#and thinking about maybe going back to school for something else

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

I love your short fics, love when they come across my dash, they live in my head rent free 🤭

Thinking about one (or all, your pick) of the 141 boys getting called in because their kid is in trouble at school, but when they arrive they learn that their kid was only standing up for someone else who was being bullied. Bonus points if it's their little girl standing up to a big mean boy.

They learn this by walking in on their non-confrontational, normally pacifist partner (the other parent) absolutely ripping the headmaster a new one for putting their child in this situation.

The boys thought they were going to be the bad cop in this scenario, but instead they are the ones having to rely on their hostage negotiation training to get their little loves back home.

(It's hard not to feel something at the sight of the mama bear energy... It might be pride but it's probably something else 🤭)

Xoxoxo

Daddy’s Little Defender

Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader

Warnings: Mild language, parental rage, school bullying mention, protective reader, found family parenting, soft domestic tension, lots of heart

Author's Note: Domestic chaos meets protective firestorm. This one’s for the softies who would go feral for their kid. Based on a beautiful request about mama bear energy, nervous dads, and a little girl who refuses to let injustice slide.

Summary: A call from school sends the 141 into panic mode—your daughter’s in trouble. But when they arrive, they find you already handling it in a way none of them expected. What was supposed to be a parent-teacher meeting turns into a standoff... and maybe something a little more emotional.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It started like a perfectly normal Wednesday.

Toast crumbs scattered across the kitchen counter, Kyle and Johnny bickering over whose turn it was to pack the lunchbox, Simon groaning at the sound of Peppa Pig playing in the background, and John sipping his coffee with the paper tucked under his arm like he was already ten years into retirement.

You kissed foreheads, wiped faces, and reminded Bonnie for the third time to wear socks that matched. Your little girl—seven years old, gap-toothed, and bright as a firecracker—grinned up at her dads like she was the queen of the castle.

Everything felt routine. Cozy. Soft.

Then Simon’s phone rang.

He frowned at the screen, answered calmly, then froze halfway through “This is her father.”

John looked up. Kyle stopped stirring the oatmeal. Johnny leaned off the counter slowly.

Simon’s face didn��t change—but something in the room did.

He ended the call, voice tight. “School. Something happened with Bonnie.”

No one wasted a second.

They loaded into the SUV with terrifying efficiency, each man scanning the situation like a mission. John drove. Johnny had his arm slung around the passenger seat, tapping his fingers. Kyle checked the school address twice even though he knew the way. And Simon just stared straight ahead like he could will the truth into existence.

“She’s a good kid,” Johnny murmured for the third time. “Wouldn’t start nothin’. She’s just like her mum.”

That much was true.

Your girl had your heart—sunshine-bright and gentle-handed, always the first to share her juice box and stand up when someone cried. But when they arrived at the school office, the secretary’s expression was pinched.

The principal was waiting in his office, awkward and pale, fidgeting with a folder.

“I’m afraid this is a behavioral issue. Bonnie kicked another student. In the shin.”

The room went still.

“She what?” Kyle blinked.

“Apparently, he was pushing another boy. And she intervened. Verbally at first. Then physically.”

The principal adjusted his tie. “She told him—verbatim—‘Do it again, and I’ll break your nose like my Papa Simon did to that man in Berlin.’”

Johnny wheezed. “She what?”

Kyle covered his mouth, eyes wide with barely contained laughter. Simon looked like he was deciding whether to be proud or terrified. John’s jaw clenched.

“She’s suspended for the remainder of the week,” the principal added, as if it was the only logical outcome.

Then—

Boom.

The office door burst open.

And you were there.

Not the quiet, honey-voiced version of you who made bedtime tea and hummed lullabies.

No.

This was war.

“Who the hell do you think you are suspending my daughter for protecting another child?” you snapped, voice low and crackling with fury.

The principal flinched. “Ma’am—”

“She didn’t start a fight. She ended one. Where were your staff when a third-grade boy was getting pushed around hard enough to bleed? You want to discipline someone? Try disciplining yourself.”

“Mrs.—”

“Not MacTavish. Not Garrick. Not Riley. Not Price. Just Mama. And Mama is pissed.”

The room crackled with tension.

Outside the door, Bonnie sat cross-legged on a bench, head bowed, chewing her sleeve.

You didn’t even wait for a response. You stormed out, dropped to your knees, and pulled her into your arms.

“You okay, baby?”

She sniffled. “I didn’t mean to get in trouble.”

“You’re not in trouble,” you whispered fiercely. “You did exactly what I taught you. You stood up for someone who couldn’t. That’s bravery, Bonnie. That’s being a good person.”

Behind you, the boys emerged one by one.

Johnny knelt first, ruffling her curls. “Shin’s a solid target. You alright, little one?”

She nodded into your shoulder.

Kyle crouched next, eyes full of admiration. “Didn’t think you’d use Berlin as an example.”

“She listens,” Simon muttered.

John crouched in front of her, calm as ever. “You scared us, sweetheart. But we’re proud of you.”

“Even though I kicked him?” she whispered.

“Especially because,” he said.

You stood slowly, heart still hammering in your chest. All four men turned toward you with something unreadable in their eyes.

Admiration. Awe. Maybe something else.

John reached out first, brushing your wrist with his fingertips. “Didn’t think I’d walk in and see you going full recon mode.”

“I was livid,” you muttered. “They were blaming her for doing the right thing.”

Kyle slipped an arm around your waist. “You were amazing.”

Johnny leaned in with a low whistle. “Honestly, might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Simon, of course, deadpanned, “You did use my Berlin story. I feel oddly honored.”

Back in the car, Bonnie happily sipped her juice box from her lunchbox, swinging her legs like nothing had happened.

You sat sandwiched between Johnny and Kyle, your hand in John’s, Simon driving up front.

And in that moment, everything settled again. The storm passed.

Your girl was safe.

Your boys were here.

And they’d all learned something important today.

No one—no one—messed with your kid.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[batsandbirdbrains]

To continue my Dick Grayson and Billy Batson bff agenda: what if it’s a young justice au where Bruce knows Dick was actually five instead of eight when he took Dick in. Or, Dick told him after maybe a month or two when he suddenly remembered he wasn’t actually eight. Bruce updates Dick’s documentation right away, but he keeps him home schooled for a few years because Dick is actually a little ahead of his age group.

But maybe Dick had already started going out as Robin before he told Bruce his actual age. He’d met the Justice League members already. Batman told everyone that Robin was eight. And now he doesn’t want to correct them when they continue to think that’s Robin’s age, because he doesn’t want Dick to feel bad, doesn’t want them to get upset with Dick for not correcting them all sooner. Because Dick really had forgotten, it had become so normal for him to change ages that he did sometimes forget what his actual age was. Bruce didn’t want Dick to feel like it was his fault, because he’s just a little boy, he didn’t have a choice.

So they keep up the misconception that Robin started out when he was eight. Bruce only takes him out on kiddie runs once he finds out - it’s just runs across rooftops so Dick has a chance to run and jump around. Get his energy out. Taunt some muggers while Batman does the actual heavy lifting.

Besides, having Robin and Dick Grayson have such different ages does wonders for their secret identities.

But then the young justice team forms, and Dick is ten years old. He’s in school now, a sixth grader at Gotham Academy Middle School. He started attending Gotham Academy the year prior and tested into fifth grade.

The team thinks he’s thirteen. No one knows Batman and Robin’s secret identities other than Superman and Wonder Woman.

But then Captain Marvel comes into the picture, and Batman clocks him immediately as a kid. He has a ten year old himself, he knows what they act like, even if they are a little mature for their age. Batman doesn’t say anything to anyone else, but he pulls Captain Marvel aside one day and asks him about it. Invites him to the Batcave to discuss it.

That’s when Bruce Wayne meets Billy Batson, followed closely by Dick Grayson then meeting Billy Batson. And they instantly click. They’re best friends immediately. Having someone else who has a secret ID about their age is something they bond over right away.

Whether Bruce ends up adopting Billy too or not, Billy is at the manor and the Batcave all the time after that. Dick and Billy play together, they do homework together, they have sleepovers together. Billy wants to be part of the young justice team, but Dick convinces him that he’s better off without the team anyway. He tells him how inexperienced the team is, how they don’t work all that well together.

Dick and Billy decide to go on their own missions as a mini team. Bruce gives them missions he thinks they’d do well on, and they actually work really well together since Billy has started training with them. They’re not going to work as well together as Dick and Bruce do, but that’s because Dick and Bruce have five years of practice working together. Billy is catching up quickly, though.

The team eventually finds out that Robin has been going on missions with Captain Marvel, but Robin shuts them all down when they start whining and complaining. He explains that he works well with Captain Marvel. That sometimes there are missions that require a smaller team.

When they start being mean about Captain Marvel? Robin is furious. He yells at all of them. Then he stomps away to go find Billy so they can go back to the Batcave together.

Then the dimension splitting thing happens with the adults and the kids being separated, and Dick and Billy work together like a well oiled machine. He’s the one who convinces Billy to transform to Captain Marvel, who comes up with most of the plan from the kids’ side of things.

Once things are all back to normal, Robin is standing next to Billy who has changed back into a kid from Captain Marvel, and they’re both a little exhausted. And Batman crushes both of them together as he hugs them, because he’d been so worried about them.

Idk I just them being buddies and Bruce being a doting dad

[synity]

just gutwrenching fluff with cheol, pure love and gratitude— could be reader graduating uni and delivering a speech as a valedictorian, after having a hard time and him always being her biggest support (yes ive been crying for the past hour on tiktok watching graduation vids and speech about family/friends like just people loving and I AM UNWELL TO SAY THE LEAST) btw I love your work youre so precious and remember to take care of yourself loveee xx

LEGENDARY

(Choi Seungcheol x FemReader)

*Graduation Dayn Fluff | Gutwrenching Love & Gratitude, romance*

Your hands were trembling, not just because of nerves, but because everything was hitting you at once.

The cheers. The flash of camera lights. The scratchy gown clinging to your skin. The weight of years upon your shoulders. The raw, aching joy and disbelief that you had finally made it.

You clutched your speech tighter, the paper warm and wrinkled from how many nights you'd held it, crying into your pillow and whispering the words under your breath. You weren’t sure how you even walked up to the stage. Maybe it was muscle memory. Maybe it was something deeper the sound of his voice guiding you like it always had.

"You got this, babe!"

There he was. Cheol. Front row. Your everything. Eyes glassy, fingers clenched, like if he let go of his hands, he’d fly to you in seconds. You swore he looked prouder than anyone else in the room. Not just proud. In awe.

Your legs carried you to the podium, but your soul stayed seated with him. Right there in the safety of his gaze.

"Good evening, everyone..."

You paused.

A soft breath.

"I want to start this speech by saying that I almost didn’t make it here."

The room quieted. Your voice trembled, but your heart held steady.

"I know we’re all supposed to be proud today and I am. Deeply. But it would be dishonest if I didn’t share just how close I came to giving up."

A long pause. You tried to keep your voice even, but your throat burned.

"There were days I couldn’t get out of bed. Nights I stared at my screen for hours and wrote nothing. Weeks where I felt like no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t enough. For school. For anyone. For myself."

You gripped the edges of the podium. A deep breath. A look out into the sea of faces. And there he was still looking at you like you hung the stars.

"But someone believed in me. Even when I didn’t. Especially when I didn’t."

Your voice cracked. The lump in your throat grew.

"Cheol, you stayed. Through the breakdowns, through the all-nighters and mental spirals. Through the moments I told you to leave because I didn’t think I deserved you."

He was crying now, tears quietly falling as his hand clutched his chest.

"You brought me food when I hadn’t eaten. Held me when I said I wanted to disappear. Made me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry. You celebrated every tiny victory like it was the biggest win in the world. You reminded me I was more than my grades. More than my anxiety. More than my fear."

"And when I told you I wasn’t strong enough, you said, 'That’s okay. I’ll be strong for you until you can be again.'"

You choked on a sob, wiping your face quickly.

"This diploma might have my name on it. But this moment? It belongs to us. To the version of me that thought she wouldn’t make it. To the boy who never gave up on her."

"To every person who ever carried someone they loved until they could stand again thank you. And to you, Cheol. My rock, my light, my love… Thank you for loving me at my worst, and for helping me become my best."

When the speech ended, people stood.

But you didn’t hear the applause.

You only saw him.

You stepped down and he met you halfway, eyes red, arms open, like home.

You collapsed into him, sobbing into his shoulder. Your cap slipped off, and neither of you cared. The world faded into muffled claps and quiet camera clicks.

"You did it," he whispered against your temple, voice cracked. "I’m so proud of you, baby. You did it."

You pulled back just far enough to see him clearly.

"No," you whispered, cupping his cheeks. "We did."

He leaned his forehead against yours, tears mingling with yours.

"Always," he murmured. "Every step of the way, I’ll be here."

You wrapped your arms around him tighter.

Because the truth was, you weren’t sure how you survived before loving him. Before being loved by him.

And in that moment messy makeup, soaked tassels, and all—you realized something:

You had made it. Not just through school, but through the pain. The fear. The doubt.

And it was all because someone believed in you.

And because you had finally learned to believe in yourself too.

[bewitched-hours]

Hello! Yeah me again asking abt the noli and 07 yandere thing (lord I feel weird asking again I don’t want to be a bother) It’s just the last one you wrote was really and I mean really WELL written and I was hoping to ask for a part 2 of how things go? Hacking together, speaking, debating life—just quite cool! I already sent you the link of the past one I was talking about so I hope thats alright!

HI- YEAH- I SAW IT LOL I only saw it at school tbf so I'm starting it with this and have the story opened in another tab to make sure I don't forget anything (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

The reader's pronouns are once again She/They-

Pre-Forsaken

All three of you sat on opposite sides of 007 as you looked at the child in his arms.

"It's kinda cute..." You tried to end the silence comfortably as you could see the man soften. Noli didn't look so tough either for a change.

Though the red bundle of joy was giddy now, you knew it was only a matter of time until it got hungry...

"What are we meant to do with it..?" Noli asked quietly, watching as the baby held onto 007's fingers with glee. It honestly melted your heart a bit.

"I say we keep it." You state bluntly, surprised eyes meeting your own as you went to quickly explain yourself. "Think about it. If we drop it off somewhere else it would probably reach the same path as us if it survives anyways."

The two of them gave each other an unsure look before you gently lifted the child out of 7n7's arms with a huff. "I'm not saying we'd be great parents or anything but it'd definitely be better than the foster system or death." Your tone was firm but they could tell you were empathising with that little red face giggling up at you.

Maybe you were trying to prove something to yourself. That you were better than your family? Maybe that you can actually take care of something meaningful?

Whatever, it wasn't like either of them could say no by the time you started cooing at the baby all motherly.

"Heh, guess you're right." 007 perked up first, getting you to smile a bit more.

Wether it was to make you happy or they actually liked the idea, you couldn't care less. What mattered was that this child was safe with you.

"We should totally call it after the c00lgui." You commented with a chuckle, having Noli cackling and 007 trying to suppress his laugh.

"Yeah- no- this is good- So c00lkidd?" He suggested, letting out a laugh at your grinning nod. It was silly, it was unusual...

It was perfect.

"It'll be the perfect addition! Plus, I have some experience back when I had a babysitting gig to save up some money as a kid myself. We'll just need to get a few things and c00lkidd is gonna be spoiled with love!" You practically beamed and placed a gentle kiss on the little one's head, going back to cooing at it as it giggled in your arms.

Being a family might just be easier than you thought...

Post-Forsaken

For once, 007 probably appreciated being an outsider.

It meant more time with you. More time with Noli.

You were quick to figure out a spot to all meet in where neither killers nor survivors would even hear you.

It was perfect, especially whenever Noli decided to bring along c00lkidd and you could just talk for a while.

CK loved you. He loved the idea of having a big family like this where you could be his mom. You played nice and fair and actually managed to tire him out at times.

Though he didn't understand why it was such a taboo to play tag outside of rounds, he trusted your explanation that it was because it was less fun with only you four and the other survivors wouldn't be willing to listen to you or 007.

And CK knew the other killers were even less willing so...

But you'd always promise that once you get back home, you'll be the best mother to c00lkidd. And he took it as a good promise to make before saying his goodbyes and waiting for the next round.

You were committed to being the mother c00lkidd needed and the 'wife' that 007n7 and Noli deserved...

A bit disappointed with how this turned out but I tried my best-

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[alltimecharlo]

Willmack high-school au where Leno convinces Mack – the junior Will has a huge crush on – to help him eliminate Will in the senior assassin game. So they make up this super detailed plan, which is basically Mack and Will spending the whole day together (on a date!!) and Leno following them, but nothing goes as it should

With maybe a plot twist in the end🫣

this was fun anon!! i went for something a little different with leno’s pov!!👀 i thought it would work quite well hehe🩵

Leno crouches behind the hedge with his hoodie pulled low and the neon green water pistol clutched tightly in his hand like it’s a live weapon. It’s not his proudest moment. But it could be his most successful.

Across the park, he sees them. Mack and Will. Sitting on the picnic bench Leno had watched Mack choose earlier that day like he was scouting a sniper perch. They’re laughing. Will’s got his legs curled up under him like a kid, sipping some awful carbonated smoothie thing he brought from the convenience store. Mack’s leaning in, stupid grin on his face, and Will looks like he’s going to combust. That grin is not survivable.

Leno sighs. Loudly. Into the dirt.

This was his plan. Well, mostly. Technically it was Leno’s idea for Mack to ask Will out, because everyone knew Will had the kind of high school crush on Mack that they’d write about in yearbooks or, like, scribble into the back of their SAT prep books. He got dreamy. He got stupid. He followed Mack around like a puppy.

So, obviously, Leno had gone to Mack and said, “Help me take Will out in Assassin. Just ask him on a date or something.”

He’d said it as a joke. Kind of.

Mack had blinked at him for a second and then just—shrugged. Said, “Yeah, alright.”

Now here they are.

Except… Leno hadn’t expected them to actually look like they were enjoying themselves. He definitely hadn’t expected Will to come bounding up to him earlier that day like, “Dude. DUDE. Mack asked me out. Like, not just hang out. Out out. We’re getting slushies. We’re walking to the park. Am I dreaming?”

Leno had nodded like a broken marionette and spent the next six hours internally screaming.

Now they’re laughing at something. Mack throws his head back. Will’s cheeks are pink. The sun is shining like the weather itself ships it. And Leno is here, about to ambush them with a water gun.

He hesitates.

But—he also really wants to win Assassin.

So he moves. Darting from the hedge, around the trash can, crouching behind a tree like some kind of cartoon villain. He’s got the pistol raised. Will’s facing him, backlit by the sun, sipping his smoothie through a neon pink straw. It’s perfect. Leno launches forward.

The water hits Will square in the chest.

“ARGH,” Will yelps, flailing backward and shoving Mack out of the way like Mack’s in danger from a sniper, not from a glorified squirt toy. His smoothie crashes to the ground, sacrificed in the line of duty. “MACK! GET DOWN—wait. Wait a sec—”

Mack is laughing already, hands raised like he’s innocent. Leno drops the water gun and doubles over.

Will stares at Leno, then at Mack, then down at his soaked hoodie and jeans. Then he squints. “Oh my god.”

“Sorry,” Leno wheezes. “I couldn’t resist.”

Will’s face twists. “Wait. So. So that means. You—” He turns to Mack, all puppy betrayal. “You asked me out to help Leno win a game?”

Leno’s laugh dies in his throat.

But Mack’s already stepping forward, hands out like he wants to fix this with touch alone. “No. I mean—yeah. I told him I’d help. But, Will, I swear, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages. I just… I didn’t know how. And then this happened and it was dumb but I really meant it.”

Will looks at him. His whole expression does a little flicker—hurt, confusion, then slowly… something else. Something softer.

“You mean it?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Mack says, fierce now. “You think I’d waste my one shot at a first date with you like this if I didn’t mean it?”

Will cracks a smile. “I mean, I do have a puddle in my lap.”

Leno winces. “So… technically I helped you both. A little thank-you would be nice?”

Will throws him a Look. “Don’t push it.”

Leno holds up his hands. “Fair.”

Will’s still smiling, water dripping down his hoodie. Mack’s cheeks are red but he looks like he might float out of his sneakers. Leno sighs and drops onto the grass beside them.

“Romance is weird,” he mutters.

But hey. At least he’s still in the game.

♡

[jedi-luca]

Head Over Feet: Chapter Eight White Flag

Summary: You didn’t know Dina before she came back to Jackson. She’s guarded, jaded, and carrying the weight of too many goodbyes. Now you can’t stop thinking about her. It’s a slow burn, and you’re patient… but will she ever let down her walls? Or will someone else reach your heart first?

Pairings: Dina x GN!Reader slowburn

warnings: spoilers if you haven’t played the game or seen the show. Slowburn 🔥❤️‍🔥

A/N shout out to @ladylegion93 for this brilliant request (not gonna attach it yet because I don’t want any spoilies)

Previous Chapter

You were just finishing up stacking the firewood outside the rec center when you heard Lili’s laugh drift across the yard. She was talking to JJ, crouched beside him, helping him gather fallen leaves into a little pile so he could fall into them.

Dina was walking over from the garden, sweat on her brow, sleeves rolled up, dirt on her palms. She stopped when she saw them.

Her jaw tensed.

You caught it.

JJ saw Dina first. “Mama! Look!”

He raced jumping into the pile of leaves.

“Hey, Dina,” she said, wiping her hands on her pants. “We’re just having some fun.”

Dina gave a stiff smile. “Looks like it.”

Lili stood. “It’s nice spending time with him. He’s a great kid.”

Dina’s eyes flicked to you. “He is.”

You stepped closer, sensing the air shift. “We were just about to head in.”

But Dina didn’t move.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she said to Lili.

Lili blinked. “Alright.”

“About Y/N.”

You froze. Lili straightened.

“What about them?”

Dina’s voice was calm. Too calm. “Just making sure you know what you’re doing.”

Lili frowned. “Excuse me?”

“They’ve been through a lot. They don’t just… open up like that. So if you’re here to relive middle school or stir up some old memories-”

“Hold on.” Lili raised her brows, stepping forward. “Is this really about me? Or is this about you?”

Dina went still.

“I care about them,” Lili said clearly. “I’m not playing games. And if you had a chance and passed on it, that’s not on me.”

You flinched.

Dina’s eyes narrowed, but her voice was still soft. “You’ve known them what, a few weeks in this version of the world? You think that’s enough?”

Lili didn’t budge. “It was enough to see how they look at you when you’re not paying attention.”

That stopped Dina. Her lips parted—but no words came.

You stepped in between them before either could say more. “Okay. That’s enough.”

Lili looked at you, her gaze softening. “I’m not trying to pick a fight.”

“I know,” you said.

But Dina was already turning away. “Guess I should go wash up. Wouldn’t want to ruin anything else.”

“Dina,” you called, but she didn’t stop.

Lili stood beside you, arms crossed, eyes thoughtful.

“Guess I hit a nerve,” she muttered.

You let out a breath. “Yeah.”

She looked at you. “You still have feelings for her?”

You didn’t answer.

And you didn’t have to.

Shortly after the garden path crunches under your boots as you walk beside Lili, both of you still carrying the weight of what just happened. Dina’s voice still rings in your ears. Sharp, brittle, full of a feeling she wouldn’t name.

Lili hasn’t said much since, her jaw set in a way that’s unusual for her. Usually she’s soft with you. Playful. Tonight she’s holding something back.

You glance over. “You okay?”

She keeps her eyes ahead. “Yeah.”

You slow your steps. “Lili.”

She sighs, stops walking, then finally looks at you. “I didn’t expect it to hurt. Seeing the way she looks at you. Or the way you…” Her voice trails off.

You shift closer. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t,” she says quickly, and then softer: “Doesn’t mean it didn’t.”

You want to deny it, to tell her she’s wrong, but you can’t lie to her. Not after everything. So you try something harder—honesty.

“She meant something to me. Still does, maybe,” you admit. “But you… you have my heart, Lili. What happened between us? That wasn’t casual. I’ve never… I’ve never let anyone see me like that. Let alone touch me like that.”

Lili’s eyes flicker, something softening in her expression.

You step closer. “I meant it when I said I wanted to take that step with you. Not because you were here, not because it was easy but because it was you. I wanted it to be you. I love you.”

She doesn’t answer right away. But the storm behind her eyes eases. “I guess it’s hard not to wonder if I’m the safe choice. The one who showed up when she didn’t.”

“You’re not the safe choice,” you say, your voice firm. “You’re the brave one. You gave me something I didn’t think I’d ever have. You let me feel wanted. You didn’t just fill a space. Lili, you carved out your own.”

That finally gets a smile. Small. Shy. “You’re getting better at this emotional honesty thing.”

“Terrifying,” you grin, “but yeah.”

Lili leans in, brushing her hand along your cheek. “Just… don’t leave me in the dark, okay? If your heart ever starts leaning back her way, I need to know.”

You nod. “I will. But right now? I’m here. I’m with you.”

And in that moment, you mean it completely.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

A few days later.

You spot Dina before Lili does.

She’s standing near the stables, a bag of feed over one shoulder, her dark eyes narrowing the second she sees the two of you ride in. You’re not even off the horse yet and already you can feel the shift in her posture, the slow clench of her jaw.

Lili comes up from behind you, sliding off her saddle and brushing the dirt from her jeans. She catches your eye and smiles, then loops her arm casually through yours.

That’s when she notices Dina.

The smile falters, just slightly.

“Great, the one person in Jackson that hates me more than that Natalie girl.” she mutters.

“Hey, let’s just head home,” you say under your breath. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

“I’m not,” Lili says, straightening. “But I’m not hiding either.”

You nod.

And then Dina walks over.

“Hey,” she says, tone neutral, but her eyes drift immediately to Lili’s hand on your arm. “Didn’t know you two were back.”

“Just got in,” you reply, trying to sound breezy.

Lili gives a curt nod. “Nice to see you again.”

Dina’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sure.”

The silence that follows is unbearable, tight, like a string pulled too taut.

Dina crosses her arms. “So. You two are…?”

Lili raises an eyebrow. “Still together? Yeah.”

Dina glances at you. “You didn’t mention you were bringing her on patrol. Specifically my shift.”

You shift, uncomfortable. “She volunteered. And she’s good out there. I figured you could rest up I’m sorry I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“She’s lucky nothing happened,” Dina says, tone sharper now. “We don’t usually let tourists lead rides.”

“I’ve been out here before,” Lili says coolly. “I can handle myself.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Dina replies, with a smile so sweet it might rot teeth. “I mean, you seem to have everything figured out, don’t you?”

Lili raises an eyebrow. “Better than leaving someone in limbo because you can’t figure out what you want.”

Dina doesn’t even flinch. She takes a step forward, voice low and sharp. “Oh, that’s rich coming from someone who’s just passing through.”

Lili stiffens.

“At least I’m here,” Dina continues, her tone like a blade. “At least I’m not the one acting like I’m gonna stay.”

“You think I’m stringing them along?” Lili asks, eyes narrowing.

Dina scoffs. “Hello, pot, meet kettle.”

You step in then, hand lightly touching Lili’s arm, heart thudding in your chest.

“Alright,” you say firmly. “We’re not doing this.” The silence crackles between them. Neither of them looks at you just at each other, some silent war playing out in narrowed glances and twitching mouths.

Dina speaks first, quieter now. “I’m just looking out for people here. That includes Y/N.”

“I know,” Lili replies. “But I don’t need you to.”

“For now, until you leave them heartbroken right?” Dina’s eyes flick to you one more time, something unreadable behind them. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

She turns and walks off before you can say anything.

Lili exhales. “Well. That was friendly.”

You half-smile. “You’re both a little scary, you know that?”

She grins and hooks her arm through yours again. “You like it.”

You shake your head, but yeah maybe you kind of do.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

You were restocking tools at the shed behind the stables when you heard boots crunching gravel behind you.

You didn’t have to turn to know it was her.

“I’m not here to fight,” Dina said quietly.

You glanced over your shoulder. “That’s a first.”

She gave you a look, not rising to the bait. “Just wanted to talk.”

You wiped your hands on your jeans, setting the last wrench in place. “Alright. Talk.”

Dina shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “You seem happy.”

It wasn’t a compliment exactly, but it wasn’t sarcasm either.

“I am,” you said, watching her carefully.

“That’s good.” She hesitated. “But I need to ask… you do know Lili’s not staying, right?”

The words hit sharper than you expected.

You swallowed. “She hasn’t said anything.”

“No, but her parents have. Maria’s trying to convince them to stick around through winter. But they’re just passing through.”

“She hasn’t said anything,” you repeated.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to ruin it,” Dina said. “Maybe she’s trying to hold onto something before it’s gone.”

You didn’t answer.

Dina took a step closer, her voice gentler now as she takes your hands. “I’m not saying it to be mean. I’m saying it because I know what it’s like to think something’s solid when it’s not.”

You looked down, jaw tight.

“I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she added, quieter laying a hand over your heart.

You nodded once, stiff. “Thanks.”

She let out a breath, stepping back and dropping her hands.

“I’ll be here you know… When she leaves I’ll still be the one here for you.” she said.

You watched her go, a bitter wind picking up as she disappeared down the path.

And for the first time since Lili kissed you, you felt the warmth in your chest flicker.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

“You’re quiet,” Lili said one afternoon, her fingers weaving through yours as you walked the familiar path into town. The late summer air clung to your skin, still warm, but a breeze had crept in, hinting at fall.

You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, eyes scanning ahead like the answer might be somewhere down the road.

Lili tugged your hand gently, grounding you. “Want to talk about it?”

You sighed, voice low. “I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

She stopped mid-step and turned to face you, the corner of her mouth twitching in a sad smile. “Because of me?”

You shook your head, but your eyes didn’t lie. “Because nothing this good stays easy for long.”

Her brows pinched, but she didn’t flinch from the weight of your honesty. Instead, she reached up and brushed her thumb across your jaw, where tension lived like a second skin.

“Then let’s stop thinking so far ahead,” she whispered.

You hesitated, still half-stuck in your survival instincts, in the ache of everything you’d lost before her. But Lili… she stepped closer and cradled your face like you were worth staying for.

“Let’s just be here. Right now. Can you do that?”

You nodded. A shallow thing at first. Then stronger.

And when she kissed you—slow, certain, right in the middle of the street—you let the rest of the world fall away. You kissed her back like she was air after drowning.

She pulled back with a grin. “Come on, you know how Maria gets if we’re late.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.” But the way she dragged you by the hand like something out of a forgotten life? That made you believe, maybe just for a second, that you could have more.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

It happened fast.

The sky had shifted—overcast, cold wind pressing sharp against your jacket. You were on horseback, escorting Lili back from a short supply run, joking about something she said at dinner. But your gut had been tight for miles. Like something was coming.

The sound came first: the sickening thwap of an arrow piercing flesh.

Your shoulder exploded in white-hot pain, and you were thrown from the saddle, crashing hard into the dirt. Gravel tore at your palms as your breath caught, shallow and sharp.

“Shit,” you gasped. You looked down at the arrow sticking clean through your shoulder. “Lili- run.”

“No!” she cried, frozen in place.

“Go!” you barked, blood already soaking through your shirt.

She ducked behind the cart just as the air filled with gunfire. Bullets snapped past your ears. A second shot tore into your side. A third grazed your thigh, ripping through denim and skin. You should’ve blacked out. But adrenaline kept you locked in.

You bit down hard and ripped the arrow from your shoulder with a strangled cry, your vision blurring. Blood poured down your arm, but your hands didn’t shake.

You rolled, grabbed your shotgun, and crawled toward Lili. Toward the threat.

Then you saw them…four of them. Raiders. Faces hidden behind masks, one laughing like this was a game.

One charged with a machete. You caught him mid-swing and used his momentum to twist the blade from his hands before slamming it into his skull. His body went limp. You shoved him off without hesitation.

Another swung a bat. You ducked low and drove your elbow into his sternum, stealing the air from his lungs. Then you took the bat and drove it into his ribs, then again across his jaw until he dropped.

The last two opened fire. One bullet caught your ribs. You went down hard, but not before firing. Two clean shots. Both raiders dropped before they got close to Lili.

You hit the dirt again, blood pooling beneath you. Vision darkening.

But you could still see her. Lili, wide eyed behind the cart, safe.

That was enough.

Then the world tilted sideways and everything went quiet.

[itneverendshere]

hey hun, idk if you taking any request but maybe you can make something about this. so you know sombr just released his song 'we never dated' and i was thinking if you can write something based on the song with rafe × reader, love you💖

a lil something i put together during my lunch break, enjoy 💘

he’s drunk again, the thinking-about-you kind.

his head tilts against the seat of the truck he hasn't driven in months, still parked in the beach house garage, waiting for something that’ll never come back.

rafe taps the red solo cup against his lip and closes his eyes.

it’s that song, the one wheezie showed him earlier, and he'd pretended to hate immediately.

"how come we never even dated but i still find myself thinking of you daily? why do you always leave me achin' when you were never mine for the takin'?"

rafe’s never wanted to punch a radio more.

it’s true, all of it. you never dated, but he loved you. that was the worst kind of heartbreak; he couldn't claim anything real, be angry or bitter or jealous. he couldn't point a finger in your direction and accuse you of breaking him because you never belonged to each other.

he never had the right.

you've always been too shiny for him. inherently good. more than a pretty face — though, yeah, you were that too and more.

rafe knew it before anyone else ever said it.

he knew you when you were still the skittish girl with lipgloss always smoothed over your mouth and that light blue cashmere sweater you wore every third thursday like clockwork.

you were sweet, but not naïve, you grew up learning how to smile through kook parents’ cocktail parties and could tell when a guy was trying to flirt or manipulate you in under three seconds.

rafe cameron wasn’t slick enough for you. he just happened to be there, at the right time, in the right places, saying the wrong things and hoping you'd want him anyway.

you did.

god, you did.

one summer, two friends who weren’t friends yet, thrown together because their parents played nice at yacht club dinners and pretended that the pogues didn’t matter as long as their kids stayed clean and polished.

you'd asked him once, on the beach at sunset, when everyone else was passed out or making out or passed out making out, why he always looked so angry.

rafe had blinked, caught off guard by your astuteness, replied with something stupid like, “m'not angry. don’t like people.”

you had smiled, close-lipped. “you seem to like me though.”

he hadn’t said anything, but you were right. he did, even when he shouldn’t have. especially when he shouldn’t have.

it got worse in senior year.

that was when he started noticing the finality of it. you were still walking around in ballet flats and sundresses and raising your hand first in ap lit — but it was all coming to an end, wasn't it? the idea of a you and him, the fantasy.

you were going places. real ones, far-far away, with brick libraries and stone archways and out-of-state dorms. you had a list, and rafe wasn’t on it.

he saw it coming the day you mentioned early decision.

“i’m thinking of brown,” you had confessed in a dreamy tone, chewing the end of your straw.

rafe had nodded, tossing a pebble across the dock water. “yeah?”

“you think I could get in?”

you could get into heaven if you asked nicely. instead, he shrugged again.

“duh.”

you laughed, that hiccup laugh that always made his stomach drop to the pits of hell, and leaned into his side for a second, enough to make him want more. that was the problem.

he always wanted more. of your voice, your time, skin against his. more jokes, more silence, more anything you’d give him. you were meant to leave and he was stuck in this fucking awful place, barely making it out of high school.

people talked about you two, always did.

assumed you were together, and he pathetically let them think what they wanted because it was easier than the truth: he was a guy in love with a girl he never kissed, too scared to try and pull you down with him.

rafe watched you date other people. preppy kooks with clean sneakers and trust funds and internships. it didn’t matter, it made sense, even when he drove past your house a little slower after those dates.

he always looked at you longer the next morning when you sat across from him in the café. sometimes, he swore you looked back.

the party your parents decided to put together that fateful night for you was too loud, or rafe simply grew to resent the sound of other people being happy.

he stood by the railing on the second-floor landing, a typical red solo cup warm in his hand, watching the celebration spiral out under the candle lights below. your backyard had been transformed, long tables dressed in linen, picture boards of you growing up, a cake with congratulations, brown university! piped in frosted gold, and people everywhere, drunk off champagne and privilege.

he hated it.

he'd been gawking at you laughing under those lights. you wore white tonight, tailored pants and some shimmery top that sparkled when you moved. your hair was half up, the way he always liked it.

you were leaving in two days. earlier than expected. the early admission program at brown, your parents were ecstatic, toasting to the future with rosé wine and proud tears.

rafe only found out three days ago, from wheezie, who overheard your mom on the phone ordering dorm essentials to be shipped ahead of time.

he didn’t possess the energy to be surprised.

that this was it, the last night. the last time he’d maybe ever see you outside of random instagram posts and christmas visits. the final hour of whatever not-thing they were.

you never promised him anything, and he had nothing to offer. only half-mumbled jokes and every piece of his heart that he tried not to hand over, one by one, every time you looked at him like he mattered.

he was drunk again.

he couldn’t say goodbye properly, or force himself to go down there and hug you like a normal person. couldn’t say, “i'm happy for you,” without gagging on the bitterness in his throat.

he did what he always did.

avoided the situation.

he was mad you were leaving, leaving earlier. you didn’t give him time to work up the courage to spit out the truth once and for all.

his legs carried him toward the kitchen, eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched.

“rafe.”

you voice was always soft with him.

you stood there in the hallway. fuck, you looked so pretty, unfairly so.

summer and home and everything he didn’t get to keep.

“i was wondering if you were gonna hide all night."

"wasn’t hiding.”

you raised a skeptical eyebrow. “right.”

rafe looked away first, he always did with you. you made him stupidly nervous, still.

"you’re mad.”

“’m not.”

“you’re mad i’m leaving.”

he scoffed. “you were always gonna leave. what’s the point in being mad about it now?”

your expression faltered, rafe hated himself for it.

“i thought… you’d at least say goodbye,” you whispered.

"didn’t think you’d notice if I didn’t.”

“rafe.”

he took a step back. he had to, orr he’d grab your hand and beg you to stay and make a fucking fool of himself.

“i can’t do this tonight,” he mumbled. “go back to your party, yeah?ivy league’s waiting.”

“wait a minute—”

“have fun up there, alright?”

perhaps, if he hadn't been too tipsy, he would've spotted the same ache in your eyes that was bleeding through his.

your jaw clenched, that twitch he caught when you were trying not to cry. shit, that was gonna fuck him up later. that look.

“you’re being such an asshole,” you bit out, quietly.

he huffed a laugh that wasn’t amused. “yeah. guess ’m just playing my part, huh?”

you blinked. “what does that even mean?”

“you—” he started, then cut himself off. shook his head. “you’re actin’ like this is some big surprise. you were always gonna choose that life. brown. new friends. better everything. that was the plan, right?”

“i never said that,” you shot back, voice trembling now.

you were all dolled up in a way he hadn’t seen before, sparkly earrings catching the kitchen light. you didn’t look like the girl he used to skip class with and lie on the pier beside.

but you were.

“you made your choice, didn’t you?” he muttered. “early program. gone before the summer’s even over.”

“i earned it, rafe. because i worked for it—”

“and what about me?” he snapped, suddenly. voice louder than either of you expected. “i bust my ass tryin’ to graduate with you. and you couldn't tell me this? i did it—for what? so you could feel sorry for me on your way out?”

that was new low. he regretted it the second he said it.

“that’s not fair."

“yeah? neither is you leavin’ me here and expectin’ me to clap for you.”

“i never asked you to wait for me,” you were pleading now, not accusing. “i never asked you to do any of that.”

“i know, god, i know,” rafe snapped. “that’s the problem. you never looked back, did you? not once.”

“that’s not true.”

“isn’t it?”

your hands curled against your outfit, wrinkling the fabric.

“i care about you."

he let out a breath through his nose, humorless.

“yeah?” he muttered. “i love you.”

real. pathetic, even. the most honest thing he’s ever said in his life.

your lips parted but he intervined before you could salvage his reputation.

“still not enough reason for you to stay, is it?”

your breath hitched, your eyes went wide. you weren’t expecting him to say it. the possibility had lived in the space between you two for so long, you thought it'd stay silent forever.

he had too. now it was out there, and you didn’t say it back.

“that’s what I thought,” he said, voice flat now.

you looked like you were about to cry. rafe looked like he already had.

“why are you doing this now?” your voice trembled with confusion. “i’m not leaving forever!"

you meant it, you thought a couple thousand miles and a new life wouldn’t erase this not-thing, wouldn’t bury him beneath everything you’d go off and become.

rafe, despite his many flaws, wasn’t stupid. hope wasn't a luxury he could afford.

he laughed, more of a breath than anything real.

“you might as well be.”

your brows pulled together. “what—”

“i never want to see you again,” he ripped the bandage off, even though it hurt more. “okay? just—just go. go to your early program, to your dorm, to your perfect fucking life with your perfect fucking people, and let me get over you in peace.”

your face twisted, the pain blooming across.

“you don’t mean that.”

“don’t i?” he snapped, stepping backward before he got close again, and broke completely. “what’s left of this, huh?”

he could only hear your shaky breath and the sound of someone laughing downstairs.

"so yeah, do me a favor — don’t text me when you miss home. don’t check in. don’t come back here thinking everything’s the same.”

you blinked, tears building in your lashes.

“rafe…”

he looked away, couldn’t watch you cry and still walk out of his life.

you can’t miss someone you never had, right? the only thing he had were his regrets.

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero

Chapter 12: I Swear To God...

Meanwhile, you didn't get the pleasure of going to sleep like Dick did. Your identity is as good as compromised. If only you had enough money to leave… 

Pacing around your room you try to think of what to do. The best option would be leaving - not just Gotham, but America as a whole. But, where would you go? Where would you get the money for a ticket AND the money to start over? 

You could sell some of your gear, or become a henchman - it’d only be for a bit! Just until you can get your money up, then you’d quit and make your escape. Yeah. That could work. But, did you really have it in you? To harm and steal? To know you’d been the cause of so many people’s lives? You couldn’t do that.

Sighing you sit down in your bed and pray for the night to finish so you can go to school.

-

Tim, however, is stuck at Bruce’s desk as Bruce monologues about how important it is to respond to messages in a timely manner. He forgot to message Bruce back about whatever he messaged him. 

“- Honestly, what would have happened if I was in trouble, or one of your brothers were in trouble and you decided to not respond.” Bruce states, it was rhetorical and Tim holds back an eye roll. The message wasn’t even that important… Okay, it kinda was. But, school got in the way and he kinda forgot.

“Well? What are we going to do now? If Y/N is Aranea that means-” Tim cuts off Bruce’s rant, already plotting. “That means we’re going to keep this information under wraps. We forgo plan A. If Y/N finds out we know she’d freak. Same with the others.”

The two talk for a bit longer, making up a new plan. After mere minutes of deliberation the two form a plan. 

-

Damian was confused and annoyed, you were an idiot, a hateful, disgusting and vile idiot. Yet, he was nothing if not observant, he noticed how you share the same figure as Aranea, he noticed how the ‘hair’ is a wig, he noticed all these things. 

However, he’d rather die than admit maybe you were Aranea, you had to be a sister or a cousin, someone else! And for you to hate your own blood family… It’s horrible to think about. Sure, he and Jason typically stay back from you, but that doesn’t mean their hatred is any lesser than the others. He’s sure Jason aches to put a bullet through your head any time word gets back to them about your shit talking.

To Damian, Aranea is an angel sent to comfort him, an older sister figure to help him vent his emotions, he doesn’t know where he’d be if it weren’t for her. What he’d be.

He won’t ever let someone extinguish her light..

-

The next day rolls around and you sit up, having barely slept. Rubbing your eyes you get up and proceed to get ready for school, trying not to think too hard about last night. When you get to school your friends aren’t waiting for you out front, weird. Shrugging it off you head inside the building - they were probably either late or getting something to eat before school.

Walking down the halls you pay no mind to Tim, who for some reason was staring at you with the same look one would give a shelter puppy - or an old dog about to be put down - it was sickening in a way, being watched by him like that. Did Dick tell him? He must’ve. That's why you’re getting the look you’re getting. 

You speed up slightly before turning into your first period class. The day passes in a blur, you don’t see your friends, Tim doesn’t talk to you, no one even looks at you. Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong. When the day ends you waste no time in packing your things and leaving, the school’s suffocating atmosphere feels as though it’s lifted when you step out of the gates. You can’t bring yourself to head home yet, can’t bring yourself to enter another stuffy place.

Opting to walk along the grimy streets, rats scurrying by as if they were workers late to work. Everything seems to slow down for a minute as you walk, Gotham is a horrid, putrid wasteland of a place, yet for someone who has lived here all your life, you find this wasteland to be like a field of different types of flowers - colorful in ways unseen, quick to die yet surrounded by other life. No one dies alone in Gotham. Not truly. 

Your spider senses shoot to the heavens, freezing, you feel a kind of dread overcome you. Someone was watching, someone was waiting, someone was following. You're in danger. You have three options here.

You run, alerting the stalker you know of them. The person may be faster than you. 

You turn around to face the stalker, once more alerting the stalker you’re aware. You can’t tell who it is, they could be stronger than you, could have weapons.

You continue walking normally, not letting them know. This could lead to them attacking from behind.

Taking a deep breath you bend down, pretending to tie your shoelaces - you’ve been standing stationary for around ten seconds, if you started walking once more it may alert them. You soon stand up before continuing to walk.

The walk was uneasy, the presence of the person causing your spider senses to react violently, headaches, nausea, dizziness, the instinct to run, all of it was too much. You hated this. But discomfort is much more preferable than death. 

You curse your luck - for some reason people just weren’t around today. Though, even if they were, no one would intervene. They aren’t heroes. They wouldn’t risk their lives for a girl they don't know. 

The figure can be felt catching up to you and you bite back the scream of frustration, tears starting to rise. Why was everything so complicated?! You hate everyone! Fuck Timothy, fuck Richard, fuck Bruce and his rat son Damian, fuck Jason, fuck Stephanie, fuck Cassandra, fuck Duke, fuck Barbara - you know what? Fuck anyone who associates with that dysfunctional, borderline evil family!

You feel the person right behind you now, hell, even if you had normal senses you’d be able to tell. You turn just in time for a bag to go over your head before being knocked out. 

Taglist:

@rissareader @delias-stuff @hogwarts9 @marsmabe @randomlyappearingartist @coralaura @nervousalpacalady @citrushalo @chericia @soriansick @v0idl1nq @scrumdidiliyumyum @kittykatcreatster @feral-childs-word @anon34570 @shycreatorreview @sunny-sp3lls @fluffypackofships @cynniee @yuyuzi-ling @coffeeaddictxd @starryperson @readermommy @niggrrooo @bunbunboysworld @yanrandom @fluffypackofchips @vanilliona @wizzerreblogs @cens0r3d

[wonfie]

MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL ⭑ sjy

　　　　　 🪉　　𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒

𓈒𓈒 fakeboyf!jake ✶ f!rea  828───  >ᯅ< mutual pining fake dating brief&light jealousy

you meet jake sim in the most cliché way possible: on a thursday afternoon, in a half-crowded café, muttering to yourself about how much you want to throttle your ex. not because you still love him, but because he’s telling people you’re “still not over him”—as if you didn’t spend most of your relationship babysitting his ego.

you’re ranting to your best friend when a guy slides into the booth behind you, coffee in hand, and says, “you need a fake boyfriend.”

you turn, ready to snap at some smug stranger… and stop short.

it’s jake sim.

the jake sim—filthy rich, stupidly handsome, and probably the only guy on campus who could buy the whole school if he felt like it. he has a face that belongs in cologne ads and the easy confidence of someone who’s never heard the word no. everyone knows of him, but no one really knows him.

“excuse me?” you blink.

“you heard me,” he says, like this is a normal conversation. “you need a fake boyfriend, and i need a fake girlfriend. mutually beneficial.”

“…are you serious?”

he nods, like it’s a business deal. “i’m on thin ice with my parents. they think i’m wasting my life being single. but if they think i’m in a serious relationship with a grounded, responsible person—” he eyes you pointedly, “—they’ll back off.”

you stare at him.

“i’ll pay for everything,” he adds. “dinners, outfits, public appearances. you just have to pretend you like me.”

you snort. “so basically… you want me to act like i’m obsessed with you?”

his grin widens. “shouldn’t be that hard.”

you should say no. you should laugh him off. but then your phone buzzes—your ex again—and you think about how much you’d love to wipe that smug look off his face.

“…fine,” you mutter. “you’ve got yourself a girlfriend, sim.”

things escalate quickly.

jake doesn’t do anything halfway. the next day, there’s a designer bag on your doorstep with an outfit for your “debut date”—a dress you could never afford in your life and heels that make your legs look unfairly good.

he picks you up in a matte black car that looks like it belongs in a spy movie, and you swear the valet at the restaurant bows when jake tosses him the keys.

he’s all charm during dinner. holds your hand across the table. brushes your hair behind your ear when he leans in to whisper something just for you. people stare. they believe it.

so do you, for a second, when he helps you into your coat and murmurs, “you looked beautiful tonight,” too low for anyone else to hear.

you’re not sure when the pretending starts to blur.

maybe it’s the third date, when you go to a gala and he introduces you to his parents as “the person who makes me want to come home early.”

maybe it’s the night you both end up on his couch, laughing over wine, your head in his lap, and his fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair like it’s just… natural.

maybe it’s the moment he gets a call from his mom and tells her, “she’s here with me, actually. yeah, she’s asleep. we stayed up late talking.”

you weren’t asleep. just pretending to be.

you don’t say anything.

you start doing couple things without thinking.

he keeps snacks in his kitchen he knows you like. you fix the collar of his shirt when it’s crooked. he starts driving you to class. you bring him coffee on exam days.

“we’re good at this,” he jokes one night, scrolling through your fake relationship posts. he’s lying on your bed like he belongs there, hoodie pushed up, hair messy.

“too good,” you mutter.

he pauses. “do you ever forget we’re faking it?”

you don’t answer.

because yes. yes, you do. especially when he leans over and kisses your forehead before leaving. especially when he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

it all comes to a head at a party.

his ex is there—gorgeous, smug, perfectly poised. she leans into jake like she wants to reclaim what’s hers, and something inside you burns.

so you kiss him.

you don’t think, don’t plan, don’t even care who’s watching. you just grab the front of his shirt and pull him down and press your mouth to his like you mean it.

because maybe you do.

and when you pull away, breathless, his hands are still around your waist and his eyes are wide.

“we need to talk,” he says, voice low.

“about what?”

“about how that didn’t feel fake at all.”

he kisses you again in the car. no audience. no cameras. just him and you and months of pent-up feelings spilling over.

“i think i like you,” he murmurs into your mouth. “for real.”

you laugh, fingers sliding into his hair.

“thank god,” you whisper. “because i’ve been in love with you this whole time.”

[nineteenninety-six]

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Across the Kitchen Table [2]

Pairings: Michael Robinavitch x Ex-Wife!Reader

AN: Still suffering from lack of inspo but this just came to me and I kinda like it. This is technically a 2nd part to ATKT but it's also not, it can be read alone. Also just try your hardest to ignore an inconsistancies lol

TW: medical inaccuracies, kids injuring themselves, divorced parents.

ACROSS THE KITCHEN TABLE

When the school couldn't get in contact with either you or Robby, they asked the paramedics to go to the one place they knew the both of you would be.

Unbeknownst to either of you, your daughter's school had been trying to call you both for the past thirty minutes. Gwendolyn had injured herself during gym class but with Robby in the midst of a critical case with Collins and you elbow deep in a surgery and so neither of you had access to your phone.

You remain blissfully unaware until a call comes into the OR. A nurse gratefully holds the phone up to your ear as you pause in your actions, your heart stopping as you listen to Perlah on the other end of the phone.

"Page Walsh, she needs to take over." You call out after Perlah hangs up, "My kid is downstairs."

Everyone knows what you mean by 'downstairs' and so they don't waste a second as they call for Walsh and prepare for a switch.

Your mind was racing with guesses of what rendered your daughter in the emergency room. It could be something as simple as a sprained ankle... or something else, something worse but you were determined not to think about it. You didn't want to needlessly worry yourself but the worried mother in you was rearing its head.

Once Walsh was scrubbed in and was caught up, you were quick to leave the OR. You had just about exchanged your scrubs before you were hurrying down the hallway to the stairs, tightening the drawstrings on your trousers as you sped downstairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator.

You don't even stop once you reach the emergency department. Perlah calls out the room number as you pass the nurses station and you nod in thanks as you make your way to the room.

Robby was already there no doubt. The ED was his department, his home away from home and you knew he'd be by Gwen's side the moment she arrived. Meanwhile, it had taken you almost forty-five minutes to get out of surgery, clean and downstairs. You could only hope the silence from the ED meant it wasn't a serious emergency.

Habit leads you to knock on the door before you step in and the sight that greets you makes you pause in your steps.

Robby was on the hospital bed, shoes kicked off as he relaxed back, half asleep as his shift catches up with him. Gwen is cuddled up with him, one of her ankles propped up by a series of pillows. They're talking to each other in low murmurs, Robby trying to make Gwen laugh to cheer her up.

Despite being divorced for a year and a half, it wasn't weird or awkward to see Robby as you saw him multiple times a week. Not only did you work at the same hospital, you also met every Sunday evening to pick up/drop off the kids, not to mention to the children's sports practices that happened multiple times a week that you both attended. The only difference is that you don't live together anymore.

"Mom!" Gwen perks up at your arrival.

"Hey baby!" You coo as you approach her, you press a kiss to her forehead and brush her hair behind her ear, being careful not to dislodge the glitter-pink glasses that rested on her face. "How did you land up here sweetheart?"

"We were running in gym class and I tripped and fell," Gwen sniffles and you wipe her tears with a soft coo, "Then they took me here."

You give her ankle a glance before you turn your attention over to Robby, "Is it a sprain? Why haven't they wrapped it?"

Robby shifts from the bed, standing up before stretching his arms over his head with a soft groan, "Not sure, I think fracture. We're waiting for an x-ray."

"Still?" You pull back, ready to go storming around for answers and maybe cash in a few favours to push Gwen to the top of the waiting list.

Robby stops you in your tracks, "No you stay here, I'll go see what I can do."

You thank him and watch as he kisses Gwen on the cheek, promising her he'll be back soon before he departs from the room. You climb into the space on the bed that Robby had vacated, Gwen snuggling up to your side.

"Sorry mommy took so long honey, I was busy upstairs. I didn't have my phone." You tell your daughter.

"I know, daddy told me that you were helping someone." Gwen murmurs, "It's okay, you're here now."

Robby returns with two cups of coffee from the cafeteria, a muffin for Gwen and both your phones in his hands.

"Gwen is next in line," Robby tells you as he passes you a cup and your phone, "And I called your parents, they're gonna pick Carter up from school and bring him here."

You hated to admit it but you had completely forgotten about your son. The panic of hearing that your daughter was injured and in the ER, along with the frustration of her delayed care had all but consumed you.

"He'll be out in about an hour. We should be done by then…hopefully." Robby continues as he gives Gwen her muffin, smiling at the happy wiggle she did at the baked good.

You both watch as Gwen begins to eat her muffin, taking a small bite before she offers you both a bite, which you both reject, encouraging her to have it all for herself.

Robby stands next to you and opens his mouth but before any words could come out a knock sounds on the door as it opens, Dana poking her head around the door.

"Pulled a few strings and got the portable x-ray machine," Dana winks at you as she makes her way over to Gwen, a x-ray tech trailing behind her wheeling the machine in.

"Hi auntie Dana," Gwen greets the nurse.

"Hi sweetheart," Dana waves at the girl with a smile, "My friend here is just going to take a picture of your ankle so we can see what's wrong."

"Are you going to stay here?" Gwen turns her wide eyes over to you and Robby and you're both quick to answer her.

"We aren't going anywhere," Robby reassures her, "We'll be right here."

You nod along, "You'll be able to see us the whole time baby."

Gwen gives a brave nod to Dana, "Okay, I'm ready auntie Dana."

It takes mere minutes, the x-ray is completed and the tech is out of the door ten minutes later, promising to be back within the hour. Dana lingers for a while longer, catching up with you and Gwen and giving Robby an update on his critical patient from earlier.

With neither you or Robby allowed to be Gwen's doctor, it's assigned to Collins. Robby mutters about it, not because he thinks Collin's isn't good enough, he knows she's one of the best already but Gwen is his daughter and so he's particular about her care. His first choice would of course be him but you are a very close second.

Collins confirms Robby guess of a fracture to Gwen's ankle and Robby sticks by her side after the young girl reaches for him. 

You look down at your phone when it dings with a notification, it was your mom, telling you they had arrived at the hospital with Carter. Once you meet them outside, you invite them to join you in the hospital room but they refuse, not wanting to overwhelm Gwen, but promising they'll visit on the weekend once everything calms down. 

You carry Carter back to the hospital room, asking him about his day at school as he babbles in your ear in response. Carter waves to everyone as you walk through the hospital, calling out 'hello's' and 'byes' from his position on your hip.

The hospital was a common setting for the children, they were regular visitors since birth. When Gwen was born and you were on maternity leave, you often popped in to visit Robby after he returned to work from paternity leave. Carter didn't visit the ED until he was one year old, when lockdown was lifted and it was safe to do so but the sunshine boy made Robby's days in the hospital just that little better.

The memory of those days brings a smile to your face as you enter your daughters room. Carter's eyes land on Gwen first and burst into an excited grin, always happy to see his big sister but then his eyes catch on to Robby right beside Gwen and he is spoilt for choice, eyes flickering between his father and his sister unable to choose but once he spies the cast on Gwen's foot, his choice is made.

He wiggles out of your hold and darts over to Gwen as soon as his feet touch the ground, though he's not big enough to climb upon the bed by himself, so Robby lifts him up, settling him next to his big sister.

You noticed how Gwen still clung to Robby, perhaps because it was your week and she had spent more time with you than with him. You were pondering on whether to ask him if he wanted to take Gwen for his time a day early. You were working the weekend while Robby wasn't so he was going to collect them in the morning regardless.

You catch Robby’s gaze and point towards the corner of the room, suggesting you want to chat with him.

When he comes over, you ask, “Would you mind if she goes with you tonight? She seems a bit attached.”

“I was actually thinking of asking if I could take them tonight,” Robby says, agreeing with your suggestion. “I’ll take Carter too.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile.

Robby turns to the kids, “You’re going home with me tonight, how does that sound?”

Gwen peers over at you with a worried furrow on her face, "What about mommy?"

"Mommy will be fine. I'm working tomorrow so you'd be going to daddy's anyway remember?"

Gwen looks unconvinced. She loved both her parents equally and always wanted to split time equally, not liking when things got skewed even just a little bit.

You lift Carter from his position and take his seat, settling him on your lap as Robby sits on Gwen's other side, "Especially with your ankle sweetie, going back and forth might hurt you some more."

"Mommy come?" Carter asks, looking up at you.

Gwen brightens at the suggestion, "Yeah can mommy come to yours daddy? We can have a sleepover!"

You look over at Robby who's already looking at you. 

"It's up to daddy." 

Robby shrugs, "What hell…sure."

Gwens squeals in excitement and Carter copies her, clapping his hands as he cheers along with her. You and Robby exchanged amused looks over the heads of your children and it almost reminds you of your life together before the divorce and for a moment, you can't remember why you split up in the first place.

[theonlyy1ivyy]

That'll Teach you.

summary: Satoru's had a crush on you for ages and finally get's the chance to talk to you because he's your new tutor. But he instantly regretted it the moment he realised how far behind everyone else you were. So he did something about it.

Tw: Gojo's lowkey mean 😓 and semi publix sex (you two are in the back of the library)

˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚

You were gorgeous in all ways possible to Satoru. To him, there was not a single flaw that he could see whenever he admired you. But, you weren't the brightest, academically speaking.

You'd much rather focus on other things, like the activities you enjoy; shopping for new clothes or lingerie sets you know you'll never wear , getting your nails done with friends or following new trends you'd see on social media just 'cause you can.

All that to say that anyone who took the time to study you like Satoru, knew that College really wasn't your thing.

But the habit of not taking any relevant notes, falling asleep during Professor Yaga's lecture's and barely getting over the minimum you needed to pass your classes had to stop.

Your professor's came to a decision and you needed a tutor.

Three weeks is all it's been, but gosh did it feel way longer for Satoru. When Yaga approached him, explaining your situation, he couldn't help the huge butterflies that were doing tricks in his stomach.

He thought tutouring you would be the best time of his life. I mean, why wouldn't he think that? He finally got the chance he'd been waiting for since high school; to talk to you.

But oh he was wrong, so wrong.

Not only did it seem like you weren't trying, but Satoru felt as though you were playing dumb, because he refused to believe that his sweet could be so utterly stupid.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚

"Are you even trying?" Satoru asked you, watching you struggle on the easiest question he'd given you so far. You look up at him and he could've swore he saw tears forming in your beautiful eyes.

"I am, I'm just-"

"focusing?" He scoffed and you could hear his patience running thin. "You've said that for the past 5 minues."

You went quiet and finished the equation, handing the paper to Satoru. You sighed and watched as he scowled at the paper. That usually indicated that you'd gotten everything wrong, something you picked up within the first few weeks.

He rubbed his temple, your gaze lingered on his veiny hands, watching as the muscles flexed. You were thinking...thinking about what else those big hands of his could do.

But you were caught.

As you tried to make out the expression on his beautifully sculpted face, his beaming blue eyes found yours. You looked away immediatly, the air in the library suddenly became thick. And tension arose between the two of you.

You avoided his gaze as he went back to correcting, when your phone dinged. You went in, slowling bringing it up to the table when Satoru abruptly stopped you.

"If you'd let go of your phone for once, maybe you'd actually be focusing and getting something right." He said harshly, sliding the paper your way.

"I have plans, I can't just put them off." You bit back, ignoring the paper in between you too, to text your friends.

Usually, Satoru was a calm and composed man with a great amount of patience, but with you...

he felt like every little thing set him off.

It enraged him that you, this picture perfect girl, were willing to throw your future away for nothing, when you had the most potential he'd ever seen.

"Y/N, please put your phone down." He urged. his voice calm, calmer than he'd been the whole session.

" Waitttttt- What colour suits me best 'Toru? Pink or cherry red?" You ignored him, going on to do exactly what he hated most.

Big mistake.

Because now he had his cock buried deep inside of you as you sputtered meaningless apologies with tears in your gorgeous eyes. Your slick dripped down your plush thighs and you squirmed under satoru's strong hold on your hips.

"S-satoru, p-please...It's too embarassing." You whimpered, gripping onto the wooden table in front of you for support. You were trying your best not to make a sound, but he was making that impossible.

He refused to let you move, letting you feel him...all of him inside you. He brought a pen to your fingers with a smug grin on his lips. He loved seeing you all worked up.

"Solve the question baby. Then I'll fuck you so good, so good you'll be begging for more." He whispered in your ear, watching you struggle even more. He knew you could it, he had no doubt, he just hated seeing you willingly act so dumb.

"T-that's not fair." You moaned as Satoru brought his fingers down to your puffy clit. So cute. " Ngh-you're being mean-Agh." You bit back a moan as you finished up the question.

"Focus." He reminded you.

"The value of x is -134°." You let out in a breathless tone.

He smiled, he knew you were hiding some intelligence in that head of yours.

Without a warning, he placed his free hand on your lower back. From a far it looked like you were just siting on him but little did they know, under your skirt was his cock buried in the depths of your pussy.

He thrusted into you and your eyes rolled back. You moaned and he brought his soft lips to yours. "Be quiet, Did you forget where we are?" he said lowly, against you.

You might not know a lot but one thing you knew was certain, you were about to have the best fuck of your life.

[c-monthecob]

To R.H

Synopsis: Maybe you should've given it to him yourself... Tokyo Revengers High School AU A/N: Trying to step out of my comfort zone and actually write stuff, but it is so hard to stay motivated. 2nd time writing a one-shot, so please go easy on me. I know my writing ain't good 🤧

☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎

What if he said no super loud? What if he laughed at you? What if he ripped it into a million pieces and tossed them in your face?

You'd crawl into a hole and die. That's what you'd do. Never show your face again for the next ten years. Nobody would ever let you live the rejection down. Especially that asshole Shion.

So here you are. Trying to convince yourself that this wasn't the coward's way out. That leaving it in his desk was just as brave as handing it to him yourself.

You're not a scaredy cat. Emma doesn't know what she's talking about. If you were such a scaredy cat, would you be sneaking around the halls during the assembly?

A scaredy cat would be too afraid of getting in trouble with the teachers to do this. They wouldn't be sneaking into the classroom of the strictest teacher. They'd be at the assembly with everybody else. Listening to the principal complain about how low the test scores for the school are. Staying silent for an hour-long school-wide lecture.

This requires lots of courage. So, no. You aren't taking the coward's way out.

It was easy to find his desk with the alphabetical seating and initials written on a laminated note card and taped onto the desk R. H Here we go.

After six years of silently pining. Being nothing more than a friend of a friend. You were finally gonna face your fears, with one little letter, pink, glittery, and sprayed with your best perfume to "Really draw him in," as Emma put it.

You slid it into his desk—his very messy desk at that, fighting the urge to go back and rip that token of embarrassment into shreds. The deed was done. No going back now. You poked your head into the hallway, just had to be sure nobody saw you. Not that you cared if they did.

"I think I left my headphones in my desk."

Okay, maybe you did care.

You made a dash down the hall and turned the corner, disappearing right before the voice’s owner could catch a glimpse of you.

And just as you did. He showed up.

Rindou Haitani.

Retracing his steps to find out where he left his headphones, along with his brother. Ran Haitani, who was only tagging along as an excuse to skip the assembly.

He poked his head into the classroom, hoping the teacher wasn't inside. She'd send them right back to the assembly if she caught them. Ran didn't seem nearly as cautious.

He shoved Rindou inside and strolled in right behind him. "Why'd you do that!? What if she were in here?" Rindou snapped. Ran rolled his eyes and shut the door. "If she were, then the lights wouldn't be off and the door wouldn't be wide open." Okay, he has a point. "Now go ahead and check your desk."

He crouched down, feeling around for it. Just as he expected. It wasn't there. But then he felt something else. Something that wasn't a candy wrapper or crumbled homework. "What's this?" He picked it up, turned it over, and read the front. To R.H., written in dark red glitter pen ink.

"Is that a love letter?" Ran mused, leaning over Rindou's shoulder. His little brother never really got attention from girls. It wasn't that they found him unattractive. Just very intimidating. "Open it! Open it!" Ran shook Rindou with excitement. Shoving Ran off with an unnecessary amount of force, Rindou carefully opened the letter.

"To R.H."

☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎

"Come on, Y/n! Don't chicken out now!" Emma pushed you back onto the bench, keeping a tight grip on your shoulders to stop you from moving. She's stronger than she looks. Apparently, blonde hair isn't the only thing she and Mikey have in common.

"What if some creep shows up while I'm waiting?" you whined. Emma ran a hand over her face in frustration. "That's why he's here." She pointed to Draken, who sat on a bench not too far away, his head rising and falling as he nodded off.

His presence didn't even put a dent in your nerves. Because there were things even Draken couldn't protect you from. Like rejection.

You couldn't help it. The spiraling thoughts. The possible outcomes. There were so many things that could happen, and you were downright terrified of each one.

"What if he shows up with someone else and they record me getting rejected!?"

"Y/n—"

"What if I get so nervous my voice cracks and I embarrass myself. You know my voice cracks when i'm nervous!"

"Y/n—"

"What if he points out things I didn't even know I could be insecure about!?"

"Y/n—"

"What if—" "Y/N!" Emma shouted, scaring Draken awake and effectively shutting you up. She let go of your shoulders and let out a sigh. A heavy and tired sigh. "Y/n." She cupped your hand in hers, giving it a light squeeze.

The stern look on her face— the one she only had when she was upset—made you lower your eyes to the ground, but she was quick to lift your head back up. "It's not the end of the world if he says no," she assured. But if that's true, why does it feel like it will be? Why can't you ever see the brighter side of things? Why is every outcome you think of negative?

"He's a nice guy, he'd never try to humiliate you like that. You know he wouldn't." He really is a nice guy, although he doesn't look the part. With that permanent scowl and all. Some people find him to be intimidating, but not you.

You know he would never hurt a fly. It's one of the things you like most about him.

All those scenarios where he's mean and nasty don't sound anything like the boy you've loved for the last six years.

That's an entirely different guy. Nothing like him at all. Well... not to you at least.

You know he's better than that. So why can't you think positively?

Emma gave your hand one last squeeze of reassurance before letting go and walking back over to Draken. "And if he can't see how amazing you are, I'll kill him myself!" she said, grabbing Draken's hand and dragging him off to a better hiding spot.

So now it's just you. And hopefully soon to be him.

Any minute. He should turn that corner any minute. Right here, right now, you'll say what you've always wanted to say. Three words, just this one time.

Footsteps.

You tore your eyes away from the corner, suddenly finding the beetle crawling around on the ground fascinating. The footsteps were loud. Really loud. Or maybe you're just hyper-focused on them. Either way. They were getting closer. and closer, and closer, and—they stopped.

Right in front of you, just like you feared. He didn't say anything, and neither did you. Maybe he was waiting for you to look at him? Unless his answer was yes, then he could keep dreaming.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the letter, and holding it right in your face.

No.

He was definitely telling you no. Out of all the ways he would've said it, you didn't think about him handing it back. This was so him. Nothing too loud like you'd imagine.

You took the note back, mumbling a small "I understand." You couldn't look at him. Not now. You'd burst into tears. You just wish he'd say something. Let you know what he was thinking at the very least.

But the voice you heard wasn't the same scratchy and high-pitched voice you knew. "I didn't know you felt that way about me." This voice was deeper, smoother, not his.

Looking up with furrowed brows, your face contorted into one of confusion as you locked eyes with the wrong pair of brown eyes. Rindou Haitani. "What?" you frowned, looking around. Maybe you were being pranked because what the hell was he doing here?

"You and I don't really talk much, y'know, so this is a shock for me." Rindou was blushing. Hard. His ears and cheeks might as well be on fire with the way they were burning. He could swear his heart was about to jump out of his chest.

A girl—A pretty one at that—was confessing to him. He's never been on the receiving end, so he'll admit. It feels nice to be wanted. "We could get to know each other if you want." He nodded his head in a random direction. "There's a nice cafe that's still open. We could grab something and talk if that's okay—" "Rindou." You cut him off. Your voice was soft; it had to be.

Because this was going to be awkward.

☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎

"What the hell is he doing here?" Emma whispered, watching Rindou hand you the letter. She was very confused right now. She knows for a fact that Rindou isn't your crush, so why does he have the letter?

Draken scratched his head, just as confused as his girlfriend about the younger Haitani's presence. Should he step in? Was he bothering you? He can't tell if you're uncomfortable, you still have your head hung low.

"I told her to go into Mrs. Tanabe's class and leave it on his desk. How did Rindou end up with it?"

That's when it clicked. Why was Rindou here and not him? Draken placed a hand on Emma's shoulder, drawing her attention away from you. "He's in Mr. Tanabe's class, not Mrs." Ever since those two got married, people always mix them up. A real nightmare for freshmen.

"But Mikey said—" "Mikey hasn't been to school in months. He doesn't even know what class he's in." He really doesn't. Draken has to walk him to class on the rare occasions they do come to school.

☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎ ☂︎ ♡ ☁︎

Rindou wished that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Damn, this was embarrassing. Keep you up at night kind of embarrassing. Ran will never let him live this down. And neither will that asshole Shion. Especially that asshole Shion.

This is something he's got to take to the grave. "So, you got me mixed up with someone else, huh?" Rindou cut off your string of apologies. "Uh, yeah. You guys have the same initials." Rindou hummed, taking the letter back from you. "R. H," he muttered, "I'm the only one in my class with those initials."

"Yeah, I figured." Rindou handed you the letter back. "Ease up on the perfume, will ya?" You nodded, even though it wasn't your idea. Maybe you should redo it. There were some parts you cringed while writing, anyway.

"So who was it for?" Rindou asked. "Oh, you probably don't know him." You doubt that he did. You've known Rindou since 5th grade, and he only learned your name in the 8th. Sometimes you think you just weren't important enough to be on his radar. So yeah, you doubt he knows him.

"Try me," he challenged, plopping down in the spot next to you. You clutched the letter, absentmindedly tracing the initials.

"Ryohei Hayashi."

[backwardshatnick]

in which they never define what they have in high school, but they were confusingly happy.

Her thumb tapped repeatedly over the black ballpoint pen, the click sound resonating throughout her bedroom which almost drove her crazy when it echoed. Laid out in front of Bloom's eyes was her journal, a stretch of words written– no, scribbled in cursives only comprehensible to her as she continued to decode what was it that she had with Matt.

The scent of the lavender candle that she had lit continued to waft in the air, the gentle crackle of the fire slowly, but surely calming her nerves down as she tried to reread what she had already written down.

He’s not my boyfriend. We don’t even talk about stuff like that. But he sits next to me every Tuesday at the bleachers when his coach tells his team to hit the showers early. He ties my shoelaces when I’m carrying too many books. He notices the different shades of red when I wear a new flavour of Chapstick. And he gets weirdly quiet when I compliment his stupid middle-parted hair. His stupid, middle-parted, fluffy and soft hair. It’s like… we orbit each other. I think maybe he’s the only person who really sees me, but he also disappears sometimes. I don’t know what we are but I keep waiting for the moment we’ll look at each other and just know that we're definitely not strangers, but instead something else.

Her phone subtly lit up when a Snapchat notification popped up, the screen showing the time: 02:19. It was not a a school night, so Bloom was definitely not surprised that her best friend was still up during her late-night journalling session. Clicking on it, Stella had sent a photo of her watching Shrek, with the caption "donkaë".

She laughed at the caption, her humour clearly broken, as she typed out a response, Stella's Bitmoji now floating at the corner of her phone.

stella, do u think that when i save ur texts and snaps on here that it means smth a lot more?

whats with the deep question r u ok bloom this is about matt isnt it im getting my earbuds hold on a sec n we can def talk

"It's about the Matt thing again, right?" Stella said, her face only lit up by the blue glow of her phone.

Bloom slid further into her chair, blowing out the loose strands of her hair, "It's not a thing."

She rolled her eyes before giving Bloom a knowing look, "Girl, he's the reason why you started buying and wearing more cherry-flavoured Chapstick. You know you've always liked the vanilla and coconut ones."

"Well, maybe I'm just evolving. Nothing's ever wrong with that, right?" Bloom laughed.

"Ugh, whatever you say then," Stella answered, her tone stretching out and teasing before panning her phone's camera to her laptop screen, "Want to watch the rest of Shrek with me?"

"I can never say no to my favourite short king."

Like parallel lines, Matt was also not asleep. Instead, he was inside of his car at an empty car park of a 24-hour Burger King with his brothers, Nick and Chris.

The cool air accompanied them as it blew onto their faces and in between bites of day-old chicken nuggets and slurps of ice-cold root beer, Matt finally voiced out.

"We're never a thing, you guys know that, right?"

"Sure, keep on lying to yourself, Pinocchio. Hand me some more fries, please?" Chris asked, hand held out to the seat behind where Nick was sat.

"I don't know what it is that you guys have, but thing or not, you literally made her a bookmark using mum's flowers from the backyard. Told everyone you pulled out the roses as a joke, but that doesn't sound like a joke to me..." Nick chimed in, his voice trailing as he gave his younger brother a side-eye.

Matt sat the paper cup back down to the console box and groaned, "She doesn't like me like that!"

"You're such a fucking buzzkill."

"And a pussy too at that," Chris added to Nick's remark.

"Because I know she's going to another state for college and I'm not brave enough to ask her to stay," Matt uttered, his forehead now resting on the steering wheel, "Or wait. Or choose me."

"So we just exist and not talk about it. And I'm just taking whatever I can get while we're still happy."

Everyone thinks Matt was the funny and confident golden boy of their team. Always down for parties and always the first one to charm a girl into cheering for their team. But they never paid attention to the small, subtle ways he had used to guard himself. The way that he would fight back the urge to argue when someone makes fun of the "nerds of the Geography club", the way he would constantly check his phone at practice, or the way he would try his best to hide the smile by biting the inside of his cheeks when someone makes a joke about 'blooming' flowers.

Or even the way he would dip out of the post-practice hangouts at the diner earlier than the rest.

Until one day, a friend of his saw Matt pack his bags carelessly, his sneakers just thrown blindly in the drawstring bag as he continued to crumple his jersey into the backpack.

"What's with the rush, Sturniolo? Got a secret, impatient girlfriend that we don't know about?"

His heart beat rapidly against his ribcage, threatening to jump out but Matt simply responded with a grin that was too fast, "What? Pfft, nah. Got a lot of homework to do at the library. Mrs. Clarence's already grilling my ass about it."

Matt was not fully lying, and while he did have a free period with Bloom waiting inside of the chilly library, he never told anyone that he had left in his car to quickly fetch her favourite snacks during study time, listening to their shared playlist as his head bobbed to the beat of the song.

But his mind was not fully committed to keeping the rhythm as a thousand and one thoughts circled his head, starting off fully onto the party that their midfielder is hosting to celebrate their first victory against a neighbouring school. Matt had decided against coming, adding on further to the suspicions of his friend when the reason he gave was to finally have a proper night's sleep after weeks of constant training at the field.

"She wouldn't fit in with my friends," Matt mumbled under his breath, despite being alone in the car with the music now long forgotten.

"Not because she's not cool, but because she's Bloom. She's too cool for them. The Bloom I know won't laugh at Spencer's awful drinking games, nor would she appreciate the dumb lacrosse party rituals we have after every win. She'd probably just subtly cuss them out and leave without anybody noticing."

"But then what? They'll all know just how much I like her if I disappeared after. She's her enough that it makes me feel safe to stop faking it. I want her in my world. But I just... don't know if my world even deserves her presence."

His train of thoughts finally came to a halt when his car similarly stopped upon the red light. Matt inhaled deeply and let it linger in his chest until he felt ready to let it go.

"Nick and Chris were right, I am just a fucking buzzkill and a pussy."

notes: middle part matt you will always have a special place in my heart 💞💞💞💞 edited this on my phone so apollocheese if it looks weird..... the grudge i have against the mobile tumblr app is really smth else.

masterlist for this au can be found here :)

gif credits to @mattsturnioloarchive <3

ꫂ❁ @oopsiedaisydeer @bbgirlmatt @courta13 @mattspillowprincess @loverboysturn

[fafodill]

AU: after the SA situation with Sev and the Marauders, Sev decides he cant go back to Hogwarts. He tries to transfer to Beaubatonx or Durmstrang, but the language barrier its to dificult for him at the moment. He manage, however, to go to Ilvermorny instead for his 6th and 7th year (his O.W.L's are good enough that he can be accepted anywhere, and even get a scholarship or something). I dont know much about Ilvermorny or the US Wizarding society, but If they're less bloodpurist that then UK one, Sev could thrive there in a way he couldnt in canon.

I agree that he'd do well anywhere else (tho we don't know how the other schools would treat a foreign exchange student who's really poor... but if he got a scholarship because of his grades then he might have a few coins to have better robes).

This being said I think Severus is absolutely intelligent enough to manage to learn a new language. Besides, even if he was somewhat bad at the theory of it, living in the country for a few months is the best way to learn. I'm sure in a few months he'd have managed. That boy is smart and very determined. Give him an accepting place and he'll absolutely thrive.

I think he'd have liked Durmstrang and their views of the Dark Arts. We don't know much about Beauxbâtons (which btw means 'Beautiful Sticks'...or maybe 'Beautiful Staffs' in French) but anything would have been better than Hogwarts at this point. Maybe he would have gotten more mental health care in France tho... Drumstrang seems a bit... let's say emotionnaly constipated...

[akari-of-moonlight]

[Matchbox, Yearbook, Pen.]

Hasemura Week Day 5: [Tribute]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Tetro Danganronpa Pink

Relationships: Kamimura Kazutoshi/Hasegawa Ken

Characters: Hasegawa Ken, Kamimura Kazutoshi

Additional tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Angst, Symbolism, Freeform-ish?, who knows it reads like a fever dream, there's some mild blood and stuff but if you're into tetro I don't think it should matter, I still don't know how to tag fics help

Hi guys I still don't know how to format these fics. uh I wrote this whole thing in one day and then spent three weeks editing it and not posting it because I got scared but HERE IT IS!!! Be warned it's very long I got a little carried away.

Thank you to @thewhimsicalenderdragon for betaing I love you

Kazutoshi sits at the desk next to Ken in an empty classroom. 

He’s just… there, arms crossed gently in his lap, like this is normal. As if the two of them were simply going through another day of school. 

Which is strange, because they never went to school together.

He is looking out the wall of windows, to something Ken can’t see. The sky outside is blindingly white. Looking at it, the impression of clouds sears into Ken’s mind, although there are no discernible outlines. And it burns as if it is the sun itself.

A simple arrangement of objects is laid out across Kazutoshi’s desk. A small matchbox and a yearbook, with a single black pen laying over them.

Kazutoshi doesn’t touch any of the objects on his desk. He simply looks out the window. Out into the light. Maybe it doesn’t burn his eyes.

He is beautiful. Fleeting and perfect, drawn in sharp lines and rimmed by that white light. 

His fingers tap light rhythms on the desk in a subconscious habit. He always did that when he was thinking. The small motion is so achingly familiar that Ken’s breath catches again.

Ken’s eyes fix upon those same small, angular, agile fingers that had traced over his hands and shoulders nervously or casually, like a light breeze, leaving burning prints behind in its wake. 

Kazutoshi’s hands look like paper in the light, pale and beautiful against the warm brown wood of the desk. A blue tinge afflicts them like a layer of time and decay, and Ken can’t focus on them for too long, he just can’t.

The light from the windows burns at Kazutoshi’s figure, yet he remains undesecrate, like the pillars of stone and cement left behind after flood or famine, burning disaster, bloody wars. Relics of before times. Untouchable.

Even though Ken can’t see his face, his very silhouette is beautiful. His posture looks relaxed, casual, his small frame curving perfectly in the light like the arching porcelain centerpiece that stood in the fountain outside of Ken’s favorite restaurant. 

Ken hadn’t thought about that restaurant in weeks. 

He wants to reach for Kazutoshi. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he doesn’t deserve to be here, next to the brilliant cobalt singularity that had believed that Ken would never taint his hands with the blood of another. He knows this isn’t real, can’t be real. He knows he is dead.

Terminal Agitation: the tendency of one to experience disorientation or hallucinations before death. Not to be confused with one’s life flashing before their eyes.

As a child, Ken often used to worry that nothing was real. That maybe “he” was just a single flash of consciousness in the burning, ruinous slop that was some sort of a plane of existence. That maybe he was imagining everything, a fabricated universe built around the only consciousness the void would ever know. 

Maybe he was only ever experiencing this moment, and nothing else had ever been real. 

Maybe he hadn’t even really started that sentence. 

There wasn’t a way to know, and there would never be a way to know. He hated that. God, he hated that.

Back then, the brush of his mother’s hair would bring him back. Her touch, her soft voice, her words of reassurance. 

Now, the pain brings him back.

If he really is only living in a delusion of this one moment, then it’s a stupid fucking moment to gain consiousness for.

Ken finds himself crying. 

His body is crying, at least. Tears stream down his face as his limbs shake more than they should be able to, and his chest heaves in tempo with the ticking of the clock behind him. 

Why is the clock so fast?

Ken doesn’t cry in public. He could never understand people who could just let themselves go under the watchful eyes of others like that. Only three people in the world had ever seen him cry before. 

Well, that isn’t true anymore, he supposes.

The tears don’t stop his thoughts. They never have.

There is blood on his hands. There is death in his lungs.

He’s spent a lot of time around dead bodies lately. At a certain point you get used to it. 

Ken knows he is guilty, but he doesn’t feel guilt. He should, probably. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel much of anything anymore. He closes his eyes, and he sees it again.

Stilted rules that destroyed everything he had planned for.

Five rotting corpses, faces in familiar fixtures of horror.

Blue eyes that had asked a question he couldn’t answer, and the tears that refracted their light that had felt somehow soul crushingly familiar and incomprehensibly foreign. 

He had nothing to say to them.

A hand grabs his wrist, jolting him back to reality. 

Kazutoshi had turned around, red eyes piercing as the day they had been extinguished. 

“Ken.”

Kazutoshi’s grip is tight, almost fierce. Ken wants to look at him, but the light enveloping him makes it hard. He can only focus his eye on Kazutoshi’s hand, which pulls at his skin, nails digging into him like little pinpricks.

Ken is silent. He doesn’t try to pull his wrist back, or pry Kazutoshi off. Kazutoshi stares him dead in the eye as he whispers four words.

“What have you done?”

Ken closes his eyes. He deserves it, the scorn, the hate, the blame. Kazutoshi was innocent. Ken was guilty. It was as simple as that.

Kazutoshi pulls Ken’s wrist sharply, bringing it next to his head. Close, too close, to that luminescent celeste hair. Kazutoshi’s hand is tensed, still clutching, digging into Ken’s limp wrist. Ken is pulled forward, catching himself with his legs as he starts to lose feeling in his hand. Strange that he had feeling in his hand in the first place. Strange that he could catch himself with his legs.

Kazutoshi is so close to him now, but Ken still can’t see his face. He can only make out his small frame, his cerulean silhouette. His wrist hurts from Kazutoshi’s grip. 

“Say something, Ken,” Kazutoshi says, and it’s desperate and angry and hollow all at once.

Ken knows he should apologize. He knows he should fall apart in front of the boy who saved him, broke him. He knows he should beg for forgiveness or stumble to explain himself. He knows he should want to lean forward and embrace Kazutoshi. He knows he should want to hold him while he still could.

Instead, Ken stays silent. He stares past Kazutoshi, into the burning sky. He realizes that his right eye is still covered by bandages. 

The blazing light from outside tinges his vision red, his bandage only becoming an amplifier to the horribly beautiful, almost sentient light that comes from Kazutoshi and from beyond him at the same time. 

“What… happened to you?” Kazutoshi asks. His voice is raw and broken, and Ken feels dizzy. 

Dizziness is a common side effect of blood loss, due to a lack of proper oxygen in the brain. A human can usually lose about 30% of their total blood volume without a high chance of death. Vitals will likely be heavily affected.

Her body probably didn’t even have time to replenish the blood she’d lost.

“Say something,” Kazutoshi repeats. He sounds like he’s on the verge of falling apart. Ken’s head is throbbing in time with the clock, but he forces his eye to lock with Kazutoshi’s anyway.

“Please, Ken,” Kazutoshi begs. “I need to hear you. I– I don’t care if it’s an apology or some stupid fucking fact. I need–”

His breath hitches, and Ken should reach forward to comfort him. He should say something.

But he is tired. He is so, so tired. 

He was ready to go. He was ready for his consciousness to fade away. He was ready to not think anymore. He wanted to die. 

He didn’t want Kazutoshi back now. He wanted to never have lost him. He wanted to never have known how much he lost.

Why isn’t he allowed to die?

Matchbox, yearbook, pen. 

Hand around his wrist.

Sped up clock.

“I need to know you still care.” 

Ken doesn’t know how to reply to Kazutoshi’s plea. He doesn’t know how to be what Kazutoshi deserves. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than tired.

Kazutoshi waits. The clock doesn’t. It drones on, a cacophony in a single sound, and Ken wants to break it. He wants the broken glass to bite into his hand and tear into his body. He wants it to just shut up already.

“Do you care?” Kazutoshi asks. 

Ken doesn’t have an answer for him.

Apathy syndrome: categorized by indifference and emotional detachment. Sources from traumatic experiences. General apathy may also be a symptom of other neurological conditions.

Ironically, he doesn’t remember as much about this topic as he used to.

Kazutoshi stands up, still holding Ken’s wrist next to his head. Every part of his body is tense, drawn taught and shaking with pressure. His silhouette almost blocks the light from behind him. 

Ken lets himself slump to the side as Kazutoshi pulls his arm up instead of forward, standing over Ken and casting a shadow over his face.

Ken can make out Kazutoshi’s features now. His eyes, which before Ken could only make out the burning red of, are narrowed and marred with exhaustion. Blood drips from a few stab wounds on his face, but the rest of the damage Ken knows should be there is covered by his sweater. Tracks of dried tears trace down his face. 

Kazutoshi slowly lowers his hand, never loosening his grip. Ken’s elbow folds immediately, his limp arm giving Kazutoshi no resistance. Kazutoshi pulls Ken’s wrist into his shadow. Ken can see that his jagged nails have broken skin, and Ken is softly bleeding too.

Kazutoshi watches him, quietly. It is a different kind of quiet than what they know. 

The clock is almost louder now.

In his free hand, Kazutoshi grabs the pen. He lifts it, discarding the cap with a flick of his fingers. He places it on the desk momentarily, using his left hand to wrap gently around Ken’s wrist, right below where his other hand is. Slowly, he releases his tight grip, shifting Ken’s hand to rest much more lightly in his left hand. His gentle touch hurts so much more than his cutting grasp.

With Ken’s hand in his grip, Kazutoshi reaches for the uncapped pen, bringing it to Ken’s wrist. 

He presses down, hard enough that droplets of blood grow atop the cuts from his nails. Slowly, strokes form under the pen, as Kazutoshi drags it across Ken’s wrist.

When he is finished, he examines his work. He shakes his head disapprovingly, as if unsatisfied, and uses his other hand to wipe at Ken’s wrist.

Ken’s blood mixes with cheap pen ink, smearing across his wrist and onto Kazutoshi’s hand. Whatever Kazutoshi wrote is ruined by blood and ink. 

Ken’s eyes lay listlessly on his bleeding, ink stained hand. Kazutoshi still holds it softly in his left, gazing at it with an unreadable expression. Then he lets it fall onto the desk. 

Ken is jolted by the sudden impact. He meets Kazutoshi’s eyes. 

They both look tired.

A single word falls out of his mouth.

“Kazutoshi.”

Kazutoshi’s eyes widen, then he shakes his head, a small smile not reaching anywhere near his eyes slipping through his face.

“Ken,” he whispers back. It is not a question, but Ken answers anyway, reaching for Kazutoshi. He expects to be stopped before he can make contact, but his hand meets Kazutoshi’s face. He hesitates, still waiting to be slapped away. His hand brushes lightly over Kazutoshi’s cheek. 

Kazutoshi stares at him unflinchingly. The Kazutoshi he knew would never have let him do this. The Kazutoshi he knew wouldn’t be doing any of this.

Ken reaches for the trail of dried tears. Instead, he makes contact with warm blood. Kazutoshi’s blood. 

A small trail of it has dripped down from the small wound under Kazutoshi’s right eye. It is achingly familiar to the touch. 

Kazutoshi brings his hand up to meet Ken’s, guiding it to smear the blood away, and then letting go, still staring at Ken with something unreadable. 

Ken drops his hand, staring at Kazutoshi, in his blood stained, sunlit, opalescent glory. 

“Ken,” Kazutoshi says again, a little bolder. A little more commanding.

He takes a breath, pushing his chair back and stepping between their perfectly aligned desks. He gazes around the room, looking at the rows of perfectly aligned desks. With a simple eye roll, he pushes his own desk out of place, destroying the perfect lines of the room. Ken stares at the broken pattern, eyes tracing lines that don’t make sense anymore. 

It feels freeing, untameable. It feels broken and wrong.

The yearbook falls to the ground, opening to a white page. At the top, bold text labels it as a page for signatures. 

Small scrawling handwriting drowns in the white of the page. 

I’ll see you later.

No name. No signature. No goodbye.

I’ll see you later.

Kazutoshi picks up the matchbox from his desk, eyes tracing over it. 

He lights a match, letting it burn in the air for a second, before throwing it away, casting it off to the side. 

As soon as the match hits the ground, it lights up the floor, racing up the walls and forming a perimeter around him and Ken. He smiles another strange, sad smile at Ken, backlit by the searing light of the windows and the angry, hungry, all consuming heat of the fire.

Fire needs three things, fuel, oxygen, and a source of ignition. Heat. Classroom floors made of linoleum don’t provide enough fuel for the fire on their own to keep it going. It would have to use gasoline to burn like that.

Why is it burning like that?

Ken stands up, suddenly able to move again. 

Kazutoshi looks up at him. Ken almost forgot how small he was.

“Kazutoshi,” he whispers.

“So you feel the fire, at least,” Kazutoshi notes, voice softer than Ken had ever heard it before. There was something almost provoking to it, in a way unlike the familiar teasing that Kazutoshi usually took up. 

Ken knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Kazutoshi wouldn’t do this. That this couldn’t be him. Even if aching familiarity was imbued in his every movement. Even if Ken could swear the burning warmth of him was exactly as he remembered.

“I… Kazutoshi,” Ken’s voice cracks like glass under the heat of Kazutoshi’s gaze. The clock ticks, and no way is it going at the right tempo. The fire traces up the walls and envelops them.

Ken notices now that the room doesn’t have a door.

Strange.

Kazutoshi lets the matchbox fall to the ground, and the matches spill out across the floor. He kicks a few out of his way, then reluctantly gazes up at Ken. 

“A– Are you… What is this?” Ken chokes out the question, Kazutoshi’s piercing eyes drawing out the barbed words that should come easily to him. 

Kazutoshi smirks. “That’s a change. The quiz guy himself, looking to me for answers, I mean.”

Ken’s breath catches in the familiarity of Kazutoshi’s easy tone. He doesn’t find it so strange. He was always looking to Kazutoshi, after all. Even if Kazutoshi didn’t see it. 

Kazutoshi shrugs. “Maybe you just need a button,” he muses. 

Ken has had enough of buttons lately. He doesn’t think he could bear to stand at a podium again. 

“I– I don’t have the answers. Not anymore.” The words slip out before Ken realizes. “There’s… god, Kazutoshi, there’s so much.”

Kazutoshi nods like he knows what Ken means. He sighs, hands slipping into his pockets. Ken wants to memorize this moment. The soft curve of Kazutoshi’s shoulders, the brilliance of his colors in the light, the light, thin strands of blue hair that frame his face. He really is beautiful.

“You were so close,” Kazutoshi says softly.

Ken nods. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Kazutoshi shakes his head. “I guess I did mean something, then.”

“Everything,” Ken chokes out. “Y– You meant… everything.”

Kazutoshi is silent for a few seconds.

He glances past Ken, at the fire ravaging the classroom. 

“Funny,” he notes. “I never took fire to be much of our thing.”

His eyes trace the room’s slowly burning form. Posters with unreadable text blacken and crumble to ash. The fire spread across the floor and two of the walls. Only the windows and the giant chalkboard at the front of the classroom remain untouched. That, and the middle of the classroom, where the two of them stood. 

“It really is clean, huh,” Kazutoshi muses. “I mean, I never had to work on a fire scene before. It kind of just… takes everything. If there’s anything left behind, it’s not exactly something that can be cleaned or salvaged.”

He locks eyes with Ken again.

“You know something about that, yeah?” Kazutoshi prompts. 

Ken doesn’t respond. Kazutoshi shrugs and continues. 

“I mean, you’re a facts guy. You know a lot. Maybe too much. There’s got to be some facts about fire in there.”

Kazutoshi leans in a little closer, gazing at Ken. 

“I… I can’t…” Ken tries to choke out something, anything, as his vision blurs. “I don’t know.”

The heat of the fire claws at his skin, and the cuts on his wrist have started to throb. 

“Right,” Kazutoshi says, almost disappointed. He moves back, and Ken chokes. It’s like he can’t breathe without Kazutoshi. Or maybe it’s just smoke inhalation. 

Kazutoshi picks up the pen from the desk again. He brings it up to Ken’s face, and a part of Ken expects Kazutoshi to drive it through his flesh, making Ken a mirror image of him, bloodied and marred. A part of him wants that.

Instead, Kazutoshi slips it through one layer of Ken’s bandages. He places his other hand against Ken’s chest, bracing him, then pulls at the bandage with the pen. 

Ken doesn’t stop him, but something in his face must cue Kazutoshi to his lack of understanding.

“I want to see your eyes,” Kazutoshi whispers.

He slowly pulls at the bandage, tightening the other loops around Ken’s head. Something about the pressure makes Ken lightheaded. Kazutoshi pulls a little harder, and the bandage unravels, falling away.

Ken wonders if maybe the strips of gauze were the only things holding him together.

Kazutoshi pulls the pen back. Ken’s bandages drape over it, and looking at it, Ken realizes that the outer lining has cracked from the pressure. A single fissure traces down the side of the pen, and ink flows out, staining Ken’s bandage a dark, not-quite-black tone. Dark ink spills onto Kazutoshi’s left hand as he looks up at Ken.

Somehow, Ken can see out of his right eye. His vision is blurry for a second, before it focuses. 

He stares at Kazutoshi. Sea glass and coquelicot make up heaven itself in front of him. He breathes a little easier, just for a second. 

Kazutoshi stares into Ken’s eyes in return, then unwraps the now more black than white bandages until he’s holding a long strip of stained gauze in his hand. He motions for Ken to lift his hand, and he does.

Kazutoshi gently wraps his wrist with the bandage, pressing hard enough to close the cuts and allow them to clot. The gauze eats up the excess blood on Ken’s wrist, ink and blood mixing in every place and consuming the white material.

Every language has different words for every color. Black and white are almost always the first two colors given a name to in every culture, with red shortly after, making black, white, and red the three most basic color terms. This is theorized to be because these colors make up the most contrast in color as humans perceive it, making it not only a cultural phenomenon but a biological one, although full research on this topic is mainly theory.

The fire is burning closer and closer. It fills the air, hammering into Ken’s skull like the ticking of the clock. The yearbook sits dangerously close to the flames.

I’ll see you later.

Kazutoshi seems to track Ken’s line of sight. He leans over to the book, picking it up and moving to sit on the edge of Ken’s desk, like they’re just classmates who stayed late to chat after class. Like the room isn’t burning around them.

Kazutoshi flips through the pages, looking unimpressed. Ken leans over to look.

“We’re not in here, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Kazutoshi says. Ken doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

The yearbook is full of pictures. Terribly familiar faces greet Ken on the pages. 

Isono. Sasaki. Chiba. Harada.

Tsuno.

Okazaki.

Ken wants to throw the yearbook into the fire, but he isn’t the one holding it. 

Okazaki’s face fills a page, in vibrant colors and bright hues. Ken can’t look too long before his vision turns red. He coughs, and wonders how long it will take to die from smoke inhalation.

Kazutoshi flips through the pages, looking bored. 

Hama and Watari. Hiroaki, Ojima, Tamba, Wada. 

Yanagi. Hayashi.

Kazutoshi pauses on another page of photos with some over-the-top, flaunting caption at the top that Ken can’t get himself to read. Kazutoshi points to a small picture in the left corner. Blue hair catches Ken’s eye, and he sees the two of them, blurred and out of focus, in the background of a photo.

“I mean, it’s better than nothing,” Kazutoshi mutters.

Ken stares at it. His eyes burn, maybe from the smoke. 

In all the pictures, is all proof they existed a blurred memory of someone else? 

I’ll see you later.

Kazutoshi finishes flipping through the yearbook, setting it back down on his desk. Ken hopes it burns. 

“I guess we didn’t mean that much, in the end,” Kazutoshi says.

Ken stares at the fire. They didn’t, did they? 

Even when the others shared memories of their dead peers, Kazutoshi’s name lingered like a taboo. Even to Ken. 

And now the two of them are here.

Choking on smoke, and burning to death in an empty classroom.

Background features.

“You meant something,” Ken hears himself say.

“Oh yeah?” Kazutoshi prompts, almost detached.

“Kazutoshi, you–” Ken chokes out. He cuts off. 

He doesn’t know how to tell Kazutoshi that he was so much more than something. That he was the air in Ken’s lungs, the blood in his veins. That in his absence, Ken became a negative. He no longer was. He became an amalgamation of everything he wasn’t.

“You were everything,” Ken repeats, unable to say anything more.

“But I wasn’t. Not while I was alive,” Kazutoshi says, crossing his arms.

Ken doesn’t know how to respond to that. He truly doesn’t know if there was a time where Kazutoshi wasn’t his only tie to life. He knows there must have been, but…

“What do you think I am? What did you turn me into, when I died?”

Ken can’t say anything to that. 

Kazutoshi’s red eyes cut into him.

“When did I become everything, Ken?”

When I became nothing.

The fire burns. The clock ticks. Ken breathes in smoke. 

“I don’t want to be everything,” Kazutoshi says.

“I– I know,” Ken stammers. “I’m sorry.”

Kazutoshi’s hands reach up, and he pulls his hoodie a little tighter around his neck. 

“I… I wasn’t an angel. I wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t your entire world.”

“I know,” Ken repeats.

Kazutoshi looks to Ken with something like a plea in his eyes.

“I… That scares me, Ken.”

“...It scares me too.”

Kazutoshi’s left hand is still covered in black ink. The wounds on his face have started to bleed again. The largest one leaves a trail of red down his face. It almost looks like a tear.

Ken reaches for him, wanting to wipe away the blood again, but he pauses. He doesn’t want to touch Kazutoshi. Kazutoshi wouldn’t want Ken to touch him. Even if this isn’t actually Kazutoshi.

“It’s okay,” Kazutoshi whispers, noticing Ken’s hand hovering like a hummingbird over his face.

Ken pauses, still unsure.

Kazutoshi’s ink stained hand rests on Ken’s wrist, and he can’t tell if the ink of his bandage soaks into Kazutoshi’s hand, or the other way around. Ken closes the distance, hand gently smearing the trail of blood off Kazutoshi’s face. 

Kazutoshi’s hand traces up Ken’s arm, drawing a trail of black ink along Ken’s white shirt. He pauses, then brings his hand to rest on Ken’s shoulder. Ken takes a step closer. 

Kazutoshi stares into his eyes, and Ken feels like he can breathe again, despite the claustrophobic fire ravaging the very air around them. Ken’s hand lingers next to Kazutoshi’s face.

“God… what happened to us?” Kazutoshi asks, letting out a dry laugh. Ken closes his eyes, content to burn with Kazutoshi, even for just a second.

Ken doesn’t know if he leans forward, or if Kazutoshi pulls him down, but in a moment, their lips collide. 

The burning classroom disappears, and all that is left is them. 

Kazutoshi’s lips move softly, but with warm urgency. Ken follows his motions, letting go of everything. He doesn’t think about what any of it means. He is only in the now, in the here, in Kazutoshi, as he finally breathes into what he should’ve done when they still had time. Kazutoshi feels warm, feels alive, and Ken lets his hand wrap around Kazutoshi’s head, gently intertwining his fingers with Kazutoshi’s cobalt hair. Ken feels his knees buckle under him, but he doesn’t dare pull away. 

The two of them kiss, slowly sinking to the ground in each other’s arms. 

Kazutoshi pulls away for air, not far enough to create any more distance between them. Ken only realizes then that both of them had slipped to their knees. The dropped matches lay scattered around and under them. Kazutoshi laughs into the gap between their faces, before kissing Ken again, pulling him even closer. Ken’s white shirt is stained with black and scarlet, and Kazutoshi’s beautiful face is marred with tears and blood from both of them like paint across his features. 

Ken pulls away from the kiss this time.

“I’m so sorry, Kazutoshi,” he whispers. 

Kazutoshi finds Ken’s left hand without turning away. His thin fingers pull Ken’s closer. Kazutoshi’s other hand shifts to wrap around Ken’s neck, soft but steady.

“It’s over now,” Kazutoshi replies, and it feels something like forgiveness.

Ken doesn’t know if he’s the one crying, or if maybe both of them are, but it doesn’t matter. The two of them fold into each other on the classroom floor. Ken can feel the fire burning closer and closer, and soon it is upon them.

Kazutoshi grabs for Ken’s stained shirt, and Ken pulls Kazutoshi into him, their bodies meeting flush, as fire and ink and blood and tears converge on the only thing that matters anymore. Even if it isn’t real.

As Ken’s vision goes black, his thoughts slow, for the first time that he can remember. He lets himself go as he holds Kazutoshi. 

It’s over now.

[fandoms1queen]

Into the Unknown

Chapter One

A Mafia! Bucky Barnes x reader installment

Warnings: Previous trauma, future NSFW, blood, mafia dealings

Chapter One

Ten years old….

The swing creaks as the wind blows and you watch as your brother toddles around the sandbox where your nanny sits with him. A quick glance over to the gazebo shows your dad still talking with Mr. Barnes and his son. 

He’s always been nice to you, Mr. Barnes that is. Just this morning he ruffled your hair when you curtsied for him and then snuck you a grape sucker. Your favorite. His son on the other hand, is the typical high school teeanger and just rolled his eyes. 

That's okay though. Soon they’ll be gone and maybe Dad will push you on the swings. Something he only ever does when no one from his work is around.

Your toes curl in the dirt beneath you and you keep working on the flower crown your nanny showed you how to make. Perhaps Dad will let you take it to Mom’s grave when dinner is finished. Or at the very least later this week.

“Isn’t that for children?”

James’ voice nags beside you and you look up at the teenage boy. He is the same age as your oldest brother if he would’ve been alive.

“I am a child genius.”

He rolls his eyes and sits down the swing beside you, watching your fingers braid the grass.

“Do you even know what they’re talking about?”

You look back at the two men and then shake your head.

“No.”

“They’re planning our wedding.”

You scrunch your nose in disgust and tilt your head to face him. He shrugs at your reaction and looks back at them.

“Thought you might as well know now so you can start writing y/n Barnes on everything.”

You throw the unfinished crown at his face and run into the house, your nanny screaming after you as you do.

Eighteen Years Old….

It doesn’t take a genius to know that something is going on. Your father stays shut in his study for days on end and visitors constantly stream in and out. 

You slowly climb down the stairs, listening as you go, making sure no one else is around. Old man Barnes arrived over an hour ago and voices have steadily raised. On silent feet, you stand in front of the doors and listen to the conversation.

“The terms were agreed on when we needed a symbolism of unity. We’re no longer in a war with Manhattan and for as much as I’m concerned my daughter should be allowed to choose who she marries.”

A long pause and then a heavy sigh follows.

“I’ve always admired your spunk Ralphie. None of my men would dare argue with me. Especially telling me to my face that my son isn;t good enough for their daughter.”

“That’s not…”

“Isn’t it though? Let me make myself clear. James will take over the business when I die. Either then or when your daughter turns twenty-one she will marry him. If this displeases you I suggest removing yourself from my existence. For if this doesn’t happen, I will cut off every one of your fingers and send them to the rest of your family in Italy. Capish?”

The conversation fades after a gunshot rings through the air and I slowly sink down onto the rug. I have to get out of here…tonight.

Twenty-One Years and 11 Months old…

The diner is packed. Everyone always thinks dinner rush is the worst, but no one ever thinks about Sunday breakfast. Smalltown Delaware is always hopping after church on Sunday morning. The elderly folk will come in at the ass crack of dawn and all the others, mainly families, will come in for brunch. No alcohol sales on Sunday either. 

You tuck a stray hair from your bun behind your ear and pull out your pencil and pad as you approach a family of four. The kids are screaming, father is fiddling with his tie, and mom is trying to nurse the baby. Even among the chaos they look happy. Something you haven’t felt thinking about your family likely since your childhood.

“Good morning, what can I get you?”

Even three years later, almost four, your Brooklyn accent is thick. Especially the further south you get in the US. The mom smiles and rattles off everyone’s order, including her husband’s. You nod, assure them you’ll put that in right away and head over to collect the tip from the first table this morning. A twenty, not bad. 

You swing around the counter and throw the tip in the glass mason jar with a post it note across it. You turn your attention back to the counter and smile at the red head in front of you. Her gaze burns into you and you slow down, unease creeping over you.

“Good morning, what can I get you?”

The corner of her mouth twitches and she looks around the diner.

“Seems like you’re busy today.”

Your smile returns and you look around. 

“Most are regulars. Are you just passing through?”

“Of a sorts. I’m looking for something.”

Not wanting to push the topic you nod and pull your notepad out.

“Just a black coffee will be fine…y/n.”

Your smile drops and you stare at the woman in front of you, feeling your face pale.

“I don’t know who that is.”

She tilts her head and gives you a feline smile. You see it now. The poise, grace, black leather jacket she wears. You should have known.

“Don’t play coy y/n. I’ll admit it took us a while to find you, but now he wants what is his.”

You ignore her and fake another smile.

“I’ll be right back with that coffee.”

You turn and slip through the kitchen swinging door. As soon as it closes behind you you start sprinting to the lockers in the back. You grab your purse and throw on your rain jacket that was greatly needed this morning. With the gray skies still looming, maybe you can sneak out the back door. 

You send a quick message to your manager, faking a family emergency, and fling the back door open to step out into the back alley. Directly into someone’s open arms. 

You yelp and try to fight out of their grasp, to no avail. You look up at their face and freeze. The smooth face and blue eyes of Steve Rogers stare back at you.

“Hey y/n.”

Your body loses the will to fight and you sigh, letting him hold you at arm length.

“Hey Steve.”

He looks you up and down and frowns. You know what he sees. An overworked waitress who can barely make ends meet, even as she lives above an elderly man’s garage. Rent being the hospice care you provide for him. A girl who skips two meals a day so she can keep paying for her burner phone to contact her brother. Why would someone give up everything to just struggle in the real world like this?

“Come on doll, he’s expecting you.”

A shiver wracks your body and it has nothing to do with the rainy weather this time.

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

The plane lands with a jolt onto the tarmac outside of the Teterboro Airport. The sun is setting and you unbuckle the seatbelt from the private jet Steve and Natasha dragged you on. Apparently Natasha is one of James’ new employees. While she has a great personality, it’s hard not to hold the circumstances against her. 

They lead you down the stairs as the flight attendants smile and wave at your departure. Surely they’re used to strange people being dragged back to Brooklyn.

You’re led to a large, black SUV and quickly ushered inside. You sit between them both and watch as the driver takes off from directly on the tarmac. The buildings begin to rise as you make your way out of Manhattan and to downtown Brooklyn. While the buildings have become more modernized, not much else seems to have changed.

Ever since the day you overheard James Senior talking and then shooting your father you’ve been on the run. A life in the business is no life at all. That evening you handed a burner phone to your brother, Marco, and never looked back.

Until now.

Will he be angry? Beat you into submission? 

You clasp your hands together and wait for the ride to end. Much to your dismay, it does moments later.

The SUV waits at a barricaded parking garage and begins to move again only as the barricade raises and the guard waves as the vehicle passes by. The car parks beside a row of similar SUVs and in the distance you can see a collection of both new and older models of collectable cars. 

Steve opens the door and holds it open as you unstick your thighs from the leather and slide out, making sure your small uniform skirt remains in place. Your hair is falling from its bun and you frown at your soaked sneakers. Of course they wouldn’t give you the decency to change. You’ll likely be kept in a dungeon anyways.

“Come on.”

You begrudgingly follow Steve and he pulls a key from his pocket and quickly inserts it into the elevator that you stop at. You all three step into the elevator and chemicals and bleach automatically sting your nose. Likely to clean up a previous blood spill. You frown in disappointment and stare ahead, body tingling in dread.

The elevator door dings and when they swish open Steve clears his throat.

“This is where we leave you doll.”

You sigh and turn to look at them.

“It was nice seeing you again and meeting you as well Natasha. I wish it was on better terms.”

They look between each other, but before they can respond you step out.

The door closes and you take in the living room. It’s clear you stand on the top floor of a penthouse. The layout is open. The entire wall is made of glass and the inner one is where the kitchen is held. A floating staircase leads up to a loft and a hallway is hidden behind the stairs, likely leading to guest rooms, studies, etc.

You have to give it to the Barnes family. They spare no expense on luxury. You slowly look around, making sure you remain alone and then walk over to the windows. The sun is barely on the horizon and the nightlights of Brooklyn’s skyline take your breath away. 

You wrap a hand around your throat and swallow around the burning need to scream or cry. At least you got to see your home one last time. If only you could have seen Marco. 

A rustling to your left causes you to look over and you meet the gaze of your soon to be husband or murderer. Unsure of which at the moment. 

He leans against the window and slowly takes a sip of bourbon from his glass, blue eyes burning into yours.

He’s….not what you remember.

His body has filled out from the tall, lanky high school kid you remember and now half of his face is obstructed with facial hair. His hair is short and he wears gray slacks with a black form fitted shirt, gold chain necklace visible on the dark color. Looks expensive.

He’s…quite handsome now.

He sits the glass down on an arm table and begins to walk closer to you. You will yourself to stand straighter and meet his gaze. You will not go down without a fight. His cologne burns your nostrils and you hold back a moan. He smells divine. Better than the old grease and syrup you likely smell of. 

He slowly raises a hand toward your face and you can’t help the flinch. A look of concern crosses his face and then he slowly cups your cheek.

“You’re as beautiful as the first time I laid eyes on you.”

Your breath leaves you and you frown in confusion. This is not what you were expecting. 

“You’ve changed Jame…”

“Bucky please. My bastard of a father was James. You’ve become a woman y/n…”

“Life will do that to ya,” you fake a smile and he drops his hand, looking you over as he takes a step back.

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up, fed, and then we can talk.”

Once again, words escape you and you let him gingerly take your hand and lead you up the stairs to the loft. This was not how you pictured meeting your betrothed almost four years later after running away.