#writing things no one will read so I can get my thoughts out of my head

[xiaowhore]

equivalent exchange.

DRAFT. this fic is incomplete, as i've stated in this post. this has been sitting in the dungeon for a while, and i have no plans to finish them, but i posted these drafts to not let them go to waste. it is up to you if you still want to read them regardless of their incompletion :) i will be writing my original ideas for the fic at the end so you guys will have an idea of what the fic was supposed to be like.

premise. when ayato stumbles upon a drafted resignation letter on your desk, he doubles his efforts to show you the perquisites of staying by his side.

he doesn't want to lose a competent subordinate. that's all there is to it.

note. what's wrong with secretary kim au but it's definitely not the same because i stopped watching at episode 5 and have no idea what happened. anyways i think we were all expecting a ceo!ayato x secretary!reader fic at some point so here it is. (couldn't keep this gender neutral for plot reasons, so feminine pronouns were used.)

Kamisato Ayato considers himself a good boss.

Or as far as things go, he's a decent one. He treats his employees well, takes them to expensive restaurants for company dinners, and discourages overtime so they can head off early for the night. He doesn't care much for formalities, and he gets along with his colleagues fairly well. He's never heard anyone talk behind his back or complain about his attitude at work, and there aren't any rumors spreading about him (if he turns a blind eye to the conspiratorial gossip guessing his relationship status).

But he does have minor faults. Like showing a more mischievous side when work hours are over. Getting Thoma dead drunk during dinners because his half-conscious inebriated talking is a form of amusement, or riling up Itto in drinking games just because it's funny. Then he leaves Sara to clean up the mess for him, since Yae seems to enjoy the comedy sketch as thoroughly as he does and probably won't lift a finger to help even if he asked her to.

As his assistant, you're prone to falling victim to his shenanigans, silly stunts that coax out aggravated eye rolls and sighs of exasperation. Years of experience eventually shaped you up to be entirely immune to April Fools' pranks.

He's in the middle of planning another one when he spots a letter of resignation on your desk.

At first, he thinks it's your rebellious phase arriving a decade late. He always found it odd how you never retaliated against his tricks, and this may just be the long-awaited April Fools' prank of vengeance. If it is, it's particularly mean of you—Ayato does have feelings, you know? Even he would feel hurt if you told him you wanted to leave! You shouldn't take this kind of thing lightly!

Then he remembers you aren't the type to make jokes, April Fools' or otherwise, and it's that moment when he feels (proper) fear.

“[Name] wants to resign?!”

Ayato makes a zipping motion and Thoma's shrieks immediately die down, but the disbelief on his face has yet to wane. His brows scrunch together, brain hard at work in processing this piece of information, though it seems to short-circuit in utter confusion from the sudden blow.

Scandalized, Thoma lowers his head and levels his voice to a hushed whisper, “Are you sure you saw it correctly?”

“I have able eyes. Unfortunately, my optometrist confirmed my perfect vision and assured I saw it just fine.” Woe is he.

“Get them checked again.”

“No matter how much I check, it won't change the results, Thoma.”

“We don't know that for sure, sir!”

“Trust me,” Ayato deadpans, looking off into the distance, “I checked with him thrice.”

Defeated, Thoma leans back to his chair, crossing his arms while deep in thought. “You saw the letter, but she didn't turn it in, did she?”

“She didn't. No e-mail, either.” Ayato taps the table in a mindless rhythm, expression stern but the shape of his lips almost resembling a pout. “Do you have any idea why she'd want to resign?”

Thoma rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Is that a genuine question, sir?”

Ayato's head snaps back to look at his companion. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“...Everyone in the office knows you... tease her for your own amusement.”

“It's my way of showing affection.” The corners of his lips curl up, stretching to a twisted smile as he rests his cheek on his palm. “Isn't she just so adorable when she gets angry?”

“You really do have a rotten personality.”

Ayato waves his hand in a noncommittal response. “We're straying off topic. What should we do next?”

Thoma hums, closed fist beneath his chin. “Since she hasn't turned in the letter yet, that means she must be hesitating. For what reason, we don't know, but it's keeping her here. So before she makes up her mind, we should dissuade her from quitting no matter what.”

Ayato laces his fingers together, brow in an inquisitive arch. “And we do that by?”

Green eyes sparkle with tenacity, clashing with blue irises twinkling in intrigue. “We bribe her, sir. It's time to show off your good points.”

--

“If a woman quits her job, what do you think her reasons could be?”

Ayaka blinks owlishly at her brother, taken aback by the abrupt question. It's a sudden thing to ask, especially odd given how their conversation hasn't led to that topic at all. “Did someone resign? I haven't heard anything of the sort, though.”

Ayato shakes his head, stirring the boba tea in his hands. “It's a hypothetical.”

Which means it's real.

Ah, whatever. At least he didn't go for the “my friend...” excuse.

Ayaka warily cuts a portion of her cake, scrutinizing each microexpression flashing on Ayato's face. It's one of their weekly lunch meetings, squeezed between hectic schedules, and they more or less have a silent agreement to avoid discussions involving work if they could help it. But this time, he brought it up himself.

How peculiar.

“Perhaps she wants to change workplaces? If she's exemplary, she might have been offered a better position or higher pay.”

Ayato nearly scoffs at the suggestion. The company, old-fashioned as it is, can only be inherited by a direct line of descendants. Outsiders can only go so far, and being the secretary for the chief executive officer isn't bad at all. Last time he checked, he's been paying you generously as well—how many figures was it? Six?

“Oh!” Ayaka exclaims, holding up a finger as she seems to have figured out something. “Or maybe she wants to settle down and get married? If her work is keeping her occupied, she'll most likely take time off to find a husband.”

Ayato proceeds to choke on a tapioca pearl.

“Or she got married and wants to be a housewife-”

“That's quite enough, Ayaka.”

Ayato would rather believe the Earth is flat.

--

If Ayato were any less desperate, perhaps he would have rationalized that putting together “give her what she wants to make her stay” and “she wants to get married” is a bad, bad idea.

Unfortunately for him, he is grasping at straws, so it leaves him no choice. Yes. Definitely. There is no other option than this, obviously.

(He does not delve deeper into the reason why he doesn't want you to leave, nor does he dwell any longer on why he was so quick to think he was fine with getting married if it was to you.)

“Don’t you want to get married soon, Ms. [Surname]?”

To clarify, Ayato does not spy on other people's conversations for a hobby, but he's always had impeccable timing. It comes with the job.

He stands by the door, reaching for the doorknob to the break room, but the mention of your name forces him to a halt.

“Why are you asking me that...?” You awkwardly dodge the question, sipping on your coffee. “I suppose I am at that age, though.”

“So you do want to!” The squeal rings with a note of glee, a stark contrast to Ayato's gradually dimming mood. “Wouldn't it be nice to marry a good man? I'm sure even you have thought of it at some point! Are you seeing anyone, then? Anyone you can imagine yourself marrying?”

“No, not yet.”

Before Ayato can even heave a relieved sigh, you follow with, “But my mother is making me go on dates to see people. Said if I didn't bring home a man soon, she'd come all this way to drag me back by my ear and introduce me to her friend's son.”

“Ah, I get that...” Your friend replies emphatically, nodding. “But those kind of meetings hardly go well. And you can't exactly tell your mother's friend you don't find her son attractive, right?”

“Why not just marry Mr. Kamisato, then?” Another one pipes up, to which Ayato gives a mental salute of appreciation. “You spend most of your time together. If you're not married to your job, then you're practically married to him.”

A cackle sends his heart dropping to his stomach.

“Not a chance.”

Can you at least expound why?!

“Huh? Why not? I mean, Mr. Kamisato is on another realm of existence and I can never hope to be on the same level as him, but you look good together!”

Your face pinches to a tight frown. “Look good together? In what way?”

“When you stand side by side, it just looks... right. And like I've mentioned earlier, you spend all your time with him. Why not seal the deal?”

“Mr. Kamisato is reliable, and if you marry him, you're set for life. He's handsome too, and we've all seen his muscles at our company sports day a few months ago!”

“I've never been so thankful for team-building events. Hallelujah.”

Ayato's face burns in embarrassment hearing the dreamy sighs. Even if they think there isn't anyone else listening on them (which is false), shouldn't they exert some restraint at work?

“Please don't lust over my boss,” you assert sternly, voice ice cold. “And we have a strictly professional relationship. So don't get any weird ideas from here on out, alright?”

“Fine. Tell me that again when I'm invited at your wedding, I dare you.”

“I said-”

They wave off your vehement protests at the statement. “Then if you're not into Mr. Kamisato, what do you plan to do?”

Ayato perks up, straining his ears in rapt attention.

“...I'm going on a date this weekend,” you sigh, rubbing circles on your temples. “I'll let you know how it goes.”

Oh no.

--

“-Dinner was nice. We didn't expect the rain shower, but he ran to the convenience store across the street to buy an umbrella because he didn't want me to get wet on the way to the car. He said it would be a waste if my hair got ruined since I-”

Slurp.

“...Styled it for the occasion. Then he drove me home. I found out we liked the same band from the music he played, and we agreed to-”

Sluuurp.

“-Go to their upcoming concert together. Then we somehow also like the same novel that's getting a movie adaption soon, so we also promised to see it-”

Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuurp.

“Could you please refrain from making noise when eating, sir?”

Ayato decidedly does not comply and only slurps his boba tea harder, nearly choking on a tapioca pearl yet again.

As always, you learn to ignore him.

“Concert... and a movie. I'm not sure about the concert, but the film you're talking about is the one coming out in the next two months, right?” Thoma confirms, sweating when Ayato's expression turns visibly grim. “You plan to see him for that long...?”

“Even if dating doesn't work out, we can always become friends, can't we?” You shrug, taking a bite out of your sandwich. “He seems like a nice guy. We get along really well, considering we've only met once. I ended up agreeing to a second date-”

The passive-aggressive slurping persists for the following afternoon.

--

“I've been meaning to ask for a while,” Thoma treads carefully, noticing Ayato's rapid-fire typing—no, striking—on the keyboard, “Ms. [Surname] is good at her job, but you seem really... eager to make her stay, sir.”

Ayato's fingers halt in their movement, and he takes a second to flash his business smile. “Of course. She's a valuable asset, and I'd be foolish to let her go.”

“Yes, I'm well aware, but...” Thoma scratches his cheek, looking off to the side. “You didn't go to such lengths when your former assistants resigned from their post. Or, uh... you fired most of them.”

“Yes,” Ayato simply agrees, still smiling, “she's competent. You don't find anyone like her easily, so it's only natural I'd want her to stay.”

“What do you mean by 'anyone like her,' sir?”

Thoma is awfully talkative today. Ayato might need to feed him something spicy to shut him up.

“Ms. [Surname] is special.” The words smoothly leave his lips. “Does anyone else have the meetings and company events scheduled for the next month memorized? She's the only one I can count on for work matters.”

Thoma's shoulders slump. “Okay, let me get straight to the point. Do you-”

“Mr. Kamisato?”

Thoma nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, accompanied by the clack of your heels.

“What is it?” The cold smile on his face finally melts to something more genuine, softer around the edges and looking especially radiant. It's welcoming, like your arrival counts as a joyous occasion, and he is exponentially more attentive compared to the way he lent Thoma half his ear (the other preoccupied with a phone call, which he swiftly ends the moment you walk in).

“I came to deliver some files from Ms. Miko... did I interrupt something?” You gesture to Thoma standing idly by the side, dumbfounded from Ayato's inconceivable behavior.

“Not at all. Is there anything else?” Ayato accepts the documents, noticing your hesitance to leave.

“Ah, yes, I will be asking for time off tomorrow.”

That's... rare?

But it's not a hard request. Ayato's own schedule is blank for the most part, since the latest project wrapped up not too long ago, and the workload is lighter than usual. Missing one work day won't do any harm.

“It's fine, but could I ask why?”

You fidget, tentative as you reply, “I was invited... for a trip on a cruise. He insisted I come since his friend bailed on him and the tickets would go to waste.”

The warmth in his eyes freezes over.

“The tickets would go to waste...” Ayato repeats under his breath, mockingly cruel. The tone flies past your head but it hits Thoma full-force, making him sweat profusely.

Distasteful. An utter disgrace of a man. The magnitude of his ignorance is so awe-inspiring, I have to applaud. I must give credit where it is due, and the foolishness of this clown is truly impressive. “The tickets will go to waste,” he says? His money must worth more to him than his dignity. Inviting Ms. [Surname] to a date on a workday with no regard for her schedule is one thing, but making her out to be an afterthought as a substitute for his original travel partner is another. How shameful. This is no way to treat a lady. If Ayaka were to be with a man of his caliber, I would never allow it.

But what he says outloud is of course, “I see. I hope you have fun, then.”

--

Corporate events are, for the most part, adequately entertaining.

Preparing for it is not.

But the worst part isn't even brainstorming themes, or finding an appropriate venue, or planning the logistics, or writing the guest list.

It's choosing what to wear.

Actually, the cause for Ayato's headache isn't even what attire he'll go with. It's yours.

“That looks wonderful,” Yae praises, looking at the picture on your phone. It displays a silver necklace, a tear drop topaz encased in a diamond twist. It pairs well with the dress you bought with Ayaka last week, an elegant fit that accentuated your curves.

However.

“He chose that for you, didn't he?”

The stoic line of Ayato's mouth twitches and his eyes can't help but sweep over your screen, scrutinizing each grainy pixel.

Though he has plenty of insults prepared at his arsenal, he can't find anything to nitpick about. Damn it. It's a good choice.

“You'll look stunning,” Kokomi assures good-naturedly, smiling in delight. Ayato does not doubt that will be the case, but he's sure he would be in a foul mood the entire night if he were to see you adorning it.

He has already retrieved his coffee from the break room so he excuses himself to his office, long strides that lead him out of earshot.

As a result, he doesn't hear the following conversation.

“Why this, though?” Kokomi asks, looking closely at the accessory. “It's a simple design. Doesn't look like something a man would pick from the rest.”

You shake your head. “I just told him I wanted something blue, and I couldn't choose myself because there were too many that caught my eye...”

“Blue?” She echoes, a simple curiosity. “Why blue?”

“...It's a pretty color.”

--

It is an actual coincidence that Ayato runs into you in the middle of shopping.

You're hunched over a display stand showcasing a variety of earrings, deep in thought as you observe each one. You're doing that thing where you scrunch your nose in concentration, a habit Ayato doesn't think you even realize you have.

“Fancy meeting you here, Ms. [Surname].”

(He wonders what face you would've made if he said “You go here often?” instead. Probably some degree of disgust.)

You blink, correcting your posture and nodding in greeting. You don't look particularly thrilled to see him, but at least you're unbothered by the prospect of seeing your boss on a free day. “You're here to shop too, Mr. Kamisato?”

Ayato smiles amicably. “I am. Were you planning to buy earrings?”

“Yes, but...” Your gaze returns to the display, your own smile faltering. “It is a bit difficult to choose.”

He walks over, scanning the variety up and down. “Is it really? You only need to choose a pair that matches your necklace, right?” He focuses on shades of silver, bypassing the vibrant colors of reds and pinks. Not even fifteen seconds later, he picks out a card and holds it out next to your ear. “This one looks nice on you.”

“Huh? Really?” Perhaps surprised by his swiftness, it takes you a moment to react accordingly. You take the card from his hands and flip it over, eyes widening by a fraction. “Oh. It is rather pretty.” Then they widen further as big as saucers. “I can't say the same for the price tag, though.”

“Hm? What price tag?”

He plucks the earrings from your hands, walks to the counter, and pays for it without a second thought.

“M-Mr. Kamisato?”

“Pull up your hair.”

“Eh? Oh, okay.”

You're so caught off guard that you unwittingly do as he says, tucking your hair back obediently and still processing the last two minutes.

His fingers tug at your ear, warmth bleeding to your skin, and by the time you return to reality, he's already putting the earrings on you.

STORY FLOW.

ok i lied i actually can't remember shit about this fic so i will be making up stuff as i go lol

what i do remember clearly is that the resignation notice that ayato found on your desk is years old. you meant to submit it way, way back when ayato was tougher on you, and you weren't as well-adjusted as you are now to the job yet. as stated in the fic, being ayato's secretary is no easy task—he'd fired countless people he thought was incompetent.

you fought a number of times, and you didn't know if you could keep up working for a man you thought was simply incompatible with you (in terms of being colleagues/partners).

but over time, you learned to work together. ayato acknowledged your efforts and hard work, and you knew ayato had been trying to give you less jobs to reduce your workload, but you were going to prove that hou could handle it.

what truly made you appreciate ayato more was when you got stranded at the train station. you dealt with a far company they collaborated with, but work ended later than expected, and you'd missed the last train home. taxis were an option, but youd have to go through several of them to get back. right when you were thinking of checking into a hotel, ayato informed you he was already on his way and drove a couple of hours to get where you were to bring you home.

time continued to pass, and that brings us back to the present. you were on the process of cleaning up your desk and left the old resignation notice out in the open by accident, which led to ayato seeing it.

it is very apparent to the others that you two like each other, but the involved parties themselves are unaware of it. you currently aren't eager to get married, but you were trying to meet people so your parents would stop bugging you about still being single.

anyway, ayato bought those earrings for you. timeskip to the corporate event. you unconsciously picked a blue motif for your outfit because it reminds you of ayato.

when you get there, surprise, surprise. the man you were meeting, kazuha is a bigwig, heir to some other corporation. he actually owned that cruise he invited you to and pretended he didn't because you might be intimidated. ayato didn't think the kazuha he knew and the kazuha you knew were the same person, and now the advantage he had over him was ruled out (i.e being rich). (actually while i was rereading i was surprised i didn't mention that it was kazuha...? istg i was imagining him the whole time i wrote about him)

anyhow, as it became later in the night, ayato wanted to get you home before kazuha could offer to drive you back or worse, spend the night with him. ayato acted drunk so you'd tend to him and accompany him home while his driver was in charge of taking you to his apartment. as you were nagging at him, he compared your interactions with him to yours and kazuha's. you were certainly nicer to that man. smiled at him a lot more, too. did you really like him that much?

if you did, could he let you go?

he was ashamed that he couldn't answer it right away. as if he had any right to whatever you do.

you carried him to bed when you got to his apartment, but when you were preparing to leave, he hugged you from behind. do you like that man? why do you want to leave me? why can't it be me? ayato was just pretending to be drunk, but he felt dizzy now, soaked in your scent. he said things that he wasn't supposed to. things that he couldn't take back. things that would change your relationship forever.

slowly, you took away the hands wrapped around your waist. ayato figured that was a message of rejection.

but then you pushed him back down on the bed and you straddled his lap. his mind was silent for but a few seconds before he started screaming mentally.

i've always wanted you, but i knew it was impossible. you have a fiancee. i'm an ordinary worker. your family won't accept me. ayato's mind was in a daze because your face was so close to his, and all he could see was the red, glossy shade on your lips, but he managed to hear those few sentences.

it doesn't matter. nothing else matters. i can't marry if it's not you. if you accept me, i swear i'll make you happy.

from here on, it could be a happy, fluffy ending where turns out, you were tipsy so you were more honest with him and you fell asleep in the middle of kissing so he took it upon himself to change your dress into something more comfortable and end the night with a forehead kiss...

...or you could continue what you were doing and the first thing ayato takes off is the damned necklace so he could replace it with a smattering of hickeys. your choice ^^

[diaryofawhoretbh]

Hi could u do thanos x preg reader playing the games basically just like 222 n 333 so hear me out.. imagine we befriend 222 :3 n were basically talking ab our pregnancies (however u write it help) and ab baby stuff then topic of baby daddies comes around and 222 mentions that her baby daddy is here n we r like no way ours is too and we decide to meet near bunks w our baby daddies n when thanos n 333 see each other they r like no way and 222 and we have to hold them back from fighting. So we and 222 force them to get along bc 222 and we are close so why shouldnt they be too

love this request so much!!! i hope i did your idea justice 🫡🫡 i tried to write this quickly. pls let me know if this isn't what you wanted.thank you for requesting, enjoyyy!!

NOT proof-read, sorry!!!!

fine line | thanos (choi su-bong)

the barracks were quiet, save for the soft murmur of other players trying to get some rest. you sat on your bunk, legs stretched out in front of you, feeling the familiar weight of your belly.

jun-hee, player 222, sat next to you, her hand resting on her own swollen stomach. it felt strange, being surrounded by danger and fear, yet finding a kind of peace in talking about the one thing that kept you both going: the babies.

“i can’t believe we’re both pregnant in here,” jun-hee said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “i always thought the world would be different by now, but… i guess this is just how life works out, huh?”

you smiled, nodding. “yeah. it’s crazy. but honestly, it’s kinda the only reason i’m still here. these little ones, they’re everything.”

junhee rubbed her belly gently, a soft smile on her lips. “same here. i didn’t expect this kind of life, but it’s like… being a mom now, it’s like i have something bigger to fight for.”

you let out a soft laugh. “i get you. even in a place like this, we’ve still got our kids to think about.”

jun-hee looked over at you, suddenly more playful. “speaking of kids, i’ve got to tell you something. my baby daddy is here too.”

you raised an eyebrow. “wait, really? no way. who?”

junhee’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous grin. “player 333. you know him as myung-gi.”

you blinked, then let out a low whistle. “myung-gi? as in that coinmg guy?”

jun-hee nodded, not even a little ashamed. “yep. crazy, right?”

you let out a laugh, a bit of disbelief in your voice. “wow, that’s... that’s wild.” you leaned back, looking at her with a grin. “your baby daddy is the reason me and my baby daddy are in debt."

junhee’s eyes widened slightly. “i apologise on his behalf... but wait, is your baby daddy here too? no way.”

you nodded, your grin growing bigger. “yep. he is. and… trust me, it’s not who you’d expect.”

jun-hee tilted her head, curious. “who is it, then?”

you leaned in a little, lowering your voice as though sharing a secret. “it’s su-bong...ah sorry thanos.”

jun-hee’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “what? no way. you’re telling me that your baby daddy is thanos?”

you shrugged nonchalantly. “yeah, believe it or not. crazy, huh?”

jun-hee shook her head, unable to suppress a laugh. “this is... way too much. okay, okay, we need to meet by the bunks. i want to see this. you and me, we’ll introduce them to each other.”

you raised an eyebrow, feeling a little hesitant. “you think that’s a good idea? i mean, myung-gi and su-bong don’t exactly… get along.”

jun-hee smirked. “it’s gonna be fine. trust me. they’re both here for the same reason now. i’m sure they can at least pretend to get along. for the sake of us, and our babies.”

you were still nervous, but the excitement was enough to push you forward. “okay, fine. let’s do it.”

the two of you carefully stood up, waddling over toward the area where the men were usually hanging out. you spotted su-bong in the corner, his large frame looming over the other players, while myung-gi was off to the side, doing his own thing.

as you and jun-hee dragged each man to the agreed meeting spot, both men’s eyes immediately flicked toward you. there was a sharp tension in the air as they both realized who the other was. myung-gi’s brow furrowed, and su-bong’s fists clenched at his sides.

jun-hee crossed her arms, giving you a look. “this is gonna be fun.”

you took a deep breath. “fun? more like intense.”

before you could do anything, both men started toward each other, their bodies tense and ready for a fight. su-bong’s deep voice was the first to break the silence.

“you,” he muttered, eyes narrowed. “what are you doing here?”

myung-gi sneered, taking a step closer. “don’t act like you’re in charge here. you think you can just walk around like you own the place?”

jun-hee quickly stepped in between them, arms raised. “hey! no fighting. not now, not here. we’re pregnant, okay? we’re trying to make it out of here alive, and you two are gonna work it out.”

you added, stepping up beside her. “yeah. no more fighting. our kids need us to be smart. we’re in this together.”

the two men stared at each other for a long moment, tension thick in the air. but as the seconds ticked by, something in their eyes softened—just slightly.

jun-hee, ever the mediator, was the first to break the silence. “come on, guys. we’re both in this for the same reason. for our kids. so, no more petty grudges. can you just... act like adults for once?”

you nodded, giving them a pointed look. “we have to work together. for them. our little ones deserve a chance.”

su-bong let out a frustrated sigh but nodded slowly, his fists unclenching. “fine. for the babies.”

myung-gi gave him a long, hard look before exhaling sharply. “yeah, fine. but don’t think this means we’re friends.”

jun-hee raised an eyebrow, her voice light. “we’re not asking for that. just... can we at least get through this without tearing each other apart?”

the two men exchanged a last heated glance before reluctantly stepping back. you and jun-hee gave each other a silent nod of approval.

“alright,” jun-hee said, her tone softening. “that’s a start. we can make this work.”

you smiled, feeling a little lighter now that the tension had eased, even if just for a moment. the road ahead was still long, but maybe, just maybe, with a little teamwork, you could all make it out of here—alive and with your babies.

[gothicfied]

can you write for thanos x reader where the reader is really stoic and calm, not mean, but just does not express much emotion and it drive thanos crazy trying to impress her and get a reaction? Thanks :)

Hard to get - Thanos / Player 230

Pairing: Thanos / Player 230 x calm!reader

Summary: Thanos will do anything to get a reaction out of you, even if that means he has to put himself in danger.

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, blood, gunshots, killing (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff (kinda lol), not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Word count: 971 Words

A/N: hii, I hope this is alright and what you had imagined!

When you woke up in a random bed, in a new environment with random people, you almost started to have a panic attack. Usually, you don't really show your emotions, you just keep them locked inside you and let a war rage in your mind while appearing to be calm about a situation you can't be calm about. After the initial shock wore off, you made your way to the middle of this area filled with beds, where other contestants or players with different numbers started complaining to the guards, that wore pretty ridiculous outfits you thought, about where their belongings went and other stuff.

After getting to know the rules of this.. 'game' you guys were playing for money, as everyone including you was here because of huge debt or money problems, you were led to the first mini game. Everyone went up the stairs while upbeat music was playing in the background, the fun colors of this environment stinging in your eyes. Suddenly, you hear someone whistle behind you: "Señorita!" The voice of a man seemingly called out to you. Without stopping, you turned your head around to face a purple-haired guy with a shit eating grin on his face. "Wow, what is a pretty thing like you doing here?" Without giving him a reaction, you just shrugged and went on, feeling your legs grow tired of climbing these stairs.

"What? You don't know?" Player 230, the numbed on his chest, seemed relentless. "Well, yeah, I obviously know. You do too, we're all in here because of one reason." you answered him, matter-of-factly, not giving him the time to speak to his face. "Have I already told you how pretty you are?" This guy's flirting techniques weren't really that great. He continued to shower you with compliments, to which you mostly didn't reply or at most said "Thank you."

When arriving at the top, every player had to take a picture in front of some screens. Conventionally, Thanos, as you gathered his alias was from others who seemed to know him, was waiting in the queue next to you, now talking with.. his fans? You didn't quite get it, but apparently he was some sort of rapper you had never heard of. A few players wanted to take a group photo with him and when he said yes, he looked at you, still waiting in line for your turn. "Hey, you there. Come on, you can be in the picture, too." Thanos said, signaling you to come over to him. Raising your eyebrows slightly, you just waved it off, with it now being your turn to take a picture.

Entering the open-roof arena of sorts, with the femald voice explaining the rules of Red-Light-Green-Light to the players, you found yourself next to Thanos, again. "So, you don't know who I am?" You just said 'no' and looked at him expectantly, like you wanted him to explain who he was. It seemed to annoy him. The man went on about how he was a rapper, even demonstrating that to you with some cheesy rap he came up on the spot, until he was interrupted by some guy, yelling that everyone who'd move during red light would die. How drastic.

"What is he talking about?" Thanos whispered, but you didn't show a reaction and rather listened to what Player 456 had to say. It started to really get on Thanos' nerves that he couldn't even coax one reaction or emotion out of you. No matter gow charming he was or how many questions he asked, you remained aloof. He kind of liked it.

"Must be on drugs, huh?" Another attempt of him to talk to you, to which you shushed him. The man in up front was talking about how you'd get shot if you moved, that being disqualified just meant they'd execute you. You didn't want to believe him, like, this sounds too crazy to be real, right? Yet still, you were determined to follow his directions. Everyone lined up on the white line, the mechanic girl doll thing staring you down. It was big and scary, also mysterious in some way. How would they shoot eliminated players? Would she shoot lasers out of her eyes like in some kind of film?

You found out pretty quickly that it was just guards who did it, as one girl panicked when a bee landed on her and that set off a chain reaction with others trying to run for their lives, just to get it taken away from them. You were floored. Splatters if blood landed on your face from one woman being shot right in front of you, Thanos not far away experiencing the same. Player 456 was screaming everyone to either run or freeze, depending on if it was red light or green light, guiding the remaining players through the game quickly.

Thanos and you had been locking eyes everytime you were supposed to freeze, him sending you a small wink everytime he saw your disturbed face. Unbeknownst to you, to everyone, he had taken some kind of pill out from his cross necklace, some kind of drug, and was now bouncing all over the place, like this wasn't serious. He reveled in the fact that he was able to get a reaction out of you now: you were mortified everytime he did something even remotely dangerous. Aww, you cared for him!

Going as far as pushing other players over, getting them killed, you concluded that this guy was mental.

The last few seconds of the given time were scary. You had made it over the finish line, saving yourself from a gruesome death, just like Thanos.

"Glad to see you on this side, Señorita. Would've been too bad if I couldn't have seen your pretty face ever again."

[hottiesforhockey]

may the best brother win pt 4⎜hughes brothers

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜ jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜bachelorette-esque situations ⎜angst? ⎜friends - to - lovers warnings: not much tbh ⎜very angsty ⎜happy ending ⎜ synopsis: you have been friends with the hughes brothers for years - but why does this summer feel so different? word count: 6k authors note: this is the final chapter of may the best brother win! I know a lot of you had thoughts on who she should end up with so I hope too many people don't hate me for my choices! I hope you all enjoyed reading (cause I know I enjoyed writing) and will continue to support me with my work going forwards! Feel free to check out my upcoming list to see what I'm working on next! pt 1 ⎜pt 2 ⎜ pt 3 ⎜

(unedited)

It’s close to two in the morning when you finally slide out of Luke’s grip, replacing your body with a firm pillow which he snuggles straight into, a delighted smile on his face. Your frown deepens as you tiptoe around the room, placing as many of your belongings as you can manage into the suitcase - zipping it up as quietly as possible before pulling on Luke’s oversized hoodie and the pair of sweatpants you had left out, your phone dinging with the confirmation of your flight back home. 

You look over Luke still fast asleep in the bed one more time as you let out a long sigh, silently walking towards the bed leaning down to push his unruly curls away from his face. “Please don’t be mad.” You whisper into the quiet night, placing a soft kiss against his hairline before tugging the blankets further up his body and sneaking out of the room with your belongings in tow. 

You’re barely down the stairs when you notice the soft glow coming from the entry room - someone is awake and judging by the silence it has to be Quinn. You knew he had a tendency to stay up late at night, enjoying the quiet of the world before eventually tucking himself into bed - you just never thought tonight would be the night he stayed up later then usual. You let out another sigh as you continue your way down the stairs. 

“You’re leaving?” Quinns voice is quiet, a soft lamp besides him the only thing illuminating the room as you place your suitcase by the front door - glancing down at your phone as you track the uber. 

“I have to, Quinn.” The desperation in your tone flings Quinn from his seat in the armchair - his steps leading him towards you before he can even think about it. You take two steps back as he gets close enough to reach you - his own feet finally pausing as he takes you in. 

Wrapped up in sweatpants and Luke’s hoodie, you hair pulled back from your face and all your belongings sitting at your feet. 

“I’m coming with you.” Quinn says on a long sigh, his hands pushing his soft hair away from his forehead, his face starting to crumble slightly as he nods his head in determination. 

“No.” You whisper, your phone dinging with the notification that your uber was 2 minutes away. “I need you to stay - someone has to stop them from ripping each other apart, from ripping themselves apart.” You explain, letting out a shaky sigh as you take a few steps towards him, lifting yourself up to press a soft kiss against his cheek. 

“I’m sorry that I have to ask you to do this, Quinn.” You take one step back. “I’m sorry that you have to be the one to fix things, again.” You take another step back. “I’m sorry.” You whisper as you pick up your suitcase again, hearing Quinn let out a soft groan. 

“Just—” He starts, “Just tell me when you get home safe” He says, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip, “I just need to know that you’re okay.” 

“I will.” You agree, looking over the oldest Hughes brother one more time before sneaking out the front door, shutting it behind you with barely a sound as you slide into your uber, letting out a stifled sob as you hold your hand to your mouth, watching the house disappear in the review mirror, watching everything you’d even know be left behind. 

+

+

“Where is she?” Quinn groans as he pulls himself in a sitting position - he had waited for the rest of the night for your updates, perched in his favourite arm chair the glow of the lamp the only thing keeping him company as he waited for your message. 

number 1 fan 🪭: just arrived at the airport - probably won’t be home till lunchtime but I’ll keep you posted. 

number 1 fan 🪭: I’m sorry. 

celebrity crush ♥️: don’t be sorry, just be safe. 

Quinn had responded to your message without a second thought - he didn’t want apologies, he wanted you to come home even thought a part of him knew this was what you needed - the past week had turned into a shit fight so quickly, none of you really anticipating how a fun bet would turn into a broken household. 

“All of her stuff is gone?” Luke shouts again, Quinn can hear the banging of doors as Luke races around the house trying to find you, the desperation evident in the way he comes bolting down the stairs next, his eyes meeting Quinns. Quinn isn’t entirely sure what Luke sees in his expression but his younger brothers face drops, his mouth dropping into a frown as he stumbles on the words he’s trying to get out. 

“Quinn, where is she— tell me she didn’t leave.” Luke begs, his voice cracking on the last word.

Quinn sighs deeply, running his hand over his face before locking eyes with Luke. “She’s gone.”

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Luke’s tone is accusatory, frustration and fear lacing his words.

“She needed space, Luke. We all saw it. She couldn’t keep doing this… to herself, to us.” Quinn’s voice is calm but firm, his gaze unwavering. Luke shakes his head, pacing the room. 

“No, no. I can fix this. I have to fix this. I’ll call her—I told her I’d fix it.” Luke lets out a shaky breath, his fingers tangling in his hair, “She didn’t even give me a chance to fix it.” 

“Don’t.” Quinn steps in front of Luke, stopping him in his tracks. “Give her time. The last thing she needs is pressure from us right now.” Luke’s shoulders slump, defeat written all over him. 

“I didn’t want her to leave… She didn’t even say goodbye.”

“She was upset, Luke.” Quinn places a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She did what was best for her and we have to be okay with that.” Luke nods slowly, his jaw clenched. 

“How are you so calm right now?” Luke says, his gaze shooting up the stairs as they both hear the sound of Jack’s door swinging open. 

“What the hell is all the commotion about?” Jack mumbles as he takes heavy steps down stairs. 

“I’m not calm, Luke — I’m freaking out but she’s an adult she knows how to take care of herself and we need to trust her.” Quinn tries to explain clearly, not used to the sight of his youngest brother being so genuinely furious. Luke was the loveable one, he was fun and energetic but the way he was glaring at Jack made the pit in Quinn’s stomach grow. 

“Luke, don—” 

“This is your fault.” Luke sneers as Jack comes into view, the middle brother confused by the sudden aggression. 

“What’s my fault?” Jack asks cautiously, his brows furrowed as he looks between his brothers.

“She’s gone because of you,” Luke accuses, stepping closer to Jack, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re the one who started all of this. The stupid bet, the arguments—everything. You pushed her away.” Jack’s expression shifts from confusion to guilt. He opens his mouth to defend himself but no words come out. Instead, he looks to Quinn for some sort of backup, but Quinn remains silent, his gaze heavy with disappointment.

“Luke, stop,” Quinn finally says, his voice firm but not harsh. “We’re all to blame. We let things get out of hand. Don’t put this all on Jack.”

“He’s the one who made her feel like she was doing something wrong!” Luke’s voice rises, cracking with emotion. “She was so worried about what he thought and about making him mad and all he did was make it worse.” 

Jack flinches at the words, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean to…” he mumbles, his voice barely audible.

“But you did, you called her a slut,” Luke snaps. “And now she’s gone.” The room falls into silence, the weight of Luke’s words hanging in the air. Jack drops onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. Quinn sighs, running a hand through his hair as he watches his brothers fall apart.

“We can fix this,” Quinn says softly, breaking the silence. “But we need to give her time. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

Luke shakes his head, tears brimming in his eyes. “What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” Quinn says with quiet certainty. “But we need to be better for her when she does. No more bets, no more fights.”

Jack lifts his head, his eyes red-rimmed. “Do you really think she’ll come back?”

Quinn nods. “I do. But it won’t be because we beg her to. It’ll be because she wants to. Because she feels safe here again.” The sound of Quinn’s phone buzzing breaks the tense silence. He quickly pulls it out of his pocket, his heart racing as he sees your name flash across the screen.

number 1 fan 🪭: just boarded my flight. i’ll text when i land.

Quinn exhales shakily, typing back a quick response.

celebrity crush ♥️: okay. Fly safe.

He stares at the screen for a moment, hoping for more, but no other messages come through. He pockets his phone and looks back at his brothers. “She’s okay, she just got on her flight.” Quinn updates the brothers, Luke letting out a breath of relief as he slumps against the couch, his glare focused on Jack as Quinn runs his fingers through his hair, for what seems to be the thousandth time that night.  Luke’s phone dings next, the youngest brother ripping it out of his pocket as he stares down at the message his frown unchanging but his posture relaxing a little.

bestie boo 👻 : Hey Luke, just thought I’d let you know that I’m okay - I’m sorry I up and left out of nowhere and I’m sorry I never said goodbye, but just know leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I know you’re worried but this isn’t goodbye forever I just need to clear my head a little, so don’t be too harsh on your brothers - I’ll message you later, promise. 

Lukey pookie 🐥 : Just don’t leave me for too long - I can come to you. 

Luke knows he’s coming off as desperate.

But he is desperate. 

Luke’s head perks up at the sound of Jack’s phone dinging, his brother hesitantly pulling it out of his pocket as he lets out a long sigh, a whimper sitting in the back of the throat as he drops it back in his lap. 

“Well what does it say?” Luke pries, his brother owes him this - owes them all this. 

“She said I forgive you, I hope you can forgive me.” Jack lets out a low growl of frustration as he pushes himself up from his seat. “I can’t let her leave it like this, I’m going after her.” He grumbles, stomping his way to the front door for his keys, his hands shaking as he tucked them into his pocket. 

“No, you’re not.” Quinn cuts in, standing in front of the front door as both brothers look at him like he’s got two heads, their mouths falling open as he crosses his arms over his chest. “She’s asking us for one thing and we are going to give it to her, whether you like it or not.” Quinn’s fingers reach for his hair again but he drops them, “Both of you go take a breather, she’ll let us know when she’s home and then we can go from there.” All the brothers nod, Luke being the first to leave, his long legs carrying him out of the house before anyone can second guess it - Jack leaves next dragging himself back up the stairs to his room, leaving Quinn back where he started the night in his arm chair with the lamp still glowing a soft yellow. 

His phone dings again in his hand. 

number 1 fan 🪭: I love you all, I hope you know that. 

It’s the first time in years Quinn has cried as hard as he does in that arm chair. 

+

+

“What do you mean you’re not going back to Michigan?” Your mums voice carries through your headphones as you roughly chop the vegetables in front of you. “What happened? I don’t understand why you left in the first place.” Your mother continues, not stopping as you place your knife back on the chopping board letting out a long sigh. 

“It’s complicated, but I feel like maybe have the summer apart will help mend things, give everyone some space to think.” You explain, rolling your eyes as your mum continues to try to convince you to start heading back to Michigan, claiming her mothers intuition is telling her it’s the right choice, her words only pausing at the ringing of your intercom. 

“Look, I’ve got to go but I’ll call you back later.” You say, quickly bidding your mum goodbye as you hang up the phone call, slipping your headphones around your neck before walking over to your front door, pressing the buzzer to let the delivery driver in. “Must be the amazon guy.” You shrug, waiting until your hear the loud knock at the door. 

Luke stands there, drenched from the rain, his hoodie clinging to him, water dripping from the ends of his curls. His eyes — tired, desperate, and stormy — lock onto yours, and for a long, breathless moment, neither of you speaks.

“You weren’t going to call.” His voice is low, rough around the edges. There’s no question in his tone — just a quiet statement of fact.

Your throat tightens. “I thought it’d be easier this way.”

“Easier for who?” His jaw clenches as he steps inside without waiting for an invitation, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The silence stretches thin, like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap. “Because it sure as hell hasn’t been easier for me.”

You swallow hard, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that might shield you from the intensity of his stare. “What do you want me to say, Luke?”

“I want you to tell me why you left,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “I want to know why you didn’t even give me a chance to fix things.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “I didn’t think there was anything left to fix.”

His eyes narrow, frustration flickering across his face. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Your resolve wavers under his gaze. You take a step back, needing distance, but he follows. There’s nowhere to run — no place to hide from the weight of his presence.

“Everything was falling apart,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “The fights, the tension… It felt like we were breaking, Luke. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was okay. I couldn’t pretend like it wasn’t my fault.” Luke lets out a low scoff at your words, his head shaking as he continues to step towards you. 

“You didn’t have to leave.” His voice softens, the anger bleeding out, replaced by something more vulnerable. 

Tears prick at your eyes, and you shake your head. “I was scared.”

“Of what?” he asks, stepping closer again, his tone more pleading than demanding now.

“Of losing you,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “Of losing what all of us had before the stupid bet, we were best friends, Luke and now Jack can’t even look at me.” Luke exhales shakily, running a hand through his wet hair.

“You could never lose me, and Jack—” He pauses, a grimace on his face, “Jack’s complicated.”

“So you all keep saying.” You sigh, moving the piece of hair that’s falls onto your face, you look away, your gaze falling to the floor. “You deserve better then me, you all do and maybe it’s best if we all just take a bre—.”

“Stop.” His voice is firm, pulling your attention back to him. His eyes are burning with emotion, and when he speaks again, his voice is raw. “Don’t tell me what I deserve. Don’t decide for me. I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect.”

Your hands tremble at your sides. “Luke—”

“No.” He takes another step forward, so close now you can feel the warmth radiating off him despite the cold rain soaking his clothes. “You don’t get to walk away and tell me it’s for my own good. You don’t get to leave without saying goodbye and pretend like it was some noble choice.” His words cut deep, hitting every raw nerve you’ve been trying to ignore. 

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, and your voice cracks as you say, “I didn’t know what else to do.” Any hint of Luke’s anger dissolves completely from his body as he steps towards you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, your sobs muffled in his chest. 

“Why didn’t you stay? We could’ve talked about this sooner instead of you just keeping yourself all cooped up in this stupid apartment.” Luke sighs, his chin perched on the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth letting you cry into the fabric of his hoodie. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me,” you whisper, your voice muffled against Luke’s chest. “After everything that happened, I thought it was easier if I just… disappeared for a while.” Luke pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. His expression is soft, tender, but there’s a fire in his eyes that you can’t ignore.

“Do you really think so little of me?” he asks quietly. “Do you think I’d just let you walk away without a fight?” You shake your head, your hands gripping the front of his hoodie. 

“It wasn’t about you, Luke. It was about me. I couldn’t handle the guilt, the pressure—everything just felt so overwhelming.”

Luke takes a deep breath, his hands dropping to his sides. “I get that. I do. But you can’t make these kinds of decisions alone. We’re supposed to be a team.” The word “team” hits you harder than you expect, and for a moment, you’re both silent, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air. Luke steps back, running a hand through his wet curls, shaking his head.

“Jack’s a mess,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. “He’s been beating himself up since the second you left. He knows he messed up. Hell, we all did..” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “He doesn’t leave his room, Quinn puts food outside his door and it’s usually gone so at least we know he’s eating.” Luke lets out a bitter laugh,  his eyes locking with yours, “I’m not trying to guilt trip you or anything, I just—” He pauses, a frown growing as he thinks of what to say, “I just want you to know that he wants the chance to fix things.” 

“I don’t know how to fix things with Jack. He said some things… things that hurt more than I’d like to admit.”

Luke nods solemnly. “I know. And he’s probably not going to apologise the way you want him to. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. He just… he needs time.”

“Time,” you echo, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “That’s all anyone ever says. Give it time. But what if time isn’t enough?”

“It will be.” Luke’s voice is steady, unwavering. “Because we’re not giving up on you. None of us are. You mean too much to us to let this be the end.” Your heart aches at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the walls you’ve built around yourself. You want to believe him. You want to believe that things can be fixed, that you can find your way back to the life you had before everything fell apart.

But the doubt still lingers.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I’m scared that things won’t ever be the same again. That I’ve ruined everything.” Luke steps closer again, taking your hands in his. 

“Nothing is ruined, I promise… just give me a chance to show you.” Luke’s brows furrow, his eyes pleading with you as his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” You nod in response, not missing the way Luke’s face lights up, his body almost vibrating with excitement as a smile grows on your own face. 

“Let’s go home.” Luke says, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering to life as you nod softly. 

+

+

Quinn shoots up from his seat by the table, his laptop lighting up the almost dark room as the front door opens. “Luke?” He calls out - slowly making his way out of the dining room. Luke had left two days ago not being able to bear being left alone in the house any longer - the youngest brother infatuation with you stemming deeper then anyone had realised. 

“Did you manage to talk to her? Is she okay?” Quinn calls out again, his frustration building as his younger brother ignores him. 

Maybe she didn’t let him in? 

Maybe he’s angry because she said she’s never coming back? 

Quinn’s mind is running a million miles an hour as he steps into the entry way, his whole body freezing as he takes in the smaller then his brother’s figure in the hall, the suitcase by your side, your hair pulled back from your face as you shoot him a shy smile. 

“Hi.” 

Quinn stares at you, frozen in place as if you might vanish if he blinks too hard. His lips part slightly, but no words come out. Instead, his eyes flicker to the suitcase by your side, then back to you. It’s the longest few seconds of your life, his silence weighing heavily in the air between you.

“Hi,” you repeat softly, your voice tentative, uncertain. The sound seems to jolt Quinn out of his stupor. He steps forward, his brows knitting together, but not in anger. His expression is more cautious, concerned.

“You’re here?” he finally manages, his voice quiet, almost disbelieving. His eyes scan your face as if trying to convince himself that you’re real.

You nod, biting your lip. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”

Quinn shakes his head slowly, his gaze softening. “I’m glad you did.” His voice is gentle, without any trace of the bitterness you had feared. He steps closer, his hands in his pockets. “We’ve been worried about you. All of us.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you look away. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just… I needed space. Everything was falling apart, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Quinn nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. Sometimes things get too heavy, and you need to step back. I’m not saying it didn’t hurt—it did—but I understand why you felt you had to go.”

Your chest tightens with emotion. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Jack’s upstairs,” Quinn says, tilting his head toward the stairs. “He’s been… well, he hasn’t been handling things great. But he’s missed you. A lot.”

You nod, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I need to see him.”

Quinn offers a small, reassuring smile. “Go ahead. He needs this as much as you do.” Taking a deep breath, you pick up your suitcase and head toward the stairs. Each step feels heavier than the last, your heart pounding in your chest. Memories flood your mind—of laughter, of late-night conversations, of the bond you once shared with Jack. And of the way things shattered.

When you reach the top of the stairs, you pause outside Jack’s door. The familiar sight sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you. You lift your hand to knock, but hesitate, your fingers trembling.

What if he doesn’t want to see me?

What if he slams the door in my face?

Summoning every ounce of courage you have, you knock softly.

For a long, agonising moment, there’s no response. Just when you’re about to turn away, the door creaks open.

Jack stands there, his hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired, worn down, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice trembling. Jack’s eyes meet yours, and you see the storm of emotions swirling within them—anger, hurt, longing. But instead of lashing out, his expression softens almost immediately.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice rough from disuse. He steps aside, opening the door wider. “Ummm, do you want to come in?.” You nod as you step inside, your heart in your throat. The room feels suffocatingly familiar, the memories hanging in the air like ghosts. Jack closes the door behind you, leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come back to be honest,” he says quietly.

“I wasn’t sure if I would,” you admit, your hands fidgeting nervously. “But Luke told me what been happening.” Jack lets out a long breath, his body rigid as the two of your stare at each other from across the room, his arms crossing over his chest as he nods slowly. 

“So you came because he told you to?” Jack assumes, his excitement dropping a little. 

“No, I came because I wanted to — because I care about you, Jack and neither of us deserves to hurt.” You explain, hesitating before continuing, “But the things you said, and the way you treated me, it wasn’t okay Jack and I need you to understand that if we are going to put this behind us.” 

Jack lets out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. “I know, and I’ve thought about it a lot and I know now that this things I said to you were because I was feeling a little rejected.” He says softly, letting out a small chuckle as he adds, “And we all know I don’t do well with rejection.” 

You blink, surprised by his words. “Jack…” He shakes his head. 

“No, let me say this. I messed up. I was angry, hurt, and I said things I shouldn’t have. I pushed you away when I should have been pulling you closer. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was hurt you. And my brothers…” He lets out a long breath, “I haven’t made things easy for them either and I’m sorry that I never took the time to explain everything before we got to this point.” He notes, his arms finally falling from in front of his chest, one hand raising to push his growing hair away from his face. 

Tears well up in your eyes again, and you take a shaky step closer. “I hurt you too. I didn’t mean to, but I did. And I’m so sorry for that.” Jack smiles but takes a step away from you, your hands retreating back to your chest as you look at him in surprise. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, “I can’t.” Your teeth catches your lip as you nod, Jack letting out a groan as he watches your chin tremble. 

“You and Luke are perfect for each other.” Jack says quickly, a sad smile on his face, “You know he got you a lego flower bouquet cause he knows you’d prefer that to real flowers, he’s also has that polaroid you two took on the boat in his wallet for like five years now.” Jack explains, rocking back and forth on his heels as he runs his fingers through his hair again. “It’s just killing me that, that couldn’t be us because it was never meant to be us.” 

Tears spill freely down your cheeks now, your heart twisting painfully at Jack's words. You open your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. The weight of his confession hangs between you both, raw and unfiltered.

Jack's gaze drops to the floor as he continues, his voice quieter now, laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. "I thought if I held on tight enough, maybe I could make it work. But it’s like holding sand, you know? The harder you grip, the faster it slips through your fingers."

You take a deep breath, wiping your cheeks with trembling hands. "Jack... I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted any of this to happen."

He looks up, his eyes glassy but steady. "I know you didn’t. And I’m not mad anymore. It took me a while to get here, but I understand now. You weren’t mine to keep. You never were." His words are a punch to the gut, but there's no malice in them—only acceptance and quiet resignation. You step forward again, closing the distance between you, and this time Jack doesn’t move away. 

You reach out tentatively, your fingers brushing his arm. "You’ll always be important to me, Jack."

He nods, his lips pressing into a tight line to keep his emotions in check. "And you’ll always be important to me. I don’t regret loving you. I just regret holding on too long when I should’ve let go." The silence stretches between you, but it feels different now—softer, less suffocating. Finally, Jack breaks it with a shaky laugh. 

"God, I sound like a bad country song, don’t I?"

A tearful chuckle escapes your lips, and you shake your head. "A little bit."

He grins, and for the first time, it feels real. "Maybe I should write one. Call it 'Wrong Time, Right Feelings' or something equally tragic." You laugh again, this time without tears, and Jack’s shoulders visibly relax. The tension in the room lifts ever so slightly, replaced by a shared understanding of what you both lost—and what you both still have.

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair once more. "Luke’s downstairs, huh?"

“Probably,” you whisper. "He wanted to give us time to sort things out.”

Jack nods, his expression bittersweet. "Good. He deserves this. You both do." There’s a pause, and then Jack reaches out, pulling you into a hug. His arms wrap around you tightly, holding on just long enough to say goodbye without words. When he pulls back, there’s a glimmer of peace in his eyes.

"Take care of him," Jack says softly. "He never puts himself first, so I’m glad that he has someone who will.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding. "I will."

Jack steps back, hands on his hips as he offers you one last smile—sad, but genuine. "Go on, then. Don’t keep him waiting."

You turn to leave, your hand lingering on the doorknob for a moment. Before you open it, you glance back at Jack. "You’ll be okay, right?"

He tilts his head, a ghost of his playful smirk returning. "I’m a Hughes. We’re made of tough stuff." As you step out of the room and close the door behind you, you hear the soft click of the lock. Jack’s way of closing the chapter.

You make your way down the stairs, each step lighter than the last. The weight that had been pressing on your chest for so long feels like it’s finally lifting. When you reach the bottom, you see Quinn leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a cautious but hopeful expression.

Luke’s eyes flick between you and Quinn as you descend the stairs, your footsteps soft but purposeful. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders tense with nervous energy. You can see it in the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other—he’s bracing himself for something, though you’re not quite sure what.

Quinn leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral. But there’s a knowing look in his eyes, like he’s already accepted whatever is about to happen. As you reach the bottom step, your gaze locks with Luke’s, and for a moment, the rest of the room fades away. It’s just the two of you—it always has been.

“How’d it go?” Quinn’s voice breaks the silence, his tone gentle, understanding. He’s giving you an out, a chance to speak first, but you don’t miss the way Luke stiffens at the sound of his brother’s voice.

“We’re okay,” you say softly, your words directed at Quinn, though your eyes never leave Luke. “Jack and I… we said what needed to be said.”

Quinn nods, offering a small, encouraging smile before stepping away from the wall. “Good. That’s good.” He glances at Luke, then back at you, his smile turning a little wry. “I’ll give you two some space.”

As Quinn walks away, heading toward the kitchen, Luke finally moves. He takes a hesitant step forward, his hands still buried in his pockets, his gaze flickering between the empty hallway where Quinn disappeared and your face.

“You don’t have to stay,” he blurts out suddenly, his voice tight with emotion. “If you… if you want to go after him, I get it.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Luke swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he looks down at the floor. “Quinn,” he says quietly. “I saw the way he looked at you when you came down. I… I know he’s always been there for you. He’s steady, reliable. He’s Quinn.”

A pang of sadness twists in your chest as you watch him, this boy who’s always been so sure of himself suddenly unsure and vulnerable. You step closer, but he doesn’t look up.

“Luke…”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, cutting you off. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie and say it wouldn’t hurt, but… I’d get it. He’s… he’s Quinn. And me?” He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I’m the guy who’s always a little too much. Too loud, too impulsive, too everything.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. “Luke, stop.”

He finally looks up, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know how to be enough for you,” he whispers. “I’ve been trying for so long, but I keep thinking I’m just… not him. Not the guy you’d pick in the end.”

You step closer, your hands trembling slightly as you reach for his. He hesitates for a moment before letting you take them, his fingers curling around yours almost instinctively.

“You’ve always been enough,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the emotion bubbling beneath the surface. “It’s not about Quinn, or Jack, or anyone else. It’s about you. It’s always been about you.”

His grip tightens, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “But what if I mess it up? What if I’m not what you need?”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Luke. I don’t want perfect. I want you.”

He stares at you, searching your face for any sign of doubt. When he finds none, a shaky breath escapes him, his shoulders sagging with relief. “I was so sure you’d pick him,” he murmurs. “I thought I was about to lose you.”

“You’re not losing me,” you whisper, squeezing his hands. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Luke lets out a quiet, broken laugh, the sound filled with equal parts disbelief and joy. “I’ve been such an idiot.”

“No,” you say gently, reaching up to brush a tear from his cheek. “You’ve been scared. So have I. But we’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment as if grounding himself in the feel of your hand against his skin. When he opens them again, there’s a flicker of hope there, tentative but real.

“You mean it?” he asks quietly. “You’re staying?”

“I’m staying,” you confirm. “And we’ll figure it out together. No more second-guessing, no more running.”

Luke exhales a long breath, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “Okay. Together.”

“Together,” you repeat, your voice firm.

Quinn’s voice drifts from the kitchen. “Are you two done being gross, or should I stay in here forever?”

You both laugh, the sound light and carefree. Luke wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you turn toward the kitchen.

“Also I heard something about a lego set.” You murmur, Luke letting out a bark of laughter as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“You can have any lego sets that you want.” 

As you walk together toward the future—hand in hand, hearts finally in sync—you know that this is where you’re meant to be. 

With Luke. 

Always with Luke.

[creamecafe]

Can you please write how squid game men will react to having a crush on reader?

How Squid Game Men Would Having to a Crush on Reader (Season 2 Edition)

Pairing: Squid Game Men x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: fluff, mentions of drug, SFW, kinda stalking but not yandere or dark! themes

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for requesting I hoped you enjoy! I'm sorry guys I couldn't add Lee Myung-Gi, it reached the limit for gifs so I'm doing part 2.

Women's version and a continuation will be posted soon!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

Seong Gi Hun

He thought that finding love or being attracted to someone was impossible after what he had been through

But when he saw you, it’s like seeing a past glance of his old self

Wants you on his team immediately

His social skills and personality he feels like has lost color, but would try just for you

Young-il

Thinks using the term “crush” is childish

He likes to use the word “fascinated”

Is always thinking of ways to talk to you

Is more smiley around you and asks you about your day

Thanos

Is lookin at you when he gets the chance to (Gettting breakfast or lunch)

Tries to come up with pick up lines for you, but ends up messing up (In which Nam Guy laughs and Thanos hits him)

Always rapping in front of you to seem cool

Has you by his side always and on his team

Doesn’t even want to take drugs because you’re considered to him his new addiction in a way

Kang Dae Ho

Once he realizes he has a crush on you, everything changes

He tries to not act so nervous around you, but he can’t help it

Stutters a lot when he talks to you

Has his jacket off a lot because he gets warm/flustered when thinking about you or when you’re around

Nam Gyu

Tries to act cool around you, but can't stop smiling around you

Thanos is hyping him up and would tease him about your crush

Is always fixing his hair before talking to you

Park Min-Su

Is shy as always, but around you is different

He likes you because you're the only in Thanos' group to actually treat him like a real person

Tries to muster up the courage to talk to you

Listens to you set up plans for the games because he loves hearing your voice

Hwang Jun-Ho

Tries to keep his chill persona up, but is nervous inside

Is always complimenting you how you look

Loves to give little subtle flirting hints but not too obvious

Salesman

Has a crush on you probably in the most unhealthy way, but still keeps his distance

Overhears what stuff you like and will buy it for you

Write down every thing you like and will remember

Will talk to you when he has the chance in the subway

Taglist:

@hobinistaworld, @swuzzin, @magicalconnoisseurcoffee, @dxrlingluv, @ninahorikoshifr, @ikeithy, @vampiregirlxoxoxo, @sassyyoyo, @cloudysxkura, @hollxe1, @ill-loveyouthroughthestars, @lovesickxmina, @basoressia, @61f1mazx, @chirikoheina, @creepyp-mp4

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

[viperwhispered]

Notes on Jamil's speech patterns

I was supposed to just pick out some examples of typical Jamil lines. How he speaks, the vocabulary he uses, things like that. Something I could easily refer to when writing to get the tone right.

But then it kinda blew up, oop – because it’s hard to talk about how a character speaks without also dipping into why they say whatever they say.

Plus then I wanted to get examples of Jamil in different moods, and could not resist some poignant things that were more related to his character or backstory rather than strictly the speech patterns themselves, so… It expanded a bit.

Anyways. Some things I noticed he tends to do:

Sighs (more than I realized)

Snarks

Tch (though could be a more general twst writing choice too)

Stutters when he’s flustered / embarrassed / caught of guard (what a cutie)

Goes ahem like an old man when he’s trying to get back on track in those off-kilter moments

Kinda formal with his manner of speech and choice of words (especially in servant mode) (I always worry I exaggerate this but he sure does do that)

But there’s still some animatedness with the way he emphasises words, for example

(so long-suffering and ready to bark out directions to Kalim oh boy - the way the directness just comes through when he loses it)

sugarcoating his opinions if he doesn’t feel like he can say them plainly (tyrant becomes rigorous, etc.)

sarcasm, sometimes with a side of deadpan, sometimes with a smirk

“Good grief” (another thing I didn't realize was that much of a catchphrase)

Very mild on the level of insults & swears honestly, (I mean, "drat"?) but I imagine this is more of a result of the game's rating (I guess for in-game reasons we can say he's been very conditioned by his upbringing)

I put the screenshots that seemed telling, and some related notes, on to a google sheet. That way one can filter and order it in various ways.

The sheet is probably best viewed on a computer or another larger screen, the screenshots might make it a bit difficult to navigate on mobile.

I did go in with the assumption that Jamil might speak differently pre-overblot (when the servant mask is firmly in place) and post-overblot (at least those occasions where he allows himself to be more honest). Like, there’s the sycophantic (as Leona calls it) flatterer, versus when Jamil’s honestly voicing his own thoughts. Which also shows in how I chose to categorize the screenshots.

Of course events are a bit wibbly wobbly in relation to the main story so can’t be placed in the timeline in the same way, but there are still those occasions where it seems you can tell the difference between the servant mask and a Jamil who’s not saying things just for the sake of appearances.

So, to explain the logic of the sheet:

First column has a screenshot of something Jamil says. The second two columns give the source.

The column for whether or not this happened before or after the overblot is only really used for main story things, since event stories are kinda murky timeline-wise.

Next is whether Jamil seems to be putting on the servant mask or speaking more honestly. This is where get more to interpretation territory, and I’ve not applied it to every screenshot (either because that didn’t seem like the relevant part for that line, or because I couldn’t tell).

The last column of the sheet is where we get most to my personal interpretations. So of course you might read these lines differently than I do, and that’s completely fine, these are simply the aspects that seemed poignant to me. Some notes are simply pointing out specific word choices or style of speech, others delve more into character analysis side of things.

Totally fine if you want to copy this file or modify it to your own needs. All I ask is that you don’t pass off anything I wrote as your own thoughts.

Order of lines is based purely on the order the pics were in my screenshots folder, so guess this is also an insight on the order I played things in, lol.

Tagging some jamil peeps in case y'all find this useful:

@crystallizsch @diodellet @moonyasnow @twstgo @lex752

@majestickitty @viperbunnies

[po3tbbygirl]

We’ve built a home

Spencer Reid x fem!reader (oneshot)

desc: In a place that never felt like home, reader’s grown tired of explaining herself—until someone finally listens.

content warnings: pre-established relationship, emotional distress, crying, cultural differences.

a/n: your girlie is OUT of her home country and you can tell 😖😖 I lowk cried a lot writing this…

Italicization = foreign/your language

She hated Virginia.

She hated how far she had to drive just to get to work, wishing she could go back to the days when her commute was a simple 15-minute bus ride.

She hated how every craving for her favorite foods came with the bitter truth that she’d have to make them herself. No restaurant around here could even come close to capturing the flavors of her culture.

She hated how much of herself she had to explain to people. Why she talked the way she did. Why she did certain things that felt so natural to her but seemed strange here. She was always defending or translating her life, just to avoid being misunderstood as weird, rude, or too nice.

Her days felt heavy, and even her dream job wasn’t enough to make up for how lonely and out of place she felt. Virginia wasn’t home. It never would be. But then Spencer came along.

He was lanky, with messy brown hair and a quiet awkwardness that made her smile despite herself. At first, he was just someone she met by chance. But over time, he became the one thing that made everything easier. Brighter. Lighter.

Of course, she still had to explain some things to him—he didn’t know her culture at first. But it was different with Spencer.

When she told him she needed lime with almost every meal, he didn’t question her. Instead, he made sure their kitchen was always stocked with it. Sometimes he’d even bring home extra, just to be safe.

When after playing chess or watching movies they’d accidentally pass the 3 a.m. mark and she just had to stay up until 4 a.m. for no real reason other than luck, he stayed up with her. No complaints. No judgment.

When Christmas came, and she explained how her family celebrated—eating pork, drinking fruit punch, praying together, singing songs, and breaking piñatas—he didn’t hesitate to join in. He did everything he could to honor her traditions, even when they were completely new to him.

And when she cried while setting up the ofrendas for her loved ones who had passed, Spencer didn’t try to fix it. He simply sat beside her, holding her hand and letting her cry, showing her she wasn’t alone.

Spencer wasn’t just good to her. He was perfect for her. He made her feel understood in a way she hadn’t thought was possible.

But there were still some things even Spencer couldn’t fix—or so she thought.

౨ৎ

“Ugh,” she groaned as she walked through the door, tossing her keys into the bowl by the door.

Spencer looked up from the couch, where he’d been reading a book. He frowned, setting it aside. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

She sighed, staying silent as she kicked off her shoes and leaned against the wall. Her face looked tense, like she was fighting back tears.

“I’m just tired,” she finally said, her voice strained.

Spencer straightened, concern etched across his face. “Tell me.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

She hesitated, standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen. She looked up, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“I’m tired of explaining myself,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m tired of people staring at my food at lunch. I’m tired of explaining why I talk the way I do, why I act the way I do.” She paused, her tears falling faster now. “And I’m especially tired of people thinking I’m dumb or slow just because I need a second to find the right word. They don’t realize I’m not thinking in the language they are speaking. I’m not stupid—I just need time. But no one seems to get that, and I’m so tired of it!”

Her voice cracked as she let out a sob, her body shaking with all the emotions she had kept bottled up for so long. “I can’t take it anymore. It’s driving me crazy!”

“Love…” Spencer’s voice was soft, steady.

She froze. The sound of his voice saying that one word in her language stopped her in her tracks.

He stood from the couch, walking toward her. Her tears slowed as she watched him approach, her shock keeping her in place.

“I know it’s hard,” Spencer said, his hands gently taking hers. “I know you hurt. And it kills me to see you like this. Every time you have to explain yourself to some ignorant person who will just shut you down, who doesn’t deserve to understand you, I become the saddest man alive.”

She stared at him, the warmth of his hands grounding her as her tears continued to fall.

“I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you this,” he said, dropping down onto both knees in front of her. “I know we have only been dating for a little over a year and know this isn’t a proposal because you deserve so much more than me kneeling in the living room in my ugly pajamas,”

Her breath hitched as she watched him, her heart pounding in her chest.

“But I promise you—no, I swear to you—that as long as you’ll have me, you’ll never have to explain yourself again. Not to me. You won’t have to feel like you need to translate your heart or your soul to me because I’ll keep learning. I’ll keep trying. All I need from you, my love, is to be you. The raw, beautiful, unfiltered version of you. And I’m ready for that. I’m ready for you.”

Her jaw dropped, and for a moment, she couldn’t move. No one had ever made this much effort for her before. No one had ever tried to understand her this deeply.

Without thinking, she knelt down in front of him, cupping his face in her hands. “I’m so sorry this isn’t a proposal, Spencer,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Because after what you just said… I don’t think I can do anything but want to marry you.”

They both laughed through their tears, and Spencer playfully shifted onto one knee. They stayed like that for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes.

Finally, Spencer spoke, his tone serious. “I mean it, love. From now on, if you don’t ever want to speak a word of English to me again, you don’t have to. I’m ready for that part of you. You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

Her tears flowed freely again, but this time, they were tears of joy. Relief. Love. “Spencer… thank you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

He smiled, his eyes shining. “I love you.”

[letteredlettered]

In an answer to an ask, I was describing a WIP of mine that's about a friend of the protagonist who is completely in the dark about the protagonist's relationship with another friend of theirs. The fic is about the fact that though the friend is very close to the protagonist and thinks deeply about their feelings, they are still not able to see what is going on.

I think the reason I was interested in this fic was I really dislike the tropes like "A/B think they're being sneaky about dating but all their friends know," or "their friends knew A/B were meant for each other before they did" or "their friends try to get A/B together because they know A and B like each other." The fic I wanted to write was sort of the opposite of all of those, where the friend, despite being very close to the protagonist and deeply concerned about his welfare, is wrong about everything.

I think I have a lot of feelings about the tropes I listed, some of which are related to what I think friendship is and should be, others related to what friendship has been for me, all related to how I operate in this world, I think. First of all, most stories that employ those sort of tropes have friends going behind their friend's back and manipulating them. I would hate to find out that a friend manipulated me into some kind of meet-cute or confession instead of just having and open and honest conversation about it.

These stories often also have friends mistrusting their friends and not believing them; the protagonist will say, "I don't like him like that!" or "I don't see how we'd work as a couple!" and instead of taking the protagonist at their word, the friends decide they know the protagonist better than they know themself. And you know what, sometimes your friends do know you better than yourself; it can be very helpful that they do. It can be very helpful when they nudge you in a direction you thought you couldn't go, because you didn't know you could handle it or didn't know you needed it. But in the end, I find it offensive if someone doesn't believe with what I'm saying, if they're not engaging with what I'm thinking, if they're deciding they know better. Because even if they do know better, I still think and feel these things, and I want my feelings to be addressed, not ignored--even if they're wrong sometimes.

Which brings me to how I move through the world. I often feel I move in darkness. I don't know what other people think unless they tell me or make obvious demonstrations. And I feel that way partly because I so often feel misunderstood, because people read my expressions, or my tone, or don't listen carefully to the nuance of my words, and they assume things about me that I don't feel, that don't describe me, that have more to do with them than with me. And then there is so much of me going on under the surface that I don't know how to express in day to day life, things I feel and think about that other people don't guess. Lots of times, other people don't even seem interested.

I've never had people in my life speculate about whom I might be romantically interested in--at least, not to my face, unless they were my wife. I've never been asked if I like someone after middle school. I didn't date for 35 years, and was never asked to my face why, or whether I was interested, or why I wasn't with anyone, except a few times very gently by my mother. When I started dating a woman, no one said anything about me being gay. No one had questions. No one seemed interested in my sexuality or journey to get there.

Throughout my life, I never felt like I have been treated like a person who could have a romance, a person who could have sex, a person who could have a relationship. Was I too ugly? Was I too fat? Was it because I didn't present in a feminine way? Was I too loud? Was I too confident? Was I too intellectual? Was I too weird? Too awkward? Too unlike those around me? Was it because I'd never been with someone? Was it because I didn't talk about wanting it? Was it because I was too content, too happy? Was there something about me that screamed asexual, aromantic, this is someone who will never have a love story?

Around 10 years ago, I was talking to a friend with whom I'd never talked about any of this. We talked about work and our mutual acquaintances, her kids, my theater, and art. But one day she brought up a mutual friend of ours who was in her thirties, wanting to have babies and get married, but was having trouble finding a partner. My friend said something that gave me pause, something like, "Everyone wants to be with someone; no one wants to be alone. She just wants the life everyone has." And I said, "I don't have that life." And my friend instantly said, "Oh, but you're different."

I asked her why, and she couldn't say, only that I just didn't seem to want it. But what made her think that? What was it about me? I could understand if she was surrounded by people saying "I want this" over and over again, and she had never heard me saying that, maybe she drew some conclusions about me. But it felt strange. It felt hurtful--not because I need marriage and babies, but because I am automatically sorted in the category of "different" in this person's mind. They were just one person, but this seemed to also be the case with dozens of other people. Hundreds. Everyone wants this; it's normal--except for you, lettered. You're obviously different.

I know I'm actually very lucky. Many people would love to have my "problem." Many people who are asexual or aromantic, many people who haven't figured it out yet, many people who have been in a series of bad relationships and feel hopeless, many people who can't find someone to date at all, might love to have been in those shoes. They would love to not be asked "who are you dating, when will you marry, when can I expect grandkids?" they would love to escape "why don't you settle down? why don't you have a boyfriend? how can you still be single?" Maybe they would love to be told by my friend, "Oh, you're different, in the world of people we all expect to be paired up with other people, you just don't count."

But knowing that's what other people get asked, knowing that other people get constant questions about their love lives, so much so that it's annoying for them--and then knowing that no one ever asked me (except for my mother, gently and kindly, a few times, careful not to exert pressure) feels bad. Was I the sidekick in some story, the one no one expects to have a love story of their own? Could no one imagine me as a romantic interest? A sexual object? Am I the platonic ideal of a woman, untouchable and perfect in every way? Am I Mary Poppins?

Anyway, the simple answer is probably just that people are mainly self-centered, and if you don't bring it up, it doesn't occur to them. And to tell you the truth, I didn't often bring it up because while I would like to have been with someone, but I really don't need it; I just thought it would be nice. It wasn't a burning interest of mine, so maybe I shouldn't have even felt so bad that people seemed to make assumptions about me. (I'm just glad my wife didn't make assumptions like that; everything changed when my fire wife attacked.)

But since I am already a person who felt largely in the dark about how others feel, and feel that others are largely in the dark about me, this aspect of myself just felt like another facet of a blind operation. I often feel that I'm trapped in my own world, and you are trapped in yours, and we are all groping blindly for things we can never fully grasp, because you can never fully enter my world, and I can never enter yours.

And I recognize that the "friends know about their feelings" trope and the "friends get them together" trope is in some ways wish fulfillment--maybe everyone feels blind, feels unseen, and unknown, and they wish people would see them in this way, and know them. They wish people would step into their world and offer a hand, and lead them to another person's world, where they will never be alone.

But I, personally, find it very comforting to read about that blindness, to know that I'm not alone because we're all blind, and yet we still find ways to reach out to each other regardless.

[danikamariewrites]

hello hi may I please request more ddlg cassian content 👉👈 maybe with reader being grumpy bc of her cycle & cassian coming home & just being like "ok drop the attitude, I'm gonna take care of you now" & calming her down?? (totally not self indulgent LOL) thank u PS I love ur blog & ur writing keep up the good work!!! 🩷🩷🩷

Brat Girl Problems

Ddlg!Cassian x reader

Notes: Hi anon! You literally read my mind because I’m writing more headcanons for him since I’ve missed writing this for Cass. I have a ddlg period fic here (not surprising lol). I can relate to you this week because this has not been my week for many reasons including my period 🫠

Thank you for your kind words. I hope you like it!

Warnings: ddlg relationship, bratty!reader, period talk

Nothing felt right today.

Your clothes didn’t fit right, there was nothing you wanted to eat in the house, and Cassian had been gone all day. On top of all that your cycle began today. And it was only 11 am! How could things get worse?

When a cramp hit or pain spliced through your head tears spilled from your eyes. Cassian was supposed to be here to take care of you. He was supposed to know this was going to happen without you telling him.

You had sent all your feelings down the mating bond to no response from your mate. It made you angry. You felt like Cassian was ignoring you, making you angry on top of all your other emotions.

You were staring to get overwhelmed. Meaning you were about to snap. Letting out an angry huff another debilitating cramp hits you. You let out a scream, pulling on your hair and throwing yourself down on the couch.

And just when you thought you couldn’t get more annoyed the front door opened. “Hello,” Cassian called out far too casually for you. And no sweet sentiments? None of your nicknames?

Anger forced you to go greet your mate. The smile on Cassian’s face deepened your scowl. Cassian opens his arms for you, but all you do in response is huff and cross yours over your chest.

Cassian tilts his head in confusion. “Sweet pea, what’s wrong?” “What’s? Wrong?” You repeat through gritted teeth, still fighting that cramp. “Everything is wrong! And I’m mad!” You let out a small huff, turning on your heel.

Cassian followed you all the way to the bedroom. He hoped you would acknowledge him following you. The male wasn’t exactly quiet. Before you could slam the bathroom door in his face he gently grabbed your shoulders, turning you to face him.

“I’m going to ask one more time, what is wrong?” Staring up into his soft hazel eyes the concern on his face mixed with your pain broke the dam. Your bottom lip quivered as you burst into tears.

“I hate all of my clothes today, I’m so uncomfortable in everything and I’m hungry and you weren’t here! My cycle started today and you were supposed to be here!” Cassian pulls you into his chest, smoothing down your hair. “Oh sweet girl. I’m so sorry. I thought it was going to happen tomorrow.”

You push away from him. A deep frown still on your face. “You should’ve known.” You snip. Cassian pulls you back to him as you sob more and continue your rant. Your mate soothes you, rubbing your back and playing with your hair. When you finally run out of words Cassian gently holding the back of your neck, firing you to look up at him. “Hey,” his tone commanding and gentle all at once has your frown gone. “Enough of this. No more attitude ok?” Cassian nods his head and you start to nod along with him. “I’m here now and I’m going to take care of everything.”

“Promise daddy?” Cassian presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Pinky promise, sweet girl.”

When Cassian says he’ll take care of everything he means it. It’s nothing but princess treatment when it comes to his sweet girl. He drew you a bath making sure to massage your shoulders and back.

He gave you his shirt along with your favorite sweatpants. You cuddled up to your mate as he massaged your stomach to help your cramps, pressing kisses to the back of your head. Once you fall asleep Cassian sneaks out to make your favorite snack.

When he comes back you’re wide awake waiting for him. Your eyes light up at the sight of food. “Thank you daddy.” You smile as you eat. “Of course, sweet girl.” You hug him tight, pressing soft kisses to his neck.

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Unplanned

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: High school sweethearts having the best time of their life, when everything seems so perfect. But sometimes, things don’t go as we plan them.

Warnings: angst, unwanted pregnancy, some curse words, a bit of sadness (but it gets better, I promise!)

A/N: I had a dream earlier this week, so it’s based on it. I don’t know how I feel about it (I read it nearly ten times, it’s fine, I guess.), personally I don’t think that George would act like he did in the beginning of this fic, so take it as a part of the plot. I have some ideas for possible part two, but who knows if I make it happen.

Please don’t use my writings without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

———

Young and naive love, that’s all they’ve always said when they saw you and George intertwined with each other every time you walk through the paddock. Meeting at high school, you knew he was the one, and his thing about racing, it was something that attracted you even more.

You always loved to ruffle his hair before the driver’s parade, just to make him grumpy, because he spent so much time fixing his wave of golden brown locks. The way he could make you smile, his warm embrace giving you peace and comfort, the days you enjoyed in the countryside with your families because your parents simply knew each other.

It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

George’s move to F1 was sure, his dreams coming true, he couldn’t be more happy and motivated to push himself to the limits more. On the other hand, you just found out the horrible thing.

Walking through the paddock in Brazil, you fought the nausea, as you held onto George’s hand. You tried to tell him, but you were interrupted by someone or something every time. He noticed your strange behaviour, your pale face.

“Are you well, love?” He suddenly stopped to get a better look at you, leaning down closer to you.

This was your only chance to say it. “George, I’m pregnant.”

Your whispered words nearly gave him a heart attack.

“You’re- what?”

“You heard me. I don’t want to yell it here.” Your hand went to his cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into your palm, bringing you comfort for your nerves.

George just stood there, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He grabbed your hand only to push it from his face away.

“We’re gonna talk about this later. I need to focus on the race.”

Your heart broke in your chest. Yeah, you thought just for a moment that he would be happy. But it was far from ideal.

———

George was pacing around the hotel room, while you sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with your fingers.

“How could it happen? We were so careful, you on the pill and we were using protection.. how?”

“That time in the summer, when I was sick and taking antibiotics, that night on the yacht, when we weren’t sober..”

“Holy shit…”

“George, look, I know it’s not easy, it’s not perfect timing right now, but we can do it.”

“Are you crazy? We’re twenty. You can’t be serious about this.”

“What? So you want to give it up? Get rid of it?”

George pinched the bridge of his nose, getting frustrated and hopeless.

“I can’t take care of the baby now. I’m gonna drive in F1 next season, it’s a big thing for me and I’m not ready to be a father. I don’t have an energy for the act of loving family.”

That was enough for you to bring you to the tears. Your hand went down at your stomach, sign of protective love for the small bundle growing inside you.

George hasn’t single clue what to do in that moment. He just stared into the wall, his mind blank, feeling like his world just shattered.

“I’m sorry I can’t fit into your image of fairytale life.”

And with that he walked out of the hotel room.

Also it was a very last moment he saw you for a very very long time…

———

“George and babies! What a cute sight!”

“He should be a dad! Baby suits him!”

“Make him a daddy already!”

“Oh, what a father figure!”

You did a great job for those past six years to be away from media and spotlight. After that day you saw George last, you never looked back. Maybe it was selfish. But his opinion on the situation was clear. He didn’t want a baby.

“Mom, I said that I have to pee. Are you listening to me?”

The voice of your son William interrupted your thoughts, while you were scrolling through your instagram for the first time in the past years. Brushing your annoyance by those comments aside, you looked at Will with soft smile.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. I’ll wait here for you, just go to the restrooms there.” You pointed to the direction and Will just rushed there.

When he was about four years old, he came across the idea of karting. You were strictly against it, but after his teacher in the kindergarten was done with his ultimate rant about formula and racing, you just took him to the first lesson and that was a start. Yeah, of course you were scared, not much about George possibly finding out, spotting you, but about Will’s safety. But you cannot expect someone with strong racing genes to be interested in being a scientist.

While you were waiting for your son to come back, you haven’t noticed the buzz around the circuit, signalling the famous person appearing around. You grabbed small helmet and looked at it with soft smile, brushing your thumb over it.

“Mom! You need to see this! Mom! C’mon!”

Will was calling you from the small group of kids, his voice full of excitement and joy. You raised your brows with amused smile, when he was excited about something, he just couldn’t brush it off.

As you took a few steps closer to him, you were curious about what was everybody so ecstatic about.

“That’s George Russell, mom!”

At that name your blood ran cold. Oh no.

“Will, how do you know him?”

“Jeez mom, everybody around knows him! He used to race here as a kid. He’s cool!”

Well, it was inevitable.

Her eyes carefully found George, seeing him interacting with the youngsters. He looked good, more mature and composed. Also his hairstyle was different, giving him a manly touch. Wrinkles around his eyes were still the same, but more apparent, when he smiled. And his eyes.. god, they were the same mesmerising blue colour.

Will left her standing there, getting through the small crowd of kids, to get his signature from him.

“Mr. Russell? George. Can you please sign this? You’re my inspiration.”

His small teeth appearing in grin as he gave George his cap. George’s eyes fell onto him, smiling cheerfully as he signed the cap.

“Just call me George, I’m not much formal person, when it comes to kids. I want to be friendly, because I know how exciting is to meet your idol.”

William’s eyes were glowing with happiness as he held the now signed cap.

“You’re amazing! Thank you.”

George smiled at the boy, watching him running to his mom. It was strange, because he looked familiar. His smile faded as he saw you, looking down at the boy with proud smile.

“Mom! I’m so happy, look!”

Will was excited, nearly jumping on the spot from it.

“I never saw you this happy. Guess it was worth it.” You smiled at him, ruffling his hair.

Without another look at George, you walked to prepare Will for karting session. You thought that he hasn’t noticed you.

George stood afar, watching the kids getting ready, but giving his main attention to you and your son. Will was already giving you hard time with his rolling eyes, sighs and “of course, mom”. While you wore your worried face, furrowing brows there and there, kissing him on his forehead and then fastening his small helmet securely.

When the session started, you moved to the sidelines, watching the circuit with heavy heart and tightness in chest.

“He’s a natural talent, I must say.”

The well known deep voice made you froze in place, your palms sweaty and your throat dry. Carefully, you turned to look at George.

“He is. I can’t keep him calm for a moment straight.”

Trying to hold your voice steady, you looked back at the track. George took a place beside her, doing the same.

“It’s been a long time.”

The ridiculous situation made you chuckle.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The silence between you was thick as hell. Both of you had your own reels of thoughts in your minds.

“I often thought about meeting you again one day. What would I say to you. And I’m saying I’m sorry.”

You lifted your gaze at him, feeling surprised but somehow deeply satisfied.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I was a total jerk back then. I should’ve acted more like an adult, I hurt you.”

The pain of the past years hit you like a train, while you just nodded.

“It’s strange seeing you happy now. You’re a caring mom, from what I saw. I guess the father must be proud too.”

That was the moment you snorted a little, making him confused.

“Look, George… I… I’m sorry too. We were young and it was a little selfish from me to want you to take responsibility.”

“We should’ve talk about it more that day. It’s one of the few things I regret in my life.”

“Well… I’m sorry that I disappeared. But I was so sad, hurt and scared, that I was sure that I need to do things alone. And I did a damn good job.”

George frowned a little, turning his head to look at you.

“William is six years old by the way.”

You said with sigh, locking your eyes with his. At first he didn’t understand. Then, it clicked in his brain. Pointing to track and gasping in shock, his eyes went wide. You just nodded.

Silence was deafening, while George collapsed at the nearby bench, sitting there speechless.

“William? You named him William?”

You took a seat beside him with soft hum.

“Holy fuck. I’m so shocked.”

“I’m sorry. You would find out sooner or later. And now I’ll be a fool. Fooling you, my parents, your parents, but mostly Will. I told him that his father and I broke up before his birth. He didn’t question it.”

George shook violently, running his hands through his hair.

“You kept this for yourself for many years. You kept the baby. Oh my god.. I missed so much. Six years.”

“I loved you and it hurt, I hadn’t had the heart to get an abortion. And I don’t regret that decision.”

He took your hand in his, the distant warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, making you smile.

“I want to be present in his life. I want to get to know him, to give him everything I could. I want to be a father I should’ve been.”

Your smile grew wide, tears glistening in your eyes.

“Sure, but it’ll take time. I need to reveal it to him carefully. I might be on the black list for a while, but he’d be over the moon, that George Russell is his dad.”

George let out a soft laugh, his voice shaky.

“I’ll take any time in the world. I’ll make it worth it. I won’t disappoint him. I won’t disappoint you.”

[blkkizzat]

tw: discourse, plagiarism, drama, etc. im a bit snarky here but i reserve that right. the truth could never be a diss.

I hate that it had to come to this as I have had this blog since Aug 2023 without ever having to do something like this. But being gaslit and when people start blatantly playing in my face like I’m stupid is where I draw the line. I will not tolerate any kind of plagiarism with fics I work hard to create for free while working full-time and going to grad school.

Tumblr user @/rissouu has plagiarized my work. Specifically part 3 of Plug!Choso fic (with minor things from the end of part 2) with their brat taming/plug!choso smut drabble. I posted p3 of my fic on 7/3/24 they posted their drabble on 1/1/25 [screenshots below].

Note: This is not a direct word for word copy, but heavy detailed inspiration including dialogue, actions, reactions, sexual situations, etc. It’s been said to me by many other people I have consulted to get their opinions, that it reads like a watered down, condensed, version of my smut scene —and I would have to wholeheartedly agree.

(more details below)

Now to be clear: I do NOT own any concept. I hope I can effectively convey in this post I am NOT doing all this because someone wrote plug!choso or brat taming!choso and combined them. There has been plenty of both, even combined, well before I even wrote my fic and has been in the months after, none of them have been anything like my fic. Also these have BEEN my sentiments as I expressed this months ago when I kept getting TNMN concept asks/dms after my fics:

Not to mention I give tutorials and share methods of how to do my graphics, formatting fics, writing tips, etc as I believe in knowledge and information sharing. I haven’t ever played gatekeeper on a single thing. 

Sidenote: 98% of the people who have ever tagged me as inspo credit per my statement above didn't even need to do so. But I appreciate they did. It shows their character and integrity that they would even consider doing so when its not 100% needed nor expected, so thank you!

the drabble @/rissouu posted is on the far left column and specific excerpts from my plug!choso fic are in boxes in the middle and to the right. Each box on the drabble is color-coded and connected to corresponding boxes with my excerpts. Every single paragraph connects to my fic: 

Now, the crazy thing here is @/rissouu even tags this drabble #plug!choso as the first tag. Yet there is not one mention of drugs or plugs or even a damn ibuprofen anywhere lmfao. When confronted on this they said—

"it's strictly to give that kind of aggressive/dominant or stoner man vibes, so i don't care as much to input it into the writing itself. me tagging it as 'plug choso' [...] is simply to reach out to my audiences who like the concept of plug!choso. i do this mostly for my girlies of color who i try to reach out to more because it's what they request and like." [full convo screens at the very bottom]

Now, I'm ignoring the problematic implications that only poc girls would like or write plugs, so I'm gonna table that and y'all can make what you want of it. What I want to focus on is this weakass excuse. It's the fact that writing a plug/drug dealer fics does not make that character automatically aggressive or outwardly stoner. There's infinite ways to write a single concept [and as someone who has actually done alot of party drugs and had many dealers living in nyc before, the best dealers are the ones who don't look or act like ones!]. So it's mind boggling a writer would explicitly tag a concept because they were too lazy to actually write it in the fic. Then assumes everyone will interpret it the exact same way and get their meaning from the tag of a generic concept and not their actual story lol 😭. Insanity.

100% transparency, I thought the fic was rip way before I even got to the bottom to see the plug!choso tag. The tag just confirmed it more for me.

Now even with ALL this, I still likely wouldn’t have brought it to the TL. Even though I think it’s clear she took inspo from me and is straight lying through her teeth, I could have let it go. However the next thing @/rissouu did was so insane and shameless, I can't let it go. Like personal creativity and imagination in the trenches but plenty of audacity to spare. This is just a slap in the face.

So the timeline (pst) goes like this:

@6:20pm @/rissouu replies a few times, she explicitly says she will read my chapter to see if there are any similarities. [full convo screens at the bottom]

@7:06pm I posted rm!choso and babydaddy!toji who reader has a baby girl with but they broke up.

@8:59pm @/rissouu posts babydaddy!Choso who reader has a baby girl by but they broke up and takes ANOTHER part of dialogue/reaction from p3 of plug!choso.

Is this real life?

I know if someone accused me of plagiarizing them and I told them I would read their work to check… I wouldn’t in less than 3 hours later post a drabble with one of the same concepts from a fic they just posted 2 hrs ago, and then turn around use the more dialogue/reactions from the other fic they just accused me of stealing from, that I just told them I was going to read!! And I for damn sure wouldn’t have claimed to have just “pulled this outta my ass” !?!? Like @/rissouu really said, fuck all of what kali saying and her artistic integrity with this post loud and clear lmfaooo.

Sorry but *in remy ma voice* b*tch is you DUMB!? Like I know I'm cracking jokes right now, but this situation is so ridiculous it’s gotta be a joke, so I’m treating it like one. They clownin’ with the whole damn circus cause wtf is this 😭😭?? 

You know what else is circus behavior? This disclaimer: 

Lol… so consequences for everyone else but you girl? Okay lmfao. Like such aggressive disclaimers for someone doing exactly that.

Ironic though that all 3 times I have had to confront someone about plagiarism/inspo (in dms) in the past couple months I have been gaslit in the exact same ways.

Their first defense is always “this is a common concept” —Sure, but it shouldn’t be executed in the exact same way, so closely to my fic that's why I'm speaking up.

Their second defense is always, “oh I have written this [topic, headcanon, dialogue] before.” Great. I’m not speaking of those prior times, I’m ONLY concerned that 100% of their current drabble mirrors my fic. They could have written 50 drabbles on this topic/concept, there's no reason any of them should so closely mirror mine.

Finally, the third thing is (after proof is given): “well you don’t own the use of these details or these words. so I didn't copy!” No, I don’t own the individual words or phrases or actions. What I DO own is how those individual words, phrases or actions come together in the fic I wrote. The fic that @/rissouu mirrored and diluted. 

One more thing before screenshots of the full convo. You can see on the very first one below that I had been following @/rissouu for 11 months lol, so since 1 month after they created their account. Granted, I don’t think we’ve interacted much at all as I do follow lots of people but I try to spend most of my free time writing or interacting with commenters, anons, closer moots or those who reach out to me. But I know for a fact i've seen them in my notifications before liking things, even in the last week and I honestly thought they followed me at one point lol. That's one of the reasons I was shocked to discover this. So the fact they would try to say they never heard of me or my story or seen my fics ever is looney tunes fr. Not to mention plug!choso is probably the fic people have recco'd the most from me. None of that is important to me though, so I don’t really care about anything but the facts that she took heavy inspo from me and is refusing to even acknowledge that it's pretty weird/odd/uncommon considering how similar they are. (sorry i would have taken screenshots of notifications but i barely got the chat before it disappears after two ppl block each other)

screenshots of our convo here:

As you can see, they apparently think i'm casper. they refuse to acknowledge they know me, or take it down, or give me credit and has me blocked now, so here we are.

Lastly... no one under any circumstances should be harassing or sending anyone hate! If you don’t like what they did, unfollow/block. If you don’t like what I am doing now or don’t agree, unfollow/block. I won't be offended if you do, if you don't like me , you don't like me. Please curate your own experiences.

Also, may choose to answer clarifying questions about this in public asks or comments but I reserve the right not to (even if you are in support of me). Honestly this is all so mentally draining and taking away from the things I actually want to do with my blog and I always feel really bad when I miss responding to comments people leave on my stories/works. So I will likely mute notifications on this. Like I could have been actually writing the many fics in my backlog last night or answering the very sweet or slutty asks in my inbox instead of writing this. I've always tried to keep my blog a pretty positive, goofy, unserious, slutty and drama-free place and I won't let this change that.

Additionally, no overly hateful/bashing comments towards me or @/rissouu will be answered/tolerated. If tumblr had an option to turn off comments on individual posts, I would for this one. I'm not going to waste time justifying something that is clear as day to me and many others. If anyone wants to play Stevie Wonder too, go for it! Nor do I want to waste energy bashing someone and beating a dead horse. I know what they did, they know what they did. @/rissouu wants to steal, lie and play games? Let them do it on their own, I guess. Clout is a helluva drug and I suppose my Plug!Choso was the best dealer for that but call me Desiree Perez cause imma snitch!

I'd prefer anyone really wanting to talk with me about this further and has something to say —good or bad, DM me.

—🎀 Kali

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

write more aaron warner you're amazing 🫶

took me long enough but omgggg I got this req done!! thank you so much for you compliment and your request!! I hope you enjoy 🤍🤍 and in all seriousness i am really grateful for your patience with these requests, I realise that it’s taken me far too long to get around to doing them!!

title: you’re not him

pairing: aaron warner x reader

synopsis: something’s off with aaron but he won’t tell you what…

warnings:

a/n: thank you so much for reading 🤍🤍

taglist: @wish-i-were-heather @midiosaamor @fleuriosa @maybxlle @whatsamongus @elysianwayy77 @lovethornes @emelia07 @inmyheaddd @sweetreveriee @azysmate @anintellectualintellectual @off-to-the-r4ces @hermesenthusiast

By the time I’d gotten out of the shower, Aaron still wasn’t out of his office. He’d been there for hours, hunched over the same piece of paper. A little worried, I go to check on him, walking in to find him sitting there, so upright it look like a type of victorian punishment, pen down, staring out into the distance. My footsteps echo down the walkway but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Aaron, love,” I murmur gently, my voice a tender, steady hum over the soft silence.

He doesn’t respond and just stares forwards, lost in a hypnosis of his own thoughts. I’ve seen him like this before and I know it’s not a good thing.

“Aaron,” I say again, a little louder and slightly more urgent.

“Hmmm,” he hums in response not even meeting my eye.

The worry in the pit of my stomach only blossoms like a cherry tree in the springtime, with coiling, twisting branches of anxiety, flowering the most delicate petals of panic.

I chew the inside on my cheek, “what’s wrong?” I dare to ask.

“Nothing,” he replies, his voice distant like he wasn’t quite in the room with me.

“Aaron,” I whisper, sliding my hands up his back slowly with the gentlest fingers, only to stop at his shoulders to massage the tension knots out.

“Yes love,” he says to me, avoiding my gaze even though I know he can feel it burning a hole in the back of his skull.

“Talk to me,” I urge him in barely a whisper.

He shakes away my touch and my hands fall slack to my sides, weighted with rejection.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he sighs, standing up, his back to me.

I inhale deeply. I don’t want to get emotional because usually I’m not, but something about this cold, distant manor struck something in my chest.

“Aaron please,” I say, stepping in front of him, placing one hand on his chest. There’s a rawness to my voice that makes my throat ache, “you have to stop shutting me out, I thought we got past this.”

“You should go and rest,” he murmurs finally meeting my eyes, as he puts his hands on my rounded belly.

I understand now why he refused to look at me for so long. His eyes speak words he has no control over. Deep in the green lies all his pain. Whatever is going through his mind isn’t pleasant.

Still, my specification to address the matter is still being turned down. He’s completely avoiding the subject matter, as if the words never left my lips. He used to be like this all the time, closing me off, locking himself away, drowning in his own issues, refusing to even touch the lifeline bobbing on the surface for him to hold onto.

Aaron had always been stubborn, he didn’t want help. He’d rather stay silent and carry his own burden, rather torment himself into an unhealthy state than ask. Good damage, he used to call it. But once, it got too much and he finally let me in and he made a promise. He promised he wouldn’t go back to way he was. Not with me.

I fold my arms and pin my eyes to his, “I won’t rest until you tell me what’s wrong.”

An ultimatum. I need his attention.

“I promise, love, I’m perfectly happy,” he lies, with a forged smile, “I have you and our beautiful, beautiful child that you’re carrying, what more could I want?”

It’s not the lie that hurts, it’s not even how easily he managed it. It’s the fact he feels he has to lie to me, to hide from me.

“I can feel it when you’re not right you know,” I whisper, touching my heart, “in here.”

He looks at me, his emerald eyes burn. For a moment his expression softens, he breathes a little. He’s less chief commander and more the Aaron I know. The kind man, with soft eyes, gentle hands and sweet lips. The man who would burn the world for me or stand by my side as I burnt it. My Aaron. Then something shifts, a bitter frost comes in and sends an icy sheet all over.

“I need to shower,” he says quickly, “get some sleep, love, you look tired.”

I could’ve stayed there and argued. I wanted to, but he turned away too fast predicting my next move. I run my fingertips over my bump and sigh. He’s right, I am tired. I just hate it when he wasn’t okay, in fact I can’t bear it. It’s as if someone iswas torturing me, burning me alive, scraping my skin off a centimetre at a time, plucking my eyeballs out.

I walk to our bedroom slowly, pushing down my annoyance in the helplessness I feel. If he doesn’t talk, I can’t read his mind, I can’t know his problem, I can’t help. I get into bed, slipping under the covers but not laying down quite yet.

I listen for the shower running but don’t hear a sound, only the soft sloshing of bath water. Aaron bathes when he is stressed, so this only confirmed further that something was playing on his mind.

I try to wrack my fogged mind for what it could be. His work in rebuilding our government had been extensive and stressful but he had never caved under that sort of pressure before. He usually thrived under it. This was something else, I am almost sure of it. But what else? Is it something I’ve done? As far as couples go, I’d always thought we’d handled problems well but maybe he did have a problem with me, maybe I’d done something wrong…

I’m suddenly aware of the bathroom door opening, interrupting my train of thought, as its light shines into the bedroom. Aaron walks in and I can tell he’s caught off guard with the fact that I’m awake. Something between alarm and shock splashes through his eyes for a fraction of a second as he approaches. His eyebrows slowly draw inwards, pinching together in concern.

“You’re still awake, love?” he asks me.

I hum in reply.

“Why do you feel guilty?” Aaron says suddenly, going very still.

I sometimes forget he can feel what I feel, “have I done something?” I reply, “is that why you’re acting off?”

His face breaks into a sad sort of smile, “no, not you, never you.”

I rest my head back on the headboard, fighting with droopy eyelids to keep myself awake. I don’t push him any further, as long as it wasn’t my doing, I would wait for him to be ready to tell me.

He slips into the bed beside me and holds my cheek in one hand, his thumb gently brushing just under my eyes. I melt into his touch, the exhaustion getting stronger and stronger by the second.

“Oh love,” he murmurs, his voice so tender it makes my hearts ache.

I smile tiredly letting the weight of my head fall into his palm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes pinned to me roaming over my every feature as if it were the most mesmerising sight he’d ever seen, “so so beautiful.”

“Hold me,” I mumble into his warm skin, craving his touch, to be in his arms.

“Of course,” he says, enveloping his arms around me and tucking me into his chest, hiding me away from the rest of the world.

I breathe him in, the warmth of his skin on mine, our hearts thumping to the same beat. I nuzzle into the crook of his neck, my face buried in his skin. I feel myself grow heavier, less alert as I match my breathing to his.

“Do you want to lay down?” he whispers, probably noticing how my limbs growing heavy.

I hesitate for a moment.

“I won’t let go,” he says, reading my mind, “I promise, I only suggested it because it might make it easier for you to sleep that way.”

I don’t want to sleep, not really. There’s still a part of me that wants to know what’s wrong but my body can only fight the exhaustion for so long. Still, I am committed to stay awake just a little longer.

We lay down together, his arms still around me. I’m cocooned in his body. His hand meet at the bottom of my swollen belly, holding my bump with the utmost care, as if it were the most delicate thing on this universe. His chest is pressed firmly against my back, warm and protective as his legs intertwine themselves with mine. I can feel his slow and steady breathing on the back of my neck, tickling me slightly. The silence between us is heavy and makes my ears ache for sound but I couldn’t think of the right thing to say.

“I’m sorry,” he says, a little strained, in a low voice as if the noise was coming from the back of his throat.

Confusions washes a tidal wave over me, “what are you apologising for?”

I don’t get a response for a long while. I almost think he’s fallen asleep, after his breathing slows. His heart beat a little faster than usual against my back, my only indication that he’s working himself up to admit something. Something that makes him nervous to say out loud. I wait, giving him the time to form the words and the courage to say them.

“I find it hard to talk,” he begins slowly. I can hear each syllable is a struggle for him to say.

“I know,” I murmur, bringing his hands to my lips. I kiss them both gently to silently tell him that I am here to listen when he is ready. He doesn’t have to tell me tonight, or tomorrow night, or even the night after. However long he needed, I would wait for. He understands what I’m saying without me having to even say the words. And still he chooses to whisper seven words into my ear.

“I don’t want to let you down.”

It takes me by surprise. Aaron Warner is not a man to doubt himself, least of all doubt himself and blatantly admit it.

“Aaron what are you talking about?” I ask, rolling over so our noses touch, “you could never let me down.”

“No,” he murmurs shakily, something between pain and fear clouding over his emerald eyes, “listen love, I don’t want to mess things up.”

“Mess what up?” I say softly, my brows pinched with a gentle confusion, “tell me, explain to me.”

“I…” he falters, “…can’t.”

I take my palms to his face and hold him.

“I have seen every part of you,” I tell him, “your worst and your very best, I’m no stranger to the bad parts, so let me help you, let me in, please Aaron.”

Silence hangs in the empty space, never tiring of the wait, never growing impatient.

“I’m scared, love,” he responds finally, his voice so small I barely register it when he speaks, “I’m so so scared.”

“Scared?”

The question slips my lips before my brain has a chance to suppress it. I hadn’t meant to be so blunt. Aaron had never once, in our whole relationship, before and after marriage admitted that sentence aloud. Even when he’d looked the most petrified, physically shaking, a deathly pale, he didn’t say it.

So why now?

“I’m not going to do this right,” he continues, his words sharp and frantic, “I’m not going to be a good enough father, I’m going to ruin this child like my father ruined me, I wasn’t taught how to be a good father, I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m going to mess everything up.”

My heart shatters on the spot. It splits into a million tiny shards that hit the inner walls of my chest like shrapnel.

“Oh Aaron,” I melt, “you don’t need to be taught anything, you’re already the best man I’ve ever met, you’re not ruined at all. And you will be a good father no matter who your father was.”

“What if I become him?” he asks me, his eyes wild with panic, “worse than him?”

I wish in that moment that I’d been the one to kill his father. I would’ve made it the most excruciating experience on this planet. He would’ve been sorry before he went six feet under because no man deserves this torture, especially not Aaron. How dare the monster that called himself a father haunt his soul from the grave. It’s not right. It’s not fair.

“You won’t,” I tell him, “I know it.”

“You can’t be sure of something like that,” he replies, shaking his head, doubting all he is, all he’s accomplished, all his goodness.

I only wish he could see himself the way I see him. Maybe then he might understand.

“But I am,” I say, my voice more raw, more passionate. I know he can feel my emotions, I know he can feel the strong belief I have in him, the love that overpowers my senses. “Look at me Aaron, I know you and you are the furthest thing from the person that man was. You are going to be amazing at this and this baby is going to be so lucky and so so loved.”

He stares at me.

“I’ve never been more in love with you than I am right now,” he murmurs into my lips, kissing me slowly, passionately, longingly.

“And I don’t think I’ve ever been more in love with you than I am right now,” I reply as he draws soft circles with him thumb on my stomach.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “thank you. I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t thank me for telling you the truth,” I reply, “and for the record you deserve every inch of me.”

“Sleep, love,” Aaron tells me gently, holding me tenderly in his arms, with a small smile on his lips, “and I’ll be here when you wake up, always.”

So I stop fighting my tired eyes and finally gave in, letting the night take me as her child, as I fall asleep in Aaron’s arms.

sorry for the lack of fics 😭😭 school has literally taken it out of me this week anywayysss thanks for reading!!

shatter me masterlist

[myokk]

note-taking

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3,6k

summary: mc loves flustering sebastian with her notes during class😇

cw: NONE this is just fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, it takes a while for them to admit their feelings, I rated it M for some language/sexual themes

a/n: I laughed a lot as I wrote this on the train, I hope you enjoy reading about these two idiots (endearing) as much as I did writing them

A beetle slowly makes its way across Sebastian Sallow's desk.

The classroom is silent - save for the scratching of quills furiously calculating the Arithmatic probability of who will be the next Minister and the quiet murmur of his professor as she helps Hobhouse (how did he even get into the N.E.W.T. level?) - and Sebastian is going absolutely mad.

He counts how many seconds it takes for the beetle to reach his abandoned quill (fifteen). But, when it takes its seventh step after making it over the quill (an auspicious sign), Sebastian slams his hand down on top of it.

The loud noise echoes through the silent classroom and Sebastian hears her snickering coming from behind him as the whole class turns to see what has happened. His ears turn red, he wishes he could jinx her somehow, and yet he is terribly curious to see what she has sent him this time. Sebastian hopes that everyone has gone back to their equations and stops staring at him, because now that it's in his hands, his fingers are itching to open it. His hands eagerly - shamefully eager, if you ask him - unravel the note he's crumpled up in his hands - almost a shame that he destroyed the beetle, it was one of her better creations - and Sebastian soon curses his haste.

His ears would be an even deeper shade of red were his blood not currently draining to a different part of his body. Sebastian shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he continues reading the note, his eyes flying across the tiny note once, twice, three times before he crumples it up and adds it to the graveyard of the other notes she has been sending him all day. The words fuck my soaking cunt flash up at him and he adjusts his schoolbag so that if anyone were to walk past and look into it, they wouldn't suspect a thing.

You see, this has been going on all week. Sebastian knew that when his seventh year started, it was going to be the culmination of their academic rivalry, but he never expected this. That witch has made taunting him her personal vendetta, and it's working.

Sebastian can't get her out of his mind.

It started in Herbology on Monday, at exactly 7.37 in the morning. Sebastian had been sitting next to Ominis, both complaining under their breaths at how early Professor Garlick had made them wake up (something about the plants blooming - Sebastian can't remember now). He had seen a little snake slither past Ominis's hands, making its way directly to him, and he does remember that he thought it was quite strange that Ominis didn't seem to react to the snake's presence. And then - he took a closer look at it - he saw that it was made of paper. Curious, Sebastian had thought as he grabbed and unfolded it. Reading it started an unfortunate chain of events.

It started out innocently enough, he supposes. Well, if you can call the most indecent thing he's ever read innocent, then it started out innocently.

Sallow - let me just say how absolutely delicious you look in your jacket this morning. I find I want to rip it off of your broad shoulders. Did you hit a growth spurt this summer?

He had flushed, briefly glanced over his shoulder - maybe he could see a face as flushed as his was, watching his reaction, but nothing - before looking back to the note, squinting at the familiar (familiar?) handwriting when Ominis had interrupted him.

"Sebastian? I think we need to start trimming the budding flowers now..."

His voice had blended in with the buzzing in Sebastian's ears as he stared intently down at the note in his hands. He had soon figured out who sent it - how could he not recognize her handwriting? - and the rest of Herbology class had been an absolute disaster. He had spent the whole rest of his time haphazardly massacring his plants and ignoring Ominis's pleas for help as he ruminated on her and what did she mean by her note? Her maddening laughter floated over the sound of tiny, precise snips as Sebastian's classmates did as they were supposed to, boring into his mind as he tried his hardest to figure out what she was up to.

Her plan's working, whatever it is. Sebastian has been frustrated to no end. She's nobody to him, just Anne's annoying best friend. Well, that's not entirely true, and Sebastian doesn't like to lie to himself. She was his closest friend last year, and the year before...ever since she arrived at Hogwarts, really. They did everything together, but something had changed when she visited that summer.

She had spent less time laughing with him, instead choosing to whisper with Anne about Merlin knows what, sometimes looking at him with an expression he couldn't place that had started to drive him crazy.

Sebastian had decided that a certain someone made no sense, that he would ignore the strange way his stomach would flip in her presence, and that he would focus all of his energy into besting her at everything. Maybe if she was embarrassed about being inferior to him, she would stop all of this. Although he would never admit it, he had started having nightmares about her gasping beneath him and needing him, that strange look from the summer flashing in dream-her's eyes, blissful fantasies that have him waking up hard and needing to cast a silencing charm around his bed before he can start his days.

Needless to say, these dreams have become infinitely worse this week.

What started out as a joke has quickly spiraled into an obsession. She soon finds herself watching Sebastian with breathless anticipation every time she sends a note over to him, relishing in the deep flush of his cheeks as he sneaks glances over his shoulder at her.

She doesn't really know what possessed her to start in the first place. A stroke of daring, she supposes as she finishes her latest note with a flourish and charms it to fold itself into a tiny swallow. And, she muses, watching the bird fly towards its victim, it's rather fun to fluster him so.

It's what he deserves, after all, after she has spent a whole year pining after him. A whole bloody year of sighing as he leaned over her shoulder in the library to point at something in her textbook, of his chin resting on top of her head, of warm breath tickling her ears, of watching him defeat every opponent in Crossed Wands, of watching him laugh despite himself at her little quips in Transfiguration. Of making sure -

She stifles a smile as she watches Sebastian eagerly grab the swallow as it flitters towards him. At first, he had tried acting nonchalant, like a cat biding its time before it pounces. Ignoring the notes she's been sending until he can't stand it and then: squashing them, smashing them, trapping them in his large hands, long fingers eager to unfold the note and see what she has to say.

Now, he has abandoned any pretense of aloofness he might have had before.

She can see it in the rigid set of his shoulders. The tension releases somewhat every time he opens a note, but quickly returns as he crumples them up and adds them to his collection. She hopes he's getting as wound up as she is, hopes that he's beginning to know an ounce of the suffering he has been putting her through.

A small voice in the back of her head tells her that she's being unfair, that maybe he's just oblivious - but then, why would he have looked at her like that all summer? And - almost the most maddening thing of all - ever since their seventh year started, he has made it a point to try and best her in every class. She couldn't move on from her silly little crush even if she wanted to, when his deep voice cuts through hers every single class to answer first, when he's always right ahead of her in Potions to get the best ingredients, when he's the one standing across from her in the mock duels in Hecat's class and as he raises his wand and her breath catches in her throat and -... Well, it's only fair, then, that she tries to distract him during class.

She's wondering what the next note should say, is lightly rubbing the edges of the quill's feather against her lips - did she go too far with the latest note? - when the scraping of a chair next to her pulls her out of her thoughts. She jumps at the jarring noise, the quill clatters on the table as it falls, and she feels her own face flush when she sees Sebastian sprawling himself out in the seat right next to hers.

There's a look on his face that she's never seen before and she feels as if all of the air has left her body when he leans in close to her - she could start counting his freckles if her brain hadn't gone completely empty - warm breath tickling her ear as he breathes, "What do you think you're doing?"

She hasn't thought this far ahead.

Why hadn't it occurred to her that Sebastian might confront her about the notes?

"I..." she falters, trying to get her thoughts working again, so that she can find something to say to get her out of this situation. Because she didn't actually want him to notice her, did she? And, what could she possibly say in defense of the filthy things she's been sending him all week? She can't seem to break eye contact with him: she swallows nervously: she tries again: "I -"

Her words fail her once again, when Sebastian's warm hand comes to rest on top of her thigh. Her thick wool skirt might be acting as a barrier between them, but it somehow feels like he's touching her bare skin and her whole body heats up uncontrollably. Even like this, his touch is better - more electric - than what she's been imagining this whole time.

He turns away and pulls parchment out with the hand that isn't actively caressing her thigh, and reaches across her for the quill that has fallen from her fingers. She hears scratching as he starts working on his equations - she vaguely thinks that she should be working on them too, isn't she supposed to be trying to do better than him? But -... her breathing is shallow - all of her nerve endings have seemingly migrated to the spot on her inner thigh that Sebastian's thumb is now massaging in tiny circles - maybe her brain has just packed its bags and left on holiday to Bath for all the use it's giving her now.

He doesn't even spare her a glance during the rest of the class, continues to diligently work on his equations for the first time all week, but his large hand remains on her thigh, completely obliterating any thought from her mind that doesn't have something to do with the warmth that keeps pooling deep in her stomach at his touch.

When the class is blissfully (unfortunately) over, Sebastian finally pulls his hand away and she squeaks in protest against her wishes - her thigh is now cold - that must be it (just discomfort, that's all) - she doesn't feel the relief she thought she would at his absence. He smirks down at the parchment he's rolling up, packs everything into his school bag, and leaves her behind without his eyes darting to hers even once.

Seven notes.

She has sent Sebastian seven bloody notes over the course of the last three days, and as he looks over at the crumpled up papers sitting on the desk in his dorm room, notes he tried his best to smooth out, he feels his heart race increase. He doesn't understand why she's doing this, but he does understand how it's making him feel. He could barely even think during Arithmancy, knowing how much his presence was affecting her, feeling her warm thigh under his hand. And when she protested when he removed his hand, well. He had to get out of there as fast as possible.

Maybe it's a good thing she didn't have the presence of mind to look at his arithmatic equations during class, because they are, unfortunately, incomprehensible. He had to keep up the charade by pretending to scribble for the rest of class, but now he almost regrets it - almost - because his pride won't allow him to ask Amit for his notes.

Sebastian has spent the evening poring over his textbook, trying to make sense of something that should be coming easily to him - Anne doesn't tease him about his strange obsession with numbers for no reason - and yet, his eyes keep wandering over to her notes. (Why did he even take them out of his bag in the first place?) (Why hasn't he burned those blasted things yet?) He has decided to forego studying in the library, the common room, and the Undercroft (places where he might see the object of his inner turmoil), and yet he is still getting nothing done even in the peaceful silence of his dormitory. Because her letters are shouting at him.

Well, not really, as they aren't Howlers. They might as well be, though, with how much he has reread them since he took them out of his bag. A smile spreads across his face despite himself as he puts his plaid jacket - the one he wore on Monday - on his chair to wear tomorrow. That stupid smile doesn't leave his face as he brushes his teeth next to Ominis before bed (thanking Merlin that Ominis is blind and can't pester him about what he cannot see), nor does it leave as he tries to fall asleep that night.

Suffice it to say, Sebastian does not get much sleep that night.

"...caught her snogging Prewett in the boathouse."

"Oh Merlin." A giggle. "I wonder if he's any good. Don't look at me like that, I know you've wondered the same thing..."

She blushes as she tucks her head down, trying to concentrate on the reading before her but it's difficult. First, because Sacharissa is being entirely too loud as she gossips with Grace - they might be some of the first at breakfast, but that doesn't mean they're alone - and second, because she is reading the book she filched from Sacharissa's bag. It's been charmed to look like a History of Magic textbook (nobody would ever be interested enough in one of those to filch it back) and she hopes that it's enough to make sure that no one distracts her in her research.

She has never had experience of the amorous sort before, and she has run out of things to put in the letters she's been sending to Sebastian - they were all just things she had been thinking, or things that she's overheard the boys saying when they thought they were alone. But what she's been reading in Sacharissa's novel - if it can even be called that - are enough to make her so hot and bothered that she's not sure if she should retreat back to her dorm room to read it in peace. As her eyes fly over the words, she pictures Sebastian doing those things to her, with her, and it's enough to make it so she's not even sure she can look him in the eye ever again. The feeling of his hand on her thigh the day before has imprinted itself on her body and in her brain and she barely got any sleep because of it.

"What are you reading?" asks Anne as she plops herself down on the bench, trying to look over her shoulder. She flinches and slams her book shut as fast as possible, feeling her traitorous face heat up. She knows she's making it all more suspicious, but Anne cannot find out. Anne shrugs and starts buttering her toast, stifling a yawn. "I never knew that the Vampire Treatises of the 15th century were so interesting. By the way, have you seen my brother at all? I couldn't find him last night and - Oi, Sebastian!"

Anne stands halfway up and starts waving him over, and she wishes she could vanish. Maybe, instead of researching fresh ways to torture him, she should have been learning how to most effectively vanish oneself from the face of the Earth. She's sure the heat she feels burning her cheeks as she sees him walk over to them is translating to her face being a bright, red, ugly beacon calling to him.

As he walks over to their table, looking entirely too irresistible in that plaid jacket of his, Merlin, his growth spurt really -

"Ladies," he says, nodding at them as he takes a seat across the table, "how did you sleep?"

She knows he's giving her a pointed look as he asks, but she has started to choke on the pumpkin juice she started drinking as he walked over - she is, unfortunately, picturing them doing some of the filthy things she's just read together - and could she really make more of a fool of herself than she already has at this point? But then - he grabs her book. Her heart lurches but she can't do anything due to the fact she's still spluttering over her pumpkin juice, and she watches in horrified fascination as he starts flicking through the pages. His eyebrows raise steadily higher and higher as he reads, his own face turning a shade of red she's certain matches her own. She curses herself again - vampires are so interesting, of course he would want to read about them - she should have made the cover a topic she knows Sebastian hates, like a compendium of spells to boost fingernail growth or a Duncan Hobhouse biography - but it's too late now.

Sebastian clears his throat and glances at her, and she sees uncertainty, vulnerability in his eyes as they make brief contact with hers. Finally her brain starts working - quite possibly for the first time since she started this stupid game in Herbology on Monday - and she hastily stands up, snatching the book from Sebastian's hands - he puts up no resistance - and clutches it to her chest as she blurts out in one breath: "I-slept-terribly-last-night-and-it's-all-thanks-to-you."

And now, she's fleeing the Great Hall, wondering what's gotten into her.

She next sees Sebastian during their Ancient Runes class. Well, she doesn't actually see him: she's made it a point to be the first to enter the class, and keeps her head down as she stares at her parchment the second everything is set up perfectly. Inkwell - parchment - her stupid replacement quill - textbook - everything is in place. After the disastrous event otherwise known as breakfast, she's decided that she's over her silly little crush, and she will never think about Sebastian Sallow again. She will never think about things she might say that will make him laugh again, she will never think of book recommendations again, she will certainly never think of his strong hands caressing her thigh again, and she will never, ever -

A tiny paper fox climbs into her hand.

I didn't get any sleep last night either, because of you. P.S. I still have your quill.

She flushes and looks over her shoulder. Sebastian flashes her a crooked smile that makes her stomach lurch in an unfamiliar way, before he ducks his head down and continues to scribble his translations with her quill. Her quill. A new flash of hatred surges through her - that's what these intense feelings must be - and she decides she needs to get it back.

Instead of translations, she hatefully scribbles down everything that she wants to do to Sebastian Sallow - she wants punch his stupid face, wait: she wants to kiss his stupid freckled face and hold his silly beautiful hands and she wants to feel the deep rumble of his laugh after her jokes as she rests her head on his shoulder and she wants to read next to him and have things be back to how they always were, and yet she wants more than that, more than just being friends, it's what she's wanted all along, isn't it? - and she marches after him when the class has finished.

Sebastian doesn't spare her a glance even though he has to know she's behind him with how much noise her frustrated huffing makes as they weave through the throngs of students in the hallways. It's lunchtime, and yet instead of heading to the Great Hall, he's leading her somewhere else.

He finally stops when they reach the top of the Astronomy Tower, and she opens her mouth to protest. She knows she's terribly flushed, her chest heaving as she glares up at him: "You are despicable! I need my quill -"

She's cut off from speaking as before she knows it, his hands are caressing her face and he is kissing her. Oh, Merlin, it's better than she could have hoped it to be, and her own traitorous body and mind have forgotten the alliance formed against him in the face of Sebastian Sallow's persistence and she's wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down closer, making sure he can't get away from her again.

Maybe later she can show him all of her notes on how much she hates him and they can have a laugh. Maybe later they can revisit some passages from the book she filched.

But right now, she doesn't let go of Sebastian.

[alexa-fika]

Just imagine a child reader with each of the crews (strawhat pirates, heart pirates, whitebeard pirates, kid pirates, and red hair pirates) like 7 or 8 and they are just a menace. Like they have insane adhd and acts like they drank multiple monster energy drinks every morning but they can also be so sweet and adorable sometimes. They just run around and cause chaos but everyone on the crew just takes care of them but they make it so hard. Spontaneous hide and seek? Everybody’s freaking out because they’re missing and all the sudden they will just pop out of the most random place and declare themself the winner and everybody is like huh?? the winner of what?? They’ve been there for a while, and people have grown attached. I can imagine ace just having the most fun with them. And for the strawhats like they joined around when the strawhat crew fist went into the grand line so they have been there from the beginning and all the new crew members are like “why are they still here??” and zoro is like “to be honest i dont know” they are luffy’s best bud on the strawhats Sorry for the rant, i just read a fic and it sparked this idea and reminded me of your writing. I just kind of wrote down my train of thought, congratulations if this makes sense to you thanks for listening. 

Who’s it? ( Law x Adhd!reader)

A/N Hey hey! Here we go, I think we haven’t done a Law/heart pirates in a while so yippee, also i’m sorry nonnie, I couldn't do so many crews at once so if you still want to see the other crews don’t be afraid to send another request! In other news; Guys I start work soon 🥲so i’m not sure what the upload schedule will be like next week

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in Japanese for the enjoyment of both reader and oc character readers!

Penguin puffed as he leaned his hands on his knees, trying to recuperate his breath after running multiple laps around the sub. Despite the physical strain his job required on a daily, especially under a Captain such as his, he could never get used to the exhaustion and anxiety that taking care of a tween with adhd brought.

“D-Did you guys find them?” He sputtered out, lifting his head to look at his crew, who sported similar exhaustion

“No. I’m sorry,” Bepo cried, putting his head down in shame. The mink had been the first to realize the child had disappeared as the crew had breakfast. It was not his responsibility alone, but as always, he could not help but think he could have prevented this if he had paid more attention to them.

“There has to be someplace we haven’t looked!”

“Mate, I checked the workshop top to bottom; wherever they are, I know it's not in my bloody workshop,” Ikkaku said, shaking her head.

“I um.. I checked the cockpit. I didn’t see them there,” Hakugan piped up softly.

“Nothing in the map room, I’m sorry,” Bepo added.

“Stop apologizing!” Shachi snarled

“I’m sorry!”

“Nothing in the Kitchen; I thought for sure they would have hidden there,” Bart grumbled out, scratching his head, confused.

“I checked the common rooms, but I couldn’t find them,” Cline reported

“I checked the storage rooms, but nothing,” Shachi sighed, looking toward the Penguin.

“And I just checked our chambers; I was hoping they were sleeping, but no one was there,” Penguin cried.

“Pen, seriously? Of all things, you thought that ankle-biter would be taking a kip? We can’t even get them to sleep, let alone a kip,” Ikkaku scoffed with a roll of her eyes.

“I freaked out! I just don’t know where else we could look.”

“Well, that would leave only one place, doesn’t it?” Clione called nervously

“No way!” Penguin yelled as he straightened up at the insinuation

“It’s true, isn’t it? We have already looked through the whole sub, Penguin! They have to be in the infirmary.” Uni shot back with a frown

“Even if they aren’t, I think we should ask Captain for help.”

“Are you serious, Uni?! He’ll kill us if he hears we lost them again. I don’t want to go another day with switched limbs!” Shachi shuddered, hugging himself tightly

“It’s not like it can be helped; that kid acts as if they were injected with steroids all the time, always berko, we can’t keep up with em” Ikkaku sighed.

“Okay then, who’s going to tell him then because it’s not going to be me” Penguin questioned, looking up at her

“Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?” Shachi muttered as he and the crew all turned to the navigator, who, upon noticing the attention that had fallen on him shook his head nervously

Despite his meek outer appearance, it was common knowledge aboard the Polar Tang that the singular best way to deliver annoying or bothersome news without suffering punishment or repercussions was to have Bepo deliver the news to the Captain, as even the surgeon of death himself was vulnerable to the mink’s adorable demeanor.

And so, once again, Bepo stood in the infirmary, delivering such news to the Captain. It followed the same pattern when situations such as these occurred: Bepo would enter nervously, Law would instantly realize something went wrong, his anger would spike, Bepo would cry, Law would fall for his cuteness and usually solve the problem quite promptly.

“Room,” Law called. Scanning the submarine with his devil fruit, he took just a few seconds to mutter a small ‘there’ as he managed to locate the child.

“Shambles,” he spoke, throwing a small stone in the air, catching the child that child that replaced it and glaring at them as they began laughing.”

“You found me!”

“Dokucha-ya. What were you doing?”

“We were playing hide and seek, and I was winning! I still won 'cause you used your powers, and that’s cheating, so I’m still the undefeated champion!” They cheered, raising their hands in Victory

“You were playing hide and seek?” Law questioned, looking up at Bepo, an angry, accusing glare on his face at the information

“N-no!” He promised, shaking his head furiously, sighing as Law turned his accusing glare back on the child.

“Oh! I forgot to tell them. Well, now you know, so let's play again!” they grinned, running off again only to be shambled back into Law’s hands once again.

“No. You are going to sleep.” Law told them, standing up and putting his arm around the child’s stomach as he carried them away, rolling his eyes as they let out a slight whine at the news.

“You can go, Bepo. I’ll put them to sleep,” he ordered, waving the bear off, much to the latter’s relief. The bear wasted no time running off.

“You. Sleep,” he instructed, tossing the child into an infirmity bed, turning around, and walking back to his desk to continue the medical journal he had recently found.

“Yepee!” they cheered as they bounced on the bed. Rolling around on their stomachs, they began kicking their feed, letting out a pout.

“Come on, Law! I’m not tired! I want to play a little more, please?”

“No.”

"Talking is fine, too.”

“Alright, Then. " He agreed, shutting the journal and giving the child a smirk as a hopeful and gleeful expression grew on their faces.

“How about we talked about why you skipped your medication again?”

They groaned, getting their body fall into the bed face-first,wishing they hadn’t opened their mouths to avoid the scolding they knew was now invertible.

“Dokucha-ya,” he warned

“No! I want to sleep!” they called, turning away from him.

“Too late, You know I’m not going to let this slide; the sooner you tell me, the sooner I can stop asking you and interrupting your playtime,” he reasoned, turning his chair towards the bed.

“Is it the taste? I can teach you how to swallow the pill; I can mix it into food as well.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then?”

“It’s nothing.”

“If it weren’t nothing, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.Dokucha-ya, listen. If you tell me what is wrong with them, I can fix the problem.”

“They make me feel weird,” they muttered, flipping themselves over to meet his eye, watching as his eyebrows furrowed at the information.

“Weird, how?” he questioned

“It makes me feel yucky; I don’t want to do anything when I eat it.”

Law frowned as he realized what they meant. He had thoroughly researched all of Dokucha’s medicine and potential medicines and was well aware that depression has been previously reported as a side effect for ritalin in some patients. The hard part of medications for conditions like these was that the only way to know the best medicine for them was trial and error, trying different Medicines until they were able to find the one that worked best. His thought process was interrupted as the child let out a small apology.

“it’s not your fault; you can’t control how the medicine will react; thank you for telling me; I will change your medication, alright?” he reassured them as they stood up, walking to the shelf and pulling out a book

“Hmm, we will try Staterra instead. I will give you 0.5g. It’s the lowest dose for your age, and it will help me see how your body reacts.”

“Will… it help me study better again?” they asked nervously, fidgeting. Most of his medical talk was lost to them, but they were able to understand the gist of it: that he was trying to help them fix the problem they were currently experiencing.

“That’s the goal. We will start the medicine tomorrow. If it does well, I will raise the dose in three days, and we will see from there. If it makes you feel weird again, let me know

Dokucha smiled, themedical jargon and what most people would see as an emotionally disconnected doctor Dokucha knew to be the way the man showed that he cared, and although it perhaps wasn’t what other kids might like, it made them feel appreciated and loved. After all, other kids probably have to worry about managing a condition, and not all caretakers are as involved and determined to find a solution as the Captain was, and for them, it was enough.

“Okay!”

Whoop whoop!

[enjoythesilentworld]

2024 fandom review!

thank u for the tag @willesredlights sorry it took me literally ages to get to it

lets pretend we're not almost two weeks into the new year ok? and what a year it has been. holy shit.

~ Fics written ~

I'll be honest I did go a little batshit crazy this past year. 314k words across 19 published works, plus god knows how much more unpublished on tumblr. listen, I was deep in the ??? phase of my master's (still am, lets be honest) and desperately looking for a new creative outlet. I've always been a writer, always loved dreaming up stories, but I have never quite connected to a universe as much as I have to this one. I resonate with so many of the characters, and i just feel like there is so much room to play and explore. i will continue to add in old people OCs to my fics wherever and whenever i get the chance.

First fic: for the tree's sake (M, 48k) aka tree boys inspired by the trip that eventually led to my discover of young royals in late '23, and my darling baby. yes, that airplane ride that seems weird and random is based on truth!

Fav fic: just if for a minute (T, 53k) aka fake married idiots i greatly enjoyed making Wille suffer for just under 53k. that confrontation scene took days off my life and yet i am so proud of how it turned out.

Honorary mention to Growing towards the light, which was a dream to work on and create with my dear sweet friend Lia. there is one braincell between the two of us and it's full of nature facts and dick jokes. and beautiful stories about getting lost in the wilderness and finding yourself along the way. and tent-dick jokes.

Last fic: Wille på Hyllan (T, 13k) aka christmas shenanigans! another collab with my dearest friends which was hilarious to write and so silly and imo an example of one of the greatest perks of being in a fandom: meeting some of the most incredible people ever. also, dick-lights and dick-tomtar and dick-cookies. what more could you want?

~ Fics Read ~

if i tried to go through my history and tell you how many fics i read this year i would never make this post. i'd be here counting and trying to copy links forever. i read hundreds of fics. i enjoyed all of them, thoroughly. i got a lot better at leaving comments (sometimes). i was consistently and repeatedly blown away by the genius brains we have in this little Swedish corner of the internet.

if you are a writer i love you and i give u a kiss on the forehead.

also: i recently made a lil rec list here.

~ Other Stuff? ~

i had two big, busy months this year. three? : May, Wille's month & July, Simon's month i cannot believe i wrote 62 stories in 62 different universes (give or take a few). that's kind of stupid! but oh my god it was so fun!! some of my favs: -> Food, where Wille and Simon meet and embark on a mistakenly booked couples food tour in Barcelona -> Fashion/Style, aka the Met Gala AU aka the thing that turned into something so much bigger than i could have ever imagined. literally i thought people were gonna hate it. so, thank u for not hating it. and for letting it become 15k+ of pwp. -> Secret, friends to lovers RAHHHHHH -> Home (Improvement), aka grumpy home renovator Simon idk i just feel like this should become a full-blown fic one day

and oh boy who can forget about Kinktober from wax kinks in 17th century Italy to desperate love confession in the middle of wildfires to... whatever that was in the confessional (idk, that's between them and God).

2024...

I did some painting: x x I wrote some real weird lil ficlets: x x and I met dozens of incredible people. thank u for liking my stupid rambling posts from 3am and my silly little ficlets and for reading my stories and telling me about your stories and saving me from the Frankfurt airport and yelling with me about stuff thats definitely not in the Bible and sharing your time and space and art and care.

@bigalockwood @hergrandplan @gulliblelemon @saynomorefic @pagegirlintraining @skibasyndrome @sobadbad @impossibleknots @piebingo @theaviatorthatcouldnotfly @misfithive @sillylittleflower @zee-has-commitment-issues @purplehoodiesandclementines @justfriendsbestthings

giving u a big hug. and! this is by no means an exhaustive list. if ur reading this we are bffs. send me a message ok? ok. y'all keep me sane and happy and i am so grateful for you! live love wilmon

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 7

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours 

if you wanna be added to the tag list comment

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Here is another chapter cause I'm still writing out the other fics right now :)

Previous

Chapter 7: Breaking Point

Y/N’s POV

It’s been, what, two weeks since I last saw Sukuna? Since he left my apartment I finally put my foot down. It feels surreal. Like he was here one moment, his presence filling every part of my life, and then, just like that, he’s gone. I can actually focus in class again, and my thoughts are less cluttered without his constant ups and downs. For the first time in a long time, I’m getting assignments done on time, and keeping up with my workload. But underneath it all, there’s this ache, a hollow space where he used to be.

I try to ignore it, but it’s always there, tugging at me, making it hard to concentrate completely. It’s the little things—his laugh echoing in my mind, the feel of his arms around me, his stupid smirk whenever he got under my skin. I find myself wondering if he’s okay. Did he come out of the hospital yet? Did he manage to finally piece himself together?

A part of me wants to reach out, just to check in. Maybe see if he’s doing better, if he’s still leaning on his friends, getting through each day somehow. But that’s not my place anymore, is it? I gave him so many chances to let me in, to let me help, and every single time, he shut me out. He made it clear he wanted to handle things his way. And I… I need to start respecting that boundary, as much as it hurts.

I take a deep breath, glancing out the window of the studio. The city is buzzing outside, people going on with their lives, completely unaware of the turmoil inside me. I sip my coffee, watching the people walk by, their laughter faintly audible through the glass.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s a message from Utahime.

Utahime: You doing okay? Need anything?

I smile, appreciating her concern. She’s been there since everything happened, her presence a constant comfort, even when I didn’t realize I needed it.

Me: Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking too much, as usual.

Utahime: Well, stop that! We’re going out tonight. A distraction is exactly what you need.

I hesitate, looking down at my phone, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I know she’s right. A distraction might help me let go of these lingering thoughts, these small pieces of Sukuna that I can’t seem to shake.

Me: Fine. Where and when?

Utahime: I’ll pick you up at 8. Be ready!

A part of me feels relieved at the thought of getting out, of being around people who remind me of who I am outside of Sukuna, outside of this relationship that became such a heavy part of my life.

as the car moves through the city streets, I press my head against the cool window, letting the world blur past me. The bass-heavy beat of W.D.Y.W.F.M. pulses through my headphones, each lyric tugging at parts of me I’ve been trying to bury.

Maybe you’re right, maybe this is all that I can be, the words echo, hitting a little too close to home. I close my eyes, feeling the weight of those lyrics settle in my chest. The memories start seeping in—the countless times I let myself believe that if I loved Sukuna enough, if I was patient enough, he’d eventually find it within himself to let me in. That if I just waited, things would finally feel right. But now I wonder… maybe it wasn’t just him. Maybe I should have known better than to believe that love could fix someone so broken.

But what if it’s you, and it wasn’t me?

The question pierces through my thoughts, stirring a bitterness I didn’t know I still had. He wanted to drown in his own pain, to shut me out every time I tried to pull him up for air. I couldn’t have been the answer, and yet here I am, with pieces of him still lingering, haunting me at every turn.

The Uber driver takes a corner, the familiar streets near my apartment coming into view. I force my gaze away from the window, back to my phone screen, trying to focus on anything but him. It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does—knowing that for all the love I poured into him, it wasn’t enough to keep him from self-destructing.

The song fades as I arrive at my building. I thank the driver, taking a deep breath as I step out, feeling the city air wrap around me. The streetlights cast a dim glow on the sidewalk, and I let myself pause for a moment before going inside. I need to let him go, I tell myself firmly, as I push open the door and head up the stairs to my apartment. I have to learn to let go of the weight of him, of the what ifs and the could’ve been that keep me tangled in his memory.

I climb the stairs, my heart pounding faster with each step as I spot the car parked out front. The familiar shape, that old, dark-colored sedan that Sukuna drove everywhere... no, no, no, I think, my pulse racing. I’m not ready to see him. My body tenses with dread, the past few weeks crashing down on me in waves.

But as I get closer, I realize it isn’t him. The figure slouched in the driver's seat isn’t Sukuna—it’s Yuuji, his face drawn and pale under the streetlight glow. Relief floods me, only to be replaced by confusion and worry. I stride up to him, feeling the weight of all the things I know about Sukuna’s recent spiral pressing on me, unsettling and heavy.

"Yuuji," I say, my voice sharp, "why are you here?"

He startles, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes. I catch the shadow of sleepless nights, maybe even nights spent worrying about Sukuna. He tries to brush off the tension, but I can see right through him. He's younger, not yet old enough to be driving around on his own at this hour. That alone makes my stomach twist.

"I just… I didn’t know who else to talk to," he mutters, glancing away. The hurt and worry in his voice rip into me.

My gut clenches as I realize just how much of Sukuna’s pain has been spilling onto his family. The weight he’s putting on Yuuji, on Choso… it’s more than I ever understood. The anger, frustration, and heartbreak I felt these past weeks—they’re nothing compared to what Yuuji was going through. He’s barely an adult, forced to watch his older brother destroy himself.

“Yuuji,” I say softly, keeping my tone steady, “what’s going on? Why didn’t you call me?”

Yuuji looks up, and in that one look, I see just how much he’s been holding in. “I thought… I thought I could handle it, but… he’s just getting worse. I can’t even talk to him without him blowing up at me. He left some days ago, maybe more, and just stormed out. No one knows where he is. Toji, Choso, and even Geto…they all tried reaching him, but he wouldn’t answer. And then I remembered… you always knew how to reach him when he was like this.”

The ache in his voice cuts through me, and a fierce protectiveness rises up. I left Sukuna to deal with his pain, but it’s clear that his absence has left more than just a hole in my life—it’s tearing his family apart too.

“Yuuji,” I start, forcing calm into my voice. “I know things are tough, and Sukuna… he’s dealing with a lot. But you don’t have to do this alone. Have you told anyone else? Choso? Gojo?”

He shakes his head, looking at the ground. “No. Choso is dealing with enough as it is… and I don’t want them to worry more.”

He’s trying to be strong, trying to hold everyone else together when he’s the one falling apart. I know that feeling all too well. Sukuna and I broke things off because I couldn’t keep sacrificing my sanity for someone unreachable. But I never thought about how much worse it would get for those who couldn’t walk away, like Yuuji and Choso.

I reach out, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Yuuji, you don’t have to do this alone. You shouldn’t be doing this alone. Sukuna needs someone to get through to him, and it might not be me anymore—but we can try together.”

He stares at me for a moment, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Do you think… Do you think he’ll ever listen? Or is he too far gone?”

My heart aches at his words. “I don’t know. But we have to try.”

He nods, the glimmer of hope in his expression heartbreaking and determined.

I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tight. I knew Kenjaku could be difficult, even evasive when he wanted to be. Sukuna had a talent for finding people who were just as stubborn and reckless as he was. But I couldn’t back down, not now, not with Yuuji looking at me like he was counting on me.

“Kenjaku, I need to know. Yuuji’s here with me. He and Choso haven’t heard from Sukuna in days. They’re worried sick, and he’s…he’s not okay. I think you know that.”

There was a pause on the other end, the silence stretching uncomfortably long. I could almost picture Kenjaku’s calculating look, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed. “He showed up here a few nights back. I didn’t ask questions. He’s been sleeping it off on my couch, but I’ll be honest—he looks like hell, Y/N.”

The anger that had been simmering inside me now sparked, but it wasn’t toward Kenjaku. It was all for Sukuna—his self-destructive spiral, the pain he was dragging everyone into, and the part of him that still didn’t realize how much he meant to those around him.

“I’ll be over soon,” I said, voice steady despite the turmoil within me. “But please, don’t tell him I’m coming. I don’t want him bolting before I get there.”

Kenjaku’s chuckle was dry, but he agreed. “Sure thing. I’ll keep him occupied, though good luck getting through to him. He's really badly…. He’s fucked up, Y/N.”

I hung up, feeling a mix of relief and dread. When I looked at Yuuji, his eyes were wide, filled with a flicker of hope. He didn’t need to ask what I’d found out; the look on my face told him everything.

“I’m going to see him,” I said softly, reaching for my bag. “I’ll try to talk to him, to get through to him, somehow.”

Yuuji looked at me with a mixture of gratitude and worry. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

With a final squeeze of his shoulder, I turned and headed out the door, my heart pounding as I braced myself for the conversation I wasn’t sure I was ready to have.

Yuuji nodded, taking the key from my hand with a somber expression. "I will. Be careful, okay?" he said, his voice thick with unspoken worry.

I offered him a brief smile, though I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. "I will. Just... keep an eye on things here, yeah? If anything happens, call Toji."

Yuuji gave me a small, reassuring nod before he turned to head toward the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the hall as he climbed.

I stood there for a moment longer, staring at the door. The tension was building inside me—this wasn't going to be easy. I had no idea what I was walking into, but I knew I had to face it. For Yuuji. For Choso. And for myself.

With a deep breath, I pulled my jacket tighter around me and left the apartment, locking the door behind me. The walk to Kenjaku's place felt longer than usual, each step heavy with uncertainty. The city seemed quieter tonight, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement as I made my way toward the familiar building.

When I finally arrived, I didn't bother knocking. Kenjaku had given me the code to the door ages ago. I typed it in quickly, the door clicking open with an almost too-loud sound. The hallway was dimly lit, and I could hear the faint murmur of voices from behind one of the doors.

I hesitated for a moment, my hand on the doorframe. This was it. I didn’t know what I was about to walk into, but there was no turning back now.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.

I stood there, taking in the scene before me—Sukuna, looking completely worn down, his eyes barely open, his hair disheveled and his face a mess of exhaustion and defeat. The cigarette hung loosely from his hand, the smoke curling up into the air as Uraume stood nearby, her posture stiff, frustration radiating off of her.

"Uraume, calm down," I said, my voice steady but firm as I crossed the room, stepping closer to the couch where Sukuna was sprawled out.

He groaned in response, his hand sliding off his face just enough for his eyes to meet mine, dull and clouded. He didn’t look surprised to see me, but his expression was unreadable.

"Great, now I'm fucking seeing and hearing shit," he muttered again, his voice thick with fatigue and annoyance.

I didn’t react to his comment, not letting it phase me. Instead, I walked over and sat on the edge of the couch, just enough to be close but not invading his space. I glanced over at Uraume, who seemed to be holding her ground, but she took a step back, recognizing that I was the one who needed to handle this.

"Sukuna, stop hiding," I said, my tone softer now, almost pleading. "What the hell are you doing?"

He didn’t answer immediately, instead, taking another drag from the cigarette, his eyes drifting away from mine, focused on the wall as though he didn’t want to face me, or anyone.

"You think running away is gonna fix anything?" I continued, my voice low but insistent. "You think wallowing in this is gonna bring Jin back? Or fix what’s broken?"

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he was going to snap at me again, but instead, he just let out a deep sigh, and the silence in the room hung thick.

"I’m not hiding," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "I’m just... tired."

"Then let us help you," I replied, my heart aching for him, but frustration mixing with it. "You don’t have to carry all this alone."

Sukuna shifted on the couch, his hand coming up to cover his eyes again, but this time, there was something in the way he did it—a sort of resignation, like he knew I was right, but couldn't bring himself to admit it. Uraume stood there, arms crossed, clearly waiting for him to make a move, but it was clear he wasn’t ready.

I stayed quiet for a moment, allowing him his space, but I couldn’t just leave it at that. He needed to hear it, and I needed him to understand.

"You're not alone in this, Sukuna," I said quietly, my voice breaking through the tension. "You’ve got people who care about you. People who are worried. And you don’t get to shut them out."

He didn’t respond immediately, but I could see his body language soften just a little. I wasn’t sure if he was hearing me, or if he was just too far gone to care, but I couldn’t give up on him—not when he was this close to losing everything, including himself.

"Sukuna..." I started again, but Uraume cut me off.

"You can only do so much, Y/N," she said, her tone serious, but a little softer now. "He’s gotta want it. He’s gotta find it in himself to get back up. And we can’t make that choice for him."

I nodded, swallowing back the knot in my throat. I knew she was right. But it didn’t make it any easier.

"You think he’ll listen?" I asked, barely above a whisper, not expecting a clear answer.

Uraume gave a small shrug. "Maybe. But only if he realizes he’s not beyond saving. But that’s up to him."

I glanced at Sukuna once more, feeling the weight of everything press down on me. His eyes were still closed, and he looked so damn defeated. Part of me wanted to scream, to shake him out of his spiral. But I knew that wasn’t what he needed.

What he needed was time and a reminder that he wasn’t the only one who had lost something.

Sukuna's smirk was laced with bitterness, and it was as if the weight of his guilt and self-loathing had manifested in those cruel words. His eyes never left me as he took another drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling around us like a barrier, creating distance between us that I could almost feel.

I didn't flinch. I refused to let him see the impact his words had, but inside, I was crumbling.

His voice was sharp, cutting through the air, his pain seeping out in every syllable. "You think you can save me, Y/N? Don’t fool yourself. You know I’m worthless."

I wanted to shout at him, tell him he was wrong, but instead, my voice came out softer than I expected. "Sukuna, you're not worthless."

He let out a dry laugh, one that held no humor. "Yeah? Then why the hell did you leave? After we fucked, you tossed me out like I was nothing. Isn’t that what you think of me too?"

Each word felt like a blade to my chest. The anger, the resentment in his voice—it was suffocating. I could see the way his eyes flickered with something raw, something vulnerable that he kept buried under layers of pride and self-doubt. But he was pushing it all on me now.

I took a shaky breath, trying to keep my composure, but the truth was, hearing him say those things cut deeper than I ever anticipated.

I stepped closer to him, ignoring the thick cloud of smoke that hung in the air. "I didn’t leave because I thought you were worthless," I said, my voice trembling but determined. "I left because you pushed me away. You closed yourself off, pushed me out of your life like I was nothing. And I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t see it."

His expression hardened at that, the smirk fading away as he leaned back on the couch, his eyes narrowing at me. "You think I wanted to push you away?" His voice was quieter now, but there was still that edge of anger behind it. "You think I wanted to feel this empty... this fucking broken?"

I shook my head, my heart aching for him even as I held my ground. "No, I don't think that. But that’s what you did. You kept pushing everyone away, even when they were just trying to help. I couldn’t be the one to fix you, Sukuna. I’m not your savior."

He looked away then, the cigarette trembling slightly in his hand. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do, Y/N?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, the anger gone, replaced by quiet desperation. "How do I fix this? How do I fix myself?"

I didn’t have an answer. How could I? He had to want it, had to find the strength to fight through his demons on his own. But that didn’t mean I was ready to give up on him.

"You can start by not pushing everyone away," I said, my voice softer now, almost pleading. "You’re not alone, Sukuna. Not yet."

For a long moment, there was silence between us. The tension hung in the air, thick and heavy, as I waited for him to respond. But instead, he just took another drag of his cigarette, looking lost in his thoughts.

"I never asked for any of this," he muttered finally, his words barely audible. "I never asked to be the one holding everything together. I never asked for... this pain."

I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t have an answer for him. All I could do was watch him, hoping, wishing he would find the strength to face what he had been running from.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t up to me. It never was.

His words hit like a punch to the gut. The rawness in his voice, the way he almost choked on the words—it was as if he was tearing himself apart right in front of me. I watched him, frozen, my heart pounding as he looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Just go, Y/N. Please," he said, his voice rough, barely holding it together. "You made the right choice. Don’t let guilt eat at you. Your love... it wasn’t enough."

I felt the sting of tears welling up, but I forced myself to hold them back. This wasn’t the time to break down. He was pulling up walls as quickly as I tried to break them down, and part of me wondered if he would ever let anyone truly see the pieces of himself he kept hidden. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it wasn’t about my love being "enough"—that he was worthy of love even in his darkest moments. But I knew, standing there, that he wouldn’t hear it. Not now.

"Sukuna," I began, my voice catching despite my best efforts to stay steady. "It's not about being enough or not enough. You’re worth more than this... more than what you think of yourself right now."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don’t... don’t do that. Don’t pretend I’m some lost soul you can save. You’ve done enough. It’s... it’s better this way."

"Better this way?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended, feeling the frustration bubbling up. "Better for who? Because I don't think it's better for you. Look at yourself, Sukuna. You’re drowning, and you’re just... letting it happen."

He clenched his jaw, his hand shaking slightly as he flicked the cigarette into an ashtray. "Maybe that’s what I deserve," he said quietly, almost to himself.

The silence between us felt thick, suffocating. I took a step closer, reaching out, but he backed away, pressing himself further into the couch as if my touch would somehow make things worse.

"If that’s really what you believe..." I whispered, my chest tight. "If you really think you deserve this pain... then I can’t force you to change your mind. But I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something soft and vulnerable, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He lowered his gaze, the same smirk that once felt charming was now nothing more than a mask.

"Just... go," he whispered again, his voice so small it was almost lost in the room. "Forget about me. Move on. It’s better that way."

I stared at him, wanting to reach him, to pull him out of this dark place. But maybe he was right. Maybe I couldn’t save him. Taking a shaky breath, I nodded, my heart shattering with each step as I turned toward the door.

Before I left, I looked back one last time. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, his eyes fixed on some distant point on the floor, lost in his own torment.

“Goodbye, Sukuna,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips. And with that, I stepped out, leaving behind the man I’d loved—and the pieces of myself that still wanted to believe he could be saved.

Sukuna's pov

I watched the door click shut behind her, the silence settling thick in the room. My chest felt hollow, but the ache gnawed deeper, clawing its way up my throat. I turned to my side, curling up on the couch, pressing my hand over my eyes as if I could shut out everything I’d just done. I’d pushed her away—again—and for what? To prove some sick point that I was beyond saving? That I didn’t deserve her?

I could still smell her faint perfume lingering in the air, feel the warmth she’d brought with her now slipping through my fingers. It wasn’t like I didn’t want her here. God, I wanted her more than anything. But how could I let her stay, knowing what a mess I’d become? How could I put her through the hell I was living every day?

My mind drifted back to Jin and Gramps, memories that never stayed buried long. Jin would’ve slapped me across the head if he saw me like this, wasting away, hurting everyone who tried to care. But I could never forgive myself for that night, for not being there when he needed me. And now, I was dragging Y/N down with me.

The silence felt louder now, each second stretching painfully, mocking me. She’d tried, even after everything I put her through. She tried to reach me, to pull me out of this pit I’d dug for myself. But I’d thrown her love back in her face. Again.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, pressing my fists to my temples. I wanted to cry, to scream, to feel something other than this endless, numbing void. But even that felt like too much. All I could do was lie here, drowning in my own misery, pushing everyone who mattered further and further away

Kenjaku grabbed my wrist, yanking my hands away from my ears. "Look at me, Sukuna," he snapped, his tone harsher than I'd ever heard. "This is your last chance. No one else is going to fight for you if you don’t fight for yourself."

I kept my eyes shut, trying to hold on to the darkness, anything to keep from facing the weight of his words. What good was that going to do? The damage was done, and I’d burned every bridge around me.

I tried pulling my arm free, but his grip tightened. "You think you’re the only one hurting?" Kenjaku’s voice dropped, each word laced with a fury that broke through my wall of apathy. "Your brothers are terrified. Toji, Uraume—they’re all watching you tear yourself apart. And Y/N? She might be gone, but you know damn well it’s killing her too."

My hands trembled as I finally opened my eyes, meeting his stare. I could see the disappointment, the anger. But there was something else, something that looked too much like hope.

"Why does it matter?" I murmured, my voice cracking. "I’ve already lost everything. What’s the point?"

Kenjaku’s expression softened for the briefest moment before he pulled me up to sit. "You haven't lost everything, not yet. But if you keep pushing everyone away, there will be nothing left. Not your friends, not Y/N, not even your own damn self."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and I felt a flicker of something I hadn't felt in months—fear.

I held his stare, my jaw clenched, trying to keep the defiance in my eyes. But Kenjaku didn’t look away, his grip on my arm tightening. "What did you take?" he asked again, his tone sharper, cutting right through me.

I tried to shrug him off, mumbling, "Just something to take the edge off. Why does it matter?"

"Because," he hissed, shaking me slightly, "you can barely stand right now, Sukuna. You're falling apart, and you keep reaching for whatever dulls the pain instead of facing it. So I'll ask you one last time—what did you take?"

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his demand. I didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want him to know how far I'd fallen. But the way he was looking at me, with a mixture of anger and something close to pity, broke through the wall I’d put up.

"Xanax... some Oxy," I muttered, barely audible, each word feeling like a confession. "And... a couple drinks." I looked away, shame burning in my chest.

Kenjaku's face twisted with a grimace, and he let go of my arm, taking a step back as if the truth was too heavy for him. "This is what you're doing to yourself?" His voice was low, thick with disappointment. "This isn’t numbing the pain, Sukuna. It's destroying you."

I sank back onto the couch, the weight of his words pressing down like a boulder on my chest. "Maybe that’s the point," I whispered, barely holding back the rawness in my voice. "Maybe that’s all I deserve."

Kenjaku knelt in front of me, looking me dead in the eyes. "Then prove yourself wrong," he said firmly. "If you can’t do it for you, then do it for them—your brothers, your friends, everyone who’s still here trying to reach you. But you have to decide to get up and fight."

My answer was simple, and final. "No."

Kenjaku stared at me, frustration flaring in his eyes. I could tell he was holding back from saying more, like he knew words were useless right now.

“You want to keep drowning?” he asked, his voice sharper, leaning closer as if to pierce right through me. “You think this is easier, huh? Wasting away until there's nothing left?”

“Maybe it is," I said, my voice hollow. "Maybe it’s the only way I can even get through this. The only thing that keeps my mind off... everything.”

“You’re just running,” Kenjaku shot back, anger finally surfacing. "You think the pain will leave you alone? It won’t. It’s gonna keep eating you alive until there’s nothing left, Sukuna. Nothing for you, and nothing for the people who actually give a damn about you."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms until the sting cut through the haze clouding my mind. “Then let it. I’m not worth anything to anyone.”

Kenjaku exhaled, the fight leaving his shoulders. He stared at me, his eyes dark and steady. “You keep saying that, but it’s not true. You know it’s not true.”

Silence settled between us, heavy and unbreakable, until he finally straightened, his expression hardening. “Fine. You want to stay here, stay here. But don’t expect any of us to stick around and watch you throw your life away.”