#my next project will be even more out there

[rmview]

crushing on you, ATEEZ.

featuring — ateez members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — an imagine of what the ateez boys are like when they have a crush on you (moments where their feelings shine)!

contents — fluff, no warnings.

hong ⊹ joong

hongjoong is one who tries to play it cool, but his crush on you is increasingly obvious through the little things he does.

it starts with how he’ll always offer to help you with your creative projects. “need help brainstorming ideas?” he’d casually ask, even if he was buried in deadlines for ateez’s next album. when you hesitated, worried about wasting his time, hongjoong would reassure you with his signature grin. “don’t worry. creative energy comes back tenfold when i’m around you.”

then there are his thoughtful gestures. during a movie night with the group, you mentioned offhandedly that you loved a specific snack from a bakery across town. the next day, hongjoong casually hands you a bag of those snacks, acting as if it was no big deal. “i passed by the bakery on my way here,” he said, but you caught the faint blush creeping up his neck when you thanked him with a warm smile.

his crush shines brightest during practice sessions. if you stop by the studio, hongjoong will suddenly become hyperaware of your presence. he’ll glance your way between moves, a small smile tugging at his lips whenever he caught your gaze. his energy would shift — he’d dance with more precision, his voice more vibrant as he rapped or sang, almost as if trying to impress you.

one evening, after practice, you complimented him. “you’re so dedicated, hongjoong. it’s inspiring to watch.”

hongjoong froze for a moment before chuckling softly, scratching the back of his neck. “it’s easy to work hard when the right person’s watching.” his words slipped out before he could stop them, and he quickly looked away, his cheeks burning red.

you laughed, your voice light and teasing. “who’s the lucky person?”

hongjoong’s lips quirked up into a smile, but he didn’t answer directly. instead, he picked up his notebook and pretended to jot something down. ��maybe you’ll figure it out one day.”

seong ⊹ hwa

seonghwa’s crush on you is evident in the way he pays attention to the smallest details about you. while others might call him a perfectionist, with you, it wasn’t just about doing things well — it was about making sure everything he did for you was flawless.

whenever the group invited you over, seonghwa will quietly take charge of ensuring the space was comfortable for you. “the lighting’s too harsh,” he’d mutter, adjusting the lamps until they cast a warm glow. if he knows your favorite snacks, he’ll make sure they were prominently placed on the coffee table. “oh, these? i just picked them up randomly,” he’d lie, hiding how he’d gone out of his way to find them.

his crush also comes through in his protectiveness. if you were out together with the group, seonghwa is the one subtly checking to make sure you were warm enough or have a drink in hand. one rainy evening, you forgot your umbrella, and seonghwa immediately offered his. “i don’t mind getting wet,” he said, though you noticed how he pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he walked beside you.

during a late-night karaoke session, seonghwa’s feelings slipped through his usually calm demeanor. when it was his turn to sing, he chose a ballad — a soft, emotional song about unspoken love. his eyes flicked toward you as he sang, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

afterward, you clapped enthusiastically. “that was beautiful, seonghwa. you put so much feeling into it.”

he smiled shyly, looking down at his lap. “it’s easier to feel a song when there’s someone… special in mind,” he admitted softly, his voice barely audible over the music.

yun ⊹ ho

yunho’s crush on you is impossible to miss, given his naturally outgoing and playful personality. he isn’t shy about spending time with you, often using humor and charm to mask how nervous he actually is around you.

he’ll find excuses to be near you during group hangouts. if you are sitting on the couch, yunho will plop down next to you, grinning as he stretched his long legs. “hope you don’t mind me stealing some of your personal space,” he’d tease, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you just a second too long.

yunho’s crush is also evident in his habit of subtly showing off around you. whether it is effortlessly spinning a basketball on his finger or nailing a complex dance move during practice, he’ll always glance your way afterward to see if you were impressed. when you compliment him, his grin will widen, and he’d laugh it off. “ah, it’s nothing. just a little something i’ve been practicing.”

one day, while the group was playing video games, yunho handed you the controller and coached you through the game. “here, press this button — no, not that one!” he laughed as your character stumbled on-screen. his hand covered yours briefly to guide you, and you couldn’t help but notice the slight flush on his cheeks.

later that evening, yunho found himself alone with you as the others stepped out. “i have fun when you’re around,” he said suddenly, his usual playful tone replaced with sincerity.

“me too,” you replied, smiling warmly at him.

for a moment, yunho considered confessing, but instead, he just grinned and nudged your shoulder. “good. then i’ll keep making sure you have fun.”

yeo ⊹ sang

yeosang’s crush on you isn’t as overt as some of the others — it is in the quiet moments, the subtle glances, and the small gestures that spoke volumes if you were paying attention. he isn’t the type to shout his feelings from the rooftops, but that doesn’t mean his emotions aren’t strong.

he always seems to notice the little things about you. if you mention being cold, yeosang will quietly drape his jacket over your shoulders without a word. when you compliment a particular drink once, he makes a mental note and starts bringing it to you whenever he has the chance. “i thought you might like this,” he’ll say casually, but his lips would twitch into a small, satisfied smile when you accept it with a grin.

yeosang’s crush would shine through during group activities. if you are participating in a game or challenge, he’ll subtly cheer you on, his quiet encouragement just for your ears. “you’ve got this,” he’d say, his tone calm but sincere, his eyes lighting up when you succeed.

one evening, while everyone was busy chatting, you caught yeosang watching you. when you met his gaze, he quickly looked away, his ears turning pink. later, he approached you with a hesitant smile. “you look really happy tonight,” he said softly.

you laughed lightly. “i am. it’s nice being here with everyone.”

yeosang’s expression softened. “it’s nice when you’re here, too,” he admitted, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. before you could respond, someone called his name, and he quickly excused himself, leaving you wondering if you’d heard him correctly.

san ⊹

san’s crush on you is impossible to miss — he wears his heart on his sleeve, and his feelings shine through in everything he does. he isn’t shy about being affectionate, always finding ways to be close to you, whether it is playfully slinging an arm around your shoulders or giving you a big, warm hug just because he can.

he was your biggest cheerleader, always hyping you up no matter what. “you’re amazing, you know that?” he’d say with a bright smile, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. if you ever doubted yourself, san was the first to reassure you. “you’ve got this. i believe in you more than anyone else.”

san’s crush also manifested in his protectiveness. if you were out together, he’d instinctively walk on the side closest to the street or make sure you were comfortable. one time, when someone made an offhand comment that upset you, san was quick to defend you, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare intensity. “hey, watch it,” he said firmly, his jaw tight as he stood by your side.

during a quiet moment at a group hangout, san handed you a small, handmade bracelet. “i made this for you,” he said, his cheeks tinged with pink.

“you made this?” you asked, surprised.

he nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, i thought it’d suit you.”

when you put it on and smiled at him, san’s grin stretched from ear to ear, his heart practically melting at how radiant you looked.

min ⊹ gi

mingi’s crush on you is both endearing and awkward — his feelings make him nervous, but he can’t help the way he lights up whenever you were around. he’ll stumble over his words sometimes, his usual confidence replaced with a shy energy that only seems to surface when he is with you.

“hey, uh… how’s it going?” he’d ask, his voice a little higher than usual. if you teased him about being nervous, mingi would laugh it off, scratching the back of his head. “me? nervous? nah, i’m just… uh, thinking about something.”

his crush shows in the way he always tries to make you laugh. whether it is cracking silly jokes, pulling exaggerated faces, or doing a random dance move, mingi loves seeing you smile. “there it is!” he’d say triumphantly whenever you laugh, his own laughter following shortly after.

one time, while the group was practicing, you walked into the room, and mingi immediately straightened up, putting extra energy into his moves. he’d steal glances at you between steps, his lips quirking up into a proud grin when he noticed you watching.

later, when everyone was taking a break, mingi handed you a water bottle. “you must be thirsty after watching us, huh?” he joked, though his cheeks flushed as you accepted it.

“thanks, mingi. you’re really thoughtful,” you said with a warm smile.

his eyes widened slightly, and he looked away, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “ah, it’s nothing. i just… i like making you happy.”

mingi’s honesty caught you off guard, but before you could respond, he jumped up, clapping his hands. “alright! back to practice!” he said, his voice a little too loud, clearly trying to cover up his embarrassment.

woo ⊹ young

wooyoung’s crush on you is impossible to miss — it radiates from him in the way he teases you, how his voice softens when he says your name, and the subtle yet intentional ways he finds to touch you. he is naturally flirty, but with you, his charm carries an extra layer of sincerity that he can’t hide no matter how hard he tries.

“are you blushing? don’t tell me you’re falling for me already,” he’ll tease, his signature grin lighting up his face. but the moment you tease him back, wooyoung’s confidence would falter just slightly. “i’m not blushing,” he’ll mutter, averting his gaze while his cheeks turn a telltale shade of pink.

wooyoung always finds ways to include you in the group’s activities, dragging you into dance challenges or asking for your opinion on his outfits. once, during a karaoke night, he deliberately picked a romantic ballad and sang it while making exaggerated gestures toward you, earning playful groans from the others. “what? i’m just serenading my biggest fan!” he’d joke, though the way his eyes linger on yours betrays his true feelings.

but beneath all the playfulness, wooyoung’s crush revealed itself in quieter, more thoughtful moments. when he noticed you were tired, he’d bring you snacks or offer you his jacket. “you take care of everyone else so much,” he said softly one evening, placing a warm drink in your hands. “let me take care of you for once.”

it was during one of these moments that his feelings slipped through more clearly. you had been talking about your day when wooyoung suddenly blurted out, “you’re seriously incredible, you know that?” he froze for a second, realizing what he’d said, and then quickly tried to cover it up with a laugh. “i mean, obviously — anyone with eyes can see it.”

though he tried to act nonchalant, the way he looked at you told a different story — one of someone utterly smitten and hopelessly drawn to you.

jong ⊹ ho

jongho’s crush on you is quieter but no less meaningful. he isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but his actions always speaks louder than words. if he had a crush, it would show in the way he pays attention to you — remembering the little things you say, noticing when you are feeling off, and always being there to lend a hand.

“here,” he’d say, handing you your favorite drink before you even asked for it. when you looked at him in surprise, he’d shrug, a faint smile playing on his lips. “you mentioned it once. i thought you’d like it.”

jongho often finds himself stealing glances at you, his gaze softening whenever you aren’t looking. if you catch him, he’ll quickly look away, his ears turning red. “i wasn’t staring,” he’ll insist, his tone calm but the slight awkwardness in his voice betraying him.

when the group is together, jongho will naturally gravitate towards you, whether it is sitting next to you or offering to help you carry something. one time, during a group outing, you struggled to open a bottle, and jongho immediately stepped in. “give it here,” he said, easily twisting the cap off and handing it back to you.

“thanks, jongho,” you said, smiling up at him.

he nodded, his expression unreadable, though his ears were tinged pink. “it’s nothing. i just didn’t want you to hurt your hand.”

despite his reserved nature, jongho’s crush shines through in the rare moments he let his guard down. during a casual conversation, he suddenly said, “you’re different from anyone i’ve ever met.”

the comment caught you off guard. “different how?”

he hesitated for a moment before meeting your eyes, his gaze steady but gentle. “just… special. in a good way.” his words were simple, but the weight behind them made your heart flutter.

though he isn’t one for grand gestures, jongho’s quiet devotion and thoughtfulness makes it clear just how much he cares — without him ever having to say the words outright.

notes: i am so soft for them, it’s not a joke anymore

[captain-huggy-bear]

Perfect Fit

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: You fit perfectly into Quinn's family, knowing how much they love you just makes Quinn realise that you're it for him.

Notes: Requested by an anon, I hope you like it. I went with a kind of snapshot of events vibe for this one

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's never had a girlfriend who fit in quite so well into his family because you were quite literally a perfect fit. Every single member of his family loved you. His mom, his dad, his brothers, his grandma, all his cousins. There wasn't a single person who didn't ask where you were when you couldn't come to a family event or who didn't write you a Christmas card or a birthday card. You were in every family group chat, on everyone's list of Christmas presents to buy.

You'd integrated so well into his family that he couldn't really imagine a life without you because suddenly there'd be a missing puzzle piece in the family puzzle, a glaring gap. The sort of hole that would be so noticeable, so obvious.

It's extra obvious whenever he goes to a family event without you, like tonight. You're held up with a big work project, leaving Quinn to go to the big family get together on his own. He knew everyone would be upset about it, there was only so often that all the family were in the local area and you not being there would be obvious to them.

His grandma has already found herself a comfortable armchair when he arrives for the party, cousins, aunts and uncles milling about. His brothers talking to his parents by the snacks, Luke stuffing his face between sentences because he seemed to have hollow legs these days.

"Hey, Grandma'"

"Hey, sweetie," He kisses his grandma on the cheek letting her pull him in tight for a hug, but it's clear her attention isn't on him, her eyes looking over his shoulder, searching.

"You alright, Grandma?" He's a little put out to be honest. His grandma, who he hasn't seen in months, barely looking at him, eyes scanning the room.

"Where's Y/N?"

"Oh, she couldn't make it, she's got a big project goin' on at work and has to stay late for the next week or so." There's part of him that preens at her question because his grandma loves you, something he can't help but love. He loves it for himself, but he also loves it for you knowing you didn't have the best relationship with your own grandparents, knowing that his grandma had healed something in you that no one could see.

"Oh, but I wanted to see her so badly, Quinn! I was going to give her my recipe, the one she asked for to make those snickerdoodles she liked so much." She looks genuinely sad and Quinn briefly considers face timing you to show you because you'd probably cave and drop your work project for his grandma and then he'd have you here. God, he misses you...

"Well, I can give it to her, grandma."

"No! I want to give it to her, what if you lose it?" He can't help the offended scoff he lets out or the way his jaw drops open in shock. His grandma not trusting him more than you hurt a little, even as he loved that she adored you so much. He was perfectly capable of not losing a stupid snickerdoodle recipe...

His mood is no less grumpy when Jack and Luke sling their arms over his shoulders, laughing at him and the way his grandma is holding her recipe to her chest as if he might snatch it from her.

Jack is the worst, "Oh he'd definitely lose it, grams!"

Quinn glares at him, "I'll make sure she comes to the next one, grandma, yeah?" He tries his best to not take his annoyance with Jack out on his grandma, trying to focus on that fuzzy little feeling in his chest at how much she seems to love you. He's never had a girlfriend his grandma really cared much about beyond the occasional question, but you? God, she's not happy to just see him anymore, if he doesn't bring you along she's always visibly disappointed.

"Mmm, it'll have to do! Tell her I love her will you?"

"Course, grandma..." He grunts out, rolling his eyes as Jack and Luke laugh and start dragging him away. As he goes he can't help but mutter under his breath, "More than you love me clearly"

"Jack Rowden Hughes!" Your hands are on your hips glaring at Jack outside the Lake House, a smoking microwave between the two of you where Luke and Quinn had tossed it after hearing your panicked calls for help. The microwave in question had been briefly on fire, not something Quinn really thought he'd be dealing with today.

"Oh god, he's done it now..." Quinn can't help but grin, leaning against the side of the house as he watches you, Luke stood next to him looks more concerned and less amused.

"Should we save him?"

"Nah, I wanna watch this." Quinn's grin widens at the way Jack seems to shrink under your glare like a naughty kid. You've definitely got the mom voice down. It's like watching a younger Jack whenever their mom had to tell him off for something stupid or reckless.

"You just want to watch your girlfriend rip into him because you think it's hot."

"And can you blame me?" He can't even deny it. Quinn thinks you're beautiful all the time, but there's something especially thrilling about watching you rip into his little brother about nearly setting the Lake House on fire.

There's a pause from Luke where he looks at Quinn unsure, words coming out slow and cautious, unsure, "I feel like that's a trick question."

"You would be correct, don't even think about suggesting my girlfriend is hot." Quinn glares a Luke even though the truth is he's playing about. He knows you're beautiful and he also knows both his brothers consider you to be a sister figure, he knows he doesn't need to worry. But, it's funny to give Luke a hard time sometimes.

"So, should I say she's ugly?"

"She's gorgeous but you don't need to think that. Strictly platonic thoughts only, Lukey."

"Quinn?" He looks over with a raised eyebrow, "I love you, but you're insane." They're both pulled from their conversation by the sound your voice again, loud and clear and very much scolding.

You've still got your hands on your hips, a glare has developed on your features and Jack looks even more like his teenage self if possible. His hair is a mess, hands having run through it repeatedly, tugging on the strands.

"What on earth possessed you to think putting tin foil in a microwave was a good idea?! It's metal, Jack! You nearly blew up the microwave!" You feel like you're back at university, dealing with barely legal individuals who can't figure out that cooking a whole chicken in a microwave is simply not going to work. Jack Hughes has managed to give you a headache. His sheepish grin manages to soften some of your edges, but you're still baffled and confused by Jack's sheer lack of common sense.

"How was I supposed to know that that wasn't something you should do?!"

"It's common sense, Jack! Did you not pass science?" You know he did, well aware that Jack was not in fact an idiot. But, Jesus Christ on a bike...tin foil in the microwave? The microwave?! The smell of burning plastic and metal is still assaulting your nose, the adrenaline from thinking the house was about to burn down still running through you.

"...I hate you." Jack's pout breaks you a little, a huff of a laugh leaving you as your shoulders relax somewhat because in reality the whole situation is funny, now that the Lake House isn't about to burn down.

"No you don't."

Jack sighs loudly, stepping around the microwave to pull you into a side hug, "No...I don't...I'm sorry for nearly blowing up the microwave."

"It's okay, I love you even if you're an idiot." You grin up at your boyfriend's brother, who looks at you aghast, jaw dropped at your audacity.

"Hey!"

Quinn can't help but smile, the way you just fit in with his baby brothers, how Jack enjoys your company and how easy you find it to mess with him. You fit in like a puzzle piece.

Summers at the Lake House might be your favourite, the warm wood of the deck beneath your feet, the sun on your skin, a little chubby toddler running towards you at full pelt while you laugh, Quinn watching on from the side lines because he can't help but adore how you act with his baby cousins. You're made for it, made for his family, but made for interacting with little kids too, so gentle with them, but fun too. They love you so much that he can't help but practically develop heart eyes.

"Up! Up!" Quinn's baby cousin, Chase, is at your feet, arms in the air making grabby motions with his hands. His floppy sun hat is a little too large for him and covers his eyes in an adorable fashion, but at least it protects him a little from the summer sun at the Lake House.

"Up? You want to be up here?" You gesture with you arms as you grin down at the little toddler, his chubby cheeks red from running towards you, his skin covered in sun cream.

"Up!" His hands continue to make grabbing motions at you, hands clenching into fists and unclenching in quick succession. He grins at you wide, his gap filled smile endearing.

"What's the magic word?" You're smiling wide at his cousin, even as you remind him of his manners and there's just something so...so affable, so natural about the whole thing.

"Up, pwease!" His little toddler lisp more pronounced on the word, drawing it out until you're laughing, reaching down to grab him under the arms and lift him up into your own.

He squirms a little at first before settling himself comfortably against you, head leaning on your shoulder, smiling up at you like you've hung the moon in the sky. You hold Chase so naturally that Quinn can't really help but think about what it might be like one day when the toddler in your arms is your own. A little toddler with his nose, your eyes and some combination of you both that just seems to work. How you'd carry them around the Lake House, helping them toast marshmallows over the firepit and teaching them eventually how to swim.

"She's good with the kids..." It's his mom who comes up behind him, smiling wide, blue eyes practically glowing as she puts her arm through his.

"I know..." He can't take his eyes off you, you've started to tickle chase, the toddler squirming in your arms as he laughs loudly, big grin on his little face as his favourite person gives him undivided attention. You're practically glowing, wide smile on your face, your own laugh resonating through the air. His chest tightens with affection, an ache for something he hasn't got quite yet, a yearning in his chest.

"Makes you think, huh?" His mom is smirking at him and he knows he's being obvious, knows she can tell how in love he is, how desperate he is to make you a permanent fixture in his life...to make the image in front of him slightly different, a toddler that looks like a combination of the two of you in your arms rather than his baby cousin.

There's a beat of silence where Quinn watches you, a soft smile on his lips, eyes full of love, and his mom watches him, the way he can't seem to hide how deeply he loves you. It's how she knows you're it for him before he even says a word, it helps that Ellen can't help but love you. She's always been welcoming to Quinn's past girlfriends, but she's never quite loved one as much as she loves you. You're good for Quinn, that's the real crux of why she loves you so much...because you give Quinn something to love that's not hockey, you give him another purpose while getting him to shut off, to rest. Of all her sons Quinn is the most dedicated, and with that dedication comes the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's like you walked in one day, and stepped underneath the globe with him to make holding the weight a little easier.

"I think she's it, Mom...I think that's my wife right there..."

"Yeah? I'd hope so because I'll ground you for life if you let her go."

"I'm 25 years old, Mom." He can't help but laugh at his mother, eyes rolling as she grins at him, laugh lines deepening around her mouth and besides her eyes. He's missed this during the season, the unrestricted family time, the back and forth with his mom that makes everything feel simple, even the concept of a proposal, of marriage.

"I can still ground you, I'm your mother." Ellen pokes him in the ribs, Quinn twisting away with a huff.

"Well, good thing I'm not planning on letting her go anywhere anytime soon." He pats his jacket pocket, the shape of a box just visible enough to cause his mom to gasp and he knows, fuck, he knows it's the right choice.

He loves you, adores you, can't imagine a life without you and his mom? She's so excited, so happy, not just because it's Quinn, but because it's you. He'd love you even if his family didn't, but there's something about how much they do love you that makes this perfect, makes this feel so utterly right.

Now he just needs to find the right moment, the right time to finally make you a permanent part of the family.

[aspenmissing]

Could you write the Arcane characters interacting with Reader's baby bump? (The male characters in a romantic way and the female characters in a platonic / best friends way)

ʙᴀʙʏ ʙᴜᴍᴘ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 4045 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ!! < 3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

Jayce was in his workshop, tinkering with his latest invention, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the warmth of the apartment. Y/N had been radiating this special glow ever since they'd found out she was expecting, and he couldn't help but marvel at how life had changed for them.

He paused his work, glancing toward the door, his face softening as he caught sight of Y/N entering. She walked in with a gentle sway, her baby bump clearly visible beneath her loose-fitting blouse. Jayce smiled, completely distracted by the sight of her.

"You know," he said, his voice a little distracted as he stood from his desk, "you’re glowing even more than usual today."

Y/N chuckled, placing a hand on her belly, a look of playful disbelief crossing her face. "I think you just say that because you’re always trying to get me to smile."

"Well," Jayce took a step closer, gently resting his hand on the curve of her bump, "it's hard not to smile when you're carrying our little one." His voice dropped softly, filled with awe as his fingers lightly traced over her stomach, feeling the little movements of the baby.

Y/N leaned into him, her head resting on his chest as she looked up at him with a smile. "I still can't believe it's happening. Feels like just yesterday I was getting used to being here, and now... we’re here, together, with a baby."

Jayce’s heart swelled as he pulled her into a tender embrace, his hand still resting gently over her bump. "It feels like a dream, doesn’t it?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "But it’s our dream, and I couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone else."

Y/N laughed softly, the sound of it filling the room. "I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad it’s always been you."

Jayce held her tighter, savoring the moment. His mind raced with excitement for the future, for their little family that was already so loved. As he looked down at her, he whispered, "We’re going to be amazing parents, you know."

Y/N smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair. "I know. And I’ll have you by my side through it all."

As Jayce gave her belly one more gentle rub, he couldn’t resist. "Do you think they’ll be as smart as their mom?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow playfully. "As smart? Oh, they’ll definitely have my brains... but they’ll also have your charm and wit, so it’s bound to be a good mix."

Jayce laughed, his hands still lingering on her stomach. "A perfect blend. I can't wait to meet them."

The two of them stood there for a moment, wrapped in the peace and joy of the life growing between them, knowing that whatever came next, they’d face it together.

VIKTOR

The dim light of Viktor's lab flickered softly as he worked on his latest project, the steady hum of machines in the background. Y/N sat nearby, her legs tucked under her as she rested on a plush chair. Her hand gently cradled her baby bump, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she observed Viktor. He had been focused on his work all day, but there was a soft tension in the air as his thoughts would occasionally wander to her.

He looked up from his workbench, meeting her gaze. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, his voice gentle and filled with concern.

Y/N nodded, but her smile grew wider when she saw the subtle way Viktor’s eyes lingered on her bump. She loved the way his face softened whenever he looked at her, especially now. The early months had been a whirlwind of uncertainty, but now, as the pregnancy progressed, Viktor had become a rock for her—steady, calm, and full of quiet affection.

"Are you sure you're not overworking yourself?" Y/N teased, her fingers lightly tracing the curve of her bump.

Viktor hesitated for a moment before walking over to her. His hands were warm as they cupped the sides of her stomach gently, his eyes studying her as if the simple act of touching her was an overwhelming thing. "I’m not overworking," he murmured, his voice low. "But… I do worry." He carefully placed his hand over her belly, letting his fingers rest softly against the growing life within.

Y/N chuckled softly. "I’m fine, Viktor. She’s fine, too," she added, feeling the baby shift slightly beneath her skin. She glanced down at his hand, which was resting on her bump, the moment tender and intimate.

Viktor’s expression softened, and for a brief second, his usually sharp and meticulous demeanor melted away. His eyes lit up with something indescribable, a mix of awe and tenderness as he gazed at the baby bump. He seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for any movement, like he was trying to connect to the tiny life growing inside her.

And then, it happened—a small, subtle kick. Viktor’s eyes widened, and a soft laugh escaped his lips. He placed his hand gently on the spot where the movement had come from, as if trying to reassure himself that it was real. "Did you feel that?" he whispered, his voice barely a breath, full of wonder.

Y/N nodded, her smile widening. "Yes, I did." She reached up to gently touch his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I think she’s excited to meet her papa."

Viktor’s face flushed slightly at the word. His hand remained on her belly, his thumb moving in slow, careful circles as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "I will be ready when the time comes," he said, his voice a quiet promise. "I’ll be right here, every step of the way."

Y/N’s heart swelled with affection for him, knowing how deeply he meant every word. She leaned into him, closing her eyes and letting the moment envelop them both—together, as a family, anticipating the future they would share.

And as Viktor continued to tenderly touch her belly, Y/N couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of peace, knowing that this tiny life would be surrounded by so much love.

JAYVIK

The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle warmth across the room. Y/N woke slowly, stretching out on the bed, her body cradled in the comfort of the soft sheets. Her eyes fluttered open to see Viktor beside her, his head resting gently on her shoulder, a peaceful expression on his face. His hand, warm and steady, lay across her belly—his touch so tender, it almost felt like he was holding the life within her in a protective embrace.

For a moment, Y/N simply gazed at him, the sensation of his presence calming and reassuring. She then shifted slightly, turning her head to glance at the space beside the bed. "Where's Jayce?" she murmured softly, her voice still thick with sleep, not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment.

Viktor stirred slightly at her words, his eyes blinking open, his gaze warm but sleepy. "He's probably in the workshop or the kitchen... Where else would he be?" He smiled, but Y/N's eyes were already drawn back to the movement beneath the covers.

Curious, she lifted the edge of the blanket to peek under it. There, to her surprise, was Jayce, his face buried in the side of her baby bump, his large hand gently caressing it. He looked so serene, his eyes closed, and there was a quiet hum of contentment as his fingers traced slow, soft patterns along her skin.

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the sight. The love and care the two of them showed, even in the smallest moments, made her heart swell. Viktor, now fully awake, chuckled softly as he saw the scene. "He's... always been a bit of a morning person," he said, his voice full of affection.

Y/N laughed softly, running a hand through Jayce's hair. "I think he just wanted to get as close to the baby as possible," she teased, her voice light.

Jayce, hearing her, lifted his head slightly, his face still pressed against her belly. His eyes glimmered with affection as he met her gaze. "Couldn't resist," he murmured with a grin, his hand never stopping its gentle motions on her belly.

Viktor leaned in, brushing his lips against Y/N's forehead, his voice soft and filled with warmth. "Looks like we have our own little family morning ritual."

Y/N smiled, feeling the weight of her love for both of them as they shared this intimate moment. The room felt filled with an almost magical peace—a quiet reminder that despite the chaos of the world outside, they had each other, and that was enough.

She placed a hand on Viktor's, the other resting on Jayce's head. "I love you both," she whispered softly, her heart full. The two men, in their own unique ways, both smiled, their love for her and the baby clear in their eyes.

"We love you, too," Viktor replied softly, and Jayce added, "More than anything."

As the three of them lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the outside world felt distant, and for that moment, they were content to simply be.

VANDER

It was a typical day in the undercity, the hustle and bustle of Zaun never stopping. But today, there was a special kind of excitement in the air, especially within the small, cozy living space above Vander’s tavern, The Last Drop.

Y/N, now a little further along in her pregnancy, was sitting comfortably in one of the worn-out chairs, her hand resting on her baby bump. She had been feeling the baby kicking for a while now, and every time it happened, she couldn’t help but smile.

Vander, who had been busy with some work around the bar downstairs, glanced over at her with a soft grin. "You look like you're getting ready to pop any day now," he teased lightly, his rough voice betraying the gentle affection he had for her. He leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on a rag, his gaze soft as he looked at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at the corners of her lips. “I’m not that big, Vander," she said playfully.

Vander chuckled. "Right, sure." He then turned his attention to the door, hearing the familiar sounds of footsteps and laughter. The kids—Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor—had been coming around more often to check on her, always excited about the little one growing inside her.

Vi came barreling in first, the rough-and-tumble girl grinning from ear to ear. “I wanna feel the baby kick! Can I?”

Y/N laughed softly, patting her belly. "You can try."

Vi’s face lit up, and she gently placed her hands on Y/N’s bump, her eyes wide with excitement. "Whoa, I can feel it!" she exclaimed. "It’s so weird but cool!" Her expression softened, and she looked up at Y/N. “You’re gonna be such a good mom.”

Y/N’s heart melted at the sweet sentiment. She hadn’t had the chance to speak much about her plans for motherhood, but hearing Vi’s words made her feel like she was doing something right.

Powder, who had been standing at the door, looking a little shy, approached with her usual curiosity. "Me too! Can I feel?"

Vander, always protective of his "kids," knelt down to Powder’s level, a big hand on her shoulder. "It’s okay, kiddo," he said gently, giving Y/N an encouraging nod.

With a soft giggle, Powder tiptoed over and placed her small hands on Y/N’s baby bump. Her eyes widened when she felt the gentle shift. "It’s moving! I’m gonna be the best big sister ever," she announced, practically bouncing on her heels in excitement.

Mylo and Claggor entered together, following behind their friends. Mylo, always the mischievous one, grinned and raised an eyebrow at the scene. “Looks like you’re already starting a whole army, Y/N,” he teased, crossing his arms.

Claggor, quieter than the others, leaned against the wall, his usual stoic expression softened with a fond smile. “You’ll have a lot of help, that’s for sure,” he said, his voice calm but sincere.

Vander chuckled from his spot across the room, clearly enjoying the scene. He glanced over at Y/N, his expression soft. "You’ll have a whole crew to help you out," he said with a wink. "Just make sure the little one doesn’t end up causing as much trouble as Powder."

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, her voice teasing. "You mean you didn’t cause trouble when you were younger?"

Vander chuckled, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Maybe a little, but I’ve learned my lesson. Now I just have to pass on that wisdom."

Vi and Powder giggled at the exchange, while Mylo and Claggor shared an amused look. Y/N leaned back in her chair, basking in the comfort of the moment. The excitement of her growing family surrounded her, and with Vander by her side, she knew everything would be alright.

The kids continued to gather around, asking more questions, offering more excitement, and making Y/N’s heart swell with love. She was going to be a mother, and with Vander, Vi, Powder, Mylo, Claggor, and all of them by her side, she knew her little one would be surrounded by so much love and protection.

"Think we’ll get a little troublemaker in the mix?" Vi asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N grinned, her hand gently rubbing her belly. "With you two as role models? I’m sure of it."

Vander’s booming laughter filled the room, and for a moment, all felt right in the world.

And in that moment, surrounded by the kids she’d come to love as her own and Vander’s comforting presence above The Last Drop, Y/N couldn’t help but feel that this new chapter in her life would be full of love, laughter, and the promise of new beginnings.

SILCO

Silco sat at his desk in his dimly lit office, his gaze unwavering as he reviewed the latest plans for Zaun. The ever-present hum of machinery in the background almost seemed to blend into the silence.

Then, the door creaked open, and in stepped Y/N, her baby bump now noticeably prominent as she walked toward him. She smiled softly, her face lighting up with a warmth that seemed to make the cold, grim atmosphere of the room a little more bearable.

"You look like you're deep in thought," she said, her voice gentle.

Silco looked up from his papers, his steely eyes softening when they met hers. He had been through many things in his life—power struggles, betrayal, and the dark underworld of Zaun—but nothing quite compared to the feeling that swept over him whenever he saw her. And now, with the baby bump growing, it was as though something more fragile and precious was growing inside their world.

He pushed back from his desk and stood, a rare softness in his usually sharp features. "And what brings you here?" His voice had an edge, but there was a tenderness underneath it that he reserved only for her.

Y/N placed a hand on her belly and walked closer. "I just thought you might like to feel the baby," she said, her tone teasing. "You've been so focused on work lately, you haven't gotten a chance to see how much they’re growing."

A rare flicker of uncertainty passed through Silco’s eyes. He didn’t know much about babies or pregnancy, but there was a look of fondness in his gaze when he saw how protective and glowing Y/N looked.

She gently guided his hand to her stomach, and for a moment, Silco stood still, the warmth of her body and the tiny life growing inside her bringing an unfamiliar feeling to his chest. The baby kicked softly, a small flutter that made her smile wider.

"Feel that?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with excitement.

Silco’s fingers twitched slightly as he pressed his hand more firmly against her belly, feeling the subtle movements beneath his palm. His lips parted in a small, almost imperceptible smile, the rarest of expressions crossing his usually composed face.

"It’s... strange," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "But it’s yours. Ours."

Y/N’s smile widened, a warm, loving look passing between them. She nodded, her hand over his as she gave it a gentle squeeze. "Yes, ours."

Silco’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he allowed himself to lean down slightly, brushing a kiss against the top of her head. "I never thought I’d be here," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Not like this."

Y/N chuckled softly, her eyes shining with affection. "Well, here we are."

"Here we are," he echoed, a rare tenderness in his voice. He couldn’t help but run his fingers across her belly again, feeling the baby move once more, as if marking the beginning of a future he had never imagined.

For a moment, Silco allowed himself to savour the peace, even if it was fleeting in a world that would never be kind to them. But for now, the only thing that mattered was the life growing between them, the one thing that he could protect with everything he had.

JINX/POWDER

Jinx bounced around excitedly, her usual chaotic energy tempered by a rare, gentle excitement. Y/N was sitting on the couch, her hand resting over her growing belly, a soft smile playing on her lips as she watched the madness of Zaun unfold through the window.

Jinx skidded to a halt in front of Y/N, her eyes immediately locking onto her friend’s baby bump. Her grin spread wider than usual, but there was a tenderness in it now, a contrast to her usual manic grin.

"Y/N! Y/N! How’s my little niece or nephew doin’ in there?" Jinx asked, bouncing on her toes as she leaned in close, eyes wide with curiosity. She’d known about the pregnancy for a while now, but it never failed to get her excited whenever she saw Y/N with her baby bump.

Y/N chuckled softly, glancing down at her belly with a soft, protective smile. "They're doing well. Growing every day," she said, her voice filled with warmth as she gently rubbed the bump.

Jinx’s face shifted into one of mock seriousness, her hands immediately cupping the sides of Y/N’s bump as if she was inspecting something fragile. "Whoa, you’re getting huge!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of awe and playful teasing. "This little one’s gonna be a big deal, huh? So important!"

She paused for a moment, eyes full of determination, before looking up at Y/N with a gaze that was almost protective. "I’m gonna be the best aunt ever! I’ll protect ‘em from all the bad stuff out there!" Jinx gestured dramatically to the world outside, her usual chaotic flair returning. "No one’s gonna mess with my little one! I’ll teach ‘em all the best stuff—like blowing stuff up!"

Y/N laughed, a warm, fond chuckle that filled the room. "You’re gonna be the best aunt, Jinx. The baby’s gonna love you."

Jinx’s grin grew wider, her chest puffing up proudly. "Of course! No one else could be as awesome as Aunt Jinx! I’ll make sure the little one has all the best toys—super explosive ones! And we’ll make a fort out of all the stuff I’ve blown up! It’ll be perfect!"

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with affection for her unpredictable friend. She knew Jinx had a complicated past, but it was moments like these that showed just how much Jinx cared—and how deeply she was capable of loving in her own wild way.

"You’ll definitely be the best aunt," Y/N agreed, rubbing her belly gently. "But for now, maybe start thinking about ways to entertain the baby when they’re older—something a little less... explosive than your usual brand of fun."

Jinx’s expression turned contemplative as she tilted her head, clearly thinking hard about that suggestion. After a moment, her eyes lit up. "Okay! I’ll tell the baby the best stories. And maybe… just maybe... I’ll make ‘em a secret stash of cookies... and dynamite. Secretly! You know, just in case they need some excitement in their life."

Y/N laughed again, shaking her head fondly. "You’re something else, Jinx. But I think that’s what makes you the best aunt."

Jinx giggled, then without warning, sat down next to Y/N and wrapped her arms around her in a surprisingly gentle hug. "You’ll be the best mom, Y/N. No one’s gonna mess with us. Right? We’re a team."

Y/N returned the hug, a swell of gratitude filling her chest for the unexpected, yet deeply loyal friendship they shared. "We’re a team, Jinx. Always."

And in that moment, surrounded by Jinx’s protectiveness and boundless enthusiasm, Y/N felt a sense of peace, knowing her baby would grow up surrounded by love—no matter how unpredictable the world around them might be.

MEL

Mel had always been the type to care deeply for others, especially those she considered family. Y/N was no different, and seeing her friend in this new light—carrying a child—brought a softness to her heart that she hadn’t expected.

She gently knocked on Y/N’s door, her voice light as she called through, “Y/N, are you awake?”

A muffled response came from inside. “Yeah, just a little tired today.”

Mel smiled, pushing the door open and peeking in to see her friend, who was sitting propped up in bed, a soft blanket tucked around her. Y/N’s baby bump was noticeably round now, a comforting sight after everything she’d been through.

“Need any help getting up?” Mel asked with a slight tilt of her head, her voice soft and warm. She was always so careful around Y/N, ever since the pregnancy had started to show.

Y/N gave her a small, grateful smile. “I can manage, but if you want to help me to the couch, I’d appreciate it.”

Mel immediately moved over, holding out her hands to help steady Y/N as she slowly rose to her feet. “Slow and steady, okay?” she said, guiding her gently to the living room.

Once they were settled, Mel made sure Y/N was comfortable before sitting beside her. She could never shake the worry that Y/N wasn’t eating enough, despite her insistence. “Did you eat today?” she asked, her voice a mix of concern and love.

Y/N sighed but nodded. “I did, just a little light lunch. But I’ll have something more later.”

Mel pursed her lips, her eyes scanning her friend's face, searching for any hint that Y/N might be pushing herself too hard. “You’ve got to take care of yourself, Y/N. The baby needs you to eat, too.” She gently placed a hand on the bump, a soft smile forming as she added, “They’re gonna need their energy to grow big and strong.”

Y/N chuckled lightly, looking down at her belly. “I’m doing my best. But you’re right. Maybe I could eat a little more.”

Mel’s smile brightened, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I’ll make you something. You rest, and I’ll take care of it.”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she leaned back against the cushions. “You’re too good to me, Mel.”

Mel shook her head, her expression warm. “I’m just looking out for you. You’re my family, and that means everything to me.”

As Mel made her way to the kitchen, Y/N watched her, a sense of deep gratitude settling in her chest. Despite everything that had happened, she was surrounded by people who cared for her and the life she was carrying, and that was something worth cherishing.

When Mel returned with a plate of food, she smiled as she set it down in front of Y/N. “I made sure it’s something you’ll enjoy.”

Y/N looked down at the plate and smiled softly, her eyes glistening with appreciation. “You really know how to take care of me.”

Mel sat beside her once again, offering a light hug. “It’s just what I do for family.”

The two of them sat together in the quiet comfort of each other’s company, the bond between them growing even stronger with every passing day.

[starmapz]

what you know - ch11: scars || 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. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. 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 ; 15.3k.

❦ a/n ; please note the tags have been updated. see you at the bottom!

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

Your eyes flutter open to the silence of your empty apartment. Your blankets envelop you in a deep and heavy cocoon as sunlight filters through the blinds. It should be warm, but your limbs are chilled with the remnants of your grief following the argument with Sukuna the night before.

Right.

Sighing, you move languidly to rub at your eyes, blinking them a few times to rid them of the groggy feeling that plagues you. Your limbs feel as though they’re being dragged down by weights as each movement proves to be an effort. As your vision clears and you find yourself staring at the ceiling, it occurs to you it’s too well-lit for you to have woken up before your alarm.

Pushing yourself up on your elbow, you sigh as your muscles protest against every movement. Flipping your phone up to face you, you find yourself blinking at the time, unable to process just how exactly you managed to sleep through the blaring of your alarm.

By three hours.

Clearly that had caught Kento’s attention as well, as he’d left a voicemail, called twice, and sent a number of texts. Even with all the turmoil in your life lately, you haven’t missed a class, so clearly a few alarm bells had gone off for your friend.

Plopping back down into the plush of your pillows, you groan and rub your eyes again.

It’s hard to tell exactly how long you lay there before grabbing your phone to check your messages. You don’t even have the energy to listen to the voicemail, heading straight to your text thread with him.

Friday 8:33 AM - Kento || Hi. It’s unlike you to be late. Is everything alright?

Friday 9:31 AM - Kento || Do you need a hand with anything?

Friday 9:58 AM - Kento || I’m getting concerned. Please reply to something to let me know you’re alright.

Friday 10:04 AM - Kento || Please answer my calls. Send me a text. Something to let me know you’re okay.

Friday 10:13 AM - Kento || That’s it. I’m on my way.

Oh, fuck.

Your eyes flicker up to the time. 10:28 AM. If he’s walking from campus, chances are he’ll be at your door at any second. You would think that would be the push you need to get out of bed, but you can’t physically bring yourself to do so. Somehow, sitting and staring at the ceiling feels like the better option here.

Well, no. It doesn’t. But no amount of willpower will move your body from the blankets that envelop you in a warm hug. They’re the closest thing you have to comfort when your eyes burn and your throat’s dry from the amount of tears cried the previous night.

That’s not even beginning to mention the onset of the headache beginning to hammer at your brain.

Unfortunately, the comfort doesn’t last long when there’s a knock at your door in time with the pounding of your head. Kento’s muffled but familiar voice calls your name, but all you can do is stare at the ceiling.

You want to be alone. You don’t particularly feel like listening to Kento or Shoko’s ‘I told you so’ speech, or how either of them are going to teach Sukuna a lesson. It won’t ease your melancholy and it certainly won’t ease your guilt. That’s not to say you don’t appreciate the thought, but your bed is more appealing right now than being dragged to campus or out for a meal.

Another rap at the door. Another call of your name.

Still, you blankly stare at the ceiling, one arm draped over your middle clutching your phone. You feel bad, guilty, for ignoring Kento after he walked all this way in the cold, but you can pay him back later.

For now, you just need a day to yourself.

Unfortunately, Kento doesn’t seem to agree with you.

Your phone vibrates in your hand as it rings, Kento’s name flashing across the screen. You groan again, rolling onto your side as you hit the green button.

“Hello?” Your voice is raw, cracking at the end of the one word you manage to utter out.

“Hi. Did you receive my texts? I was worried when you didn’t reply, but you don’t sound well.”

Dragging your hands roughly across your features, you contemplate telling him you’re sick, but it doesn’t sit well in your gut to lie to your friend after ignoring him. “I did, sorry. I slept through my alarm.”

“I see.” You can vaguely hear his voice outside your door still, but you can’t bring yourself to move. “Are you sick?”

Yes. Yes. Yes. “No.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line before Kento seems to make up his mind. “Let me in. I know you’re inside.”

“It’s fine, I’ll get ready and-”

The tone he uses as he says your name has you throwing your head back against the pillow. It’s the kind of tone that mimics one your mother might have used on you as a child, and if this were anyone aside from Kento, you might have had more to say. Unfortunately, he’s a very convincing (and often relentless) man.

“Fine. One moment.”

Flipping onto your back again, you stare at the ceiling for a second longer, which turns into a minute longer, which turns into more knocks at the door and Kento’s muffled voice asking you to open the door. With a final forlorn sigh, you manage to push yourself to your feet, find a hoodie to throw on over your fuzzy kitty cat shorts and tank top, and drag yourself over to the door.

Kento is standing just outside your apartment in beige slacks and a big forest green coat. His eyes scan your face, flickering down to the baggy hoodie that adorns your top, before he grimaces. It feels painfully like the equivalent of hearing ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’, without a word even being spoken.

Straightening, his expression goes neutral as he accepts your silent invitation to enter, immediately rooting around cupboards in your kitchen and pulling out two mugs. He continues his search, pulling out tea and setting your kettle to boil. When he’s satisfied with his work, he turns to lean his hip against the counter. The only hint you get of what’s going through his mind is a barely noticeable twitch of his brow as you’re glued in place to where he left you just inside the door.

“Um- you don’t have to do all that,” you make a meek attempt at stopping him, receiving only a raised brow in return.

“A little late for that, no?”

Your lips part as you evaluate the scene behind him, the kettle already beginning to boil, tea bags sitting in mugs. You chew on your lip, wincing at how raw it is under your teeth.

“So tell me,” he begins, arms crossed over his chest. “What has you sleeping through your alarm?”

The intonation behind his words briefly has you feeling like a child who’s been caught by their parents doing something bad. Sighing, you relent, languidly finding your way to the table shoved into the corner of the small apartment kitchen. Your face falls as you lean over the table, the photo definition of exhaustion.

“Sukuna and I got into a fight last night,” you admit.

Kento’s expression hardens, his jaw tightening as his sharp eyes narrow just enough to tell you he’s beyond mad. As the kettle whistles behind him, his movements are measured as he pours boiling water into each mug with a glance at his watch to allow them the perfect amount of time to steep.

“Milk and sugar?”

“Please,” you murmur, staring at the subtle shadow your fingers cast over the table as you tap them rhythmically across the wooden surface.

Kento moves evenly, his gaze drawn to the full mugs to ensure he doesn’t spill as he sets one in front of you, holding the other close to him as he pulls out a chair beside you for himself.

“I won’t force you to talk about the argument,” he begins in a measured tone, as though he needs a moment before addressing the subject to keep his frustrations at bay. “However, I would like to talk about how you’re feeling.” He swirls the small teaspoon in his mug, his eyes flickering up to meet yours.

The steam billowing from the mug in front of you draws your gaze, swirling and dissipating at your eye level.

“You’re too…” you search for a word, leaning on your hand, “perceptive,” you grumble, not particularly in the mood to talk about how you’re feeling either.

Kento’s lips twitch upwards just enough to let you know he heard you.

“I’m just tired, I think.”

Bringing his mug to his lips, Kento hums. He leaves the dialogue open for you to talk about what you want to, rather than pressing. He’s always been overly considerate in that way, even as kids.

Sliding your finger up the side of the mug and pulling it towards yourself, allowing the steam to soothe your pounding head, you sigh, finally relenting to Kento’s kindness.

“I’m just so frustrated. I put my all into our friendship, into helping him with everything and with the lawsuit, and he just-” you shake your head, waving a hand through the air. “He just turns everything into an argument, and he’s never willing to talk things through.” You drag a hand over your face, pressing your fingers hard into your temple in an attempt to will away your headache.

Despite the obvious tension riddling his muscles, Kento remains calm and steady. “No one can blame you for being frustrated with him,” he agrees, taking another sip of his tea in order to keep his less pleasant opinions on Sukuna to himself. “Not everyone grew up with my mother breathing down their neck, after all,” he chuckles mostly to himself, a memory popping into his mind of his psychiatrist of a mother scolding you for not telling Kento how you felt when he ate the last piece of your birthday cake one year.

Of course, you were both barely seven, and the argument was over cake, completely inconsequential. Yet, you’d still both learned a very valuable lesson. Not necessarily from the single incident, but his mother had a certain way of scolding both of you and Yu, that had the three of you growing up extremely in tune with your own emotions and your capability of discussing them.

“Your mom’s an angel,” you mumble with a small smile.

Humming in agreement, Kento nods. “She is. My perspective, however, is that Sukuna didn’t have the privilege of growing up with someone like her.” For someone so blatantly angry with Sukuna’s treatment of you, he’s shockingly reasonable as you discuss your frustrations. “I may not know much about him, but I would be willing to wager a guess that he finds it difficult to discuss how he’s feeling.”

“I could have told you that.”

Kento cocks a brow at your sassy reply. “My point,” he continues, “is that some people are not worth your time. It may be worth thinking about whether he is.”

There’s his anger.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you shrug, blowing on your tea.

“The argument was that serious?”

You drum your fingers over the side of the mug. “I told him he wasted his last chance with me.”

“I see,” he pauses, considering his words carefully. “I’m glad you stood up for yourself,” he speaks in a very genuine tone, “but you don’t seem happy about the outcome.”

You let the silence hang over you both for a moment, finally taking a sip of your tea. You would have put more milk, but it’s still nice.

You mull over Nanami’s words. No, you’re not happy. You’re not happy that you cried through the night, or that you’re upset over Sukuna’s cutting words. But worst of all, you’re not happy that he chose to waste his last chance with you.

He’d been so certain it wouldn’t happen again, yet things are never so simple with him, are they? There’s always a way he can dig himself further underground, to drown in his own sorrows.

So why are you harboring guilt so wholeheartedly alongside the hurt? Why are you allowing him the satisfaction of hurting you and feeling the culpability of your own actions when you tried to fix things on the spot?

Why do you still feel the urge to go back and check on him?

Why are you crying again?

Your eyes are hot with tears as you find yourself using the back of your hand to wipe your cheeks.

Kento offers a reassuring hand on your upper arm, giving it a gentle rub with his thumb. “You can lean on me, if you need.”

“I’m okay,” you manage, sniffling once as you force what may be the least convincing smile your blonde friend has ever seen.

“I’d beg to differ,” he frowns, giving your arm a light squeeze as he sighs. “It’s okay to be down,” he reminds you with a genuine look of sympathy as his anger towards Sukuna dissipating in place of his concern for you.

Your lip quirks up slightly at his words. You’d only just spoken that exact sentiment to Choso not that long ago, now it was being used against you like cruel irony. You suppose it makes sense the phrase would have come from Nanami, or more specifically his mom.

“You’re right, I know,” you relent, leaning forward on your palm with your elbow bent against the table. You can’t deny your own words, you know you should talk to Kento, even if it isn’t easy to do so. Your eyes flicker to the woven bracelets that slide down your wrist that you don’t have the heart to cut off as you contemplate what you want to say.

Your mouth opens and closes a number of times before you compose yourself, sitting upright and facing your friend. His aloof expression remains intact as you open and close your mouth a number of times before finally managing to spit something out.

“Can I tell you something?”

He nods.

“We kissed. Right before finals, last semester,” you begin, chewing on your raw lip with a subtle wince at the hot pain that shoots through it. Nanami nods in acknowledgement, refraining from passing judgement. “Then, at Satoru’s party, the one that you missed when you headed back home, he rejected me… I guess.” Saying it aloud feels somehow surreal, as though considering the kiss (if it could even be called just a kiss) nothing more than a passing craving is a criminal offence.

But at the end of the day, he called it a mistake. He backtracked and picked up the pieces and made it clear that he wants you in his life, but not like that.

Wanted you in his life.

Wanted.

Rubbing your hands harshly over your features in an effort to quell the tears that seem to relentlessly trail down the soft skin of your cheeks, you suck in a sharp breath and continue. “And that’s fine, I was okay with just being his friend,” you whisper, your voice betraying your anguish. “But even though he rejected me and I knew nothing would happen, I still fell in love with him.”

The floodgates absolutely shatter in that moment, a mess of salty tears and barely contained sobs falling from you. The admission carries so much weight, yet voicing it doesn’t lift the burden from your heart. Rather, the air around you seems heavy in comparison to only a moment ago.

Kento frowns, sliding his chair closer to you to allow him to draw you into his side. He’s always been particularly good at comfort, for someone so stoic. “I know,” he sighs, a gentle hand rubbing your shoulder. “I think everyone at our table knows apart from you and him.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you sniffle, “that just makes this all more embarrassing,” you mumble with a sad chuckle.

Kento hums, a tinge of humor surrounding the sound. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You can’t help who you fall for.” He pats your shoulder reassuringly, pulling back to sit in his own seat as he shoots you an earnest look. “Why don’t you spend the weekend relaxing? You can return to your studies on Monday,” he suggests, changing the subject as you wipe the remnants of tears from your eyes. “I can drop some dinner off after class, if you’d like the company.”

It sounds nice, it really does.

But thinking about Sukuna has you realizing that you have a test in a few hours that you can’t afford to miss.

Life stops for no one.

Not even the heartbroken girl who’s entirely too sweet for her own good.

“That’s alright,” you shoot him a wry smile, “I need to get to my afternoon class. I have an exam.”

“Less than ideal timing,” Kento scowls. His expression mirrors one you’ve seen on his mother’s face before, back when you were children.

“Stop assessing me,” you scold him. “You aren’t even in Psych.”

Kento chuckles quietly, caught. “Sorry,” he apologizes, checking the time. “In that case, why don’t we head to campus together? We can grab something to eat on the way.”

“Sure, that sounds nice. Will you be okay to wait while I get ready?” You query with a small tilt of your head.

“I’m sure I can find something to do,” he assures you.

Your chair slides across the floor as you get to your feet, beginning your morning routine a few hours later than usual.

By the time you’ve managed to pull yourself together as best as your motivation will allow, you find yourself staring at the mirror, letting out a long sigh. You’ve done your best to cover up the remnants of the many hours of tears that were cried, but foundation and concealer only goes so far, and you can’t bring yourself to do any more makeup. Your limbs are simply too heavy to be bothered. Your outfit isn’t exactly doing you any favors to hide your mental state either, a pair of sweatpants adorning your lower half while a pale pink oversized hoodie hangs loosely over your shoulders.

It’ll have to do. 

It’s not until you arrive at the lunch hall that you realize that your appearance might seem a bit out of place to the rest of the table. Still, you assure them as many times as you can that you’re just tired. It’s true, but it’s hard to keep the facade up when even Toji is shooting you the occasional look as though ‘Sukuna broke my heart’ is tattooed across your forehead.

You even debate going to check at one point, but Kento assures you that everything is fine, offering to walk you to your class. He beckons Shoko along with him, who practically has an outburst as soon as you’re out in the chilly air on your way to the lecture hall.

“I’ll kick his ass. I’m gonna make him wish he never even met you. I’ll-”

“Stop! Stop. Please,” you plead with wide eyes. You appreciate her zealousness, but if you have to hear another threat to Sukuna’s balls from her, you think you may just need to rip your ears off. “Is it that obvious?” You pout, though the humor you try to lace into the expression gets lost along the way.

Shoko’s shoulders fall as she pulls you in for a hug. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, both as an apology for coming out the gates swinging and a show of sympathy. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” you reply quietly with a tight-lipped smile, though she can’t see it as she holds you.

“Why don’t you stay at mine this weekend?”

“That’s okay, Sho,” you hum, pulling back with a heavy sigh. “I think I need some time.”

Shoko doesn’t seem convinced, shooting Nanami an uncertain look, but she nods regardless. “If you say so.” Her brow curls in thought as she pulls back from you. “Girls’ night tonight?” She resigns from the idea of the full weekend, still pushing for something, knowing you otherwise would likely waste away alone under the covers of your bed.

“I’m not really-”

“Actually, not up for discussion!” She decides, pointing a finger at you. “Meet me outside the research building, my lecture ends at three.” She then turns to Kento. “We’ll grab you from class once we’re both out.”

His brow raises. “For what?”

“Girls’ night.”

With a deep sigh, he presses his thumb to the crease between his brows. “I was under the impression that getting my nails done was a one-time thing.”

Shoko shoots him an innocent smile. “Nope. You’re in it for life now.”

“I’m thrilled,” he grimaces, though there’s a nearly imperceptible hint of warmth that swirls in his tawny irises. He turns his attention back towards you, motioning with his chin towards the building a few steps away. “Go ace your exam.”

“Thanks, Kento. Both of you,” you turn your attention to Shoko, hugging her again.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she smiles, “because this conversation isn’t over.” It comes across as a warning, but you’re grateful to have such supportive friends to fall back on.

Turning to your class, you’re relieved they can’t see the frown that pulls your lips down immediately as you’re faced with thoughts that Sukuna likely doesn’t have anyone to lean on. Maybe Uraume, but they didn’t seem to know what had happened as far as you could tell at lunch.

You can only hope the fallout of the argument isn’t as dire on him as it has been on you. Unfortunately, that hope fizzles out when you enter the lecture hall and find the seat beside yours empty.

As the professor passes the exam out to the students around the hall, slowly making her way up to your seat, you find dread settling in the pit of your stomach. Sukuna’s failed. He’s not here, and you know he’s not coming. No matter what happened between you and no matter the fact that you know you need to let go, you can’t help but worry.

It’s just who you are.

You swallow hard at the sympathetic look your professor gives you as she hands your test to her.

You want to tell her you tried.

Yet somehow, it all feels fruitless. There’s no point. It doesn’t matter anymore.

You need to focus on your test.

–

Fiddling with the colored twine wrapped around your wrist, you stare out into the crowd in front of you. Your vision blurs at the edges, the bright colors of different clothes all seeming to blend as you stare mindlessly out at the sweaty bodies making rounds of Satoru’s frat house.

The bass of whatever party playlist your friend’s thrown on surrounds you, and yet you can hardly hear it over the ringing in your ears.

How many times had you nodded when Satoru asked if you wanted another drink? Six? Seven? More?

Your attention turns down to the red cup in your hands as you find yourself staring at the vodka and sprite fizzing as you swirl it in the cup.

It may have been a couple of weeks, but between your less-than-ideal exam score in Literature History and the lingering heartbreak, drinking away the pain had seemed like the best course of action for the night. The key word being had. Now, looking out into the crowd with more than a buzz and your mind filled with static, you’re starting to regret that decision.

You thought you would forget. Forget and party, maybe kiss some hot frat boy and pretend everything with Sukuna had all been a bad dream, but that wasn’t the case at all.

Instead, you’d embarrassed yourself in front of Suguru by spilling every single detail about your kiss with Sukuna, leaving the poor man shocked and concerned for you, only to excuse yourself to get another drink. Now, plopped down on the couch with a heart that aches, you contemplate just grabbing a cab and going home. You’re not even sure how late it is, or how long you’ve been here, but sitting alone on the couch in front of the dancefloor feels… well, pathetic.

Throwing your head back on the cushion, you head to the kitchen and dump your drink down the sink. Satoru can afford it, and your mind and heart sure as hell can’t.

You turn your blurry vision back to the crowd, chewing on your lip as you search for Shoko, Satoru, Suguru… Even Toji, Uraume, or Atsuya, who you had spotted earlier.

Anything to distract you from the horribly lonely thoughts.

Of all the things that the heartbreak of leaving Sukuna’s apartment that night had caused, you never imagined that loneliness would tug at you so strongly. You spent every moment of spare time with Sukuna, Yuji and Choso, and now… your spare time feels empty. Movies, music, books, TV, it’s all little more than a distraction.

Still, the time away from the man in question had allowed you an opportunity to pick up pieces of yourself you hadn’t even realized were spilled across the floor like dried paint. Impossible to fully pick up, but mostly wiped away. You’d needed to fill the pieces in with new ones. They didn’t fit quite right, they weren’t… Well, there’s no need to think about him. Even if the pieces aren’t moulded quite correctly and leave behind cracks, you’re healing.

It’s what you told yourself anyway. That your new friendships with Toji, Atsuya and Uraume could fill the gaps eventually if you allowed yourself to nurture them.

But at the end of the day, it all connects back to him. If it were a normal day, you would have been satisfied with those new friendships.

But you’re drunk. And everyone looks like Sukuna if you squint too hard.

“My bad, are you alright?” a familiar voice rings out in the air around you as the fridge door accidentally knocks into your side, pulling you from your thoughts. You stumble forward, catching yourself on the kitchen counter.

“Hiromi,” you blink in surprise at the sight of the law student, his attire a complete one-eighty from the last time you came across him with-

Fuck.

Shaking your head, you shoot him a smile. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” You swallow hard, crossing your arms over your chest to push down stray thoughts of a certain salmon-haired man.

“How’ve you been?” He queries, leaning back against the stainless steel fridge once it shuts and he’s got a drink in his hand.

“Not too bad,” you lie steadily, your hands suddenly feeling empty without the comfort of a drink.

Maybe you should have kept the cup.

“How’re you?” You bounce the question back at him, surprised when your words come out slurred. Are you really that drunk?

“Good, good. Getting as ready as I can for midterms,” he smiles, his sunken eyes crinkling at the corners as he exchanges niceties with you. You can see how he’s friends with Kento, they share a certain sense of warmth and openness that you’re sure makes it easy for them to get along with anyone.

“Me too,” you nod. “But S’toru loves to drag us out to parties,” you chuckle wryly.

Hiromi nods in acknowledgment. “Sounds right from what I know of the guy. How’s Sukuna? Everything going alright with the, uh, lawsuit?”

Based on the way Hiromi blinks in confusion, you must blanche. Or maybe it’s the way you go silent. Or the way your face falls.

What does it matter?

Regardless, Hiromi stands up straight, running a hand through his disheveled hair. A stray strand falls over his forehead as he takes a step towards you. “Shit, I didn’t mean to, uh-” he pauses, glancing around uncertainly. “I didn’t know it was a touchy subject, I’m sorry.”

You swallow down your emotions, forcing a brave face and a tight-lipped smile. At least you aren’t crying. “It’s fine, you didn’ know.”

His lips part, but he doesn’t seem too sure of what to say.

“It was good t’ see you,” you offer him an out, but to your shock he doesn’t take it. He would be like Nanami in that way.

“I’m, uh, heading to sit with Kento if you wanted to join me,” he dismisses your offer, tilting his chin in the direction of the front door. “He’s by the stairs.”

“He’s here?”

Hiromi’s shoulders relax as he nods.

“That’d be great.”

Squeezing through the crowd of sweaty bodies that reek of alcohol and weed- though you probably do too- you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the stairs come into sight. Sure enough, your blonde friend’s familiar face turns to you and Hiromi. He’s still in his usual button-down with pale beige slacks, but the sleeves are rolled up past his elbows and he seems at ease.

At the sight of an approaching person, Kento’s attention shifts, flickering between Hiromi and you.

“Look who I found,” Hiromi smiles, plopping down on the stairs.

Your name slips past Kento’s lips as a greeting.

“Hey, Kento,” you put your best effort into the smile, taking a seat beside him on the stairs. He’s sitting next to a woman you don’t recognize, though based on how Hiromi immediately launches into conversation with her, you assume they’re friends. “‘M surprised you’re here.”

The blonde motions to his formal outfit, too dressed up for a party. “As am I,” he concurs. “Yu dragged me here, then disappeared.”

Although this isn’t his scene, Kento usually shows up to Satoru’s parties regardless, and keeps mostly to himself and your group. He’s made it clear he isn’t a fan, and he’s not particularly close to Satoru as far as your group goes, finding his boisterous personality mildly irritating, however he’s happy to look out for his friends while they’re drinking.

“At least y’ found Hiromi,” you point out, to which Kento nods.

“I still would prefer to be studying,” he sighs, bringing a hand up to scratch his chin. His eyes are still sharp, hardly dulled by the meager amount of alcohol in his system. Beer and coolers aren’t exactly his forté, and he’s not about to bring whiskey to a frat party. In fact, you wouldn’t be shocked if all he’d had to this point was a sip.

“May as well enjoy it now th’t you’re here,” you offer a smile, shrugging. “Satoru n’ Suguru were playing beer pong last time I saw ‘em, and Shoko n’ Uraume are in the back corner talking to some o’ their classmates.”

Kento hums, staring blankly at the beige wall ahead of the stairs. “And you?”

“What ‘bout me?”

“Why aren’t you with either of them?” He asks, turning to face you.

You blink a couple of times, before absently shrugging. “Jus’ needed some space, I guess.”

Kento examines your expression for a moment too long, and even in your haze of drunkenness, it sends a shiver down your spine. He grimaces finally, his brows pulled together in concern.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

He scowls harder.

“Drunk, and fine.”

Recognition of your half-lie flashes through his eyes.

Too drunk to remember you have makeup on, you rub at your eyes with your thumb and pointer finger, sighing. “I’m jus’ more drunk than I thought. But fine, really.”

Kento sighs, abandoning his drink with Hiromi as he pushes to his feet. “Come on,” he urges you, pulling you to your feet alongside him. The amount you rely on him to pull you up surprises even you as he keeps you steady while he searches for Shoko. He threads through the dancefloor, leading your unsteady gait past the beer pong tables as Suguru sinks a ball in your journalism classmate’s cup, met with the cheers of the surrounding crowd. In your haze, you barely notice the kitchen and living room all coming into sight, until Kento brings you to a halt behind the beer pong tables at the back of the living room.

With lidded eyes, you survey your surroundings. Discarded bottles of beer and coolers lay across the floor and the back of the couch, which Toji is lounging in. He yawns, taking another sip of his beer as his emerald eyes flicker up to you. His lips twitch up into a smirk as he catches your eye.

“You a lil’ tipsy?” He queries.

You only manage a nod before Kento is gently setting you down between Toji and Uraume. You can scarcely hear the blonde over the pumping bass of the pop music blaring through the speakers, but at the sound of your name, you tune in.

“I’m taking her out- would you like to join?”

Shoko shakes her head, her attention trained on a brunette with a scar over the side of her face.

“Shit, are you goin’ for food?”

Kento’s brow raises as he turns to Toji and nods. “That was my plan.”

“Fuck, count me in. Satoru’s got this place stocked like he’s never made a fuckin’ dime.”

“Ouch?” The man in question feigns a shot to the heart dramatically as he steps through the crowd, shooting Toji a look.

“Don’t act like a fuckin’ Snickers bar wasn’t your dinner,” Toji scoffs, the scar at the corner of his lip pulled taut.

“It was a good dinner,” he shrugs.

“This is why ya can’t handle your alcohol.”

Before you know it, the four of you are all piling into Kento’s tiny silver Honda Civic, possibly the strangest group of four all piled into a car. A business major, football player, frat boy, and literature major, two of whom you’re certain annoy Kento, but parties may just bother him more.

“Shouldn’t you be looking after your own party, Gojo?” Kento shoots him a glare through the rearview mirror as the white-haired man lets out a loud belch.

“Nah, the frat’s got it covered,” he dismisses his friend before grimacing in your direction. “And my bedroom door is locked, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

The meaning behind his words passes completely over your head as you stare out the window, ignoring the two men in the back.

“Where’re you takin’ us, anyway?” Toji asks, leaning so far into his chair that his knees continually hit the back of your seat.

“Denny’s.”

“Fuck yeah.”

Satoru and Toji make steady conversation in the back of the car until you pull into the parking lot of the nearest Denny’s. Kento makes his way around the car to help you, sighing as you brush him off and trail very slowly after him, staring up at the dimly-lit diner sign as though you’ve never seen it before.

Your group follows the waitress to a table, where you stare at the menu, but it’s all a blur. Your eyes are trained on a photo of a waffle covered in chocolate syrup and it’s at this point that you realize that it’s not just the menu, but most of the night that’s a blur.

In fact, you know you just got here, and you hardly remember a thing.

Shouldn’t you be happy? You’re a happy drunk.

Instead, it feels as though you’re wading through your own misery, hardly keeping afloat.

“Do you know what you want?” Kento nudges you as the waitress makes her way over to you.

You shake your head no, wobbling slightly.

His brow furrows as he examines you. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss him again, but now even Toji and Satoru are staring your way.

“Lemme guess,” Toji starts, leaning forward over the table on his forearms. “Sukuna.”

You’d managed to keep the fight with Sukuna under wraps for the last couple of weeks, only by studying during lunch and excusing yourself before anyone could ask about him, but now it seemed there was no escaping it.

“Not the time, Toji,” Kento warns with a sharp glare, before asking the waitress for water for the table and a few more minutes to look at the menu.

“It’s fine,” you shrug. “Yeah, it’s Sukuna,” you tell the raven-haired football player.

“Shit, ‘course it is,” Toji snorts, though he’s not shocked. “I’ll kick his ass for you.”

“You really don’t-”

“I knew he’d pull some shit,” Satoru interrupts, waving a hand dramatically through the air. “Toji and I’ll-”

“No no nonono-” you wave your hands in front of the table to get their attention. “Just- leave ‘im be. We both made mistakes. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve been saying that word a lot lately. Fine. Yet you don’t seem it,” Kento points out, and you’re surprised even he’s jumping on the train to kick Sukuna’s ass, in his own subtle way.

“Yeah, well-” you pause, watching as the waitress sets water before each of you. With a haphazard swirl of the glass in front of you, you shrug. “I thought the alcohol would help.”

“Alcohol is a depressant,” Kento points out in typical fashion, earning deadpan glares from not only you, but Toji, and Satoru as well.

“Lighten up, Nanamin, let the girl drink.” Satoru gives your glass a tap from across the table with a drunken grin, taking a sip as though it isn’t water. Kento grimaces at your side, but remains quiet. “You don’t need that asshole,” Satoru continues, swinging his hand through the air again as though he might just hit Sukuna. “You’ve got us, and we’re gonna haaaaaave-” He pauses, his finger skimming across the laminated menu in his hand. “Cinnamon roll pancakes à la carte.”

“Maybe you are,” Toji snorts, shaking his head. He opens his mouth to voice his order, but Satoru’s already pulling the menus from all of your hands as the waitress approaches again.

“Nah, listen. The secret to getting over some asshole issss-” He waits for the waitress to return, shooting her a kind smile. “Four cookies n’ cream milkshakes, and four stacks of cinnamon bun pancakes. À la carte. Please,” he grins, using that sultry sweet smile he’s perfected that has you giggling at the disdain on both Kento and Toji’s faces.

To your surprise, it turns out the cure to heartbreak is a stack of cinnamon bun pancakes tall enough to make you puke. Or maybe that feeling is from the alcohol you had entirely too much of. Either way, you find yourself forgetting about him and focusing on now. The people who show up when you’re down, even if Satoru and Toji are only here at the mention of food.

But as you find yourself laughing and really, truly, enjoying yourself, your heart feels warm and the cracks left behind by Sukuna begin to heal. They’ll leave behind jagged scars in the form of him and his little brothers, a point in your life that you’re still fond of, and you think you always will be. You don’t regret what you did for any of them, the proof of that still tied around your wrist, but you do wish you could at least have apologized properly for hurting him.

The worst part of all may be that you’re not sure if those scars will ever fade. The love you felt- feel- for him, is beyond what you’ve ever felt before. The way he showed his care may have been unconventional, but it worked for you. Maybe it was the knowledge that no one got to understand Sukuna quite like you, that he let himself be vulnerable around you and taught you about yourself, your kindness, and your mind like no one else could. It brought out a part of you that you’re proud to continue to nurture, even if that means the scars remain.

Still, even if only for a night, the hurt fades as you laugh along with what might be the strangest group of four you could make up out of your friends.

Maybe locking yourself up and watching sad movies had been a bigger mistake than you thought.

–

With wide, bright eyes, you make your way into the office on the first Tuesday of March. The office may as well be on fire given the state you find it in, paperwork scattered across every desk in sight and half of the staff seem to be running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

“What…?”

Before you have time to question the chaos of the office, the editor who you’d been shadowing stops at the sight of you. Her blonde hair nearly reaches her waist, her tall stance hunched and tired as though she’s been spread thin all day.

“Yuki, what’s going on?” You query, your brow pulled together.

“Ayana disappeared,” she explains with a sigh. You tilt your head, certain the company’s graphic designer is just sick, or- “And no one’s been able to get a hold of her for over a week now. We’ve got seven novels without covers all from one company, and if we can’t provide soon, we’ll lose our biggest client-”

“Why don’t we just outsource?” You shake your head, interrupting her rambling.

“Girl, I wish. I’ve suggested it like- seven times. I guess we ‘can’t’.” Her use of finger quotations around the word ‘can’t’ has you pursing your lips in confusion.

“And why ‘can’t’ we, exactly?” You mirror her actions.

She groans dramatically, throwing her head back. “It’s a company policy or some shit, I don’t know.”

“I mean, we have a design course at the university, I’m sure I could-”

“Oh my god, please. We need someone hired like yesterday, and the boss is seriously dragging her feet. If you could get someone here who can start right away, you’d be a life-saver.” She grabs you by the shoulders, giving you a small shake to get her point across.

“Yeah, I can try to pull some strings tomorrow,” you grin.

As it would turn out, two of the seven novels were ones you shadowed Yuki on, and one was the first novel you worked on by yourself. Which is to say, you would have nothing to show for your entire internship if things fell through with this client.

So basically, you had until Thursday to get someone in, because the client was getting impatient of the excuses being thrown their way.

You’d asked your friends at lunch if they knew anyone and even skipped class on Wednesday afternoon in an effort to talk to as many of the professors that even slightly suited the industry as you could, building up a small page of potential student and graduate contacts.

Three didn’t reply. Four were too busy to take on seven covers in the span of a couple of days. Nine couldn’t start for two weeks and even then, they would need to weigh their options.

There’s one other person who occurs to you, but that can’t be your last option, right?

Sitting and staring at your laptop, you dial Shoko’s number.

“Don’t kill me,” you start when she picks up, tapping your fingers on your desk as you put your phone on speaker.

“Should I want to?” She asks, and you can practically hear her raised brow.

“So, you know how our graphic designer left?”

“Yeah, the girl who cooks bacon in the break room,” her voice comes across the line filled with static, but you’re still able to make out her words.

“Yeah, that’s the one. So, I guess she disappeared last week and we’re behind on seven covers.”

“Right, so outsource.”

Ugh. “That’s what I said! I guess it’s against policy, we have a strict rule of everything being done locally.”

“Okayyyy… So outsource locally.”

You groan, leaning over your desk. The seconds tick by in silence before you finally raise your head again. “Did you happen to meet any artists in the last five hours?”

“Can’t say I did,” she laughs. “Sorry.”

The line goes silent as you contemplate telling her your thoughts, but she beats you to it.

“So, why am I killing you anyway?”

“I know an artist,” you tell her.

“Well shit, why didn’t you just start with them?”

You tap your fingers across your desk rhythmically. So loudly in fact, that you’re almost certain that she can hear the motion.

Her tone drops to a more serious one and you can see the warnings written across her face, even over the phone.

“No. Fuck, no. You just got over him.”

“Do I have a choice, Sho?” You lean on your elbow, continuing to tap mindlessly on the desk.

“What do you-? Yes, he doesn’t deserve the chance.”

“Maybe not, but what else am I supposed to do?”

“Shit, I don’t know, find someone on Fiverr?” She suggests.

You groan into the sleeve of your hoodie. “I tried.”

“You’re cooked if you already tried that,” she sighs. “Can’t you just let these covers fall through? What’s the big deal?”

You explain the situation, to which Shoko only manages a meager ‘oh’, and is forced to listen to you groaning over her phone’s speaker again.

“So, would you kill me?”

“No, but Kento will.”

“I knowww,” you grumble, but what choice are you left with? Unless someone else pulled through, you’re out of options. Silence hangs between you, although you know Shoko’s still there when you hear shuffling. “I don’t believe in fate, but if I did,” you hold up your pinky as though your best friend can see it. “Sukuna and I are tied together.”

“I don’t like that analogy,” she chuckles dryly. “It’s more like he’s a fly you can’t get to go away.”

“That’s just mean,” you grumble.

She chuckles dryly. “Don’t defend him.”

“It wasn’t just his fault this time,” you remind her.

“Maybe. But he had enough chances. This is just for work, yeah?” Though she’s inquiring, there’s an air of assurance to her words, as though she’s trying to get you to agree. Because that’s exactly what she’s doing.

“Just for work.”

Well, fuck.

Now you need to contact Sukuna.

–

There’s no emotion on Sukuna’s face as he watches his youngest brother take the most neon purple washable (hopefully) marker and color in between the tattoos he’s drawn on in black ink. He can’t blame the kid for getting bored, it’s too cold to play basketball and Sukuna’s hardly had time to draw something for him to color.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s easier to admit than to say he’s spent too much time wallowing in self-pity to draw for his little brothers. He could only work a handful of times throughout the week, nearly full-time at the auto shop during school hours for his brothers, then evenings would be spent going over homework and projects, cooking, cleaning, entertaining the kids, getting them ready for bed… it’s an exhausting list, the more he thinks about it.

To think, you did it all without ever expecting anything in return. Just friendship. Those last words you spoke to him and the look on your teary-eyed face burned into the recesses of his brain.

It’s been so long since he’s seen you, and yet his days are so full that it feels like just yesterday.

Or maybe that’s just because the days seem to blend together for him. He can’t even recall the last time he was able to do something for himself. Art had taken a backburner, his diet bent to the will of two picky young kids, and his showers were scarcely as long as a commercial to cut back on water.

He supposes he’s been keeping up with his workout routine, but at this point he’s pretty sure if he stops, he’ll end up laid out on the bathroom floor again. His nightly workouts are the only thing keeping his sleep schedule in any semblance of working order, quite literally burning every last ounce of energy until he passes out.

You and Toji have gone radio-silent. Which makes sense, he didn’t expect anything less. Atsuya was never overly chatty with Sukuna one way or another and Uraume checks in and offers to watch his brothers, but like the grumpy brute that he is, he can’t bring himself to accept. He’s not sure whether that’s out of guilt or fear. Guilt towards how he treated you, and a fear that he may do the same to Uraume.

“Kunaaaaaa! You never listen!”

He blinks at the grating sound of Yuji practically in his ear, swatting at the boy with a grimace.

“Fuckin’ stop, I heard you,” he snarls, holding a hand over his ear at the close proximity of Yuji’s shrill cry.

“If you heard me, then what’d I say?”

Oh. So Sukuna didn’t hear him.

He lets out a long sigh. “Sorry, brat. What’d you say?”

“I said I’m not sleeping tonight.”

Sukuna’s brow raises. “What?”

“Becauuuuse the new Mario game comes out tonight!! At midnight!” Yuji happily proclaims.

Sukuna shoots a glance at Choso, who’s busy at the kitchen table typing away on Sukuna’s laptop for one of his classes. “So?” He asks as he turns his attention back to the endless supply of energy that is his brother. It’s not like they have any current gaming systems.

“So I need to stay up so I can watch it on YouTube!”

“Absolutely not,” Sukuna shuts down the idea, much to Yuji’s dismay as he whines, tugging on the burly man’s hoodie sleeve.

“PLEAAAAAAAASE!” Yuji pleads, tugging against Sukuna with as much of his body weight as the five-year-old can put into it. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease-”

“Enough!” Sukuna barks, shutting down Yuji’s pleas. “As soon as your brother finishes his homework, you’re both goin’ to bed.”

Yuji shoots Choso a pointed look, but the middle brother’s hardly paying attention, the act of working on his homework little more than mechanical. Sukuna knows that, because he thinks he fucked up.

Again.

His first meeting with the top lawyer Hiromi had recommended had taken place at the apartment the other day, at Sukuna’s request, for ease of looking after his brothers. Luckily she was sympathetic to his situation and agreed, discussing what would take place at the proceedings and what she needed from Sukuna aside from the documents he’d already provided. Sukuna had left out the portion where he’d gotten advice from a student, of course.

With the discussion, however, came the realization that Choso was hardly a room away during the discussion of the possibility of social workers conducting a house study. It wouldn’t be Sukuna’s first time having social workers in the house, but that’s exactly why he fears the way Choso’s personality has dulled again.

He’d gotten better. Sukuna isn’t sure exactly what you did, but life had flowed back into his brother’s world. It was gradual, just little moments of genuine happiness at first, before he caught Choso smiling at a bird on the walk home from school. Asking for help on assignments. Defending Yuji when Sukuna got a little too frustrated with the five-year-old.

And it all came crumbling down at once. He knew it had to do with the meeting with the lawyer, but it didn’t make it any easier. Yuji had noticed it too. Even now, as he stares at Choso, hoping the older Itadori will defend him, Choso hasn’t bothered to look up from his work. Whether he’s completely oblivious to his brothers watching him or simply can’t be bothered to care, Sukuna isn’t certain.

Most of the legal consultation would have flown over any kid’s head, even Choso’s, but social workers? That was a term Choso knew all too well. And if he had to pinpoint something that might have shut the dark-haired kid down, he figured that had to be it.

It didn’t matter how many years passed, Sukuna will never forget the way he failed Choso the day of their house study following the passing of their father. He relives it in his nightmares from time to time, serving as a constant reminder of his fuck-ups.

Sunlight filters through the frosted window behind the shower as Sukuna pushes his hair back from his forehead, slick with sweat. He holds himself up over the sink, washing his mouth out as best as he can and brushing his teeth.

The dark circles under his eyes may as well be shadows given how much weight he’d lost. He can’t keep food down long enough to gain any of his muscle mass back, he’d become little more than a shadow of his former self.

Balling his hand into a fist, he grits his teeth and pushes to his full height, staring at someone he doesn’t recognize. The man, barely more than a child himself, looking back at him wasn’t suited to look after kids. Yet he’d been forced to put in a petition to take guardianship when his father’s will had listed no one to look after the kids and their mother was absent.

Sukuna wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, swallowing hard and sucking in a deep breath. Yuji will wake up any second now. Choso will want breakfast. Sukuna will be forced to bend over backwards to satiate their needs, to take care of the two people who look the most like his late father and absent step-mother.

It’s a haunting feeling, to see those that are gone in people you care about.

It’s a feeling that Sukuna can’t escape, that grips him by the throat as he struggles to differentiate the people he loves from the people he’s lost.

Does that make him a sorry excuse for a guardian? Maybe. Does it make him a sorry excuse for a brother? Definitely.

He coughs into his elbow, wiping perspiration from his neck and washing his hands once more. It seems no matter how many times he washes them, he can’t escape the feeling that he’s a shitty brother. A shitty brother who can hardly bear to look at his brothers, as though everything that’s happened is their fault.

He resents himself for it, every minute of every day.

He’d give anything to bring their father back. He’d know what to do. He always did.

Sukuna lets out a breath as he pushes through the washroom door after throwing a plain black V-neck on over his head and a pair of beige joggers. He makes his way to the kitchen, pulling open the fridge door and staring blankly at the ingredients sitting within. Leftovers from- what? A week ago? Yogurt, eggs, a half-empty can of tuna that’s been there long enough that his nose is wrinkling just from opening the fridge and-

A bang from the other side of the house- a house filled with memories turned dreary, too big for the three current inhabitants- catches Sukuna’s attention. He shuts the fridge door with more force than intended, scowling as he languidly trudges across his father’s house. Pushing open the door, the Sukuna finds Choso in the kid’s bedroom, with the vacuum in pieces across the floor, the main compartment imploded in a cloud of dust that now litters the carpet.

It takes every ounce of self-control that Sukuna has left to keep his voice (mostly) even as he mutters “what’re you doing?”

Choso guiltily shuffles in place, avoiding Sukuna’s sharp crimson stare. “Trying to help,” he whispers, fiddling with his fingers.

Sukuna lets out a huff. “Well, don’t,” he grumbles, getting ready to turn away.

“But- the social workers-”

The- oh. Oh, fuck.

Clearing his throat, Sukuna turns back towards his little brother, a pained expression on his exhausted face. “Is that today?”

Choso nods.

Fuck. FUCK.

There’s no food in the house. The kitchen is a downright mess, Yuji could wake up in a mess of sobs that Sukuna hardly knows how to handle at any moment, the living room is piled high with laundry that Sukuna had the energy to wash but not fold, and now… Sukuna rubs his hands harshly down his face, peeking through his fingers only to stare at the dust.

What time are they coming? Did he even write it down? He can’t remember.

“When, uh-”

“Ten.”

Sukuna pulls his phone from his pocket. Nine.

Fuck.

“I cleaned Yuji and I’s rooms and shut dad’s-” Choso begins, getting down on his knees to start brushing up the dust from the collapsed vacuum as best as he can with his hands.

“Stop- stop,” Sukuna instructs, pulling his brother away from the pile of dust. “Go wash up.” He instructs, watching the little boy guiltily nod. How old is he? Nine? Sukuna doesn’t remember, but as the little boy jogs out of his room to wash his hands leaving Sukuna alone, another wave of nausea washes over him.

He could wretch at the mere mention of their father. He coughs, his throat raw and dry as he stares at the pile of dust.

His nine year old brother cleaned the damn house because Sukuna couldn’t. Sukuna couldn’t get his shit together enough to get the house in order for the social worker.

The pace that his chest rises and falls grows irregular as he stares at the dust, wasting time as the minutes pass by. He needs to do the laundry, the dishes-

He looks down at himself, at the V-neck that he’s pretty sure Yuji spit on. He doesn’t remember anymore. Did he wash this shirt? Was that another one that Yuji spit on? What’s the stain on his shoulder?

Stumbling out of Choso’s room, Sukuna heads to the kitchen in a manic blur, staring at all the dishes piling up in the sink and across the counter and table.

Maybe the laundry will be less daunting.

He makes his way to the living room, only to find that Choso has taken care of that too, everything is folded about as well as a nine-year-old can manage, an uneven stack of shirts sitting alongside Sukuna’s pants, though it looks like Choso and Yuji’s clothes have already been put away.

His chest tightens, like an anvil pressing its full weight on his ribs. He can’t breathe.

The door clicks as his brother leaves the washroom and Sukuna waits with shaking hands for his brother to leave. He can’t see Sukuna like this. Sukuna’s supposed to take care of him, why is it Choso that’s taking care of him? The kid’s hardly spoken a word to him since Jin’s passing, and yet he’s keeping track of the house study and making cereal for himself just so that Sukuna doesn’t have to. 

A nine-year-old shouldn’t have to step up. Especially not one who's just lost both parents. Hell, he may as well have lost his brother too, because Sukuna’s not sure he’s still the same man. One could hardly call Sukuna’s routine as of late ‘living’. Sukuna’s heard the kid crying long into the night, sobs muffled by his pillow and two walls, but he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

They cried together so long in the hospital that the shock of Choso’s mom not replying hit Sukuna in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Sukuna’s hand trembles as he tries to shut the washroom door without alerting Choso. He collapses in front of the toilet, keeling over the bowl weakly. His hair sticks to his forehead again as he leans over, but there’s nothing left in his stomach to throw up.

He heaves and coughs, groaning as his throat stings with the effort. Leaning back, he stares at the ceiling. What had he become? How had things gotten to this point?

Sukuna had goals, he had hopes and dreams, and now they’d been crushed in favor of keeping two kids alive.

Could he even hope to make them happy when he was struggling just to keep them fed?

Hell, he’s struggling to keep himself fed lately.

He was nearly out of money already after the cost of lawyers and the funeral, he needed to get a job. But how was he meant to do that if he couldn’t even put laundry away?

He pulls his phone out, his thumb swiping through apps as if on auto-pilot, clicking on contacts, swiping through letters until he reaches ‘J’. His thumb clicks on instinct and he holds it up to his ear. It rings once, twice, three times. On the fifth, he reaches an answering machine.

“Hey, it’s Jin! Thanks for giving me a call, I’m not around right now but please leave a message!” Followed shortly by a mechanical “this user’s mailbox is full”. The call cuts out and the salmon-haired man pauses for a moment before he leans forward on his knees.

How is he meant to do this? Was this really what his dad wanted for him? No, he can’t think like that. Sukuna grits his teeth, his cheeks hot with tears. He’d left so many messages that will forever go unanswered. With one hand gripping his phone with white knuckles and another buried in his sweat-laden hair, he sits there for longer than he can afford, waiting for his body to relax enough to catch his breath. That time never comes, his chest remaining tight, but he can’t afford to sit here any longer.

Nine thirty.

He pushes himself up off the floor, flipping his head back to keep his hair from his face, and pushes out of the washroom once more this morning. The door slams on its hinges as he rushes into the kitchen, shaky hands moving clean dishes from the dishwasher and into cabinets. Every movement is on instinct, nothing done deliberately as he struggles to keep himself in the right mind for a house study.

How the fuck is he supposed to pass?

“Kuna? I- I found a broom, I’m gonna-”

Choso jumps as Sukuna’s thrown off by his brother’s voice, a plate colliding with the counter and shattering across the ground.

“Fuck!” Sukuna barks, staring down at his hands. A shard of ceramic is embedded into the heel of his left palm, blood seeping out around it. He stares down at the mess at his feet, gripping the counter with his right hand to steady himself.

“Kuna? Are you okay?” Choso asks weakly, his voice hoarse from a lack of use.

“Yeah, uh-” Sukuna can’t bear to look at his brother, his gaze glued to the blood that pools in his palm. “The broom. Can you bring it here? Just- just stay away from the glass.”

The sound of light footsteps gradually fades and Sukuna carefully maneuvers around the mess to the sink, shakily dislodging the ceramic from his skin. Flipping the sink on, he watches the crimson pour into the sink as he runs his hand under warm water, reaching blindly to the drawer that should have bandages. He pulls them out, fumbling with the packaging and settling the bandage over his palm.

Carefully moving away from the glass, he slips on shoes and waits for his brother to drag the broom over. Choso watches as he sweeps up the remaining pieces of the plate, before the boy busies himself with moving the piles of clothing on the couch into Sukuna’s room now that he knows his brother is awake. Spotting movement out of the corner of his eye, Sukuna’s head whips around to Choso.

“Stop. I can handle it.”

Choso pauses, examining Sukuna silently. “I can help-”

“No!” Sukuna growls, dumping the dust pan of shards into the trash before flipping to face Choso. “I can handle it. It’s- It’s not your job.”

Choso’s lips purse as he evaluates Sukuna’s words. He doesn’t believe his older brother.

Is that really the world Sukuna lives in? That his younger brother feels the need to take care of him?

Is he that much of a mess?

Sukuna wipes perspiration from his forehead with the back of his arm, turning back to the dishes and moving quickly to feign being alright.

He just has to make it through the day.

Yuji’s cries blare very suddenly through the house, piercing Sukuna’s ears and he grits his teeth.

He just has to make it through the day.

Setting down a clean plate, he’s in Yuji’s nursery before he can even process what’s happening. He stares blankly for a moment at the crying baby, sharply inhaling. The spitting image of his father. Reaching out, he pulls the child carefully into his arms.

“Stop crying, Yu,” Sukuna mutters softly, staring blankly at the crib and patting the child’s back. It’s his best attempt at comfort in his current state. “Please stop crying,” he begs, feeling his eyes burn himself.

He probably needs food, right? Sukuna can manage that, he thinks. There’s still eggs. He knows Yuji likes scrambled eggs.

The child continues to cry even as Sukuna bounces a little more dramatically as he walks to try to soothe the child. He swallows down any semblance of uncertainty as he makes his way back to the kitchen.

Even as Yuji cries, Sukuna’s gait stutters at the entry to the kitchen, where Choso has snuck back in to continue cleaning the dishes. The oldest brother’s jaw trembles as he inhales slowly, his mind blank. Has Choso been taking care of chores this often? Has he not even noticed?

His eyes are hot and he averts his gaze. He doesn’t have time to fight with Choso.

Setting the baby in his high-chair, Sukuna moves quickly to open the fridge and pull out the eggs.

Egg.

There’s one egg.

He shoots a glance at Choso, who’s shutting the dishwasher beside him.

Choso can have something else, right?

Yeah, cereal. Right.

He pulls out milk alongside the egg, his jaw going slack as he reads the date. It expired today. Surely it’s still alright, right?

Unscrewing the cap, he holds the carton up to his nose and it wrinkles, his lip curling in disgust.

Okay. That’s fine.

He dumps out the rest in the sink.

Yogurt. He can have… yogurt.

What a sorry excuse for a meal. What a sorry excuse for a guardian.

Sukuna stands silently for a moment, contemplating his decisions. Maybe the kids would be better off without him. Maybe they would be better off in the foster system with a pair of adults who can take care of them. Someone equipped for this.

But what if they got separated? What if-

“I can have, um, chicken fingers,” Choso mumbles as he comes up behind Sukuna.

Sukuna swipes his tongue over his lips, opening the freezer. It’s more full than the fridge. That’s an alright option. He pulls them out, beginning to prepare food for both kids as Yuji continues bawling in his chair.

“Give your brother some yogurt while I cook,” Sukuna mumbles, passing the container off to Choso, who nods.

To Sukuna’s relief, the child sniffles and stops crying as Choso quietly spoons yogurt straight from the container. Facing the frying pan with the egg in it, Sukuna shuts his eyes in relief at the silence, a semblance of control returning, even if only for a second.

He casts a glance at the stove. Nine fifty seven. Three minutes.

Finishing up cooking and slipping the chicken into the oven, he sets a small plate on the table, sitting alongside Yuji and blowing on the scrambled eggs to ensure they aren’t too hot. He spoons it into the bumbling child’s mouth, only to sigh when there’s a knock at the door.

Sukuna is so grossly underprepared for this house study. He knows it’s standard procedure in cases like this, just court-ordered motions, but in truth, Sukuna doesn’t think he deserves to be a guardian to either of the kids.

The question of whether he wants this has been rattling around in his head so frequently that he feels a constant guilt. Because he doesn’t. He loves his brothers, of course he does, there’s no question in that. But he doesn’t want this. He’s never wanted this.

Standing in front of the door, he sucks in a breath and puts on his best attempt at a mild expression, leaving a hand over his shoulder to cover the stain that he’s fairly sure is spit from Yuji. Or worse. He doesn’t want to think about it.

A man with short salt-and-pepper graying hair stands outside the door in a nice, long black coat. He wears a pair of deep blue slacks and a white button-up beneath. His pale blue eyes slide along the length of Sukuna’s jaw, silently evaluating his face tattoos.

Is that strike one before he’s even said hello?

Still, the man extends his hand with a carefully mediated smile. He introduces himself as the social worker for Sukuna’s case, goes over the purpose of the visit, and requests access to the home for his evaluation. Sukuna swallows hard and moves aside, letting the man in.

He’s quick to run his evaluating gaze around the front entryway. It’s a bit of a mess, but surely that’s not a big deal.

Surely.

Sukuna clears his throat, mumbling out a “come on in,” as he makes his way into the house. It’s clean enough, there’s no hazards that could put the kids in danger, and Yuji is eating as Choso scoops eggs into his mouth. The social worker evaluates the scene and nods, clearly satisfied that there’s food on the table.

“Mind if I take a look around?”

Sukuna nods in acceptance before trailing a short distance behind the man. He does a walkthrough of the kitchen first, his watchful gaze darting over the counter, to the sink that Sukuna notes he should have cleaned up the scraps sitting in it, and eventually grabs the fridge door handle.

Sukuna winces as he pulls it open and frowns.

“We’re going shopping, uh, today,” Sukuna offers, clearing his throat. “The kids are picky,” he gruffs, scratching at the back of his neck.

That’s definitely a strike, regardless.

Shutting the door, he proceeds to look through the pantry before evaluating the living room, which has gone relatively untouched since Jin got sick, leaving it under a layer of dust, but otherwise clean. The social worker doesn’t appear to think much of it, moving on as he points towards the other side of the house.

“Can you show me to the kids’ rooms?”

Sukuna nods, blazing past his dad’s old room as fast as he can without coming across as suspicious, though he simply can’t bear to look at it. The pink-haired man shuffles on his feet as he waves his hand at the nursery and Choso’s room. He takes a couple of minutes in the nursery, which is likely the cleanest room in the house, re-emerging to take a look at Choso’s room.

“How old is the older of the two?”

Sukuna swallows. Is this a test? “Nine.” He’s nine, right?

The man hums, looking around at the Pokemon plushies and the giant Avocado Squishmallow on the bed. His eyes land on the remnants of the dust pile from the exploded vacuum, and Sukuna stumbles over his words to explain the stain.

“My vacuum broke, just before you got here,” Sukuna explains, clearing his throat. “Uh, it’s on the grocery list.”

The man hums. Is that another strike? How many is Sukuna allowed?

Should he even be hoping he passes this? Is this what’s best for his brothers?

Sukuna lets out a shaky breath, idly scratching at his chest as though the weight crushing his lungs might go away if he does.

The social worker continues on his way, peeking at a closet with cleaning supplies, evaluating the fairly empty backyard, and casting a glance into the washroom. Once he’s done evaluating those, he makes his way back to the open-concept living and dining room.

“Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”

Sukuna nods, taking a seat on the couch in tandem with the worker. Sukuna sits as straight as he can manage, his bouncing leg going unnoticed by the tattooed man. The social worker casts his leg a glance, but says nothing as he pulls out a notepad.

“What’s your relationship to the children?”

“Brother. Uh- step-brother.”

He jots down Sukuna’s reply. “What’s your financial situation like?”

“I need to get a job, but we’re living off the estate of my father.”

The social worker nods, prattling off more questions about the needs of the kids, medical care, questions about Sukuna himself and his background, as well as his experience with kids. Sukuna’s fairly certain he barely skirts by with his responses, but his mind goes blank with the next question.

“How will you handle the emotional needs of your brothers?”

Sukuna stays silent for a moment too long, before choking out “... emotional needs?”

The social worker sits forward. “You’ll be with them throughout all, if not most, of their developmental stages. You need to ensure they’re cared for emotionally and feel secure. Emotional stability is extremely important for young children,” he explains.

Sukuna swallows hard.

Is this already a strike? What the fuck is he supposed to say? He’s too depressed, too manic himself, to even begin thinking about the emotional needs of his brothers and how he, of all people, is supposed to provide that. As it stands, he’s pretty sure he’s already neglected Choso’s emotional needs.

“I, uh-” Sukuna stammers, casting a glance at the bandage on his palm. That was- what-? Thirty minutes ago? Why does it feel like ages ago? Why can’t he think straight?

Sukuna’s jaw trembles and he swallows. Fuck, he can’t breathe again. Bile gathers at the back of his throat. He wants to vomit. 

“Kuna loves us,” Choso chimes in suddenly, the little boy’s quiet voice interrupting Sukuna’s spiralling thoughts. “He’s the best big brother, he makes me happy.”

Sukuna damn near chokes. His eyes are hot with tears and he rubs furiously at them to prevent any from falling down his cheeks as Choso speaks up, practically saving his ass. Sukuna’s throat tightens as he leans forward on his knees. Does Choso really feel that way? Or is he feigning happiness for the social worker?

Sukuna chances a glance backwards to his little brother, examining the look on his face. Choso’s eyes are sunken, he’s tired. He’s become a shadow of his former self, much like Sukuna, and the oldest knows that he’s contributed to the anguish Choso feels. Yet still, the little boy has leapt to his defense. He’s kept the house in order, fed himself, and helped to take care of Yuji.

Now he’s taking care of Sukuna, too. Sukuna isn’t sure whether he’s more pissed that his nine-year-old brother is looking after him, lost because a child is handling things better than him, or shocked that Choso’s coming to his defense at all given how shitty Sukuna’s been. He’s failed Choso at every turn, yet the boy never seems to hold it against him and that kills Sukuna.

Regardless, the social worker seems pleased with that response. “Seems you already have things in order. Do you mind if I have a chat with your little brother?”

“Go for it,” Sukuna barely manages to whisper, lost in his thoughts.

“Great. We’ll review the documents after.”

How long Sukuna sits there staring at Choso as he types up his homework, he couldn’t tell you. The only reason he’s snapped back to the present and pulled from his thoughts is from the hoarse “I’m done,” that Choso manages as he hands Sukuna his laptop to take a look at his writing.

Sukuna stares blankly at Choso, holding his laptop in one hand. Did Sukuna ever deserve to look after these kids?

Is Sukuna at that stage again? Has he gotten as bad as he was when he first started looking after his brothers?

It’s been so long since the ordeal with the social workers, since Sukuna spent most of his time laid out on the bathroom floor or curled up in bed with freezing hands and a burning throat, and yet… Has he changed at all? Is he any better?

You may have reassured him that the kids love him, that he’s a good guardian, and yet… he’s still not so sure. Not after he failed you, Yuji and Choso.

God. Poor Choso.

Whatever piece of Sukuna died back when Jin passed away, Sukuna could feel it beating and thriving once more with your arrival in his life. Now, though, it’s gone again. Its departure went hand-in-hand with that same light in Choso’s life.

And in the aftermath of his own self-destruction, he’d pushed away Toji too. Again. He’d never really let him back in, but as Sukuna sits frozen in place staring at his brother, he sees the sum of his mistakes staring back at him. A child who Sukuna hasn’t been able to provide for in terms of emotional needs.

You had. You were so, so good with Choso and Yuji. You were an angel.

Sukuna can’t help but wonder what the fuck is wrong with him as he realizes that in his frozen state, his brothers are both staring at him with worried brows. Great, now the five-year-old is concerned for him too.

Snapping out of it, Sukuna clears his throat and pulls the laptop onto his legs, reading through Choso’s evaluation on some iceberg in the Antarctic ocean. He makes a couple of grammatical fixes, before handing it back. Not a single word sticks with Sukuna, but he nods. “Looks good,” he tells Choso, running a hand through his pink locks.

Choso takes the laptop back and sends the document to his teacher before handing it back to Sukuna. The oldest brother idly stands by as the two kids get ready for bed, and it’s not until they’re tucked in that Sukuna’s mind really starts running again.

He stares down at his hands, running his thumb over the small scar he’d gotten on the day the social worker arrived. It’s barely noticeable, but it serves as a reminder of that day, of the smashed plate, and of Choso’s words. A nine-year old stepped up, because the adult couldn’t.

Sukuna can’t help the thought that for all the pride and ego he tries so hard to protect, for wanting to prove himself as a guardian, on his own, he’d failed on every account. At every turn, he’s only ever met with endless failures.

Failures that he dragged you into.

It’s not that he didn’t expect your departure to hurt- after all, he’s failed you once already- but it only seemed to jumble his mind further. At least with Choso and Yuji, he understands his frustrations. At least he knows what he’s feeling and has an outlet in his art and workouts to work through those emotions.

You, though- you’re a variable he hadn’t anticipated. Your loss weighs heavy on him, on his heart, and he doesn’t know how to unpack that. Losing you had been the final nail in the coffin that solidified two things with Sukuna.

The first- wherever it is (was) that you stand with Sukuna, that feeling can’t be replaced. Not by workouts, or distractions, or anything else he can muster to stop his mind from spiralling. You hold a place within him, within his heart, that he can see now and if he weren’t so stupid, he might not have lost you. You hurt him, sure, but he doesn’t think he cares anymore. He doesn’t even mind that he doesn’t understand what exactly the place that you hold within him is, he just knows that you’re there.

And the second- Sukuna is a coward. He’s a downright coward and a dumbass who can’t bring himself to fix his mistakes because he can’t bear the idea of dragging you back into his problems.

Sukuna was wrong.

The worst part is that his brothers ask constantly about you. Hell, he’s had to email a fake address just to placate them, and formulate your answers on his own. The amount of times he’s read through your emails to replicate your tone only serves as further harm to his mental state, weighing heavy on his heart. Both his lies towards his brothers and his mistakes with you cut at his emotions.

He was foolish to think he could manage everything on his own. Foolish to think he could manage without Uraume’s help, without the kind old woman across the hall’s help, but especially without your help.

You didn’t just watch the kids. You made them better people, you taught them valuable lessons, you were there for them emotionally. You were there for him, and he took you for granted.

You were the first person since Jin passed that made Sukuna feel human again.

Balling his hands into fists, he huffs and picks up a weight. He’ll work out until he passes out, airpods in if it only means that he can keep his mind off the things that make his chest tighten. It’s his only release from the stress of each day.

He’s about an hour into working out when his phone lights up with a call. A call that he has half a mind to think he’s hallucinating with the state of mind he’s found himself in.

His hand hovers over the green button as though it might disappear when he blinks, because there’s no world where you give him another chance. Hell, he doesn’t deserve it and he’s willing to admit that now.

Pressing down on the button, he remains silent for a moment before pulling the phone up to his ear. His breath is coming in puffs and pants due to his workout as he barely manages to squeeze out your name.

“Hey, Sukuna.”

Sukuna. He thinks he hates when you call him that. He’s grown so used to your nickname for him that he prefers it.

“Hey,” he grunts, how brow furrowed. His eyes trail the length of his room until they land on his drawing table. Strewn across the top are his sketches of you, before he managed to draw the one he was happy with, the one he gave you. He’s not even sure what spurred him to do that for you, it just felt right.

It feels like years have passed since then.

“So, um, listen,” you start, an air of nervousness to your voice, still so saccharine sweet. “One of my colleagues disappeared last week, and she left behind this whole pile of work-” you hesitate again, leaving Sukuna only to listen with his brows knit together. “- sorry, uh- she was our graphic designer and now we’re behind and we’re gonna lose a client if we don’t find a replacement like yesterday,” you groan, and he can practically hear the way you’re chewing on your lip. “I thought that, you know, with your art and all, that maybe you might…” You trail off, awaiting Sukuna’s response.

Sukuna’s brain takes a moment to catch up, still stuck on the fact that you’re reaching out.

“Sukuna?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he gruffs, sighing as he tries to make sense of what’s going on. “Why’re you offering this to me?” It doesn’t make sense, why would you come back after everything?

“Every book I’ve edited so far is missing a cover. If we don’t get a graphic designer to submit covers before Friday, we lose the client, and all of my work,” you explain.

Right. That… makes sense. You have no other reason to reach out to him and he owes you a favor. Bounds of them, actually.

“Sure.”

And he thinks he can live with being just a favor, if it’s to you. It brings him comfort to know that you’re not entirely out of reach anymore. He thinks he even feels his chest loosen just a bit.

“Really? Oh my god thank you, you have no idea how much of a huge favor this is, um-” you begin prattling off details of the job, but Sukuna’s hardly listening, too caught up on the sound of your voice. When did he get like this? Has he always been like this with you?

When did you carve yourself into his heart quite like this? A place meant only for you, one that no one else could replace. He can’t pinpoint a moment, but he hadn’t realized just how much he needed you. You’re his best friend. That has to be why he longs for your presence so badly, it’s the only explanation that makes sense.

Can he fix things?

“Can you meet up tomorrow morning?” You ask.

Sukuna grunts out a yes, giving you a time and place. The cafe he originally apologized at.

“And Sukuna?”

He pauses, waiting for you to continue.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

Sukuna’s throat tightens again. “Right,” he mutters. “See ya tomorrow.”

“See you.”

He stares at his screen for a long moment, swallowing hard. You don’t forgive him. He doesn’t blame you, but he has to try to get you to. For the kids’ sake.

He swipes his tongue over his dry lips, shaking his head.

No, he selfishly needs you to forgive him for his own sake.

–

You fiddle nervously in the early morning with the sleeves of your coat. You’re twenty minutes early to your meeting with Sukuna to go over details, but it couldn’t be helped. You can’t say you slept well with the stress of knowing your entire past month’s work relies on the same person you’re so nervous to see.

The cafe is quiet this early in the morning, having just opened. Only one employee has arrived, a woman around your age with a blonde bob in a pale brown apron. Her movements are deliberate as she moves syrup bottles and whipped cream around the counter into optimal places to keep the shop in a good working order.

The ringing of a bell catches your attention, and you think your heart may actually stop for a moment at the sight of Sukuna.

He’s still tall as ever, in his coveralls for work with a heavy black coat over them, but he looks leagues different from when you last saw him. You’ve never seen dark circles quite like what Sukuna’s got going on, his chin is dotted in stubble, and his hair is longer than you’ve ever seen it. Based on the way he shakes his head to get stray strands out of his vision, you can conclude that it’s bothering him, too.

You don’t need to know that he only shook his head in an effort to get himself to focus as all the air left his body upon simply seeing you.

He stops in front of the table, casting a glance at the shop’s counter. “Need a coffee. Want somethin’?”

You nod gingerly. “Yeah, um, just tea, please.”

Whatever words you had planned for this meeting seem to disappear into thin air as you watch him trudge over to the counter. After a short wait, he returns with your tea and his black coffee.

“So,” you begin, deciding to skip pleasantries in favor of keeping any emotions out of this. Strictly business. “I don’t know what the pay is, but my boss said you would be compensated extra for the first seven covers, since we’ll need them on a rush basis. Um-” You pause, pulling out your phone to show him examples of the style of covers you’ll need. They’re children’s books, similar to things he read in school as a child along the lines of The Magic Treehouse or Goosebumps. Coincidentally, Sukuna’s pretty good at that, he has experience.

Sukuna hums, not daring to interrupt despite the words dying to spill from his lips.

“They expect you to be in-office five days a week, but the hours are flexible and if you’re sick, then you technically can work from home,” you explain, staring at the ceiling as you go over any other minute details you can think of. After prattling off a few more details that Sukuna can’t possibly imagine actually matter, you realize you’re rambling and pause. “Oh, bring a portfolio and um- it’s business casual. So, um-”

Again, you pause. Sukuna sees it in your eyes, you’re debating whether you want to tell him what to wear. You’re afraid he’ll think you’re telling him what to do.

“Wear something nice, got it.”

You blink once before nodding, satisfied. “I’m there from eleven-thirty to five, so just, um- come anytime? Ask for me at reception. My boss knows you’re coming.”

Sukuna nods. “Be there after I pick up the kids.” He’s pretty sure Uraume shouldn’t be busy tonight based on the few texts they’ve exchanged, so he’s sure he can manage to get someone to watch his brothers.

Silence hangs heavy in the air, thick with unspoken thoughts. It’s clear that a conversation needs to happen between you if you’re planning on working together, but Sukuna’s had no time to go over the things he wants to say, having convinced himself he’d never get another chance with you.

“Well, um-”

“I’m sorr-”

Sukuna bites his tongue as he accidentally speaks at the same time as you. Your hand is splayed on the table like you’re ready to push yourself up and leave already and Sukuna sighs.

“Sorry. I’ll see you later,” he resigns to let you leave, leaning back in his chair. He figures if he can catch you a little more willing to chat and not so nervous later in the day, he might stand a better chance of appealing to you.

You swallow hard as you stare at him, tapping a finger on the table. “This is just business, okay, Sukuna? Consider this my repayment for all the favors.”

Sukuna’s throat is dry as he swallows hard, nodding. “Right. Repayment.”

Before you can be the subject of any more of the strange stares he’s giving you, you push up to your feet and excuse yourself without looking back.

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as you leave the coffee shop, clutching your backpack’s strap tightly.

What the hell was that!? Why did he spend the whole time staring at you like- like that? You’d expected huffs and sighs and thinly veiled anger. You’d expected him to be furious with you, still. You’d thought that you were in a better headspace, ready to face him and not think twice about it, but now you’ve got a one hundred horse power heart pounding like it’s about to race the damn Monaco Grand Prix and your thoughts are beyond jumbled.

You thought you were over him enough that this wouldn’t affect you, that you could be professional and strict. Instead, you’d stumbled and rambled through so many words that you could hardly make sense of what you managed to get out and what you didn’t.

Regardless of your nerves, the real question is Sukuna.

Why was he so… uncharacteristically not Sukuna? What happened to the boastful man who demanded attention with his mere presence? It was as though he’d been reduced to little more than a background character in his own life, simply going through the motions.

Not to mention that stare…?

A pang of concern floods through you as you recall what he said about how he would have handled his mental health without you. You know it’s not your place to worry anymore, as decided by Sukuna himself, but you’re too kind not to. Maybe it’s naive of you, you’re sure Kento and Shoko would tell you so. Still, it’s in your nature to worry about those you care about.

And one thing can be said for certain- you still care about Sukuna.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

❦ a/n ; in case you missed it, i did some art for the series and i'd love if you checked it out here <33 hiiiii sorry this took so long 😩 health problems were the bane of my existence last week and i just couldn't sit at the computer wrong enough to write. but!! thank you all so much for all the well wishes, i'm doing much better now and it's back to business as usual. that flashback scene HURTTTT ngl. they were all so young :(( they still are. i love this lil family sm tbh ANYWAY sorry i'm really yapping down here ig but i just wanted to say thank you thank you so much for all the love. i know i've been gone for a bit, but all the kind words and constant love and excitement for the series always has me kickin my feet n smiling <33 i seriously love you all and you guys keep me motivated to keep up my writing. lots of love and sorry for the angst 🥲

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

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

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Ride

Summary: Javi's a ride you can't resist (aka, it's more PWP LMAO)

Word Count: 1.9K

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: It's all porn again, sorry- Javi's POV, unprotected p in v (pls do not do, but who am I to say), oral (m receiving), Javi is down BAD for you bouncin' on that thang, idk y'all, make men yearn insatiably 2025 is the motto for the year, I don't make the rules

A/N: Hey, remember when I said I was gonna write this and then didn't? Guess who finally finished this thing 🤠 Shout out to @yxtkiwiyxt for gracing my brain with this idea, and to @gothcsz for being insane about it with me!!! @jolapeno I'm dragging you into this, too heheheh y'all, it seems like it's 24/7 horny hours over here, so apologies about being insufferable for This Man™️ enjoy, before someone eventually (and inevitably) calls animal control on me!! (we're also considering this piece a research project, fellow pillow princesses rise up LMAOOOOOOO)

He doesn’t notice the way the corner of his lip has been turned upward since he left your apartment. The strain in his cheek muscles are the last part of his body he’s concerned about. 

It takes everything in him to pretend like he’s did have to waddle to his desk through the office this morning. While there’s a part of him that curses the fact he can’t handle himself the way he used to as a younger man, he’d be lying out of his goddamn teeth if he said that he’d never been happier to be this sore. 

And he’s only got you to blame. 

It’s safe to say his work efficiency is absolutely fucked today. The only thing he has the mental capacity for is the image of you, straddled across his hips, riding him until he was half way convinced he’d never walk again. 

It had started off innocent enough, your body draped across his on the couch, re-runs of a sitcom he couldn’t be bothered to remember playing in the background. It wasn’t long until you had found a way to crawl into his lap, cute and giggly pecks of your lips shifting into a frantic dance of tongues and teeth, hungry and needy. 

“Let me take care of you, Javi.” 

You had whispered it in his ear like a siren song, the sultry promise of your words making him grow harder by the second beneath you. 

It was a luxury he had forgone for too many years to count, to let someone else take the lead- to work herself slowly into his lap, worship every inch of him, and fuck him in a way he was convinced he’d never be worthy of. 

In Colombia, sex was far from luxurious. Better yet, sex was a survival instinct- a way to gain intel from questionable informants or a chance to finally numb his mind from the pressure and terror of the things he’d endured, even if just for a little while. It simply existed as another need, like food or water, a way to keep him alive in the chaos of a cartel ridden country. 

But now, he’s home. He wakes up in the morning to the soft Laredo sunrise and closes his eyes to the cicadas chirping as the sky shifts to darkness, unburdened by the weight of the world that used to haunt him. Now, he slips into bed next to the warmth and softness of your figure, curled in the sheets next to him. 

Now, the world is different, because he has you.  

Sex is no longer a need. It’s an overwhelming want that stirs his stomach every time he sees you. It’s a desire that burns deep in his chest, an all consuming thought, an itch he just can’t scratch. No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t get enough of you. 

He still doesn’t understand how you can’t get enough of him, either. 

It’s not your words that solidify his belief that he’s worthy of you, even though every time you talk to him, he’s convinced he can’t breathe- He knows you love him from all the things your words can’t say. Your tender touch, gentle kisses on his lips whenever there’s a chance for them to meet, the way you can’t help but let your hands wander his body until they’ve explored every part of him with a fervent promise of desire. 

Perhaps there will always be a part of him convinced he’s not deserving of you, but with the way you have your hands wrapped around his cock, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, it’s all the convincing he needs for right now. 

It’s not long until your hands become your mouth, tongue dragging up and down the length of his shaft, swirling around his tip before sinking down so deep, he can feel the huffs of warm air from your nostrils tickling the hairs at his base. He’s lost in the warmth and wetness, hand tangled in your hair as he cradles the back of your head, gently guiding you up and down while you take him down your throat. 

As if he wasn’t wrecked already, it’s the devilish grin you shoot him with his cock buried deep inside your mouth, split dribbling down the corners of your curled lips, that has him all but whimpering, soft expletives and moans rapidly spilling out of him. 

He’s so drunk on you, eyes closed and head tipped back against the edge of the couch, he’s barely even registered when you’ve stopped, only looking up at you when he feels the way your weight has shifted, one hand bracing yourself against his chest while your hips hover over his cock. 

“You ready for me, cowboy?” 

He swears that one day that smirk will be damn near enough to kill him, but God knows he won’t let today be that day- not with what you’re about to do. 

All he can do is nod, the both of you breathless as you begin to sink down his length. It’s almost painfully slow, the way you’re taking him an inch at a time, teasing him the whole way down until you settle with him stuffing you to the brim, whining as your hips finally flush with his, taking everything he has to give. 

He’s not sure what higher power he needs to thank that you have the mercy to start slow- anything but the later, and he would have had no choice but to finish right then and there. His arms reach around your waist, fingers dipping in the dips of your hips as you roll them, like he’s holding on for dear life. 

Javi wishes his hands could be everywhere as you lean down to kiss him, that they could grope and grab at the plush of your breasts, cup your face, and smack your ass all at once. He needs you in a way that’s all consuming, a way that lets you know how lucky he is to have every part of you be his, and his alone. 

He’s handsy and fumbling like a goddamn teenager- you know it just as well as him. He should be embarrassed by the little giggle you give him in between the muffled moans of your mouths meeting, but he doesn’t care. Instead, for the first time in years, Javi laughs along with you. 

“Handsy, much?” You tease, nostrils crinkling and lips curling. 

“Can’t get enough of you, hermosa. Can never get enough of you.” 

You grant him one last kiss before you pull away, biting down on your lip as you watch his jaw drop at the way you shift your hips, leaning back to drag your cunt up and down his cock, sliding effortlessly with the way it’s drenched with your slick. 

The once forgiving ease of your pace has dissipated, your bottom half rocking as you ride him. He can’t decipher if the sultry smile spread across your face is from your own doing, or from the way he’s looking up at you, entranced and captivated by every movement you make. 

It’s enough of the second to seem to spur you on, bouncing faster on his length as your hands creep up your own chest, cupping your breasts in your hands to hold them as they jiggle. When your fingers slide across your pebbled nipples, tweaking the hardened buds between your index fingers and thumbs, Javi all but short circuits. There’s an extra ache in the way his cock throbs, watching the show you’re putting on for him. 

There’s something harmonious about the way your moans melt with the slap of your hips meeting his. Sure, it’s lewd, but fuck, if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever heard, watching you lose yourself in pleasure with the warmth and wet of your pussy wrapped around him. 

“Fuck, baby. Fuck, you’re so perfect. Look so fucking pretty bouncing on my cock.” 

He’s not sure how he even has the capacity to form coherent thoughts anymore, desperate and needy babbles falling from his parted lips like an endless waterfall of praises, just for you.  

“Feels so good, Javi. So fucking good.” 

Your cocky facade is beginning to fade, eyes scrunched shut in focus with every thrust up and down his length. It hasn’t taken him long to recognize the expression now plastered across your face- Javi knows it’s the reflex that tells him you’re close, that it won’t be much longer until you’re clamping down around his cock, the sound of his name hitching in the back of your throat as you cum. 

Your once methodical rhythm has transformed into something fiercely frantic, arching your back so that you can reach behind and brace yourself on his thighs, fingertips digging deep half moons into his skin. 

He’s too all consumed to do anything but watch, to take in the beauty that radiates off of every part of you straddled across his lap. 

He relishes in the melodic symphony of your moans, muffled and mixed with expletives between heavy breaths, lost in the soft sheen of sweat glistening over your skin, shimmering from the way you’ve all but conquered him, hips grinding down on him, taking all of him over and over. 

There’s a selfish war raging in his head amidst his mesmerization- One side wishing he could stay like this forever, keep you perched over his lower half, cock stuffed inside you until your bodies give out. The other prays you cum sooner rather than later- He won’t until you do, and lord knows it’s taking every ounce of self restraint he has left to make sure that happens. 

Fuck, maybe you really are trying to kill him. 

“Oh f-fuck- Fuck, I’m close, Javi.” You whimper, your grip around his thighs growing impossibly tighter as you furrow your brow in focus, not daring to let your pace falter, not when you’ve found the spot where the head of his cock fits perfectly inside you. 

“Use me, baby. Fuck- use me, pretty girl.” 

It’s not much longer until you’ve reached your peak, feeling the way you tighten around him as you soak his length with your slick, the once steady rhythm of your hips faltering as you cum. 

Your head thrusts back, chest heaving as you cry out his name, over and over, a sound he swears he’ll never tire of as long as he’s alive to hear it. Because when it falls from your lips, it stirs something so deep inside him, knowing he’s the reason you feel this way. 

That you’re his. 

There’s only moments until Javi’s following suit, fingers buried in the soft dips of your hips as he takes one final thrust, moaning into the crook of your neck while he cums, letting your pussy milk him of everything he has to give. 

The two of you have become a hot, sweaty mess of limbs, melting into each other’s bodies, unsure of where one starts and the other ends. But even with your head rested against his shoulder, he can feel the way your cheeks tense to house the smile spread between your lips. It’s only then he recognizes the same strain in his face, the subtle smirk he can’t seem to shake whenever he’s with you. 

It’s also then he realizes, as long as he’s with you, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to. 

“What’s that grin for?” You tease, sitting up to plant gentle kisses on his cheeks, brushing away the dark curls dangling over his forehead. 

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

“Well, good thing I feel the same then, huh?” 

Both your smiles stretch wider as he cups your jaw in his palm, his hand just big enough to let the ends of his fingers wrap around the back of your head, pulling your mouth to his, letting your lips lock for a moment before you break away. 

“Thanks for the ride, cowboy.” 

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

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[ilikelookingatthings]

ahhhhhh! That last panel just wrecked me. Ford's going to feel the guilt with his whole ass chest. The TEARS. The more safe stan feels the more on edge he will feel thinking it will break because his trust was broken before...when he never thought his dad would kick him out or that ford would close the curtain...he has worried abd been nervious but deep down he had trusted them.

Even if he felt like ge messed up and hurt fird with the project and feels guilt over it...I like how Stan knows its unfair he feels like he is waiting for the next shoe to drop...like he will always be making it up to ford chz ge won't know if he is fully forgiven...abd even then what about the next mistake he makes?

I like how ford is worried and alarmed because stan can be good at hiding how affected he is....just damn....ford trying to sooth stan but a bkt slow to it cuz Stan isn't fully listening due to the panic abd due to ford's surprise since Ford feels guilt about ruining stan's life iver a mistake and he's surprised stan still feels like he ruined ford's life even as stan is trying to get across his own hurt.

Just for Stan to admit ge'd rather Ford throws him out now before he starts feeling safe or has hope because stsn KNOWS how much it hurts. To have the rug yanked out from under you. Stan wants to feel safe in the unconditional security that Ford loves him and won't just lock him out or give up on him or throw him away....but that's hard when Ford doesn't tell him enough and when Stan himself still feels like he has to earn his place and his trust had been broken before. Heck stsn probably feels like he hasn't even proven his dad wrong yet or earned millions which was the random goal post filbrick threw at him for tan to come back.

Something exaggerated that Filbrick said in the heat of the moment of stubborn anger that Ford hadn't disputed. And stan was called a burden or leech to Ford....so as much as Stan wants to be happy being around Ford and helping.....last time he thoight he could exist with Ford was the boat dream....I wonder if that's why just helping around the house doesn't put Stan at ease. Cuz Stan doesn't know if he WASNT useful that Ford would want him to stick around anyway. Just AHHHHH the TEARS! I feel like Ford's face feels like it doesn't quite match that Ford was listening and getting more distressed seeing Stan lose it in the panel before the tears but it doesn't matter when the panel of Stan crying will haunt my and ford's angst dreams!

*bats eyes at you* OwO

[jybyls]

Haunted feelings || T.C

Masterlist

Synopsis: Fear turned out to bring out hidden feelings. (Thanks @darkpoetdreamer for the idea)

Warnings: Fluff, strangers to friends (?) to friends to lovers, haunted house, bad writing, not proofread, I think that's all.

Words: 2.3k

- 📜🎧🍂 -

Sam, Chad, Tara, and you were sitting in the living room, bored to death. You had no ideas of what you could possibly do, so you were all just minding your business on your side. Well, I'm not really minding your own business. You kept glancing up at Tara every now and then.

You wanted to talk to her but you didn't know what about, it's not like you guys weren't friends, actually you guys were basically best friends but lately it's been oddly hard to act normal around her and you couldn't figure out why. Yes, you did not use your brain on that one.

"Guys !! I have plans !" Mindy exclaimed as she ran into the living room, almost slipping down. Y'all looked at her excited frame, wondering what she had in mind, "What, Mindy ? Wanna do a horror movie marathon ?" Chad mocked his twin sister, which only led to her giving him a dirty look. You slightly giggled at the scene in front, looking at Mindy to hear her answer.

"Don't say this. I might consider it." She said and that ended up with all of you screaming 'no' because you're sick and tired of watching the same horror movies Mindy propose, "No, please, let's not consider that as an option of a plan. What was your main idea ?" Tara spoke up, but your brain didn't listen.

It just went, 'blah, blah, blah, proper name, place name, background stuff..' Safe to say you're a simp. It didn't go unnoticed by Sam. Her older sister sense has been tingling toward you for a moment now.

She definitely knows something is up with her sister and you. She kept her suspicion to herself, tho.

"Will you all shut up and listen to me ? My plan is to visit a haunted house. Y'all are down, or are you too afraid to follow me ?" Mindy exclaimed with a teasing tone, taunting you to follow her in her amazing idea.

"If we don't agree to come with you, you won't go. You're too afraid to go by yourself, that's why you're asking us." Sam, more than calmly, explained her point, which was true, but the shorter twin would never admit it. "That's not the point ! Are you coming or what ?" She shouted, distracting you from Sam's words. You all laughed at her.

"You know what ? Fuck it." Tara said, "Where's that haunted house of yours, anyway ?" The younger Carpenter mocked her friend, not really believing that place existed. "It's down town." Mindy grimaced and Tara reciprocated it, "Very mature of you, girls." You sarcastically said before standing up to get your jacket. They watched you with a dumbfounded look on their face.

"Well ? We're going or not ?" You asked. The twin immediately smiled and screamed, "YES ! Let's go, bitches." And with that everyone is outside, walking to that haunted house. Chad and Mindy were in the front, arguing, Sam was right behind them, not even listening to their faded words, while Tara and you were awkwardly walking next to each other.

You quickly became friends when she moved to New York. You were going to the same college and had the same classes most of the time. You didn't know Tara's story, you didn't know what she experienced, well, at the beginning of your school year you didn't even know who was this Carpenter girl and why was everyone whispering stuff about her and her apparently psychotic sister.

You didn't really care, tho, you thought it wasn't your problem until one morning in your English class your teacher assigned the class for a group project and you got teamed up with Tara. Everyone's eyes were on both of you, but again, you didn't care. You didn't know her, how could you judge her ?

By the end of this class, you came to the conclusion that you liked her. She wasn't mean, like students said. She was actually sweet. She did come up strong at first, but how could you blame her when the whole world wouldn't listen to her until she had nothing left to say ? Well, you couldn't.

You couldn't blame her for anything. And you felt like that when you just met her, so it's safe to say that now that you're down baf for her, it made it impossible to blame her.

Even with her trauma and her sister's advices for some reasons she trusted you. She quickly opened up to you and talked about what happened to her in Wosboro. She talked about Ambet, her sister, her parents, everything. You know everything about her, and you took care of that information. Obviously, you trusted her equally.

You told her everything she needed and wanted to know about you. And ever since you never left each other's side. Eventually, Sam learned to appreciate you, and so did the twins. Oddly enough, everyone agreed with Tara when she suggested that she should be part of the group.

It's been three mot hs now that you're part of the group, and they can all easily say that they like you a lot. You're trusted, and your company is always more than welcome.

You've currently all arrived at the so-called haunted house, holding you phones up with the flash lights on because of the darkness inside. Tara and you stayed close to each other, Sam was behind the two of you while Chad and Mindy were walking to the front, but they quickly backed up with a jump once they heard a noise.

"Did you hear that ?!" Minday whispered-yelled to all of you with a hint of dramatist, "Yes, I fucking did ! What was that ?" Her brother answered with the same tone. "It's the floor." The short brunette rolled her eyes at their dramatist, "It's cracking." You continued, slightly laughing at their reactions.

They huffed, "Yeah. No, yeah, we knew. We were trying to scare you guys." The boy answered with fake confidence, trying to stand taller. "Sure." Sam tried to hold back her mocking smile. You and Tara weren't has strong tho, not only were you mockingly smiling but also directly laughing at them, shamelessly making fun of their sudden fear.

The twins rolled their eyes, huffing again but eventually gave up. They knew they couldn't win with Tara as an enemy. The brunette might be small, but God knows she can and will bite back. With no mercy whatsoever.

You all walked, trying to call in any spirit, but obviously, nothing happened. The scariest thing you saw was a drawing of penis probably made by some teenage boys who found this place before you. The twins kept getting scared by random noises, and they also kept claiming not to be, which was quite ridiculous but strangely funny. It gives Sam something else she can mock them about, and that's enough to make this woman content.

Midnight suddenly hit your watch. You wanted to go home. However, you didn't want to ruin everyone's fun, so you stayed quiet. You lazily follow your friends around. Your mind was far away, thinking about a thousand different things but mostly one thing. Actually, one person. Your best friend, Tara Carpenter. This girl has been haunting all your thoughts.

At first you believed it was nothing, 'It's just because she's my new best friend. That's why I'm always thinking about her.' You told yourself, trying to get some sort of reassurance even tho you knew you were lying to yourself.

Because you knew damn well you're not supposed to think about what your best friend's lips taste like, neither are you supposed to think about her hands on your body and yours on hers. But since you didn't want to ruin your friendship with her, you closed your mouth.

Whenever you felt like telling her she looked pretty, you didn't. Or you'd just say something like, 'cool outfit' or 'cute haircut', when in reality you wish you could tell her how stunning she looks, how you can barely brung yourself to believe that she's real because of her beauty. You wanted to ramble about how much you loved her freckles, how you wanted to kiss every single one of them.

But you couldn't. That was the best you could do. Small, furtive compliments. You were to fucking scared to say too much and risking making her uncomfortable. Or worst disgusted by you. That'd be the end of your world. And your world resolve around her so it's easy to say that if she rejects you in any way you'd be a heartbroken mess.

Little did you know that the girl you were crazy about was head over heals for you. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, she barely even admitted to herself to began with but damn was she down bad for you.

She didn't want to say anything by fear of ruining your friendship. You were so dear to her she would never forgive herself for losing you. So instead of trying any kind of move on you she decided to stay quiet and cherish every second she gets to spend with you.

"Can we head back home or do you still want to walk around like idiots ?" Sam spoke up, clearly tired of this little adventure. You immediately nodded, "Yes, let's go home. I'm getting tired of this." Tara followed you, "Yeah, we're going home." Mindy whined however she agreed.

"Alright, alright. Let's go home. This place's a dump anyway." Chad led the way out of the building, Mindy on the other was terribly disappointed. She wanted to see a ghost or any spirit so badly but nothing happened. Sad for her, but good for all of you because it meant you could head home with a quiet Mindy.

The walk back home was full of teasing against the upset girl who kept huffing and rolling her eyes. You and Tara didn't participate much to the teasing since you shared earplugs with your shared playlist blasting in your ears. To make sure the earplugs wouldn't fall you stayed close to each other, your fingers brushing against one another. Your heartbeat went faster as you hardly blushed, thanks to the darkness it wasn't visible to anyone.

You hesitated for a moment before taking all your courage and interviewing your pinky with hers. You were about to pull away but she was faster to react, squeezing your pinky with hers. You looked down at your hand, a shy smile appeared on your face. You bit your inside cheek, trying to suppress your smile as you looked in front of you.

Beside you Tara was shamelessly smiling, evidently happy about what just happened. Neither of you spoke a word, the simple yet loving gesture meant more than anything.

The older Carpenter had a suspicious look on her face when she saw you and her sister hurrying upstairs the second everyone got home. She trusted you enough not to worry about anything, but her older sister instinct was hitting like crazy. She knew something was going to happen in this room. And she wasn't wrong.

You closed the door behind you as Tara connected her phone to her speaker, soft music was playing in her room. You sat on the chair of her desk while she sat on her bed. For a short time neither of you spoke, enjoying the calm music until Tara broke the slight awkwardness of this moment. "I think we need to talk." Her tone was eripus which cause you to panicked, "What-? What about ?" You faintly stuttered, your eyes widened a little bit. "About what happened earlier." She knew she was making you panick and this brat was savouring it.

You were overthinking like crazy, 'Did she just held my pinky by politeness ?', 'Did I make her uncomfortable ?', 'Oh my god. Did I just loose my best friend ?' Were one of the few questions that went through your brain when she mentioned what happened some minutes ago.

You shakingly breathed out, "What about it ?" You anxiously fidgeted with your rings, waiting for her answer but your mouth had other plans. "Did you not like it ? I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I really didn't mean to. It's the last I ever want to do. I love you too much for that."

Fuck.

Maybe you should learn to think before speaking in anxious situations. You both froze at your final words. You tried to speak again but nothing came out of your mouth. Oh, you definitely screwed it.

"You love me ? Like love me, love me ?" Tara asked but again you couldn't find any words to answer so you just nodded. She was dumbfounded. She didn't know how to react. She dreamt of this moment but never expected it to actually occur.

A long silence came between you, even the music couldn't make the situation less awkward. You were so incredibly ashame. You felt like you were burning. You finally found some words, "I should go. I'm sorry." You stood up however it wasn't in Tara's plan to let you go anytime soon. "No, no. Sit back down." Her tone was enough to make you melt. You listened without thinking twice, sitting back down on your chair.

The brunette shook her head and tapped the empty place next to her on her bed, quietly telling to sit next to her. You understood her command and moved to sit next to her.

As soon as you were next to her, her hand found yours. "You didn't make it uncomfortable. Yes, I liked it. And I love you too." She gently whispered, her soft smiled grew on her face, "Like love me, love me ?" You murmured, you barely had the strength to find your voice. The whole thing was unbelievable.

Tara chuckled then nodded, "Like, love you, love you." She nudged your shoulder which caused you to follow her chuckle. "How long have you liked me for ?" You quietly asked, "For too long. So what do you say we stop waiting, hm ?" She smirked as she looked at you. You instantly nodded, "Yeah, that sounds great." You smiled, squeezing her hand.

Waiting this long was worth it, you're finally with the one you love.

- 📜🎧🍂 -

A/n: Rushed end because I'm tired. This was supposed to be a Halloween fic- my bad lol. Have a good day/night. I hope you forgive me for how bad this is. Love y'all <3

[ofstarsandvibranium]

And Action!

Fandom: Marvel (Actor AU)

Pairing: Movie Star!Bucky x Journalist!Reader fic.

Summary: The chemistry between you, a journalist, and Bucky, a movie star, is undeniable. After dancing around each other for the past year, Bucky’s ready for the game to end.

“Y/N!” your break out into a wide grin as Bucky exclaims your name. He approaches you with a big smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

You’ve been waiting with the other journalists along the red carpet, chatting with the cast and crew of the new movie The Queen’s Shadow.

The main stars are Yelena Belova and Bucky Barnes. You’d just finished interviewing Yelena and now Bucky is headed your way.

“Hi, Bucky. It’s good to see you again!”

He chuckles, “You as well and,” he turns to his assistant and accepts the thermos, “Hot chocolate like I promised.”

You can’t help but cackle, “I was hoping you’d remember.”

He shrugs, a grin on his lips, “Of course. I promised you, didn’t I?”

You take a moment to open the thermos and take a little sip of the beverage. Your body instantly warms from the hot drink but as well as the sweet comforting taste of the chocolate, “You were right. You make a mean hot chocolate.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Bucky responds with a chuckle.

You then set the thermos to the side, “Okay. So congrats on the movie. Everyone’s prayers have been answered because you’ve finally gone back to your roots being in rom-coms. How does it feel?”

“So fun. Don’t get me wrong. The action movies I’ve done recently are fun too, but rom-coms are a different kind of fun. I can be a little goofy, be a complete dork while also be charming-“

“Basically be more of yourself?” You ask with a smirk.

He snorts, “Yes! Basically! And to work alongside Yelena, who’s, ya know, one of my best friend’s sister, was really a treat because this is her big debut. I was able to watch and guide her. Even though sometimes we’d get into arguments here and there because we’re like siblings. But yeah, it was fun.”

“Was it a little weird to play love interests since you two are like siblings?”

“At first, yeah. But we discussed it and, ya know, this is our job as actors. Whatever our personal relationship is, it doesn’t matter when we’re on set. We’ve got a job to do so we went and did it.”

“Did Nat threaten you at all when she heard you and Yelena would be working with each other?”

Bucky scoffs, “Of course, Nat did. But I get it. She’s just protective of her sister. I’m like that with my sister so I can’t fault her for that.”

You nod in understanding. You always enjoyed talking with Bucky because conversations with him were so easy and he was always so passionate about the projects he’s worked on.

“Alright, now for the hard hitting question.”

Bucky nods and rubs his hands together, “Okay, watcha got for me?”

You take a deep breath and lean closer, “Who would win in a fight: Mason Rhodes or Jayce Ryder?” Mason Rhodes is his character in The Queen’s Shadow and Jayce Ryder is his character in his previous action movie franchise.

Bucky chuckles, “Oh that’s a hard one…probably Mason.”

“Really?” You ask him in surprise.

He shrugs, “Well not to spoil too much, Mason was trained to fight and know how to protect the Queen. Jayce, while he does know how to fight, he’s self-trained and a little sloppy. Kinda fights more with his heart while Mason fights with his brain, you know?”

You nod, “Makes sense!” You see Bucky’s assistant pull on his sleeve to let him know he needs to move on, “Well, I’ll let you continue down the line. It was great speaking with you! And thanks again for the hot chocolate!”

“Of course! It was great seeing you. See you next time!” He gives you a wink and a wave and follows where his publicist guides him next.

—————-

Not many journalists are invited to after parties. However, your friend, Joaquin, a PA who worked on the film, invited you as his plus one.

You’re chatting with him by the hors d’oeuvres table when Bucky approaches, “Hi,” he’s a little more shy this time. He turns to Joaquin, giving him a nod, “Torres.”

“Bucky,” Joaquin says with a big smile, “Movie was great, man!”

“Oh, thanks! Yeah, it-it was fun.” Bucky looks back at you, “Did you enjoy it?”

You nod, “Your performance was great, but I enjoyed Yelena’s a little bit more.”

He chuckles, “I understand. She was amazing.”

“Oh! I see Sam. I’ll be right back!” Joaquin excused himself to talk to the other actor.

Bucky clears his throat, “So, uh, you drink all the hot chocolate?”

You shake your head, “It’s in my car. Saving the rest for later. But did you really come here to talk to me about hot chocolate, Bucky?” You ask with a smirk.

You and Bucky have been dancing around each other for the past year. You’ve worked with him a lot over the last few years but it wasn’t until recently that your interviews with him started getting a little more playful and flirty.

Sometimes it was you that really upped the playful, flirty vibes. Other times, it was Bucky. Neither of you were put off by it. It was all in good fun and definitely gave Bucky a lot of publicity.

“Not really. I actually wanted to ask if you were tired.”

Your brows furrow and your head tilts to side in confusion, “Tired?”

“Of this game we’ve been doing lately?” That shy demeanor is replaced with that teasing, playfulness you’ve encountered before.

“I don’t know, Barnes. Are you?”

“I am.”

“So,” you step closer to him, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Bucky glances at your lips and then licks his own, “Well, I was thinking we can finally exchange numbers and I take you on a date.”

“That right? Where do you plan to take me?”

“I have a place in mind.”

You pout, “You’re not gonna tell me?”

“You’ll find out if you say yes.”

You sigh, “You really wanna date me? I’m a journalist. I could spill all your dirty secrets.”

He cocks a brow at you, “That what you plan to do?”

You scoff, “Fuck no. I’d never.”

“And that’s why I wanna date you, among other things.”

“Tell me,” you step even closer to him.

He smirks, “I will,” he leans in, lips hovering over yours, “on our date.”

He steps back and you realize your phone is now in his hands, “Hey!” You exclaim with a laugh, and he laughs with you.

“I may have learned a thing or two from my action movies,” he hands you your phone so you can unlock it. You hand it back to him when you do and he inputs his number.

He hands you his own phone and you enter in your number.

“I’ll be busy this week for premiere stuff but afterwards, I have some down time before I start my next project. I’ll call you when I’m free to hash out the details?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Perfect. I gotta continue making my rounds, but enjoy the rest of your night,” he leaves you again with another wink and a fluttering in your chest.

[saoirsezz]

ᯓ LOVESICK | 리키

PAIRINGS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ grumpy!riki x sunshine!reader

GENRE ⊹ ࣪ ˖ fluff, grumpy x sunshine

WARNINGS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ light swearing

SYNOPSIS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ convincing riki to be partners with you seemed to be light work, maybe because actually getting to be his friend takes up 99% of your energy.

🂱 part two of “beneath the ice” !

RIKI HAD HIS HEADPHONES ON, blasting clearly loud music that was seeping through. he leaned against his chair, sketching lightly on his pad. you tapped him gently on the shoulder— he looks up at you, the light in his eyes making you a bit flustered.

“sorry.. did I disturb you?” you say, nervously fiddling with your fingers.

he puts his head back down, resuming his agenda. but replies, “no, you're good.” you let go of the breath you didn't even know you were holding. “oh, thank god. anyway uhm.. where do you want to work on the project? a cafe or somewhere out is good, but I don't think we'd get to work on it properly with a crowd around us. and in my house or yours may give us a better privacy, and stuff.. but still! I'll be alright where you're more comfortable.”

he paused for a moment, probably debating in his mind. “yours,” he said. it's really a handful with him barely saying sentences. but atleast you can talk to him. you just hope he'll warm up more as time passes and you can actually get a good, working conversation.

“alright, I'll meet you by the gates after class.”

you stood outside the gate, scrolling through your phone while you waited for riki. soon enough, tiny drops of rain hit your head. it's raining. you quickly grab an umbrella and shield yourself, though you start to worry about riki, if he had an umbrella. since the umbrella you had could only fit one.

a little while later, he tapped your shoulder, revealing him with his hoodie, the hood up on his head. “do you not have an umbrella?” you asked, he shook his head. you just nodded and proceeded to lead him to your house, walking slowly as the rain poured slowly. you tried your best to shield both you & him, but his taller figure makes it hard for you.

he notices your struggle, and takes the umbrella without a word and holds it for the both of you. you look up at him, seeing him covering you with your umbrella, but due to it being just enough for one person, you see the rain still hitting him. causing one side of him to be damp and the other to be dry.

“hey, you're getting we—”

“I'm fine.”

his tone wasn't rude or anything, but you knew better than to fight it. luckily, your apartment wasn't that far.

you both arrived soon enough, and you pet semi (your cat) before finally settling in.

“uh, riki?” you glance at him, his figure sitting on the couch.

“I have some spare clothes from my brother. he doesn't live with me, don't worry. he just has some here incase he visits, go and borrow some so you don't have to stay in that wet uniform. you can return it to me the next day.” you said as you handed him your brother's clothes. he mumbled a quick thanks before changing in the bathroom.

you waited until he finished before you started the project, opening your textbooks & doing some research.

TWO HOURS LATER

it's currently 8:06pm. you looked at the clock then back to your work. you've done quite alot in terms of work, but if it means any progress on you and riki's 'friendship', then nothing was made. in the whole hours of working, only small talks like “pass me that,” or “are you done with that?”. you didn't want to pressure him nor force him, but it really was frustrating you how difficult this was.

“it's a bit late. we can finish this the next day or two, the rain stopped too. do you want to go home?”

he got up and nodded, “yeah. I'll get going. thanks, __.” you smiled, leading him out the door.

“text me when you get home.”

“okay.”

UNKNOWN CONTACT: it's me, riki. I'm home.

to your surprise, he actually texted you. you grinned.

CHEOL Y/N: oh, that's good!

[CHEOL Y/N SET NICKNAME TO 'RIKI']

[RIKI REACTED '♡' TO YOUR MESSAGE.]

you smiled, knowing you'll be going to school on the next day with a grin on your face. you tucked yourself to bed, anticipating tomorrow.

tomorrow came, you got yourself ready, getting in your school uniform and tying your hair. you walked to school, as you got there, you already started looking for a specific dark haired boy— riki.

you went to the class, confused to not see him in his seat. he's usually early, earlier than everyone. this was new. classes passed, and he still was nowhere to be found. you were starting to get worried.

your lectures ended, it was 5:05pm. you quickly texted riki.

CHEOL Y/N: riki? why were you absent?

RIKI: oh, sorry. I got sick because of the rain last night. I had a fever and a cold. sorry.

seeing this you instantly made your way to his house. grabbing your bags and heading your way.

the doorbell rang, riki wondered who it could be. to his surprise, he saw you—standing right infront of him as he opened his door.

“are you okay- was it my fault? 'm sorry! my umbrella was small, I'll repay you, I promise. I'll take care of yo—”

“how'd you get my adress?” you chuckled nervously, embarrassed. “.. well, i asked the professor. he has records of student's addresses in case of emergency. and I knew you wouldn't give it to me if I asked..” you rubbed the back of your neck.

“but anyway! how are you feeling?” you turned to him, he looked really tired. “I'm fine.”

you put the back of your hand to his forehead, feeling his temperature. “you're not, you feel hot. go back to bed I'll prepare your meds. I bought some on the way.” you exclaimed, shuffling through your bag.

“but—” before he could protest, you were already leading him up his bed.

after taking his meds, you put a damp lukewarm towel on his forehead to aid with the fever.

“just, relax. you won't get better if you don't get rest.”

you say as you sit at the chair near the bed, “I'll go home once you sleep. I need to make sure you actually listen.” you laugh.

“okay ma'am,” he joked, closing his eyes.

time passed and he started to make little snores. you observed his features, this was the first time you saw him this close.

you didn't realise how detailed and beautiful he actually was. your heart pumps a little faster.

you didn't realise you slowly started drifting to sleep, resting your head on the edge of the bed.

THE NEXT DAY

he stirs in his sleep as he woke up, surprised to see you sleeping on the edge of the bed with your body still on the chair. though, he figured you got tired after taking care of him. it confused him why you cared so much. others would've loved if he weren't present in the class anyway.

he glanced at you, noticing your half parted lips and your chest rising up and down. he would be lying if he said he didn't find it endearing.

he stayed still for a few minutes, just loving the comforting silence between the you & him world

© work of saoirsezz | sho

[lovezbrownies]

The Science of Love.

General Masterlist - Julie's Masterlist

Synopsis: Julie McCanister never thought of marriage before, until her nosy coworker kept mocking her and telling her that her dalring should break up with her for waiting so long. And now she's filled with fear of that actually happening.

PAIRING: Yandere!Mad Scientist x GN!Reader

Warnings: My tamest work so far, very fluffy.

Your girlfriend, Julie, had been acting… strange. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but you’d been noticing it for weeks now. The once calm and collected Julie McCanister—always the picture of professionalism—had spiraled into something unrecognizable. The house had become a reflection of her state: a chaos of unfinished projects, half-drawn equations, and scattered papers. It was like everything in her world had turned upside down.

Her usually voluminous hair, the kind that always looked effortlessly messy but somehow perfect, was now a frizzy, unkempt tangle. The dark bags under her eyes had deepened by several shades, and the vibrant spark in her gaze had dulled to a weary exhaustion. She barely seemed to sleep, let alone eat.

For the past month, she’d been consumed by something. You weren’t sure what. You’d caught her muttering to herself, her mind locked in a frantic loop. The lab, once her sanctuary, had been abandoned in favor of the living room whiteboard, where she scribbled in a feverish frenzy—random buildings, nonsensical equations, half-solved problems.

The strangest part? She hadn’t gone into work for two whole weeks. Julie, the meticulous scientist who lived by her schedule, had thrown it all out the window. She was clearly struggling, and yet, she refused to tell you what was going on. The stress radiated off her, but when you tried to ask, she just shut you out.

“No, no, no. I must finish this on my own. No help. If I don’t, it’ll ruin everything,” she snapped one evening, her voice sharp and tight.

You were taken aback, the sting of her words lingering longer than it should have. Julie had never been rude to you. Blunt, yes. But never rude. She’d always appreciated your small contributions, those little comments that lightened her mood or gave her a fresh perspective. A quick kiss, a grin, and she’d be off again, solving the puzzle in her mind. But this time… this time was different.

Her refusal to let you in, her coldness, felt like an impenetrable wall slowly rising between the two of you, and it hurt more than you were willing to admit. But still, you remained steadfast in your desire to help her through whatever this was. You found yourself rushing after her, tidying up the chaos she’d left behind: collecting scattered papers, clearing away empty coffee mugs that once overflowed with caffeine-fueled desperation, and lining up a fresh batch of markers next to the whiteboard. You organized everything neatly, anticipating the moment her current marker would run dry, hoping it would keep her mind from snapping back to frustration.

You did all of this for her, not knowing that the very thing causing her to unravel was, in fact, you.

It wasn’t an insult, not at all. But the source of her stress was wrapped up in a decision she hadn’t yet found the courage to make. Julie McCanister, the logical, no-nonsense scientist who trusted only facts and cold calculations, was planning to propose to you.

For over a month now, she’d been stewing over it—over how you might react, over whether you’d even want it. You always told her the same thing: that you didn’t need a ring, that your love for each other didn’t require some grand symbol. And yet, Julie had seen you. She had caught those fleeting glances, the way you’d unconsciously eye the rings of friends and even her colleagues, the way your fingers would linger on your own hand as if imagining something more.

It all started when one of her colleagues—never one to filter their thoughts—had dropped a bombshell in the middle of the break room one afternoon.

“You’re telling me you two have been friends for over twenty years, lovers for another eight–almost nine– and you still haven’t proposed?! Jesus, McCanister, no offense, but even I would’ve broken up with you by now!”

That comment, as casual and offhand as it had been, had hit Julie like a freight train. Her colleague’s words had taken root in her mind, burrowing into her thoughts until they grew into a full-blown obsession. Could you really be content without that symbol of commitment? Or had she, in her logical, methodical mind, missed something crucial—something that you longed for, even if you didn’t say it out loud?

The thought—the mere possibility—of you breaking up with her sent a jolt of panic coursing through her veins. The idea of you telling her you’d waited long enough, that you couldn’t bear to spend another moment in a relationship without the symbol of commitment, the ring, gnawed at her insides. 

The image of you walking away, seeking someone who would offer you the engagement you deserved, was almost too much to bear. It was as if the very foundation of her world had cracked, leaving her scrambling for something solid to hold onto.

The panic had hit her like a tidal wave, crashing down without warning, sweeping her up in its relentless pull. It came just hours after her colleague’s offhand comment, that careless remark that had burrowed deep into her mind, festering in her thoughts as she tried to work in her lab. Her heart had pounded erratically, and her breath had come in sharp, shallow gasps. The thought of losing you, of not being able to give you what you wanted, what you might secretly need, had thrown her into a complete spiral.

You’d never directly said anything about wanting to get married, right? So it was okay if she waited, delayed it just a little longer, wasn’t it? After all, you hadn’t complained. You were patient with her, understanding of her eccentricities and her logical nature. 

But then again, maybe you had been communicating something to her, something she hadn’t picked up on. Maybe you’d been dropping subtle hints that you wanted more, that you were aching for that next step, but Julie had failed to notice. She’d never been good at deciphering emotional cues, not like she should be.

Her lack of empathy had caused its fair share of arguments when you first started dating. Back then, she’d been almost robotic in her understanding of emotions—practical, yes, but cold, distant even. She could analyze problems, but she struggled with people, with their feelings. She had hurt you once, unintentionally, because she hadn’t understood that sometimes, what you needed wasn’t a solution or a quick fix, but simply to be seen and heard.

But losing you had never been an option.

That was the moment she decided. Valentine’s Day. One month. That was how long she had to plan the perfect proposal, one so flawlessly executed that you’d fall in love with her all over again.

It had been years since the two of you had truly celebrated Valentine’s Day—there was no need anymore. You knew each other too well, had been together for so long that the usual romantic clichés had lost their luster. But even still, there was one tradition you never abandoned. Every year, without fail, you and Julie made sure to pick up a box of those limited-time Valentine’s cupcakes from your favorite bakery. They only came around once a year, and without even discussing it, you both always made time to get them.

And so, Julie decided: that was how she’d start the proposal.

That was two months ago. And now, Valentine’s Day was after tomorrow.

Everything was ready—perfectly orchestrated, down to the very last detail. She had planned every step of the day, every meal, every location, even the outfits you’d wear. The calculations had been finalized days ago. Every possible outcome had been accounted for.

She had even hired photographers. Fourteen of them, stationed at every location on her itinerary.

Most of them had tried to talk her down, to reason with her. “You only need one, maybe two at most. Fourteen is excessive.” But Julie wouldn’t hear it. She needed options. She had no way of predicting when the moment would strike—when she’d finally gather the courage to get down on one knee. Maybe it would happen in a spontaneous burst of emotion, or maybe she’d panic and delay it until the very last possible second.

She didn’t know.

But what she did know was that this needed to be perfect.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she looked put together. The frizzy, untamed waves that had practically become a permanent fixture of her appearance had been smoothed back to their usual controlled state. The dark, sleep-deprived circles beneath her eyes remained, but they no longer seemed to weigh her down. 

Her pants—those meticulously ironed slacks she refused to let you touch out of fear you’d ruin the perfect crease—looked freshly pressed, as though she had actually taken the time to care for herself this morning. The sight alone was enough to make you stare, but it was the look on her face that truly stunned you.

A smile. Not her usual smug, self-satisfied smirk. Not the subtle twitch of her lips she gave when she found something mildly amusing. This was giddy. Breathless. Eyes-bright-with-excitement kind of giddy. The kind of smile you could count on one hand the number of times you had seen before. It was beautiful—so achingly rare that for a moment, you found yourself simply staring, wanting to commit every detail to memory before it inevitably faded. 

And then, before you could even think to ask what had her in such a good mood, she leaned in, pressing a quick kiss against your lips, her words brushing warmly against your skin.

“I’m going to get the perfect outfit for tomorrow. I will be back in approximately one hour and forty-eight minutes.”

Then, just like that, she was gone, still pulling her coat on as she rushed out the door, leaving you sitting there, stunned and thoroughly perplexed.

True to her word, exactly an hour and forty-eight minutes later, the front door swung open with purpose. Julie stepped inside with the same air of confidence she carried after solving an equation no one else could, only this time, instead of a clipboard full of notes, she was carrying two long suit bags draped over her back. They hung from her fingers with a sense of reverence, as if she were handling something of great importance, and if you hadn’t already been confused before, the sight of her now only made your curiosity grow tenfold.

“I am home,” she announced, matter-of-factly, as though she hadn’t just spent the past month acting like a woman possessed. “Follow me, darling, I need to show you what I got us for Valentine’s celebration tomorrow.”

Your confusion only deepened, but you found yourself rising to your feet regardless, trailing after her down the hall, unable to shake the feeling that whatever she had planned, it was big. The last time she had put this much effort into a surprise had been your birthday four years ago, when she had spent weeks secretly building you a fully automated coffee station that catered to your every preference. The thought made something warm settle in your chest, and though you still had no idea what was going on, you knew one thing for certain.

Whenever Julie remembered—I have a darling waiting for me at home, waiting to be spoiled—it became an immutable fact, an unshakable priority that overrode all else. It wasn’t an obligation, nor was it something she did out of guilt or routine; it was simply what had to be done. And Julie McCanister never did anything halfway.

She went out of her way to spoil you, to dote on you in ways both grand and imperceptibly small, from gestures that defied what any average person could accomplish to the simplest, quietest acts of devotion. If something as insignificant as your favorite mug so much as chipped, she would already have a replacement ordered before you even had the chance to sigh over the damage. If you made an offhand comment about a book you wanted to read, she would somehow, somehow, acquire an early edition before it even hit the shelves.

No matter how many decades passed, no matter how many lifetimes she spent by your side, Julie McCanister would never, ever get used to your presence enough to forget to bring you something on the way home. It was a habit ingrained into her, a quiet ritual of devotion—one that never wavered, never dulled, no matter how many times she indulged in it.

And tonight was no different.

As she unzipped the first bag, your breath hitched at the sight inside. The fabric was pristine, luxurious, the kind of material that practically screamed money. Even without touching it, you could tell it was expensive—too expensive. Your first instinct was to protest, to ask her what in the world she was thinking spending this much on a simple Valentine’s date, but before you could even get a full sentence out, Julie did what Julie always did when she decided she didn’t want to hear your objections.

She kissed you.

It was brief, chaste, but effective all the same, successfully rendering you speechless as she pulled back, an infuriatingly pleased look on her face. “This, my dear,” she murmured, fingers ghosting over the fabric with quiet satisfaction, “is for our Valentine’s date tomorrow. This one is yours.” She gestured to the outfit in front of you before moving to the second bag. “And this one—” she unzipped it, revealing an equally extravagant ensemble, “—is mine.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, simply standing in mutual appreciation of the matching set. The colors, the detailing, the careful selection of fabric—it was all so deliberate, so well thought out that you almost didn’t notice at first. But then your gaze drifted, taking in the shades Julie had chosen for herself, and realization struck.

Julie hadn’t tailored the suit to be her usual dark tones. No navy blues, no deep greys or blacks—nothing that so much as hinted at her signature cool, muted aesthetic. Instead, every inch of her chosen outfit was composed of your favorite colors. Your favorite shade, your favorite tone, colors that weren’t hers but were undeniably you. And yet, strangely enough, the outfit didn’t look out of place in comparison to her usual style, small vest, neat button-up, long coat, and her beloved suit pants.

Then your eyes flickered back to your outfit, and the realization settled deeper. It was a perfect reversal—the colors, the undertones, the subtle details. It was Julie. She had chosen shades that reflected her own preferences, yet they weren’t imposed on you; instead, they complemented you flawlessly, as if she had studied every nuance of your features, your complexion, your hair, ensuring each choice enhanced rather than overwhelmed.

It was… intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. A quiet, unspoken devotion woven into fabric and color.

You turned to her, the weight of understanding pressing against your ribs, words forming but failing before they could leave your lips. 

Before she could utter a word, you moved, closing the space between you in an instant. Your arms wrapped tightly around her neck as you buried yourself in her warmth, the force of your embrace making her stagger slightly. A quiet gasp slipped past her lips, her hands instinctively finding your waist, steadying both of you. Then, slowly, the tension melted away. Her fingers curled against you, her hold firm but gentle. The corners of her lips lifted into the softest smile—small, but genuine. Content.

Julie let out a slow breath, allowing herself to sink into the embrace, her arms tightening around you as she pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. A silent promise. A quiet I love you.

And yet, you still hadn’t noticed the small, unmistakable bulge in the pocket of the pants hanging nearby—the subtle outline of a box no bigger than her palm. A box too small to contain anything other than a ring.

Julie’s gaze flickered toward it, fingers twitching slightly at her side. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, gnawing at the edges of her control, threatening to unravel everything she had so carefully built. The urge to reach for it was unbearable, pressing against her restraint like an unchecked variable in an equation she hadn’t accounted for. It would be easy—too easy—to pull it out now, to let it unfold naturally, to drop to one knee before either of you had time to process it.

But no. She had to contain it—hold herself together, despite the undeniable urge to drop to her knees and slip that ring onto your finger right there. The weight of the moment, of the feelings that swelled up inside her, was pressing so hard against her restraint. The yearning to act on it, to do something grand, something that would make you look at her with wide eyes and glowing affection—it was almost unbearable.

And yet, she forced herself to stop. She couldn’t rush it. The day ahead, the moments she had painstakingly planned, would be perfect. Her mind was made up: this was going to be the epitome of romance. A grand gesture, something so profound and sweeping, that after it, you’d be overwhelmed—deliriously in love with her, swarming her with kisses and praises, calling her the most romantic soul alive. She was confident. At least 86% confident. Maybe 85.5%.

But the half-percent that lingered at the back of her mind didn’t matter. She had a plan, and she was going to see it through. She just had to hold on a little longer.

Eventually the two of you pulled away from the embrace and spent the rest of the day as domestically as possible. With the past month Julie had been so obsessive over this entire proposal she had ended up accidentally neglecting you and left you there to collect dust as she planned the perfect proposal. So today, the day before her big plan, she decided to completely pamper you with home-cooked meals, cuddling, and as much as you can handle with her lust.

The morning dawned slower than usual, but there was an unfamiliar softness to the air. The world outside seemed still, almost as if it, too, was waiting for what the day would bring. You woke to the sound of birds outside the window and the soft rustling of fabric from beside you. You didn’t recognize it at first, still heavy with the weight of sleep, but as your eyes cracked open, there she was. Julie McCanister, the apple of your eyes.

She kneeled beside the bed, her hands moving so carefully, so deliberately as she adjusted the blankets around you, making sure you were tucked in just right. Her fingers hovered over your face for a second, so hesitant before she laid her fingers upon the curve of your jaw.

The look in her eyes was… different. It wasn’t the usual confident gaze she held, the one that felt like she already knew the next step in everything. No, today, there was something softer. Something almost… tender. And when her eyes flicked to yours, she smiled so lightly, so gently, that it almost made your heart skip a beat.

God, this was strange—Julie smiling so early in the morning, looking down at you with a softness that felt almost foreign. Vulnerability wasn’t something she wore often, and yet here it was, clear in the way her lips curled just slightly, in the way her gaze lingered on you like you were something fragile, something precious. Julie never liked expressing emotions, never let them settle before she dissected them, rationalized them, and locked them away before they could take root. To her, emotions were unpredictable, inefficient—a problem to be solved rather than indulged.

But you were the exception. You always had been. Because when you smiled, when your laughter filled the air, it made something flutter deep in her chest, made the logic and calculations in her mind blur at the edges. And against all odds, she didn’t mind.

“Good morning,” she whispered, as if the words themselves had to be savored. She took her hand back, now laying her head on her arms, which were crossed over one another on the edge of the bed. Through the dim lighting of the room, the sun peeking through the blinds, you can see her entrancing green eyes gaze deeply into your face, studying every small crevice of your face like it her only purpose in life, “Did you sleep well?”

You could’nt help but be incredibly flustered, this is so incredibly intimate, inin ways you’ve never experienced before with Julie, this had so much love fueled behind it you almost wanted to punch yourself and make sure you weren’t dreaming. Although delayed by your day dreaming you nodded, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, rubbing furiously at your eyes.

But something in her gaze kept you rooted to the spot. There was something almost… tender about the way she looked at you. Julie wasn’t one to be sentimental, and yet her eyes held an intensity that made your breath hitch, like she was seeing you for the first time all over again.

Before you could question it, she moved—slow, deliberate, closing the space between you with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver down your spine. Her fingers ghosted along your jaw, tilting your chin ever so slightly, and for a moment, all you could hear was the quiet, measured cadence of her breathing.

The desperate look on your face was undeniable, and you knew it. You felt utterly vulnerable, biting at your lower lip, your legs pressed together as if that simple friction could ease the ache inside. Your eyes darted between her gaze and her lips, pleading without words, but every inch of you screamed for her touch, for her kiss. You couldn’t help it. You felt so exposed, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from her.

Julie, of course, knew you far too well. She saw through you—your every subtle shift, every hesitant movement, every unspoken need. And, as always, she loved you more for it. The way you were so unguarded, so unashamed in your longing for her, only made her want to indulge you.

Julie chuckled, her laughs always an airy laugh, she leaned in as close as she could and whispered into your ear, “You don’t have to say a word.”

Her breath was hot against your skin, her hands sliding back to rest against your neck, pushing herself even closer until her chest was flush against yours. The space between you no longer existed; only the heat of her touch, the magnetic pull that seemed to draw you to her without effort. Her lips brushed yours, slow and teasing, as if savoring the moment before finally, finally, she closed the gap.

Her kiss was everything you'd been craving—intense and consuming. Julie didn’t just kiss you; she enveloped you, devoured you, in a way that left your head spinning. Her hands traced the outline of your jaw, the back of your neck, grounding you in the dizzying sensation of being wanted, needed, by her. And you—desperate and greedy for her touch—let yourself melt into it, feeling the weight of her affection, her control, pressing against you.

Her kiss deepened, her fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place as if to remind you just how much she loved having you like this. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim, a promise of all the things she was willing to give you... and the things she wanted in return.

Every kiss felt like an indulgence, a slow burn that wrapped around your heart, leaving you breathless, craving more.

Julie never touched you like this—not without some teasing remark to accompany it, not without rushing off immediately for a long trip for work, but today? Today was different. She was drinking you in, her touch featherlight but unrelenting, lingering longer than necessary in a way that made your heart stutter. And this time, it wasn’t without a single string attached, no tease, no sex, no rushing. Julie was taking her time, and she didn’t want to take too long at the same time.

Finally, she pulled away, but the connection between you lingered—between your parted lips, a thin strand of saliva stretched, evidence of just how deep you had fallen into her. The sight alone sent heat rushing to your face, and in your flustered panic, you slapped a hand over your mouth, cutting off the string before it could betray you further.

Julie chuckled, low and amused, and that only made it worse. How was she so composed? So utterly unshaken, when you felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest? It was almost unfair. This was the same Julie who was a sexless virgin before the two of you got together, who acted like she’d never touched another person before intimately.

Julie’s chuckle had barely faded when she suddenly stopped, her body going still against yours. The warmth of her breath, still uneven from the kiss, fanned across your lips, but something in her expression had shifted. Her usual self-assured confidence, the sharp wit always dancing in her eyes, wavered—just for a second.

Her hands, still cradling your face, tensed slightly, fingers pressing into your skin as if grounding herself in the reality of you. Her pupils dilated, flickering between your lips and the flush that still painted your cheeks, before settling—hard, determined—on your eyes.

You looked so at peace, so beautifully messy, so… Perfect. Julie couldn’t stop staring, and she felt so incredibly ashamed to be so forward, but of course, she couldn’t help it. You were always cute, her dear darling, making the cutest noises, lips always parted for her, plump and red always from her ministrations, from her need to constantly have her own on yours.

Yet you never rejected her, you never looked at her strangely, even though her current behavior was strange, that you’d never seen her act like this, you embraced her. You let her do as she pleased because you loved her enough to trust her. And that fact alone had poor Julie’s heart jumping from joy and fear. Joy of how in love she is with you, and fear from what she’s about to say.

"Marry me."

What the fuck am I doing! This is supposed to be done after the orchestra! Not now!

Julie had never been the type to lose control—not in her work, not in her life, not in anything. Every action, every decision was calculated, planned, set in motion with a logic so airtight that nothing could shake her. And yet, here she was, staring at you, heart pounding so violently that she thought she might be sick, and for the first time in forever, she had no plan.

The words had slipped out before she could stop them, raw and unfiltered, bypassing the careful walls she always kept so firmly in place. Marry me. God, what was she thinking? Was she thinking at all? Her mind scrambled to justify it, to piece together the frayed edges of her self-control, but there was nothing—just you. You, looking at her with wide, startled eyes, lips still swollen from her kiss, breath coming in these soft little gasps that made her want to drown in you all over again.

Your breath hitched, your lips parting—but no sound came. For a second, you wondered if you'd misheard, if your mind was playing tricks on you, distorting reality in the haze of Julie’s touch. But she was still staring at you, still gripping you, and there was nothing uncertain about the way she’d said it.

Still, your voice barely came out above a whisper. "What...?"

Your mind barely had time to process the words before the weight of them came crashing down, sending your thoughts into a frantic, uncontrollable spiral. Marry me. No hesitation. No warning. No carefully planned moment. Just Julie, staring at you with an intensity that made your heart feel like it was about to shatter apart from how much you loved her.

It didn’t feel real. None of this did. Your chest was so tight with happiness it almost hurt, but it was tangled up in something else—something so overwhelming that it almost sent you reeling. This was Julie. Julie, who planned every move with cold, calculating precision. Julie, who had never been impulsive, who measured everything with logic, who didn’t let herself get carried away. And yet, she had just blurted out a proposal like it was the most natural thing in the world. It didn’t add up. It couldn’t.

Your hands trembled slightly as you stared at her, your lips parting, but no words came out. You wanted to say yes—god, you wanted to—but your brain kept screaming at you that this wasn’t real, that any second now, she was going to pull back, shake her head, tell you she misspoke, that she wasn’t thinking straight. That this was just the heat of the moment, that she wasn’t actually asking.

Julie blinked, like she had just startled herself. For once in her life, her mouth moved before her mind, before she could run through a thousand calculations and arrive at the most logical course of action. And now, the words hung between you—heavy, irreversible, so completely and utterly hers.

Her jaw clenched, her fingers twitching where they rested against your skin, and you could practically see the internal war she was fighting. The ever-pragmatic, ever-meticulous Julie, who analyzed every possible outcome before making a move, had just proposed to you without a second thought. And that realization made something wild and untamed flicker in her eyes—something dangerously close to panic.

“I—” Her voice wavered, a rare crack in her perfect composure. Her grip on the bed tightened like she was trying to anchor herself. Just then did you realize, I’m laying on my side in my bed getting proposed to. You for certain did not look like you were meant to be proposed to right now, and that much made you so insecure. "I was supposed to do this differently. Today."

She swallowed, unaware of your own inner turmoil, her throat bobbing, frustration flashing across her face—not at you, but at herself, at her lack of control over this moment that had spiraled out of her hands. "I had a plan. A proper one. Everything was set up—the perfect setting, the perfect speech, the perfect ring, because of course I needed it to be perfect for you."

Her voice softened, a stark contrast to the intensity blazing in her gaze. "But then I kissed you, and—" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head, like she couldn’t even begin to put it into words. "And now I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait."

Something tightened in your chest.

Julie’s eyes never left yours, burning with a conviction that sent your pulse into a frenzy. This wasn’t some careless, heat-of-the-moment confession she'd regret later. No, this was deeper, heavier. Like she had carried the weight of these words for so long that they had begun to carve themselves into her bones.

She reached for your hand, her fingers slipping between yours, threading together like they belonged there. And when she spoke again, her voice was steadier, quieter—but no less intense.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t a declaration. It was a fact. A truth so absolute that it left no room for doubt.

You jolted upright so fast it nearly gave you whiplash, your blanket falling off your shoulders in a heap as you stared at her, wide-eyed. "Now?" you blurted, voice pitching up in disbelief. "You’re proposing to me right now? When I—" Your hands flew to your face, to your hair, to the rumpled clothes hanging off your frame. "Julie, I look like I just rolled out of bed! I—why would you propose to me when I look like—like this?!"

Your heart was hammering, pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears, a dizzying mix of happiness and absolute panic surging through your veins. This wasn’t how you’d pictured it. Not that you’d given much thought to your own proposal, but surely it wasn’t supposed to happen when your hair was a mess and sleep was still clinging to your body like an afterthought. You should be dressed up! There should be candles, or a fancy dinner, or at least some kind of preparation! Not this!

Julie’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her expression softened into something warm, something endearingly amused. She let out a soft breath—a quiet laugh, really—and reached for you, her hands finding your arms as she pulled you closer. "Hey," she murmured, squeezing gently. "Slow down."

"Julie," you whined, still horrified, still flustered beyond belief, but her thumbs were already stroking soothing circles into your skin, grounding you. "I—this isn’t—"

"Yes sure this isn’t how I picture it, but it’s no less perfect to me!" she interrupted, her voice firm but unbearably tender. "You think I care about how you look right now?" She gave a short, incredulous laugh and shook her head. "You always look perfect to me. But more than that? This moment—you—this is real. This isn’t some perfectly rehearsed, artificial scene. This is me, looking at you, and knowing with absolute certainty that I want to spend my life with you.*"

You swallowed, your throat tight, your chest aching with the sheer force of the love in her words. Your lips parted, but no sound came out, because what could you possibly say to that?

Julie took your silence as permission to continue, her hands drifting up to cradle your face. "I love you," she whispered, her forehead brushing against yours. "Messy hair, sleepy face, half-asleep grumbles and all. I love you like this. I love you always. And I don’t need anything grand or perfect to know that I want to marry you. I just need you."

Your breath hitched, something overwhelming swelling in your chest. Because this—this wasn’t a dream, wasn’t some surreal, too-good-to-be-true moment. It was real. It was her. And it was perfect.

Her words were gentle, but there was this quiet certainty behind them that sent a shiver down your spine. How could someone so perfect in their own way love you so completely? Julie’s gaze was unwavering, as if she was pouring all of her feelings into you with just her eyes. The kind of love she held for you was pure and untouchable, and that, in itself, felt like both a comfort and a weight.

But despite her calm composure, there was a trace of nervousness in her eyes too, almost imperceptible to anyone else. The way she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, the way her fingers twitched as if she was afraid to touch you too much. You could see that she was just as overwhelmed as you—more than she’d ever let on. Julie was human, too.

Your heart beat faster as everything started to shift, as your own uncertainty began to melt away, replaced by something warmer, something all-consuming. There was something so real about the way she looked at you—how deeply she cared—and that was what made this whole situation feel right, no matter how unusual the moment seemed. She was never the kind of person to make a big show of things, and this quiet, intimate proposal, despite your disarray, felt entirely her.

A deep breath escaped you, and suddenly, without even realizing it, you found yourself back in front of her, your hands grasping onto her arms for support. You stared into her eyes, her face so close, and everything inside you just clicked. This was real. She was real.

You felt a surge of emotions course through you—love, joy, relief, and maybe a little bit of disbelief—and before you could second guess yourself, you surged forward. Your lips found hers in a kiss that was more desperate than you expected, more needy than you could’ve planned. It wasn’t planned at all, honestly, it was just instinct—raw and pure. You kissed her with all the confusion, the tenderness, the overwhelming feelings you couldn’t put into words.

Julie was caught off guard for a second, her breath hitching, before she leaned into it, her hands sliding up to your back, pulling you closer like she needed to make sure you were there, right there in her arms. And you were. You were so completely and utterly in love with her, your hands tangled in her hair, drawing her closer as if to make sure this wasn’t some dream. You kissed her again, deeper this time, a slow, tender moment that felt like the world had gone silent except for the two of you. No more doubts, no more second-guessing—just the simple truth of the moment.

When you finally pulled away, your breath mingled with hers, your heart hammering in your chest. "Yes," you said, the word leaving your lips with a breathless fervor. "Yes, yes, I’ll marry you, Julie."

Julie froze for a moment, as if the world had just come to a halt, and then a smile broke across her face—soft, relieved, and full of joy. Her fingers touched your face with tenderness, a slow, reverent caress, as if she were trying to memorize every inch of you. "I love you," she whispered, her voice shaky but filled with so much emotion that it made your heart flutter in your chest. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," you whispered back, your voice thick with all the emotions you couldn’t even begin to describe.

And in that moment, you both knew—this was real. All of it was real. The love, the proposal, the kiss—everything. The overwhelming feeling of rightness, of finally being where you belonged.

[geoledgy]

your oc website is SO SO SO SO INCREDIBLY COOL how the hell do you even start learning how to do this ?? if you learned how to do this by yourself online, are there any tutorials or resources you can share with us? was making this website free??

omg THANK YOU SO SOOOOOO MUCH!!! It makes me so happy to hear that folks like my little site. I code my site with Phoenix Code (for the live viewer and number dials) and I host my site on Neocities - it is all free. Phoenix can be used in browser or on desktop, but I like having it on desktop more for big projects in case my files get deleted. I use the browser version when I just want to test something quickly.

The 2 videos I use and can not recommend enough to anyone who asks me are this HTML tutorial and this CSS tutorial. They are simple and easy to understand, but I recommend watching it the first go, and then following along the next few watches until you get the flow of basic parts to a website, how they're organized, and what order they go in. At this point, I've memorized exactly where everything goes, and it is all thanks to these 2 videos.

If I am being honest, I learned how to code by myself, not quite even with online tutorials but just from being stupid and messing around myself (1, because I was a kid, and 2, because I didn't understand English very well to know what tutorials are saying.) I used to do html coding for Neopet pages when I was a kid with too much online time, first by just editing the default petpages and adding info and images, and then just doing trial and error with the html. I'll just try something and then if it doesn't turn out the way I want it, I try to find out why it didn't work and also get inspiration from other similar sites to figure out where things go or how they coded (with this nifty thing called right click > inspect page or right click > view page source). And BOOM, working webpage.

It was rudimentary, white blank background without any boxes or anything, you just scrolled down the page and sections were separated by a horizontal bar. OH and every text was centered! I had no idea how to make scrolling boxes or fancy assets, but damn I still had so much fun working on it every weekend. When you find authentic selfmade sites from the 90s and 2000s, most of them aren't super fancy either unlike what modern nostalgia makes you think. So I hope you don't feel discouraged if you begin making a website and feel it isn't "fancy", you're already doing a first big step which is making a webpage and learned your first set of html code!

It was over a decade later before I coded webpages with html again. I've gotten lazy and started relying on site builders, but nothing was quite as versatile as html. I wanted to try coding my own OC site again, so that was when I started working on OutKrop (the site I posted). Until I started coding again, I had literally no idea what CSS even is (and let me tell you, it's a game changer!)

Personally, I work best when I can do things hands on. I don't read through tutorials, I code first then go back and read through coding help sites like w3schools when I find myself stuck and unable to figure something out. Sometimes I grab existing codes and play around with them to see what changes and what I can do with it, cuz having visual context is what helps me a lot.

I can also share my process:

Once I gather up some ideas, I make a sketch, including what boxes (divs in css) should approximately go. It is very rough, but shows me exactly what I need to know.

Next I load up my coding app (Phoenix Code in my case) and "sketch" the layout. Nothing fancy going on here, just putting things where they need to be, and fixing size of boxes and margins if needed. I give my boxes all a background color so I can easily see how big they are and where they are located.

After some adjustments like moving stuff around and adding assets like backgrounds and images, and changing colors of the boxes, rounding off corners, etc., we get this!

so recap + additional useful sites I use:

Coding app: Phoenix Code

Site hosted on: Neocities

Video tutorials: HTML and CSS

Sites for learning code: w3schools, also lissa explains is a great site that is written for kids to learn html so it's easy to understand. Finally, sadgrl has a lot of great resources for coding as well!

I recommend looking through these sites AFTER you tried taking a spin at coding - it doesn't have to be anything fancy just follow the HTML video tutorial I linked!

Thanks for the ask, and I hope this helps you and many others out there who are interested in building a site with html/css! Don't be afraid to get things "wrong" or have an "un-fancy" site. This is how you learn to code, and it'll become so easy once you get the hang of it.

Anyone is always more than welcome to reach out for coding help and advice :-]

[dreaminofdixon]

I always felt like more of a queen.

A/N:

Here’s another snippet from my story—one that I genuinely enjoy re-reading. I often find myself revisiting my work, not just because I love the story itself, but because I’m always making adjustments. Perfectionism keeps me tweaking things, even when I’m happy with how the narrative unfolds.

At its core, this story is about a relationship that begins with hostility—quite literally at gunpoint—and gradually evolves into something deeper. For me, the journey is the most compelling part. This particular moment is where the "Princess" nickname first comes into play.

__________

“Gettin’ dark.” 

I jumped, nearly spilling the precious fuel, and turned to glare at him while he put his weapon over his back. 

“Really, Daryl?!” 

He casually leaned against the car, obviously pleased with himself. A full day of riding had him looking the slightest bit more relaxed than usual and I was here for it. 

But he couldn’t know that.

“Why do you have a thing for scaring me? It’s rude.” I pushed him before returning my attention to the project at hand. “And yes, it’s getting dark,” I shot him a look, “thank you for pointing that out.” 

“Jus’ sayin. Should get settled b’fore long.” He glanced over my shoulder before looking back at me. “If yer out too much longer, lemme know an’ I’ll walk ya.” 

The corner of my lips curled up into a smirk and I faced him, hand on hip. 

“Are you…concerned for my safety?” 

“New place.” He brushed it off. “Dunno wha’s ‘round here.” 

“Well, I’m glad to know you care.” I held up the half-empty gas can. “I figured you’d wanna top off the bike?” 

“Yes’m.” 

He took it from me and I expected him to leave, but he stayed right where he was at and watched me pour a portion of the next can into the car. 

“Something I can help you with?”

“Jus’ makin sure ya don’ spill.” 

“I worked in construction once upon a time,” I told him while I focused on tipping the can into the tank just enough. “Not like…on job sites and stuff.” Carefully, I pulled it away and put the gas cap back on before moving to the next vehicle. “I was the office girl, obviously. But I learned a thing or two. Pumping gas was one,” the gas cap popped off the truck, “filling gas cans to take a couple gallons to guys on job sites, you know,” I explained. “And siphoning gas for just such an occasion.” I smiled to myself when I remembered that day. “I did have some good times. What about you?”

“Always a grease monkey. Tha’s how I know bikes.” 

“Oh really? So you are quite handy to have around. Not just a pretty face and a sterling personality,” I teased. 

I’m pretty sure he blushed. 

“I don’t think people give you enough credit, Mr. Dixon.” I finished emptying my gas can in the truck before I moved to face him and leaned my hip against it. “Truly. I think there’s more to you than you let on, and I can’t wait to learn everything there is to know.” 

“Not much t’ know.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“Hey, did you finish fueling up the truck?” 

The blonde approached us and I shook my head. I let my gaze linger on him for just a second longer before turning to her with a smile.

“Nope. If you wanna take over, I don’t think it needs much more.” 

“Great.” She moved between us and set to work. “How much do you think we’ll need for the RV?” She shot a glance at me and then Daryl. 

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. 

“Not sure. Probably quite a bit, I’d think, but he would know better than I do.” 

“Ladies,” Shane interrupted, “it’s gettin’ dark. We’ve got some cars cleared out, and Lori and Carol put bedding and a light in each of them. Why don’t ya leave the fuelin’ for the mornin’ and go get settled in?”

“Sure.” She emptied the rest of the fuel can and put the cap back on the tank. “This one’s done anyway.” 

Shane took the tank from her and grabbed the other. 

“Come on, I’ll show ya to your spots.” 

“I’m gonna grab something from the RV,” I said. “I’ll find my way in a minute.” 

“We’ll wait…” 

“I’ll be fine. If I take too long, Daryl can walk me.” Turning to him, eyebrow raised, assumption made. “Unless…you don’t want to.” 

“‘s fine,” he grumbled. 

The two headed down the freeway, talking quietly to themselves and leaving us behind. 

“If you don’t want to…” 

“Can’t have ya walkin’ ‘round in the dark by yerself. Go get yer shit.”

“Well, I don’t have anything to get,” I admitted sheepishly. “Just didn’t want to be whisked away in the middle of such a scintillating conversation.” I followed him to the motorcycle and carefully traced my fingers over the chrome handlebars while he worked. “Plus, I know it’s crazy, but I kinda like spending time with you.” 

He filled the tank silently.

“I know it’s pure torture for you, though, and I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.” 

He scoffed, “no ya don’t.” 

“You’re right. I don’t. Because I don’t think it’s torture.” 

He set the gas can down and screwed the cap back on the tank before pulling a dirty red cloth from his back pocket and wiping it down. 

“I like to think that, somewhere deep inside, you enjoy spending time with me, too. Could just be wishful thinking but…” I shrugged my shoulders. 

“If it ain’t,” he mumbled while he focused on his task.  

“If it isn’t wishful thinking, and you do actually enjoy spending time with me, then I may go so far as to say it’s possible you might like me?” 

He looked up at me, his pretty blue eyes finding mine. 

Butterflies. 

“Could be possible that I like you, in case you were wondering.” 

“Couldn’ tell.” He winked at me. 

Swoon.

He tucked the cloth back in his pocket and picked up the gas can. 

“Le’s go, Princess.” 

“Princess?” 

He gave a single nod, “fits.” 

“Does it? I always pictured myself more of a queen, actually,” I joked. 

“Nah. Princess.” 

We began our walk in the direction of the RV. 

“Queen’s gotta have a king, right?” 

“Sure,” I agreed.

“Ain’t got a king yet?”

“Well, no, not yet.” 

He tucked the can away in the RV’s storage. 

“Then yer a Princess.” 

“Fine,” I sighed dramatically, “but only you’re allowed to call me Princess.” 

“Good.” 

__________

Thank you for all the love on my other little snippet. <3 I hope you enjoy this one as much as I do!

[mosquego359]

𖤐One Kiss and A Quidditch Match — Chapter 7: Apologies𖤐

Prologue (recommended to read)

Chapter 6 (previous)

Pair: Cedric Diggory x Male Slytherin Reader

Word count: 2.7K words

Summary of the book: You and Cedric Diggory hate each other. It has always been this way. But everything changes one night when you kiss each other at a party. Now, it seems you can’t escape each other — from being partnered up in Herbology for an important project to having to help Cedric during the Triwizard Tournament.

Summary of the chapter: You and Cedric make up in the hospital wing and the headmaster, Dumbledore pays you an unpleasant visit.

Notes: Please comment on anything I should change to improve this. Also, I am not British so I am not 100% sure how to correctly write people from the UK. (I'm very sorry for the late ass update but motivation hates me)

Content warning: None

!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION OR CREDIT TO ME!

...

You wake up in a dark and silent room. Every candle was snuffed out, and not a sound could be perceived. You weren’t sure when you were; you couldn’t even move your body, but when you did, you felt a sharp pain in your temple and let out a yelp.

Suddenly, you heard something, a shuffling noise from somewhere on the right side of the room. Someone rushed to your side and lay your head back down on what you assumed was a pillow.

“Don’t push yourself, (Name). Go back to sleep,” said the person. His voice was deep and soft, and despite not knowing who it was, you felt a sense of familiarity and generally liked the man’s voice.

When he stopped talking, you were slightly disappointed but followed his orders.

After a few minutes, you drifted back to sleep.

When you awoke once more, sunlight streamed through the window, and you could see that it was perhaps dawn or dusk. Since the light illuminated your vision, you could see the room you lay in, which was the infirmary.

You felt a weight on your legs and looked down to see Winnie’s head and arms resting on them. She was snoring lightly, a book sprawled next to her. 

The noise of shuffling caught your attention and looking up, you noticed your old rival, Cedric Diggory, sitting in the corner to the right, flipping the pages of a novel with a faded red cover. He seemed lost in thought, his chin posed onto his palm until he looked up and caught your gaze.

“(Name) (Surname). You’re awake,” he noted, placing his book down on the windowsill and walking up to your bedside. He placed a warm hand on your temple, “Are you feeling all right? Dizzy? Tired?”

“I’m okay,” You croaked, your voice dry. How long were you out? 

“Here,” Diggory grabbed a glass from your nightstand and brought it to your lips. Since you still felt a little weak and your arms were numb, you acquiesced, gulping down the water. A few drops dribbled down your chin, but Diggory wiped them away.

“Be careful.”

“What happened?” you questioned after finishing the glass.

You didn’t miss the way Diggory averted his eyes at the question, he was embarrassed by his brash actions, and you could tell, “Well, a Bludger hit your broom, breaking it, so it was rather unstable. You ended up losing control over it and the wind knocked you into a tree.” You flinched at the memory, but he wasn’t done. “You hit your head and I flew down to get you. I used my wand to bring the Bludgers back into the case and brought you to the infirmary.”

“How long was I out for?” You wondered out loud.

“Well, I’d say around a day and a half. I’m sure it was over 24 hours since you were unconscious at six on a Friday, and we’re Sunday morning. But, I think you were somewhat conscious last night.”

You tilted your head in confusion.

“I heard you yelp and, although it might have just been a dream, I swore you raised your head. Your eyes were closed, though.”

You nod along, faintly remembering waking up in a dark room and hearing a soft, deep voice. Your cheeks flushed at the memory of thinking that it was nice, and you hoped that Diggory didn’t notice.

Unfortunately for you, he did.

A frown spread across his handsome face, “Are you feeling alright?” he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead.

When he pulled away, you just had to ask, “Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, ever since I woke up, you’ve been treating me like your best mate. What changed? Me hitting my head. Doubtful.”

Diggory looked away. Then, careful not to put too much weight on the bed, sat down. 

Winnie — who was on the other side — stirred in her sleep. She shuffled a bit, then settled down and started snoring once more.

“I realised something, (Surname),” Diggory mumbled, trying not to wake Winnie, “We can keep going on like this. After you fell, Professor Sprout told me the houses were at each other’s throats. She said you already knew. I-I was so blinded by our rivalry that I just never noticed how it was hurting the people around me. I was stubborn. You were ready to change, I saw it in your eyes. But I acted so stupid and you got hurt by my actions.” He looked straight into your eyes, “I don’t want to be the reason someone is injured.”

A long silence passes between the two of you. Your mind was racing, and you were shocked. Was he really apologising? You waited for a moment, expecting him to laugh or say, “just kidding”, but he was dead serious.

You looked down at your hands, “Truth be told, I haven’t been the best, and getting hurt was partially my fault.” Diggory was about to say something to shift the blame back to him, but you quickly interrupted, “Sometimes…you make me stupid things just to prove a point. I was scared up there, but I didn’t say anything so you didn’t think any less of me.”

“I like being your rival,” you admitted, hands playing with the sheets, “You push me to do things I would never do otherwise — like get me back on my broom — but right now, it’s so toxic. ”

Diggory nodded in agreement, “I agree. You’re honestly someone I look up to. You’re skilled both academically and in the air. Ever since second year, I considered you as someone I wanted to be like.”

You laughed, peering at him through your eyelashes, “I didn’t realise our rivalry lasted that long.”

You saw Diggory smile nervously at the comment, “Yeah, it’s a bit stupid that we’ve never managed to have a civil conversation since then. Do you remember why I hated you?”

You dug through your memories of Year 2 but found nothing. It had been a long time since then, and one of the only memorable moments was your first Quidditch Match, and even that was a rather faded memory. 

You did recall the rivalry starting when he bragged about scoring higher on a Potions assessment and getting mad — back then and even now, you regarded your academic performances very highly.

You decided to shoot your shot with the second memory, “Was it when you scored higher during a Potions test?” Then, you realised it didn’t make any sense that he was the one who purposefully started your rivalry by bragging — he had never been that type of person — and back-tracked, “Wait, no, did you play in Quidditch back in Year 2? Although, I don’t recall you being the Seeker.”

“Yeah, that was when. Back then, I was the extra Keeper, not the Seeker, so when my teammate was hurt, I’d step in,” Diggory explained, “I still have the memory of your win. If I had stopped the Quaffle, then maybe…” he trailed off.

You tilted your head, trying to wrap your thoughts around the situation, “So you hated me because I scored the last goal in the Hogwarts’ Quidditch Tournament four years ago?”

“Well, not quite, it’s more complex than that,” he said, but then added, “Actually, come to think of it, that sound rather stupid, doesn’t it?” He chuckled.

Diggory hummed, resting his palm on his hand, “It was more like…I wasn’t just mad at you. You made me hate myself for not being able to catch a stupid Quaffle. I felt that I let Hufflepuff down, and seeing you, a kid in the same bloody year as me, get all the Slytherins’ attention for winning a tournament I was so passionate about just messed me up a bit.” He took a deep breath and lowered his voice, “I blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault. And I blamed myself because I couldn’t blame another Hufflepuff. I’m sorry, (Name).”

You were both silent for a moment but for different reasons. You — still having woken up from a concussion mere minutes ago — were trying to comprehend the entire situation while Diggory felt like he had no words left, nothing more to say. He awaited your reaction.

Then, it finally clicked for you, and you sighed, “I’m…I’m sorry too, Diggory. We should have talked about this sooner instead of being at each others’ throats all these years. Who knows, we could have been friends if not for that.”

His hand covered his mouth but you saw him smile through the crack in between his fingers, “What a duo we could have made.”

Then, the silence reigned the room again, although this time, it was a comfortable silence, one where your thoughts would drift across your mind, and you could hear the birds chirping outside. A silence so calm and peaceful that you needn’t say a word.

An unexpected sound stirred the quiet; a shuffling coming from the right side of your bed where Winnie lay. She was so still before, that you hardly noticed her. Now, your legs felt numb from being laid on by your friend.

“Izzit morning already?” Winnie mumbled and yawned. She cracked her eyes open just a little. It wasn’t until she noticed your (eye colour) eyes that she awoke fully and bounced off of your lower body. It was like a jolt of electricity had been sent through her entire being and she practically jumped onto you. You felt the air leave your lungs.

“(Name)! You’re alive! Oh, how we missed you.” She pulled back to check your face, “Are you alright? Does your head hurt? Are you sleepy? How are you feeling? Thirsty? Hungry? Confused??” 

“I think you should lay off the poor boy, Campbell,” Diggory suggested.

Unlike the majority of your friend group, Winnie never had a grudge towards him. In fact, neither of them realised they were on opposite sides until you and Winnie started hanging out more frequently in public and you got into an argument with Diggory. Of course, that didn’t affect their relationship — they weren’t particularly close anyway — mainly since Winnie wouldn’t partake in the fights.

“Oh, sorry!” She jumped off of you in a blink, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head calmly, feeling a wave of sleepiness wash over you; all that talking finally caught up to you, “I’m all right Winnie, just feeling a bit tired. I think I’m going to go back to sleep soon.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that right now, Mr. (Surname).” A wise voice spoke from near the entrance of the infirmary. 

The three of you turned to see Madame Pomfrey and Headmaster Dumbledore standing in the doorway. Oh, Merlin, not him. The old man continued one more, “Ms. Campbell, do you mind leaving us for a moment? I need to have a private chat with these two young men.”

Winnie looked at you, a bit hurt and confused, and you motioned her to leave with a nod. Madame Pomfrey ushered her out and followed, closing the door behind herself.

With that, you were left alone with your ex-rival and probably the only person in the school that you’ve never liked throughout your education at Hogwarts. Of course, you could comprehend why the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs liked him and even why some Ravenclaws did as well. He was generally a well-regarded wizard: powerful and capable of protecting the school if anything happened.

But, like most Slytherins — and most of Hogwarts, in fact — you saw how much better he treated the Gryffindors compared to the others and his dislike towards your own house. You knew if he could, he’d automatically fail all the Slytherins. You never understood why he hated your house. Perhaps because it was the same as many dark wixes, including He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, yet you found it odd that he would let those prejudices affect his view on all Slytherins.

“Now, Mr. Diggory, Mr. (Surname), I’d like to discuss on what happened on Friday.” The headmaster said, “From what I understand, you both tought it to be a good idea to play a Quidditch match, just the two of you, outside in the tempest. Am I correct.”

You nodded, “Kind of, although there’s more to the story than that.”

Dumbledore sighed, “You know we cannot accept such impudence in Hogwarts, especially with guests around. You are lucky barely anyone has been informed of the incident. I was expecting more from students such as yourself.”

“For such immature behaviour, I’m going to have to remove points from your Houses. Such a dangerous situation cannot be overlooked, and the punishment will be harsh. I will be taking away 100 points from Slytherin.”

Both you and Diggory paused, awaiting him to continue.

It was you who broke the silence, a bit pissed off, “What about Diggory?”

Dumbledore tsked, “The involvement of Mr. Diggory, the Hogwarts Champion would be problematic for our reputation, thus I must unfortunately appoint the punishment to you, Mr. (Surname). Besides, you were the one to hurt yourself while flying, it’s only just.”

You looked at him with your mouth agape and a wall of rage building up in your heart, but before you could utter a word, Diggory spoke, “Headmaster, if I may. It wasn’t (Surname)’s fault.”

“Come again, Mr. Diggory?”

“Well, first of all, the fight was my idea. I pressured (Surname) to do it, although he clearly just wanted to have a civilized conversation with me. Not only that, but it was also my fault for his injuries. I wanted to prove myself to be better than him, so I added the Bludgers as an extra challenge, and (Surname) got hurt because of my stupid actions. If there’s anyone to punish, it’s me.”

Dumbledore considered this for a moment, “Again, we can’t have you involved, Mr. Diggory; it would make Hogwarts seem like a school who choses irresponsible people as our Champion and we cannot have that-”

“Then don’t afflict any punishment,” Diggory retorted, “We’re making up already. Arguing was the source of this incident, and now that we’ve communicated, it will not happen anymore.”

Dumbledore paused, rather taken aback at how much Diggory was defending you, and truth be told, so were you. Was this perhaps his way of redeeming himself in your eyes? 

“Mr. Diggory, I assure you, it is not that simple. What would the people think?”

“They don’t need to know.” Diggory responded, “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Headmaster, but it’s clearly antagonizing (Surname), despite him doing no wrong. I don’t know what grudge you have against him, but you should push it aside when assigning punishments.”

That surely stunned Dumbledore into silence. “Very well. No points shall be removed, but I expect you to be on your best behaviour.” He said curtly, although you swore it was directed mainly towards you.

The old man tipped his hat and bid both of you a good day as he left the infirmary.

When the door closed fully, you turned to Diggory, “Why did you do that for me? We’re not friends and I didn’t think that a simple chat about our feelings would flip your whole personality and opinion on me.”

“Well, I can’t say I consider you as someone close, either. But I’m trying to improve on myself for the good of our school and our peers.” He told you calmly, “But for now, I have to get breakfast and study I don’t think being the Hogwarts champion excuses me from my duties as a student.” He smirked briefly at you. “If you’d like, I can come over again.”

You smiled back, your eyelids feeling heavy at every word he said, “If you want to, but you don’t got to Diggory.”

As he neared the doorway, his book — which you had completely forgotten about — tucked under his arm, he turned back towards you, “Please, call me Cedric.”

...

If you'd like to request fanfiction, please check out my Masterlist (which has all the fandoms I write for) and my Request Page (which has the rules about what I write).

[come-as-you-are-111]

Valentine in Simple Moments - Jun-Ho

Project Valentines Day - 6#

Warnings: nothing!

Hwang Jun-Ho was never one for big gestures. He was quiet, often preferring the simpler moments—like when he’d catch your eye in the middle of a conversation and send you that small, knowing smile that always made your heart skip a beat.

So when Valentine’s Day came around, you honestly weren’t expecting much. He wasn’t the type to make a show of his feelings, and you appreciated that about him. But when he mentioned meeting up after work, you were intrigued, wondering what he had planned.

The evening was crisp, the kind of cold that made you want to bundle up in layers. You met him outside the small convenience store near his apartment, feeling the anticipation build in the air. He was standing at the entrance, looking casual as usual, but there was something different about his demeanor tonight.

“Hey,” he greeted with a soft smile. “Ready to go?”

You returned the smile, nodding. “Lead the way.”

Jun-Ho didn’t live in the most glamorous place—his apartment was small, modest, and simple. It didn’t have the usual trappings of luxury, but to you, it felt more real than any grand gesture ever could. As you entered, the small space felt warm despite its unassuming nature. There was a couch that had seen better days and a kitchen table that seemed to have a permanent place for takeout containers. Yet, it felt like home.

“I don’t have much,” he said, almost apologetically as he kicked off his shoes and motioned for you to sit on the couch. “But I thought we could spend the night here, just the two of us.”

You smiled, taking a seat on the couch. “This is perfect, Jun-Ho. It’s exactly what I needed.”

For the next few hours, you two spent the night in the comfort of his apartment. He made dinner, something simple—a homemade stir-fry that was surprisingly good considering the little you knew about his cooking skills. You ate together, chatting about everything and nothing, enjoying the simplicity of being in each other’s company.

You opened the box and found a small, leather-bound journal. It wasn’t fancy, but it was clearly something personal—a place for you to write, to document moments of your life.

“I know you like writing,” he added, his fingers nervously tracing the edge of the table. “So, I thought maybe you could use this. A place for your thoughts, your memories… whatever you want.”

You smiled, touched by the thoughtful gesture. “Jun-Ho, this is perfect. Thank you.”

He gave a small, almost shy smile in return. “I’m glad you like it.”

The rest of the evening was spent curled up together on the couch. You talked, laughed, and even shared a quiet, comfortable silence. Eventually, the TV was turned off, and the two of you simply stared out the window at the twinkling lights of the city below.

It wasn’t the grand gestures or extravagant settings that made the night so special. It was the simple, intimate moments you shared—being together, knowing that in his small apartment, surrounded by nothing but the basics, you were both content.

As the night wore on, you found yourself nestled into his side, and without a word, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. You stayed like that for a while, staring out at the stars from his modest apartment window, knowing that this Valentine’s Day, though simple, would be one of the most memorable.

A/n: hi my lil monsters! How we likey? This is fic 6# of Project Valentines Day 2025! Hope you enjoy!

Love ya, Twilight

@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @takuma-talkz @sxmmerchxld @multifandomgirllol @gizaspicebag @truefandemonium

[donatellarose]

— sparkling diamond

Albert Wesker x f!reader

rated e - 673 words

tags: STARS captain Wesker is your fiancee, and he spoils you before a fancy date, soft Wesker has my whole heart, don't ask how he can afford fancy things with a police officer salary,

prompt: lavish from scealaiscoite

dividers: saradika graphics

It's no surprise S.T.A.R.S. finest captain would have even finer taste.

After a long day at work, the last thing you wanted to be doing was following a series of handwritten clues in Wesker's elegant script. You looked around the penthouse apartment you two shared. So far you had been able to work out the clues leading you to the new red dress draped over your arm and the pair of high heels sitting by the couch. You squinted at the next piece of paper in your grasp.,

"I’m tall when I’m young and short when I’m old."

You huff, scanning the room for any trace of you fiancee. He's here. Somewhere. You can smell the faint traces of the aftershave you gifted him for his birthday. Deep velvet and pomegranate lead a trail to your bedroom door, which is closed tight.

"I know you're here. I can smell you. I'd like to phone a friend please."

His deep chuckle from behind makes you spin, your eyes narrowing at the coy grin on his face. His lips press a soft kiss your forehead as his hands find your hips.

"Maybe I want my sparkling diamond to work for her treat. I promise you that it will be worth it. But I'm merciful . Sometimes. It's a candle."

You blink, the simplicity of the answer almost comical. Scanning the room you don't see anything with a flickering flame until you press open the bedroom door. Your black comforter has rose petals neatly scattered all around, a single candle on his side of the nightstand has another piece of paper resting beside it. Walking over, you peek at the writing.

"When you see my beauty, you’re likely to gasp. To put me on, just fasten the clasp."

You still as you feel Wesker's gentle hands brush your hair forward over your shoulders before something cold touches your skin. Catching a glimpse of the two of you in the mirror, your lips part slightly as you take in the sparkling gems glittering around your neck. Diamonds, probably at least a hundred. Most likely more.

"You spoil me."

"You seem to forget exactly what you deserve. You are so magnificent, the only sparkling light in my dark existence. You make me want to be better."

Wesker's voice was everywhere, a thousand rose petals on your skin. He pressed his lips into your hair, smelling the perfume you always wore. Hints of wild berries and mandarin, his favorite.

"Now I'd hate to ruin this tender moment, but we'll be late for our reservations. That's the second of many surprises tonight."

You smile softly and follow him into your spacious walk in closet. Keeping your focus on yourself and not letting your eyes wander to oogle your love, you discard your black dress shirt and pants before sliding into the red dress. The sweetheart neckline and flared skirt highlights his favorite features, no doubt he did that on purpose.

He slides behind you to zip up the back of the dress and helps you keep your balance as you step into the high heels. Turning to take his arm, your gaze rakes over him. The dark grey suit jacket frames his figure, while his red tie matches your dress.

Following him out to the waiting car, you tell him about your disastrous day at work. How too many projects are being thrown at you and you don't have enough time to work on them. How other departments are making things difficult. He nods sympathetically, one hand lightly tracing patterns on your thigh, even offering to make all those problems go away.

Feeling unburdened, you take his offered hand and exit the car. Your eyes widen as you take in the elegant restaurant before you. Les Délices du Palais. The most highly reviewed, highly priced French restaurant that has been fully booked since it opened six months ago. He presses a kiss to the back of your hand before he leads you inside the empty restaurant.

"The entire restaurant is ours. I want you all to myself, sunshine. Happy Valentine's Day."

[cto10121]

Marīa (Latin Singable Lyrics)

My Latin translation adventures continue! Self-teaching myself is a bitch, but at least I can do fun things like this. And what better way to do it than to translate Tony’s solo from West Side Story? I went for (almost) original lyrics, because Sondheim’s lyrical ideas are just too Anglo. When you know, you know. I’m just happy I managed to make it all rhyme. Hope you enjoy!

Marīa (Maria)

Antonius Marīa…

Est pulcherrimum nōmen in mundum Marīa, etc. Est pulcherrima domina somnōrum Marīa, etc.

Marīa Puella splendida, Marīa Quandō tē conveni Mundum evanuit mihi

Marīa Puella amata, Marīa Regina mei cordis Magica mē dūcit tibi

Marīa Magna ut musicam caelestem Suavis ut orationem noctem Marīa Sum tuī ad mortem, Marīa

Marīa, etc.

Marīa Magna ut musicam caelestem Suavis ut orationem noctem Marīa Sum tuī ad mortem, Marīa

Es pulcherrima domina in mundum Marīa...

English Translation

Tony Maria…

It's the most beautiful name in the world Maria, etc. She’s the most beautiful lady of dreams Maria, etc.

Maria Radiant girl, Maria When I met you The world disappeared for me

Maria Beloved girl, Maria Queen of my heart Magic that leads me to you

Maria Great like heavenly music Soft like a night prayer Maria I’m yours unto death, Maria

Maria, etc.

Maria Great like heavenly music Soft like a night prayer Maria I’m yours unto death, Maria

She’s the most beautiful lady in the world Maria...