#and don’t use three of them as much as they should

[gay-vampire-with-a-violin]

during my freshman year of high school, there was a day that i just couldn’t get out of bed. i had an assignment due that i was panicking about not having done. i was terrified. to me, it was better to miss the day than to face the teacher. that day turned into a week, which turned into a month, which turned into half a dozen changes to my psych meds that honestly didn’t do anything. (actually, one of them made me much worse but no one figured that out for months.)

some of my teachers were gracious enough to excuse me from the work i missed, but the weight still felt like it would crush me. i failed my AP US History exam in 9th grade, and dropped out of AP World History in 10th grade, along with half my other classes. i probably missed about a third of 9th and 10th grade. it’s a miracle i passed.

fast forward to my senior year: i have an internship and a full day’s worth of classes scheduled. (half of them were electives but i think i would’ve truly gone insane without them.) i spent the last three and a half years trying to teach myself that it’s okay to not be perfect, that it’s okay to turn stuff in late or incomplete. i have a whole host of accommodations that don’t actually help me, because they based it on a diagnosis of depression and hardly consulted me on it. (i probably have ADHD and maybe autism but it’s been a nightmare trying to get diagnosed.) any suggestion i made for stuff that would actually help was shot down because i have to “get ready for the real world.”

my psychology teacher, of all people, tried to tell me that i should have told her about the one accommodation i actually use before trying to use it (teachers are supposed to read the paperwork), and that “15 minutes of working at home” would have been enough to finish a project that actually took me 2 hours to do halfway. she talked about people with mental conditions as if we’re some mythical being that couldn’t possibly exist right there in the classroom. that one class period had the power to negate what would have been an otherwise great day.

TLDR: i’m begging people to use their fucking brains and consider that not everyone can function at 100% all the time. it is not a moral failing to be disabled, it is not lazy to know your limits, and the vast majority of us aren’t just lying for “special treatment.” i just want to live a life that’s some amount of normal, even if i’m not.

When I say “school should be disability accessible”, I don’t just mean we need handicap rails and EAs. Kids should be able to miss a day without failing out of school. You shouldn’t be dismissed from clubs because your attendance record is “spotty” (true story). I once missed an entire week of school because of a terrible, unending migraine. I was expected to keep up with my studies despite the blinding pain that came with working on my computer. When I heard my teachers say that you couldn’t miss exams, I asked what I would have to do to be excused from them. Their response? “Either get a doctor’s note an hour before the exam or death of an immediate family member.”

I cannot express how rigid this expectation was. First of all, with my condition, I wouldn’t have enough warning about my sickness to go to the doctor and request a note. For many people, this is exceptionally difficult, especially with the current shortage of medical professionals. Next, it ignores the fact that my schedule may not line with theirs because of my medical needs. Once, I had to visit a hospital a province away (which I was on the waiting list of for over a year) on the same day as an exam. I begged my mother not to take me because I was so nervous that I would be marked as an automatic fail. I was lucky enough to make it work, but that’s only because of my spectacular support system consisting of family members and wonderful doctors.

Disabilities aren’t always about needing a bus that can accommodate wheelchairs. It’s already difficult enough for many of us to maintain school attendance without the harsh punishments involved for skipping a day. We need to be able to miss school without being punished. Only than can you claim that the school is “accessible”

[limethefirst]

Hello! I've read you're shadow fanfiction and it's just absolutely amazing!! Can I request a shadow x teen reader(platonic) where the reader stays with robotnik and stone but isn't related like they just decided to keep them because they were useful and when shadow comes around he grows an attachment to them and constantly wants to protect them

Please and thank you!!!!

Guardian Hedgehog

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x teen!reader (platonic)

warnings: slight sonic 3 spoilers

summary: Shadow finds himself getting attached again, but maybe this outcome will be different from the rest

a/n: thank you so much for being patient and enjoying my other stories! Here’s your request, I hope you enjoy it as much as the others!

When you first met Shadow, he quite literally jump scared you. You were walking down the dark corridor with Knuckles the Echidna, he was letting out a nervous mumble about supposedly not being scared but you could tell he was from his shaking. You didn’t blame him though, this place was creepy that’s for sure, you wanted to go with Robotnik or Stone but Sonic had very little faith in you three so instead you had to pair up with Knuckles.

As you walked with him, your arms crossed you let out an annoyed groan, sure this place was creepy and weird and actually somewhat scary…but nothing would get you, so why make a big fuss anyway.

“Boo”

And that is how you met Shadow. By getting unintentionally scared and jumping behind the smaller echidna.

From that point forward it seemed as if he wanted to just stick by your side, which you didn’t really mind. It was actually quite funny; when Robotnik would reprimanded you for messing up a task, Shadow would give him a mean glare, which happened a lot in the short amount of time he was with you.

Even Gerald noticed it, although he didn’t say anything about it. It was you and Shadow’s little thing, like he was your little guardian.

Currently you were in London, inside The Crab, watching the novela on the T.V.

“Gabriela should kill them both, she’s not a prize to be won,” Shadow grumbled, his focus on the show in front of him. You let out a small nod, not turning back to look at him, disgustingly engrossed in the show.

Stone only let out a chuckle, telling Shadow not to be so negative before he called out to you, “Hey, could you slice up these avocados for me while I use the mortar to grind them?”

You gave a quick glance back before standing, eyes lingering back to the show every once and while. Shadow watched the interaction subconsciously moving a bit closer to where you were.

As you stood next to Stone on the counter you weren’t paying as much attention to the knife in your hand as you should’ve as you suddenly cut the tip of your index finger.

“Ah shoot,” you hissed out, dropping both the knife and the avocado in your hand onto the counter. Within a second Shadow had immediately teleported to your side, his head raised to get a look at what happened to you.

Stone also turned, putting down his bowl and taking a look, “Just a small cut don’t be so over dramatic,” he sarcastically said.

“If it were the Dr you’d probably already call an ambulance…” you replied with a snarky tone, teasing him a bit. He gave you a short glance before grabbing a first aid kit and handing it to you.

Shadow watched you the entire time, his face as stoic as ever, but his moves precise. He would check the cut then your body language seeing if you were in anytime of pain. Honestly it was a bit of an over exaggeration on his part but he felt the need to protect you and in that moment he sensed it was like he failed you.

As you took the first aid kit you turned over to Shadow, before you even got the chance to open it he’d already taken it from you, “What are you doing?” You questioned him.

“Fixing your cut,” he plainly replied.

“Awe you’re like an angel sent from above!”

“Don’t call me that.”

You chuckled before sitting down on the ground so Shadow had an easier time helping you. Shadow didn’t want to admit it but he found your banter with him endearing and tolerable compared with most others.

As you sat there, you watched Shadow disinfect the cut, drying it once he was done.

“You’re good at that, have you done this before?” You asked him, watching as he grabbed one of the kiddy bandaids in the kit.

“I have experience,” was all he said, not feeling the need to go into detail, most of his focus currently on making sure your cut was secure.

Slowly he unwrapped your bandaid, Patrick the Starfish was the one you got, they were all little kid bandaids since you were in charge of making sure all the first aid kits were packed.

You watched as he put it around your finger, his eyes very focused on the task at hand. Quietly he gave a curt nod once he was done, signaling that you could get up now.

As you stood up you took a look at your bandaid, you gave a small smile, “Thanks Shadow,” you quietly said, patting the hedgehog on the head.

He didn’t tell you anything, his job was done, you were okay now and he could relax.

Shadow wouldn’t do what he had just done for you for most people, but even he knew it was a little different when it came to you. The longer he’d been around you, the harder it was to detach himself, in fact, he’d found himself growing more attached.

Maybe it was okay for him to finally get attached again, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad this time. Everything would be alright.

[hueseok]

it was always you (from the vault)

originally titled: take my breath away.

a.k.a. the original draft for my “it was always you” fic wherein naval aviator!jungkook is your cocky soon-to-be-ex-husband who won’t sign your divorce papers because he’s still in love with you lol.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 4.5k

content: fluff, semi-angst, exes to ??? | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + husband!jungkook

warning: what you’re about to read (if you do choose to read this) is an unfinished work which perhaps will forever be unfinished.

the only reason i’m posting it because i feel like it’d be a waste to let it rot in my drafts considering that i really liked how it went until the moment i stopped writing hehehehe. i’ve also thought about continuing this story but since i already have an existing naval aviator!jungkook in my masterlist, i felt like it’d be redundant to post this!

anyhow, since a lot of you showed so much love to “it was always you”, i thought it’d be nice to share this 🥹

You really hoped that flying for almost three hours and experiencing horrid turbulence during half of the trip was going to be worth it. But again, that was only the first part of the whole charade; the real challenge would begin perhaps much later, when you finally come face to face with the person that you were scheduled to meet.

As you walked inside the bar, the nerves that previously weren’t there started to crawl from your chest to your legs, making it harder to reach the counter where a vacant bar stool stood. You didn’t even know why you were suddenly nervous—although you could only guess that the sudden burst of anxiety was rooted from talking again to the most stubborn man ever to walk on earth—and you were already preparing yourself for the long conversation you were going to have with him and possibly the extended leave you’ll have to inform your boss for this trip because of his infamous stubbornness.

“____?” a familiar voice abruptly called out for you after you finished ordering a mug of beer from the barmaid, “no fucking way. It can’t be.”

You turned to your left and saw Jung Hoseok.

Spoiler: he wasn’t the person you were going to meet today, which made seeing him such a delight. You grinned immediately upon making eye contact, hopping out of your chair and exclaiming his name with the same enthusiasm he let out when he did realize it was you who he was looking at.

“Holy shit. What are you doing here?” He automatically engulfed you in a tight embrace when you initiated. You noticed that he was wearing an off duty attire, a plain black polo shirt and blue jeans, his hair kept neat and short. “Actually, scratch that—there’s only one person you should be here for.”

You bothered to smile. “Yeah. I’m guessing he didn’t tell anyone I’m visiting, huh?”

“Nope. He 100% kept it a secret because he knows that we’re going to steal you away if he spills.”

“We?” you mused. You didn’t even know that he was training with Hoseok, and now you’re discovering that Hoseok’s apparently not the only friend he has here. “How many of you that I know are training with him?”

Hoseok takes a short pause to think about it. “Hm… well, there’s me, then Yoongi and… Namjoon. That’s just about it.”

“Wow. It’s essentially the whole group again, huh?”

“Yup. I mean, we are the best of the best.” He smirked.

You playfully rolled your eyes.

“And we’ve missed you,” he added swiftly. “I’m a bit mad that your husband didn’t inform us that you’d be here—but again, I’m not surprised.”

“Sorry. I think I have myself to blame for that. I did tell him that I don’t intend to stay here for too long.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just here to make sure he signs the divorce papers.”

Hoseok nodded, thoughtful and a bit disappointed. “Is he giving you a hard time with them?”

“You can say that.” A dramatic sigh escaped you. “He insisted that if I really wanted to get his signature, I should just go here where he’s training.”

“Classic Jungkook.” He laughed, and you agreed with a snort.

He was right, this was all a Classic Jungkook move. 

Sometimes, you didn’t understand why you agreed to marry Jungkook so urgently when he asked for your hand, even after knowing that he did everything he could to ensure that he got what he wanted in the end.

Though that was just that thing, wasn’t it? He knew exactly what to do in order to get what he wanted—and at that time of his proposal, you knew it was you that he sought for.

Despite the fact that Jungkook had only been seeing you for less than a year, he was convinced that you were the love of his life. It was the reason why when he needed to be deployed for a mission, it seemed proposing was the most natural thing to do, going on about how he wanted to be reassured that when he came back for you, you were going to be there waiting for him, not only as a girlfriend, but as his wife.

And you said yes, without missing a beat, because you genuinely loved Jungkook and for you, the both of you were a match made in heaven.

By the two year mark of being a wedded couple though, just being in love with each other wasn’t enough. There were a lot of arguments, irreconcilable differences, a lot of moments wherein you wanted to abandon everything and just disappear—until you finally declared that enough was enough and you were going to file for divorce.

Of course, Jungkook didn’t want to sign them, but he did grant you a little bit of your freedom back. He did so by leaving your shared apartment on a random Thursday, only sending a text that said he was being called by the Navy for a mission he couldn’t disclose per usual, and that if you really wanted to divorce him, you’d just have to wait for him to go back.

He never returned though. Because after that mission, came a next one, and another one, until you heard that he was invited to a naval fighter weapons school in the northern part of the country, close to the seas and where he’ll be training for a few weeks among the best naval aviators in the nation. 

That’s when he decided to invite you over and say that if you wanted his signature, you’d have to be the one who’ll go to him. You initially contemplated for a long time before just going forth with his ridiculous demand. Nonetheless, you figured you were once again left with no choice because here you were now, doing exactly what he wanted to get what you exactly wanted as well.

God, who knew that contrary to how easy it was to enter this marriage, it was an absolute pain to get out of it?

“Do you know where he might be?” you asked Hoseok while taking a sip of your beer. “Or if he’s going here at least?”

“I have no clue,” Hoseok said. “Though I do know that he should have free time. We don’t have training for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll be seriously pissed if he stands me up.”

“He won’t.”

“It’s Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but you’re ____,” he said it like it was reason enough, “and Jungkook can’t resist seeing you. Especially if it’s been what? How many months have passed since you two saw each other?”

You held up six fingers, continuing to gulp down your drink in frustration. “Still, he loves to annoy the shit out of me.”

“It’s his love language.”

“Oh, I’ve been made very aware.”

Hoseok barked out a laugh. He was a huge fan of your dynamic with Jungkook; he was practically there throughout the whole journey of your relationship. As Jungkook’s weapon systems officer, the both of them were thick as thieves, which also made him the best man of the wedding—so deep inside, he wanted to believe that whatever it was that you and Jungkook were dealing with, it would be resolved soon enough.

“Well, it looks like you don’t have to wait for too long.” Hoseok toasted his glass to the direction of the entrance where the Jeon Jungkook entered, removing his aviator sunglasses and hooking it on the collar of his white shirt, worn inside a dark blue long-sleeved polo he was sporting as well.

You followed his line of vision and scowled at the sight of Jungkook. Not because you hated your husband, but because even when in the middle of finalizing a divorce, you couldn’t deny that he was too handsome for his own good.

“I think this is my cue to leave,” Hoseok added, getting off his seat. “It was nice seeing you again, ___. Let’s catch up later, yeah? I’ll conspire with Joon and Yoongi to steal you away.” He smiled mischievously and gave you a sweet chaste kiss on the cheek before walking over to Jungkook, greeting him, pointing to where you were, and then walking to another table where you guessed a bunch of other naval aviators were hanging out.

A sigh escaped you, just in time when Jungkook met your gaze.

He grinned—actually grinned—and you had to prevent your eyes from twitching to not look like some crazy person who didn’t have any self-control. So, instead of plastering the same scowl a few seconds ago for him to see, you flashed a sarcastic smile, waving your hand.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” Jungkook claimed when he was close enough, marching towards you, appearing like he was going to go for a kiss but before he could, you outstretched an arm and stopped him by literally wrapping your fingers around his neck as if you were planning to choke him to death with the gesture (which you were tempted to do).

He rolled his eyes, holding your wrist and bringing it down.

“Can’t I give you a kiss?” he retorted.

“No.”

“And Hoseok can?”

“Hoseok’s my friend.”

“I’m your husband.”

“Ex-husband.”

“Wrong. I haven’t signed any divorce papers, honey, so in the eyes of the law, I’m still very much your husband.” He quickly stole a kiss on the corner of your mouth and you allowed yourself to grimace in annoyance, glaring at him as he took Hoseok’s previous seat.

You watched him order a drink for himself and nachos for sharing. You didn’t say anything while he did all that; you just stared at him, analyzing him, trying to decipher what was going on in that head of his. You honestly had no clue what his thought process was in depriving you of the signature you wanted and then randomly agreeing to meet you again, accompanied with the condition that you’re the one who has to go to him and not the other way around.

As he reasoned, he was still in the middle of training, and he couldn’t just leave even if he wanted to and that’s why you had to make the effort to make this work (he made it clear that he didn’t want to make the effort anyway if it meant it could lead to his and yours divorce).

“How are you?” he asked once he was done ordering and you scoffed.

“Let’s not do that, Jungkook.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that I’m not allowed to know how you’re doing too.”

“I meant the small talk. Let’s just cut to the chase.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Jungkook.”

“Alright.” He placed an arm against the counter, spinning his stool to face you. “You already know where I stand, though. I still haven’t changed my mind in wanting to work it out first.”

“What? But you told me that if I went here—”

“I would talk to you, not sign the papers,” he finished. “You didn’t really think I’d sign them just like that, right?”

Your stomach dropped.

There goes assuming that the three-hour flight to go here would be worth it.

“I did, actually.” You grumbled. “When are you giving this a rest?”

He seemed annoyed by the rhetoric question. “When are you going to stop thinking that divorce is the answer to our problem?”

“We already did couple’s therapy and that proved to be a waste of time.”

“That’s because you were stubborn and wouldn’t cooperate.”

“Oh, I’m the one who’s stubborn between the both of us? I’m the one who wouldn’t cooperate?”

“Yes.”

“No, I’m not!” You raised your hands up. “You were the one who always said some lame excuse to not attend it with me.”

“Babe, how many times do I have to tell you, my schedule isn’t—”

“Yeah, whatever.” You didn’t let him finish, knowing that he was going to say something about how being in the Navy didn’t grant him the free time you were expecting him to have.

“I’m just saying… you can’t keep on doing this, you know?” you said.

“Can’t keep doing what?”

“Prolonging this. We already broke up, Jungkook. There’s not point in staying married.”

“That’s the thing, though.” He smirked. “I can keep prolonging it.”

Your nostrils flared. “Why?”

“Because I can.”

You think flashes of red were beginning to blur your vision.

Jungkook noticed the rage building up, yet he didn’t back down. “Why are you even so eager to legally separate? Do you plan on getting married again soon?” he asked.

It was supposed to be a joke, because Jungkook didn’t actually think you were seeing anyone at the moment—but at the mention of it, he saw the manner in which your expression slightly shifted, and he narrowed his eyes at you, understanding. “Don’t bullshit me. You aren’t seeing anyone, right?”

You blinked, acting all innocent. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is. You’re still married to me.”

“We’ve broken up for almost a year now, Jungkook.” You groaned, remaining him once again. “If you just signed the goddamn papers, all of this would be out of your hands.”

He scoffed. “You are seeing someone?”

“That is not the point of our conversation.”

“Well, it’s a significant aspect of it.”

“Fine.” You huffed. “I am seeing someone. Happy?”

Jungkook was in fact not happy. He was angry, but then he thought of how he shouldn’t be, because you and him have broken up for almost a year now like you said. Even though he wasn’t in support of that notion, he remembered at least granting you enough freedom to feel like you could date around without thinking about how you were technically cheating on him if ever you did. 

However, he didn’t really think you would find someone. Sure, you were beautiful, you had an amazing personality, there was no question when it came to you attracting men, yet you could be picky most of the time. It was even a miracle how he managed to bag you; though he guessed that he didn’t really have to try that hard in the first place before because the two of you just had so much in common for you to ignore.

“What’s his name?” he asked after a long silence.

You crossed your arms. “Do you have to know?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” You adjusted yourself in your seat. “It’s Ben.”

Jungkook thought the name sounded stupid. “How long have you been dating him?”

You hesitated, already predicting how he was going to react that you almost exaggerated the answer, but decided against it last minute. “Five weeks.”

He suddenly burst out laughing, the sound echoing inside the bar; it was the exact type of response you were positive he was going to do, proof that you knew him too well and that you shouldn’t have changed your pretense in the first place.

“It’s not funny,” you hissed, noticing that a lot of people were glancing at where you were both situated. “What the hell is funny about what I said?”

“You want to divorce me for a guy you’ve been dating for five weeks?” He carried on snickering; he barely got the whole sentence out because he was too busy catching his breath.

“Of course not! I would just prefer it if I don’t have any baggage left before attempting to commit to another relationship.”

The barmaid came back with Jungkook’s beer and nachos. He thanked her and slid the basket of cheesy nachos to your direction, an offer that you could get a piece if you wanted. However you were neither hungry nor interested in getting anything from him that would elicit a thank you from you, too prideful at this point due to how annoying he was being.

“What does he do for a living?” he asked next.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to make fun of it.”

“Is it worth making fun of?”

“No.”

“Then just tell me.” He threw a chip inside his mouth. 

You pressed your lips together. “He’s a bank clerk.”

Jungkook didn’t laugh this time, but the corners of his mouth were twitching as he grinned, and you found yourself refraining from wanting to strangle him again, questioning why you thought it was a good idea to come here since it was obvious that talking to him properly was an impossible task.

“You’re dating a bank clerk?” he posed the question like it was the most preposterous thing he had heard from you today. “What the hell do the both of you have in common?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll have you know that Ben is a very nice guy.”

“That’s what ladies say when a man is horrible in bed.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is he good then?”

“That’s none of your business, Jungkook,” you uttered once more, teeth gritting. “Besides, it’s only been five weeks.”

He smirked. “That’s a no then. It seems that you haven’t slept with him,” he said. “Makes sense. I mean, if you have already slept with another guy, you might be already begging me to get back together. Given that I’m the best sex you’ve ever had.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “How the fuck are you always so arrogant?”

“It comes with the praise I usually get during my escapades, babe.” Jungkook winked at you, hand reaching out for another nacho.

“Oh, so I’m assuming you do have sex with other people now. You know, if you’ve just divorced me, you can go live your happy single life again to go to that without any worries.”

“I don’t sleep with other people—”

“But you just said—”

“I meant before I met you.” He pointed out, giving you a look. “Why are you even thinking about that? Are you jealous?”

“God, you’re fucking impossible.” You practically growled. 

He flashed you another smirk, amused.

“Anyhow,” you began, bringing out the divorce papers from your bag that you should have given him the second you saw him, but as what you think was part of his plan, he did manage to stall you in doing so, “here’s the papers.” You shoved it to his chest, rendering Jungkook no choice but to grab it.

He glanced down at them. “You’re never going to stop until I sign these, huh?”

You nodded. “Never.”

“Fine.” Jungkook flickered his gaze on you. “I’ll sign them.”

You glared at him. “Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you?”

You were still suspicious, but at the same time, you had high hopes.

“Yes. But I need to meet Ben the bank clerk first.”

Your spirits dropped. “Oh, no, no, no,” you made a huge cross sign with your arms, “you are not giving me another condition just to go against your word in the end.”

“I won’t this time.”

“Yeah, right.” You scoffed loudly.

It was his turn to narrow his eyes at you. “I’m serious. You want my signature or not?”

You bit the insides of your cheeks, gazing at him.

You were no fool, you knew why he wanted to meet him; you knew that it was because he wanted to see it for himself if the guy you replaced him for was actually more good looking than him or at least appeared as if he could survive a fistfight if Jungkook prompted to start one. It was all testosterone and ego, and you contemplated cutting his balls just to get this over with once and for all.

Surely, by then, he would be more agreeable.

“Fine,” you told him. “If you meet him, you’ll sign the papers? Promise?”

He took a sip of his beer, shrugging. “Sure.”

***

Jungkook watched the scene unfold in front of him with an amused expression.

Although he did admit it once that he did get a bit jealous whenever you gave the other guys more attention than him, he loved his best pals too much to care.

It was why he allowed instances like this to happen wherein you made it apparent that you valued their company much more than you did Jungkook. It was evident in the manner in which you laughed loudly as Hoseok, Yoongi, and Namjoon hugged you, each one of them taking turns in lifting your body off the ground a few seconds in glee.

You were seen as a beloved sister to them as they saw Jungkook as a cherished brother in the Navy.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jungkook reckoned after five seconds.

Namjoon glanced at him, the last one to embrace you. “Jealous?” he teased, reading his mind.

“I am, actually.” Jungkook affirmed. “You three got a better greeting than I did.”

You rolled your eyes at the pettiness of his comment. “That’s because there’s nothing good about seeing you again, Jungkook.”

Jungkook glanced at you. “You wound me, babe.” He placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “Truly, you do.”

The guys stifled a laugh.

Today’s agenda was supposed to be a catch up session with the three guys. News spread quickly yesterday that you were in town thanks to Hoseok, and given that the three of them were good friends of yours, you didn’t decline the offer when Jungkook informed you that they wanted to meet you while you were here.

So, as the next day came in and the evening rolled, they met up with you at the same resto-bar Hoseok found you in. It did seem like the only venue that was both near enough from the academy and the hotel you were staying at that offered adequate food. You observed that the occupants of the place were composed primarily of people wearing naval aviator uniforms or motorcyclists stopping by before going forth with their ride.

“So,” Yoongi began just as Jungkook headed to the counter, volunteering to relay all of your orders to the barmaid, “we heard from a little birdie that you’re seeing someone else.”

You gave him a look. “Still a big gossip, I see.”

“Oh, it’s not counted as gossip if it’s what Jungkook’s been complaining about the whole time at the showers,” Namjoon humored.

Hoseok agreed with a nod. “It’s what he’s been nonstop yapping about earlier when we were flying,” he said. “Seriously, ____. Release the boy from misery and just get back together.”

They watched you grimace. “You all know my relationship with Jungkook has been long complicated for it to be as easy as that.”

“Did he cheat on you?” Namjoon asked.

“No, of course not.” You scoffed. “He’s an annoying shit for the most part but he’s not a cheater.”

He physically relaxed at the confirmation. “Good, because I don’t think I can beat him in a fistfight.”

Yoongi chuckled. “What’s the matter then? You still haven’t spared us any details on why you’re so keen to divorce him.”

“There’s no particular reason,” you sighed with a throw of your hand. “It’s just a compilation of the small things. He’s away most of the time, I’m away most of the time when he’s available—we fight a lot, argue a lot, it just doesn’t seem to be worth fighting for anymore.”

“So, you don’t love him anymore?”

“I…” you trailed, abruptly feeling like you were being interrogated, “I mean, love doesn’t go away easily. And it hasn’t been that long since we called it quits.”

The three men shared a look among themselves.

You straighten your posture. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What does?” Hoseok queried.

“That look you guys just gave each other. I don’t like it.”

“That’s just their faces, babe,” Jungkook reappeared, taking the liberty to take the seat on your right. “What are you fellas talking about?” he asked his buddies.

They didn’t dare utter a word. You were under the impression that they had an understanding between them that talking about your relationship right in Jungkook’s face was something one should not ought to do.

You, on the other hand, took it as your cue to speak, starting another topic to hopefully erase the previous one. “Ben said he can come. He’s boarding tonight,” you told Jungkook as he’s sipping from his glass of service water.

“That’s good.” He didn’t look as interested as he was yesterday.

“Who’s Ben?” It was Hoseok again.

“The bank clerk,” Jungkook answered.

“The new guy you’re seeing?” Yoongi asked you.

“Yep,” you said before turning to Jungkook. “And can you please refer to him by his name? He’s not just a bank clerk.”

“Is he a boring bank clerk?” Jungkook asked, that teasing smirk flashing on his mouth.

“Will he be here tomorrow?” Namjoon chimed in.

You nodded. “Hopefully.”

“Great,” Jungkook placed his glass down on the table. “It’ll be enough time to get to know him.”

He said ‘enough time’ like his time was limited because it really was. He informed you before you parted ways yesterday that he was graduating from the academy this Friday, and that after that, he was almost 100% sure he was going to be deployed again with some of his classmates for a mission that you wouldn’t be allowed to know the details of. 

Your stomach somersaulted when he told you that.

Somehow, despite convincing yourself that you no longer cared for Jungkook, the thought of his life being put at risk again once he was back on the field made you want to vomit in anxiety. It reminded you that his very dangerous occupation was one of the root causes of your separation, for there were months wherein you couldn’t take the fear of waiting in uncertainty on whether he was going to come home to you or not, regardless of how he promised he would every single time.

It was funny, you thought. One of your similarities with your husband was that the both of you were adrenaline junkies. You and him bonded over extreme rides in amusement parks, activities that got your heart pumping and gave you the sensation of being on top of the world—and yet it was the reason why you didn’t want to be with him anymore as well, too scared to continue loving him if he always sought for adventure and danger through being a naval aviator.

“You knew what you were signing up for, ____,” he told you during one of your many arguments. “You entered this relationship knowing the nature of my job. You can’t expect to adjust for you when it comes to—”

“I���m not expecting you to adjust for me, Kook,” you replied in exasperation, practically begging him to listen to you with an open mind at that point. “God, I just want you to consider me. I just want to feel that for once, you actually remember that someone’s always waiting for you to come home.”

Whenever conversations like that popped back inside your memory, you forced yourself to push it away. It wasn’t an experience you wanted to relive. You’ve spent far too many nights just crying because of how it felt like to be in a constant state of worry for the person you found yourself loving the most.

“We can all meet him, right?” asked Hoseok, looking at the other guys for back up. 

You surveyed them, raising your eyebrows before saying your answer.

“Like the hell you would.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

what does a barbie mean?

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'hanukkah'

all of my holiday drabbles will be from the bear hugs universe. many of them could probably be read standalone, but will make the most sense and be enjoyed best if you read that first!

rated g | 633 words | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff

🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎

When Steve picks Rory up from her friend’s birthday party, she’s surprisingly quiet. Usually after parties, she’s bouncing off the walls, blaming the cake and ice cream and soda and goodie bags full of candy.

By the time they get home, Steve’s getting concerned at her silence.

“Hey green bean, you okay?” He asks as they park in the garage. Eddie’s at work for another hour, so he has to do this alone.

He got used to not having to do this stuff alone anymore.

“Mhm,” Rory answers as she unbuckles her seatbelt. It’s not convincing and Steve turns to tell her that. She’s not looking at him, though.

“Do you wanna talk about something? Did anything happen at the party?” Steve asks. He shouldn’t push, but he’s worried that someone was mean to her. Rory can handle herself, but she’s still human, and she’s still a kid, and words can hurt.

“Nothing happened,” she says, but Steve’s not convinced.

“You can tell me anything.”

Rory finally looks up at him. “How come Santa doesn’t bring Sarah and Rebecca presents? They’re good all year.”

Oh. Well, this is definitely better than he expected, and way easier to explain or fix. No one bullied her, she’s just confused.

“You know how Sarah and Rebecca celebrate Hanukkah instead of Christmas?” Rory nods. “Well, for Hanukkah, they don’t need Santa to bring them presents because the family gets all the gifts and they have special meanings to them.”

“What does a new Barbie mean?” Rory asks.

“I think it just means that Sarah is six and wants a Barbie,” Steve laughs.

“But how come they have eight Christmases in a row?”

Steve briefly explains what he knows about Hanukkah, which is not as much as he should know.

And they go inside and look up more information, because Rory is a curious child and Steve never wants her to stop learning.

And when Eddie gets home, she starts telling him all about how Sarah and Rebecca get to light a candle every night and their dad says a prayer and maybe they could light their own Christmas candle on Christmas Eve.

That weekend, they go straight to the library to get a book about the dreidel game, and make a stop at the store to find chocolate coins. Eddie tags along, a little confused about how serious Rory is taking this, but enthusiastic about playing any game that leads to eating chocolate.

The fascination with Hanukkah ends rather abruptly two days later, when she hears Rebecca talking about jelly doughnuts. Rory hates doughnuts with fillings.

Steve doesn’t bother telling her that it’s not a requirement to eat them for Hanukkah, and he gives Eddie a look to stop him before he does.

“I think we should just have Christmas like we always do,” Rory says. Steve nods like he knew this would be her decision the entire time.

Eddie leans over to whisper in his ear. “Was there a chance we were converting to Judaism?”

Steve shakes his head. “She did this with Chinese New Year two years ago and Dia de los Muertos three years ago. She’s just a curious kid.”

Eddie nods, immediately understanding and knowing that she’ll probably find another way to celebrate something next year, and many years after that. He was the same way as a kid, even remembers one year when he learned what Mardi Gras was and made Wayne buy them all dollar store beads and a King Cake at the grocery store.

“Can we keep the candles though?” Rory asks.

“Yeah, those are nice candles,” Eddie looks at Steve to confirm.

“Sure,” Steve laughs, fond as he can be over his two favorite people being so in sync, even with something like this. “We can keep the candles.”

[glowettee]

Study Like an It Girl: Paris Geller Energy 📚✨

If there’s one fictional character who embodies the ultimate study grind, it’s Paris Geller from Gilmore Girls. Her level of ambition? Unmatched. Her drive? Relentless. And while her methods might sometimes verge on chaotic (okay, very chaotic), there’s so much we can learn from her approach to academics. I'm gonna break down how you can channel that Paris Geller energy while keeping your sanity intact. 🌸✨ (hopefully...)

1. Set Clear Goals (Be as Extra as Paris)

Paris didn’t just want to do well; she wanted to be the best. While you don’t have to make your life a competition, having clear, specific goals can give you direction. Instead of saying, “I want to study more,” try:

“I want to get an A on my next chemistry test.”

“I’ll complete three hours of focused study for math every weeknight.” Specificity helps you stay on track and keeps your energy focused on the right tasks.

💡 It Girl Tip: Create a vision board for your goals, Paris-style. Include dream colleges, career aspirations, or anything else that fuels your ambition. Keep it somewhere you can see it every day—manifestation meets motivation. (digital or IRL is good, USE PINTEREST!)

2. Romanticize Your Study Environment

Let’s be honest: Paris wouldn’t study in a messy, uninspiring room. Your study space should feel like an aesthetic haven. Think:

A tidy desk with your favorite stationery ✏️

Soft lighting (fairy lights or a warm desk lamp) 🌟

A pastel mug filled with tea or coffee ☕

Background music (try classical, K-Pop or lo-fi playlists for the ultimate vibe) 🎶

You’re the main character of your life!!

3. Be Aggressively Overprepared, But Aesthetically So

Paris Geller never walked into a study session without knowing everything. Her energy was all about overachieving to the point of intimidating her competition. You don’t need the rivalry, but you do need the prep.

It Girl Twist: Gather extra resources and organize them beautifully. Think color-coded binders, pastel-highlighted textbooks, and aesthetic digital flashcards.

Why It Works: When you know more than what’s required, it builds confidence. That’s Paris power.

💡 Mindy Says: “Overprepared = unbothered queen vibes. Let your notes be so cute they could double as Pinterest posts.”

4. Master Controlled Chaos

Paris’s intensity could sometimes spiral into chaos, but she always managed to pull through. Instead of avoiding stress, embrace it as a sign you’re pushing yourself—and learn to channel it constructively.

It Girl Twist: When you’re overwhelmed, do a quick brain dump into a journal or planner. Write down every single task, no matter how small. Then organize it into bite-sized chunks.

Why It Works: Getting everything out of your head and onto paper clears your mind and gives you control.

💡 Mindy Says: “Your chaos is part of the process, babe. Just make it chic— glittery gel pens and mood-boosting playlists.”

5. Develop an Intimidation-Level Vocabulary

Remember when Paris dropped SAT words like confetti? It wasn’t just for show; she knew that language was power. Building your vocabulary can make you feel (and sound) unstoppable.

It Girl Twist: Learn one new “power word” a day and slip it into casual conversations or captions. Bonus points if it’s super niche and makes you feel like a literary goddess.

Why It Works: Knowledge isn’t just for exams—it’s for life. Plus, it’s fun to impress people with words they have to Google.

💡 Mindy Says: “An eloquent queen is a glowing queen. Vocabulary flexing is the new subtle flex.”

6. Treat Every Day Like It’s a Debate Prep Day

Paris’s debate skills were unmatched because she thought critically about everything. Adopting her mindset means questioning the world around you and staying curious.

It Girl Twist: Pick one topic you’re passionate about and research the heck out of it. Pretend you’re preparing to debate Paris herself (but in a cute, less intimidating way).

Why It Works: Critical thinking is a muscle—flex it daily. It’s also a low-key way to keep studying exciting.

💡 Mindy Says: “Be curious. Be informed. Be iconic. Channel your inner Paris and make intellectual sass your superpower.”

5. Take Pride in Your Ambition—Unapologetically

Paris never dimmed her ambition, even when people found it “too much.” Embrace that energy and stop apologizing for wanting more—if it’s higher grades, dream schools, or a future as the CEO of your life embrace it!

It Girl Twist: Write a “brag list” every week. Note down everything you’ve accomplished, big or small, and let yourself feel proud of it.

Why It Works: Celebrating your wins keeps you motivated and reminds you that your hard work is paying off.

💡 Mindy Says: “Being ambitious isn’t extra—it’s iconic. You’re not ‘too much,’ babe. You’re just enough to glow brighter than everyone else.”

✨ Final Thoughts:

I hoped you girlies loved this blog post. I wanted to try a different style. If you all noticed the "Mindy Quotes" they're all words by me! I'm Mindy/Glowettee! I wanted to give you personal words of encouragement! Love you all!

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 6

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours 

if you wanna be added to the tag list comment

Fic Playlist

Masterlist

Here is another chapter cause I'm still writing out the other fics right now :)

Previous

Chapter 6: The Weight of Loss

Y/N’s POV

It’s almost comical how different my life feels when I’m at school compared to when I’m at home. At Pratt, I’m a student, focused, and driven, with an entire future ahead of me. The campus is buzzing with the usual energy—students chatting, the sound of sketch pads flipping, the hum of distant studio lights. But the weight of everything outside these walls presses down on me more with each passing day.

It’s been weeks or days since the breakup with Sukuna.The loss of our relationship feels longer than the time we actually broke up but it feels like the echo of it still reverberates in everything I do. I’m trying to push forward, trying to act like I’m okay, but the reality is… I’m not. I haven’t been okay for a while.

The work in front of me should be enough to distract me. Finals are coming up, and my portfolio still feels like it needs a hundred more hours of attention before it’s anywhere near perfect. But I can’t stop my mind from drifting back to that night—his touch, his voice, the way he looked at me when he left, the pain in his eyes I couldn’t fix.

I sit in one of the studio rooms, surrounded by scraps of fabric and sketches, trying to focus on the design I need to complete for my final project. My hand trembles as I draw out another silhouette. It’s difficult to concentrate, especially when my phone buzzes on the table.

I don’t even need to look to know if it's from Utahime. She’s been checking in on me regularly. She doesn’t understand everything, but she knows enough to ask if I’m okay.

I pick up my phone, hesitating for a moment before responding. Yeah, I’m good. Just a lot of work to get through.

It’s a lie, but I don’t want to burden her with the truth. Everyone has their own problems, and I don’t want to be the one who drags them down.

I scroll through the texts, my heart dropping when I see a message from Toji. It’s just a short note, nothing particularly alarming. Sukuna's in the hospital. He’s okay, but he had a breakdown. You might want to check on him.

I read it three times before I let it sink in.

Sukuna’s in the hospital.

I bite my lip, the sting of old wounds coming back. What’s going on with him? Why does everything feel like it’s falling apart? I don’t even know how I feel anymore. I spent so much time loving him, fighting with him, then pushing him away, only for him to spiral deeper into whatever this is. And now, he’s in the hospital… alone?

I don’t even have the right to care, do I?

I put my phone down, my hands running through my hair as I try to make sense of it all. What should I do?

There’s a knock at the door, and I look up, startled. Utahime enters with a cup of coffee in her hand. She smiles when she sees me but then stops when she notices the look on my face. She doesn’t even need to ask.

“Something’s wrong,” she says gently, placing the coffee down in front of me.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Sukuna’s in the hospital,” I say quietly. The words feel so surreal coming out of my mouth.

Utahime doesn’t speak for a moment, just nods, as if she knew this might happen. “You’re thinking about going, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice soft.

I shake my head, my chest tightening. “I don’t even know what I’d say to him, Utahime. I—” I stop, the emotions threatening to spill over. “He played with my feelings, and I let him. I gave him everything, and now... now look at us.”

She sits next to me, her presence comforting. “You don’t have to go to him if you’re not ready,” she says, her hand gently brushing mine. “But don’t ignore what your heart is telling you. Sometimes it’s easy to get lost in anger or pride, but if you care about him, and you think he needs you—maybe you should go. Just to know he’s okay.”

I stare at the coffee in front of me, the steam rising gently. I feel so torn. Part of me wants to throw it all away and run to him, to make things right, but the other part is terrified of what that would mean.

“I’m just… so tired, Utahime. Tired of trying to fix everything,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t think I can keep doing this. I don’t want to keep getting hurt.”

She leans back in her chair, giving me space. “You don’t have to fix him. You just have to decide what’s best for you. It’s okay to care about him, but it’s also okay to take a step back. You don’t owe him anything.”

I nod slowly, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift. If anything, it feels heavier.

As much as I want to ignore the message, as much as I want to pretend everything’s fine and keep moving forward, I know deep down that the story isn’t finished yet. But the question is, how do I make peace with it? How do I let go of the part of me that still wants him in my life?

I guess I’m going to have to figure it out, even if it hurts.

I stare at the message from Toji, my thumb hovering over the reply button. I could feel the tension building in my chest, the pull to cave in and see him, to check on Sukuna, to offer whatever comfort I could. But I can’t. I won’t.

I text back quickly, trying to keep my answer as firm as possible, even though doubt gnaws at me. Yes. I’m sure.

I put my phone down and take another sip of the coffee Utahime bought for me. The warmth soothes me, but it’s not enough to quell the rising discomfort I feel. Maybe I’m running away from something I should confront, but every time I think about him—about everything that happened—my chest tightens. I know I’m not ready to face him.

Mei Mei sits beside me, her usual confident and laid-back demeanor a welcome distraction. She smiles at me, her eyes bright despite the obvious tension in the air. “I heard you’ve been dealing with some drama,” she teases, nudging my shoulder playfully. “You always seem to attract it, huh?”

I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Yeah, it seems like it. Just trying to get through finals without any more drama.”

She leans back in her chair, clearly not convinced. “If you say so, but I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s bothering you.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not fooling anyone. What’s going on?”

I set the coffee down, rubbing my forehead. Mei Mei’s known me for years. She doesn’t give up easily, especially when it comes to stuff I’d rather keep to myself.

“It’s… complicated,” I say, sighing deeply. “Sukuna’s in the hospital.”

Mei Mei’s expression softens. “Hospital? What happened?”

I explain the basics—the fallout from our breakup, his breakdown, and the fact that it seems he’s been spiraling for months. As I talk, it feels like I’m peeling back a layer of myself I’ve been trying to keep hidden.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I continued, my voice shaking slightly. “But now… I just feel like I made it worse.”

Mei Mei listens, her face serious. When I finish, she doesn’t say anything at first. She just looks at me for a long time, her eyes calculating, like she’s trying to figure something out.

“You can’t keep carrying his weight, Y/N,” she says gently, her tone softer than I expected. “He’s not your responsibility anymore. I get that you care, but sometimes stepping back is the healthiest thing you can do—for both of you.”

I nod, trying to hold it together, but her words sink deep into my chest. I know she’s right. If I keep going back to him, trying to fix things that aren’t mine to fix, I’ll just keep breaking myself in the process. But knowing that doesn’t make the choice any easier.

I reach for my phone again, checking for another message. There’s one from Toji.

Y/N, I know you’re upset. I get it. But you need to understand he’s really struggling. He’s not the same guy anymore. Please, just think about it. He’s not okay.

I feel the weight of the message, the silent plea in his words. It almost makes me want to go. But no. I made my decision.

I turn my phone face down, looking back at Mei Mei. “I’m done with it. I need to focus on my future. On me.”

She smiles, a little proud of me. “Good. It’s about time. You’re a strong woman, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

I lean back in my chair, feeling the exhaustion from the last few months hit me all at once. Finals are coming, and I don’t have the luxury of letting my emotions run the show anymore. I have to finish this. For me.

But even as I sit there, I can’t ignore the small ache in my heart, the part of me that still cares, that wonders what could have been. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine a different reality, one where everything with Sukuna was easier, where we were happy and I didn’t have to make these impossible decisions.

But that’s not my reality. Not anymore.

Toji's POV

I stare at the screen of my phone, Y/N’s last text still lingering in front of me. Yes. I’m sure.

The words hit harder than I expected. I knew she wasn’t going to just drop everything and run to Sukuna, but hearing it from her directly… it stings. She’s shutting him out, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. Nothing any of us can do.

I glance over at Sukuna, still out cold in the hospital bed, his breathing steady for now. He’s been through hell these past few days, and I hate to admit it, but I’m worried. Despite all his bullshit, the bravado he puts up like a fucking wall, he’s broken. And it’s not just the aftermath of Jin’s death or the guilt he carries around like a fucking anchor. It’s more than that.

I thought, maybe if Y/N came, it would snap him back. But she’s not coming.

I let out a slow breath, running a hand through my hair. The room feels too quiet now, even with the constant beep of the heart monitor in the background. The silence between me and Sukuna is almost deafening, and I can’t shake the sense of impending disaster that hangs in the air.

I think about what Y/N said—how she couldn’t keep carrying his weight. And part of me gets it. She’s right. I told her before that Sukuna wasn’t the only one who needed to get his shit together, but I guess… I didn’t expect her to walk away. Not like this. Not after everything.

I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if we’d all handled this differently. If we had talked more, not let everything fester. Maybe she wouldn’t have had to make that decision. Maybe Sukuna wouldn’t be lying here, broken and lost. And I wouldn’t be standing here, feeling fucking useless.

Sukuna murmurs in his sleep, his hand twitching slightly, and I look back at him. He looks so different when he’s not putting on that mask. I can see the fear, the guilt, everything he hides away in his waking hours. It’s all on display when he’s vulnerable, like this.

He whispers something under his breath, and I lean in closer, straining to hear him.

“Y/N… I’m sorry…”

His voice cracks, soft and fragile. He doesn’t even know I’m here. Doesn’t know I’m watching him break down piece by piece. But I heard it. He said her name.

It’s fucking killing me to watch him like this.

I stand up, running my hand over my face, trying to shake off the weight of everything. I can’t do this. I can’t fix this. No matter how many times I try to tell myself that this is his fight, not mine, I can’t stop feeling like I’m responsible. We all are.

I check my phone again. Y/N hasn’t replied. I don’t expect her to. She’s made up her mind, and honestly, I don’t know what I would say if she did respond.

All I can do is sit here and wait, hoping that Sukuna pulls himself out of this hole he’s dug. He’s going to need all the help he can get, but I’m not sure I can even be that for him anymore.

I glance back at him one last time before walking out of the room. Whatever happens next is out of our hands. I just hope for his sake, he’s not too far gone to fix it.

I step out of the room, needing some space to breathe, even though the weight of everything is still pressing down on me. My phone buzzes again. Another message from Y/N. I don’t look at it. I can’t. Not right now.

The hallway feels emptier than usual, and I’m just about to sit down when I hear footsteps approaching. I glance up, already knowing who it is before I see their faces. Gojo’s impossible to miss, his presence like a fucking storm in the calm. And right behind him, Geto, walking with that same quiet intensity he always carries. They're holding bags in each hand, the smell of fast food wafting into the air.

Gojo gives me a lazy grin like he's just come back from a fun afternoon instead of dealing with a pile of shit that’s only getting worse.

“Got you something.” He waves the KFC sandwich in the air, the crispy fried chicken peeking out from the wrapper. “Figured you could use something real to eat. You’ve been looking like you’ve been living off hospital snacks.”

I glance at him, but I’m not in the mood for a joke. I just stare at the sandwich for a second before nodding. “Thanks.”

Geto just raises an eyebrow and slides a bottle of cold Coca-Cola into my hand. "It’s cold. Thought you could use a little sweetness with all this shit."

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I take the sandwich, unwrap it, and take a small bite. The taste is oddly comforting, and for a moment, it feels a little bit of normal. But only for a second. My mind is still a million miles away, locked on Sukuna, on Y/N, on everything that’s been happening. I can’t seem to get a grip.

Gojo leans against the wall casually, clearly unaffected by anything going on, while Geto remains quiet, eyes focused like he’s waiting for me to crack. The silence stretches, uncomfortable in its own way.

"Is he awake?" Gojo asks, breaking the tension, his voice light but his eyes searching mine for an answer.

I take another bite of the sandwich and sigh, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Yeah, but he’s not really there. Talking in his sleep… saying her name. Y/N."

The mention of her name hangs in the air for a moment, and I watch as Gojo’s expression shifts slightly. He doesn’t show it often, but I know he can’t be completely oblivious to what’s happening. Not with how tightly he and Sukuna have been bound, even when things were rough.

“I’m sure he’s just… in his head,” Gojo says after a pause, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly struggling with his own thoughts. “He’s got a lot of shit on his plate.”

Geto’s expression hardens slightly. “He’s not the only one, Gojo. Y/N’s been through her own hell. She’s not just some side character in his story. It’s never been that simple.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gojo mutters, though he doesn’t seem entirely convinced by Geto’s words. He glances back at the door where Sukuna lies, still deep in his own turmoil. “We all know what happened between them. It’s fucked up, but that doesn’t change what he’s going through.”

The words cut through the tension like a blade. I swallow the rest of the sandwich, my stomach growing heavier with the implications of their statements. The more I think about it, the more it feels like we’ve all fucked up in our own ways. We’ve all allowed this to spiral out of control, and now, we’re left picking up the pieces.

“I get that he’s hurting,” I say, voice tight, “but what do we do now? What can we even do? She’s not coming, Gojo. She’s done.”

The words feel bitter in my mouth, even though I know they’re true. Sukuna has lost her, and there’s no going back.

Gojo and Geto exchange a look, the silence dragging on as the weight of the situation settles in. Gojo pops the cap off his own bottle of Coke, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You just keep pushing forward,” Gojo says after a moment. “You don’t get to wallow in this shit. That’s not how it works, Toji. You just keep moving forward. That's all you can do.”

I’m about to respond when I hear a low murmur coming from Sukuna’s room. The door creaks open slightly, and I glance toward it, the worry clawing at my insides again. Gojo stands up and gives me a pointed look.

“Let’s go see how he’s doing,” he says, voice more serious now, and I can hear the weight of his words.

We all walk to the room, our steps heavy with the unspoken truths we’ve been avoiding. Inside, Sukuna stirs in the bed, his eyes barely open but wide enough to see the panic in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he whispers, almost like a prayer, his hand gripping the bed sheets tightly.

The room feels cold as we stand there, watching him struggle with the demons only he knows. His words hang in the air like a knife, cutting through the silence.

“Maybe we can fix this,” Gojo mutters softly, more to himself than anyone else. "But not like this."

I watch Sukuna’s face, the same man who used to be full of fire and rage, now broken. Maybe Gojo’s right—maybe we keep pushing forward. But even I know, with everything that’s happened, there’s no easy fix to the mess we’ve created.

Sukuna's POV

I’m trapped in the in-between, stuck in the land of the awake but not living. I can hear them talking, but my mind refuses to connect. Every word that escapes their lips feels like a blur, and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about Y/N or Jin or my own damn self.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor is the only thing grounding me in reality, reminding me that I'm still here, still breathing, even if it feels like everything else is slipping through my fingers. The voices swirl around me, but none of them cut through the fog in my mind. Not even Gojo’s voice, not even Geto’s.

Y/N. 

Her name lingers in the air like an echo I can’t escape. It’s all I can think about. How I fucked things up. How I hurt her. How I lost her. I can’t get away from the image of her, standing there in her apartment, looking at me with those eyes—those brown eyes I used to drown in. Eyes that no longer saw me the same. Eyes that were filled with pain.

My stomach churns. I want to scream, but the words catch in my throat.

My younger brothers.

Yuuji. Choso.

I’m supposed to be their older brother. I’m supposed to be strong for them. They’ve lost so much already, and I can’t afford to lose them, too. But if I keep spiraling like this—if I let this guilt eat me alive, if I let my demons drag me under—then what happens to them? What happened to me?

I’m supposed to protect them, but I’m barely holding myself together. I can’t keep breaking like this. I can’t keep letting everything fall apart just because I don’t know how to deal with the shit that’s happened.

I’m supposed to be better. Better for them.

But how? How do I fix this? How do I fix myself when everything feels broken beyond repair?

I hear Gojo again, his voice louder this time. "He's just... lost in his head right now. We can't help him until he helps himself." It’s all I need to hear to understand that I’m not getting any sympathy here. Not from any of them. They know me too well.

And maybe that's what I need.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to block out the pain. Maybe if I don’t open them, I won’t have to face the reality of what I’ve become. A broken man. A fuck-up.

But the truth is, I can’t run forever. I can’t stay in this fog of regret and self-loathing. I don’t want to be this version of myself. Not for my brothers, not for anyone. I’ve been here too many times before. Spiraling, falling, too afraid to face what’s staring me in the face. I’ve always been this way. But I can’t afford to be anymore.

I can’t let myself be the reason they lose me. Not when I still have a chance to fix it.

I hear Geto’s voice again, softer this time. "Sukuna... we’re here. But you need to come back. Come back to us." His words hit me harder than I expected, and I feel the weight of them pressing down on my chest. Come back to us.

I’m not sure how, but for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself feel something other than numbness. A crack in the wall I’ve built around myself. A tiny opening to a possibility that maybe—just maybe—I can still get out of this.

But first, I have to face the one thing I’ve been running from.

I have to face myself.

“Y/N,” I whisper to no one in particular, my voice hoarse, rough. "I'm sorry."

I don’t expect anyone to hear it. Hell, I’m not even sure I believe it yet. But it’s the first step. And for now, that’s all I can give.

I open my eyes slowly, squinting at the harsh fluorescent lights above. The hospital room is sterile and unfamiliar, and for a second, I forget where I am. But then it all comes flooding back—the weight of my actions, the destruction I’ve left in my wake, and the realization that I can’t keep hiding from it.

I don't even remember when I said it, but those two words still echo in my mind: I'm sorry. They were the first words I’ve said aloud in what feels like forever, but they carry so much weight. So much guilt.

I sit up slowly, feeling the ache in my chest. I’m not sure if it’s from the panic attack, the guilt, or just the overwhelming sense of being broken. But whatever it is, it makes it hard to breathe, to think. To feel.

Gojo is still here, his presence just as obnoxious as ever. But there's something about him being here that gives me a sense of stability like maybe he doesn’t expect me to be perfect, but he’s still here, regardless. And Geto... Geto is just sitting there, staring at me like he’s waiting for me to get my shit together. Maybe he’s right. Maybe they both are.

“Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "How did I get here?"

Geto looks up from his phone, catching my eye for the first time in what feels like forever. “You’ve been here, Sukuna. You know the drill. You need to pull yourself together, for them.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. He’s tired, I can tell. We all are.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice cracking. "For them."

It’s a mantra I’ve been repeating to myself for weeks now—for them. For Yuuji and Choso. They’ve lost so much already, and I can’t be the one to break.

But I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know how to fix this. How do I rebuild what I’ve destroyed? How do I fix myself when I’m not even sure who I am anymore?

Gojo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re not alone in this, you know.” His words are blunt, but there’s something softer in his eyes. He doesn’t say it often, but I can see it. The understanding.

"I know." I don’t meet his gaze, my eyes locked on the floor. It’s easier that way. “But I still fucked up, Gojo. I messed it all up.”

Geto sighs heavily, shaking his head. "You didn't just mess it up. But that doesn't mean it’s over. You’ve got to take responsibility for it, man. For her... and yourself."

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. The words feel like they’re stuck in my throat. But then I think of Y/N. Her face, her eyes... the way she looked at me when I ruined everything. I see her pain in every single interaction we had before it all came crashing down. I can still feel it. The way she’d retreat from me, the way she’d pull away. And the way I never truly let her in.

"I didn’t mean for it to go like this," I finally whispered. "I never meant to hurt her."

“You need to talk to her, if she’ll allow it” Geto says, standing up and moving closer. “And if she’s willing, maybe... maybe you can fix it. But you have to start with yourself first.”

I feel the weight of his words, like he’s trying to lift me out of the quicksand I’ve been sinking into. But I’m stuck. I’m stuck in the guilt, in the shame, in the regret.

“What if she doesn’t want me back?” I ask, barely above a whisper. "What if I’ve already ruined it too much?"

"You won’t know unless you try," Gojo says, stepping forward. “You can’t undo the past, but you can at least try to make the future better. For her. For you.”

I feel something shift inside me, something small but significant. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s just the desperation that’s been eating away at me. I don’t know. But it’s there, and for the first time, I let myself feel it.

Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe, just maybe, I can start rebuilding—starting with myself. I have to try. For Y/N. For Yuuji. For Choso. For me.

I stand up, feeling the weight of my body shift. My legs feel weak, but I force myself to stay upright. Geto watches me carefully as if waiting for me to collapse, but I don’t. Not this time.

I might not have all the answers, but I know one thing for sure.

I’m done running from it.

“I’ll fix it,” I murmur, barely believing the words myself. But I have to say it. I have to believe it.

For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel so alone. Maybe I’m not as far gone as I thought. Maybe I can still fight my way back from this.

Maybe I can still be the man I used to be.

the nurse filled in, "We tried to contact your emergency contact yn ln but they didnt respond. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you?

The nurse’s words hang in the air, thick with unspoken tension. I feel the room grow heavier as they linger, and I find myself grasping for a response. Y/N’s name still feels like a foreign sound on my lips.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come. What would I even say? She won’t answer me anymore. Not after what I did. The silence stretches between us, suffocating.

"I have—" I start, but the weight of it stops me.

Before I can finish the sentence, Toji speaks up, his voice cutting through the thick air like a knife.

"You can take my information. What do I need to know?"

I look up at him, and for the first time in what feels like days, I feel a bit of relief. Toji, as blunt as he is, never lets me down. He’s been here since the start, and I know, deep down, he’s always had my back, even when I didn’t deserve it.

The nurse nods, taking out her tablet and entering Toji’s information with practiced ease. It’s almost like they’ve done this a thousand times before, and maybe they have. Maybe they’re used to people like me. People who screw up their lives and end up here, needing a reminder that they’re not completely gone yet. That there's still a chance.

But I don’t know if I believe that.

I watch the nurse leave, and the silence settles back into the room like a heavy blanket. Toji stands there, looking at me with something between concern and resignation. He doesn’t need to say anything. I know exactly what he’s thinking.

"Stop blaming yourself," Toji finally says, his voice low, but firm. “You're not in this mess alone, and you’re not gonna fix it overnight. But you’ve gotta stop running from it, or you'll end up buried.”

I can feel his eyes on me, watching for any sign of weakness, but I can’t give him that. I can’t give anyone that. Not after everything.

"I know," I mutter, my voice barely audible.

Toji shrugs and moves to the side, making space in the small hospital room. "We all fucked up, Sukuna. But it’s not the end of the world. You’re still here."

The words settle somewhere deep inside me, somewhere I didn’t even know was still capable of feeling something. I look away, pretending the words don’t hit me the way they do.

But I can’t stop thinking about Y/N.

Her face. Her eyes. How she would look at me when I failed her. The way she pulled away.

I failed her.

But I still want to fix it. God, I want to fix it so badly that it hurts.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that. I’m not sure if it’s even possible. But for the first time in months, I feel like I can try. I have to try.

For me. For her. For everyone I’ve hurt.

“Thanks,” I say to Toji, my voice gruff and unsteady. "For doing this... for me."

He doesn’t respond right away, just gives me a sharp look like he’s waiting for me to crumble again.

But I don’t.

Not this time.

Instead, I stand up slowly, feeling the weight of my legs beneath me. There’s no escape now. No more running from my mistakes. No more hiding. I have to face this.

And maybe... just maybe, I can start with making things right.

For once, I don’t feel like I’m completely drowning. But the battle is far from over.

"I’ll make it right," I say softly to myself, more than to Toji.

The words feel fragile like I’m trying to piece together a shattered mirror. But I have to try.

I won’t be the man I used to be. I can’t go back to that.

But maybe, just maybe, I can be someone worth loving again.

For Y/N. For everyone I’ve hurt.

And for myself.

I’m finally being released from the hospital. The sterile white walls feel like they’re closing in as the nurses hand me a prescription for the medications I’m supposed to take. But I don't care about that right now. I just want to go home. I just want to breathe again.

The ride back to the apartment feels like it takes hours. The air in the car is heavy with the weight of everything I've done, everything I’ve messed up. I haven’t spoken a word the whole way. Toji’s driving, the only sound between us was the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the road beneath the tires.

When we get to the apartment, I’m not sure what to expect. The door’s wide open when I walk in, and there’s Choso, pacing back and forth. His voice rises, sharp and full of frustration as he glances over at me. His eyes are bloodshot like he hasn’t slept in days, and I know it’s because of me.

"Sukuna!" Choso shouts, throwing his hands up in the air, his face a mix of anger, pain, and worry. “What the hell were you thinking?! You scared the shit out of us, man!”

I flinch at his words, the sting of them going deeper than I want to admit. But I don’t say anything. I don’t have a defense, not for this. I can’t make it better with a few words. So, I stand there, silent, my head hanging low.

Yuuji’s sitting in the corner of the room, his eyes glued to the floor, his friends Megumi and Nobara beside him, looking as stressed as he is. The weight of it all crashes into me. I did this to them. I’ve been selfish, and it’s clear they’re carrying this burden with me.

Yuuji finally looks up, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm glad you're home, bro."

His words don’t hit me like I expect them to. Instead of feeling the relief I thought I’d get from hearing him, I just feel hollow. I’ve caused too much damage to fix it with just a few words. He shouldn't have to say that. I shouldn’t be the one causing him so much pain.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” I mutter, the bitterness slipping out before I can stop it. "It’s not like I’ve been some fucking good example for you, right?"

Toji steps up beside me, his presence grounding. “That’s enough,” he says, his tone low but firm. “He’s home, and that’s what matters. Stop making this harder than it needs to be.”

Choso doesn’t let up though, his hands on his hips as he glares at me. "You’ve been running from everything, running from us, from yourself. We were worried you were gonna fucking end up dead, and now you’re back, but are you even gonna stay back?"

I want to answer him, to tell him that I’m trying, that I’m going to get better. But I know he won’t believe me. None of them will. Not after everything.

"Look," I say, my voice thick. "I’m sorry. I’ve fucked up, and I can’t fix everything in a day. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere right now."

It’s all I can offer, and I know it’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got. I can’t be the man I was before. I can’t just wipe away all the mistakes I made with a simple apology. But maybe I can try to be better.

Yuuji stands up slowly and walks over to me. I brace myself, waiting for him to yell, for him to say something harsh. But when he reaches me, he simply pats me on the back, like he’s trying to offer something I don’t deserve.

“It’s good to have you back, Sukuna,” Yuuji says quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat growing. I don’t know if I’m crying or not. But it sure feels like it. Maybe this is the first step in making things right. Maybe not for everyone, but for me, for Yuuji, for Choso... and Y/N.

The tears come without warning, falling like a flood. I feel them before I even know they’re coming, a warm rush down my face, blurring my vision. I can’t stop them. Not anymore. I’ve been holding everything in for so long, trying to keep the pieces of myself together, trying to be the strong one for my brothers. But I can’t do it anymore.

My knees give way, and I drop to the floor, the weight of everything—of all the things I’ve lost, of all the things I’ve fucked up—crushing me. My chest aches, tight, like it’s too small to hold all the guilt, all the pain.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter through gritted teeth, though I don’t know if I’m saying it to Choso or Yuuji or even myself. My voice cracks, the rawness of it is unfamiliar and painful. “Jin’s gone because of me... and Grandpa... he’s gone. They’re both gone.”

The tears come faster, like a storm I can’t outrun. I can’t hold it together anymore. Not for anyone. Not for them. Not for myself.

I hear Choso’s footsteps, feel his arms around me as he pulls me up, but I don’t want to be touched. Not right now. I want to crawl into a hole and disappear, to not have to face any of this, to not have to be the one who let them all down.

“Grandpa's funeral,” I whisper, my voice ragged. “Our parents didn’t even show up. They didn’t care. They never did.”

The words sting, but it’s the truth. The truth that I’ve been running from for years. Our parents left us. They abandoned us, and the only one who was there, who gave a shit, was Granpa. And now he’s gone, too.

“I’m tired of holding this in,” I choke out. “I can’t keep pretending to be the fucking strong one. I’m... not strong. I’m broken.”

I look up at Choso, and his face is pale, but his expression is gentle. I can see the hurt in his eyes, but there’s something else there too: understanding. He knows. He knows what it’s like to lose, to feel like you’re drowning in your own shit. And maybe he’s the only one who can truly get it.

I look over at Yuuji, and his face is full of concern. He’s standing in the corner of the room, silent, but I know the words are there, sitting heavy on his tongue. He doesn’t need to say anything, though. The fact that he’s here—just here—means more than words ever could.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” I say, my voice low and broken. “I don’t want to be like this anymore. I don’t want to let everyone down. I don’t want to keep losing people.”

But I’m scared. Scared of what it will take to fix all this. Scared of how much of myself I’ll have to break in the process.

“I’m so fucking tired,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. 

Choso pulls me close, his hands gripping my shoulders as if he can somehow hold me together. “You don’t have to have it all figured out, Sukuna. We’re here. You’re not alone in this. You never were.”

His words hit me like a lifeline, but the truth is, I don’t know if I deserve it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the person they want me to be.

But I know one thing: I can’t keep drowning in my own shit. I have to try to be better. Even if it’s just for a little while.

I’m home. But the journey to redemption? That’s just the beginning.

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 35 - All Blends 6

Summary: Shanks and Mihawk re-familiarize themselves with you and get interrupted

Warnings: Smut Ahead!

Peppermint Tea Masterlist -> HERE

“I guess all it takes for you to admit your feelings is a life-threatening situation, huh, Mihawk,” Shanks teases, and Mihawk turns to glare over his shoulder at the redhead. You can’t help but laugh, finally feeling at ease with your boys after the admission of love and the easy way that Shanks poked fun at the other man. 

“Be quiet, Red,” Mihawk grumbled and then focused back on you. You can see the amusement that dances in his ringed gaze, “We’re having a moment.” 

Shanks scoffs, lips pulling up in a pout, “Ugh, can’t even wait for me. So selfish. I’m a part of this too, Hawkeye.” 

Mihawk rolls his eyes, “Do you hear anything, love? Because I don’t.”

You laugh again, cheeks hurting from how widely you are smiling. It felt wonderful to be surrounded by them again. You had missed their scathy attitudes and harness banter. You reach out, winding your arms around Mihawk’s neck, and pull him in for a much-needed kiss, lips moving against his own as you sag against the warlord. You feel Shanks slide up behind you, hooking his chin over your shoulder as he presses his lips to your neck, peppering your flesh with little kitten kisses that make you shiver. 

“I love you, too, Shanks,” You assure the redhead when Mihawk allows you up from the kiss. You lean back to rest your weight against the man behind you, sighing in relief when the distribution of weight makes your feet ache less. You look down when a hand curls around your stomach, heart softening at the sight. 

“How’s snowflake?” Shanks asks quietly, and you can’t help but huff at the nickname. 

“She’s doing good. Won’t be much longer until we get to meet her.” 

Both men catch on to your pronoun usage and share a look over your head. Mihawk had already heard this from you before, but Shanks hadn’t. The redhead turns you around with a careful hand and then drops to his knees, pressing his cheek to your stomach and grinning when he is kicked in the face for his troubles, “Well, she’s strong already, just like her daddies.” 

You smile, hand dropping down to thread your fingers through his hair, gently tugging the strands this way and that as you play with them. Mihawk wraps his arms around your middle, long fingers spread wide on either side of your stomach. He can’t help but the tiny smile that curls his lips when he feels the movement inside. 

“We need to find you a reliable doctor, darling. Nothing but the best for you,” He murmurs. They’ve talked about this before, and giving birth to your child had been the only thing that would have gotten you off your island, “How far along do you think you are?” 

You shiver when Shanks rusks your shirt up, pressing kisses to the underside of your stomach, and your grip tightens warningly in his hair. As much as you wanted your boys to lavish you with attention, you’ve had a very long, very stressful month away from your home and even longer away from them. You wanted a scalding shower and then to lay down with them wrapped around you. 

“Around 34 weeks, I think? Like I said, it won’t be much longer.” 

Shanks and Mihawk share another look, the redhead’s eyes wide as he slowly pulls away, though he keeps his hand tucked close, “Then we should hurry. Crocus will be able to take care of you.”

Mihawk frowns and licks his lips in thought, “He is at the very beginning of the Grand Line. Do you think you could get us there in time?” 

It’d taken Shanks three weeks and some odd days to make it from your island to Whole Cake, and that had been with him taking shortcuts. Mihawk didn’t think it would be possible for them to get to the lighthouse keeper before it was time for you to give birth. They could contact the Straw Hats, but neither man was ready to see Zoro or Luffy right now, nor did Mihawk think that the little raccoon dog had enough experience to help them. They could contact Marco the Phoenix, but last they heard, the man had holed himself off on Sphinx Island, but that was at least closer than Crocus. 

“Marco?” Shanks suggests. He would trust the other man with his most valuable treasure, and trust him to keep his mouth shut about why they needed him. No one needed to know that Shanks now had two weaknesses out there. The same could be said for the warlord. 

Mihawk purses his lips. He didn’t have as much experience with the other man, but they didn’t have a lot of options right now, “He’ll do.” 

You grunt suddenly, brows furrowing when you are kicked in the spleen, and decide that you are ready for your shower now, thank you very much. 

“I want it steaming,” you demand after they have detached themselves from you, and Shanks has left to go start the shower for you. The redhead sends you a lazy salute, a grin on his lips as he lopes away to do as you ask. Mihawk reaches for your shirt, carefully pulling the bright garment off your head and tossing it behind him. His eyes rake over your exposed front once you are bare to him, and his hand finds one of your perky breasts, cupping it gently and smoothing his thumb over a perked nipple. 

You hiss at the feeling, heat pooling between your legs, and Mihawk gives you a playful smirk before he does it again. Your toes curl in your socks, knees feeling like jelly just from the simple touch. 

“So sensitive, from the pregnancy, no doubt,” He murmurs and raises his other hand to cup your free breast, gently pushing against your nipple. Your hands find his shirt, teeth bared in pleasure as you grip the fabric tightly, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. You jump when you feel lips pressed against the middle of your back, and then a hot tongue laving at the thin skin just below your ear, and know that Shanks has come back from the bathroom. 

“Boys,” you whine quietly, and have to bite your lip to keep yourself from making any more embarrassing sounds, “Please.” 

Shanks grins against your throat, hand dipping low to dance his fingertips just above the panties you still wear, “Please what, baby? Please stop. Or please keep going?” 

He knows what he’d like to do. He wants you on your back, legs spread so that he could bury his face in your cunt and show you just how much he’d missed you. Mihawk is having similar thoughts, though he wants to see you atop him, hovering over him with his cock buried inside your pussy as you seek pleasure from him. 

You curse them both softly, bottom lip throbbing from how harshly you have bitten it, and crack your eyes open to meet molten golden eyes that are watching your every move. He gives you a small, teasing grin, tilting his head to the side with a soft hum. His thumbs massage your breasts, pressing and dragging along your nipples, and his voice is husky when he speaks, “Use your words, dear one. You must tell us what you want.” 

KA-BOOM!

The moment is shattered by the sound of cannon fire, and it is a good thing that you were stuck between the two men, or you would have fallen to the floor. Their haki spills forth, lashing and whipping like a hurricane, but you have never been safer sandwiched between them. Shanks pulls away, grabbing up your shirt and Mihawk takes it from him to slide it over your shoulders. 

“I’ll stay here, you go and find out who’s attacking us,” Mihawk orders and the redhead disappears after giving both of his treasures a quick kiss. You watch him leave, your heart in your chest as you look back at Mihawk. 

“It’s Big Mom, isn’t it?” 

The warlord leads you over to a chair and sits you down, kneeling in front of your chair, “Most likely, love. Shanks will deal with them, so do not worry.” 

You smile at your lover and take the hand that he offers you, “I know he will. I know that you’ll keep me safe, too.” 

Behind them, the door is ripped open and Perona comes stumbling in, Hank and Sukuna trailing behind her. Hank whines and drops low when another cannon goes off, crawling forward so that he lays under your chair. Sukuna takes up the spot in your lap, glaring at the warlord until Mihawk huffs and rises from his crouch. 

“Shanks looked pissed,” Perona comments and throws herself into a free chair. She had passed the redhead on the way to the captain’s quarters and had spotted the murderous look on his face. 

The warlord huffs a laugh and shares a look with you, “I’m sure he is.” 

Topside, Shanks glared at the approaching ships. There were three of them, all gaudy with bright colors and big sails. They obviously came from Big Mom, the woman most likely furious after finding out that he and Mihawk had found you, and he wondered which one of her children had cried wolf to her over Katakuri’s actions. 

“Yasoop, take out their main sails,” Shanks ordered his second mate, and the Red Force shook in answer. The captain watched in vicious satisfaction as a single cannonball sailed through the air and hit the main sail’s mast on the ship to the right. It tilted dangerously and then fell, hitting the foremast and causing the massive sails to fold into one another. The ship veered to the right and hit the vessel next to it, puncturing the stern and causing water to flood the inside of the second ship.

A tailwind catches the last ship and launches it forward, bringing it close enough to the Red Force that Shanks could see the terrified looks on the pirates faces when they realized who they had chased after. Shanks unleashes his haki, flaring it to the point that places on his own ship splintered and cracked as he step forward. The redhead stands on the railing at the bow, and once the other vessel is close enough, Shanks launches himself forward, sword drawn and intent to kill. 

Big Mom’s ship crumbles under his will, wood splintering, and the pirates hit the deck with a dazed look upon their faces. Shanks arches his sword up, and it comes crashing down with a boom, severing the vessel in half like a hot knife through butter. He listens to the pirates scream and plead, but it all falls on deaf ears. They had signed their death warrant the second they thought that they could even try and take you away from him. 

Once the commotion seems to have died down, Mihawk leads the way up to the deck, and you take in the destruction with wide eyes. You’d yet to see what your boys could do with the power that practically bleeds from them, but it was still more than you expected. You find yourself blushing, and shift your weight, not having expected that the sight of their strength would turn you on so much. 

You shove the feeling down for now and look around for your redheaded lover, and laugh when you find him standing in the very tip of the stern of the sinking ship, hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword and a smug look painting his face. Benn swings the Red Force closer to the wreckage and Shanks leaps up and back on the deck, loping over to you and sweeping you up for a kiss that takes your breath away. 

“Took care of ‘em,” Shanks says, and then notices the way your face is still flushed with arousal. He grins down at you like the pirate he is and then looks up to meet Mihawk’s gaze, winking at the other man as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close to his side. He cuts his eyes at Benn, and his first mates nod at him. 

“I'll get us out of here, Captain,” Benn assures him and then you are shuffled back down below deck, Mihawk following close behind the two of you. Once behind closed doors, Shanks pulls you to the bed where he snags your waistband and tugs your pants down, gently pushing you back on the bed after he drops them to the floor. You look at him with wide, desire-filled eyes, lip wrapped between your teeth in anticipation. 

You watch as Mihawk toes off his boots and coat before he climbs behind you on the bed, those golden eyes molten and heavy as he stares down at you. He pulls you further up the bed, your back resting against his chest as Shanks shuffles forward until your legs drape over his shoulders. You shiver when he smooths his hand up your exposed tight, leaning forward to press a kiss to your sensitive flesh, a smirk on his lips as he flicks his eyes up at you.

“Let me make you feel good, sweetheart. I saw that look in your eyes on deck. Didn't think you would like that kinda thing.” 

You flush and look away from Shanks, but a hand on your cheek turns you back to face the redhead. Mihawk strokes his thumb along your jaw, blunt nails gently scraping against your skin. 

“Well… it's new to me, too,” you mutter and feel their warlord chuckle behind you. 

“Nothing wrong with that, love. Red is quite striking when he wants to be,” Dracule rumbles and you give a distracted nod, eyes already eating up the way Shanks leans in to kiss up your thighs, tongue darting out to delve under the seam of your panties. He trails kisses up the fabric, humming when he notices the damp patch that only grows larger the longer he continues his teasing. 

Shanks slips his thumb under the elastic, tugging it lightly until you lift your hips and he can slip them off of you, and he grins when your cunt is finally exposed to him. You suck in a sharp breath when Mihawk gathers your arms and slides them up and around his neck, urging you to lock your fingers together. His hands delve under your shirt, one hand splaying over your stomach and the other cupping a swollen breast, fingers tweaking a peaked nipple. 

A soft curse falls from your lips at the touch, and you can't help but shift your hips, feeling greedy for the touch of both of your lovers after so long apart. You had tried once to pleasure yourself while they'd been gone, but you had gotten so frustrated when you couldn't because your touch wasn't near as good as theirs. You'd lain there, tears streaming down your face and stomach cramping with arousal for a long time, missing your boys. 

Your despondent thoughts are cut off when Shanks leans forward and licks between your folds, a gasp tearing from your throat and your eyes snapping down to watch the redhead. Shanks groans, eyes shuttering at finally being able to taste you again after so long. He licks up your cunt again, pushing forward to bury his face between your legs, lips kissing and sucks your folds and up to your clit until you are a whining mess. Your legs clench around his head, dragging Shanks even closer and he lifts his arm to wrap around your thigh, keeping you still when your hips jump. 

Mihawk watches with heavy eyes, his cock hard and aching in his pants. He wants to feel your cold hands wrap around his length, feel your mouth swallow him down until you're choking and teary eyed, but that would have to wait. Right now all of this was for you. You'd been alone so long, had become so spoiled from their touch and attention that you had to be pent up, and he wasn't wrong. You changed their names like a mantra, moans and huffs spilling from between your lips like the most lovely song. The warlord couldn't get enough. 

It doesn't take much more before you are wailing in their arms, pussy fluttering and coating Shanks’ face in slick as you come on his tongue. Your voice is rough, curses and hisses falling from your lips when Shanks snakes his hand between your legs, thumb dragging along your folds and pushing them apart so that he can drink you down like a man lost in the desert. He keeps going, tongue sliding through the cream that coats your folds and up to your clit when he gently teases the throbbing bud with the tip of his tongue. 

“Shanks- honey, please,” you whine and jerk your arms, but Mihawk keeps them pinned with ease, a mean smile on his lips as he leans forward to press them against your neck. 

“What's wrong, darling?” He coos softly, and pinches your nipple, delighted by the sound that you make, “Is it too much?” 

You jerk your head in a nod, lips raw from being bitten, head feeling heavy with endorphins as you try to weakly shift away from Shanks. The redhead isn't stopping though, not until he had his fill. 

He shifts his hand, his index finger circling your entrance before gently pressing inside and groaning at the soft heat that clenches around it. Shanks wants to bury his cock inside you and never leave, wants to feel you pulse and shiver around him while he fills you up with his seed. The sight of you rounded with their child already ignited a need so great that Shanks thought it might ruin him, and he thinks he would keep you this way if he could. 

Mihawk strokes his hand over your stomach, up to the other breast when he pinches and rolls both of your nipples between his fingers, mouth leaving behind open-mouth kisses along your neck. His voice is airy, full of want and devotion when he speaks. 

“You'll never send us away again, right, angel? We're everything that you will ever need, no one else will ever make you feel the way we do.” 

You nod wildly, eyes filling with tears as their touch doesn't let up. Your cunt feels over-sensitive and raw, folds puffy from Shanks’ stubble and the way he delves two of his fingers into you over and over. The pace is maddening, the feel of his tongue stroking your clit too much, the rough pads of Mihawk’s fingers on your nipples electrifying. 

“N-never again. Can't live without you,” you stumble through your words, vision going blurry as tears spill down your cheeks. You are overwhelmed with pleasure and the knowledge that you are surrounded by your boys, and it's seconds later that you come undone for the second time, clenching around Shanks’ fingers and coming with a tired whine. 

Mind blank, you feel yourself being released and then positioned to lay down on the bed, and then two warm bodies shifting to lay on either side of you in the too-small bed. You snuggle up to the closest chest, and Shanks snickers when you bury your face against him. Mihawk tosses his arm across both of you, hand on the redhead's hip and keeping you trapped between them. You feel content and jelly-legged for the first time in over a month, so relaxed that it doesn't take long for you to pass out with a sleepy I love you. 

The two men share a look over your head, and both quietly agree that after today, all of you deserve to have a good night's rest. They would wake tomorrow and see about getting into contact with Marco, but for now, they would rest with their treasure tucked secured between them.

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27 @breadedloafs @enpvrirnce @gottalovethefandom @mfreedomstuff @caniseethefourthsword @olenoname @glitterystarfishfestival

[sprout-fics]

Silent Night

(Simon Ghost Riley x OC 'Fix')

Part of my Snowblind Series

Rating: General Wordcount: 2.3k Tags: Angst, Whump, Mutual Pining, Slowburn, Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Trauma Warnings: Descriptions of injuries A/N: In my head this oneshot takes place between Hellebore and Mayday Mayday, during Fix and Ghost's weird mutual longing era. Anyways, thanks for sticking with this story for another year!

Divider by @adornedwithlight

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that you and Ghost are the only ones on base during Christmas.

Normally you’d fly back to D.C. for the holidays and camp out at Laswell and Paula’s house in NoVA. Kate had made sure you knew you had a standing invite to visit any time. Yet this holiday Paula had convinced her wife to take a camper out west to some ski resort, taking Whiskey along as well. So Kate had sheepishly let you know that while you were free to house-sit, they would be indisposed. Rather than face the ghosts of your family and DC alone, you decided to stay on base in the UK.

The rest of the team left days ago, taking up their valuable holiday leave and traveling to their respective corners of the UK. Soap had eagerly chattered about visiting his sisters and seeing his nieces, nephews and Nan. It’s not often he gets to see them all at once, and you know he looks forward to wrestling with the ‘wee tykes’ and shooting the breeze with his brothers in law.

Gaz had sheepishly shared he too was visiting home- going to see his mom and sisters as well. Though less rowdy than Soap’s family gatherings, he made a face about being fussed over after not visiting home for so long. No doubt he’d be scolded for not calling home as often as he should and have his mom start asking pointed questions about finding a nice girl to settle down with.

Price hadn’t mentioned any family to you, and you hadn’t asked. Whether by omission or the fact that he didn’t have any to speak of, the matter seemed a tender point for him and you quieted any questions you thought to raise. He did, however, smile when talking about his nice cottage and warm fireplace, a glass of whiskey and the quality box of cigars Nikolai sent him every year for Christmas.

One by one they left, easing off into the gray winter. With them most of base trickled out as well, the younger soldiers whooping and hollering as they boarded the bus to the airport or had family pick them up at the gates. Eventually, as the snow fell and the days darkened further against the solstice, it was just you.

You...and your lieutenant who hasn’t left his room in three days.

Price had warned you before he left that the holidays were a hard time for Simon. Though he didn’t share details, the fact that Simon never mentioned any family was evidence enough that for Simon holidays were not the bright cheery festivities others were used to. Like you, Simon instead approached lonely carols and the solitary, starry nights with a sense of loss, of grief.

With a skeleton crew running base, you’re left largely to your own devices. The first day is fine. You spend valuable down time catching up on the pile of books you’ve accumulated, including some sent to you by Farah. You visit the gym, take a long hot shower, watch a cheesy Hallmark film in the rec room, eat dinner, and doze off for about ten hours straight.

By the end of the second day you start to feel restless. It used to be that you soaked up any down time you could, but after joining the task force and getting used to their rapid fire mission schedule, so much unstructured time only serves to itch under your skin with the need to move, to go. You try and burn it off with a few laps around base, but the quiet of the buildings only unsettles you.

Gaz and Soap don’t reply to your attempts to text them, too busy with their own holiday gatherings to entertain your need for socialization. In the evening you stare up at the ceiling of your room and think about knocking on Ghost’s door.

You text him, but he doesn’t reply.

You think about him as you lay awake in your bed, listening for the sound of his answer, only to be left in silence.

By the end of the third day you can’t stand it anymore.

In the evening you stand in front of Ghost’s door, hand raised to knock and your knuckles shy of the surface. You’re not even sure what your plan is, even if he does answer. You haven’t seen Ghost leave his room at all, and even the mess hall staff say they haven’t seen him. You’re worried about him, about if he’s eaten recently, if he’s rotting inside his room.

“Ghost?” You ask after minutes of silence standing before his door. “It’s me.”

Silence, and you wonder if he’s even in there at all.

“I just...” You try again, throat dry as moments pass with words unsaid. “...just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

This time there’s a sound of slight movement inside, followed by the sound of something that sounds suspiciously like broken glass.

“Ghost?” You ask again, alarmed. “Is something broken? Are you okay?” and when he doesn’t reply you feel anxiety gnaw inside your chest. “Hey, Ghost, answer me-”

The sound of heavy, thudding footsteps reaches you before you can reel backwards, and the door swings open abruptly to reveal Ghost’s massive, dizzying figure looming out of the pitch black of his room.

“What.” He says flatly, anger scarcely hidden in his voice, one bare hand holding onto the door frame with a white-knuckle grip and eyes narrowed with a dangerous warning.

You swallow, taking a step back to view him fully, eyes raising from his feet to his masked face-

and settling on his bare, bloody knuckles.

“What-” You manage, brow furrowing. “What on earth did you do to your hand?!”

Ghost blinks, eyes softening as he raises his hand, as if noticing it for the first time. There’s glass shards embedded in his skin, and concern flutters brightly in your chest as he merely grunts.

“ ‘S fine.” He mutters before his dark eyes narrow in on you again. “What do you want.”

“It’s not fine.” You manage, grabbing for his hand to raise it up an examine it. You’re so worried you don’t even see the way Ghost flinches when you touch him. Blood streams between his fingers, cakey and dried, tiny fragments of glass sticking from his skin. You force yourself to swallow, thinking about how much it must hurt to be walking around like this.

“What did you do?” You ask him breathlessly, followed by: “Nevermind. Do you have a med kit in here? I can run to the infirmary and get one- though my room might be closer...”

You don’t see the way Ghost blinks at you, shoulders softening as he takes in your pinched, worried face.

“...I have one.” He mutters at last, turning into the darkness of his room with the door open, apparently for you to follow. You stand on the threshold hesitantly, blinking as you notice the lingering chill from Ghost’s frigid fingers. As you step forward darkness engulfs you, only a slant of light from the hallway to provide any illumination to the pitch black room.

Ghost’s room is cold, bare, and if you didn’t know better you would have assumed no one slept here. The only signs of life are the blankets on the bed haphazardly tossed from the thin mattress, and a phone charger plugged into the wall. The desk is empty, the dresser looks untouched, and even the closet is absent of any clothes that would hang there.

Your boot crunches something fragile, and you look down to see a tiny, glimmering shard of blood-stained glass. Crimson droplets lead to the bathroom, and when you glance inside you see the mirror.

Shattered.

Ghost rustles with something in the drawer of his desk, finally pulling out a med kit and depositing it beside you with a solid and pointed thunk. His dark eyes glimmer in the dimness of the room, unblinking. Waiting for you to speak.

When you meet his gaze, your chest aches.

You’re not sure what demons have been haunting him in this solitude- evil enough to make him violent and volatile enough to punch out the mirror. Sinister enough so that he hardly noticed the glass embedded in his knuckles. You know if you ask you risk Ghost forcing you out, locking himself away only so ghosts can torment him in the silence.

So you say nothing, eyes lowering away from his coal-dark gaze burning into your skull. Gingerly, you reach for the medkit and turn on the desk lamp to see what you’re doing. Ghost wordlessly settles on the edge of his bed- his entire frame one gigantic line of tension from his fingertips to his toes. He looks ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, fleeing and leaving you in the darkness. One hand clenches tightly on his knee, gaze watching you like a cornered, wild animal.

Ready to bite at the first touch of kindness, like he doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

You snap on gloves and disinfect the tweezers before dragging the desk chair before him and silently getting to work. Questions burn in your mind as you pick glass shards from Ghost’s knuckles, fueled only by his eerie silence and inhuman stillness. Each tiny fragment catches what little light there is, glimmering like yuletide stars amidst an endless expanse of midnight sky.

Secrets linger behind Ghost’s dark pupils- tales of death and destruction of something he once held dear. Smoke billows from his mouth, the fires of carnage burning bright in the empty cavern of his chest. The soot settles around his eyes, darkens his gaze in mystery and the promise of retribution if you come too close.

Like a moth to a flame, you want to set yourself on fire in his stare.

For you too are burning up from the inside out.

Ghost’s hand is frozen still inside your delicate hold, like a wild animal caught between the jaws of a trap. Eyes unblinking, promising to sink his teeth in you the moment you make a wrong move. It’s slow work tending to his hand, cleaning the glass and setting it aside. Fresh blood stains his knuckles but Ghost acts like he doesn’t even feel it.

Whatever demons haunt him must hurt tenfold.

Though you don’t yet know what they are, you know you can understand. The emptiness and longing, the pain of wishing things were different feels all the more acute during the darkest days of the year. Memories wash over you during moments like rogue waves, and you have to brace yourself against them lest they sweep you out to sea.

Truth be told, you’re not sure what’s worse- the fact that you have family that’s alive that you wish you didn’t have, or the fact that Simon has no family at all. In some ways, you’re almost jealous. Maybe, if things were different, you wouldn’t be so haunted by the things you used to love.

“Almost done.” You mutter quietly, reaching for the disinfectant to clean the shallow wounds on his knuckles, and Ghost doesn’t make a sound despite the sting.

You swallow thickly before trying in a quiet voice: “Why is Santa’s sack so big?”

Ghost blinks, as if startled from a reverie of destruction that plays out behind his eyes.

Trying to keep your voice even, you manage to catch his gaze with a half-hearted smile.

“Because he only comes once a year.”

Silence, and Ghost’s eyes flicker with something real for the first time, something that if you stare for too long, seems almost fond.

“...Not bad.” He offers at last, and you grin.

It doesn’t take long to clean the wound and bandage it. When you’re done Ghost flexes his hand and inspects your handiwork with a nod. Though he doesn’t say anything else, you can see the thanks in his eyes.

You could choose this moment to press him, ask him what made him act this way- what ghosts haunt him so. Yet you know patience is they key to taming wild things, so you retreat carefully, quietly to the door. It’s there that you linger, looking back to where Simon sits on the bed, unmoved. He’s a massive shadow amidst the darkness, a slant of light cast onto him where he sits slumped forward, cradling his injured hand and lost in thought.

Words escape you. There’s nothing to be said that feels right for this moment. No reassurances or apologies or offers of kindness seem to penetrate the grave soil Simon has pulled down on top of himself. With your shadow cast onto his form you pause, swallow before offering quietly:

“Merry Christmas, Simon.”

You close the door behind you, only so you can lean against it and lose yourself in thought as Simon sits silent in the darkness, staring down at his bandaged hand and thinking how warm your touch felt against his own.

Some day, when things are different, Simon will tell you of the things that happened long ago. He’ll talk about that day- about Tommy and Beth and Joseph. He’ll talk about how it’s been so long he can hardly remember the sight of his mother smiling at him, but he can still remember her voice. He’ll share how he still blames himself, how things should have been different. He’ll talk about the scars you can’t see and how he’s still so afraid to allow himself to be loved because he can’t stand the pain of loss once more.

Some day, you’ll hold him close to your chest as he shares all this and more, listening until he empties his chest of grief and you sit in the silence, allowing his wounds to close themselves over. You’ll hold him as he shudders but doesn’t cry, feeling his bones tremble with the weight of the life he’s lived.

Some day, you’ll find the strength to share your own scars, tell Simon of the loss you’ve felt, and the betrayal that came with.

Before then, you’ll bend your head and kiss him, and wait until you’ve both made yourselves whole again.

Tag List:

Please reply to or reblog this post with 'taglist' to be tagged in future updates. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, please DM me.

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001 @alittlefansthings @allaboutirem0 @keiva1000 @makariaspresence @achelois-is-here @nightingale-ghost-writer @altered-delta @thetimidsarcasticcat @nestaarcheronss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ghxstyops @whotfislynn @gazs-blue-hat @obi-wansorrow @liltofu99 @thatswhyilovetheghost @devilsfoodcake22 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @hlo-kty @children-of-epiales @definitelyanonymous @queenquazar @alicesfracturedmirror @stillinracooncity @paigetaylor628 @jinxxangel13 @enfppixie @itsnotmyfaultimdifferent @dustycrusty09 @cminoko @caitiecatastrophe @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @squidalapobre @idypia @astroponyo

[leighsartworks216]

Sour Candy

Sylus x gn!Reader

One of many drabbles that will never become long fics. Instead of hoarding them, I am freeing them from their prison in my notes app

Warnings: fluff, silly, swearing, candy, food

Word Count: 328

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

"Sy~! I got some stuff!"

The man in question watches with a raised brow as you pour a tote's worth of candy across his desk. Paperwork be damned, the confectionary comes first. Still, he can't help chuckling at your contagious excitement.

"What's all this, sweetie?" He picks up a snack-sized bag and reads the label. And another, and another. "Are these all sour?"

"Uh-huh!" You toss the bag carelessly aside and begin sorting out all the candies into a semi-organized mess. "I went to five different shops around Linkon and three shops here. Some of these are nostalgia candies - you know, the stuff branded to be, like, reminiscent of old things they don't really make anymore to make more sales because this is the only way you're gonna find it? A bunch are newer, all claiming to be the most sour candy on the market. And these~" You push a sizable pile to the side. "Are from the N109 Zone and probably are the most sour candy available for purchase anywhere because fuck food regulations."

"We have some regulations-"

"You have Red 40."

"- they're just not as strict as Linkon's. You're not going to get sick eating our food."

"Okay, whatever. Do you want to burn your mouth off with way too much citric acid with me or not?"

He quirks a brow at you. You raise yours back in a silent challenge. But he can never refuse you, can he? "Fine. Should we have your doctor friend on speed dial for when this inevitably goes awry?"

"Absolutely not. I have to nag him about how much sugar he eats already - I don’t need him using this as blackmail."

-

"These aren't bad. Two out of five."

You would gape at him, if your lips weren't scrunched up and your eyes weren't watering. "TWO?! This is the most sour candy we've tried yet!"

He shrugs and casually pops another one into his mouth. "They're not strong enough for me."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko 

[dark-elf-writes]

Honestly I am just insanely cusius about the fall out of Bakugou in two heroes and I need to know what happens next please. A drabble of that would be beautiful. I just finished my rereading it lol

Masaru Bakugou wasn’t stupid.

He knew that he had dropped the ball raising his son. Knew that his choice to be the voice of reason between the two hotheads that were Katsuki and his wife had not been enough to mitigate the damage that had already been done both in their home and outside it. Knew that, when it came down to it, he had failed not only Katsuki but Izuku as well.

(He remembered innocent green eyes looking up at him through a sheen of tears. “Why are they so mean, Uncle Saru?”

He hadn’t had an answer then, before it was his son causing that pain. He didn’t have one now either.)

The chime of the doorbell almost went unnoticed in the cacophony of the house. Katsuki and Mitsuki had been screaming at each other since they had left the police station. Masaru was certain the only reason that their car, any furniture too large to throw, and most of the house was intact at all was the quirk suppressing cuff clamped around Katsuki’s ankle. The same cuff that would remain there until Katsuki’s trial.

Pushing that thought away, Masaru walked through the swath of destruction his family left in their wake and opened the front door.

He wasn’t particularly surprised to see the mismatched trio of pro heroes on the other side of the door, but he still felt his stomach sink when he saw the rage in their eyes.

(Rage he understood. Rage he could feel in the pit of his own gut. Rage for a child that had almost died only hours ago at the hands of his son.)

“Bakugou-san. We would like to speak to you and your family about what is to be expected moving forward.” The principal of UA said with deceptive calm. Masaru didn’t fall for it. Not when the rage in the mammal’s eyes burned brighter than the explosions that had nearly cost him a student on live television.

Something shattered deeper in the house. Masaru’s eye twitched.

“Please, come in. Don’t bother removing your shoes.” Knowing Katsuki and Mitsuki, there could be broken glass anywhere at this point. "I would offer tea, but I'm sure you are all very busy." And he wasn't certain that any of their drink ware had survived the war going on behind him.

They didn't give any of the polite deferring that was expected of guests. Masaru couldn't blame them. He was clinging to years if ingrained manners with little more than his fingernails, and with each shout and crash from behind him his grip wavered. If anything the woman, Midnight, if Masaru remembered correctly from the packets that had been sent out when Katsuki had been accepted to UA, seemed to be trembling with barely contained rage.

She had been there, he suddenly remembered. She had been the closest to the field. It was her hands that had caught Izuku when both children had been knocked unconscious, leaving Katsuki to hit the dirt on his own.

(He was a terrible father, he knew. What else could it mean when he was grateful she hadn't caught his son.)

"We should speak to all three of you at once," Nezu's voice was soft compared to the carnage in the house, but it rattled Masaru all the more. He would have preferred him to scream. To roar at him like his own thoughts did for being so blind.

Masaru nodded, leading the three of them to the living room swerving around broken glass and shattered pieces of the life that had once filled their home.

Katsuki and Mitsuki were facing off around the couch. Both of them red faced as they screamed curses at each other. Masaru had grown so used to the noise he hadn't even noticed when he had led the heroes in. Neither of them so much as looked in their direction, so lost in their fury.

Something sparked in his chest. White hot and with all the force of one of Katsuki's explosions.

"Enough!" He roared it at them, cutting through their shouts with a single word.

(He had never raised his voice to either of them. Never in all the time Katsuki had been alive. Never since he met Mitsuki in high school. Both of them looked at him with slack expressions, struck dumb in their shock.)

"Enough," He repeated at a normal volume but the iron in his voice made them both blink. "Both of you, just, enough."

It struck him then that he couldn't offer Katsuki's teachers a place to sit. Even with the couch still mostly in tact, the glass from every picture once the walls and the small fiddly blown glass figures Masaru had so adored was scattered over every inch of their living room. Like a bomb had gone off in their home.

(Like they had raised the bomb that would destroy them.)

None of the heroes seemed like they were much inclined to sit anyway. Midnight dropped back to lean against the farthest wall from Katsuki while Aizawa, with Nezu on his shoulder, stood in the center of the room where the mammal could keep his dark eyes on all three of them at once.

"We have come to inform you that Bakugou Katsuki has been formally expelled from UA as the result of an assault on one of his fellow students," Nezu kept his voice soft, so terribly soft.

Katsuki, however, did not. "The fuck do you mean expelled you fucking rat! Deku fucking—!"

"Katsuki!" Masaru's voice cut through the argument as well as any explosion. "I said enough. You will listen to your… to the heroes, and you will do so silently." It was probably the shock that made Katsuki listen more than any respect for Masaru as his father. Masaru didn't much care as long as he was quiet.

From all Nezu reacted, it was like neither of them had spoken at all. "He will be expelled with a black mark on his record and a personal note from myself attached listing my… concerns should he be accepted into another heroics program. We take the safety of our students seriously at UA, and we know that all of our fellow schools across the world feel much the same."

It was as good as the death of the dream Katsuki had held since he was a toddler. A black mark from UA. A personal condemnation from Nezu. There was not a single hero school in all of Japan that would stand against that. Not a single one in the world if Masaru were to make a guess.

Not that he would have tried to look.

Masaru bowed, a perfect ninety degrees, and kept his voice on the shattered glass under his feet when he spoke, "Thank you for taking the time to inform us. With consideration to what happened, I had already decided to pull Katsuki out of UA, and was already looking for an online program unrelated to heroics that would take him in spite of his… rather televised faults." If he wasn't convicted of attempted murder, Masaru couldn't help but think as he caught sight of the quirk suppressing cuff around his son's ankle from his position.

"What?" It spoke to just how stunned Katsuki was that the word had come out as a strangled whisper rather than a roar.

Masaru straightened, not daring to look at his son when he spoke. Instead his eyes caught on a patch of wall brighter than the rest where a picture had once resided.

(Izuku's smiling face had once looked back from that picture, where they were clinging to their mother's arm. Katsuki and Mitsuki had both also been smiling for once. A rare moment of peace caught on camera now crumpled and shattered on their floor.

He wondered what it said about all of them. Surely nothing good.)

"I have been too lenient toward the problems in your behavior for too long, which resulted in another child being hurt. I refuse to make that mistake again. It is my greatest shame that it took me this long to see."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Midnight's head dip in a nod. Confirmation and damnation in the movement. Her hands might have been the ones stained with Izuku's blood, but the ghost of that blood rested on Masaru's soul. He should have known, should have seen the warning signs, but he had not. Now he had to live with that failure for the rest of his life.

(It would be so easy not to. To run as far as he could. To leave nothing but signed divorce papers and a broken home full of rage and guilt behind him.

But Masaru had taken the easy route too much already, and he, frankly, didn't trust Mitsuki to keep Katsuki under control.)

He nodded back at Midnight, a message received and understood. "I apologize for the harm that Katsuki has done."

It wasn't enough, and he knew it.

It would never be enough.

Masaru had to say it all the same.

None of the heroes accepted the apology. None of them would lessen his guilt. None of them so much as bowed before showing themselves out of his home. Masaru was grateful for it, was grateful for the stunned silence that they left in their wake even more so.

[docholligay]

Immediately after season one

My brain is a puddle out my ears, but hey! Only 400 more words and I'll have managed the 3000! Wish me luck!

This is about 700 words.

Minako wasn’t stupid. She paid attention to things, even when people thought she didn’t. That was part of the game. She paid attention, and she remembered things. Okay, they weren’t the things people thought she should remember, like the capital of…Greece, or whatever, or who the fuck was emporering when, but they were more important than that.

She didn’t get confused. So why now? 

For last three weeks, Minako had felt like she was living in a snowglobe. Tokyo was as it had always been (but it isn’t) and school was boring (I’m forgetting something) and her friends still wrote from London (what was I doing in London?). But just at the edge of her life, she could see a curve, shiny and almost hidden by the falling snow around her. There was something outside, that she could not reach. 

It was like losing a limb, except if you lost a limb, you could point to it and go, “Shit, my leg’s gone,” and whoever you’re sitting there with would go, ‘oh! That fucking sucks!” and they would feel bad for you, because your leg is missing, and everyone can tell your leg is missing. 

“I feel wrong, and incomplete,” didn’t get the same reaction. Just a chuckle and a shrug that being a teenager was hard. 

Minako Aino wasn’t herself. Or, she wasn’t fully herself. Parts of her had been cut out (like a ransom note) and pasted over (worse, the magazine that wrote the note) and nobody else seemed to be able to see it. There was something (someone? someones?) missing from her. She wandered around Tokyo, trying to find it (the thing that wasn’t real, except it was) but it kept running away from her, like a scared stray cat (a cat. Was there a cat? Blending into the fog, white maybe, but no, cats can’t…) 

So Minako Aino rode the subway, and climbed up out of the station, stopping randomly to find the edge of the glass, to find a way to dig under and be free. Sadako from the volleyball team told her she was just being ridiculous and London must have made her weird. (no I’m weirder than London ever dreamed of being) English people are just weird, she said, so it made you weird. (and London was fine Londoners were fine and nothing like Tokyo or Tokyoites but also covered in all the same filter all talking that same mumble) Come to the cafe with us after school, we’re going to get melon parfaits (they don’t sell melon parfaits in London but I remember them anyway because its all the same, because this thing is bad at its job) 

Going crazy was more work than Minako had imagined. 

She almost found it, once. She felt the glass crack beneath her fingers. It nearly gave way. 

As she was walking along some prefecture, by a shrine, she smelled it. The incense. It shouldn’t have meant anything. It’s Japan. It’s lousy with shrines, which she never had an interest in (but you spent so much time here) and the shrines are all lousy with incense (you remember this one, the wood and the slight musk). But she stopped, staring up at it. 

There was a world. A world separate from this one. And she was the same person, only different. She knew different people. She did something. She had something. Life was complicated, aand she dreamed about leaving it constantly. She wanted it back, more than ever. 

The shrine maiden, long black hair, so black it was almost purple in the sunlight, like a raven’s feathers, turned toward her. Her broom stopped. They stared at each other, saying nothing, and Minako felt it. She felt the glass crack. She stepped closer, just one step. This was it. This was the bend in the sky where the dome rested, and if she could just. 

“What?!?!” The shine maiden bellowed, suddenly angry, like she could hear the crack too, like she was trying to hold up that curve of sky Minako desperately wanted to bring down. 

“Nothing.” (everything anything come back we’re almost there take my hand break it break it BREAK IT)

Minako headed back into the fog, to catch the train.

[bluedalahorse]

The Season 3 Erik reveal + four coming of age books with similar emotional gut punches

A post written for YRFavesFest2024, graciously hosted by @youngroyals-events. This is in response to prompts #16 and #12.

credit to @scatteredpiecesofme for the screencaps

Disclaimer: I know not everyone feels the same way about this scene. This is not meant to be a persuasive essay about why you should like it. Instead, I am explaining why I liked it as a dramatic moment. If this is one of your least favorite scenes, this might be a good “scroll on by” post, or one where you put on your “agree to disagree” goggles.

I never trusted Erik. Perhaps it is more accurate to say, I never trusted the version of Erik that was a sunny memory. I was too suspicious of the way he laughs at August’s misogynistic jokes in the first episode, the way we know he was involved in the Society, and so on and so forth. I could feel in my gut there was more to know about him, and I knew that we were going to learn something big in season 2 or 3. This was a moment I was waiting for, but in that way where you wait in dread.

(I will admit the dread was tempered with interest; imperfect, potentially harmful Erik was always a more interesting idea to me than saintly, perfect Erik.)

My first time watching season 1, I was primarily orienting myself through the first three episodes. It wasn’t until Erik’s sudden death at the end of season 1 episode 3 that the series clicked into place for me. That’s when I felt I knew what it was about.

I actually think Wilhelm’s arc is not as much about falling in love with Simon as it is about Wilhelm grieving Erik, often in ways that leave him angry and confused. Wilhelm’s love for Simon is tied up in this—it takes root at the beginning of the series, and then it blossoms in a moment when Simon can be there for Wilhelm in his grief. And Wilhelm loses Erik more than once over the course of the series. There’s the obvious loss that happens in 1.3, but 3.4 is where Wilhelm loses the sense of security he feels around the memory of Erik. As viewers of the show, we can probably guess about Erik’s role in the initiations from the beginning of the season. Even though we know what’s coming, we still hold our breaths as we watch the revelation hit Wilhelm.

And then there’s August. August, like Wilhelm, is also grieving Erik, and it’s here we learn that Erik presided over the initiation that traumatized August and others as first years. This scene recontextualizes so much of what we see from August in the first and second seasons. So many of the things August does are driven by him running away from that moment, or attempting to bury it deep in his memory.

Like many fans, I wish we’d learned more about August’s relationship with his father, but I also wonder if we’re seeing it filtered through the prism of August and Erik’s relationship. Both Erik and Carl Johan were role models for August and influenced his sense of masculine ideals. They were people who made him feel as if he had a role and value—as the heir to Årnäs and as a trusted relative to the royal family. At the same time, they also harmed him in ways that taught him how to harm himself and others. We know what Erik did more explicitly, whereas how Carl Johan treated August is more subtly hinted at. But we can also make some educated guesses.

I don’t think the point of this scene is to pull the rug out from under viewers and say, “See, Erik was the evil one all along; August has a Freudian Excuse for his behavior.” We see plenty of indicators that even Erik struggles within the system he’s destined to rule. We know Erik went to Boris for support, but not what he sought support about. We see him day drinking and wonder if there are reasons behind his reckless driving. And yet, he’s gone before he can give us honest answers about who he is and what his true values are. This is what makes August and Wilhelm’s grief for him so difficult for them to process (not that grief is ever easy.) Who is Erik outside of the crown? And who can they feasibly become, if they’re expected to replace Erik in his absence? The system wants to push them one way, but is that going to bring them happiness?

To me this scene captures so much of what I like about coming of age stories like Young Royals: the moment when a protagonist learns that the world is not as clear-cut as they once imagined it. The person they love is imperfect and did something harmful, the person who harmed them is suffering in their own way, and all of them are caught up in systems much bigger than themselves that laid the groundwork for harm to happen. These are the stories that bring me the most catharsis, especially when it comes navigating thornier, more conflicted emotions.

In the spirit of this post, I’m also going to share four favorite coming of age novels that impacted me the same way this reveal did. These stories are often mentor texts for me when I write Young Royals fic. They’re also damn good reads!

Girl Made of Stars by Ashley Herring Blake

Deposing Nathan by Zach Smedley

A Sitting in St. James by Rita Williams-Garcia

Patron Saints of Nothing by Randy Ribay

I’m not going to summarize each book (I’ve mentioned them in other posts before, and you can easily look them up) but they all feature stories with nuanced characters navigating fraught family dynamics. Most deal with cycles of trauma and abuse. They don’t ignore the influence of systemic injustices, and how power and hierarchy enable abuse and make it easier. And yet, as heavy as these novels are, they also uplift positive connections between humans and the way people find healing and catharsis in the wake of tragedy.

Let me know if you get one from your local library and read it. Maybe we can book club together!

[humanityissstrange]

Humans Are Weird: Christmas Trees

Zork’ak did not mind being alone. 

Though soon, he realized he wasn’t. Holding still, he swore he heard voices, and softly, he trailed after them. After a few more turns, he could understand the words. 

“-telling you that I know how to drive the damn thing.”

“I heard you almost wrecked it.”

A few steps closer and everything became clearer. 

“I did not!” That was Steve, Zork’ak was certain. 

“That’s not what Kai said. She said you almost flipped the damn thing,” Lyle answered. 

“Maybe I should drive.” Xander was quieter than the other two. “I’m not sure you are the best option.” 

Keeping his weight balanced and light, Zork’ak followed them without them seeing. He knew humans well enough now to know that this was the best way to get answers. 

“It’s a short drive and neither of you have done it.” Steve’s voice was low. He was angry, Zork’ak could tell. 

“Maybe not.” Lyle did not sound convinced. “But I have been on plenty of excursions. More than you if I remember correctly.” 

When the three started to descend, Zork’ak could no longer keep his presence hidden. The narrow downward ramp would expose him, and if he waited too long, he might not be able to follow where they went. 

“None of you will be driving,” he said, grinning when the three guys jumped. 

“Zor!” Steve spun around, hand to his chest as he kept his voice low but nearly reprimanding. “You scared us.”

“No shit,” Lyle muttered. “I’m sure that was the intention.” 

Zork’ak only nodded, not interrupting them. One thing he had learned - but had not reported - was that humans often gave all the answers he needed if he was silent long enough. 

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Steve demanded. 

This made Zork’ak laugh. “I should ask you that.”

“Steve, shut up.” Xander shoved him. “We were just walking around for a bit,” he said to Zork’ak. 

The Klyl shook his head. “You don’t need to drive to walk around.” 

“Shit,” Steve muttered, and this time, Lyle shoved him. 

At one point, Zork’ak didn’t know how to handle the humans’ behavior, much less understand it. Now he found them…amusing. An emotion he had finally come to learn. It seemed the humans had made him feel it more than anything else. 

“Where are you driving to?” 

He didn’t expect an honest answer to his question. A human answer would have been something similar to their previous excuse - lacking logic. But to his surprise, Lyle actually answered. 

“We want a Christmas tree.” Xander slammed his hand into the back of Lyle’s head. “What the fuck, chucha?” 

Steve chuckled, and even Zork’ak smiled. It was rare that the humans slipped back into their native language, but occasionally, it happened. Lyle and Xander were both staring angrily at each other. 

“Why would you tell him that?” 

Lyle rubbed the back of his head. “He’s going to figure it the fuck out. So let’s stop wasting time.” His eyes shifted to the Klyl. “Are you going to help us or not?” 

“Help you?” This straightforward method was unusual to him. Every time Zork’ak thought he had come to understand the humans, he was wrong. 

“Yeah?” Steve stared at Lyle. “Help us?” 

“I’m willing to bet that you need some kind of ID or biometric scan to turn on the crafts.” He gestured to Zork’ak, who nodded. “So if you want a damn tree, we need his help.”

“What is a Christmas tree?” 

He was used to Adam’s explanations, but it was much simpler when Xander pulled out his tablet and showed him a catalogued species from Earth. A fir tree, it was marked. A large growth taller than him. 

“It’s a…” What was the word Adam had used before? “A plant.” 

“Yes. A giant one.” Steve leaned forward, typing something out on the tablet until a catalog of Christmas information that Zork’ak had reviewed opened. On it was the same fir tree, but with lights and small, round objects on it. “We decorate them and put them inside. We’ll put all our presents under it.”

“It’s important to your Christmas party?” 

“Very.” 

Zork’ak nodded. “Then let’s find a Christmas tree.”

He led the three out, as they argued among themselves over the fact that Lyle was not a ‘dumbass’ and they should be ‘grateful that he fucking asked.’ He said nothing as he selected a carrier, using his biometric scanner to log his activity. As a Superior Officer, all codes were overridden and the carrier unlocked, the storage door opening to let them out into the night air. 

Steve took the seat next to him. “I’m driving!”

“Oh, fuck,” Lyle muttered. 

Xander shoved him. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Isn’t that why we are here?”

“No! I’m here as a damn scientist.” 

Before Zork’ak could even respond, Steve had switched the cart to manual. Knycuz must have shown him how to do that. Then his palm was on the sphere, shoving it roughly in the direction they needed to go, the cart jolting under his touch. 

“Hold on!” 

Then, they raced into the dark with the wrong person navigating.

 *

This is an excerpt from a full Christmas novella now available on Amazon! To get the book in all its chaotic holiday, get Humans Are Merry by Brooke Hart! Available for FREE with Kindle Unlimited! 

[doodle-sodapop]

Toony Ladies!!

I love the Disney toons, especially the girls, they’re so adorable!

[mammomlette]

thinking about how Belphie’s situation in s1 is so Blackbird (the song) coded

(Because I never stop thinking of lesson 16 and Belphie in season1 I could go on a word rampage about that arc.)

warnings: SPOILERS FOR LESSON 16 OBEY ME lesson 16 is its own warning guys

Notes: I basically just rewrote the s1 Belphie plot line. That’s it. It’s basically the exact same but written narratively lol. Also!! I plan on writing part 3 of the obey me as soulmate tropes (barb and dia are already done) but Solomon’s part is giving me such a creative block for some reason so it’s taking a while! Sorry!

Constructive criticism welcomed :)

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,”

Shouts for help echoed through the hallways of the House of Lamentation. Why did it seem nobody but you (and the man who tried stopping you from approaching the attic, Lucifer) could hear them?

You snook your way around the house, trying to avoid the stars visible from Lucifer’s doorway and other places you’ve seen him roam at night. Even if he was distracted listening to Levi’s TSL vinyl, you didn’t want to risk it. You were determined to go up to the attic and listen to the voice shouting for you to please help, so you could free whatever may be trapped up there or at least hear it out.

You thought for a moment his calls for help sounded akin to a blackbird singing a morning’s song, though there are no mornings in the eternal darkness of the devildom; only the dead of night forever.

“Take these broken wings and learn to fly,”

You carefully made your way up the stairs, “MC, finally, no one is going to stop you. Now’s your chance to climb the stairs.” How did this voice know your name? More importantly, why are they asking you for help? What got them up there in the first place?

Your internal questions halted when you finally came face to face with the person behind the caged door of the attic. He never said his name, however he did ask you for help, and who were you if not humane? You’re here as a human, after all. He instructed to you to make pacts with the six demon brothers, starting with Beelzebub, in order to gain the power to free him. Your heart hurt for the poor human who claimed to have been locked away for so long they’ve forgotten who they are and how long exactly they’ve been locked away.

Make pacts with my brothers, learn to set me free.

“All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arrive.”

Belphie has been waiting for so long, months now spent just sitting in the same room, air long turned stale. He could tell you exactly how many boards were on the floor and cobwebs were in the corners of the room. Of course, his brother had to lock him away. Of course, his brother chose Diavolo’s rule over his own little brother.

Finally, after so long, there was finally something. A human no less, who had finally managed to enter the attic. If it had to be a human who would save him, so what?

He had been waiting so long for this moment to arrive. A moment to be free again, and even a moment to seek revenge.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,”

All Belphie heard at night now was the voice of this human. It’s strange how much comfort its grown to bring him, given his plan. But the voice of his brothers and his dead twin would be much more comforting to hear, and his sister was a much more comforting presence.

He knows he won’t miss you when you’re gone, or else he just wouldn’t go through with it, he just wouldn’t continue to manipulate you into working to free him just for him to kill you. But he will miss the routine of having a concerned voice chirping at him in the dead of night while everyone else is asleep. He’s sure Beel will suffice.

“Take these sunken eyes and learn to see,”

At last the moment came, you had finally freed him, even if you weren’t there when the cage opened, he knows it was you. Had you finally made a pact with Lucifer? Is that why he’s free? Credit given where credit is due, you were surprisingly competent for a human. It’s a shame the fate that befalls you. The fate Belphie has the power of stopping, but chooses not to.

Your eyes were so tired he noticed in the brighter lighting of purgatory hall. Sunken and tarnished by dark bags. Was this the result of your late night visits to the attic? Had you just been working too hard? Who knows, I’d rather, who cares? Any pity he felt, he swallowed down and it was quickly drowned by his seething and growing hatred for your kind. Maybe in another life, he and Lilith would be sneaking down into the human world to watch you and your kin, but not anymore. You can’t teach him to see humans as more than vermin.

“All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free.”

A humans life is always only building up to death. It’s what every human spends their life anticipating, waiting for the sweet relief or curdling torture of death. Would you feel dread in your last moments? Perhaps irony? He never could grow fond enough of you to change his plans, but you did plant an invasive seed of interest in him. He hates how he wants to understand you now more than ever, how does the human mind and spirit face death? Are you different from the countless other humans he’s killed? Are you more accepting?

It’s sad to say that the only regret he has from killing you is not making it last long enough for you to express your final thoughts to him. If only he had dragged your death out longer, given you time and air to carefully pick out your last words, maybe even a last emotion shared just with him. The thought of wanting to be the one to see your dying face, hear your dying thoughts and feel your dying senses feels quite intimate for a murderer and the murdered. Maybe in another life you weren’t unfortunate enough to be born as a human. In another life, he thinks. He dwells on the ‘ifs’ too often.

It’s only natural for humans to die. They wait their entire life for that moment of freedom, really he gifted you by killing you while you were still well loved by those around you, his brothers. Oh, his brothers will be mad… they’ll get over it, in time. They can’t love you enough to stay mad at their sweet little brother, right?

[pallases]

IM FREEEEEE