#(I've never actually watched that show formally)

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

my birthday is in a week & I am (and have been) experiencing the pre-birthday existential crisis

[auroralwriting]

hii!! this is so random but i just read ur spencer reid x genius! reader fic and i was wondering if u could like expand on it?? or like maybe the team finding out that they went on a date and everyone is like oh gosh finally?? thank u and i love ur writing :P

wedding bells

spencer reid x genius!bau!reader

part two to the gun, can be read as a standalone

spencer and you were enemies, now, you’re just into each other. what happens when you show up to jj's wedding as each other's dates?

word count: 1.6k

warnings: the most insane amount of tooth rotting fluff (you're welcome)

thank you for this request! i decided to expand even more and connect it back to the actual episode i wrote about, 7x24 :)

It had been about two weeks since you’d gotten out of the hospital from your last case; the bank robbery. You managed to get out with a couple of stitches and bruises. You were lucky to be alive.

The one good thing that came from the whole ordeal was the fact that you and Spencer, who was your previous academic-agent enemy, had turned into somewhat of your lover.

It started with trivia night at O’Keefe’s. The two of you decided to just pair rather than join a large team, and you kicked ass. You allowed Spencer to handle more of the academic side of trivia while you took pop culture. Quite literally, you were the only team with points.

That date went so well, that you ended up going out to dinner at the new Chinese place by Spencer’s apartment. That one went great too, and a third came along, a simple date that included Spencer taking you to an art museum.

You actually got to know Spencer, and he got to know you. Sure, you’d been team mates for years, but with suck a strong rivalry, you never got to know the man. You were both eerily alike, and things were going great. There had been no cases, Strauss gave your team a break after JJ’s boyfriend had almost died, along with you.

Spencer and you were at his place watching Doctor Who when you got a phone call. You picked it up, “Hey, Rossi.” The tv was paused and Spencer was looking at you expectantly. “Mhm.. mh- Oh my god! Oh, Rossi. That’s such a good idea. Yes, I’ll be there. I’m, uh, actually with Spencer, so I’ll pass on the message.” Spencer raised an eyebrow at you as you hung up. "Okay, don't freak out, but JJ and Will are engaged."

"What!" Spencer exclaimed with a bright smile. "Oh my god!"

"And Rossi and Will are planning for the wedding to be this Friday," You continued. "JJ doesn't know yet, so we have to keep it a secret."

"Speaking of secrets," Spencer coyly began, "Does Rossi know about, well, us?"

You chuckled, "I didn't tell him, but he knows we've been together more. Significantly more,"

"I've been thinking," Spencer said. "What if we don't keep this a secret anymore."

The only reason it was a secret in the first place was because the team would freak out if they knew you were going out. "I don't think now's the best time to tell them. We don't want to steal JJ's thunder." you frowned.

"No, no!" Spencer quickly shook his head. He grabbed both your hands, rubbing them with his thumbs. "Do you want to be my date to their wedding?"

Your heart raced at his words, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. "Yeah, Spence. I'd love to be your date." You smiled brightly.

The wedding was only three days away, and you were quick to go out with Penelope to buy a dress. You wanted something elegant that wouldn't take away from JJ, so you decided on a flowey, burgundy-maroon dress. It was formal, but nothing too glamorous. The whole time, Penelope kept rambling about how since she and Kevin were no more, the two of you could be girl-dates. You casually agreed, not wanting to give up Spencer and your cover yet.

You'd asked Spencer if he wanted to see your outfit on Thursday, but he wanted it to be a surprise. So, with Pen, you both did each other's hair, makeup, and got ready. You arrived together at the Rossi mansion to make everything less conspicuous.

"Oh my god!" Penelope whisper yelled. "Kevin has a date--a date!" She grabbed you and dragged you to Emily and Morgan in a panic. "He brought a date, and I didn't bring a boy date, oh my god I look like an idiot!"

"Pen, you don't look like an idiot." You rubbed her arm softly. "He's the real idiot for moving on so damn fast."

Emily nodded, "And you look so gorgeous, I bet he can't help but think about you. Play it cool."

Penelope took a large sip of her drink. "I'm- I'm gonna go, go somewhere, uh, somewhere he's not."

"Hi, Penelope!" Beth, Hotch's new girlfriend, said cheerfully as she walked up.

"Hey, hi," Penelope quickly walked off.

Beth gave a soft laugh, "Hello everybody."

You smiled and pulled her into a hug, "Ex problems, don't mind her. Hi Beth, and hi Hotch. You both look great."

"Says you! You look absolutely stunning! That is so your color." Beth smiled as she took your hand to spin you around lightly.

The three of you said hello to Jack as well. As the group began to disperse, you quickly spotted Rossi. You made your way over to him, a smile on his face. Rossi was like a father to you. Growing up under his help and guidance, he was more than just a mentor. "Oh, honey. Look at you, you look so grown up."

"Dave, I've been grown up for a lot of years now." You laughed as he kissed your cheek. "Have you seen Spencer by chance?"

"Not yet," Rossi replied. He raised an eyebrow at you, studying your face. "You two are together, aren't you?"

A look of panic crossed your features. "Shh!" You quickly hushed, looking around to see if anyone noticed. When they didn't you turned back to him. "We've been going out on dates, hanging out. That sort of thing. We aren't.. boyfriend-girlfriend."

"I'm happy for you two," Rossi smiled. "You two make a good pair, especially now that you aren't planning each other's murders."

"Who was murdered?"

You turned around to see Spencer standing behind you. His eyes went wide when he saw you. The way you turned, bright eyed and graceful, it made his heart leap in his chest, especially when you looked so ethereal.

Spencer breathed your name softly, looking to Rossi. You gave a small nod, letting him know that Rossi knew. He walked over, giving you a small hug to secretly press a kiss into your hair. The two of you hadn't really kissed yet, but you knew it would happen soon.

"You're an angel," Spencer softly spoke, caressing your cheek as you smiled.

"You look amazing, too." You replied.

Rossi and Spencer gave each other a quick hello before he excused himself to go reveal to JJ that this was her wedding night. It only took a few minutes and JJ ran up to you. You hugged her before she could say anything.

"You knew?" Her voice cracked, but you knew it was from joy.

"We all did," You smiled. "Hey, while you and Will get ready, let Spence watch over Henry."

JJ's eyebrows furrowed as she watched Spencer nod quickly, giving your shoulder a squeeze with the sweetest smile she'd ever seen him give someone. "Uh-"

"Don't worry about it," You shook your head. "This is your night." When you saw JJ was about to ask again, you filled her in. "Going out on dates, not dating."

She just smiled, holding up her dress. "This is it. I wanted to ask you, actually, if you wanted to be my maid of honor? Help me get ready?"

Your eyes filled with tears, "Oh, Jayge. It would be my absolute honor." You hugged her again tightly, leading her upstairs with her mom.

It didn't take long until the ceremony began. You were already at the end of the isle, watching Spencer do a magic trick with the ring with Henry. You giggled, Spencer's eyes meeting yours as he smiled back to you.

JJ was the most beautiful bride you'd ever seen. She came up to the front and you hugged her, taking her flowers from her and standing next to Spencer and Penelope. As the ceremony went on, you found yourself tearing up. Weddings always made you cry. Spencer took notice, taking your hand and pulling you against his chest as he rubbed your arm. The team was too busy watching JJ and Will to notice.

The dancing was the best part. Penelope pulled you to the dance floor before Spencer even had a chance. You happily slow danced with her, then Derek, who stole you away. From there, Hotch had a dance with you, and then Rossi. Finally, at your favorite slow song, Spencer approached.

"Dave, would you mind?" He softly asked.

"It would be my pleasure." Dave passed you off to Spencer with one hand as Spencer slowly pulled you into his arms. If you took closer notice, you'd see him go to Strauss and begin to dance.

"Hi," You whispered, one hand in his as his other rested on your waist. Your free hand was on his shoulder. The two of you began to sway to the music.

"Hi," He echoed, giving you the softest look you'd ever gotten. "I missed you. I didn't even get a chance to dance with you."

You softly giggled, "Well, now it's yours. All yours, Spence." You leaned in closer, "You're the only one I wanted to dance with."

The position changed, both of Spencer's hands were on your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. This was much more intimate. "You're the only one I want, too." The double meaning made your stomach twist in the best way.

As the two of you danced, your teammates began to finally notice. "Oh my god," Derek mumbled. "Those two dumb geniuses finally got together."

"Actually, they're just going on dates," JJ corrected as she swayed with Will.

Emily smirked, "Not for long by the looks of it."

"They make such a sweet couple," Beth cooed.

Penelope gasped, "Oh my sweet baby Jesus, I took her away from him all night!"

"I'm sure he doesn't mind." Hotch smiled, actually smiled, as they all watched you lean your head on his shoulder, one of his hands coming up to the middle your back to splay out, almost protectively, holding you closer.

"I think I hear some more wedding bells in our future." Derek smiled.

[kunasthiast]

champagne problems (part 1)

summary: Golf clubs, generational wealth (and trauma), and a childhood friendship that aged like milk. Everything is hell with Sukuna... especially if you had relapses of the memories that made you emotionally constipated for the last 12 fucking years. pairings: sukuna x reader (female) cw: crack fic! (pls don't take this srsly), one-sided enemies to lovers, slow-burn, delusional denial, aggressively coded sexual tension, french toast, suggestive content words: 17.1k (had to cut in parts since i've got too much words)

It’s either the universe has a twisted sense of humor or you were abandoned by it. Really. Of all the people in this planet, in this country, and in this obscenely, soul-sucking, beige-coded, stepford-smiling gated community, you had to be stuck with him. 

Sukuna.

That pink-haired bastard with more money than god and an ego large enough to have its own gravitational pull. For the love of strawberries and all things sacred, he’s a narcissistic, cocky asshole that you refuse to be associated with. For years now, actually. And he, by the way, just happened to be your self-proclaimed mortal enemy.

You’ve known him forever—since diapers, actually, thanks to your parents being disgustingly close. (Money and golf, as they say, deepen relationships and ruin offspring). Back then, it was you, Sukuna, and Gojo: inseparable, chaotic, and constantly banned from formal events for “behavioral disruption.”

Then came college. And oh, college. A series of very questionable decisions – booze, bad judgment, and that one summer you both agreed to never mention again. The one where tequila blurred every line you swore you’d never cross. Let’s just say, some boundaries were… explored. Poorly.

And of course, to top it all off: a stupid, petty fight that led to a rift in your friendship. Now, you’re both single parents, stumbling through young adulthood with a baby on each hip. You, with your son. Him, with his daughter.

Minimal contact is the unspoken rule. Occasional passive-aggressive exchanges at neighborhood meetings (gods, this is a cookie-cutter suburban hell – why is every lawn looked like the golf course green?). Where the air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and thinly veiled judgment, and every conversation was a subtle competition for the best-manicured lawn and the most successful offspring. 

Forced civility at school (because, of course, your kids go to the same overpriced academy that call tests “challenges” and uniforms “identity expressions”), and you’re both contractually obligated to show up at family business functions, aka golf disguised as networking disguised as family bonding disguised as a pissing contest.

And, speaking of contests – you’ve been lock in one with Sukuna for years. Specifically, your annual power play at the PTA sponsorship table. One-upping each other in increasingly ridiculous ways because nothing fuels you more than spite.

But what’s life without being a little bitchy, right?

Unfortunately, karma – being the absolute bitch of life – decided that your kids would become best friends. Not casual playground pals. No. Soulmate-level best friends. The kind that build pillow forts with emotional depth. With the insistent sleepovers, shared inside jokes in their own weird language you’re 90% they invented, and referred to each other as siblings.

How did it happen? You have no fucking idea. 

Or maybe you do, you’re just in deep denial. Maybe it’s genetic. Maybe it’s some goddamn cosmic joke. Maybe the universe has you by the throat and won’t let go until it watches you suffer in 4K.

Not that you don’t love his daughter – she’s an absolute angel, the kind of sweet that makes dentists nervous. But her being your son’s BFF? That’s… inevitable. 

Especially in your tight, old-money-adjacent social circle. They’ve known each other since they were just wearing diapers, since they were teething on the same overpriced Montessori rattles. 

Just like you and Sukuna. 

Except this time, it’s different. Because their friendship demands one thing: coexistence. You and that tattoed-to-the-gods asshole had been forced to coexist. Again, coexist.

And Sukuna? Oh no, he doesn’t do coexisting. Nah. Nope. Never. He breaks balance. He thrives on chaos. He gets off on making your life just inconvenient enough to ruin your peace, but not enough to justify a felony charge.

And this morning? This godforsaken Saturday morning? He outdid himself.

Twelve years of passive-aggressive parenting – scratch that, thirty-three years of slow-burn emotional warfare – have led to this moment. This may just be his masterpiece.

Because this was when the relapse started—and Sukuna made damn sure you felt every inch of it.

The first thing you register at seven-fucking-A.M. is the sound of something dying. Violently. It’s mechanical. Obnoxious. It sounds like a robot lawnmower from hell just met its end outside your bedroom window.

The second thing you register? Pure, unfiltered rage.

Your eyes snap open like you’ve just been slapped by God himself. That noise—it’s outside. Your house. Your lawn.

You lurch out of bed like a woman possessed – dazed, furious, still marinating in last night’s sleep deprivation, because of course you were up ’til 3 AM binge-watching that dumb dating show where someone literally said “Montoya, por favor,”. You then grabbed your pillow and screamed into it for ten minutes. Regret? Never heard of her.

You barely register the cool cling of your La Perla silk sleepwear against your skin as you stomp toward the window. One violent yank later—

And there it is. Not a noise. But, a nuisance. Him. Sukuna.

Shirtless. (Is that not a violation of at least three HOA rules?) Smirking. Holding a hedge trimmer like he’s auditioning for a cologne commercial that probably ends with “Dior Sauvage: For Men Who Deserve Jail.”

You’ve seen him shirtless before. Too many times. College. His apartment. Your apartment. That goddamn couch in the frat house that probably caused seven diseases just by looking at it. Heat. A lot of teeth. Chaos. And him tracing lazy circles on your back like he was trying to memorize you. The worst part? You let him.

The morning sun, which used to mean peace and lattes, now glints off the sheen of sweat on his stupid, tattooed chest—each muscle cut like it was carved by demons with a thirst for drama. His pink hair is tousled just so—purposefully chaotic, like the universe made him hot just to personally ruin your life.

And then you see it. What used to be your hedge. You blink once. Then again. No change.

Your lush, lovingly imperfect, expensive-as-shit privet hedge is gone. Vaporized. Replaced by a row of cold, surgically shaved shrubs that look like a serial killer’s idea of curb appeal. Your eye twitches.

As if summoned by your fury, Sukuna glances up. His crimson eyes gleaming with the kind of chaotic joy that only thrives on your rage – or maybe something else. That look – the one he gave you at 2AM on your billion-dollar couch the night you swore it was a one-time thing. The one that said, “I’d ruin you if you let me.” And you let him. Back then. Right before shit got complicated. Right before you woke up next to him and pretended that everything’s normal as fuck. Again. 

He knows what this is doing to you. And that annoyingly smug bastard does this all with a smirk. A slow, wolfish, go-ahead-lose-your-mind kind of smirk.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he mouths. Oh, of course. You can lip-read him. Of course you can. Curse your stupid subconscious for prioritizing Sukuna Fluency over Spanish.

You inhale deeply. Try to center yourself. Failing that, you simply open the door like you’re kicking off Act One of a Greek tragedy. No robe. No shoes. No dignity. Just you, rage, and a whole lot of leg.

“Sukuna,” you bark, voice rasping like vengeance incarnate.

He doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, he turns, casually leaning on the hedge trimmer like he’s posing for The Bachelor: War Criminal Edition.

“Oh. You’re up early,” he drawls. His eyes flick downward—just for a second, but long enough to set your entire nervous system on fire.

“You—” You gesture wildly toward the massacre formerly known as your hedge. “What the actual fuck did you do?”

Sukuna squints at the row of plant corpses like a man admiring the Louvre, “Landscaping,” he says.

“That was my hedge.”

“It was an ugly hedge.”

You nearly combust. “Are you clinically insane?!”

He finally turns fully to face you, crimson eyes gleaming with the kind of chaotic joy that only thrives on female rage. “Don’t be dramatic. It looks better now.”

“Better?!” you screech. “It looks like it was done by Hannibal Lecter with a pair of OCD scissors!”

Sukuna hums. “You’re welcome.”

You take one murderous step forward. “You owe me a new hedge.”

“I gave you a new hedge.”

“I will burn this entire street down.”

His grin widens, predatory. “Might wanna change out of that nightie first, sweetheart. Fire hazard.”

You freeze. That’s when it hits you. The air. The breeze. The sudden realization that you are—very much—standing in front of Satan in La Perla silk.

Short. Bare. Clingy. Absolutely illegal in three states. Straps like dental floss. Chest support? None. Coverage? Legally negligible. Your arms fly up like someone just yelled “freeze!”

And Sukuna? Oh, he notices. He notices everything. His gaze drags over you slowly, hungrily, with the smug satisfaction of a man who knows exactly the effect he has.

“Nice outfit,” he murmurs. “All for me, babe?”

Your soul? Gone. Astral projected. Witnessed its own murder. And a tiny, traitorous part of your brain, the part you usually kept locked in a soundproof room, whispered, ‘Yep.' You crushed that traitorous voice with the force of a thousand suns.

“Shut up,” you hiss, spinning on your heel like a scandalized Disney princess on the verge of committing a felony.

“Don’t be shy now,” he calls after you, laughter rumbling from his chest like a goddamn villain. 

“Come back! Let’s negotiate... hedge replacements. Or anything else you’re aching to trim.”

You slam the door so hard you hear a bird scream outside.

And you? You launch yourself face-first into the couch like a woman wronged by fate, God, and the HOA.

Because of that man. Because of Ryomen. Fucking. Sukuna. Because your life is a telenovela and that devil is hot and ruining your lawn.

Your theatrical death scene is cut short by the sound of a small, sleepy voice.

“Mom?” You freeze.

Riku, your 12-year old son, stands in the hallway, looking like he’s fought a pillow and lost. Pajama shirt backward.  One sock. A feather in his hair?

He squints. Then pauses. “Why are you yelling? It’s Saturday.”

You try to pull yourself together, smoothing down your very not-child-appropriate sleepwear and flattening your hair like that’ll help.

“Nothing,” you say. Too fast. Too high-pitched. Too guilty.

Riku eyes you. Then the door. Then back to you. “Mom, why are you dressed like that?”

Your soul flatlines. “I—no reason. Go to bed.”

“It’s seven in the morning.”

“AND?!”

He sighs like he pays taxes and you’re the child here. “Did you fight with Papa again?”

Your brain short-circuited. “Papa?”

He yawns. “Unckuna said I should call him that. Since we’re like family.”

Something in your chest twists. He said that? The same man who claims relationships are just complicated sleepovers with taxes? The one who ghosted you emotionally mid-snuggle and then had the audacity to joke about building IKEA furniture “as a team”? The one who doesn’t even believe in relationships (more like… you both don’t) that last longer than a lease. 

And now he’s out here playing pretend dad to your son? Like he didn’t once whisper the word “ours” into your neck and pretend it was a joke.

You see white. You see God. You see the void. You also see a very expensive therapy bill forming in your future.

“That man is NOT your father,” you snarl.

“He also said your hedge looked like a haunted broccoli. With trust issues.”

“HE MURDERED MY HEDGE.”

Riku shrugs. “It was kinda ugly.”

You gasp. “It was tastefully whimsical!”

Then your phone buzzes.

[Do Not Answer]: good morning, sweetheart. hope you’re still wearing that cute little nightie. you always looked best in silk. see u later 😘

You stare at the screen like it personally offended you. Then briefly consider throwing your phone out the window. Or yourself. Unfortunately, your insurance doesn’t cover “Sukuna-related injuries” or emotional trauma due to unsolicited thirst traps and flirty, horny, late-stage situationship texts. 

Because he’s done this before—flirting like it’s harmless, like it doesn’t drag old memories up from the basement where you thought you buried them under shame, sarcasm, and 12 years of pretending you don’t miss him. The way his hand used to fit in yours, the ghost of his lips on your neck, the memory of his laugh echoing in your apartment, a laugh you hadn't heard in person for years. All of it was buried, but the soil was thin.

You scream into the couch cushion like you’re dying on a battlefield. And worse than shame, deeper than anger, in the dark corners of your soul, is the memory of liking it.

“Ew,” Riku mutters. “Do I have to hear about your weird grown-up drama?”

“IT’S NOT WEIRD DRAMA.”

Riku gives you a long, tired look. “Mom.”

“What?!”

He points to the phone. “I know you like him.”

Your entire soul dissolves into steam.

Despite the fact that he just ruined your precious Saturday morning with this hedge incident and a completely inappropriate message to send to your ‘co-parent’, Sukuna was moving on with his day. Specifically, he was cooking breakfast like some domestic menace in his obnoxiously sleek, state-of-the-art kitchen that looked like it belonged in the magazine spread of Architectural Digest.

Because unlike most rich assholes, Sukuna didn’t trust personal chefs. People spit in food. People sneezed in food. People existed near food, which was already bad enough. So, every morning, he cooked his own. For him and his daughter. Without fail. And since it was Saturday, that meant one thing: big breakfast.

Which also meant, thanks to the unfortunate circumstances of your life, you and Riku would be there too. Because in a twist of cosmic cruelty, his daughter Keiko had long ago declared that Saturday breakfast at her dad’s house was sacred tradition. 

And Riku, the traitor, had readily agreed. Of course he did. The two of them had been best friends since they were in kindergarten, and you? You were just along for the ride. Fuck it, right?

Keiko, same age as Riku, stomped into the kitchen like she owned the place (she does, it’s her dad’s) – hair a tangled mess, eyes half shut, wearing an oversized My Melody pajama set like a gremlin princess.

“Daddy, what’s for breakfast?” She flopped onto a barstool, chin resting on her palm, already judging the pile of ingredients on the counter: eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, rice, miso soup, and a whole loaf of milk bread that was about to get French-toastified.

“Morning, princess. You’ve got drool,” Sukuna said, wiping her face with casual affection before returning to the stove, flipping eggs like a culinary showoff. She snorted. He hummed. 

Everything about this household was too chill. And that was his bragging right.

And now here you were, an hour later (mind you, it might already be 8:02AM). Not in your silk sleepwear now, but in your Loro Piana lounge set – a color-matching oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants. In enemy territory. Sitting at his obnoxiously pristine kitchen island while the bane of your existence plated up French toast like he hadn’t just murdered your hedge in cold blood an hour ago and sent you a text message that would make Satan blush. Maybe you were Satan. Life was suffering.

You sat stiffly, stewing in silent rage, eating his stupidly delicious food in his stupidly perfect kitchen like the fool you were. Betrayed not just by your son, but by your taste buds.

Riku, of course, had zero shame. He was already seated next to Keiko, looking entirely far too comfortable as he reached over and swiped a piece of bacon from her plate.

“Hey!” She snapped. “That’s mine.”

Riku shrugged mid-bite with zero remorse. “Now it’s mine.”

Keiko kicked him under the table.

Sukuna – ever the type to let kids settle their own beef like unsupervised wolf cubs – didn’t even flinch. Like everything's perfectly normal. But his eyes, for a flicker, held a strange intensity as he watched you, a glint that wasn't just amusement. He simply set a plate in front of you, stacked high with French toast, bacon, and disgustingly perfect scrambled eggs. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in close – voice infuriatingly close to your ear and a sin against sanity.

“Eat up, sweetheart,” he murmured, smug as ever. “Wouldn’t want you getting lightheaded from all that screaming this morning.”

Your fork nearly snapped in half. 

Keiko, sensing the chaos brewing, quickly changed the subject.

“Daddy,” she said, perking up, “Riku and I are gonna work on our science project later, ‘kay?”

Sukuna sat down, completely unbothered. “What is it?”

“A volcano model,” Keiko said proudly.

Sukuna arched a brow. “Lame.”

Keiko glared. “It’s for school!”

He snorted. “What happened to building a flamethrower?”

You nearly choked. Nope, you choked on your French toast.

Riku’s eyes lit up. “Wait, we can do that?”

“No,” You snapped, pointing your fork at Sukuna. “Absolutely not. Do NOT encourage them.”

Sukuna smirked, utterly unrepentant, and shrugged. “Relax, sweetheart. I wouldn’t let them  build an unsafe flamethrower.”

Your stared at him in disbelief. “There is no such thing as a safe flamethrower.”

The kids immediately started whispered like they were plotting something completely unhinged.

You took a long, deep breath. One problem at a time.

Right now, your biggest issue was pretending this breakfast wasn’t delicious. Which, unfortunately, it very much was. It was fucking amazing. Yeah, you’re easily pleased when it comes to food. But giving Sukuna even an ounce of satisfaction? Absolutely not. So, you settled for silent suffering, stabbing your fork into your French toast with unnecessary force.

Sukuna, because he was the devil incarnate, noticed. Obviously. Because the pink-haired menace always noticed.

“Good?” He asked, smirking.

You chewed aggressively. “No.”

Riku, your traitor of a child, spoke with his mouth full. “It’s really good.”

Keiko nodded, licking syrup off her fork. “Yeah, Daddy’s food is always the best.”

Sukuna looked insufferably pleased with himself. You swallowed your pride with the same intensity you swallowed that stupidly fluffy French toast. It was almost worth selling your soul for. Mind it, almost. This man could burn in hell. Preferably after breakfast.

Some time the next week, you were sprawled on the couch, half-dead after surviving what felt like a thousand back-to-back meetings. Thank God you work from home, and thank heavens it’s the family’s generational business. You could’ve been stuck in some sterile office with fluorescent lights, but nope, you're chilling at home, in your luxurious chaos. Oh, and did you mention it’s old money and generational wealth? Yeah, that kind of wealth. It’s a blessing… or a curse. Honestly, it depends on the day.

It was a Tuesday evening, and you were half-heartedly flipping through Netflix, trying to figure out which rom-com would match your mood. Naturally, you were leaning toward something unhinged and wildly unrealistic – you know, peak escapism… because why not? Maybe something classic with Matthew McConaughey, who was inescapably charming, or Hugh Grant with that disarming, floppy hair of his. Adam Sandler was also on the table, because who doesn’t love his chaotic, awkward brand of comedy? Basically something that might almost restore your faith in the idea that true love could be both absurd and beautiful. Almost.

Then, the door opened, and in walked your son, back from school.

And no – you don’t fetch him. Not when your smug, self-appointed savior of a neighbor has been picking him up for years now. Five, to be exact. Something about “Tch. We’re neighbors and they’re best friends – I should just do it instead of a fucking driver,” as if that was the most obvious and safest solution (no kidnaps, right?) in the world. Well, it is.

You didn’t even argue. Why would you? Free childcare and no afternoon traffic? That’s a win. You don’t argue with that kind of magic.

“How’s school?” you asked, still scrolling through the abyss of movie options.

Riku kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag by the door with the grace of a well-raised (you raised him) gremlin. “Fine,” he called, heading straight for the fridge. “We had a math quiz. I killed it.”

“Good job, baby genius,” you said, eyes still glued to your television as you scrolled through rom-coms. You finally hovered over How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, thumb on the remote paused mid-air. “So, steak or sushi for dinner?”

“Nah, Papa said we might do burgers tonight.”

You blinked.

“Wait – what?”

“Yup,” Riku said, nonchalantly tearing into a kunafa pistachio chocolate bar and zero shame. “He said if I finished my homework early, he’d take us to that place with the crazy milkshakes and the gold leaf fries.”

Your jaw dropped. Turned slowly at your child. Offended.

“You’re making dinner plans with him? Without me?”

Riku, blissfully unaware of the storm he was causing, crunched into the chocolate bar. “I mean… yeah? It’s Papa. He plans everything better than you do anyway.”

You gasped, obviously scandalized by your son’s betrayal. Clutching your chest in exaggeration with an, “Excuse me?!”

Before you could fully process your son’s betrayal, your phone buzzed with a FaceTime call. A FaceTime call. From your mother. Red flag. Big red flag.

She always call through FaceTime if it was a serious business to discuss. Like weddings. Or funerals. Or your personal life, which she had no business being involved in.

You almost didn’t answer, but curiosity—and the very real possibility of her forcing a conversation about your non-existent love life—compelled you to pick up.

The screen flashed, and suddenly, your mother’s entire face filled your phone, her expression beaming with suspicious delight.

“Hi, sweetheart!” she chirped, like didn’t just interrupt your most sacred of moments — talking with your son who clearly forgot that you have to eat dinner too.

“What’s wrong?” You narrowed your eyes, instantly suspicious.

Her smile widened. Uh-oh. You knew that smile. It’s an all-too-familiar sign that something – something – was very, very wrong. It’s a trap. Oh my god, why the fuck did you answer it? You could practically hear your sanity slowly crumbling.

Your father’s voice rumbled from somewhere off-screen. “Is that her?”

Your mother turned the camera. And there he was – your father – glowing with smug satisfaction, reading the newspaper like a man preparing to ruin your peace. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted, not even bothering to look up. “How’s Sukuna?”

You blacked out, “WHAT?”

“Oh, your father and I just had the loveliest brunch with him yesterday,” your mother practically sang the words, her voice dripping with way too much enthusiasm.

Your brain short-circuited, processing. “You—what?”

“Brunch,” she repeated slowly, as if you were some kind of idiot who didn’t know what brunch was. “At that little place by the golf course! You know, the one with the fresh strawberry tarts? We were so surprised when Sukuna walked in! And oh, sweetheart—he insisted on paying.”

“Even the wine,” your father added, flipping a page, and still not looking up from his paper.

You stared, horrified. Yep, your entire existence is crumbling in real time.

“No. No, no, no. What the hell were you two doing having brunch with Sukuna?!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” She waved a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t planned! We were there. He was there – fate, darling. Fate.”

Your father set down his paper and finally looked at you like the sage old man he was. “He’s a good man.”

Oh my god. You fought the urge to throw your phone across the room.

Your mother sighed a long, dreamy exhale that belonged to a teenage girl meeting her favorite boyband, not a grown woman discussing your literal neighbor. Your self-proclaimed enemy.

“Oh, sweetheart, he’s just so charming and thoughtful! He even asked how we were, how you were, how Riku was—” She paused, giving you that look. "He even asked about your garden. Said he was sorry about the hedge. And then he asked what kind of flowers you liked.”

Sukuna… apologized? And asked about your favorite flowers? A memory flickered – Sukuna, years ago, nursing you back to health after a particularly bad tequila night, carefully placing a bouquet of spider lilies (your favorite, but you never told him) on your bedside table. And now, a pang of something that felt suspiciously like longing hit you. But no. Deny, deny, deny. Lock it down the deepest vault.

“Mom.”

“— and honestly, it’s just so rare these days. A man with such good manners…”

“Mom. We’re neighbors.”

“And handsome, too! I mean, obviously, we always knew that, but now—”

“MOM.”

Your father nodded, the sagely figure of a man who had clearly seen things.  “Still a shame he’s not yet married.”

You swore you were about to die or throw yourself off a cliff. You weren’t picky at this point.

Your mother giggled. That dangerous giggle. The one that said she was absolutely about to dive into matchmaking hell. Everything is hell when it comes to everything with Sukuna involved.

“Mom, I swear to God, if you’re about to —”

“Oh, I just think it’s such a shame you two never worked out!”

You screamed in frustration.

Right at that moment, Riku poked his head in the camera. Of course. “Oh. Grandma’s talking about Papa again, huh?”

Your mother, ever the opportunist, perked up. “Oh, hi, sweetheart! Have you eaten? Did Uncle Sukuna pick you up from school?”

Riku flopped onto the couch, still munching on his chocolate bar and nonchalantly stealing one of your throw pillows that your leg was clearly hugging. “Yeah. We’re also gonna have burgers tonight! And gold-leaf fries.”

Your mother gasped. “Gold-plated?! Oh, see? Isn’t he wonderful?”

Riku shrugged. “I mean, yeah, he’s cool.”

Your soul left your body.

“Mom,” you said, voice shaking. “Please. I beg you. Stop.”

She only laughed. “Oh, darling, don’t be shy! You know, when I was your age, if a man looked at me the way Sukuna looks at you—”

“HANGING UP.”

“Wait—!”

Click.

You threw your phone onto the couch like it physically burned you. Riku, completely unfazed, finished his chocolate bar. How he finished it that fast was beyond you. Was he part vacuum cleaner?

“…So, mom,” he said, casually. “can I sleep over at Kei’s tonight?”

You grabbed the throw pillow and playfully smacked him with it.

Wednesdays. Hump days. The weird, middle child of the week. The day that usually smelled like stress and overpriced cold brews.

Normally, Wednesdays were crammed with back-to-back meetings: clients, your personal assistant, your shopping assistant (because, priorities), and the occasional emergency call from your hair stylist because your toner was apparently too warm. But, not today. 

Today was sacred.

Today was shopping day. A full, uninterrupted day of retail therapy. Chanel, Cartier, a suspiciously overpriced iced matcha with edible gold flakes—you earned this. 

You even texted your driver, Hiro, at 9 a.m. sharp to be on standby – like the responsible adult you occasionally pretend to be. Your credit cards warmed up like a Formula 1 engine, and all your favorite stores knew to roll out the metaphorical red carpet.

This Wednesday was going so well until Sukuna betrayed you.

You were still in your robe, smearing serum across your face like a rich house cat bathing in luxury, when your phone pinged. You glanced at the notification and felt your soul leave your body.

[Do Not Answer]: babe, I’m slammed with meetings [Do Not Answer]: mind picking up the kids today?

You stared. 

Blinked. 

And blinked again.

… Babe?

Babe.

Babe?!

The sheer audacity of that word nearly made you drop your gua sha.

He doesn’t call you babe. He never calls you babe. Well, that was years ago. But, he says “princess” with that smirk when he wants to piss you off, or “gorgeous” when he’s being annoyingly charming, and most of the times, lately, he calls you “sweetheart,” and you’re so ready to combust anytime. But babe?

Babe is sacred. Babe is relationship territory. Babe is dangerous. Babe is cruel. 

You could feel twelve years’ worth of buried feelings rattle like a demon in the basement of your emotional trauma house. You shoved them back down with professional precision.

This was a trap. A distraction. You needed to focus. And also... what meetings?!

You jabbed your fingers at the screen, rage typing like a woman possessed.

[You]: since when do you have afternoon meetings? especially on a wednesday?! [You]: this feels illegal [You]: actually, I feel scammed

He replied instantly. The man had the nerve to send:

[Do Not Answer]: lol

LOL?! Oh, he thinks this is funny? Your eye twitched.

[You]: what if I was busy? [Do Not Answer]: you’re not [You]: YOU DON’T KNOW THAT [Do Not Answer]: you literally told me you had nothing scheduled this week

Okay, he wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t the point. The point is: he’s a treacherous man-child who clearly weaponizes your schedule against him. He couldn’t just pull the “I’m busy” card on you like that anytime. Not on a Wednesday, when your shopping trip had been meticulously planned to indulge in luxury and self-care.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, itching to send him something even more venomous. But instead, you stared at the blinking cursor, sighed like a Victorian widow, and texted:

[You]: k

You groaned dramatically into your hands. Yeah, to hell with your skin care. You went back to your bedroom and flopped onto your bed and groaned into your 600-thread count pillow. Somewhere in the distance, a dramatic violin played for your suffering. You were going to have to endure the other moms. The PTA vultures. 

And possibly your own mother, who loved nothing more than materializing at school pickups like a judgmental ghost, armed with gossip and Sukuna-related questions.

Your phone buzzed again.

[Do Not Answer]: thanks, sweetheart. appreciate it ;) [You]: shut up

Hiro, your long-suffering driver and part-time therapist, was clearly thrilled by the unfolding drama.

“Madam,” he greeted, glancing at you through the mirror. “You look… thrilled.”

You scowled, sliding dramatically into the leather seat like a woman betrayed. “This is Sukuna's job. I’ve been scammed. I should sue him for emotional damages.”

“Is it really a scam,” Hiro asked diplomatically, “if he asked nicely?”

"He didn't ask nicely! He said lol. That’s verbal assault.”

Hiro hummed like he agreed, but he didn’t. Traitor.

When the car pulled into the school gates, it was like arriving at the frontline of a suburban battlefield. Mothers. Nannies. Personal bodyguards. Chauffeurs in black luxury cars. PTA moms who always dressed like they were going to brunch with the royal family.

And you?

You wore sweats, your old uni hoodie, and exactly zero makeup. You looked like the before picture in a glow-up video. But your diamond rings sparkled like hellfire – your only giveaway that you were rich as fuck. You weren’t broke, you were just done with these kinds of scene.

The judgment came fast. Some of the moms did that thing where they glanced at you, then whispered behind their hands. A few nannies gave you nods of respect, probably because you weren’t the usual “too-rich-to-function” type.

But the worst? 

Mrs. Yoshida.

PTA Queen Bee. Two-time “Mother of the Year” because she nominated herself. Three-time brunch committee president. The woman probably tried to trademark: “yummy mummy.” The woman who would call the manager at a fucking charity event. Her heels clicked on the pavement like judgment incarnate as she stalked toward you. 

"Oh,” she said, smiling that fake ‘I pity you’ smile. “It’s so nice to see you doing the school run for once!”

You blinked. Then smiled sweetly.

“Oh, and it’s so nice to see you still dressing like an overworked air hostess.”

Her smile dropped like the stock market is full of reds.

Hiro choked on his laughter.

But before the woman could recover from the verbal slap, you spotted the kids. Riku and Keiko. Standing side by side. Waiting. Hopeful. Clearly hopefully waiting for Sukuna to get them sundae on the way home.

Except when they saw you, that hope died.

Riku blinked, confused. To your horror, his face fell. Your son, your flesh and blood, is disappointed that you’re the one picking them up. This left you gaping in disbelief.

Then, Keiko turned. She titled her head with the slow horror of someone discovering they’d been served sparkling water instead of Sprite.

Basically, her entire soul left her body.

“…Where’s daddy?” she asked, peering into the Rolls like Sukuna was hiding in the glovebox.

“Busy,” you said.

Keiko looked physically ill with that word.

“So… you're picking us up?"

"Yes, Keiko."

"You?"

"YES, KEI. ME. GET IN THE CAR.” You’re controlling yourself with pure rage wrapped in customer and parenting service. Trying to remain calm as possible in front of all these judgmental PTA moms.

As they begrudgingly climbed in, you caught sight of Mrs. Yoshida again, watching the entire ordeal with the satisfied smirk of someone whose life is just a little bit less messy than yours. Yeah, you’ve had enough of this soul-sucking vibe. You just wanted to throw a juice box at her.

Once the doors shut, Riku sighed, dramatic as ever. “Well. This is awkward."

"Awkward?" you scoffed. “You’re disappointed in your own mother picking you up. That’s awkward.”

Keiko crossed her arms like a betrayed heiress. “Daddy always buys us ice cream after school.”

Riku leaned forward. "Yeah, Mom. You buying us ice cream?"

You looked between the two gremlins and then to Hiro, who was silently laughing in the front seat. You exhaled sharply, “…Fine.”

They cheered and you glared at these two gremlins.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I swear to God, if you two start rating me as a school-run parent—"

Keiko already had her little pink notebook out.

"You're at a 2 right now," she said, flipping open a page. "But ice cream might boost you to a 5.”

“Out of 5, right?” You said with a smile on your face, overly excited with the high-rating.

“No, out of 10.” Keiko nonchalantly said as she write on her pink notebook.

Your face fell with a what an actual fuck is happening reaction to everything around you.

Riku nodded. “Papa's still at a 9.8."

A 9.8?!

“What did he lose 0.2 for? Murder?” Clearly, you shouldn’t be near kids. But one of these kids is your son. So, yeah.

Riku shrugged. "He called my math homework stupid."

Keiko giggled. "Oh yeah! But then he bought you Jordans, so it’s okay."

You turned to Hiro, scandalized, “Are you hearing this? This is corruption. He’s bribing them.”

Hiro, looking at the road ahead, and with a perfectly straight face, just said, “It's a delicate ecosystem, madam. He plays the long game.”

You groaned.

And that was how you ended up at a drive-thru, buying two sundaes and one sad coffee. You, in the front seat, emotionally wrecked while your son and Sukuna's spawn ranked your parenting.

You finished at 2. Sukuna is still winning.

The moment you pulled into the driveway, your phone pinged.

[Do Not Answer]: how’d it go? [You]: ur child is a menace [You]: she ranked me like i was on the next top parent. a 2, sukuna. A DAMN TWO [Do Not Answer]: lmao [You]: this isn’t funny. ur evil tactics are spreading [Do Not Answer]: u just mad i’m winning parenthood [You]: i’m blocking u [Do Not Answer]: nahh u’re not

He was right. You scowled at your phone anyway. Before you could chuck your phone out the window, Riku turned to you.

“Can Kei sleep over?”

You blinked. “Didn’t she just rate me a TWO?!”

Keiko smiled sweetly. “It was just feedback, mama.” (You are not her mama. You’ve explained this. Repeatedly.)

Riku nodded sagely. "Yeah, Mom. Feedback’s important."

You squinted at your own son. And then stared at them both for this unbelievable situation of you being manipulated by these two gremlins.

Hiro (again, your driver) was full-on laughing now, no longer bothering to hide it.

"You know what?" you muttered, rubbing your temples. "No. No sleepovers. I’m officially clocking out as a parent today."

"Mama, no!” Keiko gasped.

“You gave me a two.”

Riku groaned. “Mom, you’re being dramatic.”

“You know what’s dramatic? Giving me a two, then immediately asking for a sleepover.”

Keiko huffed. "Fine. I’ll bump you to a five."

Riku crossed his arms. “You did buy us ice cream.”

"Are you guys seriously negotiating my score?"

Keiko beamed. "So that’s a yes?"

You sighed.

This was Sukuna’s fault. All of it.

"...Fine."

They cheered. Hiro, the traitor, just continued laughing in the front seat.

You ignored them all and pulled out your phone.

[You]: ur little gremlin just emotionally manipulated me into a sleepover [Do Not Answer]: that’s my girl [You]: come get her. i’m done parenting [Do Not Answer]: lmao no [You]: i hate u [Do Not Answer]: no you don’t ;)

You glared at the screen. This was Sukuna’s fault. All of it.

You were going to scream.

Or text him again.

Or maybe both.

But for now?

You needed wine. And maybe a therapist.

Golf was supposed to be a sport. A peaceful, relaxing Friday activity. Supposedly.

But no. Of course not. Why would anything in your life be peaceful? 

In your life, everything was a battlefield – including, but not limited to, your tragic excuse for golf skills, the stiletto-thin patience you’re currently wearing, and the fact that you’re stuck listening to old-money business jargon that sounds like it came out of a rejected Succession script. Or maybe Dynasty, you never know anymore.

At the stupidly pristine golf course, your dad stood with Wasuke (aka Sukuna’s dad, aka walking intimidation in pastel polos) and Jin (Sukuna’s twin, aka the lesser evil?). Their conversation smelled like money. Like old, generational, smells-like-the-inside-of-an-oak-safe-and-a-Ferrari-merged-wealth. The air around them crackled with hostile mergers and billion-dollar foreplay. 

Your sister was occasionally chimed in like she was born in a boardroom, and Gojo—another menace of the century with Sukuna — was playing both sides with the enthusiasm of a court jester who inherited a hedge fund.

Let’s be real: only three of you gave a single solitary shit about actual golf – you, Sukuna, and your mom. And your mom only cared because she once beat a CEO with a 7-iron and hasn’t emotionally recovered since.

The sun was bright. The grass was green. The vibe was hostile. And, you were already regretting your entire bloodline. Then, the worst voice known to mankind – smooth, smug, and utterly punchable – cut in from behind.

"You’re holding it wrong.” 

You turned your head so fast your neck cracked. “Can you shut up?"

Sukuna stood there, leaning on his golf club like he was auditioning for Rogue Billionaires Weekly, smirk carved across his face like he owned the damn country club. Spoiler: he might be. 

"Your stance is off. And your grip is fucking weak.” he said, voice mocking.

"My grip is fine, thank you.” Also, what the fuck even is a stance? You’re holding the club?!

He just grinned at you. That infuriating, teeth-flashing, smug little shit grin.

You sighed and turned back to the sound of corporate greed happening ten feet away, like a live-action PowerPoint presentation from hell. Yep, this is your slow, corporate-sponsored death.

"—the Dubai expansion is moving along," your dad said, adjusting his golf glove like a Bond villain. "Full return on investment by Q3 next year.”

Wasuke nodded. "And you’re securing exclusivity on that?"

Your sister jumped in. “The terms are favorable, but the board wants to explore secondary partnerships.”

May gods help you. Not the secondary partnerships.

"Secondary partnerships dilute brand value," Jin said, matter-of-factly and a voice flat as a Wall Street banker’s soul. "If you’re going in, go in alone."

Gojo, never missing an opportunity to self-promote, smirked. "Which is why I love working solo. No boards, no shareholders—just me, my money, and my incredible business instincts."

Sukuna snorted. "You mean your incredible luck?"

Gojo gasped, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. Really, an Oscar-worthy performance. “'Kuna, I am deeply, deeply wounded."

"Don’t call me that," Sukuna muttered as he causally swung his golf club with perfect precision and sent the ball flying.

Meanwhile, Jin just dropped some casual xenophobia into the convo with, "I don’t trust the French.”

Heavens, they’re really brothers.

Wasuke didn’t even look up from his phone. “Their money’s good, but their loyalty is nonexistent.”

You leaned toward Sukuna out of curiosity. "Do you actually know what they’re talking about?"

Sukuna gave you a look that said: I have watched blood diamonds being auctioned off with less drama.

"Do you think I sit in boardrooms for fun?"

"Honestly? I try not to think about what you do."

"Because you’d get too distracted?" he said, mockingly sweet.

You rolled your eyes. "Because it’s probably illegal."

His smirk said no comment. Then Wasuke shifted the convo to Formula 1 – Sukuna’s domain of god complex and expensive toys.

"Motorsport contracts for the Euro manufacturers are wrapping up," Wasuke said, eyeing the scoreboard. "I want F1 projections next week."

“Already sent them,” Sukuna replied, because of course he did. “Wind tunnel drama, but the numbers are solid.”

"F1’s a money pit," your dad noted.

Jin smirked. “Yet they still beg us to be in their garages."

Your sister gave a knowing nod. "That’s because you control the entire supply chain. Power units, manufacturing motors, aerospace-grade materials—"

"You don’t win a championship without our parts," Sukuna added with terrifying ease.

Gojo whistled. "Damn. Y’all are playing god."

Wasuke smirked. "We don’t play god. We just make sure everyone needs us."

Sukuna’s crimson eyes flicked to yours. "Sound familiar?"

Ugh. That was a direct hit. You knew exactly what he was hinting at.

"Don’t be mad our family has the luxury industry in a chokehold," you shot back.

Jin laughed. "Our industries are co-dependent, though.”

You rolled your eyes. “Strategically entangled with deep-rooted dysfunction. There. Fixed it.”

“That’s rich, ”Sukuna chuckled under his breath. “Coming from the woman who emotionally negotiated a 5/10 rating out of a twelve-year-old.”

You whipped around to glare at him, your golf club pointed like a weapon. “Your daughter emotionally blackmailed me with dessert, okay? I’m the victim here.”

He took a slow step toward you, eyes gleaming like he was about to say something incredibly inappropriate. Especially in this place where you’re surrounded by family.

And you know that look. You hated that look he’s giving you right now. You just froze there, mentally preparing for the impact, fully aware that if this man so much as winked, your ovaries would detonate.

You sighed. "I hate it here."

"Sure," Sukuna drawled, “but you love getting the family-and-friends discount on Richard Mille."

You opened your mouth to argue — then shut it.

“…That’s what I thought," he said.

Meanwhile, the boardroom larping continued, with Jin casually lining up his golf shot. "By the way, what’s your play for the next expansion?"

Your dad smirked. "Exclusive deal on a rare pearl farm."

"How rare?" Sukuna asked.

Your sister crossed her arms. "One-of-one. Completely untapped market. If you want the pearls, you go through us."

Wasuke let out an approving chuckle. "That’s how you do business."

Sukuna turned to you. Smirking. "And you call me a capitalist pig."

You rolled your eyes. "I never said I wasn’t one too."

"Exactly."

Gojo clapped his hands together. "Okay, enough. Some of us are here to actually have fun.”

"Some of us are here to play golf," Jin added, eyes pointed at your disaster pose.

“Do you have broken legs or something, dumbass?” Sukuna asked. “Your stance has been criminal for the last 30 minutes.”

“Fuck you,” you whispered through a deep, meditative breath.

Gojo hummed, sipping his iced coffee. "No, he's right."

Your sister nodded sagely. "I’ve seen better posture from Riku playing Wii Sports."

Your mother sighed. "Honey, at least pretend you inherited some athletic ability."

You took a slow, deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t bury everyone here with a 9-iron. That’s a lot of jail time. And, murder is fucking illegal.

Across from you, Sukuna's shit-eating grin widened. “Want help?"

You gave him a deadpan look. "I would rather set this golf club on fire and dance around it like a pagan ritual."

"Aww," he cooed. "You’re so cute when you’re in denial."

Before you could golf club his skull, your dad clapped. “Alright, enough flirting. Take your shot.”

Flirting???

You turned slowly to look at him, completely horrified. Because why does every family function have to end up with everyone talking about your and Sukuna’s relationship.

“Dad.”

"Yes, dear?"

"That was not flirting."

Gojo grinned. "It kinda was."

Sukuna just snickered.

You ignored all of them and took your shot—which was terrible. The ball barely made it by three meters before pathetically rolling to a sad, pathetic stop like it just gave up on life. Not that golf balls have life but – everything’s just so stupid.

"Yikes," Sukuna whispered.

Gojo coughed to hide a laugh.

Your sister patted your shoulder. "It’s okay. Not all of us can be naturally gifted."

Sukuna slung an arm over your shoulder—bold move like a smug snake. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ve got other talents."

You shoved him off. "Like resisting the urge to commit first-degree homicide?"

He laughed and stepped up to take his own shot. He positioned himself with stupid, effortless confidence, gave a casual swing and then nailed it perfectly like it was nothing. The ball sailed through the air perfectly, landing exactly where it was supposed to.

Your father beamed. "Now that is how you play golf!"

Sukuna smirked at you. "See? That’s what maturity looks like."

You glared. "Maturity? You have a gold statue of yourself in your front yard, Sukuna."

"Confidence," he corrected.

Your mother sighed dreamily. "Oh, Sukuna, you should teach her more things. Maybe then she’d finally listen."

You choked. "Mom."

"She has a point," Gojo piped up. "I mean, you don’t even peel your own oranges—"

"That’s different," you snapped.

Sukuna grinned. "How?"

"Because peeling fruit is a waste of time. It’s too much work.”

"Uh-huh," he said, completely unconvinced. "And yet, you eat the ones I peel for you."

You paused.

Sukuna smirked with a wink, “Exactly.”

Gojo laughed. "Ohhh. He got you there."

Your sister gasped. "You’ve been peeling her fruit for years?"

"Yeah. Since high school.” Sukuna shrugged like it was nothing.

Your mother looked at you. "Sweetheart," she said, voice thick with judgment and amusement. "This is why we love him more than you."

You wanted to die. Right there. On the spot. Strike you down, Zeus, you’re ready.

Before your soul could ascend, Sukuna glanced at his watch. "We should wrap up soon. We have to pick up the kids."

Oh. Right. Riku and Keiko.

You groaned. "God, I hope they haven’t schemed anything.”

Sukuna just smiled. "Hope all you want. We both know they’re worse than us."

Your sigh was basically a prayer. Because he was right.

Then he looked at you – really looked – and for a second, you saw it. A familiar, almost nostalgic glint in his crimson eyes. That something in his eyes. The history. The bullshit. The college days.

Before the weird, co-parenting situationship.

Before the kids.

Before all this strategic dysfunction.

Of course it started with betrayal. Because why wouldn’t it?

REWIND TO 15 YEARS AGO

Ah, the golden age. The era of questionable fashion choices, stolen Netflix passwords, and zero concept of consequences. You were younger, dumber, and apparently, very susceptible to being peer-pressured by your stupidly attractive childhood best friends and tequila with a price tag that could fund a small startup.

And the betrayal? Classic Gojo.

Not yours. 

Not Sukuna’s. 

But Gojo freaking Satoru’s.

The plan was simple. A chill, lowkey, totally-not-going-to-spiral-into-chaos evening. The threey of you. One rare, bougie-ass bottle of unreleased tequila – procured through one of Sukuna’s many mysterious family connections, which probably meant some shady auction involving something you don’t even know if legal or illegal at this point, but like… whatever. Details.

And the holy trinity of chaos – you, Sukuna, Gojo – were supposed to break in your overpriced couch (emotionally) and consume alcohol worth more than your rent. In your apartment. With music, chaos, and maybe light emotional trauma.

But Gojo?

That flaky, unreliable, sunglasses-wearing disaster of a human being? He didn’t show up. He straight up ghosted.

No text. No call. Just vibes – and not even the good ones. You and Sukuna were left staring at your phones like you’d both been stood up by the world’s most unserious Tinder date. Sitting in the dim glow of your apartment, side by side on your ridiculously expensive couch. The tequila, untouched, sat like a third wheel on your pristine glass coffee table, judging you.

And of course Sukuna, ever the picture of carelessness, was lounging on your couch like he owned the place (well, he and Gojo has your spare keys thanks to your very insistent mother who said that this was for safety purposes). He’s made himself too comfortable. His expensive leather jacket? Tossed like trash. His shirt? Pushed up just enough to flash his abs like a Calvin Klein ad. His legs? Sprawled. Man was taking up 80% of your couch like it came with a deed in his name.

You’d almost asked him to move his knee off your thigh, but that required energy and dignity – both of which were too low.

“He’s a piece of shit,” you mumbled, flipping your phone screen-down like it had personally betrayed you too.

Sukuna just huffed, stretching like a lazy cat. “We knew that.”

A beat of silence.

Then you turned your head. Sukuna was already looking at you.

And that was the beginning of the end.

You didn’t even need to say it, but you did anyway – because you’re you and you’re brain was one shot away from being completely unhinged.

"Fuck him," you said, curling your fingers around the bottle’s neck. "You thinking what I’m thinking?"

Sukuna’s smirk was criminal. ”Gladly.”

Tequila hit like a kiss and a slap. Warm and mean. Sweet with aftershocks. It tasted like rebellion and a future apology text. It burned, sweet and smooth, slipping down your throat like bad decisions.

And by the fifth shot, everything had softened. You, the air, the line between sense and chaos. You weren’t drunk-drunk. Just in that dreamy, blurry zone where every thought seemed brilliant and you suddenly had strong opinions on things like fruit ethics and the social implications of banana neglect.

"Okay, hear me out," you began, swirling your glass like you actually understood tequila tasting. "If a banana has brown spots and you throw it away, isn’t that, like… fruitism?” You argued, dead serious.

Sukuna blinked at you, slow and unimpressed. “You’re equating overripe produce with discrimination?”

"Okay, but isn’t it?"

Sukuna, drunk but still insufferably rational, huffed. "Fruits were literally made to decay. The spots don’t even mean they’re bad. They’re just riper. Sweeter.”

“I’m just saying,” You squinted at him and gestured with passion. “And people toss them like yesterday’s garbage. That’s bias.”

He groaned, rubbing his face like your IQ physically pained him. “You’re drunk.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “You’re hot.”

He didn’t even blink. “Still doesn’t make what you said smart.”

“Can’t have it all.”

Shot seven was the real villain. That was the one that made you bold. That was the shot that made the conversation shift to a heated, increasingly idiotic debate about billionaires and time-travel tech like you were on a TED talk stage.

“Listen,” you said, pointing an accusing finger at him and serious as a heart attack, “if someone invented a machine that lets you relive the best moment of your life –”

“Oh, here we fucking go,” Sukuna muttered, who is slumped against the couch with a drink in hand and zero patience. And he’s already rubbing his temple like he has a migraine.

“—billionaires shouldn’t be allowed to use it.”

Sukuna gave you a flat look.the kind that screamed you’re an idiot and I am suffering. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard, and I talk to Gojo on a regular basis.”

“That’s justice,” you replied.

“You sound like one of those fake-deep Twitter threads with the ‘let that sink in’ at the end.”

You gasped loudly and dramatically, hand to chest. “That’s the meanest things you’ve ever said to me.”

Sukuna smirked and leaned back on the couch, swirling his drink, all lazy and smug. “Not even top five. Cry about it.”

And honestly? Fair.

You narrowed your eyes at him, then shoved at his shoulder. “Smug bastard.”

He didn’t even flinch. Just raised an eyebrow, all smug and irritating. “That the best you got?”

“You wanna go?” you said, drunk enough to mean it, sober enough to know it was a terrible idea.

“Brat, I’ve been waiting for you to throw hands.”

And just like that, it was on. The argument devolved into some half-playful, half-serious wrestling match that your tequila-soaked logic somehow decided was a good idea. You lunged yourself at him—awkwardly, gracelessly, like a cat trying to fight its reflection. And he caught you. Of course.

Sukuna met your weak-ass attack with a wicked grin and zero effort, catching your wrists mid-swat and easily flipping you onto your back like this was WWE: College Edition.

He was straddling your waist like this was some twisted rom-com where the lead-up was fruit bias and class warfare. He was pinning your hands above your head with one of his stupidly strong hands, face inches from yours. Neither of you moved. His smirk stretched slow and deliberate.

“Aw,” he murmured, looking down at you. “Pinned you already.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Your brain screamed.

“We better not fuck,” you said, breathless, mock-serious, heart pounding like you weren’t already halfway there. “That would be crazy.”

Sukuna laughed, sharp and dark. “You’re right. That would be so stupid.”

You stared up at him, drunk on more than just tequila. “So, don’t.”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours, the world going mute, “Make me.”

The tension was a slow, burning thing. Suddenly too heavy, too obvious.

And it happened.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it. And fuck, maybe he had.

It was desperate, messy, hot—his hands were greedy, large, possessive, fingers digging into your waist as you pulled him onto you. His weight settled over yours, pinning you to the couch, every hard line of muscle pressing into your body.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, breath warm against your lips. “This is a bad idea.”

You nipped at his bottom lip, smirking. “Then stop.”

Sukuna growled.

So obviously, you didn’t

Your soul has left your body.

You were spent. Utterly wrecked. A pleasantly, post-orgasmic disaster of a human being, melted into your couch like cheese. The kind of boneless, mind-melting exhaustion that came after a particularly intense workout—except the only exercise involved had been riding Sukuna like your life depended on it.

Sukuna yanked you back down with a lazy smirk, his fingers tight around your waist. He was against your neck, smug as sin, like he hadn’t just destroyed your entire pelvic floor and sanity in under an hour.

Your brain was short-circuiting. Not even crashing—melting. Like: what were you doing?

What were you doing letting Sukuna Ryomen, heir to a criminally rich, morally grey empire, raw you on a couch your mother had helped you pick out a week ago? That same couch that she said would “last through years of wear and tear”? Oh honey, if only she knew.

You could still feel him inside you (because, he is still inside you), which, frankly, was just rude. Your vagina had zero chill. Not when Sukuna had been whispering things like good girl and so fucking tight into your ear for the last forty-five minutes like he was narrating an erotic audiobook that only your nervous system had access to.

Your breathing was ragged, your skin damp with sweat, your limbs completely useless. The couch cushions were destroyed, one of the pillows had somehow ended up on the floor, and your legs… well. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to use them properly for the next hour. Maybe the next week.

Then there was a moment – still, quiet, charged – and Sukuna, ever the menace, had to go and say,  “Loving daddy’s cock inside you, baby?” 

Oh fuck, his post-sex voice is too sexy to hear. Your vagina responded before your brain did. Your moan was involuntary. Your dignity packed a bag and left.

The air was thick, too warm, and filled with the scent of tequila, sex, and very bad decisions.

You should’ve been freaking out. Should’ve been reconsidering every life choice that led up to this moment. Should’ve been thinking about things like consequences or friendship dynamics or even just the fact that you had quite literally defiled your own couch.

And then, because the universe has a terrible sense of timing –

BANG.

The door slammed open.

You and Sukuna froze mid-regret, your heart doing backflips and your brain buffering like a corrupted YouTube video. Basically, this is the time your soul left your body.

And then…

“Oh, hell yeah.”

Gojo.

Of course it was Gojo.

Standing in your doorway like he was meant to be the comedic third act twist in your sexual coming-of-age story. Sunglasses on at 2AM (maybe it’s already 3AM), stupid grin in full force, and holding a bag of snacks the size of a small child.

Your brain, still swimming in post-orgasmic haze and the last remnants of drunkenness, short-circuited.

Because—oh. That’s why he was late.

He’d gone shopping.

Gojo had spent—what, two hours? Three?—debating the intricate nuances of potato chips, probably standing in the aisle like a philosopher pondering the meaning of life. And in the end? He’d just bought one of everything. Every brand. Every flavor. As if he were assembling a tasting menu for a fucking wine and cheese night—except it was just snacks.

You blinked at him like he was a mirage.

He blinked back, grinning harder, “Did you—” He gestured vaguely at your naked, sweaty, entangled bodies. 

“You guys seriously just fucked?”

Sukuna groaned, voice muffled against your skin. “Get the fuck out.”

Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head. You wanted to cry. Or vanish. Or time-travel to an hour ago and slap the bottle out of your own hand.

Gojo continued, blissfully ignorant with his shit-eating grin dialed up to maximum wattage. “You could’ve at least waited for me.”

“GOJO.”

“Not to join!” he added, then paused. “Unless—?”

Sukuna finally lifted his head, naked, disheveled, and radiating murder. His voice dropped into something lethal. "You step one foot further, and I will personally make sure you never reproduce.” 

And then he threw the nearest couch pillow at Gojo’s face.

Gojo dodged with the agility of a mad who had absolutely walked in on worse. “Y’know, I knew something was up with you two since high school –” 

He sighed. Sighed, like he was talking about a missed prom date and not your current naked humiliation.

“SATORU.”

“— the sexual tension was like a constant third presence. Like god, but hornier.”

Yeah, you’re most likely dying of humiliation tonight.

“But I never thought you’d actually go and rawdog each other without me even getting a sip of that tequila.”

Your eye twitched. Your entire nervous system sent out one last emergency broadcast before collapsing like a dying star. There was no saving you now. You were gonna have to move cities. Change names. Fake your death and live in the woods.

In a blind, desperate attempt to salvage literally anything – your pride, your humanity, your grandmother’s ghost watching from the afterlife – you grabbed the nearest object and hurled it at him. 

Maybe it was a pillow. Maybe it was your shame. Maybe it was your will to live.

No. No, of course it couldn’t be anything soft or metaphorical.

It was your bra.

The bra that cost more than your phone. The bra hand-stitched by artisans in France who probably didn’t intend for it to be yeeted across the room like a missile of humiliation.

Gojo caught it midair. And fucking whistled. Whistled. 

Sukuna let out a lethal growl above you, like he was two seconds from choosing violence over pulling out. “Drop. It.”

Gojo, being Gojo, did not drop it. No. That would’ve been rational. Instead, he held it up to the light like some deranged pervert on an antique TV show. 

“Huh. Didn’t peg you as a lace kinda girl. Delicate, but slutty. Iconic.”

You lunged at him like a rabid raccoon.

Sukuna yanked you back down before you could inflict justified murder, his grip locking tight around your waist like he knew exactly how many war crimes you were about to commit. “Save your energy, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Oh, now he wants to be cute? Now? After he rawdogged your soul out of your body and left it there, on the floor, vulnerable and exposed like a neglected Sims character?

Gojo cackled, like this was the highlight of this week. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. So! Are we finally admitting that you guys have been feral for each other this whole time?”

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, GOJO."

He wheezed. Laughed like this was the best episode of a reality TV he’d ever seen. You, however, were having a full-blown metaphysical crisis.

And then it hit you. Like your brain finally sobered up enough to whisper, ‘hey dumbass… something’s off…’

You. 

And Sukuna.

Were. 

Still. 

Naked.

Not cute-and-covered-by-the-blanket naked. 

Not tastefully-draped-like-a-renaissance-painting naked.

No.

This was “there’s an entire Gojo eyeball on your titty” naked.

That’s why Sukuna fucking yanked you down so fast. Not to protect your dignity – lol, what dignity – but because your boobs were just out. Just there. Making their unwanted debut to the worst audience in human history. 

Your entire existence condensed into one singular thought: you’re gonna astral project out of this flesh prison and never return.

You buried your face in your hands.

“I’m never drinking again,” you mumbled, voice muffled and soul-dead. The words of a liar. A liar with regrets.

Sukuna, the bastard, didn’t even flinch. This man had seen war (business rejections, most likely). Tax evasion. Eternal damnation. Your naked ass wasn’t gonna rattle him. “I’m never letting you drink again.”

Gojo, now seated in the doorway like he was watching a 2000s rom-com movie, clapped his hands together. “Well! Now that everyone's tits are covered, I vote we unpack all this juicy sexual tension over midnight snacks.”

You made a noise. It might have been a sob. Or a scream.

Then, you locked eyes with Sukuna. Dead serious.

“Kill him first,” you said. “Then me.”

Gojo opened his mouth—

“No, you cannot take a picture,” you snapped.

Gojo shut his mouth. But only for a second.

“I was gonna ask if you guys needed snacks,” he said, fake-offended, “but sure, go ahead and assume the worst.”

Sukuna's eye twitched. Like, visibly. Dangerously. “You have five seconds before I personally rearrange your jaw.”

Gojo held up his hands in surrender—still holding your bra, like it was a white flag for surrender.

You just wanted to die. Or better—rewind time. All the way back to when you said, “just one tequila shot.”

“So, when’s the wedding?” Gojo smirked.

That was it. That was Sukuna’s final nerve snapping. Man went from 0 to murder real quick, pulling out (rude) in a heartbeat and bolting after Gojo around the apartment with the kind of fury that would make Greek gods go ‘damn bro, chill.’

You, meanwhile, scrambled to find a blanket. Any blanket. Any napkin. A curtain. You would’ve accepted being wrapped in your own regret at that point. Still dizzy. Still mildly post-orgasmic. Still spiritually decimated.

You never lived that moment down. 

Ever.

Gojo made sure of it.

And yet – despite the absolute catastrophic level of social humiliation – you really thought that was it. A stupid, drunken slip-up. A one-time tequila-fueled tragedy.

But it wasn’t. Because, of course, it wasn’t.

Because this was you and Sukuna.

Disasters. Walking, breathing, kissing disasters.

And this?

This was the biggest, dumbest, horniest fucking disaster of them all.

It wasn’t just a one-time thing.

It wasn’t just a casual phase.

It lasted three fucking years.

God forbid.

Three years of sneaking glances across rooms like the two of you weren’t regularly naked in each other’s beds. Three years of pretending there wasn’t stupidly cosmic about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. Three years of pretending it was just fucking.

You were in your last year of college. Graduation loomed in like a loaded gun. Sukuna was finishing his postgrad, looking dangerously adult while you were still using dry shampoo as a personality. And instead of prepping for the real world, you were spending every night tangled in sheets, sweat, and denial.

You weren’t even being subtle about it.

Sukuna’s hoodies lived in your wardrobe rent-free. Your hair ties were all over his bathroom like forgotten corpses. You ate half his fries every time.

It wasn’t just the sex (though, let’s be real, the sex could summon the dead and cancel student debt). It was everything. The way his hoodies, shirts, pants (heck, all his clothes) lived in your wardrobe rent-free. The way your hair ties were all over his bathroom like forgotten corpses. The way you shamelessly ate half his fries every time. The way he memorized your coffee order. The way you always saved him the last dumpling even though you hated sharing. The fact that he punched a guy once for saying your laugh was annoying. You were basically in a relationship.

Just… you know. Without the commitment. Or the honesty. Or the emotional maturity.

But not everything lasts perfectly, right?

Because saying it would make it real.

And if it was real then, it could end. And neither of you were brave enough for that.

You don’t remember exactly when it started to shift.

Maybe when he stayed over just to sleep.

Maybe when you waited for him after class.

Maybe when he threatened his frat brothers for flirting with you.

Maybe when you were too in your feelings, and he was in denial, and the entire relationship had the emotional maturity of a wet paper towel trying to hold a gallon of wine.

It was three fucking years of closeness so intimate it could’ve been called codependency if it weren’t so mutual.

But neither of you said it.

Neither of you dared to.

Not until the night it all went to hell.

Over the stupidest, pettiest, most aggressively idiotic fight in the history of human race. And romance.

Over a fucking LED light.

You blinked out of the memory like you’d just been possessed by a much younger, hotter, dumber version of yourself. Truly, your early twenties needed a warning label.

Only dragged back to the present by the sound of Gojo’s obnoxious laugh and the distant thwack of another golf ball being ruthlessly yeeted into the horizon.

But your mind was still a few tequila shots behind. Still sticky with the memory of hot skin, tangled limbs, and the unforgivable knowledge that Sukuna had once bitten your neck like he was trying to ruin you on purpose. (He did.) That he’d once kissed you so hard you forgot your own name, let alone the fact that you were definitely, definitely supposed to keep things platonic.

You hadn’t thought about that night in years. You’d buried it so deep beneath co-parenting schedules and passive-aggressive text threads that it had fossilized. You’d compartmentalized it like a pro. Filed it under Regrettable But Also Kinda Amazing Decisions That We Pretend Never Happened Because Denial Is a Lifestyle.

But all it took was one look. 

One stupid look from Sukuna and your whole nervous system went, “Hey, remember that time you climbed him like a tree?”

You nearly choked on your own saliva.

Sukuna looked at you, raising a brow. “You good?”

You stared at him. The same eyes. Same smirk. Same stupid, punchable face that you’d once maybe considered kissing in a tequila haze.

You muttered, “I hate you.”

He grinned. “You looked like you were remembering something tragic. Was it my abs?”

You hit him with your golf club. Lightly. (For legal reasons.)

Gojo, watching from the side, completely unaware of your inner spiral, wandered over with the self-satisfied strut of a man who just made par and will never let anyone forget it. “So, what’s the verdict? Are we still pretending you two don’t have wildly unresolved sexual tension or…?”

You glared. “Do you want to die today?”

Gojo just waggled his brows. “I’m just saying, the air’s thick with tension. Like, if I blink, someone’s getting pinned to the nearest flat surface.”

Sukuna, infuriatingly calm, walked past you to grab his water bottle. “Grow up, Gojo.”

That was rich coming from a man who once texted you “wanna come over and fight?” at 2 a.m. and then had the audacity to kiss you like you were air and he was suffocating years ago.

You rubbed your temple. Get it together.

But the memory clung. It had claws. And it wouldn’t let go.

Only the three of you knew. Only the three of you would ever know. You’d made a silent, mutually-assured-destruction type pact after the fact. No one brings it up. No one mentions the couch. No one so much as breathes in the direction of “remember that night?”

And you’d all been doing so well.

Until now.

Until Sukuna looked at you like that.

Until you remembered exactly how he tasted.

Until your body remembered what your brain had worked overtime to erase.

You looked at Sukuna now – older, annoyingly hotter, a single father of a cute, angel-looking gremlin – and your stomach dropped.

Because the worst part wasn’t the memory.

It was the terrifying realization that some part of you... hadn’t actually moved on.

And that? That was the most dangerous thing of all.

It wasn’t normal. None of it was normal. You weren’t normal.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to be.

Sukuna knew. He knew the moment you glitched like a broken Sims out of nowhere, the subtle shift in your posture, the way your lips pressed into a tight line. He’d seen it before, in the way you tried to bury things under layers of sarcasm and nonchalance. 

And that? That was exact thing that made his chest tighten, just a little bit.

You’d always been good at pretending. Hell, you were great at pretending. But Sukuna wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen the cracks in the armor. He’d felt them in the way you’d tense up when he was too close. In the way you still looked at him when you thought no one was paying attention.

Even thought it’s been 12 years, the memory of your lips on his, the desperate heat of it, was all burned into his mind just as much as it was in yours. That last night had fucked him up in ways he couldn’t even begin to untangle. That fucking fight over LED lights. But he wasn’t going to admit that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But now? Now, standing next to you on this golf course, with Gojo prattling on about tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, Sukuna could feel something else — something he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront. 

He’d tried. He’d tried to move on. To tell himself that you were just a chapter in a stupid, messy college romance he could chalk up to a lesson learned. But the way you still looked at him — like you wanted to kill him one minute and kiss him the next — made him wonder if he was really the one who’d moved on. 

You hadn’t said it. You hadn’t admitted it to him, and you definitely hadn’t admitted it to yourself. But Sukuna could feel the pull between you two, like gravity trying to yank him back into orbit. And he fucking hated it.

You weren’t ready to move on, and maybe… maybe neither was he.

Gojo’s voice cut through his thoughts again, loud and obnoxious, but it didn’t help. If anything, it just made the tension worse. And there you were, glaring at him like you wanted to murder him with your golf club. That just made his smirk wider.

He didn’t care what Gojo said. He didn’t care how thick the air felt between them.

He cared that every time you looked at him, he felt something that wasn’t quite hatred. He cared that, despite everything, the memory of that night — the way you fit so perfectly against him — still haunted him.

The worst part?

You were still the one thing that got under his skin.

And that terrified him.

You’re sitting there, waiting outside the school, in his damn car, sunglasses on like you’re trying to hide from the world and also from the fact that your brain’s still stuck in the relapsing and post-golfing haze. The one where you remember way too much of that face – that stupid, stupid face – and the laugh that somehow made you feel things you don’t ever wanna feel again. And don’t even get started on his damn arms. Like, who needs arms to be that distracting in the middle of everything? Seriously, when did he roll up his sleeves? Was there some kind of cosmic mistake? The universe did not need that information. 

And yet, here you are, replaying it in slow motion in your head. Yep, even that night 15 years ago. Even worse, you almost drooled thinking about it. Almost.

It also didn’t need the fact that you almost drooled while thinking about it.

And, God, it’s too quiet. Way too quiet. Normally, you and Sukuna are bantering like two toddlers fighting over the last cookie. You’re both competitive assholes, arguing about dumb shit like whose playlist will play for the ride-back. But today? Nah. You’re both too out of it. Too tame.

You glance sideways at Sukuna, who’s leaning back in his seat too lax. Does he always look like that? But you’ve been staring at him for far too long today, and it’s messing with your internal wiring. You actually almost forgot to argue. Almost.

So, you break the silence first. “I’d rather not get out of the car,” you say, because... why not?

Sukuna looks over at you like you’ve grown an extra head, “What? Did Mrs. Yoshida go up to you the other day?”

The mere mention of her name is enough to spark an internal cringe. You snort but it comes out half-hearted. Like, yeah, you’ve got a serious vendetta against that woman, but even you can’t muster the energy to fully engage. “Yeah. Guess she wanted to show off yet again.”

Sukuna huffed a laugh, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “Show off what? Her death grip on passive aggression?”

That earned him a real laugh from you, one that surprised both of you a little. But it fades just as quickly as it came. You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes closed, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. Like you’ve been holding it since that goddamn golf course.

“She said something about me finally doing the school run for once,” you muttered, your voice low with disbelief. “Like I was doing a cosplay of a present parent.”

Sukuna’s face doesn’t change, but his voice drops into that deep, sarcastic tone. “She would say that. Probably thinks your ovaries are overdue for reactivation or some shit.”

You turned to him slowly. “What does that even mean?”

He smirked. That damn smirk that you swear could put every other man on the planet to shame. “Don’t know. Ask her. I bet she’s got a PowerPoint ready.” Oh, honey, maybe, you’re too down bad after that relapse.

Another snort escaped you, this time more genuine, because honestly? She would. God, the thought of it made your skin crawl, but it’s too funny not to appreciate, “God, I hate her heels. They click like a countdown to emotional damage.”

Sukuna laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes you forget the day’s weirdness for a second. “She probably practices walking in her driveway.”

“Oh absolutely. Full parade route. With flags and a marching band made of guilt.”

That’s it. That’s the sweet spot. You both start laughing, but it’s like a weird patchwork of relief and awkwardness, too. Like you can’t quite shake off the tension from earlier today, but at least now there’s something more normal—something fun—in the air.

And that’s how you found outside the car, now standing in front of the school gates, with Sukuna this time. But standing so goddamn close to you. It made your heart rate do that little skip thing you can’t ever explain. But, no time to be a freak about it.

The bell rings. And of course, who’s the first person you see? Mrs. Goddamn Yoshida. She appeared out of thin air like a mid-tier Bond villain with hair lacquered into a helmet of superiority and lip gloss as weaponized as ever.

“Oh,” she drawls, her voice as sugary sweet as cyanide. “Two school pickups in a week? Someone’s going for Mother of the Month.”

You don’t even blink. Your sunglasses are firmly in place, and you’re already prepping your comeback. “You would know. You still printing the certificates at home?”

Sukuna laughed beside you, a deep, guttural sound that only made Mrs. Yoshida more uncomfortable. He eyes practically twitched. She’s not even hiding the fact that she’s shook that you’re here with Sukuna. The most-coveted bachelor (well, he may be a single dad but technically he’s not yet married) in the country. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but just as she’s about to speak –

“Mom?” 

Riku’s voice rang out like a melody through the tension, and just like that, everything resets. Your brain stutters for half a second as you snap your head around to see Riku, your baby boy (c’mon, he’s 12), running towards you like you’ve just saved his world.

And then, there’s Keiko. Running right behind Riku… but instead of launching themselves into your arms like the sensible kids they are, they both straight up betrayed you. These gremlins ran straight for Sukuna. What you can’t believe was the fact that your son ignored you. He may have called you but no he didn’t even ran towards you. What the fuck was that?

You blink, standing there, totally dumbfounded. Your mouth might even be hanging open a bit. Seriously? They just—what? Your son, the kid you’ve been raising, the one who’s spent years gluing your heart to his every move, just totally... skipped you? And now he’s practically throwing himself at Sukuna?

Your brain scrambles for words, but they’re stuck in some weird loop. "Riku," you manage, but it's more like you're calling him out of instinct than actually knowing what the hell to do with this new development.

But Keiko, of course, isn’t wasting any time either. She’s clinging to Sukuna’s leg like she’s on some sort of mission, because you might probably be jealous of his parenting dynamic with his daughter. You want to tell them both off, but the weirdest thing happens: a tiny part of you feels... left out? Like, what the hell?

Sukuna looks down at the two of them, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, clearly trying not to laugh too hard at your expense. "Guess your son likes me more," he teases, all calm and collected as usual, though you can tell he’s getting a kick out of it.

Riku finally looks up at you, a little sheepish now, like he knows he’s been caught. "Uh, sorry, Mom. Papa told me he’ll bring us to that sushi place today." He scratches his head awkwardly.

OH. So, that’s what we’re doing now.

Bribery. Betrayal. And sushi.

You narrow your eyes, your expression stuck somewhere between disbelief and parental betrayal. “Oh. Papa told you that, huh?” you repeat slowly, the word "Papa" practically dripping with italics and judgment. The way Riku suddenly fidgets? Yeah, he knows he’s in trouble. Good.

Sukuna just shrugs, the cocky bastard, still smirking like this is all part of his grand villain arc. “Can’t help it if I have good taste and your kid has excellent priorities,” he says, which is exactly the kind of smug crap he always pulls when he knows he’s winning.

You cross your arms, sunglasses still on, even though the sun is hiding behind a cloud like it’s also trying to avoid the tension. “Yeah? Next time, how about you bribe your own daughter and leave mine out of it?”

Keiko, ever the daddy’s girl, finally detaches herself from Sukuna’s leg and gives you an innocent look, but it’s not lost on you that she’s got a mischievous glint in her eyes. “No need, mama! I already love daddy a lot.”

You stare at both of them for a second, blinking as you process this betrayal. "You two are unbelievable. Is this why Riku comes home later than he should’ve been for the past month? Your briberies?”

Sukuna doesn’t even flinch. If anything, his grin widens like he’s thriving under the betrayal-fueled glare you’re shooting at him.

“Oh, come on,” he says, deadpan, “you make it sound like we’re running some underground snack ring. It was one burger trip. Maybe three. And a boba run.”

You squint at him. “And the churros that Riku brought home last week?”

“That was... spontaneous.”

Keiko, bless her tiny traitorous heart, pipes up like she’s on the witness stand. “And the arcade tokens, Daddy?”

Sukuna blinks. Then shrugs. “Okay, five bribery trips. But who’s counting?”

You’re counting. You are absolutely counting. You’re already adding it to the list in your Notes app. You inhale, deeply. Breathe in patience. Exhale vengeance.

“You do realize,” you say slowly, “that he told his math teacher you’re his second emergency contact now?”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased. “That’s cute. And honestly? Fair. I bring snacks, pick them up, and importantly? Emotional availability.”

You gasp like you’ve just been hit with a flying sandal. “I birthed him.” 

He tilts his head, hand over his heart in mock sympathy. “Yeah, but I took him to watch that new superhero movie twice, and I didn’t complain once. Not even during the post-credit scene.”

Riku nods solemnly. “He even explained the multiverse to me without getting mad.”

You turn to your son like you’re looking at a stranger in your home. “You never let me explain anything without groaning.” 

Riku shrugs with zero guilt. “Your explanations come with a lot of side stories.”

“That’s called context!” you sputter.

Oh, but now this pink-haired bastard is actually laughing. Not a chuckle. Not a smug little puff of air. No. This is a full-on, head-tilted-back, shoulders-shaking, evil-boyfriend-in-a-Kdrama laugh. And the worst part? It's lowkey making you relapse to that 3-year long situationship. Which is exactly what the problem is. You’ve been relapsing since this week fucking started. This shouldn’t have happened. And this all started because he murdered your hedge.

And now, you’re standing there—offended, outnumbered, and tragically out-bribed—and all you can think is: you hate it here.

“I’m surrounded by traitors,” you mutter under your breath, adjusting your sunglasses like they’ll shield your soul from this level of disrespect.

Sukuna wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “C’mon, don’t be jealous. You’re still the top mom in this cult we’ve built.”

You stare at him. “You literally poached my child with raw fish, sneakers, burgers, gold leaf fries, and Marvel trivia. That’s not parenting. That’s warfare.” 

“And I’m winning,” he says without missing a beat. 

Keiko pats your arm in consolation. “It’s okay, Mama. You still have snacks sometimes at your house.”

“Sometimes,” you echo, wounded. 

Riku’s still awkwardly standing there, clearly feeling the weight of his betrayal. “Uh, Mom, do you still wanna go to that sushi place later?” he asks, his voice full of nervous hope, like he’s waiting for a miracle to save him from your wrath.

You narrow your eyes, looking between your son and Sukuna. “You really think I’m gonna let you off the hook that easily?” You cross your arms again, but this time it’s not as fierce. “I mean, if you wanna bribe me with sushi... I guess I can consider it.”

Sukuna snorts beside you, clearly enjoying the inner battle you’re having with yourself. "See? Told you, bribery always works.”

"Shut up," you mutter, but you can’t help the hint of a smile. Dammit, this is exactly how he got you last time.

Sukuna’s trying to herd the kids toward the car now, like some unholy cross between a playground kingpin and the world’s most chaotic dad. And for one fleeting moment, you catch yourself smiling. Genuinely. The kind that sneaks up on you before you can armor it with sarcasm.

And then—

“I call shotgun!” Riku yells.

“No, I call shotgun!” Keiko yells back.

You’re about to intervene like a responsible adult (because who lets 12-year-olds ride shotgun?!) when Sukuna just shrugs and tosses you the keys. “Guess you’re driving. They’ll keep fighting otherwise.”

You catch them automatically, then freeze. “Wait, I’m driving? In your car?”

He’s already walking to the passenger side. “You’ll be fine. I trust you.”

And there it is again. That weird little glitch in your heart. The one that started on the golf course, peaked somewhere around churros, and now, apparently, comes with keys and unsolicited trust.

You mutter under your breath as you slide into the driver’s seat, “Next time I’m bringing veggie chips and trauma bonding. See how he likes that.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re genuinely grinning as you walk toward the school gates. Because no matter how many times you roll your eyes at him, you know that, deep down, you’ll always be this close to falling right back into that stupid pattern of chaos and longing.

And secretly? Secretly you don’t mind the shotgun betrayal. Or the sushi bribes. Or even Sukuna’s dumb laugh that now lives rent-free in your brain.

What you do mind is how easy it is to imagine this being…normal.

And that? That’s the scariest part.

Because the last time things felt normal with Sukuna—it ended with heartbreak, a bruised ego, and a pink LED light flickering like the world’s most ironic heartbreak anthem.

REWIND TO 12 YEARS AGO

It had all started innocently enough—just a stupid school project, both of you in your own little worlds, completely unaware of the mess you'd end up in. You’d been frantically pulling an all-nighter for your thesis on marketing strategies, running on a diet of coffee and panic. The room smelled like burnt ambition and three-day-old coffee.

Sukuna had walked in, uninvited (as usual), plopping himself down on the edge of your bed and looking like he owned the place. You didn’t even glance up from your notes.

"Got any snacks, or is your thesis a full meal by itself?” he'd asked casually, stretching his legs across the floor.

“it’s a five-course meal of existential dread. You should’ve brought dessert,” you muttered, eyes flicking over your outline that still had more question marks than actual points.

He made a dramatic tsk noise. ”Really? That bad? Damn, should’ve brought ice cream. Or a priest.”

You finally looked up, dead-eyed. “Unless the priest knows APA format and has a spare conclusion section in his pocket, I don’t want it.”

“Wow, brat. So ungrateful.” He leaned over to snatch your mug without asking, took a sip, and immediately gagged. “What is this? Battery acid? Motor oil? Regret?”

“It’s coffee,” you said, dryly. “And if you touch my highlighters, I will end you.”

He blinked at you. “Gotchu, babe. No touching the holy trinity: coffee, highlighters, and your rapidly deteriorating sanity.”

You grunted. “What are you even doing here, ‘Kuna? Don’t you have people to terrorize somewhere else?”

He shrugged, picking up a sticky note from your desk and squinting at the words like they personally offended him. “Thought I’d check in on my favorite stress case.”

You gave him a look that screamed I am five seconds away from a breakdown and you’re monologuing in my safe space.But Sukuna? He was already distracted, fiddling with your desk lamp like it held the secrets of the universe.

Before you could ask what the hell he was doing, he suddenly grinned, standing up, and twisting the lamp in a way that made the light flicker dramatically.

“What are you doing with my lamp?” you snapped, but he was already flipping the switch.

“Nah, I’m just making sure you’re not too depressed so we gotta change the mood lighting. You need it. Trust me. This is what creative enlightenment looks like.” He flashed a grin that had you wondering if he’d lost his mind.

“If that’s enlightenment, pretty sure the light’s about to start flickering and lead me to a breakdown.” You were so tired, but you couldn’t help the irritation bubbling up.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” He reached for your lamp again, twisting it in the other direction like he was adjusting some fancy futuristic remote control.

“I didn’t sign up for this!” you said, grabbing his wrist before he could do more damage to your perfectly ordinary, functional lamp. “This is my space, my chaos. You can’t just—”

Suddenly, you found yourself flat on your back on the bed, and Sukuna’s weight was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“Not a bad way to distract you, huh?” he said, his voice low and teasing. Before you could react, his lips were on yours, and that was it. The floodgates opened, your frustrations morphing into something entirely different.

Heat. Hands. Teeth.

And that stupid lamp still casting romantic lighting like you were in some low-budget romcom with a dangerously high body count.

You didn’t even remember who pulled who first. One second you were yelling about thesis formatting and desk territory, and the next, Sukuna was pulling your shirt over your head like it had personally offended him. You should’ve been worried about citations. APA format. Deadline. But somehow his mouth on your neck took priority.

Again.

You made it to the edge of the bed this time before knocking over a pile of highlighters and flashcards. Sukuna didn't even blink.

“Watch the thesis,” you gasped as your laptop nearly flew off the side.

“Babe, the only thing I’m watching is you falling apart under me,” he said, grinning like the devil, hands already sliding down your waist.

You hated that it worked. Hated how your body betrayed you so quickly—how easily you leaned into him, craved him, even when your life was falling apart in bullet points and overdue drafts.

It was frantic. A little sloppy. Neither of you had the brain cells for finesse. Just something rough and grounding to yank you out of the spiral and straight into Sukuna’s orbit—where logic went to die and pleasure took the wheel.

By the time it was over, both of you were breathless and half-covered in dissertation pages and regret.

And that’s when he did it.

He reached over.

And changed the mood lighting again.

Soft pink this time.

You stared at him, chest still heaving, sweat sticking your hair to your forehead. “What the actual hell is wrong with you?”

“What?” he said innocently, blinking like a man who wasn’t still inside you thirty seconds ago. 

“It’s a vibe. I’m curating.”

“You’re curating? This isn’t a Pinterest board, Sukuna. This is my room.”

“And yet,” he said, gesturing dramatically to the lamp, “I made it better.”

You sat up, immediately regretting it when your thigh cramped. “I swear to God, if you touch that lamp one more time—”

“You’ll what? Write a strongly worded thesis about it?”

“Oh my God, I hate you.”

“You say that,” he said, flopping back onto the bed with a grin, “but you let me raw you like a stress-relief squishmallow, so.”

You picked up a pillow and hurled it at his face.

Hard.

Sukuna caught it with one hand, smirking.

“I’m changing it to red next.”

“Touch that switch and I’m putting glitter glue in your shampoo.”

“…Kinky.”

You screamed into another pillow.

And for a second, it was funny. Ridiculous. The kind of scene you'd laugh about in five years over drinks.

But something in the air shifted—too subtle to notice at first. Like a hairline crack in a dam.

Then he said it. The thing that would claw its way into both of your memories and rot there, festering for years.

“You know, if you put half the effort into your actual thesis that you put into pretending to be in love with me when you're bored, you'd be graduating top of our class.”

Silence.

It came so fast, so sharp, it cleaved the air clean in half.

You sat up slowly. Carefully. Like you were disarming a bomb, but oh—too late. It already went off.

“What did you just say?”

Sukuna’s smirk faltered, but only for a second. He leaned back like nothing had happened, like he didn’t just shatter the air between you.

“You heard me.”

“No, no. I heard you, I just… I’m trying to figure out which part of your brain decided that was okay to say to me. After everything. After this.” You gestured wildly at the bed, the thesis pages crumpled under you, your tangled clothes on the floor, his smug, stupid face.

His jaw flexed. “I’m just saying, maybe I’m not the only one who treats this thing like it’s a joke.”

“Oh, you’re unbelievable.” You were up now, gathering your papers with trembling fingers. “You barge in here like you own the place, like I’m some goddamn stop on your rich-boy itinerary when you get bored of your mansion and your endless supply of zero-consequence bullshit—”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, standing up now too. “You think I want to be here every time you have a meltdown? You think this is fun for me? Watching you burn out for a piece of paper you’ll hate in six months? You make me your emotional support punching bag and then call it intimacy.”

“I never asked you to stay.”

“Well maybe I should’ve taken the hint three years ago, huh?” His voice was sharp now. No teasing. No heat. Just glass. “When we started sleeping together and you couldn’t even look me in the eye after.”

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t the first fight. Not even the worst one.

But it felt… final.

“You want honesty?” you whispered, throat tight. “Fine. You’re a coward, Sukuna. You sit in this little fantasy where nothing matters because you’re scared to actually want something. To want me. So yeah, maybe I pretended a little. Maybe I lied. But at least I felt something.”

That stopped him. For a moment, he just… stood there. Staring at you.

And then he laughed. Hollow. Low.

“You felt something? Great. Real useful. Let me know if you ever figure out what it was, sweetheart. Preferably not when I’m balls-deep and playing with your lighting setup.”

You slapped him.

You didn’t even think—your body just moved, and the sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.

He didn’t flinch. He just looked at you like something had gone dead in his eyes.

“Wow,” he said quietly. “There it is.”

“Get out.”

“You sure?” He took a step back. “You’ve got, what, one brain cell left and a thesis due tomorrow? Might as well finish what we started.”

“I said get out.” Your voice broke on the last word. Oh god. Not the voice crack. Not in front of him. That was the equivalent of handing him a loaded gun, then tripping and falling onto the bullet yourself. Incredible work. Ten out of ten. Gold medal in Olympic self-sabotage.

He stared for a beat. Just long enough to register it. The voice crack. The heartbreak. The humiliation curdling in your stomach like expired milk.

Then he scoffed. That trademark Sukuna scoff. That “you’re beneath me” noise that made your skin crawl and your heart crumble all at once. Like it wasn’t worth it. Like you weren’t worth it.

Then he left.

No dramatic door slam. No stomping. No cinematic thunder in the background. Just the soft click of the handle as it shut behind him. Quiet. Cold. Like a polite little fuck you from the universe.

You sat there. Alone.

Drowning in a sea of flashcards, energy drink cans, and the pink lightbulb you swore was a good idea when you bought it. You thought it was romantic. Cute. Mood-setting. Turns out it just made heartbreak look like a music video from hell.

Twenty years of friendship.

Three years of blurred lines.

And one second of cruelty you’d never come back from.

And the worst part? The absolute dumbest, most pathetic, most humiliating part?

You still wanted him to walk back in.

Oh god. Oh no. No, no, no, don’t cry. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t—yep. You’re crying. You’re crying in pink LED, like a sad little flamingo.

You wanted him to go slam the door open, with your favorite ice cream on hand (Friday is ice cream nights).

To say he didn’t mean it. To take it all back. To change the fucking light to blue this time, maybe even purple, something less pity-me-Barbie-core, and call it a truce.

But he didn’t. He never did.

Because that’s the thing about Sukuna. 

He didn’t fix the things he broke. He just stepped over the debris in expensive shoes and left before the dust settled. And you? You were always the idiot standing there, broom in one hand, heart in the other, wondering why it still hurt.

You wiped your face with his hoodie sleeve forgotten on the floor sleeve like a Victorian widow who also hadn’t slept in three days. Because your wardrobe is full of his fucking clothes. Oh my god, you’re still in your underwear. And, your thesis stared at you, cursor blinking like it was mocking you.

Fuck, you needed a drink so hard you wanted to forgot this stupid night.

So yeah—after that night, you both did it.

You broke the last, dumb, invisible rule of whatever-the-hell your relationship was.

You slept with other people.

Not out of desire. Not out of revenge. Not even out of rage. No, it was dumber than that.

It was survival.

You hooked up with someone from a rooftop party. What was his name? You don’t know. You don’t care. You laughed too loud, drank warm wine out of a Solo cup, and let some stranger kiss you like it meant something. It didn’t. Because he wasn’t Sukuna. That was the bar. The bar was not Sukuna. You limboed under it like a sad circus clown.

Across somewhere else, he did the same.

In a random ass bedroom in a frat house with lighting that looked like it was allergic to joy, Sukuna let someone run their hands down his back. He didn’t joke. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t whisper dumb things in her ear like he used to do with you. More like earlier.

He just laid there. Face blank. Eyes open.

Because if someone else wanted him—even just for one night—maybe it would drown out the sound of your voice when you’d said: at least I felt something.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.

It never fucking works.

Because at the end of it, you both laid there in different places, beside warm strangers who meant absolutely nothing, staring at foreign ceilings that hadn’t heard you fight, cry, or laugh—and realized something ugly: you finally did the one thing you swore you’d never do.

You became strangers.

Strangers with shared ghosts. No one left to haunt but yourselves.

After that night? Radio silence. Nothing.

He didn’t walk over to your apartment anymore.

You didn’t leave the door unlocked. He has his own key to yours.

No Post-it notes on the fridge. No coffee mugs by the bed. No thesis pages tangled with underwear.

Just the hollow silence of absence. The weight of nothing.

And yeah. Gojo noticed.

Because you and Sukuna? You didn’t know how not to touch each other. You were that disgusting duo. PDA central. Couple-core. Fruit-peeling, lap-lounging, casual-hair-touching menaces.

You once made out behind the school bake sale. For charity.

Now? You barely made eye contact. And it’s been what? Three fucking weeks.

And if he walked into a room? You walked out.

Because looking at him was like looking at a memory you weren’t ready to bury.

Because if you looked too long, you might remember.

And remembering was dangerous.

Remembering felt like relapse.

Which—congrats, by the way—is exactly what you’re doing right now.

And now? You’re so disoriented from today (c’mon, two very deeply buried memories in a day flashing you because of that one look Sukuna gave you and sense of normalcy with this co-parenting situation with your son and his daughter being best friends, too?) – picking up the kids today, smiling like you weren’t dying, pretending that the raw fish didn’t taste like regret even as your son beamed up at you? 

So yeah. That Friday night? Alone in your master bedroom, lights off, ceiling staring back at you, while your son sleeps over at Sukuna’s house next door?

That’s when it hit. The full, unbearable weight of your very stupid, very mutual, very emotionally  constipated downfall.

And the worst part? The truly cursed, absolutely unhinged part?

Somewhere, in a dusty, padlocked corner of your ribcage you’ve spent years pretending doesn’t exist—

You still fucking loved him.

Even after that LED night.

Even after the single parenting.

Even after everything.

God. You’re such an idiot.

a/n: lol part 2 is coming sometime this May (?) aaaand as much as i wanna say that this is proofread – it's not :') hshdashadsah thanks so much for reading – i appreciate u all so much!!! also taglist is still open <3

[writersblockedx]

Wedded Under War

You can now read Part Two Here

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, slight Bestfriend!Steve Rodgers x Reader Summary - New York is plagued by a war between the White Wolves and SHIELD. Your older brother comes up with a solution: Wed you to their leader, Bucky Barnes. Warnings - Violence, arranged marriage Words - 2K

Masterlist

The first time you met James Buchanan Barnes, it was tainted in blood. It was a plan, to gather information without the man having any idea what he was doing, nor who he was talking to. Steve Rodgers and your older brother, Tony, had hatched the plan when you just turned twenty-one. For you to waltz in there, flirt enough and get him drunk enough that his tongue would slip. It should have been easy. In and out without the need for violence. Something so sparse in your line of work.

Natasha had picked out a dress for you. One that matched the formality of your old prom dress. Silk and tight, with barely any room for you to breathe. Tucked underneath, in case of emergency, were your weapons: A pistol, and a couple of knives. "Just in case." Natasha had assured as she strapped the last switchblade around your ankle.

And like that, you slipped out from the van where Steve and Natasha would be monitoring you. Flashing some fake confidence as you wandered towards a cocktail bar you had never stepped foot in before. It was for the rich kids of New York. The trust fund babies, the future lawyers and, most importantly, Bucky Barnes' favourite spot after a long week of causing havoc.

You ignored the rest of the crowd, heading towards the marble bar where you ordered a martini for the nerves. You cared little for what you were doing, your intention more than anything was to impress your brother in hopes of gaining more involvement with the job. If that meant looking pretty and flirting aimlessly with Bucky Barnes then so be it.

The moment your lips hit the drink, your eyes finally scanned the room. You gazed across the drunken Ivy League types who were trying to impress people with their knowledge of the stock market. It didn't take long to find the man who didn't fit with the rest of the crowd: nestled in the corner, in a leather booth seated the leader of the White Wolves. He wore a clean shirt and blazer, ensuring you could still see his bulging biceps through the material. 

Within seconds, his eyes finally caught your obvious flirty gaze. It was a silent invitation for him to come over and join you. He was desperate, hungry from the get-go. He whispered something in his right man's ear before standing and waltzing over to you like he owned the place - which he probably actually did. "What are you drinking?" He questioned, smoothly.

You forced a smirk to your lips, "Why?" Your head tilted. "You buying?"

"Only if you say please." Had he been any other man, had this not been the job, you might have smacked him there and then.

Instead, you kept your expression stable and said, "I'll have a martini, please."

He nodded and returned his attention to the bartender, "An old fashioned and a martini." He requested. When the bartender had his back turned, Bucky gazed back at the pretty thing of interest. "I've never seen you here before."

"I'm meeting a friend." You lied before staring down at your watch. "At least I'm meant to be, they're late."

"Well, if you don't mind, I can keep you company." He didn't wait for your answer before slipping into the bar stool beside you.

"Of course, I don't."

Two drinks landed in front of you. Bucky thanked the man and tipped him ten times the amount any normal person would. But Bucky Barnes wasn't just anyone. He was rich with dirty money and had half of New York at his beck and call. "Cheers," He raised his glass, clinking it with your own.

Your brother always taught you to be careful around your drinks. He showed you how easy the enemies of the job could slip something in, to take advantage. And that worry laid heavy on your mind as you watched Bucky take his first sip. You barely let your lips touch the glass before placing it back on the bar. "So what do I call you?"

Another thing Tony had taught you was to never give your real name. "Natalie." Was the first thing you thought of; the same alias Natasha used. "And you?"

Bucky wasn't quite as smart. Or maybe he was just egotistical and liked the idea of the pretty girl calling his name. "Bucky." He nodded.

Your eyes flickered back over to his men who were still situated in the booth, throwing back neat whisky like it went down the same as water. They wouldn't be able to do much in that state. "You sure your friends don't mind you spending your time over here with me?" You queried.

Bucky smiled at the thought, "Please, they're too busy fighting over what gun has the best range." You doubted that was a lie. Maybe most other girls would have thought so, some maybe even laughed, but not you. "We can always join them if you'd like."

At that, you jumped, your hand practically crawling at his forearm for him to stay. "No," You spoke, almost too stern. "I like being here." You plastered that smirk back onto your face.

Bucky sank into his seat, not hiding the way his eyes followed your nails toward your body in that dress. "Good," He whispered.

You slowly let your hand slide away from his skin, "So what is that you do? Other than argue over other weapons?" You let the conversation change to something you might be able to get information on.

"Business."

"A bit vague, isn't it?" You jabbed for him to speak more. But, the best way to do that, was to put him at ease. For him to be far more interested in something else other than what he was saying. So your hand returned to his forearm, gently caressing against his skin. "I mean, you look like you must do something important." You smiled his way, not letting your eyes drop from his body.

"Importing." He finally answered and you realised you were getting somewhere.

So you let your hand slowly drag down his biceps which, while any other girl might have found hot, you were already calculating how hard his punch would hit against your face. "Hm, and what is it you import?" You questioned.

To your expectation, he was watching your movement carefully, a smirk plastered at his lips. "You ask a lot of questions."

You shrugged, moving your hand further and further down till it reached his finger tips, grazing across them. "You seem like an interesting man." You muttered.

"Maybe I want to know about you." He returned, leaning forward enough to put a hand to your thigh. But rather than finding your skin, his fingers hit something hard and metallic. The very weapon you had there, just in case. Your hand fell from his entirely, feeling his body tense at the touch of betrayal. You didn't move. "You should have known better than to come into my bar, in my city, with a silly little weapon like that." 

He was still. The man made no move for his own weapon that you were certain he was hiding under his blazer jacket. So, instead, you moved first. Your hand reached out, gripping at his brunette locks before forcing his head onto the marble bar side. A clash sounded at the impact. Enough to alert the rest of the customers who started screeching for help.

You rushed backwards, hand gripping at the gun that had outed you. Bucky stood from the bar stool, his hand wiping away at the blood which dripped from his forehead. Anger seethed in his pupils. Enough to make you search for cover as you caught the way his hand reached into his jacket pocket as you expected. "Move!" You ordered a group of college students.

Bullets whipped passed your head as you watched the rest of Bucky's men join in. Luckily, all the neat whiskeys had made their aim lazy. In the nick of time, you threw a table over onto its side and you covered your body against it, feeling every bullet which hit the wooden surface. The only thing protecting you from life and death.

Your hand pressed against the earpiece Natasha had given you, "Hey, you guys hearing this?"

"What the hell did you do?" The woman chimed in first as you leaned slightly over the top of the table to get a shot. One of which you assumed you missed as the bullets continued.

"Are you okay?" Asked Steve.

"Just one of you get in here please!" You begged.

You didn't understand the reply, but you liked to assume one of your friends were on their way. By now, most of the other customers had rushed out from the bar, the staff hidden in the back as the firing continued until the men started to run out of bullets. Despite their array of weapons, they weren't prepared for one girl to ruin their Friday night drinks. So without any extra ammo, they were left with one option: hand-to-hand combat.

When the firing stopped, your head looked above the wood once again, watching as Rumlow handed Barnes one of his daggers. You stood, kicking the table back in the way of Barnes. You raised your gun, an easy shot if you dared to take it. "You, silly little girl." Bucky spat.

Your head tilted at him and the rest of the men who had no way of hurting her anymore. Not when she was the only one with any ammo left. "Really? Looks to me that I'm the one with the upper hand." You pointed out.

The front door to the bar swung open. Out of instinct, they each held up their guns, without the ability to shoot at the red-headed Russian. "Let's go!" She ordered.

You gave Bucky one last victory glance before running back over to Natasha and exiting the bar unscathed. It had certainly been one way to welcome you to the job. 

---

"This has got to be a fucking joke?"

The stern expressions that faced you suggested they were all in fact serious. After years of war and bloodshed, this was their only solution for peace. "You want me- me to marry Barnes? That's-" You laughed at the idea of a domestic life alongside Bucky Barnes. It was such a stupid idea, you seriously couldn't imagine it. "That's obscene."

"It's tactical." Natasha offered.

To which, you gazed over at her as she stood beside the desk where Tony sat. His office was always filled by henchmen and paperwork. "Why aren't you the one marrying him then? Why do I get the short straw?"

"Because I'm not a Stark." She made a good point; a Stark marrying a Barnes would be more of a statement. The two names which battled over New York coming together through a marriage.

"It's the only way to keep everyone safe." Tony reasoned, making your eyes roll.

You scoffed, "Safe? Are you kidding me?" You couldn't image anything more dangerous than sleeping beside Bucky Barnes. "I would rather have that man stab me through the heart than put a flashy ring on his finger and call him mine!"

Steve, who had been quiet ever since the news dropped, finally met your eyes. "You don't have a choice."

Your breath fell hot when it left your tongue. These people, your family, your closest friends, suddenly taking control of your life for the sake of business. With no thought on how you would take it. Even now, despite your obvious distaste for the idea, they were pushing it. So it should have been expected when you faced the blonde man only to raise your hand, letting a slap fall firm against his cheek. 

You hated the sting on your palm as you faced Steve's huff as he settled in the pain. But maybe it was deserved. To have been used for years to do nothing but the small jobs, arranging staff, but never being at the forefront of the job. Suddenly, they were throwing you in the deep end. The worse of the worse: to marry Bucky Barnes. You left them with one thought, "I won't do it."

[bandaidrights]

So I hc fem ratio has a head of beautiful, full, gorgeous curls right, but it's always up because she's too busy to make it look nice

But one night, there was this IPC formal event, yk dresses and stuff. Aventurine invited her as her date and told her to make herself look nice

Ratio showed up with the most gorgeous curls you have ever seen, a dress with cleavage (ofc have u seen ratios actual outfit), and heels that circled around her lower leg.

Aventurine had never seen her actual hair, like seen it done and made look nice and she almost took Ratio somewhere else to do a lil smoochie smoochie alone but she coulrnt cuz she had to be there

Ratio was then begged to show aven her routine, aven wanted to learn so maybe one day she can do it for her, as a lil pampering session

-

I have curls and I've been watching curly girl videos all day and that just made me think of curly girl ratio, I love her, someone draw her with beautiful curls please

[diagonal-queen]

Omg you're backkkk<3 I hope uni's going well for you!

Maybe the Hunting Dogs with a s/o who's kind of mean/petty?

Hunting Dogs with a mean S/O

♡ pairing: Fukuchi Ouchi, Jouno Saigiku, Tecchou Suehiro, Teruko Okura (platonic), Tachihara Michizou x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How are the Hunting Dogs with a mean and petty S/O?

♡ cw: Swearing, u r a BULLY >:((, dw it's pretty chill though, non-graphic NSFW with Jouno, teensy bit of NSFW with Tachihara, mentions of violence, crime and torture

note: ahhh hello yes i'm back! uni's pretty great actually. i love being able to tell people i go to law school lmao, it makes me feel smarter than i am. uhh but i've been swamped and a bit busy, and i'm going back home for a week so i might not be super active over the next couple weeks, i'm so sorry my babies </3 but i'll still be lurking in case you wanna chat! as always, apologies for errors and i hope you enjoy x

Fukuchi:

Mf you think he cares?? He hired Jouno and Tachihara because they committed crimes, and he's more than happy to keep Teruko around. Bro doesn't give a FUCK that you're mean

If you're dating Fukuchi you clearly do give a shit about the welfare of society and world peace, so your individual quirks are just that. Quirks

He will fully let you just be a dickhead sometimes, because...like, why not?

I feel like Fukuchi is obviously often a very intimidating individual who strikes fear and commands respect from everyone else. But you? You just walk all over him

In some ways for him it's probably kind of refreshing to have someone around him who doesn't idolise him at all, or look up to him as a superior. It gets exhausting, for sure. Sometimes he just wants to be humbled and that's so okay Fukuchi, you deserve it actually /mean-spirited and condescending

Don't get me wrong it's not like you're an abusive partner! You're still obviously nice to your partner and you love him, but you definitely don't go out of your way to sugarcoat things or try to avoid any necessary confrontations

And Fukuchi genuinely really respects that about you. He's pretty similar like that, though still definitely goofier than you

I mean he won't want you sitting around with an RBF when he's at formal events and whatnot, because that really wouldn't have the best impression, but he's usually very gung ho about letting you be yourself

You're lucky he loves you man...lmao

Jouno:

He loves it. Full stop.

You two are just sadist central over here. Like he'll be torturing a suspect and you're just watching. Bored. Not a care in the world

(Jouno, I don't think you're legally allowed to invite your partner to watch you do your job- much less one like this, but...eh...)

You two are always just talking shit about people to each other, and like when you're out in public on dates you're just whispering to each other and judging people T-T

Lowkey kinda gets turned on when you guys argue. He thinks it's hot when you get heated and angry. Usually it ends in rough "passionate hugging", and the pillowtalk is when you both actually resolve the issue (dumbasses)

He might even purposefully rile you up sometimes because mf is just THAT much of a horny degenerate. You guys can call him classy and gentlemanly all you want, but we all know he's secretly deranged

Like an angry, horny goblin with a knife...someone stop him

Tbh you should probably bully him a little bit every now and then. I think he needs to be taken down a peg sometimes

Hey, he's more likely to listen to you than Tecchou, isn't he? Besides, it's nothing genuinely malicious. Just couple's banter

Oh, you guys are fucking LEGENDS at the couple's banter. Though you never do it in public, because a lot of the times the things you both tell each other as jokes can come off as really cruel jabs

Nah your senses of humour are just not family-friendly (violent and malicious)

You guys have very strange ways of showing your love and affection. But, hey, it works for you and that's what's important :)

Tecchou:

Ah yes, arguably the least meanie of all of the Hunting Dogs. Yeah uh he doesn't really like you at first

Tecchou doesn't understand being mean just for the sake of it. I mean like, for Teruko, she uses it in her career, and Jouno is sadistic and weird and also uses it in his career. You're just petty because you can be

But the more time you spend together the more he realises that you're really not that bad- you're really just more of the loveable asshole type

An acquired taste, yes, but this is Tecchou we're talking about! That's his thing!

He learns to appreciate the things about you that many others would probably consider flaws. He influences you for the better definitely...

...BUT you also kinda make him worse

He will adopt your 'deal with it bitch' attitude sometimes, but it doesn't hinder his relationships or work so it's fiiiiine

(Jouno isn't a huge fan of it though...but at the same time he kind of respects you)

Tecchou probably won't admit it but he really likes to listen to you rant and bitch about people you don't like. He just likes to listen to you be angry about trivial things, he finds it equal parts endearing and entertaining

If you're mean to someone who deserves it? Well I mean...who is he to stop you?

At the end of the day you're definitely emotionally self-sufficient, so that's one less part of you for him to fret over. All's well that ends well or some shit idk

Teruko (platonic):

You guys are literally the best of friends

She's the loud fiery kind of mean and you are the 'I will straight up meticulously ruin your life' kind of mean

You on some r/nuclearrevenge type shit and she fucking loves that for you

Like she's fully willing to plot and scheme with you and do whatever mean shit you suggest. You two are menaces and she should absolutely not be a military soldier

Teruko WILL smite your enemies. And by smite your enemies I mean she will actively do what she can to ruin the lives of people you don't like, with absolutely no remorse (pretty sure she actually commits crimes to do this)

She LIVES for your cruel one-liners and clever insults. Every time she hears one she absolutely hollers

Teruko enjoys it when you're mean to the other Hunting Dogs (except Fukuchi). They can handle a couple bitchy words so it's not a huge deal, but she's just extra amused by it

For the record you're not *mean* mean, you're just...humbling them (which let's be real they could use from time to time (Jouno, again, looking at you))

Nobody is surprised by your guys' friendship really

You're a dangerous pair. Please stop

Teruko kinda likes that you hold grudges so frequently because she'll never tire of hearing you shittalk the same exact people and events over and over again

She'll shittalk them too

Dia doesn't approve of this friendship

Tachihara:

You guys know that scene in B99 where Jake says that he can't decide if he's scared of Amy or turned on by her and then decides that he's both? Yea, that's Tachihara with you

He is a good person at heart, and outside of his mafia gangster persona he's really not that mean, and as such he does not encourage mean behaviour. But like, when you do it? Mm...

Bro is WHIPPED

Lowkey he probably gets some of his mafia persona ideas from you 💀

His mafia coworkers have no questions about how you two get along, and they generally like you. The other Hunting Dogs have a few more questions

Tachihara isn't some shy, quiet introvert, but he is generally pretty chill and a nice person. They like to playfully tease him about how different the two of you are (though if it gets too far he knows he can count on you to rip them a new one with no issue)

Dw they still like you though! Especially Teruko

He has absolutely no problems with you for being cold and blunt. It's nothing he himself can't handle, and in some ways it actually makes talking to you easier

Again, I'll stress that you're not mean to him, you're just not the most lovey-dovey person out there. But you DO put effort in and that's what Tachihara cares about, even if it isn't in a stereotypical way

If anything else, you're certainly loyal!

Tachihara loves you for all of your different eccentricities, and he's also kinda turned on by them. Win-win? Win-win.

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco, @pinkiipeachiikeen

[sycamore55]

Chapter One- The road gets tough

Vi x f!reader

Contains- fem reader, Vi & reader as teenagers, friends to lovers (adjacent), slowburn, reader is Ekko's sister/benzo's kid,

WC: 3.37k

Trigger Warning(s): violence, sexual harassment (sorta)

A/N- Hiii lovelies! So this is actually the first chapter I've ever written, so please don't come for me if it's crap 😭. Based off of the events of season 1, but this chapter doesn't contain spoilers. Mentions of baby timebomb (bc I could not shut up about them if I wanted to), some dialogue from the show

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The road was tough. You knew that well enough by now.

Life in Zaun was tough for everyone. Life was tough for you when your parents split in search of a better life for yourself. Life was tough when you found your way to Benzo's shop, trying to find work so you could feed yourself. Life was tough when you met the small boy who already worked at Benzo's, and took him under your wing. No complaints there though; Ekko was like your little brother at this point. He was always there to help you out and cheer you up, even though he was a few years younger than you.

Over time, the shop became a home to you. It started with small things, like the way the front door creaked faintly whenever a customer opened it, or the smell of candle wax whenever the city began to dim. Benzo, even, became like a father to you. He had taken care of you when no one else had.

But yeah, life was still tough. Especially in the undercity. And most days, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were more alone than ever.

That was, until you met Vi.

By the time it happened, you already knew of her. You knew Vander just from around the shop. He came by often to chat with Benzo, and although he never formally met you, he was hard to miss. Ekko had told you about Vander's kids. You knew there were four of them, two boys and two girls.

The youngest girl was about a year younger than Ekko, and her name was Powder. He told you the most about her out of the four. You were always curious about the other kids, but it wasn't that big of a deal.

The day you met Vi began like any other day. You got up, pulled your raggedy jacket over your shoulders, shivering slightly. You lit a candle and quietly made your way to the first floor, where the shop was, careful not to wake up Ekko as you left the small room you shared.

You opened the shop up with Benzo, and plopped down on a stool behind the counter, greeting and helping the various customers who came in to buy or sell their things. You didn't ask questions about where the customers found the items they sold.

A few hours later, Ekko switched out with you to manage the counter, and you went to go restock the shelves. You hardly paid any mind as four teenagers entered the store.

"Hi Ekko!" A high pitched voice you didn't recognize said. You kept your head down, focused on your work. You picked up a broken watch, sitting down in the corner of the shop to try to fix it.

"Hey Pow!" Ekko responded. At the sound of the nickname, you looked up from the device. The sight that met you was four teenagers that you didn't recognize. The girl talking to Ekko was the smallest, maybe about eleven years old, with blue hair pulled back in a choppy braid. There were two other boys there too, roughly about the same age as you. But the person that caught your eye was a girl, about your age too. Her short pink hair was shaved off on one half of her head, and her piercing crystal blue eyes were scanning the room.

For a split second, her eyes caught yours. You felt your breath catch in your throat as you stared at her for a moment, before quickly looking back down at the gadget in your hands. A faint blush lightly dusted your cheeks. Even if Vi did notice, she didn't say anything about it. She kept looking at you for a moment longer, before turning her head away.

When they had gone, Ekko came over to where you sat. "Why didn't you say hi to them?"

You looked up at him. "I don't know, little man. I was working on this." You help up the small gadget you had been tinkering with for him to see. He just smirked at you in response.

"So how come you were looking at Vi then?" You felt your cheeks heat up as a cheeky grin decorated his face.

"I look at most of the people who come in the shop," you responded quickly. "How come you were talking with the girl with blue hair? Powder, you said?" Your blush faded as you watched his expression fade from the cocky smile to a flustered, defensive expression.

"That's, we're not-" He cleared his throat, trying to reign in some of his embarrassment. "That's different. You don't even know Vi, but you were making googly eyes at her."

You rolled your eyes at him, shoving his shoulder. "Okay, very funny. Why don't you go hang out with your girlfriend?"

"Why don't you go hang out with yours?" He threw one last smirk your way, before heading back behind the counter. You sighed, but felt your lips purse to hold back a small smile.

You hadn't even spoken a single word to her. To be fair, you were much newer to living with Benzo than Ekko was, and he already knew all of them.

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The city was unusually quiet as Vi made her way home from Benzo's, her siblings in tail. Just like usual, Mylo and Powder made their little jabs at each other, and just like usual, Claggor sighed each time it happened. Vi didn't pay it much mind though. She kept her guard up, staying focused on the road ahead, eyeing any suspicious people she saw.

"Vi!" Her head snapped around, zoning back in as Mylo sped up to walk next to her. "So, are we taking the job or what?"

"Yeah. Probably," she sighed, using the back of her bandaged hand to brush a small strand of hair away from her eyes.

"Well, I think we should!" Powder chirped up. "Ekko said that it would be a really good job." Vi managed a weak smile for her sister, before looking forward again. She stayed silent for the remainder of the walk back.

As they approached the Last Drop, the volume of the patrons grew louder. Vi pushed the door open, letting the others walk in before her. As it thumped closed behind her, she kept her eyes down, making her way down to the basement. She sighed quietly as she flopped back down on the couch, watching the others settle into their normal places.

While they chatted, then argued, and played their various games, Vi's mind spun back to the visit to Benzo's shop, earlier that day. She knew that Benzo took care of another kid in addition to Ekko, but she had never seen you before today. It was kind of surprising that she knew Ekko so well, but had never met you before to her. The memory of your hands delicately tinkering with the watch replayed in her mind. Even though she didn't know you, she couldn't help but grow more and more curious about you. Her thoughts were cut off by a frustrated sigh from Mylo.

"What?" She asked, looking back up at the others.

"Oh nothing, just Powder causing problems. As usual," he replied with a scowl on his face.

"It's not my fault!" Powder protested.

"She left her monkey bomb at Benzo's," Claggor said quietly to Vi. Vi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"It's fine, I can go get it for you," she mumbled tiredly.

"Now?" Mylo raised an eyebrow at her. "It's almost night." Vi pushed herself up off the couch.

"It'll be fine. I'll be back." Without another word, she headed up the stairs. Some time to herself would probably be good anyway. She had a lot of decisions to make, especially about the job that Ekko had offered them.

She felt her fists unconsciously clench, the rough bandages scraping her knuckles. As she headed back out into the street, she pulled her hood back up over her head, and kept her eyes down, focused on the ground ahead of her.

Yeah, life in Zaun was definitely tough.

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Later that night, you had gone out on a supply run for the store. Although it was dangerous to go alone at that time, you hadn't really had another option. Benzo was over at The Last Drop with Vander, but he had left a small bit of money so you and Ekko could have some food.

You kept your head down but your gaze up, and stayed on high alert as you walked over the dirt-crusted brick streets of Zaun. You pulled your thin jacket a little tighter around your shoulders as a breeze wafted through the air. You continued walking, one foot in front of the other. A small exhale of relief escaped your lips as you reached the market. Although nowhere in Zaun was relatively safe, the market was crowded, and better lit than the dark alleys you had taken to reach it.

You moved through the market, occasionally waving slightly to the vendors that you knew. It was always nice to see a familiar face, and it gave you a slight sense of comfort to know that there were some good people who actually gave a damn.

Once you had bought the food that you could manage to with the small amount of money, you stashed in the small bag you carried with you, hiding it under the wrinkles of your jacket. Noticing that the sun had set on the city, you sped up, wanting to make sure you got back to Benzo's as soon as possible.

As you turned a corner into an alley, you spotted a small group of boys up ahead. Unconsciously, your arms tensed, holding the bag tighter to your side. As you kept walking, one of the boys spotted you.

"Hey, check it out," he called to his friends, a disgusting smile on his face. Your jaw clenched as your walking speed slowed, remaining on guard as the four boys started to move towards you. You stopped as they formed a circle around you.

"What've we got here?" one of the boys practically snarled at you. You felt a cold feeling run down your spine as you heard the scratching sound of a knife being pulled out of its sheath.

Every inch of your body was screaming at you to run, to get as far away from them as you possibly could. Your hands clenched into fists by your sides as one of the boys circled you, almost tauntingly.

There were only three of them, so if you got the chance, you could run, you thought. If you had the chance. You kept your bag tucked beneath your jacket, holding onto it firmly.

"And what have you got there?" You took a step back as one of the boys traced the strap of the bag that was slung around your shoulder, smirking at you. "Care to share, pretty?"

When you didn't respond, his expression shifted to something more sour. "Cat got your tongue? We're not asking." The other two boys stayed close behind him, slowly backing you into the wall.

Before they could get any closer, you quickly took off, ducking under the boy's arm and sprinting away in the other direction. He grabbed onto your arm, but you kept running until you shook off his grasp.

Your shoulder slammed into the rough cement of the wall as you turned a corner. Your breathing grew faster and lighter as you kept running, with the group of boys running after you. You kept your feet pushing forward faster and faster. The bag swung back and forth, bumping against your hip. You kept your grip on it tight.

Suddenly, the wind was knocked out of you as you felt something crash into your back, knocking you against the wall. One of the boys pressed his elbow on your shoulder and pressed the blunt end of his knife to your throat.

"You gonna let us see what you got there now?" The boy rasped, still breathing heavily from the chase. Your heart was beating rapidly, your breath still miles ahead of you.

Still holding the knife to your throat as the other two boys caught up to where you were, he snatched the bag away from you, tossing it back to one of the other boys. You struggled to reach out for the bag, but the boy pressed the knife harder against your neck.

"She's kinda pretty, huh," one of the boys smirked. He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his nail scratching the edge of your jaw. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, as the blood in your veins went ice cold.

"Yeah, she is," the other boy smirked.

Shit, you thought.

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Vi was walking down the lanes, still lost in her own head as she watched the shadows. For reasons she couldn't put her finger on, your face kept flashing in her mind. She didn't know why you two hadn't met yet, considering Vander had told her that Benzo was taking in another kid months ago. She had always been curious about you, and putting a face to the name Powder had told her about only heightened her curiosity.

Vi sighed, pushing the memory of your face out of her mind. She had plenty to worry about without distracting herself with mindless rabbit hole chases.

Truth be told, Vi usually had a lot on her mind almost a hundred percent of the time, and not a lot of time to get a breath of fresh air. Literally. The air in Zaun was polluted and filthy, and she hated watching her siblings have to breathe it. Powder and Mylo and Claggor, and even Ekko were the most important people in her life.

Between taking care of them, she had enough to worry about for any rational person, let alone someone her age. She was constantly trying to be the best sister she could, while figuring out how to survive in the Undercity and hoping for a better future.

She had grown up constantly looking up at Piltover, knowing that they were above her. That her place was down in Zaun. She wanted her siblings to have more than that, and she was willing to fight for it.

She would do anything to protect them, no matter what. Even if it meant fighting for them. Vi was a fighter. This was her life, and even though it was tough, she could handle it. But sometimes, in secret, when she lay awake in the dead of night, she wished that someone would fight for her too.

The whirlwind of thoughts spinning in her mind were cut off when she heard a voice cry out up ahead. Her head snapped up, some of the color draining from her face as she saw one of the boys pressing you against the wall.

Her stomach twisted in a knot as she saw you, before she quickly rushed over to you. "Hey, get off of her!" she shouted at them. One of boys snapped his head to where Vi was, and turned to face her, raising his fists in front of his face.

You heard the sickening crunch of his jaw as Vi landed a punch to his ribs, shoving him out of the way. The second boy lunged at her, throwing a somewhat sloppy punch towards her face. Vi didn't doge it, but she did tilt her head, and so most of the strength of the punch was absorbed by her face.

She staggered back a few steps, before she regained her balance and threw another punch at him. Her fist connected with his jaw, and he stumbled back, holding one hand to the side of his face.

With the knife still pressed to your throat, you watched her fight the two other boys. Although you wouldn't have expected it from looking at her, you noticed how good of a fighter she was.

Despite the gravity of the situation, you couldn't help but be somewhat entranced by how fluid her movements were, and how natural she made it all seem. As the fight continued, she took a few hits, but kept fighting. At some point the first boy's grip on the knife slipped for a split second. You felt a sharp sting on the side of your neck.

The whole time, you stayed frozen, unable to move, tears pooling behind your eyes. You could probably have tried to fight back, or push him off, but your body just wouldn't move. You were hyperventilating now, your body going into an almost full fledged panic mode. You couldn't move your arms, and you couldn't run away. You were trapped, not only physically, but inside your head.

Your mental spiral was interrupted when you felt the knife suddenly disappear from its place on your throat, and the boy who was pinning you against the wall was thrown to the other side of the alley. You watched, still in shock and unable to move, as Vi pushed him away from you. The other two boys were bloodied and bruised, and one of their noses looked crooked.

With the edge of your vision now blurry, and still faded from tears, you watched the three boys run down the alley, disappearing around a corner. Vi stayed standing with her fists clenched, watching them go, before she turned to you. You felt your legs wobbling as you wrapped one of your arms around your stomach.

When they were gone, Vi quickly turned back to you. A dark bruise was forming on her cheek, and her lip was split. "Are you alright?" she asked you, her voice surprisingly gentle. Your hands were still shaking, your heart was still pounding in your chest, and you could still feel your stomach twisted in a knot.

You couldn't manage any words, but you nodded slightly, not meeting her eyes. Your head was spinning now, as a rush of heat ran through your body.

"You're bleeding," Vi whispered quietly. She gently held on to your arm, keeping you steady and standing.

You weakly raised your palm to your neck, feeling a warm, sticky liquid dripping down onto your shirt. As you pulled your hand away, your eyes were met with the sight of red smeared on your hand. You felt a strong pulsing in your head, as your limbs grew wearier.

"Shit," Vi cursed under her breath. You felt her arm quickly wrap around your waist, pulling your limp body to crash on top of her as your world went black.

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end note: heyy so if you've made it this far, thank you so much! I'm about to have an insanely busy week so it might be a minute before I post the next chapter, but it will come, I promise you 🫶

[ckret2]

I know you semi hyperfixation is/was on samurai jack, and ppg was only related for the au, but do you have any hcs on ppg you want to share?

Okay sure. PPG was my show when I was like, nine—there's a distinct possibility I read more fanfics about PPG than about any other fandoms except Invader Zim & Transformers—plus I just rewatched the entirety of PPG in a failed effort to distract myself from Samurai Jack, so I've got a few fresh ones:

— There has been at least one wild one-night stand between Prof. Utonium and Him. I don't know when, I don't know how, but it's happened, and then they just tacitly agreed to never talk about it. No emotions involved, purely just sex. They both enjoyed it, they both regret it, and they'd both do it again.

so, now that I have your attention,

— Most of the people who live & work nearest to Mojo's volcano are like, weirdly fond of him.

Sure if he comes into your store there's a 50% chance he'll steal his weekly groceries but there's also a 50% chance he'll forget he's supposed to be evil and actually pay for them. He's either DELIBERATELY a menace because that's his thing, or else he's grumpy yet extremely formal and polite. And he has such interesting stuff at his garage sales. And he HAS saved the world a few times, he's not so bad! And let's be real: a chimp walking around in a little suit and a little cape is ADORABLE.

When you're that close to his lair you see him just going about his normal daily business WAY more often than you see him doing his supervillain stuff (and you might even be comparatively safe there, since if he's got some new giant robot, he usually won't start kicking down buildings where they might fall on his own lair), so everyone just sorta got used to him.

Now they miss him when he's in jail. When he comes back to one of his regular haunts after a long absence people will go "Hey, Mojo, you're back! Didja break out again or get out early for good behavior?" "What an asinine question that is, the answer to which would be obvious if you stopped for a moment to consider the personality and temperament of the person to whom you are addressing it, which is me. I BROKE out!" "Haha, that's our Mojo!"

Mojo has NO idea the neighbors like him.

Also I like writing his dialogue.

— I don't think conquering/ruling the world actually appeals to Him that much. Yeah, it's CURRENTLY his goal; but I think he just wants as many people to suffer as possible, and recognizes that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. If that means he needs to wear the crown, then so be it.

But if somebody else sufficiently evil conquered the world first and made everybody sufficiently miserable, he wouldn't intervene, he'd just sit back and let 'em rule. This is great. Free buffet.

— When I first watched the show as a kid, I was inexplicably fascinated by Him. Something about Him just compelled me in a way that was instinctively familiar—familiar in the sense of part of the family—but that I was incapable of expressing in words.

This is because, at 9 years old, I did not know about queer people. But even so, in my heart of hearts, I already knew that demon was queer as hell.

But now it's 2025 and we can get a lot more specific than that.

I don't think anybody's gonna be surprised if I say I headcanon Him as having some kinda genderfluid-genderfucky nonbinary thing going on. He strikes me as the exact polar opposite of the agender, genderless, androgynous side of the trans umbrella; he's like, maximum gender. As much gender as possible. Not always the same gender but at LEAST one gender at all times, often more. Primarily juggling male and female but if you hand Him a fresh new gender he'll try it on for a few days to see how he likes it. However if you hand Him a neopronoun he'll toss it in the trash. He uses he/Him pronouns ONLY, regardless of what his gender is up to.

No idea what his orientation is. Only that it includes Prof Utonium.

— Just to cover both sides, I feel obligated to mention that Prof Utonium is 99% sure he's straight.

Was 99% sure he's straight.

— Trace amounts of Chemical X sometimes get in the water and/or food supply. (Not due to Prof. Utonium; he's getting his supply from somewhere else and that's where the accidental poisoning comes from too.) Chemical X can build up in the body like heavy metals.

Unlike taking an acute short-term dose of Chemical X, which gives you powers then wears off quickly, long-term low-grade Chemical X poisoning that results in bits getting permanently incorporated in the body can cause symptoms that include, most commonly, turning people green; but at the low doses you'd get from ingesting tiny bits of it slowly, it typically doesn't grant any power, you just get weird symptoms. And this is why there are just,, randomly some green people running around in Townsville. Hence: the Gangreen Gang.

Obviously, Mojo's also green due to permanently having Chemical X in his biology, but he DID get a big enough dose to get (brain) power. The girls are about the only people with Chemical X permanently in their system that AREN'T green, due to their other ingredients balancing it out.

— this isn't an actual current headcanon but when I was nine I convinced myself that Snake was, like, cool & smart & actually had charisma. lol. lmfao. this is what happens when you're a small child who really likes snakes: you see a snake and you WANT him to be cool.

— I think as adults the Powerpuff Girls have grown fingers and toes. Their bodies are still pretty weird in other ways, like they still have the bug eyes and disproportionately short torsos compared to their arms/legs, but for some reason missing fingers/toes strikes me as a juvenile trait.

Unfortunately, this means that when their normal classmates are dealing with puberty symptoms like zits and hair growing in weird places and bra shopping, THEY'RE dealing with puberty symptoms like weird little nubby fingers and toes. You know how babies teethe and it's a miserable painful affair? That's how the girls get fingernails. It's uncomfortable and soooo embarrassing. They're wearing mittens to class in August.

Buttercup is in her edgy preteen phase and going HEY YOU WANNA SEE WHICH ONE OF MINE'S THE LONGEST NOW?? 🖕

That winter for the first time they get gloves with fingers, and are confused that they don't also get socks with toes.

Their handwriting is horrible for the next few months.

— If you stick all the local villains together in a big room, eventually Mojo and Him will drift over to each other and start shit talking everyone else in the room.

— All three girls go through a supervillain phase before they reach adulthood. Like, actual voluntary supervillain phase, not like when Bubbles knocked her head and thought she was Mojo.

Buttercup's comes first, to nobody's surprise. Let's be real, she's already having micro-supervillain phases as a kindergartener, and the local villains have the dental records to prove it. She might even have more than one villain phase.

Lotta things could triggered it—hanging out with a bad, "cool" crowd? Greed? Just, angry at the world? Frustration with their recurring villains and deciding to deal with them more permanently? Got in a fight with Prof. Utonium and shouted "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME, NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!" and flew out of the house and an hour later half of downtown's on fire? Side effect of that demonic bargain she performed to become Mange? Why does nobody ever talk about that demonic bargain.

— Bubbles has hers next. Her love of cute animals progressively expands to include a broader and broader range of animals, until it includes the kaiju of Monster Isle. She starts refusing to fight them, then fights Buttercup and Blossom when THEY fight them, and THEN she just flies to Monster Isle, declares that she's moving there and joining them, and says from now on she's protecting them from ALL threats. Including Townsville. Naturally, they run rampant.

Bubbles's supervillain phase lasts the longest of the girls. She remains close friends with the monsters after that. She still refuses to fight them, but now if she goes "pllleease stop destroying the city, if you do and I don't stop you I'm gonna get in troubllle 🥺" they'll usually go all right okay fine. If the monster's in town specifically looking for a sparring match with the girls they'll willingly relocate out of town for the fight, now that the monsters can just ask for a match rather than have to goad the girls into it.

She might get a job working with the monsters after graduation.

— Blossom's supervillain phase is the last and most devastating.

She tries to take over the world.

She's the smartest, she's the best leader, she knows what it would take to make the world a better place, if everybody would just listen to her then she could make everything perfect, AND IF THEY WON'T CHOOSE TO LISTEN TO HER, THEN MAYBE SHE SHOULD FORCE THEM TO.

Mojo's like "Now YOU understand how I feel EVERY SINGLE DAY!"

He's genuinely impressed by the planning and intricacy of her evil scheme. He thereafter starts calling her up to workshop his own evil schemes before he executes them and she always goes "Mojooo I gave up villainy, I'm NOT gonna help you with your plot" and then she helps him with his plot. Because if somebody's doing something wrong she's irresistibly compelled to correct them.

It's 50/50 whether she then tells his scheme to the other girls.

— Now, I don't say this very often. I consider this a high honor that I award only to the most worthy and well-qualified. But I think there's compelling canonical evidence to support the theory that Mojo Jojo is an AuDHD king.

— You know how sometimes the kinks that people develop are a response to the traumas & taboos that happened to be twisting around in their heads when their libidos were developing, and so they end up with kinks that either lean into or buck against the fucked up stuff they dealt with as kids and being able to reinterpret that part of their life in a safe sexual context helps them reclaim a little power over those situations?

On a completely different topic, you know that one episode with that super sweet and charming substitute teacher Mr. Green who loves children and brings cookies to class and is always kind and caring and patient, and also he's a fanged horned green monster who dresses like an evil wizard? And he kindly and caringly and patiently teaches the Powerpuff Girls—right after they tried to attack him—that you can't judge people by their appearances, even "icky" "ugly" monsters? Remember him?

You think he's probably been getting treated like that his whole life for being a nice monster?

So anyway Mr. Green has a super secret very embarrassing erotic fantasy about being a noble knight in shining armor slaying a terrible evil monster. Sexually. With his "sword." And also a literal sword.

Which he feels horribly guilty about. He knows how awfully monsters are treated! He is one! Why would he get off to leaning into the worst propaganda? But hey, you don't get to choose what kinks your brain hands you.

So on weekends he hangs out around Townsville's gay scene quietly searching for a huge terrifying-looking monster who likes to bottom and has a humiliating erotic fantasy about being slain by a hero.

— way back in 2002, Mojo's sob story to manipulate the girls in the movie totally worked on me too. I forever after believed deep in my heart that Mojo should become a good guy and reconcile with the Powerpuff Girls. (AND LOOK WHO WAS RIGHT. LOOK WHO WAS RIGHT! 9-YEAR-OLD ME VINDICATED, BABY!!! sorry I only just saw Powerpuff Girls Rule for the first time like three days ago and I'm still riding that high.)

Anyway, over 20 years later, Mojo's sob story in the movie is STILL working on me. And I'm STILL heartbroken that Prof Utonium rejected his accidental simian son even though Mojo was just trying to manipulate him, too. I want that chimp to get unconditional love and acceptance poured on him until it seeps through the aloof supervillain shell he's built around his heart, and I want it NOW!

And even if he stays a villain, I want the Utonium family to fully acknowledge him as their weird estranged son & brother! He should get invited to family dinners, dammit! He should get a birthday party with the girls! Technically he wasn't born that day, but I doubt anybody kept hold of the records of when Jojo was actually born, so it's close enough!

[archangeldyke-all]

Omg

Sev and reader introducing little fucker to Silco after she’s born?? My heart🥹

GAWDDDDD

men and minors dni

silco's always been better with children than with adults. they make more sense to him. children are up front, they say what they mean, they don't lie. they're simple. they're easy to please. a card trick, a coin pulled from behind their ear-- that's all it takes to get a kid smiling and laughing and squealing.

so, when silco finds out that his best friend is expecting: he's thrilled.

i've mentioned this before, but silco actually makes himself the godfather of your kid. obviously; you guys were going to ask him to be the godfather anyways, but you were going to ask after the baby was born.

silco showed up on your doorstep when you were five months pregnant, a box of diapers on his hip, a cardboard box with a crib printed on it propped up on the wall beside him.

"silco? it's saturday, do you and sev have a weekend meeting?" you ask, worried. silco chuckles and walks into your house like he owns it.

"no, dear, i'm here to begin my godfatherly duties. sevika told me you haven't gotten a crib for the nursery yet, and it's never too early to start a stock of diapers." he says, handing you the box of diapers and starting to drag the boxed crib inside after him.

he's a huge help during the pregnancy, surprisingly. he's always letting sevika take time off-- to go to all your appointments with you and to help you once the baby comes.

during your pregnancy, he stops by your house once or twice a week, sometimes after work with sevika, sometimes on his own; always with a new toy or onesie for the baby, and a bottle of whiskey for sev, and takeout from whatever place you're craving for you.

silco's always been the closest thing sevika has to family, you've always been happy to welcome him into your life and home. but, you've never really seen the two bond.

they're both stand-offish people, they communicate in their own telepathic language, developed over years spent working and living together. but, when they talk about the baby, they both glow.

one of your fondest memories from your pregnancy was watching sevika show silco the sonogram of your little girl. it was the first time you'd seen the two of them hug. it was the first time you'd seen silco cry. he'd even wrapped you up into a tight hug, kissing your head and then awkwardly patting your belly.

he's one of the only people you let meet little fucker when she's still a newborn.

you and sevika are paranoid, first-time parents. you're also both huge homebodies. you have no desire to drag your weeks old daughter around town and show her off to all your germ covered family and friends.

but, your best friend, your family, and silco-- they're different.

silco's there at the hospital when you're in labor. he and sevika share a cigar in the parking lot when little fucker's safely delivered. he meets the baby then, cooing down at the bundle of blankets in your arms; but mostly, he's just there to check in on your and sev.

then, about a month into her life, you invite silco over to formally meet his god daughter for the first time.

you dress little fucker in one of the outfits silco'd picked out for her months ago, and you watch in fascination as the stoic man bursts into tears for a second time when he takes his god daughter in his arms for the first time.

sevika just laughs, and wraps her arm around her best friend.

"she looks just like you." silco sniffles, his eyes quickly flashing between sevika's face and your daughter's, comparing their features.

"tell me about it. i carried the little shit around for nine months, and she decides to come out lookin' like sev instead." you pout from the couch. sevika giggles and kisses your scalp.

silco chuckles through his tears, and then presses a gentle kiss to little fucker's head. "she's beautiful." he whispers.

you smile and nod, and sevika chokes on her tears beside you.

"yeah, she is." you whisper.

once a week, from the day she's born, silco will come over and take little fucker out for an afternoon.

sometimes he takes her for a stroll, sometimes he takes her to his place, sometimes he takes her along to run errands with him. it doesn't matter. he just gives you and sevika a few hours, every week, to just... relax. you're pretty sure it's the only thing that kept you sane for the first year of motherhood.

little fucker loves her uncle silco. he spoils her to no end, and he's not scared of you or sevika, so he'll blatantly disobey your rules in your own home to make your daughter smile. plus, he's not the one that has to deal with the sugar rush that comes two hours after he shovels candy in your daughter's mouth.

when she starts talking, little fucker calls silco 'unky silly.' he blushes every time she says it, but can't find the heart to try to correct his god daughter.

their favorite place to go is the aquarium. silco likes the sharks, little fucker likes alligators. they can spend the entire day there, just pointing at the animals and fish to one another.

i think little fucker's born when jinx is like 7, so it's the perfect age for jinx to absolutely adore her baby cousin.

jinx is the youngest of her siblings, so she never got to have someone look up to her. but little fucker worships the ground jinx walks on, and it's a huge boost to her self esteem. (it also makes her behave better, at least when she's in front of your daughter. she wants to be a good example.)

when jinx isn't in school or with her siblings, she's always accompanying silco on his little fucker dates. you can count on your daughter being returned from silco's house with at least three braids in her head.

you get all of jinx's baby clothes as hand me downs for little fucker, which only makes jinx all the more convinced that little fucker is actually just her baby.

sure, you and sevika made the kid, but it was just a gift for jinx, right?

it's hard for you to deny that accusation when you watch the two play, all the older kids wrestling in the back yard while jinx, ekko, and little fucker all arrange their teddy bears and action figures in seated positions for a tea party, jinx patiently waiting for little fucker to pick out the perfect hat for her to wear.

this isn't to say her older cousins don't love her. mylo, claggor and vi are constantly flinging her around, giving her piggy backs and tossing her in the air and giving you mini heart attacks. it's just that her and jinx have a special bond.

but, as much as she adores jinx, she will always hug her unky silly first.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re

@raphaellearp @iamastar

[mueritos]

so i signed up for a clinical study (i love supporting research!!!!) for autistic adults and their perceptions of romance and relationships. I passed the phone screening for eligibility (being self-diagnosed is okay for the study) and they let me know that if I'm interested, I can actually be formally assessed as part of the study! so i said yes, that would be cool, and I had the first of 3 sessions for this study yesterday.

inserting a read more here but i'll be sharing my experience below ^-^

the neuropsychologist research coordinator was a very sweet and gay guy and he conducted the assessment on the first day. we went through some basic health questionnaires that I definitively didn't know everything about (like when I started speaking or my birth weight lol). after that, we did some testing that felt strangely familiar to tests that were done on me when I was in elementary school. I don't know to this day what those tests were for, but I imagine they had to do with my IQ. Anyway, gay neuropsych guy had me do the WASI and that was lowkey hard lol, and then we moved onto the ADOS, the big boy autism assessment. I already felt pretty juvenile sitting in a room that was definitely meant for kids, but oh boy haha. this test was fun and silly.

He started recording this portion of the assessment, but I had to create a pattern with blocks (but I didn't have enough blocks), then I had to read from a book with no words, create a story with objects, and then teach an alien how to brush their teeth. there were also several interview questions scattered throughout that and a break, but while we were on break, he was finishing up his notes while i ate the snacks they provided lol. I am fairly certain now after looking up other peoples' experience with the ADOS that the break was...fake LMAO. So I was literally sitting there in pleasant silence, rocking back n forth munching on trail mix and texting on my phone. So there goes more diagnostic information for him haha. Then I went through interview questions specific to the study, like "How do you know you and your boyfriend are boyfriends?" or "How do you know you have friends?" (my responses were like "oh uhh well my boyfriend and I talked about being boyfriends and now we are boyfriends" or "well I think a friend is someone who shows care and interest in me and etc"). Some other questions had to do with "what annoys you?" or "what makes you mad?" and how I feel when that happens.

Then he pulled out a computer for me to fill out a bunch of mental health quotients, many I've seen or done like the CAT-Q, phq-9, GAD, and some others. I finished that and he gave me 50 bucks and I left lol!

i won't have any results to me until the primary investigator watches my assessment herself and receives an additional questionnaire by someone in my life (thank you childhood best friend) to essentially speak on their experience with me. At the end, they did schedule me to return and do the second phase of data collection in 2 weeks, so that should be fun. They're gonna stick a bunch of stuff onto my forehead while tracking my heart rate and eye movement while I watch romance clips lol.

Anyway, that was interesting. Definitely never thought I would ever be able to get assessed (and especially for free/get paid 50 bucks for it lol), but this sounds like an added benefit to helping support the research. hilariously, i told a couple people i was going to do this and they were incredibly confused and would say "what the hell is there to assess, you're clearly the biggest autistic in the room" like thanks guys but i am also supremely interested in what the diagnostic report looks like once I'm done with this.

i'm curious to know what anyone else's experience with the ADOS was like? i had a lot of fun haha even though I was confused a lot during it lol.

[holdmymallowsweet]

tag nine people you want to get to know better!

thank you @myokk you're the sweetest ❤️ I've never done one of these before but I'll give it a try:

LAST SONG? - Challa by Rabbi Shergill (lately I just feel like having Bollywood songs playing in the background while cooking)

FAVORITE COLOR? - I like warm and earthy tones but also dark Greens and Blues

CURRENTLY WATCHING? - The 8 Show (which is absolutely fantastic and I highly recommend it)

LAST MOVIE? - Smile (which I was a bit sceptical about based on the trailers but it's actually really good)

SWEET/SPICY/SAVORY? - Sweet! Cakes and stuff, but there's also a lot of sweet main dishes in Germany and I like those a lot

RELATIONSHIP STATUS? - taken, but I like to keep my private life private

CURRENT OBSESSIONS? - my Ominis fic, and also all the fantastic Sebinis art and fics I've found the last couple of weeks

LAST THING YOU GOOGLED? - "my apologies" because I wanted to make sure that really is a polite/formal way of saying "I'm sorry" and that I haven't been using it wrong the whole time

tagging (not sure who'd be into this and if you're not, just ignore this): @sparxyv, @ps-cactus, @pr0serpinas, @huffleflufflefly, @rypnami, @alibasnur, @ravenwind-75

(I know that's not nine so whoever else wants to do this, feel yourself tagged❤️)

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - It's the Dog Days of BL Again

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

May 2024 Final Week

Ongoing Series - Thai

Wandee Godday (Sat YT) ep 5 of 12 - The side couple is so damn pouty and adorable. So far as Yak and Dee are concerned, I love that they kept up with the cosplay stuff and didn’t just drop it as a one off. I'm just genuinely enjoying seeing how much fun they have together and watching them accidentally falling in love with each other and trying not to.

Linguistic corner!

I don’t normally watch any BTS stuff, but for reasons known only to my serotonin-seeking brain, I’ve been watching a few for this show. And I MUST talk about the way Great speaks Thai. It’s so different from all of the other Good GMMTV Boys. He’s way more casual. Not rude, but definitely not as formal or as polite as any of the actors around him. It’s difficult to describe but just LISTEN to the way he hops registers and pronouns pretty consistently. Sometimes in the same sentence. He even softens his polite particles. I've never heard an actor do that out of character. It’s fascinating. I wonder if it has to do with the fact that he is older (then most of his costars) and comes outta the Bangkok club scene, and was older when he joined GMMTV. Frankly, it’s the closest I’ve ever seen on TV to the way people actually talked in Bangkok. 

My Stand-In (Thai Fri iQIYI) ep 6 of 12 eps - honestly these two shows are neck and neck for my favorites running right now and Wandee got the edge because it left me smiling, but yesterday, Stand-In would have come out on top. Such a great show. It’s so sinister. So not romantic. Which makes me feel like... it's not really a BL. And, yet, I DO NOT CARE. Because I’m enjoying its little evil soul so much. “Poor Joe” is pretty much all that goes through my head the whole time I'm watching, and I'm enjoying poking at that pain.

We Are (Weds iQIYI) ep 9 of 16 - I love all of the 3rd wheels. Kluen is kinda great. And I’m not just saying that 'cause I have a crush on Title, it’s because Kluen is so open and genuine. (Unless they fuck up his character.) I even enjoyed the backstory for Fang and Tan. Honestly, the friendship group is the reason to watch this show, they’re great and funny, and make everything enjoyable. It’s a soap opera, like Only Friends, but gentle with its characters and us watchers. Which is what I really want from my BL. I don’t want all of this Friend Zone backstabbing bullpuckie. 

Knock Knock Boys (Thurs Gaga) eps 1-2 of 12 - I like it, frankly more than I expected to. It’s a bit slow moving, but the characters are interesting and the dynamic of everybody living in the same house together is fun. I haven’t seen this style of housemates centered Thai BL in years. I identify FAR too closely with the crass-talking bug-killing pansexual. On a completely different note, I really hope Best and Seng have an NC scene together. Last week I would never have said that, but now I think they have good chemistry. Am I crazy?

Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 8 of 12 - They are sickeningly sweet boyfriends, and Moo is such a brat and so demanding. It’s charming. There was even a little bit of dancing together which I’m sure made @heretherebedork happy. Dancing okay but NO SINGING. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

At 25:00 in Akasaka AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 7 of 10 - Asami's past was cool to see. I enjoyed that his character finally got fleshed out and given some solidity. However, it felt like it came a little too late. Even though I know this is the way Japan tends to roll with BL timing. I wanted to like him sooner then this. Now I'm not really that invested.

Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 8 fin - It was an extremely good and very satisfying ending for a JBL, which we cannot expect, so I'm disposed to dole out top marks for that. Also we definitely have a new contender for Namgoong award for best wingman. (Japan's favorite: the bespectacled variant.)

Summation:

Kindly Ryota goes to uni and ends up rooming with his former childhood bestie, Kazuhito. Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend for, as it turns out, cute roommate reasons. Same director as Old Fashion Cupcake, the framing is gorgeous and it is a stylish piece. As a friends to lovers cohabitation narrative this was a classic 2000s sweet yaoi. I enjoy that kind of tradition out of Japan even if it (and the characters) come off as a little slow as a result. Still, it's nice to get a traditional BL out of Japan that is satisfying, not slapstick, AND did not hurt us. 8/10 recommended

Blossom Campus (Korea Thurs Gaga & iQIYI) ep 5-6fin - gonna have to wait until next week, for mysterious hotel wifi reasons.

It's airing but...

You Made My Day (Thai YT) ep 1 of 5 - mini series staring the I Will Knock You couple Tar & Bom, started but I couldn't find it. I also didn't try very hard.

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer released to Korean theaters 5/25. HoTae & DongHee, side couple from Unintentional Love Story are back! Same actors, same character names. I love them. I NEED TO SEE THIS. How?

OMG Vampire (Thai Sun ????) ep 2 of 10 - yeah I can't find it. Comments from last week suggest this is not my thing anyway, but Lee Long Shi very much IS my thing, so... maybe I'll put it on hold for a bit and y'all can let me know.

In case you missed

VBL (Taiwan) is released 'Special Episode' epilogues to their 4 2023 series on Gagaoolala, Viki & Viu - watch each on the respective shows' page: You Are Mine, VIP Only, Stay By My Side, Anti Reset.

My Biker 2 (Thai movie trailer) suposedly released somewhere, search me.

The Time of Huannan (Taiwan movie) went to theaters, not sure if we will get this, and it may not be BL.

And here's a 2023 that I missed and finally watched:

After Sundown AKA Saengrawi

ZeeNunew vehicle from 2023, recut into a movie on YouTube. It's from Mandee and horror, yet I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.

Pronoun use is ter/chan or rao (no nai or pom) because of the historical setting + softness of the relationship.

It's oddly sweet and wholesome, for a ghost story. Phloeng and Rawee enter into an arranged marriage for confusing prophetic reasons and a twisted fate, solving a mystery of the past that is haunting Phloeng's family and harming Rawee. Honestly, it makes no actual sense, but it's kinda historical, and very pretty, so I enjoyed it more than I should. 8/10

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

June Releases

6/7 My Love Mix-Up (Fridays Thai Adaptation not sure where this will air) - I do love G4 and I did like the original and maybe this time these characters will actually kiss? I'm actually fine with this pick-up. I kind of enjoy seeing different countries remake the same IP. Especially if it's IP I'm mostly unfazed by.

6/7 The Last Time (Thailand Fridays YouTube?) - Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something?

6/9 Love Sea (Thailand Sundays MAME warning iQIYI - New characters to the Mameverse. While travelling, a writer has a one night stand with a very irritating man. YES I WILL TRASH WATCH THIS. Drinking will happen on Sundays I guess. (Look, I do usually travel on weekends, so it may end up being Monday Mame Trash - which jives.)

6/14 Let's Eat Together Aki and Haru 2 AKA Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo Tabetai 2 Haime! (Japan movie Gaga?) - Continues the (frankly) lackadaisical story from part 1.

6/15 Sunset Vibes AKA SunsetXVibes (Thailand Saturdays) Star Hunter and MosBank on iQIYI so if nothing else it's gonna be a wild and sexy ride. A one night stand but "uh-oh he’s my boss," adapted from a web series. I’m game. Maybe it’ll have a better story than Big Dragon? Maybe it will have a plot? We can but hope.

6/26 The Rebound (Thai Weds VIU?) - MeenPing are back in their 3rd BL together, a basketball based romance (Meen was a national basketball player, so yay for that). I like this pair better than most (I still do miss Meen with Est but Est has a fantastic looking new BL coming from GMMTV so yeah...) Anyway I'm up for a sports romance starring a man who, yah know, actually played that sport so... I'm game (pun intended).

(Speaking of, why can't Est be a merman? This... I ask you?.)

Why You? (Khmer movie - Billed as a horror romance BL this is supposed to release this month.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

In my world we call this smug. (Only Boo!)

LOOK AT HIS ARM?! This has been your Goodness Gracious Great Guns Of Huge 2024 moment.

(All Wandee Goodday)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity

@rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in it's infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

There's these tricks, remember.

[negrowhat]

Heyyy im the one who asked abt phayurain's dynamic AND YOU DELIVERED LIKE YOU SO QUICK WITH IT???? I LOVED IT

I need more analysis on the ep 2 bathroom scene🤤🤤🤤😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Should i msg you directly cause i wanna keep bothering you abt them???

Welcome back Anon!!!!!!!!!!!!! You can hit me up however you like! I could talk about them all day and some people like watching me scream about them anyway! You're not bothering me at all! As long as you don't mind me spelling Payu's name without the 'H'! It's a habit at this point. Please be prepared for a long as post as we discuss the bathroom scene in detail. I'll even insert a page break here for anyone who wants to keep scrolling.

Now on my first watch of LITA I was not a huge fan of the ep 2 bathroom scene but I've grown and changed as a person and now it's one of my all time FAVES! Let's break it down shall we???

Payu went to Rain's school with a mission in mind. He was there to let that boy know that he was planning to collect in full on his debt no matter what. He showed up with the purpose of laying his groundwork to tame his bratty boy. He was definitely expecting for Rain to be on his WORST behavior and Rain did not disappoint him. Rain never disappoints Payu.

I love the conversation they had right when they got into the bathroom. Payu tells him he's there to collect for repairing Rain's busted up Beamer and Rain SWEARS Payu said he fixed it for free. He never said that! If you go back one ep Payu said it was going to be expensive to repair but he wasn't going to charge that boy MONEY. Even P'Aon didn't say it was free. I've been calling it 'The Payu's Boy Special.'

But of course Rain can't spot a context clue to save his life and just ASSUMED it was free. Nope Payu was seeking a lifelong commitment in exchange for his extensive work on Rain's car.

I love that Payu straight up told Rain that he didn't like foul mouth boys or liars who couldn't pay up. Let's talk about the way Payu was looking at Rain as he caged him against the restroom sink. He looked like a lion stalking its prey. Rain was cursing at him and accusing him of being a bad person and Payu just held his gaze intensely and overpowered him with his strong masculine energy. If some people hadn't come in he might have hiked that boy up onto the counter!

And like I said in your last ask, Rain did have the opportunity to flee. He chose to not only run into a stall but also take Payu with him. He could've left the bathroom or locked himself in that stall until Payu left. No he wanted to continue their conversation or whatever was happening between them.

At that point Payu was done talking to Rain. He was done warning him. Rain had cursed at him and insulted his character, all in an informal manner. He was just being outright defiant and we know Payu does not deal with disrespectful little boys. He just said it.

Fam he literally CORNERS Rain in the stall! And Rain has no one to blame but himself! WHY DIDN'T YOU RUN AWAY RAINY BOY!?

Payu really pushed up on Rain, grabbed his chest, and demanded he call him P'Payu. And not only that but Payu ordered Rain to ask to be let go politely. "P'Payu, please let Rain go. Say it." This moment is about respect for Payu. He's teaching Rain how to be respectful in a way he KNOWS Rain is going to respond to.

Anon do you understand that I was SCREAMING! It's not just the sentence but Payu telling him to use actual formal and respectful tone and language. The language is very important here because Rain has been using vulgar/informal language with Payu since the last time they met and it is extremely disrespectful.

Payu is older than Rain and he demands the respect of an elder from him. And we have to remember that Payu is 4 or 5 years older than Rain.

Of course Rain resisted. It's what Payu was expecting...probably what he was hoping for. What did he say? "That's okay." And the way he drags those syllables out? Letting that powerful aura seep out? Dominance and control just permeating from him? He knows exactly how things are about to go. And I want you to keep in mind that through this whole...experience...Payu's tone is very calm and a bit taunting. But he doesn't raise his voice not ONCE.

He really grabs that boy and pulls him closer? And when Rain starts to protest Payu silences him with a single finger to his lips! He literally shushes that boy, tsks at him.

He warns him to be careful or people will hear them in the stall. We know Payu doesn't care, he's a fucking walking GOD to the people at that school, but Rain?? He might care about being caught. This is his second time warning Rain about his tone! Again this is about respect.

We literally hear Rain GULP Anon! Why? Because he's probably thinking, 'Oh shit how did we even get here? Why am I listening to this guy?' But Rain does listen. He submits. No more pushback from Rain.

And just like that Payu has Rain behaving. Payu doesn't even do too much. His hands are gripping Rain's waist and chest and he just sort of hovers around him. He's shoving his face in his neck. He's breathing in and exhaling against his skin. And pushing up against him. You know...not too much. He's just in his space with his strong alpha presence.

AND WHEN I SAY PRESSED AGAINST RAIN! I MEAN NOT EVEN A SHEET OF PAPER CAN FIT BETWEEN THEM. I think it overwhelms Rain...maybe even drowns him a little. And Rain likes it. It's no doubt intoxicating being in such a moment like this with a man like Payu.

The tension between them is sooooooooooooo heavy in that stall. They're not even talking. Rain is just trapped in a trance! He bares his neck, closes his eyes, and he's just clutching the wall behind him. HE SAYS NOTHING! A few times Payu literally grinds up against Rain with his full body. You can see his eyebrows raise because he's literally surprised by Rain's reaction.

He already knows Rain is attracted to him, he's known since he first met him, so Rain's erection was expected. But I just don't think Payu was expecting for Rain to fall into submission so promptly. Rain is being so good!

And finally Rain is able to pull himself out of the trance Payu locks him in long enough to stutter out the magic words to be set free. "P'Payu, please let Rain go." In the proper tone and respectful speech he refused to use before. There's the good boy Payu wanted to see.

And Payu grins and of course he has to add on something extra for Rain to say, "I promise I won't swear at you again. Say it." Before he shoves his face back into Rain's neck! INSANITY! RAIN CAN BARELY REPEAT IT BACK HE'S SO OVERWHELMED.

And of course Payu holds him there a bit longer, pressing up against that boy, breathing against his neck, and pushing him back into the stall wall. Poor Rain can't do anything but fucking hold onto Payu's shirt, the man's energy is simply too powerful for a brat boy like him.

And then Payu has the nerve to whisper "Good job," in Rain's ear before he FINALLY releases him! Rain is just stuck there, plastered against the wall. I SWEAR when Payu whispered in Rain's ear that boy creamed his pants.

He opens the stall and just casually says something like, "Those guys are gone." Rain finally fully comes to his senses and scrambles out the stall (which is probably FILLED with steam) and the boy can't even stand up straight. His dick is hard and he's just so annoyed that he even submitted to Payu so easily.

Meanwhile Payu cooly walks out so unaffected by what just happened. He tells Rain he was there to collect on his debt and that he warned him to speak nicely to him and that he wouldn't have had to corner Rain that way if he had just been a good boy from the beginning. And then he once again tells Rain that he doesn't like disrespectful little boys who are below his standards and just leaves angry little Rain there on the floor with a hard on. HE DOESN'T EVEN LOOK BACK.

What a power play. What an experience to be had in a uni bathroom stall. He just gave Rain yet another reason to obsess over him for.

OKAY this got long as fuck but it really is a great scene to show their dynamic. It's one of my fave scenes from their storyline. I hope you don't mind me using screenshots instead of gifs lol.

[thelingodingo]

Haikyuu Characters' Informal & Formal Speech

Something I find interesting about different languages and cultures regarding sociolinguistics is the entire idea of formality. Of course, there are ways to sound more formal/polite in English and ways to sound more informal/rude depending on word choice (synonyms). But with a language such as Japanese, it's the grammatical structure itself (verb endings, vocab) that changes to convey varying levels of formality.

An example would be:

大丈夫? (informal) vs 大丈夫ですか？(formal) = Are you ok?

daijoubu vs daijoubudesuka

これは本だ (informal) vs これは本です (formal) = This is a book.

korewahonda vs korewahondesu

In a school setting, the younger grades (kohai) will use formal speech with the older grades (senpai) as well as teachers: meaning 1st years will be formal to 2nd and 3rd years, 2nd years will be informal to 1st years but formal to 3rd years, and 3rd years can be informal to both 1st and 2nd years.

This is easily shown in basically any anime but this post will focus on Haikyuu since it's the one I'm most familiar with.

Karasuno: Kageyama and Tsukishima definitely hold a very high level of politeness towards their senpai as they always speak formally towards them and also always call them "full surname-san" (Azumane-san instead of Asahi-san, Sugawara-san instead of Suga-san, Sawamura-san instead of Daichi-san, Nishinoya-san instead of Noya-san). It makes sense for them since in general their personalities are quite strict and rigid. Hinata also speaks formally to his senpai but calls them by their more usual names (Daichi-san, Suga-san, etc) and he tends to forget to speak formally out of sheer excitement (not because he's trying to be rude) so he ends up adding on the formal desu copula to quickly change his informal sentence to be formal at the last second. You might think that Tanaka and Nishinoya are pretty relaxed when it comes to formalities due to their crasser personalities but I would actually say it's more the opposite. They're both characters that really like upholding the entire senpai-kohai relationship and it shows in that they are always respectful to the 3rd years and use formal speech (it's also shown in how they both loveee being called senpai and specifically Nishinoya's relationship with Asahi). They still call the 3rd years by their more common names so they aren't as rigid as Tsukki and Kageyama when it comes to names though. The scenes in season 1 when Noya and Asahi were fighting (specifically the storage room fight) were surprising in particular due to Noya changing to informal speech while arguing with Asahi (his senpai).

some other random formalities I've noticed in the other characters: as mentioned in the anime, Kenma doesn't like any of that hierarchy stuff which is why Hinata is able to continue comfortably speaking informally to him even though Kenma is a senpai. The shock and immediate apology of Hinata when he finds out Kenma is older than him is sensible in the cultural context since there are many people who would get quite offended and angry if a kohai were to be speaking informally towards them. Although Kenma is never shown directly talking to any 3rd years (other than Kuroo, which he speaks informally to since they're childhood friends), I assume he would still speak formally since even though he doesn't find formal speech necessary he would still be aware that others would care about it. When it comes to Mad Dog, a small part of me expected him to be completely informal to everyone since those kind of characters are usually like that in anime but he still keeps a pretty formal tone when talking to his senpais which pleasantly surprised me. As far as I remember watching season 4, I don't think the Miya twins use formal speech when talking to Aran. They don't call him Aran-san or anything either, just Aran-kun, which could be another example of childhood friends not needing formalities even with the age gap.

EDIT: i just remembered that Kageyama is so damn polite that he doesn't even differentiate between the Miya twins by their first names, he calls them both "Miya-san"!

If anybody wants a particular character/school to be discussed in detail then just send me an ask and I'll try!

side note: this post isn't proofread so if theres any mistakes or corrections in the info please tell me (✿◠‿◠)

[frownyalfred]

Hey there! I’m a big fan of your work (coral room my love! Saving the sequel to read when it’s finished), and I absolutely adore your writing style! I’ve recently been having bouts of an overwhelming need to write fanfiction, but I feel like my writing is on the level of essentially Wattpad fanfiction ( nothing wrong with that, it’s just not the standard I want to achieve ) so if possible, do you have any in depth advice on writing fanfiction? Feel free to get real specific on sentence structure and/or character building and plot building if you would like but anything will do! I feel myself having the trouble of ‘showing not telling’, especially when the source material has so many characters that writing it is like just methodically describing instead of actually writing something that resonates. And I’ve never really formally written a fanfic before so I’m not too sure if I should be pre-planning my character arcs or just let the story take the flow. How long do you take to plan and write a full chapter? Do you decide when to end the chapter beforehand or is it by feeling? Do you start your stories with an end in mind? Any advice for action scenes? How much of myself should I sink into the mind of the character when writing, because that sounds like a slippery mental slope there haha! Where did you learn to write this good?

Sorry if this is too big or too inconvenient of an ask, I just really want to know how you do it because it’s so amazing and inspiring to read your work!

Thank you so much! No worries, I will try my best to break it down into your questions and hopefully get you some quick answers:

How long do you take to plan and write a full chapter? I usually top out at 4-7k for most chapters, depending on the fic. It takes me about 15-20 minutes for a bullet point outline I like, and then about 3-4 hours to fully write it out. But longer chapters or trickier plots usually have me spending more time in the bullet point outline phase.

Do you decide when to end the chapter beforehand or is it by feeling? Usually I end where I think is a good spot for now, once a POV ends but before something big happens. That's why I'm not married to a final wordcount, just because a final section could run long or short. I always think of the advice -- if you can't think of your next line, either your last line needs to be rewritten, or that's the end of the entire chapter/section.

Do you start your stories with an end in mind? Usually! At least, an end result. But not an exact ending down to the specific actions/dialogue, since otherwise I'd go insane trying to make it happen. I give myself a "goalpost" and everything in between me and the goalpost is fair game as long as we end up approximately where I planned.

Any advice for action scenes? Watch the John Wick movies. Seriously! There's some great hand to hand and gun scenes in those movies, with blocking that helps you slow it down and think it through. Keep the tension high, or ramping up, if possible. Action is exhausting! I always ask myself to imagine doing [action scene] and break it down from there.

How much of myself should I sink into the mind of the character when writing? As far as you can, comfortably. If it helps the story. Sometimes sinking too deep doesn't get you anywhere. I think the bigger thing for me is not writing one character when I'm in the mindset of another. That just ends up with weird dialogue and descriptions.

Where did you learn to write this good? It's very kind of you to say so. I've been writing fic for a while now. I would say it's just a ton of practice. My early fic was not great, and I can see marked improvements in my writing even in the last year.

I think my best advice overall is to write what makes you so excited, you can barely wait to get it on paper. Talk the idea out with some friends or a discord channel. Think about all the fun ways you could play with the plot or characters. Ask yourself all those delicious "what if" questions!

I am a big fan of loose/barely-there outlines and kind of just letting the writing take the lead, but that's not how everyone works. So a lot of my advice is about feeling things out, and if that doesn't work for you that's okay! Some people need every single arc planned out before they start. The only way you'll know is if you start writing and do some trial and error.

[hecatesbroom]

Suspiciously autistic things about Alec Hardy

because i'm rewatching broadchurch for the first time in 8 years and having a Moment about why, exactly, this show made such an impression on me

Has literally no regard for his own boundaries. Like, none whatsoever. You could say he's just a self-loathing bastard, which I guess he is, but the extremes he's going to aren't very neurotypical if you ask me

We never see him talk to people outside work, or at least outside of an "I need you/you need me so that's why we're talking"-type of situation. This man has no way how to initiate social contact; I'm not even sure if he feels like he needs it at all.

Ellie's dinner! Literally everything about it, from the invitation to that whole evening, screams autism. Like the way he decided to bring her three presents because he didn't know what would be appropriate, the fact that he continues to call her Miller because apparently he sees no reason to change out of office formalities for a casual dinner.

I'm pretty sure this man doesn't know the definition of casual in general. Evidenced by the fact that he wears a suit (which I'm pretty sure is always the same suit?) literally anywhere he goes. On- or off-duty.

Oh and continuing on the dinner: the way he drinks the wine he didn't want, probably thinking "eh, won't kill me" only for it to almost kill him? Another example that he really doesn't know his own boundaries.

Very very good at his job, because he's analytical and methodical. Not that good with the actual people he has to deal with, because a methodical approach tends not to work with real human beings.

He's extremely good at looking at things from an impersonal angle, and seems to be unable to understand why other people (Ellie!) can't separate themselves from an investigation.

Just really stubborn in general. The way he does things is best, period. (Debatable, but absolutely not for him)

He's extremely blunt and either doesn't care much that people dislike him for this, or doesn't understand why they would

The scene in s2 where he finds Ellie crying in the restroom and awkwardly offers her a hug (because that's what people do in these situations, right?) which she declines because it's not like him? Yeah.

He has a very strong sense of justice. Which I guess most (good) detectives have, but the way he felt like he had to do penance for how the Sandbrook case ended and still kept working on it, really shows how he goes above and beyond for justice, compared to what others would probably do.

(to be continued probably, because I've only watched s1 and two episodes of s2 for now)