#how to find your circle of competence

[jagadishbirajdar]

Your Circle is Smaller than What You Actually Think

[esote-rika]

lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK  ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well. 

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since. 

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything. 

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals. 

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing. 

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic. 

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together. 

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.” 

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions,  you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak. 

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him. 

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost. 

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him. 

That’s inaccurate. 

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification. 

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body. 

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat. 

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices. 

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body. 

Soft. So damn soft. 

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps. 

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. 

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience. 

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh. 

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock. 

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.   

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his. 

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face. 

There’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

 “Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed. 

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock. 

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs. 

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust. 

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him. 

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!” 

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.” 

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

[starmapz]

what you know - ch9: (ex) friends || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety (attacks). tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.2k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

With a soft click, the Career Services Office door shuts behind you. Dropping your bag on the bench just outside the door, you pull Shoko’s attention from her phone.

“So? How did it go?”

Slipping paperwork carefully into your bag, you nod. “Good! I only need to make a couple of changes to my resume and cover letter and they gave me some good suggestions for options,” you explain.

As a part of your final couple of semesters in your final year, your Copy Editing and Proofreading class has an internship requirement. On one hand it’s stressful, especially given that you’ll need to adjust your life to the schedule of having an internship on Tuesdays and Thursdays on top of classes throughout the week, but you’re also excited.

And then there’s the case of Sukuna.

Although you wouldn’t exactly call the last time you saw him a pleasant encounter given Sukuna had broken down, not to mention his abrupt departure, his emails had been a bit more reassuring.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:02 PM home?

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Friday, 6:24 PM Home! Thanks for checking in, Kuna :)

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:29 PM yeah. thanks for earlier. makes it easier to be around the kids

You had smiled to yourself as it seemed he was finally admitting to the fact that maybe help wasn’t so bad. Maybe he didn’t have to handle everything alone.

More encouraging still, was his follow up email.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:32 PM can you watch them more? i’ll find a way to pay you back after the trial

You hadn’t exactly considered the repercussions that looking after Sukuna’s little brothers would have on your schedule on top of the fact that you’re required to get an internship to graduate.

But if Sukuna can handle it, then you’re more than willing to bear some of his burden if it means he’ll accept your help. Maybe you can lessen the dark circles that seem burnt into his skin like a brand, even if it means you take on a burden of your own.

It’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Shoko groans, pulling your thoughts back to the present. “God, I hope my resume only needs a couple of tweaks. I don’t think it’s very good,” she mutters, pulling it out of her bag.

Peeking over the top of the paper, you shrug. “If it’s any consolation, it’s pretty.”

“Did you just call my resume dumb but pretty? I feel like you did,” she chides.

You laugh in unison with her, shaking your head. “I haven’t even read it! It’s probably more impressive than mine is.”

As her laughter dies down, Shoko rolls her resume up in her hand, batting your shoulder with the paper. “Nice save,” she snorts. Giggling, you step aside as she stands up to head into the Career Services Office next. “I’ll catch you later,” she waves as she steps inside.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you make your way to the car and return home. As if projects and studying weren't enough, to think that you now also need to apply to publishing houses while competing with every other student in your program is… a lot. 

With a sigh, you stretch your arms over your head as you take a seat at your desk and begin the long application process of applying to nearly every publishing house in town.

–

Rocking back and forth on the ball of your heels, adorned in cute knee-high boots that match your beige knit sweater, you await one of the three brothers at the door. Over the past couple of weeks, your tattooed counterpart has slowly allowed you to help him.

And thank god for that.

After the intensely emotional moment you’d shared with him outside his apartment after meeting with Hiromi, Choso and Sukuna’s behaviour had grown increasingly worrying. Yuji’s boisterous personality remained somewhat dulled with an underlying sadness, but every so often he would relax under your care and his giggles would light up the apartment.

Choso was a different story. You wondered often if he had heard the discussions between the four adults chatting about legal papers. His already extremely reserved personality had faded into a monotonous and ghostly presence of what was once a very bright and lively child. If ever someone had seemed to be running on auto-pilot, this was it.

Your concern had only grown when you’d stood beside Sukuna just outside of your Literature History class as he received a phone call from Choso’s teacher, concerned for his mental health and well-being.

How Sukuna is meant to explain his child brother refusing to speak not only to classmates, but even his teacher, neither of you truly knew. The pride Sukuna carries on his back that strains and weighs down his already heavy shoulders prevented him from telling the truth. He’s not the picturesque guardian that the school expects him to be at the end of the day, but to admit that he’s about to fight to keep his brothers in his custody feels like defeat to a man like Sukuna.

The battle hasn’t even begun and he’s already losing.

Sukuna remained nestled carefully within your heart, lighting a fire deep within that urged you to help him fight. Like a firefly, it seemed to buzz within, guiding you towards the man you’d come to know as surprisingly warm and thoughtful, in spite of his rougher edges.

Yet it seemed that man was buried under so many layers of stress that you hadn’t caught wind of that warmth in weeks. Sukuna had become somewhat of a shell of his former self too, more on edge and growing wearier by the day. You may see him every couple of days as you look after his brothers or he manages to make it to class or lunch, but between his quick departure and the bone-tired state he returns in after his shift, you don’t get many opportunities to speak.

The only positive you can find across the whole situation is that he’s accepting your help. He’s trying with what meager energy he can find.

In the midst of your troubles with the three brothers, your schedule had briefly become a scattered mess as well. Between running to interviews, classes in which Sukuna struggled to arrive in a timely manner, and looking after the boys, you had been spread thin as well.

At least your schedule would become more predictable, beginning today.

The door creaks open just far enough for Choso to peek up at you. His eyes are devoid of anything beyond recognition as he steps back to let you in. It tugs at your heartstrings to see him so withdrawn.

“Hey sweetie,” you greet him softly, gently ruffling his dark hair. He blinks as his hair, which has grown quite long now, falls into his face, obscuring his vision, though he doesn’t otherwise react.

With two months until the court date, you pray he comes out of his shell again. Two months of reserved silence doesn’t bode well for his mental health, especially when you’re certain Sukuna will win the case regardless.

Sure, his odds aren’t amazing, but those kids love him and in spite of the fatigue that plagues his mind and body, you catch glimpses of the fire lit within to win the court case.

“Where are your brothers?” You query with a small tilt of your head.

Choso’s gaze drifts to the hall where the bedrooms are. You shoot him a tight-lipped smile, sighing as you reach the hall. The bathroom door is shut, the sounds of running water penetrating the barrier. Brushing past the room, you poke your head into the open door to Yuji’s room. The most lively of the bunch, his feet are kicking as he sits at his desk, crayons scrawling across paper.

Stepping inside, you greet him with a smile.

His response isn’t as enthusiastic as you hoped, but he still calls your name out as his eyes brighten at the sight of you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you ruffle his hair as you step up behind him to peer at his coloring page. To your surprise, it isn’t the Avengers book that he’s been coloring over the course of the past few weeks (Spider-Man is his favorite), but a page with a familiar blue hedgehog on it. You blink once as you recognize the pose, it looks like it’s straight from the cover of the GameCube game you’d left here a while ago. More notably, you notice that the lineart doesn’t gleam in the same way the printed pages usually do under the lamplight.

It’s drawn in marker.

Faint traces of erased lines remain at the edge of Sonic’s eyes (are they eyes? Is it one eye? How does that work?) and now that you’re standing over the desk more, you can see the faint outline of another character at his side. Shadow.

You smile to yourself, somewhat bittersweet, at the sweet sight of Yuji leaving the sketch blank and staying in the lines to the best of his ability. He likely hopes that at some point he’ll be able to complete his joint artistic effort with his brother.

The sound of a door opening grabs your attention and you excitedly make your way over to Sukuna, who’s clad in a blue polo and khakis. Clearly he’d be stocking shelves for the evening. Running a hand through long salmon locks, his eyes slide over to you as you appear from the doorway of his brothers’ room.

The dark circles under his eyes don’t look so bad today, though his expression remains stoic. There’s no cracks to his practiced facade of control, his crimson eyes set on your face as he examines the way you actually bound towards him, clearly excited. He raises an eyebrow as he casts his gaze down to your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Something happen?” He brings a hand up to casually scratch beneath the collar of his shirt, the polo material irritating against his skin.

“You remember how I needed to get an internship this semester?”

“Mhm.”

“Aaaaand you remember how I was really hoping to get a position in that printing house on the main bus route to save some money on gas?”

His lip quirks upwards at the corner as he takes a step towards you. One strong arm wraps around you in something between a headlock and a hug, causing you to giggle. “‘Course you got it. Atta girl,” though his tone lacks the usual timbre he reserves for you and his brothers, you can see the way something within him shifts, something akin to pride resonating through him.

With your face practically shoved into Sukuna’s way too bulky chest, your cheeks quickly warm. You’re more than positive that he can feel it when you stumble back as he releases you after a moment, a glimmer of mischief buried deep beneath the haze of exhaustion.

“Thanks Kuna,” you can’t help the way your eyes crinkle at the corners as your heart pounds in your chest.

Loving him from afar isn’t easy, but it’s better than not loving him at all.

Sukuna makes a motion that he’s headed for the kitchen. You trail after him, watching as he reaches into the fridge for leftovers and a water bottle. 

Choso sits silently at the table towards the back of the apartment, leaning on his palm as he stares outside. With tupperware in one hand and a large metal bottle in the other, Sukuna pauses to stare at him. Something akin to guilt flashes through his eyes, but he quickly steels himself.

You briefly wonder if he believes he can win, something you’ve been doing your best to reassure all three brothers of. Something you genuinely believe.

“When do you start?” Sukuna gruffs, turning his attention back to you.

“Tuesday next week.”

“Excited?”

“I’m a bit nervous, but… yeah,” you smile, grateful he’s entertaining the conversation given how clipped chats with him have been over the last couple of weeks. During lunch or classes on campus, you can usually goad him into a conversation about your professor’s strange obsession with conspiracies (which turned out to be true, much to your dismay), but that’s the extent of his chatty mood usually. You don’t blame him, though. You know he’s worn thin.

The only sign that the Sukuna you know is still there are the minute breaks, the moments where he silently seeks your company, falling into step with you and letting his arm brush against yours. The days when he spreads his legs while he sits at the lunch table and you would give him a hard time for manspreading when his thigh leans against yours, but he only does it to you, so you second-guess teasing him.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures, taking a seat on the couch as he stuffs his dinner into his backpack. “You’re a hard worker.” He smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Compared to you, I seem like I sleep on the job.”

Your smile falters as Sukuna forces a laugh. “Hmph. Maybe.”

Sukuna’s capacity for conversation has grown infinitely thinner as the days pass and his sleep lessens. Where that leaves his anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface, he does what he can to keep it at bay, especially when it comes to you and his brothers. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of his conversational skills.

The air grows quiet, interrupted only by the gentle creak of the chair that Choso shuffles quietly on and distant cars in the January cold.

“I can’t believe this is our last year,” you comment mostly for the sake of creating conversation. You know Sukuna doesn’t have much gas in the tank for it, but you find yourself wondering if talking at him helps ease his worries and distract him from the thoughts that plague his restless mind.

“Mm. You lookin’ forward to working?”

“I think so! What about you?

His gaze flashes towards you, narrowing slightly as he straightens, pulling a pair of keys from the bottom of his bag. “No.”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “You have time! Especially if you decide to change your major-”

“Why would I do that?” He snaps, lip curling into a snarl. Crimson irises flit between your wide eyes, your brow knit together by a crease.

Shit.

That carefully composed facade Sukuna’s been sporting the last week cracks, his simmering frustration crashing through the walls he’s erected to protect those around him from his own gripes.

Biting your lip in uncertainty, you stammer as you attempt to backtrack under his harsh stare. “I- I just thought-”

“Thought what? Thought I’d be better off doing something more useful? Something that makes more money?”

“What?” You blink as you process his cold tone. “No, I-” your words die in your throat as you examine his set jaw and the way he’s gripping his backpack with white knuckles. What really strikes you is the way something akin to offense gleams in his eyes. You’re accustomed to accidentally prodding where he doesn’t want you, but his edge isn’t usually so cold when you dig a little too deep into his psyche. “It just seemed like you were considering something else.” You want to tack on a mention of an art degree, but Sukuna scoffs before you can continue.

“Is history not good enough now, princess?”

You visibly recoil at the cold way his nickname for you slips off his tongue like venom. What nerve had you struck? “No, what-? No. I’m sorry, Sukuna. I just got the wrong idea, I guess.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have prodded into something that can be a touchy subject for him, but you thought you’d moved past this, and he asked first. Then again, this isn’t the Sukuna you’ve come to know after all these months. The man staring back at you is a product of a world that’s tearing him apart, his emotions awry.

But it still hurts when he takes it out on you.

With a sigh, he checks his watch. “I gotta fucking go,” he mutters, zipping up his bag and grabbing his coat from the rack near the door. Tossing them both on, he slips his hand into his pocket, surely shuffling through it in search of a cigarette, before the door shuts behind him with a slam.

You can only watch in confusion and dispiritedness as the lock flicks shut and the sounds of his footsteps fade outside.

One step forward… two steps back.

You sigh, shutting your eyes for a moment as you stare where he last was. Dragging your hands over your face, you push to your feet, deciding for once to forgo studying in favor of finding something to do with the kids. Maybe it’s time you litter the apartment in bead frogs to go with all the lizards that are still haphazardly strewn everywhere.

To your dismay as you turn towards the hall, you find Choso staring at you from the table. Fuck. You’d forgotten he was there. His expression is unreadable and your chest tightens.

With the most convincing smile you can muster, you usher him from his chair and lead him towards Yuji. “Did you two ever figure out how to make bead frogs?”

Choso’s deep brown eyes examine you as he stares straight up at you. “Are you okay?”

It chokes you up to hear the little boy worry about you. You don’t dare look at him, lest he see the way your eyes burn with salty warmth. So you just smile, nodding. “Of course! Let’s go find your brother.”

Hopefully your tone was more convincing than your expression.

–

The door opens thirty minutes later than usual. Both boys are already asleep (you hope), and have been for a while now, which is unusual for Sukuna’s evening shifts.

He pauses at the door with his keys, a habit you’ve noticed he picked up since the day he found Choso asleep on your lap and had nearly awoken him with the clattering of his keys on the table. When his eyes meet yours, he drops the keys onto the table and locks the door behind him without a word.

His backpack slides from his shoulder with a thud and a muffled clattering of utensils. “You can go.”

You purse your lips at his blatant dismissal of whatever the hell happened earlier. Had you really upset him that much?

“Sukuna, can’t we talk about-?”

He firmly says your name, his eyes steely as you stand and take a step towards him in an effort to reach out. “Not right now.”

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It’s almost embarrassing; to stand there and so blatantly have him deny your request to talk things through after you’ve looked after his brothers for over nine hours. After he’s finally accepting your help and allowing himself to be vulnerable in your presence. “Please, Sukuna-”

Your name rolls off his tongue again, unyielding. “Go home.”

It’s always like this with him. Where that hole in your heart that Sukuna’s nestled so comfortably within eats away at its own chasm. It punctures you, twisting along with the way you still feel for him, knowing that his cold demeanor is the product of a world that threatens to crush him.

But the rational part of you is reminded of Kento and Shoko pulling you aside to warn you not to let him step on you.

Picking up your jacket and bag, you pull your boots on without shooting him another glance. “Asshole.” It slips past your lips before you can really think twice about it, but you’re too caught up in your emotions to care.

You’re gone before Sukuna’s frustration can flare and he’s standing alone in his apartment. The air is still, sound for the heavy air that suffocates him. The TV is still on, you were quietly watching Holes. He supposes there aren’t many non-horror options that you likely haven’t seen with the kids at this point given that he doesn’t have cable or any subscriptions of any kind.

His hair is sticking to his forehead, his skin sweat-slicked between his shoulder blades as he sits down on the couch, dragging his hands roughly over his face. The kids don’t usually pick this movie. He doesn’t remember it.

“You’re mean.”

Carefully guarded, Sukuna raises a brow. “Why’re you awake, brat? You got school tomorrow.” Choso doesn’t reply. With a sigh, the oldest brother scratches the back of his head. “She’ll come around, Choso. Go to bed.”

Choso stands his ground, not moving.

God, the first words he hears from his brother in days and it’s that he’s mean?

Is he really?

He examines Choso’s face, his eyes trailing up to the two bundles of his long hair gathered at the back of his head. Had you put his hair up? Surely the kid hadn’t done it himself. It suits him, and frankly Sukuna’s just glad his hair is out of his face.

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he has a stare-off with his little brother.

This isn’t that big of a deal. He just didn’t want to hear you point out his inadequacies. He knows his major is useless. He knows he shouldn’t smoke. He doesn’t want to hear it. Surely he hadn’t been enough of a dick that he was wasting what had been laid out clearly as his last chance with you. Right?

You don’t curse often, but even you had called him an asshole.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, pushing up from the couch and pulling on his shoes without a second thought. He’s down in the parking lot as fast as his legs can carry him, searching for your car. To his relief, you’re waiting for the engine to warm up in a guest parking spot.

He jogs over, knocking on the window. You bristle, practically jumping out of your skin at the sight of the burly man at your side.

“Sukuna, you scared me,” you gasp.

“Sorry.”

You frown, avoiding his gaze as you set your phone down. “It’s fine,” you mumble quietly. “What do you want?”

“To talk. About how I was an asshole.”

You stare blankly at him, quietly examining his face. “I told you that you had one chance-”

“Then don’t let it get that far. I’m not wastin’ my chance, I’m fixing things before it gets to that point.”

“It’s not fair that you get to decide when we do or don’t talk about things.”

Sukuna leans his forearms in your car, sighing as he hangs his head within the heat. Your car dips somewhat under his weight. “I know, princess.” He lifts his head, his crimson eyes gleaming in the glow of your dash lights.

You figured he would keep talking but when he just stares blankly at you, you find yourself sighing. “I thought you were letting me in. Letting me help.”

“You are helping me,” he points out.

“I’m helping the kids.”

“That helps me.”

Groaning, you frustratedly run a hand through your hair. “That’s not what I mean,” you grumble, shooting him a glare. “You keep pushing me away.” His fingers flex into fists as he leans into the warmth of your car further.

“It’s better this way.”

“You’re so frustrating,” you groan, slumping back into your seat. “It’s not better! I’m trying to be your friend, I’m trying to be here for you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches as he merely listens.

“Honestly, tell me what you would have done if I’d left like you asked me to when you had a panic attack.” You look at him expectantly, watching the way that the lights on your dash suddenly seem very interesting to him. He swallows hard, crossing his arms as he continues to lean into the car, perched on his elbows.

Your heat is working overtime to keep you warm as the air that slips past Sukuna clings to your skin, raising it in its wake. Sukuna seems unaffected by the cold, focused anywhere but you. His mind is racing, searching for an answer in the white noise of the car, as though the check engine light will provide the answers he’s searching for.

“You should check your engine.”

You want to groan, roll your eyes, and scream in frustration all at once, yet all you can manage is to stare, stunned to your core that those are the words he chose. Your hand finds the gear shift to put the car in reverse and finally he gives in.

“Fuck, wait.” He huffs, reaching way too close across your body with his long arm to stop your hand from moving the gear shift. His fingers are chilly as he pulls your hand back, proceeding with the familiar act of fiddling with your fingers.

Sensing that this won’t be a short conversation, you flick the key in the ignition once, shutting off the engine, but keeping the heat on. As the engine rumbles to a halt, the distant sounds of cars down the road and faint chatter fill the air. The bulb that illuminates the entry of Sukuna’s apartment continues to flicker, the occasional darkness casting a serious air over his sharp features.

“The first time I ever had one was the day after my dad died,” Sukuna admits with a strained voice. His thumb slides along your knuckles. “It didn’t matter how sick he was. He never wanted me to have to take care of my brothers more than for a few hours.” His face contorts into something between sadness and anger. “I didn’t know how to change a diaper. Didn’t know what Yuji liked eatin’ ‘sides chicken fingers and shit. I think he really believed she’d come back n’ take care of us, or at least them.”

Your lips part as you sympathetically squeeze his fingers, but you don’t dare interrupt.

“Had to look it up on YouTube. How to change a diaper, I mean.” He scoffs, bitter resentment painted across sunken eyes. “Yuji wouldn’t stop cryin’. It was all fuckin’ day, all the time. Must’ve been five in the morning when I finally got both kids asleep at the same time.” His tongue runs along the seam of his lips. “Dunno if you’ve had one before,” he casts a glance at you as he references a panic attack, as though he’s unwilling to admit what it is. You nod. “But I just remember layin’ on the floor of the washroom, staring at the ceiling. Couldn’t tell ya how long I laid there.”

It never seems to matter how upset you are with Sukuna, his situation always manages to twist your heartstrings. He can play you like a violin and he doesn’t even seem to have any clue of the kind of influence he has over you.

“So, if you wanna know what I woulda done,” he shrugs half-heartedly. “That, probably.”

Undoubtedly, this is his best effort of letting you in. Showing you he’s listening. Fixing things before they’re blown out of proportion because he got short with you.

You offer him a sad smile. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Me too.”

“Next time, can we just talk before things get this far, Kuna?”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as the familiar nickname slips so easily off your tongue. “There won’t be a next time.”

Your lips quirk upwards, brow raising as you challenge his statement. “With you? There will be. Next time though, just start by telling me you aren’t in the mood to talk about something, okay?”

His lips press into a thin line at your lack of faith in him. He knows it’s founded, but it hurts regardless. Still, you somehow seem to find the space in your heart to be patient with him when he needs it most and for that he’s grateful.

“You got it, princess.” He pauses, tapping the side of the car as he drops your fingers into your lap. “Listen, I think I gotta start taking more shifts.”

“More?”

The concern etched into your brow is cute. “Yeah. I need to almost double how much I usually make. So, double the shifts.”

“You already missed class yesterday,” you point out.

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I get by.”

“You’re lucky you’re the type of guy who barely needs to study to pass,” you grumble with narrowed eyes.

He snorts, amused. “Yeah, maybe.” He sighs. “I know you got your internship startin’ up next week, but…” he trails off, as if he’s debating whether he should even ask you.

“You need help?”

He sighs. “I gotta take some night shifts.”

Dread churns in your stomach. “You’re never gonna get any sleep.”

“I’ll find time.”

“Where? Your schedule is full.”

“What other option do I have?” He grunts, exasperated. “An extra months’ rent ain’t gonna appear outta thin air.”

“You could always ask Toj-”

“No.”

You should have expected that. Red irises stare you down firmly, pupils mere pinpricks.

“You can take my bed if you stay,” he doubles down, scratching his chin.

Heat travels up your neck, finding a place on your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Something about staying in his room, in his bed, makes your heart take off. Yet he can mention it so casually, like it’s not a big deal.

“Um- right. Sure,” your words come out more mousey than intended, and you can only pray that the dim light that barely illuminates you is hiding the nerves that would otherwise show in the way you avert your gaze and chew on your lip.

To your dismay, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Sukuna blows air out through his nose in a faint laugh as he slides a bit closer to you. The heat of his breath is warm, hotter than anything the car can manage as it tickles your neck. “Cat got your tongue?”

The battle between warm and cold air suddenly seems suffocating. The distant chatter seems to scream, and the motors of passing cars feel as though they could shake the ground you walk on.

“No!” You exclaim, a little bit too quickly as you find yourself wincing. “I’m fine. Just cold,” you lie, shrinking as you hug yourself.

His chest rumbles in laughter as he stands, slapping a hand down on the roof of your car. “I’ll email you my shifts. Go home.” This time when he says it, his tone is mild. “Didn’t waste my last chance?” He asks, turning his attention back to you with a conviction in his eyes that has you smiling sympathetically.

“Not yet.”

“Good. Let me know when you’re home.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back into the warmth of his apartment building.

Your eyes trail after him as he pushes through both sets of doors, leaving you alone in the quiet of the night. Shutting the window, heat wraps around you, enveloping you once again within its embrace. Yet for some reason as you stare at the spot where you last saw the tattooed man, a shiver wracks your body.

–

Smoothing your pencil skirt, you push through the doors of a warmly-lit restaurant. The little local spot has an air of familiarity to it, decorated mostly with photos of dishes served nightly and the occasional photo of the owner’s family. Tucked away in the corner is a table with a spare seat reserved for you.

With a sigh of relief, you take a seat beside Suguru, your eyes trailing the length of the table to see who was able to make it. You notice two things at a glance. One, you’re severely overdressed, though you knew that would be the case after coming from your internship. Two… Why is Toji sitting across from you? No, the real question is how are Toji and Satoru sitting beside one another?

The question must be written across your face in bold lettering, because Toji nudges Satoru with a chuckle as everyone greets you happily. Satoru’s mischievous grin matches Toji’s smirk as he spots your confusion.

“They have more in common than I think anyone expected,” Suguru comments with an amused smile.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” you grin, taking a moment to attempt to rub the tiredness from your sunken eyes without smudging your makeup. “I’m glad everyone’s getting along.”

Suguru leans forward to get a better look at you, eyes narrowed as he examines your expression. “Can you look at me for a moment?”

Confused, you tilt your head as you turn to face the raven-haired man. Leaning back in his chair, you watch his expression subtly downturn.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Of course!” You jump to your own defense quickly, straightening in your seat as you brush imaginary crumbs from your lap. “I’m fine, Suguru. I just had early class today, then my internship, and now dinner.”

“I see,” he hums, moving on. “How’s the internship?”

“Ooh, I wanna know too!” Shoko leans forward over the table to better see you. You can practically envision her kicking her feet under the table in search of details (and gossip).

At this point, even Kento’s attention is now drawn to you from the end of the table and you feel yourself shrink as the table begins to turn their collective attention to you. Everyone here may be your friends, but it’s still a lot of pairs of eyes.

“Um-” You chuckle, running a hand through your hair. “It’s going well! Everyone’s been really nice. Well, mostly everyone- but they have me doing coffee runs and shadowing the other editors right now,” you explain.

“Sounds like you’re well on your way to your career,” Suguru smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Suguru, you gotta ask the hard-hitting questions,” Shoko scolds playfully with a light smack to his bicep. His brow raises as she practically tries to lean over him to get to you. “What do you mean ‘almost everyone’?” She asks, her interest piqued.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “It’s really not that exciting,” you insist. “There’s this one Literary Agent, I think he’s the boss’ nephew or something, that’s just a bit much. I can’t really tell if he’s hitting on me or insulting me half of the time.”

Shoko’s nose wrinkles in disgust as Nanami recoils with a roll of his shoulders.

“And our graphic designer is just weird. She cooks bacon in the breakroom on one of those plug-in hot plates.”

“That is odd,” Suguru agrees.

“I think I get six coffees per day for her alone. Oh- and the other day I spent my whole break listening to her talk about this book she read over the weekend. I swear I could tell you the whole plot.”

“Sounds riveting,” Suguru chuckles, a glimmer of light passing through his gaze. “I’m sure the rest of your colleagues are fans as well.”

“Our publicist was telling me they have a drinking game during Christmas parties where they send the graphic designer to talk to the boss and every time he yawns or checks his watch, they drink.”

“Sounds like my kinda people,” Shoko snorts, grinning at you as the table returns to individual conversations.

Throughout the dinner, you’re quick to notice the way Toji seems to meld to the group seamlessly, offering snide remarks that have you wondering at times if you have a second, more gruff Satoru. It’s almost like he’s a strange blend between Satoru and Sukuna in a sense, and you can definitely see how Toji and Sukuna would be friends.

It’s heartwarming to see him blend in so seamlessly, because if Satoru can get along with Toji, he can get along with Sukuna as well, if they can both quit being haters for ten seconds.

Despite how worn out you are from the long day, the dinner with friends was much needed (even at the cost of two drinks for Satoru and one for Suguru), given that you’ve had to skip out on lunches with them every Tuesday and Thursday and even the occasional other weekdays as well in favor of your harsh schedule. Once you’ve paid, you get to your feet and pull your coat over your shoulders, brushing yourself off and grabbing your keys when you’re tugged aside harshly.

Yelping, you blink as you’re standing in front of Kento and Shoko.

“C’mon, we’re going for dessert,” Shoko insisted, tugging you along.

“What? I’m not hungry.”

“Doesn’t matter, dessert goes in your second stomach,” Shoko dismisses you.

“My second what?”

Before you know it, you’re whisked away to a small bakery down the street that you’re beyond certain is Kento’s choice. As much as he gives Satoru a hard time for sweets, the man has a fairly big sweet tooth himself- as long as the sweets include pastries. A good strawberry mille-feuille would have the man starry-eyed with his wallet on the counter.

Shoko, on the other hand, opts for a single macaron, which you second. Who can say no to a macaron shaped as a little kitty after all?

Holding the treat delicately in your hands as you smile at the sweet orange decorated kitty, you cross your legs and take a look around the bakery. Loaves of bread likely line the walls during the day, the displays usually vibrant with the reds and blues of fresh fruit pies. It’s fairly barren now, but the smell of bread and warmth of the oven still carries with it a sense of peace that puts you at ease.

“This is nice,” you comment, taking a bite of the macaron.

Kento nods. “It’s been a while since it’s been just the three of us.”

With a scoff, Shoko points her brown macaron straight at you, a bite taken out of it. “Yeah and whose fault would that be?”

Pouting, you nibble at the shell of your dessert. “There’s just been a lot going on,” you insist, leaning back in your chair. “Sukuna’s been-” you pause, lifting your head at the realization that Shoko doesn’t know about the lawsuit. Your eyes trail to Kento, whose gaze flashes with understanding.

“Sukuna’s been what?” Shoko pushes. “I swear I’ll shove his balls so far up his-”

“WOAH, woah! Okay Shoko,” your eyes widen and you find yourself nearly dropping your treat at the mere mention of whatever the hell she was gonna say. “As i was saying,” you flash her a glance, willing away the heat creeping up the back of your neck. “He’s been taking more shifts than usual, so I’ve just been balancing that with the internship and classes.”

“And sleep, and studying, and projects,” Kento points out, crossing his arms as he finishes his blueberry mochi cake. “When was the last time you read a book, or watched a movie?”

Hesitating, you find your gaze drifting to the wall. “... I watched Ice Age.”

“No, you watched Yuji watch Ice Age,” Shoko accuses, a brow raised. Finishing her macaron, she dusts her hands off on her pants and sighs. “Listen, we know you like him a lot and it’s great that you’re helping him- and thank god Kento knows so I can talk to him-”

“You’re such a gossip,” you mutter under your breath.

She just shoots you a sweet smile, continuing. “But seriously, you need to put yourself first. I’m glad he’s treating you better-” she pauses, staring expectantly at you.

Your gaze flickers between your two friends. “He’s treating me fine, stop worrying.”

“Great. The point is, he needs to go easy on you. I know he’s got a lot of shit going on, but so do you.” Shoko taps her fingers on the table, leaving the ball in your court.

“Sho, I swear I can handle it,” you roll your eyes, “but if it’s too much, I’ll talk to him. Promise.”

“Pinky swear, girl. You’re way too sweet to that man and I know you’d put him before yourself.”

Wrapping your pinky around hers, you roll your eyes, though you’re unable to help your smile.

“You owe me a girls’ night for bailing the other day by the way.”

“I’m sorry, Sho,” you pout.

“I’ll get over it. Ken here got to be my girls’ night buddy. I couldn’t convince him to get a color but he did get his nails done.” Shoko pulls his hand out from where it was crossed over his chest. You can faintly make out the gleam of clear polish on his nicely manicured nails.

“I have no need for colored nails,” he neutrally declares, shooting Shoko a mildly distasteful look as she holds his hand out to you.

Leaning back, you squint at him. “I think blue’s your color.”

Kento frowns. “Did you mishear me or are you choosing to ignore me?”

Shoko hums. “No, I see it. Like a darker blue.”

“Girls. Please,” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose at your antics.

“Don’t act like you’re above this, Kento. I bet you still have a bottle of black nail polish back home somewhere,” you tease.

“That was a long time ago-”

Shoko leans in, resting her cheek against her fist. “Oh yeah, you had an emo phase, didn’t you?”

Laughing as Kento blushes profusely, rose dusting his cheeks, you lean back in your seat, relaxing in the warmth of your friends’ care. Your bed may be calling you, but Kento had a point when he asked when the last time you’d read a book or watched a movie was. But it wasn’t a book or movie that you were really missing, it was a girls’ night (featuring Kento).

You stay at the cafe much longer than intended, finding yourself curled up in thick blankets well into the night, but with a content smile on your face.

–

After the fourth day that you don’t see Sukuna at lunch, Uraume had approached you to bring him some worksheets, not to mention he has a paper due literally tomorrow that he doesn’t know about and you won’t see him until the weekend.

His schedule had been rough on you, but it had been downright cruel to him.

When he did manage to make it to a lunch or class, he would pass out within seconds, softly snoring on whatever surface he found himself on. It seemed he had to be physically moving in order to stay awake, otherwise he was dragged into the clutches of the sandman with no fight left to give.

The worst sign of his fading will was when you had gotten a call from Choso and Yuji’s school that Sukuna hadn’t arrived to pick them up. There was a surprising amount to unpack with that call between the fact that Sukuna had missed their pickup time and the fact that you had now been marked down as their emergency contact.

The latter… That was something you would unpack later.

As for the former, when you arrived at his apartment with both boys and rang the buzzer not once, not twice, but thrice, he was little more than a zombie, barely managing to stay on his feet. You swear you saw his drowsiness pop like a bubble over his head at the sight of you with his brothers, downright shocked.

Swears had poured from his mouth like floodgates had opened and all you could do was watch as he dragged his hands over his face in frustration, thanking you before shutting the door, claiming he would be getting some real sleep, lest this happen again.

Making your way up to his door now, you hope the man who greets you has a little more life in him than that day, but it’s not usually a good sign when you haven’t seen him for a bit.

Squinting as you approach the buzzer, you raise your brow at none other than Toji Zenin, sliding his finger along the metal box hanging on the wall in search of the number to dial for Sukuna. Stopping beside him, you stick your finger out to point at the number, which happens to be unmarked.

Toji flips to face you, face relaxing from his squint.

“Fancy findin’ you here,” he grins, the scar at the corner of his lips stretching.

“Hey, Toji!” You greet, returning his smile. The sight of another of Sukuna’s friends at his door is relieving given just how drawn thin he’s been lately. “Visiting Sukuna?” 

“Mhm. Got somethin’ for him.” He wiggles a small box in his hand as he dials up to Sukuna’s apartment. “Fuckin’ asshole didn’t even tell me he moved, had to steal his address from Uraume,” he grumbles, more to himself than you.

You blink at him. Huh. Well that’s… Considerably less reassuring than Sukuna reaching out to Toji. Especially if Toji isn’t aware that Sukuna’s dad passed away, he’d have no clue about-

There’s a small click and the sounds of shuffling, before Choso answers with a disheartened “hello?”

“Choso?” Toji’s brow furrows in confusion. “That you, kid?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Toji?”

Your brow raises as Choso recognizes Toji’s voice. You’re aware Toji’s known Sukuna for a while, but you honestly weren’t expecting him to know Choso if he didn’t know about Jin’s passing.

“You visitin’ your big bro?” Toji queries.

“... I live here.”

Toji scowls deeply, casting you a confused glance. When you don’t mirror his confusion, he clicks his tongue.

“Hey, Cho! Can you let us in?” You call out, attempting to warm your fingers in your pockets as Toji doesn’t budge.

Shuffling resumes on the other line, followed shortly by the telltale buzz that the door’s unlocked.

“I’m missin’ somethin’ here, ain’t I?” The raven-haired man asks, a gruffness to his tone that’s familiar in the way Sukuna also speaks. They’re so similar in some ways, though Toji is far more outgoing than Sukuna. You suppose it’s probably the fact that he’s the Football team’s resident kicker. Still, they share a resemblance in their attitudes.

With a tight-lipped smile, all you can do is nod in reply.

“Shit,” he mutters, following you into the building as you lead the way up to Sukuna’s apartment.

You knock politely, clutching the folder of papers you have for Sukuna to your chest.

“- and add the potatoes when the water starts boiling. Use your fork to test- what are you doing here?” Sukuna turns his attention to his friends at the door mid-sentence, slipping outside and shutting the door behind him abruptly. You step aside, casting a glance between the two ridiculously tall and muscular men as Sukuna glares at Toji.

Sukuna looks… well, better than you were honestly expecting. He doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of passing out or being sick, a The Misfits black hoodie hanging loosely over his shoulders while a pair of dark gray joggers cling to his hips. His hair isn’t styled, stray strands of pale pink sticking out in different directions while some hang over his forehead.

“Got somethin’ for ya. And since your stubborn ass never shows up to lunch and you won’t answer my damn emails, I know ya need it.” Toji holds a visibly calloused hand out, the unmarked box you’d previously noticed now held expectantly for Sukuna to take.

Sukuna’s sharp glare flickers between Toji and the box. With a huff, he lifts the box from Toji’s hands, opening the tabs and peering inside. An old Samsung with a crack through the side of the screen sits at the bottom of the box. Sukuna’s head whips up to face Toji, his eyes blazing. “I don’t fucking need this.”

“My ass. Your phone’s been broken for months,” Toji scoffs, completely unphased by Sukuna’s irritation. “It’s just my old one anyway, but it’s better than nothin’.

Sukuna straightens and you spot a familiar flicker in those crimson eyes. Offense. “If I needed a fuckin’ phone, I woulda bought one,” he grits, shoving the box against Toji’s chest.

As he straightens, it strikes you just how tall and imposing Sukuna is. You can’t imagine it’s easy to make Toji look small when he’s nothing to scoff at either, but Sukuna manages it without fail.

“Don’t gimme that bullshit. I’m not fuckin’ stupid, Ryo. I know somethin’s up and you need a hand.” Toji rolls his eyes, shockingly relaxed for someone under Sukuna’s fire. You know they’ve been friends for a while, but you can’t say for sure how much time they ever spent together. Yet, Toji stands up to him like he knows nothing will come of his anger, as though it’s a facade.

“I’m managing just fine,” Sukuna hisses.

“Are you?” Toji quips, a brow rising behind the black strands of his bangs. “‘Cause I know Jin wouldn’t dump Choso on your ass outta nowhere, so what the fuck is goin’ on?”

Sukuna’s seething at this point, taking a step towards the football player. That may work on others, but Toji isn’t so easily intimidated.

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business,” Sukuna grits.

“Stop bein’ such a fuckin’ prick!” Toji finally snaps, his free hand flying through the air in exasperation. “You used to be my best friend, asshole! You were my fuckin’ family and you fucked off like it was nothin’!”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, brow furrowed and jaw set. His teeth grind from the pressure of his clenched jaw, sending the tension straight to his head as a headache begins to set in.

Left in silence, Toji continues. “Don’t look at me like that. I tried to get you out to the basketball courts with me, to see a movie, anything’. Somehow, you became more of a colossal asshole than I am,” Toji hisses.

As you realize this isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, your eyes flit to the door, wanting to slip inside and escape the uncomfortable situation you’ve found yourself in the middle of. Unfortunately for you, Sukuna’s blocking the door and you don’t exactly feel like interrupting is the best course of action here, leaving you to simply watch.

You’re accustomed to Sukuna being quiet, he’s never been all that chatty, but during arguments is when he tends to run his mouth. Now, standing in front of Toji, the silence of his simmering anger is off-putting. Toji seems to realize this too, shifting on the balls of his feet.

But words evade Sukuna. His mind races with rage-induced insults, anything to drive Toji away, get the man out of his business.

Yet his tongue is tied because Toji is painfully right.

Toji has always had an attitude that rivaled Sukuna’s and never backs down from a fight. His sharp and witty tongue would tell off Sukuna whenever he needed some perspective and the two were fiercely protective of one another. Toji was like a brother to Sukuna back then.

But he was also an asshole. Still is. He was raised by a family notoriously well-known for being as equally wealthy as they are terrible and Toji had always been on the receiving end of it. He’d grown rebellious and indifferent at a young age and acted out at every turn, eventually settling as he got older into brutish and cocky indifference, though most just branded him as an asshole.

Yet Sukuna made him look like a saint as of late.

“Christ, Ryomen. You really got nothin’ to say ‘bout all of this?” Toji runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, the black strands slipping down over his forehead once more. “Maybe I should just ask your fuckin’ brother, I swear sometimes it’s like Jin didn’t even raise yo-”

Sukuna’s anger flares once more, pulled from his thoughts of the past. “He’s fucking dead, Toji.” Venom drips from Sukuna’s words, silencing not only his friend, but the world around you seems to hold its breath too. Nothing about the tense situation is comfortable but you don’t dare move, biting your lip to keep from making any noise.

Toji blinks once, twice, three times. The words take a moment to process as he stands straight, before his brow furrows deeply. His mouth opens and closes a number of times as he searches for something to say, his spare hand scratching at his chest before hanging there for a moment, clutching at his shirt.

“When?” To your shock, Toji’s eyes are glazed with tears, and all you can do is shuffle from foot to foot, feeling nothing but sympathy for the poor man. From what you know of Jin, he was patient and kind and if Toji was Sukuna’s best friend, you can imagine he likely shared that kindness with Toji.

Sukuna’s expression takes a somber turn, the tension in his jaw dissipating somewhat. “Been a bit over three years.”

Toji blinks, a warm trail running down his cheek which he quickly wipes on his sleeve, burying his unprocessed grief beneath a layer of anger as something occurs to him.

“You didn’t think I’d wanna know?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, they both know the underlying issue of their problems all stem from Sukuna’s stubbornness. “You didn’t think to fuckin’ tell me?” This time, there’s more bite to his words. He may be glossy-eyed with sorrow, but he’s equally pissed now.

“It’s not your fucking business!” Sukuna barks, gripping the door frame with a white knuckled hand as he grits his teeth again. You peer past him at the door, searching for an escape, but Sukuna’s still soundly in your way.

“Like hell! He was more of a father to me than my parents ever were and you know that!” Toji takes a step back, turning to pace in a circle as he drags a hand down his face in disbelief. “Y’r such a fuckin’ prick, Ryomen. You always were, but shit.”

Someone clearing their throat down the hall turns your attention towards them. A kind-looking older woman with gray hair and soft eyes is just barely leaning out her door. “Sukuna, dear. Can I ask you to take this elsewhere?”

Turns out she’s your guardian angel.

To your relief, Sukuna simply points at the elevator, making a point of staring down Toji. The football player sighs deeply, rolling his eyes as he leads the way in silence. Sukuna casts you a glance, which then flickers towards the door in a silent question.

You nod, relieved, and slip into his apartment, finding Choso standing in the kitchen alone staring at the floor. He looks startlingly like a puppy with its tail between its legs.

Of course he would have heard everything.

As the door clicks shut behind you and you shuffle to slip your boots and jacket off, his gaze rises to you. A deep crease knits his brow, his eyes searching yours for something he doesn’t seem to find. Kneeling down, you wrap your arms around him in reassurance.

“Hey, sweetie.” You keep your voice soft and kind as Choso’s arms gingerly wrap around you. “Your apron looks great.”

He doesn’t reply, clinging tightly to you.

“Have you checked the potatoes?” A nod. “Are they ready yet?” A shake of his head. Frowning at his silence, you nod. “Do you wanna sit down?” 

Choso nods again, pulling back and plopping down right in the middle of the kitchen.

“Oh, I meant-” Choso looks up at you with those sad puppy-dog eyes and you plop down beside him. “Nevermind.” Sitting cross-legged, you glance around, but you don’t hear or see Yuji. “Where’s your brother?”

“At a friend’s.”

That’s a relief. You nod, ruffling Choso’s hair. At least you’ve gotten a couple of words out of the reserved little boy.

“What are you making?” You ask curiously, trying to peer up at the counter. From where you’re sitting, all you can make out is the top of the pot that you assume the potatoes Sukuna was giving instructions about earlier are boiling in.

Choso fiddles with the bottom of his apron. “Pie.”

“Pie? Shepherd’s pie?”

Choso nods.

“That sounds great,” you grin in an effort to lighten the mood, but Choso isn’t receptive to your efforts. You shuffle to sit closer to him, wrapping your arms around your knees. You’re not built for the floor like the kid is. “Do you wanna talk, Cho?” You query, quietly observing the way that his little hands, fiddling with his apron, slow to a halt before dropping into his lap.

“Why’s Kuna mad at Toji?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“I like Toji. He’s nice. Mostly.”

You blow a breath out through your nose in a semblance of a laugh, a faint smile drawing your lips upwards. “Mostly?”

Choso doesn’t share your amusement outwardly, but he entertains your question. “He was like another older brother,” he shrugs.

“With all the good and bad of a big brother. I get it,” you chuckle, shifting to lean back on your arms as you struggle to find a comfortable way to sit on the kitchen tile. “Did you spend a lot of time with Toji?”

Choso nods. “They ditched me at the theater once.”

Your brow raises. “At the theater?” Your question is laced in disbelief.

Choso nods.

“Why?”

“They wanted to see a scary movie.”

“Wow, they were mean older brothers,” you agree, absolutely planning on giving Sukuna a hard time for that.

“Dad grounded Kuna for a month.”

“He deserved it,” you smile, rubbing the kid’s back gently. Looking for any excuse to get up off the floor, you point up at the pot on the stove where the water continues to boil. “Let’s check the potatoes again.”

Choso nods, getting to his feet and stepping up onto a small stool.

“Careful not to burn yourself,” you urge, standing behind him as he takes a fork and stabs a potato. When it comes up on the fork easily, Choso turns off the stove, shooting a glance at you in a silent question of whether that’s what to do. You nod, helping him dump out the water and potatoes into a strainer and teaching him to mash them.

As he jabs the masher into the bowl of starch, he sticks his tongue out in concentration as you add salt and milk to the mixture for him.

Out of nowhere, Choso slows to a halt, his head whipping to face the window. Tilting your head, you follow his gaze when you realize that the two men who walked outside to continue their argument have raised their voices and they must be right below the window as you can faintly make out their words.

“Why wouldn’t you ask for help?”

“I don’t need help!”

Turning to Choso, you smile. “Keep mashing, okay?”

His eyes trail after you as you grab your boots and slide the balcony door open, stepping out into the cold. Hugging your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, you peek over the railing at the two men below.

“If you weren’t my friend, I swear I woulda socked ya in the jaw by now, you-”

“Hey!” You call down, catching their attention as they both look up at you. “You’re upsetting Choso.”

Sukuna inhales a long breath, sighing loudly. “Look-” Sukuna begins, his voice strained in an effort to keep it down for Choso’s sake. “I don’t need any help-”

“Don’t need any help or don’t need my help?” Toji interjects, casting a glance at you. Your eyes widen slightly, heat rushing up your neck. Yeah, you could understand Toji being a bit hurt at the idea that Sukuna let you in while he pushed away his best friend.

Sukuna’s fingers curl at his sides into fists. “I don’t need your help,” he snarls.

“Fine.” Toji finally gives in, sick of not getting anywhere with the brash and stubborn history major. He shoves the box against Sukuna’s chest, turning on his heel to walk away. “My number’s on the note in the box. Call me if ya decide to stop bein’ a prick.”

Sukuna seethes as he watches Toji get in a beat up old Honda and drive off. If it were any colder, you swear you would be able to see steam coming from his ears. When the car’s out of sight, Sukuna’s sharp gaze rises to you, his expression unreadable besides his obvious anger. “Go inside. You’ll catch somethin’,” Sukuna calls.

“I will. You come inside too, you don’t have a jacket,” you point out.

Sukuna hardly even noticed, in truth, but regardless he makes his way inside just as you do. Shivering as warmth envelops you once more, you run your hands up and down your arms a few times in an attempt to generate heat while you pull your boots off.

Choso’s standing by his potatoes, unevenly chopping carrots and putting them in a smaller pot alongside some corn. He’s shockingly good in the kitchen, making his Christmas gifts and his eagerness to follow you as you cook make more sense.

Returning to Choso’s side, you help him fill the pot with water, setting it on the stove as you wait for the veggies to boil.

“Why are Kuna and Toji mean to each other?”

You ponder his question for a moment, dreading the idea of the former walking through the door anytime now. “They’re not very good at talking about their feelings,” you land on as an explanation.

“Why?”

Frowning, you contemplate his query.

You’re glad Choso’s speaking more, but his questions are giving you a run for your money.

“Not everyone is as good at understanding their feelings as you and I are,” you explain. “Your brother isn’t very good at it.”

“At what?” He gruffs, pushing through the door.

Fuuuuuu-

“Don’t worry about it.”

Luckily for you, Sukuna isn’t in the mood to argue with you. “Need a minute to cool off,” he grumbles, trudging to his room and shutting the door with an unintentional slam.

Sighing, you return to the vegetables as they steadily come to a boil.

Choso stares hard at the boiling pot above his line of sight, his brow knit into a deep scowl.

“What’s up, honey?” You ask with a tilt of your head, leaning down a bit to his height. He shakes his head in an effort to get his long hair out of his face, deep in thought. When it doesn’t work, he pushes it from his face, but it just falls back into his eyes. “Can I help?”

He nods, watching your movements as you quickly jog to the washroom to grab a couple of hair ties that you’d left behind the last time you’d helped him put his hair up. It only takes a moment before you’ve tied two messy buns up at the back of his head.

Now able to see, Choso’s thoughtful expression returns. “What’s up, honey?” You try again.

“Will you talk to Kuna? He listens to you.”

You chuckle quietly. “I don’t know about that.” Still, he does listen to you… a portion of the time, which is more than can be said for most. “What do you want me to talk to him about?”

“Being friends with Toji.”

Your heart twists at the meaning behind Choso’s words. Whether he misses Toji or simply wants Sukuna to be happier, you can’t say for sure, but it’s endearing nonetheless.

Gently rubbing his back, you nod. “Sure. When you can stab the carrots with a fork, turn the stove off, okay? Be super careful.”

Choso nods.

Making your way over to Sukuna’s door, you cautiously knock.

“Come in.”

Twisting the knob, you push inside slowly. His room is a bit messier than the last time you were in here, the memory making your heart race as you recall your heated kiss. Light floods in from the window, better illuminating the art and posters on his walls, as well as what you’re sure is a pile of lightly used hoodies that seems to have taken over his desk chair. His weights are scattered carelessly in front of his dresser, his work polo discarded atop the wooden furniture.

Sukuna eyes you from where he leans against his headboard, his gaze still filled with mild irritation, though he is holding the phone that Toji handed him. You suppose that’s an overall positive.

“Whaddya want?” Sukuna grumbles, though the frustration within his sharp gaze doesn’t carry over to his voice.

“Well,” you begin softly, making your way over to his bed to take a seat beside him. “I originally came to drop off some stuff and let you know you have a paper due tomorrow-”

“Fuck that,” he groans, slumping down as he goes through the new phone setup screen.

“- five thousand words, by the way.”

“On what?” He sighs, the phone illuminating his features as he continues going through setup.

“Charles Dickens.”

“No. You’re fuckin’ with me.”

“I’m unfortunately dead serious.”

Crimson eyes finally part from the phone as Sukuna scowls at you, searching for any sign that you’re lying. When he doesn’t find one, he flips onto his stomach with a muffled groan into the pillow. His bicep brushes your thigh and you swallow hard, reminding yourself he doesn’t feel that way for you and it’s just an accident.

“I fuckin’ told you she’s a conspiracy theorist,” he gruffs from deep within the pillow, barely audible past the material.

You giggle, thankful for the somewhat lighthearted subject. “I still can’t believe you were right.”

“Wish I wasn’t.”

Silence falls over you as Sukuna remains buried in his pillow, finally raising his head with a prolonged sigh. He rests his chin on the pillow, staring tiredly at the gray material of his headboard. The fabric is worn where he usually sits, beginning to tear where his back slumps against it when he uses his laptop.

Not like he has the cash for a new one anyway.

“Is that all ya came in here for?” He asks finally, eyes still trained on the way threads are pulled taut in the fabric, barely held together as they wear thin.

“Uraume had me drop off a couple of things too. But-”

“Why’d you bring Toji?” Sukuna interrupts suddenly, lifting his gaze to scowl at you.

Blinking at his sudden change in demeanor, you shake your head. “He was here when I got here.”

“That prick,” he mutters under his breath, dropping his chin to stare at his headboard.

“You know, Choso sent me in here.”

“Great,” the salmon-haired man mumbles, “what does the brat want? I left the recipe for him.”

“Be nice to your brother. He’s going through a lot,” you scold.

“And I’m not?” He hisses, his head raising to look at you. When you return his scowl, he backs down, chin on his pillow again.

“Cho misses Toji. He wanted me to talk to you about being friends with him again.”

Your words silence Sukuna’s sharp tongue as all he can do is stare down at the black pillowcase beneath him. He shuffles slightly, his arm pressing into you.

He may be stubborn about Toji, but his brothers never fail to crack his tough exterior. As of late though, his demeanor doesn’t simply crack when it comes to his brothers, it crumbles. Sukuna flips onto his side, eyes downcast as he faces you now with one arm under the pillow and the other moving up to rest on your thigh.

Your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his large hand squeezing the plush of your thigh.

Mirroring Sukuna’s frown, you set your hand over his softly. “What happened between you two anyway?”

Sukuna sighs. “Nothing, really. We just didn’t talk about heavy shit so I never told him what was goin’ on.”

Of course that’s all there is to it. Grimacing, you drum your fingers lightly over the back of his hand as you debate whether you want to say something. His eyes watch the movement intently, drawn to the way your fingers feel so soft on his skin.

“I’m gonna say something-” you pause, watching his eyes flicker up to meet yours, “- and you aren’t allowed to get upset with me.”

Sukuna’s brow twitches, curling into a scowl. “I don’t get mad over every little thing.”

If ever there was a time you gave Sukuna a look, this was it. “So last week, when you chased me down to my car-”

Flipping back to his stomach until his face is shoved back in his pillow, he mutters a “shut up” that barely makes it to your ears, thoroughly muffled. Regardless, you laugh, gently patting the hand that remains on your thigh.

“I know you’re letting me in, and that’s great, but Toji’s just trying to help too,” you point out.

Sukuna doesn’t move, the musculature of his back rising and falling steadily as he stubbornly keeps his face buried in his pillow.

“You never told me he used to be your best friend.”

“You never asked.” Again, you can barely make out his words.

Sighing, you rest a hand on his back. His muscles seize briefly beneath the tips of your fingers, before relaxing as you rub small circles between his shoulder blades. Sukuna lifts his head finally after a moment, turning his face to you as he remains on his stomach. He looks more at ease than he has in a long while, likely because he obviously skipped class to sleep, though you’re sure the gentle massaging of your hand is nice too.

“Why is it so bad to let him in?” You query, the tips of your fingers brushing against his spine. A shiver overtakes him, though he does his best to mask it.

“I took the damn phone,” he grumbles, as though there isn’t a bigger point to this whole situation.

Your lips press into a thin line as you stare at the stubborn man. Your fingers pause as you contemplate your next words. “The Zenins are pretty rich, aren’t they? Why don’t you ask for a hand with the lawyer-”

“I’m not a fucking charity case,” he hisses, every muscle pulled taut as he glares at you, an unspoken warning laced within his tone that you’re pushing his buttons.

You work your fingers across his muscles again, soothing him to release the tension in his shoulders. Slowly but surely, he relaxes in the silence, basking in the warmth of your hand.

“I never said you were. You could pay him back.”

“No.” He gruffs firmly.

It takes everything in you not to raise your head to the heavens and groan. Sukuna can be so ridiculously frustrating sometimes.

Stubborn as a mule, you have no other option but to give in. “Well… Just remember what Choso said.”

“I took the phone, isn’t that good enough for the brat?”

“It’s a hand-me-down phone, not a friendship bracelet,” you point out, unable to stifle the giggle that comes with your words.

Sukuna cracks an eye open, rolling it dramatically before flipping his face to stare at the wall. A comfortable silence hangs over you as Sukuna shuts his eyes after a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers smoothing across his muscles. The sun warms your skin through his window, goading a yawn from you as you find yourself leaning against his headboard. Your fingers slide along his shoulder blades as you find yourself shutting your eyes in the serene warmth of the afternoon sun.

Your hand slowly begins to still as fatigue overtakes both of you, and you bask in the cozy environment like a cat finding a patch of light.

It’s not until you hear a clank from the kitchen that you’re snapped out of your drowsiness and realize that Sukuna’s not the only one with a paper due tomorrow.

Glancing at the time, you pat Sukuna’s back gently. His head raises as he blearily looks you over, a questioning look on his face. It’s painfully sweet, the way he seems to be wondering why you stopped like a cat wondering why you’re no longer petting them.

Seems like you were a pair of happy cats for a moment.

“I need to go write that paper, and so should you.”

He hums in acknowledgement.

“I’ll help Choso get the food in the oven, sound good?”

Sukuna hums again, rubbing his eyes.

“Send me your number, by the way. I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“I have a morning shift after I drop the brats off,” he grumbles. “I’ll try to be there.”

“Just don’t forget about your paper!” You remind him, slipping off the bed towards the door.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Bonus points if you talk about Dickens’ death conspiracy theory!” You chant when you reach the doorway, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

He snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “Where he died doesn’t fuckin’ change anything.”

With a grin, you just giggle along, heading out the door.

With his hands clutching the edge of the mattress, the burly man stares silently at the gray carpet beneath his feet. He can barely make out the sound of your voice, saccharine sweet and gentle, as you direct Choso while helping him put together the meal.

Lifting a hand, he subconsciously scratches at his spine between his shoulder blades, sending a shiver through his body.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

❦ a/n ; soooo this was originally meant to end on a different scene but by the time i hit 20k words i figured i should split it LOL sorry for the delay! had to take a small break for my mental health, but! the next chapter is already at 8k since i chose to split this, so i should be able to get it out soon <33 as always, thank you so much for all the love! i've gotten so many sweet comments, rbs, and asks and i absolutely love hearing everyone's thoughts on the chapter. ily all <33

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[beedreamscape]

She knew love and it was both her curse and her blessing. It was what drove her to pursue her plans even harder, but it was also what kept her from becoming a cold parallel to Ludinus Da'leth.

I know it's funny and girlboss-like behavior Laerryn subscribes to

But listen to me, and I will not back away from this opinion,

If someone were to "seduce" Laerryn into even more hubristic behavior, that person would be Ludinus bc despite his social standing or importance, if he ever reached her, he would've said all the right things to feed her ego and her ambition.

She has Patia and Nydas, but they're no stand-in for what Evandrin was and there'll always be a gap in this area of support, of just as enthusiastic ambition and excitement. And Ludinus would maybe try to give her just that.

But just for a while.

I do agree there would be a point, she would've noticed that "Oh, this guy has issues. No, I don't want to break the order like that. I have people that love me and I love them too much for that. I've found religionless devotion in ways this man could never." bc Ludinus, at the end of the day, feels like a man that's been lonely and selfish all his life and Laerryn isn't like him.

Laerryn knows love and, in the end, that made all the difference.

[stardust-swan]

What Type of Charisma are You Manifesting? ✨

Left to right: 1, 2, 3

Pile 1

You're manifesting vibrant charisma. You are radiating magnetism that draws people in - the type that makes you best friends with everyone in the room even if you only met them five minutes ago. The type that everyone has a little crush on. The type that can make a small gathering feel like a lively extravaganza. You are full of cheer and high-spirited, brimming with fun and excitement.

You're experimenting with your identity, which makes you come across as raw and authentic. You have a lot of power but you have not yet learned how to wield it. You are confident and ambitious, and people sense your potential. Some people might find it intimidating, but others are drawn in by your exuberance and honesty. You are full of passion and energy and are going places quickly, which other people sense as a vibe of spontaneity and excitement. You live for fun, and if things are no longer fun, you don't want to play anymore.

Imagery I associate with your kind of charisma:

Scent: Citrus - sweet, bright, and bold, but it doesn't linger.

Flower: Sunflower or a zinnia.

Animal: Toucan

Artist: Matisse, full of high contrasts and vibrant colours.

Colour: Clear, bright colours, like turquoise, dandelion yellow, Kelly green, sky blue, and tomato red.

Archetype: The Cheerleader or Prom Queen, who rather than being the stereotypical mean girl, is actually very friendly and genuinely beloved by all - the type who is invited to every party and who makes sure to chat with the new kid in the class to make them feel less alone.

Pile 2

You are manifesting regal charisma. This type of charisma exudes poise, confidence, and elegance. People feel like they're hanging out with royalty around you, even if you're wearing jeans and a t-shirt and cracking jokes. But no matter how casual and relaxed you are, you radiate dignity and grace. People are drawn in by your competence, talent, and skill - you're someone that commands respect, a natural leader like a Queen at her throne. Your peers respect you, and people younger than you look up to you.

Sometimes you come across as more reserved than you are. You're afraid of overwhelming people, so you hold yourself back a little. But people can still sense the fire underneath - the big goals, the worldliness, the growth coming full circle. This makes you come across as confident, wise, and a bit mysterious. You have a wicked sense of humour, which softens a demeanour some may otherwise find cold.

Imagery I associate with your kind of charisma:

Scent: Rose - fresh, clean, and feminine.

Flower: Carnation or white camellia.

Animal: Swan

Artist: Diego Velázquez - realistic, dramatic, highly detailed, and technically impressive.

Colour: Jewel tones, like emerald green, garnet, aubergine, and royal blue.

Archetype: The High Queen. Dressed majestically, you sit at your throne, inspiring awe in others. You are kind, regal, and benevolent, beloved by all the land. You bless and reward those who respect you generously.

Pile 3

You are manifesting laid-back charisma. You are very grounded, which puts people at ease. You like to help people grow. You won't do the work for someone else, but you'll support and encourage them as much as you can as long as they do their share (your pet peeve is people refusing to do their share of the work or improve themselves). You carry an air of vulnerability (in a good way) and openness, which gives you a soulful quality. People relate to you easily, and feel comfortable sharing things with you. They perceive you as resilient, someone who can not only emphatise with their struggles, but who has overcome their own struggles and gotten stronger because of them. You are someone who is actively seeking growth, unafraid of getting a bit messy to do so. You have a healing effect on people and will help anyone that needs a hand. You are supportive of your local community, whether that's through participating in the neighborhood cleanup or donating to a local food bank.

Imagery I associate with your type of charisma:

Scent: Sandalwood - soft, woody, and rich.

Flower: Hydrangea

Animal: Dove

Artist: Maxfield Parrish - vibrant, gently blended, and whimsical.

Colour: Gentle, warm colours, like copper, rosewood, cream, moss green, charcoal and lavender.

Archetype: The Earth Mother. You are someone who is wise, nourishing, and gently firm. You have a creative soul, and you find beauty in the ordinary. Like an ancient goddess who has come to Earth to bless us with her presence and love.

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[lavenders388]

i've been hooked on squid games recently, could you possibly do one of the guards or the frontman protecting the reader from dying in a game?? bonus points if the reader gets hurt. please and thank you!! no pressure at all ofc! good luck with college!!

~One Lucky Day~

˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚ Pink Soldier x Reader

requested 💌

a/n: sorry for being super slow writing its for the silliest reason ever! my hard gel nails are grown the fuck out and its SO hard to type expect like one million fics in a row when i get these mf knives taken off of my fingers here in a few days!!! as always thank you for all the support!!!<3 -matcha

˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚ As you were led through the sickeningly colorful halls- an almost disrespectful contrast to the dark place you found yourself in, your mind raced uncontrollably about what the next game would be. You worried, like everyone else, about whether you would be able to survive and move forward. you looked around as you climbed the pink staircase. noticing how many men there were compared to women. your stomach began to turn thinking about how difficult it would be to compete against those who appeared to be much stronger than you. you tried to calm yourself; thinking about how during the previous game you had an advantage by being able to stop easily and stay balanced. you hoped that in this game strength wouldn't be much of a factor.

as you entered the game hall, your mind began to race a little less. "this doesn't look like it'll be too bad for me." you thought, noticing that there wasn't a whole lot that the set gave away; just two rainbow circles. "it looks like a track, maybe this will be more like red light green light again." you pondered; the thought of a more agility-based game making you feel more confidently. the recorded voice echoed within the hall as you were instructed to form groups of 5. The thought of being in a group also aided in soothing your fears, knowing that whatever ability you lacked there were other players with you to make up for it.

you eventually found your group, finding it hard to be accepted due to not being male. your group- 3 women and 2 men- ended up being picked to go dead last. you all breathed a sigh of relief- agreeing that this could be a very good thing, you weren't going first, and you had the most time to prepare. you all got to practice your individual mini-games, and you were able to calculate what the other players struggled with more and how to better handle that without wasting too much time. as you and the rest of the crowd cheered for the other groups, you began to feel more confident about the game.

finally, it was time for the two last groups to compete. you were happy to be closer to the end of this horrible place, but you trembled with the thought of what would happen if your group wasn't time-efficient enough. the other group- very kindly you thought- agreed that they would be cheering you on and you them; referencing to the lack of cheering crowd the other groups had. this gesture made you feel supported- and ready to compete in what would hopefully be the last game before you got to leave.

as your group moved through all of the mini-games, your heart sank realizing how little time you all had to spare. "fuck." you thought to yourself; not wanting to scare the rest of your team. "okay, we can't afford to mess up on this last one." you said to the man about to attempt the last game. you tried to sound encouraging. to hide your fear in a way that might help that man. with 5 seconds on the clock, you watched the other team cheer in relief as they completed the game and got to leave. your team wouldn't make it, your skin crawling as you came to the sinking realization.

five... four... three... two... one... you barely heard the recording counting down what you believed to be your last seconds on this earth. you wanted to cry, but you didn't have the time to even do that. as you watched your teammates fall to the ground, you expected the same fate to become of yourself. you felt a bullet graze the side of your upper shoulder; the pain sinking into the muscle like fire traveling through each of your veins. the pain almost distracted you from the conversation you began to overhear as you lied on the rainbow ground with your fallen teammates.

"i missed on purpose so that they'll be fresh." you heard coming from one of the masked guards. "fresh? what the fuck does he mean fresh?" you thought, the type of fear racing within you amounting to more than you've ever felt before. "okay, load them all up like normal." you heard from another guard as the pink-bowed coffins began to be lifted onto the ground beside you. you felt yourself being uncuffed; gently. and then loaded into the coffin. "don't worry. trust me." you almost didn't hear it as he said it so quietly under his breath as you were lowered with care into the coffin.

the lid was closed but not stapled shut like the rest. you didn't get moved either. time stood still as the rest of the guards left with the other coffins. after what felt like hours but was most likely only a few seconds, you saw the lid opening.

"hey just stay quiet, don't freak out or try to run. please just trust me." came softly from the only guard left in the room. you didn't know what it was, maybe just the desperation of having nothing else to do, or maybe it was his voice that made you trust him almost immediately. you lifted yourself out of the box that was supposed to be the last thing that ever touched your body. gingerly, as to not upset the gash on your shoulder. you winced, catching his attention as he began to help you up.

"why- why did you save me? i lost the game." you said, your voice trembling in shock and as the pain traveled up your arm. "i don't know." he said, soundly almost as scared as you were. "I'm so fucking sorry i shot you." your eyes met his, he looked to be near your age. his face was young and soft, with short black hair. he was the type of guy that if you weren't in this place, you would have considered going up to him to ask for his number or something along those lines. "thank you, so much." you said genuinely, your voice softening as you assessed that the situation was safe.

"what do we do now?" you asked him, even though it didn't look like he knew for himself. "ill patch your arm up, and ill lead you back to the other players when its lights out." your second chance at life was shocking; a bit disappointing that you still had to go back to the games. you found yourself not wanting to level him.

"what about you?" you questioned as he began to gently wrap some gauze around the wound on your arm. "ill be okay, they thought you went with the rest of the coffins, and they don't really seem to care about what happens to the players once they've been eliminated." you tried not to think about the last part of his answer. "will i see you again?" you asked, without really thinking about it. you weren't sure how to properly express your gratitude to the stranger who had saved you, and a part of you twinged with sadness about the thought of never looking into his brown eyes again.

"ill look after you in the games." he stated in a way that made you know full-heartedly that he meant it; and would do so.

as he walked you back to the hall you once dreaded returning to, you found yourself no longer feeling any fear at all.

[mellowwillowy]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐲 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Your husband is a man of reputation, respected by everyone for his competency as a lawyer and his benevolence toward the people of this town. Yes, people who don't know him as a man of greed would never expect just how greedy this man is.

A man of greed, corruption, and lovesickness. Your beloved husband who treasures you like his precious treasure of all, worth even more than all his possessed assets and the most beautiful of all creations he has ever seen and made.

There are times when he might feel guilty about objectifying you, but he can't deny the feeling he gets from seeing you being so docile, a dependent spouse who can't do anything after he strips everything that might take you away from him.

While he is not a fan of taking away your autonomy, he is also not a fan of seeing you being basked in the capability of leaving him. You bet you'll end up as a house spouse the moment you vow to love him eternally.

There are also times he sees you as his beloved songbird, the beautiful lily-of-the-valley, or just a very fragile sculpture, all need to be taken care of and pampered by him properly.

He may be a gentleman but one could go feral should he ever see someone pestering you. A lawyer who served injustice, his relation to the mafia ringleader will assist him in erasing this pest's existence as he dumps his body into the ocean, missing all the limbs.

"Dear, do tell me where he touched you with those filthy hands of his," Yulian questioned as his thumbs circled your hands. He had personally ensured to break his index finger before shooting him to death, seethed in anger upon seeing someone trying to humiliate you at the party he had you attend with him.

That bastard did not only try to provoke you but was also brave enough to touch you, earning the aristocrats' pitying gaze as he was unaware of the invisible rule, 'Never bother the spouse of Adam deus'Otiosus."

"Uhm, I'm fine, he didn't touch me since I managed to dodge just in time! Please don't worry too much about it, dear!"

If you noticed how his face darkened then you decided to turn a blind eye to it, a pout soon formed in his lip, "That bastard, even I wasn't daring enough to touch you back when I was still only courting you..."

You chuckled at his remarks before patting his head, "I'm alright dear, really."

But the same couldn't be said about the bastard the moment you turned on the television next week. It was not hard to find him as Yulian did not even bother to tie a weight by his ankle.

[xveenusx]

Indifference

Paring(s): Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Two people who are in love, well he used to be

Authors note: you guys like when I make you cry

Rating: angsty

Warnings: it'll hurt :)

__________________

He was late.

Time was a funny thing. Minutes turned to hours which rolled into days then suddenly months began to blur into years. In that time, people tend to go out and experience things, falling in and out of love, enjoying everything life had to offer.

Yet, I somehow found myself motionless, the spark that once ignited my core had been stifled to a small ember. Life continued to pass by while I remained glued in one place, watching as everyone around me attempted to achieve some form of happiness.

I was once like that. Filled with some much hope for a life with someone I loved, who showed up to support me and believed in my capability, because at one time in my life that was exactly what Rafe was.

Like I said, time was a funny thing. The more time passes with your partner, the more comfortable they seem to get. They stop trying. However, at what point does being comfortable become almost negligent?

Dates were canceled, appointments missed, and important accomplishments forgotten the more time went on. Rafe’s priorities shifted and I went from being the center of his world to being a planet merely circling his gravitational pull.

In his mind, we were forever, so a couple of cancellations here and there and bouts of forgetfulness were nothing in the span of things. I would have agreed had the cancellations not doubled with time or our conversations going from intimate and deep to surface level at best.

He was never home. It was always just me in this large house on figure 8.  Suddenly, he went from being the moon and the stars to just a bleak, unforgivable starless night. Cold and dark.

We had met when we were 16 and he was every bit a spoiled little rich boy that had extreme daddy issues, but there was more to him than that. I picked at his defenses until finally they shattered, and I was engulfed by all of him.

He was just different around me and that fact alone left me delighted. It made me feel special, almost stupidly so.

Things between Rafe and his father were already tense enough since Rafe bought a motorbike with the money he was supposed to spend on the generator. Then everything began to snowball out of control from there. He threw himself into his father’s work and when he wasn’t doing that, he was with Kells and Topper doing god knows what and snorting anything he could find.

Despite all of this, Rafe always kept me close and always let me in. 

Last year, when Ward had gone with Sarah and John B to South America, and didn’t return, something shifted inside him. His defenses were rebuilt, only this time he left me on the outside, and no matter how hard I tried to break him down brick by brick, nothing worked. He became obsessed with running Ward’s real estate empire better than he ever did.

Rafe was a cold and calculated legacy with a large chip on his shoulder that made him lethal against competing firms. He chewed them up and spit them out.

With every major milestone, it was never enough for him, and like a man possessed he continued to ruthlessly target anyone that had done him wrong. We had everything and yet the bitterness seemed to consume him. He was someone I saw once a day if I was lucky. He always left before I woke up and was never home by the time I went to bed and suddenly we were glorified roommates.

Once upon a time, I would stay up waiting for him with my heart in my hand, hoping to connect in any way. Even if I only had a few minutes to spend with him before he went to sleep, it was enough for me. But, 10 pm became 11 pm which turned into 12 am and so I gave up. My sleep schedule was already a mess as thoughts and insecurities pestered my mind of another woman.

“Any word from him yet? Some of the donors are asking for him?” The question pulls me out of my thoughts and I turn to face my assistant, Rai.

Her question is innocent enough, but I can hear the slight concern in her voice and I know she has her doubts which only serves as another humiliating reminder that Rafe has done this to me repeatedly.

But this was different. He knew how important this charity dinner was to the shelter I opened up for women and children who suffered from domestic violence.

As someone who came from the cut, it was everywhere and so many didn’t have the means to flee and so they were forced to stay and in the most severe instances, die.

Rafe gave me the start-up money as a gift and it was a huge success that I opened several more as well as fund for scholarships for both the mothers and kids. Which is what brings me to now, a charity dinner and auction to help fund said scholarships and pay for all the shelter necessities.

He promised he would be here. It’s important for the donors to see him here seeing as though he donated a huge sum once more and could ease the minds of those who are teetering on the edge. It’s also important to me. This project is mine, something I created and shared with the world and I want to share it with him too.

I want him to celebrate this accomplishment with me and he is nowhere to be found.

“He’ll be here. Rafe promised.” I clear my throat, “He knows how important this is to me.”

Rai gave me a doubtful look and I know that I couldn’t convince her anymore than I could convince myself. The engagement ring that bore my finger instantly weighed a ton.

Glancing down at the large diamond that once meant the promise of everything, stared back at me as nothing more than a simple accessory.

Rafe had proposed and foolishly I believed that it would save us so I said yes.

I stayed and time and time again, the disappointment slowly began to etch away at the childish hope I tried to cling onto until only a dull ache remained.

“Don’t you look lovely?” Plastering a fake smile onto my face, I let out a sheepish laugh as I take in Kiara’s parents. 

“Thank you guys so much for coming.” The words ring true but I couldn’t help but feel like I was underwater. My focus is shot and I find myself hardly listening with my eyes darting to the front door every minute or so, desperate to see the man I used to think would never stop loving me. 

I float around the room, committed to being a gracious host, because I would not let him take this from me too. Not when he’s taken everything else already. This is the only piece left of me. 

My cheeks hurt two hours later from all the fake smiles and my throat burns from the feigned laughing. The sound of my own voice makes me wince. 

In those two hours, I felt my confidence slowly get chipped piece by piece as everyone questioned where my fiancé was. And for a moment, I hated him. I truly hated him because even this small piece of heaven I made for myself is tied into him. 

Honey, I need to run some numbers with Rafe. Where is he hiding? 

Where is the biggest investor? Surely, he’s here, right?

I haven't seen Mr. Cameron. Has he stepped out? 

With which I responded,” Work emergency, you know how it is. He’s nothing if not committed.” Considering most of these possible donors run their own large companies, they completely understand but it’s their partners reactions that seem to leave me stunned. 

Each had a warm look of understanding dancing in their eyes as I’m sure they’ve used the same excuse time and time again.

I can only take so much. So I excuse myself and glance at the small gold heart shaped watch on my delicate wrist and take note of the time.

There was only 30 minutes left and I haven't gotten so much as a text from him. 

A pit began to form where my stomach used to be as I realized once more that he wasn’t coming. As I stood in a packed room, filled with a flurry of activity, surrounded by people, I’ve never felt more alone.

Then my eyes connect with Mrs. Dune, the wife of a finance guru that works alongside Rafe. She was much older than I, having been with her husband for 30 years but she looked even older. 

It’s almost as though she can read my thoughts, because she sends me a sad smile as she lets her eyes go to where her husband stands talking to other donors. I haven't seen him talk to her the whole night, instead she’s been standing at his side saying nothing. 

I take an uneven breath and my eyes widen in realization. Was this what I had to look forward to? A life sentence of loneliness vacant of any warmth and attention? 

Swallowing hard, I force my eyes away and stare at the door. Begging whoever will listen to please, this once, let me be wrong. I’m so in my thoughts that I’m startled when a soft hand lands on my arm.

“You get used to it. Eventually, you’ll feel nothing.” Mrs. Dune says quietly, her eyes moving back to her husband, with a look I can only describe as longing. 

That’s the thing. I don't want to get used to it. This isn’t how I want to be loved.

“What you’ve accomplished is amazing. Don’t let him take that away from you.” Was her parting words and she left, not sparing her husband another glance. 

When I turn to see if he noticed she left, he’s still engaged in conversations and doesn’t spare her a glance. 

This is not how I want to be loved. 

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you. This is Amy Park.” Rai looks ecstatic as she introduces me to the stunning tall woman next to her. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Park.” The words come out on instinct.

“I wanted to discuss how open you would be to expanding shelters nationwide?”

And for the first time in awhile, a real smile graces my face as I answer her question. 

_____________________

The first thing I notice when I pull into our driveway is the plethora of cars that fill it. The second thing I pick up on is familiar vibrations of music with each step I take along our pathway. 

My front door is wide open as people come in and out, clearly under the influence of something and my chest constricts. 

This is what he’s been doing? This was more important than me? 

Clutching my keys tightly, I welcome the familiar biting against my skin. I recognize many of the faces, most of them having gone to school with Rafe. 

If it was any other night, I would have joined them. We were only 22 and yet have lived what seems to be a hundred lives. But, this is different. He’s different. 

Climbing up the staircase, I head to the balcony where I hear a familiar boast of laughter. 

I cleared my throat. “What’s so funny?”

Heads snap in my direction but my eyes are only on one. One that currently has a short black haired girl nearly in his lap. I recognize her as a bartender at one of the local grills/bars we frequent. 

“Don’t you look gorgeous-“ Topper attempts to run interference, but it’s too late. I raise my hand to silence him. I’ve already seen everything I needed too. 

His body is positioned slightly in front of them as if I was going to body slam them. I might actually. 

“Hey, wait! How did the donor dinner go?” Topper's eyes dart to Rafe’s. “That was tonight right?”

I see the moment everything clicks. His eyes rake down from my newly styled hair to the louboutins in my feet. Everything I wore from the jewelry on my body to the shoes on my feet he bought me, and I’ve never felt more sick.

Rafe clenches his eyes shut as he shakes his head. “Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed.

“Get out of my way, Topper.”

He throws a worried glance to Rafe. “I think maybe-“

“Top, give us a second.” Rafe mutters tensely. He keeps his hard set gaze on me, drilling into me, almost as though he’s daring me to move. 

Kelce stands up giving me an apologetic look. “Rafe, man, there’s a bunch of people here.”

I force myself to look away. 

“Not right now, Kells.” 

He wasn’t wrong. This house was full of people, but the only difference being that none of them matter. Not to me and not to Rafe. 

Steady. Keep steady and just breathe. 

“So what should I do-“

I look at him. Me or them? It was unsaid but he knew what I was asking him. 

“Back the fuck off and give me a fucking second with my girl.” Rafe barks out, running a rough hand through the short cropped strands that brush against his forehead. 

Both hold their hands up in mock surrender before shuffling off to the side. The girl doesn’t get up. 

Topper coughs. “Sophia.” 

Her eyes take me in with clear distaste. Her hand is still dangerously close to Rafe’s waistband. I raise a single eyebrow giving her one last opportunity to move. 

She doesn’t. Not when Kelce calls out for her either.

Sophia made her bed. Setting my bag down, I take three big steps before I’m roughly shoving her off the couch sending her sprawling on the floor. 

Rafe let’s out a curse but makes no move to help her. At least he’s not stupid.

“Get out.” The words leave no room for negotiation.

The glare she sends me is filled with ice. “I was invited.”

Kelce lets out a groan before whispering,”Is she serious?”

The fake smile I’ve perfected over the years decorated my face as I bent down to her height on the floor. 

Flashing my engagement ring in her face. “Get out of my fucking house.”

That seems to shut her up and I watch with narrowed eyes as she struts away, Topper and Kelce in tow.

I can hear my heart pounding in my ears while my chest feels like it’s going to explode. I turn around slowly to face my damnation. 

My heels click against the marble floor and with each step I take, the more the ache in my chest grows. Marching up to Rafe, I grab his chin and force him to look at me. Those familiar glacial blue eyes are red. His pupils are blown wide and my chest cracks wide open. 

He’s high. 

This is not how I want to be loved. 

This is what he wanted to do instead of being there for me. Instead of supporting me. Instead of loving me. 

Dying would be less painful.

 I stare directly into those eyes, searching for an answer, wondering when the love he felt for me slowly became indifference.

I’d almost rather there be a mistress rather than this cold indifference.

“Did you have fun at least?” My words are soft but the intention is anything but. 

He says nothing. Instead Rafe studies me like I’m a wounded animal. 

Dark. Beautiful. Cruel. 

Those are the words I’d use to describe the man in front of me. The gaze that once felt like a soft caress on my skin now felt clinical. 

“It seems like you’re having fun.” I quip, flicking the small bag filled with familiar white powder. 

I thought I could fix him. I will not make that mistake again.

“I completely forgot-“

“How?” I ask. 

His eyes narrow like he’s trying to figure me out. “Work got insanely busy. You know how it is. Even if I own the place, I’m young and the older guys don’t respect me.”

“It was in your work calendar.” 

“No, it wasn’t-“

“It was also on your personal calendar and our joint one. I had your assistant send you a reminder email. So my question is how?” My voice wobbled and it was only by a small miracle that I didn’t throw something in his face. “How did you forget the only thing I’ve asked you for?” 

Something flickered in his eyes. “It wasn’t intentional. It slipped my mind.”

“Something I worked so hard to accomplish just slipped your mind?” Exhaustion has finally got the better of me and I finally let him see just how much he’s managed to chip away. 

“I should have been there for you and I’m so sorry,” His throat flexed a hard swallow. “But there will be other dinners.” 

The dull ache in my chest thrummed harder. Rafe was brushing this off, just like he always did. My skin flushed. 

At my silence, he braces his elbows on his knees and leans forward, tracking my every move. “I feel like you’re not understanding me.”

“No, I understand you just fine. It just wasn’t important enough for you.”

He stilled. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Of course it wasn’t what he meant but he’s managed to make me feel so insignificant. So small. 

“I know that you’ve canceled most of our dates for work. Even an anniversary once. I know that you missed the grand opening of the shelter that I spent a year and half planning.” I force the words out, each breath I take feeling like needles. “I asked for this one thing, Rafe and you couldn’t even give me that.” 

“What about everything I have given you? This house, the car you drive in, the clothes on your back, the boat?”

It’s like I’m staring at 16 year old Rafe again. To him, material things were the equivalent to love. He couldn’t be farther from the truth.

I find that I was much happier when I had little to nothing, than I am now, sitting here with everything, in my gown and jewels. 

“I didn't ask for any of those things.” By the stubborn gleam in his eyes, I knew he was going to fight me on everything. 

Lately, his tactic was always combative and it was easier to give in or to not say anything at all. 

 “No, but you took them all the same. I fucked up, I get that. I know what this shelter means to you, but that doesn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t even have it if it weren’t for me.”

A familiar buzzing filled my ears. His words were ugly but they weren’t a lie. Even my project was his. I had nothing of my own.

I wonder how many other people came to the same revelation. Maybe that’s why so many of them asked where he was? Because this accomplishment wasn’t mine, no clearly it was his.

There is not enough room in my chest for the ache he caused. 

Words can’t seem to make it to my lips. I think my brain has finally broken and realizes that no words I say will get him to change. 

Smoothing out my dress, I stand on shaky legs before kicking off my heels. He can keep them. With that, I leave him out on the porch and make a beeline towards our his room. 

Opening the closet doors, I reach for the suitcase before setting it on the bed. I wasn’t going to be like Mrs. Dune and waste away beside a man that used to love me, hoping that one day he will once more. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words are hard and low. 

Rafe stands at the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His face is brewing with several emotions I can't quite place. 

It was funny. I haven't seen this much emotion from him in months.

I ignore him and toss some clothes from my dresser into the open suitcase, making sure to grab only the clothes I needed.

I slowly take off each piece of jewelry and set it on my vanity. He can keep everything he so gloriously mentioned he bought. 

“You loved me once.” I state, tilting my head to the side. I rake over every detail of his face, knowing I’ll never forget it. 

I loved him once too. 

His face morphed to one of confusion before disbelief. “I still love you. That’s never changed.” 

I shake my head. “Yes, it has.”

Rafe stalks towards me, his hand reaching to burl around my neck while the other pulls me to him by my waist. Familiar cologne fills my lungs and I count to ten mentally. It was the same cologne I bought him when we first started dating. 

“I work too much, I know. That’s my fault and I’ll cut back. I’ll be home more and we can spend time together. I’ll do better.” Taking my chin between two fingers, he forces my eyes to his. I see the sincerity in his eyes but I know how this goes. 

The same way it’s gone the last two times. He’ll beg me to stay, promise to change, and things will be good for a month before he slowly starts missing dates or canceling trips we’ve planned months before. Then the cycle repeats. 

“No.” It was time to love myself. Since he clearly couldn’t do it. I will not allow myself to get lost in him again. 

“Baby, just wait. Will you wait-“ He huffs as I try to move around him. No such success as his towering body has me moving back and suddenly I’m caged in by his arms. “Just give me a second, okay?”

“I’ve given you years. I won’t give you another second.” 

“Talk to me.” His voice breaks. “Please just talk to me.”

Longing filled my body. Words I’ve been waiting to hear for months come so easily to him, but only when I already have one foot out the door.

 “I’m alone.” The words come out strangled. “ I’m alone in this. I have been for a long time.”

“What do you mean? Baby, I’m right here.” Rafe’s gripping onto me tighter, almost like he’s ensuring I don’t leave. “I’m right here.”

“You're never here. That’s exactly my point.” 

Rafe’s eyes widen before he shakes his head wildly, staring at me like I’m speaking another language. “That’s not true-“

“What’s today?”

“What?” 

“What’s today?” I repeat, my eyes never leaving his. I want to see every emotion that storms in his eyes, just to remind myself that he is capable of emotion after all. 

“Friday.” 

I smile at him sadly. Exactly my point. “I haven't seen you since Tuesday.” 

“No, that can’t be right. I was with you when we had lunch with-“ He breaks off, reaching for his phone in his pocket. I watch as he pulls up his calendar, an action that mortifies me, and confirms our scheduled date.

 “Tuesday.” He whispers, shocked even. 

I wasn’t. Rafe had to check his calendar to confirm that last time he’s seen his fiancé. 

“You used to come bring me lunch. If you were more than a couple hours, you always found your way to me or gave me a call that you’ll be late.” I shrugged, blinking back the tears stinging my eyes. “Now, I don’t think I’d get a call if you were in the hospital.”

The buzzing in my ears intensifies.

 “You didn’t tell me any of this. None of how you were feeling and you're ready to walk out the door without so much as an argument.” A spark of my old Rafe appears as frustration dances across his face.

“I should have-“

“You’re giving up.” He states, shaking his head in anger. 

Maybe I was. “I’m tired of fighting for us. You gave up a long time ago.” 

Large hands curl around my cheeks, pulling me towards his face. Rafe rests his forehead on mine, his piercing blue eyes darting across my face in panic. 

“I love you. I love you.” He knows he’s grasping at straws, but we feel like strangers now. The words don’t feel like they used to. “You know I love you.”

 “This isn’t how I want to be loved, Rafe. I see you every couple days, the only time we’re ever together is when we have sex.” We lost sight of how we once were. The only thing that remained good between us was sex. 

That alone isn’t healthy. He goes to open his mouth but I cut him off.

“We never talk and when we do, you don’t even listen to me. Your brain is always somewhere else.” 

“I’m in a relationship with a ghost. I’m not letting you suck the life out of me anymore.” My eyes catch the sparkling ring that once brought me such happiness. Now, it simply feels like a ball and chain. 

Before I can convince myself otherwise, I start to tug it off my finger when Rafe truly begins to panic. 

“Don’t do that. Please don’t do that.” I try to hand it to him but Rafe jolts back like he’s been burned. The look he gives my empty hand is nothing short of destroyed.

I think I’m going to throw up. His words are laced with raw grief that makes it hard for me to breathe.

“Put it back on.” I hear the slight tremble in his voice.

“No.” My lips wobble. 

“Please put it back on because if you don’t that means we’re over. That’s not us. We aren’t supposed to end.”

“Rafe, don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

“You’re ripping my fucking heart out of my chest. This isn’t anywhere near hard, it’s excruciating.” Rafe’s hand is notably shaking, but he tries to hide it by clenching and unclenching his palms. 

“Welcome to the last year of my life.” The words are brutal but he needs to hear them. 

“You promised me we’d never end.” 

“You promised to change. I guess we both lied.”

Rafe raises his voice, his arms thrown up in the air in clear distress, “How can you just stand there?”

It was a miracle I haven’t collapsed on my shaky legs yet. The adrenaline pumping though my veins was the only thing getting me through this torture. “Rafe, stop it.”

“You talk about indifference?” Rafe lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head up at the ceiling. “Who’s heartless now, baby?”

“You don’t get to put this on me. I’ve given you years of my life, showered you with nothing but love and support. I asked for one night, one fucking night, in your busy schedule and you didn’t bother to show up, or send a simple text.” I intake a sharp breath, pushing the hair out of my face with a shaky hand. “Instead, you threw a party in our home and got high.”

I point a finger at his chest, staring at him with open heartbreak. “I needed you,” The tightness in my chest finally pops as I choke on a loud sob, “I needed you and you weren’t there.”

“I lost sight of what’s important to me. I’m just trying to give you everything-” I cut him off. 

Grabbing the clothes I haphazardly tossed in the suitcase, ”You want this? Take it,” I shove them into his chest, “Take all of it. I don’t want it. I’d give this all away in a heartbeat if it meant I could have you back.”

I meant every word. I wanted my best friend back, the person I confided in and depended on. I wanted our late nights back watching trashy reality TV. We used to sit in the bathtub together basking in each other's company. Went on walks along the beach or took the boat out for hours, fucking on the deck, not caring that anyone could see. 

It used to be simple. He loved me and I loved him. 

“I’m angry, baby.I’m so damn angry all the time. At my fucking dad for always having these impossible expections. Then he goes and dies, leaving me without a clue on how to manage everything.” Rafe sags against the wall, exhaustion marring his features, his blue eyes pleading for me to understand. “I feel like I’m drowning all the time.”

I had no idea this was how he was feeling. But, he never let me in. “You could have told me, we’re supposed to be partners in this. You asked me to marry you!”

I think deep down I know that he felt me slipping through his fingers at one point. He could see clearly how unhappy I’ve become and that’s why he proposed. And maybe just like him, I thought the proposal could fix us. This proposal was being manipulated on both ends, it was doomed from the start.

You can’t fix what’s already broken. 

“My head has basically been a war zone and I’m losing. The only thing keeping me sane is that I know, when I walk through that door,” he points to our bedroom door, “I’m going to find you in our bed. Every. Single. Night.” 

“I can’t let the ugly touch you.” My heart splits into two at his words. Words I know feel like acid leaving his mouth. “You’re the only thing I have left.”

“Then you should have taken better care of me. You should have let me take care of you.” 

“Fuck,” He screams, bending down and swiping the lamp clean of the nightstand. The lamp goes flying into the wall, shattering into hundreds of pieces and my eyes are drawn to them. I can’t help but think it reminds me of us.

Dragging my eyes back to his, I fight the urge to wrap him in my arms. Seeing him in pain has never brought me joy, but this was brutal. His eyes shined with unmistakable tears, realizing the strength of my resolve. 

There was no going back this time. There was no trying again. I didn’t have another try in me. 

I grip onto the fabric of my dress moving towards him, my heart pounding out of my chest. He moves instantly, holding out his hand to guide me over the shattered lamp. Why couldn’t he be like this months ago?

Why did he let it get this bad? Why couldn’t he love me?

Now, standing in front of him, I let myself one deep breath, basking in the comforting smell of him. A large hand curls around my neck, his grip strong and firm, demanding my attention. His blue eyes are daunting and so intense, I find myself fighting the urge to look away.

“I’m going to get you back.”

”Take it, Rafe.” I whisper, uncurling his limp hand, “Take it. It doesn’t mean what I want it to.”

Tears blur my vision as I fumble with the ring he refuses to take.

 Rafe shakes his head, clenching his jaw tightly. “There’s no point in taking it off if it’s gonna go right back there in a couple weeks. ”

I can’t help but smile at the determination in his voice. He sounds like the old Rafe and for a second I see a glimmer of who he used to be.

 He had me. Then he lost me. 

This is not how I want to be loved. 

“If spending the next few months without you means that I get to spend a lifetime with you, I can manage. I’ll do whatever I have to.  But don’t think for a second that there is anyone else on this entire fucking planet meant for you.”

That’s how I want to be loved. Too little too late.

I drop the ring.

[gumims]

mysterious kisses at midnight | prologue: the 12:00 kiss

masterlist

the sound of music thumped through the air, each beat vibrating in the walls of the crowded house. laughter and conversation filled every corner, competing with the pop of champagne bottles and the occasional yell of someone shouting the time left until midnight. fairy lights hung low from the ceiling, glowing golden against the dim backdrop, while groups of friends swayed together under their soft shimmer.

you didn’t want to be here. sure, it wasn’t awful—shoko had done her best to make sure you weren’t stuck alone, dragging you into conversations and introducing you to her circle of friends before disappearing back into the chaos. but there was only so much small talk and awkward standing around you could handle before it all felt suffocating.

standing by the window, you watched frost creep along the edges of the glass, your drink untouched in your hand. couples clung to each other, leaning close and sharing laughter as the countdown loomed closer.

“so, who’s your new year’s kiss?”

the voice came from beside you, smooth and laced with amusement. you turned to find a tall man with snowy white hair, his eyes glinting under the warm lights. his smile was easy, confident, like he already knew the answer to his question.

“no one,” you replied, caught off guard by his boldness.

“perfect.”

he didn’t ask for permission. he simply stayed by your side, hands tucked casually into his pockets, as the countdown began.

“ten!” someone shouted, the crowd quickly joining in.

you looked up at him, confused but intrigued by his sudden appearance. ���who are you?”

“does it matter?” he shot back, his smirk widening as he glanced at the clock.

“three! two! one!”

before you could reply, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. the kiss was fleeting but warm, sending a shock of electricity through you. you froze, unsure whether to pull back or lean in closer, but the moment was over before you could decide.

“happy new year,” he murmured, his breath fanning across your cheek. and just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone, melting into the crowd before you could even ask his name.

you stood there, lips tingling and heart racing, staring after the stranger who had turned your midnight into something unforgettable.

notes:

haiii :33

if you read gojos tweets in the introduction you will understand why he did this😭

i’m scared this will flop hopefully not tho

gojo is mutual friends with shoko but y/n doesn’t know that

shoko didn’t introduce y/n to gojo that’s how she didn’t recognize him with he came up to her

shoko is more closer friends with geto but that’s also how she knows gojo

i think that’s all i have to say

“the 12:00 kiss” was actually supposed to be the story’s name

taglist: @sahrii @fushiguruuzzzz @miiyas @anotherwriternamedclara @satoryaa @harryzcherry @lizbix @diearama @www-lilpeepismylifesupport-com @q2uq2u @rreveurdoll @xoxoblueyy @tibibibi123 @liliesofdawnnn @beaniesayshi

[dumbikawa]

Drunkenly Confessing to Suna

GN!Reader | Fluff | Warnings: Alcohol Consumption

Characters: Suna

A/n: I haven't written in so long so I hope this is good, still a Suna simp for life

Jealousy is one hell of a drug, you think as you watch the girl laugh at whatever Suna just said, jokingly smacking him on the arm with a coy smile. The whole thing made your stomach lurch, yet you didn’t look away. He doesn’t try to move away as she continues to find excuses to lean further into him until she’s essentially using him as a support pole. It’s not like the two of you are together or anything seeing as he’s still as clueless as ever. Regardless, the feelings swirling around in your gut just won’t let up.

“This is your time to march up to him and tell him how you feel,” Atsumu muses, following your spiteful gaze to the cuddly pair. Suna and the girl wandered into the crowd and began dancing to whatever pop song was currently playing. “If you’re not gonna do that then may I suggest, at least, stop torturing yourself and come dance with me. Our moves will be exceedingly better than whatever that is.” Despite the hollow feeling in your chest, you manage a genuine laugh at his attempt to cheer you up. Taking his advice, you shift your gaze to the blonde boy standing next to you.

“You make it sound so easy,” you huff, resting your head against Atsumu’s shoulder. He hangs an arm around your shoulders, giving it an encouraging squeeze. It’s been a bit since he called you out on your little crush, allowing you to either do something about it as he was suggesting or get over it. Now, you were all in university together and that little crush was still going surprisingly strong. It had been so long that now you had to wonder whether it was worth risking your friendship? Not to mention, potentially messing up the entire group's dynamic if he turned you down. Plus, let’s be honest, how could you compete with these other girls?

“Aye, they’re heading over,” Atsumu warns, dropping his arm back against his side as you shoot up to scan the crowd for Suna. Dread begins to pool in your gut as you do indeed see the pair walking towards you and instead scan the table of alcohol you’d been leaning against for something to dull your senses. You only agreed to go to this stupid party because you deserved a break from the constant studying and to “let loose for a couple of hours” as Atsumu put it. Yet, here you were, sulking over your unattainable crush.

Maybe Atsumu was right, you think as you grab a bottle of clear booze off the table and pour a generous amount into a red solo cup.

“Y/n,” Atsumu warns, wanting to stop you from taking the shot that would surely push you past being just a little tipsy. The alcohol stings as it travels down your throat, becoming borderline unbearable as you force yourself to choke down the last sip remaining drops. Atsumu can only help but watch with a combination of fear and admiration as you grab his hand and saunter to the dance floor, hoping a new found liquid confidence will take over from there.

Suna watches you go, worry overtaking his normally indifferent features. He moves to follow you, but stops himself.  Maybe you were trying to spend some time with Atsumu and it would be weird if he interrupted. Although, the thought of you and Atsumu getting together is more painful than he’d like to admit. The girl he had been talking to drifts away, not getting the reaction she’d hoped for from Suna. He'd tried to be interested, yet his eyes always drifted towards you.

This is going to be a long night, he thinks as watches with envy.

And, oh, what a long night it was. Suna recalls his previous prediction as he rubs soothing circles against your back a few hours later while you position your head in between your knees on the bathroom floor.

“Rinnn, you can’t ever let me drink again. Promise?” you slur in-between deep breaths as you try to soothe the constant spinning of the world around you. All Suna could do was laugh at your babblings of regret and agree to whatever you asked of him under the condition that you take a couple sips of water first.

“Why did you drink so much anyways?” he counters, knowing you’re usually far more reserved when it comes to drinking and partying, in general. Although he isn’t looking for a coherent answer, the question seems to strike a chord with you. You lift your head up with a scoff to shoot him a surprisingly sober as if he was supposed to know.

“You were dancing!” you start, “and she was pretty so I wanted to dance and feel pretty.” He’s only able to make out about half of your slurred words, especially when you grow embarrassed and begin to mumble, but it’s enough to piece together a general idea.

“You could’ve asked me to dance, you know. I would’ve said yes,” Suna murmurs, relieved that you can’t see the bit of blush that was beginning to warm his face. The silence that settles after the statement makes his heart race as he realizes his words were a little too close to that of a confession. Although, maybe you were just too intoxicated to hear what he was saying. “Here, take my jacket,” he offers, noticing the wave of goosebumps racing up your skin, and jumping at the chance to change the topic.

He strips the soft material off his body and gently guides you into it. You bury your face in the fabric as soon as the scent of his cologne hits you, relishing in the warmth and smell that’s become a comfort for you. A smile splits through Suna’s face as you nuzzle into the fabric. He might not even care if you got sick on it. It would be so easy to reach out and--

“What if I make it smell bad?” you gasp suddenly, clumsily pushing the fabric off as if you’d taint it with the strong smell of booze and sweat that engulfed your body. Suna moves towards you quickly, placing his hands on your arms in order to pull the jacket back around you. “No...you go give it to that other girl.” You pull away from him with a huff.

Your quick change in demeanor is like whiplash as he tries to keep up. Although, he can’t deny jealousy was adorable on you.

“You’re the only girl I’d let wear my jacket,” he assures you. “Even if you do reek.” You seem to appreciate his words, despite the small insult you barely catch, and relax back into the fabric.

“That’s why I like you,” you hum, feeling content. “So cute, so nice to me.” If Suna couldn't currently feel the way his heart pounded in his chest then he'd swear it had stopped. He tries not to read too much into your drunken words, but the phrase ‘that’s why I like you’ plays on a loop in his head as he begins coaxing you off the floor to get ready for bed.

By the time he’s convinced you to take some Advil and wash a majority of your makeup off, he feels more than exhausted himself. It's well past four by the time you curl up on to the side of the bed and he lays down opposite you, planning to only close his eyes for a moment. However, as soon as his head hits the pillow he's suddenly surrounded by the smell of that lotion you love and, combined with the alcohol he also indulged in, he's out.

---

“Oh my god,” you groan, waking up to the sunlight streaming into your room being too bright, even behind closed eyes. You move to roll over to the otherside of the bed so that you can lay facing away from the window, but before you can make it that far your outstretched hand comes into contact with a hard, warm object that lets out a soft grunt upon impact.

You force your eyes open just enough for you to realize that drunk you somehow got your crush into bed, which might’ve been impressive if you could remember anything more than a few snippets of what happened the night before.

“Oh my god,” you groan again, this time from mental anguish opposed to physical. Though your body aches all over, you push yourself into a sitting position that sends the world spinning. You bury your face in your hands to hide the rising heat as the possibilities of what conspired last night. Some memories feel just within reach, but the more you focus on them the further they get.

“There’s a bottle of painkillers and a cup of water on the table next to you,” Suna murmurs, his voice husky from sleep, as if you couldn’t feel more flustered right now. You quickly turn further away from him, eagerly throwing back the medicine and entire glass of water. “How do you feel?”

The bed shifts beneath you as he pushes himself up to sit against the back of the bed. The embarrassment you feel continues to skyrocket. There was no telling what you might’ve looked like right now, not to mention you desperately needed a long, contemplative shower.

“I’m sorry, but, uh, did...did we…?” You don’t have to finish the awkward question because Suna has already burst out into a fit of laughter. 

“No, no,” he almost laughs, which somehow makes you feel more embarrassed. “Nothing like that happened. Sorry, I honestly meant to crash on the floor--”

“Thank God,” you sigh, too relieved to care that you cut him off. “That’s fine, I just...ugh.” You drag your hands down your grimey face. You need a shower, to brush your teeth, maybe take about ten more pain killers, and drink three gallons of water to begin flushing out your system. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like you were on death’s door.

“Okay,” you begin, wanting to quickly sort out what happened last night. “I remember dancing with Atsumu and a couple other people. I remember you and some girl dancing. What happened to her?” Only once it's past your lips do you realize how bitter it sounds.

“I spent the night in your bed and you’re still jealous?” Suna teases.

“Jealous. Still.” You emphasize the words, hoping some memory might pop up that explains it. “Nope, I don’t remember being jealous.”

“Of course,” he counters with a grin.

“What else?” He raises his eyebrow questioningly as you roll your eyes. “What else did I say?” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

“Nothing much, just that you liked me because I’m, apparently, cute and nice to you.” He watches for your reaction, hoping to answer some of the questions he was too afraid to ask.

“That’s not as bad as it could have been, I guess,” you respond a moment later, trying to keep your emotions in check under Suna’s intense stare.

“Did you...mean it?” His eyes are no longer teasing as he leans back to put distance between the two of you.

“Of course I like you, Rinnie,” you laugh. He sighs, exasperated. His heart and brain continue to pull in opposite directions at your vague answers. This back and forth wasn’t going anywhere because he didn’t know what to ask and you didn’t know what to say.

You were avoiding his gaze, so he moved closer until the space between the two of you was nearly nonexistent. Your breath hitches in your throat as your eyes are automatically drawn to his lips. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss him, but you were frozen in place. He places his hand on your hip before quickly pulling it back.

“I’m sorry,” His eyes are so full of longing that you’re sure mirror your own. This scenario has played through your head so many times, imagining the different ways he might whisk you off your feet with a kiss.

“Don’t be,” you venture. To prove it, you bring your hand to the back of his neck and pull him in closer. His hair is soft as you run your fingers through it, attempting to distract yourself from your overwhelming emotions. Could this really be happening?

You had your answer as soon as his lips connected with yours. They're soft and warm. The anxious feeling in your stomach quickly uncoils as he deepens the kiss, moving your body forward to press against his. You run your hand up his toned arm before coming to rest against his collarbone.

His lips curl into a smile against yours as the kiss comes to an end. Neither of you say anything for a moment afterwards, choosing to bask in the quiet before the painful reminder of how much you’d indulged the night before comes pounding back.

“As much as I’d love to keep kissing you, I need to brush my teeth.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” Suna laughs before stealing one last kiss.

[isak-dot-gov]

Finding Your Balance

Pairing: KK Arnold x Reader

Word count: 2349

My Masterlist :)

...................................................

The late afternoon sun streamed into the practice gym, casting long shadows across the court. KK Arnold’s sneakers squeaked lightly as she paced back and forth, her mind racing. The air felt heavier than usual, like it wasn’t just basketball weighing on her today.

For the past week, things had been off between you two. You had always been close, whether it was holding hands in the halls, stealing quick kisses between classes, or staying up late talking about everything and nothing. Lately, though, you’d seemed distant, more focused on your schoolwork, disappearing into textbooks and assignments with a determination KK couldn’t compete with.

At first, KK didn’t mind. She knew how important your studies were and figured things would balance out soon enough. But then days turned into a week, and your responses became shorter, your calls less frequent. When you did talk, you sounded tired, distracted, like your mind was a million miles away. It was starting to get to her.

KK leaned against the wall, her heart sinking at the thought. Was something wrong? Were you pulling away on purpose? 

She couldn’t help the gnawing feeling inside her, the voice in the back of her mind whispering that maybe you were losing interest, that maybe this was the beginning of the end. The more she tried to shake the thought, the stronger it grew.

"She’s just busy," KK told herself for the hundredth time. But the reassurance sounded hollow now, like she was just lying to herself.

After another night of watching you rush off to finish schoolwork, leaving her with nothing but a quick kiss on the cheek and a half-hearted “I love you,” KK couldn’t take it anymore. She needed advice. Her teammates always had her back, on and off the court. Maybe they could help her figure this out.

The next day at practice, KK found herself fidgeting with her water bottle, eyes scanning the group as they took a break between drills. Everyone was in their usual spots—Azzi and Paige chatting quietly, Aaliyah sitting with her head back against the bench, and Nika stretching nearby. The sound of bouncing basketballs and the rhythmic hum of sneakers on the hardwood filled the air, but KK’s mind was far from the court.

Gathering her courage, KK cleared her throat and stepped closer to the group. “Hey, can I ask you guys something?”

The others looked up, sensing the seriousness in her tone. Azzi tilted her head, eyes softening as she saw the tension in KK’s expression. “Of course. What’s up?”

KK hesitated for a moment, wondering how to even begin. “It’s about my girl…she’s been really distant lately. Like, I know she’s got a ton of schoolwork and stuff, but it feels like we’re not… connecting anymore. I can’t help but think maybe she’s pulling away from me, like she’s losing interest or something.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her worry. KK hadn’t said it out loud before, and now that she had, it felt even more real.

Paige gave KK a sympathetic smile. “That sucks. Have you talked to her about it?”

KK shrugged, shifting her weight uncomfortably. “I’ve tried, but every time I bring it up, she just tells me she’s swamped with work. I don’t want to add to her stress, you know? But it’s getting to me. What if it’s not just school? What if she’s getting tired of me?”

Azzi frowned, shaking her head. “I doubt that. You two are solid. But if you’re feeling like something’s off, you need to talk to her.”

Aaliyah chimed in, her voice calm and reassuring. “She probably doesn’t even realise she’s doing it. School can be overwhelming, and it’s easy to get tunnel vision when you’re stressed. I’ve been there before, but the best thing to do is communicate.”

Nika, never one to shy away from giving her opinion, piped up from across the circle. “KK, you can’t overthink this. She loves you, right?”

KK nodded slowly, her chest tightening at the thought. “Yeah, she does.”

“Then trust that,” Nika said firmly. “But also, don’t just sit here wondering. Talk to her. If you keep everything inside, it’s only going to make things worse. Just tell her how you feel. And trust me, she’ll probably be relieved you brought it up.”

KK exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. They were right. She couldn’t keep going like this, pretending everything was fine while letting her insecurities eat away at her. If she didn’t speak up, nothing would change.

Paige reached over and gave KK a pat on the back. “Just be honest. She’s probably so caught up in school she doesn’t even realise how much it’s affecting your relationship.”

KK nodded, grateful for their support. “Yeah, you’re right. I just… I don’t want her to feel like I’m adding to her stress, you know?”

Azzi smiled softly. “You’re not. If she cares about you, she’ll want to know how you’re feeling. Just be there for her, and let her be there for you too.”

Practice ended, but the conversation stayed with KK as she made her way back to her dorm. Her heart was still heavy with uncertainty, but now it was mixed with resolve. She couldn’t go another day like this. It was time to talk to you, to let you know how much this distance was affecting her.

Later that evening, after showering and grabbing a quick bite to eat, KK sat on the edge of her bed, her phone in her hand. She stared at your name on the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Her heart raced, but she knew she had to do this.

Taking a deep breath, KK typed out the message:  

“Hey, can we talk? I know you’re busy, but I miss you. A lot. I feel like we’ve been distant lately, and I just want to know if everything’s okay.”

She hit send, her stomach flipping with nerves as she waited for your response.

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed. It was you.

“Of course, baby. I’ve been so buried in school stuff, but I miss you too. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like I’m not around. Can we meet up tomorrow after my last class?”

KK exhaled, relief washing over her. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding. Maybe things would be okay. 

The next day couldn’t come soon enough.

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

The tension that had gripped KK’s heart for days had started to unravel, but there was still so much she needed to say. Your apology had brought some comfort, but she couldn’t help feeling that you both needed to go deeper, to talk about how to keep this from happening again. She wasn’t the type to just brush things under the rug, especially not when it came to you. She loved you too much to let distance—whether emotional or physical—get in the way of what you had.

As you both started walking away from your dorm, your bag slung casually over one shoulder, KK felt her mind racing, but not in the panicked way it had been for the past few days. This was different. It was like she was finally seeing the situation clearly, and now she needed to know if you both were really on the same page.

She gave your hand a gentle squeeze as you walked beside her, and though you looked more relaxed, she could tell you were still carrying some of the weight of the past week.

“You know,” KK started, her voice soft but steady, “I was really scared.”

You glanced up at her, concern flickering in your eyes. “Scared of what?”

“Of losing you.” KK looked straight ahead, trying to find the right words. “I know it sounds dramatic, but… when you were so distant, I didn’t know what to think. It felt like I was just watching you slip away and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Her honesty caught you off guard. You had known KK was worried, but hearing her say that she was scared made your stomach twist with guilt. “KK, I never wanted to make you feel like that. I’ve just been so caught up in everything that I didn’t even see what it was doing to us.”

KK stopped walking, tugging gently on your hand so that you turned to face her. Her expression was serious, but her eyes were filled with warmth, with love. “I know you didn’t mean to. And I get it—school is important, and sometimes life just gets in the way. But I need you to know that I’m here for you, and not just when things are easy. You don’t have to shut me out when you’re overwhelmed.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. You hadn’t realised how much you had been trying to handle everything on your own until now. “I guess I didn’t want to burden you. I thought if I just pushed through on my own, I’d figure it out, and then we’d be back to normal. But it didn’t work like that.”

KK’s hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly across your skin. “You’re never a burden to me. If something’s bothering you, I want to know about it. I want to be there for you, just like you’d be there for me. That’s how this works.”

Her touch, her words—they were soothing in a way nothing else had been. You leaned into her hand, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t care. I never meant to.”

KK smiled, her eyes softening. “I know. But you don’t have to go through stuff alone, okay? I want to help you, even if it’s just listening or hanging out while you study. I just… I miss being with you. I miss us.”

You felt a pang of regret, knowing that you had let your stress get in the way of something so important. “I miss us too. I’ve been so wrapped up in school that I didn’t realise how much I’ve been neglecting the other parts of my life—especially you.”

KK pulled you into another hug, tighter this time, like she was trying to erase the distance that had grown between you. You hugged her back just as fiercely, the warmth of her body grounding you, reminding you of what really mattered.

After a long moment, KK pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “We’ll figure this out together. But you have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Promise me that the next time you’re feeling overwhelmed or like you’re drowning in school or life or whatever, you’ll talk to me. I don’t care if it’s at midnight or if you think it’s not important. I just want to be there for you, the way you’ve always been there for me.”

You nodded, emotion swelling in your chest. “I promise.”

The relief that washed over KK’s face was palpable. She kissed your forehead softly, lingering there for a moment before stepping back and taking your hand again. “Good. Now, let’s go get some food before we both pass out from hunger.”

You laughed, the sound lightening the mood instantly. “Deal. I’m starving.”

As you walked toward the dining hall together, the conversation from earlier played on a loop in your mind. You felt lighter, but you also felt determined. You weren’t going to let this happen again. The stress of school was still there, but now it felt manageable. KK was right—you didn’t have to go through everything alone. She was your partner, in everything, and you were going to make sure she felt that too.

When you reached the dining hall, it was buzzing with the usual dinner crowd. KK led the way, weaving through the tables until you found a quiet corner. You grabbed trays of food, and before you knew it, you were sitting across from each other, enjoying the easy conversation that had been missing for the past week.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the night?” KK asked between bites of her sandwich.

You grinned. “Well, I do still have some studying to do, but I figured we could hang out. Maybe you could help me not fall asleep in the middle of my reading.”

KK smirked. “I can definitely do that. And after you’re done, we could watch a movie or something, if you’re up for it.”

You nodded eagerly. “That sounds perfect. I’ve missed just hanging out with you.”

KK’s expression softened again, her eyes meeting yours across the table. “I’ve missed it too.”

The rest of dinner passed in a blur of laughter and light conversation, the tension that had once sat heavy between you both now replaced with a sense of ease. It wasn’t just that you had talked about the distance; it was that you’d both made a promise to be better, to communicate, to show up for each other even when life got chaotic.

Later, back in your dorm room, you set up your textbooks and notes on your desk, but this time KK was there, sitting on your bed, flipping through her phone but glancing up every few minutes to check on you.

“Need any help?” she asked after a while, her voice teasing.

“Maybe just a little encouragement,” you admitted, laughing softly.

KK grinned and came over, resting her chin on your shoulder as she peered at the book in front of you. “You got this,” she whispered. “And after you’re done, you’re all mine.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of her presence beside you. “Deal.”

With KK by your side, the stress of the past few days seemed to fade away. It wasn’t that school wasn’t important anymore—it was. But you had found your balance again, with her. You had found your way back to each other.

And that made everything feel a little easier.

..............................................................

[mionemymind]

Lost in the Universe (Part 2)

Summary: The aftermath of Y/n being rescued from the alternate universe.

Warnings: Fluff, Kissing, Cursing, Jealousy

A/n: @tynix had requested a part two. And I wanted to post something since I JUST TURNED 23 BABES!! So I guess this is a birthday gift for me?? Hope y'all enjoy the fluff. Also, I love all the Candy Montgomery gifs that I keep seeing :)

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist

Part 1

“I appreciate you teaching her how to control her powers, but we cannot have you going through different universes again,” Wanda complained into Y/n’s chest. Today was an off day and the couple decided to spend much-needed quality time together. Y/n slightly chuckled at Wanda’s pouty-ness, ever since they came back to their universe, Wanda had been feeling extra clingy. 

“You worry too much my love. There was no doubt in my mind that you would’ve found me.” Y/n tweaked her words a little as she remembered alternate Wanda’s words. “We’re tethered,” Y/n thought. She kissed her girlfriend’s forehead, continuing to run her fingers through Wanda’s hair. 

“How can I not worry? You try finding me throughout different universes.” Y/n chuckled more much to Wanda’s dismay. The redhead was more than anxious about the whole situation. She tried her best not to be so angry at America for the obvious accident, but not knowing what universe Y/n was in spiraled her to think the worst. 

“Well my love, you’re more powerful than me. So I would have a harder time getting to you.” Wanda rolled her eyes at the compliment but still smiled. “Not only that, I would’ve probably talked to other Wanda’s out there to help me find you.” 

“Speaking of, how was my counterpart? Was it freaky to see me in a different universe?” Y/n hummed for a bit, letting herself get lost at the thought of alternate Wanda. 

“I was really scared at first. You being the Scarlet Witch, I wasn’t sure if alternate Wanda had the same powers as you. Not only that, I begged in my heart that you were good too. I wouldn’t know how to deal with an evil Wanda - wait if she’s evil, she might be emo too - and your emo phase was pretty hot babe.” Wanda swatted Y/n’s chest as Y/n laughed at the obvious joke she said. Intertwining their hands, Y/n rubbed circles in Wanda’s palm, “But seriously…when I first got there she called me dekta like you. I almost thought it was you, however, something inside me could just feel that it wasn’t you.”

“So what happened?” Y/n sighed as she rubbed Wanda’s back. The redhead enjoyed the constant feeling of Y/n’s touch. “She called me out. Told me that I’m not her Y/n. Rather than giving me a hard time for being in her universe, she let me into her house and kind of relieved my anxiety.” 

Wanda smiled at the thought of her counterpart being nice to her girlfriend. Although Wanda could never imagine a world where she would hurt Y/n, she was just extra grateful to know Y/n never landed in that scenario. “Did you like her more than me?” Wanda joked. 

Y/n snorted at Wanda’s lame joke, “Well she did make me hot chocolate.” Wanda rolled her eyes again as she lightly hit Y/n’s chest one more time. “Keep hitting me woman, I’ll make America send me there again.” 

Wanda lifted her head and flashed her red eyes at Y/n. “Don’t you even dare.” Y/n smiled at her girlfriend’s obvious jealousy and gave her a small kiss. “I wouldn’t - plus the only reason I would want to is to help my counterpart get their shit together.” 

“What do you mean?” Y/n kissed Wanda once more before laying her head back onto the pillow. “Alternate Wanda said that alternate Y/n hasn’t confessed her feelings yet, which is annoying because they literally live on a farm together. How platonic can that shit even be?” 

“What if your counterpart was just as scared as you?” Y/n lingered back to the time before she confessed her feelings to Wanda. All the yearning and pent-up feelings were enough to compete with any love-struck idiot. “I can imagine that, but at the same time, I hadn’t bought a farm with you yet and she did.”

“You and this farm.” Wanda kissed Y/n's arm. “Should we get a place of our own?” 

“Where would you like to live?” Wanda thought about it, no particular location was coming to mind. “Something that doesn’t scream American capitalism.” 

“Italy farmlands?” Y/n moved her hand from Wanda’s back up to Wanda’s head, running her fingers through her hair again. “What made you think of that?” 

“I forgot the title, but I remember liking this movie that was located in the Italy farmlands.” Y/n kept racking her brain for the title, nothing came up though. “When you were searching for me, did you ever find alternate me’s?” 

“I found a couple. One was almost like you but two of them were drastically different in style so that helped a lot.” Wanda recalled the moment she almost mistook one of Y/n’s counterparts for her Y/n. But it all came back to that tethered feeling. 

“One of the Y/n’s was actually with their Wanda. It was fun to talk to a different version of myself. She was quick to tell me that I was in the wrong universe and tried to direct me to you.” 

“What if she thought you were there to steal the other version of me?” Y/n joked once more. “I wouldn’t want a different version of you. You’re it for me dekta.” Wanda got up once more and kissed Y/n slowly. “Don’t ever forget that.” 

“Never.” 

Alternate Universe

“Who’s the slut?” Wanda barely entered her house before the accusations were thrown at her by Y/n. “Excuse me?” Wanda had returned from the edge of their farm where counterpart Y/n was rescued from. 

“You heard me. Who. Is. The. Slut.” Y/n stood with her arms crossed, her eyes motioned to the two cups at the coffee table. Wanda rolled her eyes with a devilish smile, “You.” 

Making Y/n work for more answers, Wanda walked away to the kitchen. “Very funny Wanda,” Y/n mocked. “I wasn’t being funny,” Wanda batted her eyes innocently which annoyed Y/n even further. “Who the fuck was it?” Y/n was irritated beyond belief. She had come home from a mission hoping to see her crush just to find out that some bitch came over and drank her supply of hot chocolate with “her girl”. 

“Well, she’s this very hot girl,” Wanda said as she played dumb, she walked slowly to Y/n and continued, “She’s very charming and kind too - actually, she helped me with the farm today.” This angered Y/n beyond belief. Who the fuck comes to her home and manages to steal her girl within hours? She had a five-year plan that’s been in motion since the day she met Wanda. 

With one last step, Wanda was in Y/n’s space, wrapping her arms around her neck and Y/n held her hips. “Do you like her?” Wanda thought about it for a second, before saying, “Something like that.” Wanda enjoyed the feeling of messing with Y/n, especially with something so harmless. 

However, Y/n could not take it anymore. Frustrated, Y/n stepped out of Wanda’s grasp. “Well, I hope you live happily ever after,” Y/n said sarcastically. Before she could walk any further, Wanda grabbed her hand and pulled Y/n back into her arms. She rolled her eyes, “You are so oblivious.” 

Not wanting to wait any further, Wanda confidently kissed Y/n, feeling the tether that connected them ignite with a new fire, a new love. Y/n reacted swiftly as Wanda jumped and wrapped her legs around Y/n’s waist. “More,” Y/n begged in her head, her knees were growing weak, but she needed more. 

Wanda abruptly cut the kiss off, pushing Y/n slightly back as she moved forward, eager for more. “Will you finally admit that you’re in love with me?” Y/n grinned as she kissed Wanda’s cheek, “I had a plan.” 

“Oh yeah? It took somebody coming over to finally rile you up.” 

“Speaking of, who the fuck was it?” Wanda laughed as Y/n sternly asked. 

“You’ll never guess.”

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[sserrafeim]

I’m going to hold your hand when I say this:

Feyre isn’t a bad artist. She doesn’t draw stick figures. She’s not a bad warrior either. The inner circle is her family, they wouldn’t be mad at her for painting the walls of a magic cabin that can clean itself. She’s not a breeding mule for having a child, neither is she too young for one, given that having a child was her choice and something she discussed with her partner beforehand. She didn’t lie and wasn’t manipulated when she recognised a male character’s abuse for what it was, no matter how much you want to justify his actions.

Nesta isn’t a bad dancer. It’s mentioned, and later shown, how she can enchant people with a mere dance. She’s not a bitch for dealing with her trauma in a way that you don’t like or you don’t think is “fit for a woman.”

Elain isn’t bad at baking. She isn’t stupid and a coward for choosing to live a simple life without violence, something she detests. She still needs time to accept her turning into fae, having a mate, and let go of the last.

Morrigan isn’t a whore for wearing revealing clothes. She isn’t a stupid manipulative bitch for not reciprocating a man’s feelings towards her or for not feeling safe and comfortable around a man that hurt her, no matter how attractive both men might be. You can’t blame her for not feeling ready to reveal her romantic and sexual preferences to her chosen family when she’s spent years being abused and ridiculed by her blood relatives.

Amren isn’t a bitch for being born a creature of terrifying power that doesn’t feel a single emotion and has no real free will, created only to follow her father’s orders. She can’t be blamed for not reacting to most things the way people would do when emotions are a new thing to her after living thousands of years without them.

Gwyn didn’t fake her rape. She has no intention of infiltrating a group of people for nefarious purposes or luring a man away from another woman. She spent years in a sanctuary trying to regain her identity and bodily autonomy after being brutally assaulted and witnessing the decapitation of her sister, the only family she had left. Her decision to take her life back in her hands wasn’t made with an ulterior motive. You can’t blame her for a man’s actions and feelings (ACOSF bonus chapter) because it “threatens your ship.”

Emerie spent her whole life being afraid of her father, thinking he would kill her. She suffered him after he beat her mother to death and had to endure everyone praising him for being a “good man” when not even her wings were spared from his cruelty. She then had to suffer the threats and humiliation of other male relatives, and not, after her father’s death, because she ran a shop by her own.

The Valkyries isn’t a stupid plot about women training as warriors and surface-level feminism. It’s about women reclaiming their lives after horrible things were done to them and gaining the power to prevent it from happening again to them or other unprotected women. Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie winning the Blood Rite wasn’t “unrealistic.” They trained for that and they trained even before knowing they were going to compete. It wasn’t a senseless victory for the sake of plot.

The obsession this fandom has with diminishing female characters, friendships, and traumatic experiences of said characters for the sake of uplifting the male ones in the series is wrong on so many levels and it has to stop. It’s not “critically thinking” or “valid criticism”, it’s misogyny. Deep-rooted misogyny. It’s ironic in a way, reading a book series that is all about women healing, discovering themselves and finding true love and friendship, only to shit on its female characters.

[syluslnd]

so, this is kind of a.. personal request (its really something that happens often with me, being a diagnosed one.

so, i wanted to request a autistic mc x sylus.

she's sensitive to loud noises, and it can quickly trigger panic attacks. how would Sylus comfort her?

if you find it too complicated or too triggering to write, just ignore this request. keep going with the beautiful writing, friend! :)

when you’re sensitive to loud sounds

The mall was bustling with noise—voices blending with the echoes of footsteps, store music competing in volume and the occasional loud announcement over the speakers.

You had tried to stay calm, focusing on the plushies you wanted to pick out but the chaotic sounds began to press in, each one making your chest feel tighter and your breathing a little shallower.

Sylus, by your side, noticed the change almost immediately. He caught the tension in your body, the way your hands gripped tighter onto a plushie, and how your eyes looked unfocused.

Without a word, he gently took your hand, his usual confidence and assurance guiding you away from the noise.

You barely noticed as he led you to a nearby changing room, closing the door behind you so the noise of the mall was muffled, replaced by an intimate quiet between you both.

“Breathe, kitten” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he cupped your cheek, letting his thumb brush lightly across your skin. “It’s just you and me now. No one else.” His tone was teasing but warm, letting you focus on the familiar comfort of his presence.

You tried to smile, still a bit shaken, and he watched you carefully, his fingers gently tracing circles on your hand. “Are you going to be okay if I hold you close?” he asked softly, still with that slightly playful edge that made you feel safe.

When you nodded, he pulled you into his arms, letting you hide against his chest, where the only sound was the steady beat of his heart. “That’s right, sweetie, just focus here.” He leaned down, his voice a soft whisper in your ear. “You know, you can’t get rid of me that easily, so take your time.”

You let out a shaky laugh, finding comfort in his lighthearted words, and he smirked, ruffling your hair. “There’s my girl. Nothing’s getting past me—I’ll keep you safe.” He held you for as long as you needed, a quiet strength that kept you grounded until the noise outside faded away and all that was left was him.

[cheriladycl01]

My girlfriend jousts! Charles Leclerc x SouthKoreanOlympicFencing! Reader

Plot: Charles Leclerc finally dates outside of his friendship circle, nobody in the paddock has met you yet. He invites you to your first race and tries to explain your job to everyone...

You walked next to your boyfriend F1 driver Charles Leclerc. It was your first time in the paddock with him and you were very nervous. You'd never met his team-mate Carlos Sainz, or any of the drivers for the matter.

You reached out to take his hand which he took happily, pulling it up and kissing the top of your hand.

"There's no need to worry! Everyone's going to love you!" he smiles down at you, you rub your thumb over his knuckles as a comforting gesture for yourself.

You both swiped in and he didn't leave your side, no matter how many people came up to talk to him. Weather it was the likes of Will Buxton, wanting to talk to him about the car, or a fan asking for a signature on a Ferrari cap or one of his fellow drivers offering him quick good lucks for the weekend as they rush off to whatever media duties they have.

"Come on, lets go find Carlos! I'll introduce you to Rebecca" he smiles as you both head over to the Ferrari motorhome. You can tell everyone really is like family there, Charles walks you round introducing you to all the mechanics and the social media staff. Literally anyone he can find he goes up to, and he knows their names and is asking them about their families.

"Oh! Yes this is my girlfriend Y/N. She's much cooler than me... she jousts for her job!" he exclaims using the worst way possible to describe what you do.

"Excuse me?" the man laughs, not really understanding what Charles was trying to explain your job as.

"I'm a South Korean Olympic Fencer. I competed in the 2021 Olympics in Tokyo. Charles just finds it funny to tell people i joust like some medieval brute!" you smile at the mechanic who laughs nodding.

"I knew i recognized you from somewhere, just couldn't put my mind too it where I support Italy!" he smiles and you nod at him.

"So what's it like being a fencer?" he asks.

"I enjoy it, there's obviously a certain level of talent too it and dedication but i've also found its rather artistic" you smile while explaining how you've linked your training schedule up to Charles' with Joris so you can get fitter before the next games.

You'd placed silver which had been incredible but like most olympians or people in sort you wanted that gold. You'd noticed major improvements in the way you'd fenced since you'd gone to training with Charles. You basically copied his everyday routine. You ate what he ate and you exercised like he did.

Next up Carlos came jogging over Rebecca as graceful as ever floating behind him greeting everyone that she passed.

"Omg hello! You must be Charles girlfriend. He and Carlos have told me all about you!" Rebecca smiles but you struggle to understand her because of the strong Scottish accent. It took you months to get around the way Charles spoke that you actually found it easier if you both spoke in French, which you'd learned at school. But you eventually both got around that curve-ball.

"Hello. It's nice to meet, both of you. Charles has also told me lots about you!" you admit smiling at her, she pulls you into a hug which you kindly accept and try to not make the first contact awkward.

You all ended up having lunch together in the Ferrari hospitality talking about everything and how you'd be flying back to Korea next week. Carlos said how he was upset that the Korean International Circuit wasn't on the roster anymore and that he'd never driven round it and might never get too.

Charles was very touchy all day, every time he left you to go do something team related he either held onto you while you walked him to wherever he needed to be. You'd wait and he'd rush straight back out pulling you into a hug kissing your neck and burying his head into the crook of it.

"What's wrong Jagiya (Baby)?" you asked looking to him and holding him.

"I just want to go home with you" he sighs, you can tell its not been a good day with the media considering they kept asking about his DNF in last weekends race.

"Mmmmm and we will. But I think you have some more friends to introduce me to" you grinned at him.

He introduced you to Lando and Oscar, who you both enjoyed their vibe. You found it easy to make conversation with Lando and his upbeat energy and Oscar had very funny and comedially timed inputs and ad libs to the conversation but also had a comforting silence you enjoyed.

He also introduced you to Pierre saying how they'd been best friends since they were very young and they'd come all the way through Karting together.

Pierre asked his girlfriend Kika to come over and introduced the two of you. Being similar ages you both got on having similar sense of humors and were into the same things.

You spent the rest of the day walking round the paddock with her, until someone caught you for an interview. It seemed to be Sky News, you'd been privy to Sky News before when they captured you in the Olympics.

"So Y/N it's your first time here! How have you found the energy of the paddock?" he asks.

"Yes, it's been very faced pace I think I've met and spoken to more people today than i have in my 23 years I've been around!" you joke laughing with the presenter.

"And how does it feel, as a Silver Olympic medalist to be around a sport like this?" he asks.

"Yeah, I mean from a very young age I was active and enjoyed different types of sport. My mum really wanted to pursue Taekwando as it's our national sport but I was never an aggressive person. I tried football and then when i was sent to a boarding school I was enlisted for fencing and I just stuck with it!" you answer politely.

"So, as i'm from the UK I would assume that your Premiere League Team is Spurs?" he asks hoping you liked football still to this day.

"Yes, I do. I try watch them at any opportunity i can! Sometimes and don't tell Charlie but I've skipped qually to watch them play" you say biting your lip a little.

The quick interview wraps up and it was safe to say that afterwards Charles Leclerc was now having to share his girlfriend with everyone online who had fallen in love with her personality.

"You look cute here!" Charles says latter that night a still from your interview on the TV where he'd paused it. You were laughing at something the interviewer had said and you hand was over your face covering it while your sharp eyes crinkled from your smile.

"Mmmm today was fun! I'd like to come to this more often!" you smile at him, flopping down onto the bed and playing with the collar of his red team shirt.

"Yeah? You would?" he asks and you nod before pulling him into a hug.

y/user

Liked by charlesleclerc and others

y/user: Amazing weekend at my first race! The Scuderia was very exciting. Thank you for the time @scuderiaferrari

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charlesleclerc I love you ❤️ thank you for coming 🔥

2 hours ago

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A/N: sorry this is my first try at some kind of social media! Im sorry if it’s bad!