and take a moment to yourself, because you’re now hallucinating the ghost of college’s past, and it’s too early to do that. 

You stir in some honey into your coffee. Taking a slow, deep breath, you turn a half-step with coffee in tow. 

And then, because the universe has a spectacular gift for comedic timing, you collide with someone. 

Your shoulder meets theirs, your cup shifting in your hand and sending a small wave over the lid’s edge. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry—”

Your eyes are already tracking the damage, focusing on white sneakers now marked with a small splash of brown. Nothing ruinous, but your body finds itself crouching, napkins in hand, some deeply ingrained instinct to make things right taking over.

“No, it’s okay,” the voice says.

It’s the second voice. Gentle. That same calm. 

You know this voice the way you know the road home in the dark, the way plants know to grow toward sunlight. 

Slowly, you lift your gaze upwards. 

He’s older, of course. More settled into himself. The lines around his eyes weren’t there before, shoulders carrying the weight of ten more years of living. His eyes stare into yours, somehow still reading every inch of you despite the decade-long gap. 

Reality blurs at the edges. The rain against the window falls silent. The coffee shop with its morning bustle recedes. Your heart hangs suspended from one beat and the next. The napkins fall to the floor, your wobbly legs struggling to stand upright. 

On a rainy Monday morning, where beginnings are endless, your ex boyfriend from university, Jeon Jungkook, stands in front of you holding a cup of black coffee in his right hand. 

masterlist + ask

taglist ; @arcanekookz @writesvani @yooniepot @whoa-jo @nimmmnikk @readingbee44 @jungshaking @starlight-1010 @jadaocon1 @phoenixxxxstarrrr @jkaxl @butterymin @almatiarau @lovingkoalaface @carriereadsbooks @bhonbhon @lola75111 @yoonstaar @namkookie222 @jeonjenny @lachimochala @kissyfacekoo @libra04 @minimoninini @goldenjeonkoo @ot7even @kopiosuam @annpeachy @literallyjimin @prxdajeon @purplelanterns @neg-l3ct @gguk-lvr @misakiminaa @wisebouquetbarbarian

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi, an another prompt, because I love your writing. I understand it takes time to fill.

Prompt for stronger ties: Magus and Alec enjoying their honeymoon and maybe meeting Ragnor and Cat. Or The Institute, and Alec’s family panicking over his disappearance.

SFW/ NSFW

thank you for the understanding <3 and I appreciate the prompts! last part here

this was supposed to involve Cat and Ragnor but Malec are having too good a time on their honeymoon currently and Alec has decided that since Izzy and Jace are at least safe, they can handle the fallout along with all the people who have more authority than him (aka Lydia/Imogen/maryse etc).

Alec's tired, okay? Nothing has been going his way AT ALL, his whole family got implicated in treason (again) and then actually committed several flavors of treason and also implicated Alec. so Alec is tired. maybe he'd be less 'fuck them' if he'd been there to see Jace and Clary 'heroically try to save the day' except they didn't save the day and he knows that.

Suddenly one thing goes his way. he saves his sister. he might lose the institute but that's better than losing himself to a marriage that isn't doing anything to help his family when push comes to shove. Alec has a marriage now that actually gave him something worthwhile (Izzy not being deruned when Lydia couldn't do anything)

alec's like: this one thing? this is mine now. goodbye and ty for coming to my talk.

i hope you enjoy <3

-lumine

the stronger of claims

Alec wakes to silk sheets as soft and luxurious as he’s imagined Magnus’ many shirts are. Golden light dapples across his body and he groans, despite his muscles being fine he feels as if he’s been thrown through several layers of concrete by a demon.

The bed smells like Magnus.

That’s the only thing keeping him calm and then there’s a deep chuckle against his back and Alec realizes there’s an arm around his waist and cool rings pressed against the skin of his belly.

“We go' marri'd.” Alec means to be articulate but it comes out in a hoarse slurry of words and Magnus laughs again, louder this time.  His warm muscles shake Alec’s body with his humor and Alec presses back into his warmth greedily.

Whatever it is that has Alec unable to think straight, being closer to Magnus helps.

“We aren’t married darling, we’re bonded. Which is something far more permanent than marriage. In fact, even by Clave standards a bond like ours is higher than marriage. So give your pretty head a break, your attachment to Lydia is no longer viable.”

The small pulse of sadness that went through Alec at the thought that they aren’t actually married is swept away by relief at Magnus’ words.

“Good.”

That’s about all he’s able to say really and if he had more energy, Alec would turn so he can burrow his nose into Magnus’ chest.  Instead he just wiggles back, content when Magnus chin slots against his shoulder, stubble tickling Alec’s skin.

“Izzy?”

Magnus wouldn’t be here, calm and with the magic between them settled if she weren't okay but still, Alec has to ask.

—-

“Safe and sound though demoted for the next year and with a few other restrictions, shadowhunter business. Once I knew she was safe I didn’t pay quite as much attention I fear.”

A lie, but Alexander is too tired to listen beyond the relief of knowing his little sister is safe.

Alexander falls back asleep before Magnus can ask him anything important and while he’s already moved the loft, that doesn’t mean Magnus needs to be obvious about where they are and staying in Brooklyn is obvious.

Within half an hour Magnus is booked at one of the most private and luxurious selkie run resorts and is portaling both himself and Alexander to one of their private bungalows. The one half of a wardstone he’s been given is the only reason the coordinates even work, or they’d have to take a boat. 

After all, they can be tracked on land but on the water, they’ll be untraceable.

Instead it’s out on the ocean, magical stilts holding up water worn wood and crystal and ocean mined rock that create a paradise of beauty without interruption.  

Mundanes can’t sail through this area, it doesn’t exist to them and the wind wards will redirect their boats and bodies, no matter what.

It also means they’ll be completely impossible to track, which will be necessary once Alexander’s family remembers he exists and is missing.

Honestly, the fact that over twenty-four hours have passed since Alexander first came to him and yet Magnus has yet to receive so much as a text or fire message.  That kind of behavior says more than enough about his boy’s family.

They’ll need to make a stop at the Labyrinth after their honeymoon. Alexander’s new status will need to be documented and recorded and the vows he’ll need to swear as Magnus’ consort will need to happen as soon as possible.

But still, after this.

Alexander wakes to sunshine, cradled by both Magnus arms and the hammock he magicked them both into.  

There’s awe on his face as he looks around and almost knocks them both out of the hammock and into the water with a laugh as he sits up.

“Keep it up and I’ll let you fall in the water.” Magnus threatens and Alexander just grins cheekily at him, as if the pain of the new bond has finally faded and then his boy tips himself out of the hammock.

Magnus curses.

Not from the seawater splashing him, but from the fact that Alexander doesn’t immediately surface.  There’s a moment where concern and terror grip him, and then Alexander is surfacing further away, a look of delight on his face and he’s holding... Magnus deliberately drops his glamour to get a better look.

“Why are you holding a fish, Alexander?”

Alexander grins at him, hair slick and half in his eyes as he treads water.

“To eat? It seems pretty isolated out here. Aren’t you hungry?” While Magnus could eat again — he’s made sure to eat while Alexander slept — it’s not surprising that his boy is ravenous. What is surprising is that he caught a fish rather than just asking for something.

“Yes darling, but that’s what I have magic for.” 

Alexander looks dubious as he swims closer, somehow holding onto the slick fish with only one hand before pulling himself and the fish up onto the dock where he drops it pointedly in an empty bucket. Magnus resigns himself to losing this argument even before it's begun.

“But fresh fish tastes the best.” Alexander has his arms crossed and is pointedly staring Magnus down as Magnus tries to avoid looking at both Alexander and the suffocating fish he can hear flailing around the bucket .

“I can summon us the freshest of—” Alexander’s eyes darken with sadness and Magnus sighs and deliberately doesn’t pinch his nose. “Do you know how to dress and cook fresh fish?”

Alexander does it seems.  

He’s a little unsure and lacking in confidence once they get into the kitchen but it seems he knows how to clean and dress a fish.  Magnus even summons an apron for him, some dark purple piece he’d once gotten for Cat and Alexander just asks Magnus to help him tie it.

The real hiccup starts when Alexander summons a small blade to his palm, the knife glowing and bright as it unfurls.

“If I use an adamas blade to clean the fish, will you be allergic?” 

It’s such an absurd thing to consider but also an absurdly thoughtful check-in and Magnus has to kiss Alexander. Ignoring both the still wriggling fish and the small glowing blade his consort is holding. Magnus is also trying not to mention how there is an entire knife-block and drawer full of sharpened knives already in the kitchen that Alexander could use instead.

“I’ll be fine darling. Also I’m summoning bread and side dishes. We are not eating just fish, Alexander. There is a limit to my tolerance.”

There’s a huff of protest but when Magnus looks at him, Alexander is grinning down at the fish he’s cleaning, eyes soft and cheeks vibrant with delight.

It’s a look Magnus has never seen on Alexander before and while that shouldn’t be too much of a surprise — they barely know each other all things considered, it means something. Magnus doubts that this is a normal or frequent expression on Alexander's face and yet something as simple as this, teasingly arguing about dinner is enough to bring it out.

They eat on the dock.

So far Alexander hasn’t asked a single question about why Magnus portaled them somewhere else and seems to be ignoring everything else beyond enjoying himself.

Magnus summons a thick blanket and they sit in nothing but boxers with their feet in the water as they eat.  The fish is delicious. Flaky and succulent and with plenty of lemon and from Alexander’s smug face, he knows exactly how good it is.

However, Alexander’s face when he bites into the bread Magnus summoned is just as delighted and before Magnus can tease him, Alexander’s already recanted his previous statement.

“So from now on, I’ll fish and you summon everything else?” Alexander asks, almost eager as he eyes the now empty basket of bread and Magnus summons another, just because he can.

And of course for the way Alexander smiles at him, crumbs catching on his growing stubble until Magnus wipes them away.

“I’d rather not eat fish every meal, Alexander. The selkies running this place might consider your efforts an effective show and try to woo you away from me.”

Alexander scoffs at the thought and Magnus laughs, because while he’s not completely joking he also simply has no wish to eat seafood for every single meal.

Besides, he plans to keep them there for at least five days. That might be a bit long considering whatever crisis the shadowworld is currently going through, however Magnus kicked up a bit of a hornets nest for the Clave.

It will be days before Imogen Herondale thinks of anything besides her newly ground grandson, something Magnus will still need to explain to Alexander at some point.

AN:

Alec: i'm with Magnus and we're on water so we can't be tracked. I know nothing. i'm living my best life... oh fish. Magnus might like fish too.

Magnus: ... look I understand that fresh fish is best but that doesn't mean I want Alexander fishing with his bare hands when his hands could instead be on me?? is this hard to understand? I can summon fish still alive so they're the freshest of fresh but I want my consort's hands all to myself. this is not complicated.

Alec *wakes up in paradise aka Magnus' arms and in a really nice place*: so this is new- nice. I meant nice. this is totally normal and where I went to sleep. carry on.

Magnus: ... you don't want to know where we are? or how long we'll be here? or even why we are here?"

Alec: if I ask questions then you'll give me answers and right now, I just want to exist with you. reality doesn't exist outside us right now. that's my stance.

Alec: I don't have to marry lydia? I don't have to wear her rune? or kiss her? or make medically induced babies I don't want with her? I am on vacation and I don't care if the institute explodes or implodes or whatever. it goes to hell whether i'm there or not and literally everything is above my pay grade right now. that's what my mother, Lydia and imogen exist for. they can deal with it.

Magnus: darling, don't you need to return to the Institute at some point? i'm not complaining, you just haven't mentioned it once

Alec who is sharpening a wooden spear to use for fishing looking up, eyes glinting violently: what institute, Magnus?

Magnus: your... ah. well I suppose it's not really your institute anymore, is it?

Alec: no. no it isn't. therefore, are the problems mine?

Magnus wisely shaking his head: no darling, of course not.

Alec: when they want me back, they can contact me. I currently don't hold an active rank in the Institute. I'm technically just an off-duty Commander sometimes pulled onto teams. and while Lydia's been relying on me to run things behind the scenes, she can just do them herself or delegate. this is our honeymoon, isn't it? why are you trying to cut it short?

Magnus: you're completely right. forget the institute. I shan't bring it up again, now darling did you say you saw oysters?

*honestly i'm still not sure what path Alec's going to take in this verse. he's kind of at the point where he's not sure either

[slasherslittlesimp]

Deeper Than The Darkest Depths (Twilight X M!Triton!Reader)

Part One

The rough waves of the ocean rock Bella’s limp body harshly, pushing and pulling at her, keeping her buried beneath the surface. The oxygen in her lungs is quickly dwindling, yet she feels oddly at peace as she stares into the dark abyss, her vision blurring in and out. For a moment she accepts her fate. That is, until she sees something fiery red heading towards her- the familiar daunting silhouette of Victoria.

The vampire inches closer and closer, and Bella finds herself no longer feeling peaceful as dread begins to fill her. Victoria is only a short distance away at this point and Bella knows that the vampire will reach her long before she can even attempt to reach the surface.

Yet those worries fade to confusion when she watches Victoria’s head snap to the side, staring at something unseen with wide eyes. Bella can’t even react when something moves past at a speed so incredible that all she sees is a blur colliding with Victoria, carrying her off into the sea. It’s at this point that Bella falls unconscious from the lack of oxygen, her body going completely limp. As she fades into unconsciousness, all she can think about is whatever saved her from the vampire.

When she comes to, coughing up salty water and struggling to breathe, she clings onto the warm body of her friend Jacob while staring out at the ocean she was drowning in only minutes ago. Whatever Jacob is saying doesn’t register to her as she scrambles away from him, moving towards the water until she’s yanked back into his arms as he holds her still, fearing that she’s about to try to kill herself again.

“Let go!” She cries out desperately, the tone only making Jacob tighten his grip around her. “Something saved me! I need to see what it was! See if it’s still alive!”

“What are you talking about?” Jacob forces her to look at him, holding her by her upper arms as he stares at her in disbelief and confusion. “I’m the one that pulled you out of the water.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about!” Bella looks away, staring at the water again as if whatever saved her will magically appear. “Victoria was down there- the vampire that’s been hunting me. She was so close but then something attacked her and dragged her away. I need to know what it was!”

“Just calm down!” Jacob pulls her into him, hugging her as she begins to shake. “We can’t go back into the water. It’s too dangerous. All we can do is go to Sam’s and tell him about it. Maybe he’ll know something about it.”

He seriously doubts his pack leader will know anything, but he knows that it’s the best way to get Bella to agree to leave the beach and stop trying to jump into the ocean again. The girl just drowned, so she needs to take it easy and get checked. On top of that, it’s freezing out and without his heat she’ll surely freeze to death. He needs to get her somewhere safe, and the best option is Sam’s house where the rest of the pack can help keep an eye on her.

That’s how Bella finds herself seated at Sam’s kitchen table staring blankly at the wood, wrapped up in a blanket and cradling a steaming cup of hot cocoa she has yet to drink from. Around her, the pack discusses what to do after hearing Jacob explain the situation. None of them really know how to approach the situation at hand because of how odd it seems.

A blurred figure attacking a vampire in the ocean? Definitely odd, though that’s not saying much considering they’re literal wolves. And it’s not like they can just go scuba diving in the ocean searching for something unknown. They wouldn’t even know what they’re looking for since Bella didn’t see anything that could remotely be helpful.

“Maybe she hallucinated it.” Paul shrugs, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back in his seat. “She was drowning, so it’d make sense if she saw something that wasn’t real.”

“I don’t know.” Jacob mumbles, glancing over at the girl. “She seemed really distressed. Like she genuinely believed it happened.”

Paul scoffs. “Just admit that you’re only giving her the benefit of the doubt because you like her.”

When Jacob glares at Paul, looking ready to fight, Sam speaks up and stops them. “Enough. All we can do in this situation is go down to the beach and take a look around. If we don’t find anything, then that’s that. If we do, then we figure it out from there. Jacob, you stay here with Bella, make sure she stays put.”

With that the pack heads out, traveling to the beach in their human forms. They split up, spreading out along the coast while Sam heads up on the cliff to get a better view of the area. His dark eyes search the water, unable to see clearly past the harsh waves.

As the wind blows, he turns his attention towards the other side of the cliff, opposite of where the pack is searching. He steps towards the edge as he peers over. That’s when he spots what appears to be someone unconscious, their body lying in the sand as the waves lap over them, pushing and pulling at their body.

Sam speaks to the others through the mind link as he heads down the cliff towards the person. As he gets closer, he notices that there’s something off about them. Webbed fingers covered in scales, a large fin going down their spine, and the tail of some kind of fish making up the lower half of their body.

He hesitates for a moment before bending down, rolling the creature over. His eyes linger on their face for a moment before moving down to their chest where four long gashes spread from their right shoulder to their left side, leaking a concerning amount of blood.

He’s not quite sure what to do as he’s never seen anything like them before. Still, he knows he can’t just leave them injured on the beach where a human could stumble upon them. So, he scoops their unconscious form up into his arms and stands up, ready to carry them all the way back to his home. However, as he stands he feels their body suddenly shifting in his arms.

He watches in slight disbelief as the scales, fins, and tail disappear, leaving behind the normal features of a human. This allows Sam to properly examine their features, finding them to be a male.

Unfortunately, the male in his arms is now completely nude, so he mentally orders someone from the pack to go grab a blanket while he Carrie’s the man to the beach where the others are. When he reaches it, the others are quick to rush over to him, numerous questions falling from their lips as they look at the man Sam carries.

Thankfully Quill comes sprinting out of the trees with a blanket before the others can see too much of his nude body. With him safely wrapped up, Sam continues to carry the stranger to his home, hoping that his injuries aren’t too severe.

But as he walks, one questions lingers in his mind.

Are you the one that saved Bella?

[kendallroydefender]

Love‘s Gonna Bring You Home - Part 1 (Jax Teller x Winston!Reader)

Summary: Being Opie’s little sister meant you grew up in the world of SAMCRO. Surrounded by motorcycles, kutte‘s and the steady presence of his best friend Jax Teller. The one you had a crush on since you were a teen. Now you’re back in Charming and the old friendship slowly turned into something neither of you had expected.

It was good being back home. No matter how much you had been looking forward to going to college you had missed Charming. A lot. The familiar places, the club you grew up in, your family. And Jax.

Being Opie’s little sister by two years you grew up with him and his best friend since childhood.

You had been home, unpacking your suitcase and then went to the club to see your dad.

Now you were sitting in the Teller Morrow parking lot listening to the guys in the background while holding a cold coke bottle.

The sound of a motorcycle approaching got your attention. You heard the rumble of the engine before you saw him.

Jax Teller. The MC‘s golden boy, your brothers best friend and your crush since you were 14 years old. Being Opie’s little sister by two years you basically grew up with him and his best friend. Often tagging along when they were out and about. Annoying them when you were kids but then becoming close friends.

It’s been a while since you last saw Jax. Last summer you did a road trip with friends so you weren’t home. The summer before you had spent mostly at your, now ex, boyfriends hometown. And last Christmas you didn’t see him either since your dad was sick.

His blonde hair was a little longer since you last saw him, a little more stubble on his jaw, white tee snug under his Kutte and his trademark white Nikes.

He looked good. And you couldn’t stop your heart from jumping the same way it did when you were a teen.

”Look who’s back in town.“ he called out as he walked up to you. A smile gracing his face.

”Had to make sure you don’t forget about me.“ you laughed back

”How could I forget the girl who cut up my bandana to make a veil at six years old because she decided we were gonna get married.“ he paused for a moment, chuckling.

”You were bossy as hell back then.“

You grinned, a little embarrassed

”You should’ve been honored to marry me under the jungle gym.“ you shrugged.

He laughed at that before stepping closer.

You two hugged briefly.

Jax eyes scanned over you afterwards. Your hair was a little different now. A college hoodie sitting on your shoulders, cut off shorts that showed your legs. Legs Jax had no business noticing. But he did.

He stopped in front of you, his grin easy. “You’ve been gone too long.”

You shrugged. “College doesn’t exactly let you skip finals for beer nights at the clubhouse.”

Jax chuckled. “Yeah, well maybe they should.”

It was evening a few days after you’ve arrived when you went up to the roof of the Teller Morrow Garage.

A can of coke beside you. You didn’t have to look over when you heard the creak of the ladder. You already knew who it was.

”Been a while since anyone else came up here.“ he said, smile noticeable in his tone.

You shrugged ”You were working, figured you wouldn’t mind me borrowing your spot.“

”Don’t mind at all.“ he answered.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, easy.

”Being away gets heavy sometimes.“ you stated ”Me not being around helping dad to help. Opie being locked in.“ you let out a breath. ”Thought I come up here and pretend life wasn’t so complicated.“

Jax nodded.

”It does that. Life.“

”Opie showed me this place once. Told me this is where you think when the world gets too loud.“

Jax nodded

”Sometimes this feels like the only place I can breathe.“

You glanced at him. The honesty in his voice catching your attention.

”I get that.“ you agreed ”That’s why I came here.“

Another quiet moment passed as you both watched the sunset.

”Glad you’re home.“ he said then

”Me too.“ you said.

The chair squeaked as you sat down. You hated being here. The heavy feeling that came with the place.

But the moment you saw your brothers broad frame step into the room all that was forgotten.

Opie smiled when he saw you.

”Hey y/n.“ he said.

”Hey Ope.“

He sat down in front of you, looking at you for a moment.

”You lookin‘ good. You’re eatin‘? Sleepin‘?“

You rolled your eyes ”Yes Dad.“

He smirked ”Just gotta check. What’ve you been up to?“

”Helping Dad around the house. Being at the club. Hanging out with Jax.“ you shrugged

”Hanging out with Jax, huh?“

”Don’t start.“ you told him.

”Just sayin‘.“ he answered

”Ope I’ve been spending my summer with him every year since I was like 6. it’s the same as always just… without you.“

He nodded a fareaway look on his face.

”You’re missing. I miss you.“ you told him.

”I miss you, too.“ he told you.

You sat for a moment before he spoke again.

”How’s college going?“

”It’s good! Last year starting soon.“

”I’m so proud of you, kid.“

You gave him a smile ”Thank you.“

”If anyone could do it it’s you.“ he said before adding ”Smartest Winston there ever was.“

”Oh come on. I’m not.“ you laughed

”You serious? Who’s smarter? Aunt Beatrice? Uncle Karl?“ Opie grinned.

”I’m not smarter than you.“

”Kid, I love your support here but that’s not true. I’m the one in jail.“

You tilted your head

”Doesn’t mean you’re dumb.“

A guard let you know that the visitation time was almost up.

”I hate that I have to leave you here.“

”I’ll be back before you know it.“

You nodded knowing that it was more than a year before he would be released. You and Opie had always been close. You would drop anything for him and he would do the same for you. So you being separated like this was hard for both of you. Yeah, you wrote each other letters and called but it wasn’t the same as being able to come to him with every problem, thought and struggle you had.

The sun was high and reflecting off the water. The lake was quiet. You’ve been coming hear since forever. You, Jax and Opie. Club barbecues or fishing days.

You kicked your shoes off and settled close to the shoreline. Jax shrugged off his Kutte before stretching out beside you. You’ve been spending more and more time together this summer. You’d always did but usually with your brother but since Opie was in prison it was just the two of you.

Jax closed his eyes while you took out a book. Turning onto your stomach while reading.

You didn’t notice him studying you. You were so wrapped in the story, hair falling around your face, the sun illuminating you making you look as if you were glowing.

A smiled formed on his face. Yeah, you were always pretty but you were a kid. Now though? Now you were beautiful. A woman. Smart as hell and funny.

He let his gaze linger a little longer. The way your brows furrowed slightly in concentration. He almost didn’t noticed that he was staring until your eyes flicked towards his.

”What?“ You grinned a little.

He shook his head, his own grin forming slow and easy.

”Nothin‘“

You raised your eyebrows but he changed the topic before you could say anything else.

"Come on, darlin. You're not gonna sit there the whole time like a grandma."

He got up and started taking off his clothes. You tried not to stare. Eyes lingering on his chest. But Jax noticed anyway, he stayed silent though, small smirk forming on his face.

You rolled your eyes at him before stripping out of your own clothes until you were left in your bathing suit. Making his jaw clench slightly as his eyes glanced over you.

The water was cold and you squealed a little as you waded in. Jax laughed at you, more out of reflex you splashed some of the cold water at him.

”Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?“ he grinned before charging at you.

You let out a shriek before trying to get away but he caught you easily, arms sliding around your waist from behind lifting you out of the water as you tried to kick at him.

”Jax!“ you laughed.

He laughed too, head tucked beside yours, his grip firm but careful as he spun you around before lowering you back into the cool water. He was still holding on to you, his chest warm against your back. You felt his breath on your neck, the way it slowed a little as you stopped fighting and just leaned into him.

”This what you wanted?“ you asked.

”Somethin‘ like it.“ he said, voice low but you could hear the smile in it.

You twisted in his arms, facing him. His arms loosened around you but stayed on your hips. For a moment you were both just looking at each other, sun lit, soaked but smiling. Your hand resting on his stomach, his warm skin a contrast to the water.

There was a energy in the air. Neither of you leaned in or kissed the other. But it felt close.

For now though you just slipped out of his arms and swam away with a teasing grin, making him chase you again.

The bike roared off into the night air as you stepped onto the porch later that day, hair still damp, a little sunburned, the sleeves of Jax hoodie tugged over your hands.

Piney was on his usual chair on the porch, beer in hand, oxygen machine humming beside him.

”You and that boy been spending a lot of time lately.“ he said.

”Yeah,“ you answered ”Just catching up while I’m home.“

Piney hummed low.

”Just seems like you’re smiling more these days.“

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your mouth twitched lightly.

”Is that your subtle way of asking questions without asking them?“

He let out a short laugh.

”Ain’t none of my business unless you want it to be.“ he answered.

”It’s nothing.“ you shrugged ”We‘re just closer now.. you know… with everything happening.“ you said. Piney nodded, knowing how much you missed your big brother.

There was a bonfire the club had thrown. Beer, barbecue, music and lawnchairs.

You were sitting a bit to the side, next to Jax on a log, sipping from a beer you’ve barely touched. He was closer than necessary, your knees brushing. The light from the fire illuminated you both in a soft glow. You tried not to stare but failed. You were wearing Jax hoodie again, had been every night since the day at the lake.

The song changed to a familiar tune.

”So, you gonna dance with me, Teller?“ you asked, a smirk on your face.

”That a challenge, Winston?“ he said leaning back onto his hands.

”That’s a dare.“

He chuckled as he stood, brushing off his jeans. Then he extended a hand.

”Alright. Let’s go, college girl.“

You took it and let him pull you up. It was warm, calloused and familiar.

The grass is cool under your bare feet. No one was watching you too closely as Jax placed his hand gently on your waist and yours coming up to his shoulders.

”Don’t step onto my toes.“ you warned

”Wouldn’t dare.“ he grinned

Jax looked at you, wearing his clothes, in the soft light of the fire, barefeet. He knew it was a cliche. Falling for his best friends sister. The girl Opie had always told him was off limits. He hadn’t planned this but it just felt right with you.

You looked up at him then, a small smile on your face, and Jax swore his fucking heart stopped. He hadn’t felt like this in ages. Not since Tara. And that was years ago.

”What?“ you asked, a little teasing, a little breathless.

”Just enjoy the moment, me dancing won’t happen that soon again.“

You narrowed your eyes slightly ”We‘ll see about that.“

Afterwards you found yourselves sitting with the others. You sat between Jax legs on the ground as he sat on a low log behind you, arms on his knees. Laughing at something Tig said. It was good, comfortable, perfect. You didn’t hate college but this here felt like home. You didn’t have to pretend. You grew up around these people and yeah, you knew what was going on in the club, the dark side of it but these guys were your family.

”You heading back soon?“ Jax asked in a low tone, pulling your attention back to him.

”Couple more weeks.“ you answered ”Trying not to think about it.“

Jax nodded.

”You ever think about stayin‘?“

”Yeah,“ you said truthfully ”but it’s only one more year until I’m finished, so…“

”You comin‘ back afterwards?“ he asked

”Not sure yet. But Charming’s home and I miss it.“ you told him, and it was true.

”Charming‘s not the same without you, Darlin‘“ he told you.

You smiled and leaned back into him a little more. His arms wrapped around your pulling you closer. You didn’t press it further. It was not the night for confessions.

But when he drove you home that evening, walking you up the porch he lingered a little, his hand grazing the small of your back as he hugged you goodnight.

You smoothed your hands down your jeans as you waited for Opie.

Jax sat beside you, Kutte left in your car, arms crossed. His knee kept bouncing under the table.

And then you spotted him. His eyes softened as he saw you two.

You all talked a little, Jax gave some brief updates on the club, you told him about Piney. Your and Jax knees touching softly under the table as he told your brother about some funny thing that happened, you laughing along, adding some comments.

Opie’s eyes narrowed a little

”You two been spendin‘ a lot of time together, huh?“ he asked.

”Someone’s gotta keep her from getting into trouble while you’re in here.“ Jax shrugged, a little too casual.

”Like I’m the one starting bar fights.“ you rolled your eyes with a smile.

Opie leaned back in his chair, eyes still on you.

”What’ve you been up to this summer?“ he asked then.

”Oh, you know. Spending time with Donna and the kids. Doctors visits with Dad. Stopping by the club. Reading.“ you rattled off.

”Going to the lake.“ Jax added. You nudged him under the table.

Opie raised a brow ”The lake, huh?“

”Just hanging out.“ you shrugged ”Like we always have.“

He didn’t say anything else but the look on his face told you he didn’t quiet bought it.

”You look good, kid. Take care, okay?“ Opie said after the guards signaled that the visits were over.

”I will. You too.“ you said throat feeling tight.

Jax and him said their goodbyes afterwards.

”I’m watching you, Teller.“ Opie said as he walked away, not unkind but pointed.

You stood at your car hugging your father to say goodbye.

Piney let out a little chuckle as he parted from you.

”Guess I’m not the only one who’s gonna miss you.“

You furrowed your brows for a second before you heard the steps behind you.

As you turned you saw Jax standing behind you, hands buried in his pockets.

”Hi.“ you said

”Hey.“ he nodded back

”I’ll leave you kids too it.“ your dad said as he stepped back into the house.

You shifted on your feet as the screen door creaked shut behind your dad.

”So… this is it for now.“ you said, offering a small smile.

He nodded, stepping a little closer ”Yeah, guess so.“.

You reached for him first. Arms wrapping around his neck, hugging him tightly.

He held you just as close, burying his face in your neck.

”Promise me you’ll call.“ you murmured.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. The look he gave you almost undid you.

”If you promise me you’ll answer.“ he said

You nodded ”Always.“

He exhaled, then brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek.

”It’s been a good summer.“

”The best.“ You smiled.

He leaned in then, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

”Be safe.“ he said.

”You too.“ you whispered.

And then you climbed into your old car. Piney came back into the driveway.

You waved at them both before you drove away. With a heavy feeling in your heart.

[authorautumnbanks]

One Night (32)

"What's that look for?" Satoru asks.

Kagome tears her eyes away from her phone and glances over at Satoru. How he makes driving look so hot is beyond her. Wearing his blindfold and a pair of black gloves, Satoru knows exactly what he's doing. Kagome wrinkles her nose and debates telling him, but decides against that. Best to just be upfront. "Naoya texted me."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah... he asked if I could help him make a dish for Utahime." Kagome sighs. "He must have gotten my number from her." She can practically taste the disdain in the air. Satoru does not like Naoya, and he has made it very clear he is only allowing Naoya to hang around because of Utahime and to keep an eye on him. Something along the lines of keeping his enemies close.

"He wants you to help him cook a dish? As in, he wants the recipe?"

Kagome blinks and then looks down at her phone. Maybe she's making this a bigger deal than it needs to be. He probably just wants the recipe... though he could just look one up. That's what she does when she wants to make something and she's never made it before.

Kagome: Like a recipe? Or a YouTube video?

Naoya: I was hoping you could help me personally, like a cooking class. The videos online don't make any sense to me, and I need to get this right.

"He wants me to teach him."

"The fuck he does."

Kagome turns to the side and glances at the back. Koushi and Shippo are fast asleep. She settles back in her seat and then sighs. "I can tell him no." She's leaning towards no anyway since she's busy with this surprise event for Satoru's birthday and the housewarming party. Too many events and not enough time. Thank goodness for Ito-san.

Satoru is silent. They drive for roughly ten more minutes before he opens his mouth.

"No, tell him you'd love to help him wow Utahime or something like that."

"Are you planning another prank?"

He turns his head ever so slightly. "Uh...no? How'd you know about that?"

"Satoru. Of course, I know about the prank. It had Shippo's signature all over it. If you want to play a prank on him, that's fine, but try not to use something that requires me to dispel it."

"Ugh." He makes a right turn and then places his right hand on her thigh. "No pranks, but I want to be there. Just wanna observe. See where his head is at." Satoru squeezes her thigh. "You're not an easy woman to get over. I doubt he moved on that quickly. Besides, he is a Zenin. They have chefs that would be more than willingly to just make the damn meal for him and let him pretend he did it."

Kagome glances at his hand on her and how it moves up. His thumb presses into her skin. It doesn't hurt—his hold on her—but she's positive that it'll leave a mark in the shape of his hand. She's been around enough demons to see the subtle signs, and while Satoru isn't a demon, he still displays some similar traits that normal humans do not.

"You want to mark me?"

"Huh?"

"Mark me. Do you want to?"

"Define mark, because if you mean do I want to rough you up, then no. I would never do that. If Naoya oversteps, I'll gladly knock his head off this time. I can make it look like an accident," he rambles. "Hell, you could watch it if you're into that."

"Satoru," Kagome says, placing her hand on his. "I meant mark me as in..." Her face warms as her ears burn. "Coming on me, so I smell like you or a hickey... or—"

The car accelerates. Satoru weaves around the other cars. In another life, he could be a race car driver or maybe just an athlete in general. There are a lot of things he is good at it, not that she'll ever, ever tell him because Satoru has the biggest ego, and he loves to show off like a peacock.

Hence, him wearing those dang gloves he knows she loves.

A tease.

"Why are you driving so fast?" She's not bothered by the speed... okay, maybe a little, but more so, she would hate for them to get pulled over.

"You know why, baby, you can't say shit like that. How much longer until we get to the hotel?"

Kagome leans forward and picks up his phone. "Another hour." She places the phone down and leans back. While they are going faster, the speed is nothing compared to Kirara, and Satoru looks as if he is in complete control over the car. There's a relaxation to his shoulders. An ease to his jaw. A shame she can't see his eyes.

"If it were just us, I would have pulled over," he admits.

"On the side of the road?

"I'd hold you up."

Kagome laughs. "Well, sorry to bust your balls, baby, but we aren't doing anything during this trip. The kids are sharing the bed with us."

"... Not even in the bathroom?"

Kagome shakes her head. "Not even in the bathroom."

Satoru lets out a deep, suffering sigh. "Somehow, I must find a way to go on." He sighs again. "You know, I wasn't even thinking about it until you mentioned it. My mind, for once, was not in the gutter when it comes to you. I was thinking about how I can make Naoya's death look like an accident. Wrapping his intestines around his neck might be overkill."

Kagome blinks. "There's a chance that he has moved on. He apologized, and he is dating Utahime now." And while it is strange that Naoya is asking her, perhaps he's reaching out because he wants to mend things. It could be for Utahime's sake since she and Satoru interact because of the schools. "When we get to the hotel, I want to walk around. Need to stretch my legs," Kagome says, changing the subject because she'd rather not dwell on Naoya any longer.

"We'll be there soon," he soothes. "And if you and the kids ended up wanting to stay another night, that's fine. I don't want you feeling rushed."

"But you'll be going to be going back and forth between here and home." A four-hour round trip is not easy for anyone, even if Satoru is the strongest.

"It's fine. Ijichi loves long drives."

Somehow, Kagome does not believe that, but she doesn't push the issue either. Satoru knows Ijichi better than her, so it's probably fine. Ijichi will probably switch with someone, so it isn't him picking Satoru up and then bringing him back out. She yawns and shifts in the seat. Her eyelids are heavy.

"I'll wake you when we get there," he says, squeezing her leg.

Kagome nods. She swears she wasn't this sleepy when she was pregnant with Koushi. She closes her eyes while keeping a firm hold on Satoru's hand. It's his fault. He just had to wear those gloves.

Kagome groans, feeling someone poking her arm. She isn't done sleeping yet, and she doesn't want to get up either.

"Come on, you three," Satoru sing-songs, "We're here."

At that, Kagome opens her eyes and then frowns. Her brows are taut. Maybe she's still asleep, but she swears there's a lot of demonic energy around here. She places her hand on the door handle and then blinks several times when the door opens, and Satoru is holding out a hand for her.

"One of these days, you'll remember," he teases.

"I'm half-awake. I don't know how you are still functioning." The sky is dark now. It was some light left when they left home. Must be around 8 or 9 PM. She takes his hand and then goes to get Koushi out of his car seat. Koushi rubs at his eyes with his fists and then makes a grumbling noise.

"Everyone stick close," Satoru says, shutting the trunk. He carries the bags in both hands. "Something is up with this hotel. If anything happens, I want you to put a barrier around you and the boys."

"It's just some demons," Shippo says with a yawn. He's wearing some pajamas with foxes on them. Koushi has on a similar outfit, but his is an onesie. "Mama, I thought you said there weren't any in this time."

"I didn't think there were," she replies honestly. "Maybe they steer clear of the big cities." Not that she has gone many places over the years. A shame. "But let's stick close to Daddy, just in case they aren't friendly," she says, more for Satoru's benefit. He looks annoyed and on high alert.

Kagome walks on Satoru's right side with Koushi in her arms and Shippo in front of her. The hotel is four stories, with two large golden fox statues in the front. There's a red arch that goes over the automatic sliding doors. Kagome eyes the way Satoru's fingers clench around the bags' straps. She glances around before settling on the piano player off to the side. She's no musical expert, but it almost sounds as if the song is winding down.

"Gojo," Satoru says, pulling Kagome's attention back to the front desk. The receptionist stares at them, or rather, she stares at Shippo for a moment too long. "Is there a problem?" Satoru asks, dropping the bags and resting his arm on the counter.

"I... I," the dark-haired woman stutters. "No, sir. There is no problem. I was just taken aback by how..."

"Junaki, it's me," Shippo says, "You can drop the act. They know."

"Oh, Master Shippo!" Junaki exclaims, as the once-human woman turns into a fox demon with hair as red as a ruby. Her eyes are a dark green like moss. Her nose is small, but wide, and her lips shift to the right, not quite centered on her face. "But why are you with...is it because she resembles..."

"No, she is. And we would like to be shown to our rooms now." Shippo puffs out his chest. "These humans are my family."

Satoru tilts his head to the side as if he cannot believe what he is hearing.

"I take it the other demons are foxes?" Kagome asks.

"Y-yes!" Junaki bows her head. "I am so sorry! Yes, we are all foxes here, though some guest may not be. We relocated the mansion and chose this area as a safe haven for us and for our not-so-intelligent comrades." Junaki turns back to the computer and types on the keyboard. "You booked one of the cheaper options here..." she clicks something with the mouse.

"Gome-chan," Satoru says.

"Habit." She makes a point of not looking at him. Did they really need to go for the most expensive option when they are here for two nights?

"Uh-huh," Satoru says, sounding not at all convinced. He doesn't press it, though, for which Kagome is grateful. She peeked at his bank account the other day and promptly closed the app.

"For Master Shippo and family, I can upgrade you to a better option. Free of charge," Junaki explains. "Would you like someone to carry your bags?" She places her hand over the phone, waiting for confirmation.

"I got it," Satoru says. "Why do you keep calling him master?" Satoru's shoulders are still tense, though his tone is more conversational now.

"Master Shippo is the greatest fox demon in... centuries." She smiles. "It was thanks to Master Shippo that we have survived."

"Me?" Shippo points a finger at himself. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"... You saved us," Junaki says slowly. "And everyone will be pleased to learn that you are alive, for we had thought you sacrificed yourself for us. It has been many, many centuries, Master Shippo. Had it not been for your scent, I would have not known it was you in this human disguise. And with a sorcerer family..." Junaki trails off. "But, my lady, how did you survive? You are human."

Kagome lifts a shoulder. "Must be a perk of being the Shikon priestess. So, which room are you moving us to?"

Yeah... Junaki seems nice, but nice isn't a good enough reason for Kagome to tell her the truth. Because it sounds like Shippo will warn the other fox demons of future events. What if someone tries to influence the past? She bites the inside of her cheek to stop from frowning. What if Junaki is doing that now?

They need to make a visit to the past. There's only one demon who will tell her the truth.

***

A/N: Can't get over Kagome leaving Naoya on read. Kagome is worried about influencing the past while Satoru is taking this to mean that he and Kagome were always meant to be together lollol. Time travel is/can be confusing.

Wishing you a wonderful week ahead! Next update will be Thousand Days. I'm actually taking some time off work this week, so I hope to spend that time being productive and getting ahead on some of the stories. Make sure to take your vitamins and get plenty of rest. And I hope your allergies (if you have them) aren't kicking your butt like they have been with me.

[wordpress-blaze-237575229]

Decluttering

The optimist in me says Spring is indeed at hand. The object we call the sun seems to be making a regular appearance, and we can shed a layer or two of clothing. Bliss at its finest. However, one must always make room for caution as it is not unheard of for our geographic and climatic demons to conjure an errant brisk wind or, dare I say it, snowflake. I will go against the pessimistic overtone and look to Spring as a welcome and much needed friend.

As we look for closet space to store heavy boots, scarves, and bulky coats, we embark on a biannual rite of passage – decluttering. We all tend to have an excess of each type of clothing, hats, and dare I say shoes. We hang onto our favourite t-shirts, the outdated shirt “just in case”, and who knows what other long forgotten fashion icon lurks on our coat hangers.

Just as Spring (and Fall) presents us with the urge to declutter “our stuff”, it is also an opportunity to take stock and declutter our most precious possession – ourselves. As the seasons of the year change, so too do the seasons of our existence. The various stages and circumstances we go through bring earmarks of joy and celebration, but there comes with it aspects of our lives that have thrown us off track, brought unexpected and unwanted changes. If we do not periodically check in with ourselves, take stock of what we value, the journey we find ourselves on today can be riddled with latent obstacles that resurface, that clutter our path.

Self decluttering requires more than boxes and shelves. I tend to hang onto past events that do nothing for my well-being. Dwelling on events I never thought I would get through, or feelings of desperation that hit me to the core are difficult to wipe away. I ponder what I could have done differently, how I failed to realize I had better choices to make if only I could have had greater presence of mind. As a result, instead of handling the unexpected darkness with greater resolve, I grabbed whatever hat I could find that fit any given day.

When life gives you lemons, hold on, not so fast. Transitioning from difficult times has not always been automatic for me. I lament too much on supposed friends I expected to be supportive, yet I fail to recognize that maybe, just like the hat I have pulled from the closet, I have outgrown certain people.  That in no way infers I put myself on a pedestal, far from it. As we move from place to place, change jobs, develop new relationships, we are not the same now, as we were then. Yet, instead of glancing in the rearview mirror, we become transfixed on a long gaze looking back. Excessive reflection has the danger of reliving past judgement from others, attitudes that did not fully comprehend our life choices, all hanging on hooks begging to be decluttered.

Henry David Thoreau said, “I love to be alone. There is no greater friend than solitude.” As social beings, solitude is not as easily attained or valued. Yet, to confront demons, decisions, and choices, conversations with ourselves are what is most necessary. Our self-worth is not dependent on those who recklessly judge us. Knowing what you truly stand for, and who you stand with, requires us to assess what we truly value, and who we feel values us.  That sense of place and purpose only comes by being true to ourselves as we stand today.

Source: Decluttering

[pastafossa]

"Don't Let Go" (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader, Fic)

Time for Day Six of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! I chose the angst prompt, "Shh, I've got you now. I'm here." with Michael Kinsella! I originally planned to use all three prompts (the above plus 'love bites' and 'spread your legs for me') but this one just sorta worked beautifully focusing on the angst prompt alone, despite my plan. May come back and do a sequel with the other two prompts eventually. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Wordcount: 1.1k

Warnings for this chapter: angst, blood, injury care, mention of reader briefly held hostage, language, mention of domestic violence, some shouting and breaking things (Michael is very angry here, just not at you).

His hands shaking, Michael cleaned you up in the bathroom.

You weren’t sure if that tremor was due to fear, or… or exhaustion, maybe. He probably hadn’t gotten much sleep the past two nights while you’d been missing, held captive in an abandoned building by a group of men who’d been looking to blackmail the Kinsella family. It hadn’t worked out well for them based on the dead bodies you’d seen when Michael had grimly carried you out past his brothers, his hands stained heavily with blood and smelling of fresh gunpowder. 

It was those hands—the very same hands that had so recently dealt out death and destruction—that now tended gently to your wounds. With barely a word save a soothing murmur whenever you winced, he washed away the crusted grime and dried blood from your body in the shower before settling you down on the side of the porcelain tub. Once you were comfortable, he set about cleaning out and bandaging the bloody cuts on your hands and face, the torn skin on your wrists left by the handcuffs, and the burns along your forearm from the cigarettes one man had decided to put out against your skin when you’d spat in his face.

With every injury Michael cared for, however, the more his hands shook, his breathing growing sharper, hissing out from between his clenched teeth. 

No. This wasn’t fear or exhaustion making his hands shake, you realized. This was… 

He rose from where he’d been kneeling in front of you. He stared down at you for a moment with those dark eyes of his, taking all of you in for the first time since bringing you back home—taking in every last swollen bruise and vicious cut, every bandage and mark of pain left behind by those who had wanted to harm his family by using you against him.

…This was rage.

He snatched up the first aid kit, turned, and hurled it with a furious scream. It shattered against the wall in the hall, its impact leaving a crumbling hole in the drywall. Gauze and ointment, bottles of pills and splinters of plastic scattered left and right.

“Michael,” you said weakly. “I’m ok now.”

It was as if he hadn’t even heard you. “I’m goin’ ta find the rest of ‘em and kill 'em for this!” he snarled savagely, his accent even thicker in his fury. Gone was the gentle lilt, the familiar softness he always seemed to gain in his voice when he spoke to you or about you. Now he was every inch the dangerous Kinsella that so many feared, though not you. Never you. Even now you weren’t afraid, despite the way he whirled and paced wildly in front of you, as if looking for the very same ones who’d so recently hurt you. This was rage in your defense, and that made all the difference. 

“Michael—”

“They think I can’t find ‘em?” he spat. “They really think I can’t? I’ll hunt down every last fuckin’ one’a them filthy little cunts fer puttin’ their hands on ya! By the time I’m done wit’ em, there won’t be enough’a their fuckin’ bodies left for their mams to bloody bury!”

This time it was the drinking glass on the counter that paid the price. It flew out into the hall to shatter violently against the wall just beside the mark left by the first aid kit. Glittering shards of glass, some pieces still damp, joined the rest of the debris on the floor.  

“Michael.” You heaved yourself upright on shaky legs, wobbly as a newborn fawn. And it hurt, it hurt to move, cuts tugging, body aching. You tried to blink the dampness away in your eyes, not now, come on. “It’s alright—” “Don’t tell me it’s alright when they hurt ya!” he roared. But the moment he swung back around to face you and saw you on your feet, he spat out a curse. He stormed across the bathroom before you could take more than a step. “Daft woman, sit your arse back down before ya fall over!”

One hand still braced against the wall, you lifted your other arm quickly towards him. He lurched to a stop before he could touch you, an expression of horror twisting across his face, all furrowed brow and parted lips. Only then did you realize what that must have looked like to him—your arm held up to fend him off, trying to stop him from coming towards you, tears in your eyes as if you were… as if you were terrified of him and what he had been doing. 

Gone in a breath was the rage, the fury, replaced by a gutted, heartbroken grief. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have said he was about to cry, too. “Ya didn’t think I was goin’ to…” he whispered, swallowing hard and taking a cautious step back. “I… I swear, pet, I would never—” 

“God, no, Mikey. I know you weren’t going to hit me,” you croaked, trying to put your arm out again in a more welcoming way, and if your breath started to hitch, tears now beginning to roll down your cheeks despite your best efforts, well, surely you were entitled to that, because it had been a horrible few days and the longer you stood here, the more you began to shiver and hurt. It had only been a few minutes since you’d been in his arms, but your body clearly wasn’t ready yet for even that much separation. Emotion welled up inside you like a dark wave, endless, bottomless. You were terrified you’d drown beneath it without him to help you keep your head above water. “I was trying to… could you come over here and… and hold me? I just need…”

He caught you just as the first choked sob tore its way out of your throat, the strength of the sound so violent, so raw it almost frightened you. One of his arms quickly wound around your waist, pulling you in against the comforting, familiar warmth and strength of his chest. His other hand rose to gently cradle the back of your head, bringing your head down so you could bury it against his neck. He rumbled low, soothing notes into your ear, tender words of comfort as you desperately tried to breathe in the scent of whiskey and leather, gun oil and rain between your heaving breaths and broken sobs.

“There ya go. Shh, I’ve got ya now, pet,” he whispered, laying his cheek against your hair. He shifted the two of you carefully across the floor until he could ease himself down on top of the toilet seat, pulling you slowly into his lap. You went without a fight, clinging to him, the fabric of his shirt held tight between your fists as if it were your lifeline. “I’ve got ya now. Let it all out. I’m here, darlin’. Yer safe with me.” 

“Don’t let go,” you choked out, “Please.” “Never. I promise.”

[sulky-cabbage]

The sukugo fight can't get animated any sooner I'm craving sukugo tiktok edits

[lupismaris]

There is nothing so affirming and life saving as leaving home and being loved at face value by total strangers for who you are

[lanternlightss]

as of late i have been haunted by the thoughts of venti + vennessa + nameless bard polycule . they are . in mybrain

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a pipe-dreaming wannabe sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm so great, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist