#and I don’t know if he cares about birthdays

[euthymiya]

Sukuna who never was close to his twin brother and never cared about the pipsqueak runt of a kid who’s his nephew.

He doesn’t care and doesn’t want to be associated with that bullshit. His brother doesn’t take the hint ever and invites him to everything. “My sons’s birthday party” this and “my son’s kindergarten graduation” that. What sort of graduation is meant for a kindergartener anyway? That’s a load of nonsense. But Jin is as annoying as ever with insisting on keeping contact and trying to get Sukuna involved and he hates it until by some tragedy out of nowhere, his brother and sister and law are dead. Yuuji’s left an orphan and no one can care for that kid because there’s no one left.

No one except Sukuna.

They ask him, too. The social workers. They turn to him and say some pitiful script about being “the only family left to take custody of him.” He knows pretty well what’s going to happen to the pipsqueak if he doesn’t agree. The foster care system and the possible horrors such a bright (even if annoying) kid could face makes him question saying no for a second. He’s surprisingly conflicted.

And it’s out of sheer impulsiveness alone does he end up as a single, grumpy, begrudging uncle who’s got custody of a child he never really cared to know in the first place.

And then he meets you.

Sweet, bubbly, warm, and so weirdly happy. Dictionary definition of what an elementary school teacher should be. Yuuji’s absolute favorite person on the planet as he waves hello at you enthusiastically every time that Sukuna drops him off and goodbye every time that Sukuna picks him up.

“I heard his new guardian would be his uncle. It’s nice to meet you,” you murmur to him the first day he picks up Yuuji after school, a look of pure melancholy on your face as you stare at him with an unearthly amount of compassion and sympathy. “Yuuji’s parents were wonderful people. I’m really sorry for your loss.”

“Wasn’t that close with either of them,” he grunts out. You look over at where Yuuji’s gleefully playing on the slide of the playground. Too young and innocent to realize that’s been ripped away from him. Too naive to understand what it means to grieve. Too hopeful about the world around him to realize just how cruel it can really be.

“Oh,” you murmur, nodding slowly.

He thinks that your unnaturally kind demeanor will finally be broken for a split second of judgement. What sort of heartless bastard doesn’t feel an ounce of grief for his own brother’s death? Instead, however, you seem to look at him with some weird sense of wonder.

“You’re a good uncle for stepping up regardless,” you say softly, “it’s more than what most would do in your shoes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he clicks his teeth, unbearably uncomfortable with how weirdly sentimental this all is. “He’s just a five year old. How much trouble could he be?”

You raise a brow in amusement, eyeing him like he’s got one hell of a surprise waiting for him. He doesn’t like the vague way you hum, “Yeah. How could such a little human cause trouble, right?”

“I’ve got it under control,” he grumbles, a little annoyed that you seem to think that out of all things, a simple child would be enough to cause Sukuna any issues.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you smile.

Yuuji calls to you from the distance, squealing look what I can do! before he does a rather clumsy spin. Sukuna raises an unimpressed brow. You clap and praise him with an exaggerated gasp of approval.

It’s oddly endearing, he thinks to himself—you, not the kid. The kid’s barely tolerable.

“C’mon, you brat,” Sukuna calls. And then he looks at you and gruffly adds, “And I don’t need help.”

“Okay,” you grin brightly. It almost feels like you’re saying that a little sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ve got this parent thing down.”

Before he can even correct you that he’s an uncle, not parent, Yuuji comes running over on clumsy, short little legs and grabs onto Sukuna’s hand.

“C’mon, Uncle ‘Kuna!”

Sukuna doesn’t miss the way your eyes soften. Weirdly enough, he feels this odd sort of squeeze in his chest that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe he’s just getting old—that has to be it.

[eliossun]

LAST SHOT - ego death

synopsis : interning at a random ship in space sounds like a great idea for your paper. don't you think? part -> 2 | other chapters -> 1 3 ?

characters : anya, swansea, daisuke, curly, jimmy, gn!reader (daisuke x reader implied)

content : continuation of part 1! i suggest you to read part 1 first, but if you're insistent, you can read this as a stand alone! descriptions of panicking, minor character death, the birthday party (pre crash), and . jimmy. ew

wc : 4.6k+

before you read, reader is : cold, non expressive, and the worst crime of all, a psychology major...

i tried to stick to canon interpretation as much as possible, but i put in some hcs about anya's background ^^; it's only mentioned in one part of this story, but if that bothers you, you can skip! it's not that imp in this chapter !!

- today, you weren’t woken up by your body alarm.

- normally, you would wake up earlier than everyone else, and by the time you folded your ‘bed’ properly by the door, anya’s also awake. that’s how you get to greet each other first at the start of every day. (which daisuke tries to do, but you could tell that he’s going to ignore his alarm for the first few minutes .. as usual.)

- instead, footsteps wake you up. 

- they get closer, and closer, and -

“why the fuck are you sleeping in the hallways again?”

your eyes blink open, slowly. it’s been a few hours after curfew. even with that much sleep in your system - not an ounce of sleep seeped into your body, actually - you manage to seem completely awake at the voice; like you were expecting it.

because you were. you’re surprised it took this long for him to approach you.

peering up at the figure, you find your co-pilot standing before you, looming.

“you have a bed, don’t you? why don’t you use it?”

it’s a valid question. but you can’t just say that he was the reason directly, right? no, he would throw a tantrum. you’re not afraid of what will happen to you - you’re an intern, after all. but the fate of possibly being stuck with an angry manchild for the next few months was in your hands. 

so for now, you hold his glare. 

“was i bothering you?”

if your tone was too sharp, you could just excuse it for the ‘sleepiness’. 

he seems to get that you wouldn’t falter that easily. if he answered anything remote to a yes or a no - he knows that you would just push further.

“you’re going to make more work for anya.” 

so , he diverts the conversation. 

it’s a smart tactic, and you would enjoy conversations like these with your friends. but this man before you is not a friend; you hold nothing but wariness for him. he’s trying to get a reaction out of you, and you’re not going to provide that.

“i think i can take care of myself well enough.”

you look at him, up - then down after you say those words. 

‘unlike you.’

his scowl only got worse, and by now, you’re already all cozied up, and ready to fall back asleep - even if it was only for show. you take a last peek at him, before ending the conversation.

“night.”

after a few moments, you can hear his footsteps getting further away, and you inwardly sigh.

you don’t dream that night. 

but you fall asleep with a smile on your face, and to you, that’s good enough.

- after that little confrontation of yours, jimmy has not held back in his hostility against you.

- instead of bringing down people in your presence, he had opted to bring you down as well during your psych tests.

- you don’t respond, and maintain your usual attitude when it comes to processing his psych tests.

- however, around others, he simply stares daggers into you. there is no bark; nor bite.

- he’s not scared of what others might do once they know - just.. mildly unconvinced - or so he thinks. that’s your hypothesis.

- because, what would the crew do if they knew that one of their members was being bullied only because they were resting unusually, bothering no one, and doing no harm?

- you hold it above his head every single moment; wordlessly.

- and you both know it.

- you win for the moment. but you’ll still have to watch out for him.

- nowadays, your routine.. has changed a bit. 

- unlike before, you’d wake up an hour earlier than the crew, fold your blankets, place them in the room, and then check on your supplies. 

- the bag filled with airtight seal snacks, still very abundant due to your careful rationing, check.

-your already half-filled journal, filled with months worth of research and journaling, check.

- your thrifted power banks (they are a bit more drained than you expected), check.

- your ds with additional stickers on it (mainly from daisuke, but you managed to get one from swansea. it’s a warning label for one of his tools..), check

- your taser and gun (never used, and hidden for safety), check..

- and your emotional support mp3. 

- you stare at this particular item often.

- it contained the ambiance that came from your favourite part of town. your local cafe, the buzz of the aircon in your apartment, the library, and the rain. and not to mention, your favourite books. it’s perfect.

- now to think of it, you really do miss the rain. 

- the closest you got to rain here was.. the showers. pretty sad.

- after doing your item checkup, you head towards the lounge with anya right after you’ve showered.

- the communal shower is more private now, thanks to you placing an occupied and not occupied sign - right on the small window on the bathroom door. (why was that there, anyway?)

- you both eat breakfast; then either relax there, or you’d immediately go to the medical bay. sometimes, if you had time, you’d play games with anya and daisuke until it’s time to start your day. the latter is increasingly more rare occasion by the day, though.

- sometimes curly comes in right after you and anya. sometimes, it’s daisuke who comes in, pleading for you to play with him before the day starts..

 - and on very rare occasions, swansea comes in first. 

- before doing anything, he visits the coffee machine and grabs a can of.. whatever’s available, at this point.

- .. now you’ve nearly ran out of coffee. 

- you think that’s horrifying. a whole vending machine’s worth of coffee.. 

- but to be fair, you have done the same in exam seasons. and you’re not quite dead yet, so..

- eh. maybe you shouldn’t be too worried.

- your daily work includes: learning as much as you could from anya, writing down your conclusions/observations in your journal (for academic purposes), and checking on medical supplies. 

- most of the time, people who come in request for medicine, or have sustained some cuts/bruises. people rarely get sick, and when they do, you’ve tried your best to stop them from working. it’s dangerous to work whilst sick, especially considering that everyone’s job is pretty .. dangerous.

- think about it. if you had to work as a mechanic whilst you’re sick, what are the chances of damaging the ship? and if you were piloting while you’re sick.. the ship might crash.

- you don’t want to entertain the possibilities, so you end up forcing them to their rooms.

- at the end of the day, you take another shower, before changing into another set of pony express uniform. 

- you’re starting to get tired of looking at the same yellow and reds. perhaps you could’ve brought more personal clothing.. 

- after lounging in the living room (what daisuke likes to call it), you pull your blankets out once again, and sleep.

- that has been your routine for these past few months.

- it’s not that bad. surface wise - it’s not as bad as your daily life before the internship.

- but mentally? this is challenging. 

- you’re starting to miss grass, of all things. grass. 

- that green weed that grows from the ground- the dirt? yeah. you’re starting to miss that.

- you realise you’ve taken a lot of things for granted whilst you were in this metal hunk. 

- that includes the sun.

- recalling this all just as you’re about to eat dinner made you suddenly miss the moon too.

- as you open the door, it revealed the entire crew already seated, and you were the last person to join dinner.

- your seat is empty, in the middle of anya and curly.

- your eyes linger on the group, laughing together on the dining table. 

- as you were observing the whole crew from afar, daisuke manages to spot you, and then calls you over. 

- anya sends you a smile as she looks in your direction as well. curly follows after, sending you a smile, swansea nods at you. 

- your chest felt warm that night.

- .. maybe you really should treasure these moments more as well.

- there is one extra addition to your bi-daily tasks.

- laundry with daisuke. 

- or laundai… can you guess who made that pun?

- every three to four days, you meet up with him in front of the laundry room, basket of laundry in your arms, and his own laundry in his. 

- it’s not that he’s incapable of doing it - but he insists that you do it together on the day of the detergent accident. ever since then, you’ve been accompanying him.

- you try to spot if he adds too much or too little detergent, taught him which buttons to press on what occasions, and you also teach him how to pick up his laundry quickly.

- sometimes you do machine maintenance.. removing the tray at the bottom and washing the insides of the machine.

- while the laundry runs, you often just sit there together. seeing the laundry tumble, soap and water mixing together. 

- one time, he asked to go on a surfing trip with you. he made a comparison between the two of you and the clothes in the machine. 

- you pointed out that the clothes are, quite literally, drowning in water. 

- he immediately counters you - by saying that he meant the bubbles looked fun - and continues to try and convince you, saying that he’ll teach you how to surf

- .. that conversation ended with you saying maybe. 

- he cheers, and you were only able to sigh (fondly).

- he talks a lot, and you try to incorporate enough words in between your listening. 

- you talk about all sorts of things. how your day was, how you missed the sun (this topic was brought up by you), the amazement you held for the crew for working here for so long.

- daisuke also talks about the little things as well. how he learnt how to fix the pipes today, how he saved the last time you gave him sunshine - the candy - and ate two today, and how he managed to draw swansea properly today.

- the last one was a slip up, and you can watch his expression grow hesitant when you asked if he draws

- although shy, he shows you his notes- and by extension- his doodles.

- one time you saw him drawing the entire crew, live, whilst you were doing laundry. and somehow, he managed to get the courage to ask you to model for him. (mainly just staying still as you look down at your hands, to replicate the look you had when you were doing your journal)

- you roll your eyes at his request -not to belittle it, but to laugh at the cheesiness of it all - and whilst doing so, a small smile was painted on your lips.

you could feel your lips quirking up at the shy tone of his voice, your eyes looking at him with a fond crease subconciously.

"you could draw me, sure."

"wait, do that again."

daisuke watches you eagerly, a certain shine of disbelief in his eyes as you tilt your head at him, face now back to your usual expression.

"do what?"

he stares at you for a beat. then by the next, his face has already turned away from you, his eyes tightly shut and his hands clenched in front of him in faux defeat.

"noooo.. i can't believe i didn't get a picture of that- man!"

his mumble doesn't get unheard.

"get a picture of what?"

and as soon as you asked that question, his head is facing back in your direction, smiling and giving you a thumbs up.

"nothing!"

you hum in amusement.

"alright."

another smile slips by your lips. and this time, he exclaims, slamming his clipboard (for his drawings) down.

"you just smiled again!"

"i did?"

he continues to pester you to smile once more, and you kept on insisting that you had no idea what he was talking about.

- you had fun playing dumb in front of him, and him getting all frustrated. he looks like an angry puppy, which turned into .. a begging puppy?

- you watch as he pulls his puppy eyes on you, to no avail.

- but you somehow still remember the look on his face. the way his lips were downturned into a small pout and his eyes were wide open, peering at you. it's.. cute. to a certain extent.

- you eventually went back to drawing, and he offered you a little sticky note with a small doodle of him encouraging you on it.

- you still keep the note to this day. he's incredibly endearing sometimes.

- on a few occasion he doesn’t talk at all, but that’s pretty rare.

- the last time he remained silent for the entire session was when you brought your journal along for the wait.

- you had already recorded the past month’s results, and the day you set for data analysis lined up with laundry day. 

- so you brought the book with you, and you kept your eyes on the book the entire time. 

- you did the laundry with one hand, essentially. you only looked up from your book to respond to daisuke, or to check on his laundry. 

- the silence only comes to your attention at the end of your laundry session. 

- the machine often plays a tune once it’s done with it’s job - when it doesn’t, you’d slap the lid, and then it plays the song.

- and usually, it’s accompanied by daisuke’s own hum of the tune.

- at first, you didn’t even realise that he didn’t follow along with the melody. but after a moment, you felt something was off.

- your eyes flicker towards his direction, and you see him napping. 

- he’s snoozing away, hugging his own laundry basket. 

- and he looks.. peaceful.

- this wouldn’t be the first time you saw him asleep. the first time was when you brought him to his room after game night. the second time was when you spotted him on the sofa, napping the evening away on the same day swansea was sick - and this.. would be the third.

- your fingers subconsciously reach out to brush his hair back. you stopped once you realised what you were going to do - your hand inches away from his face.

- dropping your hand back onto your lap, you sigh again. it’s an action you find yourself doing more often.

- you try to focus on your research again, flicking to the next page - your eyes following the lines you’ve written before.

- so you both sit there, his soft breaths filling in the air every now and then, and the flicks of pages accompanying them right after.

- he wakes up sooner than you expected, and you briefly suffer the wrath of the sleepy daisuke.

- half-asleep gibberish about you not waiting for him, and leaving him in the laundry room alone. (while you were right there)

- it takes a few minutes before he falls back asleep, this time, on your shoulder.

- you really hoped he really would’ve truly woken up, even if it did mean sitting through more of his sleep induced rants. 

- .. now you’ll have to stay in this room, in the same position - your shoulders possibly freezing up at this rate - and .. perhaps also face swansea’s wrath later for keeping his intern for too long.

- oh well. 

- you’ll face it later. 

- for now, you’ll just continue reviewing your data… with a snoozing mechanic intern on your shoulder.

- the other day, curly went by your office. 

- it’s odd enough for him to approach you first before you call him for evaluation.

- but it wasn’t psych eval day; and you watch as he enters the medical bay warily, avoiding your gaze after a brief moment of your eyes meeting.

- you could already feel like it would be a long session. or at least, a heavy one. 

- so you place down your clipboard, and instead focus entirely on him.

- he struggles to get a word out other than “hi, sorry for bothering you, do you mind if i.. talk to you as a patient?”

- so you wait. your eyes remain glued at him, and he takes a few breaths in; then out. and it repeats, over and over again.

- the machine buzzes beneath your feet. it’s louder in the silence.

- so are your breaths. and so is his.

- and finally, the silent tempo is broken by a sigh.

“the crew is getting laid off,”

the words are spoken in a low mumble, so soft that you wouldn’t hear them if you weren’t paying attention. but you did hear anyway.

he looks visible distressed; hands messing his own hair up, his fingers fidget more, and eyebags looking heavier than usual. he refuses to look you in the eyes. 

this would be the first time you’ve seen him like this. it’s been sixteen minutes since he came in, and this was the first words that he said, aside from the greeting he gave you.

he's waiting for something. your breath faltering, or perhaps your expression dropping. you can tell by the way he looks at you. 

he seems guilty. 

“.. i just talked with jimmy. before the news, about how i felt stuck in this job.”

he takes a heavy drag of air into his lungs.

“i didn’t mean to.. i didn’t know that this would happen. he’s going to think that i had involvement in this.”

“but you know you don’t.”

your eyes continue to pick up on the little quirks on his body. his faster way of speaking - the way he tumbles over his sentences. and it also explains why he wasn’t seen at the lounge for the past couple of days.

these are behaviours that distressed individuals display. you remember this clearly in a textbook you had reviewed previously.

for the first time, in the past nineteen minutes, he looks up at you. 

“will you let his beliefs prevail over your own?”

you continue to stare at him, he stares back.

after a brief moment of strength, he seems to give up. his body falls back into himself - his body fully leaned back onto the chair.

“.. i don’t know.”

he takes another deep breath in, and you can feel your eyebrows temporarily furrow.

“his views matter to me. so does everyone else’s views. i can’t discount their thoughts about this.”

“but you can discount your own?”

your question rings in the room. this time, he doesn’t dare to hold your gaze anymore.

“you’re not at fault here. you want everyone to win in this situation, and that’s impossible.”

you tap your finger on the table, producing a stable rhythm on the table.

“there is nothing you can do to change this outcome anymore.”

you close your eyes, and your finger comes to a stop.

“...the best you could do now is to not let others write your narrative for you. help others write their own narrative as well.”

you watch as he sinks deeper into his seat.

“...you’re right.”

and this is as far as you can go. 

you can’t help with anything more as a faux therapist.

you’re not qualified for it either. the best you could do is to make him understand that it isn’t his fault, and no, he should not be carrying this burden, nor allowing people to blame him either.

you know he knows this. but does he understand it?

so all you can do is wait; wait until he does.

the blonde man lifts himself up from the seat in front of you, taking a deep breath as he walks around the medical bay.

his eyes are closed, before he attempts to harden himself again. 

he sends a smile at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“..sorry for coming out of the blue. i’m not sure what made me do that.“

he even tries to throw in a chuckle, but it just sounds dry. you send him a sour expression.

another exhale sounds in the room; and this time, the sigh didn’t come from him. 

“.. you can do this, curly. don’t doubt yourself either.”

you meet his eyes for the final time. 

this time; he’s completely defeated. no longer is he standing before you as captain, but as a man, grieving for his friends’ futures. for the stable future that they might’ve once believed in. that man sends a weak nod in your direction.

“.. i’ll try.”

the male leaves with a small thank you, and silence follows after.

your eyes are trained at the false sky as the door shuts in on itself. your calm demeanour slowly unfolds on the wooden desk, your head now buried in your arms. 

.. now that his burdens are shared with you, what should you do?

- everyone knows by now that your work with anya in the medical bay are split into two.

- anya with physical injuries, and you.. working on psych tests. 

- you don’t want to say that you work with mental injuries just yet. that’s a horrifying thought. you’re seriously not qualified yet.

- hell, you probably didn’t give proper treatment towards curly that other time.. you don't think you're quite ready to become a therapist yet. that's one thing you've learnt in this internship.

- but point is, you’ve barely dealt with physical injuries prior to this.

- why are you bringing this up? well..

- anya got sick.

- it’s a fever and flu of some sort. you say it’s the airconditioning in her room, and she denies it - saying that it was fine last night. 

- then you suggest that it might be her habit of waking up way too early, and this time, she agrees that it could’ve been what played part in making her sick.

- she laughs when you sigh; mostly due to the fact that she knew you were joking.

- you’ve been helping her do mundane stuff. examples were.. bringing a basin of water of warm water and a small towel for baths, medicine and food prepared for her, and making sure she gets enough entertainment whilst also making sure she slept enough.

- you would really prefer if you could’ve just cared for her in her room…

- but she refused - and instead, remains at the medical bay. she wants to be prepared if anyone’s injured, she says, while she looks like she's dying. (you’re exaggerating)

- but since that’s the only way she would allow you to help her, you comply.

- she often sleeps hunched over the desk. that’s why you brought one of the pillows from the lounge to her. 

- she seemed concerned once she saw the pillow, and you get why - safety reasons, germs, etc. - but you promised that you would wash the entire pillow after it gets in and out of the medical bay.

- it was her time to sigh at your expense. you let out a huff of defeat.

- having a sibling-like relationship with anya meant that she kept you close enough to watch over you, but not close enough to know her.

- only throughout the course of nursing her back to health, do you get to hear more about her life.

- she wanted to pursue nursing due to her mother’s poor health throughout her entire life. 

- her father was the only source of income, and almost saw his wife as a burden.

- living with her older and younger sisters, she had tried to make sure that the two were alright as well, whilst taking care of her mother. this managed to affect her grades.

- miraculously, her mother’s condition got better after some time, and the burden on her older sister’s duties got better.

- but this meant arguments got worse. so she left, leaving her younger sister in her older sister’s care. 

- she promised to take care of her mother when she got older. but after a year she left home, her mother tragically died due to a heart attack.

- that’s how she told you that she never had anyone to care for her like this, ever since she moved and got a job in the city.

- before you knew it, you had something in your eye.

“..are you crying?”

you sniffle, looking away from her - a poor attempt of hiding away your .. emotional state.

“.. no.”

your voice gives it away. damnit.

- she only laughs at your attempts, before convincing you that it was alright now. she’s still alive. and you can only cry more.

- you compose yourself, before handing her another cup of water, and a replacement towel for her forehead. 

- she thanks you quite a lot during the entirety of it. you try to assure that she was welcome to ask for your help.

- but when swansea comes in with a particularly nasty cut - daisuke trailing behind the old man, panicking - you nearly panic as well.

- you try your best to stay calm, following what you’ve learnt from your mentor.

- disinfectant. don’t touch the wound with alcohol. clean the surroundings, and then secure the wrap with bandages. make sure that you handle it properly. 

- before you knew it, you were done.

- it’s not as good as anya’s, but you think you did well with the bandages. 

- swansea thanks you, and daisuke gives you two thumbs ups. it’s hard to not reciprocate his energy, so you give him one as well.

- anya, on the other hand, stares at you wide-eyed. 

you tilt your head at her expression.

“.. did i do something wrong?”

her expression doesn’t look like a dangerous expression - just more towards shock, and perhaps, something else.

“i didn’t know you improved so much..”

ah. she still remembers, it seems..

at the first day, she asked how much knowledge you had about first aid. and you responded by showing her what you’d do when you had a cut. it’s safe to say that you made.. leaps of improvement. 

“yeah. i’ve been paying close attention to you.”

you watch as she realises what she did.

“i.. taught you that..”

you nod in response.

“yeah. you did.”

she smiles at you, and now, it was her who had tears in her eyes.

- you tried your best to comfort her after that. 

- you used your newfound knowledge - that she likes tea - and brought her a cup.

- perhaps, due to the exhaustion, she immediately went to sleep an hour after she downed the tea.

- you made sure she was alright, before continuing your writing on the journal.

- you were informed of a communal birthday party (how cheap is the pony express?), and this time, you were celebrating curly's birthday. 

- everyone's wearing party hats - striped yellow and red, the same colours of your uniform.

- you’re seriously getting sick of seeing it.

- not sure why no one bothered observing and memorising the codes. but you did. and so, you baked the cake beforehand.

- daisuke practically wails at you, asking why you never told him that you knew the pass to the sweetener all this time. basically, putting on a dramatic show.

- you stare back at him, deadpan. the both of you know why you didn’t reveal it to him.

- he only grins once he got caught. you sigh.

- so, that didn’t go well.

- you surprised curly, but it seems like today was the day he decided to break the news to the members about the disbandment. he was told to wait until you were closer to the destination of the delivery but..

- you suppose this would be the best outcome, if you only had curly’s emotional state in mind.

- swansea makes a bitter joke, anya looks increasingly worried, and daisuke’s silent, unable to say anything in this situation.

- and jimmy…

“..so i guess you got what you wanted.”

jimmy laughs bitterly, his hands on the table.

“without the guilt.”

you watch as curly attempts to explain himself.

“jim.. if i had known..”

a poor explanation it was. you could only watch as the brown-haired man grows more agitated.

“i can go back to my, how’d you put it? “struggle of a life?””

the room is slowly growing more heavy at his words. 

he’s clearly talking about a previous conversation with curly. but at the same time.. he’s wording it particularly. sure, you weren’t there when the conversation happened, but you think you get the gist of what jimmy’s trying to do at the moment - and it’s starting to affect others in the room as well.

“sounds like you’re blaming him for this, jimmy.”

so you try to diffuse whatever he’s planning.

his furrowed eyes snap at you, and he immediately explodes.

“what would you fucking know, huh?”

his hands slam at the table, shaking the cutlery on the surface, and it becomes evident that he doesn’t care about the things that could break at this very moment. he’s only interested in expressing his own anger.

so, you conclude that you were right. he’s releasing his anger by picking arguments, instead of thinking rationally, disregarding curly’s emotion, and how it might cause misunderstandings.

you should’ve expected this much from him.

you decide to retort, tone calm as you speak.

“i know that this should be blamed on management. not the man whose a small cog in the machine right now.”

he only looks angrier after being presented with sound logic.

“oh, please, cut your poetic crap. you come out of this unscathed. you don’t have any rights to talk.”

at this point, you’re just more tired than confused. 

“and you have the right to blame someone that isn’t at fault? who gave you the right to do that?”

you slowly unfold your arms, staring at him, before scanning at the others.

they all have different expressions, and you could feel how heavy the atmosphere is. to think that someone like him could cause this much trouble.. 

you look at the perpetrator one last time, as you add in a final comment.

“stop trying to twist reality to your own narrative.”

with that, you could see him seething in his seat. 

his eyes are sharp on you, and you’d continue this little staring competition if you were any less sane. so for now, you place your party hat down on the table, and remove yourself from the conversation.

“i think everyone needs time to process this. so i’ll leave first. goodnight.”

those were your final words, before you stood up from your chair, and left the table.

- after you left, daisuke followed after. then anya, and then swansea.

- everyone’s hat remains at the table, either upright or simply discarded on the wooden surface.

- safe to say, you all agreed that time was the solution for the short while, and you can’t be more proud of them for having some sort of sanity - unlike a certain brunette. 

- but you could only watch as the door closes on you, with curly and jimmy sitting alone on the table.

- you just hope he doesn’t dig a deeper hole for himself. it would make your efforts of redirecting his anger towards you pointless.

- alas, you don’t have power over him.

- you can lead someone to water, but you can’t make them drink, after all.

i did NOT proofread this. oh man. ill edit it later on.. perhaps...maybe.

i also did not know what possessed me when i was writing this. jimmy feels really ooc but maybe it's because no one has tried to put that man in his place LOL.. only swansea did at the end (by attempting to kill him. valid btw)

hopefully i managed to flesh out each character's relationship with reader enough in this chapter .. i didn't get to write swansea in but tried my best to slip him in the details.. will focus on it next chap!

thank you so much for the support for this as well! i appreciate it tons!

extra notes: i'd like to think that the cake was stored in the fridge.. and eaten the next morning (although with a somber mood)

sun & moon dividers by : @/saradika nighttime screen & the lounge visuals from mouthwashing

[planetpedri]

Hi!! Can i request for a pedri fic. About a fluffy argument. The reader is a skincare enthusiast and is very serious about sunscreen and often told Pedri to put it on. But Pedri keep on forgetting and care less about it and got a bit of sunburn and reader is angry at him and ignoring him.

Tuesday waltz — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend never seems to listen to you, but it was time he finally paid the price.

Word count: 355+

Disclaimer/s: banter , fluff

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML PEDRO GONZÁLEZ LÓPEZ🫦💕 this was lowk so half assed sorry

The heat of the sun beat down on your shoulders, which you’d just freshly lathered sunscreen onto. Spending a weekend in Tenerife with Pedri’s family was always fun, except for when your boyfriend didn’t listen to your advice.

“Ouch! Don’t—Fernando!” Pedri snapped, swatting his brother’s hand off his shoulder. “That hurt!”

Rolling your eyes, you snap the top of your sunscreen bottle closed. “Well, if you would’ve just listened to me..”

Pedri scowls in your direction, “I forgot!”

“You mean to tell me, you don’t listen to your girlfriend?” Fernando quirks an eyebrow, adding fuel to the fire. “A shame, truly. I’m so sorry.” He nods his head in your direction.

Your lip curls, “thank you!”

Pedri gawks at the interaction. “What the hell is going on? I forget once!”

“You forget all the time.” You huff, reaching for your book and Airpods. Pedri’s complaint’s and pleads drown out with the music that blasts into your ears.

Sighing contently, you ignore the man and open your book. Peace and quiet only lasts a few moments before Pedri is shaking your arm, whining for you to look at him.

With an annoyed look, you take out one Airpod. “What!?”

“Sunscreen? Please..?” He gives you a shameful smile, which you roll your eyes at.

“It’s not going to do much now. Go inside and ask your mom for some Aloe Vera. It’ll soothe the ache and cool your skin. Don’t go in the sun till it’s dry—“

“Okay! Okay!” Pedri interjects, hopping off his lounge chair, bending down to place a kiss on the top of your head. “Sorry.” He murmurs, dragging out the ‘Y’.

Waving him away, you mumble a, “yeah, yeah.” Before opening your book again. “Next time listen to your girlfriend, then you wouldn’t have these problems.”

Pedri’s tongue pokes his cheek, but he lets out an amused laugh. “I know! You’re always right and I am always wrong. Thank you for your expert advice.”

“Go inside, loser.” You grin up at him, pointing with your thumb to the house.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future Pedri posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @sakashq @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @st4rgirl-ellie @joaoflms @hrts4havertz

[laviefantasie]

Video 5

| series masterlist |

You’ve never been good at lying. Or, more specifically, you’ve never been good at lying to him. Satoru Gojo is practically a human lie detector, and unfortunately for you, that makes planning his surprise birthday party a Herculean task.

“This is ridiculous” you mutter into your camera, recording yourself while crouched behind a stack of file cabinets in the staff lounge, “It’s like he has a sixth sense for people talking about him. We’ve barely started, and he’s already suspicious!”

Shoko’s voice crackles, her tone flat as always, “That’s because you’re terrible at keeping secrets. Honestly, I don’t know why we’re even trying”

“Because it’s for Gojo!” you hiss, “He’d never expect it, and—”

You hear footsteps. Light, purposeful. Immediately, you slap your videocamera against your chest to muffle the recording and freeze.

“Are you talking about me again?” Satoru’s unmistakable voice rings out, smug and teasing.

“No” you reply too quickly, shoving your camera behind your back, “What are you doing here?”

Satoru leans against the doorway, his sunglasses glinting under the fluorescent lights. His smirk is as insufferable as ever.

“I could ask you the same thing. I thought I heard someone whispering my name”

You make a show of looking at your sides in confusion and standing up.

“I don’t think so. We were just discussing next week’s missions. Very boring stuff. You’d hate it”

His grin widens, and you know he doesn’t believe you, “Really? Because you’re looking awfully guilty”

Before you can defend yourself, Geto walks in, holding two coffees and looking entirely unbothered by the tension in the room.

“Satoru, do you ever think about leaving people alone?”

“Never”

He hands you one of the coffees and shrugs, “See? He’s incapable of basic decency. Good luck”

And just like that, he’s gone, taking Shoko with you, leaving you alone with a now curious Gojo.

“You’re up to something” he says, folding his arms.

“Nope. Not at all”

But you know this isn’t over. Satoru Gojo doesn’t let things go easily.

Hours later, you reconvene with Shoko and Geto in a secluded corner of the courtyard. You’ve somehow convinced them to help you with your grand plan: throwing the most chaotic yet heartfelt birthday party Satoru Gojo has ever seen.

“This is a terrible idea” Shoko says bluntly, sipping on a cigarette instead of her coffee now as you fix the camera’s position, “He’s going to figure it out”

“Not if we’re careful” you insist, flipping through your notes, “Okay, here’s what we’ve got so far: decorations, cake, gifts, and a playlist. Shoko, you’re on distraction duty”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one he won’t suspect of being sentimental” Geto answers, lounging lazily on the grass.

You point to him next, “Geto, you’re handling decorations”

“Can’t wait to see what kind of sparkly nonsense he likes” Geto deadpans.

“And I’ll take care of the cake and gifts” you finish, “We’ll record everything so we can show him later how much effort went into this”

Shoko raises an eyebrow, “You really think he’s going to care about that?”

You hesitate, then grin, “No, but it’ll annoy him to know he didn’t catch us in the act”

The next few days are a whirlwind of poorly concealed planning and increasingly desperate attempts to throw Gojo off your trail.

You and Shoko are browsing through decorations online during lunch when Gojo suddenly appears behind you like a specter. The videocamera right by your side recording the process.

“What are you guys looking at?”

You slam your laptop shut so fast that Shoko flinches, “Nothing! Just… work stuff”

“Work stuff?” he echoes, leaning in uncomfortably close, “Lemme see”

“Absolutely not”

Shoko sighs dramatically and hands him her phone, “Here. Have this. Go bother someone else”

He snatches it, pouting, “This better not be another video of a cat falling off a table—oh, it is. Nice”

As soon as he’s distracted, you and Shoko bolt.

Geto is tasked with picking up decorations. He returns to the school with a bag of multicolored streamers, balloons, and—somehow—a life-sized cutout of Gojo himself.

“Where did you even find this?” you ask, incredulous, putting the camera down.

“Doesn’t matter” he replies, smirking, “It’s perfect”

“Perfect for what?��

You nearly drop the cutout as Gojo materializes out of thin air.

“For… uh…” You flail, searching for an excuse.

“A training exercise” Geto supplies smoothly.

Gojo eyes the cutout skeptically, “A training exercise with a cardboard version of me?”

“Yes” you say, clapping Geto on the shoulder, “We’re trying to improve our reaction times. Totally normal. Bye!”

You shove the cutout behind your back, grab your camera, and drag Geto away before Gojo can ask more questions.

The cake is a disaster.

“This is fine” you say, staring at the lopsided monstrosity you’ve just pulled out of the oven.

“It’s not fine” Shoko says, filming the whole thing, “This is a crime against baking”

“We’ll fix it!”

Shoko zooms in on the uneven frosting job as you frantically try to salvage the cake. “You’re lucky Satoru has no taste”

“Shut up and pass me the sprinkles”

By some miracle, everything comes together on the day of the party. The courtyard is decorated with streamers and balloons (and the Gojo cutout, which now has a party hat), the cake is… presentable, and a playlist of Gojo’s favorite obnoxious pop songs is ready to go.

The only problem is keeping him out of the area long enough to set everything up.

“That’s your job” you tell Shoko as you finish arranging the table, making sure the camera is set at the perfect angle, “Just stall him for an hour”

She rolls her eyes, “Sure. I’ll just tell him we’re doing a surprise intervention for his ego”

“That might actually work” Geto muses.

You shoo them both away and look towards the camera, “Okay, it’s almost time. If we can just keep him distracted a little longer, this might actually work—”

“Keep who distracted?”

You whip around to see Satoru standing behind you, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head and a suspicious look on his face.

“Uh—no one!” you say, trying to block his view of the decorations.

He steps closer, peering over your shoulder, “Is that… a cardboard version of me wearing a party hat?”

Panic sets in, “No! It’s for… science!”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, “Science?”

“Yes!” You grab his arm and start steering him away, “And you can’t be here because it’s classified science”

Why couldn’t you be better at lying?

He plants his feet, refusing to budge, “Classified, huh? Sounds fake”

“It’s not!”

But it’s too late. He’s already spotted the cake on the table, and the realization dawns on his face. A soft look, almost unnoticeable, appears on his face.

“You’re throwing me a party?”

You groan, dropping your hands, “We were trying to surprise you”

Satoru grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself, “Aww, you guys shouldn’t have”

“We really shouldn’t have” Shoko says, appearing with Geto behind him.

“Well, since you ruined the surprise” Geto adds, smirking, “you might as well enjoy it”

Despite the rocky execution, the party is a success. Satoru spends the evening teasing you all mercilessly while eating an alarming amount of cake and insisting on taking selfies with the cardboard cutout.

Later, as you’re cleaning up, he sidles up to you with a rare, genuine smile.

“Thanks for this. It was… nice”

You roll your eyes, “You’re welcome. But next year, you’re not getting anything”

“We’ll see about that” he says, ruffling your hair before wandering off to bother Shoko.

And even though it was chaotic, exhausting, and mildly traumatic, you can’t help but feel a little proud. Because for once, you managed to surprise the unbeatable Satoru Gojo—even if only for a moment.

The camera records the light blush that forms on your face as you smile at him without his notice.

taglist: @gumiiiiezzzz @reagan707

TUMBLR HAS ME FUMING WITH THAT BS ABOUT NOT LETTING ME ADD LINKS. HERE IS THE MASTERLIST LINK https://www.tumblr.com/laviefantasie/751113004215648256/the-gojos-video-diaries

[tinybeetiny]

Night Drives: J.W

SMUT | 18+ | MDNI

Im on such a Wooyoung kick… maybe because of his birthday but ffuickckkckc I need him bad fr

->Starring: Wooyoung, Afab!reader ->Genre: SMUT SMUTTY SMUT ->Taglist: @e3ellie @yoonshiiu @yunlazia @jonghoslilstar @sugakooie @atztrsr @honsans-atiny-24 If you don’t see your blog tagged I could not find it so I am so sorry 🥲 also just know I smile and kick my feet reading the responses… I love all of you 🥹 If you would like to be a part of the taglist please fill out this form ->Cw: Fingering, blowjob, road head, please be safe on the roads, two hands on the wheel and both eyes on the road please

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

Ever since Wooyoung got his license he's been wanting to drive everywhere and anywhere. The grocery store that's just a 10-minute walk? Yup he's going to drive that 3 minutes instead.

The current time is 2:30am and you are driving aimlessly around with your antsy boyfriend. You're pretty sure you're about an hour away from the apartment but neither of you seems to care not when the roads are bare and the music is calming. His hand rests comfortably on your bare thigh, his thumb rubbing circles on your soft skin. You stare out of the window distracted by the passing lights, too distracted to notice his hand sliding further up your thigh. You didn't realize until he was pulling on the hem of your shorts. You look over in his direction to see his calm demeanor as if his hand wasn't moving to brush over your clothed heat. "Woo?" you see him smirk ever so slightly "What?" his look of innocence is a huge contrast to what his fingers were doing. You have to admit the way he looks driving with one hand is definitely a turn-on. His grip on the wheel tightens when you grab his hand and grind against his fingers. You let a little sigh at the feeling but you wanted more "Do you want me to finger you or something?" You look at him with a glare "Do you have to ask that way?" You groan and he just shrugs in response "Yes I want you to finger me" You say before slipping your shorts and panties off.

The filthy sound of your wet pussy squelching fills the car but they're barely audible over your moans "You like that pretty girl? I can tell by how wet you are" You clench around his fingers at his teasing and the way he curls them has you arching off the seat "Oh fuck Woo you're gonna make cum" You breathe out as your head falls back onto the headrest "That's it baby cum all over my fingers" He says before pressing his thumb to your clit. You grip his wrist teetering on the edge of your release and with one last swipe of his thumb, you're tumbling over. The prettiest noises leave your lips as you see stars brighter than the ones in the night sky. Wooyoung's fingers continue to move in and out of you, working you through your orgasm. Your body jolts when his thumb continues to move against your clit. You whine and attempt to move his hand. "Did so good for me" He says as he slides his fingers out of you bringing them to his lips and sucking each digit clean.

You look over to see the tightness in his sweatpants and the need to have him in your mouth takes over. He looks at you with questioning eyes as you unbuckle your seatbelt (I swear if you ever do this i will throw you in timeout so fast that the image of the corner will be tattooed in your brain) and adjust yourself so that you're facing him “Do you want me to suck your dick?” You ask with the straightest face ever “HAH what?” “Do. You. Want. Me. To. Suck. You. Dick?” You emphasize each word and he nods aggressively. His head falls back when you bring hand to palm him through his sweatpants feeling how hard he is. You grab his waistband and pull them down enough for his beard thick cock to spring out, slapping his stomach. You grip the base of his cock, leaning over giving his pretty red tip a little kiss. You hear suck breath in when your finally wrap your lips around his tip.

The feeling of your plump lips moving up and down on his cock was causing him to lose focus. He makes a sudden turning causing you to fall forward a little, his tip invading your throat as you gag. “Oh fuck do that again” he moans grabbing the back of your head pushing you down on him again. He couldn’t help but buck his hips at the feeling of your throat contracting around his cock. The sound of your gaging and lewd slurping made his stomach clench as he inched his way to his release. He lets out deep groans as you bob your head faster loving the salty taste on your tongue “Fuck baby you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that” his grip on your hair tightens as he shoots ribbons of cum down your throat “fuck fuck fuck oh god. Your mouth feels amazing”

You didn’t realize you had arrived back home until Wooyoung turned the car off “Get upstairs. Wanna fuck you so bad” he mumbles swinging the door open but you grab his arm before he can move “what if… we fuck in the backseat?” Without a second thought, he’s climbing over the seats.

[shinne55]

**Silent Confession**

Victor Grantz x Reader

Summary: Victor receives an anonymous letter on Valentine's Day.

Words in a conversation come and go: lies that hurt and secrets between paragraphs. Speaking in person is too complex. That’s why Victor took this job—nothing can escape in a letter. There are no hidden meanings; everything can be said from the depth of the heart. So, as a postman, he has the faithful task of delivering each letter to its destination.

It’s an honest and satisfying job. Happy, sad, bitter, or innocent faces hide behind every writer and their recipient. For the young man who didn’t speak, a letter is the purest and most sincere thing, more than an entire face-to-face conversation.

During the holidays, when the letters fill the mailbox, the busier he gets and the less time he has. Christmas, New Year, and birthdays follow, but above all, Valentine’s Day. A complicated date for a small postman, but highly appreciated by those who wish to find love. Knowing that within each envelope there is a destiny in motion made his young heart flutter.

Even though Victor had worked in his community for several months, he didn’t know the people by their names but by their letters.

The mother who writes with beautiful handwriting, pressing the pencil firmly as she writes to her husband and children away from the city.

The little ones who presumably write to Santa with scribbles and drawings.

And the lovers with their colored papers and perfumes.

On Valentine’s Day, the latter group increases noticeably.

During one of those nights, when he arrived home with his companion, Wick, a small dog that follows him everywhere, changed out of his uniform, and got ready to sleep, right after hanging his jacket and emptying his bag, a letter fell to the floor. Immediately, his eyes widened, and he looked inside his bag. It was the only letter that had slipped in the entire day, stuck with a cheap seal on the wall. A small square letter in a vermilion envelope with no name or address.

His eyebrows furrowed, and, determined to violate the author’s privacy, he opened the letter.

**To the postman

Thank you for your hard work**

No sender, no signature. An anonymous letter.

Was that it? A letter for him?

A thank you that would seem crude and silly to anyone else, but to the young mailman, a true feeling of recognition struck his chest, and immediately his cheeks turned peachy with happiness.

That night, he lay on his bed, thinking about the author. Whether it was a joke or not, he didn’t care. It moved him enough to appreciate the message. He slept with the letter open on his nightstand, and in the following days, when he returned home tired from work, he would look at that letter on his desk, under the bedside light. And his chest swelled with confidence.

The next of many letters came two weeks later. Same paper, same handwriting, and no sender.

**Dear postman

I don’t know if my letter really reached you. But I truly hope it did. Thank you for your service, without you, the community would have no real connection.**

The boy could feel the interaction as a small comfort or recognition, making him feel that his effort and dedication didn’t go unnoticed. If only he had their name, he would write them a thank-you letter. Sadly, many of these letters were taken from the mailbox. And very few were delivered directly to him.

Victor is, among many of the postman in his town, just another worker, and he didn’t have much speaking ability. He relied on listening and reading lost letters and pleasant conversations. Even so, he didn’t go unnoticed by some. Over time, he earned the trust of the older writers and neighbors who had the habit of writing almost daily and waiting for his response. So, thanks to that first letter, perhaps, Victor gained more confidence.

A couple of months later, with a one-sided connection on his part, and after several failed attempts to identify the address of the sender, he gave up and settled on reading them when he left work. A routine of preparing a cold glass of milk on the small table next to his bed, taking a couple of sips while reading these letters, which over time became longer. With little everyday things like the weather, funny town events, and annual celebrations. Until, weeks before Christmas, the last letter arrived.

**To the Dear Postman Victor**

He smiled. After several months, they had finally used his name in the letter, and that one-sided connection became more intimate. Sometimes it started with, *"My favorite postman,"* or a formal, *"Dear Victor."* All very polite until the author began recounting their day-to-day life. He knew much more about her life than his own. Everything except her name.

Calmly, with his dog snoring at the foot of the bed, he continued reading:

**"I’m sorry for sending these strange letters for so long. The truth is, I just wanted someone to talk to."**

Victor stopped reading and straightened his back against the headboard of the bed:

**"My mother passed away months ago, and my father three years ago. I’ve felt so alone, but the idea that someone would read one of these letters, and that it would be you, brings me comfort. But it’s also likely that I scared you or someone else. I’m truly sorry. It won’t happen again."**

No more letters arrived.

Was something happening to her during these months when she didn’t write? Was she feeling lonely and planning to do something drastic?

For many days, he was afraid. He knew loneliness and what it did to people firsthand. But it felt far worse knowing he couldn’t do anything to help her change her mind.

He waited a day, then a week, but that vermilion-colored paper, with those homemade seals, didn’t appear in any mailbox in the city. Victor was the only one responsible for collecting letters in that area, so it didn’t make sense for them not to show up.

“Are you looking for someone who lost her mother this year?” an old woman from the bakery he regularly visited asked. “Hmm, there’s a girl, yes. She hasn’t been seen lately. She usually comes to shop during the week. On Tuesdays, I think.”

*During the week—that’s when my shift begins, and I pick up the letters,* Victor thought.

Despite being reserved, the concern on his face and his written manner prompted the woman to share more details.

**[Who is she?]**

It was good he had his notebook on hand to communicate. Even though his hand trembled, and his writing was messy, the woman understood what he wanted to ask.

**[YN]**

**[Where does she live?]** he wrote quickly. Wrapped in his winter uniform and a scarf, he hid his nervousness with the cold.

“On Central Avenue, four blocks down.”

He grabbed his pencil again and wrote:

**[Do you know if she has any relatives or friends in the city?]**

The question puzzled the woman, and she hesitated to answer.

“You look like a good boy. You remind me of my grandson. No, she lives alone as far as I know. You know, he wasn't a... very good man. The poor girl has been accompanying her mother in mourning ever since. ”

Victor was already running, fast, faster than when he tried to deliver late packages or when chasing Wick for stealing his parcels.

He abandoned his usual calm demeanor and ran toward the address the woman had mentioned, clinging to hope. And there it was—a small house with a well-kept garden separating Victor from her. It was winter now, and a layer of snow covered everything in pristine white—the streets, rivers, and even her garden.

*Should I do this?* He didn’t know her in person, but after ten months of letters, he felt like he had known her his whole life.

Even so, he knocked gently, not brave enough to ring the doorbell further ahead.

Although she might not feel the same. Although she might think she was bothering him, Victor waited for her letter every day. He wanted to know about her life, every little detail. He wanted to hear her laugh, cry, and see her in person.

And even if they had never met before—

“Hello?”

He wanted to be by her side.

What words could he offer? What could he say when he had never spoken to her before?

“Victor?”

As he stood there, sweating, lungs and brain on the verge of collapsing, he stopped and saw her—you—for the first time. Just as he had imagined and more. His words couldn’t describe the wave of emotions he felt seeing you there, safe.

You were surprised it was him. He didn’t know your name or your address. That’s why you never included it. You had overthought it, assuming it would be awkward—and it was.

When Victor extended his arms with several letters in hand and a determined expression, your face shifted to concern and embarrassment.

“So, you read them all. I’m sorry.”

Quickly, he held the letters tightly to his chest, and his expression seemed to tell you not to apologize. Victor leaned down, his gaze full of tenderness, more so than Wick’s by his side. Somehow, the way his eyes reminded you of summer leaves and his hair of sunlight made you feel undeserving of something so good.

“You don’t know anything about me, you only know me through those silly letters.”

He shook his head, his eyebrows raising in protest. *Silly? Not at all.* When you saw him take out his notebook and scribble something with a pencil, you were puzzled to read it.

**[I know the girl who loves iced coffee at night, who loves animals as much as I love Wick.]**

“Please, go. You’re not doing any good staying here.”

You were about to turn and shut the door when Wick bit at the fabric of your pants. You tried shaking him off, only for Victor to grab your wrist.

His mouth trembled, his lips pressing together before forming anything more than a murmur. It felt cruel to turn your back on someone who, despite his disability, was trying to help you.

“I… like you.”

No one had ever heard him speak. People assumed he couldn’t. He spoke clumsily when it came to you, but he spoke. His voice, breathless yet soft, like cream in coffee, melted your heart to hear it.

“No! It’s impossible. No one could love me. You’re lying.”

Why wouldn’t anyone love you? Who had made you believe that? If someone thought they could never be loved that way, Victor assumed it would have been him—not someone like you.

He searched his pockets, his gaze panicking until Wick barked and placed an envelope on the ground. Victor patted his head and handed it to you.

Vermilion—the color of your letters. However, this one had a sender.

**To YN, from Victor.**

**[You opened your heart to me, YN, in a way no one else ever has. And now, I have to give you mine.]**

“Victor…” You clutched the letter.

He gave you a broken smile, encouraging you to read it fully.

**[You will live a long life, YN, watching the sunset every evening. You won’t ever be alone again. I just need one thing.]**

The letter ended there.

“But what is it that you want?”

He pointed to himself. He placed his hands, loosely balled into fists, over his heart, as if hugging something precious. Then, he took your hands and intertwined them over your chest.

“I don’t understand… Why? Aren’t you tired of hearing from me and reading about me?”

He wrote something else in his notebook:

**[I could listen to you my entire life.]**

You didn’t fully understand, but with him, words weren’t necessary.

**[I’ve met many people in my life, but none like you. I found you, YN. I won’t let you go. I love you.]**

You felt foolish. Every emotion you’d suppressed spilled out like crystalline pearls. You couldn’t say anything, but you hugged him like you’d always been searching for him, while he had been waiting for you.

In that moment, Victor knew he had found love in your silence.

[crazylittlejester]

*slides bowl of oranges across table*

I am requesting one (1) blorbo rant, please. Any topic of your choosing

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE IM BEING ENABLED!!! thanks for the ask :3

I’m gonna yap about Time and Twilight’s relationship in my emotional support modern AU

So Time is his uncle, however Twilight’s mom (Time’s sister) died when he was one and his biological father wasn’t around as an option to care for him, so he ended up with Time and Malon, which ended up working out well cos they can’t have their own biological kids but they still got to be parents (which HAD been something they wanted, and they’d been discussing adopting a kid, they just hadn’t anticipated they’d have to adopt their nephew). They’re the only parents Twilight has ever known, and they have a very good relationship with him. They don’t keep secrets from him, he knows they’re not his biological parents, but that’s never really mattered to him because he’s never felt anything less than loved. Time answered any and all questions Twi had about his biological mom, and there are pictures of her around the house because Time misses her a lot and it was as nice for him to be able to talk about her with Twi as it was for Twi to learn about her through him

Time and Malon raised him to be kind and respectful and to think for himself, they taught him to logically think through why things might not be the best decision when he asked for something instead of just shutting him down and saying no. Which is part of why they’re so close, because Twi could always expect a reasonable explanation for something if there was something he didn’t understand and he needed to ask a clarifying question and he never had to fear getting yelled at for not understanding. They were really supportive of everything he wanted to, whether that be after school activities or him temporarily dying his hair for a week before deciding it wasn’t as cool as he thought it’d be. He wanted a piercing at 17? Time and Malon didn’t care, they just wanted him prove that was something that he actually wanted and not just an impulsive decision and that it’s something he’d take care of. Tattoo? Sure, he just had do the research and find an artist and save up the money so he had time to think about whether this is something he was serious about (and then Time paid for it anyway because it was Twi’s birthday and he had always intended to let Twi keep the money he saved for something else because it was never about who paid, it was about making sure Twi would be able to save for a big purchase while still being able to pay for snacks and gas because Time wanted to make sure he’d be responsible when he sent his kid off to college))

Twi is very very close to both of them and like all of his friends are so in awe of this because Wars (who has no father but more than enough mommy issues to make up for it) and Sky (who gets along well with the people who adopted him at 14 but has his own issues from his bio parents) simply cannot wrap their heads around the fact that Twilight’s parents are his best friends. Like Time will text Twi to let him know he’s in the city the college is in and Twi will drop everything he’s doing to go grab lunch with him, Twi will literally call Malon and ask if she wants to see a movie with him because all his friends are busy and he wants to see something. Twi never feared them growing up, they never raised their voices at him, they may have had arguments because Twi was 13 once but Time and Malon stayed very calm and just sent Twi out to go chop some firewood until he calmed down enough to have a conversation because they wanted to give him an outlet for his frustration. They raised a very well rounded, emotionally mature young man and they’re very very proud of him and they miss him because he’s been off at school :( (he sees them in person once a week and calls them every night because he is a sad wet mess and he misses them too)

(also just as a funny little side note, it is a running gag in this au that Twi was TERRIFIED of the muppets as a kid, which is 100% Time’s fault, not that Twi blames him for it but it IS his fault alskdkkd)

[turkeyinnovember]

thinking abt how he spent his birthday in the inbetween

[adhd-languages]

I really wonder if I sound hyper feminine when I’m speaking japanese.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[starlooove]

Sorry I loooove the idea of characters being bad parents in the future idkkkk

[unown]

you should be allowed to feel how you want on your birthday but my brother really pushes it every year rejecting everyone’s gifts, love and thoughts like cynical on your birthday wow I’m totally not bored of that after all these years grow up

[floral-hex]

Just canceled all of my future therapy appointments. Big fudgin’ bummer. Did I mention I lost my insurance? Didn’t even find out about that until the day it lapsed. Trying to find a way to fix it now, reapplying and whatnot, but ya know, it’s bureaucracy so who knows how long it’ll take. Just fingers crossed I don’t run out of meds first.

lol it’s underwater 🐠

[no1ryomafan]

The urge to not be the most annoying person ever when Gurren Lagann is mentioned by anyone randomly and I get the urge to scream “DID YOU KNOW GETTER ROBO IS A INFLUENCE ON IT” because every instance it’s always unprompted, probably not getting the person interested and it’s not like I even watched Gurren to make justifiable comparisons nor do I know when the fuck I will.

[milo-is-rambling]

I forget how much I hate the taste of vodka but the whipped cream vodka is so much better my god

[willowfey]

ignore this i just wanna ramble in the tags for a sec i’ll probably delete it in a bit 🤪