#and there can be a sense of trying to feel just. Something

[teaboot]

Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?

My earliest memory of what I would call self-awareness occurred spontaneously in the middle of my fourth birthday party, where I suddenly became alert to my existence as a separate entity surrounded by other conscious beings.

This presented to me as not dissimilar to simply being brushed along the flow of a river- experiencing life as a serious of flashbang moments and instants and sensations, like meditating to music until the individual notes break into sounds that follow no rhythm and are only noise- no past or future, only now- and then suddenly finding yourself holding a paddle in the belly of a boat with no idea what to do next.

I remember running to the body that felt safest, who I did not recognize as anything else, and asking it who all the strangers around us were. The person that I learned was my mother told me they were my aunties and uncles, and I was being silly because I KNEW them, and why was I so shy all of a sudden?

Learning to articulate myself after that instant, I remember, was immensely frustrating. Learning your first language, as I remember it, is wuite a bit like how Ive been told recovering from brain damage feels like.

YOU know what you mean. YOU know what you're saying. But there are holes where you reach for something you know MUST be there and find nothing, and must find a way to communicate using only what you have at hand. Except there are always faces looking at you, talking down to you, asking you to do tricks for them to prove you really are a real human person.

I loved art, and I'm very good at it, but GETTING good at it was the worst. I'm told I started with scribbles at six months or so, before I could walk, and at three and four I remember being immensely frustrated that I could see in my head exactly what I wanted to produce, and I didn't know how to PRODUCE it.

And simple shit, like drawing shapes and circles, developing fine motor skills. You FULLY UNDERSTAND THE ASSIGNMENT, but your hands are soft and wobbly and don't cooperate. Getting your mouth and body to obey your directions is hellish, especially when all the appliances and furniture and installations around you are built for someone easily triple your size.

Chairs are hard to sit in when you're small and cant touch the ground. Your legs dangle and you cant scoot closer to the table, and the backrest is so far back you cant use it for support, and the table comes up past your chest so your chin is amost in your plate and your dumb clumsy hands cant hold a big spoon or fork in a way that feels natural or elegant so you end up smearing shit EVERYWHERE and getting yapped at for having your elbows on the counter.

Reading people was interesting. Most people are condescending and plastic when you're small, and you can tell when they're being saccharine and fake, but you're told the polite thing is to believe what they say and be polite back. I used to try using big sentences on purpose just to het them to leave me alone. "What a pretty girl! Can you say Hello?" was the most common ask I can recall. Id answer with the floweriest thing I could think of, usually, "I'm very well, thank you for asking, how are you?", because people only ask you interesting questions after you do well enough on their tests to prove you're people.

Being small was very tiring, and very frustrating, and becoming aware of myself in my own head probably made everything a lot worse overall.

No regrets, though. From what I can recall, life is far more enjoyable when you're aware of it occurring. Time can't slow down until you know it's there, I think

Being a baby full of instincts felt like living as a live grenade. Being a child was far harder, but more Full. More Human. A LOT more like adulthood than infancy, and I was very determined to remember that.

If any of that makes sense

[comicaurora]

When creating art, how do you deal with the fact that seemingly everyone's opinions and tastes are completely individual? Like, how do you make good art, when around 40-50% of what even is "good art" changes from person to person? Sure, we have points we can all agree, but I'm baffled by how three people can agree and disagree on the same pieces of media. I can like movies A and B, and feel like they're very alike, but a friend might love B and hate A and another friend thinks the opposite.

The confusion is because "good" is being used to mean several different things:

To My Personal Taste. If you like a piece of art, you could very easily describe it as good just because you had a good time with it.

Well Put Together. If a story is well-crafted, lacking in plotholes or contrivances, broadly carefully woven, makes sense the more you think about it, etc - you could deem it to be good because it's been put together well. If a work of art looks good, the light sources and shadows make sense with one another, the colors work well together, the composition has clarity, the anatomy is correct - then the work was put together competently and skillfully, and could be called good for this reason.

Objective Quality. When people describe a movie as good, this is usually what they are trying to judge. Whether an objective judgment can be rendered on something as subjective as art is something people have been yelling about for centuries. In my estimation, the quality of a work has to be judged based on what the artist was going for and how close their execution was to that goal. An attempt at photorealism might be seen as "objectively bad" if it doesn't look photorealistic.

And by the same token, "bad" can mean a BUNCH of different things:

Bad Because I Had A Bad Time

Bad Because It Didn't Deliver What I Expected From It

Bad Because It Hit Me With A Personal Dealbreaker

Bad Because I Couldn't Take It Seriously

Bad Because It Didn't Make Sense To Me

Bad Because It Said Something I Really Disagreed With

And many more. This is why I think it's helpful to unpack a story further than just "is it good or bad" because those judgments are almost always concealing a more interesting personal analysis. There are stories I find highly ineffective that are still professionally well-crafted and accomplishing the creator's goals. There are stories I enjoy the hell out of that are weighed down by ropey characterization and dubious values. It's usually more effective, in my experience, to narrow in and identify what parts of a work are working for you, and what parts aren't clicking.

[defmaybe]

Connection

12 Days of Christmas: Day 9, January 2nd, 2025

Kep1er’s Kim Chaehyun x Male Reader

2.4k words

Christmas Masterlist

A/N: See also gangplanksorenji’s Chaehyun Kinknuary Day 7: Titfucking

—

“This place is a bit–secluded, Chaehyun. Are you sure we can’t do it at our dorm?” Your expression is nothing short of quizzical. You’re not sure why your link partner would have to drag you out to the back of your school gym like this. Not that you’re against the idea, of course. Being alone with her is one of the best things that has ever happened to you. Still, what’s going to happen remains a mystery, and not going to lie, that scares you a bit.

“Come on, there’s no place better than here. There are eyes everywhere, you know?” she tries to persuade. That doesn’t work–yet.

You pull out your judging face, staring into her pretty eyes. You’re trying to pry something out of her, and that’s the secret to why here?

“Chaehyun, what are we doing here?” you ask, trying to sound stern.

Chaehyun is a little taken aback by your directness. Her resolve falters slightly. She looks–concerned. Did you just scare her?

“I–It’s just a gift, okay? It’s not something bad. I–I’m sure you’ll love it!” she finally replies, trying to sound stern, but her voice is shaking. She’s intimidated by you.

“Oh,” you utter, taken aback a little. You shouldn’t have doubted your cute senior, after all. “Oh, sh–shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

She laughs, visibly happy that the tension dissolves into the air. Shouldn’t have made it a big deal in the first place. “Oh, don’t worry, we’ll all forget this in five minutes, alright?”

You let out a sigh, relieved. “S–Sure, Chaehyun.”

“So, the gift!” she says with an unmatched enthusiasm. How lucky you are with your link partner, gotta keep this energy and pass it on to your junior.

Wait.

She has nothing on her. There’s no visible bump in her pockets.

You take a glance around. It’s probably hidden somewhere around here, anyway. That’s why you were dragged out this far.

Suddenly, she kneels, keeping her eye contact with you. Isn’t she supposed to–

“Chaehyun?”

“Yes?” she replies, looking into your eyes innocuously.

“What are you doing? Th–The floor is dirty! A–And aren’t you supposed to–”

“Relax, this is the gift,” she responds with a giggle, before tugging her hands behind your waistband. The warmth from her hand emanates into your body. Your breathing quickens at her touch. Is she–

“Ch–Chaehyun, what are you d–doing?”

“Baby, I need you to stay still for me, alright? Because I’m going to give you the best gift you’ll ever have~” she says sultrily. Your eyes widen in shock, unable to make sense of this otherworldly situation. Her hands start to unbuckle your belt, smiling up at you. Fuck, she’s so alluring.

Your mind cannot process what is going on. All you can feel is the tugging on your pants, trying to drag them down to the concrete floor. And by the time you’re back on earth, your pants are already on the ground. Your erection poking out of your boxers.

“Wow, didn’t know you’ve been hiding this, baby,” Chaehyun coos, sticking out her tongue lewdly. It’s barely touching your cock now, and you can’t help but to thrust forward into her mouth.

“Ha–mmm!” Chaehyun gives your confined cock a soft kiss for a split second, before pulling herself back from it. You whine in disappointment.

“That’s very impatient of you, baby~” she says seductively, and you’re doing your best to resist thrusting into her mouth again.

“I’ll give this huge, thick cock the treatment he deserves, but you’ll have to wait, understand?”

You nod sheepishly in response. You’re going to have to resist the temptations for now.

Chaehyun uses her fingers to fiddle with your restrained cock through the tight boxers. Your body trembles and writhes in response. She knows where to touch you. She knows how to break you. She’s good at this.

Chaehyun giggles, as she slithers her hands under your boxers from below. They slowly (and torturously) creep her hands up your thighs. You let out stuttered moans at her touch.

“M–My god, Ch–Chae,” you utter.

“Mmm, so big and hard for me, so ready to burst between my tits.”

Your mouth opens wide, both in shock and to accommodate the groans coming out. Her hands are ghosting so close to your cock. What a tease.

She’s definitely revelling in the way she’s making you a mess like this. You’re shaking. You’re quivering. You’re shuddering under her touch. She’s just having that much power over you.

In a slow, deliberate movement, Chaehyun grabs onto the edge of your black boxers, pulling them down carefully. Your cock springs free once it’s out of its fabric cage, barely hitting her face in the motion. She smiles, and that’s making you almost falter.

(A lot would argue that you’ve already drowned in her boiling lust, though, but your falter usually involves literally falling over her toned body—a faint, to say. Right now, well, you’re just trembling in anxiety, almost drooling, and just hard as a rock.)

She pulls the garment down to pool on your ankles. It rests there idly, unbeknownst to the events happening around it. Chaehyun, being the cocktease she is, sticks out her tongue lewdly. She’s close enough for you to feel her warm breath on your cock, but still a few centimeters away from the divine rapture you were promised. She just hangs her mouth open there, warming your cock with her exhale.

“Bet you wanna stick him into my mouth so bad,” she continues to tease, bringing up her hand close to your cock just to fucking ghost around it. She makes a pretense of jerking you off with her slender fingers. Fuck, she even does the swipes at the tip. Your body is shaking with anticipation.

“Bet you wanna just choke me with this big, thick cock,” says Chaehyun, mockingly bobbing her head back and forth, still making the much-needed contact a mere fantasy. Her breasts bounce along with the teasing movement.

“Bet you wanna see me drool over this fucking dick, gagging, sputtering all over him,” Chaehyun does a little wordplay. The tip of her fingers are grazing your balls. Your body shudders at her tantalizing touch. You just can’t take it anymore.

Chaehyun mischievously giggles. God, you swear that it’s so wicked in the way she does that, withholding you the pleasure you fucking deserve. You wish you could just plant her face on your cock and make her choke on you. You wish you could just make her cock-drunk. You wish you could just smear your cock with her spit. You wish. You wish. You wish.

Chaehyun then plants kisses just above your cock, so determined, so eager to undo you into a mess (you’d say that you already are). She takes a few licks here and there: on the sides, above, on your meaty thighs, anywhere except for your throbbing cock.

“Ch–Chae, n–need you–my cock,” you grunt, unable to make sense of the elusive sensation she’s giving you. You just can’t take it anymore. This is too much. Fuck.

A giggle escapes Chaehyun’s lips before uttering the series of words you’re needing the most. “Alright, baby, let’s give your cock what he deserves.”

She withdraws her hands from your hardness. It twitches in the weighing expectation of her next action. Chaehyun grabs onto the hem of her shirt, pulling it up ever so slowly, revealing her toned abs. The highlight, indeed, are her breasts that the poor purple bra is struggling to hold. They look so meaty, so delicious. Fuck, they even jiggle.

Maybe it’s the way your eyes linger for a little too long. Maybe it’s the way you’re almost drooling. Chaehyun laughs, and loudly, finding humor in the way you’re so magnetized to her tits like this.

“Oh my god, you fucking pervert!” Chaehyun laughs.

“Wh–Wha–”

Your train of thoughts is cut out with another burst of laughter, as you wait for her to stop laughing so that you get the divine pleasure you were promised. Her shirt is still hiked up to just above her salivating cleavage

“Ch–Chaehyun–”

“Ha–a–alright, I’ll–” She goes back to pulling up the shirt before fully discarding the garment. Now, she’s exposed under the orange-tinted sunset. “I’m sorry, it’s just–I can be a bit weird about this stuff.”

“Uh–that’s fine, Chaehyun,” you reply.

As queued, she firmly pushes her voluptuous breasts up, walking on her knees towards you. It’s this moment, the one you’ve been waiting for. Your breathing quickens under the weight of expectation. Your hands tremble. Your eyes flutter. You’re going to fuck Kim Chaehyun’s tits!

At the first contact between your mushroom tip and the valley of her breasts, you figure she feels so soft, like a cushion if you’d compare. Still, without the lube, it enters the between of her tits awkwardly—stuttered, rough.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, looking down at her mounds. ��I’ll just–.”

She uses her spit as lube. 

She uses her spit as lube!

You let out an involuntary whimper, perplexed by the erotic situation. Her saliva runs down the valley of her breasts, and she decides to add a bit more lubrication. More spit.

You just can’t comprehend the exact situation that’s happening around you now. You can only cover your mouth in sheer shock, stifling the moans coming out as some of her spit reaches your cock sitting in between her delicious breasts.

“That’s probably enough,” Chaehyun says. The hypothesis is then tested with her grabbing onto the sides of her tits, before she slides them down, making your cock disappear into the hollow between her breasts. God, that feels so good. You let out a loud groan in sheer satisfaction, lost in the pleasure between her tits.

“O–Oh g–god,” you manage to stutter out.

“Stay still, alright? You don’t need to do any work today. Consider this a gift from me,” Chaehyun says with a giggle, still pushing her chest down your throbbing cock.

“Come closer, baby, can’t go to the hilt if we’re this far,” she says, and you comply with her order. It feels easier now to fuck her tits at a close distance like this. Her breath hits the tip of your cock, as you watch yourself slowly coming up from the hollow of her chest. What a sight.

“Nghhh~” you moan. She feels so warm around your cock, so soft, so right. 

Finally, you fuck her tits up to your hilt. Your groan contains nothing but pure, unbridled bliss. God, her tits feel so fucking great.

“Alright, do you wanna rest here or–uh–should I slide my tits up and down?” she asks, giggling. Her smile is so damn cute.

“Uh–just slide up and down. If it’s too much, I’ll say stop,” you reply, and that elicits a wicked grin out of her. It’s showtime for her.

Slowly, she pushes her breasts up, grazing your cock with her porcelain skin. You let out a loud moan at the insane feeling of her tits.

“H–Holy fucking sh–shit,” you utter.

Chaehyun only giggles at your satisfied response. She pushes her wet tits up until half of your cock is out of the valley, before she slams her tits back down, making you let out erratic whimpers.

“Nghhhh~”

“Yes, baby, moan like that,” she coos, finally starting to find her rhythm on your cock. She pushes her breasts up and down in a hypnotic motion. You watch as your cock disappears and reappears in front of your face, all by the effect of her voluptuous tits. Your moans grow louder and louder; someone might hear that, but you couldn’t care less right now. All you’re focusing on is her fucking your cock with her tits like this. It’s nothing short of heavenly.

“You’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” Chaehyun says.

“Nghh~” you can only moan out, sheepishly nodding for her.

She ups her ante, sliding up and down your cock faster and faster. Her pillowy mounds hug you tightly in the deep valley. Your moans grow more irregular. Fuck, this feels so good.

She then uses the ultimate trick hidden in her sleeve all this time. She sticks out her tongue lewdly to get a taste of your cock every time you’re buried deep in her tits. The sensation on your little mushroom tip sends you into haywire, making your moans echo around the gym.

“Keep moaning like that, baby. You’re doing great!” Chaehyun encourages, keeping her tongue out. She’s sliding up and down your cock even faster, and that only induces the inevitable.

Your fingers start to curl. Your body turns rigid. There are signs, and you know it. You’re going to spray her fair, porcelain skin with a copious amount of your cum, painting her with impurity.

“G–Gonna c–cum, nghhh,” you utter between the moans. Your body writhes in the embrace of her voluptuous tits.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum on me,” she sultrily says.

You break. White, hot semen is shot out of your filthy slit onto her. The first few spurts are violent, shooting far into her mouth. Some even hit her gorgeous face! You let out a loud, guttural groan in unfiltered pleasure. God, what a feeling.

The spurts eventually subside in their intensity, painting the between of her chest with your dirty cum. Kim Chaehyun is your sinful canvas, and you’re the goddamn artist.

“Wow, so much cum for me,” she says, scooping a trace of your cum from her cheeks to taste as you watch in shock. “And it tastes good~”

You can only pant in exhaustion from the sheer intensity of the orgasm. Your eyes still have stars in the vision. Fuck, you really just came between her tits.

She’s basking in the sunset gorgeously, shining in the aftermath of your orgasm. Your cum is dripping down her empyrean face. God, she looks great.

“C–Can we do th–this again?” you ask her, looking down on the floor with a slight tinge of embarrassment. That doesn’t eclipse your boiling lust, of course.

She smirks up at you, chuckling. “Well–definitely, maybe.”

—

[val-the-protoss-simp]

Yeah, so. The best way I can explain my thoughts on these ships (especially Artazun - Artanis/Vorazun) is using one of Avril Lavigne's most iconic songs:

He was a boy

She was a girl

Can I make it anymore obvious?

Like, I'm not trying to throw any shade at all, people can ship whatever they want. But I am yet to meet a person who ships these two that explains why they like them so much in a way that makes sense to me. Because sooner or later, their explanation boils down to "He's a guy and she's a gal so ofc they'd be into each other" as if a straight ship is some kind of default and if a story has a male main character and a female main character, they have to end up together. And I just don't see it. Them as friends? Sure, absolutely, imo they're great as friends, but not as a couple. Alarak and Artanis have way more chemistry with one another. Bit of a hot take but so does Rohana and Vorazun. But Artanis/Vorazun is about as interesting to me as watching paint dry is. It's like when you pick up a mediocre romance book where the girl character obviously ends up with the boy character because That's Just How Things Are no matter of they're good together or not. No thanks. Pass

Kerrinor is a bit more complicated in a sense that the game actively tries to convince you these two are really into each other. But if I had to sum up their vibes, I'd reach for Sk8tr Boy again. "He was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it anymore obvious?" I just don't get the romantic vibes at all off of these two. Raynor frequently comes off as an incel that gives the vibes of someone who'd insist they know better than you and just to listen to them because they know best, while also transforming into the biggest simp in the galaxy in SC2 as he pines over a woman that's obviously not into him.

And Kerrigan gives me the vibes of someone who really does wanna see more in this weird relationship, but more because she thinks having someone to love will make her feel whole and worthy of living rather than that she really wants this. Like, if shit didn't go south and she didn't get infected, I'm 100% that eventually she'd go "Yeah sorry lol this ain't gonna work." and break it off with Raynor. Like, I do think she cares deeply for Raynor, don't get me wrong, and at one point might have thought what she feels is romantic love, but eventually comes to a point where she realises that it's a sense of kinship rather than anything romantic. She loves him as a friend, that is all.

And funny enough, if you know more about his character, you know he had a wife and a son that he tragically lost. Knowing this information and how he's written, Raynor comes off to me as someone who's desperately looking for that kind of love again, albeit without realising, because the time he spent happy with his family was the happiest he ever was and his defeated, depressed ass desperately wants that again. So he seeks that shit and Kerrigan just happens to be there.

You can clearly see that he cares deeply about her, but his feelings of affection are misplaced to the point he doesn't want to see the kind of person she is and instead tries to morph her into the kind of woman HE wants. Which is not who Kerrigan is at all. Revenge is all she has left, no matter what it takes, and Raynor again and again tries to talk her out of it for his own personal wants when she makes it very very clear this isn't something she wants to do and that she cannot just let go of what Mengsk did to her and what that man's choices turned her into. And instead of trying to understand why someone he supposedly understands so deeply would want to kill the man who robbed her off of everything and turned her into a monster that killed billions, he gets butthurt when she doesn't wanna run off with him and live happily ever after. I love Raynor for many reasons, I think he's a well written character in a lot of aspects but this just. Ain't it. If the game treated this behaviour of his as a flaw, I'd dig it. But instead it tries to tell how boo boo poor Raynor is just so unfortunate to want a woman that doesn't want him, even when he ignores everything that's important to her. That's just not doing it for me, fam. I get that the game tries to ram it down my throat as the technically only canon ship it gives us in its five installments, but I can't get behind it. Kerrinor is a big fat no for me, let them just stay friends.

a ship where i see what people see but it is simply not very interesting to me personally it’s like

[nosyp]

Twisted Desires

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N = Contains spoilers, read at your own discretion. Don't blame me if you learn smt before watching season 2 <3 (also yes im reusing pics)

Warning = Smut🔞, Murder, Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Captivity, Isolation

Pairing = Front man (Hwang In-ho/Player 001) x reader

Summary = You found out your boyfriend, In-ho, joined the squid game. As you watched the game unfold, you can’t help but feel the growing tension between you two, especially as the stakes get higher and your bond grows darker.

Word count = 2.1k words

There was no. fucking. way.

Your boyfriend, Hwang In-ho and frontman, actually joined the game. You watched intently as he walked through the gap between the two groups of people. One was on the ‘O’ side and the other on the ‘X’ side. He was the last to vote since he was player 001. The voting went from the last player to the first. 

He paused at the table, eyes moving back and forth from the two buttons in front of him. The silence was intense, heavy. Then, his hand moves to the red button… what the fuck? No, actually… he didn’t press it yet. He halts, his hand still in the air. You can see his head turning to the blue button… and he presses it, making the count bump up an extra one. Of course he did. 

At the end of the vote, the ‘O’ side won, which means that the game will continue. The opposing side looked clearly frustrated. I mean, you couldn’t blame them. This game costs their lives if anything. 

Soon, the speaker announces: “The lights will go out in… 3… 2… 1”

Then, the lights shut down, darkness consuming the room. The screen showed the room with heat detection, you could now only see red silhouettes of the figures. Carefully, you inspected the figures and spotted a familiar one moving. The door to the room suddenly opened and the figure passed through the threshold. 

Not long after, you suddenly got a call on the corded phone. The ringing of the phone echoed through the room. You hesitated to pick it up, carefully locking eyes onto the device. Your hand grazed the keypad of the phone, and you picked it up.

“Hello?” you ask the other voice.

“[Name],” his voice crackles through the phone, low and cold. “Are you watching?”

You can hear the slight rustling on the other end, but it’s not enough to make sense of what’s happening. The silence starts again before he continues, “I need you to stay quiet. Don’t try anything funny.”

You can feel your heartbeat picking up pace as you strain to hear any background noise. The weight of his words presses on you. “I’ll be with you again. Soon.”

You knew the man was crazy, but you hadn’t expected something like this… or maybe you did. He often spoke about ‘joining for fun’. There was nothing fun about the whole thing though.

“I don’t think I can really go anywhere,” you respond, still able to hear the rustling in the background.

“Good.” he says before hanging up. The phone call closed with a long beep. 

This bitch somehow managed to find a way to dictate your life, despite being trapped in a game surrounded with many other people. Honestly, he’d probably find some other way if he couldn’t call you. 

The next few days, you watched as he blended into the crowd of players and played his own game. Surprisingly, but also unsurprisingly, he managed to survive game after game. Though, he probably wouldn’t have died even if he lost. The fear of the other players, the chaos, the high stakes, it unnerved you. 

The worst part about it was his calm, cold demeanor only grew more unsettling as he navigated the games with ease. There was no doubt in your mind that he was doing this for his own amusement, but you couldn’t tell what his goal was. Was he playing to win, or was he just having fun with the entire ordeal? Either way, it made you sick.

Every day, you were forced to watch from the sidelines, your mind consumed with thoughts of what might happen to him… or to you. You still hadn’t heard from him since that last phone call, but you could feel his presence in every corner of this twisted game. His control over you, over everything, was absolute. The way he operated, making sure his every move was calculated, was nothing short of terrifying. He was always somehow one step ahead, he could always predict future movements with precise accuracy.

He hadn’t just entered the game to survive, you swore he had entered it to manipulate it. You could only wonder what his true intentions were as you waited, trapped in this nightmare. Every moment you spent here, unable to escape, only added to the sickening realization that no matter what happened, you were always going to be his pawn. A toy in his little game.

The door suddenly clicked open, and in came two of the triangle-masked men. They hadn’t said anything and just stood near the door. 

���What do you want?” you ask, shattering the silence of the room.

“Boss asked us to ensure your safety ma’am,” one of the men replied.

“I don’t need your fucking protection. How many times do I have to say that?” you spat fiercely. You didn’t even know if they were enjoying the torment with the boss or just doing their job. You’d probably guess the latter but the choice of workers this year was… very peculiar. Most of the people were nut-jobs, taking up weird & dangerous jobs prior to joining the ‘squid game’. 

“Boss insists,” the other states, like you didn’t know.

You roll your eyes at the response and just sent them a deathly glare. “I honestly never wanted this… and I highly doubt you wanted it either,”

Silence followed, none of them responded. 

—

It was supposedly nearing the end of the whole operation and it started to get interesting. Seong Gi-Hun, or player 456, had hatched a plan to attract the guards and when they got close enough, he would attack. The others, including your boyfriend, joined the plan.

The fight was already brutal. A purple-haired guy was already brutally stabbed to death by a fork and so many of the other players met the same fate as well. Blood was splattered all over the walls and floors, you couldn’t even imagine how long the cleaning’ll take. 

The situation started to escalate as it turned into a gun-war. The masked group was obviously having the upper hand, they had more manpower and resources. Honestly, you admired Gi-hun’s bravery. He probably knew this was a high risk mission, the whole thing would have some amount of sacrifices.

One-by-one, they took down the masked men and it seemed like they actually had a chance. But you knew In-ho probably wouldn’t let that happen. And as you expected, he took down the two men with him. It didn’t take him long to flee the scene and go back to hiding behind the scene.

The door opened, and in came the infamous leader.

“So… you’ve had your fun… what now?” you speak up, interrogating him.

He pauses, stops in his place, you can see it from the reflection on the screen. His gaze flickers to you, he was still in his green outfit with blood all over him. “Hmmm… I need to go back to being the front man,”

You turn your head towards him, giving him a small smile, not of gratitude or anything though. “You put up quite the show… who knew you could do all that?” you say teasingly.

“You really don’t know me at all, do you honey?” he responds, with just as much tease in his tone as you.

Hearing his tone, you got up from the sofa and grabbed a napkin from the table. One step after the other, you slowly got closer to him and wiped the blood off of him. 

“How sweet of you,” he says. “What changed?”

You stop after hearing the question. It was true, just a second ago you were angry at him. And it all just dissipated in thin air, what is happening to you?

“Nothing, just missed my boyfriend,” you giggle. “You should go change now.”

“I think we have time…” he says, his hand grabbing a hold under your thigh. He lifts it up and wraps his other one around your waist.

“W-what…? For what?” you ask curiously.

“You’ll see,” he says, his lips brushing over yours.

Before you could even process what was happening, In-ho’s grip on you tightened. His hands were firm on your body, pulling you flush against him with a strength that left you breathless. Without a second of hesitation, he crashed his lips onto yours, silencing any protests you might’ve had. The kiss was wild, needy, like he couldn’t get enough of you. And before you even realized it, your legs were wrapped around his waist, holding onto him as though you needed his support.

You felt the weight of his arms around you, supporting you, guiding you, and suddenly, it was all too much. His breath was ragged against your lips as he tugged you closer, the heat of his body mixing with yours.

His touch was possessive, but so tender in the way he gripped your skin. Every second, every movement, was loaded with unspoken words… his desire, his lust, his need for you, but also something darker, a reminder of who he was in this twisted game. Yet, all you could think about in that moment was the pull between you, how his presence seemed to drown out everything else.

You could feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest, syncing with your own, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There was no game, no chaos, no twisted rules. This time… it was just him and you.

It was almost dizzying. The way his lips moved with an intensity that left you breathless. You melted into him, giving in to the urgency of the moment, your hands threading into his bloodstained shirt as you pulled him even closer. And just as quickly, he deepened the kiss, a growl vibrating in his chest, pulling a desperate moan from you.

It was messy. It was raw. It was everything that you shouldn’t want, but couldn’t stop yourself from craving more of him.

“Don’t think,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough, just how you like it. “Just feel. Feel me.”

His words fell onto deaf ears as you numbed against his touch, His lips trailed down to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, making your breath hitch in your throat. You clung to him, desperate for more, for any scrap of his attention, but your head was spinning.

“In-ho…” you managed to breathe, barely able to form words, your chest heaving as he kissed his way back up to your jaw, his fingers digging into your skin in that familiar, possessive way.

“Shh,” he whispered, his voice rough with barely contained desire, it was something more than that. He was desperate for you now. His hands roamed every inch of your body, tracing the lines, memorizing every curve as if he needed to own every part of you. “You don’t need to say anything. I know what you want.”

He spoke like he had all the answers, and in that moment, he probably did. The way he held you, the way he moved with such authority, made it impossible to do anything but give in to him. To him and this chaotic, twisted connection you shared. Maybe you weren’t any better than him.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging him back to you as your lips crashed together again. It wasn’t gentle this time. The kiss was rough, hungry, full of tension and need. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you in a rhythm that only seemed to escalate the fire burning between you. His breath, hot against your mouth, sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning against his lips.

You felt his smirk before you heard it. “You’re mine, [Name],” he muttered against your lips. His words were a command, a promise, and you couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you at the sound.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race. “You want me, don’t you? Want me more than anything else right now. Tell me you want me,”

His hands were on you again, pressing you deeper into him, and in that moment, there was no escaping him. No escaping the pull of his dark, twisted affection.

You didn’t answer, not with words, but your body told him everything he needed to know. He hummed in satisfaction and you let him explore you even deeper.

[jungwnies]

wreckage - charles leclerc (3/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as charles fights for his life, his wife faces the hardest decision: let go or fight for him. a small miracle gives hope for recovery.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, very... very... emotional, again ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1676

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say that the hardest part of love is knowing when to let go. The decision to hold on is easy—it’s the decision to release, to trust that the other person will be okay without you, that’s the hard part.

You’ve been sitting in the sterile, white hospital room for hours, each minute feeling like a year. Charles’s body is hooked up to so many machines, monitors flashing with numbers that seem foreign to you. His face, once so full of life, now looks pale, bruised, and still. They told you to prepare yourself for the worst, but you haven’t let yourself believe it. Not yet.

Not while there's still hope.

You’re not even sure what you're hoping for anymore. Some miracle, maybe. But deep down, you know the odds. They’ve been giving you the numbers—stats you can’t quite process, numbers you can’t make sense of. His condition is critical, and they’ve told you, over and over again, that his survival chances are slim. His organs are struggling, his internal injuries severe. The brain scans were grim at first, showing little to no activity.

But you can’t let yourself fall into that darkness. Not yet.

The room feels too cold, too empty.

"How are his stats?" you ask quietly, though you already know the answer.

The nurse glances at you, her face trying to remain neutral. "Not good. His heart rate’s been fluctuating. His oxygen levels aren’t improving, either. We’re doing what we can, but his body’s fighting against us." She hesitates, looking back at the monitors. "We’re not sure how much longer we can keep him stable."

You nod, feeling the weight of every word, but you can’t give up. Not yet.

Minutes turn into hours. You stay by his side, holding his hand, whispering to him. Every time you speak, you tell him how much you love him, how much you need him to come back. You’re not sure if he can hear you, but it doesn’t matter. You need him to know.

And then, just as you’re beginning to feel the overwhelming weight of your decision, something unexpected happens.

The steady beep of the heart monitor suddenly begins to accelerate, growing faster and faster. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. Something’s wrong.

The nurse rushes over, her face pale as she watches the monitor. "His heart rate’s spiking," she mutters. "It’s too fast. His blood pressure’s dropping."

The room erupts into action as doctors rush in, all moving in synchronized chaos. You’re shoved aside as they begin adjusting the equipment, calling out orders, but your mind goes blank. You try to focus, but it feels like everything is spinning.

"His stats are crashing," one doctor says, his voice tense. "We need to stabilize him now."

"Is it time?" you ask, barely able to speak over the noise. "Should we—"

But before you can finish, a loud, sharp sound cuts through the room—the unmistakable alarm of a failing heartbeat. The doctor turns toward you, his eyes filled with grim determination. "I’m afraid we’ve reached the point where his body might not be able to hold on much longer."

Your breath hitches in your throat. Everything feels like it’s slipping away. You squeeze Charles’s hand tighter, as if willing him to come back to you.

But then, as if the universe is playing some cruel game, the chaos calms, just for a moment.

The alarms start to fade into silence, and the doctor presses his fingers to the side of Charles’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Your heart lurches, praying for any sign of life. The seconds feel like hours.

Suddenly, the doctor looks up, his eyes widening. "Wait… there’s something." He leans in, checking the monitors again. "His blood pressure’s stabilizing. His heart rate’s slowing down to a more normal rhythm."

You barely dare to breathe, your eyes never leaving Charles’s face.

The nurse who’s been working on him moves closer, shaking her head in disbelief. "It’s like he’s coming back."

You don’t know what to think. The last few minutes have felt like an eternity, and now, you’re afraid to believe it. "What’s happening?" you whisper, your voice trembling.

The doctor looks up at you, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes. "It seems like he’s fighting. His body’s responding… it’s too early to say for sure, but this is a good sign."

You stare at Charles, trying to process the sudden shift. Is this the miracle you’ve been waiting for, or just another false hope?

The minutes stretch on, and then, just as you begin to allow yourself a small breath of relief, the monitor lets out another shrill, jagged alarm—the unmistakable sound of a fatal arrhythmia. A shocking wave of panic shoots through you as the machine flashes with an erratic, spiking rhythm.

"V-fib!" The doctor shouts, his voice urgent. "We’re losing him. Get the defibrillator ready."

The nurse scrambles to prepare the machine, and you feel your stomach drop out. This can't be happening. Not now.

"Charles!" you whisper, gripping his hand harder, your eyes welling up. "Please."

The doctors are already on him, paddles in hand, but it feels like time is standing still. Your eyes dart from the monitors to Charles’s face, feeling as if your heart has stopped with his. Then, the shock.

The force of the defibrillator sends a jolt through his chest, and the monitor flickers. Nothing.

You close your eyes briefly, bracing for the worst.

"Again," the doctor orders, and another round of defibrillation. This time, there’s a slight blip, a change. It’s not much, but it’s something.

The doctor presses the paddles down once more, adjusting the settings. "One more time. We need him back."

The seconds stretch as they try again, and then finally, the heart monitor begins to beat again—slowly, but steadily.

"Heartbeat stable," the nurse breathes.

Your breath escapes your lips in a shaky exhale. You look at Charles again, feeling a rush of relief flood through you as the panic of the past few minutes settles into a wary calm. But it’s still not over. His fight isn’t done.

Just as you think the worst is behind you, Charles’s mother bursts into the room, her eyes frantic as she surveys the scene. Her voice cracks as she calls out his name, "Charles!"

You feel a flash of guilt. You should’ve called her sooner, but there had been no time. The doctors had been focused, and you’d been too overwhelmed to think clearly.

You step aside, giving her space, but you can’t look away from the man you love, still unconscious, his body fighting to survive.

The doctor steps over to you both. "We’re stabilizing him, but we’re not out of the woods yet. We need to make some decisions."

Charles’s mother looks at you, her face pale with concern. She reaches for your hand. "Whatever it is… I trust you. You’re his wife, and you know him better than anyone. What do you think we should do?"

You swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I… I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do. He’s… he’s still fighting. But we’ve been here for so long, and I don’t know how much longer we can wait."

Her gaze softens. "You don’t have to do this alone. I trust you. We’re a family. We make these decisions together." She squeezes your hand tightly. "But if you think there’s still a chance for him, then we have to keep fighting too."

You look back at Charles, uncertainty and fear clouding your judgment. How do you even begin to make this decision? His body is failing him, but his heart—his spirit—is still trying.

"Let’s give him more time," you decide, your voice shaking with fear but firm with resolve. "But if his chances are too slim… if we’re just keeping him alive on machines, then we need to think about letting him go."

The doctor nods solemnly. "We’ll run more tests. But if things don’t improve soon, we may need to consider other options."

As the minutes pass, the machines continue to monitor Charles’s every movement, every breath, and the room remains tense, every decision weighed in silence. But then, something begins to shift.

"His blood pressure’s coming back up," the nurse announces quietly. "And… there’s more brain activity. His oxygen levels are improving too."

You feel like you might be dreaming. "Is this really happening?"

The doctor steps forward, shaking his head in disbelief. "I’ve never seen anything like this. His vitals are stabilizing. I think… I think he’s fighting."

"Fighting?" you ask, still not quite believing what you’re hearing.

The nurse, who’s been checking his monitors, speaks softly, her voice a little hopeful. "He knows you’re here. I think he’s holding on for you."

And in that moment, you realize: you’re not alone in this fight. Charles is fighting for you too.

The room fills with a cautious optimism, but the road ahead is still uncertain. Will he wake up? Will his organs continue to improve?

Only time will tell.

Then, the unthinkable happens.

"His breathing," the nurse says, voice shaky, "it’s improving. He’s trying to breathe on his own. We can extubate him. He doesn't need the tube anymore."

You stare, wide-eyed, as they carefully begin the process of removing the intubation tube, your heart in your throat.

Everything changes in a moment.

There’s still a long way to go, but for the first time in hours, you feel a flicker of hope.

He’s still here. And he’s fighting.

But you know deep down that the next few days will be critical.

You stand there, feeling like you’ve crossed a line between despair and hope. But Charles has always been a fighter. And if he’s fighting, so will you.

For him. For the life you built together. For love.

You look down at him, and the smallest of smiles begins to tug at your lips.

Maybe… just maybe… he’ll make it through.

And for now, that's enough.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , @ayap4paya , @prttylight , @meadhbhcavanagh , @iluvnewtie , @hiireadstuff , @armystay89 , comment to be added

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 4

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn’t all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Bucky coughs. You hear him through the wall. Your earbuds are still in your pocket. The smell of coffee pervades the apartment. 

The door opens as you unload the dishwasher. He emerges with a cloud of steam from the shower, along with the smell of his soap. His hair is damp and messy, his beard shining with moisture as his eyelids slit. 

"Doll," he stops on the other side of the counter as you keep your attention on the dishes. You are aware that he was only a towel around his waist, that realisation making the plate clack loudly as you put it away. "Can ya close the curtains for me?" 

"Sure," you agree and leave the dishwasher open.  

He lumbers to the couch and sits. You glimpse him as you tug on the cords to draw the curtains. You quickly hide around the corner as you return to the kitchen. 

He groans as you try not to clink the porcelain too loudly. You feel bad for him. You can tell just by looking at him how much he hurts. You've always had a bleeding heart. 

You roll the rack back into the dishwasher and close the door. You grab your phone and chew your lip. He would probably prefer to be left alone. Still, you can't see how trying to help is bad. 

You approach him as the results load on your phone. You hover behind him as you scroll. His breath startles you as he heaves. 

"Need something?" He asks without looking back. 

"Erm," you wince and shuffle around the couch. You hold out your phone. He narrows his eyes at the screen and scowls. "For your head?" 

He watches the video and shrugs. The gesture catches your attention for a split second. His right arm is just as thick as the metal one, muscle taut and bulging. His chest looks softer under a mat of dark hair and his stomach overhangs the towel just a little. 

"Too much work," he grumbles and his eyebrows twitch with the effort it takes to speak. He touches his forehead and growls.  

You lower the phone, "sorry." 

"...unless," he drops his hand and looks at you, agony sewn into his expression. "You could..." he looks at your hands. "Doll?" 

You glance down at your hands, clutching your phone tighter. You watch the video of the 'scalp massage', fingers kneading into thick strands. You bring the screen closer.  

"I can try," you say at last. 

Your gaze meets his again and he nods. He bends forward and hangs his head. He grips the cushions as his hair falls over his face.  

You rewind the video and set the phone beside him so you can see it. You rub your palms together anxiously. You raise them and hesitate above his head. 

"Will you let me know if it hurts?" You ask. 

He laughs then groans. "Sure, doll." 

You touch his hair lightly then weave through his locks until you meet his scalp. You press your fingertips in and swirl them like the video. He grumbles again and you stop.  

"Keep going," he rasps. 

He leans into your touch. You firmly knead his head as you stare at his wet hair. A few strands of silver thread through the dark tangle. Another droning noise rises from him. 

His breath deepens enough for you to hear it. You move your hands around his head as he leans into you, more and more. You hope he feels better even as your anxiety peaks with his snarls. 

Is this okay? You probably shouldn't have done this. Even if he is in pain. You could be fired for unprofessional behaviour.  

As you curl your fingertips against his scalp, he moans. You yelp as suddenly he reaches to clamp down on your wrists. He stills you but doesn't shove you away. 

"I'm sorry," you squeak as he lifts his head. 

He keeps hold of you as he looks at you. His face is tense, jaw squared, eyes foggy, a vein coursing in his forehead. His grips tightens dangerously as you whimper. He looks... feral. 

"I'm sorry," you apologise again. 

He growls. Like an animal. He stands as his thumbs run up and down the insides of your wrists. You gape at him in horror. You're in trouble. 

You say sorry again and again and again as he walks you backwards. He turns you around the couch and continues around to the foot of the spiral staircase. You wriggle and whine as you as good as dangle from his grasp.  

He jars you suddenly, pulling you against him. He lets you go as you crash against his stomach. You shakily press your palms to him but can't get away. 

You look up at him, "Bucky," you quaver, "I'm sorry if I hurt you." 

"No," he breathes and grabs you by the waist, "I'm sorry if I hurt you." 

Before you can process his words, he hauls you up and over his shoulder. He turns to the stairs and hooks his arm around you to keep you steady. His other hand slides up the railing as climbs the steps. 

You squeak and lightly brush his back, "Bucky?" 

He doesn't stop. The ascent makes you even dizzier as you hang over his shoulder. You don't understand what's happening. What is he doing? 

He angles you through the hatch and up into the loft. That's against the rules too. You're not supposed to be up there. 

"Please, I'm sorry..." 

He carries you across the room and bends to put you down. He sits you on the foot of the bed and you quiver as he stands straight. His hands go to the front of the towel, slack around his hips. You peer up at him. 

"What did I do?" You eke out. 

He puffs through his nose and pulls the towel free. He bends and cradles your head. His nose touches yours and he snarls. He urges you back until you're flat and you tremble at his mercy. 

"Something," he growls. 

[callsigns-haze]

Lost that mothering feeling

Summary: The more your kids grew up the more you've lost that mother feeling and Bob, being your perfect husband, brought it back for more than one night.

Warning: feeling worn out, feeling overwhelmed, pregnancy, pregnancy test.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x reader

The living room is alive with the hum of laughter and conversation, your four kids seated around a makeshift studio of microphones and cameras. Alex and Max, your eighteen-year-old twins, are debating something enthusiastically—most likely their usual heated discourse about the latest sci-fi show they’ve been obsessed with. Theo, your fifteen-year-old, leans back in his chair, effortlessly tossing in sarcastic comments that make his brothers groan. And then there’s Matilda or also known as Tilly. At eleven, your youngest is sprawled on the couch, mic in hand, her big eyes sparkling with mischief as she waits for her moment to steal the show.

You’re in the kitchen, fingers flying over your laptop keyboard as you work on the latest chapter of your romantasy series, the one that’s catapulted you to stardom. The scent of fresh coffee lingers in the air, a half-full mug sitting forgotten beside you. The click-clack of keys is soothing, grounding—until Tilly’s voice pierces the air.

“I nearly died today.”

The boys freeze mid-conversation, their attention snapping to her. “What?” Theo demands, his voice pitched higher than usual.

“How?” Max asks, leaning forward, concern creeping into his tone.

“Good.” Came from Alex.

Tilly waves a hand nonchalantly, twirling the cord of her mic. “I don’t know. I just got bored of that topic.”

Alex groans, dropping his head into his hands while Theo mutters something about needing a refund on her drama classes. Max, ever the patient one, shakes his head, muttering, “You can’t just drop that and move on, Tilly.”

A smile tugs at your lips as you listen, the corner of your heart warmed by their camaraderie. You glance toward the living room, watching as Tilly shrugs and dives into a completely unrelated story, her brothers laughing and rolling their eyes.

The sound of the front door opening is soft—practically silent—but you catch it. Bob’s always been like that, moving quietly as if afraid to disrupt the calm. It’s something you adore about him, even if it sometimes works a little too well.

“Hey,” you say without looking up, sensing his presence before you see him.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice low and warm.

You’re about to turn around when his hands brush your waist, making you jump slightly. “Bobby!” you exclaim, laughing as your fingers hover over the keyboard.

He chuckles softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, and finally your lips. It’s brief but tender, and it makes your heart flutter the way it has since you were sixteen.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, though the small smile playing at his lips tells you he’s anything but.

You turn in your chair to face him, meeting his soft blue eyes. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, his brow furrowing just slightly. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice laced with quiet concern.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of his attention, the way he can see through you even when you try to hide. “Nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “I just—I’m going to go shower. Be right back.”

Before he can protest, you stand and kiss him on the cheek, retreating upstairs. The sound of your kids’ laughter follows you, a comforting reminder of the life you’ve built together. But as you step into the bathroom and close the door, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Bob leans into the living room doorway, still clad in his flight suit, his nametag and patches catching the warm glow of the lamps. His usually calm demeanour is replaced with a firmness that immediately commands attention.

“Alright, guys,” he says, his tone sharper than usual, “wrap it up. You’ve got five minutes.”

The twins groan in unison, Max throwing his hands up dramatically. “Dad, we’re live!”

Theo adds, “Yeah, you can’t just barge in like that. It’s a podcast, not a family meeting.”

But Bob doesn’t budge, his blue eyes steady as he crosses his arms. “Five minutes,” he repeats, leaving no room for argument.

The chat on their live stream explodes.

“OMG, who is THAT?!” “Is their dad a PILOT???��� “The FLIGHT SUIT? Hello???” “Dad just alpha’d the room, I’m crying.” “Wait, that's their dad, Robert? I thought he was supposed to be shy???”

Bob’s presence, authoritative yet quiet, always had that effect, and even now.

Tilly, unfazed by the shift in tone, bounds over to Bob and throws her arms around his waist, burying her face in his flight suit. “You’re home!” she says brightly, looking up at him with adoration.

Bob’s expression softens immediately, his hand coming to rest gently on the back of her head. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m home.”

Theo, still seated on the couch, smirks and mutters just loud enough to be heard, “Favouritism much?”

The chat picks up on it instantly.

“Theo called it lmao.” “Tilly’s the favourite CONFIRMED.” “Theo and his middle-child energy, I can’t.” “FAVORITISM??? Dad’s girl for sure.”

Bob sighs, glancing at Theo with a small shake of his head. “You’ve all got five minutes,” he says again, but this time his voice is quieter, more measured.

Tilly beams at him, sticking her tongue out at Theo before turning back to Bob. “Are you staying for dinner?” she asks, completely ignoring the chaos in the living room and the chat still lighting up with messages.

Bob leans down slightly to meet her gaze. “Of course, Tills. Go finish up with your brothers.”

Satisfied, she scampers back to her spot, and Bob steps into the kitchen to give them space, though his presence lingers like a steadying anchor in the house.

Bob stands in the kitchen for a moment, his arms crossed as he listens to the faint hum of voices from the living room. The kids are finishing up, just as he’d instructed, but his focus isn’t on them. It’s on you—how you seemed distant, how you avoided his question and slipped away upstairs.

His jaw tightens, a flicker of worry sparking in his chest. He knows you too well; something’s not right. Without hesitation, he pushes off the counter and heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

The house is quieter as he approaches the bathroom door, the sound of the shower running faint but steady. He knocks lightly, his knuckles brushing the wood.

“Sweetheart?” he calls, his voice low but firm enough to carry through the door.

There’s no immediate response, just the continued rush of water. Bob’s brow furrows as he leans closer, his hand resting on the doorknob. “You okay in there?” he asks again, concern threading through his words.

This time, your voice answers, muffled but audible. “I’m fine, Bob. I’ll be out in a minute.”

But he doesn’t buy it. Bob’s always been patient, the kind of man who gives space when it’s needed, but not tonight. Tonight, something feels off, and he’s not about to let it fester.

He cracks the door open just enough to speak without shouting. The warm steam drifts out, curling around him. “I’m coming in,” he says gently, giving you enough time to protest. When you don’t, he steps inside, careful not to startle you.

Through the frosted glass, he can see your silhouette, your head bowed under the stream of water. His heart tightens at the sight—it’s not like you to look so small, so defeated.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice soft as he crouches slightly to your level, even though there’s a door between you. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You sigh, your voice barely audible over the water. “I just needed a minute, Bob. I’m okay, really.”

But he stays put, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the shower door. “You sure? Because you didn’t seem okay downstairs.”

For a moment, there’s only silence, and then you turn off the water. Grabbing a towel, you wrap it around yourself and open the door, your eyes meeting his. They’re glassy, unsure, and his stomach twists at the sight.

“I’ll be fine,” you say softly, but Bob doesn’t look convinced. He reaches out, his fingers brushing your damp hair back from your face.

“Angel,” he says, his voice steady and grounding, “you don’t have to carry it alone. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

You sigh, clutching the towel tighter around you as you sit on the closed toilet lid, Bob crouched in front of you. His hands rest on your knees, his touch warm and grounding, but you struggle to meet his gaze. The lump in your throat feels almost too big to speak around, but his quiet presence gives you the courage to finally let the words out.

“I don’t feel like… like a mom anymore,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I am, obviously. But I feel like I’ve lost that mother feeling, you know?”

Bob’s brow furrows, concern deepening in his blue eyes. He doesn’t say anything yet, just lets you keep going.

“They’re so independent now, Robert. Alex and Max are practically adults. Theo doesn’t need me for much anymore. Even Tilly… she’s off doing her own thing, and she’s only eleven. And I—” Your voice catches, and you shake your head, tears welling up despite your best efforts to hold them back. “I just feel like I’ve been replaced. By their friends, by their hobbies, even by each other. They don’t need me the way they used to.”

Bob’s hands tighten gently on your knees, his touch a silent reminder that he’s right here. “Angel…”

“And it’s not just that,” you continue, the words spilling out like a confession. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my work lately. The deadlines, the tours, the next book… it’s like I’ve traded being their mom for being… well, me and if I can do it again. And now, I don’t know if I’m doing enough for them. Or if they even see me the same way anymore.”

Bob leans closer, his voice soft but firm. “Hey, stop that. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

You finally meet his eyes, and the depth of understanding there nearly undoes you.

“You’ve been their mom every second of every day since the moment they were born,” he says. “And just because they’re growing up and finding their own way doesn’t mean they don’t need you. They do. More than you realize. And as for your work…” He pauses, brushing a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You’re showing them what it means to chase your dreams and still be there for the people you love. That’s not losing anything—that’s giving them something incredible to look up to.”

You let out a shaky breath, his words sinking in even as the doubts linger. “What if it’s not enough, Bob?”

He smiles softly, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It is. It always has been. And it always will be.”

His reassurance washes over you like a balm, soothing the ache in your chest. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his, and his arms come around you.

You pull back slightly, still wrapped in Bob’s steady embrace, and let out a heavy sigh. “I just… I feel so old and used up, Bob.”

His brow furrows, his hands resting on your shoulders now as he studies your face with that quiet, unwavering focus that has always made you feel both seen and understood. “What are you talking about? You’re only thirty-six,” he says softly, like he’s trying to remind you of something you’ve forgotten.

“Exactly,” you reply, your voice tinged with frustration, “I’m only thirty-six, but I feel like I’ve lived three lifetimes already. Everything happened so quickly. We got married young, had the twins before we even had a chance to figure out who we were as adults, and then… it was just one thing after another. Kids, work, responsibilities—it never stopped. And now I look in the mirror, and I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”

Bob’s face softens, his hands sliding down your arms to hold yours. “Sweetheart…”

“I love our life,” you continue, your voice breaking. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But sometimes, I just feel… worn out. Like I gave everything I had to everyone else, and now there’s nothing left for me. Not even enough to feel like me anymore.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but not in a way that feels dismissive. He’s absorbing your words, weighing them carefully before responding. “You’ve been through so much, and you’ve carried so much,” he says finally, his voice thick with emotion. “But you’re not used up. You’re… you’re still you. The same woman I fell in love with when we were kids, the same woman who raised four amazing kids with me, and the same woman who inspires people all over the world with her stories. You haven’t lost anything, baby. You’ve grown. And yeah, life’s been fast, but you’re not finished. You’ve still got so much ahead of you.”

Tears spill over, and you laugh softly through them. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy,” he admits, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got me, always. And maybe… maybe it’s time we figured out how to make a little more room for you in all of this.”

You bite your lip, a fresh wave of emotion surging at his words. He reaches up, brushing your damp hair away from your face as he continues.

“Let me take some of the weight,” he says gently. “You’ve done so much for all of us. It’s okay to let yourself rest, to figure out what you need to feel like yourself again.”

A playful glint sparking in his blue eyes as a small smile tugs at his lips. “You know,” he starts, his voice light but teasing, “if you feel like you’ve lost the ‘mother’ feeling… we are still young. We could always have another.”

Your eyes widen, and you let out a startled laugh, swatting his arm. “Bobby...”

He chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. You’re only thirty-six, and I’m thirty-seven. We’ve still got plenty of energy left. And let’s face it—our kids turned out pretty great.”

“Bob,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him, though you can’t help the smile creeping across your face. “We have four kids. Four. And two of them are adults...you're comfortable with it? Seriously? You really want to start over?”

He grins, that soft, boyish charm you fell in love with shining through. “With you? Always.”

You roll your eyes, but his words warm your heart in a way that makes it hard to argue. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “But you’re smiling, so I must be doing something right.”

You shake your head, laughing softly as you lean against him. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that?”

“Luckiest guy in the world,” he replies, wrapping his arms around you again. And for the first time that day, the weight on your shoulders feels just a little lighter.

His hands still resting on your arms, and his expression softens with a mix of determination and affection. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” he says, his voice steady but laced with that quiet warmth that always makes you feel safe. “You’re going to go to our room, get dressed—something warm and comfy—and don’t ask where we’re going because I’m not telling you.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Bob—”

“Nope,” he interrupts gently, shaking his head. “No arguments. I’ll handle the kids. I’ll make sure they’re dressed and ready too. You just focus on yourself for once, okay?”

The confidence in his words falters for a brief moment as a hint of shyness creeps in. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side before meeting your eyes again. “I mean, I—I just thought… maybe it’d be good to get everyone out of the house for a bit. Something different. Together.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you watch him, his nervousness only making you love him more. “You’re planning a surprise?”

His cheeks flush slightly, and he shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. Just… trust me on this one, alright?”

You nod, feeling a flicker of excitement despite the heaviness that’s lingered in your chest all day. “Alright. Warm and comfy, huh?”

“Warm and comfy,” he confirms, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I’ll go tell the kids to get ready too.”

As he turns to head back downstairs, you catch the way his ears turn a little pink, a clear sign of how out of his comfort zone this is for him. It’s endearing, and for the first time in a while, you feel a spark of anticipation. Whatever he’s planning, you know it’s coming from his heart—and that makes all the difference.

Bob heads downstairs, his flight suit still slightly damp from the steam of the bathroom. As he steps into the living room, his expression tightens at the sight of the twins and Theo still sitting on the couch, chatting animatedly with the live-stream chat, and Tilly sprawled across an armchair, giggling at the screen.

“Guys,” he says, his tone firm, “I thought I told you to wrap this up.”

Alex glances up, one hand still fiddling with a microphone. “We did, kinda. We’re just saying goodbye to the chat.”

Bob exhales through his nose, his patience wearing thin. “It’s been more than five minutes.”

Max smirks, clearly unfazed. “Dad, it’s live. You can’t just drop off without a proper sign-off. It’s bad for engagement.”

“Engagement?” Bob repeats, his voice sharpening slightly. “What about engaging with the rules I gave you? I said wrap it up—not drag it out for another ten minutes.”

Theo mutters something under his breath, but Bob’s sharp gaze flicks to him, silencing whatever snarky comment was about to come out.

The twins exchange a look, and Max finally sighs. “Alright, alright. We���re logging off. Jeez.”

“Thank you,” Bob says curtly, crossing his arms.

The chat, of course, explodes.

“Omg Dad’s mad 😳” “Dad Mode: Activated” “Who’s braver? Alex and Max or the dad in the flight suit?” “Theo’s about to get grounded, y’all watch.” “Bob deserves a medal for dealing with them, lmao.”

Before the kids can start dragging their feet again, Bob gestures toward Tilly, who’s still watching the chaos unfold with wide eyes. “Tilly, go upstairs and start getting ready. Warm and comfy clothes. We’re heading out soon.”

Tilly hops up, skipping past him and giving him a quick hug on her way. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out,” Bob replies, his voice softening just slightly for her.

As she disappears up the stairs, Theo mutters under his breath, “Favouritism strikes again.”

Bob shoots him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Keep pushing, and I’ll make you sit in the middle seat when we go.”

The twins snicker, finally logging off the stream with a half-hearted apology to their audience. The chat’s parting messages are a mixture of humour and sympathy.

“Dad’s the boss, y’all better listen 😅” “Theo, blink twice if you need saving.” “We’re gonna need a podcast on this later 😂.”

Once the equipment is off and the kids are reluctantly shuffling upstairs to follow his instructions, Bob exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. They were good kids, but sometimes they tested his patience like no one else could.

Still, as he hears their footsteps above and the faint sound of their chatter, a small smile tugs at his lips. They might drive him crazy, but they were his—and tonight, he was determined to make it a special one for all of you.

“Alright,” he says, clapping his hands once to get their attention. “Everyone upstairs. Get dressed—warm and cozy. Layers. We’re heading out, and I don’t want to hear any complaints about being cold later.”

The twins groan in unison, clearly not thrilled about being told what to do again so soon.

“Warm and cozy? What, are we going to the North Pole?” Max quips, earning a laugh from Theo.

Bob raises an eyebrow, giving them a pointed look. “Do you want to spend the night figuring out if you’re funny, or do you want to actually go somewhere fun?”

That shuts them up, and they start heading toward the stairs, grumbling under their breath. Tilly bounces past them, already halfway up. “I’m gonna wear my fuzzy socks!” she calls over her shoulder.

“Good idea,” Bob mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Once they’re all upstairs, he lets out a slow breath and heads to the hall closet, pulling out a jacket for himself before retreating to your shared bedroom. He makes quick work of changing out of his flight suit, swapping it for a thick sweater, jeans, and a pair of sturdy boots.

As he ties his laces, he pauses for a moment, glancing at the dresser where a photo of your family from years ago sits. The twins were barely out of diapers, Theo just a toddler, and you were holding Tilly, who had only been a few weeks old at the time. He smiles softly, shaking his head.

“Warm and cozy,” he mutters to himself with a chuckle. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

He grabs his coat and heads downstairs, ready to corral the kids and make sure everyone’s dressed and prepped for the night ahead.

When Bob comes back downstairs, the sound of laughter and mock indignation greets him from the living room. He steps into the room to find you standing in front of the twins, arms crossed, while they grin at you like they’ve won some invisible battle.

“I’m just saying,” Alex argues, hands up in a gesture of defence, “it’s not our fault we’re objectively the coolest kids in the family.”

“Coolest?” you repeat, feigning outrage. “You two barely survived kindergarten without trying to convince your teacher to let you start a podcast about dinosaurs. Theo and Tilly are way cooler than you ever were.”

“Hey!” Max jumps in, pointing dramatically. “That podcast idea was ahead of its time.”

“And,” Alex adds, “Theo’s cool, sure. But Tilly? She’s biased.”

Tilly, sitting proudly on the couch with her fuzzy socks pulled up to her knees, narrows her eyes at Alex. “I am not biased. Mom’s right—you two aren’t even in the top three coolest people in this house.”

Bob leans against the doorway, watching the playful back-and-forth with a small smile. He doesn’t interrupt at first, letting the warmth of the moment wash over him. You’re laughing, Tilly’s defending you like a tiny warrior, and even Theo, sitting nearby, is smirking at his older brothers’ expense.

Finally, Bob clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Are we ready to go, or is this turning into a full-blown trial?”

You glance over at him, a playful glint in your eye. “Bob, tell them they’ve lost all their cool points for arguing with me.”

Bob chuckles, stepping further into the room. “I’m not getting in the middle of this. But,” he adds, looking pointedly at Alex and Max, “if you don’t get your coats and boots on, I’m going to start deducting more points. And I don’t think you can afford that.”

The twins groan dramatically, but they head toward the door to grab their things. Tilly hops off the couch and skips over to Bob, hugging his waist. “I’m ready! And I’m still the coolest, right, Dad?”

Bob smiles down at her, resting a hand on her head. “Of course you are, sweetheart.”

Theo mutters from his spot on the couch, “Favoritism strikes again.”

Bob gives him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Careful, or you’ll be riding in the boot.”

Theo snorts but gets up, heading off to get dressed without further complaint.

“Alright,” Bob says, glancing back at you with a small smile.

Once everyone is dressed and bundled up, the family gathers by the front door. Bob grabs his keys from the hook while you zip up Tilly’s jacket, her fuzzy socks peeking out over the tops of her boots.

“Do we at least get a hint about where we’re going?” Alex asks, pulling on his gloves.

“Nope,” Bob says simply, shrugging into his own coat.

Max groans, dramatically dragging his feet toward the door. “This better be good. I could be streaming right now, you know.”

“You’ll survive,” you say, nudging him lightly as you grab your own scarf. “Besides, it’s family time. Be grateful.”

Theo grins as he slings a bag over his shoulder. “Bet it’s just a trip to the grocery store, and Dad’s hyping it up for no reason.”

Bob raises an eyebrow but doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he reaches for the door, holding it open for everyone. “Alright, let’s go. Out the door. No stragglers.”

Tilly skips ahead, her energy as boundless as ever. “If we’re going somewhere fun, I call dibs on sitting by Mom!”

“Not fair!” Max protests, but Alex grabs his arm, shaking his head.

“Let her have it. She’s the favorite right now anyway.”

Bob smirks at their bickering but doesn’t comment as he ushers everyone out into the crisp evening air. You pause for a moment on the doorstep, pulling your coat tighter around you as Bob locks the door behind you.

When he glances over, you catch the glimmer of quiet satisfaction in his eyes. Whatever he’s planned, you can tell he’s put thought into it—and for the first time all day, you feel a spark of anticipation.

He steps beside you, slipping his hand into yours. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you reply softly, giving his hand a small squeeze.

The drive is lively, the kids filling the car with chatter and guesses about where Bob is taking everyone. As the familiar sound of waves grows closer, you glance out the window, spotting the cliffs that overlook the beach.

When Bob finally parks the car, the confusion is palpable.

“The beach?” Max asks, raising an eyebrow as he steps out. “At night? In the middle of winter?”

Bob smirks as he rounds the car to join everyone, hands tucked into his coat pockets. “It’s not just the beach,” he says, his tone teasing. “It’s a competition.”

That gets their attention. The kids exchange glances, a mix of curiosity and scepticism, while you tilt your head at him. “A competition?” you echo.

Bob nods, gesturing toward the path leading down to the sand. “Here’s how it’s going to work. Max and Alex,” he points to the twins, “you’re on black shell duty. The more, the better. Theo and Tilly,” he continues, turning to your younger two, “you’re looking for big swirl shells. Anything that stands out.”

“What about you and Mom?” Theo asks, already intrigued.

Bob’s gaze softens as he glances at you, a small, playful smile tugging at his lips. “Your mom and I are on sea glass duty. The rarest pieces win bonus points.”

Tilly gasps in excitement, clapping her hands. “Yes! I’m gonna find the best shell ever and get to stomp all over Alex!”

Max rolls his eyes but grins despite himself. “This feels rigged. You and Mom are on the same team?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t make her the judge,” Bob retorts, his smirk widening. “Now, are we doing this, or are you all too scared to lose?”

The challenge is met with a chorus of “Game on!” and laughter as everyone grabs flashlights and heads down to the beach.

As the kids run ahead, their lights bouncing across the sand, you fall into step with Bob. “Sea glass, huh?” you ask, nudging his arm. “That’s what we’re hunting?”

He chuckles, his breath visible in the chilly night air. “Thought it’d give us a chance to stick together. Plus, you’ve always had an eye for the rare stuff.”

You smile, your earlier worries starting to melt away under the warmth of his thoughtfulness. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he replies, slipping his hand into yours as the sound of laughter and waves fills the air, “but you love me for it.”

As the two of you walk along the shoreline, your flashlight sweeping the sand for glimmers of sea glass, you glance at Bob with a curious smile. “Alright,” you say, breaking the quiet. “What’s the real plot behind all this, Bob? You don’t usually spring surprise competitions on us.”

He chuckles softly, his gaze fixed on the waves for a moment before turning back to you. “The plot, huh?” He pauses, his voice thoughtful. “I just… I remembered a few things. Thought maybe this would make tonight feel special.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What things?”

Bob’s lips quirk in a small smile as he stops walking, turning to face you. “Like the first time you found sea glass,” he says quietly. “You were nine. Your friend lived on the coast and told you about it, and you spent hours combing the beach with her until you found that tiny green piece.”

Your mouth parts slightly in surprise, but he isn’t done.

“And your favourite swirl shell,” he continues, his voice soft but steady, “when you were fifteen, watching New Year’s fireworks on the beach with your family. You kept it in your pocket the whole night.”

Your chest tightens as the memories flood back, vivid and untouched, like they’d been pulled from a secret drawer in your mind.

“And the first black shell you found,” Bob adds, his blue eyes meeting yours, “on New Year’s when you were fourteen. You said it was like finding treasure because you didn’t think shells could look like that.”

You stare at him, speechless, the flashlight in your hand momentarily forgotten. “How… how do you remember all that?” you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bob shrugs, a faint blush colouring his cheeks as he looks down at the sand. “You told me about them. Years ago, when we first started dating. I guess I just… I listened.”

Your throat tightens, and you feel the familiar sting of tears threatening to rise. “Bob,” you say, your voice catching. “I didn’t even remember some of that until you just said it.”

He gives you a small, sheepish smile. “Well, I figured tonight would be a good time to bring it back. Thought maybe we could make some new memories while we’re at it.”

The weight of his thoughtfulness, his quiet way of always knowing exactly what you need, settles over you like a blanket. Without thinking, you reach up, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss, the sound of the waves your only witness.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his lips, the words trembling with emotion.

Bob pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his smile soft and full of love. “Always.”

You and Bob stand hand in hand on the cool sand, your flashlights casting warm glows over the beach. The kids are scattered, their voices carrying on the breeze.

Suddenly, a burst of motion catches your eye. Tilly and Theo come sprinting past, their laughter echoing across the shore. In Tilly’s small hand is a black shell, and Theo is holding something you can’t quite see.

“Get back here!” Alex shouts, his voice full of mock outrage as he and Max charge after them. “That’s stealing!”

“It’s called strategy!” Theo yells over his shoulder, his grin wide as he picks up speed.

“Survival of the fittest!” Tilly adds, giggling so hard she nearly stumbles.

Max groans dramatically as he struggles to keep up. “You’re supposed to find your own stuff, not steal ours!”

Bob chuckles beside you, shaking his head as the twins put on a burst of speed, sand flying behind them. “I told you this was going to turn into chaos.”

You laugh, watching as Tilly veers toward the rocks, dodging Max’s outstretched hand with a squeal. “I think this is less about shells and more about who can outsmart who.”

“They definitely get that from you,” Bob teases, squeezing your hand.

“Oh, please,” you shoot back, nudging him playfully. “You’re the one who taught them how to ‘win at all costs.’”

Ahead of you, the chase continues, the twins gaining on Theo and Tilly as they dart through the moonlit sand. Despite the chaos, the sound of their laughter fills the air, blending perfectly with the rhythm of the waves.

As the kids' laughter echoes across the beach, you turn to Bob, your heart full and your chest tight with emotion. You squeeze his hand, drawing his attention away from the chaos in front of you.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice almost lost in the sound of the waves.

Bob tilts his head, his brows knitting together slightly. “For what?”

“For bringing that mother feeling back,” you reply, your eyes shining. “Even if it’s just for one night, I needed this. I needed to feel like this again.”

He smiles gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’ve never stopped being an amazing mom, you know. I’m just glad I could remind you.”

You bite your lip, your heartbeat quickening as you reach into your coat pocket and pull out something small. “Actually… you might’ve brought it back for longer than just one night.”

Bob’s face shifts to confusion as he glances down at the object in your hand. When he realizes what it is—a pregnancy test—his blue eyes go wide, and his mouth opens slightly in surprise.

“Is that—?” he starts, his voice breaking off as his face flushes bright pink.

You nod, a smile breaking across your face. “It’s positive, Bob.”

For a moment, he’s completely frozen, his eyes flicking between your face and the test as he processes the news. Then his hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, his signature move when he’s flustered.

“I—uh—wow,” he stammers, his voice soft and uneven. “I didn’t mean this in the bathroom… I mean, I wasn’t expecting…”

You watch as his shy smile grows, the joy slowly spreading across his face. “We’re—”

“Having another baby,” you finish for him, your voice trembling with equal parts nerves and excitement.

Bob lets out a breathless laugh, his hands coming up to frame your face. “You’re serious?”

You nod, your own smile widening as tears well in your eyes. “We’re serious.”

He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he buries his face in your neck. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just holds you close, his breath warm against your skin.

When he finally pulls back, his cheeks are still pink, and his shy, boyish grin hasn’t faded. “Guess I’d better start working on how to tell them,”

You laugh, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “You’re the one telling them. No way in the world am I dealing with that.”

“My angel traitor,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “no help at all.”

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ conflict ] | sylus

— summary: whatever they have is cosmic. which is why you quietly bow out, thinking you never stood a chance. — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, obligatory club scene, unrequited feelings, jealousy, sisterly love, self-loathing, suggestive, stream of conciousness, not proofread, mdni — notes: the next part for this. thank you for reading! — now playing: bad girls like you - tobii

—of course, by unwinding, you assumed Ms. Hunter meant the celebratory clink of whiskey glasses together, with something murky and vicious sloshing around inside. Something to take the edge off, to dull your senses, and to assuage the ache in your muscles where the painkillers couldn’t.

A club was the last place you expected to be after blowing an arms dealer and his men halfway to hell. 

Then again, you’re not complaining, swathed in the subdued glow of red strobe lights and fog. You’re in your element, surrounded by sweat-slicked bodies and people just trying to feel. 

The club reminds you of Lux, minus the cheap upholstery and subpar drinks. You’re at least 1,000 miles from Linkon, settled on some floating oasis in the middle of glistening aqua waters. You’ve barely had time to enjoy yourself, your trio hitting the ground running as soon as Sylus’ jet touched earth. You’ll be leaving in the morning, swept back into the lonely, glacial abyss of the N109.

So you dance like tomorrow isn’t promised. Like you’re performing onstage, garnering the lust and envy of those around you. You always do, the art of seduction practically ingrained in your DNA after using it to your advantage for so long. Years of luring men to their demise inhabit every sway of your hips, every roll of your body, every sultry curl of your lips.

Besides, being here is also a nice little distraction from the cacophony of your mind, replaced by good music thudding beneath your feet, and your cheeks aching with a tipsy smile. You grab the Hunter’s hips. Bring her closer until your chests collide, and she’s wide-eyed with parted lips, unsure of what to do with her hands. 

“Relax,” you soothe, your voice slurry as you encourage her to sway. To loosen up. She’s stiff at first but catches your drift, letting you control her with a wonky grin as her wrists cross behind your neck. That’s more like it. 

You fed her a few drinks to ease her nerves—it was her idea to come here. And after the three of you cleaned up and rested at the hotel, she suggested it over dinner. You and Sylus traded looks, your faces bearing different degrees of amusement. Ms. Hunter babe isn’t much of a social butterfly, but the pair of you relented, figuring you could use the diversion.

You’re playing up her allure. Whispering praise against her bangs, encouraging her to release her inner sexy. 

He’s been watching her from the VIP section since you dragged her to the dance floor. Scarlet eyes peeling through the smog, tuned to her every move. You wish it were you he eyed like that, but you shove those green-eyed thoughts onto the backburner, dancing, grinding, laughing. Losing yourself to the music. You’re on a mission to get her boned tonight. Living vicariously through her, knowing that it’ll never be you he beds. At least one of you can end the night on a good note. 

The song slides into something sultry. Ms. Hunter slips out of your grip, a giggling mess, stumbling towards the red velour couch where Sylus sits. You watch her plop down beside him, the cocktails slackening her grace. You can’t make out what they’re saying when he angles closer to hand her a drink. But he’s wearing that customary tilt to his lips, sweeping some hair behind her ear, where he eases in to murmur something against the shell of it. Whatever he’s on about, it makes her laugh, and she playfully smacks the devastating stretch of skin peaking through the slit of his silky button-down. 

Your lips twitch, smile falters. Everything around you morphs into a Gaussian blur, the music muddled as what’s left of your senses home into the scene. You swallow against the swell of feelings burbling up when Sylus pulls her closer, a long arm slung around soft shoulders. They exchange a look before the Hunter glances up, shaking you from your trance. She raises her glass to you in a quiet toast. As if to convey, I’m alright in case you were wondering. Of course, she is. Why wouldn’t she be when he handles her like glass, the fondness in his eyes as palpable as the bitterness scorching your throat?

Sylus’ gaze tracks to yours. You offer a quiet smirk with a tilted brow, tamping down your envy. Wearing that playful front once more, turning back towards the dance floor.

At least your plan is working, you muse, swallowed up by the crowd of writhing limbs and lust. She’s definitely going to get some tonight if the idle stir of his eyes whilst he painted a triangle between her lashes and lips is any gauge. You did your job. Well at that.

So why do you feel so shitty?

A virile arm snakes about your waist, siphoning your breath as it drags you against a hardened body. You tuck your inhibitions away as the stranger who grabbed you grins, dark hair sweeping over manicured brows. You let him guide you into a slow wind, grateful for the save.

And you’re utterly oblivious to red eyes scrutinizing the stranger’s hand as it splays against the space between your shoulder blades.

—

It’s quiet on the executive floor of the hotel. Then again, it’s a quarter to 2 AM, and you’re sure everyone occupying these rooms is sound asleep. So, you shush your Hunter friend for the umpteenth time, stumbling beside her as she giggles drunkenly into your ear. 

You can’t help the crack of a smile, her arm slung about your shoulder as you guide her towards her room, and she throws her head back, singing something that makes her voice crack and you wince. 

“Quiet,” you chide, your intermingled voices bouncing off the walls. You must be quite the sight. Two barefoot beauties stumbling down the hall, trying to make sense of the world. 

The embossed letters of her room pan into view. She laughs as you cautiously frisk her for the keycard after propping her against the door. She’s a little worse for wear. You feel bad, having overdone it with the cocktails. Not your fault you could hold your liquor while she couldn’t. So when Sylus left you to tend to “business,” as he so cryptically said, it was up to you to ensure Ms. Hunter made it back to her room without a hair out of place. 

So much for her getting laid tonight. 

Finally, you procure the card. You swipe it, taking the Hunter by the waist before she barrels in. Instinctively, her arms snake around your neck, and she stumbles into you, nearly knocking you off kilter. She’s all sloppy-grinned, the alcohol on her breath pushed into your nostrils. She blinks sluggishly at you, and you bite back a laugh. Never would you have imagined seeing Ms. Hunter, all prim and pretty and carefully constructed, looking like this. 

“You’re pretty, you know that?” she breathes, tapping your nose. You scoff, maneuvering yourself to herd her into her room. She carries on spewing nonsense as the pair of you toddle beneath the dim lighting of the room’s entryway. The king-sized bed slides into focus. You let her fall onto the mattress, steadying her before she can slide off. Her hair falls onto her face, a new onslaught of laughter spewing from her lips.

You kneel to grab her ankles, almost losing your footing yourself. You might not be as trashed as she is, but you’re still a little loose-limbed. A little tipsy, teetering on that slurry edge, having tamped down your inebriation to play big sister. 

“You’re gorgeous,” she continues when you stand, positioning her legs on the bed as comfortably as you can. 

You tuck her beneath the heavy blanket, ignoring her dribble. Scoop dark tresses away from her face, beholding red-speckled cheeks and swollen lips. It’s no wonder Sylus fell for her. She’s a marvel, girl next door pretty, where you’re a sex symbol, molded to be used and envied rather than exalted. 

Ms. Hunter teeters in and out of sobriety, sleep beckoning to her with its ghostly croon. Before you depart, she speaks to you again, her voice abrasive with exhaustion.

“The prettiest girl around. No one could keep their eyes off you, not even Sylus. He was practically drooling. You see that?”

You stiffen, your hand closed around the glacial brass of the door handle. You cock your head towards your shoulder, something warm flushing over your skin. She talks a lot for someone under the influence. But it’s if she’s read the inner turmoil coloring your mind, not like you do the best of jobs masking your feelings.

It wasn’t me he was drooling over, you want to say. It never would be. He’s too swept up in her. Their history, their past. You’re merely an afterthought in the grand scheme of things. Something disposable. Something pretty to further his agenda. Even if he was looking, it was probably to ensure you weren’t getting into trouble. 

He’d have a hell of a time finding someone on short notice to fill your shoes. His pretty little femme fatale. It just so happens you’re unconsciously grooming your replacement, treating her more like an ally than a rival.

You wait until her breaths even out. Until she’s sunken below the depths of unconsciousness before you slip out of her room, your chest heavy as if weighed down by an anvil and a bitter twist to your lips.

Before you can make your grand escape to your room to nurse your impending hangover, a familiar voice curls around the vowels of your name. Of course, he would have a room across from hers, and it is with bitter realization you look up at him from the floor, schooling your expression into one of indifference. 

Sylus leans against the doorframe, so very massive in comparison to it. You try to ignore what the playful cant to his lips does to you. How his pretty, scarlet-spun eyes dance when he studies you. Ignore how the tendons in his neck flex when he swallows, how his Adam’s apple bobs. The slither of tanned skin stretched over his pectorals calls to you. Your fingers twitch at your side with the need to touch. You stifle the feeling, barring your gaze from slinking lower. He’s devastating, and you don’t trust yourself not to make a move you’ll later regret right now.

“How is she?” he asks, the husky grit of his voice furling in your chest. Your heart sinks. Of course, he wouldn’t ask about you. You’re a big girl, more than capable of fending for yourself. To inquire about your status would be an insult according to him. You square your shoulders, sighing with that infuriatingly artificial smile to your lips.

“Hammered, but she’ll survive. She’s sleeping it off now.”

He snorts, shifting his weight between his feet. “Of course. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to go out after the day we had.”

You nod, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—your pulse thrumming in your ears. Your throat constricting. You toy with your fingers, taking this time to dismiss yourself before you spout out some nonsense.

“Gonna go get some sleep myself. See you in the morning.”

“Need some help getting back to your room?”

You peer at him from your shoulder, eyes slightly widened, mouth open, working around words that refuse to come. Something indiscernible lurks in his gaze. It’s as if he’s searching. Looking for something, though you’re sure you’re mistaken. 

“I’m alright,” you say with a sticky laugh, starting down the hall towards your room. All the while, your nerves scream through your inebriation, and you squint when you reach the door around the corner, inwardly admonishing yourself for turning him down. 

A delusional part of you believes there was more to his offer than what was presented at surface level. But you were too stuck in your head to read between the lines. After all, Sylus would never settle for someone like you. Not when you’re mere costume jewelry in comparison to gold. 

You throw yourself against the bed once you’re inside your room. Peer up at the ceiling, studying its texture until your vision slides into a vignette around the corners, and then you drift into the violet embrace of sleep, deciding to deal with this new swirl of feelings later.

[ripcupid]

Maybe a Sevika x enforcer!y/n perhapsss?

୨୧ you being an enforcer but also an informant/ fuck buddy to sevika you can’t help but be worried when hearing abt plans to attack Zaun

୨୧ word count: 2.2k

୨୧ this is so like forbidden love type shit but fwb as well idk also ngl I’m almost done writing sev smut I got like 1 more then I can move on to other characters. Not saying I won’t write it but yk

Happy new year y’all I’m like one of the first sev smuts in 2025 omg 🤭

As you approach the private section of The Last Drop, Sevika looks up from her cards, giving you a sly smile before placing down her next play. The men around groan when they lose making Sevika chuckle mockingly as she scoops up her earnings. She taunts the men, leaning back in her seat as she shoos them away with a flick of her hand. You give a curt to the men as they grumble and walk away, leaving you and Sevika alone in the private section. "So," Sevika starts, taking a drag from the cigarette hanging from her scarred full lips— god those lips.

"What brings you here, officer?" She asks, eyeing you up and down with a mischievous glint in her eye. You suck your teeth at her before sitting down in one of the chairs across from her. "We need to talk," you say, avoiding eye contact with her piercing gray eyes as she stares at you intently, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Not with you sitting all the way over there," Sevika teases, moving to make room for you in the booth next to her, "We're not strangers, c'mere," she says, her voice low and inviting. You sigh and slide into the booth, making sure to keep some distance between the two of you.

"I'm being serious, Sevika," you groan, but Sevika just chuckles and moves closer.

"That's what you always say," Sevika replies, resting her head on her hand, her smirk widening as she blows smoke in your direction before putting out her cigarette. "Just tell me, baby."

You roll your eyes and fan away the smoke, trying to ignore the way her smell of cigarettes and mahogany clouds your senses and makes your cunt ache. "It's the other enforcers," you begin, stopping to glare at the woman as you feel her staring at you, her eyes fixed intently on your face before she nods for you to continue. "They're planning a strike team to attack Zaun, they're gonna neutralize anyone still loyal to Silco… like you."

Sevika chuckles, her mech hand brushing your hair out of your face as she scoots up right next to you. "I don't care about that right now," she whispers, her breath warm against your face as she leans in to kiss your cheek."You think they can kill me, hm?" she asks against your skin, her lips moving to your jaw before trailing down your neck. You sigh softly, closing your eyes and your restraint slipping at the feeling of her lips on your neck.

"This is serious, Sev, I want you to be safe," you murmur, dropping your head back to give her better access.

"You worried about me or something?" she asks, her voice teasing as she sucks gently on your skin, smirking when you grab onto her thigh in response.

"No," you breathe out, the both of you knowing that you're lying out of your ass.

"Really?" She grins, pulling back slightly to look you in the eyes as you nod, "I think you're lying."

"I'm not," you say, unable to hide the grin that tugs at your lips as her lips brush against yours, pecking you softly.

"You sure?" Sevika teases back, pecking you again. You nod, biting back your grin as your eyes flick from her eyes to her lips, unable to stop yourself from leaning in and capturing them in a heated kiss. Sevika's lips move hungrily against yours, her hand sliding down the front of your shirt making you arch into her touch.

As the kiss deepens, Sevika's mech hand slips under your shirt, cupping and groping your tits with a firm grip. You moan into the kiss, shivering under her as the cool metal circles around your hardened nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure to your core. You pull back slightly, panting softly as you look up at Sevika before looking around the bar. "Don’t worry, no one knows you're an enforcer," she laughs, slipping away from you and sitting back, taking a sip of her forgotten drink.

"Yeah, but what if someone saw?" you ask, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach as her mech hand rests on your thigh, stroking lightly. She sits up, leaning in closer, her voice low in your ear as she whispers, "My place is close by… you know if you want." You feel a rush of excitement at her invitation, looking back at Sevika with a smirk before nodding towards the door.

"Let’s go."

That's how you find yourself in Sevika's apartment, the air thick with anticipation and tension as she leans against the kitchen counter, pulling out a cigarette from a nearby pack.

She crosses her arms, resting the unlit cigarette between her lips as she watches you with a hungry gaze as you look around the dimly lit living room.

"This is so not what I expected," you blurt out as you walk over to Sevika, her eyes trailing down your body. You grab the nearby lighter, flicking it open and holding the flame to her cigarette, a small smile playing on her lips. "What did you expect?" she asks, holding your hip in a possessive grip as she takes a long drag from the cigarette.

"I don't know," you shrug, wrapping your arms around her neck. "I was thinking something more Sevika -like, I guess." Sevika chuckles, taking another drag of her cigarette.

"There are things you don't know about me, officer," she whispers with a smirk, leaning down to speak in your ear, her lips just inches away from yours when she pulls back.

"Mhm, like what?" you ask, taking the cigarette from her and bringing it to your lips, inhaling deeply. She pulls you flush against her chest, looking down into the small space between you.

"Like I really wanna kiss you right now," she teases, her voice low as she holds your face in her human hand, ghosting her lips over yours.

The tension between you is palpable as you hold her gaze, blowing the smoke from your lips into her mouth. "What's stopping you?" you whisper back, dropping the cigarette in the ashtray. Sevika loses her composure in that moment, smashing her lips against yours in a heated kiss, her hands gripping your waist tightly.

You tangle your fingers in her hair, feeling heat pooling in your stomach and moaning softly as her hands move to your ass, squeezing roughly. Sevika effortlessly picks you up, making you gasp as she carries you to the nearby couch.

Her lips never leave yours as she lays you down gently, pressing her body against yours and slipping her tongue into your mouth. You can't help but let out a soft moan of her name as she trails kisses down your neck, slipping her hand under your shirt.

She pulls away, watching as your chest rises and falls as you scramble to pull off your shirt, revealing the pretty bra underneath. She hums to herself in approval as she pushes your bra over your tits, exposing them to the room's warm air.

Her hands trailing up your sides, cupping and fondling your tits making your arch into her. You bite your lips in anticipation, staring down at Sevika as she leans in to take one of your nipples into her mouth.

Her tongue swirls around the bud, closing her eyes as she sucks gently, savoring the sounds of your sweet moans. You run your fingers through her hair, tugging in surprise when she pinches your other nipple between her fingers, sending a jolt of pleasure to your cunt.

Sevika looks up at you, a smirk playing on her lips as she moves to your other nipple, kissing and licking it before groaning, "I love these tits, baby." You arch your back, whining softly as you push your chest closer to her eager mouth. She sucks on the bud, groping the other to make you writhe beneath her.

"Fuck you look so good, Sev," you whisper, cradling the back of her head as she stares up at you. "You feel even better," you breathe with a smile, dropping your head back in pleasure.

She chuckles softly, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine before she pulls back with an obscene pop. "Thank you, baby," she murmurs, coming up to kiss your chin and exposed neck as her hand wanders down to your pants.

Sevika slips her human hand in your pants, dropping her head in the crook of your neck as she feels the wetness pooling between your legs. "Fuck, you're just that easy, huh?" she teases, cupping your clothes cunt, just barely rubbing your aching clit.

“Shut up," you moan as you push her shoulder playfully, your face heats up with embarrassment. "Just take them off already," you whisper, holding onto her tightly as she sits up. As Sevika makes quick work of your pants, tossing them aside, you run your hands over her abs, feeling the hard muscles ripple beneath her shirt.

"Since when were you so desperate?" she chuckles, guiding your hand down her body and under her shirt.

"You're so hot, want you so bad, Sevi." You stare up at Sevika, chewing on your bottom lip as she pulls off her shirt, unable to keep your hands off her.

"I can tell, baby but I wanna fuck you first," Sevika teasingly whispers as she hovers over you, pushing down your panties just enough to expose your drooling cunt. "You gonna let me do that?" You nod eagerly, grinding your cunt against nothing but air as Sevika's fingers drift down to your throbbing clit, ghosting over the sensitive bud.

"Fuck yes baby," you pant, gripping the couch cushions, "need your fingers inside me now." Sevika smirks, circling your clit as she sucks lightly on your neck, nipping the soft skin with her teeth. “Yeah, baby?” She taunts, dipping her fingers lower to feel how you clench around nothing.

“Yes please,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut as she teases your entrance. She looks down between your legs, huffing against your skin as she slides a finger inside you, feeling your walls clench around her.

"Look at that, bet it'll be so easy for me to just slip another in," she taunts, watching your jaw drop as she adds a second finger, pumping them in and out of you.

Your back arches off the couch, air getting caught in your throat as Sevika curls her perfect fingers, hitting that perfect spot that makes your toes curl and your thighs tremble.

"That's good?" she asks against your parted lips. Sevika smiles when you nod eagerly, your eyes glazed over as you hold onto her tightly.

"It's perfect, Sevi," you moan, rocking your hips against her hand. Sevika's grin widens as she picks up the pace, relishing in the way your nails dig into her back, your moans growing louder with each thrust. "Yeah, just like that," you gasp, scratching her back before moving a hand to tangle in her hair.

Sevika's movements become more urgent once you tug on her hair, panting heavily. She starts to grind against you, her arousal becoming impossible to ignore as you whisper, "Please let me touch you."

Sevika nods, your eager hand slipping in her pants, a low moan leaving the both of you as your fingers make contact with her neglected clit. The space between you two fills with the sound of heavy breathing and soft moans as your fingers work in sync with hers, bringing each other closer and closer to the edge. Sevika drops her head on your shoulder, biting down on her lip to stifle her moans as she grinds on your fingers.

"Christ, you feel so fucking good," she gasps, making you giggle breathlessly as you slide your fingers inside her, feeling her jaw go slack as she lets out a loud moan.

As you feel yourself nearing the edge, you whine mindlessly, "I wanna make you cum, Sev, please cum with me." Sevika arches her back and grabs onto the cushions tightly as she captures your lips in a searing kiss, her fingers never faltering in their rhythm.

"You're doin’ good, fuck 'm so close, baby," Sevika moans into the kiss, grinding her palm against your clit with fervor to push you over the edge. You moan her name loudly as you come around her fingers, keeping your fingers buried deep inside her as your eyes squeeze shut.

You continue to thrust your fingers in and out of her, feeling her walls pulse around you as she reaches her climax, struggling to hold herself up. Sevika collapses against you, breathing heavily as you slip your fingers out of her, bringing them up to your lips. She rests on your chest, watching as you suck on your fingers, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. "You taste so good, Sev," you whisper, stroking her hair with your other hand and making her grin in response.

"Yeah? Lemme see," Sevika says playfully, leaning up to kiss you deeply.

The taste of her still lingers on your tongue as she slips hers into your mouth, deepening the kiss and moaning softly against your lips. "I think you're right but not as good as you," Sevika murmurs between kisses, causing you to giggle and pull her back down on your chest.

Why am I lowkey sick rn 😒

[dior-luxury]

hi!!! could you write a reaction where y/n says that (karasu, shidou and barou's) hair looks better down? Tyy! 😋

𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞

( ✧ ) ────── 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 . 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 - 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 .

- [𝐜𝐡.] karasu tabito . barou shoei . shidou ryusei - [𝐩:𝐬] sfw

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is such a funny prompt (￣▽￣)! I have always loved how these three looked with their hair down and it sucks that the manga/anime didn't show it.. (>_<) cause I would've eaten it up lol.

Karasu Tabito

He takes great pride in his hair and spends a lot of time styling it each day. His unique, gravity-defying hairstyle is his trademark look. However, light-hearted comments about his hair can annoy him, as he feels they show a lack of appreciation for the effort he puts into it. For Karasu, his hairstyle is a crucial part of his identity.

Once you gently explained to him that his hair was perfectly fine just the way it was—and that you simply preferred seeing it down—he seemed to relax a bit. Although neither of you would openly admit it, there was an unspoken understanding that he actually favored the feel of his hair without all the gel weighing it down. There was a sense of liberation in letting it cascade freely, and he might find himself embracing that look more often now, simply because it pleased you.

Karasu had always been a bit sulky when anyone dared to touch his hair, as if safeguarding his autonomy over it.

At that moment, he lay comfortably on his pillow, watching you with interest as you sat at his desk, engrossed in your homework for Science class. The room was quiet, save for the occasional sound of your pen scratching against the paper, and it was clear you were wrestling with the material, trying to catch up.

Sighing with a hint of boredom, you put your pen down and turned your gaze towards him. The sight of Karasu, with his dark purple hair spilling over the pillow, captivated you. His hair looked free and unrestrained, the soft strands framing his angular face. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight; he looked ethereal, almost like he belonged in a painting.

He caught your gaze and raised an eyebrow, a subtle hint of curiosity dancing in his eyes. “Ya? What do you want?” he asked, his tone betraying just a hint of playful skepticism.

You couldn’t suppress your smile as you responded, “You look so much better with your hair down, you know, Karasu?” You stood up from your chair and approached him, allowing yourself to appreciate the way his deep purple locks shone slightly in the soft light.

Karasu narrowed his eyes, regarding you with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Compliments weren’t something he was used to receiving, especially not about his appearance.

A flicker of joy crossed his face, despite his best efforts to mask it. “Ya, I guess it looks good,” he replied, the defensive tone ill-fitting against the slight smile that crept onto his lips. It was clear that, deep down, he relished the attention you were giving him, even if he tried to play it off. The connection between you both felt alive in that moment, marked by unspoken feelings and newfound understanding.

Barou Shoei

Barou would certainly resonate with your thoughts on hairstyles. He finds a certain joy in allowing his hair to cascade freely, savoring the liberating feeling it provides. There’s an undeniable allure to the way it frames his face, giving him a relaxed yet striking appearance. However, in the heat of competition on the field, he often encounters frustration with the untamed strands, as they tend to become a distraction during intense moments of play.

Yet, despite these challenges, he holds a particular fondness for wearing his hair down. Much like Karasu, he embraces this style not just for himself, but because it brightens your day, bringing a genuine smile to your lips.

You found yourself at Barou's house, spending quality time with him and his family during the winter break. This rare respite was one of the few occasions he had off from BlueLock, allowing you to enjoy each other's company without the pressures of training or competition hanging over you.

As laughter filled the air downstairs, you could hear the chatter of everyone gathered around the television, engrossed in a family movie. Meanwhile, you and Barou's younger sisters occupied the cozy space upstairs, engrossed in a world of colorful Barbies. The room echoed with giggles and imaginative play, creating an atmosphere of pure joy.

After a while, Barou quietly made his way upstairs, having just spent some time washing out the hair wax he typically styled his hair with. You and his sisters were too caught up in your fun to notice him at first, until his younger sister caught sight of him and exclaimed, drawing your attention. You turned your head toward the doorway, and your breath caught in your throat for a moment. There stood Barou, framed by the doorway in an almost ethereal way, his hair cascading down in soft waves without any product weighing it down. The transformation was striking—his normally slicked-back style giving way to a more relaxed and natural look that accentuated the sharp angles of his face.

With a bright smile, you couldn't help but exclaim, "I’ve never seen you with your hair down; you should do it more often!" Your admiration was clear in your voice, genuine and infectious.

Barou, caught off guard by the compliment, flashed a teasing smirk, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Oh really?" he mumbled, clearly enjoying the attention.

His younger sister, ever the honest critic, piped up, looking between the two of you with a frown. "Seriously? I think he looks terrible like that!" she said, scrunching her nose in exaggerated disapproval, which only made you giggle more. The playful banter added warmth to the already delightful afternoon.

Shidou Ryusei

Shidou is someone who stands firmly in his beliefs, especially when it comes to his appearance. He is entirely dismissive of others' opinions regarding his hair; no matter what anyone says, he remains unshaken and unbothered. In fact, Shidou tends to be more easily annoyed than someone like Karasu, which often adds a playful tension to interactions.

During one of your conversations, you casually mention how much you prefer his hair down instead of styled up. He raises an eyebrow, a hint of irritation flickering across his face. “What do you mean you like my hair down more?” he replies, a mix of incredulity and an underlying challenge in his tone.

Once the discussion continues, your relentless insistence nudges him closer to submission. After some back-and-forth, he finally relents and agrees to wear his hair down more often, though he’s far too proud to openly admit he actually enjoys it. Instead, he will make cheeky, suggestive comments about your fascination with his hair when it's down, teasing you in a light-hearted manner, which only adds to the dynamic between you two.

Today marks a joyous milestone for both of you as you revel in your first anniversary at a vibrant arcade, a dazzling realm awash with colorful lights and the lively cacophony of games echoing all around. The atmosphere hums with excitement, each corner alive with laughter and the joyful shouts of fellow players. Shidou, who typically embraces a more reserved style, has taken a bold step today, styling his hair in a way that beautifully frames his face. The softer look is striking— a refreshing shift from his usual spiky, gelled hairstyle. He seems aware of the newfound charm, casting playful glances your way while a teasing smile flits across his lips. His eyes sparkle with an undeniable mischief, hinting that beneath his laid-back exterior, he’s secretly reveling in your attention.

As you glide through the arcade, your laughter rises above the clatter of tokens and the beeps of machines. There’s an exhilarating array of games just waiting to be conquered—everything from fast-paced basketball shootouts to delightful claw machines overflowing with plushies begging to be won. You and Shidou dive into the fun, playfully ribbing each other while erupting into fits of giggles. Each of his playful, yet comically unsuccessful attempts to snag one of those adorable plushies only makes you laugh harder. The way he misjudges the claw’s reach is a comedy show in itself, and each blunder seems to bring you closer together, weaving a tapestry of joyous moments that feel oh-so-precious.

As the day dances on, you find a cozy table amid the arcade chaos, the mouthwatering aroma from nearby food stalls both tempting and irresistible. With steaming plates brimming with deliciousness in front of you, the conversation flows like a river. You delve deep into discussions about your favorite movies and anime—when the name Jurassic Park pops up, Shidou nearly leaps from his seat, a broad grin lighting up his face. His enthusiasm is infectious as he passionately shares the brilliance behind the plot and his enduring love for dinosaurs, exclaiming how “cute” it is when they eat people. His insight is both amusing and concerning, but knowing Shidou, it feels right in its quirky way.

Amidst this delightful exchange, the subject shifts to hairstyles. You can’t hold back your curiosity and wonder out loud how he might look with his hair down. The suggestion takes him aback, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “My hair down? Y/N-chan, are you pulling my leg?” His teasing tone is underlined with genuine bewilderment, making you smile.

Quick to clarify, you reassure him, “It’s not that I dislike your hair up! I just think it’d be fun to see it down, that’s all.”

As your words hang in the air, Shidou blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to realization. “That makes more sense, Y/N-chan,” he finally responds, amusement sparkling in his eyes once more. “But I swear, I would have to tackle you if you said otherwise… just kidding~” His laughter is utterly infectious, wrapping around you like a warm embrace, and in that moment, the bond between you deepens even further, filled with warmth, humor, and a touch of mischief.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

in my head - m.s.

part two of avery’s playlist series

pairing: reader x matt sturniolo

cw: alcohol, smut (unprotected sex, f!receiving oral, fingering), explicit language

wc: 6k

in my head, i see you all over me

in my head, you fulfill my fantasy

It was like a sixth sense, really, the way you could feel when anybody was staring at you when you weren’t looking. It was something you’d always had a feeling for since you were young, like any time a pair of eyes landed on you, you could feel it burning into your skin.

It was also something you had learned to ignore when you were around your friends, always feeling a constant stare when your head was turned, blue eyes unable to tear themselves away from your frame. You were used to it at this point, the way he looked over at you any chance he got. You were also used to him refusing to admit that he was looking at you, no matter how many times you caught him staring, he’d always deny it, say he was just spaced out or looking past you. You never believed him.

Today was no different, even in the crowded house with music blaring and your mind fuzzy from the alcohol you’d consumed, you could still feel Matt staring at you from where he was leaned against the wall, a fruity seltzer held in his hand as he peered your way. The two of you have been friends for years, but lately it felt like you’ve drifted apart due to how weird he’s gotten around you, and now when you came over, you mostly just talked to his brothers, Nick and Chris, since Matt had always excused himself after you caught him staring.

Matt was always a little bit odd, but he’d gotten more so over the last few months, and you’d gotten sick of trying to reel him back in, finally just deciding to let him pull away from the friendship if that’s what he really wanted.

Alcohol had always made you a little bit bolder, though, and today was no exception, so when you caught Matt’s eye across the room and he actually held your gaze, you couldn’t help yourself from marching over until you were right in front of him, your eyes determined as you approached him. He kept his eyes locked on you, an almost amused smirk playing on his lips at your attempt to be serious.

“Matt,” you start sternly, crossing your arms once you’re in front of him. He’s thoroughly enjoying the way you try to act bigger than you are, though he can tell by the glazed over look in your eyes that it wasn’t raw confidence that had you running up on him, but more of a liquid courage influence. He didn’t mind, in fact, he thought it was amusing. He stays silent, only raising his eyebrows as he peers at you over his can, waiting for you to continue. “We need to talk.”

Matt finishes his drink and sets it down on a nearby table before crossing his arms to match your stance, chest puffing out as his eyes narrowed. “About what?” He inquires, head tilting like a dog.

You weren’t deterred by his attempts to be dominating, though. “About your fucking staring problem.”

He raises an eyebrow like he’s at a complete loss. “What staring problem?”

“Are you kidding?” You laugh, dropping your arms to your sides in disbelief. “You think I don’t see you staring at me all the time? I can feel your eyes burning a hole in the back of my head!”

Matt is fully smirking at you now, his expression teasing. “I never stare at you. I look at you sometimes, like now when you’re talking, but I’m never staring at you.”

The distinct presence of alcohol makes your eyes feel heavy and your brain moves slower, only able to process his words a few seconds after he said them, but you refused to be gaslit into thinking that you were wrong, that you didn’t see what you know you saw.

“Don’t lie to me,” you say loudly, reaching up to point a finger in his face. “You can’t take advantage of me just because I’m drunk.”

The next words that he said are what really throw you off guard, to the point where you almost blamed the alcohol for it, and if you were even one drink further into your night you would’ve, but your comprehension levels were still sharp enough to catch the weight of his words as he leans in close to your ear.

“If I wanted to take advantage of you while you were drunk, lying isn’t the way I’d do it.”

It felt like the ground beneath you had shifted, like an unspoken boundary had been crossed and you had no idea how to react to it. Except your mouth moved faster than your brain, and you spoke before you could even think to stop yourself.

“What?!” You shriek, narrowing your eyes at the boy in front of you. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?!”

Matt rolls his eyes at your volume before he swiftly forces your body in the other direction with his hands and swings an arm over your shoulder. “It means we need to get some water in you.”

You’re offended at his suggestion, scoffing loudly as he led you into the kitchen, keeping a strong grip on you. “I am not that drunk, Matt. Could pass a sobriety test with ease.”

“You’re drunk enough to get confrontational, that’s how I know you need to slow down,” Matt retorts, grabbing an unopened water bottle from the counter and handing it to you.

You want to refuse, to shake your head and push his hand away, but when you turn your head to look up at him, the room spins a little bit, and you know it’s probably for the better that you have some water. Once you do grab it from his hands, you drank almost half of the bottle in one go before handing it back to Matt, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “There, happy now?” You sass.

Matt sets the bottle down on the counter, his other arm still swung over your shoulders. “Sure, now go dance with Nick or something,” he comments, nodding his head in his brother’s direction.

Your confrontational behavior hasn’t dissipated, though, in fact it only feels spurred on by the way Matt is staring down at you, like it’s funny the way you tried to talk to him, like he thinks your attempts at calling him out are adorable. It’s not adorable, you’re serious, and the fact that he doesn’t think you are has you heating up all over again.

In a quick motion, you grab his hand from your shoulder and start walking away, your grip on him tight as you drag him through the crowds of people and into his room. With all the strength you can muster, you pull him in through the doorway and push him in front of you, slamming the door after you’re both in the room.

“I am done dealing with you staring at me all the time and acting like you’re not!” You snap loudly at him, arms crossing over your chest once again. “I may be drunk and confrontational, but you’re drunk, too, so let’s just get this conversation over with so we can go back to being like we were before.”

Matt rolls his eyes at you, huffing like a child. “I’m not as drunk as you,” is all he says.

“Oh, please, like you weren’t just leaning up against the wall out there, or using your arm around me to keep your balance.” You point a finger at him accusatorially. “You’re leaning on your desk right now!”

“Yeah, because my ankle hurts,” Matt shrugged it off, but the way his eyes closed as he spoke made it all the more obvious what the truth was.

By the time his eyes reopen, you’ve marched over to him, your bodies only a couple feet apart now. “Enough. Stop fucking staring all the time or tell me why you do it.” You demand.

He’s getting frustrated again, and you can see it in the way he sucks in a deep breath, like he’s trying to stop himself from getting angry, or maybe he’s trying to stop himself from telling you the truth, trying to fight against the alcohol swimming through his bloodstream. He’s close to cracking, and all you need to do is push a little harder.

“Did I do something to make you mad? You barely talk to me anymore, and every time you do it’s like someone’s twisting your arm behind your back to do it.” Your voice is a bit quieter now, back to a normal speaking volume with a hint of sadness seeping in. “I used to be the closest to you and now it’s a chore to even get you to talk to me.”

Matt groans and leans his head back on his shoulders for a moment before picking it back up and meeting your gaze again. “You didn’t make me mad,” he replies.

“Then what?!” You push, hands flopping to your sides in annoyance. “Why are you so weird now?! You never talk to me, you’re always fucking looking at me and pretending you’re not, you’re always trying to avoid being in the same room as me alone and I am so fucking sick of-“

“What do you want me to say?!” Matt interrupts loudly, pushing himself off the desk and one step closer to you. Your eyes widen in shock as the distance starts to close between you, not expecting him to be so loud. Though the next words out of his mouth had your mind reeling and wondering if maybe you both were a little too intoxicated to be having this conversation. But maybe it was perfect.

“Do you want me to say that every fucking time I look at you, all I can think about is how much better you’d look underneath me? On top of me?” He starts lowly, taking another step closer. “Do you want me to say that I get carried away looking at you because I’m fantasizing about what I want to do to you? That I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want to make you feel good and hear your pretty voice moaning my name?”

Your heart feels like it’s stuck in your throat as you listen to him, pounding away and making your hands shaky, adrenaline running through you at his admission. It was the last thing you expected him to say, a confession of desire, the words ripping all of the air from your lungs.

You’re brought back when the backs of your knees hit his bed, causing you to fall backwards on it, hands catching you and resting behind you. The switch in angle has you staring upwards at Matt, the man that was your best friend, lashes fluttering as he gazed down at you, eyes darkening at the sight of you.

“Matt…” you whisper, shaking your head, unsure of what to say.

“You feel fucking stupid pushing so hard now, don’t you?” Matt sneers, leaning over so he’s hovering above you, faces inches apart. “Should’ve just left it the fuck alone.”

You swallow thickly, trying to ignore your nerves and the way the hair on your arms was standing straight up, goosebumps forming from how close he was to you.

“I don’t feel stupid,” you say quietly, pausing for a moment as you stare into his eyes, taking in his expression. His jaw is clenched tight, like he’s angry, but you know it’s his way of trying to hide the way he really feels; scared of how you feel. His eyes are searching yours for any sign of feeling the same, like he’s desperate for any sense of reciprocation. His chest is heaving as he leans over you, trying to breathe through the way his heart was racing, willing it to slow down in vain. You take a deep breath yourself, readying yourself for the shift.

“Just wish you told me sooner.”

Your hand comes up to grab onto his shirt to pull him in, closing the distance between you both, lips crashing together. He loses his balance when you pull him down, hands stopping himself on either side of you when he pushes you down flat on the bed, kissing you back like he’s waited his whole life for this moment.

His lips are molded to yours perfectly, only parting to let his tongue slip into your mouth and meet your own, tasting the drink he finished right as you walked up to him. His left arm shifted so he was resting on his elbow next to your head, right hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers splayed out in your hair as he used his grip to keep you close to him.

Even though you initiated the kiss, you’re still taken aback at how desperate his movements are, taking a moment to collect yourself and kiss him back just as enthusiastically, right hand keeping its grip in his shirt while your other one comes up to mirror his, tangling in his hair.

“Matt,” you gasp in between kisses, whining softly when his lips trail over your cheek and down your neck, leaving soft but hungry kisses across your skin.

“Wanted you for so long,” he groans, teeth nipping softly before he continues his descent, pushing your shirt up until it’s bunched under your arms, moving his lips between the valley of your breasts. “You look so fucking good tonight, was like torture watching you walk around like I didn’t want to rip your clothes off.”

The giggle you let out is breathless, a mix of laughter and a whine, head tilted down as you watch him as he kisses down your stomach, hands moving to slide down your waist, gripping your hips when he reaches them. “You can take my clothes off if you want to,” you say nervously. His attention is immediately drawn back to your face, movements pausing at your words. “Yeah?” He rasps, voice low and quiet.

You nod, pushing yourself up on your elbows to watch him as he slides down your body and onto his knees between your legs, hands rubbing over your thighs. Your bottom half was adorned in a black mini skirt that already started riding up from the way he settled between your legs, your thong peeking out from underneath it, clinging to your skin from the way you were already getting soaked.

“This skirt looks so fucking good on you,” Matt praises, slipping off the end of the bed until he was on his knees, pulling you closer towards the edge until his face was only a few inches above your core. “Wondering why I’m looking at you when this shit barely covers your ass.”

“I wore it for you,” you admit shyly, watching as his hands slid up and down your skin, fingers gripping into your flesh every few seconds, like he couldn’t believe he was finally in this position, lips dragging up the skin of your inner thighs slowly.

“Oh, yeah?” He mumbles, almost absentmindedly.

“Mhm,” you reply, watching as his face gets closer and closer to where you want him. “Was hoping maybe if I dressed hot enough you’d finally crack, get the balls to shoot your shot.”

Matt drags his nose up your inner thighs, kissing occasionally until his face is right pressed into your panties, the thin fabric being the only barrier separating your bodies from what you both craved so badly. His tongue slips past his lips to flatten on your folds through your underwear, a small groan leaving his lips. “Was gonna shoot my shot anyway, just thought I’d have time for one more drink before you got all bitchy on me.”

A gasp leaves your lips at the feeling of his tongue on you, wanting nothing more than to rip the flimsy thong off and fling it across the room. “Calling me a bitch with your head between my legs is a little ridiculous, Matt,” you tease breathlessly, keeping your eyes locked on him. His hands move to push your skirt upwards before his fingers tuck themselves into the waistband of your panties, eyes shooting up to meet yours. “Sorry, next time I call you a bitch I’ll make sure I’m not about to eat you out.”

You scoff at his sarcastic response and roll your eyes, expecting nothing less than him making some snarky comment. His nose dips down and buries itself in the fabric again, his eyes fluttering shut as he sucked in a deep breath, moaning on the exhale. “Holy fuck.” He groans out before he tucks his fingers into the front of your underwear and ripped them apart, exposing your dripping pussy to him, drooling in anticipation.

“Are you…” you stare down at him incredulously, eyes wide. “Are you smelling me?”

Matt looks back up at you with an exasperated expression, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?” He replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you have any idea how good pussy smells? How good it tastes? God, I could get off on that alone.”

You shake your head in disbelief at him, to which he releases a small laugh, shooting you a wink before dipping his head back down and pressing his lips between your folds, planting a small kiss on your clit as his hands push your thighs apart, spreading you wide open to be used by him. “Taste so fucking good,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. His hands wrap around your thighs and his fingers dig into the skin on the inside of your legs, kneading them softly as his tongue starts to work between your folds, quiet moans leaving him as the taste of you flooded his senses.

The sounds you made weren’t as quiet, the volume of your whines starting to fill the room, grateful for the music blaring through the rest of the house to drown you out. Your head fell back on your shoulders as your eyes fluttered shut, focusing on his tongue on you and the way his hands never stopped moving, whether it was his thumbs stroking over your skin or his palms rubbing up and down.

“Fuck, Matt…” you whimper, dropping your elbows out from underneath you so your back was flat on the bed, body already reacting to the way his mouth was moving on you, thighs starting to shake on either side of him.

He was eating you out in a way you’ve never felt before, his actions hungry and fueled by lust, lips and tongue working in tandem as he practically made out with your drooling core, the squelching of his mouth meeting your heat filing your ears. “Matt,” you warn, reaching down to grab at his hair, pushing him off of you.

He pulls away reluctantly, staring down at you with glazed over eyes, his mouth and chin glistening from the mixture of his saliva and your arousal. “What?” He questions, furrowing his eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, breathing heavily. “Just close ‘n I don’t wanna finish yet.”

Matt’s confused at your words, staring down at you like he doesn’t quite understand, head tilting slightly as his lips parts to speak. “That’s kind of the whole point of what I’m doing,” he states.

“But… I wanna have sex,” you reply like it’s obvious.

“I thought that’s what we were doing?” Matt lets go of your thighs and runs a hand through his hair, growing more puzzled. “Do you not want me to eat you out?”

Your cheeks are darkening in embarrassment the more this conversation drags on, your hands coming up to cover your face. “I do! You’re really good at it! I just don’t want to cum before you actually… fuck me.”

“Why?” Matt snorts out a laugh, crawling onto the bed and hooking his hands under your thighs again, dragging you up the bed until your head was almost at the headboard, his own body moving to hover over yours. “I’ll just make you cum again. And again…” he leans down until his lips are touching your ear, one hand moving to rub over your clit gently, his two middle fingers rubbing through your slit. “And again, til you can’t even think straight.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he manhandles you, the way he pushed your body up the bed like it was nothing creating a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach. “Really?” You questioned quietly, not used to men even really caring about getting you off even once.

“Mhm,” Matt hums into your ear, lips trailing down over your neck. “That okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod your head quickly, nervously. “Just never came more than once before.”

Matt snorts against your collarbone, dipping his two fingers inside of you, your pussy putting up no resistance to him, sucking him in greedily. “Probably because you sleep with a bunch of fucking losers.” He comments, following up his words by sucking a mark into the fleshy mound on your chest barely covered by your bra anymore.

Your back arches off the mattress when his fingers curl inside you, a loud whimper leaving your lips as your hands grip the sheets on either side of you. “Oh my god,” you moan out, ignoring the comment he made. You’ll have to remember to scold him later.

“How ‘bout you just lay there and keep making those pretty noises, yeah?” Matt smirks, sliding down the bed again until his mouth is back on your soaked heat, groaning against your clit when the taste hits his tongue again.

Obsessed doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what he’s feeling, how his mind is absolutely reeling from the way he’s got you coming apart underneath him. The way you taste, the way you sound, it’s all making his mind fuzzy, the buzz from the alcohol fading into the distance as he becomes more pussy drunk than anything in the moment. He’s trying to keep himself from losing control and fucking you into oblivion, grounding himself by listening to the sweet sounds you made.

“So good, Matt, right there,” you cry out, chest heaving as he brings you back to the brink of your orgasm, knuckles turning white against his black sheets. “Fuck, if you don’t stop I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, one of your hands coming down to thread in his hair, this time holding him against you instead of pulling him off.

“Mhmm,” he moans into your skin, tongue lapping up your juices fervently, fingers keeping pace inside of you.

The way his voice rumbled against your clit was all you needed to send you over the edge, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth as you moaned loudly, thighs trembling around Matt’s head.

He coaxed you through it, fingers and tongue unrelenting until you were lax and whimpering against the bed, legs twitching from overstimulation with every movement. Matt pulled his lips away, placing one more small kiss on your clit before looking up at you, smiling at how spent you looked, hair sticking to your forehead and your teeth buried in your hand from trying to keep quiet. “You covered up your pretty mouth,” he fake pouts, crawling back up the bed so his face is above yours. “Now I gotta make you cum again.”

You stare up at him breathlessly, watching as his face comes back into view, his expression dark as he stares at you. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Didn’t wanna be too loud.”

“No such thing,” Matt smiles, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips softly. You melt into the kiss, instantly returning it and tasting yourself on his mouth, something you’d hated in the past but felt immensely turned on by in this situation. He only kisses you for a few moments before he pulls away and gazes down at you again. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

You nod excitedly, agreeing instantly. He climbs off the bed and pulls his shirt over his head before walking to his bedside table to grab a condom out of the drawer, throwing it next to you on the bed. Your eyes watch the small foil pack as it lands next to you, feeling your heart rate pick up at the realization that this was actually happening. You were about to let your best friend have his way with you in his room during a fucking party, not caring who would hear, and especially not caring about what this would do to your relationship in the moment. Those were consequences you’ll face later, but right now all you could think about was having Matt buried deep inside you.

“Matt?” You sit up slowly and look up from the condom, letting your eyes trail over him, landing on his hands that were working on the button on his jeans, then slowly dragging his zipper down. He hums in response, urging you to continue. You clear your throat nervously, reaching out to pick up the condom. “I haven’t been on birth control for years just for you to not fuck me raw.”

Matt’s lips part as he sucks in a small breath, watching as you tossed the condom back onto the bedside table before smiling up at him. “You serious?” He asks, pushing his jeans down until they fall on their own, stepping out of them before kneeling back over you, his hand coming up to hold onto the back of your neck. You nod again, just as enthusiastic as the first. “Yeah,” you respond softly. “Wanna feel you inside me.”

Matt groans and grabs your shirt to finally pull it fully off, throwing it across the room before he helps you out of your bra as well. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he grumbles, shoving you back down onto the bed. A small giggle leaves your lips as he throws you down, hair fanning out over the pillow. The only thing you were left in was the black mini skirt that Matt was obsessed with, the material shoved up and bunched around your hips. It was completely out of the way of what was important, and Matt had no intentions of removing it from you.

Your folds and inner thighs were completely soaked when you spread your legs open for Matt to settle between, the wet skin glimmering in the dim lights of his room, a sight that Matt had to force himself to tear his eyes from so he wouldn’t finish too quickly. “You have no idea how pretty your pussy is, do you?” He mumbled, pushing his briefs just low enough for his dick to spring out, so hard it almost hurt when the cool air hit it. Your ears burned hot at his words, shaking your head gently. “No, I don’t. Wanna tell me how pretty it is?” You reach down to grab the backs of your knees, pulling your legs up and apart to expose yourself to him even more.

“Fuck,” he groans, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry but I’m already about to bust in my pants, can I just…” he clears his throat and reopens his eyes, looking down at the glorious sight below him; you staring up at him as you pull your legs wide open for him, pussy on display and glistening just for him, patiently waiting to pull him into your walls. His hand comes down to wrap around his aching cock and you watch as he starts to jerk himself off, small moans and whimpers leaving his lips, jaw slack from the pleasure.

It takes him less than a minute to stroke himself to his climax, hips stuttering as he coaxed out his load all over your stomach and added to the mess adorning your lower half, your own jaw dropping as you watch him cum all over you. “That was fucking hot,” you praise, a sinister smile forming on your lips.

He laughs, taking a few deep breaths before he situates his hips against yours, resting his tip against your entrance. “Thanks. I was not going to last at all and I’ve always wondered what you’d look like covered in my cum, so.. two birds.” He joked.

You’re about to laugh with him when he shoves himself inside you, bottoming out in one thrust. The movement rips a gasp from your lips, face contorting in a mix of pleasure and pain from the sudden stretch. “Oh!” You squeak out, locking eyes with Matt as he drags his own gaze up your body to stare down into your eyes. “My fucking god,” he groaned, slowly dragging his cock out of you before pushing back in, pulling a soft whine out of your lips. “Holding that pussy wide open for me, hm?”

You bite your lip harshly as your head drops back onto the pillow, eyes rolling back as Matt starts up a quick rhythm, his cock deliciously dragging through your walls. The angle of your legs being pushed up had him hitting every sweet spot inside of you, your voice growing hoarse from how much you were whining and moaning, hands starting to lose your grip on your legs. “C’mon, baby, don’t let up now, show me how pretty you look taking my cock so well.”

You’re trying your best when you readjust your grip on the backs of your knees, but the mixture of sweat and how weak you felt made the task difficult, your hands sliding around and unable to get a good grip. “Can’t, Matt,” you whimper, opening your eyes again to look back up at him, silently begging for help. He notices your struggle and pushes your hands away with his own, spreading his fingers out on the backs of your thighs to push them against you, the new angle of his cock inside you making you cry out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, right there, please don’t stop, need you right there.” You babble on, staring up at Matt as his eyes stay trained on where your bodies meet.

“Touch yourself, princess,” Matt demands, forcing his gaze up to meet yours, admiring the way your eyes were glazed over and half covered by heavy eyelids. “If you can’t hold your legs up you gotta touch yourself for me, baby.”

You’re taken aback, not used to such demands. Normally the guys you slept with didn’t even care about if you finished or not, and now here Matt was making sure you came at least twice. It was a bit confusing at first, but you eventually processed his words, eyebrows furrowing. “But, Matt, I-,”

He cuts you off with a sharp dig into your thighs with his fingers, silencing you immediately. “Fucking touch yourself for me,” he says again, leaving no room for argument. “Wanna see you cum all over me, see your pretty face and hear how good you sound.”

Really, who were you to deny such a convincing statement? Especially when he asked so nicely.

“Fuck,” you whisper in defeat, bringing your hand between your legs and taking a deep breath before pressing your two middle fingers into your clit, whimpering softly as you drew small circles around it, the pleasure of that mixing with the way Matt still thrust into you making you clench your eyes shut again, moaning as your head dug back into the pillow, back arching into the pleasure. “Oh my god, so good, Matt.”

Once he saw your eyes close again, Matt looked down to where your hand was picking up speed on your sensitive nerves, your movements and his grinding matching up in pace until your legs were trembling again, still held in place by his rough grip. “That’s perfect, baby, shit, you’re fucking made for me, hm? Made to take me all the way like this?”

“Yes,” you choke out, throat starting to straight from how hard you were rubbing yourself, breath starting to catch in your throat. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, oh my god, Matt, I’m cumming again,” you gasp, whole body tensing up for a few seconds before your orgasm crashed over you, your whole body shaking and legs trying to close but unable to due to Matt holding them in place. He’s groaning loudly, thrusts becoming uncoordinated as he chased his own high, his mouth dropping in pleasure when he finally reached his peak, loud, attractive moans spilling from his lips.

Matt’s own eyes are screwed shut as he paints his release over your walls, breath shaky as he slows down, unaware of how hard he’s gripping into your skin until you whine his name out and push your legs out of his grip. When he lets go, his forearms come down to rest on either side of your head, his face burying in your neck.

“Fuuuck,” he groans tiredly, still buried inside you. “Y’have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fuck you like that.”

You laugh, running a clammy hand over his equally sweaty back, patting his skin in a teasing matter. “Glad you got it out of your system.” You reply.

His head pops up after you speak, staring down at you questioningly. “Oh, I didn’t. I’ve still got plenty of fantasies to run through.” Matt tells you, and though his tone is silly, you know he’s completely serious, so you raise your eyebrows at him inquisitively. “Did this not fulfill your fantasies?” You ask him.

He scoffs and sends you a classic Matt eye roll, like he couldn’t believe you were actually asking him that. “It did, but only some. I’ve got like a year’s worth of filthy shit I wanna do to you.” He tells you, dipping back down to nip at the soft skin on your neck, sucking it into his mouth for a moment before letting go, blowing over the wet spot to make you shiver. “Like mark you up, fuck you all over my house, in my car, in the shower, I wanna fuck you on your hands and knees, wanna watch you ride me, wanna fuck that pretty, pretty mouth of yours, wanna hear you beg for me…” his lips are moving down your skin as he speaks, leaving soft kisses along his route until he’s nestled between your breasts, pulling away to look down at your body. “Wanna be able to call you mine,” he confesses, leaning back in to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. The feeling made you whine softly, your core tingling in anticipation, even though you were spent and anymore contact might make you cry.

“Matt,” you huff, reaching up to grab his face and push him off, looking down at his pouty expression. “Everything is so sensitive, feels like my skin is on fire.”

He smiles down at you, like he’s taken your words in the complete opposite direction you meant, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Perfect, so you can give me one more, yeah?”

You’re still processing what he’s said by the time he’s scooted back down the bed and positioned his face between your legs once again, a big grin on his face. You’re about to push him away and tell him you can’t take anymore, you’re too overstimulated to give him anything else, but when his mouth comes forward and starts working on you again, you’re silenced aside from the loud groans and whines coming from your lips, deciding one more couldn’t hurt.

-

a/n: matt’s favorite adjective for you is pretty. clearly (:

also welcome to my playlist series! leave requests for songs you’d like me to write songs based off of

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah

@sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo

@secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff

@imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @mattsside

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@sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @aria003

@poppingmypussy4chris @victoryouactuallydidthis @seluky10 @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @sweetshuga

[sailoryooons]

Obsidian | 1 | (myg)

☾ Summary: You’ve never been able to forget a face. Neither has Min Yoongi. And you both remember the face of the man who ruined your lives.

☾ Word Count: 7,979

☾ Genre: Urban fantasy, criminal/syndicate, strangers to lovers, angst, eventual smut

☾ Rating: Dead Dove. Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence and death, graphic depictions of blood and dismemberment, mentions of death and previous suffering, mentions of withdrawal like symptoms and sickness, on screen murder and death, depictions of gore (people literally get exploded I’m so sorry), mentions of power and wealth disparity between glasses, general warnings associated with gang/criminal empires, recreational drinking, explicit language… I think that’s it (she says, knowing there is a ton of blood in this). 

☾ A/N: Hi, I am so nervous to be writing this series again and re-doing what I feel like I got wrong the first time. I hope you like the new and what I think is an improved version. This chapter has the bones of its predecessor, but is a lot heavier and is very different from the first chapter in the original fic. I don’t pull punches on the gore/murder here because it is very… I do it this way for a reason, I swear. This is shorter than the original, but I hope you like it nonetheless and I’m excited to share more with you. 

☾ A/N 2: Happy New Year! I hope your 2025 goes better than readers lmfao. 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Tag List Requests ☾Series Masterlist ☾ Playlist ☾ Previous ☾ Next

Market Town is a writing mass of snakes. At least, that’s what it feels like when you get pushed and shoved in the street, trying to find a single flow of people going the direction you need. The press of bodies is so close you can smell the sweat of people as they pass by, feel the slick of their skin as biceps press by yours. 

It makes you want to crawl out of your skin and slither away somewhere dark and cool. 

Someone with sickly sweet perfume goes by. You scrunch your nose, blowing air harshly out your nostrils to try and dispel the scent. Perfume doesn’t do much to cover the stench of bodies and the grime-slicked streets, but it doesn’t stop from the general population pumping it on, creating a cacophony of smells.

At least it isn’t raining - the smell is worse when it rains. 

Vendors shout prices from a variety of stands - some crooked, some well-built, some nothing more than a table, some three tables long. There are carts everywhere, some in the middle of the road with the bodies of people breaking around them like water on rock, some in permanent storefronts beneath the towering wall of apartments above, others on rolling carts knocking people over as vendors hawk their wares. 

Taking a left turn, you breathe in as the crowd thins. Most of the population of Market Town exists on the single, wide street that carves through the middle of the Lower District. Alleyways offer less crowded offshoots to businesses who don’t exist on the main thoroughfare 

Metal ladders and staircases line the sides of the alleyway like intricate spider webs. You narrowly step to the left, sensing the spill of liquid from above just before it hits the pavement in a splash. Glancing upward, you see the window closing - whoever threw the liquid out the window didn’t care whether it hit you or not, and from the smell of it, it isn’t water. 

Multiple flickers of energy radiate somewhere in the hundred something windows of apartments. You ignore it as you walk down the street, hands tucked into your pocket and eyes forward. You sense them like lights on a heat map, each one different, some brighter than others. 

Head down, you push onward, keeping to yourself and moving swiftly. Market Town isn’t always dangerous - you’re not close enough to Gwishin territory to worry about your affiliation being a problem - but it’s not exactly safe either. 

You take another turn, skirting the back of an apartment building. Here, the dumpsters are overflowing into the street and cats hiss at you as you pass by. You hiss back, flashing your teeth to make them scurry off. You don’t have to radiate for them to know you’re a danger to them - a lot of people are not above catching and cooking the cats in Market Town, especially during winter.

Cutting down an alley, you come to a dead end with a chain link fence. You climb it easily, the wire bending beneath your feet as you do. Scaling and hopping over the other side, you land with a splash. You grimace, not wanting to know what your jeans are wet with as you jog to the mouth of the alleyway and back into the main street of Market Town. 

The crowd isn’t as compact here. Sun beats down, just past its zenith as it crawls toward early afternoon. You head right toward Namjoon’s massive stall, a crooked structure with rusty nails that leans dangerously close to Margot’s fruit stand. 

No matter how many times Margot has asked Namjoon to fix the leaning stand, he never does, despite the fact that Namjoon can fix almost anything in the city. He likes electronics, though, which is why you approach him as he leans over a tiny watch, goggles on with a soldering tool in hand. 

On the other side of Namjoon is Len’s stand. The old man is vacant from it for the time being, leaving his crystals and tarot cards to the empty wind. His stand is just a simple piece of plywood supported by cinder blocks with an always-wet and stained purple tapestry across the top. He suddenly appears, as though your presence has manifested him.

“The world is ending,” Len warns you. “The world will end in midnight and obsidian.” 

“Hi, Len,” you greet, making Namjoon look up at the sound of your voice. “Thank you for the warning.” 

Len warns you of a variety of different things whenever you visit. His gnarled finger points to you, hands liver spotted and shaking when he makes his predictions. You don’t know of any Radiants that are able to predict the future, but you know Len is Radiant. You can feel the pulse of his energy underneath his skin, stronger than most people in Market Town. He wears no jewels, but there’s a single, opal tucked into the pocket of his shirt. 

Just like there’s a rose quartz hidden in Namjoon’s shoe. He doesn’t know you know, of course. Namjoon doesn’t know much about you, but he does know that he should keep his jewels to himself. People like to murder and steal jewels all over the city, but particularly in Market Town where they can vanish into thick crowds and get away with it.

“I have your repair for you,” Namjoon says, lifting up his goggles and putting down his soldering tool. “A fascinating piece of technology. Kind of dangerous though, no?” 

“For some people, maybe.” You cross your arms over your chest as he ducks under his table, sliding open multiple drawers as he tries to find the object he fixed for you. “Not me.” 

It is dangerous to you, actually. Using it nearly incapacitates you, but he doesn’t need to know that. Namjoon doesn’t know you’re a Radiant. He’s too light on the Jewel Caste to tell, and most Radiants can’t sense other Radiants without detecting the jewels they wear anyway. 

Namjoon lets out a soft ah ha and sits up in his chair, placing a bracelet on the table. It’s nondescript and silver with a single, circular charm on it. Namjoon slides it over to you, leaning over it to assess it again. His eyes are glittering as he runs a finger over it. 

“I fixed the soldering on the inside of the charm. It was damaged due to a melted wire. Fascinating how small the tech in this thing is. It emits high pitched frequencies, right?” 

“Mhmm.” You pick up the bracelet, easily clasping it on your wrist. “How much?” 

“No cost. It was a fun little device to look at. Aren’t these illegal?”

“You can’t not charge me. I told you to stop giving people their shit for free.”

His cheeks turn cherry as he scratches the back of his neck. “Fine, what about five nil?” You toss the coins on the table. “It’s a mini shatterwave, right? The high-pitched frequency scatters the frequency of Radiants?” 

You give him an annoyed look. “Yes.” 

“Who made it? It’s a fascinating device.” 

Instead of answering Namjoon’s question, you toss another five nil on the table. “For silence,” you tell him firmly. 

He wants to ask another question. You can see it in his face. Namjoon is always asking you questions about the things you bring to him. It isn’t his job to ask questions, especially as freely as he asks them, which is all you need to know that places like Market Town are not where Namjoon was raised. 

Nothing Namjoon does is that of someone low born. He’s too polite, gives too many handouts, and lets his curiosity get the best of him. You’re fond of him as much as someone of your position is allowed to be - maybe even a little more. Namjoon is a danger to himself, no matter how often you keep steering him back in the right direction. 

“You!” Len leans over Namjoon’s table, his glassy green eyes wide, pupils dilated. His hair is white as salt and sticks up in multiple directions, looking as though he may have been electrocuted and never recovered. He points one knobby finger at you. “The world will end in midnight and obsidian.” 

“That sounds lovely, Len.” 

You predict the next words. You’ve heard him say prepare for the end dozens of times. Instead, he says, “Obsidian.” 

You blink in surprise. That has yet to be a response in your little game of prophecy, and you open your mouth to indulge and ask him what he means when something tingles at the back of your neck. 

You pause and glance to the side where Margot is dealing with a customer arguing about the price of squash. A soft breeze rustles the canvas topper to Margot’s stand, carrying the scent of tangerine with it. Something is buzzing at the back of your neck, and your gaze slowly drifts from Margot to a man passing by the cart. 

This is someone who blends in. His clothes are plain: his pants are ripped at the knees and scuffed at the bottom, his white t-shirt clinging to his chest in places where he’s sweating through. He has a floral shirt pulled over the tee, open and fluttering in the balmy breezy of the market.

Nothing about him is remarkable, except that he’s beautiful. Perhaps not at first glance… No, that's not right. It feels like you have to blink several times to perceive him, like there’s something about him interfering with your vision the first time you look at him, but when you really look, it’s like piercing through a veil to see the truth. 

He has a round face, glowing and pale like the moon. Inky hair that is a little bit dirty, a few wavy pieces falling over cat-sharp eyes. He smirks as he walks, and though he isn’t looking at you, he seems smug about something. You’re not sure what, but as he passes you, you feel that tingle again. 

Your eyes dart to all of the places you look for jewels first. Hands, ears, neck, and wrists. Nothing, there’s no jewel on him. You can’t sense a frequency on him, which means he doesn’t have jewels, but it’s definitely a Radiant-adjacent sensation. He’s on the caste, but you don’t know where.

Most Radiants feel like a dull buzz when they get close to you. If they have jewels, it’s more like an itch that you want to - no, need to scratch. Jewels pull in Radiants like flowers attract bees. It is an instinct for a Radiant to want to use a jewel, which is part of what makes being a Radiant so dangerous. Jewels always have the potential to corrupt the user, especially the darker the jewel. 

When the strange man gets a few yards away, the sensation begins to fade. You start to turn away but he tosses something up and the air and catches it. You narrow your eyes and he does it again. It’s a tangerine. You watch him toss and catch the object a few times, the skin of the fruit supple, the sunlight glinting off its ripe skin. It’s definitely one of Margot’s - he has the only ripe fruit in all of Market Town, thanks to his hidden jewels. 

Which means this stranger stole it. 

It puzzles you. He hadn’t walked directly by Margot’s cart. From the moment you turned around, he had kept a wide berth, walking a few yards away. And yet the tangerine is in his hand, ripe and round, the perfect shade of orange. 

Something about him makes you step toward him. A breeze comes down the street, lifting the ends of your shirt and carrying the smell of sizzling meat and grease, accompanied by the sweet fruit from Margot’s cart. Sound fades to the background, your focus on the man so singular that everything else becomes secondary. 

The man keeps walking, tossing the fruit up into the air and catching it easily. He starts to round the corner of a block, but pauses, turning to look over his shoulder. He looks right at you, cat-eyes zeroing in with uncanny precision. 

It’s like the world fades away to leave the two of you in an impenetrable bubble. You see no one else but him and those feline eyes, his head cocking to the side as he drinks you in. It makes you nervous the way he looks at you, like he sees you just as clearly as you see him. 

You don’t like that, used to the shadows and being unseen. 

He grins once and winks before turning and vanishing down the alleyway, fruit in hand. 

Sound comes back to you, the spell broken. You snap your head toward Len’s cart, where he is breathing heavily, hands clutching his table while he looks at you, eyes wild. Namjoon tries to gently pry Len’s hands from the table, but the man tears away from him, pointing a finger at you. 

“The world will end in midnight and obsidian.” 

-

Cool air breathes against the back of your neck as you walk to work. A flock of crows startle in an alleyway as you pass them, squawking angrily and hopping away from the dead carcass of something - or someone - until you’re gone and passed, no longer a threat. 

The lane of pockmarked pavement between the left and right sides of the street is totally devoid of cars. No one in the Lower District drives vehicles. They can’t afford them, so the Armory leaves all of the roads to disrepair, letting the pavement cave in and crack with time.

You keep your eye on the other side of the street as you walk. It’s lined with clubs and bars and gambling dens that belong to the Jiangshi, the ghoulish symbol of the organization painted on doors and signs. They aren’t an enemy of the Yong organization - no one technically is an enemy on paper - but you keep your wits about you regardless, never trusting anyone that doesn’t bear the green dragon of the Park family. 

The sun is sinking toward its final goodbye, rays of gold light cut in half by the towering buildings of the Civ District just a few miles away. It’s a beautiful sight, a shot straight down to the lower elevation of the giant buildings turned burnish gold by the sunset. 

Even from a distance, the commercial district of the city is imposing, its steel teeth biting upward at a colored sky. You wonder what it must be like to live in that world. To work or live in one of the Civ towers. You imagine you’d have your own little office with a desk and a private window to look out at the world. So high up near the clouds, a god of civilization. 

You’d been a god once. It hadn’t worked out so well. 

A group of Yong members pour out of the door of the Jade Dragon and onto the sidewalk. It draws your attention away from the shining, ever-golden Civ District to the flickering neon sign above a banged-up metal door. It looks like the lock is busted again and you make a note to tell Burro. Not that he’ll get it fixed. It’s not worth the nil to fix anything in the Jade Dragon, including the mangrove rat infestation brought in with one of the liquor shipments from the Salt District.

Inside the bar is no better. Sticky floors, wobbling tables with chipped wood and scratched lacquer coating, a single bar with broken stools pulled up to the edge. There are a few holoscreens flickering above the colorful bottles that line the bar, sometimes interrupted by Jungkook’s tattooed hand reaching for bottles.  

The Jade Dragon is rarely busy. It’s a new acquisition fronted by the Yong organization, though the building isn’t new and neither is the bar. It had been closed for almost fifteen years, a rotted hole of a used-to-be-bar until Jimin opened it up again. He doesn’t intend for it to be a popular place to drink as much as he needs it for Yong operations, but he fixed it up a bit. 

As you round the bar to throw your shit in the office, a mangrove rat scurries by your feet, making you screech and jump. Jungkook lifts his head, round eyes sweeping back and forth for danger, hands cocked and fists half-clenched. He catches sight of the rat scurrying into one of the holes in the side of the wall and scowls before nodding in greeting.

So maybe Jimin hadn’t fixed up the bar that much. 

Entering the manager’s office, you’re just as pleased as you are displeased to discover that Burro isn’t in the bar at all. You suspect your manager is down the block wasted in the Green Garter and throwing nil at women dancing on the bar tops.

After leaving your belongings in the manager's office - might as well be your office -  you start helping Jungkook maintain the system behind the bar, which is mostly cleaning vigorously at all times to fight the grime that seems to inch up on the place every hour and finding things to do to pass time.

Working with Jungkook is your favorite. He’s a quiet kid with a guarded expression and soft eyes. You don’t ask him much about how he got here or why. Jimin seems to show him the same reverence as when he first found you, so it’s safe to assume that Jungkook is a stray, and most of all useful.

Useful is important to Jimin. He doesn’t bring people into the Yong fold unless they’re of some use to him, no matter how much it might seem like he’s doing them a favor. There are no such things as favors in this world, and you know that better than anyone. 

Even without jewels, Jungkook is a threat. He’s tall and broad, his arms thick and strong enough to lift kegs one-armed over his shoulder. You’ve seen him go from quiet and unassuming behind the bar to throwing a jeweled Radiant across the street. 

Jungkook’s energy vibrates somewhere on the light colors, maybe opal or selenite. It’s hard to tell because he never wears jewels - you’ve never even seen him use jewels. You don’t know if he ever has, just that he has the potential to, his frequency buzzing somewhere on the light end of the Jewel Caste. 

“Where’s Burro?” you ask Jungkook, tossing glasses into the dishwasher and slamming the front shut with your hip. 

“Who knows. Haven’t seen him since I got here.”

“Was the bar just… empty when you came in?”

“Yep.”

Gritting your teeth, you remain silent. Jungkook already knows you hate the manager - so does Jimin. There isn’t a customer who frequents the Jade Dragon who doesn’t know your distaste for the drunkard idiot who runs this place under Jimin’s banner, except perhaps the drunken idiot himself. 

How Burro manages to carry fluorite is beyond you. He shouldn’t even be able to radiate with the colors on the light end of the Jewel Caste, much less the mid colors. You suspect it’s the only reason Jimin lets him pretend to manage the bar at all. That, and because Burro’s father is someone important to the Yong organizational structure. 

Not like you. You’re a nobody among nobodies right beside Jungkook, two Radiants who don’t carry jewels working in a shitty bar and serving the Radiants who wear their jewels proudly.

The Radiants of the Yong organization don’t know that, naturally.

As far as a majority of them are aware, you and Jungkook are two Nulls - people who can’t radiate with any of the gems on the Jewel Caste. Only a few of the elite members at the top are sensitive enough to frequency to pick up that either of you register on the Radiant-scale, and those members of the Yong organization don’t come to places like the Green Dragon. 

A group of lower level members swing through the door. They’re already drunk on low grain wash, an alcohol that’s so unfiltered it makes some people go blind. You smell it on them as they stumble over to the bar, laughing about some Jiangshi they fucked over at the card table across the street. 

You eye them as Jungkook nudges you out of the way to deal with them, his instinct to put himself between you and any group of men. It’s sweet. Jungkook hasn’t the slightest idea that you could kill the group of five without blinking, even without jewels. 

Fingering the charm on your bracelet, you let Jungkook take their order and start pulling out cups. You wander over to the corner under the guise of cleaning bottles, eyeing the group. You recognize three of them as regulars. 

Loro isn’t so bad, but he has a habit of chatting your ear off. He sits down closest to you, focused on telling the others a story, his crooked teeth visible every time he opens his mouth. He has a crooked nose, beak-like and prone to honking when he laughs at his own jokes. He waves his hand for effect as he tells his story, red spinel rings catching the light. 

Chanda sits next to him, his total opposite. In the year she’s been coming to the Jade Dragon, you don’t think you’ve heard Chanda speak. She ignores Loro’s story telling, staring straight forward, her jade eyes unfocused. You know she’s not as unaware as she seems, the pulse of her rubies reaching you from where she sits. 

Among the familiar faces, it’s Daniil you don’t like. He stands a head taller than Jungkook but is just as wide. His flint eyes glare at Jungkook as he slams down the cup he just emptied in a few gulps, asking for another. Jungkook is already filling it with wash before Daniil can finish the question, which pleases Daniil, his crooked smile slashing across his face. You see the flash of sapphire in his teeth, drilled in and hard to steal, a common practice among brutes belonging to the families that make up the Armory. 

Daniil doesn’t deserve sapphire. Jewels are powerful things, especially the darker they are on the Jewel Caste. Even the most practiced Radiants can’t wield dark colors well or with precision, and Daniil is far from skilled or efficient. Seeing him with a sapphire irks you, the gem in his tooth calling to you every time enters the bar. 

Take me. Use me. Take me. Use me. 

The other two men with him, you don’t recognize. You can sense the shorter one radiating at jasper and the taller one at peridot, making them the least powerful Radiants in the room. It’s always like that around Daniil, Radiants on the lighter side of the Caste following around in his shadow, making him feel big and powerful. 

Daniil is never around anyone who has a darker color. 

“Stupid fucking Jiangshi don’t know how to play cards,” Daniil laughs, throwing back another glass of wash. He doesn’t look like he needs more, eyes red and posture swaying with drink. Being a Radiant will burn away at the alcohol faster, but it seems he’s had plenty. “No wonder those stupid fucks are losing territory to the Kaiju.” 

The mention of the Kaiju organization strikes a nerve. You remain reactionless on the surface, but you feel yourself inwardly flinch. No matter how many times you hear them mentioned, you can’t get rid of that internal cringe, that instinct to react. 

What Daniil says about the Kaiju eating up more Jiangshi territory is true, but it has nothing to do with the way people under the black and white banner of the Salib family play cards. Kim Juwon, the head of the Kaiju organization, is entirely the reason for his family’s growth and prosperity. You can think of no one more ruthless and singularly focused on city domination than Kim Juwon.

Except his son, perhaps. 

The Kim family had been wealthy before the Armory was even a thought. They’d long been one of the most powerful Radiant families in Diade, and the most resistant to the construction of the Armory to balance the radical powers in the city. Of the five families making up the city’s governing body, they are by far the strongest, especially since the collapse of the Haechi organization over a dozen years ago. 

Jimin’s family are powerful as well, the leaders of the Yong organization. The Parks aren’t as strong as the Kims in jewel distribution, but they’re nearly as wealthy. Wealth matters just as much as having strong Radiants under your control, opening up access to exert their influence over the city by purchasing high grade jewels and businesses. 

The Jade Dragon is not one of those businesses used to impress the powers that be in the city. It is a place for you to sit and watch the Salib family across the street, and serve as a lowkey meeting space when Jimin feels like using it, which is almost never. 

And, you suppose, to entertain the lowest level of the Yong organization's goons, some of which are now loudly yelling at Jungkook who’s reminded them to pay their tab. 

“The fuck you mean pay the tab?” Daniil asks, slurring over his words. “We don’t have a tab.”

Jungkook is unfettered. “You do, and it’s unpaid for the last month. Mr. Park has reminded me to collect your payment at your earliest convenience.” 

“Where the fuck is Burro? We don’t have a tab, you fucking Null.”

Sighing, you throw down the rag in your hand. A pulse of energy ripples from Daniil. Jungkook glares at the man, his eyes darkening. You know he feels Daniil’s power too, and if the Radiants sitting at the bar weren’t piss drunk or useless, they might notice that Jungkook can feel their energy surging as they get annoyed with him. 

“Sit down,” you snap at Daniil, walking behind Jungkook and glaring at the others. “I’ll get Burro.” 

The door swings open at the front, causing everyone to swivel. At first, you think it might be Burro finally arriving to manage the bar. Instead, you see a man dressed in the black and white of the Jiangshi. The markings on his arms confirm it, skin covered in the monstrous creature the organization is named after. If his enraged expression didn’t put you on edge, the hidden sapphires on him would, the jewels throbbing as he seethes, staring at the group in front of you. 

Trepidation tingles on your skin. You reach out and grab Jungkook by the arm, tugging him lightly. He lets you move him, taking a few steps back to stand next to you and not behind you like you originally intended. He doesn’t seem to understand the danger of an angry Radiant with sapphires. 

“Ay,” Daniil grunts. “Come to piss your money away at more card games?” 

Ah. 

“Call Jimin,” you mutter to Jungkook, shoving him toward the backroom.

“You call Jimin. I’m not leaving you alone.” 

“I will be fine, kid. Do what I say.” 

Jungkook looks like he wants to argue, but the Jiangshi man takes a firm step into the room, jabbing a finger at the group of Yong sitting at the bar. “You cheated.” 

“He’s wearing sapphire,” you whisper to Jungkook, nudging him. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook agrees, turning quickly. “I’ll call Jimin.”

As Jungkook vanishes into the back, a ripple of energy goes through the room. The group of Yong members stand up, all of them swaying with drink/ They begin to radiate, the jewels on their persons making you itch. You shiver under the feeling, fingers twitching as you circle the edge of the bar to put some distance between you and them.

You don’t know who the Jiangshi man is. You’ve never seen him among the few of his organization that come into the Jade Dragon. He seems to be sound of mind, unlike the Yong members, and despite being outnumbered, the Jiangshi man carries one of the darkest jewels on the Caste, capable of destructive, severe psychic attacks, and shadow manipulation if he’s strong enough. 

Daniil uses sapphire too, but you know based on observation he only knows how to use it for brute force, incapable of developing his skillset to the finer uses of the jewel. And he’s piss drunk, wavering as he stares down at his opponent as though he can intimidate him, his sapphire power flickering in comparison to the Jianghi’s pulsing.

“We didn’t do anything,” Loro practically whines. “You’re just useless at cards. Why don’t you go back to your side of the street, ghoul.” 

“I want the money you stole from me.”

The stranger takes a few more steps into the bar and you feel him take a deep breath. You react faster than any of the other Radiants in the bar, dropping to the floor as a blast of energy erupts from him. Wood cracks and furniture goes flying, blown out in every direction. You hear the shriek and shatter of glass as someone tumbles over the top of the bar behind you. 

You turn to see Loro groaning on the floor, covered in glass and alcohol. His arm is at an odd angle as he attempts to roll and remove the weight from it. As someone who uses a red jewel, you know he’ll be fine. Radiants who use red jewels can heal faster as well as move faster, but not only is Loro’s reaction time affected by how drunk he is, his spinel jewel is significantly lighter on the Jewel Caste in comparison to sapphire. 

More energy slams into the bar, making it rattle and splinter. You’re not in the Jiangshi’s line of sight, so whatever wave of destruction is pouring from him misses you. Chanda lets out a feral scream, hot anger licking through the room like flame. Like Loro, her jewel sits on the red spectrum, her ruby making her stronger and faster but also feral in battle, a warlord in her own right. 

It doesn’t matter, though. Ruby is still a medium color on the Jewel Caste, too light to take on a sapphire Radiant in their right mind. She joins Loro in being tossed over the counter, landing half on top of him and making him yell out as his wounded arm snaps again. You grimace. 

You don’t dare look around the corner, ducking further and covering your head when something takes a chunk out of the bar just above you. Water sprays you, the handle of a soda gun hitting your shoulder as it goes flying. Liquid pools around your feet alongside glass and wood chips. 

“Fuckers,” you hiss. “Stop destroying my bar!” 

It isn’t technically your bar, but you’re the only one who cares enough to oversee it. Now, you let it get torn apart as the Jiangshii and Daniil go at it, their sapphire energy slamming into everything around you. You feel their jewels throw with power, begging you to take them, to rip them off the men’s bodies and make them your own.

Take me. Use me. Take me. Use me. 

There’s a guttural yell followed by something wet spraying over the bar. It hits your skin, warm. You don’t need to look to know it’s blood, frowning as the room falls into utter silence.

There’s only one sapphire signature pulsing in the bar now a few yards away from you - not Daniil, you surmise. You don’t sense either of the stranger’s that had been with Daniil in his friends, their light colors stomped out on the first blast of energy from the Jiangshi. 

Heavy boots thud against concrete, moving in your direction. Fuck. Sapphire energy makes the air quiver as he moves closer, rounding the bar in front of you. You uncover your head and look up. The Jiangshi is covered in blood and the fleshy remains of someone - you don’t know who. His pupils are dilated, hungry, wild as the power of his jewels race through him, making him feel like a god. 

Take me. Use me. Take me. Use me. 

The man lifts a hand and you feel the energy shiver around him for his killing blow. You click the charm on your bracelet and the world shatters. 

A high-pitched screech erupts in the Jade Dragon. The man yells, dropping to his knees, hands clapped over his ears. It won’t help him drown out the sound of the high-frequency screaming coming from your bracelet, interrupting his ability to radiate. 

You feel nausea roll through your stomach and your world spins. The noise is unbearable, your eyes watering and your blood screaming. It feels like you’re being torn apart, your natural frequency being shredded as the bracelet continues to scream.

Your vision is blurry but you reach for a broken shard of glass. It cuts into your palm, the sting far outweighed by the pain of your wailing bracelet. The Jiangshi man tries to reach for you, the veins in his neck bulging, eyes wide and blood red as his frequency scatters, energy frantic and unsure where to go. 

Pain is the one thing most Radiants can’t stand. The world is handed to them on a silver platter, wealth and opportunities given to them simply because they can access a power that most people in the world can’t. They cannot fathom a world full of suffering and agony, because they’ve never had to endure to survive. 

It is their greatest weakness and your biggest strength. 

Gripping the shard of glass tight, you drive it through the man’s neck. It’s messy, the artery exploding under the sharp edge of the weapon. You cringe, letting it go as the blood floods his neck. He gurgles, wavering under the onslaught of the sound coming from your bracelet as he tries to grip the piece of glass and remove it. 

He doesn’t, choking until he loses the strength to remain on his knees, falling backwards and collapsing onto the floor. You watch, shivering as your mind nearly splits at the sound before his fingers twitch a final time. Only then do you press the charm on your bracelet again.

Silence sweeps over the bar. You fall backward, panting and dizzy from the sound. Your entire body shakes. It feels like a knife has carved its way through your skull, rendering you useless and half alive. Everything hurts, the pain throbbing with every breath you take. 

But you work is not done.

You nearly vomit when you roll over. The after effects of having a shatterwave used on you are worse than a hangover or drug withdrawal. Your hands are clammy and slippery with blood when you manage to get on all fours, nearly falling with the fresh wave of pain that slams you.

The sapphires on the Jiangshi’s body call to you like a drug. You feel their pulse, a siren song that you cannot resist as you crawl toward him, hands sliding against the wet concrete. Alcohol mixes with blood, turning the ground pink as you near him. 

Take me. Use me. Take me. Use me. 

Hands shaking, you defile the Jiangshi’s body by ripping his shirt open to reveal the necklace hanging against his sweaty, bloody body, a single pendant with a sapphire set into a cushion of smaller, false sapphires. It is soaked in blood but it doesn’t matter. A jewel is a jewel, and by law, any jewel on his body is yours to take now, so you yank it, popping the chain as you do.  

Power fills you. It immediately overcomes you, knocking you sideways as the world vanishes and there’s nothing but sapphire. Blood rushes through you faster, stronger. A tremor of elation and terror goes through you, leaving you twitching and panting against the dead body of the man whose sapphire you just stole. 

Gritting your teeth, you tamp down on the power. It takes all of your effort, breathing in deeply through your nose and out with your mouth. You taste iron and salt, blood blooming in your mouth as you bite your tongue. You don’t even feel it, the power of the sapphire masking your pain. 

Stomach roiling, you slip and stumble up to your feet. Darkness pulses at the edge of your vision, the room tilting as you lose your balance and stumble against the bartop. Glass bites into your hands, sinking deep into your palm as you fight the sapphire for control as it threatens to overwhelm you and eat you up from the inside out. 

Finally, you gain control. The trembling starts to peter out and the sickness starts to fade as you acclimate to the sapphire, finally calm after a terrifying moment of raging storm. 

Placated, you turn to face the two remaining members of the Jade Dragon twitching on the floor as they try to recover from the shatterwave. They’re both staring at you, eyes bulging both as a result of having suffered from the shatterwave and at seeing you hold and resonate with sapphire without immediately being scored with power. 

They can’t know. 

Chanda tries to react as you sigh. You feel her gather the energy of her rubies but you’re already acting, radiating with the sapphire and striking out toward her with a sharp and precise blow. You don’t even lift your hand to do it, feeling the shape and the size of your slice of energy as it cuts through the air and hits them both.

It is far messier than you intend. You’d wanted a clean slice through them both - efficient, easy to deal with, not gruesome. But you haven’t used jewels in years, and the blow lands on them like an explosive, blasting the two of them backward the same way the Jiangshi killed Daniil. 

You blanch as parts of them both go flying. It’s gory and wet, the perfect picture of what an untrained Radiant can do with a dark jewel. You’re not untrained but you’re certainly out of practice, splattering the two of them the same way a child might paint on a canvas. 

Gore decorates the room, bits of organs and bone covering the walls with blood. A lot of blood. 

It gets the job done, despite not being what you wanted. With extreme effort, you turn around and chuck the sapphire back toward the dead Jiangshi. You immediately feel the need to crawl after it, your skin itching, nervous system turning in on itself as it craves the energy. 

Take me. Use me. Take me. Use me. 

Fighting nausea, you lean on the bar, pulling the bottom of your shirt up to wipe your face. Your fingers are slick with blood, bits of glass embedded in your skin. Small annoyances, in comparison to the way the sapphire screams at you to pick it back up, calls to you, begs you, sings to you-

“What the fuck?” Jungkook’s voice makes you look up at him. He’s standing in the doorway, watching you with wide eyes. 

You have no idea how long he’s been standing there. Under the influence of sapphire, you’d become totally unaware of him, which shames you to no end. You used to be better - needed to be better. Had your old master known you’d barely managed to use sapphire and forgotten about Jungkook, you’d have been punished with being stripped of your jewels and shut in a room for a week with them just out of reach, just enough to make you go through withdrawal while they were right there. 

Jungkook takes a step away from you and you see it. The fear, the trepidation. You shake your head, itching at your arm - the need to itch isn’t real, but the withdrawal from the sapphire is already there, gnawing at you. 

“Not gonna kill you,” your words are a little slurred. “Don’t tell anyone.” 

“You’re a Radiant.”

“You are too.”

He opens and closes his mouth. He hadn’t expected that. “You can use sapphire,” he points out, as though that makes you worse, somehow. Maybe it does. 

“Yeah, well. Shut your mouth about it. Don’t tell Jimin you know.”

“Jimin knows?”

“‘Course he does.” You push off the bar. “Tell him you don’t know what happened out here because of the shatterwave. He’ll know it was me.” 

“I…” Jungkook hesitates. “Alright.” He surveys the bodies - lack there of - face paling. “What now?” 

Outside, a car door shuts. Almost no one drives a car down to this part of the Lower District, and only one person would be doing it directly to the door of the Jade Dragon. 

You turn to Jungkook, pointing at the backroom. “Go in the office,” you whisper. “Tell him the shatterwave kept you incapacitated. Whatever you do, do not tell him you know I can radiate, Jungkook.” 

As Jungkook vanishes to the back, you step in front of the swinging door, breaking the line of vision from the front just as the entrance opens. Jimin steps into the bar, the air turning heavy with his emerald energy as he does. 

Park Jimin looks out of place. He always looks out of place in the dingy light and crooked setting of the Jade Dragon, but now with furniture fractured and strewn across the room, painted in blood and various bits of sinew, the contrast is severe.

Jimin is dressed in a crisp, white suit, not a spec of dirt or dust on him. His blonde hair is slicked back and pristine as his attire. Emerald earrings glitter in his hair, matching the emerald brooch in the shape of a dragon on his suit pocket and the emerald rings on four of his fingers. 

He is the epitome of Armory families, his jewels on display without fear of someone taking them, flexing his wealth and access to the fingest gems in his city. He’s also painfully beautiful, with full lips that usually require cosmetic alteration to achieve and high, rounded cheekbones. His eyes are sharp and intense with unending darkness, a siren gaze, some say. 

Jimin embodies the Yong organization perfectly: regal, proud and elegant as the dragon. Just as deadly. 

Taking a single step into the bar, Jimin’s gaze sweeps the room, taking in the carnage before landing on you standing in the middle of it. You do and say nothing, waiting under the pressure of his emerald aura. The emerald screams at you less than the sapphire, more of an annoyance than it is a demand to take it. 

“Well,” Jimin announces, his voice soft as silk. “This is going to be expensive.”

“Just buy more shitty furniture. It wasn’t pretty before.” 

He gives you a warning glare before walking further into the room, picking his way through the carnage. “Your handy work?”

“Not at first.” 

“I see, let me rephrase the question - what’s yours?” 

“Behind the bar.” 

“Hmm.” 

The sound of his boots clicking feels like he’s loading a gun, each step a bullet sliding into place as he decides whether or not he’s going to fire it. You watch as he drifts toward the bar, stopping when he gets to the dead Jiangshi first. He hums as though he’s impressed, eyes following the blood trail until he gets to the pièce de résistance behind you.

“Explain.”

“They saw.” 

“So you exploded them?”

You wince. “I’m not used to sapphire.” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing in deeply and letting it out. You can feel his emerald energy like a waterfall, all roaring power but contained. “You have fucked up.”

“No,” you correct. “I am not the manager of this bar.” 

Jimin considers this and then shrugs. “Well you’re not wrong. Where is that jackass?”

“Probably face deep in tits.” Jimin crosses his arms over his chest, jeweled fingers tapping his elbow. Then he points at the dead Jiangshi. “Said Daniil and the others cheated him out of cards. He decided killing them wasn’t enough, so I used a shatterwave.” 

“Ah.” He flickers his eyes toward the entrance where you hear the door open behind you. “Ah, Agust, I forgot we had an appointment. As you can see, I’m a bit indisposed at the moment.” 

Strange, crackling energy radiates behind you. Frowning, you look over your shoulder and freeze. 

Standing in the doorway is the man from Market Town that stole a tangerine from Margot’s fruit cart. He’s dressed in the same scuffed and ripped jeans and white t-shirt under a floral shirt. His cat eyes are glittering when they settle on you, his mouth curving wickedly.

I see you, this smile seems to say, making you squirm.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” the tangerine thief - Agust - answers. “It was a bit dull in here.” His dark eyes trail to where Loro and Chanda paint the wall. “That work of art is particularly interesting.” 

“Yes, we’re certainly good at redecorating.” Jimin’s gaze is hard when he looks at you before he turns back to Agust and softens. “Do you mind rescheduling our appointment? It seems I need to get some things in order.” 

Agust looks at Jimin directly in the eyes, like an equal. There is no air of superiority between the two of them, making you wonder where exactly this smug man falls on the spectrum of city authority. Jimin also doesn’t hide the fact that the mess belongs to you. Interesting, considering he’s so adamant on hiding your Radiant. 

Each face of the Armory is familiar to you: the Parks, the Viboras, the Salibs, the Achilleos and the Kims. This man belongs to none of them and yet he has an appointment with Jimin, who is one of the highest running members of the Yong organization.

The respect that Jimin shows the tangerine thief leads to a few possibilities of who he could be. Under the rule of the Armory, there are other smaller and less organized gangs. Circles are not particularly powerful and still concede to the Armory, but they range from loose bands of idiots and thieves to highly organized factions. There are dozens of Circles in the city, but only a few are powerful enough to earn respect, especially from Jimin.

Chewing your lip, your mind runs through a list of possible Circles this man could rank high enough in to matter. White Fang has always worked with the Yong’s well. Their members can sometimes be found hanging out in the Jade Dragon with tight, if not overly polite smiles while they conduct business. While White Fang answers to all of the families of the Armory as is law, they are particularly fond of the Park family. 

But no, you’ve never seen him with White Fang, so it can’t be them.

There is little chance that the tangerine thief belongs to the Midnight Sun. As the largest and most powerful Circle, they are only allied to the Kim family. Though it’s technically illegal for any Circle to declare allyship to only a single governing body, the Kim family sits at the top of the food chain, and being protected by Juwon and his son Seokjin have its strengths.  

You shove the thought of Kim Seokjin away violently.

“Of course.” Agust finally says, eyes flickering from Jimin to you, dark and knowing. “Just give me a call whenever. I’m eager to do business with the Yong organization.” 

Turning to leave, you watch Agust with predatory stillness. You still can’t get a read on him for where he belongs on the Jewel Caste and that doesn’t sit well with you. He opens the door and exits, turning over his shoulder to shoot you a wink like before and then he’s gone.

For some reason, Len’s warning from earlier comes back to you: The world will end in midnight and obsidian.

THE JEWEL CASTE

*IN ORDER FROM TOP TO BOTTOM THEN LEFT TO RIGHT OF POWER.

Lights

Opal → Selenite → Diamond Rose Quartz → Morganite → Kunzite

Mids

Jade → Peridot → Flourite Jasper → Spinel →Ruby

Darks

Turquoise → Azurite → SapphireTourmaline → Jet → Onyx

Corrosives

Emerald→Garnet →Midnight →Obsidian

JEWEL ATTRIBUTES

*A non-exhaustive list of skills associated with specific gem colors.

White Gems: Useful for basic tasks like illumination, minor telekinesis, or small barriers and warding etc. Pink Gems: Generate light-based energy, minor protection, some elemental influence, and weak energy attacks. Green Gems: Medium protection and warding, decent energy attacks, influence healing, and elemental control. Red Gems: Destructive energy and weapons/fighting mastery, manipulation over emotions and give superior senses.  Blue: Powers include destructive energy, shadow manipulation, and mental influence. Black Gems: Capable of bending reality, manipulating snatches of time, strong mental influence, creation and destruction of energy.

TAG LIST: @astroodledream @myynameisbuckyy @idkjustlovingbts @hobibbb @codeinebelle @rinkud @wobblewobble822 @itsjaneeettt @veronawrites @agustamygdala7 @itsmina29

PLEASE DOUBLE CHECK YOU HAVE YOUR TAGGING ON. MOST OF YOU DO NOT HAVE TAGS TURNED ON AND I CANNOT TAG YOU. IF YOUR TAG IS NOT HERE, IT'S BECAUSE YOUR TAG DID NOT WORK.

[thehollowwriter]

Ayo just wanna add my two cents here

The reason Arcane season 1 was so well written and incredible at show don't tell is because it balanced it with properly explaining things to the audience via character dialogue and whatnot. There were lots of people who didn't understand what was going on because they didn't get tons of exposition, sure, but that doesn't mean show don't tell can't be done poorly nor does it mean plotholes or inconsistency or criticism can be waved off with "show don't tell"

Show don't tell is a writing *tool*. A TOOL to help you tell a part of the story or piece of information in a more concise, less clunky way. It can help you understand characters emotions or feelings without using words. A character doesn't need to sit and say "wow he sacrificed himself for us" because the audience understands that already without dialogue. Show don't tell is an excellent tool when dialogue isn't necessary to understand what's happening.

It is not the only way to tell a story. And you cannot properly tell a story at all without some form of tell. That's how storytelling works.

Plot points and conflicts that came out of nowhere? Random character choices that make no sense? Put of character behaviour? Those are not "It's show don't tell you didn't nust pay attention" problems. Those are basic storytelling problems. It's one thing if some people didn't pay attention to what was being told, but entirely another if nothing is being shown. If there is something that's being shown? It doesn't help if it's hard to find or nonsensical.

Subtext is fantastic, but you are not telling the story well if I have to micro focus on a character's brief expression in the background of a flashback scene to understand a current plotpoint or character motivation. (A bit of an exaggeration, but you get my point). You can't have subtext if there is no text or if the text is impossible to read.

And also subtext means nothing if there's a legitimate plothole or poor writing or lack of character motivation. As op said, the word document is blank! The text is a scrambled mess! Or nobody thought to make sure the text made sense in context of the plot or characters. The text forgot what character it exists for!

Furthermore, sure, while a lot of criticism towards Arcane Season 1 was bad faith and due to poor media comprehension, that doesn't mean every possible criticism is wrong because of "lack of media literacy."

Yes Arcane is great. But it's not above criticism. It's not flawless. And trying to frame people who criticise it as media illiterate or homophobic or whatever is just stupid. Especially since part of media literacy is engaging CRITICALLY with a piece of media.

Show don't tell is a good writing tool, but it's not the only way to tell a good story nor does it automatically make a story good. And just because the last season did subtext well doesn't mean this one did either.

Think about it like this. Can I understand what's going on or what a character is thinking or intends to do without dialogue? If the answer is yes, then go right ahead with show don't tell. If the answer is no or "yeah but only if you look through it frame by frame" then you either need some dialogue or better hints.

Show don't tell only works if there is actually something being shown that can be understood without dialogue. Arcane Season 2 did not do show don't tell well, if they did it at all.

"You want everything spoonfed" sir, the plate is empty. We're starving

"It's about subtext!" sir, the microsoft word file is blank

"The microexpressions!" sir, that was a micro-microexpression

"Show don't tell!" sir, the theater is closing, there is no show

[taelophone]

Luigi M; A Look ⋆˙⟡ — A Luigi Mangione Analysis ⋆⭒˚｡⋆. A/N: I am not claiming to know or understand him as a person lol. I simply wanna do a lil surface dive on him as a person to try and shed some light on what I think he's like!

Please note; All links are tweets Luigi himself has reposted, or are things from his mouth that he has typed. VIA Reddit, twitter, etc etc. All retweets will be marked with *

⟡ Luigi as a person (good, and bad)

⋆ After many many hours of scouring this man’s socials and any sort of archive of him I can find, I’ve gathered a handful of interpretations and ideas as to what Luigi was like prior to his surgery. And I say that last part specifically because he showed a v drastic change directly after his surgery, and literally went M.I.A.

Luigi is a very empathetic and intelligent man, this is a surface level fact that we can all agree on. He’s been shown to go out of his way for other people even when he doesn’t have to. But please don’t let that fool you this man is a KEYBOARD. WARRIOR.

⋆ He LIVES for the debate. In fact, he fucking loves debating. I wouldn’t go as far as saying he loves arguing, but if there’s a point being made and he feels strongly about it, he will type pages upon pages of text explaining in great detail exactly why you are wrong.

He’s said time and time before in a retweeted post that freethinking* is a very important part of life, and here’s where I say he’s…a bit of a hypocrite. His love for debate kind of keeps him from seeing another person’s POV, which makes for a hell of a storm when disagreeing with him. In short, he’s stubborn. A very stubborn man, but he is open to hearing the other person out versus not listening to them at all.

And I have a strong feeling his stubborn demeanor coincides with the fact that he knows he’s smart. Don’t get me wrong, he seems like he usually knows what he’s talking about, but that’s the problem. If you tell him about something that’s been bothering you or going wrong in your life, he will spit out 99 solutions for you. He’s the kind of guy where he will probably resort to both comfort AND unsolicited advice, although its likely he got better at the latter later down the line.

⋆ Shying away from him being stubborn, there’s another key part of this man that I DONT SEE BEING TALKED ABOUT ENOUGHHH OMG. SASSY MAN. SASSY SASSY SAASSSSYY MAN.

You can expect shade, eye rolls, silent treatment, head shakes, and possibly even a snarky comment from him. He’s all about becoming a better person and stuck on self betterment, but he is not afraid to show his visible disdain for something. He has very dry and unexpected humor, but he doesn’t realize it. He’s funny in a way where he doesn’t mean to be.

But when he’s trying to make a joke? Oh god help me he’s so so so cheesy and so corny that it makes you just wanna curl up and die (but no seriously, he’s so corny that it’s funny). His sense of humor is so cheesy, think old vine and 2018 humor.

⋆ Another key part about him is his love for travel, and being a “geek” by nature! This man loooooovesss his Pokemon, let me tell you. Was in a whole subreddit dedicated to Pokemon go, word committed for half a page about backpacking essentials, and was almost always posted up somewhere that wasn’t his house. I can’t say he’s the type for spontaneous trips, as the only time he has been known to take was during the beginning of his breakdown.

Because of this, I feel like he’s more likely to be a marvel and MCU fan. He also read a couple of the Harry Potter books, and we can assume that he liked the series enough to rate them 5/5s lol

⟡ My takeaways. Deeper analysis

⋆ Luigi gives me massive INTJ vibes. Contrary to popular belief, I feel he’s more introverted rather than extroverted. He’s expressed clear comfort in solitude, and aligns perfectly with the personality category.

INTJ description;

“INNOVATIVE,INDEPENDENT, STRATEGIC, LOGICAL, RESERVED, INSIGHTFUL. DRIVEN BY THEIR OWN ORIGINAL IDEAS TO ACHIEVE IMPROVEMENTS.”

However, I could see him being an ISTP, who are characterized as

“ACTION-ORIENTED, LOGICAL, ANALYTICAL, SPONTNEOUS, RESERVED, INDEPENDENT. ENJOY ADVENTURE, SKILLED AT UNDERSTANDING THINGS.”

⋆ He’s a very big geek! More than likely has a soft spot for nostalgia content or things that remind him of childhood. We can expect him to be into things like Ben10, Cartoon Network, old Nickelodeon, and other shows such as The Office, Law & Order, true crime, and philosophy content!

⋆ Expect him to be a giving lover. Would absolutely love words of affirmation, quality time, and acts of service. He’d be more than willing to give you gifts and shower you in lavishes, but it’s not his main love language as he believes love goes beyond materialism and who can spend the most on who. Handmade gifts are a go! Expect 3D printed trinkets, pictures, cards, etc etc.

⋆ Absolute communication god. He’s stubborn, but he’s not stubborn enough to not tell you when something is wrong. It’s just not his speed and he thinks it’s pointless to not tell someone, especially your partner, when he’s upset or what’s got him in a bad mood. He also expects this same behavior from you as well. The whole “I don’t wanna tell you what’s wrong” shindig would annoy the FUCK out of him. FAST.

⋆ He doesn’t give possessive or jealous lover type ngl. Growing up with two sisters and being absolutely showered in female companionship, he understands how that could possibly make you feel and doesn’t even blame you for it. As a result, he’d be extremely understanding if you were friends with men.

⋆ Please don’t ever get in an argument with this man lmfao. That is one battle you cannot and WILL NOT win. If it’s petty and a matter of “I didn’t say so and so,” he WILL show up with receipts. Would very much start busting out his big boy words just to confuse you. Catch him throwing old English into the mix. But if it’s a legitimate argument, and you have a reason to be upset, he will apologize before it can even get off track.

⟡ Luigi’s Brain

⋆ Alright kids here’s where we get a little controversial. What’s going on in Luigi’s mind?

I just wanna start this section off by saying I am not a licensed psychologist, nor do I major in psychology. I have no ties to this topic whatsoever, and am just speaking from what I’ve seen in myself, and what I’ve seen in him.

Neurodivergence. Luigi has a habit of exuding very neurodiverse behavioral patterns that I could tie to one of two things. Autism, or OCD.

⋆ Luigi openly expressed a lot about his wills and wants on his various social media platforms, and one thing I’ve noticed is his strong need or drive for self-improvement. Please don’t get me wrong, it is incredibly important to want to improve yourself and that is a perfectly healthy goal to have. However, Luigi’s drive for self-improvement and ‘getting better’ had a direct impact on his relationships, lifestyle, and more. This is likely what influenced his 6 month period of self-isolation and cutting off his family members.

Perfectionism “type” OCD is a branch of the umbrella term of OCD in which can be identified by repetitive behaviors, such as excessive exercise, something he continued to engage in even with a bad back, insistence on specific routines or ways to do things to achieve perfection, and occasionally rigid and inflexible thinking patterns, as I described him being likely to have above.

not everyone experiences OCD the same way, and me and Luigi are obviously going to experience it differently considering we are two completely different individuals. As someone with perfectionism OCD, I am just calling what I see in my eyes.

⋆ I saw someone make the argument a while back that Luigi could possibly be a narcissist, and while I don't necessarily deny that he can come off as pompous in some of his tweets, I do not think this is the case.

For Luigi to be a narcissist means that he wouldn't be able to make meaningful connections with people around him. Every person that has met or come into contact with Luigi only had good things to say, but I'd like to focus on his...straightforward or out-of-touch* tweets.

Luigi is a no-nonsense man. He's very left-brained and thinks as such, literally. He demonstrates a tendency to solve and think and plow through anything he registers as a problem. Have you ever asked "well, why can't we just print more money?" when told about the cash crisis? That's exactly whats going on in this tweet.

His first instinct when faced with the topic of Japan's birth rate is to try and solve it. Luigi may be hyperfixated on stats and data, which would clarify why he allegedly word-vomited to the hoes about birth rate data. He's not trying to come off as rude or ignorant, and frankly, I don't really think his tweet is that crazy either, he just might not know that this isn't something considered a social topic.

I feel like we're ignoring a lot of his more out-of-touch* (re)tweets, though. Scrolling through Luigi's page, I can understand what he's trying to get at, though lol. He's made it very clear that he's an intense supporter of complete equality*, he doesn't want anybody to be undermined in their contributions to society. Regardless of gender, sexual identity, race, etc. But again, he's thinking so literally and has trouble effectively communicating that in a way that is "neurotypical." This paired with the way he word vomits, and just his overall typing style and cadence, It just feels like he may be on the spectrum!

I do not have a link for this as his Reddit account was fucking obliterated, BUT, I do remember it being rumored that Luigi was apart of several neurodivergent support groups and subreddits!

I hope I helped humanize him a bit more for you guys! Lmk what you think of this little summary as it’s my first time doing something like this EVER lmfao😭

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 7.4k (shorter chap woop) tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Year: Early 2018

He hasn’t been answering your phone calls. Or your texts. A growing sense of anxiety and worry forms in your gut. You've trained yourself to push down the more insidious thoughts that threaten your already deteriorating relationship. It’s been a long day for you. From work, to your annoying mother, and now to your M.I.A boyfriend. You wanted to relax at home with a movie and soothing music, maybe even food. However, it’s been hard to eat for the past few weeks. 

The last place you wanted to be was at some house party with snobby people who probably never have realized the true meaning of a dollar. The music is loud and the blue lights do nothing but further annoy you, reminding you of just how much you hate parties. Pushing through the throngs of people, either too drunk to high to give your rudeness a huff. 

It’s not hard to spot him, but the sight makes you dig your nails into your palms. Feeling bile rise in your throat when a girl—one you’ve never seen before—is getting too close and personal with your man. And worst of all? He’s not even pushing her away. He’s obviously drunk. Still, you assumed he would have that much decency to push back flirting advances from random girls. He always did.  

But things have been changing recently, slowly but surely. Ever since that happened. 

Your feet work quickly, forcing yourself to stay determined and not break down and cry right now. You’ve been doing too much of that. “Satoru.” You call out, voice loud and firm enough that he swivels his head to meet your eyes on just the first try. The girl does so also, head tilting in a scrutinizing way that you hate. “Are you drunk?”

The tint on his cheeks is proof enough. But so is his lazy grin. “What do you think?”

The girl giggles, leaning into your boyfriend’s arm. Watching her do so sends a wave of fury down your spine. You would have stepped in if it weren’t for Satoru finally being a decent man and pulling away from her. “Sorry, you gotta go.”

“Excuse me?” The girl huffs, scowling in disgust. “For what? I thought we were having a good time.”

So, they were together the whole night, huh? They probably would have stayed together if you didn’t make an appearance. What if they would have taken things further? What if Satoru imitated something? You can already feel the familiar tingle at the back of your throat, turning around and heading back for the door. He follows, grabbing your arm in an attempt to stop you. “Y/N—“

“Don’t.” You grit, yanking your arm away and pushing your way back out to the front of the large house, ignoring some of a drunken couple’s protests as you ruin their make-out session. When you make your way onto the sidewalk, you feel a more insistent tug at your wrist that causes you to face him fully. Meeting his glazed-over eyes with your own teary pair, biting down on your quivering lip. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why are you ignoring me?”

He sighs, running a hand down his face when he lets go of you. “I’m not ignoring you, Y/N. I’m sorry, I should have told you I’d be out. But it was last minute.”

A scoff falls from your lips. “Last minute, huh? Is that what you call it? Hanging around some random girl and acting like you don’t have a worried girlfriend waiting for you?”

“Y/N—“

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask, voice cracking. Your tears now flow freely down your face, eyes red. The expression you adorn does nothing but break his heart. He hates seeing you cry, he always has. And the small, sober part of him is cursing at himself for being such a jackass tonight. But the dominant, drunk side wants no part of an argument tonight. 

“No, I didn’t. I’d never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“I want you to be a good boyfriend for once!” You croak out, pushing him back by his shoulders. “Y-you know what I’m going through, you know how hard it’s been. And what do you do? You go out and party, you don’t tell me, and I find some random girl all up on you. And then you smiled like it was funny. D-do you know how much you’re hurting me even more, Satoru?” The trembling of your voice pokes at his heartstrings. 

Satoru stares at you, his expression faltering. For a moment, you think you see guilt flicker across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by something colder—defensiveness. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, alright? I was just...blowing off steam.”

“Blowing off steam?” you repeat, your voice rising as fresh anger bubbles in your chest. “You call this blowing off steam? Ignoring me? Letting some girl throw herself all over you? You’re unbelievable.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his movements. “What do you want me to do, Y/N? Stay at home and sulk all the time? I can’t—” He stops himself, biting his lip, but you know what he was going to say. 

“You can’t what, Satoru?” Your voice cracks again, but this time it’s laced with more rage than sorrow. “You can’t deal with me? With everything I’m going through? You promised you’d be there for me. You said we’d get through this together.”

“I am here for you!” he snaps, but the slight slur in his voice takes the edge off his words. “But you’re acting like I can’t breathe without you questioning every little thing I do. I’ve been going through shit too, Y/N.”

You suck in a shaky breath. “That’s not fair,” you whisper, your fists clenching at your sides. “You know it’s not. If I didn’t care—if I didn’t love you—I wouldn’t be here, trying to fix this.”

He exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t cheat on you, Y/N. I swear I didn’t. But I—” He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t know how to handle all of this, okay? It’s a lot.”

Your breath hitches, his words cut deeper than he probably intended. “You think this isn’t a lot for me too?” you ask, your voice trembling. “I’ve been trying so hard, Satoru. To hold on. To be strong. For both of us. But you’re slipping away, and I don’t know how to bring you back. I know how to handle things just as much as you do.”

He looks up then, his blue eyes clearer now, filled with something that looks almost like regret. For a brief second, you think he might apologize—might say the words you so desperately need to hear. But instead, he shakes his head and says, “Maybe we just need some space.”

The world tilts beneath you. His words echo in your mind, louder than the music still blaring from the house behind you. “Space?” you repeat, barely able to say the word. “You want to take a break?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice quiet, almost defeated. “I just...I think we’re both hurting each other more than we’re helping.”

You laugh bitterly, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. “No, Satoru. You’re hurting me. You’re the one who stopped trying. You’re the one who’s giving up.” He flinches at your words, but he doesn’t argue. And somehow, that hurts even more. You shake your head, stepping back from him. “If space is what you want, then fine. But don’t expect me to be here waiting when you figure yourself out.”

You turn and walk away, your heart shattering with every step. This isn’t how you imagined the night would go. It isn’t how you imagined your relationship would go. But as you leave him standing there on the sidewalk, you can’t help but wonder if this was inevitable all along.

The same song begins to play. Because soon,  his arms are wrapping around you before you even know it, shoving his face into the side of your neck. “No, no, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m drunk, okay? Please don’t leave, please. L-let’s just go home, my parents aren’t there. Please, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

And like a broken record, you give in. Because the broken part of you still craves him. His touch, his comforting hugs, his words. His everything. You feel like a puzzle with pieces too big or small to fit, some pieces lost. But with Satoru, he makes them fit. He finds those pieces of you; the ones you can’t find yourself. In a way, you know things are failing and falling apart. 

But you’re laying back in his bed, feeling the constant vibration of your phone. Texts from your mother and you have no doubt she’s blowing up your phone about the way you snuck out and demanding to know where you are. It’s interesting, you’re twenty-one but she treats you like a kid. All because you still live with her. 

Your heart feels heavy, your stomach twisting with nausea and you’re not even the drunk one. His hands hold your teary cheeks, meeting your gaze with watery ones of his own. Combined tears wet his pillow until there’s no more to give out. He’s been crying with you, but sometimes it feels fake. 

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask again, whispering in a shaky tone. 

His lips purse and he shakes his head. “…no, I didn’t. I told you, I’d never.”

You search his face, looking for cracks in the foundation of his words. His sorrowful eyes, flushed cheeks, and trembling hands—all of it feels sincere, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Not so much anymore. “You’re sure?” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. 

“I’m sure,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I swear to you, Y/N. I’d never do that to you. Never.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear on your cheek, and for a moment, the warmth of his touch almost convinces you.

Almost.

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily as his hands cradle your face. You want to believe him. You need to believe him. But the doubt lingers like a shadow, clawing at the edges of your mind. “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?” you ask, your voice breaking.

Satoru flinches, his hands momentarily faltering before steadying again. “You’re not losing me,” he says quickly, almost desperately. “I know I’ve been...different lately, but it’s not because I don’t care. I just—” He pauses, his gaze dropping as if searching for the right words. “I don’t know how to handle this, Y/N. I don’t know how to be what you need right now. There’s so much and I…” his voice trails off, fearing he’s saying too much and it’ll only make you feel worse. Make himself feel worse. 

Your chest tightens, his confession cutting deeper than you expected. “I don’t need you to have all the answers, Satoru. I just need you to try. To be honest with me. To stop shutting me out. You…you’re the only one—you’re all I have right now.”

“I’m trying,” he insists, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I swear I’m trying. But it feels like...like no matter what I do, it’s not enough. And I hate it. I hate that I’m hurting you.”

The rawness in his voice pulls at something in you, making it harder to keep the walls around your heart intact. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression mirrors your own. “I don’t want to lose you, Satoru,” you say softly. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one fighting for us.”

“You’re not,” he whispers, his hands tightening slightly on your face as if afraid you’ll slip away. “You’re not, Y/N. I know I’ve messed up, but I’ll do better. I promise. Just...don’t give up on me. Please.”

The plea in his voice, the tears in his eyes—they’re enough to make the broken pieces of your heart shift, trying to fit back together even if they don’t quite align. Against your better judgment, you nod, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whisper. “But this is your last chance, Satoru. I mean it.”

“I know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t mess this up. I promise.” But Satoru isn’t the best at promises. He’s only good at making them for others, not keeping them for himself. 

As he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if you might vanish, you can’t help but wonder how many more promises you’ll let him break before there’s nothing left of you to give. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, hoping—maybe foolishly—that this time will be different. Because he’s all you have. All you know. He knows you inside and out—the way your voice wavers when you’re holding back tears, the way your hands fidget when you’re nervous, the way you laugh like it’s the only thing keeping you from breaking. And you know him just as deeply. Every freckle on his skin, every scar that tells a story, every mole you’ve discovered in moments of intimacy. You’ve memorized him like a favorite book, reading him over and over until the lines blur but still feel familiar.

You two are like each other’s canvases—painted with touches, kisses, and shared memories, even the messy ones. Every fight, every tear-streaked night, every whispered “I’m sorry” adds another layer to the masterpiece that is you and him. But lately, it feels like the colors are running, bleeding into one another until the picture is unrecognizable. And you don’t know if you can fix it, or if you even should. Never did you think that things would change so much, and all because of one failed situation. 

What a weak body you have, what a weak person you are. 

He holds you tighter, his fingers threading through your hair as if grounding himself in your presence. “You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “I know I’ve been a mess, but I swear I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us.”

But his promises feel like paint on a waterlogged canvas—fading, smudged, and far too fragile. Still, you nod, letting the comfort of his warmth lull you into silence. Because no matter how fractured you feel, no matter how much the doubt weighs on your chest, he’s all you have. You can’t handle the thought of facing everything alone now, can’t handle the thought of not having someone to hug you when you burst down in tears. 

You hate the way things are now, but you’ve sunk too deep into him. And him the same. Over time, you feel like he will retract his hold from you before you do so yourself. You can almost feel it coming, one way or another. It’s why you’re holding him tighter, pressing your body deeper into his. Because you know you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself. Awaiting the inevitable hurts so bad. Knowing that no matter what, your end is visible. You can see the finish line just a few yards away. It’s like a race, and you’re letting Satoru win. Envisioning him running his long legs to the checkered line with a smile on his face like he’s happy—relieved. You don’t want to hold him, that’s the last thing you want to do. However, you’re being as selfish as you can be right now. Before every privilege is stripped from you in a cold manner that will leave you shivering for warmth. But his presence is something. And for now, that’s enough to keep you here and sane. 

Little did you know, you'd win that race before he did. You just needed that little push. He's the hare, and you're the tortoise.

You stay in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a constant reminder of the closeness you’ve always shared. It feels almost like an illusion, the peace between you both. But underneath, there’s a tension that hasn’t quite loosened, a thread pulled tight between the two of you, holding you close but threatening to snap at the slightest tug. His grip tightens, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer as if trying to fuse your two worlds together. The quiet hum of the room feels almost suffocating now. Your phone continues to buzz with your mother’s increasingly frantic texts, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that right now. Not with Satoru’s breath warm on your neck and his hands gently caressing your skin. Not when it’s easier to let him hold you in this fragile moment of peace. 

You close your eyes, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. The quietness stays for a long moment, But when he speaks, it’s almost a whisper, like he’s afraid of the truth that might spill out.

“I’ll try. I’ll be here for you, Y/N. I swear it.”

You wonder if you can truly believe him this time. If you can let yourself hope that things might really change. But the doubt is a familiar companion, lingering in the shadows, waiting to remind you of the cracks in his promises. Still, for tonight, you let it go. You let yourself sink into him, giving into the small piece of comfort he offers, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

You wake up in a cold sweat, dried tears staining your cheeks. Your stomach feels sensitive, nails already digging into your palms so hard that the skin is growing red and prickly. Every emotion you felt from that dream—nightmare—whatever it was feels ten times more real. You don’t know why you’re having these weird dreams about something from years ago. 

But it still hurts all the same, nonetheless. 

You still feel hollow, drowned, and ready to pour your heart out into your pillow. But it’s morning and time to get up for bed. Christmas Eve is in three days and you’re just counting down until when you won’t have to go into work.  Going through your routine, getting Koji ready for the day, opening the door for Sana. Leaving your place of solitude, it feels like you barely even lived through this morning. 

The chill of the morning air hits your skin as you step outside, tugging your coat tighter around you. The weight of your dream lingers, like a fog that refuses to lift. You keep telling yourself it was just a dream, just a memory from a time you’ve tried so hard to bury. But it clings to you like a ghost, whispering doubts into your ear, even as you force yourself to move through the motions. you can’t help but glance up at the sky, the gray clouds reflecting the heaviness in your chest. Christmas Eve is in three days, and you can’t wait to take a break from not just work—from everything.

If only escaping your past was as easy as flipping the calendar to a new year.

Satoru texts you around the 2-hour mark that he’ll be going over to your place soon to see Koji and bring the gifts he got. You let Sana know of the change, she replies back with a simple ‘okay!’

You sigh, willing yourself to forget about the drama your life entails, and focus on your work. 

However, another thought is creeping in through the door, and this time—it’s not such a bad one. You feel a fluttering sensation in your gut, holding back a peal of stifled laughter as the memory of last night makes its presence known. After the whole shirt incident, Suguru stayed. He kept his word about not making anything weird, and you two ended with a simple chat and a movie. It felt nice.

Of course, there were hints of lingering peeks, that strange tension tossed up in the air that neither of you fully addressed. But it’s fine, it didn’t mean anything at the end of the day. Although, when it was time for him to leave, you did have a second of hesitation about whether you should hug him or simply say goodbye. He decided for you when he carefully opened his arms up, you followed suit. 

Inhaling his scent felt heavenly. Manly, but also feminine at the same time. An earthly scent that felt like hints of incense. The memory of his embrace lingers like the faintest trace of his cologne, warm and comforting. It wasn’t just the way he held you—it was the way he made you feel. Secure. Understood. Like you weren’t just surviving, but living, even if just for that moment.  

You haven't hugged a man in so long. You forgot how good they hug. 

You shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips despite yourself. It wasn’t anything. It shouldn’t be anything. Suguru’s always been like that—gentle, kind, and just a little too perceptive for his own good. He knew exactly when to stay and exactly what you needed without you even having to say it. Still, you can’t ignore the way your heartbeat picked up when his arms wrapped around you, the way your cheek brushed against his shoulder, and how your fingers had almost lingered a little too long against his back. It felt natural, but also entirely new. 

Suguru’s presence was so easy, so effortless. It felt like slipping into an old favorite sweater, soft and familiar but with a spark of something you couldn’t quite place. You’d been so wrapped up in keeping everything together, in pushing through every day for Koji’s sake, that you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be seen.  

You wonder if Satoru holds the same longing you do. 

You shake the thought away as quickly as it comes. Don’t think about him. There’s no point in overthinking any of this.  

“Hello, you must be Koji’s father.” Sana greets Satoru who stands in the doorway. With him, two armfuls of gifts. Even more on the floor next to his feet. 

Simply nodding and looking over her shoulder to see Koji eating his lunch. “And you’re the babysitter.” Without much else, he carefully pushes past her, bringing in the gifts. “Mind getting the rest? Thanks.”

She nods, grabbing what was left on the floor before bringing it in, closing and locking the door. When she turns back around, Koji is in his father’s embrace. She smiles at the scene. “Ms. Y/N told me you’d be coming. He’s been good so far, he’s just eating his lunch now.”

“That’s good to hear,” Satoru replies, pulling away from his son. Doing a quick scan of the place before his eyes land back on the young woman. “How long have you been watching my son again?”

“A couple of years.”

He hums, walking closer to her. “And you’re how old?”

Sana blinks, surprised by the question. "I'm twenty," she says cautiously, her polite smile wavering slightly under his scrutiny.  

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "Twenty, huh? Pretty young to be taking care of kids."  

“I’ve been babysitting since I was sixteen,” she replies, straightening her posture. “I’m studying early childhood education, so it’s not just a job to me. I care about Koji.”  

His expression softens a fraction, and he glances back at his son, who’s happily munching away at his sandwich. “He does seem to like you,” Satoru admits, his tone less probing now.  

“He’s a great kid,” Sana says warmly. “Very smart, just like his mother.”  

That earns her a faint smile. “Yeah, just like his mother.” He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the counter. “So, Y/N told you I’d be stopping by today?”  

“Yes, she mentioned it when I got here this morning.” 

Satoru nods, tapping his fingers against his forearm thoughtfully. “Good. Thanks for helping out today. I know it’s probably not easy juggling school and babysitting.”  

“It’s manageable,” Sana replies, sensing a subtle change in his demeanor. “Koji makes it worth it.”  

Satoru’s gaze lingers on her for a moment longer before he straightens up. “I’ll take over from here. You can go ahead and clock out early if you want.”  

“Oh, are you sure?”  

“Yeah,” he says, waving her off. “Enjoy the rest of your day. I’ve got this.”  

Sana hesitates briefly, glancing at Koji, who’s still blissfully unaware of the conversation. “Alright then. Have a good evening, Mr. Gojo.”  

As she gathers her things and heads for the door, she feels his eyes on her. It’s not hostile, but it’s assessing. Like he’s trying to gauge something about her. She doesn’t dwell on it, though—whatever it is, it’s not her place to question. “Oh!” She turns around as if she just remembered something. “Ms. Y/N leaves a list. It’s taped to the—”

“I don’t need a list to take care of my son.” He cuts her off smoothly, his one eyebrow raising. “Thanks again, have a good day.”

She falters, once again caught a little off guard. This is her first time meeting him, and while she’s of course seen the articles and comments about the drama surrounding the small family, she has no bias. In fact, she sympathizes greatly with you for going through all this alone. As she’s leaving the apartment, she can’t help the small opinion of Satoru that he’s already given her. 

He’s so intimidating!

After she leaves, Satoru focuses back on his son—this shitty apartment. He hasn’t explicitly voiced his opinions out to you—of course you already know what they are. And as you said before, it’s all you could afford, and Koji’s happy. However, he can’t stop himself from grimacing at the so-called ‘decorations’. This place needs some serious revamping. 

“Hey, buddy?”

Koji looks over, wiping his mouth. “Yes, Papa?”

“When you’re done eating, want to help me with something?” And Koji doesn’t need to be told anymore. He loves helping—especially his mother and father. So he nods excitedly, practically scarfing down the rest of his sandwich. Bubbling with giddiness only a child could have. 

Satoru chuckles at his son’s behavior, heart warming. This is the first time he’s doing something festive with Koji. The bitter part of him tells him that he could’ve had more chances to do so if it weren’t for your cowardness. But he shoves that away, focusing on the jolly joy the holidays can bring. 

Today was more tiring than usual, with the cafe gaining more attention, there’s been rush after rush after rush. You can handle it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t wear you down by the time you clock out. And your day isn’t even done yet. Slugging your way to your front door, lazily opening it with your key. Tossing your coat on the nearby rack, your bag with it. 

“I’m ba—”

You sniffle. One. Twice. 

A pinecone-y scent fills your nostrils. Which is strange because you know you have no candles that house that aroma. Confusion, but wariness takes over your senses. Following the sound of laughter down the hall until you’re standing in the living room. 

The sight you see is more than startling. 

Your eyes dart around in a frenzy, landing on one new thing after the next. The small, simple Christmas tree you’d put up last week? Replaced by a towering, impeccably decorated monstrosity with shimmering lights and a star that looks like it came straight out of a luxury catalog. It barely even fits in the room. Luckily, the small picture ornament of you and Koji is still there. But it looks so out of place.

The garlands you’d strung across the walls? Gone, swapped for lush, sparkling ones adorned with oversized ornaments. Even your modest stockings have been replaced with personalized velvet ones embroidered with gold thread, hanging perfectly above a faux fireplace setup that definitely wasn’t there this morning.

It’s like a winter wonderland exploded in your living room, and you’re not sure whether to laugh or scream.

Koji is sitting on the couch, giggling as Satoru playfully pretends to tangle himself in a string of fairy lights. Your son’s laughter is contagious, but you can’t shake the growing irritation bubbling inside you. When Koji notices you, his eyes brighten even more. Gaping and rushing over to your leg, hugging it. “Mama! Mama! Look what Papa and I did! It’s so pretty and there are so many presents!”

There is. There’s a lot of presents. Practically stacking on top of one another under your refurbished tree. Hidden somewhere in the splurge are the gifts Suguru got for you and Koji. 

Gulping, you feel your throat tighten. You feel nothing but overwhelmed. But in the face of your son, you can’t exactly show that. You force a smile as you ruffle Koji’s hair, trying to push down the irritation clawing its way to the surface. “Wow, it’s… definitely something,” you say, your voice strained but managing to sound somewhat amused for Koji’s sake.

Satoru, now untangled from the lights, looks up from the couch with that boyish grin of his. “Do you love it or do you love it?” he asks, gesturing to the extravagant decor like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. 

You blink at him, incredulous—but still attempting to keep yourself calm.  “What… what happened to the decorations we already had?”

“Oh, those?” He waves a dismissive hand. “Let’s just say they weren’t really up to par. I mean, come on, Y/N. That tree you had? It was like something out of a Charlie Brown Christmas special. I couldn’t let Koji’s holiday spirit suffer like that.”

Your jaw tightens, the forced smile threatening to slip. “So, you just… decided to replace everything? Without asking me?”

He stands, brushing off invisible dust from his jeans as if the weight of his decision is nothing. “You were busy, and I figured you’d appreciate coming home to something nice for once. Besides, look at Koji—he’s thrilled!”

Koji tugs at your sleeve, his wide-eyed excitement piercing through your annoyance. “It’s so cool, Mama! Look at all the shiny ornaments! And Papa let me pick out the star!” Your son runs over to show off a few of the many, many presents he has. Showing extra excitement for the heavier and larger ones. “Papa says it’s magical. I want to have a magical Christmas every time, Mama.”

The words, innocent but heavy, almost make you physically kneel down. You feel your chest tighten, your throat closing up even more. The lump that forms is difficult to swallow down. The implication of Satoru’s and your son's words feels a bit degrading. And you don’t blame it on Koji, he means nothing malicious. But for some reason, being faced with the physical line of difference between you and Satoru, watching your son’s face light up in a way that you’ve never seen before…

It reminds you that your enough has never been enough. Each Christmas, it’s dull. Your Christmases aren’t magical.  Your life isn’t. 

You feel the weight of it all crashing down like the oversized star on the new tree is pressing on your chest. Satoru's extravagance, Koji's innocent excitement, and your own feelings of inadequacy swirl together into a storm you’re barely holding back.  

Your forced smile falters, but you quickly kneel to Koji's level, brushing his hair away from his glowing face. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” you say softly, voice trembling but steady enough to reassure him. “I’m glad you had fun with Papa.”  

Koji beams, and for a moment, his joy is a balm to your frayed nerves. “It’s pretty, isn’t it, Mama?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. “So pretty.” Standing slowly, your hand lingers on Koji’s shoulder. “Really pretty,” you repeat quietly, not committing to anything. You can feel Satoru watching you, his casual demeanor only adding to your irritation. The worst part of it all is that it seems like he genuinely has no idea what he did wrong. 

In hindsight, maybe he didn’t. It wasn’t his intention to make you feel like a shitty mother, but Satoru is good at pointing out the differences in his own ways. 

When Koji bounds back to the pile of gifts, you finally let yourself meet Satoru’s gaze. “You really didn’t think to talk to me about this?”  

His grin fades just a fraction, replaced by a look of confusion. “What’s there to talk about? I wanted to do something special for Koji. And let’s be honest, Y/N—this is special.”  

“It’s not about the decorations, Satoru,” you snap, your voice low but sharp. “It’s about you making decisions without considering how I might feel about it. Again.”  

He tilts his head, the glower returning, though it feels sharper now. “You’re overthinking this. It’s just Christmas decorations, Y/N. Look at Koji—he’s happy. Isn’t that what matters?”  

You clench your fists, the tightness in your chest threatening to spill over into something you can’t control. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about the decorations. It’s about you coming in here and acting like everything I do is subpar. Like I’m not enough.”  

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, Satoru’s expression falters. But he recovers quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the arm of the couch. “Y/N, no one’s saying that. You’re reading too much into this. I just wanted to make things nice for Koji, that’s all.”  

Your laugh is bitter, and it catches even you off guard. “Right. Because your version of nice is always the right one. I’m just the placeholder until you decide to step in and fix everything, aren’t I?”  

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, the playful spark he had with Kojidimming. “That’s not fair.”  

“Isn’t it?” you counter, your voice breaking despite your effort to stay calm. “You swoop in with all your money and your grand gestures, and I’m supposed to just smile and be grateful. But do you even realize how hard I’ve worked to give Koji a Christmas he’ll enjoy? How much I’ve sacrificed just to keep things normal?”  

His silence stings more than any retort could.  

Koji’s laughter in the background feels distant now, muffled by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. He’s too distracted with the tree, his presents, everything. You inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself, before forcing a calmness you don’t feel.  You won’t fight in front of him. 

“I’m going to get changed,” you mutter, not waiting for a response.  

As you leave the room, Satoru calls after you, his voice softer but no less exasperated. “Y/N, come on. Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”  

But to you, it already feels like a chasm. One that grows wider with every passing second.

You shut your door, leaning against it with your forehead. Breaths coming in short, hands trembling slightly. Biting your quivering lip, you maneuver your body to change into your uniform. All the while, tears are getting on your hands and clothes. Accidentally, you let out a small, broken whimper. 

 Quickly, you place a palm to your mouth, stifling and quieting your soft cries. Once you’re done changing, you fall back onto the bed. Curled up with knees drawn to your chest, as the burden of your own self-consciousness rains down on you. The room feels suffocatingly small, your emotions clawing at your throat, demanding to be let out.

The tears come harder now, soaking into the fabric of your uniform as you press your hands to your face, muffling the quiet sobs. You hate this—how easily Satoru gets under your skin, how he makes you feel insignificant without even trying. You thought you were past this. Past him. But somehow, he always finds a way to remind you of all the ways you’ve fallen short. Or at least, all the ways he makes you feel like you have.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N?” His voice is muffled through the wood, quieter than usual as if he’s trying not to disturb you. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer, biting down on your lip to keep from making another sound.

“Look,” he continues, his tone hesitant. “I know I upset you. I didn’t mean to. Can we just… talk?”

For a moment, you consider staying silent, letting him stew in his own discomfort. But the tension is too thick, and you know Koji is just down the hall. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet, wiping at your face in a futile attempt to erase the evidence of your tears. Wiping your face and straightening your clothes, you open the door. “I have work.” You mutter, expertly enforcing a placid emotion. “Will you watch him?”

Without waiting for a response, you walk past him. But he grabs at your wrist, instinctively you pull away. “Stop, just stop, okay? Let’s not fight. We’re adults, we can talk this out. I don’t mean to make you feel less than, I just wanted to make Koji happy.”

“And do you think he’s not happy with me?” You snap back, looking up at him. Feeling your vision already beginning to blur. “Do you? Do you think he’ll be happy with you? I-Is that it?”

Satoru’s eyes widen slightly at your outburst, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. The air between you feels like it could snap under the weight of everything left unsaid. His hand hovers near his side, as if he wants to reach out again but knows better now. “No,” he says softly, his voice steady but lined with regret. “That’s not what I meant. Koji is happy with you. He loves you more than anything.”

“Then why do you keep acting like what I do isn’t enough?” you whisper, your voice trembling as you maintain eye contact with him. “I’ve been doing this alone, Satoru. Every scraped knee, every fever, every night when he cries because he’s scared of the dark—I’m there. Not you. Me. So don’t you dare come in here, throw your money around, and act like you can just fix everything with some… Christmas wonderland.”

“But you didn’t let me come in sooner, Y/N.” He replies, exasperation in his voice. 

“I know that, and I’m sorry. I know I fucked up…”

“Then stop getting mad at little things.”

Your fists ball up, your expression growing firmer by the second. But so is the need to cry again. He’s right, everything he says is right. It’s your own fault that you’ve been forced to handle everything alone. But, don’t your feelings matter just a little bit in this situation? Is he allowed to just come in and fix up everything you have? What he thinks is a mess, it’s something that holds significance to you. What he thinks is a little thing, it’s a big one in your eyes. 

So while this scenario is blowing up into something bigger, your decorations are something you have control of. You only have control over so many things in your life. 

He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Y/N. I swear. I just… I wanted to give him something special. Something I never had growing up.”

It makes you feel even more guilty. You can’t find it in you to say anything else, turning back around and walking to the living room. “Goodbye, Koji. Mama will see you later.” Giving him a brief hug and kiss, you hurriedly grab your coat and purse, exiting your apartment just as fast as you came. 

Unbeknownst to you, Koji is left staring at the closed door. His head tilting in curiosity, while a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks up at his father when he enters the living room again, the two owning matching guises. “Why’d Mama leave so fast? I wanted to show her the drawing we did.” The white paper in his hands pictures three figures. Each one smiling, the smaller boy in the middle holding hands with his two parents on either side of him. He even drew blue snowflakes. 

There’s a red heart around them with the words My family! at the top. 

Satoru stands there, staring at the door you just closed, feeling the weight of Koji’s innocent question settle on his shoulders. He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he glances down at his son, whose big, curious eyes are filled with disappointment.

“She’s just tired, buddy,” Satoru replies, crouching down to Koji’s level. His tone is softer now, more measured, as he tries to mask the turmoil bubbling under his calm façade. “She’s been working really hard, you know? Grown-up stuff.”

Koji’s frown deepens, his little brows furrowing. “But we worked hard too! We did the tree and the presents and everything!” His tiny hands gesture to the decorated room, his frustration clear. “Mama’s s’posed to be happy.”

Satoru feels his chest tighten at the words. He places a hand on Koji’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “She is happy, Koji. She just… needs some time, that’s all. Grown-ups can be funny like that.”

Koji looks down, fiddling with his fingers before glancing back up. “Is it my fault?”

Satoru’s heart aches at the question, and he immediately shakes his head, pulling Koji into a firm hug. “No, not even a little bit. You didn’t do anything wrong, Koji. Don’t ever think that, okay?”

Koji nods slowly against his father’s shoulder but remains quiet. Satoru pulls back, cupping his son’s face in his hands. “Mama loves you so much, Koji. More than anything in the world. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay…” Koji mumbles, still not entirely convinced. He inhaled deeply, then spoke again. “Do…does Mama love you too?”

The question catches him off guard, putting an even bigger weight on Satoru’s shoulders. He should’ve expected it, Koji is a curious kid who still doesn’t completely grasp the complexities of his parents’ relationship. Satoru smiles faintly, kissing Koji’s cheek. “Mama has a lot of love.”

The answer satisfies Koji. For now. 

Satoru ruffles his son’s hair. “How about we finish that drawing? We’ll save it for her when she gets back.”

Koji perks up slightly, nodding. “Okay! But you gotta color inside the lines this time, Papa.”

Satoru chuckles, relieved to see even a small smile return to Koji’s face. “Deal. But only if you promise not to make fun of me if I mess up. I’m sensitive.”

Koji giggles, taking his father’s hand to lead him back to the small table. As they sit down to continue their drawing, Satoru steals a glance at the door again, his smile faltering for just a second.

He’s trying—he really is. But he wonders if it’ll ever be enough. It’s like no matter what he does, you don’t like it; and vice versa. He’s being as understanding and nice as someone in his situation can be. At times, he feels he’s being even too nice to you. He knew things wouldn’t be easy, but he wants to spend time with his son. Make up for all the lost time, and even the littlest moments. It’s almost a little bit unfair of you to throw the fact that he has money and you don’t in his face like that. He didn’t ask to be born rich. Just like you didn’t ask to be born…like that. You’re the adults in this situation, there’s a kid involved. So truly, he wishes he could just have a single conversation with you that doesn’t feel anger-surged or bitter. Of course, it’s hard because of what has happened before, but there’s a time and a place, is there not? 

Whatever. He’s more than happy to color with Koji and do whatever the little boy asks while you have your own moment. Satoru knows best of everyone else you like having space. And while many years have passed and his feelings for you have grown less than savory, he stills wants to respect your wishes after an argument with him.

He can’t help but think the obvious, though. Is it even worth attempting to mend whatever little shards of semblance there is left with you?

Probably not. Because after all, he’s here only for Koji. 

Right?

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