#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

[jburrgf]

About You IV- The Love Trope Series.

"Do you think I have forgotten about you?"

◦pairing: ¡lsu! burrow x ¡ex situashionship!reader

° summary: second change trope, college relationships, slow burn love, right person wrong time.

◦ description: It is the game day, and you and joe are back again. what the future holds for both of you? Forever or Down In Flames?

• playlist: About You - The 1975, Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Golding, Like Real People Do - Hoozier, I Bet You Think About Me - Taylor Swift, Called You Again - Lizzy McAlpine, Tolerate It, ImGonnaGetYouBack, Clean - Taylor Swift

PART FOUR: ABOUT YOU

The soft chime of a new email broke the quiet of my apartment as I sat cross-legged on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through my notes for the media project. I reached for my laptop, my curiosity piqued by the subject line:

"Peach Bowl Coverage Assignment"

I clicked the email open, scanning its contents. The words blurred together for a moment before clarity hit me like a freight train:

You have been selected to cover the Peach Bowl game this weekend, Saturday evening. This will be your primary focus. Full details and meeting schedule to follow.

My heart sank into my stomach. The Peach Bowl? This wasn’t just any game—it was the game. The stakes were high, the audience massive, and the pressure immense. And to make matters worse, the LSU Tigers were playing, which meant... Joe.

I let out a long, uneven breath and leaned back against the couch cushions. Of course, it had to be this game. I rubbed my temples, willing the knot of anxiety forming in my chest to loosen.

"Great," I muttered to myself. "This is just great."

The email included a note about a meeting scheduled for Friday morning, where the media team would go over assignments, angles, and access for the weekend. I closed my laptop with a sigh, unable to focus on anything else.

I shut down my computer, getting ready to finally leave the house. I packed everything I needed into my backpack, and minutes later, I left my apartment heading towards the LSU campus, not too far from where I lived.

The media room was buzzing when I stepped inside, the hum of conversations mingling with the faint sound of chairs scraping against the tiled floor. A slideshow projected on the front wall displayed the Peach Bowl logo in bold letters, its importance impossible to ignore. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder, clutching my coffee cup tightly, as if it could somehow ground me.

"Saved you a seat," Maddie said as I slid into the chair beside her. Her energy was palpable, a stark contrast to the knot of dread tightening in my stomach.

"Thanks," I murmured, setting down my notebook and coffee.

“You okay?” she whispered as I slid into the seat next to her.

“Peach Bowl,” I muttered, my tone flat.

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “What? No way. You mean you get to cover one of the biggest games of the season? Tragic.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at my lips. Leave it to Maddie to downplay my nerves.

Before I could respond, the room quieted. The director of media assignments, Professor Ellis, followed by coach Taylor, stepped to the front of the room, clipboard in hand. His voice boomed as he greeted everyone and launched into the agenda for the Peach Bowl.

I tried to focus, scribbling notes as he explained the logistics—press passes, sideline access, and post-game interviews. But my thoughts were fractured, my mind wandering to the one person I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

And then I saw him.

Joe sat near the back of the room, his tall frame hunched slightly over the table. He was wearing a dark LSU sweatshirt, the hood pulled halfway over his head, and his usual air of quiet confidence seemed to be replaced with something else. He looked... unsettled.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen him since the night at Malone’s—that night was burned into my memory—but seeing him here, in the context of work, made it feel different. More formal. More unavoidable.

He didn’t look up, and for a moment, I thought maybe I could slip by unnoticed. But then, as if he could sense me watching him, he lifted his head.

Our eyes met.

It was like the air in the room shifted. Everything else faded into the background, and for a second, it was just us. His expression was guarded, his mouth set in a firm line, but his eyes… His eyes were all over me.

”Keep it together, Y/N," I told myself, tearing my gaze away and scribbling down notes I didn’t even need.

Joe, on the other hand, seemed unusually quiet. His usual relaxed confidence was replaced by a subtle tension, his fingers tapping against the table and his jaw clenched.

"You okay?" Maddie asked as I slid into the chair beside her, her voice low enough that no one else could hear.

"Fine," I said, though my voice betrayed me, sounding far less convincing than I intended.

Maddie gave me a knowing look but didn’t push. Instead, she nodded toward the front of the room where the media director was setting up.

"You’re not going to faint, are you?" she teased, her tone light, but her concern still evident.

"I’m fine," I repeated, more firmly this time.

Coach Taylor started to speak, outlining the importance of our assignments and the exposure this game would bring. It should have excited me—it was a dream opportunity, the kind of coverage people in my field worked years to get. But all I could think about was how I’d survive the weekend with Joe lurking in the periphery.

"Now," Professor Ellis said, drawing my attention back to the front of the room, "I want to remind everyone of the importance of professionalism during this event. You are representatives of the university’s media program, and your behavior reflects on all of us."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

As the meeting neared its end, Ellis and Taylor began handing out specific assignments for the coverage. I kept my head down, furiously jotting notes about the timeline for game day. But I could feel Joe’s eyes on me again, a quiet weight I couldn’t shake.

You’ll each have access to a key player from the team you're covering," he explained. "For LSU, Joe Burrow will be the primary focus, given his leadership role and performance this season."

I flinched at the mention of his name, my pen faltering against the paper.

"Your angles should focus on the game, the team’s journey, and what this win could mean for the program."

I stole a glance at Joe, who was now sitting straighter, his brows furrowed in concentration. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, but the tension in his shoulders was visible even from across the room.

Maddie leaned over, whispering in my ear. "You’re gonna have to deal with him eventually, you know."

I shot her a look, but she just smirked, unfazed.

When Taylor finally dismissed us, the room erupted into the sounds of chairs scraping and low chatter. Maddie nudged me again as I shoved my notebook into my bag.

Maddie nudged me as she stood. "Come on. Let’s go before you combust."

I shot her a glare, but I got up anyway, clutching my notebook like a lifeline. As we moved toward the door, I couldn’t resist glancing back.

Joe was watching me. His eyes locked on mine for just a second before he quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in whatever was in front of him.

I didn’t know what to make of it—of him—but the knot in my stomach tightened as I walked out of the room.

"You okay?" she asked, her eyes flicking toward the back of the room where Joe was still sitting.

"I am.” said quickly, though the tightness in my chest suggested otherwise.

"You sure? You look like you’re about to bolt," she said, crossing her arms and giving me a pointed look.

"I’m fine, Maddie.” I repeated, grabbing my coffee and heading toward the door before she could press further.

“You’re gonna have to talk to him eventually," she said softly, giving me a look that was equal parts concern and exasperation.

But just as I stepped into the hallway, I heard my name.

"Y/N."

My heart stuttered in my chest. I turned slowly, my grip tightening on the coffee cup. Joe was standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

"Hey," he said, his voice quiet but steady.

"Hey," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on us. I could feel Maddie’s curious gaze from behind me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away from Joe.

"You—uh, ready for this weekend?" he asked, his words tentative.

"Yeah," I said, though it was a lie.

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Cool. See you at the game."

"See you," I murmured, and with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding in my chest.

And just like that, the moment was over. I turned and walked away, my heart pounding as Maddie fell into step beside me.

"You’re going to be fine," she said, her voice firm but reassuring. "You’re tougher than this."

I wasn’t so sure.

[…]

The stadium buzzed with electricity, the kind of energy that seeped into your bones and made you feel like you were part of something bigger. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a sea of purple and gold on one side and orange and white on the other. This was it—the Peach Bowl, the biggest game I’d covered yet.

I adjusted the strap of my camera and took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous excitement thrumming through me. This wasn’t just another game—it was a defining moment for the LSU Tigers, and I was here to capture every second of it.

The LSU Tigers were set to face off against the Oklahoma Sooners, and everyone knew this wasn’t just another game. This was the Peach Bowl. A playoff game. A shot at the National Championship.

From my spot near the sidelines, I had a clear view of the field. The players were already lined up, Joe at the center of it all, his focus unshakeable. The sight of him in his purple-and-gold jersey, helmet tucked under one arm as he called out plays, made my stomach twist in a way I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

I raised my camera, framing the shot as he stepped onto the field.

The perfect glare, I looked at my camera and saw the picture that I had taken. I Could feel his energy through the screen. I never knew if it was just me or literally every single other girl in the world, but he was so magnetic. And he did nothing to be like that.

The game started with a bang, LSU coming out strong. Joe was in his element, commanding the offense like he was born for this moment. The ball snapped, and he moved with precision, throwing a perfect pass that resulted in the first touchdown of the game.

I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face as the crowd erupted around me. Even though I was here to work, to document the game, it was impossible not to get caught up in the emotion of it all.

Raising my camera, I snapped a series of shots—Joe in mid-throw, the receiver catching the ball, the celebration that followed. The images would be sharp, full of action, but they couldn’t capture the full intensity of the moment.

A 19-yard pass to Justin Jefferson.

Touchdown.

The crowd erupted, and I couldn’t help but grin behind my camera as I snapped a shot of Jefferson celebrating in the end zone. Maddie, who was a few yards away working on her own coverage, shot me a thumbs-up before turning back to her notes.

I stayed focused, switching lenses to get tighter shots of the players as they regrouped for the next drive. Joe was commanding the huddle again, his gestures sharp and precise.

By the second quarter, LSU was dominating. Joe was unstoppable, his passes clean and precise, his movements smooth and calculated. The energy on the field mirrored the stands—wild, unrelenting, alive.

I knelt near the sideline, framing a shot of Joe as he stepped back into the pocket. His focus was laser-sharp, his eyes scanning the field before launching the ball in a perfect arc. I clicked the shutter just as the receiver dove into the end zone.

Another touchdown.

The scoreboard flashed, and I couldn’t help but cheer under my breath, my voice lost in the roar of the crowd. My camera captured the celebration on the field—Joe’s rare but brilliant smile as he high-fived his teammates, the way the entire team rallied around him.

By halftime, LSU was leading 49–14, and the media box was abuzz with murmurs of disbelief. Seven touchdowns in one half. Joe alone had thrown for nearly 400 yards. It was a performance that felt less like a game and more like a statement.

After the first part of the game, I reviewed my shots, scrolling through the images on my camera. They were good—great, even—but there was something about being here, in the middle of it all, that no photograph could truly capture.

Maddie texted me from the stands: "He’s killing it. You okay?"

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure how to explain the mix of pride and nostalgia and something heavier that sat in my chest every time I looked at him.

The third quarter started with a bang—another touchdown pass from Joe that sent the stadium into chaos. I barely had time to steady my camera before the celebration started, capturing the players as they piled into the end zone.

Joe scrambling out of the pocket, delivering another perfect pass. The defense shutting down Oklahoma’s attempts to close the gap.

With every touchdown, the crowd grew louder, and I found myself smiling more, caught up in the euphoria of the game. This wasn’t just football—it was history in the making.

Joe jogged back toward the sideline, his expression calm but focused, like this was just another day at the office. But I could see the fire in his eyes, the determination that had carried him and the team this far.

By the fourth quarter, the game was all but decided. LSU’s lead was insurmountable, the offense and defense both performing at their peak. But Joe didn’t let up, still playing with the same intensity he had at kickoff.

I captured a shot of him in the huddle, his arm slung around one of his teammates as he called the next play. There was something about the way he led, the quiet confidence that radiated off him, that made it impossible to look away.

When the clock finally ran out, the scoreboard flashing LSU’s victory, the stadium erupted. Players stormed the field, coaches hugged each other, and the fans went wild. I snapped photo after photo, documenting the chaos and joy that filled the air. They were headed to the National Championship.

I lowered my camera for a moment, just to take it all in. The confetti, the cheers, the pure elation that came with a win like this—it was a moment I wouldn’t forget.

And then, as the team gathered for the trophy presentation, my eyes found him again. Joe stood at the center of it all, the MVP of the game, his smile brighter than the lights overhead.

I didn’t need a camera to remember this moment. It was etched into my memory, clear as day.

I brought my camera back up, capturing one last shot of him holding up the Peach Bowl trophy, a grin breaking across his face. The confetti rained down around him, a sea of purple and gold framing the moment perfectly.

I couldn’t stop smiling as I packed up my gear, my heart full with the weight of what I’d just witnessed. It wasn’t just a game—it was a reminder of why I loved this job, why I loved being here, even when it meant facing things I wasn’t ready to confront.

And maybe, just maybe, it was a reminder of why Joe Burrow still had a way of pulling at my heartstrings, whether I wanted him to or not.

I did my way directly to the media room, waiting for Maddie to catch up with me on the way. Our eyes, mouths, bodies — you could tell that we were living the dream.

“I can't believe in what just happened.” Maddie said to me, loud and clear, trying to talk louder than the voices surrounding us.

A quiet buzz hummed in the media room as Maddie and I reviewed our notes and photos while waiting for the post-game interviews. The energy from LSU’s victory still hung in the air, even though the stadium was slowly emptying.

Joe arrived in the room surrounded by cameras and reporters, his expression calm yet commanding. He still wore his uniform, though the helmet was gone, and his face gleamed with the remnants of sweat. The Peach Bowl trophy gleamed on the table beside him, a physical reminder of the night’s triumph.

I positioned myself near the back, pretending to focus on editing the photos on my laptop. Maddie whispered something about the quality of the lighting, but my attention was elsewhere. I couldn’t help but glance up every time Joe spoke, his words measured and precise as he answered the questions being thrown his way.

“I felt like we were in a rhythm all night,” Joe said, his voice steady. “The offensive line gave me time, and the receivers made the plays. It’s a team win.”

I snapped a quick picture, capturing the moment, even though I knew I wouldn’t use it. Something about seeing him under the spotlight like this, with the weight of his success on full display, felt surreal.

After the interview, the team headed back toward the locker room to change and prepare for the ride back. Maddie and I lingered in the corner of the locker room, packing up our equipment.

We headed to the bus, getting our places on the back, where we used to travel. I was still electrified, feeling on my skin all the energy of the night that we just had it.

“You crushed it today,” Maddie said, nudging me as I zipped up my bag. “Seriously, those shots of Jefferson’s touchdowns are going to blow up.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, distracted. I was double-checking my bag when it hit me.

My second camera.

It wasn’t in my bag. My stomach sank as I realized I’d left it in the players’ locker room earlier during halftime.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Maddie, already heading toward the hallway.

“Want me to come with you?” she called after me, but I shook my head.

The hallway leading to the locker room was silent, an abrupt change from the chaos and energy that had dominated the stadium hours earlier. I could hear the muffled sound of voices in the parking lot, where the team was already preparing to board the bus. Maddie had stayed behind, talking to another reporter in the media room, but I was there, hurried, because I had left one of my cameras in the players' locker room.

The door was closed when I arrived. I hesitated for a moment, my heart beating too fast, but I slowly pushed it open, calling softly so no one would be caught by surprise.

"Just here to get my camera," I murmured, my voice echoing in the empty space.

That's when I saw him.

Joe was sitting on the bench, still wearing the black shirt he wore under his uniform, with a towel draped over his shoulders. His hair was slightly messy, still damp from the shower.He hadn’t noticed me yet, and for a moment, I considered turning around and leaving before he did. But then, his gaze lifted, and his eyes locked on mine.

My breath caught.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice softer than it had been during the interviews but no less certain.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to speak. “I—I forgot my camera.”

He nodded, watching as I moved toward the bench on the far side of the room where my gear was. The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable, as I fumbled with the camera strap, trying to avoid looking at him.

As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me.

“Do you think I’ve forgotten about you?”

The question hit me like a punch to the chest, and I froze, my hand tightening around the strap of my camera.

“I…” I started, but my voice faltered. What was I supposed to say to that?

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. The weight of his gaze was too much, and the vulnerability in his voice shattered any defense I might have had.

He took a step closer, his duffel bag slipping from his shoulder to the ground. “Because I haven’t,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “I’ve tried, Y/N. God, I’ve tried. But it doesn’t work. You’re still in my head. Always.”

My heart pounded in my chest, and I couldn’t bring myself to move, to speak, to do anything but stand there and let his words sink in.

And for the first time in months, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run from him—or to him.

I stared at him, my mind racing as I tried to process what he was saying. The locker room felt impossibly small, the world outside forgotten as his words hung in the air.

“I thought…” I started again, swallowing hard. “I thought we agreed to move on.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I thought I could. Turns out I was wrong.”

My chest tightened, the mix of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Anger, confusion, hope—they all swirled together as I looked at him, searching for something in his eyes that would make sense of this.

“What do you want me to say, Joe?” I asked, my voice trembling. “You walked away. You left.”

“And I regret it,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Every damn day.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know what I felt anymore. All I knew was that the way he was looking at me—like I was the only thing that mattered—was making it impossible to think straight.

“You don’t get to do this,” I whispered, my grip tightening on the camera strap. “Not now.”

Joe nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he took a step back. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t forgotten. And I don’t think I ever will.”

He turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the silence of the locker room. I stood there, staring at the spot where he’d been, my heart pounding in my chest as his words echoed in my mind.

Do you think I’ve forgotten about you?

No, I didn’t think he had. And that was the problem.

The weight of Joe's words seemed to have transformed the air around me into something dense, palpable, difficult to breathe. The tension was so thick that it could almost be cut, but something inside me hesitated to run away. My eyes fixed on his, a mixture of surprise and something else that I didn't want to name taking care of me.

"Joe..." My voice came out in a whisper, his name almost trembling on my lips. "I don't even know what to say."

He took a step towards me, and then another, his eyes never leaving mine. "You don't have to say anything. Just... just listen," he began, his voice loaded with something I hadn't heard in him for a long time - vulnerability. "I tried to move on. I thought I could bury it, but I can't. You're there, Y/N. Always there."

My grip on the camera tightened. The part of me that had been building walls since the night he walked away screamed at me to leave, to not let him in again. But the other part—the one that still felt the warmth of his touch and remembered every word he had ever whispered—wanted to stay.

“You left,” I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I had kept bottled up. “You just… left.”

“I know,” he said, his voice raw with regret. “And it was the biggest mistake of my life.”

His honesty cut through me, and I shook my head, trying to find the strength to look away. “You can’t just say that now, Joe. Not after everything.”

“I know,” he repeated, his eyes never leaving mine. “But I need you to understand—I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped wanting this.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the way he looked at me like I was something he couldn’t bear to lose, shattered the last of my defenses.

“Joe,” I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes. “I don’t know if I can go through this again.”

I shook my head, confused, struggling to contain the wave of emotion that threatened to dominate me.

"Because I was scared," he interrupted me, his voice hoarse. "Of what you meant to me. Of how much you meant to me. And I know I don't deserve for you to forgive me, but—”

"Joe, stop," I said, my voice firm this time, but my hands were shaking. "You can't just come back like this and say these things. Do you have any idea how much it hurts? How much it—”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if my words had hit him directly. When he opened them again, there was something desperate there. "I know. And I'll spend as long as it takes proving to you that I regret it. But right now, I just need to know—do you still feel it? Because I do. Every time I see you, every time I think about you... it's still there. I’m not asking you to,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m asking for a chance to prove I won’t let you down again.”

My chest tightened with his words, each sentence hitting me like a wave. I wanted to yell at him, say that it wasn't fair for him to come out of nowhere with these confessions, after so long. But at the same time, all I wanted was to stop feeling this pain that seemed to have no end.

"Why now?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Why do you get to say this now?"

Joe closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was gathering courage. When he looked at me again, the vulnerability in his eyes completely disarmed me.

"Because I can't keep pretending I'm okay without you," he replied. "I can't stop thinking about you, Y/N. You're everywhere for me. Damn, for every second of the day since I wake up, you’re there. Every win, every moment, every trophy—I want to share it with you."

I was about to answer, but before I could form any word, he took another step and got so close that I could feel the familiarity of his presence - that unmistakable smell of his, the way his breathing seemed to synchronize with mine.

"Joe," I murmured, my heart beating hard as his eyes plunged into mine. “I hate you,” I mumbled against his chest, my voice muffled but shaky.

“No, you don’t,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands cradling my face as if I were something fragile. The tension between us felt like a live wire, humming with electricity.

And then, he didn't say anything else. He just tilted his head, hesitantly, as if he gave me the chance to retreat. But I didn't back down.

When his lips finally met mine, the world seemed to disappear. All the anger, the hurt, the confusion that had haunted me for so long dissolved, replaced by something stronger, deeper.

The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as if we were both testing the waters of something we had been too scared to confront. But the moment I let myself melt into him, all the hurt, the doubt, the fear—it all disappeared. All that remained was him, and the way he made me feel like I was whole again.

My hands met on his shoulders while his pulled me closer, holding me as if I were something he never wanted to lose again. The warmth of his arms around me brought a sense of security that I didn't even realize I was looking for.

When we finally separated, just enough for our eyes to meet, Joe had a smile on his face. A genuine smile, which seemed to illuminate the empty environment.

"Does this mean you'll let me make it up to you?" He asked, his voice low and hoarse.

"Maybe," I murmured, unable to contain a smile of my own.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice a whisper now. "For everything. For leaving. For not fighting for you. But I'm here now, and I'll fight as long as it takes."

I nodded, unable to find the words.

He smiled then, a real, genuine smile that made my heart twist in the best way. "Be my girlfriend," he said, straight, without hesitation

My heart stopped.

I blinked, surprised, my mind trying to process the sudden simplicity of his words. "What?"

He laughed softly, his nose brushing mine while his hand went up to my face, holding it gently. "You heard me. No more games. No more running. I want you, Y/N. I want us."

“Joe…” I started, but he cut me off.

“Let me finish,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I want to be with you. Not just for a moment, not just for now. For everything. So, will you let me prove that to you? Will you let me be yours again?”

My heart seemed to be struggling to get out of my chest, and even with the confusion that still remained in my mind, one thing was clear: in his arms, I felt at home again.

"Okay," I finally said, the word coming out in a whisper. "Okay."

His smile grew, and before I knew it, he had pulled me into his arms again, spinning me around as if we weren’t standing in the middle of an empty locker room.

The smile that illuminated his face was genuine, full of joy and relief. He pulled me back into his arms, pressing me against him while whispering: "You don't know how long I've waited to hear that."

I laughed against his chest, feeling the happiness that seemed unattainable for a long time. There, in Joe's arms, everything finally seemed to be in place.

Joe smiled even more, his eyes shining with a happiness that made me smile back, despite myself. And when he pulled me for another kiss, I knew that, for the first time in a long time, I was exactly where I should be.

[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 ♡

[emma23]

A thousand apologies in scarlet :

Blue jones x reader

If you’d like to support my writing, check it out here 💕:

https://ko-fi.com/settings?tab=profile

The smell of burnt toast hung heavy in the small kitchen. You frowned at the blackened slice and tossed it into the trash, frustrated. Mornings were never your strong suit, and today, the memory of last night’s argument with Blue only added to your foul mood.

He had stormed out in his usual dramatic fashion, leaving you to stew in silence. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten under your skin, and it wouldn’t be the last. Blue had a knack for pushing buttons you didn’t even know you had.

“Should’ve thrown that damn lamp at him,” you muttered, glaring at the unassuming toaster.

Your phone buzzed on the counter. Ignoring it, you turned to the window. Outside, the city was bathed in the soft glow of morning light, but even its charm wasn’t enough to distract you.

Then you heard it—a faint rumbling engine, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel. You frowned.

“Who the hell—”

Before you could finish the thought, a sharp knock echoed through the apartment.

You opened the door cautiously, already half-ready to tell off whoever had the audacity to show up unannounced. But there he was.

Blue Jones, leaning casually against the doorframe in his sharp black suit, a knowing smirk curling his lips. Behind him, a sleek vintage car was parked by the curb, its trunk wide open, revealing...

“Flowers?” you asked, your voice teetering between confusion and disbelief.

His smirk widened. “Not just flowers, sweetheart. Eye-catchers. Carnations. Red ones. Hundreds of them.”

You stared at the car, then back at him. “What kind of stunt is this?”

Blue stepped forward, his tone dropping to something softer, more serious. “I messed up last night. Said things I didn’t mean. Did things I shouldn’t have. And I hated waking up knowing I’d hurt you.” He gestured to the car. “So, consider each flower an apology for every moment I made you doubt how much you mean to me.”

His words hit like a freight train. Blue rarely apologized—his pride always got in the way. But now, here he was, standing before you, surrounded by a sea of scarlet petals.

“I don’t need flowers,” you said, crossing your arms. “I needed you to listen.”

“I’m listening now,” he said, stepping closer. His voice softened further, and his hand reached for yours. “I don’t know how to do this, Y/N. But I know I don’t want to lose you.”

You sighed, letting your defenses falter. “You’re lucky I love carnations.”

“Good,” he said, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “Because there are at least two hundred of them out there, and they’re not going to carry themselves inside.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “You’re unbelievable.”

Blue leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. “And you’re irresistible. Guess that makes us a good match.”

His kiss deepened, stealing the breath from your lungs. The argument was forgotten, replaced by the heat between you.

Later that evening, the apartment smelled of fresh flowers, their vibrant red adding a warmth that felt almost magical. Blue sat on the couch, watching you with a lazy grin as you arranged the last bouquet in a vase.

“You’re smirking again,” you said, arching a brow.

“Can’t help it,” he said, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “You’re beautiful when you’re mad, but you’re even more beautiful when you forgive me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mine,” he said, pulling you onto his lap.

[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! 🙏😐

[ltwharfy]

"He who loses control, loses." A weirdly personal reflection on a Frank Pembleton quote

The fascinating thing about rewatching "Homicide" for the first time in 20+ years is the varying level of memory I have about certain things.

Most of what I've seen so far, I vaguely remembered.

Some things (especially the non-Adena Watson parts of Season 1) I didn't really remember.

Some specific things were so memorable that I never forgot them (Frank outside the station in his dress uniform at the end of "Crosetti" for example.)

And then there are the most fascinating bits to me: the things I had forgotten about but when I see them they hit me with the power of a freight train.

I had one of those boys when rewatching "End Game" recently. There's a moment when Frank exits the box, frustrated after interrogating Gordon Pratt (ignorant racist twerp wonderfully played by Steve Buscemi) and declares: "He who loses control, loses."

I hadn't thought about that line in 20+ years. But as soon as I heard it my reaction was, basically, "holy fuck!"

I remembered that line. Because it wasn't just a line to teenage!me. It was a line that the younger me appreciated so much that he used at as a very important part of the way he presented himself to the world.

It was my AOL profile quote for a while.

And, remembering that, I am, honestly kind of fascinated by that. I genuinely wonder why that line meant so much to me back then?

Maybe it was just that I thought that Frank was a great character and it sounded cool and I liked showing off that I watched The Best Damn Show on Television while so many of my peers watched teen dramas like "Dawson's Creek". (All teenagers are insufferable in their own, unique, ways.)

But maybe there was more to it than that. I thought about what I was going through in life when I would've heard that quote and put it in my profile.

My parents had gotten divorced. My dad had moved 1,000 miles away and started a new life that I was not a part of (he quickly got remarried and had another kid.) My sister had dropped out of college and was living out of town with an older guy, abusing multiple substances and then often calling my mom in the early morning hours talking about how much she hated her life. I heard my mom's end of those calls. And her crying afterwards. And I knew I couldn't add to her problems. So, I made it a point to be "good", to be the responsible one and the reliable one.

I definitely could not, in any way, lose control.

And I know teenage!me could not articulate any of that. Hell, I really just started thinking about that, and how it affected my adult life, a few years ago. But maybe my fondness for that quote was just one small, subconscious way that I was showing my struggles, my fears, my insecurities.

Or maybe I just thought it sounded cool.

[monochromaticbeans]

Chapter 62: Drown in the Darkness

Kill the voice Close your eyes Drown in the darkness

I'll keep inside me your keen voice.... All in darkness

“Kodou” ~ Dir En Grey (Eng. translation)

CW: mention of pregnancy loss

Hikari’s head swam, her thoughts sluggish and disoriented. She tried to piece together where she was, her mind foggy with confusion. Her body felt heavy, weighed down by more than just mere fatigue. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, though the world around her remained blurry and hard to grasp.

“For fuck’s sake, Hikari…” a voice grumbled from above her, familiar but hardened by time. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

She squinted, trying to focus. “Huh?” Her voice was weak, cracking as she spoke. Her vision finally settled, revealing a man standing over her, cigarette in hand, the plume of smoke curling lazily through the air.

“It’s been twelve years. Let it go already,” he said, his tone indifferent, as if he were scolding her for something trivial.

That voice... she knew it, but the look was all wrong. The business suit, the hairstyle, the cold edge in his voice—this wasn’t how she remembered him.

“Sanzu?” she croaked, her voice barely a whisper.

Sanzu took a drag from his cigarette, watching her with a half-amused, half-pitying smirk. “Why do you keep all this shit if you don’t use it anymore?” He waved the cigarette in a lazy circle, gesturing to the dust-covered items around them. “It’s a waste of space.”

Hikari blinked hard, her eyes adjusting as she glanced around. Her guitars stood on their stands, untouched, coated in layers of dust and cobwebs. Keisuke's bike sat parked against the far wall, its tires flat and dry rotted. The wolf pendant she always wore hung from the handlebars, forgotten and tarnished. Everything was abandoned, left to decay in the darkness of a storage unit.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of it all. How long has it been like this? Slowly, she raised her arm to reach for the pendant, but her hand froze halfway as her eyes landed on something new. A tattoo inside her right wrist—a hanafuda card.

Where have I seen that before?

Panic tightened her chest. None of this makes sense. What is this timeline? What has happened to me?

Sanzu sat down beside her, his eyes tracking her every reaction with that same smirk. “It happened again, didn’t it?”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide in confusion. “W-what?”

Sanzu took a deep drag before blowing out a plume of smoke. “You just came here from somewhere else,” he said, matter-of-factly. “It’s all over your face.”

The realization hit her like a freight train. “You… you know?” she stammered, the words barely escaping her lips. How could he know about the time leaps?

Sanzu chuckled darkly, the scars around his mouth deepening as his lips curled into a twisted smile. “Of course I know. I’ve known since the day we met at the dojo.” His voice dripped with amusement, as he was finally letting her in on a secret that had been festering for nearly twenty years. “You finally figured out what’s happening to you?”

Her heart raced, memories flooding back of that day at the dojo—the way Sanzu had looked at her, smiling as if he was in on a joke only he understood. He had known all along.

Her eyes darted around the storage unit again, trying to ground herself in this bleak reality. An empty bottle of Everclear sat beside her on the floor, its pungent scent still lingering in the air. She’d never touched alcohol in her original timeline because she was pregnant with…

Hotaru.

Her heart sank into her stomach as this timeline's memory of her son surfaced, vivid and heart-wrenching. She'd lost him just before the second trimester. She never held him close, inhaling his sweet, baby scent. She never got to see his father's grin on his face or play with him in the snow. A sob rose in her throat when the doctor told her the once strong, tiny heartbeat was silent. Her little firefly—the one thing that kept her from drowning in the darkness—was gone. After that, her life spiraled out of control. The grief had been too much, the world too cruel. Everything fell apart.

“What the hell is going on?” Her voice wavered, the desperation seeping through. She looked to Sanzu for answers, but part of her already knew. She could feel it, the cold dread sinking deeper into her bones.

Sanzu took another drag of his cigarette as he finally answered, “You’re in Bonten, Hikari.”

The words slammed into her like a wave, leaving her breathless. Bonten. This is Bonten?

More memories started to trickle in, sharp and painful like shards of glass. She saw herself sitting at a bar, shot glass in hand, laughing bitterly as Sanzu leaned in close, his voice a low murmur in her ear. His lips on her neck, his hands on her waist, her cries of pleasure… Their encounters were fast and rough, more about escape than connection. Neither of them cared. Neither of them wanted to. It was just a distraction, a way to numb the emptiness, to forget the pain that gnawed at both of them.

She winced as the memories continued to flash through her mind—the indifference in Sanzu’s eyes, the way they’d part ways after, neither of them mentioning it. Neither of them needing to. There was no love, only the hollow and twisted comfort of two broken people sharing in their mutual destruction and clinging to the same darkness.

Hikari squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her palms to the lids, trying to push the memories away. What have I become in this timeline?

Sanzu’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, his smirk fading just slightly, replaced by something darker, more solemn. “We all fall apart, Hikari. Some of us just do it more gracefully than others.”

“How did we become this, Sanzu?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, almost afraid of the answer. "We were Toman… we were family."

Sanzu remained quiet for a long moment, his cigarette glowing faintly in the dim light of the storage unit. The scars on his face pulled taut as he processed her words, watching the smoke curl like ghosts of their past selves.

“Toman’s dead and gone,” he finally said, his voice cold and final, like the sound of a door slamming shut.

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from her lungs. Toman—their gang, their family—was gone. The tears rolled down her cheeks in silent streams, heavy like the weight of the years.

Sanzu’s gaze flicked toward her, something unreadable passing over his expression. He’d seen her break down like this before, but it had been many years since he’d seen the tears. This wasn’t the broken Hikari who didn’t care anymore—this was her past self, her true self, sitting beside him.

“We were supposed to protect each other,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold the broken pieces together. “Now… we’re all so lost.”

Sanzu’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was something raw in his gaze. Maybe it was the memories they shared—the way they had turned to each other in the darkness, not for love but for oblivion. But whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“You either adapt or you die.”

***

Every year on November 3rd—Keisuke’s birthday—Hikari returned to the storage unit, a shrine where grief and love mingled into something bitter and consuming. She drank heavily, letting the darkness devour her. And every year, Chifuyu came to check on her.

He knew what November 3rd meant to her. He knew that, despite the armor of indifference she wore most days, this was the one day she let her walls crumble and allowed herself to grieve. The first year after she hid everything away in storage, Chifuyu found her drunk, passed out, draped over Baji’s bike with the engine running inside the unit. She’d said she just ‘wanted to hear him again.’ Since that night, he always came by, just in case.

When Chifuyu entered the unit today, he paused at the sight of Hikari and Sanzu sitting together. He knew about her... “activities” with Sanzu. It was hard to miss. But seeing them here, in the same broken space, made the air feel heavier. Hikari looked more fragile than she had in years, and Sanzu, though never one to linger, stuck around. The cigarette in his hand smoldered, the smoke curling lazily through the still air. Something about today was different.

Sanzu noticed him first, his smirk fading into something unreadable. He stood up, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “She’s all yours.”

Chifuyu didn’t move or speak until Sanzu’s footsteps faded down the hallway. Then he stepped closer, his brow furrowed with concern. Hikari sat on the floor, staring blankly at the guitars and the bike, her hands rubbing up and down her thighs—a telltale sign of how deeply she was unraveling.

“Hey,” he said softly, crouching down beside her. “You okay?”

Her laugh was hollow. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I’ve been okay for a long time.”

Chifuyu didn’t press her, but the raw emotion in her eyes told him everything. This wasn’t just the grief she carried every year on Baji’s birthday—it was something deeper.

“You haven't looked this… broken in ages,” he said gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. “What happened?”

Hikari’s eyes were glassy as she finally met his gaze. “I leaped again, Chifuyu,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “This place is literally hell. Isn't it?”

Chifuyu’s heart sank. He'd seen her shut herself off and become numb, acclimating to the coldness of Bonten over the years. If she leaped here from somewhere else in the past, he could only imagine the shock this world is to her.

She swallowed hard, her breath shaky. “I lose them again and again. Keisuke, Hotaru... I just… I don’t know how to keep going.”

“You’re not alone in this,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “We’ll figure this out together. Baji-san wouldn’t want you to drown in this grief. Neither would Hotaru.”

Her lips trembled as tears threatened to spill again, and she closed her eyes, trying to hold it all in. “I miss them so much,” she whispered, the raw pain in her voice nearly breaking him. “I miss them every day.”

“I know,” Chifuyu said softly, his own emotions weighing heavy in his chest. “I miss him, too. Every goddamn day.”

The silence between them stretched, thick with shared grief and unspoken truths. Chifuyu promised to protect her, to take care of her like Baji asked, but it was more than that now. He understood her need to cope, even if it was destructive. But this—this weight pressing her down, the way she was unraveling—he couldn’t stand by and watch her keep falling apart.

“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering her his hand. “Let’s get out of here. You’ve had enough of this place for today.”

Hikari hesitated for a moment, her eyes lingering on the dusty relics of her past. But then, with a deep breath, she reached out and took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet.

They walked out of the storage unit together, leaving the dust and memories behind, if only for a little while.

🔞For bonus NSFW scenes of Hikari and Sanzu's physical relationship before she time leaps in, see: A Line Once Crossed, part 1, part 2, and part 3.

[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~