#the forgotten memories hit me like a freight train.

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

hmm idk beast. i have no idea where she is. none at all.

[solxamber]

Still Into You || Leona Kingscholar

You return to your old town, only to cross paths with Leona Kingscholar—the one who got away and the one you never stopped loving. Perhaps this time, fate is offering a second chance to make things right.

or: Exes to Lovers with Leona

The bar is too loud, the kind of loud that gets under your skin and stays there. Clinking glasses, half-shouted laughter, and the heavy bass of music that thuds in your chest like a second heartbeat. You should’ve skipped this reunion.

Nostalgia, as it turns out, is a double-edged sword. The city hasn’t changed much—same old streets, same old haunts—but coming back feels like running your fingers over a scar you thought had healed. It doesn’t hurt exactly, but the sting is there, raw at the edges.

Your drink sits untouched on the counter, condensation pooling around the base. You’re too lost in the ache of everything that made you leave this place—memories you’ve tried to bury—to even pretend you’re having fun. Someone’s laughing behind you, their voice loud and grating, and you turn your head just to escape it.

And that’s when you see him.

Leona Kingscholar.

Your chest tightens, and you feel the floor drop out from under you. He’s sitting across the room, one hand cradling a glass of amber liquid, the other resting casually on the bar. The years haven’t dulled him one bit. His hair is shorter than you remember, his frame broader, his face still sharp enough to cut. And his expression—it’s the same damn unreadable expression that once made you fall so hard it left you shattered.

You almost don’t believe it’s him, but then his eyes flicker up, and they meet yours.

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush, and suddenly, it’s too much. The room feels suffocating, the walls closing in, and you’re choking on everything you thought you’d moved past. The heartbreak, the love that never really left, the ghost of the 20-year-old who walked away from him and spent years regretting it.

His brow furrows as recognition flashes across his face. And something else—something softer, something that tugs at the edges of your chest like a half-forgotten melody. You don’t stay to find out what it is.

You bolt.

Your feet carry you out before your mind catches up, the cool night air slapping against your face as you push the door open. The noise fades behind you, but the ache doesn’t. You lean against the wall of the building, gripping your arms as you try to steady your breathing.

The door creaks open again, and you already know it’s him before you look up.

“Still running, huh?” His voice is low, familiar in a way that cuts through you like glass.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Leona doesn’t push. He steps closer, slow and measured, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. His eyes flicker over you, taking in the tension in your shoulders, the way your hands are clenched into fists. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pen and a folded napkin, and scribbles something down.

He holds it out to you.

“Here,” he says simply. His tone is calm, but there’s something weighty beneath it. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

You stare at the napkin, your heart pounding in your ears.

And then he walks away.

You watch him go, his back retreating into the night, and it hits you like a freight train: this is exactly how it felt the first time. Watching him leave, knowing you let him go, and hating yourself for it.

Your fingers tremble as they close around the napkin. His number is scrawled there in bold, unmistakable strokes.

You don’t move for a long time.

You don’t even remember dialing the number, only the week of stewing, pacing, and overthinking. By the time his familiar voice comes through the line with a simple, “Hey,” it’s already too late to hang up.

The call is brief, neither of you saying much beyond agreeing to meet at a café. It’s somewhere neutral, safer than a bar or anywhere too familiar. Somewhere with enough noise to fill in the silences you know will come.

When you walk in, he’s already there, lounging in his chair like he owns the place. Leona looks good—too good, damn him. His sharp features are just as you remember, though there’s a little more wisdom, a little more weight, in the way he carries himself. He glances up when he sees you and smirks, the kind of smirk that used to make your heart race.

“Still drinkin’ that sugary monstrosity?” he asks instead of saying hello. His voice is low and warm, but there’s an edge of amusement there.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Still judging people’s taste in drinks?”

He doesn’t reply, just gets up and goes to the counter. When he comes back, he’s carrying a mug of something steaming and a plate with a pastry you haven’t had in years. You blink as he sets it down in front of you, the scent of sugar and nostalgia filling your senses.

“You didn’t,” you murmur, staring at the drink.

“Didn’t forget,” he says casually, like it doesn’t cost him anything to remember the exact cocktail of syrups, cream, and espresso that kept you alive through your 2 a.m. study sessions.

You take a sip and instantly regret it—not because it’s bad, but because it tastes exactly like the past. Sweet, comforting, and entirely too much for you to handle right now. You set it down carefully, avoiding his gaze.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

He leans back in his chair, watching you with a calculating look that feels far too intimate. “Still like the same pastry too, huh?”

It burns, the way he knows you like this. It’s like roleplay, like the two of you are pretending to be the people you were before—young, dumb, and in love. But the heart wants what it wants, and yours wants to pretend this doesn’t hurt, so you smile and let him pull you back into that version of yourself for a little while.

You catch up. He tells you about his high-ranking position in a mining and energy facility, speaking with a mix of pride and boredom that’s so uniquely Leona. You tell him about the job you'd just left, a high-paying one far, far away from here—far from him. But you don't say that part out loud.

Despite the easy conversation, the weight of everything unsaid hangs between you like a ghost. Neither of you mentions the breakup, the years apart, or the ache that lingers just beneath the surface.

As the afternoon stretches on, he leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “You wanna do this again sometime?”

His voice is casual, but his eyes aren’t. They’re too focused, too sharp, like he’s trying to gauge your reaction.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

When he walks you to your door, there’s a beat of awkwardness before you go in for a hug. It’s meant to be brief, but before you can let go, he tightens his arms around you. It’s quick but fierce, like he’s afraid to lose you again. The desperation in it makes your breath hitch, but you don’t question it.

“Bye, Leona,” you say softly, pulling away.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you disappear inside.

From his point of view, the night is still. He stands on the sidewalk for a long time, hands clenched at his sides, heart aching in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

You’re everything he let slip through his fingers when he was too young and reckless to know better. It didn’t take him long after you left to realize that no one compared—no one could. Every smile, every laugh, every fleeting connection after you felt like a cheap imitation of the real thing.

But now you’re back, and he’s not about to let history repeat itself. Not this time.

Leona calls late in the afternoon, his voice calm and casual as always, but there’s something softer there, like he’s testing the waters. “There’s a carnival in town,” he says. “Thought you might wanna go.”

You freeze, memories rushing back all at once—your younger self, begging him to go with you, wearing him down with your relentless excitement until he had reluctantly agreed. That day had been filled with laughter, teasing, and stolen kisses under the glowing lights, back when you thought you’d have forever with him.

The ache of the past threatens to choke you, but you manage to say, “Yeah. Sure.”

When you meet him at the gates, the air is filled with the familiar scents of fried food and spun sugar, bright lights flickering against the deepening twilight. But this time, it’s different. You’re not dragging him from booth to booth like an overexcited raccoon. The two of you walk side by side, hands brushing occasionally but never quite holding.

You catch glimpses of the past in the present: the way Leona’s lips twitch into the faintest smirk when he sees you eyeing a food stall, the way he steps closer when the crowd gets thicker, shielding you without a word.

Then you reach the prize booth. Leona steps up, picks a game at random, and after a few tries, he tosses a ring perfectly onto the bottle neck. The booth attendant hands him the prize—a hideous stuffed cat with a crooked face and mismatched eyes.

It’s the exact same one he’d won for you back in college, the one you’d carried around all day and stubbornly refused to throw away even after the breakup.

“Seriously?” you manage to say, your voice wobbling as you try to laugh it off. “You had to pick that one?”

He shrugs, a small, knowing grin on his face as he hands it to you. “Figured you still liked ugly cats.”

You clutch the toy to your chest, scrambling to keep yourself together, but the lump in your throat won’t go away. He doesn’t say anything, just lets you gather yourself before moving on to the next thing.

By the time you reach the Ferris wheel, the sun is sinking below the horizon, painting the sky in swirls of orange and pink. The ride attendant seats you in a small, creaky gondola, and the two of you begin your slow ascent.

You look out at the glittering carnival below, but it’s impossible to ignore the weight of where you are—this is where he had asked you to be his, forever, years ago, with that same quiet determination that had always drawn you to him.

Leona leans back, his eyes on the horizon but his words aimed at you. “Y’know,” he starts, his voice low and steady, “I messed up before. Let you go when I shouldn’t have.” He pauses, his fingers tapping lightly on his knee. “But if you’re willing… I wanna try again.”

You turn to look at him, his usual confidence tempered by something raw and vulnerable. Despite all the heartache, all the time apart, you know the truth—you’ve never stopped loving him.

Your voice shakes as you answer, “Okay.”

His lips quirk into a faint smile, and he shifts slightly, just enough for you to lean against his shoulder. The two of you sit like that, watching the sun dip below the horizon, as the Ferris wheel creaks and carries you back down to earth—together, this time.

Leona calls in the morning, his tone gruff but apologetic. “Can’t make it today. Got some work stuff I can’t blow off.”

You’re not upset. Not really. It’s nice, in a way, seeing him so dedicated to something. Back in college, he’d been brilliant but uninterested, letting his talent simmer under a blanket of apathy. This new version of him, the one who actually cared about what he was building, made you proud—even if it meant canceling plans.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Do what you need to do. We’ll hang out another time.”

You’ve already arrived at the park, though, and there’s no point in lingering. As you turn to leave, a familiar voice calls out behind you.

“Hey! Long time no see!”

You spin around and find Ruggie jogging up to you, a grin plastered across his face. He’s taller now, more put-together, but there’s still that mischievous twinkle in his eyes that makes you smile instantly.

“Ruggie!” you exclaim. “You look good!”

“Not too bad yourself,” he replies, sticking his hands into his jacket pockets. “What’re you doing here all by yourself?”

You explain your canceled plans, and he nods knowingly. “Yeah, the boss has been crazy busy lately. I see it up close now—started working at the same place as him.”

“You work with Leona?” you ask, surprised but happy for him.

“Yup,” Ruggie says, puffing his chest out a little. “Climbing the ladder, bit by bit. Somebody’s gotta keep him in line when he’s slacking off, y’know?”

The conversation shifts to catching up on each other’s lives, and soon enough, the topic drifts back to college.

“Y’know,” Ruggie begins, leaning against a nearby tree, “when you left… it hit him harder than he let on. Took him a while to admit he screwed up, but by the time he wanted to fix things, you’d already transferred out. Guy was gutted.”

You glance down, your fingers brushing the hem of your coat. “I didn’t know,” you admit quietly. “I thought… I thought it didn’t matter to him.”

Ruggie shakes his head. “Nah, it mattered. He just doesn’t talk about that stuff, y’know? Too much pride or whatever. But hey, you’re here now. And trying again, right?”

You nod. “Yeah. We’re giving it another shot.”

He grins, sharp and amused, and starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, it’s just—Jack’s gonna owe me big time,” Ruggie explains, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “I made a bet with him back in college. Told him you two’d get back together within ten years. He said no way.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re terrible.”

“Hey, I call it entrepreneurial instinct,” he says with a wink. “And what can I say? I know the two of you too well.”

The lightheartedness eases something in your chest, and you’re reminded that even in the midst of all the uncertainty, there’s a piece of your past that feels warm and familiar.

The doorbell rings, and when you open it, you freeze.

Leona stands on your doorstep, sharp as a blade in a perfectly tailored suit, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand. His usual lazy smirk is in place, but there’s a softness in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.

“Well?” he drawls. “You just gonna stare, or can I come in?”

“Who are you, and what did you do with Leona?” you tease, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

His ears twitch, and he scowls lightly, though the flush creeping up his neck betrays him. “Tch. You’re lucky I don’t just turn around and leave.”

“Not in those shoes, you’re not,” you quip, eyeing the polished leather. “Come on, you’d ruin them.”

He clicks his tongue, but his lips twitch like he’s holding back a smile. Handing you the bouquet, he steps back to let you admire them. “Hurry up. We’ve got reservations.”

Your teasing dies in your throat for a moment as you take in the effort he’s gone to, and you meet his gaze with a warmth you can’t hide. “Thanks, Leona. You look good.”

“‘Course I do,” he says, but the faint flush on his cheeks gives him away as he glances to the side.

Dinner is perfect—an upscale restaurant with just the right amount of ambiance, and Leona surprises you by actually making conversation instead of just grumbling through the meal. He asks about your work, your plans, and even shares a few stories about his own day.

By the time you’re back at your place, you’re both too full and too comfortable to let the night end.

“Wanna come in?” you ask casually, though your heart thumps a little harder in your chest.

He gives you a knowing look, smirking slightly. “If you’re offering.”

Inside, the two of you end up sprawled on the couch, a movie playing in the background. Somewhere between the second and third act, the weight of the day catches up with you both. You drift off, his arm around your shoulders and his head tilted against yours.

When you wake up, the sunlight is just beginning to stream through the curtains, and you realize you’ve shifted sometime in the night. You’re lying on the couch, and Leona’s face is buried against your neck, his arm draped possessively over your waist.

It’s so familiar, so natural, that it brings a lump to your throat. But this time, the memories aren’t tinged with pain. You feel whole, like this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Leona stirs, his nose brushing against your collarbone as he blinks awake. His voice is gruff with sleep as he grumbles, “Why’re you smiling? It’s ass-crack morning.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, warm and genuine. “No reason,” you say softly, turning to hug him tighter.

“Tch. You’re weird,” he mutters, but his arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a barely-there kiss to your shoulder before settling back down.

You close your eyes, memorizing the feeling of his warmth, his steady breaths, and the quiet contentment of this moment. For the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

The rescheduled park date feels like a quiet celebration of trying again, an unspoken promise that you’re both willing to make things work this time. The air is crisp, the sunlight dappling through the leaves, and you walk side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing.

For a while, it’s easy—light conversation about work, the occasional tease, the kind of soft ease you’ve started to rediscover with him. But then, as you pass by the fountain, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a couple arguing nearby.

One of them is crying, their voice sharp, accusing. The other is defensive, frustration written all over their face. You avert your eyes, but the scene strikes something in you. You glance at Leona and see it on his face too—the way his jaw tightens, his hands flex at his sides.

It brings you back, sharp and fast, to the way it all unraveled the first time.

You both stop walking, and for a moment, there’s just the distant murmur of water and the occasional birdsong. Then Leona sighs, low and heavy, and leans against the railing by the fountain.

“Y’know,” he starts, his voice quieter than usual, “we should probably talk about… back then.”

You swallow hard, following his lead and leaning beside him. “Yeah. I think we should.”

It all spills out, bit by bit, like picking at an old wound. You tell him how you were so bright-eyed, so hopeful back then, thinking love would solve everything. How you’d wanted a picture-perfect romance, the kind you saw in movies, with sweet words and grand gestures.

“And you weren’t that guy,” you say, not unkindly. “You were… real. Frustrated, angry, dealing with your own stuff. And I couldn’t see past my own expectations to meet you where you were.”

Leona’s quiet for a moment, staring out at the water. Then he says, “I wasn’t much better, y’know. Kept thinking you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth the trouble. That you’d see how much of a mess I was and bail. Guess I tried to beat you to the punch.”

His words make your chest ache, and you think back to that last fight, the one that broke everything.

“I remember,” you say softly. “I was so mad at you for pushing me away. I screamed that you didn’t love me, and… God, I didn’t even mean it. I just wanted you to fight for me.”

Leona lets out a bitter chuckle, his fingers gripping the railing. “And I didn’t. Thought walking away would hurt less than hearing you say it again.”

For a long moment, the two of you just stand there, the weight of old mistakes hanging between you.

“But we’re not those kids anymore,” you finally say, your voice firmer. “I’ve grown up. I know love isn’t perfect. It’s messy, and hard, and sometimes it hurts. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

Leona glances at you, his eyes softer than you’ve seen them in years. “Yeah, well… I’m not that idiot from back then either. Took me a while, but I figured out that… you loved me. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing his. “Let’s not make those mistakes again. Let’s just… talk. Be honest with each other. No more second-guessing.”

He nods, and when he takes your hand, his grip is warm and steady. “Deal. No running this time.”

You smile at him, small but genuine, and squeeze his hand. “Deal.”

And as you continue your walk, the sunlight seems a little brighter, the air a little lighter, as if the park itself knows you’ve turned a corner.

The café feels warm and familiar, a comforting mix of nostalgia and new beginnings. You’re seated at a round table with some of the faces you once knew so well—Rook, Vil, Trey, and Riddle. It’s strange how time has shifted them all, smoothing out edges while deepening others.

Rook, ever the enigma, waves off your questions about his career with a dazzling grin and a cryptic, “Ah, ma chérie, some mysteries are best left unsolved.” You decide to let it go when he winks at you dramatically and leans back like he’s some international spy.

Vil, unsurprisingly, radiates effortless elegance as he sips his tea. His sharp cheekbones and tailored outfit scream superstar, and he gives you a small, knowing smile when you tell him how much you’ve admired his recent work. “Well, darling, excellence demands attention. But enough about me,” he says, leaning forward with an almost imperceptible softness in his gaze. “How have you been holding up?”

Trey sits beside him, calm and grounded as always. There’s a faint dusting of flour on his sleeve, a reminder of his time spent in the family bakery. He listens with a small, contented smile as you catch up, occasionally chiming in with a joke or a warm anecdote.

Riddle looks startlingly different from the college version you knew. There’s still the meticulous sharpness in his posture, but his eyes are softer, his tone more relaxed. You’d heard he became a lawyer, and from the quiet pride in his voice when he talks about his recent cases, you can tell he’s damn good at it.

When the conversation inevitably shifts to you and Leona, you hesitate. The table goes quiet, and four pairs of eyes—each sharp in their own way—lock onto you.

“Well,” you say, fiddling with your cup. “We’re… trying again.”

Rook’s smile falters for just a second before he leans forward, resting his chin on his hands. “Ah, l’amour fou. It is a brave and treacherous thing, non? I wish you all the happiness in the world, but…” He hesitates, and for once, his voice lacks its usual poetic flourish. “Take care, my dear. You burned so brightly back then, and we all saw how hard the fall was.”

Vil’s expression tightens slightly, his fingers curling around his cup. “He has a lot to prove this time,” he says, his tone measured. “But if anyone can keep him in line, it’s you.”

Trey hums, glancing at Riddle. “If he messes up again, we’ve got backup now. Riddle can prosecute him for emotional damages.”

Riddle adjusts his tie, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

The laughter that ripples through the group is lighthearted, but the underlying support is tangible, almost overwhelming.

You feel a knot in your chest loosen as you look around the table. They care, even after all this time. Despite their reservations, they trust you to know what’s best for yourself.

And in that moment, surrounded by old friends who’ve grown and changed but still remain the same at their core, you feel a piece of yourself you thought was lost slowly start to return.

The afternoon sun filters lazily through the windows of Leona’s home, casting a warm glow across the room. You’re perched on the couch, cross-legged, scrolling through your phone and occasionally showing Leona something ridiculous. He’s sprawled out beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other resting on his chest as he listens to your laughter.

“Look at this,” you say, grinning as you hold your phone up to him. “Who even comes up with these memes?”

Leona leans in, his sharp eyes skimming the screen before letting out a low, amused snort. “Idiots, clearly,” he says, but there’s a faint curve to his lips that gives him away.

Your laughter rings out again, light and unrestrained, and Leona watches you. Watches the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, the way you throw your head back, carefree and radiant.

It hits him all at once.

He can’t lose this again. Can’t lose you again.

The thought burns in his chest, threatening to choke him, until he blurts out: “Be mine again.”

Your laughter fades as you turn to him, surprised. “What?”

He sits up, his gaze steady but his ears twitching slightly. “I’m serious,” he says, voice low but firm. “I messed it up before, but I’m not gonna do that again. You’ve always been it for me. So… be mine. For real this time.”

For a moment, you’re silent, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. His expression is raw, his usual confidence stripped away to reveal something vulnerable and achingly sincere.

You nod, your voice soft but sure. “Okay. Yes.”

The tension in his shoulders melts as relief washes over him. A slow, almost disbelieving smile spreads across his face, and he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms.

“‘Bout time,” he mutters, but there’s no bite in his tone. Just a quiet, overwhelming joy that he doesn’t bother hiding.

You laugh, your face pressed against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he says, resting his chin on top of your head. “But you said yes, so who’s the real fool here?”

You smack his arm lightly, but your grin betrays you. As his arms tighten around you, you can’t help but think that this—this warmth, this love—is exactly where you’re meant to be.

The familiar sound of your shared front door closing behind you feels like the exhale of a long day. You kick off your shoes, dropping your bag onto the entryway table, and glance back to see Leona loosening his tie with a tired smirk.

“Finally home,” he mutters, stepping over to pull you into a soft, lingering kiss.

You smile against his lips. “Long day?”

“Always,” he replies, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Go shower. I’ll figure out dinner.”

“You spoil me,” you tease, heading toward the bathroom.

His chuckle follows you down the hall. “Damn right I do.”

By the time you emerge, refreshed and in comfier clothes, the scent of takeout wafts through the house. You find Leona at the dining table, the food already unpacked and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He looks up as you sit down and slides your favorite dish toward you without a word, but the small grin on his face says it all.

“So, how was your day?” you ask, taking a bite.

He leans back in his chair, his gaze softening as he recounts his work. “Not bad. Ruggie’s really stepping up these days—caught something even I missed during a proposal meeting. I’ve gotta admit, the guy’s making himself indispensable.”

You laugh. “Ruggie’s always been sharp. I’m sure he’s just waiting for the right moment to ask for a raise.”

Leona snorts. “He’s already hinting at it. Not subtle at all.”

“And what about you?” he asks, watching you with quiet interest.

You shrug, grinning. “Same old. Meetings, deadlines, and trying to convince my coworker that microwaving fish in the breakroom is a crime against humanity.”

He raises a brow. “Still working with amateurs, huh?”

“Always.”

The conversation meanders to weekend plans, and you both agree to invite your friends out for dinner. You bring up Riddle’s work stress, Vil’s latest award, and Trey’s new dessert line, while Leona adds in snippets about Ruggie and Jack, his voice tinged with fondness he doesn’t bother to hide anymore.

Later, as the night stretches on, the two of you settle into bed. The familiar warmth of his arm around your waist pulls you closer, his head resting against yours.

You sigh, content. “Coming back here, to you, was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then his lips brush against your hair. “Thanks for choosing me. Again.”

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, brushing your fingers against his jaw. “There was no other choice. Nobody ever compares.”

His lips curve into that cocky smirk you know so well, but his eyes are soft, filled with a depth of affection that steals your breath. “Tch. Sappy as ever, huh?”

“You love it,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

“Damn right I do,” he mutters, and then his smirk fades as he cups your face and kisses you like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

By the time you both pull away, breathless and tangled in each other’s warmth, he holds you close, murmuring softly, “We’re doing this right this time. No mistakes.”

You nod, resting your head against his chest as his heartbeat lulls you to sleep. “No mistakes.”

Masterlist

[nana-mania]

what would bad toman!izana feel if ever his s.o reveals she's got a son from her past? (but the twist is it's actually his child and he just doesn't know because he was so drunk that time to even remember that he had a one night stand with her) then he notices that the toddler looks a lot like him but he's skeptical and doesn't trust his gut feeling about it.

“A MIRROR OF ME” will he love his child?

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ oneshot

࿐*ೃ feat : izana kurokawa

࿐*ೃ fandom : tokyo revengers

࿐*ೃ extra : fem! reader, fluff

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ NEON glow of the city cast fractured reflections across the rain-slick streets, a fitting backdrop for Izana’s mood. A cold leader, feared and revered by the underworld, Izana had built his empire with blood, grit, and an iron will. Tonight, however, something felt off. The loud music and low murmurs of the bar around him faded into static as he nursed his drink.

He had come to this club to think, but his instincts told him he wasn’t alone for long. When he turned to glance at the entrance, his breath hitched.

It was her.

The woman he never thought he’d see again.

Time had been kind to her, or perhaps cruel, given the mixture of emotions that flickered across her face when their eyes met. Her beauty was the same, yet her expression carried something heavier, an invisible weight she bore as if it were etched into her very being.

Izana clenched his glass. What was she doing here? Of all places, why now?

“Can we talk?” Y/n asked, her voice soft but unwavering.

Izana stood, signaling to his men to give them space. He guided her to a quieter corner of the bar, curiosity and suspicion battling within him. He wasn’t the type to entertain ghosts from his past, but something in her eyes demanded his attention.

“You’ve got guts showing up here,” he said, his voice colder than he intended. “What do you want?”

She hesitated, visibly steeling herself. “This isn’t easy for me, Izana. But there’s something you need to know.”

His gaze locked onto her, dissecting every flicker of her expression. She wasn’t here to rekindle old flames—that much was obvious. She looked... scared. And that intrigued him.

“Spit it out,” he demanded.

Y/n took a shaky breath before dropping the words like a thunderclap.

“I have a son.”

Izana blinked, thrown off balance. He hadn’t expected this. “And what does that have to do with me?”

Her hands trembled slightly, but her gaze held his. “I thought you deserved to know. He’s from... before. From when we were together.”

His brow furrowed as the implications hit him. His initial instinct was to laugh it off. She must be mistaken. But then something stirred deep within him—doubt. Memories of a long-forgotten night surfaced, hazy and fractured, like pieces of a puzzle he had ignored for years.

“That’s impossible,” he denied. “I would’ve remembered something like that.”

Y/n flinched but quickly recovered. “Would you?” she asked.. “We were drunk, Izana. So drunk that neither of us even remembered it happened. But it did. I know because... you were the only one. I’ve never been with anyone else, and I knew the moment I found out I was pregnant that he was yours.”

The words slammed into him like a freight train, and Izana was at a loss for words. His chest tightened, a feeling- something he couldn’t quite name brewing within him.

“You’re saying... I have a kid? And you’ve been hiding him from me all this time?” His voice was low, dangerous, but there was a trace of something else beneath it—hurt.

“I wasn’t hiding him,” Y/n defended herself quickly, her voice breaking. “I didn’t know how to tell you. After everything that happened between us, after the way we ended, I didn’t think you’d care. And then you disappeared, and I... I didn’t know where to find you.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “You could’ve found me if you really wanted to.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Do you think it was easy for me? Do you think I wanted to raise him alone? I was scared, Izana. Scared of what you’d say, what you’d do. You’ve changed so much. I barely recognize the man I knew anymore.”

Izana’s jaw clenched. Her words stung because they carried truth. He wasn’t the man she once knew, the man she had fallen for all those years ago. He had buried that part of himself long ago, replacing it with the ruthless criminal leader he was now.

But this... a son? His son? That was something he couldn’t ignore.

“What’s his name?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“Yukiya,” Y/n revealed, a faint smile breaking through her anguish. “He’s five. And he looks so much like you, Izana. It’s uncanny.”

Izana leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what to feel. Anger? Shock? Regret? It was as if the foundation of his meticulously crafted life had cracked.

“Why now?” he asked after a long silence. “Why come to me now?”

“Because he’s been asking about his father,” the h/c-haired woman admitted. “And I realized I couldn’t keep it from him any longer. He deserves to know where he came from. And you... you deserve to know him too.”

Izana’s heart twisted in a way he hadn’t felt in years. The idea of a child, his child, growing up without him stirred something primal within him. He had always been alone, abandoned by the people who were supposed to love him. The thought of doing the same to his own blood was unbearable.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“He’s at home. I didn’t want to bring him here. Not like this. I wanted to talk to you first.”

Izana felt uncertain. He had faced death, betrayal, and countless enemies, but the prospect of meeting a five-year-old boy—a boy who might look up at him with his own eyes—left him uncharacteristically shaken.

The conversation ended with no clear resolution. Y/n gave him her number and told him he could decide what to do next. As she walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts, Izana stared at the scrap of paper in his hand.

For years, he had lived a life defined by power, control, and fear. But this—this was something else entirely. It was messy, uncertain, and terrifying.

And yet, Izana felt something he thought he had lost; hope.

The streets of Yokohama were slick with rain. Inside his penthouse, he brooded over his drink, her words replaying in his mind.

“I have a son.”

Y/n's voice still rang clear. She had walked back into his life like a ghost, unraveling truths he wasn’t ready to face. Izana wasn’t the kind of man to be shaken easily, but this? It felt like the ground beneath him had split open.

Two days later, Izana found himself standing outside a modest suburban house. It wasn’t his style—too quiet, too simple—but he couldn’t ignore the nagging thought that had haunted him since their conversation. He wasn’t even sure why he was here. Closure, maybe? Curiosity?

When she opened the door, Y/n smiled at him. "You came,” she said softly.

“I didn’t come to play house,” Izana replied, his voice cold. “I just... I need to see him.”

Y/n nodded, stepping aside to let him in. The inside of the house was warm and inviting. His eyes scanned the room, cataloging every detail. Then he saw him.

A boy sat cross-legged on the carpet, building a tower with wooden blocks. He looked up when Izana entered, his orchid-coloured eyes locking onto Izana’s.

Izana froze.

It was like staring into a mirror.

The boy’s features were unmistakable— bleach blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends, and those orchid eyes that seemed to see through everything and his most prominent feature-- his glowy, beautiful tan complexion. Izana’s stomach churned.

“Yuki,” Y/n called gently. “Come here, sweetheart.”

The boy stood, his small frame walking hesitantly toward them. Izana watched every movement, his breath caught in his throat.

“This is... Izana,” she introduced, kneeling beside her son. “He’s an old friend of Mommy’s.”

“Hi,” Yukiya greeted shyly, his voice soft and unsure.

Izana nodded stiffly, his heart pounding. His gut screamed at him that this boy was his, but his mind rebelled against the idea. It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be.

Later, as they sat in the living room, Yukiya played nearby, occasionally glancing at Izana with curious eyes. Izana couldn’t stop watching him. Every gesture, every expression—it was uncanny. The boy even furrowed his brow the same way Izana did when he was deep in thought.

“You see it, don’t you?” she asked quietly, breaking his reverie.

“I see a kid,” Izana snarled, his tone dismissive. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Her shoulders sagged, but Y/n didn’t press him. Instead, she handed him a photo album. Izana flipped through the pages reluctantly, each picture chipping away at his skepticism.

Yukiya as a baby, his tiny fists curled into the same defiant pose Izana knew too well. Yukiya as a toddler, his mischievous grin eerily familiar.

Izana shut the album abruptly, his jaw clenched. “This doesn’t prove anything.”

“Then what will?” she asked, frustration creeping into her voice. “A DNA test? Fine. Let’s do it. But don’t sit there and tell me you don’t feel it. He’s yours, Izana. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t absolutely sure.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the boy. Izana was no stranger to manipulation. He’d grown up surrounded by lies and betrayal, and trust was a luxury he didn’t afford anyone.

But as the evening wore on, he found himself drawn to the child in a way that scared him. Yukiya was fearless, walking up to Izana with a toy car in his hand.

“Do you like cars?” the boy asked, his voice innocent.

Izana blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Me too,” Yukiya chuckled, smiling. “Mommy says I’m good at fixing things. She said maybe one day I can fix real cars.”

Izana’s chest tightened. Shinichiro had said something similar to him once, long before everything fell apart.

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended.

Yukiya nodded enthusiastically before running off to grab another toy. Izana watched him go, his heart a tumultuous mess of emotions.

As the night wore on, Izana found himself lingering longer than he intended. When Yukiya finally fell asleep, curled up with his toys, Izana turned to Y/n.

“He looks like me,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” she remarked. “I’m asking you to trust yourself. You know the truth, Izana. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Her words stung. Deep down, he felt it. The connection. The bond. It terrified him more than anything else ever had.

Izana stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I’ll do the test,” he agreed. “But don’t think for a second that this changes anything.”

She didn’t argue, only nodded. “Fine. But you should know, Izana—whether you want to be in his life or not, you’re already a part of him. You can’t undo that.”

As he stepped back out into the night, Izana lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the air like his tangled thoughts.

He had always thought of himself as untouchable, unbreakable. But tonight, a small boy with similar purple eyes had cracked the armor he’d spent years perfecting.

Izana wasn’t sure he knew how to put it back together.

Izana sat in his penthouse, the dim light casting shadows across his face. On the glass table before him lay three sheets of paper, each bearing the same undeniable truth.

99.99% Probability of Paternity

He’d taken the test three times, desperate for even the smallest margin of error, but the results hadn’t wavered. Yukiya was his son. His blood, his legacy.

Izana stared at the papers. Vulnerability was foreign to him, a weakness he despised, but this... this wasn’t something he could fight, threaten, or ignore.

“Izana, you’ve been sitting there for hours.”

Kakucho’s voice pulled Izana from his spiral of thoughts. His closest confidant stood by the window, arms crossed, concern etched into his features. Kakucho was the only person Izana had trusted with this revelation, and even then, it had taken him days to say the words aloud.

Izana’s eyes didn’t leave the papers. “He’s mine,” he declared quietly, almost to himself. “There’s no doubt about it.”

Kakucho stepped closer, his voice gentle but firm. “So, what are you going to do?”

Izana leaned back in his chair, Kakucho’s question pressing down on him.

“I don’t know,” Izana admitted, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “What do I have to offer a kid? A kid who didn’t even know I existed until now?”

Kakucho sat across from him, meeting his gaze. “You’re overthinking it. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to show up.”

Izana scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Kakucho argued. “You..and me, we’ve been alone our whole lives. You know what that feels like. Do you really want Yukiya to go through the same thing, knowing his father’s out there and doesn’t care enough to be part of his life?”

The words hit Izana like a gut punch. Memories of his own childhood resurfaced—the loneliness, the resentment, the longing for someone to tell him he mattered.

Izana felt his eyes stinging, desperate to shed tears. “What if I mess him up? What if I can’t be what he needs?”

Kakucho sighed. “Then you figure it out. That’s what being a parent is, isn’t it? Doing your best, even when you’re scared.”

Izana looked away, his gaze falling back on the papers. Yukiya’s face flashed in his mind—those adorable purple eyes, the way he furrowed his brow just like Izana did.

“What do you think I should do?”

Kakucho smiled faintly. “Do what you think is right.”

Izana sat alone long after Kakucho left. His thoughts drifted back to Yukiya, to the way the boy had looked at him. Izana had seen a spark in those eyes, a spark that reminded him of himself before the darkness had taken over.

He couldn’t ignore it anymore. He didn’t want to.

The next day, Izana stood outside her house once again, his heart pounding in a way he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t here to intimidate or negotiate; he was here to take responsibility for something bigger than himself.

When Y/n opened the door, surprise flickered across her face. “Izana?”

“I’ve made up my mind,” he started. “I want to be part of Yukiya’s life.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. Then a small, relieved smile broke through. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he reaffirmed his determination. “I don’t know how to do this, but I’ll figure it out. He deserves that much.”

Over the following weeks, Izana began to navigate the unfamiliar territory of fatherhood. At first, he kept his distance, unsure of how to connect with Yukiya. But the boy’s natural curiosity and warmth began to break down his walls.

One evening, as they sat in the park, Yukiya handed Izana a drawing he had made. It was simple—a stick figure of a man holding hands with a smaller stick figure.

“That’s us,” Yukiya said proudly.

Izana stared at the drawing, his chest tightening. “You... drew this for me?”

Yukiya nodded, his smile wide. “Mommy says you’re my dad. So I wanted to make something for you.”

Izana swallowed hard, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He reached out, ruffling Yukiya’s hair. “Thanks, Yuki. I’ll keep it.”

Yukiya beamed, and Izana felt something he hadn't felt in years--peace.

Back at his penthouse that night, Izana pinned the drawing to the wall of his study. Kakucho watched from the doorway, a rare smile on his face.

“You’re doing good,” Kakucho praised, acknowledging his efforts.

Izana glanced at the drawing, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He felt proud of himself.

Izana sat down, his gaze lingering on the drawing. Being part of Yukiya’s life wasn’t going to be easy. But after a long time, Izana finally felt like he had a purpose beyond the darkness of his past.

And for Yukiya, he would do whatever it took to be the father the boy deserved.

࿐*ೃ thanks for reading this scenario! likes, interaction and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡

[kitty-baby36]

"Four Turtles & A Baby"

(TMNT BAYVERSE)

🐢 Chapter One 🐢

The weather was a perfect match to his mood. The storm outside raged with rain pounding on the surface, thunder rumbling, and occasional flashes of lightning illuminating the dank, dimly lit tunnels of the sewer. Raphael sat against the wall, tending to a bruised arm and scowls at the ground, his frustration palpable.

He muttered to himself. "Stupid fucking Leo…" They'd been training again and his brother had cheated, catching him off-guard and putting him on his ass. "Always having to show off and get all the praise..."

As the thunder growls overhead, he shifts slightly, glancing up at the storm drain above. Water cascades down into a rhythmic chaos that only amplifies his irritation. He sighs.

"Can’t get a break, can I? Just a freakin’ night off…"

Another thunderclap, he leaned back, fully prepared to sulk some more. Just then, a high-pitched sound pierces through the roar of the storm—a baby’s cry. His ears perk up, confusion quickly overshadowing his anger, and he sits up abruptly. "What the…?"

He inches closer to the storm drain, wiping the rain off his forehead, peering through the slits in the grate. His eyes widen as he squints against the deluge. There in the gutter, swaddled in a damp, tattered blanket, is a small infant, soaked and squawling. No way… No way this is happening. As lightning flashes above, he sees the tiny face, round and helpless. It's a little girl. She's nearly naked, and her skin is pale, indicating that she had been there for at least a couple of hours. The sight twists something unfamiliar to life deep inside of him. Who the hell would leave a baby out here?!

He scoffs. "Great! Just what I need… a crying baby to deal with while I’m nursing my own shit!"

The rain continues to pour. Not a single person is in sight, and with each passing minute, the baby’s cries grow weaker and more desperate. Raphael knows he can’t ignore it. He steels himself, eyes hardening. He makes his way over to the storm drain, grabbing hold of the grate, tugging at it with all his strength. It creaks but doesn’t budge. With a determined grunt, he pulls again, and the latch finally gives way. He allows the grate to fall to the side with a metallic clang.

"Hang on, little one. I got you." He reaches up towards the bundle, feeling the rushing water splash against his arm as he carefully scoops the infant into his arms. Her wails echo in the dark tunnel, a sound so small, yet it hits him like a freight train. "It’s okay… it’s okay," he shusses. "You’re safe now."

The little girl stares up at him, wide-eyed, her cries quieting just a little when she feels his touch. She's freezing cold. Previous agitation forgotten, all Raphael can focus on is the tiny life cradled in his arms. Determined, he carefully carries the infant through the sewer, navigating the darkness with purpose, the storm’s fury now a distant memory as his heart fills with a protective instinct unlike anything he’s felt before.

💠

This is my very first attempt at story-posting here. Please don't judge me too harshly! 🙏😐

[sentientsky]

thank you so much, @fearandhatred for tagging me! <3

For as many as you want of your published works, pick your favourite line/paragraph and post it up here. Let yourself feel proud of your creations (not always proud of my work, but gritting my teeth and adding these 'cause my therapist would want me to, lol)

Until the Bitter End [40,760 words] Context: Crowley comes face-to-face with God

Dreadful memories of falling from a great height flashed through his mind. The taste of sulphur coated the back of his teeth, noxious and terrible. “You let me fall. You pushed me—for asking questions ,” he had hissed, all venom, all jagged teeth. So many eons of abandonment, of sheer loss…Well, it does something to a not-person, to a beating, not-human heart. You learn to go cold, to slow your breathing and keep yourself boarded up and hidden. Your body learns to react to affection like a rejected organ transplant. You carry on through life scared and spitting and backing against the wall like a cornered animal. You believe you don’t deserve tenderness. You believe it will ruin you. Because to love, to let yourself be loved, is to turn all vulnerable and underbellied—to show your hand in a game of cards with everything on the table. And yet…a very young, hands-shaking part of you yearns for it—begs, desperate and hungry and aching, for love. Like a starved dog with all its ribs showing. Like Sisyphus pushing that damn rock, knowing full well which way the hill slopes.

Confession Box Revelations [2,406 words]

Though Crowley himself couldn’t sense love, he knew what he felt for Aziraphale was far larger than anything a human was capable of experiencing. It was cosmic; it was ever-expanding, touching every corner of the universe and saturating every last quark in all of reality. The first time he’d become aware of it, it had hit him like a freight train and left him reeling. Even now, he heard a whistle in the back of his mind. It had never left.

Innocence Died Screaming [2,341 words] Context: Crowley encounters the Starmaker

Crowley doesn’t really think about it. In some inherent, axiomatic desperation for what-could-have-been, what-should-have-been, he strides forward (as much as anyone can stride in the vacuum of space) and pulls his younger self into an embrace. The angel’s hands grip the back of his blazer, fingers trembling, the scroll long since forgotten.  “I know, I know. And I’m sorry.” I wish I could save you . And he means it. His chest aches with it. “It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. I’m so sorry for what She did—what She will do—to you. To me,” he draws in a shaky breath. “To us .”  And so they stand, shimmering, in that impossible place—the place where centuries compress themselves into the vibrations between atoms and fracture like glass, where millennia tilt sideways, fall into slipstream and dissolve into empty air. The world rips into being, collapses, and begins again a hundred thousand times in the hollow of his chest. He lets the tears—angry and hot and eons-old—fall with abandon, and a quiet, ragged part of him begins to slowly knit itself back together.

no pressure tags: @actual-changeling (ik leanne tagged u already, but i'm doing it too bc i enjoy yelling in your notifs hehe). @foolishlovers

[lecheroustaint]

The third and most ominous voice is the one growing ever louder with every passing second. It's the dark, starving voice of his own desire that's telling her to abuse Zoe's holes with such voracity that she feels the soreness of his bruising thrusts in the coming days. She's a working girl. He respects that. Hudson also knows that his dick is not only porn worthy but having a big cock and knowing how to use it are not automatically synonymous. Maybe he won't fuck as good as a pornstar but the built up sexual frustration may give him a shot. He respects his wife and he respects his sister. However, Hudson has spent too many recent years being a bit too selfless. Tonight, he's going to be a little more selfish. He'll spend the night milking load after load from his cum swollen balls and worry about the rest in the morning. Post nut clarity might hit like a freight train but come what may. The imagine her stumbling across Zoe is seared into his memory. She's correct that she's made a hell of a first impression. That alone could be used as wank material for years to come. What would a night of actual fucking do to his sex starved brain? Hudson is almost ready to turn the corner and lose sight of her before he not only hears her words but can see the movement in his peripherals. A cold bead of sweat rolls down the side of his temple as a lump of nerves swells in his throat. The gauntlet has been thrown down and it's on him to answer. "I probably shouldn't…" His words say one thing but the creak of the wood beneath his feet say the opposite as he's turning back towards the area where Zoe is waiting for him. "Help?" He echoes the suggestion, his deep voice bellows out, a ooze of mischief coating the word. Hudson steps closer and closer, as he does he can pick up the sweet scent that radiates off her. Perfume? Whatever it was, it's quickly engraving itself deep in his brain. It's surreal to be this close the woman that's been at the forefront of all of his lecherous dreams. He's standing over her down, a towering haunch of man that gazes at Zoe with a carnal hunger. He's staring at her like a piece of meat and he's downright starving. "I did promise to help with the kitten here…." The same hand that had gripped hers earlier extends out, calloused fingers reaching down to cup Zoe's elegant jawline. "Maybe you can meow for me." Thick digits dig into the flesh as he waits for her eyes to lock into his, wanting to really convey the burning desire that she has lit within him. The pad of his thumb goes to pet against her plump bottom lip, unable to stop thinking about how lovely the room would sound echoing with the chokes and gurgles as he fucks her pretty throat. What he wouldn't give to feel her saliva running down his heavy balls as he watches those pretty, teary eyes look up at him with a mouthful of dick. He shudders deliciously at the thought, the once nagging voices of his wife and sister are long forgotten.

Currently, there are three voices waging war inside of his mind for supremacy in this moment of turmoil. The loudest and most pestering, was that of his bitch of a wife. He can hear her fucking shrill, nagging voice grating away at him. Like nails on a chalkboard, the thought alone makes his skin crawl. He's not the perfect husband but Hudson at least makes an effort. He runs a very successful construction business and even after a long day's work, he always tries to spend time with the one he married so many years ago. She's either sloshed off her ass after a spending the day drinking at home or out with her two faced, gold digger friends. It's gotten to the point where Hudson doesn't even bother asking for sex with his wife. He'd rather save himself a headache and spend some alone time jerking himself off so that way he can receive some source of satisfaction with his wife. It says a lot that this small interaction with Zoe has charged him with enough energy where it feels likes he's actually living again. She sends electricity through his veins and makes him feel wanted. It's all part of what she does, he tells himself. She's an absolute bombshell and knows it. That doesn't make him want her any fucking less, not after years of offering load after load in her honor.

The second voice is that of his sister, Stephanie. The two of them have always been close maybe too close, at times and their bond was one of the true bright spots in his current life. This wouldn't be the first time one of her friend's had laid eyes on him but for the most part, it was all in jest. He'd hear the giggles as her friends would tease Steph about her hot, older brother as he would drive them around town before she got her own car. She wouldn't approve of him fucking Zoe but Steph also has long been in his ear about her hate for his wife. There's an old school mentality that he maintains of needing to be true to his marriage, despite the loveless state of it. He can't deny though that time has worn him down. Will Steph be upset with him if he fucks her friend? Most likely. Will it be something they could never recover from? Not at all. There was no need to worry about this anyway. Even if he did indulge himself in Zoe's pretty, pink cunt, who would have to know? This could just be their dirty little secret.

[cwc-emoji-pluck]

yooooooo dude may i please request 🥐 with a side of ☁️?

member: yoon jeonghan x gn!reader genre: i don't think this is angst but it's definitely not fluff so...angst ig word count: 2142 warnings: none :P emojis requested: 🥐: social media star and follower ☁️: fifteen years later, seventeen go to their high school class reunion author's note: hello, bestie <3 this was originally supposed to be about seungcheol but jeongrot is a thing so here we are. this request was literally perfect for me so thank u for being a genius <3 i got inspo for this literally immediately so :))) i hope you enjoy this and happy jeonghan day !!!!!!!! (p.s. this is not edited please don't judge me <3)

“Are you going to be coming later? I didn’t take months out of my schedule to plan this just for my best friend to skip it! I even made sure we are going to be on the same team for all the activities!” 

Y/N sighed, holding their phone to their ear using their shoulder. Their laptop was in front of them, a Google Calendar open to their schedule for the next two weeks: each square was filled with meetings and events. 

“I don’t know, Mina. I don’t have a lot of time on my schedule. You said it’s on Saturday? What time?”

“Four! It’s from four to ten! I thought you wrote this down?”

Y/N began typing the information their best friend was giving into a new event. “You know I never actually write things down.” 

“Whatever, Y/N. You gotta be there,” Mina sighed tiredly.

“I’m trying, Mina.” Just then, a ding came through from Mina’s end of the phone. 

“Oh! I just got an RSVP back!” 

“Whose?” Y/N asked. 

“Oh my God! You’ll never believe it, Y/N!” 

“Just tell me who it was, Mina.” 

“It was Hannie! You remember? Yoon Jeonghan?” 

That name was not the one Y/N was expecting to hear. A flash of memories went through their head, one specifically standing out, the sound of his voice distinct in the memory.

You’re always going to say that you miss high school, Y/N. College is way more stressful: you have to make your own schedules as well as keeping a job, supporting yourself and doing things on your own. You move away from home and get all this weight on your shoulders. Everything is thrown at you in the matter of months. All I ask of you, darling, is that you do your best now, to get a head start on the best future you could have.

The only thing Y/N thought was being thrown at them at this point in their life was being forced to see Yoon Jeonghan again. It wasn’t that the two didn’t get along - no, it was far from that. It was just that Y/N is, understandably in their words, slightly upset with the man. 

As best friends, Y/N supported Jeonghan through everything, and now that he’s socially higher up than them, it hurts a bit; knowing that he basically forgot about them. Of course, Y/N could never be upset with their best friend. The two of them have been through way too much, Y/N just wishes that he tried a bit harder to keep them around. Or maybe Y/N was upset with themselves, that they didn’t try harder to keep Jeonghan around. 

The amount of messages that could have been sent or calls that could have been made over the past fifteen years, or even the amount of likes, and retweets depending on the app, that could have been shared between the two of you were forgotten as Jeonghan gained more followers and began leaving home more for his modeling. The idea of seeing him once again hit Y/N like a freight train.

y/n: are you sure yoon jeonghan is going to be there? 

Y/N was worried. They somehow managed to take the time off for the reunion, but it was a dreaded task, especially since Mina told them about the appearance Jeonghan would be making. Trying to mentally prepare themselves for seeing the man that forgot about his best friend was hard…how does someone prepare for that?

mina: yes, y/n. i’m sure he’s going to be there! and guess whattttt

y/n: what 

mina: he *didn’t* reserve a spot for a plus one

y/n: okay? what does this have to do with me? 

mina: you cannot tell me that one of the reasons why you were so heartbroken about hannie not talking to you was because you weren’t in love with the guy 

y/n: i wasn’t in love with the guy, he was just my best friend, Mina. i know it’s going to hurt when i see him again.

mina: yeah, yeah. just get your feelings sorted out and make sure not to make a scene at this event that your best friend (aka me, not hannie) has worked so hard on <3 

y/n: if all you’re worried about is whether or not i’m going to be there…chill. i’ll be there. just don’t expect me to agree to talk to jeonghan so suddenly. i’ll probably hang with joshua while you’re busy. 

mina: joshua hong? since when did you talk to him? 

y/n: i…talked to him enough to want to see him after fifteen years. 

mina: didn’t he have a thing for you? why do i have distinct memories of hannie trying to fight him?

y/n: nOTHING HAPPENED. 

y/n: the end. i’m going to bed now 

mina: y/n come back

mina: …y/n? mina: damn you, y/n.

Knowing that Mina was the one who put all of this together was the only thing that kept Y/N from staying home and opening their laptop once again. Though, that didn’t stop Y/N from having a plethora of excuses they wish they could use in order to stay home. 

First, the almost two hour drive to the venue from Y/N’s apartment. Of course, this would mean nothing to Mina as they were carpooling. Second, the lack of formal-enough but also casual-enough clothes to wear. Though, once again this would be no issue for Mina, as she always has something up her sleeve. Lastly, the biggest excuse of them all: Yoon Jeonghan. Was Y/N really ready to see their dreaded best friend after so long? No. Was he still deserving of the best friend title? According to Y/N, yes. According to Mina, no. 

That’s just something Mina has to get over. 

Mina, being the best friend she was, helped Y/N pick out the perfect outfit: something that proves that they had a good job and did not peak in high school, as well as making sure that same outfit wasn’t too eccentric for such an event. Being the perfect fashion designer she was, Mina did not fail to pick out the best outfit that not only looked amazing on Y/N, but also one that was perfect for all of the activities she and the rest of the reunion board had chosen for the event. 

“He’s gonna think you look great, Y/N.”

Y/N picked up the shirt that was laying on the bed closest to them and threw it across the room at Mina. It flew and missed Mina completely. “I am not dressing up for him! I don’t care what he thinks!” 

Mina laughed. “Okay well, hurry up and clean up because we have to get going.” 

“I didn’t even make the mess, you’re the one who took all my clothes off their hangers,” Y/N frowned. “It’s whatever I’ll just pick up when I get back.”

“I didn’t think you’d get so busy that we would rarely be able to meet, Y/N.” 

Y/N looked over to Joshua as he said this, a small smile on their face. “Trust me, I wasn’t expecting it either. And don’t tell Mina this but I’m happy she went through the work to set this up. I’m excited to see everyone again.” 

Joshua chuckled a bit. “Have you seen Seungcheol lately?” 

“I saw him a couple months ago at this cafe I go to a lot but I haven’t seen him since.” Y/N replied, tapping the transparent plastic cup they were holding. 

“I heard he’s been hanging out a lot with,” Joshua paused. “…Nevermind.” 

“Jeonghan? That wouldn’t surprise me. They were always close, weren’t they?”

“Heh, yeah. They were. I mean, before uh, he left.” 

Y/N looked over at their friend, “You know you can say his name. It’s not like he’s Voldemort or something.” 

“I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I mean, having someone you’re that in love with leave so sudden-”

“Why does everyone think I was in love with Jeonghan!”

“Probably because you were,” someone wrapped their arms around Y/N’s shoulders. “Even if you didn’t see it, everyone else did.” 

Joshua smiled. “Hey Cheol, we were just talking about you!” 

The man, Seungcheol, grinned and blushed a bit. “Hey, Shua. It’s nice to see you.” Seungcheol looked over at Y/N. “By the way, if you want to talk to him, he’s over there with Jimin and Taehyung. Says he was hoping to be able to talk to you tonight.”

*************

He looked exactly like he did in his Instagram post Mina had sent Y/N this morning. His natural hair covered by a yellow bucket hat, and the baggy jacket he was wearing hanging off his shoulders like he was in a photoshoot and not at a high school reunion. 

Y/N didn’t dare to step towards the man, scared of any type of confrontation that may have been about fifteen years too late. It was only when they heard Park Jimin call their name from where he stood next to Jeonghan and Taehyung that they dared to make eye contact with any of the three. 

Jimin motioned for Y/N to cross the room towards their three classmates, and Y/N had no choice other than to walk towards them (especially since Joshua and Seungcheol were watching this whole encounter from next to Y/N, daring to give them a little push on the back to get them to start walking). 

“Hi, Y/N! It’s so nice to see you!” Jimin gave Y/N an eye-smile while Taehyung waved. Jeonghan just stood there, not knowing what to say. 

“Hey!” Y/N was breathless. They weren’t sure whether it was because of the lack of space in the room for normal movement or the fear of being this close to Jeonghan. 

Y/N looked over to Jeonghan and shot him a quick smile, hoping that it was so fast he wouldn’t have even noticed it. 

Sadly he did. Jimin and Taehyung also must have noticed it, as they quickly made basic conversation before they awkwardly excused themselves to go find someone who they refused to name. 

That just left Y/N with Jeeonghan. 

Jeonghan coughed. “Um. Hey, Y/N.” 

“Hey.” 

The two stood there for a few seconds in awkward silence. 

“Look, I’m really sorry, Y/N,” Jeonghan set the cup he was holding down onto the snack table they stood next to. “I didn’t mean to basically ghost you. I just wasn’t expecting to get so busy so quickly and then…yeah.” 

“It’s whatever. I mean, I guess I’m kind of over it? Mina is definitely not but, yeah I just…don’t think it’s that big of a deal? I mean, it's been how long?”

Jeonghan nodded. “Well, I mean, we were best friends and I still lo- like your company just as much as I did then.” 

“Thank you for your apology, then. I never really stopped considering you my best friend, you know.” 

Jeonghan smiled. “Then I guess it’s time to finally go pull more pranks on Joshua and Seungcheol?” 

“If you break anything, Mina will be so pissed at you.”

It didn’t take long for Jeonghan to tell Y/N, as well as Joshua, Seungcheol and Mina that he got a contract closer to home. Of course, he was going to miss all the traveling, but he knew it would be good for Y/N and his friendship that he stayed. 

Otherwise, Jeonghan thought, how is he going to get Y/N to finally admit to their feelings for him? He clearly remembered overhearing the conversation Y/N and Seungcheol had the night of the reunion. 

“You did like him though, didn’t you?” Seungcheol questioned Y/N as he was filling up their cup. “I mean, everyone could tell back in high school that your friendship wasn’t just a friendship.” 

“I mean, yeah. I did like him back in high school but…it’s been years. He’s got more things to worry about now, like his career, rather than worrying about his best friend falling in love with him.” Y/N took a sip out of their freshly refilled cup. 

“I bet you anything, that if you walked up to him and told him you were still in love with him, he would drop everything for you. He regrets his decision to leave because of what it did to you guys.” 

“Seungcheol, I don’t know. I mean, today is the first time I’ve seen him since graduation…I don’t want to ruin anything else.” 

“So you admit to it? That you’re still in love with him?”

Y/N thought for a bit. “Of course. How could I not be?”

[wastingstarsss]

Just come back, please: a rumbelle fic

A/N: this was posted on my previous account but then the account was terminated… don’t bloody know why. So I’m re-writing it up here. There’s gonna be more rumbelle fics on this account in the future sooo maybe stick around if you like?

Warnings: none. It’s just angsty, set when Belle was in hospital in s2.

Word count: 803

Prompt: 98. “You don’t even remember me” from @emswritingprompts

Disinfectant invaded Gold’s nose as he sat in the cold, abandoned hospital room. Belle had had barely any other visitors besides himself, Ruby stopping by occasionally- which he greatly appreciated. The woman he loved shouldn’t be alone at this time, a time where her memories had fallen out her head and she didn’t even recognise her reflection. The quiet beeping of the machine told him she was alive though, and that he was incredibly grateful for. He had to keep repeating it to himself, Belle is alive. She was living and breathing and even if she didn’t know who he was, that was something. It was better than nothing.

For now though, she was quietly sleeping besides his seat. How, Gold didn’t know. The beds in this place were incredibly uncomfortable compared to their extravagant one at home. She didn’t even have more than two pillows. But still she slept and Gold did not. He hadn’t since the accident two days ago. How could he when she was in here suffering? The pawnbroker couldn’t imagine how lost Belle must’ve been feeling in that moment. Mind you, he had felt lost too. He had felt lost when he returned home from the war and faced that disappointment in Milah’s eyes, the eyes that wished him dead. He had felt lost as he laid at Captain Jones’ feet, his walking stick having been knocked from his hands. He had felt lost when his son asked for him to give up the powers of the dark one, his one and only source of strength. He had felt lost when Baelfire had fallen through that dammed portal and he couldn’t find the courage to follow him. There were countless times when Rumplestiltskin had felt lost, but even with Time chasing him he had never lost himself- not entirely. His need to find Bae kept him safe from Time’s influence. His face may have changed, his voice may have changed, but his want to apologise and make things right stayed the same. In his heart, Rumplestiltskin was still the spinner who wanted to protect his family. Meanwhile Belle, oh sweet Belle, her reflection and personality had turned into a stranger. It was a feeling the pawnbroker was unable to recognise, and so sat besides her the weakness within him came crawling back. He was suddenly helpless again, and not even his magic could fix it this time.

He needed to talk to her, to hear her advice. In every situation as of yet, Belle was always right. Her unwavering hope kept him on his toes and kept the darkness at bay. But that hope had been forgotten and he quickly found the shadows caving in on his mind again. God, he needed to hear her voice. More importantly, he needed to hear recognition in her voice. Belle would know what to do at a time like this.

“Belle,” he spoke quietly, whispering into the room. She didn’t even stir, he doubted she’d ever stir at his voice again. The thought of her never remembering him pained Gold to the depth of his soul- or what was left of it. “Belle, I-“ what was he trying to say? The words died on his tongue, every thought left his mind empty. He just needed to talk to her as if she was still her. “We still haven’t had our picnic. The strawberries are out of date and the cupcakes have gone dry. I haven’t unpacked the basket with the blanket in though…” Gold wrung his hands together as he spoke, leaning atop his cane. He had screwed his eyes shut and there was a slight quiver to his chin. A deep sigh rattled his bones and the sudden weight of age hit him like a freight train.

“Belle.” He began again. “I miss you. I miss everything about you. Your eyes, and your laugh, your voice. I just miss it. And this feels as if you had died again, but you’re here. You’re alive, but you don’t even remember me. Or yourself, for that matter. And God Belle, you’re so- so-“ his voice cracked as the anxiety muddled grief numbed his mind. “You’re perfect and I feel like I’m losing you again. Just come back. Please.” Rumplestiltskin bent his face downwards, biting his knuckles to quieten his sobs. “Please.” His voice was strangled, hoarse, but desperation gripped him and the only thing he had left to do was beg.

“Please.” God he needed to hear her voice. He needed her to recognise him.

“Please.” He needed her to feel safe again, to know herself again.

“Please.” He needed her.

Disinfectant evaded the hospital room space still, but Gold was unfocused on it. His mind had turned to the sleeping angel next to him, and had not wandered from it since.

[darckcarnival]

What is it like to see your loved ones die so many times? How numb have you grown to the smell of death around their corpses, to see them alive next, only for death to rip them away from you once more? What will you do once this loop breaks and they are dead and gone for good?

Oh... That had been entirely unexpected, and not something of which the half vampire had wanted to be thinking about what so ever. The repeated instances of watching those around her die, over and over again, only by some cursed miracle for them to be alive in some way- but not remember her. Or maybe they do, but everything is so far undone it doesn't matter. Only small details here and there- time was cruel, as was reality, made worse for a creature so steeped in unaging eternity to see the same thing. To leave deep burnt scars upon the psyche and memory.

Yet, she has experienced this all the same. The permanency of it all, some never coming back ever again. Their graves long since grown over, or worse not even having a chance for that, and just... Lost, somewhere unknown...

The woman may have spent most of her life as this creature of the night, watching the world move every onward while every tick of the clock taking its slow toll upon those around her. The years digging their claws in upon every single person she knew and cared for. Like an ominous warning that there could only be so much available. But did it matter? If she was forgotten and left behind each time...? Not that it made a difference anyhow. The woman had missed out on many years already- either from forces outside of ones control, or from her own poorly chosen action or not saying a damn thing.

Darck grit her teeth with a tightened jaw, pursed lips, and crossed both arms. Uncomfortable tension tying itself in knots through her joints. "It's like a never ending loop of pain and woe. Imagine seeing your friends and family on a cycle, or an instant rewind button, loosing them and repeating. But you're the one that knows. Not something I'd wish even on my worst enemy. I.. .I wouldn't say I'm numb too it. Every time it still hits me like a freight train. Perhaps worse than the last. Makes me feel more... Protective in a way. And far more cautious with my actions and what I let slip sometimes. It's agonizing."

For a moment there was a brief hunger, or need... Not for feeding- but rather for a possessive instinct. 'Could turn them', the vampiric side thought into her internal conflicts. Give them speed and strength to counter anything, let them have freedom again from whatever was keeping them... But none of them would want it. Sure, the offer could be made, but Darck would never, ever, force such a thing on someone else. Some of those were too damn young anyway! She lived this life every day, and those she cared for so much deserved better than that. Deserved to live any sort of life they could get their hands on, not the never ending walk she had now. Even if the knot in her throat was slowly tightening like an invisible noose.

"... I don't know what I'll do... Be broken far more than I already am I've no doubt. There is only so much one soul can take. I'd be filled with regrets that will never leave... And yet-" Darck's voice cracked then, a shaken inhale being taken. She knew that was drawing closer. Dangerously so. The fate waiting as the Sword Of Damocles kept swinging. Loneliness sinking in, reminders around every corner. Even to sit in the same room of someone she cares for so much, it doesn't make a difference, does it?

"I can't." She muttered once, quietly. Before raising the voice louder. "I can't. I just can't-" The vampire turned, and left.

She needed air. And a drink.

Anywhere but here.

[drabbles-mc]

Hear You Now

Angel Reyes x Reader

Warnings: angst, language, Angel being a very sad boy

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Why do I always make Angel sad?? Why do I always give him commitment issues?? I don’t know. I owe him a happy fic or two. 😂 If you’re curious, this is 110% inspired by the song Hear You Now by Old Dominion.

Angel Taglist: @mayans-sauce @helli4nthus @angelreyesgirl @starrynite7114 @queenbeered @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @appropriate-writers-name @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @multiyfandomgirl40 @sillygoose6969 @beardburnsupersoldiers​ @louisianalady​ @gemini0410​ @paintballkid711​

You were walking through Merchant Square, hand-in-hand with your fiancé. You laughed as you leaned your head against his shoulder for a moment as the two of you walked through town. It had been a long time since you had been back to Santo Padre, and you wanted him to see your hometown. He had asked on more than one occasion because he wanted to see where you grew up, but you hadn’t been ready to face the ghosts that you knew still haunted those streets. But now you were engaged, and you knew that there was not going to be any more running away from anything.

It was refreshing to walk through town, and your heart wasn’t as heavy as you thought it was going to be. Not too much had changed and you liked how there were so many aspects of the town that would always be frozen in time. You tugged him into a bookstore, and he followed you with a knowing smile—it was nearly impossible to ever get you to pass up the opportunity to find something new to dive into. Almost every wall in your house had a bookshelf built into it or pushed against it. Eventually you told him you were going to buy a whole separate house and make it your library.

You were perusing the aisles, dragging your fingertips along the spines of an endless sea of titles. Your fiancé was a couple rows away looking for a few books of his own. There was a comfort in the mild hustle and bustle of the little book store. The aisles were close together and it all felt so cozy.

You stumbled upon the hardcover edition of a book that you had loved for years, and your eyes lit up. You snatched it off the shelf and went to find your fiancé. You quickly walked up to him and nudged his shoulder, “Look what I found?”

He looked at the novel in your hands and a knowing smile crossed his face, “You definitely have that one already. I know I’ve seen it.”

“Yes, but look,” you shook the book in front of him, “Hard cover! I’ve never seen a hard cover edition anywhere! I need it,” you pleaded.

He laughed, “How am I ever supposed to say no to you?”

You kissed him quickly on the lips, “You’re not, that’s the whole point!” you laughed.

Angel’s ears burned from the opposite side of the store. He would know that laugh anywhere, even from a million miles away. He never thought that he’d hear it again. He turned and tried to look around the store for you, and his heart instantly sped up when he saw you standing in the checkout line with a book clutched tight to your chest.

He started to walk over to you, but as quickly as his heart sped up, it nearly stopped when he saw another man walk up behind you and wrap his arms around you and place a kiss to your temple. He saw the way you melted back into him with a smile, and his stomach turned into a knot. His grip on the book in his hand tightened and he couldn’t force his feet to move in one direction or another. He didn’t know if it was worse to have to take in the scene in front of him, or to have lived with never seeing you again.

After paying for your book, you turned to leave the store, and that was when you saw him standing there. Your heart sank inside your chest—it had been years but that was definitely the Angel Reyes that you had known and had loved. You wanted to walk out of the store and not open up that box of memories, but something impulsive inside of you burst through.

“Angel?” you said, causing your fiancé to look up from the book that he had bought and was skimming through.

It got Angel to finally force his feet to move, “Hey, Y/N,” he cleared his throat as he walked up to you, “It’s been a minute.”

“Yea,” you laughed nervously, “Oh, shit, where are my manners? Angel, this is Jordan, my fiancé. Jordan, this is Angel. We grew up together,” it was the understatement of the century but you weren’t going to air out that laundry in the middle of a book store.

You could see Angel’s heart break at the word fiancé, but Jordan didn’t seem to take any notice of it as he held out his hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he shook Jordan’s hand and nodded, forcing a small smile, “You’re a lucky guy.”

Jordan laughed as he pulled you against his side, blissfully unaware of the tension that was beginning to build, “You’re telling me. Can’t believe that this one said yes.”

You chuckled and leaned your head against his side, trying to let the familiarity of his touch and scent comfort you in this situation. It half-worked, but your mind was still racing, trying to figure out what Angel was thinking as he stood there and watched you talk about a forever life that didn’t involve him.

“I had no idea you were back in town,” Angel looked at you, eyes soft as he tried to memorize every detail of the woman he hadn’t seen in so long.

“Yea,” you shrugged, “kind of flew in under the radar. I was gonna see if I could find you and your brother while I was here,” it was a lie, but it sounded nice.

Jordan gave you a light squeeze, “Do you want to catch up? Don’t let me stop you—I’m sure I can find something to do for a couple hours or so.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you shook your head, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not just going to ditch you on our trip together,” you smiled up at him.

He pressed a light kiss on your lips, “It’s fine! You guys go grab coffee or something and catch up and I’ll find somewhere we can go to dinner.”

“You sure?” you wanted him to stay with you, but one of the things that you loved about being with him had always been that you were your own separate people just as much as you were a cohesive unit as a couple. It was just this particular situation that made you wish that that wasn’t the case, that made you wish that he was a little more possessive.

“Positive. I love you,” he kissed your forehead, “Give me a call when you’re done,” he reached and shook Angel’s hand again, “It was nice meeting you. Hopefully I’ll see you again before we leave town.”

Angel nodded, “Yea, for sure.”

Jordan walked out the door of the bookstore and there was a long stretch of silence between you and Angel as the two of you stood there. You wanted to step in and hug him, but you knew that you couldn’t. You eyed the novel in his hand, “You buying that?”

He had completely forgotten where he was and why he was there. He shook his head as he set it down on one of the small display tables, “Nah,” he cleared his throat, “So, I guess we’re getting coffee?”

You chuckled, not able to hide the awkwardness that you felt, “I guess we are.”

The two of you walked down the street in silence. You gripped your book, pressing it tight against your chest. There was a small café right down the street from the bookstore, another place that seemed to go untouched by time. Angel held the door open for you and told you to grab a table and he’d grab drinks for the both of you. You set your book down on the table, nervously tapping your fingertips on the cover as you waited for him to come back over.

He sat down across from you, handing you your drink. There were a few beats of silence and you desperately wished for the power to read minds so you could know what Angel was thinking that was making his eyes look so sad.

All Angel could think about was the fact that every day, for years, he thought about you and wondered where you had gone off to. He wondered if you were safe, if you were happy, if you had found someone else. He wondered if he was ever going to have a chance to see you again, to make things up to you, to win you back. He wasn’t expecting to get the answers to all of those questions within the first fifteen seconds of seeing you again. Reality had hit him like a freight train and he was still trying to recover.

“I see you’ve upgraded from Prospect,” you nodded towards the secretario patch on his kutte.

It snapped him out of his spiral for a moment and he managed a smile, “Little bit, yea. EZ’s sporting the Prospect patch these days.”

Your eyes widened, “Seriously?”

He nodded, “Yep. Patch-in vote is coming up in a couple months.”

“Holy shit,” you shook your head with a laugh, “How things change.”

“Yea,” he tried to push the words down but he couldn’t, “I’ve missed you.”

Your heart hurt at the sound of him saying that. The heartbroken girl that you used to be wanted to say something snarky, to rub a little salt in the wound that he had been carrying around with him. But you worked so hard not to be that girl anymore, and the better-healed part of you wanted to comfort him. You couldn’t meet his eyes, “It has been a while,” you traced your fingers around the edge of your cup, “hasn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he’d been sitting on those words for years and he couldn’t keep them in anymore, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You shook your head, “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Angel. We were kids—we were young and dumb.”

“I was young and dumb,” he corrected you, “I should’ve listened to you. Things could’ve been so different.”

You nodded, not having it in you to lie and say that he was wrong. Your mind was taken over by a tirade of memories, of arguments that ended with screaming and slamming doors, with you crying alone at the kitchen table trying to figure out how to force the puzzle pieces to fit. You had begged him for just a little more, just a little bit of commitment, and he could never give it to you. Eventually you had gotten fed up waiting for something that was never going to happen, and you left. It hurt, and you spent a lot of days crying as you packed up and bought a plane ticket, but you never looked back. You changed your number and completely detached yourself from the person that you had been.

“You always said I was gonna fuck around and hurt someone,” he pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment as he shook his head, “Just didn’t think it was gonna be me.”

“Thought it was just gonna be me?” it came out more bitter than you had intended, but there was no taking it back.

It caught him off-guard, “I…yea…I guess,” he stared at the engagement ring on your finger, “He is a lucky guy. Seems nice.”

You nod and a smile passes over your face for a moment, “He’s a good man. I never thought that I’d find someone as ready as I was for the whole settling down thing. I thought men weren’t ready for that until they were in their forties or whatever,” you chuckled, “I guess I just got really lucky.”

“So did he.”

“You seeing anyone these days?” you asked, genuinely curious to the answer.

He shook his head, “Nah, not really,” he laughed despite the aching in his chest, “But I’m guessing that’s not surprising to you.”

You smiled and sipped your coffee, “I dunno, people can change,” you waited for him to look you in the eyes, “You’ll find someone, Angel.”

“I already did,” it came out before he could think better of it. He reached across the table and set his hand on top of yours, “I should’ve been better, Y/N. I should’ve listened.”

“Maybe,” you nodded as you pulled your hand away and let it rest in your lap, “Maybe you should’ve. But it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? Guess you’ll just have to listen a little better to the next girl.”

“If you hadn’t laughed in the middle of that bookstore, I might’ve never known you were here,” his eyes were getting glassy with tears, “But I’ve heard that laugh inside my head so many times for so many years. I thought I was going insane. But then it was really you.”

“Angel, please, don’t do—”

“Please, just let me get this out,” he waited for you and once you nodded for him to continue, he did, “I spent so much time thinking that you wanted me to be a different person, and I was so angry about it. It felt like you didn’t want me to be who I was. It wasn’t…it wasn’t until you left that I realized that all you wanted was more of me. It was never about me changing, not really. It was just about me getting my head outta my ass. I spent so much time fuckin’ around and wanting to be free that I completely missed the fact that that freedom had nothing to do with you leaving. I hate that I never really heard what you were trying to say until after you left.”

You were fighting back tears, “Maybe there was just a little too much noise with me around.”

“You told me that one day I’d be sorry,” he couldn’t peel his eyes away from your ring, “And fuck are you never wrong.”

You laughed humorlessly as you blinked back tears, “I never wanted to be right, Angel. I just wanted to be happy, to be yours. But it just…wasn’t right I guess.”

“What you have now,” he stared down into his coffee cup, “that’s right?”

You slid your fingers along the band of your ring, and nodded, “Yea, it is.”

Those three words felt like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover from it.

“I don’t think you should keep beating yourself up over what happened, Angel,” you looked at him, “I think we’re different people now.”

“Are we?”

You chuckled, “Maybe not. Maybe that’s all the more reason not to worry about what happened. There’s no way to make it turn out any differently.”

There were a few beats of silence before Angel took a deep breath and managed a smile, “Damn. This is not what your fiancé thought he was signing you on for, huh?”

You laughed, and for a moment you caught a glimpse of the Angel that used to drive you around on the back of his motorcycle in the middle of the night. The same Angel who could get you to laugh when you showed up at his place in tears. You missed that, but you knew that going back wasn’t going to do anyone any good.

“Poor son of a bitch,” you laughed, “One day he’ll learn,” you paused for a moment, “I know it’s hard, Angel, but I am glad I got to see you.”

“Me too,” it sounded a little insincere, but you knew it was the heartbreak making it sound that way.

“Keep taking care of yourself, alright?”

Angel’s heart sank, knowing that this was the start of another goodbye that would last a very long time, “You too.”

You reached and put your hand over his, your finger tracing lightly over his knuckles, “I’ll see you around, Reyes.”

“Yea?”

You smiled, “Well, maybe.”

[vampiremansionpoolboy-moved]

renga week day 4: cindereki

Cindereki stared around the room, looking for Prince Langa, but he was nowhere to be seen. Her prince had just found her and then he was taken away by an evil emperor. She had finally found happiness only for it to be stripped from her. How typical.

Cindereki fell to her knees reaching out to where Prince Langa had stood seconds before.

“Wait...Langa....don’t go...”

She heard a murmur of voices, but they were too distant to understand. She was Cindereki, a poor servant girl, who had fallen in love with skating, and fallen in love with the prince. She would get him back if it was the last thing she did.

“I’m Cindereki!” She started but never finished because her surroundings were becoming kinda fuzzy. She tries to open her mouth again, but it feels like her teeth are lined with glue. What was happening? And so Cindereki pushes herself to call out for Langa but ends up waking herself up.

“PRINCE LANGA!” Reki yells as he wakes up, startling Koyomi. They make eye contact for the longest ten seconds of his life before she bursts out laughing. Reki’s face burns like a forest fire, and he’s sure it's the same color as his hair.

“Oh- oh haha, oh my god! You just had a dream about your best friend!” she dissolves into giggles. “Haha- oh my- what's Cindereki by the way?” she asks, eyeing the book in his lap.

Reki, face hot enough to cook an egg, stutters out. “I- I was Cinderella, and so my name was C-cindereki.”

Koyomi clutches her stomach again, laughter echoing through the room. Reki wishes he could skateboard into the sun and never reappear.

“Not a word,” Reki hisses to his sister.

“Ok, my lips are sealed.” she mimics zipping her lips. “At least until I want a new book. Or a new shirt. Or a game, or a snack, or a-” she rambles with a smirk.

“Ok, ok, ok that's enough with the blackmail!” Reki cries.

“Thanks, Cindereki,” Koyomi calls as she leaves the room, laughing behind her hand.

“Thanks, Cindereki,” Reki mocks.

Reki slides back down to his spot on the floor. The book lay forgotten a few feet from him. He picks it up, glancing at his sleeping little sisters around him, before opening up the book. He flips through the pages, glancing at the parts that he remembers from his dream. He laughs at the memory of Shadow, Miya, and Cherry fighting in their dresses. He then remembers Muscle Magic Joe and wonders what's going on inside his head for him to think that up. And why was the guy from the love hotel Langa’s advisor? Adam’s narration sends shivers down his spine.

Even in my dreams he still comes for me. Reki thinks. The image of Langa reaching out for him and Adam spins him faster and faster pops into his head. It makes him think of when Adam trapped Langa in his spinning turn back during their beef and Langa used it against him. Then the memories of their fight surface and Reki wishes to banish them from his head. But then he remembers the soft and tender smiles Langa gave him yesterday when they were skating. His face burns again like it did when Langa called him amazing. The way Dream Langa said “so pretty” is the same voice Langa talked to him with last night. Reki smiles at the thought.

Then a thought hits him. Do I like Langa?

Pulling out his phone he prays Google can help. He begins to type something out. How do I tell if I like someone? He clicks on the first article that pops up and reads the first few lines.

“You find yourself wishing for more time with the other person.” the article reads. Check, Reki thinks.

“You're wanting to text them all the time.” Check.

“Everything makes you think about them.” And that hurt so much during our fight. But check, nonetheless.

“Everything feels more exciting,” Langa said it first, but check.

Does- does this mean I like him? Reki thinks, the phone screen illuminating his shocked face. He types another thing into the search bar. What does it mean if you have a dream about someone?

“Dreaming about someone means you are feeling lonely, sad, or used.” He had felt like that during their fight. Check.

“You deeply miss someone, but they do not have the same feelings.” He knew Langa had missed him, but did he have feelings for Reki? Did Reki have feelings for Langa? Check (to be determined???).

“You struggle with moving on from this person and think about them constantly.” He did think about Langa almost all the time. Check.

“The good news is that they are likely also thinking about you, even if they don't show any signs.” Langa never shows any signs that he's thinking about anything, Reki thinks fondly, but everything he said yesterday had the certainty of someone who had thought of it before. So, check?

Reki pausing before typing his next question. This time a small box doesn't pop up, but he clicks the first link.

The title reads “How to tell if you are gay?”

~

The next morning Reki rushes to get out the door despite not going to sleep until three AM. He may know about his crush on Langa now, but he's determined to keep things the same between them. At least until he’s pretty sure it's not one-sided.

Reki stayed up early into the morning researching things and trying to sort through the thoughts in his head. Finally, at two AM, Reki came to the conclusion that he was a raging bisexual and had a big fat crush on his best friend. He then spent the next hour trying to process it all before he passed out due to mental and physical exhaustion.

When Reki woke up, he didn't remember right away but then it hit him like a freight train, and he was filled with excitement and adrenaline. He was out the door in almost twenty minutes. His family was stunned by his rapid speed compared to his slow pace yesterday, but Reki didn't pay them any mind.

As he skates to their meeting spot Reki swears his heartbeat quickens with every kick of his foot. How am I going to act around Langa? Do I pretend like things were normal or am I supposed to be acting differently now? Reki tried to picture himself like one of the girls confessing to Langa, but he just shook his head to get rid of the thought, his dream from last night still fresh in his mind.

As Langa came into view Reki let his look linger for a bit too long, letting himself admit that Langa looked pretty. That he looked beautiful. Then he smiled and slowed as he neared Langa. He held out his arm and their hands met for their dap.

Reki wondered if one day he could hold that hand, but then Langa was asking what course he wanted to skate, and then there was no more time for thinking. Only time for the infinity of skating.

[nxrthmizu]

disappearing trick — SaguKai

━━━━━━━

fandom | magic kaito 

pairing | kuroba kaito x hakuba saguru 

genre | angst to fluff :3 

w.c | 2.1k 

━━━━━━━

It was a heist went wrong. 

So, so wrong. 

There were explosions and gunshots, all of which Hakuba was about 99.99% sure wasn’t in KID’s itinerary of the night. He remembered catching a glimpse of a torn white cape, the grimace of pain clear as day despite the lack of helicopters overhead, and men dressed in black. 

“KID—!” Hakuba had yelled, which, looking back, was not the smartest thing he could’ve done. The barrels of two guns instantaneously locked on him, much to the phantom thief’s horror. 

It seemed like it was the end for Hakuba Saguru. 

But of course, KID always loved to meddle in things that didn’t involve him. And so he did what he always did best. 

KID was a performer, after all. He specialised in attracting his audience’s attention to him. Flashing a cocky smirk towards Hakuba’s direction, even though there was a stream of blood trickling down his cheek, the phantom thief disappeared into the night with a loud bang, taking the two men with him. 

Kuroba Kaito was ‘kidnapped’ the same night. 

According to Aoko, who had been in the Nakamouri house when the teen was attacked, there had been a loud crash, gunshots, and yelling. The girl had hid under the kitchen counter in fright, hoping and praying with all her heart that Kaito hadn’t been home at the time of the break-in. 

As it turned out, he was. 

The crime scene investigators turned Kuroba’s house upside down, finding multiple signs that the teen boy had been shot, if the splatters of blood (That all had Kaito’s DNA) was any indication. It was also concluded by the investigators that Kaito put up a hell of a fight, as there were signs of his magic tricks all through the house. 

Hakuba was still being treated for shock at the heist location when Detective Nakamouri received a call from his devastated, hysterical daughter, who sobbed so loudly through the phone that the blonde detective overheard.

It was only one disaster after another. 

For once, Hakuba chose to stay out of the crime scene, instead stroking Aoko’s back as comfortingly as he could, trying not to think about Kaito’s body, abandoned in some dark alley dumpster. His coat was soaked through with splotches of her tears, but he didn’t care much, because he himself felt like crying, too. 

━━━━━━━

School the next day was eerily quiet. Practically everyone had heard of Kaito’s kidnapping, and if they didn’t, Aoko’s swollen eyes were a dead giveaway that something had happened to the playful teen. The teacher kept glancing up, as if she was waiting for an interruption, only to flick her eyes onto the empty seat at the corner of the classroom. The topic lingered like a dark cloud above the classroom, and no one dared to even mention the name ‘Kaito’ when Aoko was within hearing distance. 

“He’s alive.” 

Hakuba glanced up after a few moments of silence, realising that Akako was talking to him. “What?” 

“Kuroba.” Akako continued impatiently. “He’s alive.” 

The blonde detective couldn’t help but snort. “And how did you come to that conclusion? Did your crystal ball tell you that?” 

Judging by the glare the female shot in his direction, she didn’t appreciate his snark, but Hakuba just couldn’t be bothered at the moment. “He won’t go down this easily.” Akako stated, as if she’d seen Kaito alive with her own two eyes. Granted, the image hadn’t exactly been clear when she used her seer powers on him, but she could go as far as saying that the magician was still breathing. 

“Look. He was shot.” Hakuba interrupted emotionlessly. “Even if the gunshot wasn’t fatal, he’s lost a lot of blood.”

“He won’t go out that easily. You’ll see.” 

━━━━━━━

Kuroba Kaito was pronounced dead after three months. KID went back into retirement— At least, that’s what the KID division announced after no sight of any heist in the horizon. 

After a long consideration, Hakuba decided to leave Japan behind— Along with the memories of KID and Kaito— And return to Britain. Some would call him cowardly, and he would admit, yes, it was cowardly of him to run away like that, but as far as he was concerned, he didn’t care what others thought of him. 

Sure, Aoko was a little upset, but Akako had reassured her that she wasn’t going anywhere. He did feel a little bad for leaving Nakamouri behind— All her friends were disappearing, one by one, after all— 

Disappearing. 

That was KID’s— Kaito’s last trick, Hakuba thought tearily, hastily ushering the tears away as he packed the last of his clothes into the luggage bag. A disappearing trick gone wrong— And the phantom thief KID, Kuroba Kaito— Two sides of the same coin— Dropped off the surface of the planet, never to be heard from again. 

But there was no point in crying over spilled milk anymore. 

“Saguru-kun, there’s a man looking for you outside.” His housekeeper knocked on the door, informing him monotonously. “He said he has a few things to tell you before you leave Japan.” 

A quick peer out of the window gave him a glimpse of dark brown hair— A familiar stature and height, a relaxed pose— 

Hakuba had never dashed out of his room that fast in his entire life. All composure and calamity was forgotten as he practically barrelled down the stairs, narrowly missing a few boxes of belongings he had wrapped up the days prior. The door burst open with a tremendous bang! as Hakuba hurried down the front steps of his house, hoping, praying, pleading that the face that he would meet belonged to— 

“Kudou-kun?” The tone of disappointment couldn’t be avoided as Hakuba remembered just how alike the detective and the magician looked. If he was asked, the two were definitely genetically related at some degree or another. “How may I help you today?” His tone was terribly strained; he had had expectations, and he had been let down. 

Kudou Shinichi, as the great detective that rivalled many others, took quick note of Hakuba’s inner turmoil. “Hakuba-kun. I have news that you might want to... Think about before you leave Japan.” 

“Go on.” Hakuba said bitterly. Nothing could stop him from leaving Japan, he thought. Not when every corner reminded him of the man that kept him on his feet. 

“Kuroba Kaito is very much alive.” Kudou said casually, with no prior preparation or whatsoever. Hakuba looked as if he was just hit by a freight train, stunned and dazed by the words that destroyed everything he knew about life. “He’s been staying undercover to help the FBI take down the Black Organisation, who, as if seems, was after Pandora as well. Because he’s been missing for three months, its’ going to be very hard for him to explain his absence— So he has requested for me to pass you this letter in his stead.” 

The thoughts running through Saguru’s head as the slim letter was received into his head were wild. Kaito was alive? He was involved with the FBI? What was the Black Organisation— And forget the Black Organisation, what the hell was Pandora? And why couldn’t Kaito have passed him the letter himself? 

“Well, I’m going to get going.” Kudou smiled gently. “See you around, Hakuba-kun.” 

━━━━━━━

It seems like your detective skills have mellowed since my absence, Hakubastard. Your observational ability is... Mediocre, to say the least. Anyway, I suppose I should provide you with an explanation (Although I would love to go world-hopping and leave you in pursuit of the truth for the rest of your life), but I guess I owe you this much after just upping and leaving like that. Those gun wounds hurt like hell, but they weren’t going to nuff this magician up that easily. I still had a couple tricks up my sleeve— It was nice seeing you all worried about me, though! So you do care~ 

Anyway, its still not too safe for me to appear publicly in Japan. I’ve sent a letter to Aoko, so don’t worry about filling her in. I left the meeting location in your bedroom. Exactly a month from now. Better set a reminder on that pocket watch of yours, tantei. 

With love malice, 

Kuroba Kaito

“My bedroom...?” Hakuba murmured to himself, realisation striking like a flash of lightning. A quick inspection of his room turned out with a slip of yellow paper: Rivals shall meet once more, in the romantic city people adore; When the clock strikes a quarter and by the Seine shop corner. 

Saguru rushed over to his bedroom window, eyes flicking up and down the nearby streets to find Kudou Shinichi’s silhouette, but he came up empty handed— For that wasn’t Kudou Shinichi at all... Because who else would break into his bedroom just to leave a riddle? 

It didn’t take long for Hakuba to figure out the time, date, and location— Kudou— No, Kaito had said so himself. Exactly a month from then— In the ‘romantic city people adore’— Which would be Paris— ‘clock strikes a quarter’— At a quarter of a day, which would be 6am— And by the ‘Seine shop corner’— So at a coffee shop next to River Seine. 

“Baa-san!” Saguru called out into the manor, a smile on his face. “Cancel my flight ticket and book one to Paris instead.” 

━━━━━━━

Paris at 6am was quite the pretty sight. The sun was barely rising over the horizon, little splays of light shimmying over the river surface, bathing Paris in a fine, gold threads of sunshine. Not that many cafes were open at the crack of dawn, which made it even easier for Saguru to track down his cafe. 

The little coffee shop by the Seine provided an amazing view as Saguru enjoyed his morning coffee. He had taken a seat outside the cafe, the streets silent in a peaceful, docile manner, early birds already leaving their nests for the worms that were promised. 

The latte in his hands felt warm, inducing heat into his frozen fingers. Hakuba had never felt that on edge in his entire life— Would Kaito show up? 

“Lovely morning, no?” An old man commented, plopping into the seat opposite Saguru. “I love watching the sunrise from here.” 

Hakuba raised an eyebrow, looking for details of a disguise. The fat seemed genuine— The voice was deep and velvety, a little rough and raspy around the edges— The wrinkles around the eyes looked authentic— But he had seen the quality of KID’s work, and he wasn’t taking his chances.

“Indeed,” Saguru agreed with a pleasant hum, French rolling off his tongue smoothly. “Say, mister, what do you think about magic tricks?” 

“Ah, I think they’re quite quaint.” The old man replied in his deep voice, eyes forming crescent lines as he smiled. “What do you think of them, young man?” 

Saguru placed his latte back onto the cup. “I think magic tricks are nice,” He started softly, making firm eye contact with the old man, French rolling off his tongue smoothly. “But I hate disappearing tricks the most.” 

“Oh?” The old man was confused, clearly missing the memo. “Why so—?” 

“Good morning, sir, can I take your order?” A voice pricked into Hakuba’s memory, triggering some sort of mechanism. It was the same tone, frequency, wavelength— The only thing different was the dialect and accent. 

Saguru looked up right into Kaito’s violet eyes, the latter dressed in a waiter’s uniform. A soft smile spread over the magician’s lips as he winked, Hakuba’s jaw dropping as his gaze returned to the man in front of him. 

“Ah, a cappuccino please. And one slice of carrot cake.” 

“Of course.” Kaito nodded pleasantly. “Right away, sir. And you?” 

Hakuba took longer to find his voice than he would’ve liked. “Just a cup of black coffee, please.” 

“Is that all?” Kaito hummed, scribbling down the orders on a piece of paper. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

Hakuba laid back against the chair, a sigh slipping from his lips as he smiled continuing his conversation with the old man, who was still very much confused. 

“Ah, but I find disappearing tricks interesting,” The old man commented, chuckling slightly. “It’s always so magical when the reappearance happens, no?” 

The blonde detective hummed, watching the dark-haired magician busy himself inside the shop. “I suppose I’ll have to agree with that.” 

━━━━━━━

this thing has been sitting in my drafts for four months and its time for it to see the light of day~ 

[whataboutmyfries]

Dance alone

I’m BACK!!!!! and i have for you yet another fluffy little coops piece :) this was written in an hour flat because the inspiration hit me like a freight train and I had to get the words out somewhere :) 

@lumosinlove I’m back again to borrow your characters! don’t mind me ;) 

‘Like real people do’ reminded me how much i love songfics and also how much i have completely forgotten how to write prose so...here we are! this one is inspired by Dance alone by music by blanks and as always, I would recommend you listen to the song as you read! 

enjoy!

~

Remus nudged the drawer closed with a hip, spinning around to put the brownies in the oven, dusting his hands off the flour when he pushed the door closed. 

Remus Lupin was cooking his husband dinner for the first time in a long time. It wasn’t like he didn’t cook for them (Sirius had been banned from the kitchen ever since Remus had moved in) but it had been a while since they had had the time to sit down and have a full, homemade three-course meal. 

Remus heard the familiar twang of a guitar on the radio and whirled around, his eyes lighting up at the melody. Remus turned up the volume, grinning to himself. 

His body moved of its own accord, his feet pulling him around the room. Remus laughed, dropping his apron somewhere on the way to the speaker. 

Been staring at the wall today to find some inner meaning My laundry’s clean, my momma called To ask me how I’m feelin’ 

Remus laughed aloud, moving around the room. Eyes closed, head tipped back, Remus grinned so hard his cheeks hurt, humming along to the music. 

I’ve been running out of things to think  So what’s the point of dreaming? 

The beat flowed through his body, filling his heart with a warm buzzing joy, and tugging his mind into memories he had long since forgotten existed:

He remembered watching Sirius score goal after goal after goal on his TV, staring at the perfect form deep into the morning, his heart still a bleeding wound from watching those silver eyes, that raven hair all week, knowing he could never let himself want.

And I’ve been watching from a distance  How the seasons change.

The song had played on his phone that day and he’d smiled through the tears, dancing around his kitchen, leaving behind the pain grasping at his heart and moving with glorious abandon. 

 The sound of the front door closing brought him into the present, a tear tracing its way down his cheek. Remus smiled shakily, loosing himself to the rhythm once more 

I’ve been lost, lost in the rhythm lately  I don’t know, know how to dance alone Know how to dance alone. 

Sirius walked into the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his husband dancing around their kitchen. 

His smile lit up the whole of gryffindor. 

Sirius walked over to Remus, turning the music up even higher as he swept Remus into his arms. Remus’s chuckle when he kissed his nose knocked the breath clear out of Sirius’s chest. 

Damn, he could never get enough of this man. 

Sirius dipped Remus, the latter squealing a little as the world shifted. Sirius chuckled, leaning his forehead against Remus’s as the final notes of the song played.

Remus’s nuzzled his head into Sirius’s with a giggle when Sirius sang along, his warm breath ghosting across Remus’s lips 

I’ve been lost, lost in the rhythm lately  I don’t know, know how to dance alone Know how to dance alone. 

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Wake Up Call

The very last thing Sebastian rem Rasina knew was that he’d all but thrown himself in the infirmary, the limp body of Riven in his arms.  He had the vague memory of orders being barked before darkness overtook him...

With a gasp, Sebastian sat straight up in the bed.  It took several moments-but then his environment sank in--he was in the medical ward.  And the reason why...  The Tribunus gingerly swung his legs out of bed-then hissed as fresh pain exploded in his skull.

“Owww.”

Yet the pain brought a sudden onslaught of memories.  The day before--learning the fate of the town nearby, finding out that the crown prince and his troops were coming-

Wait.

Sebastian jerked up as a particular set of memories hit him like a freight train.

“It’s said you despise the Garlean gunblade and that you’re a master of what the savages use, rem Rasinia.  Indulge my curiosity.”

He was trying, but there was just no way in hell--the prince was too fast, Sebastian couldn’t get a read on his movements, and forgotten gods the aura he exuded--

I’m going to die.

“That is enough!”

“Riven.”  Sebastian breathed.  She’d thrown herself between him and yae Galvus, daring him to engage her--

“My lord, perhaps something different might be more to your taste.”

“Riven no, you can’t-you can’t fight him!”  Riven’s blue eyes meeting his own, filled with fear--her skin so pale her tattoo stood in stark contrast...

Sebastian bolted to his feet.  He had to-no, he needed to find Riven.  Was she safe?  He remembered her collapsing before the Castrum’s gates, when he’d picked her up she’d been cold as death--but now his body was screaming at the sudden movement, and Sebastian paid the price.  With a yelp he landed on the hard tile floor as his legs gave way.  Now his entire body was starting to throb--oh right, he had his own fair share of injuries from getting his ass kicked by the crown prince.

Fuck me.  With a groan, the ginger-haired man pushed himself up on all fours-rather unsteadily, and rolled onto his backside.  Hissing, he closed his eyes and gathered himself, next was standing up...

Only to feel a presence looming over him.

“Get me up, I need to find the Prafectus Castrorum.” Sebastian barked.  There was no response, and Sebastian looked up.

“I said...”  He trailed off.  The looming figure wasn’t a solider, or another medic.   In fact anyone else would have been preferable to who was glaring at him right now.

Oh.

“No, please.  Continue issuing orders.  In my infirmary.”  Sebastian could only continue to stare upward, wishing that he was back facing Zenos.  Death by the questionable-sanity-Emperor’s son was far preferable--hell, being stripped naked and sent to fight on the Gyr Albania front--would be more ideal than who was staring down at him right now, with clear murder on his mind.

“I’m waiting.” 

Mathye lux Corvina, their Primus Medicus.  Probably the most brilliant and naturally gifted healer Sebastian had ever run into--and who also possessed the worst bedside manner ever.  Like Riven, Mathye was a full-blooded Eorzean--and never had Sebastian seen a healer who would gladly drop what he was doing and engage in a fight--even with his own patients.  At first Sebastian had thought Mathye’s surly attitude was the result of his amnesia-he had no memory of his past life.  Then he’d quickly realized that no, Mathye was just that violent.  Sensing his possible impending death, Sebastian fixed a smile on his face--maybe if he was submissive, Mathye would show some mercy.

“Sorry?”  He ventured.  Mathye unfolded his arms and glared down at Sebastian, disapproval written not only all over his face, but his very being.

“Get your arse up off the floor.”

[turnipotentiary]

a slip of the tongue- jamilmads

@who-knew-what I wrote a part 2 to Home Is Where The Heart Is! expect more to come, too. I’m already working on two more installments in this universe. I’ll tag all of them with “#home ‘verse” so you can find them. enjoy, y’all!

“Alex?” John asks, peering into Alex’s office. The man is barely keeping himself awake, empty mugs of coffee all around him and papers on the floor. It’s nearly midnight. “Are you alright? Do you need me to take you home?” 

“I’m alright,” Alex mutters. “They’ll take me home.” John furrows his brow. People taking care of Alexander Hamilton isn’t unheard of, exactly, but usually it’s one of his friends, and he isn’t aware of any new people in the friend group. Everyone else is sleeping at home already. 

“Who?” he asks. “You got a boyfriend or something?” He meant it as a joke, because Alex would have told him. Right? But then Alex looks up at him, his tired expression twisting into something happier. 

“I got boyfriend,” he slurs, obviously exhausted. John sighs. Whatever that means, he’ll parse it later. For now, he just wants to make sure Alex gets back to his house. 

“Yeah, well, is ‘boyfriend’ gonna pick you up in a few? The office is closing soon,” he says. 

“Thomas’ll drag me out anyways,” Alex responds, though he looks distinctly annoyed at the thought. 

The revelation hits John like a freight train. There’s only one Thomas in the office (not counting Thomas Paine, who’s a level above them when it comes to management and is also very old), and that Thomas is the guy Alex screams at and then complains about to John. What? He considers asking Alex for more details, but looks again at Alex’s figure hunched over the desk, typing furiously, and decides against it.

Alex, in his sleep-deprived state, has no idea why he said “I got boyfriend” or if he even said it. He has a vague memory of John’s gears turning as he stares at him from the doorway, but that’s all, and he promptly forgets about it. 

Thomas and James are entirely unaware of the incident. Thomas did end up storming in after receiving an email from Alex about the project he was working on and dragging him out, scolding him like a child (“I have no idea what you’re trying to accomplish with this, Alexander, but so far I only see death by loss of sleep”), but only several minutes after John had left. 

So a week later he finds himself dragging James into his office. He just wants a quick kiss, initially, and then it turns into something more and James is straddling him in his chair, making out like there’s no tomorrow, and then John Laurens barges in, stops short, glares at Thomas, and turns on his heel and runs. Thomas exchanges a bemused look at James, but John’s been sending him those glares (albeit more of an “I’m watching you” sort) all week, and he thinks nothing of it, chasing James’ mouth with his own again. 

Alex barely looks up as John barges into his office, glancing once at his friend and then returning to the screen. The click of the keyboard resumes, John’s heavy breathing filling the office. “What is it?” Alex asks when John continues to simply stand there, out of breath from his run. It takes a few more moments before he can gather enough breath to speak. 

“Thomas- is- cheating,” he pants. 

Alex’s head snaps up. “What?” he says sharply. He isn’t worried for himself- he can deal with the fucker- but it’s James he’s worried about. And then there’s also a slight disbelief. He knows John would never lie to him, not with something like this, but he also knows that Thomas wouldn’t cheat. Right?

“He- was- hang on,” John says. Now in a better state, he continues, “he was making out with Madison in his office, I’m really sorry, Ham- what is it?” Alexander had slumped over his desk, cackling with laughter.

“Oh my god,” he says after a moment in which he feels hysterical and John is plain confused. “I cannot believe- I thought- if you knew about Thomas-” 

“Get to the point, will you?” John asks, beginning to feel annoyed. 

“Okay- okay so,” Alex begins, then dissolves into laughter again. “Sorry. So. Thomas is my boyfriend.” John nods, well aware. “James is also my boyfriend.” At this, John tilts his head. Wouldn’t that be worse, then? Double betrayal? “Thomas is also James’ boyfriend.” John is lost, as is evident in his expression. “Look- it’s- it’s basically like, like, I like both of them and they like me and them- like a- it’s a- triangle of love, of sorts,” he says. Having never really considered the unconventionality of his relationship, he finds himself at a loss to describe it. John is even more lost, having not followed half of what he was saying. “Like a couple, except with three people! I’m with James and Thomas and Thomas is with James and me and James is with Thomas and me. Like a big puddle of love,” he says, acutely aware that he’s not doing a very good job of explaining. John, however, seems to get it, nodding slowly as he processes the words. 

“OH!” he nearly shouts. “Ohhhh. Goddamn, I feel like an idiot.” 

Alex laughs. “You are!” 

Later that night, Alex finishes recounting the story to his boyfriends, lying across Thomas and James’ laps on the couch. James laughs, fingers entangled in Alex’s hair. “Wait- so how many of your friends besides John know about us?” Thomas asks. Alex pauses, considers. 

“Actually I think only John knows,” he says. “Wow. I just completely forgot to tell them.” 

“Are you going to tell them?” James says. “I mean, I could understand if you didn’t want to, considering-” he waves his hand around, the gesture invoking memories of shouting competitions in meetings and furious disagreements and, especially, Alex breaking off his friendship with James and coming to them crying afterwards. 

“It… should be fine,” Alex says, though he sounds uncertain. “In any case, they’re my friends, they’re legally obligated to support me even if my boyfriends are assholes.” Thomas smacks his thigh. 

“I’m gonna call them right now,” Alex announces. “I’m probably going to forget later if I don’t.” Saying this, he picks his phone up from where he’d discarded it on the floor and proceeds to call Eliza. She picks up on the first ring. 

But it isn’t her who answers. “This better be a good excuse for why you’re not at game night,” Angelica snaps. Alex’s face is blank for a moment, and then he remembers. 

“Shit!” he hisses. “I’m so sorry, Angie, I just-” he looks up at James and Thomas, who are giving him disapproving looks- “forgot. I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m putting you on speaker. Apologize to all of us.”

“Sorry!” Alex says into the phone, and he hears a chorus of voices rushing to reprimand him.. 

“This is the second time in a row you’ve forgotten,” Hercules says. “What happened, man? I thought you had a reminder or something!” 

“I thought I did!” Alex says desperately. “I’m so sorry, you guys. I was just, uh…” He trails off, searching his mind for a plausible excuse. 

“Well?” Peggy asks. 

“Actually, I called you guys to tell you something because I forgot to, so uh…” James nudges him. “I have boyfriends,” he says. Their reactions are immediate: five different voices start talking at once, raising their voices to be heard over the others and creating a cacophony of both pleased and annoyed tones. He can’t hear John saying anything, and he imagines him sitting smug on his bean bag (Hercules has bean bags in his apartment for whatever reason) while the others crowd the phone. 

“Who?” Lafayette demands. “Tell us at once, mon ami! Why did we not know sooner?” 

“Uh. So,” he starts, hearing his friends fall silent at once. “James?” It comes out more of a question than an answer, but they get it immediately. 

“Madison?” Eliza says. “Didn’t you-” 

“Yes, well, we’ve worked it out,” James interjects. It’s still a bit of a sore subject. There’s immediate squeals on the other end. 

“James!” Angelica says in surprise. “You’re there?” 

“Evidently,” he says, though he’s smiling. “Hello, Angelica.”

“Mon amiiiiii, you cannot leave us hanging like this,” Lafayette interrupts. “Tell us who the other person is! Do we know him? Is he handsome? Oh! Are they a girl?” 

“You do know him,” Alex concedes, “and his handsomeness… mmm, not quite there,” he continues, earning another smack on the thigh from Thomas. 

“I am very handsome, thank you very much,” Thomas cuts in smoothly. His friends fall silent at once. 

“Is that… is that Jefferson?” Peggy whispers. 

“It IS!” Lafayette shouts. “I knew it! I knew it! See, I told you, Alex, mon cousin is not that bad once you get used to him-” 

“Is it Attack Thomas Day or something?” Thomas grumbles. James pats him condescendingly on the head. 

“Hush now, the grownups are talking,” he says. 

“Hold up,” comes Hercules’ voice from the phone, which is now balanced on Alex’s chest. “You’re dating  Jefferson? The guy you used to whine about whenever you came over?” Thomas raises an eyebrow at him.

“Oh? You whined about me? Do I truly affect you that much?” he teases. 

Alex makes a hmph noise. “I did not!” he protests. “Stop lying, Hercules!” And that’s the end of any questions about his relationship, thank god. They spend a couple more minutes just messing around with each other before they disconnect abruptly upon discovering that John knew before them. 

There’s silence for a bit afterwards. Thomas shifts, nestling closer to James and slinging his arm around him, the other hand resting on Alex’s thigh. “Your friends are… something,” James says eventually, threading his fingers once again through Alex’s hair. 

Alex laughs. “They sure are.”

I very much hope “I got boyfriend” made you laugh as much as I did. Please, please reblog! Likes don’t do anything! If you comment I’ll love you forever.

[suphoshi]

TEMPERED GLASS | Park Chanyeol x female reader

Genre:  Angst, some fluff

Warnings: possible triggers for anyone with anxiety/panic disorders, a few bad words... can’t really think of anything else

Word count: 6,594

Love is patient, love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast.

It is not proud. It does not dishonor others.

It is not self-seeking.

It is not easily angered.

It keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth.

It always protects. Always trusts. Always hopes. Always perseveres.

Love never fails.

Love never fails. It doesn’t. It can’t. How could it fail? You have Chanyeol. You have him, so you have everything. So why are you empty? His body in the same bed as you, but where was his soul? Your tears filling the shower, answer-less prayers to feel his touch. Did he smile? Did he ever smile, or was it a dream? No, if anything it was a nightmare. He said he loved you. He did. Didn’t he? He said it before, you can remember his voice, down on one knee. Love never fails.

Right?

The voice in your head is too loud, and you just want Chanyeol to kiss you

-

Chanyeol used to be your favorite Sunday morning. Light streaming through the window, arm draped over your waist, soft snores in your ear. It was the best sound you had ever heard because it came from the person you loved the most on earth. You’d run your hands through his thick, messy hair and wake him up with kisses on his cheek. His dimples would sink in with a smile and eventually he’d pounce on you, kissing you everywhere but your lips. He tickled your soul in so many ways, made a home out of his heart just for you.

“I love you.”

You missed those days, where your biggest worry was making dinner, hoping he would like it despite the fact that you couldn’t cook for anything.

Now you worried about everything.

‘Will he come home tonight?’, ‘Is he working?’, ‘Has he eaten?’, ‘Who is he talking to?’, ‘Why doesn’t he smile anymore?’

The endless stream of questions barraged your thoughts from the second you woke up in the morning to the second you closed your eyes at night. It was maddening.

At first, he just got home late, always pushed it off as being busy, telling you he missed you. Always kissing you goodnight. Then the busy days turned to busy weeks. Then to busy months. You couldn’t remember the last time he even said goodnight, let alone kissed you.

You could feel your soul splitting day by day, a piece of you missing in every moment that went by where he didn’t speak to you. It felt like a punishment, the deafening silence he thrust upon you, but you didn’t know what you did to deserve it. Didn’t know when your Chanyeol became something that was no longer yours.

“I’m working late this week.” He said quietly, interrupting the ever-constant thoughts racing through your mind. You sat cross legged on the bed, picking at the chipped nail polish on your toes, looking up to find him pulling a hoodie over his head.

“Oh?” It’s all you could form over the sinking feeling in your heart, chest deflating at the thought of another night alone. It wasn’t any better than him being there, backs facing each other while you slept, no words, no warmth, but still. At least he was there.

He simply hummed in response before pulling a beanie over his head and grabbing his phone. He didn’t even spare you a glance, let alone a goodbye before walking out of the room. He used to lay in bed with you before work, holding you tight to his chest, milking every second he could before he had to leave. He’d tell you over and over how much he loved you, how he wished he could stay home forever.

The cold you felt around you now when you heard the front door open and close now was almost numbing. Almost.

You walked into the bathroom and somehow found the will to turn the shower on. The hot water was scalding, but that was okay because at least it took your thoughts away from spending another night alone. You stood under he steaming stream until you felt too dizzy to stand, then you sat until the water turned cold, tears mixing with the drops that pooled down your cheeks, fear gripping you like a knife when there was nothing left to distract you from the thoughts in your head.

‘Is my marriage over?’, ‘Does he hate me?’, ‘Will he leave?’

You pressed your hands over your ears and pulled your knees to your chest, sobs wracking through you like a freight train. Your throat grew hoarse while you sat there, crying to an empty house that didn’t used to feel so empty, body shaking until you felt hollow inside, your heart a rattling sack that pushed blood through barren vessels.

Chanyeol was supposed to love you forever.

“I got you a surprise, don’t look.”

You closed your eyes as if you could relive the memory again. Held out your hand in the shower like you did years ago when he asked for it. You could almost feel him placing the ring on your left hand and opened your eyes to see where it laid now, recalled every moment of that night like it was your favorite movie.

“You are the only person who can handle me. At my best and my worst. You love me like I love you. And I want to love you forever.”

You smiled at the diamond that you’d never taken off, the thought of his words alone causing a shiver to run down your spine. It broke your heart. You covered your mouth and bit back the next wave of tears that begged to take over, the ring suddenly feeling too heavy, too meaningless. ‘How can I make him love me again?’

“Marry me?”

His smile. Down on one knee in front of you, eyes glowing, heart racing. You couldn’t recall the last time you saw him smile like that.

Chanyeol was supposed to love you forever. The thought that he didn’t anymore broke something so deep inside that you wished to feel empty. Wished you could float down the drain with all of the water that trickled around you and never come back up, a single drop of water lost in an ocean full of wonders, a place where you could hide from reality, hide from the devastation that was your life.

Instead, you pulled yourself off of the shower floor, turned the water off, and stood in front of the mirror. You went through the motions of brushing your teeth, combing your hair. You touched your cheeks and pushed your lips up into a smile that immediately fell when you moved your hands away. ‘You can be happy this way’, ‘you can love him even if he doesn’t love you’.

You should have put clothes on and gone grocery shopping. Cleaned the house. Done the laundry. Read a book. You stared at your broken reflection in the mirror and wondered how easy it would have been to break the glass, something to match how you felt inside. Something to make you feel a little less alone.

No, you couldn’t find the strength to do anything but crawl into bed naked, will yourself to sleep, and dream of Chanyeol’s smile.

-

Mornings were pretty dull when Chanyeol stayed at the studio. Sure, you barely spoke anymore, but at least when he was home you would drink coffee together. Even if it was in silence, you preferred it to staring at the empty space in front of you.

You pulled out your phone as you poured yourself a bowl of cereal and texted him.

To; Chanyeol [ 08:45 ];

Are you coming home tonight? I was going to make tacos for dinner!

You smiled as you pressed send, remembering an old forgotten Tuesday tradition. Taco Tuesdays with Chanyeol used to consist of watching a movie and seeing who could eat the most before the end (winner got a back rub). It was the first time in so long that you got giddy about seeing him. The idea of curling up beside him on the couch while he put on some scary movie that he had already seen a billion times, but wanted to watch one more because he thought it was funny to see you afraid – it made your heart swell three sizes. You would sit on the edge of the couch gripping his leg, free hand plastered over your eyes even though they were cracked just enough for you to see every single stupid moment.

“I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. Why is she so stupid?! Why is she going in there?”

Chanyeol would laugh while you whined, hold you when you screamed. Sometimes, when the movie was quiet, he would grip your sides to scare you and you would turn around and hit him. He’d grab your hands and pull your lips to his, kiss your dramatic tears away.

“You’re such a baby.”

His deep voice resonating through your chest pressed against his. You’d pout your lip and he’d kiss you again.

“I love you.”

Your phone buzzed against the table and just like that, the fog of a happy memory was replaced by the all familiar cloud of disappointment.

Chanyeol [ 08:56 ];

Still have a lot to work on with the album. Probably won’t come home until tomorrow. Sorry

You slumped over the table and took three deep breaths, told yourself it would be okay, repeated it over and over like a mantra, as if you could speak it into reality. You told yourself that Chanyeol was just busy and it wasn’t you. Sometimes people can have space and still be okay and just because you didn’t see him every day, or kiss him every night, or touch him anymore, that didn’t mean you weren’t still his favorite person like you used to be.

‘Were you ever his favorite person?’

It was hard to breathe over the sobs that clawed up your throat, hand gripping your phone like you could get through to Chanyeol with that action alone. You wanted to shake him back to reality, show him what he was doing to you, but couldn’t he already see? Couldn’t he tell what he was doing?

You couldn’t control that anguish that gripped you as you sat up and stuffed a spoon full of Rice Krispies into your mouth, closing your eyes while you prayed away the sadness. Each bite you swallowed choked the tears back down, but blood still rushed through your ears with turmoil and betrayal like it never had. When you stared down at the milk that remained, all you could think of was the pieces of your heart that laid scattered around the too big house you were in, so many that you didn’t know how to put it back together again. You felt shattered. Damaged.

You’d never felt so lonely.

-

The next morning started like this – Chanyeol texted you an apology with no context.

Chanyeol [ 07:33 ];

I’m sorry

It was instant, the ache that settled in your bones and you immediately tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. Hands shaking as thoughts raked through your mind, anxiousness taking hold of your nerves and twisting them around like play-dough. You sat up on the edge of the bed and stared at the carpet, wondering what he would apologize for.

‘For not coming home?’, ‘For everything else?’

You shook your head and stood up, almost walking away to go to the bathroom when the text messages started flooding in. Your phone buzzed wildly on your pillow and even though the coward in you wanted to turn away, you couldn’t help but reach back for it instead. It was your sister, your friends. Your mom.

-Chanyeol broke up with you?

-Why is Chanyeol with another girl?

-What is going on with you and Chanyeol?

-Have you seen this article?

You were clicking on it with blind anger and fear, fingers shaking as you scrolled through picture after picture of Chanyeol with a girl you had never met. In his car, outside of his studio, her kissing his cheek, her hand on his arm while he smiled at her, something genuine that you hadn’t seen in so long. For a second, you forgot to be angry, simply happy to see that he could actually smile and it wasn’t just something you made up in your head.

But then the rage hit. Jealousy thrashed in your chest; how could he smile at her but not you? You stared at the girl’s hand on his arm and wished more than anything you could snatch it away, wanted to burn away her touch with your own, as if anyone could touch him like you did. Instead you dialed Chanyeol’s number again.

No answer.

You threw your phone at the wall and ran into the bathroom, bent over with your head between your knees to try and calm the panic you felt yourself surging inside. The world felt like it was turning upside down. Like you were being burned out of the life you built with Chanyeol, as if he had the right to leave when he was the one who said you meant everything.

“I want to love you forever”

You dropped into a squat and covered your face with your hands, so tired of crying, though the tears just wouldn’t stop coming.

‘How could he do that?’, ‘How could he lie?’, ‘How could he tell you he loved you and then lie?’

You screamed into the empty room and slammed your hands down on the floor, falling to your knees with more sobs then you could handle.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair… You pounded your fists into the linoleum as if you could smash the anger through the floor, bury it in the earth and leave it there forever. Your forehead pressed onto the cold surface beneath your hands and you begged for it all to go away. You just wanted everything to stop, you just wanted to breathe like you did when Chanyeol used to hug you.

An hour passed and you walked back to the bedroom, grabbing your phone off the floor (screen surprisingly unbroken). There were no missed calls. Only more text messages from people who were more concerned about your relationship than they were about your mental health.

You waited the entire day for some kind of follow-up to his apology. An explanation. Absolutely fucking anything. You waited for hours, sat at the kitchen table, hands balled into fists so tight that your nails dug small crescents into your palms. Eventually you moved to the living room, vacuumed to keep busy, mopped the floor, washed the dishes.

You were scrubbing the kitchen counter when he walked through the door. You threw the washcloth down and walked to him, ready to bring your fury down on him like a storm, but the second you saw his face, all of your anger disappeared.

The dark circles housed under his eyes had grown more prominent in the two days since you’d seen him. His hair was a mess, coffee stains on his shirt, looking smaller than he ever had. Defeated.

“Yeol?” You mumbled, standing up straight. His eyes met yours for barely a second, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, before walking to the fridge. He pulled out left-overs from a few nights before and threw them in the microwave before walking into the bedroom. You followed after him despite the voice in your head telling you to leave him alone, like he left you.

He peeled his shirt off and sat on the edge of the bed, eyes drooping like he was going to fall asleep right there.

You walked towards him and pressed your hand to his cheek. When he nuzzled into it and closed his eyes, your heart broke. You grabbed his hand and pulled him to stand up in front of you. It wasn’t sexual in the slightest, the way you pulled off his belt and unzipped his pants, pulling them down so he was left in his boxers. You guided him to the bathroom and turned on the shower, standing with his hand in yours beside you while you tested the temperature, only adjusting it slightly before turning back around.

He looked so tired and innocent, you couldn’t help but press a kiss to his cheek before you pulled down his boxers and ushered him under the water. You helped him wash from head to toe, ignoring the way you got completely soaked in the process and solely focused on making sure he was clean. Once you were finished, you pulled him out and dried him off, lead him back to the bedroom. You pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head and helped him step into a new pair of boxers before walking him back to the kitchen, sitting him down and making him eat the leftovers he heated.

You completely forgot about the pictures. The apology.

‘Tomorrow, it can wait until tomorrow’

He ate his food in silence and you had to nudge him three times to wake him up, but eventually, he finished everything. You walked him to bed, laid him down, pulled the covers up over him and ran your fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then walked out to the kitchen to clean up.

It was only then that the ache settled in your chest. He was right there, one room away, and you missed him so much that it took your breath away. You wanted to cry again, scream, but instead you got in the shower, washed away the sadness and climbed into bed beside him.

You wanted to watch him sleep forever. Wanted to reach out and touch him, wrap your arms around him, kiss him, but you didn’t. You didn’t know how to do those things anymore without worrying. Wondering what the next day would bring.

You were just about to roll over when he reached out and wrapped his arms around your waist. You froze, scared he was asleep and that you would wake him up if you moved. It was the first time he had held you in months, you didn’t want to ruin that, even if it was unintentional.

“I love you.”

You thought it was your imagination, his words often echoing through your mind from past memories, but no. That was real. You looked at him with glassy eyes, wondering if he said it in his sleep, but then his eyes opened to meet yours.

“I love you.” He repeated. You bit your lip to keep from crying, but he kissed you despite that, then crushed you into his chest. Your hands gripped his shirt, holding onto him for dear life, as if he would disappear any second. You had to keep him there, had to fight for him, had to keep the Chanyeol who loved you because it was the only thing that made sense.

Sleep found you only minutes later, and you didn’t have to dream of his arms. Instead you dreamt of his voice.

-

You woke up the next morning to Chanyeol pulling his arms away from you.

Well- ripping them away, flustered and cursing, moving around the room too quick for your tired eyes to keep up with.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” You asked, sitting up and rubbing at your face.

“I’m late.” He snapped, yanking on a sweatshirt and pulling a pair of sweats on.

You sighed and sat up on your knees. “It’s okay, you can afford to be late one day, I’m sure.”

It was like the air was sucked out of the room with that one sentence, and he stood up straight, looking at you with such ferocity that you wanted to melt into the bed beneath you.

“You don’t have a fucking clue what I can and can’t afford right now!” He shot out, and your breath hitched at the harshness of his words.

Sure, you barely had real conversations anymore and you didn’t really kiss or smile with eachother, but Chanyeol was never mean to you. And he never yelled, not at you.

You wrung your fingers and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Well, just… Calm down. Freaking out isn’t going to help.” You said softly and he rolled his eyes.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

He was grabbing his phone off of the nightstand and pulling a hat onto his head when your fears from the day before flooded into your soul again.

‘Who was she?’, ‘Why is he so mad?’

“Are you cheating on me?” You asked quietly and his head snapped towards you, eyes narrowing.

“What?”

Your blood was boiling. Skin itching with irritation. After how you took care of him the night before, despite all of the stories you heard, he was going to treat you like that?

“I said, are you cheating on me?” Your words were stronger that time, firm.

You didn’t expect the empty laugh that left his lips, the eye roll. The obvious annoyance.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” He mumbled, walking out the door and slamming it behind him.

The rage rolled through you in waves. Fire burned through your chest. Your arms moved on autopilot, picking up the wedding picture on the night stand beside you and throwing it at the door he had just left through, a frustrated cry coming out like a strangled scream as the glass shattered on the floor. You half expected him to come back to make sure you were okay but heard the unmistakable opening and closing of the front door and felt exactly like the glass that lay splintered on the bedroom floor.

It took you hours to piece yourself together enough to climb out of bed. Hours to stop crying. The life you were trapped in was so exhausting, and you were tired of pretending you could fix it. Tired of letting Chanyeol ruin you. The constant resentment he tossed around when you had done nothing wrong, the never-ending insecurities he let run through you like a stampede.

You were sick of trying to make him love you again.

“Marry me?”

You were sick of trying to force the memories of your love back into him, trying to make him remember that you were his everything once when he was still yours.

‘Were you ever his everything?’

The thought made you nauseous. It felt like your heart no longer belonged to you, tethered in Chanyeol’s palm by a leash that only he had control of. You just wanted to feel free again.

You stepped over the pile of glass and walked out to the front door, pulling your shoes on. You called your sister and told her you needed her, and she’s your sister, so she picked you up fifteen minutes later, let you sob for thirsty minutes total before driving to a nearby restaurant and parking the car, turning towards you with too much sincerity and pity in her eyes. You hated it.

“You need a drink.”

-

Chanyeol was never one to outright complain about you being drunk, but if he was honest with himself, he hated it. You were obnoxiously loud and touchy, whining about anything and everything, talking faster than he could keep up with about things that made no sense. It was annoying. And he really didn’t have time for it. At all.

It was a really big week, the album was so close to finished, but it wasn’t perfect. He needed it to be perfect, the group couldn’t afford to disappoint anyone. They were all working so hard, practicing every day, writing until their fingers bled, fighting with the company for direction. It was too important.

Still. You were his wife. When your sister called – “she needs you” – he couldn’t say no. Even after you had both fought that morning, and he wasn’t particularly happy to see you, he got into his car and said he would be there in thirty.

He watched from across the street, you sitting on the curb outside of the bar with your sister’s arm draped around your shoulders. She brushed your hair out of your face and you smiled at her like she was actual sunshine. He rolled his eyes and pulled his seat belt off despite the butterflies he got in his stomach and waited for a break in traffic before jogging across the street.

“Hey,” He said, signaling his presence and both you and your sister looked up.

“Sorry.” Your sister mumbled, and you looked at her with your eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t ever be sorry, not ever to anyone. We don’t have to be sorry, never.” You said wrapping your arms around her head and hugging her to your chest. She laughed and patted your back, peeling your arms away. Chanyeol’s hands wrapped around yours and pulled you to your feet, your hands resting on his chest to steady yourself. He sighed as he grabbed your waist, holding you upright.

“Do you need a ride home?” He asked your sister and she shook her head.

“I’ll get a taxi. You guys go.”

He couldn’t help the annoyance that overtook him when he realized she stuck you with him on purpose. She gave Chanyeol an annoyed smirk, peering up at him through narrowed eyes.

“Don’t make my sister cry again.” She whispered for only him to hear and he nodded in reply. Your sister tended to be a pretty scary person, so he didn’t want to cross her. She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him alone with you.

When he looked down, you were staring up at him with the dopiest smile on your face. You pinched his cheeks and he sighed. He was so cute. He wrapped his hands around your wrists and dragged you across the street to his car, helping you into the front seat. He reached across you to buckle your seat belt, ignoring the way you touched him, pressed kisses to his neck. He abruptly pulled away and you stared at him dejectedly. When he shut your door, you turned on the radio and adjusted your seat back, staring out the window.

‘He rejected me?’, ‘How do you reject your wife?’

You felt so stupid. Getting drunk on a Wednesday, so drunk in fact, that your own sister couldn’t stand to be with you. No one could stand you, not ever, and that thought broke your heart.

Chanyeol noticed nothing of it. In fact, he relished in the silence, completely not expecting it to the usual tirade you went on after drinking. He wanted to make it all the way home, just like that, hoping to avoid an argument at all costs. He preferred when you both didn’t speak because at least it was quiet. He like the quiet.

When he pulled into the driveway, a satisfied smile found his cheeks. He thought you must have been asleep, but when he moved to turn the car off and unbuckle his seat belt, he noticed your hand covering your eyes, unmistakable tears trailing down your chin while you sniffled silently, chest stuttering with sobs he had been deaf to.

He reached over to grab your hand, but you pulled it away, yanked off your seat belt and climbed out of the car before he could even touch you. You stumbled inside and threw your shoes off in the entry way, Chanyeol one step behind.

“Y/n-” he started, but you whipped around and pressed your finger to his lips while you shushed him, tears still falling freely.

“Don’t talk to me.” You said, eyes bleeding the anger you felt, stumbling back towards your bedroom without another word.

Chanyeol was speechless. For the first time in your entire relationship. He stared after you in the entry way, unsure of what to think.

You loved talking when you were drunk, yet the only words you said to him were ‘don’t talk to me’. Is that why he missed your voice all of a sudden? Why he craved to hear you speak again?

You were one step into the room when you remembered your fatal mistake, but it was too late. You never cleaned up the glass from that morning and multiple shards jabbed their way into your heel, eliciting a scream from you.

“Ow!” You stumbled back, tears immediately falling as you pulled your foot up. Chanyeol was there in seconds, immediately assessing the situation and lifting you into his arms. He carried you to the kitchen and sat you up on the counter, crouching down to look at your foot.

“Let me see it.” He said, fingers moving up to touch one of the smaller pieces that jutted out.

“Don’t touch it, please!” You yelled through a sob, pushing his hands away.

“Babe, I have to touch it, there’s glass in there, it could get infected.” He said softly, still looking at your foot and prodding at it, only causing more pain. You gripped his shoulder and shook your head vehemently.

“No, no, no, please. It’s okay, it’s okay, it won’t get infected, it’ll be okay!” You wiped the tears from your eyes in an attempt to prove to him it was no major wound, but you knew it wouldn’t work, the dramatics already displayed.

He looked up at you, serious. “So, if it gets infected and you die, what should I do then? You want me to just be alone?”

He stood up and walked towards the cabinet that housed the expired first aid kit you bought 2 years before when you moved in.

“It’s not like you’d care.” You mumbled, wiping at your eyes again with the back for your wrist. He looked up at you, confused, and chuckled half-heartedly, dismissing your comment with a roll of his eyes.

“I wouldn’t care?” He repeated, turning back towards you and going through the small kit.

You shook your head ‘no’ and he saw it out of the corner of his eye, still determined to find the tools he needed. “You don’t love me anymore, so you would be okay.”

That time he chuckled for real, caught off guard by your statement. “I don’t love you? What are you talking about?”

He turned back, tweezers in hand, and grabbed your ankle, but you barely noticed. He looked up when he realized you weren’t making a scene like he expected, watched your eyebrows furrow together while you wrung your fingers together, anxiousness and worry on full display. The sight of you broke something inside of him. The genuine tears that rolled down your cheeks.

“You don’t tell me you love me anymore. You don’t kiss me.” A small sob broke from your throat and his heart skipped a beat. “You called me stupid this morning, after I took care of you last night. And you don’t even feel sorry. And I had a right to be angry, I have a right to be pissed at you!”

He sighed and closed his eyes, unable to look at you like that anymore. He started picking out the pieces of glass one by one, listening to the soft sobs that escaped you, each one a blow to his chest he had never felt before.

“I don’t even know what I did, Yeol. I feel like I’m nothing to you anymore. That’s how I feel.”

He wanted you to shut up. To stop saying such useless, unimaginable things.

“And you’re seeing another girl! I can’t believe you were smiling with her; you never smile at me anymore!” You couldn’t stop now, ready to get everything you wanted out on the table.

He was wrapping your foot with gauze, annoyance reaching a boiling point as you flailed your arms around dramatically, pointing at him and yelling.

“If you want to leave me, then you should just do it. Okay? But don’t embarrass me by sneaking around with another girl. I’ll be fine, I am a strong woman, I don’t nee-“

Chanyeol cut you off, hands wrapped under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the counter, his lips against yours shutting you up effectively. It was so unexpected, the words he stole from you as if they were his own, claiming every bit of oxygen in your lungs with is tongue against yours, his hands on your thighs, skin against skin. You missed his touch more than anything. Your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him take every piece of you he wanted, teeth skimming against your lower lip, his cinnamon breath taking over all of your senses. You wanted to drown in him, all those tears swirling down the drain now nonexistent, the will to fight for him renewing inside of you.

You whimpered into the kiss and he smiled, wrapping your legs around his waist, and pulling you up off the counter. His lips never left yours as he moved back towards the bedroom, a constant you weren’t sure you could lose again, but you pulled away, looking back.

“Watch out for the-”

“Glass.” He breathed out, catching your lips again as he stepped over the pile in front of the door.

Every bit of you wanted him, mind finally silent from worry, heart content as he laid you back on the bed and climbed on top of you. He pulled his shirt off and kissed your neck, that space below your ear that he knew was so sensitive for you. The peppered kisses he trailed from your neck to your lips brought you home, for the first time in so long. Chanyeol was Sunday mornings again, his hands sliding up your shirt, your body melting with his like you were made for him. You bled for him, cried for him, the oxygen that carried through your veins was only his.

He pulled away for the first time in what felt like hours, eyes meeting yours with so much passion that you wanted to fall into him. You wanted to fall into his arms and let him hold you forever, this boy who had every piece of your soul.

“I love you.” You whispered.

Tears filled your eyes and he swallowed hard, eyes frenzied and confused.

“I need you.”

His words were whispered and rushed and not what you were expecting, but you gave him everything. You gave him every piece of the already fractured glass heart that you had left and let him build a castle for himself, a kingdom you weren’t sure he was ready to let you in. Let him ruin you from head to toe, mold you like you imagined Alexandros of Antioch molded the Venus de Milo, in the image he wanted, everything he needed. You wanted to be his everything again. You had to be.

-

The next morning, you woke up with your naked legs tangled with Chanyeol’s, his arm draped over your waist, head nuzzled into your hair. You felt so complete again, unlike the hollow shell you usually felt like, one who held the place of his wife. You felt wanted. You felt remade.

Time ticked by too quickly, the fear of him leaving for work nearly suffocating. So, you listened to him breathe. Distracted yourself with the soft snores that flowed from him like your favorite melody. Drowned out your never ceasing thoughts with the smell of his shampoo so close. You memorized the way his fingers felt against your skin, both soft and rough at the same time, so hard working and full of love.

The sound of his phone buzzing broke everything. You pretended to sleep when Chanyeol got up, turning back to grab his phone from the nightstand. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but birds chirped outside of the window. You wondered what it would be like to be one of them. He sat up on the side of the bed and answered the call.

You listened to him talk, listened to him whisper words of apology to someone that you didn’t know. Listened to him lie about where he was and wondered why he should have to lie. You were his wife. He should be lying to you, not the other woman.

“Mina, it’s nothing, really. I’m in the car, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Wait for me.”

Every piece of life was sucked out of you at the sound of her name.

Mina.

A name to the face who was stealing your husband. A name to the face of the woman who made him smile.

‘Wait for me.’

‘Did he ever smile at you like that?’

He sighed and stayed still for a few moments. You felt him look back towards you once. Twice.

‘Please don’t go’, ‘Please don’t go’, ‘Please don’t go’

Your eyes filled with tears, begging him to hear your heart, begging him to pull you back into his chest and not get out of the bed.

When he moved to push himself up, you rolled over and grabbed his hand.

His eyes down on you, so empty. How had things gotten here?

“Please don’t go.” You whispered.

His eyebrows scrunched together and he sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand.

“I’ll be back tonight.” He mumbled, and it felt like a shot to the heart. “I promise.”

You didn’t let go of his wrist. “Please.” Couldn’t let go. It felt like the end, and it was too real. It was all too real.

He looked at you and sighed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I promise.”

He muttered the words one more time before pulling his hand from yours and getting dressed.

It felt like you were watching a movie. A life flashing before you that you didn’t know. A man you had never seen. He walked out without a goodbye and you didn’t break. Tempered glass doesn’t do that. It shatters in spiderwebs, no ragged edges to fall apart, just broken pieces locked together that can’t be put back together again. A damaged piece of hardware no one could fix, not even Chanyeol.

The birds outside were chirping and again, you wondered what it must be like to fly away.

-

Chanyeol came home that night to the house dark. Every piece of you was missing; your clothes, your notebooks, the stupid clock you bought the year before that was in the shape of a cat that he hated more than anything.

He tried calling you over and over, but you never answered. Your sister refused to tell him anything - “I told you to stop making her cry.”

Your ring sat on his pillow; a note written beneath it that he couldn’t find the courage to read.

“I love you.” You whispered to him at some grocery store years before. He laughed and looked around.

“Why now?” He questioned and you rolled your eyes, shoulders shrugging.

“Not just now. Forever.”

The smile on your face, something he loved more than anything. He knew right then that he would die for you.

“Forever.” He repeated.

The house was empty, no longer a home since you were gone. Cold. Dark. Hell.

You were gone.

-

A/N: Guys!!!! My third fic!!! Let a girl know what ya think, I’m honestly really proud of this one and really really hope I can hear from you all about it ~~ SO SO SO much love, any feedback is appreciated!!!

P.S. i’ve got a part 2 kickin for this one :):):):):):)