#A piece for me—a chunk for the world

[skhardwarevers1]

just ranted elsewhere about this but just an fyi:

interpret my art (writing included) however the fuck you’d like. There’s no meaning in my paintings most of the time, they can mean fuck all or the deepest thing you can think of. Thinking is part of the art, don’t worry about what it means to me! Screw me! Worry about what it means to YOU!!!! (And then tell me because I like to hear people’s thoughts on my work)

Remember three core values I wrote today:

THOUGHT IS FREE

ART IS INTERPRETATIVE

THOUGHT IS ART !!!!!!

[acidgirl]

i’ve been thinking about putting together a digital exhibit of photography taken from a camera item within video games. mostly collecting from rdr2 but if anyone has any other games that let’s the player use a camera and is interested in sending some stuff in…. lmk

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

does anyone have any tips on how not to be a crippling perfectionist about your writing?? i have been staring at the same five paragraphs of the next chapter of four walls for a whole week and i've reached the point where i actually want to defenestrate my own laptop

[13eyond13]

how did I forgor Mad Max: Fury Road (2015) when I had to list my favourite movies here recently

[bitegore]

baru cormorant seems to me to be a series that suffers miserably for me having read machineries of empire first. unfortunately everything BC is doing strikes me as something MoE did better and more believably and with much a greater and more grounded eye for how systems, complex system interaction, and oppression like. work

[ms-demeanor]

Why reblog machine-generated art?

When I was ten years old I took a photography class where we developed black and white photos by projecting light on papers bathed in chemicals. If we wanted to change something in the image, we had to go through a gradual, arduous process called dodging and burning.

When I was fifteen years old I used photoshop for the first time, and I remember clicking on the clone tool or the blur tool and feeling like I was cheating.

When I was twenty eight I got my first smartphone. The phone could edit photos. A few taps with my thumb were enough to apply filters and change contrast and even spot correct. I was holding in my hand something more powerful than the huge light machines I'd first used to edit images.

When I was thirty six, just a few weeks ago, I took a photo class that used Lightroom Classic and again, it felt like cheating. It made me really understand how much the color profiles of popular web images I'd been seeing for years had been pumped and tweaked and layered with local edits to make something that, to my eyes, didn't much resemble photography. To me, photography is light on paper. It's what you capture in the lens. It's not automatic skin smoothing and a local filter to boost the sky. This reminded me a lot more of the photomanipulations my friend used to make on deviantart; layered things with unnatural colors that put wings on buildings or turned an eye into a swimming pool. It didn't remake the images to that extent, obviously, but it tipped into the uncanny valley. More real than real, more saturated more sharp and more present than the actual world my lens saw. And that was before I found the AI assisted filters and the tool that would identify the whole sky for you, picking pieces of it out from between leaves.

You know, it's funny, when people talk about artists who might lose their jobs to AI they don't talk about the people who have already had to move on from their photo editing work because of technology. You used to be able to get paid for basic photo manipulation, you know? If you were quick with a lasso or skilled with masks you could get a pretty decent chunk of change by pulling subjects out of backgrounds for family holiday cards or isolating the pies on the menu for a mom and pop. Not a lot, but enough to help. But, of course, you can just do that on your phone now. There's no need to pay a human for it, even if they might do a better job or be more considerate toward the aesthetic of an image.

And they certainly don't talk about all the development labs that went away, or the way that you could have trained to be a studio photographer if you wanted to take good photos of your family to hang on the walls and that digital photography allowed in a parade of amateurs who can make dozens of iterations of the same bad photo until they hit on a good one by sheer volume and luck; if you want to be a good photographer everyone can do that why didn't you train for it and spend a long time taking photos on film and being okay with bad photography don't you know that digital photography drove thousands of people out of their jobs.

My dad told me that he plays with AI the other day. He hosts a movie podcast and he puts up thumbnails for the downloads. In the past, he'd just take a screengrab from the film. Now he tells the Bing AI to make him little vignettes. A cowboy running away from a rhino, a dragon arm-wrestling a teddy bear. That kind of thing. Usually based on a joke that was made on the show, or about the subject of the film and an interest of the guest.

People talk about "well AI art doesn't allow people to create things, people were already able to create things, if they wanted to create things they should learn to create things." Not everyone wants to make good art that's creative. Even fewer people want to put the effort into making bad art for something that they aren't passionate about. Some people want filler to go on the cover of their youtube video. My dad isn't going to learn to draw, and as the person who he used to ask to photoshop him as Ant-Man because he certainly couldn't pay anyone for that kind of thing, I think this is a great use case for AI art. This senior citizen isn't going to start cartooning and at two recordings a week with a one-day editing turnaround he doesn't even really have the time for something like a Fiverr commission. This is a great use of AI art, actually.

I also know an artist who is going Hog Fucking Wild creating AI art of their blorbos. They're genuinely an incredibly talented artist who happens to want to see their niche interest represented visually without having to draw it all themself. They're posting the funny and good results to a small circle of mutuals on socials with clear information about the source of the images; they aren't trying to sell any of the images, they're basically using them as inserts for custom memes. Who is harmed by this person saying "i would like to see my blorbo lasciviously eating an ice cream cone in the is this a pigeon meme"?

The way I use machine-generated art, as an artist, is to proof things. Can I get an explosion to look like this. What would a wall of dead computer monitors look like. Would a ballerina leaping over the grand canyon look cool? Sometimes I use AI art to generate copyright free objects that I can snip for a collage. A lot of the time I use it to generate ideas. I start naming random things and seeing what it shows me and I start getting inspired. I can ask CrAIon for pose reference, I can ask it to show me the interior of spaces from a specific angle.

I profoundly dislike the antipathy that tumblr has for AI art. I understand if people don't want their art used in training pools. I understand if people don't want AI trained on their art to mimic their style. You should absolutely use those tools that poison datasets if you don't want your art included in AI training. I think that's an incredibly appropriate action to take as an artist who doesn't want AI learning from your work.

However I'm pretty fucking aggressively opposed to copyright and most of the "solid" arguments against AI art come down to "the AIs viewed and learned from people's copyrighted artwork and therefore AI is theft rather than fair use" and that's a losing argument for me. In. Like. A lot of ways. Primarily because it is saying that not only is copying someone's art theft, it is saying that looking at and learning from someone's art can be defined as theft rather than fair use.

Also because it's just patently untrue.

But that doesn't really answer your question. Why reblog machine-generated art? Because I liked that piece of art.

It was made by a machine that had looked at billions of images - some copyrighted, some not, some new, some old, some interesting, many boring - and guided by a human and I liked it. It was pretty. It communicated something to me. I looked at an image a machine made - an artificial picture, a total construct, something with no intrinsic meaning - and I felt a sense of quiet and loss and nostalgia. I looked at a collection of automatically arranged pixels and tasted salt and smelled the humidity in the air.

I liked it.

I don't think that all AI art is ugly. I don't think that AI art is all soulless (i actually think that 'having soul' is a bizarre descriptor for art and that lacking soul is an equally bizarre criticism). I don't think that AI art is bad for artists. I think the problem that people have with AI art is capitalism and I don't think that's a problem that can really be laid at the feet of people curating an aesthetic AI art blog on tumblr.

Machine learning isn't the fucking problem the problem is massive corporations have been trying hard not to pay artists for as long as massive corporations have existed (isn't that a b-plot in the shape of water? the neighbor who draws ads gets pushed out of his job by product photography? did you know that as recently as ten years ago NewEgg had in-house photographers who would take pictures of the products so users wouldn't have to rely on the manufacturer photos? I want you to guess what killed that job and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't AI)

Am I putting a human out of a job because I reblogged an AI-generated "photo" of curtains waving in the pale green waters of an imaginary beach? Who would have taken this photo of a place that doesn't exist? Who would have painted this hypersurrealistic image? What meaning would it have had if they had painted it or would it have just been for the aesthetic? Would someone have paid for it or would it be like so many of the things that artists on this site have spent dozens of hours on only to get no attention or value for their work?

My worst ratio of hours to notes is an 8-page hand-drawn detailed ink comic about getting assaulted at a concert and the complicated feelings that evoked that took me weeks of daily drawing after work with something like 54 notes after 8 years; should I be offended if something generated from a prompt has more notes than me? What does that actually get the blogger? Clout? I believe someone said that popularity on tumblr gets you one thing and that is yelled at.

What do you get out of this? Are you helping artists right now? You're helping me, and I'm an artist. I've wanted to unload this opinion for a while because I'm sick of the argument that all Real Artists think AI is bullshit. I'm a Real Artist. I've been paid for Real Art. I've been commissioned as an artist.

And I find a hell of a lot of AI art a lot more interesting than I find human-generated corporate art or Thomas Kincaid (but then, I repeat myself).

There are plenty of people who don't like AI art and don't want to interact with it. I am not one of those people. I thought the gay sex cats were funny and looked good and that shitposting is the ideal use of a machine image generation: to make uncopyrightable images to laugh at.

I think that tumblr has decided to take a principled stand against something that most people making the argument don't understand. I think tumblr's loathing for AI has, generally speaking, thrown weight behind a bunch of ideas that I think are going to be incredibly harmful *to artists specifically* in the long run.

Anyway. If you hate AI art and you don't want to interact with people who interact with it, block me.

[stllmnstr]

every fragile thing

pairing: park sunghoon x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, figure skating au, college/university au

word count: 12.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, jealousy, non graphic descriptions/depictions of injuries, use of the american (usa) university system, a kiss or five

soundtrack: get him back! / brutal / jealousy, jealousy / good 4 u / the grudge / bad idea right? / drivers license - olivia rodrigo

After an ankle injury lands you in mandated physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for nationals, you're absolutely certain you must be the most frustrated, emotionally volatile figure skater on the planet. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

or,

every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.

note: hi hello yes this is me on a new blog with the same name. I deleted my old one and wasn't sure if I planned on remaking/reposting but here we are! if you've read this before, then I hope you enjoy just as much this time around. and if you haven't, I hope you love figure skater sunghoon just as much as I do! happy reading ♡

Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition. 

But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted moments, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill. 

In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best. 

There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath. 

Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?

That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come. 

The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin. 

But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you. 

“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”

It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track? 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”

Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals. 

Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this. 

“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly. 

“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question. 

Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.” 

The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”

And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance too.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace. 

But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”

You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”

“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully. 

Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”

“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing. 

…

You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue. 

It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space. 

The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left. 

Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.

Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision. 

With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door. 

And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.  

Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.

“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”

You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though. 

Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next. 

Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows. 

“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”

“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.” 

“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you. 

“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new members.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes. 

The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes. 

Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs. 

An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice. 

“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”

“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it. 

“Sunghoon?”

At that, he does finally look up. 

Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either. 

A beat passes. 

Two. 

Neither of you break eye contact. 

The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second. 

Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?” 

Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink. 

Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect. 

Oh, you know him alright. 

“___?”

And it would seem he remembers you as well. 

It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough. 

“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”

You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess. 

You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—

You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again. 

If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions. 

And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane. 

Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started. 

“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours. 

…

Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule. 

Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes. 

Including him. 

Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be. 

Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around. 

“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”

“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.” 

“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.” 

“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.” 

Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”

“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade. 

“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”

“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.” 

“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”

Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”

The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room. 

Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.

It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible. 

So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last. 

Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.

With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back. 

…

It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you. 

Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.  

Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance. 

It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does. 

Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.

“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”

“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth. 

But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin. 

Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you. 

“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”

You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate. 

Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.

Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.” 

You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”

“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”

You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out. 

“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”

Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”

Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends. 

And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant. 

It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong. 

Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious. 

Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”

Jake just gives you a look. 

You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”

Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”

Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”

Or not. 

“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”

Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”

“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?” 

“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”

“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”

The guilt on your face says it all. 

“No way.” Jake says. 

Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”

“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”

“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”

The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission. 

But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap. 

No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them. 

Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.

“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces. 

“That’s rough,” Niki agrees. 

And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at fifteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out your coach’s. 

That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice. 

That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time. 

That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater. 

That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip. 

That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once. 

Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks. 

Not until it all shattered in a single moment. 

It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart. 

And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all. 

Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn. 

In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger. 

And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner. 

So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance. 

And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.

But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself. 

That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed. 

That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him. 

You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone. 

“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses. 

“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods. 

“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”

…

When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.

As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage. 

If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other. 

It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”

Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side. 

Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always. 

It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead. 

“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”

That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight. 

Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile. 

“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he. 

Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.”

“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”

The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car. 

“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”

You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely. 

“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”

His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering. 

Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home. 

And he never says your name once. 

…

The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness. 

It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again. 

Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays. 

You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that. 

Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first. 

Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze. 

The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat. 

This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head. 

“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests. 

“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”

“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”

“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”

Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”

“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”

“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”

And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day. 

“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern. 

“Or something,” Jake agrees. 

Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”

A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”

…

You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”

And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”

“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program. 

It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts. 

A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”

You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice. 

You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”

…

The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.

Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake. 

“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question. 

“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”

“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off. 

The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor. 

“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”

“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again. 

“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.  

Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a pair of boys you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know. 

Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine. 

Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips. 

“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod. 

Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.

“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”

You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing. 

“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”

You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about you.”

“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant. 

You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid. 

Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife. 

If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier. 

“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”

“And you all go to school here?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”

“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”

You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”

Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later. 

Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local  band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long. 

Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low. 

Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations. 

“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”

Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off. 

But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing. 

You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”

The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”

“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”

“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”

“And a complete stranger to you.”

It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body. 

When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”

“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you. 

You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”

Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp. 

Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation. 

Last time, he let you fall. 

You have no idea what he’ll do now. 

In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target. 

Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin. 

When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.” 

“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon. 

Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room. 

You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought. 

You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung. 

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.

It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt. 

It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting. 

He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”

Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier. 

Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer. 

His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers. 

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation. 

“What?”

“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”

The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception. 

“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”

“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”

He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape. 

When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have. 

In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe. 

…

The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you. 

With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie. 

Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread. 

In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd. 

It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction. 

But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared. 

You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink. 

Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible. 

Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice. 

The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year. 

But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes. 

For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.  

In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief. 

It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past. 

“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”

“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”

“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.” 

“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”

It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?” 

Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”

That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to. 

And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes. 

As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him. 

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear. 

“I’m sorry.”

…

Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response. 

But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame. 

“You absolute idiot.”

“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry. 

But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”

“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”

A beat of silence passes. 

And then another. 

Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to. 

He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”

It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”

“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”

And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right. 

Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong. 

“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”

This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning. 

And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace. 

The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon pulls you into his apartment with his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time. 

Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought. 

And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet. 

��

epilogue

“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”

You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”

Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most. 

You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates. 

Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”

It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough? 

Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”

“Hey! I—”

“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”

Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”

This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels. 

He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout. 

After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return. 

It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”

“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin. 

“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”

“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”

Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs. 

…

outtake—five years ago. 

Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission. 

Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down. 

Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore. 

It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse. 

Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact. 

The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through. 

He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger. 

So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run, every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck. 

Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.

But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him. 

He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either. 

Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors. 

He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own. 

It seems to stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him. 

So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five years later. 

Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you. 

On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts. 

And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.

.....

note: thank you for reading! as always, comments, reblogs, and asks are very much appreciated :D

[thewisecheerio]

Messmer's actually terrible at his job. (affectionate)

Messmer is a fascinating villain, because he is strangely compassionate. I would go so far as to argue that this same compassion that is so at odds with his villainy is the very thing that drove him to become that villain in the first place. Hang with me; this is a long post.

Spoilers for Elden Ring DLC. Obviously.

Messmer tells us himself that his purpose is to purge all those stripped of the grace of gold. "Yet...my purpose standeth unchanged. Those stripped of grace of gold shall all meet death...in the embrace of Messmer's flame." We can piece together who gave him this genocidal purpose from his armor set's description, which tells us directly that he's working on his mother's behalf *and also* taking all the blame for it.

So he's playing war criminal on Marika's behalf. And I do mean playing. I'm not downplaying the fact that he is a war criminal; he has murdered on entire people. But here's the thing: he's *terrible* at playing the sole part of the spiteful, hateful overlord. He's *awful* at reveling in war and its victories.

Why? Empathy.

Messmer is strangely empathic for what could have otherwise been a cut-and-dry villain:

1. His relationship with Gaius, an Albinauric: We learn from Gaius's Remembrance that he was Messmer's bestie. We also know that Gaius was an Albinauric both from his armor as well as the location "Albinauric's Hut" in the direction he comes from at the beginning of his fight. Albinaurics are despised by the Golden Order, but Messmer didn't seem to care. In fact, he cared so little that he gave Gaius command of either a huge chunk or perhaps his entire army, second only to him. And what is given as the basis of this friendship? The fact that they were "both cursed from birth", i.e. a mutual understanding of what it is to be despised. They're trauma bonded because they have empathy for each other's predicament.

2. His relationship with the Jar people: Even though the Jar people were used as weapons of war against his own people, he doesn't seem to resent them. How do we know? There is a hospital where the Jars and their innards are being cared for in the Storehouse, a stone's throw away from where Messmer spends all his time. There are even a few baby Jars running around in it. Strange thing to do to what is essentially an enemy of your people, unless you consider them to also be victims of the same conflict.

3. His relationship with his soldiers: Messmer shares his own flame with his army. Yeah, that absolutely could be interpreted as a utilitarian move for the sake of war. Power up the troops, boost your chance at victory. But it's a strange choice when he could have just armed them in the traditional way of handing them sharp, pointy objects and pointing in the desired direction of stabbing. Instead, arming your soldiers with your own power could also be interpreted as something you do when you care about their survival and are potentially working directly with them to ensure it.

4. The mourning of people who betray him: Speaking of his soldiers, Messmer gets betrayed by at least a few of them. We learn this from the ashes of Andreas and Huw. Huw's ashes further tell us that Messmer *mourned their loss* as brothers-in-arms. Weird thing to do to someone who has betrayed you, unless you care very deeply about them to begin with.

5. The implications of the Storehouse: Even though he is actively genociding Hornsent on Marika's orders, he somehow has preserved an entire library of their history. At first, I thought this was maybe just British Museum vibes: steal all the artifacts and refuse to give them back. (And that could still be a correct interpretation.) But in context of the rest of these points, if you're truly hellbent on erasing a culture, why would you bother to preserve any of it? Would you not burn the libraries along with the people? It's a fairly common thing to do in our world's wars--destroy the art and history to ensure full erasure. And yet, it seems he can't even bring himself to avoid some small amount of sympathy for the people he was explicitly tasked with killing. If you really *think* about the basis for his sympathy for Marika, this does make a lot of sense. Messmer is following Marika's orders because he knows about what the Hornsent did to the Shaman. Wouldn't it then also be the case that once Marika's reign became nothing but genocide, i.e. an exact reversal of what was done to her people, he would have the same kind of sympathy for them? Perhaps this is a form of harm reduction in the only way he could square with what he thinks is his purpose.

6. His own self-hatred: Messmer despises his own flames, which we learn from the Messmer's Orb description. If you were happy to be Doing a Genocide, would you not celebrate your weapons of war? Wouldn't you take pride in them as tools of power? Unless, of course, you're not actually as happy as we think and maybe having regrets and come to be filled with severe self-hatred. Woops.

So then, if Messmer is this guy running around with a lot of Big Feelings (and probably a deep need for a Prozac prescription), why does he even agree to this genocide in the first place? Isn't that an *odd* choice for someone who seems to care pretty deeply about people, even people despised by his family's governing order? Why does he carry out these orders even to the point of developing a deep self-hatred?

This is where Messmer's sympathy, one of his best aspects, also becomes his fatal flaw.

I mentioned above in 5 that Messmer has access to information about both sides of this conflict. As much as he might have sympathy for everyone around him--including weapons used against the Shaman like the Jars--that means he *also* has sympathy for the Shaman. So if you have sympathy for the other side and sympathy for your side, and you are raised by your own side, then what is the natural outcome? Your side wins. If you must choose a side, then you fight on behalf of Child Soldier Fostering Mother Marika. She raised you, after all. It's inevitable.

In the end, that same sympathy he seems to extend to others also is what causes him to do war crimes. Out of an abundance of sympathy for what happened to the Shamans, he agrees to take up arms.

At the end of the day, he's still a villain that needs to be stopped so that he'll stop oppressing an entire people on behalf of his mother's misguided attempts at revenge. But making his reasoning to agree to become that villain in the first place *empathy* of all things? Fascinating.

[saintobio]

sincerely yours. (10)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after. 

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. depression, intoxication, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships,

notes. important announcement ! as you all know, this series has always had an extensive approach into detailing the events in its side stories (ie. sera x sukuna x naoya, yuuji x megumi, maki x yuuta x miwa, etc), but while writing the chapters, the word count and the plot building had become too exhausting for me to produce consistently, esp with the amount of scenes and side stories i was introducing to the story, so i've decided it's best for me to stick to the main characters, reader & gojo, and will only add side stories as necessary. this really hurts me knowing that i can't achieve the level of comprehensive writing and world building that i did for sincerely not, but i really want to finish sy as soon as possible and removing a chunk of side stories would be some of the things that'd help me achieve that 😭 i hope you guys understand. hopefully i'll figure out a way to write those side stories instead of completely abandoning them mid-way in this series. but as always, thanks for ur continued support <3

series masterlist -> episode eleven

“It’s a little weird.”

What was supposed to be her bed time had turned into a moment of reflection for Sera who, instead of being fast asleep at this time of the night, had unconsciously brought herself inside Sukuna’s home office to join the up-and-coming tech mogul in his late-night programming. 

She wore her silk pajamas, pacing back and forth in her boyfriend’s office as her mind flew back to the recent encounter she had with her ex-boyfriend. Who knew that Satoru’s kid would look just like a carbon copy of him? No, actually, the question should be: who knew it would be a different woman by his side acting as the mother of his child? Sera had to laugh at herself, shaking her head as she realized how truly and undeniably ridiculous her ex was. It was clear that day that he wasn’t really as loyal of a partner as he claimed himself to be. 

Did he really just go through all those crazy things with you, only to look like a whore-hopping fool now? 

If he was bound to end up with someone else other than you, then why did he have to make Sera’s life miserable in the first place? 

She may have done terrible things before as a selfish and materialistic lover of his, but that wouldn’t change the fact that Satoru also contributed to her role as the side-piece in his marital relationship. He allowed her to cling to him like a mistress. Being his side-piece wasn’t even something that she had forced upon him. It was his promise, an idea that he planted on Sera’s head, saying that she would need to stay by his side and that he would marry her guaranteed that he had already secured the merger and divorced you. He swore like a fool that he would divorce you. But guess what? The jerk ended up falling in love with his wife and suddenly had no use of Sera. Suddenly, he was such a good husband who couldn’t be more loyal. Suddenly, he was a lovestruck man who had always been in love with his childhood friend. If he had downright dumped Sera the moment his engagement was announced, if he had not been prideful and ambitious since the beginning of his marriage, he probably would have had better luck at having that healthy relationship he yearned from you. 

But how come the blame of being the third-party was all on Sera when her only mistake then was loving the person who promised her all the good things in life? 

Now, you see, this was all just bitterness brewing at the back of her head. She knew what she did was still wrong and that she wasn’t innocent. Sera swore to herself that she would never look back on those awful days ever again, but seeing how Satoru was running around freely with a different woman just reminded Sera of his days as a spiteful, two-timing man. Somehow, it felt like he had changed and yet didn’t at all. 

Ha ha ha. How ridiculous was that? 

“What’s funny?” asked Sukuna, her present boyfriend and thankfully so. He was Sera’s blessing, because she never would have thought that a man like him could still exist in a world full of Satoru’s and Naoya’s. “You look cute smiling to yourself, though.”

“I know,” she responded to the compliment, shifting to settle herself on his lap, though his attention remained fixed on his laptop screen. “It's just strange to me,” she continued, her voice thoughtful, “how Gojou appears his usual self, yet there's something off about him.”

The question clouded Sukuna’s eyes in confusion, tilting his head to the side as he tried to comprehend her description. “You mean dude got uglier?”

I wish, Sera thought. “No, he’s… he’s different. The vibes are different. For a second, he even looked like he was dissociating the whole time he was with that girl,” she said, referring to Satoru’s new girl as though she was your cheap alternative, “But then again, why is he with her in the first place if he looks absent-minded the whole time, you know what I mean?” 

“Was he like that with you before?” 

“At times, but it’s not like the way he’s acting right now… I don’t know, I can’t explain it. The energy is off. That’s just not how he acts when he’s really, really into someone.”

To be honest, Sukuna didn’t give a damn about Satoru Gojou’s life and any normal boyfriend wouldn’t really like hearing their girlfriend talking about another man, especially her ex at that, but he knew Sera found joy in old money gossip and he was aware of the demoralizing past she has had by associating herself with them. Sukuna was acting all engaged in their conversation because he wanted to make her feel heard and that he shared her simple joys in life. Besides, it was through her that he learned so many inside scoops about the people that ran the country’s biggest conglomerates. It was like watching one heck of a messy episode of Dynasty. 

“Didn’t he get into a car accident?” he recalled, remembering the headlines on the news that day, “Then, we saw him at the expo and he couldn’t really remember you. The guy’s probably got his head all messed up.” 

Sera was bitter at the time thinking that Satoru was toying with her when he asked who she was, when the truth was, he was actually diagnosed with amnesia. It was such a shock to her, truthfully, because having amnesia felt like something you would only see on a movie’s screen. Well, in that case, she could also say karma’s a bitch. The director might be onto something here.

“He’s probably not mentally fine, but still…” she thought carefully and played the scene in her head again. What was it about the Gojou that she saw the other day that was different? “He just has a different vibe to him that it feels uncomfortable. It’s like he’s rude, but not so rude? He doesn’t have much of a personality anymore. Like a complete stranger.”

“Maybe it’s the new girl rubbing off on him.” Sukuna was back to typing on his laptop as he said that. Frankly, he was just saying anything at this point. 

Sera shook her head in response. “Well, I don’t know about that girl he’s seeing and I don’t really care, but it’s common knowledge to the filthy rich that she’s Y/N’s best friend. That’s why I recognized her right away, and that’s why it disgusted me,” she pressed on, “Tell me, would you—and be honest about this—would you fuck your best friend’s ex?” 

The humor on her boyfriend’s face came right as she asked that. “Babe, you fucked a married man. It’s worse than fucking somebody’s ex.” 

“Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, she got up from his lap and sighed, but Sukuna wasted no time in pulling her back onto his lap. His chuckle was mingling with the gentle kiss he had planted on her cheek, unaware that his actions made Sera’s heart flutter. “Forget it. I shouldn’t even be talking about Satoru with you.”

The man stretched his arms and finally closed his laptop, patting Sera’s thigh afterwards. “On that note, I do have another ‘dude from your past’ that I gotta meet tomorrow.” 

Her reaction alone was a response for him. “Naoya?” she protested, face contorting with disgust. “What for? I told you not to take on that project.”

“Yeah, I considered it, and you know, the partnership could really benefit CleaveTech,” Sukuna reasoned, leaning back as he outlined the situation to her from a business standpoint. Given her own background working for the Gojou Group before, he expected her to grasp the significance of this partnership and set aside any personal grievances or emotional attachments. “The Zen'in Group is a major client. It’s all pros and no cons here.”

“The contra is the guy you’re gonna work with,” she highlighted with a hint of annoyance rising from her throat, “Naoya is nothing but an opportunistic motherfucker. Mind you, he’s a stupid elitist, too.” 

He held back a laugh, not even threatened by a man who had a terrible history with his girlfriend. “Nah, I’ll deal with him. Just trust me on this.” 

As much as Sera wanted to object, she knew Sukuna had a point and that she really shouldn’t hinder his company from being partnered with such a large conglomerate. She just didn’t like the thought of her boyfriend being around a man who manipulated and humiliated her to the point where she had been blacklisted by multiple companies, leaving her to resort to being somewhat of a prostitute just to make ends meet. 

The world was harsh for the not-so-rich, and all Sera wanted was to give those upper class people a taste of their own medicine. But seeing as her desire for revenge would clash with her boyfriend’s chance at company growth, she had to set aside her personal grudge and support him on this one.  

Still, there was nothing wrong with being curious. “Is there any other reason you agreed to this partnership?”

Sukuna smirked as if he expected that question from her. “Blame it on my little brother, he’s been bugging me ‘bout it.”

“Yuuji?” Sera asked, clearly confused. 

To which her boyfriend quickly answered, “Yeah. He said it’ll give him an opportunity to work with his best friend. You know that kid, Fushiguro, right?” 

Ahh. Toji’s kid aka the heir to the Zen’in business empire. Sera had met Megumi before, and while that other brat Mai used to be unreasonably rude to her, the younger boy was always civil and respectful at least. He never even once treated Sera like dirt when she was spending time with Naoya at their mansion. Perhaps their upbringing really differed because he was raised by Toji and the other Zen’ins were raised by demons. 

Nevertheless, with a connection now established between Sukuna and Naoya through Yuuji and Megumi, Sera couldn’t help but feel that her peaceful days as a nouveau riche were about to become far more intriguing. Depending on the cards she would choose to play, they could even turn into a living nightmare. 

— —

You weren’t exactly abandoning your company; you were merely taking a break, a necessary pause given your current mental state after the whole break-up with Toji and the Osaka thing. Your mind was just too overwhelmingly occupied to even properly function. Each day, mustering the energy to show up at Hearte's head office became increasingly challenging, especially when faced with individuals who relied on you for major decisions and creative direction. 

To make matters worse, Akemi’s sudden resignation hit hard.

You received her decision by a simple letter, a mere piece of paper, without even having the guts and decency to meet with you in person. Was she scared? Or was this her way of rubbing salt on the wound, shoving it in your face that she was now taking things to the next level with your ex-husband? 

She did cite in her resignation letter that her reason for resigning from the role was due to conflict of interest. You wanted to laugh when you read that part. No, you wanted to choke in your fit of laughter after reading through her asinine reasons. She could have been upfront and mentioned that the so-called ‘conflict’ was the very man her best friend had previously married. 

Obviously, everyone in the office felt sad knowing that a core member of the company left without at least a 30-day notice, but they were all also aware that her resignation was due to personal albeit controversial reasons. Did Akemi not care about her image at all? The same colleagues she had trained, managed, and collaborated with would now likely gossip about her behind her back. She would become a hot topic of disrespect among the people that once heavily respected her. Did she also not care about the company you two created together anymore? This was the same company you two had passionately dreamed of during your late-night conversations on a New York rooftop. She was the one who wanted to build a fashion house together with you.

Yet, it seemed she was willing to throw it all away for a man already entangled in complicated familial dynamics. Her immediate resignation and refusal to speak to you in person just further confirmed it to you that Akemi was willing to forsake your friendship by choosing a man who already had a child with someone else. 

Since she chose that path, you couldn’t help but interpret Akemi’s actions as a deliberate slight against your friendship. It seemed clear that she no longer viewed you as a friend and was essentially cutting ties with you. Otherwise, why would she take such a step? Akemi wasn’t the type to be vindictive; she likely believed she was sparing you further pain by severing your connection. However, regardless of her intentions, her actions felt deeply disrespectful and hurtful.

If this was what she wanted, then kudos to her and her unbelievable confidence to choose a man like Satoru Gojou. Besides, it didn’t even take you a week to find another replacement. Your family connections were powerful after all. You readily had a pool of potential candidates for the role of the Head of Sales, Retail, and Merchandising—all from prestigious backgrounds and unparalleled expertise. While the competition was tough, you selected the person you deemed was the most qualified to be your second-in-command. This was someone you had esteemed since college, a person who excelled in both business acumen and creative vision.

Yuki Tsukumo. She was influential in every sense, and you trusted that she would be able to manage the high pressure environment of a start-up fashion house and transform it into an iconic brand, a household name that would one day rival Chanel and Miu Miu. 

You may have succeeded in replacing Akemi. You may have shown her that her position in the workforce was easily replaceable, but her role as your friend still left a lingering, repugnant mark that proved far more difficult to erase. This underlying sentiment could explain the unreasonable anger festering in your heart—a visceral reaction born from feelings of backstabbing betrayal. 

It was hard enough for you to travel all the way to Osaka with a broken heart, but it became much more agonizing to watch your own son run up to Akemi like she was his mother. It was a goddamn slap to your face, indeed, to see that your ex-husband had already chosen a woman to have his happy, little family with. That he wanted to be a good man and be everything you wished for in a husband for her. 

As they say, nothing hurts more than building a man for another woman. 

And honestly? You cried so much on the way home that you became numb. Now, you were just trying to get over it. You were trying to bury the searing pain in order to forget the betrayal you felt. It was all too much for a person to handle and it wasn’t like you hadn’t gone through the same old shit before. Wasn’t it worse before with Satoru actually cheating and all? He technically wasn’t crossing any lines here, so it shouldn’t hurt you. It shouldn’t. You had been here before. If you had managed to get through such an awful time as his previous wife, his relationship with Akemi shouldn’t be too hard to accept. No, you weren’t trying to lowball your pain, but it was better to be an optimist in this situation than be a suicidal, self-destructive person. You had a business to run and a child to raise. You had to be strong. 

Or at least, that was what you told yourself. That was what you had been telling yourself over and over, each time you got up from bed forcing yourself to have a false positive mindset. In fact, that was also why you had to take this extended break because you had to have your peace of mind. You had to have some form of release to remember why you needed to stay alive and keep yourself going.

Not just for Sachiro’s sake, but also for your own. 

Your safe haven for now was at the horse ranch, where the tranquility of riding and the beauty of nature provided the perfect ambiance for reflection. How long has it been since your last visit to Willow? Your father had been joking that you shouldn’t be leaving a beautiful, white Friesian horse unattended for years, especially not for the expensive price he paid her for. True enough, because the moment you saw the mare again, you almost forgot how majestic she was for her breed. Willow was a completely docile and graceful horse, so alike to you in many ways. However, one thing that was unlike you, was that she lived in peace, existing solely for herself and not for anyone else.

If only you could be like her. 

As you reached out to stroke your rare-breed horse, a new and unfamiliar stallion in the stable caught your eye. To think of it, your family shared this equestrian estate with the Gojou family. This realization meant that the strikingly elegant and tall gray horse in the adjacent stall belonged to none other than Satoru.

“It’s a Thoroughbred,” the equine caretaker informed while guiding your horse out of the stable, “Mr. Satoru got him recently and named him Six.” 

A gray Thoroughbred, renowned as the most expensive horse breeds out there. It could fetch a price as high as $70 million, and of course, Satoru was the perfect owner for such a prestigious horse. The stallion embodied his essence completely—its color, its build, its rarity. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but find his naming convention by number a bit odd. His previous black stallion was named Eight. This time around, it was Six. Couldn’t he be more imaginative?

“He’s beautiful,” you mumbled, nonetheless, in awe with the regality of the horse. 

“He’s a good boy, too,” added the enthusiastic horsekeeper in a thick country accent, “Mr. Satoru was here yesterday and played polo while riding him. They were perfectly in sync even if it was his first time riding him.”

Of course, he would play polo. That was one of his favorite recreational sports. The burning question at hand was, who was with him during his visit? Because if the caretaker mentioned Akemi, you would certainly lose it. This was your private space with him. This estate was a place that none of his other women had access to, not even Sera. This was a location filled with memories from your childhood. For him to bring another woman here would be crossing the damn line. 

“Did he bring anyone with him?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you dusted off your boots. 

The caretaker denied. “No, he was alone. He just came to play polo and check the horses he recently bought.” 

Oh… “He bought more than one?” 

Did he seriously get Akemi her own horse? Your heart was racing at the thought, but the caretaker led you to the stable near the exit to show you the other horse than your ex-husband had purchased. It was a brown Shetland pony. 

“He got a fully trained Shetland for your son,” the horsekeeper proudly declared, showcasing the pony as if he had been instructed to do so in anticipation of your visit. It was obvious that Gojou had already briefed him on introducing Sachiro’s new pony to you because he knew you would be asking about it. “His name is Elmo. He is kid-safe and very friendly.”

Frankly, you wanted to sigh in relief, but at the same time, it warmed your heart to know that Satoru got his son his own horse at such a young age. You could already sense him planning to make Sachiro take equestrian classes when he gets older, and probably join him on his horseback riding sessions, too. You could imagine just how perfect it would be to see the father and son bonding here, racing together, playing polo together… yet it would not be you who would be watching them on the side.  

This future he was setting up with his son would be an experience he would share with Akemi. 

There was no you in that vision anymore. 

The caretaker likely questioned your sanity when he noticed the bitter smile on your face as you mounted your mare. He might have even doubted whether you were sane enough to ride alone, without a guide, particularly through the woods since Willow had not been ridden for some time now. However, you had done it countless times before and were quite familiar with the trail, and so you dismissed his offer to lead you and assured him confidently that you knew your way back.

You needed this solitude. You craved this moment of peace, alone with your thoughts and surrounded by nature, to reflect on the ceaseless torture of your life. It was just never-ending, squeezing every drop of happiness out of your system to make sure that you would only live to suffer. You really thought you had your happy ending with someone else? You actually believed you had found the perfect man to be your actual husband? 

Well, unfortunately for you, Toji was not the one. 

At first, your mind flew to Toji as you went on to the trail, allowing the mare to continue trotting as you held the reins to control her. You remembered Toji’s text that morning, asking you for the hundredth time if he could meet with you. He likely wanted to apologize in person, but you doubted he would change his mind and take back the things he said. Because they were true. He could never fill the void left by his deceased wife by being with another empty soul. It was painfully, unmistakably true. You were better off dead if that was the case, because even if you did end up marrying him, you would never be regarded as the person he loved the most. After all, your role in this world seemed to always be the second option. You were never the first in other people’s books. Not with your ex-husband. Not even with your family, especially with Gen around. You were meant to be a bystander, watching others live their perfect lives while you were forced to be in your misery. Someone like Toji would not have a guaranteed blissful marriage with you and you had to spare him from that. You had to draw the line and step back from this charade that you were playing with him, knowing that you were never the right person to be with him, so at some point, you had to accept his drunken words. They came from a place of truth, and that truth would set the both of you free. 

Even it hurt. Even if it fucking hurt to hear his words. You couldn’t deny them. 

You could easily forgive him, but his words might take a while for you to forget because even thinking about it now was bringing a wave of pain into your chest. You didn’t even notice that you were losing control on Willow’s reins by the time you entered further into the woods, bouncing on the saddle as you galloped along the challenging path. With the speed you were riding right now, inexperienced riders would certainly find it unsafe and scary. But for you? It was just what you needed. The breeze of fresh air, the thrill of riding alone, the peaceful sound of nature—you could die there and be at your happiest. 

Maybe that was where you had to be; to disappear and leave them all behind. Wouldn’t that be best for everyone? If you were to vanish, they could finally be free. Your presence, even from the beginning, was a burden for everyone—for your dad, Gen, Satoru, Toji, and even Akemi. The people you trusted the most would be the same people who would secretly celebrate your demise. So, what else was hindering you from taking matters into your own hands and ending it all yourself?

“Giddy up!” 

Was it Sachiro? Definitely. But now he had his father, and he was likely starting to see Akemi as a mother figure as well. Your role as his beloved mama could be easily replaced if you were to leave him now. It wouldn’t hurt him as much that way. Three years with Sachiro seemed sufficient enough, and he was at an age where he could grow up alongside his father. In this short span, he would have lasting memories with you, yet not enough to deeply grieve your absence. He was a young child, surrounded by people who would offer the whole world to him. At least, for that, you were eternally grateful. It brought you comfort knowing that your son would have support after you were gone, and that he would find a mother figure in Akemi. Given the brief time he spent with you and the rest of his life with her as his stepmother, Sachiro would likely come to love and accept Akemi as his own mother. This was the best outcome you could hope for.

My child, my son, my baby… please don’t get mad at mommy. 

Tears were gushing out of your eyes and you hadn’t even realized it until they started blurring your vision. You were far too lost in your own thoughts, unaware that you were now in an unfamiliar and seemingly dangerous part of the trail. The path was getting a little bit too steep and poor Willow was clearly stressed at your inconsiderate handling. There were multiple obstacles on your rocky terrain and you weren’t as steady and controlled as you wanted to be because the horse wasn’t comfortable navigating such a difficult path with the pace you were forcing her to.  

“Ah!” 

Your attempt to balance was interrupted by Willow’s loud neigh, signaling her distress before she bolted into a full rampage. She was sprinting at an estimated speed of 20 miles per hour. Not even a skilled rider like Satoru himself would be cantering that fast on unfamiliar terrain and an unfit horse. But you, you clearly had a death wish, because instead of fearing for your own life, you were far more concerned at the thought of how dreamy Satoru and Akemi’s wedding would look like after your demise. They would definitely make Sachiro their ringbearer. Suguru would be the best man. Shoko, the maid of honor. People on the internet would praise them for being an attractive couple. They would anticipate their beautiful kids together, living in the same mansion he bought as a gift to you. He would kiss her good night, tell her loves her, and offer the whole world to her. They would exchange vows and promise themselves a lifelong commitment to be by each other’s side through sickness and in health, and only in death would they part. 

“Willow!” 

You let out a shriek as the reins slipped from your grasp, causing you to tumble off the saddle and crash onto the ground. The impact was first felt in your elbow, and a sharp, searing pain then radiated through your body. There you lay, sprawled on the dirt, helplessly watching Willow galloping out of control up the mountain, and then tragically plummeting off a cliff.

“Nooo! Willow, no!”

Utter hysteria overtook you. You sobbed uncontrollably, unable to determine which pain was more agonizing—the clearly broken elbow, the loss of the horse you had inadvertently led to its death, or the heart-wrenching reality of Satoru starting a family with someone else.

You were pathetic. You were such a pathetic excuse of a human being and this was why you deserve hell. 

“Willow!” 

Toji couldn’t love you. Your own son didn’t want to be around you. Satoru had gotten over you. And now, you drove a poor innocent horse to its demise because of your recklessness! 

You were crying hysterically as you held your pained elbow, crawling by the cliff’s edge as you screamed for your horse’s name, but in the end, there was nothing you could do. You could only apologize to poor Willow for having such an irresponsible owner, and now she was dead because of you. 16 years of her life, she was able to live in peace until you came and ruined it all for her. It should have been you. You were the one who should have jumped off a cliff. You should atone for your sins and follow her, but you were too weak, far to overcome by the excruciating pain on your hip and your broken elbow to move or do anything at all. 

That was, until your mind had completely shut down, leaving you as a mere body to be discarded alone in the darkness of the woods. You hoped that no one else would find you soon. 

— —

“A-Angina?” Satoru’s eyes went wide. His whole world stopped before him.

“Yes. She was diagnosed with stable angina,” Dr. Mori confirmed, much to your husband’s horror. “But there is another factor that requires her to have more rest. You need to take good care of your wife, Mr. Gojou. Her body needs a lot of nutrients so she can carry safely.”

He could barely process the whole thing in his head because the news kept coming one after another, leaving him in a befuddled state with a flood of unanswered questions running through his mind. “What do you mean…?”

“Your wife is seven weeks pregnant.”

…

…

“Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

“Are you out of your mind?!” 

You could barely pry your eyes open, but when you finally managed to, you were met with the concerned expression on Gen’s face. The harsh glare of fluorescent lights and the antiseptic scent confirmed to you that you were in the ER, likely an hour or two after the incident in the woods. The memory of the trail quickly flooded your thoughts, and a pang of sorrow gripped your heart as you recalled Willow's final moments before she fell off the cliff. The poor horse had lost her life, while the one responsible for her tragic death remained alive, save for the bandage wrapped around your arm.

“Why did you ride into the woods alone?” Gen persisted with her barrage of questions, standing by your bed as you attempted to sit up. “Are you suicidal or what? Riding your horse in a dangerous trail like that—”

“You know what, maybe I should have just died back there!” you snapped, wincing from the pain in your elbow. Her choice of words struck a nerve in you. “Maybe I’d prefer that over sitting here, listening to your sanctimonious lecture like you're so perfect yourself! How obnoxious.”

“Then, maybe you shouldn’t be riding so recklessly and causing alarm to everyone else!” 

“Did I literally ask you to come save me?!” 

The atmosphere around you two just became even more uninviting, with discomfiting silence seeping through as you and Gen were engaged in a sharp glaring contest. Your father stood behind her, clearing his throat to cut the tension. 

“That’s enough, Gen.” Your dad placed a hand on her shoulder, and although she wanted to protest, she knew better not to keep stirring the pot after receiving his strict gaze. “Let’s just be thankful your sister is safe. There’s no need to be so overwhelming.” 

You rolled your eyes, drawing in a deep breath before you looked away from them. None of them would ever understand your pain unless they were in your position. They didn’t carry the same baggage as you, so they would never fully comprehend the weight of your suffering. You had already dealt with similar pain on your own before and that was why you didn’t need any of them to come to your aid, meddling with your life like they knew exactly what you were going through. “Just leave me alone, you guys. I wanna rest.”

Since when did your relationship with your sister start to get rough? It wasn’t really like this before, but ever since she started to become too overprotective over you and your choices in life, particularly choices linked to Satoru, Gen had started to become insufferable in your eyes. She was acting too much like a mother; controlling your decisions, lecturing you about your personal relationships, being too involved with your private life. There, ever since that, you started to distance yourself from her, and she didn’t like that. Her stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to cease acting like this mature, picture perfect big sister to you. 

With that said, Gen would have normally gotten annoyed when you asked them to leave you alone, but this time around, she seemed to have reflected on her insensitivity a lot better with your father around. “I’m sorry, okay?” she said, her tone still tinged with stubbornness, “I just got worried. I don’t know what’s gotten into you to put yourself in danger like that, but… please, Y/N. If you’re going through something, you can always speak to us. Dad and I, we’re here for you.” 

To be fair, if you had to put yourself in their shoes, it really would have been alarming to know that your sister almost died. This wasn’t the first time you were at death’s door either, so they were probably scared shitless when they were informed of your situation. Your absolutely reckless situation. You didn’t mean to cause a scene, neither did you intend to bother them on their already busy schedules. You just had so many things in your mind while you were horseback riding, too engulfed by your own sorrow that you didn’t realize the repercussions after the incident had already taken place. 

“I’m sorry, too.” Your voice softened with humility. “I didn’t mean to worry you guys. It was just really an accident.” 

Of course, Gen suspected it was more than just an accident. Your dad did, too. It was obvious on their forlorn faces that they were worried for your mental and emotional well-being, but none of them dared address the elephant in the room. It seemed they didn’t need to, anyway, since one of the many reasons that contributed to your earlier breakdown took a peek from behind the curtains, clearing his throat and sending you a look of sympathy. 

“Y/N?” Toji looked at your father and your sister for approval before stepping further inside your space in the ER. “Can I talk to you?” 

There was no escaping Toji’s presence anymore. No more hiding, no more avoiding. You knew you had to have this talk with him no matter how many times you ignored his flood of texts and calls. While this may have struck as an opportune moment for him to speak to you in person, facing the painful truth of your situation weighed heavily on you. Besides, hadn’t the irony presented itself right there? If Satoru were the one trying to speak to you, even if he was the father of your child, Gen would have been quick to lash out at him. Yet with Toji, even with the general knowledge of what had transpired between you two, your sister still showed no hostility towards him, allowing him to approach you freely and without interference.

But then again, Toji was far from being a cheating, manipulative scumbag who not only caused you suffering but also sought to selfishly acquire your family’s company. Therefore, he wasn’t considered a threat. 

Alright, then. Since Toji genuinely wasn’t a threat to your current emotional state, you agreed to talk with him. It was the first time you had seen the not-so-confident side of Toji Zen’in. He was typically a man of virtue, often holding his chin high, offering the best advice, and having insightful perspectives on life. However, it seemed you had shattered that confidence in him. You could sense his cautiousness around you as he stood by your side in the ER, assisting you with your needs, and eventually agreeing to your request to walk you to the rooftop garden.

“I don’t really think there’s anything else we should talk about.” It was you who first broke the silence, staring at the cityscape while sitting on a wheelchair. The calm breeze allowed your mind to seize the moment with a peaceful mind. “I already heard what you had to say.” 

Toji found it better to kneel down in front of you to meet your eyes as he spoke to you in a sincere and earnest voice. “Y/N, I was drunk when I said all that shit back there. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t mean to hurt you with my callous words, and I feel awful that you had to hear them from me. You trusted me. You sought comfort from me. I wasn’t thinking like a normal person when those things came out of my mouth.” 

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t true,” you replied with quiet resignation. It was the acceptance in your face that seemed to have caused Toji’s heartbroken gaze. “It’s okay, Toji. I think, when you said all those things, it actually made me realize some aspects of our relationship that had to be addressed. It made me more self-aware and it opened my eyes on the bigger picture.” You touched his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as you mustered the courage to speak your next words. “It’s for the best that we part ways. It’s not fair to me to become a placeholder for your wife the same way it isn’t fair to you to have to deal with my ex-husband always being present in my life. Our unresolved feelings won’t really be resolved by being together.”

“Y/N…” Toji’s voice hinted at his vulnerable emotions, though he restrained himself from showing it fully. And you didn’t miss the apologetic look he had presented to you. “Despite all that, I hope you know that I’d been true to you. I do love you and will always love you. I’ll always be someone you can rely on, someone you can seek comfort from, someone you can turn to when you need help…” 

Damn it. Why did he have to make it sound like an actual break up? Now, it tugged at your heartstrings and hit you in a place it shouldn’t have. You weren’t good at these things and it certainly was your first time dealing with such a mature and mutual separation, but wasn’t that a good thing? No further drama was to happen, leaving a stark comparison to your separation with Satoru. While this one didn’t hurt as much, it still brought a hollow feeling in your chest. 

“Same for me,” you agreed, displaying a weak smile. “You’ll always have a spot in my heart, Toji. I’ll always be grateful that I met you.” 

Sometimes, two people didn’t need to be together to love each other. Friendships could still thrive between ex-lovers, and that was why closure was so important. It not only closed a certain chapter of your life in a healthy way, but also allowed you to heal and open yourselves to a new beginning without any bitterness left behind. 

It shouldn’t be considered bad to remain friends with an ex. It also shouldn’t be bad to give a parting kiss from said ex, right? 

You weren’t the one who initiated it, after all. It was Toji’s hand that gently stroked your cheek. It was him, who leaned forward and pressed his lips onto yours. It wasn’t forceful, but neither was it passionate. It was simply a tender kiss of goodbye, feeling the warmth of each other’s lips for one last time before you two would transition from being lovers to friends. What you didn’t understand from this supposedly bittersweet moment was the faint tears that somehow managed to escape your eyes, perhaps because you knew that once Toji left, you would be alone again. 

You had no one by your side to love you, cherish you, choose you, and offer their entire world for you. You were meant to live this cruel world all by yourself. 

As he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours. “Please learn to love yourself before anyone else, Y/N. It’s what you need and what you deserve.” 

That night, while you were getting your MRI, your mind kept flying to the possibilities of a future without having anyone by your side. Any normal person would tell you to focus on loving yourself first, as Toji did recently, focusing on what matters most, and ridding yourself of the toxic things that hinder you from moving forward with your life. Things weren’t as easy as they sounded. Besides, it was different being on the receiving end of the said advice. How could you do those things when the primary cause of your pain was someone whose life would always be linked to yours forever? 

Based on the result of your MRI scans, your doctor recommended that you undergo elbow arthroscopy. It was just a minimally invasive procedure compared to open surgeries, but considering how much of an overthinker your dad was when it came to your health, he insisted on your confinement at the hospital until you had been completely cleared of any other issues. He really placed a big deal on your condition and emphasized to the doctors that they make sure nothing was missed. It could have been worse; you could have had a broken hip or a fractured leg, but at least you only had a dislocated elbow. Nothing that couldn’t be easily corrected by surgery and physical therapy. 

The decision was for you to stay there for two days, and on your first night, a crying Sachiro ran inside your private room because his ‘mama has a boo boo’. Gen said he was picked up from daycare and dropped off at the hospital because the poor kid was looking for you. She didn’t mention who dropped your son off to you, but you could tell it was Satoru. You could sense it by the glances she exchanged with Ian after you asked how Sachiro came to the hospital. 

So, in that case, Satoru must have found out about your little incident and didn’t care enough to see you. Did he not even have an ounce of care anymore? Or was it Gen who stopped him from seeing you? 

“Did you ask him to leave?” you confronted Gen in a mellow voice, rubbing Sachiro’s back as he snuggled into you on the hospital bed. 

Your sister knew exactly which man you were referring to, and she denied having done such. “No, I didn’t even talk to him. He took Sachi here and left.” 

You didn’t know why you looked at Ian to confirm the truth of his wife’s words, but hurt yourself upon seeing his bowed head. It was an apologetic expression that did signify your ex-husband’s blatant act of ignoring you. To hear about your near-death experience and simply leave without even checking on you should be your wake-up call. He didn’t care anymore. No, why should he care? He had Akemi. His only responsibility with you was to be a supportive father to your son. 

Why did the pain in your heart feel far more agonizing than the discomfort on your dislocated elbow?

If anything, you wanted to ask for the strongest anesthetic they could offer to numb your pain. You were desperate to have anything even if they had to put you into an eternal sleep. That would have been much easier to deal with than feeling disregarded by a person you supposedly had moved on from. Satoru did nothing wrong here. It was you who had that expectation, only to disappoint yourself when things didn’t happen as you imagined. 

And just when you thought things would get better as long as you ignore your torturous thoughts, it didn’t help that being in the hospital kept giving you flashbacks of the time you were in this exact room, hearing Satoru crying helplessly from outside and begging for you not to terminate his child. What comes around certainly goes back around. Or worse. 

Such depressive thoughts had you occupied throughout your stay there, and your unusual placidness alarmed the nurses instead of being assured that you were doing well. You heard your doctors telling your father and sister to always keep a close eye on you as the incident may not seem serious, but the trauma would undoubtedly be present somewhere and somehow. Were they aware? Of your intrusive thoughts of wanting to hurt yourself? 

The elbow arthroscopy was successful and by the second day, you were free to go home. You were placed on certain medications to help with the swelling and the pain, and while you were walking around the hospital with a listless mind, you happened to pass by the Obstetrics and Gynecology Department. What a deja vu it was, remembering the time you had seen Satoru there waiting outside for Sera. Back then, it was one of the climactic events in your life that led to a domino effect on the downfall of your marriage. Not that you were reminiscing, but it did remind you that Shoko was probably there in her consultation room and it would be nice to talk to a friend who had witnessed the wild history of your marriage. 

You asked Gen to wait for you in the car while you headed to Ieiri’s consultation room, assuring your visibly worried sister that everything was fine and that you wouldn’t take too long. You had to give Gen some slack, because despite the strains in your relationship as sisters, she was still always there for you. At the end of the day, she was family. 

Shoko, on the other hand, was the next closest thing you had for a sister. She welcomed you inside her room in a very worried embrace, telling you that if she had known about the incident, she would have gone straight to your hospital room on your first day, but you told her not to worry about it and understood that being in the medical field already had her schedule tight. 

“Well, I guess it’s perfect that you’re here, too.” Shoko smiled warmly, sitting behind her desk. She had exciting news to offer, it seemed. “I just wanna say that… of course, I’ll still be sending you a formal invitation and everything. I actually have a few gifts along with it.” 

You shared her enthusiasm. “Hmm… is it what I think it is?” 

The wedding. The most eventful day of her life would be arriving soon and you were the first one to hear it. 

“Yes!” she answered, with the utmost joy coruscating from her eyes. “I want you to be my maid-of-honor, Y/N. I’d be extremely happy if you could make it. I know you just got into an accident, but it won’t be until two months, so—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You eased her worries by chuckling. “I’m completely fine, of course I’ll be there. I can’t miss it.” 

Shoko was grateful to hear your answer, relieved even, because by asking you to be her maid-of-honor, you should already understand who Suguru’s best man would be. That was a touchy subject for you and she was keenly aware of it, but you didn’t want her to worry. You didn’t want your relationship with your ex-husband to have a negative impact on the relationship of all the other people surrounding the both of you. It was already bad enough that Shoko and Suguru almost called off their engagement after they fought over their morals as you and Satoru’s friends, and you were glad that they somehow made things work. They somehow set aside their disagreements and ultimately chose their love over anything else. 

Their love was beautiful, and while that wasn’t something you could easily have, it was something you deeply admired. 

“Where are you guys planning to hold your wedding?” you asked, steering the conversation away from any mention of your ex-husband. “Here or overseas?” 

She delighted you with her answer, sounding as if this was the perfect wedding she had always dreamed of. “It’s an intimate wedding on the lakeside. Suguru chose the location, actually, since he wanted our wedding to have the view of Mount Fuji.” 

“That’s perfect,” you said with wide eyes. “Lake Kawaguchiko?” 

“Yep. That’s exactly where it’d be.” She smiled with her eyes. “You know this resort… Hoshinoya Fuji? We already booked the place, and we have a luxury cabin for friends and families to stay at.” 

You had been there before, but you were too young to remember. All you knew was that it was a high-end resort that had the best panoramic views of Lake Kawaguchiko and Mount Fuji. The hotel owner was also a close friend of the Gojou family, so that was probably why they were able to rent the entire place for the wedding, especially at a peak season for tourists. 

Since the fall season was arriving, you could only imagine the stunning views of the autumn foliage there. It offered the perfect weather, too. It wouldn’t be as hot as summer, nor as freezing as winter. Surely, it would be nice to do some nature walks and stargazing, maybe ride a boat or bathe in a hot spring. You looked forward to it, except for the fact that your ex-husband would also be there. 

And just what a perfect timing it was, because as Shoko sorted through her patients' medical records above her desk, a file slipped from the pile, revealing the name of your very friend, Akemi. 

“Oh,” Shoko murmured apologetically as she retrieved the record, not wanting to ruin the mood of your conversation. “She, uh, came by a few days ago... with Gojou.”

You didn’t need to ask. You didn’t need to hear any further detail. Akemi’s visit likely revolved around her desire to conceive, as she wouldn’t have visited Shoko otherwise. Why? If it were simply to monitor her polycystic ovary, why did she choose Shoko instead of her own gynecologist? Thinking of how your ex-husband and best friend were attempting to start a family together left your heart shattered in unimaginable pieces, stirring up painful memories of your pathetic marriage with Satoru and reopening old wounds you thought had already healed from. Wasn’t it ironic that a couple of years ago, you were crying over the same situation with Sera? 

You couldn’t stand this feeling anymore. You thought you had already freed yourself from the pain of loving him, yet here you were suffering from the same heartbreak over and over and over again. Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, the ache in your chest too raw to confront just yet. 

“It’s funny.” Although you displayed an outward smile, the sadness in your voice reflected your otherwise inward thoughts. You didn’t know why you said that. You were just too… too emotional. Almost like you couldn’t breathe. “He was never this passionate with me. They seem so in love.” 

Ieiri’s eyes carried sisterly concern in them. “Y/N, it’s not really what you think.” 

Was it? You weren’t sure what to feel anymore. You certainly weren't there to hear it anymore, either. Satoru chose her, just like what you wanted for him to do. Just like what you asked him to do. He had moved on, he had found someone who would love him for who he was, he had chosen the woman he would share the rest of his future with. Call yourself ridiculous for even feeling hurt about it, because you had no right to be and you definitely chose this. Either you own up to it, or you cry about it for the rest of your life. 

Both choices had no happy endings. 

— —

When Satoru learned about your incident in the woods, he thought he was going to lose his mind. 

Was it out of love that he swiftly left the office in the middle of a meeting just to get to where you were? 

He still had to pick up Sachiro from daycare, and he felt bad telling his son on the way to the hospital that his mother was hurt. It actually gave Satoru a hard time explaining to the 3-year old that they had to go to the hospital because his mommy was there and that she had an unfortunate encounter while riding a horse. 

“Dada, is… is mama okay?” Sachiro pouted with wide, tearful eyes as he clung to his father’s hand. “Sachi wants to go to mama!” 

“She’ll be okay, Sachi.” Gojou carried his son and soothed him as they went inside the hospital, searching for you. “Mommy’s strong, remember?” 

Was it out of love that he wanted to be the person that brought your son to you when you most needed him? 

According to the nurse, your room was on the seventh floor, but when he got there, your room was empty. It was Ian who told him that you went up the rooftop garden to get some fresh air, insisting that if Satoru wanted to go and talk to you, that it was best to leave Sachiro with them. 

And so he did. He ran hastily, almost out of breath, until he reached the rooftop, scanning every face within the vicinity until his tired blue eyes finally landed on you. 

Satoru laughed in disbelief. He scoffed bitterly, with each breath full of disgust. The tips of his fingers felt cold, while his breathing grew thin and ragged. He could feel his stomach clenching at the humiliation of seeing you engaged in an intimate make-out session with Toji Zen’in. 

How sickeningly sweet. 

At that point, he was laughing at his own expense, ignoring the elderly lady who looked at him like he was a crazy person. He stood there frozen for a few minutes, watching you kiss another man before it finally woke him up from reality. 

It was out of love that he let you go. 

You see? This was where his attachment to you would lead him. It was pure and unreasonable selfishness, but he would gain nothing at all from even seeing you. He didn’t need to care for you at all, no. You had Toji. You seemed to be goddamn happy with your life with Toji. And what a romantic fucking moment that was, too. 

Satoru couldn’t think straight when he hurriedly left the hospital and got inside his car. He desperately wanted to forget the painful image of you locking lips with somebody else. How? How would he? Fuck! He was mad, mad at himself for choosing to come to your aid like he still had any role in your life. He was disgusted at himself for ignoring Akemi’s calls after promising her a movie date after work. He couldn’t believe he had her waiting all by herself in that cinema, waiting for him to come while he was stupidly running around the hospital to see his ex-wife. 

You chose Toji, then you better be happy. Satoru hoped you were happy, and that wish came from a place of genuineness. He genuinely hoped the best for you. Because for him, it was time to fully let go and stop himself from trying to be the superhero whenever you were in danger. You weren’t his wife anymore. 

So, was it out of love that he headed straight to Akemi’s apartment that night with a bouquet of red roses? 

She didn’t know what happened nor was she given the full detail as to why he unintentionally stood her up on their date night. He had just briefly explained that he had to drop Sachiro off to you at a hospital because you got into a small accident. Akemi, being your friend, got immediately worried upon hearing the situation and asked if Satoru was able to check on you. 

He said no. He said Toji was there. He said he left as soon as dropped Sachiro off. 

And in an effort to apologize for not paying attention to the current woman in his life, Satoru pulled Akemi in a tight embrace. He held her in her arms, drunk from the sweet and citrusy notes of her perfume, before pulling away to kiss her. He kissed her with the same passion as you did with Toji. Perhaps even more, even better. He completely devoured her lips, with a hand on her cheek and the other on her waist. The taste of her tongue was sweet like strawberries, while her lips were red like cherries. 

This woman was all he needed. 

But was this love? He didn’t know. It was too soon to tell, too early to answer, too hasty to even consider. 

— —

The current situation you were in reminded you of your younger self after your mother had died. It was the same before; you never left the house, often locking yourself in your room, shutting yourself off from the world, and drowning yourself with the pain and loneliness of losing somebody important. 

Sure, no one really died for you to be acting this way right now, but the feeling was still the same. Was this really a comeuppance to all of your wrongdoings before? But just how terrible were you of a person to be hit by this unbelievable truckload of sorrow? You might as well spur on the physical pains of your angina again if this torment continued. Otherwise, how else do you avoid it? 

You were being a terrible mother, too. You were too engrossed by your own misery that you couldn’t even properly take care of Sachiro. He didn’t deserve to have an incompetent and irresponsible mother like you. He deserves someone better, someone like Akemi, who not only has all the motherly traits a woman should have, but also the physical and mental capacity of being a true, strong woman. 

Sachiro was bound to have that, anyway. Now that his father was planning his lifelong journey with another woman, and now that he was trying to build a happy family with her, you were no longer needed in the picture. There was no need for you. 

How many more times would you tell that you have accepted it? 

Because, god be damned, you knew you couldn’t. You knew you were lying to yourself when you said everything was fine, lying to Satoru when you told him you didn’t need him in your life anymore, lying to Toji for telling him that you wanted to marry him, lying to Akemi that you didn’t care if she was seeing your ex-husband, and lying to Sachiro when you promised to him that you would never leave his side. You were a liar. A terrible liar. A pitiful, terrible liar. 

How would you tell the universe that you couldn’t take it anymore? That, for once, you wanted to be showered by happiness and all the good things in life? 

Sera was right. Not everyone could have it all. There were people of lesser fortune who weren’t blessed to live a lavish life like you, yet still work hard to achieve what they want. Why couldn't you achieve your own happiness without blaming it on the universe? If this was simply a lesson, then weren’t you the top student at this rate? 

God. God, help me. You really didn’t know how to deal with this life anymore. You weren’t sure how to proceed. You couldn’t rely on anything other than the bottle of alcohol on your hand—what was once full was now half empty after you took another swig. This was your second bottle already, wasn’t it? Or third? 

You got up from the floor and failed to walk in a straight line as you made your way towards the balcony. Your steps were unsteady, wavering like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. With each attempt to move forward, your body swayed from side to side, struggling to maintain balance. You almost lost grip of the bottle you were holding. No, it did, in fact, slip from your hand and ended up crashing into the floor. Shards of glass lay across the ground, ready to pierce the soles of your feet to mirror the same physical pain your heart was experiencing. 

“Stop,” you muttered under your breath, begging for your chest to stop hurting. But it only worsened, and your antidote to that was to wash it down with even more liquor. No matter how expensive it was, you didn’t even like the taste of alcohol. You hated the sting on your throat whenever you drank it. You despised the bitterness it left on your tongue. However, it did great at numbing your emotions. 

It just felt wrong in many ways that you were seeing Satoru’s face whenever you closed your eyes. You could see his smile, his loving eyes, his beautiful lips. You missed his embrace, his kiss, his touch. You missed hearing his I love you’s. Him. You missed him. You yearned for him. Three goddamn years, and you were still undeniably in love with him. 

“Satoru…” you cried, sitting on the floor. Each breath made it harder and harder for you to catch as tears continued to stream down your face. You were tired of pretending, denying that you no longer had feelings for him when you knew deep down that you would always choose him. “S-Satoru… come back to me, please.”

Was it him coming inside your room? Or was it your vision making a fool out of you? 

“Baby, what are you doing?” Satoru’s expression was engulfed in immense worry as he knelt down and reached out to you, touching your cheek and looking at your eyes somberly. “Don’t do this yourself, Y/N.” 

Your head hung low, your gaze unfocused and glazed, as you fought to keep your eyes on the path ahead. You had to reach him. You wanted to touch him, hug him. And despite your best efforts, your movements were disjointed and erratic, betraying the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, that’s enough.” Gen had to use force just to be able to snatch the bottle away from you, forcing you to wake up to the reality where Satoru no longer existed to be there for you. It was her who came rushing inside your room in the middle of the night. The bottle of liquor was now spilled all over the floor. The same could be described with your emotions. “Get it together. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately!”

You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You were in delirium after having dealt with all the terrible things the world had thrown at you. If you couldn’t drown yourself in alcohol, how else would you have been able to numb the pain? How else would you have been able to… forget? 

As much as your sister tried to hide the obvious sympathy in her voice, even your drunken mind could recognize it. “We all know you’re going down the depression lane again, but never to this extent.” Her voice cracked in the middle of her sentence, cradling you into her arms as a tear fell down her face. The Gen who would usually lecture you, was now holding you in her arms as her only baby sister. “Stop this, Y/N, please. Don’t ruin your life the second time. I-It’s hurting me. It’s hurting Dad. Do you… do you realize what Sachiro’s gonna think of you when he sees you like this?” 

“Gen…” Muffled sobs unwillingly came out of you, leaving you with such excruciating pain in the chest, so much so that it didn’t even feel like you had done surgery to fix your (quite literally) broken heart.  “I w-want him back,” you continued to cry, “I want my husband back. I want to be with h-him, Gen.” 

“Y/N.”

“Where’s S-Satoru…? D-Did he leave? Please take me to him—”

“Y/N, listen to me.” She gently cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at her pained eyes. “You’re intoxicated. He was never here, and he’d never come for you. You have to let it go.” 

“But—”

“He’s not good for you. He never will be.”

— —

It had been two weeks since Satoru last heard about you. Miwa was the one who updated him that you had already returned to your family’s mansion, letting him know that you were okay and that you were recovering well. Frankly, Satoru was starting to get annoyed at the fact that his secretary was still giving him updates about you. What did he care? He wasn’t your husband anymore. 

Besides, Toji was probably visiting you every day, so why did he have to worry about you? If there was anyone he should be worried about, it was Akemi. She had been experiencing terrible pelvic cramps lately, which needed to be given serious attention, but you would never see her being dramatic about it. The only thing she needed was for Gojou to accompany her visits to the OB-GYN, and even then, she never showered herself in self-pity. She carried herself like an independent woman, and that was exactly what Satoru needed in his life right now. 

He had a son to raise. He had a company to run. It wasn’t the perfect time to commit himself to someone lawfully. Heck, he didn’t even believe in marriage anymore. He realized that two people could still love each other without getting married. As long as Akemi didn’t pressure him about such things, he was fine with having her around. She didn’t ask for anything much, anyway. 

As for you, well… 

“What are you planning with that mansion you gifted Y/N?” asked Nanami, seated on the couch inside Satoru’s office, casually reading a newspaper. “Do you even remember that?” 

He certainly did. “What about it?” he questioned, idly toying with a pen on his desk. “It’s her property now. She can sell it if she wants.”

Better yet, you should let Sachiro inherit the property someday. His son was already set for a life of privilege having wealthy parents on both sides, but wouldn’t the mansion be a substantial addition to his assets in the future? Satoru couldn’t help but envision the kind of man his son would grow up into. He hoped Sachiro would not inherit his father's immaturity and pettiness but would embody the kindness and altruism of his mother. From a business perspective, however, Satoru planned to groom his son to be a leader, as he was the sole heir to the Gojou Group. Additionally, he would also inherit half of Creston and the entirety of Hearte. No wonder Sachiro was recently listed as the wealthiest kid by Forbes Japan. He even beat Megumi Zen’in from the list even though the teenager was the heir of the Zen’in business empire. 

These were the thoughts that should consume Satoru—the future, not the past. His kid, not you. And he was right about doing so, because when he came home to his penthouse, he was told that he had a visitor. 

A visitor on a Wednesday afternoon? 

Your brother-in-law, the esteemed prosecutor who sent his evil stepmother to jail, appeared on his front door, carrying Sachiro in his arms. It was hard to tell what type of emotions were visible on the man’s face, but he definitely didn’t bring any good news. 

“Ian?” Satoru promptly made way for the man to come in, ushering him into the penthouse and allowing him to set Sachiro down. The young boy was quick to dart off to his playroom, leaving the two men in an uncomfortable silence. “What’s going on? Weekends are usually my schedule with Sachi.” 

Ian cleared his throat, a hand on his pocket. “Do you mind looking after Sachiro for the time being?” 

By saying ‘for the time being’, it seemed like Ian wanted to actually say ‘until further notice.’ But that confused Satoru even more, because what was happening for the man to come here and ask him to let Sachiro stay beyond the agreed schedule with his father? He couldn’t read through Ian’s expression and it was making him uneasy. 

“I can, but… why so suddenly?” Gojou asked, glancing at his oblivious son. 

“It’s Y/N’s idea, Gen doesn’t know about it.” Ian released an awkward chuckle. “You know how my wife is.” 

Gen would absolutely hate it, Satoru was aware for sure. Though the questions lingered in his mind. “Why would Y/N want Sachi to stay with me? Where’s she?” 

Was it him or was Ian having a hard time explaining the situation? It felt like he was walking on eggshells, deciding between what had to be said and what shouldn’t. He was careful with his words when he spoke again, “Y/N flew to Monaco this morning and will be back when she’s ready. She says Sachiro should spend all of his time with you while she’s gone.” 

Monaco? Why would you be there?

Confusion bathed Satoru’s eyes. “Is it for a fashion event or something?” 

“No, she’s just…” Ian struggled heavily. “Well, to sum it up, she has to go there to sort some things out. It’s a personal thing, but she really needs this time for herself and we think it’s the best for her right now. I don’t know how long she’s gonna stay there or when she’ll be back, but I hope you understand what I’m trying to say here.”

No, he didn’t. Satoru found it difficult to fathom his ex-brother-in-law’s words, seeing as he had no general idea of what was truly going on. But if you were flying to Monaco, surely Toji wouldn’t allow you to go there all by yourself? 

Ahh. It made sense now. I see what’s happening here. 

Satoru’s lips curled into sarcasm. You would be vacationing with the love of your life. Is that what it was? Planning your halted wedding? Choosing wedding gowns? Looking for venues? There was no way you would be flying to Monaco alone, especially without Sachiro around when you two had been inseparable since his birth. 

“What kinda mother is she?” Satoru muttered in disgust, unaware that Ian had overheard him. But Ian had heard loud and clear. How could you leave your son behind like this? Couldn’t you face your ex-husband to discuss it, instead of just dropping Sachiro off as if he were some unwanted toy?

“Hold it right there,” Ian interjected, becoming defensive at the accusation. “You have no idea what she’s going through.”

How would he know? No one was telling him shit. No one was giving him details, so did they expect him to understand things and accept them as they were? Did they do the same thing to Satoru when he was at the verge of losing his sanity asking everyone for forgiveness over and over? 

“I've never taken sides between you two, Satoru, you know that,” Ian continued, trying to maintain a calm demeanor and speak with clear judgment, “But one thing I’m not gonna let you do is call Y/N a bad mother.”

Satoru’s chest tightened at Ian's words, a mixture of guilt and frustration bubbling up inside him. He knew he shouldn’t have spoken out of turn, but the pain and resentment were too raw to contain. It felt like you were abandoning him and your child, like you were off to a new chapter in your life again, and leaving everything behind. Perhaps this was his trauma from the New York thing crawling back at him, but it definitely reminded him of the day you had abandoned him. For three fucking years. How long would it take you to return now? 

Why do you keep doing this? He was sick of it. You kept running away instead of talking to him. He gets it, people change, circumstances change, but couldn’t you at least have the decency to talk to him about it? Was it wrong for him to wish you’d handled this differently? To wish that you’d talked to him, involved him in the decision-making process, instead of just making this unilateral decision and leaving him to pick up the pieces? 

Satoru took a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of Sachi,” he reassured, “I’ll take some time off work and have ‘Kemi help me out.” 

He looked back at Ian, his eyes pleading for further details, for answers, for some semblance of clarity in the midst of this emotional turmoil.

Yet none of it was given. 

And so, would it still be wrong to assume that he could now completely forget about you? That this opportunity to be with Sachiro would allow him a chance to share it with someone else? If you spent three years of your life playing house in New York with Toji, would it still be unfair for Satoru to do the same with Akemi? 

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: The ☆Glow-Up☆ 2024 Has Planned For you

♠︎ “At bottom every man knows well enough that he is a unique being, only once on this earth; and by no extraordinary chance will such a marvelously picturesque piece of diversity in unity as he is, ever be put together a second time.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. 

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

✧ Pile One ✧ (queen of cups, 5oC rev., 10oC, the chariot, the magician, 4oS)

Release.

➣ The central theme of this glow-up is inner fulfillment. You are on a journey of true self-love. The queen of cups is sitting proudly at the front of the spread. Major water energy here. You are unraveling emotional trauma down to your roots and reevaluating past attachments and burdens with the six of cups.

➣ I picture floodgates opening, allowing all of the pent-up emotional turmoil to release and finally free you on a deep psychophysiological level. You released something, an attachment or mindset that was set in motion during your formative years that was hindering your ability to hold compassion for yourself.

➣ Shuffling my music, "Daddy Issues" by the Neighbourhood came on. I also saw the hierophant while shuffling the cards. You experienced a lot of undervaluing and emotional neglect in your home. Emotions in your home were taboo and possibly even punished.

➣ I feel like the people around you growing up, were either always dissatisfied with you in some way or made you feel small. Since this is a group reading, it is hard to word this without excluding a large chunk of the audience, but some of you grew up in a home situation where any form of outward self-love or expression was met with a lot of negativity and ridicule. 

➣ This forced you into hiding your true self which groomed you into a mental space full of self-criticism and doubt. In your mind, you were unwanted or inherently broken in some way and deserved less. The way you were treated created deep emotional wounds in your young psyche which made it hard to feel satisfaction within yourself or with the outer world.

➣ With the five of cups, I get the sense that you had felt you were in a desert and unable to fill any of your cups so to speak. Baby, that’s coming to an end. The ten of cups is at the center of your spread with a big ass RAINBOW touching corner to corner. The drought is over. The dark days are over. The sun is shining and you can taste hope again. 

➣ On this self-love journey, you are currently grieving (releasing) a degraded perception of yourself along with any beliefs that inhibit you from feeling good about your character.

➣ You are realizing just how enough you are and flushing out all of the poison that was crammed in your head about being inadequate. You are freeing yourself from the chains of feeling unworthy of a good life.

➣ You will find true beauty in every corner of you. Beauty in your laugh, beauty in how you dance, beauty in how you take care of yourself, beauty in what you care about, inner beauty that cannot be taken from you or scaled down. You will nurture your inner world, thus adding color to your outer world.

➣ During this major life-changing period, your view of reality will flip in a way you never thought imaginable. Life will feel worth living again. Your music will move you more and the swift pass of wind will invigorate you with new ideas for creative projects that will propel you forward to lifelong prosperity.

➣ I’m hearing 🎵 “… I'm so, I'm so, I'm so, I'm so, I'm so proud of you” from Make Me Proud by Drake. Congratulations babe, you just broke a fucking karmic cycle. 10 of cups, following the 5 of cups??? You have graduated from a dark knight of the soul and are now approaching new, abundant energy.

➣ The universe is proud of you. Your ancestors are proud of you. Your inner child is proud of you. Your God(s) is proud of you. All of the cells in your body are proud of you. You have released something cosmically within you. Please hug yourself and have a good cry because you are doing something you never believed you could. Your hopes and dreams are unfolding.

➣ Get ready to make your daydream your reality.  With the chariot, you’re prepping to TAKE AWWFF BABY. The release of this blockage has raised your energetic vibration and is ushering bountiful opportunities into your life, new passions, new ideas, and new connections. 

➣ Your newfound faith in yourself is going to give you the courage to go out and experience life. Most importantly you will find satisfaction in the mundane. Every frame of your day will be brighter and feel better. You have gone from 5 empty cups to an eternally flowing fountain. Take the time to thank yourself for all of the hard work you put in to get here. 

➣ Advice: Extend yourself grace. During this period, you will have enlightening moments that will unlock pieces of the puzzle surrounding your trauma and a lot more will make sense and become easier to process. 

➣ However, as the flawed humans we are, we tend to make sense of something and then turn around and beat ourselves up for not realizing it sooner. Or, minimizing our pain and criticizing our past selves for not doing more about it because hindsight truly is a dirty dawg. No that is not how it works. 

➣ That’s like when you were in school and the teacher would start bullying you for not understanding a subject. YOU HAVE A DEGREE??? I’m fourteen?? Of course, you can say it's simple when you have already “graduated” and learned from it, not when you’re in the middle of experiencing it.  You gained clarity during this tower moment and can now see the bigger picture and liberate yourself. 

➣ Younger you fought to make your way through the fog and deserves grace because you would not be here today without your younger self’s perseverance. Forgive yourself for the time it took to get here and see the beauty in your evolution throughout the journey.

➣ Also, drink plenty of water and get rest!! It’s Pisces season, and a Pisces new moon is coming too. Most of your trauma will unravel while you’re unconscious. Please get plenty of rest and hydrate. This pile has Cancer/4th house energy written all over it. Mother yourself during this period. Clean your room, make your favorite foods, watch cheesy movies, and splurge on special skin care. Pamper yourself. okay I'm done. KISSES.

"My consciousness has outgrown this vessel"

✧ Pile Two ✧ (4ofS, the tower, the wheel of fortune, the emperor, the lovers, judgment, 7ofW, ace of wands)

Life's gotta always be messing with me (you wanna see the light) Can't they chill and let me be free? (So do I) Can't I take away all this pain? (You wanna see the light) I try to every night, all in vain, in vain

Justice.

➣ I asked for a song to explain the central theme of your reading and I got "Freak on a Leash" by Korn. I get the feel that one of the main struggles of your life path is unfair judgment. People are quick to create a false narrative of you and run off with it.

➣ If you read my last PAC, “What is most alluring about you”, you may have chosen pile 2 or 3. With the seven of wands, you are constantly under attack.

➣ Take what resonates but I see a few scenarios. People may be quick to paint you as a bad person without getting to know you. Your public reputation was heavily influenced by rumors from people who intentionally wanted you to be disliked. People will take something small, blow it out of proportion, and try to impose it as a character flaw. Oh, you don’t eat the crust on your sandwich? How wasteful! There are starving kids out there, you’re so inconsiderate!! and then everyone else in the room who claims to not like you (but are truly your biggest fans) are oooing, ahhing, and egging that hating ass bitch on. 

➣ I’m seeing a bus. You may have been betrayed and thrown under the bus a few times before. This is the pile of my Lilith placements. Your power is your ability to garner attention, both good and bad. You attract a lot of envy. The ugliest emotion, in my opinion. It’s partners in crime with greed. 

➣ For some of you, I am getting the message that all of this underserved hate has sent you into a dark mental space and driven you to take an attempt on your life. And if you like my messages or my readings please believe me when I say this,

 I know you are meant for greatness. I picked up on your energy and you found this reading for a reason. Just like the Universe and everything within it, we go through cycles. And I know this is a long, painful cycle but it will come to an end and you will get out of this darkness. From the bottom of my heart, I feel your importance and I am happy you are here to share this moment with me. Keep swimming, I support you, the Universe supports you. The sun is rising and is offering you a new beginning.

➣ In this dark period in your life, the negative attention may have outweighed the good. I see a theme of being outcasted and isolated. Severe bullying. For some, even abuse. Like pile one, you have gone into hermit mode and isolated yourself from the unfair judgment of the world. 

➣ But head up muffin, the scales are balancing, and the wheel of judgment is turning in your favor. Following the wheel of fortune, you got the fucking emperor!!! You will come out of this on top. The people who kicked you while you were down will have to swallow their pride and kneel to shine your shoes while you sit rightfully on the throne. The public scrutiny you face needs to balance itself out karmically.

➣ Think Megan Thee Stallion. I won’t bring up any of her business, but if you've been keeping up with social media, there is a good chance you are well aware of it. That woman has gone through the unimaginable, one traumatic event following the other all while facing an obscene amount of public scrutiny. She had to go into solitary and off the internet to rebuild her life. But guess what??? MY GIRL STAYS ON TOP>>>>> After all the bullshit she endured, she’s coming out on the top of the charts, brand deals with major conglomerates, she is the people’s princess.

➣ That’s going to be you. You have dealt with a lot of injustice in your life, now you’re coming out of your “rehabilitation” and all of the people who spent the better half of their day attempting to tear you down will have to watch your rise like a phoenix and fucking weep.

➣ People were constantly taking from you , now the universe (whatever you want) is preparing to give you the power to replace what you have lost tenfold. Ace of wands, I see that life is handing you the metaphorical talking stick. The king stick. You are being blessed with a flame in your belly (activated solar plexus chakra) and the chance to completely reinvent yourself. 

➣ There is a lot of king and authority messages here, the ball is in your court. You are being released from the shackles of public perception and these next few months will be filled with inspiration and willpower to prove everybody wrong and showcase your strength.  I feel like a good chunk of this group will get chances to be in positions of authority or importance. 

➣ This is going to sound silly but I got this exaggerated imagery of a mean person calling you poor and ugly but the next year you drive past them in a Bugatti with their sugar boo in the passenger seat. HELLOOOO.

➣ With the lovers, I see you are coming in union with what is rightfully yours. In the grand scheme of cosmic law, you are owed good fortune and it is on its way. With the tower, I see an explosion and people fleeing. You’re going to pop out stronger than ever and that’s going to scare people cause whatever superiority they got from painting you as inferior is going to blow away and their true scummy nature is going to be seen. 

➣ After this, there may even be people who pretend to be your friends and claim they supported you all along. Have faith in your discernment. I have faith in your discernment. It will all be okay pookie.

➣ Advice: Just keep swimmin' my love. <3

"The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth."

✧ Pile Three ✧ (queen of wands, knight of pentacles, 6oC, page of pentacles, 10oW, 3oW, the hermit)

It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Awaken.

➣ Regardless if you’re a woman, a man, somewhere in between, or none of the above, you are approaching a newfound understanding of your sexuality. For some of you, it is a full-blown sexual awakening. 

➣ Some people here are realizing their sex appeal, others are coming to terms with their lack of sexual attraction, some are learning what they like in sex and what they’re attracted to. Yes bae, all of it; the whole spectrum of sexual exploration is here.

➣ There is an emphasis on attraction to yourself. You will see a huge shift in your physical appearance. Yes, your style will change but the main reason for this glow up is because you shifted the perception of yourself into a higher light. You’re allowing yourself to feel desirable and embracing the aspects of yourself you once shunned. 

➣You will carry yourself in a higher regard and this will open doors for you. Look into the mirror and give yourself a nice smack on the ass. Your self-esteem is sexy.

➣ Pile one is on a watery emotional self-love journey, this pile is all about fire and finding out where sexuality and passionate relations fit into your life. 5th house (flings, passions, hobbies), 8th house (sex and rebirth), 9th house (adventure, connecting with your soul tribe).

➣ I asked for a song to tie up this message in a cute little bow and I got the 639 HZ frequency. This is the frequency of love, radiation, and positive energy. It is the frequency of the heart. The heart chakra is opening significantly during this glow-up.

➣ You are opening yourself to adventure and sending a high vibe out into the ether. I see a sunflower and the queen of wands is decked out in bright yellow, you are stepping into the spotlight and attracting a lot of attention. I would say Venusian attention because the aura here is very romantic and collaborative. It's like the universe is spraying you with extremely magnetic pheromones and having opportunities run at you.

➣ You are going to get a lot of offers. Love offers, career offers, party invitations, you’re going to be involved with exclusive circles. You are realizing your self-worth and now you’re attracting things and people who also see value in you.

➣ This isn’t going to resonate with everyone, but I sense that for a few of you, there is going to be a reconnection with a past lover or a past friend from your childhood (or just the past in general). I also sense a theme of using your attractiveness and people’s attraction to you to your benefit. Somehow monetize your appeal. 

➣ It is like you finally released your ugly duckling mentality and you woke up and went, “WOAH, what can I do with this???” Lmao you discovered you’re an undercover member of the pretty privilege club.

➣ Yeah, with the page of pentacles and the ten of wands, I’m seeing an entire life path open up for you. Your passion and fiery energy will get you places, and you’ll go on adventures exploring your opportunities with that. Some of you will even become spicy content creators or do some risque sex work. Orrrrrr just venture into a career path you weren’t courageous enough to do before. 

➣ You’re a giant magnet energetically right now (I mean c’mon, 639 HZ???) you’re attracting a lot of romantic suitors. But watch out, they’re not all good suitors.

➣ I pulled another card and got Justice in reverse. Some people will try to get over on you. Also, the person on the justice card looked strangely untrustworthy when I flipped it over. Once again, practice your discernment.

➣ Your romantic and passionate life is taking off and it's going to be extremely exciting, especially if you are coming out of a period of stagnancy. However, with the 3 of wands and the hermit, the cards remind you to remain centered and plan bigger. Your passion, attractiveness, and sexuality will amount to more than hookups and shallow relationships if you invest in yourself wisely.

➣ You are unlocking an advantage you have in this lifetime. Open yourself to career endeavors, social networking, and creating a strong foundation for your talents and hobbies. Yes, date and have fun but don’t spend all of your energy in one place. Your attention and your energy are your greatest currencies.

➣ To expand on the hermit, I need to emphasize you are going to be getting a LOT of attention soon (I’m getting Sun-conjunct-Venus energy, is that in your natal chart or is there a transit with Venus right now or something?). You will receive more eyes on you than average and this might overwhelm you and push you into hermit mode.

➣ That is okay, let life flow. During those moments to yourself, dream big because you have the power to pull your dreams into your reality.  You will meet lifelong friends during this period. I am sensing a power trio for some of you. 

➣ Advice: To wrap up, we all know attractiveness is social currency, and you are coming into a great deal of social wealth baby. But please spend it wisely and do not lose yourself in the crowd. Keep up with your self-work and take introspective breaks away from people so you can figure out how to best utilize this awakening for you. 

➣ You look really good in red currently. Red hair. Red lips. Red clothes. Red jewelry. The color red is bringing you a lot of abundance. Okay bye. MUAH. <3

"I said mom, I am a rich man."

✧ Pile Four ✧ (page of swords, knight of cups, wheel of fortune, temperance, 7oP, the devil rev.)

Ascension.

➣ OMG I’m so sorry, I wrote a novel for the other piles but this one is going to be short. Maybe you were drawn to another pile mainly and this is your secondary pile. BUT IT’S SHORT BECAUSE ITS FUCKING AWESOME. 

➣ The song I channeled for you was named “Elniño Prodigo” and I want to say the artist is Love Record but I'm not too sure. This means child prodigy. When I was laying out your cards, I got this sense of anticipation and impatience. Theeeennn BOOM the wheel of fortune, temperance, and the seven of pentacles smack me in the face.

➣ Oh me oh my, you are chilling in the universe’s womb just BAKIN’ being prepped for a complete rebirth. You are a prodigy, you are not meant to live an ordinary life, you are being prepared for a unique journey. I know this is going to sound hard to believe because I feel like with this pile, a large portion of your life was spent in waiting.

➣ Do you feel like you are a late bloomer? If so, trust me, it is for a reason. Whatever you build in this lifetime will be built slowly and have a solid foundation because your legacy is meant to withstand the test of time and last long after you leave this Earth. This period you’ve spent waiting is you getting your ducks in a row and sowing your seeds for the next evolution of you. I said something like this in my last pac, if that's you, heyyyyyyy i’m glad your energy stuck around, i love it.

➣ Do you have Pisces or 12th House placements mixed with Saturn significance? Whatever this glow-up exactly holds for your future is a secret. It’s the universe’s divine surprise to you. I did not get any energy detailing exact events, just something big in the works behind the scenes is making its way to you. 

➣If you’re reading this pick a card there’s a good chance you’re spiritually attuned and can feel this cosmic shift happening. Something about your energy is so excited. I imagine a hyper dog being held back by a leash because it's not quite time yet.

➣ If you’re in a period where you’re not seeing any life progression and it's causing you anxiety, relax, you are on the right track and you are where you need to be. You have not wasted time, time really isn’t even fucking real. Everything is moving slowly for a reason. 

➣In this “boring” period you are meant to tap into your inner world and curate what you want your life to look like. Create vision boards, imagine your future hobbies, involve things that mentally stimulate you, keep the spark of curiosity in your life, and nurture your inner dreamer. 

➣ You are connecting with your sensitivity at this time, finding the sweet spot where your mind and heart meet, and letting it fuel your zeal for life. Get these thoughts on paper. Journal them, draw them, sing it, and call this energy into the 3D. Your life is about to have a complete 180. Maintain faith.

➣ You’re seeing a lot of synchronicities currently. Animal synchronicities and repeating numbers(111,444,222,1144,1414). You’ll find strangely personal messages in music and media. Maybe you’re seeing shapes repetitively pop up around you in your environment, like stars or eyes. 

➣ Patience is a life lesson for this pile, there is a lesson to be learned in the stillness of your life. You are mentally restless right now, slow your body down and try out parasympathetic regulation techniques to calm your racing thoughts. Go swimming, take a class, try out a new hobby. In this “womb” era, enjoy your last moments of stillness because your life turns up a notch. I’m not even getting rebirth, I’m getting BIRTH. No matter your age, your life is truly beginning in this new season.

➣ Advice: I see a lot of clouds. I see angel symbolism. You’re ascending. You’re shedding old skin, letting go of dead weight, and you’re growing wings, getting ready to experience life to the fullest. Maintain hope that your life will pick up pace and become exciting again. 

➣ Find peace in this waiting period. Listen to bird sounds!!! They are going to calm your mind and elevate you emotionally. You’re growing your wings and getting ready to take off like a bird, you should learn from the best. Okay, I love you, the universe loves you, MUAH <3.

"Your sim has gone stir-crazy!"

watching tumblr shit on my images in real time is just...

On a lighter note, I know some of these piles are heavy, I posted my first reading two days ago, and the support I received has brought so much joy into my life. I love doing this, if you like this me doing this, I'll do this forever. I am eternally grateful for all of you likes, reblogs, and comments <3

Also, some of these piles are connected, feel free to poke around and pick up on messages spread out for you. okay, I'm done. kisses! MUAH

[bekkathyst]

BEKKATHYST 10th Business Anniversary Giveaway!

~This giveaway is in no way affiliated with Tumblr.~

Please read thoroughly before entering!

Hello lovely Tumblr folk! It’s that time again- I have a giveaway for you all. This one is extra special because my business/shop turned 10 years old earlier this year! 💜

We have an online store that could use your support!

You can also find us on Instagram.

About us: My business is a small, family-run establishment that I started here on tumblr in 2013. I’ve been lucky enough to grow to the point where this supports me, my partner, and our daughter. In the US we also had a brick-and-mortar shop in which I employed my mom and a few of my siblings. However, we closed it to be able to move to Austria, my home country! 💜 I strived to put compassion and ethics above all else in my business, and I hope that shines through. We have a website but also run many fun sales directly here on Tumblr!

One of our long-term customers graciously asked to sponsor this giveaway, so I'd like to give a huge thank you to @classicintp !! Also thank you to everyone who voted on which crystal should be featured in the giveaway. Opal won in a landslide!

This giveaway will have two winners.

What the first winner receives:

The two amazing specimens of opal shown above! The darker piece is a boulder opal from Australia with a hole drilled through it (so it can be worn as a necklace) and the lighter piece is a massive rough chunk of welo opal from Ethiopia. The retail value of both of these opals is approximately $650.

What the second winner receives:

A $50 gift card that can be used for our online store or tumblr sales!

Rules:

You must be 16 or older. (If under 18 you MUST have parent’s permission)

You can be from anywhere in the world! I am shipping from Austria.

Shipping is entirely free, I will cover it. But if you live in a country that charges import tax on gifts, you are responsible for it. If it gets sent back to me, you will need to pay shipping to have it sent again.

You must be following me, so you can get updates if anything about the giveaway changes.

Please check out our online shop!

Reblog this post to enter. Likes count as additional entries. No giveaway or spam blogs. If you reblog on a side blog, let me know in the tags what the name of your blog is that you’re following me with.

Please don’t spam people with reblogs- limit 2 reblogs per blog per day.  

At the end, each entry will be assigned a number and the winner will be chosen by a random number generator.

The giveaway ends Tuesday, August 1st, 2023.

The winners will be messaged and must respond with their full name and address within 24 hours, or a new winner will be chosen.

Please respect me and my rules, and have fun!

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part 5

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Stalking. Brief mention of domestic violence. Feelings of fear, self loathing, and anxiety. Vomiting. Panic attack/comfort. Medical inaccuracies, hospital setting. A little bit of praise. Johnny is a flirt and a menace.

“Ye’re off yer head.” 

“I’m not.” Johnny expects Simon to relent, to give it up, but when he doesn’t budge, something hot sizzles alive in the pit of Johnny’s stomach, desire roaring to life in his veins. 

“Jus’ like that? Ye’re goin’ let me see yer bonnie face finally?” He slurs, lifting the bottle to his lips, and Simon nods.

“Only if you win."

“And if ye win?” Simon moves closer, his chest brushing against Johnny’s, balaclava covered face dipping down, noses nudging against one another’s in a tentative, teasing way. 

“If I win, you’ll remove something of my choosing instead.” 

Your phone is ringing.

In your sleep, you hardly recognize it, but your subconscious is well trained, and your hand seeks the source of the noise effortlessly, dragging it from the nightstand and next to your face, to squint blearily at it, awareness coming quickly when you recognize the charge nurse’s work line.

“Hello?” You clear the cobwebs of sleep from your throat.

“Hey, sorry to wake you.”

“No, ‘s alright. What’s going on?”

“I know it’s your day off, but-“

“You’re short.” You fill in the blanks, and she huffs.

“We’ve got two out with flu like symptoms, and I’m floating another to-“

“It’s okay.” You swing your feet over the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes. “I got you. Just give me like, an hour? I have to get ready and stuff.”

“Of course. Thanks so much, you’re a lifesaver.” You zone out for a moment, plotting out the rest of your day, and mumble something like ‘don’t worry about it’, ending the call with your thumb.

The hotel carpet is plush. It’s cushioned and soft, and it gives a little when you stand and stretch, pulling your arms over your head, twisting and turning with tired bones, shaking loose the stupor that holds your neck too straight, too tightly.

OT isn’t the worst thing in the world right now, considering you’re paying for a long term stay in a hotel, you tell yourself more than a few times as you shower and dress. You should be grateful for it. Understaffing has it’s benefits, financially.

The only wrench about coming in on your day off this week is you’re supposed to be collecting more things from your flat. Particularly, clothing. You’ve only got a short rotation of outfits, scrubs, both in short supply, and… no clean underwear. You had planned to move large chunks of your wardrobe over today, probably at least two trips worth, but will now have to settle for stopping by fairly quick to grab what you can.

It will be fine, you think, casually checking your surroundings as you step off the platform. In and out and on with your day.

You were wrong.

You see it immediately, stepping through the door. The locks are in place, handle, deadbolt, extra one at the top, but you can tell, you can feel, that someone has been in here. Your blood thickens in your veins, freezing to a stop, sluggishly propelled by your frenzied heart. You can hear it in your ears, the thunder of your panic, can feel the fear twisting itself into a sailor’s knot and holding you hostage.

Your feeling is confirmed, rationalized, when you push your bedroom door ajar and see the carnage of what’s been left behind on top of your bed.

Shredded panties.

The entire underwear drawer has been spilled out across your sheets, lace and cotton and silk all ripped to pieces, torn edges clearly made by hands, not knives, not scissors, but the personal touch of fingers, of fists.

Your breath catches in your chest, oxygen in the room falling away, leaving you panting, gasping for your next inhale as you cautiously pick up a pair close to you. They’re grey cotton boy shorts, and your stomach flips up into your throat when they stand as stiff as a board, some sort of dried substance splattered across them, rendering the fabric firm and inflexible.

Not… not just some dried substance… you realize in horror, scanning the pile of panties, noticing the stains on most of them, a milky white color shining against black silk.

You can’t breathe. You stumble away, back slamming into your dresser, sinking down onto the floor, hands covering your ears.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. 

This is sick, even for him. An escalation of disturbing behavior that sends a chill down your spine, frightening you even more than you already were. You knew he’d get in, hoped he would buy your carefully crafted lie: the appearance of you still living there… but to act so brazenly, to do something like… this.

Does he know, does he realize, you’re not actually living in the flat now? 

He’s really going to kill you this time. 

You race to the toilet, heaving yourself over the seat as your breakfast rushes past your lips, a cup of coffee and half eaten muffin accentuated by the sting of bile, and you gag, spitting and hacking until you’re finished, flushing it all away.

You don’t look at the girl in the mirror. You don’t want to see her. Don’t want to tell her all the ways you’re letting her down. She thinks you’re smarter than this, stronger. Braver. She believes you’ve done it once before, you’ve escaped, you’ve hid, and you can do it again.

She doesn’t know you’re not sure you have the heart for it now. She doesn’t realize you’re tired, you’re afraid. She doesn’t understand that you like the life you’ve made, that running is exhausting, that sometimes, in the very darkest corners of your mind, you think that letting him win might be easiest.

So, you don’t look at her. You mourn your pile of panties for a too long second and lock the apartment up tight.

Get it together. Get yourself together. 

You coach yourself the entire way to work, trying to ignore the rubbing and bunching of your scrub pants, an unfortunate consequence of being forced to go commando.

Deep breath. You can do this. 

You still have your sanctuary. 

You had hoped, for a miniscule moment, that your day might improve once you step foot in the hospital, and you pushed away the inkling that suggested that optimism may be linked the fact that you’ll get to see Simon and Johnny, opting not to even acknowledge the strange sensations swirling about inside your heart whenever you think about the other day. The day when the world stood still and Johnny touched your hand so gently, stroking his fingers over your skin, or when the elevator doors parted to reveal Simon and their baby, a sweet baby girl safe in his arms, his eyes alight and adoring, your knees almost giving out at the sight.

Needless to say, you’re eager to badge in.

The day is quickly derailed, when within a half an hour of getting settled into your routine, an alarm goes off for two sixty-eight: thirty-nine degrees.

Your mind immediately somersaults to the pain in his upper right quadrant from your last shift, logical thought leaping all around as you jog down the hall.

You notated it. You passed it on in shift report. It’s only thirty-nine. You did everything right. No one here would just disregard something like that. Deep breath. 

Still… 

Bile leak. Abscess. Infection. Or worse… hepatic artery pseudoaneurysm, hemorrhaging. Big things that could lead to worse things, worse outcomes, worse- 

The door comes up quicker than you realize, and without hesitating, you slip inside.

“Hi.” You’re a little breathless, and Simon’s eyes snap to yours, taking you in, studying from head to toe, brow knitted together. Johnny’s asleep, and you’re not sure if that makes you feel better, or worse.

“Everything alright?” Of course. He’s too perceptive. Get control of yourself, it could be nothing.

“Yeah, I ah… have to draw some blood.” You really do not want to wake your patient, or alarm Simon, but you refuse to lie. You fire off a text to the attending on call, advising him of Johnny’s temperature and reminding him of the upper right quadrant pain, letting him know he can expect labs as soon as you get them downstairs. You give Simon a nod, turning to slide the draw open quietly, pulling out everything you’ll need. His gaze burns a hole in your scrubs, the ever-present scrutiny impossible to escape, and sometimes you wonder if he’s reading your mind.

“What’s wrong? He just fell asleep, Pen was here all morning, tired him out.” His protest is husky, and you think he’s frowning behind the mask. You imagine a strong mouth pulled downwards in consternation; wide jaw gnashed tight with worry.

“He’s running just a bit of a fever.” He jolts, and you shake your head, hoping to soothe his fear. “It’s not too high. I’m not super worried, but we’ll need to check his white cell count, just in case, okay? And then we’ll go from there.” He nods.

“You said this could happen.” You smile. It feels unsteady, but you hope he can’t tell.

“I did. I promised, that if there was something to panic about, I would tell you. We’re not there yet.” It’s not a lie. Your wild spiral from a few minutes ago was an extreme, not reality, and you need to keep your head on.

“Okay.”

“Right. So, just going to do a quick blood draw and get it downstairs so we can find out what’s going on.” Simon shifts uncomfortably, and you carefully squeeze Johnny's arm, wrapping him with the tie and swabbing the inside of his elbow as fast as possible.

He blinks, eyes opening slowly, confused brow smoothing when he realizes you’re leaning over him, and his gaze darts to Simon before landing back on you. “There’s our bunny.” He mumbles softly, and your face heats, eyes widening in surprise before you regulate your reaction, and Simon coughs. Loudly. Bunny? 

“Such a flirt, MacTavish.” You playfully chastise him, relieved he’s feeling like himself. “I just need to get some blood and then I’ll leave you in peace to sleep.” He shrugs, but Simon rubs a thumb against his thigh in tiny little circles, too fast to be considered comfort, and Johnny clucks. “Ah, come on Si.”

“You’re runnin’ a fever, Johnny.”

“Ach. ‘s nothing.” He brushes it off, but his eyes are slow to track Simon’s movements, and you casually sneak a peek at the monitor, noting his blood pressure.

“Could be.” You assure him, smoothing a hand over his shoulder and taping a small patch of gauze over the puncture. “But better safe than sorry, right?”

The labs are inconclusive. The attending hems and haws before finally asking you to schedule a stat ultrasound of his abdomen, and you manage to bump him to the front of the queue, pulling a few strings here and there by rattling off some bullshit about being higher priority.

In the time it takes for the tech to get to two sixty-eight with the machine, you get a new admission. Intubated, but awake, and getting them and their family squared away takes longer than you would have liked, the patient’s middle-aged husband a wreck of nerves and worry, the kind of anxiety that makes you sit with him in the room for a little while, patting his hand and promising that you’ll be there for them, every step of the way.

By the time you step out of that room, it’s been nearly an hour. You catch a glimpse of Simon in the chairs outside two sixty-eight, and you throw him one of your best work smiles, hoping to reassure him, soothe his nerves. You want to go to him, want to sit beside him and talk him through everything, the outcomes, the possibilities, but you still need to add the notes for your new admit, and-

Someone catches your eye from the end of the hall. It’s a man, white, with brown hair, in regular clothes, and he stands taller than the others around him, shoulders rolled back just- just like-

No. You force yourself to look, to truly see him, taking in his facial features, the slope of his nose, and it’s hardly a second before you’re realizing it’s not who you thought it was. It’s not him. 

The second doesn’t matter to your heart. It’s already racing, tripling it’s steady pace inside your chest. You’re shaking, trembling in the middle of the hall, frantically looking for the nearest closet, or empty room, or…

Stairwell. There’s a stairwell just beyond where Simon is anxiously waiting, and you beeline to it, nearly tripping over your own feet past him. You think you hear your name being called, but the blood rushing in your ears is too loud, and you can’t be sure. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters right now is getting away. Hiding. Not letting yourself be noticed.

You take the first flight down, stopping on the landing to rest your face against the polished, cold wall, desperately trying to fill your lungs with air, encouraging yourself to breathe.

It wasn’t him. You’re safe. 

Deep breath. You can do this. 

Your fingers dig into your hips, squeezing through the numbness, through the overwhelming feeling of your impending doom, and your head swims, lightheadedness nearly knocking you off balance.

“It wasn’t him.” You whisper aloud. “It’s not him. You’re safe. Get it together.” You chant, eyes clenched tight. Your heart is still pounding, no sign of relenting, and your lungs burn, screaming inside you, desperate for air. The feeling of suffocating, of dying, grows stronger, gaining momentum, and your eyes slam shut, your mind and body locked in a tomb of panic and fear. 

You hear your name again. It’s sharper, authoritative, but you can’t open your eyes, too overwhelmed to even make sense of it. Deep breath, just breathe.  

Something touches your shoulder. It’s unexpected, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you register it as gentle, but you’re too far gone, too far buried beneath your fear and your panic and your shame. It triggers you into a defensive posture, and you flinch so hard you jostle yourself into the wall, turning into the corner, hands out in front of your face.

“Hey, hey.” It’s Simon. Simon is standing in the stairwell with you, palms open, concern heavy in his eyes, and you vaguely realize he’s talking, soft, deep words washing over you. “-to breathe?” He comes closer, only half a step, but it’s enough to startle you back into the corner, and he stops short. “It’s alright. I’m not going to touch you.” He soothes, and you recognize the pitch, the calm, affectionate tone from Johnny’s bedside. Sour nausea surges in your stomach, and your lungs fight the invisible hand that tightens around them. “Can you take a deep breath?” You shake your head, and he huffs a soft chuckle. “You can do it, just try. Through your nose, like this.” His chest expands, eye contact never breaking, and you try to follow suit, getting halfway before your head spins, vision tunneling. “You’re alright.”

You’re not alright. None of this is alright. You’re having a panic attack, in the stairwell at your job, in front of a patient’s partner. 

You can’t speak, so you shake your head instead. No.

“Yes, you are.” He assures. “Everything’s okay. Focus on your breathing. Try another one for me.” His hand covers his heart, and you focus on the way it ebbs and flows with the movement of his diaphragm, the pace of his breaths.

You manage to get one full inhale and exhale. And then you get another. Then a third, a fourth, until it’s coming easier, and your head doesn’t feel as fuzzy.

“Good job, that’s it.” Your fingers twist together, the grating noise of your jagged breathing smoothing out even more, and Simon nods encouragingly. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Nice and slow.” Sweetheart. The word is bright, boundless and sweet as honey, the sentiment settling in your belly and growing warm. The two of you stand there, just breathing, staring at one another, for what feels like an eternity, until you find the strength to summon words. 

“I-I’m sorry.” You finally choke once you’ve got a better handle on yourself, hands going lax at your thighs.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” You’re about to brush it off, thorny lies starting to form in your mind, excuses and carefully crafted explanations fusing together when your work phone beeps, the low frequency different from the ones related to patient care. Shit. Already? Simon’s glances at it in your pocket and cocks his head.

“End of my shift.” You explain, moving towards the stairs, your hand trembling on the button to silence the alarm. The muscles in his neck flex, molars grinding together.

“Still feeling a little shaky?” He observes, and you look down to your feet, mortification crawling up your spine, blooming across your cheeks through heated blood vessels.

“Um…”

“Would you mind, maybe sitting with Johnny for a bit?” You do still have notes to do. “If his test is done? I have to run home, help the Prices' put Penny down. She’s been a bit fickle, lately. Missin’ her Da.” He rubs the back of his neck, chest flexing inside the charcoal grey hoodie, and for a weird, too long second, you wonder what it might be like to fall asleep there, or just close your eyes for a minute, even though it's something sweet and far away, unobtainable in every facet. Simon says your name, jogging your attention, and then takes the first step, partially turning like he wants to reach for you, but thinks better of it.

“Uh. Yeah, I… I can.”

You badge out and grab your stuff, keeping your tablet so you can complete your notes while you sit with Johnny. You’ve already checked his results, and when you slip inside the room, the attending is updating them, explaining how he has a very small bile leak, and will need an endoscopic procedure tomorrow morning.

The attending excuses himself, giving you a quick nod, and then Simon leans down, knocking their foreheads together tenderly. 

“Keep an eye on him, I hear he likes to make trouble.” Johnny smiles, pink-red color creeping up his neck into his cheeks, and Simon seems like he’s smiling, before he turns serious. “Behave. I won’t be too long.”

“I always behave.” He pats the side of the bed, beckoning you, and you shake your head, plopping down in the recliner to his right.

“I hear ye’re keepin’ me company, pretty girl?”

“I am. Got some notes to finish, heard this chair was pretty comfortable.” You quip back easily, and it feels natural, to be joking and laughing, to be hiding again.

“Well, I’ll try not to distract ye then.”

Your tablet clicks dark with a satisfying shutter, and when you place it face down, Johnny gives you one of his stupidly handsome smiles. “All finished?”

“Yeah, not too bad.” His phone vibrates against the tabletop, and with his good hand, he opens the message, turning it to show you the screen. It’s a picture of Penny, half asleep against Simon, clad in a pink onesie covered in little ducks. Her cheek is squished against him, long baby lashes fluttering on her skin. “She’s so cute.” You say, and he nods, flushed with pride. You glance at the contact name, Lou, and before you can stop yourself, a question bursts out: “Who’s Lou?”

“Our captain’s wife. She’s been helpin’ a lot, with Pen. Which is great, they’re getting a lot of girl time.”

“Your captain?”

“Aye.”

“Is that…” you want to ask but trail off. You don’t want to admit that you’ve heard gossip about them.

“Military. Simon an’ I work together, in a task force.” A task force. A task force sounds eerily close to special ops, and your nausea comes back with a vengeance.

“What… what kind of task force?”

“Global ops. Anti-terrorism, domestic threats, the lot. How I ended up here, with ye.” The image of your ex looms, his body tense in his gear, or the memory of his boots, sitting shiny by the door, one of them pulling back, swinging towards your stomach. “Bun?” Bun?

“Huh?” you blink. “Oh, sorry. Spaced out there for a second.”

“That’s alright. Simon said ye had a bit of a scare earlier?”

“No I uh, just couldn’t catch my breath, but I was fine. It was fine.” You deflect, moving on as quick as you can manage. “Did you call me bun? And… didn’t you call me bunny, earlier?” He gives you a sheepish look.

“Aye. Is our nickname for ye.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Well… ye look a bit like a bunny, and ye had that sticker the other day that Penny noticed.” Your face heats. “I know ye’re probably real soft like a bun, too.” Real soft? Is he… does he mean- your eyes widen, and he smirks.

“Johnny.” You flounder, helplessly, confused by his attention, this flirtation that seems to have grown into real affection, and he shifts slightly, leaning forward, reaching for your hand.

“Ye dinnae need to be afraid.” He coos. The words are a moon above a tide, pulling and reaching, dragging the swell of the waves higher and higher, until they threaten to pull you under, overwhelm you and drown you.

“I…” I don’t understand? I thought you were gay? I don’t know what is happening here? Johnny grimaces, and you immediately forget about the conversation and leap into action, jumping to your feet. “What is it? Where’s your pain?” Your hands hover over his belly, and he points to where his liver currently sits, slowly leaking inside his body, spilling bile that could eventually kill him if it hadn’t been caught. You pull down the blanket, unsnapping his gown to push it aside, checking for anything physically observable, site swelling, a rash, anything. “Does this hurt?” You cautiously press down, tapping slightly, watching his face for a reaction.

“No.” he says, and when you reach over to his other side, turning to watch his facial expressions, he moves with you, barely leaning, chin pointed in your direction.

His face is suddenly incredibly close to your face. And he looks… so handsome. So pretty, with his bright blue eyes and perfect bones, soft lips that part with an inhale. He dazzles you. Distracts you.

This is your patient, get it together. You’re a professional, act like it. 

“Does that hurt?” You croak, and his lips quirk into a half smile, a warm palm gliding over the small of your back.

“It doesnae hurt, bun.” He winks.

“Oh my god, were you faking?” You try to stand up, but the pressure on your spine is firm, and he chuckles.

“Can I tell ye a secret?” He’s fully serious now, question whispered just above your ear, and you nod.

“Of course.”

“Ye’v been drivin’ me mad today, pretty girl. Walkin’ around here wit’ no panties on.” Oh. Oh… my god. You shoot upwards, hand covering your mouth in shock, and he laughs, raising an eyebrow before his gaze drifts over the curve of your hip.

“Johnny!” you hiss, scandalized, and then guilt hits you like a train, like two tons of rocks have been dropped on top of you. Simon. “Johnny, you… you and Simon, you’re-“

“We’re lucky ye’ve come into our lives.” He finishes, and you frown, confused. “We think ye’re really special.” We. We?

“What did I miss?” Simon says from the doorway, and you jerk, stepping back like Johnny’s bed is on fire and you’ve just been burnt, eyes wide and wild. You feel like a child, caught with a hand in the cookie jar, but Simon doesn’t look angry. Just curious.

“Jus’ talking.” Johnny replies, and he starts to lower his bed, watching you with heavy eyes.

“Well. I should get going. I’ve got a few trains to make.” You glance at the clock, and then give them both a polite smile. Simon crosses his arms.

“Looks like you tired him out.” He comments, and they glance at one another, some sort of communication happening silently before he shrugs. “Let me drive you.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. It’s not… you just got back, and I’m fine, really. It’s not that far, I-“

“If it’s not that far, let him drive ye.” Johnny pipes up, and Simon piles on easily. 

"He's not going to let this go, and neither am I. Let me get you home safely, please." You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. "It's the least we can do." Your shoulders slump in defeat. It’s just a ride. It’s not crossing a line.

“Okay, then.” Johnny smiles, and Simon moves to his side, brushing his mask covered mouth against his forehead.

“She go down okay?” Johnny murmurs, tenderly cupping his cheek. 

“Like a champ. Promised I’d bring her tomorrow morning. Think she understood me.”

“Aye. She’s smarter than ye, so probably.” He teases, and they share a lighthearted laugh before Johnny’s bidding you a goodbye, and Simon directs you out the door.

“Uh, right here is fine.” You point to the curb, and Simon slows the car to a stop, turning to face you with that ever-present scrutiny, brows shoved down above his eyes.

“A hotel?” You swallow.

“My um, my flat is being renovated. It’s a whole thing so I just figured I wo-would stay somewhere else.” You want to flee, run out of this car and away from him, but he holds you in place so easily with just his eyes, so you sit there, frozen, one hand on the door handle, the other splayed against your thigh.

“Is everything alright? Earlier-“

“I’m fine.” You rush out, cutting him off. It’s well practiced, the denial, the avoidance, these things that you normally excel out.

But nothing is normal with them. 

He cocks his head, and then nods, and you breathe a little easier, turning to push the door open.

“Wait.” A hand tugs at you, thick, warm fingers lightly touching your wrist, and you whip back around to face him, eyes wide. “If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.” Why is your heart beating so fast? 

“Oh, I uh… I’m fine, I don’t need-“

“That doesn’t work on me. Johnny either, pretty girl.” He tells you, and it’s so firm, so strong backed, that your mouth goes dry, and you gape at him. What? What doesn’t work? Is he… is he saying he doesn’t buy it? Doesn’t believe you? He’s reading your mind, subtly raising an eyebrow, and then nodding. “Put my number in your phone.” He instructs, and like a robot, like a vampire’s Thrall, you pull it from your bag, swiping open the contact list and pressing each number in the order he gives it. “We’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks once you’re finished, and you mumble a shaky yes, finally pushing the door open, and climbing out.

“Alright, well. Good night.” You bend at the waist, giving him a wave through the window, and his jaw moves beneath the mask, shifting to the side, eyes squinting at the corners. He's smiling. 

“Good night, bunny.”

[beaulesbian]

One Piece Live action season 1 + hints or similarities to future One Piece moments (specifically after East Blue saga) - part 1: episodes 1-3

This wasn't meant to be a comparison between the live action and the animanga, but more so seeing these added/modified scenes that differ from the manga, yet with some of the acting/writing includes clues and hints to different and future canon material, or even characterization that necessary doesn't fit East Blue yet, but fits well enough into later arcs.

Luffy not knowing his world directions both in Opla (ep 1) /// Skypiea arc, in anime ep 168. But it could be for honestly any other arc (Funny thing is, in Opla he rang the bell that unfortunately alerted Alvida's crew, and only when I was rewatching that scene it made me connect it with the great Luffy moment at the end of Skypiea.)

The matches that Zoro has on the Island of Sixis in Opla ep 1, possibly manufactured on Baldimore (?), with a name Beast of Baldimore. /// After Sabaody Archipelago Franky was sent to Baldimore by Kuma, finding Vegapunk's homeland and laboratory, and also developing more of his science projects, as well as causing funny incidents, such as the Burning Beast. (It has probably nothing to do with the matches, except for the 'tiger on fire' motif and the name of Baldimore, but the details of Opla are just so fun!)

Zoro's first meeting with Luffy in Opla episode 1 is really different but fun nonetheless, especially with wording of the line that he doesn't want to 'play pirates' with Luffy. It's such a great setup line for his development to truly be one of the very first to understand how much Luffy means everything he's doing /// Zoro in ep. 323 Post Enies Lobby arc, making sure both his crew and the audience know how seriously he takes being part of Luffy's crew and what it means for future arcs.

Opla ep 2, Luffy mentioning Shanks' way of thinking about fighting (or not fighting someone who's not worth it) /// ep. 146 Jaya arc, Luffy saying to Zoro not to fight Bellamy's crew, which was direct influence from Shanks not fighting the Mountain bandits in the first chapters of the manga. It's interesting that for both of these scenes both Zoro and Nami are there to hear this.

This is just a fun bit, but seeing Nami excited about having a bath was cute. Opla ep 3 /// anime ep. 326, just after they get Sunny and everyone was finding out what space there is for them.

Garp and Koby playing the game of Go, Opla ep 3 /// CP0 agents playing Go while discussing the outcome of Strawhats & Oden's crew's raid on Onigashima against Kaido. It seems like a game that maybe Marines play more/enjoy (?) & above, up to CP ranks.

Usopp 'retelling' a story about eating a dragon, Opla ep 3 /// Punk Hazard ep 580, Zoro killing the dragon and planning with Luffy what's the best way to cook and eat it. Lol. In next chapters Luffy was carrying a big chunk of it, seemingly ate a bit part of the dragon already.

This one is self explanatory. Zoro is so gone for Luffy in Opla it's insane. Every time I remember that I get emo. ep 3. /// One of the first really fond smiles that Zoro keeps smiling at Luffy, a mixture of proud and understanding how Luffy works. ep 63, but it's just so much better in the manga, just look at it. Smitten™ (ch. 104)

[barleyo]

Rural Bliss.

Real Dad! Leon X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: You, as a reader, are responsible for your own media consumption. It is up to you to read the tags that I have provided and determine whether or not this is a piece of writing that you would like to partake in. If not, scroll on by, if you do, please enjoy! Remember, I am not responsible for any discomfort you feel if you choose to read this.

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), dub-con, oral (f receiving), LARGE AGE GAP (18 and 40+), pwp (light plot), mentions of predatory behavior, mutual creepiness, dark and disturbing content, choppy ass writing

Wordcount: 1.8k

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

Your mom had finally done it. She found a halfway decent guy and let him wife her up faster than you could say 'I do.' You weren't exactly mad about it. He was a decent enough guy, and he made your mom happy, so whatever. The only part that you were against was the fact that you would be staying with your estranged father for the rest of your summer until your mom and her boy-toy got back from their extensive honeymoon.

Your dad fucked off pretty quickly after you were born. Moved himself far away into the middle of nowhere, not once reaching out or keeping in touch. A small part of you wanted to know him, but a larger part of you was pissed that you would have to now temporarily live with a man who you could just barely remember the name of. 

What was it again? Leonard? Lucas? No, no, that's not right. Leon? Yeah, something like that. Leon. 

Leon, the man who left you and your mom. The man who, instead of raising you, decided to lick his wounds in the deep country, likely making a meager living off of growing potatoes and carrots. The man who was a stranger, connected to you only by blood. 

The man whose front porch you were currently standing on, banging on his door without a care in the world. You looked around while you knocked. It was a large bit of land. A few neighbors nearby, but not within spitting distance. At the very least, this town had a few stores with maybe a few people your age lingering around them. 

"I'm coming, damn it!" His steps were loud, you could hear them from all the way outside. The heaviness of his work boots must've weighed him down quite a bit. The screen door flew open and his face softened. "Oh, hey kid. Didn't know you'd be here so early. Come in." 

You followed him inside, letting your eyes trail his face and frame. You'd only seen a picture or two of him before. He wasn't quite what you were expecting. He looked a lot older now than he did in the photos. More tired, less lively. His crow's feet and smile lines stuck out, but if the lonely, uncomfortable vibe of his house was any clue, you assumed he hadn't been smiling much in his life. 

He wasn't bad looking, though. Time hasn't weathered him, and you could tell he took care of himself. His arms and chest looked strong, clearly he had found some way to stay fit out in his desolate chunk of farmer-country. You could see why your mom picked him. He looked like a good one, despite his fleeting nature. 

"You're gonna be stayin' for a few months, yeah?" Leon didn't seem uncomfortable with your presence, so you felt a bit more calm.

"Yeah, I guess so. Mom didn't really give me all the details, just kinda sprung it on me."

"Believe me, I know," he said under his breath. "Well, this place isn't much, 'm sure it's not what you're used to." He locked the door behind you and flashed an apologetic look. 

"It's fine. I'll make it work." You looked around. It looked lived in, strangely worn despite nobody else ever living there.

He led you down a dimly lit hallway, the floorboards groaning beneath their weight, until they reached a single room. It was a small bedroom, adorned with faded wallpaper and completely wooden furniture. The single window offered a glimpse of the bare, green landscape outside. 

"This'll be your room. You can unpack your things."

Hardly a week passed by and you were already sick to death of living with your dad. His jokes were bad. His cooking was shit. His attempts at bonding with you were creepy at best and damn near-assault at worst. He let his hands drift all over you when he pulled you in for hugs and tried pecking a kiss on your mouth before you went off to bed each night, and damn it, you let him.

Again and again, every night, letting that old man press his chapped lips against yours, holding back your urge to force your tongue into his mouth.

He bought you gifts that no other fathers would think about getting their daughters. Skimpy little clothes that left nothing to the imagination, while he wrote it off by claiming ignorance.

"That's what girls your age wear, right? I can't keep up with what you kids are into," Leon would say, covering his ass with feigned dopiness. 

His only redeeming quality was that he was hot and mostly oblivious. It was fucked up to think about it that way, but without having much other male contact during your stay, Leon was starting to becoming quite the piece of eye candy. The best part is that he thought nothing of it, acting like his teenaged daughter spending hours staring at his half-naked, sweaty body while he worked in the hot sun was normal. Just another day. Nothing special. 

He didn't make you work on the farm with him, so you got to do all the watching. You got to see those strong arms lift hay bales for the horses and chop trees for firewood. Most of your days were spent watching him from the front porch, mentally cursing yourself out when you felt your thighs clench together instinctually at his sexy movements. 

What was wrong with you? 

Were years of fatherlessness finally catching up to you? Couldn't muster any real love for the old man, so sexual yearning was the next best thing? Eye-fucking your dad and sharing touches that lasted too long were the cost of him skipping out on you.

You rationalized it the best you could. Maybe you didn't actually want him, maybe the solitude of the countryside was getting to you. Maybe there was something in the air, some kind of sex-pollen floating in the breeze that made you wanna get bent over by a man twice your age that just so happened to be related to you. Closely related.

Leon didn't really know how to treat a woman well, but he tried his best with you. It was his first time really being a dad, but honestly, he hated it. Being a 'dad' sucked, especially when he'd rather have his daughter as his girlfriend. 

You made him so frustrated, so unsure of himself. Leon's only experience with girl's your age was in getting them liquor they couldn't legally buy themselves, fucking them like plastic sex dolls, and leaving them for someone else to woo and screw. 

He couldn't quite do that to you, though. He couldn't get you drunk and take advantage of you, pumping and dumping in you without a care about your pleasure. He had to take care of you, your health and comfort. All he really wanted was to take care of your body.

You were his little girl. He'd fuck you like he actually gave a damn about you if he ever got the chance, and he most definitely wouldn't be leaving you for anyone else.

That type of thinking brought him here. 

"Daddy, please..."

The walls in his house were too damn thin. He could practically hear each thrust of your fingers into your cunt from his bedroom. Your bed screeched agonizingly against the floors, punctuating your moans and hisses of pleasure. 

He saw his opportunity and took it. He had waited long enough, and this was the least he could do, right? You needed him, right? Right.

He pushed your door open, not having the decency nor the self-restraint to knock. You felt your body go still, but kept your hands between your legs. 

"If you needed me, coulda told me. Don't like t'hear you in here whining." Leon sat on the edge of your bed, crawling his way between your legs. "Fuck, that's pretty." 

He took in the sight of your fingers stuffed into your pudgy cunt, slick dripping between each digit. 

"No, you're—! this isn't what it—" you tried prying your fingers out, but a strong hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you in place.

"Isn't what it looks like? How about what it sounds like, huh? Sounds like you want your daddy to dull that ache in you." 

He was so far gone. He normally never did this. Leon was a man who took. He took younger girls virginity, mouth, pussy, or other. He was the one that got sucked off and got his perv dick wet. But for his baby? You, the little nymph who fell gracefully into his grasp? He was foaming at the mouth for a chance to slurp your pussy.

"Open up, come on. Got nothin' to be shy about," he urged, forcing your legs open, pulling your fingers out, and shimmying closer to you. "Nothin' I haven't seen before."

That was somewhat of a lie. Sure, he saw pussies all the time when he bullied his cock into them, but he was normally never nose to clit, ready to lick.

He stuck his needy tongue out, lapping up the juices that you worked up when you rubbed yourself raw. He swirled around you clit as a test, trying to see what felt good for you. He soon settled on puckering his lips around your bud and sucking, swapping his spit in and out of his mouth to keep you lubed up. 

Your voice broke with hushed whines and chants. Yes's and oh's rang out, filling Leon's ears and his ego. 

He pulled his head back and lob a wad of spit onto your clit, chuckling when you shivered. 

"Feel good?" His thumb traced your clit in little figure eights. 

"Mm, s'good." Your hands trailed through his thick, soft hair. You gripped it tightly, pulling his head back to your cunt. "No, don't stop, jus' need your mouth again."

His sharp, strong nose bumped against the top of your pussy while he munched down on you greedily. His tongue traveled around you in an indecisive manner. One moment, he was using flat strokes to lick on your swollen nub, then pointing his tongue while he fucked it in and out of you. 

Despite the sporadic nature of it, the warmth and wetness of the contact of his mouth on you felt like heaven. It didn't matter what he was doing, as long as he was looking up at you with his piercing eyes and swallowing down your slick, you were satisfied.

"Dad, oh my God, yes!" It felt like venom coming off of your tongue when you moaned it, but tasted like honey at the same time. Something about it was so wrong, but felt so natural.

As your legs tightened around Leon's head and trapped him between your thighs, you knew it was meant to be. You were meant to be your daddy's princess. You were meant to feel like mouth on you, to be spoiled by his tongue, words, money, and his cock. You had been missing out on it for so long. 

You spent the rest of your summer making up for lost time, discovering just what having a daddy was meant to feel like.

[incorrectbatfam]

May I have more gen alpha Damian but as Robin? This little boy is a menace to the rouges ... I love this idea 💖💖💖💖💖

Riddler: Riddle me this.

Damian: *starts recording on his smart watch*

Riddler: The first two letters signify a male, the first three letters signify a female, the first four letters signify a great man, while the entire word signifies a great woman. What is the word?

Damian's watch: Heroine.

———————

Joker: You see, little birdie, it all started with One Bad Day—

Damian: *plays the world's smallest violin*

———————

Freeze: With the press of a button, I will ice over the entire Gotham Harbor!

Damian: Cringe.

———————

Hatter: *posts a TikTok monologue threatening the batfam*

Damian: *stitches himself yawning and falling asleep*

———————

Croc: *roars*

Damian: *pulls out the All-Blades*

Croc: ?

Damian: My brother got the DLC.

———————

Harley: *launches her confetti cannon*

*single piece of confetti falls out*

Damian, clapping: Go girl give us nothing.

———————

Clayface: *attacks Damian*

Damian: *rips out a chunk of clay*

Damian: *starts playing with it like slime*

———————

Scarecrow: I've got you now.

Damian: Imagine being a grown man beefing with a middle schooler. Couldn't be me.

———————

Ivy: *ties him up with her plants*

Damian, a vegan: *chomp*

———————

Damian: What are your pronouns so I can eviscerate you properly?

Two-Face: ...

Two-Face: He/they.

———————

Ra's: It's just you and me, my disgraced heir. Let's finish this duel once and for all.

Damian: *taps his phone*

Jon: *flies in and pummels Ra's*

Jon: Thank you for ordering from SüberDefeats! Be sure to share your feedback.

Damian: *tips Jon and leaves five stars*

[keys-hellscape-1020]

5 times you took care of the 141st, and one time they took care of you

Happy (late) holidays everyone! I hope you enjoy this piece!

Platonic!141st x medic!reader

Warning: Canon typical violence, minor angst, hurt/comfort, medical inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, very minor gore, hospital type settings, minor illness, fainting, brief mentions of vomiting, cursing.

1st

“Need a medic stat!”

You rushed through the battle ground, attempting to make your way to the other side of it. This was made extremely difficult by the large chunks of rubble scattered about, oh and the fact they are at least a dozen people shooting at you.

“Stitch!!”

“Soap I’m on my way, apply pressure I’ll be there soon!” You panted, vaulting over some rubble and sliding to cover to prevent getting shot yourself.

The mission had gone to shit extremely quickly. You were just supposed to get the information and get out, stick together and move quickly. You all were not anticipating bombs being dropped on your heads from enemy aircrafts.

They had scattered you all quickly, as each of you attempted to avoid being hit. It seemed as that was their plan because as soon as you all were split up enemy soldiers surrounded you out of nowhere.

Price has called for an evac, but the lack of non blown up landmarks made it difficult to regroup.

You fired off a few shots into the smoke, praying they found their mark, and took off once more.

Going over and under rubble, left and right, in and out, it felt like you were never going to reach Soap.

Just as you were about to start violently cursing the gods for the situation you were in you saw Soap a few hundred yards off from you. To your surprise he looked to be in alright shape, the lump next to him however you couldn’t say the same for.

“Soap I have visual on you, what’s the situation?”

“The situation is Gaz is bloody shot!!”

Cursing under your breath you moved from your cover once more. Keeping low to the ground, more crawling than running at times, you finally made your way to Soap and Gaz.

Sliding in next to them you got to work. Looking Gaz over, you immediately started treating the biggest and most obvious problem, the bullet wound in his stomach.

Soap had tried his best to stop the bleeding, that much was clear from the soaked gauze packed into the wound, but with the need to return fire he couldn’t keep up with it.

You applied heavy pressure on it, praying that’s enough to keep him alive until he can get to a hospital.

“Price where the hell is that damn evac?!”

“3 minutes out, landing in what used to be the hospital parking lot. I’ve got Ghost with me what’s your status?”

“Me and Soap are alright, Gaz has been shot and is loosing blood fast he needs to get out of here asap!”

“We need to move!” Soap yells at you over his shoulder from where he’s returning fire at the enemy.

You act fast, harshly rubbing Gaz’s sternum to wake him up.

His eyes barely peak open, “Stitchy? What’s goin’ on?” He sounds drunk, which with how much blood he’s lost doesn’t surprise you.

“Hey, hey buddy, stay awake, your badly hurt we need to move.” You chirp, trying to keep your voice light despite the situation. “How you feelin’ bud? Can you talk to me?”

As you speak you rummage through your pocket, sighing in relief when you find what you were looking for, a stim shot and some pain relief.

Gaz had nodded off again in the brief time you weren’t speaking, and you lean in again to speak to him. “Gaz!! Come one buddy, keep your damn eyes open!”

“Stitch!” Soap calls from behind your back, the urgency in his voice can not be ignored.

“I know!” Deciding that you don’t have time to wake him up, you quickly stab the stim shot into his thigh.

That wakes up Gaz with a start. He flinches in pain, his eyes now wide open.

“Welcome back to the world buddy!” You shout at him, quickly injecting him with pain relief and tightening the sloppy bandage around his midsection one last time.

“Soap! Ready to move!” You call to him, hauling Gaz’s arm and part of his body, over your shoulder.

Soap leads the way, ducking behind rubble and returning fire when he can. You both move as quickly as you can, you would be lying if you said you weren’t struggling to keep up. Gaz was already fairly heavy, he also has all his gear on him which did not help your situation at all.

You were falling a bit behind Soap, but you kept hauling both you and Gaz towards him as fast as you could.

You were not going to let either of you die out here.

Finally you both reach the evac sight. Laying eyes on Price and Ghost you feel like you can breath again.

You run up next to where they’re positioned behind a large chunk of rubble. Laying Gaz down with his back to it you go to check his bandages again.

When you glance up to his face you notice that he’s awake. “How ya feelin’ bud?” You shout over the sound of gunfire, applying more pressure to his bleeding wound.

“Like shit.” He quips back.

You struggled to hear him over the sound of gunfire, but you were glad that he was conscious enough to talk to you and process what your saying.

Finally, fucking finally, your hear the sound of what might as well be the holy grail.

The heli lands about 20 yards away from you, cruising down to the ground, before it’s even landed Price is yelling orders.

“Stitch and Gaz move first, the rest of us will cover you from behind!”

You throw Gaz’s arm back over your shoulder and haul him onto his feet, thankfully he’s now awake enough that he can help you instead of you dragging him. Once you reach the heli you throw the top half of his body in, causing him to wince in pain.

“Sorry bud!” You shout over the noise of the chopper, pulling him the rest of the way in. You lean over him, securing him inside the chopper, then lifting up his shirt to check and make sure his bandages are still tight. Thankfully the bleeding has slowed down enough where there is minimal blood visibility through the bandage which makes you breath a sigh of relief.

You feel the heli taking off and you glance over your shoulder to make sure all your boys got onboard in one piece.

“Any other injuries I should know about?” You shout over the sound of the Heli.

“Your gonna have some if you don’t bloody sit down and secure yourself!” Price yells back at you.

You back off sitting yourself down next to Gaz. He was still hurt badly, but at least now he was as stable as you could get him.

All things said?

That was a shit show.

2nd

You hummed as you fluttered around the med bay busily. Moving from one spot to the other, carefully taking inventory with your trusty clipboard in hand.

You were truly in your element, everything was calm, orderly, and you were free to just do your job without any interruptions.

The door to the infirmary swung open, hitting the wall with a bang! In came Ghost, dragging a whining Soap behind him.

Ghost looked seriously pissed off, his eyebrows were noticeably furrowed under his balaclava and his shoulders were hunched. If you were to rely on context clues the only reason Soap was here was because of Ghost’s firm grip on his bicep.

“Can I help you?” You ask, face completely dead-pan.

Ghost doesn’t respond, just roughly pushes Soap towards you. Now that you have a better look at him you can see that his shoulder looks… wrong to say the least.

“What did you do this time?” You sigh, walking over to grab Soap by his ear.

“Owww” Soap whines “Sure! Pick on the injured person why don’t ya?”

“How do you always get injured at base but never on missions?” You taunt, pulling Soap over to the nearest available gurney.

You gesture for him to sit down on the bed, and when you turn around you notice Ghost, still standing where you left him.

“Either sit down or leave Ghost, there’s no lurking in my medical bay.” You say, grabbing what you need to treat Soap.

Returning to Soap you gently push him down on his non-injured shoulder. “Y’know if you wanted me like this you could’ve just asked.” Soap taunts with a wink, prompting you to sigh.

Thankfully he’s in a tank top or you would have to cut off his shirt, you know from personal experience with treating him that when you have to do that he makes plenty of comments.

“Alright, this is probably gonna hurt like a bitch, don’t punch me.” You say as you put Soaps arm in the proper position for realignment.

“Wouldn’t dream of it la- OW WHAT THE FUCK.”

“All done” you quip, pulling off your gloves. You look back over your shoulder to see Ghost has moved to the foot of the gurney.

“What were you two even doing?” You ask, putting your supplies away and getting different ones out.

“Fuckin” “Sparing” They say at the same time.

You should’ve know better than to ask.

3rd

You can’t believe this. You can’t believe your boys. You knew they could be stupid sometimes but this is next level!

Thankfully most of them had gotten away with minor injuries, and somehow you had gotten out without a scratch, despite not even knowing the plan before they decided to execute it.

Soap and Ghost had only bumps and bruises, somehow, considering they were in the thick of their stupid plan. Gaz had a few scrapes and a sprained ankle, but you patched him up then set him off with a crutch and a promise to go easy on it. And the captain? You don’t even know how he managed it considering he’s supposed to be the smart one, but he broke his leg.

So now you are in the med bay, essentially holding your own captain hostage (not like he could get very far if he did decide to run off).

He is not a good patient. None of your boys are. He complains about being there, says how he wants to leave and how he wishes he could do things for himself. You understand that, but the best thing for him at the moment is rest, and he seems adamant on not taking it.

“Stitch”

“If you ask me if you can leave again I’m smacking you.” You say while walking over to him.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way for me to go get food is there?” He asks, looking far to innocent for his own good. He’s planning something. You just know it.

“I’ll call one of the boys to bring you something up.” You quip, already walking away, intent on y’know, doing your job.

“Stitch” You hear him call as soon as you walk away.

“Yes sir?” You question, turning around to stare him dead in the eyes.

“How long until I get out of this hell hole?”

“Until your leg heals or you get put on leave.”

“Leave?” He sounds actually startled at that proposition, prompting you to walk closer to him.

“Just for a few months sir, until your leg heals.” You soothe. As quick as the startled look in his eyes appeared it was gone. Masked down under his cool captain facade.

“You can have a few months of uninterrupted down time with your husband. Doesn’t that sound nice?” You ask, walking over to stand next to him, setting your hand on the knee of his uninjured leg.

“Have you met yourselves? You all will get killed without me here!” He exclaims, running a hand through his beard in exasperation.

“You’re one to talk sir.” You say deadpan. “Trust me the boys will be fine. They will be better off without you for a few months than they will be if they see you constantly cooped up in here.”

“Stitch, nothing good can possibly come from me not being here!”

“Sir,” you quip as you sit on the side of his gurney, “you need to give them more credit. They’re smart, strong, soldiers, and if you order them to they’ll hold themselves together until you return.”

“You think they can’t behave unless their ordered?” Price smirks.

“What can I say, I know them to well.”

“Hard to argue with that.”

4th

You woke up to a thudding in your head.

Thud, thud, thud.

Thud, thud, knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

As you come to, your groggy self realizes that loud, obtrusive noise is not coming from within your head, but outside it. You go to answer the door, (tripping over your blankets on the floor in the process) and find Ghost standing behind it.

You realize with a start that he’s in civvies, and has replaced his balaclava with a simple black face mask. While this should’ve been expected, it still comes as a surprise to you. They look unnatural on him.

“Ghost? What are you doing here?” You ask, trying not to scream on account of it being 3 am.

He nudges you to the side, walking in so you can close the door, and it’s then that you notice that his black shirt is getting even darker with blood.

“Ghost, what the fuck.” You sigh, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards your couch. “Stay here, I’ll be right back with first aid.”

You run to the bathroom, fling open the cabinet under the sink to grab the first aid kit and run back.

“If you ran like that during missions we might have to cover you less.” Ghost muttered.

“Oh shut up, what did you even DO.” You ask, pulling up his shirt with a pad of gauze ready in your other hand to staunch the bleeding.

You find the culprit quickly, a long but shallow gash along his side. It would need stitches, but thankfully you could do that here.

“How’s it look doc?” He mumbles, barely legible.

“You’ll be fine after some stitches but how did you even do this? We’re on leave.” You question, absolutely exasperated. You all were on leave and you still couldn’t catch a break from your idiot boys.

His response is mearly to grunt and look away from you.

“Alright then, well I’ll go ahead and clean it up for you alright?” You mutter.

You go through the motions, this is something you’ve done a million times. Clean, antiseptic, stitches, bandage, done.

As your putting everything away you notice Ghost is staring at the floor, and something about him feels… off.

As you go to put the first aid kit away you nudge his foot with yours, “You feelin’ alright bud? You can stay the night if you need.”

“‘M fine” he mutters, still not making eye contact.

“Wow that was convincing.” You dead pan as you walk away from him to go put up your first aid kit.

When you return to his side you gently rest your hand on his shoulder and say, “Listen, I don’t know what happened but you can stay here as long as you need. I gave you all this address for emergencies after all.”

He eyes you, before reaching up to your hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze, “Thanks Stitch”.

“Anytime.”

5th

You are starting to believe you’ve done something to piss off the gods.

You have just gotten back from leave and already the rest of your task force is sick. It started with Soap, who had come back to base with it, except he insisted it was nothing and went about training like he normally does. Him refusing to rest like you told him to led to him getting Ghost sick, not a surprise with how much they… “hang out.”

Next was Gaz, who despite you telling him not to, was adamant about treating them. When he inevitably fell to the illness he went whining about it to Price, who despite his best efforts, still got it. You suspect if he hadn’t still been trying to get his leg back to what it was before he broke it he could’ve outran him.

And then there was you. The sole survivor.

For some reason all of them had decided to wallow in your room, something about Soap insisting it had “healing properties” because your a medic. You told him to get out. He didn’t listen.

Gaz had curled up in your bed, Price had taken the couch, Soap curled up in your arm chair, and Ghost took the rug.

You were going to do so much cleaning once you managed to get these fuckers out.

But for now, you had to be in medic mode. So you went in. Armed with a face mask, gloves, everything antiseptic you could get your hands on, you started your plan: get the sick bastards out of my room.

The first step was making them feel better, so you decided on a classic sick food; chicken noodle soup.

You pushed the door to your room open with your back, on account of you carrying a heavy tray with 4 bowls of soup.

“Hiya boys, how are you feeling?” You chirped, setting the tray down on your desk. “I brought dinner if your feeling up to it.”

Much to your amusement Soaps head immediately shot up at the promise of food. “What did ya bring?” He rasped, the poor thing had lost most of his voice when he got ill and he was only now starting to get it back.

“Chicken noodle soup, although I’m not sure the bastard who started this whole mess should get any.” You quipped, even though you were actively handing him a bowl.

“Thank ya kindly.” He mumbled as he took the bowl from you. As far as your boys went Soap was the closest to looking like his regular self. Yes he didn’t have much of a voice, and his energy was way down from normal, but he was the least pale, and obviously the one with the most appetite.

“Anybody else want any?” You asked, glancing about your room turned sick bay.

From the corner of your room you saw Price weakly raise his hand from the couch. “Geez dramatic much?” You snorted out a laugh while handing him his bowl.

“Don’t bully the ill Stitch.” Gaz huffs from your bed.

“Your in my room, I’ll bully as much as I please.” You huffed “Now do you want soup?”

You saw Gaz lift his head to look at the soup questioningly before shrugging and nodding yes.

Once you had one bowl of soup left you looked down at the dark puddle on your rug. “Ghost, dinner time.” You chirped.

“Leave me to my death.” He moaned back at you.

“Oh you’re hardly dying, here sit up and eat something you’ll feel better.” As you spoke you gently crouched down to him and started repeatedly poking him on the shoulder.

“What do you want you heathen” he muttered as he finally sat up, only to have a bowl of soup forced into his hands.

“Eat.” You said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care.”

Reluctantly Ghost pulled up his mask to his nose and began to eat his soup, with everyone fed you looked around to see if anyone was done.

Like you expected, Soap was already done and Gaz was about 2/3 of the way through his. Time for step 2, probably the hardest part: Medicine.

You walked over to your desk and looked through the bag you’d brought in with the tray. You were muttering curses under your breath when you finally found it. A bottle of NyQuil. Not only will it help their colds, it’ll also knock them out so you won’t have to deal with them! Win win! Looking over at Soap you decided he would be your first target.

Loading up a spoon with the liquid you carefully step over to Soap, trying to not set off any of his alarm bells.

“Can I take your bowl?” You ask him, making sure to have a normal tone that doesn’t give away your true intentions.

“Sure, thank ya.” He rasped handing you his bowl. Before he could fully take his hand off the bowl you whisked the bowl away and shoved the spoonful of medicine into his hand.

He stared at the spoon like it was poison, “Stitch, what IS this?” He questioned.

“Medicine.” You quipped back. “It’ll make you feel better. Maybe if you take it you can insist on training again to go infect more people.”

Soap let out a raspy groan, but despite his previous complaint he swallowed the medicine, making a comical face after tasting it, and handed the spoon back to you.

Your next, “victims” as you choose to call them, didn’t put up much of a fight.

Gaz didn’t complain once he realized you weren’t leaving him alone until he took it, and Price took it without a word. Overall, a pretty positive experience. Your next challenger however would be much more difficult.

You eye up Ghost, and decide at this point attempting to be stealthy is pointless, he’s already seen you carry out your plan, and thus you approach him with your ammo loaded spoon fearlessly.

“No.” He groans, voice muffled from how he’s laying face first in your rug.

“Ghost, it’ll make you feel better.” You try, but the mountain man simply acts as if he didn’t hear you. You start repeatedly nudging him with your foot, over and over and over again until finally he picks his head up to look at you.

You can’t see much of him because of the mask, but from what you can see his eyes are much more puffy and red than normal, and anyone could notice the subtle rasp to his voice that’s not normally there.

“You need to take the medicine.” You spoke calmly, like you were talking to a cranky toddler. “It’ll make you feel better. Plus everyone else already took theirs.”

“Well they’re weak.” He groaned, and yet he still snatched the spoon from you, shoved the medicine in his mouth, and then threw it back at you.

“Dramatic much.” You whispered to yourself, getting up to put everything away.

If there’s one thing you got from this experience it’s this:

You work with literal children.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1st

You felt like shit.

Not that you plan on letting that fact be known.

You’ve been attempting to put on some blush and concealer for the last 30 minutes in an attempt to make yourself look more alive. Your only responsibility today is a meeting to discuss your next mission so while it’s technically against dress code you don’t think anyone will notice, or if they do notice you doubt they will care.

Your body however seems to be stubbornly rebelling against your master plan to seem healthy. Your attempts to stand at your desk and put on makeup keep being thwarted as your head pounds any time you stand up and your vision blurs.

Despite your bodies valiant attempts to incapacitate you, you did manage to get your makeup on, put your clothes on, and get out the door.

Once you hobbled your way into the meeting room you saw that everyone was already there, as you took much longer than expected getting ready, which led to you being late.

“Damn Stitch you look… rough.” Gaz commented with a wince.

“Shut it.” You muttered, your voice already half gone.

When you woke up this morning you knew you were in for a hell of a week. You throat hurt like hell, and your voice was nearly gone. You kept coughing and sneezing and your head hurt horribly. All the same symptoms of what your boys had.

Despite your best efforts to get them out they had ended up staying for nearly a week. Soap left after about 2 days of rest, as he had it before the chaos started, but even with their ring leader gone the rest stayed put, with little signs of recovery. Due to this, your constant cleaning in between bouts of caring for them was futile, and 2 days after they recovered, it seems the inevitable happened. You caught it.

You sat with a thud in your normal seat next to Gaz, nodding at Price. “Sorry I’m late sir.” You grunted, barely able to get the words out.

“Are you feelin’ alright?” He asked, eyes narrowed at you suspiciously.

“Never better.” You lied.

Price was still eyeing you with suspicion, but he turned to begin the meeting anyway.

Nothing much of note happened during the meeting, except the fact that Gaz kept giving you looks of increasing concern, and every time you let out a muffled cough Ghost gave you a death stare. Soap looked at you more than Price for the whole meeting, despite him getting told off numerous times.

At the end of the meeting you moved to get up to retreat to your room, but as soon as you rose your head started spinning aggressively, the world blurred into one large mass of color, and then black.

~

You woke up with a start. Sitting up and immediately backing into the nearest corner you assessed your surroundings.

You were in your room, and the lack of light coming through the window let you know it was night. You must have slept a while as it was still morning when your meeting ended. Upon feeling a weight tighten on your waist you looked down and felt your cheeks grow warm.

Gaz was curled up right next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist. He was sleeping peacefully next to you, his body curled slightly. You thought it safe to assume he was curled around you until you shot up.

Looking around the room you saw the rest of your boys spread around. Ghost was lying peacefully on your rug (honestly you found his obsession with it a little concerning), with Soap half on top of him. Price was laying on your couch with his god-awful hat on his face, presumably to block out the nonexistent light.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a bout of violent coughing. Your lungs felt like stress balls as they were squeezed under the muscles of your chest, and in one violent motion you swung yourself out of bed and rushed towards the bathroom.

As you emptied your stomach contents into the toilet bowl you felt someone wipe away the sweat on your forehead and crouch down next to you.

“That’s it, get it all out.” You heard Soap mumble next to you.

As your stomach finished emptying itself and you spat into the toilet into an attempt to get the taste out of your mouth Soap gently leaned over to wipe your mouth for you.

You sat back on your haunches with your eyes closed, breathing heavily. You creaked your eyes when you heard multiple pairs of footsteps quickly approaching the door.

Ghost stood directly behind Soap, looking at you with poorly masked concern. Next to him, with a death grip on his elbow, was Gaz, who was not even trying to mask his concern at your state. Behind both of them peered Price, and while he displayed a glare on his face, you knew him well enough to know that was his way of showing concern.

“Respectfully Stitch, what the fuck?” Soap gently said next to you.

Instead of actually responding like all of your years of training and experience are screaming at you to do, your emotions take over and you start violently sobbing.

You feel miserable. You head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton, your throat is on fire, all your limbs feel weighed down with lead, you can’t even stay awake long enough to walk to your own room and now your emotional state is such shit your violently crying in front of all of your boys.

The first one to react is Soap, who instantly tightly pulls you into a hug. The next is Gaz, who rushed over to tackle you- gently! In a hug. Price awkwardly walked over to sling an arm around you as well, and Soap turned around to grab Ghost by his ankle and drag him in.

“I-I’m sorry.” You gasped out between sobs.

In response to your statement Soap and Gaz’s arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

Finally, Price spoke. “Alright crowding em’ isn’t gonna help anything. Soap make sure they brush their teeth then get them the fuck to bed. Ghost, grab the medicine they gave us and anything else that might help. Gaz make sure they have water and a Gatorade on their nightstand. I’m gonna run to medical and get them some anti-nausea medication.”

Hearing that your boys all scurried off to follow orders.

Soap carefully raised you up, and made sure you had steadied yourself against the counter before releasing you. He grabbed your toothbrush for you and put a generous amount of toothpaste on it. After he handed it to you and made sure you were good he started busying himself with anything he thought needed a bit of tidying around your bathroom. Which was apparently a lot.

As he worked he spoke lowly, “Gave us all quite a fright there. Thought you were hurt for a moment and rushed ya to the med bay. They told us you were just ill and had us bring ya to your room.”

You spat out your toothpaste and muttered between sniffles, “sorry.”

As you cleaned off your toothbrush and your mouth Soap approached you and pulled you in tight. “I know we annoy the hell out of you with our recklessness, but I don’t know what I would do without ya. You’re the glue that holds us all together, without ya’ we all would be dead 10 times over.”

As Soaps little speech ended someone cleared their throat behind you, prompting you to turn around.

There stood Gaz, leaning against the doorframe. “He’s right y’know.” He said softly, slowly approaching you. “We would fall apart without you. And if keeping you in good shape means tending to you while your vulnerable like you do for us so well, then we will do it happily.”

“Gaz, you all gonna make me cry again.” You sniffled, rubbing harshly at your eyes.

His eyes grew wide at that and quickly pulled you into another hug, “Please no.”

“Alright, alright. We need to get ‘em to bed. Let em’ rest and what not.” Soap said gently pulling you from Gaz.

“Right right.” And with that Gaz gently took your hand leading you towards your bed. Soap followed closely behind, keeping a hand on your shoulder the whole time, like he was scared you would fall over again (not that you can blame him).

As they settled you in Price came in through the door, carrying a bucket and a small pill in his other hand.

“Alright, this bucket is incase you get sick again.” He said, setting it down next to your nightstand. “And this pill is for your nausea.”

He handed you the pill and the glass of water Gaz had gotten for you earlier. As you took the pill Ghost finally walked over with the medicine he has taken way to long to find.

“Alright here ya go.” Ghost said, attempting to hand you the spoon once you took the pill.

You however, were apparently not sick enough to not cause problems on purpose as you leaned comically far away from the spoon.

When Ghost gave you a pointed look you simply shrugged and said “Revenge bitch.” Before grabbing the spoon and taking the medicine.

“Alright I think that’s everything.” Price started, “We’ll leave you alone now and let you rest. Come on boys.”

As they moved to leave something came over you, making you call out to them, “Wait, uh please wait. Can… can you all stay? Please?” As you spoke you curled up further into your blankets, attempting to hide yourself in them.

Soap was the first to react to your question. “Aww sure Stichey, of course we’ll stay!” He smirked, practically prancing over to you to playfully ruffle your hair.

You scoffed, already regretting your decision, and rolled over to face the wall muttering, “forget it.”

“No no no.” Gaz said, quickly walking over to you, making sure to give Soap a good smack on the back of his head on the way. “If you want us to stay we can stay. It’s the least we can do. Right?” At that last word he shot a pointed glare towards the other members of the 141st, who all made varying gestures of agreement.

With that figured out your boys all settled in. Gaz practically latched onto you, pulling you to his chest and tucking your head under his chin. Soap, feeling extremely left out, decided to snuggled into your back, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling at the back of your neck. Soap waved Ghost over and with a sigh he slid his legs under everyone else’s and leaned half against Soap, half against the wall.

“Well looks like I can’t fit- what a shame,” Price began, only to have the back of his shirt grabbed by Gaz who proceeded to practically throw him over everyone onto Ghost, who promptly threw him off. He eventually settled in next to Ghost, half leaning on him, his legs fully intertwined with everyone else’s.

Once everyone was settled you felt incredibly comfortable. Your boys were all around you, and while yes, you still felt like shit, their heat and comfort more than made up for it.

The most important thing you got from this experience?

Your boys may be annoying sometimes, but there is nothing they wouldn’t do for you.