#sorry it took so long to respond by the way

[goldfades]

joe burrow pro bowl weekend sneaking into his hotel room at night

aaaaa yes... pro bowl weekend joe has lived in my rent free and im so glad u requested this. hope you enjoy!

warnings: NSFW, minors pls dni! oral (fem. receiving), overstim if you squint, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it!!), rushed writing... sorry yall im trying a new style, lmk if yall like it 😌

The hallway is quiet, save for the soft hum of the ice machine down the corridor and the faint click of your heels against the plush hotel carpet. You’ve timed it perfectly—late enough that most of the players are either asleep or too busy nursing overpriced cocktails in dimly lit lounges, and early enough that the night shift staff haven’t started their rounds. The key card burns in your palm, a flimsy piece of plastic holding the weight of your impulsive decisions.

You hesitate for a beat outside his door, heart thumping like it’s trying to escape your chest. The gold numbers gleam under the flickering sconce light, mocking you with their simplicity. It’s just a door. Just Joe. But there’s nothing simple about the way your stomach flips when you think of him, or the way his voice has been echoing in your head all day, low and lazy, threaded with that soft drawl.

The lock clicks with an almost conspiratorial softness as you swipe the card. You slip inside like a shadow, the door snicking shut behind you with a whisper of finality. The room is dark, lit only by the faint glow of the city seeping through the crack in the heavy curtains. You can make out the broad outline of him, sprawled across the bed, one arm flung over his head, the sheets tangled around his waist.

He stirs when you kick off your shoes, the faint rustle drawing his attention. His voice is rough with sleep when he speaks, low and familiar in a way that makes your skin prickle.

“Took you long enough.��

His words are lazy, but there’s an edge to them—a sharpness tucked beneath the warmth. You don’t bother with an excuse. Just step closer, letting the distance between you shrink until it’s nothing at all.

You can feel the heat emanating from his body as you stand over him, the dim light casting shadows that dance across his features. The room is charged with an electric tension, palpable in the air between you. Joe's eyes, half-lidded and sleepy, focus on you with an intensity that feels like a physical touch. He shifts slightly, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt that clings to him from the heat of sleep.

"Couldn't stay away, huh?" His voice is a husky murmur that sends shivers down your spine. Despite the casual tone, there's a question in his gaze, a probing, searching inquiry that seeks your deepest intentions. It's an invitation and a challenge all at once.

You respond not with words but with action, crawling onto the bed with a grace that belies your pounding heart. The mattress dips under your weight, and Joe watches your every move, his gaze tracking the sway of your hips as if mesmerized. You straddle him, feeling the solid strength of his thighs beneath you, and for a moment, you just sit there, drinking in his presence, the reality of him.

His hands come up to rest on your hips, his thumbs tracing small, slow circles through the fabric of your dress. There's a tenderness in his touch that contrasts with the iron strength of his fingers, and it's this duality that fascinates you, draws you in.

"I... needed to see you," you confess, the words tumbling out in a breathy rush. The truth feels like a liberation, freeing something tight and coiled within your chest.

Joe's smile is slow and warm, spreading across his face like dawn breaking. "Well, then," he murmurs, his hands tightening on your hips, "Let's make it worth your while."

He flips you beneath him with a swift, practiced move that leaves you breathless. His body pins yours to the bed, his weight a comforting pressure that envelops you completely. His lips find yours in the darkness, the kiss deep and consuming, tasting of sleep and desire. The world narrows down to the feel of him against you, around you, the sound of your mingled breaths the only music in the silent room.

--

Joe's relentless pursuit of your pleasure leaves you gasping, teetering on the edge of coherence. His tongue is masterful, delving with precision yet infused with an artistry that makes each touch feel like the first. His fingers grip your thighs, holding you open, exposed to his hungry gaze and insatiable mouth. The dichotomy of tender in his actions drives you insane, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through your veins.

The room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing and the slick, wet noises of his tongue lavishly exploring, tasting you with a ravenous need that belies his earlier laziness. You're overwhelmed by the intensity the relentless pleasure, your hands tangle in his hair, pressing him closer, silently pleading for more, for that sweet release that hovers just out of reach.

"Joey," you moan, your voice breaking with desperation. "Please."

He responds not with words but with a deep hum that vibrates against your clit, his tongue brushing over the sensitive. It's the final stroke of your arousal, and it sends you spiraling over the edge into blissful oblivion as the knot in your stomach snaps for the second time that night, all from his tongue.

Your body arches off the bed, a silent scream etched across your features as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you shattered in the most exquisite way.

But Joe isn't done.

As you flutter back down to Earth, spent and panting, he rises up, his lips glistening with the evidence of your climax. When you open your eyes, meeting his gaze, he's settled in between your thighs, his hands on your hips.

His eyes burn with an insatiable fire, his own desire palpable as he positions himself at the crux of your thighs. "You taste incredible, baby," he murmurs, voice low and husky, "but I'm nowhere near done with you."

With that, his cock slides into you, filling you in one smooth, deep stroke because of your soaked cunt. The sensation is intense, a delicious stretch that reignites your desire. His movements are deliberate, powerful thrusts that drive you both toward a precipice as Joe's hands move everywhere, his touches igniting flames wherever they land.

Joe's movements become fervent, almost frenzied as he plunges deeper into the warm, welcoming depths of your cunt. His pace is relentless, each thrust deeper than the last, driven by a raw hunger that seems to consume him entirely. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, along with his slurred, lust-laden words.

"God, so good... so perfect for me, baby," he groans, his voice thick with desire as he leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. The words are barely coherent, a string of adoration and pleasure mumbled as he loses himself in the sensation of you enveloping him. His hands roam over your body with wild abandon, tracing the curves of your hips, squeezing your tits.

"Feel so good," Joe murmurs against your ear, his voice a husky drawl that sends a shiver down your spine. "Can't get enough of your pussy... so wet for me." His words are a mantra, spoken between labored breaths and deep thrusts.

His rhythm staggers as he starts to feel his impending orgasm, his thrusts uneven but no less potent. Each movement sends ripples of pleasure through your body, pushing you both closer to the brink again. The mattress creaks under the force of his movements, as Joe's praises continue to spill from his lips.

His fingers find your clit, thumb circling with a rhythm that matches his thrusts. The dual assault on your senses is overwhelming, and you can feel another climax building within you, the coil in your stomach tightening like a spring.

"Fuck, I’m gonna—" Joe's words cut off as his control snaps, his body tensing as he reaches his own climax. He buries himself deep inside you as he comes, his eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with the raw intensity of his release. The sight of him, so utterly undone, so vulnerable and yet so powerful, pulls you over the edge with him.

Your orgasm washes over you in a tidal wave of bliss, crashing through you with such strength that you cling to Joe, your nails digging into his sculpted back, as if anchoring yourself. Together, you ride the waves of pleasure, each pulse and throb of his cock inside you extending your climax, intertwining it with his.

Joe's body shudders above you, each tremor mirroring the aftershocks that ripple through your own form. His breath, hot and ragged, brushes against your neck as he struggles to catch his breath, his chest heaving against yours.

As the final waves of pleasure ebb, Joe collapses beside you, his arm instinctively pulling you close. In the dim light of the hotel room, his face is painted with satisfaction and a touch of awe. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, a stark contrast to the fervor of moments before.

[lnfours]

focal point ☆ chapter 5 | l.n

summary: oh damn, never seen that color blue…

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy x sunshine, some more filler (IM SORRY ITS FOR THE PLOT!!!!!), fluff (EEKK!!!!), subtle foreshadowing, unedited as fuck, and hints at a strained family relationship (trauma!!)

message from jordan: hi everyone! long time no see, huh? 😅 i'm so sorry for being mia and for not updating this series in so long, i decided to take a small break from almost all socials. but don't worry, we're back and better than ever <3 as always, thank you for being so patient with me. i hope this chapter is worth the wait!! see you soon, for real this time :) - p.s i hope you enjoy that taylor swift reference in the summary, cause, iykyk 🙂‍↕️

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

“hellloooo earth to oscar!”

it was no use. this was the third time he had unintentionally interrupted your conversation to respond to a text. all while doing so with a giddy smile, one you had never seen light up his face quite like this one did.

you had come over right after class, the two of you agreeing to hang out and catch up. it had been a while since it had just been the two of you hanging out, the inevitable busy schedules really hitting hard during your last semester. you missed your best friend.

missed meaning past tense. because although he was your best friend, right now, you wanted to snap his neck.

"oscar jack piastri!"

"oh- sorry," he mumbled the same apology for the third time this afternoon, "sorry, i was just texting someone. it's nothing, what were we talking about?"

you gave him a blank stare, "were you texting your secret girlfriend?"

you noticed the way his eyes widened a little upon mentioning the word ‘girlfriend’, "okay, one, she's not my girlfriend. and two, no. i was texting max."

and for the four years you've known oscar piastri, you could always tell when he was lying. and this time, he was lying right to your face.

you decided to play along with his game, letting him think he won this time. so you hummed, nodding your head, "okay, fine, if you say so."

"i'm sorry," he apologized again, locking his phone and placing it face down on the kitchen counter, "you have my full attention now, promise. what were you saying?"

"i was telling you about last week."

"right, with lando and the diner thing, right?" he asked and you hummed, taking a piece of popcorn from the bowl in between the two of you, "wait a minute, how'd you go from hating his guts and it being unbearable to be within 5 feet of him to 'oh my god he took me to breakfast'?"

"you know that party lily practically dragged me to?" when he nodded you spoke again, "apparently i really suck at beer pong and he helped me back to the apartment and helped lily take care of me. it was really sweet, actually."

he smiled softly before letting out a quiet snort, "sorry, just never thought i'd hear you say the words 'lando' and 'sweet' in the same sentence."

"i'm serious!" you sighed, pouting ever so slightly.

"no, i know!" he laughed softly, "it's just... you're just now finding out what i've been trying to tell you for the longest time? that he's actually a really good dude?"

you bit down on your lower lip softly, "i didn't really give him a chance, huh?"

"not really, no," he chuckled softly, "but it's okay. he didn't exactly help out his own case either, in all honesty."

you nodded in agreement, the front door to the apartment creaking open. you both turned to see lando kicking off his shoes, placing his keys on the hook by the door.

he smiled at you and oscar, "hey,"

"hey," oscar smiled, answering for you as well as you took in his appearance. messy curls, tight black t-shirt, grey sweatpants, duffel bag on his shoulder and a soft glow on his skin, you could tell he had just gotten back from the gym.

arms. biceps. veins. god, you should probably speak before you embarrass yourself...

it was too late though, he had already seen the way your eyes traveled over his body. he decided to put the mental note in the back of his mind for now, instead checking the watch on his wrist.

"oh shit, i didn't mean to keep you waiting, y/n."

you tapped your phone screen, looking at the time. it was 4:35, just five minutes passed when you said you'd meet up. it really wasn't a big deal. you didn't even know it had gotten that late already.

"no, no, it's fine. didn't even notice, if i'm honest," you smiled and he sent you a smile back. oscar watched the two of you like a tennis match, cheekily grinning at the counter.

"i have some of those papers you had me work on the other day, they're in my room if you wanna..."

"oh- yeah! yeah, sure," you smiled, grabbing your things as oscar silently laughed at the way you acted around his roommate. how you were unintentionally tripping and stumbling over your own feet and your words, how lovestruck you became.

you followed lando to his room, placing your things down and taking a seat on the edge of his bed as he looked through his closet for a change of clothes, "i'm just gonna shower real quick, make yourself at home, though."

you smiled, nodding his way as he closed the door behind him. after all this time, you had never thought you'd see the other side of this door. his room was slightly messy, due to his busy schedule and his active lifestyle. posters of cars and, seemingly, his favorite video games hanging on the walls. the bookshelf that sat in the corner of the room was littered with different textbooks at the bottom and little die cast models of his favorite cars, along with a few formula one cars that you had recognized. the top shelf stood out the most to you, though.

a picture frame of him and who you had assumed to be his family. a family photo taken during christmas, all of them dressed in matching pajamas. a big happy family.

the photo, for whatever reason, brought tears to your eyes. a smile on your face as you sniffled quietly, putting the photo frame back down on it's designated shelf.

the door opened, causing you to turn around as he closed the door behind him, "sorry, i figured you'd prefer if i didn't smell like a guy's locker-room."

you laughed softly, wiping away the small tear that came from your eye, "god, yeah,"

"hey," he said, sitting down on the bed beside you, immediately disregarding the notebook he was grabbing beforehand, "what's wrong? you okay?"

you nodded, waving a hand dismissively, "yeah, yeah, i'm fine. i just- for whatever reason, when i looked at that picture of you and your family it just uhm..."

he patiently waited for you to finish your sentence, "it just brought back some feelings that i wish it hadn't, that's all."

"fuck, i'm so sorry," he said.

"no, no," you shook your head, "you don't have to apologize, if anything i should be the one who's apologizing."

"you don't have to apologize for having emotions."

you smiled softly, feeling another tear fall from the corner of your eye. this time, he gently brought his hand up to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he wiped it away.

the action made you breathless, as if the way he was looking into your eyes hadn't already. a mysterious color you couldn't quite put your finger on. it was a mix between blue, green and grey.

whatever it was, it was gorgeous and captivating at the same time.

you cleared your throat, the two of you moving away from the gap that had slowly been closing. your fingers untwisting themselves from his, you growing flushed at the fact that you had, at some point, interlocked your fingers with his unknowingly.

"sorry," you mumbled softly.

"'m sorry," he said at the same time. you both shared a soft and awkward chuckle before he grabbed his notebook from behind him.

"so, i had a few questions about chapter 15."

"go on," you said, studying his side profile as he explained the areas he was having trouble with. pretty tanned skin littered with freckles and moles, curls that perfectly kissed the skin on the back of his neck and his forehead.

the sentence lily had said to you last week repeating itself into your brain:

“...and it’s not like i don’t see the way he looks at you. he definitely is feeling something he doesn’t want to show just yet,”

oh, fuck.

[sonotpattismith]

let him make a woman out of me

pairing: martial arts!sukuna x preacher's daughter!reader word count: 13.5k content: angst, religious themes, religious trauma, low-key sacrilegious at points, implied sexual harassment/abuse, mentions of miscarriage, smut, 18+ a/n: this was just supposed to be a self-defense trainer sukuna fic, but I was listening to Ethel Cain and my religious trauma jumped out idk what happened SORRY- also thank you to @yoyoheart for the inspo :')

You had never been sure who’s wrath you feared more: your father’s, God’s, or the world that both of the aforementioned possibilities sheltered you from. Perhaps they were all one in the same, as your father lived to enforce his own version of God’s will, and the world of the small community surrounding you bent to their every whim. 

Of course, you had never been so naive as to believe there wasn’t a whole other world beyond the confines of your father’s commandments and God’s watchful eye, even though you had never seen it— a faith you had learned from the very Bible that shackled your mind— believing without seeing, the presence of the other world lingered all around without your needing to touch it to acknowledge the fact. 

None of these things though could have prepared you for the trials and temptations ahead of you; not your father’s scorn, not God’s promises, and certainly not the world that had kept you barred for so long— because you never knew this was what all these things were hiding from you.

Nothing could have prepared you for Sukuna. 

Here you were though, staring up at the martial arts gym in the middle of a city you had never known, with hopes that it would help bring you that much closer to feeling confident in the world you were always a fingertips brush away from. Second doubts were creeping into your muddled mind though, because the man emerging from the back of the gym at the sound of the front door jingling with your arrival was monstrous, unlike anything you’d ever seen before, but everything you imagined Lucifer’s deceptive beauty to be. 

He was tall, ducking his head ever-so-slightly through the archway as he took a long swig from his water jug. Even the way his long finger’s wrapped around the plastic appeared perilous, the flimsy material bending under what looked like it was supposed to be a casual grip. Tugging the wire from one of his headphones down, he raised a brow at your timid stance while leaning his hands on the front counter. 

“You my six o’clock self-defence beginner?” His question rang in your ears, making your heart pound violently against your chest. 

This was supposed to be who would be training you? He looked like the very people you were hoping to learn how to defend yourself against, what with the menacing marks that littered his otherwise captivating face. He reminded you of what the scripture had said about how even Lucifer masqueraded as an angel of light. 

“Oh, um…” Your gaze flickered, taking note of the way the sleeves of his compression shirt strained pitifully against the swell of his biceps. This man could kill you with a flick of his wrist should you make a wrong move. Twisting your fingers into the hem of your hoodie, you mustered the courage to respond to him as his brows rose in an exasperated go on expression. “You’re the… martial arts trainer?”

“There a problem with that?” The subtle edge in his tone had your breath hitching, every doubt that you were sure you had buried when you left your hometown flooding back to you. 

“No! I just…” Your anxious voice trailed, and the silence in the modestly sized gym had a premature sweat breaking out onto your neck— you were alone with this man. “Is there maybe a um… female trainer?”

His face remained intimidatingly neutral for a few seconds before the slightest of amused smirks broke the sudden tension. Pushing off the counter, he trailed around to the front, a motion that had you inching back in a manner you could only hope was subtle. Instead of stopping in front of you though, he moved past you and toward the front door. You watched with furrowed brows as he pushed it ajar before shoving the door stopper between it and the frame. 

“Look princess— this is my gym.” He explained with a resigned sigh. 

For a moment, Sukuna had contemplated rolling his eyes at your request. It wasn’t that he was offended— no, he was far too accustomed to the intimidated stares and shuffles away from his vicinity. Still, irritation was a state of second nature to him, built up over years of needing to put up with the aggravatingly shallow individuals that had plagued his life since he was a teenager and first sprouted both in size and fear factor. 

Taking a better look at you though, he had to remind himself of how he came off most times. Your comparably small frame was swallowed up by his shadow, and by the way your wide, dewy eyes darted about the gym, it told him that perhaps he needed to tone it down a notch. After all, you were a kind-looking girl all by herself in a gym with a six foot something bodybuilder who couldn’t understand it when people told him he had a perpetually murderous look in his eyes. 

Standing up once the door was successfully propped open, he made his way back over to you as you tried to conceal your shell-shocked expression. Meanwhile, the assessing glint in his ruby eyes as he dragged his gaze up and down your tense figure did nothing to ease your nerves. 

“So, no, I’m the only trainer here.” He finally continued before meeting your eyes once again. “What are you here for?”

“Um… what am I here for?”

“Why are you taking these lessons?”

 You blinked apprehensively up at him as memories of your life leading you all the way here to this stranger’s gaze flooded your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you tried to straighten your posture in an attempt to appear more confident than you actually felt. 

“I want to protect myself.”

He nodded firmly at your answer, leaning his elbow against the counter. 

“And do you think anyone fucks with me?” He fought back an amused smirk watching you flinch back at his crass words. It made him wonder what the fuck you were doing here, as it was becoming abundantly clear that you were likely heavily sheltered. In his experience, girls like you always had some helicopter parents doing all the protecting for them, even at their grown ages. Your lips twitched nervously as your eyes continued to flutter up at him. “Hm?”

“No— no, I don’t think anyone… bothers you.”

“And why not?” At this point, you were almost sure he just enjoyed seeing you sweat as he continued to press with a mocking tilt of his head. Sensing your apprehension, he nodded encouragingly. “Go on, I’m a big boy— I can take it.”

“Well, you’re— y’know, tall and… big.” You weren’t sure what other term to use without flat out calling him scary, but he seemed to have understood you anyway— much to your relief. 

“So, you’re telling me you’d rather have some pipsqueak trying to teach you how to kick someone’s ass?” 

“Oh… well I guess that—”

“Oh—” The pink haired man mocked before pushing off the counter to head toward the center of the mat that was covering the majority of the gym. “Get your ass over here, we’re already running behind.”

Despite the nerves still taking hold of every inch of you, you quickly sprang into action at his command. Setting your bag down by the counter, you gave one last hesitant glance his way before tugging down the zipper of your jacket. Shrugging it off your shoulders, you were left in your long-sleeve top that, despite covering nearly every inch of you, made you feel unnecessarily exposed in his presence. You tugged at it in hopes it would stretch into a less form-fitting material as you walked to stand before him. 

“Take that off.” 

“W-What?” You stammered out, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. He jutted his chin toward you. 

“Your necklace— if it gets caught on something while training it’ll fuck up your neck. Don’t wear jewelry when you come here.”

Your fingers slowly creeped up to curl around the cross that dangled from the dainty chain around your neck. It was the one your father had gifted you after your first Communion so many years ago, and it hadn’t left your body since. With a small nod, you reached up to unhook the chain. Your fingers trembled though, slipping and sliding the hook out of your grasp as your face began to heat in embarrassment. 

“Sorry.” You attempted a nonchalant smile, but it appeared more like a grimace as you continued to struggle with the clasp. 

Sukuna watched you silently, the way your eyes wouldn’t meet his, the guilt that swam behind them as you fought to maintain your composure long enough to do what he’d asked of you. 

He had been teaching self-defence lessons for a few years now— not as long as he’d been involved in martial arts, but long enough to recognize certain cues and quirks in the people that passed through his gym. It had begun out of irritation, all the kids being brought into a martial arts class by their parents because they were getting bullied, all the women fearing the rising crime rates in this city— weak people bothered him, they pissed him off like nothing else. 

When deciding to begin teaching individual lessons geared specifically toward self-defense, Sukuna tried to tell himself that it was because he wanted at least one less wimp walking out into the world each time he finished a class— that, and the extra income certainly didn’t hurt. It was beginning, though, to teach him harsh truths about himself and about the world he had convinced himself he hated for so long. 

It was never weak people that bothered him. No, instead he was quickly coming to the startling realization that he saw himself in each frail recruit. Of course, it was never the version of himself that he had now grown into, but the young boy who had been alienated by the world under the false pretenses of love and righteousness. Sukuna had to be reminded each day that where weak people were— the self proclaimed righteous were never far behind, and nothing infuriated him more.

In the midst of your mortified fumbling, you hadn’t noticed that he’d stepped closer to you, reaching behind you to push your hands away and nimbly unhook it himself. You peered up at him through your lashes as though too scared to meet his gaze head on as his large hand came back around to hang in front of you, dangling the cross just beside your nose. He was glowering down at you, sharp eyes seeming to assess your every breath, and, for a moment, you were sure he could see straight through you. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled sincerely, holding your palm up for him to carefully drop the necklace in the center of it. 

The towering man stepped back to allow you to place the jewelry safely into your bag before rejoining him. In the minuscule interaction, you came to the comforting resignation that he had already had the chance to use that grueling size of his to his advantage, but the only use he put to his hands thus far was to help you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous is all— I was being judgmental. Let’s start over.”

“No, remember that.” Sukuna insisted with a nonchalant shake of his head. He raised a splayed out hand in front of him before nodding toward it. “Punch me.” 

“Punch you?” You repeated, eyes flickering apprehensively between him and his large palm. “Aren’t you supposed to… I don’t know— put gloves on or something?”

His expression deadpanned at you, and you could practically hear that unimpressed glint in his eyes asking you— are you serious right now? The borderline exasperated look on his face actually managed to break through your nerves for the first time since you’d walked into the small gym. A horribly concealed, breathy laugh escaped you as you realized the ridiculousness of your question. It made him look away from you for a moment, fighting back a tired smile of his own that showed just how long he’d been working today. 

Quickly collecting yourself, you squared your shoulders to show him that you were ready. He nodded at you, barely adjusting his stance to prepare for whatever force your comparably small fists would deliver. His scarlet eyes observed your form as you hurled your balled up fist forward with what looked to be all the strength you could manage. You wouldn’t have the chance to see if it dealt any damage because you were quickly curling back, cradling your fist into your chest with a pained groan.

“That’s why you need to correct your form before you jump into anything else.” He explained simply, not at all phased by your pathetic attempt at a punch as he cracked his neck concerningly loud. 

“If you knew that, why didn’t you teach me that first?” You gaped in exasperation, wringing out your now throbbing knuckles. 

“Because now you���ll never forget to fix your form, huh?”

The first thing you learned about Sukuna is that, when there was an option to learn the hard way— he always took it. It didn’t matter that he was lightyears taller than you, or that the only thing you’d ever hit in your life was your pillow, or that you were a girl. In that hour that you were his student— he was going to make sure you learned. 

Despite the dull ache that remained in your hand the remaining hour as he demonstrated the proper posture to take, even down to how you should be breathing, it was exhilarating to have been taken seriously for once. His corrections, though gruff and direct, were never the condescending tone you had grown so accustomed to among the men who you grew up alongside in the church. 

They, like your father, had so many stories to tell you of the heathens that were often drawn to the city with allures of its greed and idolatry. These caricatures they’d conjure up would leave you shaken at night as you prayed to the Lord for any alternative— stuck between the fear of what may be awaiting you should you leave the safe confines of your hometown, and the isolating horror of what it may mean for you if you stayed. 

It began to make you wonder though as you placed your water bottle back into your bag and shrugged your hoodie back on. You questioned the tales you had been fed your entire life— because none of them had ever mentioned that the people in the city, who had a knack for giving into the sins of the flesh and denying the name of the Lord, would also be the first to speak to you instead of at you. Perhaps it was just Sukuna though— you wouldn’t know.

“I have you down for the same time next week.” He instructed firmly while moving to shelf the weights he’d been having you use to practice your form. “Better be practicing too— I can tell if you’re bullshitting me.” 

It had only been a little over an hour, but you had somehow felt as though you’d already grown accustomed to his intense way of speaking. Then again, there was also the possibility that it was sliding off your shoulders because he was treating you with the kind of basic human decency you hadn’t even known was possible for so long. Additionally, you took comfort in the fact that you knew what he was thinking— what with him being so terribly honest even about what pissed him off. You didn’t have to guess what atrocities might be hiding behind sickly sweet, feigned smiles and traitorously kind words.

So, you only smiled and nodded affirmatively at him as you bid him a goodnight. From behind you, he only grunted in response, casting one last look at you from over his shoulder as you left the gym, still practically bouncing with adrenaline. That exercise-induced dopamine hit only lasted so long though, because you were soon reminded of how far you’d parked your car as you stared out into the now pitch-black night surrounding you. 

Your fingers fiddled with the straps of your bag as you lifted yourself onto your tiptoes to survey all the dimly-lit alleys between yourself and your vehicle. All your skepticism about the fear-tactics you had been fed your whole life flew out the window in favor of recalling all the stories about what happened to girls like you out in these big cities. Gulping down the anxious lump in your throat, you bounced on your heels apprehensively. 

Slowly sliding back, you found yourself pulling open the door to the gym once again, where Sukuna was cleaning the space up for the night. He looked entirely absorbed in the task at hand, headphone tucked snuggly into his ears and face scrunched initimidatingly firm. It made you hesitate, but you weren’t able to concern yourself any longer about if you were being a terribly annoying inconvenience to him, because he caught your hovering form in his peripheral. 

“You forget something?” He questioned with a calculated raise of his brow. 

Chewing on your cheek, you remembered the fear that look struck in you the moment you’d seen it first— the subtle temper that seemed to be permanently lurking behind it and how his stature did nothing to comfort his observers. 

“No, um…” You pursed your lips, your blunt fingernails rapping against the door as he watched you expectantly. At the ridiculousness of your own request, you found yourself flushing.

“Spit it out.” 

 “Do you think you could walk with me?” You finally squeaked out at the sound of his impatient order. He blinked incredulously at you a few times, so you clarified. “To my car? I-I just parked kind of far and…”

Your words trailed in embarrassment as he watched the way you glanced behind you uneasily, but he knew. How could he not? He’d been doing this for far too long, after all.  

Though the man had his own, begrudgingly personal reasons for being in the line of work he was in, it always ended right when that hour was up. Knowing that he had already done all that he would have been able to in the time allotted, there was never any pull for him to try harder or dig deeper. Of course, it could also have been attributed to the fact that he’d never been one to care much for connection— not when what he had learned so early on about connection severed so many critical parts of him at such a young age. 

Still, it was the very reason his typically automatic refusal faltered. The look in your eyes was humble, flickering between him and the darkness that lay behind you. Your gaze held a vulnerability not unlike the kind he so vehemently detested— the one that had once glimmered in his own eyes. 

With a soft click of his tongue, he tugged his headphones out and shoved them into his pockets. Your lashes fluttered as his long legs began striding toward the door, and you stepped aside for him to push through it. Already a few yards ahead of you, Sukuna paused and swiveled his head around to see that you were still at the door.

“You coming, brat? Or do you need to be carried too?” Despite his taunting words, his tone didn’t hold the malice he intended it to, and you knew it too. With a soft, wobbly smile of appreciation, you quickly fell into step beside him, nodding in the direction of your car. 

It was silent as you two walked beside one another, the only noises permeating the peace being the thuds of your feet against the concrete and the jingling of his keys deep in his pockets where he had shoved his hands. Sukuna’s crimson eyes regarded you discreetly from his peripheral, noting the way you walked as though the ground might give out on you at any second. It was becoming clearer to him by the second that you were new to being out in the world on your own— at least that’s what your shifting eyes and tense shoulders told him as the rowdy conversation of a group of men grew closer with each step of your trek. 

Even through your attempted subtlety, he picked up with a sharp precision the way you inched ever-so-slightly closer to him at the sudden intrusion. Casting his eyes to the side, his fist clenched twice in contemplation before he pulled it from his pocket and rested a guiding hand on the nape of your neck as you two passed the group in what he hoped would be a message to chill the fuck out.

The motion stung at your nervous system for a moment before you felt his fingers tighten as the two of you brushed against the men on your route. The protectiveness that came like a second nature to him spread a subtle warmth through your chest, one you were sure to stomp out before you let it fester anymore. Now a safe distance from what sounded to be a drunken group, his grip on your neck eased up. Clicking his jaw, he felt a sense of relief for a fear that wasn’t his to shoulder as he wondered what would have happened had you not come back for him.

The worn down car beeped a few feet away from you as you clicked at the key, and Sukuna’s hand slowly fell from your neck. 

“Thank you.” Your tone was overly sincere for an action as miniscule as walking you to your car, but it only added to the growing, twisting sensation in his gut that said something was off about the look in your eyes. Despite this, you smiled up at him, far more assured than the tense one you had given him when you still feared him. 

“Yeah, whatever,” He muttered, shoving his hands back into his pockets as you tugged open your door and settled in. Finally taking the chance to glance over you again, the man leaned his hand against the dingy vehicle. “Don’t park so fucking far next time. There’s a lot behind the gym.”

In the growling irritation that laced his tone, you were still able to detect that he was trying to help you— even if he wanted it to seem like you were deeply inconveniencing him. Still, you didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness, so you nodded ardently. 

“Behind the gym, got it.” 

His lips twitched up softly at your sincerely affirmative tone, but he made sure to turn his face away before you could see it. 

“Not everyone’s out to get you.” Sukuna grumbled as you clicked your seatbelt on. Perhaps he was jumping the gun with his assumptions, but he had a sneaking suspicion about the way you view the world around you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip at his words. “And get a can of mace, will ya? Not always gonna be around to play knight for you.”

He didn’t give you the chance to respond, closing the door firmly with his monstrous hand. Waiting until he heard the soft click of your door locking, you watched as his broad frame stalked away from your car. 

God won’t allow you to be tempted beyond what you could bear.

It was meant to provide you solace as you recalled the scripture, however it only fed your doubt the entire drive to your apartment, thoughts of how his warmth felt against your skin haunting your once steadfast beliefs. 

It was more than his sinful beauty that plagued you though— it was the wisdom he seemed to keep about the very things that terrified you. Like a gatekeeper into the depths of your naivety, Sukuna seemed so sure of his every move and belief, and, in turn, he seemed to hold that same confidence in you. It was so foreign to you to receive that confidence without the need to prove yourself first— always guiltily fragile before proven innocently competent. 

You busied yourself as best you could in the days that followed, trying to build your new apartment from the ground up and make it into some semblance of a home. It was with a haste that you came though, only a duffel bag on your shoulder and certainly no furniture to liven up the space. With the limited budget you were working with, you spent a day searching though thrift stores and garage sales for decent enough pieces that would suffice for your living space. 

With each bill you pulled from the modest wad of cash you kept hidden within a sock at the corner of your bathroom cabinet, the looming reality of being truly on your own was settling in, and you wondered who the hell would hire you with only babysitting experience. It was just another reason to curse your upbringing, never having prepared you for the real world, because in their version of it, teaching you to bring up a child was all the preparation you needed. 

You shook your head in an attempt to veer yourself away from where your thoughts would eventually take you. In your journey of self discovery, you were quickly learning that pitying yourself wouldn’t save you from the uphill battle of moving forward. 

A determined huff escaped you as you finally located the parking lot Sukuna had told you about the week prior. Though you no longer feared him in the way you had upon first meeting, it was the energy he emanated that had you needing to hype yourself up to enter the gym for your second lesson that evening. 

He was doing warm ups when the bell on the door chimed alerting your arrival, his long legs spread into a near completely horizontal line on each side of him as he leaned to the right to grasp onto his foot. His movements were almost supernaturally fluid, and it was jarring to see such precise agility coming from a man with such an imposing figure. The hem of his black, compression shirt had ridden up in the midst of his stretch, revealing the wickedly small sliver of his sculpted back. 

There was the smallest of parts between your lips as you found yourself leaning forward with each centimeter the fabric continued to crawl up. The abrupt lifting of his head snapped you from your pathetic gawking though, his scarlet eyes finding yours instantaneously. 

“What’s wrong with you?” He questioned brashly, taking note of the subtle flush in your cheeks. He twisted his torso to crack his back before standing easily from his place on the mat to gather a few gloves and weights for the lesson. 

“Oh— nothing.” You shook from your thoughts long enough to smile at him, to which he only responded with a quirk of his brow and an unconvinced grunt. 

“You practice like I told you to?” 

You nodded at him, dropping your bag carefully onto the side of the counter before moving to unzip your jacket. This time around, you had half a mind to pick a less form-fitting t-shirt lest you be forced to anxiously readjust yourself between every move. 

“I tried. I don’t really have any weights though, so…” 

That subtle vulnerability, the unnecessary embarrassment in all your explanations was driving him insane. It made him want to shake you, to scream at you to fuck the world and stop being so damn scared of everything. It’s not what he was here for though, so he pushed the timid twitching at the corners of your lips to the back of his mind and nodded for you to stand before him and demonstrate the form he had spent so long perfecting with you the week prior. 

You felt like shifting your weight under his scrutinizing gaze as it dragged from your firmly planted feet up your parted legs and to the controlled stiffness in your spine. Sukuna circled around you, akin to a predator stalking its prey— at least a helpless lamb in the jawls of a wolf was exactly how you felt at the moment. 

He hummed, placing one hand on your shoulder and the other at the center of your back to straighten your posture. Nodding to himself at the correction, he almost allowed his hands to fall when he caught sight of the deep bruise forming on your forearm. 

“The fuck happened to you?” The man questioned with a laser-like focus, lifting your injured arm to emphasize what he was inquiring about. 

When your eyes fell upon his target, that infuriatingly familiar blush coated your cheeks once again. Pulling your arm from his grasp, you traced a gentle palm over the nasty mark. 

“I was… trying to put together a coffee table.” You murmured bashfully, not lifting your gaze for fear of his reaction. 

It was silent for a moment. 

“A coffee table?” Sukuna repeated as though perhaps he’d just heard you wrong, a subtle exasperation in his tone. You only nodded. “And what, did it grow fucking arms and fight back?” 

At this, you giggled hesitantly, but his seriousness only made your laughter bubble up uncontrollably. Had he not been so perturbed at your claim, perhaps he would have found himself fighting back a smile at the sound. Quickly adjusting to fix your posture once again, you shook your head in an attempt to fight off your tickled smile. 

“No, no, I just—” You shrugged sheepishly as he stared impatiently down at you. “I’ve never had the chance to do stuff like that before, so I don’t really know how to use all the tools.”

“Right,” He responded doubtfully, still eyeing the blackening mark just above your wrist for a moment longer before he released it. “You at least get the shit standing?” 

“Well… no, but my landlord offered to come over after he got off work to help me with it.” 

This made Sukuna pause mid shoulder stretch, a volant sense of unease seeping into his chest. Slowly lowering his arms back down to his side, his cautionary gaze struck you sharply. 

“Your landlord?” He began lowly, making you nod hesitantly. “Offered to come to your house to help you build a table— at night?”

You gulped at his warning tone, the growing expression of exasperation on his face gave you pause. The disbelief in those crimson eyes suddenly made you feel sickly insecure about the decision that you were so confident would fix your little dilemma. Picking at your nails, you cast your eyes to your feet where they still sat planted firmly in the mat below you. 

“I mean, yeah. I don’t really know anyone—”

“So you were gonna let a stranger into your place by yourself?”

“You were the one that told me that not everyone was out to get me.” Your feeble attempt at a defense only made him scoff disbelievingly under his breath, hands on his hips as he looked to the side in frustration. 

“Yeah, but—” He clicked his tongue with a shake of his head, and it was clear that he was trying to reign in his temper. “I’ll teach you how to put the damn table together. Don’t let that asshole into your place, so help me god.”

You gaped at him as he moved around you to shift around the weights that he’d set out for today’s lesson with no real rhyme or reason. Sukuna only knew that if he didn’t do something to distract himself from the possibilities of what kind of scumbag you were about to let into your space, he would have barrelled out the door to find the asshole himself. 

“But—”

“But what?” His abruptly challenging tone made you flush. It wasn’t out of fear though, it was the finality in his tone that was stirring that familiar warmth in the pits of your stomach that only seemed to make its star appearances when he was nearby. 

It wasn’t his intention to come off so harshly— though it never was, that sharp tongue was simply ingrained into his bloodstream— but there was a fierce protectiveness that stirred in him that needed to guard that infuriating innocence of yours the way no one bothered to protect his. Taking note of your flushed cheeks, he released a calculatedly controlled sigh before softening his tone as best as he knew how to. 

“Quit overthinking it. I’ll show you how to do it so you don’t gotta be asking assholes to help you for stupid shit.” He grumbled, finally coming back around to stand in front of you as he nodded for you to get back into form. 

It took you a few moments, too busy staring up at him with a type of gratitude he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of. To be fair though, he was holding out something that you too had yet to grasp at, and it was the chance of independence Sukuna was forcing into your unsuspecting hands. Your eyes shone even through the downright ugly lighting of his gym, flaring your presence throughout the space in a way the very walls were unworthy of. 

He could barely look at you as the two of you exchanged numbers after your lesson that evening, feeling for the first time in so long defenseless against what your perfectly intact soul would do to him should he continue meddling with it for too long. That fear didn’t stop him from knocking— perhaps a bit too firmly— on your door just a few days later, because if anyone was going to be blinded by whatever fucking sunshine you miraculously still kept in your pocket while living in a city like this— it sure as hell wasn’t going to be your creep of a landlord. 

“You live in a fucking shoe box.” Sukuna commented gruffly as he ducked in through your front door. 

This made you glance around the modest apartment, but your estimation couldn’t possibly be correct now that his imposing figure was taking up so much space. There was a subtle sense of your heart racing in your through at the sight of him, hair rustled and damp as though freshly showered, in his joggers and the t-shirt you had been praying would be loose enough to not showcase each rippling muscle in his abdomen. It seemed your prayers had fallen on deaf ears though— much like they seemed to have been your whole life. 

Sukuna was big, and devilishly handsome, and generous— and he was a man in your apartment unchaperoned, and you couldn’t tell if the notion scared you or excited you. It made you wonder if whatever threat Sukuna was so sure your landlord would pose to you would have been safer than the temptation this man wafted toward you with each confident step into your space. You felt small beside him, even more so here than you ever did in that gym. 

“I moved in a little bit of a hurry.” You explained with a bashful huff, finally finding the courage to shut the front door. 

Quickly falling into step behind him, you followed as he stalked toward the heap of wood on the floor of your living room. 

“Shitty roommate?” He guessed absentmindedly while squatting down to inspect the disheveled instruction manual on the floor, setting down the toolbox he’d brought with him.

“Uhhh, yeah, I guess you could say that.” You offered a forced smile as you allowed yourself to fall back onto the couch behind him. 

The pink-haired man abruptly lifted his head at the sound of the second-hand furniture creaking softly under your weight. His brows were raised into his hairline as he shook his head expectantly at you.

“Uh-uh, you better get your ass over here, Princess. I told you I’d show you how to do it, and I’m fucking showing you.” 

His sharp command had you springing into action, hopping off the couch to kneel down beside him. From so close, the scent of the musky body wash that still clung to every inch of him. Hiding your sheepishly tickled smile, you nodded affirmatively at him. He regarded your eager posture with a sidelong glance, the anticipation you held for learning how to put together a damn coffee table softening his brash expression ever so slightly. 

“What— your old man never teach you how to use a damn screwdriver?” His grumbled question, though accusatory, held more curiosity than he was willing to admit that he held for you. 

“He always said that was… man’s work.” The soft laugh you attempted didn’t conceal the regret laced in your tone, especially not from Sukuna’s keen senses. 

Your explanation had a scowl forming abruptly on his already intimidating face. That grossly outdated sentiment sounded so familiar to him, and he found himself pressing to confirm despite the way his question may reveal a part of his past he tried to bury under all his muscle and tattoos. 

“Jesus freaks?” He didn’t look at you as he made his assumption, instead focusing on laying out the tools you two would need. 

“He was— is a preacher; my dad.” 

It was all beginning to click into place— your near irrational fear of the world around you. The odd slip up in tenses wasn’t lost on him either, and it only added fuel to the fire of his building questions. 

“Preacher’s daughter, huh?” Sukuna whistled lowly in amusement. You hung your head down so your hair would curtain your face. “Surprised they let you leave the nest without a ring on your finger.”

He had been half expecting you to reciprocate his banter with that bashful defensiveness that seemed to roll off your tongue so easily, but you had fallen silent as he picked up the base of the table. Pulling his lips into a thin line, his eyes seemed to unconsciously drag down toward your neck, noting that it was still bare of the cross he’d unhooked from it weeks prior. An inexplicable guilt panged deeper at his chest with each second that passed within your silence. 

“Eh, I think it’s all bullshit, anyway.” He wanted to ease that tension he’d unknowingly placed upon your shoulder. A determined sigh escaped him as he shifted onto his knees. “Grab me one of the legs.” 

At this, you glanced up at him in surprise, lips parting gently, too thrown off by his confession to be relieved that he’d shifted the topic from your leaving home. With a fluttering gaze, you did as he asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“All that religious superiority crap— it’s all bullshit.” His reiteration only made you scoff out an uncertain laugh. A smirk tugged at his lips at your shock. “Quit blubbering and watch me. You’re doing the next one.”

“So what do you believe then?” You challenged, leaning against your hand that lay splayed out just beside his hip as you observed the way his hand curled around the grip of the power drill.

“If you’re asking me if I believe in some all knowing god or fairy or whatever the hell it is you people come up with to feel better about yourselves— then no. There ain’t no higher power, I don’t buy it.” 

The dull buzzing of the tool filled the small space separating the two of you. About a minute passed before he finished securing the respective screw, and he pulled back to assure you were still paying attention. Your eyes narrowed along with your accusatory smile. 

“You don’t really believe that.” 

“You don’t think so?” He muttered with a small smirk, nudging at your arm for you to take the power tool from him. 

Your breath hitched as his warm hand enveloped yours over the grip to press down against the two fingers you had placed over the trigger. The heat from his chest was radiating against your shoulder that had subsequently pressed right into him. Once he was sure you had grown used to the weight of the hefty tool in your grip, he slowly released your hand. 

“I think you only want to believe that.” You weren’t sure where you had found the nerve to test him in such a way, but something in the way his haughty smirk faltered subtly as you turned back to observe his reaction made you believe that there was some truth to your words. “It just sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself, is all.”

“Yeah? And what about you?” He prefaced his rebuttal by sweeping the hair from your neck, revealing the absence of your own symbol of belief. The sudden brush of his fingertips across your sensitive skin made your fingers stall against the trigger. “Never put that pretty necklace of yours back on.” 

“So?” You tried desperately to sound more confident than you felt at the moment, but the breathlessness that lingered in your tone betrayed you.

“So, maybe you’re trying to convince yourself that you still believe it, too.”

It was his fierce defensiveness over the walls he’d built around that part of him that was talking right now, stomping so carelessly over what was clearly a sensitive topic for you. No matter how much you didn’t want to hear it though, you knew he had dug deep, and you couldn’t understand how he had seen right through you. 

The guilt of your doubt was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Laying awake at night these days, you prayed and prayed for signs and answers, begging the Lord to tell you that what you had to do to protect yourself wouldn’t damn you. You were running though— running from the very temple you were meant to be tethered to. Would God grant you his mercy still? And if he was a merciless God, would it be so blasphemous of you to turn your cheek against him?

Your pained vulnerability reflected in your dewy eyes as they bore into his. Sukuna’s jaw ticked, taut with the type of vexation he only reserved for himself. It wasn’t his intention to wound you, only to disarm you against looking too deeply into him. If you pried too far, perhaps you would understand that he wasn’t just terribly astute. Rather, the doubt etched across your gentle features was much like a looking glass into his own past— he saw himself.

Sukuna blinked slowly at the war waging on in your mind against righteousness and safety, and he saw a young boy ostracized in the name of the Lord. He saw a boy frenzied in his turning the already frayed pages of his Bible in search of answers that would have been blurred by his tears should he have found them. In spite of all the ways his faith excommunicated him, even he couldn’t deny the way the promise of an all merciful God comforted him even as he was tearing himself away from such sentiments. 

“Don’t listen to me.” The man finally grumbled, turning from you to survey the screw you’d just secured into the table. It was a bit crooked, splitting the wood surrounding it ever so slightly, but it was secure nonetheless. “It’s good to… believe in something bigger than you. Hold onto that.”

Because God only knew how lonely it felt to have been burned so savagely that he was rendered incapable of belief, but the sting of the Father’s loving punishments always hurt much more. 

Sukuna left you that afternoon with a freshly built coffee table and more confusion than someone who seemed so sure of himself should have been able to provide. Sinking down on your couch, you eyes remained glued to the fruits of yours and his labor, your mind running over all the eye rolls of feigned annoyance he’d offer whenever you’d mess something up. None of them ever negated the subtle pride evident in the twitch of his lips every time you’d beam up at him with the hope that you’d finally gotten a technique down. 

No matter how quickly he tried to backtrack, his words only fed the ever growing mountain of doubt that had sprung up before you had even packed your first bag to leave home. It sounded personal to him, as though he was speaking from painful first-hand experience. Just a few months ago, someone so confidently spouting heresy in such a way would’ve had you running the other way, back to the safety of conformity. Now though it only seemed to draw you deeper into his contrasting orbit. 

Each lingering, crimson stare and brush of his calloused hand worked their way into perspiring dreams, accompanied by sensations of longing you weren’t sure you had ever allowed yourself to feel. Either that, or the neatly groomed, prim and proper boys of your church you had been surrounded by growing up could never come close to permeating the barrier the Lord had put up in your mind against sinful thoughts of temptation. 

Sukuna though— Sukuna was temptation incarnate. He was everything you had been warned against, and he seemed to have been pulled straight from Ezekiel, boiling over with each accusation the Lord wrought against Lucifer. He was the seal of perfection, that sharp tongue of his full of wisdom, and his flesh perfect in beauty. The signs all pointed toward deception— yet, much like a naive and longing Eve, not even the fear of damnation could hinder you from how sweet that forbidden fruit might taste against your awaiting lips. 

“Focus.” Sukuna growled as you were knocked onto your back for the third time that day. 

Though it took every ounce of courage left in you to show up for your next lesson the following week, that gnawing urge to let your fingertips brush against the fire outweighed any survival instinct you held for your poor soul. It might as well have been for not though, because you couldn’t for the life of you concentrate hard enough to brace yourself for the test attacks he continued sending your way. 

The trainer wasn’t fairing any better though. This had somehow become personal to him. Each strike he was able to land and stance he was able to dismantle struck an unanticipated irritation in his chest, because if he was able to disarm you so easily— surely someone else with less favorable intentions would be able to as well. He tried to be tougher on you, push you harder, but, in truth, it was difficult for him to focus on his own technique each time he pressed himself against you in demonstration. 

It was borderline pathetic. Sukuna had been in this field for years now, and he prided himself on the level of professionalism he always maintained with his students. Perhaps it was one of the reasons he never allowed himself to toe the barrier of professionalism and connection, because they could pant and press against him all they wanted, but it never meant anything to him— not until you. 

That type of determination in your eyes wasn’t uncommon for the women who came in for self-defense classes, but his fatal mistake was digging deeper. Now, despite the puzzle pieces still being strewn about and disorganized, he still held an ample amount of them to begin to be able to see the bigger picture. 

“I’m trying.” You huffed out in frustration, brows drawn together in subtle embarrassment as you took his outstretched hand to help you up. 

“Bullshit.” He spat out instantaneously as you stumbled up with the force of his pull.

 Shooting a palm out toward his chest to steady yourself, you tried to keep your eyes trained on anything but him. It was no use though— he had been picking up on each little lingering eye and flushed cheek of yours since last week, and it was driving him insane. 

“Shouldn’t you be teaching me how to like… I don’t know not get kidnapped?”

“Should I be?” He challenged immediately, and this time his bewitching eyes caught yours with no real intent of ever letting them go. The question was calculated— prying. Sukuna wanted to know why you were here, that much you could tell.

“Aren’t you the teacher?” You tried to reciprocate that same level of trial, but this type of banter was new to you— especially with a man. 

“Aren’t you the one paying me?” 

Sukuna’s lip curled up at the way your resolve slipped under his logic. Nonetheless, he hung his head for a moment as though collecting himself before stepping back a few paces. Once backed up sufficiently, he nodded at you. 

“Okay— new lesson. Try to escape.”

“What am I escaping?” You laughed hesitantly, looking around the small gym like a child would scope out potential hide-and-seek locations. 

At once, a wolfish grin lit up his face, casting his eyes ablaze with a dangerous glint that had you regretting asking for a change of pace in the first place. A nervous gulp forced its way down your throat.

“Me.”

No quicker than you could process his response was he lunging forward, his monstrous hand closing around your forearm in a crushing grip. You yelped in surprise as he tugged you forward. 

“C‘mon, you would’ve been in the back of the van by now, Princess.” He taunted as he watched you struggle against him. “What would you do?”

With a grunt, you tried to pull away from his hand’s demanding weight, but it only made your wrist ache with the strained effort. 

“Ground your feet again.” The man demanded, continuing to yank at your arm. “Forget your posture and your ass is getting taken.” 

It took a disciplined focus to halt your attempts to fight against him long enough to plant your socked feet into the mat once again. With the proper distance and subtle bend of your legs, it had admittedly become easier to keep yourself from falling against his firm tugs. 

“See where my thumb is?” His free hand reached up to pat at where his thumb curled around his middle finger on your forearm. “It’s the weakest part of my grip. Twist your arm out toward the weak spot instead of fighting against the strongest part.” 

With a fluttering gaze of determination, your face scrunched up as you maneuvered your arm against the Achilles heel he’d revealed to you. A triumphant laugh escaped you as your arm twisted underneath his own and subsequently broke free. There was barely an opportunity given for you to give a hop of glee, because Sukuna wasted no time lunging forward once again. The motion made you squeak in surprise, jumping into action to race across the gym, where his thundering footsteps weren’t far behind. 

“What happened to your victory dance, Princess?” The man taunted as you ducked behind the counter, knocking over your abandoned bag in the midst of your pursuit. He prowled on the other side, knees bent ever so slightly as if waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce on you. With a mocking tilt of his head, he offered you an intoxicating smirk. “What— you think a kidnapper’s gonna let you go just cause you got out once?”

“Well, I was hoping he would—” You jolted to the right as he pounced to the left as though to swoop in on you. An anxiously tickled smile tugged at your lips. “—grant me a little mercy considering I got it on my first try?”

“He was granting you mercy by giving you a head start.” 

A shriek left you as you watched him hop over the counter with ease. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins as you barely escaped his grasp, his fingertips catching against the fabric of your t-shirt. In the back of your mind, you knew you should have been taking this seriously, and your activated fight or flight response certainly was. The less disciplined part of you though— the one still riding on the high of her newfound freedom— couldn’t help but like the game of cat and mouse he had sprung upon you. 

It was something in his predatory eyes and lascvisious smile, with his canines glittering under the dim lights above you— it was almost making you want to be caught. You wanted to know what he would do, how his victory would translate against the grips of his sinful hands. 

That shuddering falter in your step as the blood rushed down your body made sure you’d find out soon though, because his arms were quickly taking advantage of your misstep, wrapping around you from behind to clutch at your wrists. You couldn’t stifle the gasp that ripped up your throat as he pressed himself against your back.

“What now, hm?” Sukuna challenged as you finally began to struggle against his grip. 

You could barely concentrate enough to hypothesize what might be the right technique to use here, because heat was bursting from his chest and soaking through your clothes like rays of the sun, and it was rendering you useless, your breathing laboring with each nudge of his chin against the crown of your head. 

“Drop your weight.” He finally offered, and it sounded as though he was expending no effort to keep you secured. 

Against his chest, he could feel each ragged expand and deflate of your ribcage as it became clear it wasn’t only him being affected by the proximity. Though his mind was telling him to hold you tighter, keep you this close just a bit longer, he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain his composure without causing a serious problem. 

With a shuddering nod, you allowed yourself to fall into his grasp, your t-shirt sliding up with the sudden movement. 

“Faster— all at once. You’re supposed to catch them by surprise, make them lose grip.” His arms quickly hoisted you back up in tandem with his barking order. “Do it again.”

You nodded deliriously at his command, nearly drunk on the scent of his body wash lingering on his perspiring skin. Doing as he said, you quickly kicked your feet out from underneath you, your weight falling limply into his arms. 

Sukuna grunted softly, and you had assumed it was from this catching your now dead weight. You were painfully unaware of how the swell of your ass had rolled against his groin on your way down, and he was fighting forces greater than demons to continue this lesson. Glancing up toward the ceiling in a desperate attempt to shift his focus, he sucked in a calculated breath. 

“Good, now wriggle out with your hips, make it impossible to keep the grip on you.” 

He regretted his instruction as soon as it left his mouth— because just as you began writhing out of his grasp, no mouth of counting back from one-hundred, or repeating multiplication tables he hadn’t thought of since middle school was able to stop all the blood remaining in his brain from rushing to his dick. 

“C’mon,” The man grunted half out of desperation for this to be over with already to maintain any sense of professionalism he could still manage. “Use your feet— kick me— get out.”

In your hazed oblivion, you did as you were told, swinging back to land a barely impactful kick to his shin. When that did nothing, you reared back once more, this time making sure your foot collided with his knee. This maneuver finally did him in, though his arms remained locked around you as his leg gave out under him.

You tumbled to the ground along with him, the air temporarily abandoning your lungs at the impact of his firm chest against your rib cage. From under you, he groaned from what you thought was the force at which he hit the ground. Unbeknownst to you though, it was the fact that you were now frantically shuffling around to apologize to him, and you had sat directly onto his growing… dilemma. 

“I’m so sorry.” You gasped out, your hands that had finally been released falling forward on either side of his head to support yourself. “Are you…”

Your breathless concern trailed off as you looked down at him to find he was already staring up at you, ruby eyes half-lidded with a certain hunger you weren’t sure you could place. Despite this, the intensity of them made an incriminating heat spread between your legs. Unlike you, Sukuna had experience in this walk of life, and he could pinpoint that look in your eyes that told him he wasn’t alone in his wandering thoughts. Still, he felt it was far from his place to make the first move— not when you’d clearly never been in such a position before. 

So, he stayed perfectly still beneath you, save for the ragged rise and fall of his chest as your hair curtained around him and enveloped him in your scent. The tips of his fingers dug into the cushioned mat beneath him. 

The tendrils of temptation swirling in his heated eyes made you realize that it was no wonder you had been so quick to believe the cautionary tales you were told about lust growing up. In all your years being raised alongside what were meant to be God’s children, his born again men, all of the lecherous gazes sent your way in the midst of sermons or while receiving the body and the blood— every last one of them held the threat of caged animals. 

God said to abstain from the passions of the flesh because they’d wage war against your soul, but the scripture failed to mention the white flags your heart would so quickly wave when met by the eyes of the right beholder. Sukuna wasn’t sin, or lewd temptation— he wasn’t the morning star that would soon capture you in his fall from grace, despite how the uncharted emotions he stirred in you led you to believe. He couldn’t possibly be all those things— not when he was staring up at you as though your poorly timed awakening was a gift you were bestowing upon him. 

The apprehension in your gaze was palpable, and, though he couldn’t be sure what his encouragement might mean, he allowed his head to tilt in the subtlest of nods at you. You hoped all the romance novels that you’d hide under the shoebox in your old bedroom hadn’t failed you as you leaned down with a timid quiver of your lips to offer your first kiss to him, one he could feel all the years of repression hidden behind. 

A baritoned hum reverberated in the back of his throat as he allowed his eyes to shut, relishing in the feeling of your exploration. The sound served to validate your reserved actions, allowing you to melt against the way his doughy lips molded against you with all the confidence of an experienced man. Your chest gradually lowered against his, the hands that had since been idle by his head instinctively sliding up to grasp at his strapping shoulders that flexed dangerously under your touch. 

It felt as though that incandescent ball of energy that had been building in your chest since the moment you first laid eyes on him was traveling up your throat, trailing a blazing heat in its wake while it spilled from your whimpering lips to find its home in him. Sukuna’s neck strained up to hungrily leverage a better angle to take whatever it was that you were willing to offer him. 

The way your hands remained ever so timid in their exploration, one remaining balanced on his shoulder as the other trailed hesitantly up his neck— it was filling him with a warmth unbeknownst to him if from the anticipation of your next move, or the burning fondness that seemed to gnaw at his stone heart each time he was reminded of the innocence that had been forced on you. Whichever it was, it had his hands finally moving from their respectful place on the ground to lace your fingers together, guiding your trembling hand up to brush against his flexing jaw and heating cheeks until the message was set in stone that you could do with him whatever you pleased.

The sudden reassurance made way for your fingers’ insatiable journey up the remainder of his face and into his pink tufts of hair. Sukuna moaned unabashedly at the sensation of your once shy grip curling into his roots, the sound sending shockwaves through your already buzzing system as he bit at your bottom lip before his tongue raced out to chase the subtle sting away. 

You arched against him, and it was then that you became painfully aware of the unfamiliar stiffness pressing against you. Though you knew that you had already crossed that strictly set moral line separating your human instinct from the parts of you that you could actually accept, it was still evident that this was completely different territory than a mere kiss. Even so, you couldn’t deny the way his concealed arousal excited you, pulling you like a magnet deeper into his allure.

The hand you had remaining on his chest curled into the fabric of his compression shirt as you pressed your hips down in a way you hoped was subtle. Of course, he could feel every breath and tremble of you though, and most definitely heard your gasp when your small shift caused him to press sinfully against your own heat. 

It wasn’t what he had expected, not with how much courage it seemed to have taken for you to give into your temptation to simply kiss him, but he was pliant beneath you. Sukuna was offering up his own body to the altar of your self-discovery— and despite all the verses he swore to erase from his mind, he could suddenly recall through his wanton haze that the Bible referred to one’s own body being offered in sacrifice as the utmost form of spiritual worship. It was far from him to agree with the very pages that tormented his youth, but as you experimentally rolled your hips against him to chase that pooling desire spreading through you, he was sure that he was a man of the Lord once again. 

Your lips parted from his, foreheads still pressed together while the barely audible, breathless moans slipped from you. He watched your expression fervently, taking note of that subtle frustration that creased between your brows in the pursuit of a relief that your clumsy ruts were insufficient to provide. Reaching up, his hands closed around your waist to adjust you over his straining length. 

“Try now.” Sukuna instructed in that husky tone of his that only made your affliction that much more damning, slipping a strand of your hair carefully behind your ear to get a better look at you.

Ever the obedient student, you did as he said, though it hardly took any effort on your end as his urging hands aided in the steady rhythm of your thrusts. It wasn’t long before you were steadying your hands against his chest, too overwhelmed by the foreign pleasure to be embarrassed by your pitched moans. 

Faster than you could grasp, everything that you had been told for so long was being pushed to the back of your mind to make room for him. He was rendering you utterly speechless with only his half-lidded stare and charitable hands. Sukuna thought if he didn’t keep his hands glued to your hips that they may be tempted to drift up your top, ablaze with an infuriating curiosity of what it was you always hid under those baggy shirts. 

He didn’t though, and perhaps that’s why you felt emboldened enough to chase the pleasure you’d been told was corrupt all this time. You couldn’t possibly feel the immorality the congregation always spat upon the act, because his hands were so much different than the pleasure-driven ones that grabbed at you with no regard to your own wishes. Sukuna’s hands were driven by a desire to teach you as they had been doing so diligently for weeks now, eyes studying you much like they studied your posture before you’d take a swing at him. 

Your release was building, swirling within the pits of your stomach and so incriminatingly evident in your shortening gasps, your scrunched face and nails that dug into the firm muscles of his clothed chest. The groan that escaped him sounded so melodic through the blood coursing in your ears. It left your fingertips brushing against the waves of your release, encouraged by the knowing glint in his eyes. 

A muted gasp of his name began to fall from your parted lips, but he only nodded at you hazily. 

“I know, Princess, c’mon.” 

The safety of his encouragement had you tipping over that rapidly building precipice, squeezing your eyes shut until he tapped at your ass with a firm command to look at him. It was when you opened your eyes back up though, a peculiar type of fuzziness clouding the edges when a glimmering caught your attention from your peripheral. Your gaze drifted up to where the dull lights were catching on the charm sprawled out on the floor by your fallen bag. It was your cross necklace— the one that had been lying forgotten at the bottom of your bag for weeks now. 

The sight of it clutched at your already racing heart, bringing you to a stammering halt as you jolted back with a mortified gasp. Sukuna quickly sat up at the sudden abandonment of your release.

“What—”

“I-I’m so sorry.” You whispered frantically, your fluttering gaze desperately attempting to hold back the tears lining your waterline. 

You flinched back when his grip on your waist tightened with concern, and it was enough to make him release you all together. His hands fell slowly in bewilderment while you shuffled backwards until you were off of him. 

“The fuck do you mean ‘sorry’?” His tone was harsh as always, but he just wanted to understand the sudden fear in your energy that hadn’t flared up in his presence since that first time you two met. 

“I shouldn’t have…” You shook your head, a trembling hand coming up to cover the lips that you’d allowed to act so blasphemously. “It was wrong, I—”

“Did it look like you were doing anything fucking wrong to me?” 

“But I should have known better— I do know better.” At this point, it appeared as though you weren’t talking to him anymore, but to yourself, to whatever part of you was telling you that what you two just shared was anything other than pure. Shaking your head, you stumbled up to your feet, and Sukuna quickly followed suit. “If they found out—”

You stopped yourself, almost as though you knew you were about to open a can of worms that he would not be so easily coaxed to close back up. He narrowed his sharp eyes at you. 

“If who found out?”

“I should leave—”

“Like hell you should.” Sukuna hulking arm shot out over your head to shut the door you were frantically prying open. The tears you had been desperately withholding were stinging furiously at your fluttering eyes. “Who are you trying to protect yourself from?”

At his astute question, you only looked down, somehow feeling both exposed and safe entrapped by his imposing figure. 

“Huh?”

“I don’t know, Sukuna.”

“You don’t know.” He chuckled bitterly with a nod, staring at the wall by your head with a far off look in his eyes that told you he wasn’t letting this go anytime soon. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve learned then, huh?”

An urging hand was placed at the small of your back, and he was leading you quickly back to the mat. 

“Please, just let—”

“Nah, we’ve still got half an hour left.” Sukuna firmly shut down your plea before nodding for you to get into proper form. “Go ahead and take me down.” 

It didn’t matter how unwavering you attempted to make your glare, his firm stance didn’t falter as he awaited your first move with a calloused expression that contrasted so starkly against the passionate way he was gazing up at you just minutes prior. Sinking your teeth harshly into your bottom lip, your body trembled as you adjusted your posture and lunged into a side step to swipe at his feet. 

It was just as he’d taught you— always using your opponent’s size against them to knock them off balance. You had done it perfectly too, but this time around he wasn’t so lenient in falling over in demonstration as he normally did. This time, he had a point to prove, and his firmly planted feet didn’t falter at your sweep as he took the opportunity to reach down and swallow you up by your midsection. 

A grunt of frustration rolled from you as he hoisted you easily into the air. You kicked out your legs, trying with every last ounce of your waning energy to hit his groin, his shins, stomach— anywhere that might allow you to escape. It was all for naught though, and he was absorbing each of your comparably weak blows as he kneeled to the ground and pinned you beneath him. 

“Escape.” The practically fuming man commanded again, pinning both your hands at the small of your back. 

Your flaming cheek was pressed against the cushioned mat, beginning to gloss over with the sheen of sweat your exertion was producing. Each exasperated pant that escaped you was bringing you closer and closer to understanding just what it was that he was trying to prove, yet you still strained against his grip and jostled your shoulders desperately. 

“What are you gonna do if whoever the fuck they are find you, huh?” He had lowered himself until his chest was pressed against your back, his lips brushing against your feverish ear. 

The since built up tears finally boiled over as the last shred of hope and energy abandoned you, falling limp against the mat as the salty waves cascaded freely down your cheeks. His grip on your wrists slowly eased up, and that harsh scowl was being replaced with a more resigned frown. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” Sukuna rationed with you. 

In truth, his resolve was breaking with each heaving sob that spilled from your lips. Finally releasing you all together, he watched in barely concealed unease as you made no attempt to move from your position on the floor. So, he instead worked to pull you up himself, shoving your trembling form against his chest as his eyes remained locked blankly at the counter behind you. 

“I left— I-I ran away.” Your confession was barely comprehensible through your desolate sobs. “I didn’t tell anyone, I just left. I had to leave. I had to—”

“What do you mean you had to?”

Your nose burrowed deeper into his sternum before you shook your head. 

“I tried; I tried, and I prayed, and I begged God to lead me back on his path, but I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.” You continued to babble as you clutched at his shirt. The more you spiraled down the memories you left behind, the more scared he was becoming of what you might tell him. “I thought he was trying to test me— test my faith, but how could I trust in a God that abandoned me like that? That let them…”

Your face scrunched with the trailing of your words. It made a ball of nauseating dread pool in Sukuna’s stomach, his face hardening once again. 

“Let them what?”

“They told me that lust was blasphemous, that God’s children didn’t give into sins of the flesh, but they used the same hands to pray as they did to wander when offering me my blessings every Sunday. What was that supposed to tell me about my God?”

The man’s jaw clicked with the force of his clench as he absorbed your infuriated explanation. Your tears were rapidly becoming ones of rage, continuing to recall each time you stood in waiting, dreading your weekly eucharist as you knew how the associate preacher’s hands liked to stray too far as he performed the sign of the cross against your chest. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” You cried, pulling away from him to shove your face into your hands. “So why do I feel like I’ve damned myself? Like I’ve turned against God’s will?”

“God’s will wasn’t for you to be used by those lowlife fucking perverts hiding behind the Bible.” Sukuna finally snapped, trying with everything in him to level his voice lest he displace the rage swimming through his veins. 

“But how am I any better, Sukuna?” Your sudden outburst took him aback. “I gave in too.”

He scoffed incredulously at you. It wasn’t you that he was so bothered by though, it was the depths in which those people had sunk their claws into your psyche that irked him so deeply. Grasping at your jaw so you’d look him in the eyes, the solemn expression on his face made you shiver. 

“How are you any better? Because you wanted it this time, and so did I.” He emphasized, and your damp face flushed furiously at his words. “Don’t you dare fucking compare what they did to you to what happened back there.”

Clutching at the wrist of the hand that grasped you, you tugged at it to no avail, shaking your head once again against his hand. 

“You don’t get it—”

“Oh, I don’t?” Another menacingly bitter laugh slipped past his lips. “You don’t think I grew up hearing the same bullshit? That I had to beg forgiveness for shit that wasn’t my responsibility to be sorry for?” 

The grip you had around his wrist faltered as his words sunk in. You allowed your eyes to rake over his tattooed face, as though you couldn’t believe that someone who appeared so starkly different than you had once absorbed the very lessons that had placed you before him in the first place. 

“I had a twin, you know— least I was supposed to. Preacher used to tell my mom that God took her baby away because she gave into temptation out of wedlock.” 

The tremble in your bottom lip didn’t stop him from driving his point home, not even when your eyes began to pool once again with regret. 

“You know I still remember that damn verse line for line? No matter how much I tried to forget it.” Sukuna’s desolate tone continued to tug at your heartstrings, but it was almost freeing to hear that perhaps you weren’t the only one forced by your circumstances to question the faith that had been thrust upon you. “‘But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away from his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin; and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.’”

His thumb reached up to swipe at the fresh tears that began to fall from your sorrowful eyes despite the fact that it was his grief that was filling the space between you. He had finished his drawn out battle against his own spirit long ago though. 

“You think that’s what I am? Death conceived? That I was a punishment from God cause my mom wanted to fool around?”

“No— I don’t think that.” You finally cried out firmly, and it was the first decision you’d made in quite awhile that you felt confident in. “You’re none of those things. I won’t believe that.”

“How do you know that?” He tested, drawing you closer to him with a burning desire to kiss away each tear that dared disturb that kind face of yours.

“Because you’re good, and you’re kind, and you’re everything they ever told me to be afraid of,” You heard the sharp inhale he tried to conceal, because of all the sharp tongues that had spat troves of profanities at him, no one had ever called him good. “But they were wrong about you, and so was I.”

Humming deeply at your explanation, he tilted his head at you. 

“So, what the fuck makes you think they were right about anything else?” 

His challenge lingered in the heavy air between you, your breaths mingling as you stared down at the lips that had just spun your world on its axis. It had been a lifetime of being told that your body wasn’t to be trusted— that it would test and betray you time and time again. At the very least, despite the notion acting as a marionette puppetting each thought and breath you’d experienced thus far, there was some sort of safety in the familiarity of your cage. 

Still, Sukuna seemed to be awaiting you outside the confinement of your apprehension with all the beauty you once thought akin to the devil himself, but you had come to realize that he was the closest thing to holy you’d ever held within your grasp before. You wrestled with the part of you that had been conditioned to believe your worth was in your virtue and your purity, and the part of you that thought his lips were proof that man truly was created in God’s image.

He could see the storm brewing behind your apprehensive eyes, biting back the sharp lecture that was instinctively conjuring up in the back of his mind that would shake at your shoulders to snap out of the chains they’d bound your mind with. Instead, a strained sigh fanned out across your face, and he was suddenly reaching behind you to grab your abandoned necklace. 

“I’m not telling you to give all this shit up.” He murmured, twisting the cool, silver cross between his fingers.

 Looking down at the pendant, you weren’t sure that you could recall a time that it ever appeared so blinding. After a moment of contemplation, he lifted it carefully before draping it across your neck once again. Your nose brushed against his chest as he leaned forward to secure the clasp in the back. Of all the years it spent weighing down on your chest, you couldn’t help but feel that Sukuna had taken a certain weight off of it that had since been suffocating you. 

The tips of his hair tickled at your cheek as his head dipped down to press heated kisses to your jaw. Your lips parted, head falling to the side unconsciously to allow him more room. The gentle moans he was procuring from you made the corners of his lips twitch up as they trailed down your neck and left goosebumps in their wake. It wasn’t long before his descent led him to the pendant laying proudly against your chest, and he pressed a final kiss to it before lifting his head once again. 

“But don’t let it make you believe shit you don’t want to, you hear me?” You only nodded, eyes transfixed on his lips as they drew closer to yours. His thumb pressed down against your chin to hold you in place for him to offer you a fervent kiss, sighing yearningly into you before pulling back. “If I’m not a sin then you sure as hell aren’t one either.”

You smiled softly at his words, chasing his lips while your hands twisted more confidently up his nape and into his hair. 

Truthfully, you weren’t sure if it mattered to you anymore whether or not Sukuna was sin incarnate, or a test of your faith, or God’s punishment to an unholy woman, or whatever it was that your father would so ardently convince you of. Right now, his hands were traversing your waist with a tenderness no man had ever bestowed upon you, and his heathen tongue was knocking at your lips in search of permission to enter. You understood more with every inch of you he kissed why Lucifer had fallen from grace with the hope of being worshipped himself.

Your father, if he was even looking for the daughter that had fled from his feigned mercy, would simply have to forgive you of your sins.

a/n: where my ethel cain girlies at

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[justastraymoa]

Yet Unnamed

Chapter 6

Masterlist

Warnings for Yet Unnamed: Kidnapping, cuffs, injuries, drugging by injection, mentions of needles, lots of swearing, kissing, fluff, angst, idiots in love all around.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

You jerk awake when your driver calls out to you. You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep, but it made for a quick ride home. Bonus.

Half asleep you made your way to the apartment. As soon as the door clicked open it jerked from your grip and Bin slammed into you. It was a déjà vu moment.

“Hi, Bin.” You mumble crawling up and wrapping your legs around his waist. You were still tired, and Bin was warm and comfy. Plus, it felt so good to hold him again.

“You forgot to turn on your phone.” He told you as he headed into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

Your phone was still in your hoodie pocket. Forgotten since the plane landed and the desperate need to get out of there took over. “Oops, sorry.” You sneak a hand in between your bodies to grab your phone and turn it on. It vibrated endlessly in your hand as you rested your face in Bins neck.

“Look what I found.” Bin announced.

There was a chorus of cheers and greetings, and someone even smacked your butt making you jump slightly.

“Lee Know, did you just slap my ass?” You asked without lifting your head.

There was a long, telling pause. “No.” He eventually answered unconvincingly.

You snort softly at his obvious lie.

“Where are your bags?” Chan asked.

You groan and lean towards Chans voice, trusting that either he would catch you or Binnie would stop you from falling.

In this instance Chan caught you easily and you transferred into his arms. “Welcome home, beautiful.” He said lowly, supporting you under your thighs.

You tried not to blush at the pet name.

“Mm. I had my stuff shipped. Cheaper. Easier.” You answer his question. Chan was wearing a soft sweater that you could not stop running your hands over and you nestled your cheek on it as well, savoring the moment.

“Smart move. Get everything situated.” Lino asked. You just shrugged, too tired to keep talking.

You felt Chan sit down on the couch and situate you so you were laying down more. A sudden weight along your back made you open your eyes you didn’t even realize you had shut. Ayen rested his chin on your shoulder, softly smiling at you when he saw you looking.

“Missed you guys.” You admitted. It was more than true. This was the best, most complete and pain free you have been since the moment you separated.

“We missed you too.” Ayen replied.

Sandwiched between Ayen and Chan, warm, and weighted down, you drifted off again, beyond happy to be home.

You were only out a few minutes when the front door opened, and Felix called out startling you awake. “We’re home!” He shouted.

“Pabo! She had just fallen asleep!” Seungmin snapped.

“Y/ns here?” Hyunjin asked. He appeared over the back of the couch. “Welcome home, we would have given you a ride.” He kissed your hairline.

“Sorry, bad flight. I just wanted to get out of there.” You explained.

“Did you show her yet?” Felix asked, joining us in the living room.

“No, we were going to let her nap a bit.” Ayen answered.

“Show me what?” My stuff couldn’t have arrived yet.

“We have a surprise for you.” Seungmin announced excitedly.

“Hopefully you like it. It was mainly to kill time until you returned.” Changbin sounded more nervous than excited.

You perk up. “Oh yeah? What is it?

Ayen got off your back and Chan helped you to stand up before they pulled you through the apartment towards the bedroom. Ayen covered your eyes, and you shuffled your feet and held your hands out so you wouldn’t walk into a wall or any furniture.

“We won’t let you run into anything.” Chan promised laughing.

“You are all menaces, I never know.” You respond not trusting his promise at all. There was excited chatter from the others ahead of you, and you heard a door open. Then, your eyes were uncovered.

You blinked a couple of times while your vision adjusted to the sudden light. You were in Chans room – or well your room now, but it was not the same room you left behind.

This one had the far wall painted light purple; a white tree painted in the open space that had white frames scattered along the branches for pictures. The light fixture in the middle of the room now had several fake vines leading from it to the edges of the room, creating a canopy along the ceiling of the room. The bedframe and dresser were now a soft white, the blankets and pillows on the mattress a mixture of purples and white. There was a rug in the middle of the floor of shaggy off-white color. It looked soft and fluffy even from this distance.

Across the bed there was a brand-new desk with the computer, laptop, and tablet set up for you already. There was a flower desk lamp in one corner and a dark flowery gaming pad under the keyboard and mouse.

It was the most amazing, beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“We thought – we thought this may make it feel more like home here.” Chan explained as you looked around the room in awe, running your hands along the furniture.

“We each pitched in. Hyunjin painted the tree, Felix set up the computers, we all helped pick out the colors and furniture.” Han explained.

“What do you think?” Bin asked after a minute of silence where you took in the room and gathered your thoughts.

It took you another second to gather your blank thoughts. They had gone out of their way to make this space distinctly yours instead of Chans old room that you live in now. They had spent their few off hours and little free time looking for items they thought you would like and putting them together for you. Even making sure you had a comfortable working space.

Turning you face your soulmates with watery eyes. Despite the initial excitement they had showing you your surprise they now looked more worried. “This is so amazing! Thank you so much!”

There was an audible breath of relief.

You pull Ayen in for a hug and kiss on the cheek, he was the closest to you since he had covered your eyes previously. Felix was next. One by one you thanked your soulmates with a hug and kiss, feeling a great swell of gratitude and pride. You honestly couldn’t have asked for better soulmates. They are smart, talented, sassy, and so incredibly sweet and thoughtful.

“So, tell me about what you have been up to since I left.” You request as you wandered around your new room again. A vase of flowers on the dresser you failed to see before smelled amazing when you leaned in to sniff them in curiosity. They had to have gotten them yesterday at the earliest. Everyone knew flowers were the most fragrant and beautiful the day after you bought them.

The top blanket was soft to the touch as you sat on it, waiting for their stories to begin. You of course already know a lot from everyone texting 24/7, but you wanted to hear it again. See their faces as they showed you pictures and told stories they hadn’t thought of before.

Everyone ended up sitting around the room as the boys told you what they had been up to.

Felix showed you pictures on his phone from the fashion shows he and Hyunjin had done. “And look, look! Hyunjin looked so cool on this one! You can’t see it in the pictures, but they put this sheen powder on him and in the lights, he glowed!”

Hyune looked over the top of the phone to peek at the pictures. “I liked the one we both did with the fireworks. Can’t wait to see those photos.”

“Oh yeah! This runway had mini fireworks that went off as we passed them. And we got to walk together. It was interesting.”

Chan, Bin, and Han let you listen to the new single set to be released tomorrow. The one they had all been working so hard on to get it finished. It was very hard not to squeal and play the song on repeat. It was amazing and showed off all their strengths plus some new skills they had been working on. It would be an instant hit for absolute sure, you had no doubt in your mind on that.

You would need to invest in better headphones so you could continue to listen to Stray Kids on repeat without them teasing you about it like you were sure they would. Even if they would secretly be very pleased as well.

“What about you?” Lino asked after Bin complained at length about how his preferred gym had closed for waxing for 3 days and he had to use a subpar replacement.

You shrugged, not really having any interesting stories. “I had already been fired from my job, so I didn’t have to worry about that.” You didn’t bother to mention how they had spelled your name wrong even on the pink slip they gave you after your lack of explanation of where you were. You were only there for the paycheck and couldn’t stand most of them. Barely tolerated the rest.

“Any problems selling your place?” Chan asked as you showed them the before and after pics of the apartment you had once lived in.

“I lost my security deposit for breaking the lease early, but I was expecting that. Now the place is the landlords problem.” It had been kind of a pain in the ass. Nice enough, but had its share of problems and wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods. It wasn’t a loss.

To be honest you hadn’t left too much behind that you would miss. Pretty much just your family graves. Everything and everyone else weren’t anything you would lose sleep over. Most you were glad to be rid of.

“No friends you will miss?” Han asked. He was laying in Linos lap, eyes half closed as Lino rubbed his chest.

You shook your head with another shrug.

“You’re not super sociable, are you?” Lino observed. Not judging you, just stating a fact.

You smiled. “Not really. But I’ve also never really felt…at home. I was always out of place growing up and that didn’t change as an adult. I never could quite find where I fit in.” This was something you had had to explain to countless people over the years. They had accepted your explanation, but never really understood it. Not even your parents. You half expect the boys to be the same way.

So you are shocked when several of them nodded immediately in understanding. “We all feel or felt like that. The odd man out. Unable to truly fit in. Though some of us are more sociable than others.” Hyune explained.

“I think it has something to do with our soul group. Something in the bond to pull us together instead of finding other people.” Seungmin put in.

Made sense. If something traumatic had happened to the soul bond in the past it may have affected it even now. Making it hard for your group to truly befriend or trust outsiders past a certain extent.

It was elating and freeing to finally be understood rather than just accepted. Again, you were so grateful for your soulmates.

~

The next day – after sleeping in a bit – you got to work on their upcoming socials. Their song had dropped, and you were taking over monitoring their comment replies and any posts they wanted to make. And they were pouring in.

You were on your new computer with your door open so they knew they could come in. And they did on and off for chats or quick visits. The boys were mostly at home today. Still working, just from home.

Their posts and comments had to be read over and approved by me before they actually poste, and you had just intercepted one from Bin that mentioned how ‘his girl’ had listened to the song last night. Since you were the only girl in the soul group and no one was supposed to know about you yet, that comment could pose a issue.

Han was probably right too. Most would be happy for the boys. I-STAYS for sure. But there would be lots that would be jealous and highly judgmental of me. But they would be happy for them anyways.

You also took some of the sneak peak photos to start ‘leaking’ in a couple days with your carefully worded captions to go with them. Created to tease and incite STAY. Keep them foaming at the mouth and guess what is actually going on. It was scheduled to begin when the new song hype started to die down and all that was left to do was let the fans enjoy the song.

Each member got to decide what they wanted to do in their picture. Ayen laced out fingers together and kissed your hand in his picture. You blushed as you inspected the photo because he looked directly at the camera with a lovesick sultry look. Bedroom eyes. It was just your hand, not the only ‘dainty and small’ among you, but it didn’t have the veins that theirs tended to show in photos. Not the same masculine look.

Chan took his while you cuddled on the couch during a break. You were lying along him, head resting over his heart, giving your eyes a break from screens. He let the very top of your head show in the photo. Messy hair indistinguishable from so many others. Nothing super obvious.

In Hans you had a hoodie on, hood covering your head and face from view. He was placing a pair of headphones over your ears and had a huge laughing smile on his face, bright eyed and cheerful. This was an actual unplanned moment taken by Hyunjin as you tested new headphones. Han was actually laughing at your reason behind getting new headphones.

Bins was of your hands. He had made rings out of two daisies and placed them on your fingers before lacing them together and taking the photo. It was actually adorable, and you couldn’t stand it. You had squealed and pinched his cheeks afterwards to relieve the aggression the cuteness of the moment caused.

Hyunjins was of him tying your shoe. You had taken the photo after he presented you with a pair of shoes that matched his new pair. You immediately put them on and insisted you go for a (highly disguised) walk to show them off. Your laces had come undone, and he kneeled to tie it for you without hesitation. The picture showed the matching shoes, your lower leg, and the top of his head. You had not taken it with the intention of him using it to soft launch you, but he liked it so much he did.

Felixs was when it was raining out. He dragged you outside under a light with an umbrella. It was of the shadow on the puddled ground as you both huddled under the umbrella. You were huddled close enough together that you couldn’t see any distinguishable shape to your shadow, so it was safe to use.

Seungmin took one of your feet as you sat in his lap. Both your feet were on the carpet, his bracing either side of your smaller ones. Of course, to avoid any feet scandals you were both wearing slippers. Cute ones that he got you because you mentioned that your toes were always cold. Yours were Kuromi and his were Pompompurin.

Linos was when you two had found a stray kitten. The kitten was rubbing against your shins, and he was crouched down petting it. You had reached out and petted his head with one hand and took the photo with the other. Another unplanned for this specific thing, but he was enchanted with the photo, even setting it as his wallpaper. Though he claimed it was because of the cute cat, not the fact that you were petting him and being cute.

This was of course all soft launching and teasing. The reveal would come from the photoshoot and mini blurb about me. Then the YouTube video where I would answer questions about myself in an interview and the boys would talk about me in a separate interview. Just like their one kids room videos.

Before that it would be these photos and telling STAY that they were actively looking for their final member again. The prolonging also gave STAY a chance to get used to the idea. To understand what was coming so they weren’t so shocked by it. And hopefully curb some of the hate bound to come your way.

You watched as Ayens picture of your hand made STAY go bat shit crazy. Theories were flying around everywhere. They had already guessed that you had been found, but there were others who insisted that the search was just bringing the boys closer together.

Chans photo was next. And it was more of the same. Fans wrongly guessing whose head was in the photo, and it was always a guess of another member. There was a faction that just didn’t want to believe that the final member had been or would be found. That would dash any hope of it being them, even if they knew it was impossible. Finding the final member would close that final opening, the final opportunity. The Stray Kids soul bond group would be complete. It was both a happy and sad affair for fans.

With it all going on, you were up to your eyeballs in social media. There were days you didn’t spend any time with the boys at all because you couldn’t finish till late into the night, and there was absolutely no time for breaks. Though they understood and made a point to check on you, either in person or by text. Someone always made sure you had food and water, even if you sometimes forgot to eat and drink it. Though they were good about reminding you to. They were caring. Amazingly so. And it made you love them more each time they showed you their love in their small ways. Small ways that said so much.

🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻

💥The inspo pics for the posts that I had. I didn't have one for all of them.💥

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋��🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

Yet Unnamed Taglist: @fackeraccount @velvetmoonlght @hyunjinstolemyheart @vampkittenb82 @happy-jj @estella-novella @demigoddreamon-blog @tiana-maxivar @ms-flowergirl @jennibahng @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @mimimiloomeelomi @simpforskz143148 @xxeiraxx @lil-bear08 @brbwritingfanfic @jisungs-iced-americano @zofia515 @missvanjii @malyxsoulpersonal @silentreadersthings

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

[diamonddaze01]

beautiful fool

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc: 5.1k genre: angst angst angst angst angst | vaguely based on the great gatsby warnings: really really sad (i’m not sorry) a/n: the angst olympics have begun and this one goes out to serena @gotta-winwin 💕 enormous thanks to @haologram and @ylangelegy for betaing this monster for me i love u!!

the angst olympics are live! check out all the amazing authors <3

join my taglist here

summary: Foolishly, Wonwoo let himself hope.

It’s cruel, Wonwoo thinks, how the sound of your laughter feels like both a blessing and a punishment.

The laughter now—it reminds him of the first time he heard it, ringing out like an unintentional symphony in this same café, on a day when the clouds hung heavy outside and the tables were quiet. You’d burst in with the kind of presence that demanded attention, the bell above the door jangling in your wake as you called out a cheerful, “What’s good here, huh? I need recommendations from the experts!”

You’d strode up to the counter, all wide eyes and crinkled smiles, resting your elbows on the worn wood like you belonged there. And Wonwoo—awkward, reserved Wonwoo—could only blink for a moment too long before fumbling for words.

“Um,” he had managed, his voice barely carrying over the soft jazz playing in the background. “The, uh, the matcha latte is… popular?”

“Popular?” you’d repeated, feigning horror as if he’d personally offended you. “That’s the best you’ve got? Come on, barista guy, sell me on it! Give me the rundown—what’s the vibe? Is it creamy, is it sweet? Am I about to ascend to a higher plane of existence?”

The words tumbled out of you like you couldn’t stop them, every syllable bubbling with life. He’d tried to respond, he really had, but his gaze kept catching on the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled. How your lips quirked in amusement even as you teased him. How, somehow, your laughter seemed to make the dull, gray afternoon outside feel brighter.

“It’s… creamy,” he’d said lamely, his face warming. “And… uh, it’s sweet, yeah.”

“Sold,” you’d said with a grin that made his chest ache.

When he handed you the drink, your fingers had brushed his for the briefest second. He remembered how you took a sip, sighed dramatically, and declared, “Barista guy, you were right—I might actually ascend. Thank you for this life-changing experience.”

You hadn’t stayed long that day, just enough to finish your drink and leave a tip in the jar, but Wonwoo had found himself replaying the scene over and over in his head that night. He remembered everything—the way you’d wrinkled your nose at the cold weather outside, the exact cadence of your laugh, the way you’d glanced over your shoulder as you left, flashing him one last smile.

He’d learned later, when you became a regular, that this was just you. Full of energy, full of light. But that first meeting stayed with him, a snapshot of you permanently etched into his memory.

The fifth time you came into the café, the heat outside was so stifling that not even the air conditioner could stop the sweat from rolling down Wonwoo’s temples. By then, he’d learned so much about you in the smallest of ways. Your usual drink had changed once—just once—during a brutal heatwave, and you’d swapped it out for an iced Americano, claiming it “felt like a personality betrayal.” He’d learned you liked your pastries warmed, but not too warm, and that you loved to read but always left your books with bent corners, something that made him wince and you laugh.

And he’d learned your name.

That was the first barrier you broke—offering your name with a playful smile as he handed you your drink. “You’ve been calling me ‘matcha latte’ in your head this whole time, haven’t you?” you teased.

He’d stumbled over his words, his ears turning red, and you’d laughed again, your name falling so naturally from your lips it stuck in his mind immediately.

The tenth time you came into the café, you weren’t alone. It was mid-afternoon, the sun cutting through the windows in golden slants, and you’d arrived with a small group of friends. You were louder than usual, laughing as one of them tripped over the step leading inside, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the space like a melody he didn’t know he was waiting to hear.

Wonwoo had been at the counter, trying not to look too eager as you approached with your friends in tow. You gestured to him with a grin so familiar now that it still caught him off guard. “Guys, this is Wonwoo—the guy who knows everything I like.”

The way you said it was so casual, so effortless, but it felt like a stone dropping into the still waters of his chest. He had to steady his hands against the register, swallowing against the sudden rush of warmth that bloomed under his collar.

Your friends turned to him, smiling, teasing, offering their own introductions, but Wonwoo’s attention was already elsewhere. His gaze flickered to you, watching as you pulled a menu from the holder, furrowing your brows as you skimmed it even though you already knew what you wanted.

One of your friends—a tall, confident woman with a sharp laugh—leaned on the counter, fixing him with a playful smirk. “So, Wonwoo,” she said, drawing out his name like it was something fragile. “What’s your secret? How’d you win her over?” She tilted her head toward you, and your other friends chuckled in agreement.

Wonwoo glanced at you, hoping for a lifeline, but you only laughed, waving a hand in dismissal. “He didn’t win me over,” you said, still focused on the menu. “He just knows my coffee order by heart. That’s all it takes to impress me, apparently.”

You said it so lightly, but something in the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for a fleeting second before turning back to the menu made his heart stutter.

“Still,” your friend pressed, undeterred. “Knowing what someone likes—that’s a skill. So, what’s my vibe, Wonwoo?”

He barely heard the question. His eyes stayed locked on you as you laughed at another friend’s joke, your smile softening as you leaned back in your chair. You looked so at ease, so at home in this tiny café, and for a brief, unguarded moment, something in Wonwoo let itself imagine.

Not the café, but a quiet kitchen. Not you at a table with friends, but you sitting across from him, your head tilted as you teased him about his plain food choices. He imagined mornings with you in your pajamas, evenings with you curled up on the couch, the easy rhythm of a life spent together.

It was absurd, of course. He barely knew you, beyond the drinks you liked and the way you always tucked your hair behind your ear when you laughed too hard. But the idea lingered, like the scent of your perfume, sweet and impossible to ignore.

Your friend was still talking, still trying to catch his attention, but Wonwoo only nodded politely, his gaze drifting back to you. You caught his eye and grinned, holding up the menu. “I’ll just have my usual, Wonwoo,” you said, your voice lilting with familiarity.

He nodded, retreating to the safety of the espresso machine, where he could steady his hands and pretend he wasn’t imagining a life that wasn’t his to dream of.

A year after you’d first stepped into the café, you weren’t just a regular; you were the regular. Everyone knew your name, your order, your quirks, but somehow, you’d made it a habit to linger at the counter and talk to him.

It had been a slower afternoon, a rare lull in the usual rush, and you were perched on one of the stools by the register (a part of Wonwoo wondered if you left your usual seat in the corner for him). You twirled your straw absentmindedly in your drink (“surprise me,” you had stated matter-of-factly as you dropped a tote overflowing with papers at your feet. Wonwoo made you a caramel brulee latte, just as sweet as you), a slight frown tugging at your lips as you stared at your laptop screen.

“Another paper?” Wonwoo asked, glancing over as he wiped down the counter.

“Dissertation,” you groaned, dragging the word out dramatically. “The Implications of Procedural Justice on Environmental Law Compliance. Doesn’t it sound riveting?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “It… sounds like a lot.”

“You can just say it’s boring,” you laughed, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “But it’s not, really. It’s actually pretty interesting once you get into it. You know, how people are more likely to follow laws when they feel like the process is fair? I’m focusing on corporate compliance in environmental policy.”

He nodded, genuinely intrigued. “That actually sounds… important.”

You paused, blinking up at him, and then smiled. “See, this is why I like talking to you. You don’t just nod and tune me out—you actually listen.”

Wonwoo felt his chest tighten at your words, his fingers gripping the edge of the cloth he was holding. He ducked his head slightly, focusing on the counter. “Well, you make it easy to listen,” he said softly.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before leaning forward on the counter, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Okay, your turn. I always tell you what I’m up to—what about you? What’s Wonwoo’s big dream?”

He hesitated, caught off guard. “I, uh… I study literature,” he admitted finally, his ears burning. “I want to teach one day. Maybe at a university.”

Your face lit up. “Wait, that’s so cool! What kind of literature?”

“Modern, mostly,” he said, relaxing slightly under your genuine interest. “I’ve been working on a thesis about the intersection of memory and identity in postwar fiction.”

Your eyes lit up, the exhaustion slipping from your features for a moment. “No way! Okay, you’re officially not allowed to judge me for being a nerd anymore.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever judged you,” he replied, his voice quieter now.

You opened your mouth to reply, but the sudden weight of his words hung between you for just a moment too long. Your lips quirked upward, something unreadable flickering across your face, before you leaned back. “Thanks for the drink, Wonwoo,” you said softly, brushing your fingers over the counter before packing your bag.

It wasn’t until later that night, long after you’d left, that Wonwoo let himself linger on the memory. You’d never said his name like that before, soft and deliberate, like you were testing how it felt. He couldn’t help but replay the way your lips had curved around the syllables, how you’d looked at him like he wasn’t just another barista in another café.

For the first time, the thought crept in, unbidden but relentless: This could be something.

It was absurd, of course. You were you—full of life and light, with dreams bigger than the small confines of this café. And he was… just him. But he couldn’t stop the quiet ache that spread through his chest, the flicker of a hope he knew he had no right to hold.

He glanced toward the window, where the neon café sign reflected against the glass. It reminded him of a lighthouse, a beacon in the dark, and he wondered if you could feel it too—that pull, that something unspoken lingering between you.

It had been a slow evening at the café, the kind of night where the clock ticked louder than the murmur of customers, and the air was thick with the scent of coffee grounds and faint traces of sugar. Wonwoo was wiping down the tables, his mind half-focused on the task, when the chime of the door pulled his gaze upward.

It was you, of course.

You always showed up at odd hours, just as the café was starting to empty, like you knew he’d have more time to talk to you then. Tonight, you were bundled in a scarf that swallowed half your face, your nose pink from the cold. You waved at him as you approached the counter, your eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that made his heart do that stupid fluttering thing he wished he could control.

“Hi, Wonwoo,” you greeted, pulling the scarf down. Your breath puffed out in little clouds. “I swear it’s colder in here than it is outside. What’s a girl gotta do to get some hot chocolate around here?”

He smiled softly, already reaching for the cocoa powder. “You could ask nicely.”

“I could,” you said, leaning against the counter. “But it’s more fun to whine about it.”

Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head as he worked. He knew your drink by heart now: extra whipped cream, a dusting of cinnamon, and just a hint of vanilla. It wasn’t on the menu, but he made it for you anyway, the way he always did.

“Late night studying again?” he asked as he set the mug in front of you.

You groaned dramatically. “Dissertations are evil, Wonwoo. Did you know that? If I don’t turn into a husk of a human being by the time I finish this, it’ll be a miracle.”

“What’s the topic again?”

“Corporate compliance in environmental policy.” You said it like the words physically pained you. “Which, by the way, sounded way cooler in my head when I picked it.”

Wonwoo nodded, leaning against the counter as you took your first sip of hot chocolate. He’d heard you talk about your dissertation before, but he never got tired of it. There was something about the way you got so animated, even when you were complaining, that made him want to listen forever.

“You’ll do great,” he said quietly.

You looked up at him then, your smile soft, almost shy. “Thanks, Wonwoo. That means a lot.”

The café was nearly empty now, the last few customers filtering out as the night dragged on. But you stayed, your mug cradled between your hands, talking about your classes and your professors and the funny thing that happened on the bus earlier. Wonwoo didn’t care that his shift technically ended ten minutes ago. He didn’t care that he still had cleaning to do. All he cared about was the way your laugh filled the quiet spaces around him, the way your eyes sparkled when you told a story.

He felt it again, let himself imagine it —something more. Something real.

It was a dangerous thought, one that he tried to push away as soon as it surfaced. But he couldn’t help it. Not when you were sitting there, looking at him like he was someone worth talking to, someone worth spending time with.

The sound of your phone buzzing broke the moment. You glanced at the screen, your expression softening as you read the message.

“Gotta head out,” you said, standing and wrapping your scarf around your neck again. “Thanks for the hot chocolate, Wonwoo. You’re the best.”

He watched as you walked toward the door, his heart sinking just a little. And then, just before you left, you turned back, flashing him one last smile.

“See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, his voice catching in his throat. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

The door closed behind you, and for a long moment, Wonwoo stood there, staring at the empty table where you’d been sitting. The mug was still there, half-finished, a little smudge of whipped cream on the rim.

Foolishly, Wonwoo let himself hope.

The crash of dishes from the kitchen startles Wonwoo out of his daze. You’re sitting in your usual spot, tucked into the corner by the window, but the air around you feels different now. Electric. It’s him, of course—the man sitting across from you, the one who pulled him aside earlier with a conspiratorial grin and a velvet box. The one who makes your smile light up in ways Wonwoo knows he could never match.

His fingers tighten around the edge of the counter as he watches you laugh, your head tilting back slightly, the sunlight catching in your hair just so. It’s the kind of moment he’s witnessed a thousand times before, but now, there’s someone else at the center of it. Someone who isn’t him.

The ache in his chest feels almost physical, and he forces himself to look away before the bitterness creeping up his throat can take hold. Instead, he busies himself with the mundane—wiping the counter, rearranging sugar packets, anything to keep his hands moving. But it doesn’t stop the sound of your laughter from reaching him, soft and bright and devastatingly familiar.

It’s unfair, he thinks, how easily Minghao fits into your world. The way he leans across the table to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, or the way you reach out instinctively to steady his coffee cup before it tips. These little moments, so effortlessly intimate, feel like tiny fractures in the armor Wonwoo has spent years building around his heart.

When Minghao glances over, catching Wonwoo’s eye with a small, polite nod, Wonwoo musters a tight smile in return. It’s not the man’s fault, after all. Minghao seems kind, thoughtful, genuine. Everything you deserve.

Wonwoo turns back toward the espresso machine, letting the whir of the grinder drown out the sound of your voice. He doesn’t want to hear it—not when it’s directed at someone else.

But before today, there was another moment. The first time you brought Minghao to the café—a moment that still plays in his mind like a film reel stuck on loop.

It was raining that afternoon, the kind of heavy downpour that made people huddle under umbrellas and rush through the streets. You’d come in with someone trailing behind you, your laughter cutting through the sound of raindrops pelting the windows.

“Wonwoo!” you’d called out, shaking water from your coat. “Two coffees, please—my usual and whatever this guy wants.”

Wonwoo glanced up from the register, his gaze landing first on you, and then on the man at your side. Minghao, you’d introduced him as, your voice warm and easy. A friend, you’d said. Just a friend.

But even then, something about the way Minghao looked at you—like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing—set Wonwoo on edge.

As he worked, he could hear snippets of your conversation, your voice rising and falling in that familiar cadence he’d come to associate with comfort. Minghao was quieter, his words measured, his tone soft, but there was something about him that made Wonwoo’s stomach twist.

When he brought the drinks to your table, you’d looked up at him with that smile, the one that had always felt like it was just for him.

“Thanks, Wonwoo,” you’d said, your fingers brushing his briefly as you took the cup.

But then Minghao had thanked him too, his voice kind and unassuming, and Wonwoo had felt the ground shift beneath him.

For the rest of your visit, he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting toward your table. You and Minghao talked and laughed, completely at ease with one another, and for the first time, Wonwoo felt like an intruder in the space he’d always considered yours and his.

When you left, you’d waved at him from the door, your grin as bright as ever. Minghao had followed you out, holding the door open with an easy grace that only deepened the pit in Wonwoo’s stomach.

It was the first time he realized that he wasn’t the only one who could make you smile.

The café had been alive with its usual mid-morning hum—quiet chatter from the tables, the clang of dishes in the kitchen, and the steady hiss of the espresso machine. Wonwoo had been at the counter, lost in the familiar rhythm of his work, when he heard it.

“Iced americano, please,” Minghao had said, his voice calm, self-assured, the kind of voice that felt effortless.

Wonwoo’s hand had faltered mid-pour, his grip tightening on the milk pitcher as the words registered. Iced americano? For you?

He had risked a glance toward your usual table, tucked into the corner by the window, and his chest had tightened painfully. You were there, as always, smiling, leaning forward with your chin resting on your hand. But it was different this time. The warmth of your smile wasn’t aimed at him. It was Minghao who was sitting across from you, soaking it all in. Minghao who had ordered for you.

Wonwoo had turned back to his work, trying to focus on the drink in front of him. It didn’t make sense. You hated iced americanos. He remembered the way you’d scrunched your nose the first time he had offered you one, teasing him mercilessly. “How can you drink that stuff, Wonwoo? It tastes like regret.” Your voice had been playful, your laugh easy, and he had stored that moment away like a keepsake.

But now, here you were, nodding along as Minghao ordered for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wonwoo had finished pouring the latte in front of him, but his hands had felt mechanical, detached from the rest of him. He had barely registered the weight of the drink as he placed it on the counter.

When Minghao set the iced americano in front of you, his hand had brushed yours briefly before he sat down. Wonwoo had watched as your smile softened, as you wrapped your fingers around the cup like it was something you had been craving. And then you’d laughed, the sound light and melodic, and said, “You know me best, love.”

Wonwoo’s heart had plummeted. He had gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turned white, the world tilting beneath his feet. The words echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving.

You know me best.

He had turned away, pretending to busy himself with the next order. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of you smiling at Minghao, couldn’t unhear the way you had said those words with such tender conviction.

The latte he had poured earlier had gone untouched, forgotten. Wonwoo had stood there, rooted to the spot, the weight of his longing pressing down on him like a lead blanket.

It was in that moment he had felt it—the quiet, gut-wrenching realization that he was losing you. Or maybe, he thought bitterly, he had never really had you at all.

It had started gradually, so slowly that Wonwoo hadn’t noticed at first. But one day, it hit him all at once, an unbearable weight that left him breathless.

The café wasn’t yours anymore.

It was yours and Minghao’s.

Wonwoo had watched from behind the counter as the two of you settled into your usual corner table. It had been your favorite spot for as long as he could remember, tucked away by the window where the sunlight streamed in just right. But now, it wasn’t just yours. Minghao was there, always, his presence seamless, like he belonged there with you.

You were sitting closer to him than you ever had to anyone else. Your shoulders almost touched, your hands occasionally brushing as you talked. Minghao had leaned over at one point, whispering something in your ear, and you had laughed—soft and sweet, the kind of laugh that used to belong to Wonwoo’s mornings.

He had turned away, pretending to be busy wiping down the counter, but his ears had caught every word of your conversation.

“Do you think we’ll need more space if we get two dogs?” Minghao had asked, his voice playful, teasing.

Wonwoo’s hands had stilled, the cloth hanging limply in his grasp. His heart had tightened painfully in his chest, but he couldn’t stop himself from listening.

“Maybe,” you replied, your laughter light and carefree. “But only if you’re okay with them taking over your meditation spot.”

Minghao’s voice warm and steady. “Guess we’ll have to buy that house on the prairie sooner than later, huh?”

Wonwoo had turned his back to you then, his breath coming in shallow bursts. He had clutched the counter like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground, trying to drown out the image of you and Minghao planning a future together. A house. Dogs. A life so vividly painted that it felt like a cruel joke.

The café had always been a sanctuary for him, a place where you existed in the quiet corners of his life. But now, it felt foreign, a space where he no longer belonged. It was your spot now, not his.

He had overheard snippets of your plans, dreams spoken aloud with an ease that tore at him. Every word had been a reminder that he was on the outside looking in, that he was just the quiet boy behind the counter who made your coffee exactly the way you liked it.

The café had once been the place where you smiled at him like he was the only person in the world. Now, it was the place where he watched you fall in love with someone else.

He had stood there, surrounded by the hum of conversations and the clatter of dishes, feeling like a ghost haunting his own memories.

It’s cruel, how easily Minghao trusted him with this moment. How he asked Wonwoo, like it was nothing, to hide the ring in the dessert he’s delivering now. As if his hands weren’t trembling as he plated it, as if his chest wasn’t heavy with the weight of knowing this is the last piece of you he’ll ever get to hold.

The plate feels heavier than it should as he carries it to your table. He’s aware of every step, of every breath, as if his body is moving through molasses. The dessert—a slice of tiramisu, your favorite—rests delicately in his hands, but it feels like a cruel joke now. A symbol of everything he’ll never be.

Your laughter rings out as he approaches, light and melodic, and he wonders if it’s the last time he’ll hear it like this—so free, so untouched by the gravity of the moment about to unfold. Minghao’s hand rests casually on the table, his fingers inches from yours, and Wonwoo can’t help but notice the way you lean into his presence like it’s second nature. Like it’s home.

He sets the plate down in front of you with practiced ease, though his hands still shake when he pulls away.

“Here you go,” he says, his voice steadier than he expected. “Enjoy.”

You look up at him then, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you smile. “Thanks, Wonwoo.”

His name on your lips is both a balm and a wound, and for a moment, he thinks he might shatter under the weight of it. But he nods, retreating to the counter where he can watch from a safe distance, where he can fall apart in silence.

You don’t notice the ring at first. You’re too busy teasing Minghao about stealing a bite before you’ve even had a chance to dig in. But then, your fork clinks against something, and you pause, your brows knitting together in confusion.

“What’s this?” you murmur, carefully pulling the ring free from its hiding place.

Minghao is already on his feet, rounding the table to kneel beside you. The café seems to hold its breath as he takes your hand, his eyes shining with a mix of nerves and affection.

Wonwoo looks away.

He doesn’t need to see it. The proposal. The way your face lights up as realization dawns. The way Minghao’s words tumble out in a rush, practiced yet trembling with sincerity. He doesn’t need to watch you say yes.

But the sound reaches him anyway. Your gasp, the hitch in your voice, the soft “Oh my God, yes,” that shatters the fragile cocoon he’s wrapped himself in. He doesn’t need to watch as you throw your arms around Minghao, your laughter spilling over like sunlight breaking through a storm.

Wonwoo keeps his eyes fixed on the counter, his hands clutching at the edge like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. He busies himself with wiping a nonexistent stain, scrubbing at the surface with the ferocity of someone trying to erase something far more permanent.

The café erupts into applause, a ripple of congratulations that echoes around him. He forces himself to glance up, just once, because some part of him craves the closure, even as it twists the knife deeper.

There you are, in Minghao’s arms, your face pressed against his shoulder as you laugh through your tears. The ring glints on your finger—a promise, a future, a life that will never include him. He looks away again, but it doesn’t help. The image is burned into his mind, an afterimage of something he never truly had but still somehow feels like he’s lost.

Wonwoo wonders if this is how it will always feel. If he’ll spend the rest of his life haunted by the ghost of what could have been. If every slice of tiramisu he plates will carry the faint echo of this moment, of your laughter and Minghao’s smile and the unbearable weight of knowing he helped make it all possible.

He hears you call his name, bright and warm and unknowing, and he turns automatically, his heart betraying him even now. You’re holding up your hand, showing him the ring, and your joy is blinding.

“Wonwoo, can you believe it?!” you exclaim, your voice ringing with the kind of happiness that should be infectious, but only makes his chest ache.

His smile is reflexive, a practiced thing, and it feels like it might crack under the pressure. “Congratulations,” he says, the word catching slightly in his throat. “I’m really happy for you.”

You beam at him, and he thinks, not for the first time, how cruel it is to love someone who has no idea they’re breaking you - your smile is everything he ever wanted but could never have.

Later, when the café is empty and the lights are dimmed, Wonwoo sits at one of the corner tables, staring at the spot where you and Minghao had sat. He imagines you there, still laughing, still radiant.

And for a moment, he thinks he sees it in the reflection of the glass—the ghost of a love he never had, far off in the distance. It glows brightly, just out of reach, always just beyond his fingertips. And he, the fool, has spent what feels like his whole life chasing it, pretending he could make it his.

The tiramisu was perfect. The moment was perfect. Everything unfolded exactly as it should have.

And yet, Wonwoo sits there, alone, with the unbearable weight of knowing that some dreams were never meant to be more than that—dreams.

The café feels colder now, emptier somehow, and for the first time, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to find warmth here again. He feels the truth settle over him like the weight of an old, forgotten grief:

You were never meant to be his.

Not really.

Not ever.

[googlemooglemadi]

ੈ✩ 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚, 𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓 ˖°࿐

❛ 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥. ❜

One second, Viktor’s coffee was on the table. The next, it was a dark brown puddle on the floor, and Jayce was staring down at him with a look that could only be compared to a puppy who’s just been caught digging a hole in the garden.

“Shit, dude, I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed, and moments later, he scrambled to grab napkins from the dispenser on the counter. 

Viktor, frozen in his seat, was unable to formulate a response outside of gaping like a fish out of water. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before settling on a quiet, “Oh, it’s – it’s fine.” He shut his laptop and tucked it into his bag, standing up and reaching for his crutch.

Jayce was quick to wave him off, still looking almost comically guilty. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ve got it. Look, I can pay you back for the coffee, or –”

“It’s alright.” Viktor assured with a shake of his head, picking up the sopping-wet napkins from his table and tossing them into the trash can. He leaned against his crutch, looking down at the man crouched on the floor. This was just his luck, wasn’t it? The same man who was causing every single one of his crises at the moment, putting him in a situation where he had no choice but to carry on a conversation with him.

Jayce looked like he wanted to insist, but Viktor’s stubborn glare left no room for argument. He huffed a little, clearly frustrated, and returned to scrubbing the floor clean. He stood and dropped the rest of the napkins into the trash bin, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward laugh.

“Sorry again,” Jayce said, offering a hand to Viktor. “I’m Jayce.”

“Really, it’s fine,” Viktor insisted. He was still rooted to the floor, unable to come up with anything to say. He was pretty sure this was his worst nightmare. He forced himself to nod dumbly as the man introduced himself, taking Jayce’s hand and shaking it weakly. “Viktor.”

The grin on Jayce’s face could best be described as dopey, and Viktor hated how much it made his heart race. “Cool. You’re in my physics class, right? I’m about to head that way if you, uh… want to join me.”

Viktor blinked a few times, more than a little caught off-guard. He usually walked to his classes alone, but his first instinct was to agree. Jayce was already slinging his backpack over his shoulder, preparing to leave, and Viktor mumbled a barely-audible “sure” before he could manage to talk himself out of it.

Jayce was, as he’d expected, nothing short of a chatterbox. His excited rambling seemed to stem from a fear of any sort of awkward silence, and surprisingly, Viktor found himself not minding it. He couldn’t tell if he was feeling so tense because he’d become comfortable in his solitude, or because the familiarity of his dreams lingered at the back of his mind.

It took a while until there was a lull in the (rather one-sided) conversation about Jayce’s homework, and Viktor finally worked up the courage to ask some questions. “So, what are you majoring in?”

“Mechanical engineering,” Jayce responded, casting a sidelong glance at the shorter man beside him. “You?”

“Chemical engineering.”

Jayce hummed in acknowledgement, running a hand through his hair. The silence between them lingered for a long moment before he spoke up again. “Did you grow up in Piltover?”

“Zaun.” Viktor responded curtly. Usually, the mention of Piltover’s dilapidated sister city alone was enough to make anyone from the upper-class region want to switch topics. Jayce didn’t seem to follow this trend, but it was clear that he was unsure of how to respond – Viktor wasn’t surprised.

“Oh. That’s… neat. Do you have any siblings?”

As frustrating as it was, Viktor didn’t mind the subject change. He’d rather not deal with the awkwardness that would come from discussing Piltover and Zaun’s deep divide. “None. Do you?”

“Nah,” Jayce answered, shaking his head. He kept stealing glances to the side, and though Viktor could tell he was attempting to be subtle, he was anything but. “It’s always just been me and my mom.”

Viktor couldn’t help it; he found himself curious as to what Jayce’s family dynamic was like. He wanted to ask questions, to find out why he had only grown up with his mother, but the last thing he wanted was to push the man away so soon. So he nodded instead, reaching up with his free hand to brush a lock of hair off of his forehead.

As they approached the front doors of the building, Viktor shifted his crutch to reach out for the heavy glass door. Jayce beat him to it, though, pulling the door handle and propping it open with his foot. “I’ve got it.”

Viktor nodded gratefully, murmuring a quiet “thanks” to Jayce as he stepped into the hallway. He was thankful to see no trace of pity – something he’d grown contemptuously familiar with throughout his life – in Jayce’s gaze.

The door slammed shut behind them, cutting through the sudden silence that had fallen. They reached the lecture hall, and Viktor was fully prepared for their short conversation to end with a goodbye; if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t be shocked if they never spoke again. However, when he headed for his usual spot in the back row, Jayce trailed behind him and dropped his things in the space next to him.

Viktor cast a sidelong glance at him with a raised eyebrow as he sat down, but he looked away before Jayce could catch his confused expression. He didn’t mind having Jayce next to him, of course, but he couldn’t deny the fact that all he needed at the moment was some space to think. 

His mind was foggy with déjà vu. The feeling of Jayce’s body next to his, combined with the infuriatingly familiar sound of his pen scratching against the paper of his notebook, created a tight sensation in his chest that he’d only ever experienced when waking up from his dreams about the lab.

Selfishly, though, Viktor almost wished his nighttimes weren’t plagued by Jayce or their shared lab anymore. Yes, part of him wanted to get to the bottom of why he felt like he’d lived lifetimes with Jayce while only knowing him for a total of… what, twenty minutes now? The other part of him, though, longed to get to know Jayce as if they were complete strangers.

He huffed as he opened up his laptop, propping his chin in the palm of his hand. If this was what physics was going to be like from now on, he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive it.

guys this is not a drill! the gays are finally interacting!!

on another note i am a big fat liar. i said this would be up by this weekend, but... i was really busy yesterday 😞

i haven't said anything like this yet because i didn't want to sound desperate but i actually am desperate (/j) so please don't be afraid to leave comments!! i love reading them!

credits to @cafekitsune for the dividers!

---

@frog-fans-unite

[starry-milkshake-fan]

what if Connie fought Zokket instead?

The wattanist ran, she didn’t care about the things in her way, she also didn’t care about getting hurt.

She just wanted to see him.

“Zokket?” She asked, waiting for a reply.

“Connie…why are you here?” he responded, glaring at Connie.

“I came here to look for you! what is that egg?”

“Reclusa…soon there will be enough glohm to reawaken him…”

Connie gulped.

“However, you won’t be there to see it…you interrupted the rebirth, HOW DARE YOU?”

with a yell, Zokket started to attack Connie.

“W-Wait! this isn’t you! you would never do this!” Connie yelled.

“Fool, I’ve always served Reclusa, when I awoke on that lighthouse”

“You mean the lighthouse that you went to check?”

“Check?”

“Yeah! We always went to the lighthouses, however this time you wanted to go alone…I should’ve went with you”

“What are you even saying? I’d never hang out with you!”

Zokket tried to hit Connie with glohm but she dodged.

“I was waiting for those brothers to show up, where are they?!”

“They wanted to go but, I told them I’d face you instead, after all…you wouldn’t hurt me”

“I would hurt you, and without a second thought”

“Because…you forgot about me, but I know deep down that you are there somewhere…come back to me…Cozette!”

Zokket froze for a bit before getting furious and slapping Connie.

“THAT’S NOT MY NAME!” Zokket yelled in fury.

“Yes it is! you will always be Cozette! no matter what!” Connie yelled back.

Zokket was done with Connie and launched his wire cutters at her.

“Your shears…I remember when you taught me how to start a garden…”

“A garden? I would never touch those things!”

Zokket punched Connie in the face.

Connie looked at Zokket, who was radiating glohm.

“I won’t give up on you, because…I love you!”

Zokket looked confused and glared at Connie again.

“You are my mentor, my friend and most importantly…my family, I really want to know how you truly feel”

Zokket’s chest started to feel tight.

“So even if you hate me now, I’ll always continue to love you, no matter what happens!”

Zokket tried to avoid eye contact with Connie.

“I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU!”

Zokket screamed and his attacks went haywire.

“I know you’re confused! You’re scared! But I’m here for you now!”

Zokket’s mask started to feel…wet…his mask was tearing up.

“STOP DOING THIS TO ME, I DON’T KNOW YOU, GO AWAY!”

Connie continued to walk towards Zokket, dodging any attacks along the way.

Zokket kept backing away, his tears flying down his face.

“W-Why…do you keep doing this to me? is it because I want to spread glohm, or that I want to force solitude on others…I know I’m selfish!”

Zokket started to whimper.

“I’m selfish! just say it! I’m only doing this to benefit someone! I’m selfish for existing! I’m selfish for everything!”

“Cozette…”

“Please, leave me alone…I just want to be alone!”

Connie hugged Zokket, who was shaking.

“I won’t leave you, never again…I want to stay by your side until you are better”

“You’re…so strange…”

Zokket hugged back.

“I don’t get why I exist, I’ll never understand!”

“I understand how you feel…some people don’t know why they were brought into this world, but you can craft your own purpose!”

Connie smiled.

“I didn’t know why I was born, until I met you…then I found my meaning in life”

“I’ll never understand why you are so kind, I just can’t understand”

“Maybe it’s because I believe people deserve second chances if they truly want one”

Connie and Zokket continued to hug.

“Even if you’ll never remember me, just know, I love you”

If Zokket had a mouth, he’d be smiling right now.

“I…think I understand why people cherish bonds…it feels nice…”

Zokket’s mask began to crack.

“Thank you…Connie”

Zokket’s mask broke and the glohm left his body, revealing Cozette.

“Welcome back…Ms. Cozette”

“CONNIE!”

Sountlet’s voice rang through the halls.

“Sountlet!”

Sountlet sees Connie and flies towards her, Mario and Luigi following.

“Sorry I took so long, but…she’s okay now, she’s back”

Connie smiled at Cozette, who was unconscious.

Suddenly the egg began to shake.

“We should go!”

Mario, Luigi and Connie nodded.

They rush to find an exit.

[amazingdeadfish]

Girlie you drew.Peng...

Totally nor going crazy abt this...

...

*Screams into the void*

So like, I'm like 43% sure that this little note was sent into my inbox maybe like... not too long after I posted the most recent Good Omens Shadowpuppet post. And I kid you not when I say that when I drew Peng for that, something possessed me. Because I nailed the general jist of their design pretty much first try (same for Yellow Tusk, like, I don't know what happened but somehow it miraculously worked out).

And then when I tried to draw them again in response to this little ask, I just... couldn't.

So here is Peng. In their... well... something happened to them, but I'm not sure what.

[nightwonder7]

Does Wayne find anything suspicious about Maxwell lately?

Maybe a little.

[deoidesign]

Hello! I just discovered your blog and I immediately became captivated by your webcomic, but I'm unsure where to read all of it. I know it's on Webtoons, but I can see it hasn't been updated for a while, and you still post about it.

Are your physical novels just prints of the webcomic? Are they a continuation? Is the story complete? Thanks in advance!

Hi there!

Glad you found me and are enjoying my comic!

It's only on webtoons, and the story is not complete yet! We're 2/3 of the way through right now. It's currently on hiatus, and it's scheduled to come back in about 2 months!

I'll explain why it's been so long if you're curious, but also for my followers who might also be wondering about it under the cut. Sorry, it's pretty much just me complaining haha

I took a month off I took 2 months to get the books printed I took a month to prepare my next comic and I took 2 months to write the rest of the series (I knew the character arcs I wanted, but not the time periods or mysteries!!!) I've been working on actual episodes since then

I had to take some time off because of some pretty extreme burnout due to the sheer amount of work it was to draw over 800 pages and write 6 complete stories in a year and a half... I was getting sick almost weekly due to the overwork, it was really really bad honestly. I was having to work 60+ hours every week just to keep up...

The nature of the comic itself is also difficult... Each of the arcs is a complete, self contained story which can be read (ideally) without context, and my arcs need to be about 10-13 episodes each... And since I have an exact number of episodes to work with, it's even harder.

It takes a ton of planning and a ton of refinement, and working week to week with no breaks I was forced to put out second or even first drafts, so I just wasn't happy with the work I was doing... And to do that for the rest of the series? I wouldn't be proud of the work I did.

Plus... To be entirely honest, webtoon has treated me quite badly IN MY OPINION... They deprioritized me before I launched (I had to beg for more promotion, I'm not exaggerating), they outright denied me the opportunity to even ask for a raise, I don't make any money on fast pass and they pay me less than my partner makes working at trader joes. My first editor left me completely hanging, my second editor (who I loved) was fired... And they told me I wouldn't get a third season before my first season even finished. So it was just repeatedly completely demoralizing.

I'm sorry it has taken so long, it'll have been 10 months by the time I come back. But I realized... I won't get promotion either way. I won't get more episodes either way. I won't get more money either way. So to finish everything, to make it feel good, to make it something I'm proud of, I chose to take longer to make it better.

I am fully aware I will lose a significant amount of my readership for this and it might genuinely affect my career moving forward. But it's what I had to do! So I'm sticking to my guns on it, and I'm confident long term it'll be worth it. It never could have been this good if I didn't take this much time.

[millennium-queen]

No because I was so surprised at the amount of people who think Peeta would have pressured Katniss into having kids. Like did they not understand his character at all?? If anything the MOST he would have done is ask her over the years of she felt she was ready, and then backed off when she said no. It's more likely that Katniss could tell that he pined for children by watching him interact with the kids in the district, and others (possibly Haymitch) brought the topic up with her. But Peeta forcing her or guiltily her into it? Never!

HONESTLY!! HONESTLY!!

My personal headcannon is maybe a little controversial lmaoo but I actually think that Peeta wouldn’t be in a rush to have a baby post MJ anyway?

Just like how Katniss has her reservations about having kids because of the trauma that the games inflicted on every aspect of her life, (along with a very disjointed relationship with her own mother) Peeta has his own host of things to work through before I think he’d be ready enough to admit he wants to start a family.

Once he does tho I think he’d only bring it up the once, see she wasn’t on the same page, and then he’d leave it because hey!! he never even dreamed they’d get to where they are now!! Safe!! And in love!! He doesn’t need kids to be happy he just needs her!!

So in my head it’s Katniss who starts the first real conversation about having kids once she sees just how sweet and kind he is to the little ones coming into the bakery with their parents and even then I think he’d probably drive her insane just double and triple checking that she actually wants this?? And it’s real?? They can try for a baby??

This whole idea that he would pressure her is just Peeta slander!! plain and simple!! lmaoo

[destinysbounty]

Yo what if you went off about s3, it'd be cool

The love triangle, the quick tech development, whatever you want, I wanna know what you think

(I saw you in the tags of that post, please gimme the analysies. pretty please)

The entirety of my thoughts on Ninjago's technology are long and vast and complicated, and I could probably make a full video essay on just that topic alone. But for the sake of simplicity, and also because I'm too lazy to write a 10k-word essay with screenshot evidence on why Ninjago tech isn't actually anachronistic, I'm going to just focus on the season 3 issue for now.

Now, one criticism that often gets lobbed at Rebooted is the matter of the technology. How did Ninjago suddenly become a hyper-futuristic technoscape in the span of what couldn't be more than a year? At first glance, I can understand how that might feel unrealistic. I used to feel the same way! But it actually makes total sense when you realize that this technology probably already existed, if only in a beta form, for years before s3 started.

But wait! If the technology already existed in some form, then why wasn't it used? Why did Ninjago only become a cyberpunk dystopia during s3??

The answer to that question is something that sounds like a no-brainer, but should probably be said anyway: just because a technology exists, doesn't mean it is democratized. That is to say, just because a society has made certain technological advancements, doesn't mean everyone in that society can actually access those advancements. Look at any country in our contemporary world - richer and more industrialized communities typically have better access to cutting edge developments, whereas more rural communities may not even have reliable internet access. Even Ignacia, which is one of the most rural communities we've seen in the entire show, was depicted as having landlines and telephone poles in the very first scene.

Moreover, it's reasonable to assume that robotics and digital technology has existed - and fairly advanced - for decades in-universe.

My evidence? The creation of characters such as Zane and Unagami. Both were invented roughly 40 and 20 years pre-canon respectively. Coding, and especially programming an AI like both characters are classified as, requires the existence of a computer. Which means that computers existed as early as the Serpentine War. (Unless Zane is the product of magi-tech, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Especially since Zane's original body also has other functions that, to my knowledge, wouldn't be possible without programming. For now, I'm proceeding under the assumption that Zane was created purely with technology.)

For these reasons I would argue that certain technologies, and in particular digital technology, have existed in-universe for a lot longer than we might think at first glance - but due to what appears to be some very extreme wealth disparity, technology has only recently become more widely accessible within the last few decades.

Think about it. Most human settlements we see are fairly small and rural, except for Ninjago City. Ninjago City is the only city we've seen on-screen in the entire series (with a few small towns here and there, but it's mostly just villages). And even then, the cost of living in Ninjago City itself is astronomically high. There's clearly something funky going on with this country's distribution of wealth.

With that in mind, it makes total sense that the tech we see in s3 was at least in development a lot earlier than anyone might realize. It's just that it was too expensive and exclusive for anyone in the general public to actually use it.

Now, let's look at this in the context of Rebooted.

Imagine you're a multi-millionaire tech mogul and the CEO of a very powerful tech company. The city is in shambles in the wake of an apocalyptic battle against Lego Satan. You take this opportunity to spearhead the reconstruction efforts. On top of being an impressive PR stunt, this is also great for business as it presents you with the perfect opportunity to populate the city wholesale with your own products: flying cars, holographic floating streets, AI vending machines, elaborate VR and AR setups, mechanical spider wheelchairs, the whole nine yards. The government probably even writes you a big check to make this process more accessible to your consumers - I mean, to the citizens of your the shiny new corporatocracy you may or may not have stumbled into creating. Whether or not you employed lobbyism to get this check is neither here nor there. After all, this is for the greater good! And to finally seal the deal that this city has become a Borg Industries outpost, you rebrand Ninjago City to New Ninjago City. This isn't just a city anymore, it's a corporate asset. It's an ad campaign. It's a way of life.

This also explains why all the tech mysteriously vanishes after s3 ends: supply and demand. A robot apocalypse is, among other things, bad for PR. I don't wanna think about the existence of a Lego Stock Market because that will hurt my brain, but a robot apocalypse is definitely what I would classify as a "black swan event" (an unpredictable crisis that severely disrupts the stock market). The company starts faltering financially because of all the public backlash, people stop buying and investing in their tech, their stocks start to crash, and Borg Industries has to roll back on their infrastructural monopoly. And so the technological status quo is (mostly) restored.

The theme of s3 isn't "technology bad" - at least, it shouldn't be. If you're as brainrotted as I am then the theme of s3 instead becomes, "maybe you shouldn't let one sole company have a total monopoly on your society's infrastructure because they might accidentally start a cyberpunk dystopia". And that is a...disturbingly apt moral for our current day and age (cough cough Amazon).

...can you tell I've been listening to The Fine Print by Stupendium on loop for too long?

[heliosphere-underthesky]

Legend of the Milky Way Maiden, Chapter VIII, V:10 "Tears of Creation."

And when the Maiden found her heart shattered, milky white tears wallowed in the corners of her eyes. And she cried and cried nonstop, no matter how many times she tried to wipe off the liquid from her cheeks.

For hours, it wouldn't stop. Until the Maiden's sister, Lady Andromeda found the poor girl. Andromeda comforted the maiden, until she had no more tears left to cry and spill. Andromeda comforted the girl until she had stopped crying and asked to instead mourn in silence.

But her spilt tears didn't dry, instead what she has created, it formed something spiral-like. It shined with tiny little dotted stars and looked like a white river viewed from the ground of planets, and at the heart of it all was the largest celestial being in the galaxy.

-------

Anyways, I actually thought of this design on the spot. I know the Milky Way Maiden doesn't have a design though, but I actually kind of like this design, she's really pretty- I might recycle parts of it for my characters if that's allowed-

Omg this is amazing, thank you!!! I really didn't think of the legend in detail yet, just the general ones about how she was lamenting and one of those tears became the Milky Way Galaxy.

Thank you so much for this!! This is great and no worries, you can totally make your own design and take elements from this! I may end up making a design of my own too eventually, but I'm not sure when. Probably the distant future!

[diamonddaze01]

beautiful fool [TEASER]

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader | teaser wc: 0.6k genre: angst angst angst | vaguely based on the great gatsby warnings: really really sad (i’m not sorry) a/n: the angst olympics have begun and this one goes out to @gotta-winwin this is only a SLIVER of the pain i will cause u i love u sm // thank u to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing i love u both muah

the angst olympics are live! check out all the amazing authors <3 join my taglist here

summary: Foolishly, Wonwoo let himself hope.

It’s cruel, Wonwoo thinks, how the sound of your laughter feels like both a blessing and a punishment.

The laughter now—it reminds him of the first time he heard it, ringing out like an unintentional symphony in this same café, on a day when the clouds hung heavy outside and the tables were quiet. You’d burst in with the kind of presence that demanded attention, the bell above the door jangling in your wake as you called out a cheerful, “What’s good here, huh? I need recommendations from the experts!”

You’d strode up to the counter, all wide eyes and crinkled smiles, resting your elbows on the worn wood like you belonged there. And Wonwoo—awkward, reserved Wonwoo—could only blink for a moment too long before fumbling for words.

“Um,” he had managed, his voice barely carrying over the soft jazz playing in the background. “The, uh, the matcha latte is… popular?”

“Popular?” you’d repeated, feigning horror as if he’d personally offended you. “That’s the best you’ve got? Come on, barista guy, sell me on it! Give me the rundown—what’s the vibe? Is it creamy, is it sweet? Am I about to ascend to a higher plane of existence?”

The words tumbled out of you like you couldn’t stop them, every syllable bubbling with life. He’d tried to respond, he really had, but his gaze kept catching on the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled. How your lips quirked in amusement even as you teased him. How, somehow, your laughter seemed to make the dull, gray afternoon outside feel brighter.

“It’s… creamy,” he’d said lamely, his face warming. “And… uh, it’s sweet, yeah.”

“Sold,” you’d said with a grin that made his chest ache.

When he handed you the drink, your fingers had brushed his for the briefest second. He remembered how you took a sip, sighed dramatically, and declared, “Barista guy, you were right—I might actually ascend. Thank you for this life-changing experience.”

You hadn’t stayed long that day, just enough to finish your drink and leave a tip in the jar, but Wonwoo had found himself replaying the scene over and over in his head that night. He remembered everything—the way you’d wrinkled your nose at the cold weather outside, the exact cadence of your laugh, the way you’d glanced over your shoulder as you left, flashing him one last smile.

He’d learned later, when you became a regular, that this was just you. Full of energy, full of light. But that first meeting stayed with him, a snapshot of you permanently etched into his memory.

The fifth time you came into the café, the heat outside was so stifling that not even the air conditioner could stop the sweat from rolling down Wonwoo’s temples. By then, he’d learned so much about you in the smallest of ways. Your usual drink had changed once—just once—during a brutal heatwave, and you’d swapped it out for an iced Americano, claiming it “felt like a personality betrayal.” He’d learned you liked your pastries warmed, but not too warm, and that you loved to read but always left your books with bent corners, something that made him wince and you laugh.

And he’d learned your name.

That was the first barrier you broke—offering your name with a playful smile as he handed you your drink. “You’ve been calling me ‘matcha latte’ in your head this whole time, haven’t you?” you teased.

He’d stumbled over his words, his ears turning red, and you’d laughed again, your name falling so naturally from your lips it stuck in his mind immediately.

[iamunabletothinkofablogname]

Hey what's going on friend?

You want to talk about it?

/nf /genq

i keep getting bullied but today was especially bad it is a long story, but if your okay with listening, also eitherway thank you

first these dudes in my class kept making weird comments ['do you want to [-] me', 'does she know how to talk? Do i have to sign to you?', and meowing and making yippee noises at me] and similar shit,then the girl behind me kept kicking my chair and tugging at my keychain [alastor] even after i told her to stop and so i couldn't focus on anything, the teacher moved me from my spot [i dont have any friends at the school so i wasnt talking to anyone, but she was changing up the seating plan which was kind of annoying since my brain is so used to going and sitting on that exact spot and so my brain had to load it but i could deal with that honestly, its just the combination of this and other shit]. I kept hearing my name whispered around but i didnt know why or what since i have shitty hearing so it didnt hurt as much but still wasnt exactly fun Then when i went to the bathroom girls were kicking and punching at the door to get it to open and i had to just sit there silently until they went away, and when they went away they closed the lights and closed both doors [the toilet has 2/3 mini hallways since its the 'fancy' one], and so i had to spend most of break feeling around the walls to get out and find the light because it was one of my first times using the upstairs one. and of course this triggered a fucking panick attack because why wouldnt it and of course instead of being maybe a tad empathetic, they started laughing [maybe because of how i looked? idfk]. and then we went to the assembally [assembelly?] for some random ass speech by the principal which i couldnt hear because, again, people were tugging at my bag and after i pushed a girls hand away she started insulting me and my looks/personality and started fucking meowing at me, which her and her friends found 'hillarious' and then the bell rang and so i had to just ignore that and go to the pickup area, when i was there there were already some students talking to my youngest sister and insulting her bcus they knew she was my sister and she started crying which hurt more because she's 7 and she had no beef with them other than being my sister :I this all happened today and i had to just pretend nothing happened at home because my mum wont do anything and she certainly wont let me go back to my old school and sorry if this is a bit a lot /gen i am very overwhelmed right now

[faceeeeee]

I was rewatching the pilot for the nth time and thought of something. Kinger's room is further down the hall from Queenie's, what if Kinger sleeps in his pillow fort to avoid having to see her portrait? :(

OH MY GOD THAT'S SO FKN SAD BUT IT ALSO MAKES SO MUCH SENSE????? I Imagine that the first time he went to his room after Queenie abstracted he had a full on breakdown- ragged breathing, blurry vision, trembling hands, you name it. Ragatha or Gangle probably tried to help him but he slapped their hand away and bolted and built his little fort. God.......