#my next project will be even more out there

[kirammanswifey]

how arcane characters would deal with mental disorders x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: writing this felt like giving myself a warm hug, a comfort that i needed. if anyone reading this is going through or has gone through any of these disorders, i want to tell you that you are very brave because it is not an easy thing, so feel proud of yourself. i hope you liked this as much as i did. as i'm a psychology student, i felt very motivated and i hope that it was quite understandable and enjoyable. as you already know request are open ;)

P.S. i know the other option won in the poll on my profile, but i need more time to refine the ideas and make something high quality that everyone will love, which i’ll be posting tomorrow ;)

Viktor Depression

The world around you feels like a constant weight, a heavy blanket that wraps around you, not letting you breathe. You wake up each day with a sense of emptiness in your chest, as if a black hole is absorbing all your energy, your motivation, your ability to feel anything other than sadness and apathy.

It’s not that you don’t want to get out of bed; it’s that the simple act of moving a finger feels like a titanic task. Fatigue is your constant companion, a shadow that never leaves you. Things that once filled you with joy now seem distant, irrelevant, as if they belonged to a life that is no longer yours.

The dark thoughts are your constant whispers, reminding you that you’re not enough, that it’s all pointless, that there’s no way out. Sometimes, you cry without knowing why; other times, you want to cry, but even that you can’t do. You feel trapped in an invisible prison, with no strength to fight your way out.

Viktor watches you from the doorway of your room, his gaze soft and full of concern. He knows the weight of shadows well, although his are different. Silently, he approaches and sits on the edge of the bed, not invading your space, but close enough for you to feel his presence.

“I have a new project I’m working on,” he says in a quiet voice, trying not to break the fragile bubble of your world. “I thought maybe you could join me today. You don’t have to do anything, just be there. Your company always helps me think.”

He doesn’t pressure you. Viktor understands that words can be hard to find when your mind is clouded by depression. He knows that the solution isn’t to force you to feel better, but to be with you, to offer you a hand, a small step forward.

He gently rises and offers his hand, not expecting you to take it, but hoping that you’ll know he’s there, ready to support you when you’re ready. “The world can wait,” he murmurs. “But I’m here, whenever you want to come back.”

His patience is infinite, his understanding deep. Viktor doesn’t try to fix you, because he doesn’t see you as broken. He knows that depression is a battle you fight every day, and he’s willing to walk alongside you, every small step, every shared silence.

You look at his hand, then his face; he’s concerned even though he tries to hide it. You make a huge effort to get out of bed, and even though your body doesn’t cooperate at first, you manage. You take his hand and gently squeeze it; that’s the most affection you can give him right now, you’re exhausted.

“Let’s go,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and broken; it’s the first time you’ve spoken all day.

You’re sitting next to Viktor in his small workshop, surrounded by pieces of metal and unfinished prototypes. He’s explaining his latest invention, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up his eyes. You feel a little better, enough to enjoy his company, and for a moment, a laugh escapes your lips when you hear one of his stories.

“Did you really say that to Heimerdinger?” you laugh, your eyes shining with a spark of life. It’s a small moment, but for Viktor, it’s like seeing the sun rise after a storm.

He smiles, pleased to have made you laugh. “Yes, and his face... It was certainly indescribable,” he replies with a softness that reflects his pleasure at seeing you enjoy yourself, even if just for an instant.

But suddenly, without warning, the laughter turns into a lump in your throat. The spark of joy fades as quickly as it came, and you find yourself trapped in a wave of overwhelming sadness. The tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you can’t stop them. The confusion in your eyes is evident, as if your body has betrayed the fleeting happiness you just felt.

Viktor notices immediately. He leans toward you, his expression turning serious, but his eyes remain warm and full of understanding. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t seek explanations that may be impossible to give. Instead, he moves a little closer, offering you his silent presence.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, his voice an anchor amidst your internal storm. “You don’t have to explain it. Just breathe.”

He offers you his hand, this time with more intent. You take it, feeling the warmth and firmness in his grip, a reminder that you’re not alone in this moment. You needed that contact. You needed to know that you could feel something other than sadness right now. Viktor doesn’t pull away, doesn’t feel uncomfortable. He knows that depression doesn’t follow rules, that it can strike at any moment, and he’s willing to stay with you, no matter how long it lasts.

“Do you want us to stay here?” he asks, his tone delicate. “Or we can walk a little, if that helps.”

His willingness to adapt to your needs wraps you in a sense of safety. Even though the tears keep falling, Viktor’s presence is a balm, a reminder that, even in the darkest moments, there’s someone who sees you, who understands you, and who’s willing to stay by your side.

“Just... stay here with me,” you say, letting yourself fall against his body, exhausted.

He caught you and wrapped you with care, it was a hug with the right amount of strength.

“Take your time, darling. I won’t go anywhere,” Viktor promised in a whisper, never stopping the caresses on your back.

And that was enough to make you feel less miserable.

Jinx Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

The echo of the explosions still resonates in your mind, even though years have passed since that day when your world crumbled. The night everything you loved was consumed by flames in an attack on the Undercity. The night you lost your family and were left alone, with the screams and the smell of smoke forever etched in your memory.

As you walk beside Jinx through the bustling streets of Zaun, everything seems normal, almost calm, until an explosion in the distance makes your heart stop. It’s a dry, loud sound, far too similar to the one you heard that night. Without warning, your breath becomes shallow, your lungs struggle to take in air, and an overwhelming sense of absolute panic takes hold of you.

Your body freezes, and it feels as if the world around you disappears. The crowd, the lights, even Jinx—all fade away, leaving you alone in that dark place where time doesn’t move. The ground beneath your feet seems to give way, and you feel yourself falling again into that abyss of the past.

"Hey, hey!" Jinx’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind. Her hands grip your shoulders, and her gaze searches for yours with desperation. "You’re not there, do you hear me? You’re here, with me."

Her words feel distant, but the warmth of her hands somehow anchors you, reminding you that you’re not alone. "But... the sound..." you murmur, barely audible, as tears start to fall down your cheeks. "It was the same... the same as that night."

Jinx guides you to a quieter corner, away from the noise, holding your hand firmly. "Breathe, hon, like we always do," she says softly, her voice tinged with controlled urgency. "Fill up those lungs, okay? Like we’re balloons."

You try to follow her instructions, but every time you close your eyes to concentrate, the images of that night hit you with renewed force. "It’s not working," you whisper, trembling. "It’s always there. No matter how much I try, it doesn’t go away. It doesn’t go away!" You scream in panic, the fingers of your hands stiffening, making them immobile.

The worry in Jinx’s eyes softens a little, but there’s something else there, something you can only describe as recognition. "That explosion... it reminded me of something too," she says after a moment, her voice quieter, almost a whisper. "I’ve been there, in that fucked-up place, where the ghosts never stop screaming."

Her words are like a key that opens the door to a deeper understanding.

She falls silent for a moment, gazing into the distance before refocusing her attention on you. "When I have my attacks, you’re always there for me, and I remember I’m not alone. That helps me a lot," she admits, a small, almost sad smile curving her lips. "And you’re not alone either, hon. We’re not broken, just a little bent. And here we are, bent together."

The hug she offers you is warm and firm, a tangible reminder that you’re not alone. You feel her strength, her determination, and something else: her own fear, her own struggle. "You don’t have to fight alone," she whispers, her voice a promise. "If you ever feel like you’re going to fall, we’ll fall together. And then, we’ll rise. Always."

You cling to her like a lifeline, letting her warmth and her words anchor you to the present, if only for a moment. "Thank you, sweets," you whisper, allowing yourself, for the first time in a long time, to feel that it’s okay not to be okay.

Vi Anxiety Disorder

The night drags you into the abyss of your mind, but you find no respite. Instead of waking softly to the day, you're trapped in pure panic. Your chest burns, each breath a lost battle. Your heart gallops wildly, as if trying to escape your chest. You are drenched in sweat, the sheets sticking to your skin, becoming yet another prison.

Your eyes snap open, the darkness of the room seems to close in on you, and the silence is deafening. The sensation of suffocation consumes you. You try to gulp down air, but it's as though your lungs have forgotten how to function. Your hands search for something, anything, to anchor you to reality, but all they find is emptiness.

The door swings open abruptly, and Vi stands there, alert, her eyes filled with concern. She doesn't need to ask what’s wrong; she knows instantly. She moves swiftly but carefully, approaching you without frightening you further.

"Breathe with me," she says gently, her hands finding yours, steady yet comforting. "Inhale through your nose... like this... and exhale through your mouth."

You try to follow her, but your body won’t cooperate. Your breath is shallow, frantic, as though every breath disintegrates before it even reaches your lungs. Tears begin to streak down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat.

"Vi... I can’t... I can't... I’m scared," you stammer, your words broken by sobs. Your mind is caught in a loop of terror, every thought spiraling downward, taking you further away from calm.

Vi sits beside you on the bed, her voice low and constant. "Don’t be afraid. Listen to my voice. I’m here with you, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you." Her tone is firm, anchoring you in the present, pulling you out of the tide of your own fear.

"But it hurts... my chest... I can't breathe..." Your body trembles, and your hands clutch desperately at her grasp. The feeling of control slipping away is overwhelming, leaving you feeling helpless.

Vi pulls you into an embrace, holding you close, offering her calm, her strength. "This is temporary. It won’t last forever," she whispers in your ear. "Trust me. Focus on me."

Slowly, very slowly, her voice cuts through the fog of your mind. You begin to breathe more deeply, following her rhythm, feeling how her presence stabilizes you, like a lighthouse in the storm. The pain in your chest begins to lessen, the pressure relents just a little, and your body starts to remember how to breathe without fighting.

Vi continues to speak, her voice a soft murmur, calming you with every word. "You’re strong. You have control, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now."

The tears still flow, but now they are tears of relief, not fear. "Don’t leave... don’t leave. I need you here," you whisper, your voice broken but sincere.

Vi strokes your hair, her other hand gently squeezing yours. "I’m not going anywhere, little doe," she says affectionately, kissing your forehead, tasting the salty remnants of your sweat.

You remain in her arms a moment longer, allowing yourself to rest, letting her strength hold you as you regain your own. Gradually, the panic fades, leaving only exhaustion and the certainty that Vi will always be by your side, no matter how dark the nights may get.

Caitlyn Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

The silence in the apartment is deafening. The only sound that breaks the stillness is the relentless ticking of the wall clock, its rhythm echoing in your ears like a hammer. You’re in the kitchen, eyes fixed on the glasses you’ve meticulously arranged in the cupboard. Each glass must be perfectly spaced, each one aligned to the exact same level. Symmetry isn’t just a preference—it’s a necessity. If something is out of place, you feel as though the whole world could collapse.

Your breathing is uneven, your chest rising and falling in quick succession. "One, two, three..." you murmur to yourself, counting each movement. Your hands tremble, but you can’t stop. You can’t stop. If you do, something terrible will happen. You don’t know what, but the certainty that it will be catastrophic clings to you like a shadow.

Caitlyn enters the apartment after a long day at work. Her expression shifts instantly when she sees you in the kitchen, trapped in your own ritual. She stops in the doorway, watching you with a mix of concern and sadness. It’s not the first time she’s found you like this, but each time, it hurts her as though it were.

"Darling?" Her voice is soft, as if afraid to shatter you. She steps closer, carefully setting her hat down on the table. "What are you doing?"

You don’t answer at first, your eyes still fixed on the glasses. "Almost done... just a few more minutes," you whisper, your voice trembling. You can’t stop. Every glass moved, every small adjustment is a battle between reason and irrational fear.

Caitlyn stops beside you, her eyes scanning the scene, seeing the perfect pattern you’ve created. "You don’t have to do this," she says gently, yet firmly.

Your hands freeze for a moment, but the urge to continue is too strong. "You don’t understand... if I don’t do it right, if they’re not perfectly aligned, something bad is going to happen." Tears begin to well up in your eyes, the pressure in your chest intensifying. "I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, but it’s like my mind... it can’t stop."

Caitlyn takes a deep breath, her hand reaching out to touch your shoulder delicately. "You’re not crazy," she says, locking eyes with you. "I know this is hard, that your mind doesn’t give you peace. But you don’t have to face it alone. Let me help you."

You turn to look at her, your eyes filled with desperation. "I can’t stop, Cait. If I do, I feel like everything will fall apart. I can’t control what’s happening inside my head."

Caitlyn nods slowly, her gaze unwavering from yours. "I know, darling. And I know this won’t be fixed in a day. But I’m here, and I’m going to stay by your side. We’ll face it together."

Her words anchor you, a beacon in the storm that is your mind. Slowly, almost against your will, your hands begin to lower, moving away from the glasses. The fear is still there, a current running just beneath the surface, threatening to overwhelm you, but Caitlyn is beside you, her presence a reminder that you’re not alone.

"Breathe with me," she says, her voice soft and steady. "Inhale... exhale... together."

You follow her instructions, though your lungs seem to resist, full of anxiety. Caitlyn guides you, her hand never leaving your shoulder. "See? We’re doing it! You’re doing it!" She encourages, kissing your neck when she notices you’ve looked away from the glasses for five seconds. It was only five seconds, but Caitlyn knew it was a huge accomplishment, and she celebrated it.

You let out a small sigh, the tension in your muscles easing slightly. Your hands travel to Caitlyn’s waist, moving her so the glasses are no longer in your line of sight. You let your head fall against her chest, breathing in her scent. It’s so much better, especially when you start counting the beats of her heart.

"How brave my wonderful and glorious girlfriend is. I’m so proud of you," she whispered, her fingers weaving through your hair as she praised you.

"Cait, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me," you whisper against her warm chest, unwilling to leave that comforting refuge.

Caitlyn chuckles softly, and it feels like music to your ears.

"I feel the same way, darling," Caitlyn replied, gently swaying your bodies from side to side in a small rhythm.

You know that your compulsions won’t disappear, that the need for control will remain, but with Caitlyn, you feel like you can face it one day at a time.

Jayce Narcissistic Personality Disorder

The mirror in your room is your judge, jury, and executioner. Every imperfection is a sentence, every flaw a conviction. You spend hours in front of it, adjusting, retouching, trying to reach a perfection that always seems to slip through your fingers. Your heart beats fast, not from excitement, but from the constant fear that the world will see the cracks beneath your flawless facade.

Jayce enters quietly, his presence comforting and, at the same time, a threat. What will he think? Does he notice the imperfections you see? He steps closer, his gaze soft, but you feel the weight of his eyes as if he's scrutinizing every flaw.

"Love, it's late. Come to bed," he says in a calm voice, trying to distract you from your self-destructive spiral.

"Just one more moment," you reply without looking at him, your focus still on the mirror, searching for symmetry in your features, perfection in the unattainable.

Jayce sits on the edge of the bed, watching you. "You've been here for hours. You don't have to do this. You're beautiful just as you are."

His statement, though well-intentioned, feels like a white lie. "You don’t understand, Jayce," you murmur, your voice trembling with suppressed frustration. "If I’m not perfect, I’m nobody. I can’t let them see my flaws. I can't let… you see them."

Jayce stands, walking toward you carefully, as if approaching a flickering flame. "You don’t have to be perfect to be loved," he says, his words a whisper in the storm raging in your mind. "You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to me."

Your gaze finally meets his through the reflection. Tears fight their way out, but you can't allow such weakness. "It's not that simple," you whisper. "Every day, every look, every word, it’s all a test. And if I fail…"

Jayce places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes filled with compassion and infinite patience. "If you fail, I’ll be here to lift you up."

"And what if I’m not enough?" The question slips out before you can stop it, the insecurity behind your narcissism showing in all its rawness. "What if one day you realize you deserve something better?"

Jayce leans in, his forehead touching yours, a gesture so intimate it almost breaks you. "I deserve someone who loves me for who I am, not for what I pretend to be. And that’s exactly what you are to me. I don’t have impossible expectations of you. I just want you to be happy, to find peace in who you are."

The internal struggle within you is fierce. The fear of rejection, the desire for perfection, the need to be seen and admired, all mix together in a whirlwind that consumes you. But in Jayce's arms, for a moment, the noise silences. His love is not a chain, but a refuge, one that offers rest if only you can let yourself fall into it.

"How can you be so sure?" you ask, your voice broken but curious.

"Because I love you," he answers without hesitation. "And love isn’t about waiting for perfection. It’s about accepting every part of you, even the ones you think are flaws."

The tears finally make their way out, releasing something within you that has been held back for so long. Jayce holds you as you cry, whispering words of comfort, letting all the pressure, fear, and anguish flow out of you.

"You’re perfect," you whisper, your voice cracked but full of sincerity. In your mind, Jayce is the epitome of everything you don’t believe you are: strong, confident, unshakable.

Jayce smiles softly, his hand caressing your cheek, wiping away the tears still falling. "No, I’m just a man in love. A man who loves you madly." His voice is warm, filled with a tenderness that disarms you. "Why don’t you show me that precious smile of yours? Please, it would make me so happy."

His sweet words touch your heart, and the corners of your lips stretch on their own, forming a sad smile.

"Gorgeous," Jayce murmured, caressing your lips with his strong, calloused fingers.

"Flatterer," you reply with a more elaborate smile, your eyes still wet, but now with a different shine, one that reflects the spark of hope he’s ignited in you.

"I’m just stating facts. I’m a scientist, honey, so I can tell you that, from my perspective, it’s scientifically proven that you’re gorgeous," he commented wryly, a wit that made you laugh.

Jayce smiled and kissed your forehead, holding you firmly in his arms. Finally, you feel like you can breathe, like air is filling your lungs again without that constant weight on your chest.

Ekko Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)

The room is silent except for the soft hum of music playing in the background, but your mind cannot stop racing. Your thoughts scatter like arrows shot in every direction. You try to focus on something, anything, but it feels as though your brain is in a constant battle between the ideas that come and go. The light from the lamp flickers irregularly, and for a moment, you wonder if the bulb is about to explode. This makes no sense, you know that, but the unease lingers.

You quickly get up from the bed, taking a misstep, tripping over a chair you hadn’t seen, barely avoiding it. Your heart races. Everything is a series of chaotic jumps in your head, an endless torrent of thoughts that can’t follow a single path. You look at the desk, with papers scattered about—unfinished projects, ideas you can’t ground. Everything calls to you, but you can’t focus on anything.

Your hands tremble slightly as you grab the pen and begin to write down an idea that came to you, but before you finish the sentence, a new image flashes in your mind. You stop, leaving the pen on the desk and staring out the window. Something about the glow of the stars makes you think of something else. You can’t concentrate. Everything distracts you, even the small noises you used to never notice. It’s so annoying.

Suddenly, you feel the stress begin to accumulate in your shoulders. It’s not just the lack of concentration; it’s the sense of constantly running toward something without ever arriving. You try to finish a task, but more and more thoughts pile up, projects, things that need doing. Everything seems urgent, and nothing seems possible to complete. Anxiety settles in your chest.

You’re about to get up again when you hear the sound of the door opening behind you. Ekko enters the room, his calming presence is the only thing that makes you stop for a moment. He watches you in silence for a few seconds, noticing the frenzy of your movements. You hadn’t realized, but your breathing is irregular, and you’ve gotten up twice without purpose. Something isn’t right.

He watches you quietly, understanding the internal struggle you’re facing. He knows what this means, what it costs you every day.

“What’s going on? Why are you so worked up?” he asks, his voice soft but with enough authority to make you stop and listen.

Your eyes focus on a fixed point, but you can’t find the words to explain what you’re feeling. You don’t know how to put into words what’s happening. It’s like you’re trapped in a cycle of thoughts that never stop.

“My mind... it doesn’t stop moving,” you finally manage to say, almost in a whisper. “Every time I try to do something, it’s like something else distracts me. Nothing stays. Everything slips away.”

Ekko watches you silently for a moment, understanding the fight you’re facing. He knows exactly what this feels like.

“I get it, babe,” he responds, his tone firm but gentle. “I know your mind’s all over the place right now, but I promise we can do this one step at a time. We’ll focus on one thing at a time, no pressure. Sound good?”

The fact that Ekko is offering to be there, without judgment, brings you relief. You know that the impulsiveness you feel, the urge to move without a plan, is something that consumes you. Your mind jumps from one thought to another, and each of those thoughts feels like an urgent need, an immediate necessity. But at the same time, nothing makes sense. Everything is scattered and out of control.

“It’s just that...” your words fade into the air, unable to be completed. You feel trapped in your own body, in your own brain. You can’t stop, but you can’t move forward either.

Ekko gently places a hand on your shoulder, his touch calming. “How can we start?” he asks sincerely, not rushing you. “Tell me what you need.”

For a moment, everything seems to stop. The flood of thoughts quiets down, and for the first time in a long while, you can think clearly, even if it’s just for an instant. It’s not about having everything figured out right away; it’s about feeling that someone is there, willing to stand by you while you navigate through the mental whirlwind.

“I just... I don’t know how to do it without jumping from one thing to another,” you murmur, frustration and shame creeping into your voice. “I feel like everything’s overwhelming, and I can’t focus on anything.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Ekko replies, his tone calm and direct. “First, breathe. The first step is to breathe, and then we can start with just one thing. The rest can wait.”

You close your eyes for a moment and follow his words. You breathe deeply, slowly, trying to find the balance that always seems so hard to reach. Ekko is there, not rushing you, waiting for your mind to settle. With his help, little by little, you manage to focus on one small task, one that’s manageable enough not to overwhelm you. It’s just one step, but it’s a step toward calm.

“You don’t have to do it all right now,” Ekko says softly. “What matters is that you’re not alone in this. We’ll go step by step.”

You feel the knot in your stomach loosening, even though there’s still much to do. But at this moment, with him by your side, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you can find a way toward a little peace.

After hours of work and soft laughter, you’re sitting on the floor, with Ekko beside you, both looking at the pieces left to place in a puzzle. It’s almost complete, the pieces fitting perfectly, and though the hours have flown by, you feel lighter, the atmosphere quieter.

“One more,” Ekko says with a smile, holding up a piece in the air. He passes it to you, and together, you place it in its spot, completing the picture. The puzzle is done, and though it’s a small accomplishment, it feels more meaningful than it seems. Not just because of what you’ve completed, but because you’ve managed to feel centered, accompanied.

When you look at the drawing you had left unfinished, now finally complete, you feel a deep sense of satisfaction. Ekko helped bring to life the image that only existed in your mind, his hands working alongside yours, following every line with care.

“You did it,” Ekko says, his eyes shining with pride. “My girl is incredible.” He pulled you into his lap and kissed your forehead.

You look at him, your heart beating a little faster. The fatigue of the afternoon washes over you, but you don’t care. All that matters is that he’s here, by your side, and that, for once, you feel at peace. The air feels lighter, as if the space between you two has been reduced, softened by the stillness of the moment.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your words barely a whisper, but full of gratitude.

Ekko turns toward you, his expression softening. “Don’t thank me. Thank yourself. You’re the one who made it happen, not me.”

The way he looks at you, the way his presence has become part of your space, makes you smile. And, in a moment of impulse, without thinking too much about it, you move a little closer. He seems to understand it instantly, and before you can second-guess yourself, his lips brush against yours. It’s a soft kiss, no rush, no urgency, just a moment where words aren’t needed.

When you pull away, both of you stay there, looking at each other, the air between you charged with something that doesn’t need to be named. Ekko smiles, his eyes sparkling with that glint that makes you feel as though everything is right, as if the world, for a moment, is in its place.

“Everything’s okay now,” Ekko says softly, filling you with calm.

And in that instant, you believe him.

Silco Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)

The air in Silco's office is thick with tension, as always. The sound of the bustling city echoes through the glass windows, but inside, everything is still, almost as rigid as the gaze Silco fixes on you. You're sitting across from him, feeling a familiar dizziness, as if everything is out of control and, at the same time, you're trapped in an empty space. A mix of confusion and anxiety courses through every fiber of your being.

Your hands tremble slightly, and although you try to control your breathing, each inhalation seems to sink you further into the internal chaos. The voices in your head blend together, demanding answers, claiming something you can't give. Silco watches you calmly, but it's a cold, calculated calm, as if everything that's going on inside you is a game he knows how to play.

You feel the emptiness consuming you, and yet an unbearable pressure weighs on your chest. Your mind betrays you, throwing destructive thoughts at you, telling you you're worthless, that everything you do is doomed to fail. The contradiction is overwhelming: on one hand, you feel lost, and on the other, you refuse to give in to the feeling of helplessness.

"Are you alright?" Silco asks, his voice low and steady, but there's a slight intensity in his tone. He doesn't break eye contact, as if he's evaluating every micro-expression on your face, every movement. He knows you're not, but still, he asks. Is it a test? A need to know how far you can go? The silence stretches on, and your thoughts only intensify.

The urge to stand up and run from it all is strong. Everything in you screams to follow your impulses, to escape, to flee from the overwhelming weight of it all. But you stay there, because something in you knows that running will only plunge you deeper into the darkness you're feeling inside. You see yourself fighting, trying to maintain control, but every second makes you feel more lost.

"I'm sorry... I don't know what's happening to me," you whisper, your voice broken, struggling against the avalanche of emotions threatening to drown you. You feel the tears pressing behind your eyes, but you force yourself to keep composure. "It's just... it's all so intense. So confusing."

Silco keeps watching you in silence. There's no judgment in his gaze, only a calculated assessment, as if he's reading between the lines of your suffering. After a long moment, he sighs and stands up from his chair, approaching you slowly. It's not a sudden gesture, but calm, as if he's used to dealing with people who struggle with their own minds. He says nothing, but his presence is the only thing anchoring you in this moment.

With one hand, he takes yours. The contact is firm, but not aggressive, as if he's giving you space to breathe, but also space to not escape. In his eyes, something changes. There's an understanding that you can't fully decipher, but it fills you with a strange sensation, like, for the first time in a long time, you're not alone in the storm raging inside you.

"Your mind is betraying you," Silco says calmly, his voice soft but full of an authority that makes you feel that everything happening has a purpose. "It's an enemy that everyone must face at some point. But you don't have to face it alone."

The words fall on you like a stone, but strangely, they allow you to relax, even if only for a moment. The internal chaos you've always felt halts for an instant. And in that silence, you're finally able to breathe.

"All of this... this emptiness, the feeling that nothing matters, it's not your fault," Silco continues, his tone firm, though not without a strange gentleness. "It's just a phase, a moment that will pass. But you need to control it. Not let it take over you."

You feel vulnerable, but at the same time, a part of you relaxes in his closeness. Silco doesn't tell you that it's okay, nor does he promise easy solutions. He speaks to you with reality, with that harshness that you know comes from someone who understands suffering, but who doesn't have time to sugarcoat the truth.

"What you're feeling is real, but it's also transient. Not everything is as final as you think," he adds, his gaze fixed on yours with intensity. "You can be stronger than this."

The words resonate in your mind as you take a deep breath. You don't know if you fully believe them, but for some reason, in this moment, the darkness feels less imposing. You're not completely free of it, but at least you feel you're not entirely alone. Silco is here, firm and without judgment, waiting for you to take control of your own mind, without expecting you to do it immediately, but giving you the possibility to believe that you'll manage.

The pressure in your chest doesn't disappear completely, but a small crack of calm starts to open within you. And though you know your inner struggles won't end immediately, for the first time in a long while, you don't feel as lost. Silco looks at you one last time, without haste, but with a silent certainty.

"When you're ready, you can get out of this. I'll be here."

You're surprised by how firm his voice sounds, as if, by saying it, he's committed to being a constant presence. And although you don't fully understand how he does it, you realize that, in this moment, his steadiness helps you more than any empty words of comfort.

The world continues around you, but somehow, Silco has given you the strength to face it.

The silence between you and Silco lingers for a moment, but it's no longer the same silence as before. There's a strange peace, almost comforting, in the way he holds you, in the closeness you now feel between you both. The contact of his hand, firm and steady, gives you an anchor amidst the storm that still rages inside you.

A sigh escapes your lips without you noticing, and for a moment, it's not one of despair, but of relief. Silco, still keeping his gaze fixed on you, takes one more step closer. It's not a quick or rushed step, but a calculated one, as if he's sure that, in this moment, the only thing you need is that closeness, that calm presence.

Without saying anything, his fingers gently caress your cheek, a soft gesture that cuts through you. There's a tenderness in his movements that you hadn't anticipated, something that seems in complete contradiction with the person you know, but that, in this moment, comforts you more than any words. You feel vulnerable, but you don't fear it, not now.

Your breathing gradually calms, and Silco, silently, moves a little closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body. The space between you is almost nonexistent now, and you can feel his breath in rhythm with yours. There's something in his presence that soothes you, that gives you the feeling that everything will be okay, even though it still feels hard to believe.

Finally, his lips come close to yours with an unexpected softness. It's not a hasty or desperate kiss, but something slower, more measured. The brush of his lips against yours is so gentle that it surprises you, as if he's waiting for you to accept it, for you to be ready. And you are. Though your mind is still filled with doubts and fears, something inside you tells you that this is the moment you can allow yourself to be vulnerable, that you can receive something that won't hurt you.

The kiss deepens slowly, and in that instant, the world seems to fade away around you. All that remains is the warmth of his body, the firmness of his arms around you, and the gentle contact of his lips, like a silent promise that, even though the future is uncertain, for a moment, everything is alright.

When you finally pull away, no words are needed. Silco looks at you with an intensity you've never seen before, but in his eyes, there's something more, something you can't describe, something that makes you feel that, despite everything you've been through, you're not alone.

"I told you you were strong," he whispers, his voice deep and soft at the same time.

And for a moment, everything seems enough.

Mel Chronic Stress Disorder

The atmosphere is thick with tension, but it's a different kind of tension. It's a quiet calm, yet at the same time, it is filled with the constant threat of what could happen. You’re there, in one of the rooms of the mansion, sitting on a chair by the window, gazing out at the illuminated city, but unable to really see anything. The world around you seems to blur, as if a layer of fog has settled over your senses, blurring every detail and leaving only the emptiness of your thoughts.

Mel, who has been watching your behavior for the past few minutes, approaches with a palpable gentleness in her movements. Her presence is firm, but not intrusive. From a distance, she’s observed how the symptoms of your chronic stress have taken over you, how anxiety and mental exhaustion have combined to make you feel beyond your limits.

She crouches slightly to be at your level, her eyes fixed on yours, searching for your attention. “I notice you’re not yourself, and I know it’s because the weight of everything has piled up,” she says in a low voice, her tone soft yet firm. “But I want you to listen. You have the right to rest. You don’t have to carry the world, not all the time.”

Despite her words, you feel a pressure in your chest that won’t ease. Everything feels too big, too heavy. Chronic stress consumes you, leaving your thoughts tangled while your body responds with a deep exhaustion that doesn’t seem to go away no matter what you do.

Mel, noticing the internal struggle that consumes you, steps closer and, without warning, places a firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not a gesture of force, but of support. A sign that she’s here, silently, but available to help you find the balance you need.

“Your body is telling you it needs to stop,” she continues, with a softness that’s hard to deny. “Those moments of despair, of exhaustion... they’re real. But you don’t have to go through it alone, no matter how much you think you can.”

The contact of her hand on you, her quiet strength, begins to offer some relief. Even though the weight still lingers, something in you relaxes. It’s as if her words offer you a rope to hold onto, something tangible in the fog that seems to surround your mind.

You lean forward, your fingers briefly touching your forehead as you try to calm the agitation still coursing through you. The stress, that constant pressure in your life, seems unwilling to let go of you, but at least in this moment, with Mel by your side, you can breathe a little more deeply.

“I’ll be here,” Mel whispers, like an unbreakable promise. “If you need to rest, I’ll help you find peace. You don’t have to go on alone.”

For the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to think that, maybe, it’s possible to let go of some of that burden. Mel’s voice, soft yet full of certainty, is a refuge in the midst of the chaos in your mind.

Mel doesn’t expect you to feel guilty for your exhaustion. She doesn’t demand that you change or “overcome” your chronic stress overnight. She only gives you space to feel what you need to feel and to acknowledge that, even though the road may be long, you don’t have to walk it alone.

When your eyes lift and meet hers, there’s something in your gaze that softens. The stress doesn’t vanish immediately, but the simple fact that someone understands you, that someone is staying with you without judging, gives you something you didn’t have before: the possibility of healing.

The silence between you both is comfortable. It’s a silence of acceptance and understanding. And as Mel remains by your side, her presence becomes something that offers comfort, not an immediate solution, but a step toward the calm you so desperately need.

After a long silence, Mel slowly approaches you, and her eyes, filled with softness and understanding, capture you. She takes your hand, with a delicacy that makes you feel lighter, as if the weight of your mind could lessen just with that contact.

“You know, right?” she whispers, her voice gentle but firm. “I’ve seen you fight, and still, you’re here, being so incredible. And to me, that’s what really matters. Not everything you’ve been through, but who you are now.”

The sparkle in her eyes makes you blush slightly, and your heart beats a little faster.

“Mel...” you whisper, barely able to find the words, feeling your nerves breaking. “I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

She smiles, moving closer. “I’m here, for whatever you need, for anything, always.”

Without saying another word, Mel gently caresses your cheek, as if every movement is a silent promise. Then, you see her lean in toward you, her face so close to yours that you can feel the brush of her breath.

“You’re my refuge, you know that, right?” Mel says, with sincerity that runs deep within you.

And without another word, her lips find yours, in a tender, almost urgent kiss, as if she wanted to convey everything she couldn’t with words. When she pulls away, her eyes shine with an unmistakable softness.

“I love you, with all my being. And that won’t change.”

You shiver slightly at her words, but instead of insecurity, you find comfort. Her eyes transmit calm to you, and for the first time, you realize that she’s willing to be the peace you so need.

Sevika Bipolar Disorder

The darkness surrounds you, but it’s not physical darkness; it’s something denser, creeping through every corner of your mind. It’s one of those days. You don’t know for sure, but you feel it deep in your gut: something has changed. There’s a void in your chest that you don’t know how to fill, and a sensation in your stomach that twists you up. You’ve been through this before. The bipolar disorder drags you, takes you as its own without warning, pushing you from one extreme to the other in a matter of hours, minutes.

You wake up feeling the weight of sadness, a sadness that feels physical, sinking you into the mattress as if the sheets were lead. You don’t want to move, think, or do anything. You just feel empty, as if all your strength has evaporated. The room seems smaller, the walls pressing in on you. Your legs don’t respond when you try to get up. A knot forms in your throat, but the tears won’t come. There’s no energy for that, just the weight of despair.

You don’t see her enter. Her presence is silent, but solid. Sevika knows something is wrong, she feels it even before you tell her. When you look at her, her expression doesn’t change, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you feel that the situation is serious. There’s no surprise, no fear, just a cold, calculating understanding. Sevika isn’t one to lose her calm easily. And that makes you even more confused, making you feel like you don’t belong in that moment, like you’re not the person she expects to see.

“What’s going on?” she asks, not softening anything. The question isn’t condescending, nor filled with concern. It’s direct, almost harsh, she doesn’t beat around the bush. She knows that, when you’re like this, empty words don’t help.

You struggle to form a response. You can’t, really. Your thoughts are tangled in an incomprehensible chaos. But she doesn’t expect you to explain anything. Sevika approaches, sits on the edge of the bed. Her gaze never leaves you, as if she’s evaluating your soul, searching for a point of vulnerability, a sign of what to do next. She has the ability to see beyond your emotions, beyond the depression that consumes you and the anxiety that makes you tremble. She knows that right now there’s nothing rational in your mind, but understanding is her only response. Patience mixes with a slight touch of toughness, as she always does with things she can’t control.

“You’re staying here. You’re not going to do anything impulsive. You’re not going to try to run out of here or make this worse,” she says with a calm coldness that leaves no room for objection. You know that, in this moment, she’s the only voice of reason you can hear.

You’re aware that Sevika is used to dealing with extreme situations, but this one is different. She watches you closely, but from a distance, as if she’s weighing the damage, calculating what she can do to keep you safe. You don’t see fear in her, but you see resolve. She doesn’t switch into “rescuer mode,” she doesn’t try to hug you or tell you that everything will be fine. What she says, she says with authority because she knows that if she gives in, chaos will take control, and everything she’s worked to keep stable will fall apart.

In the internal struggle between your broken mind and the anger that begins to build up inside of you, Sevika is the rock that keeps you from diving into the void. But she also knows she can’t ignore your emotions. Her expression hardens slightly when she realizes there’s something more going on. “I’m telling you this because you know it, not because I need to explain it to you,” she whispers, making it clear that there’s no room for games.

When you finally speak, it’s in whispers, as if your words have weight and could break you. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m... I’m so tired of this constant back and forth. I can’t handle it.”

Sevika doesn’t change her posture. She doesn’t tell you that she’s going to “fix” you, nor does she try to cure you. She knows that what you have doesn’t have an easy fix, but she does have tools to deal with the situation. “You don’t need to fix anything right now. You need to rest. Let what’s going to happen, happen, but don’t make decisions you’ll regret later. Do you understand me?” her voice is firm, but underneath there’s something else, a touch of softness she rarely shows.

The air in the room is heavy, laden with the weight of your thoughts, like a fog that prevents you from seeing beyond. Sevika is there, watching you with the same intensity as always, but with an odd calm, a calm that scares you because it makes you feel like she sees it all: the chaos consuming you, the internal battle between despair and rage.

“I don’t want this to control me. I don’t want to be like this,” you murmur, the words coming out broken. You know you’re saying it more to yourself than to her, but still, the guilt pierces your chest like invisible needles. You feel like you’re not being who she expects.

Sevika stays silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on you. There’s something in her face, a line of tension in her jaw, as if she’s weighing every word before speaking. Finally, she gets a little closer, breaking the distance between your bodies.

“It’s not about what you expect from yourself. It’s about what you need right now. And what you need right now is rest, stop fighting against something you can’t control.”

Your eyes search hers, those eyes that always seem to understand more than you can verbalize. And, somehow, you feel that there’s no judgment in them, just a silent acceptance of what you’re going through. It’s strange. In the middle of the storm in your mind, Sevika gives you the feeling of being the only anchor left in your world.

Suddenly, she stretches out a hand toward you, not rushing, not in a hurry, but with the firmness that characterizes her. You take it without thinking, as if it’s the only thing that can stop the flood of erratic thoughts flooding your mind. Her touch is warm, comforting. There’s a strength in that simple gesture, something that allows you to relax, even if just for a second.

“I’m going to take care of you, understand?” she whispers, her voice low, barely a breath. There are no empty promises in her words, just a statement of fact. But in her tone, you find a softness that she rarely shows. It’s like, for a brief moment, her heart opens a little more, even if she doesn’t fully recognize it.

The moment stretches on, and even though the storm in your mind hasn’t ceased, there’s something in you that feels a little lighter. Sevika doesn’t have the solution to your pain, but her presence, her closeness, gives you a peace you never even imagined.

Without thinking, you move a little closer to her, seeking that warmth. Her fingers interlace with yours, and for the first time all day, you don’t feel completely broken. Sevika has never promised you a happy ending, but in this moment, you don’t need one. The simple fact of being here, of having her close, gives you a reason to keep going, even if just for a little while longer.

“I love you,” you say without thinking, and the words come out with a clarity that surprises you. It’s not a grand declaration, it’s not a promise that everything will be okay, but it’s something real, something you never thought you could say to anyone before.

“I love you too, doll,” she responds with a half-smile, though her eyes seem softer than ever. And, for a second, the world seems to stop. The anxiety, the disorder in your head, dissipate, if only for a brief moment.

She leans in a little toward you, and in that instant, all that matters is the touch of her lips on your forehead, a simple gesture but filled with affection. The silence between you both is comfortable, no pressure, just the comfort of being together, knowing that, even if the world around you falls apart, Sevika will be the one to keep you steady.

[cerisahh]

summary — love language headcanons for the arcane characters (giving and receiving)

characters included — jinx, ekko, silco, vander, viktor

cerisa speaks — literally started writing this the night of s2 act 3 release and only now finishing it if that doesn't tell you something about how inconsistent i am idk what does. ATTENTION PEOPLE IN MY REQUESTS!! i swear to god i will do your request in the next year for sure! viktor forgive me, amen.

jinx — gift giving. jinx's most loyal companion is her imagination so it isn't hard for her to think of gifts that are personal to you that'd you'd enjoy.

we see many of the little homemade trinkets that she's made for silco throughout the years, my favourite being the ashtray he keeps on the desk in his office. so dependant on what you're into, she'll showcase her love for you in the form of a trinket.

oh, so you like to read? she sees you dog-earing a page of your book whilst you two are in her hangout and drops her current project to fashion you a bookmark. you only notice that her tinkering has stopped when the bookmark has been dropped on your lap and she's made a blasé comment about you destroying your book for too long so she just had to make you this so you'd stop.

hiding behind a mask of indifference when giving out her gifts is kind of her thing, but she's anxious to no end to see if you like it. her mind runs a mile a minute; 'don't they like it? do the colours not match? they hate it they hate it theyhateittheyhateittheyhateme-'

until you're holding it carefully between your fingers and your mouth is making that 'o' shape it does when something unexpected has happened. when you say that it's the most thoughtful gift you've ever received she's insistent on making you a hundred more.

physical touch. stop booing me i'm right! let me explain. as we see before powder becomes jinx, she's quite normal with physical contact, we see vi hugging her, putting a hand on her shoulder, claggor helping her down to the apartment, etc.

it's after vi slaps and abandons her that she becomes uncomfortable with physical touch. silco (most of the time) lets her initiate it on her own terms.

one time he doesn't is where she's playing airplane with his shimmer device and he grabs her wrist. she lets him retain his grip for a moment but when she does move her arm away he doesn't follow her. through my own delusions i've come to the conclusion that jinx wants, maybe even craves physical comfort, but quickly feels smothered by it when it's forced on her.

despite this, with the right person i feel like she would be willing to accept physical affection from them. it would take time to establish and develop a trusting relationship with jinx but when you're there, you're there. she's also a deeply insecure person when it comes to relationships of any kind and retaining them so you'll have to slip in some words of affirmation between touches.

her favourite way to receive physical touch would for sure be you playing with her hair. running your fingers through it and scratching her scalp? congratulations, that's your new job. you mention off the cuff how you'd love to see her hair down? suddenly there's a brush in your hands and an expectant and giddy jinx sitting in front of you.

even though she trusts you, she'll still get startled and tense up if you suffocate her with too much affection. holding your arms out for a hug or patting the seat next to you so she can lean into your arms is a much better way to initiate contact with her.

a little extra headcanon, when she's doing your nails she'll use her own hands to hold your fingers still instead of a wrist rest. she says it keeps them steadier so she doesn't make any mistakes but really she craves that subtle contact.

ekko — acts of service. season two episode seven dictates this as canon i'll be taking no arguments on this day. seeing his huge mural of future vi to show powder after he upsets her really just cements this headcanon. this is a pretty big action so i'll focus on the smaller ones for now.

starting off really strong with him decorating your room for you. close your eyes and imagine him building you a shelf to store your books or keepsakes. not only building it but carving designs into it. ohh you like music? well take a look at those carvings of sheet music! and do you spy some new books in your collection (stolen from a piltover library, naturally)

with so many different types of people living at the tree, at the beginning he was pretty much forced to learn how to cook all different types of meals. it paid off though because no matter where you hail from, he'll be able to prepare you any of your favourite dishes.

the more i type about ekko the more i realise he is the best househusband out of the arcane gang. he can cook, he can clean, he's a provider - he is quite literally the entire package. him being a certified pretty boy also helps because everyone needs a little eye candy in their life.

this one is sickeningly sweet but for relationship milestones, and even just randomly, ekko will fully plan out a date night for the two of you. picnics on the top of buildings that overlook the neon lights of the undercity, just the two of you. it's so intimate.

physical touch. now this i truly will be taking no arguments on. receiving physical affection for ekko is huge. we all saw how fast he hugged benzo in the alternate au!!

with so many people from his early life either dying (benzo, vander, claggor, mylo) or leaving (jinx and vi), ekko hasn't really had anyone to offer him any form of closeness. sure, he has the firelights. it just isn't the same though.

so when you come along with all the tender hugs and fond touches that he's been deprived of for so long he knows he's done for. consider him addicted. even just clapping a hand on his shoulder after a fight, hell, LEANING ON HIM?? that man is YOURS to command for now until the end.

knowing you're just physically there and not going anywhere - not abandoning him - he's content to bask in your presence.

quick kisses and brief glances at each other come in abundance. if you're not at the firelights base then you're on the go. it's these times that make you both appreciate the time you have with each other. ekko plans to take full advantage of the downtime you both have between missions. don't expect to stray a few feet from each other.

silco — acts of service. silco's acts of service are usually communicated through orders that he gives his goons. say you offhandedly mention that some shimmer addicts have set up camp in the alley next to your apartment. when you leave the last drop and go home you notice that those shimmer addicts you briefly complained about? gone. without a trace.

i feel like he prefers to give out acts of service to you as a kind of 'i can provide for you, don't leave' kind of thing. you don't need to ask silco to do something, he'll take the initiative. he wants you to view him as a reliable provider. this sounds very 50s but he's an old fashioned kind of guy so it checks out.

not the kind of guy to do chores at the start i'm afraid. he has people for that. maybe you can convince him to wash the dishes after you cook you, him and jinx a meal. but never and i mean NEVER will you catch this man hoovering or mopping the floor. that is just simply not going to fucking happen. you'd have better luck asking him to quit smoking.

not gonna lie he just lightens the load of whatever jobs you need to do so you can spend more time together. the famed eye of zaun is clingy.

physical touch. actually controversial take no way CHILLS! similarly to jinx, silco wouldn't actively look for physical touch in any given situation. he's obviously traumatised by his former best friend choking him out and drowning him underwater. not to mention completely brutalising his eye.

jinx is likely the only person he would willingly let touch him. not even sevika on a good day gets that privilege. you would need to spend a lot of time gaining silco's undying trust. only when you two are emotionally close will you be able to share his touch.

buying you jewellery just so he can feel the warmth of your body heat as he clasps the necklace around you neck. silco is very subtle and sneaky when he wants to be close to you.

his neck is off limits to everyone, even you. placing your hand on his collarbone whilst entangled in bed together is the furthest you'll get.

vander — physical touch. oh i just know this man gives the best bear hugs. physical intimacy with vander is just safety incarnate. when he takes you into his arms it really feels like a breath of topside air after a lifetime underground.

i don't think vander would really like being with a partner that didn't enjoy physical affection. it's not only a bonding experience for the both of you to engage in but also a display of trust that he deeply values.

conveying his love for you with intimacy, non-sexual and sexual is something he cherishes. the level of mutual understanding and relationship building that comes with it is indispensable to vander. basically the keys to a successful partnership with him.

that little symbol of love in the undercity where two people touch their foreheads together? that's the most significant way you can show that you truly care for someone and it's vander's favourite way to connect with you in moments of peace.

words of affirmation. vander is the type of guy to not necessarily need words of affirmation to feel good about himself but will appreciate it all the same. he tries so hard to be a good example to the kids and in general to the populace of the undercity. he wants this life to be better. he wants to be better.

he's the leader, the protector, all the pressure is on him. affirming his efforts through words goes further than you might think.

it's you and him against the world. the brewing political storm that plagues both the undercity and piltover is little more than a distant thought when you're whispering honeyed words to and fro in the dead of night. for a man with such an imposing presence, telling him that you love and need him makes him weak.

with your words of affirmation, he's more certain of his role in the undercity than he's ever been. you renew the passion he had in youth, he wants the best for you and will do whatever he can to obtain it.

viktor — quality time. viktor is all about sharing the same space as his partner. with him being the co-founder of hextech, it's difficult for him to find time alone to dote on you. which is why you''ll often find yourself in the company of viktor (and oftentimes jayce) in their lab, them working on a new use for hextech, and yourself either studying or simply watching the magic (literally) happen.

when jayce is off being the poster child of hextech or following councillor medarda around like a lost puppy, you and viktor will settle into comfortable silences. usually with the only noise being the tinkering of science equipment or the quick scribbles of pen on paper. there's no pressure to fill the room with unnecessary chattering. just you being with him is enough. your presence is akin to a relaxant to him.

sometimes most of the time you'll need to remind him to take breaks when you've been there for hours on end and he's showing no signs of stopping or slowing down. it's a practised routine at this point; he refuses, you leave it alone for five minutes, during this time he is sneaking glances at you when he thinks you aren't looking, waiting for you to ask again.

when you do, he feigns reluctance as you grab his hand to get you both some fresh air and a proper meal. he might actually be part cat now that i'm thinking about it. he just can't help but love spending time with you.

words of affirmation. actions speak louder than words? pft, yeah right. communication is deeply valued by viktor. he's exceptional at deducing someone's intentions behind their words so don't even bother trying to get something by him. it won't work. you try to plan surprise birthday party for him? he's one of the first people to find out about it.

so when you earnestly tell him how special he is to you or how appreciative you are of him, he knows it's 100% what you actually think and BOY does that fluster him more than anything.

he isn't very big on compliments, not that he doesn't value the ones you so willingly give him, but he finds it hard to accept the good and beauty you see in him. there will always be a part of viktor, machine herald or mortal man, that refuses to believe he could be good enough for this type of love. when he retracts inside his mind and lets his doubt drown him, it's you who can pull him out of the water and onto land. telling him that you love him just the way he is will silence his uncertainty.

oh you know what would just about finish him off? making him a lunch box and putting a note in there. it doesn't having to be something poetic, even a simple 'i love you ♡' will be at the forefront of his mind until he gets back home to you.

honestly, if you're someone who expresses their love through words of gratitude or proclamations of admiration then a relationship with viktor will be smooth sailing.

[nachrosas]

QUANTUM FEELINGS | s.reid x reader

summary: in which you said "i love you" to spencer when he's a little drunk. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: just spencer being a little drunk in this one! word count: 915 a/n: night, night! thank you so much anon for requesting this (my first request ever), i hope it turned out well! hope you guys like it! feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat! till the next one!

Your living room was immersed in soft light, projected by the lamp in the corner of the room. Empty wine bottles lay on the coffee table as if they were telling the story of a night that had gotten completely out of hand. You were sitting on the sofa, watching Spencer lying on the floor on the dog, his cheeks flushed from drinking so much and the tie he insisted on wearing was now loose, falling awkwardly over his crumpled shirt.

“You know…” he began, pointing a trembling finger upwards as if to reveal something new. “Do you know that quantum entanglement is… is… basically proof that the universe is a real walking paradox?”

You tried to hold back a laugh, but the grimace on his face made you fail miserably. “Spence, I don't understand quantum physics.”

He raised his head a little, his eyes shining with a mixture of indignation and enthusiasm. “It's very simple!” he insisted, even though his speech was totally slurred. “Two particles are completely connected, no matter how far apart they are. If one changes, so does the other. It's like… instantaneous! And nobody knows how it works! Is it… fascinating? Terrifying? Sad?”

“Sad?” you asked, curious about what he had said.

“Yes!” he stood up carelessly, almost knocking over the bottles on the table. “Because… because… that means that although everything is connected, at the same time we are so… isolated. As if each person were a particle desperately trying to find their half, but never…never…”

The sentence hung in the air, lost between the pauses and the weight of the drink in Spencer's system.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on one of your hands as you watched him. “Spence.” you said softly, your voice with a tone of affection that overflowed before you could control it. “That's why I love you so much.”

He blinked, surprised, the silence filling the space between you as if there were a third person present. Perhaps because of the alcoholic state he was in, or the confusion in his expression, he gave a low, disconnected laugh, shaking his head as if he had just heard something quite absurd.

“I love tangled particles too,” he muttered, before downing the rest of the wine he'd found in a glass.

And you laughed, but the sound that escaped your lips seemed more nervous than you wanted.

The sun streamed into the room through the ajar curtains, the kind of light that had only one purpose: to irritate someone with a hangover. Spencer woke up slowly, pressing his eyes shut as a slight pain throbbed at the base of his head. He let out a low groan, feeling the bitter taste of wine and regret fill his mouth.

The muffled sound of plates and cups coming from the direction of the kitchen brought a small semblance of normality but also ignited disconnected fragments of the night before in his mind. The conversation about quantum physics, his inability to articulate ideas clearly, and… something else.

He stood up slowly, rubbing his face with his hands as he tried to remember more. Quantum entanglement, isolation… laughter… and…

“That's why I love you.”

The words echoed like a bucket of cold water thrown in his face, so unexpected and clear that they made his mind freeze in place. He tried to rationalize. You must have said it as a joke. Or something that came out in the heat of the moment. But the tone you used… was gentle, totally natural.

Getting up slowly, he stumbled to your bedroom door, still wearing his crumpled shirt and loose tie, as a reminder of all the chaos that had been the night before. When he reached the kitchen, he saw you, casual as ever, stirring something in a mug.

“Good morning, my favorite Einstein.” you joked when you saw him. “How's your head after that magnificent lecture on particles in love?”

He stood still for a moment, waiting for his brain to process his speech. “I've been better.” he replied, his voice hoarse, as he looked away from her to the bench.

“Coffee?” you offered, holding out the mug in your hands.

He accepted it without hesitation, his fingers still slightly trembling. “I… talked a lot of garbage yesterday, didn't I?”

You shrugged, still smiling. “Well, it was quite a trip. But don't worry, I didn't judge your ramblings about cosmic loneliness.”

He let out a mirthless laugh, but the discomfort was still there, pulsing beneath the surface of his chest. As you turned your attention to the stove, he allowed himself to stop and watch you for a moment. The way you acted as if nothing had happened made him wonder if it had really mattered — or if he was just dwelling on something too small.

“Thanks for… um… looking after me last night.” he murmured, without looking directly at you.

“Sure, Spence.” you replied casually, with an easy smile. ”What are friends, if not entangled particles, right?”

He choked on his coffee, the phrase reviving his memory even more vividly of the night before. But instead of answering you, he just lowered his head and sipped his coffee.

At that moment, he realized that the discomfort he felt in his heart didn't come from your words, but from the way they made him feel. It was something new, unexpected. Something he couldn't imagine how he was going to explore, but he was sure he wouldn't be able to ignore.

[starmapz]

what you know - ch8: hysteria || r. sukuna

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

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

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

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

❦ words ; 17.7k (oops).

❦ a/n ; please note the tags have been updated.

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

Although not particularly cold throughout the holidays, a frigid air settles over the city shortly after the date turns to the new year. As usual, Gojo held his annual frat party that you’re required to be at by virtue of being his friend, though you end up being one of many single party-goers who dips into a corner as the clock strikes midnight. The idea of a stranger’s lips wandering to yours doesn’t sit well in your stomach and although you asked if he would attend, Sukuna had promised his little brothers a celebration, just the three of them. Not that you would kiss Sukuna anyway, of course-

Yuji had apparently never celebrated the new year, too young to understand previously, though based on the photo in your email inbox, he didn’t get to celebrate this one either. A blurry photo taken from the camera on Sukuna’s laptop, pointed down at Yuji sound asleep in his lap while he and Choso had MarioKart running in the background had been the telltale sign.

You can’t blame him for not having a phone, but sometimes you do wish you could text rather than email. Especially with your friendship seeming to blossom as of late. It took a bit of nurturing to get to this point, but Sukuna seems to recognize his faults and actively tries to work on and better himself. Regardless of his often-irritable demeanor, you appreciate the effort on his part.

Snowflakes settle in your palm as you hold it out in front of you on the walk to the lunch hall. Settling back into the flow of having classes early in the mornings brings with it a dreary haze that hangs over the student body, yourself included. Not a single soul seems to be well-rested, apart from one person.

“Good morning,” Kento greets you with a warm smile, running a hand through his golden locks.

“Morning, Kento,” you greet him in return, your attention trained on the snowflakes melting on the warmth of your skin. “How was it, going back home?”

“It was relaxing,” he replies, a frown pulling at his lips as he takes in your dazed expression. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to join us.”

“That’s alright! I really did appreciate your offer to pay for my tickets, but it didn’t feel right,” you shoot him a smile, though quickly return your attention to your hand.

Auburn irises flicker down to your palm, trying to figure out what’s holding your interest so adamantly. “I understand, although it really wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“Really, it’s fine, Nanamin. Satoru, Suguru, and Sukuna all had me over and I talked to my parents a bunch,” you assure him, finally dropping your hand and wiping the condensation on the front of your coat.

“Sukuna?” He asks, his brows raising, though it’s more of a rhetorical question as he’s already aware he’ll be doing Sukuna a favor at some point in the new year.

“He’s put in a lot of effort to make up for what happened.” Your tone is somewhat clipped, coming out unintentionally defensive.

Nanami’s gaze flickers to your face, catching the minute knit of your brows and tension in your shoulders. “I should hope so. Either way, I wasn’t making any accusations. Simply an observation.”

You sigh. “I know, sorry. I think I’m just a bit exhausted,” you chuckle, shooting him an apologetic smile. “I can’t believe we’re already back to it. The break felt so short.”

“I agree,” he hums as he opens the door to the lunch hall for you. With a grateful smile, you slip past him and head towards your regular table. Looks like you won’t be the first to arrive this semester. You and Kento are the last to arrive, taking your seats and beginning to pull out your lunches as you get back into the swing of lunches on campus.

Just as you pull out some leftover pasta, Sukuna takes a seat beside you. He looks worse for wear, even more exhausted than you. His sleep schedule is always atrocious, so you can only imagine what it would look like without classes.

“Hey, Kuna!” You grin as you greet him.

In usual Sukuna fashion, he leans over the table on his elbow, resting his chin against his palm. “Princess.” He yawns quietly, his eyes briefly fluttering shut.

“Long day?” You ask, amused but sympathetic.

“Long fuckin’ day,” he agrees, his chest rumbling in faint laughter. “Y’know, you usually don’t look as tired as I-”

“Hey hotshot, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” Gojo blurts out suddenly, interrupting Sukuna.

With a deadpan expression, the tattooed man’s jaw clenches in barely-masked irritation. Of all days, Sukuna could only have hoped Gojo would keep his mouth shut today, unable to deal with his bullshit in this state. “The hell did I do?” He rolls his shoulders, as though prepping for a fight. 

Can’t these two get along just for once?

“You were on my balcony at the end of finals party, and let some couple fuck on my bed!” He points an accusatory finger at Sukuna’s chest, his nose scrunching in disgust at the mere thought.

Slowly, you bring a hand up to cover your mouth in realization. As you glance at Sukuna, you’re surprised to see his expression has relaxed somewhat, a smug smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “What, you think I broke in to let some other couple fuck?” Sukuna sneers, practically reveling in the way Gojo scoffs. “I didn’t do it on purpose, asshole.” He tilts his head towards you, crimson eyes filled with amusement. “Why don’t you tell him?”

You can tell from his tone he’s enjoying this way too much. “Um- well-” you wince as Satoru’s expression falls, dramatic betrayal written across his face in bolded marker. “I may have unlocked your room to get some air and… kinda didn’t lock the door behind me.” You mutter the last portion into your hand, a sheepish shrug the best you can offer him.

“It was you?” He whines, lip curled in utter disbelief.

“And to think he blamed Sukuna this whole time,” Suguru butts in, amused.

“I saw him leave the balcony!” The frat boy counters, turning his attention back to you. “I had to stay on Suguru’s floor while my mattress got cleaned,” he gripes.

“I can’t even imagine my floor was that much cleaner,” Suguru quips teasingly, a mischievous glimmer in his golden eyes.

Satoru jabs him in the side before turning his attention to you. “You owe me. No, you double owe me because I had you over for Christmas dinner too!” He waggles his spoon at you, before dropping it in his soup with all the dramatic flair he can muster.

“I’m so sorry, Satoru! I promise it was an accident.” You offer your best apologetic smile.

He shuts his eyes for a moment, sighing. “It’s fiiiine. Just… buy me drinks next time we go out or something.”

“I’d like to think I should be compensated for dealing with Satoru’s whining,” Suguru chimes in, entertained by the whole ordeal.

Shaking your head at the raven-haired man’s blatant teasing, you giggle quietly, your elbow lightly brushing Sukuna. He’s still leaning over the table, close enough to feel his breath fan your arm with each rise and fall of his chest.

“After consulting my bank account, I can get Suguru one drink, and Satoru two,” you offer.

“Deal!”

“Deal.”

Sukuna shakes his head, shooting a final glance at Satoru that doesn’t hold the amusement he regarded you with before his full attention shifts back to you. “Just gonna throw me under the bus like that, huh?” He gruffs. Beyond the tired glaze that paints his eyes is a mirthful gleam, reserved only for you as he observes the way you sheepishly chuckle.

“My bad,” you scratch at the back of your neck, your cheeks heating up as his arm brushes yours. “I was gonna jump in, I swear!”

“Mhm.” Sukuna lets out a long breath, leaning back comfortably over the table and putting some distance between you. Just as he begins to zone out, lost in thought over the lawsuit, he sits up straight, his attention drawn to Kento. “Did you find a time to meet with- uh- Kento?”

“Oh!” You gently nudge Kento at Sukuna’s reminder. “Can you and your friend meet up on…” you glance back at Sukuna to fill in the blank as his schedule is much more packed than yours usually is.

“Friday. After four.”

Kento spins to face you, his watchful gaze doing a once-over of Sukuna. “I can get back to you on that. It should work for me, but I’ll need to speak with him.”

You grin. “Great! If that works, can we meet at the cafe across from the Science building?”

Kento nods. “I’ll let you know this afternoon. I believe I share a class with him.”

The two men on either side of you exchange another tense glance, letting the uneasy atmosphere dissolve as they mutually redirect their attention elsewhere. Sukuna leans forward on the table, resting his chin on his crossed arms, his eyes watching with mild interest as you take a bite of your leftover pasta.

Just as you’re about to offer him a bite, your lips purse in surprise as two men you don’t recognize take seats in front of Sukuna. It only clicks who they must be when Uraume takes a seat on Sukuna’s opposite side. You shoot them a warm smile as the salmon-haired man’s head lifts.

You can’t tell what’s going through Sukuna’s mind as he grunts out a “what are you doin’ here?”

The man sitting on Gojo’s left, who’s currently receiving a deeply displeased glare from your snowy-haired friend, has black hair that falls straight over his forehead and a scar on his lip. Beside him is a man with spiked brown hair and a toothpick between his teeth. His lips seem to be drawn in a perpetual frown. He speaks up first. “We haven’t seen you since the party.”

The man with the scarred lip smirks. “That, and Uraume was mentionin’ your girl wanted to meet us.”

Sukuna’s lip curls in frustration, a deathly glare burning his friend for calling you his girl. He introduces you, making a point of calling you his friend, before pointing out Toji, with the scar, and Atsuya.

With a grin and deeply warmed cheeks, you point out each of the members of your friend group. Haibara and Shoko are as sweet as ever, while Geto and Nanami are kind. Gojo, on the other hand, seems frustrated with the arrival of the group, in particular Toji, which you suppose makes sense if the man’s got a penchant for being a pain even by Sukuna’s standards from what you’ve heard.

In spite of Toji’s immediate overbearing teasing, he seems nice enough, and with their arrival, Sukuna becomes slightly more talkative. He’s slowly coming out of his shell around you, which you’re grateful for.

“So,” Toji begins, mischief dancing across his emerald irises, “how in the world did ya manage to get through to this asshole?” He questions you, jabbing a thumb towards Sukuna at your side.

You giggle, not missing the way Sukuna’s jaw clenches. “Not easily.”

“I’ll say. I’ve known ‘im since we were kids and I’m still not part of his Christmases,” he scoffs.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a fuckin’ dick, I’d invite you,” Sukuna scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“You could always invite Sukuna, could you not?” Uraume points out to Toji, who scoffs, his expression deadpan.

“Oh yeah, who wants t’ come to the Zenin Family Dinner? Drop on by, we got my fuckass uncle, my asshole grandparents and Naoya. Who wouldn’t wanna join?” He jeers, sarcasm dripping from each and every word.

“Is that the ‘Naoya’ you punched?” You ask, keeping your voice low for only Sukuna to hear as you lean towards him.

“Mhm.”

“‘Sides,” Toji begins, “your dad used to invite me every year, dunno what I did to get uninvited.”

Oh.

Oh.

He doesn’t know.

Sukuna’s leg bounces absentmindedly under the table at the mention of his father, his gaze averting to a nearby wall in an effort to keep his reaction neutral.

“You know, I could host something next year,” you offer in an effort to divert attention away from the topic of Sukuna’s father. To your horror, the table goes silent. The tension coming off of Satoru and Toji in waves is palpable, and you’re beyond grateful for Shoko, Kento, and Uraume, the first three at the table to chime in.

“Sounds like fun.”

“I would join.”

“That sounds lovely.”

You let out a sigh of relief as gradually, the rest of the table begins to agree, even the two men who seem to continually be at odds with one another. You have half a mind to wonder how that even happened given that Satoru’s usually the one to get under others’ skin, not vice versa.

As conversation begins to return, Sukuna quietly mutters a “thanks” in your ear that sends a shiver straight down your spine before burying his face in his arms as you finish your meal. The tension in the air doesn’t fully dissolve but at the very least, Satoru and Toji choose to simply not acknowledge one another.

With a glance at the time on your phone, you begin packing up once you finish your lunch. A couple of others at the table check the time as they take notice of your actions, using the opportunity to pack up as no one wants to be late on the first day of class. With nothing to pack up himself, Sukuna swings his bag over his shoulder and mumbles a “see ya,” heading for the door before you can stop him.

Even with how far your friendship has come, it seems some things never change.

With a sigh, you turn back to the table. “It was nice to meet you, Toji and Atsuya,” you smile politely.

“Likewise,” Atsuya agrees with a tired smile.

“‘Course. Had to meet the woman Sukuna’s been ditchin’ us for.” Toji shoots you a shit-eating grin, something you don’t dare read into as your face warms at the mere thought of being the person Sukuna seems to always choose.

“See you all later,” you call out to the broader table, met with a chorus of goodbyes. “Text me, Sho!”

Hurrying out the door to your next class, you zip up your coat as you make your way through the frozen wasteland that separates you from Literature History. At least the weather had relented somewhat from the beginning of December, offering a more mild bite that didn’t seem to seep into the very fiber of your being.

Still, it’s a hell of a lot colder than it was before the new year.

With a huff as you cross the barrier into the building where your next class is, you let the warmth envelop you, grateful for the shelter from the bitter wind outside. Winter had only really begun to settle over the city in the last month, but you’re ready for spring to arrive. Even if it means more finals.

Sighing at the thought of starting the entire dance over again- class, studying, finals, not to mention your required internship- you push through the door to the lecture hall, briefly pausing at the bottom of the class to search for a familiar face.

And god fucking damn it, the way your eyes light up when you spot Sukuna could practically make him dizzy. He’s careful that his crimson stare doesn’t give away the strange way his chest tightens at the mere sight of your beaming smile, keeping his expression indifferent as his gaze trails your path.

You jog up the stairs until you find a place beside him, grinning as you slide into the seat. “I was gonna ask what your next class was, but you left so fast,” you comment, getting settled as you pull out your laptop.

“Mm,” Sukuna watches your movements, his eyes trailing your manicured nails. Pink. They almost match his hair.

Why is he even thinking about this?

“Didn’t wanna be late,” he excuses his actions, finally meeting your eyes.

Your bottom lip sticks out in an exaggerated pout. “At least walk with me when we have class together.”

He lets out a long breath through his nose. “Yeah, alright, princess,” he teases, unable to help his smirk as he settles back into familiar territory with you and the strange flutter in his chest eases.

The professor walks in, writing her name in large font across the whiteboard at the front of the room as she begins her introduction to the class.

“Y’know,” Sukuna leans closer, his voice lowering so as not to disturb the other students. “Apparently the prof’s a huge conspiracy theorist.”

“Really?” You ask, interest gleaming behind narrowed eyes.

“Mhm. Supposedly she believes Shakespeare never existed.”

“Like, she believes the anti-Stratfordian theory?” You ask, tilting your head. That’s not an unreasonable theory, to believe that many of the plays typically associated with Shakespeare were perhaps written by another famous playwright or author under a pseudonym that happened to match the name of a living man.

“Nah. ‘Parently she believes he never existed,” Sukuna shrugs.

“But- he did. Maybe not the one we know, but there’s proof of his birth and death records. He has a grave,” you point out.

“I know that,” he smirks. “I heard she rambled about that theory and Dickens’ death for an hour last semester.”

You blink twice. “You’re kidding.” Groaning as quietly as you can muster, you drag your hands down your face. “I can’t afford to have another history professor who rambles. And the Dickens theory isn’t even interesting,” you tack on in a grumble.

“You’ll be fine,” Sukuna chuckles, amused at your reaction. “Literature’s your thing, ain’t it?”

“Well… yeah, but you know how I am with names, dates and faces.”

“And you know how to study for that,” he points out, nudging your shoulder. “‘Sides, you’ll have-”

“If something is so interesting that you feel the need to interrupt, Mr. Sukuna,” the professor’s voice booms around the lecture hall as all eyes land on the pair of you. Sukuna keeps his cool, which you’re thankful for as you pale and shrink into your seat. “Then I would suggest you come up here and share with the class.”

He doesn’t bother to reply, simply giving a wave of his hand for her to continue. It’s not exactly the polite response you would have given, but with a final glance between you both, she turns back to the broader class to continue the lecture.

Sukuna eyes you from his peripherals as you slowly relax back into your seat when you’re no longer the center of attention. If you bristled so much from just being called out, he can only imagine the pain you went through when he left you hanging last semester. He frowns to himself at the thought, his attention never fully given to the professor as much as he tries.

His mind wanders between the introduction to Elizabethean and Jacobean literature and the way your nails tap against your keyboard as you type up notes. As the class drags on and his mind drifts further and further from the lecture, he leans back in his seat and roughly drags his hands over his face.

He’s exhausted beyond belief, frustrated with his schedule for this semester, frustrated with Toji for sticking his nose in Sukuna’s business, irritated with himself for not paying attention for something he’s paying a lot of money to attend, and to top it all off, he knows he has a long day ahead of him.

It’s not like it’s a first, most days are long in his world, but today he’s all the more frustrated and it’s wearing him thin.

So caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t even realize the room is shuffling until your laptop shuts beside him, the dull snap bringing him back to reality. As you slip your laptop into a sleeve and delicately place it in your bag, he follows suit, tucking his laptop into his backpack and throwing his coat on.

He even supposes he’ll wait for you this time around, given that he has some time before picking up his brothers for once.

You pause in front of him, zipping your jacket up as you type out a message on your phone. “Looks like Friday works for Kento’s friend.”

Sukuna nods, his brow knit. “I’ll need to bring Cho and Yu. Uraume’s got late classes this semester and our neighbor’s away this week.”

You pause for a moment as you consider what that means. “You’ll need to tell them.” Your tone is somber, your voice quiet. He almost doesn’t hear you over the bustling of students exiting the lecture hall.

He nods slowly, a muscle in his jaw ticking. One might even argue he’s too aware of that fact. You can physically see gears turning in his mind, a question sitting atop his tongue that he doesn’t want to voice.

“What’s wrong, Kuna?” You query gently, tilting your head to look up at him. The tattoo along the length of his jaw stretches along his skin as he grimaces.

“D’you have another class?”

You shake your head.

“Don’t wanna talk about it here.” With a large hand on the small of your back, he directs you out of the hall and back into the cold, his palm lifting from your warmth to run through his tousled locks.

If only he knew the way your stomach flipped from such a simple touch.

Regardless, he probably should have asked if you had any plans for the afternoon, rather than simply dragging you off campus and towards his brothers’ school, but the thought is lost on him. Luckily for him, you might be a little too understanding of the man who unknowingly holds your heart, so you don’t say a word as he silently leads you in a direction that you recognize.

Really, you could have at least gotten your car instead of trudging through the cold.

Before you can protest, Sukuna finally finds the words to voice his thoughts.

“What if I’m lookin’ at this the wrong way?” He gruffs, tense and raw with emotion that isn’t often something you associate with him.

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but you can’t quite tell where his meaning lies. “What way is that?”

“Been thinkin’. I mean, she’s their mother, right? What if they’re better off with her? What if they wanna go with her and I’m puttin’ up a fight they don’t want me to win?”

It hits you like a ton of bricks. The impact nearly pushes the breath from your lungs and causes your stride to falter. If Sukuna notices, he doesn’t slow down and it takes you a moment to catch up, his words still sinking in.

“Wait- What?” You splutter, grappling with the severity of his grievance. He keeps his pace up, not even sparing you a glance. “Sukuna, wait-” You tug on his forearm, tearing his arm from his pocket as he pauses to look at you finally.

Distant. He didn’t hear you.

Blinking twice, you pull him to the edge of the sidewalk to keep his attention on you and away from the noise of the city around you. The lights, the people, the cars, it all seems to encroach on you and muddle your thoughts, you can only imagine the mileage his mind is currently making.

Certain that you have his focus now, you repeat yourself. “What are you talking about? You know they need you.”

He sighs, an air of irritation settling over him as he stares at the brick to your left. “They need a guardian, doesn’t mean they need me. Been thinkin’ maybe they’d want to go with her. With their mother.”

You pause, considering the question for yourself for a moment. You can sympathise with wanting what’s best for them, but it doesn’t sit well with you that he doubts himself so much when you can see what he means to those kids.

“You need to tell them what’s going on anyway, so I think it’s worth asking,” you agree. It’s the right thing to do regardless of the outcome. “But,” you add in a gentler tone, offering a kind smile, “they’ll choose you.”

His eyes snap to you, a tense set to his musculature. “What makes you so sure?” He almost sounds offended.

“They love you, Sukuna.” His brow twitches, his mouth opening to protest, but you continue. “You told me you couldn’t get a hold of their mom when your dad passed, right?”

He nods tensely.

“What kind of mother does that?” You point out. “Imagine how that would make Choso feel.”

You pause, letting the thought sink in. Sukuna doesn’t reply, absently cracking a knuckle.

He’d been so caught up all those years ago in the loss of their father and his own grief that he’d hardly considered that Choso’s grief had likely been twofold. The child had lost his father just like Sukuna, but he’d also had to deal with the loss of his mother. Not only that, but it was more like the active rejection of his mother, because the reality is that Sukuna tried hard to get a hold of her. Looking back, he knows he was in no way ready to parent his brothers and it was rocky at the start. He should never have let Choso sit at his side in tears as he tried every method he could to reach her.

Sukuna had always accepted that Choso got quieter as simply a part of his grief. The little boy had always teetered on the shy side of things, but Sukuna wonders now if there’s more to that. If his silence is a result of sitting alongside his frustrated and grief-stricken older brother as his mother chose not to reply.

When Sukuna’s silence extends, you do your best to guide him from the dark recesses that his mind attempts to take him to. “Would Yuji even remember her?”

Shit. Sukuna’s all Yuji’s ever known. If he doesn’t remember their father, there’s no way in hell he remembers his mother.

Sukuna drags a hand down his face. Coming to terms with the gravity of his own mistakes is one thing, but they don’t even begin to match up to the rejection of their mother.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, taking a step back to pace in front of the wall. Giving him the space and time he needs, you simply watch as he huffs and sighs. Fiddling with your neatly manicured nails, you wait patiently for him to organize his thoughts, only to frown when he shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. In one smooth motion, he flips his lighter open and smoke trails like rippling water up into the cold air. He leans against the wall, leaning his head back against the brick as he exhales smoke into the overcast sky.

The nicotine calms his jittery mind enough to allow him the space to function within the claustrophobia of his thoughts. Inhaling deeply, he pushes off the wall and returns to you finally, looking up to exhale smoke away from you.

“Uraume’s right, you know.”

Any other time, Sukuna would have let that slide, knowing it was meant to be a cheeky little quip about his vice.

But today’s a bad fucking day for him.

“So I’ve been told.” There’s enough bite to his words that you’re actually a bit surprised at his choice of tone, but even looking back on that drunk night fumbling through apologies, this is the most stressed you’ve ever seen him. His face is gaunt, pale with dark shadows beneath his eyes, and as you take in his outfit, you realize he’s wearing the hoodie he usually throws on after his showers.

If you were to wager a guess, he’s probably wearing last night’s clothes. He doesn’t attempt to hide the tension that grips his muscles and claws at his brow, either.

It’s clear that the thoughts he’s been sharing with you are ones that have been plaguing him as of late. He’s likely been grappling with the idea of telling his brothers about the lawsuit since you last saw him at Christmas. But that’s the thing about Sukuna, he would never ask for help. It’s a miracle he wanted to talk at all.

You let his snappy tone slide, giving him the benefit of the doubt that it’s not intentional. After all, he did ask you to come out here in the cold with him to talk.

Well, maybe ‘asked’ is the wrong word, but he made it clear he wanted you here to talk.

Still, the tension that hangs between you isn’t the usual alluring tension that draws you to him. It’s not uncomfortable, but you would certainly prefer the usual silence with him. It hangs between you in the delicate balance of Sukuna’s startlingly fragile tenacity, which only serves to sympathize you to him in spite of his loose temper.

Sukuna taps a finger on the edge of his cigarette. The ember tip falls to the ground in a pile of ash, melting a small crater of snow at his feet. Choosing not to acknowledge the rigidity that strains the quiet air, he casts a glance at his watch and nods in the direction of his brothers’ school.

“Don’t wanna be late,” he grunts, smoke escaping from the corners of his lips. With one final inhalation, he tosses the cigarette on the ground and stomps it out, turning on his heel to lead the way to the school.

You chew absently on your lip, trailing slowly after him.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, your mind grasping at the conversations of the people passing you by in an effort to fill the dead air. It’s suffocating being in Sukuna’s presence when he’s made a point of having you near, while simultaneously being bull-headed as he holds you at arms’ length.

“They ask for you a lot.”

You take a couple of long strides to catch up with him, thankful that he breaks the ice. Fiddling with the woven bracelets that are still tied to your wrist, you smile. “That’s really sweet. They’re good kids.”

Sukuna casts you a glance. He can see uncertainty in your eyes. He’s not stupid, he knows it’s his fault. But some stubborn part of him holds something akin to a grudge against you for pointing out something he knows is bad for him.

He’s got bigger problems than his nicotine addiction.

When Sukuna doesn’t reply, you swallow nervously. “You’ve raised them well, Kuna.”

Piercing irises snap towards you, flitting between your eyes. “‘M not so sure about that.”

“Aren’t you proud of them?” You push, tilting your head.

Sukuna’s chest clenches. He averts his gaze, grimacing. “‘Course.”

“Then why wouldn’t you think you raised them well?”

“I’m not what they need,” he replies simply.

Your gaze narrows, lips pursing in confusion. “They need a roof over their heads and food on the table. You’re good to them, Sukuna.”

He sighs heavily. “They need someone more attentive. Someone who can be home and dote over them.”

“Dote?” You parrot, the corner of your lip twitching up. “I’ve seen you dote.”

He scoffs. “As if.”

“What do you call your gifts to them?”

A crease forms between his brows. “That wasn’t doting. It hardly meant anything.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, and I don’t think you do either,” you tease, prodding his shoulder and chancing his patience with you.

He scowls down at you, huffing.

You giggle quietly, your breath visible in the air before you. Quieting down, you nudge him gently. “You know just how much those gifts meant to them. You’re exactly what they need, Sukuna. And I think you’re what they want, too.”

Sukuna falters, catching himself quickly enough to play it off like he tripped. Somehow, that’s the less embarrassing option here, he thinks.

“Maybe.” It comes out weaker than intended, and he’s grateful that the steps up to the front of the school offer an escape from the conversation. He may have started it, but like most other difficult conversations he dragged you into, he usually finds himself reluctant to continue them.

Something about how well you know his brothers, how well you know him, shakes him to his very core and he’s not willing to touch that thought with a ten foot pole.

To his relief, the bell rings and a teacher guides a class of young, bright-eyed children out of the school to reunite them each with those meant to pick them up. As Yuji crosses the school’s barrier, she points the two of you out and the little boy goes barreling towards you both.

“Kunaaaaa!” He cries out excitedly, attaching himself like a koala to his older brother’s leg. Sukuna grunts, lifting him into the air as he easily keeps his balance. The little boy giggles, his eyes opening to look at his brother, when he spots you.

Hopping from his brother’s arms with wide, excited eyes, he leaps into your arms as you extend them to him. “You’re here!” He cheers, arms wrapped around your neck in a tight hug.

You giggle, doing your best to hold the boy up as he clings tightly to you. “How was school, Yu?”

“It was great! We’re learning about the oceans and sharks, and-”

As Yuji excitedly tells you about his day, Choso dips through the doorway, his eyes scanning the steps for Sukuna. As he spots both of you, a small smile makes its way to his lips and he jogs over with his hands pulling at the straps of his backpack.

Sukuna ruffles the boy’s hair, who smooths it down in response, a gleam in his eyes as he waves at the sight of you beside his brother. You smile back at him, unable to wave with the youngest Itadori in your arms. Sukuna begins leading the way back towards his apartment, listening to Yuji’s ramblings.

“- did you know that seals eat penguins? I could never eat a penguin, they’re so cute. I think seals should eat something else.”

“You think so?” You giggle at Yuji’s adamant statement.

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding his head. “They should just eat fish and get along with the penguins. Like you and Kuna.”

Your brow raises and you cast a glance at Sukuna, who’s also now staring at the pink-haired boy with mild interest.

“What do you mean ‘like me and Sukuna’, sweetheart?” You ask curiously, your heart doing a flip.

“You’re like a penguin because you’re really cool and nice and Kuna’s like a seal because he’s a meanie but he’s also cool. I think if seals were more like my big brother, they’d get along with penguins. Like you guys.”

Kids are wild.

You laugh as Yuji explains himself, your tone sitting somewhere between genuine chortles and something to fill a silence that might otherwise be awkward. “Tell me more about your brother being like a seal,” you urge, knowing it’ll ruffle Sukuna’s carefully preened feathers.

Yuji stares up at the clouds in thought. Your arms are beginning to tire, but you’ll hold him as long as you can, even if you know you’re holding up the walking pace. “Ummmm… well, some seals have spots and Sukuna has some on his shoulders, but he’s more stripey, like a tiger-”

“They’re not stripes, brat,” Sukuna hisses, but Yuji continues on without a care in the world.

“- and seals eat a lot and so does Kuna-”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough.”

Undeterred, the little boy continues. “- and apparently seals are really good parents, just like Kuna. I know he’s our brother, but he’s the best parent ever.”

It hits Sukuna like a shot through the chest, piercing clean straight through his heart and leaving behind a bloody hole. His jaw is heavy set as he does what he can to mask the way his little brother’s words affected him. The last thing he needs is a worried twelve-year-old and an ‘i told you so’ from you.

Because it’s then that it strikes him that you’re right.

Time and time again, you prove to him just how much he means to his brothers and each and every time he’s left balancing precariously on a cliff as he does what he can to hide the way his feet damn near betray him at the edge. It’s not like he has any reason to be upset with you over this, but to be known is to be seen, and that’s not something Sukuna’s accustomed to.

He has no issue with being the campus’ mysterious and hot ‘bad boy’, as much as the title serves to make him roll his eyes. It’s little more than a generic title given to him for surface-level facts and rumors.

To have you call him out so clearly, to be so utterly correct time after time when it comes to him and his family… He’s not sure how he feels about that. It stirs something deep within and he grits his teeth as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

Sukuna’s brow is deeply furrowed, his steps falling heavily on the snow-clad sidewalk. Ever observant, of course you caught the way his jaw trembled subtly when he heard his brother, but the moment was gone before you had a chance to consider it. Now, he just looks frustrated, even more so than usual.

It seems the new year brought with it the realization of just how close the court date is, and how horribly underprepared he is.

“Is that so?” You question Yuji, although your gaze never leaves Sukuna, brow knit in concern for him.

“Yeah! He’s the coolest!”

“He is, isn’t he?” You reply softly, shooting a look at Sukuna, who scowls at you both with an expression you can’t place.

You have to set Yuji on the ground fairly soon after, and ask Choso how his day was. The walk is spent listening to both brothers chat about their days as Sukuna is otherwise silent. Arriving at Sukuna’s front door, he tells the kids to head inside and wait for him in the lobby, waiting until they’re two doors away to talk to you.

“Will you be alright?” 

Something akin to offense passes over his eyes. It’s clear that no matter what you do, everything is getting under his skin today, so you think it’s best to leave. Besides, this is something he needs to do on his own.

“I’ll be fine,” he grits, continuing to scowl down at you. Even as frustrated as he is, his gaze softens as he stares past you and realizes you’ll need to walk back to your car on campus. “Email me when you get home,” he mutters, turning on his heel and leaving you standing out in the cold without another word.

Before he can shut the door behind him, you hesitantly take a step forward, catching the edge of the door. “Let me know if you want to talk.”

He stares at you for a split-second, contempt burning behind red irises that has you frowning at him, hurt that he’s been so short with you today. As though he realizes the same, the furrow to his brow lessens and he hums, nodding.

If that’s the most you’ll get out of him, so be it.

He turns back towards the lobby, passing through the second set of doors and following the kids as they lead the way up to the apartment. Choso reaches for Sukuna’s keys and unlocks the door, pushing through the barrier into their home. Yuji immediately goes running off to drop his bag in their room.

“Hey! Once you’re done I need you both back on the couch,” he calls after his little brother, his shoulders so tense it physically pains him to roll them back.

He can see Choso’s unease immediately, eyes wide and worried. Fuck.

Choso timidly sets his bag down in front of the couch and takes a seat at the edge of the cushion, fiddling with his fingers, the nails chewed raw. Sukuna had never noticed his brother developed that habit.

Yuji bounds excitedly to the couch, oblivious to the weighty air in the room. Choso bounces slightly as his little brother hops on the couch and plops down.

With a deep breath, Sukuna kneels down to the boys’ level, glancing between them.

“I heard from your mother,” he starts. Excitement overtakes Yuji’s expression, while Choso stiffens, his gaze anywhere but on Sukuna. “She’ll be in town soon.” He’s beating around the bush, he knows that. But how the hell do you tell two children about a lawsuit?

“Can we see her?” Yuji asks in awe.

“Lemme finish, Yu.” Sukuna takes a seat on the coffee table as his knees begin to get sore. The old wood creaks beneath his weight, not intended to support him, but it does nonetheless. “She wants ya both back.”

Sukuna pauses, letting both boys process his words.

Choso’s lips are pursed, his hands fiddling uncertainly in his lap.

“Like, we’ll all go live with her?” Yuji asks, his head tilting curiously.

Sukuna shudders at the question. If only it were so simple. “No. Just you and Choso.”

“She’s not Kuna’s mom,” Choso mutters.

In truth, Sukuna’s done a bad job of explaining their family to Yuji, making the assumption he’s too young to understand. Maybe he’s right, but it seems Choso’s willing to tell him the portions that Sukuna doesn’t want to touch.

“But… Kuna’s our brother too,” Yuji protests, frowning.

Sukuna sighs, a pang in his heart. “Listen,” he starts, running a hand through his hair, “if she takes you, I won’t get to be a part of your life. If that’s what you want-”

“No!” Yuji cries out, interrupting Sukuna’s question. Choso’s fidgeting hasn’t stopped, but he has yet to say a word.

“Gimme a moment, Yu. If that’s what you want, that’s fine. I’ll let her take ya-”

“Kuna? Why do you keep saying ‘take’?” Choso finally finds his voice, eyes teary as though he already understands.

Sukuna’s lips press into a thin line, his leg bouncing as he contemplates his reply. The coffee table creaks relentlessly beneath him.

“Your mother doesn’t think I’m fit to take care of you. She’s-” he cuts himself off, running his tongue over his teeth in his mouth. “She’s tryna take you back, legally.”

“Legally?” Yuji parrots, his lips pursed.

Sukuna averts his gaze, looking for answers anywhere within the apartment, but he’s met only with a dull silence and Choso’s quiet sniffles. It’s clear he understands, and Sukuna wants nothing more than to assure him that he can win the legal battle, but the bitter truth is that Sukuna doesn’t want to lie to them.

And he’s not so confident that he can win.

“Yu, d’you remember when we watched Mrs. Doubtfire?”

Slowly, the little boy nods.

“D’you remember the part where the mom and dad are in a big room with a judge and he takes away the dad’s custody?”

Yuji blanks, nodding, although it’s clear he still doesn't fully understand.

“Well, custody is who gets to take care of kids. Right now that’s me. She wants it to be her, and neither of us get to decide that. It’s up to the judge,” Sukuna explains, trying as best as he can to offer an unbiased explanation.

“Tell her no!” Yuji cries out.

Sukuna bites down on his cheek, his brow furrowed. “I don’t get to, Yu. She’s forcing me to show up in front of the judge.”

Ever so slowly, Choso stands up off the couch, trailing closer and closer to his older brother until he’s leaning into Sukuna’s side, silent tears trailing down his cheeks and soaking into Sukuna’s shirt. Yuji seems to be starting to understand, now standing at the edge of the couch as he adamantly stands his ground as though the lawsuit is a personal attack to him.

“No! No, I don’t wanna go without you!” He proclaims loudly, his eyes beginning to water.

Sukuna can only frown as he watches the boy grapple with something he doesn’t understand.

“I don’t-” sniffle, “- I don’t wanna!” His tears now freely fall as he barrels at full force into Sukuna as well, crying into his side. He pulls both brothers closer, his exhausted gaze set straight ahead. “Please, Kuna, please!”

The apartment is filled with Yuji’s bawls and babbles, while Choso silently clings to him. The coffee table creaks beneath the three of them with every movement, threatening to give out at any moment.

“I won’t,” sniffle, “go, p- please don’t make me go! I don’t want to,” he sobs, “I don’t want to, I don’t want to!”

Denial after denial, it’s all that fills the apartment for longer than Sukuna knows what to do about.

“I don’t-” a sob wracks Yuji’s tiny body, “- even know her. I don’t remember her,” he bawls. Sukuna squeezes him as an acknowledgement, though he’s not sure what comfort he can offer. “Why can’t you come with us?”

Sukuna bites down harder than intended on his lower lip. “Your mother doesn’t like me, Yu.”

“But you-” he gasps for air between sobs, “- you’re the best.”

The taste of iron fills Sukuna’s mouth as he swipes his tongue over his lips. His chest feels as though it could implode as he tugs his two brothers tighter against him. Yuji tightly grips Sukuna’s hoodie, his little hands tugging with the full force of a five-year-old.

“I’m gonna fight for you both, okay?” He assures.

Choso sniffles, pulling back just enough to look up at his brother. “You want us?”

If Yuji saying he was the best parent earlier was a shot through the heart, this took out whatever was left. The question barreled straight through him like a train, leaving nothing behind but pieces for Sukuna to pick up. Each piece serving as a mistake in the way he’d raised the boys.

He knows all too well that this question comes from a place of insecurity, and while Choso’s mother may have laid the seed, Sukuna watered it. 

It was never intentional, he would never want Choso to feel that way, but Sukuna remembers the moment he likely solidified Choso’s insecurities all-too-well.

Three letters. Seven emails. Forty eight calls.

Make it forty nine.

“Fuck!” Sukuna slams his phone down on the table that was once his father’s.

The house that surrounds them feels foreign without his life.

Choso stares at the wood grain of the table, his eyes tracing the way it swirls. He’s long grown numb to Sukuna’s anger, especially over the past couple of weeks. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word.

He sat alongside Sukuna through each call. Through all fifty nine attempts to reach his mother, each one further solidifying Sukuna’s fate.

Sukuna, barely able to be considered an adult, is a guardian. By all accounts, he’s a parent.

Sukuna, who works for a cannabis dispensary. Sukuna, who never wanted a second family to begin with, who never wanted this responsibility, who never even wanted brothers, let alone kids, now bears the burden of fatherhood.

The legs of his chair scrape the wooden floor as he stands abruptly, running a hand over his face as he paces a small distance from the table.

He makes his way to the sink, turning the faucet to cold water and splashing it over his face. With dripping hands, he grips the edge of the counter and leans over the sink and his stomach churns and bile threatens to upend.

It wouldn’t be the first time since his father had passed away that his stomach had decided to empty itself.

With his jaw slightly ajar and his chest heaving, he pushes a wet hand through his hair, pushing himself back to his full height.

He wipes the water from his face on his sleeve, shaking his head in an effort to free his vision from his hair. His father had been so sick that Sukuna hadn’t had the time, nor the money, to bother with a haircut, or even shaving. His stubble, that of a boy barely considered an adult, is still uneven and leaves him looking as disheveled as he feels.

His eyes trail the length of the kitchen, which morphs into the living and dining room area, until they land on Choso.

The healthcare system had taken every last penny his father had left behind, and without the support of Choso and Yuji’s mother, he’s at a loss of where to go from here. Even disregarding money, he had to look up how to change a diaper. How sad is that? Looking up Youtube tutorials on what to do?

It’s not like he hadn’t looked after his brothers before, but his father never left him alone long enough to need to worry about that sort of thing. Now it seemed that changing a diaper was the least of his problems.

He teetered constantly somewhere between pissed off and lost and had no one to fall back on, something that became painfully obvious when he’d contemplated going to the hospital when his chest tightened so much that breathing was a forced effort. In the end, he’d been able to do little more than clutch desperately at his chest as he laid on the floor of the bathroom, the cool tile the only reprieve from his lonely agony.

He could reach out to Toji. Hell, he should. But when his father got sick, Sukuna pushed him away. He pushed everyone away. He thinks he’s more comfortable alone now, even if that leaves him staring at his little brother without a clue of what to do.

Choso hasn’t said a word to him since the whole ordeal occurred. The grief had taken its toll on Sukuna’s body and attitude, but it had completely silenced his brother. Although he still stuck around Sukuna, somehow still wanting to be around the grief and anger-stricken man, he never said a word.

The oldest brother cares. He cares a whole lot about his two siblings. Even if this isn’t what he ever wanted, even if he wasn’t prepared to handle the burden of two young kids. Even if he didn’t want siblings to begin with, Sukuna grew to care.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s filled with contempt towards their mother for shoving the two boys onto him like this.

As he stares at Choso, a stark contrast to himself and their baby brother who both resemble their father, he sees her staring back at him. Choso and Yuji’s mother.

He shouldn’t have done what he did next.

He should have thought about his reactions.

He would change everything about how he acted towards his little brother in a heartbeat if he could.

But Sukuna, mentally, was on another plane as his lip curled in disdain. “Won’t fuckin’ answer,” he mutters, more to himself although he looks straight at his brother. “Some fuckin’ mother you’ve got, kid.”

As if on cue, Yuji begins crying from another room.

“Fuck!” Sukuna cries out again, trudging angrily across the kitchen to the toddler’s room.

Just in time to make sure he doesn’t see Choso’s tears.

Sukuna’s sure that moment replays in the boy’s head constantly. He sees it every once in a while, the seed of doubt that Sukuna watered that day, along with every other day before and following. He would give anything to take back how he acted. But what the hell does one expect from your stereotypical troubled teen who doesn’t know how to cook, hardly cleans, and has no one to talk to?

What the hell was Sukuna meant to do when he’d thrown up the previous night’s dinner and laid on the floor until he woke up in a sickening daze early the next morning to Yuji crying?

He hopes, prays, to whatever god on earth will listen, that he can make up for it. Make up for all the mistakes, all the problems. Make up for the ways he’d failed his brothers.

“I do, Cho,” he answers, the first certain thing he’s managed to say since they’d arrived home. “Promise.”

Choso’s grip tightens as his face collides with Sukuna’s side so hard he thinks the poor kid’s gonna bruise his nose.

“I love you, Kuna.” Choso’s voice is so quiet that Sukuna hardly makes out what he said over his little brother’s sobs.

Yuji parrots the middle brother, though his words come out a choppy mess behind his tears. “I- love-” sniffle, “- y- you, Kunaaa.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he gruffs, grimacing. He stares at the couch, his eyes flickering between the three indentations that have formed over the last three years. The material is significantly more worn on his side of the couch, the least worn in the center where Yuji likes to sit. In the back of his mind, something akin to guilt rears its ugly head and he continues his thought before he says something he regrets.

Or, more specifically, before he doesn’t say something and regrets it.

“Love ya both too.”

–

It takes a long time, but Sukuna manages to quiet both brothers down. As a treat, he buys them chicken from Strip Joint, which they were about as thrilled as two devastated young kids could be.

He’s not sure exactly how soundly they’ll manage to sleep, but he’s thankful when Yuji passes out fairly easily after a long afternoon of relentless tears.

Shutting his door behind him, Sukuna sighs as he’s finally able to catch his breath for what feels like the first time today.

He collapses onto his bed against the headboard, running his hands over his face.

Pulling his hands back, he stares at his palms, warm and wet.

Tears.

Is he so worn thin that he can’t even feel his own tears?

Shit.

He wipes his tears on the sleeve of his poor hoodie, which is covered in Yuji’s tears, snot, and spit, Choso’s tears, and now Sukuna’s too.

He pulls it up over his head, pushing his hair back out of his face. It’s getting long again, but Sukuna doesn’t have the time to deal with it.

He hopes to god that his previous transgressions from all those years ago don’t repeat themselves simply because Sukuna’s at wit’s end.

He scratches uncomfortably at his chest, desperate for a shower, anything to take his mind off of the shitty day he’s had. Undressing, he wraps a towel around his waist and walks down the hall to climb into the shower, splaying his hands on the tiles as hot water runs over his body, cleaning him of the dirt and grime that plagues his body, alongside some of the tension in his muscles.

He blinks his eyes open as water trails down his hair, falling in a steady stream down his chin.

The day feels like a blur.

His chest tightens as his muscles relax, a familiar feeling that he fears will leave him laying on the bathroom floor again.

It hasn’t been that bad in years. He didn’t think it would ever be that bad again.

Pushing himself up, he runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back and wiping water from his eyes as he finishes showering. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he slips back into his room, inhaling sharply as his chest seems to compress against his lungs.

Too tired to bother with the outside world, he slips under the covers without a second thought. He doesn’t bother to check if you made it home safe. He doesn’t bother to set out his clothing for tomorrow. He doesn’t even bother to set an alarm. He simply shuts his eyes and hopes to god that he can get a full night’s rest.

Unfortunately, that’s not in the books for Sukuna.

–

Much to your dismay, you don’t see Sukuna again until Friday, four days later. It took him nearly twenty four hours to get back to your message about being home, or the subsequent one the following day upon realizing he wasn’t at lunch, nor in class.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Tuesday, 5:29 PM im fine. cho didnt sleep. been a long day

You had grimaced and offered condolences, but at the end of the day, you suppose there isn’t much more you can do when he’s not looking for help.

That doesn’t mean Shoko didn’t have to drag you out to the mall and convince you not to show up at his door regardless. Thankful for her distraction, you indulged in getting yourself a new sweater and celebrated the fact that oh my god, your history prof from last semester was suspended for his (terrible) teaching methods?? If only the school had done that one semester earlier.

Then again, maybe you wouldn’t be nearly as close with Sukuna if that were the case.

Maybe that would have been for the best.

But the tightness in your heart tells you otherwise as you sit alone in your Literature History class.

It’s funny, that without Sukuna’s distraction beside you, you’re somehow finding it harder to focus without him in the chair beside you. Absently typing at your keyboard, you stare at the screen, your eyes trailing the notes you’ve been taking. They mostly make sense, but your brain must be working on autopilot, because you haven’t processed a single word the professor said.

Rubbing the crease between your brows, you do your best to tune in, chewing on your lower lip and narrowing your eyes as if it’ll do you any good.

The door at the front of the class loudly swings open and Sukuna barges in without a word, trudging straight up to your seat with his hoodie up.

“Class started twenty minutes ago, Ryomen.”

From your angle, you see the snarl on his face, you see the way he practically whips towards her with a world of stress in his eyes and the anger to match. But whether he chooses to take the high road, or simply decides it isn’t worth it, he manages only a measly “yeah. Whatever.”

He should consider himself lucky he isn’t sent away for that, but with only a disappointed grimace, the professor chooses to carry on.

“You’re here,” you whisper, as quietly as you can manage so as not to get him in further trouble.

He sighs. “Finally managed to get them to class today.”

“They haven’t been going to school?”

“Couldn’t get ‘em to,” he mutters, keeping his head low behind his laptop screen as he slumps back in his seat.

You glance at him, a sympathetic frown adorning your lips, but you keep quiet to avoid getting called out by the professor again. Sukuna keeps unusually quiet and withdrawn throughout the entirety of class, packing up as quickly as he came.

He’s on his feet and charging down the stairs before you have so much as a moment to with him.

“Ryomen! A word.”

You watch with dismay as Sukuna whips around angrily to the professor, grumbling out a less-than-thrilled “what?” as he reaches the last step near the door. “Make it quick. I got somewhere to be.”

You grit your teeth, watching with horror as the professor’s brow raises in disbelief at Sukuna’s attitude.

“Mr. Sukuna, if you don’t want to be here, you’re more than welcome to drop my class. You’ve made it very clear that this is not your priority, and-”

Sukuna drops his bag to the ground with a thud, as the students who haven’t already slipped out, including yourself, all watch the interaction in trepidation. “Yeah, you could say it’s not,” he growls. “I got other shit going on.”

“I can sympathize with that,” the professor replies. You have to applaud her patience with the man. “However, I have a class to teach. Whether you choose to show up or not is on you, however I’ll ask that you please don’t distract other students by arriving late.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches, visibly biting his tongue to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret. “Yeah. Sure,” he dismisses, turning to grab his bag. He slings it over his shoulder and slams the door ajar with his shoulder, barging out without another word.

You traverse down the stairs and chase after him, jogging to catch up to his long strides.

“Sukuna!” You call just before falling into step with him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he hisses, shooting you a glare. He falters when your expression recoils appropriately to his prickly reply. Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. “I’m fine,” he repeats, less edge to his tone this time.

“Oh. Okay. Um, are you still good to meet with Kento and his friend?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, clipped.

“That’s good,” you agree, nodding as you search for common ground, something Sukuna might be a bit more receptive to. “Did you want company while you pick up Choso and Yuji?”

He casts you a glance, his expression unreadable. “Up to you.”

He’s not making this easy.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing how they’re doing.”

He doesn’t even bother with a reply this time, he simply shrugs.

“Okay, um, I’ll come with you then,” you mumble hesitantly, gauging his reaction, but he remains silent, pulling ahead to walk in front of you as he heads for the doors and turns in the direction of his brothers’ school.

The silence no longer carries a familiar warmth, or even the relative discomfort from earlier in the week. It hangs over you like a fog now, uncertainty tucked within its blanket. Sukuna hardly seems to notice you’re there, never turning to acknowledge you nor straying off his path. Each time you contemplate talking, the words die in your throat at the sight of his tense jaw.

At least it’s warmer today than it was on Monday.

Standing at Sukuna’s side as you arrive at the school, you quietly examine his face. His eyes are sunken and heavy and his shoulders hunched as though the weight of his burdens are hardly being held up anymore. His eyes are glazed in a way that tells you his dismissive attitude towards you is because he isn’t all there, not present even within his own body.

Clearly the talk with his brothers has had adverse effects not only on them, but him as well.

Hesitantly, you reach out in hopes to ground him, setting a hand near his wrist, where the tips of your fingers graze his skin as they breach the edge of his sleeve. His eyes sharpen as he stares down at the contact of your hand.

Sukuna is accustomed to the way that your skin always seems to sear him. He’s chalked it up all this time to lust, but as the contact of your skin, so soft and gentle, just barely brushes his, he second-guesses himself for a split-second. As if on auto-pilot, he can only watch as he pulls his hand from his coat pocket, flipping it to brush the tips of his fingers against yours. Offering a comfort he isn’t familiar with, one that keeps him present, he fiddles with your fingers as you simply observe his face.

“Are you okay, Kuna?” You keep your voice low, your tone gentle as you take a step towards him, letting him run his thumb over your knuckles as he pleases.

It takes a moment, but he meets your gaze, really meets your gaze, for the first time today. His eyes fall again to your hand as he avoids your question. “They didn’t take it well.”

You nod slowly. “I didn’t think they would,” you admit with a tight-lipped smile. “The nightmares…?”

“None of us have slept.”

“I…” You grimace. “Can tell.” You gently squeeze the tips of his fingers that continue to fiddle with yours.

His chest rumbles in something akin to a laugh, though it lacks humor. “I figured goin’ back to school would do ‘em good, maybe help with sleeping. Cho wasn’t thrilled.”

“He’ll be alright,” you assure Sukuna, the school bell sounding from behind you. His fingers pause for a moment, before he drops his hand back to his side.

Yuji is one of the first kids out the door. He seems to be managing, although his usual energy is certainly dulled. He runs at full force straight into Sukuna, who picks him up with ease as the child clings to him.

“Missed you, Kuna.”

Sukuna hums, gently nudging the boy with his shoulder. “Look who’s here.”

Yuji lifts his head, flipping it around until his gaze finds you. He calls your name happily, though it’s still dulled from the usual excitement that surrounds him. His arms reach for you and Sukuna plops him down on the snow to let him run straight for you.

“Hey sweetheart,” you greet, kneeling before him to let him hug you. Reeling back, you gently brush his hair from his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” He pouts, shaking his head. His hair falls back over his forehead again, so you brush the stray pink strands from his eyes once more. “I miss my brother.”

“Hey,” you coo softly. “He’s not letting you go, honey. We’re going to meet one of my friends for some advice, okay?”

Yuji’s head tilts. “Huh? Advice for Cho?”

You mirror him, brow furrowed. “What’s going on with Cho?”

“He doesn’t wanna play anymore,” Yuji pouts, staring down at the snow under his little feet as he rocks side to side. His little cheeks are red, whether from the cold or unshed tears, you aren’t sure.

With a grunt of effort, you pull the little boy into your arms. He clings to you, burying his head into the crook of your neck as you turn to his older brother. “Is Choso okay?” You query, concerned.

“I’ll let you judge for yourself.”

You turn to the door where Choso emerges, his appearance ghostly. His movements are mechanical as he makes his way up to you and Sukuna. He shoots a glance up to you, but doesn’t acknowledge you otherwise, staring blankly off to the side as he waits for Sukuna to lead the way.

“Hey, Choso.”

Silence.

You frown, precariously balancing Yuji in one arm to reach down and gently run a hand over Choso’s hair. He blinks a few times, meeting your gaze. Although the boy traditionally looks tired, his eyes are devoid of warmth. He’s running on empty, completely gassed, and you can understand suddenly why all three of them had no desire to show up to classes.

“You know what I think this day calls for?” You shouldn’t be shocked to find that none of the three brothers reply, but Sukuna at the very least gives you his attention. “How do you three like cinnamon buns?”

“I like them,” Yuji mumbles into your shoulder, gripping your coat.

Well, at least one of them will give you an answer. If that’s the best you can get, you’ll take it.

“Great! You can get whatever treats you’d like, alright?”

Your enthusiasm is met with silence. This is one of those moments where it becomes glaringly obvious who raised the two boys.

Simply to fill the silence, you inquire with Yuji how his day went, plopping him onto the ground when he becomes too heavy to carry. He gingerly reaches for your hand, squeezing it as he talks about his day and a book his class has begun to read.

Yuji begins to drag your hand, falling further and further behind as he grows tired, practically trying to clamber onto your back as you stop to wait for a crosswalk.

Taking notice, Sukuna reaches down to pick up his little brother. “C’mere,” he mumbles as he lifts the child over his head until he’s sitting soundly on the man’s shoulders. You smile softly at the sight. They may not share a mother, but you’d hardly believe it. They’re like twins, only born several years apart.

Yuji idly tugs at Sukuna’s hair as he sits atop the man’s shoulders, a good six feet taller than where he usually stands. His older brother swats at his hands with a grimace, staring ahead as the boy settles and leans his torso on the back of Sukuna’s head.

You keep an eye on Choso, who begins to trail behind the closer you get to the cafe. You’re a good thirty minutes early, but you don’t think it’s a particularly good idea to have the kids listening into the legal discussion either way, so this will give you a chance to grab a table just for them.

Sukuna ducks as he walks into the cafe, ensuring he doesn’t smack his brother’s head on the doorframe, while you trail behind to wait for Choso. When his eyes meet your feet in front of him, they slowly trail up until he finds your gaze. It twists your heart, to see how blankly he stares at you.

“Hey honey. If you don’t want to talk, that’s totally fine, but I just want you to know I’m here.”

His eyes flicker between yours.

Kneeling down to his height, you smile softly. “Do you remember when you found that paperwork and I told you that your brother would talk to me if he needed help?”

Choso blinks a couple of times, and for a moment, you think that’s the most you’ll get from him, but he finds it in himself to nod.

“Well, he did come to me for help. We’re gonna meet my friends at the cafe in a bit and they’re gonna help your brother. He’s fighting for you. We’ll figure things out, okay?”

He nods again, taking a meager step forward before finding his way into your arms. You hug him back tightly and rub his back.

“Thank you.” It’s quiet and hoarse, you can tell he hasn’t spoken in a while. But it’s a step forward, and you’ll take it.

A knock on the glass grabs your attention and you pull back a bit to look up at the cafe window above you. The picture of stoicism, Sukuna stares down at you from within, pointing behind him with his thumb.

‘Got us a table,’ he mouths through the glass, before turning back towards the interior. You don’t catch a word he says, narrowing your eyes as you try to make out what he’s trying to tell you.

“He got a table.” Choso mumbles, the tiniest hint of a smile on his face as you turn back to him.

“Is he, like- really bad at that?” You ask, smirking as you point a thumb in the direction where Sukuna was moments ago.

Choso nods, his smile turning up sliiiiightly more.

“And here I thought it was just me,” you grin, standing back up and leading the way to the back of the cafe where Sukuna’s got two tables reserved, one with four seats, and a smaller one with two. He must be on the same wavelength as you, having deliberately chosen a table with enough distance to keep the conversation private, while still having the kids nearby.

He pulls a stack of very ripped and wrinkled papers from his bag, setting them face down on the table as Choso crawls into a tall chair beside his brother. With an arched brow, you set your hand on the paperwork as you take a seat beside him, asking a silent question.

“You can read ‘em if you want.”

Flipping them, your eyes first skim the tape that holds each page together, then the contents themselves.

“What happened to them?”

“I was pissed.”

Clearly. But you keep that thought to yourself. You skim the contents of the legal documents, nails tapping against the faux wood grain table rhythmically.

Case No. 2493

Social File No. 34785-98

Next Court Date: March 23rd.

In The Matter of Choso Itadori and Yuji Itadori.

Turns out, it only takes four sentences before you’re frowning at the page, the legal jargon a little bit beyond you. Of course, it’s not entirely illegible and you’re thankful you’re an English literature major, but the jurisdiction codes and notes are a bit beyond any English diploma.

“This is… a lot.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Sukuna mumbles, glancing at his watch. “We got some time, you want anything?”

“I’m okay, thanks Kuna.” Keeping your head buried in the paperwork as you try to dissect an ounce of what the documents say, you chew on your lip as Sukuna drags his brothers to the counter before stepping off to the side to await his order.

With your head down and brow furrowed in documents, you don’t notice Kento standing opposite you with a decently sized box from your parents.

“Good afternoon,” Kento greets you, punctuating the sentence with your name. Your head whips up with a smile as you greet the two men. Standing beside Kento is another tall man with tousled short brown hair, sunken eyes, and a prominent nose. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, with a blazer over top, which is about what you would imagine a law student wears. “This is Higuruma,” he introduces the man.

“Hiromi is fine,” he chuckles, surprisingly informal for someone leaning in to extend his hand to you.

Shaking his hand, you flash him a grin. “Nice to meet you,” you greet him, imparting your name. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“It’s not a problem,” Hiromi chuckles kindly, taking a seat kitty cornered from you while Kento sits across from you. Hiromi has an air of tiredness about him that’s not entirely dissimilar to that of Sukuna.

Sukuna returns just in time, a tray of cups held high above the ground to prevent a certain young boy from dangling off his arm and spilling them.

That same young boy happens to be dangling off his other arm, though it hardly seems to weigh the man down as he easily holds both the boy and the bag of treats up. He mumbles something to Choso as he sets the tray down, making a motion for the boy to look in his backpack.

Kento and Hiromi watch in barely-masked shock as Sukuna gently directs the kids to a smaller table in the corner, handing them the bag of sweets and a cup of hot chocolate each. Choso tucks a couple of coloring books and markers beneath his elbow as well as they leisurely make their way to the little table in the corner.

With a heavy, tired, sigh, Sukuna takes a seat beside you, pulling the last two cups out and setting one in front of himself and one in front of you.

“Oh, I don’t-”

Ignoring you outright, Sukuna speaks up. “Woulda gotten you both somethin’ but I don’t know your orders,” he gruffs to the two men opposite him, his jaw tightening at the painfully obvious shock and hint of guilt that gleams in Kento’s eyes.

“That’s… Quite alright,” Kento clears his throat, introducing Hiromi and Sukuna to one another before passing you the box of belongings your parents had sent with him. Hiromi extends his hand again, though Sukuna’s not so eager to take it. It’s all a bit formal for him.

“So, I assume this has to do with legal questions,” Hiromi chuckles wryly as you take a sip of your drink.

Your exact order.

Sukuna remembered.

Sukuna hums, sliding the papers across the table without a word. Hiromi coughs once at the sight of the ripped papers, stifling a laugh at the unsightly state of them. It fades almost immediately as his eyes trace the Times New Roman that litters the page.

With a sigh, he runs a hand through his hair, leaning over the table.

“Right. Before we start, I need to make something clear. What I’m doing right now is illegal as a student, so you can’t breathe a word that I was here,” he states firmly, hollowed eyes flickering between the both of you.

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” Sukuna mumbles, amusement pricking the edge of his tone.

Hiromi glances back at the kids, catching his meaning. “They’re yours, then? Legally, I mean?”

“Yeah.”

Hiromi sighs again, nodding. “I see. Give me a moment to read these.”

“In the meantime, can I get you both something to drink?” You ask politely.

“Coffee, black, please,” Hiromi replies, leaning over the table on his elbow as he tilts the first page read over a rip, casting the glare on the tape elsewhere.

“That will be fine for myself as well, thank you,” Kento smiles kindly. He waits until you’re out of earshot to speak to Sukuna while Hiromi reads. “She cares about you a great deal, you know.”

A muscle in Sukuna’s jaw ticks. He had a feeling this was coming, though he’d hoped you simply wouldn’t leave his side. He can only avoid his mistakes so long, it seems.

“She’s a good friend.”

Kento’s reaction gives nothing away, his observant expression looking for a break in Sukuna’s aloof features, any sign that he’s the shallow asshole Kento had taken him for. When he doesn’t find it, he nods slowly.

“She is. She deserves that same treatment back.”

Sukuna’s lip twitches, bordering on a snarl that he only holds back out of courtesy of the blonde doing him a favor. “I’m aware.”

Kento sighs, his posture relaxing in his seat as Sukuna bites his tongue, matching Kento’s sigh with a striking glare. “Listen, I believe that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and given how close she is to both of us, I’d prefer to be on friendly terms.”

“Mm.”

Gathering that Sukuna isn’t one for words, Kento continues. “I see now that there are…” he pauses, his eyes sliding to the right where the two kids are quietly coloring. “Extenuating circumstances behind what happened and I may have misdirected my anger. So, I apologize.”

Sukuna quietly observes Kento’s surprisingly sincere apology, nodding slowly. “I appreciate you lookin’ out for her.”

Sukuna doesn’t exactly verbally accept the apology, but that’s not uncharacteristic of him. Besides, he can’t exactly hold a grudge against the man who’s helping him in a legal battle. 

“Of course. Let it be known, however, that if you hurt her again, I will not take it so lightly.” Kento adds grimly.

Sukuna huffs. “‘Course.”

“Great.” Kento extends a hand as an act of good will.

“Can we cut the formalities? They aren’t really my deal.”

Kento cracks a smile, nodding. “Sure, Sukuna.”

The sounds of the cafe make for a relatively comfortable silence in spite of Hiromi’s obvious discomfort of the conversation happening over his head. The sounds of the coffee machines, clinking of glasses, and slamming of fridges help to make the environment a little easier on the three men.

“Alright,” you plop down in your chair once more, “two black coffees.”

Both men thank you as you settle beside Sukuna.

“How are the kids?” You quietly ask, leaning back to glance at them.

Sukuna shrugs. “Coloring Spider-Man probably. They seem fine.”

“Alright,” Hiromi taps the stack of unkempt papers against the table, grabbing a pen from the pocket of his blazer and a stack of sticky notes from his pocket. Somehow that’s just so law student that you find yourself with a lopsided smile as you watch. “I’ll need a bit of extra info, can I ask some questions?”

Sukuna slides back in his chair, grimacing to hide his disdain for needing to share his personal life. “Shoot.”

“Right. So, I’ll need the relationships of everyone involved in their lives. Parents, grandparents, and siblings.” He positions his pen to take notes.

Sukuna, begrudgingly as ever, sighs. “Kaori and Jin Itadori are their parents, Jin passed away three or so years ago,” he begins, his leg tapping beneath the table. You’ve noticed he seems to do that whenever the subject of his father comes up around people he isn’t comfortable with. “I’m their half-brother. Father’s side.”

Hiromi nods, writing away with his pen.

“No family remaining on the father’s side apart from myself. They got an uncle and aunt on the mother’s side, as well as a grandfather, I got no contact or names for any of ‘em.”

Hiromi glances up, his eyes sliding towards you. “And your girlfri-”

“We’re friends. She looks after ‘em sometimes,” Sukuna interrupts, keeping his gaze straight ahead. You’re grateful he does, your cheeks absolutely alight with heat. Pulling your hands politely into your lap, you fiddle with your fingers.

Sensing he may have hit a sore subject, Hiromi scratches the back of his neck. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, returning to his notes. “Right. How’d you end up with custody to begin with?”

“Their mother moved for a job before Yuji turned one. When I reached out when our father passed away, she didn’t respond.” Sukuna keeps his replies short and simple, only divulging what he needs to.

Hiromi pauses for a brief moment to stare at Sukuna, as if in disbelief. Kento’s expression matches, but he quickly clears his throat to keep the conversation going. “And the contact with their uncle and aunt? Grandfather?”

“They ain’t my family. I don’t have contact. Lawyers tried, no answer.” He shrugs.

Hiromi jots down more notes, pointing the back of his pen towards Sukuna. “That’s good for you, by the way.”

Sukuna nods slowly, though he’s unable to let his guard down regardless.

“What methods of contact did you use?”

Hiromi clicks his pen a number of times and Sukuna crosses his arms over his chest. “Email, mail, and phone.”

“Was she in communication before Jin passed?” Hiromi queries, leaning over his notes.

Sukuna pauses, narrowing his eyes in thought. “I think so. I don’t have Jin’s phone anymore.”

Hiromi hums, scratching his jaw as he takes down notes. “I see. Are the kids…” he pauses, swinging the end of his pen in the direction of their table, “aware of this?”

Sukuna visibly tenses. “Yeah.”

Gingerly, you slide your leg closer until it’s sidled next to him. Although he doesn’t react, his bouncing leg slows to a halt, as does the subtle shaking of the table. You smile to yourself that you’re able to bring him the comfort he stubbornly refuses to ask for.

“Did she come to you first before sending these over?” Hiromi asks, making a motion towards the legal documents.

Sukuna shakes his head.

“Right. That should do it for the petitioner’s side,” Hiromi hums, tapping the back of his pen against his notes. “Let’s talk about you and your brothers.”

“My favorite subject,” Sukuna grumbles.

Hiromi offers a sympathetic smile. “I get it, believe me. I’m a pretty private person, too. Now, what’s your major?”

“History.”

Hiromi’s brow raises. He seems somewhat surprised, though he doesn’t voice it. “Got anything lined up for when you graduate?”

“No.”

“I assume you’re working as well.”

Sukuna grits his teeth, fed up with the overly personal questions. “Yeah. I’m a mechanic and I stock shelves.”

Hiromi leans on his arm as he jots that down. “You’re a busy guy,” he mumbles, met with Sukuna’s glare at the unhelpful commentary. Hiromi seems unphased, chuckling. “Sorry, my bad. Do you own or rent?”

“I rent an apartment.”

“Three bedroom?”

“Two.”

“Got it. Alright,” he sighs, running both hands through his hair and leaning back in his chair until it’s precariously balancing on the back two legs. With a thud, the chair slams down onto the floor. “Sounds like a fairly standard case. There’s a number of things here that’ll work in your favor, but-” he pauses, wording his statement carefully. “Trying to win a guardianship case against their biological mother isn’t something I would call easy.”

Sukuna nods.

“Let’s go over the basics. She’s trying to claim them as her right as their mother, but she’s also claiming you’re unfit for guardianship on two counts, lack of funds and irresponsibility. That means you’ll need to prove otherwise on both counts, while also convincing them that the right place for the kids is with you,” Hiromi states, shuffling the opening page aside to briskly scan the second page. “At the end of the day, the judge will choose what’s right for the kids. The mother will have a bit of a leg up on you since she won’t have to fight any claims of ill-doing.”

Sukuna frowns. That doesn’t exactly bode well for him.

“You’ve got some good things going for you, though. You should have a record or be able to pull a record of your contact with her. Having two jobs, although not ideal, has its merits as well. Your brothers are clearly both healthy and I assume you’ve kept them in school as well and you’ve had them for three years now, that’s a strong argument.”

“There’s a ‘but’ somewhere here,” Sukuna frowns.

“There… is,” Hiromi agrees, running another hand through his tousled hair and disheveling it further. He leans forward, picking up the stack of legal papers. “I’m assuming the reason she took a job overseas in the first place is for money. She’s paying for a good lawyer,” he points out, setting the paper back down on the table and sliding towards Sukuna. “They’re expensive for a reason, and they’re not just the best in the city. They have national renown.”

Your heart sinks at the sound of that. “So, pro-bono…?”

“It’s certainly an option,” Hiromi avoids your gaze as he replies, something that doesn’t sit well with you. “Legal clinics and pro-bono are meant more for standard cases-”

“You said this was standard,” Sukuna contains his growl, his voice strained. His leg presses hard against yours, his anger contained with all the strength of a bottle cap.

“It is, on paper. The problem here that I’m concerned about is her choice of lawyers.” He taps his pen on his notes as Sukuna drags his hands over his face in exasperation. “They aren’t… exactly known for losing.”

“Fucking... Just fucking great,” Sukuna gripes, leaning over the table on heavy shoulders. He downs what’s left of his coffee, pressing a thumb into the crease between his brows.

“I would be willing to bet that she purposely chose to spring this on you before the kids are old enough to testify.”

“Choso isn’t old enough…?” You query with a frown.

Hiromi slides the legal papers back towards himself, looking over the listed birth date. “No, he’s one year off, and even if he was, you would still need to convince them he’s mature enough.”

“Fuck,” Sukuna sighs, his chest tight. “So my odds aren’t good then, are they?”

Hiromi watches his words as he scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, they’re not ideal. I’d say two to one, but not impossible. You do have a lot going for you.”

“What do you think he should do?” You ask softly.

Hiromi sighs. “Your best bet will be to really lean in on the fact that you’ve had them for three years because she never replied. Call your cell carrier and get phone logs if they’ve kept them, grab any copies of letters sent, pull up emails, anything you can to prove you reached out.” Hiromi pauses, setting his pen on the table as he takes a sip of coffee. “Pull up every record you have that proves the kids are in good health. Things like vaccination records will go a long way. If you can get your employers to write letters detailing your work ethic, that’s worthwhile too. Anything to prove you’re fit.”

Great. His employers get to know about his brothers. Everyone gets to see into Sukuna’s personal life.

Just fucking great.

Sukuna leans hard against his hand, roughly rubbing his eyes. “Sure,” he huffs, swinging a hand through the air. “Why the fuck would she be doing this in the first place?” He leans back suddenly, whipping his hand through the air in exasperation. “Three years ago it wasn’t her fuckin’ problem, so what changed?”

Hiromi flips to the third page of the documents. “If I were to guess, she wants the government grants for childcare.” His eyes skim the second paragraph on the page, pausing as he thinks over what legal code the paperwork is recalling. “I assume you get that right now with two dependents.”

“Yeah, it pays my fuckin’ rent. She’s got money, though, what the fuck changed?”

Sukuna’s clearly running out of patience, to no fault of Hiromi’s, but he’s completely unphased by him. Whatever type of law he’s going into, he must be accustomed to this kind of behavior.

With a tight-lipped smile, Hiromi shrugs. “All I can do is guess. I don’t know.”

Sukuna rakes a hand through his hair. “So, what the hell do I do about the pro-bono thing?”

“I have some contacts that I can recommend that might give you a break on the cash side, but yeah. I’d recommend against going the free route. I really don’t think you’ll have a foot to stand on if you do that.”

Sukuna stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the tile flooring. It echoes loudly around the little cafe, pulling all attention towards him, but he pays it no mind. His brow twitches, crimson eyes filled with distress. “How expensive are we talkin’?”

Hiromi frowns sympathetically. “Two months’ rent I’d guess, though they may cut you a break but it’ll depend on how long you spend with them.”

Looking between the kids and Sukuna, you can see the questions rising from them as their brother holds the cafe’s attention. In an effort to keep everyone calm, you brush your fingers gently against Sukuna’s wrist, your nails dragging softly over his wrist tattoo. “Take a seat,” you urge him, pointedly tilting your head towards his little brothers, who are both staring at him with wide eyes.

Sukuna inhales sharply, taking his seat again. “Is that the high or low end of your guess?”

“High,” Hiromi tries to assure him.

“Great,” Sukuna growls, his anger directed at no one in particular.

“Is there anything else we should know?” You query quietly in an effort to keep the conversation from Choso and Yuji.

Hiromi taps his fingers on the table in thought. “I get it, Sukuna, I really do, but you need to have the patience of a god in court.” Sukuna’s teeth grit on instinct. “A judge won’t take kindly to a mouthy defense. Only speak when spoken to. Got that?”

Sukuna scoffs with all the dramatism of a man falling apart at the seams. “Yeah. Whatever.”

“Thank you, Hiromi. This is a huge help, really.”

He offers a kind smile. “It’s no problem, really. But remember, you got this info online or something,” he chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ll have Kento send you some of my contacts.”

“Thank you. And no problem, this was nothing more than a helpful websearch,” you giggle, checking on Sukuna in your peripherals. He’s staring at his little brothers, the sound of clinking metal muffled by his pocket as he opens and shuts his lighter.

You give him a nudge, pulling him back to the present, if only for a moment. “Mm. Thanks, Hiromi.”

Hiromi, clearly sympathetic to what Sukuna’s going through, smiles. “Happy to help. Thanks for the coffee.”

You say your goodbyes and gather the kids’ belongings and the box from your parents, offering Sukuna a ride home. It’s chilly and getting dark, and the last thing you need is for a man not in his right mind to try to walk two scared kids home.

Fuck, what a situation he’s in.

He accepts your offer with a nod, letting you lead the way and chat with the kids as he trails behind.

The ride is quiet. Even by Yuji’s standards, it’s painfully quiet. He points out some street art of a monster with a crown that he likes, but it seems to be the most even the five-year-old can manage. Their whole family is emotionally drained.

Even by your standards, you’re running on empty at this point. There’s only so much emotional strain you can handle and between the concern that had distracted you all week and a long day of walking on eggshells around Sukuna, your social battery is running low too. There’s only so much you can handle when the man in your passenger seat has nestled his way into your heart and left an irreparable hole in which only he could fit.

Your heart can only handle so much distant love.

It became increasingly clear over the past week that his absence was making your heart grow fonder. Although you were apart for a while after Christmas, his continual emails sated the part of you that craved him so desperately. Without that, a chasm opened and swallowed you whole, unable to fight it for even a moment.

Still, even in the bone-weary silence of your car, being surrounded by Sukuna and his sweet little family holds a temporary bandage around the pieces of your heart. It’s flimsy at best, fleeting as it begins to unravel with each disheartening snap and gripe that comes from Sukuna, but you can’t blame him when his entire world is caving in around him.

Hell, you can’t even begin to worry about the pain the squeezes your heart when he’s barely holding it together beside you. Usually the face of stoicism, yet his well-put-together seams are cracking, revealing his facade not just to you, but to everyone.

Sukuna’s door swings open the moment you park as he stumbles on his feet as though your vehicle had been claustrophobic. He sets a large palm on the hood of your car to steady himself, dazed.

Pushing down the uneasy feeling building in your chest, you keep calm as you lift Yuji out of the back seat and watch him run over to Choso, getting on the tips of his toes to whisper something into Choso’s ear.

Rounding the car, you try to grab Sukuna’s attention, the look of helplessness on his face catching you off guard as he makes a point of hiding from his brothers. His grip on your car is unyielding, his knuckles white from the effort of holding himself upright.

“Keys?” You whisper quietly. He blinks a couple of times, his chest rising and falling startlingly quickly as he fumbles in his jacket pocket with his spare hand. “I got it.” Gingerly reaching out, you slip your hand into his pocket, careful to pull out only his keys and not his lighter.

Jogging up to Choso, you smile reassuringly. “I just need to talk to your brother. You two go upstairs for me, okay? Lock the door behind you.”

Choso nods, pausing to peek past you at his older brother. There’s a silent question in his eyes that he won’t voice. Whether that’s a trauma response or that he knows you understand, you can’t say for sure.

“He’s okay, don’t worry sweetheart,” you reassure him, ruffling his hair.

He puts his trust in you with a half-hearted attempt at a smile and grabs Yuji’s hand to lead the way into the building.

The sun has mostly set over the horizon at this point, casting dark purple hues over Sukuna’s tattooed cheeks. He hunches over the hood of your car, leaning his body so heavily over the vehicle that it dips under his weight. He exhales shakily, dragging his hands down his face.

In your best effort to comfort him, you gently rub his back. His muscles are taut beneath the down of his winter coat, his back rising and falling just a bit too quickly for your comfort.

“Sukuna?”

He forces himself upright, raking his fingers through his hair.

“Fuck!” He barks, taking a step away from you to pace along the side of your car. His mind is a jumbled mess and he doesn’t know how to make sense of the thoughts that seem to relentlessly batter him, leaving him with a heaving, tight chest, searing anger, and something he can’t put a name to.

Anxiety.

“Sukuna?” You try again as his pacing grows erratic.

“Fuck, I don’t fucking-” he stammers, fists balling at his sides as he struggles not to launch the closest thing to his hand into the wall. Again. He doesn’t need to break his lighter twice in only a couple of months.

You take a step towards him in an attempt to disrupt his pacing course, but he simply turns on his heel in the other direction.

“That fucking-”

“Sukuna!” You jog around to face him, gripping the open front of his black coat and stopping him abruptly.

“What?” He snarls breathlessly, pulling back against your grip.

You don’t relent, keeping him in place although you know he has the strength to tear himself from you if he wanted.

“Can you breathe, Kuna?”

He tugs against you once more, gripping the top of your vehicle. It’s cold on the pads of his fingers, a sharp contrast to the blazing heat his body is overproducing. He doesn’t, can’t, reply to you, but you don’t need him to, the answer is written plain as day for all to see.

He’s panicking.

He’s spiraling downwards harshly and his anxiety is taking along with it the strong front that Sukuna has worked relentlessly to maintain. His own body is forcibly breaking down the walls he built not only to keep himself safe, but also his brothers.

His body is begging you for the help he’d never ask for, lest he suffer alone.

“It’s okay if you can’t,” you soothe, your voice low and gentle as he leans against your car. “Sit down in the back of my car,” you urge sternly, attempting to tug him towards the back door.

He forcefully pulls back out of your grip. “I’m not my fuckin’ kid brothers, don’t fucking treat me like them,” he hisses, fire swirling beneath the surface of his eyes. It’s a meager attempt to mask his distress.

You frown, unmoving as you contemplate how to help someone who doesn’t want your help. Someone who doesn’t want pity or sympathy, who wants only respect and nothing less.

It doesn’t matter how much respect for him you have when looking back at him he sees only sympathy in your eyes.

“Please, can we talk? It’s cold out here, just sit in the back of my-”

“For fuck’s sake, what the fuck is there to talk about?” He yells, whipping his hand through the air. He reels back, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “I can fucking handle things, stop sticking your nose in my damn business,” he hisses in a strained tone, rubbing at his chest in discomfort.

Your eyes trail down to watch the way he clutches at his shirt and pulls the collar from his neck as though it’s choking him, his lips slightly parted as he struggles to breathe. “Sukuna, I know you can handle things. Just listen to me, okay?” His eyes snap to you. “Have you had a panic attack before?”

“I’m not havin’ a fucking panic attack, christ, just- gimme some fuckin’ space,” he backs away from you, walking over to his apartment building’s exterior and rummaging through his jacket pockets in search of cigarettes. He pulls out a small cardboard box, flipping it open with shaky hands and muttering a curse under his breath as he comes up empty. He tosses it at full force into the building, leaning his head against the wall a moment later as his vision grows white at the edges.

“Sukuna,” your tone is firm as you come up behind him. “Please sit.”

By some miracle, he flips until his back can slide down the wall and he’s finally sitting, his gaze fixed nowhere in particular behind you.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you lower yourself down to your knees to sit in front of him. Thank god. Even as the cold snow melts beneath you and seeps into the warmth of your pants, chilling the skin of your knees, you push through. Setting your hands on his forearms, you rub soothing circles into them.

“Here, are your hands cold?” Sliding the tips of your fingers along his arm and raising goosebumps with your touch even through the barrier of his jacket, you gauge the temperature of his hands, nodding to yourself. “They are cold… here-” you lift his hand up to cool the back of his neck, which is overheating even in the below freezing weather. “I think that should feel good.”

It shouldn’t piss him off as much as it does that you’re right. It does help, leaving him completely at your mercy, as Sukuna himself doesn’t understand how to quell this feeling.

“Breathe with me, okay?”

He doesn’t react, but his crimson gaze falls to your chest, studying the rise and fall. You direct him by repeating a gentle “in… and out,” moving your thumb along his arm in time with your own breaths and instructions. He closes his eyes as the pain in his chest eases and he’s able to catch his breath.

Continuing to soothingly run your thumb along his arm, you carefully reach up to brush his sweat-slicked hair from his forehead. He stiffens briefly, but quickly relaxes without bothering to open his eyes.

Your heart twists at the intimacy of the situation, but it’s neither the time nor place to concern yourself with your own emotions.

You can handle the way your own chest tightens as Sukuna’s finger twitches and brushes your wrist, settling against the warmth of your skin.

You don’t dare interrupt the peace, giving him the time he needs to find his grounding. It takes him a few moments, but he moves his hand from the back of his neck, settling it on his knee. His gaze fixes on something in the distance as he takes a long, exhausted breath.

To your surprise, his arm that you’re still rubbing circles into flips and his thumb and fingers wrap around the circumference of your forearm. With a lopsided smile, you squeeze his arm back.

“Talk to me.”

With the sun completely set over the horizon, the only light that illuminates Sukuna’s face is that of the light over his apartment building. It glows faintly, flickering every so often with a golden hue that paints the broken expression on his face in such a way that even in this dire situation, he looks ethereal.

His gaze travels upwards as the light flickers again, the golden hue glimmering against the packed snow beneath your (very cold) knees. “I can’t afford a lawyer,” he mutters shamefully, his brow furrowed.

You contemplate your next words very carefully given Sukuna’s nature. “What can I do?” To help?

“Nothing,” he scoffs, his eyes not leaving the point where his hand connects with your arm. Even with a jacket between you, your presence brings him comfort. “I’ll figure shit out like I always do.”

“You don’t need to do this alone, Kuna.”

The glare he shoots you is sharp. “I can manage.”

“Manage until- until what? You have another panic attack?” Although your tone is still gentle, there’s a prickle to your words.

“I didn’t have a fuckin’-”

“Bullshit!”

Sukuna blinks. He can’t remember if he’s ever heard a curse leave your lips. There’s a fiery determination lit beneath you that he won’t quench with his distilled anger.

“You’re allowed to need help, Sukuna. It doesn’t make you weak.”

His grip on your arm tightens, almost uncomfortably. He doesn’t know how to take your words and his vexation is only growing. “I’ll need to take more shifts,” he mumbles.

“I’m here. If you need someone to watch the kids,” you offer.

His chest rises and falls heavily as he exhales slowly. As if coming to some sort of conclusion, he frowns. “You’re too kind, princess.” His tone is uncharacteristically weak and painfully distant. He squeezes your arm once, before dropping it to pull himself up off the ground. He brushes snow from his pants and coat and picks up the empty cigarette box crumpled on the ground. “I’m gonna head inside.” His gaze turns down to your knees as you follow suit and stand before him. “Go warm up and dry off.”

“Are you sure you don’t need-”

“I’m fine.” He assures you, turning towards the door without so much as a goodbye, but he thinks twice on this and pauses before he can enter his building. He examines your frown as he fights an internal debate. His sharp gaze traces your movements as you swipe your tongue over your lower lip and bite down on it.

He’s caught up on a strange inkling in his mind that doesn’t really make sense to him, but he gives pause to it.

Your lips look like a goddamn invitation. He’s not thinking about your body, or the way your skin sears him when you brush his hand. It’s something entirely else that he wants to act on, and all you’re doing is standing there, the picture of uncertainty as you fiddle with your fingers and chew on your lips.

Your god forsaken lips.

“Sukuna?” You meekly question, tilting your head.

He swears you could have the world if you truly wanted with just a tilt of your head.

It’s a shame Sukuna knows he doesn’t belong in your world. You’re too kind, you always have been. You’re like the syrup they drizzle over cheesecake, or the decorative sprinkles that top that shitty whipped cream that bakeries love to use. The sugar-free kind that doesn’t quite taste right and you’re not sure why they even bother with it, so they add the sweetest sprinkles to compensate.

Once again, Sukuna thinks about how you’re the sun, and he’s nothing more than a distant star sputtering out on the horizon. He doesn’t consider that every star is a sun to someone else.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Was just thinkin’. Thanks for organizing today, gave me a lot to work with.”

And with that, he’s pushing through the door before you can even tell him that he’s welcome.

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

❦ a/n ; OOPS ALMOST 18K CHAPTER. honestly it just didn't feel right to end it before the discussion with higuruma and sukuna's reaction to it, so here we are. forgive me for the angst :((( i love these babies sm and it physically hurt to put them through this 😭 the support for this series has been so overwhelmingly lovely and heartwarming, i really can't thank you all enough. seriously, y'all are the sweetest and the comments and asks i've received about this series brighten my day every single time 🫶 anyway, ily all and i'm sorry 😭

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

@yenayaps @rinachains @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

@hellish4ever @kasukuna @theonlyhonoredone @catobsessedlady @timetoletmyimaginationfly

@clp-84 @coffee-and-geto @candyluvsboba @favvkiki @gojodickbig

@spindyl @ohmykwonsoonyoung @kyo-kyo1 @officialholyagua @coldluminarykoala

@ieathairs @cinnamxnangel @nessca153 @aerareads @after-laughter-come-tears

@tillaboo @thepassionatereader @erencvlt @v1sque @a-girl-with-thoughts

@lauuriiiz @blueemochii @paradisestarfishh @erenxh @call-me-doll8811

@toulouse365 @dabieater @janrcrosssing @satsattoru @moonchhu

@privthemis @captainsarcasmandsass @ryomeowie @vitoshi @kunasthiast

@axxk17 @toratsue @bluestbleu @yuji-itadori-fave @totallygyomeiswife

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

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 1: Through the Lens of Dreams

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none, reader being distant with the team (more so paige)

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: "Paige Blockers" being a blocker...

Welcome to the chapter 1 of my New full length series called :Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

The assignment came as a surprise. One minute I was doodling in my notebook, bored out of my mind during Professor Gold's lecture, and the next, he was calling on me.

“Y/N, for your final project, how about something a bit more personal? Something that moves you?”

I blinked, trying to process the shift from the lecture’s dull monotony to my name echoing through the classroom. “Uh, like personal?” I asked, my voice hesitant.

“Yes,” Professor Gold said, his tone encouraging. “Think about what inspires you, what makes you feel alive. Your work has always been strong in capturing emotion and detail—why not channel that into something truly meaningful?”

I tilted my head, chewing on his suggestion. What did inspire me? Basketball had always been a big part of my life, from growing up watching UConn Women’s Basketball games with my mom to attending as a fan now. Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea.

“I… guess I could photograph the UConn Women’s team,” I said slowly, unsure if it would land right.

Professor Gold gave a reassuring nod. “Perfect. Use their stories, their passion, their journey. Show us what it means to be part of something bigger.”

A week later, I found myself walking toward the campus arena, my camera slung over my shoulder. It was game day, and I couldn’t help the excitement buzzing beneath my skin. The night’s game against a strong opponent was sure to be intense, and I couldn’t wait to capture it all through my lens.

Coach Geno Auriemma stood near the court, chatting with a few players, and I took a deep breath before stepping up to him.

“Coach Auriemma,” I said, approaching carefully. “I’m Y/N. I’ve been working on a project for Professor Gold, and I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment about using the team as my subject.”

Coach turned, his eyes scanning me before a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Y/N, right? Professor Gold mentioned you.”

I nodded, feeling a little more at ease under his gaze. “I’d love to capture moments from your team—practices, games, everything. I think it would make for a unique perspective.”

“Unique is good,” Coach said thoughtfully. “We’re always looking for new ways to connect with the fans and our supporters. Just make sure you’re capturing the right shots, no distractions for the team.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied quickly. “I’ll stay out of the way, I promise.”

The game was electric. I had never been this close to the court before, my heart racing as I snapped shot after shot. Paige Bueckers stood out, as she always did—smooth, confident, her presence commanding attention. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.

But then it happened.

Paige leaped for a block, her form graceful and determined. The sound of the ball slamming against her outstretched hand echoed through the arena. In a flash, the ball ricocheted toward me, and before I could even react, it collided with my camera.

The impact sent the camera crashing to the floor, shards of shattered lens scattering across the court.

Time seemed to freeze. My breath hitched as I stared at the mess of broken glass and metal. My favorite camera—ruined.

“Shit,” I whispered, crouching down to survey the damage.

Later that night, after the game had ended and I had made my way back to my dorm, I couldn’t stop thinking about Paige. The collision hadn’t just broken my camera—it had broken something inside me, too.

I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding her, but every time I thought about facing Paige again, I froze.

The next morning, I dragged myself to class, feeling like a walking ghost. It didn’t help that I shared a seat with KK Arnold, Paige’s teammate. KK wasn’t just my classmate—she was also someone who had seen the whole thing unfold.

“Hey, Y/N,” KK greeted with a smile, settling into her seat. “How’s the camera situation? Saw that you got a little too close to Paige’s shot block.”

I winced, my stomach twisting. “Yeah, it wasn’t… great.”

She chuckled softly, but her expression softened when she noticed my downcast eyes. “Look, Paige didn’t mean to—she feels bad about it, I know she does. It was an accident. She wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” I cut in, forcing a smile. “It’s not her fault. Really.”

KK gave me a skeptical look but didn’t press further. “Just… maybe try not to avoid practice today? You’ve been avoiding the team, right?”

I bit my lip, feeling the weight of her words. Avoiding practice wasn’t helping me, but every time I thought about Paige, the memory of that broken camera flashed in my mind.

“I’ll think about it,” I murmured, turning my attention back to the lecture.

By the afternoon, I found myself back at the arena. The air felt different this time, heavier. The stands were packed, buzzing with energy, but I stayed focused on my camera, careful not to interfere with the team.

As I snapped photos, I caught glimpses of Paige—so effortless, so composed. Each shot of her was different, yet every one seemed to highlight that same magnetic presence she carried on the court.

Then, our eyes met.

It was only for a second, but it felt like the world stopped. Paige’s gaze held mine, soft but uncertain, like she was trying to say something without words.

I quickly looked away, heart thudding in my chest.

Later, after practice had ended and the court was mostly cleared, I lingered in the stands, replaying the moments over and over in my head. Paige’s block, the collision, the shattered camera—it wasn’t just a random accident. It had changed everything.

But as much as I wanted to hold on to the anger, the frustration, I couldn’t deny the pull toward her.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza .... (more to be added)

[irisintheafterglow]

NOW PLAYING...IRIS' ROM-COM SPECIAL (20s)

SELECT YOUR LOVE INTEREST:

THE SWEETHEARTS: kirishima eijiro, todoroki shoto, iwaizumi hajime, bachira meguru, umemiya hajime, kaminari denki. THE PLAYBOYS: gojo satoru, hoshina soshiro, kuroo tetsurou, takami keigo/hawks, miya atsumu. THE BROODERS: sakusa kiyoomi, bakugo katsuki, suna rintaro, roronoa zoro, itoshi sae. THE WILDCARDS: nanami kento, miya osamu, itoshi rin, geto suguru, todoroki touya.

SELECT YOUR SCREENING:

1. 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU - A newcomer underclassman crushes on your sister, and pulls some strings to get you to go out with the reckless bad boy that is oddly charming. STARRING: ITOSHI RIN 2. LEGALLY BLONDE - Your boyfriend breaks up with you because he's going to law school, so you follow him. What do you do when he decides it's over, even when you're there? Fall for your professor's junior partner, of course! 3. THE PROPOSAL - Your boss asks you for a favor: marry him so he doesn't get kicked from the country. The problem? You're going with him when he proposes to you on holiday at his family home. STARRING: GOJO SATORU 4. 27 DRESSES - You're a bridesmaid for hire whose boss falls in love with your sister. And she wants you to plan her wedding. And the guy who helped you not get a concussion is stupidly cute. STARRING: ITOSHI SAE 5. SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE - For the record, he doesn't believe in love anymore. But, to appease his son, he talks to the reporter on the radio. Now he has a choice to make: does he risk it all to meet you on Valentine's Day? STARRING: BAKUGO KATSUKI 6. WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING - You fell in love with the cute guy that always passes you at work. When an accident puts him in a coma and his family thinks you're engaged, what do you do when you fall for his brother instead? STARRING: RORONOA ZORO 7. HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS - As a writer, your next big project is to create a list of what traits make men lose romantic interest. Too bad your latest target is hellbent on winning a bet of his own: to make you fall in love. STARRING: MIYA ATSUMU // PART II: DENKI KAMINARI 8. THE WEDDING PLANNER - On the eve of celebrating your greatest career achievement, you're saved from imminent disaster by the man of your dreams. Unfortunately, he's engaged...and is hiring you to be his wedding planner. 9. ALWAYS BE MY MAYBE - On again, off again, you and your childhood best friend went separate ways in life. Back in your hometown for the opening of your first restaurant, you don't expect to see him again. Or expect to see that he's hot. STARRING: MIYA OSAMU 10. LA LA LAND - One was a burnt out actor. One was an aspiring jazz musician. Need I say more? STARRING: RORONOA ZORO 11. THE WEDDING DATE - You have the genius idea of hiring a male escort to accompany you to your sibling's wedding, and find there's more to him than his physique. STARRING: GETO SUGURU 12. 50 FIRST DATES - Whether it's a blessing or a curse, the effects of an accident on your brain cause you to fall in love with him again...and again...and again...and again...and... 13. TO ALL THE BOYS I'VE LOVED BEFORE - Your sister sends the letters you'd written to every boy you'd had a crush on. Fake dating and chaos ensues. STARRING: IWAIZUMI HAJIME // PART 2: TODOROKI SHOTO

TO RESERVE YOUR SEAT:

Send me an ask with your love interest and your rom-com title/number, and that's it! I'll add the character to this masterpost and tag you (unless you'd like to be anonymous!) on the final post. Click HERE to send your request!

Requests will continue to be taken until the end of January or all spots are full! (subject to change depending on demand) Tags for this event will all be under #irisromcomspecial

Edit as of 1/9/25 : If there are multiple requests for the same prompt, I'll write a prompt up to three times!

One character per rom-com please, but if you'd like to make multiple requests, feel free! Questions? Feel free to send an ask or leave a comment!

DIRECTOR'S NOTES:

EEK okay so this is my first ever event and it's for my birthday :) I'm a huge fan of rom-coms so I gathered some of my favorites of all time to apply some new characters to and hopefully make you want to watch (or rewatch) them too! I'm very excited to host this event and hopefully have some fun fics released in the process. Thank you all so much for your support on my blog, I appreciate it more than you'll ever know. Disney+ banner was made by me, heart dividers are by the wonderful @cafekitsune !

[mcytegg]

Roshambogames Teammate tierlist 👍

its basically just my incredibly biased personal opinion on who i think ro would work well w in a team. (mapicc gets his own tier bc he is mapicc.)

[delilahsturniolo]

𝒂 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒓’𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 — 𝒄.𝒔 ᥫ᭡⋆˚࿔

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 . . . 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 💌

in which . . . y/n and chris attend boston university, the both of you are always competing and bickering with each other academically. one day, chris suddenly asks you to help him make his ex jealous. the only problem is, you can’t stand each other. what happens when chris can no longer keep his true feelings about you a secret?

warnings . . . none?

written by @delilahsturniolo . do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

one, two, three

the deal had been going on for about 2 weeks now. throughout the days, you and chris were being as touchy and flirty as you could around victoria. even your classmates were highly suspicious of the two of you, the sudden switch up was strange to them. if you were being completely honest, you didn’t really mind having chris around anymore.

as of right now, you and chris sat in the corner of the library. he was helping you study for a calculus exam you had to take, and so far you were doing great. you already saw a huge improvement in your grades, since chris had been helping you everyday. if it wasn’t for him, you be miserably failing right now.

you watched as chris wrote example equations for you to see on a scrap piece of paper. he put his pencil down and lifted his head to look at you. “you’re doin’ really well, y’know. this isn’t an easy topic.” chris smiled at you, making you blush slightly. “thank you for helping me, chris. it means a lot.” you replied.

“well…i kinda have to. we made a deal.” chris snickered, noticing how flustered you looked. “are you blushing?” he teased, you shook your head and put it into your hands. “i’m not!” your giggles were muffled, chris playfully rolled his eyes. you both went quiet, just sitting in a comforting silence together. that was, until chris began to speak.

“hey uh—i’m sorry about the party, by the way.” chris suddenly spoke, making you lift your head up from your hands and give him a puzzled look. “what’re you sorry for?” you asked him, chris sighed. “i’m sorry about victoria. i shouldn’t have let her do that to you, i should’ve stopped her. it wasn’t right.” chris confessed, making your heart sink.

“chris, you don’t need to apologize. it wasn’t your fault at all.” you quickly reassured chris, he ran a hand through his hair before replying. “yeah, i guess…” was all chris could manage to say. you could tell he wanted to say more, it was obvious he had deep feelings about the situation. he was feeling something he couldn’t tell you, his expression was hard to read.

suddenly, the bell rang. you and chris gathered your things and began heading off to class, since you both had your next period together. the two of you walked in and headed over to your designated seats. you waved to stacy and sat next to her, chris sat a few rows ahead of you. the professor got up from his desk and began to clear his throat.

“good morning, class! today we have something special to do. we have a project about what we have been working on in class, this will be a group effort, i will be assigning the groups.” the professor explained, you and stacy exchanged a look, hoping you both ended up together.

the professor began to announce the groups. “anna, hailey, and alex…gigi and ben…” he began. you just hoped you ended up with a good group, you needed this project to be picture perfect. “stacy and jasmine…y/n, victoria, and chris…” the professor announced.

wait, what!?

stacy looked at you with her eyes widened. no no no…this couldn’t be happening, this just couldn’t be true. you felt your heart nearly jump out of your chest, there was absolutely no way you were going to work with chris and victoria at the same time. you knew chris probably didn’t mind…but you were in a state of panic, and shock. you hadn’t even interacted with victoria since the party.

this project was about to go south.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

a/n✉️: sorry about the veryyyy short chapter…but things are getting angstyyyy!!

[neunnnnnnn]

SLEEP PARALYSIS IS YOUR BEST FRIEND+ LONG STORYTIME OF HOW I SHIFTED WITH IT ✨

Okay here me out as someone who has been "traumatised" during sleep paralysis ( I felt a hand go up my legs and I was wearing a night dress mind you) it's not actually as scary as you might think.

Because Sleep paralysis is when a person transitions between sleep stages, particularly from REM (rapid eye movement) sleep, during which the body is naturally paralyzed to prevent acting out dreams, into wakefulness.

It is harmless and I'm sorry to say this but those "shadows" that you see are actually a projection of your subconscious mind. What is it that's actually scaring you?

Is something that you should seek to discover or else you might be stuck and keep on waking up every time you feel an intense symptom or feeling. Journal it or whatever method you use and tell yourself that it's all in your head and that you are more powerful than that and most importantly you are safe.

Storytime

Okay so I was planning on doing an awake method and I decided to lay on my back since I sleep when I'm in a comfortable position. Anyway I got my subliminal and started counting. I counted till 100 then I started affirming I felt the usual symptoms; twitching, feeling really hot etc but then nothing was happening and was starting to get impatient. I told myself lemme just count the last time till 50 then I'll just go to sleep because I was also starting to get sleepy. I started counting then when I reached 15 I felt a pressure on my chest like something was pushing me down like aggressively but I told myself that I'm not going to get scared cause I thought I was shifting so I continued counting. I reached around 35 when my eyes opened on its own , I was so excited but when I looked around I was still in my room and I almost crashed out because I was so done atp 😭✋🏽. I tried to move but I couldn't and I could still hear the subliminal that's when I knew that I had sleep paralysis. Since I've never seen any "demons/shadows" I wasn't scared and I thought lemme try shifting to my Dr but I didn't specify which one and it still pisses me off to this day!!!

Anyway I started affirming that, " I'm in my Dr" over n over when suddenly my legs started floating and my eyes like shut themselves and I couldn't open them I started being scared because wth 😭. Anyway I just kept affirming and then I saw flashlights, it was like there were cameras flashing around my eyes . When suddenly everything stopped and my eyes opened by itself.

I noticed that I was in an all white room with white sheets and there was a woman next to me. I sat up because I was confused on which reality I was in and I looked at the woman and saw that it was Aurora ( the singer, I luv her sm😭) she was seated on the bed and was reading a book , she glanced at me and I immediately asked her which building are we in and she looked at me like I was fucking crazy and started saying that my jokes are turning to be pathetic, like huh?!?😭 Y'all I was so offended I had even forgotten that I had shifted for a second. I just decided not to argue with her and I looked outside the window on my left and it looked like the medieval times? I'm not sure and the buildings were like the old times designed . I looked down at myself and I saw that I was white ( I'm mixed) and that's when I was like, "Did I shift to a reality where I'm a white person?"( Oh and I was wearing a grandma nightdress 😭it was cute tho it was in baby pink) Immediately I stood up wanting to like know where the hell I was but then I couldn't move my legs like I couldn't lift them so I was just awkwardly standing there trying to lift them and Aurora sighed saying " How do you expect to walk after the night you just had?"

WHEN I TELL YOU MY JAW WAS ON THE FUCKING FLOOR I LITERALLY SCREAMED AT HER"WHAT?! " and she told me to shut up 😭. Anyway she said that 'he' told her to come up to check on me because I wasn't waking up!!! I was shocked and I just kept thinking " Did I just get fucked a few hours before I shifted here? What if I had shifted in the middle of it?!" My mind was so chaotic and I couldn't even think of anyone that could have been 'him'

Anyway Aurora came and pushed back on the bed telling me that I have to rest because I haven't really slept much but then I started feeling like my body was being pulled down and I knew that I was shifting back and started pleading to Aurora to help me up because I was not sleepy but she insisted and told me to sleep and that she'll be right back and then I woke up here.

I was in shock for like 5 minutes and I couldn't even leave the bed, I was feeling a little disoriented and nauseous, I also noticed that my body had moved positions to me laying on my side.

Hope this motivates you n that you don't need any genetics to shift that's a load of bullshit🚮, your cat can even shift if it could who knows . And this was to also show you that sleep paralysis isn't scary or bad and can actually be useful. I'm still not sure if you can manifest through it but I'll try next time and see✨.

This is what I Saw one woman wearing, not sure which time period this is.

[genericpuff]

Hello! I'm someone with autism (and I'm suspecting ADHD too) who's planning multiple projects. Do you have any advice when it comes to overthinking a lot about decisions on a project? Be it the first step, planning, questioning if you're moving too fast, etc?

ouuuu I think the biggest thing I struggle with personally is just like... the overbearing weight of expectation that isn't necessarily even there. Like, expectation to do everything right all the time, to never make mistakes, to never fall through on promises, to never break any 'rules' (real or imaginary) and most of all, for everything I do to matter in some big, recognizable, memorable way - but the steps to that goal aren't defined, I just know what the goal looks like, with no clear path as to how to get there, and so it often results in me aiming at my own "best guess" and then beating myself up for not hitting the target LOL which is completely unfair to myself and my own work!

What I try to regularly remind myself of is that I am one person, who is only capable of what one person should reasonably be able to accomplish on their own, no matter how much my auDHD tries to convince me otherwise that I "should" be able to handle more than what's reasonable. And in that same sense, there isn't any more pressure on me to put out something perfect than there would be on any other person. I am not Atlas carrying the fate of the greatest work known to mankind on my shoulders - I'm a chronically online dweeb making stuff that's interesting to themselves and sharing it in the hopes that even just one other person will like it too. That isn't a diss on myself, that's me embracing what I am so that I can keep doing it better and more confidently each time.

Though I don't know if this exactly applies to you, I'm gonna say it just in case: I know when it comes to balancing multiple projects, it can be hard not to go "oh well I SHOULD be working on xyz!" but at the end of the day, you're not a failure for preferring to work on something else or needing space from projects that used to thrill you and have now become monotonous. In fact, it turns out that's how it is for most neurotypical people too! I know they make a lot of shit look easy, but even they have shit they loathe doing - they just don't have to deal with the unique hurdles of being neurodivergent.

Always remember to set boundaries with yourself and your work. Remember, just because you're really excited to work on something, doesn't mean you have to work on it all the time. I've learned to appreciate those moments when I'm stuck doing my day job and I'm excited to get home and work on my passion project, because it means I can actually look forward to it and it'll feel all the more rewarding when I finally get to do it! Pushing yourself too hard to fulfill that excitement all at once right off the bat often just means you're gonna spend it all way too quick, and that won't feel good because then you'll be left wondering where all the love went.

Set little goals for yourself. Stuff that's manageable and achievable within a reasonable amount of time. I know we tend to dive into thinking huge right off the bat, because that's what's exciting to us, but when it comes time to actually do the work, those smaller goals can keep us moving forward far better than the big, far off, ambiguous goal hiding somewhere off in the horizon. While it's good to plan ahead, not setting smaller milestones for yourself can burn you out faster because it's really hard to work towards an "end goal" that might be too far away for us to even conceptualize. The small goals allow us to reward ourselves along the way, and they do ultimately still build up to the bigger picture in the end, even if it feels like we're "not doing much". It can be anything like "get to this chapter that I can finish in the next few weeks" or "fully write out this scene that's been living in my head rent-free".

As for the overthinking... yeah, I wish I had some magic solution to that, but it's really just about learning what you enjoy doing vs. what you don't, so that you can have confidence in knowing when your creative decisions suit the project you're working on. This is something that gets better with practice and experience, but I feel like it's better tackled by reminding yourself that any project, no matter the outcome of how popular it gets or whether or not it "takes off", is an opportunity to learn and grow. Treat every project as a learning experience and you'll hopefully find the process itself more enjoyable, which will subsequently buff up your confidence. It's all a process of honing in on what works for you, what you excel at, and what you enjoy doing; while learning what doesn't work for you, what you could improve at, and what you don't enjoy doing.

Finding a writing buddy or someone who's willing to read your work and give you feedback is super helpful for this, too, because sometimes it takes another perspective to help us navigate the fog of indecision and find a solution.

And again, remember - you are one person, and you are under no obligation for any of your projects to be some perfect, infallible holy grail. You will write stuff that you will inevitably look back on with disgust and cringe. You will create projects that you will eventually outgrow or move on from. That does not invalidate the time and effort you put into those projects - it's proof of experience and growth. Embrace the growing pains, find peace in the process in whatever way you can.

It's not a question of right or wrong - it's asking yourself what feels true to you and your voice, and finding out along the way.

[toonice113]

Slut! ⋆ ★ N.Hischier 

0. ┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁  Begin again 

Pairings: Nico Hischier x Singer!FMC (Teddy Wells)

Summary: Teddy has just gone through a horrible breakup, her best friend gives her the chance to begin again by setting her up on a date.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of breakdowns, Lando Norris being a horrible ex (he gets worse sorry)

Word count: 1.7k

Face claim: Nicole Wallace

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Welcome to the intro for my new Nico fic, as it stands this will have 3 parts (Peace, But daddy I love him and Slut!) plus this intro. I had the idea for this a while ago and planned to write it as a full thing on wattpad but I get bored of my projects so quickly that I decided not to do it and so here we are now with a three part series, I’m not sure when the rest of it will go up as I only have an outline of it but keep an eye out for it! Anyways I kinda rushed to write this while I could because lately I’ve been getting a million ideas but when I start to write it just disappears so it might not be the best but I hope you still enjoy it.

Breakups are hard, breaking up for the second time with the guy you thought you were going to marry and spend the rest of your life with is harder, add fame to the mix and it is one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do. For the past month I’ve been hiding away from everyone in my NYC apartment, the first week was the worse, moving out of our Monaco apartment in the middle of the night, calling Alyssa so she could book me the next flight back to America then having to contain myself during the trip so no one realized how broken I was, arriving back at the NYC apartment I broke down and spent that whole week crying on the couch. Alyssa herself took a flight to Monaco the next week after making sure that I was well enough to at least feed myself to retrieve the things I had left behind, while she was away I had the most humbling experience of my life (more than the one time where someone almost threw me out of my own show while backstage but that’s a different story) when I set the table for two people while on autopilot and then burned one of the placemats when I realized what I had done leading to yet another breakdown. A month after my breakup I had pulled myself together enough to be trusted to be left alone, and I only did it because I felt selfish for keeping Alyssa in New York when I knew she had a trip planned to see her family in Switzerland, she begged for me to join her but I didn’t want to intrude and bring down the happy mood.

Alyssa came back two weeks later with a plan and no intention of backing out of it, she was setting me up with one of her friend’s brother who lived in New Jersey, a hockey player named Nico who according to Alyssa if he wasn’t one of her best friend’s brother she would’ve smashed (her words not mine). I of course rejected the date immediately, I had just gotten to the point of not crying at the sight of my ex boyfriend and his new girlfriend who he had cheated on me with, because of course although he hadn’t confirmed anything there were tons of pictures of the two online, so I was in no state to go out on dates but my best friend does not back down, like ever, which is one of the qualities I liked about her so much when I first hired her to be my personal assistant, I’ve never not gotten a reservation I’ve wanted even if said reservation was in the new cool restaurant that already has a six month waiting list. After days of nagging I finally gave in, and that’s how I found myself on the back of an Uber on a Wednesday on my way to a coffee shop in Hoboken nervously picking at my nails and straightening the skirt of my dress over and over again until the driver announces that we have arrived, I thank him and walk out, I’m five minutes early and I don’t expect him to arrive on time, Lando never did, so I probably have some time to settle down on a table before he arrives, to calm my nerves a little, but when I walk through the door I see him sitting on a table on the other end of the cafe, that is thankfully not that busy, he looks better than in the pictures Alyssa showed me. Slowly I approach him and as soon as he notices me he gets up to greet me “Teddy, hi” he speaks out and I can’t help but swoon a little in my head at his voice “I’m Nico” he introduces himself with a smile putting is hand out for a handshake

“Hi” I take his hand “It’s nice to meet you” I’m sure my voice comes out shaky but he doesn’t say anything about it an instead pulls my chair out so I can sit after we let go of the handshake

“Do you want to order?” he asks motioning to the small menu in the middle of the table “I’m not sure what you like but I was looking at the menu and there seem to be a good selection of pastries that my trainers would probably disapprove of but oh well” 

We order and talk for a bit while sipping on our drinks and eating our pastries, I let him take the lead in the conversation partly because I’m nervous as this is my first date with someone other than Lando in a very long time, and even with Lando dates were scarce, but also because I don’t want to be rude and interrupt the stories he’s telling me “So how did you meet Alyssa?” he asks after he finishes his story

“Uh she’s my assistant actually, well the title is forgotten most of the time nowadays since we’ve gotten so close but yeah my manager thought I needed someone to help me around and I interviewed around six people before Alyssa walked in, I was actually about to call the rest of the interviews before she came in because I was having problems scheduling some recording sessions, but she walked in and helped me figure it out in ten minutes, and that’s how I knew she was the one” I say and this is probably the longest I’ve talked in the twenty five minutes we’ve been chatting “We became friends fast, although between you and me I think she just pretends to like me because I pay her” I joke and he chuckles letting me see his dimples.

“You know when Nina called about setting me up on a date I said no because I know better than to trust my sister with my love life” He says and I notice his voice goes softer when he talks about his sister “And then he added Alyssa to the call and I knew I was done for” 

“She is good at convincing people to do things they don’t want to do” I agree “Last year she decided we were gonna go camping and as much as I enjoy nature I’m more of a glamping kind of girl, like I love the idea of sitting around a fire surrounded by nothing but green but Alyssa’s idea of camping was more like a tent and sleeping bags” he listens to me attentively and it’s kind of new to have someone look that interested in what I have to say “Anyways I say yes and we get to the place, we went with a couple other friends and she was in charge of getting our tents and stuff, turns out she got a kid sized tent for both of us” he cackles, and his laugh makes me chuckle too “Thankfully we fit somehow but only if we slept like basically cuddling and that is how I found out Alyssa is a real fan of snuggling when she sleeps” he laughs again, his dimples deepening “I had to pee at some point, thankfully there were porta potties, so I had to untangle myself from her and it was such a challenge that I thought I would pee right there but finally I got out and went to the restroom and then as I was going back to the tent I saw something move where we had stored our food and got so scared I ran to our tent and woke Alyssa up telling her there was a bear, because I was convinced it was a bear, both Alyssa and I armed ourselves with the only things we had in the tent, our flashlights, and when we came out ready to attack we found out it was only one of our friends having a midnight snack” he laughs even harder, throwing his head back and I can’t remember the last time someone found one of my stories this funny “Safe to say I’m never camping again much less with Alyssa” 

“Oh man” He looks back at me after his laughing subsides “So you were planning on fighting a bear with your flashlights?” 

I nod, smiling “You wanna know the best part?” he nods with a raised eyebrow “They were those pocket flashlights that are smaller than your hand” his head falls back again as he laughs more “There was no space for the big ones in our kiddie tent!” I exclaim laughing with him 

We stayed at the cafe for a couple hours just getting to know each other, and for a while I forgot all about Lando and my heartbreak, finally after my uber arrived, a street over because they had closed the street we were in for some random thing they had to fix while we were in the coffee shop, our chatter subsided, and as we walked to the car in silence I saw a poster for an athletic brand with Lando in it and just as I was about to say something about it, Nico picked up the conversation again talking about the holidays as we passed by a little shop selling christmas ornaments (even though it was not yet christmas time) “We always watch Elf, it’s my favorite christmas movie and I begged my mom every day for like two weeks to make me the spaghetti, finally one day she agreed to let me prepare it with the leftovers after she made dinner, I ended up throwing up in the bathroom” This time I chuckle 

“Poor baby Nico” I say poking his side 

“Well not really baby Nico, I think I was like twelve or thirteen when it happened” We both laugh and then we are standing in front of my uber “So… Thank you for today” 

“I should be the one saying thank you” I say smiling at him “I had a great time” 

“Me too” he hesitates a little but then he pulls me in for a hug, opening the door for me as we let go “Let me know when you get home safe” I nod with one last smile and get on the car waving goodbye feeling a little sad that the date is over, which is weird because just three hours ago I was so sure this would’ve gone horribly wrong but now all I can think about is when I’m going to see this man again and of course thanking Alyssa for setting this up and giving me the opportunity to begin again.

[kirammanswifey]

wedding planning struggles with arcane characters x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: did i told you guys that i love this dynamic? because i do, i reaaally do, it's just so comforting describing this kind of mundane and simple problems. i'll exploit this dynamic much more, exciting scenarios are coming. as you already know request are open ;)

marriage proposal link:

Viktor

The excitement of planning your wedding with Viktor fills you with energy. From choosing the flowers to the menu, every detail matters. You've spent hours discussing colors, flavors, and sensations, but lately, you feel like Viktor isn’t sharing your enthusiasm. Today is one of those days when, sitting next to him in the lab, you try to capture his attention.

"Viktor, what do you think about the tablecloths? Do you think we should go with an ivory tone or something more vibrant, like a sky blue?" you ask, flipping through fabric samples.

He barely glances up from his project. "Whatever you prefer, darling."

You sigh and move on to the next question. "And the menu? We have options between a fish dish or meat. Which one do you think the guests will like more?"

"Whatever you decide will be fine," he responds with little interest, his eyes still focused on his work.

Frustrated, you decide to test him. "What do you think about the paper napkins? I was thinking of choosing ones with a floral pink print. Do you like the idea?"

Without looking up, he murmurs, "Yeah, sounds good."

Your patience runs thin. "Viktor! Paper napkins are for picnics, not for our wedding!"

He finally stops, looks at you, clearly confused. "Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I was focused on this experiment."

"Exactly, Viktor. You’re always focused on something else. You don’t care about the wedding, do you? No matter what I ask, you always say that whatever I prefer is fine. Does this marriage even matter to you?" The words come out with more force than you intended, but your frustration takes over.

Viktor puts down his tools and turns to face you. "That’s not true. Of course it matters. But you’re better at these things. I trust you to make the right choices."

"It’s not just about making the right choices," you reply, your voice shaking. "I want you to be involved, to do this with me. I don’t want to do it alone."

Viktor rubs his forehead, clearly searching for the right words. "I’ve been involved. I suggested we have the wedding in the Undercity, in the old market where I used to spend my childhood. I wanted that place to have meaning for us. But you refused, you said it was dangerous."

You sit in silence for a moment, processing what he said. "I did it because I want our guests to be safe. Not because I don’t care about what that place means to you."

"I understand, but that was my way of participating, and I felt rejected," he says, his voice low but full of emotion.

Your frustration turns into sadness, and you can't stop the tears from filling your eyes. "Viktor, this is important to me. I just wanted you to feel as excited as I do."

Seeing your tears, Viktor quickly approaches and takes your hands in his. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t care. This marriage means the world to me, just as much as it does to you. If I’ve been distant, it’s just because I sometimes get lost in my work. But I promise to be more present."

You embrace him, feeling the warmth and sincerity of his words. "That’s all I wanted to hear."

He gently strokes your hair, whispering, "We’ll do this together. From now on, I’ll be your partner in all of this, not just in the big things, but in every little detail."

You smile through the tears, feeling the weight of the tension lift. "Thank you, Viktor. I love you."

"And I love you," he replies, his voice filled with tenderness. "I always will."

You both remain in each other's arms, knowing you've found mutual understanding, strengthening your bond and the excitement for the day that is to come.

Jinx

Planning a wedding with Jinx is, to say the least, a roller coaster. You're sitting in your small living room, surrounded by catalogs, fabric samples, and endless task lists. Jinx is on the floor, playing with a knife and tossing it in the air, seemingly uninterested in the process.

"Jinx, can you focus for a second? We need to decide on the wedding theme," you say, trying to get her attention.

She shoots you a quick look, a mischievous smile on her face. "I already told you, we're having a wedding with explosions and fireworks. What else do we need?"

You sigh, trying to stay calm. "Yes, but we need more details. What colors do we want to use? What style of decoration?"

"Colors... hmm," Jinx leans back, holding the knife above her head. "I like blue, you know, like my hair. And pink, because it's fun. How about those?"

"Blue and pink, fine," you say, jotting it down in your notebook. "And about the food? We need to decide on the menu."

Jinx rolls her eyes, clearly bored. "Food? Whatever, something that'll keep them energized to dance all night."

You stop and look at her intently. "Jinx, are you really interested in this? Because I feel like you're not taking any of it seriously."

She sits up quickly, her smile fading a bit. "Of course, I'm interested. It's just... all this planning stuff isn’t really my thing. I like spontaneous things, you know?"

"But this is important to me," you say softly but firmly. "I want it to be special for you too."

Jinx goes silent for a moment, her gaze softening. "Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to think I don’t care. I just have a hard time sitting still and thinking about things so... organized."

You move closer to her, taking her hands. "I know, and I understand. But I want this day to be perfect for both of us. I need your help to make it happen."

She looks at you, her blue eyes shining with sincerity. "Alright, toots. I’ll do it. You just have to guide me a little, okay? I’m not great at this, but if it’s important to you, I’ll do it."

You smile and hug her, feeling her vibrant energy now more focused on you. "Thank you, sweets. It means a lot."

"We’re gonna make this wedding explosive, in a good way," she says, grinning again with that unmistakable spark. "And I promise I won’t blow anything up. At least not too much."

You both laugh, feeling like the planning now has a unique touch, with Jinx’s essence but also with the care and love you share.

Vi

The excitement for the wedding has you glowing. You've spent the whole day talking to your parents about the plans, thrilled about every luxury they can include thanks to their generosity. When you walk into the apartment you share with Vi, you're euphoric, eager to tell her every detail.

"Vi, you have no idea what we're going to have at the wedding!" you exclaimed, dropping your purse on the couch and walking over to her. "My parents are handling everything. We’re going to have imported flowers, a special performance from Seraphine, and even a chocolate fountain. It’s going to be amazing!"

Vi, who was sitting on the edge of the bed sharpening her fighting gloves, looked up. "And what else? Are they bringing unicorns too?" Her tone was clearly sarcastic.

You stopped, surprised by her reaction. "What do you mean by that?" you asked, crossing your arms.

She shrugged, setting the glove aside. "Nothing, just that it seems like your parents are turning this wedding into more of a show than a celebration."

"That’s not fair, Vi," you said, feeling defensive. "They just want the best for us."

Vi sighed, running a hand through her short hair. "Sure, the best for their perfect daughter, who’s lucky enough to get to marry someone like me."

The comment hit you harder than you expected. "What are you implying? That my parents are doing this just out of obligation? Vi, they support us, and I... I’m happy they’re helping. I don’t understand why you have to be like this."

"Why do I have to be like this?" Vi stood up, her voice rising slightly. "Because this isn’t what I imagined. I didn’t want us to have to depend on them for everything. I wanted to give you a wedding I could afford, something that came from me, not from them."

Vi’s words took you by surprise. You felt like the conversation was going in a different direction than you had expected. "Vi, my parents just want to help."

She shook her head, taking a step toward the window. "You don’t understand. It’s my pride, deer. It hurts that I can’t give you what you deserve. Every time you talk about the things they’re paying for, it reminds me of how little I have to offer you."

You walked over to her, taking her hand and forcing her to look at you. "Vi, you’ve given me more than any luxury or extravagance ever could. You’ve given me your love, your support, your strength. I don’t care who’s paying for the wedding, because the only thing that matters to me is that you’ll be by my side."

Vi’s eyes softened, her expression shifting from frustration to something gentler. "I’m sorry," she murmured. "I just... feel so useless sometimes, seeing them do everything."

"Vi, you’re not useless," you said firmly, caressing her cheek. "You are everything I’ve ever wanted. This day will be ours, no matter who’s paying for it, because the most valuable thing to me is marrying you."

She leaned in, her lips brushing yours in a soft, emotional kiss. "Thank you for understanding," she whispered against your lips. "I promise I’ll do everything I can to make this day special, even if I can’t pay for it with money."

"It’s already special because it’s with you," you replied, hugging her tightly. "I love you, Vi."

"And I love you, more than words can say," she said, holding you as if she never wanted to let go.

You both stayed there, embraced, letting the tension fade, knowing that, no matter the problems, together you could overcome anything.

Caitlyn

The room was adorned with a golden glow, the walls decorated with elegant tapestries, and the wedding plans scattered across the table, along with details and proposals. You were excited, visualizing what your wedding day would be like, but you couldn’t help but notice that Caitlyn seemed quieter than usual. Her gaze seemed fixed on the corner of the room.

"Cait? What do you think of these centerpieces?" you asked with a smile, wanting to share the excitement of the planning. "We could choose lavender flowers, something simple but elegant, right?"

Caitlyn didn’t respond immediately. Her fingers played with the edge of her glass, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere. Finally, she looked up at you with a forced smile, which didn’t quite hide the worry in her eyes.

"It sounds good, although... I'm not sure my parents would agree with something so... simple," she said with a tone you couldn't ignore.

A knot formed in your stomach. You knew Caitlyn came from an aristocratic family, with many traditions that were expected to be upheld, but you never imagined that external pressure could interfere so much with something so important to both of you.

"What do you mean by that?" you asked, already sensing the growing tension in the conversation.

Caitlyn took a deep breath, standing up and walking toward the window as if she needed space to organize her thoughts. "My family... expects us to have a wedding that represents our status, something worthy of tradition. I don’t know if they would accept the venue being decorated with lavender flowers..." her voice lowered as she continued speaking. "They want everything to be big and glamorous, with high-profile guests. They think a simple wedding, even if it’s on our own, doesn’t reflect what’s expected of us."

Your heart raced. You knew Caitlyn’s parents weren’t exactly easy to please, but you never imagined their expectations would overshadow what you both wanted for this day.

"But... Cait," you began, trying to understand, "isn’t this our wedding? Why do we have to do it the way they want? I don’t want a celebration that doesn’t feel like ours. I want it to be something of ours, not just a display of status."

Caitlyn turned toward you, her face now more serious. "I know! I know, and I agree with you. But I can’t disrespect them, not without consequences. They... pressure me in ways you don’t understand. If we don’t meet their expectations, it would look like a failure for our family."

The tone of her voice grew more desperate, more exhausted. You knew she didn’t want to give in, but you also understood the internal battle she was trapped in, between the love she felt for you and her loyalty to her family.

"So, you want our wedding to be some kind of act to impress your parents, instead of what we really want?" Your voice cracked as you asked, feeling the dream you had for that day crumbling.

Caitlyn quickly walked over to you, taking your hands firmly, her gaze filled with regret. "It’s not that. I don’t want that. It’s just... I can’t stop feeling the pressure my parents put on me. They have so much power, and I don’t want to hurt them in a way that will cause us more problems."

The pain in her eyes broke your heart. You knew what that meant to her, the conflict between the love she had for her family and her desire to do things her way.

"I love you, Cait. And I want this wedding to be ours, not a show for them," you said, trying to calm the storm that was brewing in the air. "Cait, I know you’re strong, and I know we can face all of this together. It’s just not fair."

A tear fell from her left eye, something you had never seen before. Caitlyn, so strong and determined, now seemed vulnerable, lost amidst her own expectations and those of others.

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "I just want you to be happy. I don’t want you to think I’m not considering you. I’m just so trapped in this... and I’m scared that everything will end up being what they want, not what we want."

In that moment, you knew it was time to set aside the anger and hold her. She was having a hard time, caught in a difficult situation, struggling to find a way to satisfy both your desires and her parents’ expectations.

"We can do this, Cait," you whispered, your arms gently caressing her delicate back, and she leaned into you, resting on the person she loved and needed most at that moment. "If we support each other, we’ll find a way. The wedding will be everything we dreamed of, and what your parents expect, but always within what really matters to us. It doesn’t have to be a sacrifice if we do it together."

Caitlyn looked at you for a long moment, as if evaluating your words, evaluating your feelings. Then, with a soft smile, she cupped your chin and kissed you. "I promise I’ll do it. We’ll do it together, like always."

The tension that had filled the room disappeared, and all that remained was mutual understanding and the certainty that, no matter how many difficulties there were, they were willing to face them together. And that was the only thing that mattered.

Jayce

The flowers, the music, the menu... everything seemed to be taking shape, but there was something in the air, a growing sense of discomfort that you couldn’t ignore.

"Jayce, do you really think we need to invite all those people?" you said, the fatigue and frustration beginning to seep into your voice. "Your guest list... it's huge!"

Jayce, who until that moment had been reviewing the papers with enthusiasm you couldn’t share, looked up at you, smiling with a mix of confidence and energy. "It’s Piltover, darling! We need to make this wedding a big deal, something everyone will remember. We have to invite the most influential figures, the city leaders, the people who really matter."

Your breath quickened. You knew Jayce was a man of great ambition and vision, but at that moment, you couldn’t help but feel dismissed by his words. As if all that mattered to him was image and status, and not the fact that this day was so much more personal for both of you.

"I don’t understand, Jayce," you said, trying to keep calm, but your tone came out firmer than you’d expected. "Why is it so important who’s there? Why can’t we do something more intimate, with the people closest to us, with the ones who really matter?"

Jayce frowned, dropping the papers on the table and approaching you with an intensity that made you feel vulnerable. "Are you saying you don’t want to make this a big event? That you don’t want all of Piltover to know what our union means?"

"No, I’m not saying that," you replied, your voice trembling with the accumulated frustration. "What I want is for this day to be something we remember, not what Piltover thinks of us. I want a wedding with meaning, with the people who truly matter to us, not a party to impress others."

Jayce crossed his arms, his jaw tense. You could see his mind starting to process your words, but you could also tell there was something inside him that refused to give in. "This is important! This isn’t just a party, it’s a statement. We’re talking about our future, our position in this city. Everything we do, everything, reflects who we are."

A wave of anger took over you. Each word from Jayce felt like it dug deeper, as if he was ignoring your own wishes, your own feelings. "You’re obsessed with appearances, Jayce! Everything always has to be big, flashy, as if only that has value! I... I just want a day that feels real, something that’s ours, something that reflects who we are as a couple, not a damn parade of names and titles."

The air immediately grew tense, and Jayce’s gaze darkened. "You know what? I don’t understand why you’re so upset. This is an opportunity to show everyone what we’ve achieved, to show them we matter, that we’re not just... I don’t know, residents of Piltover. Doesn’t it matter to you that this day is on par with what we’ve built?"

You stood in silence for a moment, the anger mixed with pain. There was something in Jayce that you didn’t want to lose sight of, something you wanted him to understand. "It’s not about that, Jayce," you said, now calmer but still hurt. "It’s about me wanting you, about this day being for us. I don’t want every decision we make to be based on what others think or what’s expected of us. I want this to be our day, with the people we love, not all those... important people."

A sigh escaped his lips, and for a moment, it seemed like he finally understood. But then, his voice grew softer, but still full of frustration. "I’m not asking you to forget what you want. I just want you to recognize that this is bigger than us, that what we’re doing doesn’t just involve us, but an entire city. What we build here can be remembered, and I want everyone to see it."

The conflict grew bigger in your chest, as if you were caught in a tug of war between what you both wanted. Finally, unable to take it anymore, you said, your eyes full of tears from the intensity of the moment: "I don’t want to stay with someone who only thinks about that. I don’t want this day to be just a showcase. I want it to be something more, something... real."

Jayce looked at you, and for a moment, he thought everything was lost. But then, something in his eyes changed. He came closer, took your hands with a delicacy you hadn’t expected, and in his voice, now softer, whispered: "I’m sorry... I didn’t think about how you’d feel. I... I just want what’s best for us, for you. And I want it to be perfect, I promise. But... I know we also need something that we want, something that makes us feel complete, not just everyone else."

Seeing the sincerity in his eyes allowed you to relax a little. His frustration was still there, but now he seemed willing to find the balance you both were seeking. "We’ll do it our way," he said with a sigh. "I don’t want to get lost in all of this. I want it to be your wedding as much as mine."

Then, with a slight smile, you hugged him. You didn’t know how the day would be, but you knew you’d face it with Jayce by your side, because what truly mattered was what you both wanted, together.

Ekko

The wedding had stopped being just a dream. All the preparations were becoming more real, but as you moved forward, you realized that Ekko's vision of the event was not at all what you had imagined.

One day, after arguing with the organizers about the floral arrangements, you came home to find Ekko looking at some drawings he had on the table, extravagant sketches with half-written ideas. It seemed like he was researching something, but as soon as you walked in, his expression changed.

"What's wrong?" you asked, noticing the slight tension in his face.

Ekko looked at you with a knowing smile, but he didn't seem as enthusiastic. "I was thinking about how to make our wedding something truly unique... I don't want to follow all those boring standards."

You walked over, confused but curious. "Boring standards?"

"Yeah, why do we have to do something like everyone else? Why not have the wedding in an abandoned place in Zaun, where everything started for us? An art show and an improvised banquet for those in needs instead of... this?" he said, pointing to the guest list and the more traditional ideas you had considered.

Ekko's proposal left you in shock. He was serious. A wedding in the Undercity? Full of improvisation? At that moment, an uncomfortable feeling began to grow in your chest. "What? Ekko, are you joking? What's so special about that? It's dangerous, and it's not what I want for us!" You spoke with awareness, since both of you had been born and lived in the Undercity, and you knew better than anyone that it would be quite risky to celebrate the wedding there—interruptions were the least of your concerns.

Ekko looked at you with a mix of surprise and frustration. "I thought you were like me. Why do you like all these... conventional things so suddenly? These ordinary weddings that mean nothing. Didn't you want something authentic, something that truly reflects who we are?"

Ekko's words hit deep, and for a moment, you felt hurt. What did he mean by saying traditional weddings meant nothing? Did he think your dreams and wishes for that day were worthless?

"Ekko..." Your voice trembled a little as you approached him. "Does our wedding mean nothing to you? Is all of this just... a waste of time?"

The silence between you two stretched, and his eyes softened. He slowly approached, taking your hands gently. "No, babe, it's not that. I don't want you to think I don't care. It's just that... I want it to be unique. I want our day to reflect us, our story, who we are. And who we are doesn't fit society's rules."

You sat down, letting Ekko's words sink deeper. It was true, he'd always been someone who fought against the established. Someone who dared to dream the impossible, to challenge what others expected of him. But did that really mean that the wedding you had dreamed of would be lost?

"I just want... I want it to be something beautiful," you said with a sigh. "Something I can always remember as the most beautiful day of our lives. I don't want to do anything weird or strange."

Ekko then smiled, getting closer to you, with a light of understanding in his eyes. "It will be," he said with conviction, "but we'll do it our way. We're not going to follow the standards. I know you don't want that. I don't either."

For a moment, the weight of the situation began to lift, and everything felt much clearer. It was true. You had been so focused on making everything perfect, so eager for the wedding to match what had been your dream, that you'd forgotten something fundamental: you weren't like that.

Finally, you opened up, feeling vulnerable but relieved. "It's just... I just wanted to feel like a normal girl with a normal wedding. I don't know... like the ones I see in the Upper City, with everything so polished, so... perfect. I just want to feel like I belong. Like I'm not different."

Ekko looked at you silently for a moment, and his hands gently squeezed yours. "You're more than that," he said, his voice soft but sure. "You don't have to fit into anything or anyone. What we have, who we are... is unique. And that's what I want our wedding to reflect."

Your breath calmed, and finally, a genuine smile appeared on your face. "Then... let's do it. Our way. A unique day, without following rules."

Ekko hugged you, letting the warmth of his body calm you. "I promise," he whispered in your ear. "We'll make it unique. We'll make it better, but our way."

You both stayed there, surrounded by the warm silence that only the two of you shared, knowing that, even though the road to the wedding wouldn't be conventional, the important thing was that you'd do it together, and that would make it special.

Silco

Silco was standing by the window, looking out at the city from his office high up in the building, where the bustle of the Undercity felt distant but always present. Despite the imposing view, something in his gaze betrayed a void, an internal worry that he couldn’t shake off, even with the love he felt for you. The wedding was drawing closer, and while he knew he wanted a future with you, there were parts of his history, his past, that haunted him, and those shadows didn’t disappear easily.

You were on the other side of the office, going over some details for the ceremony. The environment you were in was bright and luxurious, but for some reason, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything you were about to experience didn’t quite belong to you. You couldn’t stop thinking about how Silco had pulled you out of the brothel, a life you had left behind but which always silently haunted you. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to fully free yourself from that past.

“I don’t know if I deserve this…” you murmured, without thinking too much, looking at a list of flowers for the wedding.

Silco lifted his gaze, the cold serenity of his face mixing with something darker, something that seemed like an internal struggle he was trying not to let you see. He walked toward you, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the room.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice deep but calm, though this time there seemed to be a hint of concern beneath it.

You sighed, not wanting to talk about it, but the sadness overwhelmed you. “I can’t stop thinking about what people will say… They’ll look at me and think, ‘that’s the girl who worked in the brothel.’ They’ll never take me seriously. I don’t feel like I deserve something as… beautiful as this.”

A heavy silence fell between the two of you. Silco stared at you, his eyes as intense and calculating as always, but this time there was something different in them, something closer to concern. He approached you, stopping right in front of you but not touching you yet. He looked at your face, your eyes full of uncertainty, and his lips tightened as if his own demons were struggling to surface.

“You know what bothers me the most?” he said finally. “That you keep thinking you don’t deserve this. That you keep looking at the past as if it’s the only thing that defines you. Those people have no idea what you’re capable of. And you… you’re so much more than any shitty place you’ve come from.”

Your eyes filled with tears that you couldn’t stop from spilling. The emotion swelled within you like a wave. “But… what about my parents? I don’t know anything about them. They sold me like I was merchandise. I have no idea if they’re alive or dead, if they care about me. I never knew if they really loved me…” The anguish spilled out in words, and the tension in your chest increased, as if the gravity of the moment were crushing you.

Silco looked at you with a mix of rage and frustration, as if all that pain were a threat to the fortress he had built around himself. But it wasn’t anger that dominated his voice when he spoke.

“You don’t have to carry that guilt or that damn shame. You don’t have to see all that past as a burden that keeps you from walking toward the future. I pulled you out of that shit, and no one, no one, has the right to judge what we are or what we’ve been. Because what I’ve built for you, and what you’ve done, isn’t measured by what others think. The only thing that matters is what I see when I look into your eyes… and when I look at you, I see a woman who makes me want to break the damn world apart to give you what you deserve.”

Silco’s tone was direct, filled with something he couldn’t express with simple words, something deeper. With a firm hand but an unusual gentleness for him, he touched your face, lifting your chin so you would look at him.

“I don’t care what people think. And I don’t care what you’ve been or what you’ve done. The only thing that matters is what we are now. Us. I don’t want this wedding to be just a formality. I want it to reflect everything. And if you’re by my side, then that everything makes sense.”

Despite the confusion in your heart, part of you began to calm down, at least a little. Silco would never lie to you, not in his coldest gestures nor his warmest ones. His words weren’t just empty promises; they were the words of someone who had fought as much as you had, albeit in a different way, to find his place in the world.

“So you really think I deserve this?” you asked, your voice trembling with emotion.

“You deserve everything.” He answered without hesitation. “And I won’t let any shadow from your past cloud what we’ve achieved. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all this time, it’s that you and I have the right to create whatever we want. What we’ve done or been before doesn’t matter now.”

You stepped toward him, resting your forehead against his chest, the weight of your insecurities beginning to dissolve by the firmness of his support. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this… but being with you makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I deserve something better too.”

“You always have.” He whispered, wrapping you in a firm embrace. “And if you ever forget that, I’ll be here to remind you.”

And in that embrace, the security Silco offered was more than enough to extinguish the doubts that still burned inside you. It didn’t matter where you came from, or what you had suffered. What mattered was the future you both would build together.

Mel

There was something in the air, a subtle tension that you couldn’t help but feel as you sat at the wedding planning table. Mel was completely absorbed in the details, as if everything had to be perfect and according to her vision. She had told you about the decoration, the guest list, and even the type of outfits she thought you both should wear, but something didn’t add up. Mel was making decisions without consulting you, assuming her preferences were the only ones that mattered.

“I’ve decided it will be in an indoor venue, with all sorts of baroque decorations, and I’ve hired the most prestigious orchestra in Piltover. We want to make our position known, right?” Mel was so confident, looking at the papers and giving a satisfied smile while she handled everything, not letting you intervene.

“What about what I want?” you asked, feeling a mix of frustration and discomfort building up in your chest. “Don’t you want this to be our wedding, not just yours?”

Mel looked up, surprised by your tone, but quickly recovered, giving a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course. But… it’s not that complicated, don’t you think? I’ve always been the one to take the reins in this, I always get it right, everything perfectly.”

Your heart began to race. “Mel, you’re not letting me participate. It’s not just your wedding. This is about us, about what we want to share, not about what you think it should be.”

Mel furrowed her brow. “You know, right? Our wedding has to be something that stands out, something that tells the world who we are. I’m not trying to do it alone, it’s just… I’ve always known what’s best.”

“That’s exactly what bothers me!” your words came out forcefully. “You always think you know what’s best, but what about what I want? You’re always planning everything without asking me, always making decisions like everything has to revolve around you.”

The tension was palpable. Mel crossed her arms, her expression hardening. “And what do you know? Do you think I’m not trying to do what’s best for us?” Her voice was sharper now, as if each word was filled with contained frustration. “What about you? Don’t you realize nothing is ever enough for you? You always want something more, something different... Don’t you get tired of living within your own limits?”

What she said stung, like a sharp jab to your chest. “I’m not looking for a spectacle, Mel. What I want is a wedding that reflects what we share, not what the world expects to see.” You felt the emotion take over. “You’re suffocating me with your expectations, with your perfection, Mel. Sometimes, I feel like your need for everything to be perfect is taking away from what truly matters. Perfection isn’t what I want from you, what I want is for us to be together, real.”

Mel stood still, looking down, her face showing a discomfort she didn’t often show. For a moment, she seemed to hesitate. “It’s not that... It’s just that... I don’t know how to do things any other way.” Her voice was softer now, but there was still a layer of tension. “My life has always been about controlling things, doing them the way I want. It’s the only thing I know how to do well. And... I don’t want our wedding to be like any other. I don’t want people to look at us and think we’re ordinary.”

Your eyes softened, and you moved closer to her, taking her hands. “You don’t have to be perfect, Mel. I don’t care if it’s not the most luxurious wedding, or if everything is under control. What matters to me is you, and how we feel together. I don’t want you to drown in your own expectations.”

Mel sighed, the sound of her emotional weariness filling the air. “Sometimes, I feel like... I’m not enough.” Her gaze drifted, as if afraid her words might reveal something she didn’t want to show. “It’s easier to control everything than to accept that things might go wrong. Sometimes, perfection is the only thing I have.”

“You don’t need to be perfect for me, I’ve told you that,” you said softly, caressing her cheek gently. “You just need to be you. And that’s the best part of all of this, Mel. I want you, with all your imperfections, and that’s what I want our wedding to reflect.”

Mel took a deep breath, and a small smile appeared on her face. “I guess I owe you that. This wedding... might be simpler than I thought, but what matters is that it’s ours. Does that sound good?”

The tension immediately dissipated, and the atmosphere between you two softened. She moved closer, and finally, her hands intertwined with yours in a genuine embrace. “Thank you,” Mel said, her voice softer than before, vulnerable and real. “I promise we’ll do it the way you want. It will be our wedding, our way.”

“Thank you,” you replied, hugging her tighter. “All I need from you is for you to be you. And that’s the most perfect thing we can do.”

Both of you smiled, understanding that even though you had differences, the strength of what you shared was far more important than anything else. In the end, what mattered was your mutual commitment, not control, not perfection, but the love you had promised each other.

Sevika

The idea of planning the wedding seemed, in theory, fun and exciting. But in practice, it was an absolute mess. Both of you were trying to organize everything, but Sevika and you weren’t exactly the most organized. There were papers all over the table, piles of disorganized notes, and plans that didn’t match what you both wanted.

"This is a nightmare," Sevika muttered as she picked up a crumpled piece of paper from the floor. "How are we supposed to organize this if we can't even agree on a venue?"

You sat down in the chair, watching the disaster around you. "I know," you sighed, running your hands through your hair. "I wanted it to be simple, but it seems like I can't even do that right."

Sevika let out a bitter laugh, a sound you knew all too well. "Simple? Everything here is a disaster, and we're up to our necks in nonsense. I don't know if I'm the worst at this or if it’s just that this isn’t what I imagined."

Both of you were overwhelmed, and the tension was building. The lack of organization and control wasn’t just reflecting the physical chaos, but also the underlying anxieties of both of you.

"I told you, Sevika, this doesn’t make sense! We’re not getting anything right, and I feel like we’re already ruining everything." Your voice rose with frustration because you not only felt the wedding was out of control, but that this lack of success in the small details was affecting you more than you wanted to admit.

Sevika looked at you intently, frustration clear in her eyes. "And what did you expect? We're not people who do everything perfectly. We’re used to improvising, surviving, doing things our way." Her tone hardened, as if she was trying to justify what had happened. "I don’t know why you thought this would be different."

"Because it’s our wedding, Sevika! It’s not the same as always!" You were about to lose your temper. "I’m tired of you solving everything with ‘we’ll improvise’. This is important to me, and it matters a lot, do you understand?"

Sevika stepped closer, her taller frame and steady gaze making it clear this discussion had escalated too far. "I know, I know… but what I’m telling you is I don’t want it to be a traditional 'under control' wedding. Enough with the outside pressures." Her voice was softer but no less intense. "You know what scares me the most? That I don’t know if I’m capable of doing this right, that everything I plan won’t be enough for you. Because I know I’m not perfect. I’ve always been a warrior, not a princess who wants to sit at a fancy table."

A sharp pain pierced you as you heard her words. It wasn’t just about the wedding. There was something deeper in her tone. "It’s not about that, babe," you said, frustration transforming into a softness that took over you. "I just want it to be our moment. But it seems like we can’t even agree on the smallest thing."

Silence filled the room for a moment. Sevika, with her gaze fixed on the floor, seemed to be thinking. Finally, she stepped closer and, unexpectedly, placed her hand over yours.

"I’m sorry," she said, her voice softer, full of sincerity. "I didn’t want this to affect you so much. What’s going on is… I’m scared, you know? All of this is new to me. I’m not used to planning something so… so personal, and that scares me."

You were taken aback by her vulnerability. "I understand you’re scared, I’m scared too. But do you know what makes me lose that fear? Remembering that I’ll be with you, that we’re making the ultimate promise to share our lives together," you said, feeling the intensity of the connection between you both. "What matters is that, even if everything feels like a disaster, we’ll be together."

She smiled almost imperceptibly, with a mix of sadness and relief. "Do you really think I can’t do it right?"

"No, it’s not that," you replied, gently touching her face. "What I mean is, it doesn’t matter if everything is a disaster, as long as it’s our disaster."

A sigh escaped Sevika. "You’re right."

Both of you remained silent for a moment, understanding that perfection wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was what you shared, and that was more than enough for either of you.

Sevika, now calmer, hugged you softly. "We’ll do it right, doll. I promise."

You smiled, relieved. "Yeah, I know."

And, even though the wedding was still a mess, the only thing that mattered was that it was your mess. Your love was the only thing you needed to make everything make sense.

[ugotnojamzzz]

Rulers of Ruin

Chapter 8

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: There will come a day when I will sit down and write an alluring synopsis for this series. But that day hasn't come just yet lol. Stay tuned for more chapters to come.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 1.4k

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Jimin hopped towards the new arrival, his arms wrapping around his friend in a tight embrace. “It’s about time,” he exclaimed, his voice unusually warm. The young man returned the hug, patting Jimin on the back. 

YN’s eyes were drawn to him, her gaze traveling over his figure with keen curiosity. This was her first proper look at the guy who had barged into her bathroom the night before. No longer covered in blood, sweat and rain, his appearance was now starkly different yet no less intense.

His attire was a jarring contrast to the others’ casual, brighter clothing—black combat boots laced tightly, dark cargo pants and a black teeshirt that, despite its looseness, couldn’t hide the outline of an athletic physique.

He looked like he belonged somewhere else: a battlefield, perhaps, but certainly not framed by the pastel towers of cakes and pastries that adorned the breakfast table. 

YN’s eyes traced the sharp angles of his face. His black hair, slightly tousled, framed his face in soft waves, contrasting sharply with his stern, almost brooding expression. The most striking feature, however, was the single eyebrow piercing that glinted under the dining room lights.

His posture was rigid and controlled. His dark gaze scanned the room with a predatory vigilance, it locked on hers for a fraction longer than comfort allowed, a flicker of something unspoken before he tore it away.

Namjoon went to sit at the end of the table, and the breakfast resumed, the atmosphere growing livelier with the new arrivals. Hoseok’s bright energy filled the room as he animatedly recounted more stories from their mission, punctuated by regular eyerolls from Soyeon.

Seated with an air of composed authority, the girl made a subtle gesture indicating the seat next to hers. However, Jungkook, without acknowledging the gesture, silently took the seat next to YN and began grabbing some food from the lavish spread.

YN glanced at him briefly, then returned her focus to her own plate. The two ate in silence while the buzz of conversation around them continued.

“So,” Jungkook spoke eventually, his tone stern, “I hear you’re the reason they took all the knives and cables out of my floor.”

YN sighed, unsure whether that statement warranted a response. She didn’t like his attitude. «  I’m not exactly slap happy about it myself, » she eventually muttered, eyes still focused on her food. 

Around them, the conversation continued. Namjoon, seated at the head of the table, was deep in discussion with Hoseok and Taehyung about the latest developments from their mission. Soyeon, clearly unimpressed with Jungkook’s choice of seating, sipped her tea with a cool detachment.

Y/N wasn’t sure whether to feel offended or unnerved by how utterly indifferent they all seemed to her presence. The conversations flowed as though she were invisible. But what unsettled her most wasn’t the casual way they ignored her—it was the content of their discussion.

They were openly talking about business. Not in hushed tones or veiled euphemisms, but out in the open, as though the sensitive nature of their operations meant nothing—even in the presence of a raven. It made her uneasy. Were they so confident she wouldn’t understand? Or were they confident she’d never leave this place to use what she’d heard?

Then again, most of it was useless to her—snippets of code and vague references to missions that offered no real insight into their plans. And the few scraps of tangible information were trivial, irrelevant to her clan’s concerns. 

What truly confused her, though, was how natural it all felt. They weren’t only discussing operations. There was banter, a stray joke punctuating a serious exchange, even the occasional nickname tossed into the mix. Namjoon and Hoseok laughed at something Taehyung muttered under his breath, and Jimin chimed in with a teasing jab aimed at Soyeon.

It was jarring. Y/N wasn’t used to this—this strange, almost familial atmosphere. In her own clan, the air had always been charged with authority and purpose. Conversations were orders. Names were titles. Discipline was king. 

But here, the contrast was stark. There was something unpolished, almost human about it all. It wasn’t just a group of operatives at a breakfast table—it was people. People who seemed to—for some reason— genuinely enjoy each other’s company, despite the dark, dangerous undercurrents that clearly tied them together.

Y/N hated that she couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop being fascinated by it.

Jungkook’s expression, however, seemed to darken with each passing minute, and he appeared lost in thought as he listened to Namjoon. The others didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor until he set his glass down on the table with a loud slam. Their conversation tapered off into awkward silence.

Soyeon raised an eyebrow, her eyes darting between YN and Jungkook. « Jesus, » she said dryly, « cheer up, Kookie. »

Just then, he abruptly stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sudden movement caught everyone’s attention. He shot a look at Namjoon, his eyes filled with unspoken frustration, and then turned on his heel, stomping out of the dining room without a word. Yoongi was the one to break the stunned silence.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, his eyes flicking towards the door.

Namjoon sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s just say he wasn’t thrilled about having been kept out of the loop concerning the raven operation.”

Jimin nodded in agreement. “To be fair, you kept us all in the dark until she got here,” he added, gesturing subtly toward YN.

“Well, you know how he can get,” Namjoon said, his tone understanding. 

Hoseok, ever the mood-lifter, leaned over and nudged YN teasingly. « Look at you, being the center of all the drama, » he mumbled.

“I, for one, don’t blame him,” Soyeon stated sharply. “You could’ve kept us informed, Namjoon.”

The leader shot her a warning glance. “You know it’s not that simple. We had to move fast, and security was tight.”

She shifted in her seat. “All I’m saying is that this,” she continued, her eyes narrowing as she looked pointedly at YN, “is not exactly a pleasant surprise for any of us.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t say a word, unwilling to reward the girl’s clear disdain with a response. Like it’s been a pleasant surprise for me, perhaps? Stupid bitch.

“One day, Soyeon,” Seokjin said suddenly, settling down his chopsticks “we’ll find you smiling, and the world might just end.”

The girl rolled her eyes, but didn’t push the issue further. Instead, she turned her attention back to her breakfast, the tension in the room slowly dissipating as conversation resumed.

YN could overhear a hushed conversation between Yoongi and Namjoon about a potential threat. “We need to keep an eye on things up north. They’ve been too quiet lately,” Yoongi mumbled.

Hoseok, sensing YN’s discomfort, leaned in again, his voice gentle. “Don’t let it get to you, it’s nothing personal.”

—

As breakfast wrapped up, Namjoon sent everyone on their way, the atmosphere shifting from casual to business in a matter of seconds. Backs straightening and poker faces on.

 Taehyung fell into step beside YN, ready to escort her back to her quarters. The walk was quiet at first, the echo of their footsteps the only sound in the corridor.

« So, » YN finally broke the silence, « what’s the guy’s deal? »

Taehyung glanced down at her, confused. « My new roommate, » she added with a roll of her eyes. 

« Oh, » he said, « Jungkook, you mean? »

She nodded pensively, “He seemed pretty upset back there.”

 “Yeah, he can be intense when he’s in a mood,” he said with a small shrug. “He doesn’t like being left out of important stuff.»

YN crossed her arms, absorbing this new information. « Is he one of Namjoon’s top guys or something? »

“You could say that,” Taehyung chuckled softly, shaking his head. “He’s more than that, though.”

YN sent an inquiring look his way, to which Taehyung replied with a surprised scoff.

 “Jungkook’s family, » he added casually, « a brother, if you will. »

YN stopped in her tracks, turning to face Taehyung with a look of disbelief. “Namjoon doesn’t have any siblings,” she said, her voice firm.

« So? » he looked at her incredulously.

« So- »

«Chill out, I’m fucking with you, » he interrupted, «Look at you, trying to gather intel, » Taehyung nudged her.

As they reached her quarters, she paused, turning to Taehyung once more, her brow furrowed. « Listen, » he said before she could utter a word, « the mystery of Jeon Jungkook is just not my story to tell, I’m afraid. »

« Well, » she retorted, « if I’m going to be sleeping next door to that guy, I’d like to know what to expect. »

Taehyung stepped back into the elevator and turned back to look at her. “Don’t torture yourself,” he smirked, “He’s really not that bad.” 

YN watched the elevator doors close, her mind whirling with thoughts. She made her way back to her bedroom, replaying the morning’s events in her head.

As she closed the door behind her, the slight click of the latch offered a brief moment of relaxation. She walked over to her wardrobe, her fingers trailing over the clothing racks. The room was silent, the only sound being the soft rustle of fabric as she leaned forward into the clothes as though she was looking for something.

With a furtive glance, first towards the door, then to the security camera, YN reached into her waistband, feeling cool metal slide against her skin. Slowly, she pulled something out, the weight of it in her hand, oddly comforting.

She glanced down.

The polished surface of the cake knife in her hand reflected her troubled expression. The dull edge caught the light, glinting with a dangerous promise. 

It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

—

Hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters! Also questions and remarks and feedback are welcome xxx

Chapter 9 (coming soon..)

Masterlist

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn

@loumin908

[sturniololuv08]

TreeHouse Chapter 2

"Thee Matthew Sturniolo"

Summary: Sienna catches Matt Sturniolo's attention by accident.

"Let me see his eyes, that when I note another man like him, I may avoid him."

Sienna's POV:

"Si, hey."

"Hey AK, " I said, moving over to make room for him to sit next to me on the grey bus seat. AK was short for Andrew Kramer, but to him, it was too nerdy of a name, so he brainstormed AK.

"I went over your notes for LA, but like, no. None of that made any sense. Thanks for trying." He chuckled and handed my binder back to me. I tucked it into my side bag.

"Sorry, can't say I didn't try." The bus stopped outside the school, and slowly, everyone shuffled off. The bus line was right next to the parent drop-off line, so all the kids entered the school from the same door.

"Si, AK!" Julia jumped, waving her hand in the air. We made our way to her. "Can I borrow your LA notes?" She asked me.

"Yeah, but -"

"Good fucking luck." AK interrupted. Julia gave us an inquisitive look.

"He had... trouble," I said softly, trying not to hurt his feelings. He scoffed and looked around at the various groups of kids. Everyone had their own little clique. Ours was just the three of us.

"He's hot, isn't he." Julia nudged me. I zoned back into reality and saw the direction in which I was staring off. Matthew Sturniolo. The school's hottest guy, next to him was the school's second hottest guy, his twin brother Nicolas Sturniolo. They started going to our school maybe two years ago. They were homeschooled for a long time, is what I remember circling around, but that didn't stop them from gaining popularity fast. Matt plays all the sports, and Nick is big into photography, being Matt's personal paparazzi. The only reason Nick was the second hottest even though they are identical twins, was because he was openly gay. Our school was progressive so it actually just made him seem cooler. But he dropped to the number two slot because the girls could only chase after Matt. "Holy shit Si. Matt just nodded at you." I smiled and looked at her.

"No, he didn't." I rolled my eyes. Even if he did, I wasn't interested. Nick was more my type, but again, I wasn't his. The bell rang, signaling first class was to start in 15 minutes.

"See you guys for lunch?" AK asked.

"Library," I said, walking off. I usually ate with them, but I had a long paper due. I wasn't exactly sure what kind of career you could pursue being advanced in LA, but it kind of just came naturally to me, so I wanted to do Excel classes. With the Excel classes came way longer projects and harder homework, but again, it came pretty easy to me. I walked into math class first, with Julia following me. Matt was sitting on his desktop, looking down at Nick, who was sitting in a chair. They were oddly inseparable. They were in every class together, and they were always only talking to each other. It must be a twin thing. I smiled at my own thoughts.

"You smiling at him?" Julia whispered.

"What? No." I shook my head. The teacher walked in, and everyone settled down before the bell rang. We were mindlessly taught math, and to my surprise, I understood today's lesson a little more than yesterday's.

"Pst." I looked over at Julia. She held out a note for me. I snatched it fast and slowly opened it. Before I could read the words, I was interrupted.

"How cliche does this have to be, passing notes in class?" Our teacher grabbed it from me. I looked at Julia wide-eyed, praying that, for once, she wasn't awfully embarrassing.

"Do you think Matt has a girlfriend? Do you think he'd want one?" The teacher read aloud, which was the oldest rule in the book. All notes get read aloud. Was it the worst note possible? Luckily, no. But what followed next was my demise. "Sienna, if you want to be someone's girlfriend, just ask." The whole class started laughing, and I looked back at Matt.

"No, it wasn't me -"

"Settle down." Our teacher started hushing us all. Matt was smirking with a light blush on his face, and Nick was still chuckling. I ducked my head low, mortified that they read the note as if it were mine. Julia mouthed sorry in my direction. The bell rang, and I was ready to get out. I zoomed out and beelined straight for AK's locker. Julia knew where to meet us. It was our usual routine.

"I hate you," I said to Julia as she approached us.

"I'm so sorry, but fuck, that was kinda funny." She laughed like it was no big deal.

"You don't think he actually believed it was from me, right?" I needed the reassurance.

"No. No." Julia tried her best.

"Yeah, well, he must have thought so 'cause -" I looked back over to see Nick and Matt approaching us confidently. His Nike sweats were slim-fitting his legs, while his oversized dark grey hoodie gave him a comfy shape. Nick wore jeans and a black shirt with a stylish black jacket.

"Hey, Sienna, right?" He stopped pretty close to my body and sandwiched me to the locker. I looked up at him.

"Ye—yeah." I stuttered out. I noticed his features close up: He had a softer jawline. He was very identical to Nick, but from this proximity, you could make out little differences. He had three small freckles on his cheek. His lips were shaped differently, slightly thinner. The thing that felt familiar was his icy blue eyes. As I stared into them, I felt a sense of calmness. They felt almost nostalgic.

"You going to tonight's game?" He asked.

"She'll be there," AK interjected for me. I was not planning on going, but if thee Matthew Sturniolo was asking, you didn't have much of a say in the matter.

"Good. I'd like to see you there." He ran his fingers through his soft brown hair and smiled a big smile. His teeth were extremely white. I nodded, unsure if I had said the word 'okay' or if I had only thought it. He walked off with Nick by his side.

"What the fuck was that?" AK asked.

"I believe you just scored a date to tonight's game." Julia's giddiness was oozing off her body. "With no one other than Matthew Sturniolo." Her excitement got the best of her, and she started jumping up and down lightly.

"Hook me up with Nick, though?" AK shook my arm to join in the commotion.

"Wait, are you -?" I looked at him.

"No, but I can be." We all laughed and headed to our next class. I was a little relieved I didn't have this class with Nick and Matt.

A/N: I apologize for the slow start this time around, but I promise the next chapter will kick it right into gear!

TreeHouse Taglist: @trevorsgodmother @mintsturniolo @wysmols @chriss-slutt @middlepartmatt @blushsturns @fratbrochrisgf

Random tags: @matthewslover @mattsside @sturnshood @sturnobessed @chrislilcumslvt @chrissweetheart @chrisswife4lf @christophersmiddlefinger @sturncherry @sturnchris2003 @chriscoquettelover (If you had Chris in your name you got tagged lmao)

HEADS UP: The next chapter will be Chris' POV. I WILL NOT DO RANDOM TAGS BECAUSE OF POSSIBLE TRIGGERS. If you want to continue being tagged, please ask to be added to the official TREEHOUSE TAGLIST

This warning will be moved to the top of my posts starting NEXT CHAPTER 👇👇

**This Fic Series will NOT be for people with triggers. This Fic Series will have very descriptive moments of abuse.**

Please Read At Your Own Risk.

[beersangel]

The silver lining ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pairing: quiteguy!matt x overachiever reader.

content warnings: angst !

summary: Aven Brooks, a driven overachiever, and Matt Sturniolo, a quiet, reserved guy with a reputation for being rude, are paired for a school project. While Aven is open to working together, Matt is reluctant, but their forced partnership begins to reveal there's more to each of them than meets the eye.

click here for the previous part.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The night before, Aven had been buried in her usual routine: debate practice with Dakota and Courtney, a project session with Matt, and a late-night cram for her math quiz. It was close to midnight when Dakota came over, flopping onto Aven’s bed with all the energy of someone who hadn’t spent the day juggling back-to-back responsibilities.

“So, there’s a party tomorrow night,” Dakota said, scrolling through her phone.

“Cool. Have fun,” Aven replied without looking up from her notes.

“No, no,” Dakota said, sitting up. “You’re coming too.”

Aven sighed, not pausing her writing. “Dakota, I’m swamped. I’ve got a quiz to prepare for, a debate to rehearse, and—”

“Aven,” Dakota interrupted, her tone firm. “You need a break. When’s the last time you did something fun?”

Aven finally glanced up, giving her friend a flat look. “I don’t think standing in a crowded room full of sweaty strangers counts as ‘fun.’”

Dakota wasn’t deterred. “Courtney and I already decided. You’re coming with us, even if I have to drag you there myself. You’ll survive one night.”

After a few more rounds of Dakota’s relentless persuasion, Aven gave in, more out of exhaustion than agreement.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The bass thumped through the walls, vibrating the floor beneath Aven’s feet. She stood in the crowded living room, her shoulders brushing against strangers as voices rose and fell around her. Dakota and Courtney were somewhere in the chaos, probably on the makeshift dance floor near the speakers.

Aven sighed. She hated parties. The heat, the noise, the sheer overwhelming crush of people—it wasn’t her scene. She scanned the room for an exit, her eyes landing on a sliding glass door that led to the backyard. Without thinking twice, she made her way towards it, weaving through the crowd.

The cool night air greeted her as she stepped outside, instantly calming her nerves. She exhaled deeply, relishing the quiet compared to the noise inside. It was then she noticed someone sitting on the grass, their back turned to her.

Matt.

He sat cross-legged, his elbows resting on his knees, looking down at something in his hands. Aven hesitated for a moment before stepping closer.

“Can I sit here?” she asked softly.

Matt’s head jerked up, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he nodded. “Sure,” he said, his voice low, before looking back down.

Aven lowered herself onto the grass next to him, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her arms on top. The silence between them was neither awkward nor comfortable—it was just… there.

“Why are you out here?” she asked after a few beats, her voice breaking the stillness.

“It’s loud in there,” he replied simply, still not looking at her. He paused, then added, “You?”

“Same reason, I guess. I didn’t even want to come,” she admitted, shrugging. “My friends dragged me here.”

Matt let out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle. “You’d rather be at home studying, huh?”

Aven blinked, surprised. She turned her head to look at him, only to find him already watching her. His gaze was steady, unreadable. She wasn’t sure what to say.

Matt tilted his head, pausing for a moment before asking, “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?” Aven asked, frowning slightly.

“Overwork yourself,” he said, his voice calm but cutting in its directness.

Her defenses went up instantly. “I don’t overwork myself,” she replied, her tone sharper than she intended.

“Yes, you do,” he said, his voice quieter this time, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should be saying it at all. “Why?”

Aven’s jaw tightened. “Why do you never talk to anyone?” She shot back, her words defensive and pointed.

Matt didn’t respond. He just sat there, his eyes dropping back to the ground.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. After a moment, Aven exhaled, the fight leaving her body. “Because I have to,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the night air.

Matt looked up, his gaze curious but not pressing.

“I want to get into my dream school,” she continued, her voice steady now, like she was reciting a fact.

Matt stayed quiet for a few seconds, then asked, “And what if you don’t get in?”

The question hit her like a slap. Aven frowned, the thought piercing her like a needle. “Why would you say that?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“It’s a possibility,” Matt said with a shrug, his tone casual.

Aven’s stomach tightened, the weight of his words sinking in. She had never considered it—not really. Her dream school wasn’t just a goal; it was the only option, the plan she had clung to for years.

Matt watched her reaction, his sharp eyes analyzing the way her expression shifted. After a beat, he spoke again. “You know, for someone who thinks they’re so smart, it’s kind of pathetic how you’ve pinned your entire future on one thing.”

Aven froze, her breath hitching as his words sank in. She turned to him slowly, her eyes narrowing, a mix of disbelief and hurt flashing across her face. After a tense pause, she spoke, her voice quiet but cutting “You know, I didn’t want to believe the rumors,” she said, her voice trembling slightly but firm. “I thought, maybe—maybe he’s not as bad as everyone says. But you know what? They’re right. You are rude.”

She pushed herself off the ground, dusting her jeans off before walking towards the house without another glance at him.

Matt stayed frozen in place for a moment, his thoughts swirling. Then, with a sharp inhale, he pushed himself off the grass. He caught sight of Aven slipping through the sliding door and into the crowded living room. His jaw tightened as he followed after her, weaving through the party.

The noise inside hit him like a wave, but he didn’t slow down. His eyes stayed locked on her as she moved through the crowd, her shoulders stiff, her head down. She didn’t stop, didn’t look back, just kept walking like she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Matt muttered a quick “sorry” as he bumped into someone holding a red cup, but he barely broke stride.

By the time he reached the door, Aven was already stepping outside. He hesitated for half a second, then pushed it open, the cool night air hitting him as he spotted her heading down the street.

“Brooks,” he called out, but she didn’t stop, her pace quickening as she walked down the dimly lit street. “Brooks, wait up,” he said again, louder this time as he walked after her, but she kept moving, her shoulders stiff and head down.

“Aven,” he said finally, his voice softer but firm as he closed the distance between them.

She stopped abruptly, spinning around to face him. “What?” she snapped, her voice trembling with emotion. Her expression was a mix of anger and pain, but it was the hurt in her eyes that made Matt’s throat tighten.

“I—” He started but faltered, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at her.

“What, Matt?” she repeated, her voice cracking now. “What do you want to say? That I’m stupid for wanting something? That it’s pathetic to care about my future?”

She could feel the tightness in her chest, the weight of his words pressing down on her, and suddenly, all the doubts she’d buried deep inside began to surface. What if she didn’t get in? What if all her hard work wasn’t enough? The thought of not walking in her father’s footsteps—of falling short—was a fear she had never fully allowed herself to confront. But now, hearing Matt’s words, it felt too real, too possible.

Her words cut deep, sharper than he expected. “Aven, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, his tone softening, almost pleading.

“Then what did you mean?” she shot back, her eyes narrowing, though the hurt still shone through. “Do you think before you speak? Or do you just say things without caring how they’ll affect people?”

Matt opened his mouth, but no words came. He didn’t have an answer—not one that would fix this, at least.

Aven sighed, her shoulders sagging as she looked away, her jaw clenching. “Forget it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I should’ve known better.”

She turned away from him and started walking again, her pace brisk. Matt stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her retreating figure until she disappeared into the night. The weight of his own words hung heavy in the air around him, and for the first time in a long while, Matt felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel.

Regret.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

author’s note: their first fight lol 💗 I love writing angst! also I’m thinking of making tag list so if you want to be added reply to this post <3!

- 💌

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Chapter One of “Picks and Shovels” (Part 1)

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

My next novel is Picks and Shovels, out next month. It's tells the origin story of Martin Hench, my hard-charging, scambusting, high-tech forensic accountant, in a 1980s battle over the soul of a PC company:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865908/picksandshovels

I'm currently running a Kickstarter to pre-sell the book in every format: hardcover, DRM-free ebook, and an independently produced, fabulous DRM-free audiobook read by Wil Wheaton, who just nailed the delivery:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/picks-and-shovels-marty-hench-at-the-dawn-of-enshittification

Picks and Shovels opens with a long prologue that recounts Marty's misadventures as a failing computer science student at MIT, his love-affair with computers, and his first disastrous startup venture. It ends with him decamping to Silicon Valley with his roommate Art, a brilliant programmer, to seek their fortune.

Chapter one opens with Marty's first job, working for a weird PC company (there were so many weird PC companies back then!). I've posted Wil's audio reading of chapter one as a teaser for the Kickstarter:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGXz1mkAd2Q

(Here it is as an MP3 at the Internet Archive:)

https://ia600607.us.archive.org/5/items/picks-and-shovels-promo/audio.mp3

The audio is great, but I thought I'd also serialize the text of Chapter One here, in five or six chunks. If you enjoy this and want to pre-order the book, please consider backing the Kickstarter:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/picks-and-shovels-marty-hench-at-the-dawn-of-enshittification

Chapter One

Fidelity Computing was the most colorful PC company in Silicon Valley.

A Catholic priest, a Mormon bishop, and an Orthodox rabbi walk into a technology gold rush and start a computer company. The fact that it sounded like the setup for a nerdy joke about the mid-1980s was fantastic for their bottom line. Everyone who heard their story loved it.

As juicy as the story of Fidelity Computing was, they flew under most people’s radar for years, even as they built a wildly profitable technology empire through direct sales through faith groups. The first time most of us heard of them was in 1983, when Byte ran its cover story on Fidelity Computing, unearthing a parallel universe of technology that had grown up while no one was looking.

At first, I thought maybe they were doing something similar to Apple’s new Macintosh: like Apple, they made PCs (the Wise PC), an operating system (Wise DOS), and a whole line of monitors, disk drives, printers, and software.

Like the Mac, none of these things worked with anything else—you needed to buy everything from floppy disks to printer cables specially from them, because nothing anyone else made would work with their system.

And like the Mac, they sold mostly through word of mouth. The big difference was that Mac users were proud to call themselves a cult, while Fidelity Computing’s customers were literally a religion.

Long after Fidelity had been called to the Great Beyond, its most loyal customers gave it an afterlife, nursing their computers along, until the parts and supplies ran out. They’d have kept going even then, if there’d been any way to unlock their machines and use the same stuff the rest of the computing world relied on. But that wasn’t something Fidelity Computing would permit, even from beyond the grave.

I was summoned to Fidelity headquarters—in unfashionable Colma, far from the white-hot start-ups of Palo Alto, Mountain View, and, of course, Cupertino—by a friend of Art’s. Art had a lot more friends than me. I was a skipping stone, working as the part-time bookkeeper/accountant/CFO for half a dozen companies and never spending more than one or two days in the same office.

Art was hardly more stable than me—he switched start-ups all the time, working for as little as two months (and never for more than a year) before moving on. His bosses knew what they were getting: you hired Art Hellman to blaze into your company, take stock of your product plan, root out and correct all of its weak points, build core code libraries, and then move on. He was good enough and sufficiently in demand to command the right to behave this way, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. My view was, it was an extended celebration of his liberation from the legal villainy of Nick Cassidy III: having narrowly escaped a cage, he was determined never to be locked up again.

Art’s “engagements”—as he called them—earned him the respect and camaraderie of half the programmers and hardware engineers in the Valley. This, in spite of the fact that he was a public and ardent member of the Lavender Panthers, wore the badge on his lapel, went to the marches, and brought his boyfriend to all the places where his straight colleagues brought their girlfriends.

He’d come out to me less than a week after I arrived by the simple expedient of introducing the guy he was watching TV with in our living room as Lewis, his boyfriend. Lewis was a Chinese guy about our age, and his wardrobe—plain white tee, tight blue jeans, loafers—matched the new look Art had adopted since leaving Boston. Lewis had a neat, short haircut that matched Art’s new haircut, too.

To call the Art I’d known in Cambridge a slob would be an insult to the natty, fashion-conscious modern slob. He’d favored old band T-shirts with fraying armpit seams, too-big jeans that were either always sliding off his skinny hips or pulled up halfway to his nipples. In the summer, his sneakers had holes in the toes. In the winter, his boots were road-salt-crusted crystalline eruptions. His red curls were too chaotic for a white-boy ’fro and were more of a heap, and he often went days without shaving.

There were members of the Newbury Street Irregulars who were bigger slobs than Art, but they smelled. Art washed, but otherwise, he looked like a homeless person (or a hacker). His transformation to a neatly dressed, clean-shaven fellow with a twenty-five-dollar haircut that he actually used some sort of hairspray on was remarkable. I’d assumed it was about his new life as a grown-up living far from home and doing a real job. It turned out that wasn’t the reason at all.

“Oh,” I said. “That makes a lot of sense.” I shook Lewis’s hand. He laughed. I checked Art. He was playing it cool, but I could tell he was nervous. I remembered Lucille and how she listened, and what it felt like to be heard. I thought about Art, and the things he’d never been able to tell me.

There’d been a woman in the Irregulars who there were rumors about, and there were a pair of guys one floor down in Art’s building who held hands in the elevator, but as far as I knew up until that moment, I hadn’t really ever been introduced to a homosexual person. I didn’t know how I felt about it, but I did know how I wanted to feel about it.

So Art didn’t just get to know all kinds of geeks from his whistle-stop tour of Silicon Valley’s hottest new tech ventures. He was also plugged into this other network of people from the Lavender Panthers, and their boyfriends and girlfriends, and the people he knew from bars and clubs. He and Lewis lasted for a couple of months, and then there were a string of weekends where there was a new guy at the breakfast table, and then he settled down again for a while with Artemis, and then he hit a long dry spell.

I commiserated. I’d been having a dry spell for nearly the whole two years I’d been in California. The closest I came to romance was exchanging a letter with Lucille every couple of weeks—she was a fine pen pal, but that wasn’t really a substitute for a living, breathing woman in my life.

Art threw himself into his volunteer work, and he was only half joking when he said he did it to meet a better class of boys than you got at a club. Sometimes, there’d be a committee meeting in our living room and I’d hear about the congressional committee hearing on the “gay plague” and the new wave of especially vicious attacks. It was pretty much the only time I heard about that stuff—no one I worked with ever brought it up, unless it was to make a terrible joke.

It was Murf, one of the guys from those meetings, who told me that Fidelity Computing was looking for an accountant for a special project. He had stayed after the meeting and he and Art made a pot of coffee and sat down in front of Art’s Apple clone, a Franklin Ace 1200 that he’d scored six months ahead of its official release. After opening the lid to show Murf the interior, Art fired it up and put it through its paces.

I hovered over his shoulder, watching. I’d had a couple of chances to play with the 1200, and I wanted one more than anything in the world except for a girlfriend.

“Marty,” Art said, “Murf was telling me about a job I thought you might be good for.”

The Ace 1200 would have a list price of $2,200. I pulled up a chair.

Fidelity Computing’s business offices were attached to their warehouse, right next to their factory. It took up half of a business park in Colma, and I had to circle it twice to find a parking spot. I was five minutes late and flustered when I presented myself to the receptionist, a blond woman with a ten – years – out – of – date haircut and a modest cardigan over a sensible white shirt buttoned to the collar, ring on her finger.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Marty Hench. I—uh—I’ve got a meeting with the Reverend Sirs.” That was what the executive assistant I’d spoken to on the phone had called them. It sounded weird when he said it. It sounded weirder when I said it.

The receptionist gave me a smile that only went as far as her lips. “Please have a seat,” she said. There were only three chairs in the little reception area, vinyl office chairs with worn wooden armrests. There weren’t any magazines, just glossy catalogs featuring the latest Fidelity Computing systems, accessories, consumables, and software. I browsed one, marveling at the parallel universe of computers in the strange, mauve color that denoted all Fidelity equipment, including the boxes, packaging, and, now that I was attuned to it, the accents and carpet in the small lobby. A side door opened and a young, efficient man in a kippah and wire-rim glasses called for me: “Mr. Hench?” I closed the catalog and returned it to the pile and stood. As I went to shake his hand, I realized that something had been nagging me about the catalog—there were no prices.

“I’m Shlomo,” the man said. “We spoke on the phone. Thank you for coming down. The Reverend Sirs are ready to see you now.”

He wore plain black slacks, hard black shiny shoes, and a white shirt with prayer-shawl tassels poking out of its tails. I followed him through a vast room filled with chest-high Steelcase cubicles finished in yellowing, chipped wood veneer, every scratch pitilessly lit by harsh overhead fluorescents. Most of the workers at the cubicles were women with headsets, speaking in hushed tones. The tops of their heads marked the interfaith delineators: a block of Orthodox headscarves, then a block of nuns’ black and white scarves (I learned to call them “veils” later), then the Mormons’ carefully coiffed, mostly blond dos.

“This way,” Shlomo said, passing through another door and into executive row. The mauve carpets were newer, the nap all swept in one direction. The walls were lined with framed certificates of appreciation, letters from religious and public officials (apparently, the church and state were not separate within the walls of Fidelity Computing), photos of groups of progressively larger groups of people ranked before progressively larger offices—the company history.

We walked all the way to the end of the hall, past closed doors with nameplates, to a corner conference room with a glass wall down one side, showing a partial view of a truck-loading dock behind half-closed vertical blinds. Seated at intervals around a large conference table were the Reverend Sirs themselves, each with his own yellow pad, pencil, and coffee cup.

Shlomo announced me: “Reverend Sirs, this is Marty Hench. Mr. Hench, these are Rabbi Yisrael Finkel, Bishop Leonard Clarke, and Father Marek Tarnowski.” He backed out of the door, leaving me standing, unsure if I should circle the table shaking hands, or take a seat, or—

“Please, sit,” Rabbi Finkel said. He was fiftyish, round-faced and bear-shaped with graying sidelocks and beard and a black suit and tie. His eyes were sharp behind horn-rimmed glasses. He gestured to a chair at the foot of the table.

I sat, then rose a little to undo the button of my sport coat. I hadn’t worn it since my second job interview, when I realized it was making the interviewers uncomfortable. It certainly made me uncomfortable. I fished out the little steno pad and stick pen I’d brought with me.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Hench.” The rabbi had an orator’s voice, that big chest of his serving as a resonating chamber like a double bass.

“Of course,” I said. “Thanks for inviting me. It’s a fascinating company you have here.”

Bishop Clarke smiled at that. He was the best dressed of the three, in a well-cut business suit, his hair short, neat, side-parted. His smile was very white, and very wide. He was the youngest of the three—in his late thirties, I’d guess. “Thank you,” he said. “We know we’re very different from the other computer companies, and we like it that way. We like to think that we see something in computers—a potential—that other people have missed.”

Father Tarnowski scowled. He was cadaverously tall and thin, with the usual dog collar and jacket, and a heavy gold class ring. His half-rim glasses flashed. He was the oldest, maybe sixty, and had a sour look that I took for habitual. “He doesn’t want the press packet, Leonard,” he said. “Let’s get to the point.” He had a broad Chicago accent like a tough-guy gangster in The Untouchables.

Bishop Clarke’s smile blinked off and on for an instant and I was overcome with the sudden knowledge that these two men did not like each other at all, and that there was some kind of long-running argument simmering beneath the surface. “Thank you, Marek, of course. Mr. Hench’s time is valuable.” Father Tarnowski snorted softly at that and the bishop pretended he didn’t hear it, but I saw Rabbi Finkel grimace at his yellow pad.

“What can I help you Reverend Sirs with today?” Reverend Sirs came more easily now, didn’t feel ridiculous at all. The three of them gave the impression of being a quarter inch away from going for each other’s throats, and the formality was a way to keep tensions at a distance.

“We need a certain kind of accountant,” the rabbi said. He’d dated the top of his yellow pad and then circled the date. “A kind of accountant who understands the computer business. Who understands computers, on a technical level. It’s hard to find an accountant like that, believe it or not, even in Silicon Valley.” I didn’t point out that Colma wasn’t in Silicon Valley.

“Well,” I said, carefully. “I think I fit that bill. I’ve only got an associate’s degree in accounting, but I’m a kind of floating CFO for half a dozen companies and I’ve been doing night classes at UCSF Extension to get my bachelor’s. I did a year at MIT and built my own computer a few years back. I program pretty well in BASIC and Pascal and I’ve got a little C, and I’m a pretty darned good debugger, if I do say so myself.”

Bishop Clarke gave a small but audible sigh of relief. “You do indeed sound perfect, and I’m told that Shlomo spoke to your references and they were very enthusiastic about your diligence and . . . discretion.”

I’d given Shlomo a list of four clients I’d done extensive work with, but I hadn’t had “discretion” in mind when I selected them. It’s true that doing a company’s accounts made me privy to some sensitive information—like when two employees with the same job were getting paid very different salaries—but I got the feeling that wasn’t the kind of “discretion” the bishop had in mind.

“I’m pretty good at minding my own business,” I said, and then, “even when I’m being paid to mind someone else’s.” I liked that line, and made a mental note about it. Maybe someday I’d put it on my letterhead. Martin Hench: Confidential CPA.

The bishop favored me with a chuckle. The rabbi nodded thoughtfully. The priest scowled.

“That’s very good,” the bishop said. “What we’d like to discuss today is of a very sensitive nature, and I’m sure you’ll understand if we would like more than your good word to rely on.” He lifted his yellow pad, revealing a single page, grainily photocopied, and slid it over the table to me. “That’s our standard nondisclosure agreement,” he said. He slid a pen along to go with it.

I didn’t say anything. I’d signed a few NDAs, but only after I’d taken a contract. This was something different. I squinted at the page, which was a second- or third-generation copy and blurry in places. I started to read it. The bishop made a disgusted noise. I pretended I didn’t hear him.

I crossed out a few clauses and carefully lettered in an amendment. I initialed the changes and slid the paper back across the table to the bishop, and found the smile was gone from his face. All three of them were now giving me stern looks, wrath-of-God looks, the kind of looks that would make a twenty-one-year-old kid like me very nervous indeed. I felt the nerves rise and firmly pushed them down.

“Mr. Hench,” the bishop said, his tone low and serious, “is there some kind of problem?”

It pissed me off. I’d driven all the way to for-chrissakes Colma and these three weirdo God-botherers had ambushed me with their everything – and – the – kitchen – sink contract. I had plenty of work, and I didn’t need theirs, especially not if this was the way they wanted to deal. This had suddenly become a negotiation, and my old man had always told me the best negotiating position was a willingness to get up from the table. I was going to win this negotiation, one way or another.

“No problem,” I said.

“And yet you appear to have made alterations to our standard agreement.”

“I did,” I said. That’s not a problem for me, I didn’t say.

He gave me more of that stern eyeball-ray stuff. I let my negotiating leverage repel it. “Mr. Hench, our standard agreement can only be altered after review by our general counsel.”

“That sounds like a prudent policy,” I said, and met his stare.

He clucked his tongue. “I can get a fresh one,” he said. “This one is no good.”

I cocked my head. “I think it’d be better to get your general counsel, wouldn’t it?”

The three of them glared at me. I found I was enjoying myself. What’s more, I thought Rabbi Finkel might be suppressing a little smile, though the beard made it hard to tell.

“Let me see it,” he said, holding his hand out.

Bishop Clarke gave a minute shake of his head. The rabbi half rose, reached across the table, and slid it over to himself, holding it at arm’s length and adjusting his glasses. He picked up his pen and initialed next to my changes.

“Those should be fine,” he said, and slid it back to me. “Sign, please.”

“Yisrael,” Bishop Clarke said, an edge in his voice, “changes to the standard agreements need to be reviewed—”

“By our general counsel,” the rabbi finished, waving a dismissive gesture at him. “I know, I know. But these are fine. We should probably make the same changes to all our agreements. Meanwhile, we’ve all now had a demonstration that Mr. Hench is the kind of person who takes his promises seriously. Would you rather have someone who doesn’t read and signs his life away, or someone who makes sure he knows what he’s signing and agrees with it?”

Bishop Clarke’s smile came back, strained at the corners. “That’s an excellent point, Rabbi. Thank you for helping me understand your reasoning.” He collected the now-signed contract from me and tucked it back under his yellow pad.

“Now,” he said, “we can get down to the reason we asked you here today.”

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