#so look out for a chapter in a few weeks

[whomstdosthouthinkiis]

my two cents on Horikoshi's end notes, and the fandom moving forward.

I know that other bakudekus and myself are #Going Through It™️and we want to be able to wash our hands of an ending we don't feel gives us emotional closure, especially when it comes to Kacchan's arc and their relationship. (I vacillate between seeing it as bittersweet with tints of hope and heartrendingly depressing and an absolute gut punch)

But I feel like a lot of us are jumping to conclusions and conspiracies way too quickly. When Hori says "he's turning off the camera and releasing them from their dramas" he's saying that he's not going to put them through another story. "their dramas" being the trials and tribulation and arcs that they went through over the course of the series, he's letting them off the hook and won't be putting another arc in the story. And, though he may refer to himself as the camera man, turning off the camera is just kinda a normal phrase to mean that the story is over, what ever happens now is up to our imaginations.

Now, I get why we are upset by this, ignoring canon wasn't how we got to be bakudeku shippers. Almost until the very end with very few hiccups, Kacchan and Deku's relationship was the most impactful and compelling one in the series, it grew and changed and blossomed in ways that only made the emotional resonance and investment stronger. They were each others most important person, to the point of insane unhinged acts of devotion, and their relationship was the driver of most of the stories major themes. it's not hard to see the appeal, even without shipper goggles (I legitimately only read the manga for the last 2 years when something bakugo or bakudeku related happened, that's how much this part of the story compelled me)

So, it really sucks to feel like we've been let down, when it felt like we had already made it to the end. I know I will always cherish those 5 months of canon compliant fluffy bakudeku fics and fanart after the first ending. It really felt like we had won in a way.

It sucks that now the last piece of canon we have is giving ammo to people who wish to belittle, hate, and judge us for our investment in, and interpretation of, these characters and this story. And, that all subsequent fan works will be colored by this development of the story, in a way that definitely shifts it in more angsty tragic direction. that this is the final note we leave off on sucks, even if we chose to ignore it, because not everyone will.

That sucks.

BUT, we can still ignore it.

We don't need it to not really be canon.

We don't need Horikoshi's permission to ship them, even now.

We have 400+ chapters of manga, side stories, anime, music, canon content that supports the bond and relationship that we love and hold dear, so much material to continue to interpret, and remix, and adapt, and transform from. so many moments, big and small, that can't be taken away by one chapter.

I know endings tend to re-contextualize things, but we can imagine a timeline that's different, that we like better or think is more compelling, or more fun, or just different. we can imagine 100 different timelines, all diverging from different points, filling in different gaps, and making new paths forward.

I know we're all coping, that our hearts are hurting, but I also see so much strength, and resilience, and creative energy, and love.

The cameras aren't rolling anymore.

Now, WE get to decide what the future for these characters will bring.

And I know we'll give them many many good ones

[syrupyyyart]

Biggest folley of Motley and why it got so difficult for me to write was because I kept getting so caught up on trying to represent every aspect of their stories all at once anytime there were on screen, when really I need to remember that they are in fact Just Little Guys

[mechazushi]

Insane Dad Lore (Essential Errand)

[Slight Trigger Warning] Verbal Abuse.

[Notes] Sooooo.... change of plans.... Instead of posting the chapters in order even if I get them done out of order, I'm just going to post them as I finish them and then organize them once I port all the chapters to Ao3. Really, the ultimate goal here was to just get all the ideas on (electronic) paper anyway. So I guess ya'll are going to have fun wondering what order these are going to go in, {cuz' I'll be doing the same damn thing ᕙ (° ~ ° ~)}

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

There had been a break in the lore gathering where there wasn't as many an opportunity to try and pry some new childhood history out of Kafka. That didn't mean there wasn't inciting incidents that led to new loose threads. It was after an early morning period of training did such an event arose. Reno and Kafka has just gotten back to barracks after hitting the gym just to come back and find Minase in a state of inconsolable crying. Hakua was sitting next to a tower of shaking blankets placed on the bed, desperately trying to appease the distraught soldier within by patting and rubbing its back as well as whispering words of comfort. She tried to say comforting things at least, but must have accidentally said something to make the crying worse.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Reno tried to ask as they passed through the door.

"I'm not entirely sure? I just caught the tail end of a phone conversation and now she's like this." Hakua told them as she continued to hug the pile of blankets close, "Whatever it was, it sounded pretty distressing."

"Hey, Reno?" Kafka spoke softly down to his friend, not wanting to take his eyes of of their compatriot, "Can you do me a favor and go down to the vending machine and grab a water? I feel like she's going to need it."

Reno nodded quickly and turned back out the doorway, leaving Kafka. He approached Hakua and nodded his head away, silently asking permission to sit on the bed next to Minase. After she moved, Kafka sat down slowly so as to not make the pile of blankets jump. He mimiced Hakua's original position and wrapped his large arm around the tower, Squeezing it close to him as he tried to wrap his other arm around it.

"Heeeyyy, Minase." He said cheerfully, but not loudly, "Looks like you're not having a good go of things, huh?" The covered pile only continued to cry.

"Bad days are no fun, aren't they?" He chuckled in an attempt to brighten the mood, "It's safe to say that there's never going to be a shortage of those. You wanna know what makes me feel better about them though?" He tried to ask the sad menagerie of stolen blankets. It had stopped full on crying and had downgraded to some small sniffles.

"Much like our tears, it can't be raining all the time. Otherwise we wouldn't be able to see the sun!" He smiled brightly as the pile continued to sniff harshly. Eventually, a very red face with pink, tear stained eyes managed to poke her face out from under the blankets.

"Wow, are you corny." Minase said through a mixture of tearful snorts and half-efforted chuckles.

"Got our resident Sun to poke her pretty little head out, didn't it?" Kafka joked back as he gently tugged the edge of the blanket off from around her hair.

She giggled a little in return as she leaned in harder into Kafka's embrace. Seeing Minase in a more relaxed state that what she was in earlier, Hakua took the opportunity to seat herself behind Minase and lean her weight against her back as a show of support. They all took a few minutes of the calm for themselves, just letting their friend take deep soothing breaths and let the last of her tears drain from her eyes. Reno came in after Minase had gotten her heart under control and gladly took the offered water bottle. He had decided to sit on the floor in between Kafka's legs and Minase's.

"Want us to grab anything for you? I think they're selling strawberry ice cream fish cakes in the canteen." Hakua offered as a helpful gesture. Minase's tears almost triggered again as she thought about the offer.

"Sound's great." She said bitterly, "But I think I would rather have my dogs right now."

"Oh, you have dogs?" Reno asked innocently. He started to cringe and think he said something wrong once Minase started to cry again.

"Not for much longer apparently!" She wailed, "I think my horrible step-father is threatening to kill my dogs!" She tried to wipe her tears with the edge of the soiled blanket, but it wasn't very effective.

"Now why would someone do something like that?" Kafka asked, astonished at the thought.

"I don't know! I think he's just always had it out for me since he came into the family!" Minase's tears had slowed, but her sorrowful screams hadn't, "I had them stay with Aunti Mei before I left for the defense force, but apparently her new landlord is evicting the pets at her place, so she had to drop them off back at mom's, but Chase hates me; he's always hated me! And now he's taking it out on my bubbies!"

"Oh, baby…" Hakua said softly as she tried to give Minase a hug from behind.

"I just got off the phone with him, I don't even know how he got my number, but it's just… something he said, or how he said it… I don't know, I just feel like my babies aren't safe anymore!" She began to cry again as Kafka held her even harder, "I can't bring them here! I don't have any other relatives nearby to send them too! I refuse to send them to a shelter! I don't know what to do!"

As she continued to cry again, Reno could see Kafka's expression growing darker and darker. He had tucked Minase's head into his chest as he listened to her woes. Reno started to wonder if maybe it was so she couldn't see the quiet anger building up behind his eyes. Suddenly, like someone had flipped a switch in his head, Kafka donned as soft smile, one that barely managed to hide the softly rolling fury behind his expression. He brought a hand up to gently pat the top of her head. With a clearly sincere tone, Kafka spoke some more sweet words until she stopped crying again. When he could hear the hiccuping had slowed, he pulled her head back and made sure to look her in the eyes.

"Minase, I'm going to tell you this right now. You aren't going to worry your strong heart any longer, ya got me? Nothing is going to hurt your fluffy little friends, okay?" Minase just looked at him with a lot of burning questions in her eyes, but found that she didn't have the strength to say them.

"I wan't to hear you say 'Okay' too." Kafka gently placed both of his hands on either side of her face as he asked, "Please?"

"Oh-okay." she said meekly.

"Atta-girl." He responded as he gave her one last strong hug.

Kafka then looked at Hakua and gave her an expression that seemed to communicate a lot of things, most of which Reno just translated as 'Keep an eye on her'. He then got up loudly from the bed and stretched, groaning all the way. He walked over to his personal locker at the other side of the room and could be heard rummaging through it. Reno couldn't see what he was grabbing from his spot on the floor, but could definitely hear when he stopped going through his and suddenly started going through what he thought to be Aoi's.

"Sir, can I ask what you are doing?" Reno called out as he got up from the floor to investigate the weird behavior.

"Hm? Oh, just- uhh, changing into civilian clothes. I just remembered I had some business outside of base that I should probably take care of." Kafka said as he donned a large black jacket, thin gloves, a neck gaiter, and grabbed his over-sized black towel. The item he had seemed to grab from Aoi's locker was his spare set of combat boots.

"Okay… If it's just errands, then why do you need Aoi's boots? Aren't they bigger than your feet?" Reno continued to question as he followed Kafka out of the barracks and over to what appeared to be a supply closet.

"Oh, the boots? I-uh, noticed mine were pinching my feet, so I thought I'd take Aoi's for a spin." Kafka offered as an excuse, but Reno could tell what a poor excuse it was. It didn't distract him enough from questioning why Kafka was holding the door's handle a weird way and suddenly slamming his shoulder into it.

"Isn't that door locked?" Reno kept interrogating an uninterested Kafka. He didn't stop him once he somehow managed to bash the door open and walked inside like he owned everything.

"Only if you don't know how shittly made some of the doors are here on base." Kafka said nonchalantly as he scanned the shelves within. He found and grabbed a flat head screwdriver, a hammer, and a can of WD-40 and put them inside the towel before twisting the whole thing together and tying it in such a way as to not have the contents spill out.

"Hey, could you do me another favor? I know, I'm asking a lot today, but just this once? I'll even pay you back for the water bottle later, but first, could you help Hakua keep an eye on Minase while I'm gone?" Kafka asked as he left the supply closet and slung the impromptu bag over his shoulder.

"Wait, you're leaving now?" Reno asked as he followed him to the end of the hallway.

"Yeah, bud! I just said I had errands to do, didn't I? Don't worry, I'll be sure to tell Vice Cap where I'm going." Kafka said with an encouraging wink as he rounded the corner and quickly jogged out of sight.

Reno wasn't sure what was going on with his friend, but he was fairly certain it wasn't good. It certainly didn't make him feel better about knowing that Kafka was about to do it without him.

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

It was about three am that night when Minase got woken up by another phone call. She shook the sleepy fog from her head as her pink flip-phone rang out it's cheery little chip tune. She grabbed her phone quickly and walked as fast as she could bring herself to in her groggy state out the barrack door. She walked a good distance away before sliding the device open and taking the call.

"Sweetie?" A familiar voice called out, not bothering to hide the distress it carried.

"Mom? Are you okay? What's going on?" Minase answered in a gravely tone, trying to get accustomed to understanding others on a lack of sleep.

"Listen Sweetie, I get you were upset at your father about what he said about the dogs-"

"He's not my dad." Minase interrupted in a quiet voice, knowing that her mother was just going to ignore the comment anyway,

"- But I don't think it warranted hiring a hit-man to get them!" Her mother whispered harshly. In the background, she could hear the sound of sirens and her step-father shouting at someone.

"Wait, what?" Minase asked as she rubbed her face.

"I understand you're attached to your little goobers, but Chase wasn't actually going to hurt them! He loves them too, he just has a hard time showing it and-"

"Mom, stop, back up. What was that about a hit-man?" Minase thought she had heard her mother wrong when she said something about a hit-man.

"A strange man broke into our house tonight and stole your dogs!" Her mom said as her quiet tone got increasingly shrill.

"Maybe start with that?!" Minase almost felt like she was shouting once she heard about the break-in.

"What, that someone stole the dogs? I thought I did?" her mom questioned.

"No-god, the break in! Someone broke in?" Minase's mind started to fray again. First with her step-father threatening her dogs and now this!

"Yes, I thought that was implied with the dog-napping?" her mother could be scatter-brained some days, but tonight was taking the cake. Minase was growling as she tried to think of her next question, but stopped once she heard her mother scuffling with someone on the other end of the line.

"god damn it woman just hand it here- YOU." A clearly irritated voice broke into the private conversation with an enraged bellow, "Listen here you dumb bitch, I get that being a Defense force officer might make you feel like such a big girl now, but getting one of your suped-up, mutant Kaiju super-freaks to come down here and take away your stupid mutts is a clear overstepping of where you stand in life! How many dicks did you have to suck off for that, Huh? Did you have to get on your hands and knees, bat your dull little eyes at the first dumb schmuck that would listen to you? It really speaks to the quality of your fellow members that if you were that desperate for your yippy rats, you somehow managed to find some deprived knuckle-dragger willing to dedicate some serious grey matter to this idiotic plan of yours and-"

"Shut up, just shut UP!" Minase yelled into her phone, "I didn't ask anyone to get my dogs back! No one even knows where you live because I actively try to forget you exist! We don't even have any mutant Kaiju hit-men for me to even bother sending out to your dilapidated rust bucket shed you call a house!"

"Oh yeah? Tell that to my right fist I just sent through someone's eye socket! Not to mention the fact the fridge has a dent in it now from where that stupid asshat sent me flying into it! Ya wanna come down and take a look at it and continue to be the stupid little bitch that you are, huh? Denying that you got someone from your freak division to come down here and fuck up my shit? You know your paying for the damages, right? I'll be expecting money for a new fridge, a nice one, from your paycheck and it better be before the sun rises on your precious bitch lackey's funereal!-" At that point, Minase just clicked the flip phone shut.

The creaking of its case echoed slightly into the empty hallway as her fist tightened around it in restrained rage. Her arm shook with the force of her quiet wrath before launching her phone into the nearest wall with the full force of everything she wanted to hold back. She watched as it bounced off the wall and bench under it before coming to a stop a few feet from her. The phone looked like it remained intact, with was more than what one could say about her emotions right now. Minase tried not to fall directly onto her knees and instead stumbled quickly over to a nearby vending machine, its light acting as a pleasant beacon in her mind. She tried to stop herself from falling onto it, but her knees gave out at the worse time and caused the machine to rattle a little from the force of her landing. Tears had been welling up for a while, but now fell freely from her tired eyes. She felt her legs lose their strength as she slipped quietly onto the floor, covering up her sobs as best she could.

"Minase? Is… that you?" A tired voice cracked the night's stillness, causing her to turn and face the newcomer.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?" Minase whispered as she gathered herself up just enough to ask Iharu, who was standing in the hallway with just a pair of sleep shorts.

"No… Well, kinda. But that's not important." Iharu rubbed the sleep from his face as he came over to the vending machine and helped Minase onto her feet just enough to help shuffle her over to the bench next to it.

He turned around and went back to the barracks and returned shortly with cash, and paid for a can of hot corn soup from the machine. He chugged some of it and hissed from the heat before sitting down next to her on the bench.

"Here, it's cold out here. You should get something warm in ya." He said as he offered the half eaten can.

She took the offered can with reserved appreciation and took a small sip for herself. A part of her didn't want the company, but considering it could have been anyone else that found her, she was at least glad that it was Iharu. When growing up with a family life that was less than ideal, it tends to make one yearn for anything stable in their life. Minase initially left because she wanted just that, and joining the Defense Force gave her the perfect opportunity. While continuing her training, she came to hear all about how the Defense Force was a great place to not only meet great people, but a place to form deep bonds with them. Something she wanted to experience with all her heart.

It wasn't hard to make friends here with everyone being fairly like minded people. It had only been about a month and she already felt like she was a sister to everyone here. She couldn't even begin to explain just how quickly she became attached to everyone, including the witty old guy in their battalion. Minase knew it was way too early to admit this, but she really did like to think of Kafka as the dad she wished she had. And if Kafka was her dad, then Iharu felt like the brother she always wanted. Most girls here probably would have had their hearts racing at the thought of having an indirect kiss with the resident hot-shot, but to her it just felt like something a caring brother would have done.

"So can I ask what happened, or do you want to sit in silence together until you feel like letting me walk you back to bed?" Iharu asked with a yawn, slouching over until his elbows hit his knees.

Minase bitterly chuckled, "I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep for a while, let alone tonight."

"What, did the fucked-up old man say something stupid and insane like usual?" Iharu tried to be helpful as he tried to cut her step-father down.

"No." Minase tried to playfully counter before contradicting herself, "Well, yes, and it's actually kinda serious, but it wasn't what he said about me."

She took a deep breath before she spoke, "Someone broke into my parent's place tonight."

"Anyone hurt?" Iharu reflexively fired back.

"No one that didn't deserve it. Chase got thrown into the fridge after he slugged the guy, but the biggest problem is that the guy that broke in stole my dogs." Minase answered before she took another sip of the hot canned soup.

"Fuuuuck." Iharu sleepily droned out, "Ain't that a swift kick in the nuts."

"You know what hurts the most?" Minase hinted at, "Is that I feel a little relieved that it happened." She tried to hold back another wave of sobs which caused her lungs to hiccup and her frame to shake again.

"Nooo, Minase! You don't mean that, come on." Iharu drawled as he scooted closer and wrapped an arm around her. She tucked her head into his chest as a hand came up to hold back her tears.

"They have a chance to go to a nicer family this way, right? They practically look like pure-breeds so some fancy, upper-crust family would have to pay out the nose to give them a happy life." Minase continued to quietly sob as she did her best to hug Iharu back for personal support.

"Look, it's been reported to the police, right? Maybe in the morning we can head to your parents' place and we can ask your mother for details. Or maybe we just spend a day or two posting flyers, I don't know. Either way, we can all pitch in to get your dogs back." Iharu tried to comfort her as he rubbed soothing circles into her shaking back.

"There's no point if I have no where to keep them!" Minase did her best to muffle her pitiful wails behind her already occupied hands.

Off in the distance down the hallway, they heard a strange noise, loud enough to be heard over their emotional conversation. Iharu spared a glance down the darkened hallway in what he hoped was the direction the noise was from. Since Minase didn't seem to hear it the first time, he ignored his instincts and went back to comforting her. However, he couldn't bring himself to ignore his gut feelings any longer once he heard what sounded like chairs crashing and a muffled curse.

"What was that?" Iharu muttered suspiciously as he shifted on the bench.

"Yeah, I heard it too." Minase confirmed as she wiped away the last of her tears.

The two of them looked at each other before deciding to get up and follow the noise. They traveled down the almost pitch black hallway with Minase peering into the dark panes of glass that lined the corridor with the light from her phone. Iharu quickly found a janitor's closet in the dark and began to brutally shoulder the door open. He reached inside and grabbed a wide broom and met back up with Minase.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"Intruders?" Iharu answered with an unsure shrug.

"Why would anyone want to break into a Defense Force Base?" Minase countered.

"I'm sorry, do you think we get paid enough to ask that kind of question right now?" Iharu retaliated as he brandished the makeshift weapon.

They didn't have to continue very far before they noticed something strange in one of the offices on that floor. Looking through the inner window, they both noticed that one office was a lot brighter than the others, mainly due to the fact that one of the outer windows was open and the blinds covering it were drawn up. The full moon outside gave out enough light to let the duo see what was a clear outline of a large, hunched figure currently ducked behind a desk. They quietly rushed to the office door, and once finding it unlocked, let themselves inside. With her phone off, they stealthily rounded the desks behind the lumbering figure.

Iharu couldn't tell what the person was saying, but could tell that they were struggling with something wriggling in their jacket. As he lifted the full weight of the broom to come down on the intruder's head, he accidentally knocked the head of it against the lip of a desk next to him. As he let out a clipped curse, the stranger in front of them quickly turned around and scrambled backwards across the floor screaming. Startled by his screaming, both Iharu and Minase began to scream as well. Once everyone started screaming, did two little yapping fluff balls make their presence known.

"Wait, dogs?" Iharu called out first once he heard the unusual disturbance.

"Shit, Iharu?" The barely masked stranger guessed after he calmed down.

"Kafka?" Minase and Iharu both answered once they heard the intruder's voice.

"Well, so much for anonymity." Kafka groaned sarcastically as he pulled down his face mask.

Minase turned and bolted for the light switches back next to the door to the office and turned the lights on. Coming back she saw two familiar looking lumps of hyperactive fur rapidly shaking in the confines of the large black jacket Kafka was still wearing.

"Ronny! Tototo!" She cried as she scrambled for her twin Pomeranian pups.

Kafka unzipped his jacket and very carefully pulled them out so he could hand them over to a very teary eyes Minase. Iharu let the broom drop to the floor as he watched with astonishment while Minase fell to her knees and lavished her once forsaken pets. She held them close as she lovingly pelted them with loud kisses before fully falling to the floor and laid on her side, letting them lick her back with equal voracity. More tears came to spill out, not of sadness for once, but out of happiness and was now mixing into a layer of joyous dog slobber being lathered on her face. Her enthusiastic giggles could not be contained and instead echoed slightly in the mostly empty office. As the scene unfolded before them, Iharu slowly moved closer to Kafka and helped the quietly elated man off the floor.

"Jeezus, man! What the hell happened to your eye?" Iharu asked once Kafka had dusted himself off.

"Hmm! Oh, this?" Kafka answered as he pointed to the fresh shiner blooming over his right eye, "Got distracted and walked right into a light pole! Can ya believe it!" He tacked on a great big smile to hopefully sell the lie.

"Uh huh." Iharu grunted, already suspicious, "Was the distraction caused by the dogs or from recovering getting knocked in the head first?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." Kafka muttered as he innocently shrugged.

"Really?" Iharu incredulously countered, "You seriously expect us to believe that you didn't just break into Minase's Dad's house, knock his front door in, and make away with the dogs in question."

"Yes, because what the story actually is-" Kafka began with a mischievous glint in his good eye, "That I graciously intervened in what was clearly a home invasion gone wrong, rescued the dogs off the street after failing to apprehend the suspect that just so happened to be a similar build and height to me, and have so humbly decided that I could bring these poor, distraught, and fluffy victims to a safe location before notifying their proper owner. Who, come to find out, I just so happen to work with." Kafka finished smugly, "There's already a police report and everything."

Iharu rubbed his hands over his tired face for a moment and groaned loudly, "Oh, this is bad. Oh, you are going to get so caught." Those same hands came up to pull back on his hair, "How did you even know which house to hit? Minase never says anything about her family. E-e-even then, what's your excuse for being out so late? You have to know that Vice-Cap is going to kill you for being out this long."

"I don't know if you know this, but there aren't a whole lot of guys living in Western Japan with the legal name Chase, let alone living with a woman whose last name is Akari." Kafka informed as he patted Iharu's back, "And look, just leave the rest of the scary shit up to me. This may come as a shock, but this isn't the first time I've had to duck an assault charge as well as B+E." Upon hearing this, Iharu slowly turned and looked up at the fellow brother-in-arms, now a complete stranger to him once again.

"Please tell me this is just another Germany thing?" He asked, wanting it to coax out some reassurance that Kafka wasn't as crazy as he was being led to believe.

Kafka just let out a breathy chuckle, "I'll tell you about it some other time." He left cryptically open-ended.

Iharu watched as Kafka walked off and joined Minase on the floor, pulling out strips of cold, precooked bacon from the pocket of his jeans and teased the Pomeranian brothers with it. Iharu, still being too tired to continue to question any of this, just shook his head gave up, preceding to join the other two people on the floor and introduced himself to the new ferociously furry company.

"i really appreciate you doing this for me Kafka!" Minase cheered as she held her pups close to her chest, "But it doesn't change the fact that they can't stay here. I'm sure the higher-ups wouldn't let us."

"You let me worry about that too." Kafka countered as he tore up the last strip of bacon he owned, "Who knows, maybe Bakko could do with a pair of friends."

"Or a set of snacks." Iharu mumbled as he reached out a hand for one of the Pomeranians to sniff at.

"Don't even joke like that." Minase growled as she harshly pulled her dogs out for Iharu's reach.

[busterbby]

— they accidentally brush hands.

fluff. gn!reader. ichiro, jiro, saburo, ghost!ichiro, ghost!jiro, ghost!saburo.

Note : somethin’ (somewhat) short and sweet! Absolutely not my idea as I saw it while reading some hcs and thought, ‘hey, this is so cute.’ So voila lol. It’s my first time (properly) writing for the ghost versions!! Obvi they didn’t introduce ghost jiro or sabu yet, and ghost ichi barely had any screen time lmao, but I tried my best to portray them with what I think they’d be like in my mind! So they’re ofc ooc, but regardless, I hope you guys enjoy!!

Ichiro is a sweetheart. He flusters at the slightest touch, though he tries to act unfazed, as if he didn’t even notice; it’s only an accident, of course — nothing much else to it. But, for the slightest of moments, you can see his ‘cool’ and ‘calm’ demeanor waver. The slight pink on his cheeks, the mirage of his gaze, even the flutter of his heart.

Reliable and dependable big bro, oh so strong and who you’ve never seen falter — a pure mess at one touch. somehow, it’s cute. His knuckles are brash and rough, yet now they’re oh so delicate and fragile, as if he’d broken the bones in there once more.

He tries to clear his throat and move on — again, an accident; he’s only walking you home after hanging out after all, as friends. He’s a gentleman after all! But you notice how he seems to avoid your gaze the entire rest of the way.

(Oh. Ichiro can’t stop thinking about holding your hand now ; his fingers seem to ache for yours, his heart too. Ichiro sighs embarrassingly as he tosses the shoujo he was reading off to the side. He’s nothing short of a touch starved mess)

Jiro is quick to blush, cute. He, mindlessly, lets out a very puppish yelp (before burning an even brighter pink at how utterly embarrassing that noise was, coming out of his mouth) and is quick to cover himself with the brim of his cap. He can’t help but groan meek; that simple brush makes him weak.

There’s a chill that crawls up his spine and up to the very nerves of his fingertips — throughout his entire nervous system, in fact, an electric shock. And his heart gets all rewired too. It seems to beat to a different tune now.

He’s innocent when it comes to these sorta things; he has a big heart after all and falls hard. He likes you! a lot. So such little things affect him greatly. His knuckles seem to tingle and burn from where you’ve brushed — though, of course, it’s only in his mind. But it damn sure bothers him, Jiro groans.

He thinks about it the whole rest of the day. And his heart skips a damn beat each and every time.

Saburo is quick to pull his hand back. instinctively, that is. Even if his brows contort and lips frown, like he’s confused, grossed out? But make no mistake! He’s actually in shambles on the inside from that simple brush (oh God, he’s a fool). He’s a pure and utter mess, more so than both his brothers. His heart is actually nothing but a pile of mush now.

And even if he looks away from you the entire rest of the way he walks you home from school, even if he avoids you, it’s impossible not to the notice just how bright he burns. Steam may as well be coming out of his head. And his hand, annoyingly, burns hot too. like he just stupidly put it on a stove top.

No, no. There’s no possible way he likes you that much, Saburo groans. It should’ve just been a simply crush, nothing more nothing less. But.. getting this worked up over a simple, accidental brush of the hands? He’s the fool, through and through.

Ghost!Ichiro is surprised — he can’t hide it on his face. He’s usually so suave, so confident and charming; such accidental brushes should mean nothing to him. He’s the one that usually ends up stealing your heart in such little ways, and yet..

He’s not used to such tender touch or the skip of his heart. He’s not used to feeling so weak, in his chest and his knees. And hm, ghost Ichi wonders, why his hand burns warmer than his other.

But, he quite likes this. He likes you, and he likes the way you make him feel so strange and alive on the inside; is this what is meant by a bond? to protect the most precious to you? Ghost Ichi can’t help but grin.

Mira is a wonderous place after all.

(Next time, he probably has the audacity to actually hold your hand and fluster you instead)

Ghost!Jiro likes it. He won’t short — he wants to hold your hand. Ghost Jiro would love nothing more than to be yours. And when your knuckles ‘accidentally’ brush his, ghost Jiro can’t help but grin; I mean, you brushed your hand against his because you want to hold it, don’t you? It all makes sense in his mind.

He takes the initiative and would hold your hand right then and there; simple brushes won’t do, no no. His fingers take yours, and ghost Jiro intertwines your hand with his, giving them a squeeze and holding them tight. just like what a real couple would do. See? They interlock perfectly too, he can’t help but grin, perhaps a bit too confident and full.

He’s impulsive and quick, much more so, and ghost Jiro will let you know exactly how he feels. He may be code, but his heart is entirely real.

Ghost!Saburo is much too cute, much too shy. It’s easy to see just how much that small touch had such a big impact on him; you’d think he’s shaking a bit, at how overwhelmed his system seems to get. but it’s not written into his code! how to act when your heart starts pounding and you accidentally touch hands with your crush.

He holds his hand close to chest, right where his beating heart lay, and ghost Saburo blushes so bright that his circuits may overheat. But, truthfully, he’s happy — almost giddy. Ghost Sabu wonders if he’s even allowed to like you in this way; he knows he’s shouldn’t, but he can’t stop himself from getting too happy at that accidental touch. He can’t help but fall a little harder for you.

And, he hopes you’re fine with him imagining all sorts of scenarios in his mind after this. like, what it’d be to hold your hand and walk down the streets of mira ikebukuro, or to perhaps share an ice cream. Ghost Sabu knows he’s not the best guy around, but he really wants to be that sort of guy for you..

[sharpsuite]

working on this fic but I'm once again thinking about how even in the shootout Niragi classified himself & chishiya as the same but excluded Arisu to an extent. (In that he needed to be brought over). Despite wondering if he's alone for a moment, Niragi IMMEDIATELY uses 'our side' rather than 'my side' when Usagi shows up in the shootout scene. He knows Chishiya's on his side, at least subconsciously he truly believes that to his core. Otherwise, he would have said my side if he thought he was truly as alone as he seems to wonder.

the live action isn't quite as clear cut but it's still fairly implied too with the 'three being kindred spirits' line when Arisu's shown to be the one not aligned. There's also the fact that Niragi shoots at Arisu multiple times, even last minute switching from aiming at Chishiya to aim at Arisu. And in both versions Chishiya tries to instigate Arisu with words while Niragi chooses action (which says something about both). Anyways TLDR to say Niragi says he doesn't want to be alone but knows he's not (be it consciously or subconsciously) as long as Chishiya is around.

[i-like-books-and-women]

Instead of working on writing fanfic I am now working on an unnecessarily complicated timeline of canon.

[orcelito]

FANTASTIC NEWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i finished & posted the ITNL 14 re-edits, WHICH MEANS!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm officially done with my re-edits project!!!!!!!!!! :D!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ive been thinking a lot today about my plans for ITNL 15, AND i have tomorrow off, so if all goes well i'll be able to start writing again. TOMORROW !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and if the chapter grips me like i expect it will then... hehehehehe

could be an update in as little as a few days, depending. i'll keep u guys updated

[alteredphoenix]

I've developed another pet peeve: which is, when the manga has the characters go into excruciating detail about their abilities and how to utilize them while in the middle of combat.

Another pet peeve: describing events in text boxes while said events are happening at the same time.

[not-poignant]

I’m so fucking excited for the next chap of stain im not even sure what stardew valley is 😅

But it’s your writing so of course I’m hooked

How many more chapters is available on your Patreon??

Hi anon!

I don't put any fanfiction on Patreon at all! I don't accept payments for for fanfiction. So my Patreon is only for my original fiction, I'm afraid. That's why there's never a Patreon link on my A Stain that Won't Dissolve updates here on Tumblr, because they're not connected. (It's also why my fanfiction is on a completely separate account). If you like A Stain that Won't Dissolve though, you might like my original fiction, since I write a lot of similar themes! So that might be a way to satisfy the 'want to read more' bug :D I'm so happy you're enjoying the story.

What you see on AO3 is all that's currently available! But I do have enough chapters for the next two months keeping with an update every two weeks, so there's definitely no hiatuses coming!

[syncrovoid-presents]

I haven't slept for over 32 hours hehe /silly /I am being so silly (insomnia)

[bluebellhairpin]

So I made an executive decision yesterday to split the next part of Lady of Harrenhal into two parts, bc theres no way I'm gonna be able to put the family moving to harrenhal AND the fire in one part.

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[luludeluluramblings]

tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.” She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

[aparticularbandit]

also finished the outline, and it does look like thirty-five chapters + prologue (already posted) + epilogue.

i'm in chapter thirty-three, so i have. 33-35 + epilogue left.

...and the five remnants chapters i haven't written yet, but i think i'm going to try and write those in one swoop probably next week? i have a general idea what those maintain, and i don't expect izuru to show up until maybe the second fic (i haven't decided yet because i want to see him in dr3 before i decide what to do with him).

so nine chapters total left to write.

chapters are usually 2-3k.

that's another 18-27k.

except that the first remnants chapter is relatively short in comparison with the other chapters and i expect the others to follow suit - so those should be between 1-2k. so that's 5-10k + 8-12k.

except again that the prologue was shorter, too, and i suspect the epilogue will follow that, too, so i'd put that one closer to 1-2k and not quite 3k.

which is 6-12k + 6-9k. so 12-21k. roughly.

right now i'm at a little over 67k, which means 79k at the lowest end (i'd round up for 80k) and 94k at the highest end (and i'd round up for 95k).

so this thing will likely end up anywhere from 80k-95k.

and there's a second fic.

i'm tired. XD

[spcherryygirl]

𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐔𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄, 𝐑𝐔𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 ! j. todd x reader

𝓢ynopsis: jason doesn't like it when you're away. but he doesn't like it. & after an entire week without you, he's clinging by his fingernails. the moment you step through the door, he's all over you▰gripping, kissing, taking every second you were away back. he's needy, desperate, & legit refuses to let you leave. not that you mind.

𝓦arnings: grammatical errors. ooc. my 2 am writing. angst(?????). making out.

𝓝otes:

001. hozier is today's savior.(he's everyday's saviour.)

002. straight fucking A's!! dawg, my grades in math & science were surprisingly high.

003. all i need to do now is to make my research teacher realize that my research is actually difficult & not "simple"

004. won't post the pomegranate one 2day or anytime now(bc i don't like it) so take this uhh,,, old worknofmine.

005. inspo of the work was this art by @/ciricearts (idk if it's noticable tho. THSIS BYT SUCKS)

jason was gonna die.

the apartment was too silent.

too vacant.

you were supposed to be away for a week. you let him know in advance, reassured him that it was just business, that you’d call when you could, that you’d be home before he knew it. he told you something like, “yeah, i’ll be okay,” & acted like he wasn’t already in dread of it.

but he was not okay. not even remotely.

it began small. the first two days, he told himself it wasn’t so bad. he stayed busy▰hit the gym, went on patrol, even managed to get through a few chapters of that book you’d been pestering him to read

he even maintained his texts to you as usual, casual, joking with you about how dull work must be without him there.

then, on day three, the apartment felt too large.

by day four, he was walking back & forth.

on day five, he was restless, checking his phone so much that it was a habit. the messages were still arriving▰briefly worded, bittersweet, i miss you’s & i love you's that should have sufficed▰but they didn’t. not if you weren’t present. not when the bed was cold, when his hands had nothing to grasp. not when you're not seated in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, smothering him with kisses. forehead, eyelids, cheeks, nose, lips, chin, jaw, neck. none.

by day six, he realized how terrible this was.

because jason todd didn’t wait. he didn’t wait around. he was accustomed to solitude. he had been in solitude for so long before you even entered his life. & now, without you, it seemed like something within him was collapsing.

which brought him to now.

the seventh day.

jason slumped on the couch, tapping his fingers on the armrest, head resting in his hand. his eyes were tired from sleep deprivation, jaw aching from clenching. he was tired but fidgety, too tense in body to even consider resting. his phone rested on the coffee table, its screen black, & he despised the way he couldn’t stop looking at it, as if it would come alive if he stared hard enough.

it was pathetic.

he pulled a hand across his face, exhaling harshly. this was absurd. he had endured worse. he had died. & yet, all of that paled in comparison to this▰the crushing feeling of missing you.

then, the door opened.

his head jerked up so quickly it hurt.

the moment he saw you cross the door step, he was in motion.

he didn’t even give you time to greet him.

a moment you were putting down your bag, & next, jason was on top of you. his hand curled around your wrist, pulling you toward him so sharply you were caught off guard & gasped in shock.

“jay▰?”

his arms were caging you in before you could get another word out.

the tension in his body crackled the instant he felt you pressed against him. his face pushed into your hair, fingers grasped deep into the folds of your shirt, his body actually shuddering with relief.

“you’re back,” he stated, voice roughened.

you blinked. “yeah, i am.”

jason remained still. just held you, arms trapped around you, locked tight in case you walked away. you sighed softly & tried to diffuse his stress with a gentle stroke of your hand up his spine.

“missed me that much, huh?”

jason exhaled.

& then he destroyed you.

his lips slammed into yours, hands holding your waist like a starving man. you hardly had time to catch your breath before he was kissing you like he’d been waiting an eternity. & in a sense, he had.

his desperation seeped into each motion. his fingers twisted in your hair, pulling hard enough to make you shiver. his lips opened against yours, hot and insistent, his breath thick as he pressed you against the door.

you gasped against his mouth. “jason▰”

“don’t,” he said, not allowing you to speak. “not yet.”

his hands sneaked up your sides, fingers tracing whatever he could trace, remembering you all over again. his body against yours, & you could feel the raw tension in him, the way he was only just keeping himself together.

he kissed you again. more aggressively.

as if he could reclaim every second you’d been away.

your fingers wrapped around the collar of his jacket, pulling him in, & jason groaned at the touch. his lips left your mouth to graze your jaw, travel down your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch.

“you have no idea how much i missed you, doll.” he whispered against your skin.

you swallowed hard, head thrown back. “i think i’m getting the idea.” jason let out a harsh laugh before nipping at your collarbone, & you gasped. his arm around you tightened, as if he wasn’t yet certain you were real, that you were truly here.

“you left me,” he whispered, his voice low & accusatory. your palms crept up to cup his face, making him meet your gaze. his pupils were dilated, cheeks flushed, lips puffy from how intensely he’d kissed you.

“i came back,” you whispered.

jason’s face relaxed, just a fraction. but then his hands tightened around your waist, drawing you into him so tightly there wasn’t even an inch of space remaining between you.

“never leave for that long again,” he grunted. your heart tightened at the yearning in his tone. the vulnerability. jason never wanted to admit when something hurt▰but here he was, all but pleading with you to never leave him again.

you kissed him, gentler this time. slow & sweet, fingers intertwining in his hair.

jason took a trembling breath against your lips, as if he was only just allowing himself to breathe.

“i missed you too, jay,” you whispered.

jason drew a harsh breath, forehead against yours. “not as much as i missed you.”

you smiled, stroking your thumbs across the bags beneath his eyes.

“you need sleep.”

jason scoffed. “what i require is to catch up on a week of lost kisses.”

you laughed, running a hand through your hair. “jay▰”

he shut you up with another kiss, one that was more languid. more in check. like he was indulging himself.

“i mean it,” he grunted. “you’re not leaving me like that again.”

your heart tightened. you know jason had issues with abandonment, that too much time alone threw his head.

you should’ve known how much this was tormenting him.you cupped his face, touching your lips softly against his forehead.

“i’m not leaving,” you vowed.

jason exhaled the breath he had been holding, his whole body relaxing against your own.

“…good,” he grumbled. “because i’m not losing you.”

& you knew that he did not say it out of bravado.

jason would not let you out of his eyesight.

you awoke to jason rolled around you, face buried in your neck, arms tied so tightly around you it was almost choking.

you rolled over slightly, only for jason to moan and hold you closer.

“jay, i have to▰”

“no,” he grumbled, mouth against your skin.

you let out a breathless chuckle. “you’re ridiculous.”

he huffed. “you left me for a week.”

you rolled your eyes, running your fingers through his hair. “i’m right here.”

jason grumbled something incoherent before nuzzling deeper into you.

“…you’re still not allowed to leave.”

you sighed, but there was a smile on your face.

jason todd▰your big, scary red hood▰

was the clingiest man on earth.

not that it's a bad thing.

© minorlyatfault, 2025

[notiddygothgf]

i.

★ pairings: dante (netflix dmc) x fem reader

★ summary: After a messy breakup with Dante and a year of silence, you've rebuilt your life from the ground up. Now, Dante's back, and one thing is clear — he's determined to make you his.

★ ❝ It's been exactly 365 since I've seen your face ❞

★ c.w.:dante being a little shit, suggestive content. not beta'd, reuploading bc it got taken down?

★ a/n:HIIIIIIIII!!!! okay so i put out a poll asking about how y'all would feel if i posted a dante fic, and omg. so many of you replied. so now here go ahead and take this shit!! damn!!! jk i want him so bad so yk i had to rush to get this done LMFAOOAOA. enjoy besties! if you're from around here, you know the drill. if not, please leave lots of comments, i love the spam and your praise gives me motivation to update quicker!!

★ w.c: 10k

pretty ; chapter index

YOU AND DANTE had a messy breakup. Contrary to how it may have seemed at the time of “The Argument” (as you had begun calling it), there was nothing sudden about it. It didn’t detonate like some sort of time bomb, but disintegrated rather slowly – like water trickling through the cracks in the cement, soft and patient, until one day everything just caved in.

It didn’t always feel that way.

When you had first met Dante, it was… effortless. (Some of which was the rose colored glasses’ doing, you were sure). He was cute as hell, first of all. He was funny, too. He had no problems laughing you right out of your panties on the first date, and… well, practically every night after that. He looked at you like you were everything to him – like a dream come true, like he couldn’t believe someone like you would actually have chosen him. You got along famously.

For a while, things stayed that way. Six months, in fact. Things were good. Simple. You’d wake up to his arms around you, his voice in your ear, calling you names that only sounded pretty falling from his lips – princess, babydoll, sweetheart. His stupid jokes – the ones that always used to make you crack a tired grin. He used to make time.

But, somewhere along the way, his job started taking more and more of him. Late nights began to bleed into early mornings. You’d wait up for him with leftovers gone cold and shows paused halfway through. At first, he apologized. Said he hated missing out on time with you. But then the apologies stopped, and so did the explanations. You’d go days without hearing from him. Sometimes weeks. You’d text—hey, you okay?, can you call when you're free?—and the replies would trickle in too late or not at all.

You tried to be understanding. People get busy, right? Life gets in the way. You told yourself that a strong relationship should be able to weather a few quiet days. But it was more than just quiet. It was absence. It was like he was slipping through your fingers and pretending he wasn’t.

And when you did talk, it was always surface-level. You’d try to tell him how it made you feel—how the silence scared you, how you felt like you were in this alone—and he’d get defensive. He’d say, “I’m doing my best,” or “You know how much pressure I’m under right now.” And you’d bite your tongue. You didn’t want to add to the weight on his shoulders. But the resentment kept building. You weren’t asking for the world. Just a check-in. A sign that he still remembered how to love you when things got hard.

The miscommunications started small. A forgotten anniversary dinner. A vague answer when you asked if he’d be home. But they stacked up like dominoes, one after the other, until the smallest push sent everything toppling. You both stopped speaking the same language. You’d say, “I miss you,” and he’d hear, “You’re not good enough.” He’d say, “I’m tired,” and you’d hear, “You don’t matter.”

Then came the argument. The big one. The one that split the foundation.

You were setting the table when he buzzed the apartment door.

It was 10:18 PM.

You stared at the intercom for a second before pressing the button to let him in. No words. No "I'm here" or "Sorry I'm late." Just the click of the door unlocking and silence.

You opened the door before he could knock. Dante stepped in looking like hell—literal hell. Blood on his sleeve, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, hair damp like he’d tried to rinse off whatever mess he’d walked through before coming to you. He smelled like copper and smoke and exhaustion.

Still, your heart lifted for a beat just seeing him. Stupid, soft reflex.

“Hey,” you said.

He nodded. “Hey.”

You stepped aside and let him in. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just dropped his duffel by the door like he was clocking out of something. The sight of him like this—tired, distant, barely standing—it tugged at something in your chest.

“I made dinner,” you said, a little too hopeful. “It’s probably cold by now, but—”

“I’m not hungry,” he cut in, already moving toward the couch.

You stood in the kitchen for a second, hands still resting on the back of one of the chairs. Watching him. He sat with a grunt, elbows on knees, head in his hands like gravity was pressing harder than usual. You knew that posture. It meant don’t ask questions. Don’t start anything. Just let him sit in the silence.

But tonight… you couldn’t.

It had been a week. A week without him. A week of one-word texts, unanswered calls, and too many nights alone, replaying old conversations in your head trying to figure out when exactly he started slipping through your fingers.

“I waited,” you said softly. “I thought you were coming at eight.”

He didn’t look at you. “Got held up.”

You waited. Hoped for more. An apology. An explanation. Something that showed he realized this mattered.

Nothing.

You took a slow breath. “Dante… you can’t keep doing this.”

That made him lift his head, eyes hazy with irritation. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Ghosting me for a week. Showing up in the middle of the night like it’s nothing. Acting like I’m just supposed to—what? Pretend we’re fine?”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been working.”

“I know,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I know you’ve been working. Risking your life. I get it. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care when you disappear. I can’t keep sitting alone in this apartment wondering if you’re alive.”

He blinked, like the words didn’t land right. Or like he didn’t want them to.

“You think I enjoy this?” he muttered. “You think I like being stuck in some sewer for three days bleeding out while some freak tries to tear me apart?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping forward. “But I know what it’s like in here. Waiting. Checking my phone every five minutes. Making excuses for you. Pretending this doesn’t hurt because I’m scared if I say the wrong thing, you’ll just disappear again.”

He stood then, sudden and sharp. “You think I want to be like this?”

“I think you don’t know how to let people in,” you said, quieter now. “And I think I’ve been trying so damn hard to hold onto something that doesn’t want to be held.”

He stared at you, breathing hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said finally.

“I didn’t cook for someone who wasn’t going to show up,” you said.

The room went still.

He looked away first. Scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and he looked at you again—really looked this time. And for a second, something in him softened. Like he saw the version of you that wasn’t angry or nagging or dramatic. Just hurting.

But he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say I’m sorry.

Didn’t say I missed you.

Just ran a hand through his hair and said, “Maybe this isn’t working.”

Not working?

Not working?

“You can’t be serious,” You huffed out a bitter laugh. Dante reached for you. You swatted him away. “You… We’ve been together for six months. What the fuck do you mean “Maybe this isn’t working”?”

He stood before you with his arms crossed, white hair still disheveled from his day, eyes narrowed, jaw ticked. “I mean that this…” He answered, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Isn’t working out. I don’t think– I can’t…” He swallowed, “I can’t be the man you need me to be. Not right now.”

“You’re gonna give up on us? Just like that?” You continued, still, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Then, you stepped forward, raising a hand to reach out for him, “I love you, Dante. You’re not gonna fight for us?”

“This isn’t love,” He spoke, tone final, but the slightest trembling breath beneath his words betrayed his true feelings. His fingers slipped into his hair, trembling as they carded through his white locks and tugged at his roots. “Look at you– you don’t even see the problem. You shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not your boyfriend is gonna come back alive. You shouldn’t have to put your whole life on hold for me. You still have the whole world to see. I don’t want to have to live a double life anymore.”

“Then let me in!” You hissed back. Your arms were crossed, too. “Do you think I like feeling as if I don’t know the man I love? I could take some of the burden off your shoulders, Dante, if you just–”

“Enough,” Dante sucked his teeth. “I don’t want you wasting your life away worrying over me,” After a lengthy pause, he continued, “All we ever do is fight and fight and fight– I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore, not with you. You’d be much happier without me.”

He was probably right.

“Oh, fuck you,” you shouted, your voice cracking with fury, but even then, it wasn’t enough to hide the way your heart was shattering inside your chest. When your eyes finally met his, you knew he felt the heat of it—anger and hurt and betrayal, all coiled together like fire licking at his skin.

“You’re not going to decide what’s best for me.”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped, cold and absolute.

You took a step forward, trembling, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. “You don’t know what’s good for my well-being,” you bit back, chest heaving. “You don’t even know what’s good for your well-being.”

That hit him. You saw it in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, how his teeth caught the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on the guilt. Then he said the words that broke you:

“You could be so much happier without me.”

And just like that, everything inside you stopped.

Something in your gaze must’ve shifted then—something that startled even him. Because the anger didn’t burn quite as bright anymore. The fire was still there, but it flickered lower, smothered by something glassy, something wet clinging to your lashes. It was hurt. Real hurt. Deep, bone-deep heartbreak that swelled until your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Baby…” he sighed, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t sharp. His shoulders dropped like the weight of his decision had finally started to crush him. “I’m sorry. You know I love you. I just… I can’t live with myself knowing that one day I might not come back to you.”

You didn’t say it back.

Not this time.

Even if you wanted to. Even if your love for him still pulsed through every inch of your body, even if it begged for a reason to stay—how could you keep loving someone who was walking away from you like this?

Your lips parted, dry and trembling. You licked them slowly, like maybe the right words would come if you just gave them time. But all you could manage, hoarse and raw, was: “Take your shit…” You swallowed hard. God, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could’ve done. “And go.”

He froze.

“What?” he asked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to mean it. Like he thought you’d plead. Cry. Kiss him one more time just to remember what it felt like. Like you’d make it easier for him to leave you.

But you didn’t.

“I said…” You looked up at him, every inch of you on fire, your arms folded so tight across your chest they ached. You could feel yourself shaking—fists clenched, breath shallow. “Take your shit… and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

And you meant it.

Even if it destroyed you.

You saw the pain in his eyes then. The flicker of disbelief. The way his entire world seemed to crumble at your feet. Two years. Two whole years. Twenty-four months of laughter, late nights, shared secrets, and silent apologies. A thousand soft I love yous whispered between sheets. A thousand more unspoken.

Was he second-guessing it now? Did he finally realize what he was throwing away?

YOU

|  Guys we’re going out tn.

When you reached the bar, it was still early. There were a few people here, but not too many. The low murmur of voices and clinking glasses provided the background noise that you desperately craved.

You grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, the burn in your throat just sharp enough to make you feel something—anything, really. It felt like you were drinking to forget, and the first sip seemed to help, dulling the edges of the ache, if only for a moment.

Your friends noticed you as soon as they walked in. They must have heard the difference in your voice when you answered their text. They could tell something was off, but they didn’t press. Not immediately.

The first drink turned into another. And another. You weren’t trying to get drunk; you were just trying to escape. To lose yourself in the clinking of ice cubes, in the low hum of the bar, in something that wasn’t him. But as the minutes passed, the alcohol didn’t do much to stop your thoughts from spiraling back to him.

You thought about the night before. The argument. His face, so conflicted, yet resolute. The way he walked away without even a second glance, as if he knew the decision he was making was the right one. How could he be so sure? How could he leave you like that?

“Another?” one of your friends asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. She was smiling, but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

You didn’t even think about it before nodding. “Yeah,” you said, a forced smile on your lips. "Just one more."

You didn’t want to talk about Dante. Not yet. You didn’t want to explain to anyone why you felt like the world had been yanked out from under you. But it didn’t matter. Your friends could see it in your eyes. They didn’t need you to say a word.

No, a year ago, your life changed.

So, you can imagine how it felt to walk home from a day spent at the grocery store, bags tucked beneath your arms, and see him standing there.

Dante.

It had been a year since you’d last seen him, and you were doing just fine. Really. A little grocery shopping to get your mind off the usual stuff, a bag of chips here, some pasta there. You didn’t need Dante in your life anymore, and if you were being honest, you were doing better without him. You had a boyfriend now, someone who didn’t make you question your sanity. Things were... uncomplicated.

That was until you turned the corner and saw him.

Dante. Standing there across the street, looking like he’d just stepped out of a scene from some movie you hadn’t signed up for. There he was, all messy hair and that familiar red coat, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You froze for a second, staring at him as if your eyes were playing tricks. Was he actually here? In your world, in your life, right now?

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? The universe had a sick sense of humor.

You immediately felt that familiar wave of annoyance—was it even annoyance? Maybe it was exhaustion, or some mix of both. You adjusted the grocery bags under your arms and took a deep breath. You were doing just fine. He was not about to mess with your day.

But Dante, being Dante, didn’t just stand there. No, he was coming toward you now, his long stride eating up the space between you with an unsettling familiarity.

Great, you thought, shifting the weight of your bags to one side as if they were the only thing that mattered right now. But in truth, you were already calculating the best possible escape route. The crosswalk? Too far. The alley to your left? Maybe, but the sidewalk was too narrow. Okay, girl. Focus.

You picked up the pace, shifting into a power walk as though your life depended on it. Sure, you looked a little ridiculous, but it was a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet. You weren’t looking back. Not now.

Behind you, you could hear Dante’s footsteps closing in, his voice trailing after you, “Hey, wait up!”

But you didn’t wait up. No way.

You’d moved on. You had a boyfriend now, someone who would never make you feel like a damn emotional rollercoaster. Someone who didn’t show up after a year of radio silence with that same unreadable stare, acting like nothing happened. No, Dante. No thank you.

Still, you could hear his footsteps, gaining on you. It was like an unspoken challenge. You had to admit, he wasn’t slow. But neither were you. You adjusted the bags once again—damn, this was turning into a workout—and picked up the pace.

You weren’t going to make it easy for him. You weren’t even going to acknowledge the way your heart still remembered his presence, the way it beat a little faster the closer he got. You weren't going to let yourself get sucked back into that mess.

His voice was closer now. “Come on, just—”

A sigh. You were really doing this, weren’t you?

A glance over your shoulder, just a quick flick of the eyes to see how much ground he’d covered, and what do you know? He was right behind you now, practically breathing down your neck. “I’m just trying to catch up, alright?”

Catch up? You weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan at that. This wasn’t a race, Dante, and you didn’t need a personal trainer chasing you down the sidewalk. You could already feel the annoying tightness in your chest. The one that had always been there whenever he was around, the one that reminded you of how difficult it had been to move on in the first place.

He was getting too close for comfort now, and you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well if you kept this pace. So, against every instinct telling you to keep walking, you slowed down just enough for him to catch up. You didn’t want to, but here he was, breathing like he’d run a marathon just to get you to stop. And for what? So he could talk?

He stopped beside you, his eyes searching your face with that all-too-familiar intensity. His chest heaved slightly, probably from the exertion, but you’d be damned if you showed any signs of weakness.

For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes straight ahead, acting like you hadn’t just sprinted for your life.

“Alright, listen,” he said, voice softer now, “I know I messed up. But can we at least—”

You didn’t even look at him as you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I can’t. I have to go.”

And that was that. You didn’t need to say anything else. You couldn’t afford to.

You were done.

That night, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair tied up into a neat little bonnet. The faucet was running – lukewarm water trickling out – but you weren’t washing up. No, you were standing there, letting the water drip down your eyes, your cheeks, your neck. You were staring at your tired reflection.

You should’ve been washing away the exhaustion of the day, but instead, you just let it fall over you, droplets slipping down your face, down your chest, almost as if you were trying to wash away the past.

But you couldn’t. No matter how much water hit your skin, how much you scrubbed away at your tired reflection, you couldn’t erase him. Dante. He was there, in the back of your mind, in the way your pulse quickened when you saw him again, after all this time. It had been a year, and yet, when you looked at him across the street, the world seemed to stop for a moment. It was like stepping back into a dream.

You hadn’t realized how much of your heart you’d given to him, how much of yourself you’d let him take. And then, nothing. No texts, no calls, no explanation. Just silence, stretching on for months, the gap between you two growing wider, until you started to convince yourself that maybe that was for the best. Maybe you were better off without him, your life finally starting to take shape without the constant ache of waiting for him to come back, to acknowledge the mess he left behind.

Cupping your hands beneath the faucet, you splashed some more water onto your face. God, I need therapy.

But, being that your current rent situation didn’t exactly permit a visit to the psychologist at the moment, you threw your favorite fuzzy robe over your satin cami and shorts, popping your feet into your beat up pink slippers. You shuffled right over to your bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, limbs falling uselessly to the mattress.

Kill me, you thought.

That wasn’t viable, though. So, instead, you reached into your nightstand (past the vibrator you had bought eight months ago during the worst part of your dry streak) and pulled out a sheet mask. Biting into the package, you opened it and pulled the slimy thing out. The serum melted into your skin as you laid it over your face, leaning your head back against the pillows and relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages.

Your head was blissfully empty. There were no thoughts of men with precarious jobs and swords and… devilishly handsome faces. No, it was just you. You and your favorite pajamas and your favorite skincare routine.

You flicked the TV on. You didn’t have to change it back to your favorite channel. No, that was the glory of having a shitty little apartment in the city to yourself. It was on the same channel you left off on – your favorite drama.

The characters buzzed to life. You set the remote down and watched.

The characters on screen started a new conflict, one that you knew would keep you hooked for the next hour. You sank deeper into the couch, letting the familiar warmth of your apartment wash over you. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that only comes when you're truly alone.

Then, the sound came. A soft knock at the window outside your room, followed by a long, drawn-out silence. Your heart skipped, the peace broken. You froze, eyes still locked on the TV, the characters' voices fading into the background as your mind reeled. It was too late for anyone to be outside. Too late for anything normal to be happening. Another knock, louder this time. A rhythmic tap that sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly turned your head toward the window, your pulse quickening.

Oh, God, you thought. I’m going to die.

Still, because you couldn’t exactly ignore the sound, you slid out of your warm, comfortable bed and into your slippers once more. Then, hesitating every single step of the way, you snuck into the living room, glancing around in search of the source of the sound.

Another knock. This one louder. You held your breath, hand hovering just above the blinds. It was coming from outside. No one else came to your apartment at this hour. You knew who it had to be.

You glanced down.

There, crouched on the balcony just below your window, was Dante. His face was half-lit by the streetlights, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he waved at you. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn’t disappeared for an entire year. Like you hadn’t spent every sleepless night wondering if he was dead or alive, missing his presence as if your heart had been torn in half.

The audacity of it. There he was, grinning like nothing had changed. His hair was messy, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark that used to drive you crazy. The same spark that made your chest ache, even now.

“He cannot be serious,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but he caught it, his grin widening.

You could almost feel his eyes on you, waiting, daring you to say something. But you couldn’t. What could you even say?

All you could do was crack the window open.

“Sorry,” He huffed out a laugh. A familiar one. One you… kinda missed, actually. “I tried calling, but I think you blocked my number.”

“I got a new phone,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make this situation any better – as if you would open your eyes and he wouldn’t be here.

But he was. 

“What the fuck are you even doing here– I mean– the balcony, Dante, really?” You threw your hands out, eyes full of exasperation. “You could have knocked at the door like a normal person.”

“Would you have answered?” He asked. “If you knew it was me?”

“Probably not,” You replied honestly. “I should leave you out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, right, about that,” He laughed, rubbing the back of his head abashedly. The entire encounter was so absurd that a part of you firmly believed you were dreaming. “I found out I’m, like… half demon. Crazy, right? So I don’t think I would freeze to death. Demon stamina, or whatever.”

Demon stamina. You thought. Right. Definitely awake right now.

Still, that would certainly explain his… endurance.

“Okay…” You had many, many questions, but that was the only thing you could muster, “Should I be… scared?”

What the fuck is going on?

In all honesty, if he told you that the world was ending tomorrow, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Nah,” He waved your concerns away with the back of his hand. “I’d never hurt you. Except for… well, when I broke up with you. That’s why I came here, actually. Sorry about that. I’ve done some reflection and I…” Suddenly appearing rather nervous, he trailed off, “I fucked up. I was a real asshole to you back then. God, this is hard.”

Your arms dropped to your sides as you stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re… ridiculous.”

“I know,” Dante said, hands up like he was surrendering. “But hear me out—”

“No, no. You don’t get to just Spider-Man your way onto my balcony, confess your demon heritage, and then act like this is normal,” you said, pointing to him like you were trying to make sense of a hallucination. “You broke up with me out of nowhere. Then you vanished. For a year, Dante. Not a word. Not even a shitty text.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” he replied, offended. “I was on a mission. I was in Hell.”

You snorted. “Oh, please.”

He blinked at you. Then, very seriously, he hissed out, “No, I was literally in Hell. For a year. You can’t imagine what that was like for me.”

“Oh my god.” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “You’re insane. Hell? Really?”

“I’m not making it up! You think I wanted to ghost you for twelve months?”

“Well, you kind of did. You broke up with me, remember?” You crossed your arms. “Said I should forget you. That I should move on.”

A pregnant pause.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he muttered.

“Well, congrats. I moved on. I did the whole crying on the bathroom floor thing, I got a therapist, I drank my sorrows away, I bought this plant—” You gestured wildly at the lonely fern in the corner. “His name is Rico. And he’s thriving. Without you.”

Rico was not, in fact, thriving. He was an exotic plant. One you had purchased on impulse at a farmer’s market that you definitely should have researched prior. He wasn’t doing too well cooped up inside of your apartment in New York City. Who would?

Dante crouched down, tilting his head, squinting at Rico. “Looks a little dehydrated.”

You glared. “So do you. What do you even want, Dante?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down for a second, suddenly quiet. “I want a do-over.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t have much control over the whole… trapped-in-hell thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, “but I wasn’t happy with how we ended things. I could’ve been better to you. I kept rehearsing what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, but I wasn’t expecting it to actually happen.”

He’s not being serious

… Is he?

One look at him, and you knew he was.

You let out a long, flat breath. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

You raised your brows. “Because we can’t,” you said again, quieter this time. And this time, it hurt.

“Why?” He asked, as if you hadn’t made yourself perfectly clear. “I’ve changed, honest. The past year I spent without you, I realized how good you were to me. How I took you for granted – I don’t wanna let you go. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice.”

Aw, you thought, That’s… kinda sweet, actually.

No. Stop that.

Instead, you propped your hand up on your hip, “Does that mean you won’t be here on my balcony ever again?”

He paused, pursed his lips. “Okay, maybe I would,” He finally admitted. “But if you would let me in–”

You cut him off right then and there, rolling your eyes. “I can’t, Dante. I have a fucking boyfriend.”

That hit its mark.

His mouth opened, then closed again. The silence that followed made you uncomfortable in a way only Dante could manage—equal parts awkward and guilty. He looked down at the floor of the balcony like maybe it had some hidden message for him.

“Oh…” he murmured. “Oh. You… You really moved on.”

“Something like that.” You shrugged, trying not to sound as tired as you felt. “That’s what happens when you disappear for a year. Life goes on.”

“Not for me,” he muttered, lips curling downward into a pout that would’ve been funny if it didn’t come attached to so much damn history. “Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest.” Then he added, almost too fast, like it slipped out before he could filter it, “I could probably fuck you better, too—”

He probably could. Honestly, your current sex life with your current boyfriend wasn’t the greatest. Still, he was consistent. He didn’t leave you hanging for nights in a row, wondering if he would come home. Not to mention the fact that, when you were with Dante, well…

You had some of the loveliest orgasms you had ever had. On the bed, on the floor, on the kitchen counter. The kind of orgasm you hadn’t achieved once since he had left. Not with your vibrator, and certainly not with your new boyfriend.

Your stare could’ve burned through glass. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

He had the decency to look vaguely ashamed, but not enough to shut up. “Did you come here just to ask for a do-over?” you asked, already backing toward the window.

“No,” he said, and then paused. “Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.”

You almost respected his commitment. Almost.

You didn’t respond right away, just stared at him— hair as white as starlight, red leather coat, sword still strapped to his back, ridiculous expression like he genuinely thought charm could undo the year-long hole he’d left in your life. The silence made him fidget, scuffing the toe of his boot against the concrete.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

You sighed. You really sighed this time, long and from the chest, because there was no point in even pretending this wasn’t exhausting.

“Goodnight, Dante,” you said.

Then… you shut the window.

The next day came with no promises of peace.

You were behind the counter at the diner, hair tied back, apron smudged with flour, oil, and maybe a little bit of your sanity. The coffee machine hissed in protest as you filled another mug for a trucker in the corner booth. Your feet hurt. Your head hurt. But at least it was a different kind of ache than the one Dante stirred up last night.

And then, like the universe had a personal vendetta against your emotional wellbeing, the bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t have to look up.

You felt him walk in—like some twisted sixth sense. The air shifted, and you could practically smell the cologne he always wore, something smoky and leather-soft. A second later, a voice followed.

“Damn. This place got a lot prettier since I was last here.”

You looked up anyway. Because of course you did.

There he was. Dante. Leaning casually against the host stand, all devil-may-care charm and a ridiculous leather jacket that made him look like he belonged anywhere but this greasy spoon diner. His eyes found you immediately.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to the coffee pot. “I swear to God,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

He strolled right up to the counter, pulling up a stool like he hadn’t trespassed on your balcony twelve hours ago. Like he hadn’t cracked open an old wound and kissed the air with apologies.

“You look good in that apron,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t bother looking at him this time. “You look like someone who doesn’t tip well.”

“I tip amazing,” he argued. “Just like I–”

“Do me a favor and don’t finish that sentence,” you warned, grabbing a towel and wiping down a clean patch of counter for the hundredth time. “Have you always been this petulant or is it something in the air?”

“I’m a lot of things,” he said, shrugging innocently. “I’m a man of many talents. Want me to prove it? I’ve got time.”

Oh my god.

You finally turned to face him. “Do you not have demons to fight or… hell dimensions to get trapped in again?”

He laughed. “You remembered.”

You deadpanned, “How could I forget? It’s not every day your ex disappears into Hell without a cell phone.”

Dante lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. But look—I just thought we could talk. Maybe over some waffles? Syrup fixes a lot.”

You were already shaking your head. “No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

“I’ll be good,” he said, drawing an imaginary halo over his head with his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you replied flatly.

“And you were never this mean to me,” he said with mock hurt.

“You were never this annoying. Go piss off somewhere. You had no problems leaving me alone for a year,” you shot back. Then you waved down one of your coworkers—a sweet girl named Lila with a bright smile and no idea what kind of emotional tornado she was about to serve.

“Hey, Lila?” you called. “Can you take counter stool three for me?”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said, handing her a menu. “He’s all yours.”

Dante blinked as Lila approached with her notepad, looking confused and a little betrayed. “Wait, seriously?”

You leaned over the counter slightly, voice low. “You want waffles? Order them. You want closure? Write a poem.”

And then you walked away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. The ache in your chest was enough to tell you exactly what kind of expression he wore.

The living room was dark, lit only by the bluish haze of the TV screen flashing between killstreaks and loading screens. Your boyfriend was sunk deep into the couch, legs wide, controller gripped like a lifeline. He hadn’t looked at you in over twenty minutes, completely absorbed in his game, spewing half-hearted trash talk at some twelve-year-old with better aim and a louder mic.

You shifted beside him, stretching a little, brushing your leg against his. Nothing. So you leaned over, nuzzling your nose lightly against his neck, just beneath his jaw.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft and sweet. You let your fingers slide down his chest, slow and teasing. “Want to take a little break?”

He flinched—not from desire, but because someone on screen shot him. Again.

“Babe, not now,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the game. “I’m in ranked.”

You pulled back a bit, blinking, mouth falling open in disbelief. “Seriously?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept clicking buttons, dead focused on the screen. “Yeah, just like… fifteen more minutes. Can you make dinner or something?”

You stared at him, chest hollowing out in quiet, stunned offense. You’d offered him your body. He asked for food.

There was a moment of silence. Your hand dropped from his chest.

You sat back against the cushion, a little colder now, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. And that was when Dante’s voice—his voice—echoed in your head from the night before.

“Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest. I could probably fuck you better, too—”

You closed your eyes briefly, scoffing under your breath. God, he was ridiculous. And yet…

You pushed yourself off the couch wordlessly, heading to the kitchen without a sound.

Behind you, your boyfriend called out, “You’re the best, babe!”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary.

And in the back of your mind, Dante's voice lingered like a splinter.

You turned the stove on, lips pressed into a thin, tired line. Maybe later you’d lie down and try to remember what it felt like to be romanced by someone who didn’t treat Call of Duty like a second girlfriend.

One incredibly sexless night later, you took the evening to decompress. That is, you lit up some candles, had a few slices of the pie you’d kept in your fridge for days just like this one, and blocked off an hour for the sole purpose of masturbation. 

What? You needed it.

The apartment was warm, dimly lit, perfectly still. You’d even put your phone on Do Not Disturb, because tonight was about you. Your fingers itched with anticipation as you laid out your night like a ritual: the robe slipping lower on your shoulder, the cool sheets turned down, your favorite toy already waiting on the nightstand like a promise.

God. You needed this. You were wound tight. Between work, the complete lack of passion from the man you were dating, and that absolutely deranged balcony visit from Dante… you were more than pent up. You were practically vibrating with unmet desire.

You let out a long, dramatic exhale, sinking down into your mattress with the kind of grace usually reserved for tragic heroines. Just you, a flickering candle, and the fantasy of literally anyone but your boyfriend.

You reached for the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Knock, knock.

Your hand froze.

You stared at the ceiling. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone had the wrong door.

Knock, knock. Louder this time. Three slow raps, followed by silence.

You sat up slowly, groaning into the air. Then, begrudgingly, you stuffed your vibrator back into the drawer, kicking your feet over the edge of the bed and walking into the living room. It was dark, of course, so you flicked on a light. When you stared into the peephole of your front door, it took all of the strength you had to not bang your head against the door.

It was Dante. Again. No leather jacket this time, just a black hoodie, hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You blinked, then groaned into the back of your hand.

Another knock, like he heard you. And then, muffled through the wood, his voice.

“I can hear you in there. Demon hearing, remember?” He brought his head up to the peephole, staring right back at you. “I know it’s late, Just… let me talk to you? For just a second? Please?”

You pulled the door open.

Dante stood there in the dim hallway light, hair windswept, hands in his pockets like he’d been pacing outside for a while, working up the nerve. His gaze moved over your face with a kind of stunned reverence, like he hadn’t really believed he’d see you again.

“Hey, princess,” he said.

There it was. That nickname. The one you hadn’t heard in a year.

You stepped aside without a word. He walked in like the place still remembered him. Or maybe you did.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn’t speak. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over your chest, watching him watch the room like it had changed without him. It had. You had. But he still looked at you like he saw the girl you were a year ago. That girl who let him ruin her, and smiled while doing it.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice low. “I tried.”

“Did you?” You answered.

“Okay, not really,” He looked at you again, more serious now. “I keep thinking about you. All the time. You’re in my head constantly, like—fuck—I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see something and just need to tell you about it.”

You laughed. Just once. It came out bitter and exhausted. “Keep it to yourself.”

“I missed talking to you about anything,” he said. “Everything.”

You shook your head, pushing off the wall, pacing just a little—like if you kept moving, you wouldn’t fall for this again. “You don’t get to come back after vanishing for a year and say shit like that.”

“I know. I know I don’t,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been trying to act like– like I’m not completely in love with you still, and it’s killing me.”

Your breath caught.

After all of this time?

His hands reached for yours before you could stop him. You let him take them.

Okay… what the fuck is going on?

“You deserve someone who sees you. Someone who treats you like you matter every second of the day,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. I could be that. I want to be that.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Because you’d heard those words before, from people who never meant them. From the person you’d curled up beside just last night, feeling more alone than ever. And yet here Dante was, saying all the right things—but he hadn’t even asked. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how long it had been since someone had touched you like they meant it.

Your voice came out hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” he whispered. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I think about you when I’m trying to sleep. I think about your laugh. Your stupid, shitty taste in TV. Your coffee order. The movies you like. I want that back. I want you back.”

You yanked your hands away, jaw tight.

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

“Don’t do this,” you said. “Don’t show up and say these things and make me feel like this again. You don’t even know what you left behind.”

He looked at you, eyes open and raw. “Then tell me. Let me make it right.”

“Go away, Dante.” you snapped.

Silence fell between you like a slammed door. You turned your back to him, trying to catch your breath.

Then he stepped in behind you.

Not touching, not quite—but close enough that you felt the heat of him. Close enough that your body remembered every inch of him like a phantom limb. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “I know I fucked up. Can you be… like, not so mad? Just for two seconds?”

His hand slid to your hip, turning you gently toward him. You let him, still trembling, still so full of everything you never got to say.

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time,” he whispered. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words were genuine. Genuine enough that you felt the tears begin to prickle at your eyes all over again – emotional at the mere thought of him, because truthfully?

You missed him, too. You just didn’t want to admit it. You missed the late nights and later mornings. You missed waking up next to him, hearing him talk about his crazy adventures as a demon hunter. You missed his kisses, the smell of him, his everything.

And, God, the sex… The sex was great.

He was taller than you. Always had been. But in that moment, it felt impossible not to notice how much he towered over you—how his shadow swallowed yours, how the air itself seemed to dip around him. You didn’t want to look up at him, but you did.

You stood frozen, breath shallow, pulse racing in your throat. You didn’t want this. You shouldn’t want this. But here you were, locked in place, every part of you screaming to walk away, and every part of you still craving the comfort of his touch.

“Please…” You whispered, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion. “Please, Dante. Just go.”

His expression softened, like he hadn’t expected that—like he was expecting something more. You felt his fingers on your waist now, and they were warm, pressing gently into your skin. There was no escape now. You weren’t sure you wanted to run anymore, not when it felt like your body was already betraying you.

“I shouldn’t be here, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. The distance between you seemed to vanish with each word. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried to forget about you, I tried so damn hard, but I couldn’t. I don’t want to.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Don’t, Dante. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

His eyes searched yours, the guilt and longing mixing together in a way that made your heart ache. He was close now, so close that you could feel his breath against your skin. You knew what was coming, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet.

“I know I fucked up,” he whispered again, more softly this time. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t. I just—I can’t be without you.”

And then, without waiting for another word, he leaned in.

His lips touched yours, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You didn’t stop him. For that moment, for that brief, heart-stopping moment, you let yourself fall back into the pull of him. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

God, I missed this.

You melted against him, a wave of relief crashing over you as his kiss deepened, more urgent, more desperate. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you responded without thinking, your body moving instinctively against his. He groaned low in his throat, his hand sliding to your neck, the other pressing you closer.

You kissed him back like you were starving, like you had been dying for this. And for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered—like the last year of silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it faded away in the heat of his mouth on yours.

But then, just as quickly as the warmth had started, it turned cold.

You pulled away, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with the sudden rush of emotion. You couldn’t do this. Not again. Not after everything. Your hands shook as you pushed against his chest, creating just enough space to break the connection.

“No,” you said, your voice breaking as you stepped back, wiping at your eyes. “No. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

He blinked at you, stunned, his face pale, but he didn’t move. His eyes were full of confusion, pain, and something darker that you didn’t want to see.

“I can’t,” you repeated, voice steadying with every word. You took another step back, hand reaching for the door. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

There it was.

“I’m sorry, Dante,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I really am.”

He stared at you for a long moment, and for the briefest second, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something devastating.

But then, he nodded. The motion was slow, almost resigned, and he took a step back. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. As he passed you, he stopped for a moment, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

And then, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, the faint sounds of your boyfriend’s video game drifting from the other room, mingling with the hum of the refrigerator. You hated that noise—hated the sound of him so effortlessly immersed in a world that wasn’t yours, that didn’t care about the growing tension between the two of you. You tried to focus on the TV, tried to let the sitcom's canned laughter drown out the gnawing discomfort in your stomach. But it wasn’t working. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Dante had said.

I could treat you so much better.

Those words. God, they kept coming back to you. You didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to feel them pushing into every corner of your mind, making you question everything you thought you knew. But they did. And you were alone with those thoughts now. Alone with your insecurities that you usually kept locked away.

You huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around you as if it could protect you from the storm of doubt forming in your chest. You shouldn’t be thinking about him—about Dante. You should be thinking about how your boyfriend had been in and out of your life, barely there, barely present, always distracted. But the longer you sat there, the more it seemed like it was all just a reflection of the way you felt inside: disconnected, hollowed out, drifting.

And then, as if fate was timing it just perfectly, he left his phone on the counter.

Your breath caught, the phone staring at you like a challenge, like an invitation. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You promised you wouldn’t invade his privacy like this. But your fingers itched to touch it, to confirm the sinking feeling in your stomach that something—someone—wasn't right.

You pushed yourself off the couch, the decision feeling both slow and inevitable as you walked toward the kitchen. The phone sat innocently on the counter, waiting. You took a breath, a shaky, hesitant inhale. You could walk away. You could pretend you didn’t see it.

But you didn’t.

You picked it up, unlocking it with a simple swipe. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline kicking in as if you were about to do something reckless. The phone screen lit up with messages from some unnamed number. And when you saw the first message, your throat tightened.

"I miss you so much. When can I see you again?"

It hit you hard. Like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even had time to react before your eyes were scanning the next message, then the next, your stomach sinking deeper and deeper with every word.

“Last night was incredible. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A sharp, painful gasp escaped you before you could stop it. You clutched the phone tighter, staring at the words, and then—bam—it all crashed into you. You hadn’t been wrong. You hadn’t been imagining the distance, the emotional coldness that had settled between you and your boyfriend. There it was, in black and white—proof of his betrayal.

You felt like you were drowning, suffocating under the weight of it all. This wasn’t just about the messages. It was about everything. About the endless late nights when he came home late from “work,” about the weekends when he’d disappear into his own world, leaving you to figure out where you fit into it. And now this—this confirmation that the man you had been with for so long wasn’t who you thought he was.

You could almost hear Dante’s voice again in your head. I could treat you so much better. The words felt like salt in a wound you hadn’t even realized you had, their presence almost suffocating in the quiet of your kitchen. Were you settling? Were you really going to let this happen? Let yourself get swallowed by someone who couldn’t even give you the decency of respect?

You exhaled sharply, your pulse quickening as the next message flashed on the screen.

“I can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

Babe.

The word made you sick, twisting your stomach into knots. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—maybe because it wasn’t meant for you. Maybe because it was meant for someone else. Someone who got his attention, who got his time, his affection. It wasn’t you. You were just the woman he settled for, the one who wasn’t good enough for the effort.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, and you suddenly hated everything about this moment. The phone in your hand, the pit in your stomach, the way you had let things go on for this long. You could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You weren’t going to cry over this. You weren’t going to let him have that power over you.

But just as quickly, the rush of hurt was replaced by something else—a sharp anger that burned through you like fire. You weren’t going to keep doing this. You weren’t going to keep letting him make you feel small. You weren’t going to keep standing by, pretending that nothing was wrong when everything was falling apart around you.

You weren’t going to be the backup. The woman who stayed even though she knew she deserved more.

The sound of footsteps from the other room snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shoved the phone down onto the counter, just as your boyfriend entered the kitchen. His voice was casual, too casual, as if nothing had changed.

“Hey, babe. You alright?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him, your chest tight with all the words you didn’t want to say, the emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The raw anger, the aching disappointment—it was all building up inside you, suffocating you. You stood there in the kitchen, phone still in your hand, his lies echoing in your mind. Every text, every word, had become a blade, slicing through your trust, through your relationship. And now, standing face-to-face with him, it all came to a boiling point.

You couldn’t help it.

You walked up to him, eyes burning with fury, and before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, your hand shot out. The slap echoed through the small apartment, sharp and loud, breaking the tense silence between you.

His head jerked to the side from the impact. He didn’t even seem surprised. But you could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Too late for that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your voice trembled with rage as the words spilled out. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m some kind of idiot, just sitting here while you lie to my face?”

He reached up, touching his cheek, and for a moment, he looked almost confused. “What the hell are you talking abou–”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back, trying to breathe, to stop the angry tears from spilling over. “Don’t even try. I’ve been here, okay? I’ve been here, giving you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

You could feel the walls around you closing in. The kitchen—the place where you had made so many meals together, laughed together, fought together—it suddenly felt suffocating. This wasn’t your home anymore. It wasn’t the place you thought it was.

“I trusted you,” you spat, your voice cracking. “I trusted you, and you went behind my back. All this time, you were texting her—her—while I was sitting here, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.”

His eyes widened, but then he scoffed, trying to brush it off. “Come on, it’s not like that. She’s just—”

“Don’t!” You interrupted again, shaking your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what excuses you’ve got. I don’t want to hear how you’re ‘sorry’ and how ‘it wasn’t like that’ because it was. I saw the texts. I saw everything.”

There was a cold silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He was quiet now, eyes downcast, as if he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had no idea how to fix it—because there was no fixing it. Not this time.

“Do you even care?” You whispered, feeling the heartbreak seep into your bones. “Do you even care that you’ve been hurting me this whole time?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you could see the hesitation in his eyes. He was trying to form the right words, trying to make it sound like he cared, like he had some kind of reason, but it was too late for that.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I’m done.”

He froze. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was an almost desperate look in his eyes. “Wait—what? You can’t—”

“Don’t try to stop me.” You took a deep breath, the anger dissipating just enough to feel the weight of the pain. “I’m not staying here. I’m not going to keep putting myself through this. I’m done.”

His face fell. You could see the regret in his eyes, but you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you’d just found out.

You turned your back on him, heading for the bedroom to grab your things. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. You could feel the tension in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. Not anymore. You were done.

You grabbed your bag—your jacket, your wallet, your keys—and made your way toward the door. Every step felt heavy, like you were walking away from something you had invested so much of yourself into, and yet, there was a strange sense of relief settling in your chest. You were leaving behind a lie, a hollow version of something you had once wanted to be real. 

You were leaving him.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice strained. “Please, don’t go. We can fix this. We can talk—”

But you didn’t listen. You opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, and closed it behind you. The sound of it was final. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You didn’t want to be with someone who could betray you like this.

Still, weak thing that you were, you began to cry.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

As you walked down the hallway, your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You didn’t want to look at it. 

But then, your fingers moved of their own accord, slipping the phone out of your pocket.

And there it was: Dante’s old number.

The one you’d saved with the naive hope that he might have called. You hadn’t thought about it in a while. You hadn’t dared to reach out to him—hadn’t dared to even look at his name on your phone. But now, standing there in the hallway, your heart pounding, your chest tight from everything you’d just left behind, you thought about what he’d said to you.

I could treat you better. 

I’ve always been in love with you.

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the thought. You could still hear his voice in your head, still feel the weight of his words.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertainty swirling inside you. You didn’t know why you were doing this. You didn’t know what you hoped to get from it, but you couldn’t shake the pull. You wanted—needed—someone who saw you. Someone who cared.

So, in a moment of weakness, you typed the words.

YOU: I need you.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. The words felt foreign, too raw, too vulnerable, but you couldn’t take them back now.

a/n: ok so whenn i say this is gonna be short... i MEAN IT THIS TIME LOL..... maybe. anyway! part two is almost done, so comment what you thought, let me know what you'd like to see, what you loved, etc! until next time, my loves x not sure why this got deleted? but ok

I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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