#there is one i have always wanted to post but i hold it way too near to my heart to share it

[les4elliewilliams]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫.

⭑.ᐟ｡𖦹°‧ warnings . . . approximately 7k words, smut with plot, cheating, older!ellie (reader is 23), chef!ellie, body hair, fingering/oral (e!receiving), no use of y/n, food play, ellie drinks coffee in this one :p 𐔌.author's note.ᐟ ֹ₊꒱ first post of the year!!! muahahaha (totally not proofread :p) HAPPY NEW YEARRR!!! i just wanted to take a moment to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to each and every one of you who reads and interacts with my writings/posts in general. it truly means the world to me. :3 i also wanted to let my moots know that i love you all, y'all are so funny and cool, and i appreciate you more than you know. even if we haven’t interacted much, just know i’m lowkey stalking your blogs (in admiration, ofc… i’m definitely not hiding in your basement as you’re reading this)

It wasn’t supposed to go this far. You’d never planned to walk this road, never imagined the day you’d become someone like this. A homewrecker, or whatever the fuck people called it. This wasn’t you, not really. At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

But as you kneeled before the Ellie fucking Williams, none of that mattered. Your soft hands held on to her hips with a fervent grip, almost as if your life depended on it, tongue dragging up her dripping heat, collecting every bit of that sweet, sticky honey from the slit of her soaked pussy to the carved ridges of her toned abs. She was a masterpiece, sculpted by Michelangelo himself, and you were hungry for her essence, desperate to savor every inch she had to offer. No matter how many times you have done this before, it never gets old—she never gets old.

Golden syrup trickled from the curve of her perky breasts, pooling in the valley between them before rolling down to her hardened nipples. You couldn’t just ignore them, couldn’t leave them standing there neglected. Slowly, deliberately, you made your way up, tongue swirling, teeth grazing, your mouth worshiping her as she deserved. She whimpered—soft, breathy, almost vulnerable.

You’d done that. You made her sound like that.

But Ellie wasn’t one for patience, not in the kitchen, nor in a different context. That was her thing—impatience, control—making things happen whenever she wanted it. Her calloused hand gripped your shoulder, pushing you back down with the kind of force that sent a jolt straight through you.

“Get me off, like you always do, will ya?” her voice rasp and lazy, dripping with authority. 

You looked up at her, smirking despite your knees throbbing from the cold tile beneath you, bruises blooming on your skin like pretty violets, a dark reminder of how many times you’d been down here like this lately. “Yes, chef.” 

You didn’t break eye contact as you sank lower, lashes fluttering, bambi-eyed and eager. Ellie always had this power over you, this hold that went deeper than lust. You admired her. You wanted her job, her life, her. You wanted to be her, and fuck, you wanted to be with her, too. But that was a dream too big for the likes of you, and you knew it.

So for now, you gave her what she wanted, what she demanded, losing yourself in her, the scent of her, the taste of her. Your tongue laid flat and ready, exposed for her, and she didn’t waste a second. Instinct took over as her hips bucked against your pretty face, her throbbing, greedy clit grinding against the wet muscle of your tongue. Her desperation only fueled you, and as her heat consumed you, your breath hitched. Your free hand slid down, pressing against your own aching core, rubbing yourself through your soaked panties while you devoured her.

In minutes, you were a wreck. Hair tangled and wild, her hands yanking at it with no care for gentleness. She didn’t give a single fuck if she was hurting you—not now, not ever. That’s just how she was, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The pain only made you hungrier, needier, leaving you gasping for more.

“God,” she gasped, her voice breathless, “She doesn’t do it like you do.”

Your heart skipped, your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from humming proudly against her. The vibrations made her hips jerk, her clit twitching against your warm tongue as you worked on her with even more determination. Your fingers moved faster, circling your swollen bud through the drenched fabric of your panties. The soft moans that escaped your throat only made her rougher, fingers digging into your scalp, pulling you closer as she chased her release.

“Fuck…” she cursed, her voice breaking as her head tilted back, her eyes fluttering shut. She was gone, completely lost in what you were giving her. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

The words hit like a shot of adrenaline, causing a fluttery, erratic sensation to erupt in your stomach. You sucked harder, more hungrily, her juices dripping down your chin and mixing with your spit, your tongue lapping it all up like you couldn’t get enough.

A low moan rumbled from your chest as you got more of her taste, vibrating against her clit and making her cry out in return. Her toned thigh tightened around your head, pulling you impossibly closer. You could barely breathe, your nose buried in her trimmed, reddish bush, but you didn’t care. Her other hand released its grip on the steel counter behind her, letting her back fully press against it to seek steady support while she trapped her stiff nipple between her fongers. Each calculated motion you made left her gasping, her shallow breaths hitching as if she were on the verge of losing control.

Your fingers slipped past the waistband of your white panties, eagerly teasing your slit before pushing them into your pulsating walls without wasting a second more. You were too wet, too sensitive, and way too horny to be patient, couldn’t wait until she came to feel good. You winced slightly, stifling a soft mewl as you sank them deeper and deeper.

She noticed, of course, she did. “What a fucking slut you are,” she chuckled, her voice a breathless mix of amusement and disbelief. Her hips ground impatiently against your mouth, her grip on your damaged hair tightening to the point of pain. “Just like that,” she gasped, her head tilting back again as her body tensed. “I’m close already.”

You couldn’t stop a giddy chuckle to slip past your lips. The sound was soft, playful, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Her head snapped downward, her brows furrowing in confusion as her gaze locked onto yours.

“Something funny?” she asked, her voice sharp despite the breathlessness.

“What, your wife doesn’t touch you at all?” you taunted, your voice laced with mock innocence as you pulled back just enough to meet her hooded gaze.

“She does,” Ellie shot back almost instantly, her voice sharp and defensive. But her actions betrayed her words as her hand gripped the back of your head, forcing you down again with the kind of need that spoke volumes. She was selfish about it, pressing herself against you without hesitation, demanding more of you like she always did.

You gave in, plunging two fingers deep inside her, curling them just right, finding that sweet spot that made her body restless and her moans grow louder. Your mouth stayed busy, lips and tongue working on her rose nub in tandem, sucking and flicking in rhythm with the movement of your hand. Her body was tight, trembling under your touch, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride knowing you were the one making her feel like this—pulling sounds from her that her wife hadn’t in years. It was wrong, but Ellie couldn’t bring herself to stop. Not with the way your fingers worked inside her, not with the way your tongue seemed to know exactly what she needed. 

You looked up at her briefly, catching the flicker of something in her eyes—guilt, maybe, or shame—but it was quickly replaced by hunger as her fingers tightened in your once-soft hair. “Don’t stop,” she rasped, her voice growing desperate. And you didn’t.

How could you sleep with another woman’s wife? The thought lingered in the corners of your mind like a restless echo of a whisper, making you feel guilty and disgusting, until your gaze landed on her again, and suddenly, the guilt felt distant, almost irrelevant, like it was never there to begin with.

Even a blind person would succumb to her allure, you told yourself, as if that excused anything. That charisma of hers—it wasn’t just a pull. It was a wicked spell that left you weak in the knees. The world around you always seemed to fade into a hazy blur as she walked into the room, her presence overwhelming and intoxicating. Self respect? It vanished the moment her soft lips crashed against yours, leaving you drowning in the pounding of your heart and your feelings for her.

Maybe it was her beauty, effortless and unassuming, the kind that seemed to defy time itself. She wore it effortlessly, as if time itself had conspired in her favor. She looked fresh, radiant even, no matter her age. Thirty-six. Was that too old for you? Surely not. There were worse gaps out there, you reasoned, though even the thought of reasoning felt ridiculous when it came to her. She made rationality crumble, made you question things you never had before.

Ellie hadn’t always been this person, this version of herself that took and took without restraint. She hated it, hated the way she’d sunk so low, but she couldn’t stop. Not when it came to you. She’d had plenty of pretty girls come and go in her kitchen, of every age, bright-eyed and eager to prove themselves. But none of them had caught her attention the way you did. There was something about you that made her stomach twist and her chest flutter in ways she didn’t want to admit.

 It made her feel disgusting.

The guilt clung to her like a parasite, heavy and suffocating, consuming her at night as she lay next to Dina. Sweet, devoted Dina, who didn’t deserve any of this. Dina, who kissed Ellie goodnight with the same tenderness she had ever since high school, who still looked at her with love in her eyes, even though Ellie knew she didn’t deserve it.

But the truth was undeniable. Dina didn’t make her happy anymore. Maybe it wasn’t even Dina’s fault, maybe the problem was Ellie herself. Years of love, years of marriage, and yet something had changed. Dina was steady, reliable, safe. But safe had grown boring. Too domestic, too… predictable.

Then you walked into her restaurant.

Ellie remembered that day like it had been etched into her memory with a hot iron. You had this nervous energy about you, your manicured hands trembling slightly even as you tried to project confidence. It was endearing the way you squared your shoulders and forced a smile despite how jittery you clearly felt. Ellie couldn’t take her eyes off you.

Your nerves were a tangled mess, a whirlwind of excitement and dread swirling in your chest. Meeting someone you had admired for years was thrilling, yes, but it was also overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected. Your love for cooking had always been an anchor in your life, a passion ignited by your dad—a man whose laughter echoed in every inch of the house on cozy Sunday afternoons, whose hands expertly kneaded dough or seasoned a sauce with precision and care. Those moments were your happiest memories, fragments of a simpler time.

When he passed, it felt like a part of you went with him. Alongside the grief came a determination that burned quietly within you. You owed it to him, you told yourself. You had to carry on his passion, keep alive all the little tricks and lessons he had passed down. He never got the chance to go to a culinary school, never had the means to chase the dream he so clearly deserved. You’d been luckier. You had opportunities he could only ever dream of, and for that, you couldn’t complain.

However, somewhere along the way, doubt began to creep in.

It was subtle at first—a quiet voice in the chambers of your mind that questioned if you were truly good enough. That voice grew louder with time, eating away your confidence. Even after you graduated from a prestigious culinary school—one that rarely opened its doors to just anyone—you couldn’t shake the feeling that others were better. 

More talented. More deserving.

Still, you pushed forward. Giving up wasn’t an option, not after everything you’d invested: all your savings, grueling hours of study, sleepless nights, sacrifices you had made, and the moments you had teetered on the edge of failure, only to claw your way back. Quitting now would mean throwing all of that away. Worse, it would mean letting down the one person whose opinion mattered most to you.

How would your dad react if he were still here? Would he understand your struggles, or would he shake his head in disappointment? Those unanswered questions haunted you late at night, swirling endlessly in your mind as you tossed and turned in your bed. Would he be proud of the path you had taken? Or would he see your insecurities as a weakness?

You didn’t know. You might never know. Yet that was part of what kept you going, clinging to the hope that, somehow, all of this would be worth it.

When your culinary school recommended Ellie Williams’ restaurant for an apprenticeship, your heart nearly stopped. You couldn’t afford not to say yes, but that didn’t stop the nerves from turning your stomach inside out. She was a legend, known for her perfectionism, innate talent, and the kind of reputation that inspired both awe and fear. She wasn’t just a great chef. She was the chef, and to top it all off, she’d walked the same halls at your school. Knowing she had started where you were now gave you hope, but it also set the bar impossibly high.

Ellie was why you chose that school in the first place, and now you were walking into her domain, hoping you wouldn’t screw it all up.The interview wasn’t something you could avoid, no matter how much you wanted to. Everything about her was intimidating—the stories of her strictness, her infamous zero-tolerance policy for mistakes, and her disdain for laziness in any form. All of it left you shitting your pants in anticipation.

The moment she stepped into the office a waitress had told you to wait in, the air felt like it had shifted, and the chatter of the bustling restaurant beyond the door suddenly muted. She carried herself with confidence, the intimidating kind. Her auburn hair was pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, a few rebellious strands framing her freckled face. The years had carved faint lines into the corners of her olive eyes, but they only added to her beauty. Her gaze was piercing, the type that made you feel stripped bare with just one glance.

She wore her chef’s jacket open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms adorned with faint scars and a faded tattoo. Her stance was casual but strong, her crossed arms flexing toned muscles beneath the freckled skin. She looked like someone who had worked for everything she had and who wasn’t afraid to call you out if you hadn’t done the same.

The interview itself was mercilessly brief. Ellie didn’t waste time, her words were stern and straight to the point. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable except for the slight downturn of her lips. It wasn’t just that she looked unimpressed, it was as if she had already decided you had something to prove.

Her voice cut through the silence with a rasp that spoke of too many late nights and maybe one too many cigarettes in her youth. “I’m not here to hold anyone’s hand,” she began, “And I don’t give out praise for showing up. I want to know why you think you can keep up here when most fresh-out-of-school types run for the door the second they realize what I expect.”

You stumbled over your words at first, her intensity throwing you off balance. Her stormy green eyes stayed locked on you the entire time, dissecting every word that left your mouth. You couldn’t help but notice the faint quirk of her brow, a hidden challenge laying in its arch, daring you to falter.

When you finished answering, her expression didn’t change, her arms still crossed in that stance that screamed impatience, like she had better things to do. She let the silence stretch, as if weighing your every word. Finally, she nodded, just once, curt and decisive, before standing.

Your posture straightened awkwardly, every muscle stiff as you tried to hold her gaze. You didn’t want to look nervous, not to her. Ellie Williams wasn’t the kind of person who tolerated insecurity, and the last thing you wanted was to give her the impression that you didn’t know what you were doing.

“I’ll give you a week,” The older woman conceded, “A trial. During that time, you’ll work every shift I tell you to—no complaints. If I think you’re slacking even once, you’re out. Understood?”

Anxiety coursing through you at her words, the pressure settling on your shoulders like a lead apron. You nodded, swallowing your nerves and summoning every ounce of determination you had left. “Understood, Chef.”

“Good.”

Ellie pushed herself off the desk, her hand extended toward you, and for a second, you froze. When you finally reached out, your fingers met hers—rough, calloused, worn down by years of relentless labor in kitchens like this one. Her grip was firm and commanding, her knuckles marked with tiny cracks and the faded scars of burns long since healed. You couldn’t help but notice how her hand lingered just a second too long, enough for you to feel the weight of her scrutiny.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Don’t disappoint me.” 

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice cracking slightly, betraying how much you wanted to sound confident.

Easier said than done.

The week passed in a blur. Each day felt like a battle that tested you to your limits. The kitchen wasn't just hectic; it was hell. A scorching inferno of non-stop work. Pans clattered, oil sizzled, and the air seemed perpetually thick with heat and the aroma of garlic and herbs. Voices shouted over the din, and orders barked with urgency. The counters gleamed under the lights, every inch of the space immaculately polished, ready for Ellie’s scrutinizing eyes to find fault in it.

And find fault she did.

It was like suddenly, you couldn’t hold a knife to save your life. Ellie would swoop in, catching you mid-slice with a firm, “Stop—just stop for a second.” Her voice cut through the noise, causing the chattering to quiet down. Suddenly, all eyes were on you. It felt so humiliating. “Are you a chef, or are you a five-year-old holding a knife for the first time?” She’d stand there, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, watching you squirm. You tried to steady your hands, gripping the knife tighter, and all you got was a scoff, a look that made your stomach twist.

Then it was the mess. “Look at this mess! You think I’m running a playground here?” The older woman would gesture around your station, eyebrows pinched, lips in a tight, judgmental line. “Clean as you go, or you’re out of my kitchen.” There was no leniency. Her gaze was like a hawk’s, sharp and all-seeing. The second you moved a dish or reached for a towel, her eyes were back on you, always expecting you to fail.

And food presentation? Forget it. “Did I ask for a food explosion?” She’d glance at the plate you’d put together, her mouth twitching in that grimace that made you feel about three inches tall. “Plates come out looking perfect, not like someone took a bite out of them before they left the kitchen. This isn’t cafeteria food; it’s a reflection of our work—my work. Start over.”

Every mistake felt magnified, like each misstep was some personal insult to her craft. One evening, she caught you hesitating by the stove, trying to balance the pan with a little too much caution. 

“What are you afraid of, a little fire?” She stepped up, snatching the pan from your hand and demonstrating with quick, fluid movements, flames licking up as she seared the dish. “If you can’t handle a hot pan, you’re not going to last five minutes here. Heat means flavor—no hesitation. Either own it, or let someone else do it who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Each critique came hard and fast, like she was testing just how much you could take before breaking. But you’d see that flash in her eyes, just for a second, when you corrected yourself or caught her rhythm without her saying a word—a glint of approval, almost pride, though she’d never admit it. That kitchen was hell, and Ellie was the one lighting the fire.

Gradually, you grew on her in ways Ellie refused to acknowledge. At first, it was your dedication that caught her attention. You were so damn passionate, throwing yourself into every task with a fire she hadn’t seen in years, not even in herself anymore. It reminded her of how she used to feel about cooking, back when it wasn’t just a job, back when she wasn’t doing it for anyone but for herself. A sparkle that had been her whole world until the sparkle began to fade.

That same drive she once held was mirrored in you, and it hooked her in a way she didn’t let you see.

At first, it was harmless, or at least, she told herself it was. Viridescent eyes would wander absentmindedly while you worked over the stoves, catching the way you moved, the confidence in your hands, and the soft furrow in your brow when you were deep in concentration. It wasn’t even intentional at first, just a passing glance, a stray thought. Then she noticed the way her gaze lingered longer each time, how her mind wandered just a little too far. And once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop.

She made sure you never noticed. Ellie was good at that—at control, at holding the reins so tight they left marks in her palms. Whenever you turned her way, she’d tear her eyes away before you could catch her looking, busying herself with anything else. But there was no denying the way her focus shifted, no longer just assessing your technique or critiquing your timing. Her gaze followed you for other reasons now. The curve of your body in those faded denim jeans seemed to pull at her attention no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, and every time she brushed past you, the accidental touch of her hand against yours sent a spark up her arm that she couldn’t shake.

Still, she kept herself professional. She corrected you like she corrected everyone else, keeping her harsh tone and her words blunt. You weren’t special, she told herself. You couldn’t be. And yet, when her fingers lingered a second too long while adjusting your grip on a knife or guiding your hand to the perfect spot on the cutting board, she felt the edges of her resolve begin to fray.

Then came the night that changed everything.

The last customer had left, the dining area was quiet except for the faint buzz of the lights. The rest of the crew had clocked out and gone home, leaving you alone in the kitchen, scrubbing at a caramel spill that had hardened into the countertop like cement—a clumsy incident of yours. Your movements were hurried, and your brows knit together in frustration as you scraped at the sticky mess.

Ellie stayed behind, like she often did, overseeing the final cleanup before heading home to Dina. The thought was always there, hovering at the back of her mind like a shadow, but tonight, it felt distant, blurred. She stood at the far end of the counter, arms crossed, her gaze glued on you without even realizing it.

Something about the way you moved hypnotized her. The way your lower lip caught between your teeth, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead from the heat of the kitchen, the fluid way your body bent and shifted—it all made her stomach twist in ways she hadn’t felt in years. You were stunning, achingly so, and the red-brown-haired woman couldn’t stop herself from noticing every little detail about you.

Her chest tightened as she battled the strange, unwelcome flutter deep in her gut. It wasn’t just attraction—it was something more insidious, something that made her feel both exhilarated and ashamed. She didn’t feel this way when she went home to Dina anymore. She hadn’t for a long time.

Ellie furrowed her brow, her thoughts an unsteady swirl as she watched you wipe at the counter, your features etched with determination. She told herself to leave, to walk out and go home, but her boots stayed rooted to the floor. 

When you finally finished and prepared to leave, you took a deep breath, the familiar wave of intrusive, overthinking thoughts gnawing at your self-esteem all over again. You steeled yourself, fighting the inner tension, before turning toward Ellie. She was focused, double-checking a few final things, but your stomach twisted with nerves. You couldn’t let her walk out without asking, without knowing. It might have seemed pathetic, but you needed the truth, needed to know if you’d wasted your time, if you should’ve just walked away and taken a job at McDonald’s instead. Because if that was all you were capable of, then why bother aiming higher?

“Can I ask you something?” you ventured, stopping the older woman in her tracks. Your voice carried a note of hesitation, the vulnerability in it impossible to miss.

Ellie paused, glancing over her shoulder before turning fully toward you. She wiped her hands on the apron snug around her waist, her expression shifting from its usual intensity to something softer. “Sure,” she uttered, curiosity flashing in those green eyes.

You hesitated for a beat, your fingers nervously brushing over the edge of the counter. Then, before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Am I completely helpless? Like… am I trash?”

The insecurity in your voice hung in her ears, and for a moment, Ellie just stared at you, her mouth tightening as the question sank in. Something about the way you stood there—your shoulders slightly hunched, your gaze fixed somewhere below hers, bracing yourself for the worst—tugged at her chest.

She recalled that feeling all too vividly. The nights spent doubting herself, the pit in her stomach as she questioned if she was good enough to stand in a kitchen like this. It was a memory she thought she’d buried, but now it resurfaced in the form of you—young, insecure, and so painfully earnest.

“No,” Ellie reassured, her voice was firm but not unkind. She stepped closer, her apron swaying slightly as she moved, and her eyes softened into something warmer, a nuance you had never seen before in those irises. “You’re not trash. You just… need time to find your footing. Everyone starts somewhere, and I’ve seen enough to know you’ve got more potential than you give yourself credit for.”

You weren’t helpless. You were just trying to figure it all out, and she couldn’t help but see herself in you, more than she cared to admit.

It wasn’t then that things started between you two. Not that night. But exactly a week later, it began.

It happened during a chaotic morning when you accidentally nicked your finger while chopping vegetables. The cut wasn’t deep, but the sight of blood had you panicking. Ellie had swept in with a surprising amount of care, guiding you to her office to patch you up and calm you down.

She hadn’t pictured you as the panicking type—self-assured was more the image you projected—but that moment revealed something else entirely. You were sweeter than you let on, a little naive, even, but there was a warmth to you, a vibrancy she hadn’t realized was there.

At first, it was innocent enough. A lingering touch as she wrapped the bandage around your finger. Then came the late nights in the kitchen, staying behind to help her with something small or lingering because she had promised to teach you a few of her tricks, always claiming you were the only one worth teaching. 

Initially, it felt special, as if you were being singled out for something significant. You didn’t realize that those excuses were designed to keep you there longer than anyone else. You had no reason to suspect otherwise. Ellie was subtle and calculated in her approach, so it never occurred to you that she might be making a move—especially with a whole wife waiting for her at home.

Ellie knew what she was doing, she always did. Once you had let her see the cracks in your confidence, the way you second guessed yourself, she used it to her advantage. Whenever you vented about your insecurities or the weight of expectations, she was there, whispering reassurances in that husky voice of hers. Her praise was addictive, and you found yourself craving it more than you’d ever admit.

Before long, the lines began to blur. Innocent late-night conversations with a married woman gradually evolved into deep discussions over shitty after-hours coffee as you sat on cracked stools in the empty kitchen of her restaurant, the smell of grease still lingering in the air. She’d vent about her wife, about how distant things had gotten, how they barely spoke unless it was to fight. All you’d do was nod, offering words of comfort because that’s all it was supposed to be. Comfort. But then her hand brushed yours one night, and everything started spiraling.

Those comforting touches soon escalated into stolen kisses in her office, the kind that left you breathless. Her hands explored you sinfully, and she couldn’t get enough. Then you’d find yourself waiting for everyone to pack up and leave, your heart thrumming in your chest like never before. For the lights to dim, and the sound of keys to jingle when Ellie locked the front door, making sure to keep any potential intruders out. When the coast was finally clear, she’d be on you, no hesitation, no second-guessing. Her lips, as soft as petals of a blooming rose, would crash into yours like she’d been starving for it, her hands rough and desperate, would shamelessly yank at your shirt, your pants, anything that was in the way.

It was always messy. Messy and quick, like you didn’t have time to think about what the hell you were doing—perhaps because she didn’t want to think about it, not before, not during, and certainly not after. She’d leave the moment it was over as if it had never happened, leaving you with only the echoes of what had happened. She’d shove you up against the cold steel of the prep table, and it’d be so fucking wrong but so fucking good all at once. Her lips, her hands, her voice—it was addictive. The way she whispered filthy things in your ear completely contrasted the sweet nothings she used to talk her way into your bed.

The only other sounds were the occasional car passing by outside and your obscene whimpers, loud and unrestrained as she shoved her fingers deep inside your cunt. She liked it that way, liked seeing you lose control while she stayed so composed. Her wedding band glistened under the low kitchen light, covered in your juices, the gold stained with the sin of what you both knew shouldn’t be doing.

It wasn’t love, not really. Or maybe it was, in some twisted, fucked up way. Whatever it was, it kept you coming back.

Maybe it was because of the way she looked at you as if you were a risk worth taking—it made you feel invincible. Special. Because she had chosen you, of all the girls that worked for her. She hadn’t even chosen her wife, Dina, who waited at home every night as she fucked you roughly on the kitchen counters, bending you over the surface as your hard nipples pressed against the cold metal and her fingers plunged deeper into you. That was enough to make you dumbly believe she couldn’t live without you, that she’d be willing to leave Dina for you.

It was in those moments that you felt like you were her everything.

After six long, agonizing months, the truth hit you in the back of the head like a ton of bricks—you weren’t special.

You weren’t the one she picked. You were just another victim of her lies. She was just that—a cheater. And just like every other cheater, she promised you love and loyalty only to pull the rug from beneath you when you least expected it. 

Your heart dropped when you saw Dina walk into the restaurant, bouquet in hand, her son clutching her hand like a lifeline. It felt like the world spun too fast, and all you could do was stare as she sauntered into the kitchen, greeting everyone with that perfect, beaming smile of hers.

And then Ellie—your Ellie, the one who made you believe in something real—just kissed her. Not a quick peck, but a real kiss. One that felt too familiar. A kiss that made you sick, made your stomach churn like you had swallowed rusty nails. You could hear their voices, muffled through the noise of the restaurant, but the words were clear as day. Trivial shit. Talking about their son. Pet names. Casual chatter, the kind that could’ve been any couple. But it wasn’t supposed to be them. Not when Ellie had kissed you like you were the fucking air she needed to breathe, like her wife had failed her in ways you couldn’t even begin to understand. Ellie kissed you with that desperate hunger, like she was starved for something real, and you naively fell for it.

When the auburn haired woman looked back at you, for a split second, everything froze. She saw the pain hiding behind your strained, faint smile, the hurt you were barely managing to mask. Her face went pale, and then, like a fucking coward, she ditched her wife, brushing her off with some lame excuse about being too busy. You saw the fear of being caught. The guilt. The shame. All of it etched in her face, and you hated her for it.

You confronted her, demanded answers, tried to make sense of the lies she’d spun to you for months. But she stuck to her story, every word coming out of her mouth an excuse to protect herself. “It’s not like that, it’s all a facade. She’s not like this at home.” Fucking bullshit. Dina was the perfect wife. The kind of woman anyone would kill to have by their side. Ellie was the fucking problem. She couldn’t stay away from things she shouldn’t want—you. She never could.

She convinced you, promised you she would leave Dina, that one day, it would be just the two of you. But when that night came—the night you spent together, tangled up in sweat and passion—it was the end, one you never knew was coming. You were still panting, your heart pounding, when she rolled off of you.

“Babe, where’re you going?” You croaked, your voice strained and filled with disappointment. Your arm reached out slowly, but she was quicker, already perched on the edge of the bed, ready to up and leave. You could hardly keep yourself together as she pulled on her clothes.

“Home. To Dina.” The words fell from her lips so casually, as if they didn’t tear you apart to hear them, as if the aftermath of your activities wasn’t still gripping your chest, stealing your breath. You propped yourself up, your hair a tangled mess clinging to your sweaty forehead, forcing a playful expression, masking the pain inside you with a fake pout.

“Five more minutes? Where’s my aftercare?” You hoped your teasing would soften the moment, maybe make her cave the way she always did. It was a little game you’d played, and it usually worked. 

In return, she dropped a whole bomb on you that made your chest tighten painfully and your stomach sink, “Look, we can’t keep doing this.” Her back was to you, her muscles flexing as she reached down for the rest of her clothes, the soft moonlight casting a faint glow over her freckled skin, leaving you drowning in the silence that followed.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes trailed over her back, over the red scratches you’d left there in the heat of it all, unable to comprehend how things had turned upside down so fucking fast.

“You heard me.” Her voice grew colder all of the sudden. “I have a wife, and I’m not gonna divorce her, no matter how bad things are.” She sounded so final, like her decision was set in stone and nothing would sway her.

You tried everything. You begged her, your voice breaking as you told her to stay, to not walk out of your life just like that. You yelled, you cried, you threw every last ounce of yourself into making her see what you two had, what she was throwing away. Nothing worked. She still left. 

It didn’t just end there. She had one more kick to land. A week later, she fired you.

Fired you.

She called you into her office, and just when you thought she was about to offer even a shred of compassion, there was another cold punch to the gut. She handed you a card with a number on it, and you stared at it, bile rising in your throat. As if everything you two had could be wrapped up in a neat little package with a goodbye card like you were nothing more than some evidence she needed to get rid of in order to clean her conscience and carry on with her life like you never happened.

“What’s this?” You had questioned, confused, pissed off by the lack of any emotion in the exchange.

“Another restaurant that would much appreciate your devotion. She’s my friend and—” she kept going, but you couldn’t hear it anymore. The more she spoke, the more you felt the anger boil inside, hot and suffocating. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Are you firing me?” you snapped as the realization hit you harder than it should’ve. You’d fucking hated this job, she made you hate it, but it had been the best thing that ever happened to you. And Ellie knew that, she knew how much it meant to you. She simply couldn’t stand to look at you anymore. Guilt had started eating away at her—after six months of sleeping with you, no less. 

Ridiculous.

“No, my friend Abby told me she needs more—” She tried to bullshit her way out, but you saw right through it. She sighed, frustration in her voice as she planted her hands on her hips, looking down at the floor, avoiding your gaze like the coward she was. “Yes. I’m firing you,” she finally admitted, cutting through her own bullshit.

“Is it because of—”

“Yes.” She confirmed, not even letting you finish the question.

“Wow.” You blinked at her, the words heavy in your mouth, disbelief written all over your face. You barely managed a faint frown, feeling your insides twist. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stomped out of her office, ripping your apron off like you were shedding the last bit of dignity you had left.

That’s what led you here. Sitting in your car, parked in front of Ellie’s house—this massive, gaudy mansion that felt like a fucking slap in the face. Too perfect, too shiny, too fucking out of reach for someone like you. Your fingers dug into the steering wheel, gripping it as if you wanted to rip it apart, your eyes locked on Dina’s silhouette as she paced back and forth behind the windows. Meanwhile, Ellie was still at work, living her life as if nothing had happened, while you were left drowning in your stupid, fucking choices. Only because you fell for her words, her kisses, her promises.

She couldn’t just ruin your life and walk away without consequences. No, you wouldn’t let her get away with this shit. You felt like a goddamn homewrecker, not only because you had slept with a married woman, but because of what you were about to do now. 

Your hand hovered over the doorbell, your fingers shaking as you tried to convince yourself this wasn’t a mistake. 

It was too late to back out.

The seconds dragged on like hours before she appeared. Dina, standing there at the door with that look on her face—confused, curious, like she was trying to place you before she realized she had never seen you before.

“Sorry? Do I know you?” Her voice was soft, too soft, as if it was meant for someone who had slept with her wife. Those warm, brown eyes staring back at you made you feel like the lowest piece of scum, causing your words to catch in your throat, tangled and desperate. It was as though they were trying to strangle you from the inside.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything, sweetie?” Her tone shifted, softening as she noticed the panic clouding your eyes, the tremble that gripped your body. But no amount of softness could quell the scorching anger inside you. You wanted to throw it all out—the truth. The ugly truth.

Before you could even utter a word, her son appeared from behind her, his small hands holding up a drawing, pride beaming from his small face. “Mommy, look!” His innocent, excited tone cut through you, “Can’t wait to show mama, too.”

Dina gently hushed him, running her fingers through his brown hair, and your eyes locked on the ring glinting on her finger. Your gaze lingered on Dina for a moment before drifting to the family photos adorning the wall behind the woman. Some captured small trips, others moments on the beach, while a few were wedding and baby pictures. Then, your eyes returned to the child’s innocent face, his tiny hand clutching the drawing—it made something inside you crack, without a warning.

You swallowed hard as you blinked, fighting to compose yourself.

“Sorry, I was looking for... Jake. I must’ve gotten the wrong address.”

[creamecafe]

Season 2 Squid Game Men + Who Their Jealous of

Pairing: Squid Game x GN!Reader

Warnings: mentions of killing, murder but not yandere

Author's Note: This wasn't requested but I thought I would post something in filling for the requests I'm going to post after school and this weekend as much as I can before The Rookie season 7 comes out and I would like to write for that too. Also I'm sorry if this also sucks, because I didn't want to literally be the same for all

Squid Game Women's version will be posted soon!

Seong Gi-hun:

Is jealous of Young-il

Can't put his finger to it, but he doesn't trust him very well

He takes Young-il's silence as a threat sometimes and the way he looks at you

Before he joined the games, jealously or insecurity was never a problem for him

But after what he went through, murder isn't even a second thought for him anymore

Wants to tell Young-il off, but Young-il would know he's bluffing and even Gi-Hun thinks so too

Front Man/Hwang In-Ho/Young-il

Is also jealous of Gi Hun

Joined the games to stop Gi Hun telling the others how to win them

But after seeing you, his mission changed

Would try to get the chance to talk to you whenever he could; dormitory, breakfast or lunch time, before the games starts

But almost always Gi-Hun wants to talk to you. I mean who wouldn't

Tries to keep his composure calm but in his mind he wants to kill Gi-Hun

Thanos

Jealous of Min su and Lee Myung-Gi

He knows Min su is very quiet and probably doesn't have the courage to ask you out, but can't help he upset about it

Always watches Lee Myung-Gi to see if he's interacting with you

Hating on Myung-Gi for the crypto scam is one thing. But it's another if he's also interested in you

Always has you on his team and cusses anyone out for wanting to pair off with you or team up with you

Kang Dae-Ho

Jealous of Thanos

Hates it when he calls you señorita/señor

Wants to have the courage to just tell him off, but he's afraid of how he'll be perceived

Starts thinking he's not good enough for you

Lee Myung-Gi

Also is jealous of Thanos and hates him

Already lost Jun-Hee and can't bear the thought of losing you too

Sees Thanos tries to flirt with you and he clenches his fist so much that it sometimes hurts to hold anything afterwards

Jun-ho

Is expectionally a chill guy

Sometimes he has an off feeling about Gi-Hun

He also wants to take down the people on the island, but he's also concerned how close he might be to you or spending nights out watching the salesman

Will try to go with you every time you go out with Gi-Hun

Salesman

Is jealous of anyone that tries to get close to you, but mostly Gi-Hun

Especially that Gi-Hun has been looking after you and the salesman

Will take matters into his own hands if necessary, which he always thinks it is

Had compassion for Gi-Hun first, but knowing that he's been looking after you two, can't help but think of where to bury him

Taglist:

@hobinistaworld, @ineedsmooching, @swuzzin @magicalconnoisseurcoffee, @dxrlingluv, @ninahorikoshifr, @ikeithy, @vampiregirlxoxoxo, @sassyyoyo, @cloudysxkura, @iidontwannadiealone, @idontreallyexistyet, @hollxe1

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Squid Game Masterlist | Squid Game Men Masterlist | Join my taglist!

[morlock-holmes]

The Conspiratorial Mindset

So, I've always had a bit of an interest in scams and hokum, and what people call "Cults".

One of the common refrains when you talk about religious Cults is, "If you think about it all religions have beliefs that seem odd to outsiders" and this is true, but as I read more about cults I started to think,

"Wait, a lot of these groups aren't united just by having unusual religious or supernatural views; a lot of them also seem to have matching patterns of behaviors that have nothing to do with belief in psychic space aliens"

I'm talking about things like,

Having a leadership structure which is absolute, where the top leaders cannot be disciplined or even openly criticized by lower members;

Exerting tremendous control over the dress and behavior of adherents;

Telling adherents that outsiders are untrustworthy and that contact with outsiders should be strictly limited and heavily monitored by organizational leadership;

The extensive and common use of shunning and reprogramming in response to violation of any of the above rules.

In some groups, failing to adhere to the dress code and spending a lot of time with outsiders is, at worst, the subject of a few little jabs at family gatherings. In other groups, those same behaviors are treated as Defcon one crises and become the central issue of the adherent's relationship with everybody else in the organization until they can be bullied back into doing the organization's bidding.

It was gratifying to learn that other people have noticed these patterns (Some people prefer the term "High Control Group" to "Cult" because it highlights what the actual problem is)

I am starting to notice similar dynamics in what are commonly called "Conspiracy theories".

The thing about conspiracy theories is... Well, conspiracies exist, and sometimes groups of powerful people get together to do something in secret which would get them in big trouble if they were to do it openly.

But I am starting to notice a particular, I don't know, a particular way of conceptualizing the organization and purpose of conspiracies which is unique to some people and which characterizes the kind of conspiracy theorist who takes Alex Jones seriously.

I kind of think of it as a "Witch-Hunting mentality".

For certain people in more primitive times and places, if they, say, slipped off a ladder and hurt themselves, their first thought would be, "That must have happened because a witch cursed me. We need to find and punish the witch who cursed me."

And this isn't just the attribution of malice that characterizes this idea:

One malicious conspiracy that might make you fall off a ladder is a manufacturer who doesn't care about safety ratings. Imagine that the manufacturer is really deliberately malicious here. A subordinate comes to him and says, "Our ladders can't reliably hold the weight of a person and a lot of them will probably break and cause people to fall and hurt themselves." and he says, "I know that but who cares, by the time people figure it out it'll be too late to get their money back."

That's a malicious conspiracy, but, importantly, if Bob buys a faulty ladder and falls off, the conspiracy wasn't trying to hurt Bob; it merely didn't care whether Bob got hurt.

Now, this distinction doesn't take away the malice and hostility towards Bob, but if you go to the ladder manufacturer and say, "Hey boss, Bob bought one of our faulty ladders, but he's really skinny so the ladder didn't break" the manufacturer will go, "Who the fuck is Bob? And good, that's one less angry person."

Whereas imagine Bob's ladder has been cursed to break by a witch. The witch did it because she hates Bob, and wants him to fall, and if she finds out he didn't fall, she'll go, "Curses, I'll have to find some other way to hurt Bob."

Conspiracy theorists, it seems to me, are far more inclined to conceptualize conspiracies as acts of deliberate malice aimed at them rather than acts of negligent malice.

@loving-n0t-heyting posted this article from the New York Post which contains a good example of what I mean:

“I thought I was on the cutting edge of promoting rights for gay people,” Yang said. “But then I started looking deeper into where this was coming from and who was paying for it, and I started to get very disillusioned...

I assume the people paying for it are LGBT advocacy groups? Did you, uh, not know that the people you were working for were paying you to work for them?

“When you really dig down you can see how much of this comes from documents and plans at the United Nations,” Yang said, referring in part to the UN’s “Gender Equality” initiative. “It’s part of a global agenda to restructure society, re-structure our social norms and the economy,” Yang claimed. “They are undermining the sexually dimorphic nature of reality and breaking down the differences between the sexes to break down our identity. They are constructing identities for us and they want us to adopt them.”

Oh, I see.

This is exactly what I mean. LGBT rights efforts make Yang and others feel disoriented, like society is being restructured and that they are being left behind, like they aren't quite in control of social norms and that stable identity categories can't be relied on anymore.

Now, one kind of conservative might look at that and say, "These are bad second order effects of LGBT people trying to assert their lifestyle in public and that's why we should oppose them."

But another kind says, "These changes make me feel unstable. Therefore, the main purpose of the changes is to make me feel unstable. In order to understand these changes, I need to figure out who wants me to feel unstable and what they would gain from making me feel unstable."

The idea that Yang's feeling of instability is simply a side effect of a series of efforts mainly focused on LGBT rights is incomprehensible. Instead, she believes that there is a series of efforts focused mainly on making her feel unstable, with LGBT rights as a kind of side effect to the main goal of making her feel unstable.

This kind of thing is, to me, a big red flag that indicates that we are starting to float away from reasonable conspiracy thinking into crazy town.

I am particularly curious if folks can recommend any writers or researchers who have noticed this dynamic.

[ylangelegy]

i’m actually obsessed with your jealousy prompts…. what’s better than the most jealous mf around???

seungcheol + “they did that on purpose”

★ seungcheol x celebrity!reader ┆ word count: 970 ┆ part of my closed jealousy drabble game.

ⓘ established relationship, secret relationship, pet name ['baby'], angst [if you squint]. combined with another prompt c/o anon: "i'm going to scream."

"I'm going to file a complaint."

Seungcheol is being dead serious, and yet you laugh at him. You laugh!

"Baby," you start to say, your tone edged with that familiar exasperation you take on whenever you think he's being silly. He's having none of it tonight, though. He knows his theory is one hundred percent correct.

And so he juts his lip out in a pout, crosses his arms over his chest, and whines out his next words like he's some teenager instead of a 29-year-old man. "They did that on purpose!"

That, being the recent announcement of who would be the special hosts of MBC's year-end music show. When Seungcheol first caught wind that a member of SEVENTEEN might have the chance to share a stage with you, he had been ecstatic. While your relationship wasn't public knowledge yet, he was ready to make it glaringly obvious should he be chosen to be your co-host.

He's had whole daydreams about the moment. The hand he'd casually rest on the small of your back. The smile he'd give you that would have Twitter speculating for weeks. Maybe he could even post something vague on Weverse afterwards, some cutesy message of I'm so happy~ ❤️

Alas, all his hopes were dashed when the memo about the hosts went out this morning.

"They put you with Jeonghan on purpose," Seungcheol grumbles.

Jeonghan— the one person Seungcheol wouldn't be able to openly go up against. The company must've known Seungcheol would throw his idol image out of the window, must've known that there was only one person who Seungcheol wouldn't pick a fight with.

The fact that Jeonghan is being extra annoying— relentlessly teasing, calling himself 'Mr. Steal-Yo-Girl'— has only added insult to injury.

You reach out to tug Seungcheol into your side. Even though he's technically supposed to be upset, he can't help himself; the leader leans into your touch, draping himself over you.

Your couch has always been way too small for the two of you, even though Seungcheol insist it's a 'perfect' fit. He considers it perfect because he can always pull you into his lap and bury himself in you, which is exactly what he does now despite his sullen mood.

When your fingers instinctively entangle in his hair, a part of him relaxes. That very part bristles just as quickly when you quip, "Well, Jeonghan is the pretty one in the group."

"I'm going to scream," Seungcheol threatens.

You know your boyfriend enough to understand that he's at least half serious. "Alright, alright," you huff, giving his hair a light, reprimanding tug.

Seungcheol hisses at the sensation. You appease him by pressing your lips to his cheek.

You shift in his hold so your gazes can meet. The look on your face only makes Seungcheol's frown deepen. You're enjoying this. You're amused. You're not taking his predicament seriously.

"If he's so pretty," Seungcheol starts, ignoring the way you begin to roll your eyes as you anticipate what's to come.

"If he's so pretty, why don't you date him, then?" he asks, punctuating his words with a dejected sniffle. Seungcheol looks the part of a wounded puppy.

Eyebrows furrowed? Check. Lips pursed? Check. Boba-like eyes, meant to tug at the heartstrings? Check, check, check.

Unfortunately for him, your long-term relationship has steeled you to his petulance. You take his attempt at moping in stride, opting to press another kiss, this time to the corner of his mouth.

"Because I don't want him," you say patiently. "I want you, baby."

The words still manage to make Seungcheol's heart soar. He tries not to let it show on his face. He's trying to prove a point here. He refuses to be won over by sweet nothings, even if you're so lovely as you say them.

"You're going to be on stage with him instead of me." Seungcheol's arms tighten around your waist, his expression darkening slightly. "People are going to ship you."

A surprised bark of laughter escapes you. "How do you know what shipping is, huh?"

"You're changing the subject."

"Baby—"

The words come out of Seungcheol in a rush, fueled by his gripe with management's decision. "I want people to ship us," he grouses. "I want them to look at us and think, 'They look like they'd be the perfect couple,' because we are!"

Something softens in your expression, then, and Seungcheol knows exactly why. Promises of going public have been made since the beginning, but now it's several years in and there's no relationship announcement in sight for either of you.

Seungcheol's voice is quieter, a little more even, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"I just want everybody to know that I love you," he says, the words muffled against your skin. "And that you love me, too."

You stroke Seungcheol's hair soothingly. He relaxes at the familiar ministration, letting his breaths even out.

"Soon," you mutter. "I promise, baby. We'll get that really soon."

Seungcheol bites back the urge to say that it's been soon for the past three years. This is something beyond both of your control. He's not about to make you feel guilty for something neither of you can change.

He settles for the next best thing. He tilts his head just so, allowing him to catch your lips in a kiss. It's sweet and unhurried. His favorite type.

It's the kind of kiss that makes the endless 'soon's worth it.

When you pull away for air, he wordlessly reaches for his phone. You're a bit out of breath as you watch him angle his screen away from you and type something out.

"What're you doing?" you ask, craning your neck to try and catch a glimpse.

"E-mailing the CEO of MBC," he says matter-of-factly. "To make me your co-host instead of Hannie."

"Choi Seungcheol!"

[sophiria]

Dulcis Amor

dad!Gojo Satoru x mom!Reader cw: 18+ themes, jjk manga spoilers, post-canon fix-it, references to babytrapping and mentions of birth control, a little bit of manipulation and deception, unmarried couple, twisted and fluffy feelings, vague mention of the reader's hair, implied that you're a little obsessed with each other words: around 900

Satoru was lounging on the Engawa, keeping a watchful gaze on your form inside the bedroom. As you slept peacefully under the blankets, your son fussed in his arms, and the hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

"Oh?" Satoru breathed out, shifting his child so he could rest better on his chest. "Is the little Gojo missing his mom?"

Your son wriggled slightly before going back to sleep. "Back to using me as a pillow, hm?" Satoru mused. "I guess your dad is okay too."

He had never thought a romantic partner was in his cards, let alone having a child. And yet…

He briefly closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. He had died. Murdered by Sukuna. And you made a Binding Vow to bring him back to life.

(Satoru had been furious with you—he had already accepted his death, and you had sacrificed something precious for him.

The Strongest had never known someone who cared for him as much as you did.)

His son stirred on his chest. Satoru looked down at your child. Fatherhood...who would have thought?

It only took one time, one burst of passion (and love, something Satoru could only acknowledge in his mind), and you were pregnant with his child, his heir.

As Satoru was lost in thought, you quietly joined him on the Engawa. Your expression softened as you gazed at your son sleeping soundly on his father's chest.

Satoru peered at you through his pitch-black glasses and motioned for you to join them. You did so and stopped beside the recliner where your lover and child rested.

You caressed your son's head before running your fingers through Satoru's hair, and he smirked softly. "You're such an affectionate mama," he teased, his voice low and hushed. "You're always spoiling us both."

You huffed before smiling, then gently picked up your son, who gripped onto your clothes with his tiny hands. He cooed, and you tickled his nose, making him laugh. Satoru's heart fluttered at the heartwarming sight, and he swallowed hard. He had to look away for a moment, taking a deep breath.

(That's his family. His beautiful little family. Something he never thought he'd have, something he never thought he'd wanted.)

You brought your little one inside, and he yawned as you placed him gently into the crib. 

Satoru followed you and wrapped his arms around your torso from behind. He nuzzled your neck, and his loose snow-white hair brushed against your skin. 

One of your hands found the nape of his neck and stroked it. He purred at your touch, relishing it. "I don't think I'm ever going to let you out of the Gojo estate."

You brushed your nose against his hair. "You won't, hm?"

Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck, and his sky-blue eyes found yours. "You're you and the mother of my child. Do you think I would allow any harm to come your way, especially now that you can no longer use Cursed Energy?"

You eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehensiveness. "Since when are you this overprotective?"

He briefly narrowed his eyes. "Since you decided it was a good idea to sacrifice your cursed energy to bring me back."

You heaved a sigh. "Here we go again," you mumbled. "Satoru, I did it for you, I—"

"I know," he cut you off in a deep voice, raising to his full height before cupping one of your cheeks and angling your face towards his. "I know. But you shouldn't have sacrificed your cursed energy."

Your lips parted as you gazed into his eyes, though before you could reply, Satoru leaned forward and took your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. Your noses brushed against one another, and you closed your eyes. He opened his own, looking down at you through his lashes while slightly tightening his hold on your cheek and waist.

Satoru wondered if you were ever going to figure out that him getting you pregnant wasn't a mistake—that he chose to deactivate his Infinity while the two of you had sex.

(He had to do it. You sacrificed your nature as a sorcerer to bring his soul back to life, and he wanted to keep you safe and bound to him.)

You leaned back to breathe in some air and looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "I need to tell you something," you said, bringing your hand to his face to cup his cheek. "About the pregnancy."

Satoru's posture stiffened, although he managed to keep his expression nonchalant. "What about it?"

You began stroking his jawline. "Me getting pregnant...it wasn't a mistake, nor a malfunction of your cursed technique."

He desperately tried to keep a straight face. "Oh really? So you're telling me it wasn't my Infinity acting up?"

You hesitated, and your hand left his face. You then wrapped your arms around his upper body, snuggling up to him. The tension began to leave his body, and he held you to himself. "I was never on birth control," you admitted, voice muffled by his chest. His eyes widened at your words—wait, what? Did you— "I'm sorry I lied about it, Satoru."

You sniffled and held onto him in what seemed to be a silent way to beg for forgiveness. His eyes twinkled, and Gojo felt something akin to butterflies in his stomach. "Shhh, it's okay," he murmured, caressing your back in a comforting manner. "It's okay. I'm not angry." He buried his face into your hair, inhaling your scent. "I could never be angry at how much you've always wanted me."

[thebreakfastgenie]

Whether or not TERFs like men is irrelevant. What's relevant is that they hate trans women. TERFs want you to believe they're defined by hating men, but in reality they are defined by hating women: trans women. They hate trans men too because they hate trans people generally, but their movement is very much targeted on trans women. I think a lot of people see TERFs calling trans women men and using their bioessentialist rhetoric about "males" and assume that TERFs hate trans women for the (in their eyes) crime of being men. The problem with that is that it's too rational. Bigotry is not logical. TERFs don't aggressively misgender trans women because they think being a man is the worst possible thing to be, they do it because they know how hurtful it is to trans women. The cruelty is the point.

Calling men "demons," quite bluntly, does not matter. There is no systemic misandry. Maybe you think it's mean or rude, and that's perfectly understandable, but that's all it is. Despite their rhetoric, TERFs often pal around with cis men. Watch how they fall over cis men who use the right buzzwords and declare themselves "TERF allies." TERFs are a fringe movement that only gain mainstream political power by allying with the far right, so they deal with cis men a lot. They don't treat them with the same vitriol they hold for trans women, even when they do rail about hating men. They'll post men are demons, but how often do they harass and threaten cis men the way they do to trans women? Men are powerful and threatening, trans women are a vulnerable minority and (as a class) powerless in society.

You've provided several examples of TERFs being racist and Islamophobic. This is not surprising, because people who are bigoted in one way are more likely to be bigoted in another. The athletes example is explicitly an example of TERFs being racist to Black and brown women. This is a really clear example of the much-discussed TERF-white supremacist connection. Calling Black and brown women mannish and denying their womanhood is an ancient racist argument. Sojourner Truth discussed it in her famous "Ain't I A Woman?" speech. It has nothing to do with hating men and everything to do with racism.

Marginalized men are not marginalized for being men. When you qualify every statement about misogyny with white men, how do you think that feels to women of color who are dealing with misogyny in their own communities? Marginalized men uphold misogyny, because they are men. The interactions between multiple axes of privilege and marginalization is what Kimberlé Crenshaw's theory of intersectionality is about.

#if anyone has ever doubted that TERFs are bigots/ white supremascists this is one of the best proofs out there#< prev#Yes that's exactly what I'm saying!#Tumblr is seeing a huge wave of anti-transmasc takes atm and I am SO SO blaming people like OP for it#Because this attitude of “man-hating is okay as long as you're not a TERF” is exactly what led to this shit#When you parrot TERF talking points/sentiments#EVEN the ones that aren't about trans people specifically#you are actively encouraging them to keep pushing the envelope#“talking about men the same way you talk neurotypicals” becomes “talking about trans men the way you talk about cis men” (where we are now)#Which then becomes “talking about POC men the same way you talk about white men” (Like in the posts I showed)#Is THAT what you people want?#Because it sure looks like it is

I am not saying "man-hating is okay as long as you're not being a TERF about it." Being a TERF is not okay because transmisogyny is not okay. Man-hating is just as okay as any other marginalized group hating their oppressor. That is the point I am making in the original post. You can believe hate is always wrong in any direction, no matter what systemic forces are at play. There have been activists who believed that and still dedicated their lives to justice and wrote about their philosophy and methods. The more popular view among progressives these days, however, and particularly on tumblr, is that hating your oppressor is justified and should not be policed. Except when it comes to men.

Talking about trans men the way you talk about cis men is perfectly fine, because they are both men. "Talking about men of color the way you talk about white men" is a rhetorical trap. If you take a negative statement like "white men are the devil" and replace "white men" with "brown men" you have fundamentally changed the meaning of the statement. Now instead of talking about the most powerful group, you are specifying a subgroup of men that is marginalized on another axis. What would make brown men bad that wouldn't also apply to white men? If, however, you simply say "men are the devil" and don't specify race, you are "talking about men of color the way you talk about white men" because you are talking about all men the same way and only their gender (and, really, their role in the patriarchy) is relevant. Additionally, it's a mistake to assume all women complaining about men of color are white. Women of color may specify that they are venting about men in their own communities. In those cases the experience of racism can be a motive for solidarity within a community, which intersects with women's experiences of misogyny from the men in that same community, so race and/or ethnicity may well be relevant.

Trans mascs are dealing with transphobia. There is a serious transphobic backlash in a lot of countries right now and while tumblr may feel like it's in a bubble sometimes, it is affected by the outside world. It's a serious problem and we need to protect our trans community members. A lot of transmascs need access to both HRT and contraception and have the potential to need access to abortion. American transmascs are getting hit twice, with anti-trans bigotry and restriction of reproductive freedom both being major projects of the incoming (and in many states established) right wing government. Women saying "I hate men" on the internet does not threaten trans men's lives the way the right--TERFs included--does.

Something I want this website specifically to reflect on! Are you mad at women for talking about men the same way you talk about cishets or neurotypicals? Why?

[cybrasigilism]

NSFW alphabet with Player 125 (Park Min-su)

warnings: smut and all things of the like ofc | these are my headcanons for this character, please be respectful even if my personal opinions for the character differ from yours :)

character: park min-su (player 125)

A/N: i know this isn’t the best gif but player 125 gifs are slim pickings apparently! if i could figure out how to make my own gifs i so would

MDNI! 18+ content ahead, reader discretion is advised

─────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────

A= Aftercare what are they like after sex?

↳ he would definitely go for the standard cuddling post-sex, he especially loves being the little spoon so you can stroke his hair (that and he can nuzzle his face in your chest)

B= Body part their favourite body part of theirs + their partner’s

↳ he’s quite self conscious about his own body, but if he had to pick a favourite it would be his hands, because he can touch and hold you with them. as for a favourite body part on his partner? he would tell you he loves your lips, but deep down he’s a tits man through and through.

C= Cum anything to do with cum

↳ he will always warn you when he’s close, whether it be verbally or with a tap on the shoulder if he’s too far gone. he will also never cum inside unless his partner states it’s okay.

D= Dirty Secret self explanatory

↳ you know what they say, it’s always the quiet ones. and that is too true for our guy Min-su. he may seem meek and unassuming on the outside, but when it comes to sex he’s totally a freak, and that’s all apart of the appeal

E= Experience how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?

↳ he doesn’t have a ton of experience, but he isn’t completely in the dark. he understands the basics, and trust when i say he definitely knows what he wants. but, when it comes to his first time with someone new, he gets super nervous and prefers it when his partner shows them what they want and how to do it right

F= Favourite Position

↳ Cowgirl. he loves being able to see your face when you guys are fucking, but in that same breath he feels much more confident under you then on top. don’t think he’ll be letting you do all the work either, when he really gets into it he’ll grab your hips and fuck up into you

G= Goofy are they more serious in the moment or are they humorous?

↳ at first, he would be way too nervous to really say much of anything when you guys have sex, hell, he’ll even try to hold back his moans/whimpers because he’s so shy in the beginning. however, when you guys have been together for sometime and he gets more comfortable, he takes fucking you very seriously. he won’t goof off or be silly but if you crack a joke amidst the fucking™️, he’ll laugh

I= Intimacy how are they in the moment? the romantic aspect

↳ because he’s so nervous at first he always double checks that he’s doing something right and that you’re feeling good. he needs assurance before moving forward in any aspect of the sexual experience, he just wants to know that he’s making you feel as good as you’re making him feel

J= Jack off masturbation headcanon

↳ he’s very into mutual masturbation; the idea of you getting off on the idea of him while he’s jerking off to you is something he finds super hot. for solo time, he has a habit of edging himself, something unintentional at first but he quickly realized it made the climax feel 1000 times better

K= Kink one or more of their kinks

↳ slapping (being slapped). begging. overstimulation. blindfolding. i’ll leave it at that

L= Location favourite places to do the do

↳ while Min-su may be open to a bit in the bedroom, he would also like to keep it in the bedroom. no public sex of any kind for this guy, he gets too anxious with the constant looming risk of someone walking in on you two getting it on

M= Motivation what turns them on? what gets them going?

↳ as much as he’s lowkey embarrassed to admit it, he totally gets aroused whenever you boss him around. also, if you whisper anything suggestive in his ear, he will melt in your hands right then and there

N= No something they won’t do

↳ he doesn’t like to be the dominant one in bed, he finds it too daunting and again, feels more comfortable when his partner is the one in charge

O= Oral preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

↳ he would rather get head than give it, and that’s purely because he doesn’t feel like he’s good at giving oral. he’s not out of this world by any stretch of the imagination, but he does need to give himself more credit. he also is quite vocal when you give him head, and will grab your hair when he’s close

P= Pace are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

↳ he definitely starts out slower, not only for you to adjust to him but also for him to build up confidence, but he will pick up the pace either when he gets more into the groove of it or if you ask him to. he tries to be rough if you ask for it but he always feels really bad if you wince or cry out, he would much rather you be rough on him than the other way around

Q= Quickie their opinions on quickies, how often?

↳ he wouldn’t be opposed to a quickie now and then, but he prefers for you guys to take your time when it comes to fucking, generally

R= Risk are they game to experiment? do they take risks?

↳ while he gets anxious at the very idea of public sex, he is more than willing to experiment in other aspects. of course, you guys always have a safe word for when you do end up experimenting

S= Stamina how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

↳ min-su’s stamina is quite surprising, he can typically last for 3-4 minutes. however, as long as his partner is alright with it, he is always willing to go past the initial release, and at most will go 5 or so rounds

T= Toys do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?

↳ he 100% owns a fleshlight. nothing crazy, but it gets the job done. he is also game for his partner to use any toys they might have during the act

U= Unfair how much do they like to tease?

↳ he might try to tease you a bit, but it’s too adorable how flustered he gets when you turn the tables on him tenfold

V= Volume how loud are they? what sounds do they make, etc.

↳ the more comfortable he gets, the more vocal he becomes. he tends to just moan and whimper, usually getting more high pitched the closer he gets to release. if he does get a word out, he usually says something along the lines of “it feels too good” or “don’t stop. oh god please don’t stop”. he will call you mommy if you’re into that

W= Wild Card a random headcanon

↳ surprisingly good at fingering. he also loves it when you call him “good boy”

X= X-Ray what’s going on under the clothes?

↳ now i’m not saying he’s crazy jacked, he’s definitely a softer guy, but he’s slightly buff. he’s average sized, 5 1/2” when he’s hard

Y= Yearning how high is their sex drive?

↳ he doesn’t have a super high sex drive, like he isn’t chomping at the bit constantly to fuck you, but he certainly wouldn’t turn down the offer if you were DTF

Z= Zzz how fast do they fall asleep afterwards?

↳ this sweetheart would try to stay awake until you dozed off, but he just gets so comfortable in your arms that he falls asleep way before you do.

─────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────

another reminder that all advice and constructive criticism for my writing is welcome and requested! i’m always looking to improve my skills. i hope you enjoyed :)

[martygraciesversion381]

BLOWING SMOKE

charles leclerc x reader

Part2 of this

Warnings!: angst like always, alexandra being the mean one (NO HATE I LOVE ALEX WITH ALL OF MY HEART SHES A GODDESS), smau, crying and that's all!!

a/n: idk what happened with me with these two fics they’re extremely sad while normally I just put happy endings well enjoy this and I’ll hope that my stories will get happier like❤️‍🩹this is extremely short! (from Gracie’s song blowing smoke) 

1 year ago. That was the last time you talked to Charles after you broke up. He put you through so much pain and you cut all the contact with him not to get hurt again. You stopped following him on social media, blocked his number and stopped watching his races. You keep telling everyone that you’re fine even if it’s not the truth.

 f1gossip: Charles leclerc the famous formula 1 driver gets a new girlfriend Alexandra Saint-Mleux

This was the first notification you saw this  morning on your phone. You looked at the pictures and saw Charles and her holding each other and leo and you couldn’t help but feel hurt at the reminder that you once were this girl. You were tempted to text Charles and that’s what you did. 

 Was all you sent to him. You got ready and headed to your work. While walking you bumped into someone much taller than you. "Sorry it’s my fault I wasn’t looking" you apologise before looking at the stranger’s face and meeting those eyes the ones that made you fall in love and broke your heart. Charles. The picture of him holding her played nonstop in your mind and you wanted to throw up. 

You immediately walked away before Charles could say anything and noticed a girl walking past you and his way. Alexandra. She glanced at you before going to her boyfriend. Your work day was extremely exhausting and when you came back home you showered before ordering a pizza and watching a random tv show. 

Your phone buzzed with a message and you looked at it realising that it was a text from charles.

The text said then, a dm on instagram from Alexandra popped up on your screen and you read it.

You were nearly shocked by it but then remember how girls tended to be overprotective when they were with Charles. You didn’t want to answer her directly, instead you posted a picture of you on your couch.

It was clearly directed to Alexandra. Charles liked your post clearly not understanding the real meaning. 

A few days after, you were at a bar waiting for Charles. He asked you to talk to try and become friends again. You saw him from afar and smiled at him. When he smiled back with his dimples full on display, you could swear that you saw your heart jumping out of your chest. 

"Hi" he said sitting in front of you. "Hi" you said back smiling at him. "How are you? How’s it going with Alexandra?" He hesitated before answering. "I’m not that good but Alexandra's helping me keeping my head up so yeah things are good between us." You smile softly. "You deserve happiness Charles…I hope on day I’ll find it to." He smiled at you sadly. "She’ll be happy to meet you y’know" he said attempting to lighten the mood. "I’ll be happy to see you more too." He leaned a bit closer. "We…we can’t Charles you have a girlfriend" you say before storming away. 

You got to your house and decided to make an instagram post to clarify to everyone that it wasn’t really over between you and Charles for you that the pain was still here. 

Charles phone buzzed with a notification. He looked down at it and opened it to see a picture of you crying with mascara staining your cheeks.

Once he read it he realised that your story wasn’t going to end like that. That another chapter could change everything.

a/n: guess what’s coming? Another chapter! 

tagglist:

@swiftlyconehead @g00d--vibes @carloswinner @paulinegba @f1addict3 @gorgeusreputation16 @motorsportbarbie13

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾

18. It means, my dear sister 💌

Spending money becomes a hobby when it doesn’t come out of your pockets.

“So what are you thinking of buying him?” You ask while sipping a bubble tea–the very drink that caused your descent into a comfortable pile of pillows.

Thoma runs a hand through his golden hair before scanning the clothing racks, “That’s why you’re here because, I have no idea.”

“And I’m supposed to know?”

He stops in his tracks, tilts his head, and squints. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. You always can–Thoma is an open book, but something about his gaze makes you uneasy. He takes a sip of his drink and shrugs, “Two heads are better than one.”

You sigh and it’s not a breath of relief, “How about clothes?”

Thoma shakes his head in disapproval as he feels the fabric of a navy blue polo, “He has more luxury brands than I can count.” That’s not surprising considering the car Childe owns or the clothes he wears in his posts. You can tell he comes from a wealthy family both in love and money.

“Did you ask him what he wants?”

Thoma looks at you as if you were a failed experiment he had the consequence of cleaning after–synonymous with the expression he gives you every day so it’s no different, just exaggerated, “If he told me, I wouldn’t be here. He said, “Surprise me,” With what? A successful talking stage? A therapist?”

You chuckled, recalling the conversation you had a few hours ago. You surmise that the ginger is more of a provider than a receiver. Perhaps in all context, “I bet he’d like anything you give him.”

“He would. He’s like a golden retriever on crack. He’s a dumbass, but he’s funny so it cancels out. It reminds me of a time when he was practicing in the gym for a swim competition—and a girl walked in looking for something. He thought she was pretty so he started acting cool but in the locker room there was a huge rat and he came out screaming, “I’m not a pervert.”

You giggle with your brother whose head is thrown back from a fit of laughter. His free hand hovered over his stomach and his face was bright tomato. You recall the day it happened–how gorgeous Childe looked in the water and how silly he seemed running out for help. That was a throwback.

“That’s insane.”

He nods aggressively while catching his breath, trying to form the right words without coughing, “Exactly, but I think he’s hung up on that girl.”

“Really?” You act surprised.

“I just have a hunch.”

“Does he like that girl?” Maybe you shouldn’t have pressed. But when Childe is the subject of conversation you seem to want more, to know more, to see more.

Your brother thinks. You know that expression too well. Something he does as a habit every time he’s being witty, thinking of trouble, or giving you the best advice your parents couldn’t compare to. Finally, he finds his thoughts, “I’m not sure, he has a habit of getting attached and disconnecting. It’s happened before–multiple times.”

“Oh.”

The thing about the English language or any language for that matter is that there are words used interchangeably depending on the tone one uses–either surprise, disappointment, or disgust.

And the thing about Thoma is that he reads people, especially those he holds dear.

“But with her…” He begins, “It’s different. The way he talks about her is the same as when he talks about swimming–You can see the passion.”

That comforts you. It gives you hope, but too much of it is dangerous. Childe is a book everyone discusses with praise and you want to know why but a part of you dreads that once you do, you won’t like the ending. That you’ll be disappointed with the money and time you spent because the hype wasn’t for you.

But curiosity is human greed. And Childe is a conversation you want to have, “What does he say about her?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Because I’m scared of being disappointed again.

“I’m just curious—you made him sound like a playboy. Maybe the girl needs to be warned.”

“It’s not like he’s a bad guy. I just don’t want him or her to get hurt. Relationships aren’t easy—you know that.”

“What if…” You start, already regretting the question in your head. But Thoma looks at you expectantly, urging you to continue, “I started seeing someone like him… what would you say?”

“I’d say fuck him.”

“I’ve been trying to.”

He shoves you out of the store and you almost stumble next to a person.

“I’m joking! Give me a serious answer then.”

He crosses his arms and squints his eyes before raising a brow, “Why? Who’s this guy? What’s his name?”

You give him a look.

He matches it but he gives in, “Someone like Childe? There’s no one like him. As much as I shit on him, he has a good character, and I respect that. So I’d say unless you’re bringing the real one, don’t come home at all.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, my dear sister…” Thoma opens his mouth then shuts it close only to shake his head as if constricting himself, “Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

He shrugs and says nothing more.

You follow your brother, pushing back the conversation you had despite the questions ramming your head every thirty seconds.

But when you pass by a cosmetic store, a new thought comes to mind.

“You should buy him skin care.”

NOTES:

👀👀 i’m on a roll with these updates

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back

CHILDE x FEM!READER

masterlist | previous | next

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[lucimaaie]

runaway ✧.* spiderwoman au

pairings - ellie williams x fem!reader

summary - things in your relationship have changed since ellie got shot, some of them good. some of them you don’t talk about.

warnings - fluff mixed with angst, gets a lil suggestive but no smut as always, unspoken trope because plot, 3k word count, not proofread cuz i was too excited to post

playlist | spidey masterlist

Who or whatever was up in the sky, you prayed to it. Pleaded that every bad thing you'd ever done, every bad thing you'd even plan on doing would be forgiven all to save her. It made you look even more unstable to your father lingering outside the door, but you didn't care.

And whatever else you added worked. The constant beeping of the machine became the one thing grounding you to reality. You didn't get a wink of sleep, a crumb of food, or speak a word to the very curious, almost invasive police. All so you could see Ellie's eyes flutter open.

The first sound she let out was a tired, pained groan as she tried to sit up. "Are you crazy?" You blurted, rushing to her side to guide her back down. It was then that you seemed to realize she was awake, emerald eyes staring back up at you in confusion and a hint of fear. A loud gasp fell from your lips as your fingers traveled from her arms up to her face. "You're awake." You said, lip quivering in a failed attempt not to cry. "A-Are you hurting? Can we get some in here! She's awake!"

"Is that a question?" Ellie's voice was rough. Had she not been so grateful to be awake, laying her eyes on you it'd have come out with more snark. She was stubborn on trying to sit up just hours after surgery, pushing herself up on her fists.

"Are you making a joke right now?" You were more a mix of dumbfounded and relieved than annoyed right now. Lord knows you should be. Your girlfriend was fricking Spider-woman. That was a big thing.

"Now that you're crying? No, of course not." Ellie reached up to swipe your tears before they could fall off your face and onto the sheets. Her hand was ever so gentle in cupping your face. She swallowed as she took you in, not sure what to say to make this right.

None of this was right. She had unintentionally sprung everything on you when she landed at your window tonight. How long had it been, actually? Had she been out for days? What did they do to her? Ellie's mind was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming need for answers.

Her hand slipped down to rest on top of yours. She licked her chapped lips, brows furrowing. "Did they find me in—“

At the mention of the suit, you pulled away and wiped your face. “I hid it.” You said quietly. “I hid the suit and whatever..came out of you," The words tumbled out of your mouth as you were forced to think about the panic you felt just hours ago. The swirl of emotions sat deep in your stomach, threatening to rise up and come out in a way you couldn't control. So to stop it, you pulled away.

Ellie could sense it and it made her want to climb out of the bed just to hold you and apologize a million times over. Somehow that still felt inadequate. "And they're still at your apartment?" She dug her fingers into her palm. It was a better thing to focus on than how she messed up.

"I'm sorry, is that what you're worried about now?" You hadn't meant to sound pissed, but maybe you were. Maybe you were more than scared out of your mind you were gonna lose her. Maybe you were frustrated and pissed—beyond pissed—that she had kept this from you. And maybe mad at yourself thinking of all the times you should've known, all the times she was hurt and you weren't there—

Once again, she didn't know what to say. For the first time, she wasn't looking at you. It was a painful sight to linger on, her sunken features downcast under fluorescent lights and surrounded by beeping machines and wires. You were still fuming, but you couldn't be now. "I'm not mad. I'm not mad." You whispered, more to yourself than her, as you sat back next to her because what were you doing pulling away from her in the first place?

"It'd be okay if you were. I mean, if you are." She said with a humorless laugh. That wasn't the sound you wanted to hear. "If I were you, I would be. I get it—"

"Ellie, I'm not." You rubbed your brows. You shook your head as if it would make all your thoughts fall right where you wanted them to be. "Ok, that a lie, but— I don't want to be. I just wanna be happy that you're okay and I am. So, I'll be that. Only that." You grabbed her hand in an attempt to remind yourself that she was alive and okay, so everything was fine.

If you weren't convinced by your disjointed rant, you know Ellie wasn't. She wouldn't say it though. She wouldn't dare tell you how to feel when she came to your window bloodied, bruised, and shot. "I'm sorry," Her eyes welled up with tears she had failed to swipe up before they fell. She couldn't bring herself to. For years she felt like she had this band over her mouth, reminding her she had this huge secret she had no one to share with and only now had it given up and snapped. "I'm sorry," Was the only thing she could make herself say.

"Oh, baby—“ You tried your best to pull her into your side without aggravating the recent wound in her side. She had hid certain parts of her life behind a wall and you had learned to live with it, hoping that one day she'd feel comfortable enough to let you in. This was it, you thought.

She had let a few more tears fall, along with "I'm sorry"'s, before the sobbing had gotten to her gut, almost like a literal knife twisting in just to make things extra hurtful. Even then, she hadn't had the right words in mind. Instead, she held on your arm like her life depended on it. And that worked for a while. Though, not forever.

"Ellie." No response. "Ellie, can you look at me?" Her eyes flicked up to you with glassy eyes. It a sight you'd never experienced before and never wanted to again. "From now on, you're gonna tell me everything, okay?" You were persistent in wiping each tear as it fell. "And..I tell you everything, even if it's something you quite frankly won't give a shit about. And you tell me everything, even the-" You lowered your voice. "Even the Spider stuff."

"Yeah, okay." Her hands grabbed yours from her face and brought them to her lips. She sniffled as she gripped your hands. "I can do that,"

Healing from a gunshot wound was no doubt hard. It was harder when you were antsy to get some action. No, not that kind. (Though, she wasn't opposed.) The superhero-ing kind. Ellie missed swinging through the air and feel the wind all around her as all her problems became like tiny specks on paper. Of course she missed saving people and feeling needed by her city, but that had seemed to increase her risk of losing you. She had decided that wasn't an option, so she put Spider-woman on the backburner for right now, mostly.

She was slightly hunched over her computer in your newly shared apartment. There was no way you could back to your apartment after what happened and not enough space in Ellie's for the two of you to live in, so insert the supposedly inexpensive--totally expensive, it's new york let's be real--one bedroom, one bathroom beauty you now lived in.

Ellie brows furrowed as she felt somebody's hands wrap around her neck. The fact that her senses were relaxed and your scent was filling the air told her it was you. "Whatcha doing?" You nosed at her neck. "Fucking up your posture or just trying to get your dailies?"

She let out a snort. "Why not both? I like to multitask."

"Of course you do." You came up to stare at the screen. It was opened up youtube on some gaming video, but you weren't convinced. Your hand was on top of hers in a second, moving the mouse to click the other tabs. "Hey—!”

You weren't far from letting out an 'aha!' now that your suspicions had been proved right. She was knee-deep in articles about her absence, the surfacing of alien tech, the effects of the first alien invasion a couple years back in 2012. Deep in the rabbit-hole. "El..you said you were taking a break." Your hands fell to your sides.

"I was! I am." Ellie turned around in her chair, slowly so as not to feel that familiar sting in her side. "I'm just reading. That's not illegal." Ellie’s hands chased yours in an attempt to soothe your disappointment before you voiced it.

“Ever since you could walk again, you’ve been at this computer for hours, hun.” Her attempt fell flat as you moved to sit on the edge of desk, eyes glued to bright screen as it would change any moment. You wished it would. Then, you could have your girlfriend back.

“I’m at home for hours. I have to find something to fill the time.” Even her shitty excuse didn’t convince her. You were still practically sulking at the edge of the desk. “Hey,” She said softly. “I’m still relying on you to get up and down the stairs. I don’t think I’m gonna be swinging any soon.” She said, lighthearted. “Babe?” You hummed, eyes still glued to the screen. 

You weren’t sure you were ready for her to get back out there again, nor was her body. Well, the first part was a lie. You definitely didn’t want her to go back. It was selfish, that was obvious, but that didn’t change your mind. That didn’t change the fact that she was still hurting because some asshole on the street shot her with some superpowered gun. 

Ellie leaned closer, reaching her hand up to angle your chin down to her. “You don’t believe me.” She said in realization, eyes flicked between yours with a hint of hurt. She really couldn’t blame you, she wasn’t convincing herself either. 

“No, I don’t.” It hurt to peel her hand from your chin and walk away, but you did. You ignored her attempts to call after you, closing the door behind you and dragging your feet in the kitchen. You had concerned yourself with some attempt at cooking a dish you cared nothing about, but lucky for you your shitty cooking could keep you busy for hours.

Ellie had wandered into kitchen to check on you, shoulders going limp at the sight of you pitifully pushing food around in a pan. She approached you carefully and slowly, turning the stove off and setting the pan aside. "So," She inhaled slowly, hands wringing together. "You're mad at me,"

"I'm not mad at you." You shot back, taking the pan from the counter to put it right back on the still-hot stove. With a passive aggressive smile, you flipped it back on. "What would I be mad about?" Now that was a stupid question.

"I've got some idea." Ellie was quick in turning the stove off and snatching the pan from your hand. She sighed at the slosh of opaque orange liquid painting the counter and the floor. "Great." She said under her breath moving to grab a wad of paper towels and crouch down before a stabbing pain in her side reminded her to slow down.

Your irritation softened as you shot out to stable her and guide her onto the island. "You gotta be careful, El. You can't move like that yet." The mess on the other side of your kitchen was the last of your worries. "Are you okay? Does it still hurt?" You rolled up the bottom of her tank top to lay your eyes on the wound. No bleeding, okay. That's good.

"I'm fine. I'm..more worried about you, I swear you haven't breathed in a two minutes." Ellie's cold hands on your arms were oddly grounding, pulling you from your small moment of panic.

Your first breath in a while sounded something like a wheeze. Rolling her shirt back down, you pushed yourself off the counter—and away from the palpable concern from Ellie's eyes alone. Now the spill was helpful in distracting you, allowing you to distance yourself from the very familiar conversation you had been pushing back for weeks. You had realized your were practically buffing the polish of the counter until Ellie pulled at your arm, her other hand holding your waist.

"It's clean and I'm fine." Her voice was quiet and yet it cut through your raging thoughts effortlessly. It took the same amount of effort to turn you around to face her and to pry the towel out of your hands. "Let's get you clean," She could see you coming up with a way to decline and she was having none of it. If she couldn't even clean up her own mess, she'd at least calm your worries. Or at least try. "We'll both get clean, okay?"

Steam became a curtain around the two of you as you both worked up a lather. (No, not like that you perv.) You didn’t want to admit the hot water hitting your bare skin had been quite calming, though it didn’t do anything to stop the force that was your overthinking mind.

“Hey, I can hear you thinking.” Ellie’s arms around your waist was a pleasant surprise. You could feel a few strands of her damp hair tickling your neck, making a few giggled escape your lips. “This is the no thinking zone, babe.” She mumbled against your neck, trailing kisses down your neck to your shoulder.

“Then..how can I talk?”

"You don't need to do that either." She kissed your cheek, hand loosening it's grip on your waist and slipping lower. You gasped, grabbing her hand.

"Is that why you wanted to shower together?" You turned around, taking a step forward just to watch her inevitably back up to the tile. A raise of her brows told you she was shocked, but not unreceptive to what you were doing. The mix of needy haze and admiration in her eyes fueled your confidence to tease her even further. "You just wanted to get me all distracted?" Your rested your arms on her shoulder, fingers combing through her wet locks.

"Maybe I was being a good girlfriend and wanted to calm you down, which succeeded at." She usually wasn't this smug but she felt she'd earned the right. She was forced to sit on her ass almost all hours of the day, but that didn't mean she was completely useless.

"You are a good girlfriend." You blurted. "You're the best girlfriend, you know that?" Your teasing smirk turned into something genuine. "And I'm not just saying that because you literally saved my life. I'm saying that cause I.." Love you. "because I need you." It wasn't what you wanted to say, you were too scared to say the real thing. Scared that if you said it and allowed your relationship to progress any further, it'd be harder to watch her go everyday and know that might be the day you lose her to some supervillian with a vendetta. Besides, it was true. You needed her.

Ellie looked stunned at your admission and everything behind it. She let her forehead touch yours, sighing shakily as she took in your words. "I need you more," It was funny, if you were imaginative enough you could replace the need with love in a beautiful reality where New York didn't need saving and you could have her to yourself.

You were yanked out of your mind by Ellie's lip crashing into yours. A surprised sound made it out your lips only to come out muffled. You kissed back with just as much, if not more, intensity as she gave you. Your hands tangled in her hair as you lost yourself in the feel of her, no longer stuck in your mind. However, when her hand started to slip down, you hesitated. "Ellie, you haven't been cleared yet-"

"Don't care," She mumbled against your lips. "It'll be worth it." She pulled back to look at you, eyes dark with a need you haven't seen in her before. Between school, her internship, her secret vigilante-ing and then her getting hurt, you hadn't exactly made the time to have that talk.

"You say that now," Your brows were furrowed in concern. They only tightened when your eyes traveled down to her wound. It was healing for sure, but the idea of her in any pain at all hurt you too.

"Hey, it’s healing." Her hand was warm on your neck, finger swiping over your jaw. "Super-healing, remember?" She tilted her head so your eyes were drawn to her face instead of her wound.

"How can I forget?" You said sarcastically. "What other super things can you do?" You asked, genuine curiosity drowning underneath the tease in your voice. “Catch flies?”

"Keep it up, bug.” Ellie snorted, using her strength to hoist you up an inch from the ground. “Air-jail, how bout that?” 

“Ellie!” You yelped as the water came down the strands of your hair and your back, making you feel something like a wet dog. She knew how much you hated having wet hair and was using it to her advantage. “Put me down, right now!” You were only in the air for a few more seconds before she had you situated in her arms. If you could see how you looked clinging onto her, you would’ve busted out laughing. 

“Just showing you my super-strength.” She nosed at your collarbone as she put you down. “And being a really good girlfriend.” She was aware being a good girlfriend would mean being completely honest with you. She hadn’t been before and she was for sure stalling now, but she could make it up later. She wasn’t ready to deal with the complexities brought into your relationship by a certain arachnoid persona. For now, she’d enjoy making you happy for once. 

thank you for reading!

[pinkskiessss]

LACY - chapter 2

Warnings: language, harsh self talk

Paige Bueckers x oc

A/N: I plan on posting a few chapters tonight! Stay tune <3

Paiges perspective

The gym is quiet, almost too quiet. The only sound is the rhythmic thud of a volleyball hitting the floor, echoing through the otherwise empty space. Layla is here, practicing alone, her movements sharp and controlled as if she’s trying to burn off the frustration from the game last night. I stand at the doorway for a moment, watching her, feeling a strange pull in my chest. She’s a sophomore, but she’s already so damn good. It’s almost intimidating how effortlessly she plays, like she’s been doing this her whole life.

But what catches my attention more than anything is the way her face is flushed, the redness lingering. I saw her after the match, how she tried to hide the tears, how vulnerable she looked. She’s so strong on the court, but right now, I can see that she’s not invincible. And that makes her even more… real. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so rude to the girl, she clearly has alot going on behind the scenes.

I step forward, trying to make a noise so I don’t startle her, but it’s clear she’s too wrapped up in her own world to notice me at first. Layla looks up when I’m closer, startled, and I can see her cheeks flush even deeper. She’s still breathing heavily from practice, but I can tell she’s embarrassed. I don’t want to make her feel worse, so I try to keep my voice casual.

“Layla?” I call out softly.

She blinks, her eyes wide for a second, before she glances away, quickly wiping at her face like she’s trying to hide something. “Paige? What are you doing here?”

I raise an eyebrow, stepping further into the gym. “Same thing you are, I guess. Practicing.”

Her shoulders tense up, and she glances at the clock on the wall, her voice almost defensive. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, I know. But I work better when no one’s around,” I say, offering a small shrug. I know it’s kind of a weird thing to admit, but it’s true. I’ve always been that way. The quiet helps me think.

Layla doesn’t answer right away. She just stares at me for a moment, her face still flushed. I can tell she’s trying to figure out why I’m here. She probably thinks I’m judging her, or maybe she feels embarrassed because I saw her so emotional after the game. I don’t want to make her feel worse, so I try to soften my voice.

“You okay?” I ask, stepping a little closer, but not too close. I don’t want to invade her space.

She shrugs, but it’s a half-hearted gesture, like she’s trying to brush me off. “Yeah. Just… trying to work through it. The game, I mean.”

I nod, understanding more than I let on. I saw the way she reacted after the match, how she tried to hold it together, but you could see the cracks in her armor. It’s not easy, being so young and having so much pressure on you. I get it. I’ve been there.

“You were really good out there last night,” I say, trying to offer some reassurance. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

She looks at me, but I can tell she’s not convinced. Her gaze flicks to the floor, and she shakes her head. “I just… I don’t want anyone to see me like that. I don’t want to seem weak.”

I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. I know what it’s like to feel like you have to be perfect all the time. But I also know it’s okay to show some vulnerability. So, I step a little closer, not wanting to crowd her but hoping my presence might be comforting.

“You’re not weak,” I say softly. “It’s okay to have moments where you don’t have it all together. We all have them.”

She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, I think she might say something else, but she just looks away again, her face turning an even deeper shade of red.

“Thanks,” she says, her voice quieter now.

There’s a silence between us, and I can feel the tension building. I can’t stop noticing how close we are now. How her breath is shallow, how her body moves when she serves the ball again. I try to focus on her words, but my mind keeps drifting. I can’t help but notice how she looks right now—her hair slightly messy, her cheeks flushed from exertion, her lips parted just slightly as she catches her breath.

It’s hard not to think about her like this. I’m trying to push the thoughts away, but they keep coming back, one after another. And it’s not just the way she looks, it’s the way she makes me feel. There’s something magnetic about her. I don’t know if she feels it too, but I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to get closer to her, how much I want to know what she’s really thinking.

“You’re… you’re really good at this,” I say, my voice a little shaky, and I hate that it is. I try to cover it up by sounding casual, but I’m not sure I’m fooling anyone. I’m not fooling myself, at least.

She looks at me, her brow furrowing slightly, and I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. “Thanks,” she says again, but this time, it’s not as sincere. It’s like she’s trying to push me away, like she’s trying to keep me at arm’s length.

I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I can feel the tension between us growing thicker. I want to reach out, to tell her it’s okay, but I don’t. I don’t want to make things worse. Instead, I just watch her, trying to figure out what’s going on inside her head.

“You don’t have to be perfect all the time, you know,” I say softly, almost as if I’m talking to myself.

She looks at me, her expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate, unsure of how to explain. “I just mean… it’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to have moments where you’re not in control.”

She looks away again, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable with the conversation. “I guess… I guess I just didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that.”

I feel a strange protective urge rise in me, but I push it down. I don’t want to make things worse for her. I just want her to know that it’s okay to be human, that it’s okay to have moments of weakness.

“You’re allowed to be human,” I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t answer, but I can see the conflict in her eyes. She’s still struggling with the idea of showing vulnerability, and I get it. I really do. But I can’t help but feel a strange connection to her, something that goes beyond just sports talk.

And then, just as I’m about to say something else, she mutters under her breath, almost too quietly for me to hear. “I don’t know why I was fooling myself.”

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she looks at me, her eyes searching mine, and I feel a jolt of electricity between us. For a moment, I think she might say something—something real, something raw—but then she just looks away, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“I don’t know why I was fooling myself,” she repeats, her voice softer now. “I don’t know why I thought I could handle it.”

I want to say something to make her feel better, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what’s going on with me, with us. But I do know one thing: I can’t stop thinking about her. And I don’t know if she feels the same way, but I can’t ignore it anymore.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. “Hey,” I say, my voice quieter than usual. “I’m sorry. The way I acted yesterday and before that… I didn’t mean to be a bitch.”

She looks up at me, surprised, and I can see the tension leave her shoulders, even if just for a moment.

“I was… jealous,” I admit, my eyes flicking away for a second before meeting hers again. “I didn’t handle the media event the right way. I was just mad about my own shit and taking it out on you for things you can’t control.”

Layla doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I start to feel like I’ve made a huge mistake. But then she nods slowly, her expression softening.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly looking up to meet my eyes, and I can hear the sincerity in her voice. “I get it. I also could have been nicer too I’ve been really on edge lately, I’m sorry Paige.”

God she has the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. “Trust me, don’t worry about it” I say, stepping closer again, giving her face a once over. “We’re all just… figuring it out.”

She looks at me, and for the first time tonight, there’s a small smile on her face. It’s tentative, but it’s there. And I feel a little lighter, like maybe things between us aren’t so bad after all.

[kirammanswifey]

《A Love Written in Pain(t)》

Ekko

writer's note: i'm sorry for making my boy suffer again, ekko deserves better but i'm a sucker for drama. anyways, this little (pretty long) scenarios comes from my arcane imagines, i'll let the link down there for anyone is interested, also i'll be posting a story for each one of those scenarios for this week, tomorrow it's mel's turn ;)

link:

warnings: fluff, angst, terminal illness, death of oc, ekko is a romantic sweet talented baby, reader can be a jerk sometimes but she kinda cool sometimes.

The music vibrated in the air, blending with the scent of fresh paint and street food. You had come to the urban festival on a friend's recommendation, but you never imagined it would be an afternoon that would change your life. Artists were filling the city's gray walls with bright colors and messages of hope, and among them, one boy stood out.

His white hair contrasted with his skin, and the agile movement of his hand as he slid paint onto the wall was almost hypnotic. The mural he was creating seemed to come alive with every stroke: a girl holding a broken clock, surrounded by gears that spun toward nowhere. The image had something deeply melancholic about it, as if telling a story only a few could understand.

You watched him from afar, too shy to approach, until he noticed your presence. He turned his head and smiled at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of curiosity and kindness.

"Do you like it?" he asked, coming down from the scaffolding with the same ease he seemed to do everything.

"It’s... impressive. But it also feels sad, like it’s about a loss or something that can't be recovered."

His eyebrows raised slightly, surprised. "That's exactly what I wanted to convey. It’s about time. How we always think we have more of it than we really do, but we never know when it runs out."

His explanation fit perfectly with what you had felt while observing it. "I saw it more like a fight... like she doesn't want to give up, even if the clock is already broken."

For a moment, Ekko seemed to look at you differently, as if measuring something invisible. "I’ve never thought of it that way. I like that perspective. I guess that’s what’s great about art, right? It’s a conversation."

You smiled, feeling for the first time like someone understood how you saw things. "I guess so."

"Do you always analyze strangers' murals?" he joked, a playful smile on his lips.

"Only when they make me feel something," you replied with a hint of shyness, but without looking away.

"Well, then that’s a compliment."

Hours passed, but you didn’t even notice as the sun began to set. Talking with Ekko felt like discovering a song you didn’t know you needed in your life. He told you about his workshop, his passion for helping the community, and his dreams of changing the world, one gadget at a time.

At some point, he asked about your story, and although you weren’t the type to open up easily, you felt like you could be honest with him.

"I work with kids," you began, searching for the right words. "At an orphanage near my university. I like to think I can do something for them, even if it’s small. I’m studying psychology, and I want to help people like them... people who feel alone."

Ekko nodded, as if understanding every word. "That’s amazing. It’s like... you take care of people, and I try to make sure they take care of the world around them. Maybe you should stop by my workshop sometime. I work with kids from the neighborhood, teaching them how to fix things, build gadgets. We could join forces."

The enthusiasm in his voice was contagious, but you couldn’t help feeling a pang of doubt. It had been a long time since you let yourself connect with someone new, for reasons he didn’t need to know.

"Really? You take anyone?" you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Only if they have a good eye for art and a heart for kids. You seem to qualify."

When you got up to say goodbye, he pulled out his phone and offered you his contact. "In case you decide to visit the workshop."

You took the phone, feeling a mix of excitement and fear. You didn’t know what you were getting into, but something told you that Ekko wasn’t someone you’d easily forget.

By the end of the day, as you walked back home, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His paint-stained hands, his sincere laugh, and that strange connection you felt from the moment he looked at you.

You didn’t know it yet, but you had just met the love of your life.

A few days after the festival, you still couldn’t get Ekko out of your head. There was something about him that fascinated you: the spark in his eyes when he talked about his dreams, the passion behind every word, his way of seeing the world with optimism despite the struggles. You found yourself re-reading the festival brochure and checking his social media profile, where he shared glimpses of his life: videos of his skate tricks, photos of murals filled with messages of resistance, and small clips explaining how to build gadgets. And pictures of him too and... he was kinda cute.

Finally, you decided to message him.

"Hey, I’m the girl from the mural. You said I could come by your workshop... Is the invitation still open?"

The reply came faster than you expected: "Of course. Come by anytime. The kids will be happy to meet you. Does 4 PM today work?"

The workshop was located in an old brick building in a lively neighborhood. The exterior walls were covered in vibrant graffiti that seemed to tell stories. The main entrance had a huge phrase in bold letters: "We build the future together." When you walked through the door, you found yourself in a space that radiated creativity and chaos in perfect harmony. There were tables filled with tools, parts of half-built gadgets, unfinished murals covering the walls, and a group of kids focused while Ekko enthusiastically explained something to them.

When he saw you, his face lit up, he said with sarcasm: "Hey, the mural girl is here!

You blushed.

"I hope I’m not interrupting," you said, feeling a little shy as all eyes turned toward you.

"Not at all. Actually, come here. I want you to see this."

He led you to a table full of small artifacts and technological pieces. "This is my experiment corner," he said, pointing proudly at the mess. "This is where the magic happens, although sometimes the magic is more frustrating than anything else."

The kids started to gather around, curious, and Ekko introduced you with a warmth that made you feel at home. "She works with kids too. She helps them find their way."

One of the younger ones looked at you with bright eyes. "Really? Do you do cool things like Ekko?"

You bent down to their level, smiling. "I don’t build things like he does, but I try to help people find their strength. Sometimes, the most important thing isn’t what we do with our hands, but with our hearts."

Ekko, who had been listening, looked at you with a mix of admiration and tenderness. "That was deep. I’ll have to write that down for my next mural."

Hours passed in the workshop. You helped the kids with their projects, painted a couple of things with Ekko, and learned more about his life. In a moment of calm, while the kids were absorbed in their creations, Ekko sat next to you, a screwdriver in hand and a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You know? This place means a lot to me," he started, his tone more serious than before. "When I was a kid, there was nothing like this in my neighborhood. Growing up here was... complicated. There wasn’t always someone to turn to when things got tough."

"How did you manage to get through it?" you asked, genuinely interested.

Ekko smiled sadly. "It was thanks to my mom. She always told me that, even though we couldn’t change where we were born, we could change what we did with it. She taught me not to give up, to find ways to transform things, even if they were small. When she died... well, I promised myself I’d do something so other kids wouldn’t have to feel as alone as I did."

He paused, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hands. "At first, I didn’t know how. I just knew I wanted to make a difference. That’s when I discovered skateboarding, art, and technology. They were my escapes. And over time, they became my way of communicating, of creating something that mattered."

You felt a lump in your throat listening to his story. There was something about the way he spoke, the vulnerability behind his words, that made every detail come alive. "You’ve done something incredible here, Ekko. This place... it’s not just a workshop. It’s a home."

He looked at you, surprised by your words, then smiled, although his eyes glowed with contained emotion. "Thanks. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough. But hearing that... it makes me think maybe I am."

"You’re amazing." You squeezed his hand as a gesture of affection and respect, which made him smile shyly.

When the day ended, Ekko walked you to the door of the workshop. "So, what do you think?"

"I loved it! It’s like a refuge from the world."

He smiled, scratching the back of his neck with some shyness. "I try to make it that way. And I’m glad you came. The kids got along really well with you. They liked you."

"And you?" you asked, before you could stop yourself.

"Me?"

"Do you like me?"

For a moment, he seemed surprised by your question, but then he smiled with that spark in his eyes that you were starting to recognize. "I think so."

You said goodbye with a smile that didn’t leave your face the entire way home, carrying the feeling that, in some way, you had found a place where you belonged.

The afternoon sun bathed the streets in a golden light as you walked toward the park where Ekko had arranged to meet you. You weren’t sure what to expect; when he had suggested it, you thought it would be a simple, casual activity. But when you arrived and saw him carrying two skateboards, a mischievous smile on his face, you realized this wasn’t going to be any ordinary day.

“Are you ready to become a professional skater in just one afternoon?” Ekko asked, raising an eyebrow as he held a helmet in one hand and a board in the other.

“Professional? I can barely stay on my feet without falling,” you replied, laughing nervously.

“That’s what makes it fun,” he said, walking up to you to adjust your helmet. His fingers brushed your skin as he fastened it, and you noticed his movements were unnecessarily slow, as if he were looking for an excuse to be closer to you.

“And you? Are you going to wear a helmet or trust your legendary skill?”

Ekko shrugged, smiling to the side. “Nah, I was born for this.”

“Sure, sure,” you replied, nudging him with your shoulder.

The park had a wide track with ramps and flatter areas where beginners could practice. Ekko led you to one of these areas and began with a quick lesson.

“First, keep your feet steady. Don’t look down, look where you want to go. The board will follow your intentions.”

“My intentions? What am I, a witch controlling the skateboard with my mind?”

Ekko laughed. “Something like that. Though, if you were a witch, you’d probably have learned how to fly on this thing by now.”

You tried to follow his instructions, but on your first attempt, the board shot out from under you, and you ended up on the ground.

“Hey, hey! Are you okay?” Ekko was by your side in a second, kneeling next to you as he tried to hold back his laughter.

“I’m fine,” you said, though you could barely stop laughing. “I think the board hates me.”

“No, you just have to conquer it. Look.” He jumped onto his skateboard with a fluidity that seemed to defy gravity. He glided smoothly along the track, doing small tricks to impress you. “See? You just need confidence.”

“Of course, confidence is the only thing I’m lacking,” you joked.

After several attempts, you started to improve. You managed to stay on the board for more than a few seconds, though falls were still frequent. Every time you fell, Ekko was there, offering a hand to help you up, his face a mixture of concern and amusement.

After a while, both of you sat on a nearby bench to rest. Ekko took out his phone and began searching for something in his playlist.

“I’ve got the perfect song for this moment,” he said, setting it to play on the speaker.

Tyler, the Creator’s melodic voice filled the air with the song "See You Again." Ekko looked at you with a smile that seemed to hold something more than just fun.

“Why this song?” you asked, trying to interpret the meaning behind his choice.

“It reminds me of you,” he replied, his tone more serious than you expected.

You paused for a moment, allowing the music to fill the space between you. You knew there was something in his words, something he was trying to say without saying it. But instead of confronting it, you chose to laugh, avoiding the weight of the moment.

“Wow, Ekko, if you wanted to dedicate me a song, you could’ve chosen something less obvious,” you joked, pretending not to notice the gleam in his eyes.

He smiled, but there was something in his expression that made you feel a slight pang of guilt. You knew he was trying to open up to you, and you had deflected it.

As the afternoon went on, the topic faded, but a subtle tension lingered in the air. It wasn’t just about him; it was also about you. There was something you couldn’t share with Ekko, something that weighed on you more with each passing day. Your illness wasn’t an easy topic, especially now when you were just starting to get to know each other.

“Why are you so quiet?” he asked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as you both walked toward the graffiti area of the park.

“I’m not quiet. I’m… thinking.”

“About what?”

“How easy it is to be with you,” you said without thinking. The sincerity in your words took him by surprise, and you could see his expression soften.

“Well, I’m glad it’s easy. But if you ever need to talk about something hard, I’m here too,” he said, his voice filled with warmth that made you feel guilty.

“Thanks,” was all you managed to respond.

Days later, Ekko took you to the graffiti area. He had been working on something in secret and didn’t want to tell you what it was until he finished.

“Ready to see how I see you?”

When you turned the corner and saw the mural, you were left speechless. It was your face, captured with an astonishing level of detail. Your hair seemed to move with the breeze, and your eyes were filled with a light you didn’t recognize at first. Around your face, Ekko had painted details that only the two of you would understand: small rays of light that seemed to represent hope, and a golden phrase that read:

“Life is short, but art is eternal.”

“Ekko…” you murmured, unable to find words to describe how you felt.

“This is what I see when I look at you. You're art,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal.

The mural was more than just an image. It was a reflection of how he saw you: as someone bright, unique, and irreplaceable. As you looked at it, you promised yourself that one day you would tell him the truth, even though you feared losing what you had.

The morning began with Ekko knocking on your door, carrying a huge box that almost covered his face.

"Are you going to let me in, or am I staying here decorating the hallway?" he said, balancing the box.

You laughed, opening the door wide. "What do you have there? A corpse?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you, baby" he joked, walking in and setting the box on the table.

Baby, that's how he was used to call you now. It didn't felt wrong, in fact, you liked it. It felt so good when he said it to you. It made you feel special. It made you feel loved. It made you feel his.

"It's for tomorrow's event. We're going to need a lot of help to make sure everything goes smoothly."

"An event? What are you talking about?"

Ekko leaned forward, resting on the table with a smile that combined enthusiasm and a bit of nervousness. "It's for the kids in the neighborhood. I'm organizing a sort of fair. Games, music, food... you know, something to help them forget for a while everything that's going on down here."

The morning passed organizing ideas. Ekko had an almost contagious energy, moving around your apartment like a whirlwind while making lists, dividing tasks, and talking about his plans.

"So, what do you think of a painting workshop? We could get some cheap canvases and brushes. I'm sure the kids would love to express themselves that way."

"I love it," you replied, watching his face light up. "How do you have so much energy for this?"

"It's important," he said, his tone turning more serious. "These kids... a lot of them don't have anyone who really shows them that they matter. If I can do something to change that, even for just one day, I will."

Your heart tightened as you listened to his words. There was something deeply inspiring about his dedication, how he used his own pain as fuel to improve the lives of others.

"So, where do I fit into all of this?" you asked, crossing your arms with a smile.

"Simple. You're my right hand. Plus, no one can resist your brilliant ideas and that smile of yours," he said, winking before turning back to focus on his plans.

In the afternoon, Ekko took you to his loft to check out some materials he had gathered for the event. His home was filled with curious objects: disassembled tech pieces, unfinished paintings, and notebooks full of sketches and notes.

"This place is like your brain made into physical space," you commented, looking around with a mix of awe and amusement.

"Is that a compliment?"

"Definitely."

You went up to the roof, where there was a small area Ekko had transformed into a personal retreat. There, he showed you his next project: a portable device designed to help people with motor disabilities perform everyday tasks with greater ease.

"How does it work?" you asked, taking the gadget in your hands.

"It's a prototype," he explained, sitting next to you. "The idea is for it to adapt to different needs. For example, someone with trouble holding objects could use it for a firmer grip. It's simple, but it could make a difference."

You looked at him, impressed. "Ekko, this is amazing. How did you come up with it?"

"I guess... I've always wanted to fix things. People, places, systems... whatever." He paused, looking at the horizon. "I don't know, I feel like it's the only thing I really know how to do."

The sincerity in his voice moved you. "You're not fixing things, Ekko. You're improving them. That's something very different."

Later, as you both worked on the final details for the event, Ekko looked at you with an intensity that made you feel uneasy.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally said, breaking the silence.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you always keep your distance? Sometimes I feel like you're here, but at the same time, you're not. Like there's something you don't want me to see."

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't expect Ekko to be so direct.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

"Yes, you do," he insisted, his voice firmer. "I've noticed how you avoid certain topics, how you change the conversation when something gets too personal. Is it that you don't trust me?"

"It's not that," you replied, feeling the frustration building inside you. "There are just things I don't need to share. Not everything has to be so... open."

"Not with me?"

His question hit you like a punch to the stomach. You stood up from the chair, unable to stay seated under his probing gaze. "Ekko, it's not as simple as you think."

"Then explain it," he said, standing up as well. "Because from here, it seems like you're more concerned with what you're hiding than with what we have."

What you two had was complicated. You weren't friends, you were more than that, but you weren't a couple either. It was complicated. And you didn't like to think about complicated things.

"You have no idea what you're saying!"

The raised tone of your voice surprised both of you. You felt the stress and physical exhaustion begin to take their toll. Your vision blurred, and the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet.

"Baby, are you okay?" Ekko stepped toward you, but before he could reach you, your legs gave out.

The last thing you heard before losing consciousness was the sound of his voice, filled with panic.

You opened your eyes under a cold, white light. The smell of disinfectant confirmed what you feared: you were in a hospital. You turned your head and saw Ekko sitting next to your bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands intertwined.

The room was silent, only broken by the soft sound of the monitor marking the rhythm of your breathing. The sunlight filtered through the hospital window, creating patterns on the floor, but the calm was deceiving. You knew Ekko was worried, hurt, but what worried you the most was what Ekko had started to suspect. You couldn’t keep hiding it, and you knew the time to talk had come.

Ekko had probably been sitting in the chair next to your bed for hours, staring at the wall, lost in thoughts that seemed to consume him. You didn’t know if he hated you or if he was just trying to process what had just happened. After all, you had fallen unconscious in his arms, leaving him with a heavier emotional burden than any gadget prototype or community event. Now, he was paying the price for your secret.

“Ekko?”

He quickly lifted his head, and the mix of relief and worry on his face broke your heart.

When he finally spoke, his voice wasn’t the same as usual. There was something broken in it.

“Baby, what’s going on? What haven’t you told me? The doctor... the doctor told me that...”

It was obvious that the doctor had given him more details than you had wanted to share. You hadn’t planned on opening up to him like this. But something in his gaze, the clear worry, and the deep sadness, made you say what you had kept hidden for so long.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you said, taking a deep breath. “The illness I have has no cure.”

After a long silence, and before everything could completely fall apart, you decided to explain more deeply about the illness that was consuming you because you knew Ekko needed to understand it fully, even though you weren’t sure you could save what was left between you both.

“Ekko… what I have is a rare, autoimmune disease. My immune system is attacking my own organs. It’s called Systemic Lupus Erythematosus, and there’s no cure. It’s like my body is fighting against me all the time, little by little.”

Ekko stared at you in silence, as if he couldn’t process every word. He knew that everything you had said before, although important, wasn’t enough to understand what was really happening.

“When?” he asked, his voice tense, almost inaudible. “Since when?”

“I started feeling bad when I was 23,” you continued, your voice trembling. “It hurt all the time, and the fever wouldn’t go away. At first, I thought it was something temporary. But then I fainted once, and that’s when they admitted me to the hospital. That’s when they told me that what was happening in my body was much worse than I imagined. From there, my life completely changed. My body wasn’t mine anymore. I lost energy, I lost weight, and the flare-ups became more frequent. It’s like my body is in a constant war, and there’s no way to win it.”

The feeling of vulnerability overwhelmed you as Ekko, standing at the door, continued to look at you with a mix of disbelief and pain.

But before he could say anything, you threw out one last statement that seemed to come from the deepest part of your soul:

“And I don’t know how much time I have left, Ekko. I just know that I can’t live knowing I’m dragging you with me.”

Ekko stood still for a moment, processing your words. His breathing became heavier, as if an invisible weight had fallen on him. Finally, his eyes sought yours, and what he saw in them wasn’t surprise. It was like, somehow, he already knew, as if he had sensed it all this time.

“Your parents?” Ekko asked again, his eyes fixed on you, searching for answers that you couldn’t hide anymore.

“My parents don’t know,” you said, letting out a sigh that seemed to come from deep within. “They have no idea. How am I going to tell them that? How am I going to tell them? No… I don’t want them to see me as a project they need to save. I want them to see me for who I am, to see me as their daughter, not as a broken thing they need to take care of. I don’t want to be a burden. I’m not going to be a burden.”

Ekko looked at you, his eyes filled with frustration, but also with a sadness so deep that it made you question whether he really knew you as well as you thought.

“Baby, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide all of this from me? Did you think you could protect me from the truth? What were you really protecting—me or yourself?”

The punch of his words was like a gut punch. The wound you had tried to seal with lies and evasions started to bleed, and the emotion overflowed in you like a river that couldn’t be stopped.

“I don’t know…” you stammered, tears threatening to fall. “I don’t know, Ekko. I wanted… I wanted all of this to keep being normal. For it not to be so… so heavy. I wanted to do everything I’ve always wanted to do before… before it ended. I wanted to leave my mark on the world before I’m gone, to leave something that was worth it.”

Ekko began to pace back and forth. His frustration became more palpable, but there was something else in his attitude, something you hadn’t recognized at first.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” he yelled, and the vehemence in his words made everything in the room feel even denser. “I don’t understand why you had to carry all of this alone. Why did you shut me out, baby? Why did you make me believe that everything was okay?”

“Because it was easier that way,” you said, the words tumbling out. “Because what’s happening inside me… how do you explain that to someone who doesn’t understand? How do I explain that my body is already losing the battle, that I won’t be here much longer, that everything I touch will fade?”

The anger in Ekko’s eyes faded for a second, and what remained was a sadness so deep it seemed to swallow the light in the room.

“And what about me, baby?” he said, his voice softer, more broken. “What about us? Did you really think I didn’t care? Did you really think I could go on without knowing what’s happening to you? That I could keep smiling and helping you as if nothing was going to change?”

At that moment, something inside you broke. Without thinking, the words left your mouth, sharp and like a dagger:

“Stop looking for it in me, Ekko. I’m not your mother. I’m not her. Don’t project that onto me! I don’t want to be the memory of what you lost. I don’t want to carry that responsibility, or the guilt of not being what you expected.”

The words hung in the air, and the silence that followed was unbearable. Ekko took a step back, his face contorting with a mix of pain and confusion. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“How could you say that?” he whispered, his voice broken, as if every word he spoke cost him more than the last. “I never ‘projected’ her onto you. It’s just… I don’t want you to keep pushing me away. I don’t want you to keep hiding your fears from me.”

And then, both of you stood there, in that emotional abyss that neither of you knew how to cross. Frustration, fear, love, and sadness intertwined in the room, as if time had stopped completely.

Finally, the silence became unbearable. You sat up in bed, defeated, while Ekko turned and walked toward the door. His body tense, his breathing ragged, and the pain in his face made him feel more real than ever.

Before leaving, he stopped and looked at you one last time. “If you had used your psychology for yourself instead of for everyone else, maybe you could’ve avoided this.”

The door slammed behind him with a dull thud, and you were left there, alone, with the echo of his words ringing in your ears.

Time had passed. The days and nights blurred into a mixture of conflicting feelings, unfinished memories, and a void that both of them tried to fill without success. The argument between Ekko and you had left deep scars, although both of you knew it couldn't be the end. Not for you. However, there was something neither of you had been able to face: fear. Fear of love, fear of tragedy, and fear of losing each other before either of you expected it.

You had distanced yourself for a week. A week that had been heavier than you ever imagined. In every corner, in every solitary moment, in every thought, Ekko was there, like a persistent shadow. No matter what you did, how you tried to ignore him, the emptiness left by his departure enveloped you more and more. You tried to convince yourself it was for the best, that moving on without him was the right thing to do. But you were lying to yourself, you knew you couldn't continue without him. Not that way.

Finally, after days of deliberation, finding the strength to face your own fear, you decided to go find him. You had to talk to him, make amends, and make a decision. If you were going to die, you would do it without regrets, without leaving words unsaid, or missed opportunities. You wouldn’t care about the shadows of the future, but you couldn’t keep living with the weight of silence between you two.

You found yourself standing in front of his door, hands trembling and heart pounding in your chest. You knew what you had to say, what you wanted to say, but the words seemed stuck in your throat.

The door slowly opened, and there he was, Ekko, with that gaze that, though intense, still carried a hint of sadness. There was something in his face that told you he had been searching for you in his mind as well, though his eyes didn't yet recognize it.

"Ekko…" you finally said, your voice trembling, "I need to talk to you. Can I come in?"

Without saying a word, Ekko took a step back and opened the door, inviting you inside. The atmosphere in the room was heavier than you remembered, as if everything unsaid still lingered in the air.

You stood in front of him, your eyes fixed on his, while the words that needed to come out didn't come immediately. But in the end, you decided.

"Ekko, I know I failed you. I know, and I’m deeply sorry. It was never my intention, it never was." You took a deep breath, struggling to control the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "But I'm here because… because I need to know if you're still willing to fight with me. If you're willing to continue this battle, to stay by my side for as long as I can."

Ekko stared at you for a moment, his face impassive, but his gaze was full of something you couldn’t decipher. There was a long pause, and then, with a sincerity that made you shiver, he responded:

"I’ve always been willing, baby. From the moment I met you, I’ve been willing to fight for you, for what we have. I don’t care what comes, I don’t care how long it is. What matters to me is that you don’t leave, that you don’t leave me behind."

Those words were everything you needed. No more doubts, no more fears. You embraced his answer with your soul, with the certainty that, finally, both of you were ready to accept the truth. The truth of who you were, what you felt, and what the future held for you.

From that day on, things changed. Although you knew each moment was a fleeting gift, you decided to make the most of it. Ekko never stopped being by your side, and you did the same for him. You were determined to live intensely, no matter how short the life you had left. And he, he was willing to love you until the end.

He accompanied you to every medical appointment, always with a smile, always willing to do anything to lighten the pain caused by the treatment. The hospital visits weren’t easy, but his presence made everything more bearable. He held your hand before entering the consultations, hugged you after every diagnosis, and never let the moments of uncertainty crush you.

"I don’t want you to be afraid," you said one day, after one of your doctor visits, while walking together through the streets, taking a break at a small café. "But I know you feel it. I know every time we go in there, it kills you a little inside."

Ekko looked at you, his gaze full of both pain and tenderness. "It’s not fear," he replied, his voice soft. "It’s not knowing how to save you. I don’t know what to do when I see you so fragile. All I can do is be here, by your side."

And that was enough. Even though both of you knew you couldn’t stop time, nor the illness, what you could do was share every second, every laugh, every small victory, and every defeat.

But it wasn’t only moments of pain and fear. There were also moments of joy, of beauty, and of creation.

Together, you started working on the project you both dreamed of—the gadget you had envisioned, which could change the way the world saw technology. Even though your health was becoming more fragile, Ekko made sure you didn’t stop. You worked side by side, sharing ideas, making decisions, and facing obstacles, but always together. It was your way of fighting, of resisting, of holding on to life amidst the chaos.

One day, while working on the final design, Ekko surprised you with an idea. "How about, in addition to all this, we paint something? Something that’s ours, something that represents what we’re doing together."

At first, you didn’t completely understand what he meant, but soon you did. Together, you would create something more than just a gadget. You would paint a mural, one that symbolized not only your dreams and love, but also the struggle you shared. The mural would represent life, love, and hope, even though you knew time was limited.

In your mind, that mural became the testament of your story, a reminder of what you had built together. The colors shone on the wall, the shapes wild and beautiful, just like your love. The mural wasn’t just a work of art, but also a promise. The promise that, no matter what else might crumble, your love would never fade. No matter how much time you had left.

The last strokes were made one sunny afternoon, in a deep, shared silence. The piece was finished, and as you stepped back to admire it in its entirety, both of you knew you didn’t need words to understand what it meant.

The mural was more than a reminder of your love; it was a testament to what you had built together, of how, even in the darkness, you had found light. Though the future remained uncertain, the mural would stay there, eternal, as a trace of what once was and would always be.

As the days passed, time seemed to grow more valuable, more scarce. You knew that every minute spent with Ekko was a gift. And although illness had taken much from you, it had given you something you never imagined: a deep, real love that feared no tragedy.

One afternoon, while resting together in his loft, Ekko looked at you seriously, more serious than you’d seen him in a long time. In a soft voice, almost as if afraid of the answer, he asked:

"Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

You paused for a few seconds, feeling the weight of the question. But in that moment, something inside you broke. You smiled tenderly, a smile full of love and resignation.

"Ekko," you said softly, moving closer to him, "we’re so much more than that."

The smile he gave you was the answer both of you needed. You didn’t need labels, you didn’t need promises of an uncertain future. The only thing that mattered was that, in that instant, you shared something so deep and real that it didn’t need to be defined by words.

And, without another word, your lips met in a first kiss, a kiss full of love, despair, and hope. A kiss that marked the beginning of what both of you knew would be a short story, but one that would last a lifetime in your hearts.

The weeks following the reconciliation were a whirlwind of emotions. Even though you knew time was running out, you decided to live each moment with Ekko as if it were the last, because in reality, it was. Sometimes, the smiles were forced, but in the most sincere moments, you could see in his eyes the reflection of a love so strong it took your breath away. Every time he looked at you, every time he held your hand, there was a mix of hope and pain, but neither of you wanted to face the inevitable.

The illness progressed rapidly. Every day, your body seemed to fall apart a little more. The doctors had told you, warned you, but you never imagined how quickly the end would come. You had learned to live with the pain, the fatigue, the moments of weakness, but nothing had prepared you to see Ekko closely watching the changes happening inside you.

You had already told your parents about it, and when you did it he was there with you, by your side, ride or die. And of course they didn't take it well, but there was nothing they could do. They just let you be happy with Ekko.

Sometimes, when you woke up in the morning, you’d see him sitting beside you, his gaze lost in some undefined point, as if he were waiting for you to wake up from the shared dream. He’d ask you how you were feeling, and you’d always say you were fine, even though the truth was you could barely bear the weight of your own body.

You saw him trying to distract you, taking you to places that made you happy, but you knew nothing could escape that reality. He didn’t want to accept what was happening, and neither did you, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud. No one wanted to mention what was already so obvious.

That night, after another doctor’s appointment that you could barely endure, you lay down hoping to rest, even though it was becoming harder and harder to find deep sleep. Your body no longer responded the way it used to, and the symptoms had started affecting you more brutally. You could barely move your hands without feeling pain, your breathing grew more labored with every effort, but you kept smiling. You had to, not only for Ekko, but for yourself.

Ekko was sitting beside you in the chair he always occupied when taking care of you. His presence was as comforting as it was painful. You knew he was holding onto every fragment of his strength to not show you how devastated he was, but you could feel it in his eyes. He gently stroked your hair and whispered, as though afraid that if he spoke any louder, everything would collapse.

“I promise we’ll get through this. Together, we’ll make it. I won’t let you leave me, not without a fight.”

You looked at him, knowing he was struggling not to cry. But his words, although full of love, only reminded you of the harsh reality. There was no more time for promises, no more room for fighting. The end was near, and you knew it.

“Ekko…” you said, your voice weak. “You don’t have to fight anymore. I’ve loved you so much, you know that, right?”

His eyes filled with tears, but he made an effort to smile. “I know. I know, baby. And I love you more than words can say.”

But what you didn’t know was that, at that very moment, Ekko was also fighting his own pain. While you rested, trying to gather some strength, he was in the workshop, working frantically on the gadget, the project you both had shared. The same gadget that, in his mind, represented everything you had built together. The gadget wasn’t just an object. It was the manifestation of what you two could accomplish when united, when you fought as a team.

Ekko knew the gadget couldn’t save you. He knew nothing could save you. But still, he felt that if he finished that project, a piece of you would remain. A trace of the hope you had brought into his life.

Hours passed, and the night stretched on in heavy silence. Ekko was so focused on his work that he didn’t realize time was slipping away. The light in the workshop flickered as he soldered pieces, making adjustments, checking everything over and over, as if somehow he could turn back time, change the course of history. But he knew he couldn’t.

When he finally gave up on the gadget, exhausted from the intensity of the night and the weight of worry, he went up to the bedroom. He wanted to see you, wanted to make sure you were still breathing, even though he already feared what he might find. He entered the room with the hope that, by some miracle, everything had changed. But what he found was the silhouette of your body lying still. In the absolute silence of the room, Ekko slowly approached, his heart pounding, and when he reached your side, he touched your hand gently. It was cold. Too cold.

The shock paralyzed him for a second. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t accept that you were no longer there, by his side, where you had always been. He looked at you, observing your pale face, your peaceful expression, as if you were simply sleeping, but deep down, he knew there was no turning back.

Desperation washed over him. The pain hit him so hard it felt as though his chest would explode. How was it possible? How could something so beautiful, so real, vanish in the blink of an eye?

He knelt by the bed, gripping your hand tightly, as if by doing so, he could bring you back to life. “You can’t go,” he whispered, his voice breaking with the tears he could no longer hold back. “Not now. Not like this.”

But deep in his heart, he knew it was the end. He knew he couldn’t bring back what was already gone. He couldn’t revive the irreparable. And for the first time in his life, Ekko didn’t have a solution, he didn’t have a plan. All that was left was the pain, and that painful acceptance that it was all over.

In the following week, Ekko lived in a limbo. No one saw him, no one knew how to face his pain. Memories of you were everywhere. In the bed where you slept, in the gadget he completed, in the mural you painted together, in the streets where you both walked, always hand in hand. Everything that had once been a dream was now just an echo, a shadow.

Sometimes he’d find himself in front of your photo, the smile you shared on a random afternoon, one that he could no longer remember without the lump in his throat becoming unbearable. The reality hit him harder each time: you were no longer there.

Ekko became a shadow of himself. His mind still searched for you, as though somehow you might return, as though he could find a way to save you. But nothing could change what had happened.

In his darkest moments, Ekko would remember the last words you had said: “I’ve loved you so much.” Those words gave him strength to keep going, to not give up completely. Though the pain was unbearable, he had loved you, and that was something he would never forget.

And with the gadget in his hand, looking at the mural you both painted, Ekko made a promise, a silent promise: he would live to honor what you shared. He wouldn’t let your death be in vain. Your love, your fight, your story would live on in his heart, forever.

The city, as always, continued its course, indifferent to everything Ekko had lost, to everything that had changed in his world. But for him, the day was no longer just a succession of hours; every second was a struggle to find something that gave his pain and love meaning.

Months had passed since you left, but it felt like your absence was so recent, so sharp, that Ekko couldn't stop feeling that his entire being was stuck between life and death. No matter how much time had passed, your image was engraved in his mind, not as a memory, but as a constant presence, a voice whispering in his ear, as if you had never left.

Today, in particular, everything seemed to pull him back to the pieces of his pain. The project you had worked on together, the gadget, was finally ready. After so many sleepless nights, so much effort and sacrifice, the moment to present it had arrived. It had been a creation of love, passion, and farewell. A tribute to you, to what you shared, to what still remained of you in his heart.

Ekko walked with firm steps toward the community event where he would present the gadget. Around him, the people, some curious, others hopeful to see the result of years of teamwork. But he couldn't see them. He couldn't see beyond his own thoughts, the image of you floating in his mind. Sometimes, he thought that everything he had done in the past few months was just a way to avoid facing the truth: that you were gone and that, despite everything, life had to go on.

He entered the venue, a large hall filled with tables covered in technology, art, and brilliant inventions. The gadget was there, on a pedestal, waiting to be presented. Ekko stared at it in silence for a moment, recalling every afternoon spent working on it together. The design was sleek, full of details that reflected his intelligence and your ability to come up with unimaginable solutions. It was more than just a gadget; it was a piece of you, a piece of what they had been together.

The event began, and Ekko, with a calm that only he could have, presented his creation. He explained, with soft but firm words, how the idea had been born, how you had been the spark of inspiration for something that transcended technology and reached the heart. As he spoke, the words intertwined with memories, with your laughter, your jokes, the long nights spent debating the design, the future, and what they wanted to do. Every word felt like a sigh from the past, a sigh that tried to make the present make sense.

But inside him, Ekko knew that everything he was doing was just an echo of what had been. What remained was the emptiness, the absence you had left in his life.

When he finished, he stepped away from the stage, letting the gadget speak for itself. No one in the room understood what that creation really meant. No one knew how much it had cost, not in terms of hours of work, but in terms of love, sacrifice, and farewell. They didn’t understand that every screw, every adjustment, had been made with the hope that, in some way, it would bring you back, even if only for a second.

After the presentation, Ekko moved away from the bustle, walking slowly toward a secluded corner of the city. There, on the wall, was the first mural that he painted of you. The mural was a mural of love, hope, and pain. A mural that reflected every laugh they shared, every glance, every moment they had lived together. In the mural, you were more than just a figure; you were a story told in colors and shapes, in every stroke Ekko had made, in every brushstroke you had guided. The mural wasn’t just art; it was a piece of his soul, his heart, of you.

When Ekko stopped in front of the mural, the wind gently blew, moving some fallen leaves on the ground. His eyes, moist, traced every part of the painting, as if he were searching for something he would never find. He remembered how you had smiled while he was painting you, how you had loved it so much when he showed it to you.

The mural showed a version of you that was etched in his memory. He saw you, with your serene smile and your eyes full of dreams and desires. But what really stood out in the mural was your figure, as if everything else was just a stage for you, for what you meant in his life.

"We did it, baby," Ekko whispered, as if he could hear your voice responding, as if you were still there. "We did it together. Everything we dreamed, everything we wanted... we did it."

His tears began to fall, one by one, flowing like a torrent he could no longer hold back. His heart broke once more, but there was something in the sadness of that moment that gave him a strange sense of peace. Maybe it was because he finally understood that, even though you had gone, the love you shared could not disappear. Love doesn’t vanish with death; it stays, like a shadow that always follows the light. In the mural, in the gadget, in his memories, you would always be a part of him, forever.

Ekko stepped away from the mural, glancing one last time at the figure that now represented everything he had lost. He looked toward the future, toward the horizon, where the lights were beginning to flicker on, and the streets once again filled with people who knew nothing of what he had been through. An uncertain future, but a future he would have to face, because at the end of the day, what really mattered was how he would live after the loss.

With the image of the mural etched in his mind, Ekko moved forward. And in his heart, a promise: he would never forget what you both shared, he would never forget the legacy you left, and he would move forward with the strength of your love, because now he understood that love didn’t die, it transformed, just like art does. Like you did.

[bamgyuuuri]

⤷ call it what you want ┈ cbg.

sypnosis. ah, choi beomgyu, your best friend. he's always had a habit of keeping you on your toes, but lately, his actions had you second-guessing everything. why does he treat you differently? the more you think about it, the harder it is to ignore—there’s something more behind his sweetness, and you're determined to find out what.

pairings and tags. bestfriend!choi beomgyu x reader (f/m) . unresolved romantic tension . unspoken feelings . playful banter . beomgyu is lowkey (highkey) bad at expressing emotions . oblivious idiots in love

word count. 2.4k

short note … hi !! first ever fic posted on tumblr, kinda nervous … nevertheless, i hope you like it ! do tell me what you think <3

oftentimes, you found yourself caught in the web of your own thoughts, spiraling deeper with each passing day about the enigma that was beomgyu. he was your best friend, your confidant, your partner in crime—but sometimes, he felt like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve.

it wasn’t just the big things, like the way he always seemed to show up exactly when you needed him, even without you asking. it was the little things, too—the way he’d hold your bag without a word when you struggled with too many things in your hands. the way he would sit through hours of your favorite shows—ones he didn’t particularly like—without a single complaint. the way his gaze lingered on you just a second too long when he thought you weren’t looking.

you didn’t know what to make of it. beomgyu wasn’t exactly a people pleaser. with others, he had a sharp tongue and a knack for playful teasing that often bordered on exasperation. but with you? he softened, like an untouchable winter snow melting under the warmth of spring. he never said no to you, even when he should have. even when you knew you were being unreasonable.

and it wasn’t like he didn’t have boundaries. you’d seen him draw them with others—firm, unyielding lines that no one dared to cross. yet, with you, those lines blurred until they were practically nonexistent.

it didn’t make sense. friends had limits, didn’t they? there were unspoken rules, boundaries that even the closest of friendships respected. but beomgyu seemed to exist in a different realm when it came to you, a realm where rules didn’t apply, and you were left wondering why.

was it guilt? pity? some unspoken sense of obligation? the thought made your stomach churn, and yet you couldn’t shake the tiny flicker of something else—a hope you didn’t dare name.

today, that flicker burned brighter, fueled by the quiet ache in your chest as you (im)patiently waited for his arrival as you sat on the park bench. you had asked him hangout once again just a few hours prior, and like always, he agreed without a second thought.

you clenched your hands together, the words bubbling up inside you like a storm waiting to break. you needed answers.

lost in your thoughts, you barely registered the faint sound of footsteps crunching against the gravel path, growing louder until they stopped right in front of you. a shadow fell over your face, and a familiar voice jolted you out of your reverie.

“hey. you alive in there?” beomgyu’s face hovered close, upside-down in your line of vision as he bent over to peer at you.

you blinked up at him, startled. “you—what are you doing?”

“checking if you’ve been body-snatched,” he replied, his grin wide and mischievous. “you’ve been sitting there looking all existential. do i need to call someone?”

you sat up straighter, huffing in mock indignation. “it’s nothing. i was just thinking.”

“dangerous,” he teased, straightening up and plopping onto the bench beside you. he threw his arm dramatically over the backrest, tilting his head to look at you with an exaggeratedly concerned expression. “don’t hurt yourself, okay? your brain only has so much capacity.”

“funny,” you reply dryly, rolling your eyes.

but his presence, his warmth beside you, already started to untangle the knot of thoughts swirling in your chest. that was the thing about beomgyu—he always had a way of pulling you back to the surface, no matter how deep you were sinking.

“what were you thinking about, anyway?” he asked, nudging your shoulder with his. “was it me? wait—let me guess. it was me, wasn’t it?”

“wow,” you deadpanned, yet trying to hide your surprise on how he was so spot on.  “how’d you figure it out?”

“i mean, come on. i'm a pretty captivating subject,” he said, flashing you a cheeky grin. “if i were you, i’d think about me too.”

you snorted, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up in your chest. “you’re too full of yourself.”

“only when I’m around you,” he retorts without missing a beat, his tone playful but carrying a hint of something deeper.

the words hit you in a way you didn’t expect, and you found yourself staring at him, searching his face. he looked completely at ease, his eyes sparkling with amusement and the corners of his mouth still curled into a smile. but there was something in the way he looked at you—something that made your heart skip a beat.

“you’re so weird,” you muttered, looking away before he could notice the way your cheeks had started to heat up.

“says the person who was just having a staring contest with the sky,” he shot back, leaning closer until his shoulder bumped yours. “come on, tell me. what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

his tone was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of genuine curiosity, and you dare say concern, that made your chest tighten. you hesitated, the words you’d been mulling over all day sitting heavy on your tongue.

“it’s really nothing,” you respond, but the words came out too quickly, too forced.

beomgyu raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “liar.”

“i'm not lying!” you insisted, though your voice betrayed you by pitching higher.

“oh, you so are,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “your nose is doing that twitchy thing it always does when you’re trying to cover something up.”

“my nose does not twitch!”

“it totally does.”

“does not!”

“does too,” he said with a laugh, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him. “you’re a terrible liar, you know? it’s one of your most endearing qualities.” even when teasing you, he just couldn’t help but let some of his fondness slip out.

you crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “if you’re trying to get me to confess to some made-up crime, it’s not going to work.”

“who said anything about crime?” he shot back, tilting his head with a mock-innocent expression. “i’m just saying, if you want to pour your heart out to me, i’m all ears. i mean, i’m basically your emotional support rock at this point, right?”

you laughed despite yourself, the sound easing the tension that had been building in your chest. “you’re impossible.”

“impossible to resist,” he said with a wink, earning another eye roll from you.

but the banter, as much as it made you smile, wasn’t enough to distract you from the weight of the question pressing against your ribs. beomgyu, with all his lightheartedness and teasing, made it so easy to forget, but you couldn’t keep brushing it aside.

your gaze softened as you looked at him, really looked at him. the way his grin reached his eyes, the way he never seemed to run out of things to say around you, the way his entire demeanor shifted when it was just the two of you—more animated, more comfortable, like he could let down his guard.

“beomgyu,” you said, quieter this time, your voice cutting through his playful chatter.

upon hearing his name, he turns to you with a curious expression. “yeah?”

“why do you…” you hesitated, the words catching in your throat.

“why do i what?” he prompted, his tone gentler now, though his eyes still held a spark of curiosity.

“why do you act so differently with me?”

the question lingered in the air, and for the first time, you saw the confidence in his expression waver. his grin slowly faded, replaced by something more cautious, almost vulnerable.

“different how?” he asked, though you could tell he already knew what you meant.

“you let me get away with everything,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “you’re so… patient with me, even when i know i’m being ridiculous. you don’t act like this with anyone else. why?”

beomgyu opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if the words he wanted to say were caught somewhere between his heart and his tongue. his fingers drummed nervously against his knee, his gaze flickering away from yours. “i don’t know,” he said finally, but the words sounded hollow even to him.

“yes, you do,” you said, leaning in slightly. “be honest with me, gyu.”

beomgyu didn’t look at you. instead, his eyes were on the ground, his fingers toying with the sleeve of his hoodie, as if the fabric was the most fascinating thing in the world at that moment. there was something different about him now, something that made your heart beat a little faster, but also a little heavier.

“right.” his voice wavered slightly, but he quickly masked it with a cough. “you know, i don’t really think it’s that complicated.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, sensing his hesitation despite his nonchalant tone. “not complicated?” you almost scoffed, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping into your chest. “well, it’s a little complicated for me. i’ve been thinking about this for days, gyu.”

he shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tightening into fists, his gaze still avoiding yours. there was a flicker in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly you couldn’t catch it. his lips pressed into a thin line. “i don’t know what you want me to say.”

his words were like a soft slap to your chest, and for a moment, you were silent, unsure if you should push further or retreat. but the question, the confusion inside you, was too loud to ignore now.

“i just want you to be honest with me,” you pressed, voice quieter this time. “why are you so... different with me? you’re not like this with anyone else. you just let me... let me do whatever I want.”

beomgyu’s shoulders stiffened at your words, and for a moment, it looked like he might say something, but he clamped his mouth shut. his brow furrowed, and the muscles in his jaw twitched as he fought to hold back whatever he was thinking.

“maybe... maybe i just don’t care enough to question you.” his tone was too light, too dismissive, but it didn’t quite match the storm of emotion brewing behind his eyes. his voice was steady, but there was a nervous edge to it; a trembling hesitation that you could feel radiating from him like heat.

that wasn’t it. you knew it wasn’t it, and it made you press on. “no, beomgyu,” you say, your voice a little firmer now, though your heart was thumping harder in your chest. “it’s more than that, and you know it. you let me cling to you, drag you across the city, and you never complain. you never ask why. you just... go along with it. no one else gets that from you. so tell me why.”

the silence that followed felt suffocating. beomgyu was so still beside you that it almost scared you. his hand clenched, then unclenched by his side, and you could see the muscles in his neck tighten, the pulse in his throat racing. his eyes flicked to you for a split second before darting away again.

"i don't know," he muttered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. "maybe i just... like spending time with you."

it wasn’t an answer, it was a deflection; a weak attempt to hide what he really meant. his words were wrapped in a layer of indifference, but underneath, you saw the flicker of something else—something warmer, something real, but it was buried under layers of uncertainty.

his breath hitched as he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here, with you, in this moment. you could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his brows furrowed as if the words were physically painful to say. the quiet moments between you were the loudest, filled with all the things neither of you were saying.

“i just don’t get it,” you said, voice trembling slightly as you leaned in closer, watching him with wide eyes. “you act like... like you care about what i want all the time, but why? why is it always so easy for you with me?”

beomgyu froze at the question, his expression faltering for the briefest moment. his lips parted, but the words didn’t come. you could almost hear the internal battle waging in his mind—his desire to be honest, to tell you everything, fighting against the fear of what would happen if he did. his eyes flickered to you again, but quickly darted away, unable to hold your gaze for longer than a second.

“i don’t... i don’t know how to explain it,” he finally relents, albeit slightly, his voice distant and strained. “it’s just... you’re... you’re easy to be with. okay? with you, it's like i don’t have to think; like i don’t have to second-guess myself and my actions. it’s simple. simple and... easy.”

you didn’t buy it, but you didn’t press him further. the hesitation in his voice, the way his gaze avoided yours, told you everything you needed to know. he was hiding something, something deep, something that made his heart race whenever you got too close to the truth.

but what? what was it?

for a moment, the silence stretched between you again, and you found yourself leaning back slightly, letting the words settle in the air. you studied beomgyu carefully, noticing how his posture had changed—how his shoulders were tense, how his hands were gripping the fabric of his pants like he was trying to ground himself.

“i just... don’t want to mess it up, okay?” beomgyu’s voice cracked on the last word, and you saw his eyes flicker to yours for the briefest moment before he looked away again, his face flushed in a way that made you feel both confused and oddly warm.

you stared at him, trying to process everything that had just happened. beomgyu wasn’t saying it—he wasn’t giving you the straightforward answer you were hoping for—but his emotions were clear. the way he was avoiding your gaze, the way his heart raced every time you got close to asking, and how his words came out jagged and unsure... it all pointed to something he wasn’t ready to admit.

but deep down, you could feel it—he genuinely cared. you just had to wait. you just had to be patient with him. with the way he held back, with the way he tried to guard his feelings so fiercely, it was clear that he needed time.

"beomgyu," you whispered, your voice softer now, as you took a small step closer to him. "it's okay. you don't have to say it if you're not ready. i... i'm sorry for pushing you too hard."

he finally turned to you then, his eyes meeting yours in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. and though he didn’t say it, the unspoken words hung between you like a promise—one he wasn’t ready to make, but one that you knew, deep down, he was already thinking.

[perihel1on]

This has been stewing in my drafts for awhile as I try to get my thoughts together, but, this post has given me a lot of peace. (This kind of turned into a personal essay under your post... my apologies).

I'm in an unusual position as a (mostly) interpreted-singlet who spent a number of years as interpreted-plural. Though I'd wager it's slightly less unusual than it seems, and most people with similar experiences simply abandoned or deleted the blogs/spaces where they previously talked about being plural. Anecdotally, I've seen at least one other person openly discuss an experience similar to mine.

In my teenage years, I was psychologically disintegrating from a variety of pressures on me, and I suppose I do mean that rather literally. I never experienced the very sharp discontinuity characteristic of DID, but I was some level of dissociated near constantly for years. I was desperately lonely and very suicidal. Without my alters, I do believe I wouldn't have survived.

I never "made up" being a system. Interpreting my experiences that way made the most sense to me at the time. As I began to heal, I dissociated less and became less fixated on my inner-world and sense of self. I never discussed it openly here, because I felt ashamed, and worried that I'd be accused of either faking or suppressing my alters. But I quietly stopped talking about them, quietly retired (most of) their sideblogs, and quietly used my "system tag" less and less.

But - if you go look at my "system tag" - you'll notice I still use it occasionally. I do still sometimes have experiences that are at the very least system-adjacent. I still dissociate sometimes; now and then I'll get the phantom physical sensations I always associated with Naph; sporadically, my thoughts will take the form of back-and-forth chatter that sounds like a conversation, or default to "us/we"; I'll seem to hold multiple conflicting opinions on the same topic. A few months ago, Ada (our caretaker) talked me down from an anxiety attack while I drove home, and that was an experience so distinct I can't really refer to it any other way.

Previously I would have obsessively interrogated these experiences, trying frantically to fit them into a cohesive picture of self or selves. Now I really just let them happen as they happen. Overall, for me, personally, I think it's healthier to interpret everything as part of one very fluid identity. But when something seems to challenge that, I don't worry about it too much, either. It's a sort of radical self acceptance, I suppose.

For the most part, I don't "miss" my alters, and I also don't "regret" having identified as a system. I'm very grateful to my alters and everything they did for me, but for the most part I now view their strengths as my own. I still have sideblogs for a few of them, but I see them more as places to express distinct facets of myself. I still don't feel like I have a strong, central identity - a lot of facts I hold about myself come with a question mark. I suppose I could call us a median system, if I wanted to... I'm just not sure I feel the need for labels anymore.

I very rarely see the grey area acknowledged and I don't think I've ever seen it put so succinctly as "interpreted-singlets" and "interpreted-plurals". Other than the one other person I mentioned before, I'm not sure I've ever seen it suggested that it could be reasonable for some people to migrate between or be able to interpret themselves either way. This honestly helped me come to terms with it more, to the point I felt like I could talk about it publicly like this.

So, sincerely, thank you.

Hey uh, not sure if there's anything to elaborate on wrt the "wanting to be plural is a symptom of being plural" post, but is that true? Because I've been avoiding that possibility, if only because I've been so sure that it isn't a possibility. I don't really know what I'm saying here it's just, could that post really be true?

So we thought we were the only ones selling this kind of perspective to people, but recently pluralrespect on neocities (which we already liked re: intrasys relationships) started including something similar, but with more structure.

It breaks down like this: Singlets choose to interpret their personal experiences as being one person. It gets privileged as the default because that's how we're socialised, but a (usually unconscious) choice is being made to view all their experiences - including kinda plural-coded stuff like code switching, masking, genderfluidity, weird dreams, varying vibes day-on-day, internal conflict, etc - as representing a singular identity.

There are also a lot of people who's experiences can't realistically be interpreted singletwise - folks that experience switches with totally separate memory is an extreme example. The plural explanation is the only thing that makes any sense of it at all.

This creates this big grey area that encompasses all those interpreted-singlets with kinda-plural experiences, and those interpreted-plurals who could reasonably interpret themselves as singlets (again) if they wanted to. Within this grey area, you have the wiggle room to observe your personal experiences, and conceptualise your identity one way, or the other way.

One of those ways might feel more "right" to you, more sensical, more comfortable, safer - so in that sense, yeah. wanting to be plural is a symptom of being plural. Fantasising about what it would be like to understand yourself in the other way is probably a sign that you should try it - see how thinking of yourself that way feels, just for a day or whatever. If it's too weird, go back. If not, keep going.

Now, letting yourself have an open mind may invite experiences that make a singlet interpretation less sensible - so only test the waters if both possible conclusions are safe for you to have. Outside of that, you can always change your mind - so, give it a shot.

[kyokutsu-sama]

Hiiii how are you doing my dear? I hope that you're taking care of yourself and not overworking yourself 😊 it's my first time requesting so I'm sorry if I didn't do it right english is not my mother language so sorry 😭 anyway I just want to put this idea in here because it was stuck in my head for a while and I really love your writing it always makes my day better everytime I read one of your works, so the thought is bleach men (especially kenpachi this thought come in the first place because of him😭) having a cute aggression everytime they see their wife because damn how a woman can be this cute and pretty all the time that they can't help themselves 😭😭(plz take your time and don't overwork yourself you can ignore it if you want it's ok I just want to tell you how much I love you and your work 🥺💗🫂).

Hi!! @thebestgirlever2 I'm doing very well and I hope you're doing well too. First of all, your English is very good and don't worry because English is not my native language either and secondly, I'm very happy that you like my work here. It motivates me a lot and thank you for your affection🥹❤️❤️

So here's the thing, at this moment I wasn't writing for the Bleach fandom but I decided to make some exceptions (as I also mentioned in the post about requests) and since it's also your first time making a request, I decided to write it.

I hope this is what you had in mind and I hope you like it😊 I wrote to my big boys just to see their hearts soften with so much cuteness🤭

Characthers : Kenpachi, Shunsui, Kensei, Grimmjow

🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️

Kenpachi :

Our giant and brute Kenpachi was constantly in an internal battle when he saw you do something. Even if it was the simplest thing in the world, his heart would melt because he found you so cute. He didn't usually admit it out loud even though you were his wife, but your expression, your looks, everything was so clear that everyone could see it. Yachiro pointed it out several times, but he just made a face and grumbled. "Y/n is so cute and you know it too. Admit it!" She said, pulling on the sleeve of his kimono trying to get his attention "Yes, she really is." He thought, looking at the girl and seeing her playful air

Yumichika and Ikkaku also noticed the way he blushed slightly when you greeted him with a smile that made his heart of stone melt and made the man's bloodlust dry up. Deep down, he liked this effect on him. One day he was sitting on the porch watching you tend to some flowers in the garden. Your hands were small and soft compared to his, which were large and calloused, your face so focused and fragile as you worked, your long, flowery sundress that matched the garden around you. He clenched his fist, feeling angry at all the cuteness in front of him. "How is it possible to be so..." He thought, trying to restrain himself from going to you and picking you up, hugging you and holding you close to him But the voices in his head won out and he got up and went to do what his thoughts wanted. You got up and suddenly saw a large silhouette blocking the sun and when you turned around you saw him with his usual serious face, but little did you know that he was finding you so cute now. "Oh Kenpachi, you were there! I didn't even realize that--" You hadn't finished speaking and he was already lifting you off the ground for a hug and squeezing you in his arms. "Kenny, what are you doing?!" You said breathlessly due to the squeeze. "Nothing." He said, pulling your face away from his chest for a moment to show you an innocent look "Nothing? You're crushing me against you." You giggled "What? You looked really cute just now." He said, rolling his eyes and you laughed "Oh! Looks like my arrogant giant is finally letting his guard down. How cute!" You poked his cheek and he turned his face away "Shut up." He grumbled and you smiled

Shunsui :

He just can't stand it. You look so beautiful and so cute in everything you do, in the way you walk and even the way you breathe. He never makes a point of hiding how cute you are and how important you are to him. Your gentleness and your smile were what captivated him the most. Nanao was already fed up with having to hear him praise you, every five minutes. "Yes, Captain, you've said that several times." She sighed, rolling her eyes. "No, I don't think you understand. She's wonderfully cute." He said again "Here we go again..." One day he was coming home after work (not that he really did much besides drinking sake and sleeping) and when he entered the room and saw you sleeping so deeply in bed, wrapped in the sheets, so quiet and asleep, his heart melted. "My petal looks so cute, sleeping like an angel." He said with both hands on his chest and with a little laugh He approached you, caressing your sleeping face, wanting to pinch your cheeks after an episode of 'cute aggression' but he restrained himself not to wake you up. "How can she be so cute." He thought He took off his flowery kimono and lay down next to you, pulling you close to him in a tight hug, distributing kisses from your shoulders to your cheeks. You moved a little and he stopped immediately. "No, no, no! Go back to sleep, don't wake up, you're sleeping very well. Very very well, petal." He said, caressing your face and you, still asleep, turned to him to hug him "That's right, dear. I don't want to wake you up."He said, giving you one last kiss on the cheek before going back to sleep Damn, I already missed writing a little about him😭

Grimmjow:

This man definitely changed from a panther to a kitten when he met you. And after marriage, it intensified. He still remembers the way you were always pushing his buttons and the way he lost his mind when you did it, but later he realized that he didn't have the courage to do anything about it. Yes, he would grumble and tell you to shut the fuck up, but he wouldn't yell or insult you. You had an effect on him that started to irritate him in the early days, but after he realized that he was in love, he started to feel more at ease. Of course, he was still too proud to admit that you were so cute, but so cute that he just wanted to hug you close to him and give you a ton of bites (love bites cause he's a kitty🐈). One day you were in the kitchen preparing something to eat when you heard the front door open. Grimmjow was mad after having crossed paths with Ichigo. His rival. "That idiot, I swear, one day I'm going to beat the shit ou of that son of a b--" He entered the kitchen, furious, screaming, and when he was going to punch the wall to release his anger, he noticed that you were standing there in the corner and his fist was only a few inches from the wall, which prevented it from being destroyed. Seeing you so quiet and cute, looking at him made him quickly recover and look away in embarrassment. You also couldn't help but be curious to know what had made him like that. Deep down you knew that it had probably been something very trivial because it didn't take much to make this man angry. "Are you okay?" You asked, approaching him. "You seem a little angry right now. Did something happen?" "No, it's okay, don't worry. It's all sorted out." "Seriously? Because it really seemed like you cross paths with Ichigo again." "Oh, don't say that name..." He growled, closing his eyes and clenching his fists "Okay, okay, I won't say the name again. Fine!" You said, raising your hands in surrender "Thanks." "But other than that, how was your day? Did you need anything? Are you feeling tired?" You said with a smile that made his heart soften and his tough personality fall He stared at you for a while, admiring your expression and you looked at him a little confused by his silence. "Is everything okay?" You poked his cheek and he nodded before pulling you into a tight hug "Stay here for at least five minutes, okay?" He asked and you nodded against his chest You didn't know what had made him do that so suddenly, but one thing was for sure, it was all he wanted at that moment to be able to calm down.

Kensei :

Another one who has a tough personality but always has a cute aggression attack when you pass by him or you've only been together for five minutes. Mashiro used to tease him about it when she noticed it. "You and Y/n make a really cute couple. I can see how you look at her and your cheeks get blushed. But Kensei, you two are already married, why do you keep blushing like a teenager?" She said, laughing at him and he clenched his fist, one of his eyes twitching and feeling a vein bulging in his neck "Shut up you idiot! Stop teasing me!!" He yelled and she laughed even harder seeing that she had managed to get him out of his mind Deep down, he knew she was right. You really got to him even though you two were married. He looked at you and always thought you were cute. One day he was coming home and saw you sitting on the couch watching TV, but as he got closer he saw that you were sleeping sitting up. You probably ended up falling asleep watching TV while you waited for him. He felt a little guilty about it, but it was his job. As much as he wanted to be close to you, it was hard sometimes. He turned off the TV and took the pillow that was on your lap, picking you up bridal style, slowly so you wouldn't wake up. When he got to the bedroom, he put you on the bed and that's when you woke up, seeing him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you. "Did I wake you up?" He asked "I let myself fall asleep in the living room, didn't I?" You asked, yawning "Yes, and I brought you back to the bedroom. I'm sorry I was late." He said, running his hand over your face and looking away "It's okay, love. I know it's your job. I wanted to wait for you, but I couldn't. I ended up falling asleep." You held his hand He looked at you and seeing your sweet smile and the way you were always so understanding, made him want to hug you and not let go until the next day. "Come to sleep, you look tired." You said he just nodded, taking off his clothes and lying down next to you "Come here." He pulled you to him and held you in a tight hug against him, letting out a long sigh. "This is what I needed." He whispered and you patted his arm "Kensei, I can't breathe properly." Your voice was muffled by the closeness and that was when he released you a little so you could breath properly. "I'm sorry, honey, it's just that you... seemed too cute just now." He confessed with a blush on his face and you giggled "You too, your cheeks are blushing." You pointed and he hugged you again so you wouldn't see. "Kensei." You fidgeted "Shut up." He grumbled

[hollowed-theory-hall]

I'd love to know your thoughts on the Gaunts in Hogwarts Legacy. I loved Ominis as a character, and the story of his family was interesting, but I'd really love an in-universe explanation for how they get to the state they are at when Tom is born in less than what... 40ish years? At most? How exactly do they go from multiple family members functional enough to attend Hogwarts to barely able to speak English (or seemingly use magic) that quickly?

So, the reason I didn't put Ominis and the Gaunts in my big canon contradictions in the HL post, is becouse I can in fact headcanon my way into Ominis' existence making sense (kinda). We only need one big factor that would allow for a very fast decline and we have one — inbreeding.

I mentioned this already here, but Marvolo speaks like he remembers the influence his family once had. Not only that, but he's different from his kids. He acts more like a person who can be somewhat reasoned with than both his barely more than squib children who don't seem capable of much intellectually.

How this might've happened is, say, one Gaunt got obsessed with blood purity and around the 1780s married his cousin.

His children turn out okay since it's just one generation of cousin marriages, but then his son also marries a cousin in the 1810s.

Their children would still seem reasonably fine and marry cousins again. And they have children in the 1840s.

By this point, most of them would be losing prestige and money and many other purebloods would want nothing to do with the Gaunts. This pushes them to keep marrying just a bit too close and shrink down the family to only the main line and maybe another one.

So, these children born in the 1840s would have their own kids with their cousins around the 1870s.

Now, these kids are Marvolo and Ominis, another brother (since Ominis mentions having older brothers), and at least one sister (for the sake of this theory to work). By this point, inbreeding would start to be a problem after 4 generations of first/second-cousin marriages in a row, which would work with Ominis being born blind, for example (which is a possible result of inbreeding).

Now, while both Ominis in the game and Marvolo in the 1920s talk a big game about their family influence, by the 1890s, it's a lie. I think they started falling from grace earlier throughout the century (as I mentioned), losing money and prestige and holding onto their position in the wizarding world by the skin of their teeth. Ominis' posturing about his father knowing the headmaster in HL always came off to me as just that — posturing. His father may have met Phineas Nigellus Black, but they weren't close by any means. Ominis is just threatening you the way he knows and can — which is some of the connections still left for his family since the money ran dry years ago.

The fact we don't see other kids in Slytherin trying to win Ominis' good graces for the sake of his family's influence (blindness or not) again suggests a lot of said influence is posturing more than the real deal. I mean, he's only friends with Sebastian and Anne, two students who are definitely outsiders within Slytherin (even if there's no way they live in Feldcroft, since there's no way that hamlet doesn't exist in the books).

Also, Ominis mentions his brothers and father tortured muggles. There's a non-zero chance that in 1890 most of his family is in Azkaban and he really is just lying and he has nothing he can do against anyone with his connections. Basically, it's a bluff.

I think seeing them like this adds an interesting reason as to why Noctua (Ominis' aunt) would want to look for Slytherin's Scripturium (though I don't think the Scripturium exists in the books, so let's say she looked for the Chamber of Secrets and was eaten by the basilisk since she wasn't the heir it was meant to obey in the 1880s). Becouse she's trying to bring the family back to its place of influence as descendants of Salazar Slytherin in a different way from her brother.

By the 1890s, Noctua is dead, there are no Gaunt cousins, just the main line with Marvolo, Ominis, unnamed brother, and unnamed sister.

Ominis is likely disowned at some point, and it fits his character to decide not to have kids and not pass on Parseltongue, which he sees as dark. I can see his character making that decision. But for this theory to work, he has to die before Tom is born, so he doesn't live a long life unless he left Britain and is living happily in the US or Australia or something.

The unnamed brother might be in Azkaban for crucio-ing a muggle, getting him out of the picture in an in-character way and making sure he has no kids.

Marvolo is where it gets interesting becouse with the state we see with his kids, and the nosedive off a cliff the family took in his time, my theory is that he had his kids with the aforementioned named sister. It would explain why Morfin and Mereope are like that. It would explain why they were completely shunned from wizarding society. How they lost even the measly amount of influence they had so quickly. It would fit with Marvolo's view of blood purity and the Gaunts' blood in particular, being purer than the rest.

So, this is my answer as to how I can headcanon my way into the Gaunt family's fast decline making sense. That being said, do I think Ominis is canon for the books' universe? Probably not, but I can make up shit to make it work, as I illustrated here.