#I CAN AND WILL TALK ABOUT IT FOR LIKE. YEARS.

[nezuscribe]

as somebody who was raised differently, there were certain things your sisters got than you. sure they had better tutors and trainers, but they always had the best of the best. the best dresses, shoes, friends, the best attention.

and they always got complimented. you would listen and observe, wondering if you looked or acted so inherently different from them that caused people to totally brush past you. for a while you felt like a ghost, wandering around life as people ignored you. your sisters were the light of everybody’s life, and you were just there. always in the back.

but with arranged!gojo, it’s so different.

he always finds a way to say something good about you, things you never considered before. sure he compliments your baking (a part of you wonders if it’s only because he wants more), but he tells you that your horsemanship is stellar or that your penmanship is amazing. it slips out to, as if he actually meant it.

you’ve spent your entire life believing that you weren’t remarkable. you spent years trying to mimic the way your sisters talked or acted, hoping that maybe if you were like them people would notice you. but with gojo it seems like the more you you are, the more he enjoys your company.

one day when you’re trying on some new gowns, courtesy of him of course, he happens to find you in your shared bedroom, having a little break in between his counsel meetings and training.

your eyes meet his in the mirror, widening as you turn around with a bright smile.

“satoru! you’re here! how’d you get here?” you ask, happy to have seen him in between his busy schedule. the tension in his body melts upon seeing and hearing you, eyes softening at your genuine excitement.

“i had some time to spare, decided to drop on by,” he answers nonchalantly, but you can tell with the slight blush on his cheeks that he intently came here, knowing you’d be trying on your new garments because you told him that last night.

you roll your eyes, looking back to the mirror as you survey the gown, pursing your lips. you feel him coming closer, close enough until his hands wrap around your waist and he’s staring at you staring at yourself.

“i liked those ones,” you point to the pile of gowns on the bed, “but i think i look ridiculous in those,” you point to the ones on the chair. alina offered to help you, but you promised you’d be fine. bedsides, this was something you preferred doing in your own.

“ridiculous? nonsense,” gojo snorted, his fingers tracing the beaded work on your stomach.

you lean back into his chest a little, silently looking at yourself in the mirror.

“i don’t think i look pretty in this,” you mutter, tugging at the sleeves.

“what?” gojo frowns, looking down as you and the clothing your staring heavily at, “i think it looks gorgeous on you.”

you huff, chewing on your cheek.

“i don’t know,” you murmur quietly, feeling embarrassed, “my fathers wife always said i looked worst in red.”

gojo feels his brows furrow even more.

“the old hag?” he tries to tease but there’s an underlying bite in his voice.

he’s watched you for a while now, silently. though you talk about your old life here and there, there are some things that have weighed in on you that you never voice.

he’s aware of how your fathers wife and sisters treated you. he knows you were just the spare, an extra part of the family they never liked to include. you told him once how your excludes from the family portrait that hangs tall in the foyer, or how you’ve been erased from the will. he can’t do anything but listen. and he knows he’ll never understand just how badly they treated you there, but every passing day he seems to find out more and more.

“i think you’re very pretty,” he whispers softly, kissing the side of your head as his hands squeeze your waist, his eyes catching yours in the mirror, “and i think you look beautiful in red.”

your gaze wavers from his and to the table, not used to this.

gojo sees the way you fidget with your fingers and the way your breathing hitches. he can only imagine how many times you’ve been told otherwise, forced to think the opposite.

because he wasn’t just saying it to say it. gojo truly believed you were the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. he knew it from the moment you met when you were teenagers, and he knew it now. there’s a certain beauty that you possess that everybody else lacks.

“thank you,” you say, swallowing thickly as you smile a little at him, “i think you’re very pretty too.”

gojo feels his heart clench at the quietness in your voice, the unassuming way you thanked him, not filling believing his words. and sure he’s been called all sorts of good things under the sun, but to hear the genuine kindness laced in your tone, it made him want to bottle you up and keep you everywhere he went.

his hands squeeze your wait tighter, pressing more kisses to your neck as your squirm, smiling widely at the feeling.

“you are always pretty,” he says as he turns you around, leaning your back on the drawer, “always.”

his hands rest on your hips, blue eyes searing through yours.

you duck your head a little bit, heat biting at your cheeks.

“really?” you ask, looking up at him as he sees a shine in your eyes, trying your best not to shed those tears.

gojo feels his hands tighten on your dress, the fabric snagging under him as he breathes deeply through his nose.

he wonders if this is the first time anybody’s ever told you that. he doesn’t want to know if that’s true.

“really,” he repeats, his voice caught in the back of his throat. sometimes, you find a way to reduce him down to a few words. this man who’s been trained to sway others with his speeches, and he can barely speak around you.

you smile again, bashfully, your eyes creasing and cheeks full. gojo chases after your smiles, your happiness.

because though people might’ve whispered nice things when they know you couldn’t hear, those words never reached your ears. they never drowned out the waves of things you heard around your old house or from your family. and perhaps you spent a while thinking that you were just okay, never pretty or smart or funny enough, just okay.

but gojo says it all, and he says it loud. and you lived in the quite for so long that loud is strange. but it’s new, and you think you like it.

you look down at the gown, admiring the bead and needle work. it truly was a beautiful gown.

“i think i’ll keep it,” you say after a beat, and gojo smiles, a happy smile that he only shares with you.

he leans down, pressing a soft and sweet kiss to your lips, feeling the way you melt into him, holding him close to your chest. you hope he can’t feel the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes, or hear the way your heart beats erratically.

“good,” he murmurs as he pulls away for a second, “good.”

you smile.

“good,” you say, tilting your head a bit to find his lips again.

[ham1lton]

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

now part of a trilogy!

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liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

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“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

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EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

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r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

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u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

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liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

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‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

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view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

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[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

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liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘champion’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[lost-romantique]

The Evolution of Blitzø’s Character Growth- Stolitz (Season 2.5)

Blitz starts off "When I See Him" not wanting to think about the complexities of his and Stolas' relationship, so he decides to focus on the one thing he does know: sex.

In "When I See Him" Stolas and Blitz are meant to be never on the same page, even going as far as to have Blitz only sing-talk as opposed to Stolas' Disney-esque style of singing.

He goes out of his way, excitedly looking forward to the sex they'll have afterwards. He's only thinking about the sex.

Full Moon happens and Blitz is hurt and betrayed, as he genuinely has no idea how to process the confession.

Beginning of Apology Tour Blitz attempts to win Stolas back, only for it to end horribly as he self-sabotages the fuck out of everything he has, refusing to let go of the mask he wears.

Later on...

Blitz is heartbroken to hear Stolas sing, and his admission, "I don't think you meant to hurt me because I don't think it meant a thing at all" destroys him.

He tries to make it right with Stolas (who is drunk), apologizes to him, lets go of the mask he wears, only to end up ultimately giving up and letting Stolas go in the end.

A month passes and Blitz has essentially given up on life, driving his business to the freaking ground...

One thing is for sure, he feels a lot of regret for what happened with Stolas, and has essentially given up on being with him.

A lot of shit happens to Blitz in Ghostfuckers as the trauma that he's kept buried for fifteen years is forcefully pried open with a wrench.

Only for Millie to be the one to save Blitz in the end...

Episode ends with major character development for Blitz as his mask falls off, and he promises to butt out of the M&M relationship, and as he subtly admits and acknowledges his feelings for Stolas....

What's beautiful about the Stolitz Duet in Mastermind is that it perfectly shows Blitzø’s character growth...

How Blitz went from initially thinking only about sex in regards to his relationship with Stolas....

How Blitz was never once was on the same page with Stolas in their first duet together...

Only to now be able to perfectly harmonize with Stolas in regards to their deep feelings for one another...

Stolas admitting that he sees Blitz as his shining light that taught him to be his own person...

To Blitz admitting that he sees Stolas as the key to his heart that he's kept locked up for years...

For them to finally sing in perfect harmony as they admit their genuine undying love for each other.

And when the fear of losing Stolas permanently, hits Blitz like a motherfucking truck...

He's finally... finally able to let go of his mask around Stolas as he does what he can to comfort him after he lost everything.

Showing the small bits of romantic intimacy that he couldn't reciprocate back in Apology Tour.

Blitzø Buckzo, you make me fucking sick... how dare you be this fucking soft and cute and tender and loving. This man is fully aware that Stolas is still angry at him, but he doesn't care, he's just happy to have his birb back.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-one —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.5k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

The last bed you laid in smelled like lemon mint detergent. It was the full bed in your sister's guest room. Everything was crisp and white. They rarely had guests besides you. Some of your clothes stayed in that closet, one of your toothbrushes stayed in the connected bathroom, waiting for your visits. You'd awaken that last morning not thinking you'd never sleep in bed for another five years. You left it unmade.

This bed smells like pine and warmth.

Ghost's room is small and dimly lit. The ceiling slants so that one end is not tall enough for him to fully stand. There's a dresser and a nightstand, leaving only a sliver of floorspace.

After the metal latch on the door clicks shut, Ghost lays the blanket down and grabs a pillow for himself. That leaves the bed to you. Springs creak beneath your weight as you silently slip under a heavy, rustic quilt. The years-embedded scent of him wraps around you like a drug-induced fog. You hesitate to move, frozen as he flicks off the light. You wonder if he always locks the door or did it for you, to make you feel safer.

Only when his moving about ceases do you allow yourself to get comfortable. You cocoon your body under the quilt and turn to your side, closing your eyes.

A thought reopens them minutes later. You roll onto your back and speak into the darkness. "Have you known about this Switzerland place?"

For a moment, you think he's already asleep. Then, from below the bed by your feet, he says, "Heard of it."

"That is what you guys talked about, isn't it?" you ask absentmindedly.

"Among other things."

You sit up so you can see him, but all that you can make out is a dark shadow. "Care to share?"

"Some things are on a need-to-know basis," is all he gives.

"And I don't need to know?"

"Precisely."

It stings; you don't know why. "Some team we make, huh? Or I guess we're only a team when you need me to do something for you."

You quickly realize how petulant you must sound. The shadow sits upright. "They asked me to go with them. I said no. Too far. Too many variables that are hard to predict, and she's not ready for them. Happy?"

Happy—no, but relief replaces the slight uncertainty in your gut since your conversation with Nereida. Joining them was shut down. You wouldn't tell her, but their idea sounds asinine, whether or not that commune exists. The trip will be risky at best, fatal at worst. You're tempted to ask him how many days he thinks they'll recoup here before continuing their journey, but opt for sleep instead. He seems done with the conversation, too, lying back down. Then, you have the best sleep you've had in years in his bed.

When the sun turns pink, you awaken to a room void of Ghost. He's gone. It should be expected, but you'd thought he might wake you up to train like normal. Though, the past twenty-four hours haven't been normal. You look around, the details of his room more visible now. On the nightstand, there is a stack of books and you scan the titled spines. Mostly classics. One Hemingway. All tattered and read frequently. Beside them lays a silver chain attached to a dog tag. You gently finger the engraved metal so as not to move it out of place: Simon Riley. 

Snooping through his things is more tempting than you're willing to admit. You slip out of bed, socked feet padding over to the dresser. There are mostly papers. His map with the marked circle around what you now realize is Switzerland, a notepad with scribbled half-cursive on it, and then a faded photo beneath it. You freeze, breath hitching, as if you've done something dangerous just by stumbling upon it. Curiosity is thick in your chest, difficult to ignore. Gentle fingers reach to shift it out, revealing a picture that you know right away is of Blue and her mom. Blue is a baby. Maybe one year old. A woman with light brown hair holds her up, sitting on a bench in front of a playground. She's pretty and young. There is a sadness when you wonder if this is the only picture he has of them—before her death. Then, there is another feeling. You swallow it. 

You quickly slip the photo back just the way you found it and leave the room. The living room is quiet, people still sleeping. Price and Kyle's blankets are empty, but Kyle is the only one you spot outside. He sits on a tree stump, using a knife and some soap to shave his beard. He looks at you the moment you step outside.

"Good morning." He splashes a scoop of water on his smoothed jaw. 

You tuck your hands in your pockets. "Morning."

Without the facial hair, he looks even younger. Maybe in his early thirties. He pushes to his feet and you are reminded of his above-average height, though he is not as monstrous as Ghost. His form is lean, all muscle, with much less ink on his exposed skin. It is now you notice a scar across his jaw. Thick but faded. It trails halfway down his neck.

"Do you know where Ghost went?" you ask.

"Working on that truck of his. With Price."

A glance over your shoulder confirms it; you spot some movement behind the cabin where you know his truck sits. Guess that means no training. You nod. "So, um, you were in the military together, right?"

He takes a moment to look at you before answering. "Yeah. Same unit. Price was our captain."

"I kind of figured. He is... captain-y."

"'Captain-y.' Good way of putting it."

You're ready to turn away when he asks, "I hate to pry, but I admit I'm curious how you ended up here with him."

You force a smile. "It's not a very interesting story, sorry."

"I'm not looking for entertainment."

"What are you looking for, then?" You sound more defensive than you mean to. 

He shrugs. "Just curious, is all. You're a bit young."

"I'm not fucking him if that's what you're getting at." His brows lift to his hairline, and you're almost embarrassed for assuming that is what he was thinking, but before he can speak you add, "And you're young, too. I can handle myself just as you can."

"Of course." He shakes his head, moving his hand over his chest in earnest. "I apologize if I insinuated otherwise. Though, I am older than you."

"How old?"

"Let's see. Thirty-one last November. Or maybe it's just thirty. Hard to keep track, innit?" His smile is more genuine than yours, flashing white teeth. Then, his face turns more serious and he sighs through his nose, head tilting. "Look, I understand."

"Understand what?"

"I don't know your story, but I'm sure it is a gruesome one, and you have every right to feel uncomfortable. We'll be out of your hair soon enough. I appreciate you having us, though."

You want to tell him it's not like you have a choice; you're not the host here. But he already knows that. He's trying to be nice. "Thank you," you tell him honestly. 

Kyle bends to pick up his knife, wiping it off on his shirt. "So what did you need Ghost for?"

"Oh, nothing really."

"Care to accompany me for some breakfast, then?"

You consider saying no, but you need to hunt, anyway. Besides, you don't think he'd try anything in broad daylight. In another life, you may have looked at him with a more appreciative eye. But as you wade in silence through the woods, bow cinched to your back, you study him like an opponent. He's more agile than Ghost, likely quicker. When he crests the hill, it's hard to match his strides. 

Small conversation picks up by the pond and you find yourself easing up. You learn he's from London, too.

"What part?"

"Islington. I shared an apartment with my girlfriend. The rent was shit but it was worth it. Top floor loft with a good view and this insane Turkish bakery just below us." His tone is so casual you forget where you are for a second, until he suddenly throws his knife. It pins a squirrel to one of the trees. He bends to dislodge it and carries the dead animal, blood on his fingers. 

You keep walking. "What happened to her?"

"I had to make a choice. Go to London and find her, or go with Price and get my nephew, niece, and sister-in-law."

The understanding hits with the force of a fallen tree, and you pale. 

He notices your expression and continues. "I don't regret my decision. I've come to terms with it. There was no chance of me finding her in London, not with how quickly the infection spread there and the phone lines went out. I didn't even know where to look for her. At work? Home? Up north, things weren't as bad yet. I got in contact with my sister-in-law, Ameena, and told her to meet us at the small college up there where Nereida worked."

You recall what Nereida said, about Ari's mom and sister dying, so you don't pry about them. "What about your brother? Ari's dad?"

"He died before shit happened. He was in the military, too. Different unit. Multiple gun wounds while in Afghanistan a few years back."

"I think your story is more gruesome than mine," you admit.

His lips twitch ruefully. "Not a competition. Gruesome world, gruesome stories."

A more comfortable quiet settles. He is not so different than you, you realize. Only difference is he still has his nephew to look after.

The sun is already high, enough to make a collar of sweat appear on your shirt. There is a small dirt ridge you have to climb and the effort reminds you of the still-healing bruises on your body. A skirt of movement catches your eye and this time, you act quick. You use your bow to kill a squirrel up on a branch. It falls to the ground.

"Damn." Kyle whistles, low and long, as you wriggle the arrow free. "Hell of an aim you got."

"I'm... alright."

"No need to be modest."

You straighten and wipe your bloodied hand on your shirt. The movement lifts it, and you hear him suck in a breath behind you. A hand touches your shoulder, gentle than firm, as he spins you around. You're confused, then follow his gaze to the sliver of exposed skin on your hip. It's a gross yellow. 

"Twix." His voice lowers, and his friendly eyes are confused. 

Shit. "It's not whatever you're thinking."

"I'm thinking someone has put their hands on you." He frowns and shifts closer. "I know you have no reason to tell me things, but I can tell you I am not okay with that shit, no matter who it is."

You inwardly cringe. "Ghost is not... hitting me. Well, he is—"

"Fucking hell—"

"No, no. I asked him to." The bewildered look on his face makes you palm your forehead. "Not like that. Jesus. We train together, okay?"

"Train together," he repeats, shoulders loosening. 

"Yeah, like to help me get stronger." The embarrassment remains on your cheeks. "It's silly, really."

Kyle shakes his head and grins, clearly amused now that he knows you're not being abused against your will. "Not silly. Thought you two were into some kinky shit for a second there." He continues walking over a patch of dryer land, stepping onto a small rock and chuffing a breath under his nose. "Wouldn't have been surprised."

Your fingers absentmindedly tighten around the squirrel's limp neck. Your feet are frozen for a moment as you shake off a deep blush, then call out behind him. "Did you miss the part where I said I'm not fucking him!"

He simply laughs. 

---

The rest of the day passes in languid warmth. 

It's weird having so many people here, but you try to continue your day like usual, skinning the kill and washing your clothes. You learn more about Nereida as you eat together. You haven't had a female friend in... a long time. Save Blue. She used to be an arts professor at a private school. Sculpting, mainly. That is how she came to meet John Price, when he attended one of her galleries, buying a piece from her for far more than the listing price. He was just looking for a way to take me out to dinner. The way she speaks of him is that of a doting wife, despite everything they've been through. She tells you they were engaged before the infection. A makeshift ceremony at their old camp was the best they could do. 

"No wedding ring, but we do both have this." She pulls up her sleeve to show you a small scar carved on her shoulder—a faint letter 'J'. Price has the 'N'.

You're not sure what Ghost needed to fix on his truck that morning, or why it was important to do it with Price, but when you returned with Kyle, something felt off. Ghost's tension was palpable. He usually seems in thought, but even more-so. When Ari takes Blue for a quick ride on the horse—apparently Cherry used to be owned by his parents on their family ranch in Newcastle—he watches for only a minute before disappearing somewhere with Price. You pretend to need something from the cabin. You sneak around the back way, finding them again by his truck, muttering in low voices. Only pieces reach your ears.

"...through the rural parts. Not a straight path..."

"...could take months..."

"Got quite a bit of those."

Then, he's showing Price something under the tuck bed's tarp where you catch sight of that kayak once again. 

"Find it?"

A low voice in your ear. You startle and turn around.

"Huh?"

Kyle raises a brow. "You said you needed something."

Your hand flattens against the side of the cabin. "Right. Um, I just—"

Boots scuffle behind you. You don't need to turn to know Ghost and Price have detected your presence, making their way over. Kyle's gaze flicks to them and you feel like a child who's been caught by her parents—embarrassment laced over your irritation. You wouldn't have been eavesdropping if they weren't so secretive.

"Everything alright?" Price's timbre is calm. Your neck prickles where you feel Ghost's stare.

You find yourself nodding. "Yes. Just fine. Sorry."

It gets cooler by nightfall. Your knee bounces slightly under the table during dinner. You listen to Blue explain the rules of battleship to Ari. You don't eat much more of the meat you caught with Kyle. With a mostly empty stomach, you enter Ghost's room after everyone else has gone to bed. His broad form hovers over his dresser. For a moment, you fear he's somehow noticed that you looked at his things earlier. But then you realize his eyes are glued to the map, and he's penciling some things on the margins.

He looks up when you close the door behind you. His brows are deeply knotted. 

"Figured you would be sleeping out there for tonight."

"What?"

"Seems like you feel just fine around them now." 

He looks away from you as if you're not even there. He places the map down and opens the top drawer. Without warning, he pulls out a clean shirt and changes, revealing his bare chest. His shoulders flex as he slips it over his head by the collar. Then, he moves toward you, eyes dully expectant.

"Being asleep near them is different than hanging out during the day," you finally respond. Mouth feeling dry, you swallow. "What's going on? I can tell that you... you've been thinking about something."

"You mean you've been listening." His brow lifts. He shakes his head before you can defend yourself. "I am always thinking about something."

"Would it kill you to not be cryptic for once? I thought that we were..."

"That we were what?"

"Being honest with each other now."

A dark, slightly amused breath leaves his nose. He contemplates your words for a moment. "It is my plan to go there," he then says. "I'm not stupid. I know she needs more than what I can offer her here. It has always been my plan. Just not now."

"Because she's not ready," you breathe.

"Because she's not ready," he repeats, chin tilting. His eyes darken, veering to the left. "Price seems to disagree."

Your nails curl in your palms. "And?"

He looks back at you. "And I am thinking of your camp. What happened to you. I can't grow complacent."

The mention unsettles your stomach. Of course, he needn't elaborate, not when the memory is more fresh than you'd like. "But going to Switzerland would take days, weeks. And they have no idea what they might run into out there. It's not like we have inside info on the state of France and—and wherever the hell else we'd have to cross through to get there. They could be worse than London."

"I'm aware."

"So what, then? You're considering it now? I thought you told them no," your hushed voice edges a bit harsher, and the pulse in your neck quickens.

You hate what you think he's saying, even if you understand it. He has his daughter's future to think of. Even if he were to try finding some safe community when she's older, the opportunity of traveling with two other military-experienced men would be gone, along with whatever weapons and supplies they bring to the table.

The contemplation is vivid in his eyes as you study them. Ghost's head lowers, dipping down at the same time that he emits a harsh breath, and you realize how close the two of you have become in this quiet exchange, keeping your voices safe from any awakened ears. So close, in fact, that his exhalation hits the space between your neck and collarbones, where a small patch of skin tingles with alertness. 

His voice emerges low and thoughtful after a drawn moment. "I haven't fully decided."

You nod with deep breath to steady yourself, taking in his answer. "Will you tell me when you do?" 

"I can do that."

And that's all he offers—four words that give a minuscule amount of comfort, because now bitter uncertainty has snuck upon you once again. Your fate lays in his decision. You can't survive on your own, not even here, so if he leaves you have to go with him. The impending doom fogs your brain. You fail to notice his hand has moved, pinching the hem of your shirt between thumb and forefinger, and beginning to carefully lift it up. A breath hitches at the top of your throat and your eyes unfurl, only to find that he is pensively looking down at your exposed stomach.

"What the fuck are you—"

You're cut off when his bent knuckles gently brush over your mottled abdomen, sweeping down the sore midline, leaving you frozen. It's a thoughtful, slow touch—calloused skin against smooth softness. His thumb traces a particularly bad one by your hip, causing your muscles to flutter as a pleasant heat blossoms. For the second time today, your bruises are under scrutiny, and you curse yourself for not applying more of that paste on them.

"They're healing well," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, and lowers the shirt back down. He steps back. Eyes find yours. "Don't get too comfortable."

You blink dazedly, then stiffen. "Um, what?"

"Sleeping in my bed. My room isn't a hotel."

The change of topic gives you whiplash. "You're the one who made me sleep here," you remind him pointedly. "I'll just take the floor tonight, and you have the bed."

"You're a woman. Take it."

"As if you give a fuck about being a gentleman."

"You're right, I don't." A dismissive shoulder shrugs, then his back turns to you. He lays in the bed before you have the chance to even move, which leaves the blanket on the floor for you.

You should've just accepted the bed.

Once the room is shrouded in darkness, you bury your head in the pillow. 

"Comfortable?" he says sarcastically above you.

"Fuck off."

Then it's silent. You don't sleep nearly as well.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal 2

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, prisoner!Sukuna, dead dove, descriptions of violence including murder and child neglect, dark romance trope

Synopsis: Sukuna is in prison because of you. He’s ordered to undergo weekly counseling sessions. Talking to his counselor about you, it's apparent that his obsession with you is quite concerning.

An: You guys ate up session one 🤭 Hopefully session two can live up to the hype.

Session one. | Session two.

It was criminal how the counselor had actually been looking forward to his next session with Sukuna. They had ended on such a cliff hanger with their last sessions, talking about your first word to Sukuna in sixth grade — “please.”

The guards shuffled Sukuna in. His massive stature still clad in a blue jumpsuit as he plopped onto the couch without a care in the world. “Miss me, doc?” Sukuna asked with a crooked grin.

The guards slammed the door shut, locking and barricading it with a metal rod — as if it’d stop a monster like Sukuna.

He was in a max security prison. While the prison didn’t necessarily want the counselor to get hurt, if Sukuna was ever tempted to run… Well… they’d just take their chances on hiring a new counselor.

“You seem to be in a good mood.” The counselor noted as he fumbled with his pen. He was still nervous to be counseling the troubled individual, but he felt a weird sense of security as well. It seemed all of Sukuna’s victims had stemmed from an obsession with you, so in theory, the counselor should have nothing to worry about.

Sukuna glared at the counselor as he fumbled with his pen. He hated the clicking sound, but he gritted his teeth to bare it. He was in a good mood today. There’s nothing he enjoyed more than talking about you, and while he didn’t believe in this counseling bullshit, he enjoyed reminiscing about your past with him. “Yeah, whatever.” He shrugged as he slumped his body against the couch.

“We ended off last week with mouse saying her first word to you.” The counselor said, completely skipping complimentary words. He wanted to get right back in to the nitty gritty.

Sukuna’s lips curled into a feline smile as he kicked his feet up on the table next to him. “Her voice was unlike anything I had heard before. It was just barely a whisper, weak from not being used enough.”

“What made her talk to you?” The counselor asked, completely enthralled in Sukuna’s story.

This time, Sukuna let out a small laugh, remembering the memory as if it had happened yesterday and not several years ago. “Mouse use to wear her hair in these pigtail braids when we were younger. I wanted her to talk to me so desperately that I finally grabbed ahold of her braids, and I pulled on them, telling her that she had to say something in order for me to stop.”

“So, you hurt her?”

Sukuna’s eyes cut towards the therapist as the air in the room went stale. His feline grin was no more as he was now scowling at the man across the room from him. “I wouldn’t consider a bit of hair pulling to be hurtful. Mouse didn’t either.” His tone was low, nearly a growl. He clearly didn’t take the accusation too lightly.

He had been convicted of heinous crimes, and he had also been accused of a few more that they didn’t have enough evidence to charge him with. Sukuna drew the line when it came to you though. He’d be the monster they drew him out to he in the press — never to you though.

The counselor gulped harshly, reminding himself to not get too comfortable with Sukuna. He shifted in his seat a bit, but he said nothing to try to discount what the criminal was saying.

“As I was saying,” Sukuna hissed lowly as he got back in his comfortable position. “She was cute, whining to try to get me to stop. It was hard not to, especially when she gave me that pout. When she finally whispered the word ‘please’, I remember feeling like a fire had lit inside me. She was so vulnerable. She needed me.”

“I let go of her hair, and I made sure to braid it back for her since it had gotten a bit messy from my incessant pulling. Her hair was always so soft, and she smelled so sweet.” He spoke slowly, reliving each moment of you two in sixth grade together. His heart ached for you.

“Did she start talking to you then?” The counselor prompted, wanting for Sukuna to continue.

“Sure, if one word answers count as talking.” He let out a dry laugh as he looked up at the ceiling. His jaw line and neck were well defined and sharp — the looks of a true predator. “Mouse was quiet, reserved. She didn’t need words to convey her feelings or thoughts. I could usually tell what she was thinking before she could.”

“I immediately noticed when there was a change in her demeanor.” Sukuna’s voice shifted to a darker tone. The light left his eyes as he remembered a particularly troubling incident between you and him.

“A change..?”

“She didn’t have to say anything. There wasn’t any marks, but I could just read her like a book. She came to school one morning, and she looked like she hadn’t slept at all. She tried to give me that polite smile she gave everyone else, but I wasn’t buyin’ it. I knew something was up.”

The counselor leaned forward, furrowing his eyebrows as he listened closely. He wondered what was going on with you and how this transpired into Sukuna becoming deadly for you. “What did you do..?”

Sukuna grunted as he adjusted his position on the couch. “It was the first time I followed her home. Her house was nice, but it was anything but happy inside. I heard her dad yellin’ inside. Her mom was screaming right back at him. They went at it for far too long. I knew it wasn’t a good place for mouse.”

“So, I tapped on her window until I caught her attention over the screaming match.” His gaze lowered to the ground as he had an almost thoughtful smile on his face. “Mouse was scared — an easily frightened thing. I convinced her to crawl out her window with me that night. It’d be the last night she slept in that house alone.”

The counselor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion from Sukuna’s words. “How did that play out with her parents?”

The prisoner gave a cocky grin with a small shrug. “Her dad was most time not there or too drunk to notice. Her mom felt so guilty about the fighting that she never said anything to mouse. Every night I came to her window, and she either crawled out with me, or I crawled in to be with her.”

The counselor silently pondered for a moment. It seemed like the unhealthy attachment between you and Sukuna wasn’t one-sided. It seemed like you both needed each other like you needed air.

He took a deep breath as he was reminded of one of the warrants for Sukuna’s arrest. His first murder victim was allegedly your father, but Sukuna wasn’t necessarily convicted of it. They hadn’t had enough evidence, especially since you and your mom adamantly refused to give any statements to police.

“You’re thinkin’ about her old man, huh?” Sukuna asked as if he could read the counselor’s mind. He propped his elbow up on his knee, and he held his jaw with his hand.

“Did you do it? Kill him, I mean?” The counselor asked, even though he wasn’t sure that he wanted the answer to that question.

“Is this protected underneath patient confidentiality?” Sukuna asked. Sly bastard.

“Since you don’t pose a current threat to yourself or the community,” His counselor let out a breath of defeat, “yes, it is.”

Sukuna’s grin widened, and he relaxed back into the couch. He looked more tense when he talked about your troubled days than when he talked about the literal murders he had committed.

“Mouse was asleep on me late one summer night. If I remember right, we were teenagers by then. We were in her bed, and it was probably around the early hours of the morning when her dad came stumbling in. He kept making a fuss, trying to wake up the whole goddamn house.” He started on his story, and the counselor didn’t dare to interrupt.

“He walked into her room, and he started yelling at me to get the fuck out of his house. I told him that if he woke up mouse, I’d kick his fucking teeth in.” Sukuna started to laugh. His skin felt like it was buzzing with energy from remembering that night.

“Mouse started to stir, and when she woke up, that fucker tried to drag me out of her bed. He tried to take me away from her. When I got ahold of him, I dragged him outside of the house where mouse and her mom wouldn’t hear him scream. I made good on my promise.”

The counselor furrowed his eyebrows slightly as his stomach turned. He didn’t necessarily want to ask for more details, but his morbid curiosity got the better of him. “You kicked his teeth in… How did that lead to him dying?”

Sukuna laughed heartily at the therapist’s question. “You really don’t know a thing, do you?” He asked rhetorically. “I made that bastard bite down on a tree branch that had fallen on the ground in their backyard. He was so drunk that it was barely a fight, and when he bit down, I used my foot and-“

“Okay-! Okay! I got the image now…” The counselor spoke up quickly, waving his hands out in front of him. Sukuna got a real kick out of the counselor’s suddenly squeamish behavior.

“Ryomen! Get your ass out here! Your time is up!” A guard yelled loudly from the other side of the door, using his fist to loudly pound on the metal.

Sukuna was still laughing as he stood up off the couch. His massive frame easily took up the room when he was on his feet — the true embodiment of intimidating. “See ya next week, doc. Maybe I’ll finally get to tell ya how I made mouse mine.”

With that, Sukuna left the counselor’s office.

Tags: @catladythoughts @pinky0328 @coldluminarykoala @lemonlimecrystal-blog @san-it-is-i-guess @kunasthiast @nonamevenus @ecliipzed @jup1tersuccubus @gojodickbig @totallygyomeiswife @gremlinartstudio @tojislittleprincesss @jaybirdluvr73 @emyyy007 @b3bybunny @unofficialsapphire @thequeenofcurses @canecomplex

[tender-rosiey]

keep up — ceo!gojo satoru x f!reader

it’s been a long week.

meetings piled on top of meetings, deadlines chasing each other like the ticking of a clock, and constant discussions about investments and strategy—things that should have come second to the one thing you can’t seem to escape.

him. gojo satoru.

you’ve known him for years, but it’s only recently that you’ve started noticing the way his eyes linger just a bit longer than necessary.

or how his words have an edge, a playful undertone that seems to suggest he’s after something more than a simple business conversation.

you’ve barely sat down in one of the plush chairs before gojo’s signature smirk is already spreading across his face.

today, you find yourself in his office again, the glass walls of the conference room revealing the city skyline, the lights twinkling below as the sun sinks below the horizon.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he says smoothly, his voice carrying the usual arrogance, but there’s something more behind it today. the way his eyes flash, the subtle way he adjusts his tie—it’s all intentional.

he’s up to something, and you know it.

“what’s the deal, gojo?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest, trying to maintain the usual level of professional distance between the two of you.

but, as always, it’s hard to ignore the way he effortlessly commands the room with his presence.

“I just wanted to talk,” he says, leaning back in his leather chair with a playful grin.

“I feel like we’ve been working together a lot lately, but we haven’t really talked talked. you know?” he tilts his head slightly, clearly enjoying the way he’s messing with you.

“talked about what?” you raise an eyebrow. the idea of gojo satoru, the ceo of a billion-dollar company, taking time out of his day just to talk to you about something other than business sounds...unlikely.

“you know, personal stuff,” he says, his gaze never leaving yours. “like, what you’re doing when you’re not being all business-y and focused on your empire.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. you knew this was coming. it always does.

“I’m doing exactly what you’re doing. running a business. growing something bigger than myself,” you reply, your voice steady, though your mind is racing, trying to think of a way to deflect the conversation before it goes any further.

you can’t let him distract you—especially not now, when everything you’ve worked for is on the verge of becoming something huge.

gojo chuckles, the sound low and smooth.

“you know, you’re even more attractive when you’re trying to act all tough. but I’m serious. what else do you do when you’re not closing deals or impressing the world?”

you roll your eyes, feeling the tension in your shoulders. “nothing interesting. I spend money quickly. that’s all you need to know.”

you say it lightly, knowing that would make him drop it. he’s never been the type to pursue something that doesn’t pique his interest, and surely, a comment like that will be enough to make him back off.

but gojo simply leans forward, his eyes narrowing in a way that sends a jolt through you. “you spend money quickly, huh?”

you nod, arms still crossed as you stare at him, half-expecting him to make a comment about it.

“can you spend it as quickly as I make it?” his voice is smooth, a subtle edge of amusement hidden beneath his words.

you blink, caught off guard by the ease with which he says it. the confidence in his words, the way he leans back in his chair like it’s just another ordinary day—it all hits you like a wave.

he’s not just offering something small. he’s making a statement. and he knows it’ll rattle you.

“I...” you falter, but your voice catches in your throat. you were expecting him to deflect, to make it a joke.

instead, he’s somehow turned the conversation into something personal—something that makes you question your own boundaries.

gojo smiles, not a hint of arrogance or cockiness this time. just a knowing look, like he’s figured you out in a way you didn’t expect.

“what’s the matter?” he teases, sensing your hesitation. “don’t think you can keep up?”

you shake your head, trying to regain some composure. “I’m not interested in your money, gojo,” you say firmly, trying to return to your usual calm.

you’ve never been someone who’s drawn in by flashy displays of wealth. you value ambition and drive more than anything else, something you both—admittedly—share.

but gojo doesn’t let up. he’s not the type to let things go when he’s gotten a taste of victory.

“I don’t think you’re interested in my money. I think you’re interested in me.” his grin is almost teasing, his confidence bordering on smug, but it’s not unwarranted.

he’s pushing you, just a little, to see how far you’ll let him go.

you stand up abruptly, pacing the length of the room, trying to compose yourself. you hate that he can do this—get under your skin with just a few words.

you’ve spent your entire career building a reputation based on control, but gojo has a way of making you feel like you’re the one who’s losing it.

“I’m not interested in playing games, gojo,” you say, trying to sound firm. “if you’re expecting me to be swept off my feet by...whatever this is, it’s not going to happen.”

he stands up as well, his movements smooth. “and why not?” he asks, his voice low, almost coaxing. “because you’re too busy? because you’ve got too much on your plate?”

you hesitate.

he’s right. you are busy. but it’s not just that. it’s the idea of getting tangled in something that might distract you from your goals. relationships, especially with someone like him, always seem to be more trouble than they’re worth.

but gojo doesn’t seem to take your hesitation as a refusal. instead, he steps closer, his hand resting casually on your shoulder as he peers down at you, his eyes locking with yours.

“you know, I’m not asking for anything from you, other than your time. I just want to know...if you’d ever consider being distracted for a change.”

a trace of sincerity threads through the usual playfulness. for the briefest moment, you wonder if he’s being genuine, if maybe—just maybe—there’s something more behind his words.

you look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of his presence settling into the space between you.

“I’m not saying I’m ready to drop everything for you,” you say, your voice quieter now. “but...”

gojo smirks again, but this time, it’s softer, more knowing. “but?”

“but,” you continue, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I can’t pretend like I’m not at least curious about where this might go.”

his smirk turns into a smile, one that’s warm and confident. he leans in, brushing his lips against your cheek, just barely.

“I knew you’d come around,” he hums. his fingers brush against your jaw, lifting your face to meet his eyes once more, “we’ll see if you can keep up, miss l/n.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss@pompompurin1028@scul-pted@requiem626k@nameless-shrimp@sonder-paradise@jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author

@libbyistired @anon1412@maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1@sad-darksoul@ko-fi-heart@pumpkindudeishere@suyaaachin@babyqueen17@chaosguy352@murakami-kotone@sukun4ryomen@yumieis@hearts4itoshi@sleepyxxhead@dunixxd@sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08@spacebaby1@arabellatreaty@viscade @washeduphasbeen @janbannan @sugurubabe @enidths @mwtsxri @peppersapro @uranosbaaee @lifeisadumpie @guacam011y @kurooandkenmasslut @callmemirro @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @dindjarins1ut @candy-s72 @lulumi1u

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will cry

check out my buy me a coffee!

[5sospenguinqueen]

WAG In Training - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: When your boyfriend makes the leap from F2 to F1, you never expected for fans to show so much interest in you. However, they seem to enjoy that your comments are… less than professional

Warnings: Suggestive comments

Requested: Yes by anon

F1 Masterlist

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f1 just posted

liked by jensonbutton, officialmpmotorsport and others

f1 starting in monza, franco colapinto will be racing in williams for the remainder of the 2024 season

12,074 comments

williamsracing welcome to the team

alex_albon bienvenida, franco

francolapinto so excited for this opportunity 

→ user1 he’s so polite

→ user2 just wait

user3 he looks like disney prince

user4 not surprised he got the seat. look at those big beautiful eyes. i bet james was like "whatever you say, handsome"

user5 hand veins! 

its_yn so proud of you baby! we’ll have to celebrate later

→ francolapinto i can think of a few ways 

→ its_yn as long as it ends with those fireproofs on the floor 

→ user6 who is this?

→ user7 his girlfriend, and has been since before he was in f2 so don’t start 

→ user8 omg her instagram is so cute. all the pics of her and franco 

its_yn just posted

liked by williamsracing, lilymhe and others

its_yn i heard f1 drivers get the best head. @/francolapinto want to test that theory?

6,389 comments

francolapinto but i already know i get the best. i am always happy to prove it though

→ williamsracing add this to the list of things you can no longer say online

→ its_yn that’s becoming a very long list

user9 she’s an icon, she’s a legend, she is the moment

user10 i never knew how much i needed yn in my life until right now 

user11 i hope williams never pr train her because she is hilarious 

lilymhe i can’t wait to meet you 

→ its_yn me too! you’ve definitely been my favourite thing about williams so far

→ alex_albon rude

alexandrasaintmleux i like the shade of lipstick

→ its_yn i’ll let you borrow it

user12 yn and franco are going to take off ten years from james vowels’ lifespan

user13 i love how cute her aesthetic is but then you read her captions

yourfriend uh oh, they’ve found you, yn. you better delete your old tweets

→ user14 too late. we already have screenshots 

user15 this is unhinged and i love it. is she like this all the time?

→ dennis_hauger yes. and i’m glad she’s gone

→ its_yn oi

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williamsracing just posted

liked by alex_albon, francolapinto and others

williamsracing first post-quali interview in f1 completed

10,998 comments

francolapinto something i have been looking forward to 

→ user1 yeah, hun, we know

→ user2 the interviewer definitely knows

user3 okay but the pouty lip in the last slide? talk about kissable

→ user4 i’d like to nibble on them liked by its_yn

→ user5 i love that instead of disliking all these comments, yn just joins in

user6 his face in the second slide when he realised yn was watching him flirt with older women

user7 yn is stronger than me because if my man was rizzing up all the interviewers, i would throw myself in front of a moving f1 car 

→ francolapinto she’s fine. she gets her own back by flirting with jenson whenever she sees him

→ its_yn it’s not my fault he’s so scrummy

→ jensonbutton thank you, yn

user8 okay but i love how secure they are in their relationship. she only jokingly told him off and they kissed straight after 

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fc43 just posted

liked by user9, its_yn and others

fc43 i wonder what else is thick

4,044 comments

its_yn i can already feel the bruises on my cervix 

→ user9 !!! 

→ user10 out of pocket

user11 i love that she’s even interacting with a fan page

→ user12 aha she’s everywhere 

user13 do you think he’s into choking? liked by its_yn

→ user13 omg she confirmed

→ user14 yes but in which way? he likes to be choked? she likes to be choked? both?? liked by its_yn

user15 his neck looks so biteable  liked by its_yn

user16 (s)creaming

franco43stan just posted

liked by user1, its_yn and others

franco43stan i’d like to report these photos. they made my 85yr old grandmother have palpitations

11,437 comments

its_yn gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

its_yn actually salivating

its_yn yes, i’ve licked those abs. yes, i’ve done so when they were sweaty 

→ williamsracing we knew we’d find you here

→ user1 oop she’s been caught. they’re going to take her away from us

user2 yn stronger than me letting her man post videos with a slutty 2 second shot of his stomach

→ user3 girl likes watching us thirst over him

→ user4 makes her feel validated about her horniness

→ its_yn at the end of the day, ladies, i’m the one who gets to touch 

user5 imagine that chain swinging against your back

→ its_yn been there, done that

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francolapinto just posted

liked by williamsracing, landonorris and others

francolapinto my girl

11,437 comments

alex_albon okay, this was sorta sweet if i ignore what these photos undoubtedly lead to 

→ lilymhe you never show photos like this of me

→ alex_albon those are only for my eyes! plus, i have been trained properly 

user6 franco saw that everyone loved yn for being unhinged and decided to let everyone know that he is also down bad

its_yn why would you post these when you’re all the way in america and can’t do anything about the ache you’ve created! 

→ francolapinto calling you. now. 

→ user7 doesn’t he have quali in 40 mins?

→ user8 phone sex is more important 

williamsracing why do you give us hope that this will be a normal post… and then we scroll? and then we read the comments

user9 i only look at franco’s posts to see yn’s comments

user10 even if franco doesn’t have a seat for next year, yn will forever be famous as my #1 wag

user11 yn and franco mean so much to me. we can’t lose them next year 

user12 franco is cute and all but yn 🥵

user13 can franco fight?

→ francolapinto he will try 

its_yn if i’d have known we’d get this much attention, i’d have convinced franco to stay in f2

→ francolapinto do not lie. you were so happy for me that you cried

→ its_yn no, that was from how good the celebration sex was

→ francolapinto some of our best work tbf  

williamsracing just posted

liked by jensonbutton, f1 and others

williamsracing couple’s day out? no! couple’s pr training! 

14,880 comments

f1 heartbroken 

jensonbutton finally 

user1 poor james looks like he’s heard things he never wanted to

user2 aha james has been through the trenches 

redbullracing don’t try to silence them

alpinef1team no! let them let their freak flags fly 

user3 james fighting for his life with these two

→ user4 and all the teams opposing him

user5 did they put franco in time out?

→ francolapinto yes :(

user6 just fell to my knees in walmart 

user7 noooo they got to my emotional support couple

user8 yn looks like she’s had an amazing day

→ its_yn i did! i learnt so much

→ user9 are you going to listen to any of it

→ its_yn no :)

→ francolapinto we’re here for a fun time, not a long time 

→ user10 ^^ franco trying to convince yn to have sex in his driver’s room liked by its_yn and francolapinto

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requests open

coming up; liam lawson x ferrari admin including cars references

max verstappen part 2 to taste

charles leclerc x sainz reader

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @iloveyou3000morgan

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

2025 book bingo time 📚

want a completely arbitrary set of reading goals for 2025? want to try something new in your literary diet but don't know where to start? just like a challenge for the sake of a challenge? just love a good game of bingo?

boy do I have something for you!

for anyone planning to participate, please know that I LOVE attention and talking about books, so I would be STOKED to be tagged on any and all updates about what you're reading or planning to read. I'm so, so excited to see all the different ways these prompts get filled, especially if and when they bring people away from the kinds of things they normally read. not to mention snag some new reading recs myself, hopefully!

and of course, I want to know whenever somebody gets a bingo - and ESPECIALLY if somebody fills the whole board! I don't have any prizes for you, but I can offer a sense of accomplishment :)

note that this is designed to be played as 1 book = 1 space, so even if you read, say, a fantasy graphic novel published in 1923 from an indie publisher that has a bat on the cover, you'd only cross off one space. I'm not a cop and I'm not in charge of what you read, so if it sparks more joy to check off multiple spaces per book then go nuts, but I am throwing that disclaimer out there.

wondering what some of these spaces mean? seeking a couple recommendations to get you started? no idea what a zine even is, let alone how to make one? worry not! I have a guide to all 25 prompts, including recommendations + an example of what I'll be reading throughout the year to fulfill each space. read on beneath the cut!

Literary Fiction: I find that a lot of people are reluctant to check out literary fiction, as it’s often written off as not being about anything but adultery and divorce. If this is you, I implore you to take a chance, acknowledge that adultery and divorce are compelling sometimes, and also remember that lit fic has a lot more to offer than that. At Writer’s Digest, Michael Woodson describes literary fiction as “less of a genre than a category,” which “focuses on style, character, and theme over plot.” My recommendations include Raven Leilani’s Luster, Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, and Melissa Broder’s Milk Fed. 

I’ll be reading: Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar

2. Short Story Collection: You know, a bunch of short stories together in one book? It doesn’t get much more self-explanatory than that. Could be a collection of stories by a single author or an anthology—it’s up to you! I recommend checking out Mariana Enríquez’s The Dangers of Smoking in Bed (translated by Megan McDowell), Nalo Hopkinson’s Falling in Love With Hominids, and Kim Fu’s Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century. 

I’ll be reading: Your Utopia by Bora Chung and translated by Anton Hur 

3. A Sequel: It could be one that you’ve been meaning to get around to, one that’s not releasing in 2025, or the sequel to something you read to cross off another space on this very bingo sheet!

I’ll be reading: Heavenly Tyrant by Xiran Jay Zhao, sequel to 2021’s Iron Widow 

4. Childhood Favorite: Go back and read a book you loved as a child, tween, or teen! There’s no wrong answer here; anything from a YA novel to a picture book would be just lovely, and I can’t wait to see what people pick for this option! I’m not sure which of my old favorites I’ll be revisiting yet—should I go for the warm and fuzzy Casson Family series, or straight towards the mindfucky sci-fi of Interstellar Piggy? Or maybe I’ll go see how Artemis Fowl holds up...

5. 20th Century Speculative Fiction: For those not familiar with the term, speculative fiction can encapsulate science fiction, fantasy, and anything else that falls into the unreal. You’re spoiled for iconic choices here: the 20th century gave us Le Guin’s Left Hand of Darkness, Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale, Butler’s Parable of the Sower and Kindred, L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time, the beginning of Pratchett’s Discworld series, Diana Wynne Jones’ Howls’ Moving Castle, and countless others.

I’ll be reading: Dawn by Octavia E. Butler, love of my literary life 💜

6. Fantasy: Fantasy comes in a thousand different shades, from contemporary urban wizards with day jobs at the office to high fantasy spellslingers chasing dragons away from castles. Some examples I’ve adored are N.K. Jemisin’s The Killing Moon, C.L. Polk’s Witchmark, Fonda Lee’s Jade City, and Nghi Vo’s Empress of Salt and Fortune.

I’ll be reading: The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty  

7. Published Before 1950: This one could not be more straightforward if I tried. You have all of human history (or at least, all the parts that have surviving literature), just not the last 75 years. Dig deep! 

I’ll be reading: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, published in 1938 

8. Independent Publisher: Did you guys know that just five publishing companies (Penguin Random House, HarperCollins Publishers, Macmillan Publishers, Simon & Schuster, and Hachette Book Group) are responsible for 80% of books published in the US each year, and 25% of books globally? Break away from the big five and see what some small presses are putting out! If you need some ideas about where to start, check out this list of nearly 300 independent publishers with notes on what kind of books they put out!

I’ll be reading: Taiwan Travelogue by Yáng Shuāng-zǐ and translated by Lin King, from Graywolf Press

9. Graphic Novel/Comic Book/Manga: Despite my personal obsession with Batman, the world of comic books is sooo much wider than Gotham City—or anything else that DC and Marvel have to offer. If superheroes aren’t your speed, check out the Southern gothic of Carmen Maria Machado and Dani Strips’ comic The Low, Low Woods, splash around in Kat Leyh’s graphic novel Thirsty Mermaids, or stop waiting for a new season of Dungeon Meshi and go read Ryoko Kui’s manga, translated to English by Taylor Engel. 

I’ll be reading: The Fade, by Aabria Iyengar and Mari Costa

10. Animal on the Cover: Yes, yes, don’t judge a book by its cover—but do go find one with a critter on the cover and give it a read! Absolutely no other requirements here, get silly with it.

I’ll be reading: Shark Heart by Emily Habeck

11. Set in a Country You Have Never Visited: Fiction or nonfiction, doesn’t matter so long as it gives you a little glimpse of a country you’ve never visited in real life. If you’ve somehow visited every country currently recognized in the world, then I guess you get to go read something set in space.

I’ll be reading: A Magical Girl Retires by Park Seolyeon and Kim Sanho, translated by Anton Hur 

12. Science Fiction: A genre just as diverse as fantasy, with a little something for everybody! I recommend Becky Chambers’ Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet for those who want to kiss an alien in the stars and Jessamine Chan’s The School for Good Mothers for those who want a surveillance state dystopia that hits much closer to home.  

I’ll be reading: Womb City by Tlotlo Tsamaase

13. 2025 Debut Author: Read a book by someone who’s releasing their first book in 2025. Fic or nonfic, any genre, no further requirements. Not quite a free space, but pretty close!

I’ll be reading: Liquid: A Love Story by Mariam Rahmani, coming out March 11

14. Memoir: Per Wikipedia, a memoir is “any nonfiction narrative writing based on the author’s personal memories.” Some are funny, some are heartbreaking, some are both! I recommend Carman Maria Machado’s In the Dream House and Roxane Gay’s Hunger, because I tend to lean heartbreaking! 

I’ll be reading: Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner. Again, I like heartbreaking!

15. Read a Zine, Make a Zine: Not familiar with zines? No problem! Check out some of these digital archives for inspiration, and then craft your own zine with this simple guide (or do it your own way, I’m not in charge of you). 

Internet Archives: https://archive.org/details/zines

Gay Zine Archive Project: https://gittings.qzap.org/ 

POC Zine Project: https://poczineproject.tumblr.com/ 

Library of Congress: https://www.loc.gov/collections/zine-web-archive/ 

16. Essay Collection: Like a short story collection, but it’s nonfiction now. Some of my favorites include Samantha Irby’s We Are Never Meeting in Real Life, Elaine Castillo’s How to Read Now, Aimee Nezhukhumatathil’s World of Wonders, and Cathy Park Hong’s Minor Feelings.

I’ll be reading: A Little Devil in America: In Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib 

17. 2024 Award Winner: What award? Any award you like! And boy, there are tons to pick from. Any book that won any award in the year 2024 is free game. If you need some places to start looking, check out some of these:

Lambda Literary Awards, for excellence in LGBT literature: https://lambdaliterary.org/awards__trashed/2024-winners/ 

The Alex Awards, for adult books with crossover appeal for teen readers: https://www.ala.org/yalsa/alex-awards 

Ignyte Awards, celebrating diversity in speculative fiction: https://ignyteawards.fiyahlitmag.com/2024-results/  

Women's Prize for Fiction (self explanatory) https://womensprize.com/prizes/womens-prize-for-fiction/

Others: https://www.bookbrowse.com/awards/ 

I’ll be reading: Biography of X by Catherine Lacey, winner of the 2024 Lambda Literary Award for Lesbian Fiction

18. Nonfiction: Learn Something New: I know very little about archaeology, anthropology, or any other fields that involve studying ancient cities, but Annalee Newitz’s Four Lost Cities: A Secret History of the Urban Age was some of the most fun I had with nonfiction in 2024, because every page brought a brand new discovery. For 2025, find a nonfiction book about a topic you don’t know ANYTHING about, and learn something new!

I’ll be reading: Cooling the Tropics: Ice, Indigeneity, and Hawaiian Refreshment by Hi’ilei Julia Kawehipuaakahaopulani Hobart

19. Social Justice & Activism: Read a book about a social issue, the history of an activist movement, or brush up on a guiding philosophy or ideology. Arm yourself with knowledge, besties, because I have a feeling we’re going to need it! if you need a good place to start, why not try Angela Davis' Race, Women & Class, Mariame Kaba's We Do This 'Til We Free Us, or Molly Smith and Juno Mac's Revolting Prostitutes?

I’ll be reading: White Feminism: From Suffragettes to Influencers and Who They Leave Behind by Koa Beck

20. Romance Novel: Listen to me. Fucking listen to me. I mean a ROMANCE. NOVEL. Not a novel that incidentally has a romance in it. Romance novel, motherfucker. Go check out the romance section and have some whimsy as two people fall in love through the most contrived series of events ever conceived. If you really need a romance that makes you feel smart (that’s still sexy and messy as hell), try Akwaeke Emezi’s You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty.

I’ll be reading: Go Luck Yourself by Sara Raasche  

21. Read and Make a Recipe: Could be a cookbook, could be a recipe you yoinked from the New York Times, could be something your grandparents lovingly wrote down by hand. Could be as complex or as simple as you like, just make something tasty! Some cookbooks I’ve enjoyed are Sohla El-Waylly’s Start Here, Dan Pashman’s Mission Impastable, and John Wang and Storm Garner’s The World Eats Here.

22. Horror: Slashers, zombies, haunted houses, creeping paranoia, you name it! It’s time to get spooky and scary with all kinds of things going bump in the night. Maybe this is the year to finally keep up with Dracula Daily? Not for me, I'm not doing that, but you could!

I’ll be reading: I Was A Teenage Slasher by Stephen Graham Jones

23. Published in the Aughts: A throwback, but not too far back. Read something published between 2000 and 2009. Maybe it’s time to finally get into Twilight? (For legal reasons, that’s a joke.)

I’ll be reading: The Sluts by Dennis Cooper, published in 2004

24. Historical Fiction: You know, fiction that takes place in a bygone era! Please remember, this isn’t just about reading a book that’s old; we have a separate prompt for that! This is about reading something that takes place in the past relative to the time it was written. Pride and Prejudice is historical to us, but was contemporary when Austen wrote it. Think of Brit Bennett's The Vanishing Half, Markus Zusak's The Book Thief, or history + a bit of fantasy in book's like R.F. Kuang's Babel.

I’ll be reading: The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon

Bookseller or Librarian Recommendation: This one is fun, and something I always like to do when I’m travelling and visiting a new bookstore. Ask a bookseller or librarian to recommend something they’ve liked, and check it out! If going in person isn’t feasible, many bookstores and libraries have staff picks on their websites, and the Indie Next List is a monthly list of independent booksellers’ favorite new releases. 

I’ll be reading: The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse by Louise Erdrich, which I bought at Erdrich’s bookstore, Birchbark Books, this summer :)

lastly: tagging people who asked to be tagged to make sure they didn't miss this! @thebisexualwreckoning @perfunctoryperfusions @reallyinkyhands come get your bingo sheet!

[covenofagatha]

Hii can you please write athlete-student fem reader x Professor Agatha, where she is her favorite student and they have a close connection despite Agatha's cold demeanor. So one day y/n comes limping to Agatha's class bcuz she got injured during the practice and her coach kept pushing her, without letting to rest, so the injury got worse and now y/n can barely step on her leg. Agatha takes notice of that and asks y/n to stay after the lecture, where Agatha discovers the truth about abusive coach. So Agatha helps Y/N to her car and takes her home, where Agatha takes care of her and they finally kiss or maybe even smut if you are good with it please. Kinda like hurt/comfort with possesive Agatha

Thank you for all your amazing writing💜

As a former swimmer with a coach that was fired for emotional/verbal abuse I fucking loved this request so thank you and I hope you like!

Swimming into her arms

You hurt your leg during practice and your coach makes it worse, so Professor Agatha has to take care of you

Word count: 3400

Warnings: hurt/comfort, slight possessiveness, oral sex, soft

“Coach, can I talk with you for a second before we get in?” You ask, stepping gingerly over to him. He barely even glances at you, just waves his hand to tell you to get on with it. “I just hurt my knee during weights and the trainer said that I shouldn’t kick that much until I can go see a doctor.” 

Now he looks at you, displeasure written all over his face. Your swim coach is not known for being nice and you inwardly wince to brace yourself. “What did you do?” 

“We were doing band jumps from the pullup bars and I landed weirdly and there was a pop from my knee. It hurts to walk and I’m really not sure I should swim.” 

He scoffs and straightens up against the fence where he was leaning. You cross your arms over your chest, wishing you were standing in more than just your swimsuit. You should’ve worn clothes to come talk to him, but deep down you knew how this was going to go. 

“We have a meet this weekend and you’re our best backstroker somehow, despite your awful underwater kicks. You’re swimming.” 

The dig about your underwaters doesn’t even phase you now, having heard it enough times already. But the thought of bending your knee like that makes you brave enough to protest. “Can I just pull for today? I’ll try to get to the doctor this afternoon.” 

You feel your stomach sink as he rolls his eyes. “I don’t need damaged goods on this team so if you’re not going to get in the pool and you’re going to be weak, then just get off the deck and come back next week. Don’t expect to be put in any more meets though.” 

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to keep your jaw from dropping. You nod and turn around to hide the tears stinging in your eyes and put your cap on. You’re on a scholarship at the university for swimming, so if you quit or he lets you go, you’ll most likely have to drop out.

“That’s what I thought,” you hear your coach huff quietly behind you. “Let’s go. You’re five minutes late getting in.”

The moment you jump into the pool and push off the wall for warm up, you know you’ve made a mistake. Your leg is screaming. Every kick is pure agony and you try your absolute best to not move it more than you have to. But each flip turn makes you want to cry. You barely make it through the warm up and your heart drops when you see the main set that your coach wrote on the board. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if he changed it up and made it harder just to mess with you.

Your lanemate asks if you want to go first and all you can do is shake your head. If you speak, you’re afraid you’re going to fall apart. You refuse to take your goggles off because your eyes are red and teary. 

One round in, your coach stops you on the wall. “Are you even trying?” He demands. 

“My knee,” is all you can get out before your voice wavers. 

He squats down so he’s closer to you. “I’m 55 years old. My knees hurt every day and you don’t see me whining about it. Now either do the set right, or you’re off the relay.” 

This time, when you push off the wall, you kick with both legs. By the end of the 25, you’re already sobbing into the water, choking on gasps when you turn your head to breathe. You’ve never felt pain like this before in your life and you are convinced that something is really wrong. 

At one point, you think you almost black out. 

You fall behind in the set because you physically can’t kick fast enough to make the interval so your coach makes you stay behind late to finish it, despite you telling him that you have to get to class. 

When he finally lets you out of the pool, there’s twenty minutes until your class starts and you still have to shower, get dressed, and somehow walk across campus. 

Some of your professors would be chill if you walked in late. Hell, most of them were happy if 75% of the class actually showed up. 

But not Professor Agatha Harkness. She was feared by everyone on campus, even those who weren’t in her class, for her stony cold demeanor. There were rumors that she made students cry just by looking at them. 

Although, she wasn’t like that with you. While she was still tough, there was a softness in her eyes when she looked at you, a certain fondness in her smile. You weren’t sure what it was about you that made her like that, but you and Agatha had grown quite close over the past semester. You would go bother her during her office hours and she would patiently answer all your questions and help you with her assignments. You knew you could talk to her about anything, and you often did. Friend drama, other classes, swimming, you name it. The way she made you feel heard and seen, plus with how hot she was, had you falling for her. 

The only thing you hadn’t really opened up on was how mean your coach could be. 

But just because of your relationship with her didn’t mean she would allow you to be late to her class. 

For now though, your task was to get out of the pool without screaming. Your coach would throw a fit if you didn’t “get out like an athlete” by putting your knee in the gutter instead of your foot, but you weren’t sure you could do either. You maneuver yourself up using the handles on the starting blocks so you’re sitting and then push yourself up. You try to put weight on your hurt leg and you gasp loudly. 

That’s not going to happen. 

Your coach walks over to you and you think that he might offer some sort of help or an apology or anything, but all he says is, “See you tomorrow.” 

Your head falls back in frustration and you experiment with some different movements to see which is the best for your knee. You can slide it a little on the wet ground for now to get to the locker room, but when you go outside with shoes on, you’re going to have to figure out something new. 

You shower in record time while still getting all your tears out and throw on sweatpants and a t-shirt, putting moisturizer on your face while your hair is twisted up in your towel. The warm water did a little to help your leg so you’re able to put the tiniest bit of weight on it now. However, it doesn’t hide the evidence that you were clearly crying. 

Still, your class starts in five minutes. The building her lecture is in is four minutes away with a good leg. 

Hobbling while whimpering every step takes eight. 

You try to open the door as quietly as possible, and you succeed, but your bag swings and clangs onto the metal trash can that is right in the doorway. Because of course it is. 

Silence falls through the room as the sound echoes, and Agatha looks up from her place at the front of the room. You offer a shaky smile and limp down the aisle to your spot in the second row. Going down the slanted floor is a new type of pain that has you grabbing onto chairs. 

“Stay after class so I can hear your excuse about why you’re late,” Agatha says coldly once you’ve sat in your usual seat, sighing when the burn in your knee dies down to a dull ache. Your heart squeezes but you do see some concern in her eyes. You realize that her tough exterior just now was an act. You nod, not able to look at her for fear that she’ll see right through you, and you dig in your backpack for paper and a pen for notes. 

The hour lecture goes so slowly, your knee now starting to throb from sitting. You’re not really sure what you’re supposed to do to get it to stop hurting. 

Finally, Agatha releases everyone but you stay seated. While you’re in pain sitting, you know it’s much worse if you stand up. She doesn’t seem to mind, just comes to stand on the other side of her podium and lean against it. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it before and you just start hysterically crying. She looks more taken-aback than you’ve ever seen her and walks over to crouch next to you and rub a hand comfortingly up and down your arm. “Sweetheart?” 

Your breath catches at the pet name and you hiccup. You swipe furiously at your eyes, embarrassed to show this much emotion in front of the older woman. When you open your mouth to start talking though, you can’t stop. “I hurt my leg in weights and I tried to tell my coach that the trainer said I shouldn’t swim and that it hurts but he made me get in anyways because we have a meet coming up and told me I wasn’t doing good enough and I had to stay late to finish the set and my knee hurts so fucking much I can barely walk.” You don’t even have it in you to apologize for the swearing and Agatha doesn’t care either. 

She cups your tear-stained cheek, thumbing at it, and you meet her eyes with your watery ones. You’re a little surprised to see pure anger in them.

“That is not okay,” she says seriously. “He should be fired for doing that. He deliberately put you in a situation where you’re only going to be more injured and now look at you. This is unbelievable. I’m going to talk to the athletic director, someone needs to know about this.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, Professor, you really don’t have to, it’s not–” 

“It is a big deal,” she cuts you off firmly. “There need to be consequences. He fucking hurt you and he’s going to pay!” Your heart skips a beat at how protective she’s being and she seems to realize what she said because she immediately changes gears. “Do you need help?” 

It’s the first time anyone has asked you that all day. Even the trainer or your weight’s coach didn’t offer. It almost makes you start crying again. 

“Yes, please,” you say and she holds out your hands, pulling you up out of the chair. You put your hurt leg on the floor and buckle into Agatha’s arms. “M’ so sorry, oh my god,” you stammer as she’s practically holding you now. 

She uses her strength to get you standing straight again, and without saying anything, slings your backpack over her shoulder and puts her other arm under yours so she can act as a crutch for you. 

“I’m sorry about your coach,” she finally says as she’s working on steering you out of the building. 

You wince going down the steps and shrug. “He’s not a bad coach. Like his sets are good and stuff and I’ve gotten faster for him. Just not a great…person. Where are we going?” You’ve finally realized that she’s not helping you back to the dorms. 

“My car,” she says matter-of-factly. Your heart skips a beat and you crane your head to look up at her. She has a variety of emotions struggling on her face and you’ve never felt so taken care of. 

“Why did you park so far away?” You groan and she chuckles. It feels like you’ve been limping for a mile. Luckily, there’s not too many other people outside right now to see Agatha helping you like this, but you do find it oddly touching that she would risk her heartless reputation for you. 

At last, you get to the lot where the professors park and she basically drops you into the passenger seat, sliding into the driver’s side once she puts your bag in the back. 

“Thank you for helping me,” you say quietly once she’s reversing out of her spot. She pauses for a second to look at you, a new expression on her face that you’ve never seen before. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

Once again, she goes in an unfamiliar direction. Maybe she’s taking you to a doctor? 

Nope. 

You’re still confused, even when Agatha turns into a quaint suburban neighborhood, but you think you figure it out when she stops in front of a house. 

You turn to gape at your professor. “Is this yours?” She gives you a look that says obviously and then gets out of the car quickly so she can come get you out. She doesn’t grab your bag from the back but you don’t need it. She helps you hobble inside and brings you over to the couch so you can lay down on it. You swing the bad leg up and then the good one and she hands you a pillow to put under the hurting knee. 

The elevation helps a little and while Agatha walks out of the living room, your eyes close, head resting on the back of the couch. It feels like you have been drained of all your energy from weights, practice, and then your knee. 

You think you might doze off just a bit because you startle when you hear Agatha entering. She’s carrying a bag of ice in one hand and a plate with a sandwich and raspberries in the other. You scooch into an upright position and graciously accept the food, instantly taking a huge bite. You moan at the taste and then notice that Agatha is standing next to you, bag of ice in hand, looking at your sweatpant-clad legs. 

Her eyes dart to yours and then back down. “Do you think you can take these off?” She asks, tapping your leg and your cheeks turn almost as red as hers. 

“Um, oh, sure,” you answer, mouth full of food. You set the plate down on the coffee table and raise your hips so you can get your pants off. You refuse to look at her as you basically undress in front of her. 

And then you begin to struggle. You can bend one leg just fine, but you don’t even want to risk moving your right knee in the slightest. The problem is, you’re nowhere near flexible enough to take your pants off while keeping one leg straight. 

Thankfully, Agatha completely understands without you having to ask, saving you from that embarrassment. She reaches across your body and gently slides the sweatpants off your bad leg. And then your entire bottom half is naked except for your underwear. 

You know why you’re blushing, but why is Agatha? 

She clears her throat and arranges the bag of ice on your knee, but it won’t stay because your leg is slanted up on the pillow. 

“Um, can you…” she trails off like she’s trying to figure out how to word it. You also understand what she needs, so you move your left leg so it hangs off the couch and she can sit in-between your legs and hold the ice to your knee. 

“Are you okay?” You ask after the two of you have been sitting in silence for a little bit. It’s comfortable, but you can still see the outline of grimace on Agatha’s face. 

She sighs heavily and runs a hand through her hair. “It’s just hard,” she admits. “Seeing you in pain like this.” 

“Why?” You dare to ask, the question barely louder than a whisper. She looks at you and then back to the ice. 

“I care about you a lot,” she says, like it pains her. It feels like all the air has left your lungs. 

“I care about you, too,” you reply, hoping more than anything that she means it the same way as you. 

She shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Is there anything else I can do to help?” 

“A kiss?” It’s meant to be a joke, like when your mom would kiss a paper cut or a scrap just to make it feel better. And then you inwardly kick yourself because you know you did not just ask stone-cold Agatha Harkness to kiss your knee. 

But she smirks and then you realize that you never specified which part of your body you wanted her to kiss. 

She leans in, hand grabbing onto the arm of the sofa next to you to hold herself up and she brushes her lips against yours. It’s barely anything, easily written off, but when she pulls back, her eyes are dilated. 

“Did that make your knee feel better?” She asks playfully. 

You pretend to think about it for a second and then you tilt your head. “You know what? It did. Better do it again so it helps even more.” 

This time, her tongue parts your lips and licks into your mouth. Her other hand slides under your shirt to feel your stomach and heat starts to course through you. You moan into her mouth and wrap your arms around her so pull her even closer. She shifts and accidentally bumps your knee and you hiss in pain. 

“Fuck, sorry!” She exclaims, jerking back like she was burned. 

“No, you’re okay,” you groan. “I just don’t know if this is the best way to do this.” You pout because you want to keep kissing her, you need to feel her. 

A sly smile spreads onto her face. “I know something else that might help.” You raise your eyebrows in question and inhale sharply as she carefully moves down your body so her head is right by your underwear. She toys with the waistband, checking to make sure it’s okay. You nod more eagerly than you ever have in your life. “If it hurts your knee, let me know.” 

“Okay,” you breathe and you shiver when she pulls your wet underwear to the side and the cold air hits your pussy. 

And then she lazily licks through your folds, swirling her tongue on your clit and your back arches off the couch. 

“Fuck,” you moan, one hand tangling in her hair and the other grabbing the side of the couch. She continues softly lapping at you, fingers digging into your hips to keep them still so you don’t accidentally hurt yourself by moving. Agatha takes her time tasting you, making a noise every and then that makes your head fall back. 

Your pleasure slowly builds from her hot, careful mouth on you, but Agatha doesn’t seem to mind. She alternates dipping her tongue into your pussy and then sucking your clit and back again. She gets more enthusiastic about it once she feels confident that she’s not hurting you and begins to be a little rougher. 

“I’m getting close, Agatha,” you whimper and it’s the first time you’ve ever called her by her first name. She must realize it too because she groans into your pussy and sucks hard on your clit, sending you over the edge. Sounds fall out of your mouth as you cum, hips trying but failing to buck against her tight grip to ride it out. 

“Is your knee okay?” is the first thing she asks when she stops licking at you. You laugh at the timing of the question. 

“Yes, it feels totally fine.” 

Agatha leans down to peck your lips. “Okay, good. Still, I’m going to make an appointment at my doctor this afternoon. I’ll take you.” 

Even though she just ate you out, this is the sexiest you’ve ever seen her. So caring, so protective. Your heart yearns for more of this woman. 

“You don’t have to do all that,” you protest though, not wanting to ask for more than she’s already given you. She waves her hand to shush you. 

“Nonsense. I’m going to take care of you because apparently no one else can. And I want to.”

You smile fondly at her and tug at hair to bring her in for a deeper kiss this time. “I want you to as well.” 

And she does.

[auroracalisto]

Hey can you do a fiyero x reader where the reader is afraid of being vulnerable and he helps them?

yes, superfartninja, i think i can.

to be changed.

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 3.4k words summary: to be vulnerable meant to be defenseless. it was a liability and that's all it ever would be. fiyero couldn't have that, now could he? a/n: please remember that i only have movie knowledge, so this will be based solely on what i saw in the movie. :P also, shout outs to house song by searows (was on repeat for this fic). erm. this kind of got away from me. i started it was 12 AM and now it's nearly 2 AM. hope it's coherent.

It wasn't like you to be vulnerable. It just didn't happen. It was like... asking a fish or an elephant to climb a tree, or some other weird analogy that you heard oh-so-long ago, when vulnerability aged you more than it helped.

To be vulnerable meant to be hurt. To be ridiculed, to be laughed at, to be made a fool in front of anyone who cared to look your way. It was something that you knew was not needed. You would be fine living by yourself. You came into this world alone and screaming, and you would leave this world the same way.

If you cut out the wound before it began to fester, you solved the problem immediately. Or so they say.

So that's what you did, long ago, when you swore to yourself that the pain you felt would be the very last time. It would never happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Oh, Oz, it couldn't. Your heart couldn't take it.

What was left of your heart, anyway. Sometimes you feared you no longer had one, especially when you feared the pain that would haunt you if someone else came along and made you feel that way again.

It's not that you were afraid. No, fear of being vulnerable was foolish. At least... you believed that you weren't afraid of being vulnerable.

Perhaps that was an act of foolishness in itself. Pretending that you weren't afraid. Pretending that having few friends and few moments of happiness didn't pierce your heart with every passing second.

Perhaps you needed to be better. To be vulnerable, to swear off that silly promise you made to yourself so many years ago.

But it was so difficult.

Being vulnerable was to be in pain. To be lost to a world of sorrow. To be... hurt by the very thing you swore you'd never be hurt by again.

It wouldn't happen.

You wouldn't let it.

He existed in the back of your mind. His beautiful blue eyes, the way those pretty locks fell in front of his eyes when he actually studied his books (if he ever did, of course).

When was the last time he actually tried...? No. You couldn't think of him like that. Too much thinking about his pretty face would ruin you.

You had only talked to him a few times here and there, and the first time was to merely ask him to move out of the way. He took up quite a lot of space—or at least, maybe it was his confidence. It oozed from him like an air of upmost superiority.

No...

You were just being cruel. He was just standing in the way, out of breath from singing to Galinda in the library (because of course—who didn't sing to pretty girls in libraries anymore?).

The second time you spoke to him was over the essay you had to write in your literature class. Peer reviews were the bane of your existence, and this essay, because of course it did, had a simple prompt in response to one of your readings: Taking into account the author's sheer disdain for the idea of magic, write what you believe Oz would be like without magic.

Thought-provoking, yes. You wrote a decent two pages, handwritten of course.

He gave you a paragraph.

If the world of Oz existed without magic, perhaps we would all be better off. No more bickering over the usages of it all, no more idiosyncrasies, no more debates on whether you are intelligent or mediocre if you hadn't the ability to wave a wand or utter a simple spell. If we didn't have magic, perhaps life would be far more difficult, but I also feel as if we should see what it would be like. Maybe there would be less heartbreak. More happiness to go around.

Okay. A piss-poor paragraph that made you wonder how he was even passing Madame Lillabet's literature class.

Maybe he wasn't.

You didn't feel pity for the man—nobility had the ability to do so many things that you would only ever dream of. Why should you feel pity—vulnerability—for a man you didn't know, let alone understood?

Oz, even now, his essay haunted you. You did your best with your review, pointing out the obvious things missing—a decent thesis, body paragraphs that proved his thesis, and just in general, an entire essay that was expected of the entire class.

He merely read over your essay and made one simple comment: Excellent.

Oh, yes, excellent. It was excellent to know that he was just trying to help your essay, yes? Leaving that little comment, even though you didn't make full marks—how was it supposed to help you?

Pity be damned. He was a fool, through and through.

Things muddled in your mind like they often did. Thoughts racing, heartbeat close behind the quick pace.

If you had magic, you'd be sure to quell it.

These thoughts were the one thing that you wished you could squash under the heel of your boot. They were the bane of your existence, the utterance of a foolhardy penance to the god of whatever looked down upon you and wished for pain.

Perhaps that was what was meant for you.

A life of pain—of pity from others, of the amenability to be swayed by those around you even when you tried, desperately, to stay away from those who may catch your attention.

Like him.

Oh, Oz, just like him.

Fiyero.

The man who'd lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders. The man who once told you in passing that if he hadn't a brain, perhaps classes would be easier—then he wouldn't truly be all there, and he'd easily get around the... well, specifics of it all. The man whom you felt tugging at your heartstrings, even when you told yourself no.

It would not happen.

It could not happen.

You would not let it.

In typical, terrible luck fashion, you found yourself wandering the halls of Shiz late at night, unable to sleep. The thoughts racing through your head of so many things, not just him (although they kept leading back to the fool), they just weren't stopping.

An exam was to be held tomorrow. Perhaps you could create a distraction—keep the professors from being able to do as they needed. There were a box of fireworks hidden in one of the many corridor closets, kept for special occasion. You could whip a few of them out and create so much chaos that they'd surely have to cancel the exam!

You leaned against the railing, looking down at the stonework of Shiz's courtyard. A chill ran down your spine from the cold breeze, and for once, all was silent if only for a moment.

His voice brought you out from your thoughts.

"Y/n," he said, an obvious smile playing at his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and glanced back at him. Without saying a word, you acknowledged him.

"Doesn't look like your dorm," he continued. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

"Thinking."

His eyebrow quirked. "Thinking? Oh," he softly hummed, coming to stand beside of you. "Well, that's no fun, now is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

He snorted softly. "You're thinking about... nothing?"

"Whatever I'm thinking is none of your business," you retorted.

He stared you down for a moment, tilting his head curiously. He hummed again and looked out at where you had been staring moments prior.

"You are right," he softly said, voice much quieter this time. "Let me lead you back to your room. We have an exam tomorrow, remember? You at least need to pretend to sleep."

You paused. Since when did he care about exams? You glanced at him, fighting the urge to question him. You let out a soft sigh and shrugged, allowing him to lead you to your dorm.

The walk was quiet, and you almost questioned how he knew where your dorm was, but you didn't. He seemed to pay attention better than most (it was part of that aloofness, you've noticed), and it wasn't the first time he had seen you near your dorm.

It was at least the third. The number had to be easy to memorize by now. 133.

As you opened your door, Fiyero spoke. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous thing for you, isn't it?" you quipped, not looking at him as you stepped inside.

He let out a soft chuckle. You amused him to no end.

"Yes, perhaps," he softly said. "But besides. I was still thinking. I've been... well, wondering if perhaps you would—"

"—no."

He blinked slowly. "What? No? Y/n, you didn't even hear what I had to say—"

"—the answer is still no," you said. You glanced up at him from the spot you had been staring at, frowning. "I don't know what this is, but we are not friends. Do not ask me for favors."

"Not friends, hm?" he softly hummed, leaning against the doorway as he locked eyes with you. So knowing your dorm number was just a fluke.

"Not friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go and pretend to sleep."

His upper lip quirked in a faint smirk. Not friends, but you still joked with him as a friend would do. He rolled his eyes and gave you a rather joking half-bow.

"Of course," he said. "Do not let me keep you up. Perhaps I should find my dorm as well."

"You should do that," you simply said, shutting the door right after.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything else, quickly locking the door and heading back to your bed.

Heart pounding, mind still racing, but not with the thoughts of earlier. No, dear reader, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

So impressionable, so—so kind, so—well, was he really kind?

To you.

He was kind to you.

Nearly a week passed you by. The exam went rather well, without any kind of distraction. Passing marks and a somewhat decent night sleep.

You do everything you can to try and avoid Fiyero. Running this way and that, going through all of the longer corridors instead of the shortcuts you knew by heart. You did everything you could to avoid his handsome face.

You did everything you could to avoid the vulnerability that plagued your heart every time you thought of him.

If you simply embraced the wants of Fiyero, perhaps not having a brain would keep you from thinking this way. You'd still have a heart, sure, but it was much better than keeping yourself on your toes wondering if you'd see the damned man at any passing second.

On the hour of the rising moon, almost exactly on the dot, Fiyero spotted you. And this time, you were not evading him.

He practically took off after you, leaving his friends behind. They scoffed and called after him, but he didn't look back. His focus was on you.

He grabbed onto your wrist as you went to leave, not letting you go.

"Y/n! There you are," he softly said. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I wouldn't have thought it would be so difficult to find you, but—"

"—there you go, thinking again," you blurted, unable to stop yourself. Your tongue was wagging faster than your brain was working.

He weakly smiled. "Yes. I know. How ironic, hm?"

You watched as he stared you down.

"Look," he softly began. "I truly—I do not know what I did to deserve you ignoring me at any which way, but I wish you would tell me why. What did I do, Y/n? I thought—well, I assumed that we were friends, but perhaps I was wrong. I find myself wrong quite often nowadays."

"I—well, Fiyero, I—" you paused. You squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. "I don't have friends."

He blinked slowly. "You don't have friends? What of the one girl you were with the other day? Milla?"

"I do not have friends," you repeated. "I have... acquaintances. People I do not get attached to."

"That is sad."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like a commonality when he spoke with you. The staple eyebrow raise had to happen or else he wasn't really chatting with you.

"It is sad. Why wouldn't you want to get attached to people?"

"I don't want to have meaningless relationships," you said. You avoided saying, I don't want to have relationships at all. "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, Fiyero."

He rolled his eyes. "Friendly. Yes. I talk to people, but I would rather not have all the attention that I do."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "You play the popular little prince and then claim you do not want it? What is that, Fiyero?"

Fiyero pursed his lips. "It is just—this is not a conversation about me. I wanted to have an intervention for you since you seemed as though you were avoiding me every which way. Now. Just—"

"—an intervention? What? Please. You sound ridiculous."

"So do you!" he returned, hands to his hips like an older man scolding a child for something they broke. "You vex me, Y/n! You act as if you are interested in me, then run away hiding like a scared little pup. You act as if you are afraid to get close to anyone."

You stared at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly. But it was enough. You were done for.

He let out a curt laugh. "You are."

"What?"

"You are. Scared. I can see it in you. You listen to what I have to say, even when the others don't. I've made an effort to pay attention to you. To see what you—"

"—Fiyero, stop."

"Do not tell me to stop, Y/n," he said, voice low with conviction. "Not now. Not when I've finally figured you out. You are scared. But of what? Being close to someone? Having a friend?"

You frowned. "I am not scared—"

"—you look at me like if I were to touch you, you'd melt."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"I can see it in your eyes, Y/n," he said, not looking away. He held eye contact with you and hoped that you would continue to do the same. "You—you're scared. To open your heart to the people around you."

You frowned, again. It was perpetual anymore. "And you're a sad man who dances and pretends everything is fine because Galinda said you looked pretty one day."

He blinked slowly, a smile quirking on his lips. "Maybe. But this—this isn't about me, Y/n. This is about you."

"What even is this? I didn't agree to have you psychoanalyze everything I've ever done."

"Neither did I, yet here we are," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think, to mull it over, and I know it. I know it now. You are scared. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know who hurt you in your past, or if something tragic happened to make you so cold inside, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with being... with being vulnerable, Y/n. There's something... magical, even, about opening up to others."

"Oh, and you would know, wouldn't you?"

He frowned. "Y/n—"

"—no. Absolutely not. You do not get to sit there and ridicule me for not wanting to be close to people and then not take what I give you," you said. "You do not let anyone close to you. Sure, Galinda, but what does she know about you? Does she know how you half-ass everything? How you hardly even talk to your 'friends' and just let them float along with you like everything is fine and dandy? You're as sad as I am, if that's what you're trying to say. Don't try to fool yourself."

"I am not trying to fool myself," he softly said. "I am only trying to make it known that I see you. I see myself in you."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "The rich, popular boy sees himself in little ol' me. That's perfect."

"Y/n—"

"—no. Don't. Stop. Just. I don't want to talk to you anymore. We're not friends. We never were friends. Just leave me alone."

It's simple, but it shuts him down. And with that, you run from his side, rushing to hide away in your dorm.

You couldn't believe what you did. Blowing up at him instead of listening to what he had to say. He read you like the children's book your heart truly was—while everyone else focused on the words, he focused on the pictures. The minute details that seemed to pass by everyone's mind because the story was flowing far too quickly.

He saw the delicate brush strokes, the intricate colors, the pieces of you that the words did not show.

He knew you.

And it scared you.

Only you knew yourself. If anyone else were to know who you were, deep inside, well, that would be disastrous.

It couldn't happen.

You couldn't let it.

Fear.

Perhaps fear was the best way to describe the way you felt.

You sat by the edge of the lake in the forest just beyond Shiz's campus, fingers gently brushing against the water. The surface rippled, sending small waves to the end of the shore.

You were afraid.

Of what?

Of a man knowing you?

Of Fiyero knowing you better than even your family once knew you?

You sat there, thoughts racing through your mind. It was as if you couldn't avoid them anymore.

Days had passed since you blew up at Fiyero and ran. You couldn't avoid him forever, you knew that, but it seemed as if your thoughts believed the same.

Tears pricked at your eyes. The warm, salty tears began to fall before you could even try to stop them, and a soft sob bubbled at the back of your throat.

"Y/n?"

Shit.

You quickly wiped your tears away and looked back at him—at Fiyero. But your tears wouldn't stop. A soft sob rippled through you and you turned your head away.

Fiyero came to your side, kneeling down in the soft earth beside of you. He inwardly grimaced at the dirt, but he said nothing of it. He'd bathe in mud if it meant you would stop your tears.

He reached forward, gently placing a hand to your cheek. He turned your head to face him.

"Y/n," he softly said. "It's alright. You... you're alright."

Another sob.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. You didn't pull away, melting into his embrace as he said you would before. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, situating himself so he would be more comfortable near you.

He softly hummed a soft tune—you remembered it. The one thing he hummed quite often when you caught him alone, or trying to focus on his school work.

Dancing through life, skimming the surface... Life's more painless for the brainless.

He was just a sad boy with needs of his own, much like you were scared of being seen. Of being known.

Of being loved.

Oh. Oh, that's what it was.

It terrified you to no end.

Fiyero pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

"What's got you so upset, love?" he softly asked, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs.

You shook your head. "I... later," you mumbled. You leaned into his grasp, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften.

He released a soft, shaky sigh of his own, before he pulled you back into his arms. He'd hold you until the end of the world if that's what you needed him to do.

Being vulnerable—it was the one thing you had told yourself you would never do. Ever again. And here you were, letting this man hold you and practically lull you into a calmness you'd never felt before.

Is this what it felt like? To be... weak? To be... frail?

No.

Vulnerability... it didn't mean that.

It meant that you were... open. That you had managed to open your heart to a more... malleable form.

To be changed.

To find the one thing in life that you knew would keep you going for as long as it could.

To be vulnerable meant to be loved.

[vicsy]

Max's phone has been on mute for a week now but Daniel's message comes through regardless. He singles it out through the endless blocks of notifications, patting his still damp hair with a fluffy towel.

hey did they show you the vid yet?

Max breaks into a smile, his whole face creasing when he catches his reflection in the mirror by the bathroom door. He taps on the screen with one finger, stringing together a response.

are you going to ask if you looked good in it? or what

Daniel doesn't make him wait. Max is tugging on a t-shirt when a bunch of middle finger emojis flood his screen. He picks up his phone off the bedside table and disconnects the charger cable. Another message from Daniel pops up.

ya little shit I knew 4th title will get to your head

It's Max's turn to take a page out of Daniel's book and abuse those middle finger emojis before he actually replies, dropping the towel on the floor next to the bed.

of course it was maybe 7/10 I'm being nice because you were very nice to me

Daniel reacts to his message with a broken heart emoji, which is pretty advanced for him. Max stands in the middle of his hotel room, phone in hand, watching the typing dots appear and disappear like his life depends on it.

you wound me Maxy I'm never not nice to you anyway wanted to send you something extra

It's a video. Not a long one. Max watches a file pop up and the download starts. The preview looks just like Daniel from the one he saw already — same outfits, same cap, his scruffy beard; same look on his face reserved for Max and Max only. It leaves him confused and rightfully exasperated. He types, watching a progression circle overlayed over the video fill out almost completely:

you just want me to have your part so I can tell you how beautiful you are?

A smile inadvertently tugs up the corner of his lips. Daniel won't see it but Max wishes he would. Not like wishing is ever enough.

Daniel sends him another message as the video finally loads.

just watch it, Maxy promise it's a banger

Max hits play.

It starts off the same. Daniel's curls are peeking from under the cap as he talks and Max's eyes linger. His voice scratches the parts of Max's brain that have been permanently altered over the years Daniel spent by his side. He's managed to learn most of Daniel's heartfelt speech by heart, memorise the minuscule changes of his expression; all the meaning hidden from naked eye but glaring into Max's soul though Daniel's gaze, warm and achingly familiar.

"You're the man," his recording says, his tone identical. Then Daniel licks his lips instead of following a script Max expects. His heart somersaults in his chest in anticipation. Daniel says, then, staring directly at him as if they're not worlds apart but sitting face to face: "And I love you."

Max blanches. On the screen, Daniel shakes his head and laughs, something evasively fond about the crow's feet around his eyes appearing more visible than ever.

"Yeah, no, they can't use this. Can't let them have this one now, can we? Imagine the scandal. I'll do another," Max's mind goes through a rapid meat grinder. The hand holding his phone become cold like he's just been dunked into an ice bath and plucked out just to be thrown on the scorching hot desert sand in Qatar. "This one is just for you, Max. Yeah, um."

He parks his ass on a chair. Barely manages not to miss it, pulled down by the gravity that exists outside of his control and the gravity of Daniel's words. Max's thumb hovers on the rewind button, but phone Daniel speaks up again, looking down. The video twitches from side to side like his hand was shaking as he was recording. Max doesn't miss it. Or maybe it's that his hands aren't steady when they're not clutching the steering wheel.

"Right. I'll be sending this later. So you get double the love," Daniel makes himself sound intentionally goofy, plays it down. Not his best attempt. Max's grip on the phone becomes crushing; Daniel grip on his heart is just as tight. Daniel removes his cap, puts it aside and passes fingers through the mess of his curls. To Max, it's like a kick to the ribs. When on-screen Daniel carries on, his voice grows thick. "Kinda wish I was there but. Sticks and stones, Max. I'm so fucking proud of you. And I, uh. I really mean it. Everything. So, yeah. I'll stop blabbering now," Daniel looks away from the camera for a moment. Blinks, so hard, like something's gotten into his eyes. There's static filtering through the speaker of Max's phone. Then Daniel looks back and Max can't fathom the glint in his eyes. He says, with a smile so impossibly tender, saluting Max with his cap: "Fourth in a row, huh? Go enjoy yourself for me, champ."

The video cuts off.

Max stares at the screen. He doesn't hit replay or lock his phone. But he wants to. Max taps on Daniel's name at the top instead, misses the button he needs and ends up opening his contact photo. It's an older one — Daniel is holding up three fingers, pulling a funny face. He's somewhere sunny and bright. Max keeps on staring, stunned and flayed open, until it all hits him with renewed force.

His frantic call to Daniel goes through without a hitch. He picks up on a second ring and Max jumps the start, just this once.

"Daniel–"

He stumbles. It's unnerving, as if he's stalled his car which hasn't happened in years. Max can't manage to get a word past the lump in his throat. And it's all futile because Daniel beats him to the finish line. And, for one, Max is glad it's him.

"No, wait. Wait, Max. Hold your horses. You come to Perth or, like, I can fly out to Monaco when the season's over," Daniel sucks in a hard breath. For as long as he doesn't speak, Max keeps his breathless silence, waiting. Daniel clears his throat, his voice soft and measured in Max's ear. He hangs on to Daniel's every word. "We're gonna do this the right way. I just– yeah, I just had to let you know. In case someone else was gonna convince you otherwise. Or whatever, ya know?"

Max makes a noise, something between a snicker and a sob. It punches out of him and it's a little embarrassing but who gives a shit when Daniel's words are stuck on a loop In Max's brain. Couldn't ever be anyone else to make his mind race on a track of its own.

"You should know," he starts. On the other side of the line, Daniel emits a similar noise to the one that clawed its way up Max's throat. Max screws his eyes shut, then opens them quickly, his vision fuzzy. He looks down at his feet, one sock missing. Presses his phone firmer to his ear, trying to bridge the insurmountable distance dividing him and Daniel, hopping over the chokehold of overarching emotions. "After all this years, you know. I don't listen to what other people say. It's a bit of shit timing, Daniel."

Daniel's chuckle is wobbly. So is Max. From the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

"Yeah, tough luck, I know," he says. He's not home, by the sound of it. Max has lost track of the timezones since they can't even share one, not anymore. Daniel sounds more like himself when he asks: "Still. I reckon you enjoyed the video?"

Max doesn't speak for a length. He thinks it over and over — and I love you and I love you and I love you. Thinks how much shit has burned down the line; how Daniel's dreams became flammable the exact moment Max's aspirations wrapped themselves in layers and layers of fireproof armour.

With a hand laid over his sternum where Daniel can't see, Max says, precariously balancing his tone:

"Yes, Daniel. You indeed looked very lovely on my screen."

It's worth tiptoeing around the subject. For all of Max's reticence, his joke lands where he wants it to. Daniel's laugh is akin to a sound of a dozen champagne bottles popping, fizzling, all of it pouring over Max's body and soaking him through.

"Thanks a bunch," in the aftermath, Daniel gets eerily quiet. Then he repeats, with airtight conviction: "I mean it."

And I love you, Max recalls. The words stick to his tongue, his breath hitching, twisting knots inside his chest. It doesn't feel fair. He rubs his knuckles into his eyes, phone smushed between his shoulder and cheek, until all Max sees is a patches of black interspersed with made up visions of the sun setting over a house with Daniel's name on it.

"I know," Max says, wispy. "But you shouldn't fly to Monaco."

"Uh, Max?" Daniel calls out to him, cautious. Max can imagine the exact look on his face. "Not following you."

"I'm going to come to Australia," Max barely avoids his voice breaking. A handful more days and Daniel will cease to be just a recording on his phone; a voice in his ear. A presence under his skin. "To you."

"Alright," Daniel echoes after a pause. "Whatever you want, Max. I'll stay put."

"Daniel, and," Max's heart pounds against his ribs, threatening to break his bones, but the enormity of raw feeling negates all the pain that comes with it. He swallows, blinks once and the clear cut picture of what future holds bleeds into his vision. Max keeps it a secret, stashes it into his pocket, and says to Daniel, with just a smidge of hesitancy: "When I get there. To you?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll mean it, too."

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Holidays w/ Him

Your first year living with your favorite lads man and you get to spend the holidays together. How I imagine they act during this holiday season. [Requested by: 🌻 Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘

He’s the boyfriend who stands behind you and guides your hands in whatever food you’re prepping

Still a workaholic up until Thanksgiving day, but will find time to help you cook

Suggests to make more desserts because he can’t control his sweet tooth

makes your plate for you “Eat well my love”

tries to start his meal with a slice of pie ; you have to take it and make him eat some actual food first “Desserts are for after the meal” “Desserts can be a meal” “No”

tidying up behind you so much that you don’t even get the chance to help clean up

would definitely do a video call with you to his parents to wish them happy holidays

if you take him home to your family your parents would fall in love with him immediately

ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

wants all the holiday sweets and treats

the type of boyfriend who wants to take you to every bakery so you can eat their limited time only holiday sweets

he brings you hot chocolate with marshmallows and a splash of peppermint while you decorate the house

stands by holding the decorations for you

he would definitely still be working during this time but, he would spend every moment he could with you when he’s home

watches Christmas movies with you until you fall asleep and he carries you to bed

hides your gifts in his office at the hospital if you start getting nosy

all over you when you’re baking Christmas cookies, showering you in kisses, arms constantly wrapped around you and sneaking a cookie here and there when you’re not looking

Cozy morning w/ Christmas breakfast before you exchange gifts

ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤

Wants to give you that New Years kiss you’ve been talking about

takes you to a secluded rooftop patio where you can see the fireworks and share a kiss “Now we’ll last forever” “There was never a doubt in my mind”

if he’s working he rushes home just to give you that kiss at midnight

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘

100% a backseat chef while you’re cooking “You should probably turn the heat down” “Can you go paint or something?”

clingy af he would be all in your face while you’re trying to cook “Are you going to help or are you just gonna hang on me like a koala” “I am helping im here for moral support”

gets extremely competitive when your family pulls out any game “Im about to flip the table” “Please don’t”

Eats so elegantly your parents are wondering if you’re dating royalty (which you are)

ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

Bought the biggest tree he can find “This is going to take weeks to decorate” “You should just stay here for the rest of the month then”

arts and crafts everything for decorations, he’s painting ornaments with you, anything you can find that you want as a decoration believe he will be making it for you/with you

complains about the cold like he hasn't experienced it before as you drag him to go ice skating or sledding “It’s too cold why is the sun out and i'm still freezing” “Maybe because thats how winter works Raf” “I hate it here”

wakes you up early as hell to open gifts, loves literally anything you buy him

Christmas movie nights w/ face masks, popcorn snacks, and matching pajamas

heavy on the matching pajamas, bought 12 pairs for 12 days of Christmas

ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤

watches the fireworks with you through the studio floor to ceiling windows wrapped in a blanket

doesn’t understand why you want a new years kiss so bad, but he’ll gladly do it of course

sips his champagne and pushes the cold liquid into your mouth as he kisses you now you shared a kiss and a drink right at midnight "I call that a two for one deal" "Stop talking"

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘

Fighting tooth and nail to keep his ass out the kitchen “Xavier I got it don’t worry” “I can just stir the yams” “No really it’s fine just go relax you had a long day”

You end up letting him slice the turkey and he ends up slicing through the whole damn pan “Why don’t you just set the table….” “Yes ma’am”

not a single leftover because this man ate everything

if you took him home to your family for Thanksgiving your parents are questioning if you starve him “He has a bottomless pit in his stomach” “No I don’t” “Lie again”

ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

Cold snowy days you two aren’t leaving the bed, he’s curling around you and snoring softly into your boobs

helps you decorate the tree, but asks endless questions “Where do you want this one?” “Just put it anywhere Xav” “Is right here fine?” “Yes right there is fine” “What about this one?” he’s not trying to annoy you he just wants Christmas with you to be perfect

Cookie decorating together, no cooking so it should be safe

late nights ordering in and watching Christmas movies or reading some books that fit the Christmas aesthetic

ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤

watches fireworks with you from the balcony with warm eggnog topped with cinnamon

be prepared to stay up late after that midnight kiss because he’s not stopping, both sets of lips will get kissed

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘

Spending thanksgiving with him and the boy was like a mini family of it’s own

Luke and Kieran helped you prep and you made Sylus help as well “I need to slow cook these greens overnight so start removing the leaf from the stem please” “Are you telling me what to do?” “Yes …. I am …. is there a problem?”

Sylus constantly sends the twins and Mephisto back to the store so he has a reason to be alone with you while you’re cooking

constantly brings up how the chef should be doing this, but you insist that the whole point is to cook together "You know you can just send a menu to the chef" "No it's more home-y this way"

ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

hands you his black card and takes you store to store telling you to have fun "I can buy anything I want?" "Anything"

takes you to a privately owned resort (He owns it) for a holiday Christmas trip, bringing Luke and Kieran along begrudgingly because you ‘didn’t want to leave your boys behind’

all those pictures and videos you sent him of fun stuff to do around the holidays he makes it happen

you wanna go snowboarding? he’s on it. Skiing? done. glass blowing Christmas ornaments? done.

Watches with the softest smile on his face as you and the twins decorate the big ass tree you picked out “Sylus I need you” “What is it Princess?” “Let me sit on your shoulders so I can get these ornaments on top of the tree” rolls his eyes, but puts you on his shoulders anyway

wraps you up in his arms and a blanket while you four have a Christmas movie night; carries you to bed when you fall asleep

watches Christmas musicals with you as well

living room is overflowing with gifts for you because this man bought you everything you’ve mentioned that you wanted for the past 3 months

his face may look annoyed when you drag him around from store to store and activity to activity, but he’s more than happy to do it as long as he’s with you

ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤

Argues with you until 11:59pm just to piss you off “How does good luck factor into this?” “Im not about to argue with you about this” “Too late sweetie you’ve been arguing with me for the last fifteen minutes” “Because you’re being so difficult do you not want-” he’d shut you up with a kiss right at midnight. “I guess this means we’ll last forever now huh?”

[24hlevi]

not sure which characters u write about for arcane!! but if you do male characters, could be anyone of your choice where they don’t get the hint you like them or want to take their relationship further (depends if u wanna do sfw or nsfw!!) :) tyyy!

for male characters i write for jayce, viktor, ekko, and silco! thank you for requesting 🫶

— TAKE A HINT

viktor (arcane) x gn!reader

warnings/tags: oblivious!viktor, confessions, fluff, sfw

you thought you were going mildly insane, having a crush on your friend as his second partner to jayce

to be fair, you kinda were, judging how no matter what you did in attempt to give hints just led nowhere

you tried talking to jayce on a few occasions, trying to get some advice on what to do, but he wasn't much help with relationship stuff as he claimed

you tried over and over again to get viktor to notice you more than just a friend, and every time, he couldn't tell

"hey," you say softly, slowly approaching viktor from behind with a hot cup of tea in your hands.

viktor turns his head as soon as he hears your voice draw him out of his work, and a small smile grows on his face. "good evening, yn," he replies.

"i brought you some tea," you set the cup down carefully next to his papers that were scattered along the table. "have you ate anything yet?"

"thank you," viktor responds, his eyes following your hand as you set the cup down. "i have not," he then shakes his head. "jayce tried asking earlier, but i wasn't quite hungry."

"would you like me to try and make you something?" you ask, looking down at him as you fiddle with your hands anxiously.

"mm," he hums, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "i would prefer your presence here with me. if you don't mind, that is."

"i don't mind," you shake your head, trying to fight the smile forming on your face. "just tell me what you'd like me to do."

"nothing," viktor answers, having you look at him with confusion. "you don't have to do anything, precisely. just your presence is enough."

"oh...okay,"

you still couldn't figure out how to get viktor to realize you had feelings for him, you couldn't believe how oblivious he was

after years of liking the male, he didn't ever seem to appear like he reciprocated those feelings, making you slowly give up as time went by

it wasn't until one early morning, that it all finally fell into place

viktor slowly made his way to the lab. it was early morning, the sun hardly peeking out from over the horizon as he hobbled through the hallway. this morning, he was already thrown a bit off his rocker. for he hadn't seen you yet since he woke up. normally, you would be awake and moving before him and jayce, so it was odd to not see you around as he walked down the hall.

entering the lab, viktor turns on the lights, and then stops in his spot. there you were. your body slouched against the table with papers messily filled with calculations that viktor was doing the day prior, seemingly asleep. slowly, he approaches you and stands behind you, silently looking at you. the sun is shining against your face, and viktor comes to the realization that he never paid attention to how much he liked looking at you. you looked so peaceful like this, and he felt an odd sensation in his chest as he peered down at you.

suddenly, you start stirring around, slowly opening your eyes to see viktor standing above you. "mm? viktor?" you groggily mumble.

seeing you wake up, viktor, as fast as he can, takes a few steps back, his face turning red at possibly being caught. "s-sorry," he stutters.

your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. did he just stutter? you rub your eyes with your hands before blinking a few times to look at him clearer. was he...staring at you while you were asleep? while this would be extremely creepy if it were anyone else, you couldn't help but feel somewhat flattered by his reaction. you take a look around and realize you're in the lab. "oh gosh, i can't believe i fell asleep in here," you drag your hands across your face. "i'm sorry, viktor. i was trying to finish what you were doing yesterday."

"it is alright," viktor says after taking a moment to calm his heartbeat from jumping out of his chest. he then realizes what you said, and his face contorts into confusion, looking at the papers on the table. "you didn't have to. i would have figured it out by this week i'm sure."

"i just wanted to help more," you admit with a short sigh. "ever since you and jayce started this new development for hextech...i feel like i've fallen behind." you look down at all the papers in front of you in shame that you still couldn't figure it out.

viktor's expression changes again, no longer confused but a soft look as he notices the tone in your voice change. you sound almost defeated, clearly upset about this. hesitantly, he places a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up at him. "it is okay, yn," he starts, his tone soft like his expression on his face. "you being here is enough for me. you do not need to prove yourself, for i already know how smart you are. do not worry of hextech if you fear you are falling behind. i appreciate your presence more than anything else."

looking up at him, you slowly nod your head and stand from your seat. you don't know what to say, but thankfully for you, viktor continues speaking.

"i have noticed some...changes in my thoughts recently," he says slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. "while they are primarily filled with ideas of hextech and how we could evolve the future...they are also about you. i want to create something that will help our future, that will help your future. these past couple of weeks...i have thought of you more. i thought it was normal at first...but the more i thought about what i was thinking about i..came to a realization." he sees the way you look at him with subtle confusion on your face, and he hesitates before continuing. "i believe i may have some kind of feelings for you, yn."

your eyes widen in shock, looking at viktor as he explains his thoughts, and you're not sure what to do. "what?" you quietly let out.

"yes, it appears to be that way," viktor nods. "just now, i have confirmed it. i may not have noticed it fast enough, and i sincerely apologize if i am too late now, but i had to get this off my chest before it would ruin me."

"o-oh," you stutter, a fiery blush growing on your face. "you-you're not too late," you say finally. "i've uhm, had feelings for you for a while now," you admit.

hearing this, a smile makes its way onto viktor's face. "really?" he asks.

"yeah," you nod. "i thought you were never going to notice or were purposely ignoring my attempts."

"ah," he lets out. "i would never purposely ignore you, yn," he says, pushing some of your hair out of your face. "let's just say i am a bit slow when it comes to these things. i apologize if i ever gave you the wrong idea."

"it's okay," you reply.

"well then, shall we establish this whilst we finish these calculations?" he has a smile on his face as he speaks, dragging another chair to sit down beside you.

"yeah," you nod, smiling back at him.

"great."

[lotus-pear]

Low quality magical girl chuuya nakahara as requested (i literally just finished madoka magica last night and it was BRUTAL)

Bonus dazai reaction:

He died of laughter

YIPPPPEEEEE MY PACKAGE ARRIVED GIRLY ATE THAT LOOK ONG WHY DOES IT MATCH HIM SO WELL BRO COULD TRANSFER TO PMMM AND NO ONE WOULD EVEN NOTICE😍😍😍😍 i think every time i see chuuya in a dress society heals a little more and years are added to my life. also god bless ty for actually using a reference he looks so babygirl girlypop ALSO not madoka having like most cutieful design literally ever????? the poofy skirt the hair ribbons the bows waaaaa she's so adorable you did her justice😭 also love dazai's reaction lmao

[aba-daba-dooo]

I feel this so intensely with Gravity Falls, but an important thing to note. LET THEM HAVE THIS. I know OP isn’t implying that newer fans shouldn’t bring up old talking points, but I want to put the reminder out there anyway.

If I’ve learned anything in my years of teaching/studying fandom it’s that new fans need as many of these experiences we can give them. It’s part of the fun and brings them into our community. When my students (middle schoolers) and I watch Gravity Falls together, I started recreating some of the discussions and theories we had back in the day. I lead them to notice the STNLYMBL. I trick them into believing the McGucket hoax. I’ll list out different theories that were floating around the internet. I act impressed by every little detail they find.

And they have so much fun. Overthinking and screaming about something, even if it’s already been said a dozen times over, is fun. Like, yeah it makes me feel old and when they say “that’s the year I was born!” But I also get to feel like I’m 10 years younger when we do this together.

Being in a fandom for 20+ years is weird because you’ll see posts like, “How come I never see people mention x” and it’s like. We did. We talked about that a lot, actually. Actually it’s something that came up. And it’s hard not to be like, “Yeah, we discussed this fifteen years ago.” Half of this fandom wasn’t even born when these discussions happened. Wild.

[noelledeltarune]

EVERY SINGLE DAY there are MILLIONS of characters in their late 20s who get falsely accused of being father figures to teenagers when in reality the description of "weird older cousin" or "step-sibling that moved out before you were born" is 1000000x more apt