#and she’s like ‘I support you but……maybe just try this first’

[redrage71890]

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 3

Synopsis: A cancelled live performance and a wave of demonic energy, pushes our girl to her breaking point. All the while her new acquaintance wishes to hear that voice sing once again.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Yandere

CW: Medicated Drug, Panic/Anxiety Attack

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Word Count: 3.2k A/N: Quite literally thank you guys enough for your support for reading this fic. Also this is just my interpretation of the Saja Boys bc they're basically just their stereotypes in the movie. The interpretations are based off on how other fics write them.

————————————————————

A couple days have passed since (Y/N)‘s encounter with Jinu, she’s had plenty of work to fill her time. Too much in her opinion. The busy schedules and organising interviews and shows for the girls to appear in, not to mention preparing for the live performance coming. Golden featured more of her singing which is a problem for her at the moment.

Her hands won’t stop shaking. The bags under her eyes were deeper than before. Faint red pink lines were forming on her neck and arms from her constant scratching nails. Her eyes twitched whenever she’s met with a bright screen.

She’s at her breaking point.

Tonight is the first live performance and she’s been working nonstop. Bobby was nothing like her current state, though he’s been doing this longer than her. He’s much more relaxed and significantly less stressed than her. But he’s not the one who also does the live backing vocals.

Ever since meeting Jinu, she felt her nerves like usual when talking, but she was happy in the moment for an unknown reason. Maybe it’s because someone acknowledged her singing outside of her space. Perhaps it was a chance of meeting someone new who isn’t familiar as her being a manager for HUNTR/X.

Who knows.

(Y/N) just knows that she wants outside of her bubble.

Interrupting her thoughts was Bobby who came to her side, with a water bottle in hand. “You don’t seem to be going well (Y/N). Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Bobby worriedly questions.

Time was moving way too fast. It was already rehearsing time for the show.

“Y-Yeah! I’m fine Bobby! Thanks for the water, I’ll tell the girls their on in five!” Quickly grabbing them water and speed walking away as fast as she can.

Pulling along her collared shirt trying to free up more air in her lungs. All the air she was breathing escaped way too quickly. Her chest was hurting like she was hit by a truck.

‘It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine! Just one performance.’

(Y/N) knows they’re eager to turn the honmoon gold, but the world isn't ending anytime soon. A break should be reasonable enough as it is! For gods sake they JUST finished a tour literally a couple DAYS ago.

Take. A. Break.

‘Please….for me I beg…’

Reaching their changing rooms she gently knocks on the door. Hearing a small noise coming and the rattles of the handle, she’s met with the wondering familiar eyes of Zoey and Mira.

“(Y/N)! What’s up!” Zoey greets her as she lunges herself at her body. Encasing her in a tight hug. Thrusted to wake up with her being crushed by the ever sweet hunter. “Zoey! You’re crushing her!” Mira thankfully ushers Zoey to let go. Taking deep breathes to regain her lost oxygen, she glared at the sweet girl, only to be unseen by her.

"*Huff* You're on in five *huff.* Can you relay that to Rumi? *huff* I need to prepare myself."

"Okay. But are you alright? You haven't spoken to us in a while. Since the tour ended. We've been thinking that we should go to dinner sometime, if you're up for it." Mira questions, picking up on the beads of sweat on her forehead.

"We're just worried about you. You kinda avoiding us. W-We just want you to be okay! We can watch some turtle videos if you'd like? Something for us to unwind to. You don't have to worry about singing for a while once this is over."

"Yeah sure sure. Yeah. I'm fine. Just, get ready for the show. Don't worry about me. My voice is fine."

Staggering out immediately after, their worried comments falling on deaf ears.

Hurriedly speed walking towards one of the sound guys and taking a microphone for herself. Digging into one of her pockets and pulling out a container with small individual capsules. Popping one open and picking out a pill inside before throwing it in her mouth. Snapping the water open and chugging half of the bottle to push down the medication.

Her breathing began to calm and her mind felt clearer. But her hands wouldn't stop shaking. A strange mix of calm and nerves waring in her mind and body. Pushing through those feelings and thoughts, her ears pick up the instrumental beginning to play, she puts the mic near her lips.

"I was a ghost, I was alone (Hah)"

"Eoduwojin (Hah) abgilsog-e (Ah)"

"Given the throne I didn't know (Hah) how to believe (Hah)"

"I was the queen that I'm meant to be (Ah)"

Rumi's voice unnerving and only building up to more for later. (Y/N) breathily adding to her words and adlibbing along.

"I lived two lives, tried to play both sides"

"But I couldn't find my own place"

"Called a problem child 'cause I got too wild"

"But now that's how I'm getting paid, kkeut-eobs-psi on stage"

Layering her voice to harmonise with the girls like usual. Holding back until later.

"I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin'"

"Like I'm born to be"

"We're dreamin' hard, we came so far"

"Now I believe"

Dragging her voice along for the build up, but it more vocal in volume than usual.

"We're goin' up, up, up"

"It's our moment"

"You know together we're glowing"

"Gonna be, gonna bе golden"

"Oh, up, up, up"

"With our voices"

"Yeong-wonhi kkaеjil su eobsneun"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

Echoing the words of Rumi and her voice. She continues to push.

"Oh, I'm done hidin' now I'm shinin'"

"Like I'm born to be~"

"Oh, our time, no fear, no lies"

"That's who we're born to be~!"

Raising her voice high to match Rumi but ends up subtly going higher than her. Quickly realising her mistake and at the same speed pushing down her loaded hurls of self-deprecation.

"Waited so long to break these walls down"

"To wake up and feel like me"

"Put these patterns all in the past now"

"And finally live like the girl they all see"

Her silence in the verse made her vulnerable to her deprecating voices in her head. Just enough for a burning sensation to tingle at the sides of her mouth and neck.

Whispering a stream of pleas to quiet her mind.

"No more hiding, I'll be shining"

"Like I'm born to be"

"'Cause we are hunters, voices strong"

"And I know I believe~"

Collecting herself again with continuously shaking hands.

"We're goin' up, up, up!"

"It's our moment"

"You know together we're glowing"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

"Oh, up, up, up"

"With our voices"

"Yeong-wonhi kkaejil su eobsneun"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

'When does this end....'

"Oh, I'm done hidin', now I'm shining"

"Like I'm born to be~!"

"Oh, our time, no fears, no lies"

"That's who we're born to b-"

'Huh?'

The music suddenly stops as she abruptly ends her note to avoid being heard. Collapsing to her knees and clawing at her neck as the burning turned into an itching sensation.

She can hear Bobby and Mira worrying about Rumi, while she dismisses and tells them to restart the part.

Scrambling up to her feet and halts her scratching with the mic at her lips again.

"I'm done hiding"

"Now I'm shining"

"Like I'm born to b- (cough)"

Stopping her voice and falling to her knees again. A whirling nauseating pain flows through her head. Gripping her temples and clawing down her face to the added pressure.

Just picking up that Rumi wanted to take five, her heart raced even faster.

She couldn't hear anything around her. A white ringing noise filling her ears. Clawing at her ears with her breathing hastening in speed.

"Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop! Shut up be quiet. Shut up. Be quiet. Shut up. Be quiet. Go away. Go away... (hick)"

A waterfall of tears pour down her face as she quietly sobs, while hyperventilating through her tight chest. Her clawing actions stop at her neck, feeling the sweat sticking to her skin like slime.

The space was unnaturally empty for a busy stage trying to ready for a live performance.

Nobody to see the jagged patterns clawing at her neck. Reaching its way over her mouth.

Scratching and scratching at the patterns while her tears begin to extinguish the burning feeling every time it drips down her chin.

But she suddenly stops.

A silencing sensation abruptly halts her breakdown.

Something demonic was sent through the honmoon.

————————————————————

Her prays were finally met when she heard that Bobby cancelled the performance that night. Visualising her appearance was enough for her to text Bobby about leaving early. She felt horrible to leave everything for Bobby to handle.

But she was in absolutely no condition to help.

Making her own way back to the HUNTR/X tower, she sped her way towards her bathroom. Finally taking a look at herself in the mirror.

'Its still you. At least...'

Chuckling to herself and tracing her lips and along the lightning like patterns. Her usually shaggy short (f/c) hair being an absolute mess with baby hairs sticking to her face around her eyes and cheeks. Peaking through her bangs, staring back at her was a prominent gold and (f/c) tired gaze. The red veins on her sclera being bright and obvious to her crying fit earlier. The faint purple patterns reaching down to her neck, wrapping around the area were her vocal cords are.

Unbuttoning her top and disrobing her wrinkled clothes, discarding them in on the floor. Ruffling her hair and switching on her shower. Dowsing her body with cold water and washing away her tear stained cheeks.

Her first moment of silence since her time at the park.

'I wonder how Jinu is doing...'

(Y/N) has been thinking of the demon, why he was on the surface in the first place. If she considered demons nature, it wouldn't be anything good.

But she had a feeling that's not the only reason being here.

Granted she has no explanation for her reason. And additionally, she knows nothing about Jinu. He just awkwardly complimented her voice and she's the one who left early and brushed off his want for conversation.

'Damn it all! Stupid anxiety!'

Mentally cursing herself aside, she turns off her shower and steps out to wrap her body in a towel.

*Ping!*

She heard her phone alert go off. Drying off her body and stepping into her bedroom, she checked her messages and wasn't sure what to really do.

Zoey: Hey (Y/N)! We're going out for dinner since Rumi came back :D We'll save you a seat don't worry! Zoey: XXX-XXX-XXXX

(Y/N) felt no energy to go out with the girls. But she'll admit, she is worried for Rumi.

Her voice cracking pretty recently is probably making her even more stressed. Perhaps the honmoon turning gold is more important to her than she thought.

But she isn't sure if she's fit to go comfort Rumi.

Her body just feels drained.

"(sigh) What I do for these girls."

Rummaging through her cupboard and lazily throwing on a hoodie and pants. Roughly brushing her hair to to seem less messy and throwing on a pair of sneakers. Grabbing nothing else but her phone.

Entering the streets of Seoul and ignoring the slide comments of some about the cancelled show.

She felt reallllly bad for Bobby.

She's supposed to be one of the managers, but here she is wandering through the night streets and making her way to the girls. Not even bothering throwing her hoodie on because she was just tired.

Not able to pay attention to her surroundings.

*Bump!*

“Oof!” Staggering on her feet she turns around to meet the eyes of the other.

But a gentle smile meets her tiresome face, belonging to the familiar demon and his dreamy brown eyes.

”Jinu.”

”(Y/N)…”

Said demon felt relief to see her again. Her voice has been living in his mind rent free. It made him feel like a person again. Like he wasn’t a being that feeds of the souls and the shame he too feels from his previous actions.

He wants to hear her sing again.

“What are you doing here?” (Y/N) questions tiredly rubbing her temples. “I wanted to see you again.“ Jinu answers without a doubt. Though he can’t exactly be honest with her. He doesn’t even know if she’s a hunter, or whether once she knows his plan, if she’ll just slice him without hesitation.

But whether she’s a hunter or not, he still wants to see her.

”That’s a bit strange, don’t you think? W-We just met a couple days ago.” (Y/N) blankly states. Even though she wanted to see him again, it was still weird in her head. Jinu on the other hand sweat dropped at her statement.

”One can say that, but I don’t see it that way.” His response wasn’t what she imagined. But to be fair, she wasn’t sure what to think of him. “Ever since I heard you sing, I couldn’t get your voice out of my head. It’s made me…. want to see you again…” Jinu tried to describe how he felt, but even he couldn’t explain it using words.

He just felt comforted yet haunted by her tone and song.

It made him forget.

And it made him curiously want more.

”Hmm…if that’s how you feel.” (Y/N) shrugs her shoulders while muttering to herself. It feels weird to hear someone compliment her, or at least try to.

“But to be fair myself, I liked our little chat before. Even if it wasn’t much.” Her anxiety was subsiding unnaturally. She really did like being in Jinu’s presence.

That little statement was enough for Jinu to look at her like an excited puppy. "Perhaps.....maybe...we could talk more?" The words felt foreign from her mouth, her anxiety still present that just makes her second guess what to say. Nervously scratching the back of her neck.

Jinu gleams at her. "Then, why don't we go now?"

(Y/N) whips her head at him again with a widened expression.

Now? She can't. The girls are waiting for her, she has to know what happened. Something spread a demonic energy through the honmoon. And last she checked, demons don't do that. A tare feels different than what that was.

Whether she likes it or not...

She's considered a hunter.

"Sorry Jinu, I actually have som-"

"Jinu! Buddy, where have you been?"

Cutting her off was the sound of a deeper voice coming from behind Jinu.

Glancing up she catches four figures gathering behind the dreamboat. Two of them had pink hair but in different cuts and hairstyles, while the another had bright cyan underneath a yellow hat and the last having long silver grey with bangs that covered his eyes.

Their faces were alluring. Sculpted by the gods with unfair favouritism. Going all the way down to their bodies and from the sound of it, their voices too. Though even for (Y/N), they seemed way too perfect to be human.

'A group of demons? This can't be for a good reason...'

In the back of her mind, (Y/N) didn't want to fully trust Jinu. His random purpose on the surface is enough to justify her lingering doubts. But she pushed them aside just because she genuinely enjoyed the short time they had talking. Even if it was mainly him trying to talk to her.

The group of boys seemed to rag on Jinu about something like 'dancing' and 'practice.' Which only brought one answer to her mind.

"Are you guys dance training for something?"

Her voice bringing on five sets of eyes on herself. The one with the longer pink hair smirked upon meeting her questioning gaze, unnoting her own flinching back into herself.

"Why yes, are you curious?" He approached closer into her space, shivering at his invasion and taking a small step back to create distance. Jinu notices her uncomfortable expression, coming up to the pink headed demon to prevent going forward.

"Romance, you're making her uncomfortable." Halting his friends actions made the now named 'Romance' stare at him with a bit of surprise. Before Jinu turns his attention back on (Y/N) with a confident smile.

"We are actually practicing. We're debuting as a new boy group tomorrow." His answer brought more surprise to (Y/N)'s face.

"A boy band? I mean....you have the looks for it, can't say anything about everything else." She was just muttering to herself at this point. But Jinu heard what she was saying, taking it as a good sign for him.

"How about you come watch us perform tomorrow."

"Hmm? You sure?"

"Of course, we'll save a special spot just for you."

Well....considering that the girls are probably gonna have the day off tomorrow because of the cancelled show, it'll be good to keep an eye on these demon boys.

As long as they aren't hurting people, she has no reason to send them back.

But another reason popped into her head.

Sighing to herself she just hums and nods her head. "Sure. Why not?"

Jinu's eyes lighted up like fireworks at her response, internally pumping his fist in succession.

"Great! Here's a flyer for tomorrow." Handing her a pretty pastel flyer with the name 'Saja Boys' on the front with a logo of a lion plastered on the centre.

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow then." Gently smiling at them before waving a hand and continuing her walk.

Unbeknownst to her, the Saja Boys had differentiating reactions and thoughts.

They were quite intrigued by her. Jinu hasn't been fully present since his meeting with this girl, which got the others curious. He said he couldn't describe the feelings that ignited inside when he heard the girl sing.

Baby and Mystery mainly brushed it off and paid no mind to it. While Abby and Romance were slightly interested but never thought about it further.

That is until they did meet.

And my oh my...

They kinda understood?

(Y/N) from a first glance appeared quite pretty if Romance said so himself. Her baggy attire making her more relaxed and casual than the dolled up girls that he saw around before. But even that extenuated her natural beauty. But her speaking voice seemed to make Romance understand Jinu's fixation just a little bit more. Something melodic about her undertone drew his mind to a strange white noise. It wasn't anything mind numbing or dreadfully empty, it was calming.

Mystery isn't one for speaking but his heart skipped a beat hearing her casually talk. That haunting tone in her voice peaked his interest out of curiosity. But what caught him most was her eyes. A (f/c) gaze with a rim of gold around her iris. How come Jinu didn't mention that?

Abby was curious for sure about this (Y/N) chick. Wondering what the deal is with her said voice. But he was quite intrigued upon meeting the quietly shy girl. How can such a beautifully described voice come out of her?

Baby wasn't listening majority of the time Jinu was yapping about this girl. What was so important that it took that much brain space in that head of his, to the point that it looked like he was in a trance. But even meeting the girl herself, he'd rather see how things play out now that he himself has caught a glimpse of what is so intriguing.

Oh what will happen indeed...

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Edit: Fun fact, the whole panic attack part is based of one that happened to me. My whole anxiety back when I was in school basically inspired this idea in the first place. Also I have no idea why I gave Romance more time than the others, it just happened |(￣3￣)|

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna, @napbatata, @that-one-girl2020, @tagmepls, @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant, @minepugs, @crescent-z, @colorfulgardenerduck, @poem-bee, @deityofprocastinating, @0-undead-0, @gremlinartstudio, @jessica-mcd, @strayharmony943, @fruityg0rl, @cherryblossomfox, @aominehaven, @kyxmlii, @ssaischilling, @sweaterkitty-fluff, @historygeekqueen, @satansdaughter123, @theall-seeingone, @nvmkyuu, @amenabii, @julianne1024, @doggyteam2028, @nisarelle, @theall-seeingone, @hi-itsmee28, @celesteelysia, @maritheillusion, @levifiance, @kangsae-byeokfan, @hornehlittleweeblet12, @scara-simp69, @fancyhawk45, @shqyou, @enerofairy, @futuristicdefendorfart, @scentwombatarcade, @eliengoddes, @irethepotato, @sra7riddle-malfoy, @jessica-mcd

[forcedinniter]

No the victim blaming is so painful. It's like... I know I was the one who started talking about the Dream SMP and FanFiction but also... maybe have you considered that there's something in my brain that desperately wants to talk about it all the time?

I try and stop talking about it (hell, I'm literally in therapy for anxiety) but at some point the floodgates open and everyone realises I'm weird as fuck. And then what can I do? Nobody wants a meaningful discussion about how society demonises the activities of teenage girls, especially non-mainstream activities of teenage girls (not saying fanfiction is just for teenage girls but that's certainly the stereotype). Nobody wants to understand that their stereotypes about non-mainstream interests (particularly those with sexual connotations) aren't true.

It's much more entertaining to think that I'm some smut addict who wanks off to porn about someone who was aged 16 at the time he became popular (which is obviously not true) than it is to understand what I'm really telling them.

And then when people are awful to you, there are so many of them that they can paint you as the irrational one. It was January-February. I wanted the windows shut. The ones I was sat right in front of whereas everyone else was away from them. There was ice on the ground. Things are lied about and information is omitted and then you're the one who's causing a scene for asking things to be dealt with.

I had a chair thrown at me and the first thing I was asked when I went into the office (15 minutes after the thrower was sent) was 'what did you do?'. Literally on the walk there the teaching assistant (who was not there for me but was helping to deal with the situation) sympathised with me and said how hard it would be to get anything done about it because of how much everyone in that class hated me for being weird and... *checks notes* wanting a window shut in winter???

A boy in that class later confessed that nobody there was actually hot (the windows didn't need to be open) and that this one girl who always opened the windows behind me and complained about being hot just hated me and wanted to get at me and everyone else joined in for fun, opening the windows with her every time I focused on my work so that they could watch me freak out. I was so paranoid that someone was opening the window. I was so cold. And they found it funny???

Emails I read from my head of year to my parents detailed wrong or misleading information she had clearly been told by other members of my year. Other people in my year had clearly lied on statements they'd written to get out of trouble and I was never asked to fact-check despite also being there. Even if I had, who would believe one person over 40?

And the yelling of my name. Calling me 'Mummy [forcedinniter]' because the idea of me being actually sexually desirable was a massive joke. I couldn't use certain routes at school because I was harassed so often.

So many issues, so many minor issues, wouldn't have been an issue if I'd had someone on my side, a friend next to me. But I didn't, and schools simply don't appreciate that.

The education system does not support victims of large-scale targeted harassment, does not support the victims of institutional bullying. Why? Because it's too much work. I was blamed because it was easier for staff to say '[forcedinniter] caused a scene unnecessarily about a non-issue' like windows or a little bit of name-calling than it was to say 'half the school is picking on an isolated, vulnerable member of this school and I am doing nothing about it because I can't be bothered to do my job'.

These events happened at a school I'd gone to through a managed move, done because of the exact same situation at my last school. My head of year knew I was struggling, isolated and vulnerable. She knew, because she knew exactly why I moved to that school. At first, she was helpful. Then I became too much work for her and it was easier to do nothing at all.

What can you do about bullying on a large scale? Put everyone in detention? (I knew the names of about an eighth of my year at best, a useful tool for tormentors) Maybe... write a letter to someone? (What would they do?)

The truth is that there is no way, but not even punishing the individual, to blame me instead? That was and is inexcusable.

every piece of ""autistic representation"" in hollywood sucks not just because of the infantalization and inspiration porn but because movie executives always fail to realize the real universal autistic experience: spending your childhood slowly and unfalteringly realizing all of your friends not so secretly hated and/or merely tolerated you at best and you've missed every social signal about it ever

[gothicfied]

Can you please do this one? 💛

Basically takes place after 4th game. Nam-gyu finds out he lost the necklase with drugs and goes to the guard, asking if he can go back, after the confrontation that happened in the scene. He goes to the reader and she just basically takes care of him (comforting, hugging him, giving him her water, holding him in her sleep, helping him etc.) And if you want to (you dont have to), you can add there, where she helps him in the jump rope game.

Save me, my love! - a Nam-gyu Oneshot

Pairing: Nam-gyu / Player 124 x Reader

Word Count: ~950 Words

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, drug usage, addiction, violence, death, gunshots, blood (typical Squid Game stuff), I obviously have no idea how addictions or withdrawals work😭, other than that it's just fluff/comfort, not proof read (English is not ny first language)

A/N: He was genuinely so pathetic in that scene, I loved it. So sorry if any if these descriptions are unrealistic or wrong, I just wrote it like I remembered the scene lolololol Also: I am doing a pt2 on the teen reader thing, so stay tuned. Enjoy!

You never imagined that in this place, drugs would be someone's biggest issue. You thought maybe people dying left and right and the sound of the never ending gunshots would wake someone up and make them vote 'X', but no. Some of these literal animals still think money has more value than a humans life. Sadly, one of those people is also someone you grew quite close to.

Nam-gyu somehow felt like you guys were making a great team, or maybe it was because he was madly in love with you that he tolerated someone who voted to get the hell out of here. After Thanos was stabbed to death, as Nam-gyu vividly described — with a fork, he kind of... just lost it.

You did too, after the rebellion failed. You were so sure everyone could do it, but no. Originally, the man laughed at you for even trying to get through the guards or for supporting the idea in the first place, but he was still very glad you didn't.. well, die. He couldn't have handled another death like that (he could've on drugs, but he didn't tell you that, obviously).

The fact that he has used before, outside the games, became more and more apparent. Constant ticking, scratching, sniffling, rocking back and forth... whenever the effects of those little pills started to wear off, Nam-gyu became this angsty, disturbed mess that just wanted to be held by you. And you did hold him tight. You didn't know what it was about him, maybe it was because he made you feel somewhat grounded and not all alone in this place, or maybe it was trauma bonding. Probably the second thing.

During Hide and Seek, the most disturbing game you almost didn't survive, he had apparently lost the little cross necklace that held the remaining pills. Based off of how Nam-gyu acted (because, yes, you could hear him scream and sing through the halls), you were able to figure out at what stage this addiction process was. Whatever those things held in them, they were really addicting, scarily even so. It's only been like four days and Nam-gyu's acting like that.. it's weird.

Granted, you didn't quite understand how addictions worked. Because his veins were blown out by all the stuff he used to shoot up his arm, you thought a little pill couldn't make you so erratic.

From your bed, you could see how Nam-gyu scrambled to the pink guards, first asking and then eventually yelling at them to let him back because he lost the goddamn necklace. You sighed while seeing and hearing it — Man, you felt bad for him. He didn't act like this the first day or the second day and you thought that he didn't deserve this, to go through withdrawal.

After he was threatened by one of the guards, Nam-gyu quickly shut his mouth and walked back over to you, looking at you like you were the light of his life. He sighed, slowly sitting down next to you on the bed. "They.. they won't let me in! Oh my god, I know I lost that fucking thing in there and they won't give it to me."

Nam-gyu whined next to you, actually sounding like he was in pain (or that he was, at least, very desperate). His blood-covered hands covered his face as he started to rub his eyes to come back to his senses. After a pause, you put your hand on his back, drawing slow and soothing circles, because what else were you supposed to do?

"I'm seriously dead without.. without—"

"It'll be okay."

"Ohhhh— No, you have no idea how bad this is!"

The man looked at you with blood shot eyes, that were probably just there because he couldn't sleep well when high. He was exhausted, too exhausted to even explain to you what was bothering him right now when you asked him. He knew he was worrying you, but it wasn't like he didn't try fixing it yet.

Your eyes scanned his face, trying to come up with a solution. There was nothing you could do to help, mainly because you don't know what withdrawals feel like.

Nam-gyu clawed on your shirt and basically threw himself onto you, breathing like he just ran a marathon. You cradled his face against your chest, taking a quick peek to see what was going on — Nam-gyu looked like he was about to cry from frustration, anger (at himself), because he was panicking.. his eyes told a whole story and it broke your heart.

You tipped your head back to lean it against the metal railing of the bed while your hand was lightly grazing his cheek. Eventually, Nam-gyu's breathing began to calm down and it seemed like he had finally fallen asleep completely, which he wasn't able to do the past couple of nights. Just yesterday he woke you up in the middle of the night to 'talk to you' because he couldn't sleep. He had been chronically awake the whole time, which really messed with his perception of things, at least that's what you thought.

Carefully, you pushed some of his hair out of his face, calming at how peaceful he looked. You heard faint whispers of the other players talking to each other, most of them just as worried as you. You were scared, of course you were. You were scared for your life, for Nam-gyu's life, because something told you that he couldn't and wouldn't make it any further in this condition.

You truly hoped you would, though, because at the end of the day, you did truly care about him.

[queersyourgender]

hi! could you do something with Robby x diabetic reader. Maybe something where their blood sugar drops and Robby has to help them get it back up!

HR Violating Sweetness — Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x GN!Reader

Notes: Fun fact— diabetes runs in my family! I have no idea if it skipped me or not, but I sure as hell don't want to find out LMAOO

———

Being a charge nurse is no easy job. It's a grueling, heavy task, and as such, not for the faint of heart. You've always been good at prioritizing who needed earlier care than who, minimizing the amount of time wasted deciding what happens when, and directing your fellow nurses and medical assistants to getting the job done, all with the frightening efficacy of a drill sergeant. It's practically the perfect job for you.

Sometimes, though, your body disagreed. With all the stress it puts you under, you're bound to buckle every now and then, and you hate when that happens in front of others. It's kind of on you this time, though, because you'd been late for the first time in decades, and had rushed out of your home without taking your breakfast, blood sugar, nothing. You didn't even have your morning tea.

As such, it doesn't surprise you when two hours into the shift, you start feeling unwell. Your eyes refuse to cooperate and focus on the patient board, and just craning your head to look up at said board was making you feel all types of wrong. Without noticing, you lean back on the nurse's station counter, your breaths shallow and your gaze glassy.

Perlah does notice, though, because you're not leaning on the counter, you're leaning on her. “Woah, hey, you okay?” She asks you, her concern spiking immediately when you try to say something but end up muttering slurred gibberish in her general direction. Quickly, she gets to her feet, holding you up to support you and looking around frantically for the patient's food cart.

But it's busy as fuck today, there's so many people walking and buzzing about, and she can't see it anywhere. “Fuck, could I get some help over here?!” Perlah finally relents, knowing you were probably going to chew her out for it later but not particularly giving a damn at the moment, not when you're about to slip into hypoglycemic syncope.

It's not an uncommon sentence to be yelled out in the ER, but it's who it's coming from that makes Robby immediately drop everything and bound over to the nurse's station at an embarrassing speed. “I'm fine,” is the first thing you say when he swims into your vision, trying to shake your head but just making yourself more dizzy. “Just need something to eat.”

“You haven't eaten?” Robby inquires, his voice sounding far away but still clear enough for you to pick up on his incredulity. You go to say something, only for him to suddenly take something out of his pocket, hurriedly unwrapping it and shoving it into your hands. “Here, take this.”

You blink at it unfathomingly for a moment, because why does he just have that at the ready, but take it from him with shaky hands anyway. The moment you bite into the chocolate bar, you can feel your body rebalance itself, feel your feet become steadier on the ground and the strength seep back into your knees.

“You walk around with chocolate bars in your pockets?” You say, finally sounding a little more like yourself, and both Perlah and Robby sigh in relief. At the question, though, Perlah also turns to the attending, a knowing and teasing smile on her face as she watches him to see how he's going to answer.

Robby flushes slightly, his cheeks dusting a soft pink as he scratches at his beard and looks back at you with a sheepish grin. “They're for you,” he settles on revealing  because how the hell was he going to get out of this one? No lie would be believable. “Just in case.”

Your own face heats up in surprise at the words, before you suddenly adorn a shit-eating expression and laugh. “Aww, Robby,” you coo playfully, waving the chocolate bar between you two and winking. “If I'd known you were this sweet, I'd've just kissed you instead.”

And oh, the HR violation is so worth the way his entire head erupts into a violent shade of tomato red, you can practically see steam coming out of his ears to cool off. Perlah throws her head back and laughs, nudging you in the shoulder and turning away to go back to work. She's obviously trying to sneak away before you give her the aforementioned chewing out, but for the moment, you allow it.

[yan-randomfandom]

Yandere!Huntrix Imagines

[separate] 2nd POV, but feel free to interpret however!

🪻— Rumi

"Don't leave. Don't leave!"

Rumi is pathetically, incredibly dependent. Just subtle. Like the rest of her shame, she buries her feelings, with the raw hope they never rise to the surface. She doesn't exactly have a good support system (Celine). Rumi has to resort to believing the problem will go away if she keeps singing.

But, I guess... if someone did know about her patterns before the reveal, then everything is much more noticeable. She comes to you to breathe. To let go of fear, to let go of her burdens... maybe she's become too attached.

Because you know. You understand. You don't judge, you don't stare—you smile and send reassurance her way. Accepting her for who she is. Rumi feels safe and loved.

Even your touches against her patterned skin don't feel forced nor appeasing. She melts in the gentle contact, closing her eyes, relishing in how genuine your affection is.

However, you distract her too.

She can't sleep. You're not with her. Why aren't you with her? The only one who knows about her predicament—gone from her sight. Demons can reach you without her knowing. She can't protect you if she can't see you.

So, Rumi worries. Worries and worries and worries. She has to text you every moment of the day, especially night, expecting a reply back from you within 10 minutes max.

If you don't reply, she'll genuinely lose it and invite you to her home (permanently). To protect you, of course.

She'd never forgive herself if another demon got to your soul. That's hers.

🌻 — Zoey

"You're too much, and not enough."

Zoey has an unhealthy need to please everyone, even if it costs her herself. The majority of her life, she never felt like she belonged. She has to calculate every decision—choose the right one that will make everyone happy.

Well, maybe the 'everyone' doesn't include her, she thinks constantly. Think about the others first. This is where her darling comes in.

You keep asking what she wants. What she needs. What she wishes. She watches you, patient and understanding, not having violent reactions in her reluctant choices. Suddenly, her affection goes deeper from the surface level, and into your very soul.

But, uh, maybe what you're trying to go for goes the opposite way.

Zoey's too eager. She wants to please you so bad, like you did for her. A favor for a favor, maybe?

She'd casually ask you what you like. Casually ask your preferences — for example, if your love language is quality time, bet. She'll drop everything and spend more time with you. Even if it costs inconvenience, because you matter most, she violently needs to make you happy.

In most cases, she seems perfectly normal. But only because it's what you need at the moment. She's fitting in easily with your wants and needs, her desperation swept fully under the rug.

Zoey simply has to make sure you never want to leave.

🌷 — Mira

"I don't get to have a family."

Mira's the type to overthink, but also technically not? Overly blunt, short fused, highly aggressive... her words, not mine. All she wanted was to be free, to be herself. She had to leave her own family and find her own path—which led her to you.

Maybe you complement her personality well. Or even the opposite, she sees too much of herself in you. Either way, you can't hide anything from her; she can read you from a mile away. Perhaps that's what got her so intrigued by you.

She has self-awareness. Maybe a little too much, in fact—why does she feel so aggravated when you're talking to another person? Is she jealous or something? This has to be one of the pettiest reason ever to get worked up over.

Perhaps thinking about it too much is a bad idea. Now she's stuck, obsessively in her mind, on this version of you.

Is it a version she made up of you, though? You look at her like she's flawless, you smile at her like she's the most important thing in the world, and you understand her like no one has ever dared before.

She hasn't gotten this much attention from people with her own blood. The affection is so nice, so addicting, so validating—it feels too good to be true.

It shouldn't hurt to indulge a little more, right?

— in Bobby's words, I LOVE MY GIRLS !!! 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️

[thatonegrimm]

Do you write for the girls? If so can you do a girls day out shopping trip drabble with huntrix?

Thank you so much for your request! 💖

Sorry this one took a bit—I may have gotten a little carried away 😅 Your idea actually inspired me to turn it into a full shopping trip series, so while this drabble sat in the drafts, I was busy running wild with the larger concept!

Here’s your original request—and thank you again for the spark of inspiration! 🛍️✨

“Spoiled by Demon Hunters”

 Summary: You didn’t mean to be the center of attention. But when the girls of Huntrix take you shopping? You end up walking out with their affection in the form of accessories, eyeliner, and one aggressively heartfelt hoodie.

-----------------------------------------

The mall was supposed to be for them.

You tagged along for moral support. Maybe to hold a few bags, offer an opinion in the fitting room, stop Zoey from impulse-buying another sequined bucket hat that she’d swear was “iconic” but would absolutely never wear in public.

You weren’t here to shop.

Not for yourself, anyway.

You were the background character today— the designated water bottle holder, the emergency lip balm lender, the one who stood outside dressing rooms and offered thumbs-ups through the curtain.

And for a while, that was exactly how it went.

You offered nods of approval when Mira stepped out in a perfectly tailored jacket. Hyped Zoey’s crop top like a supportive bestie. Helped Rumi decide which eyeliner shade screamed “battle ready, but polite.”

You were just here.

But somewhere between the first boutique and the third iced drink of the afternoon, things start shifting.

You’re flipping through a rack, not really looking, when Rumi gently drapes a scarf over your shoulders.

Mira passes you a ring without comment, like she already knew your size.

Zoey, without ceremony, tosses a hoodie into your arms with a grin and a “This is so you it’s criminal.”

And it keeps happening.

They keep handing you things.

Not with the casual “hold this while I try on shoes” energy.

But with purpose.

With care.

With intent.

They’re picking things for you.

And you don’t know when that started—but by the time your drink is half empty, your hands are full of affection in the form of fabric, metal, and soft cotton ghosts.

You blink down at it all.

It wasn’t supposed to be your shopping day.

But apparently, none of them got the memo.

-----------------------------------------

🪽 Rumi finds you a scarf.

You don’t even realize it at first.

One second, she’s flipping through a rack of longline cardigans with the same expression she wears while strategizing battle formations—eyebrows slightly furrowed, calculating fit and function.

The next, she’s standing in front of you, holding up a scarf.

Soft. Lightweight. Just the right shade to pull color from your jacket without matching too perfectly. She doesn’t ask. She doesn’t hold it up like a suggestion.

She just gently loops it around your neck.

Smooth, practiced. Like she’s done it a thousand times before.

“Goes with your jacket,” she murmurs, adjusting the knot slightly with a featherlight touch. “And you’ll need it when it gets cold later.”

You blink. “I’m not cold now—”

But she’s already walked off.

Checking Zoey’s basket for impulse earrings and Mira’s distance from the checkout counter like she’s running a team op, not a casual shopping trip.

She doesn’t wait for thanks. Doesn’t make it a big deal.

But later—when the air conditioning hits just right and a chill sneaks down the back of your neck—you instinctively tug the scarf closer.

It’s warmer than you expected.

You press your face into the soft fabric and breathe in the faint scent of Rumi’s perfume—something floral and clean, like sakura petals and old rain—and realize…

You kind of get it now.

-----------------------------------------

🗡️ Mira finds you a ring.

You’re trailing behind the others in a little accessory alcove—Zoey’s squealing over mood nail polish and Rumi’s already scanning the next display for “non-cursed” jewelry—when Mira peels off from the group without a word.

She doesn’t say anything for a long while.

You think she’s just bored until she suddenly appears beside you, silent as ever, and presses something cool into your hand.

A ring.

Simple. Clean. Silver with a flat top and a slightly rough edge like it’s been worn before. Not polished. Not flashy. Not trendy. It looks more like something someone passed down on accident—a piece that lived in someone’s drawer long after they stopped wearing it.

You glance at her. “...You picked this?”

She gives the smallest nod. “Good shape. Doesn’t snag. Won’t bend.”

You try it on, unsure. It fits snug around your finger. Doesn’t slide. Doesn’t spin. Just sits there. Solid. Unmoving.

You glance up again, and Mira’s already looking somewhere else, like the moment never happened.

But then she adds—quiet, blunt:

“You were fidgeting earlier. Tapping your thumb on your phone case. Thought you’d like something solid to mess with.”

She doesn’t say it like she was paying close attention.

But she was.

You stare down at the ring, running your thumb along the edge.

She was right.

It does feel grounding. Like an anchor. Like something to hold onto when everything else slips.

You don’t take it off.

Not for the rest of the trip.

Not even after.

Not even once.

-----------------------------------------

 🦋 Zoey finds you a hoodie.

Well. “Finds” is a strong word.

Ambushes you with a hoodie might be more accurate.

One minute she’s gone—vanished into the tangled jungle of a 50% off rack labeled “Final Sale: No Returns”—and the next, she bursts back into view with wild eyes, winded breath, and an aura that says “I fought three spirits in there but I have returned with treasure.”

She shoves the hoodie into your arms like she’s discovered a divine relic.

“Put this on immediately.”

You blink down at it. It’s soft—stupidly soft. Slightly oversized. A warm gray color with little embroidered ghosts across the front, each one doing finger guns or wearing tiny sunglasses.

“You think I’m haunted?” you ask, already laughing.

Zoey gives you a look.

The look of someone who has very strong internal lore about you as a person.

“I think you’re soft but scary,” she says. “And this gives ‘poltergeist with a good playlist.’”

You snort, but you’re already sliding it over your head.

It fits too well. Like it already knew your shape.

The inside lining is plush enough to make you reconsider your entire relationship with warmth.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror—hood up, little ghosts dancing across your chest—and you realize you do look kind of like a problem.

But like, a huggable one.

Zoey claps like you just graduated from haunting school with honors.

“SEE?!” she crows. “You match my chaos aura now!”

She fist bumps one of the ghosts.

You wear it the rest of the day. Through three more stores. Into the café. Even while trying on earrings.

And somewhere between fitting rooms and boba refills, you realize you never took the tag off.

You just… kept it on.

Like you already belonged in it.

-----------------------------------------

You didn’t expect anything.

You weren’t even the focus.

This was supposed to be their day. Their break. Their turn to be soft and silly and stress-free for once.

You came to help.

To tag along. Carry bags. Take mirror pics. Be the background support that made things easier.

But somewhere along the way, you ended up with your arms full.

A scarf—warm, light, chosen with intention. A ring—simple, grounding, picked in silence. A hoodie—chaotic, comforting, shoved at you with absolute conviction.

And that’s when it hits you.

They didn’t just let you come.

They brought you in.

They chose you. Quietly. Softly. Consistently.

Over and over.

In every color. In every size. In every, “This made me think of you.”

You look down at your hands.

And you wouldn’t trade a single thing you’re holding.

Not for the world.

-----------------------------------------

M-List

[softscripta]

LOVE ISLAND MADNESS

episode 7- CASA AMOR

episode 6 here!!

The sun rose peacefully over the villa — the calm before chaos.

You stretched in bed, bonnet barely hanging on, and blinked as Choso walked in shirtless, two toothbrushes in hand.

“Yours,” he said softly, offering it to you like a peace offering.

You took it with a smile. “Gonna miss this.”

He stood there awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “You, uh… think you’ll explore?”

You brushed your teeth while answering. “That’s the point, right?” You spit, then glanced up at him. “But I’m not rushing anything. Just gonna see where my head’s at.”

Choso nodded, eyes heavy. “If someone asks about me… don’t lie.”

You stepped closer. “I won’t. But you should explore too. That’s fair, right?”

“I’ll try,” he mumbled. “Not making promises though.”

You tilted his chin up. “That’s okay.”

. ۫ ꣑ৎ .

The girls were told to pack quickly.

Sasha zipped up her suitcase dramatically. “Why do I feel like I’m being shipped off to war?”

Amara laughed. “Because you are.”

You slipped on your outfit — a cream halter two-piece with a draped neckline and a silk floral skirt that hugged just right. Gold hoops, and stacked bangles to compliment your brown skin.

“I might just wanna couple up with you now, you look the fuck good” Sasha whispered, fanning herself as you passed.

You smirked as you passed, glancing at Sasha from beneath your lashes.

“Sayin’ things like that… you tryna make me blush?”

Sasha giggled, eyes trailing your outfit. “I’m serious, you look unreal.”

You leaned in just slightly, lips curved.

“Keep gassing me like this, and I might start thinking you want me for real.”

She bumped your hip with hers, laughing. “Maybe I do.”

You just smiled, walking off slow.

“Guess we’ll see.”

Before you could leave, Choso caught your wrist.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just hugged you. One arm wrapped low around your waist, warm and grounding.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said softly against your hair.

You nodded into his chest. “Be good.”

“I’m always good.”

You pulled back. “You’re shy, not a saint.”

He cracked a tiny smile. “Fair.”

And then just like that — you and the girls were loaded into a jeep, music blasting, wind in your hair.

WELCOME TO CASA AMOR

The new villa was bigger. Sleeker. With a pool the size of Sasha’s standards.

And then you saw them. The boys.

Jean was the first to speak. “Damn. They really sent the baddest ones over, huh?”

You raised a brow. “And which one are you?”

He smirked. “The one you’ll remember.”

Reiner gave a small polite wave. Eren didn’t smile — just stared. Intense. Connie broke the tension with a goofy grin and said, “Soo… we diving in the pool first or pretending we’re too cool to swim?”

Levi stood near the back, arms crossed, all 5’2 of him. No one said it out loud. But everyone peeped it.

Sasha whispered to you, “Why does he look like someone’s emotional support short king?”

. ۫ ꣑ৎ .

The sun was out. The flirting began.

Jean pulled you for a chat first. “You’ve got a poker face,” he said.

You sipped your drink. “Good.”

He leaned in slightly. “But I read people well. You’ve got history with someone?”

You paused. “Kind of. But I’m still open.”

Jean smiled. “Good.”

. ۫ ꣑ৎ .

You had just emerged from the pool, water dripping from your bikini, hair pulled back into a loose bun. A fresh plate of fruit sat beside your lounge chair when Connie plopped down next to you, still damp from his cannonball earlier.

“Alright, serious question,” he said, holding out a strawberry. “Do you want this because I’m trying to look generous and respectful, but also hot?”

You blinked at him. “Respectfully hot?”

“Exactly.” He winked. “I’m an intersection.”

You took the strawberry from his fingers slowly, popping it in your mouth without breaking eye contact. “And what makes you think I want someone hot and respectful?”

“Oh, I know you do.” He leaned back, resting his arms behind his head. “You’ve got that look like you’ve been dealing with men who think ‘vulnerability’ is showing you their gym playlist.”

You snorted. “You’re not wrong.”

Connie grinned, his teeth flashing. “See? I’m an observer. I pay attention. That’s dangerous.”

“To who?” you teased, sipping from your water bottle.

“Myself,” he said with zero hesitation. “Because I’m definitely about to catch feelings.”

You laughed, genuinely. “You don’t even know me.”

He shrugged. “Nah, but I wanna. And don’t act like you’re not curious either. I’ve seen you checking me out.”

“Checking you out?” you echoed.

“Yup. When I was dancing. When I tripped over that beanbag. Even when I said Levi looked like he could fit in a carry-on.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth to keep from cackling. “Okay, that was funny.”

He leaned a little closer. “So what’s your vibe? You coupled up with someone before?”

You answered without pause, but your eyes softened. “Yeah. We said we’d keep it open. Explore a little. No pressure.

Connie nodded, his flirty grin never faltering. “Cool. So I got a shot.”

You tilted your head. “You tryna make your move already?”

“I don’t rush,” he said smoothly. “But I do like being near you. You’ve got main character energy.”

You bit your lip, hiding a smirk. “Good. Because I don’t do background characters.”

“Oof.” He clutched his chest. “You just gave me butterflies and emotional damage at the same time.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head.

Yeah… Connie was trouble. But the fun kind. The kind that made you forget there were cameras around.

And as the sun dipped behind the villa, casting everything in gold — you didn’t mind it one bit

BACK AT THE MAIN VILLA

Gojo stared at Choso across the firepit, swirling the condensation on his drink with a lazy finger. “You worried?”

The question hung in the warm villa air — too casual to be innocent, too pointed to ignore.

Choso didn’t answer right away. He sat back on the edge of the daybed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers picking at a loose thread on his cargo shorts. His eyes flickered toward the dark horizon — toward nothing and everything.

Then, with a low exhale, he shrugged. “We all should be.”

Gojo huffed a dry laugh. “That’s not a no.”

Toji, half-lounging nearby with a toothpick between his teeth, glanced up from under his lashes. “Especially you, lover boy,” he drawled, smirk pulling slow at the corner of his mouth.

Choso didn’t rise to it. Didn’t look up. Didn’t argue.

Instead, his gaze dropped to his wrist — to the small, uneven bracelet made of mismatched beads you’d strung together at the villa’s craft table. The string had started to fray. A few of the letters had turned sideways. But he still wore it. Still looked at it like it meant something.

His thumb brushed over the first bead — a tiny red heart — then the next: your initial.

No words. Just the quiet weight of loyalty in his posture.

And for a second — just a second — Gojo’s smirk faltered.

The fire crackled in the silence. Ino shifted beside Geto on the adjacent sofa, sipping his water with an unreadable expression.

“Lowkey,” Ino finally muttered, “it’s kinda dead without the girls.”

“Dead?” Toji sat up straighter, smirking. “Speak for yourself. Peace and quiet? No whining? No games?”

“You mean no girls to distract from the fact that you’re washed?” Geto said smoothly, arms draped behind his head.

Toji flipped him off without breaking stride.

Gojo sighed dramatically, staring up at the stars. “They’re probably over there in silk pajamas and coconut oil, having pillow fights or something.”

Choso blinked slowly. “You’ve never met women.”

The boys laughed.

Then — a phone buzzed.

Ino’s eyes lit up, already reaching for his. “Oh, shit—”

📱 BOYS. Get ready. Tommorrow… you’re getting company. #NewGirlsNewTrouble #EyesOnTheFirepit

Gojo shot up to his feet like someone hit his pressure points. “Oh, now this is getting interesting.”

Toji leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Hope they send someone my speed this time.”

Geto smirked. “So you want them delusional?”

The banter picked up instantly — jabs, laughs, and jostling — but Choso?

Choso just sat there.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t celebrate. He looked down at the bracelet again. Then toward the villa hallway you always walked out of.

And quietly, like a man trying not to hope too hard, he murmured,

“She said I could explore too… But do I even want too?”

BACK IN CASA AMOR

You sat with Reiner, legs crossed, sipping something fruity.

“I’m surprised you’re not all over someone yet,” he said calmly.

You shrugged. “I’m just not in a rush.”

Connie popped his head in. “That’s code for she’s got someone on the outside she’s thinking about.”

You smiled at him. “Maybe.”

Later that night, Jean found you on the terrace.

“You wanna take some pics? They got a camera setup in the corner.”

“Is that your flirting tactic?”

“No,” he said, adjusting his chain. “But it’s working, right?”

You ended up in a few cute photos with him — one with your hands on his shoulders, one with him behind you like a couple pose, and one where he leaned in but didn’t kiss you.

“Just say the word,” he whispered.

You didn’t say it.

BACK IN THE MAIN VILLA

Choso was in your bed. Bonnet folded beside him. He didn’t touch anyone else.

Gojo finally cracked. “So you’re just gonna mope?”

Choso turned, calm as ever. “So you’re just gonna pretend she didn’t clock you?”

“God forbid a man appreciates quality when it walks in.”

That earned him a few raised brows. The guys all exchanged glances — a whole silent conversation passing between them. Side-eyes. Slight head shakes. They were all thinking the same thing: this man’s got nerve.

Unbothered, Gojo ran a hand through his hair and grinned.

“Y’all can look pressed all you want. I know I’m still living rent-free in her head.”

Toji barked a laugh.

“Man, you’re the easiest one to read in this whole villa.”

Geto added with a smirk,

“Easiest and loudest.”

TAGLIST-@t4naiis @stardollwrites @socutesotall @wettbaby @manifestingly @not-aya @liyahskindaweird @exepelia-chan @br3nt-12 @elrockera @stargirl-mayaa @cyberkitty1

[crazykinkiwi]

Mr Fushiguro | Twisted Oneshots

Pairing: Father-figure!Toji x emotionally isolated!Reader (Modern AU)

Genre: Psychological thriller, Dark fiction, Emotional manipulation, Yandere, Familial tension, Mindbreak

Word count: 6.7k

WARNINGS:

Emotional/psychological abuse, grooming, possessiveness, manipulation, coercive control, trauma bonding, toxic family dynamics, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, disturbing power imbalance, fear, grief, implied non-consent, mentions of parental death, yandere behavior, huge age gap implications, mental breakdown, obsessive behavior, stalking, implied violence, horror/psychological themes

⚠️ Please DO NOT read if you are sensitive to any of the above topics.

AN: This story explores dark, disturbing themes including coercion, psychological manipulation, and trauma. It is entirely fictional and does not support or romanticize harmful behaviors. If you are uncomfortable with possessive characters, emotional control, or traumatic psychological content, I strongly advise you to skip this. Your comfort and safety matter. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Masterlist

You arrange the last of your books on the wooden shelf, your fingers brushing over the spines with a little more force than needed. It’s been two days since you moved into this new place.

You, your mother… and Mr. Fushiguro.

You know you’re supposed to call him something else now—father, maybe. But the word tastes wrong even in your thoughts. He’s not like your real dad, not loud or violent or cruel.

And yet… something about him makes your stomach knot.

Still, you’ve promised yourself you’ll try. For your mom. She deserves better. She deserves to be happy. Even if it means pretending that the man she married doesn’t unnerve you every time he walks past.

Your thoughts are cut off by your phone buzzing on the bed. It's her.

"Sweetheart? Come down for a sec!" her voice sings over the speaker, light and excited.

You head downstairs, trying not to look tense.

At the foot of the stairs, you spot her first. She’s radiant tonight—hair done, makeup soft, wearing that light lavender dress that makes her smile like she’s in her twenties again.

And beside her, dressed all in black, fiddling with the sleeve of his button-up, is him.

They look like they’re headed to a fancy dinner. Or maybe a gala. You’re not sure. You don’t ask.

“What do you think?” your mother beams, twirling once with a small laugh.

“You look beautiful, Mom,” you say, smiling softly.

You don’t look at the man next to her. Not even a glance.

Toji doesn’t say anything either. Just slides his hands into his pockets and shifts his weight, chewing gum slowly.

“Oh! I forgot my purse upstairs,” your mother suddenly remembers. “Dear, just wait for me a sec, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles with a nod, voice low and lazy. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

She disappears back into the house. The front door clicks shut behind her.

Silence.

Just you and him now, standing in the hallway. You stare at the floor, the air feeling heavier with each second. You’re not sure what pushes you to speak. Maybe it’s the guilt. Maybe it’s the growing pit in your chest.

You finally ask, voice low, tight—

"You’re not using her… are you?”

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn’t even move.

Just keeps chewing.

And somehow, the silence feels louder than anything he could’ve said.

The front door swings open again, heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

"Found it!" your mother laughs, holding up her small silver purse. "Let’s go now before we’re late."

She glances over at you as she steps outside again, adjusting her earring.

“Take care, okay, sweetheart? There’s food in the fridge.”

You nod. “Have fun.”

Toji walks past you without a word, brushing by with the faint scent of his cologne—musky, sharp, expensive. He doesn’t look at you either.

The door shuts with a gentle click.

From the window, you watch them get into the car—him in the driver’s seat, her talking animatedly as she buckles her belt.

Inside the car, Toji glances over as he pulls onto the road.

“She’s still awkward around you,” your mother murmurs, watching the passing streetlights. Her voice carries no blame—just quiet concern.

Toji exhales through his nose, one hand loosely on the steering wheel.

“‘S fine,” he says. “Makes sense. Hard to live with someone ya barely know. I'm just some stranger her mom married outta nowhere, y'know?”

She smiles, a soft, touched smile. The kind she rarely wore in the past. “Still… I hope one day you two can be closer.”

Toji clicks his tongue lightly, eyes fixed ahead. “Plenty of time in the world for that. No rush.”

She reaches over, places a hand over his. He doesn’t flinch. Just keeps driving.

---

The next day, you're stepping out of your college gate, the sun dipping low behind the buildings. Beside you, one of your classmates—Rika—adjusts her bag strap and turns toward you.

“So,” she begins casually, “any future plans? Like after finals?”

You squint up at the sky, thoughtful. “I’ve been looking for jobs I can do alongside my classes. Maybe part-time tutoring. Or a desk job.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you didn’t need to worry about money.”

You pause, surprised by the remark. Then she adds quickly, “I mean, since I heard your mom… y’know. Remarried and all.”

You give a short nod. “Yeah. She’s happy. That’s all that matters.”

Rika tilts her head, studying your face. “Hmm… so how is he? The guy?”

You hesitate.

What are you supposed to say?

That you barely speak to him? That something about him makes your spine tingle in all the wrong ways? That even his silence feels calculated?

“…Good. Maybe,” you say finally. “He’s polite.”

You leave out the fact that you've never once caught him off guard.

Not even when you accused him.

Later—

You greet the gate guard with a small wave as you step inside the compound.

“Uncle,” you call gently, and he turns from his little stool near the security booth.

“Ah, YN,” he says with a smile. “Back from class?”

You nod. “Yeah… are they back?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Came back about an hour ago. I told them you had college.”

“Thanks,” you say, grateful. You liked the old man—he wasn’t nosy like others. Always kind. Always respectful.

You head inside the house. The faint scent of something sweet and buttery hangs in the air.

From the kitchen, you hear clattering.

Your mother.

“Welcome home!” she calls out without looking up. “I’m almost done with dinner.”

You kick off your shoes and step closer, dropping your bag quietly by the couch. “Okay…” You hesitate, eyes darting around the living room. No sign of him.

You clear your throat.

“…Mum,” you say gently, “how was your day?”

She turns from the stove, cheeks a little flushed, smiling. “It was lovely. Every moment with him was just… easy. You know?” She stirs something in the pan. “He’s really kind, YN. Thoughtful.”

You swallow down whatever comment bubbles up. “…That’s good.”

Before you can add anything else, something cold brushes your cheek.

You flinch, turning your head sharply.

Toji stands beside you, holding out a small, wrapped cone of your favorite ice cream.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“Would’ve eaten it if ya took any longer,” he drawls. “Now hurry up before it melts.”

You blink. “Uh—thank… you.”

You take it slowly from his hand, your fingers barely brushing his.

Vanilla almond crunch.

Your favorite.

“See?” your mother calls from the kitchen, amused. “Told you she’d like it.”

Toji doesn’t respond right away. Just glances down at you, head tilted, one hand in his pocket.

“Kids are predictable,” he says lazily, the corner of his mouth twitching up in smug satisfaction.

You frown faintly, muttering under your breath, “…I’m not a kid.”

Still, you find yourself staring at the ice cream.

It’s nothing.

Just a sweet gesture.

And yet… a warmth settles in your chest.

Maybe because your real father never did things like this.

—

Days pass. And strangely, the air in the house doesn't feel as heavy anymore.

Not because you’ve grown closer to him.

But because he’s hardly ever around.

He’s out for “work”—whatever that means—or whisking your mother away to fancy dinners, charity parties, and late-night drives that leave you alone with silence and reheated leftovers.

But every time he returns, he brings you something.

A silly frog keychain.

A packet of imported chocolates.

A glass snow globe with your college's name etched into it—how did he even know?

Small things. Thoughtless things.

Yet somehow… thoughtful.

Today is no different.

You’re curled up on the living room couch, legs tucked under you. Toji sits beside you, eyes on the television as some match plays. Rugby? No—maybe football. You’re not paying attention.

He sips from a bottle of water and stretches one arm lazily along the back of the couch.

You don’t lean into it.

But you don’t move away, either.

Your eyes flick to the staircase—and that’s when you see her.

Your mother.

She’s standing halfway down, hand resting on the wooden rail. Her eyes find yours, and there’s something in them.

Worry. Or is it guilt?

You can’t tell.

She’s been like this lately. Distant. Guarded.

And the more things smoothen between you and him, the stranger she becomes.

Her lips part as if she wants to say something—but then Toji’s voice cuts in.

“Babe,” he says casually, not even looking away from the screen, “can ya get me a drink?”

Your mother blinks, flinches almost. Then nods.

“Of course,” she murmurs, and walks toward the kitchen.

You glance at Toji.

He’s smirking at the TV like nothing happened.

You glance back at your mother’s retreating figure.

And something feels… off.

You rise to your feet.

Feet bare against the tile, you step into the kitchen. She doesn’t turn.

Her back is to you, hands mechanically grabbing a glass and filling it from the water filter.

“Mum?”

She pauses.

“…What’s wrong?”

A beat.

And then, softly—almost too quiet to catch—she speaks.

“…It’s you.”

Your chest tightens. “What?”

She sets the glass down a little too firmly. It clinks against the counter.

But she doesn’t repeat herself.

You stare at her profile. Her lips are pressed into a thin line. Her gaze is far away.

You don’t understand.

What did she mean?

—

You let out a heavy sigh.

Whatever that was in the kitchen… it’s still sitting on your chest like a stone.

You return to the living room and sink onto the opposite couch, not even pretending to watch the match anymore. Your hands rest limply in your lap.

Toji doesn’t look at you immediately—but you feel his gaze shift.

“…She pissed or somethin’?” he asks, tone casual, but not exactly careless.

You glance over at him.

And shrug.

“I… I don’t know.”

He hums low in his throat, like he’s heard that kind of answer before. Doesn’t push. Just leans back again.

Your mother returns soon after, holding a glass of water for him.

Toji takes it without looking, takes a sip, then smacks his lips slightly and says, “Get ready.”

Your mother blinks.

“Huh?”

He looks at her now, smirking faintly.

“Dress up. We’re goin’ out.”

You feel the air shift, just slightly. A softer look spreads across your mother’s face. That glow she always has around him returns like it never left.

She nods. “Alright. Just give me a few minutes.”

As she walks upstairs, Toji catches your eye and jerks his chin toward her. “Told ya. Women just need a lil' change of vibe.”

You offer a stiff smile.

And that’s it.

Evening settles quietly. You watch from the window as your mother steps out later, Toji already waiting in the car, leaned casually on the driver-side door with his usual arrogance. He holds it open for her. She smiles. Something about it feels genuine.

You hope it goes well.

You busy yourself. A little cleaning. Rearranging your bookshelves. You even wipe down your desk for no reason other than to stay distracted.

Later, you eat a simple dinner alone. Rice. Curry. Reheated.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

You go to bed early. Or at least, you lie down.

It’s past midnight when the silence breaks.

You blink awake, staring at the ceiling, unsure at first if you imagined it. But there it is again—a sharp thud, and the low rumble of raised voices.

You sit up slowly, heartbeat climbing. Slipping out of bed, you pad barefoot toward your window.

The car is back in the driveway.

They’re home.

But it doesn’t sound like a peaceful return.

You step into the hallway.

Just in time to see your mother storming past your door.

Her heels clack furiously against the floorboards as she disappears into the master bedroom, her purse flying—literally flying—backwards toward the hall. It hits Toji’s chest.

He catches it with one hand.

Doesn’t even flinch.

“Jesus,” he mutters, voice gravelly. “Ya throwin’ your whole salary at me or what?”

She doesn’t answer.

He sighs and looks up.

Right at you.

Your eyes meet—briefly. His mouth twitches, like he might say something.

But he doesn’t.

He just exhales sharply through his nose and walks after her, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

The door shuts behind them.

Hard.

You stand there, unsure what you just walked into.

But your stomach tells you it’s something you weren’t supposed to see.

—

Morning arrives too quickly.

And too quietly.

There’s still tension in the air like smoke after a kitchen fire. No sounds of arguing, no slamming doors. But that somehow feels worse.

When you step into the hallway, you notice his shoes are gone. Toji must've left early. Not that you’re surprised. He always disappears in the mornings—sometimes before you even wake.

Your steps are soft as you approach your mother’s door.

It's already slightly open.

She's standing by the mirror, fixing the collar of her blouse, earrings glinting under the dim vanity lights. Her lips are pursed, drawn into the kind of line that feels permanent lately.

You hover in the doorway.

“…Mom?”

She looks at you through the mirror, but her hands don’t stop moving.

“Yeah?”

You step in slowly.

“I... I just wanted to talk. Please,” you say quietly. “I mean… what's been bothering you?”

She doesn’t respond at first.

You watch her pick up a bottle of perfume, spritz her wrists, then rub them together like she didn’t hear you. But you know she did.

“…You’ve been different lately,” you continue, forcing the words out despite the knot in your chest. “And last night, the fight… I just—can you please tell me what’s going on?”

Your mother freezes for a second, shoulders rising as if preparing herself to either scream or shatter.

But she doesn’t do either.

She simply lowers her arms and turns toward you, her eyes calm. Too calm.

“You need to find a job, quickly.” she says.

You blink.

“I am trying...”

“I know,” she says softly, “you should hurry. And… move out.”

It feels like the floor just cracked beneath your feet.

You open your mouth, but no words come. Nothing sounds right in your head. Nothing makes sense. You just… stare at her, hoping—praying—that she’ll laugh and say it’s a joke.

But she doesn’t.

She smooths down her skirt and adjusts her purse strap.

Your voice comes out small, fragile. “Do you… not want me here anymore?”

She doesn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, she says, “You’re old enough now. You’ve got your classes, and you’ll graduate soon. It’s time you start thinking about responsibilities..”

You swallow hard.

She sounds so distant. So formal.

Like a teacher giving a lecture—not your mother who once rocked you through every fever and breakup. Not the same woman who used to cry watching cartoons with you.

Still, you nod.

You try to convince yourself that maybe she’s just being practical. Maybe this is her way of preparing you. Maybe she means well.

Maybe.

You whisper, “Okay,” even though you don’t feel okay at all.

She moves past you, heels clicking softly on the floor.

“Take care,” she says without looking back.

You turn to watch her leave.

Something in her posture is stiff. Tired.

And then she’s gone, the front door closing quietly behind her.

You stand there for a while.

Still. Cold. A little hollow.

Then you square your shoulders and nod to yourself.

Fine. I’ll wait. But I’m going to find out what’s going on. I have to.

After she’s gone, the house feels too empty. Too clean. You pack your things slowly and leave for college. The walk clears your head a little. Your friends greet you with their usual laughter and inside jokes, and for a while… you manage to breathe.

In class, things almost feel normal again.

Almost.

You’re eating lunch on a bench outside when your phone buzzes in your lap. You glance down casually, expecting maybe a text from a classmate.

But the name on the screen makes your heart drop.

Uncle Ravi (Security Guard)

You answer instantly.

“Hello—?”

His voice is panicked, out of breath.

“Miss! Madam—your mother—she—there’s been an accident!”

Your blood goes cold.

“What?!”

“She was on the way to her office, near the flyover—some car hit her from the side. They rushed her to the city hospital—Please come!”

The phone nearly slips from your hand.

People around you blur into noise as your heart hammers in your ears.

You get up so fast you nearly stumble.

You don’t think.

You just run.

—

The hospital smells like antiseptic and silence.

The waiting room is white and too bright. You sit there, barely breathing, knees pressed together, hands trembling in your lap. Toji is standing nearby, speaking quietly with someone at the desk—but your ears are ringing. All of it feels like a dream. A nightmare.

Your fingers curl tightly against the seat. The last thing she said to you was “Take care.” You didn’t even say it back.

Then the doctor walks in.

White coat. Glasses. A clipboard held like a shield.

You look up as if your life depends on him opening his mouth.

“She was gone on the spot. Blunt force trauma to the head… I'm sorry.”

Gone.

Gone?

You don’t even hear anything after that.

It hits you like a tidal wave—no warning, no time to breathe.

You crumble forward, head in your hands, shaking. The tears come faster than your body can keep up with. Your throat tightens until it hurts. You can’t breathe. You can’t scream. You can only break.

“No… no… please, no…”

You don’t know how long you sob like that. You only feel a weight—Toji’s hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you back, to hold you upright.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay. I got you. You’re not alone,” his voice is low, soft, but laced with panic. “I’m right here, kid. I’m right here…”

He helps you walk—somehow. Maybe someone helps him. You don’t remember.

All you know is that by the time you get home, it’s already dark.

The lights are off.

The house feels like a hollow shell.

He tries to guide you inside. Your legs move, but your mind doesn’t. You feel like a puppet being dragged across a stage you never asked to perform on.

You slump down on the couch. Toji bends slightly, kneeling in front of you, reaching out to your arm gently, like he’s done a dozen times before.

But this time—

You jerk away.

Your palm hits his hand with a sharp slap.

“You…!”

He blinks. Confused.

“What—?”

“You did this!!”

Your voice shakes. It cracks.

You point your finger at him, tears still pouring down your cheeks.

“She was acting weird because of you! You fought with her! I saw it—why would you—why did you have to argue with her that night?!”

He stares at you.

Frozen.

“I didn’t—”

“She wouldn’t have stormed off if it weren’t for you!”

Your voice shatters against the silence. You're not even thinking anymore—just feeling. Everything at once. Anger, grief, betrayal, fear.

But then—

“Enough.”

His voice cuts through the air like a whip.

Firm. Cold. Controlled.

You flinch.

You look up slowly—and for the first time, really see him.

Toji’s eyes… they’re red. Shimmering. Gutted.

Not the smug, calm expression you’re used to. Not the lazy sarcasm or distant annoyance. No.

This is different.

This is a man who just lost something. Someone.

“You… accused me on the first day,” he says softly. “And I let it go. I figured maybe you were just scared. Protective.”

He runs a hand through his hair and stares at the floor.

“But now… this?”

His voice is hoarse.

“You’re blaming me… for this?”

His fists clench by his sides.

“Since the day we met,” he cuts in, his voice breaking, “I—”

He inhales sharply, as if trying to swallow a scream.

“I loved her.”

Your eyes widen.

“I loved her so much,” he whispers, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Even if you hated me. Even if she avoided talking about us in front of you. I didn’t care. I didn’t need to be liked. I just… needed her. She made me feel like I was still human.”

His breath hitches.

You feel something in your chest crack. Guilt crawling up your throat like poison ivy.

You take a step forward.

“I didn’t know…” you whisper, shaking. “I’m sorry. I was just—I was scared, and—”

But then.

He lowers his hands.

And meets your eyes.

A slow smirk creeps across his face—one that sends ice down your spine.

And then he whispers—

“…Is that what you think I’d say?”

Your body stiffens.

His voice… isn’t soft anymore.

Not even close.

There’s no pain in his tone now.

Only something colder.

He stands.

Tall. Shadowed.

“Good story, right?” he mutters. “The grieving man. The misunderstood boyfriend. You almost believed it.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“…W-what?”

He leans forward slightly.

But his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Let's start from the beginning.."

FLASHBACK — Earlier That Evening

The place isn’t a restaurant. Not even close.

It’s one of his private resort lounges, dimly lit, draped in expensive shadows and silence. The air smells of polished leather and cigar smoke, not wine or roses. No music plays. No waiters. No table set for two.

He sits lazily on a velvet armchair, legs spread like he owns the world — which maybe, in this moment, he does. A cigar burns slowly between his fingers, embers glowing like a distant warning.

Your mother stands by the glass wall, arms crossed, the city lights painting pale gold across her face. She’s dressed up — stupidly hopeful, maybe — but the sparkle she once wore is gone. Her lipstick has begun to fade. Her hands are clenched so tight, her knuckles crack.

She stares at him for a moment, breathing through her nose, then says softly—

“Is that all?"

Toji doesn’t look at her. He exhales a drag, smoke curling past his lips like venom.

“Hah?”

He chuckles, jaw twitching.

“What’d ya expect, sweetheart? Candlelight dinner? A violin in the corner?”

He finally turns his head, eyes like knives under half-lowered lids.

“Don’t kid yourself.”

She swallows hard, like the words cut her throat on the way down. Her voice shakes slightly but she forces it out.

“You think I don’t know why you’re doing this?”

At that, he smirks. His tongue brushes the corner of his mouth. The cigar burns between his fingers like a ticking fuse.

“Good.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes locked on her like a predator sizing prey.

“So ya ain’t as dumb as ya pretend to be.”

A pause. Then a sneer.

“I told you what it is and you chose to stay.”

Your mother flinches. Her face twists—shock, shame, rage—all colliding in a blink.

“What the hell are you saying?!”

Toji stands now. His full height casts a long shadow across the room. He walks toward her slowly, lazily, dragging the smoke through the air behind him.

“I’m sayin’ we’re not fuckin’ married, babe,” he growls.

“No papers. No promises. Just you clingin’ to a lie. Pretendin’ for your little girl, actin’ like this—” he gestures around, “—is some fairy tale when it's just dirt dressed in diamonds.”

Your mother’s lip trembles. Her fists clench tighter. She doesn’t back down.

“I did this for her. Everything—for her. And you said—”

“Yeah, I said I’d help ya. I gave ya the fuckin’ job. Put ya in my damn house so your daughter didn’t end up rottin’ in that hellhole with your husband.”

His voice rises, venomous.

“I gave ya everything. And now what? You cry ‘love’? Ya want flowers? I should’ve left you to your toxic bastard husband and washed my fuckin’ hands clean.”

The slap is sharp.

So loud it cracks through the smoke.

Toji doesn’t move. His cheek glows red, his head turned from the blow.

Your mother’s hand shakes at her side. Her breathing is jagged, eyes filled with tears—pure rage, pure heartbreak.

She doesn’t say a word. Just turns on her heel and storms toward the door.

But behind her, Toji slowly turns his head back. A bitter smirk slices across his face.

“Go ahead. Run back to your fantasy.”

He calls after her, voice heavy with disgust.

“But don’t forget who’s payin’ the bills while ya play perfect mommy.”

FLASHBACK — THAT NIGHT, JUST AFTER THEY CAME BACK

The front door slammed shut, echoing like a gunshot in the hallway. You were already in your room, heart pounding from the shouting outside, pretending not to hear. But the silence didn’t last long.

A second slam — a bedroom door this time.

Then it happened.

Inside that locked room, she barely had time to drop her purse before he grabbed her wrist.

His grip was brutal — fingers digging deep, making her wince. He pulled her to face him, his jaw clenched so tight, it looked like it might shatter.

“You wanna act like that in public?” he spat, breath laced with cigar and venom.

“Then you better learn how to behave yourself in private, sweetheart.”

She struggled, face burning, but he didn’t let go.

“If ya don’t straighten the fuck up,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, “I’ll kick ya out. Right here. Right now. How ‘bout that, huh?”

He leaned in closer, eyes glinting with threat.

“Would ya like that? Hmm?”

“You and your precious daughter out on the streets?”

She went still. Her lip trembled. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of it — the threat, the reality, the trap. She said nothing. Just shook her head, barely.

Toji scoffed, finally letting go, watching her stumble back. He didn’t say another word.

But from that moment on — she didn’t fight again.

---

The flashback slams into your brain like a freight train.

You’re still standing there — in the quiet room, with the stench of hospital antiseptic clinging to your skin, your heart cracked open, your lungs barely working.

And suddenly, you understand.

That’s why she told you to move out.

That’s why she was quiet.

That’s why she cried alone.

Because she was trying — trying — to protect you.

And now she’s gone.

Because of him.

You start shaking, violently. Your breath comes out in small, choked sobs, like your lungs have turned to stone.

“N-No… no, no, no—”

You shake your head, stepping back, clutching your chest as if your heart itself might fall out. The walls spin. The truth crushes you.

But Toji steps forward, calm, collected, eyes unreadable.

He cups your face.

Big hands. Rough palms. A grip that looks gentle but feels like iron.

“Shh, shh…” he whispers, voice suddenly soft, like honey laced with cyanide.

“It’s okay… breathe, yeah?”

You can’t.

“I… I—”

He presses his forehead lightly to yours, fake tenderness dripping from every breath.

“She’s gone now, baby. It’s okay… you don’t have to cry.”

He strokes your cheek with his thumb, catching a tear.

Then he whispers it.

“It’s your fault anyway.”

Your whole body freezes.

“You made me do this~” he murmurs, voice twisting into something cruel, singsong, mocking.

“All that pressure, all that pushin’... she wanted to leave, but she wouldn’t. Because of you. And now…”

He gives a slow, dark smile.

“Now she’s gone. Because of you.”

Your legs give out. The guilt crashes like a tidal wave. Even if it’s a lie — even if it’s manipulation — you feel it. In your chest, in your throat, in your bones.

He leans closer, voice almost cooing.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“I’m still here. I won’t leave you. Not like your mother did.”

“Not like your fucking dad did.”

“And not like your precious uncle…”

Your heart stutters.

Uncle?

You blink. Confused. Choking on the sob lodged in your throat.

“W-What…? What did you just say…?” you whisper, voice barely holding on.

But Toji only smirks, eyes flashing with something unhinged.

He tilts your chin up with two fingers, forceful but calm.

“You didn’t know?”

His voice drips disbelief — or fake surprise. You can’t tell.

Then his hands fall from your skin like he's finished with the performance, like you're no longer worth holding.

And he turns you around by your shoulders. Slowly. Purposefully.

Your legs feel like glass.

Your breath hitches.

Your gaze lands on the front door.

And there—standing silently like a ghost that was always there—is your house guard. The man who stood by the gates every day. Who smiled when you left for class. Who patted your head when you were small. The one you trusted.

He stands there now.

Not moving. Not blinking. Just… watching.

As if he’s always been watching.

Your stomach lurches.

He heard everything.

Every word Toji said. Every scream. Every sob. Every confession.

And worse — from the look in his eyes — you know this wasn’t his first time witnessing it.

He didn’t just hear today.

He’s known.

Known the fights.

Known the threats.

Known what Toji’s done.

And he said nothing.

He did nothing.

You stumble back, your voice breaking apart.

“You… you knew? You knew all of this? And you—”

But he doesn't answer. He doesn’t even look away. He just stands there, as still as stone.

And that silence hurts more than any scream ever could.

Behind you, Toji lets out a low, dark laugh.

“Told ya,” he mutters, voice mocking and smug, almost amused.

“Everyone around ya? Just playing their part.”

He leans closer, breathing behind your ear.

“There was never anyone on your side, sweetheart.”

His voice is low — cruelly soft, the way lullabies sound just before a nightmare begins.

And then — he adds, almost like a sigh, almost like a promise:

"But me."

The words settle over your skin like frost.

Your legs weaken. Your thoughts scatter.

You don’t know where you are anymore.

You don’t remember when he stepped forward.

You don’t remember him reaching for you.

You don’t even remember the moment your breath left your lungs.

But suddenly — his hands are on you.

One curling behind your neck.

The other gripping your waist, hard enough to bruise.

And he pulls.

Pulled like you were a thread unraveling into him.

Your body slams into his chest, and your hands instinctively press against him — but it’s too late.

He’s already there.

His lips crush against yours.

Hot. Possessive. Hungry in a way that doesn’t feel like affection — no, it feels like claiming.

There’s no warmth in it.

Only dominance.

Only control.

You gasp against him, your mind blank, panicking — but his grip tightens, holding you still, forcing you into it. His breath tastes like smoke and whiskey and something feral you can’t name. Like this was inevitable.

Like you were always meant to be swallowed.

A noise tears from your throat — somewhere between a sob and a choke — and you try to move, but—

“Shhh,” he murmurs against your lips, like he’s soothing you.

“You’ve got nowhere else to go now, Y/N.”

The name sounds filthy on his tongue. Intimate in the worst way.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your entire body trembling.

You don't know... when toji was on top of you. Over your naked form.

Tears still streaming down your face as you gasped and shuddered from the relentless pounding of his thick cock. He had taken her ruthlessly for hours, fucking you raw until your tight little cunt was stretched wide around his throbbing shaft.

"Shhh, it's okay," Toji purred, leaning down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth. He bit down just hard enough to make you yelp, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. "I know ya miss your mommy, but she's gone now. You're mine."

You sobbed brokenly, clawing at Toji's back as he continued his brutal thrusts. You could feel every inch of him stretching you open, the blunt head of his cock ramming against your cervix with each powerful stroke. Your pussy was slick with a mix of their juices, making obscene wet sounds as he hammered into you.

Toji sat back on his heels, pulling you up onto his lap. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, exposing the pale column of your throat. Leaning in, he ran his tongue along the side of your neck before sinking his teeth into the delicate skin. He sucked hard, marking you as his own.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Toji growled, his hips snapping up to meet yours. "I'm going to fill this tight little cunt with my cum. Breed ya over and over until your belly swells with my child."

You whimpered pathetically, hating yourself for the way your body responded to his cruel words. Your pussy clenched around him, eager for his seed. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm, the pain and pleasure merging into something almost overwhelming.

"Shh, there there my sweet Yn," Toji coos, his voice dripping with false sympathy as he pushes deep inside your quivering pussy, your walls clenching around his thick cock. "Fuck, ya feel so good.. I'll always take gooooood care of ya."

He punctuates his words with harsh thrusts, grunting as he pounds into you, his pelvis smacking against your ass. Your whimpers and cries, tears streaming down your face, your body jerking with each deep stroke.

"N-no.. more," You gasp out between sobs. "I- can't take anymore!"

"Oh yes ya can," he growls, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "You're mine now, sweetheart. Every inch of this sweet little body belongs to me."

He leans down and sinks his teeth into the soft skin of your neck, sucking hard. More marks for you to remember him by. His hips never stop moving, driving into you again and again, his cock stretching you open.

You whimper against, but your pussy doesn't lie - you're getting wetter by the second. Toji feels you clenching around him, trying to milk his dick for all it's worth.

"Fuck, you love this don't ya?" he groans, picking up the pace. "Ya love being fucked by the man who killed your mother, who took everything from you."

He leans down and spits directly onto your pussy, watching it glisten around his pistoning cock. He reaches up and tweaks your nipples hard, feeling them pebble under his fingers.

You lets out a choked cry, your body shaking as he brings you closer to the edge. Toji grins savagely, knowing that even though you're mourning, you can't deny the pleasure he gives you.

"Come on baby, cum on my cock," he commands, hammering into you harder. "Show me how much ya love being mine."

"N-no, stop.. Mr..!" You whimper, trying to push him away as he forces himself inside you again.

Toji just laughs, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back roughly. "Still with that 'Mr.?' How fucking cute of ya.."

He tugs you into position, forcing you onto your hands and knees, your ass in the air. He kicks your legs further apart, opening you up completely for him.

"Look at that photo," he demands, pointing at the picture of your family. Your mother's smiling face grins out at them, a mocking reminder of what Toji stole from her.

You choke back a sob, tears streaming down your face. "Please, don't.. not this-!"

Toji just laughs cruelly, lining his cock up with your dripping entrance. "Oh, but I am. I want them to see how well ya taking care of me. How much ya enjoying yourself with me."

He slams into your with one harsh thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your tight heat. You cry out, your body shaking with sobs as he starts to fuck you hard and deep, his hips slapping against her ass.

"That's it, take it," Toji growls, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Take my cock like the good girl I know ya can be..."

He reaches forward and grabs the photo frame, holding it up in front of your face as he pounds into you. "Look at her, smiling like she had any right to be happy. Look at what a fool she was, thinking she could protect ya from me."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the image of your mother's smiling face. But Toji just grabs your hair again and yanks your head back, forcing you to look.

"Open your eyes, slut. Watch as I fuck ya raw, right in front of your precious dead mother. Watch as I make ya mine forever."

You lets out a choked sob, feeling like you're being torn apart inside. But despite everything, you can feel your body responding to his harsh fucking, your pussy clenching around him as he drives into you again and again.

"Fuck, fuck fuck... so tight," Toji groans, reaching down to rub your clit hard.

"Come on, cum for me," he demands, his fingers moving faster on your clit. "Cum on my cock like the dirty little slut ya are. Show me how much ya love being mine."

You lets out a choked sob, your whole body convulsing as your orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy spasms around Toji's cock, milking him for all he's worth as you came hard..

Toji pulls out of you with a satisfied grunt, his cock slipping from your battered pussy with a gush of cum. He takes a moment to admire his handiwork - your limp, fucked-out body, your gaping hole dripping with his seed, the red marks and bites covering your skin.

"Mmm, ya took that so well," he purrs, running a hand possessively over your ass. "Such a good little slut for me."

You just lays there, utterly spent and barely conscious. Your mind is reeling, unable to process the shameful pleasure you found in being used by your mother's killer. You feel like you've been split in two - one half mourning your mother, the other craving more of Toji's brutal touch.

As Toji gets up to retrieve his clothes, you mumbles something softly into the sheets. He leans down, cupping a hand under your chin and forcing you to look up at him.

"What was that, sweetheart? I couldn't quite hear ya."

You swallow hard, tears welling up in your eyes once more as you whisper brokenly. "I...I'm sorry.."

"I'm sorry, Mom..."

"Pfft..." A low chuckle escapes him, and he smirks — slow, twisted.

"Mmhh, You should be..." he whispers.

"Be miserable with me... for the rest of your life."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Extra chapter— |Click here|

[solarvee]

I’ve been in love with you my whole life, but now I’m the one helping you plan your wedding

charles leclerc x best friend!reader

Summary: Y/N was once quietly in love with Charles Leclerc, even helping him plan his wedding to Alex. Over the years, she found healing, acceptance, and an unexpected friendship with Alex—who became one of her closest friends. Now, as Y/N prepares for her own wedding to Theo, Charles and Alex are by her side, supporting her through every detail. What once hurt now feels like peace, and surrounded by love—both old and new—Y/N finally steps into the future she deserves. It’s not the ending she once imagined, but it’s a beautiful one.

masterlist

It’s strange, the way heartbreak doesn’t come all at once. It creeps in slowly, like dusk—first in shadows, then in silence.

Charles is sitting across from me at the café table, beaming as he scrolls through floral arrangements on his phone. He’s talking about color palettes—navy and cream, maybe with touches of gold—and how Alex likes roses but hates peonies.

I’m nodding. Smiling. Sipping my coffee to keep my hands busy. Anything to keep the tremble out of them.

“I told her you'd help,” he says, glancing up at me with that familiar warmth in his eyes. “She said you have great taste and… well, you’ve always been good at this stuff.”

Always.

It’s the word that gets me. Always. Like a reminder that this has been my role from the beginning: his best friend, his person, his safe place. Not his love.

Never his love.

I force a smile. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you guys need.”

And just like that, I’m planning the wedding of the man I’ve been in love with for most of my life.

We met when we were five. By eight, we were inseparable. By fourteen, I knew what it meant—what the tightness in my chest was when he laughed, the flutter I got when he said my name like it was something sacred.

But I never told him.

There were moments, though. Quiet ones. Late-night drives, shared hotel rooms during races, his fingers brushing mine as we walked through some unfamiliar city. Moments where I thought—maybe. Moments where he looked at me like I was the only person in the world.

But he never said it.

And eventually, he met Alex.

She’s lovely. Polite. Effortlessly beautiful. And she makes him happy. That’s what I tell myself when I can’t sleep—when I replay their engagement video in my mind, over and over, like a punishment I chose.

Three weeks later, we’re in a boutique filled with satin and lace, with champagne flutes in hand and a wedding planner chattering in the corner.

Alex is trying on dress number five, and I’m seated next to Charles, clipboard in hand, pretending like this doesn’t feel like a slow unraveling.

“She likes this one,” he says, leaning toward me, close enough that I can smell the cologne he’s worn since Monaco 2019. “But I think it’s too much beading.”

“I agree,” I say, my voice even.

He glances at me, eyes soft. “I knew you would.”

It’s that look—the one that makes me think he knows, deep down. That he’s known all along. But if he does, he’s never said anything. Never crossed that line.

Maybe he never felt it in the first place.

I cry in my car that night. Not the ugly, sobbing kind. Just quiet tears that trail down my cheeks as I stare at the steering wheel and wonder when I became the ghost in my own life.

Because I’ve loved him through everything—through wins and losses, through heartache and homecomings. And now, I’m helping him walk down the aisle to someone else.

It’s almost poetic. Tragic, but poetic.

The rehearsal dinner is held on a cliffside overlooking the sea. Candlelight flickers on long tables draped in white linen, and everything looks like it was pulled from a magazine.

Charles finds me just after the toast, his tie undone and two glasses of champagne in hand.

“For you,” he says, passing me one.

I accept it with a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.

He leans against the railing beside me, quiet for a while. Just the waves below and the hum of music from inside.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” he says finally. “You’ve been here through everything. Always.”

There it is again. Always.

I stare at the horizon, afraid to speak. But something inside me cracks open.

“I’ve loved you, you know,” I say, softly. “Not just as your friend. Not just… support. I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. I glance at him and see his face go still, like I’ve said something forbidden.

“I didn’t want to ruin anything,” I continue, voice shaking now. “But I can’t pretend anymore. Not when I’m helping you pick centerpieces and writing vows for a love that isn’t mine.”

He sets his glass down. Turns fully toward me.

“Y/N—”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t say you didn’t know. Just tell me—have you ever felt the same?”

He stares at me like it physically hurts. Then, finally: “Not in a way that would be fair to either of us.”

And that’s the answer.

That’s all I need.

The wedding goes off without a hitch. Every detail is perfect. The navy and cream, the roses, the soft string quartet playing as Alex walks down the aisle.

I stand at the edge of it all, heart silent in my chest, watching the man I love vow forever to someone else.

And when he looks at me afterward—eyes searching, smile tentative—I just nod. I smile back.

Because I’m not his person. I never was.

But I loved him enough to build his forever, even if it broke mine.

I’ve been in love with Charles for most of my life. Quietly. Patiently. Fiercely, in a way I didn’t fully understand until I found myself sitting beside him, helping him pick out his wedding cake flavors.

And it used to hurt—God, it used to ache. Watching him fall for someone else. Hearing the way he spoke about Alex with that soft reverence I’d always wanted for myself.

But things change. Time has this way of softening even the sharpest edges.

And somewhere between cake tastings and vow drafts, I realized something:

I’m okay.

Alex turned out to be nothing like I feared she’d be. She was kind. Grounded. She asked me questions and genuinely listened. She thanked me too often. She touched Charles the way someone does when they know they’ve found their person—and when I saw that, really saw it, something in me finally let go.

Not in a bitter, dramatic way.

Just... release.

Charles and I never had a moment. No grand declaration. No what-ifs. And that, I think, was the closure I needed.

Because maybe the version of us I carried all these years only ever existed in my heart. And maybe that’s okay, too.

The night before the wedding, I stood in front of the mirror in my hotel room, pinning back my hair, wearing a pale blue dress that shimmered a little in the light. I looked at myself—and for the first time in a while, I didn’t look like someone grieving a love she never had. I looked like someone whole.

My phone buzzed.

Luca: You still good for coffee after the ceremony tomorrow?

I smiled.

Luca had been a surprise. A mutual friend of Alex’s from university, someone I sat next to during a cake tasting and ended up talking to for two hours straight. There was no lightning strike, no instant chemistry. Just comfort. Curiosity. A softness I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.

We’d gone for drinks a few times since. Easy. Effortless. He made me laugh. Asked about my life without knowing all of it already. He didn’t look at me with a thousand shared memories behind his eyes—he looked at me like I was something unfolding.

And maybe that’s what I needed now: someone new. Someone who saw me now, not as a shadow of the girl who’d been in love with Charles Leclerc her whole life.

The wedding was beautiful.

Alex was radiant. Charles cried when he saw her. I stood beside the altar, flowers in hand, smiling with real warmth, no sting in my chest. Because the person I once loved so deeply was marrying someone who deserved him. And he, in turn, was someone who deserved the way she looked at him.

When they exchanged vows, I didn’t feel hollow. I felt proud. To have known this version of love, even if it had never been mine.

And after the kiss, after the cheers and the music and the clinking glasses, Charles found me in the garden, just after sunset.

“You okay?” he asked, his tie a little loose, his eyes full of that old familiarity.

I nodded. “I am.”

He studied me for a second, like he was trying to see beyond the smile. “You’ve been amazing. Through all of this. I don’t think I could’ve done it without you.”

I shrugged. “You could’ve. But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

A pause.

“Do you ever wish things had been different?” he asked softly.

I smiled—not bitterly, not sadly. Just truthfully.

“I think I used to,” I said. “But now... no. Because I’m happy with who I am right now. And I don’t think I’d be her if things had gone any other way.”

He looked relieved. Maybe because he felt the same. Maybe because we finally both knew we were exactly where we were meant to be.

I stepped forward and hugged him—tight and brief and filled with years of history.

“I’m so happy for you, Charles,” I whispered.

When I pulled back, Luca was standing a few feet away, smiling at me like he had all night. I walked toward him, my heels clicking softly against the stone path.

Charles watched us go, and this time, he was the one letting go. Gently. Finally.

The world didn’t end because I didn’t get the love story I thought I wanted.

Instead, it gave me one I never saw coming. One that started not with longing, but with laughter. With late-night messages. With the absence of ache.

And that, I think, is the kind of love that lasts.

“Okay, but hear me out—no one actually likes fondant.”

Alex is waving a tiny fork in the air like it’s a weapon of truth. I’m laughing so hard I nearly choke on the bite of cake I’m trying to swallow.

Charles, seated on the other side of the table, crosses his arms with mock offense. “I like fondant.”

“You also eat plain toast and call it a meal,” she shoots back without missing a beat.

He looks at me for backup. “Y/N?”

I raise my hands. “You’re not dragging me into this. You two are unstoppable.”

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon in a charming little Paris bakery. Sunlight filters through the windows, painting soft gold across the table covered in half-eaten cake samples, swatches of fabric, and my very chaotic wedding Pinterest printouts.

The thing is—I never thought this would be my life. That I’d be sitting across from Charles Leclerc, the boy I once loved so deeply it hollowed me out... planning my wedding. And next to him, laughing and arguing over cake flavors, his wife. Alex. The girl who once made my chest ache with jealousy.

Now?

She’s one of my closest friends.

Time does funny things. It smooths sharp edges. Softens memories. Transforms wounds into stories that no longer sting when told.

There was a time when I couldn’t say Charles’s name without a lump forming in my throat. When I helped him plan his wedding to Alex, smiling while my heart quietly unraveled. But that season passed—slowly, then all at once. And when it did, I found something I didn’t expect.

Peace.

And eventually—love.

His name is Theo. He’s kind in all the quiet ways that matter. A marine biologist with messy curls and a smile that’s always a little crooked. I met him at a museum fundraiser where I spilled wine on his suit and apologized by offering him a slice of lemon cake. He said, “I was going to forgive you, but now I have no choice.”

We’ve been laughing together ever since.

When he proposed, it was simple. Just us, a balcony, a storm rolling in behind the city skyline. No grand gestures. Just the words, “I want to build a life with you,” and the surest yes I’ve ever spoken.

Now here we are—months later, planning every detail. And Charles and Alex have been by my side from the start.

Because somewhere along the way, the ache turned into appreciation. The what-ifs turned into history. And Alex? She became my person in a way I never expected.

We bonded over little things at first. A shared obsession with true crime podcasts. Our mutual horror at Charles’s lack of organizational skills. She invited me to brunch. I invited her on a weekend trip. And one night, after too many glasses of wine, we both admitted it was weird at first—me being so close to him, her knowing it.

But instead of awkwardness, it bloomed into honesty. Openness. Real friendship.

“Okay,” she says now, brushing cake crumbs off her dress. “Back to business. Do we like the vineyard? Or are we leaning more garden party?”

Charles chimes in. “Vineyard, obviously. Theo’s a wine guy.”

“True,” I admit, flipping through my notes. “And you haven’t even seen the sunset there.”

“We’re coming to the tasting next weekend, right?” Alex asks. “We already blocked the date.”

“You guys don’t have to do everything,” I say, but my voice is light.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Charles says. “You planned our wedding. You basically held my hand through the entire thing.”

Alex smirks. “And picked our flowers. And saved us from booking a DJ who only played 2000s techno.”

“An underrated genre,” Charles mumbles into his espresso.

I shake my head, warmth flooding through my chest. It’s surreal, this joy. This ease. A few years ago, I never would’ve believed it was possible to sit here with them, all of us settled, all of us happy in our own corners of the world.

“I’m really glad you’re both here,” I say, softer this time.

Charles gives me a look that carries everything unspoken between us. Years. Tears. Growth. Forgiveness.

“We wouldn’t miss it for anything,” he says.

The day of the wedding comes fast—faster than I thought it would. Nerves rise like a tide, steady and overwhelming, but they’re good nerves. Anticipation, not dread.

Alex helps me with my veil. Her hands are steady, her expression calm and focused.

“You okay?” she asks gently, smoothing the fabric behind my shoulders.

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “I’m okay.”

She smiles. “You’re going to wreck him when he sees you.”

I laugh. “Is that not the goal?”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” Charles.

I glance at Alex. She nods and slips out with a wink.

He steps inside, dressed in a crisp black suit. For a moment, we just stand there—two people who’ve grown in every direction but still share the same roots.

“You look...” He exhales. “Wow.”

“Thank you.”

He walks over, hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to say... I’m proud of you. Not that you need me to be. But I am.”

I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “I’m proud of us.”

He nods. “Theo’s a lucky guy.”

“I’m a lucky girl.”

He holds out his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you married.”

The music starts. The guests rise.

And as I step into the sunlight, veil floating behind me, bouquet in hand, I see Theo waiting at the altar—his smile wide, his eyes a little glassy.

I take a breath.

Behind me, I know Charles and Alex are watching. Cheering me on.

The boy I once loved. The girl who became my friend.

And in front of me, the man I’ll spend the rest of my life with.

My heart doesn’t ache. It soars.

Because in the end, we all found our forever. Just not the way we once imagined.

And maybe that’s the most beautiful part of all.

[olderthannetfic]

So I'm the anon that sent in the bi lesbian ask, and I have to say--since I guess I didn't make this clear--that I'm not excluding people. I may not feel comfortable with people using the bi lesbian label due to trauma but I'm not out here telling people to leave spaces. I'm not policing identities, and I'm not demanding people negotiate with me.

All of these thoughts are kept solely to myself, because I'm not an idiot and I understand my response isn't "normal", and I'm working to get over it. Like, I had intended to just let that anon free and not come back to it, but the amount of assuming that I'm actually policing spaces is fucking WILD.

But on the other hand I think its pretty telling about the fact that discussions about this have gotten so hostile. I deliberately didn't bring up other aspects of my life other than the trauma stuff because I didn't think it was relevant to do so, but part of why I want to have the talks in the first place is because I'm not going to go up to people and demand they justify themselves. At the end of the day, we are all in the same community, and are all being targeted. I may not be comfortable with a bi lesbian's label but that doesn't mean i won't support that person. Maybe it's because I do off computer work and am slowly making inroads into trying to understand (again, off computer, because the community I'm in is pretty cool), but I assumed that would be obvious, which is genuinely my bad because I forgot that this is online discourse where people can and will drop others at the drop of a hat lol.

Since I sent that ask, I've been having conversations with someone in real life who uses the label, and it's pretty fascinating to hear about. She's in turn curious about my gender stuff, so its actually a pretty fulfilling talk.

Whatever my feelings are, more important than my total comfort is the community as a whole tbh. Hence why the anon got sent at 3 am to a tumblr blog.

But yeah, tldr: talking about this stuff irl is going well, I'm not keeping people out of spaces, also I am neither cis or white which maybe would have been good to include in the original anon but like. I forgot.

--

I don't think being cis and white or not is all that relevant. It was more about the phrasing about conversation. If you want to understand why people use a label, the kind of ask I'd expect is "Man, I don't get this label. What do people actually mean by it?" and not "Can we just talk".

By failing to phrase it the first way, there's a strong implication that the "talk" will have some aim other than giving you new information.

You can mean well and you can rephrase it a dozen ways, but if you aren't asking like "I don't know X. I need more information on X", that implication is going to be there.

[delicateperspective]

Hi, this new PR relationship of Harry’s did affect me a bit. I mean, I had mentally prepared myself for whatever might come after Louis liked that reel, but the video still caught me off guard. And I don’t know, I feel like it’s slightly changed the way I see Harry — like for some reason, I’ve started doubting everything and kind of buying into this womanizer or rockstar narrative. Even when I saw the girl’s Instagram, my first thought was, “Well, she looks like someone Harry the rockstar would date.”

And I wanted to ask if that’s ever happened to you. Like, leaving larry aside, have you ever found yourself doubting everything you believe about Harry and wondering if maybe the stuff the media says about him is actually true?

i’ve said before that i think it’s healthy to sometimes question your own beliefs. not just in this but in everything. religion, politics, morals, world view, sexuality, gender, identity, etc.

i think that we should never just fall into things blindly.

that said, this particular stunt did not make me feel that way at all. even the official narrative is that H didn’t know her before the festival. so her being “someone harry the rockstar would date” kind of goes out the window because even HE wouldn’t have known that.

they walked into a club separately. danced for a little while. shared a 12 second kiss that was more just lips physically pushing against each other than an actual kiss. and then he left and went to get chicken wings while she stayed there.

if you want to question, i support that. truly, i do.

but make sure as you question that you’re REALLY looking at all the evidence and forming your own opinion and not the one that the sun headlines are trying to force on you.

i’m going to keep repeating this in every ask like this, so it’s truly not about you or directed to you, but i’m not here to change anyone’s mind or convince anyone of anything. like lou said “people can believe what they want to believe”. i’m not going to be the one to police that. but i just don’t think Hella is anything to get worked up about in my opinion.

[titan-star]

In his mindscape:

The small island stood strong against the violent sea waves, bullying the stone walls with each watery crash. Titan stood at the top of the lighthouse that continued to rotate in its search for ... something.

Titan hummed lowly as he noticed small changes in his mindscape. The search light seemed to have gotten brighter, broadening its beam and lighting up the darkness around him a bit more.

How strange that the light itself seemed to have some kind of ethereal glow to it. Almost like ...magic... It gave him a warm feeling in his chest similar to what he feels when he's with one of his partners. A sense of calm...and peace.

Titan looked to the stars above and was startled to see something other than only blackness. That calm feeling instantly dropped into dread.

What the hell?! What was going on with the sky?! Titan gripped the side railings for support as he stared in ....what was this feeling...what emotion was this again? Panic? Close. Very close.

He didn't understand what was happening. So panic was the closest thing he could pin this feeling to. He didn't like what he saw. What was even worse were the voices he could hear...the voices of his partners that sounded....harsh and ....twisted... He knew it wasn't real. Titan knew that his killcode had a tendency to amplify negative emotions to a painful degree.

He knew very well that those weren't the true feelings of his partners... logically speaking: They'd tell him if they weren't happy with him...

What he heard didn't make it hurt any less...

"I told you at least a couple of times to be careful!" An exasperated and agitated sounding copy of Malware's voice filled the sky, "Can't you keep your hands to yourself for five minutes?!"

He's...sorry. Titan really doesn't know how else to express his emotions...

"Perhaps you should actually consider learning that." Titan slowly reached for his head, scratching at his audio receptors. Would it even help to keep Solaris's voice out? Probably not. It felt like it rang through the sky and through his very processor. "You know, actually research something that would benefit everyone. Not just yourself. Have you always been this selfish?"

H-Has he? Maybe... Maybe that one is true. Even if Titan didn't feel like he was, he really could be. Wait. No. He's been trying. He's been trying to communicate better. More than willing to talk things out--

"After you had to lose me the first time, sure." Titan physically cringed from the ice in Callisto's voice. "I only went along with this little harem you got going on because why not? I don't need you. I was fine before you and I'd be just fine if I had stayed away. Must be so much easier to justify sleeping with everything that breathes your way instead of being able to commit to one person. And one more thing. Face it. You only courted me because I have a similar color palette to HER."

That. IS NOT. True!!

Titan roared in frustration. Why did everyone keep saying that at first? It wasn't true. Neither Callisto nor himself could control that. It just-- was. He loves Callisto for who she is.

Solaris isn't purple. Not a trace on him. And Sirius is blue!

And Static is-- Is Static....a partner? H...He wants them to be. Titan lowered his hands from his head that he hadn't been aware he had been painfully gripping. He stared at his hands in contemplation and jolted when he saw a liquid hit the palm of his hand. Saline solution? Is he ....crying?

"Are you fucking crying?" Titan froze at the amused and condescending tone that was Static's voice. He looked up but saw nothing. Just more nauseating, swirling, starlights that made his head spin whenever he stared for too long.

"What for?! It's like you have the whole world in the palm of your hand but you're too chicken shit to actually grab it! You had no problem grabbing for me any chance you got. What? Was MY Malware not enough for you?! What about MY Sirius!? You just keep invading my personal space and in MY life because you don't have one of your own! What makes you think I want someone like YOU for a partner?! You can't even be bothered to keep your own goddamn kids with you half the time! You just keep dumping them on someone else!! And another thing! Why would I want to rely on a partner who can't even take care of himself?! You're nothing more than a self loathing bimbot who would have shut down ages ago if he didn't keep taking advantage of the kindness of others around him to get by. Just shut down and do everyone a favor and replace yourself!"

Is he really like this?! Don't tell him he's really like that. Please...he is just trying to help as he only knows how .... He's only protecting his family the only way he knows how. But. He couldn't speak. It was like his voicebox died.

The more Static spoke the closer the swirling mass of stars got to him. Titan could only stare in horror as it got closer, threatening to swallow him and the lighthouse whole. He could feel the ghost of a warning in his HUD, telling him that he was overheating. He couldn't be bothered to listen.

This is why he hates sleeping. Every visit to his mindscape is either quiet or filled with the negative emotions he keeps at bay or ignores for later "processing". Instead, they just accumulate and attack him all at once. Like this...

Leading him into a panic attack that forces his systems into a straight blue screen crash in the middle of his fitful sleep.

[sugurusgurl]

Love, Eventually (Part 5)

☾𖤓 Summary. She marries Satoru Gojo for the money—enough to keep her brother alive. He marries her to shut his clan up—no love, no strings, just a deal. But living together makes it harder to remember what’s fake… and what’s starting to feel real.

☾𖤓 Pairing. Reader x Gojo Satoru ☾𖤓 Warnings. Hurt/Comfort, Fake marriage, emotional suppression, slow burn, unrequited feelings, mentions of critical illness (sick sibling), power imbalance, violence.

a/n: Thank you so much for all your kind words and support! This series is my first attempt at publishing anything here so it's such a big confidence boost that the community is very appreciative of what I've been uploading so far. I hope you'll still get to feel the same rollercoaster ride of emotions in this chapter as you've experienced in the prev 4. Also, if you have any idea as to how you want things to go please let me know in the comments! Thank you again!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

The next morning is quiet, slow.

It’s Saturday. The sun filters lazily through the kitchen windows as you pour tea into two mugs—yours plain, his sweetened just a bit, the way he never asked for but never corrected.

Satoru walks in minutes later, hair still damp from the shower, hoodie thrown on without much thought. He moves like he's still shaking off sleep—or maybe the weight from last night.

You slide his mug across the counter without a word.

He nods, murmurs a gruff thanks.

You hesitate a moment, fingers wrapped around the warmth of your cup. Then, casually—

“Are you busy today?”

Satoru raises a brow over the rim of his mug. “Why?”

“There’s that new theme park just outside the city.” You keep your tone light, conversational. “I was thinking we could check it out. See if it’s something the students might enjoy for a field trip.”

You don’t say I thought it might be good for you. You don’t say You looked like you needed to get out. You just smile. Simple. Easy.

“You’re good at pretending to have fun, right?”

Satoru exhales through his nose, setting his mug down with a soft clink.

“A theme park?” he repeats, like the idea personally offended him. “On my day off?”

You don’t flinch. Just sip your tea and shrug. “Thought you might want a reason to get out. But if you’re busy brooding in the dark all day, I’ll go alone.”

That earns you a faint smirk.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans on the counter, studying you for a moment too long.

Then—

“Fine.” A sigh. “But I’m not riding anything that spins, and if there are mascots, you’re dealing with them.”

You hide your smile behind your mug.

“Deal.”

The theme park looms over the hill like a castle built of color and noise. You buy your tickets at the gate while Satoru adjusts his sunglasses and surveys the chaos with mock dread. Children shriek with laughter, bubbles float in the breeze, and somewhere nearby, a jingle from a costumed parade nearly makes him flinch.

“This is field research,” you say, straight-faced. “You’re a responsible educator now.”

“Cruel,” he says, deadpan. “Unforgivable.”

But he doesn’t walk away.

In fact, the moment you pass through the gates and the scent of popcorn and artificial strawberry hits him, he tilts his head toward you and says—

“Alright. I’m buying us cotton candy. Don’t try to stop me.”

The morning is a blur of motion and color. Satoru stops in front of a ring toss booth, scanning the setup with a faint smirk.

“Rigged,” he mutters. Then he hands over a single bill, rolls up his sleeves with flair, and sinks the first toss clean through the narrow-necked bottle.

The booth attendant blinks. Gojo barely looks satisfied as he points to the biggest prize—the slightly lopsided stuffed fox with mismatched eyes.

“That one.”

He turns to you and hands you the fox.

You raise an eyebrow but accept the fox, lips curving despite yourself. “Show-off.”

“Naturally,” he replies. He points to a swinging pirate ship next.

“Come on. Let’s see if your stomach’s as unshakable as your poker face.”

You scoff. “You said no spinning rides.”

“This swings. There’s nuance.”

He ends up screaming louder than the kids behind you—and laughing harder when it’s over, his hair windswept and a little ridiculous. You laugh too, really laugh, and for a moment, you’re not playing roles.

You’re just… there. Together.

You settle into a quiet corner of the park after lunch, sitting side by side on a bench with a view of the artificial lake. Children toss bread at ducks. Music plays faintly from hidden speakers.

You cradle a cup of iced lemonade, watching the sunlight dance on the water. Satoru leans back, arms draped over the bench, legs stretched out, sunglasses slightly askew.

He’s relaxed in a way you’ve never seen. Not performative. Not distant. Just real.

“You’re having fun,” you say, voice light.

He hums. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”

A pause. “...You needed this.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just tips his head toward the sky. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think I did.”

Something settles between you then. Not silence. Something warmer. You watch him for a second longer—how the sunlight catches the edge of his jaw, how his mouth twitches like he wants to say something but doesn’t. And you know: no one's watching you here. There’s no clan. No expectations. No act to maintain. So when he shifts, just slightly, and his shoulder brushes against yours, you don’t move away. You let it stay.

Later, when the sky turns gold and the crowds thin out, Satoru insists on one last ride—the Ferris wheel. You hesitate. Your eyes lift toward the slow-moving wheel, toward the way it creaks and rises high above the park, higher than you’d like to admit.

“You said no spinning rides,” you say, voice light but just slightly tight.

“It’s a gentle rotation. You’ll live.” He says, already pulling you gently by the wrist. You don’t argue—just walk a little slower, eyes flicking up every few steps. When the attendant closes the door of your car and it begins its slow climb, you fold your hands tightly in your lap. Satoru leans back casually, arms stretched across the seat behind you.

“You’re quiet,” he says, watching you.

“I’m fine.” But your shoulders are tense. Your eyes avoid the windows. He tilts his head.

“You’re scared of heights?”

You exhale, slow. “A little.”

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t smirk. Just shifts subtly closer, his voice lowering.

“You know this thing’s barely off the ground yet, right?” That earns him a sharp look from you. He chuckles softly. Then, quieter: “I’m right here.”

You sit like that as the car rises higher, the park shrinking beneath you, the sky now stained with the deep orange of dusk. Satoru doesn’t press. Just lets the silence sit.

Eventually, when you exhale again, it’s looser. Your fingers unclench.

“You’re easy to be around,” he says, voice casual.

You glance at him, side-eyeing through still-nervous lashes. “Is that your way of saying thanks?”

“No,” he says with a faint grin. “That was me stalling while I figure out how to tell you I didn’t hate today.”

Despite yourself, you let out a quiet laugh. The car reaches the top of the wheel. The world stills. Satoru doesn’t look at the city.

He looks at you.

Satoru hasn’t said anything in a while. You think he might be admiring the view. So you risk a glance sideways—only to find his eyes already on you. Not briefly. Not in passing.

He’s watching you with a quietness that doesn’t match the version of him the world sees. No smile. No smirk. Just a stillness. As if he’s trying to figure something out about you he hasn’t dared to ask yet.

You meet his gaze, unsure who’s going to look away first. The air feels thinner up here, and not just because you’re high off the ground. There’s something in the quiet. Something fragile. A thread pulled tight between you.

He doesn’t blink.

Neither do you.

Suddenly, his phone rings. Sharp. Loud. Jarring.

Satoru sighs, shifts back, and pulls the device from his pocket. His expression changes instantly as he glances at the screen. “It’s work.” A beat. Then he answers. The conversation is brief, clipped. You can’t hear what’s said, but you see it in his face—everything pulled tighter. Alert. Focused. When he hangs up, he turns to you, already moving.

“Something’s happened. There’s a threat near Jujutsu Tech. They need me on-site—now.”

You blink, startled by the sudden shift in energy.

“Is it—?”

“The Star Plasma Vessel. Someone’s targeting her again.” His voice is firm, calm—but there’s something sharp beneath it. Controlled urgency. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone again, firing off a message.

“I’ve called the driver. He’ll meet you by the entrance in ten. Just wait for him there, alright?”

You nod, more out of instinct than understanding. Then he turns toward the window of the car—already sliding it open. The wind rushes in, lifting his hair and snapping at the edge of his coat. You instinctively tense, heart stuttering at the drop beyond the glass.

He pauses. Glances back. And then—without saying a word—he slides the window shut again. Clicks it into place. “Didn’t forget,” he murmurs, like it’s nothing.

Then he’s gone.

A flash of movement, a gust of air—and the car sways lightly in his absence. You stare at the closed window, your heartbeat loud in the quiet.

He remembered. Even in the middle of an emergency. Even when he had somewhere else to be. He still made sure you’d feel safe. And somehow that unsettles you more than the height ever could.

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The Ferris wheel ride down is quiet without him.

You sit still, hands folded in your lap, eyes on the reflection of the city lights in the glass. You don’t let yourself think too much about what just happened—or what almost happened.

The car reaches the bottom with a soft lurch. You step off, walk past the crowds and food stalls now beginning to thin out, the stuffed fox tucked under one arm.

You’re just reaching the park’s exit when your phone buzzes.

Unknown number.

No—hospital number.

Your heart stops before you even answer.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Y/L/N?” The voice is rushed, clinical. “I’m calling about your brother.”

You don’t breathe.

“He’s taken a turn. His oxygen levels dropped suddenly, and we’ve had to transfer him to the ICU. He’s stable for now, but… it’s critical.”

The world tilts. Theme park lights blur in your peripheral vision. Laughter, music, conversations—all still going, all still alive, while yours narrows to a single point of panic.

“I’m on my way,” you say, already moving, already shoving the stuffed toy into your bag like it suddenly weighs too much. “Please—stay with him until I get there.”

“We will.”

You run through the park gates, through the people, through the end of what was supposed to be just a pretend day. By the time you exit the theme park, you’re pale, silent, and trembling. Not from fear of heights. From something deeper.

From the fear you’ve been carrying all along.

That no one—not even Satoru Gojo—can fix this part of your world.

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It’s well past midnight when Satoru returns.

He tosses his coat onto the arm of the couch and sinks into it with a quiet sigh, raking a hand through his hair.

No sign of you. The lights are off. No shoes by the door. No tea kettle humming in the kitchen. No sarcastic comment about him tracking dirt onto the floor.

He frowns.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

He checks the kitchen. Empty. Your room—door open, untouched. No sign of you curled up with a book. The space feels… wrong. Off.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through messages. Nothing from you. No updates. A thought strikes him—he’d arranged for the driver to take you home after the park.

He calls him.

“Sir,” the driver says, a little hesitant, “I waited at the front gate, just like you asked… but she never showed up. I assumed she made other arrangements.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens.

“You didn’t follow up?”

“No, sir. I didn’t want to overstep.”

Satoru ends the call without responding.

For a few seconds, he just stands in the middle of the living room, coat still on, phone hanging loosely in his hand. He tells himself you probably went for a walk. Or met a friend. Or just needed space. But his gut says otherwise.

His jaw clenches. He grabs his phone, opens your contact, and hits call before he can talk himself out of it.

One ring.

Two.

“Come on,” he mutters. “Pick up.”

Three rings.

Still nothing.

He calls again.

One ring. Two—

“Seriously, Y/N—”

The line picks up mid-ring.

“Hello?”

Your voice lands like a punch.

Not sharp, not angry—just… shaky. Raw. Like you haven’t spoken in hours. Like you’ve been swallowing tears until your throat burned.

He goes still.

The irritation he felt moments ago fades in an instant, replaced by something colder. He can hear it now—the faint echo of machines. Voices in the background. Hospital.

“Y/N?” His voice drops, the edge gone. “Where are you?”

Silence.

You inhale softly, then exhale like it physically hurts to let the breath go.

“I… I can’t tell you that.”

His brow furrows. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to come here,” you say, quietly. Not defensive. Just tired. That lands harder than he expects. But he doesn’t push. Instead, after a beat—

“Alright,” he says, voice calm. “Then tell me where I can pick you up. Later. When you’re ready.”

Another pause.

You don’t say yes. But you don’t say no either.

And for now, that’s enough.

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The soft hum of vending machines buzzes behind you. Fluorescent lights spill over the sidewalk, pooling at your feet like moonlight caught in a puddle.

It’s well past 2 a.m.

You sit outside the convenience store, elbows on your knees, eyes fixed on the ground like it’s the only thing holding you together.

You hear the footsteps before you see him. He doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t ask where you’ve been.

Just quietly sinks onto the stool beside you, hands in his pockets, gaze forward.

You sit in silence for a minute. You don’t speak, and he doesn’t push. But after a while, he leans back slightly, tilting his head toward the store window.

“You know,” he says, voice casual, “if we stay out here any longer, they’re gonna think we’re either loitering or planning a heist.”

You blink. Slowly.

And then, like something heavy shifts just slightly inside you, you let out a quiet, tired chuckle. It's small—barely there—but real.

“You’re terrible at reading a room,” you murmur.

“In my defense,” he says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “this is a sidewalk.”

Another pause. Another breath. Your posture doesn’t change much. Your eyes still feel hollow. But something softens around the edges—like the weight you’re carrying, just for a second, doesn’t crush you quite as hard.

You don’t talk about where you’ve been. He doesn’t ask and you’re quietly, deeply grateful for that. The silence settles again, but it’s lighter now. Not so suffocating.

You shift slightly, pulling your knees closer, your voice soft.

“The Star Plasma Vessel…” you begin, still not looking at him. “Is she okay?”

Satoru glances at you. You’re not asking because you’re curious about the mission. You’re asking because it’s easier to ask about someone else. Easier to care from a distance than explain why you’re here, sitting outside a convenience store at two in the morning, shattered behind your eyes.

He gets it. “Yeah,” he replies after a beat. “Scared, a little scratched up, but she’s safe. We got there in time.”

You nod slowly. You don’t say I’m glad. You don’t have to. Then, a little quieter—

“Good.”

Satoru watches you for another moment. Then looks away, his voice lower this time. “I wouldn’t have left if I knew...”

You cut him off gently, a small shake of your head. “I know.”

He doesn’t try to apologize again. But somehow, sitting side by side in the glow of a cheap vending machine, you understand each other just enough.

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The ride back to the Gojo compound is silent.

You lean against the car window, Satoru’s coat still wrapped around your shoulders, your face turned toward the blur of passing lights. Your body slackens slowly, bit by bit, until your breathing evens out.

He glances at you just once.

Asleep.

Your fingers remain loosely curled, still holding the hem of his coat.

When you arrive at the compound, he doesn’t wake you. There are still too many eyes during the day—elders, handlers, aides—but at this hour, the halls are finally empty. Quiet.

He slips out of the car and opens your door carefully.

“Y/N,” he says softly, just in case you stir.

You don’t.

So he bends down and lifts you into his arms. You’re light. Too light, maybe. But you don’t stir except for a faint shift of your head against his shoulder, a breath catching quietly in your sleep. He walks the familiar path back to your shared guest room inside the compound, passing closed doors and quiet corners. The old wood creaks under his feet, but no one wakes.

Inside, the room is dim—just one warm light glowing from a corner lamp left on earlier in your rush to leave.

He lowers you onto the bed gently, carefully pulling the blanket up over you. You shift faintly, murmuring something incoherent, your brows tightening for a moment. A flicker of whatever had followed you from earlier. He hesitates—then reaches out to brush a hand lightly across your hair, smoothing it back without thinking.

You exhale slowly, tension easing again.

Satoru stands there for a second too long.

Then he steps back, sits on the edge of the other side of the bed, and pulls off his jacket. He doesn’t turn off the lamp. Doesn’t climb in beside you just yet.

The room is dark now, save for the soft glow of the moon cutting across the floorboards. You’re asleep beside him, your breathing even and quiet, barely a whisper in the stillness.

Satoru lies on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, arms folded loosely behind his head. He hasn’t moved in a while. Can’t. Not because he’s comfortable—but because moving would break the fragile calm he’s pretending still exists.

He glances sideways.

You’re curled toward him, just slightly, one hand tucked near your face. The line of tension in your brow is gone now. The exhaustion hasn’t left your features, but for once, you look… at peace.

And it bothers him.

More than it should.

He sighs quietly and closes his eyes. But sleep doesn’t come. All he can feel is the weight of your presence. The echo of your voice on the phone. The way you didn’t want him to see you like that. The way you still thanked him—without ever saying the words.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be clean. Controlled. Useful. An arrangement. A lie. No attachments. No mess. No room for feelings.

And yet—here he is.

Lying next to someone who was never supposed to matter. Feeling things he knows better than to let grow.

He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, breath shallow.

"This is a mistake," he mutters to no one. Not because you’re the problem. But because he is. Because feelings are dangerous. Because he knows how it ends when he lets people close.

He turns his head and looks at you again.

A reluctant tenderness rises up in his chest, sharp and unwanted.

Maybe it’s time to end it. The arrangement. The act. Before it starts becoming something he can’t pull away from. Before you give him that quiet smile one more time and make it even harder.

But as he lies there, the words catch in his throat. Because the truth is—he doesn’t want to let go.

Not yet.

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The next morning unfolds in hushed movements.

The compound is quiet, the staff respectful, the air still.

You find Satoru already seated at the low table in your shared quarters, hair still damp from a shower, dressed in a plain black shirt. A half-eaten bowl of rice sits in front of him. He doesn’t look up when you enter.

“Morning,” you offer, voice tentative.

He gives a faint nod. “Morning.”

That’s it.

No teasing. No lazy grin. No offhand comment about your bedhead or the way you always squint at the light.

Just silence.

You sit across from him and begin eating slowly, glancing up every so often. His eyes are trained on his food, but his mind is somewhere else.

You don’t ask.

Then, out of nowhere—

“We’re moving back to the apartment tomorrow.”

You pause mid-bite.

“The new barrier system’s installed, wards are reinforced. I checked it myself last night.” A beat. “It’s secure. You’ll be safe there now.”

Your gaze lingers on his face, searching. There’s something clipped about the way he says it—efficient, cold, like he’s listing mission details. You nod once, slowly, but the words feel like a weight in your chest.

Something’s different. Pulled back. Sharper around the edges. You don’t press. Don’t ask if anything’s wrong. But the quiet between you stretches long and wide—louder than any answer could be.

And breakfast continues like that, two people sitting side by side, the same as always.

Except somehow, it isn’t.

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Evening settles like a hush over the compound, soft gold bleeding into pale gray.

Your things are mostly packed—orderly piles by the door, everything ready for the move back to the apartment. Satoru moves through the room with quiet efficiency, folding, zipping, double-checking everything with practiced ease.

You watch him from across the room, arms loosely folded.

He hasn’t really spoken to you all day. Just short replies. Nods. The kind of presence that feels more like absence with a face.

You walk over, stopping a few feet behind him as he shuts the last suitcase.

“Satoru?”

He straightens, still facing away. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been… quiet.”

He glances at you over his shoulder, unreadable. “Tired.”

You nod. Try to believe that.

But you know better.

“Is something wrong?”

He shrugs once, turning away to crouch beside the suitcase. “Just a long week.”

You watch his shoulders tighten faintly.

“Okay,” you say quietly, though everything inside you feels far from okay.

He doesn't respond.

You stand there a moment longer, waiting for something—anything—to break the silence, to let you back in.

But Satoru zips the last bag, gets to his feet, and dusts off his hands.

“We’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow. The car’s set to pick us up at nine.”

“Okay,” you say again.

He offers a tight nod and brushes past you, heading toward the other side of the room without another glance.

It hits you harder than you expect—that shift in him.

Like he’s already pulled away, like he’s decided something but won’t say it aloud.

The distance is quiet, but it fills the entire room.

And for the first time since all of this began, you feel like you’re truly alone beside him.

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The apartment is just as you left it—neat, modern, impersonal.

The sun filters in through half-drawn blinds, casting muted light over the familiar furniture. The kitchen hums faintly. The faint buzz of the city outside leaks in through double-glazed windows.

You walk in first, setting your bag down in the entryway with a quiet sigh. Satoru follows a few steps behind, his keys jingling as he drops them into the ceramic bowl near the door.

No words are exchanged.

No welcome home.

Just silence and shoes being slipped off.

It’s almost jarring how quickly the rhythm falls back into place.

Two rooms.

Two routines.

Two people under the same roof, each occupying just enough space not to cross into the other’s.

You don’t say it aloud, but it feels like everything between you—whatever fragile, warm thing had started to grow—was left behind in the compound.

At dinner, you eat separately.

You reheat leftover soup in the microwave while he pours himself cereal. You pass each other in the kitchen like strangers in a hotel. He hums something tuneless under his breath. You don’t ask what it is.

Later that night, your door is closed.

His is too.

The walls between you feel thinner somehow, and heavier at the same time.

And for all the ways things have “returned to normal,” you lie awake in the quiet and realize:

You don’t miss the quiet.

You miss him.

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It starts innocently enough.

A Jujutsu Tech function. Some casual, semi-formal gathering arranged by Shoko—part staff meeting, part social hour. She had insisted Satoru bring you. He nodded.

When he asked you the night before the function, you nodded too. Said nothing.

The venue is low-key—lanterns hanging over a garden courtyard, students milling around the edges, a few elders pretending to enjoy themselves. You keep to the fringes, glass in hand, eyes drifting.

You don’t know most of these people. You don’t need to.

And then you see it.

Across the courtyard, Satoru’s talking to someone.

The Star Plasma Girl, Maiko—tall, elegant, beautiful. She laughs at something he says and lightly touches his arm. He leans in a little. Smirks. Says something else, that easy Gojo charm on full display.

He smiles at her. The kind of smile you’ve only seen once—maybe twice—and always when he thought you weren’t looking.

It cuts sharper than you expect.

You look away. It’s stupid, you tell yourself. It’s nothing. But your chest feels tight. You press your fingers to the base of your glass, trying to ground yourself. You can’t even name what you’re feeling. Just that it’s unfair. That you were the one losing sleep over him. That you’re the one who knows how quiet he gets when he's tired. That you’re the one who—

You stop the thought. It doesn’t matter. Because none of it’s real. It never was.

And when Satoru finally walks back to you, drink in hand, still half-smiling from whatever flirtation he’s left behind, you force a small smile and accept the glass he offers.

“You okay?” he asks, not really looking at you.

“Of course,” you say with practiced ease.

And if he notices the shift in your voice, the slight crack in your smile, he doesn’t show it.

Later that night, as he drapes his jacket over the back of a chair and vanishes into the bathroom, you stand alone in the dark kitchen and admit it quietly to yourself—

You wish you were the kind of woman Satoru smiled at like that.

The real kind.

Not the arrangement.

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The evening has begun to wind down.

The courtyard is quieter now, the lanterns glowing softer, casting long shadows across the stone paths. Satoru steps away from the crowd, phone in hand, pretending to read a message. In truth, he needs air. Space. Something to clear the fog from his head.

You’ve been quiet all night.

He’d noticed your distant smile, the slight edge in your voice, the way you didn’t meet his eyes. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on it—not with half the jujutsu world watching.

“Still escaping your own party, I see.”

A familiar voice. Satoru turns. Maiko. She steps toward him, heels clicking against stone. “We never finished our conversation,” she says gently, resting a hand on his arm like it belongs there. She steps closer.

Too close.

Before he can stop her, she leans in—eyes half-lidded, breath brushing his cheek, her lips nearing his like this has been inevitable all night.

Satoru doesn’t move at first. Not out of desire, but disbelief.

Then, calmly but firmly, he lifts his hand and presses two fingers against her forehead.

“Don’t,” he says quietly. “This isn’t happening.”

She blinks. A little thrown off. She pulls back, visibly irritated.

But before she can say anything—

Footsteps.

A presence.

Satoru turns just in time to see you standing there at the edge of the path, frozen.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t have to.

Your expression says enough.

Wide eyes. Hurt flickering like a crack across a glass pane. You turn without a word and walk away.

“Y/N—” he calls after you, stepping forward.

But you don’t stop.

You disappear around the corner, head low, shoulders rigid.

Maiko raises a brow. “I didn’t realize she was the jealous type.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens. “She’s not.”

But his voice lacks its usual ease.

And as he watches the space Y/N vanished into, that tightness in his chest—that sharp, sudden ache—tells him: She might not be jealous. But she’s hurt. And that’s worse.

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Satoru sees her across the party.

Y/N stands near one of the drink tables, half-listening to a conversation she clearly wants no part of. Her eyes flick briefly toward him, then away, like she hadn’t been watching him moments before. Like she hadn’t seen what she wasn’t supposed to see.

He breaks away from a group of colleagues without excuse, crossing the courtyard with quiet urgency.

She notices.

Her posture stiffens when he gets closer, but she doesn’t move—doesn’t turn away. That alone feels like forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

He opens his mouth—

BOOM.

A deafening crack splits the air.

Screams erupt as a wave of energy slams into the far end of the compound. Dust plumes into the lantern-lit night as intruders breach the perimeter with cursed weapons drawn, chaos scattering the gathering into a frenzy.

Y/N flinches instinctively, ready to run to the safety of Gojo’s presence.

“Stay there.” His voice is sharp where he stood several meters away from her, all warmth gone, replaced with immediate command. “Don’t run. I’ll come back for you.”

She blinks up at him, startled. He softens just slightly. “I swear, Y/N.”

Then he turns—and she sees where he goes.

Straight to who he wagers the attack was aimed at. Maiko, the Star Plasma Vessel.

She’s in the middle of the commotion, a blade aimed for her throat. Without missing a beat, Satoru flash-steps between her and the attacker, deflecting the blow with a curse-wrapped hand. His back shields her entirely, shoulder to shoulder with her as the fight escalates.

Y/N doesn’t move.

She stands there like he told her to, the crowd parting around her in panic, her ears ringing, eyes locked on the one man who told her he’d come back—

and is now fighting for someone else.

For someone who touched his arm.

For someone he almost kissed.

Her hands  tremble but She doesn’t run. She doesn’t cry. He’ll come back for me. She repeats to herself. 

But her chest feels like it’s caving in, and she thinks—maybe for the first time—that staying might have hurt more than walking away ever would.

The moment he turns away, everything moves too fast.

Y/N stays where he told her to—at the edge of the courtyard, tucked by the low stone wall. The guests scatter around her, some screaming, others pushing past in panic. Jujutsu sorcerers engage the intruders midair, cursed energy flashing like lightning across the sky.

She clutches the edge of the wall, heart pounding. Eyes on Satoru.

He’s brilliant—blinding. Fluid. He tears through enemies with unshakable ease, always three steps ahead. Every movement is deliberate. Controlled.

He doesn’t look back.

Not even once.

And that’s when it happens.

One of the intruders, flung by a burst of energy, crashes into the wall just a few feet from her. He grunts, bloodied and dazed—but not unconscious. He sees her.

A non-combatant. Alone. Vulnerable. He rises, blade in hand, limping toward her. Y/N’s eyes widen. There’s no one close enough. Everyone’s preoccupied. She can’t scream—her throat closes up. Her limbs freeze.

And then—

A flash.

Pain.

Blinding, white-hot pain across her side as she tries to scramble back, too slow, too late. The blade slashes deep across her ribcage, and she falls, breath ripped from her lungs.

She hits the ground hard.

The noise of the battle becomes muffled, distant, like she’s underwater. Blood pools beneath her hand as she tries to apply pressure, vision swimming.

She tastes iron.

Feels cold.

And in the haze, she wonders—not why she stayed, but why he never looked back.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

He doesn’t realize she’s hurt until the fight is over. Until the last attacker drops. Until someone calls his name—urgently. Frantic.

He turns and that’s when he sees it.

The blood. The torn fabric. The stillness on the ground near the wall.

His heart stops cold.

He doesn’t remember running to her. Only the silence in his head as he drops to his knees beside her, shaking hands brushing her cheek.

“Y/N?”

Her lashes flutter weakly. Her lips part. She tries to speak, but no words come out.

And in that moment, surrounded by the wreckage of a battle he won, Satoru realizes— He told her he’d come back.

But he didn’t.

Taglist: @flmdrva @sarcasticintrovertedsoul @goonforgeto @riddhimabhatt @fangirlingtod3ath @updated-version

[freyafrida]

rilla of ingleside, chapter fourteen

😭😭😭

“Nan offered to look after Jims for the day and so set Rilla free.”

oh hi Nan, good to see you still exist. I want to be more invested in her and Jerry after how lovely and painful his letter to her was, but...there's still just so little about them as a couple, and about Nan as an adult (and even about Jerry beyond that letter) :/

“Mr. Pryor was reported to have said that he “hoped it would rain pitchforks points down,” and to have wantonly kicked Miranda’s dog as he said it”

whiskers bad! pacifists bad! Now, did Whiskers say or do this? Maybe not, it's one of the more measured moments in the books in that it's only "reported" what Whiskers has done -- but anyway, taking the opportunity to point out that it's so hard to take Whiskers's villainy seriously when there's a sense that he's just hateable on every level because otherwise you might think the pacifist has a point. Idk, when Susan vents against him -- and when he gets his comeuppance later -- it's hard to feel like it's deserved because it's like, yeah I get it, I'm supposed to hate him because he's a pacifist and only people who kick dogs and bully their daughters and gloat over the Lusitania sinking are bad enough to be pacifists in the struggle of Good vs. Evil. (Other interesting thing that @buttercups-in-a-golden-frenzy pointed out here is that it's like...is this man even a pacifist? He espouses very few actual pacifist views and takes delight in the suffering of the troops. Hard to tell if it's a genuine misunderstanding of what a pacifist is -- like people who will accuse you of hating individual soldiers if you don't support a war -- or like, a malicious but cathartic portrayal because people really did hate pacifists for puncturing their belief that their sons were dying for a good cause.)

“She knew that there had not lacked people who thought and hinted that Rilla Blythe had not the tact or patience to engineer a concert program. She had shown them!”

love that for u Rilla ❤️

“Yes, that is what he went to town for today—he told me coming out on the train tonight. I was the first person he told. He isn’t in khaki yet—they were out of uniforms—but he will be in a day or two. I always said Walter had as much pluck as anybody. ”

Oh, Irene. Very human villainy from her here, in contrast to Whiskers -- acting like she never repeated any of the rumors about Walter and trying to show off like they're close (iiinteresting bc @theincorrigiblemagpie suggested that's what the Una-Irene beef was about!). Also interesting to think if she genuinely didn't know if Rilla knew about Walter -- it would be really cruel to deliberately tell Rilla instead of just petty, and Irene is mostly the latter -- and was just too excited to show off that she Knows Things, or if she intentionally told Rilla because she wanted to fluster her on her big night (to tie the latter note into the Walter/Una agenda -- kind of interesting if the Una-Irene beef also stems from jealousy on Irene's part, that Irene wants to be close to the Blythes/Walter and Una is already close to them). Given that Walter asked his family not to tell Rilla, I think he probably asked Irene not to tell anyone either, though.

Side note: also really like that Rilla wants to be strong to follow her mother's example, just as much as comparing her struggles to Jem and Jerry's.

“she thought of her brother and her playmate helping to hold those fire-swept trenches”

since when have you and Jerry ever hung out together in your lives, Rilla

“That isn’t the point, Rilla-my-Rilla. I’m going for my own sake—to save my soul alive. It will shrink to something small and mean and lifeless if I don’t go. That would be worse than blindness or mutilation or any of the things I’ve feared.”

Man idek where to start with Walter's enlistment. On the one hand, I don't disagree with some of the themes in this bit, necessarily -- as a person, all you can ever do is make decisions based on what you know as best you can, and all you can really ask of other people is that they have principles that they follow, even if you don't agree with them. I see what Walter means by having his self-respect back -- while I do think he's still been partly peer pressured into enlisting (interesting point by @starlene here that Walter's also been marinating in the pro-war environment of the Glen and Redmond), there's also a sense in the earlier chapters that he does think Germany has to be stopped (they come to conquer or die!!!), and it was only his fears of having to kill or being hurt himself that were stopping him from enlisting. To that end, yeah, it is selfish of him to think that they should fight Germany but not contribute himself; if he thinks there is a higher duty to fight for Canada, then, well...he's doing what he believes.

(That said, I always chuckle a little at Walter being like, "I can write poetry again!" Is that the priority right now?)

At the same time -- from a modern perspective -- it's so hard to read Walter's conviction that he's fighting for something important and that, even if he is sacrificed, it will be a meaningful sacrifice for a grand cause instead of, you know, one of the many millions of deaths for a yard of destroyed land :( There's also quite a bit of naivete from him, too -- that beauty and goodness somehow couldn't have persisted if Germany had won WWI, that fighting is the only way to preserve the beauty he sees in the world.

There's also the mention that part of Rilla really has been bothered all along that everyone thinks Walter is a slacker -- which I think does speak a little to this not being a purely selfless, sacrificial going on Walter's part or giving on Rilla's :/

“There may be a higher duty, perhaps—but that is mine. I owe life and Canada that”

Random thought -- part of me has always kind of…assumed/headcanoned that Walter would be particularly passionate about Canada's ties to England, given that England is the home of a lot of poets and literary movements referenced in the books (Wordsworth, Tennyson, the pre-Raphaelites, etc) -- but that actually doesn't bear out in the text at all; as mentioned, Jem is quite impassioned about Canada stepping up to its role as England's "child", while Walter's eventual reason for going to war is for Canada, specifically, and he later often refers to the beauty of PEI and preserving the goodness of Canadian girls like Rilla and Una. Kind of interesting; maybe speaks to the way WWI is often considered Canada's coming of age, and Walter shows the development of a national consciousness.

“But thank God,” she muttered in a lower tone, “that Shirley is not old enough to go.”

insane/hilarious that so many people in the Blythe household are comfortable admitting they'd be more upset if one of the boys was killed over the others (also RIP Jem for always coming out on the bottom in that list 😭)

glossary:

(interesting throwback here, Rainbow Valley mentions that Walter is writing an epic poem, "strikingly resembling “Marmion” in some things, if not in others.")

Readying Rilla bits:

The line about Whiskers kicking Miranda's dog wasn't in the original draft. Dying at the thought of LMM being like "nah he's not hateable enough" and adding him kicking a dog to the manuscript.

Also originally mentioned that Miranda has a cat, instead of a dog.

Cut line mentions even Miranda had come to the concert (snuck away since Whiskers wouldn't let her go?)

Irene originally says "I always said Walter wasn't -- what Mrs. Burr said he was", instead of "had as much pluck as anybody". (Walter Slur Mystery time activated!!)

The line that Irene's voice is the only real thing about her wasn't in the original draft.

When Rilla sees Walter in the audience, he's originally described as "pale" and with "dark, thick hair" (lmao how specific. Walter fighting Huns and male pattern baldness 🙏)

Walter originally says he hasn't been able to live with not enlisting "since Langemarck", which is interesting -- I think that's one of the battles that saw one of the first uses of poison gas, which I can see horrifying Walter as much as the Lusitania (but given that he explicitly mentions the women and children aboard the Lusitania, that gives him a more moralistic, protective reason to go).

Anne originally notes that the Piper has called Walter away at last, but it's cut. I wonder if Walter ever told her about the Piper?

Susan originally says she'd rather die in the trenches than live under German rule.

[lunchboxe]

I have a theory. There is very little—if any— evidence to support it, but I have a THEORY. A The Amazing Digital Circus one.

I think Jax is gonna abstract.

"oh but that's not really a theory" you say, "everyone is saying people are gonna abstract stfu" NO cause I think I know WHY (I don't and it's gonna be wrong)

The "adventure" with the fireflies and the stargazing,

"She likes when I'm mean to her though!"

"I didn't think you cared about what other people like?"

"I just- no yeah, you're right, I don't."

Jax made a face there that, if I'm remembering correctly, I believe he has only made when talking about abstraction.

First of all, I think he was being honest about Gangle. I think she likes when her comedy mask breaks (not really likes it, but maybe feels a bit relieved) because, like we see in episode 4, with or without her comedy mask, she can't just STAY happy either way. Maybe a part of her appreciates when Jax breaks the mask, so she can, both literally and figuratively, unmask.

I think that's why he was more or less against her and Zooble being so close. Zooble sees Gangle as someone to tiptoe around and protect, while Gangle thinks hanging out with Zooble is going to fix her. In terms of being happy, of course.

I think that when Jax said "you're right, I don't" he was going to say "I just don't want anyone to abstract". It's caused by stress after all, and the stress of maintaining her comedy mask all the time wouldn't be very healthy. Ever notice that in episode 4, when everyone thinks that Gangle is ACTUALLY, SUSTAINABLY happy, Jax never even tries to break her mask?

I think Ragatha is going to abstract. Both her eye and her hair glitch a bit during the baseball scene. Softball? I can't remember. Either way, Ragatha currently has to deal with the life she's built in comparison to Jax's.

She tries to help. Whether or not she always wants to, Ragatha always tries to help other people. But it makes sense that she'd be angry. Even in the pilot episode, she spends the whole time helping Pomni, and ends up left for dead. We see she's angry because she avoids eye contact after. After that, when she says "it's completely understandable with what you were going through at the time." Pomni doesn't even seem to care. She doesn't seem at all worried about what Ragatha thinks.

Then, Pomni doesn't want her cheeriness. Then she gets the stupid sauce in her eye and starts being mean to everyone. Then, she invades Pomni and Jax's conversation just to insult him and remind him of his dead friend, then she gets manipulated into leaving again so Pomni and Jax can joke around on the bench. Then those two go off to look at something in the hall, presumably Ribbits door, and everyone else goes in an unspecified direction. She's alone. No-one cared to talk to her, or ask if she wanted to go with them, she goes all this time trying to be as likeable as possible and no-one likes her.

Earlier in the episode, we even see this. Pomni keeps telling her she can stand to be meaner, but whenever she is she's hated for it. Meanwhile Jax is mean all the time, and Pomni seems to care about her a lot more than about Ragatha. Granted, it might be a stretch to say they're already friends, but you get the point.

And when Ragatha abstracts, who do you think is going to be the breaking point? Probably Jax, right? The character who seems to care the most about not wanting the others to abstract. With Ribbit he seemed very... Full of negative emotions, idk, and with Kaufmo he seemed the same way. He was upset and almost looked like he felt guilty in both instances.

So when Ragatha abstracts in part because of him, I can imagine that wouldn't exactly feel good. Thus, after a couple episodes dealing with the weight of the situation, Jax abstracts too.

... And yeah, that's kinda it. Conclusion. Bye.

[gamergirlwrites]

Title: Taken

Pairing: Sadie Adler x Female!Reader

Synopsis: A bit of teasing with Sadie leads to a repeat of your night before.

CW: Smut. Oral (F receiving).

You didn't have a lot of regrets, but missing Sadie's arrival to camp was one of them. There was an instant attraction when you met her. Several of the boys quickly grew jealous at the fact that she let you right in. They had been under the impression at first that she was clueless about your more taboo proclivities, but Sadie was far from a fool.

"Mr. Adler wasn't always around," Sadie would remind you. The first time you heard her say it was after she had kissed you. You wished that you could have claimed the first move, but there wasn't a thing you would change about the firm, yet gentle press of her lips against yours by the fireplace.

Sadie's affection did more to warm you during cold winter nights than anything else. You could have run around naked in a snowstorm without the fear of freezing if you knew she'd kiss you when you stepped inside. It was the first time that you had really fallen in love, and you were beyond lucky that your brother loved you enough to see past what others couldn't.

Arthur's support brought along that of others, even some of the more devout members of the party. Nobody dared to look at you and Sadie different after a chat with Arthur. You had grown used to the looks, but Arthur hadn't. He hated the way they'd whisper about you when you weren't there, even if he hated the way you left even more. You were a wayward soul, traveling to find your other half, and somehow, you found it at camp with Sadie.

"Get that stupid look off your face," Sadie said as she smacked your shoulder. You snapped out of your thoughts to look at her, and somehow, the love struck look on your eyes intensified even more. "Shit, you've already got me sticking around more than what I planned. No use in stealing my heart away too, I ain't going anywhere."

"I don't mean to, but it's only fair since you stole mine too," you reasoned. Sadie sighed in defeat as she leaned forward to kiss you. Her lips felt soft against yours, and there was no pressure to kiss back, but you always would. The two of you were in your own little bubble. The sun wasn't quite up yet, so you knew that you had a bit more time in bed with Sadie before John tried to whisk you away for something stupid.

"Hey, it's not my fault that you're such a sap," Sadie teased. You bit back a smile at the way her lips twitched fighting a smirk. She prided herself on being hard to read, but you had learned to read her like a book. Losing her husband had been difficult, and you understood why she wanted to keep some distance, even if you thought you were past that point. "Figured that we had done enough of the dirty stuff to stop that. Big bad outlaw can't go five seconds without giving the first woman to give her a little attention the eyes."

"Hey, I didn't hear you complaining about 'the eyes' last night. In fact, I believe you were damn near begging me to look at you. Sounded a bit like you're just as taken with me as I am with you."

"Well-," Sadie scoffed, "-that sounds to me like you're remembering things wrong. Maybe I should refresh your memory of what actually happened. We're already naked."

This time, you didn't even try to hide the wolfish grin that broke out onto your face. Sadie sat up on her side, pushing you fully onto your back as she moved closer to you. You were left staring up at her, and there was a familiar pounding in your chest as she closed the distance between your bodies once again.

You were thanking your lucky stars as her lips pressed against your neck. Sadie liked to wound you up as much as she could before she got you where she wanted you. It was a little cruel, but you didn't mind it one bit. Sadie liked you ravenous, and that was the only way she knew how to ensure that you'd be craving her by the time she was ready.

"What a pretty little thing all bruised for me," Sadie mused as she pulled back to admire her handiwork. Your skin was still tingling from the marks she was leaving on you. Sadie knew that you were getting pretty close to where she needed you, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that she wasn't willing to wait all that long.

"You don't have to do this every single time. It's a waste of time to make me beg for you when you're all I ever want," you told her. Sadie couldn't run away from the way your words flustered her.

"Always trying to rush me," Sadie teased. Her voice quivered unconvincingly, like you had shaken her to her core with that one. You didn't feel pride at splintering Sadie's act, your mind was kept busy with the sight of Sadie crawling up your body. Despite her words about rushing, she was still straddling your face with urgency. "Well, don't make me wait now. Put that pretty little mouth of yours to good use darling."

Sadie lowered herself onto your face the second she felt your hands on her hips. You moved your tongue in long, slow strokes just to taste her at first. Sadie's hips bucked forward with each pass of your tongue against her clit. You could hear her try, and fail, to control her breathing as you applied more pressure with your mouth.

Your hands started to drift down a bit, but Sadie stopped you with a quick warning, "Don't you dare. Keep 'em right where they were."

"Y's m'm," your words came out incoherently muffled, but Sadie still gave you a hum of approval for your obedience. She wasn't really one for praise, but she would be damned if she didn't love the way you tried so hard to please her. You were always on your best behavior for her, something that Sadie had learned very quickly to cherish as deeply as she could.

Sadie's hands grabbed onto your hair and tilted her head back as your tongue began to pick up speed. She wanted you to focus solely on her clit, and you couldn't even think of doing anything else. You wanted to hear every single noise she was capable of making. Neither one of you cared at all about the idea of others in the camp overhearing you. You could handle a bit of ribbing from the guys if it meant Sadie was screaming your name as she trembled and gushed on your tongue.

"Down girl," Sadie teased as she placed a firm hand against your chest. You stayed back on the bed as she moved away from you. Her skin was perfectly flushed in a way that had you beaming with pride. Sadie was panting as she stepped away from the bed to compose herself. The sun was just starting to ride, and you swore that when Sadie stepped back in wearing her robe that she looked like an angel. "Quit looking at me like that, we don't have time for another round."

"The answer to this look isn't always sex," you pointed out. Sadie huffed as she sat down on your lap. Her hands came up slowly to cup your cheeks as she leaned in as close as she could without kissing you.

"Yeah, but it's a lot easier than what I really want," Sadie told you. She left it at that, and you didn't get a chance to argue before she was off your lap again. You let out a little whine as you fell back against the mattress once more, and it turned to a groan as you heard the heaving knocking of your brother and his friends. "Guess I coulda been a bit quieter. Better see what they want."