#masterlist

[dazed-and-confused23]

Dear Hearts and Gentle People Masterlist

Summary: Snapshots into the life of a ghoul and his run ins with a wondering trader.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings! Smut and fluff violence throughout the work

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

[beenbaanbuun]

opposites attract masterlist

main story:

opposites attract

drabbles:

sick

the pet

the fight

forgiveness

asks:

careers?

interests?

spoiled?

marriage?

biting?

arguments?

[hd-junglebook]

Never Ending Summer

Part 1 - Meet me halfway'/ Word Count - 3753

A.N : This might not be good, I wrote it pretty sleep deprived but this is the beginning of the series. and yes, before you say anything I know I am delusional, thank you and goodnight.

Masterlist

Summary - Y/n and Trevor make it to the beach house and all eyes are on her.

The sun beat down on the open road as Trevor and Y/N cruised along the highway in his vintage Jeep, the wind whipping through their hair from the open sunroof.

The sky stretched out above them in an endless expanse of brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds that seemed to dance across the horizon.

Trevor sat behind the wheel, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping along to the beat of the music blasting from the speakers.

He wore a pair of aviator sunglasses that glinted in the sunlight, and a bucket hat that cast a shadow over his sun-kissed face. Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at him, admiring the way the summer suited him so well.

As they sped past fields of golden wheat and emerald green grass, Y/N leaned back in the passenger seat, letting the warm breeze caress her skin.

The air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers and the salty tang of the ocean. In the distance, a rocky beach came into view, its jagged cliffs rising up from the almost teal water that lapped at the shore.

The Jeep hit a small bump in the road, jostling them both and eliciting a laugh from Y/N. Trevor grinned, his teeth a flash of white against his tanned skin. He reached over and squeezed her hand, his touch as warm as the summer sun.

"Almost there," he said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the wind. "Just a few more hours and we'll be dipping our toes in the Pacific."

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with anticipation. She could already imagine the feel of the sand between her toes and the salty spray of the ocean on her skin. The thought of spending the summer with Trevor and his friends in California filled her with so much joy.

They continued down the road, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, painting the world in shades of orange and pink. The colors seemed to dance across the landscape, casting a warm glow over everything they touched.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over her, knowing that this summer would be one she would never forget.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the world in shades of orange and pink, Y/N's thoughts drifted to the impending meeting with Trevor's friends.

She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she couldn't seem to shake. Trevor, ever attuned to her moods, glanced over at her, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"What's on your mind, sunshine?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the hum of the truck's engine.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sundress. "Are they actually nice?" she finally asked, her voice small and unsure.

Trevor's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "When have you ever known me to lie?" he questioned, craning his neck to look at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief behind his aviator sunglasses.

The hum of his truck filled the silence that followed, and Y/N couldn't help but roll her eyes at his antics. She huffed out a breath, blowing a stray strand of hair away from her face.

"I guess never," she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But I've never met any of them. How are you just gonna know they'll like me? What if they think I'm weird or just using you to meet them?"

Trevor threw his head back and laughed, the sound as warm and infectious as the summer sun. "Oh, come on, Y/N! They're gonna love you. How could they not? You're like a breath of fresh air, all shy and cute one minute, then cracking jokes and making silly faces the next."

Y/N felt a blush creep up her neck at his words, and she ducked her head to hide her smile. "You're just saying that because you have to," she mumbled, but there was no real conviction behind her words.

Trevor reached over and poked her playfully in the ribs, eliciting a squeal of laughter from Y/N. " Not to brag, but my friends have great taste in women. Just be yourself, and they'll fall in love with you just like I did."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, and she found herself getting lost in his eyes, the teal of the ocean reflected in their depths. “Yeah okay, lover boy.”

…

Trevor's Jeep comes to a stop next to the other cars parked in front of the sprawling beach house, Y/N's eyes widen in awe.

The house is a magnificent sight, its white exterior gleaming in the brilliant sunlight. The wrap-around porch seems to beckon invitingly, offering a perfect spot to relax and take in the breathtaking view of the beach.

The sand stretches out before them, a vast expanse of pristine white, contrasting beautifully with the mesmerizing teal water that gently laps at the shore. The ocean seems to sparkle and dance, reflecting the vibrant colors of the summer sky above.

Trevor glances over at Y/N, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You ready pretty girl?" he announces, his voice filled with excitement.

Y/N looks out the window, taking in the scene before her. People mill about the house, their arms laden with colorful beach chairs, oversized towels, and coolers filled with refreshing drinks and snacks. The laughter and chatter of Trevor's friends float through the air, mingling with the distant crash of waves against the shore.

The door to the beach house stands wide open, inviting them to join the lively gathering. Y/N can't help but feel a flutter of nerves in her stomach, but the welcoming atmosphere and the sound of joyful conversation help to ease her worries.

As Y/N steps out of the Jeep, the heat of the summer sun bears down on her, making her hoodie and jeans feel uncomfortable against her skin.

She walks towards the trunk, her shoes sinking into the warm sand with each step. Reaching into the trunk, she pulls out her duffle bag of clothes, eager to change into something more suitable for the beach.

Just as she's about to close the trunk, Y/N hears voices coming from the direction of the house. She feels a slight twinge of nervousness, suddenly unsure about meeting Trevor's friends.

Trevor, ever attentive, walks over to her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine, Trev. It's okay, go say hi to your friends," Y/N mumbles, trying to mask her apprehension with a halfhearted smile.

Trevor looks at her for a brief moment, his brow furrowed in concern. He debates whether or not he should just go inside and greet his friends, but something in him doesn't want to leave Y/N all alone, standing out here in the sun.

"No. You're coming in with me. I'm not leaving you out here all by yourself," he says firmly, his voice betraying how much he means it. His eyes lock with Y/N's. She nods, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He closes the trunk, he starts walking towards the gathered group, motioning for Y/N to follow him. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the introductions, and falls into step beside him.

Y/N can feel the weight of their gazes upon her, and a blush rises to her cheeks as she notices the appreciative glances from Trevor's friends.

They make brief eye contact with her, their expressions revealing their thoughts on just how pretty she is. Trevor senses the tension in Y/N's body as she becomes increasingly conscious of everyone's stares.

The conversation among the group grows louder and more animated as they welcome Trevor and Y/N into their midst. Trevor's grip on Y/N's hand tightens slightly, a reassuring squeeze that communicates his support and presence.

He positions himself behind her, his body pressing gently against hers, creating a comforting barrier between Y/N and the rest of the group.

As Y/N scans the faces of Trevor's friends, her gaze is drawn to one person in particular. A boy with dark, tousled curls and a pretty smile steps forward, his eyes sparkling with warmth and friendliness.

"Hi, I'm Marino, John Marino" he introduces himself, his voice smooth and inviting.

Y/N feels her heart flutter at the sound of his name, and she can't help but return his smile. She glances back at Trevor, who gives her an encouraging nod, his own smile full of pride and affection.

Y/N steps away from Trevor's side, she walks up to Marino, her hand extended in greeting. "I'm Y/N," she introduces herself, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest.

Marino takes her hand in his, his touch warm and gentle. As their fingers meet, he gazes into Y/N's eyes, a flicker of something sparking in his own. He brushes his thumb softly over her fingers, a subtle gesture that sends a shiver down Y/N's spine.

Unbeknownst to Y/N and Marino, Trevor watches every minute detail of their interaction. As he observes Marino brush Y/N's finger with his thumb, Trevor's eyes narrow, a flash of fury igniting within him. Jealousy coils in his gut, and he clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to step between them.

Marino, oblivious to Trevor's reaction, offers to take Y/N's duffel bag upstairs for her. "Here, let me help you with that," he says, his voice smooth and charming.

Y/N, grateful for the kind gesture, nods and smiles. "Thank you, John. That's really sweet of you."

As Marino takes the duffel bag from her, his fingers brush against hers once more, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Y/N feels a blush creep up her neck, and she ducks her head, suddenly shy under his intense gaze.

The closer they get, the more details Y/N takes in. The porch is adorned with cozy wicker furniture, plush cushions in shades of blue and white.

Wind chimes dance in the breeze, their gentle tinkling adding to the enchanting ambiance. The delicious aroma of barbecue wafts through the air, making Y/N's mouth water in anticipation.

Trevor led the group up the steps and through the open door.

…

The group makes their way inside the beach house, Y/N's eyes widen in admiration at the beautifully decorated interior. The space is filled with coastal charm, from the whitewashed wooden floors to the nautical-themed artwork adorning the walls.

She notices the boys scattered throughout the house, their laughter and conversations creating a lively atmosphere.

Y/N follows closely behind Marino, her curiosity piqued by the stunning surroundings. Suddenly, Jack rushes up to them, a mischievous grin on his face. Without warning, he snatches the duffel bag from Marino's grasp, stealing it away with a sly smile.

"I'll be taking that," Jack declares, his eyes twinkling with playfulness. He nods his head towards the stairs, indicating for Y/N to follow him. "Come on, I'll show you to your room."

Y/N can't help but laugh at Jack's bold move, amused by his confident demeanor. She places a gentle hand on Marino's arm, offering him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Marino. I guess I'd better follow Jack. But thank you for offering to help."

Marino, slightly taken aback by Jack's intervention, nods in understanding. "No worries, Y/N. I'll catch up with you later."

With that, Y/N follows Jack up the stairs, her excitement growing with each step. As they reach the second floor, Jack leads her down a sun-drenched hallway, the sound of the ocean drifting in through the open windows.

Jack stops in front of a door and pushes it open, revealing a cozy bedroom bathed in natural light. He sets Y/N's duffel bag down on the bed and turns to face her, a flirtatious smile playing on his lips.

"So, Y/N, I was thinking," he begins, his voice smooth and enticing. "We're planning on playing some volleyball later, and I'd love for you to join us. In fact, I want you on my team. With you by my side, I'm sure we'll be unstoppable."

Y/N feels a blush creep up her cheeks at Jack's forward invitation. She's flattered by his attention and can't help but be drawn in by his charismatic presence.

"That sounds like a lot of fun, Jack," Y/N replies, her smile mirroring his own. "I'd love to join your team. Just give me a few minutes to get settled in, and I'll meet you guys downstairs."

Jack's grin widens, and he nods in approval. "Perfect. I'll let the others know you're in.”

With one final glance, Jack leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Y/N takes a moment to catch her breath, her heart racing with anticipation.

…

Y/N descends the stairs, the conversation in the living room gradually fades away, replaced by a hushed silence.

She takes the last step and looks up, only to find everyone's eyes fixated on her. The attention is overwhelming, and Y/N suddenly feels self-conscious under their intense gazes.

y/n had changed into a matching set, a black baby tee that hugs her curves and a pair of tight-fitting shorts that allow for easy movement.

Her jewelry and makeup are on point, enhancing her natural beauty. Y/N had taken her time to get ready, wanting to make a good impression on Trevor's friends, but she hadn't anticipated this level of scrutiny.

The boys stare at her.

They had caught a glimpse of her earlier, but with her hood up and glasses on, they hadn't fully registered just how stunning she truly is. Now, seeing her in this new light, they can't help but be captivated by her presence.

Trevor, who had been engaged in a conversation with one of his friends, turns to see what has captured everyone's attention. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Y/N, his heart skipping a beat.

Y/N shifts uncomfortably under the weight of their stares, unsure of how to react. She glances around the room, her eyes seeking out Trevor for reassurance. Jack, ever the charmer, is the first to break the silence. He lets out a low whistle of appreciation and grins at Y/N.

"Damn, Y/N, you clean up nice. I knew you were pretty, but wow, you're a total knockout."

Y/N feels a blush creep up her neck at Jack's bold compliment. She's not used to being the center of attention, especially among a group of attractive guys. She mumbles a shy "thank you," her eyes darting away from Jack's intense gaze.

The other boys chime in with their own compliments, their voices overlapping in a chorus of admiration. Trevor, sensing Y/N's discomfort, steps forward and places a gentle hand on the small of her back. "All right, guys, let's not overwhelm her," he says, his voice calm but firm.

With that, the group nods in agreement, their excitement for the game temporarily overshadowing their fascination with Y/N.

They grab their gear and start making their way towards the back door, chattering animatedly about teams and strategies.

She made her way out the door towards the beach, Jack casually mentions that the girls will be meeting them there. Y/N's steps falter, and she turns to look at Jack, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Girls?" she questions.

She watches Jack's expression closely, trying to gauge his response. Jack grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, we have some friends out here. We didn't want you to be the only girl, so we invited them along. Thought it would make things more fun, you know?"

Y/N nods slowly, processing this new information. She's not sure how she feels about the prospect of meeting a group of unfamiliar girls, especially given the already overwhelming attention she's received from the boys.

they continue walking, Y/N finds herself falling to the back of the group, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty. She's so lost in her own mind that she doesn't notice the boy who has fallen into step beside her until he speaks.

"I'm Nico," he says, his voice smooth and accented, immediately catching Y/N's attention.

Y/N turns to face him, taking in his striking features and warm smile. She can't quite place his accent, but it adds an air of intrigue to his already captivating presence.

"It's nice to meet you, Nico," Y/N replies, extending her hand in greeting. "I'm Y/N." Nico takes her hand in his larger one, his grip firm but gentle. His smile widens, and Y/N can't help but notice the way his eyes crinkle at the corners

"The pleasure is all mine, Y/N," Nico says, his accent wrapping around her name in a way that sends a shiver down her spine. "I've been looking forward to meeting Trevor's special guest. He's spoken very highly of you."

Y/N feels a blush creep up her cheeks at Nico's words. She's flattered by Trevor's praise and can't help but wonder what he's said about her to his friends. As they walk side by side, Nico engages Y/N in easy conversation, asking her about her interests and sharing his own stories.

Before long, they reach the beach, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the salty sea breeze enveloping them. Y/N takes a moment to appreciate the breathtaking view, the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out before her.

As they approach the designated spot for their volleyball game, Y/N notices a group of girls already gathered there, their laughter and chatter carrying across the sand. She feels a flutter of nerves in her stomach.

But as they draw closer, Trevor catches Y/N's eye, offering her a reassuring smile. He makes his way over to her, his hand finding the small of her back in a comforting gesture.

"Ready to meet the girls?" he asks, his voice low and encouraging.

…

After all their walking, the sun has finally set, painting the sky in a beautiful array of oranges and pinks, the group finally reaches their destination: a secluded stretch of beach adorned with a solitary volleyball net standing sentinel against the backdrop of crashing waves.

With the sand beneath their feet and the salty breeze tousling their hair, the group congregates around the net, their laughter and chatter mingling with the rhythmic symphony of the ocean.

Trevor takes charge, announcing that he'll be dividing everyone into teams. With a mischievous grin, he begins jumbling people together, seemingly at random. "Alright, listen up!" he calls out, his voice carrying over the sound of the crashing waves.

"We're gonna mix things up a bit. I want to see some friendly competition out there!"

He starts pointing at people, assigning them to teams with dramatic flair. "Jack, you're with Nico. Y/N, you're on my team, of course. And let's see... Marino, you're with the lovely ladies over there." Marino raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.

Marino's reaction is impossible to miss. "Oh, so you're putting me with the winning team, huh? I see how it is, Trevor,” he quips, his tone laced with mock arrogance.

Trevor's laughter rings out, throwing his head back. "Don't get too cocky, Marino. We haven't even started yet."

Ever the quick-witted companion, Jack interjects with a well-timed quip of his own. "Yeah, Marino, save the trash talk for when you actually score a point."

Luke not missing a beat, adds, "Which, let's be real, might take a while with that form of yours."

Marino feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Ouch, guys. Way to hit a man where it hurts. But just wait until I unleash my secret weapon."

Jack raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Secret weapon? What, did you finally learn how to serve without hitting yourself in the face?" The group erupts in laughter, and even Marino can't help but crack a smile.

As Trevor continues to divide the group, the banter and laughter increase. The girls, who have been watching the exchange with amusement, start chiming in with their own playful jabs.

"Hey, Trevor!" one of them calls out, her voice filled with mock indignation. "Are you saying we can't hold our own against you boys?"

Trevor holds up his hands in surrender, a grin spreading across his face. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! I would never underestimate the power of a determined woman. I'm just trying to even the playing field, that's all."

Y/n laughs feeling lighter than before, "Yeah, Trevor, you better watch out. These ladies look like they could spike a ball straight through your ego." The girls exchange knowing looks, their eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N finds herself standing next to Trevor, her heart racing with excitement and a hint of nerves. She's not the most experienced volleyball player, but she's determined to give it her all.

Trevor leans in close, his breath tickling her ear. "Don't worry, Y/N. Just stick with me, and we'll crush them."

Y/N can't help but laugh at his confidence. "I'll do my best, but I make no promises. I'm not exactly a pro at this." Trevor winks at her, his eyes filled with warmth and encouragement. "You've got this. And if all else fails, just aim for Marino's head. All's fair in love and volleyball, my friend.”

Y/N shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're terrible, Trevor. But I like the way you think."

As the game begins, the beach comes alive with shouts, laughter, and the sound of the volleyball smacking against the sand. The teams are evenly matched, with each side giving it their all.

The girls prove to be formidable opponents, diving for the ball and spiking it with impressive force.

Nico surprises everyone with his agility, leaping high into the air to send the ball soaring over the net. Jack, not to be outdone, showcases his own athletic prowess, diving for seemingly impossible saves.

15 minutes pass, the scores remain close, with each team refusing to give an inch. The sun has long since set, but the energy on the beach is electric, fueled by the thrill of friendly competition and the joy of being surrounded by good company.

In the end, it's Trevor's team that emerges victorious, but only by the narrowest of margins. As they gather around, high-fiving and congratulating each other,

"Well played, my friend. But next time, I'm claiming Y/N for my team." Jack says, he smiles throwing his arm over y/ns shoulders. Y/N, feeling a warmth spread through her chest, can't help but smile.

…

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

141 Headcanons: Going Shopping

Grocery/Food Shopping

John Price loves being the one in charge of the buggy/shopping cart. He loves being the one pushing it, holding the list, and watching you walk ahead all pretty, plucking whatever you'd like to buy onto the cart. He also has a natural eye for deals and sales, and knows when something is actually for sale or when the shop is trying to lie to you.

Johnny MacTavish is a menace when he's shopping. With or without you, he's definitely straying from the list and the budget. He's definitely the type to go shopping while hungry and ends up getting too many snacks, or buys seasonal products that you don't need but that "will get rotated out" of the shop so he better buy them Now.

Kyle Garrick makes a whole day out of going shopping. He'll disappear while you're getting a cart and come back with Starbucks or a cold drink of some kind for you to sip on while you go along and buy whatever you need for the house. He's also very efficient, so he bags everything very well, heavy stuff on the bottom, light/fragile on top, and, especially, all the cold/frozen things together.

Simon Riley is too efficient. It's almost scary. He goes in and out of the shop in record time and doesn't even let himself be affected by sales, new products, limited-time-only displays... Nothing. He follows the list to a T and would rather go inside alone than have you follow him and slow him down. But that also makes him an ass and he'll definitely realize you forgot to add something to the list, but will STILL not stray from his 'route' to go get it. If you wanted it, you should've written it down.

VS.

Clothes' Shopping

John Price is of the opinion that all his clothes are fine and, therefore, he doesn't particularly need new ones. That being said, he does know all his sizes and measurements, and won't be opposed to getting news shoes or a new button-up every once in a while. He's also very much the type that'll give you his honest (and sometimes hurtful) opinion on the fit of the clothes you're trying on and sincerely suggest you try the size up/down.

Johnny MacTavish doesn't really like buying new clothes, though he can be convinced... if you promise him you'll go to a lingerie shop and pick out something sexy to wear just for him, he'll let you take him to Levi's or what have you to get him new clothes. That being said, he is the type who, when you're trying to find his size, will fuck off and disappear, only for you to find him by the till, looking at the male jewelry displays and analyzing all the chains and bracelets and cheap watches.

Kyle Garrick is a sweetheart to shop with. He has a good sense of what looks good and what doesn't, and knows the basic of 'big prints work well with small prints and with plain colours', even if he doesn't really wear much of either. He also knows about colour blocking, funnily enough. He loves when his sweetheart tries things out in the dressing rooms just for him.

Simon Riley is the worst person to go shopping with. Be it for yourself or for him. He hates waiting around as you skim the clothes' racks... He'd rather sit outside in the Husband Chair™️ until you're done. And if you try to drag him to a male clothing shop to buy him stuff? He'll complain the whole time about the price and the quality. "Why would I pay 15 quid for a t-shirt when I can put in an order and get 5 shirts from the Army for free, da'lin'?"

[sinsirellaxx]

Slytherin boys …

What the Slytherin boys would do to win you over

How they manipulate you into forgiving them after f*cking up

What they do when you neglect them

What would they do to get you back if you left them for someone else

What makes them toxic?

How would they react to you getting jealous?

What they are like when they’re jealous

What they’d be like if you broke up with them

Things you do that turn them on

What they’ re like if you put them in their place

What they’d be like if you show up at their dorm crying

They only have a soft spot for you

Ass, Boobs or Thighs?

What they’d do if you wore a short skirt

NSFW Headcanons

When they actually fall in love with you

You find out you are a bet/They find out they were a bet

you (respectfully) criticize them in bed

You put them in your place and now they want you back

Most to least toxic

How would they react to reader with long hair

You are hit by an unforgivable and they have to watch you suffer

Theodore Nott x Reader

How could he not(t)?

In the Middle of the Night

The grass on the other side …

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

“I fcked up.”

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Ball Dates and Jealousy

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Forgotten hero, friend and love

Jealousy

Hot headed

Ominis Gaunt x Reader

The Sallow-Cupid

Thomas Shelby x Reader

The force that is Thomas Shelby

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Unwanted Bride (coming soon)

[eddiesxangel]

I Don’t Think We Are in 1986 Anymore! Master List

Based off of the Stranger Prompts directly from the Twilight Zone. Created by @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq @somnambulic-thing 🖤

What do you do when you find a muddy injured stranger hiding in your closet who claims he’s from the eighties?

a lot of you asked for a part two so I will be tagging those who asked. I’m not sure how many parts there I’ll be probably just the two but we shall see where my brain takes me.

Cw: modern!day Reader, female reader, time travel, older!stranger things characters, canon, adjacent?The Upsidedown, mentions of demobats, injuries, Age gap, Eventual smut, mature themes, 18+ only pls and thank you

Part 1

Part 2 (coming soon👀)

[delicatebarness]

i think he knows | series masterlist

delicatebarness | masterlist

Spotify Playlist

Main Story

Prologue | One | Two | Three

Four | Five | Five (PCS) | Six

Seven | Seven (PCS) |

Moodboards

Coming Soon…

A WandaVision Story | A ‘i think he knows’ Spin-Off

One | Two | Three | Four

[ezekiel-krishna]

🧙🏻 Master List 🌌

📚 Vedic Astrology Palmistry Numerology & Tarot 🌟

2nd House Ruler in Different Houses

1st & 2nd 3rd , 4th , 5th , 6th & 7th 8th , 9th , 10th , 11th & 12th

7th House Ruler in Different Houses

1st , 2nd , 3rd & 4th 5th , 6th & 7th 8th , 9th , 10th , 11th & 12th

Spouse Predictions Based on Darakaraka (Lowest Degree)

Your Future Husband/Wife ( Navamsa Placement)

Lilith in Different Signs 🗝️ Observations

Midheaven/Medium Coeli (MC) in Various Signs 🗝️ Observations

Juno in Different Signs 🗝️ Observations

Moon in Different Houses 🗝️ Observations

Mars in Different Houses 🗝️ Effects

Jupiter In Different Houses 🗝️ Observations

Saturn in Different Houses Key Effects

Your Appearance Based on Your Rising/ Ascendant

Venus in Different Signs 🗝️ Observations

Bedroom Romance Based on your Rising/Ascendant 18+

North Node/Rahu in All Houses 🗝️ Observations

Some Fun Facts Based on your Moon Signs

Sexuality Observations Based on your Moon Signs 18+

Random Zodiac Sign Observations

Pick a Pile

Message From Your Future Spouse ✉️ What Kind of Person will you Grow Old with ? 🏃‍♂️ Your Next Adventure

Pick a Card (Tarot)

The Best Quality of Your Future SPOUSE

Certified Achievement

For Paid Personalized Readings & Reviews

➤ Refer Here

[mysteria157]

Chapter Two

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

**While I personally do not think this chapter is too dark and angsty, I AM NOT YOU, so please be sure to read the CWs before proceeding.**

CW: Profanity, Physical Abuse, ANGST, Emotional Manipulation, Naobito being a piece of shit, Hitman duties (idk what to call it), Blood and Violence, Depressive Thoughts, Obsessive Coping Mechanisms, Comfort, Toji being down bad.

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

Toji hasn't always been cold and calculated. Beneath that harsh exterior is a boy who was made to feel like he never belonged in this world.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting!

This fic is going to have dark elements as I've stated before. We all know that Toji suffered abuse from his family growing up and that's largely a reason why he acts the way he does. So I really wanted to explore that in my fic and specifically in this chapter.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

| Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Chapter Three: Coming Soon...

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

look at you.

still standing

after being

knocked down

and thrown out

-Alex Elle

*** Toji ***

The first time Toji tastes freedom, it’s a decade into his bleak existence, amidst the sweltering summer heat. The thick, humid air clings to his grimy skin and makes him feel more uncomfortable than usual. His room—or he supposes it’s a small house—is nestled among overgrown trees and an unkempt lawn. 

To an outsider, his ‘home’ looks to be a greenhouse shed but with poorly painted walls and small windows. However, within the compound, it represents the dwelling of the man who tainted the revered Zenin bloodline. While they cannot exterminate the one who is responsible for polluting their family, they can make it seem like he never existed, to themselves and the outside world. 

He’s far from the main house, but it’s quiet, and even though the breeze always feels nice between his matted hair, it always carries the undercurrent of trash from the large garbage can that rests against the compound walls next to his abode. It’s all he smells no matter the season. The garbage can is one you would find outside restaurants or large establishments, and when it’s trash day, a large truck parks on the other side of the compound, reaches long metal prongs over the white brick walls, and pulls the can over to dump it. 

On trash day, it would be so easy for Toji to jump those walls, to hop on top of the plastic lid of the garbage can and let it carry him over. But like many things, fear and hopelessness hold him back. His entire family has never offered him a kind word or a smile, but they are nothing compared to his uncle. Naobito is the head of their family, feared by many within and outside of the compound. His position requires him to be good at many things, and if there is one thing Naobito is especially good at, it’s making Toji realize his insignificance. 

“You think you can just leave? Where would you go, boy? No one in this city wants to take in another child. Especially one of low birth.”

“Insignificant.”

“Useless.”

“A stain on something we have worked hard to uphold.”

These words echo in his ears day after day, month after month, year after year, ever since he could comprehend words enough to know their sting. He’s always felt small, always believed the only purpose he has is to breathe and do nothing else.

But today is trash day…

Maybe it’s the hunger that has been gnawing at his stomach for the past two days or the discomfort of dirt clinging to his skin beneath his sweaty yukata. Maybe it’s the sting on his cheek from his uncle’s morning slap, the mocking reminder for the millionth time not to dare do anything besides what he is told. Maybe staring too long at the garbage can and feeling his heart jump when the truck parks on the other side of the walls is a sign; a fleeting feeling within him, his own body telling him to do something before he withers away. 

It all sparks a sudden surge of strength, propelling him to climb on top of the plastic garbage lid as the metal prongs dig into each side of the can and lift him and the trash. Adrenaline helps him dig his fingers into the plastic of the lid as gravity pulls him over the walls of the Zenin compound.

He’s prepared to be tackled and dragged by his hair back inside before anyone can see him. He’s ready to fight back with the remains of his strength if he needs to. But as he slides off the garbage lid and his feet touch the cobblestone ground, only silence greets him. The trash collectors don’t see him and they drive away without turning back and he’s grateful. He’s so grateful, he can hardly breathe.

The compound isn’t in the middle of the city center like he once thought. From the many festivals and jovial sounds he would hear on the other side of the walls, he expected bustling laughter and sounds of merchants advertising their goods. But it turns out, the compound is perched on a hillside. He guesses it makes sense for one of Japan’s wealthiest families to be tucked away for safety and overlooking the world to feel more powerful. 

Even though he can see what looks to be a village a walking distance away, the compound also overlooks the city and a large river that Toji doesn’t know the name of. He’s never been taught anything, never learned how to read, never learned basic arithmetic or history. He knows nothing other than the fact that he lives in Tokyo, to eat the rancid food he is given and not talk back when his uncle visits him to teach him a lesson about whatever is bothering him that day.

Laughter echoes in the distance, the unmistakable laughter of children—maybe some his own age. Some who won’t sneer at him as if he’s a piece of shit stuck to their shoe. 

His legs carry him towards the village, the sounds of the breeze dying down to be replaced with yelling and laughter and normalcy he’s never heard before. Vaguely, his mind screams at him to go back home so he doesn’t suffer later, but he squashes it down. He will do anything to see faces besides the angry ones of his family, to breathe in scents beyond garbage and contempt, and to taste flavors other than the remnants of meals prepared by the Zenin’s esteemed live-in chef.

Ignoring the persistent growl of hunger in his stomach, his mind focuses on absorbing the sounds of the bustling marketplace that he finds himself in. Vendors haggle with customers, offering a variety of goods—fresh produce, meat, and fish—all waiting to be transformed into dishes that Toji wishes he could eat. The uneven cobblestones are ragged beneath his feet, not smooth and pressed down like in front of the compound. These stones protrude from the soil they are rooted into and catch on the thin shoes that barely protect Toji’s feet. But he navigates the crowds seamlessly, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sights around him even though the brush of people against his body makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

An elderly man dozes off beside a vendor stand empty of customers. A woman, younger but with a haggard face, stands guard at the makeshift register, casting a cautious glance in Toji’s direction. He can feel her disapproval and with her gaze, the weight of his disobedience settles upon him—he should be at the compound, under his uncle’s hateful eyes. Hastily, he averts his gaze and quickens his pace, disappearing into the crowd with newfound urgency.

His ears pick it up before his nose smells it—the sound of sizzling and the smell of dough. Toji can’t help but gawk at the long rows of metal scoops, each containing batter with octopus, pickled ginger, and tempura. The sides bubble and cook, frying from the yellow of fresh yolk before the vendor’s deft utensils turn over each ball of dough, revealing perfectly cooked Takoyaki. He’s tasted it before, albeit soggy and half-eaten, but the memory now stirs a desperate craving within him. He could have it now; fresh and untainted by someone else’s bite. But the lining of his pockets holds nothing but lint; he’s poor with not a penny to his name. 

The vendor sets her utensils to the side, pausing in her efforts to catch Toji’s wary attention. When his gaze meets hers, he’s stiff and ready to flee. He’s sure the Zenin family’s influence looms large over the city; she could easily summon someone and report his escape. He’s not ready to go—he won’t. As he edges backward, his thin shoes slip on the uneven cobblestones, nearly causing him to stumble. 

But whatever look is in her eyes softens, replaced by something unfamiliar—a warmth that unsettles him, makes him almost nauseous, quelling his hunger while stoking the flames of fear in his belly. Her gaze sweeps over him—his disheveled hair, grimy yukata, the smear of dirt on his cheek. Instead of scowling or sneering and spitting at his feet, she smiles. Soft and warm without any pretense behind it, a genuine smile that makes Toji relax and the fear dissipate. She plates a dozen takoyaki into a long paper bowl, tops them with Kewpie mayonnaise, bonito flakes, and powdered seaweed, and shoves a pair of chopsticks into one perfectly rolled fried dough ball before she slides the bowl over to him.

“Eat up before it gets cold, honey,” she says kindly and the tone almost makes the breath in his throat catch.

Snatching the bowl, Toji’s actions mirror the desperate way he consumes the food that Naobito tosses at his feet after withholding a meal for days. Along with an education, he was never taught manners. His cousins know which forks to use for every dish, he knows to use his hands and savor anything he can get before it’s taken away. He offers the vendor a brief nod, eyes shy and looking away from her for as long as he can muster before he ducks away from the stall.

The takoyaki melts on his tongue and he can taste every speck of seasoning that she added. Ignoring the wary glances directed his way, he licks Kewpie off his fingers, uncaring of the bonito flakes that cling to his chapped lips. It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten—delicious, warm, fills his belly, and when he finally wipes the bonito flakes from his lips some tears collect with it. He doesn’t acknowledge the sadness that climbs up his stomach and nestles in the back of his throat. He can’t—what use would it be to cry over a life that will never change? Over a meal for once prepared for him and not someone else?

He stuffs the remaining takoyaki down his throat to push down the urge to sob, savors the taste for as long as he can, and sucks the seasoning from under his fingernails just as he feels something bump into his feet. When he looks down, he can at least recognize that it’s a soccer ball. The dirt turns the white patterns on it almost black, and it looks well-used.

“You gonna give that back, or just stare at it?” a voice demands.

Toji collects the dirty soccer ball and looks up to find a boy who might—hopefully—be his age. His black hair is short and his eyes hold an expression of boredom and grit that reminds Toji a little of himself. He holds out his hand and gestures for Toji to hand over the ball with so much impatience that Toji glares, tossing the ball back without a word. In truth, he’s struck silent because this is the first time in his life that he’s seen another kid his age who doesn’t look down on him from the encouragement of family.

The kid purses his lips, a bushy eyebrow lifting as he thinks something over in his head before he meets Toji’s gaze. He tosses the ball from one hand to the other, back and forth with a practiced air that Toji wishes he had. He’s skinny but his cheeks are full and his arms aren’t bony which shows he’s well-fed. He doesn’t wear a yukata but his shorts and shirt are freshly washed and free of stains from constant use—just dirt off the ground from playing. 

Envy, it’s the only thing that Toji can feel in this moment. Because this kid gets to eat food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He gets to wear nice clothes, play with friends, and breathe air that’s fresh and smells of takoyaki. It’s not fair. It’s not—

“You wanna play?”

Toji’s eyes widen at the unexpected invitation. Play? With another kid? He’s seen his cousins play with each other in the large expansive fields of the compound but he was never allowed to join. He’s familiar with games he’s made up on his own—counting how many times a bird chirps before noon or how many different animals he can imagine in the clouds—but playing with someone else?

“It’s nothing crazy, you don’t gotta think so hard about it. You comin’ or not?”

Toji hesitates, his fingers bending the sides of the now-empty plastic bowl in his hands. He really should head back to the compound because it’s been over an hour. Someone has to have tried to come to his shed and bully him by now. He has to go back. He has to.

But—

“Okay,” Toji replies instead and follows the kid down the cobblestone street.

***

It’s dusk when he finally reaches the white brick of the compound walls again. The evening breeze is thankfully not as sticky as earlier in the day and glides through his hair to cool the sweat on the back of his neck. His skin is dirty from the people he brushed against in the alleyway, from running in fields with a speed he never knew he had, from kicking a soccer ball and falling into the grass to play with a friend he can now call, Shiu. His fingers are tacky from the Kewpie that he licked off hours ago as well as seasoning from the Yakitori chicken skewers that Shiu conned off a vendor.

He never knew he could have so much fun. He’s never been able to experience it once in his life and having to say goodbye to Shiu, to lie and say he would be back in a few days, makes his stomach curdle with sadness and his eyes sting with tears that he’s too elated right now to let fall.

The compound walls, once towering and frightening, now seem conquerable. With a full belly and a newfound sense of strength, Toji takes a running start, vaulting over the barrier and landing with a thud in the neglected grass. He falls to his knees and plops into the cushion of the ground, rolling onto his back with a huff. 

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he giggles, it’s light and unexpected, mingling with the night air, and helps his lips curl into a rare smile. He gazes up at the starry sky, stars that he wishes he had names for but still uses their presence to create warriors and animals to tell himself stories on nights when he can’t sleep.

“No matter what I tell you, you still never listen.”

The sound of his uncle’s voice shoots an electric jolt of fear down Toji’s spine, propelling him to his knees before he can draw another breath. He can’t have his back on Naobito, he needs to have his eyes on every movement even though it won’t make a difference.

His breath is lodged in his lungs, forming a tight knot that constricts his chest and parches his throat. The sight of his uncle, the sound of his voice, and the scent of his overpowering cologne, make him break into a sweat immediately. It’s a Pavlovian response and his body yearns for some sort of survival instinct that has long since been beaten out of him. But he tries, god does he try to defend himself every time.

Toji sits back on his haunches, shooting an ineffective glare up at his uncle that does little to penetrate the unnaturally smooth texture of Naobito’s skin. Toji can’t run, where would he go? To the other side of the compound where another member of his family can grab him by the hair and drag him back to the underbrush? To the front gates that are always locked and manned by security guards who control who can enter and exit?

“I’m guessing you ran your mouth to everyone you saw. Told those commoners that you’re a poor, neglected boy trapped in the clutches of the Zenin family.” Toji should have done that, but he was too caught up in good food and having friends like a kid should. He shakes his head at his uncle, unwilling to form words that bubble with the now overwhelming queasiness within him. “Oh I’m sure you did, didn’t you?” 

Toji shakes his head again, more eager, more insistent even though his heart begins to race in his chest. What’s the point in trying to prove himself to someone who’s already made up their mind? It’s useless, Toji knows that, but he continues to be honest, shaking his head over and over, hoping that maybe just this once, his uncle will believe him.

Naobito scoffs, his peppered mustache twitching with the movement of his mouth. The raven hair on his scalp is always gelled and brushed back no matter the time of day. He exudes wealth in tailored suits and eloquence with a nasty edge that cements his authority within the family. He’s a mean man, a rotten man. A man who subjects Toji to torment no matter the time of day. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the authorities are on their way here right now. Ready to arrest your family, to haul away your catatonic mother so she can’t defend you.”

Naobito’s words are a sharpened tool of manipulation, Toji knows the pierce of it against his skin. But the thought that his own actions would endanger someone else, makes him start, to open his mouth in a plea.

“I didn’t—”

But before he can say another word, a searing pain grips his scalp, forcing a hiss of agony from his lips as Naobito yanks him by the hair through the thick grass and drags him away. Knotweed scratches his face and scrapes against his ankles as he kicks desperately, trying to find purchase on the ground before his uncle can do anything else. 

His heart pounds in a recognizable rhythm, adrenaline coursing weakly through his veins, its effects dulled by the overwhelming fear. His fighting doesn’t matter. Toji knows the routine all too well—the sensation of the wooden floor beneath his back when he falls onto it, the sting of a slap across his face, the ache of a knee to his gut. 

Toji hasn’t sobbed in front of his uncle in a long time, but he can’t suppress the wretched sound that escapes him as the yakitori and takoyaki resurface and leave his mouth bitter. It feels like the worst punishment he’s ever received, the consequence of eating wonderful food that was never meant for a peasant like him. He took it in, and now it’s on the ground. 

He shouldn’t have jumped the walls. He shouldn’t have even thought about it.

Stupid.

Worthless.

Insignificant.

“Now what did we learn?” his uncle’s bored drawl cuts through the air, indifferent as his own flesh and blood cries in front of him. It’s just another day for him and he enacts punishment based on ideals that have been hammered into him by his own father and the father before him.

Naobito pulls a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away specks of blood from his knuckles. His perfectly groomed hair is now disheveled, falling over his eyes, glowering with disdain down at his nephew. Towering over him, Naobito radiates dominance, his imposing stature a constant reminder of Toji’s weakness. Toji hates it. He hates Naobito. He hates his entire family. He hates that his very existence brings so much distaste to those who should be protecting him. 

His ears are ringing and his face hurts, and large, calloused hands grip Toji’s cheeks, squeezing them painfully and forcing his gaze upward to lock with evil eyes. His charcoal irises hold no depth or uniqueness and they’re devoid of warmth. Pure hatred, it’s all that oozes from his uncle’s gaze. He’s endured that hateful look every day for the past decade, yet it feels just as fresh as the day before, just as painful to the inside of him. 

Toji chokes on a tight breath, groaning against the pressure of nails digging into his skin. He’s devastated by the stench of sweat, dirt, and vomit, and he’s so tired. All sense of strength that filled his hollow bones on the other side of the walls evaporated as soon as the sound of his uncle’s voice shot into his ears like a rifle.

“I said,” Naobito begins, voice low and filled with venom. His breath smells faintly of whiskey, but Toji knows he would inflict this pain upon his nephew completely sober. “What did we learn?”

Through the delirium of it all, beneath the horrible smells around him and the pain that radiates from his stomach up to his hairline, he registers the tremble in his body. He’s shaking, quaking in the grip of a family member who has done nothing but terrorize him as early as he can remember. Toji wants to spit in his face, wrap his hands around his pale neck, and squeeze until the life leaves his body.

But he’s not strong enough. He will never be strong enough.

So he does what he’s been conditioned to do, what he knows will appease his tormentor.

“I’m useless,” Toji whispers, tears finally welling in his eyes, shame gnawing at his gut. No child should ever have to utter those words, yet Toji speaks them daily.

Naobito hums in satisfaction, sickly sweet, eliciting a sharp twist in Toji’s stomach. If he throws up, he hopes it gets on his uncle’s finely pressed suit. He hopes the stains never come out, hopes he has to throw it away and spend more money for a new one. 

“And what else? You are…?”

The pucker of Toji’s lips quivers as they curl to form the words and his vision swims. The sight of his uncle becomes hazy, and Toji is thankful that he can’t see his face if only for a moment. 

“I’m…insignificant.”

Even though his uncle’s features are a blur, Toji can still see the whites of his teeth as he smiles. It only makes the tears fall quicker and scalding, dripping down dirty cheeks and onto his uncle’s fingers that still dig into his cheeks. He recoils in disgust, shoving Toji away as if he’s been burned. The fingers are gone, free from their biting grip, but Toji can still feel the indentation of them on his cheeks, branded and there to stay for as long as he lives.

Clutching the wooden floor beneath him, Toji’s nails try to burrow into the hard surface and he desperately wishes the floorboards could open up and swallow him whole. Tears stream down without reservation, smacking onto the dark wood next to his dirty fingers. Since his birth, he’s known not an ounce of happiness, not an ounce of peace or love, and is always the subject of his family’s wrath. He’s just come to accept what he’s forced to repeat day after day. Of what he is.

Insignificant.

Useless.

And that thought, the terrible and ever-present thought that his life has no meaning, only makes him cry harder. They’re harsh sobs that rattle in his chest and make him hiccup with every inhale, and he can’t stop them. Finally, his uncle has taught him a valuable lesson.

Somewhere in the distance, he hears Naobito scoff as he stands on his feet and readies to retreat and leave Toji in his misery. The routine will continue in the morning—cold water through a garden hose to shower him down, leftover breakfast from the main house, and another dusty yukata to wear.

Toji knows it like the back of his hand. And like so many times before, Naobito rolls his eyes, stuffs his dirty handkerchief into his pocket, and utters the same words.

“Stop—

***

“—fucking sniveling.”

It’s the third time Toji has to say it in so few minutes and his patience is wearing thin. They always get like this, it shouldn’t surprise him, yet his annoyance refuses to morph into practiced indifference, despite his years on the job. A part of him recognizes the fear in the man’s voice and the tears that run down his cheeks. He held that same emotion and cried many times through years of beatings.

But that was a long time ago, and this is different. This isn’t a man who has spent years under the abuse of his family, this is a target, successfully hunted down by Toji. Right now, it’s just another Tuesday. Another contract. Another paycheck. 

Toji doesn’t give them names; attaching emotion is pointless in a job he is always eager to finish so he can get paid. But he needs something to keep his mind focused; so he uses adjectives or random words to effectively detach himself. His current target’s name? Greasy.

The moniker suits him, evident from the persistent shine on his bald head, the stain of sweat that builds at his collar, and a dingy button-up that hugs his beer belly. His beady eyes are filled with tears, his lower lids red and swollen and a thin chapped lip split down the middle. He squirms and wiggles in his chair and every part of him seems slimy, reminiscent of a snake fresh from its egg. And Toji hates snakes. 

What the hell is he again? A stock broker? Hedge fund manager? Toji doesn’t really remember nor does he really care, it’s not relevant anyway. His career is but a small stepping stone for figuring out the best approach for reconnaissance.

It takes Toji a week to track Greasy’s movements in the vastness of the city that is part of America. Despite Toji’s skills in navigation, everything is unfamiliar. But he adapts quickly—he has to.

Greasy works a typical nine-to-five and has a corner office in a nice skyrise downtown that he spends most of his time taking personal phone calls inside of instead of working. Toji knows because the building across the street is empty and just as tall with large glass windows that are blacked out to those on the outside. On the 42nd floor, Toji has a perfect view of the back of his target and watches every day to note every detail of his routine.

For lunch, Toji stealthily follows Greasy to the same 7-Eleven at 12:35 PM, watches him purchase the same cherry slushie and tuna melt for ten dollars, and grimaces beneath the cloth mask that covers his mouth as he watches Greasy scarf down the food like the pig he is on the journey back to the office. At 5 PM, Greasy walks from the office to the train station, takes the Red Line to another city, and arrives home thirty minutes later.

The routine is as mundane and uninspired as the man himself. Yet, it’s the days marked by suspicious behavior from his client that pique Toji’s interest. Those are the days Greasy indulges, presenting the perfect opportunity for Toji to strike.

On Monday and Wednesday, Greasy tells his wife he has to work late and clocks out at 4:45 PM, riding the same Red Line but exiting the train at a stop before his usual. He climbs into a shiny Mercedes, kisses a much younger blonde woman, and disappears until 11 PM when his client reports that he’s arrived home. Like many others of his kind—seedy and grimy and consumed with themselves—Greasy remains oblivious to Toji’s presence. The last thing on his mind is his wife and children as he indulges in infidelity.

He’s climbed the ranks of his job but failed to realize the ease of it is from his wife’s influence. He’s too selfish to recognize that cheating on a governor with a dark side would not only incur her wrath but also put her in the spotlight due to his carelessness. He’s too conceited to realize his mistress only fucks him because her house and car are being paid as long as she continues to entertain him. He’s stupid in the best way for a mission like this, and ignorant of the world around him. 

It turns out, Greasy has been fucking on the side for half of his marriage. And he’s been taking a little bit of his wife’s money that she earns as a politician to fuel his alternative lifestyle. His wife is easy on the eyes, gave the loser two kids, and remained faithful even though her husband slept with anything that had a pulse. The only things Greasy gives his wife in return are two children and an STD. She’s angry, distraught, and filled with rage. Rightfully so.

Thanks to the help of the department in his organization that handles all things technological, Toji is able to SIM swap the mistress’s phone and send Greasy a message to meet her in a different location. Specifically, one of the many random establishments throughout the city that have been bought by his organization under the guise of something else. 

Greasy walks into Toji’s trap, ignorant and vulnerable, and now here he sits—tied up and squealing. This contract is so easy that it’s almost upsetting. He doesn’t usually like to get his hands dirty, but mental stimulation would have been a nice distraction.

Toji doesn’t get it—cheating. He’s always been one to stick with a woman and take what he can before he moves on to the next. While his intentions are never worth a gold star, he does things one woman at a time. Cheating seems…exhausting. And he’s been exhausted for most of his life to stay away from it if he can.

He’s not one to be tied down anyway.

At least he thought so.

“Earn me.”

Your words echo in his mind, a precursor to what might become a throbbing migraine because he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. You shouldn’t be in the dark, bloody recesses of his thoughts focused on killing. The room will only stain your smooth brown skin and ruin you, consume you, and corrupt you in ways beyond repair. He can’t afford your gaze to turn into anything other than teasing or annoyed when you look at him.

“I s-swear. I’ll do-do wh-whate-ever you say just—“ 

Whiny. Sobbing. Annoying.

“Shut up,” Toji grumbles, using the muzzle of his Glock 43 to massage his temple.

He’s tired, his brain now pulsating and being fueled by the stench of Greasy’s body. Despite the amount of money that he can get from revenge contracts, they are typically handled by those ranked lower than him. Revenge contracts deal with anything personal: infidelity, a family member that is despised just enough to warrant making them disappear, two legal companies doing whatever they can to take the other down. Anything with a vendetta.

They are driven by anger, hatred, and bitterness. Heavy and unnecessary emotions that Toji has to deal with before he can complete the job. Clients often demand specific proofs of guilt, from signed confessions in blood to videos of their target with tearful apologies to a picture of a severed finger if they are demented enough. To the client, it’s freeing. To the world, it’s insanity. But to Toji, it’s tedious and he has no choice but to get it done.

He pulls out his phone, ignoring the absence of notifications from you, and dials the burner number provided to all clients.

“Is it done?”

Most wives would be a sniveling mess under such circumstances. But not this one. She’s been wronged to a degree that her sadness washed away a long time ago and all that was left was rage, revenge, and unyielding determination. It takes a special someone who has been really hurt to stoop this low into darkness.

“Not yet, honey. Doing what you wanted remember?” 

Toji sighs, putting his phone on speaker as finally rests his gaze on the disheveled and pissy state of Greasy. His other hand steadies the gun aimed at Greasy’s dick and the hiccuping words flow once again. He’s so goddamn loud. Toji needs Ibuprofen, food, a fucking text from you (but he’s not thinking about that right now), and some sleep.

Greasy has already exhausted the usual litany of cries, but Toji endures the same performance again for his client on the phone.

“I’m sorry!”

“I won’t do it again!”

“Please give me another chance!”

Blah, blah, fucking blah.

In the early years of Toji’s time in darkness, he watched this performance firsthand. It’s a feeble attempt to cling to life, words uttered in desperation on the precipice of death, holding little substance. Once the adrenaline dies down, old habits resurface, seeping through the cracks formed by fear. And Greasy’s wife won’t be willing to pay such a hefty price a second time.

Removing the phone from speaker, Toji presses it firmly to his ear to drown out Greasy’s heightened cries. “You get all that, honey?”

“…yes.” 

Mrs. Greasy sounds a little unsure, but she can’t back down now. That’s the other irritating thing about revenge contracts. Deeds fueled by emotion are unpredictable, and in a business like this, you need to be absolutely certain of what you agree to. She could back down, but then that means she knows about this little business and Toji’s organization will have no choice but to come after her.

No, he needs this signed and sealed with a deposit in his account by the end of the night.

Toji waves the gun dismissively, rolling his eyes at Greasy’s flinching. “You wanna stay on for the rest?” It’s a courtesy Toji always extends, twisted though it may be, offering some semblance of closure to his clients.

Greasy’s face is a mess of mucus and sweat, and the front of his pants is wet. It’s fucking disgusting, but there’s a part of Toji that revels in the sight. Perhaps it’s the years of desensitization, but Toji relishes seeing those who deserve to get their due. Rotten people. Terrible people. And while cheaters aren’t inherently evil, they seldom learn until their world crumbles around them.

“Just get it done,” Mrs. Greasy replies firmly, though a tremor in her voice betrays her fear. She should be afraid and drowning her worries in bottles of wine tonight. It’s one of many logical responses to ordering the death of a cheating husband. She hangs up without another word.

Normally, Toji has a few words before he pulls the trigger or tightens the noose or whatever nefarious thing he’s ordered to do before his target goes limp. But the throbbing in his head has blossomed into a migraine just as he expected, he hasn’t eaten in ten hours, and he hasn’t heard from you since last night.

To put it quite simply, Toji is pissed off.

So he cocks his gun and does what he needs to do.

Despite the deafening roar of the gun, the ensuing silence is gratifying to his head. He doesn’t bother with the mess, that’s someone else’s job and he shoots off the text to the appropriate party. In a few hours, Greasy’s body will be dealt with in whatever way the cleaning crew decides. A death certificate will be signed by a coroner and an autopsy report will be forged by a pathologist—two of many on his organization’s payroll—and to the public Mr. Greasy will have been a loving man killed by his own heart. It’s almost poetic how efficiently things are run.

Thick red droplets splatter the grimy concrete, falling in a rhythmic cadence Toji knows all too well. Scenes like this are etched into his psyche, a constant hum in the background of his thoughts like a relentless generator. The instinctual response is to recoil, to scream, to flee at the sight.

But Toji has learned to numb himself to the gore and violence of his profession. To reach the level he has attained, to gain that notoriety, he had to confront the brutality without flinching. He had to absorb it, dream about it, and recall it with clarity when necessary, sketching it on a canvas as if it were fresh in his mind. 

Despite the beating he received, the small taste of freedom Toji savored at ten years old was just the beginning. Sneaking out became a routine and it didn’t take long for him to learn from Shiu how to swindle, scam, and steal. Every time he scaled the walls of the compound, Naobito’s wrath got longer and more painful. As if to teach him a lesson, as if the pain would make him fall back in line. 

But his uncle failed to realize that he took that hope from Toji long before he decided to seek more freedom. He had taken everything from him. He had nothing left to lose.

On the day that he learned of his mother’s passing, he leaped over the white brick walls and never returned.

The streets became his domain, cobblestones his makeshift bed unless a caring vendor offered him a room for the night or Shiu was able to convince his parents to let Toji sleep over for a few days. They ran the streets together with other kids their age, and as they grew, so did the prevalence of crime.

It didn’t take long for Toji to get mean, to embrace the cruelty that always radiated from his uncle’s pores. Survival demanded ferocity and each fight he got into honed his strength and capacity for violence until it simmered perpetually beneath his skin.

Despite the bloodshed ingrained in his past, Toji shies away from memories of his first kill. He was too young, too naive, and too angry. He refuses to conjure the face of his victim, to entertain the image of the man he eliminated in defense of an older woman who was being attacked. He pushes that memory down into a dark corner where he can never see it. He refuses to remember more.

But Toji does remember how cold it was that night—the rain, the tremble of his hands around the gun, the precision he summoned, the hollow emptiness that followed. Naobito’s influence had carved out any trace of emotion, leaving behind a vessel capable only of detached efficiency. It’s so ironic that it’s laughable. He became the very thing he feared.

When larger and more menacing gangs began to cast their shadows, Toji realized it wouldn’t be long until he would have to fall into one just to survive. He remembers a member from one of the more vicious gangs recruiting him. Not Yakuza, but just as structured and disciplined with a hideout, hot food, and warm beds. How could he possibly say no? 

In a year, Toji ascended the ranks, earning his place as Wakagashira—second in command—at the age of seventeen. If someone needed to disappear, Toji was the man to get it done. Morals were luxuries he couldn’t afford; his survival depended on their sacrifice.

Those efforts paid off. He moved from the local hardcore gang to a legitimate organization that gave him a mentor who showed him how to read, encouraged him to get his GED, and taught him how to be disciplined and mature. He began to get paid for his work and his world changed. 

He no longer had to think about his next meal; it was always within reach. He no longer endured cold showers from a garden hose and the leaky roof of his shed; he had comfort and a cheap apartment. He no longer sought affection; it was thrust upon him by every woman his age who could breathe the same air as him.

Everything that he has earned in his life, has been by his own hand, his own skill, his own diligence. 

But no amount of money and comfort can wash away the brutal beginnings of his life.

Toji swipes his finger on his phone screen, a new ritualized distraction that gives him satisfaction when he watches a row of orange jewels disappear. He’s reached level 150. And while he can’t make any money playing Candy Crush, it still fuels the addiction that he used to harness when he places bets. He has yet to admit freely that he’s a gambler, but you’re no idiot. His determination to win as many games of Spades on the 4th of July at your uncle’s was the first giveaway. 

“Jesus. You always this messy?” a voice from behind him calls out, prompting Toji’s hand to instinctively fly to the gun on his side as he whirls around. His breathing halts in reflex, ears straining to capture any subtle sound to give him an advantage. Yet, the sight that meets his eyes—a group of people clad in grey jumpsuits, their insignia faded—elicits only a frustrated exhale. “This how you do things over in Japan?”

There’s an undertone to the comment that Toji recognizes, but doesn’t bother to acknowledge as he walks past the crew and out of the warehouse. There’s no point entertaining them. No matter the contract, the cleaning crew always complains. New recruits in the organization, no matter how promising, have to work their way up and show they can handle any job. So Toji knows what it’s like to complain during cleanup.

But it is true, this isn’t how Toji does things. He’s quick and precise without leaving a mess, silent and stealthy—a reputation that has elevated him within the ranks. He’s heard the whispers, and seen the way those of lower rank either tense up or shine their eyes at him when he’s near. His boss boasts of him as Japan’s notorious hitman—nameless yet highly sought after for his efficiency. The Invisible Man.

With his years in the game, Toji can call the shots on how he does things. He only kills scum. Scum lower than himself. Raised in squalor, abused by those meant to care for him, he knows evil intimately. Each bullet he delivers to his targets brings a semblance of peace, and a sense of justice to his troubled soul. 

There was a point in his life when he wasn’t so troubled. Somewhere beneath the layers of filth and pain lies a man sheonce knew—a man of tenderness and warmth, embraced for a fleeting moment. A brief, yet exquisite time filled with the gentle caress of her hands, the comforting cadence of her voice, and the birth of a son, a fragment of her very soul. She was able to push through the anger he gave, wrap her hands around his, and never let go.

But like all things in Toji’s life, he’s constantly reminded that he is nothing. That he deserves nothing. And the world made sure to take her away to reaffirm that devastating fact. Six years of barely holding himself together in front of a child who needed him, made him realize he needed to do better. 

He’s not ready to give up his career just yet—he’s not sure if he ever can. However, one thing he is sure he can do is provide his son with a better life. He’s not the best father, he will admit to it, and he always has enough connections to give Megumi protection from his family and the dangers of his job. But it’s not enough anymore. He needs to be more involved, more attentive, more of a parent to fill the hole left by his mother. He can make sure his son has a childhood worth remembering.

Not like his own.

America is big, which means more opportunity, which means more money, and an entire continent away from the echoes of his past.

He should forge a future worth pursuing—a future where his kid can have simple joys he never got to experience; maybe a dog, a nice private school, and a father with a convenient job. Retirement flits through his mind more frequently these days, but he knows that truly getting out of the business may be next to impossible. A small part of him longs for that freedom again, a chance to escape all the shadows of his past. However, as his phone buzzes with yet another notification, he’s jolted back to the grim reality that he lives in.

Unknown: Not your usual leftovers but you still got the job done. You should have your payment later today.

Toji: Good. No more revenge contracts. I mean it.

Unknown: I have another if you’re interested, a classic one and done. Want to get you situated in the new market before people start demanding you.

Toji: Gimme a week.

Unknown: I can do that.

***

He’s downed three Ibuprofen, scarfed McDonald’s, and washed away the remnants of blood and frustration from his skin. In the bathroom mirror, his chest is flushed from the vigorous scrubbing, his scars appearing more pronounced against the backdrop of crimson. Each scar serves as a stark reminder of his tumultuous life, where every gain is intertwined with bloodshed and agony. 

Under the dim glow of the streetlights outside your uncle’s house, you likely didn’t notice the scars that mar his skin, a fact for which he’s grateful. It would only be more that he would have to lie to you about and he hasn’t thought of the story that he will tell you when you finally ask him.

He has no idea what sort of card he’s pulled to have you in his life. You deserve someone accomplished—a doctor, lawyer, or politician—certainly not a man who deals in bullets and bloodshed, someone like him. Men like Toji don’t deserve the kindness of a woman. Men like Toji don’t deserve the softness of skin scented with Shea butter and a hint of vanilla or the radiance of sunlight dancing on curly hair. Everything good and beautiful in this world slips from his scarred fingers. 

He feels insignificant, worthless, a stray wandering the streets, latching onto any speck of attention. Yet, despite your piercing glares and the thin thread that you have him on, you possess a warmth surrounded by fiery edges. The urge to subject himself to that searing heat is almost unbearable.

Both of your lives are consumed with demanding professions; his by contracts, yours by on-call duties and long shifts. It’s been about a week since your date and you both text frequently. You’re busy with your fifth consecutive 12-hour shift and you haven’t messaged him all day. He knows you’re busy, but there’s a piece of him that has been trained to expect unhappiness. 

Deep down, he knows you have every right to cut ties with him forever. He’s deceiving you in the worst possible way. If you were to uncover his deeds, the dark agreements he’s made and completed, you would surely turn away without a second glance. He had no intention of wanting more of you after that night. But women like you are rare, fleeting in appearance and he’s a selfish fucker. So, so selfish.

He was ready to ask you out again before the reality of his harsh world dragged him away. A contract that he thought would be simple and quick, had dragged into a week-long affair; interrupting little moments he could be spending with you. 

In those moments, alone with his gaze fixed on Greasy as he observed his behavior, he thought of you. He thought of seeing you again when you’re not yelling and screaming at a referee. Maybe for dinner? Somewhere decent where he can snicker at the way you glare at him in the low lights. Somewhere he can see you in a dress besides the red one he met you in, curls framing your face, naturally long lashes narrowing as he flirts with you without shame.

The knowledge that he doesn’t know more about you, leaves an odd fluttering in his stomach that he can only describe as annoyance. He’s known you for over a month but you are as mysterious as you are beautiful. With his skills, he could easily dig into the far corners of his organization to discover more about you. But the mere thought of knowing parts of you without your permission leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’s slept around enough to know a good-looking woman when he sees one, and you stood out like a genuine gem amidsta sea of counterfeit trinkets. Toji can’t deny that he approached you that night with a certain goal in mind, but the instant he looked down and called you ‘princess’, the minute you shot him a glare that could rival a city’s destruction, he was hooked.

He’s drawn to women who are independent, strong-willed, and able to speak up for themselves. The assertive ones were rare until he met you. That night at your uncle’s, you exuded a resoluteness he had never encountered before. You took pleasure solely for yourself, oblivious to the fact that your selfishness merely made you more enticing, inviting him to sink his fingers into your flesh and take root indefinitely. He had never been so delirious with lust, so utterly out of control with his body as you took and took. The sex was amazing, toe-curling, and intense but it wasn’t just that, it was you.

You, you, you—fuck.

Normally, he’s content with momentary encounters with women; lingering around for a few weeks, taking what they offer until he moves on to the next. It’s a practiced air that he’s used to breathing.

Breathe in—a good fuck on Monday that has a little bit of money for him to take advantage of until Friday. Breathe out—she’s had enough of him or he’s taken his fill and he finds a nice brunette on Saturday.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

But the air is a lot thinner when he tries to breathe you in, tight in his chest and too much but also not enough.

Because you’re a fierce little thing, yet he can see hints of vulnerability beneath the steely resolve of your gaze, a softness rarely revealed to others—especially men and those who challenge you. There’s a familiarity in that vulnerability, a long-forgotten sensation buried deep within him, hidden away in that same dusty recess of his being that’s been rattling for attention a lot more lately. 

The allure of you is like a swift current within a crystal-clear stream, beckoning him to immerse himself despite the rocky terrain beneath. Against his better judgment, he’s plunged headfirst without thinking about what he’s doing—about what’s at stake—and letting the current take him away.

You must have seen something in him, because, despite your protests and excuses, you dropped your defenses enough to show more of yourself. Enough to smile at the daisies he gave you when you thought he couldn’t see. Enough to mold your soft lips against his one more time.

His mind wanders back to the present again and falls into a familiar urge that has to be satiated. He knows that whatever it is, it stems from his childhood, but he doesn’t know how to stop it. He runs his fingers over his skin, tracing each scar he’s come to memorize to ensure nothing appears out of place. He can distinguish those from Naobito’s cruel hands and those earned from years in the field. He knows. Yet, he still feels the need to double-check, from the locks on the front door to the latches on every window, even poking his head into the attic before bed just for reassurance. 

He has to be sure that he’s safe, that he is secure in his home, away from prying eyes because Naobito could be his neighbor. He could be here in the US, here in this city, here watching his every move and he has to be safe.

His fingers tremble against the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink as his heart races, each breath shaky and uneven as it falls from his throat, his eyes fluttering to push away the sting as he begins his own routine that comes up a few times a week. A steady mantra to quell his rising panic.

He’s not here.

He will never be here.

He will never hurt you again.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

He hasn’t had to worry about Naobito in a very long time, but the logic of that falls to the wayside no matter the time of day. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone about it, he’s fine. The fear and pain will fade away with time. 

It will.

The chime of his phone interrupts his thoughts and makes him flinch. He exhales another shaky breath and presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, using the pressure to ground himself and get his thoughts back in order so he can go about his day with what remains of his sanity.

“Fuck,” Toji whispers and slides large hands down his face before snatching up his phone and making his way to his living room to plop on his couch.

Toji rolls onto his side, the cotton of the couch pillowing his cheek as he stares at the eggshell wall of his living room. The house he’s purchased is spacious, more than he’s ever had, but it’s not for him. It’s for Megumi. His son deserves a proper home, a place to grow and thrive. But it lacks warmth, devoid of the touches that make a house a home. The hardwood floors have no rugs to clothe them, the living room only has a couch and TV with no stand beneath it and the walls are bare and without character. Maybe he could go furniture shopping this weekend? Invite you if you’re not too tired from working.

When he finally checks his phone, his heart thumps heavily in his chest when he sees the notification from you.

You: I’ve had such a shit day. My car wouldn’t fucking start and work has been so busy. I’m exhausted.

Relief floods him too quickly for him to swallow down and analyze later. There’s no stopping it now, and Toji finds himself sitting up on the couch, his nose almost touching the screen of his phone as he types his response. So many thoughts bubble within him at once. The urge to ask you what he can do, the urge to come over to your house so he can take care of you—so many urges that his late wife would effortlessly draw from him against his own volition overwhelm him. 

Toji: How did you get to work

You: I took the bus.

He growls under his breath at your response, his mind flashing with every single danger possible at the thought of you traveling alone at night. Any sleazy man could watch the stop you get off, take note of the street, and come back later. Someone bigger than you, stronger than you. And even though you’re fierce and strong yourself, evil usually wins. The thought makes his blood boil. All you had to do was tell him about your car, and he would have picked you up immediately. But the words from you that shine from his phone are a blatant reminder of just how little you rely on others.

Toji: I’ll pick you up.

You: I get off at midnight. Toji it’s fine.

Toji: I don’t care. I’ll be in the parking lot when you come outside.

You don’t respond, leaving Toji to wonder whether you’re simply swamped with work again or pointedly ignoring him out of defiance. He’s showing up whether you like it or not. He tosses his phone toward the end of the couch and rolls onto his back, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling. 

Popcorn ceilings. He despises them. It’s a trivial thing to fixate on, but the textured surface only amplifies the visibility of dirt and grime, reminding him of memories of the dilapidated greenhouse shed where he grew up; of dust and dingy yukatas and soiled food. Toji realizes that the stupid thought is so annoying because of how quickly it reminds him of his life. It’s a vicious cycle of how his mundane thoughts can instantly make him think of a painful memory. 

Maybe that’s all his brain can do—think of the bad in his life. He’s not meant for happiness. Wonderful things like you are beyond his reach, and even his own son couldn’t be further detached from him. His thoughts are murky and desolate, so burdened with despair that he’s amazed his body still finds the will to wake up each morning. But he does, for some reason, he still does.

***

A few minutes past midnight when you slide into his car, Toji inhales the weary air you breathe out. Your bun is loose, curls frizzed along your hairline, your scrub top has baby spittle on it, and there are circles under your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted, but Toji’s heart stutters when he glimpses the determination in your gaze—resolute and fierce even when dead on your feet. 

And suddenly, he can’t help himself. He leans over and presses his lips to your cheek, siphoning the softness against the chapped edges of his lips to make the coldness in his chest warm over. You don’t smack him or tell him to behave or call him names for taking something without asking.

“Am I at least allowed to do that without you smacking me?” Toji asks you, a soft smirk on his face as he takes in your familiar glare. It almost washes away the blood and murder he had his hands in this morning.

You wave him away in mild annoyance, but Toji sees something on your face. With his years of perception, he notices the subtle tug of your cheek as it pulls inward for you to bite down on it, your lips fighting to contain the smile that threatens to bloom. One day, he will pull a smile from you freely. One day.

As he drives to your apartment, he unconsciously takes deep inhales to savor the delicate vanilla beneath the sharp tang of hand sanitizer and sterile hallways that radiate from your side of the car. He turns on the classic rock radio station that he played last time you were both in the car together, and you hum along again without thinking. Only this time, your hums are broken, and without strength, your head lolling against the window until you slowly fall asleep.

When he parks the car at your complex, he doesn’t wake you up immediately. In sleep, you can’t scowl at him, but even now, your demeanor remains guarded. Your shoulders are tense, hands clutching the strap of a well-worn leather bag, cheeks flushed with a fever you vehemently deny even though he can smell the common cold in the car. 

Only two minutes have passed, yet his thoughts are consumed solely by you. Not about the people he’s killed. Not about the abuse he’s suffered. Not even the echoes of Naobito’s taunts that intrude when he least wants them to. 

Just you. 

He will earn all of you, just like you asked of him.

That rattling in his chest he felt the last time you were both together makes itself known again, pushing against his belief that his happiness will never be permanently his own. Maybe the sight of you rolling your eyes and offering him little pieces of affection with the smirk you try to hide is the very thing he needs to breathe a little easier. 

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t quite figured it out. 

So for now, he’ll grasp whatever morsel of solace he can, disregarding the ache in his chest that gets worse when he breathes in your air, knowing you remain unaware of such a significant aspect of his life.

He hopes this never catches up to him, and if it does, he hopes that you can forgive him. He hopes that he can forgive himself for taking from you when someone more deserving should occupy his place. 

Until that reckoning arrives, he’ll indulge in his selfishness, because right now, it’s the only thing bringing him a semblance of joy.

Thanks for reading!

[mikashisus]

The Regula Solis Epoch: Masterlist

The Regula Solis Epoch takes place in a renaissance era— in a time where the golden age of the Remurian Empire loomed over the heads of the people of Teyvat.

Although each one includes the story of someone different, they all have one thing in common:

The Golden Age of Teyvat.

☀️

Volume I: Abandon Ship

(mermaid!neuvillette x fem!pirate!reader)

With one of the Remurian fleets hot on your tail and stolen treasure of the crown on your ship, you were ready to take to the Eastern Seas.

When one of your crewmates catches a mermaid of all things on the outskirts of the Dark Sea, you finally think you've hit the jackpot when it comes to treasure.

In the end, however, you come to a startling revelation: is all the treasure in the world really worth more than a life? And suddenly, you have to make a choice... either a huge sum of gold, or the man you've fallen head over heels in love with.

Volume II: Leaving London

(kazuha x gn!knight!reader)

The legendary pirate ship known as “The Alcor” has begun stirring up trouble in the Northern Seas. Although Queen Catalina does not see it as a threat, the General of the North Wind Knights thinks otherwise.

With the risk of angering the Queen on his hands, General Anton issues an order for all knights a part of the navy to seize every last one of The Alcor’s crew.

With no choice but to listen, you obediently set out to hunt down these pirates. However, it doesn’t exactly go according to plan when you cross blades with a foreigner to the Northern Winds.

Volume III: Flesh and Bone

(hunter!tartaglia x gn!werewolf!reader)

The bitter cold forests of Snezhnaya were not kind, nor welcoming to humans. Lurking in the darkness of the tundra were glowing eyes and warning growls.

After being ardently warned to never trespass farther than the outline of trees meeting the wastelands, Ajax takes the risk and crosses to the frozen tundra. With a bag slung over his shoulder and a determination to show his father that the wastelands were fit to be hunting grounds, he readied his bow.

Amidst the hunt, he finds a wounded wolf on the brink of death. Deciding to show it mercy and heal its wounds, Ajax soon finds that this “wolf” is not your normal run of the mill animal… and taking it back to the village was a grave mistake.

Volume IV: Kaleidoscope

(criminal!xiao x fem!adventurer!reader)

Being called to serve Lady Iris, you were expecting just about anything to be asked of you. However, being tasked to watch over a prisoner who stole from King Remus’ grand vault was something else entirely.

Amidst your journey to retrieve this item, you begin to wonder if the prisoner you were tasked to watch over is even a prisoner at all. He makes no move to escape, and it seems as if he does not plan on talking to you. Finding the exact item he stole was not easy either, and it appears that your journey will get worse as the truth slowly unravels.

In the end, you find yourself wondering who is to be trusted: the foreigner from the East, or Lady Iris, who bore no hesitation in sending your friends to their deaths.

Volume V: Masquerade

(lyney x fem!vampire!reader)

As a descendant of the noble Edana line, you grew up with an ardent belief that humans were entirely food and nothing more.

For centuries, you live holed up in your family’s manor, your boredom growing tenfold with each new decade that passes.

Eventually having enough of your boring, high class lifestyle, you step onto the streets for the first time in almost a millennia, looking for something to satiate your interest.

This comes in the form of a budding magician, who wants nothing more than to break down your walls and show you what the world looks like in blinding color. A world that wasn’t coated in gray, and a love that wasn’t forged in blood oaths.

Volume VI: From Blood and Ash

(dainsleif x gn!angel!reader)

For as far as the eye could see, the world was bathed in red, and the gray of ashes covered the ground like a blanket. The tang of blood and sharp stench of smoke permeated the air. The screams and cries of the people were deafening amidst the scorching flames of retribution.

Among the sea of corpses and ash stood a lone figure, covered head to toe in blood that did not belong to them. One of their ivory wings was singed from the fires, permanently scarred with the reminder of their betrayal towards the heavens.

Feet away stood a soldier. As they locked eyes, the world stopped for a moment, and the ticking of the doomsday clock echoed like a roar in the air of the blazing wasteland. The soldier collapsed to the ground, clawing at his throat as the angel of death approached him.

Within seconds, their jaws slacked and unhinged, revealing a terrifying set of sharp, gargantuan white teeth. Their talons reached out, grabbing ahold of his shoulder. Their tongue lolled out, drool dripping from the corners of their mouth. With a final cry for mercy, the soldier watched as the angel before him turned into a monstrosity.

Volume VII: Ambrosia

(venti x fem!dancer!reader)

It was time for the annual North Wind Festival in the western kingdom of Mondstadt.

Amidst the preparations for the festival, a wandering bard arrives in the bustling city. Without a clue on this bard's origin, the people of the city welcome him and his talent for music with open arms.

Venti soon finds himself in a predicament when a dancer from a foreign nation steals his audience time and time again. As one who would not back down from a challenge, Venti decides to entertain her and participate in her game.

However, when she mysteriously disappears the night before her performance at the festival, Venti realizes it is up to him to go find her. He doesn't realize that he would get himself wrapped up in a feud between an ex-soldier and the army of Snezhnaya.

author’s note: the “regula solis epoch” is a project i have been working on for literal months now. it takes place a few hundred years before the archon war and is completely canon divergent. i tried to incorporate as much remuria lore as i could. i hope that all of you enjoy reading these as much as i will writing them. each fic will be released in order, so “abandon ship” will be first on the list!

taglist — ; open!

**if you’d like to be added to the taglist for any and/or all of these upcoming fics, then leave a comment or send a msg to my inbox!

divider: @/cafekitsune

[sunsetmoonstreet]

⌕⠀WE'LL BE A FINE LINE . . .

CL¹⁶ Series Masterlist

PAIRING.

Charles Leclerc x Fem! Artist! Reader

SUMMARY.

How to enjoy Monaco? (An incomplete guide by yours truly.) Step one: Make sure that your neighbor is not the fling you ghosted and stood up during your university years in Las Vegas. Step two: Make sure that this neighbor is not hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you even after nearly two years of no contact. Step three: Make sure that he will not be working with you while you worked for the launch of your cousin's business and if he does, make sure to act like he's the sun and you're a vampire deathly allergic to its light. Step four: Under no circumstance should you jump to his apartment balcony—almost falling to your death in the process—to avoid being seen by your parents who came to visit your cousin in Monaco. Step five: Do not mess up steps one to four. If you already did, you're fucked. (The last sentence can mean two things.)

CHAPTERS.

001. what how why is your ex fling in monaco

002. the fine art of painting denim jeans

003. optimus prime: roll out of the damn ferrari

004. two horses and a dream, we call this horsepower

005. defied death for love (not romantic, just idiotic)

006. mr. brightside and ms. darkside

007. we are a tragedy, the preventable kind

WARNING/S.

None at the moment.

STATUS.

Work in progress. [ 050124 12PM KST ]

[hd-junglebook]

Its Always Been You

Part 2 - Word Count 4932

A.N - Don't hate me for how long this is OR that it's just arguing. I needed thing to move along sue me. And if you are mad, that's why y/n got her feelings hurt. sucks to suck.

Prev - Next

Y/N stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past as Jack navigated the busy Newark streets. The silence seemed to stretch on endlessly, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the distant sounds of traffic, each second feeling heavier than the last. Y/N had not made a peep, her thoughts racing like a freight train through her mind.

Her mind raced with questions, each one more painful than the last. How could Jack have kept something like this from her? How long had he been seeing Daphne, and why had he never mentioned her before?

Y/N had always thought that she and Jack shared everything, that their bond was unbreakable. But now, she couldn't help but wonder if she had been fooling herself all along.

The thought that Jack might have known about her feelings for him made Y/N's stomach twist with humiliation. Had she been too obvious in her affection, too transparent in her longing?

The idea that he might have been pitying her all this time, or worse, laughing at her behind her back, made her want to curl up and disappear.

Y/N's eyes burned with unshed tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.

Instead, she focused on keeping her breathing steady, on maintaining the fragile composure that was all that was keeping her from falling apart. The streetlights flickered past in a blur, casting fleeting shadows that danced across the car's interior.

The glow from the dashboard illuminated Jack's profile, his jaw clenched and his eyes focused on the road ahead, but she could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

Beside her, Jack gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension. Y/N could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She didn't trust herself not to break down if she did, to unleash the torrent of emotions that were swirling inside her like a hurricane.

The silence was now feeling unbearable, a thick fog that clouded her thoughts and stifled her words. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers twisting and turning in a nervous dance. Her heart felt like it was caught in a vice grip, each beat echoing loudly in her ears.

But still, she said nothing, the words lodged in her throat like shards of glass. What could she say, really? What words could possibly encompass the depth of her pain, the magnitude of her unrequited love?

“Can you please talk to me, Y/N? I don’t get what's the big deal," Jack pleaded.

She risked a glance in his direction. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt, and for a moment, Y/N felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding, a terrible joke that they could laugh about later.

But then she remembered the way Daphne had looked at Jack, the possessive gleam in her eye and the casual intimacy of her touch. There was no denying the truth of their relationship, no matter how much Y/N wished she could.

As they came to a stop, the soft purr of the engine died down, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Jack pulled into the garage of the apartment building, navigating the narrow road with ease due to the sparse traffic of the late hour, making the drive up seem even longer.

“It’s nothing, Jack. I was just shocked. You never even mentioned her to me,” Y/N began, her voice shaky. Her eyes darted to his, searching for understanding as she bit her lower lip nervously. “We’re supposed to tell each other everything, and you hid a girlfriend from me,” she continued.

 "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jack's hands tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching. "Y/N, I..."

Jack's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. "Y/N," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry. Just let me explain somehow.”

Y/N swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "Okay. Let’s just get upstairs first."

With that, Y/N pulled her wrist from his grasp, she opened the car door and stepped out into the cool night air, her legs shaking beneath her. She couldn't bear to hear whatever explanation Jack might offer, couldn't stand the thought of listening to him speak of daphne.

They made their way up the steps to their apartment, Y/N's heart felt like it was breaking with every step. She had always thought that loving Jack was the one constant in her life, the one thing she could count on no matter what.

…

As they reached their floor, Y/N fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking so badly that she nearly dropped them. She could feel Jack's eyes on her, could sense his hesitation, but she refused to meet his gaze. She didn't trust herself not to break down completely if she did.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/N managed to unlock the door. She stepped inside, the familiar scent of their apartment washing over her.

Behind her, Jack closed the door softly, the click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the heavy silence. Y/N could hear him take a deep breath, could sense him searching for the right words to say.

"Y/N," Jack said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a step towards her, his hand outstretched. "It's not really what you think. Daphne and I... it's complicated."

Y/N laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "Complicated? Is that what you call it when you have a girlfriend you never told your supposed best friend about?" She spun around to face him.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out eventually? Did you think you could just keep living this double life and I would never know?"

“I can't lose you, Y/N. You're my best friend, the most important person in my life. I know I screwed up, but I'll do whatever it takes to make it right. I'll spend every day proving to you that you can trust me, that I'll never keep anything from you again."

Y/N's eyes searched his face, looking for any sign of deception or insincerity. But all she saw was honesty and fear, a desperate need for her to believe him. She could feel the tension between them, thick and heavy.

"I know Jack," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry, it’s just been a long night. Let’s just let it go. I mean, for Christ’s sake you’re not even dating."

“Can we just watch a movie or something. Forget about her for tonight.” He suggested.

“Maybe tomorrow jack, I’m just really tired.” Jack looked disappointed but he nodded anyway, sitting himself on the couch as y/n walked to her room.

As she pushed open her door and stepped inside, Y/N finally allowed herself to break, the tears she had been holding back spilling down her cheeks in hot, salty tracks.

She sank to the floor, her back pressed against the door, and let the sobs wrack her body, mourning the loss of a love she had never truly had.

…

Y/N groaned as the shrill sound of her alarm pierced through the fog of sleep, dragging her back to consciousness. She blinked blearily, her eyes adjusting to the soft light filtering through her curtains.

For a moment, she couldn't remember how she had gotten into bed the night before, her memories hazy and fragmented.

The events of the previous evening came rushing back, hitting her like a tidal wave. Daphne’s appearance, the breakdown she had. Y/N threw her hands over her face, huffing out a string of unintelligible words as she tried to process the whirlwind of emotions that swirled inside her.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed off the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The apartment was eerily quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the city traffic outside her window. Y/N wondered if Jack was still asleep, or if he had already left for practice.

She padded softly to the bathroom, her bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. The thought of a hot shower to soothe her aching head and wash away the remnants of last night's tears sounded like heaven. Y/N turned the water to its highest temperature, steam filling the small room as she stepped inside.

The scalding water cascaded over her skin, turning it pink and raw. Y/N tilted her head back, letting the spray hit her face and wash away the smudged mascara that had dried on her cheeks. She closed her eyes.

A nagging voice in the back of her mind that whispered that she would never be enough, that Jack would always choose someone else over her.

Y/N shook her head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. She couldn't let herself go down that rabbit hole, couldn't let the pain and insecurity consume her. She needed to be strong, to focus on herself and her own needs, even if that meant putting some distance between herself and Jack.

She was just about to step out when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Curious, she peeked through the sheer curtain, the gauzy material allowing her a glimpse into the hallway beyond, to see Jack standing in the doorway, his hair mussed from sleep and his eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

There, standing in the doorway, was Jack, looking like he had just rolled out of bed. His dark hair was mussed from sleep, sticking up in endearing tufts that made Y/N's fingers itch to smooth them down. His eyes were still heavy with exhaustion.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the tension from the night before still hanging heavy in the air between them.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Jack's features and making his blue eyes appear even more vivid than usual. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she drank in the sight of him, her gaze roaming over the strong lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips.

Even disgruntled he still looked beautiful.

Jack caught sight of himself in the mirror. His eyes widened as he took in his disheveled appearance.

Unable to resist, Y/N couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him, her shoulders shaking with mirth as she watched him pout at his reflection. The sound seemed to startle him, and he turned to face her, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated frown.

Even as he tried to look offended, Y/N could see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep. The sound sent a shiver down Y/N's spine.

Y/N nodded, her laughter growing louder as Jack's pout deepened. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm sorry," she said tucking herself behind the curtain, not sounding sorry at all.

"But you should see yourself right now. You look like a grumpy puppy who got woken up from a nap."

Jack's eyes narrowed, but the smile he had been trying to suppress finally broke through, lighting up his face and making Y/N's breath catch in her throat. "A puppy, huh?" he said, taking a step towards her. "I'll show you a puppy."

Jack's eyes sparked with mischief as he lunged towards Y/N, his hands outstretched as if to grab her from the shower. Y/N let out a yelp of surprise, her laughter echoing off the tiled walls as she quickly tucked herself behind the shower curtain, the flimsy material serving as a makeshift barrier between them.

"Jack, wait!" she pleaded, her voice breathless with laughter. "You can't hit a guy with glasses!"

Jack paused, his hands still hovering in the air as he raised an eyebrow at her. "You're not wearing glasses," he pointed out, his lips twitching with amusement.

Y/N peeked out from behind the curtain, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "Well, no, but I could be. You never know."

Jack shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips as he stepped back from the shower, his hands raised in a sign of peace. "Alright, alright, you win. I surrender."

Y/N emerged from behind the curtain, her hair damp and her cheeks flushed from the steam. She was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were standing, the small bathroom feeling even more cramped with Jack's tall frame taking up space. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the clean scent of soap.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, and all Y/N could focus on was the intensity of Jack's gaze and the way his eyes seemed to darken as they roamed over her face. Her heart raced in her chest, her skin tingling with a sudden, electric awareness of his presence.

But then, the events of the previous night came rushing back, hitting her like a splash of cold water. The hurt, the betrayal, the overwhelming sense of confusion and uncertainty - it all came flooding back, making her throat tighten and her chest ache.

Y/N felt her smile fade, the laughter dying in her throat as she took a small step back, putting some distance between them.

She averted her gaze, suddenly finding the pattern of the shower curtain incredibly interesting as she tried to gather her thoughts.

The sound of the water hitting the tiles seemed to grow louder in the silence, the steady rhythm a stark contrast to the pounding of her heart. Y/N swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as she struggled to find the right words.

"I'll be out in a minute, then it's all yours," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, couldn't bear to see the hurt or confusion in his eyes.

Jack's hands fell to his sides, his expression growing serious. "Are you still mad at me?” he said softly. “I meant what I said last night, Y/N. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us."

Y/N nodded; her throat tight with emotion. "I know you will, Jack. I’m not mad at you, I’m just not feeling good right now.”

Jack was quiet for a moment. Y/N could hear him shift his weight, could sense the way he was searching for something to say. But in the end, he simply nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he took a step back.

"Okay," he said softly, his voice rough with an emotion Y/N couldn't quite place. "I'll just... I'll wait in the living room." And with that, he turned and walked out of the bathroom, the sound of his footsteps fading as he made his way down the hall.

She knew that they couldn't go on like this forever, that they would have to face the hard truths and difficult conversations sooner or later.

But for now, she simply wanted to lose herself in the warmth of the shower, to let the water wash away the pain and confusion and leave her feeling clean and new.

…

After their last awkward encounter, y/n had decided to find someone to talk to. Y/N lay sprawled on her stomach, her feet swinging lazily behind her as she cradled her phone in her hands.

The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face, casting shadows across her features as she poured her heart out to her best friend, Jenn.

"I just don't know what to do," Y/N confessed, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and despair. "I mean, I always knew that Jack and I were just friends, but I guess a part of me always hoped that maybe, someday, he would see me as something more."

Jenn’s face filled the screen, her brows furrowed in sympathy as she listened to Y/N's tale of woe. "Oh, honey," she said softly, her voice tinny through the phone's speakers. "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine how you must be feeling right now."

Y/N sighed, burying her face in her pillow for a moment before lifting her head to look back at the screen. "It's just... I feel so stupid, you know? Like, how could I not have seen this coming? I really thought moving all this way together would open his eyes."

Jenn shook her head, her expression fierce. "You're not stupid, Y/N. You're human. And sometimes, when we're in love, we see what we want to see, even if it's not really there."

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. "I just don't know what to do now," she said, her voice small and lost.

"I mean, Jack is my best friend, but how can I be around him knowing that he's with someone else? Knowing that he'll never see me the way I see him?"

They were quiet for a moment, Jenn/s face was pensive as she mulled over Y/N's words. "Maybe," she said slowly, her tone cautious. "Maybe it's time for you to start thinking about yourself for a change."

Y/N frowned, not quite wanting to get into her plan. "Not this again, we’re not playing matchmaker."

She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “whatever, but maybe it's time for you to put yourself out there, to start meeting new people and exploring new possibilities. You've been so focused on Jack for so long, but there's a whole world out there waiting for you, Y/N."

Y/N bit her lip, her heart racing at the thought. "I don't know, J. I'm not really the dating type. And besides, who would want to go out with me?"

She could feel the eye roll through the screen. "Are you kidding me? Y/N, you're gorgeous, smart, funny, and kind. Any guy would be lucky to have you." Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks at Sarah's words, a small spark of hope igniting in her chest.

Jenn nodded emphatically. “Why don't you download one of those dating apps, like Tinder or Bumble? Just to see what's out there, you know? No pressure, no expectations, just a chance to meet some new people and have some fun."

Y/N let out a surprised laugh, the sound bursting from her lips before she could stop it. "A dating app? Seriously?" The idea both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. She had never been one for casual dating, had always been more of a relationship kind of girl. But maybe Jenn was right.

Maybe it was time for her to step outside her comfort zone, to take a chance on something new. “It could be fun! And who knows, maybe you'll meet someone amazing who will make you forget all about Jack and his stupid secrets."                                

"Okay," she said slowly, her smile growing wider. "I'll do it. I'll download a dating app and see what happens."

…

The soft beat of y/ns favorite song played softly in the background as she stood in front of her mirror, taking one last look at her reflection, she debated between two pairs of heels when she heard the front door open, and the sound of familiar voices filled the apartment.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized that Jack was home, and he wasn't alone. She took a deep breath before stepping out of her room.

The black mini dress hugged her curves in all the right places, and the smokey eye makeup gave her a sultry, mysterious air. She had spent the better part of an hour getting ready, determined to make a good impression on her date.

"Hi John," Y/N said, her voice soft and slightly breathless as she caught sight of Jack's teammate standing beside him. She couldn't help but notice the way John's eyes widened as he took in her appearance, his gaze traveling up and down her body appreciatively.

"Wow, Y/N," John said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You look amazing. Got a hot date tonight?"

Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Maybe," she said, her voice teasing. "Guess you'll have to wait and see."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jack stiffen, his jaw clenching as he watched the exchange. She tried to ignore the way her heart raced at the sight of him, the way her skin tingled with awareness of his presence.

"Well, whoever the lucky guy is, he's in for a treat," John said, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer before he turned to Jack, a knowing look in his eye. "Don't you think, Jack?" Jack's expression was unreadable, but Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides.

"Yeah," he said, his voice tight. "Y/N always looks great."

Y/N felt a thrill of satisfaction at the barely concealed jealousy in his tone, but she forced herself to keep her focus on John. "Thanks, John," she said, her voice warm. "You're too sweet." She took a step closer to him, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you something," she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Why don’t you come over more often? It would be nice to see you more.”

John's eyes lit up, a grin spreading across his face. "Well jack here is trying to keep you to himself. Just say the word and I'll clear my schedule."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and flirtatious. "I might just take you up on that," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

She could feel Jack's gaze burning into her back, could sense the tension radiating off him in waves. But she refused to let herself be swayed. "Well, I should probably get going," she said, glancing at her watch. "Don't want to keep my date waiting."

She brushed past John, her arm grazing against his as she made her way towards the door. "It was great seeing you, John," she called over her shoulder, her voice sweet.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" And with that, she was gone, the sound of her heels echoing down the hallway as she made her way out of the apartment. She could feel Jack's eyes on her until the very last moment.

Y/N felt Jack's hand close around her arm, his grip firm but gentle. Before she could protest, he pulled her towards him, spinning her around until she was facing him, her body pressed against his chest.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him, their faces mere inches apart. “Supposed to tell each other everything, remember? Guess that doesn’t apply to dates or girlfriends,” he snapped, tone dripping with sarcasm. His gaze was icy, challenging him to respond. 

They both stood in the dark hallway, a silent standoff. The pale blue moonlight filtered through the narrow window, casting an eerie glow on their faces. y/n finally broke the silence, his voice as cold as the icy blue of a frozen lake. "If you're going to be like this, maybe I should find somewhere else to stay tonight."

Jack's eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. The once vibrant blue of his eyes had dulled to a stormy gray, reflecting the turmoil within.

"I broke up with her three months ago, okay? You've been avoiding me for a week straight," he shot back, his words tinged with frustration and a hint of desperation.

"I..." He searched for the right words, but they eluded his grasp, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. The silence stretched between them, as vast and empty as a cloudless blue sky. Jack didn't know what she wanted him to say.

In fact, all he could see was her eyes, two deep pools of blue that threatened to drown him in their depths. He was at a complete loss for words, his mind as blank as a fresh canvas.

"I know you have feelings for me. I never brought it up because if I was wrong then you'd be mad at me, but I've known for years," he finally confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, like a thick blanket of blue smoke.

She felt a lump form in her throat as she listened to his words, each syllable carving a deeper wound in her already battered soul. The revelation was like a bolt of lightning, striking her heart with a searing pain.

She knew. Jack had known all along, yet he had chosen to remain silent, to spare her the pain of rejection. The realization settled over her like a heavy fog, obscuring her thoughts and feelings, leaving her lost and alone in a world devoid of color.

Her hand remained clasped in his, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been. She wanted to hold on, to cling to his warmth and the fleeting hope it offered, like a drowning sailor grasping at a lifeline in the vast ocean of despair.

Her fingers trembled, the icy blue of her veins visible beneath her skin, as if the color had been drained from her very being. And then, like a dagger to the heart, came his final confession.

"And I wish things were different, but there's no good way to say this. I don't like you in that way, but I really hope you find someone that does.

His voice was soft, barely audible above the deafening silence that engulfed them, but he didn't let go of her hand. It stayed there, a lifeline that tethered her to the harsh reality of the moment.

Y/N felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs, her heart shattering into a million pieces at his words. She had always known, deep down, that Jack didn't feel the same way about her, but hearing him say it out loud was like a knife to the chest, the blade twisting with every syllable.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision until all she could see was a hazy blue mist. She blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall in front of him, to show him just how deeply his words had cut her.

Her free hand clenched into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palm, the pain a welcome distraction from the agony that consumed her heart.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to reconsider, but the words lodged in her throat, as heavy and immovable as a boulder. Instead, she simply nodded, a jerky, mechanical motion that belied the turmoil within.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, her eyes a dull, lifeless blue, like the sky before a storm, void of the sparkle and warmth they once held.

The tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over and reveal the depth of her anguish. "How long have you known?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, a fragile wisp of sound that hung in the air between them.

Jack sighed, his shoulders slumping as he released her wrist, his hand falling limply to his side. The warmth of his touch lingered on her skin, a cruel reminder of the connection they once shared.

"A while," he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. "I didn't know how to bring it up without hurting you, so I just... didn't."

Y/N nodded, her throat tight with emotion, the lump growing larger with each passing second. She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the knot of pain that threatened to choke her.

"I see," she said, her voice flat, devoid of the vibrant emotion that once colored her words. "Well, I guess I should thank you for finally being honest with me, even if it is a little late."

She turned to go, her heart heavy with the weight of his rejection, each step a monumental effort as if she were wading through quicksand.

Before she could take more than a few steps, she heard Jack's voice, soft and sad, calling after her, a desperate plea for understanding.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking with emotion, the raw honesty of his words cutting through the suffocating silence. "I never meant to hurt you. You're my best friend."

She walked away, her heels clicking on the tiled floor as she made her way to the elevator. Jack's words echoed in her mind like a cruel, endless loop, a haunting melody that played on repeat, taunting her with the knowledge of what could never be.

She had always known that loving him would end in heartbreak, the inevitable conclusion to a story that was doomed from the start.

But somehow, that knowledge did nothing to dull the pain that threatened to consume her, body and soul, leaving her hollow and empty, a mere shell of the person she once was.

As the elevator doors closed behind her, she leaned against the wall, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, the tears she had fought so hard to contain now flowing freely down her cheeks. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow on her face, illuminating the tracks of her tears.

She closed her eyes, willing the pain to subside, but it only seemed to grow stronger.

…

the next chapter is going to be put off for a while since I want to get until dawn started. Also do y'all not fw Until Dawn I really think Jack could eat us up in a fic that isn't revolved around hockey. there's only so many variations. But do you guys even want until dawn, please let me know.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

141 Headcanons: On Holiday

John Price is 100% a dad type. He likes golfing and fishing and sailing. Activities that let him unwind, sometimes make new friends in the shape of other middle-aged men at the country club or at the docks or at the lake. Rents a little cabin by the lake, where you can take a soak or sunbathe, while he goes out with his little fishing boat and try (and fail) to catch something nice for dinner.

Johnny MacTavish is an adventurous type. He likes hiking and camping, stuff that lets him stay busy, and will definitely explore some forest or national park or mountain range. But he also likes fun activities. Music festivals, for example. He'll definitely book you all-inclusive 3-day-long tickets even though there's only one or two artists/bands you want to see, just so you can have that experience and have fun together.

Kyle Garrick is a family lad. His family is big and loving and they book a little trip every year somewhere fun. It might be a new destination, or it might be somewhere they've been before, or maybe somewhere to visit family. But he loves bringing his love along, go do all the touristy things, see all the landmarks, take loads of pictures, try new restaurants and new food, and do cultural things like reading all the plaques on statues and fountains and monuments.

Simon Riley likes peace and quiet. That's the jist of it. Needs it, in fact. So, prepare to rent a little historical cottage in the Cotswold, or maybe a beach condo, or a cabin in the woods. Doesn't matter, what matters it's that it's fairly isolated, with no neighbors to really bother him. He can sleep in late, with no one to force him to do things he doesn't want to do, no schedule to uphold, no people to answer to. He'll roll out of bed at noon, make himself tea and go sit outside and feell the breeze on his skin for once.

Crack headcanons: Beach Day Episode™️

John Price tends to burn, instead of tan, surprisingly. Probably because his uniforms tend to cover him from neck to toes, leaving only his hands and face showing... And if you'd expect his face to be immune to burning, you'd be wrong. Especially because he's terrible at applying sunblock. By the time you notice, his cheeks, nose and forehead are red, and there are white lines around his muttonchops/beard where the sunblock didn't absorb... so he just looks ridiculous.

Johnny MacTavish likes to say he's not English/British... until he goes on holiday to southern Europe and he's suddenly the perfect example of the stereotypical English tourist. Football jersey, denim shorts, socks and slides/sandals, his entire skin is burned to a crisp and red, and, of course, he's wearing the most stupid-looking sunglasses you'll ever see... And then he gets to the beach, takes off his shorts and he's wearing a red speedo.

Kyle Garrick is 100% the type to disappear off his towel while you're sunbathing and, by the time you notice, he's in a completely different side of the beach playing beach paddle ball, beach volleyball or beach football with a group of other blokes or even with little kids. And he does all this while wearing his little cap (but backwards) and while absolutely covered in tanning oil. Does he need it? No. But he likes the feel of it.

Simon Riley would not be caught dead in swimming trunks or a speedo. The man needs full coverage. He's in a wet/surf suit and wearing a facekini WITH his stupid dad sunglasses and, maybe even, a visor. He gets fidgety if he has to sit in his towel for too long so he's also the type who'll go for a walk out of nowhere, down the beach, and, eventually, cross paths with an Asian grandma who's wearing the same exact outfit as him.

[latenightreadingpdf]

Masterlist

Spencer Reid

Brewed Connections - After his favourite coffee shop closes unexpectedly, Spencer Reid discovers Y/N’s charming coffee shop and becomes a regular customer. Bonding over their shared love for literature, the two develop a close friendship.

Comfort in the Silence - Spencer Reid returns from a case with a headache. During their movie night, his friend discovers his worsening condition and offers comfort, deepening their bond.

Familiar Faces - Doctor Spencer Reid reunites with childhood friend Y/N, only to discover she’s being stalked. As the BAU investigates, old feelings resurface between them.

Stepping Forward - Spencer Reid, recovering from a knee injury, finds strength and support in his physical therapist, Y/N, as they forge a deep bond through his rehabilitation journey.

Between the Pages - In the university library, shy PhD student Spencer Reid has an unexpected encounter with Y/N, a popular classmate. Despite their differences, a shared interest in neuroscience sparks a captivating conversation, leading them from strangers to friends (and possibly more…).

Whispers in the Night - During a challenging case in Atlanta, BAU members Spencer and Y/N share a hotel room. As Y/N comforts Spencer through his insomnia with a gentle touch, their bond deepens, shifting their friendship into something more.

Peter Parker

A Secret Unveiled - Peter Parker, secretly Spider-Man, harbors feelings for his best friend Y/N, a passionate Spider-Man fan. As their friendship grows, Peter must decide whether to reveal his secret identity and hidden emotions.

[sagephilosophie]

⋆ ★ Royal Request

-Ꮢindou Ꮋ.

ᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ʀɪɴᴅᴏᴜ x ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ִ ࣪𖤐 Summary┆

Rindou is a fortunate man born under a lucky star, blessed with power, charm, and intellect. All he ever desires is found under his feet in mere seconds with ease. He was born with the the potential to own all his hearts desires. But he chooses to crave for the impractical; the Shibuya kingdom's sweetheart princess.

ִ ࣪𖤐 Tags ┆

NSFW AHEAD, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fluff and Smut, Safe Sane and Consensual sex, Love Confessions, First Times, Birthday Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Breeding, Aftercare, Mutual Pining, Rindou being a simp (we love that tho), Some political speech, Ran haitani being a spoiled brat, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence (But only in a one sentence and that's it), Minor Character Death, Bonten arc appearance Haitanis, , Arranged Marriage, Implied/Referenced Pregnancy, historical misogyny, Other Additional Tags to Be Added...

Ao3

Chapter I : Rindou's Lover.

Chapter II : Sanzu's Wife.

Chapter III : Coming soon...

@sagephilosophie

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Dad's Best Friend - Jake Seresin Masterlist

this is a masterlist with all my dbf!jake x reader works. yes, this was necessary lmao. they piled up and because they kind of all play in the same universe, i wanted them on a seperate list

top gun masterlist | top gun blurbs

⭑ is for allusions to smut † is for actual smut ▸ is for a little bit of angst     the rest is just pure fluff!!

Oneshots

† Twenty-Five Going on Forty-Seven - Flirting with the guy who fixed your car turns out to lead to much, much more when you find out he's actually not just some random guy, but your new neighbour and father's new best friend, Jake Seresin.

Blurbs

Grey Streak - You spot the first grey streak in Jake's hair and somehow, that gets you going.

Let Me Give You a Facial - Turns out, Jake likes being pampered just as much as you like pampering him.

⭑ Jealous - When a young petty officer hits on you at the bar, Jake gets a bit jealous.

† Caught (Almost) - It's really bad timing when your father walks through the back door while Jake is on his knees for you.

⭑ Innocent - You're very much ready to finally let Jake fuck you. Jake finds out he very much likes to teach you how.

⭑ Workout - Jake works out in the garage, and that's really just eye candy on a silver plate.