#And a small continuation from the one yesterday

[judesmoonbeauty]

Fan translation only. Accuracy not 100%. Please expect grammatical errors. Creative liberties are taken. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere, claim them as your own, or use them without my permission. Thank you for your support! ☾.

CW: Blood, Violence.

In the silence of the ceremony hall, Kate is shocked and Joseph is surrounded by several humans.

(Everyone besides her is so revolting it makes me want to vomit.)

Kate: What do you mean?

Since Kate doesn’t seem to understand, I explain the ugly truth that I don’t even feel like bringing up.

Darius: I noticed something when I met those kids yesterday.

Darius: And I wanted to be sure about it, so I went into the restricted cellar in the middle of the night.

Darius: What do you think I found there?

Joseph: You-

As Joseph approached me, I drew my concealed cane sword.

Darius: The brides who were married here. Some of the girls were confined in the cellar.

Darius: As a sacrifice to produce better children.

Kate: What…….

Last night, I was searching the building to confirm the strange feeling I had during the day.

What I found was a group of women being imprisoned in the cellar.

All of them were of couples who had ceremonies for free, on the condition of becoming employees of Tiamo’s wedding hall.

However, what really awaited them was being confined to the cellar, having to give birth to superior offspring.

Separated from their grooms and locked away in small cells, they were used only as tools to breed children, continuously exploited by Tiamo.

Kate: Th-That’s……

The bouquet falls from Kate’s hand.

To her it must be rather startling, but to me it’s just a common matter.

Dari: Apparently, management of the cellar is a right that belongs to personnel who can produce outstanding offspring.

Dari: You seem to have that right, Joseph.

I snorted as Joseph’s complexion changed.

Darius: At the time, I didn’t expect to see a bunch of children who smelled just like you.

Kate: The reason why you held your nose back then…..

Darius: No matter how much you wash your body, you can’t mask body odour.

The scent of a living things themselves isn’t something that can be hidden by soaps or perfumes.

The stench was so foul I felt nauseous, and if she hadn't tugged on me, I would’ve killed them on the spot.

I put the tip of my cane sword to Joseph's neck.

Darius: Tiamo seems to be involved in a lot of things. Corruption, tax evasion, human rights violations…….

Darius: Regarding eugenics, I do agree with you. But, it seems we differ on what constitutes eugenics.

Suddenly, a slight noise behind me made Kate’s expression alter.

Kate: Darius, watch out!

Spinning around, I slashed the throat of the employee about to attack me.

Kate: Oh…..

A line of fresh blood sprayed onto Kate’s white dress.

(Shameful, foolish, filthy humans aren’t needed in this world.)

The kanji for “shameful” can be translated in several ways, including “ugly,” but I’m opting for shameful.

I smiled broadly.

Darius: Let me tell you fools something.

Darius: Humans aren’t on the eugenic side.

Minister: Don’t let them leave alive!

The minister’s command signaled the doors of the church to open, and armed staff rush in.

Kate: Darius!

At the sound of Kate’s impatient voice, I grabbed her arm and threw her behind the pew.

Darius: You go there.

(It would terrible if you got hurt here.)

But—

(I don’t understand why…..I don’t want to see you hurt.)

Darius: By Crown’s standards, they qualify as an evil that should be punished.

Darius: Perhaps, I should kill everyone here and earn a myself a debt of gratitude.

I chuckled as I started cleaning up the trash.

Armed Employee: Aarrgh!!

Employee With Gun: Hurry and get him! Eek!

Employee With A Sword: Stop-Stop it!!

Darius: Ahaha, you’re so weak that I’m shocked to learn about your ideals on eugenics.

The people dying one after the other were pathetic and amusing, but it was terribly unbearable that their filthy blood stained my clothes.

Darius: That’s why I hate humans. They’re filthy, shameful and despicable.

Darius: True love is impartial, vows are eternal, love is constant?

In no time at all, there was a pile of corpses with their masses of flesh stabbed repeatedly from above.

Darius: Don’t make me laugh. Such things exist only in your world.

I wanted to keep stabbing them until they vanished.

But—

(It’s almost time.)

Joseph: Dieee!!

I shifted my focus and grabbed Kate’s arm, pulling her into a hug as she was about to get stabbed from protecting me.

Then with my other hand, I pierced Joseph in his heart with my cane sword.

Jospeh: Guh, ugh…….

Staring down coldly at his fallen body, I kindly explained his worst future to him.

Darius: Kate would try to protect me from being killed by you. I would notice this and kill you in turn.

Darius: I could see this future the moment I shook your hand.

Joseph: Wh….at…..

Yes, when I shook hands with him yesterday, I could see everything.

That’s why I went to the cellar and performed an extermination, to prevent these humans from multiplying any further.

Could also potentially be translated as “the humans from multiplying,” for a more general sense, but I chose to use “these” due to context.

(If I tell Kate that she’ll probably get angry.)

When I pulled the blade from his chest, fresh blood spattered us.

Darius: If the future me decided to kill you, then there’s no way you’re cursed.

Darius: Because there’s no way I do something as foolish as taking a cursed life.

Once I finished cleaning up that trash, I turned to her to clear up the remaining rubbish.

Darius: Okay, let’s go kill the children too.

Kate: What…..those children are innocent!

Darius: Wouldn’t it be better if these inferiors had no descendants?

Darius: It would be better killing them. We should at least show some mercy.

However, she stopped me as she hugged me from behind.

Kate: No matter where they come from, those kids have a right to see the future.

Kate: There’s no reason for you to take it away!

(…..Well, she did try to protect me, so I guess I could listen to her.)

With a sigh I put away my cane sword.

Darius: Fine. I don’t want to hear children wailing because it’s deafening, so I won’t.

I muttered as Kate relaxed her arms in relief.

Darius: …..See, there’s no such thing as true love anywhere.

(Despite what you may believe, it’s nonexistent.)

I’ve been taught that by people countless times.

Kate: ….Even if it doesn’t exist here, it definitely exists.

Her trembling hand reached out and stroked my cheek, her eyes locked onto me.

Darius: If that’s a lie, you’ll die like them. So, can you still say that?

I found this amusing and wrapped my hand around hers.

(It’s truly foolish and hopeless.)

Darius: Darius: I’m lying. I won’t kill you. You are my favorite, after all.

With a crimson hand I lifted the white veil.

Darius: I never said I love you, but if you don’t mind a lie, then I’ll swear to it.

It was simply on a whim that I drew my lips close.

Darius: Especially if it’s you.

But perhaps somewhere deep in my heart, I wanted to believe in it.

[Event Master List] [Epilogue]

I've got so many questions I want to ask this man, but I feel like while Darius may have a hatred for humans, he seems to have a specific criteria as to what garners his utmost revulsion. For example, the MC isn't someone that makes him feel repulsed, so what separates her from the rest? I think it's likely her being willing to accept, value and treat the cursed equally and kindly....versus let's say those from society who wouldn't be generally accepting. Of course, this event is evident that his hatred here is stemming from past trauma (well, that's my take on it.)......But again, I still have questions.

Tag List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @yuoi-the-magnificent @husbandosandladders @nawlink @justgiulia @vickietickie @greedyqueensfavourite @sharigax @belphiesleftpinkytoe @reimy1164 @barellorkilaam @goustmilk @aceuuuuu @yamaguchisaori @hiphiphooray4val @mika797 @spectraphobic-blog @kiyomizuki

If you are 18+ years old and wish to be added to my tags list, please feel free to comment or dm me. Please specify if you want to be tagged in all translations or a specific suitor. If you wish to be removed from the list, please feel free to comment or dm me as well.

[accio-victuuri]

June 2025 CPNs round-up ❤️💛💚

• dragonboat festival cpn crumbs: xzs/ybo posting time, same bgm again & wwx zongzi

• there’s been some talk of xz giving some small clues & candies to try and coax bobo because he (xz) had a kissing scene in legend of zanghai. i mean, everyone is free to believe what they want — and at the end of the day, it’s all clowning anyway. but i just don’t believe in this. xz is the type that drops bombs so this is not intentional on his end. and these two are serious actors. they know what the job entails. plus, xz has much more direct ways to coax yibo. he also doesn’t need to appease cpfs and give us candy because A.) we know dramas are fiction. kissing scenes are normal. B.) we are not a third party in their relationship. he doesn’t need to prove anything to us.

i love cpns as much as the next person, but it’s important to draw the line ✌🏼

• another BGM coincidence

• what 🙄🙄🙄 means

• in one of the legend of zanghai bts, xz was talking to zhang jingyi and he mentioned their age gap. which led to a whole trip down memory lane on the times wyb refused to make their gap a big deal 😌

• yibo posting selfies on the last day of LOZ airing

• “i’m here” cpn and then a day after this gets talked about in cpf circles, yibo-official shared a behind tbe scenes video of sorts of that song. 👀

• Crystal sky of Yesterday movie candy and it’s connection to devil timeline

• Why the number 8 is xiao zhan’s number in his early years

• there is this old fake rumor that mentioned they both want to see each other in high ponytails & curly hair. and now, i think xz got that wish cause wyb has his curly hair on 🫶🏼

• yibo had hotpot in san francisco

• hello to ren shaobai in a motorcycle

• rumor that xz asked leave from work/shooting his drama as soon as wyb was allegedly back from his US trip - as with all rumors like this, we will confirm this in our little way in months/years to come.

• a new bts released in 0627 of them holding hands

This year’s anniversary celebration of CQL is a success and why wouldn’t it be when it’s by people who genuinely love and care for the show? It could never fail. I’m still amazed by all the fan arts and edits that people share & all the offline gatherings. It’s all a labor of love and i’m sure XZ and WYB are thankful that there are people who still appreciate a drama that changed their lives. 💛💛💛

Even the Untamed IP weibo account posted. 📝

Six years, a long journey, but fortunately we are on the same journey. This summer is still hot because of you.

It also went on HS and there were new-ish BTS videos that came out. This is so inspiring. The level of dedication and support that the fandom has for both xz and wyb is unmatched. &&& this is why CPF circle is so strong after all these years! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

• this fake repo/rumor is really cute. it’s not a secret in cpf circle that xz allegedly was visiting the set of Being A Hero. and we also saw that WYB was practicing calligraphy during this time.

I was chatting with my friend, and halfway through we talked about a very cute thing that was mentioned before. When Bobo was in Chen Yu, most of the actors in the group would take notes on their roles. Bobo saw that XZ’s handwriting was very beautiful, so he started practicing calligraphy again, but he stopped after practicing for a while.

XZ went to visit the set for a few days. Once, he (XZ) looked through his notes and praised him, "How come Yibo-laoshi’s handwriting has become so beautiful?" Bobo replied very calmly, "It's okay, there is no difference from before." XZ said, "No, you have improved a lot." Bobo was still very calm, "Maybe I practiced it a while ago." XZ continued to praise him for a few sentences, and then changed the subject. At the moment, Bobo didn't seem to have much of a ripple, but the next day he immediately picked up the calligraphy and continued to practice.

Oh, I still think he is so cute, the arrogant little Bo. On the surface, he is no longer the little boy who would give himself a thumbs up when he was praised a few words in 2018, but in his heart, he would still secretly wag his tail because of his wife's two words of praise. XZ is always the person who understands Xiaobo the best. Perhaps he knows from somewhere that Xiaobo doesn’t continue writing because he feels frustrated, so he finds a way to affirm Xiaobo’s every effort and always comforts Xiaobo with gentle love.

• another fake repo/rumor:

( this was is kinda embarrassing ) 🙈🙈🙈

I was inspired by his fans. Let me tell you another story. When he was filming Ace Troops in 2020, I found someone to enter the filming location and waited for Xiao Zhan to film next to a mobile home (I didn’t know it was Xiao Zhan in the car at the time). While waiting, I chatted with my CPF friends, including their (bjyx) life. Suddenly, someone got out of the car and told us that Xiao Zhan was reciting lines in the car and asked us to speak softly.

• this similarity, xz saying he would love to go outside when it’s raining and smell the air. same thing with bobo, he loves the smell of a rainy day.

that’s all for this month! i hope that July will be good to them & they will have more time to spend with each other. ❤️💛💚

<<< previous post

[dkiove]

TAKE MY HAND, lee seokmin.

plot: while the whole town is in chaos, seokmin is determined to protect you.

genre: angst, political uprising set in the 1980s

warnings: mention of we4p0ns, bl00d, m4ssacr3.

note: lowercase intended!

"have you seen the news?"

you walk to the living room, a towel dangling on your arm. seokmin, your husband, is eating his breakfast— "im looking at it right now". his eyes stays glued to the television, feeding himself another spoonful of rice. you go behind him, hovering the towel on top of his drenched hair— shaking gently yet efficiently.

"a small group of radical elements instigated disorder in jeonju city yesterday", the newscaster reports in her usual voice. you stop for a moment, focusing on the news. your hand grips lightly on seokmin's exposed shoulder.

"martial law troops have been deployed to restore peace and ensure the safety of civilians. citizens are urged to remain indoors and comply with curfews.”, your palm meets your lips, masking the gasp you let out. seokmin notices your demeanor and reaches over to your arm, rubbing on it softly.

"what has been going on lately", you say, fear in your tone. you throw the towel on the small table close to you, taking a seat beside him. seokmin sets down his utensils and turns to you— "im sure we will be okay if we follow their instructions", his lips curled into a reassuring smile.

"im not comfortable with you working in these conditions; you get home really late and something might happen", you murmur, airing your concern. seokmin holds your hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly on your skin.

"i will be fine— i promise you that", his lips land a soft kiss on your knuckles.

"i will not let anything bad happen to me— on behalf of you"

---

"how much is this?"

a woman. an old woman, in her late 70's, holding a crane to support her frailing body points to the lonely fish resting atop the container. seokmin looks over, "its 500 won, but since you're my last customer— i'll give it you for 400", he smiles warmly.

delighted and blessed, the lady fishes through her purse and hands seokmin a bill who in return gives her a plastic bag. "thank you, young man", she says before walking away.

"take care!", seokmin sends her off, concluding his day.

it was now 8PM.

today was full of distraught. not only was it empty— the current situation sent the other vendors and their business to the edge. the townsfolk has been rallying and protesting outside the mayor's building for hours on end; seokmin could hear their cries and screams from miles away.

but luckily for him, fate was on his side.

no matter the time or weather— he always managed to sell out his produce. it might not be much but its enough to last you and him a few days.

"today is really that day", soonyoung, a friend and co-vendor of seokmin walks to his stall.

he was a vegetable vendor. his produce is grown organic from his family's farm. before the movement, he would be abudant— but due to the recent situation, he found it difficult to sell the vegetables he fought hard to harvest.

"i guess you could say that, its been rough", seokmin replies, folding the fish nets and placing them in big plastic bags. "rough? you sold out your fishes. my vegetables are basically rotting over there", soonyoung says, earning a chuckle from seokmin.

"what is going on really", he continues. seokmin walks to his friend, the night accompanying both of them. the market had already closed its light earlier— the vendors have lost their hope. some were quick to close their stalls to join the protest while others just gave up.

"i know— my wife is worried", seokmin says— "how are the kids?".

"one of them is sick while the other one is in school", the older man replies, his hands deep in his pockets as he swayed in his own pace from time to time. "i have to go back to gwangju tomorrow, to take care of them", he adds.

"gwangju? what about your stall?", seokmin asks, eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. "its not like im missing out anyways— while our town is fucked, a single soul wont pay a dime for my crops", soonyoung kicks a rock.

its a harsh reality really. in fight for righteousness, the lives of others are burdened. they have to continuously scavenge through life with a stick— while some poke their metals and their guns carelessly at their faces.

"ill get going— see you when i see you", soonyoung says, playfully hitting seokmin's shoulder with his own.

he doesnt say a word; he just watched his friend go inside his truck and drive away to the unknown.

"time to go home"

---

some roads were blocked, some were barricaded, while some were cornered by army men and their long rifles.

seokmin was intimidated; scared, confused, and unsure.

it has been half an hour, stuck in his truck as he tries to find a way home. "poor girl must be waiting for me", he says to himself, thinking about you— probably worried sick.

at last, for what felt like eternity, seokmin has found a way leading to your shared home.

during his trip, he saw people walking in the same direction— presumably to the protest. they had megaphones, tarpaulins, cardboards, messages displayed on every crevice they could find— it was a disaster.

but most importantly, he saw a lady selling sweet potato on the side of the road. parking his vehicle close, he jogged to the seller's stand and bought three. seokmin knows how much you love sweet potato— and to his nature, he'll buy it every chance he gets.

he pulls out his wallet, grabbing bits of his money. "here you go a-", before he could finish, a loud errupting bang shakes the ground. seokmin collapses to the ground, hand covering his ears from the defeaning noise.

he looks forward, smoke and fire etched at the center of the city— the mayor's office, he concluded.

people were running, gunshots were fired, there were screaming, crying, footsteps, and sounds of debris falling on the ground.

wide eyed, seokmin stood up completely. crouching down once in a while as pieces of concrete and other material showered upon him. he turned to see the lady in the same position as him, "miss are you okay? are you hurt?", he asks. the lady replied shakes her head, lips pressed in fear.

"EVERYBODY RUN! THEY'RE GONNA KILL US!", a man in his mid-30's, his shirt tattered as blood trickled down his forehead screams on top of his lungs— pointing behind him where soldiers rush.

seokmin's hand trembles,

"i have to go home to my wife"

---

it didnt take him a whole minute to process. he was out of there in an instant. he wasnt sure if someone had followed him and his truck— but one thing is certain, he was gonna get you.

the neighborhood was quiet when he arrived, but the smoke had gotten closer. seokmin rushes out of the vehicle and runs to the front door of your shared home, "[yn]!", he calls out.

he didnt get the chance to touch the door knob as the front door swung a few moments later— there you stood, fear in your eyes as you face him. "seokmin!", you cried, taking him in for a hug— tight and secure.

you took heavy breaths, hands running all up his body in search for injuries. "are you okay?", you ask, breaking the hug. "im fine—we have to get out of here", he says, his hands pressed gently on both sides of your face— planting a comforting kiss on your forehead.

"what happened?", you ask, but he didnt answer.

instead, he leaves you by the front door as he barged inside— hands scowering through the drawers in search for things you could bring. "seokmin, what are you doing?", you stammered.

"we have to get out of here", seokmin said, emerging from the bedroom holding a suitcase. it was for the trip both of you had packed for jeju— but now seokmin has to use it for this moment.

he rushed, grabbing her arm and leading her back to the truck. seokmin throws the luggage at the back, securing it with a rope. "get in the truck," he spat, eyes still focused on keeping their baggage safe.

you stand there shaken, hands engulfing yourself in a hug. watching your husband be in this kind of state scares you— its like everything he had promised goes the opposite way.

seokmin doesnt see you moving with urgency, his gazing eyes darts to you—"what are you still doing there", he asks in disbelief. "seokmin im scared", you confess, a lump forming on your throat as tears swell in your eyes.

"we have to go now, get in the truck", he pleaded— gripping your arm, face inching closer to you. at this point you could see it clearly, there were cuts on his face, tiny shards and fresh blood everywhere.

"what if they kill us, find us as we try to escape", flow of hot streams leave your eyes, fearing for the worse. it wasnt merely overthinking— it was a call for reality.

if people were killed despite their peaceful manner like what the radio had said— what would they do to people that are actively trying to escape.

you breakdown. seokmin comes to his senses seeing you come undone like this. he breaths slowly, pulling you to his embrace as his hand moves slowly to the top of your head.

"im sorry, im sorry", he whispered in between breaths. "i wont let anything bad happen to you, im sorry", you continued to cry.

"listen, we'll go to gwangju— we'll find soonyoung and stay there until the coast is clear okay?", his voice slowed down. from what was frantic now turned soft and comforting. you nod at his words watching him pull away from you and open the front door of the truck.

"come, take my hand", he said softly, holding his palm out to you—despite the haze, smoke and fear. "i got you", like a calm through the storm, holding out to you like a lifeline; like his life depended on it.

"i always got you"

---

soonyoung coughs, stirring a cup of warm wilk for his daughter laying on the hospital bed. after the recent chaos in jeonju, he was lucky he had left the same night. if he hadnt, he would be one of those who were killed.

"dad, can you turn on the tv?", his daughter pleaded. soonyoung ruffled the girl's hair lightly, reaching for the remote to fulfill her request. "what do you want to watch?", he asks with a smile on his face.

sports channel, "korea's socce-"

history channel, "tonight on hi-"

news channel, "178 killed in jeo-"

kids channel, "coming u-"

wait. soonyoung's eyebrows furrowed, switching back to the news channel. his daughter protested, "daaaad the kids channel!", she whined. "wait a minute darling dad has to see this first", he said, turning the volume up.

"news update on the recent jeonju massacre with 178 were killed last night", his breath hitched at the news. "there had been countless unidentified victims now up for claiming at the morgue", it continued.

"among the casualties were several civilians reportedly attempting to flee the city without proper identification. authorities claim they failed to stop at a checkpoint despite warning shots.”

a rolling shot of names appeared on the screen, those who were killed while trying to escape.

'hwang dalmi

yoon jeonghan

kim yuseok

lee seokmin

boo seungkwan

lee [yn]'

"that's all for todays news, we'll keep you updated"

[obvithe-bestsoph]

Hiii, love your work!!💕

Could u do one where Pedri and the reader have a small fight that becomes intense. Because of the argument, the reader can’t focus on an important exam and ends up doing badly. Later, Pedri finds out, feels really bad, and realizes how much it affected her.

— no sad ending pls😭

Xx

exam day.

masterlist requests word count: 900

a/n: sorry that i changed the request, but instead of police I made it his parents lol. genre: angst to comfort (happy ending) warnings: an argument.

summary: after making a comment about your exam stress, you and pedri get into a fight, causing you to do badly in the test and him to come over to apologise.

exam day.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t mean to snap. You didn’t mean for it to snowball. And you definitely didn’t mean to carry it with you into one of the most important days of your academic life. But here you are, sitting outside your exam hall, blank screen in front of you, and fingers that won’t stop trembling.

It started yesterday. One dumb comment. One poorly timed joke. You were already anxious about the exam, already tired from barely sleeping. And when Pedri said, “You always overreact about these things,” it was like something inside you cracked.

“You don’t get it,” you’d said. “This is serious for me.”

He had sighed, brushing a hand through his curls like he was the one being burdened. “I do get it. But you act like it’s the end of the world if one thing goes wrong.”

That stung. So you threw your hands up. “You know what? Just don’t talk to me right now.”

You didn’t think he’d listen. But he did. He left. No apology. No checking in later. Just silence.

And now, you’re in a room full of people typing like they’ve memorized every possible answer, and your mind feels like static. You studied. God, you know you studied. But nothing’s coming back.

All you can think about is how his face looked when he walked away. Not even angry. Just… disappointed.

You finish the exam two minutes before time runs out, hand it in with shaking hands, and walk home feeling like someone deflated you from the inside out.

You don’t text him. And he doesn’t text you.

It’s not until later that evening that you hear a soft knock on your apartment door.

You freeze.

You know that knock. Slow. Careful. Like he's trying not to scare you off.

When you open the door, he’s standing there with his hoodie on, curls messy, holding a plastic bag like he’s been out grocery shopping but forgot how to actually shop.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Can I come in?”

You step aside wordlessly. You don’t trust your voice.

He sets the bag down. It’s filled with snacks. Your favorites. The gummy worms. The stupid chocolate-covered rice cakes you always say are weird but eat in one sitting.

“I talked to your roommate,” he says, not meeting your eyes. “She said you were really quiet. That you didn’t even want to talk about the exam.”

You sit down on the edge of your bed, legs heavy.

“It went badly,” you murmur. “Really badly.”

His face twists. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything.

He comes closer, kneeling in front of you, hands resting lightly on your knees. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I shouldn’t have walked away.”

“Then why did you?”

���Because I was being selfish,” he says, voice cracking a little. “I was tired, and instead of being there for you, I acted like your anxiety was some kind of overreaction. But it’s not. I know it’s not.”

You blink hard. You’ve cried enough today.

“I kept thinking about what I said,” he continues. “And then I found out how the exam went, and it hit me how much I hurt you. Not just emotionally, but like… I actually ruined something important. I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” you whisper, even though part of you still blames him. “I just let it get to me. I couldn’t focus. I was thinking about you.”

Pedri exhales sharply, like the guilt is hitting all over again.

“I love you,” he says. “And I never want to be the reason you doubt yourself. You worked so hard for this. And I made it worse. I hate that.”

You look down at his hands on your knees. He’s warm. Solid. Familiar. And you missed him, even when you were mad.

“I thought you didn’t care,” you say. “You left.”

“I cared too much,” he admits. “And I didn’t know how to fix it, so I panicked.”

Silence fills the space. He stays kneeling there, like he won’t move until you forgive him.

You reach out, fingers threading through his curls. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” he says, smiling sadly. “But I’m your idiot.”

You snort softly.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. “Retake, tutoring, a million flashcards. I’ll be your emotional support water bottle if I have to.”

“You’re so dumb.”

“Only for you.”

He shifts to sit beside you, pulling you into his arms. You let yourself melt into his chest. The tension in your spine finally gives out. His lips brush your temple, featherlight.

“I know this doesn’t fix it,” he murmurs. “But I’m here now. However you need me.”

And weirdly, that’s enough.

You’ll still have to deal with the exam results. Still have to talk to your professor, figure out what to do next. But right now, you’re wrapped in Pedri’s arms, and for the first time since yesterday, you feel like you can breathe again.

“You’re not allowed to leave next time,” you say into his hoodie.

“I won’t,” he promises. “Not even if you tell me to.”

“You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“Nope,” he grins. “Stuck to you like Nilo fur on black jeans.”

You groan. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue.”

He kisses your cheek. “I’m lucky either way.”

And this time, when you close your eyes, the ache in your chest finally starts to fade.

[uhuhmaries]

A Night To Forget | H.S.

IM SO SORRY I HAVENT BEEN CONTINUING THE SERIES I BEEN BUSY… kinda 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️. But I NEEDED to do this quickly to give my mind a peace……. If you know…… YOU know…..

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

The bass is thumping in your chest, festival lights flickering across bodies in a sea of movement. Your boots are already caked in mud, and your body is sticky with sweat and warm cider, but you don’t care. You’re in the UK. You’re in your 20s. You’re living.

And you just saw him.

Harry Styles. In the VIP section earlier this afternoon. Laughing with a group of models—one of them, strikingly gorgeous. Afro curls, statuesque, skin kissed by sunlight. And he kissed her, right in front of everyone. You’d watched too long, stomach sinking before you forced yourself to look away. What were you expecting, honestly? You’re just a fan, studying abroad, lucky enough to snag a Glastonbury ticket.

So, you let it go.

But now it’s the next day. Sun’s still high but softening, golden around the edges. You’re sitting in the grass with a lukewarm gin and tonic in hand, trying to not check your phone for the thousandth time.

And then you see him. Again.

Just a glimpse, at first—those familiar tattoos, his unmistakable posture. Short hair now, slicked slightly back with a middle part, no curls in sight. Black tee that clings to his chest, linen pants slung low. He’s standing not far from the food stalls, nodding to someone before catching you staring.

Shit.

You look away quickly, but it’s too late. He’s walking toward you. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Like he’s curious.

“Hello,” he says when he reaches you, British drawl smooth and amused. “Didn’t even pretend not to look.”

You shrug, lifting your drink in mock cheers. “I figured I’d only get one chance. Might as well commit.”

He chuckles, then—eyes scanning your face, your chipped nail polish, the messy bun you’re trying to keep from falling apart. And then, unexpectedly, he reaches forward and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Cute,” he murmurs. “Proper little hurricane, aren’t you?”

Your heart skips. “You always flirt with strangers who drink in the grass?”

“Only the ones who pretend they’re not impressed.” He winks, steps back, and vanishes into the crowd.

You don’t expect to see him again.

But night falls, and the energy shifts. Everyone’s swaying, screaming lyrics under the stars. You’re near the barricade this time, barely able to breathe with the crowd pressing in. Lights strobe overhead, someone’s shoulder is in your face, and yet—it doesn’t matter.

You feel a presence behind you. Tall, warm, familiar.

“Thought I’d lost you,” comes the voice, hot in your ear.

You spin slightly and—fuck—it’s him.

Harry.

“Didn’t know you were looking,” you shout over the music.

“I wasn’t,” he says, leaning in, grinning. “But here you are.”

He doesn’t move away. Stays close, hand barely grazing the small of your back. You’re not sure if it’s the music or the alcohol, but your body is warm all over.

“What are you doing down here?” you ask. “Shouldn’t you be up in VIP with your model girlfriend?”

He raises a brow. “Didn’t know I had one.”

You hum, eyes on the stage. “Saw you kiss her yesterday.”

He shifts closer. You feel him smile against your ear. “Bit jealous, were you?”

You scoff. “I’ve always been the jealousy kind.”

He leans in again, closer this time. “Oh, same.”

You turn to look at him, and he’s already watching you.

And that’s when the shift happens.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

You don’t know how you ended up behind one of the lesser-used stages, hidden between tents and crates and shadows. The music pulses in the background but you can hardly hear it. Harry’s mouth is on yours, warm and hungry.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmur against his lips.

“And yet,” he whispers, dragging your hips against his, “here I am.”

His hands are on your waist, guiding you back against the rough metal of a barricade. His touch is confident, unhurried. His mouth moves to your neck, teeth scraping gently before he kisses just below your jaw.

You let out a shaky breath. “You do this often?”

“Only with girls who talk back,” he mutters, dragging your shirt up slightly. His hands find your skin and he groans, low in his throat. “Fuck, you’re soft.”

Your legs tremble when his hand dips lower, pressing against your clothed heat.

“Are you gonna—”

“Shh,” he interrupts, smiling. “You’ll get what you want. Just let me take my time.”

He kisses you again, deeper, teeth grazing your bottom lip before he sucks it gently between his.

Your hand finds his belt, fumbling with the buckle. “Time’s ticking, Styles.”

He laughs, breathless. “Can’t rush greatness, love.”

Still, he lets you undo his belt. Lets you drag his pants down enough for his cock to spring free, thick and already leaking.

You suck in a breath. “Jesus.”

“Told you not to rush,” he smirks, and then he’s pushing your panties aside and dragging his fingers through your slick folds. “So wet for me already? Didn’t even touch you proper yet.”

You moan, pressing into his hand.

“You want it?” he asks, voice low. “Want me to fuck you out here where anyone could walk by?”

You nod. “Please.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Lines himself up, teases your entrance, then pushes in slowly, inch by inch. You cling to him, thighs trembling as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly you could cry.

“God, you feel—fuck,” he groans. “So tight.”

“Then move, Styles.” You bite back.

He thrusts slowly at first, then deeper, faster, until your nails are digging into his back and your mouth is open in a silent scream.

“Harry,” you gasp. “You said you’d pull out.”

“I said I would,” he growls, gripping your hips harder. “But you feel too good. Can’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. He fucks you through it, hips slamming against yours until he spills deep inside you, warm and thick. You’re still pulsing around him, clenching like your body’s trying to keep every drop.

You both stay still for a moment, panting, sweaty, messy.

Then, slowly, he pulls out. Tucks himself away. Fixes your underwear with gentle fingers.

Neither of you speaks. It’s awkward now, almost hilarious.

“Guess I should get back to my tent,” you mutter.

He nods. “Yeah.”

You pause. “You gonna pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow?”

He looks at you. “Only if you want me to.”

You shake your head, then smile. “Night, Styles.”

You wake up the next morning to your friend shaking your shoulder.

“Babe. Babe. You’re on TikTok.”

“What?” you croak.

She holds out her phone. A video is going viral. Grainy but unmistakable. You. Harry. Against the barricade. His mouth on yours. His hands up your shirt.

Your jaw drops.

The comments are exploding. You gulp your own saliva and act like it’s nothing.

“People will get over it.” You say as you lock your friend’s phone and sit.

“Nobody gets over the Emrata incident…. And now you’ve been added to the list.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

📝 Author’s Note:

He’s feeling himself lately. That kiss look kinda not steamy but yk what. I’ll fuck with it 😔

[cxpperhead]

The rain continues unabated, the city remaining dauntless even as a fresh peal of thunder ricochets above. It's Gotham after all, a little thunder and lightning is hardly the worst thing to have happened in her. Murders are every bit as commonplace as raindrops lashing the streets below but no matter how much it rains, it will never cleanse the city of all it's wrongdoings. It won't clean Copperhead of his either, the metahuman watching impassively as rain washes the blood from his claws. Mr. Bell's date had not gone as smoothly as he'd have liked. He'd returned to his apartment in a daze, shoulders slumped in the way that only disappointment could tell. Copperhead never asked him what happened; it might never have been a real thing, merely a ruse to get him out of his apartment long enough for his would-be killer to slip inside, ready and waiting for him. Sometimes his kills bring no satisfaction. This was one of them, Mr. Bell asking if he was going to kill him. "Yes," Copperhead had replied without a moment's hesitation, and despite his urge to strike, to snap the man's neck, to plunge his fangs into that vulnerable throat and watch him die from a lethal dose of venom, the man just... accepted his time had come. He never said another word to Mr. Bell, only that he made it quick. He never asked anything about the man's life, what had brought him to this city, if he'd also been born elsewhere like Copperhead had been. He never asked what he might have done to incur his employer's wrath, to pay somebody a hefty fee to ensure his life would end that very night. The last drops of blood wash away freely and finally Copperhead feels at ease. No longer can he feel the white-hot urge pulsing through his veins, unable to think of anything else but killing the closest living thing standing next to him. He feels.. well, he wouldn't say he feels happy, quite the opposite really. Copperhead feels nothing at all, no joy at what he'd done or satisfying this relentless instinct to slay. He's killed plenty of people, and he remembers each and every one, how it happened, whether they begged or valiantly tried to fight off the bitter end. Complete and utter surrender was rare, and Mr. Bell just so happened to have joined their numbers. Another crack of thunder echoes above, sending a fresh deluge of rain pouring down. Copperhead lets the water trickle over his glossy scales before leaving without a sound, to let his employer know the deed had been done and that their contract was finished. Sometimes his work brings him no pleasure, only the brief respite of a dark appetite satiated. Relieving it was only temporary, a small offering of just one life in order to keep another going. Before long he'd be right back in this position again looking for his next kill, and not all of them would go as willingly as Mr. Bell.

[despair-tea]

I think a lot of girls fall into a pit where you transition to overcome depersonalization, and that on its own tides you over for a bit. But once the rush of the new is over and you're living in your new body, if you haven't made a self to go along with it, then you'll fall right back into the hole, right?

You might not have the dysphoria anymore, but you go back to viewing yourself from afar, playing by remote control.

The self-concept is more important than the medicine. I mean it.

Medicine is wonderful, don't get me wrong. The softness is like a dream, the new curves are beyond what I cold have hoped for when I was young. I love having a body I'm comfortable in, that looks beautiful in the mirror, that doesn't repulse me when others tell me it's beautiful. I'm so glad to find out that it wasn't my body that was wrong the whole time, there was always treatment that could have helped me get here.

But those things... they really come down to having a good relationship with my own body, you know? And that won't change even if my hormones do.

I'm dedicated to building my body up the way I want it - to live in the way I think is most beautiful. But I also am a pragmatic beast who's known what it's like to have nothing too. I can still live. I can still be me, even without the medicine that makes my body more comfortable.

A sense of self. "Imagine a future self who has already surpassed her own limits," then make every move you can to get to her.

It sounds like magical thinking because it is. Many of us - rational-minded and pragmatic creatures with both feet on the ground - shy away from ideas rooted in magical thinking. "That's just bullshit," you say, shaking your head. But let me enlighten you: The whole concept of the self is magical thinking. Yet even in the depths of your disconnect you believe in it. You believe other people have one, which is why you feel so alienated from them.

You need to stop and reassess.

The self is inherently magical. It can't be proven or disproven. It can't be quantified or measured. Science has yet to find a way to isolate the sense of self in the body and I suspect it never truly will. Yet we have it. We, as humans, all have it.

So use it to your advantage.

That's how you overcome depersonalization for good. You need to decide who you want to be. Create an image in your mind. "I don't know what I want to be..." Of course you don't know yet - you're afraid of finding out your limits. But all the time you spend not pursuing your ideal self is time that your dreams spend slipping away from you.

What's that? You don't dream, either? Well - you're too old to not have a dream, aren't you? Adults wither away without one - they grow up into bad kids, or maybe like you they grow up into nothing at all.

This world is so vast and we are such small creatures. We can't change the world - there's barely anything you or I can do to change the flow of history or the fact of our era.

But you can change yourself.

Decide who you want to be and become them. That's called Self-Actualization, and it is the one and only magic afforded to us as humans.

I want a future that's kinder, that's full more of hope than the bitter-black despair I've known for so long. I want to be a person who's worth having lived this long. I want to be the person my past self will be proud of having grown up into. And I want to become the future self who has been there by my side this whole time, waiting to meet me in the future. My greatest ally in the whole world.

So even though I'm just a small part of this world, I'll change myself to make it so.

I hope you can find your Worth too. It's right there inside you.

[slu-tea-ftm]

My coworker and one of my supervisors: [Compliments my work on stacking products on pallets]

Me, someone who thrives off praise: Tell me again, please. Tell me I'm doing a good job, Tell me it looks good, PLEASE 😭😭🥺🥺

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Everyone that realistically can, should be able to work remotely. I'm picking up a couple hours remotely today because we have a big event coming up, and this is the best workday ever.

[alexiroflife]

"in every life"

curse reincarnation, fluff

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: you, a former sorcerer and sukuna's wife, are killed in the heian era. sukuna does not believe in a life without you, so he takes it upon himself to bring you back a thousand years later

to sum it up: you are sukuna's life, and no matter how long he has to wait, he will bring you back to him by any means necessary

WC: 3,621

Warning(s): angst in the beginning, reader death (but you're revived), brief icky descriptions of a vessel's possession

-> ask | sukuna fic list

Sukuna remembers the exact moment you left him, soul fluttering almost gracefully from your eyes as your body fell limply into his four arms.

The moment replays in his mind as though it had only happened yesterday, or perhaps as recently as a few hours prior. Time has never been something the king of curses worried himself over, for his strength and existence exceeded such mortal constructs, but when his thoughts wander to you as frequently as air fills and deflates from his lungs, the very concept grows skewed and suddenly, time is a matter of great importance to him.

A king is nothing without his queen beside him, his rock, his partner, and that is what you are. That is what you were, but Sukuna refuses to address you in any form of past tense because your temporary withdrawal from the planet and from his side would never alter the fact that you are his, that you have been his, and that you will be his until the end of time. 

Sukuna has never been one for romantics, for connections that tie his free spirit down from the unfettered, terrifying rule that he leads, but when you entered his life, his opinions shifted and his ambitions changed, making room for you at his side upon his throne. 

The two of you had been married for years before you left him. Sukuna had never bothered to count, but now he finds himself mulling over the years’ contents in search of a piece of your memory that can stay with him until the time comes for you to return to his hand. 

When you were alive, Sukuna never fathomed you leaving his side. He almost feels he should punish you for so abruptly taking an absence from him without permission, castigating your spirit until he feels that the space you once occupied close to him emanates remnants of an apology, of guilt, of a promise to never do such a foolish thing ever again. 

When you were alive, you were a sight to behold, a perfect fit for the title of his wife. You were deserving of each and every privilege he bestowed upon you; of holding his face in your small, dainty hands, of pressing your lips to the textured plate of his face, of throwing your legs over his thighs as you settle onto his lap with a large, burly arm coming around you and securing you there for all of his servants and former concubines to see how high you sit amongst him and how low they remain beneath the two of you. 

You always said what you were thinking. While he ensured that everyone within and outside of his temple feared him, you were always unaffected by his intimidating presence. He remembers one instance in which you were lying beneath him, a mess of silk fabrics swarming your bare figure over your reserved place in his bed with your hair splayed out messily over the pillows and your eyes weighted with a foolish look of what he could only describe as enchantment and tender allegiance.

He feels the ghost of your fingers trace his jaw as he looks down at you quietly, dwarfing you in his mass. A smile touches your soft lips with a rosy hue swirling over your (s/c) skin. 

“Your eyes are quite beautiful.”

Your voice is a whisper of past enamorations through Sukuna’s ear as his brows arch in reminiscence. He remembers how he glared at you in confusion, face hard though he always allowed you to continue admiring him, to continue touching him without consequence. His eyes, which mirror the color of fresh, crimson blood as he has watched it gurgle from the mouths and limbs of his victims, staining the streets, his hands, and his monstrous legacy, are windows you believe to be… beautiful.

Your sentiments never failed to befuddle him. He never did understand why you associated such a ferocious beast with beliefs so light and pure. He is not beautiful, he had thought. He never desired to be beautiful. He is simply Ryoman Sukuna, enough of himself to be categorized in unique isolation, separate from your labels of aesthetic charm and peace. 

You’re silly. Silly with love and submission, he thinks, but he has never denied you of these admirations though he fails to agree. 

Besides, you are his wife. He would have allowed you to worship him in any way you pleased if you asked, and in truth, you hardly did ask. You knew what you were to Sukuna, how you and only you remained the only soft spot that the salmon haired demon withheld in his breast. You were beyond requesting approval to love him in the ways you saw fit, and Sukuna was pleased because you knew, in all spaces, that you were his and he was yours. 

Among all the trophies of battles won, of cities conquered, of titles obtained, you are Sukuna’s greatest prize. 

His love for you was always silent, long glances and grips of the waist, orders to slaughter on your behalf and the pat of his hand over his beefy thigh to beckon you over. His love was an unrestrained space for you to express your desires, to demand his attention, and his compliance with a veil of frustration poorly masking his easy willingness to give you anything you pleased. His love was long, sleepless nights, the marking of his territory by means of stinging bites and purple bruises over your smooth skin that no living being in his wake could mistake for anything but a reminder of your connection to him. 

His love was you incarnate, just a woman before hell’s greatest crown, but his love no less. His wife. His queen. His eternity.

Sukuna does not know why he mourned you when you died. He found himself reacting impulsively, in a short-lived panic when your blood spilled over his skin and your eyes lost the light that he’d been following through the tunnel of his rein for years. 

He knows death is a taboo concern only for mortals to fret over, but when you die, he feels as though he has died himself. Your life flashes before his eyes, your time with him, and this strange ache swarms his body and manifests as a ball in his throat as his ruby hues melt over you in alarm. 

He struggles to accept your parting. He’s viciously angry, a horrible wreck that his servants fear stepping too close into proximity as the time passes and your vacancy weighs itself over his temple and his body like a mountain. He had believed your death to be painful, but the period that follows, the period of waiting stings him like no pain he has endured before. 

A king needs his queen, and without you, no matter for how long, he feels empty. He rampages his heartache away, but it no longer holds the satisfaction it did when you were with him, watching from the sidelines and cheering him on. His estate feels colder somehow, the dent you’ve left in his bed losing its shape and the memory of you fading from others’ minds, but not from his. Never from his. 

Sukuna knows that he will see you again. In any era, no matter how much farther into the future, he will find you once more, bring you back to his embrace, and dust off the crown that he has reserved for your pretty head alone. 

He holds onto a piece of you, storing it safely, awaiting the time to revive you even within his own cursed slumber after having sealed himself for a millenia, severing parts of him and scattering it over the country.

You, however, remain stowed safely in one place. A place he will remember to return to when he reawakens in rebirthed flesh.

Now, a millenia following your untimely death, Sukuna stares emptily at the woman before him, curling and tossing around with bound wrists and ankles at his feet.

She’s crying, screams of horror rising into the starry sky as Sukuna’s eyes glint menacingly beneath the moonlight. He watches her carefully, curling his lips. He looks at this pest, this fragile, forgettable mortal woman and sees everything that you are not. For a moment, he hesitates, his fingers clutching over the ancient parchment wrapped object he holds protectively within his grasp at his side. 

His brows draw together in frustration induced by your vessel. He knows he picked wisely, however, he can not deny the hesitation that captures his mind when he contemplates whether this vessel will do your worth justice. Whether it will truly bring you back the way he plans for you to be. 

He holds up the object in his hand, your energy emitting from behind the paper and through his veins, easing into his blackened soul. You are practically calling to him, holding his hand, murmuring into his ear that it will be okay. 

Sukuna is reminded then and there solely by the spirit of you that nothing in this world could even begin to dwindle the brilliance in which you shine, that even within the body of a bird or a squirrel, your essence would burst through. You will reincarnate wholly as how you left him, and as nothing less. 

With a heavy exhale through his nose, Sukuna unravels the object, tossing the parchment to the ground, and takes a step forward to approach the young woman squirming in the grass before him. He walks over her, feet planted on either side of her figure, and bends down. Her eyes go white with terror as snot and tears dribbles over her nose and down her cheek. Sukuna looks into her coldly, grasping a hand over her face and digging his black nails into her jaw. 

She shudders an agonizing, shrill screech that is soon muffled by the manner in which Sukuna squeezes her cheeks inward and forcefully pries her mouth open. 

With a steely, disconnected glare, Sukuna takes the object imbued with your cursed energy, your ring finger. He pulls your wedding band from the decrepit digit and pushes it to the woman’s lips. Her eyes go wide as she chokes over her jaw’s lack of mobility, and the taste of something foreign and timeworn on her tongue. Her stuttered, whimpering gasps release and she gargles once Sukuna pushes the object down her throat. He slaps his hand back over her mouth as it slides down her throat and she twitches uncontrollably, eyes cracking with red veins. 

The king of curses holds her still as her body flops wildly, her chest lurching forward and limbs flying about. Her body can not handle the intrusion of a thousand year old sorcerer’s influence, so it fails. Her eyes roll into her skull and her fingers twitch once her limbs have stilled in the grass. A symphony of crickets chirping lifts into Sukuna’s ears as the woman beneath him goes completely silent, dead, still.

He waits. After a millennia of existence confined to cursed flesh, after years of the cold left in your wake nipped at his skin, after battling bodies for dominance over a vessel, he waits just a few seconds more for you.

After it seems as though he has lost you for a second time, the body’s eyes flicker. Sukuna stills above you, pupils shrunken in anticipation.

Movement shifts beneath him. A chest rises, and breathing begins steadily through it. The color of this vessel’s skin shifts, transitioning slowly, milking into the hue of gentle (s/c) that Sukuna once caressed with his rough fingers. Color flushes through pale cheeks, and irises of (e/c) roll back from the skull and stare widely ahead, directly into Sukuna’s gaze. Finally, your voice comes, a gentle hum of confusion and discomfort as you regain your lost senses.

Sukuna’s heart skips as the familiar warmth of your body emanates from beneath him again, and his hand is slowly sliding from your parted lips. He feels as though he’s just run a marathon despite his inability to wind himself. He breathes out heavily, gradually, and silence envelopes the two of you in the darkness of the late night. 

While Sukuna had planned this from the very moment you went dead in his hands, he feels somehow starstruck by you. You look as beautiful as you were centuries in the past, skin smooth, brows curled, lips soft as though you had not been gone from his life for more than a brief second. You have returned to him as he had thoughtfully calculated, and yet, he can not fathom the fact that you are here at long last, mere centimeters away, manifested into truth by his graze of your chin. 

The muscles in your brows pull together in disbelief, glimmering eyes shining over as you take in the sight before you. The last thing you felt was a blade slicing into your heart and ripping down through your body, the last vision of Sukuna racing to throw you into him as your opponent met his end with the selective mutilation of his internal organs at your husband’s hard, feral, red glance.

You blink hurriedly, shooting a hand out to your husband’s bicep. “...Ryo?” you whisper in a trembling voice, knowing him by gaze and presence and touch alone. 

The said demon’s brows angle and his body lurches forward with a sharp exhale upon hearing your voice utter his name outside of the confines of his mind’s nostalgia and imagination. He is overcome by the return of you to him, eyes fiery with longing for his once lost love and shoulders aching as the weight that had been crushing down finally releases. The sensation of your fingers curling over his arm sends chills down his spine, for time has never altered Sukuna’s course of existence, but time tells in the way he physically shivers when your loving contact revives on his skin after having been stripped of him for what feels like eternity.

Tears pool in your eyes and your shaky hands raise to smooth over his face, exploring his marked skin and familiarizing yourself with the structure of the being you fell in love with many lifetimes ago. Sukuna’s brow flinches as you feel over his face, and his own palm cradles over your cheek, dwarfing your head in the fashion it always used to as the back of his fingers skim over your heated flesh. 

“Ryomen,” you say his name again, voice crumbling and your shoulders jerking in awe.

He trips down into you, hands clutching over your head as you guide his face down with his hasty movements. Your name tumbles hoarsely from his rumbling voice, against your lips, and slotting into your mind in a haze as his lips meet yours urgently. 

You cry gently into him, lips parting and pushing back in as he kisses you fervently, savoring you, burrowing you into his body’s memory to recover the time he has spent deprived of you. Your hands fly over his neck, down his back, detailing the ridges and the muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt that you know so well. He presses himself down into you, pulling you in closer by your head, flushing your chests together to intertwine your souls once more. Heady grunts and growls heave into your mouth between frenzied, stunned, satisfied kisses, and each time a tear of yours catches into the liplock, Sukuna is pulling it into his lips, saltiness swirling through the sweet release of his misery. 

He’s missed you. So very much, he’s missed you. He doesn’t know how he has managed to go so long without you now that you are here again, now that he is holding you again, kissing you again. 

“My king,” you whimper when you get a chance to break away, foreheads bumping as Sukuna shushes you gently.

“Do not fret, peach,” he soothes you, lips brushing yours as his now loving gaze spills into your own. “You are alright.”

Despite Sukuna’s ruthlessness and his wild murderous expeditions, as well as his blood-curdling tone that further accentuates the weight of his threats when thrown into the direction of others, Sukuna melts into calmness for you, his low voice mellow and meditative, enraptured in the peace that you bring him. You know all sides of your dear husband, and yet this is the rawest side of him that you know, that he treats you with. 

“What happened?” you whisper as his hands run over you, catching your tears and tracing the curves of your flesh. “Where are we?”

“In the garden,” he answers you easily, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. 

“At… at home?” 

He hums in affirmation, leaning back just a bit to stare into you. The pairs of your eyes shine as they absorb the image of one another, still and sincere. Grass tickles your ears and your arms, and you look down, realizing that you are lying in a patch of greenery. You slowly tilt your head to the side, and Sukuna keeps his gaze glued to you like you will disappear before him. Your eyes capture the stems of daffodils and lavender that sprout around your head, pointing into the night sky and swaying gently in the warm breeze. You recognize the plants as the ones you had always taken to tending by the creek behind Sukuna’s temple, which he had the servants fashion as a suitable garden for you to indulge in. 

You do not recall being here last. You recall dying. You recall your world going dark.

You turn back to meet his heavy eyes. “What did you do?”

He is silent for a moment, taking his time to study you before answering as though the question is the simplest one he has ever been asked. “I have brought my queen back to me. As I have always sworn to do if we were ever separated.”

“...How long have we been separated?”

“It does not matter.”

“How long was I away from you, Ryo? How long did I leave you for?”

“It does not matter,” he reiterates gently yet ever so firmly. “Do not think of it.”

“Please-” you frown, eyes shining over again. “I hadn’t- I didn’t mean to leave you. I don’t know how I even let it happen… I can’t imagine what that must have gone through…”

Ryomen catches the guilt in your gorgeous eyes and he is quick to gather you up in his arms. He pulls you up slowly, keeping your eyes locked as you allow him to lift you from the ground with his arms wound tightly over your waist. Your hands go to Sukuna’s shoulders as he kneels over you, keeping you steady and upright, face to face, nose to nose, eye to eye. 

“I refuse to allow the first thing you do in reincarnated life to be reminding me of what life was like without you,,” he says. “I do not wish to revisit it. It does not matter,” he repeats for a third time. 

You tilt your head with the tug of your lips downward sadly, threading your hands through his pink locks and holding onto the nape of his neck. The moonlight milks over you regally, as though the stars have aligned for this very moment, to illuminate you both in the universe’s joyous eye. You swallow hard. “Am I a curse?”

“You are my wife. I will not tolerate you labeling yourself as anything different..”

You inhale deeply, bringing your forehead back to him and closing your eyes. His arms pull you in tight, rhythmic breaths easing you into this reality complacent, affectionately, lovingly. 

“I’m sorry I left you, my love,” you murmur.

Now that he’s heard you apologize, seen your remorse sparked by something out of your control, he doesn’t fare well with it. 

You are not a plague to him, a burden, and telling him that you are sorry in his mind now insinuates such. Even after leaving him, after stealing away his warmth, after haunting his slumber and his consciousness for eons, he does not fault you. He would never fault the woman he chose to keep by his side in wellness and in death. 

He does not accept your apology. You have done nothing but love him, yet Sukuna is the one who should have protected you. 

He runs a hand over the back of your head, down your hair, and exudes his message of impenetrable love to you through his embrace and sweltering red eyes. “All I ask of you is that you stay. In this era and the next. Stay by my side as you are meant to be.”

You nod eagerly against him. “I will,” you whisper. “I will, I promise.”

Sukuna reaches down at his side for the ring he had set down. With one hand to your back, he pulls your wedding band forward and presents it to your twinkling eye. You gasp. 

“You still have it,” you sigh.

“In what world would I not?” 

You bring your hand down, spreading your fingers, and you watch as the kind of curses slips the rusted treasure over your finger, fitting it perfectly into place with the renewal of your marriage and the reunion of your hearts.

You admire the way it looks upon your hand happily, and Sukuna drags you back into his lips, pecking you tenderly before moving back in with his hands firm to you. You shift further up so that his arms can completely take you in, heads bumping as your lips swim together in commemoration of a rebirth into a new life.

[inkandapex]

stream madness

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary : To the world, Y/N had always been Lando Norris’ closest friend—before the fame, the podiums, and the roar of F1 engines. Their bond had always been well-known, shared through countless moments on and off camera. But as the months went on, something started to shift, and it wasn’t just between Y/N and Lando. It became apparent through streams, where their chemistry couldn’t be denied.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: some swearing

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Max's Cooking Stream

“Done! I think they came out quite well,” Max announces, lifting the pan toward the camera, showing off the results of two hours in the kitchen.

The chat is already flooded with reactions—compliments, jokes, and the occasional disbelief at Max’s culinary skills.

"I'll be the judge of that" Lando states as he steps into view "Like master chef" he continues

Pietra is chatting with someone just out of view, her voice light and engaged. The mic, which has been filtering most background noise throughout the stream, only picks up bits and pieces of conversation—muffled words, distant laughter. But this moment? This one, it catches perfectly.

Lando steps away from where Max’s mic is propped, moving slightly out of frame. He reaches for a fork, his attention focused on someone unseen. And then, clear as day, his voice carries through.

"Love, come here a sec. Try it with me."

The chat explodes. But all three were too busy to realize what had just happened

"LOVE?? did he just say love??" "Stop rn who is he talking to" "someone find out rn pls" "it might be y/n, she was seen with them around monaco yesterday" "yeaa he calls her love sometimes i think its just a normal endearment for them lol"

All three, oblivious to the brewing chaos, all continue with what they were doing. Because whether it was intentional or not, Lando just dropped something big.

"Y/N’s here too, everyone! The whole gang’s here—Y/N, say hello to the chat," Max finally acknowledges, glancing at the flood of messages. It’s clear he’s doing some damage control, but the chat is already too far gone.

With a small wave and an amused little smile, Y/N finally steps into frame, grabbing a fork as she inches closer to the pan of food her friends have spent the past two hours making.

"Doesn’t look half bad, to be honest," she muses, inspecting the dish. "P’s really doing wonders, getting you this far into cooking."

Pietra laughs in the background while Max rolls his eyes, but before anyone can add to the banter, Y/N is already taking a bite.

"You’ve gotta—"

"Bloody hell—"

Lando’s warning comes a second too late. Y/N’s eyes widen as the heat hits, steam practically pouring out of her mouth as she waves a hand in front of her face, trying to cool down.

"You muppet, that’s literally fresh off the stove—c’mere," Lando chuckles, already unscrewing a bottle of water. He hands it to her, shaking his head as she takes it gratefully.

The chat? Utterly unhinged.

"NOT THE WAY HE JUST—"

"‘C’mere’ HE SAID ‘C’MERE’ I’M GONNA SCREAM."

"I AM LIVING FOR THIS CHAOS."

And just like that, what was supposed to be a casual cooking stream has become a full-blown internet event.

------------------------------------------------------------

Lando's Annual Stream

Everyone teases Lando about how he’s practically become a Twitch relic, only gracing the platform with his presence once a year. A far cry from the frequent streams he used to do. Some argue that it makes his rare appearances even more iconic, like a seasonal event the internet gathers for.

On one of his rare Twitch streams, Lando found himself diving into Backrooms with Max and a few other friends. As expected, chaos ensued—shouting, panicked laughter, and the occasional unintelligible screaming into the mic. But one moment, in particular, sent the fans into an absolute frenzy.

The doorbell rings, making both Ed and Lando pause mid-game and glance at each other.

"Food’s here," Lando announces into the mic.

Ed, already taking off his headset, ready to stand up. But just as Ed moves, they both hear the faint sound of the door unlocking.

"Oh, I think Y/N’s grabbing it, mate," Ed says, blinking in surprise. He relaxes back into his seat for a second before standing up anyway. "I’ll go help her."

"SHES STILL IN MONACO" "i thought she went back to London with Max and P" "omg she's staying with lando" "loool stop reading into it guys ed's also staying with lando. theyre just friends" "my delusions are being fed"

Both Y/N and Ed return, arms full with bags of food and cutlery. Ed drops back into his chair, already digging into his meal, while Y/N pauses beside Lando, holding a box of food in her hands.

"Do you want yours transferred to a plate, or is the box good?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

"Like that is fine, thank you—oh, I’m streaming, by the way. They can see and hear you," Lando adds with a grin as he takes the box from her.

Y/N barely reacts, too used to this by now. Instead, she casually leans in slightly, scanning the chat as she asks, "Is Max here? Can you tell him to let P know I’ve been trying to call her?"

Lando doesn’t even look away from his screen. "He can hear you—he says sure. You wanna sit here and eat with us?"

She shakes her head, stepping back. "I’m good, got my own thing going on. I’ll see if I can join you guys later if you’re still on. Do you want water or anything?"

Lando glances up at her, smiling. "I’m good, I can grab some myself later."

"You know he’s lying, right?" Ed chimes in, chewing his food. "He’s just gonna wait until you leave so he can ask me to grab it for him."

"Shut up," Lando laughs, shaking his head.

Y/N only smirks knowingly before rolling her eyes. "Alright, whatever you say."

"Okay, okay, go back to doing your thing," Lando says, refocusing on his screen. "Connor’s complaining we’re taking too long."

The chat, meanwhile, is already in shambles.

"She’s literally taking care of him at this point.""Ed exposing Lando is my new favorite thing.""The domestic energy here is sending me."

"What is she up to now? Too busy to play with us?" Max teases as they dive back into the game.

"Nah, mate, she's busy building Legos in the other room," Lando replies casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Max snorts. "Another new hobby? You know she gave us a shit ton of air-dry clay stuff she made that one time. My apartment is literally full of it."

"No, Max, I stepped into the apartment today, and I genuinely thought I was in a Lego store. It’s insane," Ed laughs, shaking his head.

Lando chuckles. "Some of them are mine too, alright? They're not all hers. She’s been building some sets I’ve had lying around for ages."

The chat, of course, goes wild.

"Their apartment is a Lego store. I am crying." "WAIT SO THEY HAVE BEEN LIVING TOGETHER RIGHT??" "Domestic life with Y/N and Lando sounds like a fever dream."

Max just laughs. "Well, tell her to finish up and come scream with us in the Backrooms when she’s done playing with her bricks."

------------------------------------------------------------

Taking Lando's Seat

The stream opens with Lando and Max sitting side by side, each focused on their own PC as they prep for a game of Tarkov. There’s an easy banter in the air, Max teasing Lando about his gear while the two get things set up. But it’s the subtle detail in the background that catches the chat's attention—Lando’s racing rig.

It’s glowing softly in the background, the LED lights creating an almost otherworldly vibe against the dim room.

Max finally glances at the chat, giving a quick nod to thank some of his new subs. But his eyes stop when he spots a few of the comments scrolling by.

Max smirks, leaning into the mic with a grin. "The rig? Oh—it's Y/N. She’s playing F1 right now."

With that, Max casually moves his chair out of the way, revealing Y/N sitting just behind him. She's fully immersed, headset on, brows furrowed in concentration as she steers through a corner on screen, oblivious to the fact that she’s now in full view of the chat.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Lando’s lips as he turns back to look at Y/N, still fully engrossed in the game, unaware that both he and Max are watching her with amusement.

"She's prepping for the season too," Lando continues, keeping his voice casual, though there’s a playful edge to it. "Chat, I think she’s planning on taking my seat—she’s been on there for hours now."

Lando laughs, but the chat immediately picks up on the vibe.

"HE'S JEALOUS, LOOK AT HIM."

"Lando knows he's been replaced."

"Imagine Y/N taking his F1 seat. I’d pay to watch that."

Max, who’s been watching the scene unfold, looks back at Lando with a raised brow. "She’s putting in more practice than you are, mate. Maybe she is taking your seat."

Lando chuckles, shaking his head, though his smile lingers. "Nah, nah, she’s still got a lot to learn... but she’s getting there. I’m just here for moral support."

The chat, of course, has already spirals into chaos.

"Moral support? He’s just trying to hold on to his seat!"

"I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE RACE BETWEEN THEM. WHO’S GONNA WIN??"

"Lando’s literally her biggest fan and her biggest competitor at the same time. I love it."

Y/N, still completely absorbed in the game, lets out a frustrated grunt as she crashes into the wall during a tight turn. "I've fucking crashed—how is AI Lando also a little shit?"

The pair immediately burst into laughter, unable to hold it in. The moment is too perfect—Y/N, so focused on her race, completely unaware she’s been on stream the whole time.

Max wipes away tears, trying to calm down. "What?" Y/N finally takes off her headset after pausing her game, looking around in confusion, only to notice the commotion between the two.

"We’re on Twitch," Max manages between laughs, still struggling to breathe. "They heard you calling Lando a little shit."

Max, still grinning, leans back in his chair, clearly enjoying the moment. "I mean, I honestly don’t know if you should be more offended by the fact that she just called you a little shit... or the fact that she’s not racing as you."

Lando looks over at Max, a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, who are you racing as right now?" His curiosity gets the best of him, and he stands up, walking behind Y/N to peer over her shoulder at her screen.

Y/N barely notices him, still intensely focused on her race. "You’re racing as Max?!" Lando exclaims, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. "I feel so betrayed!"

Y/N doesn’t respond, grabbing her water bottle beside her, taking a sip.

But Lando’s eyes widen as he looks at her screen again. "Wait, you're were P3?!" he says, his voice rising in shock. "What the fuck, Y/N—this is on 110 difficulty—did you change it?"

"Yeah, well I was but you crashed into me you knob"

Lando's completely taken aback, mouth agape, staring at her settings in awe. Without thinking, he takes over the controls, fully inspecting her game setup. "This is... this is insane. You’re actually doing really well."

Y/N, now realizing the level of chaos happening around her, turns to look at him with a grin. "What? Like its hard?"

Max, who’s been watching this unfold, laughs. "I told you she’d be better than you at this rate. I’m not surprised."

The chat, of course, is losing it.

"SHE'S RACING AS MAX AND BEATING LANDO. WHAT A MOOD."

"Y/N: 1, Lando: 0."

"Lando looks like he’s seen a ghost. How did she do that?"

Y/N just laughs, clearly loving the moment. "I told you, Lando, I’m coming for your seat."

"Alright, we've got to put a screen time limit on you from now on, love—fucking hell," Lando says, still shaking his head in disbelief, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He ruffles her hair affectionately before heading back to his seat.

The chat explodes with excitement.

"Lando’s whipped for her. I can’t breathe.""The way he ruffled her hair? That’s the couple energy we’re here for.""Y/N just casually destroying him, and Lando’s still soft with her. I’m obsessed.""I can’t believe they’re just out here living their best life on stream. I’m living for this dynamic."

-----------------------------------------------------------

Gaming Trio

The trio can be seen in Lando’s usual gaming spot, the atmosphere relaxed but buzzing with excitement. In an effort to accommodate everyone, an extra table has been pulled into the room, holding the laptop they’ve set up for Y/N so she can join in on the fun. The new setup feels a little crowded, but it only adds to the chaotic energy that’s been building up since they all logged in.

"Y/N is right behind you!" Max shouts into the mic, pulling the same trick he did to Lando the last time they played Backrooms

"Max, shut up, oh my gosh—NO IT'S CHASING ME, WAIT—PAUSE IT, PAUSE IT!" The panic in Y/N’s voice is unmistakable, and it sends both Lando and Max into fits of laughter.

Max, already losing it, grins widely. "You’re telling me to pause, but I’m the one who’s not controlling it!"

Lando, equally amused, can’t help but tease, hiding comfortably from the monster "Didn’t know you were this scared of a game, love."

Y/N’s frantic clicking can be heard through the mic as she scrambles to escape whatever horror was chasing her in the game. "I can’t— I swear it’s going to catch me!"

A sigh of relief escapes Y/N’s mouth as she finally reaches the room, the monster stopping its chase just in time. “Right, so you two do all the work and I’ll run out when it’s time to escape.”

Max lets out another laugh, clearly amused. “That’s not how it works, Y/N. You've got to carry your weight”

“Come on then, let’s go. Just stay behind me and you’ll be fine.” Lando moves his character closer to hers, ready to lead the way.

Y/N, still a little nervous, responds with a grin. “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Lando laughs, shaking his head. “Y/N—darling, it’s fine. It’s not that scary. It’s not gonna jump out at you. You just die and respawn, it’s all good.”

Max joins in, teasing, “Yeah, but if you keep closing your eyes, you’ll miss the whole thing. We’ll be done before you even open them.”

Y/N scoffs but can’t help but laugh, her character hesitating slightly. “I’m not opening them. I’m just here to run when the time comes.”

Lando smiles at her, his voice light. “Alright, well, try not to panic. We’ve got your back.”

The chat erupts in excitement, fans loving the playful back-and-forth between them.

"Y/N’s already planning her escape route. Classic." "he calls her darling im sobbing " "Lando’s trying to act all calm but he’s lowkey making sure she’s okay." "Max is enjoying this way too much, lol."

Lando glances at Y/N with a grin. “Stay close, alright? We’re doing this together.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

Y/Ns Instagram Live

Y/N was live on Instagram, chatting with fans while showing off her latest air-dry clay creations. She’d been getting non-stop requests to share her work ever since Max mentioned it in one of his streams, and now here she was, crafting away on camera.

Sitting on the floor in front of a coffee table, Y/N focused on the delicate jewelry plate she was shaping. She was giving her followers a detailed look at her process, her hands moving skillfully as she explained what she was doing.

"See, then you build the sides and stick it to the plate part you just made," she said, carefully adding a border to the plate. "So it kinda has a nice little border around it, and that way, you can put your jewelry in the middle without it all rolling off."

"Who you talking to?" A voice, unmistakably Lando's, makes Y/N's head snap up to look at him, her concentration momentarily broken.

Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of him standing in the doorway, and she quickly responds, trying to maintain the calm vibe of her live stream. "I'm on Instagram live— you didn’t see my text?" Y/N says, her voice soft but carrying a hint of a warning as she tries to focus on her work again.

Lando, walks into frame to stand beside her, only half his body on screen. “I saw it, but I didn’t think you’d actually be live. What’s going on in here?”

"I'm doing a jewelry plate tutorial, see?" Y/N smiles up at him, gently lifting the plate to show him the progress she’s made, the edges perfectly formed and the design coming together nicely.

Lando leans in a little closer, clearly impressed. "That's actually pretty sick. Have you shown them the other ones you've done?"

"Mhmm," Y/N nods, setting the plate back down on the table and continuing to work on it. "I did earlier. I have a few that are dried, so once I'm done with this one, I'm gonna show them how I paint it."

"Cool, cool," Lando says, grinning as he takes a step back. "I’m actually pretty curious about the painting part."

Y/N shoots him a glance, arching an eyebrow. "You want in on this too?"

Lando looks at her, then at the camera, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Can I join you?"

Y/N pauses for a moment, clearly trying to keep a straight face. "You gonna try your hand at some clay art, Norris?" she teases, but her tone is warm.

"Gotta try to beat you in something after you've somehow managed to get close to beating me on the racing sim" a smirk on his face as he plops down on the floor beside her "Right what am I meant to do?"

The two sat mostly in silence, both deeply immersed in their work. Y/N’s focus was on finishing her jewelry plate, the soft clink of clay against the table the only sound as she shaped it carefully. Lando, on the other hand, was determined to paint one of the already dried plate, though it was clear his attention was divided between the task and watching Y/N work.

"Oh, I’ve messed up, bub," Lando admitted, his voice a little defeated. "I’m sorry, this looks horrific. I think I’ve ruined it." He leaned back dramatically, letting his shoulders slump as he rested his back against the foot of the sofa, casting an apologetic look her way. "This is a disaster."

"What? No! It's cute—you even painted flowers on it, it's nice!" Y/N exclaimed, her tone playful as she tried to hype him up, a grin tugging at her lips.

Lando looked at her with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. "Those are strawberries, you muppet," he said, laughing as he gently nudged her with his elbow, clearly not buying her attempt to boost his confidence.

Y/N burst out laughing, her hands up in surrender. "Oh, I'm only kidding! Of course they're strawberries," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

She quickly mouthed a playful I didn’t know to the camera as Lando became distracted with his painting again, a smirk creeping up on her face as she watched him carefully work on his next stroke.

"add bub to the list of names lando calls y/n" "theyre actually so cute im going insane" "not y/n gentle parenting lando" "im telling my therapist about this" --------------------------------------------------

I'm telling mom

Max’s loud voice cut through the quiet apartment, shattering the late-night calm. It was already past 10 PM, and he’d been streaming for over two hours, fully immersed in whatever chaos his Twitch chat had cooked up for him.

“Y/N! Get in here a sec!” Max’s voice carried from his gaming room, loud enough to startle Y/N from where she sat beside P, half-watching a Netflix show.

With a sigh, she got up, padding toward his room. She hesitated at the door, peeking inside carefully, mindful of the camera that might be angled her way.

“It’s almost 11 PM, Max. What the fuck are you yelling about?” she laughed, eyes landing on him. He stood in the middle of the room, VR headset strapped on, controllers gripped tightly like his life depended on it. "You look ridiculous by the way"

“Can you call Lando? He’s fucking with me,” Max huffed, shifting on his feet like he was bracing for something. “He told me to download this horror VR game, and now he’s in chat claiming he’s in bed. I swear to God—he set me up.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Y/N started, arms crossed. “You want me to call Lando—”

“Yep.”

“—to ask him to get out of bed and play a game with you—”

“Mhm.”

“—instead of letting him sleep, because it’s nearly midnight in Monaco?”

“Exactly.” Max stood firm, pointing a VR controller at her like this was a life-or-death situation.

Y/N blinked. “Oh, you’re serious—right.” She sighed, shaking her head as she leaned against the wall, already dialing.

“I swear, if he doesn’t hop on after I’ve set this up and put my contacts in—”

“Lan, you’re on speaker,” Y/N announced the second he picked up, barely giving him a chance to breathe.

Before Lando could even say hello, Max exploded. “You muppet! I’ve been standing here waiting for you for the past ten minutes!”

“Oh, piss off! I’ve been waiting for you for nearly an hour, Max! Can’t believe you actually made Y/N call me for this.”

“You weren’t picking up my calls!”

Y/N let out a slow, tired sigh and turned to the camera with a deadpan look, the exact kind of exhausted stare straight out of The Office.

“So you tell on me?! How mature,” Lando huffs

“Just hop on the game!” Max shot back, exasperated.

“This behaviour at 25 is diabolical,” Y/N muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

Through the speaker, you could hear Lando moving around. “Fine, fine! Okay, I’m on,” Lando said, voice muffled as he adjusted his setup. “Max, hurry up—I’ll send Y/N the code. Love, show him the code before you leave.”

Y/N sighed, holding up her phone as she walked over to Max. “Right. I’ve been dragged from my peaceful night just to moderate a sibling fight.”

Max squinted at the screen. “Got it. Thanks, Mom—right, I’m joining. You can leave now.” He was already fumbling with the game settings, barely paying her any attention.

Y/N rolled her eyes as Lando’s voice softened on the phone. “I’ll call you later, alright? Go watch your show with P. I’ll text you when we’re done.”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N hummed in response, finally making her escape.

As soon as she was gone, Max turned back to chat, shaking his head. “Right, let’s go. See? He’s such a knob—I have to call Y/N every time he’s being an ass because he actually listens to her.”

The chat was loving this interaction

"Y/N staying with Max and P is actually so wholesome" "NOT Y/N BEING MOM" "LANDO LISTENING TO Y/N ONLY IS PEAK BF BEHAVIOUR U CANT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE" " "i'll call you later" is so cute he's down bad for her"

--------------------------------------------------

Big Reveal

At this point, they’d practically exposed themselves. The subtle interactions hadn’t gone unnoticed—small moments that seemed insignificant alone but painted a clear picture together. The lingering looks, the casual slips of affectionate nicknames, the way their conversations always carried a certain ease.

Everyone had a general understanding that the two were a couple, but they’d come to accept that Lando and Y/N weren’t quite ready to make it official—at least, not publicly. But what really sealed the deal? Max’s most recent stream, just before the season kicked off.

“Right, chat, Lando and I are finishing up the download, and we’ll hop on as soon as it’s done,” Max said, scrolling through chat and tossing out quick thanks for subs and gifted memberships while they waited.

“Is anyone else joining us or nah?” Lando asked, finally looking up from his phone where he sat beside Max, his own setup in front of him.

“Nah, don’t think so. Connor just texted—he’s out,” Max replied, making Lando nod before going back to whatever he was scrolling through.

“Chat, I’ll be back—I’m gonna grab some water,” Max announced, tapping his mic to mute it before standing up.

Completely unaware, Lando reached over and tapped the mic again, turning it back on.

“Baby?! C’mere a sec!” Lando called out, sitting with his back to the camera, casually waiting for someone to walk in—completely oblivious to the absolute chaos erupting behind him.

“OH BOB, YOU’RE NOT MUTED!!” “HES HOPELESS.” “NOOOOOOO LN TURN AROUND!!!” “HE FULLY EXPOSED HIMSELF IM CRYING.” "baby??!"

A moment later, Y/N appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Hello my pretty girl, wanna come join Max and I?" “Aren’t you live with Max right now?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, yeah, I muted it—don’t worry,” Lando reassured her without a second thought. “Wanna join? Max is still downloading it, we can set yours up if you’re up for it.”

Y/N smiled. “Yeah, sure, I’ll go grab the laptop.” With that, she turned and left the room.

Max walked back in, settling into his chair. “What were you two chatting about?” he asked as he put his headset back on.

“Y/N’s gonna play with us,” Lando answered smoothly. “Oh—by the way, I muted your mic. Chat can’t hear you right now.”

Max blinked. “Well, yeah, I muted it before I left—” His head snapped toward Lando. “Did you fucking tap the mic again?”

Lando visibly paled. “…No, I muted it.”

Max hurriedly glanced at chat, eyes scanning the messages flooding in before exhaling sharply. “You fucking unmuted it, you idiot.”

Lando sat there, frozen. Then, with an almost comically slow realization, he sighed. “Damn… well. Secrets out.”

Y/N practically skipped into the room, excitement clear in the way she carried her laptop against her chest. But the moment she stopped behind the two, her smile faltered.

Max and Lando both looked at her with identical guilty expressions.

“…What?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Max didn’t hesitate. “Your dimwit of a boyfriend just exposed you two. He unmuted the mic.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “No...”

Lando was already reaching for her hand, pulling her close. “I’m so sorry, baby. I swore I muted it.”

Y/N groaned, running a hand down her face. “Oh my God. How bad?”

Max snorted, scrolling through chat. “Let’s see… ‘We’re witnessing a live trainwreck,’ 'my pretty girl', ‘Bruh did he just expose himself?’ ‘Send help, I can’t breathe,’ and—oh, this one’s gold—‘My parents are finally public.’

Lando groaned, burying his face in Y/N’s side. “This is your fault, Max.”

“My fault?! You tapped the damn mic!”

The two went back and forth, bickering like a couple of siblings, while Y/N just stood there, still trying to wrap her head around what was going on.

“Oh, Y/N, come on. Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s a big surprise. He hasn’t exactly been subtle about it either.”

“Yeah, but until now, it was all just rumors and whispers.”

Lando shot her a reassuring smile. “Aww, baby, it’s fine. They love you, you know.”

Max groaned, leaning back in his chair and teasing them both. “See? Now he’s gonna go full PDA mode, more than he already does. We’re all doomed.”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “I swear, I can already see it.”

Lando reached over to take her hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Max teased, rolling his eyes. “Just wait till he starts calling you ‘babe’ every two seconds on stream.”

Lando grinned mischievously. “You love it, Max. Admit it.”

Max shot him a playful glare. “I’m really starting to think I’ve been cursed.”

“Right, come on then, let’s play before I get called for an impromptu PR meeting,” Lando chuckled, giving Y/N a wink as he pulled his headset on.

[et6rnalsun]

SHOWIN’ WHAT’S MINE

rafe hates when you dare cover up one of the vulgar hickeys he leaves on your neck while he's deep inside you. he hates it with a burning passion, and would happily let them be permanent just to show everyone that you’re already his.

that’s why every time you do it, he goes crazy.

you climbed into his truck with a small sigh from the rush you had to make to be ready on time, and unconsciously ran a hand through your hair—an action that revealed your strangely smooth neck, without any marks. his blue eyes lingered on that detail as he leaned down to kiss your lips with narrowed eyes, his hand resting on your jaw. “hi, baby”he greeted you, returning your sweet smile with a small one. he couldn't look away from your neck, his gaze darting from side to side because he was pretty sure that somewhere there had to be a hickey he'd left the day before.

“you playin’ at cover up?” he teased, adjusting in his seat. he had no intention of leaving until he understood. you frowned at his words, tilting your head as you took in his uneasy and searching eyes, scrutinizing you like there was something wrong. “what do you mean?” it was a sincere and genuine question, totally lost.

his thumb moved up to trace along your skin, his tongue dragging along his dry lips. “there was somethin’ here yesterday, doll,” he reminded you, pressing a little harder on the spot. “how come it disappeared, huh?”

oh. you let a small giggle escape your lips, and moved your head to give him more room to continue whatever his accusatory touch was. “i need to cover it, rafe. my mom would be so fuckin’ furious,” you huffed, a small pout on your lips as it was the tenth time you’d reminded him of this in a month. “y’know i want to keep it, but it’s too visible” and it was true, the neck was such an easy space to look at, to notice every little detail. and you, your parents' sweet little girl, with a hickey? absolutely not. unforgivable. a painful scandal.

rafe clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head as he stopped touching your neck. “but i don’t care” his head fell slightly to your shoulder, snuggling into you with his arm around your waist. “i really, really don’t care. your mom would understand” his voice was muffled against you, and you could feel his lips dragging down.

“no, rafe, she would never understand. are you crazy? she’d give me a monologue about how i need to have more decency, and how girls my age—“ your monologue of words that he wasn’t even listening to was interrupted by the feeling of his teeth slowly sinking into your soft skin, making your eyes widen briefly in surprise. the sting was stronger as he moved his head to get closer, his mouth closing further around the chosen piece as he switched from biting and licking to straight sucking. “rafe” you tried to stop him, but your hand on the back of his head only pulled him more closer, betraying your words.

his lips, warm and slow, felt too good — with a deliberation that made you lose your train of thought. you felt the heat growing on your skin, a sensation that mixed neediness and the rational side and thoughts. but rafe’s grip tightened on you anyway, not wanting to stop, everything a contrast to the delicacy of the way he left those marks with his mouth, each bolder than the last.

only when he pulled away you took a shaky breath and you looked up at him with big eyes and red cheeks from embarrassment. “tell me it’s not what i think” you murmured in desperation, but his smirk spoke volumes as he finally looked at the sight he truly liked; your marked up neck, barely any normal skin in sight.

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[yuukiiqwq]

Satoru was confident that you liked him back. He was positive. He had no doubt in his mind that you were going to be his pretty little wife. Is he getting ahead of himself? Sure, he is, but he's that confident. That's until he noticed how he hadn't received any chocolate from you.

It was Valentine's Day, and he still hasn't received any chocolate from you. Yeah, he had a mountain worth of chocolate from all those people who gave him it, but where was yours? He couldn't find it anywhere. He was sure that you would have placed your chocolate on his desk since you hadn't given him his. He double no triple checked all the chocolates, yet he could not find the one that has your pretty little name written on it. He continued to search through the chocolate pile for the fourth time today.

He must have missed it, right? Or did someone steal it? He swear he's going to hunt that person to the end of the Earth. Who dared to steal something that was rightfully his?

"Satoru, calm down."

He looked up at his best friend, who was trying to hold down a laugh at his panic.

"She'll probably give it to you later. The day just begun."

Right. Suguru is right. You'll give him his chocolate later. He's a good boy. He can wait.

That's what he told himself, but Suguru and Shoko have already received theirs this morning, and his is still nowhere to be found. Where is his chocolate? You're just sitting there in your seat, looking all pretty as if Satoru is not going through a huge dilemma because of you.

He couldn't help his hands that kept inching itself closer to the chocolate you gave Suguru. He wouldn't know if he snatched it, right? Suguru had received a lot of chocolate! He wouldn't know if he took it... was what he convinced himself before Suguru slapped his hand away.

"Satoru," he sighs.

"But Suguru!!!" Satoru whined as he sunk down into his seat.

"Be patient. You'll get yours soon."

But how soon is soon? Satoru isn't exactly known for his patient.

It was the end of the day, and still no chocolate from you. He asked Suguru and Shoko to leave first because he thought you would finally give it to him when both of you were alone. But you haven't. Where was his chocolate?

The two of you were approaching the exit of school, so Satoru made a quick decision, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into an empty classroom. He quickly shut the door and locked it.

"Satoru?" You asked in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"My chocolate."

"Your chocolate?"

"My chocolate from you! The symbol of your love towards me!"

"I didn't make you any," you replied smoothly. "Forgot to make them yesterday, so I woke up early today to make them, but I guess not early enough. I only had time to finish Shoko's and Suguru's. I didn't have time to make yours. Otherwise, I would have been late."

Satoru swear the world just ended. He looked down at his chest because he swears his heart ripped out of his chest at your words. Nope. Still alive. Why is he still alive in this cruel world? You had no chocolate for him? None? Not even a crumb?

"That's fine with you, right? I mean, you got a bunch of chocolate from other girls! You don't need mine."

He swear he is about to burst into tears. He didn't care about other girls. He didn't care about their chocolate. He wanted yours. How could you be so cruel and deny him of your chocolate? To reject him like this? He was devastated. No. Beyond devastated. Where is the closest cliff so he can jump off?

Pure silence radiated the room as Satoru tried to comprehend this horrible situation. Then he heard a small giggle slip pass your lips. That small giggle soon turns into a full-out laugh.

"You should have seen the look on your face, Satoru," you say as you try to stop laughing.

Was this funny to you? Why were you laughing at his suffering? Do you know how much he looked forward to today? To receive the cute little wrapped up chocolate you made for him? He dreamed of today, and you didn't have chocolate for him?

He then sees you reach into your bag and pull out exactly what he had imagined. A cute little chocolate box wrapped up in a baby blue color with a touch of white ribbon to finish it off. Fuck. He thinks he just got a heart attack seeing your chocolate. His chocolate.

"Princess, please don't joke like that to me ever again. You scared me half to death. I was going to jump off a cliff," he whined as he took the chocolate from your hand.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his dramatic behavior. "Stop being dramatic, Satoru. It's just chocolate."

A look of offense dawned his face as you utter those horrendous words to him.

"Chocolate? Just chocolate?" He huffed at you. He can't believe you as you treat this amazing god send gift as just chocolate. "Don't you dare call this just chocolate! This! This right here is proof of your undying love towards me!"

You laughed at his antics– "You're getting ahead of yourself, Satoru."

He delicately placed the chocolate safety away in his bag, treating it as a prized possession. He's looking forward towards white day. He already knows what he wants to get for you. He pulled you into a hug, nuzzling his face against your neck as he mutters– "You won't be saying that after I wife you up."

[tender-rosiey]

from me to you — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this takes place in chapter 268, soo sort of spoilers ahead? also long live gojo satoru; gojo leaves you a letter 🙏

“y/n-sensei, there is a letter for you as well!”

that catches your attention, and you look up at the first years. you tilt your head slightly, and yuuji hands you an envelope.

you gently take it from him, and the first thing you notice is “wifey” written on it then the doodle of satoru with his blindfold on. you feel your throat tighten, and your hands shake slightly.

you let out a small breath then shakily open the letter.

hey, honey!!

it first reads.

I feel like there is still much I didn’t tell you in our last meeting, so here I, your beautiful and handsome husband, am writing them down.

you swallow lightly, and a small smile appears on your face as you imagine satoru saying that, then you continue to the next line.

first, I changed all your computer passwords to variations of “satoruisthebest” at one point. your confusion was so cute!!

you quirk an eyebrow at the admission, but when you rack your brain, you remember that one day when you couldn’t log into your computer.

what you vividly remember was satoru being sat beside you the whole time, and now that you think about it. he was smiling so widely the entire time, letting out small chuckles every now and then. oh, that sneaky man.

“satoru, I am telling you it’s broken!”

“sweetheart, we spent over 2000$ on that. if it broke, then we could easily sue the company,” he chuckled, arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“2 year guaranteed top performance my ass!”

you smile at the memory. it was pretty satoru of him to do that. your eyes then move to continue reading.

second, there are times when I would tell megumi that you would be coming with me, then he would turn and leave me when he found out I was tricking him.

your eyes glance up at said boy who is sat across of you. he made it out alive, despite everything. he suffered so much, but he made it.

it makes you relieved, and you can imagine satoru being bloody proud of him and saying something along the lines of ‘you handed sukuna’s ass to him, very cool!’

no matter how much megumi had frowned and grimaced at satoru’s presence or antics. it rooted itself as something—safe and familiar.

you can’t count on your hands the times when you and satoru would visit the siblings, and nobody really said it, but these meetings did all of you a favor, a chance to kind of wind down. maybe act like death might actually not be looming tomorrow.

it feels like just yesterday when megumi would cling to you when he got really sad or nervous, after so much time spent getting comfortable with each other.

he grew up well, you think, eyes gliding to next.

third, I hid your uniform every two to three weeks, so you have to stay with me.

at that, your eyes widen a bit. satoru’s schedule was pretty packed, but he somehow managed to squeeze time for quality time between you two.

it tugged on your heartstrings, and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated it, not a single space on his face left without a kiss. however, finding out that he went out of his way to make you rest and stay.

satoru’s care really showed in his actions, and you feel like this is the biggest proof of it.

“satoru, have you seen my uniform?”

“nope! maybe, it is a sign to stay home today? you’ve been working so hard, wifey!”

you cupped his face, pulled him down to your height, and kisses his cheek, “you’ve been working harder, ‘toru. let me take off some of the load at least.”

“we could both stay!”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“I already told yaga; I miss you!”

you try to stop the reminiscing further and try to compose yourself before reading the rest.

fourth, I’m the one who kept adjusting the thermostat. I just wanted an excuse to cuddle.

a fond yet melancholy smile appears on your face. you kinda figured that one out. satoru’s favorite pastime was cuddling, so it’s no surprise that he would go out of his way to create the need for it even further.

add to that, once you went to get some green tea and saw him from the corner of your eye teleport to the thermostat, click something, then teleport back to bed.

you figured that the room being chilly that night was not an exception in the middle of july.

“babeeee, it’s so cold! let’s cuddle!”

“maybe the problem is with the thermostat?”

“I checked! I think cuddling is the best solution.”

you giggle as you recall the moment, one of many similar. your heart feels a bit lighter as you go through the letter. something satoru managed to always do even in person.

he would plaster sticky notes, get you trinkets, and even pull pranks on other just to see you smile. feeling more encouraged, you keep on reading the letter.

then you feel your chest constrict so tightly that you might just throw up.

fifth, I am really gonna fucking miss you.

you read the line over again, and you purse your lip in hopes of silencing any noise that may come out as you feel the lump in your throat return, even worse than before. your breathing starts getting more difficult.

your grip on the letter tightens, and you find yourself thinking back to the good times. memories of late nights spent in each other’s arms, thinking about everything and nothing at once.

hushed whispers of confessions and quiet giggles as you reminisced on your highschool days. tight hugs when recalling the sad moments and the departure of a certain someone.

“you know, y/n, I think we might just be made for each other,” he said one night. you hummed and looked him in the eyes.

“three am thoughts?”

“three am admissions,” he grins slightly, “I am made for you, and you’re made for me.”

you remember him pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, while you teased, “and what would you need little old me for, so much that I got made?”

he feigns thinking then closes his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder, “grounding me.”

I love you. I really do, but you should know that already, right?

your eyes drift down to the corner of the paper, and that is when you feel your tears start free-falling. there is drawn a chibi satoru besides a chibi you and between them is a heart.

the chibi satoru is giving yours a big smooch, while she laughs. you never thought that the day your jealousy burns would be because of drawings, and drawings of you and your own husband, nonetheless.

“but wow, gojo-sensei is shit at writing letters,” you hear nobara remark.

megumi responds with a small chuckle, “I am fine with mine.”

“what about you, y/n-sensei?—”

the trio becomes silent as you let out a sob. a watery smile makes its way up your face as you kiss the letter gently and murmur, “so shitty.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will tell @callmemirro

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[acid-ixx]

You mention in the first story that the Batfam finally realizes where we are because jon showed Damian our picture while calling us his parent- so I was wondering about how Damian reacted to that? Like did he realize we’d left at that point or did he just get hit in the face with that info?

— masterlist ! ; related post !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated

a/n: y'all i have clogged nose and i hate it LMAO. anyways, i'm gonna write smth about this soon but damian's character for both the series again & again and this series is genuinely one of the more complicated to write because of how he's raised but it really goes like this—

"jon... what do you mean? that's my—"

he cuts himself off before he could continue running his mouth off. damian ignores the slight raise of jon's eyebrow, his thoughts running a mile every second.

his parent? no, never once in his life has damian considered you his parent, pushing you away whenever you try to bond with him. whatever gifts you gave him, no matter how small, or big, expensive, or inexpensive they are, he always makes a show of ripping them away right in front of you.

he told you himself. you are not his parent, never will be his parent, you'll never replace talia's standing, and there will never be a time where damian will see you as one. dick, jason, tim, literally anyone can consider you as theirs, but damian is a product of two genetically perfect individuals— you are imperfect, and it's not your business to coddle him just because you are merely married to his father in paper.

no matter how much you softly gaze at him with loving eyes, invite him with welcoming arms, praise his passion for drawing; all you'll do is weaken him and damian hates feeling weak, hates how you tempt him into melting into a puddle. that automatically makes you a burden in his book.

he hates you, and he should've been glad you disappeared off of the face of the manor.

yet the record stands still: why are you with jon? why do you hold him like he is the world in the picture? what does he mean by "sorry, damian, but me and my parents are gonna go to the carnival later!"? you, as in, bruce's spouse? why are you with them, of all people?

... why does jon get to have fun, with you? and he doesn't...?

and yet he couldn't reply to him, not when his friend babbles on for longer about his... parent. about how you, make him feel so complete. that you'll be the one helping him with his science fare project, how you two spent the night yesterday building a volcano, how you treat him with ice cream every time he achieves a good enough grade for a subject, how you, you, you always spoil jon, always comfort him, read him bedtime stories, matched bracelets, sung karaoke together, played board games with each other, picked him up from school, help him with assignments—

the more jon goes on, the more damian wants to rip his hair out. he doesn't know, doesn't know why he's suddenly pissed. is it because jon can never shut up, or because he couldn't shut up about you? about how perfect you are apparently? how you're the ideal parent he never once bat an eye on? the domestic life jon seems to brag about, it's something damian secretly wanted, and it's all ripped away from him.

it makes damian wonder, would you have done the same for him?

he knows it in himself, that if he hadn't pushed you away, he might've been in jon's place.