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violetrainbow412-blog

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Peter Parker x telepath!reader

wc: 5k

summary: the mind is more fragile than anyone could imagine. And yet, love proves to be the most powerful force of all.

masterlist

Part one Part two

During sleep, the mind lowers its guard in a way it would never allow while awake. Thoughts cease to obey a precise order, memory reorganizes fragments of the past, and emotions travel paths that consciousness keeps closed while we are awake. Perhaps that is why there are memories that can only be found with closed eyes.

•18+ Adults Only

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ywrt

Yooo about your paranoid reader x Batman blurb that you wrote, could you do a part two? Maybe one where reader keeps flinching at sudden movements around the Batman or refuses to turn their back on them? Just, small things that start to add up in the background until someone tries to grab reader (bonus points if it’s to try and hug them) and reader freaks out/shoves them off and runs away to hide somewhere in the mansion

Part 1 of whatever my brain made at 4 am

Sorry, it may not be what you asked, i promise in the next part to put more moments with the family

Run rabbit, RUN

Fem! Panaroid Reader x neglective batfamily

Warning: use of Y/N, prob Ooc, no proofread, inacurate anxiety attack, attempt or murder, child abuse, weapons, writer knows little of DC and just writes for fun, English is not my first language

Words: 1,8k

Divider

kumasakka

◟ ⟡ ノ 𝑰𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐘 , 𝐎𝐎𝐎 .

⊂ ﹒␥﹒ ⊃ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 ◞ the book was really good in your opinion — but was it good enough for you to decide you want to be part of it ﹒ ﹒ ﹒

⊂ ﹒ꗃ﹒ ⊃ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ◞ platonic . batfam + romantic . wally west / conner kent / roy harper x fem . transmigrator / neglected . reader ﹒ ﹒ ﹒

⊂ ﹒⟡﹒ ⊃ 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 ◞ characters may be out of character yet there is a good reason for it — this focuses heavily on the transmigration elements instead of the neglect (since it’s barely there) ﹒ ﹒ ﹒

⊂ 𝄂ʬʬ﹒﹗ ⊃ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒 ◞ 3.0k wc , m.list ,﹙ prev . next ﹚﹒ ﹒ ﹒

　　Deep breaths despite the crushing feeling of your lungs.

Every inhale and exhale forces pain to spill within your chest, which seeps through your body like poison. Your hand grasps the shirt, pulling and squeezing the fabrics in attempts to help against the suffocation.

Fuck — your lungs hurt, your legs hurt, your feet hurt.

But you don't stop, can't stop.

Not when you have come so far to see the outskirt of the godforsaken city.

Legs littered with bruises and cuts all over, blood spilling from your open wounds, sight growing too blurry for you to see anything.

You push through.

Grime and dirt adorn your skin, clothes disheveled and reduced to a mess.

Ithurtsithurtsithurts—

"Fuck—if only I..!" you pant out, mind overwhelmed with your panic, "if only I had better stamina—if only I used my time more wisely—!"

pomegranatelifethis

Nobody Noticed

They never meant to forget you.

That's what you told yourself, in the beginning. When Bruce came home with reports about Gotham's crime rates spread across the dining table and his eyes passed over you like you were part of the furniture. When Dick ruffled your hair and said "Hey, squirt" on his way to somewhere more important. When Tim looked up from his laptop and said "Yeah, totally, I'll help you with that later" — and later never came.

You told yourself: they're busy. They're saving lives. You're not more important than Gotham.

You believed it for a long time.

---

You were six when Bruce found you.

Your mother was already gone by then — taken in a way that left marks on you that had nothing to do with bruises. You didn't understand all of it, not then. You just knew that the world was dark and cold and that sometimes men could do things that made you feel like you'd never be clean again, even when they hadn't touched you. You'd only watched. Hidden inside the closet, eye pressed to the crack in the door, too small and too terrified to make a sound.

That was your first fear: being trapped somewhere small and dark while something terrible happened and nobody came.

Bruce Wayne looked at you across a sterile hospital room and something moved behind his eyes — recognition, maybe. The shape of a child who had seen too much. He signed the papers three weeks later.

You had a home. You had a father. You had brothers.

For a while, you thought that meant you were safe.

---

Dick was twenty when you arrived, already Nightwing, already brilliant. He smiled at you like sunlight and called you little sister and the first time he did, your chest cracked open with something warm and desperate and enormous. You followed him everywhere. You learned his footsteps. You memorized the way he laughed.

He was kind to you. He just wasn't there. Not really. Not in the way that counted.

Dick existed in flashes — a weekend visit, a quick call, a laugh across the comms. He was the brother who said "I'm so proud of you" without asking what he was proud of. He saw the shape of you, the outline, and he loved that outline genuinely. He just never looked close enough to see what was inside it.

You stopped telling him things when you were nine. He always listened with one eye on his phone.

Tim was different. Tim noticed things — that was his whole thing, observation, deduction, detail. He noticed when Bruce's sleep patterns shifted. He noticed when Damian's training scores dropped two percent. He built files on everything.

He never built one on you.

Not because he didn't care. Because you were never a variable in any equation he was trying to solve. You were just... there. Present. Assumed. Like background noise that didn't require analysis.

You asked him once to help you with your combat assessment. You were twelve, newly suited up, still figuring out your footing. He said "Absolutely, let's do Tuesday." Tuesday came. He forgot. You reminded him. He said "Sorry, this week's bad, next week for sure." Next week came and went. You stopped asking after the fourth time.

What hurt wasn't the forgetting. It was that he never noticed he'd forgotten.

---

Jason.

Jason is a wound that never healed right.

Before he died, he was the one who saw you. Really saw you. He'd find you in the library at two in the morning when you couldn't sleep and he'd sit beside you without asking why, and somehow that was enough. He called you kid but it didn't feel dismissive — it felt like a claim. Like you're mine to look after.

He died when you were eight.

You grieved him in a way you didn't grieve your mother, because with your mother you'd been too small to understand permanence. With Jason you were old enough to know that gone meant gone. You put flowers outside his old room for a year. Bruce told you once, gently, to stop. It upset him.

You stopped.

Jason came back when you were thirteen, angry and sharp-edged and burning with something you didn't have a name for yet. You ran to him. You actually ran, across the cave, heart hammering, because he was alive, he was back, he was—

He stepped around you.

Not deliberately. Or maybe deliberately — you never knew. He looked at Bruce and the look between them was so full of history and fury and grief that there was simply no room for you in it. You stood there with your arms half-extended and slowly let them fall.

He never really came back. Not to you. The Jason who sat with you in libraries was buried in the pit somewhere. This Jason looked through you on a good day and said something cutting on a bad one — "Shouldn't you be in bed?" or "You're in the way" or once, terribly, "You're not actually his daughter, you know. You're just the latest project."

You didn't cry in front of him. You'd learned by then not to cry in front of any of them.

---

Damian arrived like a verdict.

He was Bruce's blood. His actual blood, and you understood immediately — with the cold clarity of a child who had learned to read rooms — what that meant for you. Not consciously. Bruce never said it. Nobody said it. But the shift was there, subtle and tectonic, and you felt it the way you felt changes in weather.

Damian didn't like you. He made that clear within the first week. "You were adopted out of pity," he told you, seven years old and vicious with inherited confidence. "I am a Wayne by birth. There is a difference."

You were thirteen. You already knew there was a difference. You just hadn't wanted to hear it said aloud.

You tried, for years, to reach him. You left his favorite tea outside his door. You covered for him with Bruce twice. Once, when he was injured on a mission and Bruce was unreachable, you sat with him in the med bay for four hours and held his hand when he was too delirious with painkillers to tell you to let go.

The next morning he told you to stay out of his room.

You did.

You became a vigilante at fifteen.

Bruce didn't exactly give you permission. You didn't exactly ask. You trained in the cave when nobody was there — which was often, because the cave was only crowded when there was something important happening, and you had learned you were rarely part of what was important. You built your own suit from components in the supply room that nobody had catalogued yet. You chose a name nobody had claimed.

Your first night out, you stopped a mugging and a convenience store robbery and helped a woman whose car had broken down on the highway find a signal to call for help. Small things. Unglamorous things.

You filed a report in the cave's system. Standard format, the way Tim had shown you once, two years ago, in a moment of actual attention. Case numbers. Location coordinates. Incident details.

Nobody responded.

You filed another one the next week. And the next.

After six months, you stopped filing reports. You just went out and came back and put your suit away and went to bed. Nobody asked where you'd been. Nobody noticed the mileage on the bike.

You had a symbol, a territory, a growing list of informants. You had a reputation in three of Gotham's worst districts. You had solved four cases that had gone cold in the GCPD for years.

The Batfamily did not know your case number. They did not know your informants' names. They did not know about the apartment you'd quietly rented in Crime Alley with the money from your trust fund — not to live in, just to have somewhere that was yours, somewhere your things weren't adjacent to theirs, somewhere you could breathe without waiting to be overlooked.

You were sixteen when you understood that you loved them and that loving them was making you disappear.

---

You tried, once, to say it.

Seventeen years old. Family dinner — one of the rare ones where everyone was present, even Jason, even Dick, even Alfred who watched everything with sad knowing eyes and sometimes touched your shoulder in a way that made you want to collapse.

Bruce was talking about a new lead on Scarecrow's operations. Dick was animated, leaning forward, offering tactical suggestions. Tim had his tablet out despite Alfred's pointed look. Jason was eating with the focused aggression he brought to everything. Damian was correcting Tim's analysis with the particular smugness of someone who knew he was right.

You had information. Relevant information — you'd spent three weeks building a profile on Scarecrow's new chemist, traced his supply chain to a warehouse in the Narrows. You had coordinates. You had a window.

You opened your mouth.

"I actually have—"

"The eastern route makes more sense," Dick said, talking over you without realizing it. "If we split the team into—"

You closed your mouth.

You sat there for the rest of dinner. You passed the bread when it was near you. You answered when Alfred asked if you wanted more water. Nobody else spoke to you directly.

After, you went to your room and sat on the floor with your back against the bed and breathed very carefully for a long time. Not crying. You'd mostly stopped crying by then. Just breathing. Waiting for the feeling to pass.

It passed. It always passed.

That was almost worse.

The accumulation of small things:

Tim promising to spar with you seventeen times over two years and canceling sixteen of them. The seventeenth time he simply didn't show up and when you asked later he said "Oh, was that today? Sorry, I had a thing."

Dick sending you a birthday message three days late with seventeen exclamation points, clearly composed in thirty seconds.

Bruce looking at your patrol report — one of the rare times he actually opened the file — and saying "Good work" with the tone of someone who had not actually read it.

Damian telling a visiting hero that there were "four" Batfamily members when you were standing six feet away.

Jason, once, when you were eighteen and tried to check if he was okay after a bad mission: "I don't need you to babysit me. Go back to playing house with Bruce."

The way none of them ever asked about your fear.

You'd mentioned it once, years ago, to Dick — that small spaces made you cold, that being trapped made your vision go white, that you'd had nightmares since you were six about a closet door and sounds you couldn't stop hearing. He'd said "Oh, that's rough, I'm sorry" and then his phone had rung and that was the end of it.

None of them knew. Not really. Not the shape of it, the weight of it, the way it lived in your chest like a stone.

---

You were nineteen when the Riddler's new syndicate took you.

It wasn't careless on your part. You'd been careful — you were always careful, you'd had to be, operating without a net, without backup, without anyone monitoring your comms. You'd tracked the syndicate for four months. You knew their patterns. You knew their safehouses.

What you didn't know was that they knew yours.

They'd been watching you watch them. Waiting. Patient in the way that only people with something to prove could be patient.

They took you on a Tuesday. Gray sky, cold rain. You were two blocks from your apartment in Crime Alley and then you weren't anywhere you recognized.

---

The room was small.

That was the first thing. That was the thing that split you open before anything else had even happened — the dimensions of it, the closeness of the walls, the single bare bulb, the door with no handle on the inside. The smell of damp concrete and something metallic.

You pressed your back against the wall and breathed.

They'll find me, you thought. They'll notice I'm gone. Bruce will pull up my tracker—

Your tracker was in your suit. Your suit was in your apartment. You'd been taken in civilian clothes.

They'll notice I'm missing from the cave. Tim monitors the system—

Tim had not responded to a single report you'd filed in six months. The system showed your last check-in as four days ago.

Dick will—

Dick didn't know your patrol schedule. Nobody did.

You sat in the small dark room and understood, with a clarity that was almost peaceful, that no one was coming.

Not because they didn't love you. Maybe they did, in the abstract, in the way you love furniture that's always been in a room. But love without attention was just sentiment. Sentiment didn't open doors.

---

They came eventually. Riddler's people, with questions you didn't answer and methods that made the room feel smaller. You held on to what you could. Your name. Your breathing. The memory of a library at two in the morning and a boy who sat beside you without asking why.

That Jason was gone. But the memory wasn't.

You held onto it.

On the third day you stopped counting hours. On the fifth day you stopped being surprised by the pain. Somewhere in there — you couldn't have said exactly when — you stopped waiting.

Not because you gave up, exactly. More because waiting required believing, and you had run out of the particular kind of belief that made waiting possible. You had spent thirteen years waiting to be seen. This was just the last version of the same thing.

You thought about your mother, in the end. Not the way it happened — you didn't let yourself go there. Just her face, which you barely remembered, which had mostly dissolved into impressions: something warm, something that smelled like cedar, something that had loved you before the world got its hands on you.

You thought: at least I know what that felt like.

The bulb flickered. The room was very small. The door did not open.

---

They found your apartment six weeks later.

Tim, actually — following a thread on a case that had nothing to do with you, a lead that happened to pass through Crime Alley and a building registry that happened to have your name on it. He stood in the doorway of the small apartment and looked at your things — the books stacked by the window, the mug on the counter, the suit folded on the table because you'd always been neat, always been careful, always cleaned up after yourself — and something shifted in his face.

He called Bruce.

Bruce came. Then Dick. Then Jason. Damian stayed in the car for a long time before he came upstairs.

They stood in your apartment and looked at your life, the one you'd built without them, the one that had existed in the negative space of their attention. There were case files on the wall. Years of them. Cases solved, territories mapped, informants catalogued. There were notes in your handwriting — careful, precise — cross-referencing their operations with yours. All the times you'd been working parallel to them, unseen.

There was a folder on the table labeled, in your handwriting: Reports — Unfiled.

Dick opened it.

It was everything you'd never said. Not a journal, not a letter — you hadn't written it for them, you'd written it for yourself, the way you wrote everything, because writing was the only place you'd ever been fully heard. Patrol notes. Case summaries. And threaded through them, small and unadorned, the record of being invisible: Tim canceled again. Dick called, didn't ask how I was. Bruce said good work without looking up. Damian said four.

And at the very end, dated two weeks before you disappeared: I think I'm going to stop waiting. Not for them — for anyone. I think I've been waiting my whole life and I'm tired and I think that's okay. I think it's okay to be tired.

I love them. I just don't think they'll notice I'm gone.

Dick sat down on your floor.

Jason stood very still in the doorway of your bedroom for a long time.

They found you three days later. What was left of you.

The Riddler's syndicate had moved on, left no living witnesses, covered their tracks with professional efficiency. The GCPD report was clinical. Bruce read it in the cave at three in the morning with Alfred's hand on his shoulder and did not speak for a very long time.

You had been afraid of small spaces. They had put you in one. They had known — somehow, because you'd never told your family but you'd mentioned it once to an informant who'd been compromised — what you were most afraid of.

You had died in the exact shape of your greatest fear.

Waiting for someone to open the door.

They held a service. Small, private. Alfred cried in the way Alfred cried — quietly, with dignity, with the devastation of someone who had seen this family make the same mistakes over and over and had never been able to stop them.

Nobody said we should have known. That was perhaps the most honest thing.

Dick didn't speak at the service. He'd tried to write something and hadn't been able to finish it. He kept thinking about the phone calls where he hadn't asked how you were. He kept thinking about how he'd loved the shape of you without ever learning the contents.

Tim thought about seventeen canceled sparring sessions. He thought about the reports sitting unread in the system. He thought about how he'd built files on everything — everything except you.

Jason thought about what he'd said. You're not actually his daughter, you know. You're just the latest project. He thought about it with the particular torture of someone who cannot take words back. He thought about a library and two in the morning and a small girl who had run toward him with her arms out and he had walked around her like she wasn't there.

He thought about that for a long time.

Damian stood at the graveside and looked at your name on the stone and thought about a mug of tea left outside his door. He had not thanked you. He had not acknowledged it. He had told you to stay out of his room.

He had been seven. He did not think that excused him.

---

Bruce went back to the cave that night. He opened your file — your real file, the one Tim had built after, pulling together everything, trying too late to see you whole. He read every report. Every case. Every small careful note.

He read the line: I love them. I just don't think they'll notice I'm gone.

He sat in the cave for a long time.

Then he closed the file.

He went upstairs. He stood in the hallway outside your room — your old room, the one you'd kept because you'd never officially moved out, the one with your books and your drawings and your second-best mug because your favorite was in the apartment in Crime Alley. He stood there and he put his hand flat against the door.

He did not open it.

He stood there for a very long time, in the dark, in the quiet.

And then he went to bed.

Because Bruce Wayne had always been better at grieving in retrospect than preventing it. Because the people he failed were always, in the end, the ones already inside the house.

Because you had been right.

They hadn't noticed until you were already gone.

1-800-zombify

a beauty, but a funny girl | part two

fred weasley x f!addams!reader

Fred accidentally falls in love with this mysterious girl in his class through awkward meetings and has to figure out how to tell her and his family, after attending a strange wedding.

♪ ─── warnings: fred is taller than u no matter what ur actual height is idc, nonchalant!odd!reader, goth!or emo!reader (described as wearing black—imagine whatever u want), nonchalant/unexpressive!reader, american!reader, swearing, unspecific house!reader, acquaintances to lovers, slow burn, 2nd/3rd person omnipotent but fred orientated, “British slang,” 7th year, no y/n, no war au, teen cringe, fluff, jobs, this takes place a few weeks after part one, slice of life, swearing, unmeasured but small timeskips, metric system, mix between 90s addams family and wednesday show, mention of gunshots + drinking + smoking, disgustingly wealthy!reader bc the addams family fortune is real

♪ ─── word count: 8.3k

♪ ─── a/n: i have to chop it into another part idk how this keeps happening hopefully i don't orphan this

part one | part three (coming later)

Ron tossed buttery white popcorn kernels into his mouth. They crunched under his molars, as he propped his long legs upon the Common Room's empty coffee table. Hermione and Harry were squished together on his left, and Fred colonized the wingback chair, forcing George to lean against its rounded armrest.

Ron fished out a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. He pushed all the mashed up remnants into his cheek.

"Where are you guys getting all this money from?" he asked. He stopped eating, his expression changed. "Are you guys gambling again?" Ron inquired, hushed.

"Freddie's a working man, I'll have you know," George scoffed, nudging his twin's shoulder playfully. He looked Ron up and down daringly. "Everything's legal here."

•18+ Adults Only

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pluvial-lake

☆゙ ALL THE DAMN TIME #𝟢𝟢𝟨

──────── SYNOPSIS ⚘ 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝟤𝟦/𝟩.

𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 . 𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗒𝗌𝗈𝗇. 𝗃𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖽. 𝗍𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗄𝖾. 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗇𝖾.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 . 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗒𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾. 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍. 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿. 𝗎𝗇𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗁𝗒 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌. 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾. 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾. ⠀ᰔ

𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 . 𝟥.𝟦𝗄

DICK GRAYSON

You're going to kill him.

Like actually physically kill him.

"Again?" he laughs, that bright, easy laugh that made you fall for him in the first place.

Oh god oh fuck you're horny again.

Don't get him wrong, he's not complaining. He's never complaining. He loves you. He worship you. He gets off on making you cum.

But his dick is literally chafed and he's running on two hours of sleep and a protein bar he ate between round three and round four and—

You're already tugging at his belt.

His belt. Which he just buckled. Thirty seconds ago.

He's hard again.

How?

How is he hard again?

He's not twenty anymore, he's pushing thirty, his knees click when he does certain positions, he pulled a hamstring last week doing that thing you like where he folds you like a pretzel—okay, he has been slacking lately BUT it's your fault because you don't even let him leave the house—

"No, no, baby, I'm— I'm not complaining," he says, already breathless, already getting to his knees because you've got that look, with glassy eyes, and pouty lips, "I just— hah— give me five minutes? Ten? I need to rehydrate, I need to—"

"You don't want me?"

What?

The words hit him like a bullet to his chest.

No. No no no no. Don't ever say that. Don't ever think that. He wants you. He wants you so much it's ruining him. He wants you when he's asleep, wants you when he's awake, wants you when he's bleeding out on a rooftop wondering if he'll make it home in time to taste you before patrol—

He's already got his mouth on you. Already. Didn't even make a conscious decision. His body just moved because his body wants you and your pleasure, your smile, the little gasp you make when he gets it just right—

"I want you," he mumbles into your thigh, "I want you, I want you, I want you, don't ever say I don't, I'll— I'll prove it, I'll stay down here all night, I don't need sleep, sleep is for people who aren't dating a goddess, I'll just—"

You pull him up by his hair. He whimpers. He whimpers like a puppy because his girlfriend touched his scalp.

God, he's pathetic.

He loves it.

He loves you.

"You were saying something about rehydrating?" you ask, and your voice is teasing but your hand is wrapped around him and his vision goes sparkly at the edges.

"Who cares—ah fuck," he hears himself say, "I-I don't...ugh... Give a f-fuck."

And later, when he's lying on top of you, every muscle screaming, a single tear is rolling down his cheek, because fuck he's overstimulated, He press his lips to your sweaty forehead.

"You're gonna break me someday, you know that?"

You smile.

"That's the plan,"

His dick twitch again, and he'll laugh hysterically into your hair because he's the luckiest man walking in the entire goddamn world.

gojosmoonlight

do you still love her?

chapter 8

notes: 6.1k words…i’m so sacred to post this. don’t fight me.

links: series masterlist.

patreon|kofi

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

You lifted your eyes from the coffee cup in your hands and looked at Satoru. His blue eyes were nearly as tired as your own. He had spent the last few nights dealing with Yuta. From what you had heard, Yuta wasn't taking the divorce well.

“There's nothing left there.”

Satoru nodded slowly. “I don't want to pressure you into anything. I'm just trying to make sure you've considered every option. What about couples therapy?”

A small laugh escaped you, but there was no real humor behind it. “Couples therapy? I think we're way past that, Sensei. We should have gone to therapy when he told me about Maki. Instead, he ran after her while I sat at home with a broken heart.”

Satoru didn't argue. He didn't take your side, and he didn't take Yuta's either. He knew how much the two of you had loved each other. Yuta was falling apart from the inside out, and you were left carrying the pieces of your own shattered heart.

After a moment, Satoru spoke again.

“I heard you moved in with Megumi. How's that going?”

You set your mug on the table and hesitated. “Good. At least, I think so. I'm not sure if it's the right move anymore. Things have been happening between us.”

Satoru's brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”

“Are you guys having sex?” Itadori interrupted.

You looked over to find him sitting at the end of the table, stuffing a croissant into his mouth. “No,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “We've just been getting closer. I think Megumi is starting to fall for me.”

Satoru glanced at Itadori before looking back at you. “Are you using him to get over the breakup?”

“No.” Your answer came quickly. “At least, I don't think I am. There's definitely something there. That's what makes me feel so guilty.”

“Because you still love Yuta?” Satoru asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Itadori's eyes widened. “Oh, this is a love triangle.”

Satoru immediately shot him a look. “When I said you could come along, Itadori, I did not mean you could join the conversation. This is serious.”

“I know it's serious,” Itadori said. “That's why I'm invested. She's in a love triangle. Who's she gonna pick?”

You leaned back in your chair with a groan, dragging a hand over your face as the weight of everything settled on your shoulders. “I'm so glad you can find humor in this because I'm honestly struggling. Part of me wants to move on and see where things with Megumi could go, but the other half of me wants to forgive Yuta and try to rebuild the life we had together. I don't know which part of me is louder anymore.”

Satoru let out a quiet sigh as he rubbed his chin, his expression growing more thoughtful than before. “You're in a dangerous place right now, (Y/N). People's emotions are at stake, and no matter what you choose, someone is going to get hurt. Megumi didn't ask to be caught in the middle of this. He just happened to fall for you, and now he's being pulled into something that started long before he was ever involved.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, his voice calm but firm. “As for Yuta, he's on a self-destructive path, and he's nowhere near the right state of mind to rebuild a relationship. Even if you wanted to reconcile, I don't think either of you could do it in a healthy way right now. If you want my advice, I'd stop thinking about either of them for a while and start thinking about yourself instead. Spend time doing the things that make you happy, figure out who you are outside of this marriage, and don't make a decision until you're absolutely certain it's the one you can live with.”

You nodded slowly, letting Satoru's words settle in, though your mind still felt painfully crowded. Every day brought something new, whether it was another rumor, another memory, or someone reaching out to tell you how badly Yuta was doing. It had become exhausting to think about him, especially now that Megumi was part of your life. He wasn't your boyfriend, but he wasn't simply your friend anymore either. Somewhere along the way, the two of you had crossed into something that felt far more complicated. You were closer than friends, yet neither of you had been brave enough to give it a name.

After a long silence, Satoru spoke.

"Maybe you should put the divorce on hold."

Your head snapped up, disbelief written across your face. "On hold? Why would I do that?"

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Because it's only been a month. None of us knows how you'll feel in another three or four months. Maybe you'll decide you still want the divorce, or maybe the two of you will work things out and leave all of this behind together. No one can predict the future. I just don't want you making a permanent decision while you're still drowning in emotions."

You shook your head, your expression hardening. "If Yuta did it once, what's stopping him from doing it again? He let someone else come between us. He stood there and watched our marriage fall apart."

"That's always a possibility," Yuji admitted, wiping the crumbs from his hands. "But after seeing him these last few weeks, I honestly don't think he'd make that mistake again. Speaking as a guy, I'd fight for my wife with everything I had. People screw up, and what Yuta did was a huge mistake. I'm not defending him for that. But I can see it in his eyes. He's fighting for you now, and I don't think he'll stop until he has nothing left to give. If it were me, I'd do the exact same thing."

Satoru let out a quiet sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Men can be unbelievably stupid," he said with a faint, humorless smile. "We take the people we love for granted more often than we'd like to admit. I wish I understood why, but I don't." His expression softened with regret as he looked down at the table. "I also feel like I failed Yuta. I should've noticed what was happening sooner. Maybe if I'd been there when he needed someone, none of this would've happened."

“This isn’t anyone's fault but Yuta’s.” You say, taking a deep breath, “So where do we go from here?”

It hadn't really been a question for them at all. It had been directed at yourself.

The last few days had been nothing but endless questions and unsolicited advice from everyone around you, each person convinced they knew what was best, each opinion adding to the noise already crowding your mind. The truth was, there were only two people whose advice you genuinely wanted to hear: Satoru and Nanami. Gojo-sensei was loud, dramatic, and completely unreasonable more often than not, but beneath all of that was someone who cared too much for the people he considered his own. He was especially protective of you, Itadori, Yuta, and Megumi. He would deny it until the day he died, but everyone knew the four of you were his favorites.

You watched from across the table as both Satoru's and Itadori's phones buzzed at nearly the same time. They exchanged brief glances before unlocking their screens, their expressions growing noticeably heavier as they read the messages. Satoru's smile disappeared first, replaced by a frustrated sigh as he shoved his chair back and stood so abruptly that it scraped against the floor.

"What's going on?" you asked, your gaze shifting anxiously between the two men.

Itadori swallowed the last of his coffee before speaking. "Your husband is in the hospital."

"What?" The word escaped you before you could stop it, and you were already on your feet, your heart pounding against your ribs as your eyes snapped toward your sensei.

"Yeah," Satoru muttered, stuffing his phone into his pocket. "Kento took him there. He's lucky he isn't dead."

"He's lucky I don't kill him," you shot back under your breath as you hurriedly gathered your things.

The drive to the hospital passed in near silence, Satoru gripping the steering wheel while you stared blankly through the passenger window. Over the past few weeks, everyone had been telling you the same story. Yuta spent nearly every night in bars now, drowning himself in alcohol until he could barely stand. He rarely went home anymore, choosing instead to sleep wherever he happened to pass out. You had watched his slow unraveling from a distance, convincing yourself that eventually the two of you would have the conversation neither of you wanted to have. The problem was that you were falling apart too, and it was difficult to pull someone out of the water when you felt like you were drowning beside them.

By the time the car came to a stop, your stomach was tied into impossible knots.

The three of you hurried through the hospital entrance, though Itadori lingered a few steps behind, noticeably less eager to reach the front desk than either you or Satoru.

"Mrs. Okkotsu?"

The familiar voice made you stop in your tracks.

Turning on your heel, you found Shoko standing at the end of the hallway with a clipboard tucked beneath one arm.

"Shoko," you breathed, relief washing over you as you hurried toward her. "Where's Yuta?"

She met you halfway, offering a small, reassuring smile.

"He's at the end of the hall," she said gently. "He's fine. Just a few bruises, cuts, and some minor scrapes. Nothing life-threatening."

You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Stepping aside, she gave you enough room to continue down the hallway.

The walk felt impossibly long, each step heavier than the last as your thoughts spiraled faster and faster. Anxiety settled like a weight in your chest, creeping into your throat until it became difficult to breathe. This would be the first time you had seen Yuta since the day he had asked you for a divorce, and no amount of preparation could have softened that reality.

Even so, you forced yourself to keep walking.

Your hand tightened around the doorknob before you finally pushed the hospital room door open. A rush of cool air greeted you immediately, carrying with it the sterile scent of antiseptic and freshly cleaned linens. Yuta sat quietly on the edge of the bed, his bruised face illuminated by the pale afternoon light spilling through the window. His gaze remained fixed on the world outside, as though he were searching the empty sky for answers neither of you had been able to find.

"You really can't stay out of trouble, can you?" you said, your voice quieter than you intended. "Now you're all beaten up and lying in a hospital bed."

You crossed the room, taking a seat by his bed. His eyes still fixated out the window.

A soft laugh escaped him, the sound rough around the edges but unmistakably genuine. "If you think this is bad," he replied with the ghost of a smile, "you should see the other guy."

"What happened?" you asked quietly, studying the fresh bruises scattered across his face.

"Nothing." Yuta shook his head, refusing to meet your eyes. "Don't worry about me. I can heal myself just fine."

Your brows knit together, frustration creeping into your voice. "And how many times can you keep healing yourself before it stops working? You can't keep doing this, Yuta. You have to stop."

"Okay," he replied flatly, the single word carrying no conviction whatsoever. "Thanks for stopping by."

You stared at him in disbelief, narrowing your eyes as irritation quickly replaced your concern. "What is your problem?" you asked, your voice rising despite your efforts to stay calm. "Why are you acting like such an ass? I'm just trying to make sure you're okay."

For the first time since you had walked into the room, Yuta finally looked at you. His expression was exhausted, his eyes dull from sleepless nights and far too much alcohol, yet there was something else buried beneath them, something that looked painfully close to guilt.

“I saw you with him at the festival.” He shrugged, though the movement looked stiff beneath the hospital blankets. “You moved on. You don't want anything to do with me anymore, and that's fine, so let's not stand here talking about fighting for anyone. I'm content with where I am now.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “Content? You're drinking yourself into the ground, Yuta. At this rate, you're going to end up dead, and just because we're not together anymore doesn't mean I stopped caring about what happens to you.”

“I don't care,” he muttered with a groan, shifting against the pillows as if every movement made his injuries ache. “I'm just... so down bad, (Y/N). I never meant for any of this to happen, but it did, and now we have to live with it. My life isn't your concern anymore.”

“Maybe not,” you shot back, “but my name still is, and having my husband out getting blackout drunk every night isn't exactly a good look.”

Yuta let out a humorless scoff. “Right. Sorry. I forgot I wasn't the heir to one of the most notorious clans in the country.”

“This has nothing to do with him, Yuta,” you said, your voice sharpening. “This is about you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at his temple. “I don't want to argue. My head is killing me, and I just want to rest.”

“Fine.” You pushed yourself to your feet. “I'll see you in court.”

He didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed the nearest pillow and pulled it over his face as though hiding from the conversation would make it disappear.

“You haven't even had time to grieve us, have you?” he asked quietly from beneath it. “Do you even care? Has it crossed your mind that we're getting divorced?”

Your hand froze around the doorknob. Without turning fully around, you answered, “I've cried every single day since our lives fell apart. You just weren't there to see it, and honestly... I'm exhausted from crying. I'm done begging you to care, so get your act together, Yuta.”

Silence lingered between you before his voice broke through it, stripped of its pride.

“Can you just... stay with me until they discharge me?”

You scoffed, refusing to look back. “Yuta...”

“Please.”

The single word came out so quietly, so desperately, that it rooted you to the doorway. Your fingers tightened around the frame as you stared into the hallway. Every logical thought told you to walk away, to leave him exactly where he'd left your marriage, but your heart refused to listen. No matter how much he'd hurt you over the past few weeks, there was still a part of you that couldn't abandon him when he was at his lowest.

With a defeated sigh, you turned back toward the room.

“Fine,” you murmured. “I'll stay until you're discharged.”

You returned to your chair, folding your arms tightly across your chest as if they could keep your emotions contained.

“It honestly baffles me,” you said after a long silence. “You're one of the strongest sorcerers to ever exist, someone people fear just by hearing your name, and you're sitting here throwing all of that away.” You met his eyes. “Have you forgotten the kind of man you are?”

Yuta stared at the ceiling.

“Rika hasn't appeared since we split.” His voice was hollow. “I think she hates me too.” He draped an arm over his eyes, letting out a dry, empty laugh. “How ironic.” He swallowed hard. “Both of my girls disappeared.”

“Let's not do this.”

“What?” His head tilted toward you. “Does that bother you?”

“Yes,” you answered flatly. “You wanted the divorce, remember? I'm not your girl anymore.”

His gaze lingered on you. “Is that because you're his now?”

Your jaw tightened.

“Tell me something.” His voice was quieter now, but somehow more painful. “Have you already moved on?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Do you love him?”

“Yuta.”

“Does he treat you better than I did?”

“Stop.”

“Do you love being with him?”

“Yuta.” Your patience was wearing dangerously thin. “I mean it. Stop.”

He ignored the warning, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Have you slept with him?”

“Yes.”

The word snapped through the room like a whip. It echoed in the silence that followed, sharp enough to leave both of you stunned. Yuta shoved the blankets aside and forced himself upright, ignoring the sharp protest from his injuries.

"You slept with him?" His voice came out low and strained, but the darkness settling over his features made it far more frightening than if he'd yelled. He leaned toward the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful.

"You're an oath breaker." His laugh was devilish, almost disbelieving. "I never, not once, slept with Maki. I cheated, and I'll spend the rest of my life regretting that, but I never took another woman to my bed."

"Yuta..." you said cautiously, taking a hesitant step toward him.

"Stop talking!" he barked.

Before you could react, he ripped the IV from his arm and tore the monitoring leads from his chest. The machines erupted into frantic alarms as the cords dangled from his hands. "I'm going to kill him."

Your eyes widened. Without thinking, you rushed forward and grabbed his arm, trying to force him back onto the bed before he could stagger toward the door.

"No, you're not," you snapped. "I lied."

He froze.

"I never slept with him." You glared at him through gritted teeth. "You kept pushing me, and I wanted to hurt you the way you were hurting me."

For a moment, he simply stared.

"You're lying."

His cursed energy rolled off him in violent waves, filling the room with suffocating pressure. Even through the fabric of his hospital gown, the heat radiating from his body stung your skin, forcing you to tighten your grip despite every instinct telling you to let go.

"I'm not lying," you insisted. "I couldn't sleep with him, Yuta. I never could."

"What do you mean, you couldn't?"

He stepped closer until he towered over you, his fists trembling at his sides as he struggled to keep himself under control.

"You have free will."

"I couldn't," you repeated, your voice firm despite the fear knotting in your chest.

His breathing hitched. "What are you talking about?"

You swallowed hard before finally meeting his eyes. "I couldn't..." Your voice cracked, but you forced yourself to finish. "Not when I'm pregnant with your child."

The room fell silent. The fury draining from Yuta's face was replaced by complete disbelief as the words settled between you, leaving only the shrill beeping of the heart monitor echoing through the room.

Yuta's hands slowly rose to his chest, clutching the fabric of his sweatshirt as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded. His head shook back and forth in disbelief, his eyes searching yours, desperate for any sign that this was another cruel attempt to get under his skin.

"Don't mess with me like this," he whispered, his voice trembling. "If you're lying... you need to tell me now."

"I wouldn't dare lie about something like this."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"When?" he asked quietly. "When did you find out?"

"A few days after the festival. I was about a week late, but I convinced myself it was just stress because of everything that had happened. I took a test anyway..." You paused, your eyes falling to the floor. "It came back positive."

The room was silent for a long moment before he spoke again.

"Who knows?"

"Only you and me." You folded your arms across your stomach, suddenly unsure of what to do with your hands. "I had to tell someone eventually, and I figured it would've been wrong for anyone else to know before the baby's father."

Yuta didn't answer.

The vein protruding along the side of his neck pulsed beneath his skin, betraying the storm of emotions raging inside him. Shock, guilt, fear, disbelief—they all flickered across his face so quickly that you could barely keep up with them, and for the first time since walking into the hospital room, the anger between you disappeared, replaced by something far heavier.

You knew exactly what he was feeling.

It was the same numb disbelief that had washed over you when those two pink lines appeared on the pregnancy test.

You remembered sitting alone on the edge of your bed while the rest of the world slept, staring at the small plastic stick in your trembling hands, waiting for the result to somehow change if you looked at it long enough. Instead, the reality only settled deeper into your chest with every passing second, stealing the air from your lungs until all you could do was cry.

This was never how you had imagined finding out.

In every version of your future, there had always been laughter. You pictured yourself surprising Yuta with the news, maybe wrapping the positive test in a tiny gift box or watching his face light up as the realization settled in. Sometimes you imagined the two of you finding out together, sitting side by side in a doctor's office with your hands intertwined, already dreaming about the life you would build.

Never, not even in your worst nightmares, had you imagined discovering you were carrying his child while the two of you were in the middle of a divorce.

"Whether it's a boy or a girl, they'll have your last name," you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. "I'm not going to take that away from you, and you'll always be welcome to see them whenever you want."

You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat before continuing.

"I refuse to let whatever is happening between us become a barrier between you and our child. They deserve to know their father, and no matter how angry or hurt I am, I would never use them as a weapon against you."

The words hung in the air for a moment before you forced yourself to say the part that hurt the most.

"But... I still want to move forward with the divorce."

You lowered your gaze, unable to watch his expression as you continued.

"I think it's what's best for both of us. We've spent weeks hurting each other, saying things we can't take back, and I don't want our child growing up in the middle of that. They deserve a home filled with love, stability, and parents who can put them first, even if we aren't together anymore."

Your fingers curled tightly at your sides.

"So we'll raise this baby together, but we'll do it separately. I won't let our child go through what we've been putting each other through."

"You don't truly want that, so stop lying to yourself," Yuta said, his voice firm despite the emotion threatening to break through. "And you don't get to make that decision for both of us."

Your breath caught in your throat, and instinctively, you bit down on the inside of your lip, desperately trying to keep yourself from falling apart. As much as you wanted to harden your heart and stay angry, you couldn't. Not anymore.

"Don't make this harder than it already is."

"I'm not," he shot back. "You're the one taking the easy way out, (Y/N). It's easier to sign some papers, walk away, and pretend none of this exists than it is to face what's actually in front of us."

You let out a shaky laugh, one filled with nothing but exhaustion.

"Easy?" Your voice cracked as tears welled in your eyes. "Nothing about this is easy. This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and it's so fucking sad, Yuta."

"You don't think I know that?" he snapped, running an agitated hand through his hair. "I've been miserable every single day since this started. I know this is my fault—I know I caused all of this—but do you know what kills me the most?" His voice faltered. "I should be bouncing off the walls right now because I'm going to be a father, and instead..." He swallowed hard, his eyes beginning to glisten. "Instead I'm standing here arguing with my wife in a hospital room."

A painful silence settled between you.

"That's all we've done lately," you whispered. "Fight. We can't agree on anything anymore, and every conversation somehow ends with one of us walking away."

"Exactly."

He took a slow, unsteady breath before looking at you again.

"Being a father already scares the hell out of me," he admitted. "I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm terrified I'm going to screw it up." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "But the thought of becoming a single father before our child is even born..." He shook his head, unable to finish the sentence for a moment. "That's horrifying, (Y/N). I don't want our baby growing up between two homes before they've even had the chance to be born."

For the first time since the conversation began, there wasn't anger in his voice.

There was only fear.

"Please," he whispered, the desperation in his voice impossible to miss. "Don't give up on us yet. We haven't actually tried to fix this, we've just been hurting each other. Give us one chance. Not for me... hell, forget about me if you have to. Do it for our baby. If we honestly give this everything we've got and it still falls apart, then we'll know we tried. If it doesn't work..." He drew in a shaky breath. "Then we can let each other go."

You felt your resolve falter as you looked at him, seeing not the man you'd been arguing with for weeks, but the man who was terrified of losing everything.

"Yuta," you said softly, "please don't make any decisions right now. Everything is still so fresh, and neither of us is thinking clearly. I promise that once you're out of the hospital, we'll sit down and talk about all of this."

He closed his eyes for a moment before giving a small, reluctant nod, accepting the answer even if it wasn't the one he wanted.

"Okay," he murmured. "Just... don't shut me out again. I can handle the truth, I just can't handle being left in the dark."

"I won't."

The conversation faded after that, leaving only the quiet hum of hospital machines to fill the room. Neither of you spoke again, both too emotionally exhausted to search for more words. You simply sat together in the silence, letting everything that had been said settle between you, while the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, falling freely down your cheeks without either of you trying to stop them.

After Yuta was discharged from the hospital, you called a taxi to take you back to the Zenin estate instead of accompanying him home. Neither of you argued about it, because deep down you both understood that being together right now would only reopen wounds that had barely stopped bleeding. The conversation in his hospital room had changed something between you, but it hadn't erased the hurt that had brought you there in the first place.

Yuta needed time to sit with everything he had admitted, to face his fears without drowning them in alcohol or burying them behind empty reassurances. You needed space just as desperately, not only to process his plea but also to decide whether your marriage still had something worth fighting for. His words lingered in your mind throughout the ride back to the estate, replaying over and over until you could no longer tell whether your heart was breaking all over again or slowly beginning to mend.

By the time you walked through the gates of the Zenin estate, every ounce of strength had left your body. Your shoulders sagged beneath the weight of the day, your eyes were swollen and raw from crying, and your head remained bowed as though you couldn't bear to look at anyone.

You ignored the curious glances from the servants and made your way toward your room without speaking, wanting nothing more than to wash the day off your skin and disappear beneath your blankets.

The moment you pushed open the door, you froze. Megumi stood beside your bed, a fresh stack of blankets folded neatly in his arms. He looked up the second he heard you enter.

"Hey," he said quietly. "I figured yours needed to be changed, so I brought you some clean ones."

"Thanks," you managed, though your voice sounded distant, almost hollow.

His brows knit together almost immediately. "Are you okay?"

You tried to answer, but the words refused to come. Instead, you slowly shook your head. That was all it took. The tears you had been desperately holding back spilled over again, blurring your vision until you could barely make out his face. A sob escaped your chest before you could swallow it down, followed by another, and another, until your entire body began to tremble.

Megumi set the blankets aside without another thought. "Come here."

His voice was gentle as he stepped toward you, opening his arms. "What happened?"

The second you fell against him, everything shattered.

You buried your face in his chest, clutching the back of his shirt as sob after sob wracked your body. Every emotion you had been forcing down since leaving the hospital came rushing to the surface all at once. Your skin felt too tight, your chest too heavy, and an overwhelming sense of guilt crawled beneath it all until you wanted to tear yourself apart just to escape it.

"I can't..." you mumbled against his shirt. The words barely came out. "I can't do this anymore."

Abruptly, you pulled away from him, taking several hurried steps backward as though his kindness only made the guilt worse.

Megumi frowned. "(Y/N)... what's wrong?"

You couldn't look at him.

Your gaze remained fixed on the floor as your fingers twisted together nervously. "I have to tell you something."

His expression grew serious. "What is it?"

You took a shaky breath, tears still spilling from your eyes. "I'm pregnant."

Silence.

You slowly lifted your eyes, watching the words settle over him. It was better to force the words out, rather than beat around the bush.

Megumi had always been difficult to read. No matter how dangerous the situation, he rarely let his emotions show, but this...

This stripped every ounce of composure from his face.

"...Tell me you're joking."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

He dragged both hands through his hair before sitting heavily on the edge of your bed, elbows resting on his knees as his head dropped into his hands.

"I wish I was," you whispered, another sob catching in your throat.

Neither of you spoke for several seconds.

Finally, Megumi looked up. "You can't tell anyone else." His voice was low but urgent. "Not until we know what's going on."

You hesitated. "I already told Yuta."

His head snapped up. "You told him?"

"I told him the baby was his."

Megumi shot to his feet so quickly the bed creaked beneath him. "What?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "Why would you tell him that?"

"Because he was going to kill you." Your voice broke again. "He ripped his IV out, started heading for the door, and swore he was going to find you. I didn't know what else to do. I just... I had to stop him." Megumi stared at you, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and understanding.

Without another word, he began pacing the room, one hand rubbing thoughtfully along his jaw while he tried to make sense of everything you had just dumped in his lap.

The silence stretched until he finally stopped walking.

When he turned back toward you, the question he asked was almost hesitant, as though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"So..." He swallowed.

"Is the baby mine?"

Your heart sank.

Slowly, you shook your head.

"I don't know."

The admission felt like another knife twisting in your chest.

"I have no idea how far along I am. I haven't seen a doctor yet, so I don't know if I'm only a few weeks pregnant..." You wiped at your face with trembling hands. "...or far enough along that the timeline could point to either of you."

The room fell into another heavy silence, so suffocating that even breathing felt difficult. For the first time in years, neither of you had the faintest idea what came next.

Stupid... just so unbelievably stupid.

The thought echoed through your mind on an endless loop.

It wasn't a lie, you had slept with Megumi.

Of all the mistakes you could have made, it was the one you regretted most. No one knew. The two of you had agreed that no one ever could. If Yuta found out, there wasn't a single person alive capable of stopping him from hunting Megumi down. The rage you'd witnessed in the hospital had made that painfully clear.

It had never been planned.

After Yuta asked for a divorce, your entire world had crumbled beneath your feet. Every conversation had ended in shouting, every night had been spent crying yourself to sleep, and somewhere in the middle of all that heartbreak, you reached for the one person who had always been there to catch you.

Emotions had been running impossibly high, your judgment clouded by grief, loneliness, and desperation. One moment, Megumi had simply been comforting you, and the next, the line between comfort and intimacy had disappeared altogether.

Neither of you had meant for it to happen.

Neither of you wanted it to happen again.

The guilt had settled over both of you the moment it was over, heavy enough to steal the air from your lungs. You were still Yuta's wife, even if the two of you had separated and were preparing to end your marriage, and that single mistake had become another burden you would carry for the rest of your life.

Now there was something far more terrifying to face. You didn't know whose child you were carrying.

It could be Yuta's. There was no denying that possibility, and until a doctor could tell you how far along you were, it was just as likely as any other outcome.

But it could also be Megumi's.

One reckless, heartbreaking mistake had turned your entire life upside down, and now all you could do was wait, wondering which answer would change everything.

"(Y/N)..."

Megumi's voice was quiet, almost hesitant, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes searched yours for a long moment before he spoke again. "If the baby is mine..." He trailed off, exhaling slowly as he struggled to find the words. "Would you…” He stopped, shaking his head. "No, that's not what I'm trying to ask."

Another silence settled between you as he gathered his thoughts. "If the baby is mine," he said again, his voice steadier this time, "could you ever see yourself... with me?"

The question lingered in the air. "And if you could..." His jaw tightened. "Would Yuta still be a part of your life?"

Your heart twisted. You opened your mouth, only for the words to disappear before they could escape.

How were you supposed to answer that?

Just hours ago, you had accepted that your marriage was over. Then you walked into a hospital room expecting to finalize the end of your relationship, only to leave after telling your husband he was going to be a father. Now you were standing in front of another man who had just learned he might be the father instead. Your thoughts tangled together until you couldn't separate one emotion from the next. There were two men whose lives had been turned upside down in a matter of hours. Two men who were now forced to wait for an answer neither of them could control.

One of them would become a father.

The other would spend the rest of his life wondering what if.

Your chest tightened.

"Megumi..." you whispered, your eyes dropping to the floor. "I don't think I can answer that right now."

You swallowed hard before looking back at him.

“My head is all over the place. I don't even know what tomorrow looks like anymore, let alone the rest of my life."

The honesty in your voice answered him more than any promise ever could.

tags: @733164 @alebrasil0101 @angelicarlert @arosier123 @actuallyshard @bumi-writes @bigbadbromance @camelliablossomss @chanyeolchannie @chicaaaaaquedices @ephemeress @ellqm @hiqhkey @hoodiegirleats @hheerrmmiitt @igot-thatdoginme @istr4wberri @icyshadewhisper @iman-lu @justmare @kvmariiii @kranktruther @love-d-luxe @luvrs-isle @marixxi @miuangel @maddy24207 @nocturnalnightwing @ni-kism @onigiribowl @onlytenkos @ruthlesslywhimsicalmentor @saltedfart @shannxnbrxwnn-blog @shellseasdiscoparty @shesafreakygurl @shmd-nora @starringrcll @staraura4 @sovereigntyangel @sourdough-brad @silastwo @trasshy-artist @un-nmed @velvetsbakery @withluvfremi @xavierslvtt

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⋆˙⟡ TERRANOVA, SO FAR FAR AWAY

CHAPTER 01: how fairy tales start

yan! twisted wonderland 〖normalized yandere au〗 x gn! reader─you always had absolutely rotten luck in love. instead of the happily ever after you dreamt of in fairy tales, every relationship you had often ended on a bad note. when tossed into the world where love was prioritized, you prayed your misfortune wouldn't get in the way. wait, but how were you supposed to choose!?

wishful-thinking-is-dumb

Can you do platonic yandere Price and young reader who follows him like a duckling?

Of course <33 I didn’t know if you wanted young like teen or child, I did child reader

Platonic Yandere John Price with Reader who follows him around

John almost didn’t even notice you at first, your tiny feet almost make no noise as you follow him around while he walks around the base. This went on for weeks and John has grown quite fond of your company.

It doesn’t matter if he’s getting coffee, if he’s doing paperwork or if he’s just wandering around to stretch his legs. You are always there beside him. He thinks it’s pretty cute.

“Watcha doing love? Need something?” He looks down at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. You shrug a little bit, taking a tiny step closer to him. He’s just finishing up his morning cup of coffee.

“I dunno..” you murmur, grabbing onto the sleeve of his sweater. It seems that you want to be close to him. He takes a final sip out of his coffee mug before he puts it down on the counter beside him.

“Yeah? You wanna be with me today?” He questions as he leans down to pick you up, he knows the answer to his question already. You always want to be with him. He’s your favourite person on the base.

You raise your arms as you get picked up, wrapping your little arms around his neck. He leans his head against yours, this is much better than a cup of coffee. A hug from you is a much better start to his day.

“You still tired?” He murmurs as he feels you rest your head in the crook of his neck, which you only seem to do when you're tired. You’re up pretty, you’re usually asleep for a couple more hours.

“Yeah..” you murmur against his shoulder, pressing your head into his shoulder more. He rubs your back a little bit as he sighs.

He won’t get a lot of paperwork done if you're asleep on him, but he doesn’t want to upset you. He just knows that he’ll fall asleep in his office again if he has a heated blanket on top of him.

ywrt

I know i post a lot of neglected reader and batfamily

But i just realize in a lot of fanfics Damian attacks Reader

And i just thought

Imagine one where reader goes paranoid and afraid of the whole family

Bruce doesnt give a damn about them as well as the rest lf their siblings

Maybe when reader was little, they had the misfortune of crossing pats Jason and he hurts them

And seeing how no one give a fuck, that would make her even more scared of what else would they willing to pass

And when damian appears, they just confirm it all, because he was going to kill you, he was ready to do so

And the family reaction? Excuse him and dont caring about you at all

That would be the last string for their demise

It would be even more sick if Damian had lefts a mark in your body, a scar which will always be a reminder of what THAT family is capable of

Reader would be paranoid of all the family, even those who had just ignore them

They would even start being paranoid of the food alfred would give them, strating to eat little of everything to go to non of it

And with Jason and Damian? It would be worse, they would try to scape every room they saw them, just a fraction a hair, a small ring of their voice? Reader be RUNNING out, away from them

And if they had no option but to be in the same room as they, they would be alert all the time, justvin case they would try to attack them

And the cherry on top

What if reader was a meta? And what if they knew bruce was batman?

Even if duke lives with them all, he had something reader doesnt have, he has the love of the family

Bruce or batman, didn't wanted metas on his city, and he hated them, it was obvious he did no? Why else would he not care if his sons hurt them?

Plus their paranoia and fear would had them think "He will end me for sure"

With that, Reader would just straight up scape far away from the manor or just doing the job themselve

...

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rais-archives

02: NORMAL

characters : platonic yandere! saiki kusuo and kusuke

type: manipulative & eliminative yandere (kusuke), overprotective & surveillance guardian yandere (kusuo)

summary: you are their “normal” youngest sibling

now, let's talk about the saiki brothers.

the eldest is a genius while the younger is a psychic. the two of them is the embodiment of the word "abnormal". that is the reason why the people who knew the two of them thought that if ever their parents had a third... they will be as abnormal as the brothers were.

but boy, oh boy! they were wrong. because the day you were born, everything had changed. not just for your parents but also for your brothers.

the eldest son, kusuke had already made another set of limiters that he can give to his youngest sibling if they turned out to be a psychic like kusuo. he also already prepared his laboratory if they turned out to be more powerful than kusuo was.

meanwhile- the younger son, kusuo, had already made up his mind to do everything that he can to make sure that his you gest sibling will have a normal life even if they turned out to be a genius or a psychic like he was. but he secretly prayed every night that they won't turn out to be like kusuke.

then, the day you were born. everyone was confused- of course, aside from a certain tsundere grandpa who spent the whole day cooing at the sight of his now youngest grandkid, you. but why are they confused in the first place?

first of all, because you don't have the weird hair color just like your younger older brother and unlike your older brothers, you spoke your first word the same time as a normal baby does.

in short.... you are normal.

your mother, kurumi, happily accepted that fact. because this woman only wanted one thing. that is for you to grow up happy and healthy. but without any doubt, she is more overprotective to you than she is to your brothers.

meanwhile, your father- kuniharu, saw this as a chance. finally! finally! he got himself a child who can look at him just like how normal children looked at their fathers! finally, he can wear santa costume and got someone who won't look at him like a human trash!

if your parents accepted this fact normally. the two brothers didn't.

let's first start with kusuke. this man, when he first saw you for the first time. he was the most confused one.

he actually assumed that you will be the same as kusuo since his mother's habits and symptoms of pregnancy was really same as the one she got back when she was pregnant with his little brother.

but no. you are normal. you don't have telepathy, telekinesis or clairvoyance. you are also bad at puzzles and ended up nibbling on the pieces when he brought you one back when you were a year old.

of course, at first- he was disappointed. since he can't experiment play with you just like how he does with kusuo. but as time passes by, he found himself enjoying your presence.

unlike the other human beings around the planet, for some reasons, he doesn't see you as a monkey. maybe it was because you're a family?

and without any doubt, the other thing that kusuke loves about your "normal" self was the fact that he can get rid of that certain shining weirdo, who is for some reasons so attached with you despite of being obsessed with his own sister, without you finding out.

ahh, so this is the feeling of having a normal sibling- huh?

next is kusuo.

as absurd as it may sound. this overpowered being who has the ability to destroy the whole world if he wanted to was... jealous of you.

because you had something that he desperately wanted. and that was being normal! but he is not that immature to be petty and make your life hell just because of that. he is not cruel.

unlike kusuke who took a few months to accept the fact that their youngest was normal. kusuo accepted it immediately and welcomed you with an open arms.

because first of all, you are not as weird as kusuke was. and second, thanks to you, he can now turn down the invitation to hangout with his friends using the excuse of babysitting you.

unlike kusuke, kusuo is more chill. but it doesn't changed the fact that this guy is attached to you as much as kusuke was.

he sometimes spend his free time observing your normal school life on the kindergarten while chilling on his room. loving the sight of you playing and smiling on your friends.

unlike kusuke, kusuo prefers peaceful ways to protect you from trouble.

yeah, peaceful. like that one time when you got cornered by a flasher on your way home from the kindergarten. you are scared- you are calling out your brothers' names as you covered your eyes when the man suddenly removed his clothes.

then the next thing that you knew was the man suddenly disappeared and you saw kusuo who was on his way to go buy some coffee jelly from the supermarket. you immediately ran to his side, crying.

completely unaware that your brother had teleported that man on an unhibited island full of deadly animals. then, he teleported back to where you are. wanting to make sure that you will be able to go home peacefully without encountering another creep like that pest.

when kusuke heard about that, he teasingly told his younger brother that he was being way too overprotective. but kusuo just plainly told him- atleast i didn't killed him. making his older brother laugh.

“ attached? no, that's wrong. we are not attached to them. we are just simply fascinated on how normal they are. ”

vivzeph

"The past never dies"

Platonic!yandere Batfamily X reader X Platonic! yandere Leon S. Kennedy

Synopsis: You were never quite enough—never smart or strong enough, never sufficient to be a Robin and ultimately, not even worthy of being kept around. So when your "father" decided to send you and your class to a "touristy" town for two weeks, you realized it was just his way of avoiding the constant reminder of you. Little did he know that this decision would unknowingly alter your destiny into something grim and bloody. But who can tell? Maybe they'll encounter you again after this. Yet, you won't be the same little girl.

Warnings: Description of body decomposition, zombie, murder, blood, manipulation, jealousy, low self-esteem, death, kidnapping, description of firearms, drugs.

—Chapters:

Act 1:

I.???

II.???

III.???

Act 2 :

I.???

II.???

III.???

Act 3:

I.???

II.???

III.???

Taglist (1):

@bunni-4 @quacksss0 @nijiiroruinene @animegamerfox @leona-wife @ilchrys0 @pan-and-dora @byzantiumhollow @3tern @celesteelysia @mariana11zx2 @cookiepersona @saira-matsu-stuff @sainz0fthetimes @lms-studios28 @chauchirem @mushh-rooms @arlandvery @suki082 @simpingpandas @lonelyblvd @k0imatoze @astrid-ash @nini-city @g0atmansbridge182 @cheryyyyyyyyyy6666 @cookiepersona @hayourdadgon @qianette-sanzusgirl @ratchetprime211 @karinasari @esperiion @asteria35308 @0somethingstupid0 @minaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @bacon-hawk007 @inothuman33 @salvationa22

utterlyobsessedprincess

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ Aperture—A Mini Series °❀.ೃ࿔*

❀˖°❀˖° Pairings: Ex-husband!Gojo x American Photographer!Reader

❀˖°❀˖° Rating: Mature (MDNI) 18+

❀˖°❀˖° Content Warnings: f!reader, dadjo, fluff, fluff, fluff, then more angst, Ender being cute, Suguru being a G, Satoru being completely smitten, domestic life, discussions of sexual content

❀˖°❀˖° WC: 7.9k

Chapter Five // Masterlist // Chapter Seven

art credits to the lovely @/3-aem // playlist

Chapter Six: Shrike To Your Thorn

(Your POV)

You wake up in the morning to an empty bed. The sheets are cool to the touch, which means Satoru left when you had asked him to. Part of you feels gratified that he did as you asked, another part feels … not so gratified. It’s not that you wanted to throw him out per se, but more so you didn’t want to give Ender false hope that his parents might get back together. That’s not something you’re even ready to think about yet, let alone involve Ender in.

But that ache between your legs? That well-used sensation that only Satoru has ever been able to make you feel? Fuck, you didn’t realize how much you missed that. You’ve had sex since the two of you divorced, but it pales in comparison. What happened last night was what has haunted your wet dreams for the past six years.

Memories flood your mind. The way fucked you up against the shower wall, strong arms wrapped around you, worshipping your skin like you were something holy. The sound of his heartbeat still pounds in your ears. The slick feeling of his skin pressed against yours. The way he slotted into you like some piece of you that you’d misplaced and found again. So vivid, flowing seamlessly one into the next, and looping all over again.

utterlyobsessedprincess

Tags: @gnocchisinspo @darklylazyservant @renfangirls247 @memaid922 @forever-war @inzanekillian @anothergojostan @lukiaheart @feral-espresso-boba @klwg @tntoothless @floatinginaer @cloverrwritess @sarcasticwalrus0 @abigaiili @tharunnihaa @pandasquidattack @joys-rainbowdress @ironmal @meowdiina @notqlms @iheartgojos

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⋆˙⟡ TERRANOVA, SO FAR FAR AWAY

dummy1001

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐏, 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐓! 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓! 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓! 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓!

CHAPTER 3: neat schedule

"𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐦."

yan! twisted wonderland 〖dating sim au〗x gn! reader─if you want to hide a tree, hide it in a forest: that was a saying you abided by strictly after transmigrating into twisted wonderland. to avoid the many death flags from the love interests, you decided to join them, becoming the leader of the 'prefect's fan club!'

•18+ Adults Only

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l0s3rd0wnt0wn

MALE!ANNIE JANUARY(STARLIGHT) INSECURE HERO BF (HE'S TOO CUTE)

Cooley note: Andrew "Andy" January or starlight your sweet superhero bf who doesn't know your apart of the boys (to lazy to mission I'll make a part two)

Andy—oh, Andy. He’s a hero. A genuine hero. Not some fake, plastic bullshit like Homelander, but a real one. A sweet, kind, and contradictory hero. Andy always wanted to be a hero; he always wanted to help people. Even when he was young and part of the junior superhero team, he still wanted to make a difference. Even when some of the work was just for show, it never stopped him.

Andy competed in a few boy pageants when he was a kid and a teenager. He won every year how could he not? He was beautiful. He was perfect. Soft blonde hair that shimmered like blades of golden starlight, light brown eyes that turned gold when he was slightly frustrated. He was perfect in the eyes of his parents, his former teammates, and everyone in his town. So very perfect. A boy scout. A true hero in every sense.

Andy grew up Christian, believing that all good things come to those who are good and he was good. His powers, he believed, were given to him by God himself so he could be a good boy and help people. But the truth was far less divine. Andy wasn’t blessed by heaven; he was manufactured by Vought. His powers didn’t come from God they came from a gamble his parents made, a desperate bid for wealth and status.

Andy got into The Seven because of his interview. He was ecstatic—finally, he could be a real hero. He could protect others, help people, make a difference. But then everything fell apart. Everything he’d ever known began to crumble.

His hero, The Deep the one whose poster hung on his apartment wall turned out to be a fraud who used people for sex. Homelander, the man he saw as a beacon of truth, was nothing more than a narcissistic asshole who only cared about himself. A-Train, once his friend, was too scared to stand up for him. Maeve gave him some respect, but even she wasn’t the hero he thought she was.

Andy was going through it bad. He wanted to rip the cross off his hero suit and stomp it into the ground. If this was what being a hero meant, he’d rather die.

Then came the fire. The moment that changed everything.

He saved someone from a burning building against Vought’s orders. And the way that person looked at him, like he was their hope, made him feel like an actual hero. A real, honest hero.

When reporters swarmed him afterward, shouting questions and praise, the person he saved barely conscious had to ask his name before the ambulance took them away. Andy pushed through the cameras and microphones, his voice steady and sure.

“Starlight. That’s my name. It’s Starlight.”

That was the scene that raised him higher on the popularity polls, but he didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, he felt like a true hero.

l0s3rd0wnt0wn

MALE!VIOLET PARR WHO HAS AN UNCANNY OBESSION FOR A SUPER VILLAIN

Cooley note: Victor "Vinny" Parr is your weird, socially awkward classmate. It's surprising that he's a confident hero who's obsessed with a cute supervillain. YOU!

Victor is, well, Victor. He’s not particularly popular, and he doesn’t stand out much mostly because he doesn’t want to. Attention can be dangerous, especially the wrong kind. And for someone like him, a hero trying to keep his identity hidden, too much attention could be disastrous.

He’s not exactly handsome, but he’s far from plain. His dark black hair catches hints of violet under the sun, and his eyes hold a faint, soft glow of the same hue. If he ever decided to put in a little effort change up his look, wear something other than oversized sweaters and hoodies, maybe tie his hair back he’d easily be the most striking boy in school.

Still, Victor doesn’t mind blending in. He has a small circle of friends, and that’s enough for him. But when he becomes Vi (short for Invisible) everything changes. The quiet, reserved boy transforms into someone bold, confident, and sharp-edged. Vi moves with purpose, speaks with certainty, and carries himself with a force that Victor could never pull off in daylight. The mask doesn’t just hide his face; it frees him.

At school, he’s Victor. To his fellow heroes and his family, he’s Vi. But to one person you he’s something else entirely. You see through the invisibility, through the force fields and the walls he builds. You see him.

You could be his nemesis.

Or you could be his lover.

Please, be his lover.

"Oh, excuse me are you, well, uhm, [name]?" he asked, voice soft and uncertain, putting up a small, nervous front. He tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind his ear, shrinking into himself as if trying not to take up too much space.

"I'm, uhm, Victor. Victor Parr. Part of the yearbook committee, and, well, my team hasn’t gotten your picture yet, so… uhm, can I take one of you?"

You exhaled, already tired of the conversation. "I don’t take pictures for the yearbook. I’m already in the class of 20**. Why would I do any other picture?"

You rolled your eyes, but Victor only laughed softly. "Yeah, I know. But, well… the pictures I got of you aren’t exactly school appropriate."

Something in his tone shifted his shy demeanor cracking just enough to let something sharper slip through. A cocky smile tugged at his lips as he slid a few photos across your desk.

Your stomach dropped. The images showed you in your supervillain costume caught mid-destruction, chaos blooming behind you, millions in property damage you’d never pay for. You tried to play it cool, but a bead of sweat betrayed you.

"I’m sorry," you said, forcing a laugh. "Did you just compare me to a super terrorist? The one robbing banks downtown? Geez, no wonder you don’t have any friends, weirdo."

You pushed back your chair, ready to leave, but his hand shot out, stopping you. Another photo hit the desk his one of you in an alleyway, mask half-off, your face unmistakable.

"This isn’t you, huh?" he said, voice low and teasing. "These aren’t your eyes? That’s not your cute little round nose? And—oops—your mask."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled it out, your mask dangling from his fingers. "For someone so smart and wicked, you can be a pretty sloppy girl." He rubbed the fabric between his fingers, eyes glinting. "You ran away from me so fast I could hardly speak."

Your pulse spiked. "What do you want? Who the hell are you?!"

He chuckled, slipping a hand into his pocket again. When it came out, he was holding a sleek black mask. He placed it over his face, pushing his dark hair back with a smirk that was all confidence now.

"Hands up," he said, voice dropping into something dangerous. "You’re under arrest."

Your ready to run, but he laughs again.

"I'm not gonna arrest you. I wanna ask you out on a date, and there's no better way than to, well—"

"Blackmail me,"

he nods.

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