#and sometimes that never changes. but sometimes it does

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Caleb's non-mc significant other. part3

Imagine the way Caleb stopped sleeping in beds. It was too soft. Too still. Too big. He found himself on floor, against the walls or sometimes on an old couch with springs that dug into his spine. He stopped drawing the curtains. He didn't want the dark anymore neither did he want the light either. He just wanted nothing. In the morning, if he could still call them that, he would sat on the kitchen floor with a cold cup of something he never finished. And sometimes he talked to no one in particular. Just words, soft and broken coming out of his mouth. "I'm sorry." He would say. "I'm so so sorry." Because that is all he had left now, words that didn't matter, and time he couldn't spend with you.

Imagine the way he became cold. Not cruel.. just quiet in a way that people get when they're trying not to fall apart. Caleb started turning his mirrors around. He didn't like what he saw. Not just the tired eyes or the cracked lips, or the weight loss. But the look in his face that said. 'I did this. I let this happen.' He barely spoke unless he had to. He only smiled when it made other people feel better. He kept your name locked behind his teeth because every time he said it out loud, it made you more real. More gone.

Imagine the apartment was gone. It was reduced into nothing but ash but in his mind, it was still full. Full of your scent, full of your laugh echoing down the hallway, your humming from the kitchen even though you thought he wasn't listening. In his mind, your sweater was still draped over the back of a chair. Your silly collections on top of the cabinet still lies in there. Everything was still there... in memory. But memory is cruel. It doesn't keep him warm.

Imagine he would stood where the front door used to be. He imagined you fumbling with your keys, holding your phone in the other hand. He imagined your tired smile after a long day. He imagined that final moment, the second before the blast. Alone. Scared. Thinking he had chosen someone else over you. The way he dropped on his knees on that sidewalk, screaming for your name like it would matter. Like you might hear it somehow. Like it would rewind the clock. But the world just kept going. Cars passed. People talked. A dog barked. And Caleb sat there in the rain. With the colorless world buzzing around him, trying to figure out how to keep breathing when the very reason for it had been turned to ash.

Imagine there was no funeral. Not one he could attend, anyway. He stood from a distance, dressed in clothes that no longer fit him the same. And when they lowered you into the ground, the only thing he could think was, You had died thinking he didn't choose you. And that thought became his prison.

Imagine the grief didn't sit quietly with Caleb. It screamed, it bled into every bit of his bones, carved into his muscles and made a home in his throat. People tried. Pips, MC tried. A few old friends. They sent messages, knocked on doors, left food, sat beside him without speaking. But none of it reached him. He wasn't there. Not anymore. He had gone down with the fire. Caleb wasn't angry at the people who did it, not really. It is just that it would require energy. Hope and maybe even vengeance. But all he had was this heavy, dead weight where his heart used to be. They said grief is a process. Not for him.

Imagine his grief was not a wound that was forgotten over and healed with time. His was a decision. A stone. Something he placed at the bottom of his soul and built his new life around. Grief wasn't leaving. It was him now.

Imagine years passed. Seasons changed. The world kept turning, as it always does. He went back to work, trained new recruits, took missions. He comes back, breathed and slept when he could. Ate, when he remembered. He functioned but he wasn't living. He moved like a man underwater, everything muffled, slow, cold. He visited your grave once a year. Same day, same hour, same flowers, same path. Every year he stood in front of your name and imagined what could have been. How you would have aged, how your voice might have changed, how many more hours he could have memorized your face if only he had stayed.

Imagine the way his hands do not shake in missions. He wasn't reckless, he doesn't want to die, not really. But he didn't care if he did. MC noticed. She didn't say anything for a long time, but she saw it in his face. The way he didn't duck as fast, the way his reflexes were dulled, like he was living underwater. Like pain didn't scare him anymore. Like consequences were someone else problem. And then one night he finally told her without warning.

"They died thinking I chose you." MC’s breath hitched. "They didn't know." He wanted to cry, really. But at the same time, he doesn't know how. "About the threat. I told them it was you… I didn’t explain. I didn’t stay. I thought I was saving them." He looked at his hands and flexed them like he couldn't remember how they were supposed to feel. "They died thinking I left them again." MC cried for him. And he didn't.

Imagine Caleb, he never fell in love again. He didn't even try. Women smiled. Men lingered. But Caleb never reached back. He never leaned in. He never looked too long. He did not have anything left to give. Everything that once lived inside him, the laughter, the gentleness, the clumsy warmth. All of it had been burned away. People asked him once in passing if he was seeing anyone.

"No." He replied. "I don't think I can love again." It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't sad. It was just true. You were it, you were the love story. The first chapter, the middle, the end. And now, there were no more pages to turn.

Imagine Caleb was never the same again. He stopped talking about you but you were in everything. The way he tied his boots. The songs he skipped. The movies he couldn't watch. The way he smiled politely at joy but never let it all the way in. He kept you close, but hidden like a secret he didn't want to heal from. And maybe that's how love lives, when the person is gone. Not in photos or keepsakes, or places but in the habits you never unlearn. In the pain you don't ask to be free from.

Imagine Caleb did not believe in happy endings anymore. He believed in you. In that movie night. In your trembling voice. In the way you held his hand even when it hurt. In your laugh when you were tired. In your humming in the kitchen. In the way you looked at him like he wasn't broken. That was what he carried. That, and the weight of everything unsaid. There was no healing for him. No sudden realization that life must go on. Caleb never truly returned. Because you were the return point. You were the home he was always trying to get back to. And the moment you were gone, the map disappeared.

Imagine he never moved on. He never wanted to. Because in the end, Caleb accepted that you would never come back and that he would never be whole again. But he also accepted that it was worth it. That loving you, even for a moment, had been enough even if it killed him slowly. Even if it burned everything else away. Even if he died with that love, quiet and buried and unspoken, still holding your name in the dark. Because you were the only one and he would carry you always. In grief. In silence. In peace.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: i never thought expanding my vocabulary after the grammar police would lead me quite poetic. So wtf.

: i finish this tonight, I'll have the rest of the boys queued so XD don't come after me. *peace out*

[ihavenoideahowtodream]

life lessons I've found applicable to 98% of people

- if they cant change it in 10 seconds dont mention it (their fly being down vs they havent showered in five days)

- assume ignorance before malice untill you have an obvious reason not to. Never expect to have a chance to assume malice because you likely wont get it.

- you are not aware of how upset you actually are till after you have had food, water, shower, and sleep.

- be specific about why you are upset. "you are creepy" does nothing. "i dont like how much you hug me" is a conversation starter that doesnt assign morality to those involved. usually this is the difference between gossip and confirming other people have the same negative feeling as you: usable action.

- When there is Big Shit use a predetermined structure to find your offence boundaries. I use baseball's 3 strikes cause its a game i know well. I give people 3 individual times to have a conversation with me about something specific before i begin considering pausing, leaving, or majorly adjusting the friendship. You will not use this very often. If you are, find away to change your emotional and physical scenery. thats how you determine if its just you or your environment.

- if i think the words, "these damn kids, these days" i am not allowed to say it out loud it untill i list minimum 3 things i did that made adults say that to me when I was younger. I've never made it past a second reason before I'm laughing about whatever those things were and sometimes texting the childhood friend who was with me to see how they are.

- Make yourself less miserable to start with by organizing your mental health: have a list of triggers to reference so you dont relive all them while trying to decide if you can watch a movie. find out the most miserable time of the day for you and plan as much nothing for that time that you can. if you dont like how you feel in a garment for more than an hour get rid of it. doing it with friends helps too: John hates being awake before 10 am. only call/text him before 10 if someone is coming into the world or leaving it.

- you have unconscious biases. it is physically impossible not to. Stop kicking yourself about them. Just treat it like a mental trick knee: double check why you are leaning negatively from the person/situation who fits your bias and if it still checks out keep going. The people around you have them too. thats fine. its only bad when a person intentionally acts on their bias. which is the fault of the person not the bias.

- no one remembers what is said in a moment but their body remembers how they felt. you wont say the right thing and neither will they but if y'all leave the situation happy you both will remember the moment as happy

- you never will get the emotional satisfaction you expect. For anything. Thats fine, no one else is either. The small everyday emotions will feel better anyway because they are the ones you get the most. I promise.

- the party is a marathon, not a sprint ✌️

i think one of the most important things you learn about making connections with others is that a significant portion of the time people just do not know theyre doing what theyre doing

[multific]

Echoes Between Us

Yelena Belova x Reader

Summary: After a mission goes wrong, you begin hearing her thoughts, only hers. You try to shut it out, to pretend it doesn’t hurt, but her unspoken guilt and longing start breaking down your walls.

It started on a rooftop.

The explosion had thrown you both backwards, you had hit the metal railing hard, and your temple cracked open.

You don’t remember much of the fall, only the cold echo of her voice screaming your name.

And then you woke up.

But something wasn’t right.

You could hear her. Not speaking but thinking.

Why wasn’t I faster?

If she dies, I swear I’ll burn every name on that list.

Please don’t make me lose her.

You thought you were hallucinating. Until you looked at her across the hospital room, and she hadn’t said a word aloud.

She was pacing, silent, brooding.

And yet you heard her whisper, I should have thrown myself in front of her. She’s too good for this. For me.

You didn’t tell her. Not at first.

You didn’t know how.

How do you tell someone you can hear every terrified beat of their heart, even when they refuse to say anything aloud?

So you kept quiet. You healed.

And every day, she visited. With food, or sarcasm, or flowers she never acknowledged buying.

And every day, her thoughts poured into you like water through cracked stone.

She’s going to leave. They always do.

Don’t fall asleep here, idiot. She’ll think it means something.

But it does. Doesn’t it?

It made your chest ache.

She never told you how much she cared. But her thoughts were screaming.

Weeks passed.

You got stronger. The bruises faded. But the voice never stopped.

Sometimes, you’d hear her in your head even before she knocked on your door.

Tell her she looks beautiful.

Don’t. She’ll laugh. She’ll think it’s a joke.

But she is. She’s everything.

You bit your tongue until it bled.

One night, she showed up later than usual. Her knuckles were bloodied. Her eyes were glassy.

“Trouble?” you asked.

She didn’t answer at first. Just stared at you for too long.

Then, in her thoughts, I want to crawl into her arms and stay there until this damn world forgets us.

You stepped forward, heart pounding. “Why don’t you ever tell me what you’re thinking?”

She blinked. “I do.”

“No,” you whispered, chest tight. “Not the things that matter.”

Her expression changed.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“I hear you,” you said softly. “Not just when you talk. I hear you.”

Her eyes darkened. “What?”

“Since that night on the roof. I hear your thoughts. Yours only. And I-I’ve tried to ignore it, but it’s constant. You never stop screaming in silence.”

The room filled with stillness.

She stepped back like you’d hit her. Her jaw clenched.

“That’s a violation. You shouldn’t be in my head.”

“I know,” you said quickly, “I know. I didn’t ask for this. But I can’t turn it off. And I’ve heard how you blame yourself. How much it hurts you to even think of loving someone. You carry so much and never say it. And I just-”

You hesitated for a moment. You took a deep breath. If you hear her thoughts, you must say yours.

“I love you. And I know you love me too. I’ve heard it a hundred times.”

Her breath hitched. For once, silence is inside your mind.

You took a step forward, slow. Careful. As if you were approaching a wounded animal, and it felt like that.

“You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

Still nothing.

Then, a whisper barely a thought.

Please say that again.

You touched her hand.

“I love you.”

Then came the storm. Her thoughts flooded all at once.

She means it.

No one has ever stayed. Not like this.

Maybe I can stop running.

Then, her voice out loud, thick with emotion.

“I’m so used to being alone. I didn’t think I deserved this. You. Any of it.”

You wrapped your arms around her gently.

“Then we’ll unlearn that together.”

She held you like a lifeline. Like the world had been quiet for too long and she was learning how to speak again.

Later, curled in your shared bed, her fingers traced lazy shapes on your back.

“You still hear me?” she murmured sleepily.

You nodded. “Always.”

She smiled, eyes soft. “Then listen to this...”

I’m in love with you. I’m not afraid anymore.

You kissed her shoulder. “Then don’t whisper next time. Tell me out loud.”

She rolled over and kissed you slow and full. “Alright. I love you.”

And this time, you didn’t need to hear it in her thoughts to believe it.

You already knew.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[syrecjh]

──★ ˙☕ ̟!!Name on the Cup

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x cafe worker reader, pure fluff

It starts with a hiss — the espresso machine sputtering to life as morning light spills through the fogged-up windows of the café. You’re barely caffeinated, hair half-tied, apron slightly stained with yesterday’s caramel drizzle, but you’re there — behind the counter, pen in hand, ready to face another slow sunrise of sleepy orders and mismatched playlists.

And then, he walks in.

Every day at exactly 7:42 a.m., like a controlled detonation. He pushes the door open like it offended him, brows knitted, jaw tight, black hoodie pulled up like he’s hiding from the world. Like he hates everyone in it — especially whoever made mornings mandatory.

His name? Katsuki Bakugo.

But you?

You call him whatever you damn well please.

“Caramel macchiato, extra shot, scalding hot,” he grits out, voice low, rough like gravel under boots. The kind of voice that sounds like it growls in dreams. He doesn’t look up, just slides a crumpled bill across the counter, waiting.

You take your sweet time writing his name. Slowly. Carefully.

“Katsucki.”

The first time you did it, it was an accident. Sort of. His glare nearly curdled the milk. But now, it’s a ritual. A game. A rebellion. You’ve called him everything from “Kacchan” to “Katspuke” to “King Boom.” The names change daily. His order never does.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he snapped once, gripping the cup like it had personally insulted him.

You only smiled. “What gave it away?”

He stared at you. Hard. Like he wanted to set something on fire — maybe you. Maybe your terrible Sharpie penmanship. But then he muttered, “Dumbass,” under his breath, and walked out with his cup steaming, ears red.

But the next day, he came back.

He always comes back.

The other baristas avoid him like he’s a bomb with a faulty timer, but you? You lean into it. You talk to him. About the weather. About the songs on the radio. About how the espresso machine makes weird noises when it's tired, and maybe he’s not so different.

And sometimes, sometimes, he answers.

One morning, he tells you he’s a pro hero. “Dynamight,” he says flatly, like it should mean something. You blink. Nod. Pretend you’re not impressed. But later, you Google him. And yeah, okay. He’s kind of a big deal.

But here?

He’s just the grumpy guy who insists on his coffee being hot enough to melt steel.

And somehow, you like him better that way.

Then comes the Thursday where it shifts.

You hand him his drink — “Blasty Boi” scrawled on the cup this time, extra hearts and a smiley face for good measure. He stares at it for a beat too long, then back at you.

And he says, very calmly: “If you spell my name wrong one more time, I’m blowing up your espresso machine.”

You grin. “You’d miss it too much.”

His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. Almost.

And then, just as he’s turning to leave — same way he always does, fast and sharp like he’s late for an explosion — he pauses.

Looks over his shoulder.

“...You gonna keep makin’ my coffee or what?”

You raise an eyebrow. “If you ask nicely.”

His eyes narrow. “Give me your number.”

You blink.

He scowls. “For, you know. Future orders. Or somethin’.”

You smirk. Write it down on the side of the cup, just under the heart-shaped foam art you never admit to doing on purpose.

He takes it. Doesn’t look back.

But the next day?

You get a text at 7:41 a.m.

\[Unknown Number]: don’t forget the extra shot dumbass

\[Unknown Number]: and spell my fuckin name right this time

And from then on, every cup still has a wrong name.

But now?

He drinks them with a smirk.

And he stays a little longer at the counter — just to watch you laugh.

[kuro-o-o-o]

My bank does call me sometimes (for example a while ago they needed me to confirm I was gonna bring in papers about a name change) BUT they NEVER EVER do buissness over the phone.

IF SOMETHING HAPPENS AND THEY CALL ME ABOUT IT THEY WILL ALWAYS ASK ME TO COME IN!

If you are not sure if your Bank is calling you and you also are not sure if you will find the correct number online GO IN and ASK THEM IN PERSON.

(also banks will usually have their number and email adresse on official paper work so if you check your documentation stuff you should also find the correct information)

My mom got phished in an EXTREMELY refined scam that pretty much anyone could fall for-- basically her account was already pre-hacked and they spoofed the bank's number exactly, called her pretending there was fraud, and read back legitimate and fake transactions and personal info so she wouldn't suspect they weren't the bank. Then discouraged her from logging in claiming the account was locked so they could investigate the fraud-- all so she wouldnt catch them making massive purchases using her stolen info.

We have the same boss and when she told him what happened he recommended she call the bank directly, so she did and they managed to catch it in time before $20k of transactions went through. Very scary

I guess the lesson here is never ever answer your phone, I love that fraud is so rampant an entire form of mass communication is now useless

ANYONE can fall for phishing scams- my mom is extremely smart and we discuss common scams that target her age demographic and she still fell for this. If it happened to me I may have fallen for it too. Always be careful!

[ridingreeves]

𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗑 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝖺𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－In this dark, luxe romance, you’re the sugar baby of John Wick—quiet, spoiled, and deeply protected. While the world knows him as a deadly legend, you know him as the man who runs your baths, buys you bags, and finds peace in your arms. You don’t ask questions about the blood on his hands or the enemies he leaves behind—you just wait for him to come home. And every time he does, he reminds you: in a world full of war, you’re the one thing he won’t lose.

𝖠／𝖭－𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗌💋

You didn’t ask too many questions.

That was rule number one.

John liked it that way—quiet peace, soft touches, and no need to explain why he came home at 3AM smelling like gunpowder and smoke, knuckles bruised, eyes tired but still locked on you like you were the only safe thing in his world.

He didn’t talk much, but the way he treated you? That said enough.

Gucci boxes on the bed. Black cards with your name on them. Silk sheets and warm baths he’d run for you after a long day—not yours, his. You didn’t work. You didn’t have to. His world was chaos. Yours was luxury, comfort, and him.

You curled up in his lap in the penthouse, wrapped in one of his oversized button-downs while he nursed a whiskey and ran his fingers through your hair. The lights were dim, the city skyline glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows like stars begging for your attention, but your eyes were only on him.

You didn’t ask what happened. You never did.

You just whispered, “You’re home,” and kissed the corner of his jaw.

His voice was low, gravelly. “You good?”

“Always,” you murmured. “With you, always.”

⸻

He wasn’t much for small talk, but when he loved, he did it loud in silence.

Like the time you offhandedly mentioned your favorite city, and a week later, there was a private jet waiting on the tarmac. You blinked at the pilot, then back at John, standing there in a tailored black suit, no tie, sunglasses tucked into his collar.

“You said you liked Florence,” was all he offered, his hand warm at the small of your back. “So we’re going.”

The trip was perfect. No security detail you could see, but you knew they were around. John’s eyes never stopped moving, even when he had one arm around your waist and the other holding a glass of wine. But he still gave you all his attention. Took you shopping down cobblestone streets, sat with you at outdoor cafés, took pictures of you when you weren’t looking, and pressed slow kisses to your shoulder at night, like you were something fragile he couldn’t afford to lose.

You started to realize that being his didn’t just come with luxury. It came with a kind of safety nothing else in this world could buy.

⸻

There were nights when he didn’t come home until dawn. You’d hear the lock turn just as the sky started to pinken, and by the time you sat up in bed, he was already inside—dark jacket slung over the arm of a chair, blood on his hands, sometimes a cut on his face. You never flinched.

You’d just reach for him wordlessly, and he’d climb into bed without even changing clothes. Just held you, arms wrapped around your waist, breathing against your shoulder like the war in his chest finally quieted.

“Go back to sleep,” he’d murmur. “I’m here now.”

And you would. Because he always came back.

⸻

The world knew him as a myth. A name you whispered when you wanted someone gone.

But you? You knew him as the man who bought you first editions of your favorite books just because he overheard you mention them. The man who watched you try on clothes in high-end boutiques and didn’t say a word until you walked out, only to tell the staff, “Wrap them all.”

You knew the man who pressed kisses to your hand before slipping it into his coat pocket when it was cold. The man who never smiled for anyone else—but gave you soft ones at midnight, just for existing in his arms.

⸻

One night, after dinner at the rooftop of a five-star hotel, you were sprawled across his chest in bed, your leg draped over his hip. You were quiet for a while, tracing the faded scars along his ribs.

“You ever get tired of it?” you asked softly, not even sure what “it” meant—his world, the weight he carried, the violence he wore like a second skin.

His fingers brushed through your hair slowly. “I do.”

You didn’t speak. You just let your lips press gently to the spot over his heart, and he let out the quietest sigh you’d ever heard.

“I stay for you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You make it worth coming home.”

That night, he didn’t leave. Didn’t disappear into the dark to fight whatever war waited for him.

He stayed.

Held you like you were the calm after every storm, like you were more than a pretty face with a soft voice. Like you were his reason.

And that’s when you realized… you weren’t just a sugar baby.

You were his peace.

His penance.

The one thing in this world John Wick wouldn’t let go.

@enchanthings

[wisteriaiswriting]

Survivors With Soldier!Reader

Words: 466

Request: This is a weird request, but can you do headcannons of the survivors from forsaken feelings towards Survivor reader who is basically the soldier from Team Fortress 2?

You scare Noob every single time you speak due to your yelling, they nearly drop their items while looking at you in shock.

Her feelings on you wanting to train with everyone is 50/50,  on one hand you have helped her become better during rounds. But you also push him further than he can go.

This also means they tend to last longer during rounds and have started surviving more due to your training.

That and you draw the killer's attention everytime whether or not you mean to save him. Half the time they watch you get absolutely annihilated.

She does become more desensitised as time passes but never completely used to you.

This man is not ready for your training and while trying to get out of it every time, he fails though. Always comes back from it being carried by you and sweating, he is dead for the rest of the day.

While he’s glad you have something to do to pass the time he does not want to be a part of it. More than willing to not engage with the others if it means you won’t drag him for training.

Likes to think your training helps him in rounds but then again he’s just kinda running around and doing generators, so not much changes.

So glad for your… personality. It lets him go through rounds mostly freely as you take the killer's attention from him and cause them so much trouble.

Honestly he loves training with you, he finally has someone that can properly keep up with him!

He’ll actually work out a training schedule with you, even teaching you how to use a sword while you teach him whatever you wanna teach him.

These sessions do actually help him, sometimes if he misses with his sword he’ll go for a punch. Only to get hit right back, then you would come in to try defend him, a bit late but you have the spirit.

He’ll find you in rounds to try tag team whichever killer it is, finds that you’re a lot more fun than Guest during rounds.

As much as you want to pull him into one of your training sessions, you don’t. Having done it once and it wasn’t pretty, so you have learnt your lesson there.

When you forget and try to get him to join he’ll just stare at you, and he has perfected ‘the stare.’ So he’s off your radar.

Sometimes, but rarely will he watch you do your thing. Whether it’s training sessions or your rushing around the area during the round, always mentally question your stupidity.

While you do keep the killer’s away from him and his machines, this also means he needs to find and drag you back to help you survive.

[slutsenpai]

omg I've been exploring through ur content lately and i really like the way u write can i request angst of bllk boys where their s/o died especially (itoshi brothers, karasu,chigiri,kaiser) and whatever u like

love your work 😭😭♥️

hiiii omg thank u :3 I’m not caught up in the manga so I don’t know much about michael, and I don’t remember much about karasu so I’ll write rin, sae, chigiri, and reo if that’s okay ! I like the idea of angst for reo because he has no chill lol. and full disclosure I don’t have much experience writing angst but I’ll try my best !

ブルーロック ⊹˚˖୧ without you ◞♡ itoshi sae, chigiri hyōma, itoshi rin, mikage reo

blue lock boys and how they deal with losing you

tw : death, angst, grief, substance abuse

— THOSE WHO MOVE ON.

⊹˚˖୧ sae

his personality doesn't change much at first, but he becomes even more cold and distant as the months go on. it starts to concern his friends, family, and teammates, but he refuses anyone's help for years until it starts to really impact his soccer career.

he becomes even more difficult for teams to work with. he's lucky that his soccer skill outweighs the impact of his professional relationships.

and not to get too sad but you asked for angst, so ... I feel like sae would be the most likely of these four to turn to substances after his s/o dies. he's too conceited to admit that he needs help, but he needs the distraction.

constantly goes through photos and videos of you, but usually stops when he gets to the point of tears.

alcoholism and being a world-class athlete don't really mix well, and it takes teammates, coaches, management, and therapy for him to recover.

he's overall just a bit more reckless now; he worries about his future mostly for the money, yeah, but he doesn't have anyone to take care of now, so he doesn't really give a fuck what happens to himself.

drinking, partying, lovers, some betting and gambling here and there.

sometime in his thirties, he eventually settles down with someone else but it's not the same, of course it's not. it's mostly just for public appearances and how fucking lonely he is, anything to fill that void. the emotions aren't as intense, the conversations aren't as meaningful, and the sex is nowhere near as good. it's just not you.

however, he realized that he needed to start getting his life together again. he still thinks about you daily, and the heartache never goes away completely.

sae visits your grave about every half year, and always on your birthday.

⊹˚˖୧ hyōma

he isolated himself at first but eventually opened up to his close friends. he took a lot of time off from professional soccer, the most out of the four on this list.

heartbroken would be an understatement. every aspect of his life just feels wrong without you. eating, sleeping, grocery shopping, attending events ... it all just feels off.

I’ll be honest, he cries a lot. he isn’t ashamed about it, though. he’s trying to work through his emotions and knows that he eventually needs to get help once he’s ready.

he starts to rely on his friends and goes to therapy, which he wasn't used to; but he knows that it's what you would want for him.

his friends and family don’t avoid talking about you and you’re not a “touchy subject.” chigiri encourages them to think about you and reminisce on all of the memories. you’ll always be a part of him.

he does end up dating someone new, but he really has to force himself. his mother and sister were so worried about him, and he's trying to move on to ease their concern.

still wears your wedding ring for almost two years. the new girlfriend is not happy about it, but when she brings it up, chigiri snaps.

“what, so insecure that you’re jealous over someone who's dead?”

it causes an argument, but he ends up putting it in the safe a few months later, mostly so people don’t assume he’s married to his current girl. she stays with him for the money, but he never proposes.

hyōma visits your grave every week at first, so he can talk to you and be alone. as he starts to heal, it's about every four months going forward.

— THOSE WHO CAN’T MOVE ON.

⊹˚˖୧ rin

he ends up being completely listless and closes himself off even more from people than he was already. he never stopped wearing his wedding ring.

rin is enough of a loner as is. when he finally found you, he knew that there could be no one else for him. it would be impossible for him to move on.

his family is worried about him, but he's always been this way, really. they're not going to push him to start another relationship.

he relies on soccer and working out to distract himself. constantly blaring music through his headphones so he can't think, working himself to exhaustion every single day. no breaks, no women.

being exhausted and always wanting to sleep usually backfires though, because he almost always dreams about you. usually nightmares because of how much he misses you, but he feels so relieved and content when he has a nice dream.

as the years go on, the nightmares subside and the good dreams are much more frequent.

rin visits your grave about every month or two, depending on how he's feeling and what his soccer schedule is like. always excited to share his achievements with you, and he can still imagine just what your voice sounded like and how proud you would be.

⊹˚˖୧ reo

losing you completely devastated his life. he moved in with nagi after it happened; you were the one thing that was more important to him than his best friend, and now you were gone. and nothing could undo it.

he kept all of your belongings at his house, except anything that your family wanted. he couldn't bring himself to get rid of anything. he brought some of your jewelry, books, perfumes, and plushies to nagi's place. reo's own home now sits cold and unlived.

I kinda feel like he would slut himself out in an attempt to ease his pain. he was lonely, vulnerable, and attractive. he would fuck friends, acquaintances, randoms — some of which he didn't even know their names.

reo still wore his wedding ring except on nights that he was looking for hookups. even when he did have it on, it's not like that stopped most people who were trying to get close to him for his money, anyway.

nagi would try his best to support reo, but they were both pretty awful at communicating their emotions. reo relied on nagi to a toxic extent, becoming even more possessive over his friend now that he didn't have you to care for.

on really bad nights, he'll cuddle up with nagi and cry into his chest for hours, even years after losing you. luckily reo doesn’t drink often, or these nights would be even worse.

reo visits your grave for most holidays or whenever he’s feeling lonely, always making sure that you have a fresh and pretty bouquet that reflects the seasons.

⟢ @slutsenpai ⟣ // masterlist // navigation

notes. thank u for the request, nonnie! I hope that u like it :) likes, reblogs & comments much appreciated!◞♡ do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my writing anywhere for any reason.

[elfchewtoy]

you seem to be under the impression that male privilege = perpetuating or being able to perpetuate misogyny. as you have mentioned yourself, cis women are also misogynistic. nobody here is saying that trans men can't be misogynistic. or even that they are "less likely" to be misogynistic than any other man due to some innate female essence (which would be transmisogynistic as well as transandrophobic). however, if women, cis and trans, are also capable of being misogynistic (often to other women who they have social power over - for example, mothers to their female children, white women to women of color, rich women to poor women, etc.), it doesn't make much sense to define male privilege as "being misogynistic." does everyone have male privilege? obviously not.

you are also tying manhood to having male privilege ("[saying trans men don't have male privilege] is just repackaged fucking 'you'll never be a real man'"), which i don't like. as you've said, men's access to male privilege waxes and wanes depending on circumstances and other factors like race. if manhood is irrevocably intertwined with having male privilege, white cishet gender-conforming upper-class able-bodied (and so on) men would be "The Most Man" on account of having the most access to male privilege - men of color, gay men, disabled men, etc., would be "less man." this is already how the patriarchy views men who do not live up to hegemonic masculinity. by equating manhood to male privilege you actually end up reinforcing the status quo.

this is not to say marginalized men do not have access to male privilege at all. especially comparative to similarly-stratified women, they can and do have privilege. i think this is true in the trans community as well. just because trans men do not have unconditional access to male privilege in wider cissexist society does not mean they don't have access to it within the queer and especially the trans community. (this also doesn't mean that trans women do have access to male privilege - i am not doing an oppositional sexism here.) it would be kind of stupid of me to say that if a white het etc. trans man and a white het etc. trans woman were having a messy breakup and both accusing each other of being abusive that they would definitely have equal support on both sides when people are conditioned to see trans women as predatory. within the trans community, given that a trans man's manhood is actually respected (which does not always occur), he does in fact have privilege over a similarly-stratified trans woman.

finally, i've noticed you are very focused on social benefits that trans men may receive when they are passing and being respected as men. those benefits do exist, to an extent - for example, within the trans community, or among cis people who believe he is also cis. these social benefits are actually not what i was even talking about in my original post. i was talking about rights - as in, legal rights. trans men simply do not have the same legal rights that cis men do. in fact, they lack many civil rights, period. in places where abortion is illegal, trans men who are able to get pregnant cannot terminate a pregnancy that occurs, whether as a result of consensual sex or (sometimes corrective) rape. in many us states now, trans boys can no longer access gender-affirming care that cis boys generally do not need. in many places worldwide, trans men must either undergo surgery or become psychiatrized (i.e., diagnosed with gender dysphoria) to even be considered legally male, if they are able to change their legal gender marker at all. other systemic injustices that cis men do not face also exist: trans men are paid 70 cents to a cishet man's dollar on average (which is lower than the average for even queer women - most of whom on the higher-earning end are probably cis), are sparsely represented even among the few transgender politicians that hold office in the us, and have exceptionally high rates of experiencing sexual assault (p. 205), among other things. you'll probably notice several of these sources indicate that trans women also experience these things or even "have it worse." this is because i have been comparing cis men and trans men, NOT trans men and trans women.

it does not surprise me that of the four opinion pieces you linked, all four authors are white. it does not surprise me that one of these authors states outright that he "hit the genetic jackpot" when it comes to physical changes from hrt, or that another says he passes as straight. another is a trans woman, and i will go out on a limb and say she has not experienced transitioning from female to male (which is, shockingly, a different experience than transitioning from male to female). you're cherry-picking the most privileged, most passing trans people and saying all trans men go through life like this. (by the way, i've read "trans male privilege" before - have you? he talks at length about how his trans masculinity is used to silence him in a way it never would be if he was cis. sure, he ends the article by saying he prefers the word "anti-transmasculinity" over "transandrophobia," but this is a semantic problem, not an ideological one. this kind of thing is exactly what people theorizing about transandrophobia have been saying for years at this point.)

anyway, since actual, honest-to-god MRAs found this post before you did and have tried to pick fights with me on it, i do feel comfortable saying people talking about transmasculine oppression are not "Mens' Rights Activists with a spash of cotton candy." are there bad actors within this discourse who act as if trans women play a significant role in trans men's systemic oppression? of course. there are bad actors all over the trans community who act as if trans men play a significant role in trans women's systemic oppression, or as if binary trans people play a significant role in nonbinary people's systemic oppression, or as if nondysphoric trans people play a significant role in dysphoric trans people's systemic oppression, etc. and there are trans people who are transphobic to individuals who are not "Trans Like They Are." this is not an issue unique to trans men. it's an issue rooted in sticking a bunch of hurt and marginalized and severely traumatized people in a community together before they've healed enough to recognize that lashing out at other people will not save them.

you do know "MRA" is a right-wing dogwhistle because cis men already have rights on the basis of their gender, right? you DO know trans men DON'T actually have rights on the basis of their gender, right? you DO know "TMRA" more closely echoes "TRA", a term used by actual, GENUINE TERFs to compare trans liberation to a right-wing misogynistic hate movement, RIGHT?

[ravenstargames]

What are the LIs like when they get their hearts broken by someone?

Someone woke up and chose angst! And it was not me!

✦ What are the LIs like when they get their hearts broken by someone?

✦ Amon: Surprisingly "mature" about it. Things happen, things don't work out sometimes. That doesn't mean he isn't sad—he's just too used to this kind of thing. He has survived a million heartbreaks; this one will be no different.

✦ Raeya: Tends to reflect a lot on what she could've done better, or where she may have failed. Chances are she does this obsessively and not in a useful way that helps her grow or learn, but more as a way to chastise herself. Tries to bury herself in work to avoid dealing with the pain.

✦ Gael: Devastated. Would not function for a few weeks. The one who externalizes his pain the most, emotionally speaking. Needs the longest to recover, but eventually does it healthily and learns a lot.

✦ Envy: Pretends it doesn't bother them that much, then channels his hurt as anger—ultimately they're deeply affected and can't deal with it. Would hide behind thoughts like "I should've seen it coming", "this always happens", "I can't trust anyone", and so on. Would inwardly blame the other person and harbor a lot of hatred and resentment to "protect" himself.

✦ Ara: From the outside she's the same as always, positive and cheerful, but on the inside her denial phase runs long. She just acts like nothing happened, literally. Like the other person never existed in the first place. Doesn't want to talk about it so don't even mention it to her, she'll get furious.

✦ Xal: Suffers quietly. Accepts it as something that sooner or later was going to happen. He doesn't question stuff or tries to actively heal, sadly. He'd be a little confused? He doesn't know. Too many different emotions he doesn't know how to process so he just...doesn't.

✦ Father Pride: A mix between Amon and Raeya. He knows things happen, life goes on, people change, love transforms and it can die. He knows this but can't quite grow to fully accept it so he enters a process of rumination that affects him for quite a while.

✦ Lázaro: Is pretty chill about it. "Recovers" the fastest but that doesn't mean their process is healthy lol. Stalks the other person frequently until they lose interest, kind of personally supervising their whole "detachment" process, if that makes sense. Kind of as a way to prove themself this isn't their end.

✦ Cécile: Yeah, no one is breaking his heart or breaking up with him. Someone he has confided in this much isn't just walking away from his life. Once you're with him, you're with him. Forever. And if you want out, there's only one way, and he has to be the one doing it.

[xxhexwolfxx]

Figured on behalf of the new OM game being developed, what would be the moment that any of the brothers look at reader and said to themselves: "Yep... I'm going to marry this person."

𝓞𝓫𝓮𝔂 𝓜𝓮 𝓗𝓒𝓼

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I’m sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoy! <3

DISCLAIMER: GN!Reader. No mentions of gender. Not proofread.

WARNINGS: None. Just pure fluff.

CHARACTERS: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, and Belphegor.

~~~~~~~~~~

Lucifer:

 Lucifer never thought about marriage even when he got with you. Usually he’s too busy or just too tired to even think about proposing. It wasn’t because he didn’t think he would never marry you, it was just because he was extremely tired. That all changed one day when he developed a sickness. Low fever but it was obviously affecting him greatly. You immediately noticed, forcing him back to bed. During the entire day you stayed with him, even when the others wanted your attention. Cuddles, soup, and lots of water was given to Lucifer. During one of your cuddling sessions, you were asleep as he was looking at you. He was silently appreciating you, even thinking about your guys’ future. Right at this moment does he think, “I’m going to marry this person.”. 

Mammon:

There have been many different times Mammon actually thought about marriage. Usually, it ends with him just being so flustered he can’t look at you. There was this one particular day that really made it known Mammon wanted to marry you. Mammon got caught trying to scheme to make money, you weren’t part of it, but you were part of the punishment. Lucifer, who had enough of Mammon’s shit, decided to actually punish Mammon. There was taking his card away which Mammon was used to, but he didn’t expect being told that he couldn’t see you for an entire week. It was really hard on him, wanting to just be with you anytime he could. One night when he was laying alone in his bed, he heard his door open, and someone walk in. Thinking it was Lucifer checking on him, he turns around but is met with you. At first, he freaked out, thinking you could get in trouble before calming down when you joined him on the bed. After hours and hours of talking and giggling quietly with each other, you fell asleep. Mammon was already thinking of what ring he would get you.

Leviathan:

Levi never really thought about marrying you. Not because he didn’t want to marry you, no he really would love to call you, his spouse. It was because of his intense self-hatred. He would think of how you would leave him at the altar or maybe even someone would object, and you’d leave. Of course, you really wouldn’t but his anxiety got the best of him sometimes. One day his anxiety was the worst that it has been in a long time. Intrusive thoughts wracked his brain about how you didn’t actually love him and how you probably just spend time with him because you feel bad. After just an hour of him hiding away in his tub, his door opens with a soft voice asking if he was okay. He didn’t even look at you, which shows how bad he was today. You did what you knew would help him. You went inside his room and just laid down in the tub with him. It was quiet but it seemed like it was helping Levi a lot. After about a minute a soft thank you came from him as he looked at you and finally calmed down. During this moment he knew he was going to marry you, his anxiety be damned. 

Asmodeus:

Asmo knew from the start that you guys would get married. Compared to the others, he would let it be known. He adores you and you adore him so it’s natural he would be thinking of marriage. The thing that really pushed him into thinking about marriage was the day he was utterly and unfortunately upset. A famous magazine had canceled on him, telling Asmo they found a better option. It was unprofessional and quite frankly rude of them in Asmo’s mind. He moped and posted about it everywhere on social media. His fans defended Asmo but he still was upset. Until you came along. You saw his posts and knew a self-care night was in order. After some skin care and a pedicure, you decided to run a hot bath for the two of you. It was full of bubbles and some nice smelling candles were lit on the sides. As you two sat there with each other, talking just about anything. He couldn’t help but think about how beautiful you would be at the altar with him. 

Satan:

Satan sometimes, if very rarely thought of marriage. He would rather just spend time in the moment, and if the time comes then it comes. Satan prefers spending time with you when he can instead of thinking about what could happen in the future. Sometimes he does think about it though, especially when you do something like you did one day. He was hanging around the area that typically has the most cats. This time he noticed one of them didn’t look right and was limping. So he did what any cat lover would do. He brought it home and snuck it to your room. Satan couldn’t bring it to his room since Lucifer would immediately know. As you two took care of the little thing, he couldn’t help but think about your guys’ future. This is what he would want. You as his spouse while taking care of all the cats you’d adopted. Maybe after you two put the cat somewhere it can be comfortable did, he start looking for rings. 

Beelzebub:

Beel knew he would marry you when you cooked him a full spread dinner one night when he was suffering with thoughts of Lilith. It was just a given, especially with how you sat with him after in silence. There was another day that really pushed him into thinking of how the wedding would be. One night when Belphie was sleeping elsewhere, he couldn’t sleep. His mind was just full of Lilith. At first, he thought of going to see you, but he decided he couldn’t bother you when you looked so tired today. As he was about to turn onto his side to try and sleep, his door opened up and your soft voice filled the room about how Belphie got you because he felt Beel having a nightmare. At first, he was going to say he was fine, but the words couldn’t come out. Before he could even stop it, sobs escaped him. Immediately you wrapped your arms around him as he clung desperately to you. After what felt like hours, he finally calmed down. As you were gently talking to him and running your hand through his hair, he finally felt safe enough to sleep. Before he fully fell into his deep slumber, he thought of how he definitely was going to marry you. 

Belphegor:

Belphegor liked to tease you with talk of marriage. Telling you how amazing the wedding would be but of course you just thought he was joking. At first, he thought so too until one day. He was taking a nap or at least trying to. Although he controlled most people’s dreams it seemed like he couldn’t control his today. Constant nightmares plagued his sleep. He couldn’t even remember what they were, they just caused him to jerk awake, unable to calm down for a little bit. Then you walked in. It was like you got a sixth sense about this as you immediately just laid down with him, holding him close. As he tried to tease, you just shushed him and told him to sleep. Surprisingly, he listened today. He was exhausted just by existing so all it took was you running your hand through his hair for him to sleep. Before it happened though, he opened his eyes to look at you once more. When your eyes met did, he finally know he really wanted to marry you.

[omgfangirlland]

How do you think it would go if let's say.. Before joker became a joker.. He had a wife and that wife is reader. She was always there for joker until joker just ghosted her or something when he started to go crazy. Later on, reader meets Bruce and they somehow fall in love (reader has that Mary Sue rizz).

-🔱

Sorry I haven't posted a drabble in a hot minute-

Fallout 3 is an addictive thing, and I should have known better than to believe the father would stay alive, considering I finished Fallout 4 a year ago...

ANYWAY- bit of timeline shenanigans cuz I'm like 90% sure Jack falling into the vat of acid happened long before Dick Grayson, but for my plot it's during-

CW: yandere/stalker bruce

You knew something was wrong as soon as Jack didn't come home. Sure, sometimes he'd be late, but you'd always wake up with the man suffocating you with the clingy way he'd wrap his arms around you, holding you so tight- like he was afraid to lose you.

That was eight years ago. One year ago, Jack Nappier was declared dead, and you were left a widow with an empty grave to mourn over. The police, eight years ago, didn't even want to believe you, just brushed it off as the man being drunk in a ditch- not unlike the other married men in Park Row.

But you knew your Jack. So you fought on it, you fought until someone would listen, and Gordon did- promised you up and down that he'll do everything to find your husband- and then, a month in, he... changed. The man looked guilty as he told you he didn't have any updates, and before you could ask anything further, he scurried away.

You never trusted the police, no one living in Crime Alley does. Gordon was the nail in the coffin that sealed that belief forever.

They would have declared him dead on day one if they could have, but they had to wait seven years, and with those seven years up, the papers were drawn and signed, and Gordon paid for the funeral before anyone else could, before Bruce could.

You hated it.

And your Jack would have hated it too. He wanted to be cremated, his ashes to be turned into "one of them fake sparkly stones" so you could always have a piece of him.

You had to move on with your life, whether Jack left you and ran away with someone else or is actually dead, both were painful options. You got your degree one year after his disappearance and started teaching a few months later.

You... don't know what possessed you to do this- to jump from your window, on the fucking Batman of all people, just so Jason, a kid you've known since he was five, could run away before the bat started swinging.

Yeah, it didn't work out the way you hoped.

"You jumped out from the third-"

"Second."

Batman's eye twitches as he takes in a breath, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as you sit where he plopped you, the hood of the batmobile. "-Second. Floor, on my back, just because you thought I would hit a child?" Bruce ignored how Jason kept swinging the tire iron at his padded knee.

"... Yeah..." You shrugged. Jason gave up after two more swings, huffing and whining with exhaustion. "What even are you?!"

"Is he your kid?"

While the question made you stumble over your words, Jason was quick to yell a yes- and he wasn't lying in his mind, you were more of a mother than his ever was. "Don't you dare touch her- you- you- big b-"

As Jason tried to swing again, this time aiming for the bat's balls, Bruce was quick in grabbing the tire iron from the boy. "Aww..." Jason pouted.

Bruce knew the boy wasn't your son. He knew, because for eight years or so, he's been your shadow, not your stalker, shadow. There was a difference- he was protecting you, making up for what he's done to your ex-husband.

He may have slipped a few times, loomed too close, slipped into your room as you slept- just to make sure you're still breathing! And, well, if he took a thing or two, he always returned them- he tried to, anyway.

This was fine- not the part of you jumping so recklessly out of a window- but the opportunity of actually talking to you. It wasn't for long, but he was willing to play the long game.

It was fruitful, slow, but it got him what he wanted.

It started with Jason, initially he wanted to just send the boy to a troubled youth school, but seeing how close he was to you, and how dedicated he was, Bruce may have manipulated him a bit.

"You do want to keep her safe, right? You can't do that without training."

Jason was the one who took it as him being the next Robin, and Bruce didn't correct him, and when the time came, he sure as hell didn't stop him from modifying the costume to his liking. The boy deserves it after helping Bruce so much with you.

"Batman's really nice, could be a really cool boyfriend-"

It was childish, but you couldn't help but smile at Jason trying to play matchmaker. You knew he was the new Robin, it was hard not to when the first thing he did was crawl like a wet cat through your window to proudly show his costume off while acting like he didn't know you.

Granted, it worked.

Bruce first kissed you while he was bleeding on your couch, Jason napping away on your bed, that's also when you found out who Batman was.

"I want you to know. I want you to be in my life, every side of it."

He had whispered, and you just kissed him again. The next day, Bruce Wayne took you out on a date, by next week every tabloid had you two on the front page, and by next year, you were living in the Manor, nagging Dick and Jason to not leave everything to Alfred, and helping him every night with soft kisses and softer hands.

He wasn't scared you'd find out. He made sure you wouldn't. But if you did, that would be okay. Bruce won't let you go, no matter how hard you fight.

When Joker came back after being missing for two years, creating a ruckus left and right, Bruce made sure to play his cards right- first, the soft, off-hand comment that you should just stay home, work remotely, or just not at all. The chains were placed.

Then, bringing a worried Richard into it. "I just don't want to lose you like- like-" And the tearful face of Dick locked the chains. But what tightened them was Jason's whispered plea. "Please, ma, any one of our enemies could snatch you on the way home- I don't want to see you hurt like that."

But Bruce should have been more focused on Joker. He let him slip through the cracks, led the clown right to you with every loving outing, with every tabloid picture.

Jack won't have it. You were his before- you'll love him as Joker too.

[mrsugden-dinglefirst]

John’s hero complex with Aaron

I feel there is going to be a development in Aaron and John’s relationship in terms of how he treats Aaron and why Aaron seems to be acting ‘out of character’.

John has a hero complex, there is no way the show is going to tell that story and not show how it affects a relationship. Someone with a hero complex may overextend themselves to help their partner and instead of creating an equal partnership, they create a parent-child dynamic. This can lead to the “hero” feeling unappreciated, burnt out, and resentful, while the partner may feel infantilized or suffocated, we’ve seen Aaron being driven to guilt because John gets insecure and often blames Aaron for it.

The hero/savior dynamic can create a power imbalance where one partner takes on a parental role, which is not conducive to a healthy romantic relationship. John seems to do that a lot with Aaron, telling him to ‘go home’ or to ‘shut up’ or telling him to ‘calm down’, it’s John taking control and giving Aaron orders and Aaron accepts it. This plays a part in control, and we’ve heard John say that he loves control, needing to feel in control.

The “hero” might feel responsible for solving their partner's problems or making them happy, which can lead to them neglecting their own needs and well-being. We know that John immedietly took control of the situation with Anthony right after Aaron told him about it as he thought he was helping/saving Aaron. He also feels like he can and is making Aaron happy by being with him.

A hero complex can stem from underlying trust issues, leading to difficulty trusting others' abilities or intentions. This shows with John’s obsession with Robert and trust issues he feels between Aaron and Robert and Aaron constantly having to reassure him. They also make their partner feel they have to be dependant on them. This is made known all those times where John has said “Aaron knows he’s always got me” “I make him happy” etc. This also counts for the “hero” needing to feel need/wanted by their partner. This is a big dynamic with John and Aaron.

If I’m correct, John feels like Aaron ‘owes’ him. For helping him hide Anthony’s body and for saving Aaron’s life that one time. But we’ve actively seen that possessiveness when John tells Aaron that he’s ‘never letting him go’, he also told Robert that he knows every inch of Aaron ‘what he enjoys, thinks, feels, who he likes and who he dislikes’ which Robert called creepy, because…it is.

I think overtime Aaron has grown to learn to stay quiet to keep John calm and not so angry. The first time we ever saw John lose it with Aaron was outside the pub when they were arguing over a car because of Anthony and John made Aaron jump when he shouted at him to shut up and proceeded to tell Aaron to ‘get a grip’ which can come across as belittling or dismissive. Something else people with a saviour complex sometimes tends to do, that’s an example of narcissistic abuse. Aaron sits quietly and acts like he just agrees with John to keep him happy. The difference in example is when in November 2024, Aaron defended Robert when John badmouthed him, this was before the Anthony stuff started. In tonights episode he stays quiet when John does it again. When John told Aaron to ‘go home’ when Aaron mentions Robert in the shop, Aaron just does it. No arguement, no pushback, he just says ‘okay, fine, alright’ and leaves (it reminded me of a teenager being told off). When Aaron felt amused by Robert being back yesterday, he looked to see if John was looking and immediatly changed his expression like he’s scared to know how he’ll react if he had caught him smiling at Robert. Aaron tiptoes over John’s feelings quite a lot which his over reassurences and excuses to keep John feeling happy and satisfied.

John knowing where Anthony’s body is definitely gives him control over Aaron and I believe he has used that before in the past.

It’s worth the reminded that John HAS in fact harmed a partner in the past and he claimed that he loved his partner more than (Aiden) ever did. Which may play out similar with Aaron loving Robert.

[telepathicblues]

i'm sorry if my opinion is uncalled-for here, but i'd like to leave my two cents on this

a big thing i've noticed in online spaces is a tendency for the extremes: it's either you have not done and can not do anything wrong ever or you're the shit that can't even fertilize a field. it's a horrible phenomenon because it does two things:

it puts immense pressure on everyone, especially other marginalized groups, to never fail at any point and any action that isn't ideal automatically becomes fuel to validate the idea that they're a bad person. there's a tendency for bias that further fuels this. it's especially bad with other marginalized groups, cause people are most definitely going to label you a traitor.

when you do get labeled as bad, because it WILL happen (nobody can be good and correct all the time), people automatically will harass and attack you, and it's practically impossible to clear yourself of that label because it seems like there's been a loss of the belief that people can change and learn. it's a mentality that drives people away: why become a better person if you'll always be a bad person in their eyes regardless, right?

you cannot expect people to remain the same forever, change is inevitable, the question is whether it's for better or for worse. unfortunately, i myself tend to fall into this idea that people are unchangeable sometimes too, it is something i have to keep myself in check for because i know it's counterproductive. this sort of mentality is divisive and that's EXACTLY what the people that actively and intentionally want to hurt us want, if we're infighting instead of fighting them, it's easier for them to make us suffer.

people have started to expect their peers to be saints, as opposed to human, and that is a tragedy.

I haaaate how people love to spew how im a nazi, or ex nazi because I made a post long ago about how my mentally ill father abused the shit out of me and how that left an imprint on me, I talked about having to unlearn my self hatred and the severe queerphobia and transphobia i experienced that made me very self loathing in my identity and how that bounced off just me feeling that to project onto other queer people, I did call my father a nazi, he did spew nazi shit to me during my childhood.

There are games in which the tragic faith of nazi officers were, how they felt really bad killing all those people like battlefield v and people are willing and/or don't even pay attention to that kind of blatant nazi propaganda, but a Trans woman talked once about her experience with being a victim of a hate crime and how that made her loathe herself? That's the real enemy.

"This is what we as American leftists will dedicate our lives to, harassing a polish woman for being white and a nazi, and calling her a "aryan klansfem" and harassing her black boyfriend as a nazi, kkk supporter because we are very smart, and not at all reactionary liberals wearing Trans ally flag to get all the glory of being progressive, stomping on the people we claim to protect."

Y'all are dissapointing and nothing more than blue Maga.

[biscuitblinkeu]

Perhaps a Drink?

Fae!jennie x Fem!vampire!reader > Very close to being NSFW? > Fluff/minor miscommunication

Word Count: 2289

A/N: Your stupid, unreliable author posting with no heads up- Woah! ANYWHO, I wrote this on a whim after reading a few pages of "The Cruel Prince." I have also been awake for 20 hours. Was thinking about a series- WHO SAID THAT?! - but I'm so lazy I might not finish it like the other 3-5 series I have on here :'-) So this is hypothetically like a chapter in this middle of a series but stands on its own as a oneshot?? Also your comments give me life, please tell me if this was cringe. I physically recoiled while writing some parts. But one must do so if they like fantasy/mythological beings. ALSO Jennie does not have horns-- wings are similar to a raven's-- not that tinker bell sh!t

Summary: Jennie gives reader a taste.

Jennie’s heart sank, a dull thud that echoed louder than the chatter around her.

It had been the locker room of all places— too cramped, too exposed, the walls too thin to shield her from what she wasn’t meant to hear.

“Y/n’s a vampire? What?”

Her hands trembled as she peeled off her jacket, each word burrowing deeper beneath her skin.

“I couldn’t believe it myself really.”

“She reacted badly to the Yuart powder… I heard it made her lose her senses and she almost bit a classmate.”

Jennie’s chest tightened. Yuart powder— faerie warding dust— was known to send vampires into frenzied disarray, stripping them of control, of reason. It exposed the hunger most of them tried to chain down. The hunger Jennie’s people had bled beneath for centuries.

Her heartbeat thudded in her throat, her fists curling so tightly the locker creaked beneath her grip.

“That sounds terrifying. Surrounded by humans and fae? What if she tried to tear someone’s wings off—”

The metallic crash of Jennie’s locker door rattled through the room, silencing the gossipers with a sharp sting of finality.

They scattered, their nervous giggles trailing behind them as Jennie stormed out into the field, her pulse roaring in her ears.

———-

Her feet pounded the earth, but her mind spun faster, chasing itself in circles she couldn't escape.

Vampire?

Her girlfriend? A vampire?

The words tasted wrong. Like ash. Like betrayal. Vampires. The same race that used to tear faerie wings from living bodies just to sip at their blood like fine wine. The same monsters who had worn her ancestors’ wings on their shoulders like trophies— fashionable, grotesque reminders of the wars they'd waged and the lives they’d stolen.

Her uncle. Her cousin. Her mother’s childhood friend.

Gone. Reduced to nothing but stories and missing pieces.

Even now, (though the High Courts forbade it,) faerie wings still found their way to black markets. Faerie blood still whispered promises of immortality and cure-alls. The laws had changed. The appetites had not.

And you— you’re one of them?

It simply wasn’t true. You were human. (Weren’t you?)

Jennie’s breath came hard and uneven as she crossed the field, her wings twitching uncontrollably behind her.

Humans, she’d understood. 

Humans mediated, softened the jagged edges between fae and vampire societies after the Great War. They were neutral. Convenient. Sometimes fodder, yes— but often bridges, peacemakers. It was easier to love a human. Faeries loved to play with humans, to trick them, to dance just out of reach. They were entertaining, and their companionship came naturally.

Vampires? Vampires took.

They always had.

Jennie had spent her entire life believing she would never— could never— love one.

What was she supposed to do with this?

If it’s true, how is she supposed to hold you and hate you at the same time?

———-

Shivers wracked your body and sweat beaded at your temple. It was hard to decide if you wanted to be under your comforter or not, really. Every so often you’d writhe, switch on your side, as a pained moan left your lips. The root of the cause came from your stomach, an unbearable ache that grew each passing moment. It was hunger that gnawed at your sanity, a beast with sharp claws that threatened to take control of you. 

How you had gotten into this mess was beyond you. You always played it safe. Perhaps it was time your luck ran out…

You laid there for another hour, gnawing on your lip, biting your fist— doing anything to soothe the ache behind your teeth. It was only when you began to fall asleep that the door opened. The cover over your head was torn away a moment later.

Jennie.

Narrowed jet met your droopy eyes, and you flinched at their intensity. Like a black pool, you could see your reflection if you got close enough, as well as feel the simmering anger radiating off of your girlfriend.

After a few seconds they slightly softened, a portion of the inky abyss giving away to a more humanoid appearance. Jennie blinked at you slowly, as if she was just noticing the state you were in. “You… what is this?” 

You sat up, your body protesting with the motion. A throb began to build before your eyelids, and you bit your lip hard to distract yourself. “Something I can sleep off.” Possibly. That would be in your best hopes.

As if your irritable tone had snapped something in her, reminded her, she quickly straddled your legs, a hand thrusting forward to where her fingers pried your lips apart. 

You had gone completely still, not even the poison running through your veins could prompt you to move a muscle. Her index finger pushed up your top lip, her thumb rested on the bottom, and her middle finger was directly under a particularly sharp tooth— one of a pair. A problem.

You could see the way her eyes narrowed into slits, the slight curl of the corner of her lip, like she couldn’t believe it. Before she realized what she was doing, she had prodded and poked and ran a finger down the fang out of morbid curiosity, and a cut had appeared a second after, deep and welling with blood.

The fae frowned slightly, she had never bled before. Her blood wasn’t the deep red color of a humans, but of a pale pink, like rose petals steeped in water for a long period of time.  

Jennie’s eyes shifted back to your face. Behind your weary statue was raw panic— if the utter cease of your breathing and widened eyes was anything to go off. She wondered if it was the smell of faerie blood, or the fact any moment a drop could land on your tongue and shatter whatever fragile constraint you clung too, that did it. Either way… “You lied to me,” Jennie stated with furrowed brows. Rarely did she ever accuse anyone of such a thing, assured they would never. She’s placed her trust in you, her confidant, her lover— where was your loyalty?

It was common knowledge faeries couldn’t lie or speak falsely. To pick apart truth from lie, she relied heavily on words and tone. Jennie had assumed you would speak only the truth… but you weren’t a faerie. And clearly not a human either. 

Oh, Jennie wanted to weep.

All this time, Jennie brushed off your oddities. She never questioned why you were completely immune to faerie spells and charms, presuming you were taught to slather crushed Rowan berries over your eyes or carry salt (which was not as effective). Never questioned why you didn’t get along with either of the races at the academy, preferring to mind your own. Why you became overtly squeamish in the proximity of open wounds or on certain celestial days of the year, disappearing to who knows where. 

It was the little things she took for granted.

Lost in her thoughts, self pity, and grief, she flinched at the scalding, slick tongue gliding and lapping at her wound. 

She would describe it like a starving young Wendigo, but not anywhere near as unsightly. 

Your eyes were heavy-lidded, sometimes slipping closed, sometimes gazing directly into her own. The emotion in them flickered between a ravenous desire and fleeting guilt. Brows pinched together in a desperate furrow, as if torn between restraint and indulgence, but your parted lips betrayed you. 

Your breathing was shallow, ragged, each swallow coaxed by the pulse above your tongue. Fingers tightened possessively around her wrist, your nails dimpling her skin, like you couldn’t bear the thought of her pulling away, even when you seemed so desperate for her to do so earlier.

The sight had the instantaneous effect of heating her body a few degrees and encouraging a blush on her face. When her hand was freed, she noticed the wound had closed up without a scar. 

Your eyes were foggy when you met hers, laden with a hunger barely laying dormant. “I didn’t mean to lie, Jennie. I was afraid,” you murmured. Afraid of her rejection. Afraid of that familiar flinch when faeries realized just what you were. 

“Afraid?” She echoed, more to herself than you. Jennie believed she was good at reading you. Seeing you vulnerable like this made her question herself, however.

Jennie sighed, her tense shoulders slowly easing as her wings drooped behind her— drooping just enough to brush the tips against the back of her calves, trembling with the ghost of adrenaline that hadn’t quite settled.

She loved you.

She still loved you.

She lifted a hand to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing beneath your lip, tender, steady. “I’ll forgive you,” she murmured, but her voice was threaded with affection, not anger. “But if you lie about something like this again….”

Your breath hitched, panic still clinging to the edges of your ribs. “Jennie, I—”

“I don’t care,” she whispered, leaning in, her wings giving a tiny, hopeful flutter. “You’re still you. You’ve always been you.”

You tried to back away, but she followed, stubborn. Always stubborn.

And when she finally kissed you, slow and careful, you felt the old fear surge up— the fear you’d carried from the very beginning.

Your fangs were always so close. You’d imagined it a thousand times: the smallest slip, the lightest scrape, and you’d nick her tongue. Taste her. Lose yourself like you almost had when she cut herself.

So you did what you always did. You pulled away, just slightly, enough to break the kiss before it could deepen.

Jennie’s brows knit in familiar confusion. “Why do you always do that?” she asked, her wings twitching with a quiet irritation. “Every time I try to kiss you properly… you back away.”

You looked down, ashamed, hands tightening into fists at your sides. “I’m not in the right headspace right now,” you admitted, voice barely a breath. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her hand slipped into yours, warm and grounding.

“You won’t,” she said simply. Her wings fluttered, brushing against your wrists like soft silk, wrapping around you protectively— intimately. “Let me kiss you properly,” she whispered, leaning in again. “Please.”

This time, when her lips met yours, you didn’t pull away.

Your restraint was paper-thin, trembling, but you clung to it because she asked you to. Because she trusted you.

The kiss was slow, sweet at first, but the longer it lingered, the more your breathing faltered. You felt it— your fangs beginning to catch, grazing her lower lip when you tilted your head just so.

Jennie paused, sensing the shift in you immediately. Her wings fluttered nervously, brushing against your arms like a whisper, but she didn’t pull away. She knew what was happening. She could feel the tremble in your hands, the way your muscles tensed like you were on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

The Yuart powder still pulsed faintly in your bloodstream, the poison agitating your hunger, clouding your mind. You needed to purge it— 

When you broke the kiss, gasping, your lips trembling as your fangs fully descended, Jennie cupped your cheeks, grounding you. Her gaze was soft, even now.

“Jennie—” Your voice cracked with desperation, panic. “I need—”

“I know.” She nodded, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

Your pupils dilated, breathing ragged, instinct dragging your gaze to her throat— the pulse there, so quick, so inviting. You leaned in, but she caught you, her grip surprisingly firm despite her trembling wings.

“No,” she said with a quiet gasp, pulling you back just slightly, her breath warm against your lips. “Not right there.”

Oh.

———-

(one year ago)

The dinner had been going so well. Jennie’s mother laughed at her father’s bad jokes, Jennie teased him right back, and you— nervous but managing— had even started to relax between spoonfuls of stew.

But then, her father set his spoon down with a soft clink, the weight of his gaze shifting squarely on you. His voice, still warm but laced with intention, cut neatly through the comfortable hum of conversation.

“So,” he began, fingers lacing together as he leaned forward. “Let’s talk boundaries.”

Jennie’s heart seized. “Dad, no.”

“Now, it’s nothing to be shy about,” he said, entirely ignoring her. “You’re both young. You’ll… explore. But there are some things you should know about faerie partners.”

You stiffened, eyes wide, but Jennie’s father continued, completely at ease. Your eyes flickered between Jennie and him. Was this okay to talk about in front of Jennie?

“For example,” he said, pausing just long enough to be unbearable, “the lower wings are very sensitive. Not painful, just… overstimulating. If she ever says—”

Jennie shifted nervously. Oh God. Is he really starting there? “No,” Jennie blurted, her voice jumping an octave as she slammed her fist on the table, “not right there!”

Her father nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Listen when she says that.”

Jennie’s jaw dropped, aghast, but he was already on a roll.

“And another thing— just don’t mark any skin above the collarbone. It’s unsightly.”

“Father!” Jennie barked, her wings flaring out in pure disbelief and embarrassment as heat flooded her cheeks.

Her mother sipped her tea, utterly unfazed. “Your father is right. You don’t want to walk around with love bites in public. Fae skin holds color longer. It stains.”

And you, caught somewhere between mortified and deeply attentive, simply nodded. “I’ll… I’ll remember that.”

Jennie buried her face in her hands. She was never bringing you home again.

———-

You paused, lifted your back head up, and pecked her lips, a soft hum leaving you. “Lower, then?”

Jennie hid a smile, “Yes…Thank you.”

^ Que the lazy part of me not finishing writing the rest

[applepiiex]

YES TO THE DRESS ! ! ! 𓏌𓏌

Nanami Kento x FTM!Reader

Since you were a child, getting married in a wedding dress was a staple in your dream wedding Pinterest board. Since coming out, that dream never did change, and your lucky your husband-to-be doesn't care. But a few drinks in Gojo causes him mouth-to-brain filter to falter. A/N: Gojo is lowkey transphobic... but not really? He's just dumb.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡｡

They’re at a quiet corner table at their usual bar, just Nanami, Gojo, and Geto, each with a half-empty glass in front of them. Talk has drifted from sorcerer gossip to mundane life things, as it sometimes does when the work stress loosens its grip.

Gojo leans back, feet up on the opposite chair like he owns the place. “So, Nanami the big day’s soon, yeah? Suit all pressed? Vows memorized?”

Nanami hums, sipping his whiskey. “Yes. I’ve everything prepared. Y/N dress is being tailored next week—”

He says it so calmly that Geto barely blinks, but Gojo does a double-take so violent he nearly spills his beer.

“Hold on, hold on. Did you say dress?”

Nanami’s brows twitch faintly. “Yes. His wedding dress. White silk, lace at the shoulders.” He says it like one would mention tomorrow’s weather. Factual, certain.

“But…but he’s a guy. And he’s trans. I mean, I know that, I respect that—” Gojo is waving his hands around, baffled. “But doesn’t wearing a dress… cancel that out? I thought the whole point was—”

Nanami’s eyes narrow. He sets his glass down with a quiet clink.

“Gojo.”

“What? I’m just trying to understand—”

Geto, ever the patient mediator, rubs a temple but watches quietly.

Nanami sighs. He answers without raising his voice, but the chill in it makes Gojo visibly shrink back.

“He is a man. He is my husband-to-be. He also looks beautiful in silk and lace and has dreamed of being walked down the aisle in a dress since he was young enough to imagine a wedding. His gender doesn’t erase that dream. Neither does the dress erase his gender.”

Gojo opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again. “Well… when you put it like that… he’s gonna look hot as hell, huh?”

Nanami’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile. “Yes. He will.”

Geto finally laughs, breaking the tension. “Gojo, if you’re done putting your entire foot in your mouth, I vote we toast to the fact Nanami’s marrying someone who can handle his boring ass for life.”

Nanami huffs a short laugh. Gojo lifts his beer sheepishly.

“Fine, fine. To Nanami’s beautiful husband in a dress. And to me behaving myself at the wedding. Maybe.”

Nanami mutters under his breath, “I’ll be keeping you far from the microphone.”

The reception hums with music and chatter,  fairy lights strung overhead, the newlyweds stealing kisses between greeting old relatives and snacking on hors d’oeuvres. Your dress flows around your legs like a promise of softness you chose yourself. Something that makes you feel beautiful and like yourself, scars and all.

Gojo’s been nursing whiskey since the toast. He drifts closer, all swagger and smirk, eyes flicking up and down your fitted bodice and elegant veil.

“Look at you,” he drawls too loudly, cutting into the polite circle of conversation. “All dolled up in white silk. Nanami really got himself a bride and a groom in one, huh? Two-for-one deal. Must be convenient for him.”

The senior players stiffen. Someone coughs awkwardly. You freezes mid-laugh, the warmth draining from your cheeks.

Gojo, oblivious or pretending, chuckles and clinks his glass against yours. “Hey, no offense! I mean, you look gorgeous, really. But c’mon, buddy… I get it, you’re a man, you’ve got the scars, but then you prance around in this? Makes it kinda confusing, doesn’t it? Maybe pick one lane, huh?”

Silence. Stifling, heavy. The violinists falter. Your hands shake so badly the champagne flute wobbles. Your eyes flash wounded, humiliated, furious all at once.

You breathes out, voice cracking: “Fuck you, Gojo.”

You hurls the glass into a half-empty plate, the shatter cuts the music altogether, and shoulders past Gojo so hard you nearly sends him stumbling backward. You storms out of the hall, veil trailing like a wounded flag behind him.

For a moment, no one moves. Then every eye snaps to Gojo, not just Nanami’s coworkers, but some of the older family friends too, all pinning him in place with disgust.

Nanami’s chair screeches back. He stands, all six-foot stoic fury wrapped in a wedding tux, jaw flexing so hard his temple ticks.

“Geto,” Nanami says without looking away from Gojo, voice calm like the eye of a hurricane, “take him outside before I ruin every photo by putting him through a wall.”

Gojo tries for a grin — tries to laugh it off — but Geto’s hand clamps down on his shoulder like iron.

“You did it this time, Satoru.” Geto mutters, dragging him toward the exit as Gojo sputters a half-apology no one wants to hear.

“Outside,” Nanami said, voice so low and even that the senior guests shivered despite themselves.

Gojo tried a crooked smile. “Hey, Kento—”

Nanami was already moving, one hand tight around Gojo’s bicep, steering him through the double doors and out into the crisp night air behind the venue. The door shut behind them, muffling the rising chatter as the rest of the reception buzzed, scandal and sympathy blooming in equal measure.

For a long, terrible heartbeat, neither man spoke. Gojo dared a grin — his defense mechanism when cornered, but Nanami didn’t even look angry. Just… controlled. Deadly calm.

“You made him cry,” Nanami said, every word enunciated with surgical precision. “On our wedding night.”

Gojo lifted a hand, sheepish. “Look, Kento, it was a joke, yeah? I didn’t—”

Nanami’s fist struck the brick wall beside Gojo’s head — not him, never him, but close enough that dust shook loose from the mortar. Gojo flinched, laughter dying in his throat.

“You humiliated him,” Nanami pressed, voice dropping lower, a blade sheathed in velvet. “You made him feel small, confused, like he was something to pick apart. You did it to look clever. You embarrassed my husband on the happiest night of his life.”

“Kento—”

“Don’t ‘Kento’ me.” Nanami’s eyes blazed now, all the polite masks burned to ash. “You’ve always run your mouth. But tonight, you didn’t just hurt him — you hurt me. You turned something sacred into a spectacle.”

Gojo’s lips parted, searching for some flippant save. There was none. The weight of Nanami’s disappointment, his rage under that iron control, pinned him harder than any curse technique ever could.

Finally, Gojo exhaled, shame creeping in for the first time in years. “I… fucked up. I didn’t think—”

“You never do.” Nanami stepped back, straightening his tie as if to leash the fury back behind professional seams. “You will apologize. Not half-heartedly, not with your usual deflection. You will look him in the eye and beg for his forgiveness. And if you so much as smirk when you do, Gojo, I will personally see to it that you don’t get within ten miles of my family again.”

The words hit Gojo like a slap. Family. Not just a spouse. Not just a wedding. Something real, rooted deeper than any jibe or joke could reach.

Nanami turned away, voice softer now but final. “Pray he accepts it, Satoru. Because I’m not sure I ever will.”

And with that, Nanami strode back inside, leaving Gojo alone under the indifferent stars for once, no clever retort left to save him.

Gojo lingered in the shadows behind the venue, rubbing at the red mark where Nanami’s fist hadn’t hit him but might as well have. He didn’t flinch when the side door clicked open again, but he stiffened when he saw who stepped out.

Suguru Geto appears beside him like a shadow with teeth. He plucks the drink from Gojo’s hand and sets it on the bar with a clink, voice calm but venomous.

“Wow,” Geto said conversationally, pulling out a cigarette. “Never thought I’d see the day Satoru Gojo was speechless.” He struck a match, lit up, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “Not speechless enough when it mattered, though, huh?”

Gojo tries a sloppy grin, cheeks pink with whiskey and embarrassment. “C’mon, Suguru. I was just— you know— trying to be funny—”

“You implied the groom was a confused girl on his wedding day,” Geto hisses, so low only Gojo can hear him. “You think that’s funny? Because no one’s laughing, except you.”

Gojo bristled. “Don’t start, Suguru—”

“No.” Geto’s voice cracked like a whip, silencing him. He stepped closer, smoke curling between them. “You don’t get to pull your wounded puppy act this time. You crossed a line, Satoru. In front of everyone. On their wedding night.”

Gojo laughed, too sharp, too forced. “Oh, so I made a dumb joke about the dress. Big deal—”

Geto slammed a hand to his chest, pinning him to the brick with a shocking shove. “You humiliated him, you absolute fucking idiot. A man who trusts you to know him, to respect him. You turned all that trust into a cheap laugh. You hurt them both — and you did it because you can’t stand not being the center of the room for five seconds!”

He stepped closer, smoke curling between them. “You don’t get to pull your wounded puppy act this time. You crossed a line, Satoru. In front of everyone. On their wedding night.”

Geto’s eyes softened at the edges but not enough to forgive. “Satoru. He’s your friend, too. Not just Nanami’s spouse — your friend. You’ve seen what he’s been through. And you spat on it for a laugh.”

Silence stretched. A siren moaned somewhere far off in the city.

“You will apologize. Not with some half-assed pun, not with that goddamn grin. Or so help me, I will walk away from you next. You’d hate that more than losing any fight, wouldn’t you?”

Gojo swallowed. “I know. I know. I’ll fix it. I have to…”

He sighs, shoulders sagging. “I just— look, I know he’s a man, alright? I’ve never said otherwise. I just don’t get it sometimes— dresses, veils, all that. It’s… hard for my brain, ‘kay?”

Geto laughs once, humorless. “Then keep your brain to yourself. Or better yet, grow a new one that knows when to shut up.”

He pushes Gojo’s chest lightly, just enough to make him stumble back a step. 

He mutters to Geto, defeated, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it.”

Geto rolls his eyes, but claps him on the back, rough and brotherly. “Good boy. Now go sit down before you ruin the cake, too.”

And maybe, just maybe, Gojo will find the courage to apologize properly — tomorrow.

You doesn’t make it far. The rose garden behind the hall is deserted except for you, hunched on a stone bench, veil crumpled in your trembling fists. You’re breathing hard, fighting tears and losing.

The double doors creak open behind you. Heavy footsteps, slow but certain. Nanami doesn’t call your name; he knows you hates being cornered when you’re upset. Instead, he sinks down on one knee in front of you, careful not to dirty the pristine trousers of his tux.

You jerk turning his face away, voice small and hoarse. “Don’t. Please don’t— just— I’m so stupid—”

Nanami reaches up, cups his flushed, tear-streaked cheeks in those broad, warm hands. “Look at me.”

You does. Slowly. Your lip wobbles. “I ruined it, I made a scene, everyone—”

Nanami shakes his head, firm but gentle. “You didn’t ruin a damn thing. That fool forgot himself — and I should have shut him up sooner. I’m sorry, love.”

You try to pull away, embarrassed by his tears, but Nanami won’t let you go. He presses their foreheads together, voice rumbling steady and low: “You are not confusing. You are not ‘too much’ or ‘not enough’. You are exactly who I married today — my husband, my love, the man I will stand beside until my last breath.”

You let out a broken laugh, a sob tucked inside it. “I just wanted to look pretty for you. I— I thought if I wore the dress—”

Nanami hushes you with a kiss. It’s soft. Devastatingly soft. Reverent in a way that makes your chest ache under your fitted bodice.

“You are so beautiful I can hardly stand it. In a dress, in sweatpants, in nothing at all — you are my husband. And anyone who has a problem with that can choke on their opinions.”

You sniffle, trying to smother a wet laugh against Nanami’s neck. Nanami just holds you tighter, hands smoothing down the delicate buttons at your back, mindful of the veil caught between them.

“Come back inside with me?” Nanami murmurs into your hair. “I want to dance with my husband. Our guests can wait for us all night.”

You pull back just enough to smile, cheeks still blotchy but eyes clear now, shining like dawn breaking.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice trembling but braver than before. “Dance with me, Kento.”

Nanami stands, lifts you to his feet with an ease that makes your heart flip, and kisses his knuckles, careful not to disturb the delicate lace sleeve. The garden watches them sway for a moment, alone under the fairy lights, two men in love, no apology needed for the softness they keep just for each other.